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other-fandoms-reblogs · 1 hour ago

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God damn! Please write more.

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

part two. find part one here.

“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”

sober you is a lot less bold, but simon is a man of his word. 18+. insane amount of dirty talk, reader afab, PIV. smut smut smut smut. size kink.

——————-

the headache you wake with is devastating.

biblically so.

and not in the sunday service, water‑into‑wine sort of way. this is old‑testament vengeance. locusts and brimstone and a hammer slamming the earth between your temples. divine retribution for every godless thing you said, every blurred line you crossed - like some higher power watched you drink yourself stupid last night and said let there be suffering.

and fuck, suffering you are.

you’re barely coherent, hardly sentient, when you squint into the cold morning light and find the realization of what happened last night dawning in on you in fragments. out of order, scrambled like eggs - simon’s arm around your waist. you calling him big. military‑issued. ruin‑her‑life‑in‑a‑single‑night kind of hands. been into you for ages. god yes. please. y’don’t know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart. the way he said you’re makin me hard like it physically pained him.

practically moaning into his motherfucking palm.

wait - practically? no. you did.

you spend majority of the morning with your head buried under blankets and pillows mourning the death of your past self because you know your soul must be charred. burnt like the edges of hell where your feet are now firmly planted.

“you, wakin up with my dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

fuck sakes.

you’ve known hangovers, you’ve known embarrassment, but this - this is some divine hybrid of the two. a cocktail of humiliation and mortification laced with whatever residual high you’re still riding from him saying come say it t’me sober like a goddamn dare.

and of course it only gets worse when you finally make it to your feet - teeth brushed twice after two whole water bottles and a shower hot enough to burn the devil out of hell - and notice something silver glinting on the table by your door that most definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning.

“oh…god.” your heart flips up into your throat.

his dog tags.

you’ve known simon long enough to know what this is. he didn’t forget them. he didn’t misplace them. he left them there to tell you he heard every fuckin word you said and he’s not letting you off the hook for it. it’s a test. if you meant it - which you did - you’ll bring them to him. you’ll say it to him sober like he asked.

a man of morals. who knew war criminals had it in them.

you spend what has to be a full ten minutes just staring at them - like maybe you’re still drunk, maybe you’re seeing things and they’ll vanish if you focus hard enough. maybe you can unsay every devastatingly honest thing you said with sheer mental fortitude alone and they’ll magically fly back to him on their own.

spoiler alert: they don’t move. because of course they don’t. and it takes another ten before you finally stuff them into your pocket.

it’s probably best to just rip the bandaid off. bring them to him before you have to face him infront of the others in mess or briefing - damage control before the rest of the world finds out about the stunt you pulled. you don’t even know what you’re going to say - sorry? thanks? let’s just pretend i never told you i fantasize about fucking you when i can’t sleep?

fuck. it doesn’t matter. you know you owe him the return. a peace offering, a penance, a silent white-flag kind of knock on his door.

and so you walk the hall like it’s the green mile. you’ve never done a walk of shame but you imagine this has got to be as close as it comes. his door is shut when you reach it, and you stand in front of it like a coward for another unnecessary amount of time - complexion almost ill. ghostly. like you could float right through the fuckin wood if the wind blew hard enough.

finally, you knock.

it’s a moment, and then he answers, filling his doorframe with those thick shoulders stretching a tight black t-shirt, looking right as rain besides damp hair and bloodshot eyes.

you wonder, fleetingly, if he even slept. but then his gaze drops over the length of you and you busy yourself with fighting the urge to run for your fucking life.

you clear your throat. “can i..uh. can we talk?”

he nods and pops the door open, gesturing for you to come in. you take a few steps into his room - dark, organized, rather sparse - and nearly jump out of your flesh when the door shuts behind you. the click of a cell door closing, announcing your sealed fate.

you spin to face him once his boots have stopped dragging across the tiles, and find him leaning back against his desk - ankles and arms crossed.

you swallow, and pull the tags from your pocket. “i um. i think you forgot these.”

his brow twitches, barely, as he takes a glance at your hand. a flash of something behind his eyes you can’t name.

“did i?” he doesn’t move.

you shift your weight. the mortification could eat you alive. you’re certain it currently is.

“figured i’d bring them back.” you add, quieter now, trying your fucking hardest to sound normal. like you didn’t just spend the night saying all kinds of unholy things into the palm of his hand. “incase…uh, you were looking for them.”

he still doesn’t take them.

“strange,” his lips tilt. the first sign he’s shown that he's enjoying this. “coulda sworn i left em’ somewhere on purpose.”

your stomach flips. you try to laugh but it’s brittle. “right. sure.”

he shrugs. “not the kinda thing i usually misplace.”

you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed, unsure how to respond to that. it’s hard to even breathe with the way he’s watching you - like he’s taking notes - reading everything you’re not saying in the line of your mouth, in the way your fingers tremble around the chain of his tags.

“shaky this mornin, yeah?” he says, just casually knocking the rest of the wind out of your chest.

“i-“

you falter, because what the fuck are you even supposed to say? no, i’m fine. i’m totally good, actually. i definitely didn’t spend all morning curled fetal, praying to gods who’ve certainly damned me for a head injury so i can forget the mental car crash that was last nights events.

simon waits, eyes blazing like you’re a twitchy little experiment. trying to see which wire makes you spark the hardest.

you clear your throat. try again. “m’just tired.”

“mm.” he hums with a lazy nod. “musta been all that talkin you were doin.”

and there it is. here it comes.

“can’t really remember, but i’m sure it’s part of it.” you lie with a forced laugh. lie so awkwardly it hurts. “tequila. you know how it is.”

“do i ever.” he replies, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

silence stretches thick, after that. it’s so thick it makes the walls feel closer, the floor feel further away. you avert your gaze, and realize almost immediately how big of a mistake that is because the motion pulls your eyes across his forearm - his bare, inked forearm, tendons flexing with the movement he’s making.

you remember that arm last night, wrapped tight around your waist. pulling you close before you moaned god yes and please beneath the big hand attached to it like fucking gospel.

when you flinch, he smirks. not even pretending like he didn’t notice. “y’remember nothin from last night, then?”

your eyes snap up to his. you hate yourself for the fact that all of last nights confidence seems to be no where in fucking sight.

“well, uh, it’s fuzzy but…i remember bits.”

“bits.” he echos. nodding. “yeah. must be a shame.”

oh god.

“shame?”

“shame t’forget all that detail.” he lets the words sink in, watching your face as he leans a hand on the desk behind him. “pretty interestin things. real deep. could write a bloody novel, the way y’were goin on.”

“oh.” you choke, again, and mentally slap yourself. get it together. “well. thats-“

he hums again. “suppose i could walk y’through it.”

“walk me-“

earth tilts. he doesn’t let you finish. “y’know. help piece it together. fill in the gaps.”

“you don’t-you don’t have to-“

he lifts a hand to gesture vaguely toward his bed. your pulse races to the moon.

“your room, y’were right there. lookin at me like i was gonna eat y’alive.” his voice lowers. you swallow and it tastes like sin. his finger shifts to the space before his bed. pointing at the edge. “and i was right there, tryin’ like hell t’be a fuckin gentleman.”

you could laugh, maybe cry, or just absolutely combust right there on the floor because it all floods back in an instant. the way you moaned his name when he knelt over you to undo your boots. the way your thighs tensed as you told him you think about him. the way you stared at him while your brain short circuited and your mouth betrayed every secret you thought you’d die with.

part of you did die, you suppose. the part with your dignity. right there on the floor of your room, next to your boots he took off.

“look, simon-“

he steps closer now. just a step. “y’said you’d been into me for ages.”

you blink, holding your breath.

“said y’think bout me when y’cant sleep.” his voice is a rasp now, the muscle in his jaw ticks. “i asked y’a question, then. d’you remember it?”

fucking hell.

“yes.” you exhale.

“what was it.”

your heart is a jackhammer, breaking through your sternum.

“you-you asked if i think about you when…” you hesitate, and he cocks an eyebrow. “…when i touch myself.”

“yeah.” he says lowly. a breath, not a word. “tha’s right.”

your skin is burning and your limbs feel foreign, at this point. you feel nerve endings pulsing in place you didn’t know you even had nerves.

“d’you remember your answer?” he continues, taking another step toward you.

and it’s then that the anxiety takes over - you blink twice and bite down until you taste blood, shaking your head no. not because you’ve forgotten - fucking hell you remember everything - but because saying it out loud feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

he doesn’t buy it.

“mm, sure y’do.” he calls your bluff, says it so soft it’s almost a coo. “y’know i know your tells - two blinks while bitin the inside of your cheek.” his eyes gleam as his lips twitch. “y’can’t lie t’me, princess.”

christ, you can’t help but laugh at that. it’s exactly the reason why you’ve been into him - he’s perceptive and cunning and cocky all at once.

this is the man you’ve thought about fucking for months.

“yes.” you whisper in admittance. “i said yes.”

“god yes.” he corrects with another step until he’s so close you have to kink your neck back to meet his eyes. his shoulders swallow the edges of your vision until all you see is him. “…still true?”

you nod. a broken thing. “yes.”

“yeah?” his head tilts, the heat of him sweltering. “y’think bout me when y’put hands on yourself?”

“simon-“

he hushes you with a shake of his head, eyes dipping to your lips. “tell me.”

it’s then that you realize dragging this on is for nothing. whatever drunken confession you made last night clearly cracked open whatever restraint simon’s been exercising for months.

clearly whatever you feel, he’s feeling it too.

“yes.” you confess, as firm as you possibly can. nothing coy in it now. “yes, i think about you when im alone. when i touch myself…doesn’t even feel right unless im picturing you. your hands. touching me.”

it all comes out of you in a rushed whisper, desperate and dripping sweet from your lips like it’s been saturating behind your teeth for too long. when he doesn’t respond right away, you realize you’ve stunned him, and pull on whatever courage you have left to press forward.

“i’ve wanted you for so long ive stopped tryin to figure out when it started.” you murmur, lost in his eyes. “and you?”

his breath catches. just the faintest hitch, like he wasn’t prepared for the edge of your honesty to turn and face him instead. it’s delectable, the slight composure tilt, but it doesn’t last long. because slowly - slowly, his mouth curls into something wrecked. something that says fuckin hell, it’s on.

his knuckles come up to graze your jaw, he lowers his head until his lips find your ear—

“y’askin if i think bout you when i’ve got my fist wrapped round my cock?” you inhale sharply, then choke on it when his mouth brushes your lobe. “course i fuckin do.”

your hands lift timidly to find his shirt, curling into it, dog tags still clinking between your fingers.

your lashes flutter. his free hand slips around your waist. “fuck, simon-“

“i know, sweet’eart.” he murmurs it, almost gentle, like it’s something you share. “tha’s what y’need, ain’t it? f’me to admit you’re not the only one losin mind here.”

you nod, partly frantic and partly delirious, and he exhales something strained - something from somewhere deep, catching on the parts of him dying to stay patient.

“good.” his hand slides up the back of your shirt, while the other finds the one of yours still holding his tags. “y’really come here just to return these, then?”

“no.” it chokes out of you instantly, mouth tilting toward his. “you wanted me to say it to you sober. made a promise bout what you’d do if i did?”

something feral flashes over his face, at that. translated through the grip he tightens on your waist, the exhale he washes over your jaw.

“yeah.” he says, tight. “i did.”

his mouth is barely a breath from yours.

“well here i am. sober.” you whisper. “wanting you more than i did while drunk.”

he makes a sound you’ve never heard before. not a groan, not a moan, something deep and feral punched straight out of his chest.

“fuckin hell.”

and then he’s kissing you.

no more waiting, no more games. simon’s a man of his word and it shows in the way his mouth crashes into yours - hungry and bruising and impatient - teeth knocking, one hand fisting in the back of your shirt and tearing it off you while the other pulls you in. he spins you both so your ass hits the edge of his desk, and then breaks away - trailing spit slick lips down your jaw and throat, thick fingers working to tease the band of your sweats.

“tell me where y’want me, sweet’eart.” he growls into your pulse.

you blink, dazed. “i-what?”

his teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, before his mouth drags back up beside your ear - ruinous in the inflection.

“tell me how you’ve imagined it,” his finger tips slide under your waistband, just teasing. “what you’ve pictured when you’re thinkin’ of me like this. right ‘ere.”

“oh god, simon.” you moan by his words alone, too wound to be embarrassed, fingers cinched tight in the fabric of his shirt. “your-your fingers. your mouth. your cock-“

that sound again. deep and devastated. restraint being ripped out by the roots.

“fuck. filthy thing f’me, aren’t you?” he says, as two fingers slide lower, slipping under heat soaked fabric and finding your slit, pressing in no further than they need to before circling back up - spreading the mess you’ve made just to feel it. “you’re fuckin soaked.”

you whimper as he teases your clit. his mouth finds your throat again, teeth grazing where your pulse stutters wild beneath flushed skin. you don’t trust your legs to hold you upright under the weight of it all - his touch, his voice, the feral gleam in his eye when he looks at you like you’re some prophecy being fulfilled.

“s’this what i do t’you?” he murmurs. “just from talkin t’you like this?”

you nod, a frantic little thing. “yes-god, yes.”

he exhales hard like it's kicked out of him, tugging your sweats down until they slide off your ankles before he lifts you back onto his desk and parts your thighs with hands so big they nearly span the entire width of them.

you fucking moan at the sight.

and of course it only fuels him - braces you back on your elbows, spine arched, breath caught in your throat as he steps in close between your legs. his eyes drag down to where you glisten in the dim light - slick, flushed, waiting - and he lets out a curse before returning his fingers to your aching cunt.

he presses in one digit slow, then adds another. knuckle deep until your eyes roll, hips jerking at the stretch.

“oh, fuck-“

he hisses through his teeth. “tight little cunt. fuckin meltin f’me.”

his thumb catches your clit in the same motion - rubbing soft circles, pushing you closer, dragging you toward the edge with every brutal curl of his fingers inside you.

“that feel good?” he growls against your jaw. “touched y’self in bed thinkin bout me between your thighs like this?”

you’re panting now. shaking.

“i-“ you gasp. “yes, simon-yes-“

“yeah?” his thumb speeds up, his fingers pump deeper, your head spins. “and did y’cum like this? like you’re about to f’me now?”

you don’t answer fast enough. he bites at your jaw.

“tell me.”

“no-n-never like this—”

he growls something vile under his breath. “poor thing. s’okay. i’ve got you.”

your walls flutter around him, your thighs shaking where they frame his hips, and he feels it - feels the beginning of the end stutter through you.

“simon-“ you whinge.

he cuts you off. “look at me.”

you do. barely.

“tha’s it,” he breathes. “cum on my fuckin fingers. show me what i’ve been missin.”

you’re starved for it, beyond saving, and its only a couple more deep pumps before you break.

it floods through you - white hot and searing. you cry out his name as you clamp around his digits, trembling apart on his desk while he watches you like you’re art - jaw clenched, pupils blown - his fingers still moving, dragging you through it until you’re sobbing into his shoulder.

“there we go.” when it passes and you’re limp, blinking up at him stunned - he withdraws slowly. “attagirl. s’fuckin good.”

you swallow, watching wide eyed as he brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“been dreamin bout that taste, knew it’d be sweet.” he purrs as he leans down, wiping his spit slick digits over your cheek. “gonna need it proper soon.”

you don’t even have time to question or respond to that, because then he’s unbuckling his belt.

when you finally look back up, his eyes are wild.

“s’this what y’want?” he murmurs, tugging leather through loops before undoing the button at his waist. “when you came t’me this mornin, all flushed and pretendin t’be innocent. was this it? wantin’ me to bend y’over and take what y’fuckin offered?”

you choke as he tugs himself free - thick, leaking at the tip and throbbing - bigger than anything you’ve ever seen, nevermind taken.

the nod that follows is compulsive desperation. “holy fuck-yes-“

he smacks light at your thigh. “stand up. bend over f’me.”

you do as you’re told without hesitation - legs shaking as you stand spin and lean forward over the desk - breath still stuttering in your chest, heart going a mile a minute. your hands barely meet wood before he’s on you - no preamble. no breath between. grabs your hips like it’s instinct, like his hands were molded to hold you like this, and yanks you back against him with a roughness that steals whatever’s left in your lungs.

you shudder when he slides his cock against your slit once - twice - dragging the head through slick and stalls notched just shy of your entrance, breathing hard like it’s killing him to wait.

“y’remember what else y’said last night?”

you barely manage a nod. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he exhales something like a laugh.

“not compliments. not the fantasies. not the whining.” he drags through your mess again, slower this time. deliberate. “you said—“ his hips press forward just enough to make you gasp. “—you wondered if it’d hurt.”

you whine, embarrassed, but god it shoots straight through you. he bends low now, chest flush to your back, mouth to your ear.

“truth is, it might.” his lips curl into a smile. “so don’t fuckin run now.”

and then - only then - he pushes in. you gasp so hard your chest deflates on impact, thick head stretching sopping walls wide and dragging deeper than you’ve ever imagined - too much and not enough all at once.

“ohfuck-simon-“ your head drops toward the desk, eyes stinging.

“mm. tha’s it.” he groans, loud, burying himself halfway before pausing there. “tightest fuckin—bloody hell.”

he presses forward a little more - just enough to make your knees shake as he steadies you with one hand at your hip and grits his teeth. he pulls out just to feel you clench, then shoves back in - hard enough to jolt the desk and feed you all of him before you can even brace for it.

“ffffuck-ohfuck-“ you wail, knuckles bloodless where they clutch the desk. “you-you’re-“

“deep.” he bends over you, grabs a fistful of your hair, and drags your head back to his mouth, voice hot on your skin. “i fuckin know.”

he thrusts once. hard. then again. slower. deeper.

“jesus christ,” he undoes your bra with his free hand, paws at your tits until it hurts. “walked around this whole time with this cunt made f’me and didn’t say a fuckin word.”

“fuck simon-“

“yeah.” he grits against your ear. “tha’s how you moaned it last night. just like that.”

it’s punishing, the pace he sets. each snap of his hips smacking against your ass drags stars down into your retinas - body rocking and cervix kissed with each thrust - his grip is bruising and his mouth works at your neck, forcing noises out of you loud enough to rattle the fucking walls.

it doesn’t take long before your chest collapses onto slick wood, drool coated cheek pressed to the desk - vision bleeding white around the edges. he’s relentless - driven, brutal in rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck the memory of your voice out of his head, the memory of your thighs pressed together last night when he walked away instead of dropping to his knees and giving in.

he groans, open-mouthed, flushed everywhere. he’s not just fucking you. he’s wrecking you. dragging you across the edge by the throat and holding your broken pieces together with his own.

“mmf-fuck.” he snarls, burying his fist back in your hair. his palm cracks hard across your ass before snaking around your thigh to find your clit. devastating. “this. this is what i thought of for months. you. fuckin boneless f’me.”

he pulls out slow with a shuttering exhale, just enough for you to whine before he roars back in - hard and fast, fingers never slowing.

you shriek, squirming with no where to go.

“y’got no fuckin clue what y’did to me last night.” he’s panting, fingernails burning your scalp. “sat there slurrin filth. darin me t’do somethin bout it. tested every fuckin moral i’ve got.”

your second orgasm is a charging tide - and god, you know he feels it. you know by the way he rolls his fingers faster to chase it, moans in your ear when your walls flutter around him, fucks you deeper and slower just to drag you over by your hair.

“cum f’me. give me another.” he grits. “let me fuckin feel it sweet’eart.”

“ff-fuck simon! yes-yes-“

you sob, and then it hits you - violent and wet and cataclysmic - like every single one of your fantasies brought to life, like every pathetic orgasm you gave yourself to the thought of him and his fuckin hands all combined to create this. it’s stratospheric depths of bliss, all the colours of the rainbow erupting behind your eyes as he fucks you through it, not stalling his fingers until you’re sobbing.

“mhm. messy little thing.”

he growls with it before pulling out just enough to slap his cock against your soaked cunt, watching the slick stretch, the way you whine and arch out of pure fuckin instinct.

“look at this pretty cunt,” he rasps, teasing his tip over your clit. “drippin. tremblin. fuckin cryin f’me.”

you try to say something, try to catch a breath, but that all falls void as he thrusts back in without warning - one brutal, complete thrust, pushing everything out of you. screams, his name, your fucking soul. he groans as his hand finds your jaw, forcing your head to turn just enough so he can see your face. cheeks flushed, tears caught in your lashes.

“shh. don’t run—don’t fuckin run,” he growls against your mouth, arm cinched tight across your waist when your hips jerk away like it’s too much. “y’asked for this. said it t’me sober.”

“si-simon. please.” it’s breathless, ruined, wrecked beyond meaning, your mouth falling open on another sob when his hips grind deeper, when the head of him kisses a spot that has your knees giving out entirely. “fuck. s’good. s’m-much-“

“yeah?” he snarls. “s’good, huh?”

you nod something pathetic, lost for words. broken around him.

“want y’to think bout this when you’re alone.” his free hand drags down to your stomach, rests just high on your pelvis, feeling where he’s drilling. “how deep m’buried in this tight little cunt. how good my name feels in your fuckin throat.”

another nod. another hiccuped moan dragged out of you. “y-yes-yes i’ll think about it-mmff-“

“mhm,” he kisses you once. fleeting and viscous and hot. “good. s’good.”

a few more ragged thrusts and a sound gets torn from him, pulled from somewhere deep, feral and hoarse and ragged. his hips punch forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and then—

“fuck—fuck.”

he lets go.

he groans, voice breaking at the edges, forehead falling to the space between your shoulder blades. he pulses deep inside you, all of his pent up heat flooding you full until he’s spent, until he’s got nothing left to give and collapses against your back in one shuddering, boneless exhale.

and when it’s over, it’s just breathing - a long quiet moment full of everything neither of you know how to say before you register that he’s moving - leaning over you to grab at where his dog tags were discarded on the desk.

he slips them around your neck, and then pulls out.

“man of m’word, sweet’eart.” he whispers against your jaw. “this isn’t over.”

———————————-

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 1 hour ago

Text

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

based off a request i got - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.

————-

it’s honestly not even your fault.

you’ll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - he’s the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now you’re blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simon’s arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.

simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because he’s the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.

needless to say, he’s used to this by now. used to the way you’ve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesn’t say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesn’t complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if he’s a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.

he’s tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.

“jesussi—you’re big.” it’s slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. “like, industrial grade. military-issued big.”

the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober you’d see the smirk he’s biting back.

“tha right?”

“mmm. like a fuckin tank,” you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. it’s involuntary - just like it’s involuntary when he twitches. “or an armoured vehicle. y’should come with airbags.”

simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.

maybe he’s not as used to this as he thought - because this isn’t just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.

hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.

“you’re drunk,” he breathes.

you grin. “so’re you.”

“not even half as much as you.”

you let out a giddy little laugh that makes him glance down, at that. it’s quick and brief, the way his eyes flick over you, like he’s checking to make sure you haven’t stripped mid-hallway. it’s just the bickering that gets you. makes you warm inside.

“m’not that drunk,” you lie through your teeth with all the drunken confidence you possess. “i mean—i am, but not like…memory loss drunk. i’m still gonna remember how wide your shoulders are tomorrow.”

it’s only seconds after that and your fingers are moving again, crawling down his arm to where leather edge meets skin.

“..and how insanely big your hands are,” you sigh in continuation, unable to help yourself. “like—biblically destructive. ruin-her-life-in-a-single-night kind of hands. anyone ever tell y’that?”

and that might just be precisely when it starts - the feeling in his gut. brought to life through the filth you’re beginning to feed.

“don’t.” he says, and it’s torn. “not now.”

he’s all but begging you - and however miraculously, his pace doesn’t break. still steady as ever even as you switch from squeezing to tracing his tattoos with your finger. the only response he gives is a devastating clench of his jaw as he keeps you moving - steering past flickering lights and sterile walls.

“y’ever choke a girl out with them?” you press, unfettered. “not like, unconscious, but like. in bed?”

he exhales. slow. almost a growl.

“jesus. stop talkin’.”

“why?” you blink up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks, far too innocent for someone who’s very much not being innocent. “am i makin’ you nervouuus?”

his head tilts just slightly, just enough to peer down at you again.

“no,” he says, and even drunk you hear the grit in it. “you’re makin’ me hard.”

he says it like he hates himself for it. like it slipped out - cut from the meat of some deep place the inebriation in his veins simply won’t let him keep inside.

and you?

you blink slow, lips parting in surprise.

“fuckin’ finally.” you exhale with a smile. slow and crooked and dangerous. “thought i’d have to be on my knees and naked for you to admit that—“

he doesn’t let you finish that thought.

“fuck’s sake, y’little minx.” he’s dragging you now, as if he’s realizing the dangers that are surfacing the more this conversation continues. by this point he’s half-carrying, half-hauling your giggling form down the hall like you weigh nothing. “y’need to stop talkin.”

“you like it,” you slur between unsteady steps. “y’like me like this cause you’re a freakkk—“

his grip tightens. morals in tatters. control evaporating.

“i’d like you more if y’were unconscious.” he huffs, hard. “or duct-taped.”

that makes you giggle more. worse, it eggs you on.

“was that supposed t’be a threat?” you ask, lips glistening. “cause if so, it’s workingggg.”

he grunts - some deep, violent sound in his throat like that one hit a nerve. “bloody hell.”

by the time you make it to your door, he’s breathing heavy. less from exertion and more from sheer fucking restraint. it takes two seconds before he throws the hinges wide, kicks it shut with his boot, and all but drags you onto your bed.

and you hardly even realize you’ve reached it until the cotton caresses the side of your cheek. but that feeling is quickly forgotten when simon, the gentleman that he is, leans over you - one knee braced on the mattress as his hands go to work on the laces of your boots.

your thighs tense. he notices.

“fuck, simon.” you can’t stop yourself. not even god himself could, at this point. “i’ve been into you for ages, y’know.”

he pauses. boot in hand.

“…what?”

he says it low. like a warning - like a don’t you fuckin start. but you’re too drunk to care - especially when all you smell is him and all you see are those shoulders, leaning over you while you’re flat on your back beneath him.

your lashes flutter.

“jus sayin- since, like. you’re in my room, on my bed above me like one of my codeine fever dreams.” you slur, brain sloshing. the room spins with it. “thought y’should know.”

he looks at you like you’ve hit him with a brick.

your head lolls. glassy eyes dragging up over the length of him. “used to think about it—you—when i couldn’t sleep.”

he swallows, and you watch his throat work with it. the grip he’s got on your ankle could shatter bone.

“….you tellin me y’think bout me when y’touch yourself?” he asks.

“god yes.” you don’t even realize you’ve said it. “you. your hands. bending me over the sinks. in the showers while muttering filth in my ear, tellin me to behave—“

“—fuck.” it punches out of him like it hurts.

the silence falls heavy. he doesn’t blink, breathe, or move for what feels like forty minutes, when in reality, it’s like forty seconds - just long enough for him clamp the leash back on whatever beast is tearing through him.

not fully, but enough.

you stretch like a cat, oblivious to it. arch your back. sigh. “d’you think about it?”

he doesn’t answer. not at first. then—

“only when i breathe.”

your stomach lurches. your thighs twitch. “you mean that?”

he looks at you, finally - eyes darker than the devils deal, filled with filth and heat from the fire you started without even trying.

he shakes his head, his jaw clenches with the effort of keeping the beast at bay. “i mean, if you don’t stop talkin, m’gonna fuckin’ fold.”

the alcohol in your blood just roars, at that. fuel to the flaming fire inside you.

“tell me.” you murmur. “you think about fucking me? what i’d sound like moaning your—“

before you can finish that thought, his hand is over your mouth. it swallows your face, makes you twitch in all the wrong places — and he sees it.

“enough.” it’s barely a whisper. “christ. fuck. you’re gonna make me do somethin’ stupid.”

you moan against his hand - it spills out of you, vibrates against his fingers. he curses.

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

his palm silences everything but your pulse, which is roaring, at this point.

your fingers come up, shift a few of his digits until your voice finds room to leak out. “please.”

his eyes snap shut.

“y’dont know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart,” he mutters, grabbing the edge of the blanket with his free hand and yanking it over your hips. “ain’t gonna wake up with you hatin me.”

even drunk you realize he’s a man of morals.

“you think i’d regret it?” you whisper. stars in your eyes. he doesn’t respond. “simon. i just told you i’ve fantasized about fucking you. i wonder how big you are, if it’d hurt—“

his palm tightens over your lips again.

“one more fuckin’ word and i’ll forget every goddamn reason why i shouldn’t touch you right now.” he spits. “if y’even remember this tomorrow, y’come say it to me sober. promise on every grave i’ve ever stood over i’ll bend y’over on the spot and fuck the idea of regret right outta you.”

then he pulls back, moving slow like it hurts, and you smile.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” he hums, take a step or two toward the door. “fuckin hope you will.”

#god yes #empty’s simon riley fics #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley imagine #reader #fanfic

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 2 hours ago

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couldn’t tell you tbh. simon x reader. brat dynamics

it was an innocent prank. that’s all it was supposed to be anyway.

folded over your bed, listening to the familiar sound of fabric and metal clashing in simon’s hasty effort to get his cock free, an idea sprouts before you have time to cut it.

the joke is notched between your teeth, and you hide your smile in the sheets when you feel his hips crowd your ass. try your damndest to take his inches while relaxed, minimizing your flinches when he eventually bottoms out.

then, you croak, “is it in yet?”

a sadistic pause. you feel the air short circuit, frayed ends of electric wires making the hair on your back stand up. immediate regret when you feel a hand grab your jaw, turning your face to look over your shoulder.

his features are calm, but the look in his eyes reveals boiled frustration. your courage drops to your stomach, and runs out straight out your cunt when his nostril notches.

“don’t feel me? let me help you.”

and suddenly you’re on your back, knees by your head. there is no warning, only a cock that digs straight into the gummy walls of your cunt, tip knocking the consciousness from your cervix. lightening shoots up into your throat, forming a plea,

“f-fuck simon- deep.”

he grunts, an annoyed version of a laugh, before continuing to ruin your cunt with the insatiability and aggression of a man challenged.

“feel me now, sweet’eart? or do i need to go deeper?”

you spend the rest of the night as a sore loser, with a sorer cunt.

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 2 hours ago

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And they were roommates (part 1)

This story is going to be gay, Trans male character is going to be included because fanfiction is for self inserts. Pairing is Gaz X trans!masc reader (will be using a name instead of Y/N)

--NSFT UNDER--

This part will include: plot, wedgies, plot plot plot, panty stealing, and Gaz wanting to move his friend in for perverted reasons, seriously, mostly plot, okay I'm sorry, He's a good friend, though, probably unrealistic housing laws idc

This will be part 1 of ??? I love writing porn with no plot, BUT I NEED A PLOT.

Summary: Gaz needs a roommate, and Maxwell, a friend of his, might also be having housing troubles. Gaz and Maxwell have always had a strange relationship, Gaz teasing Maxwell and Maxwell seemingly uncaring about the treatment. Maybe Gaz will get to have his favorite victim friend back in arms length.

Gaz didn't like the idea of a roommate at all. He'd picked out the two bedroom house on the corner of the neighborhood for the privacy and the space, and he wasn't exactly eager to give either up. Especially after working so hard to be able to live on his own when on leave.

"I pay rent on time, I follow the HOA rules, I don't see why I need a roommate. This is my space." Gaz had complained to his landlord over the phone, eyes rereading the stupid notice that had been plastered to his door. It had been there a few days, the words printed on the paper hard to read from being rained on so Gaz was certain there was a mistake.

But no, he could hear the shuffling of papers, a door being shut, and the heavy sigh from his landlord as he had settled into his desk chair. "I'm afraid you aren't following all of the rules, sir. The property can not sit empty for more than 3 months out of the year. For the first two years, I was able to make a case for you, but you have a prime house, Kyle. The HOA wants it to be occupied or empty to rerent. You have 6 months to find a roommate, or they may evict you."

"That's why I told you never rent in an HOA!" Maxwell exclaims, slapping his arm a little over the counter of his coffee shop. Gaz made a face at him, expecting to be comforted by his friend after unloading his woes. "Oh, don't give me that look," I warned you." Maxwell teases, sliding his now warmed blueberry muffin out of the oven and slicing it open for Gaz.

"You just gonna tell me?"I told you so?" No comfort? No love?" Gaz teases, watching as Maxwell drops a healthy glob of butter onto the hot muffin before pushing it toward him. "I mean, looks like you've got something on your mind. Your landlord is giving you trouble, too?" Before Maxwell could answer, the door to the coffee shop rang, and he had customers to attend too. With one more smile at Gaz, Max went over to the register.

Gaz took his usual seat by the window, watching the sun get higher in the sky. If Maxwell stayed busy, he would call him later about whatever was bothering him.

-------------‐

Maxwell and Kyle had a strange start to their friendship, having met in the very short time that Kyle went to college. They were dorm mates for a month and became very close, even though some people probably thought Kyle was Maxwell's bully.

Kyle wasn't a bully, but he did love teasing people. It gave him a rush, especially physically overpowering people in the most simple way, a wedgie. Sure, it was juvenile, but no matter how highly someone thought of themselves, Kyle knew they would be a flustered mess if their underwear was cranked up their ass.

Maxwell was sweet, kind, and nerdy, all the things that made Kyle itch to make him squeal. It was the second day of getting settled in, Kyle already having the itch to abandon college and join the military. There was still time, and the window hadn't shut yet. He had been pacing for the past 20 minutes, and Maxwell was fed up, turning around at his desk chair.

"Kyle! For the love of God, stop pacing! He snaps, about to continue his rant of annoyance, but when he blinked, Kyle was behind his chair with his hands down the back of his sweatpants. The moment Kyle's hands touched Maxwell's panties Maxwell wore panties he didn't stop tugging until his stress was gone. He'd ended the night with sore arms, and a much calmer mind.

Maxwell ended his with his arms tied behind his back and his panties over his head.

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

And somehow, even after that, they became friends. Though Gaz, still always known as Kyle to Maxwell, never stopped giving him wedgies. Maxwell was always nice enough to let Kyle stay in his apartment during leave, since at first he didn't have enough money or reason to buy his own place. At least once every few days, Gaz would need some "stress relief" as he called it.

Maxwell never protested the wedgies much. Sure, he squeaked, squealed, whined, and yelled, especially whenever Gaz left him hung up on the coat rack hooks. But other than that, he never complained how often Gaz wedgied, and tore, his underwear. Gaz suspected he liked getting wedgied almost as much as he liked giving them, but he never rocked the boat by asking, just kept tugging and tearing pair after pair.

Gaz people watched for a little as he finished his muffin, seeing how busy the store was getting, so he threw out his trash and headed for the door. Maxwell was too busy to notice, or he would've waved at him, but Gaz was glad his back was turned. Maxwells underwear was sticking out of the back of his uniform pants. Most people wouldn't notice or even care, but he did. They were a pretty purple color that Gaz wanted to tear right up Maxwell's fat ass.

As he walked to his car, he kinda hoped Maxwell was having apartment problems. He still, unashamedly, had the panties that he had ripped off him from the apartment days. He wouldn't need to save those if he had a supply right down the hall to choose from and destroy. Of course Gaz had kept up his antics in the military; he was known for his brutal wedgies and freindly disposition; but nothing had compared to giving Maxwell wedgies and the more he thought, the more he needed Maxwell to move in with him. He needed to have his wedgie boy back.

He sits down in the driver's seat, pulling out his phone and immediately sending him a text.

Call me when you get done with work.

Suddenly, the idea of sharing his space and privacy didn't seem that bad.

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 2 hours ago

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heard about someone writing for the 141, but excluded gaz. so my bitch sensors were triggered.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fussy!reader

wouldn't have posted this if @lay-z hadn't bullied me into doing so after i typed this up in her dms

i also typed this up in the shower while washing away bedrot, i literally am so lazy and do not care

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

When it comes to fussy people, Gaz is the king of them. After all, he's used to working with Price, Soap, and Ghost. As well as Laswell on a day when she didn't have her cigarettes (never again).

You however? You were a test to even his knowledge. A fussy, chronic complainer who got easily riled up and was indecisive without a clear, cool head.

It was far worse after rough days of work. You'd come home, muttering complaints and curses under your breath, and he'd be in the door way of the living room, hiding his amusement behind a muted smirk. When this first happened, he made the mistake of trying to distract you by offering to go out to eat. You proceeded to spend the next hour shooting down every single one of his ideas.

"I need to be in the mood for that."

"Last time we went there, their food hurt my tummy."

"I would rather die than eat there."

But Gaz was no stranger to being trained into a better version of himself. After all, the 141 that changed him into something stronger, better, someone who knew how to tackle one as adorably fussy as you.

It turned into a routine you two shared. He left the space clear and open for you to plop down onto the couch, mouth never tiring from cursing out your coworkers and customers, lacking anything good to say for either of them. He approached the back of the couch, working your hair out of the messy bun you had pulled it into half way through your shift.

"I look terrible with my hair up." You had mentioned previously, despite still trying to find a style that worked. But like your job, you cursed those too, unable to make up your mind.

"Alright, love, who we going after today?" Gaz started, working out the tangles with his fingers first before swapping to the hairbrush he had at the ready.

It was an open door, permitting you to vent, rant about every single little thing that had transpired that day. You loathed your job, that much he knew well now, and he had also learned that mentioning other places that were hiring was a lost cause. Every job he mentioned had something that curled your lips into a scowl. But if you didn't work you'd lose your mind, which is what you told him when he brought up the offer of you just staying at home.

His comments didn't end at the question, humming in mutual agreement at everything you had to say. He never laughed, never mocked you for how you felt, he merely rolled with it all.

Along with the occasional offer to send their coordinates to his boss. After one particular rough day, you almost took him up on the offer, getting him to grin.

But for moments like these, he rode out the storm patiently, helping you to come down and clear the head fog spawned from your digressions. When you finally complained yourself into exhaustion, and every fiber on your head was perfectly groomed, was when Gaz would finally ask.

"Hungry?"

A nod.

"How about some McDonalds?"

"Whatever." you said, too tired to argue, as you peeled your work uniform off and stole his hoodie, letting him lead the way.

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 2 days ago

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reunion :)

(heavily inspired by “all that’s said in the low light”)

#soapghost #ghoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #ghostsoap #retired soap #aarys art #fanart

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 2 days ago

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You trust me, right?

Part 1

Simon X Reader/self insert, will try to avoid using a name or Y/N (Be honest do you prefer the You format or the name/Y/N format? Also I haven't written smut in a while especially on Tumblr so please be kind 😭)

Summary: Simon and you start dating after he meets you working at a library. After a few months courting you, you begin dating. Little do you know, Simon is already dating the team, and they've put their relationship on a small pause while you two start dating so that he can talk you into a relationship with them.

Story includes: oral both receiving, nude photos/videos taken without knowledge, nude photos/videos shared without consent, slight dub con?, trans!masc reader - female anatomy used, plus sized reader, Simon is in a poly relationship already without telling reader but no cheating takes place, reader is easily convinced to join the polycule.

When Simon met you, he knew you would be perfect. Not just for him, but for his team as well. He went to the library often on leave, not just for the books, but for you.

You were a shy thing, Simon also knew his size and demeanor made him intimidating, but he lured you to him slowly but surely. Needing help finding a book, needing help with a computer or the printer, and carrying little things of candy with him to give you whenever the two of you talked. Finally, he was able to take you on a date and back to his place.

He hadn't meant for you to find out about the boys so soon, but he'd been careless.

Two weeks into dating him, you took a weekend off to spend with him. "Si, you don't have any food in here. What do you eat?" You huff, looking into his open fridge with a disappointed pout.

"I'll go shopping soon, we can order take out tonight." Simon hums, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you against his chest. His hands rub over your tummy, squeezing and squishing the fat that was there with a low grumble.

He could feel you squirm a little, obviously shy, but he couldn't help it. Simone loves his men, they're thick muscular bodies, but you had softness, plushness, a warmth to you he hadn't felt in forever. He was greedy, but the boys were worse, hounding him to tell you about them so they could get their hands on you.

"You know that's not healthy. We can't always eat takeout." You protest, but his hands are already slipping under the waistband of your sweatpants, making your breath hitch. "Si..." You whine a little, wiggling in his grasp and making him chuckle darkly.

"What is it, pup? Do you want to suck me off first? I'll call for some dinner after." He coos in your ear, teasingly rubbing the front of your panties with a slow, deliberate hand. He felt your head bobbing yes, hands slipping from out of your pants, letting you turn around and slide to your knees in front of him.

You were a virgin when you met Simon, and after talking with Simon for almost 6 months, it didn't feel too wrong to sleep with him on your first official date together. After all, you knew him well enough, and you trusted him. You had no reason not to, right?

Sliding down his sweatpants and boxers your greeted with his half hard cock, hanging heavy between his legs. You swallow hard, looking up at him and opening your mouth to start taking some of him into your mouth.

Simon let out a soft moan as he felt your mouth slide over his shaft, tongue stroking the underside of his cock. He threads his fingers through your hair to anchor himself, holding his phone in his other hand as he watches your head bobbing up and down his length.

"Oh fuck puppy, that's a good boy yeah?" He grunts, gently pushing your head further down his cock. He loves the small gag you let out, knowing not to push your head down too far or fast, but loving the way your eyes fall shut as you try to swallow all of him down. Opening his phone camera, he holds it discreetly, so if your eyes open back up, you won't see it easily, and takes a picture.

A flash makes your eyes pop open, widening as you spot the phone in Simon's hand once the big black spot in your vision goes away. You gag around him, pulling your head back and letting a string of saliva connect your lips to his cock. "Si?" You sputter weakly, Simon keeping a firm grip in your hair.

"Shit, pup... m sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen." He apologizes, setting his phone aside with a little smile. "You just look so good like that, so good when I fuck you that I have to remember it. Have too keep your pretty mouth and cunt with me yeah?" He continues, stroking your hair away from your face now.

"You... Si, you took pictures?" You ask shyly, expecting to feel... exposed? Ashamed? But you didn't, you could feel your panties growing wetter, pussy throbbing eagerly between your legs. "You didn't send them to anyone, did you?" You ask, face flushing and thighs squeezing together at the thought.

"Just my boys. The team." Simon confesses, might as well be honest when already caught in the act. Your eyes widen, mouth falling open in shock, which Simon used as an opportunity to thrust back into your mouth. "I trust em with my life, pup... They cover my back on deployment, ya know? You can trust them with your pretty little body, yeah?" He groans softly, thrusting himself down your throat, and you open up for him, tears pricking your eyes from the pressure.

Simon takes another picture, pulling your head up a little to catch your teary eyes and stretched lips, letting out another soft groan at the sight. "Oh fuck me, pup... so good for me. Gonna be so good for us." He mutters, thrusting into your mouth as you suck him down needily, letting out a few gags that made his cock twitch in your throat.

Good for us? What did he mean us? The team? Your thighs squeeze together at the thought. You'd only seen his team once, when he brought them into the library for a book club you ran once a month at the library. The team, the bearded broad captain, the loud rambunctious Scott, and the handsome, puppy eyed Sargent had all left an impression on you.

Maybe they could leave an impression in you...

Your thoughts are interrupted by Simon pulling his cock out of your mouth, stroking himself in his hand furiously so he could finish on your face. Eagerly, you stick out your tongue, realizing that he was filming just as he blew his load into your open mouth and onto your cheeks and throat. You're eyes flutter shut, and Simone chuckles, filming your face for a few moments longer before setting the camera aside.

Simon carefully swipes his finger through his cum, slipping it into your mouth to swallow and smirking at the way your face scrunched slightly. "Aw, I can't taste that bad.." He coos, rubbing your bottom lip gently. You pout a little, teasingly licking his finger just to watch his eyes darken eagerly.

"You need to stop smoking. That's why it's bitter." You insist, also worried for his general health. Simon hums, easily standing you up and sitting you on the kitchen counter. "What do you mean, I'm going to be good for 'us?'" You ask softly, fingers playing with the collar of Simon's shirt. "You mean... the team?"

Simon's hands eagerly move your sweatpants and panties down, pulling your hips closer to the edge of the counter. "Yeah, pup... the team and I like to share each other, ya know? It gets lonely, doing what we do." He prods your thighs open with his hand, gathering slick onto his fingers and rubbing them against your engorged clit. "When I saw you, I knew we just had to have you, puppy. Your so good for me, so fucking pretty and soft." Simon encourages eagerly, using his other hand to keep your eyes locked on his.

"Si! Fuck... what if they don't want me?" You manage, hips starting to roll into the firm friction he was giving you.

"Oh, pup..." He chuckles, lowering himself down to his knees and pulling your legs over his shoulder. "We can have them come over for dinner... You love to host, right?" Simon offers, nibbling your thighs softly and giving soft licks to the spots he bites too hard. "Just one dinner, and you can see how much we want you. Please? For me?" He begs, eyes shining up at you from between your legs.

Simon never begs.

After a long moment, and with Simon breathing against your damp sex, you nod your head eagerly and thread your fingers through his hair. Simon grins at you with an eager smirk, lowering his mouth down to your cunt and eagerly beginning to lick from your entrance to your clit.

You whimper, hips starting to roll again, but Simon holds you still this time, turning his head to nip your thigh before going back to his dinner for the evening. Your head falls back onto the cabinet behind you, giving his hair soft tugs as starts licking and sucking your clit. Another weak moan escapes you, thighs squeezing shut around Simon's head when you see his phone set up to record, flash still on.

Simon groans into your sex, nose bumping your clit now as he sticks his tongue into your hole. You cry out, hips trying to buck into hands, but it's useless. The camera recording, the fact that those pictures and videos were being sent to the team, how many other pictures had he sent to them? You came faster than he'd ever made you cum, pulling his head into you and squeezing his head in place with your thighs.

Simon groans eagerly, circling your clit with his tongue until you finally released his head from between your legs. He chuckles, leaning back onto his heels and showing you his slicked face.

"So... when should we schedule that dinner?" He offers. The cheeky bastard. When he hears your stomach growl, he looks down at your tummy than back at you guiltily. "Or maybe we should order our dinner first, huh?"

"And stop your camera." You giggle, pointing your foot over to the phone. Simon stands and helps you from the counter, kissing you softly before he grabs his phone and turns it off.

He knew you'd be perfect for them.

#yummy #ftm nsft #mlm nsft #ghost x reader #poly!team 141 #poly 141 x reader #smut concept #mlm smut #simon ghost riley call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #captain John price #kyle gaz garrick #fanfic

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 4 days ago

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Ripped ghost truthers come to my doorsteps to die.

Edit for clarification: ripped = extremely defined muscles.

#these photos are of healthy and extremely strong guys #theyre not fat or pudgy those are different (also amazing) body types #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #call of duty

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 5 days ago

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Wow

Rope kink W Simon Riley

Simon loved you, there was no denying that. Anyone who knew him could see he was absolutely head over heels for you.

But there were a few little things that he didn’t exactly love, per se. Course, not that he ever held it against you.

One of which being trying to give you head while you squirmed and thrashed like he was torturing you instead of giving you the best head of your life. He tried, trust him, lovie, he really did but it got to a point. And that point was your knee jerking up and smacking him square in the face one night.

Foot to the nose. Pain sharp enough to make his eyes water. You’d gasped in horror, apologizing a dozen times, but all he could do was laugh through the sting and tell you it was fine.

Still, after that? Every time he tried to settle between your thighs again, he flinched. Couldn’t even properly enjoy his meal without wondering if he’d leave it with a bloody nose.

So, he got ropes.

Soft ones, nothing that’d leave marks. Just strong enough to keep your squirmy little ass on the bed where he wanted you. Ankles spread and wrists tied.

And god, it changed everything.

He could finally take his time, slow, wet licks, the flat of his tongue dragging against your clit, the way he liked. No flailing limbs, no sudden kicks. Just your sweet moans and the soft creak of the rope pulling taut every time you bucked your hips.

But it didn’t stop there.

He hadn’t expected the rope to dig up something deep inside him, but it did.

Because soon it t wasn’t just about holding you still. It was about the way the red rope looked in contrast against your soft skin. The way your chest rose and fell faster when he blindfolded you and you didn’t know where his mouth would land next. The way you whimpered when he pulled back right before you came, or didn’t.

He didn’t know what he liked more: the tears you cried from too much pleasure, or the ones that came when he denied you over and over until you were begging. Both? He could do both, for hours.

And now? Now he had his favorite meal tied up, crying for him in the prettiest ways.

And this time, no bruises for him, just pussy drunk bliss. Better than alcohol he’d had.

finally writing againn 😛

#ghost cod #fanfic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #Simon ghost Riley x reader #bondage

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 5 days ago

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This might be a wild one.

But hear me out okay.

Simon has his hand somewhere intimate at all times whenever it’s the two of you together.

NOW okay stay with me…

At first, it was somewhat innocent. You’d both be watching a movie on the sofa, he’d deliberately have you lie across him just so his hand can rest on your ass. Casual couple things y’know.

But as your relationship progresses and he’s very used to being able to touch his pretty girl whenever possible…he tends to stray to more intimate places.

There would be one time, you’d be standing in the kitchen, cooking dinner for him on the rare occasion he gets to have a home cooked meal for once. And he’d stand behind you, humming some dumb song that’s been stuck in his head for days. But his hands will be on your tits.

Now, there’s nothing sexual about it really. He just likes holding them. Likes touching you. He’d probably give the occasional squish now and again because let’s face it he’s a man and they’d all do it.

But the only time his need to be touching you would turn sexual, is by complete accident.

(Hear me the fuck out okay?)

So you’d both be lying in bed, you’d be scrolling through your phone as he’s reading beside you (he reads, it’s obvious).

But his hand, would be down whatever pants or shorts you’re wearing for bed, underneath your underwear if you are wearing any at the time…and his hand would simply be resting on your cunt.

Like I said, it wouldn’t be sexual at first and it was an accident this time around.

Because this man can’t sit still at home, it’s too quiet…too calm…he needs something to do.

So what does he do? Play with your cunt.

The pad of his middle finger would idly rub up and down over your clit, not even trying to put any effort in all whilst he focuses on reading. Even if you’re there slightly squirming from the pleasure that the rhythmic motion of his finger creates, he wouldn’t really notice straight away.

He’d circle it a few times, all the while you’re trying to keep quiet as to not disturb him. Having to hold in every moan or soft sound your body aches to let out.

And for the most part, he seems completely focused. Even when his finger would slide down and gather every drop leaking out of you and bring it back to your clit just for more stimulation.

It’s only when you’re close to cumming from the lazy but constant stimulation that he’ll lean down slightly just to whisper in your ear.

“C’mon…give it to me love…please…”

He knows.

He always knows.

#cod smut #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #call of duty fanfic #cod x reader

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 6 days ago

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Masterlist

Find my backup blog here

AN: Requests are now open 💛

Add yourself to my taglist

Masterlist Updated -3 / 7 / 2023

Marvel Harry Potter Era Marauders Era The Walking Dead Sons Of Anarchy The Hobbit / The Lord Of The Rings Star Wars The Maze Runner The Vampire Diaries Stranger Things Bridgerton Love & Deepspace COD : Modern Warfare Other

Writing Challenge Masterlists

Comfort Rules/Masterlist

Advice for fic writers

Fic Rec 2021 Masterlist / Fic Rec 2022

Characters I Write For

Goals for 2023

My Dads book -The Kizguard Saga ~ A Quest For Unlikely Heroes

#master list #lots of different fandoms so had to share

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other-fandoms-reblogs · 6 days ago

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INSPECTED

౨ৎ — beware of dubcon, possessive behavior, pussy inspection, rough unprotected sex, fingering, degradation, implied cheating accusations, breeding, throat fucking, cunnilingus, and manhandling

the barracks were quiet, the usual hum of soldiers winding down for the night replaced by a thick tension. you’d been simon’s little secret for weeks now, his barracks bunny, always eager to please him whenever he crooked a finger in your direction. but tonight, his mood was different—dark, possessive, the kind that made your stomach twist with both fear and something hotter, something desperate.

“heard you’ve been spreading those pretty legs for anyone who asks,” he growled, his voice low, rough like gravel. his massive frame loomed over you, crowding you against the wall of his private quarters. the accusation hit you like a slap, your breath catching in your throat.

“w-what? no, sir, i—i wouldn’t—”

“shut it.” his hand clamped over your mouth, cutting off your protest. his eyes, sharp behind that mask, raked over you like he could see right through your clothes. “gonna inspect you myself. make sure you’re still mine.”

your pulse skyrocketed, thighs pressing together instinctively. but he didn’t give you a choice. one large hand gripped your waist, spinning you around to face the wall. his body pressed against your back, his cock already hard against your ass.

“spread ‘em,” he ordered, voice leaving no room for argument.

you whimpered but obeyed, shuffling your feet apart. his hand slid down your thigh, pushing your skirt up roughly. his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down to your knees. the cold air hit your bare skin, making you shiver.

“fuck, look at you,” he muttered, his free hand spreading your cheeks apart. “gonna check every inch of this cunt. make sure no one else’s been here.”

his thumb dragged through your folds, slow and deliberate, spreading you open. you gasped, your hips jerking forward, but he held you still. “stay put,” he growled. “this is an inspection, sweetheart. not a fuck.”

his fingers slide through your folds, spreading you open. “fuck, look at you. puffy little cunt, all swollen up just from me lookin’ at it.” he rubs his thumb over your clit, just once, and you jerk. “sensitive, too.”

he chuckled darkly, rubbing his thumb over your clit again, just enough to make you whine. “dirty little thing,” he murmured. “already soaked. you like this, don’t you? being checked like some cheap whore.”

“n-no, i—ah!” your protest turned into a moan as two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning, stretching you open. he worked them deep, curling just right, and your knees nearly buckled.

“tight,” he noted, voice rough. “but that doesn’t prove shit.” his fingers fucked into you, rough and relentless, the sound obscenely wet. “gotta check deeper.”

you were panting now, your hips rocking back against his hand, chasing the pleasure despite yourself. he added a third finger, stretching you impossibly wider, and you cried out, your nails scraping the wall.

“fuck, sir—please—”

“please what?” he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “tell me what you want, bunny.”

“i—i need—ah!” his thumb pressed hard on your clit, rubbing circles just shy of painful, and your vision whited out. your orgasm crashed over you, your cunt clenching around his fingers as you came with a broken sob.

he didn’t stop. his fingers kept pumping into you, dragging your pleasure out until you were shaking, oversensitive. only then did he pull his hand away, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth. he licked them clean, eyes locked on yours.

“taste like mine,” he rumbled. “but i’m not done.”

before you could process his words, he was spinning you around, forcing you onto your knees. his belt clinked as he undid it, his cock springing free, thick and flushed. “open,” he ordered.

you obeyed, your mouth falling open, and he shoved himself between your lips without hesitation. you gagged, tears pricking your eyes as he fucked your throat, his grip tight in your hair.

“gonna check this too,” he grunted. “make sure no one else’s been here either.”

you choked around him, drool dripping down your chin, but he didn’t let up. his hips snapped forward, forcing himself deeper, until your nose pressed against his pelvis.

when he finally pulled back, you gasped for air, your lips swollen, your face wet. he tilted your chin up, his thumb smearing spit across your bottom lip. “good girl,” he murmured. “still mine.”

then he was hauling you up, tossing you onto the cot. his hands ripped your clothes away, leaving you bare beneath him. his mouth was on your cunt before you could blink, his tongue lapping at your folds like he was starving.

you writhed, your back arching, but he pinned your hips down, his tongue fucking into you with brutal precision. he sucked your clit into his mouth, biting just enough to make you scream.

“simon—fuck, i can’t—i can’t—”

“come again,” he ordered, his voice vibrating against your skin. “prove you’re mine.”

you shattered, your body convulsing as another orgasm tore through you. he didn’t stop until you were limp, your thighs trembling around his head.

only then did he rise, unbuckling the rest of his gear. his cock was dripping, his need obvious. he dragged you to the edge of the cot, flipping you onto your stomach. one hand pressed between your shoulder blades, holding you down as he lined himself up.

“gonna inspect this cunt thoroughly now,” he growled.

then he was inside you, splitting you open in one brutal thrust. you screamed, your nails clawing at the sheets as he bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass.

“fuck,” he hissed. “so fucking tight. still just for me.”

he didn’t give you time to adjust. his hands gripped your hips, yanking you back onto his cock with every thrust. the cot creaked beneath you, the sound drowned out by your moans, his grunts.

“mine,” he snarled, his pace relentless. “this pussy’s mine. say it.”

“y-yours!” you sobbed. “only yours, sir—fuck!”

he slammed into you harder, his fingers digging bruises into your skin. you could feel him everywhere, his cock stretching you impossibly full, his breath hot on your neck.

“gonna fill you up,” he promised, his voice ragged. “mark you from the inside. let everyone know who you belong to.”

the words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your cunt clenching around him. he groaned, his thrusts turning erratic.

“come for me, bunny,” he ordered. “one more time.”

you did, your body obeying him instantly. your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your walls fluttering around him, milking his cock. with a final, brutal thrust, he followed, his cum flooding your cunt, his growl muffled against your shoulder.

he stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you panting, before he finally pulled out. his cum dripped from your used cunt, and he dragged his fingers through it, smearing it over your thighs.

“good girl,” he murmured, pressing a rough kiss to your spine. “passed inspection.”

#call of duty #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #Simon ghost Riley #Simon ghost Riley x reader #cod x reader #Simon ghost Riley smut

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