↳ i do interact with dark content and may write it in the future. once it starts being posted here, i will create a post that has all triggering tags labeled and link it here.
↳ please be kind. we’re all human, we all live different experiences, live different lives, and respond differently to situations. blocking is a great resource, do not feel hesitant in any way to set boundaries and block me.
↳ i write mainly when i have time or i’m bored. not very often but i figured more fic in the world is always a net positive.
↳ feel free to contact me on discord @/velvetsoft . im always open to a conversation and if i haven’t responded on tumblr, contacting me there will be quicker.
↳ meals i can’t get enough of → cod mw2, jjk, ykmet, tpof, aot, tokyo ghoul, teag, tfc
pairing: Simon Riley x afab!reader
cw: dom!Ghost, bondage, edging, denial, overstimulation, fingering, piv!sex, praising, brief aftercare, porn with little plot
wc: 2993
an: ovulating as we speak
The metal table was cold against your back, seeping through the thin fabric of your sports bra, the only thing left on your body besides the ropes. Your wrists were bound above your head, the coarse fiber digging into your skin as your fingers flexed and grasped at nothing, the rope leading down to the table’s legs at the other end. Your ankles were similarly secured, feet tied to the legs at the edge, leaving your legs spread and completely exposed. You'd lost track of how long you’d been lying on the surface. Your skin was slick with sweat, every muscle in your body trembling from exertion and denial.
Ghost stood at the foot of the table, his mask discarded somewhere in the room hours ago, revealing the force of his expression, the close-cropped blonde hair, and those dark eyes that seemed to take in every twitch and whimper you made.
Simon.
You’d known him as Ghost for months before you'd ever seen his face, and even now, after weeks of dating, the sight of him without the balaclava still made something flip in your chest.
He was fully clothed, making the whole situation even more shameful. You were laid out like a feast, naked and dripping and desperate, while he stood in his tactical pants and black t-shirt, his arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with the same calculating focus he used in the field. His sleeves were short, revealing the tattoos that snaked up his forearms.
“Simon,” you breathed out, your voice cracking. You’d said his name so many times tonight that it had lost all meaning. “Simon, please.”
He tilted his head slightly, his jaw working as he studied you. “Please, what?” His voice was low, that rough Manchester accent shocking your very core. “Use your words, Sergeant. I know you have them.”
Your hips lifted off the table involuntarily, seeking contact, seeking anything, and you were met with nothing but air. The motion made the ropes pull tight, and you gasped at the painful bite against your ankles and wrists. “Please let me cum. I can’t—I can’t take anymore. I need—"
“What do you need?” He stepped closer, his hand landing on your thigh, warm and heavy. The touch was barely there, just his palm resting against your trembling flesh, but it made you whimper like he’d thrust inside you. “Tell me exactly what you need.”
“Your cock. Your fingers. Your mouth. Anything.” You were babbling now, the words tumbling out without thought. “Please, Simon, I’ll do anything. I’ll be good. I’ll listen during drills, I’ll follow every order, I’ll—”
“Should’ve thought about that sooner.” His thumb began to move, tracing slow circles on your inner thigh, maddeningly close to where you needed him most. Your core was throbbing, your clit swollen and desperate for attention. You could feel your arousal leaking out of you, dripping down between your legs, making a mess of the metal table beneath you. “Before you decided that you knew better than me.”
“I’m sorry.” The apology came out strangled, buried beneath a sob. “I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I just reacted—”
“You reacted against orders.” His thumb moved higher, closer, and your breath caught in your throat. “You saw an opening and you took it without thinking about what could have been waiting for you. What was waiting for you.” His eyes hardened. “If this had been real, you’d be dead right now.”
The memory of the training exercise flashed through your mind. The mock hostage situation, the building they’d cleared room by room. You’d spotted a target through a doorway, had lunged forward to neutralize it before anyone could stop you—and straight into a tripwire that would have triggered a live explosive in a real scenario. Simon had grabbed you by the back of your vest and hauled you against the wall just as the training system registered the detonation. You’d both been splattered with paint, marking you as casualties.
You’d expected him to yell at you. To report you to Price for disciplinary action. To do anything other than what he’d done—gone silent, finished the exercise, and then grabbed you by the arm as soon as you were back at base, dragging you to the room without a word.
“I know,” you whispered. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, born from frustration and guilt and an overwhelming need that threatened to consume you. “I know I messed up. I won't do it again.”
“No.” His thumb finally brushed against your outer lips, and your whole body jerked at the contact. “You won’t.”
He’d been at this for hours. You knew that was an exaggeration, that it had probably been closer to one, but time had lost all meaning somewhere between the first time he’d brought you to the edge with his mouth and the fifth time he’d stopped just as you were about to tip over. He knew your body better than you knew it yourself, having mapped every sweet spot and sensitive area with the precision of a soldier conducting reconnaissance. He knew exactly how to touch you to build you up, and exactly when to stop to keep you dangling.
His thumb traced the seam of your lips, gathering your wetness and spreading it around, avoiding your clit entirely. You whined, high and pathetic in your throat, your head thrashing against the metal table. “Simon, please, you’re killing me.”
“Not killing you, love.” His voice was calm, maddeningly so. “Teaching.”
“Teaching what?” The words came out as a sob. “How to lose my mind?”
His eyes met yours, and something flickered in them—something that might have been amusement or might have been hunger. “How to follow orders. How to think before you act. How to control your impulses.” His thumb pressed harder, parting your lips and sliding through your slick folds. “How to endure when every instinct tells you to act out.”
Your back arched off the table, pressing your body up toward his hand, but he pulled back just enough to maintain the distance he wanted. A frustrated scream built in your chest, dying in your throat as his other hand came up to pinch your nipple.
The sensation shot straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. Your nipples had been tortured almost as thoroughly as your clit, Simon's fingers and mouth taking turns teasing and pinching and sucking until they were swollen and red and so sensitive that even the air in the room felt like too much.
“Bodies are fascinating things,” he said, his tone almost academic as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “They can be trained to respond in certain ways. Conditioned to obey. It takes repetition. Consequences.” He twisted, and you gasped, your hips bucking. “And rewards.”
“Reward me then,” you begged. “Please, Simon, I’ve been good. I’ve taken everything you’ve given me. I haven’t—"
“You haven’t learned.” He released your nipple, and you both mourned and celebrated the loss of contact. His hand returned to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. “You’re still thinking about what you want, but what I want you to.”
Your mind spun. What did that even mean? You wanted him. You wanted release. You wanted the pressure that had been building in your core for what felt like an eternity to finally snap and wash over you. What else was there?
“I don't—” You swallowed hard, trying to focus through the haze of arousal clouding your thoughts. “I don't understand.”
Simon moved around to the side of the table, his presence looming over you. You could smell him—the clean scent of soap mixed with gunpowder and something distinctly him that made your mouth water. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, almost tender.
“Right now, your body is screaming at you to chase satisfaction. Every nerve ending is firing, telling you to move, to grind, to do whatever it takes to get what you need.” His thumb traced your lower lip, and you parted your mouth, desperate for any contact. “But I’m in control. I decide when you cum. I decide if you cum. And your body needs to learn that fighting that control won’t get you anything but more frustration.”
Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, trailing down your temples to soak into your hair. “I'm not fighting. I'm not—”
“You’re tensing up. Pulling at the ropes. Trying to move your hips toward my hand every time I get close.” He leaned down, his face inches from yours. “Stop fighting. Submit. Let me decide everything.”
It was too much. The pleasure, the denial, the weight of his words—it crashed over you like a wave, and you felt something break inside your chest. The tension didn’t leave your body, but it changed. You stopped pulling at the ropes. Stopped trying to lift your hips. You went limp against the table, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your entire being focused solely on him.
“That’s it,” Simon murmured. “That's my girl.”
His reward was immediate. His hand slid down your body, over your stomach, through the slick coating your inner thighs, and pressed against your entrance. Two fingers sank inside you without resistance, your body opening for him like it was made to do nothing else. You moaned, your walls clenching around him as he curled his fingers upward, finding that spot inside you that made lights explode behind your eyes.
“God, you’re soaked.” His voice was rougher, a crack in his composure. “This whole time, you’ve been dripping for me. Making a mess of yourself.” He started thrusting his fingers, a steady rhythm that had you climbing higher and higher. “Such a good girl when you actually listen.”
“Simon,” you gasped. “Simon, I’m close—I’m going to—”
He pulled out. The denial hit you like a punch to the gut, and you sobbed, your body clenching around nothing. “Not yet.”
“Please!” You were crying now, tears streaming down your face, your entire body trembling with the effort of holding back. “Please, I can’t—I did what you said—I stopped fighting—”
“You did.” His fingers returned, sliding inside you again, resuming their relentless rhythm. “And you'll keep doing it. Every time you get close, you’re going to tell me. And you’re going to hold back until I say you can cum.”
It was torture. Sweet, agonizing torture. He brought you to the edge three more times, each time pulling back just as your orgasm began to crest, leaving you shaking and sobbing and more desperate than you’d ever been in your life. Your voice was hoarse from begging, your throat raw from the sounds he was pulling from you.
After the fifth time—sixth? You’d lost count—Simon stepped back from the table. You watched through blurred vision as he reached down and undid his belt, the metallic sound of the buckle making your core clench. He unzipped his pants and pushed them down just enough to free himself, his cock springing forward, hard and thick and perfect.
You moaned at the sight, your mouth watering. You wanted to taste him, to feel him in your mouth, heavy on your tongue. But that wasn’t what he had planned.
“Tell me what you want.” He wrapped his hand around himself, stroking slowly as he looked down at you. “Use your words.”
“You.” The answer was immediate, automatic. “Your cock inside me. I want you to fuck me. I want you to let me cum.”
He hummed, considering. His hand moved faster, his thumb sweeping over the head, spreading the bead of moisture that had gathered there. Your eyes were glued to the movement, mesmerized by the sight of him pleasuring himself while you lay bound and helpless beneath him.
“Please,” you whispered. “Simon, please.”
“You’ve done well.” He stepped forward, positioning himself between your spread legs. The head of his cock brushed against your entrance, and you both groaned at the contact. “Better than I expected.”
Your hips twitched, trying to press forward, to take him inside you, but the ropes held you in place. “I’ve been good. I’ve been so good.”
“You have.” His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks.
He pushed forward, sinking into you in one long, slow thrust. You threw your head back, a moan tearing from your throat as he filled you completely, stretching you wide. It was too much and not enough after so long without, your body quivering around him as you fought the urge to cum immediately.
“Don’t.” His voice was strained, his control hanging by a thread. “Not yet.”
“I can’t—Si, I can’t hold it—”
“You will.” He bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, and held still.
You whimpered, your walls clenching around him, trying to adjust to the intrusion. He felt huge inside you, thicker than usual, filling every inch of you until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. Your thighs were shaking, your toes curling against the air.
“Deep breaths.” His hand slid up your side, over your ribs, to cup your breast. He squeezed gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple, and you mewled. “Focus on me.”
It was impossible. Your body was all you could think about—the fullness, the pressure, the overwhelming need that threatened to swallow you whole. But you tried. You focused on his face, on the beads of sweat gathering at his temples, on the way his jaw clenched as he fought his own urge to move.
“Good.” He pulled back slowly, agonizingly, until only the head remained inside you. You gasped at the loss, your body trying to follow him, to keep him inside where he belonged. “So good for me.”
Then he snapped his hips forward.
The sound that tore from your throat was inhuman. He set a brutal pace, each thrust driving into you hard enough to push you up the table, the ropes pulling tight against your restraints. The metal table creaked beneath you, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin against skin and your mingled moans.
“Is this what you wanted?” He growled, leaning over you, his hands planted on either side of your head. “My cock? For me to use you?”
“Yes!” You were beyond words, beyond thought. “Yes, Simon, yes—”
“You want to cum?” His thumb found your clit, pressing down hard. “You want me to let you cum?”
“Please!” The word was a sob. “Please. I need—I need—”
He circled your clit with his thumb, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and you felt the pressure building to a breaking point. It was too much—the fullness, the contact, the sight of him above you, his eyes dark with desire, his teeth bared in a snarl of pleasure.
“Cum for me.”
The orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your entire body seized, your back arching off the table as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. You screamed his name, your vision whiting out, your muscles clenching around him so hard he groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge.
He buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself, warmth flooding your core. His groan was guttural, raw, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as you both rode out the aftershocks.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing—heavy, ragged, interspersed with whimpering moans—and the feeling of him inside you, still hard, still filling you. Your body was trembling, every nerve ending hypersensitive, aftershocks rippling through you each time he shifted.
Slowly, Simon lifted his head. His eyes met yours, and the mask of dominance had slipped, revealing something softer beneath. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that still leaked from the corners of your eyes.
“You did well,” he murmured. “You learned.”
You sniffled, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep in your chest. “Learned that you’re a sadist?”
A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Among other things.”
He pulled out of you slowly, and you whined at the loss, at the feeling of his cum trickling out of you and down onto the table. His hands went to your wrists, untying the ropes with practiced moves before moving to your ankles. As soon as your limbs were free, you let them fall limp, your muscles too weak to hold them up.
“I can’t feel my legs,” you mumbled, and Simon huffed a laugh.
“You will.” He gathered you up from the table, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and cradled you against his chest. You nestled into him, your face pressed against his neck, breathing in his scent. “Rest now. I’ve got you.”
Your eyes were already closing, exhaustion washing over you in waves. You felt him move, felt him sit down somewhere—on a crate, maybe, or a bench—and settle you in his lap. His arms wrapped around you, warm and secure, and you let yourself drift.
But just before sleep claimed you, you heard him speak, his voice soft against your hair.
“And tomorrow, Sergeant? We’re doing drills again. And this time, you’re going to listen.”
Your lips curved into a smile against his neck. “Yes, Lieutenant.”
His arms tightened around you, and you felt the rumble of his voice in his chest. “Good girl.”
You were floating somewhere between consciousness and sleep when a thought drifted through your mind—tomorrow was going to be a very long day. And if this was your punishment for disobeying orders, you weren’t entirely sure you didn’t want to misbehave again.
♡ old man ꪆৎ pervy older!john price x reader
cw; pervyness, fingering, age gap (johns in his late forties, reader in her early twenties) slight dead dove if you squint
He’d been watching you for weeks. Not in the sweet, wistful way of a lonely man. No. John Price watched you like he was hungry. You lived upstairs from him. Fresh out of college, bright-eyed, distractible, always dropping your keys, always humming to yourself, always wearing those soft little shorts that didn’t know how to stay down.
John pretended not to notice. He pretended every time your footsteps pattered above his ceiling, he wasn’t imagining how your thighs would taste. He pretended the sound of your shower wasn’t enough to drag a groan from his chest.
But tonight… you made it too easy.
You knocked on his door, cheeks flushed from the cold, holding a plate of cookies like you hadn’t just turned his entire week into a fantasy.
“Hi, Mr. Price… I, um… baked too many. Thought you might want some.”
He leaned on the doorway, body huge in the frame. His eyes dragged over you, slow and unashamed, making your spine fizz.
“Too many cookies,” he murmured. “Dangerous thing to bring to a man living alone.”
“You always help me with my packages,” you babbled. “I just wanted to thank you.”
His mouth twitched, a private little smile that promised nothing wholesome.
“You sure you’re thanking me,” he said, stepping aside, “and not just looking for an excuse to come in?”
You blinked. Didn’t deny it. So you crossed the threshold. And Price shuts the door behind you. He took the plate from your hands, set it down, then pressed a rough palm to your lower back.
“You have any idea,” he murmured against your ear, voice a low rumble, “how hard it is to behave when you look like that every day?”
Your breath hitched. His fingers slid south, tracing the hem of your little shorts.
“I—I didn’t know you looked at me like that…”
He chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’ve memorized every sound you make up there.”
Your knees nearly gave out. He caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up like he was examining something precious he planned to ruin gently.
“I shouldn’t want you,” he said. “But I do. Badly.”
Your pulse stuttered.
“Tell me no,” he whispered, nose brushing yours. “Or I’m going to take exactly what you came here offering.”
You didn’t say no. Price kissed you like a man finally unburdened. Hungry, and slow. His hand cupped your ass, squeezing like he’d dreamed of it, dragging you flush against the hard, unmistakable shape in his trousers.
“Pretty thing,” he rasped. “You’ve been prancing around upstairs driving me mad. Couldn’t go a single night without thinking about you.”
Your hips rolled instinctively. His groan vibrated through your bones.
He lifted you, and set you on his kitchen counter, your thighs spreading around his hips like they were meant to.
“Good girl,” he praised. “Open up for me.”
His palm slid between your legs, rubbing slow, coaxing you into a breathless, needy mess.
“Already so warm,” he murmured. “I haven’t even touched you properly.”
“John,” you gasped, tugging at his shirt.
He smirked, lips brushing your throat. “There it is. Say it again.”
“John…”
“That’s right. Use my name. You’re not a child, sweetheart.” His thumb pressed right where you needed it. You shivered. “You’re a grown woman letting her neighbor ruin her.”
His mouth sealed over your neck as his fingers dipped under your waistband. And then his breath hitched. “No panties?” he rumbled.
Your cheeks burned. “I—I didn’t think—”
He slid a thick finger through your slick heat, shuddering like he’d been blessed.
“You did,” he growled. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
His voice dropped, low and sinful, as his finger pushed inside you. “Let your old man have you.”
A hush rolled over the kitchen. Price kept his finger inside you, slow to move it, like he was testing just how tightly you gripped him. His gaze dragged up your body until it locked on your face, and something wicked flickered there.
“Keep looking at me,” he ordered softly, the kind of softness that lands like a command.
You tried, you really did, but your eyelids fluttered as his finger curled just right.
He smirked. “Such a pretty reaction. Makes me imagine what you’ll look like when I’m deep in you.”
Your breath stuttered into a sigh, knees falling open wider. The counter felt cold under your thighs, but his body radiated heat. He stepped in close until the hard line of him pressed against your inner thigh.
Then another finger joined the first. Your hand shot to his shoulder.
“Good girl,” he murmured, lips brushing your cheek like a filthy promise. “Take both.”
You clenched around him, helpless. He moved them in a lazy rhythm at first, drawing small circles with his thumb that made you gasp and bite your lip. The sound you made earned a low, pleased growl from him.
“You get worked up so easy,” he teased. “Bet you’ve thought about this. Bet you’ve touched yourself thinking about me.”
Heat shot through you. “John—”
“That a yes?” he pushed.
You nodded, cheeks burning.
He groaned like you’d just handed him a loaded fantasy. “Let me guess. You imagine me walking in? Hand over your mouth to keep you quiet?”
Your thighs trembled under his grip. Your voice turned breathy. “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he echoed with a grin, curling his fingers deeper until you choked on a gasp. “Sweetheart, you’d melt if I actually did that.”
Your head tipped back, but he grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze back to him.
“No hiding.” His voice was low, rough, coaxing. “I want to see you fall apart.”
He curled his fingers again, and your hips lurched. The wet sound of him working you open filled the kitchen, obscene under the hum of the refrigerator.
Price kissed your jaw, scraping his beard along your skin. “You’re gripping me like you’re close. You gonna come on my fingers?”
Your nails bit into his shoulder. “Feels—feels so good—”
“That’s it,” he whispered, speeding up just a little, enough to push you toward that edge with intention. His free hand slid up your back, holding you steady as your body tensed. “Let go for me.”
Your breath hitched, legs shaking.
“Go on,” he coaxed, voice dark honey. “Give it to me.”
And then you did. Your body arched, every nerve sparking as the orgasm crashed through you. Price groaned at the way you pulsed around his fingers, savoring it like he’d earned it. He didn’t stop. Didn’t let you drift down easy. He kept his fingers moving until you whimpered and clutched at him.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against your neck. “Just beautiful.”
He withdrew his fingers slowly, coated with slick, and held your gaze as he brought them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, groaning like a man who’d been starving.
dbf! simon riley who ends up getting quite the naughty photo of you accidentally sent to him.
It was a mere slip, something that shouldn't have happened, but it did. Simon was never supposed to receive that kind of picture from you, but nevertheless, it ended up on his phone.
His eyes couldn't seem to look away from it, you in your pretty little lingerie set, posing in front of the mirror. Your back is arched, accentuating your plump and round ass, and how your breasts are filling the cups of your bra out so nicely.
Simon wanted to bury himself six feet down for all the thoughts that were swirling in his head about what he'd wanna do to you. The guilt was gnawing at him, but it was slowly losing the battle to the lust.
What the hell am I doing?''
He grits his teeth, the grip on his phone tightening. Before he knows it, his hand is drifting down to his cock, giving it a squeeze through his pants, which are feeling more and more constricted as time goes by. He's rock hard already.
The sight of you.... Fuck, it has his balls tighten.
Stop it, he tells himself harshly as his hand freezes on his crotch. You can't be doing this. She's your friend's daughter, for heaven's sake. Simon takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself down. But at this point, there is no use. He's already dug his very own grave the second he decided to keep looking at the picture instead of ignoring it or telling you off for being careless.
Was it really an accident, though? Simon wanted to believe that somewhere deep down, you purposely sent the picture to make him lose it. He knew he wasn't imagining it whenever he'd catch you staring at him a bit longer during dinners with your dad.
The way you bit that pretty lip and glanced away the second he caught you. Just feigning innocence and going back to the conversation with your old man.
And soon enough, his hand continues stroking himself through his pants. But it's not enough as he pulls himself out to get a firmer feel and grip. The thick head of his cock is already leaking with precum, and he smears it down his shaft. Simon groans as he keeps his pace slow, eyes locked onto the photo like a lifeline.
God, you really just are the prettiest thing he's ever seen. Those wide eyes glancing into the mirror. He'd do just about anything to watch them roll back because of him. He wants to brand you as his, fill you up, and watch it dribble out of every single hole of yours.
He knew your dad would absolutely gut him if he could read his mind right about now. But you’d treat him so sweet, Simon knows he would.
His hand starts moving faster, stroking his cock at a more desperate urgency. Simon's breath hitches as he feels the edge inching closer. ‘’Shit…’’ In a flash, his orgasm comes crashing over him, his body shuddering at the euphoric feeling as the warmth feel of his cum coats his hand and dribble down onto his pants.
Simon sits there for a while, breathing hard as his cock starts going soft in his hand. He glances at his other hand, which is still holding the phone, glancing once more at the photo of you before shutting it off with a heavy sigh and closing his eyes.
He knew what he had done was wrong, but god if it didn't feel so good. Simon would still find time to scold you for being careless whilst keeping the photo in his gallery.
a/n: haven't written anything in two whole years, so I'm a bit rusty.
“sit.” price pats his thigh, voice low and edged with command. you swallow and still hesitating.
“don’t make me say it again.”
you move slowly, lowering yourself onto his lap as his hand finds your waist immediately, firm and unyielding, while the other still holds the cigarette he confiscated from you.
“i thought the rules were clear, no smoking in the common area.”
then, almost languidly, he brings the cigarette to your lips.
“open,” he says, and you obey.
“inhale.”
you take a long, slow drag. the smoke coils in your lungs, a familiar warmth and dizzying feeling.
“hold it,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the edge of your lips. he leans closer, palm sliding up to hold your jaw, lips hovering just above yours.
“exhale,” he whispers.
you release the smoke in a sigh. he catches it, lips parting close to yours, sucking it in before turning his head to exhale away.
“again,” he says, voice a husk of command.
you bring the cigarette back, another deep inhale. and this time, he tilts his head, taking an angle, and pressing his lips yours and then he murmurs, “exhale.”
your lips form a soft o, smoke unfurling between you, only for him to steal it, a breath shared like a second kiss.
he exhales slowly, the ghost of smoke tracing the air between you. his hand tightens at your waist.
“no more smoking in the common area, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice rough silk.
“get back to your quarters.”
as you rise, his hand trails down, fingertips grazing the curve of your hips giving it a possessive squeeze before he lets you go.
triggers → somnophilia, dub-con, non-con if you blink a few times?, manipulation, toxic relationships.
content → königs a nasty mfer. piss, degradation, humiliation. könig don’t like relationship labels. dude i just dump what comes to mind onto my phone and call it a day. not proof-read
thinkin bout being wrapped in königs arms. once you head to bed for the night, he wraps himself around you from behind. completely. it’s nearly impossible to get out of his grasp once he has you. man sleeps like the dead too. all those years with severe anxiety taught him to compartmentalize, making it easy to sleep uninterrupted at home.
there was this one time you wiggled your way down the bed, out of his grasp, and to the restroom. at this point you’re used to being held captive in your own bed, always expecting it to be hard to get in and out of bed. but what you weren’t expecting was the pouting german to be directly outside the bathroom door, staring directly down at you. you two had one of those 50-years-married spats after that… just to head back to bed like nothing happened.
it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake up before you, that’s just how he is. asleep by 9:30, awake by 5:30. give or take an hour or so. it also wasn’t uncommon for him to just lay in bed with you. there’s been a few really weird things he’s done.
like that time he fucked you stupid, cleaned you up, whispered sweet words and fantasies into your ear, waited for you to fall asleep, and took a bit of your pubic and armpit hair. he had started hiding your razor refills, meaning some length was there. he keeps them in small labeled jars in his gun locker, knowing you’ll never look. along with the pubic and armpit hair, he also has a jar with hair from a haircut you did a while back.
knowing he has odd tendencies, you really should’ve expected this. i mean he has asked you many times to wear his favorite pairs of panties more than one day so they become more “fragrant”.
while you were asleep, könig had carefully stuffed his nicely chubbed cock inside you. you weren’t really wet so he had to begrudgingly spit in his palm to slick himself. if he cared about you any less, he would’ve just went in dry. but he likes when you let him nurse on your tit while you study so he’ll be nice.
when you wake up, you obviously immediately your walls firmly holding his soft cock. you lay there with him at first, he’s never discussed this with you before, but you’re alright with it. each time you shift causes a little pulse to go through his cock, blood slowly filling and fattening his piece.
when you tell him you have to pee, you don’t realize your mistake at first. you just feel him pressing his nose into the base of your skull and inhaling while his hand slowly makes its way to the pudge of your belly. normal clingy moves. you sigh softly and decide to wait, it’s not that urgent.
as you wait for him to let you go, you feel him starting to press down on the area above your bladder. it keeps it very gentle for a long while, encouraging you. as you start to shift more, he continues to increase the firmness of the pressure.
when you finally whine about needing to get up now? he presses down, hard.
you squirm and whine in his arms, but he holds you exactly where and how he wants. his voice still has that early morning rasp that often tricks you into thinking maybe he has a single normal thought.
“go ahead, schatz…”
you whine that you can’t piss in the bed, let alone with his girthy cock rapidly claiming more and more of your insides. he just continues to hold you down on his dick while pressing more and more impatiently on your bladder. you know that he can out wait you, and with him pressing on your bladder? the wait wasn’t going to be much longer.
at this point, tears are welling up in your eyes. a bit pathetic isn’t it? squirming on a man’s cock when he won’t even call you his girlfriend? letting him make you piss the bed? the small grin on his face lets you know he certainly thinks you’re pathetic.
he genuinely gets enjoyment from this. he likes the way you start to bawl, humiliated as piss gushes between you. he likes the way his hips slap against your ass with the added liquid pooling between your closed thighs as he pounds you prone bone.
you wail loudly into the pillow when his palm lands on the back of your head and shoves. your bladder still emptying itself as he uses your piss soaked cunt to get himself off. he hasn’t really learned the difference between a pocket pussy and a real life, living pussy. he moves erratically, carelessly, deeply. your ass has already started to flush from how hard his hips slap against you.
when your bladder finally empties, it doesn’t take long for him to start desperately rutting against you, trying to force his spunk as deep as it can go. you let out choked cries while your jaw hangs helplessly. your tears have left their mark on your face and the pillow, your drool and maybe a little snot doing the same.
tip of the day!
going to the bathroom before bed is good for your health and sanity!
content → fem reader possible gn. simons tired man, give him some slack. just a little brain dump, haven’t written in a while so this was nice. no spelling, grammar, or even thought put into this.
triggers → mental health mentions, previous poor mental health practices.
After work, Simon doesn’t immediately try to find you. Simon drops his gear off in the same place near the door, leaves his wallet and keys in that tray you made when you took that pottery class a while back, and gets in the shower. He doesn’t even attempt to greet you until he’s showered and ready to pluck you out of whatever task you were finishing up.
He might bring up something Johnny did, but other than that, absolutely nothing. You have to do all of the talking, he just grunts and huffs like the grumpy bastard he is.
Your head rests on his chest, leg thrown high over his hips as your hand reenacts the events of today midair. Simon’s meaty hand lays spread across your ribs, idly stroking the soft flesh beneath. A particularly amused huff follows when you start ranting about the project he has half finished in the garage, the gift he’s making and refuses to let you see. You need him to bring some things out there for storage, his forced occupation of the garage preventing you from getting it done.
Soon enough, you hear the deep exhale that means it’s time to decompress. It’s followed by a grunt as he pushes your legs open enough for him to slip between them, plush thighs wrapped around his hips. He leans over you, bracing his forearms on either side of your head.
Silence takes over as his forehead rests against yours, eyes shut. The stress that once held on so tightly, melting away. Occasionally you can feel his fists clench against the bed, a beat passes, and he relaxes.
You’re half asleep the next time he moves. Rough hands cupping your face with a familiar tenderness as his eyes move over your features. An analytical gaze memorizing something sacred. A soft hum vibrates in your chest, just to let him know you’re awake. His thumb traces your cheekbone, running over the same area mindlessly.
It’s therapeutic. Watching someone so at peace exist. Eyebrows untouched by inevitable worry lines, crows-feet that started budding a year ago. It’s why he does this. He’s never been a mental health advocate, but after you spoke about coping mechanisms he gradually became more clingy. There was no specific conversation about this arrangement. Simon just created a new norm.
Slowly, he can feel his heart rate matching yours. Deep breaths, fluttering lashes, and a heavy body landing firmly beside you with a barely audible grunt. A thick thigh bullies its way between your legs as he rolls you to face his chest, essentially suffocating you with functional mass. You can smell the new scent beads you tried on the blanket when he pulls it over the two of you, settling in for a long while.
Ghost x afab!reader, jumping on that portal pussy bandwagon, anal, pussy eating, chat is it selfcest if you eat yourself out?, dom/sub vibes
Ghost tosses the portal pussy in front of you, as his cock prods at your asshole, smearing the lube and slick he'd pulled out of you with his fingers before shoving the other half of the portal over your cunt.
You blink at it, hazy, and Ghost drags your wrists into the small of your back. "Eat it."
"Huh?"
You jerk forward over the mattress, chin digging into it, and the pussy- your pussy- bumps your lips. You feel it, a soft brush against your folds, and gasp.
"I said, eat it. Until I say done," Ghost answers, and forces his cock into your ass with a brutal snap of his hips. You moan, body sliding again, and one hand holds your wrists as the other grips the back of your head, briefly forcing you down, lips parting across your own pussy, tasting your slick, clit throbbing on your tongue.
Fuck, oh fuck, hard fat cock in your ass and the musky-sweet taste of yourself, not licked off Ghost's fingers or cock but straight from the source, and you moan as your tongue curls over your clit. The matching sensation spurs you on, needing more, sucking at yourself as Ghost sets a fast, hard rhythm, taking your ass for himself while you feast on your pussy.
Each lick and suck hits you twice over, the mindfuck of it all, eating out a soft, wet pussy but feeling it on your own body, learning how to make yourself feel good from a new angle, no fingers to help you, just your own tongue wriggling into your hole, fucking yourself on it, drool and slick smearing across your cheeks. You suck your clit hard and lose the rhythm immediately, eyes rolling at the dual sensations, as Ghost keeps steadily gaping your ass open around his cock.
"Fuck, oh- I can't," you gasp, and lick across your pussy from hole to clit, shuddering. You know what you need to come but you can't do it, too lost in the pleasure of your tongue and lips, and Ghost takes the back of your head again and shoves you down into your pussy again, this time holding you there as you pant and squeal. Your ass burns around his cock, the clenching muscles only making it worse, pussy so sloppy wet it's obscene, feeling the spasms on your tongue as you moan, clenching around your tongue like a toy.
You can feel Ghost, you realize, the relentless pound of his cock rubbing against your tongue through the thin barrier between pussy and ass, and your tongue curls and your pussy gushes, his hand on your head and the powerful motions of his body forcing you to- grind against yourself, tongue rubbing up and down, in and out, you can't stop it and can't move against or for it, just riding the pressure and heat as it builds in your belly.
Your pussy clamps down, spasms building, and you pant and whine as your tongue is dragged over your clit again. Oh fuck, fuck fuckfuck, gonna come- "Baby, fuck, gonna come," you slur, sloppy with your own gushing fluids, and Ghost grunts behind you, picking up speed.
His cock splits your ass open, and you start to come as he pulls all the way out and shoves back inside, making you take it, and your clit grinds across your tongue as you lap over it, a little throbbing pulse, and oh god, the way your tongue is so wet and hot on your pussy, feeling your breath stutter, you can just barely suck at it and wriggle your tongue into your hole and fuck- oh shit-
"Cum, cumming," you moan, and the squeezing clench of your pussy echoes between your thighs and on your tongue, wet smears sticking to your cheeks and chin as Ghost groans, feeling your orgasm in your ass, as you milk at his cock. The musky scent of your come fills your nose, the soft folds swollen on your cheeks, your own sweet, precious little pussy, eaten and sucked, you know what it feels like now, to make yourself come on your tongue, and you moan and shudder when your lips rub over your clit again.
Ghost pants, his hips slapping hard to your ass, and you muffle a shout into your pussy as he puts his weight on you, crushes you into the mattress, hips forced flat. The angle of your pussy in the portal changes, and your clit rolls between your lips, scraping your teeth, and a sharp burst of slick fills your mouth as a hard clench burns through you.
You squeal, breathless, and Ghost sighs pleasure into your ear as he comes, the hot bursts in your ass, his cock slipping back and forth in the mess he's making of your insides. You gasp when he lets up, releasing your wrists and head properly, leaving you to roll your cheek away from the portal, your pussy all soft and slick in your blurry vision.
His hand slides between your legs, and abruptly the portal is moved up, pussy vanishing from sight, instead replaced with a swollen little pucker- your asshole, gaping just a little, with thick creamy come dripping out to the rhythm of your pounding heart.
Ghost drags the portal back to your face, and sets your lips against it, his cock now notching at the tender entrance to your pussy.
John "6 ft on tinder" Mactavish who has always gotten the short end of the stick from the rest of the 141 for being 5'11". who has seen and heard beautiful women excuse all kinds of behavior just because they have to look up at Ghost or Price. who has had Gaz pat his shoulder one too many times and tell the bird he's chatting up, "man's lying about his height." and who is frankly, fucking tired of it. watching with barely disguised malice as Gaz (who is barely over 6'!! the nerve of that man!!) hits on you at the bar, strikes out. and is immediately replaced by Price, then Ghost, each man taller than the last. each one gauranteed the lay if only because of his height, sulking back to their seat after less than a minutes conversation with you.
"the height not workin' out fer ya, ya deciduous bastards?" Soap grumbles.
"bird doesnt date horses," Ghost grunts.
"they what?" Soap's mouth twitches.
"don't date horses," Price grumbles, his lighter sparking pathetically as he tries to light his cigar.
"and that means?"
"Anyone over 6 foot," Gaz slumps, tipping the last dregs of his pint back and forth in the glass.
Soap nearly vaults the table, scrambling to spin you from the bar and announce,
"Ahm 5' 11"!"
you bite your lip hard against your grin, its the sweetest thing he's ever seen.
"could wear tall heels around me and ah won't complain," he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, "the horses have me well trained lookin' up."
"how about from your knees?" you laugh, reaching to hook a finger in his belt loops.
captain john price who bangs his pretty cute girlfriend over his desk while the rest of his team sits awkwardly on the other side.
“open your eyes,” he commands you, his voice deep and rough. “I said, open em. are ya gonna piss me off too?”
and so you find it in you to open them despite the embarrassment that sits low in your gut as he ruts himself into you. It’s not hard to make out who’s in front of you. his warm skin and signature hat makes him easy to identify and as your vision focuses, you can make out the crimson on his cheek and the sweat building on his neck.
you look at him, almost apologetically, as if saying “I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” because Kyle truly is an angel and the idea of his knowing what your eyes looked like when all fucked out seemed like a sin on its own.
first, he calls out soap for texting you late at night. john fists the hair on your head till you’re facing the scot who’s not looking at your eyes, but somewhere lower. “y’know what couples do at night, Mactavish? I’ll give you a hint.” price snakes his arm between your legs, pinching and rolling your clit to which you let out a pained and delicious mewl.
and next in line is gaz, whose gesture of buying you your favorite foods has gone unliked by price. luckily, Gaz is sitting right next to soap so you don’t have to strain yourself to find him. Gaz knows he shouldn’t stare…but he can’t help himself and surprisingly, the captain hasn’t told anyone to stop so he swallows the lump in his throat, and commits the sight before him to memory.
then there’s ghost, who refuses to acknowledge he has actively done anything. “bullshit. wanna tell me why you’re always staring at her ass?” which shuts the brooding man up immediately.
your orgasm comes quick, as it always did. your words come out broken and desperate but they barely register to your boyfriend who has his own agenda.
your eyes roll back as you climax, the euphoria sending you into a blissful state of haze. but john doesn’t stop, not when he has a point to prove.
so he fucks you through your high, and then he fucks you more. your hand presses against his thigh with no real pressure, sobbing cries of overstimulation.
“after today, i want no more foolery from any of you. I’d suggest you take today for all it’s worth because after tonight, you can all go to your beds and jerk off your pathetic cocks to the memory of this and. nothing. else.” he punctuates each word with a sharp thrust, willing either your legs or the desk legs to give out.
“do i make myself clear?”
and the answer all comes in unison. “Yes, Captain.”
“Old dog’s can’t learn new tricks, price” Soap would grin across the table. Ghost’s low chuckle followed like smoke. “Bet the missus is bored stiff, Captain.”
Price never rose to the clear ragebait in front of the boys, but the words..stuck. You were younger, gorgeous, and God— always eager for him… yet a small, ugly part of him wondered if they were right. He’d never exactly been the adventurous type in bed—solid, thorough, but not… inventive.
So he cornered Gaz one night after drills.
“Need a favor, Sergeant.”
Gaz raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”
Price rubbed the back of his neck, face already red with what he could only pin as embarrassment. “You’re good with the ladies. I want lessons. Real ones.”
Gaz blinked, then a slow, wicked grin spread. “You want a demonstration, Captain?”
Price’s jaw flexed. “Please..”
That’s how you ended up here—naked on the bed, thighs spread over Price’s lap while Gaz knelt between your legs like he’d been invited to dinner.
Price’s big hands were firm on your waist, keeping you pinned back against his chest. “She’s sensitive.” he muttered, almost clinical, but you could feel how hard he was against your lower back. “On with it, sergeant.”
Gaz’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark and hungry. “You ready for this, love?”
You nodded, already wet and aching just from the sheer thrill of the situation.
Gaz didn’t waste time. Two thick fingers slid through your folds, spreading you open. “First thing—don’t rush. Get her nice and wet.” He rubbed slow circles over your clit until your hips jerked, then pushed two fingers inside, curling just right.
Price watched every movement like it was a briefing.
“There’s a spongy spot here…” Gaz pressed upward deliberately causing your whole body to jolt. “Right there. That’s your target.”
He started pumping—steady, focused strokes that dragged over that spot again and again while his thumb kept pressure on your clit.
Price’s voice was rough in your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart. Let him work.”
Your orgasm built fast—embarrassingly so.
“That’s it..” Gaz praised, voice low. “She’s swelling up. See how she’s pulsing?” He added a third finger and the pressure inside became unbearable. “When she starts trying to close her legs, don’t let her. Keep going.”
Price’s hands moved to your thighs, holding them open. You came with a broken cry, but Gaz didn’t stop. He kept fingering you through it, rough and relentless, and suddenly everything felt tighter, hotter, like something was about to—
“There..” Gaz growled. “Let it go, lovely...”
With a whine, a gush of wetness flooded out around his fingers, soaking the sheets and his wrist. Price made a low, filthy sound behind you as he watched you squirt for the first time in your life.
Gaz eased his fingers out slowly, letting you ride the aftershocks, then lifted his soaked hand to show Price. “That’s the spot. Consistent pressure, curved fingers, and you don’t stop when she comes.. you keep going until she gives it to you.”
Price’s breathing was ragged. His cock was nearly throbbing against your back.
Gaz wiped his fingers on your inner thigh, then met Price’s eyes. “Your turn, Captain.”
Price shifted you forward, laying you down properly. He kissed the inside of your knee, voice low with promise.
