cw: choking, mentions of hickeys, p in v, some submission from Simon, creampie, very slight mention of death, hinted rough sex? mentions of sweat, mentions of drool
Simon choking you and this, Simon choking you and that but what about you choking Simon? His veiny monster cock fucking so deep inside of you it was twattish, penetrating and destroying you with such vigour and need you had nothing to defend yourself with- nothing to hold onto to and stable yourself.
Snatching your hands up to his thick neck and placing your soft palms around his sweaty, hickey-scattered skin. Your pretty, little fingertips not able to wrap around him fully from how big and muscular he was, but with the amount of pressure you applied, you choked him anyway. Feeling his rapid pulse against your hand, making your sticky cunt tighten around him helplessly.
He couldnât refrain himself from going harder than before, the loud creak of your bed echoing the quiet house and you were sure your neighbours were going to kill you-but how were you supposed to stop now? You fucking couldnât; you didn't want to.
Watching as his flushed cheeks turned a dark mahogany, feeling the tremble and twitch of his body against yours, pinning you down and you suddenly realised what you had done. A shameless gasp leaving his throat pathetically as you quickly let go. Sexy body sinking into the mattress as you wished the material could swallow you- capture you and shield you from the memories of what you just did. It was irrational- a stupid action done without thinking- it was embarrassing.
How could you let yourself get out of control like that? Choking Simon Riley- a fucking military Lieutenant- you were lucky he didnt slap you across the face. Were you stupid? Your head spiralled in regret but before your thoughts could pester and consume you fully his own scarred hand snatched yours back. Dragging your arm and jolting your body up as held you in place, reuniting your with the warm flesh of his neck.
Brown, hazy, eyes pleading you to strangle him again, suffocate him, make him pass out deep inside your pussy. He liked how you made him feel, his heart pounding with adrenaline from the sudden rush it gave him and his mind melting with submission. Grab his fucking throat and make him your bitch. Make him cry, make him wheeze and cough once you let go.
You hesitantly choked him again, your body overcoming with pleasure as you forgot about what you were doing and where your hands were. Fucking yourself against him and fingers tightening as your eyes shut about to cum. Losing it as you heard a strained âFuckâ fall from his lips: He couldnât fucking breathe. He was seeing stars.
Unapologetically flooding you with warmth, filling you up before crushing you with his big body. So tired and worn out from the sex, chasing back the breaths youâd stolen from him. Oh god, it felt like heaven to him, his brain feeling so tight and achy- lightheaded with ecstasy. Next time you had do it with your thighs instead- leave him with as little air as possible, leave him with nothing to do but pant and dribble over your pussy when you loosen your hold. Choke him until his lungs give out, let him breath from the air you accompany him with- he didnât deserve you.
You could kill him like that and heâd thank you in the afterlife.
thinking about simon having pain in one of his teeth. it's been throbbing for a couple days and he just goes fuck it, sets up a floor lamp in the bathroom and grabs a pair of pliers. reaches in and just pulls until his tooth comes out. checks the hole and spits the blood pooling in his mouth into the sink before rinsing off his tooth and putting it away with his other trinkets.
who to call to clean up after an "accident" than your sick and twisted military boyfriend? :D (dark!ghost x dark!fem!reader, 18+)
cw: dark!reader, dark!simon, horror movie vibes, graphic depictions of character death/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one slip of daddy, smut, unprotected piv, simon "spit in my mouth" riley, reader and simon are kinda psycho :D
you've been so nice to her. really nice. you've let it slide off your back whenever she doesn't do her dishes. you pretend you don't notice when she borrows your shoes from the hallway and wears them out to dinner. you hide yourself in your room when she has her awful, loud guests over, and you have never once said anything about how she takes her sweet time in the shared bathroom in the morning and makes you late 2 days a week for work.
but this? this?
she needs to keep simon's name out of her fucking mouth.
"excuse me?" you say finally. your roommate is shrugging on her jacket to leave, her purse in her hand as she types on her phone, using it as a way to not make eye-contact with you. her long nails are tapping against the screen, and it feels like fucking drip water torture. "what the fuck did you just say?"
she sighs, irritated, rolling her eyes as she keeps tapping away at the screen.
"you're so dramatic, it was just a fucking joke."
"you know, i let a lot of things slide," you laugh, humorlessly, and you cross your arms over your chest as you follow her into the kitchen. "but you need to be careful what you say."
"i don't do anything except call it like i see it," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at herself in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall. "you need to just...go out more. man like that isn't gonna stay for long if you don't give him something to go for. he's bored, you know. when you have him over here all the time. and i've totally caught him peeking at me after i shower, y'know."
"well why the fuck are you wearing nothing but a towel when my boyfriend is here, anyways?" you snap. "he's trying to be polite, he's a guest. what if i wore a fucking towel when you had your guy friends over?"
she laughs, poking at the edge of her lip to fix the gloss of her pout. "trust me, honey, no one's looking at you in a towel."
you step back, a little shocked. she rolls her eyes again, sighing.
"i didn't--"
"are you kidding me?" you retort. "you're the worst fucking roommate in the world, and i put up with all your bullshit, and now you're going to go so low as to insult the way i look just to make yourself feel better?" you make your way around the kitchen island. "you don't wash your fucking dishes, you steal my fucking clothes, you're always late on your rent so i have to spot you--"
"you know what, just because i'm fucking happy, and you're not, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"
"i am happy, you sorry bitch!" you cry. "i'm so fucking happy, you're the only thing in my life making me constantly miserable!"
"oh, shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shit!" she snaps. "you're just so fucking insecure and hate me so badly just because simon would rather fuck a girl like me than have to spend another minute with--"
the crack of cast iron against her head shuts her up. it dents the side of her head easily, and her face smacks against the countertop before she crumples to the floor.
it's so fast. one minute, she's yapping, high-pitched voice straining your ears. the next, she's silent.
and she won't say simon's fucking name again.
you watch with bated breath as she folds into herself, her head hitting the hardwood last, a slow puddle of blood beginning to grow under the tendrils of her hair as your eyes move to the heavy pan you're still holding in your hands.
fuck, that's a lot of blood. god, you thought she was just full of fucking air.
you drop the pan once the rush of anger leaves your chest. it thunks onto the ground, and your hands shake as you see the specks of blood that are on the back of your hands, sprinkled over the shirt you wear. it stains your bare legs, even your toes, and you don't even want to look at the spray of it along the counters.
you should be crying, you think. you should feel bad. you're trembling a little, but you think it's just the adrenaline beginning to fade and not the guilt you know is supposed to be racking your insides.
you turn your eyes back to her. her eyes are dull. she doesn't move. it's so quiet now, utterly silent, and you take a deep breath as you take in the silence that you've craved for a long while now. you make your way quietly out of the kitchen, stepping over her body before going for your phone that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch.
you keep your eyes on her as you put your phone to your ear. it rings, and you tilt your head to the side as the blood begins to spiderweb under the kitchen table.
"'ello?"
you blink, looking towards the door. you clutch your phone a little tighter to your ear.
"simon?" you say softly. "a-are...are you busy?"
he hums lowly, chuckling, "no' at the moment, swee'eart, why?" he asks. "mmm...missed y'r voice..." you close your eyes as you hear the buckle of his belt. you try not to picture your giant of a boyfriend leaning back on his worn couch and shoving his jeans low enough to fuck his fist. "tolk t'me, luv...tell me 'ow much ya miss daddy."
you clear your throat gently, willing yourself to ignore the soft squelch of what you know is his hand around his cock, to not let it distract you from what's more important. "uhm...i liked the flowers you gave me, simon. t-they were beautiful."
the sounds on the other end of the phone quiet. you hear shuffling, and then a few moments later, the clink of his car keys.
"tha' right, baby?" he asks, and you close your eyes as you hear the front door of his flat opening. he's already on the way, already coming.
"yeah," you sniffle. "really nice sunflowers."
a yellow flower. he huffs on the other end of the phone, breathing a little easier.
"good girl," he murmurs, and then the line cuts. you set the phone down, making your way back to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. you watch as the blood continues to curl over the floor. you make no attempt to help her; you just swing your feet under you as you look at her spoiled outfit, just grateful she isn't wearing your shoes or one of your jackets. you would hate to have to throw something out that she got all dirty.
there's a curt knock at the door ten minutes later, and then it opens. simon shuts the door behind him, cracking his neck by moving it from side to side before narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip, blinking, forgetting suddenly why he is here when he looks so fucking good. he's got a sweatshirt on under his windbreaker, worn jeans tucked into his boots; you like these jeans, his ass looks incredible in them.
"wot happened?" he asks. you stand, remembering your place. your lip starts trembling, and simon's eyes soften just a little. he's wearing his balaclava, hood up over his head and jacket zipped up, shadowing any true expression on his face. his gait sounds heavy as he lets his hands out of his pockets, coming towards you. when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes dart towards your roommate who's still on the floor, laid out unnaturally just by the oven.
he lets out a low breath, clicking his tongue under the mask. you hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.
"bloody hell," simon mutters, reaching up and throwing his hood off. you wring your hands together nervously, your eyes beginning to sting with tears. you brace for the accusations, for the inevitable terror of facing the music. simon is military, for fuck's sake, why the fuck did you think turning to him would be a good idea?
"i...i-i--" you start, looking up at him, and he holds up a hand, taking the side of your face into his palm before smoothing a gloved thumb over your bottom lip. you blink in confusion, not understanding.
"'s olright, baby," he shushes you, shaking his head. "don't cry."
"simon, i--" you sputter a little, gripping his wrist gently. "i just--i couldn't do it anymore, she just--"
he pities you. maybe you can explain. maybe if you tell him a warped story of what happened, he can help you. he must know someone. he must have important friends, he must--
he uses his free hand to move his mask up over his nose, and you lean into him when he bends, kissing you warmly. your eyes flutter shut, and you shuffle closer as he kisses you sloppy, kisses you hot. you mewl as he slips his tongue into your mouth, licking over your teeth and humming low as he pulls away. his eyes are flashing.
mmm. love.
"hmm..." simon licks his lips, smiling a little. he looks over you, almost pensive, his eyes scanning over your face before he settles back on your eyes. it's tender, the way he looks at you. romantic. "let's get this off of ya."
he reaches for the large shirt you are wearing, pulling it up and over your head. he crumples it into a ball before tossing it on top of your roommate, nodding his head behind you.
it's then that you realize simon isn't going to do the noble thing. he isn't going to call the police. he isn't going to turn you in, make you explain, he seems uninterested in knowing what really happened. no, he already knows what happened. but that's not important.
his pretty, perfect girl got into a little trouble. and he's going to make this go away.
"go on, luv. take a nice shower, yeah?" simon turns you around and pushes on your back gently. you suck in a shaky breath when he fondles your ass, pulling on your panties gently. "mmm...take these off, too."
you slip your panties down your legs, handing them to him.
"they have blood on them, too?" you ask, wiping your face, and he chuckles lowly.
"nah," he shrugs, stuffing them into his back pocket after taking a little sniff. "these are just for me."
jesus fucking christ, there's really something wrong with him. there's something really, really wrong with him.
and something wrong with me.
simon looks you up and down, his eyes catching on your naked body for just a few moments before he nods his head again.
"go on," he tells you. "before i get distracted." you pause for a moment, tilting your head back a little as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts in his big hand. you bite your lip, swallowing back a heavy breath as he flicks his thumb over your nipple gently. "greatest tits 've ever seen," he mumbles, scrunching his nose under the mask before he lets you go. "yeah, go on, baby." it takes everything in you to walk away when you see him reach down with that same hand and grip his bulge through his jeans, adjusting himself as he turns back to the mess in the kitchen.
when you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear shuffling in the living room. the coffee table scraping. the couch being pushed. the rustle of the rug you have there. he grunts a little, and you hear his boots track from the kitchen back to the living room.
you turn the water on hot. you decide to take a bath, not looking at yourself in the mirror as you sink into the tub and plug the drain. you make the water scalding, and it soothes your sore muscles as you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub and stare at the door.
you're not sure how long you stay there. long enough for the water to nearly slosh over the edge of the tub and for simon to swing the bathroom door open, seemingly done with his...tasks.
he's taken his sweatshirt off. just a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and there's a slight pant to his breaths that tell you he's exerted some energy. you notice he has his gloves still on, but before he touches you, he takes them off and tosses them into the sink.
"move over," simon mutters, starting to undress. you look up at him as he undoes the button on his pants, shucking his shirt off and into the corner before dropping his jeans. the water swishes as you sit up, and you swallow hard when simon kicks his boots and pants off, his cock hanging heavy as his mask is the last to hit the floor.
fuck, he's so pretty.
he has no regard for his size. he simply steps into the tub behind you, taking a seat. he looks comically large in your small bathtub, and you squeak a little as the water spills over the edge of the bath and wets the floor. he hums as he feels the hot water on his back. you don't say anything as his hands start to turn the water a little red. you just look up, away, at him.
you shuffle between his legs, tucking yourself into his space. you can't help but look him up and down, admiring his naked physique. he's just hot. big arms, thick thighs, sunburnt tattoos and scars cutting across his face. he hasn't shaved today, so there's some stubble along his jaw, but your eyes focus a little too much on his girthy length, heavy as it sits on his stomach and leaks a little there. his fat stomach, all solid and pudgy, such a nice place for you to rest your hands.
"you did good today," simon says finally. you look at him, and he tilts his head to the side. his approval makes your chest warm. "callin' me like tha'. wot a good girl you are."
keeping quiet on the phone is what he doesn't add out loud.
you purse your lips, trying not to keen at the praise, but it's hard not to when he reaches over and slides his hand over your shoulder, thumbing at your jaw.
"i-i didn't...didn't know what to do," you admit, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you didn't know what to do, so you called him. level-headed enough to not do something rash and call someone else, no, you called him.
"mmm...tha's wot i'm 'ere for, luv," simon soothes you. "made such a little mess..."
you close your eyes. it's sick. deranged. fuck, it feels nice.
why don't i feel anything?
"i know. i'm sorry."
"nothin' ta be sorry about."
you slump into his arms, resting your cheek on his solid chest. you can feel his cock pulsing against your tummy, and you adjust yourself in the water, straddling him as you rest your chin on his pecs and look up at him through watery eyes.
you aren't sad. no. not sad at all. simon has shown you what he will do for the you. the lengths he will go. what he'll forgive just to take care of you. he's so capable, so understanding.
sick. twisted. mine.
"then i'll just say thank you," you mumble, grinding your hips slowly. simon hums, a wicked smile coming over his scarred face. he licks over his bottom lip, big hands gripping you by the fat of your hips as you grip the edges of the tub for stability. "say thank you to my big, strong man for taking such good care of me..."
he chuckles, his eyes lowering, watching your tits sway as you fit your pussy over his length and grind down on him.
"tha' so, baby?"
you nod.
"mhm," you whine. "how can i thank you, my big boy? how can i show you how grateful i am for cleaning up after me, hmm?" you bend at the waist, kissing him wet and warm, and he hisses as you suck his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you would curse him for it, but right now it tastes so much like him, and you lick around his teeth trying to taste more of that sweet nicotine.
"fuck--such a naughty little girl..." he snickers, reaching down. you sigh when he slides his big palms over your ass, forcing you to grind slower, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds leisurely. you grip the edges of the tub tighter, pressing down to give you more leverage to grind down harder. "make such a mess, oll the time..." you gasp when he presses into you just enough, the tip breaching your entrance and forcing you to squeeze around him, your cunt trying to suck him in. "olways needin' me ta pick up afta ya..."
you giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you sink down onto him. he grits his teeth as you do, his eyes focused on the way his cock disappears inch by inch until you're seated down in his lap, his length kissing deep and twitching excitedly. he always feels like a teenager again whenever you fuck--like you're the first pretty girl to ever wet his cock.
you cup his cheeks finally, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes as you bring his gaze up to meet yours. you swallow hard, looking down at him.
"i-i love you, simon," you breathe. he stills underneath you, his jaw clenching as he frowns just a little. you come a little closer, nuzzling your nose against his, your thumb falling to trace the outline of his torn lip. "i should've said it a long time ago...i-i..."
"heart's beatin' out y'r chest, luv," he mutters lowly. "'s olright...'m not goin' anywhere."
it's so disgusting. you should be fucking ill. you should be scrambling to the toilet, your breakfast halfway up your throat. you should be crying, emotional, begging simon to tell the cops that it was all your fault, because it is. he should've come here and made you do the level-headed thing and confess your terrible crime.
he shouldn't be here, sitting underneath you in your tub, cock-deep inside of you after helping you commit murder and then fucking clean it all up.
"what did i do?" you gasp, sitting up. you move to get out of the tub, but simon growls, putting two firm hands on your ass and shoving you back down on his cock, making you cry. "w-what did i do? s-simon, why don't i feel bad, why am i not sorry--?!"
simon tsks, feigning comfort. he juts his bottom lip out into a pout, mocking your little cries.
"oh, luvvie, don't start cryin' now," he chuckles. "don't start pretending like y'care."
uhm...
"simon--"
"no one likes a liar."
you're still trying to pretend, and he knows this. you're still trying to act how someone normally would react. someone normal, someone who thinks rationally, would never have picked up the pan in the first place. and even if they had, they would've scrambled, cried, picked up the phone and confessed, called an ambulance as they tried to get her to start breathing again, put both hands on her chest and tried to get her wake up.
but you didn't. you watched, unnervingly calm, as she stained the hardwood with her blood. you watched as her eyes glassed over, lifeless, and you watched as her insides began to paint the floor in abstract shapes as you gave it time to spread. and not once during that time, or waiting for simon, did you think to help her.
you didn't want to help her. and you certainly didn't think she deserved to get back up. maybe she hadn't done anything quite harsh enough to deserve death in someone else's eyes. annoying, overbearing, rude.
but it's hard to feel bad when she talked about simon. when she called him by his name. when you've seen her let her towel slip when he's in her vicinity, trying to coax him into her room when you're looking away.
you should've taken one of the throwing knives that simon hides in his boot and thrown it at her then, just for that.
"we're cut from the same bloody cloth, baby," simon says, almost accusingly. you grip the edges of the tub, trying to stand again, but he cants his hips and fucks up into you, drawing a frenzied moan out of you. you reach for his shoulders as he does it again, his tongue darting out before he licks a fat stripe over your pebbled nipple. "'s olright. 's okay, luv. don't worry. don't hafta get y'r hands dirty, swee'eart, i've got it."
"but simon," you whine, but all he does is shake his head. you don't have to put on this morality act for him. you don't have to pretend that you are sorry for something that you had every right to do, you don't have to explain to him why you aren't feeling the way you should be feeling.
simon doesn't care about how you should feel. he only cares about how you actually feel.
"she was in y'r way," simon grunts. "always bein' a bloody brat." he fists your hair and brings your mouth to his, groaning as you tighten around his cock. "'ow many times did she fuck ya over, baby, hmm? 'ow many times did she steal y'r fuckin' things, come outta the loo wearin' nothin' but her fuckin' knickers, yeah? 'ow many times?"
you kiss him, frantic, digging your nails into his pecs and dragging them angrily.
yeah. fuck her. fuck what she did to me, fuck the way she behaved, fuck her stupid face and her stupid attitude and her stupid little games.
"called ya names..." he's hitting your sweet spot now, making you cry from pleasure. your pussy feels so hot, squeezing him because you know he's right, and the way he fucks this time makes you think he really knows what you are and knows exactly how to get you there. "wot a fuckin' twat. deserved every bit o' it, baby."
you meet his eyes, dark and cruel. he's still moving, still holding onto your hips and drawing out little whines, but it's different suddenly, it's more. you nod, understanding.
simon is terrible. no good. his head isn't in the right place, maybe it never has been. you wonder, briefly, if this is what he does when he's at work, if these are the things that he's used to. maybe simon has been in service too long--maybe he doesn't understand that you aren't at war here, that you can't just kill and clean up, that you aren't in the field.
"she deserved it," you whimper, and he grins, all teeth, all mean.
"tha's it."
"she was such a bitch."
"fuckin' right."
"she got what was coming for her."
"nnghhh--fuck, baby, gonna make me fuckin' cum, tolkin' like tha'," he hisses. you practically smack him as you grab onto his scarred face, gritting your teeth as you glare down at him. his lips part, and you spit in his mouth as he fucks up into you, thighs hitting your ass with a wet smack that makes your head spin.
"and i'll get rid of the next bitch that so much as looks your way, simon."
the kiss is searing. hot, blinding, white noise fills your ears as he cums with you, stuffing you full as he cums hard, a pained groan leaving him as he collapses against the porcelain tub with a harsh thud. you follow him, chasing after him, kissing him between heavy breaths as you don't make any effort to move off of him. when simon opens his eyes, he can't help but smile.
Yes yes rough sex and degradation is absolutely delicious. But what about sweet reader still exploring the kinky side and starts a scene with 141, but the degradation makes them drop so bad because they start believing the words to be true?? WHAT ABOUT THAT HURT COMFORT HMMM
18+ only MDNI, afab reader, hard degradation, subdrop, aftercare, hurt/comfort. I'm so sorry for any mistakes I literally wrote it on my mobile trying to eat dinner.
Just imagine, sprawled all out on the padded sofa in all yours drawing room, your ass still stinging from the spanking Price gave you while Simon used your throat and Johnny deepthroated Kyle's cock in the corner. John has been fucking your ass like his life depended on it, and your cunt practically numb around the warm wet assault of Kyle's tongue. If you close your eyes you think you can feel Johnny's cum on his tongue from earlier through your fucking cunt.
Simon's cock has a death grip on your throat muscles, and you can't turn your head but you can feel the heat radiating from Johnny's hands from where he is using your soft tits to jerk his cock off. Kyle's cum from earlier is still dripping off of your nipples, and if you were a betting person, you would bet it just gets him harder.
And it's too much, and not enough, because through this all, this- this- whatever this is- you haven't cum once.
Not. Even. Once.
It's your fault. It's all your fault. You saw a tumblr post about edging and denial and degradation and just HAD to have this. You begged and begged and used your puppiest eyes, and then Johnny told you the time Price and Simon tag teamed him and he had to take sick days afterwards. That would have deterred you, but then Kyle overheard you two and told you you're better off otherwise. And that irked that little itsy bitsy part of you that just HAD to say nuh uh.
And now you're barely conscious and so so overstimulated and understimulated at the same time.
"Fuckin' slag, spreading these legs for every fuckin' man that walks in the door, huh?" John whispers in your ears, words punctuated with every thrust of those powerful hips against the irritated skin of your freshly spanked ass.
There's a buzz in your ears roaring and cresting and roaring again.
It's not true. You've always been loyal. You love them you love them you love them you love them they love you they love yo-
"'ike a proper whore. Just good fo' takin' cock an' bouncin' on it like you were born for it, huh? Should just keep 'ou like this, all ruined."
Ruined? Is- they love you. They love you, ruined and all. Right? Ruined....
Logically, you know Simon is right there above you, his cock is so warm in your mouth, but it's so overwhelming and you're not sure if it's a good way stil-
Thwap!
Wha-
"Do tha' again, Soap, she tighten'd right up at tha'!" Kyle's voice is so full of something- god you're trying so hard to think but Johnny keeps spanking your tits, the cum still wet on your chest just makes the hits sting more.
It hurts and it's so- it's too much-
"Gawd, jus' a fuckin' two bi' slag!" It's so full, it's too full- "Nothin' more than a dumb fuckin' cocksleeve, ain't so? Could jus' fill ma' toy up and make ya beg for it on ye knees, make ye stick yer face in it with ye ass in th' air an' make ye give everyone at the base a proper show eh?"
No no no no no no nno
Someone laughs, probably Kyle. Maybe. You're not sure of much right now. "Won't even hafta charge for it, people shouldn't hafta pay for slags like ye to drip like yer nature, eh whore?"
And every muscle in your body goes rigid.
There's a distant sound, something about colours and green and red and yellow and words, but you're so tired, everything is so- so- syrupy and far far away.
You just want to float away. From them. From here.
From ruined.
You don't know how time is moving, but suddenly there's lightness in your mouth, in your ass, in your cunt. There's something- no no someone, holding your head and saying something-
NO!!
You try to move your limbs, through the sludge of semi-consciousness. But then you're surrounded by something, something warm and soft and cozy, and then you're weightless, airborne getting to someplace else.
Someplace softer than wherever you were before.
Ruined ruined ruined ruined rui-
Someone is calling someone Baby. Love too maybe? Not you, right? Can't be you. Ruined. Too ruined-
"Sweetheart, need you to drink this. Come on honey. Come on sweetheart."
Too gentle- too much- not good enough- too ruined-
"Baby. Need ye ta be strong an' drink this, come on honey."
It's hard, it's so hard, you can't move, but throat feels drier than sandpaper, and whatever they hold up to your lips is feels soothing, and you gulp down greedily.
"Slow baby, gonna give yourself a coughin' fit."
Guilt is a thing alive at your throat as you muster a scratchy crumbling "Sorry..."
"Oh baby..."
You don't dare look at them, afraid of finding disappointment and disgust in the eyes you hold the dearest.
"The tub's ready, lemme take 'em." The hands that wrap around you are strong, and you curl inwards, making yourself the smallest you can be. Unobtrusive. Ignorable.
The hands just curl in tighter.
It helps, the pressure, the constant stream of words that goes over your head. The water is nice, the warmth soothing your strained muscle after all the overexertions of the night, and you sink-
sink sink sink
It must have been a while because the water has long cooled off. It takes you a while to register the shivers, but ever so slowly you sit up, every muscle in your body screaming at the movement.
"Hi love."
You sink in the bathtub again, trying to hide away from the three pairs of eyes currently on you. God the bathroom feels cramped with everyone in it.
"It's okay, ye don' hafta talk ta us right now. Jus' lemme take ye back ta bed." You dare to peek up from the rim of the tub, at those big blue eyes full of- of-
Worry.
God. You made him worried. You made them all worried. And for what?
Stupid stupid dumb idiot-
"Love."
The voice cuts through the haze of self-deprecation, making you turn and face him with a gentle nudge. "Gonna get you up, 'kay?"
You want to say no, you want to refuse the pity and the kindness because right now there's not a bone in your body that believes you deserve any of it, but there's something in those dark eyes that shuts you up effectively. So you let yourself be taken up, dripping water all over the carpet and Simon. You open your mouth to protest, but then you're getting hauled over to the bedroom and snuggled up in your softest towel, Kyle drying your hair with another. It leaves you scrumpled, and one scarred hand comes up to push your hair away from your face.
The gesture is so soft, so familiar. You've been holding yourself together somehow till now, but then he's dropping a quick kiss at your temple and something inside you comes loose.
The tears flow, first quiet, then at a hiccupping rate, making you buck and whimper and sob. Simon doesn't let go, just envelopes you into his arms, broad shoulders inviting you to hide away from the rest of the world. You're absolutely ruining the shirt he's wearing, there's going to be tear stains everywhere, but he doesn't mind, and when you go to point it out, only pulls you tighter.
You jump a little as someone hugs you from behind, Johnny, judging by the mop of hair tickling your nape.
"I- I'm sorry- I'm so so sorry. I shouldn't have- I just-" you hiccup through the remnants of the tears, Simon still not relenting you from his hold, merely turning you around so you can see everyone.
It's embarrassing how much it soothes you to hear that from Kyle, the smile on his face helping calm your frayed nerves. Johnny keeps running his hands all over you, not pressing hard, just a grounding touch.
You appreciate them so much it makes you want to cry.
"We're not mad at you, darling. Whatever we said in the scene, it was just playing. We're not angry, we're not disappointed. We're just glad you're okay." John offers, handing a glass of water to Simon so he can make you drink small sips, still not relenting his gentle grip.
"We fuckin' love you baby. Cannae imagine not lovin' ye. Gawd. Runnin' through mah fuckin' veins ye are, cannae live without ye." Johnny and you are twin flames, shedding overwhelmed tears as Kyle huddles closer, holding both your faces, thumb rubbing on your cheek.
"Gave us a proper scare, sweetheart." John whispers, whether not to break the moment or terrified of the reality of what happened, you're not sure. "Our brave darling, our sweet love. So fuckin' sorry we didn't realise sooner, darling."
"Need to take care of you. Need to make sure you're okay, that we're okay." You turn bashful under the full attention of Kyle's big brown eyes. "Let us, please love?"
A nod is the only thing you can muster enough energy for, and thankfully Kyle understands, letting Simon lay you down on the bed as he and Johnny take off the clothes they seemed to have put on in the time you were in the tub. John presses a long kiss on your forehead, as if trying to make sure you're still here. Simon is a permanent fixture, you have a sneaking suspicion not even an entire country's armed forces can detach him from your side tonight.
You let yourself drift off, the ugly thoughts in your head threatening to make a comeback seemingly been run off by the army thrown around you, and the solid chest under your head, the tangled mess of legs as Kyle and Johnny join you three on the bed.
In the morning there will be a discussion, you know. You can already see the cogs turning behind John and Simon's eyes - the silent conversation as you are sandwiched between both. There will be rules, and negotiations for new kinks to be introduced.
You will be okay. More than that, you will be loved and thoroughly taken care of. They'll make sure of it, no matter what.
ghost probably likes humping your face, rutting his bulge against your cheek as precum soaks through his briefs, subconsciously wanting you to smell like him. pausing to pull his cock free, laying it on your face as he kneels over you and gently thrusts it between your face and his hand, the sensitive underside of his tip sending tingles up his spine when it rubs your cheek or forehead. itâs never long before he shuffles up further a little bit, hoarsely asking you to open your mouth so he can slip his balls between your lips, grunting as he gazes down at you lapping at them, soft kitten licks and gentle sucks to each swell, cock still rubbing against your face and coating you in his musk-
simon riley as a true mutt, ass plugged with puppy like, fluffy tail that brushes against the flesh of his ass and the back of his thighs, laying on the floor where he seated on his knees, skin rosy from where it digs into the parquet, his rugged face right between your spread thighs.
you don't do anything except carding your fingers in the short locks of his hair, fiddling with the band that holds two fluffy ears that adorn his head, they're bent down, just like one of a young puppy, eager to please where he sucks at your clit, amber eyes cloaked with submission beneath the flutter of blonde eyelashes.
simon feels contented at his place, having someone making his whole brain turn off, just a warm mouth to lap at your slit, slurping at the oozing slick that grants his fat tongue with it's sweetness, and if the plug could wag, the tail would be swishing by now, judging by his eyelids growing heavy.
of course, he's aroused as well, his poor cock already rudy at the mushroom tip, leaky with pearly precum that coats his length with tacky wetness, dribbling on his beefy thigh, staining filthy the coarse hair at his skin, but simon ain't pleads to fuck your cunt.
it's a job for his mouth, to curl his tongue in your tight, pulsing heat and let you drench his face down to his stubbled chin, cream right in his whiny mouth as he whimpers and moans in your pussy, meeting your grinding movements, tracing his tongue along your gummy insides, as he rolls his hips to hump your leg.
knees rubbing at the floor uncomfortably, but it's nothing when his wet cock slides up against your toes, your leg bouncing to meet his jerky, sloppy thrusts, letting his tip rub at your ankle and stain you with sticky cum, but he's been such a good puppy, there's no way you'll punish him for this.
simon deserves only soothing coos as you pat at his head, descending your hand to brush soft fingers against his cheekbone, cupping his face in your warm palm, praising him with saccharine words that make his face dive deeper in your wet pussy, nose pressing against your pubic bone, so eager to please.
Thoughts on pegging? If youâre into it thoughts on pegging soap???
i have thoughts. many of them, in fact.
additional cw: breeding kink & unrealistic sex
it started off as a drunken joke between me and my friends but i kept tumbling the idea in my head and realized that i like it a little too much. that it wasnât a haha moment for meâitâs a visceral turn-on.
just. the idea of climbing atop a man as i fist my strap-on, so grounded in how i must look (beautiful, maybe, with my matching colours of bra and strap).. the idea of folding his legs to his stomach, my stomach slotting perfectly on the underside of his thighs.. the idea of crooning reassurances as i guide the bulbed head to his puckering hole, watching the dildo glisten with the excess lube lathered on his skin.. the idea of watching him gasp out in pleasure, his face creased with his peaking euphoriaâ
oh.
oh i need it.
johnny would be so beautifulâall flushed and sweaty, his overgrown mohawk a mess with how much his hairâs been ruffled against the pillows. heâs blinking his wet eyes up at you, kiss-swollen lips gnawed on by his own teeth as he shakes in his anticipation.
âyâready for me, baby?â you ask, breathless yourself because this is new. this is different.
all it was before was a maybe. a next time, if you want?
it never reached this point. never been a possibility. but here johnny is, laid before you, all giddy and excited, his blood thrumming with his own need.
âyeah,â he finally replies, a croak with how his voice sticks to his throat. âwanâ ye now.â
âokay,â you whisper, rubbing your hand softly on the dip of his hip, your thumb dimpling his skin. okay.
itâs all so careful, tender, but so, so messy. so wet and slippery. you totally missed your mark, and the silicone ended up rutting against johnnyâs balls, making him hiss at the muted pleasure.
the two of you freeze, all noise snuffed out at your blunder. it takes johnny snorting out a half-smothered chortle for you to move again.
âshit, mâbad,â you grunt out, ignoring the way your cheeks begin to flood with warmth, burning you up from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, but johnny continues to sputter out his laughter, bulkier body shaking at his ecstatic giggles, and you pinch him in retaliation.
it only makes him bite back a smile, his cheeks round and red, and his eyes narrowed in contained-desire. and he looks so, so beautiful before you like this.
all loose and relaxed, trust handed over to you. he is so confident in himself; so sure of your ability to fuck him good even with your little nervous mistake.
he laughs because the unsureness is part of the thrillâwatching you navigate through the flow of taking him, stumbling but resolute. just as desperate.
you huff, pitching forward just enough to nuzzle your nose on his jaw. âshut.â
johnny nips your cheek in reply.
the second time you line up your strap to his puckering hole, the two of you are wide-eyed, trembling, breaths coming out in ragged rasps.
you couldnât tear your eyes off his hole when you push inânot even the sound of johnnyâs quiet moan could make you falterâwatching the tight ring expand, pink and glistening as more lube trickles down the shaft of your strap at every inch he takes. itâs all so sinful. debauched. sloppy.
âjesussss,â johnny rasps out, dizzy and aching, and he sounds so wrecked you that couldnât help but drag your eyes away from his pretty hole to watch him.
you expected the fevered blush, the spit-slicked lips, the blown-wide pupils. but you didnât expect how catastrophic it looks on johnny, so raw with his pleasure, so wild with his hunger.
he looks lost in the feeling, suspended within the moment, like all that exists is the euphoria razing through him.
you know that feeling. johnny has always filled you up to the point that your toes tingle and your cunt flutters and your mind is static like it is packed with cotton so you know where he is at right now. you just didnât know how addicting it is to be the one to be giving out that feeling. to be the cause.
your core throbs, slick gathering between your thighs, and you whimper, unable to stop yourself, before youâre digging your feet into the mattress and fucking all of the remaining inches in.
johnnyâs eyes bulge out, awareness snapping back into him. his jaw drops, his tongue lolling out uselessly, before a choked keen rumbles from the base of his throatâ
your pelvis is pressed flush to his when he gargles out, âfu-huuuu!â
his cock is leaking, beads of pre- dribbling from his slit to stain his abdomen, dragging some patches of his hair into pearly-sheened clumps. you rut close, hips rolling softly, trying to nudge your strap into the sensitive part of his walls, and johnny huffs, breathing through his mouth as he tries to get used to the feeling of being filled. stuffed.
your need grows, mouth salivating.
you grin, so mean it passes off as a snarl, before you pull out, murmuring shushing noises at johnnyâs hiccup, until all thatâs left is the curved head of your dildo.
you donât even know why you looked, what could it have been that compelled you, but you flit your eyes to your strap only to pause with a sharp intake of air.
the shaft of the silicone is shiny. drenched.
fuckâ
you snap your hips forward, bullying all of your cock back into johnnyâs walls. he screams, blunt nails clawing the sheets at the razing pleasure. your mind is screaming with only one thoughtâi know.
you know how it feels; how maddening it can be. how dizzying it will be.
how each thrust is too much and not enough, at the same time. how the feeling of getting fucked is like being set ablaze; like feeling euphoria lapping from the base of your feet and into the plane of your spine. and seeing johnny squirm, and hearing johnny sobâit makes you fuck him harder, faster, wanting to make him cum.
his cock bobs between you two angrily, flushed so prettily and leaking so, so much.
you almost giggle at how wet he is until johnnyâs words pierces through you.
âdeeper, bon,â he mewls, voice sticky with his tears. âwanâ you deeper.â
you tremble at the sight he makes, all so beautiful under you like this. begging so prettily like if he doesnât, you wouldnât give it to him. like you would hold his bliss above him and make him cry for it.
and you donât know what is it that overtook youâyou lean forward, brushing your nose with hisâwhat it is that filled you up as you tremble, your skin dotted with goosebumpsâbut all you tell your boy, with your voice rasping out of you like a croon, isâ
âyâsure, johnny? might make yâpregnant if i fuck any deeper.â
johnnyâs breath stutters, his eyes going impossibly widerâ
I see a lot of stuff about dom Price and dom Ghost but what about dom Gaz?
(Banner by @adornedwithlight)
Gaz who is through and through a pleasure dom. Knows exactly what buttons of yours to push to get your brain to go to mush. Gaz who by all appearances is a charismatic, sweet, doting boyfriend, but can pull the rug out from under you so fast it leaves you winded. Gaz who gets off on making sure you get off, and is so confident in his ability to do so it makes you automatically fold a little, completely susceptible to his knowing little grin.
Gaz who takes his time making you cum over and over, spends hours coaxing orgasms out of you while lavishing you with praise. "There ya go, doll. So good for me. Just lemme take over. Think you can handle one more? Oh I know you can, love." Absolutely wrings you dry, even when you said three orgasms ago you don't possibly have another one in you. It's overwhelming, overstimulating in a way that makes the synapses of your brain fry and simmer down to nothing- leaving you drooling and glassy eyed into the sheets while you clench down on his fingers.
and it's only then that Gaz decides to slide into your nice, warm hole, with you deep in subspace under him, able to offer only punched out little moans with every slap of his hips against yours. Gaz holds out until you can hardly speak, cottony between the ears and so far gone you can't even reply to him as he groans and grunts in your ear about how good you feel around his cock.
It takes you a while to surface when he's finished. Gaz holds you until that fuzziness starts to fade, peppers your face with kisses and reminds you how well you did, how good you are for him. You're treated to a nice, long bath afterwards and wrapped in the fluffiest towel he can find, hydrated and held in his arms until you're so blissfully relaxed in the afterglow you never want to leave his hold again.
john price is a gentleman, well he tries incredibly hard to remain so to you in particular. when you step forward, stretching out like a cat to hug him, arms around his neck, happy sigh against his chest. the expanse of his warm palm finds the sliver of skin exposed from your shirt lifting with your stretch. he presses his hand to it, to share his body heat or to steal yours, heâs never fully sure but he indulges in it for but a few seconds before his fingers are tugging the seam of it down, palm back over the material to rub soothing circles there as if to preserve the heat he gathered. you always melt further into him when he does so, and it only gives him more of a reason to lay a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, resting his chin atop of it with a serenity that only you are able to evoke in him.
kyle garrick is much too good at undressing you, deft and nimble fingers snap buttons with quick flicks, zips fly apart with a swipe and then those big hands are welcoming all the skin he loves to lavish with his warm and wet kisses to the air around the two of you. but when heâs not disrobing you with an ease that always has you raising an eyebrow at him, his fingers are curling into the ends of your clothes, any opening or gap has the pad of his finger tracing promising circles against your skin. itâs always mindless, something of a bad habit that applies strictly to you, as if his fingers cannot help but want to have all of you, the bare of you pressed against his fingertips. you spare him a knowing look when that sneaky finger finds its opening, but all you receive in return is a wink and traced words on your skin you can never fully decipher.
john mactavish is a fiend. one you scowl at, hands batting his away when he laughs lowly and only chases after you like the metaphorical slap on the wrist is more bait than punishment. and maybe you should start considering reverse psychology for this man because whenever youâre in reach, his hands wriggle beneath your clothes, two thick fingers hooking into the elastic bands of your underwear and snapping, his mouth always swallowing the hiss you let out, your own hands shoving unconvincingly at his hard chest. âyou fuckinâ love itâ he always makes sure to whisper when you bite at his lip in retaliation and you do, but johnny mactavish remains a fiend all the same.
simon riley has a thing for pockets. particularly those too small for the imposing size of his hands, but like a cat, that does not deter him from squeezing his hands into the front pockets of your pants as he stands behind you, forehead resting on your shoulder. you smile amusingly whenever he does so, laughing inwardly when he cusses beneath his breath at the tightness that displaces at his skin and all but traps him in the confines. there are days where he is purposely tugging his hoodie over your head, hand on your lower back then nudging you out of the door for it hours later to sneak comfortably into the front pocket of his hoodie as he comes to stand behind you. the sigh he lets out is warm on your shoulder as he breathes a âmuch betterâ and all you can do is shake your head and lean back into the strength of him, your own hands resting atop the pocket locking him into you.
Idk biting Simon's jaw while you sit on his lap, his hands loosely holding your waist while he tilts down to let you. His mask lifted up right to his nose because he doesn't want to take it off fully, something of a comfort item.
Its natural how he follows along as your hand grabs his shoulder, pulling him down further as he hunches over you. Forcing himself still as he feels your teeth dig into his jaw harshly, relishing in the pain that makes him forget about, his now dust, cigarettes.
"A little harder", asking gently through that rough voice. Blood in his cheeks and ears while he holds still at your bite. Grumbling that it wasn't hard enough.
"You want me to draw blood?"
"Leave a scar, add onto", something of yours. Something he wants. Something he's decided on, he wants your mouth, your teeth, your words and lies passing through your lips but teeth. He wants those sharp canines of yours in his jaw. No matter how blunt or sharp, just something of yours before his skin forgets. It's just another scar on his skin.
