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⊹ ࣪ ˖ Pancake Sunday : with your husband John Price ⊹ ࣪ ˖
Warm summer breeze rippling softly through the ivory laced kitchen curtains. House sparrows tweeting lullabies, emphasizing the sleepiness of the day.
John sat relaxed sipping on his cup of chai you made just moments ago, reading the daily news as always. The day was going by slow, morning dripped like syrup into what was now mid afternoon, air still ruminating in the sweet scent of this mornings breakfast, buttermilk pancakes.
You couldn't help but think about taking a nap looking at the time. Thinking about wanting the sun glittered over your body to keep you warm from the comfort of your own bed.
Perfect.
John's eyes peaking away from the words on the paper as he heard the softness in your tone.
"John..." you called, "I'm gonna go take a nap now..." yawning while rubbing your eye to emphasize the sleep soon to come.
"Want me join you, baby?" With no hesitation, you noticed the newspaper followed down so he could focused his attention on you.
A shy sigh escaped, moving gently as you places a docile hand aside his gruff cheek, meekly petting along with your thumb,
"No no, you keep reading."
"A'righ, you tell me if you need anything' yeah?" His eyes dolloped with admiration looking right up at you.
Turning to leave you hear, "Gimme a kiss 'fore you go."
Just like clockwork.
Making your way down to his lips clumsy from sleep until you reached down and pecked his buttered lips once, twice then a third time.
Your eyes couldn't help but peaked down at the fluffy pudge of his tummy, hidden underneath the thin white cotton shirt. He looked healthier than ever, especially compared to his time as captain on the TF 142. Eating, drinking, and laziness from the past 2 years had been catching up to him in the best way imaginable these days.
Not before long did his eyes catch yours drifting down. Noticeable crows feet decorating the outer corners of his eyes while a soft smile bloomed over his lips, mischievously redirecting your attention to him with a fourth peck.
You gently let go and make your way back down the hall to your shared bedroom. Paper crinkling back up, assuming he went back to reading his news paper.
Seconds later, were curled onto his spot on the bed while the room reached the temperature, the light breeze wisping into the room, gently tickling your toes at the edge of the bed. Within seconds you had fallen asleep.
A few hours had passed. The lights were low and dim, the mellow touch of the sunlight still reminiscent in the room from the day, a comfortable heat. John assumed by now you were well off asleep for the rest of the night.
He believed now was a perfect time to settle on the couch and practice.
Initially, John had learned the guitar as a young boy, one of his mates teaching him before he invested in his own. The hobby stuck and he continued practicing every once in a while.
Before playing, his footsteps creaked against the wooden floor , making his way to the pastel yellow fridge. John cracked an ice cool beer.
Then grabbing his guitar from its stand in the corner beside the fireplace. It crackled as he lit it, a soft wind feathered through the window and graced the flames creating perfect little pops. Tweets from outside slowly morphed into cricketing chirping as the sun tiptoed along the horizon.
He dropped onto the couch, grunting again in comfort as he sipped his beer and got into position, stringing along a melody as he he loosely sung a few words under his breath.
"Wakin' up to early...maybe we could sleep in.." rung under his breath, repeating a few times as he practiced his fingering.
He played and played, until he heard pats. Small pats coming from the hallway to see you. He lowered his hand, looking towards the sound to see his adorable little wife sluggishly aiming right towards him.
He placed the instrument on his side beckoning for you to sit in his lap.
"Hey there baby...tho'ught you were napping.." he hummed low in faux concern.
His left arm fit right in place around your hip and his right hand reached up brushing a few of your messy hairs away from your face before letting you cozy up into him.
He waited and let out a hearty grunt as you finally got comfortably close,
"Mmm, d'you have a good nap?"
He felt the nod into his neck, reaching up he cupped the back of your hair soothing the bed head slightly. Slow movements on his end as he reached for the fluffy couch blanket one handed and placed it over the two of you.
John had grabbed his guitar again, this time you sat in between.
Humming this time and playing much gentler than before.
"What song are you playing..." he heard muffled against the crease of his neck. He grinned pridefully before he adjusting the grip on his guitar. He strung a few times and cleared his throat, the melody began. A low hum from him alongside the rhythm. It sounded comforting,
"S'called Banana Pancakes.." he said surely
With that you maneuvered yourself 180, earning another purposeful grunt from him. Now, you had your back pressed against his chest.
A satisfied smile spread across your cheeks before closing your eyes. You were so relaxed you couldn't even tell how long you were listening until john inevitably stopped.
You winced at the disappearance of his voice and tilted your head back, forehead meeting the underside of his chin, beard petting the middle of your forehead where they both met.
"Don't worry baby, I'm still playin," soft and steady.
His iridescent eyes shimmered with love as he fainted a smile before kissing your temple and playing once more.
"Love you John..."
"Luv' you too, bean.."
₊˚⊹ᰔ Notes: Hello all!! Cotton Candy fluff type sweet, ikkk ikkkkk, I just couldn't help it ! Let me know how u feel about this one...anyway hope you enjoyed even tho it's strictly fluff and nothing else...till next time, mwahhhhh <33
Hai…I am in dire need of more fat / retired Price and you said you had no idea so have a coupling my half baked ones!
- cuddle time with him / you like him laying on you because he feels like a giant weighted blanket
- maybe you get into baking and he’s required to be your test dummy ft. The rest of the team
- going clothes shopping and realise you both have gained a little weight
- Price teasing you because the same thing that’s happened to him has happened to you
- you have kids and they love it just as much as you do
I know this is literally so random I’m so sorry but I YEARN for bear price bro
The boys have definitely put on some pounds after meeting you, the captain always brings lunchboxes which gets the team excited, surprisingly Ghost finds himself also waiting for Price to come in with a new snack.
You've gained some weight too, your arms softer, stomach rounder, cheeks fuller, john loves it. The boys love it too but keep themselves in check around the big boss.
Cuddling with him is amazing, he's like a space heater, radiating heat even if you're sitting on the other side of the room, meaty hands resting on your waist which warms you up quick.
Don't get me started on the kids, they're all plump and fat, sitting on your hip while you cook, chubby red cheeks grinning widely when they see John.
Your baking phase ends up with the entire team needing new uniforms, their helmet straps digging into their cheeks now, but they always seem to smell like chocolate muffins.. or lemon cake.
Clothes shopping was a little embarrassing to you until John fucked you in that H&M changing room, in the sundress you said you were too fat for.
"What fat? All i see is my beautiful wife in the sundress im gonna buy her. Right after ruining her in it though. Need you dumb on my cock pretty girl."
Hope everyone enjoyed this one!! Same time tomorrow? 👀
after price kills shepherd, he has a finite window of time to grab his things and say goodbye to his wife.
cw: angst
series masterlist
You hear the front door swing open and hit the wall behind it and your first thought is he’s early.
You’re at the stove, wooden spoon in your hand with the skillet throwing up steam, onions gone soft and golden at the edges, music murmuring from the speaker on the windowsill.
The word ‘early’ is halfway up out of your throat, light, a little teasing, but it dies there when the sound coming from down the hall isn’t the sound of a man home for the night. There’s no pause to toe his boots off, no keys dropping in the bowl. Just the stairs taken too fast, two at a time, the whole house shivering under the weight of him going up.
Your hand finds the gas dial and turns the flame down. You open up your ears, straining to listen. Then you’re moving, following the sound of him up into the dark of the second landing.
The bedroom door’s open, and inside, John’s just a blur of motion against the moonlight behind him. The wardrobe’s flung wide open, the duffle is out — the one that lives at the back of the closet behind the winter coats, the one you were trained long ago not to touch nor ask about — and now it’s unzipped, open on the bed. His hands are working through the canvas with a fervor that turns your blood cold before he’s said a single word.
He hasn’t looked up, he’s too focused. And there’s something practiced and deeply troubling about the speed of which his hands are movings — it tells you more than his face even would.
“John?” you try, his back is to you now.
“Hey,” he says, a drawer slides open, he rifles through it, turns around, and whatever he took from the drawer disappears into his bag. “Listen to me a minute.”
“What’s happening? Wh- what’re you doing?”
You take a tentative step toward the bed.
“I have to go,” he says flat, pared down, slotted neatly into the rhythm of his packing. “Right now. Tonight.”
“Go where? You’ve only just got back. Is it a—,”
“It’s not work,” he cuts in roughly, then shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut.
His hands go still over the bag and he turns his head and finally, finally looks at you, blue eyes hooking under your ribs. He takes a steadying inhale through his parted lips, then out his flaring nostrils.
“It’s… it’s not a job, dove.”
You feel so behind him in this, like you’re still standing in the warm kitchen five minutes ago, still on the version of tonight where dinner’s almost ready. You can feel a tickle of dread crawling up the back of your neck.
You’ve never seen him like this.
He’s never like this — frantic.
“Then what is it, J—,”
“Shepherd’s dead,” he spills. He says it the way you’d pluck a splinter from a soft palm, all at once because slow is worse. “It was me, I did it. There’ll be people comin’ here to look for me, and I can’t be here when they come, and I can’t—” His throat bobs. “I can’t be anywhere near you. D’you understand me?”
You don’t.
His confession arrives in pieces and your hands rise to your temples as the words work their way into whatever corner of your mind is properly conscious.
He’s gone back to moving, the zip of the bag closing like something tearing in half. It’s the moving you can’t deal with right now because the moving means it’s already decided. It was decided before he came through the front door. You’re hearing the end of a conversation he’s been having with himself for god knows how long.
Sick turns over in your belly, hot and acidic as it ascends your esophagus, burning the back of your tongue before you swallow it back down.
“Stop.” Your hand closes firm around his forearm. “Stop, just— just look at me. Goddamnit, just— Stop moving!”
To his credit, he goes still for a moment, turning fully toward you now and lifts both hands to your face, cradling your jaw, and every scrap of that frantic velocity drains out of him. His forehead comes down to yours, warm, a little slicked. And suddenly you would give anything to have the frantic version of him back, because stillness means he’s made time for it. John doesn’t make room for things that don’t matter. He’s making room to say goodbye, and knowing that opens up beneath you like a trap-door.
His thumbs sweep the tears you didn’t even feel on your cheeks. “Look at me,” his hands stiffen and close tighter when they rest on your face, forcing your gaze onto his. “I need you to hear me.”
“No.” You’ve got two fistfuls of his shirt now, the cotton crushed in your hands, your head moving side to side against the cage of his palms. “No. No! You don’t get to do this, we’ll— we’ll fix it,” you try to sniffle but sob instead. “You’ll go to someone— Kate! There’ll be a way—,”
“There isn’t,” he murmurs, almost pleading.
“There’s always a way.”
“Not for this.” He says it so softly it takes the legs out from under you. His breath is warm against your mouth. “Not this one, dove. Not this time. I’m sorry.”
Part of you doesn’t quite believe the apology. It was tacked on at the end like an afterthought. You know John. Or, maybe you thought you did. The blood in your heart feels like it’s curdling, heavy, turning to tar as you continue to process exactly what’s happening here.
What he’s done.
You wrench your neck and free your face from the heat of his hands.
“How long?” you ask, voice breaking.
He doesn’t answer.
You strike his chest with the flat of both hands, again and again, then again. You can’t even shift him an inch and the both of you know it, it’s just somewhere for the fear to go as it bubbles. His chin tucks, watching with a curling devastation as you keep connecting with his body. In a flash, he’s got both of his hands on your wrists, yanking you forward against him. “How long, John?!”
You’re starting to learn how long.
He says nothing.
This isn’t a tour. It isn’t a season away with a date at the end of it. He’s running. There is no number because there is no horizon he can point to, no morning he can promise you he’ll be standing in this room again.
The realization comes out of you barely above a breath as you tip your head back to see him. “You’re not coming back.”
His eyes fall shut. He presses his mouth to your forehead hard and holds there, and when the words come they come muffled into your hair just above your ear, into the warmth of you he’s trying to memorize.
“I love you.” It’s not an answer to your question by any stretch of the imagination. He pulls back again to meet your eyes. “Whatever they say about me, whatever you hear — that’s the only truth, yeah?” His knuckles lift to your chin, the pad of his thumb pushing against the front of it, holding your gaze. “When they come, you tell them I was here, I threatened you, and I left in a hurry.”
Your lip wobbles as you look at him, your throat is so tight it hurts.
“Say it back to me.”
“Y- you were here, you left in a hurry.”
“I was here, I threatened you, I left in a hurry,” he repeats.
“You were here, y-you thre- threatened me, you left in a hurry.”
“Good.”
He kisses you and you can almost taste both halves of him in it at once: the half that’s yours, and the half that's already gone. You give it back to him like you can hold him in the room by your mouth alone. But you can’t. And you feel the precise instant he decides to stop, the breath he takes to force himself away.
“Lock the door behind me,” he says.
And the velocity is back. He swings the duffle bag up onto his shoulder, and he’s past you before you’ve turned, out the bedroom door, and you spin and rush after him with his name tearing out of you, your bare feet slapping against the hardwood.
“John! Please! John!”
But he’s already at the foot of the stairs, already crossing the hall, always faster than you, and you’re only halfway down when the front door swings open and the cold of the night pours in over the threshold to meet you. You reach the bottom step, lurch for the door.
The street is empty.
You look left, you look right. It’s as if you dreamt the whole thing. As if you made him up, boots to beard.
Behind you, the speaker’s still playing music from the kitchen. The onions have started to catch, the sweet smell tipping over into something bitter and charred.
a/n: after writing this i decided to turn these two into a series of vignettes called ‘all we ever do is say goodbye’ 🧡
Jaw dropping on the floor in awe of how amazing this was to read. Oh my goodness, the frantic and anxious feeling of watching John pack and move about the room in a rush. The gut wrenching feeling of reader realizing that despite knowing John maybe had to do this for a reason, he’s ruined them to the point where she might never see him again. And the immediate reaction of hitting him in anger and in fear and in frustration while John just lets her do it, UGHHH. Because he knows In that moment, he deserves it. He knows that he brought this all to her so abruptly that the least he can do is let her feel this despair of losing him just for a moment before he leaves her.
Its nearly two in the morning and I’m half asleep and this probably doesn’t make any sense but Holy shit this was so good.
Something something soulmate au with the first sentence your soulmate said directly to you.
Now the funny thing is, the TF141 haven't met their soulmates yet, but all of them wear an insult. They make jokes about it, how their soulmates will get along swimmingly or not at all. And how glad they are it's someone who can stand their ground.
Although that probably means the cute secretary Laswell recommended isn't for any of them. They are soft and polite, helpful, never crossing the line, firm but professional. That's at least what Laswell said. And it seems to be true, since you barely look them in the eye and only nod politely when you arrive on the office.
It's a busy day and you immediately dive into work, only emerging, when your new coworkers drag you to the nearest pub to get to know you better. Which happens to be the same pub the 141 like to get a cold pint sometimes. A few drinks in, groups are mingling and you hear Soap making a joke about how he finally can get rid of the pesky paperwork since you are here now.
The alcohol gives you enough courage to stand up and walk over hands on your hips and taking a deep breath.
What follows is a very detailed and graphic description of the state their reports are in, how their handwriting would make a good encryption because nobody with a sound mind would dare to read something that looks like satanic chicken scratchings and you really hope that the mystery stain on some forms is coffe and no body fluids.
You don't register how they all stare at you, eyes glued to your face as you spit out the words they carry on their skin.
Referring to the the 141 guys as your boyfriend for the first time - how they would react
Johnny "Soap" MacTavish
He's sitting on the couch, sketchbook in his lap and a pencil resting in his hand. He's been working on a new sketch of you for the last hour.
Meanwhile, you're across from him, scrolling on your phone.
All of a sudden, you nudge his foot with yours, "Babe, babe, babe." You launch yourself on top of him, shoving your phone in his face, "Look at this."
He has to squint to see what you're trying to show him. The text on the screen says 'Show this to your boyfriend-' but he's too busy completely ignoring the second part of the meme, instead focusing on the 'boyfriend' part.
"Boyfriend?" He grins and pulls you into him, letting his sketchbook and pencil drop off to the side.
"What?" You frown and look back at your phone, then back at him.
"Ye called me boyfriend." He skims his hand up and down your back, "Ye've never called me it before." He nuzzles your head, "Ah'm yer boyfriend." He coos happily.
"Yes, yes you are." You roll your eyes, but snuggle into him, happy that he's happy.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Kyle and you are at a bar on a date. It's not his typical choice for a date night but your dates always tended to be pretty spur of the moment, just like your relationship.
"Sorry, I have a boyfriend." Kyle could hear you talking to the bartender, "That's him, right over there." You point your finger over your shoulder. When you see his eyes on you, you smile and wave.
Immediately, he's out of his seat and next to you. He wraps his arm slightly around your waist, leaning into you, "Hey, dove." He smiles. The bartender quickly and thankfully slips away.
You turn into him, "Was that necessary?"
"Yup." He kisses your cheek, "They were flirting with you."
"Yeah, they were. You worried?"
"Mmm." He pretends to think about it for a moment then shakes his head with a grin, "Why would I be worried? You called me your boyfriend. No guy could be worried after that."
"Don't be so smug, Kyle." You slip out from under his arm.
He grabs the drinks off the bar and follows after you, "Bit hard not to be after that show!"
You flip him off and he can only grin in response.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Not once in his life had Simon ever expected to be called 'boyfriend'. It was a totally new experience for him.
"M'home." He calls out as he slips through the front door of your shared flat. Your cat immediately comes to greet him by weaving in through and around his ankles.
"Hey! There's my handsome boyfriend!" You pop your head into the entrance hall with a grin. You slip your arms around him, "Hi."
He swears he feels his heart actually skip a beat at your words as he struggles to process them properly, "Hi," He mumbles.
"How was your day?" You tug him further into the flat, apparently not having noticed what you said.
He blinks slowly, then shrugs, "Was good, I guess." He rubs a hand on the back of his neck, then decides to just broach the subject, "your...boyfriend?" He feels like he's shouting and whispering all at the same time.
"That's you. My boyfriend." You coo, even as you lean down and pick up the cat at your feet, waving the cat's paws around. You stop when you finally see his face, "Something wrong, Si?"
He forces himself to shake his head, swallowing, "No- Not a thing." He ducks his head to hide the flush he knows is spreading down his neck and walks off. He doesn't want to let you see how much you affect him. You'll never let him live it down.
But at the same time, he hopes he'll never forget your face when you greeted him. He'll die happy if he only gets to see that look every day for the rest of his life.
Captain John Price
As always, John is an old man. It doesn't even occur to him to call himself your boyfriend because it feels like something a lovesick teenager would label their first relationship. That's probably why it surprises him so much when you do it.
You're in the living room when you say it while you're on the phone with one of your friends. John is in his office doing paperwork when he hears it.
"Yeah, John, my boyfriend-"
At first, he swears he misheard you, so he ignores it.
Then you laugh and say it again, "Yeah, he's the best boyfriend I think I've ever had. I might marry him actually." You must think he's not listening. Or you do and you just don't care.
He almost chokes on his tea from the shock. Then he starts looking for engagement rings.
If you're gonna marry him, he might as well be on the same page.
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Price has been acting like he hates you during the five months you've been together. He pushes you away, rejects you, and yells at you when you try to get close to him, asking for a simple kiss or hug. It's even worse when you do this in public. Price reluctantly accepts your touch, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of his friends, but when you get home?
He's already yelling at you again.
When you have sex, Price turns you over onto your stomach, with your butt up, not wanting to face your face. When you try to touch him, he automatically pushes your hands away, claiming that he hates it when you do that. The insults he directs at you in bed seem to have become personal, and you just can't get turned on anymore when you hear him talking to you like that.
He feels no remorse, let alone guilt, when you complain about his rough behavior. On the contrary, he seems satisfied to see that it clearly has a negative effect on you.
Until you finally get tired of it.
Although you're hurt, you hoped he would insist a little more so you wouldn't break up with him, but Price is sure you'll soon come back to him with your tail between your legs.
Now imagine his surprise when he sees you in a relationship with his favorite sergeant. Gaz, such a sweet man, is completely in love with you. It's not something fleeting. No. He knows that what he's feeling is a much stronger feeling than just a casual crush. And that's why he makes a point of showing you his love.
Honestly, if you had known you would soon be with such an incredible person, you would have left John a long time ago.
Kyle is attentive, loves to talk to you about your preferences. He loves it even more when you melt completely upon realizing that he is doing everything to please you. At no point does he expect you to reciprocate. Love, you are not indebted to him.
When you make love, he loves to spend a long time worshipping you, running his hands and mouth over every inch of your body. If you try to hide your face, Kyle will surely ask you in a patient voice why you are doing that, and he will guide you with a gentle hand to look into his eyes, without ever looking away for a second.
How do the members of 141 handle reader with a high sex drive? Reader is insatiable. Can they keep up or do they tap out early? Do they beg for more or beg for rest?
requested by @/unknownbooklady
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Reader
Content & Warnings (mdni): sexual content, oral sex, rough sex, swearing, established relationship, gn!reader
Word Count: 800
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
“Trying to kill me?” huffs John, chest heaving.
Sweat-slick and naked, John runs his palm over his face, fisting the hair at the top of his head. The man is exhausted, but you said over text that you wanted to breed him, and you’re not finished now that you’re home.
Head bobbing, you bring John back to aching hardness, relentless in your pursuit of having it off. There isn’t nearly enough of John’s cum in you. Fullness is the goal. To leave him empty and you stuffed to the brim.
With a wet pop, the head of his cock bounces from between your lips, pointing toward the ceiling. “John,” you sigh, dream-drenched and heavy. “You don’t need to do anything.”
Hands slide up his hairy chest. Come back down. Fingers running over thick muscles. You take your time, curling those fingers to lightly drag your nails over his skin. He inhales sharply, and you grin.
“Bloody hell,” he groans, hips lifting as you tease him with your tongue. “You’re insatiable.”
With a mischievous smile, you shift, giving John your back. Lifting your ass, you provide him with a clear of you sliding down on him before you start to bounce.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
The room smells of sweat and sex.
“I need a moment,” says Kyle, his breathing deep. “Shit. Give me a moment.”
Kyle holds you in his arms, face nuzzling the top of your head, his eyes closed as he attempts to steady himself. You, on the other hand, are perfectly fine. As Kyle contemplates life and his sanity, you play with his dick.
“If I recall,” you begin.
“Hush, you,” mutters Kyle.
“You said you could keep up with me.”
Kyle grunts, a sliver of annoyed defeat in it. “I did.”
Hand roaming down to cup his balls, you gently squeeze them. “Are you sure now?”
A long pause, and then Kyle finally speaks. “Don’t know if I can come again that fast.”
You shrug, snuggling closer. “Sure about that?” You bring your hand back to his dick. “Feels hard to me.”
Kyle snorts and gently grasps your wrist. You cease stroking him. “I’m serious, love. Might be done.”
Drawing your hand away, you bring it to rest on his chest, placing a soft kiss on Kyle’s cheekbone. “Tomorrow?”
Kyle’s arm tightens, bringing you in until you’re smushed. “Telling Price you’re putting me on the path to an early retirement.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
Fisting the base of Johnny’s cock, you give it a loving squeeze. A dribble of cum emerges from the tip, you suck it up greedily. And yet, you’re not finished. Hardly even started. Already you’re stroking him, teasing up that build until Johnny is rock-hard and throbbing.
“Oh, aye.” Johnny chuckles at your eagerness. “Want another round?”
You arch an eyebrow but don’t cease. “That a problem?”
Johnny shakes his head. Bringing his arms up, he tucks them under his head, a pleased smile forming on his lips. “No. Surprised is all.”
“Surprised?” you question, almost mocking. “Didn’t think I could fuck like this?”
Johnny snorts, clearly amused by the exchange. He’s trying to turn this around, to bring you to heel. Funny how he thinks you’ll take orders from him. A quick swirl of your tongue and the man is chocking.
“Talking about the stamina,” he manages, eyelids fluttering as you take more of him.
You head slowly ascends, lips suctioning until his eyes briefly roll back into his head. When the head of his cock pops out, you speak. “Is my stamina too much for you?”
Johnny’s gaze returns to your face. “Maybe. Won’t know unless we try.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Beneath you, the sofa shifts, imperceptibly moving with each hard thrust.
At your ear, is Simon’s voice, gruff and thick like he’s smoked too many cigarettes. “Think I can’t keep up?”
You know that tone. Simon uses it when you’re in trouble, or you’ve pushed him a bit too far and he drawn up a punishment. You hold your tongue. While you want to brat over this, to continuously poke at him, that’ll only take you further than you can go.
Simon doubles his efforts at your silence, fucking you harder. His fingers are in your mouth, cutting off your words anyway, though you could use your teeth. Simon’s brute strength severs your ability to do anything except take his cock.
“Always think you can out pace me, bird.”
He’s the one poking now, shifting the power to his hands, leaving you helpless. It’s always where you want to be with him, but the thrill is not knowing how much he’ll deal out.
Saliva pools around Simon’s fingers, dripping onto your lips and chin. Deep enough to stifle but not choke.
Simon lands a sharp slap to your ass. “This is mine. Always mine. You’ll be the one who tires.”
The concept of old man price who grew up with don't ask don't tell trying to be supportive of his new young secretary....
He has no idea what the mini flags in your pencil holder mean, only recognizes the rainbow one. Price tried to stay away from that sort of stuff, only way to stay alive, and now all his information comes to him through osmosis of talking with the sergeants.
Which is how you come into the office one day to find a small box on your desk, no note or anything. Price had told you he'd left you "something for the constitution, eh?" When you passed him in the hall. Could this be it?
You open the box and—
"PRoud of wHo you Are!"
A small cake, decorated with rainbow frosting, the words look messy and done in a gel icing you one might buy separately. The image of price being too embarrassed to ask the workers to add words because he wasn't sure what to say comes to mind, followed quickly by him bent over the cake piping on messy lines.
It's horribly tacky. It's the nicest thing anyone on base has done for you.
You're not exactly quiet about who you are, and that decision can be felt everyday withe the way your coworkers act. So this? Now?
You close your door so no one can see you crying while you eat a slice.
John "christ, kid, slow down—" price who can hardly keep up with his younger partner in bed. He's gotten used to distracting you with his mouth or hands, you even broke his pride down enough to invest in toys after begging for a fourth round in a day. He's old and hasn't exactly prioritized his health, which means he often ends up on hid back breathing through his teeth while you ride him to your heart's content.
Vs
Simon "another? C'mon, please love I'll be good–" riley who even in his forties has the energy and want to bend you over every surface he can manage. Seriously, you're pretty sure his dick his permanently half-chubbed. You, the one nearly half his age, have to shove him away and whimper before he lets up to go take a cold shower. He says its all the love he has for you, you're pretty sure he's just a freak.
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i know folks are gonna call me a pedo for this one, but i grew up seeing my mom and grandma naked. they had health issues and at times needed care and help showering. and i truly think more kids need to be shown the nonsexual reality of naked women at a young age. there is nothing sexual about my grandmothers breasts, they were simply body parts. more women die of heart attacks because people are too afraid of breasts to do real chest compressions, because they are scared to touch their breasts. the sexualization of our bodies literally kills us. i need people to be more normal about naked bodies and i'm 100% serious.
jacobvanloon
kianamaiart
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
izzy806
baratheonpilled
dededos
