simon “ghost” riley is so fucking blunt with his words
you’re not even trying to be sexy. just sat on his couch in that worn old tank top, the one with the frayed strap and no bra underneath. your legs are curled under you, hair damp from the shower, picking at your nails and talking about some show you half-watched.
he’s not listening.
"y’re tits sit nice in that top f’yours," he says, eyes on the tv. voice low, almost lazy, like he’s commenting on the weather.
you blink at him. "what?"
"didn’t stutter, love," he says, finally turning to look. eyes dragging down your chest, slow and shameless. “reckon you wear shit like that on purpose.”
your face goes hot but he just huffs a laugh through his nose, leans back further. spreads his thighs a little wider like he’s settling in.
“saw a porno the other day. girl looked like you. sweet thing, bit mouthy. got fucked face-down in a stairwell.” he pauses. shrugs. “thought of ya.”
your jaw drops.
“what?” he says, tilting his head. “should be flattered. ain’t every day i get off twice to the same fuckin’ video.”
he grins when you throw a pillow at him. catches it. holds it in his lap.
"gonna keep wearin' that top, or y’gonna come sit here and gimme a better fuckin’ view?"
The first time you’d brought up trying the position with him, he agreed to try simply to see if you’d both enjoy it or not. Though at first he was somewhat hesitant as this man really enjoys being able to see your face whenever you’re intimate together.
However.
Doing it…was different.
At first, he’s put you into doggy simply to make it easier to get into position without any awkwardness, and the moment his hand pressed on your lower back to flatten you out…
The man almost tweaked out right then and there.
“Oh…oh fuck…”
There was something about the sight of you completely and utterly at his mercy that had his cock twitching within you, his fingers would intertwine with yours…pinning them to the sheets before he’d give an experimental roll of his hips to see how you felt.
And in that moment, he’d find out that this position was perfect to hit your g-spot…and then? He simply couldn’t stop.
Each thrust was so perfectly angled that he’d have to almost restrain you through the pleasure earned by every snap of his hips.
“Nuh-uh…c’mon baby…you wanted to try this…don’t try and run now love…take it for me…please..”
He’d deliberately lean down, just to let you feel the heavy pants of his breath at your ear, the way sweat rolls down his chest with every merciless thrust.
The pleasure is almost too much and yet not enough at the same time. He’d relish in the way you’d claw at the sheets beneath your grip, the way his name would fall from your lips in such a broken tone.
“Shit…look at you…fuck…my pretty missus…yeah…”
The moment he feels your ass pushing up as if you were trying to get him even deeper, he couldn’t remotely stop himself. Bottoming out and grinding his hips to let you feel the way he kissed your cervix. Whispering praises into your ear, mingled in with the rough groans that tumble out of him.
He could feel when you were close, his hands digging into your lower back to keep you still as he fucked you into your release, and in this position…it didn’t take him long to follow. Pressing his entire weight into you as he floods your cunt. Panting right beside your ear as his sweaty body borderline laid across you.
it's just plain knowledge - simon r.: your lover had a habit of bullying you. how could he not? he had grown up in such a way that he enjoyed pushing you to your sexual limit. he loved using his size and strength to his advantage.
"don't whimper, love. lemme tell ya all about the guns they let me use." his voice curled in your ear with his large hand on your hip. you knew you'd have to save some of your mental capacities to remember what simon was about to show you.
seated on his worn striped couch that was pressed up against the wall in the living room. in front of the both of you on the coffee table were various forms of weaponry. you weren't too sure how he even got those off base into your home. but he wasn't reaching for them, instead he had his hands on your plush hips, your pajama shorts were around your ankle with your panties as well.
you were seated on his cock, your back up against his back. he loomed over you as he gestured with his chin to the various items on the table.
"you know that rifle, right, dove? you've seen her before. you even held one of them when i took ya to base. the boys thought it was just sweet how someone so small, someone to sweet handled it. dangerous weapon."
you swallowed and felt him move you up and down his cock. you could feel the hammering in your chest at the feeling of his cock inside of you. the leap of want in your chest was hard to ignore while simon's cock nudged against all your sweet spots. it felt amazing, the tone he used didn't help either. it was patronizing, but in a way that made you run even hotter.
his voice cooing as he explained how the rifle worked, like you were just too sweet (read: too dumb) to understand how a piece of heavy weaponry could be used. he kissed the shell of your ear as he continued to fuck you with even more.
"you're so strong, right? but it's okay, you don't have to be so strong with me around. never want ya to use one of these." he said as he bounced you on his cock. his voice didn't waver and you felt him deep inside of you. like a throb in your skull, the pleasure he gave you only mounted the more he fucked you.
"si." you gasped.
"so sweet, my dove." he said lowly, "nothin' else like ya. never could be. now focus there, little one. i need to keep going over what's on the table." he took you by the jaw with his free hand and kept your eyes on the table as he continued to fuck up inside of you.
your pussy was soaked, gushed around him while he had his sweet fill of your achy sex. you felt amazing, the kind of amazing that every other man would beg for. he had seen the way some of the men looked at you when you came to visit him on the base.
cute of them to think that they could get with someone like you. but, if they tried to touch you. well, that wouldn't gain them any favours. no one touched what belonged to ghost. and that was an order.
"now, that's a glock seventeen, good in a pinch. can ya say that for me, dove? what's that called?"
"glock."
"glock what?"
"glock seventeen." your toes curled in your socks as the pleasure continued to mount in you. it was hard to focus, keep your gaze from rolling back into your head. your hands were on your knees as if it provided any support.
he held your cheeks in his rough hand. he was just so much bigger, stronger than anything you had ever know. your noises were sweet. short and angelic. it only drove simon to fuck you more.
he continued to talk as he felt you quiver on top of him. you swore you could hear his smile when he talked about the tools he used that he couldn't bring. the mortar, the two kinds of machines guns.
you soon tensed up, the pleasure reached its peak within you. you held onto your knees tightly as your cunt tightened around his cock.
"that's it, dove." he cooed, "that's it.' his pace remained unrelenting. your head felt dizzy as he made sure every inch of his hard cock stayed inside of you, "sweet little thing."
your felt weightless for a moment as he continued to fuck you. your brain felt like it was sparking and your core was heated from the intensity of your orgasm. soon simon finished inside of you, made sure every last drop was snug inside of you.
he patted your cheek roughly and your pussy fluttered around him. naughty little thing.
"dove."
you couldn't form words and instead slumped against your lover's chest as you tried to compose yourself.
simon sighed and mumble under his breath. followed by another firm pat on your cheek. it only made the wetness between your legs grow.
you soon ended up face first against the coffee table. not hard enough to bruise you, but your nose was incredibly close to
"now, dove." simon said in that low rumble of his voice, he held onto your hips once more and rubbed his softening cock up against your soaked pussy, "now that you're familiar with what i use at work. let's have ourselves a little quiz. you better have been listenin', because i'd hate to punish ya for any wrong answers." <3
a/n: expect more of call of duty posting.... my (future husband) partner is in the canadian army....
cw: smut/pwp, rugby au, rugby player!price, age gap (20s/40s), size difference/kink, rough sex, doggy style, headlock (slight choking), dirty talk & degrading language, breeding kink, is this ticking off boxes for anyone?
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john price was a big man. almost ten years playing professional rugby for the english team, he had bulked up since his early years on the team. thick muscle and a nice softness over top. he was strong, able to carry all the groceries inside of your shared flat and also get his hulking frame across the field with ball in hand. he was also hairy, patches of hair across his chest down to his belly, didn't mention all the pubic hair between his legs. it obscured a lot of his tattoos that he had gotten over the years, like your name over his heart and his jersey number at his thigh (you knew you'd get too hot if you thought about his thighs too much). you once told him, with your tongue loose with alcohol that it was the ideal male body. that these ‘dehydrated poor excuses of men’ needed to drink water and eat some carbs.
price was a man's man. you knew the first time you fucked him, that you'd never ever fuck with those limp dicked boys at your university. you got addicted to the feeling of a real man, one who know exactly how to make your eyes roll back and your tongue hang out, panting heavily like a good bitch you were.
post-game price was your favourite shade of john price. you could feel his electricity while in the passenger seat of the car after the match. when he pulled out of the parking lot, he placed his large hand on your thigh. he played with the edge of your skirt and kept his eyes on the road. you could tell that the wheels in his head were turning.
“honey?”
“been thinkin', love.” he said as his fingers edged up your skirt a little more. like he was a teen boy rather than a forty year old man. he was teasing you, knowing that there would be no way you could both fuck in the back of his car. even it was an expensive vehicle, it would be a tight fit for such a large man and his smaller wife.
you looked at him and said, “never a good thing for a man to think.” you giggled then yelped when he gripped your thigh suddenly.
he chuckled a little as he continued to drive, “thinkin' about makin' a baby.” he licked his top lip, “i ain't gettin' any younger, love. and you're almost done school, so i think it's high time we start makin' a family.” his words were honey in your brain. it made you squirm. your much bigger, much older husband was asking for you to make a baby with him.
“someone's got baby fever.” you giggled as you placed your hand over his. the air of the car grew warmer, which made price open the window a little. you squeaked a little bit when he gripped you harder. you felt your heart rate pick up at the feeling of his large hands on you.
he chuckled a little, as he looked at you briefly while at a stop light. he leaned in to kiss you, “of course. part of me's been thinkin' about you walking across the stage at your graduation with my little brat in your belly.” then looked back to start driving again.
you rubbed your thighs together and felt wet at your core. you couldn't deny your husband, plus you had been subject to baby fever as well. maybe it was your body screaming for your lover. to have a part of him in you. and it wasn't like you two were being the most safe, so accidents could've happened. once back at your flat, you weren't in your clothes for long.
price had practically ripped your skirt off of you and those large paws he called hands were groping at your plush ass with his lips on your neck. you could feel his hard cock inside of his white briefs. the pre cum leaked through the fabric as he humped against you. he said in a heated tone, “i need it. i need her.” while made you moan then try to get your bra and panties off. you felt the heat rising in your skin, it was painfully hot for you. it excited you in ways that left you feeling hot all over.
“how badly, honey?”
he pulled you right up against him, his clothed cock digging into your abdomen, “more than anythin'. i need ‘er. i need ’er stuff full. want it to smell like me for months. and if it doesn't, i'll just fill 'er up again.” he slapped your ass and watched you moan with your back arched. he groped the cheek one last time before he took his naked wife to the bedroom.
his clothes were tossed to the side too, the t-shirt from the rugby league and basketball shorts. once everything was off, you admired your lover for a long moment. seeing all the heft and hair on him. his body that was so strong that he could easily crush you in his bicep or between his thighs. it made your core throb as you got into bed.
“nah, nah.” price said as he got onto the bed and grabbed your hips, “i need a deeper angle, somethin' to really show her i love you.” then patted your pussy before he gripped onto your hips once more and turned you onto your stomach. he then angled your hips up then dragged a finger across your achy slit. he chuckled, “there she is.” then leaned in to give your slick cunt a little blow, watching your hole flutter.
“mmm please, honey.” you arched your back as you felt your husband so close to you. your hulking husband who only hours earlier was running across the field, fighting his way through the other team. his strong legs carried him and you were sitting in the stands with your thighs pressed together with need.
price replied, “i know, i know. i know you need me” he rubbed his achy cock up against your slit, “always so good for me. knew for the moment i met ya that i wanted ya for the rest of my days.” there was an age gap between you two, but in all fairness, it turned you on even more. knowing that this handsome older man wanted to make sure that his cock was buried in you.
when he pressed into you, your back arched. you gasped heavily into the covers as he lifted your hips further to get a better angle to sink into you. he laid over top of you, his fuzzy body up against your back. he pressed his weight onto you and kept that heavy cock of his snug inside of you. you groaned loudly, muffled by the pillows under your head.
“honey.” you whined as you felt the ache of his cock so deep in you.
he got one of his hefty arms around your throat, keeping you further pinned against the bed. it wasn't hard enough to choke the lights out of ou. but enough to have pressure that made your head swim. it all felt so good and just just started. your voice was strained when price started to rut against you. his pace wasn't fast like a young stallion, but they were hard. every thrust of his hips were lazily slow but hit the back of your pussy perfectly. his cock had a thickness to it, you had carried rolls of ground beef that weighed less than his cock. not to mention the forest of pubic hair anf his breeder balls. he was a perfect man, body and all. he took you so well.
“she likes me.” he said, “your pretty cunt. i bet you were thinkin' about me on the field. all dirty and roughed up, yeah. bet you wished i fucked ya right in the locker room. let the boys hear how i make my girl feel. bruise that poor pussy of yours.” he said, words hot in your heat. it made sweat settle over you.
you whimpered a little against the covers, “please, john. ah!”
he continued to fuck you, his pace was aggressive and it made you see stars. his arm was still around your throat and you could feel your pulse in your jaw. he left messy kisses on your face, leaving your cheek wet. you whimpered and clenched around his cock which only made him fuck you harder. you were such a good little wife for him. being so good to your man while he wrecked your sweet little hole.
"honey! please! you whimpered as you arched your back, but didn't get far due to the impressive size of your lover. you felt pinned under him, his strength. you gasped out another noise as the blunt head of his cock kept bullying your sweet insides. letting it make a huge mess of you, his cock was soaked in your wetness. it dripped down his hairy balls. he loved making his girl feel good.
he continued to kiss your face, not quite getting your lips. his facial hair brushed against your heated skin and made you over sensitive. his mouth kept running as he kept moving. he felt hot all over, like a heat in his gut as he battered your sweet insides, “my perfect woman. know how to take me so well. meant to take me. givin' me the privilege to make you a mama. ya like that? showin' up to uni with a little extra next semester. my dutiful little wife. keepin' up her studies while she nursing my babe.” he chuckled as he continued to keep that pussy of yours nice and filled.
you gasped and moaned into the covers. you could be as loud as you wanted, you were in the safety of your bedroom as price rutted against you. your body was sweaty and your head was swimming. it was so painfully erotic, you felt hot all over. your heart thumped in your chest with a heavy beat as price kept moving against you.
“you're lucky you have the ring already. if your classmates saw you with a nice round middle, they might have gotten the wrong idea about you. that you're a dirty slag who can't keep her legs closed.” he chuckled as he licked down the sweat on the side of your neck, “dirty bird. but it's alright, we're married. you're my wife. mrs. jonathan price. about time you got a little one in your belly.” he pressed further into you and it made your head spin. his cock felt like it was pressing into your stomach.
“i love you.” you panted.
he finally kissed your lips, or at least the corner as he tightened his hold around your throat, “i love ya too, sweet thing. lettin' my cock bully your sweet insides. made for me, all of me. don't worry, be keepin' that womb warm for a long time. hope ya like 'em big, price boys can be a handful.” he laughed as he kissed the back of your neck.
he was fully crowded in your space as he worked your sweet pussy. you barely had time to think before you felt the flash of orgasm through your body. it was like being engulfed in a quick heat while your body tensed up and your mind went blank. your pussy drooling on his cock, beckoning him to finish inside of you.
a good husband always finishes in his wife.
with a few more heavy thrusts against your limp body price finished inside of you. he pushed his cock all the way inside of you and made sure that your hips were at an angle that made it easier for you to get pregnant. he clutched onto you as he slowed down to a stop. your eyes rolled back a little as he pulled out. the loss of pressure made you whine. you weren't able to form any proper thoughts, your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as your husband rolled you onto your back and kissed you deeply on the lips.
no need to think, mrs. price. let your rugby playing husband do all the decision making. <3
coworkers Soap/Reader where you keep rejecting his sleazy advances but of course he takes it as a challenge. there's a secret Santa gift exchange at work because your company is small and your boss keeps pushing for closeness, and by your luck (or misfortune, depending on who you ask) Soap draws your name. you pray he gets you something normal like socks or a mug but judging by his uncanny grin, it's something much, much worse. it's a dildo. tan-coloured and veiny, bulbous, fat and plump. the box details something about...moulding? and it doesn't take much for you to piece together what his gift is. beneath your embarrassment and anger you can't help but seethe and squirm at his dog-eared sticky note attached to it, spelling, "Just to loosen you up" as Soap gives you a skin-crawling grin over the wrapping paper, sporting a thick tent in his jeans :(((((
Simon didn’t like how easily men were able to get your attention, how friendly and kind you were. how helpful you were to the new recruits. it made his blood literally boil and he had no intention of holding back on you when you walked into his small condo, separate from the recruits dorms.
he would hold you down almost, fucking up into you as he used the images of you talking to the other recruits as reason enough to not be so easy on your pussy.
but he still cared for you, despite being so angry. he’d kiss you as both his hands were wrapped around your throat, just before gripping your hair around his hand and fucking up into you. so horny, so desperate to fill you up.
“you belong to me. don’t act like you fucking forgot that.” he would growl down to you as he pounded you from behind, his fingers gripping your hips as your head fell into the pillow, your orgasm rapidly approaching. “poor souls wanna fuck you so bad.. they don’t know how your pussy is always so full of my cum. MY cum.”
idk y’all i’ve been seeing these porn link short stories soo i thought i’d give it a go
imagine picking up the wrong cake order on gaz’s birthday. so instead of happy birthday baby, it reads congratulations dad. you try laughing it off, rubbing an apologetic hand down his back as he blows out the candles, but he gets a real serious, real dark look in his eye for the rest of the night.
it’s as good as you asking for one. mistake just a flimsy excuse you used to cover up around friends. the second the party’s over, he has you drilled into the floor, knees by your ears, fucking three loads worth of cum into your poor, battered pussy. there’s really no need to be so sneaky about it, darl. he’ll give you a baby if you want one
kidnapper könig trying to feed you, he does, and even cooks everything himself, but it's doesn't matter to you at all, when you avoid him in this small cabin, hiding in the room when he's calling you to eat, fearing, knowing he's going to poison you, or drug to use, even through he's not, taking a spoon to show you that the food is good and you have nothing to fear.
yet, you almost starve yourself, not accepting either homemade meals or buyed one's, walking around sluggish and weaker than you looked before to his eyes, drinking some water and eating a bits of fruits here and there, the only things you sure in them, but nothing more, seeing how his eyes droop down in childlike resentment when you refuse his offers to cook something fresh for you.
it's a big way for you to accept his feeding, or the starve talking in your belly, yowling at you when you catch a whiff of the hearty, mouthwatering stew he was cooking, enough to make you paddle out of the bedroom to check at the smell, even through you hate the amused creases around his eyes you see, lined deep in his skin, as he croons for you to come closer, have a taste, kleiner hase.
eventually, you do, and it's the best food you ever tried, rich and flavorful, the meat is soft and appetizing, neatly sliced and carefully cooked to make it easier for you to eat, along with the cubs of melting, tasty potatoes, as you hum and devour spoon after spoon, warming your belly, too lost in the taste to see the pleased, giddy glint in könig's glacial, sparkling eyes, as he watches you.
it's only then, when you ate two bowls, that you ask what about him, a silly, innocent question that tugs at his thrumming heart, as he scoops you up on the wooden table, brushing the bowls aside, even through your little, squeaky protests that eventually die on your tongue when he thumbs a calloused touch over your panties.
pressing against the pudgy, small bud of your clit, hidden there against your puffy, clenching folds, soaking your cotton panties with little drops of slick, reacting to his touch, to the way könig throws his hood back from his face to nudge against your clothed pussy, nuzzling his nose right where you drip, licking teasingly, before he smiles lopsidedly, humming that his meal gleich da ist, hase.
thinking about simon riley waiting for you when you come home from work.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
during the times he's been on deployment, you still had to wake up every weekday at 6 and go to work from 7 to 3 which fills the empty void in your heart but still, you dread to go back to an empty home.
so, when simon comes back after 3 long months on deployment, he sets his bags down and kicks his boots off, treading to the bathroom and taking a shower so at least he doesn't reek of sweat and war when his missus comes home. he turns the shower off, gets changed, makes himself a cuppa, and sits on the couch patiently waiting for you.
when he hears your car parking in the driveway, he can't help but feel his lips curl up a bit knowing you won't walk into an empty house anymore.
unlocking the door, you let out a long, exhausted sigh after a day of scolding interns who barely do their job right. much to your surprise, after walking in and taking off your shoes, you see your husbands boots on the spot of the rack that has been empty for the past 3 months. whipping your head around, you see simon riley smiling right at you, sitting on the couch in your shared living room.
"simon!" you let out as you run over to your husband, engulfing him in an embrace he reciprocates with his bear hugs. "hi luvie" he responds back as he nuzzles his face into your neck, "i missed you".
that night, he tells you that he's decided to resign from the 141, saying that he can't go to war knowing the dangers and turmoil it may bring in future deployments. and knowing that you are home alone every night, worrying about him, having to lay alone in your shared bed.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
this is my first drabble (i think thats what its called?) likes + reblogs or comments are much appreciated !!
Task Force 141 when you jump out from your hiding spot to scare them -
John Price, who doesn’t even flinch, but crosses his arms over his chest and stares at you inquisitively.
“What’re you doing?” He asks, the fun deflating from you immediately.
“Nothing.” You mumble.
Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, whose body takes a screenshot, whatever he was holding flying briefly up in the air before catching it again. He joins in your laughter, after catching his breath.
John “Soap” MacTavish, who lets out the most high pitched, blood curdling scream and clutches his chest. The reaction scared you, making you scream as well. When you both stop screaming, you just stare at each other.
“Stupid.” He mumbles, pushing your head to the side as he walks by you.
Simon “Ghost” Riley, whose hand whips out at the speed of light, gathering your shirt in his fist and yanking you up on your toes. You barely have time to let out a choked “Wait!”, covering your face when his fist instinctively rears back. He stops when he notices it’s you and sets you back on the ground.
It would be so jarring dating Soap because he will so casually say shit like "spit in my mouth would ye bonnie?" with full sincerity at the pub. "The new nails are well braw... naw had a finger up my arse in a while hen so time tae break them in" when you are at a bloody wedding. "Dinnae take it personal LT, she's on the rag and I havnae given her head in over an hour so that's why she's bitchin'. Open up bonnie, let me make it better" as he is bullying his head between your thighs when you're supposed to be having a nice dinner at his Lieutenants house and you snap at Ghost.
Johnny just does not have an off switch nor do you think he understands the concept of public decency. But fuck he's so damn good to you and is so incredibly obsessed with making you cum that you just learn to live with the embarassment he puts you through.
ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.
soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)
interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?
"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."
soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.
"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.
soap nods. "ah'll be there."
"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."
yeah, he'd hate to have that.
soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.
maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.
"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.
simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"
soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."
the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.
you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.
"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."
you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."
your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-
"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"
he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.
"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."
you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.
Kyle has his tongue halfway down Johnny's throat when the petulant knocking previously on the other side of the wall migrates to his front door.
It's not like he didn't hear it before. Just that he didn't care. And really, if it were up to him, he'd continue rutting their leaky cocks together until he were gratified enough to deal with whatever bullshit problem the neighbour's have this time. Being pent up off the end of a bad mission does that to you, you see. Wears you down until you're all instinct, aggression, sybaritic once you taste death on the barrel of an M-16. He doesn't have any propriety left in him. No patience.
But that's exactly what does it. The banging gets too loud to ignore, and Soap, bless his heart, isn't exactly quiet either. His moans meet the cacophony of knuckles rapping on wood. In the clamour, Kyle's remaining sanity wears infinitesimally thin. His nerves spark like frayed electrical wires. His balls ache with a climbing release that only grows steeper. And he's running on frustration that's been impossible to burn off. (It was his fault the op went to shit, no matter how his team insists otherwise.)
His fault. His fault.
God, can they fucking shut up already?
He rips away. A thread of spit still tethers him to Soap, swollen lip to lip. The man in question is flushed, blue eyes more watery than usual. Dazed, briefs shucked halfway down his lap, his shirt creased in all the commotion, exposing the hair-dusted planes of his muscled abdomen. Kyle can tell he isn't as bothered by the disruption. For all his acumen, Soap's always been the first to loosen up. All it takes is a hand down his pants by someone he trusts not to stab him.
He looks up at him now, blinking stupidly, saying nothing when Kyle gets up and steps into the closest pair of sweats. Wider pant leg, shorter inseam. Johnny's. The lining is soft enough not to chafe his balls as he scrambles for the speaker remote, and he thinks he starts to understand the appeal in going commando.
The knocking persists until he pauses the music.
When he swings the door open, he expects to find Agnes, or Gerald, or one of the other ten geriatric tossers living on his floor. They all like him well enough. Sending them away would be as easy as promising a day's worth of labour, dusting the shelves they can't reach, or some other menial task he can drag Soap along to do with him.
What he doesn't expect is you.
You. Pointedly not old, endearingly unkempt, and enraged enough he's surprised there isn't steam whistling from your ears.
If he's in any way moved by the novelty, he doesn't have the energy to show it. In many ways, he feels like an expanded version of the vein throbbing at your temple. Whatever complaint you have, he's sure he can match it with a hundred more, each distinctly worse.
"What?"
"Have you no fucking courtesy?" You snarl, twisting a sore fist in the scratchy fabric of your scrubs. Your knuckles look raw, scratched up. He half wants to kiss 'em better, half wants to huff a serves you right. "You're not the only person in the world! You share walls with three other people, and I'm sure you know how thin they are! That music is way too loud to even defend! You'll go deaf by 50, you bloody lemon! And that's not counting what you're doing to the poor sods who have to share a space with you, since you've clearly demonstrated a lack of care in that regard! Honestly, I should just call the cops to deal with this. Or the landlord, see how you like blasting your shitty playlist on the streets!"
The words don't mean much to him. Perhaps they would, if he properly digested them. But you're way too cute when you're mad for him to take you seriously. Your lips purse in a way that screams put my mouth to better use, and his fingers itch with the urge to pinch your nose shut, shut off your airflow, as your nostrils flare with heat. In the end, the only response he can muster is a lame:
"I've never seen you around before."
"I don't live here!"
"Then..." He trails off, looking back at Johnny on the couch, then the speakers, then you.
"I'm Maureen's caretaker. You know, your next door neighbour? Her Alzheimer's makes her sensitive to the racket, and she hasn't been able to calm down all day! Because of you! I've about had it up to here–" You raise a hand above your head, waving it wildly to emphasise your point. He has to bite his cheeks to stop himself from smiling.
"That's unfortunate." He says, and tries really hard to mean it. It seems you have a keen ear for apathy, though, because you cross your arms and tense your jaw and harden your glare until he's sighing, all dramatically, "Fine. Music down. Got it."
He means it, too. Despite all the awful things he's done — twisting a knife into the throat of a soldier pleading for their mum and using their corpse as a shield through the ensuing crossfire, most recently — he isn't heartless. He knows he isn't the only person in the world. The casualties that fell on his hands in the past month alone will haunt him to a point where he remembers that fact like it's a second skin.
But you turn your nose up, up, all self-satisfied, downright pompous if you ask him, and that brief flame of empathy flickers out like a candle held under rain. It's made worse when you walk away without so much as a thank you, and you really do need to be taught a lesson, don't you?
He never liked Maureen, anyway.
Malicious compliance is an ugly game, but to his credit, he doesn't turn the music back on.
Soap hasn't moved an inch, though his briefs lay over the arm of the couch now. One scarred, rough palm cups the mass between his spread legs, kneading his balls carelessly as he waits for him. Pillow princess. Kyle wonders if he's this laid back with Ghost, or if their brutish lieutenant makes him work for a fuck.
"They're bonnie." He hums, hugging his knees up and apart when Kyle slides a finger between his cheeks.
"And you're loose."
"Aye. Ye didnae think Ah’d turn up without gettin’ maself ready for ye, did ye?" Soap smiles crookedly, cocking his head to the side in that way he does. It narrows the gap between human and dog to an uncanny degree, and he's struck with the realisation that yeah, Ghost probably gives him whatever he wants with enough whimpering.
"Slut." Kyle says, without malice.
"Yet ye're pumpin' me."
He's got him there.
His hole is slippery, hot around his finger. He could probably get away with fucking him like this, no extra prep needed, and the Scot would enjoy whatever burn comes as consequence. But he uncaps the lube anyway, squirting it between the iron-firm canyons of Soap's ass and a little over the head of his own cock before lining them up.
And as he pushes in, he swoops low to whisper in his ear.
"Be loud."
Johnny loves a good challenge.
It's part of the reason they get along so well. Kyle seeks stimulating experiences like Icarus to the sun, and no one rises to the occasion better than his twin sergeant. He'll be the first to place bets over a deck of cards, or contribute to trivia nights at their frequented bar, or hop on the game with him when neither can sleep. He's even down to test all those sick fantasies that frighten birds off. Including, it seems, exhibitionism.
And Lord is he good at it.
Kyle is almost embarrassed, despite being the one to start it. Soap, on the other hand, has left shame with his shoes at the door. The air hangs heavy with sex and noise, the lewd slaps of skin on skin, his balls swinging to hit the cleft of his ass, just as his cock hits the same spot within him. Over and over.
The Scot moans with abandon, head thrown and back arched. He really doesn't need to slam his fist into the wall repeatedly, the mangled sounds tearing from his throat (an arbitrary pattern of Gaz, fuck, ye're huge, jist there, dinnae stop) more than enough, but it's a nice touch. By now, it's practice that assures him he's hitting the right spot (the dramatics are appreciated, not reliable). He knows just how to angle himself, where exactly Soap likes it, to make this worth both their time.
Though, with the way his cock is twitching untouched, he looks to be getting off on this too.
His mind is split between the delicious sight underneath him and an imagined picture of you. Are you more furious or turned on? Is your charge giving you a tough time for their transgressions? Did you sneak off to the bathroom to relieve your frustration in a productive way? Fuck. He wonders what you look like when you cum, drawing a picture with the very limited references he's been given.
Your brows scrunched, lips twisted, eyes screwed up. Still in your uniform, undershirt rolled up to your elbows as you slip a hand down the waistband of your pants. Unable to let yourself go completely. Shamefully indulgent. Fingers tensed over the lip of the sink, goading yourself along, pulling out and washing up the second you cum. Refusing to ride out the waves of your orgasm, but going home with a sticky mess between your legs.
Equal parts furious and turned on, he decides.
Soap grabs his hand to force it around his dick.
"You gonna cum so soon?" He asks — more shouts, really — even though it's a stupid question. Whatever helps you paint the scene...
"Uhuh! Uhuh!" Soap catches on, huffs trailing into whines as Kyle tightens the grip over his tip.
They're both one corny porn line away from bursting into laughter (which, the more he thinks about, the more he's sure Johnny is parroting the last film they watched together). He has to bite his tongue to keep the amusement from making itself known, jacking the length in his hands to the same tempo of his thrusts.
"Then cum, you needy whore. Make a fuckin' mess of yourself."
And it's terrifying how well they execute it. As though previously rehearsed, Johnny shoots ropes all over his chest, ending his act with a loud, punchy "fuck!"
Kyle follows not too long after, pulling out to coat the back of his thighs. Cum gets everywhere. That's fine. His couch is overdue for a wash, anyway.
"Good work," He chuckles. Quiet this time, the praise genuine.
"Alright, enough." He taps his cheek in a mock slap, smearing their combined fluids all over the stubble he'd begun to grow. The man is undeterred, sticking a tongue out to polish his palm. "That's overkill."
"That's gonnae git ye leid. Jus' watch."
"Us laid." Kyle corrects, because who would he be if he didn't grant his best mate a portion of the prize?
In the afterglow, he forgets all about his anger.
It's late when you come by again.
Well. Not late for anyone with a healthy circadian rhythm, but he's been living at his Nan's old place long enough to know that light's out is 1800 hours. Maureen is definitely asleep by now. And even then, the timing is odd. They've both bathed, stripped the couch of its cushions, ordered takeout, played a round of Mario Kart, finished the last of their reports, and emptied an old vape cartridge (after running out of cigs).
It's been hours since the last time they made any significant amount of noise. Your appearance is unfounded.
The knocking is subdued this time. One, two. Pause. The shadow beneath the door retreating, then waddling back again. He watches it occur over a minute or two, fond of making you wait, before rising from his place on the floor.
The door swings. Hinges squeak. You look worse for wear.
Kyle pouts, mustering every condescending bone in his body to suppress the true pang of sympathy he feels. "Awe. What is it this time, baby? Turned down the music, didn't I? And we've been so good all night."
"Y-You're... A foul, despicable human being. You know– i-it didn't mean– I didn't need to–" Your eyes squeeze shut, but that doesn't stop a hot tear from leaking down your cheek. "If you get off to making people miserable, then congratu-fucking-lations, you're one of 7 billion."
He listens. Takes you in, properly this time.
Blotchy face. Stained scrubs. Plain hands. Messy hair. Heavy backpack. Beat up sneakers. And a darling little face that really shouldn't be so affected.
Unless it's in pleasure, his brain supplies.
"Rough day at work, huh?" He pushes his shoulder off the doorframe, opening his stance up to something more sincere. Maybe it feels wrong to rub it in your face any further. Maybe it's because he recognises the signs a little all too well.
And it must be bad too, seeing as you don't resist. Nodding weakly, you keep your eyes shut and take deep breaths. He's worked his frustrations out already, patience back in stock, so he waits as you wrangle back the waterworks.
"No thanks to you." You whisper hoarsely, crossing your arms and looking down at his shoes.
"I'm sorry." He says, and actually means it this time. Johnny comes up behind him, body heat a flame to the fuel coursing within him. It's all the confidence he needs to ask: "Allow us to make it up to you."
And the way you look up — a little too quick, hopeful, pretty — he knows you know what he means.
You really were there, then. Listening.
"Really?"
"Yeah." Kyle smiles, sharp-toothed, careful not to appear too eager. "I know just the thing to help."
tags/warnings: mdni, infidelity (ghost’s marriage sucks), size kink, breeding , unprotected sex, degradation/dumbification, squirting, corruption kink if you squint
Simon is in a loveless marriage.
It’s sad—he knows that. Ever since he got back from deployment, things with his wife weren’t the same. She would stay at work late, come home smelling of someone else’s cologne, trying to hide her swollen lips.
Military service took a toll on him. The torture, the abuse, the loss of life—sometimes it was too much for him to bear. His wife didn’t understand, and he certainly couldn’t talk to her about it. She was too busy being fucked by other men to speak to him anyway. So, he kept his trauma close to his chest.
Then he met you.
You moved in next to him while he was away. When he left for service, the house was empty—vines withering up the creaky wood, yard overgrown and barren. As soon as he drove into his front yard, he knew that changed.
The house was fixed up, vines trimmed. A new coat of paint covered the old wood and made it look new. A hammock hung between two large trees in the yard. And one other thing was different.
Flowers. They were everywhere in your yard. Rose bushes, lavender, tulips, sunflowers—the yard was a rainbow of color. Simon could smell them from his front yard when he went outside to smoke or to get away from the confines of his house.
It wasn’t until he was smoking one afternoon that he saw you. Fresh-faced and young, gloved hands trimming back your rose bushes. It took him a while to say hi, but he did eventually. You were everything his wife wasn’t—kind, bubbly, thoughtful…innocent.
He found himself in your front yard more than he was at home, offering to help you trim your flowers or plant new ones. He was always filling the heavy watering can and watering for you—“I got all this muscle, sweetheart, let me use it for somethin’.”
Simon wasn’t sure when he began spilling his trauma, but one day, he sat on your couch with a glass of lemonade telling you about the war. The torture, the loss of his military brethren—everything. He told you about his past and his present, about his failing marriage; and most importantly, that he trusted you.
The first intimate actions were small. A brush of a hand, a squeeze of a thigh. Lips brushed against an ear. Small actions that made your tummy clench and his face grow hot. Eventually, it led to something more. Soft kisses on tender lips, hands running over scarred skin and muscle, strong arms wrapped around you.
And tonight, you kissed him with a hunger he couldn’t ignore anymore. Your tongue swiped so slowly along his that his knees buckled and his heart slammed against his chest. His fingers gripped your ass so tightly, you thought it would bruise, but it sent heat to your core all the same.
That’s how you find yourself now—on your back in your bed, sheets sprawled around you and Simon eating you like a man starved. His tongue flicks so deliciously against your clit that it makes your toes curl and your grip tighten in his hair.
“Simon,” you whine, hips bucking as he sucks hard on the sensitive nerves. His response is a grunt, his middle and ring finger gathering your juices and teasing your tight entrance.
Your breath stills when he pushes his two thick fingers inside of your pussy, back arching and hips drawing back.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Simon mutters against your clit, tugging your hips down with his other hand and curling his fingers inside of your wanting cunt.
All you can do is whine as his fingers scissor and stretch your squelching pussy, juices dripping down to your ass. His tongue rubs circles around your clit like he’s painting a fucking picture, and you can’t help but moan out at the pleasure. His fingers hit that spongy spot that sends an electric jolt to your toes, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the pleasure.
“S-Simon, I can’t—I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish your sentence, your voice breaking off in a moan as he speeds up.
And then you’re coming, babbling nonsense and his name like a prayer as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. You don’t even comprehend that you squirt all over his hand and mouth, or that he’s rutting his hips against the bed and moaning into your cunt as he tastes you.
Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, his hands running up to your waist. Your eyes flutter open—when did they shut?—and you look up at him staring down at you, his lips curled into a smirk.
“Such a nasty fucking girl,” he murmurs as he leans down, teeth grazing across your neck. “Squirting for me like that. Gonna do that on my cock, too, sweetheart?”
All you can do is moan in response, and Simon chuckles before pulling back and tugging down his boxers. Your eyes widen as you take in his fat cock—thick and veiny and leaking precum. He holds eye contact with you as he moves to hover over you, rubbing his tip along your soaked folds.
You squirm and whine, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t think it’s gonna fit.”
Simon grins, positioning his tip against your throbbing hole. “Gonna make it fit.”
Your lips part as he slowly slides his fat cock inside you, stretching you out in such a painfully delicious way that you almost forget to breathe. You can feel every vein in his cock, and Simon lets out a guttural groan when he sheathes himself fully inside you.
“Relax, doll. Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight and I haven’t even moved.” His voice is strained, and he lets out a breath as you try to relax.
His hand moves to your throat, squeezing slightly as he begins to move. Slow at first—painfully slow. You hold eye contact with him as he slowly ruts his hips against yours, his lips parted as breathy groans slip past. When you start to whimper and moan, he speeds up, his pace becoming almost animalistic in nature.
The tip of his fat cock hits a spot that makes you see stars, and you let out a soft cry as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It feels so good, and you drag your nails down his chest because you don’t know what else to do.
“Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” He asks, grip tight on your throat. “You like my cock stretchin’ you out?”
You can’t even answer him, responding with whines and moans, tears sliding down your cheeks from the pleasure. Simon smirks, fucking you faster, and you cry out.
“Didn’t think I’d fuck you dumb, sweetheart. Can’t help it can you? Cock makin’ you stupid?”
You whine out, hiccuping out a moan as his other hand moves to your clit to rub in precise circles. Your eyes glaze over and you’re gone—submitting completely to him as he fucks you with his fat cock.
Your vision goes white as your orgasm hits you unexpectedly, stealing the breath from your lungs as your legs shake. Simon grunts and groans as you come on his cock, throbbing so tightly around him that you almost force him out. He simply fucks you harder, pressing against your cervix as your juices gush out of your cunt and you whine out, hips jolting.
Simon moves his fingers from your clit to your face, wiping your tears away and leaning down to kiss you. The kiss is hot and surprisingly sweet, and when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.
“Good fuckin’ girl. My girl. Gonna fill this sweet pussy up so good, baby,” he whispers against your lips, his arm hooking through your leg to open you up wider. His hips slap against yours, his breathy moans hitting your skin softly.
“Please, Simon,” you breathe out, voice catching as he fucks into you. “Need it. Please.”
That’s all it takes for Simon to crumble, moaning out curses and your name as his cock throbs inside of you. He gives one, two, three more thrusts before he buries his fat cock inside you, tip against your cervix, and you can feel his hot seed pumping inside of you.
He thrusts lazily for a moment before sliding out of you, pulling you to his chest. Your lips meet in a sweet, lazy kiss, and you feel his cum dripping out of you. Simon’s fingers trace down your back, and he looks at you so delicately, he’s afraid you might break. His hand moves to cup your face, thumb brushing right underneath your eyes. Then he utters four words that make your heart stop.
simon isn't one for actively sharing girls with his teammates. however, he's a team player and as a fellow soldiers he fully understands and shares the needs the rest of 141 may have, especially while deployed. and as such, he also knows that a little video or picture helps a lot when realising some tension.
that's why every here and there, he pities his mates and decides to become benevolent by sharing some of the pictures you send him, may they be fully clothed ones, pictures in which you show a bit of skin or ones in which you are quite scantily clad.
his compassion is also the reason why when he gets home and finally gets to fuck you he records a small video, something for him to have while he's away and that reminds him for how good you are for him.
but team player, right? that's how the guys end up seeing the video of you sitting in simon's lap, jumping up and down on his thick cock and a perfect view of your bouncing tits.
let's say price, soap and gaz are fairy thankfully for ghost's service
