I’ll Have A Beer With One Of Those Loopy Spiral Straws Please And Thanks I’m Baby

70's sci-fi Halo

𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚜

Sweet Tooth [Simon "Ghost" Riley]

Summary: You're trapped between a rock and a hard place. Or rather, trapped between a door and your superior. He doesn't seem to mind, though.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Warnings: +18 Smut (MDNI!!!), oral (fem receiving), pussydrunk!Simon if you squint, angst, forbidden romance happening in the midst of a mission.

A/n: i know i said i was gonna take a couple of days off from writing anything but this Simon brain rot hasn't sunk in quite yet but it. is. brewing🥴 @sofasoap i don't know what happened😭 one minute I was vibing to my music, the next I was neck deep in smutville😭😭😭

You shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't be allowing this. He's your superior. He's your Lieutenant. He's... H—he's...

He's on his knees.

He's hiking your leg up his shoulder. The slit of your dress parted wide open for him to take you apart from the inside out. His arm curls over it, hand planted on your sternum to keep you pinned against the door and the other slid against the small of your back whilst—

"fuck." is all you hear from below. "you're dripping all over my mouth, sweetheart."

You can't look at him. You just can't.

Even though you know you won't see his whole face, you know his mask will be right above his nose. And you know you'll see his mouth, his tongue gliding tender strokes through your pussy.

Hell, you can hear the lewd sounds. The slurping, the sticky wet noises of his mouth playing with your folds. It's hard to do anything but squirm in his hold. He's much bigger than you, keeping you where you are with just a fraction of his strength. So you just stand there and take it.

"Ghost—" you moan breathlessly, eyes glassy and bleary when you open them to try and talk some sense into him but words are melting and flee from your head the more his tongue flattens against your pussy. "Ghost, th—they're— they're going to—"

Words. Fleeing. Faster than your mind can comprehend. A sudden squeal escapes you before you can slap a hand over your mouth when his tongue slides inside you. His chin is glistening. And his nose as it cards against your clit, and it nearly tears a scream from your throat.

Your fingers grip his arm, legs trembling when the heat pools and threatens to flare brightly. He continues to lap at your folds like it's his job. The way he looks at you, with dark eyes veiled with desire, makes you melt.

Those eyes usually are so cold and calculated. Razer sharp and focused on the task at hand.

He's still focused, of course. But there's no sharpness. Not an ounce of ice and malice. His eyes are hazy, all soft and sweet and desperate for the way your essence drips onto his tongue. Desperate for you. You don't know how to handle that.

You don't know how you're going to look the rest of the team in the eye once you get out of this tiny bathroom. The operation was almost over. The target was in the bag, Gaz and Soap are working on getting the damn bastard out of the building unnoticed. Laswell's probably with them. You and Ghost?

You can't help but recall how he was always close by. Especially when you had to lure the target away from prying eyes. He kept a good enough distance, but close enough that you could feel the darkness of his eyes piercing the back of your head.

Then, once the target was secured —bound, gagged and blinded with a cloth over his head— and ushered away by Gaz and Soap, Ghost wasted no time in cornering you. Ambushing you, more like.

A gasp leaves your throat. Your hand grabs the top of his head, still covered by his mask. You don't mean to and you immediately mutter broken apologies when he freezes. You try to pry yourself from his grasp, knowing that you crossed a line. The mask doesn't come off, it never does.

But it was an accident, he shouldn't be that good working his tongue inside your fluttering pussy. You hate yourself even more for even allowing things to get this far.

"D—didn't mean to, I swear—" you stutter as you try to slide your leg off his shoulder. "I—I'm really sorry, Lieutenant—"

But he won't let you. You yelp when he pushes you back against he door and you feel his mouth on you, licking into you again. Only, he's more adamant this time. More determined to ruin you.

"Gh—Ghost— Si— Simon!" your scream practically goes unheard as you squirm against his mouth. You want to try and reason with him. But it's impossible to see reason when your head is filled with pleasure.

His hands are firm against you, tongue eagerly sinking into your wet heat before his mouth sucks on your throbbing clit. You hiss sharply, head falling downwards to barely open your eyes and find his. You're careful to let your hand rest on his shoulder, gripping the expensive fabric of his dark blazer, your lips parted open as you panted heavily.

Something has long since strung and drawn tight. The high was far too perilous; if the drop doesn't kill you, it'll be a miracle. And he knows. You're sure he knows because the more you tremble in his arms, the tighter his hold becomes.

It happens all too fast. The thread snaps and you shatter violently against his hold, hand slapped over your mouth to trap the loud cry inside your throat. Your head lolls against the door as the ecstasy hits you like a truck and rolls over you in hot waves. You're writhing in his grasp, helpless to the onslaught of the electrifying high.

He doesn't stop lapping at you just yet. You're gushing and pulsing into his mouth, dripping all over his nose and chin, wetting the cloth of his mask. A few more licks until he finally pulls himself away from your swollen pussy like it's the last thing he wants. You breathe deeply as you watch him.

He's still looking at your folds whilst his tongue glides over his lips, breathing as heavily as you are while collecting the glistening fluids there. It was like observing at a predatory animal after a kill.

He leans in again. You shudder when he presses a kiss on your folds. Fingers spreading you open to gently press his lips against your swollen clit. Kissing you there like he's saying one last goodbye. His tongue makes another flick over the sensitive bud and another and you think he's going to wring another orgasm over you all over again and it terrifies you because you don't think you'd want to stop him.

Thankfully unfortunately, he draws away and finally lets you go. You faintly whimper at the last sight of his mouth before he draws the mask over his face.

Your legs were shaky as you made your way back. It was still hard to catch your breath. The alcohol in your blood has long since burned out by the time Lieutenant Riley was done with you. Regardless of that, you still stumbled on your feet.

Thankfully, Soap was right there to catch you. He was just as surprised as you were when he did. "You alright, lass?"

You smoothen over your dress as you quietly nod, not trusting your voice to speak for you. Another hand gently palms over the small of your back. In an instant, you're as stiff as a board when you feel him behind you.

"Exfil's here, love." he says. "Time to go."

The throbbing between your thighs returns with a vengeance. You barely manage to suppress a whimper.

You don't think you're going to catch a wink of sleep tonight. The worst part about it is that it'll have nothing to do with the mission.

support my ko-fi I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with this. do i leave it as it is? do i turn it into a mini-series? what's happening, brain? idk.

[part 2] banners by @cafekitsune

Cod Masterlist

a tim wright and brian thomas stimboard for anon, with themes of lovecore

x - x - x | x | x - x - x

i think i made this one sound a lil aggressive lmao

Alex Kralie: "You're lucky everyone loves you, otherwise I would've fired you in an instant because of your shitty attitude, boy."

I like to think Tim has kind of an atittude problem/beef with Alex, but Alex doesn't wanna fire him since his popularity raises the ratings of his films and gets him bank. If he does fire him, his business will go to shit💀

to put it simply, Tim gets pretty privilege and still gets to keep his job lol

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tryna figure out how I wanna draw this man (permanently missing some nails, partial reconstruction of septum, grey hair from follicular damage from inappropriately administered first aid and stress? not quite dad bod but heavier set...think thonk...)

Are we humans.. or are we gamers..

Ugh Ik this is totally out of character for Johnny, but I can’t help it, anyways I had a thought last night and I was like domestic Johnny sawyer, living away from his cannibalistic family, and he has a girlfriend or wife whichever one, and it’s like morning time so she’s making breakfast, In her little tank top, and black short shorts and Johnny comes up behind her, and sneaks his hand into the waist band.. and fucks her.. calls her his little housewife.. and babydoll.. 🤭

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer x reader one-shot

In which Johnny proposes to his girlfriend, who proceeds to tell him to convince her to say yes

MINORS DNI

Contains: blood, knife play, smut, marking, being tied down, bitten, scarred

Sorry for the double spacing, idk how to format on mobile

You met Johnny walking along the train tracks one evening as the sun set on the horizon, bathing you in warm autumn light. With one hand on your dress and the other held out for balance and a wide grin on your face, you immediately caught his attention, and he couldn't help but approach you.

The two of you spent the evening sitting on the tracks, talking about everything and nothing. Johnny learned that your family life was falling apart. With the closure of the slaughterhouse, your parents would soon be out of money, and you felt like a burden being another mouth to feed. He told you his family was used to using him to provide, and he had risked his life many times to keep food on the table hunting dangerous wild boar. A recent bar fight made him lose his hunting license, and now he was nothing but a drain. With his cousin Sissy's return to the house, and the way his uncle was never happy with him, he felt like his family would be better off without him.

Your heart broke. He was in his twenties but carried the burden of generations on his back. That was when you first touched him. You cupped his cheek and ran your thumb over an age-old scar. He froze, then leaned into your touch and covered your hand with his, engulfing it entirely.

"You're not a danger, Johnny," you whispered, gently caressing his cheek with your thumb. "You were only trying to help." 

He laughed. If only you knew.

"I'm serious," you say, huffing at his dismissive laugh. "I know what it's like to not be appreciated. You deserve better."

His brows furrowed. You would have been easy prey; he could tell right then that you would have followed him anywhere, a little lost kitten looking for a new master, someone to care for her and lick her wounds. He'd lick your wounds, alright. But he was no savior.

For months the two of you would meet at the train tracks. Johnny never brought you home, and you never told your parents either. You were each other's secret.

Then one day as the two of you laid in a field talking about your dreams on a crisp December morning, he couldn't help himself. He rolled over on his side, gazed into your eyes, and kissed you. 

It wasn't like those drunken one night stand kisses, nor was it the type of kiss that led to more. It was every emotion you'd been building up inside him, emerging from places he had thought long dead. 

His lips were soft, tender. It was you who deepened the kiss, wrapping your arm around his neck and pulling him closer. That morning he decided you were the only person who mattered. When the kiss finally broke, he gave you a smile that melted your heart.

As the sun peaked in the sky, the two of you wrapped in each other's arms, he suggested that you run away from your old lives.

"What about your family?" You'd asked. You were sure your parents didn't need you, but he was their provider.

"I've done bad things, babydoll," he said. "The law don't like me 'round here. It'd be a weight off their back if I was gone."

You struggled at first with the idea of taking Johnny from people who needed him, but he assured you Sissy was more than capable of providing for the family without him.

It took a few weeks, but eventually, the two of you met at the train station and left your old lives behind.

********

Johnny never told you the bad things he'd done, and you never pressured him to tell you. He was with you now, and that's all that mattered.

Now, two years after escaping your pasts together, the two of you had a cute little two-bedroom house on five acres of land in rural Georgia. It wasn't much, but you both loved the idea of a small farm with a few animals and a garden.

Johnny had gotten a job as a private detective, of all things, and his clients were always very impressed with how quickly he resolved cases. Though it was curious how often the people interrogated were found dead.

That morning, however, Johnny didn't have a case, so you made him a delicious breakfast of fresh eggs, bacon, toast, and sausage. You'd left him sleeping in bed and gotten dressed in a cute little outfit you knew he couldn't resist: a white tank top and tiny black short shorts.

You were in the middle of stirring the scrambled eggs when you felt a hand slip down the waistband of your shorts, sending a shock shooting down your spine.

"Johnny, I don't get how you're always so quiet," you said, giggling as you felt him press his toned body against yours from behind, his fingers toying with the lace of your black panties.

"Huntin' works better when your prey don't know you're comin'," he whispered against your ear before nipping your earlobe.

"You don't have to hunt me, baby. I'd be as easy to hunt as roadkill," you joked. Johnny smirked against your ear, the validity of your statement all too true.

"You're too pretty to be roadkill, babydoll," he rumbled. "I'd make you into a trophy. Hang you in my bedroom so I could look at your beautiful face every night 'fore I fell asleep."

It took some time before you'd gotten used to his fascination with keeping trophies, but the numerous animal heads hanging on your walls showed he wasn't slowing down any time soon. You leaned your weight back against him, enjoying the feel of his bare torso, and smiled as his lips trailed down your neck. 

Still, the hardness you felt pressing against your backside proved that the outfit you'd worn to entice him had worked, and your mind was already becoming hazy with lust.

"I been thinkin'," Johnny said, kissing the nape of your neck, "you'd make the most fuckable little housewife." 

Your pulse fluttered against his lips. You'd never pushed him for anything; you'd been happy just being his girl. But the word "housewife" made your heart race. He hooked a thumb in your waistband and pulled your shorts and panties down, and his fingers quickly found your already soaked slit.

"Oh yeah?" You gasped as he dipped his fingers inside you. "You think so?"

He murmured an affirmative against your skin while he rocked his hips against your butt. "I know it. What do you think, babydoll? You wanna get married?"

Your lips curled, one of your hands flipping the burners off on the stove before you turned around to face him. His head was cocked to the side, a handsome smile on his face. Your eyes trailed down his bare chest, pausing at each scar, each one telling a different story before looking up into his deep brown eyes. "It's a tempting proposal, but I could use some convincing. Why don't you make me?"

He smiled, but it wasn't friendly. No, it was more like a predator, the type to make your blood run cold. 

"Alright, I'll make you, darlin'. If you really want me to, I will."

You felt like a rabbit in a snare, squeezed between his muscular body and the stove, completely at his mercy.

"What'll it be, sugar?" He asked, his hands on your hips, and his eyes trailing down to your cleavage before snapping back up to meet your gaze.

You leaned forward and cupped the bulge in his jeans with one hand. 

"Make me."

That was all it took. Johnny's fingers sank into your hips almost painfully as he yanked you against him. "You'll eat those words, darlin'," he growled. 

Then he dropped to his knees and pulled your hips against his lips like a man starved. You gripped his wrists while his broad hands cupped your ass, forcing your hips toward him as he burrowed into you.

He always loved eating you out, but this time there was a primal aspect to the way he licked and nipped at your folds. Your fingers entwined in his dark locks as you moaned his name while he traced your entrance, gathering every last drop of your sticky wetness. 

Johnny twirled his tongue around your clit and dove in so hard you could feel his teeth against your lips, his tongue curling upward, lifting your hips into his hungry mouth.

Desire dripped down your thighs, mingling with his saliva, while your muscles clenched and shivered. They remained taut, each nerve pulsating with sensation. It felt like an exhilarating marathon, beautiful agony traveling from your thighs to your hips. Moans spilled from your lips, and you tried to draw him closer, but he withdrew.

"This pretty little pussy is mine," he said, his voice low and possessive, before thrusting two fingers into you, making you whimper and tug at his hair. His lips descended upon your clit, nibbling it, sending sparks of both torment and ecstasy throughout your body.

"You're such a slut for me, baby girl." His fingers moved to tease your sweet spot, making your toes curl. "So fucking wet."

He stood, and you whined at the loss of his tormenting touch. His eyes were hungry and dangerous. "You're going to be my pretty little housewife, aren't you, baby?"

You gasped as he pressed against you, his hands on either side of the stove, trapping you.

"I could be," you purred, "but… I'm not entirely convinced."

His gaze darkened. "You're mine," he hissed, a predatory snarl forming at the corner of his lips.

"Prove it," you whispered breathlessly. His pupils dilated, and suddenly, you felt the tip of a blade pressing against the soft skin of your stomach.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you looked up at him. Fear mingled with a strange sense of excitement, sending tingles shooting through you.

"Johnny?" You whispered as your mouth ran dry.

"You ever watch someone die?" He said, more to himself than to you.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. Johnny had always had a fascination with his Bowie knife, and sometimes you'd glimpse it stained with fresh blood, but he had never wielded it against you—until now.

"You ain't never quite the same after that, lemme tell ya."

Both of your eyes fixed on the blade as he subtly twisted it, drawing a single droplet of blood from your delicate skin. You winced, but you didn't concentrate on the pain as you were enraptured by the intense look on Johnny's face.

With the pad of his thumb, he traced the droplet and brought it to his lips. You were immobilized, watching as his eyes fluttered closed, savoring your essence. A low growl rumbled in his throat, as if your blood were an exquisite ambrosia.

Johnny had given you love bites, sure, but this was the first time he'd purposefully tasted your blood. You could tell he reveled in it, and part of you wondered why he never asked to try it before. 

You would have let him, after all. He could've had any and all of you that he desired.

As the unfamiliar tingle of blood leaving your body coursed through you, he picked you up roughly, and your legs wrapped around his hips reflexively. Your blood smeared against his abs, but he didn't seem to mind; in fact, it seemed to arouse him even more as he carried you to your shared bedroom and laid you down like an offering.

Your eyes remained wide, adrenaline surging through you as he unzipped his pants and revealed his gorgeous erection, stroking it hungrily while his eyes devoured your body. He looked at you like a man might admire an ice sculpture, as if he expected that he wouldn't get to admire your beauty much longer.

"Baby?" You asked hesitantly as you tried to sit up in bed.

Something sinister sparked behind his eyes, and he left the room briefly, returning with a handful of rope. "Oh, you ain't getting away. I'm keeping you," he snarled, then knelt on the bed beside you, tying your wrists together and then to the bedpost with ease.

A rush surged behind your ears as he immobilized you, leaving only your legs free, trembling with both arousal and fear.

How did he know how to handle the rope like that? He'd never tied you up before, but the way he did it so effortlessly spoke of practiced experience. You'd always felt that Johnny was hiding something from you, and you had a suspicion it was directly related to his ability to make you feel absolutely helpless.

But what Johnny didn't know was, some part of you had been waiting for this. You were more soaked than you could ever remember being before, and the unadulterated bloodlust he exuded was intensely alluring. 

"You ain't going anywhere," he growled, his eyes ablaze with an intensity you had never witnessed before. Your blood gleamed on his torso, and every sinew of his body appeared tightly wound, poised for imminent action. "Ready to meet the Bad Man?"

"The Bad Man from your dreams?" You let out a trembling whimper. Now, this was the figure you'd only encountered in Johnny's waking nightmares. Those harrowing nights when he'd awaken in terror, locked in a life-and-death struggle with an invisible foe. Those nights when he shielded you with his body even in slumber, and upon waking, he remained unconvinced of your safety for days upon days.

"Darlin', he's all too real," he murmured, his words dripping with a chilling anticipation. With deliberate slowness, he drew nearer, his eyes locked onto yours. When his face finally met yours, he seized your head and tilted it to the side, trailing his tongue from your collarbone to your ear, where he clamped down with savage intensity. A sharp cry escaped your lips as he pressed his body flush against yours, the taste of fresh blood flooding his ravenous mouth.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned as he ground his hips against your stomach, his length squeezed between you both. Tears welled in your eyes, but you felt more alive than you'd ever felt before.

"Johnny," you whimpered as he continued to suck your earlobe.

"You wanted this, darlin'," he said with a chilling laugh.

You bit your lip. "I-I'm not asking you to stop."

And, for some reason, that gave him pause.

"Really?" He asked, pulling back. His lips were bloodstained, but that wildfire that had consumed him was simmering behind his gaze as he regarded you with equal parts possession and hunger. 

You nodded. "Yes, really. I always knew there was something you were hiding. I want you to know I love you. All of you, Johnny," you said, even as your body shook. "And," you let your wrists go slack, "I like being claimed by you like this."

Something in Johnny shifted then. It was almost too much, the flood of emotions that swept over him, and he didn't realize it, but you felt his tears splatter against your skin.

"I love you more," he said, his voice barely a whisper. You'd heard him say it before, especially during sex, but this was different. It sent chills rippling through you. And when his aching cock slid into your wetness, you both gasped in pure ecstasy.

He gripped your thighs, pulling you against him, and groaned deeply. You felt so good that he couldn't help but pick up the pace, driving into you with a fervor. All your nerve endings coiled and tensed, already hypersensitive, and you wrapped your legs around his powerful hips in euphoria.

"I'm gonna make sure you ain't never forget who owns you," he said, and you mewled in response as he withdrew from you and reached to the bedside table, taking his knife in hand. You caught your reflection in the silver blade, your skin flushed, your lips parted and panting. You couldn't wait to see what he'd do.

Johnny used two fingers to gently circle your clit, keeping you on edge as he traced the tip of the knife between your breasts, down your belly, and to your hip where he'd marked you earlier. His motions slowed to allow him better control, and he pressed the tip of the blade into your skin again, a little deeper than before. 

You winced but didn't move as he etched into your skin. Your body was screaming to have him back inside you, and his slow circles on your clit were driving you mad with desire. Pain was indistinguishable from pleasure as he carved your skin like an artist working on a masterpiece. When he finished, he dipped his head and ran his tongue along the marks he'd made. When he withdrew his tongue, you caught the small JS he'd carved just above your hip before blood obscured it.

"Mine," he said once more, and this time, you didn't argue. After all, no one else had their initials etched into your flesh.

Johnny continued to play with your clit as he positioned himself at your entrance before pushing into you again. You'd submitted to him before, but this time was different. This time, you felt nothing but pure bliss. You were his, it could no longer be denied, nor would you ever want to deny it.

The resounding slap of his balls colliding with your sopping wetness was lewd enough to make your mind spin, or perhaps it was the blood loss, but either way, you felt light-headed and airy under his command. One hand moved to cup your breast while the other continued to assist his cock in driving you to the brink.

"Are you going to be my perfect little housewife?" He asked, pressing his forehead against yours as he thrust deeply into you. You could see two sides to him, the vicious and the docile, in harmony in his rapturous gaze.

"I will," you conceded, your breaths coming in sharp pants while he pistoned into your exquisitely viscous core. 

"Cum for me, babydoll," he commanded. The tension that had been building since the moment he approached you sprung loose, and you climaxed hard around his throbbing length. With a guttural groan and a final, deep thrust, you felt his climax paint your inner walls before he collapsed on top of you, completely spent.

You wanted to wrap your arms around him, but they were still tied to the bedposts, so instead, you kept your legs locked around his hips and nuzzled your cheek against the top of his head. He looked up at you with the same smile that had melted your heart the first day you met him.

"Thank you, babydoll. Thank you."