#two for the price of one 🥴

[bas-rouge]

I'm laying down colour on these comms today (which are WAY overdue, I'm so sorry, they have not been forgotten) and I would really like to finish them instead of doing this assignment and then going to school for... 5.5 hours. Right when the second snow of the season is meant to begin after some freezing rain 😬🙄

[akascow]

running out of usable joycons lmao

[ceruleanchillin]

I feel like biker Simon has a breeding kink too.🥴

Yes! I like the MBTI (though I acknowledge its flaws in classifying real people, I think it works perfectly for fictional characters).

Simon is most likely an INTJ, and Price an ENTJ. I think they’re very similar (I believe Gaz and Soap are the same except ISFP/ESFP respectively).

So I’d say he’s as bad as Price, he’d just be more subtle once he realizes how he feels.

Simon would probably trick you into thinking you were the one who convinced him to develop a breeding kink. But don’t be fooled.

——-

“You just have to find a kid at every party.” Simon, who was resting his head on the top of yours, purposely dug his chin into your scalp.

“Stop it,” you gently elbowed him in the ribs, careful to avoid jostling the happy little toddler in your arms. “I won’t apologize for kids loving me, it’s a good trait.”

The little girl had wandered over after you and Simon had settled on a blanket by the bonfire. The club and its associates were spread out all around you in the soft grass. The two of you had settled with each other to wind down from the party, only to be joined by a member’s daughter.

Simon had watched the brave little explorer wander over on unsure feet. She was enthralled with the pretty bracelets that littered your arm. You’d smiled, jingling the charms, and her little face lit up, hands clapping. She fell over into your lap, her wobbly legs finally giving out, and Simon bit the inside of his cheek against the warmth that flooded his chest.

This could be you and his kid someday. He could see it so clearly, that he almost missed you telling the girl’s mom you’d watch her for a bit.

He waited till the mom walked off before he leaned down, lips against your ear. “Don’t get attached, you have to give her back.”

The girl was happily babbling in your arms, responding to your cooing.

“Let’s go find you some cake and leave grumpy Uncle Simon by himself.”

You looked so good with her on your hip. It came so naturally to you. He started fantasizing again. He imagined a swell in your stomach under the tempting sundress (the one that made you both late to the party) you wore.

He could see you palming it, people asking you questions about the baby, and you talking more than you normally did in excitement.

Eager to tell the world about the life you two collaborated on.

When you walked back over with her, he could see your face glowing. You settled on the blanket, and he pulled you both into his arms. You said something, sarcastic most likely, but he was too focused on the girl holding out a piece of her cake to him.

Her pudgy hand waved it impatiently, pouting because he didn’t take her offering immediately. Simon leaned down and ate the cake from her hand, purposely nibbling her fingers, and sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Thank you f’that lovie. Was famished.” He couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips, the girl’s joy was too infectious.

He found you staring at him when he glanced at you.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s going to have a problem giving her back.”

“You’re imagining things. Don’t lose it on me now bird, ” He cupped your lower stomach, large hands squeezing slightly. “Need you sane for our future babies. It’s all your fault after all.”

[strlingsav]

I’m simply in love with your portrayal of Simon/Ghost. This fandom has so many incredibly talented writers, I am glad I stumbled upon your work! Your interpretation of his character is among my favourites 🥰 if it interests you, I would like to request a comfort fic w a femme reader who is perhaps not active on the field herself, but more on the intelligence/IT side of the operations (you can totally change this if you want, it’s up for your interpretation!) who is capable but suffers from insecurity and imposters sydrome (yep I am totally projecting🤫🤐) and during a mental breakdown bc of the stress from work, Ghost of all people, who she previously has only seen during a few briefings and never has approached bc of his intimidating reputation, finds her. Cue to the stoic scary big man who has previously only stared her down turning out to be actually very supportive and appreciative of her work because he always has noticed her. It’s up to you if want to keep it sfw or not! But a dash of softdom/service top sprinkled w some praise kink wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world🥴 I would love to see your take on this if this idea interests you, and it’s totally fine if it doesn’t 🥰 it’s always a pleasure to read your work regardless! Have a good one! ✌🏻💕

Thank you very much!! I appreciate that very much 🥹🫶🏻 I can definitely do this!

Support

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Ghost stumbles upon you, after-hours, during a breakdown.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

It was approaching two in the morning. You were running solely on caffeine and nicotine- neither of which were helping your dry eyes or headache. The light of your monitors was the only source in the room, completely enshrouded by darkness as you stared blankly at the screens. You'd hoped it would help you focus, think more clearly, but so far it had only isolated you further, brought nothing but pressure and stress.

It wasn't supposed to be difficult, it was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be easy for you. You'd studied computer technology and engineering for years- built and coded programs for organizations all over the world. You'd worked within the military for nearly a decade, providing the most proficient and reliable support among your similarly-rated peers. You were quite literally an expert, but you didn't feel like it. Not with the unfinished assignment sitting before you.

Laswell, Price, the entirety of 141- they relied on you. They relied heavily on your abilities to guide them through their fieldwork, to do the digging they couldn't reach while on location. Though, as you leaned back in your chair, your lip red and raw with irritation, your back aching, you didn't feel reliable. You felt the familiar sting of failure, of total disappointment.

It bubbled up in your throat, escaping in a series of curses, shoving yourself away from the desk before you wound up damaging thousands of dollars of equipment. You paced, stared, and paced. Your mind swimming with questions, re-thinking every sequence, every key, every exhaustive search you could possibly pull- and still hadn't decrypted the data.

Your hand slammed down on the desk, scattering the pens and piles of paperwork you'd accumulated over the many hours you'd spent stewing in front of the code screen. The cursor blinked at you- waiting, taunting you, filling you with dread.

"Y'alright in here?"

A gruff voice pulled you from your anxious stupor, and you yanked your hand from the desk, gasping sharply. You looked up, finding Ghost at the doorway.

In the dark, you could hardly make out his silhouette, but the outline of his mask was a stark contrast against the pitch-black room.

"Didn't mean t'scare you," He said, taking a few steps forward. "Heard somethin' in here."

You let out a sigh, your heartbeat relaxing back into its regular rhythm.

You'd heard his voice before, usually over the comms, and seen him during briefings, but you'd never spoken in person. You knew he had a reputation for being tough and commanding; it put you on edge watching his looming figure in the darkness. He was undeniably intimidating, especially as he stalked toward you.

You stepped back, letting him around the desk to see your monitors.

"You're up late," He said, examining the screen.

"Trying to decode this shit," You huffed, forgetting about his domineering presence once you refocused on your failure. "It's taking me longer than it should."

"Looks complicated," He replied, his eyes meeting yours briefly.

"It is. It shouldn't be, but it is," You sighed again, sitting down as he looked over your shoulder.

"How long you been at this?"

You ignored his question, leaning in to further examine the code screen.

"It's late. You should sleep, get back to it in the mornin'."

You furrowed your brows, looking over your shoulder to find him closer than expected.

"I don't need sleep," You shook your head. "I need to figure this out. I'm close."

An epiphany sparked in your head- a brute force attack you hadn't yet tried. You quickly typed in the keys, waiting with baited breath as the screen paused.

A flickering script reading 'denied' came across your screen, typed out in front of you for confirmation. Validation that you'd failed, again.

"Fuck!" You shouted, cradling your head in your hands. "I-I can't figure this shit out, I can't do it." Your voice broke, hoarse with strain.

You looked up at him, your eyes now watery with frustration and anger.

"'Ey," He said, leaning forward. "Relax. I dunno much about this shite, but seems you're doin' alright."

You tilted your head. "Laswell needs these documents for Shepherd tomorrow, and I've got nothing to show for it. It'll be my ass getting dismissed. It's not alright."

"Shepherd can wait," He said. "You've saved our arses more than a few times."

"It's not enough."

"It's more than enough. Relax, you're givin' me a bloody headache."

"I can't relax," You looked up at him with blood-shot eyes.

"If anyone can do it, 't's you. Seen you handle worse than this." He gestured to the screen, a flippant motion.

You sucked in a deep breath, nodding slowly. You were more than shocked to hear the comforting words from Ghost. A man revered for his deadly hands, ferocity. The irony made you giggle, short and quiet, though he heard it.

"What's funny?" He asked, moving to lean against the desk.

"Just didn't expect you to be so supportive. Appreciative."

"I see what you do," His gaze was unwavering as he stared you down. "Couldn't do it m'self. Owe you my life, if not more."

"Not quite," You quirked up a brow.

"Yeah- quite. Raid in Las Almas, no other escape routes, Price called you in and we were on the way out in minutes."

You bit your cheek, nodding slowly, your eyes shutting as you digested his words. He was right- you'd done your fair share of evac and location support, never losing a soldier. Regardless of how horribly the assignment was going, you couldn't deny only you had the capacity to complete it.

"Thanks," You nodded, looking up at him. "I'm just in my head, stressed out."

He cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter.

You leaned back, grabbing a cigarette from the nearly-empty pack on the desk, and lighting it up.

"You want one?" You asked, offering him the package.

He took one, offering a quiet, "Cheers."

He lifted the cover of his mask up above his nose- it took every ounce of strength not to immediately watch his lips as he stuck the cigarette between them. Even then, your eyes glanced at the newly-discovered flesh, diverting your gaze when he locked eyes with you.

You inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine coat your lungs, before exhaling into the monitors before you.

"Should get some sleep," He said, standing up.

"Yeah," You nodded, shifting to lean forward. "Yeah, I will. Just a bit longer."

He sighed, bringing his gloved hand down on the keyboard.

"I'll break it in half if I need to," He said, his voice low and threatening.

You swallowed, raising your brows at the unexpected reaction.

"Alright," You huffed.

You stood to your feet, putting your cigarette out on the ashtray beside your mouse. He did the same, arms folding over his chest as he waited for you to leave your station.

His adamant opposition to letting you continue was admirable. Attractive, even. You hadn't anticipated feeling grateful, or happy to have had him find you.

You'd kept your distance from him, though you'd always find your eyes gravitating toward his. He'd already be staring, watching you from across the briefing room. At first, you'd been terrified, wondering if you'd done something to piss him off, but nothing ever came of it. Instead, he'd lift his head to find you, check over his shoulder to look at you.

He found you intriguing, attractive. A brilliant woman; smart, educated, someone he was glad to have on his team. He'd seen the countless hours you put in, the calm tone of your voice every time there was a stress signal from one of the men. You held it together for them- the least he could do was the same for you.

He liked the way your eyes studied the screen, the way you'd chew your lip raw. Though it wasn't in your best interest, he found it alluring. His mind wandered when he'd see you, nothing appropriate at all- only to satisfy the heat that curled itself inside his intestines when he laid his eyes on you.

He remembered seeing you for the first time, wondering who you were: laptop on the desk, pen in hand, bright-eyed and eager to please. Immediately, he'd fabricated images of you in his mind- images that he'd play through during the lonely hours of the night.

"Why are you up?" You asked suddenly.

"Couldn't sleep. Don't sleep much."

You shook your head, "And yet, you're lecturing me." A small smile lifted your lips.

"For your own good," He answered.

"That's interesting," You mumbled.

"Why's that?"

You breathed in, "You've only ever stared me down, don't think we've had a conversation before."

"Y'can say a lot without talkin'," He retorted.

"I wasn't sure whether you wanted to fuck me or kill me," You grinned.

"What's the consensus?"

"Still not sure," You held back a grin.

"Would've killed you by now."

You laughed, "That's not very comforting."

"Should be. Only leaves the former."

He moved closer, standing up straight as he unhooked his legs.

You were pleasantly surprised, though your nerves had been roused from their short slumber. Heat washed over your cheeks, climbing up your spine before returning to the crest of your thighs.

"Think y'could use some stress relief," He said. "Y'seem pent-up."

You pulled your lip between your teeth, your eyes shifting between his. It was tempting, more than your mortal being could possibly resist.

"Maybe," You uttered, your hands twitching with anxiety as he neared you.

He cocked his head, "Maybe ain't an answer."

"Yes," You blurted. "I could. But not if you're taking pity on me."

He chuckled, a sound you'd never heard before from him, though it was somewhat deformed. Amusement and disbelief rather than enjoyment.

"Sweetheart," He cooed, his chest nearly pressed against yours. "It ain't pity. Y'should know better."

"We'll, you're not exactly approachable," You said, tilting your head to meet his gaze. "Haven't had the pleasure of speaking with you before."

He nodded, "S'alright," He said. "Had enough o' watchin' from afar, though."

You breathed out, long and cathartic as it passed your lips. Releasing every worry and anxiety, relieved to be able to focus solely on him- on Ghost.

His hand reached your waist, softly pulling you into him, finally connecting your bodies. You let out a quiet grunt, your hands raised at your sides as you took in the feeling of his body against yours.

"Y'can touch me," He grinned. "I won't bite 'less you ask."

As if you weren't already aroused, soaking your panties, he only made it worse. The heat of his hands on your waist had drawn out any thoughts in your head, his voice so close- so clear in front of you was mesmerizing.

You apprehensively moved your hands to rest on his shoulders, your palms gliding against the taught muscles, another extended sigh as you tried to ignore the burning in your gut. He liked the contact, your small hands searing a brand into his skin.

He stared at you for a few moments, his eyes raking over your face, the face he'd seen in his dreams more than anywhere else. He must've made a pact with the devil, something sacrificed to have you in his hands- finally.

He leaned in, soft lips touching yours. It was fleeting, the softness, before he backed you against the desk with no regard for the equipment on it. Still, his lips held your attention, his tongue gliding between your lips to clash against yours. It was open-mouthed, messy, especially as he lifted you to the desk and bullied himself between your thighs.

You moaned faintly when his hand slid down your side, taking a handful of your ass and squeezing harshly. His other hand worked your shirt off your torso, parting only for a moment when the fabric passed your neck. His hands on your bare skin created a feeling of tightness in your gut- especially as he squeezed and grabbed at you, truly appreciating the curves of your body against him.

To your chagrin, he was still fully clothed, in his fatigues, like he lived in them. Even at two A.M., the man never quit. You weren't complaining; you rather liked the sight of his fitted uniform, especially as it squeezed his forearms and thighs, showing the bulk of muscle and veins beneath tattooed skin.

You were antsy, however, to feel him. All of him, against you.

"Take it off," You whispered against his lips, tugging at his jacket with clenched fists.

"Bossy woman you are," He teased, pulling away as he unbuttoned the shirt.

"I know what I want," You shot back, your eyes now narrowed in on him.

He hummed, satisfied with your answer. "That so?"

You nodded, smug and prideful, a sense of power- you had complete control. Your hands supported your weight behind you, leaning back, watching the show as he stripped from the shirt. It fell off his torso, revealing the toned muscles beneath, and he yanked the other sleeve off with impatience.

Your jaw was slack, looking over him as he neared again. This time, his hand slid up your throat, gripping the delicate area with a firm hold. He forced your eyes to meet his, a noticeable grin on his lips.

"You listen to me, sweetheart," He said, in your face. "And I'll take care o'you. Spread your legs."

You shivered, an audible gasp leaving your lips. The things you'd have done to hear filthy words leave his mouth- the voice that rung in your ears at night, made your pussy flutter. Now, he'd offered his services to you, rather enthusiastically, too, admitting he'd wanted it for a long time. If nothing else made you feel better about your shit progress, he surely could.

He kept eye contact while his hand worked open your pants, pulling them and your panties down your legs with speed and precision. He wasted no time pressing your thighs to your chest, tucking you into an uncomfortable position before kneeling in front of you.

"No thinkin'," He warned. "'Less it's about cummin' on my face."

Your head fell back, groaning softly, lifting back up again only when he pressed his lips to your pussy. Then, you watched with anticipation building in your gut, trembling in your limbs and a heavy ache settling in your womb.

He slid a warm tongue between your folds, a gentle touch you hadn't expected from the brute of a man. He watched you the entire time, took in the sight of your lips parting, sucking in a long breath, shutting your eyes as you basked in the pleasure. He couldn't help but form a grin, his lips engulfing your pussy in an open-mouthed kiss.

His attention moved to your clit, faint licks crossing the sensitive area that coaxed quick jolts from your body. He settled into a rhythm, and your body adjusted accordingly, leaning into the new and overwhelming feeling.

"Yeah, right there," You said, a hushed tone, like you were speaking to yourself.

He grunted in response, another warning.

"Sorry," You said again. "Feels so good." It was a quiet whine.

You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, grab at something, anything that would connect you to him, so you settled for his forearms. Your palm gripped the flesh of his arm, squeezing, just as he did to your thighs.

His tongue expertly traced your clit, circles and delicate licks that made your back arch, opening yourself up for him to taste.

"That's it," He uttered, muffled by your pussy. Even speaking against you made you clench, stare down at him with lust on your face. "There's a good girl."

You exhaled, nodding in agreement, submission to his mouth as he returned to his rhythm, falling in tandem with the heavy breathing leaving your chest. His eyes hadn't left you, watching and studying your expression for every hint of pleasure. He was intent on learning exactly what you like, though it was difficult to discern through the flurry of expressions on your face.

Your brows drawn together, jaw open as you choked down a gasp, breathing heavily into the dark room. He could make out your face, but your silhouette was blackened against the light of the monitors. He could see the swell of your breasts, your thighs, the curve of your waist against the backlight. He could even see your eyes, when you'd drop your head to watch him devour you.

You began to shake, tensing against his mouth when he continued at a consistent pace. He was thorough in every aspect of life- this was no exception. He didn't let up, even when your pussy drooled with cum, instead, he licked it up with his tongue, moaning softly against you at your taste.

He stood to his feet, unbuckling his belt as he stared at you. Your chest heaved, toes curled, leaning back as you watched him. The light danced on his abdomen, highlighting every hill and dip on his torso, the scars that scattered the skin. It was a sight that had your brain resetting, recovering as though you hadn't been covered in a layer of sweat and left breathless from your orgasm.

His cock stood erect when he yanked his trousers down, and he didn't stall any longer. He stalked forward, leaning into you, his hand on the desk behind you as he pushed his cock through the tight barrier of your hymen. He was absorbed, swallowed by soft inner-muscles and velvety walls, slick with your cum and arousal.

He pressed his lips to yours again, not allowing for much deliberation or accommodation- he was far too aroused to wait. You planted your heels against the desk as he thrusted his entire length into you, quickly meeting your cervix with a gentle graze. It made you suck in a sharp breath, and move away from his lips.

You saw his eyes, the look of possession and pure lust in them. You merely stared at each other, a nauseating intimacy while he thrusted inside you, further disturbing your lower stomach with a tightness.

"Oh God," You choked, your hands reaching around his shoulders, clinging to him. "Don't stop- don't fucking stop."

His hand reached around you, holding you against him, the other gripping your thigh with a bruising constraint.

"Fuckin' Christ, you're tight, sweetheart," He breathed in your ear. "You all wet for me?"

You nodded, breathing an enthusiastic yes into his ear, clenching at his back with your fingers. Your nails dug into the slick flesh, feeling his muscles move as his hips tilted back and forth into you.

All you could smell, hear was him. The scent of his heavy body soap, like pine, mixed with the cigarette you'd offered him earlier. His breathing in your ear, heavy pants as he relished in the tightness of you- the slippery walls encroaching on his cock.

"Such a good fuckin' girl," He mumbled against your neck, his lips dragging against your skin. "Say you're a good girl," His voice rumbled through his chest. "Fuck me- all for me."

It was haze-inducing, incoherent mumbles, quiet gasps and sobs as you clung to him. It worsened when his fingers played your clit, sliding between your bodies to rub over the sensitive spot.

"I'm a good girl," You gasped. "I'm your good girl."

"'At's right, sweetheart- takin' me nice and deep."

It didn't take long to clench around his cock, another wave of nauseating pleasure that rendered you absolutely useless as he drove into you.

"Fuckin' hell," He stuttered.

You'd constricted his cock, pulsating around him with every contraction, nearly sobbing into his shoulder when he continued with his thrusts.

He finally pulled out, tugging on his cock as he released his cum over your stomach. He exhaled sharply, before gathering his composure.

You grimaced as you stood to your feet, trying to clean yourself off as best you could.

You watched him shrug his jacket back on.

"Get some rest," He nodded once, gesturing to the doorway. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

"Is 'check on me' an innuendo? Should I wear my good underwear?" You grinned, pulling your pants back over your backside.

"I'd shag you if y'had on a bin bag, sweetheart."

"You're sweeter than you let on," You teased, laughing.

"Not for most," He cocked his head. "Guess you're lucky."

"Well, thank you," You smiled.

It was genuine. A distraction, however unexpected and unusual, that did make you almost forget about the assignment.

"I'll be around," He paused. "If you're feelin' like takin' your frustrations out."

"Goodnight, Lieutenant."

He walked off with a short nod. You paused for a moment; the temptation to curl yourself up at your desk and continue your assignment was gnawing at you. You clenched your jaw, took a deep breath in when you recalled Ghost's words, and finally decided to turn off the monitors.

[rodolfoparras]

Okay, just hear me out. What if Price’s wife is weirdly into it and the two team up and fuck/degrade Price together? 🥴

Price’s wife should be horrified, she is horrified but there’s also a small part of her that can’t help but be turned on because she has never seen her husband be this wrecked.

He’s basically fucking himself onto your cock, chest flush red as he uses all of his arms strength to support his weight, sandy brown hair soaked in sweat and sticking to his forehead, while labored breathes escape his lips.

Her thighs subconsciously squeeze together and she can even see you with a small smirk on your face while gradually slowing down the movement of your hips.

“I think she wants to join in. What do you think pretty? Should we let her?”

Price can barely register what you’re saying, mind still hazy and desperate for any sort of relief. He doesn’t even realize he’s saying yes before his own wife is making her way over to their shared bed where him and his lover lay.

Theres a string of words she want to say as she quickly shuts the door behind her, a flux of emotion bubbling up in her gut as she walks over to the bed, and a burning need to touch price as she crawls over to where the two of you lay.

“Please please please” Price says, doesn’t even know who he’s begging at this point as he bucks up onto your length, begging for any sort of release he can get

All of sudden her voice hardens, gaze turning sharper as she utters the words “Look at you John, acting like a whore, wasn’t my cock enough for you hm?” She says as she delivers a slap to his ass cheek, the noise sounding throughout the room as he sobs into the sheets

“Sorry sorry so sorry ma’am” he sobs, head shaking back and forth, mind absolutely delirious while still continuously being skewed onto your cock

“Answer her properly John”

“Such a cockhungry whore you are john, one cock wasn’t enough, needed two to fill this hole up isnt that right”

“Yes yes please need - please anything..anything” he says hands almost threatening to rip the sheets with how tightly he’s gripping onto them.

[celestialprincesse]

Hey hun! I just wanted to send this (completely self-indulgent) ask so if you don't wanna write it, yer all good <3.

But how would you think either Ghost or Soap would respond to their partner getting a bad diagnosis. Like not anything fatal but something they'll deal with for the rest of their life?

Anyways have a great day you deserve it!

Perfectly happy to write this!!!! Chronic illness and I are better acquainted than I'd like to admit n writing is like my favourite coping mechanism💕🥴🤚

The dull cream walls of your doctors office have become far too familiar, so has the drone of his voice, and the incessant hum of the ancient AC unit which leaves the room always that little bit too cold. Simon's hand on your back is the only thing saving you from zoning out entirely. In a way, you so wish it isn't keeping you there in the room. You'd give anything to drift away into that comfortable place in the corner of your mind where everything is hazy and warm and nothing hurts. Today, of course, you're not granted such a privilege.

" - treatable, but unfortunately incurable."

You're not surprised, but it doesn't hurt any less either. It's impossible to ignore the way Simon's fingers flex against the base of your spine, his brows furrowing with disappointment as he looks down at the results of your blood tests. The way you feel has long since passed dread - settled on that horrible tear jerking feeling of defeat. Life has fucked you sideways, before well and truly leaving you in the dirt.

Simon ushers you to the car in silence, his heart breaking when your head drops into your hands, a frustrated sigh breaking the terse silence you'd fallen into, your mind having run so fast it stopped completely. The emptiness, the lack of distraction, feels far worse.

He soothes you in the best way he knows. "Takeaway? You fancy sushi?" Anything, he'll do anything to coax you from your thoughts, anything to see you smile. He just needs to see you smile.

If he has to take you to the pet store, or the bookstore or sephora, or the most expensive chocolate shop in town, or drop you off to Price's to sit with his wife and watch romcoms with pints of ice cream, whatever he has to do, he'll do it.

You plead to just go home. You just want to sit on the couch and wallow.

He puts up less of a fight than you'd expect, dropping into the supermarket to grab a pint of milk before driving the two of you back home.

By the time you've changed back into your sweats and one of Simon's old hoodies, he's covered the coffee table in all of your favourite snacks, your favourite movie ready to go, and open arms for you to walk into.

"Not gonna let my girl be sick and sad, yeah?"

[robo-writing]

So close, and yet so far

Aka: Johnny finds a new obsession in you.

Pairing: John “Soap” MacTavish/Reader

Rating: 18+

This was heavily inspired by this lovely ghost/reader camgirl fic, so I decided to throw my hat in the ring. I wrote this in two hours with no editing 🥴

You’re a sweet thing, honeysuckle, ambrosia. The kind of sweet that lingers in your mouth and leaves an aftertaste. He guesses that’s why he returns to your stream every day—like honey, and just as sticky. 

Johnny’s bored one day, absentmindedly palming his boxers as he browses for a good video. Not one to be picky, but something about today has him particularly on edge, not quite able to find his release. His usuals just aren’t doing it.

Then he finds an ad for a cam site and sees you on the front page. 

You catch his eye immediately, wondering what a cute lass like you is doing on a site like this. The link takes him to your stream and his cock hardens in his boxers, not quite believing what his eyes see.

You’re a dream in a pair of soft pink panties, the kind of girl he’d never believe would be working as a cam girl unless he saw it for himself. Legs spread, bright pink vibrator buzzing between your legs, nearly in tears as your back arches off the bed. A hoard of men throwing donations at the screen, hoping for your attention.

He watches for a while more, impossibly hard as your legs shake around the toy, writhing in pleasure. In the corner of the screen he sees a message that makes him throb in his hand.

Valentines special! Top donator of the day gets to hear me moan their name! <3

Thank fucking Christ he had his card number memorized.

Within a day he became your top donator, the emptiness of his wallet meaning nothing when it meant he got to see you spread open on camera, rubbing at your pretty cunt while moaning his name, shaking your hips and displaying your wet pussy for him to see.

“Johnny, Johnny—oh god—“

You sound like heaven in his ears, memorizing each and every sound you make when your fingers find your clit and rub. His hand matches your pace, thumb pressing against his leaking slit and nearly drooling when you grind yourself against your hand with his name on your lips.

You’re beautiful like this, makes him wish he could actually touch you. His cock twitches at the thought, groaning when he reaches down and plays with his balls in tandem.

A day to remember, he swears he’s never come that hard before. His head falls back, not giving a damn if his neighbors hear how loud he moans your name when his cum splashes on his stomach. It drips from his fingers, the slick of it echoing in the room as he vigorously strokes himself through his orgasm. His arm burns with exhaustion, the head of his cock blooming red, so sensitive it becomes damn near painful and yet he doesn’t stop, not until he sees your pretty cunt gush over your fingers. 

You make a mess of yourself, and so does Johnny. The cycle repeats the next day, when he returns for another session. This becomes a regular habit. 

You’re a constant in his life, the moment you go live he’s always the first to join. His pretty bird, his girl. There’s a possessiveness that seeps into every message he sends, lighting up when you read each one and get flustered at the sight. He can tell you’ve never been treated how you aught to be, can see it in the way your legs squeeze together with every donation. 

So he sends you a private message after a month, anxious for your response.

How much for a private session?

And when you give him a price, he’s over the fucking moon. The amount didn’t matter to him, just as long as he got to see you.

Truly a shame he thinks, his little bird going so long without a real man to take care of you. But it’s okay, because now he can lavish you with the attention you’ve needed for so long.

You seem so shy in private, so demure. He knows better of course, has an entire folder on his laptop of you being anything but a fucking angel, but it still shocks him how innocent you seem.

Hands adjusting your outfit, every detail fiddled with until it’s perfect, until you’re satisfied with how your lace fits on your body. A strap here, a crease there. He admires how well you get dolled up for him.

A message flashes on the screen, fifty dollars lighting up. Your eyes light up at the notification, looking over at the bold letters with a smile.

You look so hot today

Your laughter sounds as sweet as you look. “Thank you! I just bought this set.”

You press your tits closer, presenting them to the camera. “Bought it for you, actually. Do you think it looks nice?”

A siren call, he can’t help but be drawn to the view. Johnny licks his lips at the sight, the ambient light casting a soft glow on your exposed cleavage. It makes him want a closer look.

His fingers move quick as anything, not even looking at the screen, completely focused on your body.

$150: you look more than nice lass. let’s see some more.

Familiarity lights up on your features, groaning at the sight of that subtle little grin spreading across your face.

“Of course Johnny,” you whisper, the sound of his name like a melody between your lips. You adjust your camera closer, grabbing at your breasts. “Is this what you wanted?”

No, what he wants is to replace your hands with his own. What he wants is to bite at the supple flesh with his teeth and rip off the flimsy fabric that hides you away from him. 

His hand strokes against the bulge that grows in his boxers as he sends another donation.

$150: you don’t want to know what I want lass.

He loves the look in your eyes, how your pupils dilate when they read it over once, twice. Your lips caught between your teeth, you pull at your nipple through the fabric as you sigh in relief.

“Always a smooth talker…” you whisper.

He watches you from lidded eyes—makes him wonder how you got to this profession, knowing that some dirty talk is enough to have you squirming on camera.

Imagine if he was actually in the room with you, the things he’d say. The things he’d do.

The thought leaves him breathless. One day he’ll have you all to himself, but for now, he’ll settle for a screen.

[hihhasotherfixations]

Truth or Dare - Price x reader | Part 1

CW: no gender - reader is a blank slate. Love as a pet name. Suggestive talk, though nothing truly explicit. You’re both drunk, you’re playing truth or dare - whaddya expect 🥴

Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 1249

It had always been a one-sided attraction. A silly crush you had to deal with while balancing your work with the team. It would fade in time.

It wasn’t your fault when it had been a couple of years and it still hadn’t.

Captain Price was nothing if not professional. He loved his team and he treated everyone equally. You included. Well… maybe he did treat you a little more fondly than others. But that was only logical, given you’d been his lieutenant, working by his side for so long.

Despite the slight favouritism, he’d always been professional.

So, when after another successful mission, he’d invited you all to go to the bar, you didn’t expect the night would end up here. With you, alone together in your room on base, playing truth or dare.

Just moments prior, he’d pulled you onto his lap, your face darkening in a blush while his face remained flushed from the alcohol - your own doing no better of course.

“Gonna accept the dare and stay put?” His gruff voice pulled you out of your musings regarding his face and you briefly glanced to the side, thinking it over.

Neither of you had any alcohol to be able to take a shot instead of playing the round, but you’d kept a tally marking. One kept suspiciously empty, with neither of you refusing just yet.

Turning back to look into his eyes, you smiled ever so slightly, nodding and Price hummed in approval, his hands on your waist twitching slightly. “Good. Your turn now, go on.”

“Truth or dare.” You questioned, already having a guess for what he was gonna pick.

“Truth.”

Right on the money you were. Mulling it over for a second, the man chose right that moment to shift his hands from your waist down to your hips, pulling you just that tiny bit closer that made your breath subtly hitch. Looking at him, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes, an expression not even his beard could hide and you squinted.

If he wanted to play it like that- fine. “What’s the most inappropriate thing you’ve done on base?” You asked the first thing that came to mind, intent to perhaps embarrass him a little like he was clearly doing with you.

Instead of any embarrassment over his days as a rookie however, you were first witness to his pupils expanding as he stared dead into your eyes, nearly looking hungry.

“You sure you wanna know that?” He questioned, his voice sounding a little more gravelly than normal due to the alcohol and you swallowed.

“If you wanna tap out, there’s the board.” You spoke, breaking eye contact to reach for the pen and clipboard but before you could, your wrist was grabbed.

Snapping your head back to him, his gaze had never left you as his eyes drilled into yours. “I’m asking if you want to tap out.” He clarified.

“I asked the question, so no.” You whispered back, feeling suddenly small even while sitting on top of him. A fact you were becoming painfully aware of.

“Then the most inappropriate thing I’ve done was two years ago, when seeing you during that heatwave.”

“Me?” You questioned, unable to look away from his increasingly hungry gaze.

“You didn’t leave much to the imagination, love. Especially after PT.” He growled, almost as if he could see your sweaty form in front of him now. “Had to dip into the nearest broom closet.”

Blushing darker and darker, you swallowed softly, seeing Price’s eyes dart down to follow the movement of your throat bobbing before he glanced back up.

Unable to say anything, the man noticed and smirked, sliding his hand from your wrist to your hand, bringing it up to his mouth where he pressed a kiss to it. “My turn. Truth or dare?”

“T-Truth.” You managed to get out, though even in your inebriated state, you were beginning to think tapping out might be the safer option, given how your captain was looking at you.

Price however, was unforgiving, having had his question ready before you could even finish saying the word. “Do you stare at me when you think I’m not watching?” He questioned, his lips quirking up into a smirk when you stiffened on his lap.

“Yes…” Your voice was barely over a whisper as you admitted it, not willing to be the first to place a tally on the board.

Price however, placed both hands back on your hips and squeezed appreciatively, humming. “Thought as much, I just needed a confirmation.”

Pressing your lips together, you narrowed your eyes at his smugness, deciding enough was enough.

Despite your raging blush, you put your hands on his shoulders, shifting your hips closer to his which made him choke on a groan, his eyes finding yours as he raised a brow. “Truth or dare, captain?”

“Truth.” He rumbled out, moving his arms to hug around your hips, keeping you pinned to his chest as he looked at your face, completely entranced.

“What are you thinking of right now?”

For a second, Price was silent, scanning your face as he slightly wetted his lips before landing back on your eyes. “I’m thinking of how much I want to kiss you right now.” His voice was quiet, near a whisper as he answered honestly.

A flutter shot straight down your spine at his words and you couldn’t help but glance down at his lips, partially hidden by his beard.

Unable to stop yourself, you bit down on the tip of your thumb to try and stop yourself from smiling, glancing back up at his eyes which were focused on your mouth before he realised you were looking at him, making him look up as well. “Alright, your turn to ask me.”

Steeling himself only a little, Price squeezed at your hip where his hand sat. “Truth or dare, love?”

“Dare.” You smiled.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Though his words were plain and almost dry, there was a hint of desperation that made your heart beat just that bit faster, your smile growing into a grin. “I knew you would.” With that, you wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders as you leaned in and kissed him.

The moment your lips connected to his, Price shot his right hand up, cradling the back of your head as he pushed you further into himself, a little groan leaving the back of his throat.

He wasted no time, moving his mouth against yours as he deepened the kiss, pulling your pelvis into his in a greedy pull that made you sharply inhale before a little noise left you.

Almost instantly, you felt Price smirk into the kiss, his palm searing hot where it touched your skin.

Shifting your hips, you fluttered your eyes closed; fully letting him overtake you as you parted your lips to which he instantly took advantage of.

For years you’d thought of this moment, of kissing him. And yet you could barely believe it, now that you were here. Feeling his beard, coarse yet gentle with how it pushed into your skin. His lips, hungry and inviting. His tongue, eager and overpowering from how it moved against yours.

The kiss was messy and hungry, small grunts and noises sounding in the room as Price refused to pull away, keeping your head still, not willing to end the dare just yet.

But then again, the game didn’t end there.

-

I might make a p2 continuation of this ;3

Part 1 | Part 2

[saltofmercury]

Hello hello 👋🏻 new follower here but I love your work (the clumsy reader drabble was so cute I love our bbygirl in these “mundane” type of situations and you’ve written him into that setting so wonderfully 💕❤️) so I thought I’d shoot in a request, you can turn it into a drabble or something else of your choosing, that is of course if it appeals to you! But I thought it was a cute and funny moment which could fit well with your writing style! So I work in an office filled w a lot of men who are taller than me which means I have to crane up my neck 99% of the time to keep a conversation w them, but there’s this one coworker who has to courtesy to lean down/sit beside me and sometimes gets on his knees next to my desk on the floor whenever he comes around to talk, and the other day another coworker passed us by and he said “ [hisname], on your knees again, I see?” and he immediately clapped back w “I’ll always get down on my knees for a woman, you should try it out sometimes!” (now that I read this back it comes across as juvenile and borderline a HR nightmare but I promise it was harmless fun😭😭)

anyhoo since I have a very dirty mind in general and am currently battling a bad case of brainrot bc of a certain Austrian sniper who triggers all the kinks (size in particular🥴) I was thinking what if Konig would have a freudian slip like this around his crush and where it would lead the two of them 👀

Hope this fits the request!

"Friendship"

Small little hand touches, small flirty comments, stealing eye glances toward one another. You two had been dancing around one another. There was an obvious attraction toward one another, but afraid of overstepping your friendship boundary, you had left it kissing in the hallway, not wanting to get hurt.

König seemed like he liked to keep it as a friendship too. He would talk to you throughout the day, FaceTime at night, even sometimes making you lunch when you didn’t answer him. He knew you were busy so he tried to make your day a little easier.

He actually hated the kissing part because it left him wanting more.

“Come on one more kiss?”

He had been breathless, meeting you in the stairwell for your usual “afternoon delight.” A term he mixed up.

He pulled you in, craned his neck towards you, trapping you under his arms and lips.

“I’ve got — he kissed you

— reports to submit!”

“Last one until tomorrow,” he exhaled, rubbing your face with his thumbs, then embracing you, sticking his tongue in your mouth, you sucking it and making him moan.

You felt it. He was clearly hard against you, so you pulled away, not trying to make it worse for him.

“Hey, wait just for a minute more…” he attempted to pull you back but you dismissed him, telling him you need to get back to your report for Price.

Later that night, after you guys had FaceTimed each other, you two had been laughing at something he said.

“Ok ok, I need to go to sleep, I have to go to the gym tomorrow.” He said

“Alright, fine.” You whined. “Goodnight…”

“Okay goodnight —I love you!” He had heard what he said, wide eyed, his face turned red, and he fumbled his phone to end the call.

The next day, you hadn’t brought up the I love you, meeting with everyone to go over plans for the mission you were sending them on. You had briefed each and every member of KorTac, making sure they knew what they would be supplied with and how much time they had.

Once it was over, Horangi leaned over to König.

“God she’s strict but I like her! She’s all business. She even gave us timelines of when this should be completed.”

König stared at you standing in the hallway, fixing your jacket over your blouse.

He was never a boobs kind of guy, but he thinks you made him one. He wondered how they would feel in his mouth.

“Yeah she’s the breast… I mean best!” He stared at Horangi, who started laughing hysterically.

“Got your mind in the gutter König?”

At that moment you had turned towards them, wondering what Horangi was laughing about. You smiled, waving at them.

Two days later, you had a free afternoon, König had been talking to you about heading to the gym. You had told him you desperately wanted a shower and would skip the gym today. Not that you even went, you weren’t into fitness at all.

König had heard what you said, but insisted on having you there with him, to at least have company and sneak off to make out. But what had come out was —

“Hey wanna go shower with me?” He was stunned, you started laughing so hard you couldn’t stop. He was clearly flustered, he wasn’t sure if you had laughed it off as a joke or just merely embarrassed.

"I've got to go, i'm gonna be late." He practically gathered himself running away.

When he tried calling you that night, but you had been too preoccupied with something else. Wondering if his feelings secretly slipped a message out. Did he want more than just friends?

You touched yourself, imagining what it would feel to have his pouty lips in between your legs. What it would be like to have him moaning echoing throughout the four corners of your room. How it would be to sit on him, his thick sex entering you, stretching you out as you held onto him…

He didn't reach you, and left you a voicemail.

“Okay I know today was weird with the shower comment… if you get this call, give me a chance." It had slipped out again.

Once you heard that message it was clear. You knew he wanted it too.

You texted him to come over.

He had rushed over, sensing some priority in your message. The three knocks on your door had created an urgency inside you. You ran to the door, and grabbed him by the shirt. Pulled him into a kiss.

“I want you so bad König you don’t understand. I don’t want to be friends.”

He chuckled lightly, “I do understand…”

He picked you up and pressed you against the wall. Sucking on your neck and collarbone, leaving small bites, and hickeys in their place.

“You have no idea what you do to me, how badly I’ve wanted this.”

You grab a hold of his face in your hands, sloppily kissing him and arching your back from the wall, your breasts closer to his chest.

“Say you’ve wanted me too? Please baby.”

You pulled yourself from him, unlatching your legs around his waist, and pulling yourself down.

You proceed to undress yourself walking slowly to the bedroom.

He followed you into the room where you’ve already peeled off most of your clothes except your panties.

“I’ve wanted you so badly.”

You lay on the bed, and as his hands roam your breasts, squeezing, and fondling your nipples, he gently rubs down to your panties, his fingertips on the edge of them.

“No, König, take them off with your teeth.”

He looks at you for a second, the rush of blood going straight to his erection. He kisses you through your underwear, grabs a hold of your legs from underneath. Teeth nip lightly at your skin, grab a hold of the lace in-between and with one full motion, he’s taken them down to your knees. He rips them off your leg and puts them in his back pocket.

He looks at you, exposed, your legs wide open. Your cunt somewhat wet for him, and he’s got to taste just to be sure.

He places his tongue on you, gently flicks inside you, swirling and licking you at every inch.

He moans, nuzzling himself closer.

“ugh baby, you’ve got such a cute cunt.”

The heat rises from your stomach to your cheeks. He’s so gentle, sucking on your lips, teasing your clit.

“I’ve wanted to taste you since we’ve shared our first kiss.”

He speaks softly, placing small pecks on you. It bubbles small waves in you.

He wraps his hands around yours,

“Tell me baby, have you wondered what it’s like? What does my tongue feel like on your pretty little cunt?”

You’re overwhelmed, he’s so vocal but gentle, it makes you crazy. You let out a small moan.

“Breathe in through your nose baby, relax, I’m here.”

As soon as you take those deep breaths, it’s game over, like your body has its full attention on his tongue on your clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body.

He’s egging you on,

“You like it when I go fast?” He flicks your clit faster with his tongue,

then asks,

“Or slow like this?”

And proceeds to suck on your clit so gently, soft moans coming from his mouth.

“You taste so good, baby.”

Your brain can’t comprehend anything. The sounds you’re emitting, his tongue on you, how he expresses himself… you can feel how close you are.

“You’re gonna cum soon? I can feel it, you’re so wet. Cum for me.”

And it’s with those three words that send you over the edge. You arch your back, flares ripple through your body, and you moan his name.

He’s still sucking, making you jump slightly, pushing away from him.

He comes up towards your body, placing soft kisses on your legs, tummy, and breasts. He stops at the left one, sucking on it.

“I’ll get these next time.” He tells you, grabbing you for a deep kiss.

You stare up at him, wondering why it was ever such a bad thing to break your friendship. There was no doubt in your head you two were made for one another.

[blessthegulag]

I Hate You, pt. 2

“A problem with authority? Of course I have a problem with authority, I’ll fuck it.”

Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the incident, Alejandro confronts you, and you decide what to do with the situation.

Warnings: Smut, p in v, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), light degradation, rough sex, no protection, light angst, bad emotional management, reader kind of has commitment issues?, emotionally unavailable reader, cannon non-compliant (vague, incorrect use of the MW2 plot because I benefit from it ;) ), Spanglish,  swearing, arguments, not proofread!, fucking the power out of the dynamics 

Word count: 6.1k

Notes: This part 2 took the lyrics  ‘Fuck the police’ quite literally. Anyway, it was really hard for me to write this chapter, since I didn’t want to make Alejandro too clingy, yet I still wanted him to be true to his emotions, like any mature person would  (except reader, bc we love an emotionally unavailable woman around here who makes men suffer)

Aaaaand, might, and just might be a part 3, though I’m not very sure.

BY THE WAY, here’s some translations for the Spanish words that appear later on:

-Calentón:  It’s just a way of saying something that happened in the heat of the moment, something not really thought out. 

-Chula: A prideful girl who likes to flaunt herself, who thinks she is interesting and sometimes is self-centered.

-Pasión latina: Latino passion

**Manifesting that this happens to me with the 6.2ft cuban guy I met at my gym, who also happens to have the same vibes as Alejandro 🤞🏻🤞🏻🥴**

Part 1

Several weeks had passed since the incident, and guilt flooded your mind. 

The morning after, the sirens had awoken you, taking you by surprise. You dressed up as quickly as you could, waking Alejandro up in the process. By the point the search party found you, you were sweating and agitated, your cheeks a vibrant shade of pink, still trying to process what the hell happened the night before.

You didn’t know how you two didn’t end up getting caught, knowing that the aftermath of that night was still very present in the car, like a tiger had been locked inside of it. For weeks, you feared that the smell left behind would arise cheeky comments, suspicion within Alejandro’s men. 

But nobody seemed to notice.

You were embarrassed, still. 

For some time, Alejandro didn’t glance your way, and neither did you. No missions assigned, no meetings, no training.

It was as if God had given you a moment of reflection, of peace. 

After that day, you had intentions to stop any sort of relationship with Alejandro. You didn’t even want to keep hating him, you just wanted to forget, to go on with your life as if nothing happened.

However, life had other plans for you.

The dreaded call came, Captain Price’s voice informing you of a new mission. From the tone of his voice, you knew it was important, an emergency. The mission required your specific skills, and you were sure that Alejandro would be there, too.

You had to accept.

Anxiety flooded you. It had you biting the bars of your enclosure, feeling a pit of nerves in your stomach. You were barely able to function, the time until the day of the mission slipping through your fingers, unstoppable.

Then, the day came. 

Upon arriving at the meeting point, you saw Alejandro already present, reviewing maps and discussing strategies with the rest of the team. The moment he saw you, his expression hardened, quickly returning to his task, his eyes fixed on the documents before him. 

The tension between you was palpable, unbearable. You were sure no one noticed, but the way his jaw muscles shifted, told you that he felt the same way. 

Throughout the mission, Alejandro and you remained civil, working together like life long partners. The few words that came out of your mouths were about the mission, about the next course of action. 

If anybody else were to be next to you two at that moment, would surely catch on to the tension. From screaming in each other’s ears, to agreeing in order to avoid interaction. 

What you thought was nothing but a tough, distasteful situation for you two, turned into an even more ugly moment the second Alejandro opened his mouth. 

“Escuchame, güera, (Listen to me, güera)” he began, his voice low, professional. He was using his Coronel voice, distancing himself from you. “We both know something happened between us. You can ignore me all you want, but that won’t change what we did.”

You side eyed him, the grip on your Glock tightening. “Is this really the moment, Alejandro?”

Alejandro’s expression darkened, his features set in a tight frown. “What other moment am I supposed to do it, with you avoiding me like the plague?”

“Maybe you should catch a hint,” you whispered, looking the other way. 

Alejandro clenched his jaw, frustration evident. “You think I haven’t? I get it. You regret it. But ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

You bit your lip, trying to maintain focus on the task at hand. “We have a mission to complete, Alejandro.”

“Go ahead and avoid it,” he scoffed, his voice barely above a whisper. Alejandro’s gaze softened, his eyes searching yours. “But I can’t pretend, not like you.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “Alejandro, please. Not now.”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “No. Listen to me—”

Your heart pounded in your chest, echoing in your ears, deafening you. You turned around, facing him. “No. You listen to me. There’s a mission on the line, so focus.”

He looked at you, dumbfounded, his mouth slightly agape. “For how long?” He demanded, his voice a low rumble. “How long are you going to keep running from this?”

“As long as it takes,” you replied, turning away from him. 

And with that, Alejandro remained silent. You could feel him behind you, distant, angry. In any other situation, you would’ve already started screaming at each other. 

But today, nothing happened. 

You had turned down Alejandro in the way that hurt most, disregarding what he wanted to say. He took that personally, playing your own game, ignoring you in the same way that you had done with him. 

The rest of the mission passed in a haze, Alejandro’s words echoing in your mind. You felt his presence like a weight on your shoulders, the regret of your harsh words gnawing at you tormenting you.

It drove you insane. 

Back at the base, days turned into weeks. The tension lingered, thick, suffocating. Your tasks went on with robotic efficiency, losing track of your surroundings. You tried detaching yourself from reality every time you two crossed paths, but the hurt in his eyes weighed on your conscience. 

Alejandro didn’t make it easy. He was everywhere— leading training sessions, briefing the team, conducting inspections. His voice was a constant in your daily routine, each command a bitter, sickening reminder of what you had done.

Of course, you remained distant, strictly professional, but every interaction, every glance left you feeling more hollow. You needed to put an end to this, but you were too prideful for that, too scared to face the reality of the situation, of Alejandro’s true feelings. 

You were not ready to confront him, listen to him and expect to stay strong. 

There were only two ways in which it could end, and you wanted neither. You were tired of the yelling, of the anger; you wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, for your own sanity.

Late night workouts became your best friend. It helped you ease your mind, forget your worries. Some music on your headphones, the low light of the base’s gym keeping you from looking too much at yourself.  You pounded the punching bag, lifted weights, ran on the treadmill— anything to exhaust your body and drown out the storm in your mind.

One night, you decided to make your way to the training room, making sure that the base was already asleep. You grabbed some disks, placing them on the bench press, ready to start lifting. 

As you laid on the bench, staring up at the ceiling, you let the music in your headphones drown out the silence. You lifted the bar, feeling the strain in your muscles, the burn on your chest grounding you.

The door to the gym creaked open, but you didn't notice. It wasn't until you saw a shadow move across the ceiling that you realized you were no longer alone. You glanced up, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Alejandro standing there, watching you. 

He had that look in his eyes again, a mixture of melancholy, and deep vulnerability. 

You set the bar back on the rack and sat up, pulling out your headphones. “What?”

Alejandro didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood there, his gaze intense and unwavering. The silence stretched between you, thick, nerve-wracking.

Finally, he broke the silence. “We need to talk.”

You sighed, lifting your brows. “We’ve been over this, Alejandro. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, chula,” he said, stepping closer, still comfortably far from you. 

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the bench. "It was a thing of the moment, Alejandro. Nothing more."

“A thing of the moment?” he repeated back, his voice laced with an edge of annoyance. “Es así de verdad como lo ves?”

Is that really how you see it?

His gaze searched your face, defiant, vulnerable, still wary.

“What do you want me to feel, Alejandro?” you said, your tone honest, tired. “What do you expect of me?”

The genuine note in your question caught Alejandro off guard, momentarily silencing any response he had ready. He took a deep breath, his gaze softening slightly. "I don’t know what I want you to feel," he admitted, his voice low and serious. "But I know that there was something real between us at that moment. And I don’t believe you can just dismiss that as a 'thing of the moment' or pretend it didn’t happen."

“Mira, Alejandro,” (Look, Alejandro) you said, exasperated, scared, the tornado of emotions in you making you feel dizzy. “Fue un calentón, y ya. It happened, but that doesn't mean that things have to change.” (It was in the heat of the moment,)

Alejandro let out a tense huff at your casual attitude, a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Un calentón, huh?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "Is that what you want to call it?”

You nodded plainly, tired of the constant conflict between you two. “Yeah, that’s what it was.”

Alejandro’s jaw tightened, the muscles working under his skin. “So that’s it, then? We just go back to pretending nothing happened?”

You met his gaze, unwavering. “Yes. For both of our sakes, it’s better this way.”

His eyes flashed with hurt and anger, a mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite conceal. “Lying to yourself won’t solve anything.”

You looked at him, vulnerable, done. “I know.”

You saw Alejandro’s eyes falter for a moment, his jaw tightening. His eyes searched yours one last time, looking for something, anything that might give him hope. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

His shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him. He took a deep breath, his gaze hardening as he pulled himself together.

Without another word, he turned slowly, resignation in each of his steps.

The soft click of the door echoed in the empty room, the magnitude of your confession hitting you.  Your heart pounded in your chest, the situation having you on edge. The conversation replayed in your mind, each word a dagger to your pride, to your own feelings. 

You wanted to reach out, to run after him, to take back the words that had pushed him away. But fear kept you rooted in place, unable to move, unable to change what had been said.

You had messed up. 

—————

Days after, you found yourself exactly where you wanted to avoid. It had taken you hours of self-convicting, of self-restraint, and at first it worked. The days after the conversation in the gym, anger blinded you. You didn’t want to speak to him, you just wanted to forget, to move those thoughts away. You thought that, because your stay in Mexico was temporary, that you would be able to power through the situation. 

But you were wrong. 

It had taken a toll on your performance, and as a consequence, on the team. There had already been warnings on Price’s part, and you knew that another would mean game over. Due to that, too, your mental state deteriorated greatly. Eating was hard, training was hard, you didn’t want to speak to people. Everyone knew something was going on with you, but weren’t able to understand what happened. 

Alejandro, on the other hand, carried himself with more grace. His duties were much more important than heartbreak —or whatever this situation happening led to—, which meant that it was an escape. He had remained professional, focused, as effective as he had always been.

Seeing him like that boiled your blood. 

You needed to speak to him, to apologize, but it appeared that was doing just fine without you. And it was to expect, taking in account what you said about what happened. 

You had turned him down, essentially. 

And in that situation, it was him the one supposed to be suffering. But it wasn’t like that. 

He was fine, and you were not. 

It was all your fault for lying to yourself, for disrespecting his feelings like that.

But, what were you supposed to do? 

Involving yourself with a colonel while being a staff sergeant, in an extra-official mission for the 141, after ending up stranded in God knows where. Hell, that was like being the mayor of a small town, and involving yourself with the minister of defense; with the president, even. 

And worst of all, that said colonel had no fear nor doubt about what he was feeling. 

That’s what you call ‘pasión latina’.

But you, as (in the words of Alejandro) a güerita from Colorado, weren’t used to such insinuations. 

Facing a man like Alejandro wasn’t easy, and you wanted to believe that any woman would be intimidated by him. He was imposing, self-assured, proactive, dominant, there was no way in the world that you would face him.

Or so you thought. 

The door of his office was closed, but from the noise inside, you knew he was there. You didn’t want to do it, you weren’t ready; hell, you could wait and escape to the US in no time. 

But you had to. You knocked on the door a couple times, then waited.

Your heart pounded in your chest, echoing in your ears. Part of you hoped that he wouldn’t answer, that he’d ignore you so you’d have an excuse to get away, to avoid confrontation. But deep down, you knew you had no choice.

“Come in,” Alejandro said from the inside. 

You made your way into the room silent like a cat, your steps calculated. 

He wasn’t expecting you, you could tell by the way his eyes opened, by how he looked like a deer in front of headlights. Of course, his demeanor soon changed back to a mask of professionalism, looking at you just like he did when you arrived in Mexico: like a stranger.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice firm. 

You took a deep breath, closing the door behind you. “We need to talk.”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “About what?”

Your intentions at first were to be more empathetic, more willing to listen, less reactive. But just like every time, Alejandro had a way of pushing your buttons like no other. 

“You know exactly about what,” you said, your back still pressed against the door. 

Alejandro's eyes hardened, a flicker of annoyance passing over his features. "If this is about the gym, there's nothing more to say. You made your feelings clear."

You inhaled, trembling.

“I was scared,” you admitted, as honest as you could. “ I thought I had it all under control, I thought I would be able to ignore it until I left Mexico, but I can’t… It’s— It’s affecting everything, my performance, the team, my sanity.”

The silence in the room was deafening, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Alejandro stood up, moving to the window, looking out the base.

“You think you can come in here and say that?” he finally said, avoiding you. “You think admitting it now changes anything?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “But I can’t keep going like this.”

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, you saw weakness, a moment of pondering. But of course, he shut himself back up. “And what do you expect me to do? You made a point to say that it was in the heat of the moment.”

You felt as if you had been punched in the throat. “I don't know, Alejandro. I— I was not being honest with myself. You said it, I knew it, I just… I panicked, okay?”

He took a deep breath, walking over to you, still keeping his distance. “You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “No puedes agarrar y alejarme para luego volver cuando te parece. Esto no es un juego, Y/N. No puedes jugar conmigo así.”

You can’t go ahead and distance yourself from me and then come back when you want. This is not a game, Y/N. You can’t play with me like this.

“What do I need to do to show that I’m not playing games? Do you want me to kiss you? To leave everything behind and stay in Mexico for you? What did you want from me in the first place?”  you blurted out, desperate. “You've hated me ever since I arrived.”

“I never said I hated you,” he said.

“You acted like it,” you said, the heat in your voice making it difficult to remain calm.

“Because you have a problem with authority,” he barked in front of you, barely leaving space for you to stand.

“Of course I have a problem with authority,” you admitted, the intensity in your eyes burning holes in Alejandro. “But you fed it. This goes both ways.”

“Feeding it?” he scoffed. “It’s called discipline.”

“What discipline?,” you laughed in surprise, getting in his face, arrogant. “Is kissing your subordinate a known form of discipline?”

Silence set between you. Alejandro pressed his jaw, fidgeting with his fingers. You stood there, frozen, looking at him, waiting. 

“No quiero escuchar una queja tuya nunca más,” he said, authoritative, his voice barely a whisper. 

I don’t want to hear a complaint from you anymore.

He grabbed your neck, pinning you against the door in a harsh movement. He squeezed it, cutting blood flow for a couple seconds. You felt light headed, your mouth opened due to the euphoric sensation. Alejandro looked at you, angered, intense.  

You felt weak at the knees, lost, needy of him.

Then, his lips crashed against yours. You felt his coarse beard on your skin, his sweet, earthy cologne overtaking your senses. His touch burnt, leaving a scorching, tingling sensation there where it landed. 

His kiss was raw, primal, hungry. His free hand grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him, desperate to feel you. You moaned in his mouth, trapped, weak. You wanted to scream. You needed him. 

He locked the door. Goosebumps ran through your body, the implications of his actions sending waves directly to your core. 

Alejandro took you with him, manhandling you to the desk. He sat you on top, kissing your mouth, your neck, the exposed part of your chest, everywhere he could. 

You moaned his name, breathy, barely a whimper. It was overwhelming, your head spinning in circles as every kiss, every bite ignited fire within you. Your legs wrapped around his hips, your back against the cold wood of his desk grounding you. 

Then, his hands slid under your T-shirt. They caressed your sides for a second, before he brought his hands up your chest, your T-shirt following behind. Soon, you felt the cold air on your bare breasts, the fabric bunched up on top of them, leaving the perfect view for Alejandro. 

His hands caressed your skin, his fingers dancing lightly on your chest. You could feel his eyes on you, taking in the view. His touch was soft, greedy, insatiable, squeezing your breasts lightly, grazing over your nipples so he could hear your breathy moans. 

Your belt went next. Then your boots. 

The fabric of your pants and panties hit the floor with a soft thud, resonating in the overall silent room. Alejandro had you under his control, perfectly fixed in his desk, surrounded by his belongings. Your cheeks were red, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

It took everything it had in him not to cum right then and there. 

With one hand, he lifted one of your legs up to your shoulder, exposing your glistening pussy to him. 

He swallowed, mesmerized, taking a couple seconds to appreciate what he was seeing.

Then, barely able to breathe, Alejandro took a couple fingers,  sliding them through your wet lips. He passed them agonizingly slow, savoring the way your body reacted to him, how you looked desperate, needy, ready. 

“Eh, chula,” he whispered, his fingers making small circles on your clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Mírame.”

Eh, chula. Look at me.

You looked at him, lost in pleasure, already fucked out. The sight of him had you clenching around nothing, trying to buck your hips up for more pressure. He looked breathtaking, absolutely mesmerizing: messy hair, trimmed beard, reddened lips from biting them so much. 

You needed him.

You could see the desire burning within him, the need that matched your own. Your hands continued to tease, to tempt, bringing you to the edge, then pulling back. It had you moaning, crying, pleading with him to let you cum, but he would not give in. It was torture, the worst yet sweetest kind, the one that had you melting in front of him, urging you to do whatever it took to reach your release. 

When he stopped giving attention to your clit, your mouth opened to complain. You were sweating, horny as fuck, completely broken down because of him. Not even a gasp could come out of your mouth when you felt his fingers pressing against your entrance, sinking in, getting pulled in by your greedy pussy. 

You mewled at the sensation, clenching around his thick, rough fingers, savoring every second of it. His fingers pumped in and out of you, the smell of sex already flooding the room, the sticky, lewd noises of your pussy so loud, that you were sure any passerby could hear. 

Alejandro’s hand left the underside of your knees, bringing you back to reality for a second. You saw a glimpse of his face lower towards you, him kneeling to the ground. 

For a second, you were confused, empty; but the moment his tongue made contact with your clit, every feeling  except pleasure escaped your mind. The sensation was electric, sending waves of warmth through your body. 

Alejandro had a way of taking over your mind, of clearing any doubt, any fear. With him on your pussy, licking every drop of your juices, abusing your clit with his tongue, it was impossible for you to hate him. The way he was making you feel had you in a cloud, at his disposal, seriously considering if staying in Mexico just for this was a good enough excuse.

Of course it was.

If it meant getting this treatment, you'd stay in a heartbeat; if disciplinary action was to be taken like this, you'd be in his office more than in your own barracks.

You'd fight your way into his bedroom.

Alejandro’s fingers curled inside you, while his tongue worked on your clit, making you squirm, gasp and moan his name, grabbing his coarse dark hair, pressing his face against you. The room filled with your sweet, pretty moans and the wet, more than obscene thrusting of his fingers inside your pussy. 

He grabbed your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark, spreading you even more open. 

You squeezed the muscles in your pelvis, feeling your orgasm bunch up, sending the nerves in your body into overload. You started panting, whispering his name, using his face as your own personal toy, your whole being so tense, that it took you a while to realize. 

Your orgasm crashed over you. The tension dissipated in a second, making you melt against his desk, moaning in pure ecstasy. 

Alejandro didn’t stop, his movements becoming more deliberate, his fingers slowing but deepening, drawing out every last shiver of pleasure from your body. You felt the aftershocks, your muscles contracting around his fingers as he eased you down from your high.

When he finally withdrew, you felt empty, unsatisfied. 

You needed more. 

He stood, his eyes dark with lust and satisfaction, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you. He then took his fingers in his mouth, cleaning your arousal off of them. 

Your mouth opened at the sight, your breathy whimpers catching his attention. 

“Venga, güerita,” he said, grabbing you by the back of your neck. “De rodillas.”

C’mon, güerita. On your knees.

His tone came out as teasing, authoritative. You complied, sliding off the desk, your knees on the cold wood, your hands on his thighs, ready, impatient. 

You looked up at him, eyes wide and eager, the anticipation building in your chest. Alejandro’s gaze was intense, his eyes dark, filled with a primal desire that made your heart race. Alejandro undid his belt, the sound of nylon slipping through the loops of his combat pants echoing in the room. You licked your lips, your mouth watering at the thought of him.

Alejandro's hand brushed your cheek, his thumb tracing your lips before pushing into your mouth. You sucked on it eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the salty tang of his skin. He watched you, his eyes dark with lust, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“Abre,” (open) he ordered, and you obeyed, parting your lips, ready for him. He withdrew his thumb from your mouth, bunching up your hair, using his hand as a tie, to then guide you directly to the head of his cock, pressing it against your tongue. You moaned at the roughness, wrapping your swollen lips around him, taking him slowly. 

He groaned, the grip on your hair tightening. You could feel the heat of his arousal, the way he throbbed in your mouth; it only fuelled your desire. You took him deeper, ready to please him, to make him lose control. 

Alejandro groaned, pushing himself further into your mouth, pressing into your throat. Tears bunched up in your eyes, taking every inch of him, your nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. The sensation was overwhelming, addicting; you were loving every second of it.

Alejandro's groans fueled your desire, each one reverberating through you, making you feel useful, submissive. You moved your head, sucking him deeper, feeling his cock throb against your tongue. His hand on your head guided your movements, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk for support.

He hissed through his teeth, the sound raw and primal, spurring you on. You could feel him twitching, his body tense with need, and you knew he was close.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Don’t stop.”

His words were a command and a plea, and you had no intention of stopping. You bobbed your head, taking him deep, feeling him hit the back of your throat. Tears streamed down your face, your breath coming in short gasps around his cock, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was him, his pleasure, the way he was losing control because of you.

Alejandro’s grip on your hair tightened, pulling you closer, his thrusts becoming more urgent. You gagged slightly, but the discomfort only added to the intensity of the moment. You moaned around him, the vibrations making him groan louder, his hips bucking against your face. 

You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was trembling, his control slipping away.

With a final, desperate thrust, he came, his hot release filling your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the way he shuddered with each spasm of pleasure.

Alejandro pulled out of your mouth, his breathing ragged, his eyes glazed with satisfaction. You looked up at him, your lips swollen, your eyes still wet with tears, and saw the pride in his gaze.

He reached down, pulling you to your feet, his hands roaming your body, feeling every curve, every inch of your skin. 

Then, he kissed you.

His kiss was ravenous, claiming you with a hunger that left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you against him, your bodies melding together. The taste of him lingered in your mouth, mingling with the sweet intensity of the kiss. You felt his erection, still hard and pressing against your stomach.

You had to be dreaming.

Alejandro broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a path of kisses in their wake. He bit gently at your skin, sucking lightly, guiding you back to the desk. 

He took you in his arms, placing your ass on the desk, a hand on your chest making you lower your back against the wood. He took off his shirt, the sight of his bare torso having you salivating. 

You were spread wide open waiting for him, taking in the sight of him. He swallowed thick, his mouth parted, a predatory gleam in his eyes. 

Then, he aligned his cock with your entrance. And slowly but surely made his way into you, painfully calm, loving the way in which you tried taking him faster than he wanted. 

Your whole body shuddered, a breathy moan escaping both your mouths. Feeling him balls deep inside you had you losing your mind, drunk off the sensation. You two barely moved for a couple seconds, looking into your eyes, realizing what you were doing.

Before moving, Alejandro grabbed your thighs, folding you in half, your knees against your shoulders, his body weight on you, pinning you into submission. His presence was overwhelming, intimidating, and utterly intoxicating.

Once he started moving, a knot formed in your throat. It was slow and deliberate at first, each thrust calculated to make you feel every inch. Your body responded instantly, your walls clenching around him, trying to draw him deeper. 

The way he filled you was too much, splitting you so good that it had you gasping for air. 

Alejandro's slow, deliberate thrusts made you see stars. Each movement was precise, hitting every sensitive spot within you, making your body respond with uncontrollable shivers. You were completely at his mercy, folded in half, making you feel small and vulnerable under him.

He watched you intently, his dark eyes burning with a primal hunger. The way he moved was almost torturous, dragging out every sensation, every gasp, every moan. Your nails dug into the wood of the desk, your body tense to withstand his intense, deep thrusts.

He had you moaning his name, gasping, whimpering. The sounds that were coming out of your mouth were so sinful, so obscene, that even the devil would catch himself blushing. His dick plowed into you, Alejandro admiring the way you frowned in pleasure, how you couldn’t shut up, all because of him.

“Lower your voice, güerita,”  he said with a smirk, the sound of skin slapping against skin, his thrusts plain up brute. “No quieras hacer que sepan a quien te estas cogiendo.”

You don’t want to let everyone know who you’re fucking.

The words barely registered when you felt his hand on the back of your head, grabbing a bunch of hair, pulling you to face the place where you two connected. Your free leg fell to rest on his shoulder, his grip on you harsh, dominant, forcing you to see how he drilled into you.

The sight was overwhelming. Watching his cock disappear inside you, over and over, slick with your arousal, had you on the brink of losing control. Alejandro's grip on your hair tightened, his other hand pressing your thigh against your chest, keeping you in place, dominating you completely.

The desk creaked under your combined weight, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing in the small room. Your breaths were ragged, each thrust sending a new wave of pleasure coursing through your body. Alejandro's pace quickened, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. 

Alejandro’s eyes were locked onto yours, possessive. Every thrust, every touch, every word he spoke was designed to drive you wild, to break down every barrier you had left.

Your mind was consumed by him, by the raw power and desire radiating from his every movement. You were his fuckdoll, surrendering to the primal urge that pulsed between you. 

The desk beneath you groaned in protest, barely holding on as you fucked like animals. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest, the world narrowing down to just the two of you, lost in a haze of lust and need. Alejandro's thrusts were relentless, each one driving you deeper into a state of ecstasy. You felt like you were transcending your body, your whole being aching with pleasure.

He growled, a primal sound that sent shivers down your spine, his grip on you tightening as he neared his own release. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his movements became more urgent, more desperate.

The way he said your name, how the Spanish came out of his mouth like a prayer, had you in a haze, desperate, hungry. You wanted him inside you, rutting into you forever. 

Alejandro’s thrusts became erratic, silkier, smoother. He pulled your face harder into your chest, your only view your two bodies. You watched as his body tensed, heard how he moaned; his cock pulsing as pumped one last time into you, coating your insides with his cum, filling up to the brim. 

You cried out in ecstasy, his thick cock still twitching inside of you, your body destroyed, sweaty, sprinkled with goosebumps. 

For a moment, you were suspended in time, lost in the intensity of the moment. As the waves of pleasure began to become weaker, you collapsed against the desk, used, satisfied.

Then, you realized. A wave of guilt ran through you, the position you were in embarrassing you deeply. 

You had fucked Alejandro, again. 

He looked at you with caution, your expression not helping him be at ease. You dragged your T-shirt back on, the fabric damp and wrinkly, the coldness of the room bringing you back to reality. 

What had you done? 

You were out of your mind. 

The realization hit you hard, the after-sex clarity giving away the blend of guilt and confusion. Alejandro, still catching his breath, watched you carefully. The intensity of what had just happened lingered in the air, heavy, undeniable. 

You pulled away from him, quickly going to look for your clothes in a futile attempt to cover how vulnerable you felt.  Alejandro’s eyes followed your movements with concern, unable to figure out what was going on in your head. 

You stood there, your heart racing, trying to make sense of the situation. The silence between you was palpable, and Alejandro’s presence made it even more intense. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Guilt and shame were weighing heavily on your heart, and you felt yourself struggling to stay composed. With each passing second, it felt like the walls were closing in, the reality of what you had done becoming all too real.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his pants already buttoned, his shirt on his hand. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed thick, turning to face him like a lost puppy. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m great.”

He took a step towards you, closing the distance between you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what was going through your mind. “Hey, talk to me, please.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “It’s… This wasn’t meant to happen. I didn’t come in here for this.” 

Alejandro’s eyes narrowed slightly, confusion evident on his face. 

“I’ve realized that I don’t want this, whatever it is.”

“Then, what?” he said, desperate. 

“I need to go,” you blurted out, turning on your feet.

But before you could walk away, Alejandro’s hand grabbed your shoulder softly, barely a graze as to not startle you. 

“Wait,” he started. “Don’t go.”

His voice came out as a whisper, low and defeated. 

You turned to face him, your breath hitched in your throat. 

“I didn’t do this as a punishment, or in the heat of the moment,” he said, his eyes digging into yours. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

You froze in place, his hand on you the only thing keeping you from losing touch with reality. 

“Quédate aquí, güerita, únete a Los Vaqueros.”

Stay here, güerita, join Los Vaqueros.

“I’m part of the US Army, Alejandro,” you smiled humorlessly. “I can’t.”

“Things could be arranged.”

“My war is not here,” you said plainly. “I’ve got responsibilities.”

He nodded to himself, pressing his lips into a small line. 

Then, he looked at you, taking in every feature of yours. 

His eyes were dark, glistening with something you couldn’t quite recognize. Maybe it was sadness, maybe it was disappointment, you weren’t sure.  

“Is this how it ends?” he said. 

You looked at him, hurt.

“I can’t see a different outcome,” you whispered. 

He nodded, his jaw pressed shut. 

The room fell silent. 

You were scared. 

He was disappointed. 

But it was how things were meant to be. 

It was the end, even if you didn’t want it to be like that.

—————

A/N: God, I’m so sorry for those of you who don’t know Spanish, but this fanfic is SO much hotter without the translations. Also, seriously thinking about making a part 3, buuuut… not sure. On one hand I need more of Alejandro, but idk how to develop a relationship that started out as sexual, lmao

[lvlyghost]

Remember

Pairings: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You and the team go out for a drink. At the end of the night is just you and Simon.

Word Count: 800

Tw: fluff, kyle and soap get drunk, dad!price, that’s all I think(?🥴✨

A/N: idk what this is, i was bored and finished it almost at 1:00 a.m, maybe this is my poor attempt to make a story with ghost bc god i love that man, consider this a second part of i see you although it can be read as an independent one-shot. Please remember english isn’t my first language, corrections are appreciated ✨🤍🌟💕

Part 1✨

You smiled at the camera, closing your eyes and tongue sticking out, Kyle feigned seriousness and snapped the picture. The two of you bursting into laughter as he uploaded the story to his social media. On the other side of the booth Ghost remained stoic.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He muttered to himself, rolling his eyes at the sight of the two of you. You and Gaz were the youngest ones of the team and that meant hearing you talking about things he couldn’t quite understand or watching you do things on your phones that made no sense whatsoever.

Why did he even agree to come to the pub in the first place?

“I’ll go grab another round!” Kyle announced, not waiting for an answer.

“You should’ve stopped him Lt.” you spoke. “He’s had way too many of those.”

Simon didn’t even turn to look at the sargeant.

“He’s not my bloody problem.”

But deep down you knew he’d look after any of you even off-duty.

“Hmm. Last time I checked you stopped me from grabbing us those shots of tequila back in Mexico, remember?”

He does. But apparently you didn’t remember what happened that night.

And he’d keep it that way.

“You would’ve ended up choking on your own vomit, lightweight.”

You bring and hand to your chest, mouth hanging open. You can’t help it, you laugh. He’s just…

“Wow, thank you Simon. Anyway, Kyle could be the one choking on his own vomit if we don’t stop him n… where’s Johnny?”

Simon nods his head to the other side of the pub, Price is trying to get him out of the pub, completely drunk. Kyle comes back empty handed and offended.

“Apparently, the barman says I’ve had too much. Why don’t you grab some for us Lt.? You look just fine…”

“Alright that’s it muppet, you too.” Price is now grabbing Kyle by the arm and leading him to the exit before he can even say anything. It’s getting late and you know the Captain wouldn’t come back to get you nor Simon.

“And then there were two.” You smile. “Wanna get out of here?”

He inhales deeply and nods, standing up and offering you a big calloused hand to help you out of the booth.

You had always wondered why he was so kind to you. Ghost was known as this tall, broody and mysterious man that no one wanted to cross paths with. Dangerous and feared. He was easily a good foot taller than you and could break you in an instant if he ever wanted to. Yet here he was.

Offering his hand to you, looking down straight to your big doe eyes. You always thought he had a staring problem. When he was looking at you –especially now– like that, you couldn’t help but wonder if he at least felt the way you did, just a little part of him…

You absolutely adored how safe he made you feel. Recalling that day when he had followed you all the way to the armory after your failed attempt to dating this one guy.

“You alright there kid?” He asks, leading both of you out in the hot summer air.

“Mhm.” That’s all you offer, you wish you could say more. Wish you could say all the things you wanted to him. You felt silly. A silly girl with a crush with her superior. You had convinced yourself it’ll go away. Simon Riley wasn’t one to have romantic feelings he had told you before.

“That’s just not for me.” He had stated, firmly after a rather hard mission. Things had gone sideways too soon.

“How long have we known each other, sir?” You suddenly ask, walking down the street and to the barracks.

“Over a year. I don’t know, why are you asking?”

He knew exactly how long you’ve known each other he just had to act like he didn’t.

Shrugging you stare right ahead.

“I know I’ve asked before but uh, you ever think of settling down? Like finding a partner and having someone to go home to?”

“No.” His answer is blunt, and for some reason it makes your chest tighten. “Things like that don’t work for people like us.”

“Why?” You inquire so fast, turning your head to see him. “How do you know that? You’ve never…”

“I just do.” He grunts in response.

Maybe you’re imagining things now but you could’ve sworn he took a quick glance at your lips before looking elsewhere.

Still you playfully nudge his side after a few seconds of silence. If it were someone else Simon would’ve been furious.

“Never say never, sir.”

Somehow you find yourself smiling and Ghost knew, he knew that would be a problem.

If only you could remember what happened that night in Las Almas…

[captainjamster]

I'm interested to hear from people that feel under-represented in COD fics! As the point of writing reader/self-insert fanfiction is to create a character that readers can see themselves as, writers often aim to depict a character with stereotypical, easily generalisable features and appearances.

However, the natural trade-off of our desire for non-specific traits and appearances is an exclusion of specific conditions and appearances that many individuals may have.

The result is that there are a disproportionate amount of representative fics - hence why fat!reader, tall!reader and other !readers tags and works appear. This isn't a complaint or a call-out post. I'm passionate about understanding and writing about individual minority experience, especially as a fat, poor, gay and disabled trans person 🥴

Instead, I'd love the opportunity to contribute towards more representative COD fics. If there are disorders, conditions or other afflictions or traits that you'd like to see written about, I'd love to hear through DMs, asks or any other way!

I will write for NSFW or SFW for:

- all of 141 (including Kate, Roach, and '09 versions of Price/Ghost/Soap).

- Kortac (Konig, Horangi)

- Los Vaqueros (Ale, Rudy, Val)

- Others (Makarov, Nikolai, Yuri, Graves)

If you have a character not specified here, you're welcome to request them, but you will be testing my knowledge so it might be a little OOC! 🐇

‼️Please be aware of two things‼️

This is not a guarantee I will complete your request, or write for the exact character if you specify one, but I will certainly try my best. I cannot promise it will be perfect, but I will absolutely do my due diligence to research and create an accurate depiction of any !reader request.

More importantly, I will absolutely write NSFW involving these readers, but I am NOT writing fetish content - I will not centre fics around the sexualisation or fetishization of disabilities or disorders. My motivation for this is that I genuinely really appreciate the unique experience of every living person, and I want to provide an opportunity for readers with conditions such as amputations, disfigurements, impaired abilities, chronic conditions, etc. to explicitly read about themselves within a fic. Any request that is inappropriate will just be deleted, this isn't the blog for that, sorry.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Steve and Bucky retire and they both develop a belly, but a different kind of belly, because they spend their time doing different things and over-indulging in different ways. One gets a soft and jiggly food belly from constantly eating rich and unhealthy foods, and the other gets an absolute keg of a beer belly from all the drink they're suddenly consuming after so long of being straight edged

Due to your recent intox posting, I can't stop thinking about Steve or Bucky stumbling home after a night on the town (maybe Steve has a meet-up with the other Avengers, maybe Bucky goes out to watch a baseball game at a bar or something) and he ends up overindulging a little bit too much and he ends up with a bloated, sloshy tummy that his shirt barely covers anymore as he drunkenly stumbles home, holding onto his shifting middle for support, and when he gets home his partner, who has been waiting up for him to come home, sees his very drunken state and his swollen belly and maybe even the bottle his still holding in his hand as he walked home, and he plays with his lovers tummy for the rest of the night while he drunkenly moans on the couch or on the bed, too consumed by alcohol and pleasure to do much else but enjoy the sensations, and maybe the sober one manages to pump a little bit more alcohol into him to make the night last, and who is he, in his drunken, stupid, submissive state, to do anything other than take everything he is given? I don't know, I can't stop thinking about it

I have an embarrassing amount of prompts that are delicious that I want to get to, but you two have clearly picked up on the fact that I'm hyperfocused on beer bellies right now and...

I have to get my thoughts out 🥴

And my thoughts happen to combine elements of both of your prompts, so here we go, I'm lumping them both together:

Unbeta'd as always. Stucky belly kink nonsense. Warnings for stuffing, bloating, alcohol consumption, intox kink, weight gain, tight clothes, one night stands (👀), etc.

These big-bellied versions of Steve and Bucky meet as strangers.

They're both out for the night; Steve is at the bar with a group of friends, socializing, mostly drinking, having fun getting buzzed, and doing some dancing... well, Steve is stumbling and shuffling more than dancing because when he's sober, he's not much of a dancer, and when he's drunk he's still hopeless but he's at least also shameless and so he tries a little harder; Bucky is by himself, he's not at the bar for the socializing, not for the dancing, not for the drinking, instead he's here for the food. Bucky has planted his widening ass in a booth, letting people think he's waiting for his date, or that he's been stood up, while really he works through his own mission. Plowing through rich, greasy, fattening bar food. The worst kind of stick-to-your-ribs food that tastes so good.

Steve is doing his own indulging, downing sugary, pretty drinks without a care right alongside anything strong and rich. He's got a soft spot for anything that gets him drunk and isn't afraid of what tastes like it won't get him drunk, no matter if it makes him stick out when they occasionally end up at a straight bar.

They're not at a straight bar tonight.

There's only so long they can both exist in the same queer bar before they find each other... with such obscene, indulgent vibes coming off of them, they're drawn together like magnets.

Bucky has just begun to really sweat, damp heat gathering between his legs, in the arched small of his back, under his arms, and beneath his growing moobs yet above his ever-rounding belly. Bucky can feel himself blushing all the way up to his ears. Steve has been sweating, he's been sort-of dancing but mostly he's been ferrying drinks from the bar back to his friends, taking more than his fair share of drinks as the price for elbowing and shouldering his way through the crowd. Steve can feel his blush spread down his neck, covering his chest, and beginning to reach his beach ball belly. Bucky's gut is throbbing with the music, stretched, heavy, and solid; Steve's belly is throbbing with the music, stretched, heavy, and sloshing.

Bucky is groaning, one hand on his complaining stomach, while the other stuffs in more thick potatoe wedges into his open mouth, muffling himself when Steve can't take it anymore and swaggers over. The beer making him bold. His eyes have been full of Bucky since he wandered in. Normally, Steve doesn't let himself gawk at strangers, but... he couldn't stop himself with Bucky. He walked in, wide. He wedged himself in between the bodies of strangers, set himself up a tab, ordered, and sat down. Like it was a fucking restaurant. He walked away from Steve at the bar with an ass that shook. He. has. cake. He's been shoved into those jeans. And now he hasn't stopped eating.

Steve hasn't stopped drinking.

Every mouthful that Bucky's had, he's matched. Now, he can feel his gut weighing down on his belt, pushing his jeans down so far that he's sure if he went to the bathroom (again), he could lift up the keg that is his tummy and see the top of his blond pubic hair peaking out. And he knows well enough without looking, without needing to go to the bathroom, that his gut is pushing his shirt up. He looks pregnant. He looks bloated as fuck. His tight going out shirt is surely creaking at the seams underneath the pounding music. He sloshes with the sway of his hips; he can't help it, he wants Bucky, his body language screams so.

Steve slides into Bucky's booth.

Startled, Bucky's head jerks up. He's got dipping sauce smeared around the corners of his mouth.

Steve's mouth goes dry, he needs another drink. He wants to drink Bucky in. And he does.

"What're you drinking?" Steve manages to stumble out the words. This guy is so much more than a great, dump truck ass and a wide, swelling belly. His face is gorgeous. Chubby cheeks. A doubled chin. Big, doe eyes.

"Uh," Bucky nearly spits out the food in his mouth. He barely swallows it down, almost groaning in front of the handsomest, prettiest man he's ever seen. He's blond. He's-

Big.

His shoulders are huge, his arms, too, and... his muscles have nothing on his gut. That gut is taut, stretching his shirt to its limit, and, oh God, pressing into the table of the booth.

Steve waits patiently, hiccuping behind a hand that he lifts to his mouth.

Bucky swears he can hear his gut slosh.

"Coke," Bucky answers, stuffing another wedge into his face.

"Rum and coke?" Steve shoots back, watching the cutie eat. He can't stop himself. Jesus. The table is cutting into him, his gut is expanding over it, trying to reach his plate and weigh down his thick legs like it, too, wants him to sit here forever and keep eating, keep growing.

A little more color, a little more sweat appears on his face. He licks his lips. "Hold the rum."

Steve feels his dick pulse in his unforgiving, tight jeans. It has nothing to do with the desperate need to piss, all the drinking he's doing. "Diet?" He risks, asking.

Is Bucky insane or is this more than flirting? Why does this feel like, like foreplay?

"No," Bucky risks thumping his hand over his belly, forcing out a drawn-out, low, "ooof," from his chest, "not diet."

"Good," the other man's lips curl into a smirk.

And with that...

He's gone.

"I didn't get your name," Steve announces as he slides back into the slightly sticky booth seat, another tall, tall, cold glass of coke in one hand and another rich beer in the other. "I'm Steve."

"St-" Bucky quickly cuts his name short with a burp, forced out by leaning forward and grasping the coke he set in the center of the table. Steve's eyes must widen. There must be a damn neon sign over his head flicking on, reading HORNY because...

Fuck.

The way his gut gets wedged between his fat chest and fat thighs makes it look bigger. Rounder. Heavier.

Steve nearly moans.

He swallows a few quick swallows of alcohol instead, dribbling some down his chin. Messy. It might be his imagination, but... the other man looks more interested as he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

"I'm Bucky."

"Bucky," Steve echoes. He looks like a Bucky. Big. Chunky. Heavy. Something about that is Bucky.

Something about him is something Steve wants. Voraciously. He wants him.

Bucky can't fucking believe this guy came back, he thought, at first, maybe that he hadn't noticed all of Bucky's gluttony and weight from across the room, then he got closer and he really saw him and had second thoughts. But, still spoke to him to be polite (and to have an excuse to get away). Whatever. Bucky wasn't here to meet people. He's here to gorge. He's here to sit alone and slowly, torturously feel his arousal ramp up alongside his fullness until the point that he can't take it, about to pop, on the cusp of not being able to waddle his ass back home. That's what he wanted. To feed until he was bulging and having a hard time catching his breath, his entire center of gravity thrown off. But.

Steve came back.

Steve's here.

Steve's looking at him like he wants him to eat more.

Bucky can eat a little more, for Steve. He smacks his lips, chomping down more greasy, fattening food, shifting in his seat with an overburdened groan.

Steve bites his lip, then squeezes his glass tight before he downs half his drink in one go. The tension is unbearable.

"You want a refill?" Steve's voice is thick, low.

"If you're offering," Bucky bats his lashes.

Steve comes back with another coke and a platter of fried mozzarella sticks.

Bucky can not hold in his moan.

Steve really should go to the bathroom. Not because he's gotta piss right the fuck now. But because he needs to take care of himself. Jesus Christ. The look on Bucky's face at the proposition of more food. The sound that comes out of him. He's a blimp. Huge. Getting huger. Where is he putting all of that. Like, it's obvious, but. How? How does he still have room!?

Steve doesn't think he can be any more turned on and inappropriate for public but he's fucking wrong.

He's never seen someone put down food like Bucky does all of the sudden. He plows through those fried mozzarella sticks. Horking it down fast enough that there's no way he tastes them.

"Well," Bucky pauses to belch, slapping his gut, which sounds impossibly solid, like a fucking basketball (even though he's much bigger than a basketball now), "I think I'm finished, what about you?"

Steve opens his mouth. He shuts it. He's stunned.

Bucky, kittenish, grins, "do you wanna have another or can I get you outside now?"

"Uh-" despite the liquid courage, Steve is suddenly stupidly unsmooth.

"Maybe another?" Bucky signals for the server he's apparently wrapped around his finger in the few hours he's been eating like he's trying to prep for a long winter, "another for blondie?" The server shouts something over the music. Bucky laughs, holding his shaking gut in place, and nods.

Apparently, the server asked if he wanted to make it a pitcher because...

Steve is served a goddamn pitcher as if that's normal.

Jesus.

Bucky watches the sweet surprise spread over Steve's face, then he watches something like determination replace it. Almost like he thinks it's a challenge that he needs to rise to. It might be. Bucky licks his lips, relaxing back under the gurgling weight of his gut and waiting. Watching.

The -

Oh, God.

The movement of Steve's throat is hypnotic. He swallows and swallows and swallows and swallows and swallows. He chugs. He fucking downs the damn pitcher like it's a normal glass. Like that's a thing regular people that aren't human kegs - human barrels - can do.

Bucky either really is food drunk or has passed out into a food coma because, impossibly, he watches Steve's skin-tight shirt inch up the pale, flushed dome of his belly. Exposing the swollen, swelling shape to his greedy eyes.

He's fucking huge.

Steve has the hiccups the moment he takes the empty pitcher away from his lush, inciting mouth. The hiccups make him slosh. The hiccups make his face burn redder. The hiccups make Bucky want to jostle and fuck him until he has to beg for it to stop, too much, too full, too many bubbles, too much bloat, bursting at the seams with burp after burp.

Christ.

"Coming?" Steve's eyes are heavily lidded and suggestive as he shoves himself up from the booth, wobbling and ungraceful on his feet.

"Hell yeah, I am," Bucky huffs, working around the weight of his own spherical gut.

Immediately, once they stumble out into the darkness of the gross alley outside the bar, they're on each other. Not intentionally. They've both lost their balance. Their guts are the first things to touch. They rub together, grind together, between their bodies. Bucky has to put his hands on Steve, no matter if they still have a few stray crumbs and smears of grease.

Bucky moans, he's shoved against the brick wall. His ass mounds up behind him. Steve's pressing so hard into him. He was already panting, now he really can't fucking breathe. He wants to moan more, but he can't. He's so hot. It feels so hot.

He pushes Steve's shirt up that last little bit, ruining any shred of modesty that he might've had before and-

Holy shit.

Steve groans into his mouth, guttural.

His stomach-

His stomach is hot and hard.

Tight.

Holy. shit.

His stomach is so solid, so tight, and so hard. This. This is a goddamn beer gut. He feels like a keg. He feels as solid as a fucking barrel of whiskey. Wooden, he's so hard and tight. Bucky can't dig his fingers into the shiny dome of his gut at all.

They kiss, lips buzzing and raw, grope, hands as greedy as their appetites, and moan, making the most obscene sounds. Until somebody yells at them to get the fuck out of here and into a room.

Steve orders an Uber on his phone, hands shaking and unhappy to not be touching Bucky. Bucky is so soft. So plush. So fat. Even as stuffed as he must be, there are inches of squishy, thick blubber. He's burning hot. Steve can dig his fingers into Bucky and get a grip into him at the same time that he can feel the pulsing, stretched, unbearably tight shape of his stomach beneath. This is not his first time stuffing himself silly on bar food. And it will not be the last if Steve gets any say beyond tonight.

In the Uber on the way to Steve's apartment, they sit so close. Inappropriately close. There's no mistaking what this is. This is a one night stand.

Without anything more to eat, anything added to their overfull tanks to keep them busy, the bloat has really started kicking in. Their shirts don't stand a chance at covering their bellies anymore. Steve's shirt is creaking and even beginning to make ripping sounds when he shifts. Bucky had to pop his pants button open before his tummy busted it all on its own. Their guts are hanging out of their clothes - bursting out of their clothes. And they're sitting so close together, squished in despite having the entire backseat to themselves, that the overheated hot swells of their hips and the bowed out sides of their bellies push into each other. Bucky is overflowing, his fat fucking lovehandles, stretch marked and red. Steve is ready to burst, the sides of his gut actively getting new stretch marks.

The heat of their bodies is making them melt together.

Melting.

Panting.

Burping.

Groaning.

It takes them an embarrassingly long time to pile out of the Uber - sloshing, gurgling, and swearing, working around the swells of their heavy bellies - and Bucky swears when they're both out, the body of the car bounces back up, relieved from their oppressive weight. No longer pressed down onto the tires.

Jesus.

They might as well roll themselves into Steve's apartment building, into the elevator, and through his front door.

As hot as hooking up in the entryway is... it's not an option for them. They're too big. Bloated and wide, and the two of them can't hardly breathe in that little space, no matter how desperate they are for each other.

They waddle the long way down to Steve's bedroom, in dire need of spreading out, dominating the extra space. Expanding. Growing.

Steve rips off his ruined shirt, the seams having already begun to give way and shoved Bucky's shirt over his head quickly. He can't have him staying clothed. He needs to see all of that. He needs to make a feast of him. Their belts are whipped off, shoes kicked off, and pants torn down, too.

Completely bare, they are so engorged. Both of them. Massive.

Bucky's gut sounds like a washing machine as it gurgles and digests his feast; Steve's belly keeps sloshing and bubbling, all that alcohol mixing. Intoxicating. They're both fucking drunk as shit. Food drunk. Drunk dunk. About to be fuck drunk.

Fumbling over each other, the noises don't stop, moaning, burping, heavy breaths, hiccuping, swearing, groaning, sloshing, they can't stop even as unsteady as they are. Unsteady and rubbing on each other. Grinding. Starting with Steve on top of Bucky, pressing him deep into the soft mattress because of all his mass. Mass. His gut. His gut is massive, hanging heavily and sloshing underneath him. But eventually, they move to lying side by side when all the pressure becomes unbearable. Bucky pressed so hard into the bed, his tummy so sensitive. Steve's poor belly squished too tight again Bucky's excessive softness. Oof. They both feel like they're explode. Side by side, it's not so much, but there's still the threat. They're gonna pop! All that food, all that drink, all that alcohol, all that bloat, all that belly!

It's obscene.

Practically drooling, fuck drunk as they are, they get lost in the heaviness and tightness and the contrast between them, despite the fact that they're both as round as beach balls. Heavy as lead weights. Steve is tight and hard, sloshing with all the liquid practically funneled into him. Meanwhile, Bucky is tight with all the food he's stuffed down, but he's also soft. Fat. Fat. Fat. He doesn't slosh. There's no fucking room inside him to slosh. All the sugary, non-diet soda he's had has been soaked up by landslide of the carbs inside him.

Steve can't get over how fat Bucky is.

Bucky can't get over how bloated Steve is.

With their guts in the way, it's so fucking difficult to get any friction to their cocks. Their hips don't align. Their fuckin' bubble-bellies. Jesus. But their dicks are dripping anyway. The friction, the grinding of their bellies together... that might be enough to get them there. Regardless of lacking direct touching to their dicks. It's, it's delightfully excessive.

Overwhelmingly gluttonous.

Perfect.

But, just because they're in a greedy mood, they can have more than enough pleasure, too... 😏

And Steve wraps his hand not exploring the huge, stretch-marked curve of Bucky's struggling gut around Bucky's cock. Then Bucky does the same, mirroring him. Breathing hard. Every breath hot and humid. Frantically, they stroke each other off under the shade of their swollen stomachs, finishing to the evidence of greedy separating their bodies in the form of their pulsing guts.

They come too quickly, painting their red, stretched flesh white, barely able to make it through the pleasure. But as quickly as they come, they fall asleep even quicker. They're exhausted by the indulgence. Crashing. Drunk and food encumbered.

When they wake up, late the next morning, they're still laying all over each other. Squished together. After an awkward fumbling and Bucky's half-hearted attempt to leave (isn't that what you do after a one night stand?), they decide neither of them are in a hurry to leave. Of course, Steve isn't in a hurry to leave his own damn apartment, but he's also not in a hurry to kick Bucky out.

Bucky is...

Wow.

He's, well, he's still gorgeous in the clear morning light. But what Steve is really focused on is that he's even softer. He's so grabbable. Most of his excessive belly-full of food has been digested, leaving him nowhere near as tight. Steve can press against his tummy, and his hand sinks into inches, inches of fat. There are wedges of flesh between each of Steve's fingers when he spreads his hand out. He's decadent. It's incredible.

Bucky is similarly fascinated by Steve, though, in reverse. Steve is still hard. Tight. Solid. Whatever. All of it is a well-deserved innuendo. Steve has not gone soft. Sure, he's deflated a little - lots of that beer having drained out of him in the night, too many trips to the bathroom in the dark to count - but the excessive, visceral thickness that's been left behind is dense. Hard. Excessive and rigid.

Buckys body has never been like that. He's always favored excessive food, especially sweets, never excessive alcohol. Steve has apparently only ever favored alcohol. It shows for both of them.

Both of them are sticky and gross from their night of indulgence and pleasure taken to the extreme. A shower is a must. Together. Save water. All that. Those old excuses to get naked together again and get handsy.

They just can't help themselves. They are fucking enthralled by each other. Their bodies are very similar in some ways, but they are so, so different, too. Steve looks like an athlete gone to seed or maybe like a frat bro who's enjoyed the parties and kegs and red solo cups too much while "forgetting" to show up to one too many practices. (Being too hung over to show up, really). Bucky doesn't look like he's ever gone out and done anything athletic. He looks like he spent his college days studying with a laptop on his legs, just beyond his expanding gut, one hand writing notes, the other shoving snacks down his throat. Excusing his slob-ish behavior by whining, I can't help it! I can't think on an empty stomach!

In the shower, the hot water rolls over their rolls. Mostly Bucky's rolls. Plural. Steve's got one huge roll - his round gut. Either way, shining streams of water flow down their bodies. Their bellies. The steam billows around them, fogging up the bathroom and leaving them in their own world as the morning-light awkwardness and shyness dissappears. They squish together. Bucky's fatness so much more forgiving than Steve's. Fat on fat; hands caressing fat; lips in lips.

Bucky's feeling up his belly, moaning into his mouth, and-

Steve has an idea.

"Y'wanna see something?"

Bucky makes a sound when Steve first pulls away, complaining. But he looks intrigued, "depends, what is it?"

"I think you'll like it," is all Steve says. Something in him really, really wants to impress Bucky. He really wants to give Bucky more to hold onto. More to grab. Even with both of them shoved into the too small shower stall, Steve feels the familiar need to be bigger. His poor, deflated belly looks so sad next to Bucky's impressive gut. They matched so much better last night...

Steve lifts the showerhead off its mount and unscrews it, setting it aside. It's hot and steamy enough in the bathroom now that not being under the spray of water doesn't bother them. He doesn't turn the water off, he simply opens his mouth and with a wink-

The shower hose is placed in his mouth. Metallic and warm, flowing freely.

More, more, more.

At first, Steve leans his head aaaaaall the way back, exposing his neck and holding the hose with one hand, giving Bucky plenty to look at, as he chugs the constant flow of water.

Bigger, bigger, bigger.

Already, he feels the water emptying into his hollow belly. He can feel his stomach beginning to happily fill again.

Fuller.

Steve shuts his eyes, savoring the orgasmic feeling of growing.

And, "oh," Bucky delights, his hands even more greedy over his belly now that it's swelling. He sounds impressed. "Jesus."

Yeah, he's impressed, for sure.

Good.

Steve wants to impress him even more.

He's gonna impress him more. He turns up the flow, chugging faster. Expanding larger. To add to it, Steve sways in place like a damn lap-dancer, letting Bucky feel his gut slosh back and forth. He's still stretched from last night, so all the room really lets the liquid be heard.

It gets them both even more aroused.

Bucky growls playfully, "you got a lot of practice chugging, huh? Trynna show off for me?"

"Mmm-" Steve moans, hardly able to stop himself. Getting lost in the bliss. More. Bigger. Fuller. He manages, though, to rip himself away from the eroticism of the act for Bucky. He takes a break to breathe, taking out the hose flawlessly, not gagging, instead letting the hot water flow between their heavy bodies. And truly answers Bucky, "y-yeah, God, I drink all the time. I can't get enough."

He slaps his gut. It sounds so hard. Bucky does it, too, unable to get enough of it. Slapping his belly. Groaning low in his throat.

"Good," Bucky responds, encouraging him, "have some more."

Steve will have some more.

Steve bypasses the chugging this time. He swallows and swallows and swallows as he shoves the hose in his eager mouth once more, bypassing his gag reflex and lowering the hose just enough to make it pump directly into his gut.

Bucky beats him to the punch, turning the water up.

"Mmmghhh," Steve half gurgles, half moans around the strong flow.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

He's getting so large.

He feels like a hot water bottle. He feels like he could blow up so much that he'd fill the whole shower stall. Like he could be a ball. So round. So heavy. Getting so big so fast.

It's so, so much that Steve, still filling up and adoring every toe-curling moment of it, staggers backward against the shower wall. His legs are shaking under the weight.

Fuck.

Bucky has never seen anything hotter. There is pure indulgent bliss written across his pretty face. Mouth set into an attractive o-shape around the hose, desperately drinking. A blush staining his skin. His eyebrows squeezed together. In so much pleasure, it's almost pain.

Steve's getting so big now.

Bucky-

Bucky really wants to suck him off when he's filling up. He wants to feel that heavy, sloshing belly on top on him, he wants to be under it, he wants to see how much he can distract Steve from the exquisite pleasure and pain of filling up, stretching out for longer than he plans, he wants to see how fucking BIG he can get.

How BIG can he get?

Too big and heavy to do anything but lie back and let Bucky keep sucking him. Bucky's greedy hands rubbing his bloated, round, round, ROUND gut.

Bucky wants to chase the fullness Steve is subjecting himself to right now. First, he wants to get it from Steve spilling hot and filthy down his throat. Then. He's gonna make Steve and his big, sloshy belly cook him breakfast because it'll be Bucky's turn. Bucky is gonna stuff himself just a big. Bigger, in fact. He has a lot more, softer fat on his side. And who knows, he might be able to goad Steve into trying to catch up to him 🥴

[shotmrmiller]

jus' wanted to ask about the soulmate au of price that has me ranting to my friends, would you ever plan on a part two? Not askin' you to make one or anythin', jus' curious since I love the way you write. Whenever I read one of your fics, it's like I'm eating caramel cake :33 - zz

absolutely, i started it today! But i'm pretty sure @glitterypirateduck has a price thing coming up soon so i might just save it for that

and aww ily 🫶🏼 i always get so thrilled when my immature writing is liked.

makes me feel all special n shit 🥴

[hostess-of-horror]

I'm having so many ideas and not enough energy to do or finish any of them AAAAAAAAAAAA-

Just so that I don't just wallow in my inability to get off my ass and do this shit, I'm going to type it all down!

1. The Haunted Mansion movie (done right!)

- This one is actually based on a slew of Discord convos between me and AJ (@sneklover). It was mostly just me ranting about how God awful Disney's live action remakes are getting and what I would've done if I were to make the iconic attraction a film or t.v. show.

- I have seen the original live action Haunted Mansion movie with Eddie Murphy but not the newest one, BUT MY POINT STILL STANDS! Both are literally the same thing where the story focuses more on the Foolish Mortals than the Happy Haunts and I do not like that.

- If I were to film a Haunted Mansion movie/show, I would make it an anthology horror movie. Think Tales From The Crypt or Creepshow but with Master Gracey telling the stories behind iconic characters such as the Hatbox Ghost, Constance Hatchaway, the two Dueling Ghosts in the ballroom, etc. At some point towards the end, Master Gracey would then tell his story, of how he inherited the mansion, was cursed as the Ghost Host by the mansion itself, and how he tried in vain to lift the curse.

- I remember telling my mom about my idea and, while she loved it, did say that Disney would not like it because they want to put out a more broad demographic. "They're not catering to us," she said (paraphrased). Which makes sense, I just jokingly mentioned to AJ how Disney wouldn't hire me for stuff like this lmao.

- My Haunted Mansion would be a love letter to the Gothic Horror genre and dark humor. An old Louisiana mansion that's haunted in more ways than one, its owner an unwilling slave on the brink of insanity, and all the tales of death kept within its walls. And these tales are nothing short of harrowing, as well as hilarious!

2. Vincent Price x Self-Insert Fanart

- I love this old man so fucking much I wanna kiss him I wanna dance with him I wanna cuddle with him I wanna slowly drive him into insanity so that I can see him smile lovingly at me I wanna be the harbinger of his downfall and his eternal bride aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa- 🖤🖤🖤😩🙌🥴🥴🥴

- So yeah, pretty much what it says on the tin. I was inspired by the very talented @theboarsbride for the idea and Corman's The Masque of the Red Death, starring the Handsome Devil of Horror himself Vincent Price, and wanted to make an AU.

- Masque AU where Francesca (the main character) does give in to the dark side, but of her own volition, transforming into the Red Death. The Red Death is both a Reaper and a Resurrection - a purveyor of plagues and a damsel turned demon. A Bride in Blood...

- It's basically a sort of rewrite of the original ending and now it's sorta... 🌶️spoicy🌶️ so, um.... yea. smexy monster lady x human stuffs.

- ANYWAYS...!

3. Walt Disney's The Great Mouse OC

- I've been wanting to do something with the GMD fandom for a long while now, and I think a hypothetical OC from an hypothetical sequel fanfic would be a good introduction!

- So, in a nutshell: She's a mad scientist spider who is the new secondary villain of said sequel. She has no name as of yet, but she is mute (either from an injury or is simply nonverbal), extremely passionate about her grotesque experiments, and very, very lonely. Unlike Ratigan, the Greatest Criminal Mind, she is more somewhat spontaneous, preferring the tasks of stitching her family together over anything tactic. In other words, she's the brawns while Ratigan is the brains (and brawns). Her goal in villainy is to build and destroy - to build her long lost family and to destroy all of micedom.

- While she is the one who caused the whole case, the main focus on the story is mainly the ✨tension✨ between Basil and Ratigan. In other words, opening up old wounds... by resurrecting the dead!

- Yup, Sherlock Holmes: Furry Edition is now becoming a Gothic horror story. Heavily inspired by Little Nightmares II, Jack the Ripper, and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, the sequel is a tale of murder and madness, with a bloodcurdling case and a rivalry that won't stay dead.

- In this fanfic, I interpreted that Ratigan did die in GMD and so that he could be resurrected by my OC in the sequel! I also wanted to have Fidget resurrected but AJ doesn't like to think of her lil guy dead, so... Yeah, Ratigan is the Frankenstein's Monster and Phantom of the Opera of the plot. (POTO because I thought of the sequel's climax being set during an opera)

- Meanwhile, Basil and Dawson are having a Very Bad Time, with Basil constantly being haunted by the professor and Dawson mentally reliving his days at the regiment.

- Disney will never hire me.

[just-a-carrot]

🤔 PC parts go on sale pretty often, plus there are a ton of budget guides online. Parts can also go for cheaper too depending on if you're fine with shopping for used parts. There's also websites that tell you what parts are compatible with the ones currently in your cart/that you're looking at. I won't go into in-depth recs since you've said you're not too invested in FPS and resolution (which is fair, I'm just a nerd who studies up too much on this stuff asjdasd) but as a general tip, consider what quality/performance you would like to play your games at and go for that over 'highest number' since that's a pretty easy trap to fall into. Budget, and what you want out of it, always takes precedent over the bigger number. There are countless videos going over how to build a PC, though pre-built computers are always an option (downside is that they're not very cost-effective, since it's the price of the PC plus hours spent assembling it and any other miscellaneous costs). Big general tip for budget PC shopping is to prioritize the GPU, it's the real powerhouse when it comes to quality/performance. You can get a pretty good PC for as low as around $900, and while that's still quite a bit of money it's nothing compared to how price-y higher end builds can get. I hope this was helpful in some way! If you have any questions at any point I'd be happy to answer them, I'm not uber knowledgeable on PCs but I do know a thing or two 😌 if it wasn't helpful, uh... full refund on this Tumblr ask (a whopping $0 in returns)

oh this is all super helpful!!!! i know a little bit about building computers and buying parts because my partner built his (and i also built one with my dad way back when...)

my main problem though is that i don't have space for a desktop computer. it's just a small apartment and i've already got my work setup from my desk (i work remotely on a work computer) so i do all my gaming on my laptop that i have hooked up to my TV (which also gets me out of my chair, which is nice, because i already spend too much time at my desk LOL)

so if i do get a better PC, i would get a nicer/updated gaming laptop, which is unfortunately a bit more expensive... 🥴 i'd also feel so bad getting a whole new computer just so i can have better graphics on DD2 LDKJFALSKDFADS especially with my rapidly deteriorating work situation... 💦

thank you so much for taking all the time to write this up tho! if i ever do have some setup changes and decide to go the desktop route, this'll be super helpful 💕