hello!! i'm violet (she/her) and i write sometimes. i reblog a lot!! a lot of which is explicit (pls heed individual warnings) so this blog is strictly 18+
i write for cod (atm)
my requests are closed atm but pls send me asks about characters i'd love to talk w you guys!!!
i will love you forever if you comment on my posts, i am desperate to share the brainrot
i often write for chubby readers but if there are any descriptions of appearance, it will be tagged on the post
also tagged will be any gendered content. if a gn!reader is implied there will be no gendered tags but others (e.g. f!reader or afab!reader) will be tagged <3
☔︎ - fluff, ꨄ︎ - smut, ♡︎ - suggestive
simon riley
being his looks good on you ꨄ︎
beer with bluecollar!simon ☔︎♡︎
bedtime ritual ☔︎
roommate!simon can't help himself ꨄ︎
beauty mark ☔︎
how he loves ☔︎
kitty!simon ☔︎
simon in denial ☔︎
bad day ☔︎
johnny mactavish
(coming soon)
ghoap
your boys take care of you ꨄ︎
check vi.writes for more fleshed out work, vi.muses for shorter brainrot and vi.rambles for random shitposts
all dividers, unless specified otherwise, by @cafekitsune
[i woke up with this in my head so i just had to write it]
Ghost has one weakness. It is a big, round, perfect weakness, and it’s currently arched in the air directly in front of him.
You are on your hands and knees on the bed, face pressed deep into the pillows, your back curved in a gorgeous, deep arch that presents your ass to him like an offering. The soft glow from the bedside lamp catches the slick sheen of your skin. It is a view that short-circuits his brain every single time.
He stands behind you, one knee resting on the mattress, his other foot braced firmly on the floor for leverage. His black balaclava is pulled up just enough to expose his mouth and jaw, creating the perfect canvas for the guttural sounds he can no longer hold back. In his hand, his phone is held steady, the red recording light a tiny, glowing eye capturing every angle.
The camera is angled flawlessly, framing the obscene sight of his heavy, flushed cock sliding across the slick valley of your ass. He isn't even inside you yet; he is merely dragging the thick, weeping head up and down, coating himself in the combined mess of your arousal and his own precum. The sight of his dick nestled against your flesh makes his balls throb with a need so acute it borders on painful.
"Fuckin' hell," he rasps, his voice a low, staticky growl through the fabric of the mask. "Look at that. Perfect fuckin' view."
He shifts his hips, pressing his cock more firmly between your cheeks, the sudden pressure forcing a whimpering gasp into the pillow. He records it all, watching the way your flesh yields to his touch and the way your body trembles in desperate anticipation. This is for his personal collection, a private stash of sin reserved for the long, lonely nights spent in dusty deployment tents and freezing barracks. When he is overseas, surrounded by the grim, violent reality of his job, he will pull up these videos to remind himself exactly what he is fighting to come home to.
Finally, the teasing becomes too much to bear. Reaching down with his free hand, he grips the base of his shaft, lining the blunt head up with your dripping entrance. The camera zooms in slightly, capturing the exact moment he presses against your tight hole.
"Simon, please," you whine, pushing backward against him, desperate for the stretch.
He grants your wish, sinking into you in one long, powerful thrust. The groan that tears from his throat is animalistic. You are so fucking tight, so burning hot, gripping him like a vise. The camera shakes for a split second as he loses himself in the sheer sensation, before his training kicks in and he steadies his grip.
The view on the screen is purely pornographic. His thick length disappears into you inch by inch, your slick lips stretched wide around him. Directly above it is the masterpiece, which is his taut, heavily tattooed stomach. The dark ink seems to shift and twist with the roll of his muscles as he begins to move. The skeletal face and the roaring skull dance in the low light as his abs contract with each deep, punishing thrust.
He establishes a relentless rhythm, snapping his hips forward until the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes obscenely in the bedroom. Each thrust drives you forward, a choked moan forced from your lungs with every impact. He fucks you deep, deliberately bottoming out against the exact spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he pants, his eyes glued entirely to the screen of his phone, watching his own cock piston into you. He cannot get enough of the visual contrast between your soft, giving body pinned beneath his hard, demanding frame, and the way your ass ripples with every heavy slam of his hips. "Takin' my cock so well, sweetheart. Such a good girl."
Leaning forward to change the angle, the new position presses the hard ridge of his lower abs flush against the swell of your backside. The camera catches it perfectly, recording the friction of his skin against yours, the slide of his cock, and the way his muscles flex and shift beneath the ink. It is a work of art, and he is the twisted artist who gets to create it over and over again.
Looking at him out in the field, no one would ever guess it. He is the stoic, silent lieutenant with eyes like chips of ice and a presence cold enough to silence a room. Simon Riley is a man of few words, a fortress of absolute control and iron discipline. But in the dark, behind locked doors, that fortress crumbles entirely, and the man who emerges is a filthy, vocal, desperate animal.
The phone is eventually forgotten, discarded onto the mattress beside you, though the red light continues to blink, recording the raw audio of your shared undoing. Simon’s hand is no longer holding the device. Instead, it is wrapped securely around your throat, a firm, possessive weight that makes your head swim. His thumb presses gently under your jawline, keeping you exactly where he wants you.
"Fuck, yes," he groans, the deep, gravelly rumble vibrating through his chest and directly into your spine. He bends over you, his sweat-slicked chest pressing hard against your back, the fabric of his shirt bunched up under his arms to expose the full expanse of his inked torso. You feel every single word as a physical vibration. "Gonna fuckin' fill you up."
His hips remain a relentless piston, the steady slap of his skin against yours drowning out every other sound. He isn't quiet, not even close. Every breath is a ragged grunt, and every thrust is punctuated by a low, guttural moan that speaks of a pleasure so intense it borders on agony. It is the sexiest thing you have ever heard, especially that deep, dark voice, usually so fiercely controlled, now spilling a continuous stream of dirty praise and desperate demands.
"Want it all?" he pants, his grip on your neck tightening just a fraction. "Want my cum deep inside you, huh?"
"Yes! Fuck, Simon, yes… " you beg, your voice breaking into a wail. You are right on the edge, the pressure coiling so tightly in your gut that it threatens to snap. The feeling of his thick cock dragging against your inner walls, the possessive hold on your neck, and the raw, filthy words pouring from his mouth are entirely too much.
His rhythm suddenly falters, becoming erratic and frantic. He drives into you with short, sharp, bruising jabs, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. "Fuck, I'm close. Gonna cum. Gonna fuckin' breed this sweet little cunt."
The word, delivered so raw and primal, sends you hurtling over the precipice. Your vision whites out completely as your orgasm crashes through you, your walls clamping down on his length in a series of powerful, violent, rhythmic pulses. You scream his name, a raw, soundless cry as your body convulses underneath his weight.
With a roar, Simon buries himself inside you. You feel the hot flood of his release as he pumps his cum deep into your core, pulse after burning pulse. His entire frame shudders against you, his hand on your neck the only thing keeping you both grounded as he rides out the most intense climax of his life.
He stays buried deep, his cock still twitching inside you, as if completely reluctant to leave the warmth of your body. His hand finally releases your neck, moving to brace his weight on the mattress beside you, but he does not pull out.
You can feel his cum, a warm, heavy slickness, beginning to leak from your heat, trickling slowly down the inside of your thigh. The filthy sensation causes you to instinctively clench around him again.
Simon lets out a low, breathless chuckle, the sound dark and thoroughly satisfied. "My greedy little girl," he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Made a fuckin' mess of you."
He finally shifts, slowly withdrawing his softening length. The sudden loss makes you whimper, but then he is using two fingers to push the thick, white fluid back inside you, his touch shockingly gentle compared to the rough driving from moments before.
"Don't waste it, baby" he commands softly, his tone brooking no argument. "I want you feeling me for days."
You can only moan in response, thoroughly claimed. You look back at him, at the man with the ice-cold eyes who has just given you the most earth-shattering, vocal, and dirty experience of your life. He reads the question in your gaze, the sheer disbelief and awe.
He simply smirks, the slow, wicked curve of his lips visible just beneath the edge of his mask.
"What?" he rasps, his voice still thick and heavy with sex. "You look at me like I'm some kind of fuckin' saint out there. This is what saints pray for."
And as he leans down to kiss you, slow and deep, you realize you are the luckiest sinner alive.
Chroni....ghost in a puphood.....ghost all stupid and lax suckling on gazs tip in a puphood...chroni is this thing on do you hear me...
- rommy
Gaz struggled when he wasn’t in control of things. He needed that grip, it was the only thing that kept him from breaking- but outside of work, where it was as easy as keeping his finger on the trigger?
It was harder.
And ghost was unruly. Brutish, snarky and unfriendly- like a stray dog stuck in his backyard since they worked on the same team. At first, Gaz and him often snarled and snapped at each other- jealous of Price’s attention, irritated at their opposing life styles. Gaz was a strict schedule, Ghost practically rotted and scavenged when he was on mandatory leave.
He needed a strict hand, and Price wasn’t there- so who better than his protege?
Simon of course fought back at first, when Kyle insisted on taking him home on leave instead of letting the man show up in the middle of the night to root through his fridge. The man snarked, grabbed and yanked at Kyle- babbled mindlessly about how pretty he’d be sucking his cock.
He didn’t end up actually settling until they got into the house, and Gaz fucked Simon so hard he saw stars. Completely disoriented, tears still dripping down his ugly mug when Kyle strapped the collar around his neck.
Turns out, Kyle had planned and prepped for everything. Portions and snacks labeled for the mutt in the fridge and pantry, specific blanket textures and spare clothes in the closet- he’d even went out and bought scentless shampoo that people used to go hunting. A calendar on the fridge, a detailed weekly planner attached to it just for Simon.
Simon tried to be tough, tried to fight and argue and hump Kyle- only to be brought down to earth with thick fingers in his mouth and a hand around his cock. By the end of the first week, Simon was practically a docile lap dog- brain fuzzy and legs wobbly from how much he’d cum through the week.
Now? Simon was a real sweet pup- his pup mask fit so well, skull pattern staring up at him as Kyle kept his eyes on the tv. The massive mutt had the sergeant’s cock lodged all the way down his throat, shallow breaths through his nose the only reprieve. Not that Simon minded, slouched and leaning heavily while he huffed the man’s thick bush.
Gaz hummed, scratching the mask’s ears as Simon’s tongue slowly lapped at his balls, mind completely blank. It was sweet, seeing the man not tensed and anxious for once- no eyes darting towards every exit, no hand gripping his pistol in his jeans. Just a content mutt, happy to cockwarm his man without a single care in the world- because Kyle was there.
simon riley who quits smoking for you without a second thought
it was a nasty habit he's had since his teens, his way of dying a little bit with each lit cigarette. he never expected to last this long, with all the packs he goes through, bullets dodged, and the battles he's barely survived. he never thought to quit, always itching for a stick between his fingers to ease his anxiety and shaky hands.
before he met you, he never had a reason to. now that he has you, tucked into his side and leeching off his warmth, he knew he had to change. the little looks of disappointment every time he went for a smoke gutted him, or when you'd grimace every time you had to swallow his cum made him grit his teeth. or simply the idea that his smoking could kill your pretty lungs.
he quit cold turkey, like an idiot. it was the hardest thing he's been through, even if he wouldn't admit it, and he's been shot, stabbed and many other questionable things.
but it'd be easy in comparison if it meant keeping you healthy, giving you the live you deserved with him.
sure, he was as grumpy as ever and itched to put his lighter to good use, his hands shaking at his sides with restraint. he needed something to do, something to take his mind off the bad thing he craves.
and there's nothing more he craves than you. lips wrapped around your clit as he feasts on your puddy. tongue laving over the swollen flesh with half lidded eyes, murmuring excuses of, "jus' need m'lips 'n 'ands busy, luv." plunging thick fingers into your plushy cunt, slick and soaked with arousal as you let him. you're so proud of him for quitting, letting him overstimulate your pussy if it meant he never picked up another pack.
so instead of smoking ten a day, he'd eat you out ten times more instead.
CW: Knife kink, blood, bruising, dry humping, mentions of death, mans is secretly in love I fear
AWOL/MIA reader who is in some deep shit with the wrong people, and takes the opportunity during a mission to disappear, planning to fake their death and stay in hiding until everything blows over.
However, Laswell asks the 141 to investigate the rubble where you were last seen a week ago before a building collapse; she suspects you're still alive, no body or tags were found. You don't want that. You need some help, and you know just who to ask for it.
Enter Simon "Ghost" Riley, the man who died, the haunting of a soul that once was, now a masked weapon of destruction. He's sleeping on his left side fully dressed with his boots still on. You carefully shimmy the knife through the crack and unlock the window, slowly and quietly sliding it open. The empty desk below his window creaks as you step one foot down, shifting your weight into the room.
From dead sleep, he hears the groan of the wood and bolts up. You're faster though, pouncing from the desk onto the bed, tackling him and holding your knife tight against his throat. The blade digs into his mask, tearing a horizontal hole into it, and starts digging into his skin, a drop of blood curving down his adam's apple and soaking into the fabric of the balaclava.
He freezes, half sitting up, with you straddling his lap and one hand pushing him back down. You lean to his ear, keeping your voice down, "ah-ah, youre not going to say or do anything until I speak, understood?"
His throat bobs as he swallows at the recognition of your voice, and subtly nods once. You can feel his muscles loosen their tension just the slightest bit. He's still on edge, unsure about the situation, but a part of him feels the pieces falling into place in the back of his mind.
"I need your help, Ghost."
You shift slightly so you're more directly looking in his eyes, but your hips grind ever so gently on his, and though he doesn't outwardly react, the knife against his throat is long forgotten as the blood rushes down his body. His mind flashes to a similar position but very different scenario. He almost misses what you say next.
"I need to die. And you're going to kill me."
He's staring up into your eyes, and for a second neither of you move or speak, the tension so thick not even your knife could cut it.
You're still as a stone but you feel his buldge under your core start to harden and press into you. if you're quite honest with yourself, you were wet the second you landed on top of him, looking down into his brown eyes with his blood dripping onto your knife.
"wha' do you need me to do, luv?"
"I need to disappear like you did. I can't exist anymore. Take me off the map, off the radar. I need the world to think I died in that collapse. Keep me hidden until it's safe." You release a bit of pressure from the knife, and his hands come up to grip you, one hand on your hips, the other on your waist. He lets out a deep breath he must have been holding and his hips twitch gently.
Something about seeing him start to unravel beneath you like this sends a wave of heat rippling down through you, and you decide to roll your hips against his, and the groan he lets out is almost painful, but so delicious to your ears. His hands grip you tighter, holding on to you like he'll bedragged down to hell if he lets go. He keeps his eyes on you to save his soul.
And you could get lost in those eyes- you did for a second, not realizing your faces drifted together, your foreheads resting together and the side of your nose touching his. Your lips are just a breath away from each other and it takes everything in you to pull back just enough when he tilts his head up to kiss you,
"Can you kill me, Ghost? Can you be the death of me?"
"I'll be anything you want."
Another roll of your hips has that savory pressure building inside you, and underneath you, the man you came to for help goes rigid. He's afraid if he moves, you might fall away from him, he might never get to feel the heat of you on his lap again, he might lose this. You. He thought he already did.
You feel the slightest pull in his hands, pressing you down onto him harder, and you take that sign to keeo going, picking up the pace and intensity. You're just as eager to see Ghost come undone under you as you are to fall apart on top of him.
The two breaths in the room become louder and deeper, the heat of the moment ramping up to burning and scorching. You unintentionally press the knife into his skin further, another drop of blood falling down his neck. The breathy moan he lets out vibrates through the knife and pulls you right up to the edge, just a few second from tipping over into your climax.
Your eyes close and your hips begin to grind sporadically and your muscles tense and clench around nothing, and guides your movements enough to bring you to your release.
As you twitch and lose control on his lap in ecstasy, your hand shifts slightly and the blade against his throat digs deeper and slices a tiniest bit, and Ghost believes he might have felt the heavens open up. His climax comes so abrubtly and so intensely he stopped breathing, the skin squeezed in his grasp surely dotted with bruises now.
With the two of you coming down from your high together, the room comes back into focus and the wind through the window sends a shiver down your spine. Your head rests right against his, and this time he doesn't go for the kiss, no matter how much he might want to. The breaths on his face and the damp clothes between you soaked with each others release is all he needs. For now.
simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader dirty thoughts, 18+
This is not a thought that is supposed to be sexy. It's just a fact. A beautiful, intimate, slightly absurd fact that makes you want to both laugh and worship him every single time you see it. Simon Riley's cock is freckled.
It's not a constellation or anything dramatic. Just a light, charming dusting of tiny brown spots across the pale, velvety skin of his shaft, more concentrated towards the base. They're like little secrets, hidden from the world, only for you to discover and adore. The first time you see them, you are stunned into silence, your brain short-circuiting from the sheer, unexpected intimacy of it. This lethal, terrifying man, a walking specter of death, has a cock marked with freckles like cinnamon dusted across fresh cream, a sweet, earthy map that traces the veins of his arousal, inviting your tongue to follow every single one.
And you are obsessed.
You're obsessed with the way they feel under your tongue, a subtle, textural difference against the smooth, hot skin. You're obsessed with the way they look when you take him into your mouth, a private galaxy disappearing as you swallow him down. You could spend hours just tracing them with your fingertips, with your lips, committing each one to memory.
But the freckles are just the beginning of the masterpiece. They're the main attraction, but the gallery itself is a work of art. Because framing that gorgeous, freckled cock are his thighs. Holy God, his thighs. They are massive, thick columns of sculpted muscle that could crush a man's skull. And they are covered in ink.
Dark, intricate tattoos twist and coil around his legs, a stark, beautiful contrast to the pale skin. Snarling skulls, daggers dripping blood, gothic lettering, and thorny roses. It's a tapestry of shadows and violence, and it makes your mouth water with a primal hunger. When he spreads his legs, it's like unveiling a sacred, dangerous artifact. You want to press kisses to every single piece of art, feel the power in the muscles beneath.
And then there are his hands.
Simon's hands are a thing of beauty and terror. They're huge, with long, thick fingers and prominent veins that track up his forearms like rivers on a map. They are hands that have strangled enemies, snapped necks, and dismantled rifles in the dark. And now, those same hands are in your hair.
The first time he feeds you his cock, you think you might pass out from the sheer eroticism of it. He doesn't just grab you; he cradles your head, his fingers tangling gently in your hair, a stark contrast to the steel in his grip. He holds you with a possessive tenderness that makes your heart ache and your core clench.
He guides you, sets the pace. His thumb strokes your cheek, a surprisingly soft gesture, right before he pushes you a little deeper, testing your limits. You can feel the veins in his wrist pulse against your temple as he holds you, the raw power contained in that one hand enough to make you dizzy. He looks down at you, his whiskey honeyed eyes dark and intense, watching his freckled cock disappear between your lips, and the groan that rumbles from his chest is the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.
It's a communion of sorts. You worship the art on his thighs, the freckles on his cock, the power in his hands. And he, in turn, worships the sight of you on your knees for him, taking everything he gives you with an eagerness that borders on reverence.
It's a filthy, beautiful, perfect paradox. The most dangerous man you know, marked by innocence and art, holding you with devastating gentleness as you fall apart for him.
Ghost who starts dating you and almost immediately stops showing up to pub nights- a sacred ritual for the 141, and causes raised eyebrows by the third time he grunts “can’t” over the phone.
Soap corners him after the fifth time he cancelled, all crooked grin and too bright eyes, leaning into Ghost’s space. “Ye’re skippin’ again, LT. What’s the matter? Bird got ye on a curfew?”
Ghost doesn’t answer at first. Just shoulders his bag higher and keeps walking. But Soap follows, wheedling in that relentless way of his. “C’mon, Simon. Ye’ve not bought a round in weeks. Ye skint? Need a loan? Or is it her? Ye spendin’ all yer money on that pretty thing ye’ve been seein’?”
Ghost stops, turns just enough for Soap to see the flat line of his mouth beneath the mask. “Money’s tight.”
“Tight?” Soap barks a laugh, but it dies quick when he clocks the look in Ghost’s eyes. “You? The fuck’re ye spendin’ it on, then?”
Ghost doesn’t elaborate, just walks away. Soap watches him go, brow furrowed, and later- when it’s just the three of them and a half empty bottle- he tells the others what little he got.
“She’s drainin’ him,” Soap says. “He’s cuttin’ back on everythin’ else. Won’t even split a pizza. Says he’s savin’.”
Price swirls what’s left in his glass. “Seen it before. Good men go soft for the right pair of legs and a sweet smile. Ghost’s got discipline, aye, but he’s still a man. And men like that… they’ve got bank. No one to spend it on before. Makes ‘em easy marks.”
“Gold digger,” Gaz mutters, not quite under his breath, shaking his head at another brother lost. “Better men’ve fallen for less.”
They keep this to themselves, where Ghost can’t hear them. Wouldn’t matter if they did. He’s already gone- head, heart, and wallet- in a way none of them have ever seen. They think he’s blind to it. That he’s being played.
What they don’t see is the way Ghost’s cock twitches, thickening in the grey confines of his pants, every time he pushes his tongue past the sticky-sweet barrier of your sixty dollar lipstick until it smears, thumb dragging across your lower lip, deliberate, spreading the color onto your chin.
Doesn’t see how hard he gets until he’s dizzy with it, one fist buried tight in your blown out hair, gripping at the roots and ruining the careful- expensive- work the stylist did until damp strands stick to your skin.
Blunt head already drooling a thick pool of pre, balls aching as he watches the mascara run down your flushed cheeks, lashes clumping, while he feeds his cock into your perfect warm mouth until the flared head gags the back of your throat.
And maybe he is just a man- a weak, greedy, obsessed man- as he swipes his card on yet another several-hundred-dollar clothing purchase despite your soft protests, already half hard at the thought of how he’s going to rip those pretty new things off your body the second the door closes behind you both, bullying his cock into your cunt around the remains of yet another tattered pair of fifty dollar lacy panties.
You always say something about the cost, about how he can’t keep doing this, but Ghost just shakes his head once, sharp and final. “Can. Will. Shut up an’ let me see what I bought.”
The lads can think what they want. Let them whisper about gold diggers and better men falling. They don’t see how turned on Ghost gets spoiling you rotten, just so he can see you all soft and wrecked, expensive clothes twisted and stained, hair a mess, face streaked with him after he fucks you stupid.
Sheep hybrid!ghost who hates his hybrid side, despises being such a weak domestic animal.
He spends years keeping his hybrid side locked up tight, suppressing his herd instincts and keeping his wool-hair shorn to the root. Ghost hasn't vocalized since roba, everyone believes him to be human. The perks of being low-presenting, it seems.
Then you transfer onto base, a sheep hybrid who makes no effort to hide that fact.
For a while, ghost staunchly avoids you. He doesn't like the way his instincts start screaming about the flock just because a fellow sheep is nearby.
You must smell it on him, because you're constantly trying to talk to ghost. Tail wagging, fluffy ears twitching when you catch him in the hallway. Always followed by a dopey smile.
The thing that really catches ghosts attention is your wool. Thick and grown-out, you wear your wool with pride. It turns you all soft and round edges. Secretly, ghost likes your wool. He stares at you across rooms when your back is turned, wondering if his own wool would ever be that long.
Only for you to come back from leave with practically zero wool.
For a startling, horrified moment ghost convinces himself he somehow convinced you to hide your wool with all his staring. You smile at ghost, all starry-eyed and soft. "I made you something, sir."
From your bag you pull a long wool scarf.
It's clearly made from your wool, still smells of you. You bahh happily as you wrap it around his head and next, creating a sort of impromptu wool coat of his own "now we match!!"
...if ghost spends his whole day with his nose tucked into the scarf, wondering if being a sheep is so bad...that's his business.
No thoughts just mer!reader who was born in captivity and doesn't really understand how to mate...
It's common knowledge that captive mers, especially ones kept in amusement parks, can experience deteriorated instincts. They lack social skills, hunting abilities, and most importantly reproductive success.
Meaning, when you're transferred into a mer sanctuary, it's expected for you to have trouble bonding. They place you with a formerly wild mer, id-tagged "ghost", as he's very forward. The hope, of course, that you'll be pupped come winter.
You clearly want ghost, you just...don't know what to do, it seems.
"What...surely not." Gaz, your main caretaker, whispers under his breath. Inside the tank, you chase ghost around, webbed hands grabbing at his face only for him to huff and turn away. At first it looks like some strange dominance display, but the longer he looks the more gaz realizes you're trying to kiss ghost.
Of course you learned your mating behaviors from humans. You probably saw enough PDA for it to imprint on you.
A quick consult with his supervisors, and gaz has you laid out in the shallow waters of the observation shelf. You blink up at him all docile, having grown up in similar positions during your husbandry work. You don't thrashi or growl like other mers, comfortable with you snout nudging Gaz's knee, licking at the wetsuit material.
"Okay, runt, let's help you out, yeah?" Gaz hums, signaling ghost over to slide onto the ledge like he would for an exam. "Ghost! Up here!"
It's easy getting you and ghost into the correct position, though it would be more natural for you both underwater. You chirp curiously up at ghost, completely oblivious with no instincts to guide you on how to feel about a mer lying on top and pinning your tail down.
"Okay, ghost, I'm sure you know what to do. Just let me–" gloved hands slip into ghosts slit, pulling his cocks out instead of waiting the extra time for them to emerge. Ghost grumbles a bit, knocking his head against gazs side before focusing back on you as gaz lines him up.
"Here we go." He smiles approvingly at the whine you let out on the first thrust. A bit shocked, a bit blissed out already. "Bet that feels real nice, eh?"
You squirm and chirp more, body wriggling under ghost. Clearly you want to participate, but every attempt to reach for ghosts face earns a corrective nip. Gaz, who had been too focused on ghosts cock rutting into you, didn't have time to react when you reached for him.
"What–! Hey! Mhhp–" a long, slippery tongue forces it's way inside of his mouth, thick and warm. To another mer, if kisses were at all normal, it would feel astonishingly tender. For gaz it feels like being face-fucked.
It shouldn't feel as good as it does, but he can't stop it, not when you decide to go deeper and he really has to focus on breathing through his nose.
Above the both of you, ghost rumbles approvingly. bracketing one arm around you and the other around gaz, he keeps what he now recognizes as two mates close together.
When ghost finally cums, gaz is mortified that the second cock is aimed directly at him. Milt splashing across his wetsuit.
He...really hopes no one saw that. He also may need a really cold shower before he does something he shouldn't.
thinking about waking simon riley up with head. lips wrapped around him, fingernails scratching gently at his thighs, coaxing him awake as you take him deeper into your mouth.
your forgot, though, that his reflexes don't turn off in sleep. in fact, unconscious is the only time he can't keep them in check around you.
you end up with a bruise forming around your eye.
he ends up apologising profusely and pressing a bag of frozen peas against the side of your face whilst you try and go down on him again - safely awake this time.
ghost stuck on an urban mission finding some poor desperate thing in the darkness outside his crappy rented flat, does what he does best and makes a poor judgement call to get his dick wet before the end of the mission.
its nothing, meaningless sex that isn't meant to be anything but fun while he's in town. he plugs his number into your phone so he can keep you on retainer while he's around and doesn't think about you after he's gone.
except you keep texting him, keep him updated on your life. you use the privilege of his phone number to send him pictures of the stay cats around your flat ("simon" your favorite, named before you knew him, you called it fate and he didnt correct you).
you tell him you miss him, and ask when he'll be back.
and fuck if he can turn down an invitation like that, grabbing a plane ticket alongside his leave request so he can surprise the pretty desperate thing that won't stop sending him things you shouldnt.
ghost x soap x female!reader, smut, oral sex (f! receiving)
a/n: my sick obsession with si and mactav escalating… i had to write something. short, but dirty enough to scratch that itch… enjoy!
You’ve never felt so beautifully ruined.
You are suspended on the very lip of the world, sitting on the cold metal ledge of an abandoned high-rise with your legs parted, dangling over a dizzying drop. The steel bites cruelly into the bare skin of your thighs, a sharp, grounding contrast to the liquid fire pooling between them. Below you, the city is a sprawling blur under the warm afternoon sun. You are completely exposed to the open sky, pinned to the edge by the crushing weight of two massive men.
You aren't planning on moving. Not when you are being utterly devoured.
Simon’s heavy, calloused hand is splayed flat against your thigh, his knuckles white as he anchors you to the metal. With his other hand, he uses two thick, rough fingers to stretch you open, driving deep and relentless inside your slick heat. Kneeling right in the cradle of your thighs is Johnny, his blue eyes dark and wild as his mouth presses wetly against your clit, his tongue lapping at your spilling moisture.
The logistics of it are tight, suffocating, and perfect. Every time Johnny leans in to suck you deeper into his mouth, his nose brushes against Simon’s scarred knuckles. A silent, physical collision of the two men claiming the exact same space.
You are dripping. You can feel the hot, slick mess of yourself running down the back of Simon’s hand, soaking the dark fabric of his sleeve. Under any other circumstances, the sheer lack of control would embarrass you. But out here, with nothing but miles of empty wind and the heavy, protective shadows of your two soldiers shielding you from the edge, you let go. You scream their names into the open sky, your voice carrying on the wind, a desperate breathless song of whimpers and begging.
They are moving like wolves over a fresh kill, low, primal growls vibrating in their chests as they crowd closer, silently fighting for more of you. Simon’s fingers are ruthless, curling upward to hook against your g-spot with a rhythmic, bruising pressure that coaxes a sob from your throat. Johnny matches his pace, his tongue lapping in heavy, flat strokes.
You shudder violently as Simon smoothly slips a third finger inside, stretching you to a delicious, burning limit. Your inner walls clamp down on him instinctively, trying to swallow his hand whole.
"Fuck, Johnny," Simon grunts, his voice a rasp of command. "Fuckin' kiss me."
Johnny doesn't hesitate. He pulls back from your dripping heat with a wet, heavy sigh, his mouth crashing directly onto Simon’s. They share you between them, their tongues tangling in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Simon groans into Johnny's mouth, his fingers curling deeper inside you in time with the kiss. You watch them, completely mesmerized, your hands tangling in the short, soft hair of Johnny's mohawk as they make out right over your pulsing center. Simon's grip on your thigh is bruising, holding you steady as his fingers ruthlessly work you.
It’s so intoxicating. You want to watch them share you like this forever.
"More," you beg, your head thrashing back against the open air. "Please, God, more."
Simon breaks the kiss with a sharp, wet pop. His eyes are pitch-black beneath his brow, completely feral, looking at you like he wants to tear you apart.
He leans down, dragging his tongue in one long, heavy stripe from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit. You let out a shattered cry, your spine arching off the cold metal as Johnny immediately swoops back in, sealing his lips around your swollen clit and sucking hard.
"Fuck, fuck, please..." you chant, your fingers tightening desperately in Johnny’s hair, pulling him closer.
A low, vibrating chuckle rumbles in Simon’s chest. He smirks, leaning up to capture your mouth in a hard, dominating kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, the flavor sharp and dirty-sweet. You moan directly into his throat, your hips bucking upward against Johnny's mouth in a desperate search for release.
"You like that, sweetheart?" Simon murmurs against your lips, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "Knowing we can't get enough of you? Knowing you're ours out here?"
You can only nod, reduced to a panting, trembling mess as Johnny doubles his efforts, his mouth creating a relentless vacuum on your clit while Simon’s fingers speed up, curling inside you with agonizing precision. The coil in your lower belly is pulled so tight it aches.
Johnny looks up, his gaze locked onto yours, his face flushed and glistening. He doesn't stop, his tongue flicking in a fast, agonizing rhythm. Simon’s fingers drive deeper, holding you open for the deluge.
"Come on, then," Simon growls into your ear, his breath scorching your skin. "Let us have it. Let it go."
Your orgasm crashes over you, pulling the horizon out from under you. Your pussy clamps down on Simon's fingers in a succession of tight, violent spasms, gushing over his hand. Johnny doesn't back off; he keeps his mouth locked tightly over your clit, sucking you through the peak of the climax while Simon’s fingers slow to a heavy, comforting thrum, milking the last of the tremors from your body.
When you finally come down, the wind feels freezing against your skin. Your legs are shaking violently, entirely useless. Simon slowly, carefully withdraws his fingers, eliciting a pathetic, needy whine from your throat at the sudden emptiness. Johnny presses one last, lingering kiss to your wet thighs before sitting back on his heels, breathing heavily.
"Fuck," you breathe, staring at them, your heart hammering against your ribs. "That was..."
"Incredible?" Johnny offers, a grin spreading across his face as he wipes his chin with the back of his hand.
"Ours," Simon corrects quietly, his eyes still dark with lingering heat as he reaches out to gently pull your shaking body away from the edge.
He hauls you to your feet, your wobbly legs immediately giving out, but Simon catches you easily, locking you against his broad chest. Johnny is there a second later, wrapping his strong arms around your waist from behind, sandwiching you between their massive, radiating warmth.
The transition from the wild, dizzying exposure of the edge to the safety of their arms is seamless. The wind howls around the rooftop, but you are completely protected, held tight in a cocoon of muscle, scent, and safety.
"Let's get you home, darlin'," Johnny whispers, kissing your temple.
You nod, burying your face in Simon’s neck, inhaling the comforting scent of soap and leather. You are completely safe, utterly loved, and already wondering how soon you can drag them back to the edge again…
It was late at night on an exceptionally long field training op and you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. The tent felt too small, the ground was too hard, it was just all the wrong conditions. You lay flat on your back and close your eyes, trying to force your body to produce some melatonin when your phone buzzes next to your head. It was Simon.
Smoke?
You almost say no but hey, maybe it’d be enough to put you to sleep. So you wriggle out of your sleeping bag and leave the tent, boots crunching on the dirt as you make your way to the only tree with a subtle ember coming from it every few seconds. You reach it and hold your hand out.
“Please.”
Simon takes another drag before giving you the cigarette, eyes watching intently as your lips close around it and you inhale deeply. You blow the smoke out and hand it back to him, the air hazy between you before the breeze takes it away. You lean against the tree and keep passing the cigarette back and forth, trying to ignore the ache between your legs that accompanied the nicotine buzz. Simon glances over at you and holds the last bit of cigarette out to you.
“Do the honors? I’ll light another f’ya.”
You chuckle quietly and hold eye contact as you lean forward and take the last drag with the thing still between his fingers. He smirks at the sight before tossing the butt on the ground and stomping on it. He lights a new one for you and digs around his pockets until you hear a jingling. Before you could ask what it was, Simon takes your hand and walks a ways away until you reach the van everyone came in. He unlocks it and you stand off to the side while he pushes the back seats down.
“You serious, LT?”
“Yes ma’am. Get in and look pretty f’me, alright?”
You climb inside and let Simon do all the work. He always insists you never lift a finger and just have yourself a smoke while he takes care of the rest. So you do, you lean back and let him take your boots and pants off, leaving you in your shirt and underwear. He rubs at the growing dark patch on the fabric, looking at it like he was in love with it or something.
“Y’gonna let me bite ya again?”
“Mm mm.” You shake your head, small puffs of smoke coming out of your mouth as you spoke. “Pissed off Price last time.”
Simon rolls his eyes and pulls his belt off. Of course he was annoyed that Price had said something about it but he wouldn’t let that stop him. He bends down and leaves bite marks on your thighs, right against the bikini line. Just to piss off the captain even more if he saw. You don’t stop him, just give him a little kick.
“Simon, quit. You gonna do somethin or what?”
“Mouthy tonight, aren’t ya? Gimme that.” He scoffs but listens to your sass as he takes the cigarette from you. He holds it in his mouth and flips you over, yanking your hips back so your ass was in the air. He rests back on his heels and roughly pushes two fingers into your weeping hole, watching your body quiver as he fucked you with them. You were already wet enough from smoking and his fingers just brought more out of you.
You felt too good to try and mouth off to him again, instead just whimpering at him as he built up the knot in your abdomen only to not let you cum. He repeats that another time before slowly taking his fingers out and using your slick to lube himself up. He pushes back into a kneel and takes a long drag as he shoves his length into you. Your breath hitches and you arch your back just a bit more so he hit the right spot within you. He grunts softly when your walls flutter around him in response to your adjustments and keeps one hand on your hip to hold you steady.
He thrusts forward and back until he’s almost completely out before slamming back in. The amount of arousal pouring down your legs had begun to stain Simon’s pants and he already knew he’d be keeping them on for the rest of the op as a badge of honor. The sounds of skin slapping on skin filled the car as he went harder, roughly exhaling smoke as you began to tighten around him.
“Si, Simon-“ you squeak involuntarily, trying to grab onto anything your hands could find. “Hey wait-“
“Shush, I got ya. Cum f’me, go on.” He gives your hip a squeeze and doesn’t relent, keeping up the pace and roughness of it all. Then you tighten even more and he lets out a gravelly moan. “Ohhhh yeah there she is. There she is. Let go, darling.”
You squeak again and cum hard enough to soak his pants even more, the stain soon growing to include Simon’s cum as well. His hand shakes as he places the cigarette back between your lips so he could hold himself buried in your cunt for a while longer. Once he’d had his time, he uses his fingers to push his cum back into you and kisses the small of your back.
simon "ghost" riley x john "soap" mactavish x reader
A late-night sparring session goes beautifully wrong when Ghost decides to supervise Johnny's groundwork. Two against one isn't exactly fair play, but you aren't complaining.
[4.5k] THREESOME. porn without plot, gym sex, light dom/sub undertones, sharing is caring, praise, command kink, size difference, obedience, dirty talk, mask stays on!! cunnilingus, cum eating, oral, double penetration, johnny is such an obedient lap dog to ghost in this one. enjoy.
The overhead fluorescent lights were shut off, leaving only the amber safety-strip lighting along the baseboards to cut through the dark. It painted everything in warm, shadowy angles.
You were flat on your back, chest heaving, fabric of your grey t-shirt sticking to your collarbone, damp with your sweat. Johnny was hovering over you, knees pinning your thighs, a wide, smug grin splitting his face. He’d caught you with a sweep of his leg a second ago, and he wasn’t about to let you forget it. His hands were braced on either side of your head, mohawk damp and messy, blue eyes gleaming childishly in the dim light.
“That’s three-nil to me, luv,” Johnny panted. He was warm, impossibly so, like a furnace— and the weight of him pressing down on you sent a low, delicious shiver straight down your spine. “Givin’ up yet, or do ye fancy another round on yer back?”
“I was letting you win, MacTavish,” you gasped out, trying to shift your hips to no avail as he only leaned his weight heavier into you, grin widening.
“Aye, keep tellin’ yerself that—”
The heavy metal door of the gym clicked, sound echoing in the cavernous room.
The soles of heavy combat boots squeaked slowly against the polished floorboards just off the edge of the mats. Neither of you had to look up to know who it was. The imposing shadow that fell over you was enough of a clue.
Ghost stood at the edge of the mat, arms crossed over his chest. He’d ditched his tactical outfit for a tight black compression shirt that showed off the breadth of his shoulders, and his signature balaclava was pulled down tight, his dark eyes fixed on the two of you writhing on the floor.
He just stood there wordlessly, watching.
Johnny’s grin slowly faltered, breathing hitching just a fraction as he felt the Lieutenant’s gaze drop straight to where his knees were pinning you down. His gaze drifted slowly down the line of Johnny’s back before settling directly on you, pinned beneath, your chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow little breaths.
“LT,” Johnny muttered, and the teasing cadence in his voice was gone, now sounding raspy, tense. He didn’t let go of you. If anything, the heat of his thighs flanking yours seemed to double.
Ghost took a single, slow step forward, boots transitioning from the polished wood to the soft, giving rubber of the mat. He didn’t even look at Johnny when he spoke.
“Keep her there, Johnny.”
The command sent a physical jolt straight through you. You flared your nostrils with the rush of heat blooming in between your thighs, exactly where Johnny was keeping you parted. But you weren’t about to just lie there and be handled without a fight.
“Oh, is that how we’re playing?” you panted, tilting your chin up to look Johnny dead in the eyes. You bucked your hips beneath him, the sharp heave making Johnny gasp, his fingers tightening around your wrists on either side of you. “You going to let him call your plays for you, MacTavish? Or are you going to finish this yourself?”
Johnny’s eyes darkened at that, and you could almost see the flash of primal hunger replacing the last remnants of his playful grin. He leaned down, mouth hovering just inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips.
“I can finish it just fine, lass,” he whispered, his grip on your wrists bruisingly tight as he pulled them flat against the mat above your head this time. “But when LT gives an order, I like to be thorough.”
From above, the shadow of Ghost’s massive frame fell completely over both of you. He dropped to one knee at the edge of your head, fabric of his compression shirt straining against the muscles on his chest. Slowly, he reached down, fingers wrapping around the back of your neck, thumb tracing the frantic pulse leaping in your throat.
“She’s got too much fight left in her, Sergeant,” Ghost murmured, dark eyes locked onto yours behind the balaclava. The nonchalance in his tone made you want to just disappear into the ground. “Take her breath away.”
Johnny, the good little soldier he was, didn’t need to hear an order twice.
With a low growl, he dropped his chest against yours, crushing you beneath his weight while his mouth slammed down onto your lips. It wasn’t gentle by any means; the kiss was hot, demanding, almost bruising, and tasted faintly of salt and the iron-rich tang of adrenaline. He kissed you the way he fought— relentless, driving his tongue deep into your mouth, taking everything you were so fiercely trying to hold onto.
You let out a muffled gasp against his lips, fingers curling helplessly into your palm as he still had your wrists pinned. The friction of his body grinding against yours, the delicious drag of his hardening length, paired with the grip of the Lieutenant’s hand at the back of your neck, had your senses completely overloaded.
Ghost’s thumb firmly stroked over your pulse point, just enough to make you shiver as you tried to catch up to Johnny, his touch incredibly steady despite the raw size of him. He watched every detail of the kiss, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded behind the balaclava he wore, and you wondered if he’d fuck you tonight, or just leave you high and dry with the help of his Sergeant.
“Mmh, fuck, lass,” Johnny groaned out, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second to get the words out and pant against your wet lips, blue eyes blown wide with desire. “Ye’re so fuckin’ warm under me.”
“Then don’t just… talk about it, Johnny,” you choked out, voice thick and breathless as you struggled against his hold, hips instinctively arching up, seeking the hard ridge of him through his sweatpants. “Show me.”
Above you, Ghost let out a low chuckle that seemed to vibrate right through the palm of his hand against the back of your throat.
“She’s begging, Sergeant,” Ghost murmured, free hand reaching down to grip your chin, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look up at him. “And we don’t like to keep a lady waiting, do we, now?”
With an agonizing sort of slowness, Ghost let go of your pulse point, hooking his fingers into the hem of his balaclava and pulling it just past his lips, revealing his mouth set in a hard, hungry line. He leaned down a little more, then, and the scent of him— leather, cold rain, and a sharp touch of mint, crowded out the smell of the gym entirely.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and you stared up into those dark, intense eyes, heart hammering wildly against your ribs. Underneath you, Johnny was already shifting. He released one of your wrists, hand sliding down your ribs to catch the hem of your grey t-shirt and drag it up over your sports bra clad breasts. The cool air of the gym hit your sweaty skin, making goosebumps rise along the way, only for Johnny’s hot palm to smooth over your stomach, his fingers digging into your waist.
“LT,” Johnny choked out, gaze fixed on Ghost’s exposed, stubbled jaw. “Let me taste her.”
“Take what you want, Johnny.” Ghost murmured then, his eyes still set on yours.
With a breathless sound, Johnny buried his face in the crook of your neck first, teeth scraping lightly over the sensitive skin right where your shoulder met your collarbone. You gasped, head arching off the mat, hips bucking instinctively into Johnny’s lap. He groaned at that and locked his thighs tighter around yours to pin you down, mouth tracing a wet trail up to your jaw.
At the same time, Ghost’s heavy hand slid from your chin down to your chest, palm spreading flat over your racing heart, pressing you firmly down into the mat.
“You’re shaking, love,” Ghost observed softly, thumb brushing against the swell of your breast through the fabric. “That impatient, hm?”
“You’re such an asshole,” you gasped out, twisting your wrists in Johnny’s remaining grip, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around Ghost’s thick neck and pull him down. “Stop talking and kiss me.”
Ghost’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, dangerous amusement flashing in them.
“Feisty little thing, isn’t she?” Ghost murmured, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at Johnny, who was now nipping at your earlobe, his breath coming in desperate gasps.
“Aye,” the Scot muttered against your skin, his hand sliding lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “Thinks she runs the damn place. I reckon she needs to be reminded who she’s on the floor with.”
You watched as the last trace of amusement vanished from Ghost’s eyes. His hand slid from your chest up to your jaw again, fingers pressing firmly into the joint to force your mouth slightly open.
“Strip her, Johnny,” Ghost ordered, voice dropping to a low rumble that left absolutely no room for negotiation. “Take it all off.”
Johnny didn’t hesitate. An eager chuckle escaped him as he immediately back-pedaled off your thighs, hands moving with such speed it left you breathless. He hooked more fingers into the waistband of your shorts and underwear, dragging them both down your legs in one rough, sweeping motion, tossing them onto the dark floorboards off the edge of the mat.
Your t-shirt was bunched up around your collarbone, leaving you bare and shivering under the heavy gaze of both men.
Before you could even process the sudden rush of cool air, Ghost’s weight shifted. He crawled over you, frame eclipsing the ceiling lights with his thighs on both sides of your head. Slowly, he slid two thick fingers past your wet lips, pressing them flat onto your tongue.
“Take it,” Ghost murmured, eyes locked onto yours as he slowly drew his fingers out, only to push them back in, mimicking a slow, teasing rhythm against your tongue. “Quiet down for me now.”
Below you, Johnny was already moving. He settled between your thighs, broad hands gripping the undersides of your knees and pushing them back, opening you up completely to the dim amber light of the gym. He let out a ragged groan at the sight of you, chest heaving.
“Ye need to see her, LT,” Johnny whispered, voice trembling with sheer hunger. “Fucking beautiful.”
“Don’t just look, Sergeant,” Ghost commanded then, fingers swiping over your tongue to catch your saliva. “Eat.”
Johnny leaned down, messy mohawk brushing against your inner thighs as his hot breath hit your sensitive skin, making you spasm beneath him. When his warm, wet tongue finally made contact —lapping slick and broad strokes from the very bottom of your pussy all the way up to your tight, aching clit— your eyes blew wide.
You tried to scream, hips bucking wildly off the mat, but Ghost’s fingers locked behind your teeth, anchoring your head flat. His thumb pressed firmly against your chin, muffling your cries into a series of desperate whimpers against his hand.
“That’s it,” Ghost praised you in a soft tone, eyes tracing the frantic flush spreading down your neck and chest. “Take it all. Let your Sergeant hear how much you like his mouth on you.”
Johnny didn’t stop until you were entirely unraveled, thighs trembling violently against his shoulders as he drank the slick heat you poured out for him. Your fingers were clawed into the synthetic rubber of the mat, tongue lapping uselessly around Ghost’s thick fingers as you tried to ride out the waves of the shuddering orgasm they’d just forced from you.
But they weren’t anywhere near finished with you.
“Up,” Ghost commanded, finally drawing his slick fingers from your mouth. “Turn her around, Johnny.”
Johnny moved like a man possessed for each of his Lieutenant’s words. His hands, slick with your come, gripped your hips and hauled you upward. You were still dazed, limbs heavy and uncooperative, but Johnny guided you right where he knew Ghost wanted you, lifting your hips and pressing your knees into the mat until you were on all fours, head hanging low as you panted.
Your back arched instinctively as the cool air hit your wet core, leaving you exposed.
Ghost was already there. He was on his knees directly in front of you, thighs framing your head. He reached down and unbuckled his trousers then, and when he freed himself, his length was thick, heavy, and already leaking a bead of pre-cum that caught the amber light of the gym.
He reached down, fingers wrapping firmly in your hair, forcing your head up so you had to look at him.
“Like what you see?” the command sent a fresh spike of heat straight to your lower stomach. “Suck it, love. Wet it for me.”
Before you could even part your lips to comply, a massive weight pressed hard against your entrance from behind.
You let out a choked gasp as Johnny’s hands clamped onto your hip bones, fingers digging into your skin to anchor you. He didn’t wait. With a desperate heave of his hips, Johnny drove himself deep inside you in one thick push.
“Ah— f-fuck!” you cried out, back snapping straight, eyes wide as the fullness of him stretched you open.
Johnny let out a feral groan into the space between your shoulder blades, his chest slamming against your lower back as he immediately began to move, his pace fast, hard, and thoroughly desperate. The wet slapping sound of his skin hitting yours echoed in the otherwise quiet room.
“Keep your mouth on him,” Johnny gasped out, voice shaking with the effort of holding back as he drove into you again and again. “Suck… suck LT for me, please…”
Ghost’s grip on your hair tightened then, pulling your head forward until his thick tip was brushing against your wet lips.
“You heard the Sergeant,” Ghost whispered. “Open up.”
You opened your mouth, letting out a whimpering cry that was immediately cut off as Ghost guided his massive length past your lips.
The heat of him filled your mouth entirely, your jaw ticking to adjust to the size. You sucked him in as deep as your throat would allow, hands clawing desperately at his heavy thighs for balance as Johnny continued to slam into you from behind.
“Good girl,” the Lieutenant rumbled, as his hand remained firmly tangled in your hair, not to hurt, but to control the slow rhythm of your lips sliding up and down his shaft. “Just like that.”
Johnny, behind you, seemed to be completely lost to the sensation. His breath came in ragged bursts against your bare shoulder blades, fingers digging deep into your hips to keep you against his relentless pace. Every thrust was deep, bottoming out with a wet, slapping force that had your head bobbing deeper into Ghost’s length with every hit.
“Fuck, ye’re so tight, lass,” Johnny choked out, pulling back almost entirely before driving back in, hitting your sweet spot so perfectly that your eyes rolled back, a muffled moan vibrating against Ghost’s cock. “LT, she’s…. She’s squeezing the life out of me…”
Ghost’s fingers stroked your scalp, hips twitching slightly as he pushed himself just a little deeper into your throat. His eyes were fixed on the way your body trembled under the dual assault, on how hard Johnny was fucking you, flashing that sleazy grin of his at his Lieutenant shamelessly. “Hold it, Sergeant. Don’t you dare come yet.”
“LT, please,” Johnny panted. He was shuddering, entire body vibrating with the effort to obey. “I’m right on the edge, sir. Fuck, she’s too good.”
Ghost set his gaze on how glazed your eyes were, how your lips stretched wide around his length, saliva dripping down your chin as you took him as deep as you could.
“Told you to hold it, Sergeant.” Ghost growled, hand tightening in your hair. “Make yourself useful. Open her up some more.”
Johnny let out a ragged laugh against the skin of your back. “Aye, sir.”
With one hand still clamped onto your hip bone, keeping you pinned to his rhythmic thrusts, Johnny reached his free hand down between your thighs. He smeared the moisture backward, broad thumb finding the tight, puckered rim of your ass.
You let out a sharp cry around Ghost’s cock, body going rigid as Johnny’s thumb pressed firmly against the entrance, testing the give.
“Relax for me, lass,” Johnny whispered behind you. “Let me in. Just a little bit.”
With a sudden push, Johnny slid the tip of his index finger inside.
The sensation was overwhelming— the fullness of Johnny stretching you open from behind, combined with his finger sliding deep into your tightest recess. You thrashed, hands clawing desperately at Ghost’s thighs, trying to escape the double penetration, but Ghost’s grip on your hair seemed tight. He leaned forward, free hand pushing your shoulders down, forcing you to take him even deeper into your throat to muffle your sobbing gasps.
“Take it,” Ghost growled, his own hips finally beginning to roll, driving into your mouth to draw out every single gag and sputter. “Suck me through it, love. Feel how good Johnny’s making you. Look how hard he’s fucking you to please me, hm?”
Johnny groaned, adding another finger to the mix, curling them to mimic the hard rhythm of his cock. The dual friction was dizzying, sending sparks straight to your lower stomach. You were completely caught between them— stretched to your absolute limit, crying silently around Ghost’s thick length as Johnny worked you raw from behind.
Johnny was just as undone as you, forehead pressed against the space between your shoulder blades as his chest heaved. His thrusts had grown frantic, losing their cadence and turning into deep, desperate plunges that bottomed out against you. His fingers were working tirelessly inside your tightest hole, driving you absolutely mad.
“LT, please…” Johnny sobbed out, the raw desperation in his voice echoing off the blank walls. “Please, sir, I cannae hold it. I’m gonna break. Let me cum. Please let me cum in her.”
Ghost’s breathing had grown heavier now, fingers remaining firmly tangled in your hair, holding you close as his eyes locked onto Johnny’s. He felt the clenching of your throat, the way your body was vibrating on the precipice of another shattering release.
Slowly, reluctantly, Ghost pulled his thick length out from between your wet lips. A long strand of saliva connected you to him as you did your best to cough and catch your breath, letting out broken gasps, jaw aching.
He gripped his own shaft then, hand wrapping around his thick, slick length, and began to stroke himself with vicious downstrokes.
“Do it, Johnny,” Ghost growled. “Fill her up. Cum for me, Sergeant.”
“Ah, fuck!”
With a loud cry, Johnny slammed his hips forward one last time, burying himself to the absolute root. His entire body went rigid, muscles locking up as he began to release, his seed pumping deep and hot inside you, and at the same time, he was twitching his fingers inside you desperately to drive you over the edge with him.
Your own climax hit again, this time harder, rougher. You screamed, sound muffled against the mat you collapsed onto, walls clamping down incredibly tight around Johnny, milking him dry.
Right as you broke, Ghost leaned forward, his grip on your hair tightening once more to tilt your head back. His strokes had reached a frantic, desperate speed.
“Open,” he commanded, completely out of breath.
You parted your lips instinctively, staring up at him through a haze of tears and sweat. With two last strokes, Ghost groaned, jaw clenching tightly as he came, sending thick, hot ropes of white semen shooting directly onto your tongue. The heat of it filled your mouth, heavy and sweet, and you swallowed greedily under his burning gaze.
The heavy silence of the gym was broken only by the sound of ragged breathing.
Johnny laid dead weight against your back. He was completely spent, his chest heaving in slow shudders. Inside you, his length was still thick and pulsing slowly as his climax ebbed away, keeping you stretched and wonderfully full.
Above you, Ghost remained on his knees, broad shoulders rising and falling with jagged breaths. His jaw was still exposed, slick with a light sheen of sweat, and his dark eyes were fixed on your face, watching the way you slowly swallowed the last of his come.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice incredibly soft, almost tender, despite the intensity of the last few minutes. Slowly, he slid his hand from your hair down to your jaw. His thumb gently wiped away a stray smear of his seed and saliva mixed together from the corner of your lips, and he stared at his wet thumb for a second before rubbing it against his thigh, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Look at you,” Johnny whispered against your skin, leaving a soft kiss there, voice cracked and breathless. He squeezed your hips gently. “Absolutely ruined ye, didn’t we, lovie?”
“Shut up, MacTavish,” you groaned out with a soft grin on your lips. Your legs were shaking so much that you could barely keep your knees on the rubber mat. Every muscle in your body felt like warm wax.
Johnny let out a chuckle against you then as he slowly began to pull out of you, the wet sound of his exit incredibly loud in the empty room. You let out a quiet whimper at the sudden loss of his heat inside you, hips twitching instinctively to follow him.
“Don’t move yet.” Ghost commanded quietly, and reached down, his massive hands sliding under your armpits. With effortless strength, he hauled your limp body up and backward, pulling you flush against his chest. He settled you right between his thighs, wrapping his thick arms around your stomach to keep you steady while Johnny slowly crawled up beside you, his blue eyes soft and devoted as he looked at you.
You melted back against the solid wall of Ghost’s chest. Johnny reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead whilst Ghost’s hands tightened around you a little, grip firm as he looked over you at his Sergeant. His eyes dropped Johnny’s gaze, which was down on your thighs, wet and glistening in the dim light.
“Won’t you look at that, Johnny,” Ghost murmured gently. “You left a proper mess of her.”
Johnny’s jaw slackened slightly at that. “Aye, LT. She’s soaked in it.”
“Clean it up,” you heard Ghost say, but you weren’t sure if you were dreaming it up until the point you saw the glint come back to Johnny’s eyes. “Every drop. I want her spotless.”
“Yes, sir.”
Johnny dropped to his elbows on the mat then, shuffling down between your trembling legs. He gripped your knees, spreading your thighs wide once more as you sat cradled in Ghost’s lap. His hot breath brushed your sensitized, properly fucked out pussy a second before his warm tongue made contact, greedily lapping up the slick of your shared release.
Your head snapped back against Ghost’s shoulder as you moaned. “Ah— Johnny…”
“Stay still,” Ghost whispered softly in your ear. His arm remained anchored against your stomach, keeping you flush against him, but his other hand slid down. Slowly, his thick fingers parted your folds against Johnny’s tongue to grant him better access, then, his middle and ring fingers pressed right against your clit.
He didn’t use a light touch. He rubbed his fingers against your sensitive bud in firm, circular motions.
“Mmh— Simon!” you cried out, fingers clawing helplessly at the thick muscles of his thighs. Your hips bucked instinctively, trying to escape the pressure on your clit mixing up with the slick torture of Johnny’s tongue, but you were locked tight.
“I’ve got you,” Ghost whispered darkly against your hair, fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm as Johnny looked up at you two, eyes almost rolling back when he caught Ghost’s dark gaze fixed right at him like he wanted to eat him alive. “Just let him clean you, love.”
Johnny let out a muffled groan of appreciation against your center when one of your hands found its way to his mohawk, pulling him down harder onto your core, his tongue working in skilled strokes. He drank you down as Ghost’s fingers drove you higher and higher, pushing you right back over the edge of a helpless climax.
"Please—please, I can't," you sobbed out, your fingers clawing desperately into Ghost’s thick thighs, trying to find some sort of anchor as the world spun. "It’s too much… Ghost, stop—"
"No," Ghost rumbled, his voice pressing right against your ear. His chest was a solid brick wall behind you, refusing to let you retreat even an inch. "Keep your eyes open. Watch him."
You forced your glazed eyes down. Through a haze of tears, you watched Johnny’s dark head bobbing between your thighs. He was relentless, his hands locked like iron clamps around the backs of your knees to hold you wide, his jaw working frantically as he drank in the fresh, hot gush of slick your body was desperately producing. He was humming against your clit, the deep, vibrating sound sending sharp, electric jolts straight to your chest.
"Finish it, Johnny," Ghost ordered, his own breathing finally catching, his chest hitching as he felt the tremors starting to seize your thighs. "Take her over."
A high, broken scream was torn from your throat. Your body went completely rigid, your spine arching off Ghost’s chest as a massive, shuddering orgasm tore through you. You clamped down so hard on Johnny's tongue that he let out a muffled whimper, his hands squeezing your hips bruisingly tight as he held you through the waves.
Ghost’s hand stayed firmly in place, riding out the tremors with you, his heavy fingers pressing down until the very last twitch of your thighs subsided.
You collapsed back against him, completely spent as your eyes rolled back, jaw hanging slightly open. You stared blankly at the dark ceiling until Johnny came back into view from below, and you watched him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at you and Ghost with a dazed, utterly blissed-out grin.
“Spotless, LT.” you could barely hear his hoarse voice.
"She's done, Johnny," Ghost said quietly, his grip on your waist loosening just enough to let you breathe a little easier, though he kept you anchored securely against him. "Go get some towels from the locker. And a bottle of water."
"Aye, L.T.," Johnny murmured, but he didn't move immediately. He leaned down first, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally a quick, tender press of his lips to yours. "Don't go anywhere without me."
"Can't move if I wanted to," you croaked out, your voice a tiny, raspy whisper.
A low, genuine chuckle shook Ghost's chest behind you. "Good little soldiers, both of you."
this is my first time writing a threesome so. also was a bit wine drunk. how does it, uh, look?
-> contents :: afab reader ,, second pov ,, femdom ,, the boys do fuck each other in this ,, frottage ,, boot humping ,, leg humping ,, praise ,, puppyplay ,, oral (receiving and giving) ,, double penetration ,, cock stepping ,, nipple stimulation ,, caging ,, panty stealing ,, handjob ,, shock collar mentioned but not elaborated on ,, collaring ,, leashing ,, light aftercare mention
-> word count :: 2k
-> an :: free use like you can use them however you want 🫣 the shock collar is for simon hehe ,, i can expand on it more if people wish 👀 they need to be put in their place lowkk
It was something they had recently agreed on, during any time where they’re not stationed anywhere, they were up for grabs. Well, up for grabs for you. You’d brought it up to them before, how you like the idea of having someone for you to use freely whenever you’d like.
Johnny enjoyed the idea, as did Gaz. Just the thought of your hands trailing their bodies was enough to get them fired up. Simon and John took a little more time to warm up to the idea, however after seeing how much Gaz and Johnny enjoyed it, they too wanted in.
Leading you to your current situation with them. At anytime you could go to them and touch them however you wanted, however you desired to have them, and they would comply. Safe words have been established, and you remember each one they decided. They’ve yet to use them, but should anything arise there were plans set in stone for it.
It didn’t matter if John was in the middle of paperwork, you would go into his office and sit on his lap. Better yet, you’d have him sit on your lap, it didnt matter if you were smaller than him, he’d comply with it. You could reach into his pants and palm at his slowly hardening cock, listen to his grunts as he tried to focus on his work. He could complain about needing them done, but you wouldn’t stop. Not until he would come on your hands and lick the mess clean.
With Gaz, it didnt take much to have him moaning under you. Whether he decided to work out, or enjoy the tea he just made, your lips would be on him. Sucking into his neck and toying with his nipples through his shirt. He’d lean his head back, resting against you as he let you take control.
“You’re so pretty for me,” You’d praise and he’d whine even more, lifting his hips closer to your hand. Begging for your touch, waiting for you to satisfy his growing erection. You could, or it’d be even better to edge him under the table and not let him cum in the end.
Your lips around his cock and your hand working on the rest, he’d cover his mouth with his hand and buck into your mouth. You’d have to hold his hips down, keeping him from moving too much.
“Please let me cum,” he’d whine and his cock twitched in your mouth, yet you’d pull off of him and listen to his complaints. Leaving him hard and aching, ready to cum only to give him nothing.
Only to find Johnny in return, fresh out of a shower and mowhawk drenched. The water droplets still attached to his muscles is enough to set you off, slinking up to his side and pulling him off into his room.
“What do ye want, bonnie?” He’d ask only to be pushed to his bed, your legs straddling his hips and keeping him pinned against his bed. “I want you,” was all you had to say for him to reach under your body and remove the towel covering his waist.
His cock was soft, but with due time it’d become hard. You caressed his face, slipping your fingers into his mouth, savoring the feeling of him sucking on them. He wrapped his tongue around the tips, treating it as though it were a cock in his mouth. Though that wouldn’t be a bad idea, only fueling your thoughts.
Johnny would moan against your fingers, hands coming down against your hips and grinding his growing cock into your clothed body. You moved your own hips against his, enjoying the stimulation against your clit, while hole clenching around nothing.
You peel your hands from him, wet fingers slipping from his lips, and remove your pants to leave you in your underwear atop of him. He groans at the sight, going to move his hands to your body. Your own hands captured his wrists, pinning them down beside his head and keeping them there. He bucked his hips up into your touch, eager for more.
“Naughty boy,” he whined at your voice, rolling his hips into you. “Please give me more, please I’ve been good.” He tried to reason with you, beg for your touch. How could you reward such behavior if he wanted to act impatient?
“You don’t deserve it,” was all you said as you gathered both of his hands in your single grip, reaching beneath you with your now freed hand and pulled your underwear aside. He wouldn’t get the full thing, you decided. Your unclothed lips ground against him, letting his cock slide in between them with ease.
Johnny hissed at the sensation, eyes closed shut as he whimpered at the contact. Your slick coated him, making it easier to slide against his cock. It felt even better when your clit got to grind against him, tracing along the veins of his cock nicely.
“Please hen, yer killin’ me,” Johnny pleaded, eyes akin to that of a dog’s.
You didn’t say anything in return, only working to your own orgasm and enjoying the waves that rushed over you with due time. Of course, you weren’t going to leave him all hard and lonely. He had been good after all, and rewarding good behavior would encourage it.
“So good for me,” you praised, slipping your underwear back into place yet maintaining your position atop of him. He whined at your praises, eyes eager and tempting as he awaited for what you’d give him.
With your hand wrapped around him, he groaned into your touch. It didn’t take long for him to reach his own orgasm, white strips of cum landing on his stomach and your hand. You gathered it on your fingers, bringing it to his mouth to lick you clean.
Johnny always appreciated when you used him, making him one of your favorites to play with during those moments.
Simon had his moments, though not as often as Gaz or Johnny, you still enjoyed using him when you could.
Whether that meant making him drop to his knees, and crawl to where you were sat. Your hands would remove his mask gently, allowing him to grace you with his toned features. Little scars would chip at his face, yet you still loved him the same no matter what he looked like.
“There you are,” you whispered to him, his dark eyes awaiting for your command.
You pulled his head close to your thighs, letting his hands work against your body to strip you of your garments. Sliding one pant leg down and then the next, leaving you with your underwear still on.
Scarred lips pressed kisses into your legs, traveling to your knees and then to your thighs. He never left any skin untouched, moving your legs to rest over his shoulders and letting his hands rest on your hips.
Your hands would eventually find their way to his hair, tugging him closer against you as he worked his tongue on you. Circling your clit, then licking down to your labia and only slightly pressing into your hole. He would trace his tongue back up just to suck against your clit and let you grind on his face.
Your praises and tugs into his hair were more than enough motivation to keep him going. Even when your thighs clenched around him, even when he was starting to struggle with breathing, he never stopped giving you pleasure until you were satisfied.
Then, and only then, would you debate on helping him. Some days you’d leave him to deal with his growing hard on, and other days you’d press your foot into the bulge forming in his pants. He’d grunt and hump against your leg like the mutt he was, eyebrows knitted together as he worked up to his own release.
He always came in his pants, and never on you.
There were occasions where you wanted to try something new or just had an itch to scratch.
You’ve pulled John out of his office more than once for moments like these, and other times you just laid him on top of his desk without a care in the world for the paperwork beneath him. His shirt was already removed, chest and abdomen exposed for you to touch however much you wanted to.
Your fingers tease at his nipples, rolling them and pinching them. The growing tent in his pants proved you right in assuming he’d like it.
It didn’t take long before you dipped your head to suck on them. John hissed at the contact, almost moving his hand to your head before thinking twice of his actions. “Bloody hell, luv,” he groaned as you suckled away.
Your desire was ever growing and insatiable.
You’ve made Gaz cum from just humping against your leg, or Johnny from rutting against your shoe. Any moment you thought of something new, you’d go to one of them, or multiple of them.
There were moments where you’ve had Ghost and Gaz rub their cocks against one another all while you sat in between them, watching with eager eyes as you instructed them to continue. Days where you instructed Johnny to take John’s cock and make him cum.
Days where you wanted them both to pleasure each other, or yourself. Satisfied with Ghost’s heavy weight laying on top of your back while you were chest to chest with John. Both of their cocks were inside you, and your arousal wasn’t dying down any sooner.
They both tried to rut into you, trying their best to make you cum before they would. Their grunts and groans only fueled the fire inside you, butterflies flying in your stomach at their unbridled lust.
Expanding more with puppy play, they weren't opposed to the idea. Johnny loves when you snap his collar on, attaching a leash and letting you walk him wherever you want him to go. If you go as far as getting a cage for them, Johnny behaves immediately when you threaten to put him in there.
He promises he'll be good! He'll stop humping your leg and act like your good pup. Simon will act however he wishes, he can take what punishment you think you can dish out to him. He'll keen at any praise you give him for being a good boy.
Gaz mostly acts gentle and sweet, he's the one you praise the most. However, with Johnny's influence he can act out at times. He'll work together with Johnny and paw at your underwear, or steal any panties you have for later use.
John is a good mutt too, however it's more rare he plays into being your dog. He only uses it as an escape when he truly needs it, when memories he'd rather not dwell on come to his mind.
He'll whine and behave as well as he can, groaning when your foot comes onto his cock and pressing it into the ground. He'll take what you give him, even if it means having to use your rough combat boots.
There's days where your pups want a turn with each other, Johnny's leash tight in your grip while he licks at your cunt, Ghost rutting into him from behind. Gaz will lay beside you, on his back and exposing his hardened cock for you to stroke at your own pace.
You've caught Gaz and John sucking on each other like good pups beforehand. Your hands worked John's head up and down Gaz's cock, making him gag on it and choke when his sergeant came down his throat.
They all have their respective collars, though there was a few moments when Simon let you use a shock collar for him.
They're all your good boys though, and you love them all the same. Always ending the night or day with aftercare, making sure to pamper them all and praise them for being so good to you. You run them baths and press kisses to their faces, whispering sweet words of adoration.
Simon "Ghost" Riley × chubby reader (a hint of smut??)
His eyes widen and darken with love. Not the light, fluffy love. The love that consumes your being. Changes the way you act, the way you think, and the way you treat what's yours.
The dark love that holds possession, obsession, and greed.
"Fuck, luv, that looks like the one. That the one?" You can tell he's not trying to show his bias. But it leeks out in his tone and the way he looks over you like you're a walking sex goddess.
You smile, twirling around in the pretty black dress. "You like it? Do you think it's too much with the heels?"
"Bloody 'ell, I love it. I fuckin love it. It's not too much. Yer never too much. I love how it fits on ya, but I wish it was on the floor 'nd that I was takin off those lacy little panties with my teeth-"
"Simon!" You squeal, slapping at his arm, blushing.
"Wot? Yer mine, it's not like anyone thought we'd be doin anything else tonight."
(This is an unfinished draft I made after I wrote my most popular fic. I don't remember where it was going, but I believe you guys might like this!)
