Why The Group Chat Hates Him

Sorry for asking this question, but recently I really wanted to read something very sad (mmm... suffering ☺️) so I'm turning to you.

How would John react if he caught Nikolai with someone else? What would happen to their relationship then?👉👈

Oof. This one hurt.

cw: Nik cheats; I genuinely don't think he ever would, fyi. This was more an experiment in 'what if'. I thought about doing it from the perspective of 'they're not exclusive and Nik has had mixed messages', but I went for maximum pain.

Price had wanted to surprise Nik. Turn up at his hotel room, take him out, fall into bed for a bit, and then go pick up the kids from his sister's. The usual. He hadn't expected that day for his world to be ended by a pair of blue eyes and a jawline he could cut paracord with. Maybe ‘ended’ was a bit dramatic. Sure, it felt like it, but he had survived worse. He kept telling himself that. Over and over.

He'd never been one to cry, but he had blubbered like a baby behind the steering wheel of his Landie. The image of Nik with the blond in his arms, the hickie on his neck, kept circulating in his head like a taunt. It was there now as he stood in his office, Nik in the seat behind him, bright behind his eyes as he stared into space.

Price couldn't even look at him. When he did, he wanted to feel indignant rage, but all he felt was hurt. Misery. Betrayal. He needed his anger but all he wanted to do was cry more, and he no longer felt safe showing Nik that soft underbelly. He kept his face turned away.

“John, I…”

“I need t’ get tested,” Price said quietly, like Nik hadn't even spoken.

“I wore protection. I would not put you at risk of…”

“Really, Nik? Can I trust ya word on that?”

The words cut deep. Nik knew Price couldn't. It wasn't just their relationship he had discarded, but twenty years worth of implicit trust. The idea that Nik always had his back had vanished in a cloud of expensive cologne. Price lifted his left hand and ran his thumb over his wedding band.

“It was a mistake. I was foolish, I…”

“How many mistakes? Once, twice?”

“Twice.”

The knife sank just a little deeper. “So, you had to make sure then.”

“John…”

“Just him or have there been others?”

“No others.”

Price didn't respond. He just couldn't trust him. His thumb nail caught in one of the grooves of his wedding ring. Til death do us part. Did this count? It felt like death. His heart felt like it was about to give out any minute. “What did I do to deserve it?”

“You did nothing…”

There it was. The surge of rage. Price turned to look at Nik for the first time, his fists clenched and shaking. “Don't fuckin’ lie to me. No one shags some poxy bit on the side if they feel like they're eatin’ well at home. So what? What was it?”

Nik gazed up at Price with those warm brown eyes that had made Price fall in love with him. Had those eyes looked at the other bloke like that? Price felt his own prickle with tears again, but he made himself look.

Nik said nothing at first, and then his chin dropped as he sighed. “You are a brilliant father, a loving husband, but you are… busy.”

“Busy,” Price repeated, and he hated how his voice broke around the word. He turned away again, drew in a stuttering breath, the back of his wrist to his mouth.

“I made a… selfish choice. I…”

Price had taken a different role with the Army so they could have a family. Consultancy with a few away missions. It meant he commuted to base, but he could still do the bulk of domestic shit kids needed. He was busy. Busy building the life he thought Nik wanted. Perhaps they hadn't been intimate enough for a while, or…

“I will understand if you want a…” Nik swallowed, “...a divorce.”

“No,” Price said. “You ain't gettin’ off that easy. The kids need their dad, even if he's a lyin’, cheatin’ cunt. They don' need t’ know that. They worship you. And ‘m not doin’ the single father shit.”

“Then, how do we… what…”

“Open marriage. Can't trust ya not to do this again. You can shag who ya like, so can I. Wear protection, get tested every month. Kids don't see or get told any different. Then, when they've flown the nest, we sign the papers.”

Nik sat in stunned silence for a while. Price couldn't turn to look at him because a tear had escaped. The truth was the thought of being touched by anyone else disgusted him. He felt dirty now, like someone else’s dick had somehow touched him through Nik. Nik swallowed, and spoke finally. “I do not want anyone else.”

“At the moment. You jus’ got caught. Give yerself time.”

“John, please…”

“Is it the thought of someone else shaggin’ me, Nik? Is that what's hurtin’? Good. I hope it fuckin’ does.”

Fuck, he might just go and do it anyway. Find some random bloke at a club and let him go at it. Nik would see it, smell it. Maybe feel even a tiny shred of what Price did now. The thought of another man's hands on him made Price feel sick. He only wanted Nik’s. His heart broke all over again and more tears tracked down his cheeks.

“Then I would like to go to counseling,” Nik said.

“Whot for? So ya can get better at lyin’ t’ me?” Price asked, incredulous.

“We have another twelve years together. Maybe more. They do not need to be twelve years of suffering.”

“Shoulda thought of that before gettin’ yer dick wet in some twink.”

“Not for me, John. For you.”

“Get out my fuckin’ office before I decide collectin’ on your life insurance is a better shout.”

“John…”

“Now.”

The chair legs scraped as Nik stood. For a terrible second, Price felt his weight linger near. His entire body ached for those big arms to wrap around him, offer comfort to his broken heart, but he knew that act had been contaminated now. Poisoned. Nik had taken even that.

As the office door closed softly, Price managed to hold it together. The moment the footsteps had faded, he grabbed the chair Nik had been sitting in and threw it across the room. By the time he'd finished, his office looked like the CIA had been in to turn it over. He sat in the middle of it, his knees clutched to his chest, and sobbed until he was dry heaving.

He'd survived worse. But this was the first time in his life he'd wished it'd killed him.

Asexual m!reader who took a nude modelling gig at some art school

And art-student!Soap who was immediately attracted to you at first sight, and made it a mission to make you hard as you pose in front of everyone

Only for you to sit there, unbothered, looking at him with a glint of amusement in your eyes. Because he was so shameless..

With how he didn't even try to hide the way he oggled at your body while biting his lower lip, letting out sensual grunts while making it seem like he was simply making noises of frustration

And when he noticed that you seemed to be unaffected, he pushed it further and started biting on the end of his pencil before flicking it with his tongue.

His eyes locked onto yours, silently telling you that he imagined his pencil to be your cock. Jeans rode down his hips, showing a tantalizing glimpse of skin, a hint of hipbone and happy trail

He must've thought that he loooked sexy as fuck

..but to you, he looked ridiculous

His classmates seemed to have splitting opinion on that, based on how some frowned at his shameless behavior, while the others discreetly checked him out

And your dick stayed limp

Eventually, he gave up. Huffing with a shade of red decorating his cheeks as he glared at you before focusing back onto his sketch with a pout

And while you never understood the appeal of sex, it didn't mean that you didn't know how to pleasure a pretty boy. Really, he didn't need to do all that embarassing act, he just needed to ask

You definitely didn't mind rewarding him for making your day by making a fool of himself

OC Information: "Stone"

Full Name: Vikram Rahul Mishra

Callsign(s): Stone

Alias(es): Ox (only by certain Marine squads), Doctor Cold, Doctor Feral (only by certain fellow Corpsmen... who have been bitten by him)

Nationality: Second-Generation American (Indian mother, first-generation father)

Affiliations: U.S. Navy, U.S. Fleet Marine Force, Task Force 141 (SAS)

Rank: E-7/Chief Hospital Corpsman (U.S. Navy)

Gender: Male (Trans)

Status: Alive

Birthday: November 29th, 1989 (34 as of 2023)

Build: Burly

Height: 6'6"

Marks: U.S. Navy tattoo on his right arm (three swallows representing each 10,000 nautical miles he's traveled on U.S. naval ships), old battle scars covering him head to toe (mostly knife and bullet wounds)

Hair: Black

Eyes: Brown

Background: Classified

Extra: He wears a muzzle-like mask due to when he bit people during his Seaman days, he can act as an extra sniper for the Task Force, and his medical file has a notation not to give him morphine or any pain medications.

Care for a tiny taste of some boot worship on this fine saturady evening?

Another idea dump

Soap x Reader

tw: smut

You, who willingly let yourself be escorted home by this cute stranger with a mohawk, eager to get over the misery of not being able to move on from your recent ex..

You broke up through text, because well- he wasn't available most of the time anyway, too busy with his job to give you the amount of affection you wanted.

Well, he hasn't responded yet- but still.

So you let this man, Johnny, help you forget about your ex.

You weren't picky, and he was very interested in you, even after you overshared about your ex to him, a stranger. A bad habit you often did when you were a bit tipsy.

A second after the door was closed, he was on you. Moaning into your mouth as he kissed you messily, getting you weak in the knees before he lifted you up and brought you to bed.

And as he started pounding into you, as you were gripping the bedsheet with your eyes rolling to the back of your head- you heard a continuous buzzing along with a familiar ringtone.

You whined when you felt Johnny slowing down his pace, and through the tears, you saw him reaching for your phone before tossing it to you.

He smirked at your confusion, deliberately slowing down even more, savoring your frustration. A desperate whimper escaped your lips as you pressed your heels onto his back, a silent, needy plea for him to move faster.

But he only smiled. "Answer it".

Somehow, you managed to grab your phone and read the name flashing on the screen. "Boyfie ❤️".

Oh, right. You haven't changed his name in your contact.

"Johnny-" You gasped, your breath hitching as he bucked his hips against you, the velvety head of his cock nudging right against that blissful spot deep inside.

"Do it, Bonnie" he purred lowly before dipping down to capture your nipple between his lips. "Make him hear just how damn good yer feelin' without him".

He rolled his hips slowly, making sure you felt every inch of his shaft dragging against your sensitive walls.

Knowing it would leave you to be desperate for more.

And he was right.

So you complied, and with shaky hands, you swiped the button on the screen before the phone slipped from your grasp as Johnny slammed into you again.

The other end of the line remained silent, but you knew someone was there—listening to every sinful sound echoing through the room.

Until..

"Luv?"

At that, you whimpered—not just from the gruff voice that still sent shivers through you, but from the way Johnny’s movements momentarily faltered.

"S-simon.." You mewled in response.

A needy whine escaped your lips as Johnny suddenly stilled.

Before you could ask what was wrong, he pressed your legs to your chest, gripping the backs of your knees before slamming into you—fucking you hard until all you could do was squeal and sob.

As the seconds on your phone ticked by, the call remained connected.

Thinking about how when you’re drunk—and I mean really drunk—you get it in your head to catcall men. They could use a little harassment. When you reach that point, your friends immediately know it’s time to cut you off, acting like the Secret Service as they usher you out of the bar and towards the Uber. But they couldn’t anticipate the group of men standing outside the bar swapping laughs and smoking.

Of course you pick the scariest one of the lot and:

“Hey!” you shout, half giggling. “Hey—you, in the mask!”

The man turns. You can’t see his mouth with the surgical mask in place but you can tell his eyebrows are raised. He’s fucking huge, towering over his counterparts (who are nothing to sniff at), thick and strong. His head cocks in silent question.

“Can I get your number?” you shout, licking your friend’s hand when she slaps it over your mouth. All your friends rush to brush the guy off, but he’s already ashing his cigarette under his boot, slipping his hands into his pocket, and crossing the street quietly.

He stays a healthy distance away, aware of how it looks: a man his size approaching a group of young, inebriated women. You think he’s come to harass you in return, or maybe just to mock you—either way you are stunned silent, mouth agape, eyes wide. He’s so much taller up this close.

“Got a pen?” he asks.

He only approaches then, shoulders hunched to make himself appear smaller and innocuous. He takes your hand in his own and writes his phone number on your forearm.

When you wake up hungover the next morning, his number is there on your arm along with a reminder that you hadn’t been able to see in the dim lighting of the parking lot: XXX-XXXX—S. Drink water.

Johnny Mactavish x Kyle Garrick x female!reader, threesome, facesitting, oral, overstimulation

Thinking about riding Soap's face and yanking him around by his mohawk while Gaz blows him, watching his eyes roll as his hips buck and tongue fucks into your hole, smearing slick all over his face, driving him into overstimulation as he begs to come, cock leaking and Gaz lifting your hips to spit a mess of precome and saliva into his mouth before you sit back down. Gaz swallowing him all the way down and milking the come out of him with a finger in his ass, mercilessly pressing on his prostate as he shouts against your clit.

Letting him lay there moaning and come drunk as Gaz drags you back onto his cock, pounding into you, the both of you coming hard, Gaz moaning and biting your shoulders as you lick into Soap's mouth, sucking on his tongue, his hands squeezing roughly at your breasts.

Gaz licks sweat from your neck as you lift up off his cock, and you wait until he has Soap's arms pinned before you slide your cunt back over Soap's face. His moan is garbled, bubbling up through the mess of slick and semen, drowning between your thighs as you get your rhythm going again, Gaz working two fingers into him this time, using his strong gorgeous body exactly the way he wants.

Thinking about patching up ex-husband Simon Riley. He comes in with the cloak of darkness not close to sunrise, a witching hour of sorts. Three slow deliberate knocks on the other side of your door. No more and no less. Staring at the mahogany frame, you could ignore him. It would be for the best.

But ghosts tend to haunt all night.

So you'll let him in.

You always do.

Bloodied knuckles with a nasty gash on his upper eyebrow. He'll hoist you onto the bathroom countertop with your legs spread as he steps between them. Firm hands grip your waist, grounding you in your stupid decision to let your ex back into your life. Again. He doesn't flinch as you swipe the alcohol soaked towel over his eyebrow wound. Determined eyes search your face in hopes you'll crack under his gaze.

"Ask me what happened." He whispers.

"No." you dab the towel more firmly on his eyebrow as it soaks the raging red liquid.

Simon grabs your wrist and leans down, his lips pressing into the shell of your ear. "Really?" Your heart pounds in your chest, as your body betrays you for your ex -- feeling a heat set every fiber of you ablaze. His teeth grazing your skin as he noses his way down the column of your neck and breathes in your unyielding scent. He knew the effect he still had on you and you hated yourself for it.

"Birdie really doesn't wanna know what I did to that bloke you went out with last week?"

sparring practise gone wrong!!! gone sexual!!! not clickbait!!!!

Soap comes back to base after having teeth pulled and is not expecting Ghost to pounce the second he gets through the gate.

Ghost: "So where are they? I wanna see."

Soap: "What?"

Ghost: "The teeth. Gimme"

Soap: "I didn't... keep them?"

Ghost, upset: "They didn't let you?"

Soap, growing more confused by the second: "I didn't ask?"

Ghost: "You didn't- Johnny what the fuck?" 😟

Soap: "I was in a lot of pain, Lt., and still am, mind you-"

Ghost: "But... I woulda took 'em if you didn't want them."

Soap: "Ghost, my teeth were far from perfect, there's a reason they had to come out, not exactly great specime-"

Ghost: "THAT'S WHAT MAKES THEM SPECIAL!"

Soap: 😶

Ghost: "ONE OF A KIND!"

Gaz, who walked up in the middle of the conversation: "Think I've still got my baby teeth somewhere, you want 'em?"

Ghost, still distraught: "At least GAZ loves me."

Soap: "... my mouth hurts..."