thinking about papochka!nikolai leaving you behind to go on a mission...
series masterlist
18+ mdni !!! (smut, tiniest sprinkle of angst & fluff)
cw: sub!fem!reader, dom!nik, ‼️ FAUXCEST‼️, heavy on the daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, age gap, breeding kink, controlling behavior, musk kink, i think that's it ?, word count: 1.4k
“What, do you just not want me there?” you accuse, glaring straight at Nikolai as you sit on your shared bed.
He’s standing in front of the closet, duffel bag on the floor, as he haphazardly throws clothes into it. “Do not twist my words, Malyshka.”
You roll your eyes at him as he continues to pack. “You just said–”
“I said that it is not necessary for you to come with me. I am just dropping the team off– in and out. It will do you good to spend a few days away from me.”
The worst part is he’s right, you know he is. “You just want to test me,” you mumble, slowly losing your willpower to argue.
He chuckles, zipping the bag before walking over to you. His fingers interlock with yours as he forces you to stand up, holding you tight against him. “It is not a test– not one that you can fail. Think of it as… an assessment. We will see how well you listen when I am not there.”
There it is again, that ugly reminder he’ll be leaving you behind. He coos when a small sniffle escapes you. “My sweet little girl, you will miss your Papochka that much?”
You nod against his chest with a whine. “It’s silly. I know it’s just a few days, but I feel like I just got you,” you confess, voice muffled as you try to breathe in as much of his scent as possible.
“We will make a deal then. If you are good while Papochka is gone, you will get a reward.”
Your head snaps up, heart beating just a little bit faster– with Nikolai, rewards are never something small or meaningless.
Sometimes it's material objects. Things he’s caught you secretly eyeing after being scared off by the price tag– he finds it cute that you’re shy about things like that, as if he does not have plenty of money to spare.
Occasionally, he lets you pick a rule to bend. Maybe you get to drink too much out at the pub or spend all night mindlessly doom-scrolling on your phone.
Though your favorite rewards from Nikolai are the ones that leave your cunt sore and aching for days afterwards.
Your mind drifts to the time he once spent hours licking at your soaked pussy. Tongue fucking you over and over until you’d come so many times you’d lost count.
“Deal,” you say, thighs clenched together.
You manage to follow the list he leaves you. You wake up right on time and go to bed at exactly 10:30 pm, just like he’d said to. You drink water, take your vitamins, cook three meals, and do all the small chores he leaves you.
It isn’t until day eight– several days after he’s supposed to come home– that you slip up.
You’d grabbed a random t-shirt when getting dressed for bed. You don’t even realize it isn’t one of yours until his scent hits you– leather, tobacco, and the faintest hint of oil.
You pull the collar up to your nose as you take in a deep breath, causing the shirt to ride up to your hips. Cold air creeps up your exposed thighs, causing you to instinctively snap your legs shut.
Your mind starts to drift to the last time you’d worn his shirt– it ended with you stuffed full of his cum.
You bite your lip, hand trailing down to the edges of your underwear. Nikolai may have locked away your toys, sure, but you still had your fingers.
You drag your panties down to your ankles, kicking them off to the side. You run a digit between your folds, legs spreading wide as you begin to lazily circle your clit.
You softly sigh. It feels nice, yes, but nothing like his hands. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to picture him touching you instead. “Papochka,” you whine as your finger picks up speed.
“Malyshka, I thought I told you not to play with her, da?” You yelp, yanking your hand away as you poorly attempt to tug down his shirt.
The second your brain processes that it’s really him, you jump out of bed, running straight into his arms. You tuck your head under his arm, nose buried in his chest as you breathe in deep.
His hand cups your bare cunt, the feeling of his rough skin causing you to shiver. “You also said it’d only be a couple of days, Papa. I got worried, needed a distraction,” you mumble into his shirt, feeling his chest rumble as he laughs.
“I did, apologies, my sweet girl– there were complications. What has her all worked up, hm?” He asks his fingers running through your slick folds.
You feel heat creep up the back of your neck as you glance at him. “It’s embarrassing,” you whine, only making him laugh harder.
“No such thing. Nothing should be too embarrassing to tell your Papa.”
You bite your lip, breath hitching as his hand never leaves your pussy. “I accidentally wore your shirt, and it just… smelt like you.”
Your lips crash together suddenly, his hand resting on the back of your neck as he kisses you sloppily. Your mouth stays parted when he pulls away, and a tiny string of spit falls onto your skin.
He smirks at you, chest puffed out in pride– if you weren’t so horny, you’d be giggling at the sight. “You missed your Papochka that much?”
You hum, nodding at him; you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “I am sorry for being gone for so long, let Papa make it up to you, da?”
He’s lying flat on his back as he slowly lowers you onto his cock– his shirt still covering your torso. You place your hands on his chest, fingers brushing against his hairs, preparing to try and ride him the best you can.
He chuckles and shakes his head, only laughing harder when you pout at him. “I could do it, Papa.”
“I know you could, sweet girl, but let Papochka handle it,” he coos, hand reaching out to the back of your neck.
Before you can process it, he’s shoving your face under his arm, your nose buried in his armpit, and all you can smell is him. “My malyshka, so cute, touching yourself while sniffing an old shirt– it’s okay, Papa is here now.”
He moves both of his hands down to your hips, fingers digging into your soft skin. “Deep breath,” he instructs before lifting you and slamming you down on his cock.
Your eyes are squeezed shut, muffled moans sitting behind your closed lips. His hips snap up to push himself further inside you– something you doubt is even possible. You can already feel every inch of him thrusting in and out of you, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix.
You try to lift your head, only for him to shove your right back against his underarm. “You wanted to smell your Papochka– so smell.”
It’s overwhelming in the best way; his scent, his cock, his hands gripping your hips so tight. Your stomach tenses, begging to let go of the knot settling inside of you.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he twitches inside you, his thrusts growing more sporadic. “Is this what you needed to calm down, Malyshka? Your Papa’s scent? His cum deep inside your womb?”
The thought of him filling you up– breeding you– is all it takes for you to let go, thighs shaking as you clench down on his cock.
He lifts your head by the back of your neck, and you gasp at the feeling of fresh air. He doesn’t give you long to catch your breath before he’s shoving his lips against yours, his tongue slipping past your lips.
He gives one final thrust before spilling inside you. His hot cum settling in the deepest parts of you– just like he promised.
You collapse onto his bare chest, his skin hot and sweaty against yours as you both try to catch your breath.
“I’m sorry, Papochka, I just, I got worried that you wouldn’t…”
He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers tracing soft circles into your skin. “I know, and I am sorry, my sweet girl. Next time will be different, but you should know your Papa will always come back to you.”
thinking about nikolai who just wants to take care of you...
series masterlist
18+ mdni !!! (blend of smut & fluff, tiny bit of humor)
cw: sub!fem!reader, soft dom!nik, ‼️ FAUXCEST‼️, heavy on the daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, age gap (reader is mid twenties, nik is mid to late forties), controlling behavior (consensual & in a d/s way), dubcon maybe (reader is a little hesitant), maybe power imbalances (you technically work for him), i think that's it ?, word count: 1.5k
It was a ridiculous proposal– him, having an assistant– but when Laswell handed him the small folder, he couldn’t resist taking a peek inside.
“It’d be more of a favor to me than anything. She’s a good kid and just needs something temporary while she’s in between jobs.”
He raises a brow, looking around his shop, tools scattered everywhere, half-built engines lying around. He doubts there’s much you could do around here. “Why not send her to John?”
Kate sneers as if she’s appalled at the very idea. “We both know that wouldn’t end well.”
“Of course,” he agrees with a chuckle. He glances down, ignoring the more important things like your full name and job history. His eyes lock on the tiny picture of you in the corner. Your eyes are wide, and you’re giving a wobbly smile– as if you’d been caught off guard.
“I will take good care of her.”
You weren’t sure what to expect when Kate had offered you the job, but in the months you’ve actually really enjoyed working for Nikolai.
You don’t have to guess what he wants you to do; he makes clear expectations and gives you a list each day. He doesn’t hesitate to correct you when you mess up, and in your time together, you’ve actually learnt a lot.
You’re not ready to fly a plane, far from it, but you’re slowly memorizing controls and can manage a few basic repairs. He never fails to express his approval when you do something right, and he always makes sure you take your scheduled breaks.
You thought his help would end there, but it seems like even when it’s not related to work, he’s always finding small things to do for you: like bringing you lunch, an arm casually around you as he guides you somewhere, handing you a bottle of water, and watching you drink it.
Sometimes people give both of you odd looks for it– and maybe they’re right to be a little concerned– you can only imagine what it must look like or what they assume. But it’s nice, not having to think about things like that.
“I will order you something,” Nikolai announces before walking off to the bar, Price trailing behind him. He doesn’t have to ask what you want– you just let him decide like usual.
You blink slowly when the three men you’re sitting with exchange glances. “What?”
Ghost gives you this look as if he knows something you don’t. Soap just shakes his head, and you can tell Gaz is trying not to laugh.
“He takes good care of you, then?” Gaz teases, grinning as you avoid eye contact with them.
You roll your eyes, huffing at them. “He doesn’t take care of me. I’m not a kid.” As if to prove your point, you take a tiny sip of your barely drunk pint.
You don’t know why you insisted on having a beer– you hate beer. You should’ve just let Nik get you that soda like he tried to.
“You’re young enough to be his kid,” Ghost comments, only making it worse for you.
“He isn’t that much older–”
Soap raises an eyebrow at you before cutting you off. “Gettin’ real defensive there, lass. Maybe ye misread the situation, LT.”
Despite the mask, you can tell he’s smirking, eyes crinkling up slightly. “Think so, Johnny?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, face screwed up in annoyance as you glance between them.
Gaz smiles at you, and you suddenly wonder why everyone on base deems him ‘the nice one’ in the task force. “It means, we thought you wanted him to be your dad, but maybe you want him to be your daddy.”
Nikolai glances away from Price, watching as you banter with his teammates comrades friends. Some ugly emotion makes a home in his chest at the sight.
“Really, Nik? The kids in her, what, early twenties?” he questions, eyebrow raised as his friend’s eyes never leave you.
Nikolai scoffs, finally glancing back towards him. “Mid-twenties. Do not insult me, John.”
As if that makes it any better, he thinks to himself. “You’re old enough to be her father.” The comment makes Nikolai’s pants tighten in ways they shouldn’t.
As soon as he starts to walk away, Price is huffing out a laugh. “Thought you were orderin’ the kid a bite?” Nikolai only raises a finger in response.
He doesn’t drag you out of the pub– he doesn’t have to– you listen so well to him. He just stands by the booth and forces a grin when the conversation dies down in his presence. “It is your bedtime, no?” It’s meant to be a joke, but you can hear the real meaning behind his words.
Heat creeps up the back of your neck, and you try your best to ignore the snickering from the opposite side of the table. A small part of you wants to protest, not because you don't want to leave, but to prove a point– prove them wrong.
Just one look at Nikolai has you reconsidering. “Guess so,” you mumble, standing up. His hand settles on the small of your back, and you can feel Price’s eyes on the two of you as you walk away.
It doesn’t dawn on you that he’s brought you back to his place until you’re stepping into his apartment– he must notice your confusion. “It is late. You live far away, you can stay with me tonight.”
It should bother you that he didn’t ask, right? You should be concerned about how much control he has over you– how much you’ve given him. So, why doesn’t it?
He sits down on the couch, watching as the emotions hit you all at once, causing you to have an internal battle with yourself.
He coos at you, and the pitying look in his eyes stings far more than anything he could ever say. “You are not used to it– being taken care of– are you? My poor malyshka just needs to adjust.”
He’s sitting on the couch, legs spread open. He pats his thick thigh once, then twice, before he gives you a soft look. “Sit.”
You have your hands on his shoulders, one leg on either side of his thighs. You can feel his hard cock brushing against your knee while his leg is pressed firmly against your cunt- you can't help but squirm.
His hand grabs your hips, forcing you to grind your wet cunt against him. Soft little squeaks fall from your lips, earning you his praise. "See what happens when you let your Papochka take care of you?"
“Mmm, ‘s nice,” you whine, burying your face in his shoulder. One of his hands slowly crept under your shirt, slipping past your bra to softly pull at your nipple.
You’re so close, a knot quickly forming in your stomach. Right as you're about to tumble over the edge, he stops you, hands holding you firmly in place.
You can't help the tears rolling down your cheeks, quietly sniffling when his thumb brushes them away. "I know, I know, it felt so good, da? But, I need to hear you say it, sweet girl."
It should feel mortifying, demeaning even, but as you cry out what he wants to hear, it just feels right.
"Papochka, you're my papochka, 'm your malyshka, y' take such good care of me, so lucky, please please-"
He’s gripping your hips so tight you're sure you'll still be feeling his hands on you in the morning. It only takes a few lazy motions for your hands to grab his shoulders tighter, head tilting back as you fall apart in his lap.
He doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath before he's pulling you into a gentle kiss. “You did so perfect for me, letting go like this, letting me take control.” He whispers the soft praises against your lips before guiding you towards the bedroom.
"Arms up." You listen without even thinking twice. Letting him take off your top and bra as he slips an old shirt of his over you. He tugs off your jeans, his own clothes following suit.
He slowly crawls into bed next to you, hairy arms caging you against his chest. "What do we say?"
You’re thankful for the sleep taking over your body, otherwise you'd be too embarrassed to speak. "Thank you, papochka."
It’s hard for you to let go of control like that, but the next morning, as Nikolai brushes your teeth and fixes your hair, you find it a little bit easier.
You’re sitting on the bathroom counter as he now moves on to his own morning routine. “I like it. Letting you decide things for me– take care of me– but it’s…”
“Scary?”
You nod in response. The nerves in your stomach start to settle when you feel his hand on your waist. “I want to try, though,” you admit, watching as a small smile breaks out onto his face.
thinking about simon 'ghost' riley showing up at your door after a nightmare...
18+ MDNI !!!
cw: fem!reader, exes AND lovers, post-break up sex, angst, hopeful ending, 1.4K word count
“Dove?” Simon calls out, half-asleep, tears still fresh on his cheeks from whatever fucked up nightmare his brain had conjured. It isn’t until he sits up and feels the cold air on his chest that he fully comes to.
He feels pathetic, really, he’s crying like a child because of a bad dream, and the first thing he does is call out for his ex– you. The one he broke up with. The one he pushed away.
He throws on a hoodie and grabs his keys- just to go for a quick drive, he tells himself.
You’re not sure why you didn’t just ignore the knocking and go back to sleep. It’s bad for you, backsliding, and you can practically picture your friends scolding you already.
You wrap your arms around yourself as you make your way to your apartment’s door. You find some odd comfort in the way it makes you feel smaller– the same way Simon always did.
“I love you.” wasn’t what you expected to hear when you answered the door. Not now that you’ve finally accepted the exact opposite of what he's telling you.
You roll your eyes and scoff at him. “You don’t.”
He stares down at you, and you can’t help but wonder why he couldn’t look at you like this while you were still together. “Can’t tell me what ‘m feeling, Love.”
“Don’t call me that,” you snap. “But I‘m right,” you continue. You don’t love me, Simon, you won’t fucking let yourself! You leave without a word, and you always push me away because you think you don’t deserve it- that you need to be punished.” Your words are desperate, as if you’re pleading with him.
“And, and, you just expect me to take it, to sit by the door and wait for you to come back like a goddamn dog. I can’t keep doing this– I won’t.”
“I never said that.” He tries to make his voice come out strong and certain, but you know him too well to fall for it.
“You didn’t have to.” You settle on.
He scoffs, “So what? It’s my fault you feel this way? I did this, ruined us?”
“Yes! No, I don’t,” you sigh. “I don’t know. I asked for too much, and I’m sorry for that, but… You weren’t fair. You hurt me a lot, but I get it, I guess. You were too scared to stay, and I was too scared to leave.”
It was silent for a moment. “Let me in, Dove.” It’s not a question– you’ve both been here enough times to know how it ends.
Against your better judgment, you step aside, locking the door behind him.
His mouth trails your body as if it's the last time he’ll taste your skin. You tell yourself it is– that you mean it this time.
He’s on top of you, caging your body between himself and the bed. The feeling of his bare skin against yours burns– you hate to admit you’ve missed it.
You gasp as he bites your shoulder, his tongue trailing down to your breasts. “Need to taste her, love, please?” he whispers into your chest. You nod breathlessly, your hand shoving his head further down your body.
He presses a rough kiss to your stomach, his eyes shine with tears as he glances up at you. “Missed you, haven’t touched another cunt since. Hated myself for leaving,” he confesses before his tongue starts lapping at your folds.
He’s eating your pussy as if he’s convinced that if he fucks you good enough, makes you cum right, it’ll be enough to make up for the past– enough for you to let him stay.
You whine when he pulls away, running two of his fingers up and down your slit. “So wet for me, must’ve missed me too, huh Dove?” Despite his best efforts, you can feel the heavy weight in his words.
“Yeah, I missed you too, Si,” you admit, your voice shaking as you blink away the tears.
Your mouth falls open, a near-silent moan leaving your lips when he suddenly pushes two of his fingers past your entrance. He starts at a slow pace as he pumps them in and out of you.
“She’s so tight f’ me, lovie, she always is. Fucking haunted my dreams, could never forget this cunt– never forget you.” He groans, stretching you out as he starts to spread his fingers inside you.
You give a sharp intake of breath, your eyes threatening to flutter shut. He frowns when you pull him away by the nape of his neck. “Need you, Si, please just fuck me. Swear ‘m ready,” you mumble, pressing a needy kiss against his neck.
His hands roam down to your hips, his rough fingertips pressing hard into your skin. “Whatever you want, ‘s fucking yours, dove. Swear I’ll do anything you want me to.”
You speak before you can think to stop yourself. “I want you to stay, Simon, let me in. Don’t abandon me the second shit starts to get real,” you beg, your hands squeezing his shoulders.
He goes quiet, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the way his hard cock is pressed against your folds. “I’ll stay, swear it, love.” It’s not the first time he’s promised that– you’re well aware– yet as you spot the tears rolling down his cheeks, you desperately want to believe he means it this time.
Your back arches as he suddenly and roughly pushes into your dripping cunt. You can feel his dick throb when your nails dig into his back hard enough to draw blood. “Fucking masochist,” you tease, pressing harder into the skin.
You both let out a moan as he bottoms out, his balls pressed snugly against your cunt. You can feel the tip of him so deep inside you. It should be too big, too much, but it’s not– he never is.
“Need you to move, Si,” you whisper, running your hands along his chest.
He pulls out slightly before thrusting back into you, setting a slow and steady pace. It’s different from how he normally fucks you– fast and hard– almost as if he’s trying to drag it on. Make it last.
He doesn’t speak. He just buries his head into your neck and breathes in your scent. You can feel his tears fall onto your skin.
“Fuck, Simon, feels so good. Needed this, needed your cock, mmm, needed you-” you say with a moan, tossing your head back.
He whines against you as his pace speeds up, his hand reaching down to roughly circle your clit.
You tell yourself it’s the way he’s pounding into you so deeply, that it’s only because he’s pressing your sensitive bud so perfectly. The truth is, though, it’s not until he says “I love you, dove” that you start to come undone.
“Fuck, hnnng, gonna, gonna cum,” you squeal, your ankles locking behind his back, unintentionally trapping him inside you.
His hips start to stutter as he feels you clench around him. Wet noises fill the room with each sloppy thrust. “Gotta let me out, please, love, can’t hold it any longer,” he begs.
You stop his hand when it reaches back to move your legs. “Inside, please cum inside me, Simon, need it, swear ‘m on the pill-”
That’s all it takes for his thrusts to falter; he’s spilling his hot cum deep inside you with a low groan. He collapses next to you, his cock still buried in your cunt.
You place a gentle kiss on his skin as he pulls you against his chest, and the sound of your mixed breaths fills the room.
“Stay?” you beg– just like you always do.
He's silent– just like he always it.
You don’t fully remember falling asleep, but as you wake up to the sound of a door slamming shut, you’re painfully aware of how empty your bed is.
You fight back the tears and force yourself to head into the kitchen for a glass of water.
You’ve barely processed the fact that Simon’s in your kitchen when he starts to speak. “Got you breakfast from that place you like,” he says, avoiding your wide-eyed stare.
“You didn’t… leave?” Your voice comes out mangled, and your eyes fill with tears.
He pulls you into his chest, his hand making soothing circles against your back. “You asked me to stay. Meant what I said, dove, anything you want.” His words feel real, and a spark of hope makes its home in your chest.
It's not a promise this time, but something different– something better– a fresh start.
thinking about roommate!ghost who's a total freak and creep...
18+ mdni !!! (smut, darkfic)
alt link; ao3
cw: fem!reader, icky!ghost, heavy dubcon (reader says stop and is very hesitant/conflicted but does want him & enjoys it), stalking, dacryphilia, forced breeding, ment. of pregnancy, cum eating / cum play, fear play, (probably) a DDNE tbh, i think that's it ?, word count: 2.4k
When you’d first saw the advertisement he posted, you half-expected it to be bait. That you’d show up, he’d answer the door, and you’d end up being just another dead girl mentioned in a distasteful true crime podcast.
Your mother always said: If it seems too good to be true, then it usually is. You should have listened to her.
On paper, the arrangement is perfect; your rent is half the price of a one-bedroom, the apartment is in an amazing neighborhood, and your roommate is gone the majority of the time.
The reality is that living with Simon Riley is complicated– nothing like what you signed up for. To put it plainly, your roommate is a complete and utter creep.
Looking back, it’s almost impressive how subtle he was at the start– at least compared to the things he does now. It made it that much easier for you to brush it off as a trauma response or bad habits from years in the military.
A week into living together, you realize that he has a horrible habit of hovering. Waiting until you’re busy with something, coming up behind you and standing just close enough that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck.
“Think you should buy it in black,” he mumbles into your ear, staring down at your phone as you browse online for a new dress.
You shriek, hands instinctively dropping your device. The loud thud it makes hitting the floor echoes in your ears. You turn around, hands instinctively pressing against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him away– it doesn’t work.
You swallow, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your thighs twitch at the feeling of his hands gripping your wrists tightly. He does– he notices everything about you. “Uh, thanks, I’ll… do that.”
You expect him to let go. Instead, he pulls you into him, wrapping his arms tight around you. You can pretend you can’t feel him pressing his nose into your hair– breathing in deeply– it’s harder to ignore the feeling of his hard cock pressed against you.
“Welcome to the apartment, dove.”
Then came the staring, heavy gaze always roaming your body, staring at you for hours at a time. It's unnerving.
You don’t have to turn around to know he’s watching you– he always is nowadays. “Hi, Simon,” you mumble, hands shaking as you continue to load the washing machine.
He doesn’t reply– he never does– his eyes just continue to trail further down, soaking up every inch of bare skin your tiny pajama shorts show off.
You make it a point to wear loose pants and oversized sweatshirts after that– cover as much skin as possible– somehow that only makes it worse.
You stumble into the kitchen, oversized hoodie rifling through the cabinets to find a mug for your morning coffee.
It’s not long before you feel it again, his stare. You close your eyes, body freezing up at the unfortunately familiar feeling. “Good morning, Simon.” You’re not sure what’s worse, the words he said or the fact that he replied at all.
“Y’ like baggy clothes tha’ much, you could jus’ wear mine, dove.”
You suck in a breath, heart beating so loud you know he has to be able to hear it somehow. “I, I don’t–”
He cuts you off, eyes staring at you so hard you swear you can feel your skin burning under his gaze. “Fuckin’ adorable, thinkin’ those layers are gonna stop me from watchin’ you– droolin’ over you.”
You repeatedly tell yourself that the sinking feeling in your stomach is nausea– disgust–, but you can’t deny the sticky feeling between your thighs.
You don’t get to go anywhere by yourself anymore; he just invites himself to tag along. You once tried to sneak out– a ridiculous notion, you’re a grown woman for fucks sake– but he just somehow ended up there anyway.
There, sitting in a dark booth staring straight at you, is your roommate. Simon hates clubs, so why is he here? Better yet, how is he here?
It doesn’t take long before he’s walking up to you, grabbing you with his tattoo-covered arm, mumbling something about it being time to go home. Your friend grabs your other arm, and you can tell she’s ready to call over security. You quickly wave her concerns off, feeling his grip grow tighter each second she touches you.
“It's fine, he's my roommate– look, I’m just gonna call it a night, okay?”
The two of you lean against the building outside while you wait for the cab to arrive. A lit cigarette hangs from his lips, and the feeling of his arm around your shoulder makes you shiver despite the body heat radiating off of him.
“Simon?” you whisper, staring straight down at the sidewalk. You wait until he gives you a half-hearted hum of acknowledgement before continuing. “How did you know which club I was at?”
The silence he gives you is worse than any answer he possibly could have provided. He pulls you in closer to him, the smell of tobacco smoke is so strong you swear you can taste it on your tongue.
You hate the way your body no longer tenses at his touch– you wonder if it ever really did.
Most nights he’s home, you shoot awake, breathing heavily from the confusing dreams you have about him– not quite a nightmare, but not solely pleasant.
“Simon?” you mumble, eyes slowly blinking as you glance around your dark room before settling into a dark corner.
You scream, your hands reaching to pull your covers off. Legs wobbly as you scurry to reach the lights. “What–”
The second the masked man chuckles– low and mocking– you know it’s Simon. You avoid looking straight at him, never wanting to see that horrid skull mask again.
You don’t realize you're crying until you feel wet tears rolling down your face.
“C’mon, lovie, though’ you liked this? Seen all those blokes you watch on your phone when y’ think ‘m not lookin’.”
You’ve learned now to just close your eyes and go back to sleep, avoiding his heavy gaze from the corner of your room.
Simon’s unashamed in the way he steals from you. It’s not something uncommon to deal with when sharing a living space, but there’s nothing normal about the things he ‘borrows’ from you.
Your dresser drawers are on the floor, and random knick-knacks and papers are scattered across your room. The mood has long been ruined, but you’re now determined to find your misplaced vibrator anyway.
He doesn’t knock when he enters your room– why would he? You don’t turn around or even acknowledge him, continuing to haphazardly rifle through your things.
It isn’t until you hear a faint buzzing sound coming from his hand that he finally feels his eyes on yours. “What the fuck, Simon?” you screech, scrambling to snatch the clearly used toy out of his hands.
He tilts his head, staring at you dead-eyed. “Didn’ think you’d mind. Never say anythin’ when I use your washin’ powder or borrow those lace panties y’ like so much.” The casual confession should make you sick to your stomach– you want it to make you sick to your stomach.
You can’t help but flinch when the door gently shuts behind him, looking around at the mess you’ve made. You glance down at the silicone bullet, fingers gathering up the white, sticky liquid dripping down it.
You spread your fingers, your mouth going dry at the string of cum between them. You’re tasting him before you even realize that your hand has moved towards your mouth. It’s bitter and musky, but that doesn’t stop you from moaning around your digits.
A thought crosses your mind. It’s gross, and wrong, and it makes you no better than him– but he started this.
You close your eyes as you fall onto the bed, quickly kicking your shorts off and to the side. A soft buzzing noise fills the air as you press the already slick toy down harder on your clit.
You act like you can’t hear him breathing heavy on the other side of your door– but it’s obvious in the way your normally quiet whimpers are full-blown moans.
It doesn’t take much– you were already worked up long before he’d stepped into your room. You cum hard, too focused on the low groaning coming from outside your room to fully savor the feeling.
As you clean up your mess, you wonder if you can still claim the cheap rent is why you’ve stayed so long.
You should have known better, but your friends convinced you it’d be a good idea. After complaining to them with half-truths about how horrible and invasive your roommate is, they’d planted the silly thought of getting even in your head.
You shuffle outside his door, hesitantly reaching for the doorknob. You’re not sure what you expected when you decided to barge into his room unannounced– you try not to think too hard about what he does when you’re not there.
He’s sitting along the side of his bed, thick thighs spread wide, as his hand fists his leaking cock. You stumble, your back unintentionally shutting the door, causing him to glance at you.
“Did y’need somethin’ dove?” He doesn’t stop– doesn’t even falter– just licks his lips as he stares straight at you.
Your skin feels like it’s on fire, unable to look away from the obscene sight.
“Wha’, don’ tell me you’re embarrassed? ‘M jus’ havin’ a quick wank– hear you do it all the time.” The admission makes you choke on nothing, his cock twitching at the sound. “It’s jus’ a cock, lovie, ‘m sure you’ve seen plenty.”
You don’t mean to say it out loud, but your mouth moves against your will. “Never any that big,” you whisper, barely audible, but you know he heard it.
“Come touch it.” He doesn’t ask, just commands you to– for the first time since meeting him, you understand why he’s a lieutenant.
You hesitantly move towards him, shrieking when his hand grabs your shoulder and shoves you onto the carpet. He forces you to kneel between his legs, your pussy aching as he wraps his hand around yours, forcing you to grab his hard cock.
You can only stare wide-eyed, lips parted as he moves your hand up and down, your palm growing sticky as his pre-cum gathers on your skin.
“Fuck, tha’s it, dove,” he groans, head thrown back as he uses you to jerk himself off. Your legs snap shut at the wet noises filling up the room.
You feel your stomach twist with disgust at yourself for just letting him use you– the feeling of want dripping down your thighs only makes it worse.
You swallow, arm limp as you stare at the head of his twitching cock. “Simon, stop,” you whisper, making no move to pull away from him.
You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut tight as he shoots ropes of hot cum all over your face. You sniffle, tears falling down your face, when he suddenly leans down, gripping your jaw as he forces you to look at him.
His tongue brushes against your cheek, slowly licking off the mess he spilt on your skin. “Si,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms– he moans against your face when he feels them break the skin.
“I know, I know, lovie, ‘s not fair, is it?” he coos, pulling away now that your face is mostly clean– save for his spit. “Let me make it up to you.”
In one swift motion, he sits you at the foot of the bed, leaning back against the headboard as he pats his bare thigh– cock still hard despite the fact he just came.
It’s embarrassing how fast you discard your clothes before crawling into his lap. His thumb brushes against your cheek before pushing past your lips– looking pleased when you instantly suck the digit.
His fingers on your hip grip you tight, picking you up single-handedly before lowering you onto his length. The stretch burns, sweat coating your body as pain flashes across your face. He twitches inside you, and you know then the lack of prep was purposeful.
Your hands grip his shoulders so tight you can feel his blood pooling underneath your fingernails– his hips thrusting up into you only makes you dig into the skin harder.
He removes his hand from your mouth, reaching down to let his spit-soaked thumb hover over your swollen clit. “Simon, please, jus’ make it feel good,” you beg, grinding your hips against his as you desperately try to meet his pace.
His lips make their way to your neck, harshly sucking before sinking his teeth into your skin. You cry out, cunt clenching down on his cock as the mixture of pain and pleasure.
His lips are smeared with red when he finally stops licking at your wound– all you can taste is copper as he kisses you.
Your orgasm builds pathetically fast, you pant against his mouth as you cum around his length. He pulls away from your mouth, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm.
“You’re mine, my roommate, my dove. Even if y’ don’ say it she knows it– ‘s why she creamed all over me so quickly, yeah?”
Your body aches as you lie limply against him like a rag doll. Your mind’s hazy, unable to focus on anything other than his thick cock still dragging in and out of you.
His thrusts get sporadic, cock twitching deep inside you, and you can tell he’s close. “Si, not, hng, not inside, ‘m not, don’ take the pill–”
He snorts, hands digging into your hips so hard you know you’ll still feel them tomorrow– maybe forever. His hips snap up into you, and you can feel the tip of his cock brush against your cervix.
“Don’ worry, lovie, I won’ go runnin' away when you’re swollen w’ my kid,” he coos. As he spills hot cum in the deepest part of your cunt the promise feels more like a threat.
The thought of it– your stomach round, carrying his baby– is all it takes for you to wail into his chest, body shivering as you reach another orgasm.
The room reeks of sex and sweat, the air thick with the weight of something heavy– something akin to permanence, ownership.
His arms wrap around you, pulling you down onto your side as he buries his nose against the back of your head.
rest assured every fic prefaced "english is not my first language" will be the juiciest, most poetic, life altering piece of fanfiction you will ever read. you know who you are. and we thank you for your service.
Why are you not re-blogging? You think the fandom is dead, that no one’s interacting anymore, no one’s doing anything, no one’s writing, no one’s posting. ‘Everyone was so hyperfixed on that character, Where is the writing?’
People are writing. People aren’t reblogging. People aren’t giving some good feedback to motivate the writers that are putting their hard work, time, effort into making this piece that you were reading.
‘oh, it’s just too much work. You don’t wanna click that button and then click a few tags.’ Then you’re gonna have to suffer and not see a lot of writing from a lot of people because the only way this fucking app works is if you reblog.
I see so many pieces of work with 59 likes and 1 blog, I just saw one that had 690 likes and it had 9 reblogs. Even 1,000 likes and only 59 reblogs too. It’s devastating to see for the community of Tumblr. And I’ve been here for like five years, the way this app works is if you re-blog.
There’s so many people that are writing. There’s so many amazing things that I see and I try my best to reblog every single one that I read. That’s what I love doing because sharing someone’s piece of work is just beautiful because it allows me to show it to more people.
I reblog. And the beauty of it is;
I get notifications that this person liked it and this person liked it, and then that post continues to get more views, more likes and reblogs. All just because one person, reblogged it.
so please, if you are a part of Tumblr and you love reading your favorite writers fics, or love reading about your favorite character, please do your job and reblog it.
And if you don’t like re-blogging because you don’t want to do that on your account, then you can make another account and put all of the things that you read on that account. You can do separate things, like fic recs.
You can figure it the fuck out if you want people to actually be writing for a character you love. The writers are writing, you ain’t helping them share their work.
I genuinely wonder if people realize how many projects get abandoned because the readership "wasn't there", when in reality, the readership just stayed silent. It's a big thing in trad pub that book series get discontinued because readers pirate the books or wait until the series is finished to buy a copy, leading the publisher to think that nobody actually wants the book enough to continue the series, but it happens with indie creators too.
I've discontinued a lot of free, online series because it's not worth putting 3-5 hours a week into posting a project for no readers. Sometimes I finish the series for me but just never post it again, other times I don't finish it at all because it feels more worthwhile to put my time into other things. Sometimes I hear from readers who are sad or upset that I didn't finish something they were liking, but the *reason* it never got finished is because I didn't know anyone liked it. If you like something, tell the creator, tell your friends, make some noise about it. If you would be sad if a story never finished, make that interest known because one of my biggest considerations before discontinuing a series is "will people miss this? Will I be letting people down" and 9/10 times, I come to the conclusion of "no, it doesn't even seem like anyone's reading this" only to learn after I've moved on that apparently someone was.
I've said this before in a different way, and this post said it so well. With real examples.
If you like something, tell people.
If you want more content from an artist or author, if you like their stuff, tell them. It will give them creative fuel to keep going. And often it gives them other resources as well.
Recommend a work to other people. Leave a comment or a review. It doesn't have to be long, just genuine, a sentence or two.
Not many people know that a book's success is judged by book reviews as well as sales. Review the book on Amazon or another site to help it pass the metric of success and be recognized by publishers and retailers.
i'm so gone for the idea that the first time that you tell john, "i love you," is during sex. maybe missionary, but i'm thinking during pronebone—when john's pressing all his weight onto you, gripping you by the back of your neck, rutting and humping like he's trying to impregnate you then and there (not yet, but soon; that's a promise). you are so drunk in your pleasure, all drooly and whiny, that the words just spill from kiss-swollen lips.
i love you, you hiccup. john stops just for a second before a litany of his own confession drop from his maw, unstopping and unwavering like now that the dam's been unlatched, everything just begins to pour out ceaselessly.
i love you too, baby, i love you so much. the light of my life, huh? look at you, such a pretty thing for me. want daddy to kiss here, this deep? yeah? oh sweetheart, such a lovely puppy for me.
no thoughts, just simon who can't help but think you're so beautiful covered in blood.
cw: MDNI 18+ no smut, just suggestive content. blood!! mentions of murder. simon's thoughts get a little dirty, sorry. implied masochism.
simon riley who is completely enamored with the sight of someone else’s blood all over you. if it wasn’t for the severity of the situation, he might’ve just taken an extra minute to look at you longer- pupils blown, eyes hooded with desire at your standing figure.
he doesn’t even care that the blood dribbles down your chin and onto your uniform.
the man who lays at your feet, jugular quite literally ripped out, is motionless. he got the best ending he could have, dying before simon could get to him. though, he was sure you taunted him and his pathetic little life as he bled out, the light from his eyes slipping away.
simon’s at your front immediately. he makes note of your arms that are bound behind your back, there’s blood dripping there too - this time it is your blood, the rope was far too tight and cutting into your skin. you had no choice, your captor had left you no other options to defend yourself except your teeth. he’d make sure you’d go unpunished for this.
simon can’t help but bring his fingerless-gloved hand to your chin, his thumb and pointer on either side of your jaw. his remaining fingers are on the side of your neck. he gently pulls your chin up and towards him to get a good look at you.
you look monstrous. wild, wide eyes and chest rising and falling rapidly because you’re panting, still coming down from the shock of it all. and simon fucking loves it.
so much so that simon’s smearing the blood on your face across your cheek with his thumb. he doesn’t mind the feeling that stirs in his stomach. his thumb circles back around to bottom lip, the blood there is still wet. the pads of his thumb pry your lips apart to get a good look at your gnashers, also covered in blood.
a sick, twisted part of him would love nothing more than to see you smile with your blood-stained teeth.
his breath hitches in the back of his throat as his thumb presses your teeth apart. his finger roughly skims across your canines, anymore pressure and he's sure he'd have punctured his own skin on your teeth. maybe..?
he's holding a breath he didn't even realize he's holding. your tongue darts out and gently grazes his thumb, a flicker of red dancing across your tongue and that sends blood rushing down to his cock. maybe he should have speared his thumb through your teeth when he had the chance.
the taste of metal in your mouth is what snaps you out of your trance, your breathing finally leveling out. you're blinking at him, eyes glossy with how long you'd been staring off into space. he can feel how fast your heart is beating with his middle and ring finger.
simon's retracting his finger from your mouth, his grip on your jaw unrelenting. he watches as you take in your surroundings, taking a step back from him - well as much as you can, considering his other hand was curled around the front of your tac vest.
"you with me, pet?" his voice gravels lowly. you nod as much as you can with your chin still within his grasp.
before you know it, simon's cutting you free from your restraints. his hands find home on your wrists. he tries to be gentle with the open wounds on your wrists, but his callouses don't make much room for him to be soft. you don't notice how his fingers are collecting your blood as he soothes the raw pain from the rope.
"y'did a good job, sergeant," simon's guiding you towards where the team has breached to come rescue you, making sure to place himself between you and the man whose blood was all over you. "did a good job buying us time to come find you."
your lieutenant hands you off to gaz, who's already shrugged off his coat to place over your frame, leading you to the heli. you're nodding along to what gaz is saying, about getting you to a medic as soon as you can.
you look back to simon who's doing a scan of the perimeter, probably for his post-op report. he knows your eyes are on him and he doesn't miss a beat to spare a look towards you. he lifts his balaclava, just above his top lip, just so you can watch his tongue swipe over the blood on his finger. your blood.
gummygunk
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
andulkaphoto
