Pocket Princess!! If You Feel Up To It Could You Pls Write Something Fluffy With Price X Reader X Soap.

pocket princess!! if you feel up to it could you pls write something fluffy with price x reader x soap. id love to see something lighthearted with price handling his loves <3!!

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Pairing: Price x Reader x Soap

Word Count: 727

Synopsis: A soft shared moment of peace between the three loved ones on a snowy night 🫶

A/N: Absolutely crying cause I couldn’t think of how to make this one longer 😭😭😭. I hated how long this was taking tho so I did my best, I hope you like it! I will continue to work on your Gaz ask and make it longer I promise 👀

Cw: None! It’s fluffy content between Bun’s favorite boys 🫶

—————

Winter is always one of your favorite seasons. It definitely isn’t because of the snow. You hate having to constantly uncover the white flakes of frozen water from your car and pray that the doors aren’t frozen shut. It isn’t necessarily because of the holidays, even if they are always fun to celebrate with loved ones. It’s not even about the peppermint lattes you love to get on the way to work every morning when it’s being sold at your local cafe. Winter is your favorite season because of the moment you currently find yourself in.

The dim light of the television was the only thing illuminating your shared bedroom. The chatter of the late night show was quiet, just although loud to hear the men gossip about the actor’s movie and their experience on set. “It’s all rubbish, the reviews he’s speakin’ of..” You hear John lazily mumble against the right side of your collarbone, “The movie wasn’t any good.” The brit is against your side with an arm wrapped snugly just under your chest. His head rests on your shoulder, nearly falling asleep on you as the season’s early nights took its toll. The neatly trimmed mutton chops tickle your skin as he settles further against you. It’s a warm weight against you that you’ve grown familiar with, as well as come to love.

“Didn’t know ye watch cheesy rom coms, captain.” The Scottish accent of your other boyfriend fills your senses from your left and you turn to look at him with the same amused smile he’s wearing. Johnny’s eyes are closed, more in a half conscious state than John is. His head rests lower on your body, more against your chest than your collarbone, with an arm around your stomach, leaving you sandwiched in between the two men you loved so dearly. In addition, one of his legs is also laced with yours.

“Occasionally..” John mutters after a moment’s silence, earning a quiet chuckle from the scot.

The lighthearted banter between the two of them was always endearing to you, filling you with more warmth than the heat the two bodies around you did. It was more than welcome with how cold it’s been lately. You take a glance out the window on the left wall of the room, watching as large snowflakes fall down continuously. The hand on John’s shoulder absentmindedly toys with the hem of his sleeve while the other traces gentle patterns onto Johnny’s back.

These moments are scarce, but you cherish them with every fiber of your being. It’s not everyday you get to enjoy the peace and quiet. The worries that plagued your mind everytime the two went out for work are non-existent, even if it's temporarily. It is as if the dangers and horrors of the real world just aren’t there anymore and it was just the three of you.

A heavy sigh of content left Johnny and you could feel his weight against you become heavier as he relaxed. John places a soft kiss against your warm skin. You smiled lovingly at the feeling, tilting your head to rest against the top of his.

A yawn slips past your lips and John smiles against your collarbone at the sound, reaching behind him to pluck the remote from the bedside table. His movements are slow and careful, not wanting to jostle the two of you too much and disturb the peace that’s made its way into the atmosphere. “Get some sleep, sweetheart,” John whispered to you. He hit the power button, sending the room into total darkness before setting the remote back onto the table. His weight shifts back onto you, easily snuggling back into the spot against you. The blanket is pulled back over you before his arm returns back across your torso.

“You, too. G’Night, Johnny,” John said this with a gentle tap to Johnny’s nose with his knuckle. The scot simply huffs, already in the process of dozing off against you.

The room grows silent now, save for the collective breaths of relaxation being shared between the three of you. Your head falls to lean against the pillow under it, eyes falling shut. The warmth of the two men’s physical presence and love helps you to settle in a blanket of comfort. It works wonders lulling you to sleep in a matter of minutes.

Thinking about Ghost helping you out when your breastmilk is clogged 🥴

I mean, he was totally obsessed with your chest before the baby, before you were even pregnant, but now? With your tits all swollen with milk, your nipples puffy constantly? Oh, he's completely crazy for you.

He'd be a little jealous of the baby. They get to have their lips on your pretty tits all the time, why can't he? He almost creams his pants just from you asking him all shyly to help you with your milk because it's backed up and you're sore.

You're not getting him off you after that. His head is constantly under your shirt, lips wrapped around your nipple and his hand pawing at your tits, squeezing and squishing them lightly as he tries to coax the milk out, hoping and praying that he'll get to taste some.

He'd slobber all over your chest, saliva spilling down as he moans and sucks roughly on your perky, sensitive nipples.

"Mmh, come on, sweetheart. Let me taste it, be a good girl." He'd mumble, letting out a loud, lust-filled groan as he felt a small but steady trickle of your milk spilling into his mouth.

"That's a good girl. So good f'r me. Perfect."

landscape with honey

summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here) tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader

-

He starts showing up at your house at odd hours. 

You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.

You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.

The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet. 

He pays for the whole order.

You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you. 

John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you. 

John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing. 

The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.

“Hi Jo—” you start.

“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock. 

“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”

“Get in the car.”

“This is my only time to exercise!”

“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”

You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console. 

He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.

“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”

“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff. 

You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”

“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not…sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him. 

"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."

John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."

The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning. 

“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.

“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away. 

“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?” 

You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under. 

The first week of December hits town like a truck. 

You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.

It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance. 

A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue. 

The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first. 

You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.

It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you. 

You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.

You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that. 

When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark. 

You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake. 

It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.

Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.

A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.

“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress. 

Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.

Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.

“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”

He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water. 

“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there. 

Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out. 

Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance. 

“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed. 

The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.

“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”

“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.

He hums instead of answering. 

“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur. 

His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again. 

“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”

“Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan. 

“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”

“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up. 

Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch. 

“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”

He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip. 

When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”

He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back. 

You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you. 

His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”

You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”

“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”

“The winter?”

“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”

“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”

Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside. 

He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.

“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”

“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized. 

He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”

You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured. 

“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”

Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble. 

You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly. 

Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache. 

You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle. 

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor. 

“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you. 

“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”

“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”

It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky. 

Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs. 

He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.

You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body. 

When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you. 

“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”

@ohworm-writes

@jgvfhl

Hi! I don’t know if your requests are open currently so you can ignore this, but I was wondering if you could write something involving Nikolai being a soft dom as he overstimulates the reader, whispering praises into her ear as he coax another orgasm out of her?? I totally think he’s great at aftercare too but that might just be me 🤭 (Also love love LOVE your writing, and this is def inspired by your Nikolai hc’s that I loved too!!) 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽‼️

「✰」 ━━ HONEY AND MOLASSES

RATING R - Restricted [ Content warnings : 18+ mdni, afab!reader, feminine pronouns used, soft-dom!Nikolai, sub!reader, overstimulation, cunnilingus, oral sex, vaginal fingering, praise, body worship, slight biting, vulgar language, aftercare ]

SYNOPSIS As seen in the request above. (I wrote this in an hour straight, not stopping once. I don't know what possessed me, and I don't even know if this is good, but I really hope you like it. Thank you for the kind words. 🫶) Translations provided at the bottom!

WORD COUNT 1.3k

“Come on, малышка, you can give me another, нет?”

He asks rhetorically, voice low yet so sickly sweet, dripping from his lips as if it were laced with honey and molasses, a sweetness starkly contrasting with the way his thumb circles your clit in slow, counterclockwise circles, the rough padding juxtaposing the softness of his touch, two of his thick fingers filling you to be so utterly full as he curls and stretches them inside of you.

It’s the sweetest feeling, yet the cruelest torture. He’s kept you like this for what feels like hours, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you that you can’t even find the strength in your arms to push or kick him away, left only to whine and keen out in loud, breathy sounds that he listens to like a gospel, the slurred words that fall from your lips sounding like nothing less than a prayer.

A prayer to him - for him.

“Nnn…”

You try to start, the first letter of his name finding its way to the tip of your tongue, ready to fold out and flourish into something more - a plea for him to stop or keep going, you don’t know - before it dies off, crumbles, and shatters, replaced by another whine as he replaces his thumb with his tongue, his chest rumbling as he chuckles deeply with nothing short of amusement.

His fingers continue their ministrations, curling so deeply inside of you that you swear you can feel him in your stomach, arching your back up into his touch and trying to shy away from it at the same time. You’re so drunk on the pleasure he’s been providing to you non-stop that, at this point, you can’t tell if you love it or if you hate it.

“Taking my fingers so well, aren’t you?”

He coos out in a whisper, his nose pressing against your lower abdomen, barely taking his tongue away for a few seconds to speak before it returns, providing you with its undivided attention. His free hand keeps one of your legs pressed back, keeping you wide open for him as he squeezes softly onto the flesh of the underside of your thigh.

“Ты так хорошо принимаешь все, что я тебе даю. Это так прекрасно.”

Your body jerks and spasms as you get closer and closer to your release, borderline thrashing against the bed as you whine out as his tongue quickens in the way it teases and abuses your poor, swollen clit, all puffy from the attention he’s been giving it, his fingers pumping and curling and stretching out your cunt in a way that makes you twitch.

God, it’s so beautifully devastating.

“Can’t… t… too much.”

You complain out to him, voice hoarse and raw, a broken sob passing through your lips and settling into the air between you both, mixing and intertwining with the smell of sex, weaving into a blanket of pleasure. He chuckles, his eyes crinkling as he does so, before he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks hard onto it, making your breath stutter as it depletes from your lungs.

And then everything blurs.

Your orgasm hits you like a semi-truck, having you teeter over the edge of pleasure before pushing you in without warning, your eyes rolling back into your head as your back arches, your whole body tensing as you clench and gush around his fingers, completely soaking them with the warm slickness of your climax - though, granted, everything up to his knuckles has been soaked in nothing but your slick and cum for the past while, so there’s hardly any difference.

“There you go, beautiful girl. That’s it.”

He murmurs softly, his tongue gently flicking your clit in slow, unhurried movements, working to draw out your orgasm to the very last second before finally - finally pulling away, pressing one last kiss to it that makes you jolt as he slowly slides his fingers out of you, the makeshift plug that they had acted as being removed, a small amount of your own cum and slick trickling out of you.

It’s an intoxinactingly sinful sight, one that makes him groan deep as he licks off his fingers and knuckles, tongue tracing over every bump and dip of his hands as he cleans remnants of you from it, watching the haze that coats your eyes as your body twitches and shivers ever-so slightly, riding out the last of your high as your body slowly begins to melt into the plush fabric of the bed.

The sight makes him grin, the scruff of his beard scratching against your inner thigh as he leans back, pressing a gentle kiss to it, nibbling softly as he translates his pure adoration into the action, littering kisses and gentle bites all along the skin of your left thigh, before transitioning to the right one, mumbling soft praises against your skin as he does so.

“So perfect for me. Pretty sight, you are. You already know that though, да? Of course you do. Smart thing, too.”

He’s muttering softly to himself, lost in his own world as you lose yourself in yours, dumb from all of the pleasure he’s given to you, having drawn… four? Five orgasms out of you? You can’t even tell or remember at this point, having lost track when the sun first went down outside - it’s pitch black now, so it must have been a while ago.

He worships your body as if it were a work of art - a marble statue sculpted by the ancient Greeks, a work of art for only his eyes to see, to adore, to lust for, to praise, to grab, to touch, to hold, to kiss, to bite, to lick, to worship. Because you are everything to him. You’re the reason he gets up in the mornings and the reason he sleeps so peacefully at night.

A goddess amongst mankind, he muses.

His hands traverse the curves of your form, greedily grabbing and tugging at every inch of skin that he can find, pulling you closer and further into his own bare frame, pressing kisses against your skin, and licking hot, wet paths along your body, as if he were following a map to find a treasure he’s spent his whole life searching for, utterly obsessed with the journey he’s set out on.

Your thighs, your cunt, your tummy, your tits, your shoulders, your hands, your neck… refusing to stop until every inch of skin on your body has been touched by his lips and his words, mumbling out lowly, breathily against the underside of your chin as he continues to travel upwards, right until he finds himself hovering above you, his lips a hairsbreadth away from your own.

“My pretty girl.”

“Y…”

You try to start, wanting to affirm his words and say “yours”, but you’re too fucked out to even think about what letter comes next in that response, your mind too lost in the foggy daze it’s lost itself in, your eyes long having glazed over as you stare at him, blinking slowly with your lips parted, mouth open, having so many words to say but not nearly enough energy or focus to form them.

He silences your words with a kiss to your lips, and you can taste every part of yourself on his tongue as he tastes your lips, swallowing the word from your lungs and your mind until you forget it, only focused on him, fingers reaching upwards with strain towards his cheeks, trying to pull him in impossibly closer, to which he chuckles, the sound reverberating against your chest.

He tuts and clicks his tongue as he gently pats your outer thigh, pulling back by a few inches, his eyes lost in a haze of their own.

“Come on. Let me get you cleaned and fed. You’ve been so good for me. You deserve it.”

And how could you ever deny him?

малышка - baby, baby girl

нет - no

Ты так хорошо принимаешь все, что я тебе даю. Это так прекрасно. - You are so good at taking everything I give you. It's so beautiful.

да - yes

ok so i just had a thought that i need to put somewhere. bestfriend!possessive! soap who finds out you have toys and gets mad because why wouldn't you just come to him??!! that's what best friends are for, how could you have not realized that?

im gonna be honest, i imagine it being Ghost that would get annoyed with your toys because he thinks he should be in charge of your pleasure.

Soap, on the other hand, would start literally drooling if he found the toys hidden in your bedside table or in a box under your bed and you'd see him suddenly staring at you from the other side of the room, his eyes glinting like a wolf's in the darkness, and a shudder would run through you. like just a screaming voice in your head telling you to get OUT of your apartment lmao.