Roommate!Simon Riley who says, "I'll consider it.". he worries about getting your hopes up, away for long periods of time and rarely home. it's mostly said in passing to random comments you makes. "Simon— you should wear brown more often. It'd match your eyes.", "Hey Simon, I think you'd like this series. You should try watching it.", "Oh! Simon, we should try this new place that opened before you leave again.", and every time, without fail, he grunts, "I'll consider it."
Roommate!Simon Riley who comes home from shopping with more bags than usual. staple groceries and snacks put away before the rest of the bags are hauled off to his room without a word. you notice it on the third day, his usual black and white t-shirts worn around the house quietly replaced by brown sweaters and shirts. when you ask him about it he shrugs, "Thought I'd listen t'you for once.". he spent too long in the store trying to figure out which textures you'd like if you ever stole one
Roommate!Simon Riley who doesn't spend a lot of time watching media. he's got nothing against watching a match at the bar, but usually just busies himself by inspecting his weapons at home. you do a double take when he mentions a character from a series you love, the one you suggested to him. he barely glances your way before walking off, "Like that loud one, reminded me of you.". he spent three days catching up on it so you could talk to him about it
Roommate!Simon Riley who'd do next to anything to make up for lost time while he's away. he'd never make a promise given his occupation, but the little things are easier to accomplish. you seem to like the little things, rushing to put your shoes on as he fixes the sleeves on his sweater. "I can't believe you got a reservation!", your giddiness has him glancing away, listening to you gush about what to order. he locks the door behind him on the way out, watching as you walk ahead of him, "Maybe we could go out for breakfast tomorrow, what do you think?". he doesn't say anything for beat, but you already know what's coming
needy simon ! 18+ mdni! guys i need subby men now.
simon’s so whiny when he’s desperate, pawing at you with desperate hands as he rushes home from deployment, leaving desperate kisses on your neck that you know will bruise.
when he finally sinks into you, he moans, his hands shaking as they grip the mattress, his head buried in your bdcj, his curls tickling your face.
his thrusts get harder as you squeeze tight against him, and he rocks his hips against you, “please please pleaseplease” he moans, voice a mess.
“all yours,” you kiss his blonde curls, “simon, you know, i’m not going anywhere.”
“please,” he whines again, so desperate as he thrusts harder, “need you, need you, needyouneedyouneedyouuunh.” and doesn’t pull out when he cums, spurts coming inside you as his chest breaths heavily.
“yeah baby?” you ask him, pouting, before kissing his sweaty curls again, “all yours baby, for you, but calm down—“ you say as he tries to paw at your tits with his sad hands, “i wanna get some hot chocolate with you first.”
A persistent, insufferable one, at that. You were convinced, down to your very soul, that the man got a kick out of winding you up. 100% sure of it. The Scotsman, bless his heart, had been far too enthusiastic that his stoic lieutenant had taken any kind of interest in you. So, of course, he’d handed over your number like it was a shared coupon.
And the skull-masked bastard had been pestering you ever since. Who would have thought the brooding giant would turn out to be such a menace?
Unknown:
...
2:17
Go to sleep, birdie.
3:40
Then, a poorly-lit photo of a particularly hideous insect with the caption:
Reminds me of you. Screechy when I stepped on it.
18:29
You’d nearly thrown your phone across the room.
But his harassment went beyond the digital. He had a knack for materializing in the space between one breath and the next. You were in the beverage aisle, contemplating whether you wanted to buy one carton of chocolate milk or a dozen.
"Chocolate milk, kid?" A gravelly voice commented. "What are you, five?"
You choked on nothing, spinning around, heart hammering against your ribs. The aisle was empty. You were completely alone. A ghost, in every sense of the word.
Another day, you were wrestling with a stubborn, flat tire on your bicycle, grease smudged on your cheek. From over the fence, Simon’s voice called out, but the words were all wrong. "Your tire looking mighty flat down there, not gonna do anythin' 'bout it?"
Your head snapped up. He was nowhere to be seen. You glared at the empty space, your hands curling into fists. Had the man moved in just to torment you?
You finally broke and brought it up to Johnny, your voice—the one you’d decided was for him and him alone—was a frustrated whisper as you helped him weed his little patio garden. "Your… Simon… he… he messages me. All the time. About nothing. Or to… to mock me."
Johnny didn't look surprised at all. "Aye, he's a right nuisance, isnae he?" He tossed a handful of dandelions into a bucket. "Consider it enrichment, luv. He doesnae get out much. Cannae have him forgettin’ how tae talk tae pretty birds he likes."
You huffed, unsatisfied. Liking. Is that what it was?
So you bore it. You bore the texts and the disembodied taunts and the way his presence seemed to suck all the air out of a room. You bore it for Johnny, just 'cause you were weak for the sergeant. But you drew a line in the sand. Only Johnny would hear your voice. It was a privilege, a gift few received. Simon Riley and his looming shadow could go to hell.
(You didn't say that out loud.)
Wrong tactic. The poking and prodding intensified. He sent you a photo of an unopened tea bag on Johnny's counter and an ugly doodle of your face next to it.
Yours. Missed you at breakfast.
Your heart almost skipped a beat. No. Nope. You were not falling for that brute. It didn't matter they came in a package, you only favored the Scottish half!
Stood up for yourself, good puppy, Ghost's dark eyes tracked your every flustered move from behind his mask. But I can't let y'off the hook if you ignore me, can I?
How else was he supposed to get you to break the lease on your apartment and finally, finally, come live with him and Johnny?
“seriously don’t come over im sick—i don’t wanna pass it to you” you texted him when he insisted on coming over to see you.
or how the 141 care for you when you’ve got the sniffles 🤧🦠🌡️ SFW
johnny ignored the warning to come over and get shit done. you’ve been sick the last 4 days? oh bonnie, let him clean up around the house yeah? you’ll feel loads better with a clear and cozy home. after he’s done with the kitchen and your bedroom he’ll reset your bathroom while you’re soaking in the hot tub. don’t. even. think. about lifting a finger. if you need to be scrubbed call him over immediately 🫧💗
price doesn’t give a single shit about catching your cooties, love, he’s been hit with far worse. and yes he’s cuddling with ya to keep u warm— now make room before he moves you himself swee’eart. by the way, the best way to beat a flu is sweating it out right? just lay back. he’ll make you a cuppa with lozenges for your throat after you’re done whimpering for him 💕
simon makes sure you’re fed. doesn’t matter if your flu made your appetite disappear, you need to stay full and hydrated, dove. it’s what makes your immune system stronger. he texts you check ups everyday to pressure you into make sure you’re eating the leftover stew and spuds he cooked up last night. after his briefing he’s coming over to make sure you’ve finished your food xx (better eat up, doll)
kyle is as dastardly as his captain 💀 so you’re in bed for the next few days and you need him? say less. “kyle, seriously im too sick to hang out, you’ll catch it too” and he’s over within 20 minutes of receiving the text. a full basket filled with cold & flu medicine, cough drops, vitamin C and D supplements, tea, honey, and… is that lube ?? ( its the kind that warms up the more you rub it in)
cod m.list !
a/n: let the brain worms fester as i blow my nose for the 1000th time 🥹 as always here’s a kiss for the read 😘💕
His girlfriend isn’t gifted in matters of height bless her please. She struggles to even reach the lower shelves of the top cupboards, and when spring cleaning arrived it turned out to be the bane of her small existence.
Top cupboards, literally high as the ceiling. Not even cloning herself and mounting the said clone on her shoulders would help them reach. But she doesn’t need a clone, she has a big boyfriend for help…right? Well Simon just came back from deployment, and she felt guilty for rousing his exhausted form awake just for him to be her glorified cupboard opener. Come on reader, you’re a 20th century independent woman, you will not be defeated from a flimsy cupboard.
You drag a chair across the room, and stand on it, only to discover even that added height left you a few inches short. Whoever designed this cupboard, was being called every slur by you. And there are no higher chairs in this house! Unknown to your dilemma, your boyfriend woke up early to grab a cup of water, stopping dead at the display of you, arms on the wall, head leaning against it defeated while standing on a chair, clearly trying to reach the handle above you. Can he reach the cupboards though? Easily. Does he help? No. It’s like someone switched on live Charlie Chaplin in front of him as he watched your brain get creative in ways to pry the door open. He pulled out the fox nuts from the cupboards (your stash) because making popcorn would indicate his presence and ruin the show, (also fox nuts are tastier) as he leans against the wall and chews quietly (fox nuts are quiet to chew anyways).
After your mental break down on the chair, you stepped off, and came back in…high heels. The highest pair you own, and risking your bones you step onto the chair once again. But then you realise it was a dumb move, because wearing heels and standing on your tippy toes before makes zero difference except the increased risk now. So you sigh and step off, putting the heels away in increasingly annoyed clicks against the floor. Simon meanwhile, hiding from your field of vision, knew it’s going to get much better than this as he saw you reach for the broom next.
Yes the one with the tallest handle, thinking you can pry it behind the handle and pry the cupboard open. Simon mentally agrees that sounds like a solid plan, which flopped before it even started because the broom handle was too thick to go in. He really had to choke back his snickers. He also got the brilliant idea record this entire show in his cracked phone, but never once he thought to help you. You were showing off your independence after all.
atlast, you grew desperate, and reached for the belt. This was a more intricate plan, of everything combined + belt involved. The plan was as follows, hook the belt around the broom tip, climb the chair again, carefully insert the belt behind the handle, then use it to pull the cupboards open. It took a few tries, like inserting thread into needle but on a taller scale, but it worked! You pulled on your belt, stars in your eyes, expecting the doors to heaven open but- the handle comes off. You stand there, on a chair, among the mess of a discarded broom, a broken handle, and a belt in your hands, ready to scream until a familiar gruff chuckle enters your ears.
Simon couldn’t hold it in anymore, the handle coming out was the cherry on top as he desperately tried to stop laughing as your head snaps towards him watching and recording this entire show (and eating on your fox nuts stash). He decided it was time to run as he sees you fly after him with your belt.
needy soap / breeding kink
inspo from @soapysoapysoapysoapy
“Think I’m gonna die,” Soap muttered from the floor, arms flung out
“I think my balls are about to explode,” Soap groaned, collapsing onto the floor like a fallen warrior, one massive hand dragging over his face in frustration. “This is a medical emergency. I need relief.”
At first, everyone ignored him. Typical Soap — huge, intimidating, and apparently constantly horny. He’d been whining about it for weeks. After every mission, every briefing, somehow his thoughts circled back to his aching body like it was some kind of personal crisis.
You’d rolled your eyes so many times it felt like a reflex. But when he started describing the color, the shape, and even the emotional texture of his cum — “like very sad yogurt” — someth
like he was waiting for a chalk outline. “This is medical. I’m not even being dramatic this time.”
You didn’t even look up from your report. “You say that every time we come back from an op.”
“Aye, but this time it’s real. I’ve got… pressure. A build-up. It’s like a ticking bomb in my bollocks.” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m a hazard, lass. A walking threat.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to add ‘blue balls’ to your file under injuries sustained?”
“Serious question—if a man hasn’t come in three weeks, does he legally qualify for disability?” His voice dropped into a pained, breathy whine. “I need to put it somewhere. It’s not even horny anymore. It’s primal. Instinctual. If I don’t get it out soon, I might start humping the wall like a bloody terrier.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re disgusting.”
“And yet,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you with that dangerous smirk, “you’re still here. Still listening.”
That part was true. Against your better judgment, you were still here. Still listening. Still thinking, God, if he keeps talking like that, I might actually let him.
Something in your face must’ve slipped, because Soap’s smirk deepened.
“Oh?” he drawled, voice low now — a little too low. “You thinking about it? Bet I could split you in half, bonnie. You want that, yeah?”
Your breath caught.
He stood, slow and deliberate, towering a little too close. “Want me to fill you up so good you can’t walk straight? Pin you down and make you forget your own name?”
He waited just long enough for you to stammer something — maybe a protest, maybe a challenge — before he had you backed against the wall, large hands gripping your thighs and hoisting you like you weighed nothing.
“You’re lucky,” he growled against your neck, breath hot. “I’m a generous man. And I’m done being patient.”
You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on yours — biting, consuming, owning. Everything about him was heat and pressure and pure, restrained power.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to.
He took his time getting you open for him, whispering filth the whole way through — how tight you were, how much he’d thought about this, how he was going to make you take it.
By the time he finally rolled his hips in and filled you to the brim, your head was already spinning.
“You feel that?” he rasped, one hand at your throat now, firm but careful — just enough pressure to make your eyes flutter. “That’s mine now. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”
And he did.
Every thrust was sharp, unrelenting, punctuated by dark promises. “Gonna breed you so full they’ll see it in your walk. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Filthy little thing.”
Your nails left marks. Your moans turned to cries. He didn’t stop.
Didn’t even slow down when you clenched around him, begging for a break.
“Nah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough. “You started this. And I’m not stopping until I’ve filled you proper.”
thinking about johnny who just like–loses a part of himself after he got shot in the head, yes because he totally survived that. i don't know how to describe it, and neither does he.
he just spends a lot of his time disassociating, it creeps you out honestly. oftentimes you find him staring at the wall, the ceiling, and you. he doesn't speak as much as he used to as well, so you're still growing used to the silence.
then one day, johnny just goes missing. he's nowhere to be found, so you go out to try and find him hopefully. along the way, passing by the flower shop you coincidentally meet simon who was just getting out of the shop, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
with your voice still shaky, you ask him if he has seen johnny at all today. and to your surprise he replies with "what do you mean, luv? it's johnny's death anniversary today?"
...who the fuck was in your house..for practically a whole year?
𐔌 cw: blood and violence, minor toxic relationship, anger issues, mild misogyny, slightly sub könig .ᐟ
nose bone crunched beneath incoming fist, followed instantly by a pained, gravelly yelp, knuckles aching from the impact, burning with a white hot heat and gleaming a brilliant ruby from the blood smeared across your skin, yet you swung again, driven by unhinged fury, chest heaving and eyes wide with manic glint, the soldier pinned beneath you thrashed blindly
hissing incoherent curses through ragged breaths and vicious blood flowing down his face, whether his nose was broken or completely shattered, you cared little, countless hands grappling frantically at your arms and the nape of your neck, trying to tear you away from the bastard beneath you, but as he drove a desperate elbow into your jaw, your own lower lip split open, feeding the simmering rage.
“why don't we spar? see if you got there for being such a pretty doll, or something else” still echoed in your mind, delivered with a mocking, overly amused lilt meant to degrade you, he had stood there among his friends, snickering and eyeing you with a hunger more vile than a starved hound drooling over a scrap of meat, it was all a grand joke to him, until you lunged without a word of warning,
other's recoiling in shock as he crashed beneath your weight, sprawling onto the dusty floor of the training room, gasps and hurried whispers rippling through the air, heavy doors thudding open and shut in the distance, as he thrashed blindly beneath the crushing vice of your thighs and the relentless onslaught of your fists, groaning and hissing in agony, his body buckling as your knuckles drove deep into his ribs, coward.
könig was called from his office urgently, amid frantic murmurs about a brawl breaking out between the soldiers, remarkably, he didn't need to hear a name to know that you were at the center of it, brushing aside the paperwork that had consumed his day, he braced his hands against his flexing thighs, rising with a heavy grunt, spine stretching and shoulders rolling as he made his way toward the training room, the chaotic sounds of screams and dull grunts echoing down the hallway
only to die down the exact moment his massive frame filled the doorway, combat boots thudding heavily against the floor, muscular shoulders broadening to dominate the space as his blue eyes narrowed and twitched beneath his sniper hood, and with a deep, weary exhale, he stepped further into the room, the crowd parting instantly, hands dropping, even the bloodied soldier pinned beneath you finally slumped back, gurgling something akin to relief.
“verdammt nochmal, lasst ihn frei! get off!” you instantly recognized the gritty, deep baritone belonging to your colonel, a heavy, warm palm clamped onto the nape of your neck, hauling you off and up like a misbehaving pup that had gnawed on something its owner still needed, you slumped into his solid grip, letting your wild, pupil dilated gaze meet his, expression as stern as he could muster, though it was always hard to take such pretty blue eyes entirely seriously, as he hoisted you onto your feet
pulling you away from the soldier, who was already being hoisted up by his friends and rushed toward the medbay, könig didn't even have to bark another word, a trail of blood droplets paved the way to the door and further down the hallway, while he nudged you forward, his gaze repeatedly snapping down to your swollen, bleeding lip as he cursed under his breath in a low rasp meant for your ears alone, guiding you straight back to his office.
growing up, könig had received a clip around the ear more often than not, for repeating the stereotypical garbage he picked up from the boys on the streets, foolish claims that girls were weak and not cut out for tough, manly things, when he had dared to bring those words home, his mother and grandmother nearly tore his ear off, delivering a harsh, unforgettable scolding, boys are meant to protect, yes, but never to degrade or underestimate women
he had nodded then, with frustrated tears pooling at his lash line, his cheeks and lips flushed a deep, pouty red, and since that day, he had never uttered a dismissive word again, not to the few female friends he had, and certainly not to fellow soldiers, he treated everyone as equals, respected you above all, knowing full well that crossing you could leave his jawbone aching for an age
after all, he's been perhaps the very first to experience the raw force of your fist and folded beneath it, now, as he looked down at you through his long eyelashes, his massive hands moved with surprising gentleness, dabbing clean your split lip and grimacing as he watched the wounded flesh pulse.
you had issues, plain and simple, your hand would twitch whenever anger rose too high, all consuming, teeth grinding at the slightest whisper, stupid commands, foul moods, smug grins, so many things grated on your frayed nerves, voice a loud, spitting scream whenever your nails bit into your palms and your face flushed with sudden heat, and more often than not, it ended in violence
a brawl with a fellow soldier, a clash with another commander, a chaotic conflict in a crowded pub, you had torn out clumps of hair and punched men's teeth crooked, leaving a trail of broken noses and shattered fingers, wearing hematomas and a bloody nose far too often for anyone’s liking, especially könig’s, he worried for you, even when that volatile rage was weaponized against him
whenever you tried to punch a concrete wall, and he would step in, trying to calm and soothe you with gravelly coos, desperate to capture your battered hands, those rescues usually ending with his corded forearms scratched raw, his shirt torn askew, and your nails digging into his bristled jaw as you spat empty insults into his wincing face.
“you broke his nose, du verrückte” he panted, your hand drifting slowly across the sinewy expanse of his scarred chest, tracking over his broad shoulder before descending the upper arm to where the muscle thickened and flexed beneath your fingertips, swollen lips grazed his, mouth opening as you tilted your head to lick across his lip, smearing crimson blood against teeth and tasting the sharp tang of iron
he opened up to the intrusion of your tongue with a low, soft sound, calloused palm flattened against your hipbone, breath huffing heavily through his nose, hood hitched up at the bridge, exposing the raw bitten line of his strong jaw as your other hand sought his nape, fingers weaving into the overgrown strands and tightening its grip, his brilliant blue irises reduced to thin rings beneath yawning, dilated pupils
the slow, agonizingly deliberate slide of your body taking him in made his vision blur, feeling every ridge, every pulse of your tight, soppy cunt as you swallowed him whole, hips rolling in a way that was pure torture, long, meaty fingers twitching with the urge to press down in a bruising, tight grip, pulsing walls dragging up and down his gorged cock, breasts bouncing with every heavy, punishing descent, the friction making him throb fiercely, grinding upward to meet your pace.
“and? it's not yours, is it, colonel?” you moaned, voice rising in a high pitched, wanton cry loud enough to catch the ear of anyone passing by, not that it mattered, not with the way he watched the fine sheen of sweat glisten across your moving body in the dim light, every time you lifted and came crashing down, the sensation of your tight, rippling walls swallowing his entire length sent a jolt straight down his bowing spine
feeling the slickness, hot, gushing moisture of your slick coating his cock and lubricating every shallow, frantic thrust, by now, his hands had clamped around your waist, grip tight enough to leave bruises as he dug into soft skin to help drive the relentless tempo, your nails tearing into his nape and shoulder
carving deep crescents and raw scratches, he didn't mind the blood, only grunted, groaning half coherent words into the gloomy, humid room, yet among the rough sounds were tender names that made you yearn for another sloppy, desperate kiss, teeth clashing together as his roughened thumb found your puffy clit, stroking it in perfect time with his upward thrusts.
your thighs began to tremble, muscles failing under the sheer intensity, pants and panties dangling from your ankle, cast aside in earlier haste, entire body tensing into rigid, vibrating line as your orgasm tore through, cunt convulsing around könig's cock in a series of rhythmic, desperate squeezes, the gushing sensation, the slick spray of your release coating his shaft and spilling over brought him to his own, body seizing
a guttural, low roar tore from his burning lungs as he erupted inside you, feeling your walls pulse in waves that seemed to milk every drop, leading t rivulets of your own slick and his seed cascading past your hole and down the thighs, his cum flooding in, head lolling back in bliss, and you followed, pressing kisses against his throat with contented hum
large hand that's been on your waist tracing small, soothing circles, while the other, shaky, descended onto your ass, caressing up the plush swell and past every vertebra, heart hammering wildly against his ribs to match your own ragged pulse, face tilting to press a tiny peck to the damp skin beneath your earlobe, mumbling raspy “ein wirklich verrücktes mädchen” and making you grin.
