i saw your repost about kageyama and iwaizumi 3some.. well
i think kageyama would be a little more subtle about it, pressed at your back, rubbing small circles into your hip, while the both of you watch iwaizumi kneel in front of you, your legs spread across his shoulders as he essentially takes your life from below. and when you’re riding kageyama later in reverse cowgirl, (because ik this man would come immediately w direct eye contact), you can’t help but come undone when iwaizumi says, “she looks so pretty like this, between us” mmm yes 🙌
oh my god. yes.
— content warning: smut, threesome, kageyama tobio x fem reader x iwaizumi hajime, unprotected sex, praise, dacryphilia, breeding | MINORS DNI
— a/n: this is, so far, the filthiest thing i've ever written and i'm not complaining <3 <3
kageyama can be quite possessive, you know? unlike how bokuto lets akaashi borrow his girl most of the time, kageyama's more selfish in that sense. but knowing him and how he looks up to iwaizumi's best friend, there's still reservations for you. surprisingly, he allows it.
and kageyama knows. he knows in the way he's firm with his touches, lips planting sloppy kisses on your neck and ear while iwaizumi hooks your legs on his shoulders and rutting into you, almost as if he's telepathically telling you that i'm here and i'm yours.
"hajime," you whine when he bottoms out, a small, rather reassuring smirk plastered on his face, in awe of your reactions as he fucks into you.
"yeah," iwaizumi cups your face and rubs his thumb on your cheek. "you can take it, you can take us and you know it, right, pretty?"
you nod and kageyama rubs soothing circles on your hips everytime you wince or moan a little bit louder when iwaizumi thrusts deeper into your pussy, and when you look away to your side, kageyama quickly, gently, holds your chin between his fingers and guides your lips to his, swallowing your moans as you come around iwaizumi's cock pressing onto your sweet spot, spurting thick ropes of cum inside you.
"you okay?" kageyama asks as both strong bodies carry you on to the next position, iwa's seed still deep inside you, and he grabs your hips to position your back against him.
"yeah," you whisper it's almost a sigh, remnants of your high still coursing through your veins. you look back at kageyama, giving him a reassuring smile that you can still handle it. until that smile turns into a look of pleasure as his length drags into your gummy walls, trapping iwa's cum inside, and they both watch as you come undone the second time around.
"tobio!" he thrusts his hips up, moaning your name as he feels how your sex is incredibly warmer and tighter now. you face in front, and you come in direct eye contact with iwaizumi who's running his hands along your chest and waist.
"look at that, she's taking you so well, shit," iwaizumi hisses.
your hips wriggle at the praise, bouncing on kageyama's cock languidly as all four hands do the job for you. tears start to pool in the corner of your eyes as you feel so fucking good trapped between the two of them. it's quite overwhelming as kageyama bites the skin on your shoulders while iwaizumi sucks on your nipple, one hand playing with the other, all while kageyama's length is hitting all the right spots inside you. and what iwaizumi says next doesn't help you come to your senses,
"so beautiful. you look so pretty just like this, between us."
fuck.
"i'm gonna cum!" your voice is hoarse, legs shaking as kageyama fucks up faster, hands pinning your ass down as his cock kisses your cervix, spurting white cum inside you. he groans as he cums and you go limp, back laying down on kageyama's chest as you catch your breath.
"i'm here," kageyama breathes, wiping the sweat and tears on your face before planting a kiss on your forehead. you smile weakly, whispering his name once more, and you feel a digit run through your folds while his throbbing cock is still balls deep inside you,
"so good for us," iwaizumi caresses your plump, cum-soaked pussy. "think you can handle more, babygirl?"
I was wondering if you have the time, could you write a Simon x reader smut where they’re friends with benefits but after a harder mission reader needs something softer?? So ghost adjusts to give her said intimacy just once??
Thank qqqq!!!!!!
if i have the time?????? omg yes.
wrd 1.7k give or take
I made you a shit solider bc it felt right, but you're a smarty pants to make up for it so it's fine. I hope I understood the assignment??? This is my first request!! I was so excited I kinda just started writing and this is what came of it so I hope you like it!! I am a primarily fluff writer, I tried to write the smut for you I really did but it all felt wrong, so I went with some general suggestive nonsense, i hope that's fine.
**warnings: near death experience, pre-existing relationship, power dynamic if you squint? idk tell me what i miss
I wrote this in one go, it's unedited so fingers crossed I made sense
He knows the look. The face you make when a mission goes sideways. The panic in your belly that sours into fear that could get you killed if you don’t focus. You knew better, you were trained better. Simon didn’t coddle, he swore it wasn’t in him. He was brute force and harsh words that were somehow considered effective training methods. You didn’t learn that way, but he didn’t care. It was his way or the highway. That thinking made him a shit trainer but an excellent fuck buddy. You liked the heavy hand, in the bedroom that is. You liked being tossed around and used like a toy. It never got old, not exactly. You are very curious by nature so of course you asked a lot of questions during the late nights you shouldn’t be spending together, he gave up nothing. The agreement you made was no strings. No strings did not require you to know more than his name, his rank, and the size of his massive cock. You said you wanted casual, but were you built for casual? Nothing about you was casual and that showed each and every day. Sex isn’t casual, and near-death experiences are the furthest thing from casual as far as you’re concerned. You were expected to put it behind you. They do, so why can’t you?
You could still feel the heat of the bullet against your temple, the flash of the scope across the yard that had you frozen in their sights. That terrifying zip of air playing in your mind on a loop the whole ride back to base. The warmth of his breath barking in your face about how you could’ve been killed, like you didn’t already know that. He once asked you if you even knew what you signed up for, and in truth, you knew what you signed up for until you were in it. Until the recruiter abandoned you at the base that trained you for combat they swore you’d never see. Then somehow, despite being the weakest recruit, the worst shot, and the absolute last person you would want at your six. You were assigned to a taskforce that just never quits.
Sex wouldn’t fix your head. It wouldn’t solve the sickness in your gut that has only gotten worse since your very public shaming after touching down at headquarters. You didn’t have anywhere else to go. The other recruits enjoy watching you fail far too much. You couldn’t trust Johnny to keep a secret from the team to save his life. Kyle, the captain's prodigy, would just give you advice on how to do better next time. You didn’t want to do better, you wanted out. You knocked, expecting one of two things. One, the most likely, he’ll ignore it. He’ll see your weepy figure through the peep hole and pretend he didn’t. Two, he’ll give you a different reason to be weepy, a better reason. Then there was option three, the option you were hoping for but knew better. You just needed someone to listen.
“Figures,” he scoffed, moving out of the path that would take you directly to the bed. You floated into the spotless space. Stripping your jacket and your shoes, crawling onto the rock-hard mattress and pulling your knees tight against your chest. “If you’re looking for comfort, yer in the wrong room.” He locked the door anyway, turning to see you. An absolute wreck. A hundred-year-old sunken ship worthy of divers and underwater cameras. A glorious, impossible to look away from, should be displayed in a museum someday, wreck.
“Please,” you inhaled the overwhelming musk of gun oil and 3-in-1 shampoo that settled the sick feeling creeping up your throat, “I just need an honest chat with my lieutenant."
He cleared his throat, gave you a curt nod and posted against his notably empty desk. Crossed his arms, muscles tight and broad chest on display but you didn’t squirm like you usually do. There was no flutter in your belly when he flexed, no second glances. It made the muscle in his jaw tick, teeth clenched so hard he could crack a molar. He thrived on the effect he had on you. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but watching your thighs tighten if he so much as breathed too deep in your presence was a favorite pastime. It drove him nuts really. How wet you get at the sight of him. The way you lick the sweat off his skin like it’s pure sugar rather than all sodium. Yet all those subtle things he does to pull you out of your own head went ignored, you were unmoved. Perfectly still, frozen in your fear even after a scolding, a formal reprimand from the captain himself, a shower, and the dinner he knew for a fact you didn’t touch.
“I’m shit at this…”
“Yep,” he rasped, popping the P like a shot fired.
“What does the captain even want with me? I’m supposed to be an analyst!”
“Yer a soldier, just like the rest of us.”
“I was recruited for my brain! Not my ability to-”
“To nearly get yerself killed every bloody chance y’get?”
“Wash me out,” you whispered, “please.”
“Wot?” He’s heard you say a lot of crazy things, but that takes the cake. The recruits down stairs would kill for the position you’re in and you want him to kick you out?
“You’re my superior, you…you can do that, right?”
“I can,” he sighed, pulling in a deep lung filling breath to remain composed, “but I won't."
Simon didn’t get it at first. You were a nuisance. It was pretty cut and dry. You were a great lay and an excellent way for him to work out his frustration, but in the field? You don’t belong there. Capt. John Price, a sucker for a lost cause it seemed, saw more in you. He saw what the recruiter saw. Your eyes that see the small stuff, your head that processes the things around you differently than the rest of them. The lieutenant didn’t have to agree, but he did have to follow the order. It took a while but eventually he caught on. You may not see the scopes, and you may miss almost every shot you take, but you do spot every trip wire. Stopping them in their tracks before they ever get close, throwing your arm out like a mom who slammed the breaks haphazardly. You can disarm a bomb in your sleep, you cut through code and encryptions without breaking a sweat. You map routes, organize charts, take care of all of their reports for them as a thank you for keeping you alive this long. The mission was rough, but today you saw the subtle pattern of scuffs on hardwood flooring that helped them navigate the minefield just waiting to blow the team to bits. You walked them through that house of puzzles like it was a game. Solved every problem for them and kept their mind on the mission. You had such an attention to detail and they needed it, even if it meant keeping you alive was now a bolded bullet point on their job description. “Go sleep it off,” he gestured to the door with his eyes, “we can run drills in the mornin’.”
“Could I stay with you?”
“No.”
Your head fell against your knees, nodding the whole way down because you knew he was going to say that. The agreement stands and this conversation was pushing it. No sleepovers, no personal chit chat. Friends with benefits is a strong term because you two are not friends. Something he never fails to remind you in so many words, or in most cases a lack of. “Yeah okay,” you sniffled, “I figured.” You inched off the bed, eyes so obvious down it felt like a punch to his gut.
All of this was new. Your body caught fire with your fear, but he went cold. Watching the blood drip down where the bullet just barely nicked your ear, the drywall crumbling behind your head from the sheer force of the round that would’ve exploded your skull on impact. Casual didn’t include the vivid images that flashed through his mind of what it would’ve been like to carry you out of that house. Skull cracked, your beautiful brain in chunks of mess and blood, finally meeting your parents but only to pass them off a flag that wasn’t worth it. Nothing about watching you die would have been worth it. Not when he hadn’t kissed you like he meant it yet. His long arm stretched and stopped your hand just before you'd grabbed your jacket.
“I am in no mood to get you off,” you sniffled, still sharp as ever even if you are lost in your own head. He huffed, a brief sound of amusement as he walked you back to the bed. The mattress dipped, creaking to accept his weight, a tight grip on your hands that guided you right between his knees. You were so nervous to touch him the wrong way your hands just hovered, pissing him off all over again because you never make anything easy. His head lowered, forehead resting against the softness of your abdomen. “I could’ve died today,” your voice wobbled, a shaky hand soothing down the black fabric of his balaclava.
“Not on my watch.” His touch was different. Unsure, nearly as shaky as you while he carefully peeled you out of your sweats. Kissing the exposed skin with a reverence. Gentle, guiding, less concerned with himself and more concerned with what made you gasp. Chasing every shudder, every pulse jump, every single tell that made him crave you that much more. Letting you lead, explore, indulge. Maybe there was a reason he requires you to be face down and ass up, because that way you can’t look at him like that. His favorite color being swallowed by your pupil when you so much as glance into his dark eyes that were unbelievably warm tonight. Unintentional, uncontrollable, so telling it made him sick. He didn’t deserve that look. The things you’ve seen him do, the blood on his hands, the lives he’s taken. Even if everything he’s ever done was in the name of his country, he’s not a good man. He was bred to fight and built to kill. He was supposed to be training you, but maybe you’re training him. Teaching him to give in to temptations, to be softer, borderline kind. To break countless rules and protocol because your gentleness was intoxicating. Addicted to the way you whimper his name, your tightness molding around him like a custom-made toy, fluttering with each precise thrust up he gave. The way you come undone, riding out your high with the freedom he gave you to use him this time. Eyes drunk with a look you couldn't place even if you tried. A loving glaze watching your jaw go slack, eyes rolling back, finally letting go of that fear now that he’s finally willing to give you what you deserve. You collapsed against his chest, slick with mess and sweat alike, hoping for an extra moment of kindness to catch your breath before he shoved you off like a dirty cum rag. “You can stay," he muttered against the red-hot split tip of your ear. Your body found rest almost instantly, weighing on him in a way that was oddly right. Not crushing or smothering, but firm. A weighted blanket of warmth and safety that he wasn’t sure what to do with, but he knew enough to know the sensation of safety is too rare to give up. Whether this was for you, for him, it didn’t matter. It was out in the open now. A thought in his head that he’d never get out. In a matter of minutes, you went from a hole that needed plugging to a girl that needed loving. His trigger finger dragged up and down the length of your spine, slow, comforting. A one-time thing you thought, but a one-time thing was enough to ruin everything. This was no longer casual, and in truth maybe it never was.
Maybe all that distance only put off the inevitable, but that was tomorrow’s problem.
- - - -
that was fun, let's do it again sometime :-)
p.s if you copy or feed my work to ai i'll track you down and kill you myself
btw please lmk if im annoying you or you want me to stop or anything
I started giggling and stimming and squealing PLEASE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH IM GONNA CRY MY BF AUFBGJDAHHAKAJAKAMAHAJAK GRACE GRACE GRACE GRACE I LUV HIM SO SO MUCH
A constant loop of farm noises plays low....grunts, squeals, the slop of boots in muck...to keep her mind locked in livestock mode. No windows, no escape from the stink of her own degradation.
She pisses and shits right in the sty, mixing it into the mud or her bedding. I control her rooting with the rope, yanking her face down when she gets too uppity, forcing her to nuzzle my boots or the floor for scraps
It's all about that slow burn of humiliation...watching her eyes water as she realizes she's just livestock now, her body a vessel for filth and use.
Last session, I had her in the pit, ringed nose hooked to a post, while I hosed her clean(ish) just to muddy her up again. She came twice from the sheer degradation, squealing like the broken sow she is.
If you're thinking that's what defines you
repeat mantras like 'I'm just a dumb sty slut' in the comment or my inbox
