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theywhowriteandknowthings · 9 hours

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Part two is coming, life has just been weird and I’ve had so many other things brewing!

Part three of angsty Price is on the way too!

Dog-eared | Chapter 1: The End

Summary: You know your boss is involved with organised crime. The flashy cars, men in tailored suits, call girls that come and go, and the odd hours he keeps. It screams organised crime of some kind, or a cult. But you’ve been able to keep it all separate from your personal life. Until now. Chapter Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Mafia Themes/Mob Violence etc., Swearing, Nearly Naked Price. Main Masterlist | AO3 Wordcount: 2556

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

On the surface, working for the Mob is no different to any other corporation, you do your job – a cushy gig as a Cyber Security expert – you get paid. There’s no union busting, or quibbles over PTO and pay, simply because it’s laughable to even consider them when your boss is literally the head of one of the most notorious London crime gangs.

You butt heads with the department heads and shareholders of the shell company just as frequently as at that company owned by Nestle, you’re pulled from project to project just as often as working for Amazon’s tech support, you work unpaid overtime at the same frequency as that law firm down the road.

The key difference is the pay.

You’re flush with savings, your student loans repaid, and you live a pretty cushy life, all things considered.

“Alrigh’, lass?” The familiar Glaswegian twang shakes you out of your post-lunch daydream at your desk and you smile up at your friend as he perches on the edge of your desk. You didn’t even hear the door to your office open.

He’s dressed to the nines in a blue three-piece number, suit jacket slung over his shoulder. His waistcoat is a slightly darker blue with gold brocade embroidered on the silky material. His tie is a bright yellow to match, if you didn’t know any better, he’d almost pass for a Canary Wharf banker wanker.

His hair is styled in the usual short mohawk he’s favoured since you were kids. A bittersweet remnant of the boy you once knew shining through the hardened exterior of the very dangerous man you’ve come to love.

“Soap MacTavish, those will kill you,” you say with a roll of your eyes as you point to the cigar tucked in the exterior pocket of his suit, “Celebrating?”

“Not yet,” he says as he drums his fingertips on the desk, “But Cap’n thinks we’re about to strike it big.”

“I don’t want to know,” you playfully cover your ears with your hands, “So zip it.”

“You asked,” Soap says with a grin, “Besides, Price is keeping this one on the need-to-know basis, so I couldn’t tell you even if you were feeling a wee bit nosy.”

“Good,” you say with a huff as you lean back in your chair, “Just come back in one piece, yeah?”

“Always,” he promises with a wink as you see the lift doors open behind him, Ghost and Price in full view through the glass walls of your office. Both men are deep in conversation, “Besides, I’ve got plans this weekend, can’t woo my missus if I’m dead.”

“Speak of the devil,” you grumble as Ghost and Price stop outside your open door. The scarred blond man nods at you, a subtle twitch of his eyebrow and scarred lip more than anyone else gets in this place. He’s in a pale salmon suit, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to brandish the gold chain around his neck.

Price looks through you like you don’t exist. His azure eyes cold and emotionless as you nod in his direction. You can’t help but notice the way his rolled up shirt sleeves hug his thick arms, nor the gold shirt garters that only add to the old-school gangster look. His dark trousers are pressed to perfection, the hems brushing over the tops of his maroon Brogues. His beard is freshly trimmed, framing his thick lips in a way that makes you yearn to know what it’s like to feel them brushing over your skin.

It used to sting, the sheer indifference he shows you, but after four years, you’re over it. Mostly. You try to give him the same wide berth, mostly talking through Kate, his COO, if the need arises.

But you’re not so proud to admit you’d climb him like a tree if he so much as hinted that he was interested.

“Duty calls, hen,” Johnny leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, “See you soon.”

You feel the multiple eyes on you at the overly familiar gesture. The rumours that you and Soap were/are fucking have been circulating since you first joined Price and Sons. It makes you laugh, because – to you – it’s obvious how in love Soap and Ghost are.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” you call after him playfully, “Aaron from HR is on my ass about inappropriate work relationships!”

“Whatever you say lass, you love the attention,” Soap says without turning back, his laughter echoing through the hall as he joins Price and Ghost outside your office. But being the subject of office gossip is the least of your concerns, it seems.

An alert flashes up in a command window, then another, and another. Emails start piling in along with Teams and Slack messages from multiple department heads and C-level execs.

You groan inwardly at the workload dumped at your feet, on the wrong side of lunch on a Friday. You’re going to be here into the early hours, you just know it.

You call up Farah, getting her to ensure the counter measures are doing their job across the system as you do the same. It’s a standard DDOS attack, aimed at the infrastructure layer, and one of thousands the company experiences each year. But there’s something about this one that makes you doubt it’s run of the mill. You don’t have time to question why as you see a second and third wave of emails and video calls coming through.

You’re pulling up Farah on a video call as you hear the glass door close behind Soap.

You don’t notice the way John Price lingers at your door, his gaze transfixed as he watches you work the problem. You miss the way he clips Johnny over the back of the head, telling the younger man to “behave”.

~*~

You’re trudging through the rowdy streets of London on a Friday night, still glued to your work phone as you try and wrack your brains over the incident. Farah offered to stay late onsite, which you had gladly accepted. You trust Farah more than any other colleague you’ve ever had. She’s capable, smart, funny, and most of all she knows her shit.

You’re only a few streets away from your flat now, thumbs furiously typing away as you hear the distinct rumble of thunder in the distance. You curse yourself for not packing an umbrella this morning.

You: Farah, don’t stay up too late, the worst of it is over, we can pick back up in the am.

Farah: Yes boss, will catch you in the morning, have a good one! Don’t lose any sleep on this, I’ve got it covered.

You: You too, night.

Farah: No promises, now put the phone away and let me know when you’re home safe.

You smile to yourself as you close the app. You know she’ll be glued to her work computer all night, but at least you can say you tried. You feel the heavy drops of rain splatter against your skin as the weather turns rapidly around you. The Friday night partygoers screeching and groaning as they too fall prey to the fickle whims of British weather.

You’re soaked through by the time you reach your building, the doorman letting you in with a sympathetic smile. You miss the guilt etched into his face as you shuffle through to the lift.

All you want to do is settle down with a glass of wine, your scrunkly elderly dog Lola, and the latest episode of that period drama series everyone is going on about.

You approach your front door, pawing through your handbag to find your keys when you hear it. A short, meek little yap that barely registers as a bark. A sound you’re far too familiar with to mistake it for anything else.

Lola.

You look up to see your door ajar. Your stomach drops as you see the bloody streak of a handprint smeared over the handle. You look down to see a scarlet boot print stamped on your welcome mat as you nudge the door open with the toe of your shoe.

“Hello?” You call out as you use the torch on your phone to illuminate your dark flat.

You can smell the red-copper scent of blood in the air as you follow the scarlet droplets that trail through your open plan flat. The jingling of Lola’s collar makes bile rise in your throat.

“Look, whoever you are,” you start your bargain with a surprisingly level voice, “I’ve got money, I’ll give you whatever you need, just leave my dog be, yeah?”

There’s no response as you drop your handbag down on the sofa, the familiar landscape of your home shrouded in darkness as you lament not turning the light on at the door. But the warm light spilling from your bedroom tells you exactly where your intruder must be.

You make your way to the safe on the far side of your flat, dangerously close to your bedroom door where the intruder lies – the bloody handprint smeared on your bedroom door a perfect match to the one you saw on the way in only stoking your fears.

You quickly disarm the safe and pull out your – very illegal – Colt 1911 with blackened frame and mother of pearl grips. You hit the mag eject, acknowledging the full clip before sliding it back into place and pulling the slide back to arm the weapon. You may not technically be part of the mob, but you’re not so naïve that you’d not prepare for this sort of thing.

You steel yourself, phone forgotten on the floor by the safe as you support the underside of your pistol grip with your off-hand, your dominant hand steady around the grip, aimed at shoulder height as you prepare to breach your bedroom.

“Last chance,” you call into your bedroom and the unmistakeable sound of Lola’s happy grumbles catches you off guard.

You kick the door in and immediately you’re left dumbfounded, but you don’t falter, gun pointed towards the man slumped on your bed.

“What the…?” You trail off as you feel heat singe at the tips of your ears, flooding your cheeks as you take in the sight before you.

John Price is shirtless, stripped down to his tight grey boxer briefs as his head lolls back against your expensive mahogany headboard. His hair sticks to his head, blood and rain smeared through his short locks. His face is bruised and bloodied, his lip split and one of his eyes swollen shut. Even beaten half to death, the man is striking.

“Mr Price?” You hiss as you slowly lower the gun, setting it down on a chest of drawers to your left, “What happened?”

You struggle to decide your next move, there’s a loud, shrill voice in the back of your mind that makes you want to dab his face with a wet rag. Shower him with care and attention like some trite romance novel. An equally loud voice tells you that it’s not your problem, this isn’t what you’re paid for, and you should just turn him out on the street.

Then you see the duct tape strapped tight around his hairy chest, two wads of what look like sanitary towels bunched up over his lower abdomen and another tampon-looking object stuck in his right bicep.

“Call me John,” he wheezes out and you jump back at the sudden signs of life from the beleaguered man. You can’t believe he’s still breathing, let alone conscious right now.

“What the fuck are you doing here, John?” You hiss as you notice the big lump under your blood-stained duvet, a long tail wagging against Price’s side as Lola seems to finally realise you’re home.

“Deal went sideways, shit really hit the fan this time,” he coughs out through gritted teeth as a tremor wracks his body, “Got the bullets out, used some of your shit in the bathroom, will compensate you.”

“Right,” you say as you shake your head, “I don’t want to know, don’t need your money, not like tampons are expensive anyway.”

“Fuck off with your sanctimonious bullshit for once, love,” Price hisses as he glares at you with his one good eye. You bristle at that but hold your tongue, glowering right back at him, as if he isn’t one of the most dangerous men in the country.

“You need a hospital,” you say slowly as you perch yourself at the end of the bed, “But I’m guessing you’re going to tell me to fuck off with that idea?”

“You catch on fast,” John says with a heavy exhale through his nose as Lola wriggles her way out of the bedding, her greying muzzle popping out of the covers dramatically as she sniffs you out, “I need to stay here a while, lay low while I plan my next move.

“Absolutely n-,” you begin but you’re cut off, John continuing to speak as if you aren’t even there.

“I will compensate you financially, of course, but you cannot let anyone know I’m here.”

Lola stretches her old body out with a soft whine before trotting down the bed to you, wonky tail swishing back and forth before she plops down onto your lap. Milky eyes peer blindly up at you with adoration as you scratch behind her ears.

“What about Soap? Ghost? Gaz? Kate’s gotta be worried sick,” You say, watching the wounded man labour through each breath. You try not to admit to yourself that you’re worried about him. He’s a mobster, scum, you should have nothing but resentment for him. But the nagging voice telling you to care for him, nurse him back to health, just won’t quit.

It's the right thing to do.

“Kate’s the reason I’m here,” he says as his voice becomes faraway, distant, “Said I could trust you.”

Before you can ask any more questions, Price passes out. His jaw falls slack and his one good eye flutters closed as you look between the haggard man and old dog in your bed. You groan as you release the mag from your gun and eject the chambered round, placing the disassembled piece down on your bedside table.

You force Lola out to do her business, the small dog grumbling the whole time you pry her away from the warm bed and even warmer man nestled under your sheets. You pick up your phone up on the way as you text Kate to see if she’s awake.

Kate: Call you in 5.

Is all you get as you’re lifting Lola back onto the bed, who immediately settles against Price’s side.

Traitor.

You think as you rummage under your sink to find your cleaning supplies. The welcome mat is burning away in a steel bin filled with lighter fluid on your balcony, but you need to clean up the rest of the blood before the nausea eats you alive. You phone begins to ring just as you’re locking your front door. You answer with a scowl as Kate says your name syrupy sweet in your ear.

“Cut the shit Kate,” you snap as you hold the phone in the crook of your neck as you start mopping Price’s blood from your tiles, “What the hell is going on?”

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

#john price smut #john price #john price x reader

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 11 hours

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Fucking hell this obliterated me.

It hit home somewhere deep in me and the hooks are dragging at my soul.

I’m weeping and sobbing and I just can’t with how I feel.

Fucking phenomenal.

Ghost in the Bedroom (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Voyeurism, PIV sex, Oral (f-recieving), masturbation, emotional hurt/comfort, she/her reader Word Count: 4.8k

Service Dog Johnny Part 11 (full part list here)

“Ready for another, y’think?”

“Okay.”

You huff a quick breath into Johnny’s neck while he works that second finger inside you. It aches, but not in the way of being stretched out too quickly, not at all. It’s that burn in your pelvis which screams you won’t last long when you finally get a different part of him in you.

At this point you’re too worked up to do anything but roll your hips into his knuckles, mentally taking hold of that throbbing sensation and beginning to paint the picture of your upcoming orgasm by how it feels. It’s going to be thorough, licking fire through every inch of your body thanks to how much foreplay they’ve given you, and how long you’ve been anticipating this.

Johnny uses his free hand to just barely tug on your nipple, and you make a little gasp at that dart of pleasure.

“Is this sensitive?” he asks, doing it again.

“Mhmm.” Everything feels sensitive and tingly right now. Every piece of your skin seems to want his hands on it — in varying degrees of roughness, although you’re pretty unlikely to get any of that tonight.

He seems inclined to make you drag your own pussy up and down his fingers, so you oblige, straddling his thighs and keeping your face hidden in his neck.

“What do you like?” Johnny prompts.

You pull your face back to get a look at him. “What do you mean?”

He pushes his fingers apart a little to stretch you, then curls them in deep. “Got nothing better to do than come over and have disgustin’ amounts of sex all week, so what do you like?”

You don’t do yourself the disservice of glancing towards Simon for permission. This isn’t about him, it’s about you. And besides, he already knows a lot of your kinks, because it was just one of many getting-to-know-you kinds of things that you talked about as the relationship became more serious. He’s always been interested in you, even the parts he can’t exactly experience firsthand.

So you do tell Johnny a little bit about what you like - some things you know for sure, and a few others which you’ve never actually tried - speaking plainly enough that Simon can probably hear if he’s listening. It doesn’t seem horribly awkward to talk about, when Johnny was the one to ask, and he’s steadily curling his fingers inside you while you tell him. This is basically your golden opportunity to experiment sexually, so you’d have to be stupid not to take advantage of it.

“Does any of that sound fun?” you probe nervously, when an entire two seconds of silence have elapsed since you finished talking.

“Aye, I’m game for all of that.”

That’s exactly what you thought he’d say. That’s such a Johnny thing to say.

That warm ache in your pussy fades to nothing when his fingers retreat from you, reaching over to the side table to grab the condom he apparently put there.

“I’m actually on the pill now,” you tell him enthusiastically. Two weeks gave you a chance to get your affairs in order this time around.

“Ooh, brilliant.” His face lights up, but he still tears the condom open. “Maybe just this once, though. Can’t be makin’ a mess on your nice sofa.”

Oh.

Well, that’s… disappointing. You try not to let it bother you, because really, there’s no such thing as being too careful with contraception. But you really were quite happy to finally contribute something to this whole arrangement, besides a needy pussy and emotional baggage.

That disappointment remains hidden, though, tucked away deep down. You keep a pleasant expression on your face while Johnny gets ready for you, reminding yourself that getting pregnant by him would be incredibly inconvenient, and you desperately try to think about something besides your unjustifiably hurt feelings.

The good thing is, there’s nothing like getting fucked when you need it to erase those stale thoughts. You finally get to sink down onto Johnny’s thick cock, and he prepped you so well that it’s nothing short of delicious from the very first inch.

It’s exactly what you needed, and you don’t give a shit that it’s just regular sex. It’s unoriginal, plain vanilla fucking, but it’s you and Johnny and Simon. All in the same room, all breathing the same air and wanting the same thing for each other. You wrap your arms around this wonderful man’s neck, careful to avoid his sore shoulder, and you kiss him like you want him. Soft and sloppy, taking him into your body and letting him feel how much you enjoy having him close.

You want him to be fucked and happy and cared for, and maybe for tonight you can give him two of those things. You can wander your fingers through his hair while you kiss him, make him feel like he deserves to have a warm body and a soft heart looking after him. He may be injured from top to bottom, but you can do this for him. You can let him relax under you while you use each other to feel good. There’s no power dynamic, just kisses and scruff and a warm pussy for someone who deserves it.

Those invisible fingers of release wrap around you from the inside, and you can’t help but whine into his mouth while you chase it.

“Shite.” His hand lands on your hip for a moment to slow your movements, making you groan in frustration.

Just a little bit more, come on. You don’t need much. Look, you’ll just grind yourself on him for a minute while he calms down, just a tiny bit. You’re good, see? You’re almost there, and you’re being so good, so—

“Alright,” he finally allows with a deep exhale, sliding his thumb around to your pussy instead of keeping you locked down.

Suddenly your clit is getting rubbed in a way you can’t escape. You make a muffled gasp into his mouth, your entire world narrowing to only what you’re feeling between your legs. Realistically it’s just in-and-out, rub-rub-rub, but physiologically it’s a steady trickle of dopamine, and a primed, blissed out nervous system.

And then all of a sudden you’re just cumming. All you can process is that rolling flash of pleasure which feels so right. Your body is so willing and open to receiving every scrap of it, that for a moment it feels like you’ve entered your natural state of being. Sweet, floating pleasure, and tingly skin, and a strong hand on your hip grinding you deeper into it when you’re no longer able to do it on your own.

Jesus, it’s good.

You come back to awareness slowly, with your cheek pressed against Johnny’s, and his palm running up and down your back. You try to roll your hips a little, because you’re pretty sure he hasn’t cum yet and you’re here just selfishly resting.

“Still with us?” Johnny asks, his breaths coming faster than before.

You pat his cheek with an open hand, rousing yourself to drag your eyes open and straighten up. “I’m great.”

You swear there’s a soft, second laugh coming from the other side of the couch, at your sprightly resurrection.

You’re more than great. You’ve still got that burn in your thighs that tells you it’s going to happen again, so long as you keep getting fucked. Johnny still hasn’t finished, so you’re going to keep going, and you’re going to cum, and it’s going to be amazing.

That trembling in your legs is nothing when you need this so bad. Johnny has the most lovely, fucked-out expression on his face, kneading your ass with one hand and playing with your nipple in the other. You’re just his lap girl right now, naked and touchable for him. The way he’s looking at you under those thick lashes - with his head tilted back over the top of the couch, lazily watching you bounce on his cock - is just the hottest thing ever. It sends that roll of need through your belly again, making your breath catch in your throat while you come to terms with how you’re about to cum under his gaze like this.

Instead, to your fucking despair, the worst thing happens. Johnny’s head flexes back and he starts panting, pushing you deep onto his cock.

Shit, shit, you were so close. It’s no use, though. You weren’t quite able to get there, and he’s forcing you to stop moving, holding you in place and grinding up into you for the last few pulses of his release.

Not fair, not fair, not fair.

You do your best to act happy for him, stroking your hands up his neck while he shudders a little. He gave you a fucking good one just a minute ago, and it’s not realistic to expect that he’ll last forever, especially since you put your mouth on him earlier. This is just… life. Sometimes you don’t get what you want, and you have to accept that.

It’s not until you drop yourself down to the couch beside him that it occurs to you that you could… it could possibly be an option to ask for more. With boyfriends in the past, you’ve typically hid the problem away and tried to find time to rub one out later in private. But everything is complicated with Simon here, and Johnny seems nice enough that maybe he’d be interested in continuing, even after he’s finished. Even though your mind is screaming at you how unsafe it is to ask for what you need, Johnny’s made it sound like it might be okay to do that.

“Johnny?” you ask quietly, ignoring that overwhelming feeling of danger, of needing to escape.

“Eh?” He’s just getting his first leg back into his jeans, huffing like he forgot his ankle hurts.

“Do you… Do you think you could, um, finger me a little bit more? I’d like to try to cum again, if that’s okay.”

Danger, suicide, humiliation. Why are you doing this to yourself?

Johnny smiles, lowering his eyes to your knees which are clamped tightly shut. “‘Course you can have some fingers. Askin’ so nicely, too.”

“Gets all polite when she’s wet,” Simon confides, his voice full of affection.

You shoot him a look of feigned annoyance, but dutifully pull your knees up when Johnny gets down to the floor in front of you.

You’re shivering a little, from the anticipation and the rollercoaster of ups and downs you just went through. And, okay, maybe you enjoy the way they talk about you to each other. Maybe you like it just a tiny bit.

Johnny pushes your thighs a little wider, works two fingers inside you and gives you that first rolling tide of pleasure. “Are you a very good girl when you need to cum?”

Dammit. You definitely like that. It seems like a rhetorical question, so you just make a little sound in your throat and focus on the feel of his fingers, the way he’s putting pressure on all the best spots while he fucks them into you.

Asking for this was so difficult that you’re replaying it in the back of your mind, still wondering if you’re being too much of a burden, and he’s just going along with it to avoid the awkwardness of turning you down.

Your eyes are fastened on Johnny lowering his head to your pussy, when Simon’s quiet rumble pokes through your thoughts.

“Quite easy to look after, this one.”

He says it right as Johnny begins to suck on your clit, so you have to blink through that flash of pleasure for a second in order to look over at your boyfriend.

Simon regards you with the side of his knuckle resting lazily against his mouth, elbow draped over the top of the couch. He seems happy, content to watch you receive exactly what you asked for. Maybe even a little proud, if you really care to read into his expression.

“Just needs a little loving,” he says, keeping you suspended in the loveliness of his eyes, “and a little fucking sometimes. Easy.”

Johnny gives you his fingers a little harder, making your pussy flutter around them while you gasp softly. You can’t seem to pull your gaze away from Simon’s face, not when he’s looking at you like this. He doesn’t touch you, but you swear you can almost feel the warmth of his eyes as they slide over your flushed chest, your breasts, your trembling knees.

Suddenly all you need in the entire world is just to cum like this. That rushing feeling is already bubbling up and threatening to overtake you, now that you’re positive you’re allowed to have this. You close your eyes and splay your fingers into Johnny’s hair, needing to connect with him in some way, needing to convey how thankful you are for this, even though you’re incapable of speech at the moment.

You’re doing everything you can to keep yourself in place, but one of your legs seems to have a mind of its own when your pussy begins to seize up. Your heel kicks down to the carpet with that first flood of pleasure rolling over your skin. You’re vaguely aware of Johnny hooking his arm around your hip to keep you in place, anchored just enough to reality that you don’t pull too hard on his hair while your body feeds you a long taste of heaven.

Someone’s hand is in your hair, sliding down to your cheek, taking advantage of your incapacitation to make contact with your skin while you cum. Multiple people’s hands on you, inside you, but you still feel safe. Your mind is blank and unbothered while the man between your legs brings you down with gentler movements of his fingers, slower sucks on your clit.

“Okay,” you whimper, pushing against Johnny’s forehead, “okay, alright.”

Yep, you’re demolished. Completely spent and limp, and still floating in a blurry haze of endorphins.

“You can always have that, you know.” Johnny’s voice sounds nice, smoothing pleasantly across the void of your mind. “Any time I’m around, whenever you want.”

You finally drag your eyes open to watch him get to his feet, collecting his clothes from the floor. He grins at you, seeming entertained by whatever dumb look is still on your face. Yeah, okay. How about you make him cum one more time, and then you can compare your mental states.

You feel awfully like a snail on the sidewalk when Simon reaches across to collect you, cuddling you into him and draping your legs over his lap. He wipes your hair off your sweaty forehead and neck, encouraging you to rest on him.

“I love you,” he whispers. You’re pretty sure Johnny just stepped away to clean up.

“Love you too, baby,” you mumble back, wrapping your arm around his stomach. “I’m feeling so good right now.”

“Good.”

“How are you feeling?” you ask, as you usually do after this sort of thing.

“Fucking good.”

“Fucking good?” you peer up at him, smiling. “I must have done a good job, huh?”

Shameless begging for praise.

His fingers skim your jaw. “I don’t think you know… sort of… seeing how brave you are with all this. How much it helps.”

You’re absolutely not brave, but you’re not petty enough argue the point. You kiss him for a minute, as your mind comes back to reality and your body starts to feel more under your control.

Simon pulls away from the kiss, nudging the bridge of his nose against your cheekbone. “Fancy going back to the bedroom with me for a bit?”

You blink for a moment in confusion, staring at the back of his neck. “Do… do you mean…”

“Won’t promise anything will come of it, just—“

“Yes,” you blurt enthusiastically. “Yes, of course.”

You push yourself upright, suddenly experiencing a major second wind, and just absolutely ecstatic that things are apparently going so well tonight. You knew he was in a good mood, but for him to be feeling this good, that’s fucking incredible.

Uncaring that you’re still naked and drippy, you get up and grab Simon’s hand to haul him to his feet. The last thing you want is for him to sit in an awkward moment that’ll make him second guess himself. He’s pushed you through your insecurities, and you can extend him the same compassion.

On your way, you pass a fully dressed Johnny leaving the bathroom. Your mouth opens to explain the situation, but before you can, he meets your eyes and gives you a lazy, two finger salute. “Have fun.”

Wait.

He knew.

Simon’s hand on your waist keeps you walking, but your mind is whirling when you finally realize the significance of insisting on a condom. He wasn’t concerned with getting the fucking couch messy, he was avoiding getting you messy ahead of your time with Simon.

The click of the door closing behind you has your thoughts instantly rushing back to reality. Your boyfriend pulls his shirt off while he nudges you closer to the bed, apparently not keen on wasting any time.

“How do you want to do this?” you ask, sitting down once the backs of your legs hit mattress.

He removes his jeans a little slower than the shirt, staring down at you in that way he does sometimes, where you can practically see the wheels of his thoughts turning.

“I’m not sure how far I’ll be able to go.”

“No pressure,” you assure him. “Whatever you can think of that feels doable, let’s do that. And it won’t hurt my feelings if you need to stop.”

He leans down to give you a quick kiss while he gets the pants off his feet. God, now you almost wish Johnny hadn’t made you cum quite so good, so that this would be a little more sexual and a little less therapeutic. But Simon did it this way on purpose, and honestly, he’s probably right. Your horny brain doesn’t need to be getting in the way.

“Would you… do you think I could just.. possibly try…” he swallows, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably while he tries to overcome the walls in his head. He’s always had trouble communicating verbally when he’s at the edge of things like this.

You keep your eyes on his face, and your voice steady. “How about you get yourself where you want to be, and then I’ll come get where you want me? That thing in your head, that’s what we’re going to do, okay? You don’t have to explain it first.”

Simon takes a breath and nods. Holy shit, this is happening.

You stay where you are while he climbs onto the bed, until he gets stretched out on his back and pats his chest. “On top.”

A heady thrill shoots through you, and you crawl over to him, unable to keep your breathing anywhere close to normal. Is he going to touch you? Does he want you to fuck him?

You swing your knee over his hips and let your pussy kiss his stomach with all your cum that’s still between your thighs. You hope he doesn’t mind it, that maybe he’d even appreciate experiencing your wetness like this for the first time. It’s not dirty, Johnny made sure of that.

Simon seems to take you for your word that you’ll go where he wants. He hooks his arms under your knees and pulls you up his stomach until you’re practically sitting on his chest, pussy just a few inches from his chin.

“Can you breathe?” you whisper, nervous to have all your weight on his lungs like this.

“Mhmm.”

Simon’s in the thick of it, you can see that in his eyes. He’s tunnel-visioned in on the objective, reaching those thick arms over your thighs to presumably pull himself out of his underwear. He releases a relieved breath at having some contact finally on what you can only imagine is an awfully achy bit between his legs.

This is interesting. You can see why it occurred to him, having you sit here specifically. He can see your whole body and also your face, but you can’t see anything of what he’s doing behind your ass.

To a casual observer, this might seem like a strange arrangement, but to you, this is everything. This is the direction he wants to go in, he wants to feel pleasure that you’re a part of. He wants your body to be touching him while he cums. He wants those trauma pathways to shift, for his nervous system to stop connecting all the wrong wires. He wants to be naked with you, and feel safe.

“Can I have your hand?” you ask softly, once you’re certain he really is jacking off right now behind you.

His eyebrows do a confused flick for a second, but he obediently stops moving and lifts his hand into the air in front of you, his fingers hesitantly curled like he’s not sure what you want it for.

You grab that thick wrist with a gentle pressure, and you deposit a big glob of your own spit onto his palm, smiling at him and wiping your chin when you’re done.

Simon blinks slowly and his mouth twitches into the absolutely loveliest smile for a moment. He cups his hand around your offering and worms it under your knee this time, so he’ll have an easier time of reaching his cock.

Oh god, you love this so much. You’ll do anything for that fucking cock, which you’ve never even seen erect before. You don’t care if it’s beautiful, or scarred, or crooked, or polka-dotted. It’s his, and you love it by extension.

You just wish you knew what you’re supposed to be doing. Should you being saying something? Sweet nothings, or dirty talk? Should you be squeezing your tits, or giving him a bunch of eye contact, or maybe no eye contact? God, are you even sexy at this angle? He’s looking straight up your body, so he’s got a front row seat of your double chin.

Don't get nervous, you’ll psyche him out. He just watched you fuck his friend in a similar position, so even if he doesn’t find this particularly sexy, maybe he can pull from those recent memories.

Simon’s breathing starts to pick up, but his eyes don’t look right. They start getting twitchy, his lids stuttering and not landing on your face as often. You’re just stupidly sitting here doing nothing, waiting for a splash of warm cum on your ass, but his movements start to slow down.

Shit, something’s wrong. His lungs aren’t expanding as much as they should, and then his free hand finds your ankle and grabs onto it hard, like he’s trying to communicate something. You think maybe he hit a wall, because his movements stop and his eyes go a little unfocused and blinky.

“It’s okay,” you quickly tell him, cupping his cheek with your hand. “It’s alright if we stop right now.”

His pupils are shrunk down tight when his eyes finally focus on yours. “You sure?” he pants out, leaning his face just slightly away from your palm.

“Of course, baby.” You brace your hand on the pillow instead, and you’re rewarded with that grip on your ankle finally relaxing. “That was so good. I’m so proud of you.”

He clears his throat a little, scrubbing at his face with his hand. Hiding.

“I love you so much,” you babble, because he’s having trouble talking, and he generally doesn’t mind if you do. “If we have to do this a hundred times before we get it right, that’s totally fine. Or if you never want to do it again, that’s okay too! Day by day, okay? You did good.”

Simon just nods, moving his arm in a way that makes you think he’s putting himself back in his underwear. He’s having some trouble meeting your eyes.

Once you’re sure he’s decent, you haul yourself off him and lay down on your stomach nearby. Close enough that he knows he can touch you if he wants that.

“How about this,” you try. “You go take a nice shower, and do what you need to do to feel better if you want to. Then we can cuddle and watch TV or something.”

“Yeah.” He lets out all the air in his lungs, then leans over to kiss the side of your hair. “Alright.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

It’s not until the bathroom door closes behind him that you let yourself drop the encouraging smile. You bury your face in your hands and just breathe for a moment, going over everything that went wrong.

He was in such a good headspace earlier, and really he made leaps and bounds of progress. Surely it just seems like a failure right now, because the dopamine is gone and you’re alone in bed, and he didn’t get off. Everything is literally fine, you just got fucked as good as any girl could wish for, and Simon touched himself in front of you. That’s a fucking amazing night, so why are you being so dramatic about it?

It’s too quiet and lonely in here. You know if you stay and wait for Simon to be done with his shower, he’ll walk back in on your depression spiral, and be forced to comfort you in a way he’s maybe not equipped to do right now.

Wait, Johnny. Is he still here?

You quickly throw on some underwear and Simon’s shirt, and peek your head out the door. The TV is still playing soccer, but it’s otherwise quiet.

Your bare feet make no noise on the laminant when you cross over and look past the top of the couch, finding Johnny stretched out there with his face turned towards the game.

“Johnny?” you prompt quietly, so you won’t scare him.

His face turns to look at you, and… fuck. Just having someone else around, someone who you trust, has the worst of your emotions suddenly seizing up your lungs.

Seeing the look on your face, Johnny uncrosses his arms. “Aww, what happened?”

“It went really well,” you say, though your voice is cracking with the beginning of tears. “He made… a lot of progress, I think.”

“That’s good.” He’s got a very concerned expression on his face, so you must look like a mess.

The first bit of water slides down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it away. “Simon’s fine, I think. He’s taking a shower. It’s just—“

You try to swallow down that lump in your throat, but it just gets bigger, and before you know it, you’re admitting out loud the debilitating truth. “It wasn’t enough.”

Johnny purses his lips sympathetically, and you just fucking burst into tears. “Everything was p-perfect, and it still wasn’t enough.”

You cover your face with your hands to sob behind them, and Johnny says, “Aww, lass, come here.”

You do your best to blindly make your way around the couch while you cry, and then Johnny drags you down to his chest, pulling your body over his and holding you close.

“It wasn’t anything you did,” he tells you thickly, “it’s just the way it is.”

That just makes you cry harder, because it shouldn’t be that way.

“I hate them,” you sob into his chest.

He curses softly, petting your hair. “I know.”

“I hate them, I hate them!” You just start wailing it into his chest, your lips pulling back in your fucking fury.

Johnny’s shoulders shake a little, and you’d almost think he’s laughing, except that one of his hands moves to wipe his face. “I know.”

He lets you cry on him for a long time. Long enough that you’re very glad you came to him for comfort, because you’d probably be doing the same exact thing by yourself in the bedroom.

You don’t hear the bedroom door open, but you do hear the sigh when Simon wanders over.

“Can’t have a bloody wank without you lot fussing over it like a couple of grans.”

You get scooped up in your boyfriend's fresh, clean arms, and Johnny sits up so you all can recover on the same couch. Simon doesn’t let you apologize for your outburst, keeps shushing you when you try.

It’s quiet for a while after that. Johnny’s team wins, so that’s something. He stays the night, and that’s nice, too.

That was a monster to get through. Thank you for all the encouragement. <3

#simon ghost riley #x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #ghoap x reader #poly!ghoap #johnny soap mactavish #service dog johnny #call of duty

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 11 hours

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God damn yet another incredibly sweet, and hot instalment.

I love Johnny’s characterisation here.

“See that LT?” … “you did that to her.” - this killed me. And the line of dialogue that follows just broke my heart 😭

Johnny for Dinner (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Oral (m-recieving), sexual activity after alcohol consumption, she/her reader Word Count: 3.2k

Service Dog Johnny Part 10 (full part list here)

So, apparently Johnny is one of those absolute pieces of shit who can pick up any fine motor activity after the second or third try.

“Ooh, yah, this one’s a bugger,” he claims, working meticulously through the section of your craft that was giving you problems.

You stare in dumb shock while those thick fingers identify in seconds what took you a whole week to figure out, and Simon is kind enough to pour you a glass of wine to cope. He assures you that Johnny annoys the shit out of everyone, and it’s not just you.

“Someday I’m going to find something that you suck at,” you promise Johnny, resting your chin in your hand, “and I’m going to teach it to you.”

“Good luck,” Simon calls from the stove area. “Already knows his way around a prick.”

“Eh? So now the story changes! ‘Too much teeth,’ my arse!”

Wine was an excellent idea.

The guys break out the hard liquor, and you don’t have to do anything but sit there and sip from your glass, laughing at the dumb little back-and-forth they have going and antagonizing them whenever you can. Honestly, it’s wonderful. Something about Simon cooking while Johnny does crafts just tickles you the right way. You find yourself tracing your eyes over each of the guys when they’re occupied, just marveling at their existence and the fact that you get to live a part of it with them.

By the time you all settle into the living room after dinner, you’re feeling fucking good. Simon turns on a football match and drags you to the couch, just like he would if it were just the two of you. Your full belly perfectly balances the really nice buzz you have going, keeping your skin warm and your anxiety dull as you rest your head on your boyfriend’s chest, and he starts to stroke his fingers up under your hair.

That touch is a hot bath of pleasure washing through you, making you go absolutely liquid as he caresses that sensitive bit of skin behind your ear, runs his fingers down the side of your neck. It feels almost possessive having his hand on your neck like this, with Johnny sitting nearby. It’s like he’s showing off how touchable you are, how you’ll be soft and relaxed no matter where their hands go, because you want this.

The increased blood flow between your legs is torturous, less because of the wine, and more for the fact that Johnny’s here, and he does want to fuck you. You know it intuitively, can almost taste the attraction in the air every time his eyes linger. It's as if he’s finally letting himself see you as a sexual option, instead of just Simon’s girl.

That’s good, because you are a sexual option for him. You’re a warm, willing body for him to use and find relief in, the same way he’s offered himself to you. It’s effortless to imagine his hands on you in just a minute, transforming all those interested glances into touches and kisses and noises, Johnny’s noises, coming out of him involuntarily while you stroke him, because you’re going to—

You’re going to suck his dick.

You know it all of a sudden, as your gaze lowers to the sore foot he’s got extended a little farther on the carpet than the other one. He needs stationary activities, and you can fucking do that for him. Wine and blowjobs just go together, because it’s fun to be uninhibited and sloppy and just fool around a little bit. Everything has been so serious and emotional up until tonight, but now you’re past all that, and you want the reward for it. You want to play.

Leaving the warm bubble of Simon’s arms is practically painful, but you have to do it sooner rather than later, because you really need to pee. You pause in the bedroom on your way back, peeling off your leggings and opening the top drawer of your dresser as quietly as possible. You grab out your skimpiest little underwear and quickly change into it, feeling so fucking turned on just from the knowledge that these men have permission to access your body tonight.

You’ve been alone for two weeks, and now you’re about to get a feast of touch. They might want to switch to the bedroom after Johnny finishes in your mouth, but a part of you hopes he’d want to just touch you out there in the open. Maybe this time he’d let Simon watch your pussy get filled with his fingers, make you give him lots of pretty noises while he gets you ready to cum on them.

Lost to your horny imaginings, you practically float back to the couch on a soft cloud of sexuality, and it’s not until your boyfriend pulls you into his lap that you notice the air feels different. It’s subdued now, in a way that would almost make you wonder if they’d been fighting about something, except that Simon still seems awfully relaxed. As he entwines your fingers, you realize it’s Johnny who’s bothered. Johnny, who's never bothered about anything, is now staring blankly at the TV, his eyes unmoving even though the players are darting across the field.

“Johnny, how’s your ankle?” you ask, to feel him out and make sure you didn’t inadvertently do something wrong.

Like magic, his entire countenance shifts. The light comes back into his eyes and he quite convincingly smiles them over at you. “Not bad. May as well have a gammie leg to match my arm.”

“Your arm?”

“Johnny took a round last week,” Simon explains, squeezing your hand.

Took a round of what?

Seeing the confused look on your face, Johnny taps the side of his shoulder. “Just a graze.”

“You got shot?!”

Simon irritates you by laughing under his breath, but Johnny definitely enjoys your reaction. “Good time to fuck up my ankle, already on med leave.”

“You let me haul you up all those stairs, and you never told me you had a fucking bullet hole in your arm? Why were you even out running?”

The body behind you vibrates with a new chortle, and Johnny just shakes his head like he’s embarrassed you’re babying him. Oh, okay. So Simon can be up all night with Bob after Johnny gets shot, but you can’t get upset about it a few days later. Fucking bastards.

Aggravated, you disengage your fingers from your boyfriend’s hand. “I’m pissed that no one told me.”

Simon finally gets a grip on himself, patting your thigh apologetically. “Didn’t think it would be a big thing.”

You take in a long, frustrated breath, which makes Johnny add, “It’s just a wee scratch, it’ll probably heal faster than my leg.”

“Am I allowed to hear the story at least?”

Johnny smiles like he thought you’d never ask, propping his arm on a throw pillow and slouching his hips a little farther forward. “...So I’d been having a bad feeling about it from the time we landed.”

“Bollocks,” Simon mutters, cuddling you sideways into him so you can face Johnny for the tale.

“You’ve had plenty of time to tell her the story, now fuck up and let me talk.”

You laugh and dutifully listen as Johnny starts from the very beginning, and Simon begins to touch you.

It starts off small at first, wrapping his hand around the top part of your knee and squeezing comfortingly. You melt into it, quite familiar with that sort of touch because you and Simon have a pretty full-contact relationship. Maybe it’s just his way of making up for the lack of sex, but he’s always made it a point to show you how much he enjoys having you in his arms. It drove you crazy for the first few weeks because you weren’t used to non-sexual contact with a boyfriend, but once you learned to trust him, it became something really special to you.

Except this isn’t his usual kind of contact. This is a little more delicate and slow, the difference so slight that at first that you think your horny brain is imagining it. As usual, you tamp down that first wash of awareness that follows his thumb across your inner thigh. The buttery, thin material of your leggings allows you to feel every bit of his hand as he smooths it down to your hip, curling his fingers to run the backs of his knuckles up to your knee again.

It takes another few caresses before you finally remember that you don’t have to fight it on nights like tonight. Maybe this is a thing he does now — a little bit of foreplay before he hands you over to Johnny. A chance to turn you on in a controlled environment, without any expectations of going further than he’s able.

You want to open your legs a little more and tempt him to curve the path further inwards. Even as you sit there listening to Johnny’s story, you’re thinking about that, mentally moving Simon’s hand into a more intimate sweep of your skin. It’s like your leg is communicating with your pussy, telling it how nice Simon’s hand feels. It’s basking in those warm, safe fingers — not quite as clever as Johnny’s, but belonging to someone who loves you.

You imagine that Simon’s fingers would be patient and gentle, if he were ever at a point where he was able to touch you between your legs. Maybe he’d find a quiet hour sometime to sit you in his lap like this and stroke your clit for you, figure out the motions you like. You’re not expecting that, of course. But with Johnny here, and after everything that happened last time, you’re finally letting yourself think it.

You can so easily imagine him talking to you in that soft way he does, shushing your desperate noises and touching you a little too slowly, because he wouldn’t know yet what feels the best. You wouldn’t care enough to correct him, and it would just stretch out the buildup so long that you’d be a mindless puddle by the time your body finally gave in and decided that what you were getting was enough to cum. It would feel so wonderful to have him wrapped around you like this when you’re that achy and wet, kissing your temple and circling your clit with his fingertips, quietly reminding you—

“So I’m second on the stack, right?”

Shit, you weren’t at all listening.

“Mhmm,” is all you manage to get out, struggling to focus your eyes on his face and stop being so rude.

Simon’s fingers continue to stroke across the sensitive inside of your thigh, made all the more accessible because your legs have somehow wandered a few inches further apart. He tucks you a little more snug into the curve of his shoulder, adding, “Third, weren’t you?”

“Nah, I got center, else I wouldn’t have made the shot.”

“Mmm, you’re right,” Simon says quietly, brushing his mouth against your ear as if he’s actually talking to you, and not his friend. “My mistake.”

It’s like he’s offering little bits of conversation just to pretend this is normal, touching your thigh like this and breathing soft little kisses against your neck. Maybe he’s fucking with you to see how much of this you can take, or maybe he just wants to play it off as long as possible so he doesn’t feel like the attention is on him.

Whatever his reasoning may be, you decide to play your part. You sit there like a good girlfriend and let Simon tuck your hair behind your ear so he’ll have better access to your neck. You hold Johnny’s eyes and do an admirable job of paying attention to what he’s saying while the back and forth curls of those damn fingers send a steady wash of heat between your legs.

Focus, you’re literally listening to a story about Johnny getting shot. Focus.

There’s no warning, just a purposeful hand coming around your hip, lifting the hem of your shirt and beginning to drag it up your stomach.

A lifetime of modesty has you gasping and automatically slamming your knees shut, your reaction making him halt right before your bra gets exposed. “Simon,” you breathe, glancing down at your rucked-up shirt.

He merely hooks a finger into the bottom edge of your soft bra, carefully tugging it up with your shirt until you can feel the fabric move against your nipples, gravity about a second away from revealing a whole lot more than underboob.

“Tell her about hitting your head,” Simon prompts.

“Oh… yeah…” Johnny looks utterly lost, his eyes fastened on your breasts as they finally fall free, and Simon tucks your shirt up around your armpits.

You suck in some steadying breaths at being suddenly naked for them, processing that shivery feeling of your boyfriend’s hand running down your bare waist, back to your thigh.

Johnny’s eyes float back up to your face, his words coming slowly, like he’s lost the plot. “I… fell asleep on the way back. Hit my head.”

“Blood loss, most likely,” Simon adds. “Still the funniest shit I’ve ever seen.”

He eases your knees apart again, and you’re just desperately trying to come to terms with how much your body likes this, how you can feel your pulse in your clit with how quickly blood is racing to your pussy.

“Is this alright, love?” Simon cups his hand around your chin to lift it, giving you a kiss. “Does that feel nice?”

He pulls back enough for you to reply, and you struggle to blink yourself back to reality. There aren’t any hands on your body right now, but there’s eyes. You can feel the attention of both of them, narrowed to your exposed breasts and the way you’ve slouched back against him with your legs open.

“Yes,” you breathe, curling your hand around the back of his neck to pull him in for another kiss.

Simon slides your leggings off while your mouth is occupied. You think that maybe Johnny helps get them over your feet, because there’s suspiciously little movement he has to do before your legs are bare.

The worst thing about getting naked is definitely the fact that Simon’s hands are gone from your skin. You’ve spent so many months repressing your desire for him that your mind is ripe with it now. You want him so bad that even just the brush of his fingers against your jaw makes you shudder and ache for it.

Surely this is why he never let himself touch you before. This kind of withholding feels so unnatural and cruel—

“Go on.” Simon gives you one last kiss. “Go see Johnny before I do something embarrassing in my trousers.”

Your man supports the back of your shoulders to help push you upright, and you blink over at Johnny who’s got one arm slung over the top of the couch, and the other touching himself through his pants.

Blowjob time. Yummy, delicious cock makeout time. You quickly finish the job Simon started, stripping your shirt and bra off, and then crawling over to your favorite fuck buddy on the other side of the couch.

“Hey,” you say, sliding your hand under Johnny’s to rub your thumb against his bulge.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, I’ll tell you that.”

“Yeah?” You steady yourself with a hand on his chest, bringing your face up for a kiss. “You gonna let me have something I want?”

There’s no hiding that smile on his face, the anticipatory inhale he does. “What is it you want?”

Your fingers rise to his belt, fiddling with the buckle. “Can I suck your dick?”

Johnny does that half-growl half-laugh, raising his eyes to the ceiling and sucking in air between his teeth. His hands knock yours off his belt to efficiently take over the job. Oh, he wants it bad.

You sit back on your heels for a minute and watch him get ready for you, opening up his pants and taking his shirt off.

“All off?” He asks, hesitating with his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his clothes.

“All off.”

Your eyes are drawn to the thick bandage around his shoulder, suddenly wondering if it’s safe to get his blood pumping with a wound like that. You have to remind yourself that he was exercising yesterday, and he’d probably take it as an insult if you said anything about it.

He’s finally naked and relaxing back on the couch for you, pushing his hips a little farther forward so you have more room to work. It’s at that moment that that you realize you have basically zero experience with uncut guys, as you take him in your hand and feel the difference in malleability.

Improvise, adapt, overcome, right? Simon’s the same, so this is actually a pretty relevant skill set for you to have. It takes a little bit of exploration which you play off as teasing, little licks and kisses while you figure out how he likes you to hold him in your hand. He gives you his first noise, a deep groan when you finally decide to just go for it and give him a firm stroke with your hand.

There’s no pussyfooting around after that. You slide your mouth down onto him and close your eyes, widening your knees a little to give you maximum support as you work. You can’t help but wonder what Simon thinks of this, watching your head bob over his friend’s lap. At the moment he’s got a front row seat of your ass in the air. Maybe you should have gotten on your knees on the floor, instead. Would he rather watch your face?

Johnny’s hand strokes over the top of your head, tucking your hair behind your ear for you. “That’s fucking nice.”

You make a happy sound around him, grateful for a little bit of feedback.

That warm hand travels down your back, his fingers finding the top of your underwear. “Let’s give LT something pretty to look at.”

An obscene noise falls out of your throat as Johnny pushes your panties down, leaving them suspended halfway down your thighs. His hand comes back up to curve around your ass, kneading it in front of Simon and spreading your pussy a little. The movement shifts things just enough that you can discern the ungodly amount of wetness you have gathering there.

“See that, LT?” Johnnys fingers slide around your hip to come up underneath, smoothing gently between your legs. “You did that to her.”

You twitch at that colossal fucking blast of arousal his words bring, having to gasp in some air around his cock for a moment to cope.

Johnny’s fingers linger on your clit, easily sliding against it with how wet it’s grown from your dripping arousal. His voice is quiet and reassuring. “She likes your hands on her, mate. She’s not afraid of you.”

He nudges your clit like that a few more times, not in a way that’s meant to stimulate you, but rather to show you off to your boyfriend. He lets Simon watch that sticky line of your wetness cling to his fingers while you helplessly whimper around his cock that’s suddenly rock hard.

“Fuck.” Johnny’s hand vanishes from your pussy, only to clamp onto your arm in warning. “Hold on a minute, lass.”

You slide your lips off him, suddenly quite relieved that he doesn't seem to want to finish in your mouth. You thought you’d be fine just getting fingers, but now? Now you want to get fucked, and that’s entirely Johnny’s fault.

Next Part

#service dog johnny #call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #poly!ghoap #cod ghost #cod soap

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

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happy pride everyone!! make sure to use it for its intended purpose - shaming your straight/cis friends into being nice to you for a month ❤️

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

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I need to just buy the Xbox versions of this game (and MW)

Damn it.

Also I’m pretty sure someone has said this before but when you first start the alone mission and Soap is changing through channels of his radio you hear a shadow say “we need reinforcements in the North Plaza now!” just a little bit before Ghost answers Soap, showing where he was in relation to Soap.

It a fun detail, especially considering that soap had a head start in running towards Las Almas over Ghost, meaning Ghost is super fast and that Soap was lagging behind because of his wound.

It also shows how skilled Ghost is on his own. You need reinforcement because of one man? Just one?

Yeah, I’d be pretty terrified too.

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

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Was I working on mafia AU Price?

Yes

Did I get inspo for the final part of Angsty husband price?

Also, yes.

Get ready to hurt, get horny, and hurt some more. 😫

#john price #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw3 #cod x reader #captain john price #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #female reader #x female reader

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

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Tbh my favorite part of pride month is saying “AND DURING PRIDE MONTH TOO?” at every slight inconvenience.

#Yeah...

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

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Overseas 🇺🇸

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 2 days

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-Drops this at your feet and scurries away-

Deity! Gaz is finally done. 😭

#OUGHHH???#LOVE HIM #PRETTIEST BOY #deity! Gaz #kyle gaz garrick

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 2 days

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Bite loverr 💋

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 2 days

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This is beautiful 😂

Yaaaaas 😍

#accents #fantasy #elves #dwarves #orcs #halflings #hobbits

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 2 days

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This is so sweet 😭

Codywan and GHOAP are some of my favourite ships 😅💜

Commission I did for @/kalli_adreena on Twitter!!:)

Star Wars x CoD crossover! Jedi Soap and Clone Commander Ghost! Ghost would totally be so smug about returning Soap's lightsaber when he drops it just like Cody and Obi-Wan. 🤣💛

#art #star wars #call of duty #star wars au #soap #ghost #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 2 days

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I hope no one has done this already LMAOO

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 2 days

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“Never been to a Selkie seaport before, Ghost?” In one version of my mythic au, Selkies commonly wear their skins like kilts when they come ashore…and nothing else. In said AU, shifters wear flexible collars instead of dogtags. Also, why are chibis so hard to draw?😅

#selkie!soap #kyle gaz garrick #The guys!!#john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 3 days

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Sitting on their lap, 141 x reader headcanons ! (Realistic)

- They get hard.

---

I hope you enjoyed this!!

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 3 days

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Timezone reblog <3

Planning for Call of Duty (and guests) Kinktober 2024, with your input!

I’m going to continue polling for Kinktober prompts (to keep it fresh for me, and to involve you wonderful people too!)

The winner of each poll will be the prompt for that day, and the two runners up will return in a later poll for the chance to be featured later in the month! Day 10 Weather: Winner: Thunderstorms – Runners Up – Heavy Rain, Snow Storm,

The next few days were ones I wanted to just choose so: Day 11: Love Languages, Day 12: Meeting the Family, Day 13: Talking you through it.

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 3 days

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ghosted

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: sex toys (satisfyer "glowing ghost"), unprotected P in V, creampie, oral (f receiving), reader loves floor time (so does Joel), angst (but we fix it), some anxiety/depression adjacent things. word count: 5751 summary: As spring moves into summer, the only thing you're wishing for is to be so far from the events of Easter, and Valentine's and Christmas before it, that you could forget and move on. But, by the time the end of May is on the horizon, the time between still isn't enough - You haven't forgotten, and you haven't moved on.

A/N: thank you to everyone still sticking with this sporadic-installment-series-that-was-never-meant-to-be-a-series. our next visit to these two will be 4th July in stars and stripes, but until then, enjoy 💛

(and yes I know I am technically later than planned with this for non Americas folk - I couldn't get the ending to my liking until suddenly I could, and now its gone midnight. whoops!)

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If it was true that time flies when you're having fun, it was safe to say the opposite was true too.

You weren't having fun, and time was well and truly crawling by at a snails pace.

That wasn't for lack of trying. In recent weeks you'd spent more time out of the house than you ever had - lunch with friends, drinks with colleagues, solo trips to bookstores and farmers markets. There was barely a moment of time you hadn't filled with something.

It was probably a shitty coping mechanism, all things considered, but it was the best you had. You couldn't quite bring yourself to confide in anyone your secret shame of letting a stranger into your house and touch you like he belonged there. The even bigger shame of living in a place for so very long and not knowing how the door worked, not knowing the stranger was your neighbor, being so very consumed in your own life - woe is you - that you didn't bother paying attention to the lives of the people around you. So, you kept on willing the passage of time, and filling every moment you could with distractions.

It wasn't that you were usually one for wishing time away. A slow, warm spring before the blazing heat of summer consumed everything would usually be a good thing - even better now that you'd lived and experienced your first Texas summer and were soon to have your second.

What you were really wishing for was to be so far from the events of Easter, and Valentine's and Christmas before it, that you could forget and move on.

As it was, by the time the end of May was on the horizon, the time between still wasn't enough. Almost two months to the day, and it still ached and burned in you just as much as it always had, if not more. The embarrassment and shame of not knowing how to work a fucking lock was one thing, the fear of the danger you'd put yourself in was another. Then there was the sadness, the loss, the unexpected emptiness at losing something you weren't even sure you had to begin with. And then, in more recent weeks, was the longing.

And you didn't want to feel any of it.

When Memorial Day Weekend eventually rolls around, the blossoming heat of summer keeping you indoors, you lie there on your living room floor, a fan blowing not quite cool enough air across your sweaty body until a knock at the door disturbs the patterns your eyes were tracing on the ceiling.

The dimness in your vision doesn't go away, even as you blink away the dust and try to get your eyes to adjust. The sun had set, apparently. It wasn't completely dark just yet, but dark enough to cast the lower level of your home in shadow, and you hadn't even noticed. You technically had plans today - plans that had now gone to shit, much like everything else.

Hauling yourself from the ground, you unlock your door, no thought or care of who could be on the other side of it, because one thing was certain - it wouldn't be Joel. You'd lost hope of that weeks ago. Each time you opened it with a fools hope in your mind, you were instead handed a delivery and told to have a good day as you stared out into the street, disappointed that it was only a clitty-blaster-3000, or a new blender, and not Joel.

You mindlessly pull open the door, expecting to be handed a package you hadn't ordered, or to even see a friendly face coming to pull you out for plans you agreed to but didn't really want to do.

But there he is. Two months later - but not too late, you don't think - and entirely out of the blue. Nervous hands are thrust into his pockets with his thumbs twitching on the outside of his jeans, standing there like he didn't belong here at all, when everything in your body was screaming he's home.

This was far from the first time you'd seen him since March. The first time was barely three days after you pushed him away. April Fools' Day, of all days. Fitting, you thought, given how much of a fucking fool you felt whenever you remembered everything you'd done, and said, and felt. It turns out he was the owner of the truck you'd seen parked in a drive a little way down the street, father to the little girl you'd seen bounding out of that house so many times before. Neither thing made the hurt in your chest any less, and you'd driven past with a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes.

The same happens now, but you fight them back so you can see more clearly as his mouth twitches into a small smile, making you freeze on the spot. Your mind was already blank, but that freezes too, and you stare at him dumbstruck for a moment so long you're certain a flicker of concern dances across his eyes.

And you could close the door in his face, push him out and away just like you did on that day over two months ago, but you don't. As you come back around, finally letting your brain reconnect with the rest of your body, the only thing you can feel is relief and total utter joy at getting to see him up close again.

There's still shame too. That's been simmering low and mellow in you for so long now that it's fused with your bones - you're not sure you'll ever shake it - but it's the least important thing right now as you stand and look at him, more awkward and uncertain than you've ever seen him.

"Hi."

You're surprised it's you who speaks first, given how dry your mouth is all of a sudden, seeing him up close again and looking as good as, if not better, than he ever has.

"Hey," he says, before clearing his throat. "S'good to see you."

It's a voice you didn't want to forget, but apparently damn near almost had, given the way your body reacts to it. Deep and rumbling, with the slow southern drawl trickling down your spine like honey and settling between your thighs - though in all honesty that might just be sweat. It really is hot in here, worse now that you're standing, and the fan is doing absolutely nothing to help. You look a mess too - your hair, your clothes, your life - but he doesn't seem to mind, and you're grateful, because right now this is as good as you've got.

"Wanted to see how you were doin'. Figured we should talk," he says with another soft smile.

Stepping aside, you give him a small nod as you silently invite him into your home for the first time. Which should be funny, given the unknown number of times he's been through this door, but you're not ready to laugh about any of it just yet.

When the door closes behind him, it's soft and gentle, barely audible over the fan blasting warm air at you, and you wonder if it's always like that. If he's always quiet as a mouse, and you always too oblivious to notice - between the two of you, you didn't stand a hope in hell in figuring it all out until it was too late and blew up in your face. Now, here you are, egg on your face, the heat in the room not helping the heat in your cheeks, trying desperately not to send him away when you've just invited him in.

It would be easier if it all still felt like a dream, but it didn't. That had changed.

Joel had never been much of a normal man in your mind. He was more of a fantasy come to life. A fantasy that was slowly building into something more and more real with each encounter. Even now, stood in normal shoes, wearing a normal t-shirt, and even more normal jeans - just Some Guy by anybodies standard - he looks as beautiful and fantastic as ever.

"Wanted to talk to you sooner. Wanted to leave it up to you given - y'know. Everythin'. Didn't want you to think I was just bargin' in all the time when it was convenient for me," he says, this very normal man already making you feel both silly and elated that he was waiting for you as much as you were waiting for him. Obviously you could have gone to him first. You just couldn't do it. You almost had so many times, but the twist of your key in the door would twist something in the pit of your stomach too, and you'd stop before you even made it out the house.

You knew why. It was always the same thing. You didn't want to talk - not ever. You just wanted things to be okay, or not, and go on with your life. It was one of those childish things you had your mom to thank for - she wasn't great at talking about the important thing either.

The difference now was Joel. You wanted to talk to him, you wanted to work out everything with him rather than alone in your head. But prior to the door incident, that wasn't what this was and after - well, fuck - after, it seemed that it could have been like that all along but you were too damn late to do anything about it.

"Know you were angry with me - maybe still are - and I -"

"I wasn't angry with you," you blurt out, already aware of the lie the moment it leaves your lips. Joel is too, and he raises an eyebrow at you. "Okay. Yes. It pissed me off - you pissed me off. Happy?"

"No. Never wanted to piss you off, darlin'," he murmurs in return, and you can see that he means it by the way all of him softens, drooping in defeat at your admission.

"I... You embarrassed me, Joel. I feel embarrassed, okay? I feel like a stupid idiot, and I -"

You can already feel it all coming back. The swirling in your head, and the heat creeping up your chest and down your arms, not helped by this sweltering fucking house. It's like fainting, but instead of blacking out, a white hot rage is ready to ignite in you. And of everything, it's the thing you most never want to feel again. You'd take all the sadness, loss, emptiness, and longing of the last two months a million times over if it means you never have to feel this again.

" - and it makes me angry. And I hate feeling like that, like this, and I just couldn't come talk to you because I feel so stupid."

"Woah, darlin', c'mon now, we both know you ain't stupid."

"I don't know how to work a fucking door, Joel. Do you know how long people have had doors?"

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes before starting up again, hoping Joel will take the lead and talk for you first, but he doesn't.

"And I thought we were on the same page. That we were both doing the same silly thing, and it was okay that it was silly and fun, because we were both in on the joke. And... I liked seeing you. I liked it when you were here and it just - it just feels like it was a lie, and what I got out of it isn't what you got out of it. And that's okay, but it still feels stupid. I feel like an idiot, and an asshole, and knowing that you knew so much more about me than I knew about you, I just-"

"Do you want to?" he asks. "Do you wanna get to know me? Just gotta say, and it's done. I want you to know about me - I never meant to hide anythin' from you like that. And I don't want you to be mad, and I don't want you to feel embarrassed, cause the way I see it, we both got shit to be embarrassed about. I was breakin' into your house for months, thinkin' I was invited."

You wince a little, and he just smiles, shrugging his broad shoulders that what's done is done, nonchalance easing your anxiety for the first time ever rather than making it worse.

"I used to stand out there in front of your door and talk to your doorbell like you'd talk back to me any minute," Joel says with a laugh. "Course, now I get that you probably ain't got it hooked up. Never did hear the fuckin' thing ring."

Fuck. Right. Yeah, he's got you there. You'd bought it when you moved in, at your mom's insistence, and never got around to connecting it to anything. You figured it just being there would be deterrent enough and, other than visits from Joel, it had been.

He laughs again at your poorly masked grimace, and any other time you'd maybe be infuriated by him finding humor in something you'd been hurting over for weeks. It's not until you meet his eye and see the silliness in it all too - neither of you really did have any hope.

"Right? It's dumb. Not you, not me, it's just dumb. I even used to tell you when I'd be over next, let you know when to expect me. Leave out a key or put the door on the latch if it's okay for me to come by. I thought I was bein' invited in, but I was breakin' in. Shit. You're embarrassed, and I'm a criminal, I guess we're both losers."

Any anger you had is gone in a flash as laughter ripples through your belly and out your throat. In a way, it's all true. Joel was just as fucked as you, had just as much to be embarrassed and fearful about as you. Unknowingly leaving your home vulnerable to intruders is one thing, but being an accidental criminal for months is another.

"I liked it. I... I never knew when you were coming."

"Hey, if that's what gets your rocks off," he says with a wink, and you laugh again. "I ain't one to judge, but we can explore that in safer ways than keepin' a door unlocked day and night."

You both realize what he said the second the word left his lips.

We.

As in us.

As in together.

And you think he might take it back as quick as he said it, but he doesn't. He just looks at you, half fearful that he said the wrong thing, half hopeful that he said the right thing.

"Okay."

With one word he brightens, and you can feel it in you too. Whatever it is is mutual. Has been since the red velvet coat, since the wings, since the bunny ears, and all the spaces in between.

"Yeah? Cause I'd like to start over, if that's okay with you."

"Well, that sounds like a terrible idea," you say bluntly, because honestly you cannot think of anything worse. Joel's slow steps towards you falter for a second as he tries not to let the disappointment in his face show, but you're already smiling. "You can pry Santa, Cupid, and Flopsy from my cold, dead hands."

And his laugh is glorious, cracking open the remnants of the walls you'd put around yourself and letting your bones soak in the warmth of him, just as his arms come to wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. He smells so familiar - that's one thing you know about him. You might not know about his favorite color, or what he likes to eat, or even his daughters name just yet. But you know what he smells like, how his smile lights up his eyes, and how his hands feel on you, anchoring you in place even as you send yourself dizzy breathing him in.

He's going to kiss you too. You know that, and you welcome it, but before he can, you pull back.

"There's so much I want to know, I don't know how I missed so much."

"You get one question before I'm kissin' you."

You think for just a second before looking down to where your fingers curl into his shirt - an old Fleetwood Mac tee, so washed and worn it's like butter beneath your fingers.

With a wry smile, you look up at him from beneath your lashes, unable to hold back the laughter in your voice. "What are you dressed as today? Don't think I know this one, you're usually on theme."

"This? I'm just your plain ol' friendly neighborhood Joel Miller."

His lips are on yours then, pressing a soft kiss into the curve of your mouth, eyes searching yours for one, two, three seconds, before he dives back in, kissing you in earnest, making up for all the in betweens you'd been wishing away.

You wrap yourself around him, clinging to him, damn near wanting to climb up him, as you make out like teenagers in the middle of your living room. His hands wander across your shoulders, down your spine, grasping at any softness he can find along the way until his hands settle - one on your ass, and one gently cupping the back of your neck.

And as you kiss, holding each other close like you were long lost lovers and not whatever this thing between you was, you can't help but think that Joel Miller may just be your favorite Joel yet.

"Now, I got a question for you," he mumbles into your mouth, each word chased by your kisses. You've never wanted to seem desperate before, but right now you don't care, and by the way he's holding you, Joel doesn't mind either.

"Why the fuck do you have a nightlight?"

Shooting him an inquisitive look, you follow his gaze over your shoulder.

There on your counter, little light blinking away, is your very own clitty-blaster-3000, a luminous ghost with its mouth set in a permanent O, glowing brightly in the darkness. Shit. You'd brought it down this morning to charge, needing to keep a watchful eye on it and its janky magnetic charger to make sure it charged fully. You'd totally forgotten about it, and now here it was, glowing like a beacon after being out in the sun all day.

You try to pull away from Joel, but with his arms locked around your body, and his mouth pressing soft whiskered kisses to your neck, you don't have the strength, or the inclination, to move.

"It's not a nightlight, I can go put it away, if you just gimme-"

He tucks you behind him, swatting away your arms as you feebly try to reach around and grab it from him. Truthfully, you quite like the idea of him holding it, using it, but you feel bad that he might not know what it is.

"Not a nightlight, huh?" He says, grabbing the toy from the counter, said charger immediately popping off and clattering to the ground. He inspects it, turning it over in his hands, bringing it so close to his face it casts shadows across his features with its glow. "Oh, I know what this is."

"What is it then, smartass."

"Other than Pac-Man's worst nightmare? It's one of them clitty-blaster-3000 things."

Eyes wide, you double over, cackling and holding desperately onto yourself so you don't totally fall apart in front of him. He laughs with you, though maybe it's a little bit at you too, but you don't mind.

"What?!" he says smiling as he watches you fight to right yourself, gripping his forearm with laugh weakened fingers.

"That's what I call it!"

"Yeah? It good?"

His eyes are burning into yours. You know where this is going, and there's a brief thought that maybe you should stop it, slow things down. But you don't. Instead, you bite your lip and nod, making a noise of confirmation as Joel fiddles with the buttons on the toy.

A second later, it whirrs to life, a gentle throbbing buzz meeting your ears.

Joel puts his thumb over the hole, the suction gently hammering away at his finger tip as he clicks up and up through the intensity until he's well past a level you can use it at.

"Shit, yeah. Can see how that'd feel good."

"I, uhm, like to tease myself with it."

"Yeah?" he says as it clicks back down through the settings and rests on the softest one again. "Is that how you use it? Just to tease yourself?"

"No," you say, gasping a little when he raises the toy to your neck, pressing the mouth of the ghost to you as if pressing a kiss to your skin. "I - I just kinda stick it on there, to be honest. But I go slow with the - with the settings."

Joel clicks up one setting, the gentle thrumming at your neck intensifying a little.

"Yeah? You take your time? Give her what she deserves?"

You forgot what this was like - how easy and good it was to give in to wanting him, and how easy it was to let yourself have him too.

"Mhm."

"Good. Can't say I ain't jealous though. Missed comin' here. Seein' you. Thought about you, thought about comin' to see you but -"

"Thought about you too."

"When you were usin' this?"

You nod, tilting your head to the side and sighing as he glides the tip of the toy across your pulse point, behind your ear, down the column of your throat.

"Can I use it on you?"

You damn near want to tell him he can do whatever the fuck he wants with you, but the words are lost when you nod again and he captures your mouth in another kiss, brutal in its softness as he guides you back to your couch and all the plush cushions you have stacked there. Since Christmas, your home décor skills have definitely improved. Things look a little less bare, the place looks a little more lived in. There's still pictures to hang and empty spaces on shelves to fill, but you know those things will come in time. For now, you're grateful for the comfy place you've made on your sofa as Joel sits you down, guiding you down with strong hands.

Your shorts are quickly pulled off, the toy pulled from your neck so Joel can kiss his own better trail across your flesh. You hold him to you, anchor him into your bosom like he might drift off like a spectre in the night if you don't, but he's as latched to you as you are to him.

And then he's on his knees for you, jeans straining as his cock swells, hands gripping your thighs then pushing your shirt up, exposing you for him. Panties soon follow your shorts, yanked down your legs in a joint effort by your left hand and his right as he can't resist lapping at your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours.

He's everything you tried to forget, and some of the things you did. He's strong, and broad. He's gentle too, and soft - his eyes, mostly, but some other parts of him too. He's silly, and playful, smiling into your mouth and nipping at you, the hand by your thigh teasing the buzzing toy over the delicate skin there and delighting in your shudder.

As he moves it closer, the sounds of the suction against your skin making you both giggle, he moves down, burying his face into your neck and breathing in. You already know that it's never been like this before - that this is something new, just like every other time before had been something new.

"So you just stick it on, huh?"

"Lube. With lube."

His face is between your legs in an instant, licking messily around your clit, not really trying to get you off, just aiming to get you wet. When he pulls back, toy in hand, he raises the glowing toy mouth to his own and licks, smiling at the sound of it suctioning to his tongue.

"That good enough?"

And you nod, giving in to his kisses again before he breathlessly spreads you apart with both hands, looking at your cunt like if he blinks it'll all fade away.

"You know I ain't seen this for three months?"

"You been counting?"

"I missed you," he repeats with a breathless kiss to your thigh. "Missed this."

He lights his way with the glow of the toy rumbling in his hand, pulling back your clit for just one second, barely holding in a groan, before he gently holds the mouth of the ghost to you, pressing until the obscene slurp is muffled by full suction on your clit.

And it's divine, just like it always is, but somehow made even better by the man doing it to you. Fascinated eyes don't stop watching as it hammers air lightly at your clit in a constant rhythm, and the sight alone makes you drip. You're grateful for the heat now, and the sheet you'd covered your velvet sofa with, saving you an undoubtedly messy clean up later.

The toy slips when Joel climbs back off his knees to press his mouth to yours, and the air splutters and ripples past your skin again, as Joel laughs into your mouth.

"The sound of this thing, jesus fuckin' christ. Sounds like you're -"

"Don't. Don't make me laugh, you'll distract me."

"I like it when you laugh," but he's already pressing it flush to your skin again, stopping the sound and sending the ripples directly back to your clit.

"Ohh, f- "

"That's it," he says, watching as your hips rock ever so slightly into the throbbing toy sucking away on your clit. "Fuck, that's it. Lettin' me get you off with this thing."

"Think I can get some fingers in and keep this right where you need it?"

"Mm."

"Yeah?" he says, swiping at your entrance with his middle fingers, carefully holding the toy in place with his palm. "Just like that. There we go. Right in there. Fuck, I missed this. Missed bein' in here."

"Fuck."

"That's it. You come on 'em. Wanna feel it."

"Joel, down. Move it down. Ple- ah."

"There?"

"Right there," you sigh, panting and barely making it through the words before your eyes snap shut.

And then Joel is in your ear, his breath fanning against you, cooling you for a second even as his fingers stoke the fire raging in your core.

"You're fuckin' beautiful," he murmurs, and you just know he's looking down at you, the picture of a perfect mess. A sheen of sweat on your skin, lips swollen and parted as you gasp, thighs spread wide, hips rocking into Joel's illuminated palm, t-shirt rucked high over your hips, hands on your tits, nipples pinched between your own fingers, moaning, panting, coming.

You twitch in his arms, burying your head in his neck and breathing deep. Something about the position you're in can keep it going longer, can keep that thrumming pressure on your clit right where it is, past your usual limit, dragging your orgasm on and on until you're gasping Joel's name.

He gingerly pulls the glowing toy off of you - its brightness dimmed only slightly since you lost sight of it between your legs - fiddling with buttons until he gives in and throws it to the side to run his hands over you.

With a light kisses to your parted lips, he apologizes, giving you softly muttered sorrys for ever upsetting you, for taking so long to come talk to you, and before you can return the sentiment, he sends you laughing again.

"And I'm sorry for breakin' into your house. Accidentally."

Your laughter makes him shift, and his face contorts as he gasps in discomfort.

"Fuckin' jeans. Pinchin'," is all he says, as he tries to adjust himself. You can see his zipper strain with the weight of his cock, stiff and unattended, behind the thick fabric.

"Take 'em off."

"Came here for you, not me."

"And if I want you to come for me?"

Joel blinks.

"Then I'm takin' my damn pants off," he says, taking his pants off. He sighs in relief when the pressure on his cock is released, groans when your hand palms him over the damp fabric, gasps into your mouth when you slip your fingers beneath his waistband, finding his cock slick and wet with precum, curses into your hair when you lick the salty taste of him from your fingers.

Tugging his boxers down a little more, his cock springs free, slapping his wet tip against his belly. In a blink you're on him, pulling off his shirt as you go to suck wet kisses into his neck, his chest, and letting your fingers toy with his nipples and the other feel down past his boxers, cupping his balls and rolling your thumb across the sensitive flesh before he pushes up into you.

He's solid. You're surprised he didn't come in his pants with how firm he feels slipping against your cunt. You meet his thrust, grinding down into his solid length, trying to hold your own shirt up so you can see the tip of his cock as he ruts against you.

"Does that feel good?"

"Fu - yeah. Y'always feel good."

"Y'know what would feel better," you whisper, scratching gently down his chest and watching goosebumps prickle his skin. With a shift of your hips, his next thrust pushes in, just slightly, before popping out and grinding into your clit again. His next thrust - slower, firmer - notches against your entrance and pushes in, Joel's hands on your ass dragging you down, until you're seated to the root of him.

It's a stretch. It always was. But over three months, and a decline in solo sessions, made it even more so.

Still, even through the stretch, you rock against him, looking into the eyes of Joel Miller, the normal, every day guy who lives down your street, and smile at it all, and the look on his face that says he couldn't be luckier.

"Said I wanted you to come, didn't I?"

And you meant it. You show him how much you mean it as you start to ride him, lifting higher and higher off of him before pushing back down. Your thighs clap against his, wet with sweat and slipping together with each movement, echoing around your living room.

It doesn't last long. It can't. It's too fucking hot, and you're woefully out of practice as the stretch in your pussy turns into a burn in your legs. You can see Joel's face start to pinch and contort, looking between your face, your bouncing tits, and the slip of his cock in and out of you, barely visible in the shadows.

But you can't keep going. You'll pass out if you do. Joel's hands register what you're doing before his face does, gripping tighter and holding you down on him, before his mouth opens in a gasp, his head falling back after losing something he was so close to getting.

You barely pull in a breath of warm air before Joel is dragging you down, flipping you unceremoniously onto your back on the floor.

It's cooler down here, even with Joel's body over yours. It's why you were on the floor to begin with, before he came back, before you let him back in. Joel fumbles against you, the sweat on your body acting more like a full body lube at this point, before he slides back in, knocking the air out of you as he fills you all over again.

Even though his knees will be bruised in the morning and your back will ache, he pounds into you, gripping your shirt and pulling you down with each thrust.

And it's just so fucking good you can't help but practically scream as he fucks you, moaning loudly into his ear as he groans and pants and swears into yours. Your fingers can't find purchase against his back, even as you desperately claw at him. There's too much sweat - it's too fucking hot in here - but you wouldn't change any of the desperate mess that you find yourselves in here on the floor.

He's growling, balls slapping against you, fucking you so hard you have to throw a hand out to hold onto the couch.

"I'm gonna - fuck - look at me. Look. Fuck. Fuck."

He presses in then, spurting deep in you, stealing the air from your mouth, and you from his, as you gasp and groan with each shallow thrust of his hips.

When he pulls out, hands going from bruising grip to gentle strokes, he rolls off of you, his back slapping wetly against the ground just as your pussy makes its own equally wet sound. And you laugh, because it's silly, just like it always has been, with or without a costume or a name that's not quite his own to go with it. Joel chuckles along with you, content and dozy from his orgasm, the evidence of it trickling out of you and making a mess of your floor as your stomach contracts with laughter.

The house cools down in the darkness - not much, but enough. Your hands find each other again too, and you each dance small patterns across each others skin until words come back to you.

You talk there on the floor, sweat drying on your skin, until the rumble of your stomach becomes too distracting to continue. You learn his favorite color, what he does for a living, his daughters name. You even learn the exact make and model of his truck, something you immediately forget.

And when he tries to excuse himself, too frightened of overstaying his welcome, you invite him to stay, and Joel Miller, the best Joel you've ever met, says yes.

next part

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