Hello! I'm a 28 year old female (she/her). Canadian living, mother to 3 cats. I've enjoyed writing from a young age, fantasy and fiction. Currently working on publishing my first book but also super into fan-fiction.
I'm down to write for other characters in the Cod fandom and also in the Slasher fandom. (not just König lol)
I do have some hard kinks that I don't necessarily write about but this is an 18+ page. MDNI
If you are more soft, vanilla I do have some fic's that will fit that requirement and I'm not opposed to writing softer fic's.
If you see something you don't like please block! I will understand!
Rusty wouldnât like the idea of you staying home when heâs out on the road. Heâs too possessive and paranoid something will happen to you while heâs gone (or that youâll run). He would much rather you ride along so he can keep his eyes on you (and, admittedly, fuck you whenever he wants), even if he has to demand a truck with a bigger sleeper berth attached so youâll be comfortable.
Farmhand!ghost who's a recent employment, really a mercy offer after your dad found him wandering the backwoods of your property. Troubled past and present, or something like that.
Farmhand!ghost who works with you most days. Works hard, too. He doesn't complain one bit about the labor your dad has him do, communicating solely in grunts and single words while he works up a sweat. He's not exactly welcoming company, but he's easy on the eyes and with the way he works you both can afford a longer break in the afternoon heat.
Farmhand!ghost who soaks up everything you say to him silently, or you hope he does. Your father doesn't hire many men, and most of them are either eager to get back home to their family or too wary of your last name to let any bond form. But ghost, the stranger who insists on wearing a silly bandana over his face, he gets close. Sometimes you'd even consider him a friend.
Farmhand!ghost who's got you bent over the hay bails in the barn your dad owns, pants shucked down to your knees and a thick cock pressing into you. That bandana now held firm against your mouth, just in case anyone walks by, ghosts scent and sweat soaked into the fabric. At least he had the decency to put his jacket over the hay before defiling you in a way none of the other farmhands were brave enough to.
Farmhand!ghost who takes your virginity in that empty corner of the barn, leaves you aching and wanting, and somehow still manages to look your dad in the eye not three hours later as if he did absolutely nothing.
soulmate first words au where Simon grew up with the words âoh my god, please, donât.â plastered across his arm in dark black ink. since the moment he could read, heâd been terrified of what that meant. heâd heard those words from him mother enough times when his dad came home drunk and swinging fists towards anything that moved, heâd heard them in back alleys while undercover, some poor woman being groped by a man twice her size, and heâd even heard it once or twice from the poor fucker heâd put a bullet in after interrogations gone wrong. Every time he flinches, wondering if that was his one shot at something good heâd just killed in cold blood. Fitting, for a bastard like him, or so he told himself.
It wasnât until a night off with the team in some sweaty, sticky bar that he runs into you. As much as he tries to ignore the girl on a shitty date who keeps pushing the manâs hands off her ass and fake laughing at his boring jokes, it grates at him for reasons he can quite grasp. Later, heâll catch the tail end of a screaming match outside the bar. One that has your date storming off, and you sinking onto the grimy concrete in your nicest outfit. Heâll watch from the shadows, flicking the ash off a cigarette before finally saying, âWant me to kill him for ya?â and when your eyes shoot up to the stranger in disbelief he tacks on, âfree of charge.â
He almost canât make it out through your laughter, wet with lingering tears. âoh my god, please, donât.â you chuckle, âi wouldnât last a day in prison.â between the burning on his arm, exactly where those dreaded words are, and the way the air feels like itâs been punched straight from his lungs, simon canât muster up a reply fast enough.
You, on the other hand, have a smile slowly forming as you rub your own burning mark. âDo you know how worried my parents were when they saw what this said? They put me in preemptive therapy and everything. Thought Iâd end up in a gang or something.â The man reaches a hand out, offering to help you stand. âYouâre not are you? In a gang I mean?â
Another puff of smoke leaves his lips in what you think might have been the beginning of a laugh. âNo, military. Close enough, though.â
Dusting yourself off, you sneak a closer look at the shadowed stranger. your soulmate, a voice inside flutters with childish glee. âWell damn, there go all my mob wife aspirations.â
He sighs, and steps closer to you, just within the light of a flickering street lamp. Now, you can make out his features. Scars cover every inch of exposed skin, twisting and mangling what might have once been a fair face. Under your gaze, he waits cautiously, âSorry to disappoint.â A double meaning you catch immediately.
You motion back to the bar the both of you had been in earlier, then close your fingers around his with a tug, âMake it up to me, then?â
18+ mdni simon riley is a horrible lay, everyone says.
thatâs what youâve heard around base, from men and women alike. heâs too fucking big, apparently, fucks like the mean bastard that he is. hurts. apparently, heâs so cold he doesnât even care for his partner. and apparently, every time anyoneâs tried to sleep with him, theyâve always stormed out of his room, pissed off at him because his room is a hellhole.Â
apparently. itâs all word of mouth, but you believe it.Â
but after the end of the month drinks at the local spoons, you can barely get simon off you, heâs pawing at you with his big hands. the two of you split a cider in two, and he looks at you with his big brown eyes, ây- youâre really fucking hot.â he blurts out, kissing your nose with chapped lips.
his face is red, blushing deeply as you try your best to not flush the same. âand johnny told me you canât ever think about the pretty lass on floor 3 with the filing cabinet, but guess what, i can.â he kisses you on the side of your head this time, and youâre enjoying his affections.
itâs only back in his room on base that he fumbles with his belt, before he looks at you again, âs-sorry, itâs just, i donât really get to spend the night with pretty women like you-â
you want to hide your face in his pillows, his room is really fucking nice. he has plants, actual plants growing from gaz, sketch drawings from johnny, photographs of him and the captain.Â
his cock is huge, hard and leaking, slapping against his stomach, but he still looks at you with his sweet brown eyes, âlove, itâs okay if itâs too bigâŠâ he sounds dejected already, but you just shake your head, itâs nowhere near as big what the word around base was.Â
âitâs fine simon-â you whisper, licking your lips and placing kitten licks on his length, feeling the taste of him coat your tongue.Â
âno no no-â he shakes his head, pulling away before his hands touch your wet panties, âfuck, youâre so wet love.âÂ
and then he dives in, tugging them off, before licking at your cunt with a sloppy tongue, he doesnât have a technique down but whatever the fuck heâs doing itâs good, your legs are shaking as his tongue dips inside you.
âgotta make sure itâs good for you-â okay, what the fuck was anyone talking about?
he slides into you with ease, and thrusts into you? his hands above your head, his eyes still looking at you. âyouâre very fuckinââŠÂ mmmphâŠÂ hot.â he says, with a grin on his scarred face that would look terrifying if it wasnât for the way his brown eyes shone with sweetness.
Â
it wasnât long before his cock twitches inside of you, and his eyes roll back, âoh fuck love, right thereâ fuck!â he was filling you deep, his cum thick in your stomach.Â
âlove?â he asks, whimpering, his head on your chest, âlove, did you find it good?â heâs desperate for your fucking approval.Â
you kiss his head, his soft curls growing out of army regs.
âyes darling.â fuck the word of mouth, did anyone even try this with him?
âth-thank you dove-â he pants, his cock deep inside you as you keep stroking his hair, feeling his breath even out.Â
It's never just your pussy that's sore the day after König fucks you. Yeah, his thick cock stretches you to your limit and then some, but it's also long enough to feel it your throat. So when your lower belly is achey and bruised-feeling the next morning, you think nothing of it. It's always tender from König's eager, vigorous love making--gentle or slow are nigh impossible with him, with how lost he gets in the tight grip of your cunt around him, and how he's always worried you'll change your mind about letting a beast of a man drill his oversized cock into you before he can come. (You won't, of course, but your sweet boy is always so anxious about it anyway). But when it only hurts worse the next day, despite König having given your body a much needed break (and lots of grateful apology kisses) you're a little worried. But you figure your period must be due soon, and curse God for giving women cramp, before moving on with your day.
(When you collapse at work and are rushed to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy, you think perhaps you should have been more concerned).
Coming out of anestesia to find a teary eyed, guilty König at your bedside, gripping your hand softly, you smack his shoulder hard enough to make him wince before starting to yell, still loopy enough that you sound far too funny to be at all intimidating.
"When I said you could rearrange my guts, I didn't mean literally!"
Friends with benefits!Simon âGhostâ Riley who wonât look you in the eyes during sex, fucks you in a doggy and pushes your face into the pillow because absolutely no emotion can be involved.
Friends with benefits!Simon âGhostâ Riley who fucks you in missionary, slow and deep, when he comes back from an assignment, forehead pressed to yours, making you hold eye contact with him the entire time because he needs to feel something real.
HIII! imagine if, tf141 forget to pull out, maybe on purpose maybe not, do they feel bad and apologize? or don't...
Oh, the way I gasped when this dropped into my inbox. I love requests like these because I can really think outside the box and consider in what possible scenario would they apologize or not. Being honest here, only Kyle apologizes. The other three do that shit on P U R P O S E. That being said, heavy dubcon in that regard. Enjoy!
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price (crime au)
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The bass is overwhelming, shaking bone and ear drum, melding with the beating of your heart. You pretend, but even that is slipping through your fingers. What was brute confrontation is now threadbare control. Behind you, your husband-to-be, John Price, is receiving a full show. Not that you intended it. This is supposed to be you putting the man in his place.
Price is your fatherâs rival, the head of a vastly growing crime syndicate, but far younger than your familyâs aging patriarch. This growth is pushing on borders and territory, stoking violence and unrest. Itâs bad for business, and you became your fatherâs pawn in cooling the embers.
Canât beat them? Join them. With an arranged marriage of all fucking things.
As the only daughter, itâs no surprise it happened. You were hoping you still had a few more years before your father sold you off for the sake of the family. A proper wedding will happen later. Right now, contracts are being reviewed and revised, your future debated over like property.
The only reason youâre at this club in the first place is at your fatherâs insistence.
Spend time with him. Have a drink.
More like stroke his ego with flirtation and fluttering eyelashes. A man with an ego that big likely has a small dick and bad form. You expected it, which is why you pushed so much. Why you challenged John in the first place.
âWant to take a ride before tying the knot?â
âI doubt you know what youâre doing.â
âCome find out, love.â
A bold move on your part, and clearly naĂŻve because John is doing everything right. Small dick energy? Hardly. The man is packing, and as you bounce on him, youâre stretched perfectly, the angle hitting in such a way that an orgasm is slowly building. Here you were thinking that you couldnât orgasm from penetration alone.
Sandwiched between Johnâs spread thighs, your hands planted on either side, youâre bent forward. Youâre on your feet but all the support comes from John, keeping you aloft with an arm tucked around your pelvis, his hand gripping your hip tightly. Already youâre tender where his fingers cling. Itâll be hell tomorrow.
You have no view of John from this angle. The VIP room is dark other than some ambient lighting that follows in the clubâs theme. In front of you is a one-way mirror. You can see out onto the dancefloor, of bodies grinding against each other, but they cannot see you or John or the fact that youâre being fucked out of your mind.
Johnâs hold on you shifts, moving to your neck, wrenching you backward, and fully into his lap. You choke on a gasp as he fully sinks into you. In your momentary shock, John takes advantage, lifting your legs open and out to drape over his thighs, leaving you unable to move and to take every inch as he sees fit.
âHow am I doing?â drawls John into your ear as he roughly fucks up into you.
Reaching behind, you grasp the back of his neck for support. âTerrible,â you lie, because youâre not letting him win.
With control all in Johnâs hands, he sets the pace, thrusting up as he forces your hips down. Toes curling, you hold back a groan, biting down on your lip, and tasting blood. The man is stealing your words out from under you along with your pride.
âWant it harder?â asks John, grinding your bodies together, forcing your hips to swirl.
The moment your lips part in answer, John is fucking up into you again, chuckling at the state youâre in.
The fucking bastard.
âHowâs the ride, love? Do I pass the test?â
Johnâs voice is melted honey, seductive and knowing. Heâs determined to win, and youâre determined to thwart him.
Refusing to answer, you think of anything other than how good his dick feels inside you. John doesnât deserve your orgasm. Heâs an arrogant ass who agreed to marry you without your consent.
John tuts, his beard scratching against your throat. âThat wonât do.â
Fingers are on your clit, stroking, seizing the wanning orgasm by its maw. It comes crashing down around you, choking the air from your lungs, pussy clenching around Johnâs dick hard enough to question separation.
The shudder is enormous, a visible shaking of limb and breath. Concentration is fractured, splitting you down the middle. It is Johnâs arms around your middle that draws you back to the present, of the thudding bass, of the reality of whatâs happened.
You bolt up, grunting when Johnâs arms remain locked around you. âLet go,â you snap.
âNot yet, love,â he purrs, forcing you back down on him.
Itâs then that you feel it, a fullness that wasnât there before. Coldness rushes in, followed by fear, and then pure, bloody rage.
âYou fucking bastard,â you growl, twisting, swinging your arm out to hit John over the head. âI told you not to.â
John simply smirks, amused with your efforts to maim him. âBut youâre mine. Remember?â His hands slide up, cupping your breasts. âDid you not read the contract?â
No. You havenât. Father hasnât allowed it, but thatâs not why youâre pissed off. You told him not to finish inside you. Didnât give him a reason because itâs your business. With the contract negotiations nearing its end, Father insistedâno, orderedâyou to stop your birth control.
A married woman doesnât need it.
âYouâre an asshole,â you breathe, attempting to claw his face again with your nails.
âNo,â he coos into your ear. âNo. According to the contract between your father and I,â he pauses, gently pressing his lips to your throat, âIâm taking what Iâm owed.â
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick (knight au)
Kyle presses his lips to the golden cross between your breasts before sucking a nipple into his mouth. Your back bows, chest heaving, offering more to Kyleâs mouth. Stolen looks and gentle touches brought you here. Candles low, leaving your private chambers in a warm glow, your husbandâs personal guard attends to you as he should.
That is what a good Christian woman does, submits to her husband, allows him his carnal privileges. Perhaps, if the man were more able, youâd do so. Yet your husband is aged, closer to the grave than to the world of the living. The nights you go to his bed, your husband climbs atop you, wrinkled cock still soft, aimlessly rutting between your thighs, making it nowhere near your cunt, falling asleep during the act, and forgetting it all the next morning.
At breakfast, you always compliment him on how virile he is and how an heir will come soon. All of your words are gentle lies. Heâs never put his cock in you, and for that youâre grateful, but that will not make an heir.
And now, there is Sir Kyle, naked and perfect, his hard, generous cock rubbing against your cunt. He is the man youâre owed. Lower in station but well-respected. Loved by his men, your husband, and all the people working your husbandâs land. He is fair yet kind. Strong and intimidating in most instances while also maintaining perfect calm under pressure. This is a man built by God.
Your nipple wetly pops from Kyleâs lips, and you bend to meet him, cradling his face with your hands, seeking kisses that fuel a fire low in your belly. Shame is beneath you. An act against God and Church. What might give you hesitation is extinguished as Kyle guides your hips down, the head of his cock pushing in, easing more and more until the stretch is bordering on painful, creating a fullness that causes you to squirm in his lap.
âStill,â he breathes, though you hear the slight tension in his voice. âWait a moment.â
Sir Kyle seizes your wiggling hips, bring them flush against him. You wrap your arms around his neck, simply breathing, attempting to relax from the intrusion. Lips dance over your throat, feather-like, almost ghosts.
âTogether,â he instructs, easing your hips back, bringing them forward slowly as he lightly thrusts up.
âTogether,â he repeats along with the motion.
A few more times and then his hands ease off, cradling your ass instead of instructing.
âYour turn,â he murmurs, finding your lips, kissing you deeply as you mimic what he showed you.
Itâs a bit unsteady at first until you find your rhythm. Beneath you, the bed creaks as the two of you rock your hips and come together. You fall into your own thoughts, head falling back, throat exposed as Kyle quickens his movements.
Pressure makes you fold, a wave of shivers that causes every muscle in your body to seize and clamp down.
âMy Lady,â Kyle groans, followed by a surprised grunt.
A flood of liquid warmth fills your cunt. Kyle grip is fierce, his movements fast, lifting you off his cock quickly. The loss is an ache, yet you realize why when that warmth spurts on your inner thigh. Hands planted on either side of his head, you watch as pearly white fluid drips from your cunt and onto Kyleâs skin just below the belly button.
âIâm sorry,â he gasps, lips parting, his breathing a deep pant as Kyle attempts to catch his breath. âPray pardonââ
âHush,â you murmur. âDo not apologize.â
Reaching between your bodies, you gather whatâs dripped out of you with your fingers, bringing it back to your cunt, guiding it all back in. Your husbandâs seed does not deserve your womb. Sir Kyle is far more deserving of it.
Grasping the base of his cock, you bring the head to your cunt, sliding down, moaning as the delicious stretch invades, sealing his seed inside.
âAgain,â you breathe. âPlease.â
John "Soap" MacTavish (viking au)
âDrink this. Good, lass. Now, put this on.â
A strange, bitter flavor lingers on your tongue as the old woman hands you a mask. Meant to cover the upper half of your face, the mask itself is made of dried herbs and plants situated around an arrangement of polished animal bones with runes itched in the white surface.
Pagans are strange with their obsessions of bone and blood and sacrifice. A slaughtered sheep will bring rain to dying crops, or a servant going with their master into death willingly, slitting their own throat while calling out to their gods. Barbaric and brutal by all accounts, unaligned with the word of God. Your expectations upon arriving to this strange land were full of violence and fear yet itâs far from the truth.
âThank you,â you reply, gently taking the mask, knowing how much care and time it took to make it. âWill you help me put it on?â
âCourse, dear,â smiles the woman, her wrinkled fingers lifting the threads that will hold it in place.
Pressing the mask to your face, you wait for the woman to work, tightening and adjusting until she clucks her tongue in appreciation.
âLook at you. A real goddess you are.â You donât object to the statement. This is not the time or place. The woman turns, the wrinkles in her face deepening as she smiles warmly over your shoulder. âAnother participant.â
Following in her example, you glance over your shoulder, stilling when you realize who the woman is speaking to. Standing directly behind you is the patriarchâs eldest son of Clan MacTavish. Behind his wolf mask, John MacTavishâs stare is hotly lethal and pointed at you. His hair is shaved close to the scalp on either side of his head, the middle long and braided, stopping at his shoulders. There are colorful beads and strands of leather. A large fur, made of various animal pelts, adorns his shoulders.
We must welcome the pagans. We cannot make them Christians through brute force and violence.
Kinship is your fatherâs instruction. A General, yes, but a man who understands diplomacy as much as war. Itâs why youâre amongst the heathens, befriending them, offering help, being the kindly neighbor. Hasnât been difficult. Theyâre lovely people, uncaring about the cultural differences.
âAye,â he chuckles. âCanât let the Christian venture in alone.â
You frown just as the woman laughs, offering the same cup you drank from to John. âBehave yourself in there.â
John returns the cup, inclining his head toward you. âGo on, lass.â
Your face grows hot at the tease, the warmth spreading down into your stomach. With it comes a lightness, a floating sensation that momentarily surprises you. How odd. You didnât feel this way a minute ago.
âEnjoy,â sing-songs the woman, her gaze soft as she glances between the two of you, turning to greet another.
You keep your back to the man, entering the forest, and onto the marked path. His steps match yours, close and unwilling to yield or move ahead.
âWhat made you join?â His voice cuts through the woodland silence. You turn abruptly, nearly colliding with his chest.
âItâs a festival,â you state. âA celebration.â
âAye,â he chuckles. âI meant this.â Lifting a finger, he swirls it, indicating the forest.
âSome of the women encouraged me,â you admit. âSaid all those unspoken for do it.â
Those blue eyes of his search your face. âThat all?â
âYes.â
He makes a sound deep in his throat. âLetâs be off then.â
John brushes past you, the connection sending a spark of heat through your limbs. That odd feeling again. Lightness. As if youâre not all here but drifting just outside your body.
You follow, John slowing his steps to keep pace with you. The forest is thick and loud, the path is dirt but lit by candles in hanging enclosures, drifting in the air like stars. You hear others laughing, singing, calling out to one another.
âIs this some sort of game?â you ask, grasping Johnâs arm when the two of you come across a couple swaying, their limbs entangled as they writhe without music.
John brings that arm you cling to around your body, dragging you into him as he guides the two of you away and down a leftward path where it splits into three. âOf sorts,â he murmurs.
Wherever he touches is molten metal, sinking into your flesh until every bit of you glows.
âJohnââ
âSo formal, Christian,â he laughs. In the moonlight, it cuts through the blue of his eyes, shimmering. âJohnny. Prefer that.â
âThat wouldnât be proper,â you breathe, though deep in your gut you sense that none of this is. That drinking from the cup, putting on the mask, and entering the forest broke all your vows to God.
John, rather Johnny, steps closer into your space until youâre forced to look directly up into his eyes. âNone of this isâŠproper.â When you donât move, Johnny lightly pinches your chin. âOnward, Christian.â
He steps to the side, offering you the path. You hold is stare a moment longer before pressing ahead, allowing your feet to carry you. John lingers in your shadow, yet youâre drawn to him, yearning to slow, to feel him brush against you once more. Perhaps he senses what you need, or there is something in him, for he keeps himself attuned to you, placing a hand on your back or hip to help urge you along.
An owl hoots, followed by a human cry. You come to an abrupt stop. âDid you hear that?â you ask, suddenly breathless.
John remains perfectly still. Your hand lands on something warm and solid. Johnâs chest. His heart beats strongly beneath your palm. As you listen, his hand rests over yours.
Again, the cry.
âThere,â you say, eager. âDo you think someoneâs hurt?â
âLead on, Christian,â murmurs John, his voice husky.
It twists your stomach. Not a sour note. Anticipatory. Excitement.
Following the path, you notice the trees growing thicker, the lights illuminating what might be a small dip. You charge ahead, and John does not stop you. The sound is louder here, more persistent.
Stepping around a large moss-covered boulder, you nearly trip over your own feet as you find the source of the noise. At first, youâre not sure what youâre looking at, but as your gaze roams over the couple, you discover why the cries are not cries of pain at all.
âOh,â you say dumbly, stepping back, as the woman in front of you sinks down onto her lover, taking every inch of him inside her.
You run into familiar solidness. Your constant shadow.
âNot what you were expecting.â His lips are close to your ear, thick like honey drizzled over bread.
âThisââ
âKeep walking, Christian. Follow the lights.â
You do so, even as a new sensation blooms in your stomach, only to discover more of the same. Of cut outs in the forest and rocks, of festival goers in various states of undress, coupling loudly and publicly, unashamed of their bodies or actions. It stirs a tightness between your legs, teasing out a warmth that causes a familiar slickness that youâve known only when youâve been alone.
Johnâs hand grasps the front of your throat in a gentle embrace, pulling you against him. You melt into him easily, boneless, his other hand running over your stomach and down, sinking between your legs to cup your sex. You whimper, back arching, pushing your ass into his groin, your own hands seeking parts of him.
âWhat do you think, Christian?â Johnâs lips follow the curve of your ear, to your jaw. His hand on your throat forces your head to turn, and then his mouth is on yours, taking as if your mouth belongs to him.
Your sex clenches. The taste of him is intoxicating, a song that will turn you to sin. He tugs at your dress, bunching it higher until he dives under in. There is no resistance in you. Legs parting enough, Johnnyâs hand slips between your legs, fingers brushing over your sex. No barriers. Only skin.
âThat is not my name,â you whimper as his fingers part you, sliding through wetness.
Johnny whispers your name then, drawing it out like a kiss, one finger swirling over that sensitive spot you only touch in the dark. You hardly feel your feet or understand what is happening around you, or how the two of you have found your own quiet spot.
Your hands fall away from him, landing on the rock in front of you for support. âJohnââ
âJohnny,â he corrects with a growl, bringing your dress up to around your hips, the cool night air kissing your bare skin.
âJohnny,â you repeat, as the head of his cock rubs back and forth across your sex.
His mouth comes down on your neck, sucking, biting, drawing out a little mewl from you, as your hips buck against him, craving more. Itâs not right. Though your mind is hazy, you understand that this act is sacred. To be done between you and your husband. John is not that.
âJohnny,â you repeat. âIâGod will be angry with me.â
This does not still his hand, nor how he finds the space only your husband should know.
âYour God saved you for me,â he says, each word slow and deliberate as he sinks inside you, breaking chastity and your vows before God.
You moan, both from pain and pleasure. Everything is tight and large and too much. Youâre on your toes, tears forming in your eyes as Johnny retreats and slides in again.
âDo you want me to stop?â he breathes, holding himself inside you. His cock twitches, and your cunt answers with its own gentle flutter.
âNo,â you gasp. âNo. Iââ
Johnny thrusts into you in earnest. No propriety or sense. All animal. Grunting. Speaking in his pagan tongue as he does so. There are only a few words you catch. A few you translate.
My heart.
Forever.
Reaching behind you with one hand, you grasp the back of his head, finding his braid, yanking on it. Johnny groans, grinding his hips up, turning your next cry into a choked sob. Whatever was in that tea, itâs spreading into every limb. Youâre incredibly slick between your thighs, and as much as the two of you make noise, the wet sound of his cock thrusting in and out of your cunt is overwhelming loud.
Through the haze, a little voice emerges. Sudden realization dawns, and you tug on Johnnyâs braid again.
âJohnny. You canât,â you pant, attempting to catch your breath. âWe arenâtââ
âHush, my little Christian.â Johnny slows his thrusts but doesnât stop. âYour God saved you for me. My gods saved you for me.â His lips find yours again. He tears off your mask. Removes his. Returns to kissing you like he never wishes to stop.
A guttural whimper escapes him, and then heâs flush against you, a new warmth entering your womb, holding there and unable to escape. His arms come around you as his hips begin to move again. You tremble, knowing there will be no apology.
Johnny eases one of your legs up and open, easing your forward until youâre bent, clinging to the rock in front of you.
âIâm not finished making you my wife.â
Simon "Ghost" Riley (post-apocalypse au)
Head high. Unafraid. Facing the world and this man with teeth.
âWe have a deal?â you ask, arching an eyebrow.
Lieutenant Riley, with arms crossed over his chest, leers down at you behind his balaclava. As far as you know, he hasnât made a deal with any other women at the compound, not that they havenât tried. If youâre not holding a gun, you have to survive, and all you have is your body.
âDo we, Lieutenant?â
Lieutenant Rileyâs head cocks to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly like heâs observing an unknown quantity. âStart by calling me Ghost. None of that Lieutenant shite.â
He steps forward and your shoulders tighten, arms dropping quickly to your sides as he shifts closer into your space. This is about food, a roof over your head, and safety from roaming hands and eyes.
âGhost,â you breathe, as his hands land on your hips.
âA deal is a deal,â he murmurs, tone gruff, eyelids heavy.
You swallow, and take a steadying breath. âA deal is a deal.â
As the words leave your mouth, Ghostâs hands roam upward, squeezing roughly, dragging, pulling you closer against him. You melt into him on the deal struck and for a dangerousness that appeals to you. Thereâs a reason you went for Lieutenant Riley and no one else. Respectful isnât the correct term. Not kind either. Neutral, perhaps. Observant of his surroundings but not passing judgement unless necessary.
He also doesnât strike you as the type to fuck you this once and be done with you. There are other men who carry that reputation, who make promises for food and never follow through after theyâve had their fun. You know who they are, avoiding them entirely. But life isnât fair after the end of the world, and youâre making the best choice you can.
âOn your knees,â he growls, the command white hot and searing.
You drop without question. Ghostâs hands grasp your wrists, bring your arms up, pinning them against the wall above your head. Shifting his hold to one hand, he undoes the front of his pants, urging them open enough to reveal his thick cock, half-hard and already leaking precum.
âOpen,â and you do so, presenting your mouth with tongue.
The head of his cock slides back and forth, and then heâs down your throat, holding there until you choke, retreating only to repeat the movement again. When there are sufficient tears in your eyes, and salvia dribbling over your lips and down your chin, does Ghost fuck your mouth in earnest.
With your arms trapped above your head, youâre unable to move, unable to do anything but take his cock, gagging on occasion when he pushes too far. Even covered, there is emotion in Ghostâs gaze, a piercing amber honey that refuses to break eye contact.
On the next gag, Ghost abruptly pulls back. You cough, spitting onto the floor. Your wrists are released, and as your body tips forward, Ghost is there, lifting you up, bending you over the nearby table, tugging your pants down to your ankles without effort.
A quick slap to your pussy, and you yelp, only to moan when youâre surprised with a brush of his tongue.
âThis wet after I fucked your throat?â Ghost clucks his tongue in appreciation. âHow wet would you be if I fucked you with my tongue?â Your hips push up toward his mouth, and Ghost chuckles. âNot today, love.â
No sooner is Ghost done speaking that heâs thrusting into you. Itâs rough, a sharp slap of skin, muted grunts, and scraping wood. The table beneath you offers little support as you cling to it, cheek rubbing against the surface as Ghost continues to pound into you.
Itâs the rhythm change that tugs at your nerves. Part of the deal included him not finishing inside you, at least, not where pregnancy is possible.
âGhost,â you mewl, attempting to push up onto your elbows. Glancing over your shoulder, you find his gaze downward, watching the space where your bodies meet. Heâs enraptured. Mesmerized.
âA dealâs a deal.â Your words fall between thrusts, that breathy burst of air on the tip of anticipation. âYou promised.â
Ghostâs gaze slowly drags up to meet yours. Youâre yanked off the table, still slightly bent and vulnerable, but pressed against him. He hasnât stopped, heâs still going, quick and sharp and nearing an end.
âThe deal said you were mine,â he growls into your ear. âThatâs all I agreed to.â
Trapped between Ghost and the table, you submit, because of course heâd find one little loophole. The conversation was mostly you making an offer, and Ghost only responding on one particular part of it at a time.
Does this work for you?
This means youâre mine.
Yes. Suppose it does.
Ghost stutters to a stop, hips holding flushing against your ass, your pussy flooding with his release. He nuzzles the side of your throat, inhaling deeply.
Imagine giving each of the team a portal pussy, not realizing that the portals didn't shut off when another was in use...
You're in the middle of enjoying the feeling of ghost snug inside you, the thick underside of his cock twitching every so often in his sleep. He loves to have you cockwarm him, something about feeling close to someone else helping with the nightmares.
You're nearly drifting off too when you feel it, a small nudge against your hole. It takes you a moment to realize what it is, assuming ghost is just adjusting himself when a sudden pressure pushes, stretching you.
In an instant, you're wide awake and reaching for your phone, trying to pull up the app and figure out what the fuck is going on. Only for what is now clearing the head of a dick to pop in, stretching your hole far beyond its used to.
"Fuck! Mmhhâ!" You mewl, thighs clenching. You have to try three times before you manage to unlock your phone, the cock having coaxed itself halfway in by now. A quick glance at the hub and you're dialing soap.
"Johnnyâ! Whâwhat the hell are you doing?!" You hiss, whole body shuddering as the cock begins to thrust slowly, nudging ghost around inside you too.
"What? Line was open, can't a guy please himself?" Soap pants into the phone shamelessly. Embarrassingly, you can hear the slick sounds of yourself over the speaker "ghost always hogs you at night."
"Ghost is still in me!!" You gasp at the sudden, sharp thrust that earns you, soap moaning at the realization. Almost intentionally, soap starts thrusting harder, rutting against ghosts cock and using it to rub into your sweet spot.
You can only gasp and whine, stretched beyond you're used to and already overstimulated. Soaps moans continue to spill from the phone beside you, muttering "christâ can't wait to tell kyle about this, aye? Wonder how much ye can takeâ"
When he finally, finally cums, it's right alongside ghost. So much cum fills you you swear it leaks out a puddle below you, despite knowing it will go to the portals. You wait, but...soap doesn't pull out.
It's only when you hear snoring that you realize he intends to sleep with you stretched on two of the biggest cocks on the team.
Being an omega and an enemy combatant, running into alpha!soap in a confined area
Heâs got the bulk to knock you flat on your ass after a few grueling minutes that feel like a lifetime. No matter, youâve done more with less beforeâ his neck is unprotected, so you crane your neck and open your mouth, ready to gore him.
Youâve done it before. No big deal. But you donât anticipate the groan-turned-chuckle and the growing hard-on pressing against your gut. Your brain freezes for a split secondâ enough for him to pry a gloved hand between your jaws and his arteries and yank you off. So now heâs only slightly maimed rather than dead. He turns his head to see the blood drip from your mouth before slamming his forehead into yours, your head thunking against the floor. It gives him just enough time to zip tie your wrists and throw you over his shoulder right as he gets a message in his earpiece to head back.
He earns no end of side-eye when he meets with the rest of the 141, his neck noticeably mutilated while his blood is smeared from the tip of your nose to the bottom on your chin, and steadily dripping down to stain the collar of your uniform. Soap looks pleased as punch. Youâre visibly bristling and breathing through gritted teeth.
âYe all laughed, said itâd never happen, but guess who found themselves a pretty little omega? Didnât even have to buy âer a drink,â he announces with a puffed chest. âGot a bonnie little nip ta prove it nâ everythinâ.â Heâs practically purring like a contented cat while he guides you by your restraints to the back of the jeep. Once theyâre sat inside and on the road, Ghost takes a handful of bills from his vest pocket and counts them.
â50 quid says the omega kills him before the staph infection doesâ
For all 300 and some pounds ghost has been for the majority of his military career, he doesn't quite seem to grasp that he's bigger than most people.
"Fuckâ! Ahhâ right there, simon!" You groan, head tossed back in pure ecstasy. Ghost echoes your groan above you, one large hand gripping your waist and the other holding an arm firmly above your head.
It's been months since you two have seen eachother, and ghost is clearly trying to make up on lost time. Thick thighs keeping yours apart, thrusting into you rough and desperate. There's already a thick ring of white around ghosts base from the other two rounds, but he shows no signs of stopping as he contorts your body to the perfect position.
"Mmhhâ c'mon si, more! More, please!" You hook an ankle weakly around his back. Ghost huffs hot air against your face, brows knit together and flushed down to his chest.
Ghost mumbles something filthy, shifting his knees up to get a better position, shoving down on the arm he has pinned in the process. "Mmh...! Wâwait! Simonâ!"
Crack!
Ghost flinches back at the sudden noise, eyes wide as you gasp in pain and curl away from him, clutching your forearm.
Ghost...ghost broke your arm by putting a bit of his weight on it. He's a wreck the entire way to the urgent care.
"Hey...c'mon sweetie, it's fine." You soothe ghost, arm now properly bandaged. He hasn't looked at you the entire time, staring resolutely at the floor. "It was scary, but you didn't mean to, and I'm not mad."
Still, you have to coax ghost onto the bed with you, cuddling him into your chest before he properly settles. You would rather die than tell him that he's kind of crushing your lungs under his weight, offering him a little peck "please tell me you're not gonna stop rearranging my guts because of this."
That earns you a playful pinch. Good to see your simon isn't completely ruined by this. Though you doubt he'll try to lead anytime soon.
Itâs dog trainer! Simon and reader! whoâs dog is just bad as shit around men.
And youâve tried everything, from training the brat yourself, tried getting them comfortable with the men in your family or male friends, desensitizing your dog, better food and treats, the clickerâ anything. And your dog still barks and growls like the worst thing imaginable has come their way.
You didnât expect Dog trainer! Simon- wellâ to be so big. Sure he had a deep Manchester accent on the phone, you didnât think heâd be so buff, muscles flexing, veins showing down his arms, with such broad shouldersâ the way you had to look up at the guy to meet his eyes that wasnât really on you, but you dog who was growling at Simon.
âThe psychic said Dommie just doesnât really like men.â
And Simon stops the intense stare he had on your dog to look at you, eye brow raised and his arms crossing across his chest that makes you swallow the dryness in your mouth.
âThe wot?â
You scratch the hairs at the back of your neck, letting out an air laugh, but youâre stupidly serious. âThe psychic said that Domino said, itâs just something about men that makes him tick. Like the way they actââ
And before you can finish a word youâve said, Domino lunges towards Simon, large growls and barks coming from him with his teeth barred. You manage to pull him back by the leash, putting him behind your legs.
You shrug, mumbling, âI donât think he liked your tone.â
Simon sighs, shaking his head, âYeah, âM bloody sure.â
Itâs gonna take some time for Simon to train your dog and you.
