!! nsfw; poly 141 ; sexting; fem reader
price gets a video, a measly six-second thing, from ghost.
he's used to getting all sorts of messages from his lieutenant, but a video has never been a part of them.
it was always soap who sends them videos upon videos—saved videos of things that make him lose his shit or links that are his new turn-ons. price even gets personal messages from the fella; sometimes it's his sergeant venting in lilted scottish, sent to price's personal number on a drunken whim, and sometimes they're videos of him pleading.
"sir, please... wanna cum."
kyle is still getting used to the dynamic. he's still a little shy, hesitant, although he seemed to be getting more bold in text. more pushy. descriptive.
then there's ghost. he is a whole different beast from the other two, because instead of begging, instead of putting price above his own pleasure, he backs the captain into a corner, pushing him close to the edge with little taunts and teases.
price remembers the first time ghost has done it. he sent the captain a picture of a lacey panties hanging off of ghost's jean pockets, the rouge of the soft material drawing price's eyes to the distinct tent in his lieutenant's pants, leaving his throat dry. he remembers fisting his own cock at the image, mind running because of ghost's anecdote—
"you would like her."
john had never cum so fast when masturbating, and yet there he was, twitching on his office chair, chest heaving as ragged rasps of breaths passed through his clenched teeth.
"your girlfriend's got a good taste," price had messaged back.
"and me?" was what ghost replied with.
"you already know," price sent. then, "you always know how to make your captain proud."
that correspondence might have been what pushed ghost to keep sending more messages. more taunts. more teasing images that had price rubbing himself in any smidgen of a private corner he could find because simon was never one to disappoint.
so this video had set john's blood on fire, heat scorching from his spine and pooling towards his twitching cock. hairline fractures fill the sides of his phone's screen, leaving rainbow lines filing his eyes at every reflection of the light.
ghost had always liked to share you to him. price knew for a fact that simon had never sent pictures of you to the others—"need your permission first, sir."—but he also thought that simon had drawn the line there. that while he was eager to share snapshots of your pretty little lingeries or the way you marked up simon's tanned skin with deep punctures of what john knows must be straight teeth, simon was not going to indulge john any more.
and yet.
he feels his lungs burn. trembling fingers reach to play the video.
the sound of your squealed moans bouncing against the walls was what he registers first. ghost has you on your knees, and john traces the way simon's got a chokehold on the back of your neck. john watches as ghost uses it as a leverage, tugging you back to his cock—his pelvis is pressed flush against the fat of your ass, and price feels his gums throb with the need to sink his teeth into your flesh at seeing the ripples of your fat bunch up against the bulk of simon's muscles.
"si! si!" you sobbed, muffled as you have your head burrowed into the pillows. your hands are useless by your sides, limp and incapable of even fisting the sheets.
"s'right," simon's voice echoed from behind the screen. "show cap'n how you love moanin' my name."
simon's mention of john has him jolting, his breaths stuttering once again.
he thought this little thing they have was a secret. a dirty, little, desperate secret that only he and ghost had the privilege of knowing. the immorality of it had always pushed john to his orgasm faster than his every rub, and he thought that it would all change the moment you know.
but this is a better treat.
it's a feast.
because john sees it for what it is—a promise.
the video ends, reminding john how short it really was. but he is addicted, unable to let go now that he's been given a taste of what will be.
the next time he replays the video, he's got his erect cock in his hand.
he snaps a picture of his cum-filled palm and sends it to simon. he writes, "show her what she does to me."
it takes twenty-three seconds for simon's reply to come in. it isn't a message but a voicenote—"am i a good girl, cap'n?"
"yeah," john records himself say. "so, so good f'r us, doll."
Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ request(s): sick fics (1/2) and mama's body image
He pulls you under the covers in the marigold shadow of your bedroom as soon as Orion goes down.
You’re not as bold as you have been over the phone, reverting back to his shy, sweet kitten, bashful in his arms as he sucks marks into your neck, hands drifting down your spine and over your hips to fill his palms with plush curve of your ass.
“Missed you, mama.” You smile softly, hiding your face in his chest.
“Missed you too.” He tries to map you with his fingers, stroking them over your thighs, your shoulders, pulling your fingers to his mouth and dotting his lips across each knuckle. Maybe, if he does it enough, he'll never forget what you feel like.
You're wearing another one of your sleep shirts, oversized, stretched, frayed, a thin veil shielding you from him, and when he slips underneath the hem tracing up towards your navel, you stiffen in his arms, muscles tense like a deer in headlights. "What is it?" You don't answer, gaze holding steadfast and forward, directly at his chest. Fear bristles, worming its way into his gut instincts. He sits up. "What's wrong? Are you dizzy?"
"N-no, I'm fine. I feel... fine." Your body tells a different story, curled forward, still tense, like you're trying to protect your ribs.
"What's going on?" You shake your head, wet track of a tear shining in your cheek in the dark. His anxiety, his fear, won't let him tread carefully any longer, steel backed demand slipping free like he's speaking to one of the sergeants. "Talk to me."
"I don't look the same!" You blurt, and then try to roll out of the bed, away from him. "I don't feel the same, either. I'm kind of... squishy, stretched out because your kid is a giant. And I gave birth to him, you know... he wasn't easy." His grip loosens momentarily, and you seize the opportunity, feet landing on the carpet and trying to stand.
He snatches you around the waist so fast and yanks, tugs you back to the bed and shifts your weight so you're pinned underneath him. "Simon!"
"Look at me." He rubs his nose against yours, keeping your wrists pinned above your head, his thighs bracketing yours. "You did give birth to our baby, honey. You, and this body, grew him, took care of him, kept him safe. I love this body, mama. I loved your body the first night I met you, and-"
"Exactly." You snap, nose tipped up. "You loved the way I used to look and I definitely don't-" His brows lower, and he cuts you off with his mouth, stealing a long kiss before pulling away.
"Don't interrupt me. I did love your body then, but I love how you look now, even more," to drive his point home, he presses the length of his hard cock against where it's nestled between your legs, and your eyes go wide, "this body had my baby, mama," He dips low, closing his mouth over your t shirt and nipple, teasing with his teeth before releasing, "this body feeds my baby," he releases your hands, trailing his down your ribs and over your belly, where he holds you still, "this body is proof you belong to me, that you're mine, and I'd worship every inch of it, if you'd let me. It's okay if you don't love yourself or how you look right now, because I'll do it for you until that changes." Your eyes are half lidded, smart mouth parted on words stolen.
"I-" Orions cries, echoing from his room, and Simon kisses your shoulder.
"I'll get him."
"What if it's RSV?" He keeps his voice low, hand still covering the back of Orion's head, pacing a small pattern across the kitchen. He's been holding him all morning, too unnerved to be separated from him or put him down for even a second, and now he's sleeping on Simon's chest, tiny fingers and fist curled up in the neck of his shirt.
"I don't think it's RSV. We haven't really gone out much, and he doesn't have a high fever."
"But his snot is green." There's a monster curled up in the farthest reaches of Simon's heart. A cold, black thing that's pulling the strings in his head and making his blood pressure skyrocket. His baby is sick. What if it's serious? What if he doesn't get help in time?
You tuck your fingers inside the corner of his arm, and lay your head on his bicep. "Green snot is also a symptom of a common cold, which babies get a lot." You rub Ry's back and press the back of your hand to his cheek. "His fever isn't very high, and he doesn't have much of a cough. I think we're okay for now."
"Maybe we should take him in, or call the pediatrician again and-"
"Simon, hey." Your hand drifts to his back now, rubbing up and down his spine, like he needs soothing. Well, that's not right. He should be comforting you. You and the baby, he should be taking care of you, making sure you're both- "Dr. Marsh said as long as his fever doesn't spike, he's not sleeping too much, and he doesn't start wheezing, then we're okay to keep him here at home. He's okay, okay? Babies get sick. But we're here with him, and we're going to make sure he's okay. Right?" He closes his eyes, rolling your words around in his mind, your reasoning gaining ground and hooking into him, holding him steady. You're levelheaded right now, steadfast, and he loves you for it, allows himself to lean on it, just a little bit.
"Right."
"Why don't you let me take him? You've been holding him for six hours. Go... take a shower, or something. Or eat. I want you to clear your head, relax a little bit." He lifts Orion into your arms, but shakes his head at your suggestions.
"I don't need-"
"Please. For me?" Refusals die on his lips just like that, and he nods.
The shower does Simon a world of good. His head does feel clear, and he's more focused, more rational, as he dries off and pulls a pair of sweats out of his bag.
Everything is fine. Babies get sick. You're right. His fever isn't even that high.
The lights are dim in your room, where you're on your side, half propped up, Orion on his back in front of you. You smile at Simon as he crosses the distance, leaning over to press a kiss to your head. "Feel better?"
"Yeah, thank you. Sorry I uh, lost it a bit."
"You were worried." You pat the opposite side, next to the baby, and he lays down, big hand on Ry's stomach. "It's the first you've seen him get sick, of course you're going to lose it a little bit." Your choice of words make him wonder, and he cocks his head.
"Has he been sick before?"
"He had a cold around four, five weeks. I was a mess." Your lips split into a shaky smile. "He was miserable, wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep. Couldn't breathe through his nose. I took him in right away, cried the entire time, but he didn't even have a fever. Just a cold." You shrug. "They told me if he does develop a fever, then it could be bad, and to bring him back in immediately. I spent the next two days watching him every single second, even when he was asleep in his crib, making sure he was still breathing. Checking his temperature every hour." You sigh. "Here, let's do this." You encourage him to roll onto his back, pulling the sheet up over his chest to his shoulders. "You run too hot." You tease, before carefully scooping Orion up and placing him on Simon's chest, still asleep. "This way, you can keep an eye on his breathing and his temperature and I," the words are cut off by a yawn, "can get some sleep right here. Okay?" He stares at you for a long minute, love and obsession and appreciation twisting him up until he's reaching over and cupping your cheek.
"Thank you mama."
having a praise kink but being unable to accept compliments means ghost's whispering shit in your ear like 'you're so fuckin' stupid, how can you not understand how easy to fuckin' love you are? your empty little head just can't grasp how goddamned sweet and good you are f'me all the bloody time? is that it?' while folding you in half over the nearest flat surface
Bravo 6-1
price telling the wedding planner that he wants a thirty minute “interval” after the ceremony, before the reception, so you two “can just soak in being newly weds together and have a break from everyone around us fussing” when really he wants thirty minutes so he can bend you over the top table
It was a long day...
you and soap kissing around ghost's tip, spit slicking both your lips and chins as you make out desperately while ghost is staring down at you both, all flushed and softly panting, pupils blown wide as he watches you both and rolls his hips at the feeling of your tongues as you kiss before he finally has enough, grabbing both your heads and pushing you together so both of your lips are flush with his cock, tongues pressed against each other as you and soap stare into each others eyes and ghost thrusts his fat cock between you two, groaning about how good you both are for him, how it feels so good, such good toys for him to play with before he pulls away slightly so he can cum over both your faces
ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚
your honor who gives a fuck. like for real
(guy whos scared of everything and feels guilty about everything) sorry i got scared and felt guilty
( in an op in a forest)
reader: I swear if I see one spider I’m leaving
price: can’t do that tink
reading, mocking: cAnT do tHaT- watch me. One spider. Gone. Sitting on the helo, hell I’ll surrender myself to the enemy
ghost, nonchalantly: what if the torture you by spiders? reader: …they can’t be that heartless
ghost: mm. ghost; just so ya know Johnny is putting a spider in your bag as we speak
Johnny, doing that exact thing: OI NO IM NOT-