You’ve known each other since childhood, and while he shot up in height, you shot up in bra size. And König noticed. Mien Gott, did he notice.
He was around fifteen when he realized for the first time just how nice your breasts felt against his big body when he hugged you, so soft and warm. He started taking any excuse to give you long, drawn out hugs—though of course he told himself it was just because he loved you so much. You were the only person who didn't bully him, after all.
He rationalized how his gaze started to end up on your cleavage more often than your face, too. He was just so tall, that even if he tried to look into your eyes—and he did, Schatz, he really did! You have to believe him, he tried so hard—he could see straight down your top, anyway.
And, well, he was no saint—just a man. And your tits were so pretty.
Could you really blame him for looking? He just wanted to admire you…
He always insisted on driving you places once he got his license—he was a good friend, after all, and he liked being useful. That he got to throw his arm out across your soft chest every time the car in front of him stopped too suddenly was just a bonus.
As the years passed by, his obsession grew—especially after he found porn. Most nights, he fisted his long, fat cock to videos of women who looked like you having their breasts played with, abused, worshipped. He preferred the latter, but he couldn’t deny there was something thrilling about the idea of slapping your soft tits and watching them jiggle. He would be sure to kiss them better after, though.
Once, after a particularly rough mission, König showed up at your place beaten to hell, eyes scarily hollow. You immediately let him inside, pulled him down onto your couch, and held him as he cried. He laid his head on your chest, seeking the comfort only your breasts could give him, and you shushed him softly as you petted his hair. He wished desperately in that moment that he could pull your top down, latch onto one of your cute little nipples, and suckle to his heart’s content, but he settled for leaning more and more of his weight on you until you had to lay back on the couch, him on top of you with his face buried in between your tits as he feigned sleep.
He was far too heavy for you to move yourself, and clearly, you felt bad for him, because you let him stay like that the whole night rather than wake him up.
On your twentieth birthday, König made sure he would have two whole weeks of leave, so he could spend time with you and your perfect breasts. He didn’t have the best relationship with his family, and you didn't have a roommate at Uni, so you let him stay in your dorm. You weren’t going to make your best friend sleep on the floor, of course, so the two of you shared a bed. Nothing untoward happened until the fourth night, when you both got outrageously drunk. You curled up in the tiny bed together when you got back from the pub, and promptly knocked out.
When you woke up the next morning, though, it was to one of König’s massive paws slipped under the neck of your dress, cupping your left tit.
To say you freaked out was an understatement.
You jumped up like you arse was on fire, hollering at him, demanding to know what the fuck he thought he was doing. König, who had been dead asleep, actually fell out of the bed, looking up at you for once, his big, perpetually sad eyes wide with complete confusion and a little bit of fear. When he realized what you were accusing him of, he started stuttering apologies, mortified with himself. You thought it was because he had unintentionally groped you in his sleep, which was partially true. But the main reason he was so upset was because he hadn’t even gotten to enjoy it. He’d held your beautiful breasts for the very first time and he hadn’t even known! The thought made him tear up, and you quickly forgave him, telling him that you believed him—"Accidents happen."
Every time it happened after that, König let you believe it was still an accident.
The more time he spent in the military earning his fearsome reputation and seeing terrible horrors, the bolder he grew. Now, when he visited you in your flat and gave you those sad puppy eyes until you let him sleep in bed with you rather than on the couch, he did not merely cup your breast at night. He played with your nipples, rolling the sensitive little buds between his fingers, tugging and pinching and delighting in the sleepy sounds of pleasure you let out. You tended to wake up if he got his mouth on them though, so he restrained himself—at least until he was able to get you drunk. You slept like the dead when you were wasted, and he had free reign over your amazing tits. He squeezed and sucked, kissed and licked, even fucked them, once. He’d been a little drunk too, that night, or he wouldn't have risked it—but seeing his massive cock nestled between your breasts was like a revelation. He found God in the warm embrace of your tits, and he made an offering in the form of his seed, spilling it all over your chest, neck, and lips.
It felt blasphemous to clean his come from your skin, like he was desecrating a sacred altar, but he knew you would hate him if you discovered what he’d done. And he couldn’t have that—he loved you, he always had and always would. You and your heavenly breasts.
Fucking you in missionary, gazing into your eyes with his body shoved up against yours isn’t enough, so he hikes your legs over his shoulders and presses deeper inside.
Kissing you goodbye isn’t enough, so he comes back for another kiss… then another… then another. Thirty seconds later, he’s got you caged against the wall, devouring your mouth. It’s so easy and messy, the way his tongue delves into your lips and the way he sucks at your spit.
He starts on his stomach to give you oral. You’re lying down with your legs parted. But it’s not enough to taste you; he needs you taking over all his senses and suffocating him. So he flips you around and seats you on his face like a throne before returning to eating you out.
Being in the same house isn’t enough. When he has a day off, you can’t count the number of times he molds his body against yours or touches you in some way.
“Fucking perv.” You mutter as he deeply inhales your scent before returning to his business.
“Fucking perv.” You repeat when you realize that wasn’t enough, so he went to your bedroom to jerk himself off while smelling your panties. Maybe even that isn’t enough either because next thing you know, you’re riding him, his mouth gagged with your panties and savoring the slight flavor.
more of Simon being needy for you
When he wants your pussy
Shy loverboy Simon
Authoress’ note: Hii, y’all! Feel free to drop a comment or DM me with a thought
Divorcée!Simon Riley just hates when he hears his ex wife!Reader is going on a date.
It was all supposed to go perfectly. Your friend had set you on date for Friday night, Simon had the kids at his place because it was his weekend. Kelela blaring from your speakers as you fixed your makeup in the mirror, large rollers in your hair, a nice dress freshly ironed layed on the bed.
Simon absolutely ruined it.
Petty argument that was laced with every bit of jealousy, spiraling into you on your hands and knees, getting your back blown out by your massive ex husband who was stretching you desperate spasming pussy out in the sluttiest way imaginable.
Your slick dripping onto fabric of the dress who worked hard to buy. Sobbing at how good you felt while Simon railed into, using your hips as leverage, practically bruising them. He grunts, “This what you’re doin now? Hm? Hah- thinkin about cheatin
“Fuck- fuck you- mmmph- we’re not- aangh- were nooot-“ you can’t even finish your own sentence, broken moans escaping your mouth, your head falling and toes curling as your ass kept rippling against his pelvis every time Simon bottomed out.
“-We’re not wot? Huh? Wot was tha again?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, slamming his hips into your harder, only earning more keens of his name and curses. You walls quivering around his hefty girth, tears burning your eyes. Then you feel the sting of his hand come down on your rear end, “I’m expecting words from you, that brain on?”
No- probably not- all you knew it was so much- a good much- taking over your entire body. Your hands grinned the headboard of the bed, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold.
“Awww,” the blonde condescendingly croons, dragging your hips down to the base of his member, “Mama can’t take ‘er husbands cock.” He hikes himself deeper inside you, hissing as your nails vlaw as his thigh. “Can help you remember swee’art, ‘s what ‘m ‘ere for.” His arm snakes around your neck, calloused hand around your neck and guiding your hips back into his, the filthy smack, smack, smack! filling the bedroom with every pound of his cock into you.
Simon has you cumming and cumming, endless as a car pulls into your driveway. Simons eyes are nodded over, holding you so close and tight as he grinds into you, “My dear wife,” the military man’s stomach tightens, jaw clenched as he rests his head on your shoulder, sloppy thrust after sloppy thrust in your your oozing pussy, slowing filling with your mix of cum. “pretty fuckin wife, love you so- shit- sooo much dovie” he slurs out, leaving more little bruises up your neck, breathless and sucking your ear as he empties his creamy load into your perfect cunt, “where else would I be without you, baby, bloody hell-“
It’s those screams you’re letting out that has your date thinking your calling out bloody murder that makes the guy rush in your unlocked house. The noises are louder with every step he man makes up the steps the bed threatening to break with every brutal thrust. And you’re there, on the bed, legs over Simons broad shoulders, while he pistons into your slipper pussy, balls smacking against your ass. Your ex husband is pushing you down by your plush thighs, feet flat on the bed and drilling into you without a care in the world. Simon whips his head around, the stranger gobsmacked in horror.
A sinister smirk grows on Simons face, “Guest ‘f honor is ‘ere dovie, don’t you wanna great ‘em?”
Your heat only clenches, only thinking about your husband- the father of your kids, love of your life— Simon, Simon, Simon, Simon-
“So cockdrunk yer speakin out loud,” he lowly snickers, pushing your knees up to your earlobes, smooshing his strawberry cockhead against your cervix, pushing his fingers in your mouth for you to shut up, but you only moan at the sensations he’s giving you. Both mouths stuffed, both set of puffy lips drooling in delight.
Simon cracks his neck, staring holes into your ex date, “If you could close the door on your way out, her husbands taking care of ‘er now.”
a/n: he holds me in his big arms, drunk and I am seeing stars, this is all I think of
Synopsis: Simon has been watching you for a while. So he waits for you heat to finally make a move.
No use of y/n. No ai used.
Mdni!! 18+
Wc: 4.8k
Cw: Non-canon au. Omegaverse. Alpha!Simon. Omega!reader. Kissing. Make outs. Short plot. Fingering. Dacryphilia. Brief mention of blood (sorry). You’ve got a deep dish. Bulges. Size difference. Squirting. Marking. Scenting. Pubic hairs. Knotting. Unprotected sex. p in v. Fat dick Simon. Cum eating. Cum play.
Grey dull skies. An enmity of snowy clouds. Barely audible patters of snow smear the concrete. Frost fragments fracturing the roads. Small cracks. An icy cast. Slippery. Polished by the freezing air, reflecting a cold blue-grey.
The town is quiet. People retiring to their homes. A combination of flats and houses. Bricked. Semidetached. All lifeless and ashen now painted in snow.
It’s December. The cold’s really taking root. You’re in a small cabin just a few yards away from the main road. Dark wood, white stained trees looming around, making it seem like you're buried deep into a forest. Luckily, you live close by to the nearest town centre. English weather was never really nice.
You’re in your kitchen. Pastel yellow coloured walls, adorned in small beautiful plant paints. Pictures of flowers you’ve taken over the years. Paintings you’ve bought. Small counter top, bluey-grey marble board at the surface with white coloured sides. You’re wearing your white turtle neck paired with a long black silken skirt and black Mary Jane flats. All covered by a long black trench coat. The week’s coming to a close. You’re running out of ingredients.
Black pen in hand tapping slowly at your bottom lip, a small note in the other.
Meats, vegetables, fruits, water bottles, go to pharmacy.
You’re missing something. Eyes squinting in annoyance. Brain raking, it’s bothering you. You’re getting lost in the walls around you, trying to figure out what this thing is. You repeat the list again.
Meats. Vegetables. Fruits. Water bottles. Pharmacy.
Ah.
Suppressants.
You rolled your eyes scoffing at yourself. You’ve been a bit forgetful lately. Waiting until your suppressants are nearly out. You’re checking your cupboard. One..two pills left you count. You sigh.
“Tomorrow.” You say aloud.
You’re used to this little life you’ve created. Weekly shopping, Sunday cleaning. Wake up 5am. Earphones in. Jog, eat, shower, work, repeat.
Like clock work, you’re awake. Still black out. Alarm panging, dead on five. Screeching in your ears.
You’re laying in your long sleeve bunny pyjamas belly flat on the bed, head turned, pressed into your pillows. Brows screwed, eyes squinting, sleep lines etched on your face. Crust stuck at the corners of your eyes. Your nose crinkling in annoyance. Sniffing. You bring up your right elbow from its disfigured but comfortable position and smack it down on your alarm clock sitting on the bedside table.
Groaning, you rise slowly. Stretching your back, tiptoeing, arms up high now folding behind you. Heading to the bathroom, you’re splashing cold water on your face. A slow deep breath. Arms steady, hands holding either side of the sink. You meet a tired you in the mirror. Opening it, you reach for your scent repellent. Just two sprays. Now you’re ready for your day.
Shutting the front door behind you, earphones in, you stretch a bit. Left arm swinging, right arm under it. You do it the other way. Back bent downwards, legs straightened, arms elongated, touching your toes, the ground almost. With a gradual rise and a long exhale, you’re on your way. Unhurried, lazy runners pace. You maintain that for a lap around your cabin. Then you’re headed to the main road. ‘Nettles’ by Ethel Cain playing softly in your ears. Low melodious. Pace still measured, arms shifting each step. You’re a few metres in, flats, houses forming in your peripheral. A corner shop open. Bright. Vivid.
You could use a drink.
You head down further into town, body directed at the shop. Eventually meeting the door of the shop, your body slightly adjusted to the frozen air. A ring of the bell is heard as you enter. The male shop keeper notices you, his face resting in one of his hands, eyes heavy. Sagging. A purple brownish colour engraved below them. His head falling and quickly rising. His eyes lighten fairly upon seeing you. Waving sluggishly at you. You give a soft smile and wave back.
Heading to the drink section, you grab a five hundred millilitre bottle of water from the fridge and walk up to the till. Placing your bottle down on the counter, you pay shortly after.
“Have a nice day.” You say. Short, soft, concise.
“And you too.”
-
The sun had already risen. A pale whitish sphere, faintly piercing through. 9am, the clock read. You were in your home, had already showered, eaten. Although your fridge was practically begging to be full. Only a couple red peppers remained. ‘More shops will probably be open.’ You thought.
You were out the cabin, car keys in hand on your way back to the town centre. A small, red Mini Cooper sitting slumped in heavy snow just outside. You open the drivers side, snow falling off that side of the car, and sit down. Plugging your keys into the vehicle, wind shields wiping away at the snow covered front window. You drive steadily into town.
Meats, vegetables, fruits, water bottles, pharmacy — must go!!
A vivid image of the note you made flashed. It repeated in your head, chanting almost.
First stop, the supermarket.
-
A cold quiet morning. Harsh crispy air brushing against your cheek. Your eyes crinkle at the feel of it. You’ve parked your car in a nearby parking garage.
Not so often you see the supermarket this silent. You’re dressed warmly in a loose white shirt underneath a grey jumper. Straight legged dark blue jeans covering your black uggs. All hidden under your black trench coat.
Boots crunching in the snow, you’re walking in. Automatic doors sliding open for you. You grab a basket and begin your search.
-
Heavy bags weighing down at your sides. Full of fresh ingredients, meats.
Meats, vegetables, fruits, water bottles, pharmacy.
“Alright.” You whisper, cold air passing through your lips, pleased with your small achievement of the morning.
Second stop, small shop.
You enter the shop, a bell sounding as you do so. There’s a few people in the shop. About four if you bothered to look. You pay no mind though. Just solely focused on one task at hand. That task being water bottles. You’re pacing around the shop, eyes raking up and down the shelves. The bottles. Finally. Placed on the grey marble ground, in front of a transparent fridge directly reflecting the shop door. A free mirror, you think. You crouch down, hands out and ready to grab one pack. For a reason you couldn’t explain, your eyes glance up to the fridge, unfocusing, you see a few people walking by, their figure cutting out where the fridge ends. Still looking around, you see the trees, how they’re no longer green but white. The no longer brown wood, eyes trailing down the trees back to the public. Eyes- you notice deep hazel eyes staring as if staring at your open skeleton itself. Fixed on yours. You let the thought of the transparent fridge fool you into believing no one could see you. A coincidence.
Shrugging, you pick up either end of the pack of water bottles and stand to your full height. Out of curiosity, you eye the see-through shop door.
Khaki coloured eyes. Closer now. Black jacket. Hooded up. A man that seems to be in a balaclava?
He’s huge, you ponder. Biceps nearly bursted at the sides of his black coat. His lower half is covered by bushes. Your face contorts into a puzzled look. There’s no way he saw you. You don’t want to believe it. Looking away you head over to the till and pay.
Exiting the shop, hefty bags carrying all your shopping, a litter of bumps gather on your skin. You want to believe it’s from the cold. A low lump sitting at your belly. A warning maybe.
You head over to the last stop on the list. The pharmacy. Suppressants. Your brain reminding you once again.
It’s a cramped place. Medicine stacked on the dark wooden shelves across the room. Chalky walls. Ashen almost. The lights flicker a bit. Must be old. There’s a man at the other side of the till. Got a gloomy look to him. Thin glasses hanging at the top of his bridged nose. Crinkled skin. A small bruise on the side of his cheek. Eyes droopy.
“Can I help you?” You hear his tired voice ask.
You give a small smile.
“I’m here for a replenishment.” You keep your eyes on his, still smiling as you readjust a bag on your arm.
“Your name please.” He responds dryly. Your face falters a bit.
You give him your name. He types away at the old white desktop on his right. He reaches over to a small brown plastic bag and hands it to you.
You hear a smile chime of the pharmacy bell but don’t pay too much mind to it. There’s heavy thuds behind you. A hefty musky smell, woody almost with a hint of an orange peel. A citrusy smell meant something. A near heat or rut possibly. A familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. Fear? It's only footsteps, probably getting their suppressants. You’re still focused on the man in front-
“Have I seen you ‘round here before?” A deep baritone voice sounding behind you. Close to you. You spin around, eyes all wide at the sound of him. The pharmacist immediately drops into a crouched position. He knows that voice. Can’t let this customer see him.
“Uh—uh…” You stutter. Lip quivering.
You know him. Know exactly who this is. Simon Riley. Or what the town calls him, ‘Ghost’.
The whole town knows of him. They know to steer clear of him. Never get in his way. Avoid him if you can. Don’t let him get you. A menace. Killer. All sorts of nasty comments you haven’t heard before. He’s got a familiar balaclava on. Almost looking like the one you saw earlier. Squinting eyes staring deep into your wide ones. Head tilted slightly, amused by your reaction. You can’t tell though.
“Can’t talk?”
“Uhm no—no. No you uh haven’t.” You’re shaking your head looking everywhere else but at him. There’s a thin line of sweat forming at your forehead. You try not to wipe it.
His broad frame, blocking everything in front of you. You finally look up at him, eyes all doey, scared.
“Hm.” He grunts, gives you a slow look over. Eyes falling slowly down your frame then back up to your nervous face. Cute.
He turns back around and exits the pharmacy. You heave a sigh of relief. Ghost? Talking to you? You nearly don’t believe it. Not until the pharmacist behind you speaks.
“H—here. Please leave. Quickly.”
Weight bags on either side of you, you’re walking over to your parked car. The cold air, still lingering. You’re heart patters in your chest. Simon Riley. Absolutely no way.
You make it to your car, fiddling with your bags arms scurrying deep in each one to find the key. You hear it unlock and you’re carefully placing the bags at the back seat, then heading quickly into the front. Door slamming shut. Locked. Both hands on the wheel. Knuckles losing then regaining colour.. You’re brain still lagging. You look around yourself, assessing the area. You see him. Again. Your breath stutters when you notice him. He’s staring deep at you. He’s to your right, body slightly hidden by a tall bush. You’re tapped in place, body hypnotised, regulating. Registering something deep. Pooling low. A small warmth. There’s no way. Your body recognises him as compatible. You have his full attention.
Your breath’s still stuck in your throat.
“Simon.” You breathe out finally. It’s almost as if he heard you because he’s walking now. Quick measured steps toward you. You’re shaking. Yet you can’t move. Hands still plastered at the wheel. He’s nearer. Walks over to the passenger's seat window. One two firm taps at the window. Eyes still fixed on him. He never left yours. Your body responds before your mouth can. A needy smell illuminates you. Lemony. Citrusy. Your eyes are fully dilated. The omega in you keening. Inviting. You want him. Your brain hasn’t caught up yet. His scent now etched in your body. You didn’t even realise he had been warming you up to his smell this whole time.
A whisper of a faint musky orange peel surfaced your brain. It was when the autumn air still lingered. That citrusy smell you couldn’t get enough of. You’d perch over your opened windows, eyes all closed as you relished the smell. He was scenting your home and you didn’t know. You recall hearing small cracks of sticks but it could’ve been anything. Except it was Simon.
Your right arm moves to open the passenger door. He opens it and sits his burly body inside your car, shutting the door as he does so.
You’re still looking at him, mouth parted slightly. You can’t understand why your body is reacting this way. He’s still staring. Eyes heavy, low. You don’t know what it is but you start the car, engine roaring quietly. You’re driving home now. A hidden command from him. Your omega wants him in your space. Wants him to invade your things. Invade you. Is it your heat? That’s not until a couple— days. You wanted to think weeks. But your body has found a compatible mate. It just so happens to be the worst person you can think of.
You park in your entry, turn off the engine and slowly look to your left. Eyes hazy, breathing hesitant. A whine stopping at your throat. Trapped in your esophagus. He knows you want to. Doesn’t need to ask you.
You’re both stumbling into your cabin, his tongue deep in your mouth. Balaclava bunched on his crooked nose.
He’s ripping your coat off your body. Biceps contracting. Your black trench falls carelessly on your floors. Green veins running up his large hands holding the back of your neck, your waist. One of his hands drifting down, gripping your arse. Groaning into your mouth. Spit mixed. Your odours intertwine. A ripe lemon and orange peel staining the air.
You're whining. Teeth clashing. He’s biting at your bottom lip. Strong arms wrapping you. Engulfing your body.
“Been watching you for weeks.” His voice came out heavy, breathy.
You can’t respond with anything other than a mewl. Your hands haven’t left the fabric at his chest. You’re clutching at him. Body all needy. The warmth at your lower belly blooming into a vicious heat. White hot pleasure taking hold of you. Body seizing up. You're stunned. Eyes all wide and wet. Breath coming in fat heaves.
“Si—” You whimper out. Knees bending. Betraying you. Submission. He sees your body submitting to him before you can even voice it. You really want to. Badly.
Beefy arms pull you up and into him. Your legs hanging off his forearm, head lulled out, falling backwards.
He knows where your room is. Knows where everything in your home is. He knows exactly where you keep your suppressants, your diary. He’s read it all. You’ve never heard anyone enter your home at night. Yet he’s always there. Watching you sleep. He admires how your tits puff out when you breathe in, how you drool a bit. A few snores. Fucking obsessed with your body. The fat of your thighs. His alpha knew you were his.
You’re trembling, snivelling into his chest. He sets you down on your bedsheets, body going slump. He stands to his full height, pulling down his balaclava back over the rest of his face and just watches. Hidden again.
He’s slow to take his jacket off. Pulling the zip down in a long stroke. Shoves it off his body.
“I need nghh~” You’re moaning out, hands attempting to take your top off. Too weak. There’s a little drool spilling at the side of your mouth.
He doesn’t bother to take the rest of his clothes off. He’s come too far in this to focus on himself.
“Shh.” Your body, listening immediately.
He hauls your top off for you, now left in just a black lace. Sweat glistening on your chest. Beads rolling down.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He curses low.
His arms circle your body, taking the lace off. Tits spilling out, the air wafting over your hardened nipples. You sob. Body clutching in on itself. He doesn’t let you. His large hand, pushing you down at your shoulder.
“No movin’.” A warning.
Your arms are flat on the bed, hands resting above you, fisting the pillow. He removes your lower clothing in one strong pull. Your hips lifting instinctively. Your insatiable need to please your mate.
Panties gone. You're vulnerable before him. Hairs decorated around your wet pussy. Weeping. Leaking. A bead of slick sliding down from your hole onto your arse. Hips twitching.
Your body’s flushed, waiting. He’s being too slow. He has to savour this moment.
“Please.” You whimper out.
“A talkative bird ain’t ya.” He voices, still low toned.
“Gotta please this pussy, don’t I?” Taunting you. Letting out a low, mocking whistle.
He’s got his knees pressed into your bed, hands on your inner thighs, pressing into them. Your pussy parting each time. A tear slips out of you. Your head’s thrown back into the pillow. Lips tightly pressed, suppressing the moan trapped at your throat. Eyes shut tight.
He presses in once more, and you can’t help the noise that left you. You bring down one of your arms, scratching at his, trying to bring it where you need it most.
“Want me there, hm?
My fingers in your cunt?”
You’re vigorously nodding. A string of ‘please’s leaving your wet, kissed stained mouth. He doesn’t remove your hand. Doesn’t need to. You can’t move someone as big as him.
You still can’t see his face fully. Only his eyes. But you know he’s smiling at you. You make out a small dent under the balaclava. His alpha pleased at your omega. You want to see more of him. But your heat won’t let you form the sentence.
He doesn’t care though. He’s going to take you.
He brings his rugged thumb, circles it on your throbbing puffy clit.
“Angh!”
Your hips twitch towards him. More beads of slick fall out your drenched pussy. A few more tears rolling down your face. The heat nearly consuming you.
His thumb moving slowly up and down your clit, inching towards your gaping hole. Your hips follow on instinct. Rolling with his hand.
“Fuck sakes.” You’re a sight. His tip leaking heavy drops of pre.
His thumb finds your soaked hole, another bead leaking out coating it. He pushes in slow and deep. Long thick thumb stretching you out.
You scream. Back bowing. Toes curled into the sheets, fingers still scratching at his arms. Your head is lulled to the side, the whites of your eyes on display.
He’s thumbing your hole. Quick deep strokes of his thumb.
Squelch squelch.
“She’s a loud twat, ain’t she?” Voice rugged.
You’re moaning loud, your heat making it feel way better than it’s supposed to.
Fuck you’re close. Body heating up even more, twitching, writhing. Leaving moon shaped dents on his forearms.
“You markin’ me already?” He’s cackling low.
“Ngh c—close!”
“I know.” You pussy throbs.
His voice has such an intense effect on you. He’s been scenting your clothes so you get used to his smell. Needs your body reacting before you do.
One…two..three pumps of his thumb and your convulsing. Body quaking. Mouth hung open in a beautiful ‘o’ shape, brows squinted. You silently cry out letting your orgasm wash over you. Long waves of heat spread over your body.
“Need you.” Voice all gone, yet you managed to whisper out.
“You’ll ‘ave me.”
He slowly pulls his thumb out and stares at it in awe, glistening in your cum. You’ve marked him as yours, now he has to return the favour.
Not giving you any time to recover, he plunges two thick long fingers deep into your pussy. You let out a shocked scream. Hips jerking at the sudden stretch. He leans his body into yours as he pushes his fingers as far as they could go. He’s close to you now. Face just a few inches from yours. You're breathing out hefty breaths, fanning his hidden face. Eyes fully dilated.
“Got a deeep cunt on ya.” He praises. You moan in response. Your arms feel heavy, your trembling fingers attempting to hook the edges of his balaclava and pull down. It comes off revealing messy blonde locks. The two of you reach forward, lips meeting in a sloppy kiss. Mouths open, breathing heavy. Tongues rolling against each other. He’s pistoning his fingers fast. Quick deep strokes making it hard for you to kiss him back. It’s too messy.
He’s grunting into you, you’re whining into him. One hand gripping the hairs at his nape. The other gripping the hairs at the middle of his head. You're rolling your hips into his hand. His thumb bumping your clit every stroke. He’s fucking at your g spot, fingers curling, scissoring your pussy. You break the kiss with a loud moan.
“C—can’t take it! Simon—”
“You will. Didn’t wait this long for you to tap out.” He sounds so rough.
“Anhh! Hngh.”
Another few scissors of your pussy and you’re sooo close again. You’re whinging, body twisting, turning away. You want to run. Want to scream at him. Fight him.
You’re smacking at his chest, he’s still too close watching your face so intently. He needs to see what makes it contort. He likes that you fight back. Makes him harder. He’s straining at his boxers. Cock twitching, itching to be inside your needy cunt. He knows you need his knot.
You're slapping his shoulders, hands balled up in fists, punching at him. He curls his fingers just right and you’re screaming. White blinding pleasure. You’re clutching at him now. He’s fucking his fingers at that exact spot. Engrossed in the way your brows contorted, the way your cheeks deepen in colour. How your wet lashes stick to the top of your cheeks.
“F—fuck fhuck!” Your orgasm, ripping through you.
Your arse pressed deep into the sheets, back arched, pussy gushing out ruining his hand. Arms flailing.
Squelch
His hand sliding out slowly from your bruised pussy. Admiring your work on his fingers. Shining wet. He sees your pussy lips flutter in the corner of his eyes.
“You’re something else.”
He brings his stained fingers to his mouth, sucking them deep, relishing the taste. Groaning deep. Eyes fluttering shut.
“Knot. Y—your knot please.” You cry out. Head still planted to the side. Arms wobbly, you reach out to his dark grey joggers. Fingers tugging at the top of it. His happy trail peeking out. He helps his dick out of his joggers, his boxers next, not taking them off fully. It’s so big. Thick veins running up a few sides, dark red at the tip. Angry. Purple almost. So girthy. Leaking so much pre. He’s so wet for you.
Your omega hungry at the sight. The orangey peel stench, very prominent now.
“Gonna fuck you now. Knot you.”
“Please.”
He lines his fat cock at the opening of your cunt. Rubs it slowly up and down your clit. You’re hips jutting, bucking away from him.
The tip pops into you in a slow, deep stroke. He stalls for a moment. Hot pulsing pussy pulling him in.
“Fuck—”
He pushes further in. Still slow. You feel every vein on his cock, every curve. Every inch, stretching your walls out. Your mouth, watering at the fullness.
You push at his lower hard stomach, a few hairs tickling your fingers. He’s fucking huge. You can’t take it all at once. You’re weeping, tears spilling at the sides of your face, tits puffed out.
“M’gonna make you take it.”
He hikes your thighs on top of his, pushes himself further into you, digging your knees into your chest. He sinks in another few inches. Your squinted eyes peer down at where you’re both connected, there’s still so much more. Your head falls back as you sniffle, a tiny noise leaving your lips.
He pulls his hips back all of a sudden, you gasp at the loss. Your head comes up quickly. Watching.
“Noo. Simon, fuck—”
Slamming his cock deep, hips grinding into yours. His hairs nudged right against your clit. A bulge forming at your lower belly. Your head collapsing back onto the pillow, brain fogged. Your eyes forced back, body quivering. Quick heaves of your chest, your mouth left hung open, more drool spilling out.
Plap plap
He’s fucking you so deep. Big burly body rocking into you, your pussy sucking him in so tight. So wet. So hot. The room’s filled with the mix of your bodies, your sweat, the smell of your pheromones. Blooming. Inviting him even more. He takes it.
Cock, pistoning so good. Fucking at your spots. You're wailing against him, scratching at his chest, his hard rigid stomach, his neck. Leaving red crescent marks all over.
“Anngh!”
“Such a good bird huh? Taking a stranger's cock so well.”
“Y—yeah nghh ahh.”
He’s grinning at you, a few teeth on display.
You’re gone. So far gone. You're grinding your hips into his, grabbing behind him, his back, pulling him into you. He slows. Deep long strokes now. You can’t do anything but feel it. The dent of your stomach, more evident at every rock of his body into yours. Simon places one of his hands on the bulge. Pressing. Pushing it.
You scream, your juices squirting out of your uncontrollably. You’re shaking so much. Crying. Head stretched back, you're pushing at the bed, jolting away from him.
“Thereeee’s a girl. Thaa’s it, squirt all on me.”
He’s still fucking you slow and deep, riding you through it. The bed, soaked in your cum, your sweat.
“Knot! Knot me please.” You beg. Voice strained, gone from pleasure.
Sitting up, his arms come to the neck of his sweat stained shirt. All sticky. Dark wet patch on lower part of it. He’s taking his shirt off now.
His broad hairy chest on show. Ample. Decorated in various tattoos. You’re in awe of his body.
A few wet hairs stick to the top of his forehead, cheeks dusted pink. Eyes heavy, low. He’s ogling at your scent gland, right by the curve of your neck and shoulder.
“M’gonna mark you.” His eyes gestured at the gland. You can barely hear him through your heat.
He moves both of your legs on his shoulders, pushes closer to you. Breaths mingling. He pulls his cock out to the knob, then rams into you. Quicker, harder than before.
“Ouuh fuck.”
You’re breathing all over his face. Cheeks deepened in colour.
Chasing his own high now, on the brink of release. Cock brushing at your cervix on every thrust. Did he get bigger? Your eyes widening at the thought. There’s a swollen feeling at the bottom of his— knot.
“Want my thrust knot hnyeah? Tell me girl. Thrust. Tell me how bad you wan’ it.” His voice, straining. Low, deep. Grunting.
“I wan’ it. Want it so bad. Please. Please. Please—”
He angles his face at your neck, his mouth a breath away from your gland. One hard heavy thrust into your pussy he’s finally cumming. He bites down hard. Your gland, blooming. Blood spilling from the corners of his mouth, his eyes rolling back. You shriek at the feel. Your breath comes in short, rapid pants. Eyes shutting tight. More tears spilling. It hurts so good. Burning sensation washing over you. White hot. Scorching.
White blotchy spurts of his cum flooding you deep. Throaty groans leaving his mouth. You're soaking, drinking it up. There’s so much cum, it’s spilling out. Dropping on the sheets. His body nearly collapsed on yours. Your body can’t take the weight on you. He’s so heavy. Your omega yearns for it, wants the weight on you.
His knot, plugging your cunt, trapping you together. You sigh in pleasure. Satisfaction. Content. You still feel a twitch of his cock, small spurts shooting into you.
A few beats pass, his knot finally deflating. Cock only half hard now. He’s pulling out of you slowly. Beads of his cum following suit. It catches on his tip.
His breathing ragged as he brought his face down to your bruised pussy. It throbs under his burning stare. His mouth inches closer. Wetting his bottom lips, he lunges into you. Sucking, circling, licking at your pussy.
You’re whining, mewling, bucking your hips away from him. He’s quicker. Pining your hips down with two large hands. He’s eating his cum out your pussy.
“T—too much!”
“Mmh.” Groaning, voice vibrating through your over sensitive pussy.
He brings one of his hands, two fingers plugging it back in. Deep. Fucking his cum back in. You’re on the cusp again. Hips hiking up. Back arched in a beautiful bow.
His tongue curling, circling on your clit. You’re seeing stars, everything’s all blurry. You’re cumming again.
“Simon!”
His fingers slow. Just strong unhurried thrusts. You’re coming down. Breath haggard. Eyes blown.
Imagine you're rushing around your place all frantic, upset at yourself over knowing it was laundry day yesterday but just not feeling up to doing it. So you put it off thinking it would be ok before you realized after your shower that morning that you had no clean underwear.
Your shapeshifter bf wakes up to you practically pushing your bed off the ground to look for a pair somewhere. Groggily he asks what the hell is going on and you explain through shrieking overwhelmed shouts what was going on.
And more importantly you stressed the fact that you were seriously fucked. Which kinda sorta instantly gives him an idea.
Quickly he calms you down, shushing you gently before saying, 'Babe, I got you. Don't even worry about it.’ Probably the worst sentence he could ever utter to you.
You're not sure how to react when he transforms into a cute pair of panties a second later. With a little bow on them and everything. They were honestly a bit cute. That wasn’t the point though even as you stare frozen at them.
Yet what you end up doing is threatening to throw them out the window and seeing what just might happen to his body when it makes impact on the ground.
He's back to himself in the blink of an eye, all sheepish smiles and nervous laughter as he explains it's the best case scenario right now. That there's no other options right now because he doesn't want his boo thang going commando.
Begrudgingly you accept his help after realizing he just might be right. Something you never thought you’d admit. And as you slide him up your legs, in some weird way, wearing him as underwear feels exactly the same as sitting on his face. It seems he feels the same way too as he spends the day periodically eating you out to completion during your whole work day.
He feasts on your body for hours at a time, happily slurping away before you have to remind him to be quiet (though you fail to hide your own moans so neither of you are being too subtle).
The pleasure is blinding the longer he goes on for. One minute you’re casually in the middle of your meeting and the next thing you know his tongue is diving into your cunt and he’s nibbling on your overstimulated clit.
Other times you’re having a simple conversation with a coworker of yours when he’ll instantly start up again, lapping up your raw puffy folds and gorging himself on you just to make sure your attention is always on him. You barely get a moment of peace before he just can’t help himself and start up again.
Trying to get him to stop is pointless and you’ve ceased trying. Whenever you’d squeeze your thighs together to make sure he can’t move he’d just moan loudly, gaining everyone’s attention. Luckily it’s a man’s moan so no one suspected it came from you. And when you kept tries to shift your panties down to to the side, he’d only last a few minutes before wiggling himself back up your thick thighs and taking your clit in his mouth, sucking on it hard as a little punishment.
All you could do was take everything he gave you. In a way it was both the best and most difficult day of your life.
Then when the day eventually comes to an end and you manage to wash all your clothes after work you realize that you’re actually a little bummed.
Wearing him as panties turned out better than you thought. Maybe you'll have to accidentally forget to do your laundry again some time...
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You stare at the box on your shop counter. It’s completely unassuming, glossy black with golden details engraved into the wood. On top of it, a little folded card with your name drawn in intricate loops and flowy handwriting.
Thank you for the love potion. I hope you enjoy this gift from my family’s slime farm.
Ah, love potions. Very much a dubious business but a business that pays well. And hey, it’s not like they can artificially make people have romantic feelings. Whoever named them love potions didn’t have their head screwed on right.
You trace the carvings on the shiny black box with your finger.
It opens smoothly. Inside, an almost translucent blue dildo rests on a velvet pillow. Oh, my, you think. It’s smooth to the touch, soft and almost jelly-like. It jiggles when you tap the pad of your finger against it. You giggle and tap it once more just for the sake of poking it. The slime flops its head against your fingers.
Oh, it’s… alive? Sentient? You don’t know exactly what to call its state of being. The slime dildo jiggles once and jumps in place once. Oh, okay, you think and hold up a finger. “Let me just close the store, yeah?” It doesn’t respond, doesn’t move again but the head of it is tilted your way, as if staring at you as you move through the store to lock the front door and flip the sign on the window.
It patiently waits where you left it. You stop in front of it and cup your hands. “I don’t want the store to get messy. Or break anything. There’s uh—” you swallow and holy shit, you’re having a conversation with a dildo-shaped slime you’re not sure is actually alive, “we can go upstairs.”
The slime doesn’t move for a moment as if considering your offer. Maybe? Shit— you make a mental note to read up on slimes and slime farms. Your teacher did briefly go over slimes while you were under her apprenticeship but that was also the day you’d latched onto the idea of customizing your wizard robes if you ever graduated. Oh, you can recall the original designs you’d drawn up in class even now, something more lingerie-adjacent than the long and heavy robes of her discipline. Where’d you put that babydoll-inspired robe you’d unpacked the other day?
You nearly startle out of your skin when the weight of the slime lands in your open palms. It wobbles in your hands briefly before it assumes its shape. You take that as a yes to your proposal and weave your way through your store towards the stairs to the second floor. Your heart is beating against your ribs like a wild horse as you ascend the stairs, turning off the lights as you reach the top.
You place the slime onto your coffee table. Your nerves are wrecked already. “So,” you start, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, “is this good enough? How is this even going to— What are we — me — we? What—” you press your lips together and take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Now what?”
The slime leaps forward until it reaches the edge of the coffee table, just a hair’s breadth away from your thigh. It jiggles, its head pressing against the slit in your wizard’s robe. You reach down and drag your fingers along its shaft, the bulging vein on its back and swallow around the lump in your throat. You want to lean down and drag your tongue across it.
The slime presses forward, between your thighs and rubs its head against your clothed cunt. You drag your fingertips down the length of its smooth shaft. It jiggles and pushes harder against your body. It’s pleasantly cool to the touch. It’s a little too thick to wrap one hand around, but you do your best. You move your hand slowly up and down the thick shaft. Precum pools at the tip and dribbles down the curve of the head and you feel compelled to lean down. You drag your tongue up the slime’s shaft — feel the slightly tacky cum on your tongue — from its balls to the very tip and dip your tongue into the slit. The slime jiggles in your hand. That’s good, you assume. It hasn’t pulled away or melted into a puddle yet. Slowly, you wrap your lips around the mushroom head tip and take it into your mouth.
The slime jiggles and pulls out of your mouth abruptly. “What?” You wipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your robe and the slime jiggles again. It swings its whole weight forward and flops pathetically at your robe. “Oh.”
You shrug off your robe and hastily pull down your underwear, kick them out of sight. The slime jiggles as if appreciating your nudity and pushes itself against your body again. The sensation is odd. It’s both firm and soft, almost like you could run your fingers through its body. It burrows between your thighs and wiggles upwards until its head hits your clit. You gasp and reach to rest your weight onto the coffee table before your knees give out. It pulses, wiggles, dragging its smooth body against your clit. You wrap your legs around it and slowly lower your hips.
The slime jiggles, wiggles against your thighs, almost as if thrashing around and you unlock your legs with haste. You stare at it, legs open, pussy wet and waiting for it, so many questions on your tongue. Maybe there’s a spell somewhere to get over this language barrier because it’s clearly intelligent and your skin is on fire and if it starts teasing you now, you might just smite it and finish the job yourself.
It positions itself against your hot, wet cunt and you exhale a breath of relief, head thrown back. It moves, positions itself, the head pressing against your entrance and you roll your hips minutely to beckon it.
It sheathes itself in your cunt with one harsh thrust. You yelp, try to reach for the edge of the table to find an anchor but its pace is too much, too harsh. The table legs drags against the floor from the force of its thrusts into your waiting cunt. Your mouth drops open, stifled, breathy moans escaping your lips as you try to pull yourself together and figure out which way is up, where to grab. It thrusts harshly and you nearly topple off the table, manage to grab onto the edge and roll knot your stomach for more leverage. Your knees drop to the plush carpet. The edge of the coffee table rams into your hips with every thrust from the slime buried into your cunt, bullying it like a jackhammer. Your sweat-slick skin drags across the glass surface. It’s thick and big and you swear you feel it in the back of your throat. Your head is spinning, the pleasure overwhelming. The coil in your core snaps abruptly.
You cum with a low moan, pussy clenching around it like a vise but the slime doesn’t stop, just keeps rutting into you as you come down from your high and spills. It’s warm and gooey and it dribbles from your cunt as the slime eases itself to a slower pace until it stops, buried inside you to the hilt. You feel full, so deliciously full and fuck, maybe it’ll stay there forever. You wouldn’t mind it, you think. It could rut into you while you’re talking to a customer and you’d be forced to keep your poker face or fold like a goddamn house of cards with your client watching your depravity.
Your cunt flutters at the thought.
Slowly, you lower yourself off the coffee table and onto all fours, ass up in the air, and press your face against your folded arms, take deep, even breaths to get your head on straight again.
The rug underneath you feels nice. Smooth. Soft, if not a little gooey. It moves, undulates underneath you, rises until it brushes against your collarbones.
Wait, what?
You pull your face away from your arms and blink a few times to get rid of the shapes in your vision. Your rug isn’t your rug. It’s dark blue, almost liquidy in consistency and it bubbles and laps at your body like waves at the beach. It’s cool to the touch.
Your cunt feels strangely empty all of a sudden. You clench around thin air with a frown and slowly sit up. The slime-like liquid on the floor wiggles as you adjust your legs — it’s the same blue hue as the slime that should be buried into your cunt. Oh, so they don’t last forever. You feel a strange sense of loss at the realization; they’re just here to fulfill an itch, then. And then they’re gone.
You should pull yourself together, get up and clean this mess up. No point in crying over something that’s over.
The slime warbles and then, something breaches it. A single thick tentacle rises from the pool that’s overrun your living room. It turns its head as if looking around and you take that time to reorient yourself. The slime gift from your client has melted into a puddle that’s overrun your living room. Something not quite of this world has used it as a portal. That opens another can of worms about slimes and portals and you should really write down how a tentacle appeared from the melted body of a slime from a nearby farm but— it looks remarkably phallic in shape. Its head is pronounced, almost mushroom in shape like male genitalia. The light streaming in from the window next to you illuminates the ridges on its body, the texture reminds you of snake scales.
You shift on your knees, your cunt aching.
The tentacle snaps around. It slowly crosses the space between you and itself, more and more of its body rising from the pool. It’s tall and thick. There are ridges on its back, and you swear they would feel so good dragging against your clit —
It lowers its head in front of your face where it hovers for a few long moments. Slowly, you reach out and drag the tip of your finger down its body. Bingo. Scale-like small ridges decorate its body.
There is movement in the corner of your eye. More tentacles rise from the slime, these ones smaller and leaner. They slither across the mass of slime and glide onto your skin, wrap themselves around your legs, creeping towards your pussy. You rise onto your knees to give them more leeway.
More tentacles shoot out from the pool on your floor and tangle around your arms, pull them together over your head. Others latch onto your skin. They traverse the expanse of your body, warm and slick, prodding and poking and squeezing. One slides underneath your breast and loops over it. Its tip circles your nipple and you gasp at the sensation, throw your head back and arch your back, nearly hitting the coffee table. A thin, glimmering tentacle shoots out, wraps around your torso and across your neck before the back of your head can actually collide with glass. It pulls you forward just as quickly, onto your knees.
The large tentacle is hovering right in front of your face now. It bumps its tip against your forehead, your cheek, your nose and then against the seam of your lips. They part involuntarily and it dives in. You feel the ridges on its stomach against your tongue but the moan gets stuck in your throat.
It eases itself out of your mouth and you nearly whimper at the loss of contact. Seriously, what’s with these things not wanting your mouth? It’s an extra hole for them to use and abuse so why are they rejecting it?
The tentacle dips down and you feel the ridges caressing your skin as it glides towards and across your cunt, dragging the ridges on its stomach against your clit and something between a moan and a gasp escapes your throat involuntarily.
You’re suddenly hauled up and backwards until your back collides with your couch. Your legs are pulled apart to expose your weeping pussy to the head tentacle. It lowers itself to your cunt’s level as if studying it. It gives an experimental nudge against your slit and then presses forward harder. The very tip slides in with little effort and then it’s pushing ahead, wiggling like it’s trying to force itself inside.
Your chest is heaving, short, shallow breaths escaping you as you desperately try to push against the tentacle but the others keep you rooted to the spot. It’s torture and agony and bliss all at once as the thick tentacle prods at you. Just a little push and it can fuck you within an inch of your life, until you beg and beg and beg it for more, to fill you up and keep you stuck on it for as long as it wants, do whatever it wants.
The head breeches your cunt and it slides all the way in with one thrust. You gasp at the sensation, chest heaving and try to breathe through the obscene stretch, the obscene sight of its shape in your stomach but it has other ideas. It starts moving, slow and deliberate as it pulls back and then dives in again, setting a ruthless pace. You’re so wet, so slippery and it almost slips out of your cunt. You dribble around it, the sound so obscene and lewd in your ears. It’s the only sound in the room other than your moans, your babbled begging for it to just take you already.
Its size is overwhelming but it feels so good, bullying its way into your cunt and drawing those ridiculous wet sounds and moans and gasps, pleading from your lips. You’re almost in tears at the euphoria, at the way this tentacle claims your cunt for itself, at the way the others hold you back and spread out to take and take and use you up like the goddamn fleshlight you are. You’d let it use you as a fleshlight again and again, fuck, maybe this one can stay and display you as a freak show to any potential client. The thought of someone staring at the way this thing defiles your holes, their cock in hand, maybe even trying to join — it sends you over the edge.
You cum with a swear on your lips, a half-baked cry stuck in your throat. Moments later, the tentacle spills into your cunt. You’re so full, you’re so incredibly full. Its cum, as translucent and pearly as itself dribbles onto your couch, slipping out from around its thick body. Your chest heaves as you try to pull yourself together, tears brimming in your eyes.
The tentacles around your legs tighten. They pull your body along like dead weight, off the couch and onto the slick floor. Your hands are maneuvered with your body but there’s no weight left in your arms and your jaw nearly collides with the floor. The tentacles yank your body upright at the last moment, tightening around your limbs to hold you on all fours without leaning any weight on your weak limbs.
Your legs are pulled apart. Tentacles press against the skin of your ass, massaging and groping and prodding.
The thick tentacle still buried snugly in your cunt purrs. Something prods at your ass. Its smooth tip presses against your puckered hole and you do your best to relax every muscle in your body. It teases for just a moment before it slides through slowly. You moan at the sensation, at being so full.
It moves first, slow and deliberate, delving deeper into your ass and then pulling back. The head tentacle in your cunt moves in tandem with it. They’re so deep, so slick you want to cry because it’s too much but they feel so good, fucking you so thoroughly in tandem. They move, they all move, every single goddamn tentacle wrapped around your body, your limbs, your tits, their tips move, sliding back and forth across your skin. One pinches your nipple and you mewl, mouth agape to take in air and cry out.
A tentacle roughly pushes into your mouth, slides down your throat and pulls back to fuck it. Your face is wet and your vision is blurry, it’s too much, one stuffing itself and its pretty cum back into your aching cunt like it wants to live there, another thrusting into your ass with vigor, you feel them both, at the way they rub against your walls, against each other. Another in your mouth, pumping into your throat, so many caressing your body.
They pause for a fraction of a moment but it's enough to have you crying out for any stimulation. They dive in with newfound vigor, like they haven’t been fucking you stupid for who knows how long now, stuffing themselves so deep into your pussy and your ass and your throat. Your eyes roll back and your whole body tenses for a moment before you come the hardest you’ve ever come. You clench down at the tentacles, and nearly scream. The tentacle in your mouth pulls back and you hear your own pathetic voice, begging and pleading and babbling for more, more, please, please, please before there is a weight on your tongue. The tentacle spits its cum onto your tongue, thick and glossy, dribbling past your open lips and down your chin.
The world comes back to you in small increments. The sound of birdsong on the other side of your window. The feeling of something pumping into your ass at a languid pace before it stops and slowly pulls out. Something shoved deep inside your cunt so far you feel like you’re about to burst. The grip on your body is tight but pleasant, almost massage-like. You blink the tears from your eyes and sniffle, try to breathe.
A wail escapes your throat when the head tentacle pulls out of your pussy with an audible pop. Its cum shoots out of you, an obscene amount dribbling onto your rug, pooling between your legs, running down your skin, hot and sticky. Your breath shudders in your throat as the tentacles ease you onto your knees. More and more dribbles out of your gaping pussy, and you almost want the tentacle to shove itself back in and take you until you can’t think anymore, pump you full of its cum again and again and again until the world comes to an end.
The tentacles on your body loosen their grip. The one around your tit gives it another squeeze and flicks your nipple and it shoots a jolt to your core. More cum dribbles from your pussy as the feeling passes and your muscles relax, fatigued and aching and sore.
The pool beneath your knees shrinks. You turn despite your screaming muscles to see the tentacles retreat into a summoning circle in the middle of the pit of slime one by one. Before long, the pool dries up entirely and the circle on the floor disappears.
You should really write down a note to get in contact with the slime farm to get to the bottom of this. Instead, you scoop up a handful of pearlescent cum from the floor, and try to shove it back into your cunt.
—a/n: anon is on, feel free to comment, go nuts, describe how many times this made you cum, god I hope it made sb cum
How would König react to reader who's grinding on him at the club?
To you, it’s just banter, a way of getting a free drink out of a man for riling him up. It’s just your typical drunk self at a club, rubbing up against any attractive man within arms reach to the rhythm of the tunes. But, to König, a gross freak who only goes to these places to touch up and attack women, it’s as if you’re begging to be whisked away and fucked.
Women usually stay clear of König, afraid of his large intimidating stature and his menacing, perverted stare that lingers too long for comfort. He’s the type of predator to pressure women at the bar into having a conversation with him, offering to buy them a drink which turns into him pleading for a chance, for one dance, for a kiss. He’s been kicked out of plenty of clubs in his lifetime. He’s not bothered, anyway. He only goes to coerce women into getting with him when they’re clearly too inebriated to make conscious, smart decisions. Don’t worry, he makes them on their behalf. They’ll find themselves half-naked in some field miles from the bar, their panties missing, and an ache all over. The panties are some sort of trophy to him.
Seeing you rub up against him like this sent all the blood rushing to his full sack. His calloused hands were quick to latch onto your waist, his hot breath reeking of alcohol against the back of your nape. It didn’t take much for you to accept his free drink, kissing him playfully on the temple as a ‘thank you’ before strutting off with the sway of your hips, all while maintaining this seductive eye contact that only egged him on. You’re such a minx, Maus.
You wouldn’t blame him for taking a taste, would you? You were quick to fall into his welcoming arms, guiding you out of the rowdy, noisy club and into the quietness and peacefulness backseat of his pickup truck, the incoherent and illegible sounds of babbling and begging filling the silence between his gentle cooes, his massive hand a reminder of how easily he could overpower and dominate you as he stroked your hair, like you’re some sort of pet. His pet.
And fuck, you’re so compliant, incapable of defending yourself with his fingers sliding into you this easily, slick and dripping onto the concrete ground of his basement. Confused and saddened whines slip out from your lips as he explores your body, hands confined and bound behind your back, zip ties secured around your numb ankles and wrists as he dives and pushes his tongue further into your sopping heat, practically begging for release.
TW- HORROR, KIDNAPPING, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. PHOTO CREDITS @plum98
First Time with Kidnapper König 🔞
You knew what he was thinking. For the past 3 months, he had been hinting towards his intensifying need to impregnate you. It was simply a matter of time before you gave in; a matter of time before he had finally broken down your walls, intruding in on your personal space and comfort.
You sat awkwardly at the edge of your shared bed. He had just woken you up from one of your lengthy naps, while you were disorientated and bewildered by the perverted words leaving his mouth. Napping was simply a way to pass the time for you, a way to ignore the horrifying reality you were trapped in. Dark, lustful eyes gazed upon on your smaller form. You couldn’t remember if he was always this large. He somehow stood even taller, with his head cocked down at you, his visible bulge twitching at your clear discomfort and fear.
“You know I need it, Engel,” König’s voice was emotionless, stern, and hushed. He was hard to read like this, and it didn’t help that he had his face guarded with a black veil that forced you to forget he was human. However, his half-lidded and twisted eyes told you that there wasn’t any chance getting out of this. A sick part of you enjoyed that.
Your eyes welled up slightly, finally breaking the intense eye contact with him by gazing over at the bedroom door. You shifted in your seat, pondering the possibilities of your escape. Could you run? Would you have time to get away? Your thoughts were quickly dismissed with König’s gravelly voice spitting from above you, his calloused fingers pinching your cheeks to squish your face together, forcing your face up at him.
“You don’t think I would have locked it, Sweetheart?” His eyes crinkled behind the mask, now, you were trapped. You envisioned a depraved and dirty grin curling the sides of his mouth, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you. He had you quartered, you were his prey.
It’s not like you would’ve ran anyway. You sat there in your tiny cotton panties, light blue horizontally striped with a miniature bow right above your clit. You only wore a tank top, allowing for König to have a greedy view of your stiffening nipples. It was cold. You weren’t turned on by this, you reminded yourself. Or maybe you were. You never noticed how slick you had become, the cloth being the only thing preventing König from devoting you whole. This was what he craving. The material soaked, now stuck to your skin, dampening the bedsheets behind you.
König ripped off his navy sweater, beads of sweat glistening as they rolled down his muscular chest. Dark strands of hair covered his stomach, trailing all the way down to where his trousers began. He chucked maniacally at your avoidance in looking at his crotch. It only made him harder.
“Don’t be such a prude,” he spat, a stark contrast to his gentle, low, slightly monotone voice minutes earlier. This time, he was impatient. Large fingers gripped at your hands, forcing them to undo his belt. “Now, don’t make me wait any longer.” You tightened your thighs, rubbing them together. Hearing his voice so demanding had something rotten inside of you twisting and pulsing, aching for some sort of release and freedom. Your smaller fingers touched the gold against his belt buckle, you admired it for a few before you began to pull the leather through the hoops of his trousers, all while looking down at your feet shamefully. His hand on top of your head made you feel worse; weak and vulnerable. He wasn’t always this threatening and intimidating, right? Discarding of his belt, you unbuttoned the button on his trousers, beginning to unzip his trousers and pull down the only thing preventing you from being fucked like an animal. Maybe that’s what you’d become while living with him. Guilt left you sniffling. Now, it was your turn. Or well, his turn to unclothe you. He stood above you, his touch trailing down from the crown of your head to your shoulder, where he pushed you flat against the surface of the mattress, lowering him to your level. His fingers methodically and slowly peeled away at your tank top. He knew what he was doing by dragging it out. Your breath hitched as the chilly bedroom air touched your bare chest, quickly warming your skin with König’s hot breath at the sight of you like this. If he wasn’t behaving almost animalistic before, now, he sure was.
With one quick movement, he ripped apart your soaked panties, discarding of the torn cloth elsewhere before his large hands forced your thighs apart. Within seconds, his tongue was fucking you, coating his chin in your sweet juices of arousal and slick. You gasped as he dig into your sweet spot. Fingers and tongue working in rhythm to get you excited enough for his large cock. You’d yet to see it in its full size, you reminded yourself as you shut your eyes tightly. You didn’t know if you were trying to imagine another reality, with your old boyfriend who could never please you like König, or if you were lost in the intimacy, too turned on to meet his gaze.
He panted and panted, fingernails digging into your plush and trembling thighs deep enough to draw some blood. He was quick to enjoy that too, your whines increasing in volume before he pulled away cruelly, forcing you to now beg for his return. Although, your heart sunk straight to your ass as he began to pull himself out of his black boxers. He was much bigger than you couldn’t expected. A heavy base held by his large hand, the sensitive head of his cock pink and dripping droplets of his arousal, with veins covering his shaft.
He stroked himself once, twice, before approaching you. You tried to squirm backwards, his threatening size was far too much. That thing wouldn’t fit. “No! You’re gonna hurt me!” You whined out and wriggled as his grip around your ankle tightened, dragging you right back to where he had you. “I think we both know that a part of you wants that.” He put simply, a blunt comment that left you speechless because even you knew that was true. You did crave it.
He nudged at your slit, you whined out, “No lube?” Your eyes were now wide with horror at the thought. His were too, but with amusement. he only grinned back at you and let out a sick laugh at your stupidity. “You’re wet enough on your own, Little one.” It dawned on you that he was right. You were beyond soaked.
His attention was now turned back to fucking you. You would have to accept everything he forced into you, every single terrifying inch that forced the air out of your lungs. He hiked your thighs up and over his broad shoulders, into a mating press. He wanted it deep, and he’d get exactly what he wanted. With one thrust, he was inside, the second, he was deeper, making himself at home in your pulsating heat, intruding as if he lived there. With another thrust, he grunted lowly, appearing satisfied enough to continue while your hands tightened into a ball, grabbing fists of the sheets as he pounded you. No gentle start, just him relentlessly and ruthlessly bullying his massive size into your cunt inexperienced with someone his size before. Your past relationships never felt like this, they weren’t as large or as thick, no where near. König knew that, after all, he gutted their bodies. The burning split forced a scream out of you, silenced by König’s lips on yours. He leaned all his bodyweight onto you, thrusting back and forth ‘til your legs were shaking like the leaves outside in the night wind. You attempted to catch your breath, heaving and huffing as he slammed all the air of your lungs again, then again, and again.
You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head when he further his teasing by rubbing at your sensitive clit, swollen from his greedy sucking. He held you by your shoulder with his free hand, eyes not looking away once as he penetrated you deeply. He could fuck you like this for hours, and that’s what scared you the most. Your body felt like giving up by now. Your cunt walls felt raw from his brutality and from stretching around him. Veins dragged along your gummy insides, the weeping head of his cock hitting that same spot again, and again, and again - thrice til you were crying out with your orgasm, your back arched, your hands holding the bedsheets so tightly, your knuckles turned white. You panted, it felt as if he was inside your stomach by now.
“Heilige Scheiße… Es tut mir leid, Ich kann nicht aufhören.” He huffed out angrily, broad hips colliding with your raw ass again and again. This time, König was working for his own orgasm. He quickly pulled off his mask, muttering something about how hot he felt, before throwing his head back and rapidly pounding into your dripping hole. His cheeks were flushed a rosy red, beads of spit running down his chin, along with the remained of your sweet like nectar juices that still lingered on his tongue. He furrowed his eyebrows together, focussing on much he’d fill you. You clutched a hand over your mouth as he ruined you, he had already broken you down, now was time for him to destroy you. He was killing you with his cock, or so it felt.
Another couple of thrusts, and he was spilling into you, coating your insides in his pearly semen, ropes and strings oozing out from him and into you. You cried pathetically. You were broken. You felt full enough as it was, yet more kept coming from the brute. He slid out, earning himself a sensitive whimper from you at the loss and emptiness of your now raw and ruined hole. He plugged his fingers inside as he tenderly pressed devoted kisses to your nape, sucking hickeys o it your skin to show exactly where you belonged in this relationship, simply his toy, a belonging to him, and him only.
“I’ll get you pregnant in no time.” König didn’t know if he was reassuring himself or you.
You knew he’d have you like this nightly, from now on forward, and you couldn’t hide the excited and anticipating grin on your flushed face at the thought.
he fucks you in the back seat of your car as thanks for the ride home, holds your face down against the seat and laughs at the way your legs kick. he keeps asking how his fingers feel in your cunt, if it's everything you were imagining or if he needs to add another. pinches your clit when you mumble out some slurred words and pushes your face back into the seat when you try to get up.
he's mean with it, doesn't even give you his cock until you're limp and jerking with aftershocks. he keeps the back door open so the rest of the city can hear you screamin' for him. won't stop telling you what a slut you are for trying to mix work and pleasure, asks if he should call the bartender to fuck you too or if you only have eyes for him.
makes you suck on his fingers when he finally swipes your keys and sets you in the passenger seat, talking about how you can probably taste the nicotine under all the slick that's got on his hands. makes you squirm while he drives home. his home.
synopsis: You move to the countryside looking for peace, space, and a life that finally feels like your own. Instead, you find routine, watchful silence, and a neighbor who's always there before you ask.
Wc: 15.8k
CW: fem!reader, artist!reader, butcher!simon, lowkey stalker!simon if you rily squint, kinda mean!simon ( he calls you stupid but in a sexy way), slight slow burn, mention of blood, praise, rough sex, fem! masturbation, mention of breeding, unprotected sex, choking, throat-fucking, spit play, spanking, cunnilingus, analingus, brief mention phlegm, brief aftercare.
a/n: this is a reupload bc the og got labeled and i refuse to be silenced so if you read this already no you didn’t🫵🏼. Jk ily<3
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
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── .✦ The devil's in the details
A life that felt like your own.
It's all you've wanted for as long as you can remember.
Growing up meant learning the rules of the real world far too early—waking up every morning just to drag yourself to a grueling job, putting up with nagging customers and insufferable bosses who never seemed to respect boundaries.
Work. Pay the bills. Tend to responsibilities.
It disturbed your soul in a way you couldn't explain to anyone else—this idea that life was just endurance, not living.
Yet you always looked ahead. You never confined yourself to the standard everyone else seemed content with—and that refusal was why you were never taken as seriously as you wanted to be.
You learned early that dreaming meant working harder than everyone else.
I wanna make things with my hands!!
You used to squeal as a child whenever someone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up. The laughter that followed always left you quietly confused.
What a cutie.
Wait till she grows up.
As if you weren't standing right there. As if it really was unattainable.
As you got older, that desire only split open and spilled into everything else—into baking, painting, shaping.
Anything that lets your hands create something beautiful. Something meaningful.
Over time, you realized it wasn't just about making things. It was about the space to make them—to exist without being watched, corrected, rushed. To live somewhere quiet enough that your thoughts could finally settle.
It wasn't that you were a complete introvert. You loved people—you loved the ones who mattered. But there was always that persistent pull, that quiet urge to disappear for a while. To exist in a world that belonged only to you. You would spend days on end just imagining.
And lately, that wasn't enough anymore.
You didn't just want escape. You wanted peace. Quiet.
Which was why you took the first opportunity to leave everything behind—a small farming town in rural England, offering work in exchange for relocation. Painting homes. Restoring old businesses. Fixing what had been forgotten.
Everyone had something to say about it. Your family. Your friends. Even your professors warned you against it.
But you didn't hesitate.
You've technically been here for a week already. Long enough to learn the unfamiliar quiet by heart, to wait while the cottage was cleared and signed off and made official. This is the first time you're really standing in front of it.
Ideas crowd your mind faster than you can catch the—paint, repairs, small changes that would make it yours. Your chest tightens, heart swelling, a quiet certainty settling in.
The place is neglected. Weathered. Clearly left behind.
And yet, all you can see is possibility.
For the first time in a long while, it feels like everything is falling into place.
"Excuse me?"
You're pulled from your thoughts by the soft voice beside you. You blink, realizing the man has been standing there the entire time.
He smiles, polite but tentative. "I just wanted to make sure everything was to your liking. It's an older cottage, so...lt isn't exactly our best."
"No," you say quickly, unable to stop yourself from smiling. "It's perfect."
Something about your response seems to catch him off guard. He clears his throat.
"Right. Then there are just a few things we should go over before we-"
A sound cuts him off.
An animalistic, sharp, distant squeal loud enough to make you flinch, the noise carrying unnaturally through the trees. You turn instinctively, scanning the hillside.
Up the slope, partially hidden by the trees, stands a barn. One you hadn't noticed before. The doors open with a loud thud.
For a split second, you don't register what you're seeing—only that something too big has stepped into the light.
Then your stomach drops.
The man fills the doorway, massive shoulders nearly scraping the frame, his silhouette swallowing what little light spills out behind him. He's enormous-not just tall, but wide, built thick and heavy like he was carved for brute force rather than grace.
He's covered in blood everywhere. Dark, soaked into his clothes, smeared across his arms, clinging in thick, ugly patches that glisten wetly in the sunlight. There's a faint metallic smell that drifts through the air, making you scrunch your nose.
To top it off, he had a skull—patterned balaclava covering the lower half of his face.
The printed grin feels out of place against the quiet countryside, against the green fields and open sky. You can't see his mouth. Can't read his expression. Just the size of him, the way he carries himself like nothing around here surprises him anymore.
Your shoulders tense on instinct.
It was straight out of a horror movie.
"Um," you let out a small laugh, more nerves than humor honestly. "Is that... normal?"
"Oh—yeah." The man beside you clears his throat.
"Yeah, that'll be Simon. Local butcher." He gives a small, awkward laugh. "Looks worse than it is."
Suddenly, you remember everything they warned you about.
A woman alone in the woods.
Right.
You watched cautiously as the man walked toward the cottage right next to the barn, slightly more hidden in the woods than yours, slightly smaller as well.
His steps are steady, boots pressing into the dirt with an easy familiarity, like he's walked this path a thousand times.
Halfway there, he slows and glances over.
Just a look - brief, assessing—the kind of look anyone might give when they notice someone new standing where no one usually does. You tell yourself that immediately.
Still, your chest tightens in an unsettling way.
Even from this distance, his attention feels heavier than it should. He doesn't smile. Doesn't wave. Just takes you in for a moment longer than you're comfortable with.
"Don't mind him. He's a private bloke—won't be any bother."
You nod slowly as you turn, stepping back toward the cottage, the normal sounds of the countryside slowly filtering back in—though the image of him, bloodstained and broad-shouldered against the barn, stays longer than you'd like.
His view of you was completely different.
All he saw was a small figure standing out in the open.
Too small for this place.
You were dressed simply, soft neutral colors that didn't draw any immediate attention—yet somehow, you managed to draw it anyway. A long skirt brushing your ankles. A fitted tube top clinging in all the right places, bare skin catching the last of the daylight. Gold glinting faintly at your throat and wrists.
He has been watching you since the moment you arrived.
Could see you almost too clearly.
The thought settled heavy in his chest. The cottage next to his. Empty for years.
And now occupied.
His hand tightened around the handle of the front door as he went inside, the knowledge of you settling somewhere in the back of his mind.
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You wake up before the sun does.
The room is still dark, the cold from the night before still lingers stubbornly around the corners. The smell of wood and damp earth seeps into your space as you lie still beneath the covers, listening to the sound of your breathing and distant chirping of birds.
The nerves you thought you left behind start to stir low in your stomach. You barely slept, drifting in and out of shallow rest. It's funny how the waiting -the planning and the packing was easier than actually waking up inside this new life. A whole week spent imagining, filling the gaps with maybes and what-ifs, had felt gentler than this moment.
But now, lying in your own bed, on the edge of your first real day here, the anxiety creeps back into you like it never really left.
You force yourself up, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield against the morning cold. The wooden floor bites at your bare feet as you cross the room.
You move through your room on autopilot. Pushing aside clutter and digging through your box filled with your things to wash up. You pull on a simple black crop top and black leggings—easy and practical, something you don't mind making a mess out of. You fix your hair the way you always do before big jobs, muscle memory taking over as you gather your tools, hand steady despite the tight, resistant pull in your chest.
Your first job is a simple mural for a little flower shop in town.
You'd already been introduced earlier in the week.
Names, faces, smiles. Florence, the owner, had shown you the wall, fingers dusted with soil, excitement bright in her eyes. They'd given you free rein over the design, only asking that you keep to a preferred color palette.
"Okay," you mutter to yourself, crouching by your supplies. "One, two, three-"
You line the cans up on the floor. Reds. Yellows. Whites. Count them twice. Then again.
"Four."
You tap each lid as you go, checking them off in your head like that'll keep your nerves in place. Everything's been ready since last night. Packed. Repacked. Adjusted.
You're stalling. You know you are.
Keys cold in your palm, you stand by the door longer than necessary. Your hand rests on the handle. You inhale once before stepping out.
A loud, wet huff greets you immediately.
You freeze.
Right behind you—way too close—is a dog. If you could actually call it that.
He doesn't look very friendly. Honestly, you can't even process whether or not he is friendly by the way he stands there.
He's massive—thick-chested, broad, and you're pretty sure you saw veins popping out of his shoulders, only reinforcing how strong this dog could be. His paws dig heavy into the dirt at the bottom of your porch. Drool clings to the sides of its mouth, slipping free as it stares at you.
And for a fleeting second, the image of yesterday resurfaced. Barn doors, and a blood covered man standing in the middle of the field.
Your heart jumps straight into your throat.
You lift your hand instinctively, bending just slightly at the knees before you can stop yourself.
"Oh-okay," you breathe. "This is... fine."
"Hi," you try, softer. "Hey, puppy."
The dog doesn't move, just tilts his head to the side.
You glance around, suddenly very aware of how quiet it is. No neighbors. No cars. Just you and the beast blocking your path.
The distant sound of a truck came before you could react, stopping abruptly in front of you.
"Oi," the voice is rough and hoarsed.
"Mate. What'd I tell you?" He reaches over and pushes the door open from the inside.
The dog perking up instantly before running toward him obediently, tail wagging like nothing just happened.
It's only then you realized who it is. Who's standing in front of your door.
The butcher straight out of a slasher movie.
"You botherin' this bunny?" he asks the dog while scratching the back of his ears, happily wiggling his short tail.
Bunny?
"No bunny, just me," you laugh awkwardly before you step down off the porch, forcing yourself to stand straight even though your grip tightens on your bags.
He huffs, something close to a chuckle. "Right."
"Sorry about him," he adds.
"He likes to wander."
"You sure about that?" you ask, looking at the dog.
"Because he looked like he wasn't planning on leaving."
His lips twitches, eyes glinting with amusement.
"Saw you movin' your things yesterday," he says. "The place's been empty for a long time."
"Yeah," you reply quickly. "Feels a little weird, but I'll make it a home."
"Takes time," he shrugs, watching you for a second longer than necessary.
"You heading into town?" he asks, pointing at your bags in hand.
You blink. "Yeah. I was just—"
"Hop in," he says, nodding toward the passenger seat.
"I'll take you."
You hesitate, words catching. "You don't have to—"
"Already going," he replies simply.
You pause for a moment, eyes lingering down the road, wondering whether or not you should climb into this stranger's truck. The bark of the dog breaks your thoughts, deciding to climb in anyway. The smell hits you all at once—raw meat, metallic and heavy, softened slightly by the clean interior and a faint pine-scented freshener.
Large freezers are secured in the back.
The dog squeezes itself between the two of you, panting proudly. Still massive. Just... not focused on you anymore.
cute, you think.
"Simon,"' he introduces himself.
»Y/n."
The car ride is silent, tires crunching over gravel as the hills roll out around you. Fields stretch wide and open, cows grazing lazily, sheep dotting the landscape like pale stones. Trees sway gently in the breeze.
You watch it all pass, mesmerized. Though your thoughts are running wild, thoughts going back to the sellers words.
Private bloke
Not private enough clearly.
Your gaze shifts from outside to his truck, trying to catch a glimpse at the man.
Simon drives easily, his hand on the wheel completely scarred, you wondered if he got it from his line of work or something else, the other holds a cigarette out the window. He looks different like this—clean, relaxed, almost ordinary. He looks handsome. In a rough, rugged way.
"Need somethin'?" he asks, eyes still on the road.
"Sorry," you say quickly, eyes snapping away "Just— thinking."
"Didnt scare you too much yesterday, did i?" he asks, looking at you briefly. "You seem slightly jumpy,"
Your neck snaps almost instantly toward his hard face.
"No of course not!" You reply hurriedly,
He hums in understanding.
The truck slows outside the shop, gravel crunching under the tires.
"This good?" he asks.
You nod, already reaching for the door. "Yeah. Thank you."
He watches you for a second longer than necessary, then gives a short nod.
"I'll be back," he states.
You hesitate, but smile anyway. Shutting the door with a loud thud.
You can feel his eyes on you until the bell above the shop door rings and the world shifts back into place.
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The day goes by quicker than you expect.
One moment you're unpacking your things, the next you're moving on instinct alone. You work mindlessly— sketching, painting, letting your hands take over where your thoughts would only get in the way. People drift past on the sidewalk, slowing as they pass, curious eyes gazing at your art. A few linger. Most keep walking. You trade small smiles, nods of acknowledgement.
"Lovely," some say as they walk past.
It brings you back to before, when this was only just a distant dream.
At some point, you stop paying attention to the time.
By the time the sun begins to sink, warm light stretching long across the street, you finally step back.
The mural sits before you—unfinished, but already alive.
You begin packing up your supplies. Brushes rinsed.
Papers stacked. Movements slow, trying everything to not break the spell of the day just yet.
"Alright, Miss Florence," you call out as you step inside, setting your things down on the shop's counter.
"I'll be back around the same time tomorrow."
"Of course, love," she says easily, looking up from where she's standing. "The mural's coming along quite nicely. I'm impressed."
You smile at that, a quiet swell of pride warming your chest.
As you turn to say your goodbyes, her hand comes to rest gently on your shoulder.
"Is everything alright, love?" she asks, concern written plainly across her face.
You pause, staring at her, head tilting slightly in confusion. "Of course," you say. "Why?"
She doesn't answer right away-just nods toward the door, past the front window.
You follow her gaze.
A small sound of surprise slips from you at the sight of the red pickup truck parked outside. The big dog hangs halfway out the open window, tongue lolling as he pants happily. And leaning back against the hood is the man himself—somehow larger than he'd been in your memory. Smoke curls lazily around him, a cigarette hanging from his lips.
"He's been waiting out there a while," she says, careful.
"Oh, we live on the same road. He's just doing me a favor." You smile reassuringly.
That doesn't ease her expression the way you expect it to.
"Why?" you ask, lowering your voice without thinking.
"What about him?"
"Oh—nothing," she says. "He's just a private man, is all.
We were a bit surprised seeing you come out of his truck... and now."
"That's all?" you press, eyes flickering towards the truck.
She pauses long enough that you lift your brows.
"Not much to him, really," she says finally.
"He's been up there longer than most people remember. Bought that land years back. Kept it when no one else wanted it."
"He's the butcher, though, right?" you ask, still trying to understand the wariness.
"He is. But it's odd," she admits. "He doesn't hire out.
Doesn't expand. Doesn't sell beyond what he needs to." She presses her lips together.
"Most folks around here like things that grow, y'know? But he stays exactly the same."
You wait for more. It doesn't come - and the lack of it frustrates you more than anything she's said.
Someone near the counter clears their throat. Another voice adds, quieter, "Never missed a delivery, though."
Florence nods in agreement. "Meat's always clean. Always fresh."
You let out a small, incredulous laugh. "So... he's just serious about his work?"
She clicks her tongue.
"He's particular," she says. "About his space. His time."
"And people?"
She doesn't answer right away.
"He doesn't come into town unless there's a reason," she says instead.
"And he doesn't wait around for nothing."
You glance back toward the window, toward where the truck had been.
"Oh," you say softly.
Florence squeezes your arm once before letting go.
"Just... take care, love."
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On the laptop by the counter, your mom watches you with that same careful look she's had since you told her where you were moving.
"So," she says, folding her hands together. "How was your first real day?"
You laugh a little. "Good. Actually... really good."
"The shop was busy enough to keep me distracted. People came in and out all day. A lot of staring at first, but not in a bad way." You popped a grape into your mouth.
"More curious than anything."
She hums, unconvinced but listening.
"They let me set up like we talked about," you continue. "People stopped to talk. Asked where I moved from. What I do. It felt nice." You glance toward the window. "Normal."
"Were you nervous?" she asks, giving you that look you know so well.
"I was," you admit. "But once I started working, it faded. I kind of forgot about everything else."
Her eyes soften at that, just a little.
"You didn't sleep much last night, though," she says. Not a question.
You pause, then shrug.
"Not really. New place. New sounds."
You smile like it's nothing. "I'm sure l'll get used to it."
She presses her lips together. "That's what worries me. You out there by yourself, in the woods."
"Mom—"
"I know," she sighs. "You're an adult. I just don't love the idea."
"I get that," you say gently. "But it's fine. Really. It's hidden, yeah—but not in a scary way."
There's a beat of silence before you add, almost offhand, "Although... people in town do talk."
Her gaze sharpens immediately.
"About?"
"About my neighbor," you say, a small laugh slipping out. "Apparently he's been up there forever. Everyone has an opinion, but no one says much."
"That doesn't make you uneasy?"
You pause, just for a second. "Not really. I mean, I met him yesterday. He was... normal. A little intense, maybe.
She doesn't look convinced.
"He even gave me a ride into town this morning," you add quickly, like it's no big deal. " ...and back
"A ride?" she repeats.
You stop to look up at the screen, finally aware of how that must sound.
"Mom, it was fine," you say. "We live on the same road. It was convenient, truly”
She exhales slowly. "I just don't like you being so isolated. Especially with people you don't know."
"I know," you say softly. "But today was good. I promise."
She studies your face through the screen, searching for something you're not even sure you could name.
"Just be careful," she says. "That's all I'm asking."
You nod.
"I will."
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You're not sure when it became a routine.
At first, it was just convenience. You'd step outside and Simon would already be there, his red truck waiting at the end of the driveway.
Then it happened again.
And again.
Waking up. Getting ready. Eating breakfast standing by the counter because you never quite sit down anymore. Stepping outside into the cool air and the familiar sight of Simon and his dog waiting patiently for you.
Somewhere along the way, you started bringing him breakfast.
You didn't plan it. It just... happened. A plastic cup balanced carefully in your hand, still too hot to hold properly. And a sandwich wrapped in foil. You remember the first time you handed it to him-how he paused, just for a second, fingers hovering before taking it. His eyes flicked down to the cup, then back up to you.
"Didn't have to," he muttered, voice rough with sleep.
You shrugged it off, like it was nothing.
You did it again the next morning.
And the one after that.
Soon, it felt strange not to. Like something was missing when you stepped outside empty-handed.
Simon never commented on it again. He just took what you gave him every morning. Always made sure the dog stayed put while you climbed in. Always waited until you were settled before pulling away from the driveway.
"Hi baby," you'd coo, rubbing the happy dog's ear as you settle into the familiar leather of his car. Shadow-you'd come to learn the scary dog's name.
You don't remember when that became part of your normal either.
By the sixth day you stopped questioning it.
Simon always said he had business in town. Always said it like it was obvious. Like it explained everything.
And maybe it did—except some mornings, when you glanced toward the back of the truck, the bed was completely empty.
No freezers. No crates. Nothing.
You noticed it once.
Twice.
Then you stopped looking.
It was true what everyone said about him—he was private. Didn't speak unless necessary. Most of your rides passed in silence, broken only by the sound of tires on rocks and dirt and your small comments about whatever you saw outside.
He was intense in ways that was hard to ignore.
On the way he watched the road, eyes steady, barely blinking. The way his jaw tightened when he smoked, like he was holding something back even when he was alone with you.
But there was softness there too-and that was the part that caught you off guard.
It slipped in when he spoke to Shadow, voice dropping low, careful, like the dog was something fragile instead of built like a tank. The way his scarred hand reached down without him even looking, fingers rubbing the dog's belly in slow, absent strokes, like muscle memory.
Even the way he asked about the radio. Not choosing for you. Just a quiet, "What d'you want to listen to?"
You didn't know when you'd started noticing these things. Only that once you did, you couldn't stop. The intensity didn't scare you—it made the softness feel deliberate.
It was.... pleasant.
Comforting even.
Two weeks had passed before someone finally said something.
"Sure looks like Simons has a sweet spot for the new girl in town," a voice from behind the counter says, making you instantly perk up.
"Hm?" You look up, paintbrush still in hand.
They nod toward the window.
Outside, the red truck waits.
"Hes my neighbor," you shrug.
the comment lingers, even after the conversation ends.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
"You should speak more to everyone," you murmur later that night, leaning your head against the window, tired and worn out from the day.
"You eaten yet?" He asks without glancing over, completely ignoring your comment.
"You really do need to learn how to have a conversation Simon," you roll your eyes, shifting your position to where your knees are facing his side, careful not to bother the sleeping pup in the middle.
"Don't know what you mean," he hums.
You smile to yourself, eyes on the road ahead. After a bit, you add, the interaction from later that day crossing your mind, "Someone mentioned you've been acting... different lately."
He glances over for half a second. "Different?"
"Mmhm." You nod.
He doesn't say anything after that, just nods once and keeps driving.
"Have you eaten?"
You click your tongue.
"No."
The car slowly comes to a stop in front of you home, and so does the engine.
This wasn't part of the routine.
You look at him confused, head tilted to the side.
"Worked on a fresh cut today." He says, reaching forward to take the keys out. "Wanted you to have it,"
You blink, caught off guard. Before you can decide what to say, the truck door opens and he's already stepping out, calling Shadow after him with a short sound.
You watch him circle the hood, a flicker of something tightening in your chest when he reaches for your door.
It opens before you can protest. You hesitate before swinging your legs out anyway, letting him guide you without quite remembering when you agreed to it.
He doesn't crowd you. Just walks ahead, like he expects you to follow.
And you do.
When you stop at the door, keys cool in your palm, he stays a step behind you. Close enough that you're aware of his presence, the quiet weight of it pressing between your shoulder blades as you unlock the door.
You glance back once. He meets your eyes, unreadable.
Inside, you barely get the chance to say anything before he turns to the dog.
"Stay," he says—low and firm by the door.
"Simon—he doesn't have to" you say, too soft to be much of a protest.
Shadow listens anyway.
Your house oozes warmth. Simon thinks.
Not just heat—the kind of warmth that settles in your chest comfortably. It's nothing like his place. His is all cold surfaces and silence, everything where it's supposed to be, like no one's meant to linger too long.
Yours doesn't try to hide you.
There's stuff everywhere. Half-finished things. A stack of sketchbooks by the couch, paint-stained rags shoved into a corner, a couple of framed pieces leaning against the wall because you haven't decided where they go yet. It looks like someone keeps starting things and coming back to them.
It smells like you.
Not perfume. Not candles. Just you - soap, clean fabric, something faintly warm. Simon notices it as soon as he steps inside. It's different from his place.
His house never really smells like anything at all. It's just... neutral.
The kitchen's small. He isn't.
He fills the space without trying, shoulders close to the cabinets as he reaches for your drawers to find what you need. Most of them are empty. Just spices. The basics. He sets the steak down, still wrapped in paper.
You begin fixing things that don't need fixing to distract yourself. Sliding a notebook out of the way. Moving a mug. Your chest stays tight. It's the first time he's been inside your house, and the thought sits heavier than it should.
This is definitely not how you pictured your night ending.
The butcher up the road, in your kitchen. Talking about a fresh cut like it's nothing. Like this isn't strange. Like he hasn't just stepped into your space and started moving through it with quiet ease. The shift from how the night should've gone to how it's unfolding now hits you all at once, sharp enough to leave you reeling.
You reach for the remote, turning the TV on just to break it. The sound. The stillness. Anything. You crack a window open too, breeze slipping in as you step back, giving yourself something else to focus on.
"Do you need help?" you ask finally, mostly to fill the space.
"Mmm," he hums, "Where do you keep your pans?"
"Oh." You move on instinct, opening drawers, pulling things out. A pan. A cutting board. Knives. Setting them down beside him without thinking twice.
He works quietly. Salt first. Pepper. The sound of it hitting the meat sharp in the small kitchen. He heats the pan, waits for it, tests it with a flick of water that hisses and disappears.
You lean back against the counter, watching.
The steak hits the pan and the sound fills the room - loud, immediate. He doesn't rush it. Just let's it sit, pressing it down once with the tongs, then leaves it alone. The smell starts slow, then builds. Rich. Savory.
It crawls through the air until your stomach reacts before you can stop it.
You laugh under your breath, hand pressing briefly to your middle.
"That smells amazing," you beam.
He flips the steak once. Cuts into it to check. Juice beads along the surface, catching on his fingers as he pulls a small piece free.
He lifts his hand without comment, holding it out toward you.
You swear you short-circuit for a second before leaning in, taking the bite he's offering, your lips lightly grazing his finger.
He stares at you—openly this time. Long enough that it makes you shift, a shiver running through you before you look away with a quiet, breathy laugh.
"Wow," you murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you chew, letting the taste settle properly this time.
You swallow, then glance back at him, still leaning against the counter. "That's... fucking incredible, Simon."
It slips out softer than you mean it.
For a second, you forget about everything else-the tightness from earlier, the fact that he's here, in your kitchen. There's only the warmth on your tongue and the way the moment hangs between you.
"How long have you been in this business?" you ask after a pause, watching his face like you're checking for a reaction. Questions aren't usually part of your routine. Neither is this.
"Long time," he answers simply as he fixes the plates.
"Old man ran the business. Guess I kind of inherited it."
You hum, thinking it over. "Must keep you busy.
Between the shop and... everything else."
"Enough," he says, shrugging one shoulder. "Mostly keeps me close to home."
That's when he adds, almost as an afterthought,
"Don't like going into town much."
You snort softly. "Could've fooled me."
You meant it as a joke-only half truth.
He exhales through his nose, something like a huff, and shakes his head once before turning back to the plate.
The conversation ends there, easy and unspoken.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The better part of your day had been spent exploring and wandering the area. Something you haven't gotten to properly do since you got here.
Bare feet planted right on the grass as you wandered into the field behind your backyard, the earth cool and uneven beneath you. You kept breathing in deep without really thinking about it—grass, dirt, something clean in the air. Birds flew low overhead, noisy and playful.
The trees out here were huge. Like, old old. Thick trunks, branches stretching everywhere. You caught yourself staring up at them, wondering how long they'd been standing there, what they'd seen before any of this existed.
You kept walking, pencil moving absentmindedly as you added loose doodles to the sketchbook tucked tightly under your arm. Shapes. Lines. Little half-ideas you'd probably forget later.
You explored every area you could think of, picking rocks and flowers as you went.
Every area except one.
You didn't mean to head that way at first. It just... happened. Your steps slowed as the land subtly shifted, the trees thinning just enough for a familiar structure to come into view.
The closer you got, the clearer it became.
Simon's barn sat just beyond the tree line-close enough that if you turned around, you could still see your cottage. The roof peeked through the branches, almost reassuring. Close enough that you told yourself it didn't really count as trespassing.
The barn itself was a faded, rusty red, the paint chipped and sun-worn, like it hadn't been touched in years. It clearly needed a new coat. You filed that thought away automatically, like you did with everything else.
You slowed your steps, circling wider instead of heading straight toward it.
For some reason, your mind kept dragging you back to the first day you'd seen him there. Bloody. Intimidating.
Almost unreal. The unease returned now, settling low in your stomach as uou get closer.
You'd been sneaking glances at the place ever since, careful not to get too close. Careful to remember that conversation.
"So will I ever get to see your workplace?" you'd asked once, half-teasing.
All he'd given you was that small, almost-missed smile.
"S'not meant for a bunny like you to see."
Today, though?
Today, you wanted that angle.
Simon be damned.
You huffed softly to yourself, shaking your head as you settled into the grass and opened your sketchbook. He really did have a way with words.
You started with the barn first-loose lines, quick strokes-then added his cottage beside it. It stood only a few feet away, smaller than yours, but somehow cozier. It looked like him. Minimal. No decorations. No unnecessary clutter. Just a single chair on the lawn, a small table beside it, an ashtray resting on top.
You shaded, erased and worked until the world narrowed down to paper and graphite.
You looked like a lost bunny.
The thought crossed Simon's mind as he watched you move along the upper slope behind the barn. Delicate sundress, sketchbook tucked under your arm, hair pulled back out of your face. Careful steps, like you weren't sure you were meant to be there.
He paused what he was doing and just stared.
You'd been out since early. He remembered you mentioning you had a few days free from work, maybe more, before someone else found something for you to fix or soften or make pretty. You didn't seem like the type who sat still for long. Always moving. Always making.
Simon hadn't meant to care. He usually didn't.
Years of work had trained that out of him. Grind. Routine. Blood when there had to be blood. He liked his life simple, contained, predictable. The land. The barn. The quiet. When he heard the house down the hill was being rented, it pissed him off. Change always did. New noise. New eyes.
Then you showed up.
He didn't know when exactly he started noticing the warmth—your laughter carrying up the hill, music bleeding out of your windows, sound settling into places that had been empty for too long. It didn't belong here. Neither did you.
And yet.
You stopped near the side of the barn, turning slowly, taking it in. He watched you look around like you were measuring the space, committing it to memory. You could still see your cottage from there - close enough that you were probably telling yourself it didn't count as trespassing.
He wiped his hands, stripped the gloves off, and stepped outside.
By the time he rounded the corner, you were already sitting, sketchbook open on your lap. Pencil moving.
Focused enough that you didn't notice him right away.
You were so in deep you didn't even notice the shadow towering over you at first.
He stopped a few feet in front of you-close enough to notice the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers smudged charcoal without you realizing it.
"Can I help you."
You startled—not badly, but enough that he knew you'd forgotten the rest of the world existed.
You looked up at him, your eyes flicking briefly over the apron, the stains, the evidence of the day's work.
Your pulse jumped—he could see it—but you held his gaze anyway.
"Just….. scoping the area," you say easily, like you hadn't been caught at all, even though your heart was pounding. "Gaining inspiration."
He exhaled through his nose.
"Told you," he said. "This place ain't meant for a bunny like you."
He meant it.
Your cheeks warmed. You didn't deny it.
"I didn't walk in, though, did I."
Silence settled between you —thick, but not uncomfortable. Your pencil resumed its quiet movement against the page. He stayed where he was. Didn't tell you to pack up. Didn't step back either. You took it as a good sign.
He watched you for another moment, then shifted-just slightly. Half a turn. Enough to give you a better angle.
He didn't comment on it, but you noticed anyway.
He stayed like that—half-turned, broad shoulders cutting against the quiet of the field.
The contrast caught you off guard.
He didn't belong in a place this calm, you thought. Not with the way he was built-all sharp lines and restrained violence, hands stained from work that wasn't meant to be pretty. And yet the grass bent easily around his boots. Wildflowers pushed up near the barn wall, soft and careless, brushing against wood that had seen such degeneracy.
Sunlight filtered unevenly through the trees, catching the edge of his jaw, the scar across his face, the quiet tension in the way he held himself like he was always braced for impact.
Your pencil hovered uselessly above the page.
This—this—was the angle you hadn't known you were looking for. The way he looked out of place and perfectly rooted all at once. Feral, yes—but framed by something gentle. Something alive.
The thought settled before you could talk yourself out of it.
"Let me draw you," you said suddenly, not even pausing to think.
"Now?"
"Like this?" he asked, glancing down at his clothes.
Your cheeks warmed, suddenly aware of how dirty he must feel.
"Right-sorry, that was a weird ask," you laughed it off.
"I'll just draw your house." You shrugged, getting up from the grown and walking past him.
"Fine,” he said. "I'll do it."
You stopped short and turned back to him.
"You sure? I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I'm not the fastest-,"
He started walking before you could say anything else, already heading toward the cottage like the decision had been made the moment you asked.
You look around for half a second furrowing your brows before following.
The ground changed under your feet as you left the grass, dirt packed firmer near the house. Up close, his place felt even smaller than it had from afar. The door stood open just enough for the smell of him to drift out—wood, smoke, something iron-sharp beneath it.
He stopped at the steps and sat, elbows resting loosely on his knees, forearms bare. The position looked natural on him.
You looked at him properly then.
The daylight caught his face in a way that made you pause.
You noticed things you hadn't before.
The tattoo peeking from his neck and rolled sleeves. The way his jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, every few moments.
He looked. feral. You weren't sure that was the right word. Beastly, maybe. Grounded. Dangerous in a way that made your thoughts take a turn you didn't want to examine too closely.
You tightened your grip on the pencil, your eyes drifting despite yourself.
Brutal. Masculine.
Your heartbeat picked up as unholy thoughts flashed through your mind.
"You alright, bunny?" he asked.
You froze-caught, like a deer in headlights. Heat rushed to your face.
"Yeah," you laughed softly, shaking your head as you forced your gaze back to his face.
"Here" you say, already leaning closer before he could answer. You reached into your bag for one of the flowers you picked earlier. Small and delicate.
As you lifted your hand toward him, he tensed and leaned back slightly.
You were about to apologize when he spoke.
"Careful. Don't want you getting all dirty."
You blinked-then laughed again.
"Can I?" you asked again.
This time, he stayed still.
You tucked the small white flower behind his ear, fingers brushing skin warmed by the sun. He watched you closely, eyes tracking every movement.
The contrast—him and the delicate bloom resting there—felt almost cinematic.
"You have soft hands, bunny." he says, dead serious.
"Thanks." You breathed out, not realizing you were holding it in.
"Why do you call me that?" You ask after a few minutes.
He shrugged, like it had never needed explaining.
"Because you look like one."
You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head—but you stayed. Kept drawing. Like the answer was enough.
You went back to his face. Really focused. Honey-brown eyes. Thick brows. Plump, chapped lips. The scar cutting across him, running from one eye, down his nose, into his cheek like a map of where he'd been.
You shifted slightly, adjusting your grip on the pencil as you leaned closer, angling the page to catch the light.
Your knee brushed the step without you noticing.
"You got a boyfriend?"
Your hand stilled mid-line.
"Why the sudden question?"
"Well," he said evenly, "you asked one. Now it's my turn."
You laughed at that.
"No," you said. "I don't."
He hummed in acknowledgement.
Silence settled again, filled only by the pleasant sound of trees moving with the wind. You wanted to keep talking. Wanted to know him. But you weren't sure where the line was.
"You," you started. "How long have you been up here?"
"Mmm. Couple years."
You click your tongue.
"Couple years? I didn't know vague answers were allowed."
He shrugged.
"You can allow whatever you want."
You smile at that, soft and a little crooked, and let your pencil move again.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
The sounds around you settle into something easy— the wind threading through the trees, the faint creak of the barn in the distance, the quiet scratch of charcoal against paper. Simon stays still on the steps, only shifting when his knee starts to ache, careful not to disturb your line of sight.
He glances down at the page after a minute, curiosity getting the better of him.
"So," he says, casual, like it just occurred to him. "You always draw scenery?"
You hum thoughtfully, eyes never leaving the sketch.
"Sometimes. Helps me understand how things fit together."
"People included?"
"Especially people," you admit.
He watches the way your mouth curves around the words, the focus in your eyes. There's something intimate about being studied like this—not in the way people usually look at him, measuring or wary.
"You any good?" he asks.
You laugh quietly. "Guess that depends who you ask."
"Hm." A beat. "You don't look like you're guessing."
You glance up at him then, catching the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. Not quite a smile. Something warmer than indifference.
You go back to drawing.
Time slips by without either of you noticing.
The light shifts gradually, the sun lowering behind the trees, turning the field gold and then amber. Shadows stretch across the ground, softening the sharp edges of everything around you. The flower behind his ear wilts a little, petals curling inward, but you leave it there.
Simon moves once when his leg goes numb, rolling his shoulders, flexing his hands. Letting out a low groan of discomfort. You adjust without thinking, tracking the movement, adapting your lines.
"You don't have to stay still," you say after a moment of watching him.
"I know," he replies. Then, quieter, "I don't mind."
You chuckle to yourself, heat creeping up your neck as you look back down at the page.
"You're a good model," you say, a little too quickly.
The breeze cools as evening creeps in, brushing over your bare arms and drawing a light shiver from you.
You shift your weight, knees stiff, and finally lean back, lowering the sketchbook into your lap.
"I think that's enough," you say softly.
Simon straightens a little. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You hesitate before standing, brushing grass from your dress. There's a strange reluctance in the air now, like neither of you wants to be the one to end it.
You step closer, tearing the page free and holding it up beside his face. The distance shrinks without you meaning it to.
You tilt your head, eyes flicking between him and the sketch, comparing angles and the way the light catches him in real time versus graphite.
"Here."
He grabs it without question. For a long moment, he doesn't say anything.
That usual uneasy feeling in your stomach creeps up slowly, the one that shows up every time you finish a piece. Like you did something a little too personal and now it's just... out there.
Then, quietly, "You see a lot."
"O-oh," you say, eyes wide in surprise. "Only what's there." You lift a hand, brushing the comment off like it's nothing.
He nods once.
"Thank you," he says.
The words hang steady.
"Of course!" You smile softly.
The sun has dipped low now, the sky washed in muted pinks and purples. You step back, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
"I should probably head back," you say. "Before it gets dark."
"Yeah." He stands as well. Drawing still in hand.
"You can keep that, if you want," You call out.
"I owe you a better one, though." you laugh lightly-but the sound fades as soon as it leaves you, suddenly aware of how that might've come out.
Before you can overthink it, you give a quick wave and head down the slope, not waiting for his reaction.
His eyes linger a bit longer till you fully disappear from his view, gaze dropping to the piece of paper then back at you, breathing out slow.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
It's been a month now since you've settled into your new life. A month of building and creating and slowly disappearing into your little cottage, filling it with your things until it felt like a place you'd lived in for years instead of weeks.
A month, too, of growing closer to the local butcher.
The one who had a reputation for keeping to himself. For not interacting with anyone. Somehow, that rule never applied to you.
You were almost inseparable now. Him showing up unannounced to fix small things—a loose lightbulb, a squeaky door-like he'd been waiting for an excuse.
Any time you needed something from town or had a job lined up, he'd already be outside your door, keys in hand.
Sometimes he'd bring uncooked steak even when you'd try to refuse. Fresh cuts wrapped in paper, held out with a casual shrug. He'd say it didn't fit in his fridge. Leftover. No big deal.
A stupid white lie. One that worked every single time.
He'd gotten softer, too. Softer than you suspected anyone else had ever seen him. Letting you borrow his thick coats—or leaving them behind and claiming he'd forgotten them. When you tried to give them back, he'd just shake his head, lips pressed into that tight little smile, like the conversation was already over.
"It's cold, bunny. Shouldn't be wearing that outside," he says immediately, voice stern and low, eyes cutting straight through you.
You swallow, feigning innocence as you shrug one shoulder.
"I thought it was just gonna be a light storm,"
you reply plainly—ignoring the warning as you lean back on your hands, legs crossed, chest subtly pushed forward while you look up at him.
He scoffs and drops down beside you with an exaggerated huff, his damp shoulder bumping into yours. He's close—close enough that you can feel his heat, the steady pull of his breath. It makes your head spin.
His forearms rest on his knees as he settles in, but his eyes never leave you. Those same hungry eyes that have been plaguing your thoughts every night.
"It's gonna get really cold," he repeats, quieter now, looking straight at you.
You swallow thickly before standing, deliberately slow, giving him a full view.
"I can handle a little cold," you tease.
You barely make it inside before you're running, laughter spilling out as you hear his heavy footsteps thudding after you.
Now you're stuck inside, alone, heavy rain hammering against the roof and rattling the windows. Moisture beads along the glass near the heater, the room dim and warm. You sit on the bed with a towel wrapped around your body and hair, picking at a bowl of cut fruit balanced on your thigh.
It's one of those nights.
The kind where loneliness creeps in quietly, twisting into something darker. Where your mind betrays you with memories of every interaction you've had with him.
You'd wanted to relax. Wash the day off, eat fruit and watch tv.
But moments like this don't let you.
They turn that restlessness into something else entirely.
It makes your cunt ache.
Your thoughts drift back to the time when he showed up unannounced, claiming your grass was too high. Brought his own tools, mowed the lawn like it was nothing. Sweat clung to his skin as the sun hit him, shirt damp and sticking in all the wrong places.
You'd worn an incredibly short sundress. The kind that shows off every inch of your curves.
You remember the way he wiped sweat from his forehead with the thin fabric, lifting it just enough to give you a glimpse of his hard bulging stomach. The sight had made something low in your belly twitch.
The way his hand rested at the small of your back when you brought him cold lemonade. How close he stood. The smell of him-clean and earthy. The way his Adam's apple bobbed with every swallow.
Fuck.
Your left hand drifts down without thinking—first over your chest, then higher, barely grazing your nipple. A quiet sound slips from your lips.
Your body feels overly sensitive. Needy.
You picture his hands on you—large, rough—teasing your skin, gripping your waist, your ass. Your free hand slides between your thighs and you gasp when your fingers brush against your slick heat.
You barely touch yourself at first. Just graze your clit. Then down your folds. A soft hiss escapes you.
You're already a mess. You have been since you stepped out of the shower.
His image won't leave your mind. Everything he'd do to you. Everything you'd let him do. You saw him differently today, and it did something to you. It was something you feared from the moment you started becoming close. But you pushed that thought down.
Your fingers begin to move in slow circles, the other hand latching onto your hardening nipple as your thoughts spiral. His hands. His weight. Him bending you over, tugging your hair.
Your thighs squeeze together.
You wonder what he'd smell like fresh from a shower. What he'd look like with water clinging to his skin, a towel slung low on his hips. The thought makes your toes curl.
Your breathing picks up as pleasure builds, slick heat spreading with every movement of your fingers.
A moan slips free.
"Simon," you breathe, barely above a whisper, like saying it out loud makes it too real.
Your hand moves from your nipple to your breast, groping desperately, trying to recreate the way his scarred hand would feel. Would he pinch you? Roll it between his fingers? Replace his hand with his mouth?
Your breaths turn uneven. Your hand between your thighs moves faster.
The image of today is burned into your mind-him rough and bloodied from work, yet speaking to you so softly. It's overwhelming. He consumes your thoughts until you nearly forget why you're even here.
"F-fuck," you moan, eyes falling open as you look down at yourself—naked, wet, undone. Your hips lift, chasing the sensation.
"Si-"
Boom.
The crack of thunder is immediate, violent, followed by sudden darkness that steals the air from your lungs.
You jolt upright with a gasp, heart slamming against your ribs as if it's trying to escape. For a second you just sit there, frozen, the rain pounding against the roof like it's trying to cave it in.
"Oh-fuck," you whisper, the word shaky.
Your body catches up a second later. Awareness hits all at once and sends a fresh wave of panic through you. You scramble, grabbing the towel from the foot of the bed and wrapping it around yourself clumsily, hands trembling as you try to ground yourself. The room feels too quiet without the hum of electricity, the shadows stretching and shifting with every flash of lightning outside.
"Y/N!"
The sound of his voice cuts through the rain.
You fumble for your phone, fingers slick as you swipe the flashlight on, the harsh beam making you squint.
You don't stop to think—just move. Sweats and a tshirt. You tug them on hastily, heart still racing as you rush down the hallway, the floor cold under your bare feet.
The power's out.
When you pull the door open, rain mist clings to the air immediately. Simon stands on your porch, shoulders damp, flashlight in hand, Shadow pressed close to his leg. His face shifts the moment he sees you-concern sharpening, eyes flicking over you like he's checking for injuries.
"Hey," he says, firm but low. "You okay?"
“I—yeah” you nod too quickly, suddenly very aware of how warm your face feels, how close he is. "The power just…went out."
"Yeah." His gaze lifts briefly to the dark windows behind you before settling back on you. "You're coming with me."
"What?" You blink. "Simon, it's really not-"
"Not up for discussion," he cuts in, already stepping past you like he owns the place. He moves with practiced ease, flashlight sweeping through the room as he heads for your bedroom. "Storm's getting worse.
This place isn't insulated well enough for it."
You trail after him, flustered, hugging yourself as you watch him grab a few essentials—your charger, a hoodie, shoes—moving through your space with unsettling familiarity.
"I'll be fine," you insist, even though your voice lacks conviction. "It's just for the night, plus my things are here. I need to make sure everything's in order."
"Y/n," he replies, glancing back at you. His tone softens, just slightly. "Humor me."
You don't argue after that.
The rain blurs everything on the drive over. The road glistens under the headlights, water streaking across the windshield in uneven patterns as the wipers struggle to keep up. The cab of the truck is warm, quiet except for the storm and the low hum of the engine.
Every now and then, lightning flashes bright enough to turn the inside of the truck white, and you catch him glancing over at you like he's checking you're still there.
When you finally pull up to his place, your nerves spike all over again.
You swallow as you step out, rain speckling your skin, heart pounding harder with each step toward his door. This would be your first time inside. After everything. After all this time.
He unlocks it and nudges the door open, motioning you in first.
The warmth hits you immediately.
The house smells like him—burnt wood, something clean and sharp, iron underneath it all. It's quiet, small, almost stark. The living space is simple: couch, TV, dining table pushed close to the kitchen. No decorations. No clutter.
And then you see it. Your drawing. The same one you drew of him months ago.
It sits on the side table framed neatly. It surprised you. Your steps slow without you meaning to, something tightening in your chest as you stare at it. It's not really a big deal but, seeing your drawing there—framed, dusted, given a place—feels strangely intimate. Like walking into someone's thoughts and realizing you've been there longer than you thought.
"Oh my god," you laugh softly, reaching for it. "I can't believe you kept this."
"Hm?" He glances over, distracted at first. Then he sees what you're holding. "Oh. Yeah." He shrugs, like it's obvious. "You make beautiful art."
The words hit harder than they should.
Your face warms instantly as you duck your head, pretending to inspect the frame. "This was so long ago. I thought you'd thrown it away."
"I would never," he says, without hesitation.
Something short-circuits in your brain at that. You clear your throat, setting the drawing back where it belongs before you can overthink it.
"That's... sweet," you say, lighter than you feel.
You move toward the couch, perching on the edge at first before letting yourself sink back. It's smaller than yours, but comfortable.
Simon disappears into the kitchen for a moment, and you hear the faint clink of a kettle being set down. You sit on the couch, hugging the mug when he hands it to you, grateful for something warm to hold onto.
"Wait," you frown slightly, glancing toward the dark kitchen. "How'd you even make tea if the power's out?"
He pauses for a second before answering. "Backup electric stove,"
"Keep it around for storms." He adds
You blink. "Of course you do."
He almost smiles.
The silence that follows is comfortable, not awkward. Just the storm outside and the low crackle of the fire starting to catch as he moves to the hearth. You watch him from the couch as he kneels, stacking logs with practiced ease, striking the match. The flames take quickly, casting a soft orange glow across the room.
"There," he says, standing again. "That'll help."
He grabs his coat from the back of a chair as he passes, hesitating only a second before draping it over your shoulders. The weight of it makes you exhale.
"You don't have to—"
"I know," he says quietly. "Drink your tea."
You do, pulling the coat tighter around yourself. It smells like him. When he sits down beside you, it's close but not pressing. His knee brushes yours. Just once. Neither of you move away.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Yeah," you nod. "Just... settling."
"Mm." He leans back slightly, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. Not touching you. Not yet. But there, like an open invitation you don't acknowledge out loud.
You shift a little closer anyway, more instinct than decision. The fire pops softly. The storm fades into background noise. For a moment, it almost feels like you've done this before—like this is normal.
"You're quiet," he says after a while.
"Oh my god," you scoff softly. "Are you calling me annoying?"
He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed, and then his shoulders shake with that quiet laugh you've come to love.
"No," he says. "Just noticing."
You smile into your mug, cheeks warm.
"Y'know, i never really liked tea till i met you," you mention out of nowhere.
And he looks at you with an almost blank expression, it would've made you nervous if it was for the twitch to the side of his lips.
"Tea's good for you,"
The fire crackles. The coat stays around your shoulders. This is definitely not how you imagined your night going, but you couldn't really complain.
The quiet stretches again, but it's different now. He's closer than before-not just beside you, but aware of you in a way that makes your skin prickle. When you shift, he shifts too. When you breathe, he seems to notice.
"You're shaking," he says softly.
"I'm not," you lie automatically.
He doesn't call you on it. He just reaches out, tentative at first, resting a hand on your arm. It's warm, and it has you spiraling. Just a minute ago you were talking normally to each other, but the air shifted.
"Come here," he murmurs.
It's not an order. Not this time. Just an invitation.
You hesitate for half a second before leaning into him, your temple brushing his shoulder. His arms come around you slowly, careful, like he's giving you time to change your mind. When you don't, he tightens his hold just a little.
This is new for the both of you.
Your heart starts to race, loud in your ears, the warmth of him seeping into places you weren't prepared for.
His hand moves absently, rubbing small circles into your back. Your fingers curl into his shirt without thinking. This isn't just friendly anymore.
You pull back slightly, laughing under your breath as if that might diffuse the moment. "Okay," you say, voice a little breathless. "I— I need a second."
He releases you immediately, hands dropping, but his eyes stay on you.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you nod quickly, already stepping away.
You turn toward the kitchen, more to put space between you than because you actually need anything.
The counter is cool under your palms when you brace yourself against it, breathing in slowly, trying to stop your heart from beating out of your chest.
You're raking your brain trying to put yourself back together, breathing in the cool air when you hear his footsteps behind you.
"You don't have to run," he says gently.
You glance over your shoulder—and that's when you realize how close he is again. Not pressing. Not touching. Just close enough that the room suddenly feels much smaller than it did a moment ago.
You straighten without thinking, taking a step back.
The space behind you disappears faster than you expect, the counter cold against your lower back. You didn't mean to corner yourself, but Simon always had a way of filing a room without ever touching you.
He's only a hair away from you. You could feel his warm breath with a hint of black tea.
Your hand comes up on instinct—flat against his chest.
He stops immediately.
"Simon," you say, quieter than you meant to.
His eyes drop to your hand, then back to your face. He waits.
"If we do this," you say, swallowing, "I don't want to pretend it's nothing."
A beat passes.
Then he nods once. Slow and certain. It's crazy how quickly your nerves and fears ease.
"It's not," he says.
His hands settle on your waist, firm, pulling you flush against him. The contact knocks the air from your lungs, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
His mouth finds yours slowly this time-testing, deliberate. Like he's giving you a chance to pull away.
You don't.
The kiss deepens, unhurried but heavy, his lips moving against yours with a pressure that makes your knees soften. He kisses you again. And again. Each one lingering longer than the last.
His hands stay at your waist, thumbs digging in just enough to remind you he's there, holding you in place.
You breathe him in-cigarettes, beer, heat-and it makes your head spin. Your fingers curl around his neck, tugging him closer when he pulls back, chasing his mouth without thinking.
"Taste so fucking good," He exhales against your lips, a low sound, before kissing you again—rougher now.
Hungrier.
As the kiss deepens and your thoughts start to slip, you barely register his hand moving-gliding over your chest, your stomach—until it slides into your shorts with ease. You're already wet.
"Fuck, bunny—you're fucking soaked," he grunts, hands gripping you, making you gasp in surprise. He doesn't pull away, just uses the moment to kiss you again, shoving his warm tongue into your mouth.
He sucks and licks, messy and unrestrained, saliva slipping down your chin as he keeps you close, like he can't get enough.
You feel your knees buckle as he begins rubbing your clothes core with the palm of his hands, his lips trailing down your neck.
"Ah-" you squeal in surprise, the sound tearing out of you before you can stop it.
"Hump on me, bunny," he murmurs, low and steady, stilling his hand just enough to make the words land harder.
"W-what?" You blink, pulled back into yourself by his voice, trying to make sense of it as you look up at him.
His expression doesn't change.
"Want you to grind this wet cunt on me bunny," he pressed his hand harder into you.
"Oh my….. god," you breathe, the words barely there as you roll your hips down, tentative at first, trying to find your rhythm. You gasp when the pressure shifts, when his hand flexes and your body lights up in response.
Your thighs start to tremble, weak and unsteady, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, anchoring yourself as your movement grows more desperate.
"Thaaat's it," he encourages, his voice rough, threaded with something that sends a fresh wave of heat down your spine. "Just like that. Feel good for me."
Your hips move on their own now, chasing the sensation without thought. One hand grips the back of his neck, fingers digging in as you struggle to stay upright. You're acutely aware of yourself-too warm, too sensitive, skin slick with sweat, the contrast of cool air and burning need making everything sharper, more overwhelming. The pleasure is dizzying, addictive, pulling you further out of yourself with every movement.
You can't imagine what you must look like right now.
You're sure you wouldn't recognize yourself—messy, unfocused, clinging to him as your body reacts faster than your mind can follow. Every shift makes your breath hitch, every second stretching thinner than the last.
The pressure suddenly increases, firmer now, more insistent. A broken moan spills from you before you can stop it, your hand flying to your mouth to stop the embarrassing sounds coming from you.
"No," he mutters, catching your wrist and pulling it away, pinning it above your head with one strong grip.
His other hand doesn't slow. If anything, it moves with more purpose, stealing the strength right out of your legs. Your head tips back against the wall as you let him take over completely, your body yielding without protest.
Your vision blurs. Everything goes white at the edges, your mouth falling open on a silent gasp as you cling to him, holding on like he's the only solid thing left. The sensation rolls through you in waves, too big to process all at once, leaving you breathless and shaking.
He keeps you close, holding you steady as it passes, murmuring praise against your skin—soft words, grounding words—until your breathing slowly evens out again. Your chest feels tight, full in a way you don't quite understand yet.
"I-" you try to speak, but the thought slips away before you can finish it.
Without warning, his arms hook behind your knees and lift you effortlessly. You gasp, startled, hands flying to his shoulders as you cling to him, eyes wide, your body leaning into his instinctively despite the shock.
"What are you doing?" you ask, breathless.
"M'gonna take care of you properly, bunny."
His room is simple. A bed. A chair. A small desk. No TV.
No pictures. Exactly what you expected.
He lays you down carefully before gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Moonlight spills through the open window, tracing every scar and mark along his skin, the faint trail of hair leading up his chest. It makes you press your legs together, biting your lip.
"Like what you see?" he teases.
"Shut up," you mutter-cut off when his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is hard, wet, unrelenting. He doesn't hesitate, tugging the flimsy top over your head and tossing it aside, leaving you bare beneath him.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and you catch the strain in his pants, dark and obvious. Your mouth goes dry at the sight.
His hands slide up your stomach, stopping at the hem of your panties. He doesn't pull them down. Just hooks his fingers there, eyes roaming over you like he's taking inventory. It almost makes you self-conscious.
The hunger in his gaze burns through you, settles low in your belly, makes you feel exposed in a way that's almost empowering.
Your hands fall uselessly to your sides as you whine softly, body arching. Back arching as you expose yourself more to him. You want his weight back on you—his warmth. You need it.
"Look at you, bunny," he murmurs, hands coming back to grip your stomach before leaning up to cup your breasts. "So fuckin perfect."
Your head tips back at the sensation, a soft, surprised sound slipping from your throat. Heat coils tight in your lower belly, dampness clinging to the fabric between your legs. The cool night air brushing over your skin only makes it sharper.
His eyes rake over you, eyes shining as he takes you in.
Your chest rises and falls unevenly, skin flushed, lips swollen from biting and kissing. He leans down, mouth trailing from your neck to your chest before closing around your nipple.
You moan, fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue circles, sucking hard. His other hand grips your opposite breast, kneading, rough enough to make your breath stutter. Dark marks bloom in his wake.
"Si-" you swallow hard, hands clutching his shoulders as his mouth drags lower, down your stomach, lingering before pressing against your soaked panties.
He inhales deeply.
You're so sensitive it makes you shake, his touch warm and overwhelming, like he knows exactly how to pull every reaction from you.
His lips brush your thighs, soft at first, teasing. His tongue slips out, tasting you through the fabric, biting and nibbling while his hands draw slow circles along your legs. Your thighs tremble, the sensation sharp enough to sting your eyes.
"Smell so fucking good," he mutters.
"Please," you whisper, lifting your head to look at him.
"Need you."
Your body burns with want, embarrassment mixing with it until you don't know which is worse.
"Be patient," he groans, eyes flicking up to meet yours.
"I'm gonna take my time with this sweet cunt."
You whine, defeated, frustration curling tight in your chest.
True to his word, he doesn't rush. He kisses, licks, bites—taking his time, savoring every sound you make. You can hear it in his breathing, feel it in the way his grip tightens.
Your hands fly everywhere, unsure where to land as his mouth traces every freckle, every curve, every soft stretch of skin.
His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, thick and rough, pausing there. The thought of how easily he could tear them away makes your breath hitch.
"Don't zone out on me," he murmurs, tapping your hip before hooking his fingers properly into the fabric. He looks at you, waiting.
"Please."
He kisses your stomach once before tugging them down, tapping your ass so you lift for him. He slides them off with practiced ease, tucks them into his back pocket without a word.
You instinctively try to close your legs, face burning— but he grips your thighs, forcing them apart. His stare is slow, intense as he takes you in, swollen and slick, clit peeking out, folds glistening in the moonlight.
"Prettiest fuckin' pussy l've ever seen," he groans, hands rubbing up and down your thighs, gaze burning into you until you tremble under it.
"Stop messing around," you reply, tummy filled with butterflies as he continues to watch you with mindful eyes. You lift your hips up, wanting any sort of friction from the man.
He smirks, leaning down without breaking eye contact.
His tongue slips out, presses flat against you—covering you fully, dragging over your hole and your clit before he seals his mouth around you.
The contact steals the breath right out of your lungs.
You throw your head back instantly, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth—warm, wet-slick with his saliva and your own juices. It's too much all at once, your body reacting before you can even think.
He takes his time with it. Licking. Sucking. Lapping at every sensitive spot, tongue tracing your folds with intention. A low moan leaves his throat, vibrating straight through you, sending a sharp jolt up your spine.
He grunts into you, fully focused now, like nothing else exists. His tongue doesn't stop, doesn't rush—just works you steadily while his cock strains hard and aching beneath him. Every sound you make matters.
Every moan, every broken whine, every shaky plea. You feel it in the way he presses closer, the way his breath stutters.
You were a weakness he learned to accept the moment he met you.
He pulls back just long enough to make you shiver before pressing a finger against you. Your mouth snaps shut as you watch, breath caught. His fingers are thick. Calloused. The stretch alone makes you slicker.
One finger pushes in. Slow. Then a second, following behind it, filling you deeper.
"Oh my god, Simon—"
They're big. So big it takes a second for him to settle, fingers stopping fully buried inside you before his mouth drops back to your clit, sucking it in again like he's been waiting for it.
Your thighs start to shake. Your end is nearing embarrassingly quick. But you didn't care, only focusing on the immense pleasure he was giving you.
"C'mon, give it to me," he groaned against your cunt, fingers rubbing inside you faster, harder. Your thighs shook, and the room filled with the sound of your squelching. "Gimme your cum."
It hits you in waves—fast, blinding, overwhelming. You cry out, tears slipping free as your body tightens around his fingers, pleasure tearing through you in a way that leaves you sobbing. You've never felt anything like this. Never been this far gone.
The world narrows to sensation. Sound. Heat.
He laps it up like an animal, only adding to the sensitivity of your core. He doesn't let you come down.
"Si-" you whine, hands pushing at his head just enough to make him look at you.
"Hmm?" he hums, lips brushing a soft kiss where he just had you before standing up off the bed.
Your ears are still ringing from the mind-numbing orgasm, head fuzzy, body slow to catch up. Your eyes are wide as you stare at him, at the way his cock twitches between his thick thighs like it's got a mind of its own. You didn't even notice when he had fully undressed himself.
It's huge.
So thick it barely holds itself upright.
Your brain scrambles, a thousand thoughts crashing at once. There's no way. That can't possibly-
Would this even fit inside you?
But your body doesn't care what your mind thinks.
Your heart kicks up again, anticipation curling low in your stomach, your still—sensitive, drooling mess aching for more even after everything it's just been through. The sting is still there. The fullness lingers. And somehow, you want it again anyway.
The tip of his shaft catches the light, a thick vein running along it, pulsing. His balls hang heavy and full beneath it. Trimmed hair. Thick, solid thighs flexing when he shifts his weight.
You're pretty sure you're drooling when you're ripped out of your thoughts when he speaks.
"You think you can take it, bunny?"
Your body burns, but you nod nonetheless. The arousal you felt was almost too much to bare.
"Let me see that pretty cunt," he lifts your knees up, exposing both of your holes.
Your arms hook beneath your knees, making it easier for him to position himself, lining his cock right at your greedy hole. Your heart pounds in anticipation, lip caught between your teeth hard enough you're sure you might draw blood.
He drags the head along your clit first, smearing you with his precum—then taps it there. Hard.
"Hurry-" you whine, brows furrowed in frustration.
"Just the tip, baby," he breathes, more to himself than you. "Just the tip."
For a split second, you think you understand what he means. Then he pushes in.
"Fuck-" you cry out, sharp and startled, your body locking up on instinct as your walls convulse around him, struggling to take his size. The sensation borders on too much immediately—too full, too sudden. It pulls a low grunt from his chest as he freezes, every muscle in his body going taut.
No. He can't do that. Can't hurt you.
"Shhh," he soothes quickly, voice dropping, steadying.
His hand moves where you need it most, rubbing slow, gentle circles, grounding you while your body panics around him.
Your head feels fuzzy. Like everything is happening underwater.
"Si-ah-too-" you babble, words falling apart as your eyes roll back, fingers digging into his shoulders. You can feel him inching deeper, barely moving, and every fraction of an inch feels like your body is being asked to do something impossible.
Too big. Too thick. There's no way this should fit.
He's not even halfway there, and you already feel stretched past anything you've known. Your mind flickers in and out—whines and broken cries are the only sounds you can make as he keeps going slowly, carefully.
Your hands slide down to his, gripping tight like you're anchoring yourself.
"Hey," he whispers. "Breathe for me."
You try. A shaky inhale. Then another. Tears slip down your temples as you force your body to listen.
He looks nothing like you feel.
He's calm. Focused. Completely present. Sweat beads along his forehead, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths, eyes locked on where you're taking him in.
Then warmth—unexpected.
You jolt lightly as he spits, the heat of it hitting your clit before spreading where you're connected, slicking things enough to take the edge off.
"Too big," you cry, lifting your head to look.
You almost wish you hadn't.
It looks unreal. Wrong. Your body stretched wide around him, doing something you don't understand how it's doing. You swear you can feel him everywher—high, deep, overwhelming.
He hasn't looked away once.
"Almost in, baby," he tells you.
Then he stops. All the way in.
You lose your breath completely. You've never felt this full—like there's no space left inside you at all. His body presses close, skin slick with sweat and your heat, and you can't tell where you end and he begins anymore.
Everything inside you feels pulled tight, stretched to its limit. He's so deep you swear you feel him kiss your cervix.
Your eyes squeeze shut as you cling to his shoulder, focusing on the slow movement of his hands as they slide up your sides, steady, reassuring. You breathe again slowly . Letting your body adjust inch by inch.
Letting the shock fade.
"Tell me when to move," he says quietly.
You don't answer right away. Just a quick nod after a while of feeling his body pressed to yours.
When he finally does move-just barely-the discomfort softens into something else entirely.
Something deep and rolling and unfamiliar. Pleasure replaces the sting in waves, so intense it makes your toes curl.
He moves at a languid pace, dragging himself out of you just a bit before pushing back in. Slowly. Making you feel everything.
You're growing desperate. All the pent—up tension you've been carrying for months finally spilling over, burning hot and restless.
You want him. So bad.
"You can be rougher-ah,"
"Rougher?" he chuckles, lifting a hand to wipe the tears from your face. His thumb brushes your cheek, so gentle it makes you purr. "You don't want me to be rougher, baby."
His hips snap forward sharply, pulling a surprised gasp from your throat.
"I do!" you say breathless.
You see it then-the veins standing out along his arms, the way his jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth. He's losing it. Barely holding on anymore.
And you don't want him to.
"Please," you whisper, voice low, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan.
His hands fly to your hips, pinning them hard against the bed.
"You don't know what you're asking for."
The smile on your face disappears just as quickly as it came when he snaps his hips forward again—harder this time. The movement is rough and powerful, stealing the air from your lungs.
"You ever had your neck squeezed before, bunny?" His large hand comes up loose at first, fingers barely resting against your throat, and your breath already hitches. Then he squeezes harder, thumb pressing into the side of your neck.
Your vision blurs around the edges, pleasure shooting straight through you. You don't hear a word he says after that, though the soft smile that creeps on your face doesn't go unnoticed.
Something flips inside him.
He's not the caring giant anymore-the one coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you, softly rubbing your side and clit to ease the stretch of his cock. No. This version of him is different. Rougher. Bolder. It makes your toes curl in the best possible way.
All you hear is ringing and the sound of his hips hitting your ass.
Your mouth hangs open in a perfect O, no sound coming out except the faintest whimper dragged from you with every thrust. Your eyes cross as you let him do whatever he wants with your body.
You're a drooling mess. Nothing but babbles and broken cries spill from your lips as your eyes roll back, nails clawing at the messy, wet sheets that smell like nothing but you and him.
"Stupid thrust fucking thrust bunny thrust."
The sound sends a warm, overwhelming rush through your stomach, like the drop of a roller coaster. His hips don't falter, and neither does his grip.
With every movement, he rolls his hips in slow circles, making sure you feel every inch, every vein dragging against your sensitive, gummy walls. His hand loosens at your throat only to slide down and grab your tits hard.
"Simiiimon-ah—ah-ah," you cry, voice breaking with each powerful snap of his hips. Short, deep thrusts. His pubic bone slamming into your swollen clit every time.
"So fuckin' tight," he growls. "You feel so fuckin' good一fuck.”
He lets go of your neck, hands moving down your body as his hips slow, grinding into you instead. "I'm gonna rip you in half," he mutters to himself, the rumble in his chest deep and dark.
You don't hear him.
You're too busy gripping the sheets for dear life as the sinful sounds of skin slapping, cunt squelching, and your broken moans fill the room.
The sounds you make only fuel the heavy throbbing of his cock. "Feel good, baby?" he breathes, chest heaving as he looks down at your fucked-out expression, a small smile pulling at his lips.
"Yesyesyes," you babble, drool slipping from your mouth, eyes fluttering as you struggle to keep them open.
"Please-" Your cheeks are wet with tears, hair a mess, body buzzing with heat and pleasure. "Please go faster."
You lift your hips, digging your heels into the mattress, grinding back into him with everything you have left.
He lets out a deep grunt-surprised, pleased.
"Yeah, baby," he teases, thumb sliding down to rub your clit. "You want me to go faster?"
"Please, need it," you sob pathetically. The only thing you care about is pleasure—coming apart on him and letting him ruin you again.
"Work for it, then," he pants, chest rising and falling as he watches your blissed—out face. Beautiful. Fucking wrecked.
Your hips jerk erratically now, calves trembling, sweat slicking your skin as he lets you use him to get yourself off.
"You're-ah-being—mean," you sniff, your legs giving out slowly.
The familiar pressure coils tight in your stomach. Your clit is red and angry with every twist of his thumb, his free hand coming up to squeeze and play with your tit.
Before you can stop it, another orgasm washes through your whole body.
"Fuck," he he throws his head back when you clamp around him, tight and desperate, refusing to let go.
It takes everything in him not to come right then and there, buried deep inside your hot, gummy walls.
You're left gasping, clutching the sheets to your chest like you need something solid as you come apart on his cock.
As you come down, he slowly pulls out of you.
"Ah—" you yelp, the sudden emptiness uncomfortable, almost cold without him.
"Bend over."
His eyes are completely dark as he steps back, cock twitching and leaking. Before you can even lift your head, he's gripping your thighs, dragging you forward and flipping you onto your stomach, then onto your knees. The sheets beneath you are soaked.
"C'mon, bunny," he says, slapping your ass impatiently. "Bend over."
"M'gonna breed this fuckin' cunt," he mutters.
His hands grip your waist, putting you exactly where he wants you—on your knees, tits pressed into the bed, ass up just like he's imagined too many times before.
And you. You're just a cock-drunk, drooling mess. You can't even form words. Just cries and whines spilling out of you.
Music to his ears.
Fuel to his aching cock.
He positions himself behind you, a heavy hand coming down on your ass. The sharp sound echoes through the room, followed by your broken cry.
"Sii-"
His thrusts are messy—messier than before.
Desperate. His grip is bruising, fingers digging into your hips as he pounds into you harder, deeper. You chant his name like it's the only word you know.
Your body starts to betray you first. Your legs tremble, knees threatening to give out as the rhythm stutters, breaks, turns reckless. You can't keep up anymore—can't tell where one movement ends and the next begins. Every nerve feels lit, stretched thin, buzzing too loud inside your skin. Your breath comes apart in your chest, sharp little gasps you can't control, like your body already knows what's coming before your mind does.
You're right there—so close it hurts. The need swells until it feels unbearable, like pressure behind your ribs, behind your eyes. Your grip tightens, fingers clawing uselessly at his pillow.
"Fuuuuck, baby!" he nearly yells, hips snapping animalistically, your whole body jolting with every thrust.
"Fuckfuckfuck-" you scream, loud and unfiltered, grateful there aren't neighbors close enough to hear.
The pressure builds again-and just before you can release, he pulls out.
You sob at the emptiness, looking back at him. "No! — please.
He smirks, gripping his cock, a white ring of your slick at the base before he leans down, spreading your ass. Both holes are on display. You can't stop him even if you wanted to.
He spits directly on your asshole before burying his tongue there, licking and slurping like a man starved.
From your clit to your ass, messy and obscene. His hand pumps his cock as he eats you, smacking and pinching your ass, tongue pushing deep enough to make you cry into the pillow.
"Please—want your cock, Simon," you beg, pushing back into his mouth without thinking.
“Yeah, baby,” he mocks, voice pitched higher. “You want this fat cock in your tummy?”
His fist tangles in your hair, jerking your head back until your neck strains, eyes lifting to meet him looming over you.
"Yes, please," your voice is horsed, neck straining with veins popping out. Chin wet and you're panting like a dog.
It made Simons cock impossibly harder.
He sinks into you again-no pause, no waiting. He bottoms out and immediately starts fucking you without restraint, the bed squeaking so loud you're sure it'll break. He slaps your ass, pulls your hair harder, forcing your back into an uncomfortable arch.
"This is what you wanted huh baby," he pants, hips never faltering, yet they get sloppy. His end is nearing.
He knows it by the way his balls tighten. Still dripping a sticky mess of both of you.
Then everything disappears.
Your vision blurs as you cum all over his cock again—no warning, no buildup.
You don't even know how many orgasms you've had.
This last one knocks you out completely.
You collapse onto the bed when he finally lets go, lying there motionless, drool slipping from your mouth as he uses your body for his pleasure.
"Fuck, bunny," he laughs. "Came so fast."
He doesn't give you time to recover.
He hauls you back up onto your hands and knees, positioning himself at the edge of the bed-your face level with his throbbing cock. Every twitch sends a bead of precum sliding down the angry red tip, already mixed with your cum.
"Make me cum, bunny."
"Wha-?" you mumble, still coming down from your high, vision spotting as you look up at him.
"C'mon, bunny," he groans. "You can't just leave me high and dry."
His hand comes down to grip his thick cock, the other cupping his balls. Your mouth waters instantly.
And then his earlier words echo in your head.
M'gonna breed you.
You whine softly and reach up, nudging his hands away so you can replace them with yours. You shuffle forward on your knees, settling in as you lean closer, both hands moving slowly up and down his shaft.
You tilt your head, staring up at him as you muster the best face you can manage, cheek brushing against the warm weight of him. You love the sounds he's making—ragged moans as he loses control.
"Want it inside," you beg.
Simon's eye twitches.
His breathing turns rough, uneven, gaze hardening as they lock onto you. For a split second, you almost wonder if you've crossed a line.
His grip snaps tight in your hair, the burn sharp enough to steal your breath. You barely have time to yelp before he's shoving his cock into your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat hard.
It's sudden. Too sudden.
You choke, gagging around him as he thrusts shallow and rough, spit bubbling at your lips and dripping down onto him.
Your head rocks back and forth as you grip his thighs to steady yourself, fingers digging in.
His grip doesn't falter, using it as leverage to drive you deeper. It's brutal. Too much. The sounds you're making would make you blush under any other circumstance.
Your throat burns, gag reflex overwhelmed as you choke around him, fluids spilling from your mouth every time he pushes deeper. Your cunt gushes as he uses your throat for his own pleasure.
"Yeeeeah gimmie that—gurg, gurg—baby."
He grips the base—what you can't fully take-along with his balls, forcing it down. Your eyes widen as you physically feel the stretch of your throat around him.
You tap at his thighs hard and fast, panic spiking just before he finally releases you.
You pull back immediately, coughing, gagging as phlegm spills from your mouth. Your face is a complete mess when he grips your hair again, jerking himself fast and hard. His expression twists with pleasure and desperation, lips caught between his teeth.
Your hand slips down between your legs, rubbing at yourself as he works his cock over your face.
"M'close," he breathes, chest red and heaving, focus razor-sharp.
"Fuuuck, bunny."
Before you can say anything, you feel it—sticky ropes splashing across your face, catching in your hair, your lashes, your brows, your lips. Everywhere. It lasts longer than you expect, enough to leave you stunned.
He grips the tip, giving a final stroke before tapping your cheek and pulling away.
You look up at him as he backs off, dragging your fingers through the mess on your face and bringing them to your mouth, licking them clean.
"Don't do this to me, bunny," he groans.
You giggle softly, the sound weak and breathless, before collapsing back onto the bed. The exhaustion finally catching up on you. Every muscle feels loose, heavy, like your body forgot how to work all at once.
The mattress dips as he moves closer again, slower now.
"Easy," he murmurs, hand settling at your side to keep you from rolling awkwardly. He grabs something off the nightstand—a cloth, a shirt, whatever's closest—and gently wipes at your face, patient, thorough.
Your eyes flutter half-closed as he works, the room quiet except for the sound of your breathing finally evening out. The tension from before disappearing and turning into something soft, and peaceful.
"There you go," he says softly, brushing your hair back from your forehead. His thumb lingers there for a second longer than necessary.
You hum in response, too spent to form real words.
He shifts again, sliding into the bed beside you and tugging the covers up around you, making sure you're warm. When he settles beside you, he pulls you in without asking, arm firm and grounding around your shoulders.
You melt into him easily.
For a while, neither of you says anything. You just lie there, your head on his chest, his breathing steady beneath your ear. His hand traces slow, absent lines along your arm.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
You nod against him, eyes closed. "M'good,"
His arm tightens just a little.
"Good."
You smile to yourself, fingers drifting over the scars and dips along his chest. "Thought you said you were gonna breed me," you joke softly.
He lets out a low laugh, warm and deep, the sound vibrating through you.
"That was heat talk, bunny," he says easily. His hand slides to your waist, fingers trailing along your stretch marks.
You tilt your head, listening.
"When i do cum in your pretty pussy," he pauses, other hand reaching to drag a finger along your cheek. "It's gonna be for a reason.
content & warnings: some prompts include noncon, dubcon, or dd:dne elements. read all tags before reading. MDNI
cam star / stalker / masturbation – John “Soap” MacTavish
glory hole / horror house / anonymous – Simon “Ghost” Riley
prison escapee / raw / dubcon – John Price
werewolf / knotting / noncon mating – John “Soap” MacTavish
boot worship / oral / interrogation – John Price & Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
costume shop / double penetration / public – Simon “Ghost” Riley & John “Soap” MacTavish
demon / possession / anal – Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
vampire / blood play / bathtub – Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
carnival / knife play / exhibitionism – Simon “Ghost” Riley
tongue piercing / clit play / vibrator – John “Soap” MacTavish & Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
fuck or die / kidnapping / hate sex – Simon “Ghost” Riley
cnc / rough sex / home invasion – Simon “Ghost” Riley
fae / sex pollen / biting – Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
apocalypse / breeding / possessive – John Price
sex club / group / sensory deprivation – Task Force 141
cult / body worship / praise – John Price
threesome / recording / spanking – Simon “Ghost” Riley & John “Soap” MacTavish
gagging / face fucking / slasher – Simon “Ghost” Riley
spit roast / war prize / shadow daddies – John Price & Nikolai
dragon shifter / scent marking / cum play – John Price
eldritch god / tentacles / forced pregnancy – Simon “Ghost” Riley
mirror sex / nipple play / dirty talk – Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
stripper / incubus / begging – Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
uniform / self-sacrifice / cream pie – John Price
hitchhiker / car sex / sex as payment – Nikolai
gun play / spit / restraints – Simon “Ghost” Riley
size kink / belly bulge / monster – Simon “Ghost” Riley
altar sex / priest / virginity – John “Soap” MacTavish
collar / sex slave / in Hell – Nikolai
sex tape / mafia au / revenge – John Price
tinder / Halloween party / masks – Simon “Ghost” Riley
ELIZABETH'S 2025 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | CALL OF DUTY
an — first time participating in kinktober, so we'll see how long and how far I'll participate! I tried to add variety in character so it's not just simon or könig, so we'll see how that goes!
more details will be added as the days go by!
tw — potentially dark themes — dead dove.
OCTOBER 1ST — knife play — serial killer!simon riley has been elusive in his killings...until he somehow ends up in your house with a knife to your neck.
OCTOBER 2ND — overstimulation + breeding — john 'soap' mactavish is a right dog in the bedroom, and he can't help himself.
OCTOBER 3RD — monsterfucking — pyramid head!könig catching you in your nurse costume in an alley as you're on your way to a party.
OCTOBER 4TH — webcam — stalker!simon riley watching you through your webcam
OCTOBER 5TH — cuckoldry — john price letting simon riley fuck you because he's gotten too old to keep up with you.
OCTOBER 6TH — breathplay/choking — subtly convincing your boyfriend, keegan, to dress up as ghostface
OCTOBER 7TH — somnophilia w/ gaz
OCTOBER 8TH — masturbation w/ könig
OCTOBER 9TH — pumpkin fucking w/ simon
OCTOBER 10TH — outdoor sex w/ price
OCTOBER 11TH — exhibitionism w /keegan
OCTOBER 12TH — kidnapping w/ könig
OCTOBER 13TH — stalking w/ gaz
OCTOBER 14TH — drunk sex w/ simon
OCTOBER 15TH — size difference w/ könig
OCTOBER 16TH — waxplay w/ simon
OCTOBER 17TH — uniform kink w/ keegan
OCTOBER 18TH — aftercare w/ all
OCTOBER 19TH — angry sex w/ gaz
OCTOBER 20TH — cum eating w/ könig
OCTOBER 21ST — overstimulation, dacryphilia, + praise kink w/ simon
OCTOBER 22ND — wall sex w/ price
OCTOBER 23RD — messy sex w/ soap
OCTOBER 24TH — forced orgasm w/ simon
OCTOBER 25TH — remote-control + semi-public w/ könig
content & warnings: some prompts include noncon, dubcon, or dd:dne elements. read all tags before reading. MDNI
cam star / stalker / masturbation – John “Soap” MacTavish
glory hole / horror house / anonymous – Simon “Ghost” Riley
prison escapee / raw / dubcon – John Price
werewolf / knotting / noncon mating – John “Soap” MacTavish
boot worship / oral / interrogation – John Price & Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
costume shop / double penetration / public – Simon “Ghost” Riley & John “Soap” MacTavish
demon / possession / anal – Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
vampire / blood play / bathtub – Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
carnival / knife play / exhibitionism – Simon “Ghost” Riley
tongue piercing / clit play / vibrator – John “Soap” MacTavish & Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
fuck or die / kidnapping / hate sex – Simon “Ghost” Riley
cnc / rough sex / home invasion – Simon “Ghost” Riley
fae / sex pollen / biting – Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
apocalypse / breeding / possessive – John Price
sex club / group / sensory deprivation – Task Force 141
cult / body worship / praise – John Price
threesome / recording / spanking – Simon “Ghost” Riley & John “Soap” MacTavish
gagging / face fucking / slasher – Simon “Ghost” Riley
spit roast / war prize / shadow daddies – John Price & Nikolai
dragon shifter / scent marking / cum play – John Price
eldritch god / tentacles / forced pregnancy – Simon “Ghost” Riley
mirror sex / nipple play / dirty talk – Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
stripper / incubus / begging – Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
uniform / self-sacrifice / cream pie – John Price
hitchhiker / car sex / sex as payment – Nikolai
gun play / spit / restraints – Simon “Ghost” Riley
size kink / belly bulge / monster – Simon “Ghost” Riley
altar sex / priest / virginity – John “Soap” MacTavish
collar / sex slave / in Hell – Nikolai
sex tape / mafia au / revenge – John Price
tinder / Halloween party / masks – Simon “Ghost” Riley
⇢ This is my first year participating in kinktober and have looooved writing them and cannot wait to post them! The fics/posts include all the TF141 members/characters (Soap, Ghost, Price, Gaz) and it’s in a “Thinking about..” style where they each get their own section of porn without plot.
Part 2 to Desperate Times Call for Filthy Fantasies
Daddy Dom!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Brat!Reader
Fandom: Call of Duty
Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader
Summary: After a certain Lieutenant allowed his fantasies to run wild, there was only one thing left to do: make them a reality. Opportunity presents itself one day as your brattiness has reached new highs and he follows you into the communal bathroom and locks the door behind you both. You're all alone and now what? Seems you've bitten off more than you can chew, but you both know now that was your plan all along.
Word Count: 5.2 k
Warnings:
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ghost demanded as he stepped up to confront you, his voice sharp and harsh. You were in quite the mood today, deciding the night before that instead of pulling your usual bullshit you would be employing a new tactic to piss of your Lieutenant.
There was no way for you to have known how your superior had allowed his fantasies to run rampant through his mind, how he had been in a constant state of being turned on whenever he had to be near you now, how his cock was nearly raw from how many times he’d had to jerk it lately. No, you didn’t know any of that, but it definitely helped your newest little scheme.
“I’m not doing anything,” you said, not even bothering to look into the face of the man trying to reprimand you as you again moved away back to what you were doing.
You should have just been running drills before rifle practice, but instead of simply getting to it and doing it in silence, every time Ghost passed near you a suggestive noise slipped out of your mouth. Moaning, panting, humming; all those beautiful noises of what you would sound like as you climaxed just loud enough that he alone could hear.
It took every ounce of his strength to subdue the aching bulge consistently being made to grow in his pants, threatening to tent the fabric out and display his true feelings about the entire situation and every minute that passed it became almost impossible to quell. Goddamn him for indulging his imagination because now he had to deal with this shit and it made him furious that there was nothing he could do to fix it. Well, not yet.
Making another round to supervise his subordinates, he again passed by you and again was met with a closed-lipped moan as he got within earshot. You looked up as you finished your bit of vocal acting and locked eyes with him in an unmistakable act of defiance which he took the bate of.
“Dammit, I said stop,” he ordered, but again you brushed him off.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s it,” he growled, “I’m not playing games anymore private. You want to get reprimanded again?”
You shrugged. “Fine. What will it be this time, sir? Five hundred push ups or shall I run until the sun sets. Just make up your mind quick so I can get this started.”
Fucking bitch, he thought. “Push ups, now. And if I see your back not straight a board you are starting over. Got it?”
“Sure,” you said as you rolled your eyes and got on your hands and knees.
Not again, he could not take another second of this. Something had to be done or he was going to explode. What was your fixation with inducing his rage? Why could you simply not leave him be?
Ghost had already thought it before, but he had to wonder even more with this new development if the reason behind your actions was to get his attention, the type of attention that wasn’t so innocent. As his hand discreetly adjusted his cock inside his pants, it already throbbing against his touch, he knew he needed to find out.
It was the middle of the day when Ghost finally caught back up with you. At the far end of the base, near the Private barracks, he saw you chatting away with some of your fellow recruits. He watched silently, trying to concoct a plan to get you alone and finally nip this shit in the bud. There were plenty of things he could do: walk up and order you to his office, walk into the barracks and order everyone else out, but as he stood there brooding with what to do, you said your goodbyes and broke off from the small group.
His eyeline followed you as you walked your unsuspecting way to the communal bathrooms alone and stepped inside. This was his chance, at least it looked that way from the outside. Before he could stop himself or think of any possible ramifications of his actions, he stormed right in after you without hesitation. The moment he was inside his gaze scanned the room quick to locate you and found you standing in front of the sinks, peering at yourself in the mirror as you checked your face and hair, then moving on to readjust your breasts to sit up higher in your bra.
Your gaze shifted from the mirror once you felt that familiar pair of eyes on you and as you turned you saw the broad form of your superior officer blocking up the doorway with his impressive figure. He was silent, but then again wasn’t he always? Probably come to continue the earlier argument; good thing you were always ready to push him.
“Fancy meeting you here,” you said nonchalantly with a hint of sarcasm as you finished preening without caring if he saw. “Came to powder your nose as well? Please, don’t let me stop you. I promise I won’t look if you pull off the mask.”
He was quiet, too quiet, as those brown eyes again looked thoroughly through the room. What the hell was he searching for you wondered. It took him less than a minute to finally turn his attention back to you and as he secured that intimidating gaze directly into your eyes, his hand slipped behind his back and you heard a click as the lock on the bathroom door was engaged.
Slowly you turned away from the sink, facing him as you crossed your arms just under your chest. “Care to tell me what this is about, sir?” you asked, not the least bit afraid. “Kind of suspicious the way you just locked us in here like that.”
“Don’t you fucking dare play coy with me, princess,” he growled, his voice deep and menacing as his glare drilled daggers into you through the eye holes of his mask. “We both know exactly what the fuck it is you are doing and if you think you’ll just get away with it anymore, you’re fucking wrong luv.”
The corner of your lip upturned into a smirk. “Care to actually explain what it is I am being accused of? Or would you rather I start making a scene so you get caught doing … whatever this is by keeping me trapped in here? Your choice Lieutenant.”
Christ, the way you made his body burn with an uncontrollable need to put you in your fucking place, to have you bending over backward to his whims, was both infuriating and intoxicating all at once until he did not know up from down. You were fiery and that’s exactly how liked them; the challenge of making the spicy ones come to heel was half the fun for him. And it had been quite a while since he had been able to put his skill to the test.
“Your lack of respect and piss poor attitude are getting fucking old, little girl,” he hissed, his lips curling into a snarl under the fabric of his mask. “And now you want to pull this, hmm? Can’t bitch your way out of it so you decide to make yourself look like a slag to, what? Distract me?”
“Is that what this is about?” you questioned, followed by a malicious chuckle, shaking your head; he didn’t know what he was getting himself into. “And so what if I am?”
“Excuse me?” he interjected.
“You heard me,” you stood firm. “You see, I checked and double checked, I’m still within dress code so I don’t see your fucking problem. Besides, maybe I like making you stare whenever I am around; that’s not a crime and, let’s be honest, there is nothing you can do about it.”
Was that more provocation? Because now that he had the upper hand, it would definitely come with a price. The more defiant you got the harder he became. “Oh,” he said as he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching as they crushed the debris stuck in the grooves along the bottom. “Is that so?”
You weren’t going to back down, not when you were ready to see what he was going to do about it. “If you have a personal problem with me distracting you, maybe you should look into stroking it more often instead of acting like it’s my fault.”
“That’s because it is, sweetheart, and I’m fucking sick of it.”
Large, heavy sounding steps that seemed magnified by the otherwise quiet room kept the beat as he stalked towards the object of his ire and his desire. You matched his pace only moving backwards until your shoulder blades hit the wall; there was nowhere else for you to go now.
This wasn’t like those times during trainging when others had been around to boost your confidence in your back talk, this was a new side to him that you had yet to see. No shouting, no barking orders, nothing but silent intimidation by his impressive physical form. He towered over you in an imposing fashion and shut you up real fucking quick. Looking up into his face, you noticed the look he now gave you had gone dark as the closeness had cast shadows over his eyes behind the mask, giving him a feral look that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Where’s that attitude of yours now, hmm?” Ghost questioned. “That’s what I thought. You see, I realized that I’ve been going about this all wrong, luv.”
Reaching out his arm, his hand found its target and with powerful fingers he wrapped them around your slender neck. He didn’t touch you with hesitation as if he was unsure about what his intentions were, he touched you like he fucking owned you and you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks and a throbbing between your thighs at that certainty. His grip was firm, but not painful; he wanted you to know that the control was no longer yours.
“Daddy never disciplined you when you got out of line, did he, princess? I bet he spoiled you fucking rotten and now you think you can just do whatever you want and there won’t be any fucking consequences, is that it?” He shook his head with a click of his tongue.
Through his palm, you could feel his heatbeat pounding furiously. This was the first time he had really touched you and there was a certain jolt there as his skin connected with yours. Those copper eyes sparked to life like a fire had been kindled inside him as he glared down at you.
“Too bad I am not one to let you get away with it anymore,” he stated, “no, you are about to be made to follow directions. I’ve tried and fucking tried to get through to you, but I was going about it all wrong, wasn’t I? You are challenging me because you secretly want me to put you in your fucking place, isn’t that right?”
Looking up at him through heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you didn’t need to say a word; your silence said volumes. “You want my attention,” he said, “and fuck, you are going to have it.”
On of his wide knees found your thighs and with a good bit of pressure applied he split them apart. His own thigh pushed against your sex and he found that it was warm against his leg. As he pushed in farther, his eyes caught you struggling not to let him notice the way you took your bottom lip into your mouth and bit down, clearly from something being stimulated.
“Poor little girl,” he degraded cockily in that deep, gruff voice of his, “now that I’m this close I can see how goddamn pathetic you’ve been this whole time. Pushing me to my limit just to see what I would do. What is it you need? Want a big, strong man with more experience to make you their bitch?”
Those big doe-eyes stared right back at him. “Yes,” you confirmed quietly.
Ghost nodded his head. “Fine, I’ll bite, but we do this my way. Go on then, get on your knees.”
Your eyebrows raised with the tilt of your head. “And what if I don’t?”
Something in the air changed in that moment; the tension became so thick between you both you couldn’t breathe without it filling your body to the brim as he grabbed the back collar of his shirt with both hands and slowly slipped it off his torso. That bare chest covered in a thin layer of light brown hair immediately drew your attention from his face.
You knew the man was thick, it was clear from the way his uniform hugged his curves, but you were not prepared for just how toned he was. His line of work obviously kept him supreme shape, each muscle scuplted as if he were carved from marble all the way down his torso in firm and tight ripples of skin until it reached that ‘V’ that led like an arrow down into his pants. God, you needed to know how big the appendage it was pointing to was.
Leaning his cloth-covered face in closer as if he were about to connect your mouths through the fabric, he stopped just shy of your lips, making your body squirm as the proximity of his own just out of reach felt was like a new form of torture. You may have gotten the jump-start on him long before now, made his body burn with your teasing, but he could tease even better when it came down to it. He’d have you bending over backwards to do as he said in no time.
Ghost exhaled quick and sharp through his nose, “When the fuck did I ask? I said on your knees, now.”
Taking a step back, you were given just enough space to move. He was impassible, like a wall made of stone, and there was nothing else for you to do other than lower yourself to the ground before his form. It was like standing at the base of a sycamore tree, gazing up the long thick trunk that seemed to go on forever.
Pointing a finger to the buckle on his belt, he growled. “Undo it.”
Fumbling a bit as you tripped over your unsteady fingers, you did as he said and with a tinkling of metal hitting metal it swung open to hang loosely from the belt loops.
His slacks hung about his waist and he grabbed your hand to shove it inside the confines of his pants, going until he placed it on cock pulsing inside his underwear. “Take it out.”
Good God, what your hand wrapped around made your eyes widen and as you moved his boxer briefs down and out of your way, you could see why. Now that it was free, his thick cock stood at full attention: the tip swollen and already beaded with precum, the veins running the length of it pulsing with his rapid heartbeat making it twitch towards you. It was huge, matching the bulk of the man before you.
Ghost pushed you back so that you were sitting on your heels as he stroked his hand along the shaft a few times just so the shock of it being touched wouldn’t send him over the edge too quickly as he put you to work. “Open your mouth, princess. Let’s give those lips something to do other than bitch.”
His free hand found the back of your head as you sat up on your knees with your mouth agape and he laced his stocky digits through your hair. With a solid push on your skull your head moved forward into him until you had no choice but to take the tip of his cock inside your lips. That beast of a man was easing you into what was to come and you knew it; no man as experienced as him was going to go easy on you for long. The moment you made contact with his cock’s head he grunted and you could feel his it throb into the roof of your mouth.
“Goddammit, babygirl,” he groaned, his grip on your hair getting stronger as he pushed you down further onto his shaft.
Fuck, that impressive girth was almost too much for your tiny orifice to take in all at once and you had to use your hand for compensation at the base or risk choking, but that did not stop you from doing your best to give him exactly what he wanted; you were consumed with the feeling as you were sure if you did a good enough job he would take care of you.
The saltiness of his precum filled the walls of your mouth as with each flick of your tongue around the head of his cock added more moisture to the inside of your lips. Tears stung your eyes as you breathed through your nose, trying your best not to gag from the sheer volume of cock being shoved into your mouth and down your throat, but you couldn’t stop.
“Look up at me,” he commanded as he caught sight of the beads of liquid slipping down the sides of your cheeks; he needed an unhindered view. “That’s it. I want those eyes on mine while I fuck that pretty mouth.”
The more you sucked, the more his hips began thrusting smoothly against your lips until he was fucking your mouth with his hand still on the back of your head to keep you from pulling away. “Ah my little whore, mouth taking cock like it’s your job. That’s all you’re good for isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
You moaned, the vibration from your vocal chords reaching his tip. He grunted as his hips bucked harder against your face, smashing his abdominals into your nose. “Such a dirt bitch, trying to talk with your mouth full.”
His thrusts into your throat became more desperate the more you sucked as that familiar warmth gathered itself in his belly, threatening to tear through him soon. You never let your gaze falter, no matter how hard he hit your gag reflex, even that teary look in your eye as you struggled to take him; all together it was not helping. He would need to cool down if he wanted to play with you more; no sense in coming yet when you had more holes for him to explore.
Putting his hands on your shoulders, he pushed you off him and pulled out of your mouth. A bit of spit and precum dribble out and down from the corner of your lips and you wiped it away with the back of your hand as he pulled you to your feet.
No one made looking a face-fucked wreck more beautiful.
Rough hands found your belt buckle and hooked it so that he could jerk you forward into him as his surprisingly nimble fingertips unclasped it and let it hand. The bottom hem of your t-shirt was still tucked neatly inside your pants and Ghost’s huge, veined hands yanked it out before he plunged up and under all the way, through the bottom of your bra as well, until he got to your breasts. That supple and warm flesh in his grasp made his whole body seize with pleasure.
Shit, you were so fucking warm and soft and pliable under his hard grip.
Ghost’s mitts cupped the bulk of your tits as his thumbs pinched the skin of your nipples against the side of his pointer fingers so that he could massage them. Your lips parted, steadily quickening breaths filled up the space between the both of you at the stimulation from his calloused palms mixed with the intensity of his gaze and it left you spiraling.
All at once your shirt was being ripped off over the top of your head before your back was slammed into the wall by the force of Ghost shoving himself into you. Even your form-fitting shirt did not prepare the Lieutenant for the glory of what was hidden underneath and with hungry eyes he flipped the bottom of his skull mask up to his nose to release his mouth quickly. Wet, feverish lips lock onto one of your breast as he leaned his head against your chest, while the other he toyed with still in his hand.
Goddammit it was even better than he imagined, the feeling of those perky tits between his lips. He was in heaven as he sucked and sucked, securing your nipple between the pad of his tongue and the roof of his mouth to get the best seal. Your hand cradled the sides of his head as he went to work, sucking and pulling as you writhed with your pussy against his thigh.
Once satisfied with his work on the first, he switched to the other; can’t leave that one out. The same amount of attention was given to that one as well, which only made your want to grind against him more overwhelming as the wetness between your legs soaked through your panties. He groaned into your chest at how much he enjoyed being smothered against those endowed assets and you nearly came from the beautiful sound alone.
Pleased with his handiwork, he released you only to move on to your neck. The way he bit and sucked, you knew he wanted to mark you and even though you’d have a fucking hell of a time hiding the hickies tomorrow, you didn’t care. Everywhere he went he sent electric shocks across your body and it was more than worth whatever trouble it would cause later.
“Take of your pants, now,” he ordered with a firm growl into the nape of your neck.
The authority in his thickly accented voice hit just right and as he backed off so you could move, you slipped your fingers into the waistband and pulled both your panties and those camo bottoms off your lower half. You were almost positive you heard your superior whimper as he caught sight of your pretty little cunt with its trimmed bit of hair just on top.
Waiting was not an option; he needed to be inside of you now. Where would he take you against? There were a few options, but as he quickly scanned the room a devilish idea struck him as perfect. With a tight grip on your arm he pulled you the few feet back over to the sinks, the large mirror perched just behind it. “Bend over right here, on your stomach,” he barked.
He didn’t wait for you to comply and pushed your upper body over so that your torso was pressed up against the cold countertop. Shoving his boot between your feet, he moved your legs apart, widening your hips and making you back arch so that he would be able to reach your entrance. The curve of your ass was accentuated by the position and he ran a heavy hand across the length of it before giving it a swift smack.
“Mmmm,” he hummed as it jiggled with the reverb from his hand.
That monstrous cock was throbbing against your backside as Ghost inclined over you back to clasp your jaw in his hand, pulling your head into place to face the mirror. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart. If you want me to let you come, then you are gonna fucking watch me fuck you silly. Your eyes move away from that mirror and I stop. You don’t want me to stop. Understand?”
“Yes,” you nodded into his palm.
His grip tightened. “Yes, what?”
You placed your gaze straight ahead. Just as much as he needed to shove all of his aching cock into you, you needed it just as bad. You had waited long enough for this: weeks and weeks of pushing him to his limit in an attempt to have him take you rough and without apology and now you were right at the brink; nothing was going to stop you now.
“Yes, sir.”
That was it, without another sound he stood back up and clenched his abdominal muscles while his strong fingers dug into the meat of your hips as he made sure he was aligned with your entrance. One strong thrust and his phallus ripped into you deep until he reached the base, bottoming out as you cried out.
Your fingertips dug into the hard surface of the countertop as you were filled out to the brim, your walls struggling to accommodate such an impressive object. Shit, you had never been this full before and it took you a minute to adjust.
“N-nh… ah…” Ghost groaned from behind and you watched him in the mirror as he staggered where he stood. “Fucking hell princess, your so tight…oh, f-fuck.”
A roll of your hips into him send shock waves of ecstasy through his pelvis and his head fell forward as he tried to calm himself enough that he didn’t blow his load right then and there just from that initial contact. All the fantasizing he did that night in the shower had nothing on this and he cursed himself for not trying to get in your pants sooner.
Getting himself under control, he began to thrust recklessly in and out of you with a force that shook made your breast sway. His fingers clawed into your flesh, leaving angry, red marks of where he had been that could would still be felt tomorrow. Those full lips twisted into a smirk as he bucked up against your hips, his testicles hitting your pulsing clit to make you twitch and your and your head fall forward.
“What the fuck did I say?” he grumbled as he removed his hand from your hip to grab a fistful of hair and wrench your head back up as he kept pace. “Eyes up.”
Your reflection stared back at the both of you, Ghost’s imposing figure with his chiseled abdominal muscles contracting and releasing with each thrust as his hips plowed you from behind. Ghost noticed how beautifully your cheeks flushed bright red as he continued to fill you up completely, each of his thrusts going completely in you down to the very base,. With the pressure of your orgasm building steadily your eyes took on a dreamy, dazed look as he hit that sensitive bundle of nerves within you time and again with a steady stream of moans that filled the air.
There was something so primal about watching himself fuck you into oblivion.
His amber eyes caught yours in the mirror and he smirked. “Fucking hell baby, you are a picture wrapped around my cock like this,” he groaned, his strokes becoming more sloppy, the slapping sounds of your overly wet cunt getting louder and louder.
The longer he went the more his sanity waned until there was not a single thought left except for the animalistic need to rut into you until he came. You could see the change wash over his face and through his eyes and it only thrilled you more as he became like a predator ready to catch his prey.
“Close,” you found yourself mewling.
One of his bulked arms secured itself around your middle as Ghost pulled you up until your back was flush against his sturdy chest, changing the angle of his thrusts inside you. He had to hold you up by your waist as you stood on the balls of your feet, but it was worth it as this new angle allowed him to reach a free hand down your abdomen to your clit where he could rub circles around that sensitive bundle.
“You gonna come for me, baby?” he teased, desperately clinging to you as he too was about to spill and wanting you to go with him, “ do it then. Come for me little girl, I want you to coat my dick with your juices. Let me feel those fucking walls flutter.”
The way this beast of a man was wrapped around you, his arms laced across your body like an organic body harness that accentuated your curves as you wore him. You were completely at his mercy, his size was just so that he could do with you as he pleased and you would have no say whatsoever. And yet here was furiously pounding into you harder and harder as his fingers stroked your clit; he was doing his upmost to get you off and to be treated so well by someone who could break you was euphoric.
Reaching behind your head, you wrapped your arms around his neck to cling to the muscles in his back as your nails dug in. “Fuck… fuck…mm…mmmh…” you stuttered as that warmth in the base of your stomach was almost at its peak.
“That’s it, come on,” he coaxed, keeping his movements steady.
He pumped with everything in him and that was it; with a shudder your rocketed through you fiery hot, making your body writhe in his grasp. God, it wouldn’t stop, second after second it just kept coming just as strong. Ghost did not let up either and soon you were crying from the over-stimulation.
A few more thrusts and he was following right behind, a roar ripping through his chest as he compressed your torso with a strength that made it hard to breathe. “Goddammit, baby,” his muscles strained as he rode out his orgasm to its end as he painted your insides milky white.
“Is this what you fucking wanted, princess?” he groaned into your ear, your body twitching together as you could barely stand up anymore.
You swallowed hard. “Yes, sir,” you said quietly.
You could see him grinning from ear to ear as you peaked back into the glass. “Good girl,” he praised.
Turning your chin with a slight touch of his fingers, he met your lips with his own. Breathlessly he captured and recaptured your lips as he stayed locked inside you. He tasted like the smoke from his cigarettes, but the way his soft, full lips felt against your own made up for it entirely.
“And you know, if you decide to be good for me from now on I will keep fucking you nice and proper just like this,” he groaned against your mouth as he finally broke the kiss.
You gave him one last quick peck on his mouth. “What if I don’t?” you questioned mischievously.
“Then I’ll be sure that your fucked so thoroughly that you won’t have the energy to pull that shit for the rest of the week,” he said firmly as he released you from his grasp.
Well, that didn’t sound like a punishment at all. Perhaps you’d have to put that to the test later. Right now you had to figure how you were going to get through the rest of the day with your sanity while coated in the scent of your Lieutenant.
Part 2 to Desperate Times Call for Filthy Fantasies
Daddy Dom!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Brat!Reader
Fandom: Call of Duty
Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader
Summary: After a certain Lieutenant allowed his fantasies to run wild, there was only one thing left to do: make them a reality. Opportunity presents itself one day as your brattiness has reached new highs and he follows you into the communal bathroom and locks the door behind you both. You're all alone and now what? Seems you've bitten off more than you can chew, but you both know now that was your plan all along.
Word Count: 5.2 k
Warnings:
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ghost demanded as he stepped up to confront you, his voice sharp and harsh. You were in quite the mood today, deciding the night before that instead of pulling your usual bullshit you would be employing a new tactic to piss of your Lieutenant.
There was no way for you to have known how your superior had allowed his fantasies to run rampant through his mind, how he had been in a constant state of being turned on whenever he had to be near you now, how his cock was nearly raw from how many times he’d had to jerk it lately. No, you didn’t know any of that, but it definitely helped your newest little scheme.
“I’m not doing anything,” you said, not even bothering to look into the face of the man trying to reprimand you as you again moved away back to what you were doing.
You should have just been running drills before rifle practice, but instead of simply getting to it and doing it in silence, every time Ghost passed near you a suggestive noise slipped out of your mouth. Moaning, panting, humming; all those beautiful noises of what you would sound like as you climaxed just loud enough that he alone could hear.
It took every ounce of his strength to subdue the aching bulge consistently being made to grow in his pants, threatening to tent the fabric out and display his true feelings about the entire situation and every minute that passed it became almost impossible to quell. Goddamn him for indulging his imagination because now he had to deal with this shit and it made him furious that there was nothing he could do to fix it. Well, not yet.
Making another round to supervise his subordinates, he again passed by you and again was met with a closed-lipped moan as he got within earshot. You looked up as you finished your bit of vocal acting and locked eyes with him in an unmistakable act of defiance which he took the bate of.
“Dammit, I said stop,” he ordered, but again you brushed him off.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s it,” he growled, “I’m not playing games anymore private. You want to get reprimanded again?”
You shrugged. “Fine. What will it be this time, sir? Five hundred push ups or shall I run until the sun sets. Just make up your mind quick so I can get this started.”
Fucking bitch, he thought. “Push ups, now. And if I see your back not straight a board you are starting over. Got it?”
“Sure,” you said as you rolled your eyes and got on your hands and knees.
Not again, he could not take another second of this. Something had to be done or he was going to explode. What was your fixation with inducing his rage? Why could you simply not leave him be?
Ghost had already thought it before, but he had to wonder even more with this new development if the reason behind your actions was to get his attention, the type of attention that wasn’t so innocent. As his hand discreetly adjusted his cock inside his pants, it already throbbing against his touch, he knew he needed to find out.
It was the middle of the day when Ghost finally caught back up with you. At the far end of the base, near the Private barracks, he saw you chatting away with some of your fellow recruits. He watched silently, trying to concoct a plan to get you alone and finally nip this shit in the bud. There were plenty of things he could do: walk up and order you to his office, walk into the barracks and order everyone else out, but as he stood there brooding with what to do, you said your goodbyes and broke off from the small group.
His eyeline followed you as you walked your unsuspecting way to the communal bathrooms alone and stepped inside. This was his chance, at least it looked that way from the outside. Before he could stop himself or think of any possible ramifications of his actions, he stormed right in after you without hesitation. The moment he was inside his gaze scanned the room quick to locate you and found you standing in front of the sinks, peering at yourself in the mirror as you checked your face and hair, then moving on to readjust your breasts to sit up higher in your bra.
Your gaze shifted from the mirror once you felt that familiar pair of eyes on you and as you turned you saw the broad form of your superior officer blocking up the doorway with his impressive figure. He was silent, but then again wasn’t he always? Probably come to continue the earlier argument; good thing you were always ready to push him.
“Fancy meeting you here,” you said nonchalantly with a hint of sarcasm as you finished preening without caring if he saw. “Came to powder your nose as well? Please, don’t let me stop you. I promise I won’t look if you pull off the mask.”
He was quiet, too quiet, as those brown eyes again looked thoroughly through the room. What the hell was he searching for you wondered. It took him less than a minute to finally turn his attention back to you and as he secured that intimidating gaze directly into your eyes, his hand slipped behind his back and you heard a click as the lock on the bathroom door was engaged.
Slowly you turned away from the sink, facing him as you crossed your arms just under your chest. “Care to tell me what this is about, sir?” you asked, not the least bit afraid. “Kind of suspicious the way you just locked us in here like that.”
“Don’t you fucking dare play coy with me, princess,” he growled, his voice deep and menacing as his glare drilled daggers into you through the eye holes of his mask. “We both know exactly what the fuck it is you are doing and if you think you’ll just get away with it anymore, you’re fucking wrong luv.”
The corner of your lip upturned into a smirk. “Care to actually explain what it is I am being accused of? Or would you rather I start making a scene so you get caught doing … whatever this is by keeping me trapped in here? Your choice Lieutenant.”
Christ, the way you made his body burn with an uncontrollable need to put you in your fucking place, to have you bending over backward to his whims, was both infuriating and intoxicating all at once until he did not know up from down. You were fiery and that’s exactly how liked them; the challenge of making the spicy ones come to heel was half the fun for him. And it had been quite a while since he had been able to put his skill to the test.
“Your lack of respect and piss poor attitude are getting fucking old, little girl,” he hissed, his lips curling into a snarl under the fabric of his mask. “And now you want to pull this, hmm? Can’t bitch your way out of it so you decide to make yourself look like a slag to, what? Distract me?”
“Is that what this is about?” you questioned, followed by a malicious chuckle, shaking your head; he didn’t know what he was getting himself into. “And so what if I am?”
“Excuse me?” he interjected.
“You heard me,” you stood firm. “You see, I checked and double checked, I’m still within dress code so I don’t see your fucking problem. Besides, maybe I like making you stare whenever I am around; that’s not a crime and, let’s be honest, there is nothing you can do about it.”
Was that more provocation? Because now that he had the upper hand, it would definitely come with a price. The more defiant you got the harder he became. “Oh,” he said as he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching as they crushed the debris stuck in the grooves along the bottom. “Is that so?”
You weren’t going to back down, not when you were ready to see what he was going to do about it. “If you have a personal problem with me distracting you, maybe you should look into stroking it more often instead of acting like it’s my fault.”
“That’s because it is, sweetheart, and I’m fucking sick of it.”
Large, heavy sounding steps that seemed magnified by the otherwise quiet room kept the beat as he stalked towards the object of his ire and his desire. You matched his pace only moving backwards until your shoulder blades hit the wall; there was nowhere else for you to go now.
This wasn’t like those times during trainging when others had been around to boost your confidence in your back talk, this was a new side to him that you had yet to see. No shouting, no barking orders, nothing but silent intimidation by his impressive physical form. He towered over you in an imposing fashion and shut you up real fucking quick. Looking up into his face, you noticed the look he now gave you had gone dark as the closeness had cast shadows over his eyes behind the mask, giving him a feral look that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Where’s that attitude of yours now, hmm?” Ghost questioned. “That’s what I thought. You see, I realized that I’ve been going about this all wrong, luv.”
Reaching out his arm, his hand found its target and with powerful fingers he wrapped them around your slender neck. He didn’t touch you with hesitation as if he was unsure about what his intentions were, he touched you like he fucking owned you and you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks and a throbbing between your thighs at that certainty. His grip was firm, but not painful; he wanted you to know that the control was no longer yours.
“Daddy never disciplined you when you got out of line, did he, princess? I bet he spoiled you fucking rotten and now you think you can just do whatever you want and there won’t be any fucking consequences, is that it?” He shook his head with a click of his tongue.
Through his palm, you could feel his heatbeat pounding furiously. This was the first time he had really touched you and there was a certain jolt there as his skin connected with yours. Those copper eyes sparked to life like a fire had been kindled inside him as he glared down at you.
“Too bad I am not one to let you get away with it anymore,” he stated, “no, you are about to be made to follow directions. I’ve tried and fucking tried to get through to you, but I was going about it all wrong, wasn’t I? You are challenging me because you secretly want me to put you in your fucking place, isn’t that right?”
Looking up at him through heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you didn’t need to say a word; your silence said volumes. “You want my attention,” he said, “and fuck, you are going to have it.”
On of his wide knees found your thighs and with a good bit of pressure applied he split them apart. His own thigh pushed against your sex and he found that it was warm against his leg. As he pushed in farther, his eyes caught you struggling not to let him notice the way you took your bottom lip into your mouth and bit down, clearly from something being stimulated.
“Poor little girl,” he degraded cockily in that deep, gruff voice of his, “now that I’m this close I can see how goddamn pathetic you’ve been this whole time. Pushing me to my limit just to see what I would do. What is it you need? Want a big, strong man with more experience to make you their bitch?”
Those big doe-eyes stared right back at him. “Yes,” you confirmed quietly.
Ghost nodded his head. “Fine, I’ll bite, but we do this my way. Go on then, get on your knees.”
Your eyebrows raised with the tilt of your head. “And what if I don’t?”
Something in the air changed in that moment; the tension became so thick between you both you couldn’t breathe without it filling your body to the brim as he grabbed the back collar of his shirt with both hands and slowly slipped it off his torso. That bare chest covered in a thin layer of light brown hair immediately drew your attention from his face.
You knew the man was thick, it was clear from the way his uniform hugged his curves, but you were not prepared for just how toned he was. His line of work obviously kept him supreme shape, each muscle scuplted as if he were carved from marble all the way down his torso in firm and tight ripples of skin until it reached that ‘V’ that led like an arrow down into his pants. God, you needed to know how big the appendage it was pointing to was.
Leaning his cloth-covered face in closer as if he were about to connect your mouths through the fabric, he stopped just shy of your lips, making your body squirm as the proximity of his own just out of reach felt was like a new form of torture. You may have gotten the jump-start on him long before now, made his body burn with your teasing, but he could tease even better when it came down to it. He’d have you bending over backwards to do as he said in no time.
Ghost exhaled quick and sharp through his nose, “When the fuck did I ask? I said on your knees, now.”
Taking a step back, you were given just enough space to move. He was impassible, like a wall made of stone, and there was nothing else for you to do other than lower yourself to the ground before his form. It was like standing at the base of a sycamore tree, gazing up the long thick trunk that seemed to go on forever.
Pointing a finger to the buckle on his belt, he growled. “Undo it.”
Fumbling a bit as you tripped over your unsteady fingers, you did as he said and with a tinkling of metal hitting metal it swung open to hang loosely from the belt loops.
His slacks hung about his waist and he grabbed your hand to shove it inside the confines of his pants, going until he placed it on cock pulsing inside his underwear. “Take it out.”
Good God, what your hand wrapped around made your eyes widen and as you moved his boxer briefs down and out of your way, you could see why. Now that it was free, his thick cock stood at full attention: the tip swollen and already beaded with precum, the veins running the length of it pulsing with his rapid heartbeat making it twitch towards you. It was huge, matching the bulk of the man before you.
Ghost pushed you back so that you were sitting on your heels as he stroked his hand along the shaft a few times just so the shock of it being touched wouldn’t send him over the edge too quickly as he put you to work. “Open your mouth, princess. Let’s give those lips something to do other than bitch.”
His free hand found the back of your head as you sat up on your knees with your mouth agape and he laced his stocky digits through your hair. With a solid push on your skull your head moved forward into him until you had no choice but to take the tip of his cock inside your lips. That beast of a man was easing you into what was to come and you knew it; no man as experienced as him was going to go easy on you for long. The moment you made contact with his cock’s head he grunted and you could feel his it throb into the roof of your mouth.
“Goddammit, babygirl,” he groaned, his grip on your hair getting stronger as he pushed you down further onto his shaft.
Fuck, that impressive girth was almost too much for your tiny orifice to take in all at once and you had to use your hand for compensation at the base or risk choking, but that did not stop you from doing your best to give him exactly what he wanted; you were consumed with the feeling as you were sure if you did a good enough job he would take care of you.
The saltiness of his precum filled the walls of your mouth as with each flick of your tongue around the head of his cock added more moisture to the inside of your lips. Tears stung your eyes as you breathed through your nose, trying your best not to gag from the sheer volume of cock being shoved into your mouth and down your throat, but you couldn’t stop.
“Look up at me,” he commanded as he caught sight of the beads of liquid slipping down the sides of your cheeks; he needed an unhindered view. “That’s it. I want those eyes on mine while I fuck that pretty mouth.”
The more you sucked, the more his hips began thrusting smoothly against your lips until he was fucking your mouth with his hand still on the back of your head to keep you from pulling away. “Ah my little whore, mouth taking cock like it’s your job. That’s all you’re good for isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
You moaned, the vibration from your vocal chords reaching his tip. He grunted as his hips bucked harder against your face, smashing his abdominals into your nose. “Such a dirt bitch, trying to talk with your mouth full.”
His thrusts into your throat became more desperate the more you sucked as that familiar warmth gathered itself in his belly, threatening to tear through him soon. You never let your gaze falter, no matter how hard he hit your gag reflex, even that teary look in your eye as you struggled to take him; all together it was not helping. He would need to cool down if he wanted to play with you more; no sense in coming yet when you had more holes for him to explore.
Putting his hands on your shoulders, he pushed you off him and pulled out of your mouth. A bit of spit and precum dribble out and down from the corner of your lips and you wiped it away with the back of your hand as he pulled you to your feet.
No one made looking a face-fucked wreck more beautiful.
Rough hands found your belt buckle and hooked it so that he could jerk you forward into him as his surprisingly nimble fingertips unclasped it and let it hand. The bottom hem of your t-shirt was still tucked neatly inside your pants and Ghost’s huge, veined hands yanked it out before he plunged up and under all the way, through the bottom of your bra as well, until he got to your breasts. That supple and warm flesh in his grasp made his whole body seize with pleasure.
Shit, you were so fucking warm and soft and pliable under his hard grip.
Ghost’s mitts cupped the bulk of your tits as his thumbs pinched the skin of your nipples against the side of his pointer fingers so that he could massage them. Your lips parted, steadily quickening breaths filled up the space between the both of you at the stimulation from his calloused palms mixed with the intensity of his gaze and it left you spiraling.
All at once your shirt was being ripped off over the top of your head before your back was slammed into the wall by the force of Ghost shoving himself into you. Even your form-fitting shirt did not prepare the Lieutenant for the glory of what was hidden underneath and with hungry eyes he flipped the bottom of his skull mask up to his nose to release his mouth quickly. Wet, feverish lips lock onto one of your breast as he leaned his head against your chest, while the other he toyed with still in his hand.
Goddammit it was even better than he imagined, the feeling of those perky tits between his lips. He was in heaven as he sucked and sucked, securing your nipple between the pad of his tongue and the roof of his mouth to get the best seal. Your hand cradled the sides of his head as he went to work, sucking and pulling as you writhed with your pussy against his thigh.
Once satisfied with his work on the first, he switched to the other; can’t leave that one out. The same amount of attention was given to that one as well, which only made your want to grind against him more overwhelming as the wetness between your legs soaked through your panties. He groaned into your chest at how much he enjoyed being smothered against those endowed assets and you nearly came from the beautiful sound alone.
Pleased with his handiwork, he released you only to move on to your neck. The way he bit and sucked, you knew he wanted to mark you and even though you’d have a fucking hell of a time hiding the hickies tomorrow, you didn’t care. Everywhere he went he sent electric shocks across your body and it was more than worth whatever trouble it would cause later.
“Take of your pants, now,” he ordered with a firm growl into the nape of your neck.
The authority in his thickly accented voice hit just right and as he backed off so you could move, you slipped your fingers into the waistband and pulled both your panties and those camo bottoms off your lower half. You were almost positive you heard your superior whimper as he caught sight of your pretty little cunt with its trimmed bit of hair just on top.
Waiting was not an option; he needed to be inside of you now. Where would he take you against? There were a few options, but as he quickly scanned the room a devilish idea struck him as perfect. With a tight grip on your arm he pulled you the few feet back over to the sinks, the large mirror perched just behind it. “Bend over right here, on your stomach,” he barked.
He didn’t wait for you to comply and pushed your upper body over so that your torso was pressed up against the cold countertop. Shoving his boot between your feet, he moved your legs apart, widening your hips and making you back arch so that he would be able to reach your entrance. The curve of your ass was accentuated by the position and he ran a heavy hand across the length of it before giving it a swift smack.
“Mmmm,” he hummed as it jiggled with the reverb from his hand.
That monstrous cock was throbbing against your backside as Ghost inclined over you back to clasp your jaw in his hand, pulling your head into place to face the mirror. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart. If you want me to let you come, then you are gonna fucking watch me fuck you silly. Your eyes move away from that mirror and I stop. You don’t want me to stop. Understand?”
“Yes,” you nodded into his palm.
His grip tightened. “Yes, what?”
You placed your gaze straight ahead. Just as much as he needed to shove all of his aching cock into you, you needed it just as bad. You had waited long enough for this: weeks and weeks of pushing him to his limit in an attempt to have him take you rough and without apology and now you were right at the brink; nothing was going to stop you now.
“Yes, sir.”
That was it, without another sound he stood back up and clenched his abdominal muscles while his strong fingers dug into the meat of your hips as he made sure he was aligned with your entrance. One strong thrust and his phallus ripped into you deep until he reached the base, bottoming out as you cried out.
Your fingertips dug into the hard surface of the countertop as you were filled out to the brim, your walls struggling to accommodate such an impressive object. Shit, you had never been this full before and it took you a minute to adjust.
“N-nh… ah…” Ghost groaned from behind and you watched him in the mirror as he staggered where he stood. “Fucking hell princess, your so tight…oh, f-fuck.”
A roll of your hips into him send shock waves of ecstasy through his pelvis and his head fell forward as he tried to calm himself enough that he didn’t blow his load right then and there just from that initial contact. All the fantasizing he did that night in the shower had nothing on this and he cursed himself for not trying to get in your pants sooner.
Getting himself under control, he began to thrust recklessly in and out of you with a force that shook made your breast sway. His fingers clawed into your flesh, leaving angry, red marks of where he had been that could would still be felt tomorrow. Those full lips twisted into a smirk as he bucked up against your hips, his testicles hitting your pulsing clit to make you twitch and your and your head fall forward.
“What the fuck did I say?” he grumbled as he removed his hand from your hip to grab a fistful of hair and wrench your head back up as he kept pace. “Eyes up.”
Your reflection stared back at the both of you, Ghost’s imposing figure with his chiseled abdominal muscles contracting and releasing with each thrust as his hips plowed you from behind. Ghost noticed how beautifully your cheeks flushed bright red as he continued to fill you up completely, each of his thrusts going completely in you down to the very base,. With the pressure of your orgasm building steadily your eyes took on a dreamy, dazed look as he hit that sensitive bundle of nerves within you time and again with a steady stream of moans that filled the air.
There was something so primal about watching himself fuck you into oblivion.
His amber eyes caught yours in the mirror and he smirked. “Fucking hell baby, you are a picture wrapped around my cock like this,” he groaned, his strokes becoming more sloppy, the slapping sounds of your overly wet cunt getting louder and louder.
The longer he went the more his sanity waned until there was not a single thought left except for the animalistic need to rut into you until he came. You could see the change wash over his face and through his eyes and it only thrilled you more as he became like a predator ready to catch his prey.
“Close,” you found yourself mewling.
One of his bulked arms secured itself around your middle as Ghost pulled you up until your back was flush against his sturdy chest, changing the angle of his thrusts inside you. He had to hold you up by your waist as you stood on the balls of your feet, but it was worth it as this new angle allowed him to reach a free hand down your abdomen to your clit where he could rub circles around that sensitive bundle.
“You gonna come for me, baby?” he teased, desperately clinging to you as he too was about to spill and wanting you to go with him, “ do it then. Come for me little girl, I want you to coat my dick with your juices. Let me feel those fucking walls flutter.”
The way this beast of a man was wrapped around you, his arms laced across your body like an organic body harness that accentuated your curves as you wore him. You were completely at his mercy, his size was just so that he could do with you as he pleased and you would have no say whatsoever. And yet here was furiously pounding into you harder and harder as his fingers stroked your clit; he was doing his upmost to get you off and to be treated so well by someone who could break you was euphoric.
Reaching behind your head, you wrapped your arms around his neck to cling to the muscles in his back as your nails dug in. “Fuck… fuck…mm…mmmh…” you stuttered as that warmth in the base of your stomach was almost at its peak.
“That’s it, come on,” he coaxed, keeping his movements steady.
He pumped with everything in him and that was it; with a shudder your rocketed through you fiery hot, making your body writhe in his grasp. God, it wouldn’t stop, second after second it just kept coming just as strong. Ghost did not let up either and soon you were crying from the over-stimulation.
A few more thrusts and he was following right behind, a roar ripping through his chest as he compressed your torso with a strength that made it hard to breathe. “Goddammit, baby,” his muscles strained as he rode out his orgasm to its end as he painted your insides milky white.
“Is this what you fucking wanted, princess?” he groaned into your ear, your body twitching together as you could barely stand up anymore.
You swallowed hard. “Yes, sir,” you said quietly.
You could see him grinning from ear to ear as you peaked back into the glass. “Good girl,” he praised.
Turning your chin with a slight touch of his fingers, he met your lips with his own. Breathlessly he captured and recaptured your lips as he stayed locked inside you. He tasted like the smoke from his cigarettes, but the way his soft, full lips felt against your own made up for it entirely.
“And you know, if you decide to be good for me from now on I will keep fucking you nice and proper just like this,” he groaned against your mouth as he finally broke the kiss.
You gave him one last quick peck on his mouth. “What if I don’t?” you questioned mischievously.
“Then I’ll be sure that your fucked so thoroughly that you won’t have the energy to pull that shit for the rest of the week,” he said firmly as he released you from his grasp.
Well, that didn’t sound like a punishment at all. Perhaps you’d have to put that to the test later. Right now you had to figure how you were going to get through the rest of the day with your sanity while coated in the scent of your Lieutenant.
