#soap ordered the drink for her

[dragonnarrative-writes]

For the ask game, has anyone asked about Autumn Embers courting yet? The sex cake, I mean, the "courtship cake" concept was amazing. 🍰🔥

For the WIP Ask Game! Autumn Embers really is an interesting project. I wanted to use it to explore some of the weirder implications of the omegaverse and i tripped and fell into being horny about it. I really loved everything to do with The Cake. I definitely need to revisit it.

Have a bit of courting conversation.

CW: None (surprisingly)

“So!” Johnny grins at you and leans back in his seat, rolling his shoulders. “What’s an omega such as yerself looking fer in a pack?”

Kyle groans and puts his face in one hand. “Jesus, Soap.”

“I have my pack,” you answer, leaning back in your own seat to throw your own gauntlet. “Family I’ve chosen amongst my friends. And I’ve never found them lacking enough to seek anything more formal.”

“Oh, aye? They the ones who’ve helped you get all prettied up, this evenin’? C’n smell the wee blonde one on ye.”

Before the Captain can growl a correction, you point your glass at him. “Are you this rude on purpose, or is it just a natural talent?”

“Six ‘f one, half dozen the other,” the man answers easily, chin tipped up. “Wan’ tae see that hint of fang you flashed fer us. That real, or just a bit of show for the base?”

“That wasn’t for you,” you scoff.

“Fer Laswell, then?”

You cock an eyebrow. “Is she interested?”

“Oh aye, she loves a curvy thing with a bit o’ sharp edge.”

“Johnny,” Simon rumbles. “Enough.”

“Nae,” the Sergeant drawls. “She’s ‘ere, with us. If she wants something like that twat Brandon c’n offer, she’d have ‘im wrapped around those delicate fingers. She likes an alpha with a little bite.”

“Presumptuous,” you sniff.

“Yer the one drinkin’ the whiskey.” Johnny’s grin flashes his canines.

[zvdvdlvr]

imagine ur bd being out of the picture and your little girl running up to si ☹️🤍

   “Daddy!”

   Simon looked down, eyes wide at the little girl wrapped around his right leg. Johnny eyed him carefully. He was thankful none of the other café patrons paid any mind. “I’m not your daddy, love,” Simon said. He tugged his leg away gently but the strength of a child is hard to match.

     “Annalise, get off that man,” a woman cried. In the blink of an eye, she knelt near Simon’s leg and tugged the child away.

     “Dada!” She shrieked. Annalise’s chubby hands reached out for Simon’s. “Is dada, mama!”

     You shook your head. “I- I’m so sorry, sir. Her dad was in the military. Anna thinks everyone in fatigues is dada… Do you want me to get either of you a coffee to pay you back? I’m truly sorry.”

     Soap discreetly elbowed Simon harshly in the side. “‘M quite alrigh’ lass. Simon, here, would take a coffee if your serious. If you’ll excuse me, I got to go. Bye, little lassie,” the Scot rushed, face lightinf up at the way Annalise giggled as his parting.

     Annalise was still cooing and reaching for Simon. You just shifted her on your hip and rubbed her back. “Simon, yeah?”

     “That’s me, ma’am,” Simon nodded, feeling suddenly extremely exposed without the balaclava he had decided not to wear for one single occasion. “You don’t have to pay me back-“

     “Nonsense. I would feel like a bad person if I just let my kid latch herself onto your left and call you dad and then just swoop her up and leave,” you said, reaching for your wallet before walking over to the ordering counter. “What can I get you?”

     Simon ordered a small of his usual, watching you pull the money from your wallet without glancing at how much it costed. He observed you in that split second- a beautiful baby girl on your hip who thought any man in camo was her dad. So he had been in the service… Simon watched you smile kindly at the teen behind the counter who fumbled for your change. You murmured a quiet, “It’s quite alright, take your time.” A well-mannered, well put-together individual who was also very attractive. Simon knew what Johnny was doing when he left and Simon would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought you were a catch.

     “I seriously appreciate the coffee, ma’am, but it was unnecessary,” Simon said as you tucked your change back and waited for the drink. “As long as the kid’s alrigh’, I don’t need anything in return.”

     You smiled. You smiled at Simon and he swore his cold heart jumped in his chest. Clearly your bright smile disarmed Annalise as much as Simon because she let out a bubbly laugh and put her hands on your cheek. “What if I said I wanted to?” You asked coyly.

     Simon watched Annalise play with a baby hair near your face. “Then I’d say it’d be a cruel thing to tell a gorgeous woman no.”

[readwritealldayallnight]

im on my knees begging for jealous Simon headcanons 🧎🏻‍♀️

The thing about Simon is, he really has no reason to get jealous when it comes to you, and he knows it

He knows there isn’t anyone else who could make you smile so much your cheeks hurt, no one else who could make you laugh until you claim you’re going to pee your pants, no one else who could make you feel as good as he does, in oh so many ways, because you tell him so

You tell him that those same feelings of being loved, understood, appreciated, and wanted, those very feelings that you make him feel each and every day, he gives them back to you a thousand times over

He knows when you look in his eyes and tell him that you love him, that there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he is the only one for you, and nothing or anyone could ever change that

You’re as smitten with him as he is with you

Still though, Simon does have eyes

And while the logical part of his brain is telling him that he’s got no reason to be gritting his teeth and clenching his fists underneath the table, he can’t help but grow more and more frustrated with the way Soap and Gaz continue to flirt shamelessly with you

To be fair, you had warned him that keeping your relationship a complete secret from everyone would likely result is moments where Simon would have to watch you get hit on, and simply have to grin and bear it

That didn’t mean it was any easier, watching his only best mates try and work their charm on you, all while he sits at the same table and watches you roll your eyes at their advances

“Aw, come on love, just one chance, s’all I ask for!” The handsome, young sergeant practically whines to you, cheeky grin plastered across his features as he tries in vain to convince you to let him take you out some time

“Pfft, ye’d be nothin’ but a waste o’ her time, Garrick. We wouldn’t even ‘ave to to leave base for me to show ye a good time, bonnie.” The Scotsman winks at you, pointedly ignoring the way Gaz elbows him in the ribs at his comment

Throughout the entire exchange, Ghost’s gaze has never left your face, watching every time you scoff and roll your eyes at the men’s antics, reminding himself that you’re his, and he is yours, and the two sergeants are nothing more than pains in both of your asses

Finished with your pitiful meal from the dining hall, you stand from the table with your tray gathered in your hands, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look towards the men trying to win your affection

“Once again, gentleman,” you say to them, knowing that they’re listening to your every word and watching your every move. “I don’t fraternize with colleagues. At least not the Sergeants.”

The two men groan in feeble protest at the mention of their ranks, having heard this reasoning from you before

“Ach, what if I get myself demoted, lass? I ken I could do that, easy!” Soap teases you, only kind of joking

“Mmm, don’t think that’ll work.” You reply, beginning to slowly walk away from the group, but not before glancing over you shoulder to lock eyes with Ghost and add, “You might have to become a Lieutenant. Those are more my type.”

The two Sergeants are staring after you, slightly gobsmacked, while their Lieutenant hides an overly smug and satisfied grin beneath his mask, shielding the pride that spread through him at your words

“Shite, sounds like you might ‘ave a chance, LT.” Soap laughs, smacking Ghost across the shoulder in a playful gesture, thinking that the larger man would never actually pursue you, let alone sleep in your bed almost every night

It’s a few weeks later when you and the rest of the 141 are all out for drinks at a nearby pub however, when Simon finds his instincts growing stronger than his insecurities

Because that’s just it isn’t it? He’s not feeling insecure when he sees you walk towards the bar by yourself to order a new drink, at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you weave through the crowd in hopes of making a move on you

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches some tipsy idiot try and pretend he’s drunker than he really he is when he ‘accidentally’ bumps into you, apparently feeling the need to put his hands on you as he apologizes

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches you shove the guy off, reading your lips he knows so well as you tell the guy you’re not interested, nor is he insecure when he knows the idiot won’t give up that easily, likely asking if you’re here alone before you point over to where the 141 have overtaken a booth in the back

No, he certainly isn’t feeling insecure when he sees that the man never bothers glancing back to the table, still trying to land a hand on your body somewhere, when Simon’s instincts take over, rising from his seat without a word to the men who glance his way and ask where he’s going suddenly

He’s acting on pure instinct as he stalks over to you, the crowd parting for his large frame to move by without hesitation, locking eyes with you just as he lands a massive skull gloved hand on the tosser’s shoulder, wringing him around to face him

Your would be admirer isn’t feeling so confident now when he’s staring up at a 6’4” wall of muscle donned in all black apart from the white markings of his skull balaclava

If he were a more jealous man, Simon might take more time to admire the way you can practically hear this idiot gulp over the loud sounds of the music, the way his eyes bulge out of his head and how he looks nearly ready to piss himself on the spot

But your man knows who he is to you, and so instead he shoves the geezer away, turning to face you as one hand lifts up the bottom of his balaclava, just far enough to swoop down and meet your lips in a passionate tangle of tongue and teeth, tasting the alcohol on each other’s breath and the desire in your systems, a kiss that says to everyone else watching, including the bewildered Captain and Sergeants gawking from across the room, that you are his and his alone

[diejager]

👉👈 imagine reader as a cow living in a nice farmer but because they doesn’t produce any milk than other cow, the owner was worry so they brought lot of Bulls (task 141, kortac) to chose as mate but all of them wanted the cow.

Credit to @frogchiro and @nymphany for this!

Pasture Cw: hybrid, mention of breeding, milking (milk and cum), SLIGHT DUB-CON, SLIGHT DARKFIC, tell me if I missed any.

Price, the gentle, bear-looking farmer, had initially planned to have you milked, his high-end and pedigree from an ancestry of HoJos spanning many generations that he bought for a high price, soft and plump in just the right areas. He heard from Kate that she and her wife had bought a couple of HoJos, making quite the profit on their milk, fatty and thick, but silky on the tongue. He wanted to have such luxury in his arsenal, a cute, little heifer that he’d milk for the sake of tasting and drinking it to fill his stomach with warmth until he decided to sell a few bottles.

He wasn’t in any need for money, he had enough to last the rest of his life without lifting a finger, but he liked keeping busy, work and routine beaten into his body from the military. He already had a business with the amount of bulls he bought, broad and sturdy, powerful hybrids that he could milk for their potent semen and labour. Most were obedient despite a bull’s temperament, listening to his orders like his subordinates would, following them to a T without a complain. But there was always that one who acted out, either from sheer cheekiness or mischief, he would reprimand them, punish them if it went too far.

He thought he’d experiment with you, his new little obsession he would coddle and pamper with a house of your own and an open stall. You were so well behaved that he could leave the house open to let you graze and sunbathe under the warm sun when you weren’t busy with him training you with various aspect of your new life as his prized possession. You were everything he could’ve ever wanted, obedient, gentle, soft-spoken and eager to please him, letting him suckle on your swollen and heavy tits, your ears flickering back and forth and tail wrapped around his thigh.

His only issue was that you had problems producing milk. You would produce trickles of it some days and a gush of milk the other, it was a disorderly affair that he sought to fix if he wanted to create a stable trade with you alone. When he brought the issue up with Kate, she told him that cows usually produced more milk after birthing, breasts heavy with milk and aching to be milked of it’s produce, thick and rich tasting to raise a little calf that he would soon sell than let them take your attention away.

“Introduce her to the bulls, they might help,” were the mind blowing words that Kate’s wife gave him, the cementing proposition that had him make his mind on the next step.

He introduced you to his bulls, bringing them outside of their stalls and letting them roam the fenced pasture beside yours, watching you lay under the sun and ears flick away a buzzing bug. They’ve seen other hybrids before, women especially, but have never shown any interest in of them. He feared he’d have to introduce you to another farmer’s hybrid (Price wanted to take thing into his own hands, but he didn’t know how you’d take it to his advances) if you didn’t catch their attention, bringing in a stranger to breed you.

Fortunately, they were quick to scent you out, seemingly riled up and pumping out more seed since he bought you, restlessly wandering in circles in their stalls to sate the need to get to you as fast as they could. Their eyes gleaming with arousal and nostrils flared to sniff you out, stalking to the edge of their pen, the metal unflinching to their harsh grip on the fence. They looked starved - possessed - with how eager they were to cross the barrier, hollering at you and trying to coax you towards their side of Price’s land.

Soap and König looked the most out of it, slumped over with deluded perversion of need and hunger, arms reaching for your seated figure, staring at the group of bulls with wide eyes. Nikto wasn’t any better, both he, Krueger and Ghost glaring down at you with vicious and burning eyes, lost in their minds of dark desires and corrupted dreams. Gaz and Horangi were softer, more hesitant to spook you, but they were as restless as the rest of their housemates. You were none the wiser, gazing at them with your pretty, doe eyes, meeting their eyes with innocent and a cute smile, always ready to please others.

Perhaps he should’ve acquainted you all before.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny

[writersdrug]

Bartender ghost’s reaction to waitress reader getting hit on by a customer or customers.

There's not nearly enough of these in my askbox send me mooooreeeeeee

He kinda hates it. He hates seeing her getting ogled at, hates seeing them scribble their numbers on the receipts, hates the way they make you run back and forth to grab them ketchup, mayo, more drinks, or to ask Soap for an extra side of fries - hates the way they try to chat you up, leaning back in their seats and saying anything that'll get you giggling and bright eyed - Simon knows it's all for their pleasure, having you at their beck and call for an hour or two, making you their personal little errand girl and watching you weave around tables and customers for their own enjoyment.

Simon isn't mad at you for wearing those shorts and skirts that have the patrons' eyes glued to your backside, or those low-cut, tight tops that hug you so nicely, making them stutter as they give you their order. He's mad at them, those sleazeballs who think they're worth your time or attention. You're his waitress, not their toy. His pretty little over-achiever.

And that's exactly why he tolerates it. He knows you're a grown adult, and he knows you're smart. You play their game, smiling sweetly and acting the tiniest bit coy and frazzled, nonetheless fulfilling every single one of their requests. Pretending to be apologetic about a burger not made to a customer's liking, then barking out orders to Soap once you're behind the kitchen door (don't worry, he barks back). You do it all for the fat tips, the double, sometimes triple digits on their receipts. He swallows the bitter taste of jealousy - well, he tries to. He's got his own patrons at the bartop to worry about.

You waltz over at the end of your shift and slap a receipt on the counter. "Some bloke left me a billion dollar tip." You say with a cheeky grin, cheeks flushed from hours of running between tables.

Ghost cocks an eyebrow, looking at the receipt. Sure enough, the idiot had left his mobile number in the tips section - technically, he left you four billion.

"That won't go through, 'n you know it." He says, looking over the edge of the receipt at you.

You purse your lips and tilt your chin down, looking up at him through your stupid, bloody, gorgeous eyes. "Twenty percent auto-grat, since that's technically not a tip? Pretty pleeeeease?"

He wants to say no, just to prove he's strong-willed against your flirtatious antics. He's an ex-SAS soldier. He's better than this. Your charm may fool those boys at his tables, but not him.

That is, until you carefully wrap your delicate hand around his wrist, using your other fingers to fold the receipt over his knuckles. "It'll be our little secret."

Thank god he has the counter to hide his raging hard on. He huffs and snatches the receipt from your fingers, turning to the POS.

"Fuckin' whatever." He says, punching in the tip. You squeal in delight and flit back to the restaurant floor to finish your tasks.

"Thanks Simon!" You chirp, and he grunts over his shoulder - discretely pressing his boner into counter.

You have to fan the heat from your face, remembering how his wrist felt in your hand.

[fictionismyreality3]

Scary Dog Privilege

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, allusions to violence

Notes: I want all four of them to walk behind me while I carry a bunch of shopping bags 🤭

Gaz is probably the most level-headed of the 141, but that doesn't mean he won't go to bat for you in an instant. While he might not look as outwardly imposing as Ghost, or have the mecurial grin that Johnny can sport, he is like a snake.

Gaz will walk beside you while you're out, larger hand around your smaller one, a flicker of danger in his eye that only shows to anyone who looks a little too long. He doesn't need bloodly knuckles when he has his tongue.

"Oh, you were just askin' her a question?" All piercing gaze and sharp tone. "Looks like you were just leaving, yeah?"

Soap on the other hand, well... he's a little more physical with the people he's protective of. The man will not hesitate to throw a punch or two if someone so much as looks in your direction a little too long.

Johnny's a little too eager, seeing his abilty to protect you as a way to prove his love. Many nights at the bar with the team have ended with you or Simon pulling him off of someone who tried to order you a drink.

"C'mon, bonnie-" He'd plead, spitting some blood out in his desire to get back to the brawl. "Let m'show ye how good I can fight f'ye."

Price is a little more quiet in his protectiveness, but a little more showy than Gaz. A big hand on the small of your lower back, all burly and gruff as he follows you to whatever store you want to go in next.

Doesn't mind making a point of who you belong to, but prefers using his years of being in a position of leadership to his advantage. Someone giving you trouble at the check out counter? He'll have a nice chat with the young man about the importance of good manners.

"Go wait in the car, little one." God forbid someone tries to charge you $300 for an oil change. "I'm just going to go over the bill with our friend here."

Ghost just has to stand there. The man is like a wall of darkness and shadow and will take advantage of his soulless brown eyes. He doesn't hold your hand while you're out, but thats only because he believes any outward display of affection would get you linked to him and killed.

That said, he doesn't even really have to touch you for others to know you're his. Will follow you around like a lost puppy, just hovering behind you as you walk the streets and point to displays in the window. His presence is threatening enough. But he has no qualms getting messy.

"Simon... he only asked for directions." You stared down at his bloody hands. "..fucker spoke t'you." "Yeah, for directions-"

"Didn't like it."

[skyrigel]

Something bout' Simon being shy and awakard around you and especially not no.1 fan of coffee and cafes, so ofcourse it fell upon Soap to drag him practically while he sulked and brooded, his frown was glaring through his masked face but that was until you stood up from behind the counter, a smile plastered to your face and the way your eyes crinkled oh, Simon wasn't the one for bells ringing and soft music in the background but in that moment he knew what the chaos was all about because damn, he was such a goner, your smile was the most beautiful thing about you, and the twinkle of your eyes and the flutter of your lashes and the scrunching of your neck and...wait—fuck..you were looking at him—oh no, fuck.

“....Sir, What would like to order ?” you said, tilting your head and was it... Simon wasn't blushing or was he ? It was evident with the way Soap groaned next to him that the question has been repeated.

“Oh, he loves chocolate muffin! And—”Soap clicked his tongue, poking Ghost on his arm and un freezing him from the fucking goddamn awakening, because it surely felt like that, his heart never quite paced as it was now and let alone the heat that crept up his whole face, he wasn't about to say anything about the tug down his navel, such effect you had on him, just by the blaze of your eyes and a sprinkle of your smile.

“ —Cappuccino with the heart on !” for a fact, He didn't like coffee and let alone the heart but Simon realised how nothing mattered as long as it made you smile.

“ Thankyou, Please take a seat.” Your eyes flickered to the big man, only his eyes visible that never left yours.

~~~

“ Was that a pathetic attempt at flirting?” John propped on his elbow, nursing his banana pie, a very eccentric taste of his.

“What ?” Simon made no effort to tear his gaze off you while you catered to another customer.

“ fuck, you are staring ! Stop staring bastard.”

“ Drink your bloody coffee.” Simon reluctantly turned to his smirking cheeky face, John pushed forward the Cappuccino cup with a heart that you had served moments ago, resulting a very awakard Simon who knocked off a plate when his fingers brushed yours. Pathetic, yes.

“ So...you like her ?” John shaked his head in a sloppy way. A smile crossed his face, enough to make him bite his lips, he glanced back at you, happily taking out pineapple pastry.

“That's missus you're talking bout'.”

Masterlist

[tojisun]

currently obsessed with biker!simon!!!! how do you think he and reader met? i think, whatever the situation was, he was the one that couldn't get his eyes off her and started to bluntly stare??? maybe soap was with him and laughed bc he had never saw him get this serious about any girl he had laid his eyes on 😫😫😫😫

BAE I WENT FERAL WHEN I READ THIS BECAUSE YEAH!!! YEAH

ok so this is gonna be ridiculous but bear with me because im actually so obsessed with biker!simon im unwell

simon prefers using his bike whenever he’s out with his friends. there’s no use taking his car, anyway. not with kyle hitching a ride with john, and johnny taking his own car on the few occasions that he does bring someone home with him.

simon’s never had to take those things into account because he preferred a quiet end to his nights, anyway. just a shot of bourbon and a short dinner with his friends, and then he’s back on the road and on his way home.

so he’s never had regrets with taking his bike. until today, of course.

he’s noticed you since you walked into the bar with your friends, your arm hooked around one of them and your head tilted to hear them better. the others who are not engaged in a discussion with you whipped their heads around to find an empty booth and simon almost crushed his glass at the way his heart leapt when he realized that the closest empty booth in the place was the one directly beside his group’s. 

simon watched as your group moved closer, the chatter finally piercing his ears and, unconsciously, his body turned to hear you better. from in front of him, johnny’s pinched lips finally wobbled as he wheezed out a laugh, breaking simon’s focus.

“what?” simon barked out, feeling warmth creep up from his neck to his ears, half of his mind focused on the group settling behind him. 

“holy shit,” johnny said mid-laughter. “you don’t know anythin’ about subtlety.”

simon grumbled then, in denial, but now he just fully stopped caring.

somehow, as the night progressed, simon gravitated towards the seat facing yours, a spot where he had a clear vantage view of you. he’s taken advantage of the change in seating, devouring the sight you make as you giggled with your friends. devouring the change in atmosphere, now that you’ve begun to return his heated looks.

it started with curious looks, born from your friend whispering to you how simon was staring; how, throughout the night, he did not entertain all those who went up beside him and focused only on you. then your gaze shifted into something scalding. something that sent liquid fire warming simon from the pit of his stomach to the back of his spine.

mactavish sighs beside him. “just buy the lass a drink already.”

simon peels his eyes away from you to look at johnny, mulling over the suggestion before grunting out a thanks. he stands up and walks to the bar, calling out to get the bartender’s attention.

remembering the bellini that you’ve been nursing since you got here, simon asks for another flute of the cocktail and requests that it be served to you. he turns when he says this, hoping to give the bartender a clear view of who the bellini is for only to blink in surprise when he sees you standing just a few feet away from him.

“sir?” the man behind the counter asks.

“sorry. just serve it here,” simon replies, his eyes still on you. there is shuffling behind him, the bartender probably leaving to whip up his order, but simon honestly doesn’t care anymore.

not when you finally shuffle close, a shy smile dancing on your lips.

“hello,” you greet, voice a hesitant whisper, and simon feels like he’s been gutted.

you’re so goddamn beautiful, it’s catastrophic. 

simon thinks of how short you are, something he’s first noticed the moment you walked into the bar. it’s not like he’s surprised by the realization given that he tends to tower over anyone ever since he hit his growth spurt, but there is something unfurling in the pit of his stomach as he realizes how perfectly you fit in his arms. how easy it would be to just tuck you underneath his chin and slot himself around you. 

“hey,” he finally replies, his eyes roving along your features, trying to memorize the shimmer of your lips. the long wisps of your lashes. “‘m simon.”

you giggle, introducing yourself shyly, and the sound of your laughter tickles his ears, making him weak to his knees. he mouths your name, testing it out for himself and preening when it rolls off his tongue with ease. like your name is something simon is supposed to always call. 

his new favourite word.

“sorry,” you say, lifting your hand like you want to reach out and touch him, only for you to snuff out the action in your anxiousness. “i don’t, uh, come up to people i find attractive so this is really making me nervous.”

simon is aware of how good he looks – he’s proud of it even – but there is something about a pretty darling like you admitting how his looks make you nervous that sparks the desire in him to transform into something more carnal.

something more visceral.

he reaches his hand out toward you, inviting you to finally close the remaining distance between you two, and smiles when you take the offer, placing your hand on top of his palm, sending goosebumps to rise across his skin. you step into his space and simon has to stop himself from breathing you in, afraid how he’ll end up reacting when he’s taken a whiff of your intoxicating scent. 

“i’ve ordered you a drink,” simon whispers, his voice a hoarse croak.

“oh,” you mumble. “thank you...”

he notes the hesitation in your words, the bubble in his chest popping as his worry extinguishes his burning desire. “you don’t have to drink it.”

“no!” 

he startles at your reaction, his wide eyes staring back at your equally shocked ones. 

it takes a heartbeat before the two of you are breaking off into choked laughter, your body angled to muffle your giggles on the sleeves of his sweater. simon’s heart clenches at the cute display and he curls his arms around you, pulling you close until your head is pressed on his chest.

he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

it takes a while for the laughter to fizzle out, leaving you putty in his arms, your chin digging into his chest as you gaze up at him. simon eagerly returns your stare, his lips stretched into the softest of smiles now that he has you in his arms. he brushes your hair away from your face, warmth exploding in his chest at your happy little sigh.

“wanna leave this place with you,” you tell him and simon trembles with need. 

because he wants you to come home with him too. wants to show you how a sweetheart like you deserves to be treated. how you deserve to be cherished and pampered and revered. 

then, he remembers his goddamn harley. 

fuck. 

wait. now that he thinks about it-

“is there something wrong?” you ask, face creasing in worry at seeing his frown. 

“don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” simon replies, his mind already mapping out the roads to his place. “lemme just grab my keys while you drink up, yeah?”

you nod softly, eyes fluttering close when simon leans forward to press his lips on the top of your head, before stepping away from your warmth. he watches the way you ambled towards the bar counter, carefully picking up your new flute of bellini before turning to show him that adorable little smile that simon’s starting to be addicted to and taking a small sip of your cocktail.

the wrap of your pretty lips around the straw shouldn’t stir something so carnal in him but it does and simon gulps, well aware of the sudden thirst that sucked the moisture from his throat, before turning to march towards his table.

johnny whistles out loud when simon reaches them, tipping his new glass of beer and whooping even when kyle growls how he’s being too loud. simon would’ve sided with garrick, but his patience is running thin and the need that is raging within him is gaining strength so he ignores them both to stand beside johnny.

“keys.”

“what?”

“mactavish, give me your keys.”

“...why?”

simon holds in a sigh as he watches kyle reach over to smack johnny on the back of his head. “what the hell do you think?” 

john continues to ignore the group, his eyes trained somewhere on the dance floor. traitor, simon thinks. 

“oh,” johnny whispers. “oh!” 

he tries not to tap his foot as johnny grapples with his trousers, hitting his elbows on the edge of the table and angrily cursing in scottish, before finally fishing them out of the depths of his pockets and presenting them to simon. simon takes them with urgency, almost ripping them from johnny’s fingers, before throwing the keys of his harley to johnny and barking out his thanks.

“use protection!” johnny screams because of course he would. he’s a fucking bastard.

simon flips him off as he marches back towards you. 

you look up at hearing him call your name, your beautiful face glowing as you smile at him again.

god, he’ll never tire of seeing your pretty smile.

“ready?” he asks, masking the excitable tremble of his voice with a quick cough.

“mhmm!” you reply, putting down your half-empty cocktail and clambering beside simon’s side. he presses another kiss on the top of your head, this time no longer holding back as he breathes you in, and leads you out towards johnny’s car.

next time, he’ll take you out for a bike ride. 

because simon promises that there will be a next time.

starting to think if i might need a masterlist for biker!simon atp // edit: mlist!

[luveline]

May I pretty please request an emergency medicine doctor!reader x Hotch blurb? I’d love to see both of them in careers that are difficult, yet despite that they still manage to be together because they understand each other so much. Maybe something with the rest of the team as well if it’s possible 🫶🏼🥹

Emily used to think Hotch would never be happy again. She’d drive him home after work, pick him up in the mornings, and she’d think about how miserable he was, the kind of misery that hooks you in its grip, has you turning to wine or whiskey just to keep breathing. 

She thought for sure he’d buckle. When Hayley died, he’d have to. How could you not? But he kept going and proved she should’ve had more faith in him, becoming the father Jack deserves, and, surprisingly, your partner. 

“You’re squeezing me too tight,” you mumble, just loud enough for Emily and the others to hear you where Hotch hugs you a few feet from the dinner table. “Why are you trying to break my back?” 

“I haven’t seen you in three weeks.” 

“Eighteen days is not three weeks.” 

“It might as well be.” Hotch peels away from you to give you a once over. Emily’s half jealousy and half fondness, seeing him love someone so obviously. “Are you hungry? I ordered for you.” 

“Super hungry. Do I smell like antiseptic?” 

“No, just soap.” 

“Well, that’s not much better.” 

Hotch puts his arm behind your back and guides you to the table. The team squeeze out hellos between mouthfuls and you take your place at Hotch’s side behind a steaming plate. You’re as ravenous as the rest of them after your long shift; Morgan can hardly get a word out of you for the first ten minutes, though he tries, and you attempt to be polite. Emily nudges him until he gets the hint to stop. 

“Here,” Hotch says, putting a heaping of his food onto your plate with a large spoon. 

“Stop.” You attack his spoon with a fork. 

“It’s fine, you like it more than I do.” 

“Don’t care. You need your energy. I’m going to make you carry me up the stairs home.” 

He’s unintimidated. “Ah.” 

“Ah,” you echo. “You sound so doubtful.” 

Hotch looks like he might try to keep flirting with you, but he gives in quickly, betraying how much he’s missed you with a hand slipping under the table. Emily sees his fingers curl over your knee, averting her gaze with a feigned sip of coke. 

She can deduce the silent question you ask one another about anyways. 

“We’ll have dessert,” you say. We won’t skip out early. “What are you having, Dr. Reid?” 

Hotch orders you three different things, which you eat fast. 

“They’re not feeding you at the hospital?” Rossi asks. 

“Three emergency transfers in twelve hours,” you explain, slouching now into Hotch’s side, one slow inch at a time. “I didn’t have time for much.” 

“That’s not healthy,” Hotch murmurs in concern. 

“I’m sure I can ask any of your friends about your eating habits and find a similar schedule,” you brush him off, raising your gaze to Emily, then Morgan, then Rossi and Reid. Everyone smiles the same way. Hotch is caught, and his laugh jostles your shoulder. 

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘do as I say, and not as I do?’” he asks. 

God, Emily thinks with a huff of a laugh she can’t contain, get a room. 

“He likes that one,” Spencer says. 

“I don’t doubt it.” You lift your lips to his jaw and press a peck to the line of it. One, then two. “Maybe that’s why we've lasted as long as we have. Mutual disregard for our wellbeing.” 

“And a great deal of care for each other,” Rossi says, nodding sagely. “This is why my marriages never last.” 

“Is that why?” Spencer asks. 

“You’ve gotten to be quite the lark.”

“Lark,” Hotch whispers to you. Emily, sitting at his other side, might be the only one who hears, the others distracted by Spencer and Rossi’s ensuing squabble.

“Scoundrel,” you agree. 

“How’s your head now?” 

“It’s gonna be a hundred percent better if you give me that,” you say, pointing hopefully at his full drink. 

He doesn’t hesitate to press it into your hand. Emily would never suspect you hadn’t seen one another for weeks; you move and he follows. You rub your cheek against his shoulder. He touches his nose to your hair, his eyes shuttering closed for one stolen, blissful second. “Missed you,” he says under his breath. 

Emily looks away with a smile. Hotch isn’t hopelessly miserable anymore. 

[quarterlifekitty]

so about the suggestively mute girl series (best one yet keep it up my love)

what about dual oral…si and soap both going at it between her thighs at the same time…double punani eating 😛😛😛

LMFAO…pretty please with a cherry on the mf’in top! 🙏❤️✨ (and it ends with phenomenal squirting)

cw: sexual content, squirting, snowballing

Ummmmmm….. also. Ghost grabbing Soap by the hawk and pushing his face into your cunt, telling him how to get you off.

“Pressure, Soap, she needs pressure. Our birdie likes to feel ‘eld down, yeah? Attack that fuckin’ pussy, mate, I mean it.”

Eventually shoves him out of the way to show Soap how you like it, sucking harshly on your clit with two fingers hilted inside you and curled. He strokes that sweet little spot inside you, the one that makes whimpers spill from your mouth as your chest heaves and your thighs twitch. He makes you cum before Johnny gets back into it. He remembers something Ghost told him before they started this little adventure.

“Sometime I ‘ave her go three, four times in a row when I’m eatin’ her. Makes her soft and pliant like a little kitten when I fuck her.”

And Soap has that dog in him. He can take orders. So Simon keeps your spread on his fingers with one hand while the other keeps Soap grinding his face into you.

Soap nearly cums in his pants when you squirt against his jaw, trying to open his mouth as quickly as he can to drink from you. Meanwhile, Simon’s pulled his fingers out to lick at your creamy pussy, gathering it in his mouth before pulling Johnny in for a kiss so they can share it.

[bunnys-kisses]

hello! i stumbled upon your blog and i must admit i LOVE the bakery theme. can i get a berry trifle and coffee with oscar piastri please? thank you so much!!!

bakery menu

want to submit your own order! check the original post for all the information & prompts! as for this prompt, i am loving that people are into the whole rivals idea. i love writing rivals for f1, it's like the soap opera aspect of f1. it's very funny.

berry trifle ('wrong, try again') + coffee (rivals) served to you by oscar piastri (formula one!)

cw: smut/pwp, (failed) rivals au, driver!reader, driver!oscar, a dash of breeding kink, unprotected sex, references to masturbation, cowgirl position,

okay, oscar didn't hate you. despite what the press had been alluding to after hungary, oscar didn't hate you. in fact, he had respect for you, you were breaking barriers for women in the field.

but by god, did you light a fire in him.

when he first met you, you were in the semi-baggy driver's clothes. the fabric didn't give you much shape. so oscar just thought you were the cute new driver.

that was until you attended an event for ferrari with leclerc, the dress-code did not include the driver's suit. that was when oscar got a good look at your figure. there was a strength to your form that could clearly be seen by the lack of full sleeves on the dress you wore.

oscar didn't know he was attending the gun show!

but that only made his carnal craving for you grow deeper.

"she's turning a lot of heads." charles remarked before he took a sip of his drink, "i told her that if she really worked on it, she could get some hefty sponsors."

"or a date." lando remarked as the three men watched you talk your way through the room. eventually lando said, "i'd smash." before he downed his drink and got up to get another one.

charles looked to oscar and asked, "what are your thoughts on her, piastri?" he was genuinely curious, oscar was quiet about you.

oscar sighed and made a face, "i want to crush her on the track." he turned to the other man and shrugged, "i don't care if she's a woman, i'm here to win."

-

you beat him in belgium. you also beat norris, leclerc, and verstappen. you held that trophy over your head while the national anthem of your home country played. oscar swore that he saw tears in your eyes.

there was a buzz about you over the course of the summer break. oscar took it as an opportunity to invite you to england. all driver's ran in the same circles and oscar was just extending an offer for you to get out of monaco for a week!

"i promise, it does get sunny... sometimes." he said to you over the phone. he didn't admit but when he heard you beautiful voice on the other end of the line, his hand was already around his cock.

he was in anticipation for your visit and was more than happy to pick you up from the airport. you threw yourself at him and laughed.

"you were right, it is hot!" you were wearing a light sweatshirt, "i honestly thought you were fuckin' with me. you must be cold, mister australia!"

he scratched the back of his neck, and his eyes went wide when you hastily took off the sweatshirt, exposing more of your body to him. he didn't know that ferrari made such tight tank tops.

oscar's plans to really cement you as a rival failed upon impact. he thought this trip was going to be really getting to the core of you and cementing himself as you rival. but, instead you were helping him make breakfast because you 'felt bad' that he was doing 'everything'.

it was two eggs in a pain and couple of sausages.

you lingered around him, he noticed by the second day you smelt like his body wash when you got close enough to him. you were all bright smiles, soft gazes and tight little tops.

oscar ended every night with his cock in his hand, idly masturbating until his legs cramped up. the sick little kink he often let his mind wander about was the breeding kink.

his dream was two seasons with you at mclaren (sorry, lando). you in the bright orange across the paddock. then halfway through the second season, you start feeling unwell. you'd be too stubborn to take a pregnancy test, but with the amount of tests drivers have to take, it wouldn't be long before you were confronted by the fact that oscar got you pregnant! then you start a bright new future as mrs. piastri, and lando can come back (yay, lando!).

that was why his plan to make you his rival failed, because his need to get his cock wet overrode everything else.

it took a week before you two started sleeping together. you could only drink, laugh and play so many video games before you led him back to his bedroom like a siren.

it was met with giggles and bad jokes. hands touching skin and finally the clothes were shed.

oscar liked you on top, as did you. you liked having the control of your movements as your pussy was a vice around his leaky cock. you were on birth control (duh), but the other driver didn't need to know.

he honestly thought he was taking you raw.

"tell me who's going to win it all this year?" you asked as you rolled your hips. his cock was snug in you, you had to admit, the other driver was packing some heat between his legs.

and he wasn't afraid to use it.

oscar rubbed his thumb against your hip and said, "yeah, number eighty-eight for mclaren." he smiled cockily.

"wrong, try again." you said as you laughed and tapped him on the nose, which made him groan. you bent over himself as you rocked your hips and kissed at his face. he looked visibly relaxed.

"oh c'mon!" he laughed as he tried to set the pace himself. but you placed your hands on his chest and anchored yourself. you were not letting him take control.

you leaned in to kiss him again. the air conditioning in the room prevented it from getting too hot. but, oscar could see the slight sheen of sweat on your naked body in the afternoon light.

"you don't think i'll beat you?"

you shook your head and continued to move up and down on his cock. you pushed the hair out of your face, "oh, don't be silly, piastri." you playfully slapped his toned chest, "we all know i'm going to beat you." then flashed your press smile.

words like that made him want to breed you even more. but, he kept those thoughts to himself. he didn't want to risk losing such a sweet pussy in his close proximity.

it'd be hard to win championship when you were carrying the other driver's baby!

you rested up against his chest and rolled your hips. you had taken his cock to the root and it nudged against you with each thrust of your hips. you could feel his balls up against your pussy.

"shit, fuck. you feel so good."

"i bet you say that to all the girls you bring back to this place." you laughed as you really worked at riding him. you panted heavily as you moved against him.

he ran his fingers through your hair, "nah, nah. no girl's as pretty as you." oscar's plan slipped through his fingers, he wanted you more as a wife then a rival.

"well, aren't you sweet, oscar."

the two of you continued to fuck in the afternoon light. the pleasure pumped through your body as you rode him. you knew you weren't going to last long, that was one thing you could admit about oscar.

he was a good fuck.

the bed squeaked a little bit under the both of you. oscar's orgasm hit him hard and he finished inside of you in a huff. his nails dug into your hips as you continued to ride him till you found your completion.

he looked in a bit of a daze as you continued to hump against him. you felt the sweat on your back and oscar's strong chest under your nails, your short nails scratching against the skin.

"shit, oscar." you groaned as you reached your climax.

you were both out of breath. you didn't know what to do after you stopped your movements besides just giving him a firm pat on the chest. you panted, "good. good."

he laughed, "excellent. now c'mere."

you soon laid out on his chest and linked your fingers with his. your legs tangled together as you laid there trying to catch your breath. it was almost intimate.

you kissed at the other's collarbones, "so what do you say, piastri? another round and then we can get some dinner?"

-

that evening you called charles up, you were seated on the balcony of the flat with your legs kicked out on the small table.

"leclerc residence, charles speaking." he yawned on the other end.

you replied, "it's barely eight o'clock. you're getting too old." with a hint of laughter in your voice. in all fairness you were a little tired too.

"glad to see you're alive in england. how's oscar?"

"good, good. our little mission is a success." you beamed on the other end, "oscar will be as docile as your little leo."

charles chuckled on the other end, "if he is, he's going to need more training. i don't get why you didn't start with lando? he was into you too."

"yeah, but oscar's accent got me first." you sighed, "i mean, eventually the two will tear each other apart." you shrugged.

"or tear you apart." charles remarked.

"i'm not too worried there, leclerc. you men are quite funny sometimes. i'll tell you everything when i get back."

your teammate replied, "whatever, just don't come crawling back to me when they both catch on and you've got cum coming out of your ears."

formula one was a man's world, but if you could keep a man like oscar piastri on his knees for you. then maybe you had a chance of winning the championship.

[shmalk]

141 is filled with alphas, not a single omega in sight. there are a few betas, but they're either low-ranking or transfers that were never going to last.

like you! (beta!reader) who works at reception and takes calls, scans badges and is the first point of contact for the task force.

none of them know your name, none of them even speak to you - maybe price, when you transfer a call to him, he'll mumble a thank you. or even laswell, when you bring her a coffee.

it's nothing, really, you don't mind.

only, one day, a totally normal friday, you've done the exact same style in your hair you always have, and you're wearing more clothes than you were yesterday.

price wants a coffee, sure- you make it, just the way he likes, and head towards his office. you knock, and wait a few seconds until you hear 'come in.'

the office is silent, it usually is - but this time there's more than just price inside.

they're finishing up just as you enter, soap and gaz sitting in front of the desk whilst ghost leant against the back wall.

"my apologies, captain." your voice isn't exactly quiet - why should it be, you've done nothing wrong, but its still respectful. price just nods as you place the cup down on his desk.

"thanks, that's all." he dismisses everyone in the room, and you wait for the boys to file out before you do, soap and gaz both giving you a cheeky smile.

ghost is the one to hold open the door, standing just adjacent to the doorway with his arm sprawled against it. its a heavy door, and you swallow as you pass him.

"thank you," you all but mumble out as you rush past him - straight into the break room.

you can't help but rant about the situation to your roommate whilst you're packing up your things, your phone tucked between your jaw and shoulder.

"i mean- he held the door open for me and i couldn't even look him in the eye to say thank you!" you stress, throwing your bag into your passenger seat before leaning back against your car. "god, all i wan't right now is a plate of sushi and some boba."

"too bad its pizza night, dweeb."

"thats not fair! i could loose my job, i should be allowed to eat my comfort food when im stressed out."

you stress about it over the whole weekend, and when you return back to work on monday you try to act as casual as possible. of course, you don't see ghost - price doesn't order a coffee, and youre break time comes around quicker than you expected.

you had brought- oh, theres- your favourite sushi, and a boba drink sitting where your food was supposed to be. in somewhat messy hand writing, on a small piece of paper, theres your name.

signed ' s. riley. '

i am a sucker for sweet lil moments like this !!

in my head i think that simon would like a beta, or an alpha, but in this lil snippet (which is CERTAINLY getting turned into a fic) he's big and broad and gets worried when he's with alphas because they can't think straight, he tells them what to do and he does it.

but you? you dont react to his scent or chase him down to get him to court you - so, of fource, he courts you. <3

[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 2

Part two of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: social anxiety, self-doubt, drinking

A month. You didn't go back to the bar for a full month. Avoided the place like it was the birthplace of the plague. And it was to you. You didn't want to run the risk that they were there again, that the man in the mask would berate you for making eye contact with him that night despite knowing he'd probably forgotten about you 30 seconds after. Social anxiety was a bitch.

But they were there. EVERY. FUCKING. FRIDAY.

Ghost thought he was going to lose his mind. The others had started to think he'd imagined you or had a hallucination of you. So when they sat down on the fifth Friday, there wasn't a mention of you from them. Simon still kept his eye out for you.

Surely a month was long enough that they'd have moved on, gotten bored with the dark, dingy bar and the same crowd every Friday. Arriving with your friends, your heart was in your throat and there was a swirl of nausea in your stomach.

They're not here. They're not here. They're not here.

The mantra was on repeat, but you couldn't help checking the back table anyway. You froze where you were standing as your eyes landed on the four larger men, your friend bumping into your back and asking what was wrong. You shook your head and gave her a weak smile, claiming you thought you saw someone.

You took your usual seat at the bar, tucked into the far corner where you could see the table of men and watched as your own friends filtered out onto the floor again. It was so easy for them to just introduce themselves to men, flirt their way to free drinks and possibly a nice little one night stand.

Ghost clocked you the moment the bell above the door dinged pathetically against the wood door and you walked in with three of your friends including the little blonde that informed them that you would be there every Friday. His gloved hand reached out and smacked Soap center chest, incidentally grabbing everyone's attention at the table as well.

"That her, LT?" Soap asked, eyes darting between his lieutenant and you. Soap eyed you for a moment, taking in the open scoop neck long sleeve shirt and the swell of your breasts that weren't hidden very well.

"Tha's 'er. Pretty thing, hm?" Ghost replied before picking up his glass and knocking it back, mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara. You were as pretty as he remembered and the urge to have a picture of you with him at all times roared to life in his chest.

Gaz being on the end gave him the best view of you, taking in the jeans that hugged your plump hips and ass. He could also see the way you held your jacket over your stomach to hide your belly as best you could.

Price could tell you were uncomfortable, watching you watch your friends with a hint of resentment and disdain in your eyes. He hadn't missed that all of your friends were "conventionally beautiful" and he could see that it bothered you.

"Go get her," Price suggested to Gaz, nudging him a bit as he knew Gaz was the proper man to send. You'd never come over if any of the rest of them approached you. Ghost made a disgruntled noise, looking to his captain for a brief moment of silent communication before he nodded, conceding to his superior.

You ordered your whiskey, sipping on it as you flipped between checking on your friends and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You couldn't help but to let your eyes flick up from the dim screen to check on the table in the corner every once in a while.

Which was where your eyes were now, but there was one missing, the pretty one. Oh, he wasn't missing. He was settling himself against the stool next to you, looking down at you with those molten eyes of his and a friendly smile. "Come join us for a drink. Promise we won't bite. Well, I make no promises about Johnny."

Yup. I did a part two. This is really speaking to me right now for some reason.

Hope you guys liked it!

<- Part One Part Three ->

[moongreenlight]

John ‘Soap’ ‘won’t take no for an answer’ MacTavish

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

You break up because of his work, not because you don’t love him anymore. It feels unfair that he’s always getting dragged away for work and that you’re expected to sit and wait him out. You make the mistake of saying the two of you could stay friends. Truly not thinking much of it. A real right person, wrong time situation. He takes it as more of a challenge.

You sometimes worry he doesn’t think the two of you are broken up. Still invites you out for drinks twice a week when he can. Squashes you both into one side of the booth so he can throw his arm around your shoulders and nuzzle into the crook of your neck. He only has one beer, but keeps ordering you cocktails and encourages you to drink up to soothe your nerves. You think it’s a coincidence the first few times when you’re too drunk to drive and he insists you come stay the night at his place. He’ll drive you home in the morning.

You try to tell him you’ll sleep on the couch just so the lines don’t blur. He just smiles and nods and continues jabbering on about nothing. It doesn’t take him long to get handsy when he’s stopped at a red light. Spreads his hand over your thigh and fusses with the hem of your skirt. You don’t think you’re stopped at the light for very long, but by the time it turns green again he’s already pushed your panties out of the way and stuffed two fingers inside of you. Talks over your moans and soft keening noises and tells you that he’s glad he was with you tonight. Could have been picked up by some sick bastard because you never did know your limit.

“‘S’alright, dollie. Always got a place with me.”

He stops working his fingers a heartbeat before you’re about to come. Pulls them out and licks them clean after he parks out front of his flat. Doesn’t bother helping you out of the car, just lets you stumble after him in a haze.

You’re convinced the sex is somehow better than when you were dating. He ebbs and flows between being sickly sweet and meaner than you’ve ever seen him. Shoves you down on his bed and immediately tucks in on your cunt. Cooing directly into your sex about how he’s missed her. She’s so pretty. It’s cruel of you to keep him from such a pretty pussy.

He strictly fucks you in positions that ensure he can see your face. Clamps down on your chin and forces you to look up at him when he’s splitting you open. Doesn’t let you come on his cock unless you’re saying his name and making eye contact. Pulls out while you’re trying to clench around his length if your eyes roll back. Gives you a mean pinch to your nipple and smacks your clit a few times until you’re teary and begging for him.

Sometimes he flat out refuses to put it back in unless you say you love him. Runs his cock through your soaked folds and leaves you to whine and cry under him for a few minutes until you take the hint and slur some cockdrunk nonsense about how only he can fuck you like this. You miss him. You still love him so much.

This drives him insane. He takes your words to heart. Convinces himself he just needs to try harder to get you back. If you’re saying all this, then he’s still got a chance. He’ll bury himself deep into you and piston his hips with no further regard to your pleasure after that. Bottoms out inside you and still somehow tries to fill you further when he paints your walls with his release. Bites down hard on your shoulder or your neck and leaves a sickly yellow bruise around the indent of his teeth. Snarls in your ear about how he knows you still need him because if you didn’t then you wouldn’t be letting him do this. Marks you like he still feels a sense of ownership.

After the first dozen few times, you sit him down and try to tell him that you can’t do this anymore. It’s making things too hard on the both of you. He smooths your hair and kisses away your tears on his couch. Shushes you sweetly when you sniffle and go on about how you wish things were different. He fucks you more gently that night before you leave.

[writersdrug]

Bartender Simon and reader compilation of them having physical contact throughout the day? Like brushing fingers when handing off drinks, or him putting a hand on her hip in the walk as he says,” behind,” to stop her from freaking out as he grabs something overhead, etc .thank youuuuuuuuuu

You guys are making me jealous of reader I swear-

You're the one who starts this game, even if it's unintentional. You ask him for a pen one day, yours is empty and you've got a six top in the corner that's ready to order. He gives you one from the bar, and you tap his forearm twice. "Thanks, Simon!" You say, skipping of to your table.

Simon Simon Simon... he stares after you, replaying your voice and your touch in his mind. It's so nonchalant for you, but it's got him derailed from whatever he was doing. Oh, right. Bartending.

But he makes a point to make you understand what you're doing to him. You're punching in a payment at the POS when you suddenly feel a hand on your upper back, and you freeze.

"Behind ya." He mumbles, reaching over you and into the cabinet to grab a to-go box. "Sorry, stealin' your boxes. I'm out."

You feel his fingers slide across your back until they retreat, and it takes everything within you to suppress a shiver. You look back at him once he leaves, feeling your face heat up and your lips quiver. Behind the bar, there's a fresh stack of to-go boxes.

Sneaky bastard.

You get him back, though. On a busy night, you jog behind the bar, nearly colliding with Simon. He stills and raises his hands. "Careful, Christ-"

You worm your way past him, ever-so-slightly pressing against his front, giving him the perfect angle of your tits. He can't breathe as you wiggle through - the fabric of his shirt and yours do little to quell the blazing heat he feels from you.

"That soda gun's broken!" You call out, filling the two glasses in your hand with the gun at the opposite end of the bar. You then trot back over and squeeze by him again - this time, your ass barely graces his cock, and he swears it nearly leaps to life just to feel the brush of your backside. "Thanks!" You call over your shoulder, disappearing into the restaraunt.

Simon takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders, staring at the bartop and trying not to go feral. (You're making it very hard for him). He picks up the soda gun and pushes all of the buttons - they all work fucking fine.

Come the following week, Simon decides to be bold. You sit at the bar on a slow Tuesday evening, watching the game on the telly, occasionally reaching over the bar to snag a fry (they're Simon's, but he hasn't touched them in a while - they would get cold). Your two tables are talking amongst themselves, waiting for their food. You would glance back into the kitchen window and check the warmer for their orders, but so far, Soap's still working on them. So you relax, having nothing better to do.

You're hoisted out of the barstool when two, large, meaty hands grab you by the waist. You shriek, dropping your fry, grabbing onto Simon's forearms as he lifts you up and deposits you onto your feet.

"Stop eatin' my chips, stop slackin', n' go roll silverware." He grumbles - he gives you two, sharp pats on the small of your back, the tips of his fingers on the curve of your ass.

You can't find it in yourself to turn around and gripe with him. You can't even look at him. You scurry off and run upstairs in search of fresh napkins, face red as a tomato and your stomach fluttering nicely. This is normal, right? This is what waitressing lis like - flirtatious behavior everywhere, both giving and receiving. It doesn't mean anything. Right?

Simon chuckles. He'll take that as a win.

[syoddeye]

woke up possessed by the need to write soapgaz x reader smut. i have no excuses. ~1.6k, lightly edited.

cw: dubcon/noncon elements (reader is drunk), alcohol, public/semi-public sex, oral, surprise you're in a throuple

dating kyle, whose best friend soap keeps showing up on your dates. 

you try to make a fuss about it, tired of ruined movie nights and dinners. the insufferable bastard’s jokes are lewd, his eye contact too sharp, and he’s so damn touchy. always grabbing your and kyle’s knees, looping his arms around your necks, or sandwiching you in hugs that flatten either your chest to his or slot your ass to his pelvis.

the last straw is when soap spoils what was supposed to be a couple’s trip. he cards into your hotel room just as you’re about to give kyle a show. barges in with a big dumb grin on his face.

“what did i miss?”

you drag kyle into the bathroom and barely keep yourself from yelling. you demand he sends his friend packing. this is supposed to be a romantic getaway. kyle tries to soothe you, explaining that soap’s just going through a hard time.

“he needs us.”

“he needs a reality check.”

you storm through the room past a smiling soap, gather your clothes, and hastily dress. if kyle needs you, you’ll be at the hotel bar.

a couple of mai tais later, you’re still in a foul mood, but the edge is off. you’re worn down to a weary resignation that you’ll have to share this stupid holiday, thoughts clawing through the syrupy haze of rum and orgeat. kyle’s texted and asked you to return to the room twice, but you’ve ignored both. knowing he’ll probably come looking, you slip out to the beach with one last drink.

past sundown, it’s quiet. a few fires dot the shore, and you glimpse other couples. despite the sweetness in your mouth, your stomach twists into knots. if only you were so lucky. if only your boyfriend put his foot down. you’ll have to suffer through listening to soap snore on the room’s sofa instead of falling asleep thoroughly fucked.

you plop down away from the hotel and drain your cocktail until it’s half-full, stabbing aggressively at its garnish with the little straw.

the ocean hides their footsteps until they’re upon you, and you nearly drop your drink when two bodies bracket yours.

“so this is where you’ve been hiding and pouting.”

you instinctively tuck into kyle. despite being pissed at him, the vulnerable, tipsy part of you seeks his comfort. “i’m not hiding or pouting.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “no? then why’d you run off earlier?”

“i was mad, i’m still mad.”

kyle runs his hand from your knee to your thigh and toys with the hem of your shirt. “why’re you mad?”

“soap, he’s—“you hiccup and turn your face against kyle’s chest just enough to see the other man. soap’s smirking, eyes half-lidded. “he’s going to take you from me.”

they say alcohol loosens your tongue and encourages the truth. and there it is, your awful secret. your real fear, dangling out in the air for both of them to see.

a beat passes, and you hide your face again. you feel kyle’s laughter before you hear it.

“oh, babe. you’ve got it all wrong,” he squeezes you and kisses your temple. “soap, why don’t you show her how wrong she is?”

“aye, with pleasure.”

the scot shifts, and you realize it’s not kyle’s hand toying with your shirt. soap glides a palm up your side, pushing the fabric with it, and cups a tit before finding your lips in a hungry kiss. his tongue slips into your mouth, greedily sipping the whines he cajoles out of you.

you’re dimly aware of kyle plucking your glass from your hands, too distracted by the fact your not-boyfriend is leaning you backward. the back of your head is cushioned by sand, nipple hardening as soap brushes his thumb over the cup of your bra.

they make short order of pushing your shirt up and pulling your tits out. your shorts are dealt with, your panties left in place for the moment.

“stay still, babe,” kyle whispers as you surface from the onslaught of soap’s kisses. soap lifts your head carefully so you can watch your boyfriend kneel beside you. he holds your cocktail up and then carefully tilts the glass until a few drops splatter across your stomach. you squeak from the cold and squirm, but soap holds you in place.

the look in kyle’s eyes is pure sin as he dips down to chase after the streams of liquor, tongue blazing over your skin. it dips into your navel, fishing a reluctant giggle out of you, then continues south.

he pauses to ruck off his shirt, then lifts your hips to carefully guide it beneath your lower half. he pinches the swell of your ass.

“you’ve been so good, babe. so patient. you’re learning, aren’t you?” he asks, licking his lips as soap moves to kneel at your head. “soap isn’t here for just me, is he?”

your eyes roll blearily in their sockets to find the man in question staring down at you. the heat in his eyes setting off more sparks in your belly.

“n-no.”

kyle beams and curls his fingers in the elastic.

“no. he wants both of us. isn’t that nice?”

you nod stiffly, eyes fixed on your underwear as he pulls them to your ankles. you should be embarrassed. humiliated, to have a man who isn’t your boyfriend see you like this. but alcohol and desire blur together, and you raise your hips with a tiny noise. a word. “please.”

“needy girl. i’m gonna make you feel good, babe. but if i’m gonna do that, i need you to make him feel good, yeah?”

soap’s fingers leave your tit to stroke the side of your head, gently nudging your face toward him. you’re met with the sight of his cock straining against his shorts, his free hand palming it slowly.

you glance up and realize this is the quietest he’s ever been. he’s always loud and boisterous. annoying when he invades your space. now he’s dead silent, save for the deep breaths from his nostrils. blue eyes narrowed in a predatory stare.

in an instant, you know. all this time, he’s been trying to run you down. wear away your resistance. get you accustomed to his near-constant presence. and apparently, he’s tired of waiting, wielding your boyfriend against you to sweeten you to some sort of package deal.

you should scream. tell both of them to piss off. instead, you slowly reach for the waistband of soap’s shorts, and help tug them down.

the alcohol coursing through your system makes you sluggish and clumsy, but soap does most of the work anyway. his cock languidly glides over your tongue and into your throat, erasing sugar with salt—the lines of your relationship along with it.

kyle’s tongue and fingers coax you into a state of euphoria, vision wet and glassine at the edges. you don’t think you could run away even if you wanted to. your legs are jelly, body pliant as hands grope at their leisure. kyle shushes you when you wiggle at the sound of distant voices, silencing you with a third finger and the seal of his mouth on your clit.

the muscles of your legs start to shake and tighten, pussy clenching around kyle’s fingers as he curves them inside. his mouth is sloppy over your cunt, partly due to how you writhe on his shirt. 

“christ, i’m close.” soap grits out overhead, his thrusts into your mouth becoming more erratic.

kyle unlatches his lips, “she is too.”

soap chuckles and pats your cheek, meeting your eye with a coo. “this’ll be special, pet. you an’ me at the same time, aye?”

a garbled moan around soap’s cock makes him jerk and curse, prompting his big hands to cradle your jaw. angling you with surprising gentleness to continue. you gag as he slips in too deep, too eager, but your attention’s split between needing oxygen and needing to come. kyle hasn’t let up, fucking you on his hand and groaning at the wet, sticky squelch cutting through the sound of the waves.

you come first with a gurgled shout, eyes rolling back in your head as you spasm and kick fruitlessly in the sand. soap’s a quick second, giving you a half-second warning before shooting thick ropes into your throat. kyle’s tongue laps at your folds as you swallow, both sensations overwhelming you to the point of tears. soap tucks himself away, and you hear him tut.

“gie it a rest. she’s still got to ride you back in the room.”

kye laughs breathlessly and crawls over you. “still with us?” he smirks at the delirious nod you manage. “good girl. need help standing?”

you let them dress you and haul you to your feet. the world’s gone wobbly, and you list heavily against kyle. your arms are also negotiated around soap, slotting you firmly between them. kyle’s shirt hangs into a pocket, soaked, and with every step back toward the hotel, clarity and embarrassment steamroll you.

“i can’t—this was a mistake.” you hiss, though the three of you know your words don’t carry the weight you want them to.

kyle plants a kiss on your cheek. you smell yourself on his face. “we’ll see if you feel different in the morning.” 

“aye. probably just have sand where the sun don’t shine. i’ll personally see to—”

with your waning lucidity, your elbow finds his ribs in a harsh blow. he sputters and stumbles, almost releasing you from his hold, but not quite.

“jesus, our girl’s got some fire, garrick.”

“tried to warn you.”

you mutter something mean, setting the men off into titters of laughter, and try to ignore the flicker of warmth at our girl.