temporary haven

werewolf!soap that loves to watch his cum drip out of your ass in thick streams, your pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing when it drips down your folds. he loves your needy whines and whimpers, looking back at him with big, glassy doe-eyes, too fucked out and cockdrunk to ask for what you want. oh i know, pretty girl he coos as he uses his thumb to spread his cum all around your sensitive ring of muscle that he leisurely fucked for the last hour or so. you want more, don'tcha? and all you can do is nod and spread your legs further, arching your back and shamelessly presenting your cunt, wet and waiting. he uses his cock to tease your clit, rubbing up and down your slit. he gathers his spend on his cock, pushing deep into your cunt and groaning at the warmth, bending over your back with his teeth at your neck, telling you how pretty you'll look with his cum dripping out of you everywhere.

soap is the type to spend hours biting and sucking marks into your skin. he’s possessive, not letting you go until you have fresh marks blotching your skin, not even trying to put them in places that could be covered by clothes. no, he’s going to make other people realize that you’re spoken for and if he’s not there with you to make them realize that, then the smattering of marks along your throat and collar will speak for him.

dbf!john price shotgunning his cigar with you—

words: 5.2k

rating: e

warnings: smoking (cigarette/cigar), age gap, shotgunning, pet names and praises (darling, good girl, pretty girl), handjob, blowjob/deepthroating, cunnilingus, fingering, price is a consent king, panty stealing. please let me know if i missed something!

notes: oh my god, this is pure filth. as always, minors dni as this work and my blog are 18+. dbf!trope makes my brain go fuzzy. enjoy!

he finds you in the bathroom, blowing smoke out the open window, half-empty pack of cigarettes by your side on the counter you're perched on, lighter tucked inside.

you're frazzled as he opens the door — as is he, assuming no one would be in the bathroom.

it's a habit you picked up from too many nights out with friends. you don't like how it tastes, but it's comforting and familiar and so you seek it out when overwhelmed or nervous.

and you are.

captain john price, your dad's best friend since before you were born.

simon riley is the kind of man who very carefully gives you a piece of the wedding cake and then uses his thumb so gently to make sure he didn’t get any frosting on your mouth.

puppyplay with soap where you made food and you know you should eat but you’re too depressed to actually eat. and soap is there nuzzling your throat and shoulders and takes small bites of your food. so you bring him to the couch and feed him bits and pieces and eat along with him. and he’s so fucking soft with his messy hair and glassy eyes and you scratch along his freshly-shaved sides and feel a little better.

and then ghost comes home and is like “why is he on the couch?”

⚜️ pornstar!ghost who's so, so in love with you —

words: 3.8k

tags: smut, creampie, pet names (good girl, love, darling, etc), throat holding, no use of y/n, fem!reader, ghost and reader are so in love with each other, biting/marking, mentions of sex work.

notes: inspired by @ghosts-cyphera 's pornstar!ghost. thank you so, so much for creating him and for letting me bite him and chew him like a squeaky toy. please read the original here and give it lots of love! here is the playlist i made while writing — a mixture of soft and sweet and filthy and everything in between. minors dni, my blog is 18+.

in the muffled quiet of the bathroom, you take a deep breath. your heart beats in time with the rhythmic thumping of the bass that reverberates throughout the flat. that same steady beat of edm songs has been on repeat since you arrived at the party, and your blood hums with the vibrations. you love parties; the drinks, the snacks, the absolute unhinged bullshit that can only be achieved by those in front and behind the camera.

you’re surprised there hasn’t been a noise complaint.

you slip from the bathroom, perhaps just a little tipsy, the warmth of the drinks and the atmosphere thread through your blood like fire, the colored flashing lights casting everything in a multi-colored glow. you move through the crowd to find the one person who means more than the entire world and —

doing my makeup getting ready to go out and feeling delusional…price would come up behind u while get ready and grab ur ass begging to not go wherever ur headed but you’ve had the plans for weeks and tell him no but he pushes you up against the counter of the bathroom and im actually gonna stop here before i get sad

"john..." you say, voice soft. he presses his face into the crook of your neck, lips brushing the skin as his arms tighten around your waist.

"'ve missed you," he murmurs in reply, voice muffled against your skin. his breath is warm and it makes you shiver. you swallow thickly, closing your eyes. the tell-tale burn of emotions cling to your throat, and you desperately fight back the tears.

your mascara was too expensive to cry off.

"i've missed you too," is your gentle reply. your voice cracks at the admission, and you hate how weak it makes you seem. you miss him all the time. you miss him even now, when he's pressed right up against you, his hold on you so tight as if you'll fade away into mist if he lets go even a little.

"don't go."

you wrap your fingers around one of his wrists, nails digging into his skin. you don't know if you want to pull him closer or push him away.

"please." he sounds wrecked and your heart aches something fierce, beating so hard you feel like it might crack your ribs from the inside. "just stay with me tonight."

you bite your lip, head tipping back as you take a shaky inhale. your stuttered breaths are the only sound in the room besides the faint whir of the fan. taking a deeper, more steady breath, you're able to squirm around in his hold. lacing your arms around his neck, you nuzzle your nose against his cheek, his mutton chops tickling your skin.

"how about this," you offer, lips dragging down to his jaw. you hadn't put any lipstick on quite yet, but you know he wouldn't complain if you left a mark on him. "you walk me to the pub to meet my friends, and then you come get me after a couple hours out. and when we get home, i'm yours for the rest of the night."

his nose presses against your throat, inhaling deeply. you're wearing the perfume he got you for your birthday earlier this year. he's silent for a moment, appreciating you in his arms, where he's able to keep you safe and tucked away from the outside world, where there's something that can take him away from you. something that can take you away from him.

"okay." he gives in to the compromise, knowing the guilt will eat at him if he makes you stay. "but i'll be counting down the minutes til you're back in my arms, yeah?"

pornstar!ghost being so soft with you —

(inspired by @ghosts-cyphera's pornstar!ghost! thank you again for letting me chew him like a squeaky toy ♡)

ghost knows something’s wrong the moment you arrive home.

your bag slumps to the ground instead of being carefully put on the hook; your shoes are left beside the shoe rack and not on it; your normal bright and excited greeting at seeing him is far more subdued.

you look… you look exhausted. you give him a tight, tired smile. it doesn’t reach your eyes.

he frowns, dog-earring the page of the script he’s been given — a scene he’s set to shoot with you in a few days — and sets it to the side.

he waits for you to come to him. doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask any questions. he knows you well enough by now to let you break the silence first.

and if all you want to do is sit in the silence with him? he’s more than okay with that. as long as he’s with you. as long as he can be there for you.

you crawl onto the couch, arms lacing tight around his waist, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. he laces one arm around your shoulders to keep you secure, his free hand grazing his fingers back and forth soothingly along the line of your arm.

you inhale deeply and burrow yourself impossibly closer to him. you could never be close enough.

“sometimes i wonder,” you start, voice small and muffled against his skin, “what the point is.”

he waits, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. he feels you follow in tandem.

“i worry that people don’t actually know me. or even care, really.”

you don’t mean him. you never mean him.

ghost is so precious to you.

“i think,” he says, after you don’t continue, keeping his voice low and soft. “you’ve worked yourself too hard lately.”

you make a small noise against his throat so he knows you’re listening. you close your eyes, feeling the vibrations of his voice. it’s soothing. you could listen to him forever.

“there are some days where it’s all to much. it’s so easy to forget yourself. and how absolutely nothing would be the same without you.”

you swallow thickly, throat clogging. ghost is gracious enough to not acknowledge the way you sniffle. he’s so, so courteous and gentle.

“there are people who can’t see you how your friends see you. how i see you. and it breaks my heart when people don’t return your kindness. how you care so much for everyone, and you try so hard not to need to be cared for in return.”

there’s lips against your hair, his grip tightening.

“you don’t need to be so strong all the time. you’re never going to be alone.”

thick, hot tears blur your vision and your throat is tight. you don’t trust yourself enough to speak.

you don’t need to say anything. he knows. he feels the way you sink into him, hold him tighter, breathe in his scent deeply.

“would you like some wine?” he asks after the silence lingers.

“no, thank you.” your voice is small.

“would you like to take a bath?”

“no… but thank you.”

“what would you like, darling?” he asks, comfort and warmth and safety surrounding you, filling all your senses.

“you. i just want you.”

he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, fingers carding through your hair gently, cradling you as close as he possibly can get you. you slip your hand under his shirt, resting over his heart. “‘m here, darling. ’m yours.”

soulmate red string theory where ghost and soap are connected together. but it still feels like something is missing. they can’t figure out what it is, and it bleeds into their thoughts. the feeling ebbs and flows and they grow accustomed to it, if not a bit miffed that they’re so unsure.

you’ve waited so patiently for your red string. as the years go by, you grow more and more discouraged. your friends, your family, your coworkers — connected to their soulmate, a new flush about them after that first meeting. you try not to feel hurt and left out. what if you weren’t meant to have a soulmate?

and then, one morning, you wake up to two red strings tied to your pinky.

fae!gaz whom you meet in a quaint little coffee shop that’s off the main road, tucked away. it’s small and cozy on the inside, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, dim lighting, plants lining every available free space. you like the quiet, and the pastries, and the ability to feel as if you’re suspended in time for a while.

you see him one day, and you’re surprised because you’ve never seen him before, and you’ve taken note of all the regulars — being one yourself.

he already knows your name when the barista calls it out. he wants it willingly, though. he doesn’t have to wait long, thankfully. you settle into your familiar chair and pull out a half-read, well-worn book. he comes over to introduce himself.

he doesn’t give you his name, but you more than happily say yours. you like the way his eyes sparkle, the way your name sounds on his tongue.

you start to see him more often, and your heart always skips a beat when he looks to you and a soft smile graces his lips. you swear he doesn’t smile like that at anyone else. you start sitting together in that little coffee shop, comfortable silence as you read and he writes or draws or does the daily crossword. other times, he’ll ask you about your book and you help him on the puzzles.

you don’t think he actually needs your help, but you’re not about to stop.

the shop likes to have an assortment of pastries; changing with the season or holiday or whenever they think of something new to try. you share yours with him, even though he protests every time.

he starts getting the pastries before you arrive. he knows what you like, knows what you’d like to try. it’s a bit curious, but cute.

one day the pastry tastes a little off. he doesn’t seem to mind, but you know something isn’t right. gaz looks concerned and he tells you not to worry, he has something back at his that’ll make you feel better. time feels far, far different after that.

best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —

words: 2.2k

rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni.

warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is

notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.

one thing you love about simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. strong, steadfast, there when you need him. even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.

not that you’ll tell him that.

dbf!john price refuses to fuck you in any position that doesn’t let him see your face. he needs to see your eyes, the way your mouth hangs open as you’re unable to hold back your moans and mewls and begs for more. needs to see your eyes glaze over as he lays his hand over your throat, large fingers pressing lightly at the sides. needs to be able to kiss you and lick into your mouth, tasting his own cum from when you got him off, strong but not strong enough to resist the way you paw at the front of his trousers, bite at his ear and tell him how desperate you are to have him in your mouth. he needs to kiss along your jaw, soft bites here and there until he gets to your throat, turning it to the side so he can sink his teeth into the soft skin and leave his mark. he needs to see the way your face contorts into pleasure as he releases deep inside you, thick ropes of cum spilling and dripping from you.

but mostly, he wants to see that pretty smile, when both of you are breathing heavy, and he tucks some hair behind your ear. he presses soft kisses over your cheeks and under your eyes, moving down your face until he can indulge in gentle, languid kisses, feeling as you relax and release all your stress and tension, soft and warm and safe in his bed.

the haziness of john's cigar lingers in the air, mixing with the overall smoke of the club, a deep, thumping bass echoing through the walls, through your veins and blood and the steady thrust of his hips up into you.

his hands — large, warm, possessive — grip your waist, nails digging into the skin deep enough to leave marks. but you want them. you need them. even if no one else can see them, no one else can know — you'll know. you'll know that he's touched you, fucked you, claimed you in a way no one else has. in a way no one else can.

"there we go," he says, voice a deep, honey purr as your eyes roll back, his thick cock hitting that spot deep inside you that makes you see stars, makes you whine and leak onto his cock, arousal slipping down your thighs and making an absolute mess in his lap.

there's a light sheen of sweat adorning his body — a mixture of the humidity of the club, the dark corner room you're tucked away in, only hidden from the rest of the club by a thick velvet curtain, and the fact that he's been fucking you steadily for the past half-hour, already pulling an orgasm from you and working you towards another.

the lights of the club glint off the metal of his harness. he removed his shirt when you both entered the club, and you'd never expect him to be wearing that. but others had been eyeing him all night, his nipples getting hard from the atmosphere. you had seen their eyes — staring at his collarbone, drifting down to his chest, and moving to linger on his hips where a trail of hair leads deliciously down into his trousers.

he could feel the jealousy emanating off you in waves, unable to hide your pout as you clung to his side, oblivious to the way others were looking at you the same.

"look at me, darling," he murmurs, one hand gripping the leash a little harder, forcing you to look down at him, the collar he gifted you right before going out laying delicately on your throat. "want to see you when you cum."

your nails dig into his chest, tightening around him as desire drips down your spine, warming your body and making you delirious.

"wanna come on your cock, john," you whine, leaning down to kiss him. all teeth and tongue, hard to do anything but pant as your thrusts grow sloppy. your thighs burn from the effort, stretched across his lap and thick thighs. his dick feels so good inside, hot and heavy and you’ve never felt so full.

“oh, i know, darling,” his voice, low and mocking, nipping at the delicate skin behind your ear as he wraps one arm around your waist, securing you against him. “you need to come so badly, don’t you?”

you hate him. he’s so hot, he’s been pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collar and chest, bruises and bite marks smattering against your skin. and he won’t let you cum.

“please,” you mewl. you’re not above begging. he likes it when you beg. “‘ve been so good for you,” you add, lips dragging across his jaw.

“mn, you have, pet,” he agrees, a sharp slap to your ass and a tighter grip on your leash, wrapping it around his fingers — slick and shiny with your spit and arousal — dragging you down until your nose is almost touching his.

“keep your eyes open, or i stop,” he growls, low and throaty and all you can do is whine and nod and claw at his chest, desperate.

he snaps his hips up, and you cry out, feeling every inch as he fucks deep into you, your brain going static as your orgasm licks deep in your gut, so close.

your eyes flutter, threatening to close, but a warning growl from john keeps you obedient, keeping your eyes on his — dark, glossy, devouring.

three more brutal thrusts and he bottoms out inside you, your body shaking as your orgasm crashes over you, release spilling and dripping to his stomach, the hair on his navel absolutely drenched with you.

thick, hot spurts of his cum spill out from where he’s buried inside you, dripping down his cock.

“fuck,” he moans out, as he claims you in the way he loves best, marking you and ruining you for anyone else.

bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k

rating: e

warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any!

notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

he's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. you weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"i don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"i wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

dbf!joel miller when the fallout arrives —

words: 1k

rating: there are allusions to smut but nothing explicit. however, my blog is 18+ so minors please dni.

warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, no happy ending, brief mentions of smut, picking cuticles and biting nails. if i miss anything, please let me know!

notes: sorry in advance.

the fallout had been nothing less than catastrophic.

your father — you've never seen him so blind with rage, before. spewing vitriol and venom, mainly towards joel. it's unfair, you want to cry, you were part of it too. joel tried to be reasonable and rational at the beginning and you — you kissed him anyway.

you can't blame him, not really. some part of you knew it was always going to end like this.

soap is the type to spend hours biting and sucking marks into your skin. he’s possessive, not letting you go until you have fresh marks blotching your skin, not even trying to put them in places that could be covered by clothes. no, he’s going to make other people realize that you’re spoken for and if he’s not there with you to make them realize that, then the smattering of marks along your throat and collar will speak for him.