Cod Mwii - Blog Posts
So here some GhostSoap Boxer/Writer mixed AU dump/idea for all you since I can't contain my hyperfixation/brainrot along with doing a poll for an Name for this AU later
Ghost and König being rival boxer with Price being Ghost's personal coach/trainer along with Gaz and other person(s) who I haven't figured out yet be König's (probably one of the villains like shepherd or something haven't plan it out tho)
Roach being Ghost/Simon's supportive friend from childhood who's a writer but Non-verbal who's writings have an effect on people
Soap/Johnny will either be the new/rookie boxer or writer in the group who's get head over heels on Ghost by accidently walking in on him in locker room/dress area
Alejandro and Rodolfo aka Rudy are the Spanish language commentator and whistleblowers
Ghost used to attend and participate in illegal underground fights as a young teen as a coping outlet from his abusive household before doing legal professionals boxing
Gaz is the co-coach for Ghost who handles the equipment and training routine for Ghost to try out along with having medical knowledge
Roach is Simon/Ghost's emotional support person when he becomes emotionally unstable when things get out of hand
Price is an father figure towards Simon/Ghost and treat him like his own son and they go out to celebrate with the team when they lose and win a match giving Simon/Ghost a chance to be himself without any doubts/problems
Valeria is the owner and the main antagonist in this AU (basically she's a business villain tycoon)
Soap and Gaz have this brotherly friendship relationship along with telling him his interest in Ghost and vice versa with Ghost with Roach (Basically both Roach and Gaz known that Soap and Ghost love each other but the lovebird don't know that)
I have not plan this out yet but I'm interested in doing an GhostSoap Boxer/writer mixed AU
Ghost in reader's Ring doorbell camera at like 3am just standing there silently for a minute before saying some weird shit like "your headlights are still on. you should come turn them off." meanwhile it's pitch black behind him.
something something pre-negotiated cnc scene with gaz where you go for a hike and he's waiting for you with his ghillie suit on, taking you entirely by surprise as he drags you into the bushes, holding his hand over your mouth so as not to alert the passing hikers as he fucks you on the ground, completely camouflaged underneath him
Ghost Lets You Help (18+)
Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Oral (m-receiving), nutting onto partner’s body, she/her Reader, Reader’s hair is long enough to be gripped in someone’s hand Word Count: 3.4k
Service Dog Johnny Part 17 (full part list here)
“How often do you jerk off?”
Your boyfriend’s fingers halt their up and down movement across your lower back, and you quickly tack on, “You don’t have to answer that, I’m just nosy, and I like you a lot.”
Simon huffs in amusement. “At home, or when I’m working?”
“At home, I guess.”
“Ehh… Just about every day.”
Your mouth pops open in surprise, because you don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. He’s with you nearly every minute when you’re both home, and he’s certainly never given any indication of needing to sneak off to take care of something.
But really, is it that surprising? You know first hand that he’s quite functional.
“Hmm,” you reply finally. “You’re a really interesting person.”
“It’s not that interesting.”
“Mmm… disagree. I have way more questions now.”
He turns his head to get a look at you, resting in bed with your cheek smushed into the crook of his shoulder. “Like what?”
“Like… have you jerked off today?”
“No.” His hand begins to move again, steadily smoothing against the worn fabric of your sleep shirt.
“Would you ever want… help?” You ask casually, smiling at him. “Just like, for fun. Like a quick, wham bam… here’s my hand.”
You expect him to laugh at your little joke, but instead Simon makes that grumble in his throat that means he’s uncomfortable, and stares up at the shadowy ceiling. “It’s… ahh. It’s not easy… well, it’s a problem, having things done, sort of, to me.”
“Gotcha, okay.” Your reassurance is automatic, but you still lay there against his side for a minute with your heart clenching, wishing the worst things the world has to offer on whoever caused this.
You know you should probably end the conversation there and not push him, but you can’t help asking, “What about if you were controlling it? No pressure of course, I’m just troubleshooting. Do you think it would be easier if you were the one just like… fucking my mouth?”
He takes a deep breath and slides his free hand down his face, like he’s really considering it. “Maybe.”
You contain your smile to a mere tenth of what it wants to be, and add, “Well, if you ever feel like experimenting, I would really, really like to do that. And you know we could stop whenever you need.”
“You’d want to do that?” He finally glances at you, frowning slightly like he thinks you’re lying.
“Yes! Oh my god.” You sit up in your excitement, beaming down at him. “That would be so fun.”
He assesses you like this is all new information to him. Like he never even imagined that you’d be practically creaming yourself at the chance to get him in your mouth, no matter how it happens. You’d absolutely give him that control, you’d let him fuck your face for as long as he wants if it means you get a taste of his pleasure.
“You’d like that,” he muses finally.
Please, please, god, PLEASE.
“Mhmm,” you reply with a heavy dose of faux nonchalance, so he’ll feel like he’s allowed to say no.
His eyes flick to the clock on the nightstand. There’s still some time left before you usually go to bed.
“Would you do it with the lights off?”
“Of course,” you beam. “I’m up for anything.”
“All the lights,” he reinforces sternly, as if that could possibly matter.
“Baby. You’re gonna get me excited.”
He throws his legs over the side of the bed and stays there for a minute stretching his neck out, while you remain where you are, vibrating with anticipation. Finally he sighs and glances over his shoulder at you. “Suppose you’re allowed to get excited.”
Just like that, it’s settled.
Gleefully you spring into action to do the necessary bedtime things, scrubbing over your teeth and washing your face. When you meet him back in the bedroom, he’s for some reason staring down at a pillow that’s lying on the floor.
“What are you doing?” you ask.
“Err… you’ll be on your knees, yeah? Would a pillow be wobbly, or?…”
This is really happening.
“Carpet’s fine,” you assure him, scooping up the pillow and tossing it back on the bed. “It’s plenty soft, and also I don’t care.”
“Hmm.”
Ignoring you entirely, he starts stalking around the room, running his fingers over the locks on the windows and unplugging anything with a little glowing light.
You do the only thing that’s really your job, and strip your clothes off, because surely he’ll want to look a little before the lights go out. And since he’s still meticulously getting the blackout curtains to stay as closed as they can go, you begin to plan the scene.
If he’s going to be the one fucking your mouth, if you aren’t allowed to move at all, you’re going to want something for support. The obvious thing is the bed, so you test it by getting to the floor and slipping your feet into the space under the bed frame. This could work. You have the soft edge of the mattress to lean your back against now, and it’ll be relatively comfy to give a blowjob like this.
Your mind only focuses back to the present when Simon comes to a stop some paces away, tracing your body with his eyes.
“Is this okay?” you ask.
“Mhmm.” His hand comes to rest on the doorknob as his gaze floats up to your face.
“You locked the front door, I saw.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t move though, and you can practically see him second guessing it through his unfocused expression. He won’t be able to relax unless he knows for sure.
“Go ahead and check,” you concede, “we have time.”
Instantly he’s out the door. You let your head fall back on the bed, smiling to yourself as you rest there for a moment. You stroke your hands down your stomach just to feel the softness of your own skin, and then squeeze your breasts.
The last person who touched you was Johnny. He’s gone tonight, had to do a nighttime shooting qualification at work, so you won’t see him until hopefully tomorrow.
What would he think, if he knew this was about to happen? Would he worry about Simon? Maybe feel like you’re pushing him too fast? It was just a couple of days ago that you were biting Johnny’s head off about feeling unwanted, and now you’re experimenting without him again.
Your hands drop off your body as soon as the door opens. You blink up at your boyfriend who’s now towering over you, a completely different person than he was a few minutes ago.
He must have satisfied every bug in his brain, because the curtains are now the farthest thing from his mind. His eyes are liquid darkness, roving over your bare skin as he reaches behind his neck to strip his shirt over his head. He doesn’t even fold it, just wads it up and tosses it on the bed without a glance.
“You ready?” you ask innocently, shivering a little.
“Yep.”
“Okay.” Your gaze wanders down to the situation in his pants, and you realize your mistake. “You’re more like, here, aren’t you?” You readjust, getting to your full height on your knees instead of sitting.
“I think so.”
You put your elbows behind you to prop you up on the bed, and surreptitiously watch him cross the room to turn off the lamp
Click.
And then it’s real.
The first thing you notice is that he did an excellent job of killing every light. There’s fucking nothing, not even the clock display to orient you to your surroundings. Granted, your eyes haven’t adjusted yet, but it’s basically pitch black, which means he has a good chance of going through with this.
Which means—
He’s quiet, as he usually is. It’s only his unavoidable weight, and the creak of old floorboards that allows you to sense that he’s come back to you. Your body awakens with the awareness of proximity, excitement and arousal, and for some reason a little bit of fear, which doesn’t seem to diminish the other two.
Your name comes out of his chest, slow and deep, and right in front of you.
“Yeah, baby,” you whisper, feeling more vulnerable in the darkness, because you can’t anticipate the first place he’ll touch you.
It’s your chin. His familiar hand finds your face, and then you’ve got a palm holding each of your cheeks. Thumbs you can’t see brush across your temples, careful fingers tuck your hair behind your ears. His hands are steady as they repeat the motion, stroking the edges of your face to pet your hair out of the way. Again. Again. Gentle fingers of a patient man.
You keep your eyes lifted as if you can see him, relaxing your body and allowing him to tilt your head back a little. Your hair gets methodically gathered into one of his hands, and then held firmly like that, in a way that makes you anticipate your mouth getting soon filled.
But he releases it, as if he was just testing the option. His hands slip back around to your face, cupping the underside of your jaw and curling around your nape.
“You're safe,” he tells you, for some reason.
“I know.”
His methodical breathing is all you hear as his thumb sweeps the length of your cheekbone, slowly, like he’s touching something valuable. And his other thumb finds the seam of your lips, coaxing them open with a little pressure.
You stay soft for him while he pushes that digit past your teeth, keeping your mouth relaxed as he lets it rest on your tongue. You wait like that, letting him feel how warm and pliant your mouth is, just breathing through your nose as he caresses your face in the darkness. What a good girl you are, his thumb seems to say, skimming the tips of your lashes when you blink. So well behaved for me.
He never loses contact, even when his hand retreats from your mouth. He keeps the back of your skull resting in the cradle of his wide palm while he gets himself ready. That soft rustle of fabric shoots a thrill down your spine, has you lifting your chin a little to straighten out your throat.
Then something warm and a little sticky kisses up against your lips, and the man you love breathes a quiet, “Open.”
Against the blanket, your fingers curl in pleasure while he eases himself into your mouth. He presses just the tip in, and then pulls back out a little, repeating the motion. It’s like he’s sampling the way it feels sliding across your tongue, so you stick it out for him to play with, just past your lower lip. He feels you do that, you can tell by the appreciative breath he lets out. He likes it. He likes picturing you here, patiently waiting with your tongue out, letting him rub his leaking tip up and down it.
It’s so good. Your eyes drift closed on their own, mentally slipping into the skin of someone who deserves this kind of attention. You take an ungodly amount of pleasure in being toyed with like this — the slow, systematic breaking down of your psyche until all you are is a craving. A bone deep, unending ripple of want that registers your mouth as the natural place for his cock. He gets to come home now, pushing inside you and finding relief in the same act that’s getting you slick between your legs.
You’re not sure if he does it like this on purpose to get you worked up. You’re not sure that it matters.
“Show me how deep I can go so it’s still comfortable.” His thumb presses down on your jaw, guiding you to open wider. “This is important to me.”
Oh. Okay. Obediently you reach out and find his thigh with your hand, relaxing your mouth as he begins to push himself inside it. A happy, breathy noise leaves you when you finally feel it the way you’re meant to, finally get your mouth full of that fundamental piece of him.
He doesn’t pause, just carefully pushes inside until he reaches the line of your gag reflex, and you offer some resistance on his leg to let him know.
“Fuck, alright. Yeah, alright.” His breathing is ragged between words. “Christ, you sound so pretty.”
Yeah, you’re too aroused to really hold back at this point. As he begins to slowly thrust into your mouth, you thank him for it with soft, needy throat noises. He keeps one hand around your jaw and feeds you his cock to exactly where you showed him, and it feels divine.
You're not sure if it’s intentional, but he never fully pulls out. He never gives you a chance to collect yourself or swallow, just keeps filling your mouth until you’re no longer anxious about it ending before you’re ready. You’re dazed and content, drooling around him and communicating exactly how much you’re enjoying yourself, through every soft moan and whimper. Your lips are wet from the mess of spit and precum gathering in your mouth, and you’re getting so turned on that you swear there’s a faint sensation of something dripping down the inner crease of your thigh.
Maybe you like this a lot. Maybe you enjoy the way your jaw aches with how thick he is. Maybe you’re glad this is lasting a lot longer than the other time, because there’s nothing that compares to getting on your knees for someone who loves you the way he does.
“Don’t want to— Can I cum on you?”
Like he’s just remembered that you can’t talk with your mouth full, Simon quickly pulls out and stays there, holding your face and catching his breath.
“Yeah, of course,” you say after a quick swallow. “Maybe don’t get it in my hair if you can help it.”
“I won’t.”
He gathers your hair again in his shaking hand, and this time he uses it to hold your head steady while he sinks himself all the way to your throat.
It has you grabbing onto the blanket while you fight back the urge to gag. You just weren’t prepared for that, hadn’t given yourself time to relax into it after he was so insistent earlier about not going too deep. One more thrust and you can’t help the way your throat constricts, the wet sputter you do when you can’t quite accommodate him.
“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, nearly scraping himself on your front teeth in his haste to pull out. “M’sorry. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” You lift your hand to his wrist, finding his fingers with yours and wrapping around them to make sure he doesn’t let go of your hair. “You’re alright.”
His voice still has a frantic edge. “Didn’t mean to. That wasn’t on purpose.”
“I know, baby,” you assure him, slow and calm. “Take a breath, we’re okay.”
You’re rewarded with a deep inhale and exhale from somewhere above you. Then a steady, “You’re alright?”
“Yep, I’m doing great.” You sink down the side of the bed, letting your ass rest on your feet, and draping your head back on the edge of the mattress. “And you know what?”
“What?” His fingers shift in your hair, but he doesn’t let go, so you stroke your fingers down to his wrist.
“My tits are really soft,” you tell him, letting your smile warm the words.
There’s only a beat of silence, and then a little amused huff for you. “Are they, now?”
“Mhmm. You can see for yourself, if you want.”
There’s barely a second of hesitation before you hear his knees pop, and then feel that familiar hand tracing down your collarbone to find your breast. “Mmm. You’re right.”
Your evil plan is working. “Check the other one too, just to be sure.”
Simon only stops long enough to do another deep breath, then wraps his hand around your other breast, squeezing it gently. “Yeah. Fuckin’ nice.”
Time to get him what he needs.
“So I have these nice soft titties right here for you, right? I think you should cum on them.”
His next breath is choppy and delicious, as he runs his fingertips down the swell of your breast and fiddles with your nipple.
“I think they would look extra pretty,” you purr at him, “with a little decoration.”
His hand leaves your skin then, and the air is so quiet that you can hear him stroking himself with your spit remaining on him. You sigh happily, letting him hold your head out of the way by your hair, so your face won’t get dirty in a minute when he cums.
“I love your voice,” he whispers. “That little high note you do at the end of a breath, when you’re… like this.”
“Wet?” You playfully whisper back.
“Are you wet, darling?”
Your thighs seem to flex together on their own accord. “Uh huh.”
The slick sounds pause for a beat, and then he says, “Can I feel?”
Oh, fuck. You’re definitely going to have to get your toy out after this. “Yeah, baby.”
He doesn’t let go of your hair, just reaches down with his free hand to find your thighs. You spread your knees apart on the carpet and marvel at the lack of hesitation, as he runs his fingertips up and down the outside of your pussy.
“Jesus bloody fucking Christ.”
“I’m having a great time,” you laugh, keeping your hips as still as possible so he remains in control of the contact.
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Mmm, yeah.” His fingers are still stroking your soaked pussy, so you turn your head a little to kiss his wrist. “I like this, baby.”
He’s collecting your wetness, you finally realize. He gets his palm nice and slick with it, and then gets back to his feet, and starts jerking off with your arousal.
You close your eyes and let yourself picture it, how he’s standing now with your knees between his legs. You do your best to push your tits out so they’ll get the bulk of the exterior decorating, and just relax there and let him hear your happy, horny breaths.
His choked curse is the only warning you get before something warm and sticky hits your chest. You smile to yourself while he works himself through that orgasm, painting you with his pleasure because for some reason he’d rather do this than shoot it down your throat.
You don’t mind, not really. You’re pretty sure it’s not a humiliation thing for him, and it’s easy enough to get cleaned up afterwards. Once his breathing has started to level out and his grip in your hair loosens, you reach up and swipe a little bit of cum off your breast. In the pitch black, he doesn’t see you suck it off your finger.
His recovery is much better this time. Maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t actually fuck, or maybe it’s because he’s processed the initial hurdle already, but he never goes nonverbal. He ends up wiping you down with his own shirt so the lights can stay off, and then he holds you in his arms while you make yourself cum with your vibrator.
Simon reaches down to your wrist and encourages you to keep your toy on your clit while you whine and gasp through the overstimulation after your orgasm. He makes you promise not to stop before he releases your hand to play with your nipple.
“Just a little longer,” he whispers, stroking his thumb over the sensitive point. “I know you can do it.”
He’s right. It only takes a few more minutes before you’re shaking, jerking the toy away and squeezing your thighs together through the rushing in your ears.
You’re limp after that, merely a jellyfish washed up on the beach. Simon thinks it’s funny, keeps lifting your wrist in the air and then letting it flop to the mattress. He can’t even see it, but finds it entertaining all the same.
“Simon?” You whisper after a few sleepy kisses.
“Hmm?”
“What do you think about clearing out the guest bedroom, and putting a bed in there for Johnny when he spends the night?”
Your boyfriend tugs affectionately at a lock of your hair. “I think that’s a bloody good idea.”
Next Part coming soon
Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop
( 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-
porn link
this is truly how i imagine simon to fuck you. a heavy hand smothering your moans; his hips punching his cock in, measured strokes hitting deep; dragging his hands along your body, feeling it underneath his touch; before tugging you closer to him, positioning you in the easiest way for him to fuck into. but, most of all, the silence from his end—a hunter. an apex predator.
your whole body shakes, pain and pleasure still mixing because it is all so overwhelming. so daunting. simon fucks you like a man starved; like your body is nothing but for him to use.
finger
kate laswell x f!reader | ~3.6k words tags: alcohol, age gap (Kate is in her late 40s, Reader is in her 30s), cunnilingus, fingering, slight mommy kink, x2 'good girls', x1 'brat', porn with a dash of plot a/n: kate isn't married in this. reader has hair long enough for kate to grab. happy pride.
Forty swipes deep into dating app hell and down to the dregs of a beer, the bartender exchanges your glass for a tumbler. Face smushed into a palm, you stare incredulously at the liquor. You definitely didn’t order whiskey. Definitely can’t afford it. Even at a dive like this, your budget demands whatever’s on special, tonight being Rainier.
You’re quick to correct the bartender. No way you’re overdrafting again. “Hey–I didn’t order this.”
A knowing smile curves his mouth, and he jerks his head over a shoulder. “No, but she did.”
It’s a surprise your neck doesn’t snap when you look and a second that your jaw doesn’t hit the counter on its way to the floor. The she in question sits at the corner with her arm draped over the back of another stool. Older than you, maybe by a decade. She looks like a suit or off-duty fed, with a dress shirt undone to the top of her sternum, a blazer draped over her seat, and sandy hair pulled into a bun. Your eyes linger on the triangle of skin below her neck, and heat rushes up your neck when they pan to her face.
Though the color is difficult to discern in the dim light, they’re half-lidded and fixed to you over the rim of her glass. She taps the top of the empty seat beside her—as if the free drink wasn't a clear enough invitation.
Not your usual type, but a drink is a drink. It’s polite to respond.
Your thumb swipes the app shut, and you pocket your phone, scooting off your stool on an invisible leash. A warm ball of excitement tugging you across the sticky floor, slowing time in your head. You ferry the whiskey like it’s some grand gift, desperately not wanting to spill a drop and make a fool of yourself in front of whoever the hell this woman is.
Her eyes drop, appraising you on the approach. You think you might be buzzing as loud as the lights.
“Hi,” you pass behind as her arm lifts off the stool, allowing you to sidle into the gap between and hoist yourself up. You set the whiskey on a coaster and tap it with a finger. “Thanks for the drink.”
“Hope neat’s alright.” She replies, head tilting slightly, body turning angling toward you. “Bad day?”
“Bad night,” you correct sheepishly. “I, uh, had a date but they canceled at the last second.”
Her tongue clicks, setting her glass down to undo the cuff buttons of her sleeves. “That’s bad manners. Their loss, though. You’re a knockout.”
The way she says it so casually, oozing confidence you only dream of, momentarily stuns you. You’ve been called ‘cute’ and ‘pretty’, but—Your brain short circuits at the sight of her deftly rolling her sleeves. Slight tan, a dusting of freckles, and a couple of interesting scars. Your eyes flick to hers, an amused smile telling you she’s caught you ogling for the second time.
“Thanks. That’s kind of you to say.” you finally reply, taking a sip of the whiskey in a move you hope exudes poise.
She tucks the fabric to one elbow and starts the other. “It looked like you could use something stronger. Thought a finger or two would help.”
The whiskey nearly shoots out of your nose, but you swallow after an embarrassing choke.
She merely chuckles and extends a hand to pat your back gently. “Of bourbon, that is.”
“Y-Yeah, no, I know,” you sputter and pluck a cocktail napkin from a stack, wiping your mouth and praying for a spontaneous, you-sized sinkhole to open beneath your seat.
“I’m Kate.” She rubs a slow circle near the top of your spine, then flattens her hand to rest her thumb on the nape of your neck. It brushes over the skin once when you give her your name. She repeats it, lifting her glass. “I’ll take their place for the night, unless you object?”
The assertiveness is a stark contrast to your fumbling and the coy indecisiveness of women you typically attract. The question hangs off her tongue, dangling like a worm on a hook. She wants you to bite, you feel it in the heat of her gaze, and let her in. She must be a fed with a focus like that; no way she’s corporate. You’ve lived in the DMV long enough to spot them. Can’t throw a rock without hitting one, anyway.
You smile, feeling the warmth of Kate’s palm through your shirt. “I’d like that.”
“Yeah? Good.” She sips, shifting further until her knee skims the outside of your thigh. “Tell me about yourself, kid.”
That does something for you, and you file it away for later. You mirror Kate’s posture, turning so your knees interlace. You know how intimate this must look to the handful of other patrons, to the bartender, as if you’re already a couple. Yet it feels natural, like you’re supposed to meld into the complete stranger because she bought you a drink. A breath slips out when her hand leaves your back, the angle too far to be comfortable, and drops to your kneecap. It’s like a game of chicken, all these small touches, and you kind of want to lose.
You prattle off the basics. How you moved to D.C. two years ago for work, how the city’s grown on you, and on a tangent, that you’re actually pretty lonely. It spills out of you freely, unable to look away from the steel blues seemingly hanging off every word. It’s the most attention you’ve received outside of work in a long time. It’s that and the whiskey, must be, why the butterflies in your stomach migrate to your chest, evolving into the thrum of a bird’s wings.
To your quiet delight, her attention isn’t the only thing she gives you—it’s her interest. She hums and affirms. She asks questions. Digs into the meat of the story you spout off about your shitty landlord. And she squeezes your knee when you share how you spent the last holiday alone in the city. You try to turn it around once or twice, though you abandon that line of questioning after she tells you she’s a ‘contractor’.
Before you know it, you’re finished with a second whiskey and incredibly warm and wanting.
Kate hits you with the Let’s get out of here and loops an arm around your waist outside the bar. In the cab, you let her slide her hand up your leg, stopping in time to eat up your pathetic whine with a languid kiss. Though she pays the fare, you leave a big tip—an apology for the makeout he couldn’t’ve missed through the rearview.
You float through the hotel lobby in a haze of alcohol and lust, barely appreciating the swankiness of the place. Whatever ‘contractor’ really means, it pays well. She practically lassoes you into the elevator with one arm, her suit jacket draped over the other.
“You can back out anytime.” She says, punching the button for her floor. “No hurt feelings.”
The blood in your veins itches with need as you grab her waist and haul her closer. You unabashedly stare, glossy-eyed. This woman, who’s been nothing but kind and attentive and generous—you want to return the favor. Tenfold. Something about her draws it out. “I don’t want to,” You whisper, the elevator softly dinging with each passing floor. “I want more.”
She smiles, hand fitting over the nape of your neck again like it belongs there, and reels you in for another kiss. It leaves you gasping when the lift stops.
Her room is a suite, another token of her apparent success. The best place you’ve ever stayed at came with a coffee maker. There isn’t much of a chance to admire it, though, since she plants you on the wall the moment the door clicks, latching it shut with her free hand. It’s a long, heated stumble further into the room, most of your clothes coming off with each step. It doesn’t hit you until she holds you at arm’s length to sit on the edge of her bed. She smirks up at you, tugging on the waistband of your underwear. Not to take them off but as direction.
You kneel between her open legs without a second thought.
“You still want more?”
Hours earlier, when your date texted a poor excuse to cancel, you didn’t think this was where the night would go. The weight of Kate’s gaze is heavy, almost as intoxicating as the whiskey lingering on your tongue. The anticipation is electric, and the view is…Well, you could get used to sitting on your knees if it’s her holding the reins.
You lay your hands on her thighs and feel the muscles beneath her pants shift. It’s heady, knowing someone this composed and enigmatic wants you, too.
“Yes.” You finally manage, hands sliding up to unbutton her fly and curling over the band to tug them down along with her underwear. Above, Kate chuckles, lifting her hips to allow you to peel them to her ankles. God, how desperate you must look when your eyes whip from her face to the patch of hair before you. Your mouth hangs open, drool already gathering on your tongue.
“You’ll catch flies like that.” she teases.
Her hand lands atop your head. No pull or pressure. Yet.
“But good answer,” Her fingers flex against your scalp. “Show me how good that pretty little mouth of yours is, shall we?”
Yes ma'am.
Without hesitation, you press open-mouthed kisses to Kate’s spread thighs, relishing the sigh of relief from above. You lay another on the hair above her pussy, inhaling her scent appreciatively, then give a few exploratory licks to her labia, avoiding where she wants you to wind her up. Something about a woman in control that makes you want to pick at a frayed edge and unwind her, even just a little bit.
The hand in your hair tightens after more teasing, a silent Get to it. You still spare a couple more wet kisses, then lick a stripe over her hole before slipping it in. Her hips jut toward your mouth, pressure finally applied to your skull. You oblige her, searching for more of the vinous taste coating your tongue. You think it might be the best night of your life when she moans, your hands joining your mouth to gently spread her open.
“That’s it, just like that…” She rasps, voice thin and shaky. “That’s a good girl.”
Your chest bursts at the praise, heat doubling in your cheeks. It cracks your eyes open, vision glazed. The sight of her, brow furrowed and lip caught between teeth—you did that.
You dutifully continue, responding to each jerk of your head with soft groans, each one a direct line to your cunt. Pressing your thighs together, you feel how soaked you are, the cotton sticking. By the time you drag your tongue up to her clit, her legs shake, thighs trembling and bumping against your ears. Kate’s trying to keep them still; the tension beneath your hands charged and telling. When you wrap your lips around her clit to suck, you watch her eyes roll back and square your shoulders to keep her open.
“Atta girl.” She grits between her teeth, the fingers in your hair tightening to pull you snugly against her pussy. Her other hand fists the comforter, the fabric crinkling in her white-knuckled grip. “Don’t stop,” It’s almost a whine, bitten back and forced into a grunt. You could die here, nose buried in her bush and tongue stuck to her clit, chin slipping through her wetness. Drown or suffocate. It’d be a hell of a way to go.
But she comes, eyebrows pinched and mouth wide, going stock-still and rigid until the tension snaps. Kate shakes through it, letting all of one moan loose before clamping her mouth shut, baring her teeth to hiss instead. Her hips buck, and you carefully move with her, intent on catching everything she gives, greedily lapping at her until she tugs your head back.
A wet sheen paints your upper lip to your chin, possibly your throat, and you stare, hands on her knees, up at Kate. Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, her eyes dark and color high on her cheeks. Mild carpet burn bites your knees, but you don’t dare move.
It’s like that for a few minutes. Her hand loosens its grip to pet your hair, her breathing gradually leveling out. Her scent permeates the air and your skin. God, even if you never see her again after this, she’s a part of you now.
“Up,” She suddenly says, standing and gesturing to the bed. “Take off the rest, then on your back.”
You scramble, wincing at the pops of your knees, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The clasp of your bra works with you, unfastening easily, and you shiver when the damp gusset of your underwear slaps wetly against your thigh on the way off. She grabs bottled water from the nightstand instead, drinking deeply, looking away at the curtains covering the windows.
Turning around, she twists the cap and sets the water aside, licking her lip free of a stray droplet. The pink tip of her tongue enough to expel a sharp breath.
Peculiarly, she leaves her shirt on but joins you, crawling onto the bed with a smile that might’ve passed for soft if her eyes weren’t so sharp. She leaves barely any breathing space, draping a warm leg over yours and pulling it toward her. Her elbow rests beneath her, propping her up with a closed fist to her temple. Her other hand drifts from the crease of your thigh, over your stomach, and between your breasts. Head tilting, her tongue darts out again in apparent study, drinking you in. Her attention to the physical is just as reverent as it is in conversation.
You cannot bring yourself to speak, afraid you’ll break the spell. But you twitch once, when her fingers ghost over a hard nipple, and she smirks.
“Yes?”
“Please,” You whisper, not too proud to beg, and reach for her hand. “Please touch me. I am so fucking—”
Kate tuts, freezing your hand’s approach, then softens it with a hushed laugh. “Impatient. If that’s what you want, then let me work.” She pinches the bud between her fingers, slowly maneuvering to her knees. “You were so sweet at the bar. Don’t tell me I’ve brought a selfish brat home.”
A frustrated groan slips out, stuttering into a whimper as she withdraws to sit on her heels. Your teeth catch your lip to silence another when she moves between your legs, not sparing a single glance to her prize. Her hands spider up your shins and down your calves. It’s torture, and she’s incredible at it.
Never in your life have you been called a brat past childhood, and certainly not in the bedroom. It pokes at that earlier inkling, urges it out into the open, but you stubbornly smother it. Maybe you are—but you don’t want to be for her.
“Kate, please,” you plead again. “Please, I just–I just got worked up when I–”
“Shh. I know. I’m being awfully rude. I’ll take care of you, pretty thing.” Kate purrs, finally lowering her gaze to your dripping center, and her lip curls. It’s calculated, the glacial speed with which she approaches your cunt. Situates herself nice between your spread legs, returning the favor of littering your shaking thighs with kisses, adding teeth into the meatiest parts.
Her nails lightly comb south through your thatch of hair, two callused fingers tracing over either side of your sex. A third finger teasing a trail through the wet, before dipping into the first knuckle. “Fuck,” she gaps, marveling at the ease. “You weren’t kidding.”
Surely you’d think of a smarter comeback other than the nonsensical babble you stammer instead.
Your stomach twists into knots as a second finger joins the first, easing deeper, thumb hovering over your clit like a trigger. Her fingers move slowly and deliberately, but within seconds you’re taking them to the webbing. They crook and drag against your inner walls, coaxing a stream of needy sounds from your lips.
“Wish you could see yourself,” Kate rasps, voice a hair lower. Brow narrowed with rapt attention. “Think you can take three?” She chuckles at the breathy little in a minute you force out. “Good girl, telling me how it is.”
Her fingers start to scissor and stretch, thumb occasionally tapping your clit to see your hips jolt. Your eyes are rolled back into oblivion when her tongue makes contact, and they snap open so fast you need to blink away black spots. Your hands hover over her head, unsure if she’s—fuck, if she’s—
She unlatches from your clit, giving it a peck before nodding at your outstretched palms. As if all business, she sinks back into your cunt mouth-first and closes her eyes with a groan. Your pussy squeezes at the sight, a needy whimper accompanying your fingers as they thread through her hair, ruining her bun.
Kate alternates between devouring your pussy and tongue-fucking your hole, showcasing an almost animalistic side to the controlled woman who charmed you at the bar. The sounds muffled by your thighs, so hungry and urgent, it’s almost too much. You suck your lip into your mouth as the heat flooding your abdomen steadily migrates.
“K-Kate, fuck, I’m close.”
With a wet pop, she lifts her head, face flushed and mouth drenched. Though you quietly protest, your orgasm dancing out of reach, you let a curse shrivel on your tongue. Her fingers slow to allow a third to prod at your hole. It’s a stretch, even as slick as you are. The two of you groan as she feeds them into you. She drops a kiss to your thigh once they’re in, gaze flitting up to read your face on the first languid push and pull.
“Yeah?”
“Y-Yeah, oh, oh fuck.” Your answer turns stupid at the insistence behind Kate’s renewed thrusts. The lewd, squelching sound drowns whatever shreds of coherency and possibly dignity you have left.
Her mouth returns, sawing your clit back and forth, applying pressure in tandem with the plunge of her fingers.
If she minds the number you’re doing to her scalp, she doesn’t show it. Her hair comes undone under your desperate hands, trying to fuse your cunt to her jaw. Tit for tat, though maybe she thinks as you do, finding a warm and wet pussy a suitable demise.
With deliberate timing, her fingers bury themselves, bullying through the tight clasp of your walls, and teeth graze your clit. They sever the last thread of control, and your vision whites out. Head tipped against the pillow and heels digging into the bed, you shatter, voice unrestrained and echoing through the hotel room. A sliver of embarrassment stitches through the silence after, the neighboring suites an afterthought.
Kate cleans you in the afterglow. Your legs twitch uncontrollably as a towel dips between your legs, brain too muddled to appreciate her undoubtedly flattering words.
She climbs into bed after that, tucking the pair of you underneath the sheets. You guess you’re staying the night when she folds around you in a spoon. She sighs, deep and satisfied, breath tickling your ear. “Good?”
“Better than good.” A tired giggle ekes out, snuggling into the bedding. Your eyelids droop, your head blissfully swimming from the faint smell of Kate on your lips. You swallow, unable to stop yourself from sleepily asking, “What’s after this?”
Her lips press to your temple in a prolonged kiss. Long enough to make you think you made a mistake. Then she whispers. “Sleep. A shower. Then room service in the morning.” She must sense your unease, though, as she adds, “We’ll talk then.”
You nod, half-lost to slumber already, savoring the figure eights she traces on your side.
In the morning, you wake to an empty bed and a knock on the door. One foot in post-sex sleep-induced delirium, you find a robe in the ensuite and greet an amused-looking hotel employee at the door. Cart in tow, they breeze past you, lifting a cloche from a mouth-watering breakfast and a small carafe of coffee.
“Do I need to…pay for this?” You ask, head as scrambled as the eggs on the plate.
“No, it’s being charged to the room.” The man says as he unloads the cart onto the room’s table. He delays his departure, though, and you get the message. He leaves with the last of your cash, and you spot a note tucked under Kate’s pillow.
Sorry to leave you like this. Duty calls. Take your time with the room. No one will bother you beyond delivering breakfast. You can reach me at this number if you need a finger or three, again. - Kate
You snort and shove a piece of bacon into your mouth to distract yourself from the ache between your legs.
Later, you consider adjusting your age preferences up a bracket across your dating apps before deleting them altogether. You send a text, and it’s under a minute that three dots appear.
>> Miss me already, kid?
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."
Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader
You have no idea Simon’s rented a flat the next block over.
It’s the quickest walk, from your place to his, and he makes it frequently, especially at night.
You don’t know he stands in the shadow of a tree, waiting for your lights to flick on and off. On, and off, all night long.
Orion keeps you up, he knows without a doubt now. The tired eyes and tired smile you gave him the other day when he fixed the washer filled him with shame, miserable and scalding, a burn searing across his heart.
He gave you a baby, and then disappeared.
He estimates you get up every three hours. The dim, muted light from your bedroom window flickers alive, and then the living room follows shortly after.
If he was there, things would be different. He’d get up with Ry, get him tucked into bed beside you, snuggled up to your breast. He’d rub the apple of your cheek to gently wake you, just enough so you’d know what’s going on, but not enough to truly open your eyes. You would trust him, trust him to take care of you, and the baby, trust that he’s there. You’d be half asleep as he pulled your tank top down and helped Orion latch, half asleep when Simon turned you in the bed so the baby could switch, Simon’s chest warm at your back, his hand holding Orion steady. He’d stay awake and vigilant until he was done eating, burped, changed, and settled back into his crib. He’d kiss you afterwards, long and sweet, and then press his nose to your hair and breathe deeply, before waking up to do it all over again in three hours.
It’s all a fantasy, a secret dream he’s built and tucked away in his mind-
but it will all be real. Soon.
He starts with a dinner.
It’s around six when he strolls up to your front door. He’s got two orders of takeaway fish and chips, a favorite of yours (he remembers) and a strawberry mango smoothie (he’s not sure if you like these or not, if he’s being honest, but he knows nutrition is important right now. The internet says you’re burning a lot of calories, but you also need more sustenance and nutrient rich foods.)
You’re surprised to see him, when you open the door, too big sweatshirt rolled up at the sleeves, ratty shorts raw hemmed between your legs. He enjoys the way your thighs touch, how they press together, and remembers them as warm and soft. He’s (not so secretly, based on your first night together) pleased by your body. Soft and sweet and curved, but strong too, strong enough you made him a baby, to be a home to his son. And to him.
His favorite little kitten.
Your eyebrows crease together achingly slow as you take him in, and the spot the takeaway bag. You point to it, small smile twisting your lips. “You brought me food?”
“Need ta make sure you’re eatin’ enough.” He grunts, and then steps closer, crosses the threshold, herding you inside with a hand on your hip. He does a preliminary sweep of the flat, and then sets the bag and smoothie on your kitchen counter. “Baby asleep?”
“Just went down.” You sigh, leaning backward against the cool tile. “Was really fightin’ it today. I’m hoping he’ll sleep for more than the usual two, three hours he’s been getting.” Your head tips back into the cabinet, exposing the vulnerable marrow of your throat, and you roll, glancing at the plastic cup filled with cold pink slime. “And a smoothie?” He chuckles.
“Wasn’t sure ah, if you liked ‘em or not but… it looked good.” You glance at your feet, sweet smile shyly peeking at him.
“Thank you.” You whisper. Your voice is thick, trembling on the last vowel, and his stomach pitches. “It’s… really nice of you, Simon. To bring me food. I…” you glance up, eyes full of tears, and he’s drawn towards you like a magnet. “It was really hard today.” Your voice cracks.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He tugs you into his chest, palm stroking slowly over the back of your head. “I know it is, mama. I know. It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” You sniffle against him. “It’s s-so hard, and I’m like… I’m not even a human- I’m j-just like a milk machine and I can’t sleep and can’t leave this flat. I feel like I’m failing, like I’m doing everything wrong and I’m leaking and I-“
“Okay, shhhh. It’s okay.” His arms tighten around you, nose skimming along the top of your head. “I’ve got you, c’mere.” He cradles your cheeks, tilting you upwards to look at him. “You’re not failing, you’re doing a great job. Orion is safe, and happy, and healthy. You’re healthy, and safe,” he wipes the tear rolling down your cheek. “and we’ll work on the happy part.” He takes a deep breath. “‘m gonna take some leave, be around for a bit. I’ll be here, to help.”
“You don’t have-“
“I want to be here sweetheart. I wish I had been here all along.” He’s earnest in his plea and hopes you can see, all the things he wants to give you, all the things he’ll do. The space in his heart he’s carved away for you, for Ry. The aching sore spot under his ribs that aches when he’s away from you. “Alright? I’ll be right here.” He pulls your hand into his, and then up to his face, dotting his lips across your palm, promise whispered away into your skin. “I’m right here, mama. I’m going to take care of you, of both of you, okay?” You close your eyes, take a deep breath.
“Okay.”
Guys i did a reel Instagram 😭
Ghost and Soap being a cute couple ✨
Ghost and reader car sex... 😮💨🥴
i used to have a mini cooper and for some reason when i seen this my mind went to fucking him in that tin can of a car lmaoooo someone shut me upppp
but anyway it happens nearly every time you pick him up from the airport, it’s like a routine. his cock twitches just at the sight of your text message popping up, telling him you’re outside waiting. it’s always about ten minutes in to the drive, his hand grips onto your thigh, mouth-dryingly close to your groin, and without a word he’s nodding towards a small dirt track — one of the many locations he mentally notes as another place to take you to and ruin you. it’s never even seconds after the engine is switched off and he’s unbuckling your seatbelt, sucked onto your neck like a silly man starved, hurling your legs over his and showing you just how much he missed you.
and let’s not even talk about that after date night car sex. where it’s unexpected, yet influenced by the tension that’s been built between you through the night. he can barely keep his hands off, groping and grabbing any bit of skin he can, whilst he’s still trying to focus on getting you both home alive. if you’re wearing a skirt or a dress, something with easy access to your cunt, he’s shoving your thighs apart, the pads of his fingers rubbing circles over your clit. his other hand gripped so tightly around the wheel, you swear his knuckles might break through the skin. but it doesn’t stop him from slipping a finger or two in you, and then proceeding to suck them clean when he pulls his car off the road, exits the drivers side and runs to yours. before you’re even fully out, the rear door is open and waiting, and he guides you to where he wants — bent over. face squashed against the leather seats, your bare ass exposed to elements, and then simon just falls to his knees and devours you.