Hunter is the oldest of his brothers by the manner of minutes, but that is a fact he cannot forget. He takes this arbitrary responsibility seriously, using his senses and street smarts to protect his family. His Whānau. Thus, the death of their parents weighed on his heart the heaviest. As the son of New Zealand immigrants but born and raised in the Bronx, he struggled to maintain his family’s identity as he took the role of their new leader.
Upon being drafted in 1942 (along with the rest of his brothers), he was forced to leave his baby sister, Omega, behind. She was the person he felt most obligated to protect, and now a forced duty came in between them. His loyalty to his family proved he was the natural fit for Sargent when Captain Rex pulled the four brothers into the 99th OSS, also known as The Bad Batch. They were a specialized team tasked with specialized missions, receiving orders directly from General Skywalker. Hunter lead the team to many successes, but his greatest accomplishment was bringing his brothers home safe when the war ended.
Civilian life was an adjustment after that. With Omega as his priority, he opted for a part time position as a cook at the Copacabana. This allowed him to spend time with his sister by day, and be surrounded by his brothers at night. A part of their team once again.
High quality art images, references, and taglist under the cut! ~
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18+ MDNI i'm ovulating! :: simon riley x fem!reader
ever since you and your husband, simon, decided to have children, you've been on each other nonstop, fucking on every surface in the house and knocking over several expensive items while lost in the heat of the moment. doesn't matter. he'll replace them with the ungodly amount of money he has in his account.
he'd bend you over the counter every time he finds you in the kitchen cooking, a thin sundress hugging all your delicious curves just right, images of your swollen belly flooding his mind, full and round with his seed. the food is forgotten every single time. only you and putting a baby in you on his mind.
he'd fold you in half when you're in bed reading, wearing only a tank top that gives him easy access to your tits and leaves your belly exposed and a pair of shorts that accentuates your perky ass. he'd tear them off you and put your legs over his shoulders as he splits you wide open for him.
he finds you absolutely irresistible in every state. you know it as a fact. it bleeds over in his every word and action. yet it doesn't make your worries go away. still, your mind wanders. would he ever get tired?
you push the thoughts away. a feral need bubbling inside you as you think about your husband, his scarred lips on your hot skin, bulky weight pressing you into the mattress as his burly arms cage your body beneath him, broad shoulders holding your legs beside your ears, a large rough hand wrapped around your throat while he's buried to the hilt inside you.
you're ovulating. and you need him right now. so you call him. "si, i need you." and he's on his way. doesn't matter that he's on base in an important meeting. he's leaving right away, ignoring price's shouts of protest. he'll understand when simon tells him later. his wife needs him. and there's nothing more important than that.
you're pouncing on him as soon as he walks through the door. he catches you with ease as you wrap your legs around his waist, kissing him with an untamed desperation.
"sorry, si. i know it was important—"
"doesn't matter, love."
"by the way, i'm ovulating."
"bloody hell, woman. lead with that next time."
immediately, your mouths are on each other, lips and tongues latching onto one another, kissing, nipping, biting every part of skin you can find, covering in saliva and marking each other, hot and heavy, your hands moving desperately across the other's body to grab every piece of flesh.
you're discarding each other's clothes when you mention it. breathing shakily as your movements subside, looking away from his intense eyes, you finally tell him.
"si, i'm worried that it becomes a chore."
he stops.
looking you over, an expression of utter disbelief takes over his face.
"a chore?" he finally speaks, voice laced with subtle mockery.
you look into his eyes for a moment, only to shy away again and look down.
he guides you to lay back on the bed as he hovers above you.
leaning in, dangerously close, his lips graze yours. he grabs your jaw to make you look at him, eyes darkened as he speaks in a deep voice.
"you think fuckin my wife is a chore for me?"
you don't dare to respond.
his lips capture yours briefly, only to slide down to your jaw, then your neck, coating your skin in a string of saliva as he glides down to your collarbone, tracing its line with his lips as his hands find your breasts, squeezing as if it's a warning to your previous words, his calloused skin a delicious contrast on your silky smooth one that makes you go wild. his lips wrap around your hard nipples, sucking and licking as you moan softly for him. he chuckles at your reaction, causing heat to spread across your cheeks.
he grabs your hips, kissing your exposed belly and covering the expanse of it with his hand, gently touching as he thinks about filling you up, all soft and swollen with his seed growing inside you. his hard cock throbs at the mere thought of it, dripping precum onto the sheets as his hips jerk forward involuntarily and he humps the mattress.
his lips reach your mound and he stops just above your slit, lifting himself up on his hands. his adoring eyes marvel at your beauty, drinking in the literal work of art splayed out before him. his pupils are blown out, eyes completely black as he looks at you and leans in, rough fingertips sliding up and down your wet slit, spreading your arousal along your folds.
"you think i'd ever get tired of this pussy?"
you gulp audibly. his hot breath fanning against your lips, he cups your pussy with one large hand, his middle finger sliding through your folds and teasing your entrance.
you gasp. "please, si..."
you grasp his shoulders in a desperate hold as he goes on teasing you.
"please what, darling?"
a sly smirk spreads across his face, only adding to your frustration.
"please. i need you inside me, si." you beg, "please, si. need your cock so bad."
in that moment, he thinks you're the most beautiful you've ever been, pleading so sweetly for him, sprawled out beneath him like an offering, all for him to take.
his lips are on yours in an instant, spreading your legs further apart and pushing your knees to your chest before propping them over his shoulders.
he slides into you so easily, your soaking wet pussy ready to take him in, thick throbbing cock splitting your needy cunt open. his lips never leave yours as he lets out a groan into your mouth, mixing with your whiny moans as you're all stretched out by his fat cock.
"fuck! look at this greedy pussy," he breathes in between kisses, bottoming out inside you, "so fuckin wet and desperate for me."
giving you no time to adjust, he starts thrusting in and out ferociously, yet with the meticulous precision of a man on a mission.
"fuckin swallowing me whole, baby." he grunts, "like you were made for me."
his relentless assault on your needy cunt leaves no room for you to breathe, only choked out moans slipping through your lips.
"fuuuck, siiii.... ahhh—"
"fuckin pussy was made for me." he groans in your ear, "made for me to fuck. all mine. forever."
his strong hips slam into you, heavy balls slapping your ass repeatedly as your wet pussy squelches to accommodate his hefty size. the obscene sound echoing through the room.
"gonna breed this pretty pussy, love." he hisses, "so fuckin tight f’me. so, so lovely. "
your hands run across his muscular back and biceps, nails raking over his skin as you lose your mind entirely in an overwhelming state of bliss.
you're a fucked out mess, your hair splayed all over the pillows, skin dampened with beads of sweat, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and mouth falling agape with broken moans as your husband ruins you.
"fuckin look at you, love." he says, " you're so fuckin beautiful."
"siii, please— ahh..."
"i know, baby. i know. let it out. let me hear you."
of course you obey, letting him hear your desperate moans as you beg him to fill you up.
"you think i'd ever get tired of this?" he says, delivering a particularly sharp thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs, "think again, sweetheart."
he reaches over, large hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding in a secure grip. his eyes are fixated on yours, darkened with lust, yet filled with an unspoken sincerity.
"tell me what you want, love. want me to breed you? huh?"
"yes— yesss plsss sii ahh— fill me up... breed me"
a familiar sensation starts approaching, a tightness coiling inside your belly, your moans and whimpers turning higher, walls growing tighter around him, signaling him that you're close.
"let go for me, baby. cum on my cock."
he's fucking you so vigorously your head spins wildly, fat tip reaching far deep inside you and slapping against your spongy cervix over and over again.
in less than a moment, you're flooded with an all-consuming sense of pure ecstasy, screaming his name as your muscles convulse and shake beneath him, your soaked cunt clamping down on him and creaming around his shaft.
"that's it, love. give it to me. good girl." he groans, "so fuckin tight, baby... ahh— gonna milk me dry."
his thrusts turn faster and shallow as he reaches his peak. he holds your trembling body tighter and fucks you through your high as his own orgasm approaches. a deep growl escapes his throat as he empties his balls inside you. it's filthy how much he cums. loads and loads of thick white cum painting your womb, his seed filling you up to the brim, plugged up by his cock still seated inside you. and he hopes that it will finally take this time.
Simon with a preme baby. You went into labor three months early, and your baby girl was whisked away into an incubator. Hooked up to machines that made Simon's stomach turn. You were exhausted, hand holding his loosely whenever you were somewhat conscious.
He watches baby girl as the days pass. She's covered in a thin layer of blonde hair, something to "keep her warm," the nurse had said.
"Some babies are born hairy, but it starts to fall out as they get older." She assured as she changed baby girl into a fresh diaper. "She's stable enough for you to reach inside, if you want." Simon was on his feet in seconds.
He washes his hands, puts on hand sanitizer, then washes his hands again. He couldn't live with himself if he got her sick. He places his finger gingerly in the palm of her hand, admiring just how small she was compared to him. She grips his finger in a tight vice grip that surprises him, a coo bursting from her as she holds him.
"You're my daughter, alright... You're fighting so hard, baby girl. Papa's here."
You’ve lived in the flat next door to John Price for nearly a month now.
You don’t know much about him at all, when he introduced himself you learned he was an ex-soldier recently turned firefighter.
Other than that you’d only really exchanged names and small talk.
Price is woken up to loud banging on his door, having dozed off on the couch during a football match he didn’t really care about.
He rubs his eyes, grumbling like a very tired bear, as he opens the door.
He’s suddenly very awake as he comes to terms with what is in front of him. You’re stood there holding what can only be described as a saucepan of fire.
You just stand there holding it, looking up at him in visible panic, until his brain finally kicks into gear and he takes it from you.
He brings the pan into his house, sets it on the kitchen floor, wets a cloth, and covers it.
Before you can thank him he starts a half an hour rant about fire safety, sitting you on his sofa and pacing the living room in front of you.
While you would like to say you were listening and reflecting on your actions, he had decided to sleep in a pair of grey sweatpants and no t-shirt.
Eventually he catches onto the fact your eyes don’t leave his chest and waist and just stands in front of you, arms crossed, frowning.
“Fire safety is serious.”
You just nod along, silently planning what else you can safely set on fire.
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simon riley would never admit it out loud, but really he's a simple man when it comes to you. the little things make him happy.
like the short nightdresses you wear in the summer months.
soft silk that moves through his fingers like melted butter. the lace trims that frame the plush flesh of your tits. the way fabric clings around your hips as you move; slips up over your thighs when you climb out of bed to make the first cup of tea of the morning.
but the best part? you never wear underwear with them. so when you get too warm in the night, push the covers off, and roll onto your side - your nightdress riding up - he gets the most perfect view of your ass."
and if he's lucky, a little peek of your cunt too.
Unbeknownst to most, Phillip Graves is not the worst ex husband in the world.
Not the best, but the man is just shy of a B.
Theres not a doubt in his mind that he loved you, he still loves you. But sometimes love can be a little messy, adding a little too much over protectiveness with small hints of jealousy and maybe it just wasn’t the right time.
Co parenting isn’t a issue for him, doesn’t need to be asked twice about doctors visits, or the little graduation ceremony held at the end of the year for your one year old who hasn’t a clue what’s going on at day care. He’s recording the milestones and sending them to you when he’s not deployed, asking to hear the babies voice when he’s is— hell, the man is still paying your bills in the house he left for you and your baby even though you told him not to.
It’s when you bring a new man around, old habits don’t die soon. Phillip Graves doesn’t mind arguments in the parking lot at the meeting place, or sizing up the first guy you tried to bring around wip just couldn’t handle the intimidation from Graves, randomly popping up to your house with the key he still has to see if the ‘cameras still work’ or the ‘drain is clogging right’ just as you’re about to make out with the person you were dating.
The bastard.
Today’s no different, the southern man actually approved of the guy you’re seeing for once. Didn’t put up a fight, had a look in his blue eyes you just couldn’t read. A tension in his shoulders when he picked up your baby for his last couple of days before deploying, ‘oh, this might actually be the end of it.’
But after two months, all he wants to see if you and your kid. Hear the rabbles and babbles of your beautiful child you created while you smile and go through all the pics he’s missed out on. But today is quiet, babies down for a nap, Phillip can hear the rustling of laundry upstairs, the tv low to some show with 7 seasons. You’re pretty when his eyes land on you after making it upstairs, curls in two low ponytails, small hoops in your peircings, plain violet mid sleeve tee shirt that just compliments you so well, jeans that hug every curve on you just the way he likes. Mouth watering.
He gives the open door to your bedroom a knock. “Hey sweetheart.”
You try your bed to smile, but it’s meek, “Hi Graves, welcome back.”
Graves blue eyes wash over you, gh way you keep shifting on your feet, a little drained, “What’s wrong honey? You alright?”
You couldn’t hide it even if you tried, “Me at that guy I was dating broke up.”
He leans against the dresser, turning the volume lower on the tv, he takes it in, nodding, “Huh.” But now the question is, why would anyone on gods given earth want to break up with a prize like you? He feels his jaw lock, “Can you tell me what happened or was it just some bullshit.”
A bit of both.
You sigh, “He couldn’t fathom that I would put our child before him. And when I told him he should rethink it, he tried pinning it on me. That I could leave the baby with you—“ you take a frustrated deep breath out. Putting your energy into folding the pile of clothes on your bed. It shouldn’t be so heavy on your mind- but it’s gnawing at you. Irritated you that someone felt entitled like that, even if you’d only been dating him seriously for 4 months. Phillip would never think like that—
“I bet you’re happy it ended though right?” You try to laugh it off, eyes finally meeting his. And he’s got so much a soft look on his face when he looks at you, but it’s disgruntled, eyebrows knitted together, leaning against the dresser with his arms folded over his chest.
“Why would I ever want you t’be unhappy [+]?” Says it as if it’s a curse. The whole thing below him.
“Doesn’t matter that we’ve fought like cats ‘nd fuckin dogs, ‘nd broke my fuckin hard slidin me divorce papers— maybe I fuckin needed it t’ open my eyes.” And Graves slowly crosses the room towards you. “But I’ve always wanted what’s best for you and our kid, that aint ever gonna chance ‘long as I’m alive. You and the baby come first, doesn’t matter what’s going on. That includes making sure yer done right by even if it ain’t from me. I’ll knock the fuckin lights out that bastard or anybody else over you darlin, that clear?”
You nod, butterflies swarming in your stomach just as they’ve always have. Graves hand found itself low on your back, other hand lifting your chin.
“Good,” his thumb runs over you plump lips, planting a much needed one on them. Gentle, warm, Phillip pulls away, back of his knuckles rubbing up and down your back. “How ‘bout we take it easy, stay together as a family. Put on some Pixar movie, get all the snack ya like, cuddle up close. Just like we used t’, huh?”
You’re breathless, mind hazed over you can’t help but give him a, “yes.”
Almost as if the military man had planned, your babies cries fill your ears from the monitor and not too far down the hall.
Graves gives you that classic charming smile, “You finish this up, I’ll get the baby changed.”
It’s so easy for things to fall into place, easier when you force them too.
Maybe if Graves had known how perfect you’d fall back into his arms, he would’ve sent a stupid bastard who didn’t deserve you your way sooner.
a/n: graves is fvcked but he’s my fvcked up southern man.
I think about mean!Simon not wanting you to leave his place after staying at his place for too so long.
He’s very good at playing house with you, from cooking dinner and you washing dishes, hours spent in his arms and laughing at his corny jokes, trying your best to kick him out the bathroom while you go to the bathroom or do your hair. Your little conversations to yourself as he passes the room you might be in, finding you blasting music and going through photos. Whisky brown eyes glued to your thighs in his shirt that you’re wearing. The man likes the fact that he can come home to you, let you talk his head off or vice versa. Slugger, his dog, is more than happy to have two parents rather than one.
So when it’s time for you to go home— why is that even a thought that crossed you mind?
Simons mid bite of his sandwich when his ears catch the ‘thud’ of one of your duffle bags full of clothes is dropinh to the door.
His eyebrows are knitted together when he sees you coming down the stairs with another duffle, “Tho’ y’were jokin about leavin kitty.”
You bite back a smile, cheeks growing warm, “I can’t stay here forever Si, I gotta wash my clothes!”
“‘Ve got a washer ‘nd dryer.”
“I can’t wear the same clothes for ever! My closet is calling me.”
“Shops callin us then, yeah? Can get ya new clothes.”
You giggle through a groan, “Simon!” 
The rugged man is already pulling you by the waist and into his chest, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He can’t say it, won’t say the words ‘don’t go’ or ‘I’ll miss you’ formally. But it bleeds through everything so blatantly, you can’t help but let out a chuckle. Rubbing his broad and scared back. Your fingers glide through his blonde locks of hair, scratching his scalp. “Why’re you bein cute, huh? so big ‘n bein cute.“
It’s got his heart pounding so loud, he lets out an incoherent grumble, as to quiet his own heart. Such a baffling yet peculiar feeling that the man has only groan more and more fond of with each passing day with you. Before you can even realize it, you’re being thrown over Simons shoulder that makes you yelp out. Slapping at his back to put you down, which he does, on the couch, not hesitating to lay atop of you and inhale your scent.
“You’re bein a fucking brat Simon, come on!” You giggle, it’s exactly how you ended up staying another week. Simon lifting you off your feet and taking back to bed because, ‘it’s too late to drive at night’ when it was only 6pm, and then in the morning, ‘it’s rainin too much’ when it was only drizzling.
Today’s no different, now, sandwiched between his chest and and the couch, head resting on his bicep. Letting him wrap his strong arms around you, so easily leaning into the soft touch of his calloused fingers at the back of your nape, your eyes closing.
“Is this how you usually treat the other girls around you?” You tease ever so lightly, not even expecting an answer.
He gruffly answers, distinct, “Why would I want anyone else ‘ere but you?”
And oh, how that alone shouldnt make your stomach flip like that, shouldn’t make you hide your face in his chest to hide a silly smile, wanting to run into an open field laughing.
“This is your answer then,” he hums, soft pink lips pressing to your temple, “you’ll stay.”
“That doesn’t sound like a question.” You say, another kiss falling to the apple of your cheek, your nose, your other cheek.
“ ‘S not.”
You hold onto him tighter, letting out a soft giggle between his kisses, “Agh, then I don’t know, got shit to do—“
“—Don’t be a bloody pain kitten, just stay.”
You feign contemplation for a moment, making the brute of a man fucking pout. Nuzzling his face into between the crook of your neck.
“…One more night couldn’t hurt, I guess.”
One more night, my ass. Simon thinks.
How about ‘move in.’
a/n: I could stare at your back allll dayyyyyyy, I could stare at your baAAack all DAAAAAAAYYYYYY
"Just showing initiative, Captain. You know. Making sound assessments. Like most leaders would be able to do."
He turns his whole body to face you. That should have been your second hint to shut the fuck up. "Better watch yourself, kit. That mouth'll get you in trouble."
"Trouble worse than the one we're already in?" You can't help but snark with a disrespectful- foolish- roll of the eyes. Not like you'll have a future to worry about by the way things are going, hunkered down and surrounded by hostiles.
"Aye, because when we live through this," Captain MacTavish's hand shoots out to grip your nape and forces you look at him, "I'll personally see to it you won't be walkin' any time soon."
You know that look. You know that it means for your ass if you make it out of this like John believes you will. You know it'll be a bitch to sit down for a week or two. It should make the warning bells go off. Should make you defer to him without question. Yet you've always been one to play with fire.
You smirk. "But you're not gonna do anything about my mouth, sir?"
The scowl deepens and the smirk leaves your face with a squeak when his grip tightens, jerking you closer. Your palms hit his chest and he leans in, baring his teeth at you. "Trust me, kit, your mouth will get exactly what it deserves."
You gulp, bells ringing.
It would probably be wise to shut up now.
(Reinforcements arrive, taking you back home alive and relatively unharmed. For a brief, idiotic second you think you're safe. Until Captain MacTavish holds true to his promise and drags you off to his quarters by the scruff of your neck before you can avoid punishment.
An endless amount of spanks, a thorough throat fucking, and getting your ass used until only he gets to finish later, you learn your lesson about keeping your mouth shut.
For about a month or two.
But that's okay, Captain MacTavish doesn't mind drilling the lesson into you until it sticks.)
Don't mind me, just imagining Captain MacTavish manhandling the sheep when it comes time for shearing. Grimy, greasy, bits of vegetation stuck in his stupid hair. The way he shuttles the last ewe through the gate and into the summer pasture is identical to the way he swats your ass as he herds you up the stairs to the bedroom. What a mutt.
I KNOW this man grew up on a farm. The devs called me and told me themselves actually. On his parent's farm, with the aging barn and stone walled pastures and the fireplace in the house his great grandfather built himself. I know his dad or someone pulled him aside when he was a teenager and told him he was too smart to be a farm hand, and to go do something with his life, so he joined the service instead.
But when he settles down with a wife? Some of those old habits stick. I'm imagining this man in a stained, form fitting wife beater with a thick thatch of chest hair poking out as he wrestles ewes for their annual shear. He's filthy, got dirt and mud smeared all over his trousers, his brawny forearms bulging as he flips the sheep onto her back and keeps her there. You've never seen it, but you're pretty sure he could wrestle a ram if he wanted to.
In the fall he massages the ewe's teats, makes sure they're nice and full and that she'll lamb in the spring. You watch from a distance as you feed the chickens, his huge hands working deftly and efficiently, and you ask yourself why you feel oddly turned on by the sight. That is- until you remember he promised to make sure you had a round belly by spring too.
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or: Trucker!Price does you a solid, you return the favor
cw: 2.5k wrds, 18+ mdni, plot and smut, dad bod Price! mentions of sèx work, hooker!reader, mentions of violence, power imbalance (?), age gap (40s John, mid 20s!reader), heavy praise kïnk,
inspo song: be like a woman by Chris rainbow
How could such a pretty girl like you, all dolled up for the middle of no where, end up staggering into the close to empty diner with a bloody nose and a few other bruises on your face.
Your tight crop top had a few droplets of blood on it, you were holding your head back the best you could, curls on your hair just a little bit messy, the waiter came from the back. His eyes widened at the state of you.
“Can I get some napkins please?”
How kind of you, John thought. To ask in this shitty place when most people would just take and go. You stuffed the napkins up your nostril, unknowingly passing the older bearded man sitting in the booth right next to you. You leaned back on the red cushion of the seat, letting out a shaky inhale and exhale. And John’s so attentive, listening so closely to how you soothe yourself right under the 60s pop hits that play from the radio. He waits to see if you end up moving again, but you don’t. The man catches wind of your hushed snores and your stilled feet.
Price shifts in his seat, just so see enough of your sleeping face, long lashes closed, your chest rising and falling as you held your tattered purse to your chest. Clearly you were exhausted from, whatever the hell you just experienced. But John doesn’t intend on leaving you alone like this. Not in the dead of night in this empty diner where anything could happen. So he stays, two hours, three hours, finishes his meal and waits. The few stragglers not bothering to come near the large brute of a man sitting just on the other side of you.
Your body is aching when you wake back up, eyes adjusting to the poor fluorescence. Using the table to stand, you stumble out the door, heavy foot steps soon to follow. You’re bent over cleaning your nose of the body mess with a half empty water bottle and the napkins you stashed with John sets eyes on you again. Just at the end of the restaurant’s parking lot, as if this will revive you in some way. The nights still young.
“You alright?” John asks that makes you slightly jump. You take a deep breath out, wiping the blood from your nose with a damp napkin, you give him a nod, “Yeah, thanks.”
A few moments pass but John doesn’t leave, keeps his eyes on you, his surroundings, hearing the cars fly by on the highway.
You fix your posture, using the glass of the diner as a mirror. Fixing your hair, pulling your cropped shirt down so your cleavage shoes.
“Do you need something?” You look over at him, eyeing the middle aged man up and down, before you shift in your heels, eyebrow cocking, “or do you want something?”
John doesn’t know how to answer. no, no that’s not what he wanted. It was to make sure you were alright, that no one would give you hell. Atleast for the rest of the night. But the man couldnt deny you were attractive. Even with you mascara smudged, slightly irritated look on your face.
The man clears his throat, “Just checkin t’see you weren’t lying.”
“About?”
“You want the truth or should be beat around the bush all night?”
He’s got you there, with a huff, you turn on your heal, “‘Ve had a shit night, as you can see.”
“A little scuffle?”
“Little considering how quickly it ended. Not the reason.”
“And that being?”
It might as well been an interrogation, you could be police for all you knew and what do you look like running from police at a time like this in the middle of fuck ass no where. But tonight, just for tonight, less than 30 minutes you’ll let this beared stranger be your therapist.
You cross your arms over your chest, letting out a dry laugh, “About money. It’s always about money around these parts though right?”
“I’m really not a hard girl to pay, really. I can be sweet if someone wants me sweet, or mean if they want me mean. But that son of a bitch— why do you gotta be such an asshat and a stingy fuck for a pinky sized dick?! Makes no fuckin sense! And then fight me about it? Fight fuckin lady about paying?!”
You didn’t realize how loud you were getting, your voice booming with anger, resentment you’d been holding on for so long. Working constantly for a living, to get the fuck out this shitty town in no man’s land. But you’re stuck. In a sink hole, how many other girls have disappeared from your line of sight out here and never to be seen again, how many street walkers end up on drugs out here.
This wasn’t even you plan, to be living like this, day to day. You were supposed to be in Hollywood— lights the cameras, writing some tv show. Or some fucking intern for a shitty pay— not- not like this.
You sniffle, hold yourself tighter, “I- I’m talking too fuckin much, I gotta get home. Call it a night.”
John hates it, the thought of it, of you going. Of you goin back to that life. Even if he’s only known you for less than a couple hours, he’s got tattoos and beard hairs older than you. But it’s something about you, that’s him dead set on you. The way you’re talking to him, your walls, rightfully, miles and miles high.
If he knew what was best for him, he’d be casual. Leave you alone. Knows better than to get too deep.
“Don’t you wanna get outta here?”
You look back at him, confused, but shake your head, “I wouldn’t even know how if I tried. Where would I even go?”
And there’s a silence from the man, still but strong look on his face, one that has you wanting more answers to unrealistic questions. “With you?”
“It’s an option better than being stuck here.” He starts, watching you scuff and walk towards the motel. Heals clicking against the pavement, with John hot on your tail, the flickering sign buzzing as you get closer, crickets singing.
“Don’t follow me.”
“Give me a ‘no’ and I will.”
You let out a frustrated noise, squeezing your eyes shut, “Sir, I really will do better without the hopeful shit you and everyone else who comes through here thinks I’m willin to fuckin buy!”
“I’m not sellin you shit for fucks sake, ‘m givin you a chance.” Price griped, jaw tightening, “You come for a day, even a fuckin hour and you if you like it, we’ll go. Give yourself a chance to think about what you wanna do. You hate it, I’ll get you on the first flight back to this shit hole, you hear me?”
You look around, the near silence of this cool summer. Music coming from someone’s room, cars passing by, blue ocean eyes glued to you. In a dry desert, he was a drop of rain.
You rock on your heels, biting your lip, you stare at your feet, “Where are you goin?”
“North.”
He’s a liar.
This man you’ve just met is a god damn liar.
And you’re aiming to get yourself killed.
“Do you wanna get outta here, or not?”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Trucker!Johns semi truck is nice.
Much nicer than you expected it to be.
Tattered and worn books stacked in crates, his clothes stored in drawers of the small bed, bed neatly made, rustic, plaids and brown bedding, cross dangling from the sun visor. John takes your duffle bags and puts them in the overhead.
“You can sit upfront or go to sleep, ‘s your pick.”
You meekly take a seat in the passages side, watching as John ignites the truck to life, lettting a hand wipe down his beard with a incoherent grumble, checking his mirrors.
You’re already down the road by the time you’re able to say anything, the sign of the motel getting smaller and smaller as you drive away. Your heart threatening to leap out of your chest. Everything you’ve known for the last couple of years suddenly now gone. And your alone.
In a truck.
With a Mr. John Price who you just do not know other than he drives this truck and that he’s getting you out of the country for a change of scenery.
“How am I gonna pay you back?”
It catches the older man off guard for a moment, it never crossed his mind. All he knew was that he wanted you. Call it naive for his age. John leans back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, takes a glance over at you, “Didn’t ask you to luv, think of this as my good deeds to the world. Helpin an angel out.”
An Angel? You want to roll your eyes but you don’t, biting the inside of your lip, “but I don’t have enough money to give anything to you, unless you want my stash— I- how can I be useful to you Price?”
“Sit there and be pretty.”
“But-“
“—You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you that doll?” He interjects, ends of his lips curving upward. Handsome face going in and out of the glow of the highways few lights.
John puts out his hand for you to take. You hesitate but slip yout hand in his. Letting his thumb go over your knuckles, he sighs, “Not expecting much ‘f you. But you do what you want, ‘s your trip too. All I ask if you keep the place clean, just as you see it. And don’t ask what’s in the back.”
Should be simple of enough. No- it is simple enough. You’re good at not asking questions that can lead to bad answers.
You’re free living, easy living.
For the first time in years.
It’s early in the morning when John wakes you up to go to bed with him. You’d shoo’ed him away the first couple of times he tried to get you to go to bed alone. Made sure his warm calloused hand was rested on your thigh, yours atop of his like it was instinct.
It’s what you really liked about Price so far, how warm he ran with small touches. How he made you feel like you didn’t always have to be on edge.
The old man tried to be good, really he did.
Instructed you to sleep on the inside and John would basically sleep on the edge of the cramped bed. But you slipped you hand onto the plush roundness of his torso, fingers tiptoeing up his chest to cup his face, you straddled his hips, beard hair prickling your hand. “Can I- lemme repay you, Price.” His voice so hushed, sultry, your manicured thumb going over his bottom lip, “please.”
Trucker!John is bigger than any man you’ve ever been with. To the point it shows on your face, lips full lips slightly parted, it’s fat and girthy, large and slapping against your stomach when you pull it out. Crown of his length leaking down every vein.
“Not too late to back our love.” He lets out low rumble of laughter.
You gulp down, shaking your head, “Can handle it, just- hah- just need a second.”
Right? All you needed to do was stretch yourself out for it!
And that would be the perfect thing to say after the old man lazily finger fucked you, lips brushing against each other every time the both of your fingers, all messy in your juices, fucked into your heat. Had your lower half shaking just from three of his thick digits paired with a slow kiss, wrapping your tongue around yours, swapping saliva till you came and hard.
But even with some fingering, it only made you dizzy just from the way his tip was stretching you out. The sweet burn that had you choking up as you eased yourself down on him, your jaw slack, and head thrown back. Covering your mouth to try to hide the scream you so desperately want to let out.
“Eaasssy luv, you’ve got it. Can take it for me.” John croons, large hands firm on your hips. Guiding them up just enough so you slowly rock more and more of him inside.
Your pussy so throbs, mewling at his words, your mind already hazy, “I- can- shit- I can take it. Aaangh! god its so good. Feels so gooood Price.”
His blushing cockhead is probing your insides, only reaching higher and higher as your thighs smack against his with every thrust. Your hands lay flat on his hairy chest, bouncing yourself up till just the tip is in, and down, hiccuping on a moan, “Fuck- wanna move f-faster. Wanna make you feel good.”
John lets out a low grunt, loving just how warm and soaking you are even through the thin condom that’s just barely fitting him. Threatening to break with every sleazy drop of your hips onto him. “No baby, gotta let you feel every bit of my cock, get your cunt nice ‘nd used to me. Doin so good fuckin me slow.”
John must be a miracle worker, getting you all worked up, hushed moans as his hands travel down to your supple ass, spreading them apart and squeezing the globes of your ass while you gyrate your hips on him. So hipnotic, sensual, desperate to meet every sledgehammer of his member up into you. His Pubic hairs damp with your slick with every squealch of your greedy and tight pussy brushing against your g-spot. The little bed is creaking, unsure if the truck itself is moving along with it.
Price’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, bringing you down closer to him, your nipples hard and brushing against him through your shirt, “Bloody good at this aren’t you hun, atta girl.”
You whimper as rolls your hips, lashes flirting shut, “Wanna hear you Price, nngh- please, need it.”
“‘F course you do baby, wanna hear juuust how gorgeous you look all fucked out on me. How you tremble and pull me away when you feel too good. Hck- How good you make me feel, How your cunt chokes me out every time i press, right here,” he thrusts up with a heavy thwack, pushing against your sweet spot that makes you keen out in pleasure. “Desperate fuckin thing, wanna hear how I could stay deep inside you all day. Wrapped up this all fuckin day-“
“Yes!” You gasp, head falling against his shoulder, clawing at his broad shoulder. Your fingers going through his greying brunette locks, lips weaving together is a wet and steamy French kiss, his beard tickling your face. Hushed groans and moans filling up the space. Meeting each other half way with each grind of your hips till you’re feeling every shockwave rush through you to the tips of your finger tips.
“Good work lovie.” He coos, slipping his cock out after filling the condom with his cum, it’s heavy and creamy. Price kisses your forehead, both of you exhausted from the long day, his hands patting you back to soothe you in his beefy arms, “We’ll make perfect partners from now on won’t we sweetheart?”
a/n: so much shit plot for shit smut that took too long to write. Sorry all.
kinktober day twenty five — daddy kink + brat taming
ཐི♡ཋྀ — warnings; John comes home tired but you want him anyways, so he puts you in your place (Captain MacTavish x fem!reader)
ཐི♡ཋྀ — warnings; established relationship, age gap (unspecified but he’s older), smut ish?, minors do not interact!!!, spanking, fade to black oral (f receiving), brat taming, daddy kink, they both call him daddy, possibly poorly written ?, but that’s it
ཐི♡ཋྀ — word count; 1,333 words
ཐི♡ཋྀ — a/n; extremely behind still 🤩 but when i said ‘cooried’, it’s scottish slang!! it means to cuddle up
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you’d been on him since the minute he walked through the front door, the need that had been building and building while he was away coming to an all time high.
John on the other hand, just wanted to finish his beer and relax tonight, not deal with you, as rude as they may sound.
he was tired, and he most definitely didn’t have it in him to fuck you tonight.
which normally would’ve been fine. he’s let you grind against his thigh to get off before, but tonight he wasn’t even in the mood for that.
so when you cooried up on the couch next to him, way too close for his tiredness, he knew straight away where tonight was going.
“no in the mood love, sorry”
he told, but it didn’t stop you.
no, instead you pressed further into him, running both hands across his chest and down towards his belt before he was catching both your wrists in one hand.
“sweetheart..”
it was a simple warning, one that usually worked. the authoritative tone he used normally making you back down.
“you’ve been away for weeks”
your words were spot despite the burning need that buzzed throughout your body, curling in closer to him until you sat directly in his lap.
John sighed, running his free hand down his face as you continued your attempts for his attention, even if it meant pushing his buttons.
slowly, your hips started to buck and rock against his, grinding against him while your hands continued to move across his chest.
“it’s not fair”
his hand came down to rest on your hip, hot and heavy, loaded with warning for you to stop.
but you never did.
even as he gave a stern shake of his head, your attempts for his attention continued.
“you’re not being fair either”
he told, hand on your hip pulling you to a stop against him while lifting the beer bottle to his lips to take a sip, sighing as the cool liquid slid down his throat.
your eyes zeroed in on his throat as he swallowed, your hips already bucking against him again.
“trying to relax after a long mission and ye can’t take no for an answer”
it took a lot to break him, but you were slowly chipping away at his restraint, hips rocking against his again, a whine bubbling in your throat as you moved against his half hard cock through his trousers.
“behave”
his words were sharp, tone still laced with warning, even if you disregarded it.
he shook his head, lifting his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose as you continued, and a mischievous glint flickered in your eyes.
“make me, daddy”
at your words, John was setting his beer down on the coffee table behind you before pulling you across his lap, his t-shirt hiked up around your waist to bare your ass to him.
“you need to remember who’s in control in this situation, always think ye can just take what ye want”
a whine bubbled past your lips, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your underwear to tug them down and off, baring your lower half to his gaze.
his hand soothed across the curve of your ass once, slow and deliberate.
“wouldn’t hurt ye to just listen, know ye can baby. know ye can listen to daddy”
John rubbed his hand against your ass again, back and forth across the plump flesh.
“i do listen, you just—ah!”
you yelped as his hand came down on your ass with a hard smack, the sound echoing throughout the quiet living room.
he soothed his hand over the sting, the cool glide of his hand against the warmth blossoming throughout your ass a stark contrast to each other.
“you’re spoiled. always thinking ye can get what you want”
another sharp smack was delivered to your ass, and then another.
your skin burned where he’d struck it, the sting pulsing outwards, no matter how gently he rubbed his hand after.
“need put in yer place, sweetheart”
John told, adding another smack. the string of smacks radiated in one spot, over and over, regardless of how much John smoothed over it.
words died on your tongue as he delivered another sharp smack to your ass, a whine tumbling from your lips as he spoke, his tone sharp.
“only want to hear ye admit that you’re desperate for it, canny give me five minutes peace”
he said, his hand coming down on your ass again to punctuate his words.
you gasped as his hand cracked down again, making you whimper.
“i am not.. fuck! i am not desperate”
his brows raised at your words, a smirk making its way across his face as your hips pulled away from his touch.
“say it, maybe i’ll give ye what ye want”
you glanced over your shoulder at him, eyes meeting his, before you nodded. fuck he was being serious.
John brought his hand down on your ass again, in two quick, firm slaps, while his other hand held you steady.
another whine tumbled from your lips, wanting nothing more than to curse him out, tell him how much you weren’t desperate in that sassy and snarky tone.
but your body was giving you away as you started to feel your wetness coat your thighs, cunt drooling with arousal at each slap he gave.
“i’m.. fuck, i’m desperate for it.. for you daddy”
his smirk widened at your words, his hand stopping its sharp blows to soothe over your ass, your cheeks burning from the back to back smacks.
“good girl when ye try”
he praised, his voice low and dangerous.
before you could reply, muster up some weak attempt at a comeback, he’d already hauled you over his shoulder and towards the bedroom, tossing you down onto the mattress and watching you bounce.
your breath caught in your throat as his hands soothed across your thighs, pushing your thighs apart to make room for his broad shoulders.
“all that fuckin’ nerve, the back talk.. what happened to it, eh?”
his tone had turned teasing, his lips pressing from your knee upwards, nipping periodically across your skin until his face was inches from where you wanted him.
a gasp fell from your lips as his mouth hovered closer, his breath fanning out across your dripping core while he spoke.
“we could stop here, could send ye to bed all strung up and desperate for it. pretend this never happened, until ye apologise tomorrow”
John’s words were calm, but his eyes were dark with his now bubbling want as they flickered up to meet yours.
“or.. you can beg daddy for what ye’ve been after all night”
your throat went dry, for the first time, you never had anything to say. no back talk, no sassy comments or remarks.
he was loving it, you could tell.
his eyes were dark, the blue hardly there and now replaced with his lust, while his hands moved up your thighs, hooking under your knees to push your legs further apart.
“please..”
the space between his face and your cunt closed, his breath fanning across your core.
“please what?”
John tilted his head, his cheek resting against your thigh as he looked up at you, eyes searching yours as he waited for the words you were hesitant to say.
it was a blow to your pride, a relinquish of the control you wanted to have over him.
“please.. please make me cum, daddy”
his smirk graced his face again, a triumphant look flickering across his face.
“was that so hard?”
he teased, pressing a final kiss to your thigh before he dove in, licking a broad strip from your entrance to your clit.
you moaned out at his touch, fingers tangling in his hair to keep him in place as he grumbled into your core.
“really are desperate love, this wet from getting spanked. such a needy girl for daddy”
reblogs are highly appreciated !
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⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
a/n: reader is a civilian
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ
ESTP
Gryffindor
Chaotic Good / Chaotic Neutral
Pisces Sun, Aries Moon, Sagittarius Rising
𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿
・He is the complete embodiment of 'gruff, rugged, protective, knows what to do at all times.'
・Yes to others he comes off as ... intimidating, dominating, and even a tad controlling. But that's not how you see him. Not anymore. He's different with you.
・And that's because he's yours and you are his.
・So, since capturing his heart. The game as been over.
・There is no one else for either of you.
・And you see a very different person than the public.
・Because this man is your husband. You know he would do absolutely anything for you.
・For a long time, he thought he wasn't worthy of softness. Of a life of peace.
・The things that he's done keep him awake at night, struggling to see himself as anything other than a monster.
・But you're there. And it's as if you are his tether to the light. The warmth. To living.
・You never have to drive yourself anywhere; John MacTavish does it for you.
・He also opens every door for you, keeps a hand on your back when walking through crowds and always puts himself in front of you if there's danger.
・You are so protected. John would never let anything happen to you. And if something did, then he would rage.
・He isn't great with expressing his feelings, but he does things to prove how much he cares:
・Fixing things around the house (even if it's just 'squeaky' he is on that shit)
・You want renovations done? Then baby he's on it
・He also remembers everything you love. Whether it be a tv show, movie or piece of jewellery. That man would buy anything for you.
・Captain MacTavish is a very commanding, confident, and action-oriented man. That doesn't stop around you; you're just able to tell him when enough is enough...
"John, honey, sit down and have some tea. You're doing my head in love."
・The banter between you two is caused because you - sometimes - like being told what to do, while John is so used to barking orders and having them done.
・But it is John who does the laundry (apparently you don't fold the clothes the right way.)
・He's an alright cook; food that fills your belly. That's all that matters when he's on deployment. So it's just what he's used to.
・Loves when you frame photos of the two of you. He always straightens them when he walks by
・Quite affectionate when he wants to be. And he wants to be while he's at home, alone with you.
・Forehead kisses, running his hands through your hair, kisses your knuckles and moving you into his lap
"Yer mine, alrigh'. Fuckin' mine.'
𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔
“Shut Up” x “Make Me”
Cheerful Optimist (honestly, anyone looks cheerful compared to him x Grumpy Asshole (Soap, through and through)
"Being With You Makes Me Better"
𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆
Healing and Rebuilding Together
Constant Banter
Sun x Moon
𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈
Let The Light in by Lana Del Rey
Shrike by Hozier
Sex On Fire by Kings of Leon
𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞
・Sex with John, is ... overwhelming, claiming and yet, still reverent. John both feels and shows deep and sincere respect for you, your body, your feels and wants/needs.
・Doesn't want you to ever feel like you can't come to him with ... new ideas or how you want to be handled.
・Loves spending time worshipping your body. Licking every part of you, from your feet to your neck.
・Whispering one word over and over again, "mine, mine, mine."
・MacTavish becomes ... feral.
・Holding you down and playing with you; not even needing to be inside you to bring a climax.
・He's obsessed with your chest. Your nipples and how they're so sensitive. A pinch, a bite, a suck; and you unravel before him. Whining and wiggling.
・And by gods, does he love hearing you beg.
"Please, please Captain! I need you. I - I need your cock."
・When he feels pleasure, the noises he makes are fucking filthy.
・Deep groans, growls, low grunts. And the first time you moaned his name? He growled so deep it made your legs weak.
・His favourite positions are: the mating press, doggy and cowgirl/cowboy.
・And his favourite place to cum is inside you. Filling your body with his essence, cumming over and over again until he can see it seep out of you.
・That's what he like to see.
・Feels a pang of pride everytime your legs are too sore after sex
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John Price’s favorite position is a mating press because he’s a fucking dirty old man with a raging breeding kink. The position allows him to fuck you real deep, kiss your cervix just so with his fat tip so that he fills your womb thrust after thrust.
And he keeps you there long after he’s finished, legs pressed to your shoulders, cock keeping you nice and plugged with his seed, muttering something breathless and ragged about ‘making a baby stick.’
John MacTavish’s favorite position is cowgirl because he’s obsessed with you and it gives him the perfect view of everything you. How your face scrunches when you sink all the way to the bottom or the way your tits bounce with each new thrust.
How your weight feels on top of him, so you’re in control. And the way you look at him, eyes determined, when he starts to get overstimulated, and begs you to stop, but you just fuck him harder.
Kyle Garrick’s favorite position is doggy because he’s an ass man after all and your hips are the perfect handles. He can’t stare at the way your ass recoils off his hips for too long or listen to the loud smack or else he’ll finish too quickly.
And he doesn’t even have to tell you; you just know he likes it when you bury your face into your arms and arch your ass that much higher. You don’t ever run too, just take the way his balls slam against you, meeting him with each deep thrust.
Simon Riley’s favorite position is prone brone because he can’t look at your face without immediately needing to finish. He’d rather take you this way, with your body trapped under his, weight suffocating you, so you have no option, but to take it.
Likes curling his hand around your neck and burying his face against your shoulder. Likes the way your legs kick out even more when he’s fucking you too roughly hands scrambling to find purchase on anything.
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