callofdoobie420

[callofdoobie420]

Currently salivating 🤤

Panting at the idea of werewolf!soap being way too eager to fuck reader so handler!ghost has to get involved....

Ghost takes one look at how small u are compared to soaps shifted form and thinks holy shit soaps gonna kill you. He knows soap will get too eager and try to shove himself in, or you'll squirm away and trigger his hunting instincts.

Solution? Simple. When soaps rut rolls around ghost tells you that hes there to get you two acclimated. He shoves soaps greedy tongue between ur legs until you turn soft and pliant. Then he arranges you face down ass up so soap can mount, lines up just the tip to knock into you. Soap let's out an excited bark, ready to fuck you properly, so ghost has to scruff him and tell him to go slow.

The whole time soap is slowly working his way into you, ghost has a large hand curled around ur hips to keep u still. Ur already to overwhelmed and all soap is giving is shallow thrusts. When ghost finally does let go of soaps scruff? The mutt is pounding into u at a punishing pace, leaning down to bite and lap at ur neck. (Yes ghost has to hook a finger into soaps mouth to stop him from drawing blood lol)

When you can feel the base of soaps cock expanding, that knot pushing at you every thrust, ghost steps in. His clasps both of you hips in his hands, squeezes firmly and warns "big stretch, okay love?" And he shoves you back and pops the knot inside you. He stays there the whole time soaps knot is deflating, checking in on you both and making sure ur okay for another round...or five. Soap needs to get tired out, remember?

[callofdoobie420]

Who is left

[callofdoobie420]

Can we have fwb!rafe smut plssss

Like maybe reader is mad at rafe for speaking to Sofia or something, so she goes on a date with top and rafe finds out and is mad

warnings: penetrative sex (18+), jealous!rafe, toxic relationship

you don’t answer his calls. you don’t answer his texts, either. so rafe shows up—hair messy, attitude worse, eyes already stormy. “you think i’m fucking stupid?” the door’s barely shut before he’s on you. not touching. just towering, voice sharp and low, like he’s trying not to lose it. “you went out with topper?”

you arch a brow. “and?”

his jaw tics. he’s in that threadbare grey tee you love, jeans riding low on his hips. he didn’t bother changing—he came straight from wherever he was, too angry to think about anything but you.

yeah, you did it to get a reaction. because two days ago, you saw him leaning way too close to sofia, talking all low and pretty like he doesn’t have his dick in you every other night. so, naturally, you went out with top. you ordered the prettiest drink, wore the dress rafe likes to fuck you in, laughed a little too loud, and let your hand rest on top’s arm when you said goodbye.

“you mad?” you ask now, sickly sweet.

rafe laughs, once. it’s cold. “you didn’t fuck him, did you?” you don’t answer. his hand flies out, catches your jaw—not rough, not cruel, just firm. he forces your gaze up. searches your eyes like they’ll betray you. “did you?” he asks again, quieter this time. lower.

“would it matter?” you smirk, lip parting just slightly. “we’re not exclusive.”

his eyes flash. something behind them cracks. then he kisses you. he slams his mouth onto yours, bruising and hot and messy. you gasp, and he uses it to slide his tongue in, hand already under your shirt, fingers curled tight on your waist like he wants to crush the space between you.

you shove him back against the wall and he just laughs again, cocky and breathless and mad. “you’re such a fucking brat,” he mutters, yanking your shorts down, not even bothering to fully undress you. “you wanted this, huh? wanted me all pissed off so i’d come fuck the attitude out of you.”

you kiss him again just to shut him up. it’s frantic, frenzied. your back hits the wall, your shirt’s halfway off, and his hand’s already between your thighs, pressing into your soaked panties with a groan. “fuck,” he whispers, cock straining through his jeans. “you’re soaked. did he do that?”

“no.” you reach down, unbuttoning him with shaky fingers. “you did.” he curses under his breath and pulls his cock free. before you can blink, he pushes your panties to the side and sinks in all at once.

you both moan like you haven’t done this a hundred times. like you didn’t swear this didn’t mean anything. like he doesn’t already know your body better than you do. he fucks you hard. not careful or not slow. just hips slamming into yours, hands gripping your thighs, lips dragging down your neck. “next time,” he growls, “you even think about going out with someone else—i’ll remind you who this pussy belongs to.”

you whimper. clutch at his shoulders. dig your nails in because you want to mark him, you want it to hurt. “you’re such an asshole,” you gasp.

“yeah?” he grins against your throat. “but you’re still letting me fuck you.” yeah, you can’t argue with that. when you come, clenching around him, biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming, he follows with a groan, spilling into you like he doesn’t know how not to.

after, he doesn’t let you go. he keeps holding you there, pinned to the wall, breathing hard, nose brushing yours. “you’re mine,” he mutters, almost like he forgot to say it out loud before. “you know that, right?”

you don’t answer. you just kiss him again…because you don’t know either, but you want it to be true.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey @ivysturnss @kisses4rafey @katiebby04

[callofdoobie420]

Older!price and younger!reader who are pretty close or whatever, and its basically an open secret that ur sleeping together, okay?

And I mean, everyone knows. Its basically a given fact not to mess with u lest price get involved. No matter how attractive u are, the captain has a claim on you.

So when some rookie sees you and ghost standing chest to chest, having just kiss like you were trying to eat him in the tucked away alcove? Everyone knows. Well, mostly everyone. Knowledge of this little situation only reaches you once people start giving you dirty looks and whispering about loyalty like you wouldnt hear.

Its agony, bc all of the people you usually hang out with want nothing to do with you, and you cant figure it out. It gets to the point where ur running drills alongside price and people keep disobeying you or glaring that you finally snap. You grab one of the soldiers and pull her aside, demand to know whats going on.

"Youre not sly, yknow? Everyone knows about you and ghost." Is her response, which only makes you frown.

"Okay? And what of it? Hes a damn good man. If this is about his appearance or personality I swear-" you begin, ready to defend ghosts honor.

"No. Its because your cheating on captain price." The woman cuts you off, and just those few words has you jolting back like you've been slapped.

"EXCUSE ME??" Ur baffled and making a fucking scene, but who wouldnt in ur situation "you mean John price??? My uncle? That captian price??"

Turns out all those movie nights and lunches spent together culminated in literally the worst sentence anyone has ever said to you. Well. At least people learn to check their facts before starting rumors....

[callofdoobie420]

“You taste like honey”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x You

⟢───────⟢⟢───────⟢

It starts as a joke. You’re curled on the couch, legs in his lap, flipping through your phone as he idly runs a hand up and down your shin.

“Alright,” you say, smiling a little, “if I were an ice cream flavor, what would I be?”

He snorts. Doesn’t even look up.

“That a real question?”

“Yup.”

He’s quiet for a second.

“Honey almond.”

You blink. “That’s weirdly specific.”

He shrugs, but you see it. That faint twitch in his jaw. He’s trying not to look sentimental.

“Why?”

He exhales. Still not looking at you.

“It’s… soft. Warm. Doesn’t try too hard. Bit sweet, but not fake.”

He pauses. Fingers still on your skin. Then, low:

“Feels like home. The kind you don’t wanna leave.”

You swallow.

He finally glances at you. “Knew it were dumb the second I said it.”

You shake your head, voice caught in your throat. “It’s not.”

He shifts, a little embarrassed now. Mutters: “And you always smell like that one. Even if you don’t wear it. Dunno how.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, tightening his hold on your leg. “You asked.”

You want to tease him again – something smug, something flirtatious – but you don’t get the chance.

Because suddenly his hand slides up behind your knee and pulls, dragging you closer across the couch cushions. You yelp, half-laughing, but he’s already over you – eyes dark, hungry, burning with something too sharp to be called playful.

He hovers there, nose almost brushing yours.

“You wanna keep talkin’” he murmurs, voice low and thick, “or d’you want me to remind you of what I truly think you taste like?

Your breath stutters.

“You’re blushing,” he says, amused now – teasing but hoarse.

Then, without waiting, he dips in and kisses you. Hard. Deep. As if the admission flustered him and this is the only way he knows to deal with it – to shut you up, to cover it, to claim it back.

His tongue brushes past your lips and tastes you like you’re the only sweetness he’s ever craved. 

And when he finally lets go so you can catch your breath, his eyes are already on yours.

“Yeah. Definitely honey. Fuckin’ addictive.”

You’re dazed. Lips tingling. Breath shallow.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper.

“Mhm,” he hums, pressing his mouth to your jaw. “Still want me to list more flavours? Or should I use my mouth for something else?”

⟢───────⟢⟢───────⟢

You taste like comfort. Like softness.

Like something he never thought he’d be allowed to keep – but desperately, quietly hopes he can.

[callofdoobie420]

Thx for thinking of me @just-lost-inbetween-worlds 🫶🏼

Tagging some other moots, looks like you got my bb @sweetstrawberryys, now for some more lovely people @angel5ofp0rn @mousy-muses13 and anyone else who wants to join!! ❤️

Tag game: make yourself as a little guy

Tagged by: @thanatos-zagreus-shagreus

Tagging: @thiamsxbitch @rhyslahey @myinnerguineapig and whoever else is up for doing it 💙

[callofdoobie420]

Sheriff!Gaz who took over after Price had retired, and was slightly panicked at the shoes he had to fill. Soooo he may have been going a little overboard with how strict he was on rules.

His little town didn't see much in the way of big city crime, so the police usually let a lot of the smaller stuff go too. Speeding tickets didn't happen often, and the biggest crack down had been on the kids who liked to graffiti the barns around town.

But Kyle felt he had something to prove.

Felt he had to be taken seriously in his new role.

And that what led him here, to this moment. With a very angry, one might even say irate, young woman glaring at him like he just killed her granny.

"Do you know why I pulled you over today miss?" He asks, as he leans down into your window. His voice low and smooth -- trying to portray a sense of calm confidence.

Shattered.

"Quite frankly Sheriff, I can't see why in the world you've pulled me over...already making mistakes in just the first few weeks on the job..."

Crossed arms and raised brows met his steely demeanor, and he felt himself crack a bit. The absolute mouth on you. Sure, Price let you get away with plenty of shit being the mayor's daughter and all -- but there's was a new sheriff in town. (Cheesy - I know.)

Kyle clicked his pen and flicked open his ticket book, beginning to write down the speeding citation. "You were doing fifty in a forty, I am just going to issue you a warning this time." He hands over the slip.

Your slender hand snatches it from him with narrowed eyes. Sucking on your teeth, "That all then...Sheriff?"

He feels his pulse spike, and his anger boil at the arrogant look you're giving him. Pretty certain you'd be running off to tell daddy about how the Sheriff gave you a ticket. How you actually faced consequences.

Leaning further into your car so you could hear him clearly, he spoke lowly, "I know you're the mayor's daughter, and I know that Price let you get away with a lot. But I'm not him. You will face consequences like everyone else."

A small chuckle leaves your lips, as you lean a bit closer too. Tilting your head to the side and batting your lashes, "But John never let me get away with anything..." you practically purr.

"I just preferred his punishments," with a wink, you shift your car out of park slowly starting to roll your car. Kyle stands up to let you go, "Bye Sheriff!!" You wave out the window.

Kyle isn't sure how long he stands there with his mouth in a perfect O, but he might have caught a few flies. Shaking his head, he heads back to his cruiser. Pulling out his phone to make a call...Price had some explaining to do.

[callofdoobie420]

Best FriendxHockeyPlayer!Rafe x FigureSkater!reader

(Cw: fluff, mutual pining, I miss ice skating so here’s this)

Your skate carves the ice, as you dig in. Hearing the harsh scratch of the mark you’ve left behind. Crossing one skate over the other, as you build momentum for your jump.

Sweat glistens at your brow as you’ve been at this for hours. Carefully, you set yourself up left, right, and throw yourself into the air. Feel the way your weight shifts midair, and you feel your skate connect with the ground again.

You did it. The first time ever landing your triple salchow. Tears brimming in your eyes as you wrap your arms around yourself, looking up at the ceiling.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Echoes through the rink, and your eyes snap to where the sound came from. Eyes rolling as you see your best friend skating to you (on his decidedly inferior hockey skates).

“And the crowd goes wild! Ahh! Ahh!” Rafe hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth. “The ice princess nails it again!”

His signature smirk finding its way onto his face as he skates a circle around you. Your eyes following him as you giggle at his antics.

“Thank you, thank you!” You bow to your fake audience, shaking your head.

Rafe skates up in front of you, looking down with a soft smile, “I am proud of you, I know you worked really hard for this.” His hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “We should go out and celebrate tonight.”

You blush slightly, but nod, “Yeah, yeah I’d like that. Umm drinks at O’Sullivans?” Suggesting the local pub nearby. “I’ll buy first round, for the ice princess,” he agrees.

Slowly you two make your way around the rink, chatting about nothing — but also about everything. Because to Rafe, you were everything. He just didn’t know how to tell you.

“Hey when is your next game by the way?” You ask curiously, “It’s Friday night right? Think your best friend could get a seat?” Batting your eyelashes at him.

He chuckles at your guilt tripping ways, but holds his hands up relenting, “I’ll get you the best seat in the house princess.”

You couldn’t help the smile the broke out over your face, knowing that you had him wrapped around your finger. Just had to find the right time to confess your true feelings. But you had been too scared to afraid of the possible rejection, and ruining your friendship.

Unaware that your so called best friend, had his own plans for that Friday night. Plans to make you his.

(Ps I am sorry for my hiatus, just celebrated one year with the hubby! But I am back and ready to cook! 👩🏽‍🍳)

[callofdoobie420]

severance au where military personnel (esp special ops) are severed. the most outie!simon sees of his job is the base's parking lot before he drives back home while innie!simon has seen non-stop combat for more than a decade now. at this point, hes so tired, so beaten down, so separated from any meaningful aspect of human life that people at work start to call him Ghost.

But after years of service, Price finally gets the higher ups to reward Ghost: one person can visit from the outside. Enter you, Simon's wife. Outie!Simon has always been a little.... lax at home. He shoots the shit at the pub with his mates, falls asleep on the couch with the TV still blaring, and twice a year he gives it to you good. So, yeah. You love him, really you do, but it's not exactly a thrilling routine you two play out.

When you visit Ghost, you kind of expect him to be the same or maybe even duller if you think about how mind numbing your own job can be. But instead, his hulking form is sitting ramrod straight in his chair and his eyes never leave you. It heats up something inside you, makes you squirm a little in your seat. You look away from his gaze when you can't take it any longer and notice that the rugs piled up under your chair, almost like Ghost had dragged it closer to his before you walked in.

You make polite conversation as much as you can, waiting to hear your husband's trademark Manchester accent and his horrible jokes, but all you get are grunts and shrugs. You quickly realize this has been a huge mistake. This is not your husand. This is an animal and you've been thrown into his cage.

[callofdoobie420]

just so you know, you have some followers who enjoy/write fanfiction. not saying their urls rn bc i don’t wanna air out dirty laundry in public but if you want them so you can block and report, just say the word and i’ll dm you a list

[callofdoobie420]

A Surprise Visit

Neighbor!price x lil birdie down the road

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You groan and clutch your pounding head, as you slowly start to come to. Blinking your eyes, as you let out a loud yawn. Head turning to face your bedroom door, you could swear you heard…

Was that a knock at your front door?

Honestly you didn’t entirely remember getting home last night, but you do remember John helping you back. Maybe bringing over a bottle of wine to his place wasn’t the best idea. Your hangover was certainly agreeing with that point and—

Yeah that’s definitely a knock at your door.

Reluctantly you sit up out of bed, stretching your arms above your head. It was lazy of you, but you were taking your time. Your body just hurt. It was embarrassingly difficult, but you pulled on your hoodie — since you weren’t gonna answer the door bra-less. Just tits galore.

Your pace quickens when you hear shouting from outside. Struggling to throw on some sweat pants, usually sleeping in panties and a tank top coming back to haunt you. Stumbling down the hall to the front door.

“Hey grizzly bear! Yeah you!” A loud, but very familiar voice shouts. “What the fuck are you creeping out front for?”

“Now ma’am I—“

John’s explanation is cut off as you throw open your front door. Heaving out breaths from the sheer panic you felt.

“H-he…he isn’t creeping…” you breathe out an explanation, as you soak in the terrible physical performance you are demonstrating. “But thank you for defending me, love you very much sissy…”

“Ahhh so is he a boyfriend then?��� Your sister grins wickedly, seeing an opportunity to potentially grill him.

“No,” you answer, at the same time that John answers yes. You shoot him a glare, “Would you just…he’s my neighbor. Just down the road.”

Walking up to the two of you confidently, she takes a peek at the items in John’s hands. “Yeah all neighbors bring over hangover cures…” she chuckles, “so how drunk did she get?” She asks her attention now on John.

“Perfectly loaded,” he grins, his eyes finding yours. Seeing the fury in yours, and matching it with adoration. “I don’t want to ruin a sister visit though. Just wanted to bring these for you love, make sure you’re okay.”

A blush finds its way over your face the moment he places the pain killers and antacids in your hands. Warmth lingering where his fingers brush your skin. Silently cursing your sister for just showing up today of all days.

You had planned to tell John just how you felt.

How much you wanted him. How much you hoped he wanted you too.

“Nonsense,” your sister waves him off, “I’d love to get to know you. Got to make sure there’s nothing off with my baby sisters neighbors…” she says, and it’s not lost on anyone the way she says it. She isn’t buying your bullshit at all.

You lead them both inside. Filling the kettle as they both sit at your small dining table. Tea would likely settle your nerves, but you desperately wished for that wine from last night.

A few minutes later, you set a tray with three cups, some milk and sugar on the table.

“And she flipped straight over the handlebars…” your sister laughs, as she tells the story of the time you had flipped over your bike…stopping for a frog.

In your defense, the frog was cute and who would want to smoosh any living thing. But also your knees, arms and palms were skinned for two weeks straight. You’d do the same thing too.

John let out a low belly laugh, as his eyes flicked up to you. Reaching out for his cup.

“She is quite the kind soul isn’t she…”

Your sister can’t hold back another bark of laughter, wiping her eyes, “Kind. Yeah sure, until you piss her off. I advise not doing that. She’s a little like a puppy, all cute until you push too far — then she might snap.”

It’s hard to ignore that your sister seems fiercely proud over this fact about you. And from even the short time speaking with her, John gets the sense the two of you are very alike in that regard.

He wouldn’t deny that that fire and fierceness is a lot of what drew him to you. But your sister had hit it right on the head.

He loved your soft side too. He loved the mix of both. That perfect blend that made you exactly who you were.

Counted himself a lucky man to get to meet some of your family today. Get to see some of what shaped you into who you are, as you throw your head back in laughter he hasn’t drawn from you. Yet.

To get to see you feeling so free. So light. With someone who knows everything about you, who grew with you.

He wants to be that for you going forward. Only deeper. Intimate. Longing to learn every part of what makes up your soul.

Later that night, John steps out onto your back porch. Cigar lit as he take a long drag. The sliding door pulling his attention.

Your sister walks out, pulling out a cigarette. Ah, something you two don’t share. You always claimed you hated the smell, so preferred if John smoked outside.

He’d do anything for you. So it was an easy change.

“So, when are you going to ask her out?” She asks, taking a long drag of the dart. Letting the ember flare a bit.

John chuckles softly, shoving a hand in his pocket. The other grabbing the cigar from his mouth, “honestly we were going to have that talk today…”

“Yikes…” your sister, sucks her breath in through her teeth. “Sorry for cockblocking you guys unintentionally…”

Both of them laugh at that, and he decides that she wouldn’t be a bad in-law one day. Could imagine a future of double dates with her and her future significant other. Losing himself in a daydream.

“Earth to grizzly…” she snaps her fingers at him, using her earlier title for him. “I was saying, you seem like a nice guy. Maybe a bit older than I would’ve picked for her, but hey…as long as you treat her right I don’t care.”

Slowly she stalks forward a bit, trying to seem a bit more menacing. Also completely unaware of who she is sizing up.

“But if you hurt her…what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career—“

“Are you quoting Taken at me?” John asks with a raised brow, and a low snort. “Yeah you two are definitely sisters…” he says taking a puff of his cigar.

“You know your sister definitely threatened me…” John said, as the two of you made it to his front door.

You had insisted on walking him back after he had spent all night being questioned (read harassed) by your sister.

You groaned, and facepalmed, “Oh god…I am so sorry. I should’ve known she’d say something when she went out for a smoke.”

“Is good that you have someone watching over you doll…” he smiles, as you two face each other. Reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Might have to talk about tha whole neighbor not boyfriend thing though…”

You can’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head at him. “We can discuss renegotiating titles…” you tease lightly.

His warm hand settles along the column of your neck pulling you closer. “We can talk after your sister leaves. Enjoy the time with her sweetheart.”

“John…” you say softly, leaning in, pressing up on to your toes, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Before you can close the gap, he pulls you in the rest of the way. Your lips crashing together. Sharing the feelings that were unsaid but not unrecognized. Pulling away, breathing heavily a few moments later.

“I plan to do that a lot more once she leaves…” you say with a gentle laugh, pressing one more kiss to his lips. “Goodnight John…”

Your voice a caress to his heart, watching you until you duck into your door. Shutting off the porch light.

A contented sigh leaving his lips. Still tasting you there.

“Oh little birdie, you’re all mine now…” he whispers to himself. And whatever God might be listening.

The whole universe should know. You’re his.

Par t 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Taglist 🔥

@ohdrey89 @cdgurlcathy @thebidkbutok @dija200 @ilove-otters

(Okay okay I promise next part will be the part. The one you’ve been waiting for, just had to get in a little more fluff. Trying to work on my slow burn a little)

[callofdoobie420]

milk & honey — john price

pervy!john price x younger!pregnant!reader

warnings: age gap, power imbalance, lactation kink hinted, suggestive/soft smut buildup, dirty thoughts, price being a full-on menace, breeding/prey language

you show up ten minutes early.

little thing in a stretched-out dress that clings to your bump, a button-up cardigan barely hiding the way your tits are pressing against the fabric.

hair done. makeup light. cheap little folder tucked in your hands, pressed under your belly.

you knock.

and john price looks up from his desk and nearly groans out loud.

because you walk in glowing.

waddling a little.

smiling so big.

“hi! i’m here for the assistant position. sorry i’m a little out of breath, the stairs—”

“sit down, love,” he cuts in.

voice low, rough. already full of that accent and already wrecked.

you blink, cheeks warm.

“o-oh! okay.”

you sit. wince slightly. shift on the cushion with your knees pressed together, hands folding over your bump like muscle memory.

john watches.

watches the way you move slow, all careful.

watches the bounce of your chest — so full, nipples peeking through the fabric now that you're close.

you don’t even realize.

“how far along are you?” he asks.

doesn’t even open your file. doesn’t care.

“almost seven months.”

“you doin’ this on your own?”

you pause.

nod.

“yes, sir. just me and baby.”

he exhales. leans back in his chair, one hand dragging down his beard.

baby.

that fuckin’ word, from your soft little mouth.

he wants to say —

that belly should be mine. i’d fuck you again right now if i could. you’re perfect, made for it. full, warm, helpless little thing just waiting to be kept.

instead, he says:

“and you wanna work?”

you perk up.

“yes! just part-time. i don’t wanna strain myself, but i’m still able, and i wanna save some money before the baby comes.”

god.

you’re so fucking sweet.

he bets your apartment’s tiny. your cupboards half-full.

you probably eat cereal for dinner and watch baby videos at night. and now you’re trying to work — trying to be responsible — even though your ankles are already swollen and your belly’s in the way and you can barely bend over.

“i’ll do anything,” you add quickly. “i just need a shot.”

john looks at you.

hard.

long.

then he stands.

walks around the desk. comes to stand in front of you — tall, wide, shadowed in the doorway light.

you look up at him with big eyes.

“sir…?”

he crouches a little. one palm lands on the armrest beside you.

you freeze.

“you ever had a man take care of you proper?” he murmurs.

his hand brushes the curve of your belly — just barely.

“wh-what…?”

“not talkin’ about the father, sweetheart. i mean someone real. someone who’d put you in a warm bed and rub your back and pay for everything — make sure you never had to lift a finger.”

you swallow.

your breath hitches. thighs press tighter together.

“i-i just came for the job, sir…”

he smiles.

“mm. and i’m givin’ it to you. but you’re gonna be more than just an assistant, yeah?”

he leans in.

“you’re gonna be my girl. my pretty little secretary. sit at your desk and look sweet and full and happy for me.”

his hand smooths over your belly now — slow, deliberate.

“and i’ll take care of the rest.”

[callofdoobie420]

just one touch would heal me idk

[callofdoobie420]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[callofdoobie420]

reddit trash, i know, but very simon to me

[callofdoobie420]

Amazing work as always!!

Chefs kiss 💋

"Booby Trap"

Summary: You got into an argument. Youre trying to make a point. He's not listening. Then you lifted your shirt.

Rating: Mild nudity, suggestive humor, Tf141 being helpless

Masterlist

---

KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK:

Kyle’s pacing.

Hand gestures. Raised eyebrows. Voice getting all high-pitched in the way it does when he thinks he’s making a solid point.

“You always do this, babe! You say ‘I’ll clean it up in a minute’ and then it’s a week later and the broom is still in the fookin’ shower! I nearly slipped and died tryin’ to have a rinse!”

You try to explain. “Okay but that wasn’t—”

“No, no. Don’t ‘babe’ me. This is a pattern. A toxic pattern. If we were on a talk show, I’d be the man cryin’ on the couch, sayin’ I deserve better!”

You sigh.

Then you lift your shirt.

Two seconds of silence. Maybe three.

Then—

“…I forgive you.”

You blink. “What?”

Kyle’s eyes are fixed. He’s doing that thing where he’s not blinking, not breathing, not processing.

“I don’t remember what I was mad about. That information is gone now. Like a hard drive after Ghost hits it with a crowbar.”

You start laughing. “I don’t think that’s how—”

“Shh.” He waves a hand. Still staring. “We don’t need logic here. We need peace. Love. And boobs.”

You smirk. “You’re so easy.”

“Yeah?” he says with a grin, already pulling you into his arms. “Well maybe if you weaponized your chaos a little less effectively, I’d win more arguments.”

You kiss his cheek and pull your shirt back down.

Kyle whines.

“But I was enjoyin’ the view! That was the best part of my day!”

---

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY:

Simon’s arms are crossed, foot tapping. He looks like a pissed-off gargoyle in tactical gear.

“You left without tellin’ anyone,” he says, voice low and flat. “That’s twice now. We had no eyes, no backup, and you came back with a limp.”

“It was a short recon. I was fine—”

He steps in closer. Not yelling. That’s not his style. But you can feel the tension in him, all knotted in his shoulders and jaw.

“Doesn’t matter if you were fine. You could’ve not been. And I—” He stops himself. Breathes through his nose.

And you know that look. That haunted edge he tries to cover with gruff discipline.

So… you do what any emotionally intelligent, loving, supportive partner would do in this moment.

You flash him.

His breath catches audibly. Like someone punched him.

His mask twitches.

And then—he full-body jerks back a step like he’s seen a flashbang.

“My God, love—!”

You smile sweetly. “Still mad?”

He presses both hands to the top of his head like he’s trying to physically keep his brain inside his skull. “That is so unfair. That’s criminal behavior.”

“You gonna arrest me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he grumbles, ears flaming red above the mask. “Bloody hell. You can’t just—present yourself like that while I’m mid-sentence.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to discipline you and now I can’t remember what words are.” He turns away like he needs to recalibrate. “Fuckin’ tits out like it’s Mardi Gras…”

You come up behind him, arms around his middle. “I’m sorry, Ghostie.”

His voice drops into a mumble, soft, stunned. “…Still can’t believe you’d show me, of all people…”

You press a kiss to the back of his shoulder.

“You’ve seen all of me before.”

“Yeah, but I never recover.”

---

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE:

Price has his “Captain Voice” on.

Which means he’s calm. Stern. Too composed for his own good.

You’re sitting on the edge of the armory bench like a scolded schoolkid, and he’s pacing in front of you with his sleeves rolled and disappointment radiating like a heatwave.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” he says, pausing to look at you. “Took an unvetted route through a hostile zone, and worse—told Soap it was fine.”

“He said he wanted excitement,” you mutter.

“He’s not a golden retriever, sweetheart, he’s a trained soldier—he’ll chase a shiny thing if you wave it the right way.”

You smirk. “That’s on him.”

He stops pacing. Leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “I don’t like being ignored. I don’t like being lied to. And I especially don’t like being flirted with to avoid accountability.”

“…Is that a challenge?”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t.”

You lift your shirt.

He doesn’t move.

But something in his eyes flickers. Like the last grip on his self-control just wobbled.

A slow breath escapes him. His jaw tightens. “Darlin’…”

“Yes, Captain?”

“We were having a conversation.”

“Mmhm.”

His gaze is very deliberately locked on your face. Not once does he let it drop, though you can feel the effort behind it. He’s mentally filing away every inch for later—probably in 4K.

“You think flashing me’s gonna get you out of trouble?”

You hum. “Is it working?”

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek.

There’s a pause.

Then:

“You are in trouble. Deep trouble. And now I’ve got somethin’ else to punish you for.”

He pushes off the wall and walks right past you, but not before murmuring, “Put that away before I forget what century we’re in.”

You hear him mutter down the hallway:

“…fuckin’ menace…”

---

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH:

You’re not even arguing about something serious.

Just who left the fridge open and let Ghost’s protein shakes turn into swamp water.

But Johnny’s committed to the bit. He’s pacing the kitchen, shirt half-buttoned, waving around a spoon like it’s a gavel.

“You think this is a game, bonnie? Do you know what Ghost is like when his protein goes off? Do you?! The man’s already emotionally fragile! You’re gonna send him over the fuckin’ edge! Next thing we know, he’s knittin’ socks in the murder room and mutterin’ about betrayal!”

“Johnny, relax,” you laugh, arms folded. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m bein’ reasonable! Look at the data!” He gestures to the fridge. “Smells like a corpse and regret!”

You wait for him to turn around.

And then—flash.

He turns back mid-rant, spoon raised—

—and drops it instantly.

Eyes go wide. Neck jerks back. He actually stumbles.

“Wha— You can’t just—I was making a POINT!”

“You’re not mad anymore, are you?”

“No, I am—I’m—fuck—” He runs both hands down his face, like he’s buffering. “That’s dirty pool. That’s against the Geneva Booby Convention or whatever!”

You grin. “Would you rather I took more off?”

He pauses. Thinks.

Then, with zero hesitation, he yanks down his pants.

“Right. If this is how we fight now, I’m bringin’ my best weapons.”

You shriek, laughing. “Johnny!”

He poses proudly, pants puddled around his ankles. “I’d argue more if we’re just gettin’ naked every time! This is the best relationship dynamic ever.”

Bonus:

From the doorway, Price’s voice cuts in, deadpan.

“MacTavish, for the love of God, put your pants back on.”

Ghost mutters behind him. “Every bloody time.”

Kyle pops his head around the corner. “Hey, are we flashing again? I didn’t realize we were flashing again—wait up!”

[callofdoobie420]

Well there I go again getting horny and sad again 🙃

+18 mdni one night stand!simon riley x reader (reader and simon are avoidants lol)

you've been out of a toxic relationship for a year or two, haven't seen anyone since. not that you were stuck on your ex, you just couldn't be bothered with the whole relationship shit. a few flirts, some half-assed texting, a date or two where you ordered the cheapest drink just to get out faster. nothing stuck. serious isn’t your thing.

it wasn't his either.

he hadn't come out for anything. just a quiet pint or two to take the edge off.

then you walked in.

not loud, not flashy. a dress that skimmed your thighs but didn’t cling. laughter soft with your friends. a pretty bird that didn't belong in a pub full of older men nursing their big pints watching football.

and then your eyes met his. brief, but deliberate.

your friend leaned in, whispered something. you just shrugged, glanced back at the bar. at him. you were here on holiday, might as well indulge a little bit.

he noticed the glances. the way you lingered near the bar like you wanted him to see you, but weren’t desperate for attention.

the subtle lean closer when you ordered another drink. the way your spine arched just so his eyes could wander.

the smile you gave the bartender, held just long enough before you turned to meet his eyes across the room. how you swayed your hips walking away with the repeated rounds of drinks he knew you and your friends couldn't finish.

and some time later you sat near the bar after your friends left.

coincidentally. open—a quiet invitation for him.

in his field of work he's been there long enough to know when something wasn’t quite a coincidence. knew how to read people. situations. signals.

then here you were, back in his hotel room. your heel lay by the door, the other stubbornly half-on as you tried to peel it off between kisses, both of you fumbling just enough to feel alive. his hands slid down the dip of your waist, tracing the flare of your hips before tugging gently at the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head in one swift motion.

everything else fell away and finally what felt like forever you were sprawled under him, his strong forearm pressing hard into the back of your thigh, forcing you open as he drove deep into you.

your half-lidded eyes raked down to where his abdomen flexed, every brutal thrust sending muscles tightening and releasing. glimpse of scars, pale lines etched to his skin.

you remembered asking what he did. he muttered something about his work being military-adjacent. no rank, no details, just a shrug and a swig of his pint. you didn't press further.

"oh...fuckkk." your head fell back, lips part when he hit that sweet spot. the moan crawled up slow, rumbling in your throat before spilling out. soft and wrecked, half a sigh, half a sob.

"that's it..." he murmured, voice low and rough with that thick accent you found so hot. the filthy slap of skin against skin echoed through the room as he fucked into your sopping heat.

"good girl." his coo made you clamp down on him like a vice.

he shifted forward, pressing in deeper with a grunt. the forearm braced behind the back of your thigh now pushing up against your chest. a moan tore from your throat, breath hitching. he had you bent, and folded into a mating press. his breath, hot and sharp with whiskey, fanned against your lips.

he fucked you like he knew you, he fucked you like you weren't just some stranger from the pub he gave into entertaining tonight. he fucked you like he wanted to forget and remember all at once. like he needed it. like he needed you.

his cock had you drunk, more than you can say about the shit drinks you forced yourself to order, just for an excuse to hang around the bar and be near him.

his forearm pressed tighter into your thigh, pinning you as he fucked you hard, fierce, raw, urgent. then his calloused hand curled at your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his before he pulled you up for a bruising kiss. the kiss was raw and real. like he needed to claim you, to remember you.

the kind of intimacy that clawed at something inside you, that usually made you pull away, that leave you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

for him, the kiss held a quiet frustration, an ache buried beneath the surface. the sting of knowing this was only one night, impossible to be more.

everything you both always walked away from, laid bare in that moment.

and when the wave of pleasure hit, it hit hard.

your walls spasmed around his cock. eyes fluttering, lips parted. his name—no, the fake name he gave you, spilled from your pretty lips in a broken moan. and for a moment, he wished he'd told you the real one. just so he could hear it.

a guttural grunt deep in his chest as he buried himself to the hilt, a bruising grip at your waist. you arched into him, one hand clawing at the bicep flexed beside your head, the other caught awkwardly between your bodies, pinned between your ribs and the press of his shoulder blades, as if you weren't ready to let go yet. his breath burned against your neck, hot and uneven, the weight of him all around you.

when you both came down from your high, he slid beside. chest rising and falling, heavy breaths, the smell of sex thick in the room.

part of you wanted to tell him your flight wasn't actually tomorrow, but the night after. that maybe there was time—just a little for something. but the words caught in your throat, you swallowed them down.

you slipped out of the sheets, moved slowly. he watched as you got dressed. quiet. didn't ask, didn't reach. just breathed.

he called the cab for you. not in a trying to discard you kind of way, but like someone who understood you both got what you came for. but also, who knew if he let you linger even a minute longer, it might start meaning more than it was supposed to.

might open a door to something dangerous, something neither of you were ready for.

no numbers exchanged. no kiss goodbye. just left it at that.

that night stuck with you more than it should've. you caught yourself thinking about it often. mentioned it offhand to friends. at first, they listened—attentive. but their responses dulled over time, less curious, less amused. like they'd heard it one too many times, you didn't even realize.

a part of you wondered if it stuck with him too.

it did.