#manicrouge

[manicrouge]

The Missus wouldn't like that is Simon Riley's catchphrase.

It follows him round like the plague; every mission briefing, without fail, whatever it is Price wants him to do is followed up with Johnny's voice rattling off the walls and chiming with a shit-eating grin, 'Well sir, wouldn't be too sure 'bout that really, cause I heard his missus wouldn't like that.'

Like clockwork, Simon follows up always with, 'Fuck off.'

They don't think you're real. They think you're something he's come up with an take every opportunity it rub his nose in it, and so, when he's back home and on leave, as he's standing in the kitchen, watching you bake, you look over his shoulder and chime, 'Why don't you have the boys over?'

'Luvie-'

'None of this it's unprofessional business,' you say with a huff, pointing your rolling pin at him. He shuts his mouth quickly, 'You bring them here, and they'll never call you a liar again; I'll see to that myself, yeah?'

The opportunity is enticing, he thinks to himself, almost too plausible to let it slip through his fingers, so, he grabs his phone and asks you, 'How's tonight work?'

'I'll make a cottage pie.'

He hears the Scot before he sees him, he's a doorbell in himself, and as he pulls open the door, Garrick has his hand raised, about to knock on the door. He lowers it slowly and grins, 'Nice place ya got yourself, Lt. Let me guess, the missus decorate it?'

In spite of his cocky attitude, he steps to the side and allows the three of them to walk in. The airs warm, chasing away the coldness from the outdoors. Price closes the door, whistling as he looks around the place, 'You playin' a prank on us?'

'Ah, ah, ah,' Johnny hisses, 'Don't joke like that; his missus wouldn't like that.'

'You're right.'

There heads turn down the corridor to address you, standing in your apron, brows furrowed as you look at the three of them. Their jaws are on the floor as you approach them, wielding a wooden spoon like its a knife. 'His missus wouldn't like that, and if I hear one more thing about you sayin' anything to him, Makarov will be the least of your worries, you hear me?'

Simon sensed they didn't quite believe your identity until you said that name. Now, even Price is red in the face. It crawls up his neck, 'You work...'

'At the base, yes, Johnny, I do,' you say, narrow-eyed. The wooden spoon is right by the Scots neck as you say, 'And you say anything to my Simon again, you'll be buried at the back of it, you hear me?' He audibly gulps and you swear you hear him sigh in relief as you turn and walk away.

Simon's grinning like the cheshire cat as he says, 'I tried to warn ya. The missus won't like that.'

[manicrouge]

cw: slightly toxic dynamic, shameless smut, pussy pronouns (not personified pussy, thank you tojisteddy for teaching me that), possessive sex, implied age gap (reader mid-20s, Keegan mid-40s), sorta public sex, mirror sex, dumbification

Dilf!Keegan who's a munch. That man will not come away from that sweet little pussy of yours; he'll eat you until you're crying, until you're squirming and trying to push him away because you're just so sensitive. And he'll coo at you, pulling away, mouth covered in you, "Aw, I know, princess, Too much for you, isn't it?" His sympathy is all a fad because he'll grin and say, "I'm not fuckin' done eating," before dipping his head back between yours thighs and lapping at your clit like a thirsty mutt.

Dilf!Keegan who still makes a point to make sure you know that your pussy isn't yours. No, he'll reiterate it until he's blue in the face: she's mine; I'm the one who has her gushin', I'm the only one who knows how to please her. Not you and definitely no other man, you hear that, baby? And when you nod in response, too fucked out to give him a proper answer, he'll bark out a laugh, "That's fuckin' right, princess."

Dilf!Keegan who has no issue threatening other men. He sees someone talking to you when you're out for dinner?

He'll be running before he even has the opportunity to ask you a question. A waiter being too nice to you in the restaurant? He's got a hand on your wrist and is pulling you to the nearest bathroom and fucking you there and then. He'll have you in front of the mirror, salt-and pepper fringe hanging in his face as he thrusts into your cunt, hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you to look at yourself. "He couldn't make your little cunt cream round his cock, could he? No, he fuckin' couldn't; she needs me. My cock. No one else's. Fuuuuccckkk, that it's it, baby girl, cream all my thick fuckin' cock, fuck, you messy fuckin' girl"

And when you limp out of the bathroom afterwards, he grins to himself when the waiter can't even look you in the eye.

[manicrouge]

Simon Riley, secretly, searched for love - the type of love that is unconditional, even in spite of his many flaws. He'd thought he'd found that with you, his beloved wife, and had thought that his life was made - complete.

Until his little girl came along.

And, oh, he loves her with all her heart. Just didn't want her to be like him.

Every night prior to her birth, while by no means a man of religion, he prayed inwardly that she'd get your features. But when he looked at his daughter, when he looked at her face and sees his nose, and his own set of eyes staring back at him, he realised that he was wrong.

Mini me, was what you'd addressed her as, pointing from your daughter to him as she sat on the sofa beside him. He had his mug of black coffee, whilst your daughter had a tiny pink mug with the princesses on it with chocolate milk he'd give her every morning in it.

He caught her glancing at him whenever he would take a drink, realising that she pursed his lips just as he did whenever he took a sip, smacking her lips together like he did when the drink was a little too hot.

And when it came to drinking out of bottles, while holding them in his hand, tipping them lightly for her to drink, she pressed the majority of the hole to the side of his mouth.

Just like he did.

And he'd been scolded for that when he was a child, heard the voice of his father telling him he oughta drink properly. He didn't say anything to her, just ruffled her hair, pulling the drink away from her mouth, wiping the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb.

"Remember what I said, sweet pea," he said, pinching her cheek.

She grinned, nose scrunching up, "No tellin' mummy, c- cause it's almost dinner time and fizzy drinks are naughty!"

"They're not naughty," he said, "but they'll rot those pretty teeth of yours if you have too much, an' you don't want teeth like daddy's, swee'heart."

She reached her hands out to take hold of his face, uncaring for the scar that marked his cheek, pressing her thumbs against his top lip. She pulled them either side of his face, drawing a smile out of him.

"Daddy's pretty," she said unabashedly, moving her hands from his mouth, "I wanna be jus' like you when I'm big."

His throat tightened. "You wanna be better than me, darlin'."

"No," said his daughter with a huff, "cause you're the bestest in the whole world!"

The words were lost on him as he looked at her: the purity, the innocence, the love. And he had a hand in creating that. What a realisation it was, and what a feeling it was to know someone just like him could love so ferociously and freely.

He pulled her into him, pressing his lips atop her head, mumbling, "Thank you, angel."

[manicrouge]

Skin - [John Price x F!Reader] cw: smut, oral (f recieving), p-in-v, lover boy John Price is my personal fav

There's fucking and then there's loving, and when you'd first started dating John, you thought, personally, that he would be more privy to the former as opposed to the latter.

It was a read, an assumption you made from how he looked: the calloused hands, dark eyes, tall stature, the scars - everything.

Besides, you supposed that you couldn't have necessarily been blamed for thinking that way considering the fact that you'd seen more than enough shitty romance flicks to know what the female gaze seemed to desire when it came to their army men.

If he can fight a war on a battlefield, then he can sure as hell fuck you like the enemy in the bedroom.

So, when the tension in the room hit a fever pitch and his mouth was on yours, hot, paw-like hands grabbing at the flesh of your hips, you thought of the bruises he'd leave. Only, when he picked you up from the sofa and carried you to his bedroom, you were surprised.

He didn't throw you down on the mattress, he placed you down and asked you, 'Are you sure ye ready, luvie?' Your heart melted in that moment, words stuck in your throat, so, you nodded. 'Words, darlin'.'

A command, but so soft, so feathery that you blushed as you nodded your head again, this time saying, 'Yes.'

His mouth was gentle against your skin, taking in the bitter taste of the perfume you'd sprayed before leaving the house as he sunk his teeth lightly into your flesh, earning a stifled breath from you.

Your clothes were pulled off with precision, thrown to the ground and at some point, he peeled his own shirt off before bracing his hands against your knees and pulling them apart. He peppered kisses up your inner thighs, panties pulled to the side as he lick a stripe up your clit.

Your hands threaded in his brown locks, back arching against the bed, bedsheet damp from sweat. No one had ever dared to do anything of the sorts; it was always about them, never about you. But John licked at your clit, fingers pumping in and out of your hole like it was his damn mission to make you orgasm.

And you did with a whine, crying out, 'Oh my God!'

When he kissed you again, you could taste yourself on his lips, feel your release wetting your chin as you'd soaked into his beard - it was crude, dirty, but in the moment, it didn't matter, and it still didn't when he pushed his cock into your cunt, thick fingers brushing against your cheek, gentle whispers of 'Let me know when I can move, sweetheart,' and 'good girl,' hot against your ear.

He didn't fuck you, it was loving, the most loved you've felt as he didn't squeeze your skin hard enough to leave bruises, and he told you how pretty you looked.

And for the first time, before the pair of you came, he said, 'I love you.'

It was sincere, and your hands wrapped around his neck, forehead pressing against each other and, as you came down from the clouds, breathless, you said, 'I love you too.'

[manicrouge]

Tattooed - [Simon Riley x Reader] cw: smut, mentions of bruises and marks, reader and simon are both sadists and masochists

For Simon's birthday, you're a little selfish; you got yourself a tattoo.

On his birthday.

Yes, you booked the appointment for yourself, saw him the night before, and went on your merry way, a few weeks before, making sure your piece was healed in time for his birthday.

He'd always had a thing for marks, it was a staple of your relationship, something that you both bonded over considering the fact the pair of your left the bedroom looking like you'd engaged in a fist fight with the amount of bruises and scratches you left on one another.

So you knew just how this piece was going to go down: it was going to go down a treat.

And it does; you were wearing wrapping paper as a skirt, a lopsided bow on your head, sitting on the sofa when you heard his key twist in the door. You hear the thud of his bag and him kicking off his shoes and as he rounds the corner, seeing you amongst a flurry of petals, he groaned, 'Fuckin' hell.'

Grinning ear to ear, you asked, 'You gonna unwrap me, Lieutenant?'

His hands were on you in a second, breaking apart the wrapping paper, tossing it to the side as he sunk down onto his knees, full intent of taking your pretty cunt in his mouth there and then, only, he stopped.

You knew what he was looking at immediately; he was holding your thigh, staring at the teeth mark tattooed onto your fucking skin. 'This a tattoo?' he gulped, near enough panting like a thirsty mutt.

You grinned and nodded at him, 'Do you like it?'

He squeezed the flesh of your thigh, letting out a sound that could only be described as a growl, and like testing out a new toy, he leant forward and sunk his teeth right where the ink was.

You stifled out a moan and when he pulled away, he smirked, 'Fuck me, darlin', you wanna kill me, don'tcha?'

Your hands twisted around his hair, 'Sometimes... but not today. Happy birthday, baby.'

[manicrouge]

You're a Riley Now - [Simon Riley x Reader] cw: fluff!! mama's boy Simon, brief illusion to trauma

The first time you meet Mrs. Riley, you're shaking.

In fact, you're shaking so bad that Simon's hand has to rest on your knee and press down lightly to keep it from bouncing up and down; he loves you, birdie, he does, but the sound of your sneakers hitting the mat is growing to be unbearable.

'Ave told ya,' he says abruptly after an extended moment of radio-foddered silence, 'She's gonna love you, luvie, yeah?'

You nod but don't say anything, too busy maiming your bottom lip and digging your nails into your cuticles. You're sweating, you know you are, she's gonna think that you smell bad and hate you -- or she's gonna hate your favourite perfume, the one that you have 100ml bottle of on your shelf and you're gonna have to rewrite your whole entire identity because of this woman and her harsh nose.

Of course, you know none of this, Simon has only ever spoken fondly of his mother. The only time this reaction would be warranted would be if you were meeting his father.

And he would never let that happen.

So why are you so anxious?

Well, you're eager to make a good impression because you love Simon and you want to love his family.

But ever since the invitation for a Sunday roast, you've practiced in the mirror how you'd ask for an extra Yorkshire pudding, experimented with scrubbing the dishes counter-clockwise in case that's how Mrs. Riley prefers her dishes washed (seriously, who the fuck puts that much thought into dishes?)

You know you're acting a smidge unhinged, but you can't help it and you're clinging to Simon's hand as you walk up the path and he knocks on the door.

He presses a chaste kiss on your temple, murmuring, 'You're okay, birdie, I got you. Nothin' bads gonna happen.'

You nod your head and suck up a breath as the door's pulled open and you're greeted by a short brown-haired woman. Some of the hairs on her head are greying, they catch the light of the sun as she turns her head up to Simon, smiling ear to ear as she reaches her hands out and holds her son's face.

'Hi mama,' Simon chides, still holding your hand. She presses a kiss against her sons forehead and pinches his cheek before pulling away and turning to you.

Your breath is hitched in your throat.

'Darlin' it's so nice to finally meet you!' She takes your hand into hers. They're gentle and she smells like a Soap & Glory gift set. 'Simon was tellin' me how much you like cupcakes and I've baked you some -- my mother's recipe, you have to try it.'

The tension in your chest melts and your eyes sting. You feel the overwhelming urge to bawl, but you don't. You suck it up and wrap your hand around hers. 'You didn't have to.'

'Oh!' scoffs the woman, 'don't be silly. You're a Riley now, sweetheart.'

[manicrouge]

Teeth - [Simon Riley x Reader] cw: biting, slight smut, maybe slightly toxic????

What's the best thing a man can give you?

A diamond ring?

Hm, disposable and no large feat really. Money meant little to you and you figured that, in your search for someone, you'd want something other than the material.

That was boring; anyone could buy you a ring.

Simon Riley, however, was something different. You knew he was different after meeting him whilst passing through the corridors of the base during your trail shift. He was quiet, looked at you like a hunter did a deer. But if he put a bullet in you, you don't think you would have complained.

You got the job and, sure enough, you'd pass by one another in the corridor. You offered him a shy smile every time, saying, 'Lieutenant.' He'd nod in your direction, on occasion calling your name. You don't know where he'd heard that from, but it sound nice in his mouth.

He slipped you a note with his number on it when he entered through the front of the base one morning, you got to talking and you found out that, beneath the quiet exterior, he was quite the charismatic man. Charming, quick-witted all through message, and then back to being professional when it came to work.

One date turned to two, two to three, and before you knew it, you were dating the Lieutenant. How you'd managed that, you didn't actually know, but you were complaining, absolutely not, especially when he gave you something better than the material.

Riley, ever the man of violence, like his teeth - better yet, liked using them, and when he had you in bed, cock buried in your cunt, each and every time, he'd snatch your left hand by the wrist and push down all your fingers apart from your ring finger.

He'd take your finger into his mouth, and when at the base of it, bite. Every time it'd have your back arching off the bed as he bit hard enough to leave an red indentation of his teeth where a ring would have been had you really wanted one.

'You sure you don't want a ring, birdie?' he asked, pads of his fingers brushing over the fresh indents.

You grinned, pressing your face into his chest. 'Where's the fun in that? You've got a mouth, haven't you?'

His chest rumbled as he chuckled. 'Kinky little fucker.'

[manicrouge]

Eating Out Keegan Russ x F!Reader cw: personified pussy (guys wtf is that called I actually don't know. Pussy pet names??????), smut (obvs), min being horny on main for the billionth time today :P

Somehow, your insecurities disappear when you feel his mouth against your cunt. All the whines and protests, no thanks to your asshole ex-boyfriend, are gone. Your hands thread through his black hair, tugging at it as your back arches from off the mattress.

Keegan's like a man possessed.

His tongue brushes against your clit, sending electricity coursing through your veins and you squeal when you feel him lick a stripe up your pussy. You clench your legs when he pulls away to catch his breath, all to earn a slap against your wet cunt as he forces your legs apart.

"Ah, ah," he hisses, "she's mine, yeah, princess? Not yours. Mine. I decide when I'm done eating, not you."

In an instant, he's back on you, his nose grazing against you clit as he crudely slurps.

You hands are against your face and your face is flushing red as your eyes roll backwards. You want so desperately to be mortified, but, unknown to you, you're grinding down on his face and he's smirking to himself as his tongue prods against your hole.

Guys I'm so sorry for being so horny on main actually, my posts today have been diabolical.