Dutiful Wildcraft

Dani | COD & OC sideblog | 30's | 18+ |

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Welcome! I’m Dani (She/her) and I mostly lurk, but occasionally write! I primarily write AU’s and/or poly relationships in addition to plus size ocs/readers.

A03

MDNI. this is an 18+ account.

This is a sideblog so asks don’t come from here

Masterlist under the cut (Updated 3.24.25)

Price

Secondhand News (xF!OC)

Plush

Retail

Observation Duty

Missing You (NikPrice x Reader)

Sickly (NikPrice x Reader)

Nikolai

Restoration Worship (Gargoyle!Nik x Reader)

Lies and Alibis (Mafia AU)

Gaz

Pampered (Gaz/Ghost)

Honest Sweet (Gaz/M!OC)

Ghost

Burnout (Ghost/M!OC)

Meeting Soap's Family (Soap/Ghost)

Ghost at a music festival

Soap

Alpha!Soap x F!OC

Pretty in Pink (Soap/M!OC)

Autistic Soap

Original Characters

Darren "Thumper" Martin

Ruby Martin

Paloma Hadley

Kortac

Strange Candy One , Two (Hiatus)

Alt. Universes

Monster AU

Outlast AU

Life's Sweet Bells (Farm Sim AU)

Misc. & Headcannons

Video Games

Music Tastes (With mixes!)

141 Metal Band

Disordered Eating (This is exactly what it says it is)

Other Fandoms

Resident Evil

Wesker x F!OC

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Open Season

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Naya "Bambi" Walker | wc: 2.4k

Part 1 | Part 2 >>

You don't expect Simon to propose bringing someone into your bedroom, but you can't deny that you're more than a little interested.

Read on AO3 / Ko-Fi

CW: 18+/MDNI, PIV sex, dirty talk, lactation, fantasizing about a coworker, exhibitionism, (discussion of) hotwifing, under-negotiated kink, dubcon picture sharing, Simon is bisexual but we're not getting into that very much right this moment (we will get into it in part 2) (and probably 3)

"Gaz asked aft'ya."

The words take a minute to make their way through your pleasure drunk mind, but when they do, the curl hot in your belly. The whine you let out sounds pathetic, even to your ears. Simon won't let you bury your face in the bedding, wraps a hand around your throat so it’s impossible to hide from him as he hilts himself inside of you from behind.

"Was right after you sent me that cheeky little picture," he continues, and the way you squirm under hiim makes him huff a breathless chuckle. "Weren't even done lockin' the screen, almost gave 'im a peek of those tits."

"Oh, oh, no." Embarrassment seizes you as the memory of just what you’d been wearing flashes behind your eyelids.

"Oh, no," he mocks, then slaps your ass. He groans as you whine. "Like I can't feel you clenchin' up. Pretendin' y'not all excited, like you didn't wear red knowin' 't's 'is favorite color. You wanted 'im t' see."

"No," you whimper, breathless, but he's changed the angles of his thrusts and your whole body is shivering it's way to a climax. "Simon, no, just you, just -"

"Just me," he growls, and his voice is ragged against your ear. His hands are hard when he hikes up your hips to grind in, in, in. "You think I don't know you was watchin' 'im, last time we was out? So cute when y' flirtin', lickin' y' lips 'n gigglin'."

You shake your head, but words get caught behind your teeth.

“No?” Simon's laugh makes you shiver. One of his hands slides under your hips, fingers zeroing in on your clit. "Weren't givin' Gaz fuck-me eyes? 'E might not've noticed, the way 'e was eyein' ya. Bet 'e touched 'imself that night, wonderin' 'ow y'r pussy looks when she's gettin' what she needs."

Your brain conjurs up Kyle’s face, handsome and attentive, and you can’t help the way you whine again. Reaching back with one hand, you grab at Simon's hair as your body ratchets closer to climax.

"Might 'ave to let him find out," he growls, and his voice is starting to waver with his own orgasm approaching. "'E's got a real pretty cock, bet you'd make real pretty noises - "

Whatever else he says is drowned out by the way you nearly shout as the tension in your belly snaps. It’s hard to gasp for breath as he works you through it, ignoring the way you jerk as oversensitivity takes over. A second peak wracks your whole body, right on the heels of the first, and every muscle in your body goes rigid. That sets Simon off, and you echo the moans that tear their way out of his throat.

Simon’s breaths are heavy against the back of your neck by the time you float back down into your body. The weight of him is grounding, comforting, even as you put your face into the bedding and groan with exhaustion and embarrassment. Simon snickers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he rolls you both to the side and wraps his hands around your waist.

You scrub a hand over your face and leave your hand over your eyes as you moan, “What the fuck was that?”

“Experimentin’.”

“Simon.”

“Figurin’ some stuff out,” he mumbles, running a hand up your belly and cupping one of your breasts gently. “Jus’ playin, ‘s all. You liked it?”

You wiggle around until you’re laying on your back, then peek through your fingers up at him. He blinks sleepy eyes down at you, head propped on one hand and looking just as relaxed as he ever does. Like he didn’t just bring up flirting with and fucking his coworker. He grins when he sees you pouting, big and self-satisfied before dipping down to press his lips against yours.

You tug gently at his hair as he pulls away. “What’re you figuring out?”

“’Ow best to surprise ya,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Figure Gaz is a safe bet. Thinks y’ gorgeous.”

“You want to sleep with Kyle?” You gasp, then gasp again. “Wait. Why do you know what his dick looks like?”

“Communal showers.” Simon plucks at one of your nipples, just a tease, before cupping his hand over that side of your chest again. “After ‘n op, after the gym. Easy to get a bit worked up.”

“You’ve seen him hard?”

“We’ve all seen each other ‘ard.” He shrugs. “Rude to stare, but in close quarters, y’gonna see somethin’. I’ve seen Johnny strokin’ off more time’s ‘n I c’n count. Cap’s got more restraint, but ‘ve seen ‘is favorite porn star.”

“Focus. We’re talking about Kyle,” you remind him, poking at his chest. “You said his dick is pretty.”

“Oh, so ‘e is your favorite.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Yeah? You just wanna hear more about ‘is cock? ‘Bout ‘ow I bet it’d hit all those nice spots if ‘e ‘ad you layin’ on your back like this?”

His hand squeezes, fingers drawing up toward your nipple in the way that he knows prompts your letdown. The fuzzy static of it makes you slap at him. But Simon just catches your hand and brings your knuckles to his mouth for a quick kiss. It’s a trap, of course, and he grabs your other hand in short order before bringing them up above your head. With an arched eyebrow, he presses them against the pillow before letting go, and then his fingers are back to stroking and plucking at you until milk starts beading up under his fingers. There isn’t much to give, since you’ve already done your pre-bed pump, but it’s still an overwhelming sensation so soon after orgasm.

“’E’s thick, like you like,” he says, breezy and casual as you squirm. “Just a bit o’ curve. Y’r lips’d look real nice on it.”

Your stomach swoops as he licks his fingers. Then his touch drifts lower, light and almost ticklish until his fingers can pet gently over your clit. Sensitivity makes you twitch your hips away, but he follows, keeps the pressure consistent while he waits for you to settle. Only then does he pet over your mound and thighs, gentle and teasing.

“Likes to take ‘is time,” he murmurs, licking his lips. His eyes are dark and hungry when he meets yours. “Was waitin’ for exfil, once. Nothin’ to do. ‘E pulled up some porn, somethin’ slow. Don’t remember exactly what. But ‘e didn’t skip ahead. Said ‘e likes to let things build, when ‘e’s got the time.”

His thick fingers dip between your legs, and you have to bite back a small noise. Simon’s always talkative, in bed, but this feels different, fragile. There’s none of that almost frantic, middle-of-sex energy forcing the words out. He’s not trying to get either of you off, not quite, not… not yet. He’s just… admiring his friend, sharing the intimate views he thinks you’ll appreciate with him.

That image you have of Kyle changes in your mind, becomes something quiet and warm. You can almost imagine the two of them, in some small, dim hotel room. You know what Simon looks like, when he’s not yet focused on sex, but willing to be convinced. Is that what he’s like, after an operation? Does he drape himself on a bed or a pull-out couch and watch porn quietly on his phone? He never hesitates to lean over your shoulder to get a better look at whatever you’ve pulled up. Does he do the same to Kyle? Would Kyle let him? Do they sit close, pulling something up on a phone, until their hands end up down their pants?

“Showed ‘im a picture of you, last time we was out,” he chuckles, interrupting your musing and setting your heart racing again. His voice dark and smoky, the way it gets when he’s preparing to pull you along through something that’s going to push all of your buttons. He leans down to steal another kiss when his fingers start to dip into where you’re wet and relaxed. “That one I like, the one from the beach. ‘Is cock weren’t out, but I bet ‘e wished it was. Just lookin’, that time, we was on watch. No time to do nothin’ about it.”

“You did not,” you whimper around a hitching breath.

“I did,” he he counters, grinning against your mouth. “’E said I’m a lucky bastard, and ‘e’s right. Prettiest girl in the world, you are. Can’t blame ‘im for wantin’ a taste.”

Your stomach flutters, and you want to touch him, so you lift one hand to play with his hair. “Did… did he say that?”

“Might ‘ave.” Simon’s fingers push deep, slowly, and he grins when you shiver. “Might’ve just looked hard an’ bit ‘is tongue. Can’t exactly tell ‘is superior officer ‘e wants to fuck ‘is wife. Gotta wait for an invitation.”

You swallow a moan as he adds another finger, pressing deep. You’re so wet that the movement is loud in the quiet room. Still, he moves slowly, palm rocking purposefully against you, just the way you like. It’s impossible to resist chasing the sensation with slow rolls of you hips, so you don’t try. It’s hard not to let the pleasure drag you under again. All you can do is take a couple of deep breaths to remind yourself not to move too fast.

“You want…” you have to swallow twice, force your mind to concentrate on the words instead of the way his hand unravels you, again, “Want to give him an invitation?”

“Might ‘ave to, the way you’re gettin’ worked up so fast.” His laugh is just the slightest bit mean. “If ‘e was ‘ere, I bet ‘e’d already be fuckin you. Nice’n slow, like this, give this greedy cunt everythin’ she wants while I’m recoverin’.”

His cock is thick against your hip, not quite hard again, yet. The way he nudges his hips into you makes you want to spread your legs, so you do. And then you’re moaning into his mouth as his fingers massage steadily against your g-spot. Without your input, your hips rock up, chasing that sensation, trying to coax him to move faster.

“Look’t you, Pretty. So needy. What kinda man would I be if I wasn’t makin’ sure you’re taken care of, hm? Bet Kyle’d be real nice to you, ‘specially sweet as y’are right now. Soft ‘n wet, fuck, gushin’ all over ‘is cock jus’ like this. Messy, but ‘e wouldn’ mind.”

The building pleasure makes you pant up at him, eyes locked on his face. He looks hungry, the corner of his mouth quirked up to expose some of his teeth. A part of you realizes that he’s excited at the way he can thrill you, certainly, but this isn’t just for you, is it? He likes that you like the idea, but it’s his fantasy, his friend that he’s imagining fucking you.

“Si-” you whimper.

“Yeah. Gonna make ‘im work for you to say ‘is name?” he growls, crowding even closer and using one of his legs to spread yours further. He doesn’t speed up, but his fingers press harder, just where you want and need it to start really working toward another peak. “No, I don’t think so. I think once you start thinkin’ wi’ that pretty pussy, y’ gonna cry so pretty, callin’ for ‘im to speed up, get you right where you wanna be. Say his name nice, I bet ‘e’d give you whatever y’ want.”

You whimper as his other hand captures your wrists and presses them into the pillow. “Simon!”

“Yeah, y’ gonna come? Wonder if ‘e could resist comin’ w’ you squeezin’ all around ‘im. ‘Specially if ‘e gets his mouth on y’r tits. Bet e’ tries, but can’t. Bet ‘e gives you those deep strokes y’ like so much, fucks ‘imself deep and makes a pretty mess f’ me to fuck back int’ ya.”

The orgasm crests, easy and overwhelming and wet. Simon growls, shifting over you until he can remove his fingers and push his cock into you in three hard shoves. His groan almost drowns out the wet noises of skin against skin, but every thrust seems louder than the one before. All of your senses are filled with him, his panting breaths, his thick waist between your legs.

You wonder, wildly, if Kyle would hold you while Simon chases his orgasm in your body.

It’s so unexpected, so jarring, that your belly flips and your body locks up, again. An embarrassing noise squeezes past your throat, you think, as your arms wrap around Simon’s neck again. He feels it, of course, and laughs breathlessly as he lifts your leg so he can fuck himself even deeper.

“Ah!”

“Yeah,” he pants into your mouth. “One more, pretty, ‘m close, jus’ a little more, jus’ like that.”

You can’t make your tongue cooperate, but you try, “K-Ky! Please, Simon.”

He groans like you’ve wounded him and presses close and deep, until you can’t catch your breath. His cock jerks so hard that it pulls a gasp from you, and you bury your face in his shoulder as he huffs like a bull into your hair. His muscles are so rigid that your fingers slip on his sweat, but still, you wrap yourself around him the best you can as you both shake.

You stay like that for a beat, and then his breath explodes from between his lips. The muscles holding him up go slack, all at once, and he barely manages not to land directly on you as he collapses. You’re still a bit squished under him, but there’s just enough space that you can gulp a couple of hot breaths.

A giggle ripples out of you. “Oh my god. You want to fuck Kyle.”

“Fuck,” he laughs. “’S that all you got out of that?”

“You came when I said his name!”

Simon laughs, breathlessly against your hair. “You came thinkin’ about ‘im.”

“Yeah.” Post orgasm, it’s easy to admit. You pet a hand over his side, then tweak his hip. “Does that mean you actually want to fuck Kyle?”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” He scrubs a hand over his face and props himself up on one elbow. “Give me twenty minutes, Bambi, I can’t feel my fuckin’ legs.”

In spite of his words, he’s smiling, warm and happy. You hum as he dips down for a slow kiss. A yawn interrupts you, first you, then him, and you giggle again as he flops back into the bedding.

You suppose you can give him twenty minutes.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Open Season

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Kyle "Gaz" Garrick | wc: 4k

<< Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 >>

Kyle catches a glimpse of an intimate moment, and turns his eyes away, respectfully. Simon... presses the issue.

Read on AO3 / Tip Jar

CW: 18+/MDNI, exhibitionism, dirty talk, (discussion of) hotwifing, under-negotiated kink, dubcon picture sharing, hand job, Simon is bisexual and so is Gaz

Climbing into the back of the truck that’ll take them to the tarmac, Gaz sits next to Ghost while the privates all sit on the bench across from them. Parker is nervy after his first firefight, and keeps looking at the lieutenant like he’s replaying something gruesome in his mind, but the rest of them are jostling each other, joking and checking their phones after a few days away.

He’s already checked his messages. His sister’s asking after Nik again, which he’s not going to read into. Both of his mums have sent pictures of their new dog, their way of not worrying about him. Nothing from Price or Soap, yet, but they should just be landing in Hereford now.

Beside him, Ghost pulls his own phone from a pocket. The screen lights up the mask from below in a way that makes Parker look like he’s about to piss himself.

Gaz glances over, automatic. His eyebrows go up, and then he’s biting back a smile. The lock screen is at a picture of Ghost’s wife. She’s puckered her lips at the camera, blowing a kiss and a wink from the bathroom. Behind her, the mirror shows that her black shirt she’s wearing is an SAS training shirt, RILEY in bold across the shoulders. When he looks at Ghosts face, the mask gives nothing away. But his eyes are soft. After a moment, he enters his passcode, and Bambi disappears. Gaz refocuses on the private in front of him, grimacing at how green he looks.

“Parker,” he calls. The private startles, hands clenching on the straps of his kit, and Gaz huffs out a breath. “You broken?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Gonna vom?”

“No, sir,” the kid says, unconvincingly. “Did, already.”

Ghost nudges Gaz with his elbow, then holds out a wrapped sweet between gloved fingers without looking up. He takes it, and holds it out to the private.

“Here. Ginger. Helps with nausea.” When the private can’t seem to look away from Ghost, he waggles his hand. “Hey. I’m not dealing with you being sick on the plane.”

Next to Parker, Chambers snickers. “Got enough for all of us, Lieutenant?”

“That’ll do,” Ghost drawls. “Take the sweet, lad.”

Parker nearly eats the thing with the wrapper still on. It’s hard to tell if it’s instinctual fear or budding hero worship that drives him, but Gaz will leave that for him and a chaplain to work out. He sits back in his seat and tips his head back.

He’s almost shut his eyes when movement catches his attention. He finds himself glancing at Ghost’s phone again.

And catches sight of a familiar tattooed hand wrapped around a dark throat. The camera is centered there, just close enough that he can see just the barest hint of tits bouncing, just out of frame. There’s no audio, but he can imagine the moan that’s pouring from slick, plush lips at the top of the screen.

Kyle flicks his eyes up to the roof of the transport and rolls his shoulders. It’s not the first time he’s caught of glimpse of an intimate moment like this - it’s not even the most explicit view he’s gotten of Bambi - but there are rules to these kinds of things. Ghost is pretty close to breaking one, here, pulling that up on the fucking truck with the privates, but Gaz won’t stare.

Well. He can sneak another peek.

But the image is gone. He looks up and meets Ghost’s eyes for a long moment, hair standing on end like the mission is beginning instead of ending.

The lieutenant breaks eye contact first. The smile is obvious in his voice as he says, “Stay focused, Sergeant.”

~~~

Back on home soil, Kyle is almost able to put that video clip out of his mind. Almost. From the moment they hit the tarmac, he’s being pulled this way and that. And throughout getting the privates settled, debriefing, meetings, medical, and more meetings, the image of Bambi loops in the back of his mind with his heartbeat. Details he’s not sure he actually picked up layer with what he knows about her, what he doesn’t, what the video recontextualizes about how he sees Simon, on the field and off. It buzzes under his skin until he feels like he can’t sit still.

Simon is very in love with his wife.

That used to trip Kyle up. In the field, the lieutenant is a force. Every moment he’s got a weapon in his hands is a moment Gaz is glad they’re on the same side. To the team he leads, he isn’t cold, exactly. He’ll take care of kids like he had with Parker without a second thought. But compared even to Price, he’s aloof. Self-contained. Unapproachable. To anyone but the 141, and perhaps Kate and Nik, he’s nothing but mask and scars, bulk and the occasional morbid joke. Even with the 141, he’s… reserved. Almost untouchable.

But with his wife? All of the violence winds itself up into something that is not quite a threat. A sheathed knife.

As he throws himself on the treadmill, the contrast of it tickles his brain like lining up a difficult shot.

There had been something animal in Simon’s eyes when he’d shown Gaz a photo of Bambi, months ago. She was in a tiny green bathing suit, hands behind her head, kneeling in the sand. He’d had studied the half-sized polaroid of her for as long as his friend had let him, trying not to read into the wolfish hunger of Ghost’s eyes on his face. She’d looked like a model, and he’d told Simon so as the photo had been tucked away behind body armor. Ghost’s eyes hadn’t left him until they were on the move again, and Gaz had felt the weight of his regard for days. He got the impression that he was the only one who’d seen her that way. All of the 141 may have seen a dim and grainy still of her tits after walking in on Simon stroking off to his phone, but something in Gaz knows that Ghost would eat that photo before allowing anyone else to see his wife smiling on the beach.

Which made the fact that Ghost had pulled that video up in the truck even more perplexing. If any of the privates had seen Bambi that way, even without the knowledge of who she is… But he’d seen it, and Ghost had caught him looking. Had he angled the phone to catch his eye on purpose?

It’s a dangerous line of thought - his whole body is still on alert from the mission and he knows he can easily get tangled up in his own thoughts. But… he’s already chubbing up in his shorts. His mind goes too many places at once, looking for a trap, but also wondering if Ghost is getting off on spinning him up, if Bambi knows and gets off on the idea that her man might let someone see her. The image of Ghost’s hand tight around Bambi’s throat tangles with the idea of being in her place, and of hearing Bambi’s voice as she moans under Simon, under him, between them, him between them, hard and soft-

He slaps End Preset on the treadmill and hops off before the belt can stop.

It takes concentration to make himself breathe, to force himself to focus on the feel of the ground under his feet, the general rumble of the gym. His mind is latched on things he should try to let go of, but he can calm down. He has to.

Of course, as soon as he enters the locker room, his heart is racing again. Simon is already there, pulling off his compression shirt. He scans Kyle up and down once his head is free and smirks.

“Enjoyin’ cardio that much, Garrick?”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and he hopes the shake in his voice isn’t obvious. He tries not to scan Simon’s body for evidence of Bambi that would be long faded, fails. With a quick shake of his head, he blows a sharp breath. “Mind’s racing. You know how it is.”

“’Ard not to. Lot’s ‘f interestin’ things f’ someone’s mind to grab ‘old of.”

Kyle squints at Simon’s back as the man shucks his pants and wraps a towel around his waist. He knows he’s being fucked with, but it’s always hard to tell why with Simon. The longer he thinks about it, the harder it is to shake the feeling that there’s some hidden threat to this, that Simon is cornering him.

Of course, his cock doesn’t calm down much as he gets out of his own sweaty clothes. If anything, as his mind races through every interaction he’s ever had with Bambi, and looking for something Simon may have been offended by is only ratcheting him up further. Had she really run her fingers through his hair, the last time she’d joined them at the pub? Had she lingered in a hug after a couple of drinks? Hadn’t Simon wrapped an arm around his shoulders, after she’d kissed his cheek goodbye? Or was that another night?

If anyone else were around, he’d already be in the showers, jerking himself off to get to that place where his brain is quiet. But it’s just him and Simon, their internal clocks at opposite ends from the other officers. Just them and the memory of that video. He’s inexplicably nervous to get himself off, now. The hair on his arms stands up at the idea that the other man will see through him, that it will be obvious that he’s wrapped up in him and Bambi, not just the video, but more.

It’s that more that reminds him to pull himself back. There is no more, no threat. Simon is his friend. Teasing him, getting a rise out of him, but still friendly. He wouldn’t set Kyle up to hurt him, they’re not enemies. He wouldn’t hurt Bambi. Kyle tries to center himself in that knowledge, slows down his breathing, again.

Of course, that’s when Simon calls, “Sniffin’ y’r own pits out there?”

It startles a bark of laughter out of him. “Fuck you, I’m not Tav.”

“An’ thank god f’ that. Y’got any of that good soap? The missus don’t like me usin’ three-n-one.”

“Get your own! You get paid more than me.”

Simon’s smiling, a genuine smile, when Kyle hands him the bottle. Kyle rolls his eyes and steps to the other side of the half-wall to start the water in his own stall.

The other man leaves him to it, lathering up a loofah and washing himself. Kyle keeps his eyes down. It’s not new to notice how Simon’s body looks, big and wet and lit up under the fluorescents. He’s fit, and he’s not Kyle’s usual type when it comes to blokes, but he’s not immune to muscles. Unfortunately, because he’s already worked up, he accidentally thinks the phrase military hunk and his brain starts playing three different porno scenes on top of each other. He has to dunk his face under the spray before it heats up properly to get it to stop.

Bambi’s pretty face flashes behind his eyelids.

He physically shakes the thought away with a groan.

“Garrick,” Simon calls, suddenly serious. “How copy?”

“Fine, m’ fine,” he mutters, quick, swiping water from his face and squeezing his eyes tight until phantom lights start flashing. “Not panickin’, mind’s not back on the op.”

“Sure?”

“Positive,” Kyle grumbles, eyes still shut tight. “Told you, my heads all over the place, but it’s not bad. Just… hard up.”

“Might’a noticed,” Simon chuckles, and Kyle sees his big shoulders relaxing in his minds eye.

“Oh, fuck you,” Kyle laughs breathlessly as he lathers up a cloth and starts scrubbing down. “Not all of us have a hot wife sending us videos to wank to.”

“’S ‘at what’s got y’r knickers in a twist? Need to see more’f my wife?”

Before Kyle can figure out why he said that and what could possibly be an acceptable response, a sound he can’t quite parse echoes under the sound of the water. Quick on its heels is a breathy little sigh that sends a zip of electricity up his spine. He swipes water from his eyes to took at Simon, and then at the phone he’s propped up on the tiled partition between them.

It’s Bambi, of course, but it’s not the video from the day before. No, this one shows her whole, naked body straight on, perched on what have to be Simon’s hips with her head tipped back. She’s in the same pose from that photograph, arched into pleasure as she rocks her hips and moans.

Kyle’s cock throbs even as his mind rockets into a frantic and nonsensical threat assessment. “You fucking with me, Riley?”

Simon’s watching his face, eyes hot and ravenous as Gaz looks back. The scars on his face pull as he grins. “You d’n wan’ me t’ fuck with you, Gaz?”

Kyle’s eyes dart down to where a big hand is stroking Simon’s hard cock, then back to the screen where Bambi moans as her man gropes one of her tits.

“Fuck,” Kyle laughs, eyes darting away. His cock throbs as another moan floats from under the sound of the water. “Fuck you, mate.”

“Don’ think my wife’s pretty, Garrick?”

“You know she is,” Kyle grumbles. He ducks his head back under the water.

‘She’s my wife, ‘course I know,” Simon snickers. “But y’re not gonna know if you don’t look at ‘er.”

At that moment, Bambi’s voice rings from the phone, a breathy “Please!” that has them both groaning. Against his better judgment, Kyle blinks water from his eyes to look. And when he sees her his whole body buzzes like a livewire.

The way her soft body bounces has him pressing his hands against the wall to keep from touching himself. He shudders at how bright her eyes are as she looks past the camera, at Simon. Kyle can’t help but do the same, eyes flicking over to Simon’s chest, the safest midpoint between those burning eyes and the way he’s stroking himself, and it doesn’t feel safe at all.

“C’n ‘ear your mind goin,” Simon rumbles, and then his big hand is catching Kyle by the jaw, squeezing when he almost jolts away. His dark eyes are amused when Kyle finally meets them. He gives his jaw a gentle shake. “Easy. Don’ overthink it, Gaz.”

Kyle freezes. He’d seen Simon’s hands do some horrifying things, not even three days ago, but now he’s imagining that palm against his throat, pale and powerful but maybe gentle. Bambi’s moans light him up as they continue echoing through the space, splitting his attention and making him aware of all of his senses at once. It’s blinding, overwhelming. All he can do is squeeze his eyes shut again, shudder and brace himself against the half wall when Simon draws Kyle’s forehead to his own.

“Easy,” Simon rumbles. “Why you ‘oldin’ back? Stressin’ y’self out?”

Kyle’s diaphragm feels frozen. He shakes his head, forces out, “Can’t.”

Simon chuckles. “Y’know what I do when Bambi says she can’t?”

Kyle’s eyes fly open as the other man’s hand disappears from his jaw, a shiver zipping down his spine as Simon rounds the barrier between them. He backs up, jumping when his back hits cold tile and Simon’s reaches up to grip the back of his neck. Simon’s grinning, eyes sparkling as he presses his forehead against Kyle’s again.

“Wha’s wrong, pretty boy?” Simon growls as Kyle grips his forearm. “Got my wife pantin’ aft’ ya an’ y’don’t want to watch her?”

Kyle sucks in a sharp breath. “W-what?”

“’Ere I am,” Simon chuckles, “Showin’ you ‘ow nice she looks, ‘ow pretty she is takin’ cock, an’ y’re in y’ head. Gonna give ‘er a complex.”

The feeling of Simon’s hand around his cock makes him gasp out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His mind scrambles to take in everything - the drops of water caught in Simon’s lashes, the firmness of his grip, the sound of water hitting tile, and moaning, his, Bambi’s, lukewarm tile against his back and -

“Eyes on me,” Simon commands.

It’s all just a little much.

“F-fuck,” Kyle yelps, hips thrusting into Simon’s hand once, twice, before he comes like he’s been zapped in the taint. Lights flash behind his eyes, and all of his muscles twitch and fire. It doesn’t feel good, exactly. Almost the opposite, honestly. But it does clear his mind, all of the nebulous worry sloughing off of him until all that he can focus on is Simon, Simon, Simon.

And the pitchy breaths of that damned video.

“What the fuck, Riley,” he pants, dropping his forehead against the man’s shoulder and blowing water from his lips.

“Better?”

“Why’re you tugging me off?”

“When Bambi gets in ‘er ‘ead, an orgasm straightens ‘er out,” Simon answers, like that’s a reasonable thing to say. “An’ I told the missus I’d try it.”

“You told Bambi you’d stroke my cock?”

“More ‘r less. This might be more.” Simon shrugs. He opens his grip to press his own cock against where Kyle’s still hard with a groan. “She’s been gettin’ greedy on me, might need a second pair of ‘ands. An’ she likes yours.”

Kyle’s laugh shivers out of him as Simon pulls at both of them. He can hear Bambi’s noises getting more frantic. “Greedy?”

“Didn’t see ‘er yesterday? Can’t ‘ear ‘er now?” Simon rumbles into his neck. “Told ‘er to watch ‘erself, or you’d get an eyeful.”

“Oh, fuck,” Kyle whimpers, thrusting without thought. “You could’ve stopped me.”

“Thinkin’ too much, Garrick,” Simon chuckles, then groans as his own hips pulse forward. “M’ pretty girl is bouncin’ ‘er tits ‘n moanin, ain’t we got better things to focus on?”

As if to punctuate his declaration, Bambi yelps, a sound that makes both of them groan. Kyle tips his face so he can try to get a glimpse of the phone, but he’s at the wrong angle. Simon chuckles and takes a couple of steps back, drawing them both into the spray of water, then spins Kyle around until his hands are braced on the partition. Having Simon against his back feels like it should make his hair stand on end, but the warmth of lips on the back of his neck settles him. It also doesn’t hurt that the new position gives Kyle a perfect view of the phone, and of Bambi.

The video has changed. It’s just her, now, laying on her back on dark sheets. She’s got a hand between her thighs, pushing something into herself as she tips her head back and moans.

“Every time I get back,” Simon whispers, big hand coming around to grip Kyle again. “’S like she can’t get enough. Pretty, greedy girl. Never satisfied with one, gotta make ‘er come over ‘n over or she’ll spend all night whinin’ like a cat in ‘eat.”

On the screen, Bambi whimpers as she pulls the toy from inside of herself. It’s big. It shines, lube and her own wetness that Kyle can’t hear over the shower, but he knows would be loud in a quiet room. Her eyes are closed as she thrusts it back into herself. Kyle bites back a moan as Simon strokes him in time with her movements.

“She’d be real sweet t’you,” Simon mumbles. His fist slides against Kyle’s arse as he strokes himself, too. “My pretty girl c’n get impatient, but I’d wear ‘er out first, make sure she’s on ‘er best behavior.”

On the screen, Bambi’s fingers pinch one of her nipples, and a trick of the light and water of the shower makes it look like her fingers are wet. Kyle moans low in his throat, can’t help it, as the hand between her thighs presses the toy deep, again. Her own shuddering noises make him aware of how close he is to another orgasm.

Simon chuckles. “Best behavior don’ last f’long, though. Y’ think she sounds nice now, wait ‘til you ‘ear ‘er beggin. All those pleases, while she’s squeezin’ down, chasin’ ‘er pleasure. Pretty legs’ll wrap right around ya. Might ‘ave to tie ‘er down if you still want to go slow.”

“Fuck,” Kyle bites out, rolling his hips forward again as he pictures it, Bambi’s legs tied apart while she whines. It takes a moment to find words. “She d-doesn’t like slow?”

Simon makes a noise like he’s been kicked in the stomach, hand going still on his own cock before he starts stroking again. “She loves takin’ it slow, fuck, but when ‘er brain shuts off she can’t ‘elp gettin’ impatient.”

“Hard to believe,” Kyle chuckles, even as he feels himself getting impatient with the way Simon’s hand slows, every time Bambi’s does.

“Oh, she’ll prove it,” Simon growls. “Once ‘er pussy starts doin’ the thinkin, all she wants is t’ come. She’ll say ‘n do anythin’ for it. Beg prettier’n anythin’ you’ve ever heard. But she settles down real nice once you get a couple fingers on ‘er clit.”

Kyle can picture it, Simon’s hands or his own between those thick thighs, taking over, pushing hers up and away. Tied up, maybe, like her legs. Fuck, the way she whimpers in the video would be just as pretty as Simon keeps insisting on if she couldn’t move.

He licks his lips as he pictures it. “What’s she taste like?”

“Like ‘eaven,” Simon groans, and his hands speed up as he leans more heavily into Kyle’s back. “Salt ‘n sweet, ‘n so wet.”

Bambi’s movements grow frantic, on screen. She’s writhing, and Kyle bites his lip as her rhythm starts and stops, hands and hips working against each other. Impatient, like her man said, and it’s so easy to imagine taking over, holding her hips down as Simon takes her wrists, pushing into her, finding the pace she likes and making her take it ---

The noise he makes is loud before he can bite it back as another orgasm slams into him. He spurts over Simon’s fingers as it washes through him, shivering and panting. Behind him, the other man goes almost silent, hand working hard before Kyle feels his cum splashing over the curve of his arse. He tips his head to the side, watches Bambi shake through her own orgasm and wishes, bizarrely that he could press his lips to some part of Simon - his shoulder, his neck, his lips.

And then the three of them are panting under the sound of the shower.

Kyle shakes water from his hair, and by the time he opens his eyes again, Simon’s back in his own stall, washing like nothing’s happened. He stares at the other man, waiting for his legs to stop shaking. Slowly, the outside world starts trickling in around the edges.

“Riley.”

“Garrick.” He starts scrubbing at his hair with the same soap he’d been using on his body, then pauses. “Pass me some of y’ shampoo?’

This fucking asshole. “What the fuck? You have a wife.”

“An’ I told you,” Simon cocks his head. “She d’t like me usin’ three-n-one.”

If his arms weren’t shaking, Kyle would throw something at him. “Simon. You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Y’re thinkin’ too ‘ard. Told you I talked to the missus. Makin’ ‘er come slows ‘er brain down.” Simon rinses himself under the spray, then grins as he looks at Kyle from the corner of his eye. “Seems y’ both need more’n two to really relax.”

The laugh that bursts from Kyle’s mouth surprises both of them, and then he tosses the bottle of shampoo for Simon to catch. He feels light as he cleans himself off.

If his eyes drift to Simon’s phone again, where Bambi’s looking satisfied, curled up under a top sheet, neither of them comment.

[liss-art]

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

[aidenlydia]

You’re in the danger zone BUDDY

[ghouljams]

ghost found you the way he assumes you found your collection of stray cats, soaked to the bone from a sudden storm and crouched behind a dumpster to hide from someone who wouldn't think twice about hurting you.

it must be that soft spot that soap keeps insisting he has that makes him stop with his cigarette half lit and stare at you shivering in the cold, well past the hour when pretty things should be home or in someone else's bed, your mascara running rivers down your cheeks and your lipstick smeared, a nice bruise blooming on your cheek where someone hit you (probably the same person that smeared your lipstick). you look up at him with wet eyes and a pitiful expression and he can't stop himself from offering you the cigarette, eager to taste your lipstick stain when you hand it back to him with shaking fingers. it feels like the beginning of the end to invite you upstairs to the little attic flat he's renting.

he doesnt pretend to be a gentleman when he offers you a towel and tells you to warm up in the showrr, doesnt turn around or avoid staring at you when you hesitantly strip. just as well when you pilfer one of his shirts and curl up on the mattress he's shoved in the corner, your lips still trembling as you hold your arms out to him.

its a bad move, mixing business with pleasure, but ghost hates the city and he can't say he feels bad turning his back on it to bury his face between your soft thighs. the same way he doesnt feel bad exchanging numbers in the morning when you set off to wherever home is with a pep in your step. the sex is meaningless, its a time killer for an otherwise boring mission

so then why does he feel his stomach clench when you tell him you'll miss him? why does he recognize your strays with the same familiarity as spotting gaz at the pub? why does he keep a budget line running for that shitty little attic flat that he said he was never coming back to?

and why the fuck do you keep texting him like you were something more than a convenient hole for him? (and why is he starting to think there might not be anything convenient about you?)

[553580]

ao3

part 2

obsessive gaz x telepathic reader

cw: telepathy, marijuana use, vague sexual fantasies

heaven is a cafe located two blocks from your flat and one block out of what you've mentally dubbed 'kyle's blast zone'. with each step the screams and explosions playing on a loop in his mind grow fainter and fainter until they're completely gone- buried behind a new mum's worries about her baby's growth percentile and a barista daydreaming about snogging her favorite middle-aged regular that she's mentally dubbed 'mister oat latte'.

it's therapeutic, in a way, to let more mundane thoughts and memories wash over your mind and cleanse your palate of the horrors your neighbor had been unwittingly subjecting you to. it's a much more intimate method of people-watching, and you enjoy sitting in your corner with the book you aren't reading propped in your hand, trying to match what memories and thoughts belong to which customer.

the young professional squinting at his laptop screen is likely the one who's trying and failing at making complicated financial data make sense. the young teenager waiting for her iced coffee is likely the one that's agonizing over a bad test score. you're pretty sure it's either the barista or the pretty goth girl that's still in line trying to mentally plan their next manicure and wondering if their nail tech is up to the challenge of a particularly ornate design. it's a total toss-up which four folks have their minds totally distracted by the big fluffy samoyed that's sat outside the big windows, patiently waiting for it's owner to finish her animated conversation with her friend about how her work acquaintance is likely embezzling from the company.

your coffee is delicious, the cafe' is full of wonderfully mundane thoughts and memories, and the weather is gorgeous. a thought floats across your mind- one of your own- and you wonder if you should try making a little money tonight. after all, there's a back room poker game later on this evening- god knows it's an easy way to pad your pockets and kill several hours away from home. it's not a terrible idea, really, but there's a mental exhaustion that comes with actively reading multiple minds at once and strategically bombing on occasion so as not to arouse any suspicions of cheating again.

after all, your pinky never did really heal right after the first time you were questioned. it arches away from the rest of your fingers, not bending fully around your coffee- a crooked reminder to not get cocky or comfortable when you're playing cards with sharks.

the only downside to choosing to play poker all night is that it's a cash-only game- which means you have to go back to your flat, braving the contents of kyle's mind just long enough to grab the stack of cash hidden in your closet and slip away again. with any luck (and a lot of strategy) you can walk away from the table with enough extra money to hole up for a week in a nice hotel. you can soothe your stresses in a big jacuzzi tub and order room service and-

your planning grinds to a halt as you feel outside thoughts gradually growing louder and more vibrant in your mind, and it freezes the breath in your lungs as you slowly realize what's happening.

-then it's just two more bloody days until i can get back and finish what we started. better remember to get mum's birthday flowers ordered when i get back to the flat- a flash of a bouquet, peach colored with little bits of pink and yellow- maybe i'll order takeaway for dinner while i'm at it- a rolodex of local restaurants flips in his mind, landing on your favorite lebanese place- i'll have to ring soap and see if he wants to play fifa tonight, that could be fun-

it's almost shocking how normal kyle's thoughts are when he's out of his flat. you stare out the window, looking for any sign of your neighbor heading your way, your eyes wide and mouth agape in shock. you've never seen him in person, really, but you've seen him looking in the mirror before plenty of times. the sound of his thoughts grow steadily louder, and any hopes you had of him simply passing some other direction die as soon as you spot his blue baseball cap bobbing down the street and heading straight towards you.

-so bloody knackered, probably coffee instead of tea today. cappuccino, maybe- a stylized cup of coffee floats through your mind, image sharpening with every step your neighbor takes- yeah, that sounds nice. i wonder if that redhead still works here. what was her name? nina? marina? fuck, she had a nice arse. wonder what it would take to get her to let me fuck it. probably not much.

you can't help the exasperated sigh that slips out of you. it's not like you're a prude- after all, you've had a lifetime of hearing people's most sexual thoughts about one another since way before you were old enough to know what any of it meant- but by virtue of it being from kyle, someone you're already biased against, it's the most obnoxious thing in the world.

a pretty red headed girl smiles she hands over an americano. it's wintertime, she's wearing a turtleneck and the sky is grey outside the cafe windows. christmas music is playing softly in the background, muted by steamers and the low din of chatter in the cafe. she turns to work on another drink, and kyle's eyes catch on the curve of her ass as she bends to pick up a dropped lid.

in your heart you know you should take your coffee and leave, but you're too curious. for one, it's interesting to you that the murder and mayhem you're used to seeing from him is suddenly gone now that he's out and about and not just puttering around his flat. maybe that's just what happens when he's bored- his mind fills the gap between active thoughts with memories, good and bad, because it can't stand to just rest. the epiphany almost makes you feel bad for the man... until you remember the things you've seen him do while on deployment.

hm. maybe karma is real.

it's not until he's crossing the street that you see his face for the first time, and it feels so strange to see him in real life like this. you've managed to avoid running into him for years, and now here he is, just on the other side of a pane of glass, stepping back onto the sidewalk and then pushing open the door to the cafe. he really is a handsome man- and even prettier in person, if you're honest. he looks like a model as he tucks his cap under his arm, flashing a charming smile to the barista behind the counter that gets her twitterpated and giggly.

it was such a surprise the first time you'd seen him through his own eyes in the bathroom mirror- never in your life had you imagined that a face with such kind eyes would be capable of the brutality you'd seen him dole out. it was a shock to the system and a memorable re-enforcement of a lesson long since learned: never ever trust appearances.

it's hard not to stare, but you do make a valiant effort to finally pretend to read your book as he puts in his order. your eyes lock onto a a slightly smudged looking 'b' on the page, watching through his eyes as he dicks around on his phone, texting his sister about birthday plans for their mum as he waits for his order to finish. it's strange to see yourself in the periphery- out of focus, but still very much there, the red cover of your book standing out slightly against the beige and white decor of the cafe.

"americano for kyle?" a pleasant voice rings out over the din of noise, both in your ear and in your head. kyle's attention snaps back up off his phone as soon as he taps 'send', and you sneak a glance right as he happens to look your way.

the shock of it- making eye contact with yourself through his eyes, of the way his thoughts skid to an abrupt halt at the sight of you- almost makes you flinch. instead you drop your gaze back down to your book, pretending nothing happened, waiting for him to move on, to do another sweep for the redhead before he leaves-

he's watching you sit in the corner, eyes lingering on how your round ass fills the seat you occupy. he sees that you're staring down at a book he vaguely remembers hearing someone talk about, and he knows you're not reading. he's noticed your eyes aren't traveling across the pages,instead stuck still on one spot- shit, fuck, goddammit- oh, now they are. how interesting-

bootfalls come closer and closer as you skim your book, strategically choosing to turn the page despite having retained nothing of what your eyes had glossed over.

-just sit close enough to see, but not close enough to raise attention. fuck, what a pretty thing, he thinks as he sits a few tables over. bet i could really bite down on that arse- there's so fucking much of it. i could just sink my teeth in, dig in my fingers, fuck. been a while since i followed a big girl home, wonder if she's a screamer-

flashes of half-formed plans to seduce you flit across his mind, and you wish the samoyed was still here, that kyle could've been distracted by the big beautiful dog instead of you. lebanese, fifa, and flowers for mum are all wiped clear from his thoughts- he's determined to get you in his bed, to bite and fuck and use you as he likes.

there's absolutely no way you're letting that happen- he might be pretty and he might have a big dick, but you've seen the kind of man he really is. you know the things he's done. you're not about to let a goddamned war criminal between your legs.

i'll just catch her eye again, flash her a smile, and ask about her book. that'll get her to talk to me. it'll be easy after that.

his confidence would be sickening if you didn't acknowledge how right he is. if you couldn't hear his thoughts, that beautiful smile paired with that handsome face would make you putty in his hands, there's no denying it. you've seen the memories of him flirting- the man has game. you wouldn't stand a chance.

you pretend to check your phone for the time, pretend to suddenly realize you're late for something, and pretend to be in a massive hurry to leave. it's not an oscar-worthy performance, but it's enough to make your sudden exit plausible, and that's all you need. kyle chuckles to himself in mild surprise when you don't even glance his way, sipping his americano as he watches you through the window, fantasizing about what it would be like to bounce his hips off your ass as he fucks you from behind.

fuck, where are you going, babes? where are you hauling that big fat arse to? bloody hell, look at the jiggle on that girl. what's i'd give to see her on a trampoline-

kyle makes no move to follow, and it's a relief when you're finally out of his sight. the intensity of his little fantasy fades the further out you get, and by the time you're home it's at a much more manageable level, barely distinguishable over the worries of the old woman next door who isn't sure if she forgot to take her meds or if she took her meds and already forgot.

you pull your phone up to your ear, phone already calling a contact that you have saved simply as a red diamond emoji. the call connects, and you don't even wait for a greeting.

"what's the buy-in?"

"it's off." a familiar voice says, clearly annoyed. big d is, on the best of days, a gruff motherfucker anyways- but there's something else happening here. something more than their everyday levels of irritation.

you blink, hard, staring at the inside of your closet where your little portable safe is tucked away under your winter coats and behind your boots.

"it's off?" you repeat, surprised.

"s'wot i said, innit?" d snaps. "the kraut earned 'imself an hmp 'oliday, and until we know wot's been said, it's off."

ah, shit. if that big dumb austrian's been pulled in by the police, god only knows what will happen next. he's a weird one, to be sure- when he's not playing cards and focusing on putting hands together, his thoughts are usually just... empty. nothing there at all. no stray curiosities or memories or even to-do lists. as far as you can tell, the space between his ears is vast, cavernous, and filled with fuckall.

god only knows what a man like that does and says in police custody.

"ah." the phone disconnects in response, and you sigh as you slide it back into your pocket, closing the closet door. so much for your evening plans, you guess.

you preheat your oven for a small frozen pizza as you mull over your run-in with kyle. it's encouraging that he's only replaying his nightmarish memories when he's stagnating at home- and it makes sense, you suppose. you also start thinking about rancid shit when you start feeling stir-crazy, and a man who routinely jumps out of aircraft and gets shot at probably feels restless the second he's off-base and off-duty. with any luck he found someone else to lust after, some other fat girl to follow home and work off some steam with so you can have a peaceful night with mediocre frozen pizza, a joint, and a few good documentaries.

two slices and a half a joint in, you start to feel kyle's thoughts growing louder again. he must be coming home, you reason, and take another deep toke as you brace yourself, cursing your optimism that he might go somewhere else for the night.

-even if it is french. still, could be good. can't remember the last time i read anything for fun, busy as i've been. ghost's a reader, wonder if he's read this. wonder if he liked it. was it him that was telling me about it? or was that raven? so bloody hungry, i should've gotten more than a coffee for lunch. i wonder if that girl is a regular there. i should go back tomorrow, see if i can find her again. wouldn't mind taking a bite out of her, fuck that arse really did look thick enough to sink my teeth into- a proper bite, no holding back- an image flashes in your head, a woman who looks a lot like you, but isn't you. her skin is too clear, hair too perfect, eyes just a little bigger, tits a little perkier. she's an idealized version of you, still fat and sat in the corner of the cafe, reading your book, glancing shyly over the cover.

ugh.

through kyle's eyes, you watch him approach your building, shopping bag rustling on his arm as he fishes out his keys in the lift, mentally finalizing his dinner order for tonight. fantasy-you giggles and smiles at him in both of your minds, and you take a particularly deep toke and turn up the volume on your documentary, david attenborough's voice nearly loud enough to drown out kyle's fantasies as he narrates the journey of a particularly cute looking penguin. it's somehow just enough to distract you from when he imagines you bent over the edge of his couch as he slides the key into the door, toeing off his shoes and digging out his phone to order dinner.

it's not until later, as the credit roll across your screen as orchestral music swells, that you even notice kyle's thoughts again. it's not a memory-it's too vivid- the image playing clearly in your mind: a man in a straw hat and a pale little girl walking across farmland. the little girl speaks simply of god and angels, and they pass by an abandoned church- hey, wait a second.

focusing a little more, you realize that not only is kyle reading, he's reading the same book you'd had in the coffee shop. he must've gone to a bookstore this afternoon and picked it up before heading home. closing your eyes, it's like getting a private movie of your novel, one entirely imagined by your neighbor. it's incredible how clear and realistic his imagination is, and it's better than any film adaptation could ever be. the remote finds your hand, finger instinctively turning off your television as you opt to lean back, eyes closed, head resting on the back of your couch as you let kyle's imagination illustrate your book. for once in your life, the strength of kyle's mental signal to you is an asset, allowing you to enjoy the book at the same time as him.

it's hard to say how much time passes like that, with you blissed out and dozy as you lie back and let your neighbor's imagination wash over you, but it's brought to an abrupt end as a loud knock at your door stirs you from your reverie.

through the peephole is a teenage boy clearly delivering food, little cardboard boxes adding shape to the plastic bag in his hand.

"delivery from agora." the boy says in a bored voice when you open the door.

"oh, uh, i didn't order anything, i think maybe for my neighbor-"

as if summoned, the door to number 542 opens, and your neighbor pops his head out. as the delivery driver peers at the receipt in his hand, you watch kyle's face run through a range of emotions: surprise, disbelief, confusion, and giddiness.

flashes of you on your knees, bend over his couch and smiling coyly over your shoulder, pinned to his mattress underneath him- ugh, god, it's too much too suddenly and you are way, way too high for this.

"goodnight!" you practically squeak, and as the door closes behind you, and you can practically feel kyle's rush of excitement as he stares at your door, the number burning into his memory as he takes the food from the apologetic driver.

a thought that is not of your own mind rings out loud, clear, and full of awe through your wall:

found you.

[witherfide]

jumping off the leather daddy nik post. nikghost petplay au… simon in a pup hood…… ough the dynamic between them

i like the idea that simon would need some form of organized play to get comfortable with sexual intimacy again… relying on the structure of each scene and unlearning bad habits under nikolai’s guidance.. perhaps a part of him finds comfort in being in a mask while also getting to drop the “ghost” facade and not think for a while.

i think simon would fall into some form of codependency in the beginning with it being so out of his depth, but nikolai whips him into shape through being just as stubborn as simon is. ensures that simon knows they are on equal footing and that he can voice his opinion at any time, stop a scene at any time, or just outright decline a session for no reason at all. though don’t get him wrong, nik still very much enjoys having such a strong man drop to his knees with as little as a glance when he forgets his place..

friendly reminder to keep heavily explicit comments to yourself! i don’t care if it’s an inherently sexual post. keep it civil.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

John will never write Nikolai a love letter.

But when Nik broke his leg during a black op for Laswell, John used his entire year's worth of leave to look after him until he was mobile again.

John will never scatter rose petals over the duvet and light candles.

But when Nik said he would like an outside patio for their cat, because she looked sad sometimes, John had his tools and measuring tape out within half an hour.

John will never recite poetry or make grand romantic gestures.

But the way he looks at Nik, the way he is silly and goofy and soppy, the way he kisses and hugs and nuzzles, the way his entire face lights up when Nik walks through the door...

John Price loves quietly, but with his entire being.

His love is written in every action.

No candle will compare to the warmth of his arms.

The poetry is in every moment he spends at Nik's side.

Nik wouldn't have him any other way.

[femalefemur]

[rawme-price]

Inspired by [this] post by @hurrraaid

Imagine ghost getting shot in the knee during a mission, a career ending injury, right?

He also happens to take a crowbar to the head, and it'd only by you dragging him some two miles does he even survive. You feel horrible about it, ghost was assigned to work with you after all. You spend hours in his hospital bed, even in the medically induced coma he's in.

You know your lieutenant better that most people do, had he been anyone else you would've even called yourself his friend. You also know that the military is all he has, that his apartment is empty and the only time he gets a warm meal on leave is when you drag him to your own apartment.

The whole team is there when the doctors wake him up. For the longest moment, ghost says nothing. He just stares at his legs covered by the thin blanket, the raised portion where bandage is wrapped around.

"...I'm done for then, eh?" He finally asks, voice completely blank. You have no idea how he feels about it, but you nod and take his hand.

"Cap has already handled it, sir. We got you a decent house and a monthly paycheck." A fact you had to fight like hell for, but it worked out nonetheless.

Ghost nods, looks at price "I'm not a lieutenant now? Officially done?"

At prices nod, you brace for some sort of anger or despair. An apology is already on the tip of your tongue when ghost looks back to you. His hand grips onto your bicep.

And proceeds to pull you in for a kiss.

You startle for only a second, mind stuttering over the reality of your lieutenant kissing you. Your hands burn where you touch his skin, melting into the kiss that really could be better. His lips are dry and the angle is awkward, but you'll be thinking of this moment for years later.

A cough from across the room.

Oh shit, your teams still here. You pull away, face blazing in embarrassment. Ghost looks nothing but please, with a smug look on his face as he lies back in the bed with content. At gazs pointed look and soaps gaping mouth, he says "wot? Ahm' not a lieutenant anymore. Can't get me on fraternization now, can you?"

You should probably stop to think about what just happened, but you've been fantasizing about your lieutenant kissing you since you met him.

So you ignore the sigh price lets out when you dive back in for another kiss. Ghost hums into your mouth, taking his time with this one and letting his hand rest on your waist. It's hot, heavy, and everything you've wanted.

The room quickly empties when you swing your leg up onto the bed and over his waist.

[dungeon-bitch]

[thepenisyoinker]

if you need me i will be sucking on his arms until further notice

[slater-baby]

How Johnny Mactavish texts btw

[lucy-stone]

a sign of life 🌱

found a few old sketches from last year and figured they deserved to exist somewhere outside of my folders 😭

[childishrage]

we have a very healthy victim/abuser relationship, actually, thanks for asking

[wyvern-whiskey]

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