You grumble awake to the loud booming sound of ‘Cruel Summer’ blasting on the home speakers of your home, and with half a mind to just lay there and and wallow in your once peaceful slumber you were met with the song being quickly changed to ‘Tik Tok’ by Kesha. Okay…now you had go downstairs and see what was going on.
As you expected there stood your husband and your seven year old, both equally messy from pancake batter- the girl standing on the counter while using a batter covered spoon as a microphone. Meanwhile your husband entertained her by is own very dramatic rendition of the song.
it all halted when they saw you on the stairs, “Hi, mom. Did we-“
“mmhm.”
to that your husband interjected by grabbing a mug, “Got your coffee ready, love.”
That was a good diversion, you had to admit, so you hold the mug and then hum, “Smart boy, solider.”
“The smartest,” he gave a smile, “Want some pancakes?”
“If you want to see the night, I suggest you get on it- which chocolate chips, please.”
He nods, taking the snarky reply as honesty, “Yes, Ma’am. Alright Abs! Ya heard the dictator.” He turns to face the girl, who then stood at attention, “Two chocolate chip pancakes, stat!”
Needless to say your pancakes were ready by the time ‘Hot ‘n Cold’ by Katy Perry was playing.
(…uh cute stuff? Comments and feedback truly mean the world to me! Toodles!)
As much as I adore him, being married to Simon is betting on a losing dog.
It’s missed anniversaries and important dates, it’s him only being home a few months out of the year, it’s having to break down his walls every time someone close to him dies, it’s having the patience of a saint with little to no reward, it’s a rushed apology every single time; maybe with flowers if he manages to find the time, it’s vacation time cut early because he was called for an emergency deployment, it’s walking on eggshells to make sure you don’t trigger him, it’s providing him with constant reassurance that you’ll be safe despite being married to him, it’s giving him all you’ve got until there’s nothing left.
Your parents think you need to get married and settle down, so they called in a favour. A big military man of a husband might do you some good just not in the way they think
Warnings: arranged marriage, sort of sugar baby/daddy relationship, misogynist parents, future revenge, mention of hook-ups
WC: 986
6k Follower Celebration Bingo
Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library
You often wondered about the true scope of your family’s stupidity. Sure, there were moments in your childhood where you had the vivid thought that no one could be as ignorant and blatantly idiotic as your parents were but somehow, they had absolutely hit rock bottom of moronic decisions.
“What the fuck do you mean I’m getting married?” Your mother gasped.
“Watch your tone young lady, that is no way to speak to your parents.” She scolded as your father’s expression hardened. There was no question that your parents were ‘traditional’ believing that women were less than their male counterparts in every way but while they had constantly lectured you on those beliefs, they hadn’t gone so far as to inflict them upon you, until now at least. They even helped you and encouraged you through college!
“You’ve been running wild long enough, it’s time for you to do your duty,” you fought the urge to roll your eyes, “We’ve let you chase your silly little dreams but you’re getting older and your clock is ticking.” Your father clicked his tongue and reached for the tumbler of expensive bourbon on the table beside his recliner.
“We’ve picked out a good man!” Your mother chirped from her place on the expensive love seat next to your father, “He’s highly decorated in the military, he can give you a good life.”
“I don’t give a shit about that! I’m not marrying anybody! Period!” You snarled. Anger curled in your gut, turning your tone sour.
Your father’s glass slammed down onto the wood, making your mother flinch. “You will marry him or I will make your life a living hell. I make one call and no one will want to hire you, not even as a fucking garbage collector. You know the connections I have. Suck it up and be a responsible adult for once.”
——————
“I don’t want a husband.” The man across from you made a sound that you thought might have been a laugh. Simon, as you had learned from your parents, was a Lieutenant in a special ops task force. Never married, no family to speak of and copious amounts of money, your mother had gleefully added as she literally dragged you into the official-looking building where you would be meeting your future spouse.
He was by all means, an intimidating man. Almost 6 and a half feet tall and wearing a stupid balaclava with a skull on it, he looked more fitting being in a slasher movie than in a conference room negotiating marriage stipulations. His bulky, tattooed arms were crossed over his chest, somehow making him seem even bigger to you, as he leaned back in his chair.
“I don’t want a wife.” Your eyebrows furrowed at that.
“Then why are you here?”
His massive shoulders rolled back as his head tilted, cracking his neck. “Same as you— orders.” You hummed under your breath and forced your gaze away from his tanned arms and up to his eyes. He was obviously a quiet man but in no way did that intimidate you. He seemed more pissed off at your father who had so rudely guided (shoved) you into the room than he did at you.
You cleared your throat. “I won’t fuck you.” This time, his laugh was more discernible. His broad chest rumbled with the sound.
“‘M not expecting you to, not unless you beg,” you made a face at him but Simon continued, “I get deployed most of the time, I’d just like someone to take care of the house and spend my money.”
“So I would be your sugar baby.” He shrugged.
“If that’s what ya wanna call it. Do what cha want, I don’t care. We just need to show up to official events together.”
You planted your elbows on the table between you and stared into his brown eyes. Simon didn’t waver. “So you wouldn’t have an issue with me getting a job?”
“None.” He answered quickly.
“Going back to school?”
“I’d happily pay for it.” You raised an eyebrow before a devious smirk crossed your lips.
“Get a lover?” His eyes blazed while he mirrored your position, the swivel chair beneath him groaning with his mass as he leaned forwards, planting his massive palms onto the table.
“I’d like to see you try.” Against your will, heat raced through your body, setting your nerves alight with the thrum of arousal. Simon’s mask shifted and you imagined that he was smirking at you.
You tamped down the feeling of wetness between your soft thighs, forcing yourself to remember exactly why you were in this situation in the first place. “You’re a lot different than I was expecting.”
He huffed. “So are you. Thought I was getting stuck with some bratty trust fund baby who’s never even set foot in a thrift store.”
“I thought you were gonna be a crusty old man who wanted me to put out so he could feel better about his broken dick and receding hairline.” Silence settled between you before suddenly, you both broke into peels of laughter, an oppressive weight suddenly lifted from the room.
You were relieved; Simon seemed at least like a decent human being if nothing else and it appeared that you could continue living your life, although without the occasional hook up here and there. But considering how handsome you presumed your almost husband to be, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
“I guess we both got lucky didn’t we?” You wiped the tears from your eyes.
“Or just benefitting from the sheer incompetence of the people that thought this was a good idea.” You rolled your eyes at him.
“So, should we do this then?” You asked. Simon rose from his seat and offered you his hand, which you didn’t hesitate to take. As he pulled you to your feet, he uttered:
you buy a second-hand laptop from a dodgy craigslist user only to make a carnal discovery hidden between the files.
cw for anal sex, face fucking, pet play, choking, masturbation, noncon filmed sex, overall dubcon, reader is fujoing out
ghoap (x reader)
-
You saw it in a flitting advertisement. Used Acer Aspire V5, female buyers only, and didn’t hesitate to contact the poster.
Ghost was his screen name. Macabre, but not something to dwell on because he’s selling the only affordable hand-me-down you can find. He insisted on meeting at a hole-in-the-wall pub, beneath a metal sheet awning. There’s a cigarette pinched between his lips as you approach, an overripe mask rolled over his broken nose.
“You’re our bird?” He asks in a Manchester hint, exhaling a plume of off-white smoke.
You stifle over that operative word—our—but push through it and meekly nod, preening at his feet.
Beneath the predatory glint of his eyes, you realize you’ve gravely miscalculated the calibre of this situation. Meeting a complete stranger in a gritty alleyway and waiting to pick up his scrap-metal laptop, all because it satisfies your budget.
“Yeah…” you mumble. Try to make yourself invisible even though it’s redundant—he already towers over you, his shadow eclipsing your body, his heat drinking you in.
“‘ere it is,” he grunts. “You’ve got our cash?”
You hand him the crumpled wad of paper, squirming as he passes his thumb over his tongue and folds through the money, counting it with a mean curl of his lips.
“That’s– is everything alright?”
He stuffs the money into his jacket and expells a deep prusten sound, like an idle predator. “Fine. Pleasure doin’ business with you, bird.”
Ghost turns on his mud-clogged boot and strays off, letting the shadows swallow him whole. You hold the bulky laptop to your chest and wield it like a weapon on your way home, finally settling into bed, ready to examine your new purchase.
The hinges creak as you pull it open. A grimace splits your cheeks at the dust crusted in the margins, the rings of juice gummed to the mousepad.
A few letters from the keyboard are missing, and a few strips of tape look dog-eared, peeling from the corners, exposing the laptop’s internal wiring. Gossamer-like, spiderweb cracks work across the edges. The screen is a blotchy eyesore, striated with horizontal lines.
You have to beat your knuckles on the laptop to keep it from jamming. You navigate the desktop with simmering irritation, invaded by the inkling that you’ve been utterly scammed. Nothing matches the photos advertised on Ghost’s account, and just as your annoyance is about to ripen into white-hot anger, something catches your eye.
It’s nestled into a nook on the desktop. It’s an unnamed folder that stares back at you, unassuming, the icon already half-opened and waiting to be examined.
You double click it, more like triple click, actually, since the mousepad decides to cramp, and squirm as the folder flares over the screen. It’s a collection of videos, their thumbnails all spotty and dark, eclipsed by the thumb of whoever’s holding the camera.
You find yourself scrolling lower, your fingers working against the mousepad like a rapidly unfurling spool of thread. You decide to investigate one of the videos, one with a foggy, filmy thumbnail, and carefully heed the title before poising your finger above the open function.
johnny_leash.avi
The video is grainy, as if it was imported from a camcorder rather than a phone. The first few seconds are a blurry with grey-scale strobes running across the screen, radiating an aura of seediness that makes a hint of discomfort sink like sediment in your stomach, adhering to your viscera. A deep, damp squelching sound peals out, tempered with the sticky noise of something being broken in, hollowed out.
The camera ebbs, settles, then focuses all at once. You think you’re going to faint.
It’s someone’s puffy ass getting stretched out on a fat cock. It puckers and tightens with each piston-paced thrust, red.
A large hand belonging to the person recording enters the frame. Their hand tattoos stretch as they split their palm across the hind of their spine, the cameraman’s fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into their back, clawing them down on their battering ram of a cock.
“Quit whinin’, Johnny,” the voice behind the camera loudly grunts.
The one getting split open, Johnny, snivels into the pillow. His spine is curved into the mattress, his ass pert and sticking in the air, rippling with the force of the cameraman’s hips.
A plume of dust travels over the screen, fleetingly concealing the image. When the soot thins into the air and bares the salacious material of the video, you gasp.
There’s a glint caught on something silver from the feeble lightning. It’s a chrome-plated chain, you see, connecting to Johnny’s throat. A leather collar cutting into his ruddy skin. The leash is wrapped around the cameraman’s hand like a reel, and each time he tugs, pulling his hand back as if winding up for an attack, Johnny gets peeled off the bed, his back arching so deep you’re sure it’s close to snapping.
“Shit, Simon—!” He squeals. “Can ye… slow down?”
The aforementioned Simon grunts. Animalistic, like a rabid predator. The camera whirls, the unromantic colours of the room they’re in bleeding into each other, and when it focuses, you see Simon’s large palm splayed against the back of Johnny’s half-shaven skull, gripping his hair, pushing him into the bed.
The man flails like a fish out of water, struggling under his hand. It prompts an emergency response out of you—the way he’s being fucked into the mattress, no doubt pressing a Johnny-shaped chalk outline like the ones at crime scenes into the bedding. Alarm seizes you, and the thought of submitting this to the authorities trumpets like strobe lights in your mind.
The video is written with inept non-professionalism, reeking with the sentiment of a found-footage horror film that it’s not the authenticity that rattles your bones like a wind chime, but the morality.
You tell yourself to stop the video, but as the thought squeezes itself between your ears, Johnny’s hoisting his neck back and peering into the camera, his striking-blue eyes flaring in all-encompassing horror. His lips pop open and wrap around a soundless scream, warbling.
“Yer recordin’ me?”
“Smile for the camera, Johnny,” Simon pants. “Who knows who might see this, right?”
Simon shoots his hand up and bullies his fingers past Johnny’s lips. He sinks his nails into the round of his mouth, stretching his cheek back into a repugnant curl. It’s paradoxial—how Johnny’s mouth is pulled into a smile, but his eyes are wide and wet, wordlessly begging.
Your body betrays your moral plight.
Your rapt ocular vein, the signals rushing to your mind, your nipples stiffening in your shirt. You feel as though you’re made of livewire, not matter, as you watch Johnny’s ass get spread open on Simon’s cock, his eyes rolling like unruly billiard balls to the back of his head.
His ass is red and patchy, burning up. Simon’s hand swats through the air and makes the sound of a whistle, flaring into a booming crack of thunder whenever he brings it down on Johnny’s ass. It makes you jump. Makes you feel as if your ass is being abused by proxy just by sitting, and watching raptly.
Instead of inching your hand towards the button that exits the video, your hand dips below your waistband and moves to cup your cunt.
The gusset of your panties is already hot, clinging to your dewy core. It sticks to your pussy, baring your puffy lips and swollen clit. You give it a few slaps and rub your fingers languidly, pace quickening.
But the video abruptly ends before the ascent to your pleasure is able to materialize. You yank your hand from your pussy, smearing your arousal on the mousepad as you search for another video.
You don’t heed the title—face_fuck.avi—before clicking it and readily spreading your legs, flushing at the sound of your lips parting.
The video starts, and you swear it feels like you’ve been hit with a brick.
Simon—or Ghost, you now recognize—is a behemoth. Huge would be an understatement for him. The camera is set up this time, somewhere across the room, but Simon still just barely fits within the margins. He’s folded over Johnny who sits on his knees with his back against the wall, his neck hoisted up at him.
Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. He’s hard—this, you’re sure of because of how red his balls are—yet still, his cock droops with weight, the bulbous tip scarcely teasing Johnny’s lips.
“You want your snack, boy?”
Johnny nods. He darts his tongue out and tries kitten licking the slit, but Simon isn’t having that. He grips the base of his dick and swats it against Johnny’s cheek, slapping him, the noise so thick and resounding it sounds like a palm that breaks his skin, not a cock.
“Greedy bitch,” Ghost snarls—you decide that name is more seemly for him—“Can’t wait when it comes to dick, huh?”
Johnny’s lips part, a response poised behind his chattering teeth. However, his reply gets snuffed out and shoved to the back of his throat as Ghost feeds him his cock, slamming into him with one, slick motion.
Johnny’s head hits the wall, his face puckering as pain blooms behind his skull. The action makes his jaw clench, clamping down on Simon’s cock, but Simon is quickly gripping his hair and puppeting his head back, sliding his cock deeper, until the tuft of steel-wool hair on his pelvis brushes Johnny’s nose.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ghost grunts. “No teeth.”
The only mercy Johnny is afforded is when he sinks his nails into the sinews of Ghost’s thighs, scratching him striated, trying to offset the burn in his jowls. The back of his head thumps dumbly against the wall with each of Ghost’s jackhammering thrusts, his smaller cock springing up and slapping against his navel.
You keen. Rub your clit a little faster, tease your forefinger around your winking hole as spit and precome sticks to Johnny’s chin the same way your juices strings your fingers together. Johnny goes lax and the video abruptly ends, and you almost feel yourself going crazy, hastily exiting the video because you miss the phantom sensation around your cunt getting stretched. You click on another video that has your heart jumping to your throat.
It’s dated from just yesterday, two days after you placed the order with Ghost.
breeding_my_boy.avi
Your panties are completely soaked through at this point. The image of Johnny folded like origami under Ghost, eclipsed by his body, makes you gush. His knees are pressed against his ears and his ass is in the air while Ghost tugs his cock, towering over him and pressing his tip against his hole, slowly sinking into him.
Simultaneously, you hook two of your fingers up your cunt. Your arousal seeps out and pools into the divots between your knuckles, hot and wet, making a sucking sound as you draw your fingers out and thrust them back in, pawing your walls.
Ghost pulls his cock to the tip before driving himself back inside. He’s deeply-seated, knocking the air out of Johnny’s lungs with each stroke. Ghost draws his thighs close for leverage and sinks his fists into the bed, on either side of Johnny before snapping his hips, feeding him his whole cock.
You sink your other hand below your pants and blindly sweep at your clit, watching with keen eyes as Johnny gets pounded into the mattress, his legs thrashing dumbly with the force, his hands twisting into the moth-eaten sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands and according to Ghost, he’s “not allowed to touch his cock.”
You can barely see Ghost’s sweat in the coarse-grained, gritty video filter. It comes out as glistening dew, dribbling down his neck and onto Johnny’s cheek, to which he swiftly laps up.
It’s the same thing for Johnny’s tears—sparkling in the soft smoulder of light, smearing like spread as Ghost works his rough tongue against his cheek, licking up his brine.
Johnny’s whimpers and the crack of flesh against flesh emanate out of the janky laptop as tinny, thin. However as Ghost lowers his head, grumbling against the hull of Johnny’s ear, whispering, the thin sound travels out of the speakers and punctures your stomach.
“Wish I could breed you, pup…”
Pleasure gyrates in your belly, frothy. You curl your toes into your mattress and buck into your fingers, feeling your orgasm beginning to crest. You pinch your clit the same way Ghost snakes his hand low, trapping the tip of Johnny’s cock between his fingers to squeeze.
“Smile a’ the camera, dog,” he mutters. Takes him by the jaw and dimples his cheeks as he makes Johnny look into the lens, his eyes glossed over.
“Y’reckon she’s touching herself?” Ghost growls. “Watching you turn a mess?”
Your orgasm is on the edge now. Ghost looks at the camera, his eyes glowing like predators do on trail cams, a swill of molten rushing through you. He looks like he did beneath the awning—animalistic, as he seems to stare directly at you, snapping into Johnny’s ass.
“m gonnae come…” Johnny whimpers.
Ghost chokes his hand around Johnny’s cock, sliding his hand up and down to the pace of his thrusts. And with what happens next, your body girdles, throwing itself into the throes of your panoramic orgasm.
It’s Johnny. Bending his back off the bed and squeezing his thighs. He moans your name—your screen name—the one used to purchase the laptop. He treats it like something to bite on to defer the pain of his orgasm, trembling.
Thick ropes of come shoot from his cock just as an off-white liquid escapes you, splattering over the screen. You’re quivering as Ghost fills Johnny, watching as his balls tighten and breathe like a pulse as he comes inside.
The three of you are miraculously synchronized. Your laboured breaths simmer, thinning into nothing, as the two of them turn to look at the camera.
You undertake the decision to keep the laptop.
And a week later while browsing Craigslist’s homepage, you stumble across a familiar username.
Posted by Ghost 32 minutes ago.
Looking for a flatmate in Manchester. Two roommates. Three bedroom. Females only. Serious inquiries only.
A second doesn’t pass before you’re writing up your application.
Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?
Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader
Word Count: 0.9k
Warnings: none
John Price
Government name.
Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.
“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”
Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.
“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”
“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”
He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.
“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”
When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.
Simon Riley
Military callsign.
When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.
“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”
“Fuck you callin’ me that for?”
Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.
“We playin’ games now?”
You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.
“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”
Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips.
A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.
Kyle Garrick
Government name.
He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.
“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”
Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.
If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?
“Kyle Ga-”
“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”
You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”
He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”
“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”
He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room.
“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.
John MacTavish
Military callsign.
He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.
Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.
“SOAP!”
Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.
“JOHNNY!”
“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.
“C’mere, c’mere.”
He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”
You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”
He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”
“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”
“You called me Soap.”
“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”
Can't stop thinking about Captain John Price, your good friend's boyfriend, listening to you talk about how you are considering getting a guard dog, and he whole-heartedly agrees with you. John likes you, you're a fantastic friend to his dove and you're sweet, and sweet girls do need protection. So he nods along and tells you he'll look into getting you one, a big one to protect you.
Two weeks later, you're invited to your friend's house, her telling you days before that John might have gotten you a dog, so to prepare! She wasn't sure, he just hinted at it on the phone.
Tell me why, after knocking at your bestie's door, she opens kinda pale and awkward, maybe even a little bit annoyed, inviting you in. Instead of a proper, legit, literal dog, John introduces you to Simon Riley, who stands there awkwardly but tall and intimidating while your friend apologizes, calling her boyfriend an idiot. But John isn't an idiot. For a while now, he thought you'd be perfect for his Lt., this just a funny way to introduce you both. And the only thing that took Simon to agree (after a sharp yet bored no when firstly asked) was to send him a picture of you at a bar, smiling.
Extra:
"So... you come with a leash?" You joke with the tall man, whose eyes wrinkle in amusement. He has been more on the silent side although very atentive, his intense brown eyes on you all evening. Now that you were both alone at the balcony, abandoned by the two love-birds, you tried to ease the tension.
"I don't do leashes but I can pull a spiky collar." He smiles as you giggle. Hell, he felt relief that you did. Even happiness...
"Yeah, it would fit you."
"Yeah?" His voice was low and buttery. "What about a tag with your name on it?" He leans down a little, just enough in your personal bubble, and your stomach flipped. You felt your cheeks warm.
"Can it be heart shaped?" You stare prettily at him and all he can do is to snort to ease the tension.
"However you want it." His reply was quick, eager.
Good evening, I can't stop thinking about Simon going brain dead as he fucks you :)
Like, just imagine. You're on your elbows and knees as Simon's hitting it from behind, when suddenly you feel something wet land on your back. You know it's not him finishing given the fact that he's still buried deep inside you, so you look back over your shoulder to see what the hell that was you just felt.
And when you turn around, the sight that greets you is one for the ages. There's Simon, eyes unfocused and glazed over, mouth hanging wide open in the most fucked-out expression you've ever witnessed. He looks like he's never had an intelligent thought in his life; like he's been reverted back to a primitive brain, whose only drives are to eat, breathe, and fuck.
As you watch him rut into you like a sex-crazed animal, it's then you spy the source of the mystery liquid dripping onto your back. There, dribbling steadily from Simon's ajar mouth, flows a thick stream of drool. It leads down from his bottom lip in long, viscous ribbons, landing and settling itself along the curve of your spine. If he even notices (which, by the look on his face, he's too far gone for such higher-order thinking processes) then he doesn't care. He just lets his spit pour freely from his open mouth, like some kind of wild beast that's got its eyes locked onto its next meal.
Simon is so mentally checked out that he can't even hear you as you gently say his name. No, all he can think about – all his shriveled little monkey brain can focus on at this moment – is how fucking good you feel around him and how fucking badly he needs to fill you up.
When Simon does finally cum, he can only manage a garbled string of grunts and groans that doesn't even come close to resembling human speech. After three, four, five thrusts as deep into you as possible, his whole body is shaking, and his trembling limbs give out.
He collapses on top of you without a second's consideration of his size, pinning you to the mattress beneath his warm, heavy frame. You can still feel him drooling a little as his face comes to rest in the crook of your neck, the mess on your lower back getting smeared between your bodies.
It's hard for you to breathe being trapped under Simon's weight like that, so you try lightly tapping him on the head to ask him to roll off you. Unfortunately, I'm afraid it's no use trying to gain his attention right now. You're going to have to give him a few minutes to collect himself, love.
The poor guy just fucked himself stupid, after all.
Oh nothing, just thinking about an accidental creampie with Simon Riley and him turning into a forceful breeding. 😇 mdni!!
Your thighs are on fire but it doesn’t stop you from riding his fat cock. Your pussy is so wet and sloppy it stains his thighs every time you ram him back inside. Your mind is cloudy and you’re high on hormones. It’s the first you’ve felt this way in months.
“‘m ovulating, lieutenant.” You confess through a desperate whisper when you feel him twitch inside you.
His eyes widen as they search yours with haste, trying to find your bluff. Bluff that you didn’t actually have the balls to come off the pill and fuck him raw. He made you swear to take your pill everyday. And he knows you can’t ovulate when you’re on it.
“Fuck. Get off.” He grunts gruffly, glancing down at the slimy, sticky mess you're making on him.
“But ‘m gonna cum—gonna cum. Gonna c-cum on your cock, ghost.”
Your pouting, pushing hard enough to shove the crown of his cock past your cervix. You grind into him in a frenzy, chasing your orgasm like you need it to breathe. He feels you tighten around him and your little fingers dig into his shoulders.
“I said get off, private.” He growls deep, fighting hard to keep himself composed.
But the feeling of your fertile little pussy pulsing on his cock makes him to lose control. You go to lift yourself off him once you finish, only for him to grab your hips and force you back down onto his cock, hard.
“Fuckin’ hell—” He groans gutturally, flooding your cunt with his hot seed.
“Simon…fuck!” You whimper from how deep he is, trying to wriggle out his unrelenting grasp.
“Is that what you wanted? Wanted me to breed you?” He rasps, driving his throbbing cock even deeper inside. “Then you better take it, love.”
summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...
tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5,000+ words
cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.
MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT
You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.
Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.
“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.
The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”
“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”
Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.
It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?
You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.
It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…
But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.
“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.
“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”
König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.
“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”
“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.
You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.
Then the man dropped his pen.
“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.
König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.
“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead.
Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.
“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.
In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.
You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”
“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”
“You know I can’t leave—”
His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”
His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.
“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”
“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”
“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”
Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.
“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.
“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.
You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.
“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.
“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons.
König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”
“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”
He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.
“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.
“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.
You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.
“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.
Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.
“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.
The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.
His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.
After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.
König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”
You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”
“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.
“König?” you asked nervously.
Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.
“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”
His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.
Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.
“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”
You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”
You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.
“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”
“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”
You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."
“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”
“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.
“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”
He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.
“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”
Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.
“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.
When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.
“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”
Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.
Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.
König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.
“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.
“K-König—”
“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.
“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.
Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”
You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.
“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”
“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”
“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.
“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.
“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.
“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”
“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”
His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.
Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”
“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”
He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”
“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.
“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”
The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.
“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”
“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”
“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”
“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”
He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”
“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
He froze for a moment. “What?”
“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”
Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”
“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”
“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”
“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”
He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”
It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.
König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”
“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”
König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”
“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”
“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”
“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”
König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”
“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”
“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”
“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”
“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”
“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”
“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.
He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’
With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.
He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”
“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”
“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”
;afab!f!reader, forced impregnation, age difference, slight dub-con (?). MDNI 18+
könig can't ignore the temptation to have his way with you. you're so young, docile, and compliant with him. you're eager to earn his validation and praise, doing whatever you can to earn a smack on your tight ass or to be accepted by the one you love most.
you bounce on könig's bulbous, weeping cock weakly. your thighs are trembling, and the pain between your thighs is only intensifying and worsening with each stroke and bounce. könig's large and scarred hands grip at your hips firmly, his breathing is laborious, and his eyes shut tightly. he can't bear to look at you, not when he's about to do something so shameful as forcefully impregnate his beloved girlfriend.
he's lonely and worries he won't be able to provide you with a family in the future. all he craves is a big, warm family. könig can't stand the fear of eternal loneliness—being alone forever. you're reduced to a sobbing, shaking mess on könig's lap, trying your hardest to appeal to him. könig warns you he's going to come, your velvety and smooth walls latching onto his shaft instinctively at the sound of his gravelly, hoarse voice. you're convinced könig will let you go and that he wouldn't force you to take his potent load; he wouldn't do that, right?
unexpectedly, könig pins you down against his meaty cock, stuffed inside your tight, slick hole. you shake and protest, attempting to pull his large hands off of you. the old pervert bucks his broad, sturdy hips into you and fills your tight wetness with his hot and milky creaminess, globs of arousal running down your soft thighs. könig fucks his release deep into your walls and forces you to bounce on his veiny dick, guiding you and gazing at you lustfully.
the guilt and shame he holds is obvious; you can see it in his half-lidded eyes. he looks disgusted with himself, sweat running down his forehead and his sensitive cock weeping inside his angel's cunt. you're so obedient that you won't utter a word of disapproval, accepting your fate with your older boyfriend to get swollen and pregnant with his beautiful offspring.
Leichenberg means 'Pile of corpses'. It got him picked on in school and feared in the military. It sort of helped him shape his persona while on the battlefield.
He loves horror movies, particularly movies where the horror centers on nature (ie The Descent, The Ritual, Annihilation)
He's completely normal under the mask. Not a 10/10 handsome but not hard to look at either. It's his personality that makes him cuter or uglier to people who know him.
Dude has an APPETITE. Being massive in height and in muscle means he's just always fucking hungry.
He used to be chubby as a kid. that also got him picked on. He started playing sports around 14 years old and it got him into shape- and he was the star of the basketball team.
He doesn't let anyone see him at the gym. He works out in private.
People assume someone of his size isn't fast. He's fast as FUCK.
Being on friendly terms with him is difficult because he's not considered very pleasant. He's pushy, arrogant, and cares more about performance than intent. He WILL point out mistakes and insist that they be used as learning opportunities. "Do not fuck up like that twice."
But once he's decided he likes someone, he's out for their approval. He wants the person he respects to respect him in return.
Someone please take this poor nerd on a date that doesn't involve a lot of conversation, he doesn't know how to carry one until he's comfortable with someone.
given the poor state of sex education when he was in school and his very minor interaction with women prior to you, könig was relatively clueless about almost everything to do with a woman’s menstrual cycle, besides the obvious bleeding aspect of it all. needless to say he was mind blown to find out about all the different phases, looking like a deer caught in headlights when you explained how much it fucks with your hormones on and off your period. he was literally the epitome of “just found out about periods… i’m so sorry women.”
ovulation was what he was most intrigued by, and not just because he’s always felt an overwhelming biological inclination to have you barefoot and pregnant with his children. all he knew was that once a month for a few days, your sex drive was insatiably high, and even the slightest of things he did triggered it. just the sight of him lounging on the couch was enough to have you jumping at him, pawing at his sweats and complaining that he was making his lap look too inviting.
you would be practically glued to his cock, sometimes to the point of frenzied and feverish. he could barely get anything done around you all glossy eyed and horny; he swears it’s almost as if you wanted him to stay inside you forever. he, of course, has no objections to this. it’s always a pleasant change from the snippy mood you’re in for a few days straight just a week before.
you don’t have a problem getting wet as it is, but during these days you get so creamy, and könig never gets tired of watching the way your pussy coats his dick in thick, pearly stickiness. the sex is always the most primal and dirty during your ovulation phase. telling him that your period tracking app warned you that your fertility is especially high that day would be like foreplay for him, and nothing made his caveman brain happier than to hear you cockdrunk and babbling about how bad you wanted to make him a father, begging him to breed your fertile womb. you can’t say stuff like that unless you mean it, maus, lest he rip the condom off and put a baby in your pretty pussy for real :(
you were both chancing it, fucking like bunnies on such high risk days. but it wasn’t like könig wouldn’t be ecstatic if it so happened to take…
warnings: afab reader, fem petnames, unprotected sex, piv sex, light choking, Simon calls the reader "little" because he is fuckin huge, simon is running his mouth, possible implied ghostsoap, reader isn't prepped enough
words: 1.0k
a/n: this is... i have no idea what the formatting is. it is what it is. most of this came from the shit i sent @glossysoap in her dm's today. also there are a couple of words that i purposefully had to not do australian so y'all would understand wtf i was saying lmao
not edited, thoughts left my brain and were typed. not my best work by far...
Sometimes when Simon was home, it was fun to poke the bear (though he thoroughly disagreed). It wasn't to be a brat, or to piss him off, just satiating some boredom and trying to get him to pull that cute little expression where his brows are pinched but he's trying not to smile.
You'd spent most of your Saturday pestering him: throwing balled up paper, poking him in the side, licking his arms when he was stood too close, just small annoying things. The final straw was when you pretended to be on the phone with a friend.
"Yeah no I'm not busy, just at my friend's place." That caught his attention. He stalks over to the sofa with a low growl, grabbing your phone off you and tossing it on to the other seat. Before you had time to react more than sitting up, suppressing a giggle, Simon had grabbed your ankles, dragging you to the edge of the sofa before he had you thrown over your shoulder, carting you off to the bedroom while groping at your ass and thighs.
He drops you onto the bed, quickly pinning you to the comforter.
"A friend couldn't fuck you like I do." The words were growled against your jaw, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.
Simon's hands quickly push under you shirt, making you shiver as his large hand glides across your stomach and breast.
"Gonna fuck that silly thought out ya head, love." Simon nipped at the skin of your throat before leaning back, staring darkly down at you. "Can't 'ave people thinkin' you're single, might try steal you away from me."
Pulling your shirt quickly over your head, Simon flipped you onto your stomach, unhooking your bra before running his blunt fingers down your spine.
"Simon." You whined out his name, shivering and pushing your ass back against his hips.
"Beggin' for your friend's cock, love? Desperate little thing." He tsk's at you, pulling your pants and underwear down over the swell of your ass in a quick motion. You helped him remove them completely, kicking them off and tossing them off the side of the bed with a kick, your bra following suit.
Behind you, Simon had pulled off his shirt and pants, rubbing his bulge through his boxers at the sight of you so hastily stripping. You dropped back down, presenting your ass to him while Simon nudges your thighs apart, settling himself between them.
He places a hand between your shoulder blades and pushes you down, forcing your chest to drop down to the mattress. You give a short exhale at the pressure, but the sound quickly turns to a breathed moan as Simon pushes two fingers into your cunt.
There is a pinch and a burn, but it quickly gives way as his fingers find that spongy spot just inside your hole and teases it. The precision and speed Simon works his fingers inside of you has you quickly whining and moaning, pleading with him to fuck you properly.
"Moaning like a whore for your friend? Begging your friend to full you up?" You blubber an apology at his words, the emphasis on the word friend, but Simon ignores you, instead working as quickly as possible to get you to come on his fingers.
You feel the coil tighten, the pressure building before you whine into the comforter, hips pushing back against his hand to try and take his fingers deeper.
Slowing his fingers, Simon helps you ride out your orgasm, leaning down to nip at the top of your ass with a smirk.
While you catch your breath, you hear a wet sound behind you, and shift to look over your shoulder, watching Simon as he sucks his fingers.
When he finally sinks his cock into you, Simon keeps talking, running his mouth while his keeps harshly meet yours.
"Clenching around a friend's cock, huh?" You whine, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts while Simon grabs at your ass cheeks to pull you back.
One arm snakes around your hips, hand resting on your mons and fingers rubbing at your clit, his other reaches up to your chest, grabbing at your jaw to have your back meet his chest, letting him mutter his filth directly into your burning ear.
"Maybe 've taken too long to put a ring on your finger, is that it? Haven't asked to make you m' wife so you're actin' up? Can fix tha', but first gotta remind you who you belong to." Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, panting as Simon's cock ruts against your cervix. The idea of marrying you seems to make it even harder for him to stop talking. “Gonna make an honest man outta me? be my pretty wife?" Simon grunts as your nails dig in to his forearm resting between your breasts. "Hell, can’t wait to fuck you as your husband. Mrs Riley, eh? Could cum just thinkin’ about you in a pretty white dress.”
You choke out a moan, clenching hard around Simon's cock at the thought of being his wife, but he nips at the side of your throat before tsk-ing.
“But ‘m just a friend, hm?” and you sob because not only does he emphasise friend with a cruel bite to your jaw, but his fingers move away from your clit. You whine, tears welling in your eyes as his pace slows too.
“‘f you let your friends fuck you like this I might have to keep you home.” as he groans into your ear and you shudder on his cock. “maybe should invite johnny ‘round, he’s a friend yeah? know he wants to feel your tight cunt, and if you let your friends bruise your cervix, he’s volunteering." Your head falls back against his shoulder as Simon picks up the pace again, a gasped moan pulled from your chest.
"Oh? I felt that, love. Wan' Johnny to fuck you?" Simon chuckles, the sound almost cruel. "Bet you'd make all sorts of pretty sounds split open on his cock." Simon lets go of your throat, letting you fall forward again, hips pushing back against his as his fingers return to your clit and his now free hand to grip your hip. "Talk 'bout tha' later. Gotta fuck y' good 'nd proper first. Be a good boyfriend, yeah."
bonus (because i'm price's whore): “hmm maybe let captain ‘ave a go. stretch you out all pretty on his cock. ‘s what friends do innit, love? yeah like the sound of that? sure john’ll take good care of your cunt”
warnings: afab reader, fem petnames, unprotected sex, piv sex, light choking, Simon calls the reader "little" because he is fuckin huge, simon is running his mouth, possible implied ghostsoap, reader isn't prepped enough
words: 1.0k
a/n: this is... i have no idea what the formatting is. it is what it is. most of this came from the shit i sent @glossysoap in her dm's today. also there are a couple of words that i purposefully had to not do australian so y'all would understand wtf i was saying lmao
not edited, thoughts left my brain and were typed. not my best work by far...
Sometimes when Simon was home, it was fun to poke the bear (though he thoroughly disagreed). It wasn't to be a brat, or to piss him off, just satiating some boredom and trying to get him to pull that cute little expression where his brows are pinched but he's trying not to smile.
You'd spent most of your Saturday pestering him: throwing balled up paper, poking him in the side, licking his arms when he was stood too close, just small annoying things. The final straw was when you pretended to be on the phone with a friend.
"Yeah no I'm not busy, just at my friend's place." That caught his attention. He stalks over to the sofa with a low growl, grabbing your phone off you and tossing it on to the other seat. Before you had time to react more than sitting up, suppressing a giggle, Simon had grabbed your ankles, dragging you to the edge of the sofa before he had you thrown over your shoulder, carting you off to the bedroom while groping at your ass and thighs.
He drops you onto the bed, quickly pinning you to the comforter.
"A friend couldn't fuck you like I do." The words were growled against your jaw, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.
Simon's hands quickly push under you shirt, making you shiver as his large hand glides across your stomach and breast.
"Gonna fuck that silly thought out ya head, love." Simon nipped at the skin of your throat before leaning back, staring darkly down at you. "Can't 'ave people thinkin' you're single, might try steal you away from me."
Pulling your shirt quickly over your head, Simon flipped you onto your stomach, unhooking your bra before running his blunt fingers down your spine.
"Simon." You whined out his name, shivering and pushing your ass back against his hips.
"Beggin' for your friend's cock, love? Desperate little thing." He tsk's at you, pulling your pants and underwear down over the swell of your ass in a quick motion. You helped him remove them completely, kicking them off and tossing them off the side of the bed with a kick, your bra following suit.
Behind you, Simon had pulled off his shirt and pants, rubbing his bulge through his boxers at the sight of you so hastily stripping. You dropped back down, presenting your ass to him while Simon nudges your thighs apart, settling himself between them.
He places a hand between your shoulder blades and pushes you down, forcing your chest to drop down to the mattress. You give a short exhale at the pressure, but the sound quickly turns to a breathed moan as Simon pushes two fingers into your cunt.
There is a pinch and a burn, but it quickly gives way as his fingers find that spongy spot just inside your hole and teases it. The precision and speed Simon works his fingers inside of you has you quickly whining and moaning, pleading with him to fuck you properly.
"Moaning like a whore for your friend? Begging your friend to full you up?" You blubber an apology at his words, the emphasis on the word friend, but Simon ignores you, instead working as quickly as possible to get you to come on his fingers.
You feel the coil tighten, the pressure building before you whine into the comforter, hips pushing back against his hand to try and take his fingers deeper.
Slowing his fingers, Simon helps you ride out your orgasm, leaning down to nip at the top of your ass with a smirk.
While you catch your breath, you hear a wet sound behind you, and shift to look over your shoulder, watching Simon as he sucks his fingers.
When he finally sinks his cock into you, Simon keeps talking, running his mouth while his keeps harshly meet yours.
"Clenching around a friend's cock, huh?" You whine, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts while Simon grabs at your ass cheeks to pull you back.
One arm snakes around your hips, hand resting on your mons and fingers rubbing at your clit, his other reaches up to your chest, grabbing at your jaw to have your back meet his chest, letting him mutter his filth directly into your burning ear.
"Maybe 've taken too long to put a ring on your finger, is that it? Haven't asked to make you m' wife so you're actin' up? Can fix tha', but first gotta remind you who you belong to." Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, panting as Simon's cock ruts against your cervix. The idea of marrying you seems to make it even harder for him to stop talking. “Gonna make an honest man outta me? be my pretty wife?" Simon grunts as your nails dig in to his forearm resting between your breasts. "Hell, can’t wait to fuck you as your husband. Mrs Riley, eh? Could cum just thinkin’ about you in a pretty white dress.”
You choke out a moan, clenching hard around Simon's cock at the thought of being his wife, but he nips at the side of your throat before tsk-ing.
“But ‘m just a friend, hm?” and you sob because not only does he emphasise friend with a cruel bite to your jaw, but his fingers move away from your clit. You whine, tears welling in your eyes as his pace slows too.
“‘f you let your friends fuck you like this I might have to keep you home.” as he groans into your ear and you shudder on his cock. “maybe should invite johnny ‘round, he’s a friend yeah? know he wants to feel your tight cunt, and if you let your friends bruise your cervix, he’s volunteering." Your head falls back against his shoulder as Simon picks up the pace again, a gasped moan pulled from your chest.
"Oh? I felt that, love. Wan' Johnny to fuck you?" Simon chuckles, the sound almost cruel. "Bet you'd make all sorts of pretty sounds split open on his cock." Simon lets go of your throat, letting you fall forward again, hips pushing back against his as his fingers return to your clit and his now free hand to grip your hip. "Talk 'bout tha' later. Gotta fuck y' good 'nd proper first. Be a good boyfriend, yeah."
bonus (because i'm price's whore): “hmm maybe let captain ‘ave a go. stretch you out all pretty on his cock. ‘s what friends do innit, love? yeah like the sound of that? sure john’ll take good care of your cunt”
warnings: afab reader, fem petnames, unprotected sex, piv sex, light choking, Simon calls the reader "little" because he is fuckin huge, simon is running his mouth, possible implied ghostsoap, reader isn't prepped enough
words: 1.0k
a/n: this is... i have no idea what the formatting is. it is what it is. most of this came from the shit i sent @glossysoap in her dm's today. also there are a couple of words that i purposefully had to not do australian so y'all would understand wtf i was saying lmao
not edited, thoughts left my brain and were typed. not my best work by far...
Sometimes when Simon was home, it was fun to poke the bear (though he thoroughly disagreed). It wasn't to be a brat, or to piss him off, just satiating some boredom and trying to get him to pull that cute little expression where his brows are pinched but he's trying not to smile.
You'd spent most of your Saturday pestering him: throwing balled up paper, poking him in the side, licking his arms when he was stood too close, just small annoying things. The final straw was when you pretended to be on the phone with a friend.
"Yeah no I'm not busy, just at my friend's place." That caught his attention. He stalks over to the sofa with a low growl, grabbing your phone off you and tossing it on to the other seat. Before you had time to react more than sitting up, suppressing a giggle, Simon had grabbed your ankles, dragging you to the edge of the sofa before he had you thrown over your shoulder, carting you off to the bedroom while groping at your ass and thighs.
He drops you onto the bed, quickly pinning you to the comforter.
"A friend couldn't fuck you like I do." The words were growled against your jaw, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.
Simon's hands quickly push under you shirt, making you shiver as his large hand glides across your stomach and breast.
"Gonna fuck that silly thought out ya head, love." Simon nipped at the skin of your throat before leaning back, staring darkly down at you. "Can't 'ave people thinkin' you're single, might try steal you away from me."
Pulling your shirt quickly over your head, Simon flipped you onto your stomach, unhooking your bra before running his blunt fingers down your spine.
"Simon." You whined out his name, shivering and pushing your ass back against his hips.
"Beggin' for your friend's cock, love? Desperate little thing." He tsk's at you, pulling your pants and underwear down over the swell of your ass in a quick motion. You helped him remove them completely, kicking them off and tossing them off the side of the bed with a kick, your bra following suit.
Behind you, Simon had pulled off his shirt and pants, rubbing his bulge through his boxers at the sight of you so hastily stripping. You dropped back down, presenting your ass to him while Simon nudges your thighs apart, settling himself between them.
He places a hand between your shoulder blades and pushes you down, forcing your chest to drop down to the mattress. You give a short exhale at the pressure, but the sound quickly turns to a breathed moan as Simon pushes two fingers into your cunt.
There is a pinch and a burn, but it quickly gives way as his fingers find that spongy spot just inside your hole and teases it. The precision and speed Simon works his fingers inside of you has you quickly whining and moaning, pleading with him to fuck you properly.
"Moaning like a whore for your friend? Begging your friend to full you up?" You blubber an apology at his words, the emphasis on the word friend, but Simon ignores you, instead working as quickly as possible to get you to come on his fingers.
You feel the coil tighten, the pressure building before you whine into the comforter, hips pushing back against his hand to try and take his fingers deeper.
Slowing his fingers, Simon helps you ride out your orgasm, leaning down to nip at the top of your ass with a smirk.
While you catch your breath, you hear a wet sound behind you, and shift to look over your shoulder, watching Simon as he sucks his fingers.
When he finally sinks his cock into you, Simon keeps talking, running his mouth while his keeps harshly meet yours.
"Clenching around a friend's cock, huh?" You whine, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts while Simon grabs at your ass cheeks to pull you back.
One arm snakes around your hips, hand resting on your mons and fingers rubbing at your clit, his other reaches up to your chest, grabbing at your jaw to have your back meet his chest, letting him mutter his filth directly into your burning ear.
"Maybe 've taken too long to put a ring on your finger, is that it? Haven't asked to make you m' wife so you're actin' up? Can fix tha', but first gotta remind you who you belong to." Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, panting as Simon's cock ruts against your cervix. The idea of marrying you seems to make it even harder for him to stop talking. “Gonna make an honest man outta me? be my pretty wife?" Simon grunts as your nails dig in to his forearm resting between your breasts. "Hell, can’t wait to fuck you as your husband. Mrs Riley, eh? Could cum just thinkin’ about you in a pretty white dress.”
You choke out a moan, clenching hard around Simon's cock at the thought of being his wife, but he nips at the side of your throat before tsk-ing.
“But ‘m just a friend, hm?” and you sob because not only does he emphasise friend with a cruel bite to your jaw, but his fingers move away from your clit. You whine, tears welling in your eyes as his pace slows too.
“‘f you let your friends fuck you like this I might have to keep you home.” as he groans into your ear and you shudder on his cock. “maybe should invite johnny ‘round, he’s a friend yeah? know he wants to feel your tight cunt, and if you let your friends bruise your cervix, he’s volunteering." Your head falls back against his shoulder as Simon picks up the pace again, a gasped moan pulled from your chest.
"Oh? I felt that, love. Wan' Johnny to fuck you?" Simon chuckles, the sound almost cruel. "Bet you'd make all sorts of pretty sounds split open on his cock." Simon lets go of your throat, letting you fall forward again, hips pushing back against his as his fingers return to your clit and his now free hand to grip your hip. "Talk 'bout tha' later. Gotta fuck y' good 'nd proper first. Be a good boyfriend, yeah."
bonus (because i'm price's whore): “hmm maybe let captain ‘ave a go. stretch you out all pretty on his cock. ‘s what friends do innit, love? yeah like the sound of that? sure john’ll take good care of your cunt”
Simon Riley! who isn't traditional in the gross way but in the he wants to protect you and make sure you don't feel like you have to provide for yourself, he wants to be a safety net, something to rely on
Simon Riley! Who made it a point to buy your dream house as soon as you were married,
Simon Riley! Who didn't expect houses to require so...much...work
"Baby! The water won't turn off?"
"The fuck you mean it won't turn off just-" Simon grumbled as he dropped the moving box and walked into the kitchen, grabbing the handle of the faucet and trying to pull it, only for it to come flying off. Leaving him dumbfounded and you a giggling disaster.
Simon Riley! Who likes handy man tasks as much as the next guy but the people at the store are beginning to know his name
Simon Riley! Who didn't have a dad to teach him some stuff like plumbing and whatnot so he calls Price
"Oi, Cap-"
"She came to her senses and ran away, yeah?"
"No...I need you to tell me ho' to turn off th' water."
Simon Riley! Who does know how much you love watching him do yard work but doesn't dwell because these godddamn weeds-
Simon Riley! Who loves nothing more than watching you paint the walls of the house, finds it like to be a scene of a movie and it would be a lie if the reality was much better than the cinema
Simon Riley! Who hates facebook because you would randomly send him across the city because you found an old China cabinet you thought would be perfect
Simon Riley! Who doesn't care how his buddies tease him about becoming a domestic civilian so soon, because he would happily fix a thousand houses if it meant a thousand more years with you
(Comments and feedback make my day! annnd yeah that's it <3 )
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