I Realized I REALLY Love The Bug Guy X Smol Guy Trope, Which Is Probably Why I'm So Into Sal/Gabe. Also

Childhood best friend!Soap who becomes your friends with benefits because you said you weren’t looking for a relationship and he’s convinced that every time he makes you cry on his dick from how good it is that he gets a little closer to making you fall in love with him

And then, when you’re laying with him and cuddling afterwards one night, you tell him that you’re not sure how much longer this is gonna go on— that you met someone recently at pub. And you really like him. His heart starts to pound. He thought you weren’t looking for a relationship— this isn’t fair—

It’s someone wearing a black surgical mask who had dark eyes, like a shark’s eyes. Deep voice and a Manchester accent. Broody, you call him.

I’ve made a diagram

Fuck, marry kill with: the concept of Willem Dafoe, the smell of a bandaid floating on a pool, and an oil painting of George Washington jorkin’ it to the movie “National Treasure”

every word had my jaw dropping further, anon

I guess I’d fuck the Washington painting since he’s already going at it(??? lmfao), I refuse to marry the smell of a pool bandaid so I’m killing it and I’m buckling up and saying my vows to the concept of Willem Dafoe

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Third time’s the charm. Simon/fem!reader. Handjobs, edging, cumming untouched, thigh riding, femdom behavior, somewhat submissive!simon, literally tried to cure my depression with this (did not work)

-

“You said you usually go three times in a session. We should try one more time, shouldn’t we?” 

Ghost looks at you like you’ve grown an extra set of eyes. He shakes his head a little, his eyes hard and disbelieving when they meet your own. “Have I not embarrassed myself enough for you?”

“Not really—? I mean—fuck,” you fumble, running a hand down face. “That didn’t come out right. I just meant that I don’t feel like you have any reason to be embarrassed.” 

He stares at you, through you, like if he looks long and hard enough he’ll be able to see your truth straight down to your bones. Well let him look. He hadn’t exactly bared his soul during the few weeks you had spent discussing this before meeting in person, but he had told you plenty: his issue had cost him relationships. It had cost him jobs thanks to lack of focus. Friendships thanks to neglect. You couldn’t imagine anyone willingly choosing something which gave them so much suffering. His lack of complicity cleared him of any blame in your eyes. 

At length, he must see that there is some honesty in you. Looking like it pains him, he nods his head, hulking shoulders deflating a little. “Fine. One more time. I’ll need a few minutes though.”

“That’s fine,” you offer, and it is, or at least it would be if it meant you both didn’t have to sit in complete silence, Ghost uneager to offer up conversation topics and you too awkward to try. 

He keeps staring at you, too. Or more specifically, your breasts. You’re wearing a simple t-shirt, but the effect is aided by one of your prettier bras. You had worn it unsure if Ghost was serious in his insistence that there would be no sex taking place between you both 

It seemed a pity for it to go to waste. 

“Do you want to see?” you ask him, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and gripping it tightly, folding it a little anxiously back and forth like an accordion’s bellows. 

“See? What? No—!”

“I don’t mind, honestly.”

Ghost reaches up a hand to rub at one eye like a headache is forming behind it. His mouth never abandons its signature frown, even as he says, “If you want? Jesus, fuck. I don’t know. I’m not going to stop you.”

You find that you do want. You kneel up, take the hem of your t-shirt into your hands and work it up over your breasts. For all his lack of enthusiasm, his eyes crack open straightaway and glue themselves to you, widening a little at the sight of your strappy, lace-laden bra. 

“I know you didn’t fucking wear that for me,” he says, sounding winded. 

“I’ll be honest, I thought this was just a ploy to hook up. I wore the matching panties too, do you—“

“Stop—talking,” he mutters, closing his eyes. His hand reaches down towards his (valiantly hardening) cock, but thinks twice, turns into a fist, and comes to rest at his side. “And under no circumstance should you take your pants off.”

“Got it. Pants stay on.”

Ghost sighs. “I’m ready. Let’s get it over with.”

That’s the spirit, you think to yourself dryly. You lift your hand to your mouth, creating a little cup with your palm and to spit in, your eyes locked on his own. You hear the click as he swallows, but it’s progress that he doesn’t cum, right? That must mean that he had experienced some level of desensitization, either to you as a partner or to the specific stimulus or a mixture of both. 

But that’s not how this is supposed to work. The whole point is to help him learn to last when he’s as desperate as possible, hoping that edging when he’s truly suffering will lead to a more satisfying orgasm and therefore a need for fewer of them. 

You lower your hand instead of spitting and grip the hem of your shirt, tugging it off over your head altogether. Ghost can’t seem to find his tongue, staring at you with dark, huge eyes as you reach around back and fumble with the clasp of your bra, but at last that comes undone, and you peel it away from you, letting it join his jeans and your shirt on the floor. 

His eyes rake over your naked breasts, mouth forming a curse that he lacks the breath to whisper. His cock is so hard and heavy that it lays against his belly, thick and twitching. 

You shift and straddle his thighs just proximal to his knees. He fists the bedsheets, abs tensing sharply as he watches you with silent awe and trepidation. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. 

“Getting comfortable?” you suggest. 

Now you cup your hand and spit into it. Then you offer it to him, holding out your hand expectantly. Looking wary, he leans up onto his elbows, ducks his head, and spits into your hand too, quite delicately for being a giant of a man. 

You take your hand and place it palm down against where his cock lays on his belly, slicking the underside from top to bottom. Ghost groans, a low sound torn deep from his chest. He collapses off of his elbows and onto his back, hands finding his eyes and palming at them again while you slick his cock all over with a delicate touch, barely more than a tickle. 

“Are you teasin’ me?” he grits out. 

“I would never.” The tips of your wet fingers trail down over his balls, tight and drawn up against his body already. He hisses through his teeth, cock flexing. You fight a grin. 

Taking him firmly in your hand, you give him a series of smooth, slow strokes, your hand loose and gentle where it is cupped around him. His body writhes against the sheets. 

“Stop, please stop,” he gasps, and you do, letting his cock fall to rest against his belly with a soft thud. He opens his eyes, takes one look at your tits, and squeezes them shut again. ”Fuck, can’t believe you took your shirt off.” 

“I can put it back on if you want.” 

“Really don’t want that. Really fucking don’t. Just—sit there. Please,” he tacks on to the end like an afterthought. You’re grateful to have received a please at all. He takes deep, slow breaths, his nostrils flaring as he strains for air. 

When he gives you a curt nod, eyes still firmly closed, you reach down and use one hand to grip the base of his cock. The other you place toward the head so that you can softly drag your thumb over the deep red tip, tracing the sensitive ridge and over the leaking slit. He whines, honest to god whines, a sound which you feel viscerally in your belly and lower. You shift on his thighs, wondering if it would be so bad to just straddle one, to get some pressure right where you need it most. It’s not like there’s any sort of propriety in a situation like this. He’s getting his, why can’t you get yours? 

You use your thumb to trace a vein up the length of his shaft and smooth the slick over his tip, polishing it softly. 

“Fucking—! Stop! Stop!” 

You stop, and you swallow an unhappy sound. Things had just been getting fun—for you, at least. Ghost looks like he’s being put through the wringer, redness creeping down his neck to disappear under his shirt, knuckles white where he grips the sheets, breaths rapid and shallow. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. He laughs a little, a self-deprecating, unhappy sound. “You’re too good at that.” 

“Good with my mouth too,” you say on a whim. 

His eyes flash open, wide and surprised (and narrowed in on your mouth), his lips parted in a look of near comical astonishment. His hand scrambles to grip around the base of his cock, squeezing painfully. “You—you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” 

“Way more than I thought I would,” you admit. “An obscene amount, honestly—I’m so wet—“

Ghost releases his death grip around his balls and strokes his cock, once, twice, thrice, quick little strokes as his face crumples, as he gives up on the whole fucking thing. You can see it in his face, the defeat, the submission. He’s going to jerk himself off to a quick, unsatisfying release—but it doesn’t seem fair. 

“Stop,” you hiss, reaching out to grip his wrist. He lets go of himself like he’s been burned, immediately obedient even as his face twists with fury. He pulls away from your touch but watches as you shift until just one of his thick thighs is between your own. 

You give a soft, gentle sway of your hips against him. His face is so fucking expressive, his eyes and brows and mouth telegraphing his every little thought and feeling. He watches you with something like tortured awe, eyes flickering towards where your clothed pussy rubs against his bare thigh. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” you breathe, pleasure zipping up your spine at the friction against your cunt. “I want to see if you can cum like this.”

“Came went you spat in your fucking hand,” he breathes, abs tensing, cock twitching as precum pools in his happy trail, watching as you get yourself off against his thigh. “Can cum like this no fucking problem.” 

“You’re not as sensitive now,” you pant, planting a hand against his tensed chest to gain the leverage you need to lengthen the rolling of your hips. 

“Am too.”

“We’ll see.”

His face twists. “Will you—keep going? Even if I do?”

You consider for a moment and then shake your head, breaths too shallow to make words properly. You feel saturated, swollen and sensitive. Every drag of your hips sends muted pleasure up your spine. Normally this would take you ages to cum, but you haven’t been this worked up in a long time. Watching Ghost’s cock turn shades of red and plum is like live pornography, obscene and arousing. Feeling a little cruel, you tell him: “Gotta hold it.”

He tenses his thighs, heels digging into the bed. It does something to the muscle pressed against your cunt and makes your nails dig into his chest. 

He’s shaking his head. “No. Negative. Can’t.”

“Hafta.” 

“Can’t—fuck, I—“

“Goddamnit Ghost,” you whine, hips working feverishly against him. “Hold it and let me cum.”

He really can’t—really and truly. His cock spurts against his belly, a pitiful amount of pearly cum as he groans low and long, moan forming half-hearted, breathy apologies: sorry, ‘m sorry, couldn’t hold it—

You groan, a sound more frustrated than aroused. Your hips slow and stop, and your mouth fights to make a pout. You will it away. It really isn’t his fault. 

“You…you don’t have to stop,” he says, a little shyly. 

You shift off of him and swallow your own sigh, feeling sticky and unsatisfied. “It’s okay,” you reassure him. “Maybe next time I’ll get my pants off.” 

His cock, spent, still twitches against his belly. 

Some old poly 141 art. i dont think i like this one too much but still. Eepy boys that were trying to watch a movie.

workout

was thinking about kyle just straight up freeballing at the gym. he’s wearing some tight ass shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. you can see his dick print perfectly. and no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop staring at kyle from where you sit at the machine across from him.

and because he knows you’re watching, kyle definitely puts on a show for you. you’re not subtle at all when you lick your lips at the sight of his glistening biceps and the ever growing bulge in his shorts.

by the time your workout is over, your pussy is soaked and the only thing on your mind is you getting bent over one of the machines by a man you don’t even know.

and idk kyle definitely sneaks into the bathroom to eat you out while you’re showering, before he presses you up against the wall and buries his cock in your drooling pussy. like just imagine him balls deep in it while you yowl and claw at his back as he tears your shit up.

his dick is what you wanted in the first place, right?

-

kyle’s masterlist

For a friends with benefits reader/possessive best friend Soap, I'm imagining reader trying initially to set some boundaries so things don't get messy and the lines don't get blurry (like maybe no kissing during sex) and Soap "I have no intentions of being just friends or just a fuck buddy" overriding each and every one of those boundaries.

Johnny "Soap" "Red Flag" MacTavish absolutely kisses with tongue whenever they hook up, even though you told him at the very start that this was purely physical / a way to relieve stress.

He'll send nudes, blow up your phone at all hours of the day, sleep over after you've hooked up even though one of your boundaries was for him to go home after sex ("hen, ye cannae make me go home in this state," he'll complain, flopping over on the bed. "It'd be cruel to send a man home after that."), surreptitiously delete the dating apps off your phone.

He absolutely greets your mom at the door to your flat in his boxers because he invited her and his mom over for Sunday brunch and didn't tell you. Pure beaming when they coo and fuss over their two babies getting together because he knows you're way too embarrassed to correct your mother and tell her that you're just sleeping with Johnny.

Soap comes back to base after having teeth pulled and is not expecting Ghost to pounce the second he gets through the gate.

Ghost: "So where are they? I wanna see."

Soap: "What?"

Ghost: "The teeth. Gimme"

Soap: "I didn't... keep them?"

Ghost, upset: "They didn't let you?"

Soap, growing more confused by the second: "I didn't ask?"

Ghost: "You didn't- Johnny what the fuck?" 😟

Soap: "I was in a lot of pain, Lt., and still am, mind you-"

Ghost: "But... I woulda took 'em if you didn't want them."

Soap: "Ghost, my teeth were far from perfect, there's a reason they had to come out, not exactly great specime-"

Ghost: "THAT'S WHAT MAKES THEM SPECIAL!"

Soap: 😶

Ghost: "ONE OF A KIND!"

Gaz, who walked up in the middle of the conversation: "Think I've still got my baby teeth somewhere, you want 'em?"

Ghost, still distraught: "At least GAZ loves me."

Soap: "... my mouth hurts..."

I just know its a pain to get that face paint off…🥲💀

I want retired!john with a bad knee and a pudgy belly who spends his time helping at risk youth because I love to imagine that john was a troublemaker in his youth who just needed a strong role model in his life

being his pretty wife who brings baked goods for their group sessions, you remember every face who introduces themselves to you. make all the kids feel seen every time you greet them at the youth center, asking how the test they were talking about last week went

even if they give john a hard time, they can’t bring themselves to be mean to their youth counsellor’s wife because she’s just so sweet

being the “safe” house in the neighbourhood, door always open for the teens who’d rather not go home. who don’t have parents they can ask for advice or a warm meal waiting for them tonight

is this too niche and boring? or is there something here?