like rubber ducks with gimmicks
like hedgehog keychains
like the color red, or green, or blue, or yellow, or purple
like watching the anime that helped you meet
like washing dishes because executive dysfunction only goes away if you're helping someone else
like saying goodbye at the train station for a really long time because you don't want to go/let them go away
like folding laundry with all of the christmas on
so when you come home you'll see nice things
like chicken nuggets in the oven even though i've already eaten
because you haven't eaten yet and I can do that for you
like irish breakfast tea in a mug i didn't know existed
until i lived with you
the flavor reminding me of my first tastes of freedom
like not being anxious when my phone dings
because that's now the sound of friends and love
instead of fear and family
love is like a cat
laying in the middle of a giant dog bed
because he forgot it existed when it was in the corner he could very clearly see and reach
and now he's curled up and sleeping on it every time I look
really makes me laugh seeing some people complain doctor who is gay now. babe THIS aired in 2005. doctor who has been gay a long damn time get with the program
task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.
-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)
thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.
one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.
cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.
he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.
"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.
you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."
his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."
you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.
johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.
three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.
manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.
"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.
you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."
a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"
you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."
the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.
"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.
"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.
"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.
"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"
it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.
johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.
"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.
johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.
"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.
"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"
you shudder.
"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.
he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.
"forty-three."
your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.
breeding kink price but it’s the first time doing it raw with his younger!girlfriend and he can’t help himself. Like imagine it’s cold outside and he wants to cuddle with you in the living room and next thing you have him trying to (lovingly) cram his fat cock into his younger!girlfriend’s nice warm tight pussy. He can’t help but moan and whimper as he holds the urge to cum on the spot upon feeling the nice warmth and tightness around his cock.
(afab!reader, mdni 18+)
price thought it was a strange idea at first. what's the point of sticking his dick in you if not to fuck? get you all nice and pliant for him as he takes that sweet pussy? he soon comes to understand the appeal to it, but find that he can't last as long as he thinks.
"stop movin'," he growls into your shoulder as you straddle him. he's doing his best to not buck into you, taking deep breaths as he hides his face into your neck.
"sorry. m'cold," you whine as you try to shift again to get comfortable. you grind into him on accident, moreso trying to to get your legs in a better position so that your hip doesn't cramp up. made you sink deeper onto him as a result. plunging him deeper into you and making his dick throb.
he's starting to regret his decision in accepting your new request. you were cuddling on the couch as he reads something in a book when you pitched the idea. he arched a brow and stared at you while you pouted up at him. how was he supposed to deny you when you said please so pretty? you told him it'd be okay to do it without a condom since you're not actually having sex. just keeping him warm inside of you. just being able to get comfortable as he fills you up to the brim in your little pussy. so when you sank down on him for the first time, he did his absolute best not to cum inside of you immediately.
feeling you raw for the first time was so new. like your walls were hotter as they gently massaged his dick. when you slowly took him inch by inch until your hips were flush against his. you could feel the way his balls would twitch against your ass every now and then. you suppress a chuckle ass he lets out a tiny groan.
"feels good. nice and warm," you tuck your head into his neck in a similar way he does to you. as opposed to him, however, you were enjoying being able to cuddle against him a lot closer. you were practically shivering earlier before you begged him to try cockwarming, even though you were pressed up against him to the cuddle. he refused to turn up the heat and stated that it'd be too hot. curse him for running hot all the time. so this was your next best solution. and it was working well.
"didn't know this's what the kids were into these days," he grits out while breathing in your scent. his hands massage at your hips before moving to your ass. he growls again when you giggle against him. "don't laugh. 'less y'wanna get punished."
"m'not a kid." you pull back and pout at him. he clenches his jaw and looks at you with a steely gaze.
"sound like one with the way you're whining."
not one to be taken lightly, you clench down on him to get a reaction out of him. he grunts again and spanks you this time. you can feel how his girth throbs inside of you and you know he's already at his limit. he lets out a whine this time.
"fuckin' brat. you want me to fuck you that badly? gonna let me cum inside you? gonna have to take it." he threatens- no, promises you if you don't stop acting up. now you're at a crossroads of if you want to tease him more or enjoy sitting on his cock just a little longer.
do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere (reblogs welcome!)
Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?
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I was only going to post these when I finished writing and everything but I'm just... SO FUCKING EXCITED 😭😭
spoiler: Johnny and Kyle are the ones managing Price's account (took covert pics of the captain) but they ask Ghost how to answer the questions and DMs in order to have "the right tone of voice" LMAO
I'll post the actual drabbles soon!!! 🙏
If you'd like to be tagged when this comes out, lmk! (via dm, question or even here) THE TAGLIST IS OFFICIALLY CLOSED, not accepting any more requests! (I'm sorry, there's just too many people on it)
and if you add the forbidden love trope to it *chefs kiss* it’s so much hotter than actual s e x.
knowing he can’t fuck you, because he’s your captain/dads best friend/one of you are married etc. but things get heated after you’re left alone in some living area, somehow ending with you both locked in an intense, sloppy kiss, full of grabbing and moaning into each others mouths. it’s when he pulls you on top of him, that it changes, and instantly you feel his hard on bulging out his jeans, just where your pussy rests on his lap, sending electric shocks up your spine. but you half heartedly pull away, one of his hands still placed on the back of your head.
“w-we can’t.”
“shh, i know i know.” he mumbles, looking at you like a kicked puppy, sympathetically as his eyes switch from yours to your mouth. his hand that was placed your thigh, slips underneath your crotch, brushing past your hyper-sensitive pussy, making you move back slightly, finding the zip to his jeans, and slipping out his cock.
it flops back on his t-shirt that’s partially ridden up, looking down, he’s bigger than expected, a width that makes you gulp but makes your thighs automatically try to squeeze together.
tf141 men reacting to their spoiled gf saying “why do you hate me?” when she isn’t getting enough attention.
warnings -> 18+, f!reader, dom + sub dynamics, brat taming, allusions of impact play [spanking], petnames.
CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE
“excuse me?”
john’s eyebrows raise almost comically high. if it wasn’t for the stern glare taking over his features, you’d be giggling by now. instead you stay standing in front of him, shuffling on your feet with the same big pout you murmured your dumb question through. you despise making him upset with you—
at the same time, though… you feel those little sparks in your tummy when he pushes himself back from his desk and pats his lap. beckoning you to come sit on those strong thighs so he can sweet talk some sense to you. your feet can’t move fast enough, shuffling in your soft socks against the carpet. the rough denim of his jeans rubs against your own uncovered thighs as you shuffle in his lap.
“don’t ya think you’re being a silly girl?” it’s a simple question, but one you’re not exactly prepared for nonetheless.
your eyes meet his and there’s no way you can possibly shy away from his gaze. so you nod dumbly, and john’s chest rumbles with an approving hum. a strong hand cradles the back of your head, coaxing you to relax against his chest so he can put an end to this bratty streak you have in you rearing it’s ugly head.
SIMON GHOST RILEY
“what the fuck are y’on about?”
“just forget it, simon.” you bite back, turning on your heel to march away from him.
you hear his heavy sigh and it’s only a matter of seconds before the pair of big hands he has squeezes your waist, pulling you back into him until he’s able to growl right over the shell of your ear. you turn your head, tilting it upwards and meeting his fury filled eyes. it takes everything in you not to grin wildly and piss him off more than you already have— especially when you can practically feel the soreness his fingers will leave behind in your sides already.
“dumb pet,” he grits out, “could never hate you, not even when you act like this…”
at those words, you press a gentle kiss to his masked lips. and you know for a fact he’s rolling his eyes, tired of your theatrical tendencies and outbursts, but that doesn’t stop him from nudging your nose with his own. from pulling you closer and snorting out a breathy laugh.
“you’re still gonna fuckin’ get it later, y’know that right?”
JOHNNY SOAP MACTAVISH
“how dare ye?”
you know— you just know— that you’ve really fucked up this time. why would you say such a thing? why would you be such a nasty girl to the man who does everything for you? sure, he didn’t have his eyes on you for a bit— bless him, he just wanted to decompress after some training. and here you come, stomping over to him like a proper fusspot.
in a second, you’re tugged into his lap by your wrist. you clumsily fall on top of him but johnny is quick to readjust you, to make sure you’re getting a good look at his disappointed face.
“do ye even know what you’re saying?” he speaks lowly, doesn’t care how much your bottom lip wobbles under his harsh tone, “because i really don’t think ye do.”
“johnny, i’m sorry— i really—” you attempt blubbering out. however he presses his thick index finger against your pout, shushing you in an instant.
“fucked up again, bonnie.” he tsks.
maybe he’s right. you don’t know what you’re saying. you know better; you know what he likes to be called when you two find yourselves in situations just like this one, when you need to be put in your place. that’s why you don’t resist when he guides you to lay over his lap tummy down…
KYLE GAZ GARRICK
“princess, come on…”
kyle begins, treading carefully around your huffing form. strong arms loop around you from behind, humming softly when you melt right into him despite your bratty demeanor. you can feel him smile against the side of your warm face, while his scent and warmth invades your senses, calming you down immediately.
“you know that’s the farthest from the truth,” he whispers, kissing your cheek with an obnoxious smooching sound tacked on to each one. it prompts you to giggle and kyle laughs right along with you when he sees how much your nose scrunches up with happiness.
“there’s my sweet girl!”
he squeezes his arms around you, ignoring you when you shamefully apologize for being so ridiculous… because he knows deep down in his heart he’d let you get away with murder. so he shushes you with more kisses and murmurs about just how much he loves you, and plans on doing the same thing between your pretty thighs later on.
You all are just hanging out, having drinks after a successful, but fucking difficult, mission.
Battered and bruised and exhausted, someone jokes about how much easier it’d have been to just have a normal job.
You pipe up that Price would still be a captain but as a firefighter not military.
Gaz claiming he’d probably do something along the same lines, maybe a paramedic? You agreed, nodding, “If I was in an accident and I saw you coming to save me, I’d feel protected. You have a comforting face.” He couldn’t hide the smile on his face, flustered by your words.
With a cheeky grin and a wink in your direction, Soap states he couldn’t let his “figure go to waste, might pick up erotic dancin’, aye?” Before adding on a more serious note, he could be a physical therapist.
Ghost - after he himself decided it was stupid to fantasize about such things - you all agreed he’d probably own a shop of some kind. A tie between staying as a butcher, or becoming a mechanic.
“Well?” Price breaking the silence, eyebrows raised.
All eyes turned to you, waiting on your response. You swallowed realizing you didn’t really have a very good answer. Or, at least, no answer the men wouldn’t be make fun of you endlessly for.
“I’m not sure…” heat creeping into your cheeks.
“Bullshit. What, you wanna dance with Soap, or somethin’?” Gaz laughs, nudging you with his elbow.
“No, no. You know I have no rhythm,” laughing with him, before finishing, “Well… I guess, if I could do anything, I’d do nothing.” You shrug, hoping that would satisfy your team.
The silence stretches for one beat, two, three…
Realizing they aren’t going to drop it, you down the rest of your drink, before filling it again. With the liquid courage still burning, you clear your throat.
“I mean, not like nothing nothing. But I’ve always like the idea of being a stay at home mom. Home making, y’know? Waiting for my man to come home, so I could take his boots off by the door. Cleaning, cooking. ‘Pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen’ type deal,” You end with a laugh, hoping they won’t notice you were only half joking about the last part.
Once again the quiet thickens. You swirl your drink in your hands, avoiding eye contact. You wait for the teasing, the taunts. They don’t come.
While you’re busy feeling embarrassed, the four men are excited, sick bastards. Each one imagining themselves as the one to give you that life - filling you with their babies, making sure you’re cared for, providing for you and their family.
You look up, they’re all staring at you. Soap and Price looking a little red in the face, Gaz has a slightly intimidating gleam in his eyes, Simon breathing just a little heavier than usual. Their reactions confuse you to no end.
Another weak laugh escapes you, “Um… I know that’s dumb. Just a silly dream left over from when I was a little girl. But it won’t ever happen, so I should just forget it…” you set your drink down, wiping the condensation off on your jeans as you stand.
The men watch you leave, still speechless, until Ghost speaks up.
Okay, so: in early drafts of Jules Verne's 1870 novel Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Captain Nemo is a Polish guy bent on revenge against the Russian Empire for the murder of his family in the January Uprising. Verne's editor objected on the grounds that Russia was a French ally at the time of the book's writing, and in the actual, published version of the story, Nemo's national origin and precisely which empire he's pissed off at are left unspecified.
Later, in the 1875 quasi-sequel The Mysterious Island, Nemo is retconned as an Indian noble out for revenge against the British for the murder of his family in the Indian Rebellion of 1857 – basically the same as the original plan, simply substituting a different uprising and a different empire. Verne's editor raised no objections this time around, because fuck the British, right? Though Twenty Thousand Leagues and The Mysterious Island aren't 100% compatible in their respective timelines, this version of Nemo has customarily been back-ported into adaptations of Twenty Thousand Leagues ever since.
Now here's the funny part: perhaps as a jab at his editor, Verne made a specific plot point in Twenty Thousand Leagues of Professor Aronnax repeatedly trying and failing to figure out where the fuck Nemo is from. At one point his attempt to pin down Nemo's accent is frustrated by Nemo's vast multilingualism. At another point, he tries and fails to trick Nemo by quizzing him about latitude and longitude.
(To contextualise that last bit, at the time the book was written, there was no international agreement on which line of longitude should be zero degrees, and many nations had their own prime meridians; Aronnax hoped to identify Nemo's national origin by calculating which meridian he was giving his longitudes relative to. Nemo, however, immediately spots the ploy, and announces that he'll use the Paris meridian in deference to the fact that Aronnax is a Frenchman.)
The upshot is that at no point in the course of any of this Sherlock Holmes bullshit does Aronnax ever bring up the colour of Nemo's skin as a potential clue. In light of the book's publication history, this is almost certainly simply because Verne hadn't decided that Nemo was Indian yet. However, taking into account The Mysterious Island's retcon, it retroactively makes Aronnax the least racist Frenchman ever.
nobody talks about how adorable john price is as a lieutenant. he’s got this undeniable determination with him that has only grown stronger since he’s crawled up the ranks.
his voice isn’t gruff yet, not used to shouting orders in a hostile zone. his mutton chops haven’t grown in either, likely experimenting with his signature style. he still covers his head, though this time it’s with a sage coloured beanie and not a boonie.
featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price
warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, slight power imbalance, praise, degradation, light dom/sub, slight daddy kink, oral, vaginal sex, your father's a dick, very minor soapghost, aftercare
series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.
// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //
Stay in your room, your father had said. Don't bother us tonight, your father had said. They are dangerous men that do dangerous things, your father had said.
Yet, here you were, standing at the bottom step of the stairwell, hiding behind the wall adjoined to the living room, listening in to the men on the other side.
You were bored out of your brains. It was a Friday night, and like hell was your over-protective father going to let you go out or party. And the fact that he wouldn't even introduce you to his only friends? Or let you leave your fucking room?
It had left you pissed off to no end, so.
Here you were.
"Bloody close," you hear a voice grunt, deep and gravelly. It sends heat to your stomach immediately, and it's almost embarrassing.
You hear the sound of a hand slapping a shoulder, and the bark of a laugh. "Aye, still got the cash you're gonna owe me?" This voice has a -- Irish? Scottish, maybe? -- lilt to it, humour and kindness embedded into its layers.
"He'll find a way outta paying," a third voice chimes, laughter in its tone.
Someone else clears their throat. "You're all gonna get yourselves indebted to each other at this rate," a fourth voice says, sounding almost resigned.
"You all need to shut the fuck up before she sticks her nose down 'ere."
Your spine straightens, and fury simmers in your blood. Did he have to be such an asshole? Why was your father so... so anti your existence? Why was he so ashamed of you, yet so overbeating?
"She's not a kid anymore, you really oughtta to lay off," the man with the scottish accent says, slightly stern in his delivery.
"If you met her, you'd understand how fuckin' annoying she is. Always wants me to deal with her emotions, as if they're my fuckin' problem," your father replies venomously. Your stomach has dropped to your feet, you're sure of it.
There's a low whistle in response, and a silence settles behind the wall. An unsettling one, full of animosity. The fact that you can tell that from behind the wall says a lot.
"I'm gonna go out and get some drinks. Maybe some dinner. Needa get out of this fuckin' house for a bit," your father says with a grunt, sounding like he's gotten up from the couch. "Call if you lot need anythin' while I'm out."
A few grunts of agreement, and after a few seconds, the front door opens and slams shut.
You let out a small breath of tense relief, eyes fluttering shut as you deeply exhale. The immediate relief of having your father out of the house is immense.
"I feel bad for her," you hear the third man speak, voice quiet and low. "You hear how he speaks about her -- what's he like with her?"
"Gaz, whatever you're thinkin', drop it," the first speaker grits out, impatient and tight.
"He's right," the scottish one says with a huff, "Poor kid. She's legal and he isn't letting her out on a Friday night? 'Nd he fuckin' wonders why she's upset."
"He must have his... reasons," the fatherly voice of the fourth speaker says, although his tone says otherwise.
You swallow, slowly creeping off of the bottom step and onto the wooden floors. Front pressed to the wall, you move just the slightest bit, to allow yourself a small peak into the loungeroom.
There are four men, like you'd expected, and they're...
They're big. There's no other word that comes to mind, except for big. Tall, broad, packed with muscle. Military-grade men.
Your mouth is suddenly parched of any moisture, and your brain turns to putty.
Selfishly, stupidly, you spend another dangerous moment to admire the four. The couch curves, the four of them seated on it, facing the TV hung on the wall. They're backs are to you.
Or.
One second, they're all blissfully turned the other way, and in the next, one's head turns, and deep brown eyes meet yours.
Your eyes go wide, and you immediately dart for the stairs, heart in your throat.
Rushing up, trying to stay quiet but still hurrying, you make it to your room in record time. You shut the door behind you, chest tight and breaths harried as your back presses to the wood.
Stupid, stupid girl, you think.
They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.
That's what your father had said, wasn't it? So what were you thinking, risking a look? For what purpose?
Then, there's a knock on your door.
Your eyes go impossibly wide, and your lips purse together as you slowly move away from the door. With one breath, you train your face into a pleasant, kind smile as you slowly open the door, only allowing a bit of your room to be shown.
"You're his daughter, ain't ya?"
You have to crane your neck, eyes going up, and up, and up, until you meet the man's eyes.
The skull balaclava shouldn't cause your face to heat, or your breaths to quicken, but they do.
"I -- um, yes, I'm really sorry for eavesdropping," you mumble, eyes flitting to the floor and hand squeezing the door in an anxious gesture.
A hand grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet the man's chocolate eyes once more. They're imploring, impossibly so, and your thighs squeeze together against your better judgement.
"Come watch the game with us," he says, and although the sentence isn't a demand, it feels like one.
So, like the good girl you are, you nod, his grip loosening as you do.
You forget that you're in your tiniest sleep shorts and your thinnest tank top as you follow him down the stairs, his large hand resting on your lower back.
This was the most touch you'd ever felt from a man that wasn't in a familial way, and your nerve-endings feel like they've been electrocuted.
Whatever conversation that was happening silences as soon as the two of you walk into the lounge room, your hands squeezing each other painfully tight.
Your anxiety was warranted in this situation, wasn't it? Surely, it was okay to be scared of four men whom you'd never met.
Four sets of eyes are trained to your body, and there's a slight tremble in your hands as you sit in the spot balaclava had gestured towards.
It seats you in the middle of the four of them, and your heart beats impossibly faster as you settle into the leather, feeling so small in comparison to the men surrounding you.
It's a new, albeit not entirely terrible, feeling.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" The man furthest to your left asks, and when you meet his eyes, they're warm and kind. His lower face is mostly covered in a beard, and he's wearing a light brown hat.
You bite at your inner cheek, gaze flicking back to your thighs as you weakly say your name.
Their gazes burn your skin, like a living force, and your hands form nervous fists in your lap. The warm yellow light of the living room lamp creates a warm, safe ambience that doesn't exactly fit the emotions swirling inside of you.
You flinch only slightly when a warm hand moves to rest on your knee, the thumb rubbing comforting circles on it that ease your tight muscles slightly.
When you look to the owner of the hand, it's to see a warm grin and a faux mohawk.
"You're so tense, lass," he says, his mouth quirking into a knowing smirk. "We don't bite."
"Don't speak for all of us, Soap," the man sitting on your close left says with a charming grin, his eyes meeting yours when you turn to him. "I'll ask nicely, love, don't worry."
You nod, slowly, in some sort of trance. This entire situation doesn't feel entirely real, more like a figment of your deepest desires.
Ones you've never let yourself think about, except for the darkest of nights and the dirtiest of feelings.
"Don't scare the girl," the man with the balaclava says, eyes narrowing on the two men beside you.
"Says the one with the fuckin' mask, ya weirdo," the scottish one says with a scoff of a chuckle. Your mouth pulls into a soft grin without you realising, and the hand on your knee tightens ever so slightly.
"I'm Price," the man who you've deemed the most sensible of the group says with a warm smile. His head gestures to each of the other three men respectively. "That's Gaz, Soap, and Ghost."
You can't say that you're all too familiar with the names, nor how...different they are, but you nod nonetheless, reserving the names in your memory.
"Father dearest never talked about us?" Gaz asks, eyebrows softly furrowing in question.
You shake your head, almost apologetic in the movement. "He doesn't like to tell me much, he's, ah... private."
There's a few returning grunts of understanding, and they settle your nerves just a little bit more. For men of their size, they were surprisingly good at keeping you feeling safe and comfortable.
"What're you doin' all alone on a Friday night? Pretty young thing like you, 'nd you're not at a club? A date?" Soap asks, and if you notice that he's moved just the slightest bit closer to you, you don't say a word.
You feel your face heat, and you murmur out your reply. "Never been to either," you admit, pulling at a thread in your sleep shorts with nervous jerks.
Ghost settles further into his chair, legs spread in an almost dominant way. "Surely you've at least had your first kiss?"
If you could get anymore embarrassed, you're sure you'll combust on the spot.
You softly shake your head.
"Aw, love, you're adorable," Gaz says, a hint of a smirk on his features. His dark eyes glimmer in the light, and you lick your bottom lip to wet it.
Price's arms rest on his knees, and his eyes seem trained on you, debating some sort of inner conflict, before they firm with some kind of resolution. "Y'know, we've been training rookies lately," he states, but with a knowing undertone that everyone in the room seems to pick up on except for you.
"That we have," Ghost says, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he nods in agreement with Price.
"How about we train you, bonnie?" Soap asks, his hand moving just the slightest bit higher on your thigh.
You swallow, mouth dry.
"Um. Like, train me... how?" You ask, although there's some part of your brain that knows all too well what area they're thinking of.
Gaz's hand moves to sit at the nape of your neck, stroking in soothing movements that leave your eyes half-closed and glassy. "How about I show you how to kiss, love?"
Your stomach hollows, and your chest rises and falls in heavy beats. Nervously looking around the room, you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod shortly.
Soap's hand tightens around your thigh, a barely hidden warning. "Words, baby, or you're goin' back to your room."
The threat instantly has words flying out of your mouth. "Yes. Please. Just... be gentle?"
All four men seem to huff a laugh at that, but Gaz nods, dimples showing as his smirk deepens. "I can do that."
He pulls you in, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours.
The feeling leaves you entirely dazed, your nervous system alighting with signals as your thoughts seem to pause, if only for a second. It's nothing like you'd expected, and butterflies erupt in your lower stomach.
He pulls away, not having breached your mouth, and you must look as out of it as you feel because he laughs.
"That good, love?" He asks, teasing and entirely prideful.
You nod, a bit too fast and enthusiastic, before his hand pulls away from your nape. The loss is mourned, briefly, before your attention pulls away from Gaz and instead to Soap.
"Gotta learn from all of us," is all he says, before his lips crush against your own. Where Gaz was tentative and soft, Soap is all energy and desperation.
His hand squeezes your thigh, and when it had moved from your knee to pushing against your tiny shorts, you haven't an idea.
You can't find it in yourself to care, with his relentless attack on your mouth, your lips, your mind.
When he pulls away, you realise it's because Ghost's moved to stand, and his hand is in a tight fist in Soap's hair, pulling his face away from yours.
"Actin' like a fuckin' mutt," Ghost mutters, tone laced with vitriol. It's degrading, and yet Soap doesn't seem phased in the slightest.
You're about to inquire about that when your attention's caught by Price, his knees spread and patting his thigh. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says, and like a dog on a leash, you do.
His unbelievably large hands grab your hips as he seats you in his lap, and with how he's got his legs spread, it forces you to sit over his groin.
It's a compromising position, and the heat that rushes to your core is an entirely unknown feeling.
He doesn't move his hands from your body as his eyes devour it, before they meet your gaze with a warmth to them that has you shivering.
"Show me what the boys have taught you, hm?" He says, and with shut eyes and a stiff movement, you press your lips to his.
He groans, pleased, his thumbs rubbing circles where your skin's been revealed by your tank top. No one's ever touched you there, not in this way, and it has your pussy wet.
When he pulls away, he licks at his lips, as if he's devouring your taste.
"You're so pretty, sweetheart, mm? No wonder your father's got you all locked up," he says, and the reminder of the source of your anger has you wanting to do entirely too reckless things.
Like kissing the four men he warned you about.
Like doing more, maybe.
...Maybe.
His hands force your hips down, and you let out a small whimper when your clit presses against his belt buckle, the action sending pleasure shooting up your spine.
He raises a brow, catching the change in expression and your small sound. "What's wrong, pretty?"
And then, he pulls you down again, deeper this time, and the movement has your breath hitching, core burning with need.
"Oh, you naughty little girl," he says, and the words have your mind turning into some sort of mouldable clay, entirely able to be controlled by whatever these men wanted to make of it. "So needy, ain't ya?"
Someone presses against you from behind, and a belt buckle presses against your lower back.
"My turn to feel those lips, innit?" Ghost says from behind, leaning down to whisper his next words next to your ear. "See what all the fuss 's about."
The idea that you're being passed around, like you're some kind of... of whore has you entirely speechless in the most positive of ways.
You feel filthy, and you love it.
Leaning your head back, you manage to make eye contact with the large man, before his lips press to yours, upside down.
He devours, all encompassing, his tongue slipping into yours without any hesitance. You're clumsy, unsure, but he makes up for it with experience and dominance. The entire act has you woozy, needy for more of them, more of their touch.
You don't expect for Price to start forcibly rotating your hips, forcing you to grind against his lap, but it forces a moan from your mouth, the sound getting devoured by Ghost's overpowering tongue.
"Who knew she'd be such a desperate slut?" Gaz asks, as if you're not there, as if you're just something to be observed. It causes another moan to leave your mouth, and Ghost detaches himself from you with a grunt of his own.
"Think she liked that," Soap says, amused and proud, in a strange sort of way. "Wanna be used, baby? Taken by men nearly twice your age?"
"Yes," you say, on a groan as Price's motions speed up, the pleasure so new and different and good.
Then, he stops, and a whine comes out of you before you can stop it.
Price makes a condescending noise in response. "Poor babygirl needs all the attention, hey? Needs her little pussy played with?"
"She looks like a goddamn mess, cap," Gaz says, his hand coming up to rest on your head. He gives comforting pats, not unlike one would with an obedient puppy.
Ghost's hands come around your waist, and before you even process what he's doing, he rips your sleep shorts in half, leaving you completely bare.
"Didn't think to wear panties, dumb girl?" Ghost asks with an appreciative groan, his large hand cupping your now exposed pussy.
With a whimper, you shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut at the embarrassment and nudity. No one had ever seen it before, and now, four of your father's friends were getting an eyeful.
"Lemme see if she's nice 'n wet for us," Soap murmurs, picking you up from Price's lap in a princess carry.
It doesn't even last two seconds before he's splaying you over the now empty couch, your hands pathetically covering your most private of areas.
"None of that, sweetheart," Price says with a 'tsk', grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to the couch above your head, leaving you effectively defenceless to the men.
Soap's hand moves down your stomach, before he pauses for just a moment. "This okay, baby?"
You nod, because yes, this is most definitely okay.
Gaz gives you a stern look, so you quickly fix your mistake. "I -- yes, sir, it's okay."
There's a surrounding sound of approval, and Soap smirks from where he stands beside your hips. "Sir, aye? Like the sound of that."
With that, his finger slides down your pussy, and your eyes shut with a soft moan. His hands are rough, scarred, calloused from years of work on the field, and they're so much larger than your own.
"Think she likes it, sir," Ghost says, taunting Soap, whose eyes are completely transfixed on your glistening pussy.
"Not the only one," Price says with an approving murmur, his hand tightening around your wrists. The sense of powerlessness has you aching with desire.
Soap's finger continues to rub against your slit, not breaching your entrance, instead continuing to tease and amplify his touch. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at the mess you're likely causing on the fabric, and too nervous to see the expression on the men's faces.
"Do you play with your lil cunt often, princess?" Ghost says, voice darkened with lust.
Your face feels like it's burning, but you nod. "Sometimes. I -- ah," you break off with a moan as Soap's thumb presses against your swollen clit.
"Be a good girl and answer when spoken to, love," Gaz says with a sound of disappointment that has you aching to amend your mistake.
"I'm sorry, sir, I, yes. Sometimes 'm just needing to, um, y'know..." You trail off, trying to preserve any amounts of dignity you had left. You were aware that masturbation was normal, but you'd never discussed it with a single soul, and talking about it felt like laying your soul bare.
Price's other hand moves to gently brush your hair from your face, the gesture so at odds with Soap's sensual movements.
You're about to say something, what, you aren't exactly sure, when Soap's finger roughly enters your soaked pussy. A loud whimper escapes your lips at the sudden intrusion, and the sheer size difference of his finger compared to your own.
"Aww, baby, it's alright," Soap coos, and it's so fucking condescending. It's cruel, almost, as if you're so dumb that you can't even form your own thoughts.
Which is, honestly, more true than you're willing to admit.
"'Atta girl," Ghost groans when your whimpers only increase with every thrust of Soap's finger.
Gaz's hand moves down to replace Soap's thumb on your clit, using the pads of his fingers to roughly circle around it. That sensation, mixed with Soap's intrusion, has your back arching slightly from the couch.
"Think she's close, Cap," Gaz says, conversationally, again treating you like you're not entirely capable of voicing your own feelings or thoughts.
"Mm, that right, sweetheart? Close already?" Price echoes, the hand not around your wrists going to squish your cheeks together, causing your lips to pucker. "What a pathetic girl, hm?"
Those words, those demeaning, humiliating words, only stoke the fire in your stomach, and your eyes burn with unshed tears as you shakily nod.
As soon as you do, however, Gaz pulls away, and Soap's finger leaves your pussy entirely. You groan, eyes opening slightly to see what could've possibly caused them to stop.
"You look so upset, baby," Soap laughs, and his smile is no longer the jovial one it had been mere minutes before -- no, it's been replaced with something much more predatory, something much more dangerous.
Dangerous men.
Ghost moves, then, moving your legs with much more care than you'd expected from the large man, before moving to kneel at the end of the couch where your legs had been. Hooking your knees over his shoulder, he effectively folds you in half.
"W-what are you doing?" You ask, almost frantic, utterly confused at your current state.
He leans down, hooking his balaclava over the tip of his nose, before there's searing wet heat at your core, causing you to throw your head back with a loud moan.
Gaz chuckles, "So dirty, love. Like having the big bad Ghost with his head between your legs, huh? Like having the attention of men with blood on their hands?"
Oh, and the confirmation -- the proper, hard proof, that they killed, that they truly were as dangerous as your father had said --
"Yes, fuck, please, oh my god," you ramble, almost incoherent with your words as you body trembles with the feeling of a mouth at your pussy. "Jesus, don't stop."
You can hear laughter around you, some words being passed between the men, but your focus is entirely on the tongue dipping into your folds, licking at your essence like a man starved. Like you're his only salvation.
Soap's hand is in Ghost's hair, a complete parallel to the kiss the two of you had shared, and he's pushing Ghost further against you, manhandling him like a toy for you to grind against, for you to take advantage of.
"I'm gonna, oh, please, I'm close," you cry out, eyes squeezed shut yet again as Ghost's ministrations only double in enthusiasm.
"Yeah, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over his face? Go on, ride it, there we go," Price eggs you on, his hand patting down your hair, massaging at your scalp as you lose yourself to the pleasure of it all.
You cum with a desperate keen, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you ride out the high, embracing this moment for the beauty it is.
It doesn't hit you, not at first, the full extent of your actions.
Ghost pulls away after your whimpers turn into ones of overstimulation, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, your twitching pussy, and then your inner knee as he carefully sets your legs back down on the couch.
"Such a good girl, aye?" Soap asks, rubbing at your tense calves with expert strokes and pressure. "Did so well for us, darlin'."
Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, and your mouth is in a similar state as you nod dazedly.
You're not sure when, but at some point, Price gently moves you to lay your back against the cushion of the couch. "Need you to drink something for us, sweetheart, okay?"
Gods, this part? Them treating you like a princess, like you're something worthy of taking care of, it's almost as good as the orgasm they'd given you.
Gaz comes into view with a glass of water, and when he gently moves your chin to open your mouth, you let him pour it down your throat.
It feels almost like you're entirely too weak to do anything by yourself, like your ability to function has been completely removed by these men. It's intoxicating, the kind of feeling that could be as addictive as the most threatening of drugs.
The water slides down your throat, and it's as if it cools you from the inside out, your heartbeat slowly coming down from the quickened pace it was previously at.
Price picks you up, cradling your head to his chest as he sits down, the other three settling down on the couch as well. Gaz, sitting beside Price, moves your legs to sit over his lap, your feet in Soap's. Ghost sits to Soap's left, his eyes focused on you as you get comfortable, burrowing your head closer to Price.
If you could stay in this moment forever, you think that you'll be a very happy woman.
Closing your eyes, you drift into a space between sleep and awareness, and when they flutter open again, you realise that your previously exposed pussy and legs are now hidden by your sweatpants that had been laid on your bed, ready to be put away.
Price's hand is in your hair, softly playing with the strands. His hand encompasses your entire scalp, almost, and if you weren't completely exhausted, that fact alone would have you ready to get on your knees.
"What're we gonna do?" Gaz whispers, and you realise with a start that they must all think you're still dozing. "I mean, we seriously fucked this up."
"Not yet we haven't," Ghost interrupts, voice still gravelly and low, but with a hint of warmth. "This doesn't change anything."
"This changes everything!" Soap hisses back, incredulous, his hands stilling from where they were rubbing into your feet with practiced movements. Were they all trained masseuses, or something?
No. Trained killers, your mind unhelpfully supplies, and a chill runs down your spine.
Oh god. Oh god. What had you done? Seriously, what the actual fuck had you done? You just.
You just lost your virginity to four of your father's very lethal, very dangerous friends. Friends who are nearly twice your age, at that.
Oh. God.
"Laswell will be expecting correspondence by three," Price mutters in a voice akin to a whisper. "You boys know what we have to do."
What? What were they talking about? Who was Laswell? What did they have to do by three?
Your mind whirrs, like a hamster in a wheel, before the sound of keys jingling on the other side of your front door has your entire body freezing.
Oh god.
Oh. God.
"Shit," Gaz grumbles, and between one thought and the next, you've been bundled up into a warm chest, the movement fluid and shockingly quick. A hand at the base of skull softly pushes your head against a warm neck, and your legs hang over a muscled arm. "I'll take her upstairs. Be quiet and quick."
There's murmurs too quiet between the other three as you're taken up the stairs, two steps at a time, by the man whose fingers had been on your pussy, at most, only an hour ago.
You're aware that you've been taken to your room when the door clicks behind you, the familiar path to it engrained in your memory, even with your eyes closed and in someone else's arms.
The smell of vanilla and caramel is a comforting and familiar one, and you realise that you'd left your candle burning all night.
It's really the least of your worries, but that thought manages to snag at your conscious like an annoying fly.
"I'm so sorry, kid," Gaz whispers, gently laying you down underneath your bedsheets, before pulling them up and over your lazed form. "I'll try my best to talk some sense into 'em."
You're not sure what he could possible mean -- what the fuck was even happening, what your life was even becoming, but his words are nothing if not sincere.
His tone is almost... apologetic, in a way, and you reserve that thought for later. When you're not pretending to be awake, when you're still not slightly out of it from your first orgasm caused by someone else, when you're not in the middle of the worst moral conflict of your life.
Your window's slightly open, allowing a soft breeze to brush over your still slightly heated skin as Gaz presses a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back.
"Get off me!"
Your father. That's your father's voice, and it sounds panicked, angry -- not unusual, but still, the cause of it was nearly always you.
And those specific words, what --
"Y'know, Laswell found out somethin' pretty interestin' the other day," a voice that you recognise as Ghost's says, tone mocking interest.
Gaz moves away from you, before going to the window and looking out at whatever scene is happening down there. Somehow, he hasn't realised you're not asleep -- you'd kept your breathing pattern the same as it usually was when you're asleep, some youtube video you'd watched months ago finally coming in handy.
You can hear them all clear as day through the small opening of the window, and Gaz can too.
"Aye. Somethin' 'bout some info bein' leaked," Soap continues Ghost's train of thought, and you're so lost it's almost pathetic.
But, you continue to listen, desperate for any source of understanding for whatever the fuck was happening down there.
"You can't possibly think it was me!" Your father yells, his voice full of venom and rage. To have it not be directed at you is a rare moment, and you allow yourself a small breath of reprieve.
"We know it was you," Price says, before sighing loud enough for it to be heard from your room. "The way you spoke about that kid of yours was enough to cement the idea."
"She's a fuckin' waste of space, and where do you get off on caring how I treat my kid? Has nothin' to do with the job!"
Those words hurt. Like an actual, physical wound, almost.
Gaz swears under his breath, and you can feel the tension ooze out of him like a wave. It's... oddly comforting.
There's the sound of a fist hitting a jaw, and it takes everything in you not to race to the window and look at what's going on yourself.
"Jesus fucking christ!" Your father hisses, and you put two and two together. One of the three men down there had punched him -- if you had to take a guess, it was Ghost.
"You've never been one of us, and you'll never be one of us. You sellin' us out was the last straw, mate," Soap snarls. You can hear him spit on the ground, before another sound of fists flying makes your heart race.
There's a moment of silence, until two things happen in the span of five seconds.
First, your father screams, "Please! Don't --"
And then...
A bullet.
The sound of a trigger being pulled.
The sound of a bullet ringing through the air.
The sound of a final breath.
Your eyes fly wide, and you immediately stumble out of bed.
Gaz's gaze meets yours, and there's nothing but apology in them. No guilt, just apology.
He doesn't stop you from looking out the window, where your father's body lays in the grass, blood leaking from the wound now sitting between his eyes.
And when you turn to him, he doesn't stop you as you land a punch to his jaw.
a/n. CROSS-POSTED TO AO3 ummm so did i PLAN for this to become an actual fic? no. not in the slightest. but i was writing the fingering bit and was like. what if her dad died? and there's an actual plot? so uhhh here we are! anyways hope yall enjoyedddd if u guys know me u know polyamory is my SHIT so there will very likely be more poly!tf141 x reader to come. ty for reading mwah mwah mwah
Price with a big ol’ breeding kink. Just this man desperately fucking and trying to knock up his younger girlfriend/wife because he wants to see her happy because she wants to have a baby with him. Who knows, he’s probably addicted to rawdawging her pussy in the end.
(fem!reader, mdni 18+)
*correct ding sound* this is like the only price i'll take. why is it always the leaders of groups in a fandom who have a breeding/daddy kink lmfao? i want to study why that is. but they're the experts here. firm believer that price has his degree in pussy
i think that price doesn't really know he has a breeding kink until the moment of. always too busy to properly think and plan for a family. he's always wanted one, don't get me wrong. but he's just so unaware of how it affects him right until he has you sprawled out for him and he's balls deep in your pussy.
been telling him about how you saw a cute baby the other day, showed him pictures of you holding it. and when he asked you if you wanted kids, you said yes. and when he looks at your eyes he knows it's over for him. because you wanted one so bad, and he promised his girl he'll give her anything no matter what he wants. you want a baby? you're getting one.
so he's got you all sprawled out beneath him and pounding so deep into your pussy. he's grunting with effort as he makes sure to go as far as he can, hips slamming against yours and basically pushing you higher on the bed. it's brutal. the way he just fucks into you as he can feel you squirming underneath him and crying out from the way his cock messily grinds into you? he's so obsessed with the sight. loves the way you try to grab onto anything as he fucks you raw.
whispers things into you like "oh my girl, you want my babies that badly, hm? how many y'gonna give me? two? three? a whole squad, eh?" doesn't even realize stuff like that's slipping out of his mouth. all he can think about is knocking you up. so that way the world can see that he's fully claimed you. that it's him who gets to fuck you so nicely.
and when he finally cums inside? that's it, game over for him. because once he feels the way his own cum drools into your pussy and around his thick cock, he knows he can't get enough of that feeling. when he draws back and sees the creamy essence around his shaft since he came so much, and the way his cum dribbles out from your thighs? he just has to push it back in. collects the cum onto his tip and mixes it around your pussy. loves the way you shiver from the sensitivity when he drags it over your clit.
whispers things like "my sweet wife. mm, gonna turn you into the mother of my kids. gonna take it, gonna take it all." before he slowly inserts his cock back into you. makes sure to try to push his seed even further into you. it's slow, like he doesn't mean to start fucking you again. just needs to make sure it all stays inside. but he can't get enough of the feeling and starts moving his hips faster, gripping onto you tighter and groaning out.
and it's not that long before he starts going at it again.
do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere (reblogs welcome!)
Rating: E
Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost x Soap || 141 x gn!Reader
Words: 2.1K~
cw: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, protected sex, ejaculation, voyeurism (in person and digital).
Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?
a/n: he's their (under)boss for a reason.
My dumbass was in such a hurry I forgot to tag my lovely @mothymunson who encouraged me to write this when I was lost where to fit it + gave me extra ideas for the dynamic! 🫶
Chapter 20: Control
It’s been two weeks since that lazy Sunday you spent with Johnny. He had to leave in a hurry, departing on a mission, unable to tell you where he’d be going or when he’d be back…
Simon and Kyle were already on a mission of their own by Sunday so… You’ve spent these last two weeks alone.
It’s been quiet without them… And frankly… a bit lonely.
You used to like having time to yourself after the break-up… But now?
You’ve been with Leah and Mia for dinner a couple times… And although you love your girlfriends, and enjoyed yourself greatly while gossiping with them (and my, my, did you gossip) you find yourself missing Simon, Kyle and Johnny.
It’s 5:30 P.M. on Wednesday and you’re in your kitchen, making something quick for dinner, when there’s a knock on your door.
Eyes squinting in surprise at the lack of expected guests, you immediately think the worst. It’s Ethan. It’s Ethan and he’s pissed that Johnny and Simon fucked him up and he’s here for revenge and you’re alone and-
“Sweetheart, it’s me.” Simon’s voice from the other side of the door relaxes you and you rush across the sitting room and pull open the door.
“Bloody hell, you spooked me!” You say softly as you look up at him. He’s still in full gear and slightly out of breath, as if he ran over to your house the moment he landed on base.
“Hi!” You greet as he pulls off his mask and wraps his arms around you. He steps inside, making you step back with him as he spins you and kisses you, closing the door behind him.
You feel him guide you over to the living room couch and lower you onto it, making you squeal and giggle in surprise. “Simon!” You’re able to murmur as he lowers himself atop of you.
“Missed you… missed you…” He grumbles as he kisses you again, one of his hands on your hip, the other supporting his weight on the throw pillows by your head.
“Missed you too…” You admit, causing him to groan under his breath. His fingers find the straps that hold his vest in place and he quickly undoes them and takes it off, dropping it haphazardly on the floor next to you.
“Simon…” You whisper before he captures your mouth with his again, his tongue finding yours and making you moan. Oh, how you’ve missed him… Your hands trail down his chest and arms, unzipping his fleece jacket and he allows you to take it off him, leaving him in a black t-shirt underneath.
Your hands trail down lower, finding the utility belt at his waist. Your fingers just barely graze the thick, hard bulge in his cargo pants as you try to undo his belt, but one of his hand sharply stops you by gripping your wrist with three fingers.
You pull back from the kiss, the two of you out of breath. Your eyebrows are lowered in concern and your eyes softened. “What?” You asked him softly.
“I’m not-” He trailed off for a moment and huffed before burying his face in your neck. “Not ready for that.” He told you softly. “My body isn’t… I don’t want you to…”
“Oh…” You said, a bit surprised. You had noticed his reaction had been the same he used to have whenever you touched his mask in the past… And if back then you didn’t probe, you certainly wouldn’t now. “Okay.” You told him.
“Can we just…” He trailed off and slowly grabbed your waist with his hand, grinding his crotch lightly against yours. It jostled you a bit and you bit your lip.
“Yeah… we can dry-hump, Simon…” You told him in a reassuring tone, which only made him groan again and hump against you once more.
You wrapped your arms around his shoulder and neck as he fixed his grip on you and rubbed his bulge against your body in the thin lounge pants you had changed into after work.
Just as you’re just starting to kiss again, with Simon murmuring more sweet nothings of how much he missed you, there’s a new knocking on the door. Simon groaned in complaint and buried his face in your neck again.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell… He’s fast.” Simon grumbled and pushed up to his feet, sliding off you and helping you sit up.
“Who…?” You asked, a bit light-headed from the intense make-out session.
“Kyle.” He complained as he fixed his bulge in his pants with his hand, while waddling his way over to the door and throwing it open.
“You sneaky bastard.” Kyle said to Simon and pointed a finger at him while coming into the flat.
“Hi, Kyle…” You said softly, receiving a ‘Hi, lovie’ in response as he took off his shoes.
Kyle’s also out of breath but, unlike Simon, he’s changed clothes. “Guess what, Simon here waited until I got in the shower before he ran off to come see you. Left me stranded back at base!”
You can’t help but giggle as Simon’s scarred mouth morphs into a smug, proud-of-himself smirk. “Oops.” He said.
Kyle gave the two of a you a once over. “Ah… I see. Someone was… eager, huh?” He teases and uses his chin to point at the obvious bulge in Simon’s pants.
The younger man moves over to the couch and stands behind it before kissing you on the lips just as hard as Simon did, taking your breath away and making your shoulders sag as you sigh in delight at the feeling of his warm mouth on yours.
Pulling back, Kyle licks his lips and winks at you. “Good thing I got here when I did, hm?” He teases and looks at Simon before returning his gaze to you. “Now we can really get the party started…” He adds.
-
“Oh… Oh, fuck…” You whine at the top of your lungs, your eyes rolling back with each thrust inside of you.
Kyle’s lying on the bed under you, his thighs spread as he has you in a full nelson. His hands hold you behind your neck, fingers intertwined, your knees hooked up on his forearms to keep you spread open.
Kyle’s big. Really big. More than you expected. Considering the only points of comparison you’ve got are John and Ethan… It’s not like either of them was exactly small, but Kyle’s constantly bottoming out inside you without having to throw his whole weight into it. He’s also perfect shaved, not an inch of hair on him… anywhere. Other than his face, of course.
Your bodies are slick with sweat and your moans and his grunts and groans echo in the bedroom. You can barely keep your eyes open and if it weren’t the fact Simon in your field of view, you’d have given up altogether.
Simon’s sitting across from you and Kyle, having cleared your clothes’ chair and taken a seat in it, watching you and Kyle with keen eyes… His large, rough hand is wrapped around his own cock, a long one, the tip red and angry. He strokes it slowly, almost lazily, as he watches you get properly fucked by Kyle.
Unlike John (and Johnny, as you found out during your bath), Simon and Kyle are both cut… And Simon has something that you didn’t expect. Piercings. A Jacob’s ladder, you’re pretty sure it’s called. Four barbells stacked on the underside of his shaft, which he only leaves visible for a few seconds every time his fingers uncover it.
Considering Kyle’s stayed quiet about it, you’re pretty sure he hasn’t spotted them, either from having his own eyes closed, or because you’re in the way. Either way, you don’t mind it, at all, that you get the view all to yourself, even for just a second.
The sight of Simon sat there, legs spread, his cock on display, his big hands and strong arms moving slowly as he watches you and Kyle is an amazing one… And hearing Kyle losing his mind behind you, too into the moment to succeed at any amount of dirty talk or at saying anything coherent just makes it better.
“Fuck… Yeah… Fuck… You feel… Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell…” Kyle grunts behind you as he keeps rocking his hips against your ass, making sure to plunge hard and deep inside you, not giving you time to breath before he’s bottoming out again, the pace unforgivingly fast.
You watch closely as Simon stops for a moment and shifts around on the chair he’s sitting on before pulling out his phone. He lets out a chuckle as he looks at the screen, then, he fidgets around with it for a moment, texting someone.
It’s barely a minute later when you hear the signature sound of a FaceTime call blasting from the phone’s speakers. Simon accepts it and aims the back camera at you and Kyle.
“Say hi to Johnny, sweetheart.” Simon demands, his tone surprisingly bossy, as he goes back to stroking his large cock.
“H-Hi, Johnny…!” You whine aloud, just barely able to speak without melting, your mind slowly emptying of all thoughts beside the feeling of Kyle inside you and Simon masturbating across from you.
Your breath is ragged as Kyle speeds up his thrusts even more, his grip on the back of your neck tightening and tensing up, his hips moving so erratically that it makes you squeal louder. “Kyle! OH FUCK!” You whine, eyes rolling back and your face wincing lightly from desperation.
“Slow down, Kyle.” Simon demands. “Slow and deep.” He adds. You hear Kyle grunt and he murmurs something incomprehensible in response as he does what he’s told. His motions slow and become more paced and calm as Kyle himself tenses up underneath you.
You notice how Kyle’s thighs tense up, his veins bulging and throbbing as he controls himself not to squirm, clearly trying his best not to lose it and to obey what Simon says.
“Mmm… that’s it… That’s it…” Simon praises, his eyes going back and forth between the sight of you and Kyle, and Johnny on his phone. “Nice and slow, Kyle…” He continues saying.
Kyle quakes underneath you, his breath getting a bit more ragged and you swear you hear him gulp down as he tries to be good for Simon and for you.
“Johnny’s enjoying it, aren’t you, Johnny?” He speaks to the phone. You can’t hear the reply from the Scot, but considering how Simon’s chuckling, the answer seems to be a yes.
“Simon… Fuck…” Kyle grunts. “This is… t-torture!” He’s able to get out, his thighs twitching and his arms tightening their hold on the back of your legs. “I’m going to- Fuck!” He grunts.
“Go on, pretty boy.” Simon teases. Something about the look in his eye, the little mischievous smirk on his lips… God, for someone who’s afraid of being touched, he sure knows what the fuck he’s doing… It’s almost intoxicating, the way he’s exerting control on everyone in the room and even Johnny over the phone.
You can feel the knot in your stomach tightening more and more as you experience all these feelings at once, your mind steadily clearing of any thoughts other than the prickling of stars in the corner of your eyes and the heat increasing more and more.
“Aaah-” Kyle hisses as he keeps moving slowly and deeply, gritting his teeth behind your back and huffing through his nose with barely restricted euphoria. “Fuck… Fuck…” He grunts.
“F-FUCK!” His voice shouting as he loses his composure and buries himself to the hilt inside you with a sharp motion of his hips… and another… and another… Completely disregarding Simon’s commands to go slow… And it makes your eyes roll as your orgasm hits, causing you to shudder and twitch…
But, instead of moaning his name, you find yourself moaning Simon’s, your head unable to dip back due to Kyle’s grip on it, and forcing you to stare right at Simon as you fall over the edge of your climax.
Behind you, Kyle is losing his own mind, spilling his come in the confines of the condom… And you watch through a lidded, barely-aware gaze, as after a few more strokes, Simon’s cock throbs and twitches… before a few ropes of cum shoot in quick succession all over his lower stomach, which he had the presence of mind to lift his t-shirt out of.
The bedroom falls into complete silence as Kyle pulls out and slowly lets go of you, carefully helping get you out of the strained position that’ll likely leave your legs and joints sore the next few days.
“Good job...” Simon breaks the silence as he tries to catch his breath, his head dipped back against the wall behind him, his eyes lazily trailing the sight of you and Kyle on the bed, and then back to Johnny on the phone.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell…” You can finally hear Johnny speak through the speakers now that the room is silent. “You lot better repeat that when I’m not overseas and can join in…!” He quips, drawing laughter out of all of you.