inspired by this inbox. 𖧁୧ smidge of smut, age gap angst, reader is in her 20s & beau is in his 40s, est. relationship, borderline erectile dysfunction? 18+
beau arlen x fem!reader ⋮ wc: 1.1k
It’s back again. That festering “I’m too old for her; I can’t keep up; I’m a pervert for even being with her; She’s gonna get to my age and hate me” feeling that has plagued Beau for months now, wedging itself deep between his ribs, the guilt residing in his heart as a permanent inhabitant.
A permanent reminder of how young you are, and how old he is. A stark reminder of the age difference.
It all finally comes to a head one night, right in the middle of sex, when you’re beneath the sheets, entwined with Beau’s sweaty body. His hips come to a still between your legs, and he slumps down against you, burying his face in your neck.
“I’m gettin’ tired, honey,” he mutters against your skin, slightly out of breath, his voice filled with shame. “M’sorry.”
You pause for a moment beneath him, with your hand lingering on his side whilst he remains inside you, his chest heaving with shallow breaths from all the spent exertion.
“Oh…” you start, your voice already sweeter than honey. “It’s alright, we can stop. I know you’ve had a long day.”
The sincerity of your words tugs at Beau’s heart, plucking at each heartstring one-by-one. He shakes his head, still concealed in your neck, exhaling dutifully despite his aching muscles and the guilt eating at his conscience. “No, sweetheart. I mean, I’m gettin’ too old for this… for you. My back is killin’ me and my knee’s been playin’ up again lately. And some days, I can barely get it up. You know that.”
He pauses for a beat, and then mutters, “I just… can’t keep up anymore.”
The air is thick as Beau waits with his face still hidden. He’s silent, expecting a laugh or one of your usual smart little quips as if his words were a joke, but instead, your arms tighten their grip around his torso, squeezing his bare chest down against yours like you’re trying to fuse your bodies together. The pressure around his ribcage hits him like a blanket of comfort over his unsteady nerves.
“You’ve been feeling like this for a while, haven’t you?” you murmur against his head. “I know you’ve been off, Beau.”
Your tone makes him want to melt; you’re such a sweet little thing, even when you don’t need to be. Relief slowly floods his veins, but his jaw tenses, deliberating his next words.
After a moment, he sighs. “Yeah, long enough, sweetheart.”
“Well, we can work around it, right? I mean, I can–”
“No, babydoll, it’s not just–” he sputters into your neck, and then lets out a defeated groan. “I don’t wanna make you do all the work, or make you wait on me when I’m not… working properly. You shouldn’t be worrying about things like that. It’s killin’ me that you’re waitin’ on an old man like me.”
A scoff leaves your mouth, thick with disbelief and a smidge of amusement. Your hands remain rubbing along his tanned freckled back, soothing him. “An old man like you?”
“Yeah, like me,” he mutters, finally lifting his head from your neck. His eyes meet yours, and they’re rounded with a newfound sadness you’ve never seen before. “An old fart who can’t keep up with a young thing like you. I’m not in my twenties anymore, and it shows, darlin’. I just feel like… I can’t give you what you need.”
In the dim light of the bedroom, your eyes flicker between his, and a sigh exhales from your lungs under his weight. His solemn words fill the silent space between you both.
After a moment, you finally speak. “Beau, you trust me, right?”
He blinks in confusion, but nods. “Of course. Always.”
“So, you trust my judgement then?”
His eyes narrow, still confused, still unsure. His gaze flicks down to your lips, lingering for a moment before returning to your eyes. He exhales, “What’re you gettin’ at?”
“I’m asking if you trust me and my decision to be with you.”
A sigh leaves him. “Sweetheart, it’s not about tha–”
“It is, Beau,” you fire back gently, albeit with an undeniable firmness. “If I wasn’t happy… or satisfied, do you really think I wouldn’t say anything? Do you really think you wouldn’t know?”
His head tilts, his eyes searching your sweet little face below his. God, you’re a sweetheart. He takes in a sharp breath, filling his lungs. “I’m just… worried. What happens in five years? Ten years? What happens when I’m too old for any of this and you look at me with disgust for stealing these years from you? What happens when you hate me?”
Beau watches your face slowly contort, tightening in a combination of confusion and disgust. And it’s that, that exact look he’s been so worried about seeing.
His heart constricts in his chest, and the corners of his lips drop, curling into a frown at the sight of your face.
But before he can even get a word out, you chuckle.
A loud boisterous sound, clearing all the residual glumness hanging in the air from Beau’s words.
Your snickering dies down after a few seconds, but the grin stays strung across your lips. “Beau Arlen, I could never hate you. Not in a million years. Not even for a million dollars.”
“You don’t mean that. You can’t predict how you’re going to feel in five years. Things can change so quickly.”
You hum, still smiling, though it’s softer now as you keep your gaze up at him. “I mean it, Beau. You make me happy. The happiest I’ve ever been. We’ll work around… your age… when it comes to it. We’ve got toys. We’ve got pillows, chairs… everything. I knew what I was signing up for, old man. I’m not as clueless as I look.”
Beau’s eyes flitter between yours once again, taking in the warmth emanating from your gaze. He’s silent for several seconds, but you see the cogs turning in his brain.
Slowly, a tender smile finally curls on his lips, and he lets out a breath filled with resignation—the good kind. “I’m seriously the luckiest man in the world.” He leans down, meeting your lips with his own, kissing gently like you’d shatter if he were to touch you the wrong way. “My smart beautiful girl. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You giggle against his lips, and Beau swallows down the noise greedily. “I think you’d be pretty bored, old man,” you murmur in return. “Bored and probably unfucked.”
“Oi,” he spits out, lifting his head with a grin. “That’s not nice.”
You can’t help the smirk from growing on your face. “Can we just… keep going?” you ask, nodding down at where you’re still connected, where you can still feel him throbbing inside you.
Beau huffs, smiling. “Yeah, honey, we can.”
a/n: anon i hope you enjoyed. i love angsty age gaps so much. and i love beau too. also lol that entire conversation being had while he’s still inside you. lowkey forgot abt that while writing can you tell?
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so many thoughts running though my head but i’m just thinking ab being a resident and coming onto Jack and he’s so fucking nervous and conflicted he can’t even look at you (yes. i’m writing this soon.)
he’s invited you into his home for a drink after a a shift, just to see if you’re liking ptmc and the night shift rotation in general. he starts freaking out when you kiss him, rubbing at his chest over his shirt. “i..i can’t do this with you.” he breaths into your mouth, though he doesn’t pull away. in fact he’s got his arms stiff as a board on the side of him while you’re on your knees on his couch, rubbing at his biceps.
“mmm..why not?” “because i’m your attending, and you’re my resident,” he shakes his head, groaning when you deepen the kiss. “it’s..it’s an abuse of power and it’s…” a throaty sound comes from him when he feels you drag your hands up his shirt, nails so taunting against his skin that feels on fire. “it’s not right, you’re so young.” “yeah? i am?” you say against his lips, feeling him nod against you.
“think i’m a big girl, i can make my own decisions.” you’re not met with a fight when you pull his shirt over his head, and his eyes stay towards the ceiling as his breath heaves. you’re almost nose to nose as you bite your lip, searching for his eyes while they bounce around everywhere but you.
“Jack,” you lure him with your finger under his chin, forcing the contact while he licks his lips, a dirty, remorseful expression on his face. “do you want this?” your eyes don’t leave his until you kiss at his cheek, trailing lower and tonguing at the scruff of his jaw, feeling him relax in your touch with a sigh. he squirms in his seat, his legs spreading under you as he grabs at the inside of his thigh. aww.
“y..yeah. yes, sweetheart. jesus,” he finds the peaking skin under your top as he grabs at your hip, the hand hot against you as you suck on his neck. “i’d..ohmygod, i don’t even know what i’d do to you.” he ticks his head over in the slightest, giving you more room as you kiss down to his collarbone.
“honey it’s unethical, it’s not safe i-i mean i’m your boss—” “Jack.” you finally lift up, he’s got these big puppy eyes looking back at you. “take off your pants.” “okay.”
𖧁୧ Thinking about weird Ghoap dynamics where bf!Ghost punishes bf!Soap by finding some sweet little thing at the local bar to fuck in front of him. 18+
The pair find you under the dim lights of the dingy pub that’s just a couple minutes off base, hunched over a drink with timidity decorating your face, hiding from the world.
With a shared look, it’s decided.
A sweet thing like you? You’ll be fun to break in. You’ll do.
So when you’re dragged back to Ghost’s—well, Simon—quarters after a bit of buttering up and promises that tonight will be all about you, a bird too pretty to be all alone tonight, you’re more than happy to shed your clothes.
With hot mouths either side of your neck and rough hands fighting between your legs, you’re in ecstasy, lubing up their fingers with your slick as they taunt your delicate cunt.
A finger slides in, and then another, curling to meet that sweet spongy spot that has you seeing stars and whining out for more.
However, you soon realise this isn’t about you, though—when Johnny goes in for a kiss. One quick look from the taller brute and the Scot grumbles, his hands reluctantly falling from your sweaty body. Another disgruntled sound, and now he’s sulking on the armchair in the corner, watching Simon bully his cock between your legs while his own cock twitches—leaking pathetically—against his hairy lower tummy.
It’s heaven, you can’t deny that, the stretch of Simon’s thick cock. Every ridge and thick vein pulsing down his length nudges sweet spots inside you you’re sure you’ve never felt before. He pounds into you from behind, and then from above, and then from the side, letting your slick cunt convulse around him like some sweet virgin.
After the three orgasms Simon rips out of you, you’re breathless, whining mindlessly into the sheets with your foggy fucked-out brain and legs trembling like jelly.
He eventually pulls out, and a loud whine roars from the armchair—a plea to be included, to have a go.
But before you can spare a glance in Johnny’s direction, Simon’s thick cockhead catches at your lips, parting them with his wet tip, covered in you, forcing his length down your throat like it belongs there.
You take it. And take it. And take it.
Your throat bulges with every thrust of his pelvis, your face smushed against the coarse hairs at the base of his cock, choking on his fat cockhead until you’ve got tears tumbling down your cheeks.
After what feels like a lifetime of nothing but dizziness from lack of airflow, Simon finally spills his thick ropes of cum into the wet heat of your mouth, pulling out his softening dick with a pleased grunt as he watches his pearly cum sit pretty on your tongue.
With your mouth still open, you attempt to blink back the remaining tears to search for some look of approval from Simon for taking it so good, but a harsh grip wraps around your jawbone, and a desperate tongue forces itself into your mouth, lapping up at the salty release coating your tastebuds.
“Oi,” Simon barks. “Let ‘er breathe, ya mutt.”
Johnny whines as he’s yanked away from you, swallowing down the Lieutenant’s seed he’d robbed from your mouth, filthily licking the smug curve of his lips clean. “Aye, sir. The doll’s fine, aren’t ye, love?”
They both spare you a quick once-over before Simon sighs, letting out a somewhat amused sound. “You’re fuckin’ insatiable, Johnny. Was meant to be about her tonight.”
“Look at her, she’s happy enough, sir.”
All you can muster is a half-hearted noise in reply, blinking back some semblance of self as you catch your breath.
“Aye, that’s a good girl. The fucker’s a lot to take, huh?”
A soft whack hits the back of the Scot’s head. “Shut up, Soap.”
fig yaps: been feral about ghoap lately so this felt needed. yummy.
trinity santos is such a beautiful, nuanced, important character that it honestly makes me sad when people can't see it.
she continues to be great representation for so many who are struggling. for people who don't see themselves represented in a realistic way very often. she has clear hurts, traumas, scars, and it does not define her. she's a capable doctor, she's intelligent, she's kind.
yes, she is kind, extremely so. she has very clear, strong morals and sense of justice. no, she's not always 'nice', but nice and kind are different things. she took in a homeless man despite her trauma involving men. she didn't let a suicidal patient slip through the cracks, was the only one to notice and comfort him. she didn't let Langdon slip through the cracks— he probably would've never gotten the help he needed if she hadn't spoken up about something she knew to be wrong.
sure, she can have a short temper, she can be irritable and snappy and sarcastic. but she never lets shit go too far. I see so many people get mad at her for ribbing Dennis over losing Mr Milton— she immediately after said it wasn't his fault. she made it clear she didn't think he actually killed his fucking patient.
the hate on her for talking to a goddamn baby is crazy. first of all, I cannot believe you all did not find that shit hilarious. second... the baby does not care 😭😭 the baby does not understand her 😭😭 y'know what the baby did understand? soft, soothing singing and a finger to hold.
it is so so important to me and many others to have someone like her on this show. trinity santos is an incredible character.
Oh, JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH would get sooo pissed hearing "Is your wife your whole personality?"
He genuinely stopped mid-bite of the roast chicken with gravy and rice, a lunch you cooked for him, from a container where you put it, sitting in his freshly-ironed clothes that you ironed this morning.
"Tha fuck that's supposed ta mean? I can't talk 'bout ma wee bonnie wife? Ye'll definitely be single foreva, wanker."
The new recruit opened his mouth, trying to find any logical explanation to his assumption (but really just a stupid question), but Johnny just gave him his middle finger (the same one that was in your pussy the same morning).
You are his whole personality. Because why the hell no?
you and john have the same appetite for a specific type of breeding kink.
thinking about the two of you playing around with it—you poking holes in the condom, john stealthing, you saying that you’ll buy plan b tomorrow, don’t mind that you’re on the pill, you swear you’ll buy it so pretty please cum in me, john? it just makes the sex more debauched; makes the hunger filthier.
and thinking about the way the two of you will actually act out scenes—your mutual shock when john pulls out and the condom’s torn, you moaning even louder when john gives you the signal that he “stealthed” you now, the two of you gasping out loud about john’s cum trickling out of your hole, john driving you to the drug store and giving you crumpled cash so you can go ahead and buy the plan b.
it’s fun, it’s silly—you said it’s silly, so surely you won’t mind that john will replace your birth control pills too, right? it’s about time to start a family, anyway.
Dad!Price or even Dad!Ghost would feel like they’re the best dad you’re ever gonna get compared to the shit case who actually put the sperm in your mom, so let him fuck your tight pussy right as your set bedtime creeps up just so he can show you how much he loves his sweet kid.
Have you crooning, toes curling, eyes watering while he gives you such slow and deep strokes into your hole. Slick slathering down your thighs with every thrust. Kissing your back while his big arms are wrapped around you, mumbling “thaaats my good girl.” or “Fuck, takin me so well sweetheart, knew you could- shit- only my precious kid can take this, huh?” and your mouth is slack and left agape, clawing at his forearms as you stupidly nod.
Fuck, you really are a daddy’s girl.
a/n: or something, I don’t fvcking know. That’s not cunt? Sorry.
smth abt mean experienced lesbian dana evans calling younger and inexperienced!reader kid in the MOST condescending way ever.. ohhh i need her so bad i’m unwell
“I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus” but it’s you kissing Price who reluctantly agreed to dress up as Santa for some fundraising-public-relations event, under the condition that the team doesn’t know he’s doing it because they’ll take the absolute piss out of him for it if they do.
So when Soap and Gaz see you backstage kissing a random guy dressed up as Santa they are devastated because they had this whole plan about setting you up with Price and now that’s ruined because apparently you’re taken! By Santa Claus! And how is John supposed to compete with that?
So the next day they come slugging back into the mess hall dejected to report back to Ghost that their plan (Ghost wanted no part of this) is ruined because they saw you kissing Santa Claus. (Ghost knows it was Price).
Then they go to John to tell him that they’ve seen how he looks at you and that he should just cut his losses now because you’re taken. They can’t understand why he busts out laughing when they call you Sergeant Claus.
You hit them back by calling them Santa’s little helpers. It takes a while for them to understand what you’re implying.
John Price who finally loves soft sex. He is older now, his knees are not what they used to be and his back hurts when the weather changes. So of course, the rough manhandling and quick pace don’t work for him. He knows that he is still good in bed but now its just different.
He loves to hold you close, whisper how good you’re for him and how good he will make you feel. The days of quick fuck are long behind him. He takes great pleasure in fucking you sideways, laying on bed behind you and holding your waist or kissing you on the shoulder. Or when he rediscovers the missionary and now, he has you spread open under him, making eye contact the whole time without his back hurting.
When he realizes that he can also fuck you in the bath everything changes. Not only he can relax but now, he can have a pretty thing bouncing on his cock. It doesn’t take him long to realize that he needs bigger bathtub or even a hot tub. Thank God he doesn't have any neighbours who have a view of his terrace.
ik you’ve written fauxcest for soldier boy before but can you pretty pretty please elaborate on how he’d be worse about it 🙏
( in reference to this post ) cw: fauxcest — reader is 18+
okay, so stepdad!soldier boy just straight up thinks he’s your dad, and so he acts like it to a sickening degree whenever he can. he takes great pride in people thinking he’s your biological father, and even greater pride when the word ‘dad’ mindlessly slips from your lips in front of anyone.
he drones on and on about his little girl and how lucky he is to have been able to step up as a dad, despite himself. the twinkle in his eye as he talks is almost believable; it’s the same speck a real father would have for his daughter, except both you and ben know you’re anything but that.
“c’mon, baby, tell daddy what you’re feeling,” he pants out, breathing heavily into your fucked-out face from above.
you whine loudly from your agape mouth at the brutality of his thrusts and how quickly his words minimise you into a soaking mess. that pathetic sound is the best you can do.
ben tuts, not slowing his pace for even a second. “kid, i asked you a question. a little baby noise ain’t an answer.”
you gasp, hips flailing up off the sheets, chest rising and falling. “feels s-so good,” you brokenly sputter out.
“yeah, i’m makin’ my daughter feel good?”
he says it with such an intensity, like there’s truth to his words, like you are his daughter, despite the lack of biological attachment between the pair of you.
“fuckin’ answer me. tell dad how good he feels in his daughter’s cunt. you’re fuckin’ squeezing me like you want me to fuck a sibling into you. needy fucking kid.”
he knows he’s a messed up man… and an even worse father figure, but what’s he supposed to do when you look up at him with stars in those sweet teary eyes?
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