#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:

[occudo]

Lo-fi beats to keep your boss disappointed to

still

[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

[ionica01]

Chapters: 1/4 Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu's Family, Ojiro Aran, Suna Rintarou, MSBY Black Jackals Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Cheating, Abusive Relationships, Mental Health Issues, i would like to clarify that all of the above do NOT refer to skts but to ocs, Miya Atsumu Needs a Hug, the miya twins have eo's back, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Whipped, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Eating Disorders, Domestic Fluff

Summary:

“Aren’t ya gonna ask?”

Sakusa shrugs, cleanly dividing the portion in two, then passing Atsumu the side with more tomatoes. “I’m sure I can wait,” he offers, and Atsumu wants to kiss him. He wants to curl his fingers in the soft cotton of Sakusa’s loungewear and remove all of the hair clips and use up all of Sakusa’s ocean wave shower cream.

Instead, he takes out a jar of fresh cream and says, “Help yourself.”

Sakusa loves him. It's a tragedy.

[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

[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

[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.

[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.

[frogchiro]

HELLO LOVELIES!! due to popular demand I present to you this, a kinda 2 part to this baby. I wanted to thank you for the overwhelming love that little brain rot got so I'm writing something extra ^^ While this may not be a direct continuation it's set in the exact same universe and everything so you can read is as a stand alone another part of perverted nasty Ghost (and a guest!) or a continuation of other nasty shenanigans that Si would do to his little hacker girl :(

fem!reader, nsfw, nasty perv Ghost and a special guest, can be read as kinda dark? nothing hardcore it's just implied that Simon is terribly possessive bordering on obsessed and he has dark-ish tendencies so be careful!

That being said, nasty perv Ghost who's almost buzzing with barely repressed anger, almost snarling, teeth baring beneath his mask. He's standing on the sidelines of the mattress laid out on the gym floor as he watches Price go at you almost like a wild animal, grabbing and tossing you around like you're a rag doll, ultimately pinning you down to the floor with his massive body with your hand behind your back and laid out on your tummy, all tired out and panting with Price leaning down to your ear and growling something to you that made you let out a pathetic keen.

Simon didn't hear what the captain said to you but judging by your facial expression it must have been something suggestive; nasty and perverted and delivered in that deep growly rumble of Price's voice.

The blonde man knew that this whole 'compulsory hand to hand combat training' was a load of bullshit, it always was. It was organized a few times a year when the higher ups insisted and there was no way out. It was usually terribly boring, just a load of loud and sweaty men tumbling like beasts while screaming at each other and a few hot-shots who showed of like peacocks.

Except that this time there was a new addition to this mess, little old you. The new hacker of 141, the young lady who always dressed nicely, nails always manicured and smelling oh so deliciously with your perfumes. Since you're technically not a soldier Ghost thought that you'd be spared from the training but apparently he was very wrong and he hated it. He could see how flustered you were earlier, how small and soft you were in the presence of all these big hardened soldiers. He could see that you were nervous and he didn't exactly blame you therefore he decided that he would be the perfect match for you for training; it would be a win win situation!

He'd treat you as gently as he could so you wouldn't have bruises and aches from a rough treatment, and him on the other hand would have jerk off material for the next month. He could almost taste it, taste you. How he'd press you against him, how his big scarred hands would be able to run over your soft body all he wanted under the guise of training. How his big sweaty body would rub against you, his musk rubbing off on you and making you smell like him, like Ghost; a primal way of marking you. How he'd listen to all you little whines and mewls when he'd grab you too roughly and how you'd be able to feel his hard cock press against your ass as he mounted you from behind to press you into the exact position as you were now. Except it wasn't him who had you caged in his grip, it was fucking Price.

That fucker snatched you right from under his nose. Literally. Simon was just about to go up to you when suddenly Price appeared seemingly out of thin air and swooped it to basically tell you that you're gonna be his sparing partner, not even asking, he was stating a fact and since he was your captain you couldn't really say no right? :(

As John was leading you away from a growling Simon he could swear that the older man turned slightly to him and gave him a smug look that said 'better luck next time son, she's mine' and what made his teeth grit even more that he could perfectly hear these words in John's smooth growly drawl.

He's very well aware that Price has the hots for you, that dirty old pervert. He caught him looking at you more than once now, his gray blue eyes following you like a predator watching his prey, how whenever you stopped by his office to deliver some new intel or paperwork Price's voice suddenly dropped a few octaves into a deep, hot and enticing drawl that made you stutter and goosebumps appear on your skin. Also Simon heard Price going at it in his office, jerking off or doing god knows what and growling your name, or the occasional pair of your (stolen) panties peeking out from a drawer, the delicate pink material stained white with John's seed. His naturally possessive character getting amped up whenever you're with them on a mission or even in the same vicinity, any soldier who has the balls to talk or even flirt with you getting swiftly removed and ordered to run 30 laps around training grounds.

And now Ghost lost to that old perverted fuck and he will have to endure his smug commentary about how nice your soft body felt under him, how your delicious ass pressed against his cock and how you whimpered in confusion as you felt your captain grind against you and growl into your ear to 'be a good girl and get a feel of your captain, feel what will be breeding you later' and you couldn't help but whine and wiggle around a bit, you were so hot and so embarrassed, pinned under your captain with all those men watching you with heavy eyes :((

You soon stopped your wiggling and just laid there under the heavy man, his panting and growls rumbling against your back as you got a bit intoxicated on his heavy musky scent, pure masculinity and dominance oozing out of him and rubbing off on you.

You started to wonder if he'd truly keep his promise up and take you with him later, lock you in his bedroom and ravish you, breed you good with his babies :(

[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!

[idyllcy]

MORE JAIME SMUT PLEASE YOUR LAST ONE WAS SO GOOD 🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️

pretty. - jaime reyes x reader (nsfw warning)

"Jaime, darling, ah—" Your fingers dig into Jaime's scalp as he licks at you, lower face a mess of your slick and sweat, his eyes half-lidded as he continues to eat you out, staring at you, eyes soft.

"Hm?"

The vibrations cause you to jolt slightly, oversensitive from the previous orgasms, legs shaking slightly as he blinks at you, doe-eyed.

"'s too much." You mumble, running your hand through his hair.

Jaime detaches himself from you, string of your slick on his lips, a pout on his face. "one more, please? mi vida? Just one more."

You whimper, shaking your head lightly.

"One more, please?" He drums his fingers against your upper thigh, pout pulling further down.

You grimace.

"Please?" He bats his lashes at you.

"Will you fuck me after it?"

"Of course, mi vida. Anything you ask for." He smiles.

"Last one." You mumble. "N then you fuck me, alright?"

"Yes, yes," Jaime hums, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "anything for you."

your final orgasm crashes down on you in waves, your toes curling and mouth hanging open as it hits you, and your moan is like music to Jaime's ears. He watches as you come down from the high, grinning from ear to ear. Only he's seen you like this. Only he gets to. That thought makes him happy on its own.

reblogs are appreciated (˵ •̀ ؂ < ˵ ) ✧

[cuubism]

thoughts had while traveling turned into a ficlet

[E]

-

After university, Hob had always kind of assumed they'd end up in the same place. He doesn’t know why he was so foolish as to think that. But he was always foolish about Dream.

Hob had stuck around in London. He liked traveling, liked seeing new places, but London was home. And it was nice to feel like he had roots somewhere. Like he was maybe sort of building a life.

Dream, meanwhile, had essentially vanished.

He’d picked up some kind of remote editing job that he could do anywhere on top of his writing, and took full advantage of it to bounce all over the globe. Hob didn’t even know all of the places he’d lived, Dream moved so often.

He’d been in Los Angeles for a while and apparently hated it. He’d been in Singapore for about six months at some point. Then he’d been in Istanbul— or was Istanbul before? At one point he’d been in a rural village in Slovenia.

(Hob got emails about these things.)

Then at one point, he’d been in Paris, which at least seemed to suit him a tiny bit better. Still hadn’t last long, though.

Now, Hob’s not sure where he is. He tries not to take it personally. Tries not to take it like he wasn’t enough for Dream to want to stay. Dream just had some things to figure out, he thinks. That’s all.

One day, seemingly at random, he gets a FaceTime call.

“Hob.”

Hob squints at the screen. It’s very bright. He can barely make Dream out. “Where are you?”

“Rhodes,” Dream says.

He pans the phone around to show Hob what must be just about the most gorgeous beach he’s ever seen. It’s a little cove with fishing boats bobbing, water still and sun-drenched.

Dream turns the camera back around. He looks like he’s been crying, eyes red-rimmed, eyeliner smudging. He’s sitting on the sand, phone propped on his knees.

“What’s wrong?” Hob asks, alarmed.

“Is it better,” Dream wonders, “to be full of despair on a beautiful beach, or does it not matter?”

“What d’you mean?”

Dream wipes at his eyes. “I. I thought if I just went. Somewhere. That it would get better. Death even said. Try changing your environment. I did. I did.”

“You did, you went to a lot of places, didn’t you?”

Dream nods, and sniffles. “Why didn’t it fix anything?”

“Oh, darling.” So that’s what it is. He’s just running away from himself.

“What is wrong with me,” Dream continues, “that. I am sat watching the sunset in one of the most beautiful corners of the world. And I feel nothing.”

“It’s not the corner of the world that's the issue,” Hob says, and Dream sighs, sniffling again.

“I want to go home,” he says, despondent.

“Come home, then.”

“Is that still with you? After all I’ve put you through?”

“Yeah, Dream.” To my peril. But Hob will never be able to turn Dream away. “It is.”

Dream nods. “Okay.” Then he stands. “I suppose I may as well go for a swim, while I am still here.”

“Not going to drown yourself, are you?”

Dream huffs. “No.”

He risks the fate of his phone taking Hob with him, though. Holds it above the surface as he treads water, hair increasingly fluffy and clumped together from salt.

“It really is gorgeous,” Hob tells him. The water is so, so blue and the sky so wide. “You’re making me jealous.”

Dream smiles faintly. “You would enjoy it better than I.”

“Maybe. I’m enjoying watching you though.”

“Oh?” Dream raises an eyebrow. Only his throat is visible above the water, but it’s enough. Hob can imagine the rest. His attraction to Dream’s never wavered. “Tell me more.”

“Come home and find out instead, idiot.”

Dream smiles. “Hmm.”

“Oh yeah, hmm.”

Dream’s smile widens. God, he’s so gorgeous. “You’re making me want to leave now.”

“Do it then.”

“Okay.” He starts swimming back to shore, and Hob laughs.

“I missed you, you maniac.”

“I missed you,” Dream echoes.

“S’gonna be okay, yeah?” Hob tells him. “So Rhodes didn’t fix anything. It’s alright.”

“It’s alright,” Dream echoes, eyes looking misty again.

“Just come home.” Hob can’t promise to fix anything. But he can promise Dream a home.

“Yes,” Dream agrees, sea water flowing around his throat, sunset in his hair. “Yes.”

-

Hob half-expects Dream actually won’t. That the flash of melancholic clarity will give way to his usual method of running, that Hob will get an email that he’s now in Samarkand or somewhere and isn’t actually coming “home.” Maybe London isn’t really home for him. He hasn’t been there in years anyway. Maybe.

But one day Dream wanders into the pub they used to get Friday drinks in, the pub Hob’s taken up bartending in, partly for the extra cash, partly to feel closer to Dream.

Hob drops a glass when he sees him, Dream flinching at the crash where he stands in the doorway. Hob ducks behind the bar to clean it up, heart pounding. God, he’s actually here. After three years.

When he stands again, Dream is standing right before the bar, looking uncertain. He’s terribly underdressed for the weather, hair damn from the rain, black t-shirt sticking to his shoulders.

“Um,” Hob says, wringing a bar towel in his hands. “Get you your usual?”

Not that Dream’s usual is necessarily the same, after all this time—

Dream leans across the bar and hugs him.

“My usual,” he says, voice so close to Hob’s ear now that he shivers. Dream’s damp hair tickles his cheek. Hob ought to get a towel and dry him off.

He hugs Dream back, leaning awkwardly over the bar. “Missed you.”

Dream hums, finally releasing him. He takes a seat on a bar stool, a faint smile on his face now. On instinct Hob takes off his sweatshirt—New Inn branded—and gives it to him.

Dream takes it, gaze lingering on Hob’s face as he pulls it on. He immediately looks less frigid, though.

“Is it still the driest red on the menu that you want?” he asks, and Dream laughs.

“Yes.”

Hob pours him one, sliding it across the bar. Their fingers brush. It feels, almost, like no time has passed at all. Nothing changed.

“So,” Hob says, grateful there are no other customers awaiting his attention. “Rhodes?”

“The last of many,” Dream says wearily.

“Looked beautiful?”

“Yes,” Dream agrees, and sips his wine.

“So.” It’s hard to ask what he really wants to ask. Are you actually back? Are you actually here for me? “Are you. You have somewhere to stay?”

“I am not wandering the streets,” Dream says with a half smile. “I have a hotel room. For now.”

“Still itinerant,” Hob says, before he can think better of it, and Dream’s smile turns sad.

“Yes.”

“Learn anything?”

“I learned that moving about doesn’t fix anything when the problem is inside of you,” Dream says. Hob winces at the phrasing of it. There’s no problem with you, he wants to say. But he understands what Dream’s getting at. “I do not know what does fix it,” Dream continues.

Hob doesn’t either. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be in Dream’s head. “Try staying here, then,” Hob says. “What’ve you got to lose?”

Dream studies him. “Indeed.”

It really does feel like nothing and everything has changed between them. But maybe not everything. And maybe it’s okay.

He rests his hand against Dream’s on the bar. “Finish your wine,” he says. “And come home with me.”

Dream takes a final sip of his wine, eyes locked on Hob’s over the rim of his glass, and licks the red droplets from his lower lip as he takes Hob’s hand.

-

Hob has him bent over on the bed, bobbing his head on Hob’s cock, before they’ve had the chance to pass more than a few additional words. Dream seems not to need words, anyway. His expression is finally slack and peaceful, neck craning, eyelids fluttering, as he takes Hob’s cock down, down, down, Hob’s grip tight in his hair. He hasn’t lost any of his skill in these intervening years, apparently. Or his enjoyment of it.

“Yeah, that’s it, darling,” Hob praises, thrusting up into his mouth. “Good. You’re so perfect at this.”

Dream whines, the vibration traveling through Hob’s body, reaching awkwardly around himself to press needy fingers to his own hole.

“I’ll do right by you, darling, don’t worry, come here.” Hob pulls Dream off and hefts him up, sitting back so he can settle Dream in his lap. “Don’t worry, love.”

Dream looks down at him with wide, dark eyes, breathing hard, mouth open and wet. He swallows, says, voice thready, “I need you in me.”

Hob’s heart thumps, hard. It hurts. “I know.”

Dream pushes his cheek into Hob’s temple, lips smearing saliva over his skin, clutching so tight at Hob’s shoulders it hurts. “Hob.”

“Shhh.” Hob holds him close as he works him open, Dream crying out and clutching at him with each touch. God, Hob remembers what he was like. He really hasn’t changed at all.

When he finally sinks Dream down onto his cock, Dream lets out a long moan, then goes slack again as he shivers. Hob tries to breathe evenly and stay still, letting him adjust, no matter how good it feels to be buried in him again.

“It has been too long,” Dream says, when his breathing’s evened out.

“Didn’t have tons of adventures on all of your travels?”

Dream shakes his head. “Not the same.”

It’s not the same. No one Hob’s hooked up with in the intervening years has been the same, either. No one else makes this feeling rear up in him, like he would do anything for the man in his arms, like he would dash himself to pieces just to have him. It might not be a good feeling but Hob wants it nonetheless.

He doesn’t say all that. He says, “It’s not, no one takes me like you do, I’ve missed how gorgeous you are bouncing on my cock, missed how perfect it feels to fill you.”

“Yes,” Dream says. “It’s so good. I missed that. Please, Hob.”

Hob hefts him in his lap, bouncing Dream on his cock. Dream cries out, holding to him tight. “Yes—!”

Fuck, he feels good. He’s so pliant and wanting, need burning in his fingertips and his wet panting breaths by Hob’s ears. Hob would give him anything in the world.

“Came back just for this, didn’t you?” he says. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes— I missed— oh, Hob!” This as Hob nails his prostate, Dream wailing and clutching at him. Yes. Hob remembers exactly how it feels to make him feel like that. God, it’s everything to make him feel like that.

“More,” Dream begs. “More, harder.”

Hob will give him more. More and more until he’s full up on it, until it’s enough for him to feel satisfied, enough for him to cease his wanderings and stay.

He fucks Dream harder until Dream’s reduced to incoherent wailing, throwing himself into Hob’s touch like to feel nothing and everything is a relief. And Hob feels everything, too: the tight heat of Dream’s body, the dig of his fingertips, his wet panting breaths—and more than anything, the overwhelming want. He wants Dream. He has always wanted Dream.

Dream comes first, pushed over the edge with Hob’s hands on his waist and his cock rubbing over Hob’s belly. He cries out, and then wraps his arms around Hob’s shoulders, holding tight as Hob chases his own completion in his body.

Hob closes his eyes as he comes, just floating in the feeling of having Dream around him. He’s missed that so much. He’s missed Dream so much, in these years he’s been left behind.

He doesn’t realize how emotional he’s gotten about it until he feels Dream’s fingertips tracing over his cheeks, wiping away tears.

“Sorry,” Hob says, voice choked, holding Dream close even as he gently slips from his body.

Dream strokes his hair. “Perhaps I ought to go,” he says quietly, but makes no move to get up. “I fear I am being unfair to you.”

“I’m the one that told you to come back. Wanted you to.” Even if it just breaks his heart all over again, when Dream decides he still isn’t happy, and can’t stay.

“Even so.”

Still he doesn’t move to get up. Hob runs his hands up and down his back, just feeling him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Dream continues some time later, still stroking Hob’s hair. Hob’s long since buried his face in Dream’s shoulder. “How you. Can feel content.”

Hob barks a laugh. “You think I’m content?”

“Are you not?”

“I don’t know, Dream.” Content to be here, in London, maybe, to not need to uproot himself, chasing some nebulous sense of better, but content? While knowing Dream was out there somewhere?

“My mistake,” Dream says. He rests his cheek on top of Hob’s head. “Perhaps there is no contentment, then.”

That makes Hob laugh for real. He finally lifts his head, looking Dream in the eye. “You’re the most dramatic bitch I’ve ever met. ‘There’s no such thing as contentment'? Dream.”

Dream smiles, then leans in to kiss him. Hob sighs into the brush of his lips. There is such thing as contentment, he thinks.

“What if I don’t leave this time,” Dream says, when their lips part.

“You mean it?”

Dream nods, forehead leaning against Hob’s. “I am. Tired. And this. Is the first moment I have not felt fatigued in longer than I can remember.”

“I’ll have to tire you out better, then.”

“Hob.”

“I’m kidding you, love.” Really, all of Hob is leaping in cautious joy. Could Dream truly mean it? “I want you to stay. Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

Dream nods, and lets Hob help him up. They make their joint way to the bathroom, where Hob pulls Dream into the shower with him, and they hold each other close under the warm spray, and Dream washes Hob’s hair with careful focus, mindful of tugging it. Afterwards Hob gives Dream some pajamas to borrow, for all of Dream’s things are still in his hotel room. Dream cuddles up to him in bed, hesitant at first, until Hob opens his arms and assures him of his welcome.

The feeling of Dream laying his head down on Hob’s chest is heavenly. It’s dangerous. But it’s so good.

"I'm sorry," Dream murmurs, into the dark.

“For what? Leaving? You don’t have to be. It’s your life.”

“I don’t know quite what for,” says Dream. “I feel I am wavering about and dragging you along with me.”

“Maybe I want to be dragged along.”

Dream lifts his head to give him a look. “Precisely,” he says, and Hob feels skewered. Seen in his pathetic wanting. Like if he had more self-respect, he’d hold his inconsistent friend at a distance, not invite Dream right back in to break his heart again.

Dream’s decision to leave the first time wasn’t even about Hob. They weren’t really together, more on again, off again, falling into each other and then away. “Friends with benefits.” Only Hob had always cared more about the ‘friends’ than the ‘benefits.’ Maybe if he had made it clearer, Dream would have stayed.

Maybe he needs to stop making it his fault, when it wasn’t about him.

Only. The fact that it wasn’t about him also means that it was.

“Why didn’t you stay?” he asks, grip tightening around Dream’s shoulders.

“I wasn’t happy,” Dream says. The words feel like a shove to the chest. “I didn’t. I did not know how to fix it. I tried to leave. Then I tried to leave again. Only. You can’t leave yourself.”

“What makes it different this time?”

If London— if Hob— didn’t make him happy before—

“Maybe nothing,” Dream admits, quietly, still lying on Hob’s chest. “Maybe it was a futile chase from the start. And I should give up trying.”

“Dream—"

Dream plows on, as if he needs to get it all out. “I called you because. I was staring out at the ocean. I felt nothing. But I thought, ‘Hob would like it.’ And when I showed you, that did make me happy. For a moment. And when I told you how I felt… that made me happy, too.”

Hob wants to say something, but his throat is too tight. God, Dream always finds new ways to break his heart.

“I think that maybe contentment is not… for me,” Dream adds, fingertips stroking lightly up and down Hob’s side. “But the closest I've felt, in fleeting moments, is when I am with you.”

“Dream…” this time it comes out as barely a breath. “My love.”

“Still?”

“Yeah. Always.” Maybe Hob doesn’t have very good self-preservation. But it’s Dream. It’s always been Dream.

“For me as well,” Dream says, and Hob lets out a long, heavy breath.

“Now you’ve got to show me Rhodes in person,” he teases, to break some of the heaviness in the air.

Dream’s smile curves against his skin. “You will like it.”

“I’m sure.”

“I think I will like it more with you there,” Dream adds.

“Yeah?” Hob says.

“Mmhm.”

“I think you just want to ogle me on a beach.”

“If I’m to be in a beautiful place, I ought to have a beautiful man as well,” Dream says. The feeling of his rare smile still pressed to Hob's chest is devastating.

“Completes the picture?” Hob asks, chest tight.

“Yes.” Dream wraps his arms around him and cuddles in close. “I believe it does.”