#ghostprice

Price was mean to you today, not letting you get worked open by the sergeants before tossing you to Ghost. You sobbed and writhed, whimpering for him to slow down.

"Come on, love. You can take Simon's cock good for daddy, can't you?" Price teased, his fingers sliding into your mouth.

You whined, but nodded. You could take it, you could be good!

You sobbed out a high-pitched sound when Ghost bottomed out. He barely gave you time to adjust before he was harshly fucking into you.

Ghost and Price both obviously didn’t care that you had cum around Ghost's cock already. They were busy making out over your head.

When you whined for attention, Price just smacked you upside the head and fed his cock down your throat to placate you.

They're at a safehouse, and Ghost is listening to the radio, Price hears him talking to someone, and he's confused because both of his sergeants are conked out asleep.

So, he walks around the corner and finds Ghost sitting on a step with the radio playing and a stray kitten biting his laces while he talks to her. "I don't believe shoelaces constitute part of a balanced diet."

John just sits down on the step next to him and ignores how his knees click. "What's her name?"

"She's yet to disclose name or rank, but given that she's clearly smarter than those two through there, I'd say she's a lieutenant." He responds so dryly that John can't help but snort.

"Ah, I see. Making her way through the ranks at her young age, impressive." He leans forward to pet the kitten, flattening down the tuft of fur sticking up on her head.

"She's a hard worker, look at those paws. Grubby, she's been busy."

The kitten offers them a mewl in response, and he nods accordingly.

"She's stern, reminds me of Laswell."

thinking about being john’s newly-wed, barefoot and warm as an oven, stumbling to the door when you hear his iron foot fall. it’s been months, but you recognize the cadence on the porch. sounds like morning tea and his favorite cigars.

unlocking the door and throwing yourself into his arms, smelling the space above his shoulder, inhaling…petrichor. wet dirt. blood.

that isn’t your husband.

you slowly peel yourself away, stunned when your eyes meet brown instead of blue.

“where’s…”

“right ‘ere, dove.”

you glance over the stranger’s shoulder (who is still holding you up) and find your husband, looking a little too amused that his wife is in another man’s arms.

once you reach him, he kisses the top of your head, before rubbing your shoulder to coo the loud creature of embarrassment before it reaches your mouth in the form of an apology.

“you’ve met simon. he’ll be staying with us for a little while.”

you glance between the two before meeting your husbands eye. “I-“

“im sure you don’t mind the extra stomach, right darlin?”

you swallow.

“of course not,” you glance at simon, who’s face remains neutral, “the more the merrier.”

you meant for meals. they seemed to understand it differently.

now you sleep between the two of them, quilt unnecessary while their meaty limbs keep you sweltering.

the bed is heavy, and you haven’t complained because you’re a hostess, and simon is john’s friend. even when you feel him palming your clothed cunt ‘in his sleep’, you don’t fuss.

instead, you silently turn on your side, trying your best to subtly grab your husbands attention.

but he’s already there, watching. smiling gently, like he does when he says he loves you.

“there there dove. you can learn to share, right?”

simon calls you while he’s away for a mission.

he’s a lot hornier today, skipping the usual banter to ask something for you—won’t you ride your pillow for him?

you clamber to your knees, obeying his plea with a quiet thrum burning your cheeks. he refuses to switch to a video call, says it’s a lot hotter this way, with his voice piercing through the static and your own rumbling in a quiet tumble.

your hitched breaths sound a lot louder this way, your own voice bouncing off your walls. simon tells you to be louder; to describe how it feels. you tell him it’s not enough—

“wished it was y’r cock, si,” you hiccup, whimpering as you try to find the rough drag of your pillowcase to rub against your clit.

god, it’s not all dirty talk—it isn’t enough. you need something more filling; something thicker and longer and bigger. you need to be fucked. to be ruined.

“si, please!”

“shh,” he says, his voice a deep hum. “not yet, baby.”

something clatters on his line, the static rippling like a distorted voice but you’re doused in the teasing pleasure—a miasma of a delicious drag and it’s not enough—to notice, leaving you to only sniffle because simon’s a fucking tease.

john looks up at simon, grinning.

“well if she isn’t such a good girl f’r you, huh?” he rumbles out, careful not to make too much noice. his chub is throbbing underneath his sweats and it makes simon’s throat dry with a howling hunger.

yeah, he can’t wait to introduce you to his captain.