Childhood Best Friend!Soap Who Becomes Your Friends With Benefits Because You Said You Weren’t Looking

you hadn't had time to text kyle and let him know you're watching your brother's kids.

they kept you busy running amuck around the house, their giggles and little feet slapping against the floor made your heart ache.

you had wanted kids since you could remember.

it was always a dream of yours to see a little one that was part you and your lover, a physical manifestation of your bond with them.

none of your past boyfriends wanted to be tied down to that type of commitment so you tucked it away putting it up high on the shelf.

watching your nieces and nephews play with toys in the living room distracted you enough not to hear the front door open and the footsteps that stopped at the entryway.

"love?"

four heads snapped up at their uncle kyle's voice and shot up from the carpet to run over to him screaming his name, seems like he's everyone's favorite and you didn't blame them.

hes your favorite too.

"they've been running me ragged baby, sorry i didn't get a chance to text."

kyle waved your apology off with a warm smile that made your stomach clench and toes curl.

you couldn't help but watch him with four little ones hanging off of him pretending to be an airplane complete with the noises as well.

he kept them off your back as you made dinner making sure to run around the backyard as you kept an eye on them through the window.

a flutter rippled through your womb when he scooped up the youngest bringing her inside to tend to her scraped knee.

"i'm a magician, in three seconds your knee will feel better." kyle assured her with a soft voice as he crouched in front of her and blew on the scrape causing her to gasp then smile wide.

she wrapped little arms around his neck hugging him tightly thanking him.

later that evening after your brother picked them up begging for you to watch them again tomorrow you and kyle settled on the couch.

"we should have a babe, you'd make a wonderful mum, the best." without knowing your deepest secret he breathed life into it.

and an hour later he was pumping load after load in you.

comments and relogs with tags are really appreciated <3

i have another gaz thought…

this was inspired by @buttdumplin so blame him for the debauchery

mdni. unedited :)

there’s no way you’re seeing things right.

the sun shines brightly, no cloud in the sky, no shadow on the grounds below but you swear you’ve got to be seeing things. you must be. it’s the only logical explanation.

because there’s no way that your awfully kind and incredibly handsome neighbor would put himself in this situation.

at first glance, he’s not doing anything wrong. just lounging by the complex pool, his smooth dark skin on display, with a book in hand. he even matched his sunglasses and swim shorts to round out his look.

it’s on second glance, when you let your eyes trail over him and linger that you notice it. how his shorts do little to hide anything, no imagination needed. especially not when his girthy long cock strains against the thin material.

he’s got his right leg splayed open, the meat of his inner thigh to the sun, with his left leg stretched out in front of him. you can see right where the base of him starts, the fat of his balls accentuated by the way the fabric is pulled taut against them. you can trace the curve of his cock, tucked along the inside of his thigh. down, down, down until there’s something peeking out and something wet against-

you immediately look away as the realization dawns on you. you’re sure he can’t seen you, the glare of the sun too fierce to see into your apartment, but your hands still tremble. you feel the ache between your legs as you make sense of what you saw. try to figure out why there was a single patch of wetness on your neighbor’s thigh while the rest of him was bone dry.

how the fuck are you supposed to focus on work now?

———

gaz knows his pretty thing keeps their desk along their window. likes the way the natural light warms them up while their coffee wakes them up.

he also knows they love to stare out their window . loves to watch the wind ruffle the trees, the way the city moves, how the people act. and with such a lovely view of their pool, gaz might as well give them something to look at, right? he’d be a bad neighbor if he didn’t

it takes a few weeks to choose the right spot for him to lounge. some are too close, angled such a way where they can’t watch him. others too far, they’d miss the important details they need to see. finally, he finds the spot. right in the line of sight of their window, it’ll let them see everything he wants them to.

he starts off small, just lounging head thrown back towards the sun, but he hates that. he can't see them. he settles for an incline next, but with no glasses he's sure they’ll see how his eyes don't stray from them at all. how can they when he can see how the waistband digs into their skin in a way that has his tongue running over his teeth. he wants to bite, sink into their soft flesh.

finally he sets himself up with the glasses and book. holding it so that he’s able to look right over the edge of the page and stare straight through their window. so he can watch the sweet thing he’s been stuck on since he bumped into them in the lobby.

its a wonder it takes you so long to notice his reaction to you. gaz isn’t sure how you’ve gone so long without noticing when just the thought of you watching him has the blood flow redirecting. how his dick twitches at the thought of the pool. the way he leaks when he’s in the chair setting himself up for you.

he blames it on the shorts. too practical, too concealing. he’s not here for any of that, he’s here for you to see him. to see the outline of his pretty cock. the one he’ll be driving into you if he plays his cards right.

so he gets to fixing that right away. his shorts loose a few centimeters every time he’s at the pool, excitement bubbling up as he notices the way your eyes trail over him. always so polite and proper like you don’t want to intrude on his privacy. completely unaware to the fact this whole moment is being entirely curated for you.

his dick is straining before he even gets to the pool. he can feel the fabric digging into the fat of his ass and the seam rubbing along his head, already aiding the drip of slick from it. he’s tingling with the anticipation, dying to know what you’ll do when you see him.

he picks a “casual” position, especially chosen so thar his shorts can ride up to expose him. so that you can see the way he drips for you. squeezes his balls just a little before he settles so that his dick can drip a little more. enough so that it pools on his thigh.

he twitches when he noticed how long you’re staring. the way your eyes slowly make your way over his body after holding out for so long. can see the exact moment you see his shorts with the way your eyes widen and your mouth opens slightly. knows you’re tracing the length of him when your eyes drift downward and you lick your lips. and when your pretty eyes stop and your tongue catches in the corner of your mouth he knows you’ve spotted it. how he weeps at the thought of being buried in you.

you turn too quickly. hand trembling as you reach for your water bottle. he can see how you adjust yourself, drinking water, turning your little desk fan. all in an attempt to keep yourself looking dignified.

but gaz know’s he’s finally pushed enough to break past your facade. it’s just a matter of time before he has you under him, trembling.

“you are on the couch tonight, riley!” you shout, pointing a finger toward the living room. simon stands there, his jaw clenched, hands clenched at his sides, clearly unhappy but resigned.

there’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, masked quickly with his usual steely glare. he just nods, not saying a word, as he grabs a blanket from the closet and settles down on the couch without another look your way.

the apartment feels colder without him by your side, and the silence that follows is louder than any argument. you lie in bed, your head turned to the wall, arms crossed tightly as if that could keep out the ache creeping in.

you feel miserable, thinking over the fight, wondering if you were too harsh, if maybe he wasn’t entirely in the wrong. but you bury it, refusing to let yourself soften too quickly. this isn’t the first time you two have fought; being with simon means loving him as he is, stubbornness and all.

but tonight, it feels different. minutes stretch into hours, and you find yourself glancing at the empty side of the bed, missing his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. you turn over again, clutching the pillow tighter, but it doesn’t help.

meanwhile, simon’s on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, a sigh slipping out into the darkened room. his mind replays the fight in quiet fragments, the words that had been said, your voice still ringing in his ears.

he knows he messed up, though he’d never admit it to anyone but himself. he misses you too, even if pride keeps him rooted to the couch, where the cushions dig into his back, and sleep refuses to come.

after another endless stretch, you finally can’t take it anymore. you get up, padding softly into the living room. simon’s form is a dark silhouette against the dim light from the window, his breathing shallow, not quite asleep. he hears you but doesn’t move, as if afraid to let hope show too early.

“simon…” your voice is quiet. you see his shoulders tense before he slowly drops his arm from his eyes, looking up at you. his gaze is guarded, but there’s an unmistakable softness there, a glint of something like regret.

“can’t sleep either, huh?” he mutters, breaking the silence, his voice rough from the hours of silence.

you shake your head, and without another word, he shifts to make space. you sit beside him and lean against him, letting your head rest on his shoulder, and after a beat, his arm wraps around you, pulling you closer.

“i’m sorry baby,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper.

“me too,” you murmur, feeling the tension melt away as he holds you tighter.

neither of you says anything more. words don’t matter as much now, not when the warmth of his arm around you feels like coming home.

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

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic

gazghost needs to be talked abt more. need to be the rookie recruit who catches ghost bottoming for gaz and having to lick the cum out of his hole

omg i got so lightheaded i had to lie down for a bit. bottom ghost is so scrumptious and i should start writing about fucking him until he's gaping more often. red u get it so bad

hnngnhhh just being tugged over by gaz after he's pulled out and pushed down to your knees right behind your lieutenant's dripping asshole. he's reaching back and spreading himself open for you, peeking over his shoulder with those sweet, teary eyes, silently demanding (pleading) you clean him up.

gaz has a firm hold on your nape, guiding you forward, and you flatten your tongue against ghost's balls to follow the streak of cum that leads back up to his hole. he's so pliant like this—both body and personality—as you lap at his stretched rim. whimpers real airily too when your tongue dips inside, mind still a jumbled mess from gaz's rough fucking, and you just about make the same noise when your head is pushed closer.

"atta girl," gaz sighs, replacing ghost's slipping hand with his own and spreading a fat ass cheek so he can really see how your tongue works. "tha's a good pup, make him feel good."

you're so eager—angling your head better so you can shove your tongue as deep as possible, making all these soft, keening noises, hands squeezing at his meaty thighs. you're practically making out with his hole, sloppily mopping up as much cum as you can while he rocks back, white-knuckling the desk beneath him.

meanwhile, gaz is watching intently, lazily pumping his still-hard cock as he murmurs praises to the both of you. he guides you when you get too self-indulgent (play with his balls, too, eh? simon loves it, look how much his cock's leakin'), and he prods a finger around your tongue, chuckling when ghost arches his back into a lovely little bow.

him leaning over to check on his lieutenant and smiling when he finds the bigger man damn near cross-eyed and drooling right through his mask...

Ghost still needs to make sure that Soap is alive

Deployment

It’s the same routine every time now. You fuck on his couch or on the bed or on top of the wash machine, you let him clean you up, you put your clothes on, and you leave. Same time Friday?

At first you tried to break down the ‘Fortress of Riley’ as you referred to it as. You did the whole spiel, bring him dinner, wash his clothes, watch tv together, spend the night. But when he never once reciprocated the energy you put into it, you learned your place.

You got over your little crush on him quickly. One too many disappointing nights made you realized that he wanted nothing more than a quick fuck after a long day. So you stopped bringing over dinners, stopped turning the tv on, left your clothes in a neat pile signaling they’re ready for your exit.

And then there was the question of: Is it because you are fat? Is he afraid to be seen with you? Is he disgusted by you and is just desperate? No.…Maybe? The ongoing questions circle in your mind as you contemplate your situationship with a fucking 32 year old.

Simon didn’t notice the shift at first. You’re such a sweet little bird. Bringing him dinners, tending his home, letting him have a nice warm cunt to fall into after a long day. Slowly though, the dinners stopped coming. You would turn the tv off once you came over. You kept all of your things in a small pile by the door. You wasted no time putting your clothes on and leaving. It was starting to piss him off. Were you seeing someone else? Is he not good enough for you anymore?

—————————————————————————

You sighed as pulled your panties on. Simon stares at you from his spot on the bed, a cold calculating stare piercing through your back. Throwing your jeans and over size sweatshirt on, you turn around to look at him. “Thanks. Same time Friday? I have plans on Thursday.” His stare only intensifies as you slip on your socks and shoes. You look at him expectantly, waiting on a confirmation for the later in the week plans.

“I’m taking it as a no if i don’t get verbal confirmation.” You say when you get no response. “Th’as fine.” You nod as you head towards the living room. Rising from the bed, he pulls on his discarded sweatpants as you grab your coat and purse from the living room. He walks out to you standing by the door.

“See ya Friday.” You say as the door opens to reveal his hallway neighbors valentine’s day door decor. “Stop.” He says gruffly behind you. Stopping in your tracks and swivel your head around to meet his gaze. “Can we talk?” You raise an eyebrow before scanning the hallway. “Can it wait for Friday? I really need to get home to feed my cat.” He clicks his tongue before sighing deeply. “Alright.” You smile at him before closing his door and walking away from the apartment.

As he hears your footsteps move further away, he plops down on the couch. You’ve been sleeping together for almost a year, minus deployments. Did he miss something? Has he said something to upset you in the past to make you so cold? Simon shakes his head. He needs to figure out how to tell you the truth. How to express to you that you are the only person he lets see him in this way. The only person he ever wants to let see him this way again. How do you tell your fuck buddy you are actually in love with them?

a/n: hey yall!! slow day at the office ❤️‍🔥 i have some ideas for situationship simon riley. i’m cooking over here y’all give me some time 🤍🤍 i did proofread this, but i probs missed something. I’ll come back later and double check. feedback is always appreciated!! likes, comments, and reblogs are kindly appreciated as well ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 xoxo, lollie

he’d piss me off so bad with that terrible attitude problem of his and a tiny raise of his voice would make me break down into tears but god i need that old man in my guts IMMEDIATELY

Thinking about being a little too good at getting Johnny off. The way he grits his teeth as he thrusts into your fist, whining and begging: “Not yet—fuck—please not yet.” Brain begging for one thing, body begging for another. Hmmm

cw: somnophilia, dubcon

They’re his favorite shorts.

Cotton. Gray. Plain.

Hug your ass perfectly.

Fabric resting just right above the curve of your cheeks, reveals just a little of the mouth-watering skin he wants to sink his teeth into.

He thinks he might’ve been able to control himself, climb into bed next to you, and pull you in his arms instead of defiling you. Sleep the urge away and take you in the morning when you’re proper awake. That would be the right thing to do, let his sweet girl get the rest you deserve.

It’s not his fault, really, not when you’re also wearing his shirt, makes something possessive curl in his chest at the ‘RILEY’ printed in bold on your back.

You’re too tempting for your own good; how is he supposed to let you sleep when you’ve gone and done such a thing?

He runs a calloused hand up your calf, spreading your pretty legs just a smidge more so he can crawl his way between them. The jostling doesn’t wake you, never does, but when his fingers brush against the backs of your thighs, spreading his touch wide over your skin you make a sleepy noise, not quite awake yet.

When his hands find claim to your ass, kneading the supple flesh, he has to physically stifle a groan as he watches the fat give away under his touch. Another noise comes from above him, his greedy hands pulling you closer and closer to clouded consciousness.

You feel it, he’s sure, a slight tickling on the backs of your thighs that doesn’t quite make sense yet, not when you’re still in the tight confines of sleep’s grasps, wound in a thick fog. Must be even more confusing when his thumb dips lower, smears against your cloth covered cunt.

That makes another noise slip past your lips, a little more coherent this time, leisured strokes waking you enough that you shift slightly, fingers tightening in the sheets under you.

“Simon?”

He doesn’t say anything, just presses his thumb a little firmer against your cunt. You buck into the touch, a small patch of the gray fabric staining darker, your arousal seeping through the shorts even through your sleep-fuddled mind. You rustle your cheek against your pillow, blinking bleary-eyed down at him, lids still heavy, drowsy and dazed.

You’re so docile, sleep still weighing your limbs down, that you let him slip your shorts and underwear down your legs without a fight. Your pretty cunt bare to him, drenched and clenching around nothing as he returns home between your thighs again. Eager to be stuffed even when sleep borders your irises.

When his fingers nudge along your wet folds, the noise you make is so pretty, that it makes his cock throb painfully in his boxers.

He finds his fingers in your half asleep cunt more times than not when he comes home late. He can’t help himself, not when you’re so pliant and soft, handing your obedience over to him, and letting him bend you as he pleases. Let him take his time without complaint, work you nice and stretched while you just lay there and take it. Lazily rutting your hips in the sheets, too tired to do anything, but enjoy the stretch.

“Simon?” You whimper again.

“Yeah, baby,” He finally hums, “Jus’ relax f’me, yeah? Jus’ wanna play with her for a bit.”