[cs-glitch]

thinking about simon 'ghost' riley showing up at your door after a nightmare...

18+ MDNI !!!

cw: fem!reader, exes AND lovers, post-break up sex, angst, hopeful ending, 1.4K word count

“Dove?” Simon calls out, half-asleep, tears still fresh on his cheeks from whatever fucked up nightmare his brain had conjured.  It isn’t until he sits up and feels the cold air on his chest that he fully comes to.

He feels pathetic, really, he’s crying like a child because of a bad dream, and the first thing he does is call out for his ex– you.  The one he broke up with. The one he pushed away.  

He throws on a hoodie and grabs his keys- just to go for a quick drive, he tells himself.

You’re not sure why you didn’t just ignore the knocking and go back to sleep.  It’s bad for you, backsliding, and you can practically picture your friends scolding you already. 

You wrap your arms around yourself as you make your way to your apartment’s door. You find some odd comfort in the way it makes you feel smaller– the same way Simon always did.  

“I love you.” wasn’t what you expected to hear when you answered the door.  Not now that you’ve finally accepted the exact opposite of what he's telling you.  

You roll your eyes and scoff at him. “You don’t.”

He stares down at you, and you can’t help but wonder why he couldn’t look at you like this while you were still together. “Can’t tell me what ‘m feeling, Love.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap. “But I‘m right,” you continue. You don’t love me, Simon, you won’t fucking let yourself! You leave without a word, and you always push me away because you think you don’t deserve it- that you need to be punished.” Your words are desperate, as if you’re pleading with him. 

“And, and, you just expect me to take it, to sit by the door and wait for you to come back like a goddamn dog. I can’t keep doing this– I won’t.” 

“I never said that.” He tries to make his voice come out strong and certain, but you know him too well to fall for it. 

“You didn’t have to.” You settle on. 

He scoffs, “So what? It’s my fault you feel this way? I did this, ruined us?”

“Yes! No, I don’t,” you sigh. “I don’t know. I asked for too much, and I’m sorry for that, but… You weren’t fair.  You hurt me a lot, but I get it, I guess. You were too scared to stay, and I was too scared to leave.”  

It was silent for a moment.  “Let me in, Dove.” It’s not a question– you’ve both been here enough times to know how it ends. 

Against your better judgment, you step aside, locking the door behind him. 

His mouth trails your body as if it's the last time he’ll taste your skin. You tell yourself it is– that you mean it this time. 

He’s on top of you, caging your body between himself and the bed. The feeling of his bare skin against yours burns– you hate to admit you’ve missed it. 

You gasp as he bites your shoulder, his tongue trailing down to your breasts. “Need to taste her, love, please?” he whispers into your chest. You nod breathlessly, your hand shoving his head further down your body. 

He presses a rough kiss to your stomach, his eyes shine with tears as he glances up at you. “Missed you, haven’t touched another cunt since. Hated myself for leaving,” he confesses before his tongue starts lapping at your folds.

He’s eating your pussy as if he’s convinced that if he fucks you good enough, makes you cum right, it’ll be enough to make up for the past– enough for you to let him stay. 

You whine when he pulls away, running two of his fingers up and down your slit. “So wet for me, must’ve missed me too, huh Dove?” Despite his best efforts, you can feel the heavy weight in his words. 

“Yeah, I missed you too, Si,” you admit, your voice shaking as you blink away the tears. 

Your mouth falls open, a near-silent moan leaving your lips when he suddenly pushes two of his fingers past your entrance. He starts at a slow pace as he pumps them in and out of you. 

“She’s so tight f’ me, lovie, she always is. Fucking haunted my dreams, could never forget this cunt– never forget you.” He groans, stretching you out as he starts to spread his fingers inside you. 

You give a sharp intake of breath, your eyes threatening to flutter shut. He frowns when you pull him away by the nape of his neck. “Need you, Si, please just fuck me. Swear ‘m ready,” you mumble, pressing a needy kiss against his neck. 

His hands roam down to your hips, his rough fingertips pressing hard into your skin. “Whatever you want, ‘s fucking yours, dove. Swear I’ll do anything you want me to.”

You speak before you can think to stop yourself. “I want you to stay, Simon, let me in. Don’t abandon me the second shit starts to get real,” you beg, your hands squeezing his shoulders. 

He goes quiet, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the way his hard cock is pressed against your folds. “I’ll stay, swear it, love.” It’s not the first time he’s promised that– you’re well aware– yet as you spot the tears rolling down his cheeks, you desperately want to believe he means it this time. 

Your back arches as he suddenly and roughly pushes into your dripping cunt. You can feel his dick throb when your nails dig into his back hard enough to draw blood. “Fucking masochist,” you tease, pressing harder into the skin. 

You both let out a moan as he bottoms out, his balls pressed snugly against your cunt. You can feel the tip of him so deep inside you. It should be too big, too much, but it’s not– he never is. 

“Need you to move, Si,” you whisper, running your hands along his chest. 

He pulls out slightly before thrusting back into you, setting a slow and steady pace. It’s different from how he normally fucks you– fast and hard– almost as if he’s trying to drag it on. Make it last. 

He doesn’t speak. He just buries his head into your neck and breathes in your scent. You can feel his tears fall onto your skin. 

“Fuck, Simon, feels so good. Needed this, needed your cock, mmm, needed you-” you say with a moan, tossing your head back. 

He whines against you as his pace speeds up, his hand reaching down to roughly circle your clit.

You tell yourself it’s the way he’s pounding into you so deeply, that it’s only because he’s pressing your sensitive bud so perfectly. The truth is, though, it’s not until he says “I love you, dove” that you start to come undone. 

“Fuck, hnnng, gonna, gonna cum,” you squeal,  your ankles locking behind his back, unintentionally trapping him inside you. 

His hips start to stutter as he feels you clench around him. Wet noises fill the room with each sloppy thrust. “Gotta let me out, please, love, can’t hold it any longer,” he begs. 

You stop his hand when it reaches back to move your legs. “Inside, please cum inside me, Simon, need it, swear ‘m on the pill-”

That’s all it takes for his thrusts to falter; he’s spilling his hot cum deep inside you with a low groan. He collapses next to you, his cock still buried in your cunt. 

You place a gentle kiss on his skin as he pulls you against his chest, and the sound of your mixed breaths fills the room. 

“Stay?” you beg– just like you always do.

He's silent– just like he always it.

You don’t fully remember falling asleep, but as you wake up to the sound of a door slamming shut, you’re painfully aware of how empty your bed is. 

You fight back the tears and force yourself to head into the kitchen for a glass of water. 

You’ve barely processed the fact that Simon’s in your kitchen when he starts to speak. “Got you breakfast from that place you like,” he says, avoiding your wide-eyed stare. 

“You didn’t… leave?” Your voice comes out mangled, and your eyes fill with tears. 

He pulls you into his chest, his hand making soothing circles against your back. “You asked me to stay. Meant what I said, dove, anything you want.” His words feel real, and a spark of hope makes its home in your chest. 

It's not a promise this time, but something different– something better– a fresh start.

[slater-baby]

All of Simon’s baby photos are hilarious because his hair was see-through bleach blonde for the first year of his life, and he just looks like a perfectly shiny bald child with a little bit of lint glued onto his head lmao

[tojisun]

simon is very, very experienced in sex and when he fucks you, he fills you up and stuffs you swollen that you swear that you could feel his cock nudging at the back of your throat.

while stumbling over your words, you tell this to him one night, your voice splintering because of your ripping euphoria, and it's not even meant to be dirty talk or to tease him, but it hits simon so hard, he just fucking cums preemptively.

"si- whu'-"

"shit," he puffs out, pressing his face on the column of your neck, heaving deeply and tensed in his sudden orgasm. "shit, i- give me a sec, hun. give-"

you feel his face heat up from where it's pressed on your skin, his warm breaths turning even more feverish, and, god, how cute. but you stay still, breathing through your mouth, because simon may not be moving but he's still so big inside of you, plugging his cum in that you wonder if you should start worrying now because it's not a safe day, then--

simon moves, a little humping motion, and you squeak, dragging your dull nails along his back at the feeling of him fucking his spunk further in you and it's so debauched and it feels so dirty but, christ, it feels good.

you don't even care that it's simon's way of distracting you from his little "embarrassing" moment -- later, you'll tell him how hot it is actually to just feel him lose it and cum prematurely but for now, you'll enjoy this dance.

[shotmrmiller]

ghost who always have a grey, heavy, uninterested air about him but one day he comes to work, and he's got something behind his ribs clawing to be let loose. his teeth are clenched, his eyes sharp. his orders bite harder, his patience runs thinner, and the recruits feel it but don't understand it.

and it's all because you couldn't lie back and get eaten out like every other morning. it was routine. ingrained. automatic. ghost slips under the covers, dips his head between your thighs, and laps at your sex until you leave the mess he loves best— the slick, saturated spot he'd sniff while still wet. (can't blame me, luvie. it's sweet.)

you'd gotten up, thrown your clothes on in a hurry, and had been out the door, keys in hand, before he could get a word in.

unacceptable.

(kyle later catches him and asks him if he skipped breakfast or something. not by choice is what ghost tells him.)

[fierceanduntamedemotions]

Pairing: service dom!Simon x wife!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Inspired by real events and real delusions. Content & Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT: hardcore(?) bdsm, dubcon, somno, bondage, degradation, dom/sub, cnc, free use, rough sex, punishments, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, traffic light color system, safewords, use of safewords, subspace, dirty talk, spanking, spitting, slapping, breeding, PinV, creampie, implied cunnilingus, fingering, choking, manhandling, implied aftercare, possessiveness, biting, bloody lips, bruising, marking.

Simon came home early from his mission, having no interest in living to see another sunset or sunrise without you next to him. He wanted to sleep in the soft bed you kept for him, even if it meant zombie walking himself home. You flew out of the bedroom to plaster him with kisses, surveying for new injuries while he unlaced his boots. His ungloved hands gently took your tiny ones, bringing them to his lips. A kiss is pressed to your ring, and he halts. His eyes flick to yours, cold and dark. 

Shit, you've been caught.

His grip turns rock hard.

“What's this now?” And he shoves your three middle fingers into his mouth, inhaling deeply, biting down at the base of them. 

You tried to pull away, but between his teeth and his arm locked around you, there was no escape. He bit down harder, wet velcro muscle sliding and twirling between each digit, sucking on the tips of your fingers before letting them go, and leaving teeth marks. You’re in trouble now.

“Know that taste anywhere, love.” There's fire in his eyes, but not a hint of warmth despite their redness. “Playing with my pussy without me. Without permission.” He tuts at you. “And here I was gonna to reward you for being a good loyal girl. Know you're not s’posed to touch yourself while I’m gone...” His voice was monotone, but he couldn't disguise the calculation and disappointment loaded in his words. 

Your face scorched hot, “I—”

“Look I'm tired and not in a proper state of mind to punish you, so let's just sleep for now.” 

You dropped your eyes and nodded.

He brought a hand up underneath your chin forcing you to look at him. “‘M not angry, know you missed me,” he sweetened his tone up for you, but you didn’t quite believe him deep down. “Come to bed, we'll discuss your punishment in the morning,” and he led you into the bedroom. Tucked into his side, you fell hard against him, drifting blissfully asleep, reunited with your husband.

......

Simon was moving, a light sleeper. It sometimes took him a few days to adjust back to a regular schedule. It was still dark on the other side of your eyelids, but you could hear the faint beginnings of birdsong as you stirred to partial consciousness, just enough to roll over or flip the pillow to the cooler side if you wanted. Your arms felt numb and heavy and your legs were fuzzy, a sign of a damn good dead sleep.

A wash of cold air activated goosebumps shivering across your skin.

Wait. Where did your pajamas go?

You jerked awake, thrashing, but your arms locked you down in place. They were tied above your head to the headboard, but your feet were free. You strained your neck to look around.

“Good, you're awake.”

You exhaled a deep sigh of relief knowing he was there, but a splash of fear doused your insides. Flight or fight kicked in and you tugged at your restraints on instinct, a sharp pain shot through to your left shoulder. The ropes weren't too tight or painful on your skin, as long as you didn't struggle. Usually if Simon tied you up, it was just your hands together in front or behind, but he also had only ever done so when you were awake.

“I've decided what your punishment is going to be.”

A stone dropped into the pit of your stomach and your heart started racing again. You were scared in a sense, not of being hurt, but of the unknown. Anticipation.

“Remember your safeword and colors?” 

You nodded, “yes sir.” 

“Are your restraints comfortable enough? Do I need to adjust them before I start?” 

“They're okay. I'll tell you if it changes but—” He silenced you with a firm hand over your mouth, fingertips digging painfully into the fat of your cheeks and mandible. 

“No more speaking out of turn. Don't make me gag you so we can be safe, pet.” There was something haunting about him, ominous in a way you didn't often get to experience. Primal hunger was the only emotion you could make out in the dark, but his voice kept it leashed in chains of unpolished steel.

“Might need your words for this, best to save them.” Simon moved wordlessly into position and began.

.....

Between his hands and mouth you were three orgasms deep in subspace now; lethargic and moaning, legs shaking like a leaf while he barreled you into a fourth, noises growing more and more inhuman.

Your punishment was the restraints. Hands in rope jail, locked up for crimes committed. Guilty as sin, stinking of sex. They robbed him, stole from him. A pair of thieving criminals that touched what wasn't theirs. Masterminds in their own rite, needy and greedy. They loved to trace and tangle up inside him, make him weak for you, pull him close, tell him how and where you wanted to please him. He couldn't allow you to play unfair this time and turn the tables of your own punishment.

After your fourth, you were drenched and slick, chest heaving. He got up to fetch a towel and repositioned you top of it, fluffy terry cloth material felt like sandpaper scratching your buzzing skin. There was a dull sting in your muscles, tight from tensing, a sharp contrast to the fiery meltdown of your pussy, and the rest of your senses were jacked up to the highest sensitivity setting. Simon checked your hands and the knots that tethered them to the headboard, you wiggled your fingers to show they were feeling okay. He gave you a sip of water and you wheezed your color, then he climbed between your legs once more.

Simon did not ease himself into you, this was a punishment. Ropes, overstimulation, and a rough unforgiving dicking down. As greedy as your cunt was, it struggled to take his massive size, clamping down before he could take his rightful place inside you. Possession clutched at your throat and jaw, spit in your mouth instead of kissing you, slapped your tits, called you a whore, and made bruises with his fingerprints, until he could force the rest of his cock all the way in. 

Simon grunted, fucking you raw and hard. “Fuck this pussy back into the shape o’ me. Remind her who she belongs to.” His harsh thrusts made your body lurch, adding slack to your ties, breasts bouncing, flesh rippling from impact. The taste of iron leaked onto your tongue from biting your lip to keep words from forming. The sound of skin smacking, lewd squelching, and your moans filled the bedroom. He knew your body was primed for your next orgasm, walls fluttering and body jolting like an earthquake. Reaching down, he furiously rubbed your clit and bullied your g-spot with his tip until it sent shockwaves of prickly pleasure through you. “Cream my cock, slut. S'what you wanted innit?”

The only reason you were coming at all was because he wanted you to. You didn't beg him to stop despite the overstimulation that forced tears to down your face and your muscles to spasm. You loved to turn boneless and brainless for him to use. You needed him to be whole and he provided the hard structure you needed to go soft around him. Yin and yang. 

“Gonna make you come so many times you can't come without me.” His plan was to ruin you for everyone else. As if he hadn't already done that and married you because of it.

“You promised me you would wait. How am I supposed to trust you when I'm not around?” He looked down at you with a sneer, knowing how to tug on your heartstrings and summon tears.

“Won't happen again, sir. I'm so sorry,” you whimpered.

Simon pulled out of you so fast it gave you reverse whiplash, like being turned inside out. The air that he'd been beating out of your lungs finally rushed back in, filling you with enough oxygen to get you high and floaty. His big hands slapped down, roughly gripped your hips and flipped you onto your front, ropes twisting in place. He pulled your hips up and shoved his cock back inside. Fingers hooking into the softest parts of your waist, he pulled you back to meet his violent thrusts, hitting deep enough to make you gasp. 

“Like hell it won't, slag. Can't follow simple directions.” Simon punctuated his words with the heavy crack of his hand on your rear, and he laid a few more into you before you convulsed around him. Head buried face-first into the mattress, your tears stained the sheets, and you gasped for what little air you could find. Your legs were liquid and couldn’t support you anymore, so he tightened his grip and held up your hips. He kept fucking you while you rag-dolled, body collapsing under his relentless brutality and the extreme euphoria forced into you by another mind-altering orgasm. 

Your hips fell helplessly off his cock when he let go. One day he's going to blow your back out, paralyze you, and keep fucking you anyways. Sick freak. Your back was sore from his trusts compressing your spine and the angle of the arch he bent you into. You relaxed what you could into the comforts of your bedding, rubbing your thighs together, toes curling and cracking. His broad hands came up to your face, one moved hair out of the way, and the other applied a bone-crushing grip to your jaw, forcing you to look at him.  

“Color?”

There was none in his eyes. With his bottomless stamina, he could keep you tied up like his personal sex toy and use you for days. He hadn't finished once in the hour (hours?) since the session started, and you knew he had to be aching for release. You twitched in your restraints, but the silken bite from the rope couldn't overide how much you wanted to touch him and coax him to come. You'd do anything to make that happen.

“Green.”

He pulled your ankles apart and slot in to fuck you prone. You moaned and your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he stuffed his fat cock in you again. Each position hit a little different, this time the tingling radiated in your kidneys when he pounded you from the back, dislodging every broken breath from your lungs. He was reaching depths that only he could navigate. Only he knew what buttons to press and strokes to place to have you unraveling.

A hand wormed its way underneath to press above your pubic bone. “Another,” he commanded. On cue, the band tightened and snapped. You exploded while he fucked you with abandon, squirting and shaking, choking on sobs, while he crammed you full. “That's it, filthy slut. Didn't put a towel down for nothin’.”

Simon pulled away from you once more and moved you onto your back. Your fluids were dripping wet down his cock, he flexed or twitched and it bobbed in the air. He was leaking precum and his pubic hair was slicked down and frothy from your previous climbaxes. 

“Clean me off.” He walked himself closer to your face and touched the tip of him to your swollen lips, and you greedily sucked him into your mouth, worshiping with your tongue. It was salty, and sweet, and sticky when it transferred and dried on your face. His hands cradled the back of your head forcing you to take more than you were ready for.

Tears welled up, drool filled up your mouth, and you struggled to switch to breathing through your nose. He pulled you off by your hair, saw the glassy eyed expression on your face, and scowled. “Cock drunk whore enjoyed being face fucked too much. Can't have that.”

Simon moved back to between your legs, using the towel to wipe off the arousal that spilled from your bullied hole and coated your thighs. A smack of his hand sent a sharp shock to your blistering clit, then a couple fingers scooped some of your cum from your core and reapplied it to work the hard bud rapidly back and forth with the rough pads of his fingers. 

Your body panicked, stuttering breath and hacking up your lungs. It hurt. It burned. It was too much.

The overstimulation caught up with you and you felt only pain. Your eyes went wide, “yellow-ow-ow-ow,” you cried. And Simon backed off your poor sensitive clit.

He trailed a hand down one of your trembling legs, his touch gentler than before. Normally he would reward you for using your colors, but that would have to wait until after he finished playing with you. “You should be thanking me for this, letting you come so many times. What is it seven? No...it would have been, but you just couldn't handle it. What happened to my greedy girl?”

You writhed where words failed, seeking any form of solace on your supercharged skin, but everywhere he touched blazed and scratched instead. The world spun around you, like the forever falling feeling of intoxication.

“But you're not done till I say so,” he whispered in your ear. “You're mine. Any orgasm you have belongs to me.”

He grabs your face again, squishing your cheeks, bringing your eyes to connect with his again, and with the other he worked his fingers back inside, starting with two, then three, targeting that spot that turned your vision dark. Your clit was too painful, so he'd have to be rough with you in other ways, and he knew your cunt could take a beating better than anything else, so resilient and hungry for attention. It's what drove you to break the rules in the first place. 

But if you never broke the rules, then he'd never have cause to punish you. It was all fun and games as long as you didn't make a bad habit of it. 

You were on the ropes now, beat up, bruised, and broken. His favorite little toy, marked and strung up in red for him. Fuck he was so hard for you, fighting his own release. He loosened his hold on your face. “Open.” And your tongue lazily rolled out of your parted lips. He spit, your walls pulled tight around his fingers, and you swallowed dutifully. “There she is. Go on. Take it then.” Your legs tensed and your mouth hung wide open, eyes fluttering shut, while you rode another wave of pleasure on his thick fingers. 

Before you had a chance to fall back to earth, he ripped his fingers out and stuffed them in your mouth. He bent down to leave bite marks down your chest, on your breasts, stomach, and down to your hips. Your lips curled around licking and biting down on his thick fingers, gagging down when he shoved them deeper over your tongue to the back of your throat. You closed your eyes and tears escaped out the corners, savoring the taste of yourself on his skin. He pulled them out and you released them with a wet pop, licking your chapped lips after.

Simon molded your lifeless lower body to him next. “You don't even deserve the cum I'm gonna pump you full of. Was saving it up just for you.” He slid all the way into your aching heat, lunging closer. Taking your lips into his mouth only to bite down on them, tasting the dried blood from your earlier split lip, he chewed and pulled at the tender flesh till it split again. It was not a forgiving kiss, and he let himself enjoy it a little too much, groaning deep enough for the vibrations to pass from his chest into yours. Releasing your face, your head dropped back onto the bed, bracketed by your weak arms. 

His grip moved to encircle your neck and waist, pinning you in place while he fucked you breathless. You felt him up in your ribs, piercing your diaphragm. He was a lump in your throat that couldn't be swallowed down. Your pulse hammered beneath his grip as you came once more, eyes rolling back and wet heat sucking him deeper. You were scraped like a fur hide being turned into leather, stretched thin across the universe. Head in the clouds was too grounded of an expression to process, let alone comprehend. 

.....

You must have blacked out, or died and come back to life. When you came to, your legs were thrown over Simon's shoulders, knees pressed to your shoulders. He was splitting you in half with his cock, and drunk on the sweet friction. A static cling consumed your hands and feet but slowly dissipated.

“Maybe I otta get you ol’ big and round with my kid so you can't touch yourself wi’out me. Huh?” He splays his hand under your belly button pressing down on his cock moving inside while you gush around him. “Want me to fuck a fat baby in you to keep you busy while I'm gone?” Making no effort to hit your sweet spot, in a trance, he watched himself breach your depths, brutalizing your cervix with each thrust. He knew what he was doing. “You like that? Pussy so tight on me, like she wants to be bred. Come on, I know you wanna be full.” 

He was sweaty and panting over you. The wet sounds of sticky skin slapping proved there was already a thick mess running down your crack.

How many times had he come inside you? You didn't get to feel him twitching inside while he filled you with his first load or hear him groan at his peak when he lost himself inside of you.

Another punishment, worse than all the others. Now you really saw things. How could you be so selfish? You sniffled, lip quivering, tears welling. “Sorry—so sorry—love—you.” Your voice was hoarse.

Simon shushed your sweet sobs, “That's right. Let it out.” He tipped you over the edge with more dirty words, “One last time, just to make sure it takes.”

After your ninth, he took your hands down, undoing the ropes, massaging blood flow back into them, and easing the ebbing tension from the prolonged stretch. For the first part of aftercare, he made the sweet kind of welcome home love to you in the warmth of sunrise that spilled over your bed. Kissing you languid and deep, praising you, driving his spend deeper into you, slowly rolling his hips against your clit just how you liked, kind and soft hands caressing until you came together by design. 

Ten times you came, he counted. A record for you sure, but to him each one meant something more. One for each week he was gone. One for each month until your baby would arrive. One for every carat in your wedding ring. One for each deployment you've welcomed him home from. 

(Eleven would actually kill you though, so it might be for the best to not let him catch you next time.)

© fierceanduntamedemotions

[machveil]

thinking about Boyfriend!König that eats so much at home. he orders takeout in such large quantities that his usual restaurants know his voice - as soon as they hear his little ‘hello?’ they’re like, “Oh, you want the usual? We’re having a buy-one-get-one-free thing right now on breadsticks.”. if he isn’t ordering at least six different things off the menu something is wrong

thinking about sitting down to eat with him and he’s eyeing your food like he doesn’t have a buffet in front of him. he’ll always let you eat in peace, never rushing you or commenting on what you ordered… but he’s drooling over it like he wished he ordered it. thinking about always saving a couple bites of food for König, pretending to be full and insisting he should finish your takeout. he’ll always double check with you before shoveling it into his mouth, groaning because it tastes good - you saved a little bit of everything for him, from a little sauce, some protein, maybe some grain or veggies. König always offers you some of his food in turn, and messy eater that he is, his food looks like it’s been through hell. some portions are heavily broken up by his fork, others mixed together because, “It tastes better like this, Liebling.”

[meatsauc3]

The two of you are trying to mingle with the others in a Christmas social event until you're left alone with your guy by your side. König, whose drunk from too many spirits, is holding up a misletoe for jokes

And as much as you wanna play along because you kinda wanna kiss him—you can't.

He's standing straight and sure he's drunk and wavers but Man's almost seven feet tall. He's leaning down a bit but not enough for you to actually reach his face.

"give me a kiss-kiss, Maus? Right on my cheek" he teases, not taking into account that you can't reach his cheek, "or how bout meine Lippe? Not too bold, Ja?"

"even if I wanna, König, I can't reach you" you say, smiling up at the big lug. König's dopey smiles is hidden underneath his balaclava but you can see the accents on the fabric. His eyes looks too glazed for you to be convinced he's not too drunk to operate. Man should be lying down and maybe you can reschedule the kiss. "I think you had too much of a Christmas spirit, my guy" and that made König snicker, pulling the misletoe down.

"Ja. Probably did, Schatzi." He agrees with a hum, "take me to my room?" He asked, finally leaning in before putting his arm around your shoulder. He leans down, lips pressing on your temple with the fabric of balaclava in between. "And don't worry. I'm bringing that thing—den Mistelzweig—in my pocket" he murmurs, breath smelling faintly of alcohol.

[thekingsarchive]

Creepy!König x Creepy!reader

Because I love when weirdos deserve each other.

Tw: kidnapping, sexual content, obsession, dead dove do not eat. (Fem!reader)

Creepy!König who realized you would be the one for him the moment he heard your voice. He rarely went in public, even when he wasn't on deployment, but he did like going to the bar you worked in, mostly because it was as crappy as it could be and no one was ever there but him, the bartender and the same two drunks... and you.

Creepy!reader, you who worked as a waitress in the empty bar König liked, and who started ogling him since before he sat down.

Creepy!König who did the charade of being too drunk and his keys falling to the floor so you had to bend down and he could peek under your skirt "discreetly".

Creepy!reader who more than once dropped beer all over König who so she could see his pants get tighter and make out the shape of his thick tighs.

Creepy!König who started memorizing at what time you left so he could follow you home.

Creepy!reader who sometimes snuck into one of the cubicles in the men's restroom waiting for König to use the bathroom so she could see what was hidden under his pants. But creepy!König left after he couldn't find you anymore:(

Creepy!König who knows you are staring at him, all the time. But he becomes paranoid and thinks you've caught up how much of a creep he is.

Creepy!reader who spiked his drink with an aphrodisiac and tried to be caught in a short skirt at the back alley behind the bar when he left. You stayed there, freezing in the cold and starting to feel scared of someone actually finding you and threatening you. Were you so disgusting that he wouldn't even notice you with the unsafe amount of aphrodisiacs and viagra you put on his drink?:((

Creepy!König who went to the bar restroom to masturbate and cum all over your shirt, the one you kept as a spare in your locker and he stole by paying the bartender/owner to turn a blind eye. He spent hours there, it was almost three in the morning when he left.

Creepy!reader who made conversations with König just to record his voice and play it at night to touch herself to it, unknowingly giving him a show when he stood outside your window. Too bad you were wearing headphones and he never realized it was his own voice.

Creepy!König who sees you trailing after him one day and is sure you know he's been stalking you:(( he's so fucked, he thought he had been subtle, he's trained in this crap for god's sake!

Creepy!reader who's about to lose her mind when König just dissappears into the night after she managed to follow him. You were so close to finding out where he lived.

Creepy!König who started doing much more exercise to fight the beer belly he'd get from going to the bar every night. The owner couldn't be happier

Creepy!reader who thinks enough is enough and slips a tranquilizer into König's drink. He's going home with you once and for all.

Creepy!König who knows damn well what a drink spiked with that kind of drugs taste is like. He might've not found out about the first spiking, but this is entirely different. Were you some sort of spy? You wanted to hurt him??!! He's devastated! Heartbroken! He'd do anything for you!!:(( (Except actually talking to you like a normal human being)

Creepy!reader who thinks her plan worked when König almost strutted to the out of the bar, surely it meant the effects of the drug were working and he was beginning to feel funny.

Creepy!König who was half leading you away to question you, half running away in despair.

Creepy!reader who followed him into an alley. Creepy!reader who soon was cornered in said alley by a very much sober König.

Creepy!König who pulled out a gun (he really didn't mean to pull a gun on his sweetheart, but he thought you were dangerous!!) and asked who were you working for.

Creepy!reader who stammered and blushed and looked at him like the cutest deer in headlights, and pretended not to know anything.

Creepy!König who was palming the gun in his pocket and had a knife in the other hand, both very much good incentives to speak.

Creepy!reader who cracked immediately and confessed like a squeaky, guilty mouse that she did drug him, but didn't want to harm him, she just... liked him. That's what you get for thinking with your pussy.

Creepy!König who needs a good two minutes to process, but soon is beaming like a fool under his hood. Creepy!König who takes your hand in his and starts to caress your waist, knife and gun long forgotten.

Creepy!reader who soon is all over the giant man and is incredibly down for whatever he wants after that.

Creepy!König who takes you home, and after kissing, cuddling and fucking you all night long, does not let you out of the house come morning. Didn't you say you liked him?

[konigs-lover]

könig just comfortably sitting on the couch with a book in hand, completely immersed in it, and completely missing the hungry look you have as you take his figure in, the way his thighs are spread, the way the thick muscle fills his pants, the stupidly hot bulging biceps, the most attractive veins decorating his forearms and hands

you’re on him in a matter of seconds, nuzzling his crotch and pulling down his pants to mouth at his cock before swallowing it down and deepthroating him

[llliissyyy]

If you sleep with König he covers your body completly with his own to protect you from everything.

If you sleep with König he invites you to diffrent vacations in the summer to colder countries so you can keep cuddeling your heater.

[cs-glitch]

könig is SO the type to obsess over someone who's been nice to him. :( 

18+ (smut, dd:dne)

cw: fem!reader, stalking (on both sides), obsessive & delusional behaviors, dubcon, voyeurism, implied somno & cnc at the end, reader is not a victim here, okay maybe the dove isn't dead but it probably needs a doctor, word count: 939

“Oh my god, I’m so, so, sorry!” you shriek, grabbing some napkins from your bag before you pat at his chest.

König doesn’t quite understand why you’re apologizing; after all, he stumbled into you. He doesn’t point that out, though, not when you’re touching him so freely.

You don’t flinch at his size or think twice about the mask covering half his face as you smile softly at him. 

His mouth is dry, voice shaky as he quietly speaks. “Apologies, Maus, I bumped into you. Let me make it right?”

You're so sweet, so naive, so trusting that you don't hesitate to let him buy you coffee as an apology. 

The conversation flows smoothly as you tell him your name, where you work, that you're a local– your apartment is only a few blocks away– freely giving him all this information about yourself.

Being a colonel has taught him self-restraint; he’s content to watch you through the scope of his rifle after he follows you home that night. His stomach lies flat on the roof of a random building facing your apartment window– he doesn't even jerk off despite his raging hard on. 

He isn’t some sick, perverted freak– this is purely about your safety. He has to make sure you're not sharing these parts of yourself with other men– men who might want to hurt you. He’s keeping you safe. 

The scraps of you are enough to placate the deep hunger that’s settled in his chest at the mere thought of you. 

Until he gets informed about a month-long mission. 

You don’t even notice the cameras placed all over your apartment: your living room, your bathroom, your bedroom; absolutely no blind spots. 

If you did, surely you wouldn’t be lying on your bed, thighs spread open as you push your digits past your entrance. His camera is angled just perfectly for him to see your sweet cunt– he can't help but touch himself to the sight. 

He tries his best to match your pace, hand moving up and down his cock in sync as you pump your fingers in and out of your dripping hole. A soft whimper gets picked up by the microphone, his thighs twitching at the needy sound. 

“Du bist so perfekt für mich, kleine Maus– you were made for me, ja?” His voice shakes, cock twitching as he watches you cum. 

So adorable, he thinks to himself. The way your eyes flutter, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. If you’re this reactive from just two fingers, he can’t help but be a little worried about how you’ll handle his cock.

He can see it now, your eyes rolled back, body shaking as he thrusts into your tight, wet, hole. Squeezing his eyes shut, he can practically hear you whining his name out as you gush around his cock. 

As his cum paints the monitor, he swears for a split second he can see your eyes stare straight into the camera.

You spot him before he even notices you– it’s hard to miss his tall, hulking form as he navigates the streets. You told yourself that you’d be patient and slowly lure him out, but you just couldn’t help yourself when you saw him. 

Pretending not to notice him, you let him stumble into you. “Oh my god, I’m so, so, sorry!” you shriek, grabbing some napkins from your bag before you pat at his chest. 

Handsome doesn’t begin to describe him; he’s got a solid form– either a gym rat or someone who has to stay fit for work– the mask covers most of his face, but you can see the faint freckles and acne scars trailing along his skin. 

“Apologies, Maus, I bumped into you. Let me make it right?”

The two of you sip your coffees as you carefully spill information about yourself.  Feeding him just enough to make him want more but not so much that he grows tired of the taste. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never been here before; they have the best lattes. I’m lucky it’s so close to my apartment; I can just walk here on my way to work,” you comment, softly smiling as his eyes light up.

You’ve never felt more elated than when he finally put the cameras up in your apartment– you'd been giving him plenty of chances for weeks now. 

You weren’t planning on giving him a show– at least, not yet. It was just too much, the thought of him watching you sleep, shower, and touch yourself. You had to do something about the sticky mess between your thighs. 

You slowly peel off your clothes before lying on the bed, placing yourself in the perfect spot for him to see every caress and hear every desperate noise you make.

As your fingers curl inside you, you can’t help but pretend they're his instead. Plunging the digits in and out of your dripping hole, you try to go at a pace you think he’d like. A soft whimper falls from your lips, your thumb reaching up to circle your needy clit.

Maus. The nickname rings in your ears– you wonder if he’d call you that while he’s got his cock buried in your cunt. 

The thought sends you stumbling over the edge. A shiver wracks your body as you clench down around your fingers, crying out as you cum. 

You hadn’t meant to say his name or glance at the camera, but you just couldn’t help yourself. 

As your eyes flutter, you wonder how long it'll be before he finally slips in your window to touch you while you 'sleep'.

[konigsblog]

Kidnapper König who provides films for you. Not on streaming websites - because then he risks little you getting too curious for your own good and searching for a documentary on your disappearance. He can't have that. But DVDs, an assortment of his favourite fucked up horror films to terrify you and to ensure he knows exactly what you're watching in your free time. He needs to remain in control even when giving you the freeing opportunity to entertain yourself on your own.

He provides pornography for you as well. Whatever it is, films, magazines, an unnamed tape you accidentally stumbled across where he's masturbating. Too entranced by the sheer size of this "pornstar", you didn't even consider the horrifying fact that he would expose you to something so vulgar and intimate of himself.

Fuck, the horror that followed when the camera panned up to his covered face for the first time at the end of the tape left your voice warbling and your bottom lip quivering oh so sweetly you know König's cock would be aching at the depraved sight. It makes you feel nauseous knowing you just got off to something so obscene. Your stomach churns and bile threatens to spill as you shield your eyes, tugging at your hair maniacally and frustratedly while rocking yourself back and forth in a futile attempt to console and soothe yourself.

You hide the tape through shame and humility, your cheeks feeling as though they're burning as you blink back tears that threaten to blur your vision and spill down your sensitive cheeks, your plush thighs coated in a sheen of your slick and shiny arousal from your fresh orgasm, your knees trembling as you worry your bottom lip while you plead with the Gods above to not let König know that you just masturbated to his own perverted video.

And König begins to sneakily replace the DVDs you'd requested - softer, comedy, romance films, a stark contrast to the disturbing genres he frequently indulged in - with his sex tapes.

You know you're deep within your hell of a hole when you frantically search and rummage through your bin of DVDs to find his sex tape. Anything to relieve that tight sensation coiling within you.

[pillsatoru]

꣑ৎ fighting with satoru leads to him forcing you to ride him

The last thing you wanted to do was get into an argument with your roommate and best friend. Yet you found yourself going back and forth with him & it didn’t look like it was coming to an end any time soon. 

“I don’t understand how I’m not allowed to have boys over but you’re free to bring home girls, it’s totally unfair Satoru!” You yelled, voice turning raspy. 

It’s been hours since this argument began and he was getting sick of it. 

“The difference between us is that I didn’t invite that girl over to fuck, did I?” He shot back, a vein forming at his temple. 

His hand reached up to his face, sliding off his glasses to set them aside on the counter. “I came home with her because we had a project to do and the library was closed. And you know this because I texted you earlier about it.”   

“So? She was totally giving you bedroom eyes!”

“And what if she was? Doesn’t mean I gave in and started humping her like a dog in heat. I’m not that easy, sweets.” 

But you were. 

You were not about to give in because he used your favorite pet name, and you definitely weren’t going to allow him to see the effect it had on you. 

“I don’t know why me bringing a boy over concerns you either.” 

“Watch that tone.” He warned. His eyes have darkened enough to match the late night shadows seeping into the kitchen, rain being muffled by the windows. Your lip trembled, being utterly frustrated. It’s not like you even did anything with the guy, you just wanted to make him jealous – get back at him for inviting that girl over. 

Satoru noticed your pout, sighing through his nose as all previous anger faded. “Baby.” 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” He closed in, cupping your cheek in his warm hand. “You love it when I use sweet names on you.” 

You pulled away from his touch, still pissed. “We’re just roommates, that’s why.” That certainly got him to raise a brow, a slight tilt at his head as he took in your words. “Just roommates? Am I not your best friend? Am I not the one that makes you feel good?” 

Your breath hitched, knowing what he was referring to. 

You had come home stressed about some class and it didn’t help that it was ovulation week as well, making you all pent up. Thankfully, Satoru didn’t mind helping you out on the very counter he was leaning against. “What was your goal when you brought him over? To make me jealous? Get your pay back?” 

Well, yes. 

But you were not going to admit that so easily. 

“If I hadn’t made it clear enough, sweets, you’re the only girl I want. Why would I be stupid to put my dick inside someone who isn’t you?” His vulgar words strike again at your inner core, forcing your thighs to clench. 

“Satoru..” Your cheeks heated up. 

“I’m going to ask you again, and you’re going to answer honestly. Are we just roommates?” 

Of course not. Roommates don’t just allow the other to ride them like rabbits in heat the way you were doing right now. Your clothes were discarded on the floor, shaky hands rubbing up and down his abs all while he watched. 

A smirk was lifting at his lips, enjoying the way you struggled to do all of the work. He wanted to touch your tits, give them the little kisses they deserved. But hearing you beg for his touch was far better. 

“Please– I said I was s-sorry..” Your apologies fell upon deaf ears. This was your punishment after all. You could barely register your own pleas as his tip grazed your puffy folds. “You’re going to ride me and I’m not going to help for shit.” 

And he kept his word because he hasn’t done anything more than letting out the occasional grunt. It was genuinely pissing you off. 

“Please,” You tried again, leaving sloppy but sweet kisses on his lips that he didn't reciprocate. Not even when you picked up your pace or slowed it down did he react. 

Nothing was working. 

Not until he saw you begin to sob, hiding your pretty face in his neck did he soften up. “Hey, hey.. It’s okay, sweet girl. I forgive you, you did so good, took your punishment like the good girl you are. Don’t cry, you’re making me feel bad.” His expression softened, large hand rubbing the small of your back as he coo’ed in your ear at your hiccups. 

You sniffled, chasing your nearing orgasm now that he praised you. “Am gonna cum..” You gasped, clawing at his back. Satoru fully wrapped his arms around you, bouncing you harshly on his lap. “Go ahead.” 

White dots filled your sight when you spilled on his dick, legs trembling. He followed soon after, releasing deep in you. “Good job, baby. Don’t you ever think that shit again. I don’t want anyone but you, and it’s time to realize that.” 

You nodded, placing your lips on his, finally receiving the kiss you needed.

[pollypolka]

Boyfriend!Tsukishima who is always uncomfortable on your bed ><

He’s too tall for your bed, so his feet dangle off the edge of the bed when he lays down flat. But Tsukishima never manages to do so, anyway.

It’s because the mountain of stuffed toys and plushies that stack together like building blocks, restricting him from ever getting comfortable.

You got penguins, octopi, sheep, chickens, all of the animals his big brain can think of. And most of them are unfortunately bought by him, making his situation worse because he can’t just throw them away!

“Your toys are basically pushing me off the bed.”

He says in disdain, his eyes searching for yours over the barrier of stuffed animals.

He looks over with his mouth open ready to say something about his lack of comfort on his side of your bed, only to find you fast asleep. Chest slowly rising and falling.

How could he disrupt this sight? He thinks in his head.

So through all the discomfort of your plushies against his back and limbs, he stays silent and forces himself to get comfortable because he knows this is exactly how you like it.

Smothered in stuffed animals, him by your side, cool breeze of your ceiling fan.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

an: Another thot! Eat up the side dishes hehe…🤍

[fuzzyautumninmetal]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley is a simple, plain man. Meaning he hates spending money on himself unless it's absolutely necessary, this man has thousands in the bank because he just doesn't spend it.

That's why Simon loves high maintenance women, specifically you. He loves that you get your hair done every month, loves that you get your nails done, eyelashes, facials, pedicures. God he absolutely loves providing for his woman.

The only problem is that you're not used to spending other people's money. You work, and you work hard for your money.

"Bye Si. I'll see you later," you shouted as you put your shoes on, just about to head out the door.

"Where you going love?"

That made you stop and slowly turn to face Simon. "I've got my nail appointment today." You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it was. You had wrote it on the calendar.

"Hm and who's paying?"

"Um... Me?"

"Guess again," Simon was already in front of you, placing his bank card between your cleavage.

"Simon."

"Don't 'Simon' me," he mumbled as he kissed your forehead. "You know the rules. You look pretty and I pay for it." And you couldn't argue because Simon smacked your arse before pushing you out the door and locking it.

Oh, and don't bother trying to pay. Simon already took your credit card.

[x-strwbrry]

pathetic little secrets

♡ simon ghost riley x virgin!female reader ♡ 18+

words count: 6k

You didn't mean to bring it up. Hell, you didn't even mean to think about it. It was just that the air in the safe house was too thick, the silence between you and Simon was too heavy, and the bottle of whiskey you'd been nursing had made your tongue loose and your filter non-existent.

You were perched on the edge of the rickety bed while he leaned against the wall, cleaning his rifle with the methodical focus of a saint polishing a relic. The only light was a single naked bulb, casting a jaundiced glow and carving his face into a landscape of harsh shadows.

The conversation had been about nothing. Mission fatigue, the shitty food, the way the rain sounded like nails on the tin roof. Then, you'd made a joke. A stupid, clumsy joke about a fellow soldier who couldn't keep it in his pants.

"Man's a walking liability," you slurred, a little too loudly. "Thinks with his dick, gets himself into all kinds of trouble."

Simon just grunted, his eyes never leaving the barrel of his gun. But you, feeling the warm, reckless burn of the whiskey, pushed on.

"At least he's getting some, I guess. Not like some of us are dying over here."

That got his attention. His head lifted, his dark eyes pinning you in place. "That what's on your mind, Sergeant? Dying for a shag?"

The way he said it, so casual, so dismissive, should have made you shut your mouth. Instead, it acted like gasoline on a fire. "Maybe," you retorted, trying for bravado and landing somewhere in the vicinity of pathetic. "What's it to you, anyway?"

He set the rifle down with deliberate slowness, the clatter of metal on wood sounding like a gunshot in the small room. He pushed off the wall and crossed the space in two long strides. He was a tower of muscle and barely contained violence, and you were suddenly aware of how small the bed was and how close he was.

"You sound like a bloody teenager," he rumbled, his voice low and dark. "It's just a fuck. It's not a holy grail."

And that's when it happened. The words tumbled out, a drunken, shameful confession that you couldn't claw back even if you tried. "Well, maybe I wouldn't know, would I?"

The air in the room changed, going from thick with tension to frozen solid. Simon stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you saw the flicker of surprise, the slow-dawning realization, and the subtle shift in his posture.

"Say that again," he commanded, his voice quiet, cutting through the whiskey haze.

You shook your head, a wave of intense heat rushing to your face, your stomach twisting with a mortification so acute you thought you might be sick. "Forget it," you mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him.

He crouched down in front of you, bringing his face level with yours. His gloved hand reached out, tipping your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those eyes were searching, dissecting you.

"You're a virgin." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with a kind of breathless awe that was somehow worse than mockery.

"Shut up," you hissed, trying to jerk your head away, but his grip was firm. The shame was a living thing inside you, clawing at your throat. You felt exposed and raw, like he'd peeled back your skin and found something soft underneath.

He let go of your chin, but he didn't move away. He just stared, his mind clearly working behind those dark eyes. You expected him to laugh, to call you a kid, or to tell you to get the fuck over it. Instead, he said something that shattered you completely.

"You want me to fuck you."

It wasn't a question either. It was the most terrifying, exhilarating statement you'd ever heard. Your denial was automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to the unbearable vulnerability. "No! I didn't say that. I just..." You trailed off, because what could you say? You did. You wanted it so badly it hurt. You wanted him. The terrifying, scarred, lethal man who now knew your most private secret.

His lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. It wasn't mocking; it was hungry. "You're a shit liar," he murmured. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made your skin pebble. "Is that why you've been lookin' at me like a lost puppy? Hoping I'd bend you over and show you the ropes?"

The crude, direct language sent a jolt straight to your core. You squeezed your thighs together, a pathetic attempt to relieve the sudden, throbbing ache. "Fuck you, Simon," you whispered, but it sounded weak and breathless.

"That's the idea, sweetheart."

So it had started as a joke, a stupid, whiskey-fueled slip-up that you'd both tried to bury under layers of snark and forced professionalism. For a few days, it was like a bizarre, unspoken truce. He didn't mention it, and you tried to pretend you hadn't basically offered up your virginity on a silver platter. You trained harder, kept your head down, and avoided his eyes like they were the abyss.

But the world had shifted on its axis, and you couldn't unsee it.

You started noticing things. The way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he reached for a high shelf, the fabric straining over the solid muscle of his shoulders. The way his tactical gloves creaked when he balled his fists. The scent of him that seemed to linger in the air long after he'd left a room.

His eyes were the worst. Before, his stares had been assessing and analytical. Now, they were heavy, weighted with a new kind of intent. You'd feel them on you during a briefing, a heated, lingering sweep from your boots to your face that made your breath catch and your cunt throb. He was looking at you like he was picturing you naked, and the constant, low-level humiliation of your secret acted as a toxic aphrodisiac.

He was harder on you, too. His critiques in the field were more cutting, his expectations higher. He'd push you during PT until your lungs burned and your muscles screamed, his voice a low, relentless bark in your ear. "Again, Sergeant. Is that all you've got?" It felt like a punishment, or maybe a test, and every time you pushed through it, you felt a flicker of pride, followed by the hot rush of imagining what he'd do to you if you really impressed him.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter, a wire vibrating at a frequency only you and he could feel. It was only a matter of time before it snapped.

It was a normal enough afternoon. The whole team was sprawled in the common room, the low hum of the TV and Price's cigar smoke filling the space. Johnny was recounting some wild story about a bar fight in Prague, his voice boisterous and animated. You were trying to laugh, trying to be normal, but all you could feel was Simon's presence on the other side of the room. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a beer bottle in his hand. He wasn't looking at you, he was looking at Johnny, but you could feel his attention like a physical touch.

Then Johnny, the glorious, oblivious bastard, said something that twisted the knife.

"Aye, but you know what it's like, Si," he said, grinning. "Sometimes you just gotta get in there, get the job done, no matter how tight the fit is. Am I right?"

A beat of silence. Your heart stopped. Simon's eyes, slow and deliberate, slid from Johnny to you. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, Johnny," he said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to be directed only at you. "Sometimes you just have to be patient. Make sure they're ready before you... make your move."

Johnny laughed, clapping Gaz on the back. "See? The man's a poet."

But you weren't hearing it. Your blood was roaring in your ears. He was going to tell them. The paranoia, the toxic cocktail of shame and fear, exploded in your chest. He was going to expose you, right here, in front of everyone. He'd tell them you were some pathetic virgin who'd begged for it, and they'd all laugh, and you'd have to leave the task force.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood up, your movements sharp and jerky. "I need some air," you mumbled, not meeting anyone's eyes.

You didn't make it two steps before Simon's voice stopped you. "Sergeant. A word."

Your stomach dropped. You turned to see him pushing off the wall, his expression unreadable. He mystic jerked his head towards the hallway. "Now."

The others were already back to their conversation, but you felt their curious glances as you followed him out of the room and down the hall, your boots feeling heavier with every step. He pushed open the door to his quarters and you followed him inside, the door clicking shut behind you with a terrifying finality.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you hissed, the words tearing out of you the second the door was closed. "Are you going to tell them? Just get it over with and humiliate me, you bastard!"

He turned to face you, his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "Tell them? What the hell are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb!" you shot back, your voice cracking. "You're going to tell them I'm a... that I'm... that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing!"

His face softened just a fraction. The anger bled out of him, replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like pity. "Jesus," he muttered, running a hand over his masked face. "I'm not going to tell them anything. That's your business, not mine."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?" you demanded, your breath catching in your throat. "Why are you always fucking looking at me?"

"Because you're driving me fucking insane," he ground out, taking a step towards you. "I'm trying to give you space, trying to be a fuckin' gentleman, and you're over here thinking I'm about to announce your sexual history to the whole squad?"

The sheer absurdity of it, the relief mixed with the lingering fear, was too much. The words you'd been holding back for weeks finally burst free. "Just fuck me and get it over with!" you blurted out, the words sounding pathetic even to your own ears. "Just do it so I can stop thinking about it!"

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with a deep, controlled breath. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, cold, and utterly commanding.

"No."

Your heart plummeted. "What?"

"I said no." He took another step closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.

You stammered, your brain short-circuiting. "I-I don't understand. You... you want to, don't you?"

His eyes flashed, a dark fire igniting in their depths. "Wanting to and fucking you are two different things, Sergeant. I'm not going to take your virginity because you're having a fuckin' panic attack. You'll wait."

"Wait?"

"You'll wait until you're sure. Until you can ask me properly." His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "And you'll ask me in my bed, after everyone's asleep. Then, and only then, I'll consider it."

The shift in power was dizzying. He wasn't rejecting you; he was setting the terms. And God help you, you wanted to agree to every single one.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, a gesture of both command and curiosity. "Okay, what?" His gaze was piercing, demanding.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The old shame was there, but it was being drowned out by a new, more powerful feeling: a desperate, clawing need to please him. You sank to your knees on the cold, hard floor of his room, the movement feeling both shameful and right. You looked up at him, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"Please, Simon," you whispered, the words barely audible. "Please... fuck me."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, visible even around the mask. He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a surprising tenderness.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Now get up and go back to the others. Act normal. I'll see you later."

You didn't remember much of the rest of the evening. You sat through the briefing, you ate dinner, you even managed a few stilted laughs at Johnny's jokes. But all of it was a blur, the background noise to the roaring in your head. You were going to Simon's room tonight. The thought was a live wire in your stomach, sparking terror and anticipation in equal measure.

Hours later, the base was quiet. The hallway was deserted, the only light coming from the red glow of the emergency exit signs. You moved like a ghost, your bare feet silent on the linoleum as you made your way to his door. You didn't knock. You just turned the handle and slipped inside.

He was waiting for you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his mask illuminated by the single lamp on his bedside table. He'd taken off his tac vest, leaving him in just a tight-fitting black t-shirt and his cargo pants. He looked human, and terrifyingly sexy.

"Lock the door," he said, his voice soft but firm.

You did, the click of the lock sounding like a gunshot. You turned back to him, your body thrumming with nervous energy. And then you noticed the room. It was different. The usually stark, military-neat space was softened. The bed had clean, crisp sheets on it. And there were candles, a few simple tea lights flickering on the windowsill and the dresser, casting a warm, gentle glow over the room.

"You... lit candles," you said, your voice small.

"I wanted you to be comfortable," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He patted the space on the bed next to him. "Come here."

You went, your legs feeling unsteady. You sat down, a careful distance between you, your hands twisting in your lap. He didn't rush you. He just watched you, his dark eyes patient.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "If you've changed your mind"

"I haven't," you said, a little too quickly. "I want this. I want... you."

He nodded slowly. "Good." He reached out and took one of your restless hands, his grip warm and steady. "We'll go slow. We'll go as slow as you need. And you tell me to stop if you want to stop. Understand?"

You nodded, your throat tight. "I understand."

He leaned in, and for the first time, you thought he was going to kiss you. But he just pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture so unexpectedly tender it made your eyes sting. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.

"Relax," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."

Then he did kiss you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was slow, soft, exploring. His lips were warm and firm against yours, and the fact that you could feel them, that the mask didn't cover them, made it incredibly intimate. You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to taste you. He tasted like mint and the faint, bitter hint of coffee, and it was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever experienced.

You kissed him back with a clumsy, desperate enthusiasm, your hands coming up to clutch at his t-shirt. He let you, his own hands moving to your waist, guiding you. He pulled you closer, until you were half in his lap, and you could feel the solid, hard plane of his chest against yours.

"Simon," you breathed against his lips, his name a prayer on your tongue.

"Shhh," he soothed, his hands sliding under your shirt. His fingers were calloused, rough against the soft skin of your back, and you shivered at the sensation. "Just feel."

He kissed his way down your jaw, to your neck, his lips and tongue tracing a path that made you arch into him. He pulled your shirt over your head, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in your simple cotton bra. He reached around and unhooked it with practiced ease, letting it fall away.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he groaned, his hands coming up to cover your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The praise, so sincere, so raw, sent a bolt of heat straight to you. You'd been so focused on your own inexperience, you hadn't considered that he might actually want this, want you, with the same desperate hunger.

He laid you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, and continued his exploration. He kissed every inch of your exposed skin, his touch reverent. He was taking his time, so much time, working you up with a maddening slowness that had you writhing beneath him.

He started kissing your tits, his mouth hot and wet as he closed his lips around one nipple, flicking it with his tongue. The sensation was electric. And in your head, the old, ugly thought surfaced: He's done this a hundred times. He knows exactly what he's doing, and you're just another body in his bed. The thought made you squirm, a mix of jealousy and insecurity twisting your gut.

He must have felt the change in you, because he pulled back, his eyes searching your face. "What is it?" he asked. "Talk to me."

"I just..." you couldn't say it. It was too embarrassing. But he just waited, his gaze patient and unwavering. "I just... I know you've done this before. With people who know what they're doing."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I have," he said, his voice a low, dark rumble. "And do you know what I've learned?" He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I've learned that nothing is hotter than watching someone fall apart for the first time. I've learned that I fucking love being the one to make it happen."

He moved down your body, his hands hooking into the waistband of your pants. "I'm going to eat your pussy now," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you're going to let me hear every single sound you make. No holding back. Understand?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow pants. He pulled your pants and underwear down in one go, leaving you completely bare to him. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them apart. He looked up at you, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly lowered his head.

The first touch of his tongue on your cunt was like a lightning strike. You cried out, your hands flying to his hair, your back arching off the bed. He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"Fuck, you're wet," he rasped, his tongue lapping at you with long, slow strokes. "So fuckin' wet for me."

He ate you out with a devastating skill, his tongue finding your clit with unerring accuracy, circling and sucking until you were a whimpering, moaning mess. You could feel his spit mixing with your own slickness, the obscene, wet sounds filling the room.

While he worked, his hands found yours, his fingers lacing through yours, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your hips. It was an anchor, a connection in the midst of the overwhelming pleasure. He held your gaze, letting you watch him, his eyes dark with lust as he showed you exactly what his tongue was doing to your swollen, aching clit.

"Tell me how it feels," he commanded, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Talk to me."

"It feels... so good," you gasped, your nails digging into the backs of his hands. "Your tongue... fuck, Simon, don't stop."

His grip on your hands tightened, a silent acknowledgment of your plea. Your pussy was burning, a deep, throbbing ache that demanded more. You felt a fullness in your belly, a tightening coil of pleasure that was wound so tight it was almost painful.

He slid a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right. The stretch was intense, a dull burn that quickly melted into pleasure. He was watching your face, reading your every reaction, ensuring you were with him every step of the way.

"You're taking my fingers so well," he praised, his voice thick with arousal. "Look at that. So fuckin' tight." He pumped his fingers in and out of his mouth, his tongue still working your clit.

The dirty talk, the sight of him between your legs, the feel of his fingers and tongue, it was too much. The coil in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. You came with a loud, broken moan, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it, drawing out every last shatter of pleasure.

He finally released you, crawling back up your body and kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You could feel his erection, a hard thick line pressing against your thigh, and you were suddenly desperate to feel it, to feel Ghost.

You reached down, your hand palming his cock through his pants. He hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily. You wanted to make him feel as good as he'd made you feel. You wanted to show him how desperate you really were.

You pushed at his shoulders, surprising him. He let you roll him over, until you were straddling his thighs. You quickly undid his belt and fly, freeing his cock. It was even more intimidating up close, long, thick, and flushed dark red at the tip. A bead of pre glistened there, and you leaned down, licking it off on a whim.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. "Show me," you whispered. "Show me how you like it."

His eyes snapped open, dark with lust. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly from base to tip. "Like this," he said, his voice strained. "Spit on it."

You did, your saliva glistening on the head. He used it as lube, his fist moving in a smooth, steady rhythm. You watched, utterly mesmerized, as he pleasured himself.

"Your turn," he grunted.

You replaced his hand with yours, your grip tentative at first. You mimicked his movements, and he let out a low, encouraging sound. "Yeah, just like that, love. Tighter. Squeeze the head when you get to the top."

You followed his instructions, your confidence growing with every groan you elicited from him. He was leaking steadily now, his pre-cum making your hand slick.

You leaned down and flicked your tongue over the head again, tasting the bitter saltiness of him. He twitched in your hand, a guttural sound escaping his lips. Emboldened, you took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, swirling your tongue around him. The taste, the feel of him on your tongue, the power of having this strong, dangerous man at your mercy, it was intoxicating.

"Jesus, fuck," he gasped, his hand flying to your hair, not to guide you, but just to hold on. "You're gonna make me come, you little minx."

You smiled around his cock, a surge of feminine pride washing over you. You cupped his balls, rolling them gently in your hand, marveling at the weight of them. You even ran your fingers through the coarse, dark hair at the base of his cock, finding the fact that he was unshaven, so naturally and undeniably male, incredibly hot.

"Christ, stop looking at me like that," he groaned. "You're gonna make me blow my load before I even get inside you."

You pulled off him with a wet pop, grinning. "Sorry."

"You're not," he said, sitting up and kissing you hard. He flipped you over again, pinning you beneath him.

He reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a condom and ripping it open. He rolled it on with practiced efficiency, his eyes never leaving yours. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you.

"Last chance," he said, his voice serious. "Tell me to stop."

"Don't you dare," you breathed, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer.

He pushed forward, slowly, so slowly, the stretch immense. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. It burned, but it was a good burn, a sign of the connection you were making. He paused, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

"You're doin' so good," he murmured, his voice strained. "So fuckin' good. Just breathe."

You did, and as you did, he slid in deeper, inch by incredible inch, until he was seated fully inside you. The feeling of fullness was absolute, overwhelming. He was so deep, so much a part of you, it brought tears to your eyes.

He kissed them away, his lips gentle. "You okay?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, unable to speak. He started to move, his thrusts shallow and slow. He held your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours, anchoring you as he began to fuck you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It wasn't frantic or rough. It was deep, intimate, and devastatingly slow. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, his lips worshipping your body as his cock worshipped your cunt.

You could tell he was holding back, his body trembling with the effort of not pounding into you. His thrusts were angled perfectly, stimulating a spot inside you that you didn't even know existed. The pressure built again, a slow, rising tide of pleasure that was even more intense than the first.

"That's it," he panted in your ear. "I can feel you gettin' tighter. Are you gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna come all over me?"

His words, combined with the relentless, perfect pressure, sent you over the edge again. You came with a silent cry, your inner walls clenching around him, your body shaking with the force of it.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his rhythm finally faltering. "I can feel you comin'. So fuckin' hot. So goddamn perfect." He slammed into you once, twice, three more times, and then he was coming with a hoarse shout, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled the condom.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight a welcome, heavy blanket. You lay there, tangled together, your breathing slowly syncing up as you came down from the high. After a long moment, he rolled off you, disposing of the condom before pulling you back into his chest.

You were silent, your mind reeling. You felt different. Changed. The shame, the insecurity, it was all gone, replaced by a deep, bone-deep satisfaction.

Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Stay," he murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

You didn't need to be asked twice. You cuddled closer, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In the morning, things would be different. But for tonight, in the warm, candlelit glow of his room, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The only thing more shocking than the fact that you'd just lost your virginity to Simon 'Ghost' Riley was the realization that you wanted to do it again. And again.

The first few days after were a weird, hazy blur. You moved through your training exercises on autopilot, your body aching in places you didn't know could ache. A deep, pleasant soreness that was a constant, throbbing reminder of the way he'd felt inside you, the way he'd held you, the sounds he'd made. Every time you caught sight of him across the compound, a dark, imposing figure against the grey concrete, a jolt of heat would shoot straight to your core.

You expected things to be awkward. You'd braced yourself for smirks from Johnny or a pointed, knowing look from Gaz. But there was nothing. Simon was the consummate professional on the field, his commands sharp, his demeanor as unreadable as ever. If anything, he was a little more distant, a little more controlled, as if he was holding himself back with a supreme effort. And Johnny just thought you were hungover.

That first night back in the safety of your own room, you'd slid your hand into your panties and touched yourself, trying to replicate the devastating pleasure he'd given you. It was useless. Your own fingers were a poor substitute for the thick, insistent stretch of his cock, the expert roll of his hips. You came, but it was a hollow, fleeting thing, and it only made you miss him more.

It took three days of this simmering tension before you snapped. You were in the gym, pounding away your frustration on the treadmill, when he walked in. He was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and sweatpants, his hair damp from a shower. He didn't look at you, just gave a curt nod and headed for the weights. But you saw the way his jaw ticked, the way his hands flexed at his sides.

You hit the stop button on the treadmill, the machine's whine cutting through the quiet hum of the room. "My room," you said, your voice sounding more confident than you felt. "Ten minutes."

He didn't even turn around. "I have a briefing."

"You'll be quick," you retorted, a sharp heat rising in your chest. You saw his shoulders shake with a silent, dark laugh before he gave you a single, sharp nod.

You were waiting for him, your heart pounding when your door creaked open. He slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him with the same quiet efficiency he did everything. He didn't say a word. He just crossed the room, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or slow this time. It was a kiss born of days of frustrated denial. His tongue was in your mouth immediately, claiming, possessing, and you met him with equal desperation. You clawed at his tank top, pulling it over his head, and he did the same to yours, his hands rough and impatient on your skin.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he growled against your lips, backing you towards the bed. "About this tight little body. About how you felt squeezing my cock."

His filthy words sent a rush of wetness between your thighs. You whimpered, your hands scrambling for the button of his pants. He shoved his trousers down, kicking them away, and then he was on you again, his naked, scarred chest pressing you into the mattress. He was already hard, his cock heavy against your stomach.

Si was tearing at your pants, and you lifted your hips to help him, kicking them away along with your panties. He was between your thighs in a second, his cock nudging at your entrance. You felt the tear of a condom packet and you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Don't," you said, your voice breathless.

He stilled, his eyes searching yours. "You sure?"

"I'm on the pill," you rushed out. "And I trust you. I just... I need to feel all of you. Please, Simon."

He stared at you for a long, tense moment, something raw and vulnerable flashing in his eyes. Then he crushed his mouth to yours, the condom forgotten. He pushed into you in one long, smooth stroke, and the sensation was overwhelming. No thin barrier, just the hot, silky feel of him, every vein, every ridge. He was so deep, so impossibly deep, you could feel him everywhere.

"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back. "You feel so good."

He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours, the bed creaking in protest. "You feel like fuckin' heaven," he gritted out, his face buried in your neck. "So wet, so bloody tight for me."

You wanted more. You needed to be in control, to set the pace, to take what you needed. You pushed against his chest, and he let you roll him over with surprising ease. You straddled his hips, his cock still buried deep inside you, and braced your hands on his chest.

The sight of him below you was breathtaking. His chest was heaving, his muscles tensed, his eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. And his mask, it had shifted slightly during the tussle, riding low on his nose, revealing more of his face than you'd ever seen. The sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the scar there. He looked wild, untamed.

You started to move, rising and falling on his cock, setting a rhythm that had you both moaning. His hands found your hips, then slid down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he guided you, helping you take him deeper.

"Simon," you panted, your head lolling back. "I can't... I can't stop thinking about you. You've done this to me. I'm obsessed."

His grip on your ass tightened, his eyes blazing. "Yeah?" he rasped, his voice strained. "Tell me what you're thinking about, sweetheart."

"Thinking about how full you make me," you whimpered, feeling another orgasm coil low in your belly. "How you stretch me so good. Si, please... please don't stop filling me up."

That was what broke him. With a groan, he sat up, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you to his chest. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting as he drove up into you, meeting your downward thrusts with powerful, desperate strokes of his own.

His mask was pushed down further, and you turned your head, your lips finding the corner of his mouth, kissing the scarred skin there. "You feel so good, LT," you whispered in his ear. "So fuckin' good inside me."

He came with a roar, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside you, the hot, thick flood of his cum triggering your own release. You came with a silent scream, your whole body clenching around him, milking him for every last drop. You collapsed against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, trembling with the aftershocks.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He was still inside you, softening but not gone, a warm, comforting presence. He reached up and gently adjusted his mask, pulling it back into place. The intimacy of the gesture, the quiet trust it implied, made your heart ache.

"Now you stay the night," you murmured into his neck, not a question, but a statement.

He didn't answer. He just held you tighter, and that was answer enough. You knew, with a certainty that this was no longer just about getting rid of your virginity. This was something else entirely.

And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you realized you were in way deeper than you'd ever planned to be.

[cruxhing]

The team has been trying to help Simon get better at flirting.

It started off with Johnny noticing how Simon’s gaze often lingered on you, the newest truck loader.

Then he blabbered it off to the entire team. So yeah— Simon may have banged his head against the wall in his quarters and slept that night thinking about choking Johnny.

But here he was, after a long day of being convinced to talk to you.

You had just finished unloading the last truck of the day and what better time to talk to you than now?

“You gotta be confident and bold with your words, L.T.” Kyle’s words.

“No, you have t’ be funny. Make ‘em laugh.” Johnny’s words.

“If all things fail, just ask ‘em for coffee.” John’s words.

Simon took in a deep breath and smiled (the best he could. He doesn’t smile often). You didn’t even catch it either; he was wearing his damn balaclava. “You just started working, yeah?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his vest. Confident, check.

You took off your gloves and patted your sweaty forehead with your arm, “mhm! About two-ish months ago,” you tell the older man, giving him a polite smile.

A quiet hum fell from Simon’s lips as he rocks on his heels a bit, “Once saw y’ trippin’ over a box,” Simon says bluntly. Funny, check.

You stared at him, blinking twice and half expecting him to finish his sentence.

He didn’t.

Instead, the two of you had a staring contest while Simon’s face burned behind the balaclava.

“You can trip on me,” Simon suddenly adds. Funny and bold… check?

Your brows knitted a bit, “what…?” you ask with an awkward laugh.

Fuck.

This wasn’t going how he imagined it to go. He imagined him coolly leaning against a wall or something while complimenting you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Do you have coffee?” Simon changes the topic, his entire face blowing up with steam.

Off to the side, John stared at his teammate with a heavy sigh and rubbed his temple. “Bloody idiot asked for coffee,” he mumbles.

Kyle shrugs a bit, “T’ be fair, you did say to ask for coffee,” he says, defending his lieutenant.

“Implying to ask for a coffee date,” John replies bluntly. “Fuckin’ disaster of a man.”