#kick ghosts x reader

[hffhifjou]

look at him 👁️👁️

[frogchiro]

In reference to your other post: Wolf Hybrid!Ghost taking the reader from behind, his mind clouded with lust as he mounts them, lining up his thick cock before stretching them open. He can't help but look down at where they connect, seeing their hole stretched thin over his cock and making him mutter a teasing "Awww... biiig stretch" under his breath, lips pulled into a pleased smirk as he goes to pound town.

I literally came tf did you put in this ask

Wolf dog hybrid!Simon who, if able to, would mount you all the time and not let you off of his dick, his large knot keeping you tied to him and the pointy tip of his lengthy cock leaking and spurting his fertile sperm deep in you :((

Remember that he's huge! Build like a shit brickhouse, broad, burly shoulders, bulky arms and legs, a nice healthy layer of fat on his tummy making him seem even larger and his fluffy tail and pointy, fuzzy dog ears on top of his head only complete the look. Whenever he drapes himself over your smaller, soft body and grinds hips strong hips against you you always loose your balance a bit and whine at him to please not put all his weight on you, you'll break under him!!

But Simon just snuffles and makes a chuffing noise as he pushes his nose right under your jaw to inhale your scent, his fluffy tail wagging like crazy behind him; he wouldn't admit it but he always gets so stupidly happy whenever you're near. His mate is close and all he wants to do is to nip and tease you, herd you away and then mount :((

Imagine Simon thrusting his hips without abandon, so fucking turned on and horny, low growls escaping his maw as he listens attentively to your whines and whimpers and he can't help but smirk at the delicious sight of your poor, swollen pussy stretched open so wide to accommodate his large, heavy cock, his swollen tip hitting against your battered cervix and he almost howls at the feeling of being so so deep in you :(

Si would smirk and slow down his insistent thrusts to a slow in and out and using his thumbs he'd spread your cunt open to see his length stretching you to your limits and it's then when he growls a nasty:

"Aahhh would you look at tha'...Biiig stretch lovie'

And you're both speechless and embarrassed at the same time :(( He threw your affectionate words you use when you find Si particularly cute back at you when you're stretched wide on his dick :(( He's so mean :((

[tojisun]

i would loveeee to see what was like the first time simon and reader were like.. together uhum fucked…. like after they went out of the bar that they met at, yk what i mean??? my english is shit im so sorry but i loveeee how you write simon, soft and full of love 😫💞

HI ANON OMG ITS BEEN YEARS SINCE THIS ASK!! im so sorry for how late im replying :(( and no omg ur english is good, pls dont apologize for it ^v^ and thank u so so much ahhhhh <33

prev (context of the ask) // biker!simon mlist

!! smut - minors dni; praises (might be a kink but its def just simon being in luv); purity kink n dumbification but only if u squint hard; unrealistic sex (cervix penetration); female reader

simon parks the car – johnny’s old dodge; fixed it up using scraps from the shop – in front of his place, silent as he listens to you breathe. you’ve been shivering since the entire ride, quiet puffs of your breath only breaking through when simon’s playlist lapses into silence.

he’s been eyeing you from the corners of his eyes ever since you two left the bar, watching as you played with the loose thread on your sweater, eyes darting between him and the expansive road. he licks the back of his teeth, unclenching his jaw to speak, only, you beat him to it.

“wanna kiss you,” you say, so soft that it almost gets drowned by the rising crescendo of the guitar rift rumbling from the speakers.

simon’s breath hitches, the grip he has on the steering wheel tightening, and he turns as you do, your shy gaze trailing from his fists to his eyes. there’s a spark somewhere there, an instant shift that has simon changing his gait, body rippling and before he knows it, he’s reaching out towards you.

you meet him halfway, body getting jostled until you freeze when the seatbelt snaps. simon takes over, reassuring as he brushes your hair away from your face, sure fingers trailing to click at the holster so that he can finally tug you close.

you clamber to his lap with his help, trembling legs going over the cup holders before settling on top of him, mindful of the horn. simon catches you anyway, big hands spanning your back, ghosting touches along your spine.

he feels your back quiver as you breathe in, memorizing the way you feel in his touch, on his lap, emitting warmth that tickles his skin. he stares at you for a moment, letting his heartbeat settle. then, he presses forward to catch your lips.

you gasp his name, a soft little thing that makes his lungs constrict. he holds you close, steadies you on top of him, slotting his lips easily against your own. your fingers fist his shirt, bundling the fabric tight, and simon groans when you melt on top of him, a pleasured sigh filtering through, splintering into the air, before being devoured by simon’s greed.

he nips at your lips, his tongue slick as it slide against yours, and it’s all too warm, too feverish, too good. and all parts not enough.

the clack of teeth echo in his ears, ringing so loudly, ripping him into needy shreds. you two separate with a whimper. simon blinks his eyes open, catching the way you chase his lips, your own throbbing and wet and plump.

“shit, baby,” he whispers and dives into you again, unable to stop himself.

smaller hands rove over his body, rubbing from his elbows to grip his shoulders, and settling atop his head to fist the strands of his hair. he growls at the first pull and it leaves you putty in his arms, swaying your hips like molten caramel – languid and tantalizing.

he needs more. desperately.

he breaks the kiss again, nuzzling his nose on yours in apology when you whined, and murmurs, “wanna take this inside?”

simon hears the ragged drag of your breath and feels the jostling of your head as you nod.

he hums. “use y’r words, sweetheart.”

“please,” you reply instantly. “i want to. take this inside, i mean.”

simon presses a quick kiss on your lips as a reward. “of course,” he says, gentle as he tugs you closer to him. “let me take care of you, yeah?”

-

you hiccup at the first slide of his cock, gentle and tentative as it strokes past the fluttering lips of your dripping pussy, and presses in between your plush walls. you cry, burying your head on the pillows, feeling full even when simon’s cock isn’t even fully in yet.

the bulbed head breaches further, carving out space for his thickness, and you go taut, breathing raggedly, tongue dry and wet at the same time. distantly, you hear simon curse, lilted litanies of your name spilling from gritted teeth.

you feel your heart beat in staccato, pounding within the cages of your ribs at the realization that he’s feeling the same way – devoured by the intensity of your bodies matching up. you push your hips back to him, eating up more of his length, and simon’s hold on your waist gains strength, stopping you from moving any more.

it’s not like you can, not with the way your arms snap underneath the weight of your body and pleasure, and you tip into the sheets, a cry spilling from your lips. simon pauses, one of his hands leaving your waist to let his warm palm glide along your back. his touch tickles the ridges of your shoulder blades before he presses down on the valley along your spine.

he’s everywhere, it seems – deep in you, warm against your back. you don’t know what it is but it makes you sob, crashing desire razing from the base of your neck to the tips of your toes.

“shh, my love,” simon whispers, his voice ragged and thick with his own desire. “y’r doin’ so amazing for me. so beautiful. so delicate.”

you whimper, tilting your head to the side as you gasp in a breath. you try to reply but your tongue feels so heavy and your mind is blank. it is only filled with a deafening static and simon.

simonsimonsimon.

it’s all so much. it’s still not enough. it’s a miasma of carnality – ever so expanding now that you’ve got a taste of it.

simon kisses the back of your head. “can y’take all of it f’r me?”

all of it? all of him?

he’s not- he’s not fully in yet?

you garble a reply, a mix of yes and please and simon’s name. simon, in return, peppers kisses on your back and murmured words on the trembling rise of where your lungs are. he holds you again, his hands leaving your waist to wrap your fists with his warm touch instead, and it makes you swoon, unintelligible cooing noises tumbling from your lips and into the space between.

the moment simon sinks himself deep, his pelvis hitting the flesh of your ass, you keen, drawn out and long. tears trickle from your eyes and drool spill from the corner of your lips, staining his pillow. but it doesn’t matter because simon, big and filling simon, ruts his hips once, twice, three times, before he’s pulling out again.

“si-!” his name dies on your tongue when simon snaps his hips back, his cock sliding into your pussy and breaching your tight walls again. you scream, a broken cry of your pleasure ripping itself from your throat.

simon doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop – why would he? it feels so good!

sogoodsogoodsogood!

“so tight f’r me,” you hear him rumble, his lips close to your ear. he sounds so drunk in his pleasure. so drunk in you. “so good, lovie.”

“feel where i am hittin’?” he thrusts in harder, kissing somewhere deep, the thick head snug in your cunt. “feel me ‘ere?”

simon punches in his cock again, the weight of his balls slapping against your cunt, and you realize. god you realize what it is he’s hitting.

you squeal, slick gushing along the length of his cock, pooling along the wet lips of your pussy, slicking you two even more.

“yeah,” simon laughs, nipping along your neck. “s’your cervix, isn’t it, love?” he ruts his cock deep again when he says this, exchanging his fast thrusts for slow humping, making you feel every inch. every press.

you sob, nodding because yes, yes it is!

simon croons, nosing along your hair, breathing you in. “y’r takin’ me so well. takin’ me so greedily. y’r so precious, lovie. so perfect, so beautiful.”

his words slur together as he gets lost to his own pleasure, sinking into the euphoria engulfing him. you moan, choked squeals of his name lolling out of your babbling mouth. you feel untethered. floaty. you feel so full and so stuffed, your belly fluttering at every deep kiss of simon’s cock.

you feel so-

“simon! si- ah!- si! si!”

the spray of your squirt falls on your unhearing ears, a stuttering white buzz that fills your mind muffling everything that isn’t simon’s cock and your pleasure. simon curses from behind you, his face falling to the crook of your neck again, shaking as he fucks you harder and faster, sporadic thrusts turning into shallow pumps as he chases his own peaking pleasure.

and you take it. you take it like the good girl he told you that you are, limp and overstimulated, because simonsimonsimon.

-

from: soap (02:13)

> so i dropped off your bike :D

> may have heard you fucking your date.

> how are your neighbours not calling to complain?

to: soap (06:23)

remind me to block your number. <

WHEW!! not my best work :(( but i enjoyed writing this holy shit??

tagging: @babygirl-riley @teehee-47 @comeonatmebruh

[moongreenlight]

I love your work about the 141 gossiping about Ghost, love the concept of him having a “secret wife”.

Please please please write more with “secret wife y/n”, I beg of you. 🙏🏻

ANYTHING FOR YOU, ANON. <3 Ghost and secretwife!reader are my sweet babies I love them so much.

Tw: blond Simon & smiling Simon. Read at your own risk.

If there’s one thing Gaz knows how to do, it’s shut the fuck up. And if there was ever a time to employ that skill, it was now. Now after he’d been frozen watching the two of you reunite after a close call. After he’d discovered your dirty little secret. Suddenly feeling like Icarus after flying too close to the sun. Hurtling back down to earth. He was certain that when he moved there would be a crater under his feet where his stomach dropped.

He’d gone so green that another nurse came up and gently tugged on his arm to see if he was alright. He snapped his jaw shut, nodding and mumbling something that didn’t sound anywhere near reassuring. But he forced himself to leave the medbay. Left the two of you behind the curtain, where in his final glance back he saw that your feet were still neatly on top of Ghost’s big boots. Pushed up on your toes to be able to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He made some excuse not to meet with you that evening. Could barely look you in the eye when you caught him in the hall, looking significantly more cheery than you had been that morning. You pried, asking if he was alright, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand, but he claimed the stress of their mission had just hit him and he really needed to sleep.

It took him weeks to get over the initial shock. Couldn’t stand next to Ghost during conditioning. Made a point of sitting catty-corner to him during meetings and in transit so he had the least chances of accidentally catching his eye. Feeling like he’d deeply bastardized the idea of ‘Ghost.’ Blurred the lines between the man Gaz knew and the man he was in private.

He tried to reason with himself. Keep it fresh in his mind that he’d seen the signs, just hadn’t been able to fully connect the dots by himself. And it was an accident. He’d never intentionally pry into either of your personal lives like that. It wasn’t in his character. There was nothing innately wrong with the two of you hiding a marriage. Probably would have been an HR nightmare. Gotten both of you re-stationed. He was certain you both had a good reason to hide it. And there was no better person to find out than him. He’d actually be able to keep it a secret. Soap would immediately run his mouth. Get on the intercoms and scream the news as loud as he could. Price would pull the both of you aside and try to have some heart-to-heart. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice, it just would have felt too forced. Wouldn’t have served any real purpose.

So eventually he gets over it. Never pressed you about your marriage again, and you never seemed too keen on following up his request from months ago. The dust settles in his mind. He shelves the information like an old book. Life goes on.

And then the weather turns. Starts getting colder. The first few weeks of cold after summer where the wind stings a little more. Finds it’s way through jackets and uniforms a little more artfully. Soldiers are catching ill and passing it around like it’s a competition of who can infect the entire base. The medbay is busy, but a different kind of busy than summer when it’s an optimal time to see missions through.

The medics are tasked with rounding up all the soldiers on base and issuing flu vaccines to hopefully prevent further spread. You trudge to Price’s office in the early morning. He notices you look a little pale. The rims of your eyes and tip of your nose are blotchy. A gentle shade of pink that he assumes is from the weather or the cold you were bound to catch. You chat for a bit, catch up because you haven’t had the opportunity for a few weeks. Let him know that he and the boys need to make their way to the bay for their shots at some point.

You feel a little woozy. Pressing into his doorframe for support, white-knuckling it to keep yourself from swaying in your spot. He looks a little concerned. Asks if you need to take a few days away to recoup. You wave him off, tell him it’s nothing you can’t handle, but he insists on walking you back to medbay. And he’s glad he did because on the short walk back you find yourself having to duck into a dark meeting room so you can vomit into a trash can.

He keeps a steadying arm wrapped around your waist when you stumble back out into the hall. Shaking his head when you profusely apologize. Slowing his normally long strides so you were comfortable. Gently lets you down on your own cot and instructs you to stay where you are while he goes to find a few other doctors that can delegate your work for the day between them so you can have the day off.

He sends you home despite your protest. You’d already gotten your color back. Claimed you must’ve had something off to eat. He wasn’t having it. Said he wouldn’t have his best doctor spreading sick because she’s too stubborn to get off her feet for a few hours. He’s a bit more stern than usual because he knows you won’t listen otherwise, but he brings you a ginger ale and sits next to your bed until you’ve finished it.

Later that day, when he and the boys finally get around to the bay for vaccines, he notices the way Ghost’s eyes dart around like he was looking for something. His shoulders tensing when he sees your station empty, and moments after he’s taken his shot, Price sees that he’s slunk off to a corner to make a phone call.

He doesn’t think much of it. He’s been trying to give Ghost some space. So he just shrugs it off. Let’s him finish up whatever he’s doing before they get back to work.

The boys have gotten in the habit of taking a week off as the snow melts. Just before Spring brings rain and the soft buds of new leaves on the trees. Unofficial tradition proposed early on to have a few more days rest before things inevitably picked up again. Usually gave the boys time to kick off to visit family or get some well needed time away from base. Get in a well needed break because God knew they wouldn’t be able to for the foreseeable future.

Soap finds himself a little North of Manchester in his time off. Went out to see his godparents in Bolton for a couple days before getting back up to Iverness to see his parents. Meandering through a supermarket to pick up a bottle of wine for his godmother and a bottle of bourbon for himself. Could have sworn he saw Simon turning a corner at the end of the aisle. Chalked it up to a trick of the light. Seeing things after months of close quarters with his L.T.

But then he saw the man again. Stood in line at the butcher’s counter. No mask, but the same crooked nose and cropped blond hair. Same scar hooking his jaw. Swapped out his uniform and gear for a thick leather jacket, white shirt, and a pair of jeans. Would have been unrecognizable if Johnny didn’t know him so well.

He was about to head over to say hello. Make some wise crack about Ghost missing him too much, but he was stilled for a moment when a woman approached Simon. Pushed her cart up next to him and nudged his side with her hip. Prompted him to give her a small smile- the only smile Soap had ever seen Simon grace anyone with. No teeth, just a curve of his lips, but it changed his face completely.

Ghost said something to the woman. She reached up to fuss with the collar of his jacket. Johnny saw her shoulders shake slightly and heard the quiet tinkling sound of her laughter. Completely shell shocked. So imagine his surprise when the woman turned away from Ghost and it was you. Only you looked wildly different. He knew your face well enough, but after almost six months not going to the medbay on a weekly basis, something had changed.

Even wearing an oversized sweatshirt he could see the way it pulled taught against your swollen belly. Saw the way your arm was cradling it like second nature. He didn’t even realize that the bottle of wine had slipped from his fingers until he watched Simon’s head snap toward the sound. Ears perked. Tense like he’d suddenly flashed onto the battlefield. His eyes went wild for a moment as he scanned the busy aisle, calmed only a degree when he found you.

It’s like that Spider-Man meme where the three of them meet and point at each other. Johnny’s smiling sheepishly (for once), your jaw is dropped in surprise, and Simon is glaring daggers at Johnny like somehow it was his fault that you were all in the same place at once. You’re the first one to move. Rushing up to him as quickly as you could- now moving a bit awkwardly with the disproportionate weight of your pregnancy on your front. Asking if he was alright. Grabbing his hands to make sure the glass hadn’t cut him.

Simon tailed you like a hulking shadow. Glowering down at Soap something fucking ferocious. Didn’t even give him time to tell you he was fine. Pulling you back behind his arm by the wrists with a kind of gentleness Johnny had never known the L.T. to possess. You twisted your face in displeasure, batting his hands away and stepping back out from behind the wall that was your husband. Ignoring the wine and the soft crunch of glass under your shoes.

And to Soap’s absolute bafflement, Simon stood down. Didn’t try to yank you back, didn’t voice his protest, just drew his mouth into a hard line and let you push past him. He was speechless. For what well may have been the first time in his life, John MacTavish had no words. Couldn’t apologize for the mess. Couldn’t crack a joke. Couldn’t even say hello. He was pure dead at a loss.

Somehow, he allowed you to guide him away from the mess he’d made- staining the waxed tile a muted crimson even after the disgruntled looking employee came over to mop it up. Found his voice in your tugging him along after you and Simon to the checkout where you insisted you’d pay for the bottle of bourbon he’d managed not to send careening to the ground. Tried to tell you no, but you’d already sent it down the belt. And by the time you’d rooted through your purse in search of your card, Simon had already finished paying and was tucking his wallet into his back pocket.

Shuffled out with the two of you into the car park. Making a point of putting distance between himself and Simon who was pushing the cart with one hand and had the other planted firmly on the small of your back. Always walking on the side of oncoming traffic.

Johnny tried to keep up with your conversation. Asking him about his break. Where he was staying and for how long. How had he been. But it was tense. He could feel Ghost’s eyes on the back of his head. Burning through him. Making him feel like he had a target tacked to his skull.

He said a quick goodbye when Ghost helped you into the passenger seat of your car. You said you’d see him soon enough, said if he had any extra time before they went back he’d have to come by for dinner. Simon closed the door before you could say anything else. Looking monumentally irked.

The two men stood in suffocating silence while Simon unloaded the groceries into the trunk. Johnny tried to ignore the glinting of the silver band on the L.T’s finger. Caught the light every time he set a new bag in the back. A little unsure if he was being dismissed or if Ghost was just waiting until he was certain you wouldn’t hear the lashing he was bound to receive.

But it all stayed relatively calm. Maybe the eye of the hurricane. Simon pushed the bottle of bourbon into his chest before swinging the trunk shut.

“Appreciate if you’d keep this between us.”

Ghost spoke first, the words sounding a bit sticky in his throat- like they didn’t want to come out.

“‘Course.”

Johnny’s voice wasn’t much better. Both of them shifted on their feet. Not use to this kind of conversation. Uncomfortable being pushed from their usual dynamic.

Simon just nodded, moving to push the cart back to the corral. Johnny followed.

“How long you been keepin’ this in?”

“Which bit.”

His response was flat.

“Dinnae, L.T. Seems yer a man o’ mystery these days.”

Soap prodded, unable to help himself. A smile crept into his voice.

“Don’t push it.”

Simon bit back.

“Bonnie thing for a brute like you.”

“Johnny.”

“Looks ready’ta pop.”

A harsh sigh from Ghost. He reached into his jacket pocket like he was going for a cigarette. Tightening his jaw when his hand showed back up empty. He hummed his agreement.

“Few months.”

They’d reached Johnny’s car by this point. Just a few rows over in the car park. Stood by his driver’s side door shuffling their feet once more.

“Ken it’ll turn out like you?”

He couldn’t help but ask. Never pictured Ghost the fatherly type, but the idea was growing on him now that it’d been planted in his mind.

“Hope not.”

Simon gruffed back. Johnny snorted.

“Boy o’ girl?”

This earned him a nasty look, but he figured he was in deep enough as it was. No harm in asking.

“Girls.”

[hunterbunter3000]

OMG SWEETHEART GETTING THE GUYS WORKED UP😍 GET IT GIRLFRIEND

imagine she wears on the those dresses that have HIGH ass slits on both sides showing off her thighs and a sliver of her ass. just a peak yk..a little tease for later

WHHOOOOO

I mean it looks so beautiful on her. Hair in thick, long braids, pearls interwoven in the hair by delicate hands, with gold sparkly jewelry adorning on her skin. She looks like ethereal royalty, sultry makeup and hair. Lips glossy and plump with such a pretty color and nails dipped in gold.

And that dress...

It might as well be a second skin, with how sinful it looks on her. A black Spaghetti strapped body con dress with the deepest v-line they've ever seen. And when she walks, the splits show off her shiny, thick thighs and her long "Stairway to Heaven" legs-- fuckkkkkk

The clicks of her gold gladiator heels makes all of their fantasies want to come true. "Alright, boys! How do I look?" She asks with a smile as she pivots her back towards them. Oh hell, you can see some of her ass-- who the fuck made this dress?

Gaz inhales deeply and Alex bites his fist. Soap has drool coming out of his mouth while Ghost is hiding his crotch behind a pillow. "You look absolutely gorgeous, princess." Price tells her with a low voice, his crossed arms straining against his chest. "Strahlend..." König whispers to himself. "Good." Horangi flats out. He mechanically gives her a thumbs up, not noticing the blood trickling out of his mask. "Good, good. Very good style."

Sweetheart giggles, collecting her purse. "Awww, thanks guys! I'll see you later, okay?" As she was turning around, she drops her wallet on the floor. She mumbles a curse under her breath and bends down to retrieve it.

I mean, good lord. They can only take so much.

[lavenderrkissed]

been thinking about biker ghost and ommggmgggggg im kicking my feet blushing giggling squealing rolling throwing up

listen. he always has an extra helmet just for you, so he can be prepared whenever his princess needs a ride

loves the feeling of your arms wrapped around his waist, or sometimes his neck as well (may or may not go extra fast just so he can feel your grip tighten on him, your torso pressed right against his back)

-puts his hand over yours every so often, gloved thumb caressing yours

he'll also occasionally give your thigh a small pat or squeeze, mostly when stopped at a red light, leaning back into you

- he can't help it, he just loves his backpack too much !!!!

CALL ME CHEESY OR WTV BUTTTT i feel like he'd love those moments when you two "kiss" by bumping helmets together (im sorry its just too cute i had to add it) he just melts every time

he's the type to be like, "hold on tight, baby"

SHSJSJSJJW mueheehehhhehehee i need more ideas

[ohbo-ohno]

blatantly inspired by tlou but currently thinking about a zombie apocalypse au where reader is lost and alone, no one to help her and no clue where to go, and she stumbles into this random trap in the forest, ends up in a pit in the ground. she just sits down there feeling sorry for herself cause she thinks there’s no way she’ll ever survive now that she’s trapped with no way out :(

and then here comes ghost, checking to see what set off one of his traps and he sees a pretty little thing, teary and dirt-covered. she’s clearly helpless without him, and he might be a little heartless but he’s not just gonna leave her down there to starve. so he helps her out and takes her back to his base <3

[krypticcafe]

if I see another person mistake Keegan P. Russ as a Modern Warfare timeline character I swear I'm going to lose it PUT SOME RESPECT ON COD: GHOSTS NAME!! AND REALIZE THAT THE WALKER BROTHERS AND KICK ARE RIGHT!!! THERE!!!

[injestedsoap]

ghost who loves himself a little more (by accident) when he has a partner to take care of. he is a care taker at heart, don't let him tell you otherwise, and when you come down in a crop top when it's just above freezing outside he marches you right back upstairs to get you dressed in real clothes. he fusses with you when you want to run out without a rain coat on, he shoves a veggie on your plate, reminds you about your medication, grumbles as he fills your water bottle every morning. taking care of you helps him remember to take care of himself too, he eats better when he's scolding you, actually goes outside when he insists it's a nice fucking day and you need some sun, brushes his teeth twice a day when he's reminding you to brush yours. taking care of you makes him treat himself a little better.

[adaelines]

Ghost fucks hard.

hips slamming into yours at a bruising pace, one hand holding both of yours above where you lay, the other on the back of your head holding you down against the bed.

he was rough, so much bigger than you. you could sob, cry, whine and he wouldn't stop, he'd take what he wants from you as much as he wants, whatever he wants, and he wouldn't stop until you were begging him to, until he had his fill.

with you, he'd go for hours. round after round of hard fucking, hips rutting into yours, practically mounting you with how he held you down against the bed.

he'd be so filthy too, mask simply pulled up above his mouth enough for him to kiss and bite, enough for him to growl directly in your ear.

"such a good pet," he'd say, voice husky and low, "good fuckin' thing, below me, taking me like it's all you're worth… so fucking tight too, doesn't matter how much I cum inside this hole, you're always so tight around me… fuckin' made for me, huh?"

Simon, however, is soft.

It's a distinguishing difference from Ghost, although they're both your boy, both the man you love, it's different.

his arms would be wrapped around you so tight, holding you as close as he could, practically glued to you. he'd want you skin to skin, no mask, nothing between the two of you, nothing to keep him from any part of you.

he wouldn't think too much about what position he'd take you in, anything is fine as long as he can see your face, hold you close. all that matters to him right now is you. he'd spend hours going down on you, making you cum more times than you could count, before he'd even think about fucking you.

his lips would constantly be on you somewhere. your own, your shoulder, your neck, anywhere. all he'd care about is you, showing you how much you mean, how much he adores you.

"Love you," he'd start, soft and full of so much love it had you tearing up, "Love you s'fucking much… Can't go without you, can't fuckin' think when you're not around, never leavin' again… You take me so well, so deep, could spend forever inside you, can't fuckin' believe you're mine."

Both of them mean the world to you, both of them would give you the stars if you simply asked.

[mrshesh]

"a...worm?" - call of duty: ghosts x reader

overview: cod:ghosts men reacting to you asking if they'd still love you if you were a worm

pairing: call of duty: ghosts men x gender neutral reader, romantic

genre: fluff

a/n: this was requested by @simpforhotmaskedmen! thank you for requesting this, babe! and thank you for wanting me to include kick - i love that man a bit too much. i had a blast writing this. i will always love these worm requests.

x keegan russ

His eyes widen immediately. He isn’t confused - he’s merely amused at your ability to keep thinking of stupid scenarios. 

He secretly finds it adorable. It just adds to your charm. 

“Babe… what?” 

“Would you still love me if I was a worm? It’s an easy question.” 

“I mean, yeah.” He quickly says. He doesn’t put much thought into your fantasy life as a worm. All he knows is that he loves you regardless of what you are. 

He would have a hard time in the beginning. He would find it freaky that you, his partner, are in a worm’s body. 

But eventually, he’d adjust. He would keep you in his pocket, checking up on you constantly. “Are you hungry?” “Do you need anything?” “Are you hurt?” are only some of the questions he’d ask you daily. Would he receive an answer? No. Would he keep asking them? Absolutely. 

“You need medication, babe.” 

x kick

Kick’s initial reaction is just: “What? 😀”

“How do you even come up with these questions?” He would mostly just be confused. 

“Would you, though?” “Yes, of course.” 

Despite his bewilderment, he would realistically take superb care of you. 

He would let you slither in his hands like a snake constantly. He would want to keep his eye on you to ensure your safety, but he would encourage you to be independent. 

He would teach you how to survive individually in life-or-death situations - to further ensure your health. (He would research worm’s way of life for you 🙁💗.)

He would even go as far as to keep a leaf with him at all times in case you got hungry. 

“How would I kiss you?” “On the tip of the body?” “I wouldn’t know if that’s your face or ass, though.” 

x logan walker

A blank stare is all you get initially. Logan soon gives you a small smile, though. He thinks your question is cute as hell.

“Yes.” He’s as blunt and honest as always. He would love you a lot, even if you were a worm. 

However, he would not know what to do.

He would not know how to take care of you. Sure, he’s smart, but he’s not a worm expert. 

He would find himself locking you in his room before his missions, only to return to the room with leaves and dirt in hand because he would forget that you need to eat while he’s gone. 

His knowledge would eventually evolve enough for him to keep you in a big dirt-filled container. 

Logan has always been a quiet man. He doesn’t talk unless he needs to. But if you turned into a worm, he would go out of his way more often to remind you that he loves you. 

I can see him petting you gently before he goes to sleep. ☹️

x david "hesh" walker

David has no shame in laughing at your question. A worm? Seriously? 

He, like Keegan, would not give your question much thought. He just instantly knows that he would love you regardless. 

“Yeah, babe! Of course, I would.” He chuckles. You never fail to amuse him.

He would be a little confused, but he’d have the spirit! 

He would let you be outside during the day and bring you inside when it's time to sleep. 

When you aren’t outside doing… worm things, he would keep you on his shoulder. And, my God, he wouldn’t shut up. David would talk to you as if you were a human to make you feel included and seen, in a way. (And because he loves talking to you.)

He would even stay with you outside to keep you company if you’d like! He would sit on the grass next to you, talking to you about anything and everything while you dug yourself into the dirt. 

“Is it legal to get married to worms, or?” 

x elias "scarecrow" walker

He immediately bursts out laughing. He loves how comfortable you are with him, to the point where you can ask him things like this. 

“Yes, hun.” He snorts. “I would still adore you.” 

Elias, unlike everyone else, would think about your life as a worm on a high-detail level. He would consider different possibilities and roadblocks along the way of your worm life. “It would be difficult, but that has never stopped me.” 

He would be a great caretaker! 

He would get a bit frustrated that you can’t verbally communicate, so he would teach you a made-up language between you. The language would consist of different physical moves you can do as a worm, and he would just use his words. (Yeah, he gets the easy part. 🙄)

Elias would keep you fed, clean, healthy, happy, and well-rested - he is a father of two very talented boys, after all! He knows how to take care of people (and worms).

“But, I’d prefer it if you stay like this, honey.” 

x thomas merrick

“No.” “Really?” “...No.” 

Thomas is a bitch. We all know this. But he has a soft spot for you - something he doesn’t have for anyone else. He will always love you, no matter what, but he will never admit that. 

He wouldn’t be horrible at caring for you, but he certainly wouldn’t be good. 

He would protect you with his life, though. 

If you even receive as little as a dirty look from someone, he’s knocking their teeth out. 

He would mostly keep you in his pocket. That way, Thomas can keep an eye on you. 

He, like Keegan, would check up on you regularly because if you’re a worm, you need him to survive (or that’s what he thinks).

“Are you hungry?” He would ask, only to scoff to himself. “Who am I kidding? Of course, you are. But since you’re a fuckin’ worm, you can’t tell me, can you?” He would seem annoyed, but the truth is, he wouldn’t be. 

But obviously, he does not want you to turn into a worm. 

“For the love of God, get a hobby.”

[tojisun]

Biker! Simon x Reader

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8kNohx3/

I need this...

OH MY GOD??

him sliding her visor down for her, then the grab by the ass, the push down towards the fuel tank, then the slow ascent of his hand to choke her?? NO YEA BIKER!SIMON DOES THAT TO YOU FOR FUN. of course only in controlled, and somewhat private, areas!! after all, your safety goes above all else <3

BUT JUST.

imagining biker!simon helping you sit on the fuel tank, his eyes crinkled in delight when you whine how weird it is to be seated in front of him. he laughs when you tell him how you’re feeling somewhat shy now that you can actually see his face instead of just his back.

“it’s nice view though?” simon asks, his hands wrapped around your hips.

“it’s perfect,” you say, giddy smile widening as you giggle when simon finally pulls you closer to him, sliding you down from the tank until your ass falls to his lap.

“same ‘ere, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he slowly pushes you onto your back, his hands hungrily mapping your body, trailing burning touches from your hips to the sides of your ribs where he plants his thumbs just below your tits.

his eyes leave yours for a second, roving his gaze along your body, his nose flaring in desire. god, you’re just so beautiful.

he finally snaps his eyes back to yours, laughter rumbling from his throat when he sees the way you’re biting your bottom lip, nibbling it until it’s flushed and swollen.

he notes the way you look just as hungry, and he couldn’t help but bend forward to gently bump his helmet on yours. piercing the sudden loaded silence between you two, simon rumbles, “‘m lovin’ the view too much, actually.”

-

im gonna eat my fist

[cerise-on-top]

hi just want to pop in this request how would 141 react to reader who likes to uh.. chomp down on almost anything like maybe their arms? or random bites on the finger?? but its just in a playful way what would their react to it?? anyways you're a lovely writer have a good day <33

Hello! I wrote something similar to that for Gaz already here, so I left him out! His biting section is a bit short since that ask encompassed something similar to it, but it's there!

Price, Ghost and Soap with a Reader who likes to Bite Them

Price: He’d be so utterly confused if you bite him. Depending on whether or not you’re close with each other the scenario could go one of two ways: If you’re close, he’ll raise an eyebrow and ask you what you’re doing. If you respond with showing affection then he’ll be more inclined to let you continue doing whatever it is you’re doing. Truth be told, he’s not the biggest fan of you biting him, but if you’re his partner, then he’ll tolerate it. He knows you’re just being friendly and showing him that you love him in your own way, so he won’t say anything, but he’s not particularly too happy about it. Price doesn’t like how you’re getting saliva on him, he’s not a big fan of something like that. If you’re not his s/o then he’ll tell you to stop.

Ghost: Like Price, he’ll raise an eyebrow upon finding you chomping on him and will ask you what in the world you’re doing. Unlike Price he’ll be more understanding of it all and won’t really mind it too much. He won’t do it back to you in fear of biting your finger off or hurting you otherwise, even if biting people really isn’t his style either unless he has to. He’ll allow it and won’t really comment on it too much, aside from asking you whether or not you want an actual snack instead of him. Bite him and he’ll awkwardly pat your back, he does appreciate you being affectionate with him, though. Doesn’t mind you getting saliva on him either, he’s been through far far worse. Overall, just don’t bite him too hard and he won’t mind, but if you’re genuinely hurting him then he’ll put an end to it all.

Soap: I wouldn’t be surprised if he bit you first, in all honesty. Not by accident, but on purpose. Soap isn’t a biter normally, but he can and will bite someone if dared to or if they lovingly annoy him. However, if you’ve bitten him first then be prepared for him to bite you back. He’s not grossed out by anything, but he will bite down harder than you bite him. Affection like this is a competition and he is hellbent on winning. If you’re his S/O then he’ll also try to leave marks on you to show everyone that you’re his and that you’re having fun with each other. And by that I mean he’ll bite your cheek since that’s one of the most obvious places out there. By the time you’re done being affectionate with each other you’ll both be covered in bite marks, each one deeper and more concerning than the last. But you’re having fun, and that’s all that matters.

[ms-unfortunate24]

Because. Because. Because. BecaUse. BECAUSE BECAUSE BECAUSE BECAUSEEEEE🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[ghost-proofbaby]

I’m so glad you liked the jokes!

(I though they were hilarious because my sense of humor is nothing if not bad dad jokes, puns, and sarcasm. But I can’t even take credit for them because I found them online haha)

For the blurb idk if you intended for me to ask for something specific or not but I kinda just want to see what you’ll come up with if that’s okay? I feel like any idea you had would be better than mine anyway lol. Up to you really on whether or not you already have ideas or need some help. ♥️

the jokes were so so good i loved them truly. my sense of humor is the exact same way. and oh bless your soul for letting my mind run wild. i present to you all an idea that literally sent me feral, in which you've got some new perfumes and eddie is a blind idiot.

warnings: fem!reader, reader is very vaguely described as having hair that is at least shoulder length as well as buying items such as bras perfumes and chapsticks, hints at sexual themes but no actual smut, neck kissing and just good old fashioned kissing happens, eddie is kind of a perv? a little bit? also, not edited (what's new?) minors dni.

wc: 4.1k+ (i got a little carried away)

“Smell this.” 

The demand is paired with a sudden wrist in Eddie’s face that nearly has him falling off the bed. 

“Excuse me?” 

You and Eddie had been best friends for a while now. Since that first week of freshman year. Eddie, in all his awkward glory, had leaned up from his seat behind you in Mrs. Damon’s first hour English class, stabbed you right in the shoulder blade with a dully sharpened pencil just to inform you that he liked your shirt. You, in all your teacher’s pet façade, had only shushed him harshly and glared before turning back around. But some time between the ice breakers and the saving grace of the first bell of what would be a long high school career, you’d decided you would address him before you’d scurried out of that classroom and thank him. But not before you’d informed him that you didn’t even know the band displayed, had just thrifted the shirt for looking cool, and had unknowingly sent Eddie on a mission to educate you in the glory of his favorite band. 

And nearly six years later, he was still on that mission. You were stubborn and had sworn loyalty to Fleetwood Mac before Eddie and Metallica had ever even stood a chance. 

He doesn’t mind. He’d listen to the Rumors album on repeat for the rest of his days if it meant he always ended up in this position at the end of the day — in his room, on his bed, lounging with you to pass the time. 

Your wrist is still held up dangerously close to Eddie’s face in the present day, a look of determination and contemplation overtaking you, “Smell. My. Wrist.” 

Six years is a long time to grow comfortable with someone. And, in Eddie’s case, fall in love with your best friend. 

“I’m not smelling your wrist, weirdo,” he mumbles as he swats your hand away, squinting at the way you were perched on your knees as they sunk into his mattress. He had been halfway to a much needed nap before you had lost interest in whatever magazine you’d been reading, “Why do you even need me to? What didja do to it?” 

His words are still half slurring from fatigue. If he cuts off your pestering strategically enough, he might still achieve that nap his heavy bones so desperately yearned for. 

You readjust yourself, flopping down to sit beside Eddie with your legs stretched out as he lifts himself up. Shoulder to shoulder, calf along calf, the two of you prop your backs against his warm bedroom wall, “I went to Starcourt yesterday with Nancy and bought some new perfumes-“

“Perfumes?” he wrinkles his nose, “Plural?” 

He would have sworn he’d have noticed a new perfume, but these days, he’d been trying to put some restraint on his pathetic crush. Tried to tame the yearning inside of him, which meant less indulging in things like sniffing the air like a freakish dog whenever you entered a room just to drink in the smell of you that had brought him so much comfort over the years. Less letting his eyes linger on the straps of the bras you’d started wearing more of since you’d begun to hang out more with the likes of Nancy Wheeler, who had been single-handedly teaching you how to be a girl in a way Eddie had never witnessed from you. 

You’d wasted most of your critical youth surrounded by boys, by Eddie. Go figure that Wheeler was jumping at the opportunity to mold a blank canvas.

“Yes, I bought perfumes, plural, as in multiple- oh, don’t give me that look, Munson,” you scowl when he makes a face, wrinkles forming adorably between your brows. (Brows he was pretty sure Nancy had plucked for you last weekend, but again — Eddie wasn’t supposed to notice those things anymore. Tampering the crush, or whatever idiotic goal he had set for himself.), “They were on a BOGO sale. Bite me. Anyways, I got these new perfumes, and one of the ladies was telling me and Nance how you should layer your scents. Which, God, doesn’t that sound ridiculous?”

Eddie hums, eyebrows raised skeptically at where this rambling was going.

“So I bought these scents that she said might pair well together. But then, she was talking about body chemistry and-“ you cut yourself off, clearly realizing how boring this topic might be to someone like Eddie who hadn’t even picked out his own drugstore cologne (you had), “Listen, just… just stop questioning it and smell my wrist.” 

Once again, you hold your arm out in front of Eddie’s now softening face. He’s holding his breath, which he hopes you don’t notice, as he weighs his options.

Smell your wrist, probably subjecting himself to a terrible sort of pain when he realizes he'd much rather be placing feathery kisses there before moving onto your knuckles as he holds your hand. Or deny you, possibly hurt your feelings or offend you as he brushes this off as another girly thing he wanted nothing to do with. 

The fleeting image of your face if he were to reject you in this moment is enough to make his choice for him.

He never could say no to you.

“What am I even supposed to be smelling it for?” he grumbles as he reaches out and grabs your forearm, opting that safer territory than your hand as he guided your skin closer to him, “Like, I’m not a scents expert, sweet-“

Oh. 

Eddie’s brain short circuits as the tip of his nose brushes your soft skin. The pet name dies on his tongue, the inhale through his nose cutting off just as suddenly. 

Oh, God. Oh, fuck. 

He already knows he's a sucker for you, a dog with a bone when it comes to your presence and attention. He already relished in your old perfume's scent and the way it would cling to a room, lingering on his sheets when you’d sleep over after a movie night gone too late. When you’d borrow his Hellfire shirt and return it without washing it, leaving the collar tainted with sweetness and enough undertones of vanilla to make a chasm within him yearn terribly. 

But this new perfume, perfumes technically, were something different. They weren’t the same as the body spray you’d been using every day since freshman year. They were deeper, more complicated, more womanly than he had prepared himself for.

“Does it… does it smell good?” you meekly ask him, suddenly going shy at his frozen state, “Like, is it working with my… my own smell? Sometimes perfumes smell good on their own but don’t work with your body’s chemistry, that’s what the lady had been explaining to me and Nan-“

“It’s working.” 

It’s all he can manage to choke out as he lets go of your arm so that it falls away and takes the sweet smells with it. 

God, it was working.

Eddie felt more embarrassed than he had that first month of puberty, when he was just discovering girls and noticing the stretch of t-shirts over chests. He felt even more affected than the first time he’d let his eyes wander over the back of Cheryl T’s thighs the last day of eighth grade, and discovered the wonders of an ass’ curve. 

All his blood would not be rushing south. No. Absolutely not. He wouldn’t allow it, not when he was fully grown and should have some self-control, and certainly not when he was wearing his thinnest pair of boxers with grey fucking sweatpants. 

Your eyes are wide with innocence, or at least what he hopes is innocence, “Really? It smells good?”

He has to clear his throat before he can properly reply, “‘s good, yeah. It, uh, yeah. Smells good.” 

Think of naked grandmas. Think of kicked puppies. Think of literally anything except her soft ski-

“Awesome!” you’re suddenly sitting crisscross beside him, facing him fully, “Okay, that’s- awesome. Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” were you just as flustered as he was? Was he reading this wrong? “The lady actually told us - okay, I know it’s stupid and boring so bear with me - but she told us to put them on all our pulse points. So that way, it… uh… it makes the perfume last longer.” 

He can’t get the smell out of his nose. Something so sweet, something so enticing, something so… you. The perfumes were fancy, but somehow, they were you. Smells of summer and spring and tooth-aching sweetness that was driving Eddie mad.

He’ll never be able to let you sleep in his bed again. He doesn’t want to consider what shameful, hormone-fueled decisions he would make if he had to experience his pillow smelling like that even when you were long gone. 

Get it together, Munson. 

“Makes sense,” he lies, still struggling to get his tongue to function properly. All he’s thinking about is trailing it over that sweet spot on your wrist now, lips sucking on every inch of skin you currently had exposed- Naked grandmas. Kicked puppies, “Is that all you needed? Can I take a nap now?” 

Hell, he’s torn between wanting you to stay and ushering you out of his trailer so he can have a few moments alone. Weighing the risks of escaping to the bathroom for a few minutes too long just to get his problem under control. 

He’s twenty, not fifteen. A girl’s perfume should not be affecting him this way. 

Your face falls ever so slightly, “Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry. Like I said, I know it’s boring-“

“It’s not boring,” he interrupts, realizing that he’s mere seconds away from genuinely hurting your feelings. Or perhaps he’s already there, having been a complete idiot. He still remembers your face the day he’d contained his reaction to your new bra — how he’d gone into autopilot and snapped the strap like some little boy on the playground just to play off how flustered it made him. You hadn’t admitted it to him, but his reaction had hurt you. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, “The whole science behind it — it sounds pretty cool, honestly.” 

Nothing that made you so excited, so giddy, could ever be boring to him. He loved seeing you buzz with your emotions and expectancy. He just didn’t love the way his heart and mind seemed to run with every single, little, goddamn bone you tossed him. 

You were his best friend. He shouldn’t think of you like that. He couldn’t. 

“It is,” you light back up in the slightest, saucer eyes boring into his again. Not quite as animated as before, but not quite as deflated as you had been heading, “Actually- Can I ask another favor?”

Anything. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” his heart had finally slowed its pace, the reigns back in his control as the perfume lingered in the air but didn’t overwhelm him, “What’s up?” 

“So… the wrists aren’t the only pulse points you’re supposed to wear perfume on.” 

Oh, God. Where were you going with this?

“No?” he tries to tease, tries to smile at you. It’s fruitless — his heart has begun to pound again, “I sure hope it wouldn’t be. I mean, blood kind of rushes everywhere, isn’t that the point-“ 

“The neck,” you blurt out, making the rest of Eddie’s sentence disappear into the air, “The, uh, the neck is the other place. Well, not just the neck, it’s…” you trail off, twiddling with your thumbs for a second before you lift a hand to gather away any stray hairs from curtaining the side of your neck. You even go so far as to secure the hand behind your ear, “Behind the ears. You’re supposed to spray it behind your ears, too.”

“Okay…” he enunciates slowly, resisting the urge to bite his lip as he starts to catch up with where you’re going with this, and desperately hoping that he’s wrong. 

“Can you… Would you…” you pause and take a deep breath, eyes shutting for a second. When you open the back up, a new wave of determination is set around your pupils, “Eddie, can you smell my neck?” 

What sort of sick, twisted, wet dream am I living in right now? 

Eddie is suddenly convinced you never interrupted his attempt at a nap. He’s asleep right now, soundly curled into himself, and you’re still lounging casually with your magazine on the other side of his bed. That must be it, because there’s no way you’re actually offering him to press himself so closely into your vicinity as he’s only ever dreamed of. 

“What?” he weakly questions. 

If this is a dream, dear God, don’t let me wake up. 

“Can you smell my neck?” you repeat yourself with a little more confidence before pulling your best puppy dog eyes, “I just- I want to make sure it smells good. Everywhere.”  

Damn Nancy Wheeler for whatever journey of self-discovery she’d sent you on. Damn her, and damn the perfume lady, and damn Eddie for reaping such benefits. 

He should say no. He should really, really say no. 

He’s wearing goddamn grey sweatpants, he should say no. 

“S-Sure.” 

Famous last words. 

Your hair has already been moved, making it easier for Eddie when he leans forward at his waist. You lean in as well, jutting out your chin and angling your neck for his taking. 

It’s such a bad idea. 

The tip of his nose is bumping your skin again as his eyes flutter shut. He’s trying so hard to contain himself, to not make a fool of himself. But when he feels that softness again, when he’s being unraveled by warm notes of vanilla and patchouli, deep breaths of apple blossom of blackberry – he just breaks. 

He doesn’t realize that his lips have joined his nose in brushing up against your sweet spot until he hears you let out a shaky gasp, one that almost resembles a whine. 

His reaction should be to pull back. He should remove himself, apologize for going too far, stop before he’s fallen off the cliff himself. He doesn’t. 

Instead, he takes a moment of stillness as his head reels, overcome in the smell of your new perfume again and ears straining relentlessly to seek out another one of those pretty sounds. 

He wants to hear it again. He needs to know if it was a moan or a gasp, or nothing more than a ticklish breath. 

His lips pucker with intention this time. His nose trails up behind your ear, taking in the full bodied scent of the perfume on the skin as he places another chaste kiss against your pulse.

It’s racing. Your heartbeat is goddamn racing. 

The moment his lips connect, another gasp sounds. A sharp intake of breath that whistles so sweetly to his ears before you’re exhaling with a proper, albeit quiet, whimper. 

No amount of naked grandmas or kicked puppies can save him now. He’s a goner – he’s been a goner – and he leaps off that cliff full force now as he leans back and out of your space. 

Your eyes are shut. Eyelashes fluttering prettily, just barely brushing the skin beneath your eyes. 

He almost whispers out a gentle sweetheart as he stays close enough for you to feel his breath on that very same cheek, but when your eyes finally do open to meet his, he can’t get a single word out before his body moves to its own accord. 

His lips press to yours before he can overthink it.

He waits for the inevitable – for you to freeze up against him, for you to shove him off, for you to curse him out. He shouldn’t have done that. He should’ve asked for permission, he should have had more self-control. 

But you don’t. Instead, you take him by surprise and you kiss him back.

Instantly, without an inch of hesitation, your lips work in tangent with his. Parting and welcoming him as if they had been waiting for this moment longer than he could comprehend. Pressing back with just as much, if not more fervency as his do. You match his desperation every step of the way until you’ve both exhausted all the breath inside your lungs. He has no choice but to pull back, to part from you and gulp in oxygen before he makes any more bad decisions. 

Lord know he’s full of them when he’s suddenly gazing into your glossy eyes. 

“I’m sorry-” he immediately rushes out to apologize, but a sharp shake of your head halts him. 

“Don’t be,” you whisper, “I… Do it again.”

“What?” 

“Kiss me again. Please.”

Eddie isn’t in the business of making you beg; he never really can say no to you. 

He kisses you again. And again. And again. A collage of pecks and soft slipping, tasting your chapstick and somehow moving the two of you so that he’s back to his original position with his back against the wall, and you now straddling his lap. You hover, completely unaware of how much you’re affecting him. When you let his tongue slip into your mouth without any bartering, he ends up letting out a moan that slips right down your throat. His hands are still so hesitant, but when you reach down and encourage his palms to engulf wherever they please, he’s on a mission of exploration. Soft caresses to your thighs, from the ditch of your bent knees to the skin hardly hidden beneath the hem of your lounge shorts. They wind their way up the pathways of your hips, squeezing at the soft give of the flesh there before he continues upwards. Up, up, up – until they find home in the curve of your waist, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you impossibly close. 

That damn perfume doesn’t just linger, not anymore. With you pressed against him, with the way he’s wound so tightly around you, it drowns him. Vanilla, coffee, blackberry, apple blossoms. A multitude of scents he’s sure his plain nose can’t even pick up on, and that he doesn’t really care to name. All he cares about is the smell of you. Something new and something fancy, but so very you. 

“I-” you break from the kiss, “Can’t-” you smack another one on him, beginning to take initiative, “Believe-” the next one misses his mouth, hardly landing against the upturned corner, “It took-” your final kiss lands on his dimple before you pull back fully and cup his hands within your palms, still hovering and straddling his waist, “A stupid fucking perfume ruse to get you to kiss me.”

He’s lovedrunk, all slow blinks and dumb-founded smile as he looks up at you, hardly processing the words, “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” you squeeze his cheeks a little tighter in your touch, “I can’t believe I had to pull that whole stupid act of fluttering my lashes and oh, Eddie, can you smell my perfume for me? To make sure it smells good? To finally get you to just do something.” 

His head clears a little as the ghost of your kiss still buzzes on his lips, “Wait- what?” 

Your palms slide away, scratching at what scruff has gathered across his jaw line before your hands fully fall away, “You made me act like a damn fool, Eddie Munson.”

“It was all just an act?” 

“I can’t believe you were so oblivious.”

“You only made me do that so I’d kiss you?” 

“That,” you shrug, curling your hands into fists and gingerly placing them on his chest as his arms untangle from you slightly, only his knuckles resting on your waist now, “And the bra thing. And the whole thing when I bought all those chapsticks and couldn’t pick a favorite flavor.”

“They all tasted good,” he says, confused as he peers up at your faux annoyance, “I even tried them on for you-”

“I didn’t want you to try them on,” you whine, letting a few breathy laughs slip as you sit back, resting your weight entirely on his thighs and narrowly missing his boner you surely hadn’t noticed yet, “I wanted you to taste them off of me. I wanted you to make me put each one on, and kiss me stupid before you’d demand that I move onto the next one. I wanted to be the one to get your lips all sticky, not the fucking chapstick tubes themselves.”

“You-” Eddie’s mouth drops wide open, nearly wider than his eyes, “Hold on, you only brought that up so I’d fucking kiss you?” 

You nod as if it had been obvious, grinning wildly now, “God, you’re dense, Munson. I kept telling Nancy you’d figure it out eventually-”

“What does Nancy have to do with this?” 

“Nancy has been trying to help me concoct ways to get you to grow the balls and kiss me for months now. Although, to be fair, the bra thing had been Steve’s idea.” 

“Harrington?” Eddie gasps out in disbelief as you only throw your head back in laughter. It’s a beautiful sound, one that makes Eddie’s heart race even more painfully than the perfume had, “You went to Harrington for advice about me?”

When you lift your head back up to look at him, you’re all soft smiles and delighted eyes as you quietly admit, “I was getting kind of desperate here.” 

His chest heaves, finger unfurling from around your waist. 

“I was starting to think maybe you just didn’t like me bac-”

Without warning, Eddie’s hands are gripping your hips and he’s flipping positions, pinning you beneath him. He can’t wrap his head around it. You’d been wanting him to kiss you all this time. And he’d been a blind idiot. Snapping your bra straps, stealing away chapsticks and applying them himself when this entire time, he could have been living out his wildest fantasies. 

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything more as he begins to attack you with kisses. One for every missed opportunity. No expanse of skin goes untouched as they graze over your lips, your cheeks, your chin, your neck – anywhere Eddie can access feels the pressure of his eagerness. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he curses himself over your giggles, coming up for air just to stare at you, “I could have- Oh my God. Sweetheart, I’m such a fucking idiot.” 

“You are,” you agree breathlessly with aching cheeks, “God, you are.” 

He balances himself on his forearms as he stays lifted above you, his hair forming a curtain to cut the two of you off from the rest of the world. 

You’re beautiful. Even more beautiful than that first day he’d met you in class, when you’d shushed him and all he did in return was make absolute heart eyes at you. 

His best friend. The person he’d be yearning and pining for for six long years. Who had been trying to get him to kiss her for over six months now. 

“I like you,” you confess, not breaking eye contact as a hand comes up to his cheek. He’s quick to turn his head, to let your palm press against him as he presses a kiss to your inner wrist, the perfume engulfing him again, “In case that wasn’t obvious.” 

He swallows hard, letting his lips remove themselves slowly from your skin and his nose to linger as it presses into the smooth skin, “I like you, too. Have for a few years now.”

“A few?”

“Okay, yeah- the whole time,” his words pull a wider grin from you, “Don’t look so smug. I’m not letting you live down this whole perfume bullshit scheme.” 

“And I’m not letting you live down going feral over some overpriced scented oils,” you retort, your cute snort cut short as your breath catches when he kisses your wrist again, “In all seriousness, though… Do you really think it smells good?” 

He takes the opportunity to finally lower his hips. Just enough so that his crotch is brushing against your inner thigh, “Yeah, I think you could say I think they smell very good.” 

Your hand travels back, caressing at his ear and sending a shiver down his spine before both of them latch behind his neck, prepared to pull him down into a kiss, “You got hard over some new perfumes, Munson? God, you’re easy.” 

“I am,” he doesn’t fight it as he lets you, not gravity, tug him downwards, “I am so easy when it comes to you, baby.” 

“Good thing I’m wearing one of those new bras, then,” you muse, placing far too quick of a kiss for his liking onto his lips before you tug him a bit lower, burying his face back in the side of your neck as you whisper in his ear, “Prove it.” 

Eddie should probably send a thank you card to Nancy Wheeler and the mall’s perfume lady. Not Harrington, though. Never Steve Harrington.

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[ghouljams]

Hi! I've been binge reading your Fae! series again and I had an idea that I just had to share with you.

Fae!Gary who is trying to ensnare a fantasy writer/editor darling who is constantly foiling his plans by accident.

He gifts them a book that he said reminded him of them? they hand him a book they just knew he'd love.

He gives them flowers to brighten up the office? she gives him a knowledge dump on what the bouquet means based on the language of flowers.

thanks for taking the time to read this! don't forget to get some water and a snack <3

Oh my God ROACH, the forgotten son. Chaos boy, gremlin man, low danger sense and impossible to kill. Yeah you can have a little Roach as a treat. I've tweaked this prompt a little for a librarian!reader, also with a few of my personal Roach headcanons.

It's always a slow day when he comes in. Always with a mask on and earbuds in. You smile and wave him over. He hardly needs the prompting, making his way quickly but purposefully to stand in front of your cart. He tugs an earbud free, and holds out a book to you. Hard canvas bound with yellowed pages, the front is painted with laurels of heather and honeysuckle. It's not one of the library's collection.

"Where's the book you took out?" You frown, glancing to see if he has any bags or is holding anything else. He shoves the book under his arm and digs through his pocket to pull out a notebook and nubby pencil. You wait for him to finish scribbling and show you.

"Already returned," He turns the page and keeps writing.

"So then this is...?" You're really just filling dead air, you assume he's going to tell you what it is. He has this preternatural ability to think conversations an extra sentence ahead.

"A present for you," He holds up the notebook, and you smile a little at the doodle in the corner. A little square with a bow on top.

"I have something for you too!" You grin, clapping your hands together. His brows draw together with a frown. "We were going through the books that we're going to sell soon and I saw this, made me think of you." You hold up a finger to tell him to wait and rush behind the front desk.

It takes a moment of digging to get the old book free but it's well worth it. You hold it up with an excited 'ta-da' and hurry back to your cart. He never tries to disguise his interest in your trades, and you can see the exact moment his eyes light up with excitement reading the cover.

"It's super out of date these days, but I thought-" He cuts you off with a few rapid hand movements. Ones you recognize easily.

"No, no, I love it." He signs, trading your gift for his. He eagerly cracks open the ancient entomology hardback. You feel your heart squeeze a little watching him trace his finger over a colorful illustration of a beetle. You finally look away to see what book he's brought you. It's a collection of old love stories from the region. Your heart squeezes a little tighter.

"You know it's silly, um," You start, not sure how to phrase what is so average for most people, "You keep coming in, and I feel like I know so much about you, but I don't know-" He looks up from the book, there's something colder in his eyes, something that warns against the question on your tongue, "-your name." You finish.

The look in his eyes makes you wish you could take it back, makes you feel like you've shattered whatever isle of peace you two had carved out for yourself. He looks back at the page he'd been reading and snaps the book closed. The sound makes you flinch. He balances his notebook against the hardback and scribbles something before opening the entomology book again. His eyes scan the pages as he flips through, before he finds what he's looking for, and turns both books for your approval.

The page is opened to a Roach, and the notebook reads "it's a nickname." You nod.

"Sorry I asked," You tell him. He shrugs. Then blinks, seeming to realize something. He glances down at his chest and scratches it, strangely you get the urge to itch as well. He can hardly get his notebook set up fast enough, and you jump to catch the entomology book when it slips from his grip. The notebook is shoved in your face almost as quickly as you can hold the book out to him.

"Do you like your book?"

"Oh! Yes!" You're realizing you haven't given his gift the attention it deserves. You grab the book off the cart and flip through it, skimming your finger over the table of contents. You recognize most of the stories, the classics, but not all of them. The paper is just a hair thicker than modern books, with filigree at the top and bottom edges speaking to its age. You wonder where he found something so beautiful. When you look up at him again his eyes are soft, brows drawn together in an expression you'd almost call lovesick.

"Would you want to get dinner some time?" You surprise both of you with the ask. Roach seems to light up all at once again, nodding excitedly. "Ok, um," You grab his pencil and lean to jot down your number on his notebook, he watches you like a hawk the whole time, "I have to get back to work, but text me when you're free and I'll-" He's leaned so close to you, solid and warm, his fingers cover yours as he takes his pencil back, making your brain stall a little. You don't know how you were going to finish that sentence.

"Ok," He says, and his voice is so low you hardly think you heard him at all.

"Ok," You agree. His eyes scrunch happily, and you return the smile. This is good. You have a good feeling about this.