ᥫ᭡.

22

[demiene]

› cw: prison, sex as payment without dubcon, mild weed mention, reader is fucked up .ᐟ

the pack of cigarettes wedged between your breasts, peeking out from the cleavage of your uniform, felt far heavier than it should, a filthy, guilty pleasure. you hadn't had a real drag in months, and rotting away inside a damp cell was fast running your patience into the ground. simon always carried that same reek of stale smoke, even if you barely ever crossed paths with the monster.

the brass only dragged him out of his cage when a situation turned blood slick and feral, not when a baseline turned unstable and needed a soft voice to keep from breaking, but when someone needed their joints folded backward and their teeth knocked out.

you had wandered where you shouldn't have only once, and that was when you saw him. his skull balaclava balled up tightly in his fist, baring a broken nose, a disfiguring maze of jagged scars across his hide, a heavy, brick line jaw, and wild hair that had grown out from its military buzz.

to your terror, his eyes were devastatingly beautiful, the pale lashes catching the sterile, white glare of the overhead bulb until the blonde strands went completely translucent. umber, honey speckled irises pinning you to the concrete floor, clutching your lungs while his massive frame began a slow, heavy crawl toward your body, shifting his weight as he cut off your possible escape with one wide step.

your face and body hadn't bruised from the encounter, but his thick fingers had clamped hard over your throat, squeezing until a thin, choked whimper hitched behind your teeth, merely nodding as he hissed “gonna keip yauh mauth shut', right', pet'?” staring down at your dazed face, a viciously sated smirk splitting his cracked lips to show yellowed teeth.

not a soul in the cell blocks knew what his official title was, an officer, an operator, or perhaps a rabid dog made human simply to threaten and terrify everyone. the prisoners whispered and snickered in the corners, but their jokes always ended in solitary confinement, because somehow, simon caught every single word muttered behind his back.

the only rumor you’d managed to verify was that the giant had a soft spot for women. not for you, of course, believing that would’ve been flat out stupid, right? but the theory was put to the test the day you tried to smuggle a teeny tiny, half rolled blunt into the yard.

as if the beast could smell the weed through the fabric, or maybe his hands were just too well trained, those meaty fingers mapped the exact outline of the paper hidden deep beneath the elastic waistband of your panties. he just stared down at you, hooded eyes detached and completely unimpressed.

yet, a dangerous flash of excitement flickered behind his fluttery lashes the second you threw your arms tight around his neck, forcing your boots onto their tiptoes to chirp directly into his face “pretty please? just this once, i promise i won’t forget it” you certainly wouldn't, not after offering to help him in any way possible, perhaps even snitching on the other cells.

but who the hell could’ve predicted, despite the trap being blindingly obvious, that your desperation would lead to this? here you were, with your trousers dragged down to dangle loose around your ankles, folded completely helpless against the freezing, unforgiving concrete wall while his calloused palms left lingering indents in your thighs, rasping “hells — tightest' fucking cunt' yau hav', luv”

simon’s engorged cock slammed forward to the hilt, his hips bruising your ass with each impact, aching balls swaying with every brutal, pummeling thrust. you choked out a strangled moan right into his huffing mouth, your spine arching in a violent curve while your head thrashed backwards. chapped lips crashing over yours, pinning your jaw open to force his heavy, ravaging tongue deep into your throat.

you had fully expected the blunt to be confiscated and your panties left to dry, caked with the creamy remnants of his release. instead, he had stuffed the roll right back into your cleavage, though not without peeking inside to admire how raw and puffy he had just made your straining nipples, before letting you go with a heavy pat to your bottom. a proper gentleman, through and through.

now, you were back at it again, glancing up as his stout frame towered over you. his hands were braced firmly on either side of your head, sleeves rolled up because he'd been working the outside yard, the glare of the noon heat burning against his ivory skin and faded old ink.

he noticed the hidden cigarettes, and he saw that your uniform buttons were undone, breasts pushed high by a soft, lacy cup bra worn especially for him, though he wouldn't truly know that until you moaned the confession directly into the hard muscle of his shoulder. you kissed his bristled jawline, your lips rubbing over every solitary scar, knowing the touch made him melt.

his scarred fingers gouged into your waist and slid down to your hips, deliberately refraining from palming your bottom just yet, his chest almost purring as you whispered “what if it’s because i wanted to see you?” and perhaps it was.

you had dropped onto your knees, burying your face straight into his messy pubic hair, eyes tilted upward to lock onto his stare while your tongue traced a sweet, agonizingly slow circle around the crimson flushed, twitching crown of his cock, smiling dopeily right before your lips sealed tightly around him, humming at his hiss “fuuck— really missed me, huh?”

swallowing him whole, feeling every thick vein pump hot with blood as the salty precome flooded your flattening tongue. you let him rail you hard then, dragging your frame into a locked storage room just so he could hear you keen his name, ripping at his hair, drooling whenever his tongue licked past your gums, while your glittering slick dripped down to coat his balls.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[tojisteddy]

Dad bf!Simon, Like ruffling your hair, pats to the ass, checking your outfit all curt like that makes you feel all confident (lifting your chin up, fixing your shirt, kissing your forehead). Helping you calm down when you’ve got big emotions you can’t describe. Sitting you in his lap, rubbing your back.

Or telling you to “Watch your mouth.” When you get too smart. Or drawling out his words, “Coool it,” when you’re doing too much.

Doesn’t mind wrangling you up out of the truck and making you apologize to the rest of the 141 after being a brat for half the night, drawling out your name, a warning, leans against the hood. The much needed cigarette already to his lips. And you’re a hiccuping and babbling mess while you apologize, it’s all embarrassing because it not like you. You know that, but it’s all too much, tears burning your cheeks as they fall.

You wipe your tears with your wrists, eyes glancing at Simon and more tears building up. Letting out the littlest meek of ‘Dad’

He’s scuff, one end of his lip curving upward, “Fuckin hell, come ‘ere.”

You’re lucky you’re cute, adorable and his, gently tugging you into his chest by the back of your neck. Letting your feet stumble as they catch up to his movements, your sobs get muffled into his shirt. Poor thing doesn’t even know what’s wrong with you, Simon does though.

“Kids just stressed, lil things more than tired.” Simon explains to the men who are all ‘aww’ing’, talking as if you’re not there. Just small, by his side.

“Still got her workin mate?” Gaz asks.

“‘F she likes it, ‘f it’s too much I’ll pull the plug…” his thumb rubs your nape, feeling his arms wrap around you, voice coming out so much softer, “But… can’t say no to ‘er.”

a/n: oh shut up his is cute!! You’re his baby🥺 Im actually get Deja Vu and might have written this already ☠️☠️

[sonofamushroom]

Nothing tea won't fix

Summary: you have a late night snack outside, because the fight left you without dinner.

Pairing: Poly!TF141 x reader.

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, argument, cussing, hurt/comfort, fluff, English is not my first language.

A/N: might be one of my favorite ideas.

Yelling in the house in the woods continued for at least an hour. It all happened suddenly, with no warning. A simple disagreement escalated into a massive scandal with the speed of an avalanche. Accusations, insults, grievances, words they couldn't take back. And you listened to every single one, taking everything said to your heart, as if it were addressed to you. At the start of your boyfriends' argument, you retreated to your bedroom, but you heard everything.

Two hours and 37 minutes had passed since the last door slammed. Outside the open window, it was completely dark, somewhere far owls and wild ducks chirped faintly. You still hadn't gotten up from the floor, sitting with your back to the door, hugging your knees. The tears had long since dried, and that blissful feeling of relief and indifference that comes after a good cry had set in. Somewhere inside, you were angry that the boys had let all their pent-up emotions spill out like that, but you'd had time to convince yourself it wasn't your fault. After all, you'd been nothing but a bystander in this catastrophe, and your timid attempts to reason with your loved ones had resulted in all three of them lashing out at you. You couldn't help but wonder what Simon would do: join in the argument or nip it in the bud?

Ghost was supposed to be the last to arrive at your country house due to circumstances that kept him late at work. Maybe it was a good thing he didn't see it. You felt lonely in the silence, and yet, all the raging feelings inside you were overshadowed by one thing.

Hunger. You'd missed dinner.

Meal had been forgotten in the moment of confrontation, and you wouldn't have felt comfortable sticking your nose into the living room storm to sneak into the kitchen and, as if nothing had happened, start frying eggs.

You stood up, testing your weight on your own two feet. Carefully pressing the doorknob, you stepped into the spacious living room. The glass doors were uncurtained, the trees beyond swaying in the wind, casting long, crooked shadows. You stepped softly, avoiding the floorboards you knew would creak. Kyle decided to spent the night on the couch in this very room where the argument had taken place. He was curled up on the couch, covering himself with his jacket, his breathing alternating between loud sniffles and soft snores. Guided only by the faint moonlight and muscle memory, you found the kitchen doorway.

The refrigerator greeted you with a friendly artificial glow, illuminating your face. The shelves were full of ingredients, but almost nothing edible: no leftovers, no snacks, no processed foods. You put a boiled egg into your pocket, tucked an ancient jar of pickles under your arm, and grabbed a box of crackers forgotten on the counter. There was also a can of anchovies, but you weren't that desperate, so you closed the refrigerator and tiptoed outside in your underwear, slippers, and a sweater twice your size.

The night was warm, the kind that late summer offers often, but the wind blew a chill. You walked along the path to the backyard, branches of the fruit trees tangled overhead. You reached up and plucked a large apple, nearly breaking the jar of pickles in the process, and put it in your pocket with the egg.

A cozy old gazebo stood among the wild blackberries and rhododendron bushes. The build looked gracefully aged and even a little neglected, but you knew for sure that the inside was clean, warm, and, most importantly, treated from insects. You laid out your impromptu picnic on the table in the center and sat cross-legged on the bench.

There was something very sentimental about this setting. You couldn't tear your gaze away from the starry sky above, like diamonds scattered across dark velvet. Thoughtfully arranging them into constellations, you listened to the chirping of cicadas and the occasional chatter of nocturnal birds. A pickle crunched between your teeth. Girl dinner at it's finest.

A strange sound shattered the idyll. You tensed for a second, listening intently. Footsteps: long and heavy, yet quiet. Your shoulders relaxed as you unmistakably recognized the owner of that gait. At first, the footsteps retreated past the gazebo, but they hesitated and returned warily, as if suspecting something strange.

Simon appeared at the threshold of your truly royal snacking. He hid the view to the constellations, still wearing his work uniform and a simple black balaclava. The man looked puzzled.

"Hello, baby," you smiled, your eyes sparkling with joy. You took a generous bite of apple and immediately grimaced, setting the fruit aside—it was unripe.

"What's goin' on, lovie?"

His shoulders were tense, eyes warily scanning his surroundings. He was expecting a catch, a problem that had driven you out into the wild in the middle of the night. You shrugged.

"Nothing, just having a snack."

"Where are the others?" His voice was strained.

"Sleeping," you replied casually. Simon took a step inside, ducking his head under the wooden arch. He sat down next to you, took off his jacket, and covered your shoulders.

"Speak."

You snuggled deeper into his jacket, the fabric was soaking with his warmth and the scent of his aftershave. Taking a pickle out of the jar, you admitted sullenly.

"They had a fight. There was no dinner," you tried to say casually, but your eyes burned traitorously from the echo of hurtful words spoken to you in the heat of a moment.

"You haven't ate?"

You whispered, "Didn't want to leave my room."

Simon's jaw tightened, he sat silently with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the floor with an angry frown. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Glancing at him warily, you moved closer, questioningly tugging at the hem of his balaclava. Ghost immediately softened when his gaze met yours, and he pulled his mask off his head. With one hand, he gripped your bare thigh and pulled your leg over his, making you straddle him. Surprised, you braced your hands on his chest for balance.

"What was the fight about?" He asked, now calm, his breath tickling your lips.

You lowered your gaze, settling more comfortably on his lap. "It's a small thing, really, but a long explanation."

"Luckily for us, I'm not goin' anywhere," he tugged the hem of your sweater lower over your exposed thigh. "I need to know how dysfunctional my household gets when I'm not here."

"Don't call it that," you pouted.

"Whot?"

"Dysfunctional."

Simon cupped your face and placed a soft kiss on your temple. "Deal. Now start talkin'".

You wanted to feel guilty for being a snitch, but the hurt still lingered inside. It hurt you that your cozy little world had been cracked, and you had to address it somehow. Even if you tried to hide something or smooth things over, Simon saw right through you, and it was essential for him to know every motive and every line.

When every detail of the disaster came together, you fell silent, catching your breath. A thoughtful crease formed between Simon's brows.

"Are you mad?" you whispered.

"Why would I be mad at you, sweetheart?"

"Don't be mad at them either."

The request softened his expression. Ghost slid one arm under your butt and wrapped the second one around your waist. Before you could react, he stood up and carried you out of the gazebo.

You weren't about to object. Your body went limp, pliantly clinging to the heat radiating from his strong chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your cheek against his cheekbone.

"Are you still hungry, love?" Ghost asked quietly. You shook your head.

"No. A bit thirsty, though."

"Want some tea?" His fingers squeezed the hair at the back of your head comfortingly, taking a moment to massage your scalp.

You hesitated: you really wanted something warm to drink, but the kettle and the clatter of dishes would probably disturb the boys' sleep...

"I'm good," you mumbled into Simon's shoulder. He gave you a sceptical hum and, with you in his arms, stepped inside the house.

It was obviously quiet. Johnny was snoring upstairs, Kyle had rolled over on the living room couch, and John had left the light on in his bathroom.

Simon carefully sat you down on the edge of a kitchen counter, you stopped him for an extra kiss. Without breaking the contact, he put the kettle on the stove, and it slowly began to hum.

"What are you doing?! You'll wake everyone up!" You gasped, but Simon silenced you with an extra peck.

Ghost turned on the lamp over the counter, illuminating the small island where you sat. He made a point of loudly clattering the dishes and slamming the drawers and cabinets.

"You wanna hear a joke?" Simon asked, without lowering his voice.

You swung your legs in the air, sitting on the edge of the counter next to the sugar bowl he was filling with white crystals.

"Only if 'half of a dog' isn't part of it," you grinned.

"Mm," he shook his head to hide his amusement, "every good joke has that part."

You heard creaking of the sofa in the living room, but then John appeared in the doorway. He looked tired, the skin under his eyes reminded of dark crescents in the dim light. He looked around the kitchen with confusion.

"You're back," he registered hoarsely. "What are you doing?"

Simon stood with his back to John, focused on slicing bread. He didn't hesitate for a second before replying, "Makin' our woman some tea since y'all were too busy for a proper dinner."

You looked down at the floor, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Kyle's buzz cut appeared behind John.

"Couldn't you have been any louder?" He rubbed his eyes sullenly.

You blushed, glancing sheepishly at Simon. The man looked as unbothered as they get. He placed a basket of sliced ​​bread and bagels, a plate of ​​cheese and ham, and a freshly filled teapot on the table.

By then, the kettle on the stove had boiled and began whistling so loudly that you grimaced, but Ghost, for some reason, ignored the noise. When it became clear Simon had no intention of removing the kettle from the fire, you made at attempt to climb down from the counter, but he nonchalantly sat you back, as if you were a doll.

"Si, the kettle..."

"I know, baby, thank you."

Kyle and John exchanged glances. Your boyfriend seemed to be waiting for something as the whistling grew louder and louder.

But about 20 seconds later, a crash was heard on the second floor, as if something heavy had rolled down the stairs. Johnny burst into the kitchen, pushing aside his two men at the entrance. He looked comfortably rumpled, squinting against the light in the room. The strands of his mohawk stuck out wildly in all directions.

"What in a fooking Mad Tea Party is goin on?" He pouted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Simon didn't answer, but removed the kettle from the heat and poured boiling water into five mugs on the table. "Put your arses in place, the water's gonna be cold."

In a surprised silence, everyone sat down at the table. Your stomach growled, and you hoped the others didn't notice. Johnny, Kyle, and John glanced at each other warily, you watched their tense muscles and stiff movements.

"John."

Simon raised an eyebrow, and Price looked at him questioningly.

"I believe you could have stepped in as the responsible one and expressed your regret for what happened earlier."

"The responsible one, my arse," Soap rolled his eyes.

"Johnny!" You chided him quietly, and he obediently fell silent.

Price ran a hand over his face with a loud sigh. He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I didn't want this to escalate into a conflict. I should have addressed the matter more calmly in the first place."

You extended your hand across the table, and John took it without hesitation, intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing gratefully.

Kyle pursed his lips, clasping his hands tighter. This didn't escape Simon's notice, he nodded toward Gaz. "You're next, sweetheart."

"I... I'm sorry for... I shouldn't have said what I said," he took a shaky breath and looked at you from under his eyelashes. "And I don't know why I snapped at you, dolly, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry."

You smiled at him and wiggled your fingers for him to place his hand on top of yours and John's on the table. He did.

The four of you turned your heads to Johnny, who was stubbornly staring at the steam above his mug of tea. He frowned, defiantly silent.

"Johnny," you said softly, "no one here is mad at you."

It made Soap's lower lip tremble. He angrily wiped his eyes with his fist and slammed a hand on top of yours. Simon covered that tower with his warm palm, making it complete.

"Ah still love ye all, unfortunately," he choked. A chorus of similar words poured out in response.

Kyle asked impatiently, "Whose bed are we sleeping in tonight?"

"Mine!" You squealed. "And I'm sleeping in the middle!"

All five of them rose from the table, not moving more than a step apart.

"You always sleep in the middle," John smiled.

"I'm asserting my dominance," you yawned. "Just in case something's changed."

Simon turned off the kitchen light and smirked to himself, "Nothing's changed for us."

[anneofgreengabagool]

congratulations on your very much deserved 1k followers !!! if i can participate in your event, the dice i rolled were 2, 7, 8, 37 ! congratulations once again and thank you so much for sharing your talent and writings with us <3

thank you! you rolled kyle garrick + nature (water) + love at first sight + characters take a trip together.

-

après-midi tropicale

tags: fem reader, fat reader

"Bloody hell, Mum, she's perfect."

"You haven't even spoken to her, you numpty."

"Weren't necessary. 'sides, I know you'll be eagerly tellin' all the aunties about the day your darling boy rang you and told you he met his future wife."

Kyle's mum ends the call, leaving him in silence. All the more time to think and prepare, then fantasize about the type of bikini you'll be wearing today, how your dimpled flesh is gonna look squeezed out around the tight fabric. Fuck, he wants to bite down into you, wrestle you into submission, push you under the waterfall you're all gonna trek to see today. Maybe he'll get his hands around your thighs, offer to play chicken with some of the other lads and girls, hoist you up so your fat thighs can envelope his head. He'll be too tempted to bite down then.

Easy, mate, easy. Nice and steady.

Hours later, the waterfall is as lovely as the guide promised. Kyle watches your mouth fall open in amazement, snap a few photos with a cute look of concentration, and then try to get a few selfies.

"Need a hand?"

You're a bit shy with him, not quite what his energy is when it comes to you. After all, he's one of the only ones you haven't met before this trip, and you've caught his eyes twinkling at you a few times already. You've probably chalked it up to Kyle being a sociable, affable lad. That's true. But you're the only one that makes him feel like there's a gnawing, starving pit in his stomach that only a cute, big, soft girl will fill.

You're uncomfortable with him offering to lift you up when he suggests playing chicken, but birds like you really underestimate him. He shows you. Shows you what his torso and legs and arms can lift up, keep up in the air, for as long as he needs to. You're breathless and awkward and unsure, and he makes sure to squeeze your legs tight, give you a little slap on the side of the hip when you knock two opponents over. Your uncertainty breaks through to soft laughter and when he hoists you down, he makes sure there's a moment where he dives under the cool, rushing water with you and lets his hands slide over you. Sees your eyes pop open as you surface from the water like a sexy mermaid.

He laughs to himself later, lacing up his hiking trainers after drying off, readjusting his half-hard cock in his shorts. To think, he nearly said no to this trip.

-

my 1k challenge fic masterlist

[anneofgreengabagool]

hello! i rolled the dice and i got 3, 5, 17, 92. congrats on 1k! i love your writing ❤️‍🩹

thanks, anon! you rolled simon riley + vacation/travel + love triangle + another character shows interest.

-

the other man

tags: 18+, explicit sexual content. cis-fem reader, married reader, cuckolding.

"Mind if I join." The voice hits you first, rough and rumbling, coiling inside you with an immediacy that frightens you. Then, a large, brawny man is heaving himself down into the jacuzzi without waiting for your response, slipping into the roiling water and letting out a groan that is nearly obscene.

He rests his head back against the wet edge, letting his thick limbs rest and float out, eyes closed. He looks like he gets into knife fights for the love of the game, and the white wine you had at dinner has got your eyes peeled on him, raking over his broad chest, thick neck…good fuckin' lord.

"Gonna give me a complex if ya keep starin' at like that, love."

You don't think this man owns an ounce of self-consciousness in his entire body. You feel your thighs tighten together unconsciously, squeezing your muscles. "Didn't think they made Englishmen so big."

His mouth ticks up a notch, scar tissue moving thick. "Drank lots of milk."

"Hmm." You let your limbs go loose and bobbing in the water, eyes flickering around him to take in the empty pool area; it's nearly closing time and you figured you'd get it alone. "Here for business?"

"Nah, I'm just a fan of hotels with planes whizzin' by overhead all night."

He still hasn't looked at you, but then, there's a pressurized movement under water and his foot reaches out and nudges yours. The jacuzzi isn't huge and he takes up most of the room. You're not mad at it.

"Honey?" Your husband, Ian, calls out from behind you, making his way across the tiled floor to you, a fresh set of towels retrieved from the front desk to set in the reclining chair where you'd left your robe and key card.

You wave a hand lazily, hearing the questioning tone in his voice. "Hey." You watch boredly as he climbs into the jacuzzi while avoiding eye contact with the stranger.

"Ian, I was just meeting a new friend here. What was your name again?" You turn sweetly to blink at the stranger.

"Simon." Doesn't even acknowledge Ian. Eyes trained right on you the entire time. Sending pulses down to your pussy, sparking and flaring.

—

"Yer wife's cunt feels fuckin' good, mate. Feel like a fuckin' dream."

Hands braced over Simon's thighs, muscular and hairy, your fingertips grazing his scarred kneecaps and your hips grinding down over his thick cock as you stare dazedly off the bed at Ian, sat in his little armchair.

"Honey?" He asks, voice soft.

"I'm gonna cum again, Ian. Oh my fucking god, he feels so good, Jesus Christ." Your breath is punched out of you as Simon's big hands clap down in tandem over your ass cheeks, sending your flesh rippling off in echoes. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Atta girl," he groans. "Let yer fuckin' husband hear it. Let him look at ya."

Your tits, slapping heavy against the flesh of your tummy in this position, your head on a constant swivel to stare at Ian, look back at Simon, stare down at your hands digging into his legs. "Oh my god," you cry sharply, the sound breaking off as his cock strikes your gummy spot, his hands grabbing the fat of your ass as hard as he possibly can. Bruising and exhilarating.

"I'm gonna cum inside your sweet fuckin' wife, mate."

"Okay."

Simon's orgasm flows through him hard and fast, fucking up into your pussy faster until you're sobbing and nearly shrieking, as he slaps and slaps at your ass cheeks. Pulls your ass and hips down to grind the rest of his orgasm out, panting and heaving harsh.

You eventually pull off, the fullness something to mourn already. You curl up, legs akimbo, arms flopped over your wet hair.

"Get her a rag, mate, c'mon. Clean us up."

Ian shuffles into the bathroom, and Simon uses the moment alone to slap at your thick thigh again in appreciation. When Ian returns, Simon instructs him firmly to clean you both up. "You gonna head out?" You ask after Ian's bent down to wipe Simon's cum off your labia, and given you a soft, heated kiss.

"Gimme some time and I can give ya a round two."

Even better.

- my 1k challenge fic masterlist

[rorydimes]

dad!husband!könig x mom!wife!reader

-> reader is american and fluent in english.

contains suggestive material; mdni pretty please.

könig is very proud of his heritage. austria is his homeland, born and raised. obviously, when he met you, he made it very clear that if this was long term, he’s moving you to austria, where you will have an austrian wedding, learn german to chat with and communicate with the people of austria, eat and cook austrian dishes, and have his children in austria.

you had no problem. könig was extremely proud of his woman, watching you as you chuckled fondly in german with an elderly man on a shopping trip. he felt his chest explode when you told the man that you aren’t from here, but your husband is, and he’s been teaching you everything he knows.

when the time comes for your first baby, a son, to arrive, könig’s freaking out more than you.

“are you comfortable, Prinzessin?”

“is there anything i can do for you, Schatz?”

“i’m very happy about our son, ja?”

when he’s physically out, könig’s heart almost beats itself out of his body. he feels a sense of relief, protectiveness, and home. this was his baby, his son, his legacy and he’d be damned if his son didn’t know who the fuck he was and where the fuck he came from.

könig immediately starts teaching his son german. like any baby, little phrases like “mama” ,“papa” and “mine.” well, he learned that last word himself. you witnessed this play out and decided to let your husband do his part like he wanted. it was utter shock to you when he sulks in your shared bedroom, dropping himself in the bed and pulling your face out of your book.

“you…you know more english than i do. you know my english is not the best, but i think i want our son to speak both languages, german and english.” he mumbled into your neck one night.

you closed your book softly, turning completely to face your husband, wrapping your much smaller body into him as much as possible.

“we can do that, baby.” you sat up, remembering something you saw online about bilingual children. “there’s actually a really easy method to do that.”

könig perked up, attention shifted to you. “ja?”

“children are a lot smarter than what we give them credit for. picking up multiple languages at this age would be very easy.” you smiled, kissing his bare chest. “how about..you speak only in german to him, and i’ll speak only in english. when he’s with you, it’s german and vise versa. just remember to correct him or ask him to say it in german so both languages stick. i’ll do the same when we talk.”

könig let the idea float around before nodding, pecking the top of your forehead in return. “what if we are all in the same room?”

“same rules. when he talks to you, he’s speaking in his father’s language. if he’s speaking to me, he’s speaking his mother’s language. as long as we’re consistent with it, our baby will be fluent in both languages.” you answered swiftly.

the way you worded it made his mouth twitch. his father’s language, german, and his mother’s, standard english. it was a perfect mix of cultures. he’s so proud to show off his little american wife, so pretty and all his. you put forth so much effort to accommodate yourself into his culture. it didn’t matter if fellow austrian men joked with him about not marrying austrian. they just didn’t understand, how cool it was to come home to his boy and his wife singing a classical american lullaby, just for the small child to turn around with a huge smile on his face and his favorite german greeting: “Papa ist zu Hause, Mama! Hallo Papa!”

he always chuckles, remembering what you said to him that one time so many nights ago. make sure you correct him. “Hallo, mein Sohn, meine Frau. Was hast du Mama erzählt? Du sprichst Englisch mit ihr, ja?”

your son blushes under the correction. he turns back to you, opening his mouth once he saw your encouraging smile.

“oh, daddy is home, mommy!” he turns back to his father and waves cutely. “hallo, papa!”

könig has already pressed a kiss to your temple. he walked over to his son in his high chair, wrapping his large hand around his head before kissing the top of his shiny hair. you, proud as ever, go to congratulate your son..fortunately at the same time of his german speaking papa.

“very good, baby!”

“sehr gut!”

you two glanced at each other before silently investigating your child for his reaction. he makes eye contact with you first, since “ladies first” and he registered his mother’s voice the fastest.

“thank you, mommy.” he looks at his father. “danke, papa!”

you both couldn’t get over it, spending the rest of the night discussing how well he’s gonna do in school, how he’s able to speak to both his grandparents, and könig smirks as his hand slides up your neck seductively.

“maybe, he’ll take after his father and marry an american woman too.” könig feral and hungry, licks your ear and cheek. “they just don’t understand, ja?”

[rorydimes]

simon riley x american!(hinted southern)reader headcanons/drabble/oneshot idek its long as hell i’m sorry :/

contains smut; minors & ageless blogs dni pretty please.

simon riley who is native to the working class of manchester (or “manchesta” if you’re simon, god you love that man.) and he no doubt has the accent to prove it. as an american, you grew up portraying a british person with ridiculous, stereotypical english dialect from time to time, but meeting the large lad and hearing the natural dip and draw roll off his tongue for the first time in person- you were down bad.

simon riley who doesn’t hate your voice. he loves you, so of course he loves what you sound like, particularly when you’re under him all sensitive and overwhelmed, sweaty and detached from bodily fluids, whining thoughtlessly “simon, fuck, please, simon!” but come on, he’s english. he grew up with teachers who playfully apologized the class if the instructor on the vhs tape was a yank. if he’s honest, the brute had lots going on in his life so he didn’t think much about america. until the attack in new york in ‘01, that is. that was his final push to officially join the military, after all. simon found himself more intrigued by you if anything.

simon riley who brought you to manchester after he visited your state about 10 months into the relationship. it was around christmas, and don’t forget, he celebrated christmas, and he figured it was no different overseas. he wasn’t completely wrong, he found the songs annoying just like he does most music, he did crack a smile watching your siblings, cousins, nieces, and nephews open gifts, he wasn’t expecting a truckload of presents from your family to him but it happened, and maybe it was just the philosophy of first impressions or actual southern hospitality but everyone was overly sweet and friendly (in his mind). he barely had to move a muscle- not because you plated his food and drinks- but because your aunts and grandparents were playing lunch rush but for him only.

simon riley who admittedly had a good time, playing beer pong with the men of your family (and l.j, your masculine lesbian cousin of the corral) next to the bonfire outside and getting to listen in on the family drama whenever he came to check on you with the rest of the women in the living room. his stomach was in his ass before he relaxed; until one kid had the nerve to approach him with an astounding question: “excuse me, why do you sound like that?”

thank god you were nearby to save him when it happened. you interjected by picking up your nephew with an awkward and exaggerated “o-kayyy.” simon watched you lick your pursed lips as your brain calculated your next words. “baby, simon is from a place far, far away from here. like- he had to get on an airplane to get to grandma’s house.” simon crossed his arms and shifted his stance; a motion he often did to hide positive emotions, especially when he’s wearing the balaclava. oh, you were good at this. half of him feels like an absolute bastard thinking about breeding you while you’re talking to a literal child at a family Christmas event but his stupid man brain rules his body even now.

simon riley who chokes down a deep chuckle as the younger boy pops up at the mention of an ‘airplane.’ you resettle the four year old on your hip and continued, “you know how ramual from school speaks spanish because he’s from mexico? it’s like that, simon is from england, so that’s why he speaks like he does.” you’re so kind and generous, calmly and appropriately educating a child on cultural diversity like you’ve been teaching kids for years. that’s when he made his decision: he’s flying you out to manchester, his hometown.

simon riley who adored your excitement when he sent you a screenshot of two booked tickets for a trip to europe. he didn’t even have to specify which part- you jumped on him as soon as he came back to your grandparents house from a day out with a few your family members, kissed him hard then leaned away just enough to speak against his lips: “i bet your home is beautiful.”

simon riley who fucks you like he’s got something to prove the moment you get comfortable back into your own home, about two hours away from your previous location. classic southern roads. he’s biting at your neck while youre pressed between him and walls, using your hair as a handle to manhandle you around, not bothering to even remove any clothing- everything’s getting pushed up, down, or to the side. luckily your boyfriend groans a breathy explanation in the form of dirty talk; about how the next time your family group chat pings your phone and asks about “you and your soon-to-be husband,” he wants to gift your family a photo of ultrasound pictures with your wedding bands crossed aesthetically in the corner. your ultrasound pictures, y’know, pictures of his baby growing inside his mrs. riley?

simon riley who secretly starts planning and saving to move you to england. he starts by the trip to manchester, observing how well you’d adapt and your overall experience here. once he got confirmation you would be fine in england, he began his subtle comments and questionaries.

“thinkin’ bout maybe upgradin’ if i do happen to knock you up.”

“there’s some nice ‘homes downtown, think you’d like em.”

“england’s got some of the highest rates in education, yknow. raise our lad to be smart like his daddy.”

you raised an eyebrow at the last statement, shaking your head. “si, i would love to move here with you with or without the baby,” you bit your lip, setting down the paper evidence simon provided you to sway your decision. slowly, you crawled towards him while keeping eye contact. you sat on your heels at his feet, your gaze slutty and glossy. “i took a test. i’m not pregnant. yet.”

simon brought his hand up to slide his palm over his face. he’s almost damn near forty, how does he feel like his jeans tighten this quickly? he groans as you reach for his belt.

“lieutenant riley?” your chirp. he notes the octave change in your tone.

“yes, lovie?” he breathes, already worn and desperate. he regrets telling you his rank. you only ever call him this to get him going.

“do i have your authorization,” you unbuckle his belt and jeans, blinking up at him. “to milk your cock,” you free his stiffened cock from his boxers. “and use it to breed my pussy?”

damn. if he was any more or less aroused, he’d cum all over your gorgeous face. he need to be inside you. quickly. you were testing him and he’s already had to keep his hands to himself to respect your family. if it’s a breeding his missus wants, it’s a breeding his missus fucking deserves.

simon riley who cheerfully turns down the repetition of christmas carols on his truck’s radio as he pulls into your grandparents driveway the next year, right hand on your left hand, fingers playing with your wedding ring (i hc he knows how to drive in america), his pretty brown eyes gazing at the car seat behind him where his one year old son sleeps peacefully. while simon looks forward to your family’s christmas tradition, he’s really looking forward to the after party, where he gets to indulge in his own personal christmas tradition- cumming buckets into his creaming wife’s perfect cunt until absurd hours in the morning roll around. gotta bring the fam a present for next year, right?

authors note: you lot are so sweet, thank you much for the support. xoxo

[rawme-price]

In the three months you've lived in your apartment, you've only seen your neighbor twice.

Once, when you caught him on his way back from the store. Carrying an obscene amount of bags in one arm, all of them looking suspiciously like microwave-dinners. The other time you had caught him in the lobby looking about ready to murder the out-of-service elevator. You chatted with him while you both walked up the stairs, and he introduced himself as "simon"

And, sue you, you feel bad for the guy. Doesn't get visitors, doesn't go anywhere as far as you know.

And those damn tv dinners.

So, you buy all the fancy ingredients you usually reserve for celebrations and cook dinner for two. Your school drama teacher would have been proud of your performance when you sheepishly knocked on his door with a tray of lasagna "uhm, hi. I'm your neighbor, I don't know if you remember me–"

"I do." Simon cuts you off, door barely hedged open. His arm, the one on his cane, shakes with effort. Eyes cutting down to your tray, narrowing, "what's that?"

"Oh– uhm. Lasagna. I made more than I expected, and I'm out of town in a few days and I don't want to waste it–" you rattle off, faster than you'd like but conscious of the way his shoulder must be aching just to stand and talk to you, "I thought– if we shared–"

"Fine." Cutting you off again, door pulling further open "but I don't own dishes. Bring yer own."

Which is how you end up sharing a tense dinner with simon, footie match on the tv in the next room. You try not to stare but...he's handsome under that surgical maks he always wears. Good, strong jaw, pretty lips, nice scars.

When he's done, simon whipes the food that spilled off his chin and grunts "best damn meal I've had in years."

Really, it becomes routine from there.

You bring over a homecooked meal, every week at least. Eventually you and simon start chatting, at first bitching about the elevator and neighbors, then life in general. Ghost starts to accumulate actual plates and cups in his home, some food items other than microwave meals.

You learn a lot about simon. About what he did before the injury, about the mates he calls now and again. Eventually, you bully him into using his wheelchair when you visit instead of forcing himself to use a cane. He also bullies you into getting your shower head fixed.

It's....nice. you never notice, but when you aren't looking simon looks at you like a lovestruck fool.

[chokemewhenwefuck]

simon riley gets really jealous. he really doesn’t mean to but it happens, a lot. and it always ends the same.

even just another guy having a thirty second conversation with you, ends up with him fucking into your spurting cunt and making you reassure him through the sound of his cock in your pussy.

“you’ll always be mine, right angel?” he says against your ear as he fucks into your pussy from behind in this random bar bathroom, grabbing your throat softly to make your back arch into his cock that you can barely take any more.

you can only mutter out weak responses but he doesn’t care.

[sweetsprice]

ghost has always been protective of you, but now that you're carrying his child, it's getting out of control.

(part 2)

the grocery store was too crowded, too loud for ghost's liking, with kids running around unsupervised. simon's jaw tightened as a teenager rushed past you, almost making you lose your balance. his arm shot out instinctively, pulling you flush against his side.

"watch it!" he growled, his voice dangerously low, and the kid scurried off without glancing back.

you sighed, pressing a hand to his chest. "si', i'm fine. they're just kids, you can't get mad at them."

"you're six months pregnant," he said, as a matter of fact. his hand found the small of your back, warm and steady, guiding you down the aisle at an extremely slow pace. "and this place is a madhouse. unbelievable."

you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

"simon." you called him sweetly. "it's tuesday. 10 am. there are four other people in this store."

"too many," he mumbled, leading you toward the fruits section with a hand firm on your lower back. he was scanning aisles, cataloging exits, evaluating threats.

an elderly woman reached for a box of apples near you and simon physically shifted to place himself between her and your belly.

the woman was puzzled.

his eyes softened as they dropped to your stomach.

"you're doing it again," you mumbled, fighting a smile.

"doing what, sweetheart?" he planted a kiss on top of your head.

"being overprotective." you exclaimed, intertwining your fingers with his.

simon grunted, moving you toward the checkout. "that's my job."

at the register, a woman cooed at your bump, reaching out without asking. simon caught her wrist mid-air, his eyes glinting with warning.

"for fuck sake. these people are mad." he cursed at the poor woman.

the woman took a step back, embarrassed, and you shot simon a reassuring look.

outside, he insisted on carrying every single bag, all six of them, plus the heavy watermelon you'd asked him to buy. you attempted to carry the small bag of cupcakes but simon gave you a firm no.

your mouth salivated at the sight of the chocolate flavored cupcake that simon handed to you.

his car was immaculate, not a crumb of cookie on his leather seats, no coffee stains. he'd once made soap walk ten miles for dirtying the passenger seat with orange juice.

but you? oh you could do whatever you pleased.

"unbelievable." he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

you took another bite, moaning dramatically. you closed your eyes, savoring it, completely oblivious to the way simon was watching you.

"you've got..." he gestured vaguely at his own face.

"hm?" you blinked, frosting on your nose and your left cheek.

he simply reached over, his thumb catching the smear on your chin. his eyes darkened, thumb hovering near your lips, then slowly, brought it to his own mouth, tasting the buttercream.

"si," you warned, recognizing that look.

"i'm not doing anything, love" he said, voice dropping low. "just cleaning you up."

little did you know, the ever cold menacing lieutenant simon riley got a boner just by looking at his sweet wife lick some frosting off a cupcake.

[morriganss-writes]

cw: afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of sex 18+ MDNI

Simon loved to shower with you, but he loved watching you shower even more. There was a certain intimacy and sensuality to showering with you. Watching the water sluice down body over the hardened peaks of your breasts, down the curve of your back and ass. Your hair darkened by the water, sticking to your face and neck. But there was something different in seeing you naked normally and in the shower. Simon can't explain it. It was hypnotic. Addictive. 

When Simon would come home after a long op he'd drop his bags and toe off his boots already calling out your name. Then he hears the shower running. He doesn't even bother with knocking anymore just opens the bathroom door, the sound muffled by the pattering of water against your body and bathroom tiles and just take in the view of you. 

The glass is a vignette of steam as you're lathering clouds of perfumed suds all over your body completely unaware your boyfriend is watching you like some pervert. Any other normal boyfriend would just make his presence known and probably join you in the shower. Not Simon. He would be content to watch with a half lidded gaze and half hard cock as you massage all those nice smelling shampoos, conditioners and shower gels in. He should get in the shower with you. God knows he probably smells like sweat and someone else's blood all metallic and musky, coppery and earthy.

"Jesus Christ-!" You shriek as you finally lift your gaze up and see Simon leaning against the door watching you. "Simon why don't you fucking knock?" "Nice to see you too, love." The corner of his lips tug upwards, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Don't stop on my account. You didn't do yer conditioner." Simon jerks his chin towards the shower shelf with your array of products.

You can't help but roll your eyes as you reluctantly grab the conditioner. "Fuckin' weirdo." You mutter under your breathe as you squeeze a dollop into your hand, glaring at Simon while doing it. "Did you even call me? Thought you were getting home later." Simon shrugs as he steps forward and leans against the shower door. "Wanted to surprise you." Those soft brown eyes of his are locked onto the way the water cascades down your sternum, how it drips off your pebbled nipples. Your drenched hair sticking to the back of your neck, forehead and temples framing your face into an image Simon wishes he could sear into his brain. The water glistens and highlights every delicious dip and curve of your body. He could take a photo. Then add it to his ever growing collection of lewd photos of you in his phone.

"Are you gonna shower too, Si?" You finger comb the conditioner through your hair as you turn to him, his eyes are still taking you in like you're a marble statue in a museum. All soft and perfectly shaped. He could drag you out of the shower and into the bedroom and stuff his aching cock into that cunt he missed so much. Or he could strip off his clothes right now, step into the shower and press you up against the cold tiles as he'd stuff you full of his thick fingers until your thighs started to shake. Tempting offers all of them, but he had to wait at least two minutes until you can rinse out your conditioner. "Take your time, love. I've got all night." Simon's length was starting to strain at his jeans now, but you know what they say. Good things come to those who wait, right?

[sweetsprice]

you're pregnant and simon riley doesn't let you lift a finger.

it had only been a few months since you found out you were pregnant, barely long enough to grasp the fact that you were going to be parents.

simon watched you more closely now, he noticed the way your belly started to show, the way your body was drained by late afternoon, the way he'd find you still sleeping after a morning run, the way your hand anxiously drifted to your stomach when people approached you.

so when you reach your apartment after a long day out, simon didn't hesitate to let his duffel bag slide off his shoulder and thud to the floor, turning his broad back to you, lowering himself into a deep crouch. his hands reached back, gently guiding your legs to hook around his hips.

"si, i can walk. i'm too heavy!" you started, but he cut you off with a low snort, nonsense, which meant no amount of arguing would change it. you eventually draped your arms over his massive shoulders and let your chin rest against the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him.

you've felt nauseous for the past few weeks. you couldn't bear the smell of any sort of food. the mere scent of coffee or the neighbor's cooking sent you running to the bathroom. only simon's smell put you at ease.

he hoisted you up easily, as if you weighted nothing. his hands, rough and scarred, secured its grip beneath your thighs, holding you steady. when you felt him adjust his hold, shifting your weight slightly to keep you balanced, you murmured "you can put me down now, si", your lips brushing the shell of his ear. he tughtened his grip in response .

simon's pace was slow, not from fatigue, but because he was being careful, placing each boot deliberately, avoiding the creaky steps he'd been meaning to fix for months.

you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, feeling the slight stubble scrape your lips, and he tilted his head just enough to glance at you from the corner of his eye, his expression softening.

when he finally reached your door, he didn't set you down right away, he just stood there for a moment, your arms still wrapped around his neck, your belly pressed against his warm back.

he carried you to the sofa and lowered you down like you carefully, then knelt down to untie your shoes. when you tried to get up, he gave you a look and gently pushed you back against the cushions, muttering, "stay here."

he disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a small bowl of strawberries. he'd noticed that they were the only thing you could keep down. he settled beside you on the sofa, holding the bowl in his lap and feeding you one piece at a time, his thumb brushing your lower lip after each bite, watching you with that tenderness that made you feel the luckiest girl in the world.

[geminiestrella]

[geminiestrella]

[lumi-nay]

Part 2 of this post!

Line cook!Simon who's been sweet on you lately, always making sure to get your tables tickets out as fast as possible, and managing to sneak you a snack during your shifts.

He always brushes it off, shrugging about it when you ask, 'was tryin' somethin' new ou', luv, tell me f'its good, yeah?', knowing he would never let you eat anything less than delicious. Regardless, hes always eagerly watching for your approval, wanting to see that stupid smile on your face as you gush about his work.

Waitress!Reader whos saved plenty of money on meals, because even with your employee discount, appetisers and sides cost a fair bit of money when it adds up over the week. Not that it mattered anymore, Simon was always using his cooks discount to get you main meals, 'no' gonna le' 'is luvie, go hungry, will 'e?'

Head chef!Price who cocks a brow every time SImon does it, but never pries. Game is game, after all.

Simon who always makes sure to give you a lift home, even when you finish earlier than him, using his break to do so. He also manages to learn that your crappy studio flat is in the bad part of town...

Line cook!Simon who is quick to suggest you moving in with him. He lives close to your uni, you'd save money on rent, and be able to travel to work together most days.

You're quick to agree, it sounding like a dream to not worry about rent or transport and to live with your friend who's been so sweet to you!

Now he just has to figure out how to ask you out and address your lack of self preservation, because really luv, youd only known him a few months...

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

A/n: wait guys I might lowkey be onto something, let me cook up my idea 🫰 ALSO, if there are any specific posts of mine that you want a part 2 for, let me know cause im struggling to decide ("-ࡇ-)

[kooolgirl]

can you please write about a bimbo reader being all obsessed with her simon?

they’ll be just doing the simplest things, going to the store for example, and all this girl can think about is her bae making sweet sweet love to her in the aisle! like girl, all he’s doing is checking out the different spices for dinner!

they get home and when it’s time for dinner, she INSISTS on sitting on his lap and feeding him. she can never get enough of her simon!

giving himself to you uncensored

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x bimbo!reader

summary: you're so in love with your boyfriend

masterlist!

a/n: love, love, loveeee this request, anon!! i hope yall enjoy and requests are open in my ask box!! :)))))

simon riley was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to you.

you first noticed the muscular giant during one of your gym sessions, practically drooling at the sight of his tatted biceps. during his bench press, his veins bulged each time they flexed, the repeated up and down motion hypnotizing. just how much can he lift? you’d think to yourself, biting your lip while watching his sets.

he wore a black balaclava too, a skull design on the front— something that only added to your attraction towards the mystery man.

and when you saw him doing his hip thrusts, imagining him hip thrusting into you… that’s when you knew you had to introduce yourself.

“hi! i’m y/n,” you cheerfully started when he was finishing up his last set— it’s not like you counted! eyeing the metal bar rested across his meaty thighs, you couldn’t help but to acknowledge his strength. “i calculated around 580,” you pointed towards the weights, “so that definitely means you can handle me.” “‘s tha right, sweet'eart?” his deep voice responded, and you felt your thighs clench together. god, even his voice is fucking hot.

standing from the bench, he racked the weights and bar, walking over to you after. a smirk formed under his balaclava when he got a good look at you— a pretty bonnie with the confidence of a lieutenant like himself.

he liked that.

so when he reached you with an extended hand, "they call m' ghost," departed him too.

the contrast of his rough, gruff hand against your soft, smooth one sent shivers down your spine, wondering, how would his hands feel touching other places?

you were right, of course. the brute could, in fact, handle you, proving his worth in the year and a half you’ve been dating.

when he confessed his birth name, simon riley, around three months into your relationship, all the precious praises from his sweet girlfriend came out. "simon! what a lovely name. it's perfect for you!" you littered kisses across his face— even if they were always blocked by his balaclava. "thank you for trusting me with this, si." he smiled at the nickname.

he had already gotten this far, taking a leap a faith, "one more thing i need to tell you, hon'," he began reaching towards his balaclava, the ends crinkling in his hands, "or i guess, show ya."

when he removed the face covering, everything went silent.

it may as well been a staring match between the couple— no one moved, talked, or even blinked. you were just taking him in, taking your time taking him in, and simon knew that.

he watched your doe eyes analyze his face, scanning every scar, thinking, she's probably wonderin' how m' got em'.

"you're so beautiful, simon," rang through the air, your hands clutching either side of your boyfriend's face. gasping at the sensation, the feel of his flesh against yours heavenly.

you've wanted to see your boyfriend so badly, show him affection the way he does to you, but you were aware of his boundaries and the time he would need to cross those boundaries, so you never pried. but now that he was giving himself to you uncensored, you needed more.

using your grip, you pulled his face to yours, kissing the brit. he instantly responded, turning the gentle kiss into a heated makeout. he forced his tongue into your mouth when a small moan escaped you, caused by him grabbing a handful of your ass. "luvie'," he said, in between kisses, "yer fuckin' perfect."

now you take any chance you get to stare at simon.

he doesn't wear the balaclava ever around you anymore, and you still cannot get enough of it.

your boyfriend could be doing the most mundane tasks— reading a book in his favorite arm rest chair? large legs propped on the ottoman? oh, you were salivating, wanting him to flip you like he flips the pages to his book.

or when he'd be cleaning, the loud groans and grunts rumbling from his chest when he'd bend over, paired with the cracks of his bones, had you reeling. i need to hear him up close, biting the inside of your cheek, when you heard him again, i need him so bad, you thought, shifting on each foot.

when you're shopping together— someone needs to come sedate you.

your boyfriend always pushes the grocery cart, meaning you can hold onto his beefy bicep as he leads you both around the store. you loved how simon's muscle was too large for your hand to fully grasp, often bringing your other to finish the job. you would occasionally squeeze his muscle too, imagining the feeling of his biceps encircling your torso.

you'd whine when he tried to loosen his grip, "jus' needa grab 'tis for us, yeah?" leaning down to place a kiss on the crown of your head when he saw you nod, "good girl. m' not goin' nowhere."

he turned to the shelves with the spices, raising his arms to grab the ones you both would need to cook dinner tonight. for some reason they were all on the very top shelf— good thing simon's huge!

his shirt lifted with his arms, revealing a couple of his structured abs and his sexy v-line, which was peeking through the band of his pants. was he doing this on purpose? being hot at all times to get you bothered? he had to be.

you felt your core throb, a low heat slowly rising. what would i have to do for him to take me right now in this aisle? you asked anything that would listen.

when it was time to eat dinner, "why 's there only one chair?" "hmmm?" "where did all tha otha' chairs go?" "what other chairs?" "luv'."

but simon couldn't care enough, and you really didn't know where the chairs went, so, inevitably, you got your way as always.

simon sat in the free chair, your body perched comfortably on his.

he had his hands on both sides of your hips, gently kneading the flesh. you took turns feeding yourself and your boyfriend, claiming, "you already bought and cooked everything! at least let me feed you. i want to take care of you too!"

besides, his hands were already occupied with touching your body! he couldn't feed himself anyways!

you even wiped away any excess food on his lips with your thumb, bringing it to your mouth for a taste.

simon adored the sight of his sweet girlfriend cleaning him up, licking up his mess. choosing to tighten his grip on your hips, soft moans escaped when you felt his fingertips digging into your skin.

he'd pull you closer to him, your back somehow pushed further into his chest. leaning down to your ear, he'd coo, "such an amazin' girl," pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, "always so perfect for m', baby."

[amaranthinespirit]

fooling prison guard!simon riley into thinking you're a delicate flower.

with your pretty eyes and soft smile, the way you'd lean close to the metal that kept you from the rest of the world. you were such a risk that they'd keep a personal guard outside your cell, and who happened to be stationed there but simon riley.

he was young into his career, still a bit gullible despite being fresh out of the military. the way he clutched his gun was clumsy, his eyes scanning too slowly to be efficient. you watched him like the anomaly he was, practically drooling at how perfect he'd be to keep you entertained.

simon was solid in the beginning, learning to tune out the yells and shouts from other cells and blocks, and your incessant rambling as you tried to get him to listen.

but unfortunately for him he was susceptible to a pretty face. it wasn't hard to lure him in, it only took you a couple weeks before you had him responding and engaging with you. it wasn't much, a few clipped words here and there, some firm orders, a raised brow for you to continue with whatever you were saying.

most of the time, he'd keep his back to you. he knew if he met those deep eyes of yours, he'd sink right in and be lost forever. but talking with you? different story.

especially when you started asking about him. his family. his job. his childhood. what brought him to the spot right outside your cell.

and he answered every question, enjoying the way you listened without interruption, showered him with all your attention. he lavished every drop up, becoming desperate for it. it was spiraling into something out of his control, and you both knew it.

simon figured, one day, a single look couldn't hurt. he's seen your mughshot plenty of times, what's the difference with your real face?

there was a big difference. with your wide eyes staring up at him, head perched on your arms as you leaned against the metal bars of your cell. lips pulled into a friendly smile. despite the dirt and grime of the prison, you were a dream, and that's how you doomed him.

the shift wasn't immediate, but it was progressing faster than you expected. maybe you smelled the gullibility on him when he first stood outside your cell, but you knew he wasn't like the other guards you had before.

you drank him in like he was a five star meal. how casually he leaned against the brick, thick, muscly arms crossed over his broad chest whenever he talked with you. he was strong and capable, unlike any other guard you've had before.

the two of you inched closer as the days went by, until you were inches away without him pulling away. so close, you could feel his breath ghost over your skin, and the warmth radiating from him. it laid over you like a blanket.

when your lips grazed his, you couldn't help yourself. you didn't care if he recoiled with disgust or fear, or if he would get you sent to isolation. he was within your grasp, and you couldn't muster any more restraint.

to your surprise, his eyes darkened and his throat bobbed. "y'think you should be doin' tha'?" his voice was deeper, raspier, like he was trying his best to hold back.

"I think i don't care about the rules." you batted your lashes. "I won't tell, sir. I'm good at keeping secrets."

"is tha' right?"

"mhmm."

"guess we'll figure out." he whispered, letting you close the distance. his lips were warm, plush, and so careful. you were sure and passionate, dragging him closer by his collared shirt. the metal bars bit into your face, only allowing you to get so close.

simon was dizzy, adrenaline rushing through his body almost unnaturally. this was more heart pumping than any military mission he was ever deployed on. as it went on, he gained more confidence, but you had to separate to breath, or you'd kill the poor man.

"unlock my cell, simon." you purred, running your hand down his chest. his face was flushed red, lips swollen.

he let out a shaky breath. "why would I do tha'?"

"because I want more."

he argued with himself in his head, wondering how far he would allow this to go. how far he could go before he was unable to pull himself back from your claws that sank deep into his brain.

after warring with himself for a mere second, he ordered. "step back, swee'heart."

"yes sir."

"little minx." he grunted, glancing both ways down the hall as the keys jingled in his hands. he memorized the key to your cell, knew it by heart.

the door swung open with a deep creak. now there was nothing separating the two of you from being together. you'd been beside him before, but never without your cuffs. this was different, this was new.

you didn't even leave simon time to think before you pushed him down onto your bed—if you could call it that. it was a thin, grimy mat on a metal bed frame. it creaked loudly, not used to the heavy weight of a man's body.

"jesus—" he choked out, unable to stop your desperate hands pawing at his belt. it had been years—since you were incarcerated—since you'd gotten a good lay. the guards always yelled at you to cut it off when you sank your fingers into your pussy, never allowing you that relief.

you were fast, wasted no time—because someone could notice simon's absence any minute. you didn't have the luxury of exploring each other, mapping out every inch of one's body. so a quick fuck would have to do.

simon was already hard and leaking when you freed his cock, panting at your touch. his hands pawed at your hips desperately, steading your weight as you straddled him. this wouldn't last long, but you didn't care.

you sank down onto his thick cock, prison grade panties pushed to the side as he stretched you wide. simon was too starstruck to protest, overwhelmed by the pleasure and sensations that engulfed him. your soft moans, the slaps of your skin with every bounce or roll of your hips, the dainty hand you wrapped around his neck.

he came with a choked groan, one hand leaving your hip to massage your clit with his thumb. you'd done all the work after all, it was the least he could do to help you orgasm.

simon swore he saw stars with your pussy clenching around him, couldn't help the second orgasm you forced from his body, but as quickly as it came, it went. he all but shoved you to the side, fumbling with his pants and belt while you watched with a satisfied smile. his hair was messy, shirt half unbuttoned, chest gleaming with sweat.

"break me out of here, simon." you whispered from behind him, arms curling around his torso.

"y'know I can't do tha'."

"why not?" you pouted. "you love me, don't you?"

"love's a bit of a strong word."

"is it?" you licked up his neck, enjoying how he tensed under your tongue.

he didn't say anymore, just pushed you away and locked the cell behind him. his mind was reeling with what he just did, what he swore he wouldn't do. he took an oath, and he broke it.

simon didn't even know your crime. it was an unofficial rule not to look up what these people did if you were the one guarding them. it was for peace of mind, but he couldn't help asking a fellow guard later that night.

"wha's the deal with tha' bird in cell 66?"

"didn't ya know?" the other guard furrowed his brow. "gutted people like fish, tha' one. don't look in 'er eyes too long, or you won't be forgettin' them anytime soon."

simon's heart dropped, and static rushed his ears. bile rose in his throat, and he had to hold himself back from puking all over the bricks.

he shrugged, turning away from simon. "she's a charmer, though. best be careful, mate."

"right."

he had made a massive mistake, having convinced himself that you weren't as bad as the others in this place, but it was his own naivety that put him in this situation. he resigned his job as your guard immediately and found new a job at a different prison.

when your new day guard showed up? he ended up dead, and your cell was found empty.