Not Friends Not Lovers But A Secret Third Thing

“From whence you came” is a classic place to send back a foul beast

Husband Price is sad. The military fucked him over. No comfort, just angst. Sorry gang

----------------

You don't tie your shoelaces right.

The knots are crooked. One shoe is laced up a little wonkily. Not that you notice.

Price noticed, but he's not going to tell you. He can't stop looking, though. He's trying not to let it get to him, but it's one of his bad days.

He joined the military as a directionless seventeen year old. There was no real weight to the decision when he enlisted. He was just sick of filling out job applications.

And that's when his life started. That's what he always said. Johnathan Price's life started on the first day of basic training. In the past, he said it with a tone of pride

Now, it settles in the back of his mind. A sickening pit weighing behind his eyes.

Lacking a sense of self upon retirement was normal. He was in therapy for that. He was working on a renovation project in your home, a suggestion from his therapist to give him something to do with his hands. But as soon as work finished for the day, John felt hollow again.

His therapist said he was healing. But that didn't make sense to John. the effects of his service were the metaphorical wound, but wounds were isolated. A specific area that has been damaged in a specific way. But that's not what it felt like.

The effects of his job were ingrained into every part of his body. Ground into every pore, every string of connective tissue in his body. There was nothing about him, body or mind that wasn't connected to it.

Like the shoelaces.

A normal husband wouldn't even notice how his spouse ties their shoes.

A normal husband's mind doesn't jump to yearly presentations about mangled feet and ankles, to the list of complications that could spring from improperly laced boots.

A normal husband doesn't instinctually open his mouth to bark an order to tie them right.

A normal husband doesn't have to catch himself and hurriedly clamp his mouth shut before he does.

You and price were going out. A Saturday morning farmer's market. Something to get you out of the house together. He felt a wave of guilt.

This was going to be a sweet moment. He was supposed to enjoy it. To be present, with you. But his mind was elsewhere, consumed.

He marches. No. Walks alongside you, gets in the car, starts it, and drives on autopilot. His mind elsewhere.

God. The military affected him even now. The ability to march along, drive, and even make small talk whilst his mind was wrapped six layers deep. Unawares of his real surroundings was a hard earned skill. What did his therapist call it?

Disassociation. Right. Lots of soldiers do it.

You're talking. He's forcing himself to listen. He hums and responds to your small talk. Something about planting pepper bushes. Sure, love. He'll get on that.

You laugh, the unexpected reaction pulls him out of his mind. He glances over at you, confused, before fixing his eyes back on the road.

"What's so funny?"

You giggle, and he could feel your gaze on him

"You have this silly way of talking. You start a sentence practically shouting and quiet down to a normal volume as you talk. It's just a little funny."

Price furrowed his brow. His mind turned inside out again.

He was aware of that. Nobody had ever commented, though. Not even his nitpicky therapist.

He naturally spoke loudly. yet another example of his old job snaking into every part of his life.

For most of his life, he had to shout, loud and clear, to be heard. Whether it be to be heard over the roar of helicopter blades, to come through clearly through radio, or to be heard by his coworkers, whose hearing had degraded over years in the field.

But it's been two years since he's been in the field. He's been living in a quiet neighborhood. The loudest thing he encounters on a daily basis is a barking dog down the street. There's nothing to dampen his speaking voice now.

"John?"

His eyes snap up. He hadn't responded. Whoops.

"Sorry, love. 'Didn't notice I do that. I'll quiet down."

You say something else, maybe telling him it's okay. Maybe telling him you think it's cute. But he's consumed again.

John feels selfish.

He takes a smooth, controlled turn, forcing his face to relax. The GPS says ten minutes until he reaches the farmers market.

It's selfish of him to stay married to you. John didn't know how to be a man. Let alone a husband. He didn't know how to have a friend. Let alone a lover.

If he catches you doing something risky, the protective fear that shoots through him makes it impossible to dampen the urge to shout. He hates that. He hates that his first reaction to anxiety, to fear for your safety, is to bark an order at you. Like a soldier.

He coveted you softness. Your lack of involvement in the military. He hated that he couldn't be soft, too. He wanted to chastise you softly for accidentally pointing his nailgun at your feet. He wanted to laugh and coo at you to get down when he caught you climbing on an old chair to reach a shelf in the laundry room.

But he reacted to every shred of danger like your life was on the line. Like the lit candle dangerously close to your sleeve was going to put your name on a casualty report.

He can never meet your scared gaze after those moments, his voice still ringing in the air. He always takes the cowards way out and turns to walk away instead.

He pops open the center console and pulls out a tissue, handing it to you before he even registered you had sneezed. A moment of warmth graces his cheeks at the sound of you thanking him.

The GPS says five minutes. He tells you you're arriving soon. He placidly tells you to remind him to look for seeds for the pepper bushes you wanted. Already building a shopping list for the materials to build raised garden boxes to put them in.

That pacifies his guilt slightly. He loves you. He loves you like he's starving. He wants what's best for you. And he's terrified that what's best for you, isn't him. He banishes that thought by doing everything he can for you.

Like a barn cat, he dropped offerings at your feet in hopes you'll understand his ornery way of loving you.

Out of the car. Kiss on the cheek. Into the crowd. He never stopped being a soldier.

Those candles are expensive, you're so right.

He doesn't feel human.

Pepper shoots instead of seeds. He'll keep an eye out.

Is he human? He's lived a life so far removed from how humans are meant to act.

That lady was shoving people. Good job keeping your cool darling.

No. He is unrecognizable to his own species.

He kisses you on the cheekbone. He wonders if you know your husband isnt truly human.

You go home. He makes an excuse about a project that needs work before it gets dark.

John feels like a coward.

18+ minors do not interact!

john price who's still a virgin at the age of 48. somehow sex never happened for him, sure he'd dated, he's kissed people but nothing more than that. his dates never calling him back or sending him messages that they don't see this going anywhere because of his work. always seems to be because of his work, it's almost like a curse.

then he meets you and it's different, you stick around for a second date that becomes a third then a fourth and a fifth and eventually you're a couple.

the first time time you bring up sex he goes quite, glancing away as he rubs his nape and softly admits he's still a virgin, pink flush across his cheeks as he waits for you to laugh and tease him. that never happens though, instead you ask why, listen to him as he talks, take his hand and kiss him as you ask him to let you be his first.

he almost cums the second he sinks into you, the heat around his cock, the feeling of you clenching around, the way your breath hitched and your eyes went glassy all too much for him. he doesn't though.

grits his teeth and sits back to take a breath before ever so slowly pulling almost all the way out before punching back in, a loud broken moan leaving his lips as you gasp and grip his biceps, eyes rolling back because you just feel so full. he's so big and stretches you out so much there's no room for anything else, you can feel all of him inside you, twitching and rubbing against you.

it only take a couple more thrusts before he's hunching over you "just feels too good" as he's caging you in his arms. "i'm sorry" leaving his lips like a chant as he jackhammers into you, panting and whining with his face buried in your neck as he starts to drool. your fingers gripping onto his back so hard they leave bruises and he cums, his whole body shuddering as he moans so loud it echos in the room.

he finally sits back on his legs, slowly pulling his twitching cock out of your hole and watching his cum leak out before he's pushing your legs to your chest and burying his face in your hole. lapping up his cum as he mumbles that he's going to make it up to you for not making you cum, his hands leaving your legs and wandering down your body and between your thighs.

ghost x reader x soap smut | +18/mdni!

making out with soap on simon's dick... like literally on his dick.

fuckin' hell, the two of you have driven the man to a sweating, tense mass of muscle as you snog johnny with wet, swollen lips against simon's leaking tip. the head is a ranging red and shines with a mixture of spit and slick that johnny laps up with a heavy lick before enveloping it with another deep kiss.

simon's mind goes completely numb when you twirl your tongue, snaking it in a long drag to meet soap's. his head rolls back in a lull, only gaining enough consciousness to mumble out a mouthful of groans low curses.

the sounds rock from somewhere low in his chest to mix with wet sounds of you lapping together along his thickness.

"jus' like tha'. good–ah. ah, shit, yeah–good fuckin' pets gettin' my dick nice 'n wet. god, look at you two. can't get enough, huh?"

he grins a little at the desperate shake of the head you send him, pulling back for the tiniest second to suck in a quick breath. the man next to you steals the moment, using your break to sink onto simon, tongue dragging out against the underside as he works his way down.

"stop hogging, johnny," you whine, a soft pout on your face when soap flinches with a wet gag that has simon entire body jerking. ignoring you, johnny continues his warm sucks before a rough pat to his face finally forces him to retreat. he slips off simon with a loud pop to wink at you.

"sorry, hen." soap grins, a grunt leaving him with he smashes your face into his. simon watches with greedy eyes at the way your lips glide together easy, tongues dancing to share the lingering taste of simon's cock. his gaze only darkens when you and johnny part with one last peck. "tastes too good."

simon huffs a little laugh, hand snaking to rest at the back of your neck. he pulls you into a brief kiss, thumb rubbing gently at the skin of your cheek, johnny watching a enamored tilt of his head.

"s'alright, pretty," simon coos. "i'll spank him later for it."

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

im running low in inspo rn i wanna do more soap stuff plz give me ops on his character i need to understand him better x

johnny ⊹₊⟡⋆

so I’m a little freak that gets a raging boner when stupid doofus characters realize how much they messed up and hurt someone

would cum in my pants a little if you made college Johnny from the promethean series suffer I’ll be real

I’d like to think Simon actually manages to coax shy!reader out of their shell and make some cute noises for him during sex :(( and Johnny has to hear just how sweet they sound when someone fucks them right

need that dog to come begging for scraps (please)

This also gives me a boner

Promethean: Coming home to roost

Why is he doing this? Why is he doing this?

He’d come to Simon’s room to talk about his their the bird. The logic just didn’t click in his brain in time. Obviously if his door was closed, it meant she was inside with him, didn’t it? That he was inside of her—

Soap was about to knock when he heard it. Angelic. That was the word for it, really. He prided himself on his skills, but he didn’t know women could sound like that. That you could sound like that.

Johnny had made you cum. Every time he was with you— at least once, usually more. But your sounds were so hushed. You bit your lip and whined. It was cute, and he wasn’t so invested in your pleasure that he needed you to scream for him or anything. He knew you were having a good time, that was enough. Right?

But the moans he heard through that door. He could picture you, mouth wide and back arching while Simon held his calloused fingers at your clit, his strokes careful and deliberate. Soap felt himself rooted at the door. He shouldn’t be listening. But he can’t bring himself to walk away.

Your sounds change. Punctuated. Like you’re crying out for more with every thrust. Johnny can just barely hear the wet smack of flesh on flesh, of your cunt gushing she takes everything Simon has to give.

“Yes, yes— Simon, oh, fuck— please? Oh my god—“

Johnny’s used to getting so horny is brain fogs up. It’s normal for him to get hard and think “this is the hardest I’ve ever been”. But this time it might be true. And he hates it. Why didn’t you sound this good in his bed? Why did he give a fuck?

He knew why you didn’t sound as good back the . He could hear your cries being swallowed by Simon’s mouth as he kissed you. Fucker probably had you in missionary (he did) and was holding your hand (he was) while cooing in your ear about how gorgeous you were and how perfect you felt (it was more like growling).

You were getting fucked proper. And here he was, the once proud hound now pawing at the master’s door like a stray. He doesn’t just want you back, which is horrific enough to realize— he wants to be in the room with the both of you. Wants to see how Simon’s cock is making you feel religion. Wants to stroke his cock and watch how it’s done, then take a turn in your creamy pussy after he’s done and get scolded with Simon’s hand pinching his neck from the back— scolded for not knowing how to fuck you, love you, appreciate what you’d—

Your near sobbing cry from beyond the door snaps free the coil that’d wound so tight in his belly.

Oh fuck. No, no, no. He couldn’t have. Untouched? Never— not him. Fuck.

You’re on your side, nestled under Simon’s arm and nuzzling into his chest when you hear a door slam in the hallway.

I love the paradox headcanon of TF141

noticed this in many fics i saw

Price who's obviously more than okay being around strong independent women. he works with Laswell, Farah, and many others in his life that he didn't understand the saying of 'women should just stay in the kitchen'. he believes in women's right (and wrong), would step in and speak up if he saw anyone, even someone he knew, speak badly of them. But, not you though :/ why do you need to work? nonsense, just stay at home and sit there looking pretty while he does everything.

Soap, a raging feminist, grew up with sisters, taught to always respect them, and would definitely kill any men who didnt. One time, he appeared at his sister's ex house with some c4 when he heard him slapping her butt in public- but anyway. good man he is. until, he saw you. all manners thrown out the window as he slides to your side and rizz you up. relishing the way you squirmed as he leaned in closer. not making it subtle when he ogled your tits either.

Gaz, the sweetheart. proper gentleman who's a total boyfriend material. He's very handsome, and charming, knows his way with words. Someone you'd want to introduce to your parents asap. And with that, he could get anyone he wanted. which means.. he's actually the most unsuspecting fuckboy. so beware.

Ghost, big man, scary man. tough guy. you'd think he would be so dominating in bed, but no. he's a bottom and he whimpers.

Simon trying his damndest not to cum so soon, but it's a fuckin' uphill battle when yours and Kyle's pretty glossy eyes are looking up at him as you kiss, suck, and make love to his cock.

I just know its a pain to get that face paint off…🥲💀