price with his big bulky arm wrapped around your throat, his other splayed across your stomach, and your back is arching painfully up, curving into the older man’s chest. it was like you were made to be there. made to be here, sitting against his chest and taking everything he’s giving you. made to be mewling and drooling over the way his cock curved inside you and hit all the right spots to make your lights go out. and maybe you were made to be here, laying in his arms afterwards as his hands rub up and down your sides, as his lips press kisses into your temple, and his mustache tickles your hairline. maybe you were to be with john price.
It started off with johnny (because of course it did), johnny who can’t shut the fuck up when he’s jacking off his leaking chubbed up cock. Johnny who holds up his dick close to his screen as he desperately and pathetically jerks off his cock, his wrist starting to cramp from the speed he’s going.
On his screen is you, tits bouncing, nipples pinched, mouth open while you ride your dildo, sweet little moans leaving past your lips. Johnny who moans so loud, he’s woken up about half the barracks before, it gets to the point where Price sends in a request for sound proofing equipment.
Gaz who gets so fed up that after another one of Johnny’s “sessions”, he quite literally corners Johnny
“Mate, the hell are you watch’n that makes you cum bout 5 times a day?”
Gaz asks johnny as he enters the common room after his “private time”. Johnny who doesn’t shy away from the opportunity to show off his one and only favorite cam girl, immediately pulling out his phone and sitting himself next to Gaz on the couch. Gaz who honestly didn’t expect johnny to pull out fucking receipts of who he called “the hottest fucking lass he’s seen”.
Johnny pulls up a video with you laying on your bed, towel under you to protect your sheets. One of your hands being busy with ramming a dildo into your pussy, vibrator in your ass as your other hand is wrapped around your neck applying light pressure. Johnny holds the phone up with a proud and smug little smirk on his face as he watches Gaz stare in almost disbelief. Johnny watches as Gaz tries to adjust himself in his position as he grabs the phone from Johnny, continuing to scroll through your video library. Gaz screenshotting your profile and sending it to himself before shoving Johnny’s phone into his chest and mumbling a “thanks…” before hurrying off to his barracks.
The interaction with Gaz now had given Johnny the bright idea of getting the rest of his mates hooked on his dear cam girl. Johnny's next victim was a bit more difficult and overall more of a danger approach, lieutenant Simon Riley! To overcome this obstacle Johnny thought the best idea was to blatantly, out in the open, watch his porn where he could get easily caught. He sat on the couch in the barracks blasting his porn and waiting for his lieutenant to walk in after his training session. Johnny, being as inpatient as ever started to palm himself through his pants.
Soap accidentally (purposefully) getting caught with his hands down his pants by his lieutenant. Said lieutenant looking very stern while looming over his Sargent, arms crossed over his chest. “What ya watching there Sargent?” Johnny’s head goes back to look at Simon in his eyes, “she’s just too perfect Si” he almost moans out as he brings his focus back down to the video playing in his hand.
Simon who’s finally fed up with this interaction steps around the couch and in front of Johnny. Johnny takes the opportunity to shove his phone in Simon’s hands. a video of you on your knees sucking a dildo suctioned to your wall as you grind on a boot, tears rolling down your cheeks from the gagging and the overstimulation. “The bonnie is doin’ it for ya, ay Lt.” Johnny hinting at Simon’s growing bulge in his pants. “I could help ya out if ya like~” he grins up at Simon.
Johnnys head bobbing up and down the shaft of Simon’s cock, his hand coming up to squeeze his balls as Johnny takes him all the way to the back of his throat. Simon stands looking down as johnny sucks him off, only he’s not looking at Johnny, the video, your video playing in Simon’s hand him watching you grind and suck as johnny does the same below him. Simon comes without warning as the video plays you squirting all over the boot as your body shakes.
He grabs onto Johnny’s mohawk pulling him down as he cums down Johnny’s throat, pulling out as a bit of his cum dribbles out the side of his mouth. Simon shuts off the phone tossing it on the couch as Simon leans forward, his thumb wiping the cum from Johnny’s mouth. He puts his cock away before patting soap on the cheek and walking away to the showers. Johnny smirks as he slumps back against the couch regaining himself.
Captain John price was an easier plan, he’d simply “accidentally” send his dear ol’ captain a link or two, send a message along with it as if he was talking to a buddy. However this plan was also the most stressful for Johnny, simply for the fact that he didn’t know which videos to pick that would get his Captain going the most. It took Johnny about half a week to decide, after hours of scrolling, before he finally landed on two videos of yours.
One was titled: “ILL BE A GOOD GIRL AND NOT TOUCH MYSELF FOR DADDY <3”
It was you in a skirt with two pretty pink bows in your hair a vibrator in your pussy, you showing the camera how soaked your panties were without you even touching yourself. The video was 20 minutes long of you continuously overstimulating yourself with tears in your eyes.
the second link was one of your only videos with another person, the man never appeared on screen. Only his arms and cock, with his voice sometimes being heard, a thick southern accent. You would play with yourself as you fuck yourself on a dildo. As the man grabbed your face speaking filthy words to you, telling you to open as he spit into your mouth. He’d tell you when to slow down and when to speed up, when to moan and when to shut up. Titled: “DADDY TAKES GOOD CARE OF HIS OBEDIENT LITTLE SLUT <3” the video being on the longer side of 45 minutes
Johnny sends them with a small smirk growing on his lips, his smirk growing wider when he gets a message back from the Captain himself.
———————
(NOT EDITED OR PROOFREAD)
a/n: has been sitting in my drafts unfinished foreverrrrrr
Stepdad!König taking a call from your mother while she’s at work - and while he’s brutalizing your sweet pussy in your room, his hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your moans as he speaks to your mother over the phone like normal 😊
Phone
cw: p in v, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, smut, rough sex, creampie, exhibitionism?, tell me if I missed any.
Your heart jumped out of you chest when his phone rang, you panicked, but König looked unbothered, reaching over to pick it up as he kept up his pace, driving his hips forward roughly and ruthlessly. He chuckled lowly, showing you the caller: your mother. Your breath hitched, teary eyes widening and mouth agape with drool rolling down the corner of your lips, you struggled against him, begging for him to ignore the call or to stop if he wanted to answer it.
“You can keep quiet, can’t you, Schatz?”
“No no- please-!”
His hand came down on your mouth, muffling your cries and whimpers, pleading for him to adhere to common sense. Despite your cries, he answered the phone, clicking on speaker - to antagonize you - and your mother’s voice rang out in the room. He greeted her with a normal hi, his tone calm even through the strenuous session, rocking into you, his thick girth and throbbing cock milking your cunt of the load he left this morning after she left.
“I’m sorry for calling so suddenly, hun,” she sounded tired, spending the day working until 7pm.
“It’s okay,” König hummed, placing the phone down beside your head, beside your covered mouth and tear-streaked cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll be home later than usually,” she sighed, oblivious to your muffled whines. “I’m going to swing by that Italian place, do you want anything?”
Unlike your choked mewls and breathless keens, your stepdad was still, chest puffing up and pressing down on you, shifting your legs over his shoulders as he drove himself deeper. He was rough, thrusts hard and words degrading, cooing in your ear harsh, degrading names. Telling you what a slut you were for you stepdad, how you were a bitch for whoring around him and Horangi in skimpy shorts and baggy shirts, and how your sweet pussy was so wet and loud for him.
“Could you ask (Name) about supper?”
“Give me a second, ja?”
He flashed you a mean grin, putting the call on mute for better acting, playing the scene of him walking towards your room or where ever you were. His hand moved down to your neck, giving you a hard grip and holding you down, folding you in half, knees bent to your shoulders and feet jerking over his head. Seeming satisfied with his manhandling, the wet slaps of his hips hitting your thighs louder and the head of his cock ramming your spongy cervix, he picked up the phone, unmuting it and pressing it to your ear.
“Dear?”
“H-hi mom-” you gasped, the heavy curve of his cock and the bulging veins rubbing your back wall, you spasmed around him, teeth biting down on your lower lip to stop the moan that threatened to slip.
“You remember that Italian place we went last week?”
“Ye-ah-yeah.”
She paused, her silence ringing louder than every slap that made your stomach bulge. You feared that she heard your slip up, the high-pitched mewl and pants you let out; you feared that crooked grin on his scarred lips and that proud and scheming gleam in his eyes. He changed his fast and rough pace for a deep and precise one, repeatedly aiming for that spot that made your eyes roll and back arch, finger thumbing your engorged clit.
“Are you okay?” You hated the worried tone mixed with that exhaustion, it picked at your heart.
“Yes-!” It came out harsher than you intended, pearly tears slipping from your squinted eyes.
König’s manhandling and pointed hits made your walls clench around him, the coil in your navel tightening to a delirious amount, making your head spin and mind dumb.
“Okay… Do you want anything for tonight?”
“Ro-rosé, please.”
“All right, I’ll see you tonight then.”
Any later and she would have heard you scream your mind off, you let moans roll off your tongue without restraint, nails digging into his back and back arched upward. He lowered your legs to his elbows, opening your legs to watch you come, your cunt swallowing him to the base, pumping in and then back out with a white ring around is cock from your shared pleasure. He made a sound of satisfaction, hands wandering down to grip your hips, riding out his pleasure leisurely and yours a fiery white blaze that burned through your body.
“You heard her, ja? Looks like we have more time to play.”
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn! bartender! reader
Summary: when a regular patron at the bar you work in steps into save you, you decide to pretend he's your boyfriend to scare away any unsavoury customers
Word Count: 2k
Content/CW -> harassment/assault, slight violence, protective! Ghost, alcohol use, cursing, fake dating-ish (but not really?), first time writing cod might be ooc idk
this is (late) day 5 of my love letters valentine's event! this was the green mushroom letter <3
froggi yaps -> first time ever writing cod, kinda nervvy </3 honestly it's been a WHILE since i played the game so please forgive me if this sucks ;-; this was based on @mxxnechos prompt + favorite character :p i hope it's alright
(also ty vvvm to kat who helped me :p)
Your first weekend as a bartender is not going the way you hoped. The quiet Wednesday and slightly busier Thursday you’d trained on could not prepare you for how crowded the bar has been on this warm, Friday night.
In the three hours since your shift started, you’ve been hit on no less than a dozen times, had multiple drinks spilled on you and managed to cut yourself on the broken glass of a beer bottle abandoned at the bar. At least the last one had allowed you to sneak away for a few moments to tend to your wounds.
As the night drags on, the patrons only seem to get worse and worse, the alcohol boosting their confidence and stupidity. A perfect storm. It’s when the bar is approaching closing that it happens, the music starting to die down and the crowd more than halved with the late hour.
The man sidles up to the bar, cheeks flushed with alcohol. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he slurs.
You fake a laugh, casting your gaze down to the cup you’re drying.
“Can I get…”
You don’t wait for him to finish his sentence before you smile politely. “Sorry, last call was thirty minutes ago.”
“That’s alright.” He leans closer, allowing you to smell the sour beer on his breath. You cringe. “Think I’d prefer to taste you, angel.”
An involuntary roll of your eyes has him clenching his jaw, fingers tightening over the wooden bar counter. You don’t notice, too busy working on closing to pay too much mind to the drunk asshole in front of you.
“You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”
You frown, still not sparing him a glance. “Do I need to call the bouncer over, or can you find your own way out?”
You don’t see the warning signs. The ticking in his jaw, the darkness in his eyes. Every other patron has slithered away when met with your attitude, retreating far, far away from you and licking their wounds. Not him. Not tonight.
He reaches across the counter and grabs your jaw harshly, forcing you to look up at him. You gasp, dropping the glass in your shock. The sound of the shattering makes you flinch.
His grip is bruising, fingertips clamping your jaw shut. “Listen here, sweetheart.”
Acid burns in his words. You struggle, reaching a hand to wrap around his wrist and try and pry him off of you, but it’s no use.
“I don’t know what’s with the fucking attitude but—”
You never get to hear what he’s going to say next because suddenly there’s a much bigger, much stronger man yanking him off of you. He shoves the man into the wall hard and you can see the defiance in his eyes fade to fear.
“Are you bloody deaf?” The other man, dressed in a compression shirt and cargo pants, sneers. “You were asked to leave.”
The man stutters something incomprehensible, pinned to the wall with the force of the bigger man’s forearm. It’s not until his face has started to turn red that he finally lets go, the drunk man scrambling out of the bar.
You’re breathless. “T-thank you.”
The man, ruggedly handsome, drops a wad of cash on the counter. “Don’t mention it.”
You watch him leave, entirely in a daze until your coworker comes back from her trip to the dishwasher. She looks at you, the broken cup on the floor and the stunned smile on your face.
“What happened?”
“I—” You blink, “some guy got rough with me.”
“What? Are you okay?”
You nod, hesitant. “Some other guy kicked him out for me.”
“Oh, tall guy? Dresses like he’s in GI Joe?”
“Yes?”
“That’s Simon, one of our regulars.” She shrugs, “doesn’t talk much but he tips well.”
Simon, you mentally note the name of your saviour.
Saturday night only comes with more people, more drinks, more chaos. At least tonight there’s an extra bartender on the floor helping you navigate and taking the weirder patrons off of your hands. You find yourself thanking him at least a couple times an hour.
Your mood shifts to something a little more positive when you see a familiar face sitting alone in the corner of the bar, nursing a pint of beer. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t flutter a little at seeing him again.
You try to keep your focus on your work, on serving the grabby hands of drunken customers, but it’s hard when he’s sitting there looking so damn fine.
The night drones on with no incidents, your coworkers and you winding down to close the bar. You’re mopping behind the bar, chatting idly with a customer who’s been sat at the counter almost all night.
He’s kind and friendly, and very patient given you’d messed up his drink order earlier. He’s in the midst of telling you a story about some travelling he did recently, your mind blanking as you only half-listen.
“Anyways, would you like to go out with me sometime?”
Your hand stills on the mop. How in the hell did we get here?
“That’s really sweet but,” you hesitate. “I have a boyfriend.”
His shoulders visibly slump, “can he fight?”
You laugh it off but the memories of last night and how quickly things had devolved replay in your mind. Nervous energy explodes in your stomach like a supernova, sending anxiety through your veins.
“He—” You find your body moving on its own, pointing to the man sitting in the corner. “He’s right there, actually.”
As if sensing your gaze, Simon offers a lazy wave to the two of you. Finishing off the rest of his beer, he stands up and saunters over to the counter. Before he can even ask what’s going on, the man is nodding at him approvingly.
“You’re a lucky man.”
Despite his confusion, his face is a mask of perfect calm. He looks between the two of you, assessing the uneasy tension in your shoulders and the way your hands have clenched against the broom, and the hungry look in the man’s eyes. Realization dawns on him.
“Damn right I am.”
Heat rushes to your face, making the already hot bar even worse. The man pays his tab and leaves, once again just leaving you and Simon at the counter.
He leans against it. “We’re dating now?”
“Sorry, sorry.” You cringe, embarrassment hot and heavy. “I panicked.”
There’s something close to a teasing grin on his face. “S’alright, love.”
He fishes in his pocket for his cash but suddenly you’re piping up, speaking a little too quickly. “No, no. It’s on me.”
He draws his gaze up, confused.
“You’ve helped me so much the past two days, it’s only fair…”
After a slight debate, he lets you comp his two drinks before bidding you goodnight and going on his way.
You fall into something close to a friendship after that, Simon showing up at the bar like clockwork. Some nights he’s alone, watching whatever sport is playing from the old tv. Other nights, he brings friends with him—other similarly built men who are much chattier than him.
They tease him about you. Never when you’re around, of course, but you still manage to overhear when you slide them a pint of beer or come to collect their glasses. The one man in particular, a goofy Scottish man, always grins when he sees you and nudges Simon in one of his burly arms.
And then they disappear. The bar, for all of its popularity and clientele, feels strangely empty without them. The first few weekends pass by quickly, each overwhelmingly long night bringing hope that any day now, they—or at least Simon—will be back.
But they don’t come back. A month passes, and then two. The neon lights of the bar seem duller, the music not as enjoyable as it used to be. Your conversations with customers hold a new weight that wasn’t there before, and the more time passes, the less you find your eyes darting to that table in the corner.
It’s not until the end of summer that you see him again.
The bar has been crawling with activity, college kids on their last hurrahs crowding around and doing shots from each other’s belly buttons. Despite how loud they are, their rampant youth takes your mind off of things.
Close comes quicker during the busy season and before you know it, you’re loading the dishwasher in the back while your coworker cleans the front of the bar. It’s easier this way, the two of you had decided. Then he can deal with the unruly customers and you can just focus on closing.
That is until he dips his head in, a panicked look on his face. “I have to go, I’m so sorry.”
You blank. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, lips twisted in a frown. “There’s been an emergency but—I’ll call someone else, see if they can come help.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
Panic starts to set in. Not at the prospect of doing all the work yourself—you don’t mind that part. But because you were never, under any circumstances, supposed to be alone in the bar. Not before it opened, not during business hours and especially not after close.
At the very least, it seems he’s ushered the stragglers out of the bar and locked the door behind him. You breathe a little easier at that.
Turning up your music, you make quick work of the closing tasks. The alcohol gets sealed away, cash gets counted and put in the vault, bathrooms and floors are scrubbed clean. It’s actually kind of relaxing, even if it does take an extra hour.
You’re on your way out of the bar when you run into a wall. No, not a wall. A man. The scent of his alcohol hits you before he even opens his mouth.
Large hands clamp over your shoulders. “Do you—” He hiccups loudly, “d’you know where the nearest bus station is?”
You struggle out of his grasp. “Let me go.”
“I’m just asking a question.”
“You can ask,” you shove him hard but he doesn’t budge, “when you get your hands off of me.”
His grip only tightens. Cold, spiky fear coils in your stomach, ripping your nerves to shreds. This isn’t going to end well. Just then, like he has some sort of supernatural sense for when you’re in trouble, suddenly Simon is there.
He rips the man off of you, hitting a harsh uppercut to his jaw. The man goes down like a sack of potatoes, limp and cold on the ground.
Tears brim your eyes when you look up at him, sniffling his name.
“Y’alright?”
You nod.
“Why’re you out here all alone?” He frowns, “aren’t you s’pposed to close in pairs?”
“H-he had to go home early and I,” you suck in a breath, trying to calm yourself down, “I thought everyone had left.”
He nudges the unconscious man with the toe of his boot. “Guess not.”
You both breathe a sigh of relief when he shifts slightly. Not dead at least.
Simon looks you over, lips twisted in a frown. “You hurt?”
You shake your head though your shoulders still ache from where you’d been grabbed. “Nothing too bad.”
He doesn’t like that answer but he doesn’t argue.
“I—what are you doing here? The bar’s been closed for hours.” You tilt your head at him, “actually, where have you been? It’s—it’s been months.”
“Had some business to take care of.”
“That’s vague.”
He shrugs, "can't say much but…I can tell you about it over dinner?”
Your heart pangs in your chest, utter shock falling over you as you stutter out something that sounds like a ‘yes.’ He smiles a little at that.
“What do we do with,” you gesture to the man still laid out on the ground, “him?”
“Let him lay there and rot.”
You choke out a laugh. “Didn’t know my fake boyfriend was so violent.”
navigation
thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
What to Expect When You're Expecting (a fistfight)
1: Won't you let an innocent woman be? (oh babydoll)
a/n: she's short but this is just my little prologue and the other chapters should be longer! maybe :3
"They will speak German, ja?"
Gretchen has finished with her dough and is now watching you knead your own. You almost didn't expect to finish, she's seemingly been distracted all day.
You glance at her, brow raised "I plan on putting them in school, if that's what you mean?"
"I should hope so." She smiles and waves a hand dismissively. "I have some of my boy's old school books, you want them?" You perk up a bit, absentmindedly reaching for some flour. "That would be wonderful. I would really appreciate-"
The flour tips, and spills across the counter and your front. Gretchen hides a laugh behind her hand and shoos you away when you move for the broom.
"You go change. Could not reach if you wanted."
You watch for a moment, posture deflated and brows furrowed. For some reason, she's in a fantastic mood today. You shake your head from before moving to the door and stepping outside.
Your house is a short walk from Gretchen's, still technically the same property. It's a little smaller than her's, clearly meant to rented by just one person or a couple. The latter is what Gretchen is pushing for. You understand where she's coming from with her insistence on finding a man, she knows what it's like to be completely foreign and alone. The thought fills you with an appreciative warmth almost as much as it annoys you.
You reach your front door, setting a hand on your belly as you step through.
You're only two months in, but you could easily pass for three or four. A thought that doesn't help with your many worries.
You don't have much of a social circle here, not that is was particularly big where you lived before, but not your only friends are Gretchen and some coworkers from your new job. Help would be nice. You love Gretchen and her husband, Ralf, is nice enough, but they're old and won't be much help if you end up needing it.
The thoughts send an ache through your head and you shove them away to focus on your current task: finding a new shirt.
It doesn't take long, as only a small amount of your tops fit over your bump right now. You pull it on and brushing the remain powder from your lounge pants. It comes off easily enough and you're about to head back before you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. You decide to wash your face before you go, if only to pretend it'll help any in your state. You scrub your hands over your face, all but clawing at your skin.
You don't hear the crunch of tires on gravel over the running water.
You don't bother look at your reflection again, just drying your face and leaving again.
There's a truck in the driveway. Way more modern than the car your neighbors keep. You spot it through the window and beeline for the door. You can't tell the make or model from so far, can't make out if someone's in it.
You move as quickly as you can, rushing to check on your friend. Your mind races as you creep up the stairs of the back porch and you move to the door. You carefully pry the sliding door open and quietly step through. You relax a but when you hear Gretchen talking animatedly to someone. You pad through the kitchen, past where a timer ticks and your mess has been cleaned up, and towards the noise. Gretchen is cooing over a giant of man, his head nearly scraping the ceiling. He's angled away from you, so you can only see cropped strawberry blonde hair.
Then he speaks and you're suddenly bristling again. Colonel König.
How had he found you? KorTac had promised to keep your transfer confidential. You hadn't heard word of the Austrian in months, not since...
Gretchen's gaze falls on you and there's a scheming glint in her eye.
"Liebchen! There you are." She pats the brute's arm as she pass and he turns, eyes locking on you.
"You remember me speaking of my boy, ja? This is him." She smiles brightly and her giddy behavior suddenly makes all too much sense.
You don't focus much on her, your attention solely focused on the hulking man. He's wringing his mask in his hands and you debate barking out a laugh at his baby-face and the pathetic pout of his lips. He almost does look like a boy, even at his big age. His eyes are wide and wet, he looks like he may break down any moment. You puff up a bit, a cruel smile pulling at your lips.
Dinner is quiet, not entirely unusual. Usually the meals you share with Gretchen and Ralf are spent in comfortable silence. The large intruder has made your meal tonight awkward. He stares because he's a freak the moment he's removed from a position of power. You pointedly ignore him for the duration of dinner.
Your ignorance does not keep him from your dreams that night.
𝝑𝝔 ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ 𝝑𝝔
König is almost achingly hard in his pants by the time you leave. Pregnancy wasn't necessarily one of his kinks, but you carried it like a goddess and he had to force himself not to look any lower than your eyes.
He feels pathetic, like a dumbass boy again.
König prided himself on many things. How he felt about you was not one of them. How desperate he had felt before for an ounce of your attention, even in form of venom dripping for your beautiful lips.
Because even if you were snarling up at him, ready to take on a man that had a foot and a hundred pounds on, you were looking at him. So he must've been doing something right. You had let him take you to bed in that shitty hotel, hadn't you? Why else would you let him do that?
He was sure he'd figured it all out before. Figured you out.
And then you were gone.
And now that you're back in his life, all he can do is stare and then retreat back to his room to pretend that his hand is your's and that his name is on your lips and your eyes are on him.
