the book hes pretending to read is green bush by john t frederick. if anybody wants to figure out some deep metaphorical meaning behind that please feel free to chime off
John "I should be more than enough for you," price who gets all huffy and insecure when he finds out his younger partner is using a dildo. He won't outright compare it to cheating, but he'll make snide remarks about you making him feel less than. The only way he accepts it is if you get one modeled exactly after him, and even then only use it when he's deployed.
Vs
Simon "please please just get a toy–" riley who simply cannot keep up with your libido or stamina. He's long since come to terms with his erectile dysfunction and is more than happy strap whatever toy you want to his thigh and let you go. It took him forever to convince you it wouldn't hurt his feelings, and in the end he had to purchase a few for you to really drive the point home.
Inspired by [this] post by @quarterlifekitty go read it rn
Price who comes home from deployment, and the first thing he does after hugging you is hold you at arms length and narrow his eyes at you "why do you smell like that, love."
"Like what?" You smile, tuck yourself under his arm and attempt to coral him to the bedroom.
"Like garrick," price grunts, mustache turned into a frown. He takes a sniff of your neck then pulls the same disgruntled face "you smell like his cigarettes."
"Hm? Oh, yeah, I've been bumming them off him," you shrug, waving a dismissive hand. You know john trusts you and kyle not to do anything.
"You don't smell like me," john pouts, two large hands settling on your hips to push you against the wall. "I left cigars here, why don't you use them?"
"John, I love you but I'm not gonna pantomime sucking dick when I need a hit," you sigh.
"I–! Wha– it does not–!" Price stutters, astonished.
"It does. Look, it's a good look on you," you tease, hook a finger under his chin "real cute of you, yeah?"
After price got you back twice over for that sucking dick comment, he mumbles something about picking out cigarettes for you. So posessive and territorial it's almost cute.
Had you asked anyone else, you're sure the answer would be a resounding 'no.' Or even a mocking laugh.
But you didn't ask anyone else. You asked ghost, under the dimly lit awning of the pub, "can i fuck you, si?"
"You already do, love," ghost points out with a mumble around his cigarette. He lights it and takes a drag, exhales slowly "an' not here."
"I don't mean like that, si." You huff, knock your ankle against his bad one pointedly "I mean can I fuck you. As in with a cock. I bought a strap and...well."
Ghost takes a moment to raise both brows at you, deadpan. He takes great pleasure in silently judging you before shrugging "alright. But I want my tea."
Which is how ghost ends up sprawled naked on your bed that you really should size up, nearly taking up the whole mattress.
"Christ, simon..." you whisper, kneeling between spread thighs. Ghost is big in the way important things are big. More than just size, his entire presence takes up space. Meaty thighs covered in scars lazily drop open to reveal an already prepped hole, and you drag your eyes up a round stomach and fat tits to see ghosts smirk "don't trust me to do it myself?"
Ghost hikes a leg higher, loops his ankle behind your hip and rubs the leather of the strap into skin "wanted to make it easy for your first time, sweetie."
God, you love him.
You smile, notch the head of the strap against his rim. The minute twitch if his abdomen makes your cunt ache, "ready, si?"
With a firm, slow, thrust you push in. Torn between watching the silicone slide into ghost or watching the sudden pinch of his brow or the way he tosses his head back with a pleased groan "fuck, okay. Keep going–"
You do, a bit awkwardly at first. You're using muscles you previously didn't need to, trying to adjust and finding yourself wholly frustrated that you can't get the angle you want while ghost is too busy whining under you to really help.
"Fuck– okay, hold still–" you grunt, having enough and all together shoved ghosts thigh up and hooking his calf over your shoulder so you can thrust down to the base and–
"Wait– wait fuck–!" Ghost seizes, stomach tightening and back arching and his orgasm hits sharp and sudden. Thick ropes shoot across his chest while ghost moans and huffs through his teeth like he's trying to fight himself from grinding further onto the strap.
"Woah." You mumble once he's finally down. You wear there's a puddle under you at this point by how wet you are.
Ghost groans, breathes. He cracks one eye open and motions you to crawl up his chest. "I'm not getting up again, lovie. C'mere, you need a reward."
Once you're both cleaned up and snuggling, you'll notice ghost didn't even touch the twenty pound tea that he wanted. Asshole.
Honey Dew | 18+ mdni, heavy fauxcest, dad bf!Simon, lite smut lol, age gap (25 yo reader, 38 yo Simon), used of (Dad, pa)
Simon who doesn’t hesitate to introduce you as his daughter to the rest of the 141 with his deathly serious face and tone the other three men can’t help but believe it. He’s pretty private about his life but he’s mentioned you to the guys once or twice. A simple, “Tha kids at home. She’s good ‘nd smart.” John didn’t see any changes on his paper work but isn’t the least but shocked he’s kept something like this. Gaz can’t help but think how you’d be just like Ghost and it makes him laugh. And Soaps gotten a quick glance of a picture that resides in Ghosts wallet—
Your head resting in the palm of your hand, in a shirt that’s just barely touching your thighs, curls covering your face— it’s- it’s a bit much to have as the picture to remember your daughter. But he ignores it, maybe Soap is overthinking it. The random day Ghost brings the 141 to meet you, you’re on your way out the house while they’re going in. You greet him with that pretty smile he likes so much, polite handshakes and jokes all around.
“ ‘Nd where are you goin?” Simon pulls at the loop in your jeans that are all too familiar, too large on your body and hanging on your curves, the bottom of them rolled up to your ankles. The way you look makes Simon curse under his breath, veins popping out of his arms.
“Tutoring Session with a couple of my friends students, I told you right?” You adjust your bag on your shoulder, looking up at him coyly.
You didn’t, but if Simon asked you not to go, as your Dad, he’d be the bad guy. Greedy with his baby when she tries to do good. He lets the hook of your jeans go. Looking you up and down before rustling the curls on your head. You giggle while swatting his hands away, waving the 141 goodbye.
“She’s a good kid, works hard.” John nods.
Simon feels the end of his lips curve upward under his balaclava, “Course she is, she’s mine.”
And let’s say a few hours go by, too long for you to just be out tutoring, the rest of the 141 have gone to sleep, but Simon is there waiting for you. Of course he is, your hushed voices filling the kitchen. You roll your eyes, “I’m an adult, no? I didn’t really know my friend would take us out for a drink after. And he paid too it was nice.”
“He?”
“Yeah, he, with the rest of our friends.” You repeat.
“It’s the fact you went out in those is my problem lovie.” Simons staring again, brown eyes following you move from the fridge to the sink, your shirt rising when you raise your arms as it exposes your stomach, your hips switching unconsciously with every step. That you’re so nonchalantly wearing his jeans like you own them. You turn, leaning against the counter.
“What pa, you jealous?” You ask, gold hoop in your pierced ears hitting your shoulder as you tilt your head to look at him. You bite your lip at the silence, eyes dancing all over his big build.
Simon scuffs, not even bothering to look you in the eyes while he drags you close by the loop in his jeans you’re wearing, large hand sliding down to your ass and squeezing it.
“If I admit that I am,” he bends his face down closer to meet yours, his lips brushing against your plump ones, “What ‘re you gonna do f’ me dove?”
Your hearts pounding, pecking his lips once, your eyes getting lost in his, you ask softly, “What’dyou want me t’ do for you Pa?”
Even with all the exhaustion of work, the 141 aren’t deep sleepers. It only takes a few rustles from outside their rooms, a few creaking floor boards— a muffled moan in the bathroom that makes Gaz get up first. Eyes connecting with Soap from across the hallway once they both open their doors.
“Fuck, you hear that mate?” Gaz whisper yells, confused.
Then there’s another rustle, another muffled moan from the bathroom.
Soap smirks, “Aye, Can’t believe the lass ‘as brought a guy over while her Dad ‘nd his friends ‘er home. Fuckin mental.”
Gaz nods towards the door, “should go scare the bloke off then, Simon would hate t’ hear about this.”
The fucker himself, Simon fucking Riley, on his knees right behind you, bending you over the bathroom sink as he eats you out like it’s his last meal. His flat tongue sliding through your pussy lips and slurping you up clean. His jeans you wore now pooling around your ankles, knees shaking as you try to contain your keens and moans with the back of your hand. It’s sloppy, the way Simon keeps spreading your folds open, his calloused fingers brushing up to yout sensitive clit as he thrusts his tounge in your hole. Lapping everything up that drips down to your thighs and down his chin. Feeling him swirl his pink organ inside your spongey walls.
“Shit, mmmck- feels good Dad, so good!” You gasp, hands gripping on the counter.
Simons gives your ass a smack, chuckling so darkly as he gives your pussy another sloppy French kiss, “she’s such a bloody crybaby ‘nd ‘M the one doin ‘er a favor.” The older man nibbles at the flesh of your thighs, tips of his fingers grazing your pulsing clit.
“What should you say t’me dovie, hm? Let me hear you.”
You mewl in delight, feeling his tongue flick your gushing hole, “T-Thank you Daddy, god, thank you.” It seems to be the only words stuck on your lips as he fucks you with his tongue, in and out and slurping your sweet honey dew from your cunt so loudly it makes your hips shake against his mouth.
“Thankyouthankyouthankyou Dad, anngh!” Your head drops down, biting your lip so hard trying to constrain yourself you’re sure you’re gonna draw blood.
A knock hits the door that makes your walls clench around Simons tongue, Soap speaks, “Don’t think yer Da would want t’ ‘ear about ye havin a man here lass.”
Then Gaz, teasing yet threatening “Both ‘f you should come out, we won’t tell on you.”
Your eyes flutter open, “Just- hngh- just one moment!”
You try to push Simon off you, eyebrows knitting together, mumbling out your cute and soft but-but-but. Yet your Dad only shushes you, brushing your hand away, “Should only be focused on me when I’m fuckin you. You thinking about them?”
You whimper out with every emotion rolling over you, embarrassment followed with foolish want for Simon, Simon, Simon, Dad, Dad, Dad, “No sir, just-“
“Then fuck my mouth honey, be good f’me.”
And he guides you through it, one hand on your waist and making you circle your hips on his mouth, shoving his face in your round globes, licking you up fast. His other hand rubbing your slippery bundle of nerves. Your grip his wrist rubbing your clit is tight, jaw slack while your hips rock against his face.
You cum, eyes rolling to your skull and letting out a filthy moan as your pussy spasms. Electricity running through your veins as you hit your peak. Simon pulls away panting, voice raspy while his hands slide up and down your thighs.
“Atta fuckin girl baby, love when you make a mess on me.”
Simon pulls his jeans up your hips, kissing your temple while you let out shudders breaths. “Go to bed kiddo.”
The door finally unlocks, heat spreading through your cheeks and almost down to your bones after your eyes meet Soap and Gaz’s who were wide eyed, eyes practically popping out of their heads when they realize who’s behind you.
The door to the guest room creaks open, revealing a sleepy John Price, eyes still shut and hair every which way, “Is everything alright?” He gruffed out.
You hum, visibly dazed from the high you just hit less than a minute ago, “Just fine sir, good night.”
You brush through the men without a care in the word, giving Gaz and Soap a obvious fucked out smile before shutting your bed door closed. Leaving the three youngest 141 members looking at each other.
Simons got that knowing look on his face, licking his lips that were glossed with your cum. He turns the bathroom light off, nodding at the two men, “Midnight snack with my kid is all guys.”
He wipes his face, walking down the hallway, crooked yet cocky grin on his face, “Goodnight.”
I know we talk a lot about the literacy crisis and the horrible anti-intellectualism happening rn but I think we need to talk more about how much of an entitlement complex the stupidest among us have developed
Boyfriend! Jack Abbot… who isn’t the slightest bit surprised when another package lands on the porch. He sets his coffee down, looks at the box, then at you.
“Crochet again or candle-making this time?”
Whatever it is, he’ll nod. No judgement whatsoever. “Alright. Want me to clear the kitchen table?”
He never laughs or sighs. Just makes space like it’s the most natural thing in the world that you’re trying to master a new skill almost every week.
Boyfriend! Jack Abbot.. who watches you throw yourself into cooking with the same fiery determination you put into everything else.
Boyfriend! Jack Abbot… who somehow became your permanent taste-tester without ever agreeing to the title.
You’re standing at the stove, hair up, apron already dusted in a thin layer of flour. You hold out a spoon to him.
“Try this for me?”
He steps closer and takes it without hesitation. He chews slowly, like he’s analyzing every flavor. His eyes stay on yours the whole time, which somehow makes waiting a few seconds feel like a lifetime.
“Well?” you ask, bouncing a little.
When he finally speaks, he’s honest because he knows you’d rather hear the truth, than empty praise.
He swallows. “Needs more salt. And the thyme’s a little heavy.”
“But the texture’s good.”
You deflate for half a second and he catches it almost immediately.
“Hey.” His voice drops, quiet. “I’m still gonna finish the whole thing. You know that.”
And he does. Every single time. Even the disasters, especially the disasters.
Boyfriend! Jack Abbot… who notices the exact moment your shoulders drop when a recipe doesn’t turn out the way you wanted it to.
He sets his fork down, reaches over, and tugs you in by the waist until you’re standing between his knees.
“C’mere, baby.”
You go without a fight, melting into him like it’s second nature. At this point it is.
He rests his chin against your chest for a second, then looks up. “You know I don’t care if it’s perfect, right? I just like watching you do your thing.”
You huff a small laugh. “Even when it’s awful?”
“Especially when it’s awful. Means I get to watch you try again tomorrow.” His thumb brushes the small of your back.
“And I get to be the first one who tastes it.”
Later, when you finally nail the recipe you’ve been fighting with for three weeks, he takes one bite, goes completely still, then immediately reaches for the serving spoon again.
You watch him, eyes big and hopeful. “Yeah, it’s good?”
He looks at you over the rim of his plate, something soft and almost private in his expression.
“…Yeah. This one’s staying. Make it whenever you want. I’ll eat it every time.”
A pause. Then, quieter, like he’s saying it more to himself than to you:
“So proud of you, Honey.”
He doesn’t say it often. But, when he does, it lingers like a heavy weight on your chest and a promise at the same time.
And when you lean down to kiss him, tasting the sauce still faint on his lips, he kisses you back slow and certain, one hand still resting warm and heavy against your hip. He’s already thinking about the next time you’ll ask him to try something new.
People assume a lot about Ghost. Everyone knows he keeps his private life secret and that he doesn't like to show his face. So people assume he is one of those broken soldier types who only lives for the mission and hates taking breaks and all that.
They would be surprised to find out that he takes all his vacations and they somehow always align with school holidays and such. People rarely notice though, because they are busy with their families themselves. Soap tried to invite him over Christmas once, but Ghost declined.
But it just happened that one of Soaps sisters moved to a new city and since the team is on leave Soap offered to help. It's a beautiful street, single houses, family friendly, quiet part of the town. Peaceful in a way that reminded Soap of everything he wanted to protect.
He is in the middle of assembling a cupboard when there is a knock on the door. He can hear his sister opening the door and immediately there is chatter and the sound of children.
"So sorry they insisted they wanted to help and show you the neighbourhood. I told them you already know your way around and that you chose to move here because you like it already, but they are so excited. Oh and I brought a meat pie for later, you said your brother is helping? If he is anything like my Simon he will eat whatever you set in front of him."
That must be the neighbour his sister had talked about a sweet middle aged women with three children, who happened to be married to military. That's how they bonded, but she seemed to be the unofficial ruler of the street as well, according to his sister.
"No worries, the boys can help my brother if they like. Oh, Simon, hello, I really appreciate the help with that. There is beer in the fridge if you like."
He hears a grunt and steps and then a voice he knows too well.
"Happy to help, m' angel told me you wanted everything up before your wife comes back from the business trip. Hope you are aware that you will be the talk of the street for a while. They don't mean it but people here are a bit excited when anything happens."
Soap almost drops the hammer and it takes just a second for him to get downstairs to to kitchen where his fucking LT Ghost, the man nobody wants to meet in the dark, is casually leaning against the wall, taking a swing from his beer and smiling at the gorgeous women who must be the neighbour his sister had talked about. He is absolutely sure that this is Ghost, but then it hits him. This isn't Ghost. This is Simon. And Simon is a husband, father, neighbour. A completely normal guy. And for a second he wants to introduce himself as if he was a stranger, but Simon already looks at him.
"No need, I already saw your family picture. Let's have a chat, yeah?"
And this is how Soap learned that his commanding officer has a family and does everything he can to be a normal husband and father whenever he is on leave.
And that he will do anything to protect them. Which includes his sister and her family as well, now that they live across the street.
Thinking about Ghost going to an Ulta after his Sergeants’ tease him about the tan lines around his eyes whenever he takes his balaclava off.
He approaches and asks a visibly nervous employee where they keep the sunscreen. She points to an aisle in the back. He nods to her and stalks over there.
He doesn’t know where to begin.
There’s just too many options to choose from. Sunscreen sprays, sticks, gels, lotions, even powder. Does he want a mineral sunscreen or a chemical one? Neutrogena? Vichy? La Roche-Posay?
He knows he needs something strong. 100 SPF is what he’s aiming for. He spends about a good 15 minutes looking over the various sunscreen products available. He looks over the same row about twenty times before he’s interrupted by a bright voice to his left.
“Can I help you find anything?”
Ghost glances over, “What do you recommend?” He points to the sunscreen in front of him.
You turn your attention to the products in front of him.
“Well, this is the one I use,” you grab the one he’d been looking at. “This is a really good brand and it doesn’t leave a white cast.”
Ghost nods, he’s read about that. He doesn’t want to look pastier than he already does.
“I also recommend getting a balm.” You reach for another product. “So it’ll be easier to re-apply.”
You hold out the products to him, a smile on your face.
“Thanks,” he mumbles as he takes them from you. He looks down at them now cradled in his hands.
“Of course,” you tell him. “Anything else I can help you find?”
Ghost looks up at you. He should say no and be on his way. But, he’s already here so he might as well stock up.
“Where can I find the eyeliner?”
is this anything? idk. i think he keeps going to re-stock and you two develop a little friendship.
what use does a mermaid have for a top? that's how john sees it when he thinks about it.
and he thinks about it a lot. when he's in his bed, alone as he stares towards his window. when his council is telling him he needs to pick a queen, and all he can think about is you.
his men think he's crazy when john talks about you. the mermaid with the pretty, blue tail that seems to sparkle in sunlight.
fuck, he needs to see you again. without his guards behind him, protecting him. just him on the beach, watching the sea until you appear.
and thats exactly how it happens. he sits on the beach, his toes digging into the sand, and waits.
thing is, you're watching him, too. from behind a rock, you watch the way he lets the hand fall through his fingers.
you desperately want to approach, to find a voice that isn't your siren song. but the stories of your sisters stops you from swimming closer.
stories of mermaids sent to the depths before their time at the hands of man. so you stay back, stay where its safe, watching the king as he searches for you.
Inch one was just pressure. His hands stroked your hair out of your face, stubble rough against your ear as he whispered "You gonna be a good girl for me? You gonna take all my cock in this pretty pussy?"
What a tease inch two was. He held his postition there for a beat while he kissed your lips and then rocked his cock back out. Then back in. His girth alone was a lot but you had six more inches to take.
Inch three started to feel good, his sheer size stretching at your sensitive walls. Instinctively you clenched and Jack felt it. "Fuck, so tight. Keep them legs wide for me baby." He grunted as his hand came down to the inside of your thigh, softly keeping them apart.
Oh but inch four had you gasping. Only half way and you moaned into his ear, praising him. "Oh so good Jack-fuck."
Tingles in your lower tummy is what inch five gave you as he slowly dragged his cock through your folds. That familiar build up starting right at the pitt of your stomach, your pussy pulsing for more.
"Jack!" Inch six had your toes curling, your lungs gulping the air that you both shared.
Inch seven and you were biting into his neck, his weathered skin salty but still soft on your tongue. Gifting him your hums of pleasure, you sucked a generous love mark in your place.
And finally - inch eight. You were seeing stars, your pulse vibrating through your body as you opened your eyes again. Your fingers fisted at the back of his head tugging at his curls, your body relaxing into him.
"Fuck, I think I'm right in your tummy ain't I darlin'?"
um go ahead and ignore this daily post if you don't have a piss kink but i am discovering something about myself...
imagine Mommy Wanda noticing you squirm while she's making out with you and asking you what's wrong only to smile as you bashfully admit that you have to pee. Her smile turning sharp as her eyes glint, her voice low as she commands you to hold it.
You whine, the pressure of your slowly filling bladder pressing against your g-spot as Wanda presses her thigh firmly against your leaking pussy, your clit pulsing with need. You've never wanted to cum more, and grind yourself firmly against Wanda as you plead with her.
"Please, Mommy. I gotta pee so bad, I- I also wanna cum."
"Pick, baby. You get to choose one." Wanda says, her tone full of satisfaction as your mind reels. "You get to cum, or pee. Choose."
Eventually, the pressure of her thigh between your legs wins, and you beg for her to let you cum. You feel your bladder filling more as she continues teasing you, your face flushes and movements frantic as you grind yourself against her thigh.
"Doesn't it feel so good, darling? I can feel how desperate you are. Do you like it when Mommy controls every aspect of you?"
You can only nod, watching her smile spread across her face, a dangerous glint in her eye.
"From now on, Mommy decides when you get to use the bathroom, okay?"
Fuck. You nod at her, the idea of relinquishing control over to her for something so basic is appealing and so... fucking... arousing.
She makes you cum multiple times that night, not letting you use the bathroom until she's done with you... you've never been more aroused and fuzzy headed.
