cherryflavoredguts

[cherryflavoredguts]

A little Ghost Hairball I can't seem to get rid of.

Simon gaining weight.

His last deployment was particularly nasty and he was getting too old for field work. So, asked Price to transfer him to desk duty. It wasn't the most glorious job, but it would get him back home to you in one piece.

It was hard helping Simon adapt to his new, normal life. His military habits were definitely hard to break. But, over time, he realized he was allowed to live as a normal person. He slowly stopped going to the gym. He preferred spending time at home with you, anyway. He started spending more time on the couch. Whether that meant watching the newest Manchester Match, folding a load of laundry, or curling up next to you, he was allowing himself to relax. And, best of all, he actually had time for three good meals a day. At the base, the closest thing he got to dinner was a crushed up granola bar that he would later throw up after PTSD nightmares. Now, the two of you had warm meals together. Simon hadn’t sat at a dinner table since he was a kid. And even then, it was tense.

With time, his abs softened, hidden by a new layer of fat. He wasn't overweight, definitely not, he just became a little softer around the edges.

He was worried you would dump him. After all, the two of you started dating while he was being deployed every other week. You had always known him as your muscled, military boyfriend. It was so strange, a man that had braved through so much trauma and death, only to be nervous about putting on a few pounds. He started taking off his shirt less around you, embarrassed about the person he was becoming.

Saying you didn't treat him differently was a lie. But you weren't upset. No, you were the exact opposite. You grew more physically affectionate, with his permission, of course. He was still not used to any touch that wasn't cruel. You comforted him and told him how you loved him, hell, maybe you loved him even more now that you could lie in his stomach comfortably. Cuddling with him now was far better than cuddling with his hard abs getting in the way.

And it was the truth, he could tell. He had memorized all your little tells that would show if you were just trying to be nice like you did with the neighbors.

You loved Simon like this, you didn't judge him. He was finally happy. Healthy. All yours. You pressed kisses against his stomach, his arms, truly appreciating him. Now that he wasn’t all muscle, you could suck on his skin and leave hickeys all over him

Simon smiled to himself when he thought back to those moments. Perhaps getting soft wasn’t too bad.

[cherryflavoredguts]

simon is genuinely so obsessed with how dumb you get over his cock. whether you're being drilled by it, having it in your hand, sucking it, hell even by looking at it has you all shy.

don't get him wrong. it's cute and everything, but when he's having to fuck you with his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, while fucking you in a supply closet literally twenty minutes before a meeting. it gets kinda annoying, not that he is complaining. well, he is, but it's worth it in the end when he sees your dumb, cock-drunk face.

his dick pounds in and out of your warm, wet cunt, it pushing him away before dragging him back in for all his worth. it drives him insane. he barely has to do much. your cunt is so greedy it just sucks his cock in and then spits him back out.

one of your legs around his waist while his fingers are pushed deep down your throat to shut you up. you're too dumb to even think right now – spit slobbering all over his thick digits. he doesn't mind it though. he finds it verrryyy cute and verrryyy arousing.

"shhh, doll, wouldn't want the others to hear us, hm? what would they think if they say their lieutenant fuckin' his co-worker like this, hm?"

he smirks. he knows damn well what he said went in your ear and came right out of the other. he knows you can't process anything right now but pleasure.

your cunt clamps down onto him, "c-cumming! shitshitshit!"

though it was all muffled with his fingers in your mouth. he could tell what was about to happen anyway.

the way your eyes roll back and your cunt began to flutter around him while more of your delicious juices leak onto his cock, even more than before. yeah, he joined you soon after. his cock spurting warm cum deep into your quivering pussy before he pulls out of you with a groan.

five more minutes.

well shit, you're going to be late to that meeting. i guess it was worth it for a quickie though...

[cherryflavoredguts]

I had to get this off of my chest, it's pure fluff and annoying!reader (according to Simon)

------------

Thonk

Simon turned to the side, looking at the new recruit on his shoulder. Your head had fallen onto his shoulder, using him like a pillow.

Simon wasn't happy about this new predicament in the slightest, especially not after Soap had taken a picture of it like it was a spectacle to behold.

It was incredibly disrespectful to use your commanding officer like a pillow, let alone Ghost. But you didn't care. Not in the slightest.

Well, it didn't seem like you cared much as you slept, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, eyebrows drawn closer as if you were having a bad dream.

He tried to move you off of him, shaking his shoulder, your shoulder. Nothing worked. You slept heavy, something condemnable in the military. Sleeping heavy meant you weren't alert, aware. Bad for business in all the wrong ways.

He called for your name, your rank, but nothing worked. You were out cold and using him for warmth.

He decided he'd deal with it when he landed. In 6 hours.

------------

2 hours passed and you were still out cold. Then 3 and 4.

Soap was up now, laughing his ass off again, waking up Gaz and Price who also seemed more than amused. The mission was clearly exhausting for you. It was your first, it didn't surprise the older and more experienced men around you, but it was still a sight to see.

Simon was pissed.

Had he stayed completely still during that entire time? Yes. Did he enjoy any second of it? Absolutely not.

Somehow, you had wiggled one of your arms under his, holding onto his bicep.

Then, you had the audacity to smile. Your eyebrows no longer drawn or lips parted. They were now pulled softly to each side of your rosy cheeks as you muttered. He almost asked you to repeat it before it before it registered.

"That's nice." You had said, nuzzling closer to him as if he was something soft enough to nuzzle.

Your smile had become dizzying to him as the words pingponged inside his head.

That's nice.

Nice? Him? Nice?

It was laughable at best, damning at worst.

He tried waking you up multiple times throughout the flight. A series of taps on your shoulder to shaking you. You just mumbled some jumble before squeezing his arm softly, smiling, and heading right back to dreamland.

You clung to him the rest of the flight, smiling that stupid smile as you relished in his warmth, melting into his side.

The plane landed and everyone moved off except for the two of you. Him against his will, and you against his side.

You stayed there for another hour before finally waking up.

You were teased about it relentlessly when you both returned to base and chewed out for almost an hour by Ghost himself.

------------

Weeks passed before the next incident that got you your callsign: Thorn.

On a mission in the cold and infamous Russia, you had fallen into a river the team had been crossing. Rushing to the safe house, your clothes were quickly pulled from your body as you shook violently. Ghost, ever the bigger man of the group, was tasked with warming you by the fire. He held you, yelled at you to keep your eyes open, and wrapped you up in his warmth.

You finally got over your mild case of hypothermia before falling into a deep sleep again. This time on top of him. You curled into his side, pushing your small feet between his legs to warm them before nuzzling into his chest.

It was more than embarrassing the next morning as your clothes were handed to you.

"Twice in two months." Soap teased, watching your face turn red at the raggedy dinner table the equally raggedy safe house had to offer. "Should I be expecting another next month?" He asked with wiggly eyebrows.

You shoved his face away, going to apologize to Ghost who was on watch.

The conversation was short and curt, him sending you off with calling you a proper thorn in his side.

Gaz joined in on the teasing, calling you Thorn, and the dreadful, fluster inducing name stuck.

------------

Unfortunately for the reputation of the Big Bad Ghost, it didn't take long before he had come to crave the heat you offered on his side.

Sitting next to drowsy you, or being forced to when all the seats were taken, had become a past time of his and Soap and Gaz were eating it up.

They had a hefty collection of photos of each encounter (that they caught) by the time Christmas came along. Ghost should have known it was trouble when Gaz and Soap had given you two a present together in the lounge room where the celebration was taking place. You, ever the naive, had just been happy and honored to get a present from two of your favorite people.

The groan that echoed throughout the room was loud enough that you could hear a pin drop in the aftermath.

Everyone had stopped to look at a pink faced you and a more than unamused Ghost as a roll of film was pulled from a decorated box. The bastards had taped every Polaroid picture together and it rolled out like loose toilet paper.

Everyone, except you and Ghost, laughed as the pictures were examined. It, more often than not, included a sleeping you and an angry Simon giving a death glare to the photographer. On a rare occasion in the collection of photos, there would be a photo of you and Ghost, huddled up together, asleep.

[cherryflavoredguts]

simon riley fucks you like he'll never see you again.

you're pinned top the mattress, thighs to chest, trying to hold onto the headboard that is absolutely denting your apartment’s walls. but it feels so good- his cock stretches your poor cunt so well and he's pounding into the spot that makes your brain go fuzzy.

you've come on his dick more times that you can think of at the moment, and he just keeps going. his mouth licking and biting around your ear so you can hear all of his growling and panting, “so good f'me, cunt squeezes me perfectly."

then he's at the junction of your neck and biting down- he has to leave something that can stay imprinted on your skin until he comes back. it's not like the hickeys he left on your chest, down your stomach, or between your thighs will do the job.

and just when you think he's about to come- and give you some rest until he picks you up and starts again- he flips both of you over as if you can do anything but grind your pounded pussy on his cock.

"aw, is it too much f'ya? can't handle a little dicking down?" and you almost believe that he'll take pity on you, and get you on your back, his hand reaches down to your abused clit and gives it a good pinch, "need help? tha's too bad aint it? yer not gettn' shit until you start riding like you mean it." 

[cherryflavoredguts]

please PLEASE Can you write reader ovulating with Simon Riley, his dick would hurt by the end.

what happens to simon riley when you're ovulating (his dick would fall off if it were me tbh)

your sex life with simon is already active as is, so the moment you start ovulating, he's in trouble. serious trouble. you can barely keep yourself off of him. everything he does sends a throbbing want to your pussy.

manspreading? you're already on top of him, tugging his jeans down just enough to ride his heavy cock. his big hands find purchase on your hips, grunting lowly.

"fuckin' eager, huh?" he's only half hard by the time you're bouncing on him, and you don't get off until either of you can't speak, and you've ruined yet another pair of his jeans from the amount of slick and cum that stains the fabric.

rolling up his sleeves, seeing the way his forearms and veins flex? you're begging him to finger you, and he gladly listens.

"need me t'fuckin' fill ya full, don't ya?" bent over whatever surface of your house, stuffed full of his fingers knuckle deep as your walls clench around him. one orgasm isn't enough, two, three, four, five until you're babbling incoherently and spraying the front of his shirt with your release.

the thing men do when they reverse, placing one hand behind the passenger seat? belt, GONE. you make hasty work of his jeans just so you can suck his dick as he drives—bonus points if he's still reversing. half-way laid across the center console with a face-full of his throbbing cock, already leaking pre. he's a mess, whimpers spilling from his lips as he bites down on the plush flesh. he's pulling your panties to the side, burying three fingers deep in your cunt with ease at the sheer wetness of your pussy.

him, reading with glasses? you bet he isn't taking his eyes off a single page as he ruts into you from behind, book laid across your back slick with sweat. he might be a little mean, make you fuck yourself back on his dick, balls slightly slapping your clit enough to make your eyes roll back into your head. get a drop of cum on his book, and he'll punish you.

getting passionate about his interests? fuck in missionary so he can continue yapping as he toys with your clit and pounds into your throbbing cunt. his words are long lost on you—you don't even notice when his words start getting condescending.

"always gettin' in m'pants..." he grunts, the sound of skin slapping and mindless whimpers and mewls fill the room, "fuckin' slut, you tryin' to get pregnant? want me t'fill you? dirty whore..."

by the end of your ovulation phase, you might've definitely gotten knocked up, and his dick is no longer with us. (he still has his hands and face, ladies...)

[cherryflavoredguts]

Captain Price doesn’t really discuss his private life, but you’ve decided that he must secretly be married. You have no evidence, except look at him, how could he not have some beautiful wife tucked away in an idyllic, rustic cottage in the countryside.

That’s the image you try to keep in mind when it’s late at night and you’re alone with John in his office. Otherwise, you’ll conjure visions of him spreading you out on top of his desk, and you are no homewrecker.

Admittedly, you haven’t been doing a great job of battling against the various temptations he throws your way. Once John starts leaning in close and casually touching you and speaking directly into your ear, all logic leaves your brain and you just indulge. Lately, he’s been dropping a few “sweetheart”’s into his conversations with you, which has got you spinning. The sanctity of marriage means something to you, though. You resolve to set some professional boundaries and stick to them.

It’s a good thing too because a week later, you finally get your first real confirmation of his secret wife. Your whole body seizes up when you overhear John confiding to his men that the missus seems to be upset with him. Pivoting in place, you scuttle back the way you came from before he realizes you’re there. You’re so embarrassed now that it’s truly been established that you’ve been flirting with a married man. After that, you avoid ever being alone with him and can barely look him in the eye, but it's for the best.

The captain seems to have a different opinion on the way you’ve settled this matter, though.

He’s got you cornered in his office, literally, with an arm pressed against the wall above you. John starts to speak of how he wants to be clear about his intentions, and you’ve got to stop him before you kiss his wonderful face that’s creeping closer and closer to yours.

“Captain Price, what about your wife?!” you blurt out, keeping your hands glued to your sides and to yourself.

John pauses, but he looks more amused than guilty. “Is that what all this has been about?” he asks with a chuckle. You get about five words into your practiced speech on how infidelity is unacceptable to you on any level when he drops a bomb on your whole scenario. “I’m not married.”

You’re floored with this new information, eyes wide and mouth agape. “W-what? But I heard you tell the others about your missus and–”

“I was referring to you, sweetheart,” he declares. Your jaw snaps shut at the interruption, and your face heats up as you start processing what this all means. “Glad we're on the same page when it comes to loyalty, though.”

You’re mortified, of course, but at least you’ve hit rock bottom with your dignity already, so it’s not much more of a stretch to next very timidly and quietly request that he place you on top of his desk. John happily obliges. Anything for his little missus.

He’ll make a Mrs. Price out of you yet.

[cherryflavoredguts]

simon riley claiming that you're doin' it wrong after he finds you fucking yourself on a dildo twice as small as him. you don't even know how long he's been watching but it doesn't matter. he's standing at the foot of your bed and slipping the toy out of you before yanking you closer by the ankles faster than you can blink.

your gasp is interrupted by the way he nearly rips the zipper of his jeans and flings out his cock–slapping it hard against the palm of his other hand while letting a messy glob of spit sink from his lips, right down to where you're clenching around nothing.

don' even need that shit anyways, simon mumbles, spreading the wet with his fat tip before nudging himself inside you.

he fucks you, sharp and annoyed... yet his hand still drags to the back on your neck to tug you for a messy kiss. s'dumb... wastin' a pretty hole like this on some fuckin' silicone.

simon kisses you again. tongue and teeth knocking into yours. and still stuffing you so full that you can feel him reaching all the way to your stomach.

flexing inside you, simon grunts with a frown. biting into the scar on his lip with a peek down to at how wide you stretch at the base of his dick.

ju... jus' wait for me–fuck–next time, yeah? got all the cock you need, pretty... right here.

inspired (partially) by no. 1 on this prompt list! | © 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[cherryflavoredguts]

more blunt!simon because he’s hot

he doesn’t even look up from his phone when he says it.

just sprawled across the couch, one arm behind his head, legs spread like he’s on a throne instead of a beat-up cushion that still smells like smoke and sweat.

“ya know, if you’re gonna walk around like that, you oughta be ready to get fucked.”

you freeze. halfway across the living room, wearing nothing but a big t-shirt and the tiniest pair of shorts you forgot you even owned.

“like what?” you ask, already feeling the heat crawl up your throat.

he finally lifts his gaze.

smirks.

“like a mouth-watering little tease,” he says. “jesus. i can see the crease of your pussy from here.”

you make a shocked sound—half gasp, half laugh—and wrap your arms around yourself like that’ll help.

he scoffs.

“don’t act shy. you bent over the fridge earlier like you wanted me to notice. ass all high, thighs squeezin’ together like you were tryna get off on the cold air.”

you open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, lazy and cruel.

“if i pulled your shorts down right now, you’d be wet already. bet your fuckin’ panties are stickin’ to you.”

you stare. breath caught in your chest.

he grins wider.

“c’mon. lemme see. won’t even touch. just wanna take a look. see if i’m right.”

his eyes drop, heavy-lidded and hungry.

“you do like it when i talk like this, huh? your nipples are hard.”

you cross your arms tighter, turn to walk away, but his voice chases after you—

low and amused and absolutely depraved.

“run off if you want. just know the second i hear that shower start, i’m gonna be sittin’ here jerkin’ off with the door open. loud. so you know what you did to me.”

[cherryflavoredguts]

So convinced John, Simon and König have big babies.

Big, chunky, chubby cheeked, 90th percentile, rolls on their arms, stomach and legs, doe eyed cabbage patch kids, babies.

They are the closet thing you or him are going to get to angels on this earth. They the cutest babies known to man. You don’t know how you managed to push such a big baby out of you, but you got the more adorable (and hungry) little thing known to man.

John, the old man, is almost appalled when the three of you get home and three months in, none of planned baby clothes or diapers can fit any of their clothes cause they’re so small. John definitely has a baby with such chubby cheeks, they’re like big mochi balls and have the cutest boba tea eyes that match yours. John fucking loves it. Cutest thing alive. The man can not say no to the babe for anything. Whatever the baby gurgles or cries for, John gives you that pout to match it.

Simon, always encouraging play time. Even when your baby can’t roll over, Simons giving the best examples (after pushing the coffee table and the couch out of the way) in the living room. A loooong baby, everyone so sure they’ll be tall. Your grandma can barely even lift them when they hit 9 months, they’re a heavy little thing. Simon is one of the few who can hold the baby in just one hand. Always eager to hold the baby in his arms, asking to help him put the carrier on so you can take (another) break.

And König who has to explain when your signing the baby up for daycare that his baby big baby is just 1 years old and not 3, who just started walking and has all those cute little rolls on his arms and legs, And yes, forced the 6’5 man to face his anxiety head on, still shy as ever and quietly apologizing after your child goes up to strangers like he knows them and babbles their heads off. But he’s right there, watching shows like Ms.Rachel, Blues Clues, Kipper abd Little Einsteins and singing along softly to all the songs. Your baby sat in his lap and enjoying every moment of it.

a/n: so unserious and probably ridiculously inaccurate. I just thought it’d be cute if these men had big babies.

masterlist

[cherryflavoredguts]

of course, simon riley would fall for someone with the most sensitive gag reflex in the world.

you poor thing–can’t even get the man’s cock a third of the way into your mouth before your body jerks and you’re coughing, already-glassy eyes peeking up at him. he just thumbs at you jaw with a quiet s’alright, jus’ try again before nudging his head into your lips.

only a little desperate to hear you choke on it again, simon tips his hips a little harder. 

mean, sure. but worth it.

you gag again, harder than before, lurching off of him only to leave behind a slinking line of spit that keeps the two of you attached. simon hisses and collects the drool, wiping it on your cheek while trying to hide the quirk of his lips. his cock bobs in the air for a short moment, heavy and aching, as you eye it with half uncertainty, half-determination.

“you wanna stop?”

you shake your head at simon’s question, interrupting his praise by grabbing him at the base and shoving him halfway down. you hold him there for longer than he expects, swallowing down the gags that attempt to force you off. gripping the back of your head, simon pushes himself even deeper, finally groaning when his tip grazes the back of your throat. you’re just barely able to keep yourself from coughing him up, hands hurrying to grip his thighs like they’re something that will save you.

“pinch ‘f it’s too much, yeah?”

you nod and simon grunts, holding you steady as he starts to fuck your face.

jesus, it’s a mess. you’re a mess and he loves it. there’s a gathering pile of spit collecting at your knees as it escapes your lips and drips down. his tip drags across the back of your tongue and pokes through to your throat. he doesn’t get as far as he wants but it still feels better than good. hot and tight and slick with all the spit you’re retching up.

“that’s good, pet,” simone seeps out, voice taught as he pants through his nose. simon doesn’t let go of your head, balls twitching when you heave with a wet gasp. “fuck, you’re a sight. keep gaggin’ on me, feels nice.”

you sweet, sweet, disgusting thing. dousing his dick in a coat of bubbly spit, wheezing whatever air you can around him and even trying to glide your tongue at the veins that lightning the entire way to his sack–which is just as filthy with the mess that’s tracked its way down.

when he cums, you spit it back up, slicking his member even more. then the man fucking coos at you because your eyes are red, your chin is soaked, and the voice you speak to him in is nothing more than a hoarse squeak.

“how was that? was i better?”

simon smears his fingers across your chin before reaching to push it into his mouth. his cock jumps at the taste, returning back to life with ease, just as he drags you back into your feet. he palms the nape of your neck to make you look at him, eyes staring back to scan your wrecked face. then softens with a tiny, pleased smirk.

“fuckin’ gorgeous, aren’t ya?”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[cherryflavoredguts]

more! | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Just thinking about Ghost having a shy, quiet wife. The glaring opposite of Ghost, painted in black and blood while you’re adorned in lace and frills. Smooth skin and delicate flesh, warm eyes and a bashful smile. Soft-spoken and so fucking sweet.

No one else knows about you, or that he’s married, not from lack of wanting people to know he has such a pretty dove waiting for him at home, but because he knows all the men on base would eat you alive.

But one day, he forgets the lunch you made him. It takes everything in you to refrain yourself from driving to base to make sure he has something to eat— you know he doesn’t have the healthiest eating habits.

You choose to message him, something he usually responds fairly quickly to. Always at your beck and call just in case his sweet girl needs him, but he doesn’t answer. Your lips are pinched raw with worry by the time you decide to get in your car.

So, imagine everyone’s surprise when a sergeant interrupts the meeting Ghost’s in— ‘Lieutenant, um, Mrs. Riley is waiting outside for you.’

Ghost is on his feet in an instant, it must be some emergency if you’re there. He rushes to the hallway, everyone else in the room stumbling behind to snoop through the thin crack of the door, see who their big bad Lieutenant is married to.

And there you are, Tupperware container in your manicured hands, white dress covering your frame with matching ribbons and bows in your hair. The look on your face is anxious, right up until you see Ghost, your eyes softening as he approaches you with wide strides despite the fact that he’s twice your size, hulking and threatening.

“Sweet’art, everything okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” He asks, brows furrowing as he does a once over your figure, checking for injury.

You exhale a quiet laugh, “No, baby. You just forgot your lunch, and you didn’t answer your phone so I got worried you would go the whole day without eating.”

He cups your jaw, a smile breaking out on his face. His sergeants are baffled for several reasons— they did not expect their Lieutenant to be married to such a sweet thing, nor had they ever heard their Lieutenant speak in such a soft, hushed tone, never seen him touch something with such care, like you were so fragile in the palms of his hands.

They would’ve thought it was all a joke if it wasn’t for the massive diamond ring on your finger, or the way you pushed deeper into his touch.

“Sorry, dove, just been in a meetin’ all day.”

He stamps a kiss against your lips, lets himself linger just a little longer than he should because he knows the whole room is watching from behind the door.

“Sweetest little wife, aren’t you?”

[cherryflavoredguts]

De-aged Jason Todd and his morally-grey parental figures + Dick

[cherryflavoredguts]

thinking about that time my mom ordered a bottle of vitamins online and they arrived with the tamper seal broken and she was going to just take them anyway and in desperation i had to bust out the “you know they never solved the chicago tylenol murders” to get her to mail them back

[cherryflavoredguts]

Reader's pet Duck gains the abilities to talk one day due to some Bat Fam shenanigans.

Duck: Mother! I love you so much, mother. You are most dear to me, my sweet mother.

Reader: Aww, you are the sweetest thing, my little duckling.

Duck: Mother, I love you. Could you be fetch me my favorite coat, mother? Please.

Reader: Of course, my baby!~ *feathered forehead kisses*

*Reader leaves*

*Duck looks at Batfam.*

Duck: If I had hands, I'd shank all you bitches. And, someone tell the dog he is stupid.

A/N: I like the duck. I'm really liking the duck. I'm sorry.

[cherryflavoredguts]

[cherryflavoredguts]

This would be such a wonderful sign if it wasn't for the "our staff are not your children". Your children aren't valid targets for your abuse either.

Also, your staff are not your slaves. Do you pay them a living wage?

[cherryflavoredguts]