maladaptivewritings

[maladaptivewritings]

Ghost makes the mistake of trying to keep up with soap at the bar and gets fuck-off levels of drunk.

Which is usually fine, he can be pretty funny for blackmail material so long as someone makes sure he doesnt fall over. Unfortunately ghost has decided that no one is allowed to touch him because as he says to price "ahm spoken for! Get yer mitts offa me!"

As adorable as it is, ghost is still a big guy who can throw around his weight even when drunk. Easily shrugs gaz and soap off of him, growling that hes "married to a damn amazing spouse! Ah wouldnt fuck it up for a night with you!"

It gets to the point that price desperately calls you to pick up your husband, because ghost is starting to make a scene. You arrive just as ghost is starting another speech about being taken when he locks eyes with you and melts. Nothing else in his world as he makes little grabby hands, hugging you the second youre within range. "Babbbyyy!" He whines "I missed you! Where did you go?"

You just chuckle, used to ghosts antics. A quick kiss to his forehead has ghosts brain rebooting only to fall all over again when he sees you "honey," he grips your face gently, reverently "you are so hot. So so beautiful and so fucking hot."

You snort, nod along and expertly remove ghost from the seat. You give the lads a wave goodbye as ghost waxes poetically over how sexy you are, trusting gaz to send the video later.

[maladaptivewritings]

simon riley doesn’t cum easily. he’s old enough to be your dad and he’s been fucking girls since before you were even a thought. it’s something he’s proud of—most girls are lucky enough to get foreplay and twenty minutes let alone hours of teasing, touching and fucking that’ll have them forgetting their own name. it’s something he even warns you about, almost holds the idea over your head when the topics of sex and your virginity come up.

“‘’m a grown man, sweetheart. much worse than the boys your father warns you about. wanna get you ready first.”

and he does—when the day comes and your laid out on your pretty silk sheets, topless and wearing nothing but your cutest lace panties—just for him. he spends an hour with his mouth between your legs, fingers inside you, hands all over your body. he spends so much time ‘getting you ready’ that when it’s finally time for him to sink his cock inside you—

he stills.

you blink up at him, shifting at the pressure of him just sitting inside you.

“simon?” you whisper, shuddering as your pussy clenches around him over and over—desperate for him to move, touch, something.

“need a minute,” he grunts, eyes squeezed shut. his fists clench and unclench next to your head. his hips twitch. he throws his head back when you try moving for him—

“don’t.” he snaps, must harsher than he meant, hand flying down to still your movement, “‘m gonna blow my load if you move again sweetheart.”

you blink. you frown. you think. then you grin. “but you said-”

“shut up.”

tags: @avgdestitute @3m3lia9 @km-ffluv

lmk if you wanna be taken off of or added to my cod taglist <3

[maladaptivewritings]

None of the men in 141 would care if your tits were two different sizes btw. Also they would think hip dips are hot and would not give af about cellulite or stretch marks because they're fit men who work out often and have stretch marks and cellulite of their own.

[maladaptivewritings]

stalker!simon riley who breaks into your house, but it's clear he underestimated you because the next thing he knows, he's on the ground with a knife to his neck.

how was simon supposed to know a delicate thing such as yourself could make a grown fall to the ground and wield a knife while still looking so pretty and soft? not to mention, it's pitch black because the lights are out for the night.

and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't hard as fuck.

[maladaptivewritings]

your kisses get more adventurous until you’re on your knees, lips parting for him like it’s instinct.

at first, it was very cute. the way you'd press those soft, clumsy kisses on his mouth anytime you got a chance like you had discovered something magical.

he loved the way your ears would twitch and how you'd squirm whenever he teased you by pulling away too soon. the way you chased his lips for more made his cock swell every time.

he loved how innocent you were about it—how you'd kiss him with no technique, just pure, unfiltered want, like you couldn't get enough. how you'd sometimes forget to breathe, going dizzy and dazed against his mouth until he had to gently break away, chuckling as you gasped for air.

well that was until things took a turn. you were getting bolder. every time he sat down, you were in his lap, your mouth trailing lower—kissing down his throat, over his collarbone, along his happy trail and fuck, it was killing him. you were making it impossible to get any work done.

but this? this was new. you were on your knees between his legs, your fingers toying with the buckle of his belt in an attempt to kiss lower, those big curious eyes looking up at him like you weren't about to ruin his entire fucking life.

"kitten," he warned, voice already rough. "don't."

you ignored him. of course you did.

your lips brushed the fabric over his hips, your nose nudging lower and his self-control was hanging by a thread. he should stop you but the way you looked at him made him only grow harder.

"fuck," he hissed as you mouthed over the growing strain in his pants. "you're gonna be the death of me."

your nose pressed against the thick outline of his cock and he nearly busted in his pants like a teenager going through puberty. your tongue darted out, experimentally licking over the fabric and he groaned.

he shouldn't have given in but before he knew it, his belt was clinking as he unbuckled it, his cock springing free. it was thick and heavy against his stomach. your eyes widened, a soft chirp of surprise slipping past your lips. 

your tongue darted out again, hesitant but curious, lapping at the salty bead of precum gathered at his tip. he groaned, his fingers threading through your hair. "that's it, kitten," he rasped. "just like that. so good for me."

you didn't really know what you were doing, but the way his thighs tensed under your hands, the way his breath hitched when you licked the tip again, made something warm and pleased curl in your chest. you wanted more of those sounds. you wanted to make him happy. you wanted to make him feel good.

you nuzzled closer, your lips parting as you kissed along the length of him, slow and deliberate. you wanted to hear him praise you like that again. so you opened your mouth wider, your tongue flattening against the underside of his cock as you licked him from base to tip. that spot between your thighs was tingling again. you squirmed in a failed attempt to seek relief.

"fuck," he choked out, his thighs tensing. "yeah, just like that. love your pretty little mouth on me."

you purred at the praise, the vibration traveling straight to his cock, his fingers tangling in your hair. "christ, sweetheart. you're gonna kill me."

then you took him into your mouth.

it was clumsy, your lips stretched around him, your tongue pressing awkwardly against the thick vein on the underside. you didn't know how to move, how to breathe, but you tried, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked experimentally.

his head fell back with a groan. "fuck, fuck—you love my cock, don't you, kitten? been curious since you seen it in the shower, huh?"

you hummed around him, the purr in your chest vibrating against his length, and he nearly came right then. "such a good little thing, purrin' for me like that. s'like you were made to suck my cock."

your purrs grew louder as you bobbed your head, your lips sliding messily along his shaft. drool dripped down your chin and simon was transfixed at the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock. he had spent months fighting it and it felt so good to finally give in.

"such a good girl," he panted, his hips rocking up slightly. "gonna make me come just like this, huh? just from your sweet little mouth?"

you nodded eagerly, your mouth watering at the thought of his taste.

and that was all it took. he came with a groan, his cock pulsing against your tongue, his release flooding your mouth. you chirped in surprise you lapped at the hot fluid that filled your mouth.

when you finally pulled away, your lips were swollen, your chin slick with spit and cum. you looked up at him, dazed but happy, your tail flicking lazily behind you as he scratched that spot behind your ears.

"fuckin��� perfect," he murmured, dragging you up into his lap. "my perfect little kitten."

find more of this adorable duo here!

[maladaptivewritings]

𝘿𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙

A Private in a Kortac camp is the bane in Ghost's side, but he can't just let them get picked on.

TW: Age gap, power imbalances, bullying, war y'know, cursing, fire

Y/N: A private hoping to be in Demolitions, and has the callsign Soot.

The buzz of electric and the insects that swarm around you pull you from your trance. The cigarette sat between your fingers, and before you knew it that serenity was gone.

Gunfire.

The distinct noise from a few yards away, and before you knew it you were full sprint. Confusion and chaos as one of the depots becomes a beacon.

Fuck, you pull up the fabric of your shirt and run in. It was still early enough some poor soul could still be in there, debris falling as you weave through the way. Thick cloud of smoke embrace you, eyes watering.

There, passed out on the ground was a young man you'd seen join the camp maybe a week ago. Tossing him over your shoulder, as the heat slowly reminded you of your mortality. Fire-fight outside, you'd take the risk when seeing on of the shattered windows from the blast.

You take the leap, the promise of fresh air was worth it. Gasping for air you pull the poor ginger from his near death and lay on the mud behind the furnace. His coughs harmonizing with your own, neither of you couldn't run or fight in this state. You drag him into the underbrush like an injured dog, you knew of some places around camp to hide for a brief second. Most used for rendezvous' between soldiers but this time it'll work.

"Stay-" your voice shakes as you drag him, "Quiet."

He nods his head frantically, barely understanding how in just a moment a run for barrack supplies turned to this.

Rain slowly creeped in, the light from the fire fading in the distance. The tree trunk the two of you sat in, hollowed out by some animal years ago kept you dry enough as you tended to his wounds. Superficial at first glance, scrapes and burns but the damage to both of your lungs was an anxiety that was building as the adrenaline slowly faded. Your arms aches, and you could bet you were at least 10 yards from camp.

You don't know when you fell asleep just that the sound of the forest greeted you, daybreak fast approaching and the weight of your injuries coming into fruition. Pulling yourself and the private up, you forced your way back to camp.

Legs shaking, and sore arms as you made the last few yards. the walk filled with winces and curses muttering between you and your new friend.

"Ok lighter," A name of convivence, as you look for a familiar face before you. "I need you to watch my back while we get into camp." The nameless soldier nods, as you wander into the main road of the base. It was eerie, a ghost town as the two of you meandered towards the infirmary.

Sunlight finally broke , and so did you.

[maladaptivewritings]

His eyes are locked on you, neither body wanting to move. The moment paused as he attempt to find a way to convince you that this man in your home is not a threat. Hell, how he'd say in less than an hour it'd be filled with more.

He watches the baseball bat in your hand, smart bird, you had a sock on it. His eyes taking in the giant shirt you wore, and with how you held your weapon... cute.

He looks like everything you'd fear waking up to, your drunk night in now leading you to this. You kept asking yourself if you manifested this watching those horror movies. You keep your ground, hoping he somehow will become fearful of someone nearly a foot shorter.

Doe eyes staring daggers at the predatory figure that lurked hidden in the shadows of your home.

"Come out..." Voice hoarse from bar, your attempt to be strong was paired with weak knees.

"Can't" His voice rattled you, he shifted his weight as his words escaped him.

God you wanted to just walk off, like this was all one bad dream. You knew better; You were stubborn and just paid your rent .

"Look, go upstairs...we won't bother love" His eyes saw the wave of hesitance cross your face.

"We?"

'Fuck' The thought rang across both of your minds as he spoke.

You came at him, bat in hand.

He just knocked you down, brute-force as you hit the floor. The shaggy rug barely helped your fall.

He leaned down, his gaze not just a assumption as his onyx eyes met your own. The old and worn Baklava hiding the rest of him, his slow blinking eyes analyzed you. He could check how far out his team was, try to leave you be and hope that you'd remember it all as a bad dream.

It was too late for that, as you sat dumbfounded and drunk in front of him. He leaned down and scooped you over his shoulder.

"Timeout" He chuckled to himself as he walked you upstairs and searched for a room to lock you in. He had less than a half-hour before his men arrived as he tossed you into your bedroom.

Fear took hold, reasonably as you were thrown onto your bed. Preparing the fight for your life, you were quickly proven wrong. This amassing figure grabbed a remote turned on a movie and looked back at you. Your eyes glossy

"You'll be staying in 'er, and quiet alright?" Nodding he left the room, you heard more enter and leave through the night. Men rambling about something or someone.

You listened though, and you sat watching some dumb movie until you fell asleep.

Irked about the mess, Ghost after the incident bitched out intel for giving a wrongfully assessed estate. He ensured that the house remained as it was when he had left, hoping you'd assume it'd just be a dream.

----------------------------------------

wip

[maladaptivewritings]

[maladaptivewritings]

Pretty Boys

Three part series

ghoap x reader, coffee shop au, tired! y/n

You worked at a cafe, the occasional couple on a date or tired uni student gracing the eerily quiet storefront. It was some minimum wage-chain shoppe that had slowly taken over the empty stalls.

Hating your job was almost your whole personality, so friends claim, and you leaned against the counter. Generic pop music taunting you as try to stay awake. It was a cozy place before the coffee shop, some mom-and-pop bookstore that was stocked so well that it was a near maze. Your nostalgia rudely interrupted by the ring of the door.

"Morn'in love, one black coffee, two cold brews and a frappe." A voice rung out as the song faded, a thick Scottish accent making the order even harder to understand.

Dragging your head to meet the eyes of this customer, to be met with ice blue eyes and a mohawk followed by a man who'd got his disguise knowledge in a marvel movie. A black baseball cap and medical mask stood behind the bubbly Scotsman, sharing an oh so similar look of don't-mind-him.

You get to work, the two chatting behind you about some generic work drama. Their eyes following every step as you make the order.

"It'll be $22.38," The words rolling off your tongue as you handed over the cups, noticing how both of their eyes were locked onto you.

Hastily the Scotsman took the cups from your hands while his friend checked out. His large calloused hands eclipsing the card reader, mind wandering at how his arms flexed as he wrote. Shaking your head as the bell rang once more as they left.

They'd probably be the only customers for the day, and you didn't mind that.

Soon enough, they start appearing.

More frequently.

More talkative...

Every morning around 9 am, they're here, chatting you up as if you had the energy to keep up with the accent.

"Johnny, you're stressing the poor lass out." his burly friend finally spoke for once, and a name. You meet eyes with his own onyx ones, praying to any god that your face isn't bright red at the sound of that voice.

"Ah, my bad," Johnny sighed out. Blue eyes turning to look at his partner in crime, "Lemme make it up to ya', get your favorite drink, my treat." He puts his card out and I shrug my shoulders as I make the drink. A combination some stoned manager came up with most likely.

"So what is it anyways?" The gravelly voice spoke up once again.

"Some tea smoothie, pretty good if ya ask me."

His face contorted at the thought of it, a mixture of disgust and intrigue as he sipped on one of the cold brews.

"Odd one." He followed, with a hope that i missed the face he made. He turned, patting Johnny on the shoulder and disappeared out the door.

Blue eyes on you, analyzing. You hope it was just anxiety as he swiftly pays and follows his companion.

"See ya' later bonnie."

[maladaptivewritings]

we all love rowdy, feral soap but lets think for a moment.

Soap as a overly cautious partner, he's seen hell on earth and wants you as far as possible from it.

He's the type of partner who'd insist on you taking every vitamin, eating veggies and giving any meds on time, because he got sick on the field once and it nearly costed him a leg.

He'll scold you for listening to music too loud, because he's nearly 30 and contemplating a hearing aid.

If you're sore? Hot baths, massages because he wants his hen happy and still wouldn't mind some hands-on help.

Restless? He'll fix that. He needs his sweetie all tucked in before it gets too late.

Soap knows what it's like to be pulling through by a thread, and when he see's your pretty eyes starting to get worn down by life. He must step in, and nothing could stop him.

[maladaptivewritings]

Soap gives gaz shit for his nicotine addiction, so ofc gaz says "well what do you do then? Surely youve got something to deal with the stress."

And soap, with his full chest, says "Aye. Eating pussy."

Gaz thinks hes joking, but you get a text no less than five times a week that basically amounts to "baby can I please eat u out? Im so stressed I just wanna taste ye. :(" from soap. Hes not shy or simple abt it either. Bc when this man eats, he eats. Cum and slick dripping down his chin, beard soaked. Soap fucking nuzzles his face against ur cunt like hes a cat, absolutely zero shame.

When hes done he just pats you on the thigh and stands up, acts like he didnt just realign ur world for the past hour. (He would've preferred four hours at least but alas he has obligations).

[maladaptivewritings]

im so sorry yall......

my drafts keep growing…

[maladaptivewritings]

[maladaptivewritings]

fdtgyyujviiyfyukjfhjfjhhjlghjgvh

john price in my head

[maladaptivewritings]

: ̗̀➛ something something...

“damn, your past lovers were a greedy men, aye!” johnny’s voice echoes through your flat.

he’s sitting at his desk in front of the fan, wearing nothing but his boxers. you’re sprawled out on the bed, lying on your stomach, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. just your panties and one of johnny’s old oversized military shirts hang off you. for the past few minutes, you’ve felt his eyes glued to your arse. it’s practically right in his line of sight, so you can’t exactly blame him.

you glance up at him, confused and already fed up with his nonsense. you’re used to his random comments, he says whatever pops into his head, no filter. and he knows you won’t really judge him for it, so he lets his thoughts run wild.

“what the fuck does that even mean?” you ask with a sigh, shaking your head.

you had been right, his eyes were locked on your arse, not even pretending to look away.

“well, you see, when i was waiting in line for coffee yesterday, there were these two women in front of me. really, i say women, but they were barely fourteen. i should’ve said girls,” he starts, already drifting from the main point. “so, these two girls, they were talking, right? waiting in line, of course they were talking. and i know you always tell me not to listen to other people’s conversations, but i couldn’t—”

most of the time, when his mind wandered like that, you just let him play in the background, white noise, until you heard a few keywords that meant he’d finally circled back to the point.

but right now, you’re stuck on what he said before. you’re confused, maybe a little humiliated. he hadn’t said it like an insult, it sounded casual, but still, why the hell was he talking about your past lovers?

“johnny,” you cut him off. “back to the main point. what was that about my past lover?” you snap, sharper than intended.

“yeah, sorry,” he says quickly, catching the edge in your voice. “they were talking about this theory, about beauty spots. how they’re the favorite places for your past lover to kiss you… you know, in another life and stuff? and well...”

his eyes drop again, landing on your arse, where six small, dark beauty marks scatter across the skin.

“oh,” you breathe out, feeling the heat rise to your face.

the shame bubbles up, not because you were wrong to feel thrown off, but because he hadn’t meant “past lover” in the way you thought. he wasn’t talking about before him, he meant before this life.

getting up from his chair, he kneels beside you on the bed, his eyes never leaving your arse. he doesn’t say anything, just starts grabbing at you like a kitten making bread. he kneads the skin so good, you let out a small, involuntary whine.

the way he looks at your body always amazes you. like he’s discovering it for the first time, every single time. you know johnny's a generous lover, always giving, rarely taking, and his filthy mouth never shuts up about how much he adores every inch of you.

“and you know, i was thinking…” he murmurs, slowly bending down to nip at the soft curve of your cheek. “with the way i leave teeth marks and hickeys on this pretty arse, maybe we were lovers in a past life.”

before you can respond, his mouth is back on your skin, his teeth nipping, his tongue soothing the sting. your phone slips from your hand, landing with a soft thud on the mattress as a moan escapes you.

it isn't even truly sexual, not yet. johnny just loves to worship you. he doesn’t need anything in return. he loves to kiss you, taste you, study your skin like it holds every answer he's ever wanted.

his mouth leaves your arse and begins its slow journey upward. his hands slide your shirt higher as his lips follow, until he reaches your neck. he pushes the shirt away from your shoulder and reconnects his lips with your skin a second later.

“isn’t it fucking romantic, bonnie?” he murmurs into your ear, already knowing you’re drifting into that soft, horny daze he loves. “you and me, we were always meant to be.”

he kisses a beauty spot on your neck. the one he always returns to. the one so often hidden beneath his teeth marks and hickeys, it barely has time to fade.

“you see, i fucking love this theory, baby,” he coos against your skin, laying his body over yours, grinding his now-hard cock against your arse.

“i was your lover in every fucking life you’ve ever lived. you’ve been mine since the dawn of time. always.”

©sillyswriting 2025

fun fact : i might have six beauty spots on my arse... i know no shame

[maladaptivewritings]

Soap and you are FWB, it's convivence mainly. He was a customer turned friend. You loved hearing the snippets of his adventures, and he loved the curves of your form. His benefit was primarily superficial, and you didn't care as he squeezed and groped at you. Knowing this man, who seemed so soft, and kind could do so many audacious things, it turned something in you.

So you'd subject yourself to things, things you'd never do for most men.

He knows that fact too, and how he loves to be a tease and remind you over an oh so casual hangout. Sending your mind back to moments filled in drunken fun. He'd place his hand upon your thigh to drive you mad.

It's causal, of course. When the love bites fade and the redness on you skin soothes, He's your best friend...

Even though neither of you have heard of anyone else in their love lives, and from the frequency of your meetings, it's unlikely either would have the time to entertain another.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Drabble

[maladaptivewritings]

At one point in time, John Price has uttered the words "Christ, that scared the tits off me."

And Simon Riley has immediately grabbed his tit and shook his head, uttering a very serious: "No, it didn't. Still there, still perky."

That day, they learned that John can swing significantly faster than Simon can duck.