#lo writes

[thus-spoke-lo]

"What's Got You All Worked Up?": Little things that turn One Piece men on feat. Zoro - Sanji - Law - Usopp - Franky - Crocodile - Doflamingo

NSFW/18+ [minors DNI]

CW: gn!reader [Zoro, Sanji, Usopp]; afab!reader [Law, Franky, Crocodile, Doflamingo] - no gendered pronouns used; vaginal fingering [Law]; vaginal intercourse [Law]; somnophilia [Doflamingo]

Zoro: the way you look after a workout

Zoro never cares if you keep up with him when he works out—he loves that you want to spend time with him, adores how serious you take your bicep curls or how you look in the afternoon light when you lay down on a mat for a while to slowly stretch your limbs. But it’s when you’re all done for the day, when the heat of the midday sun has the room like a sauna and your muscles are sore and shaking, that he starts to lose all semblance of control. Your temples are dappled with perspiration, your chest heaving as you finish your last rep, sweat is trickling down your neck; he swallows hard and lets out a low groan at the sight of you. It reminds him of the way you look right after he fucks you, all heated and glistening with sweat and limbs weak and trembling. And since you’re already all warmed up, this seems like the perfect time to bend you over and take you right there on the weight bench.

Sanji: the way you smell

He doesn’t mean to be such a pest (well, actually he does) when he comes up behind you in the mornings, when you’ve just woken and you’re still sleep-drunk and groaning that the sun is out again already, but he needs to bury his face in the crook of your neck as soon as you wake and inhale your scent. Sanji thinks you smell sweet in the mornings, like pancakes and pastries, and pulls you back into bed so he can devour you like the delicious treat that you are. In the afternoons, he catches a whiff of you on the breeze, your skin covered in the salty spray of the sea, hands scented with tangerines after helping Nami in the garden, and he’s all over you, plying you with kisses and lust-tinged whimpers, begging you to come to his bunk, just for a little while, just so he can taste the way the citrus settled into your skin. And at night, he’s insatiable, burying his nose in your hair unabashedly when you stay to help him clean after dinner, taking in the way the faint traces of aromatic ingredients have settled on you and mixed with your own scent that he adores. It’s not long before he’s shutting off the sink and taking you by the hand, leading you over to the table and making a meal of you right then and there.

Law: the way you look in comfy clothes

Sure, he thinks you look lovely on the rare occasion you get to leave the submarine together and you doll yourself up for him, wearing that new shirt he likes, the one that flows over your body like water, and take the effort to line your eyes and swipe a little lipstick on. But when he feels the most hungry for you is when you get back and head straight to your quarters, stripping off your shoes and your pretty shirt and those tight jeans that make your ass look perfect but that you joke threaten to cut off your breathing one of these days. He sits in his desk chair and watches as everything comes off, and you crawl into his bed, face freshly-scrubbed, tucking your hands into the sleeves of an oversized sweatshirt. It’s then, when you’re finally comfortable and warm, when you look at ease and relaxed, and you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes, that he’s all over you, fingers dipping below the waistband of your soft cotton shorts, teasing your pussy until you whimper and beg for more. He doesn’t even bother to strip the rest of your clothes off before he pulls his cock out of his jeans and buries himself inside you to the hilt, pulling your shorts to the side instead so you can stay nice and cozy, just how he likes you.

Usopp: when you help in his workshop

Sharing his workspace with you is already intimate enough for Usopp – it’s like he’s sharing a piece of himself the way he invites you in. But once you’re in there, it’s hard for him not to be heated at how serious you take it. You look so sweet the way your tongue pokes out of your mouth when you’re focused on something, and he feels a tingle at the base of his spine whenever you pout and ask him for help—you’re so close to getting it right, you just need him to guide you, to stand behind you and place his hands on yours and make sure the welding equipment stays steady. Watching the way you grip that piece of metal piping your working with in a way that makes him wish your hands were wrapped around his length instead…it takes everything he has not to grab you and sit you on top his worktable, to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him, let you feel just how much you drive him crazy. But he resists, at least for the moment, anyway--hearing you describe just how hard that steel is and how hot and sweaty you've become doing all this work pushes him to the brink soon enough, and he has no qualms in showing you exactly how skilled his hands are.

Franky: when you show just a little bit of skin

Coming from a man who walks around in an open shirt and swim briefs, this sounds pretty rich. But there’s just something so tantalizing about seeing a hint of skin and having to imagine what’s underneath, like that time your leggings were more sheer than you thought, and you bent over to grab the laundry basket and he got a quick glimpse of your panties (that happened to be the same pattern as one of his shirts). It was enough to drive him to distraction for the rest of the day and make him glad he was alone in the engine room, barely able to contain the way his cock pulsed every time he remembered how you looked. He loves that one sweater you wear, too—the one that just won’t stay on your shoulder and keeps slipping down, exposing just the slightest bit of soft skin in the afternoon sun, and the way it leads his eyes down to the way the fabric settles over your breasts. And don’t even get him started on that hint of your tummy he gets to see when you reach up to grab something off a high shelf, reminding him how easy it would be to wrap his big hand around your waist and just slide it right on up until he can feel the silky material of that nice bra he bought you…have mercy.

Crocodile: the way you look getting ready for dinner

It’s so routine now that you don’t seem to mind—at first it alarmed you, made you feel like prey when Crocodile would sit on the velvet couch in your quarters, his arms draped across the back, a cigar clenched in his teeth, and he’d watch you ready yourself for that evening’s festivities. But now, you almost welcomed the way his predatory gaze would settle on you as you sit at your vanity and paint your lips; you throw a wink and a pout his way now and again in the mirror, almost tempting him to ruin that pretty makeup after you’ve spent so long putting it on. He loves how your body moves, almost sleek and catlike, around the room, slinking into your closet and asking him which dress he likes better. He shifts in his seat as you wriggle into that pretty blue number he adores, and throbs as you glance over your shoulder and bat your eyes, asking him sweetly to come zip you up. And how can he refuse? Of course, by the time he crosses the room and reaches you, you both know that he has no plans to move that zipper an inch, and instead you feel the tip of his hook lifting your hem as he growls in your ear to bend over—he’s going to take care of that needy pussy of yours before you ever step foot out of your room. Guess you’ll be late for dinner, again.

Doflamingo: the way you look when you’re sleeping

He chuckles quietly and wonders if you fell asleep this way on purpose—the silken nightgown he dressed you in before he left for the evening has been discarded on the floor, and you lay atop the sheets, your body completely bare and bathed in moonlight. He slowly circles the bed like a predator, admiring the way your limbs are stretched out, arms flung above your head, your legs spread, one knee bent and lolled to the side, exposing your pretty little cunt. It looks just like the way you fling yourself onto the mattress when you’re feeling needy, how you toss your dress at him and lay back against the plush pillows, biting your lip and beckoning him to you with sweet pleas of I need you. He licks his lips at how your slit glistens, and wonders if you’re dreaming of him, wonders if perhaps you touched yourself thinking of him before you fell asleep. He sits carefully on the edge of the bed and watches you sleep a little longer, your lashes fluttering slightly as you moan and shift, your breasts heaving as you inhale deeply and sigh. You tempt him even in slumber, and he palms the throbbing hardness that pushes against his slacks, groaning softly as he decides if he should wake you with his fingers, his tongue, or his cock.

[hollow-pocket]

[CW: this is a hunger kink story. contains painful hunger. character is able to eat at the end]

T//M//A fic no one from the fandom should perceive

———

Jon hummed as he marked papers. Here in this Somewhere Else, he graded stories instead of recording them.

He tapped his fingers against his desk. It was strange to be teaching, but sort of wonderful at the same time.

As he reached over to grab a pen, he felt a wave of dizziness. Concerned, he slumped back into his chair and put a hand to his head. What was that?

He took a quick assessment of his body- light headed, not bleeding, not tired— there. There was a deep ache in his stomach. He prodded it just to make sure it wasn’t an external pain, and as his fingers sunk into the flesh it twisted under them, letting out a long rumble.

Oh. He was hungry. He forgot to eat sometimes, still used to not needing real food to sustain him. Martin always made sure he was getting enough, but lately their schedules meant they weren’t eating together much, only at dinner. It was 6pm now, and Martin wasn’t back yet.

Jon’s stomach growled painfully again, and he wrapped an arm around it, pushing into the hollow organ.

When was the last time he’d eaten? Definitely not any time that day. Must have been dinner last night.

He stood up carefully, and walked slowly into the kitchen. Opening the cabinets and drawers, he found nothing quick. Martin would cook when he got home, but Jon had never been much of one.

His belly twisted unhappily, and Jon rolled his eyes. It had gone through worse than a couple missed meals. He would just wait for Martin.

He was able to continue marking papers, rubbing small circles into his stomach to try to ease the hunger pangs it was inflicting on him.

Martin got home around 7, and came to kiss him hello.

“How was your day?” Jon asked.

Martin shrugged. “Not bad. You?”

Jon gestured to his desk. “Productive.”

Martin laughed. “Aren’t you always. I was gonna make some dinner, have you eaten?”

Jon shook his head, choosing not to add that he in fact hadn’t eaten since the previous night. His stomach panged again, but stayed mercifully silent. Jon slid his hand under his shirt to rub it.

Martin walked over to the kitchen, examining the options. “Pasta or soup?” He asked.

Jon pressed a palm to his tummy, which grumbled under his hand at the mentions of food.

Damn, he was starving. “Pasta,” he said decisively. It would be much faster.

Martin looked over at him, pleasantly surprised. Jon usually refused point blank to make most decisions, and had to be coerced into voicing opinions.

Jon pressed his palm deeper into his stomach, trying to ease the gnawing hunger, and shrugged.

“Pasta it is,” Martin agreed.

Jon walked over to sit at the kitchen stools and watch him. It was also convenient in that the stools were a little too short, allowing him to rub his cramping belly in secret behind the counter. He didn’t like to worry Martin any more than necessary.

Martin chattered about his day, and Jon responded in kind, laughing at the way Martin described his colleagues and customers. He had gotten so much more animated out here, like the enthusiastic man Jon had first met in the archives.

In the joy of talking with Martin, he forgot his aching belly. Hunger did come in waves, which was why he hadn’t noticed it for so long, and the cramping feeling under his ribs seemed to be fading temporarily.

Jon relaxed more, talking about his students and the school. As Martin cooked, steam began to rise out of the pot. As it hit the air, so did the delectable smell of pasta.

It hit Jon’s nose while he was mid sentence, and a sharp pain pierced his hollow stomach. “So I said that- um-“ he trailed off as more of the smell reached him and his stomach twisted harder, making him almost double over in pain.

Martin looked over at him. “Are you alright?” He asked.

“Y-yeah,” Jon stammered, “just-” His stomach released in a rolling wave, letting out a deep groan that trailed off into a grumble and then a high pitched whine. “Hungry,” he finished, blushing and reaching back under his shirt to poke at his shrivelled belly again.

Martin stared at him, mouth open. “Was that your stomach?” He demanded, appalled. Jon nodded reluctantly. “Have you eaten today at all?”

“I forgot,” Jon said mournfully, as his stomach growled emptily again.

Martin sighed, putting the lid on the pasta to let it finish. Jon was grateful for a reprieve from the smell, but his neglected insides were well and woken up now, and would not give up so easily. They shifted under his palm.

Martin held out his arms. “C’mere.”

Jon did, sliding off the stool and walking around the counter to stand with his boyfriend. Martin manoeuvred himself so he was standing behind Jon, and wrapped his arms around him. He pushed his hands up and under Jon’s shirt, replacing Jon’s own hand in rubbing deep, placating circles into his throbbing stomach.

He pressed right where the muscles were tensing up with hunger pangs, releasing a couple more angry grumbles.

“You’re not happy Jon forgot to eat are you?” Martin asked, and Jon smothered a laugh. Of course Martin was a tummy-talker. “You’ve had to be cold and empty all day while he was working.” Martin’s fingers brushed over the concave space under Jon’s ribcage and he moaned, arching into his boyfriend’s touch. Martin moved his hand back, pressing his fingertips into the hollow pocket. Jon’s stomach clenched, then released in a loud gurgling whine of hunger.

“Is this helping?” Martin asked. “It kind of sounds like I’m making it angry.”

“Feels nice,” Jon murmured. “It’s angry at me, not you.”

Martin nodded against Jon’s shoulder, and continued to press circles into his belly. After a few minutes, he disentangled himself to get the pasta off the stove. Jon’s tummy immediately felt colder and emptier than it had before, and he went to sit down to avoid another wave of dizziness. He watched Martin plate the pasta, eagerly awaiting the warm food to fill the sore, pinched corners of his stomach.

Martin deposited a plate in front of him and motioned for him to dig in, which he did gratefully. The pasta slid into his belly easily, and it gave a last grumble at the first few bites, eagerly demanding more. Jon provided.

After a few minutes of eating ravenously and silently, he slumped back in his seat, tummy full. “Thank you,” he said to Martin, who smiled.

“Of course. I’m going to make sure you get all three meals tomorrow though.”

Jon smiled at him. “What would I do without you?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Starve, apparently.”

[theflyjar]

Solstice / GhostSoap

Explicit | 5200+ words | omegaverse

Preparations for winter solstice begin on the equinox. 

With fruits sweetened by the summer sun and meats fattened by the abundance brought by spring, Ghost has always preferred this autumnal balance of night and day.

It’s been years since his last run; too busy with the throes of battle and war to consider ones of ferocious passion. But this banquet of divine foods is something he has missed. 

He is not one for the summer, reluctant to remove his shirt to let his skin burn, blister, and peel. Instead, he adores this warming, golden light. 

The leaves of the forest rustle in the wind, in the midst of hurtling towards their beautiful, ochre death, and Ghost bites into raw flesh of a fallow deer. It is the first feast of this mating season, to strengthen the bodies of Alphas, preparing them for the barbarism of seeking out and plundering the Omega they desire. Preparing them to fight to the death for the one they wish to possess for their mating trysts. 

Tensions are low on the equinox, the camaraderie of this run joining them all as one, but they mount as the day is eaten up a little more by the night with each passing moonrise. Soon, fangs are bared and flesh torn, and Ghost relishes in this primal violence. 

The Alpha pack fractures and splits, hunting bucks and each other, displaying dominance as their bodies command them to. Soon, there will be no rational mind left.

Only instinct. 

continue:

[stnichols]

Parent trap 👀👀

thank you<3

For all that, Jake knows his dad is a hero, and not just metaphorically. Alongside the photo of his other dad, he has a collection of newspaper articles that his Tia June likes to collect for him meticulously compiled in an album. They’re all the cases that his dad has won, all the lives that he’s changed and it’s one of Jake's prized possessions.

[occudo]

Lo-fi beats to keep your boss disappointed to

still

[quinloki]

I have never felt more seen, and I feel like we need to go to the grocery store together and do long-rambling half-babbled hot takes on different beers that don’t quite align correct, but what would we care?

You don’t like the taste, and I’m allergic, but at least nowadays the California rolls are fresher and the smell of spoiled tuna a distant memory.

At the same time though, fuck me I’m sorry you know in that way that we know.

Warm Beer and Old Sushi Part of The Wrong Side of Twenty-Five, a semi-autobiographical series on dating in my late 20's. Contains sexual content. WC: 1.6k

I hate beer.

I don’t know why I keep agreeing to first date at bars when I have such strong feelings about beer. Probably because this is a city that loves its beer, like loves its fucking beer, like can’t throw a pebble without hitting a guy with a shaved head wearing cargo shorts and flip-flops who’s just amped to play cornhole kind of loves its fucking beer. I’ve heard lectures and diatribes and TED Talks worth of information about beer, and the importance of using the right hops, and the unique flavor profile of this particular IPA, and the myriad of reasons why this brewery or that are actually sellouts and got too big to truly feel indie anymore.

It’s the curse of working non-standard hours, the only things open by the time I get off work are Denny’s and bars and breweries and supermarkets.

Maybe I should start asking to meet at the grocery store. We walk around, we pick out a few things. I learn about your aversion to coconut, you tease me about my love for condensed canned soup (yes, the noodles are gummy and yes it has my whole day’s worth of sodium but it tastes like nostalgia, like laying on the couch with the flu and drinking warm ginger ale—wait, you didn’t do that? well let me tell you...). We spend an eternity, or maybe just half an hour, getting to know each other in the liminal space of the deli section, the fluorescent lights humming us a love song. We coyly hold hands in front of the hothouse tomatoes, scandalize the cantaloupes with a chaste kiss.

But here I am instead, perched on a bar stool in a way that will absolutely wreck my already weak lower back, sipping at a beer that tastes only moderately like warm piss-water. The guy in front of me, the one whose profile regrettably said Just a Jim looking for my Pam!, is talking about the beer he ordered. Telling me about the local brewery that makes it, how it’s their special edition just for the fall, how it doesn’t quite compare to this other IPA he had but it’s good enough, y’know?

He never asks me if I like beer.

We exchange a few pleasantries once he exhausts himself talking about pale ales, catch up on our days, subtly look each other over again and again to see how we measure up to our profiles (it’s 1:1 match, ladies and gentleman!). He seems to have worn himself out already on conversation, like a puppy let loose to run around the backyard before it collapses in a sleepy heap, and the deadly first-date lull sets in. The killer of vibes has already come for us, and we’ve been here no more than fifteen minutes.

I, for one, am a dismal conversationalist when getting to know someone. I listen better than I talk, the only subject matter I can conjure in situations like these being work anecdotes that require more set-up than I’m willing to commit to, or useless facts that I’ve learned from years of playing Trivial Pursuit and reading too much Wikipedia.

My mind is like a steel trap for things that will only come in handy if I’m ever in a life-or-death game of Jeopardy. Did you know that the artificial banana flavoring used in most modern products doesn’t taste like banana because it was created off the flavor profile of a banana that went extinct? My dates don’t know. But they don’t care. They never care about the banana-pocolypse.

As the lull becomes more painful to bear and I contemplate sliding off my barstool and curling up on the floor, he fiddles with the cardboard coaster and says, “You know, sometimes when I come to bars, I look around and try to identify if anyone was born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.”

“What an absolutely unhinged thing to say to another human being that you just met,” I want to say.

“Really? How would one do that?” I actually say because fuck, it’s not like I have anything more interesting to add. Maybe if I let him ramble about this for a bit, I’ll think of something witty and charming to say and redirect the conversation. (Hint: I don’t.)

We leave after a little while, roam the city blocks looking for anything else open, preferably anything that doesn’t require us to talk. He kisses me suddenly as we stand in front of the monkey bars in a well-lit playground, and I return the kiss. He smells like warm beer. I hate it even more on his lips than I do from a pint glass.

We end up attempting sex in the back of his car, hidden away on some dark residential street, parked in front of a perfectly nice bungalow, the flicker of a malfunctioning streetlight occasionally illuminating our sins. I’m wearing too many layers to make this easy; I was expecting to be only looked at from a reasonable distance, not that I’d end up trying to straddle his lap in the back of his Honda Civic. I struggle with my boots, then my bike shorts, then my tights, yanking up my tank top that’s tucked into my smoothing underwear. The mood feels deflated by the time I swing my leg over his lap, my thighs already shaking as they press against his slim hips and he fondles a handful of push-up bra.

We try, and we get sweaty and frustrated, and we mostly fail at trying to achieve penetration. I feel to blame, with my labyrinth of compression garments pooled on the floor, the hasty removal of each item sapping the sexiness from the moment bit by bit. I feel to blame because of my wide thighs and my big stomach that seemed to get in the way. I feel to blame because I feel like I engulf his skinny body.

He chalks it up to that damned autumnal IPA and a small space and perhaps too much eagerness, but the look on his face doesn’t match the kindness of the words that fill the car. I pull down my dress and shove all my bits and bobs of undergarments into my purse and stumble out of his car onto the sidewalk. He says goodnight and he’ll text me tomorrow, and I walk back to my car alone, in an unfamiliar part of the city. Even if he’d offered to walk or drive me back, I would have said no; I need to exist in this shame for a little while.

I walk in the dark for blocks in the wrong direction before I realize it.

He does text me the next day, shockingly. It’s a long, rambling message, telling me he had a lovely time but he just doesn’t think he’s in the right place for a relationship. You see, his friends just got into a minor fender bender in a car that he had rented for them, and the stress of dealing with the insurance and the repair shop and god knows what else is just so overwhelming, you know? There’s just no way he could even think about a relationship, and couldn’t possibly devote attention to me in the way I deserved. I’m certain there was more, but I stopped reading after the third multi-paragraph message.

Maybe this story was true, in part or in totality. Maybe he just couldn’t think of a better way to turn me down and decided to turn it into a creative writing project. Maybe he uses this line on everyone he turns down, like some sort of weird chain letter that gets passed on.

I’d have rather he just ghosted me.

At least I know how to deal with ghosting now. After enough times of radio silence after what I thought was a successful first, third, or fifth date, I learned it was sometimes for the best to just never hear from someone again. Sure, I would wonder what it was that made them crinkle their nose and think, “Nah” the next day. Did the size of my body, accurately represented in multiple pictures in my app profiles, still manage to offend them? Did I not laugh just the right way at a joke that, in retrospect, was kind of insensitive? Did my obvious ambivalence for lukewarm beer shake them deep down to their core, make them question their whole being?

I stand in the middle of my bedroom, shower-fresh and already wanting the day to be over, and tell him it’s fine, and I had a nice time, and I wish him all the best with the chaos he purports to be embroiled in, and then I promptly block his number and get ready for work, because what the fuck else am I supposed to do.

I stop at the grocery store on my way to work, wandering the aisles and wondering if he’d have still written the most convoluted farewell message if we’d just had that first date right here, found ourselves enchanted with each other in front of the pre-made rotisserie chickens. I stare at the day-old discount sushi rolls and want to cry for some reason, but no tears ever come, not when the butcher lurks just behind the counter, watching, judging, hovering in case I need a pound of raw shrimp.

Maybe one day I’ll find a man who will walk hand-in-clammy-hand with me down the dairy aisle and we’ll marvel at the variety of flavors of yogurt they have nowadays. Today, I buy a California roll that smells like spoiled tuna to eat in my car alone and hope I don’t get food poisoning.

[b1rds3ye]

“Your Hoodie? No, My Hoodie.”

How the boys react to you stealing their hoodies/clothes, if they would steal yours, and other cute clothing shenanigans

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions

Genre: Pure Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k (~300 each)

Warning: A little spice but no smut

A/N: After writing some drama/angst pieces I figured some pure fluff will do me good 😌

Captain John Price

Price’s fashion sense has become a little dated, so while he has one or two hoodies, he owns a lot more jumpers and vests (especially those puffy ones that all American dads seem to wear in colder weather)

He also doesn’t wear said hoodies all that much so if you steal them, he’ll likely just compliment your attire like a gentleman then go about his day. When he does notice the hoodie as his, he doesn’t care, you can have it

“Lovely top, darling.” “Price, sweetheart, this is yours.” “… Ah, so it is.”

However Price will notice if you use one of his jumpers or sweaters, not that he has a problem with it. In fact he encourages it, he thinks you look far better in them than he ever will and you actually make his clothes look fashionable when all he ever cared about was practicality

It becomes a bit of a love language of his, for the sake of being a gentleman and as he gets older he’s more aware of the cold. Price is always making sure you’re suitably warm before going outside when it’s chilly and he’s always giving you his own clothes to layer yourself with

Ever a traditional man, Price loves doing up your outerwear for you, as you keep talking and he nods along with deft fingers making work of buttons or zippers. There’s something intimate about it, having his hands so close to your abdomen, with him being responsible for your warmth and consequently your wellbeing

Has considered asking you for a hoodie or item of clothing of yours to bring him comfort on missions but eventually decided against it. His operations get messy unexpectedly and quickly, heaven forbid if he loses your items. He doesn’t have the best habits either and he’ll never forgive himself if he gave your clothes the lingering smell of cigar smoke

Simon “Ghost” Riley

When off duty, hoodies are his go to. They’re simple, easy to put on, the hood obscures more of his features and with his stature they help him look terrifying. He has quite a few but they’re all the same dark shades so for the longest time you thought he only had a couple

He always tells you and Soap that he’s “plenty fashionable” and you genuinely can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. All you know is that it looks like he wears the same outfit 24/7

The first time he saw you in his clothes, it activated something in him. It was an almost animalistic possessiveness, like wearing his clothes meant you were willing to be owned by him

“Fuckin’ hell,” is all he can say, it’s quiet, barely audible but just loud enough for you to hear and get the hairs on your back standing. You feel like prey being found by the predator as he stalks up to you and attacks you with kisses

Seeing you in his clothes is like a public broadcast that you’re with him, that you’re proud to be with him and Simon wishes he can reciprocate but he’s got a reputation to uphold but most importantly, he doesn’t want to put a target on your back by associating you with him

He still does little things just so he can feel connected to you though, he’ll gladly slip accessories under his sleeves or in his pockets to remind him of you

He has taken one of your hoodies with him on long missions, he swears it’s the only thing that keeps him sane when he brings it close and gets the scent of you and home. He’s not concerned about having it damaged, he leaves it at base, neatly folded and stashed away like a treasure that he guards with his life

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Has a respectable amount of hoodies, he likes how comfy they are and he wears them well. The only thing better than him wearing them, is you wearing them

He’s a tease, he wants you to take his hoodies but he’ll never outright say so. You won’t have a choice though when he straight up steals and hides all of your outerwear, leaving you to drift over to his wardrobe and take something

And then he acts incredibly smug about it as if he didn’t orchestrate the entire damn thing

He gets giddy whenever he sees you wear his things, you just look so damn cute. If you’re leaving for an event you better hope your friends don’t mind you being half an hour late because he will latch onto you, begging you to stay with him

Johnny will also try to wear your clothes. Doesn’t matter if you’re a few sizes smaller than him, he’s not afraid of prancing around in a crop top in the confines of your home (or in public if he’s very tipsy). Are you a similar or larger size to him? Well call Johnny a communist because it’s not your closet but our closet now. Don’t be surprised if some of your favourite clothes “magically” disappear

He becomes very proud and energetic when wearing your stuff or vice versa, he puffs his chest out like a pigeon but he does get very serious and apologetic if he accidentally damages your things and will immediately buy you a new one

A chronic clothes stealer, he has most definitely taken your non-important items with him to missions. He stores them under his camp bed, he calls it a mini shrine that he worships for good luck

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably the most fashionable out of the 141 (although the bar isn’t set particularly high), he has a range of hoodies for various casual occasions, dark for covert missions, brighter if he’s just out with friends, you name it, he’s probably got it

His clothes are so high quality you honestly feel bad so you initially avoided using his clothes, which just broke Kyle’s heart because he’s an absolute sucker for the trope of partners sharing their things. He has to near beg you to take his stuff

But when you finally do? Especially out of your own volition? Kyle is all over you, praising you to the moon and back about how good you look, trying to encourage you to take more of his things

Extra points if you borrow his hats, Kyle swears it’s the cutest sight in existence and now he has a reason to look forward to a sunny day

Loves cuddling you while you’re wearing his hoodie, particularly where you’re lying on the couch and he’s on top of you, head on your stomach or chest. He has to give himself credit, he bought some very soft hoodies and on you with his head listening to your heartbeat has him feeling like he’s lying on a cloud

He adores how at the end of the day his clothes end up smelling like you instead, he’s almost tempted to never wash them

He will never gift you clothes, if you want clothes you’re taking them from his wardrobe and that’s final. The only exception is if he wants you two to wear stylish matching outfits where he’ll supply you with what you need

Alejandro Vargas

A man of style, Alejandro much prefers his turtleneck jumpers (also because he knows he absolutely kills it) but he does have a hoodie or two if he’s really prioritising discretion or comfort for the day

Seeing you in his hoodie gets him incredibly riled up, even if to you it’s not incredibly stylish or sexy. The instant he lays eyes on you in his clothes he’s rushing up to pull you into a passionate kiss, hands tugging and massaging you through the thick fabric. Whenever you have to pull away he’s purring in Spanish before pulling you back in

Obsessed with seeing you in his clothes, if you ask for a jacket he’s automatically going to his wardrobe. If you want your own clothes you’re going to have to get it yourself because Alejandro can be very stubborn when he wants to be and will only bring you his own attire

Alejandro will gladly borrow your clothes if he can, but only in private. It destroys him inside because he desperately wants to be publicly associated with you but he will never risk your safety associating with him in Las Almas for his own selfish wishes

An absolute gentleman, he loves putting clothes on you. He opens up the hoodie so it’s easier for you to slip your arms in, he zips it up for you, and then he tugs at the folds so it compliments you perfectly. In his world, you’re the emperor and he’s but a humble and grateful servant, he’s not letting you lift a finger

The only thing he could enjoy more than putting on your clothes is taking them off for you. Not even in a lustful manner (although that’s not off the table for him), it just feels intimate, like he’s pulling armour off of you, with you entrusting him with your most vulnerable self and he’s honoured you trust him this much

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

He likes his cosiness and practicality so he has a fair lot of hoodies and he’s more than happy to lend them to you. You don’t even have to ask, he just assumed that when you two became a couple his stuff was yours too

But when Rudy first saw you in his clothes, he was taken aback. He never thought much of his clothes, they just look decent and offered functionality, so how did you make such mediocre items look so damn good?

Gets oddly sentimental when he sees you in his clothes. It’s such a domestic sight, one he thought he’d never see when he dedicated himself to Las Almas. Every time he’s holding you close, peppering your face with brief but hefty kisses. You won’t be escaping his grip anytime soon

Rodolfo will only borrow your clothes if you explicitly tell him you can. He adores you and treats all your items as something sacred, it feels almost blasphemous using your things

When he does use your items, he realised it’s been a long time since he’s felt bashful. Not that he’s embarrassed or ashamed of you, far from it. He just knows some of his soldiers will ask and he’s near giddy that he can talk about you

Another clothes helper, he giggles when he sees you get tangled and lost in his slip on hoodie, accidentally trying to put your head through the arm sleeve. He gently guides you, and when you finally poke your head out, he gives you a soft smile and a kiss on the forehead as though he hasn’t seen you in months

“Ah, I found you mì amor.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

[ao3-anonymous]

Two authors I subscribe to just posted this awesome guide for fic writers who are writing fics set in the Los Angeles area. As someone who grew up nearby, I skimmed it and can verify it seems pretty accurate!

Also, I've never seen something quite like this before, but would love to gather more of these in one place. If any of y'all have links to similar location-specific guides, add them in the reblogs and we can get a little repository post going!

[sunkissed-summerdaze]

Hey,

Our souls keep missing each other. Soon, they'll meet up and synchronize.

-E.S. Tues, April. 23rd / 2024 5:36a.m. @sunkissed-summerdaze

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: male masturbation, gn!reader, references to unprotected penetrative sex but reader’s genitals not described

Law typically pays no mind to his most salacious thoughts, the urges often a distraction to the work he needs to do. But when he does, when he feels that stirring at the base of his spine and has to shift to accommodate his hardening cock that strains against his jeans…suddenly his desire is urgent and it’s desperate and it’s a need he can’t ignore.

At least, not when you’re the cause.

He locks himself in the bathroom, leaning with his forehead pressed against the door, one hand furiously stroking his leaking cock, the other held over his mouth to muffle his panting breaths. Eyes shut tight as he pictures how you looked just a moment ago in the galley, your shoulders and neck exposed in a thin tank top with your boiler suit tied around your waist.

The way you smiled at him, the way you said “captain” so sweetly, so excitedly—would you say his name the same way, with such tenderness, such care, if he was inside you right now? Would you let him kiss and bite at your shoulders as he ruts into you from behind—no, he’d have you on your back, legs wrapped around his waist, so he could see every expression you make as he slides inside you, memorizing the way your mouth moves when you cry out for him, when you beg him to fill you, when you feel him release inside you for the first time.

It’s not long before Law’s hips buck and stutter and he can barely stifle a moan as he spills himself onto the floor, picturing how it would look splashed across your belly instead. He takes a deep breath, tucks himself back into his jeans, quickly cleans up the mess he left before shuffling back out into the hallway.

The guilt begins to settle in as he walks briskly towards his office, a knot tightening in his stomach when he passes you again and you smile (that smile, that fucking smile), delightfully unaware of the way you appeared, wanton and bare, in your captain’s mind just moments ago. It’s maddening the way it takes hold of him—the way you take hold of him. It’s depraved how quickly he’s overcome, how he’s ravenous for you so easily.

Law closes his office door behind him and slumps into his chair, tilting his head back to count the rivets in the pipe above him. He can already feel himself twitching in his jeans and groans, frustrated and aching and unable to keep his thoughts from wandering to how warm your mouth would feel around him right now, how he’d love to see you on your knees, pausing to smile that smile that makes him come unraveled.

You’ll be the death of him yet.

[hollow-pocket]

[CW: this is a hunger kink story. contains painful hunger and accidental meal skipping. character is able to eat at the end]

[this is about my OCs Gracie and Isabella who I hope to do more with later :)]

Gracie sat down at her desk, relieved that she’d made it to work on time. Her alarm hadn’t gone off, and she’d been worried she would be late enough to get reprimanded by her boss, who, while nice, was an absolute monster about punctuality.

She opened the incoming file folder on her desk and booted up her computer. Gracie didn’t look like the type to enjoy bureaucracy—all heavy eyeliner, black clothes, and chains, not to mention she was a big woman, six feet tall and wider than most—but she loved it. The completion of the tasks satisfied her, and she was good at it.

She reached forward to get her computer monitor adjusted to her preferences, and as she pushed her arm forward it made her stretch from fingertip to hips. Her stomach, having been curled over protectively by her bad posture, took the opportunity of the new space to grumble gently.

Gracie winced, bringing her hand back to rest on it. Of course, being nearly late she hadn’t had time to eat breakfast.

It was just one skipped meal though, nothing she couldn’t handle.

Her boss, Ivan, came to check up about an hour later. “Hey Gracie,” he said, examining the pile of papers on her desk. “How’s it going? Lots to do today?”

She shrugged. “Not too much, that’s actually the finished pile.”

He raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Well, you’re flying through this. If you finish early and Diane says there’s nothing else to do you can head out, it’s a pretty slow day today.”

Gracie thanked him happily. Isabella’s commute was shorter than hers, meaning her girlfriend would already be home when she got back and they’d be able to spend more time together.

Just then, Gracie’s neglected stomach pushed in on itself again, aching painfully beneath her ribs. She reached up to rub the cramp on instinct, but the pressure her hand put on it caused it to unclench, and let out a long, whining growl.

Ivan raised an eyebrow, and Gracie was grateful that her darker skin hid her flush. “Was that your stomach?” Ivan asked.

Gracie nodded, embarrassed. “I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast this morning,” she explained.

Ivan nodded. “Well, it’s nearly lunch. Make sure you get something.”

“I will, thank you,” Gracie said, feeling her stomach twist again at the thought of lunch. Ivan nodded and moved on.

Gracie worked diligently until the clock hit 12:30, her hunger not strong enough to impact her work. She kept a hand on her belly though, pushing into it whenever a particularly sharp pang hit her.

When lunch hit, she opened her bag and started rifling around for her wallet. She couldn’t find it. After a couple minutes of searching, she was forced to conclude that it wasn’t there. She and her stomach groaned in unison. She sucked in, rubbing it again.

“Sorry tummy,” she muttered. “I’m hungry too, but looks like we’ll just have to wait.”

She managed to find enough coins in her purse to buy a couple granola bars from the vending machine, and resolved to save them until absolutely necessary. It was going to be a long day.

A few hours later, Gracie had checked, filed, and stored the last of her papers. Her fingers were starting to get shaky on the keys of her computer, and she was relieved Ivan had already told her she could go.

She went over to Diane’s office to make sure. “Oh, hi Gracie. Yeah, just this, then you can head out,” Diane said, handing her a folder.

Gracie bit her lip to stifle a groan, then headed back to her desk without complaint. She slumped down into her chair, stomach churning miserably. She felt painfully empty.

With a sigh, she opened the folder. She judged the work inside would only take about forty minutes, and grimly got down to it.

Half an hour later, she wasn’t even halfway done. Her belly snarled, deep and resonant. She was too hungry to focus. Her mind kept drifting to Isabella’s cooking, and how nice it would feel to have a warm meal in her hollow tummy.

She pulled out one of the granola bars and ate it. It steadied her, sharpened her mind, and she got back to work with relief.

Half an hour later she was done, and she headed out to her car. Her stomach wailed mournfully as she stepped in, and she sighed. The snack had helped with her energy, but it hadn’t dampened her hunger. If anything, her stomach seemed more upset that it hadn’t gotten anything more substantial.

Gracie pulled out of the parking lot, relieved to be heading home. Her stomach was growling near constantly now. It took quite a bit of food to keep someone of her size happy and satiated, and her body was not dealing well with the lack.

She pressed a hand into her famished belly, wincing as the she felt the ripples of an especially loud growl.

As she pulled onto the highway, she stared at the road ahead of her. The traffic was awful, worse than usual. Dismayed, she checked her GPS and saw that an accident had nearly doubled her hour long commute.

Another hunger pang hit her, and she dropped her head onto the steering wheel. Her stomach was aching horribly, neglected and angry about it. It felt terribly pinched and hollow, like it was trying to fold in on itself to make her feel less starkly empty.

She felt awful, and decided to call Isabella to let her know what time she’d be home.

Isabella picked up with a “hey baby,” and Gracie felt better almost immediately.

“Hi,” she said, smiling faintly at her girlfriend’s voice. “I got to leave work early but there’s a traffic jam on the highway so I won’t be back until around 6.”

“That sucks,” Isabella said sympathetically.

“Yeah. I really wanted to get back early today.”

“Aw, don’t worry babe,” Isa said gently, and Gracie could hear her moving around the house. “6 is still earlier than usual.”

“Yeah,” she said glumly. Her stomach rumbled plaintively, reminding her that it wasn’t early enough.

Isabella paused. “What was that noise?”

“Probably just the traffic,” Gracie said quickly. She didn’t want her girlfriend to worry too much about her. “I’ll be home in an hour or so.”

“Ok,” Isabella said. “I’ll see you then. I was just about to start on dinner, any requests?”

At the mention of dinner, the hunger pang that had been steadily building inside Gracie’s abdomen released, and her ravenous stomach roared, a deafening growl that trailed off into smaller gurgles.

She winced, knowing Isa had definitely heard that, and it would be hard to blame on the cars around her.

“Grace,” Isabella said, worry evident in her voice, “was that your stomach?”

“Yeah,” Gracie admitted, frowning as the starved organ immediately cramped again, gnawing away at itself with nothing else in it to digest.

“What did you have for lunch?” Isa asked, concerned.

“Forgot my wallet,” Gracie said sadly. “And I didn’t have breakfast because I was almost late and you know how Ivan gets.”

Isabella sighed. “How are you feeling?”

Gracie rubbed slow circles onto her aching tummy. “Really hungry,” she said softly. Her stomach grumbled again, and she amended, “starving.”

“Oh, baby,” Isabella said, and Gracie closed her eyes against the prick of tears. The hunger had made her lose her grip on her emotions a bit. “Only an hour to go right? And when you get here I’ll have dinner already waiting for you, how does that sound?”

“Good,” Gracie said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Really good.”

“Okay,” Isabella said. “I’ll see you then. Do you have anything small you can eat so you don’t get too shaky? I don’t want you driving if it’s dangerous.”

“I have a granola bar in my bag,” Gracie said, realizing she’d forgotten about it.

“Eat that alright? I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. Love you.”

“I love you too,” Isabella said, and Gracie hung up. Traffic was barely moving, so she had plenty of time to grab and eat the granola bar.

It made her feel less like crying, which she was grateful for.

A little under an hour later, she pulled into the driveway, feeling nothing but relief.

Her stomach rolled, groaning like a foghorn. Nothing but relief and hunger, anyway.

She walked inside and was greeted by the smell of Isabella’s cooking. It went straight to her empty and cramping stomach, and she had to lean against the wall to steady herself, abruptly dizzy.

“You’re home!” Isa exclaimed, coming over to hug her. Gracie hugged back gratefully.

Her stomach growled angrily between them, and Isabella pulled back to rub it. “Oh, your poor belly.”

She dug her finger in expertly, easing the worst of the hunger pangs by working them out through a vicious sort of massage.

Gracie moaned with relief, slumping into her girlfriend.

“Come on,” Isabella said, helping her to the table while still rubbing firm circles into her belly. “Let’s get something in your stomach.”

There was already a plate at her seat, loaded with noodles. Gracie dug in gratefully, her stomach starting a racket as soon as the first bite entered her mouth, demanding more.

The warmth of the noodles was wonderfully soothing in her hollow stomach, and soon she had eaten her fill.

“Feeling better?” Isabella asked with a smile.

“Much,” Gracie said, leaning over to kiss her. “What would I do without you?”

“Live on granola bars probably,” Isabella said with a grin, and Gracie laughed.

Even the worst days were less bad, when she could come home to this.

[spiderman2-99]

Día De Muertos is supposed to be a celebration. When the dead return home, the day is filled with festivals, family, home-cooked food, and the bright smell of marigolds.

But Miguel O’Hara has no family, is too miserable to leave the apartment, and all the marigolds have gone extinct.

They’ve been extinct since 2095, actually. How hadn’t he known? That should've been something he'd figured out sooner, right? But no, he finds out a week before the day itself while he’s trying to make Gabriella’s ofrenda.

What does his beloved baby girl, who he would’ve given the world a thousand times over, get instead? Paper flowers.

Paper flowers instead of real ones, possessions that represented her instead of properly being hers, a half-done altar that was done in a manic, grief-fueled haze.

It’s paltry. Miguel knows it is. But it’s all he can give, and by God, he hates it. He tried to make it up in home-made pan de muerto and fresh fruit and her favorite dinners, in the carefully arranged papel picado garlands, in finding actual copal to burn… but it’s not enough. It could never be enough.

It’s been a long time since he’d last made an ofrenda, actually. He fell out of the tradition sometime when he was in college, when he was young and unburdened and selfish and so, so stupid, and had convinced himself he had much more important things to do with his time than honor traditions.

Sometimes, he wants to reach out to that little twerp and beat him senseless.

No, he wants to laugh, or scream, or pull his hair out. It’s a sick joke; a cruel jab at his expense, that he only started giving a shit about his own cultural holidays again after Gabi died, when he could no longer share the homemade food with her, help her learn about the significance.

It feels so wrong, being unable to share this with his daughter. Having the altar be dedicated to her, instead of her helping him set it up; teaching her how to make the banners and arrange flowers and bake bread, entertaining whatever thousands of questions she’d have about the holiday and her great-great-whoever’s they’d be celebrating. What would she have thought of the chicken and chile rellenos? Of the Calaveritas? The toys he left out?

Hijo de puta. A parent isn’t supposed to outlive their child.

It’s a pathetic altar too, as far as he’s concerned. Miguel hadn't done this in so long that he'd nearly forgotten how to; having to go on the internet just to remember the guidelines. Even then, there were so many conflicting answers that it left him confused and flying blind the whole damn time.

Did he do enough as a father to honor her? Did the ofrenda do her memory justice? Did he do anything right? Is there enough salt to purify her body? Enough water and food to provide for her long journey? Was the copal actually supposed to be incense, or did it have a different meaning? Are the purple candles placed correctly? Would tissue paper marigolds, devoid of scent and life, be enough guide her safely back home?

These worries swarm like vultures to a carcass, picking at and tormenting him to the point where he can barely stand to look at the stupid, thrown-together thing any longer. He should know how to do this— today is much more than just a holiday; Día de Muerto and all of its rich traditions should be a part of who he is, steeped in his identity, his culture. It should be more familiar than breathing.

But now it just makes him ache, seeing how he couldn’t even properly commemorate his own little girl.

In a brief moment of clarity, Miguel realizes he really just should’ve just taken more time to research and plan it out better. If only it weren’t for the constant high-stakes responsibilities, the needs of far too many all on his shoulders, the people, people, people.

Not like he didn’t try; Halloween and all day yesterday, Miguel had been rushing uncharacteristically through work, trying to get caught up enough to take time off. But of course, God had it out for him and practically half the damn Society wanted to barge into his office to badger him about something. He ended up with a shock-ton of random gifts and baked goods on his desk that he’d unceremoniously pawned off to Peter B. (save for a bottle of Don Julio, but the other man didn’t need to know that), enough sanguine well-wishes to last him a lifetime, and high blood pressure.

And the time and effort he scraped up still wasn’t enough to get it done right. It could never be good enough. He could never be good enough.

Miguel can’t stop second-guessing himself, can’t stop that all too familiar spiral of guilt and self-loathing that rots away at his insides like necrosis. He’s a scientist and an engineer, for shocksake— logic and reason should override his emotions, should stop them from clouding him at all. But all he can do is sit there, staring at the sorry excuse for an ofrenda with a lump in his throat and a throbbing headache that won’t go away.

Today couldn’t have gone any worse.

His joints pop viciously as he gets up from the floor just to prove him wrong. Cristo en el cielo.

The only bright side to this whole thing is that… well, no one is here. No one to see his embarrassment, or his failure; no one to question him, or ask him how he’s feeling, or try to give a hug, or any more goddamn food. It’s just him and his ever-spiraling thoughts and the grief that threatens to consume him whole.

Carefully, with a trembling hand, he lights the incense, then the candles, the golden glow dancing around his otherwise dark apartment. It… almost makes it look better. Less like a broken down man’s sorry attempt at repentance and more like a proper ofrenda.

Almost.

Día De Muertos is supposed to be a celebration, filled with festivals, family, home-cooked food, and the bright smell of marigolds.

But Miguel O’Hara has no family, is too miserable to leave the apartment, and all the marigolds have gone extinct.

[stnichols]

Parent trap? 👀

thank you<3

Jake is - Elliot knows his dad would rinse his mouth with soap if he heard him say it, alas, it must be said - a little shit, and just a little bit delusional.

Elliot and Jake look alike. Elliot would go as far as to say they are carbon copies of each other. So much so that when they had first met, Elliot had audibly yelped. Admittedly something of an overreaction, but it isn’t everyday one casually runs into the literal double of oneself.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Lia's Cod Masterlist

Hi lovelies! This is my official CoD Masterlist to those of you who wish to have an overview of my content so far and future content. This is a short navigation of my works and I hope you guys enjoy it.

These are all arranged in chronological order :3

Sidenote: I JUST REALIZE HOW MUCH CONTENT I HAVE, IT'S FAR MORE THAN WHAT I EXPECTED THAT I'VE MADE.

Edit: I published it by accident 😭

Edit as of January 7, 2024: I will be editing my rules soon and though I have 18+ (only to indicate my age) in my bio, that doesn't mean that any minors cannot interact, you can because all my works are sfw (as far as I'm aware there are a few suggestive works). Even if they were nsfw, your internet consumption is not my responsibility and I'm not uncomfortable if you do decide to consume that content under the impression that you know what you are getting into once reading it.

This is all my replies to asks that are not content:))

This is the tag link to all my content that is my wroks

The dividers are brought to you by @anitalenia, who happened to so kindly and graciously accept my request and the amount of edits it took, I'm so sorry for the amount of work it took you love. Thank you so much for these amazing dividers and for being so patient with me even though you have work 😭🩷

Dating Headcanons Part 1

Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Dating Headcanons Part 2

Characters Included: Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski

Dating Headcanons Part 3

Characters Included: König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Philip Graves (+ some headcanons including the Shadows), Makarov???

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Synopsis: More headcanons and scenarios of Kyle "Gaz" Garrick as your partner.

Engagement Headcanons and Scenarios

Synopsis: Headcanons and Scenarios of Simon "Ghost" Riley before, during and after proposing to you.

Husband!Character/Wife!Character Series:

Simon "Ghost" Riley Version

John Price Version

John "Soap" MacTavish Version

Husband! and Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley Series:

These are can be seen to be related to my Ghostie series.

Husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Synopsis: Simon as your husband.

Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley Drabble

Synopsis: Short imagines.

Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley Imagines List

Synopsis: A bunch of scenarios with Dad!Simon.

Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley w/ a sick baby Headcanons and Imagines list

Synopsis: You and your husband take care of your sick baby. (Mainly your husband)

Husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley with a Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Synopsis: How Simon was during the pregnancy and delivery of your baby girl.

Baby fever Scenarios and Headcanons with Husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Little Ghost (Ghostie) Series:

Synopsis: Simon having baby fever because of his little one.

Husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley Date Night Things

My AU of Simon Riley with finally a family of his own, this is a self-insert with the reader being Simon's wife and my OC as their daughter.

Little Ghost

Synopsis: Your husband Simon came home to a surprise from you and Ghostie (Fluff).

TF141 Interacting with Little Ghost Hcs

Synopsis: Headcanons of TF141 interacting with Reader and Ghost's daughter.

More Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley and Taskforce Moments With Little Ghost

Synopsis: Halloween and other moments and headcanons for Ghostie.

Realizations (Simon "Ghost " Riley x fem!Reader)

Synopsis: How you and Simon, the parents of Ghostie met.

Baby fever Scenarios and Headcanons with Husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley (Ghostie)

Synopsis: Synopsis: Simon having baby fever because of his little one (gn! Ghostie).

Little Ghost Holiday Drabble

Synopsis: Baking during the winters with your kids and husband during the holidays.

Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley Drabble

Synopsis: After a lengthy divorce, you and your now ex-husband have gone your separate ways, though your daughter keeps you tied to him. What happens when something brings you back to what you've been avoiding?

Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 2

FWB!Simon "Ghost" Riley

"Your girl?" "My girl.."

Synopsis: Your ex finds himself at your doorstep ready to beg you to take him back after he cheated on you, unfortunate for him, your "best friend" Simon was there on the look out for you..

"Your girl?" "My girl.." (Part two) (NSFW)

- Part two written by @blingblong55

Cowboy!Outlaw!141 (My version)

Cowboy!141 x Noble's Daughter!Reader (My Version of the AU)

Synopsis: Being the daughter of a noble is a jarring task as you must be always able to keep up appearances, so what exactly happens when your family hires 4 men? Men who seem dangerous yet you know nothing about, all happening to be part of the same group of people. What happens if they take an interest in you? Someone unattainable, forbidden yet also undoubtedly tempting..

Villain!Ghost AU

Teaser..

Villain!Ghost x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Your husband wishes for your company..

(This will have it's own Masterlist)

Bringing your boyfriend/girlfriend to Sephora or a cosmetics store

Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves.

Dad!CoD Character Scenario (Imagine?)

Characters in mind: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Alex Keller, König, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

What Type of BF/GF CoD Characters would be

Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves.

Their Reaction To You letting go of their hand while you're out in public

Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves.

How CoD characters would react to someone making fun of their s/o's trauma (Requested)

Characters Included: Simon Ghost Riley, Kyle Gaz Garrick, König.

Dad!Cod Scenarios

Synopsis: Them as dads, what type of dad they'd be

Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

Comfort Headcanons And Scenarios Of Cod Men With Your Kid

Synopsis: He has a romantic relationship/connection with you (Singleparent!Reader) and he comforts your little one, making you further realize how much he loves and cares about you and your little one.

Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra.

Orange Peel Theory With Cod Characters

Synopsis: Would they peel an orange for you? (Scenario based on the test from TikTok)

Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves, Vladimir Makarov.

A little something of Simon Riley x Bookworm!Reader

Realizations

Synopsis: How you and Simon, the parents of Ghostie met.

Daisies and Talks

Synopsis: Your boyfriend Simon Riley finds you secretly visiting his mother's grave.

Crinkled Polaroids

Synopsis: Simon find you again after a few years, however things weren't in his favor.

Toothache

Synopsis: How does one go "You're Too Sweet For Me" to "My Baby's Sweet As Can Be"? Simon Riley finds himself stuck in a situation, growing feelings for his roommate who's so annoyingly caring, domestic, sweet and too good for him. What happens when he let's himself indulge in the sweetness rather than cage himself in the bitter life he's been told is the only one he's deserving of and the only life he's known?

Disclaimer: Details on sexual intercourse (NSFW???)

Ex-Boyfriend John Price MiniFic

Synopsis: John sees you again for the first time after 3 years.

Masked Men Drabble

Characters in mind: Simon "Ghost" Riley, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

Price Quokka Drabble

Spiderman loving bf (Gaz) x hello kitty loving gf (you) drabble

Nothing's new...

Synopsis: "You were a wonderful experience" "And you were... everything.." (Simon "Ghost" Riley) (Angst)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Civilian!Reader Drabble

Husband!Simon x Pregnant!Wife!Reader Drabble

Boyfriend! Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Drabble

Synopsis: Simon after his nervousness about your pregnancy fades.

Comfort with Price (Requested)

Synopsis: Your husband comforts you after a bad day.

Price makes his daughters cry (Drabble)

Farah Karim x Reader Drabble (Angst)

Cuteness Aggression Drabble (CoD men x reader)

Domestic Drabble (Babies, Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader and John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader)

Pregnancy (Chunky Babies) Drabble (Simon Ghost Riley x Pregnant!Reader)

Mornings with Simon Riley

Lia's Writers and Blog Recommendations

[aychama]

So writing is really really hard and my friend adviced me to just give you guys my ideas instead of writing a big fic for it and Im gonna do that!

And gonna at the little bit of writing I did at the end!

Royal Au Narilamb's first intimate night together

-The kisses to give Lambert the crowns power brings them intimately closer as rime goes by, Lambert tries to initiate it more, make it last longer and Narinder never turns them down or pushes them away.

-Lambert is clearly in love but denies it

-Because of pent of emotions the intimate kissings buil up, Narinder goes to a brothel to wind down instead of risking it with Lambert. He thinks that it's unfair of him to put them in this whole situation in the first place.

-Lambert sees Narinder getting into the brothel and gets extremely jealous and angry about it

-Days pass, Lambert goes back to the land that was given to them to govern and ignores Kings letters

-Narinder visits Lambert in an angry fit, demands the reason why they would ignore a kings letter and threatens that he could send them to jail for it

-They get angry again but they don't have any crown power left in them because they used it too much after seeing Narinder in the brothel so they feel weak

-Narinder kisses them and gives them power only a little bit to keep them up and expects them to explain their situation after feeling better

-He stays in their place? Mansion? -Lambert is not rich idk what to call it, a big place where they govern their land- and later Lambert visits Narinder at night to finally confront him about it

-Lambert confesses that they were jealous and asks him why he would go to a brothel when they were right in front of him. Cornering him on the couch he was sitting in. He says "I thought you didn't enjoy our...times...together. Since you even said it scared you of what would happen if we didn't do it."

So Lambert screams with their face completely red. "Argh are you really going to make me say it?! I'm jealous ok?! You go and sleep with others and I... Do you know how hard it is to keep myself in check while kissing yo-"

-Narinder accepts the invitation. Lambert realises how much Narinder has been holding back as he hungrily kisses them, the two stumble to the guest bed and he rips apart Lambert's top.

-But just before they can fully get into it, the two half naked, someone knocks on the door and tells that Heket is on the move and their plan to take her down needs to start

-Narinder hesitates but after hearing Heket's name, he leaves Lambert

-Plot with heket happens and she dies but Lambert is injured

-Narinder does his best to heal them after they are brought back to his castle, to his room, they share an intimate moment where Narinder traces Lambert's fresh and old scars while healing them and in that intimate, alone moment Lambert asks if they are allowed to continue from where they left off

-and boom. They share a soft, passionate and gentle night together.

SO YEA. Writing all of this would kill me so you guys have to wait for it to be turned into the comic!

Here is what I have written so far. I dont think I will continue but yea! Have at thee!

●

A kiss. It was supposed to be simple.

Lambert just needed to kiss Narinder somewhat often so that the crowns powers inside them wouldn't turn them into a crazy blood thirsty maniac.

When such a thing was on the line, Lambert thought it would be easy. A simple kiss with a King they were active betraying, actively giving out information to his oldest sibling about what he was doing.

To be fair, Narinder was attractive... extremely. To Lambert, at the very least.

And yes their heart fluttered everytime they saw him, everytime he touched them, everytime they stared into his eyes.

Everytime they kissed him. But it didn't mean anything.

The kisses started out simple enough even though it was hard for them to initiate it first because Narinder refused to "force himself" on them due to the nature of their positions. It almost felt like he felt bad about putting them in this situation.

It didn't seem like that when he was constantly sending them out to deadly missions though...

But still, kissing on the lips, although it was to transfer power solely, was an intimate gesture. No body could fault Lambert for accidentaly prolonging it for just a few more second, just a few more pecks.

Aside from the kiss, the power also tasted sweet so it was impossible for them to not seek it out. It wasn't their fault! And it certainly wasn't because they had feelings for him. No way! It was the nature of the kiss, doing something like that with any random person would make you act like this if you did it too much! Lambert was sure.

And it's not like he couldn't stop them either. He could push them away like how he did at the start when he thought they had enough. But as time passed, he stopped doing it. Maybe he didn't care anymore or maybe...

What confused Lambert the most was the anger they were feeling that day. When they saw him walk into a brothel.

They thought,

"Maybe he is here to gather information. Yea, that must be it. Brothels are full of pent up people willing to spill out all of their problems after all."

So they hid and waited outside.

It...took some time...

But when he walked into the balcony, half naked, hair messy with a smoke in his hand, it felt like a punch to the gut. Stronger than any punch they had ever felt.

It was the second time in Lambert's life that they felt this kind of anger. So hot their thoughts melted together. So hard their teeth must have hurt from the pressure.

But this time they knew not to stay and let their anger do something they could never take back again.

So they left.

Walked into a forest and screamed their lungs out.

And they cried.

They were confused. Why were they feeling like this?

They needed to get these feelings out. OUT.

They let excessive amounts of the power they were given out in a burst. It looked like a curse Narinder had shown them once. Crushing force that broke everything around them.

The leaves and dirt of the forest were tossed around in chaos as the rocks and trees were torn to shreads.

Their mind started to clear up when their breathing sounded less like a dying animal.

His lovely unpleasant voice rang in their ear 'You need to learn how to control your anger.'

They broke the rock in front of them into pieces.

.

.

.

When they came back to their King given land, it was Ruri who greeted them.

"L-lambert! What happened to you?!" Was the only thing they listened to. They didn't answer and just let her tend to their wounds.

.

.

.

It had been days since their discovery of Narinder's... whatever it was and their outburst to it.

They decided that tending to their people and their needs was a better use of their time instead of constantly feeling a mixure of intense feelings. They had land they controlled now and people to take care of. Something they weren't really good at.

Thankfully Ratau was here to help them.

"This isn't how you should respond to this request Lambert." Ratau sighed for the fifth time that day and handed back the letter to Lambert.

Lambert grunted.

Ok maybe working wasn't the best idea to get rid of their already existing negative feelings.

---

[elliottkay]

You ever miss your hometown so much during a pandemic that you wrote a whole novel about it with magic and car chases and sexy immortal mercenaries and a sketchy secret FBI task force and adorable cats and the sweetest monster-chomping ghost dog ever? Or is it just me?

GRAND THEFT SORCERY is out now! You can read chapter one for free on my website!

The vampire lord of Los Angeles is dead, plunging the nightlife into chaos. His subjects fight over his title and his missing treasure hoard. The conflict brings werewolves, sorcerers, and djinn close to open war.

Repo man Evan Murphy knows nothing of the supernatural. He only wants a roof over his head and food for his cats. When a risky job lands him in the dungeon of a Hollywood Hills necromancer, a forgotten god offers him the power to escape—making him the target of a beautiful immortal mercenary and every monster within a hundred miles. Evan’s new magic may save the city from its shadows, but only if he can save himself.

WARNING: Grand Theft Sorcery contains explicit sex, explicit violence, explicit criticism of American law enforcement, bilingual profanity, a meet-cute that ends in homicide, conspicuous consumption, Los Angeles, demons, monsters, cops, vampires, talent agents, tautologies, street racing, attempted murder, successful murder, axe murder, motorcycle helmet murder, matching basketball hoodies, carjacking, kidnapping, brief torture, discovery of animal abuse (past/off-page), destruction of evidence, rampant traffic violations, premeditated hotel reservation with Only One Bed, desecration of the dead, awkward meetings with the ex, awkward meetings with the ex’s mom, deadly bisexuals, hypermasculine podcaster trash, acknowledgment of white privilege, false license plates, conspiracy, squatting, looting, mauling, home invasion, trespassing, witchcraft, abuse of authority, aggressive generosity, arguable cannibalism, destruction of private property, search warrant violations, outright lies, phone hacking, petty theft, grand larceny, vandalism, arson, defenestration, resisting arrest, driving under the influence of existential shock, appropriation of queer meme culture, shooting, punching, kicking, biting, couch surfing, bribery of wildlife, old timey Hollywood stereotypes, internet sexism and exploitation thereof, unflattering implications about Heaven and angels, two entirely normal cats, and the Black Dog of the Mojave.

GRAND THEFT SORCERY stands alone as a thrill ride unto itself, yet it shares a world and characters with the Good Intentions series. No prior reading required, but GI readers will recognize events and a few very familiar faces. Again, if you want a good preview, chapter one is here on my website!

Cover illustration by Julie Dillon, title design by Lee Moyer!