#cod x f!reader
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
villifx · 5 months ago
Text
how the task force 141 men react to you complaining about your job (f!reader) ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
simon doesn't even blink as you throw your head into his lap, eyes still focused on the television while his hand subconsciously moves to smooth your hair.
"jus' quit."
you pause in the midst of your whining, staring up at him like he'd just grown a second head. "what?"
simon shrugs. "makin' enough."
"i... i can't quit my job, simon."
his eyebrows twitch up a bit, indifferent. "up to you, love."
you pause, considering. "well..."
johnny doubles down. not only does he tell you to quit immediately, he also throws in that the military will pay him extra if you two get married.
mind you, johnny already rates BAH and has been making it since before you two got together. there won't really be any change to his pay besides separation pay when he's gone for more than a month. however, this is his opportunity to gauge your reaction to the idea of marriage, and he's taking it.
kyle. sweet, sweet kyle. he doesn't tell you to quit. not because he wouldn't support you financially - he absolutely would - but because he knows how important it can be for a woman to have a sense of independence. he also worries about how you'll handle the potential isolation if he's away for an extended period of time and you don't have a job to occupy your time. also, he's happy to pay the bills, but if you're working then you can afford all of the pretty things you want and deserve!
john? john price? ... funny of you to think that you're working while you're with that man, lol.
note: was bored and wrote this in like 10 mins. just had to be done lol. BAH is Basic Allowance for Housing in the American military (i'm not super familiar with british military allowances so using BAH for easy fic purposes lmao) - lower ranking enlisted military that are married can get it or single qualified enlisted (usually ranked sergeant and above) can be approved for it. it's extra pay that you receive to live off-base to cover housing expenses calculated by average cost of rent in the area and family size!
7K notes · View notes
bunnishauntedhill · 3 months ago
Text
MDNI 18+
simon helping your aching heart with his aching cock !
{wc : 2k} simon is a bit of a meani :(
Tumblr media Tumblr media
it wasn’t a surprise, not a shock to your core that you had expected. not the same overbearing despair of when your mother left the ground, or even when your first puppy came to join her. more of a relief. fresh breath of air that your lungs had been begging your weak body for. he was gone, down in the ground, six feet deep, hands finally releasing its tight grip on the glass bottle.
the funeral was a breeze. it felt nice. relatives sobbed like they were close with him. they didn’t know how he charged towards you behind closed doors—how you would be on your bruised knees, desperately trying to clean up the broken shards of glass that he had broken. having to look over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t risen off the floorboards he had passed out on.
yet, despite your fathers antics—you visited. you gracefully set down flowers on his grave that were supposed to be a bouquet you would carry down the isle, arm hooked with his. soon they would be shriveled up and you’d come around like you had to—like it was your duty, making another delivery to his headstone. if no one else did it, he’d be forgotten, and you couldn’t come to terms with whether you’d want that or not.
“still bringing posies i see.” it’s gruff, and you recognize it easily. his voice was reassuring, but you wouldn’t let yourself be pliant in it, to bask in it. you were bowed in front of your fathers name, as if he deserved the treatment. simon wanted to take that from your father. you being a good pup for him instead. “it’s not gonna go away easily just because you act like you don’t give a shit.” the grass next to you withers underneath the weight of his heavy knees, but to you it felt like the earth shook.
you let out a breath. “you don’t know that.” your tone is sharp, words eager to leave your mouth and you don’t care to control the anger in them. you’re closed in, shoulders crunching together solemnly, a shield to protect yourself. it was built nicely and with care, took years to get to its full potential.
sooner or later you’d crack, realizing your deadbeat dad was set out in the ground and left to rot. and simon was sure of that. dark eyes peering over you, you felt them. he could easily get under your skin and plant himself there, but he never took that advantage to his use yet. it’s been thought about, resting in the crook of his brain that dark memories settled coldly.
“never taught ya how to ride a bicycle, how to tie your own shoes, how to do your math homework. did he?” you waited for his words to go in one ear and out the other but it stuck right in the center of your brain. mocking. and simon did it well.
“wasn’t there for ya first day of middle school. wasn’t there when you got your first car. didn’t give a shit about prom, or your first boyfriend and when the scumbag left when the pureness was fucked right out of you.” you flinch.
simon watches you like you’re his prey, to see how you would fold. how you would crumble and roll over into his arms, away from the man below them. watching as your tightly knit shell unraveled and laid out for him to tear apart even more—and then sew it back together again. to become that new higher figure for you to go to. that shoulder to lean on.
your mouth is wired shut, teeth running across the fronts, waiting to be pried open and let out some harsh thoughts, to prove he was wrong—defend your father who had nothing worth defending. but you had none to give. you couldn’t. simon was there for all those events. the special ones that should’ve been photographed. when you’re dad was knocked out cold on the couch, simon was on the front porch watching you like you were his own. simon acted as that overprotective father when your prom date arrived, eyes low and prowling, ready to rip of the boys head if he dared touch you the wrong way.
“your father sure is somethin.” you didn’t make the move to correct your date that he wasn’t your father—you two weren’t even related. but it didn’t feel necessary to tell that fact. would it really be all that untrue? simon was that father figure you needed. he was gentle. firm but encouraging. all he wanted was the best for you—make you come out a bit better than you would if he wasn’t around.
that or maybe he wanted to be the owner of you. make you bow down to him just like you were now at your fathers grave. make you need him. and in return he could lick up your tears and kiss down on your cheeks with mock care. cooing sweetly before managing to press his lips against your soft, pouty ones just to be able to stick his tongue down deep and rough later. he didn’t care about your well-being, just how far he could make you go until you caved in, to let him indulge in his cravings.
the tears that refused to come out at the ceremony ran loose as it all settled into the nook of your skull. simon knew he had you now. his lips tighten in a straight line in a way to seem distressed by your behavior, eyes holding mock pity but you saw it as sympathy. saw a person that cared, that was willing to take you under his wing—like he always had. simon kept you safe and tucked in his arms, to comfort you from both the situation and the cold that started to creep up your arms as night settled in. you had caved. pliant in his strong arms scarred from stories he swore to never tell you—and he was firm on that. to keep you unaware of the harm he could do. to keep you thinking he was your savior, the only one you could rely on.
the cloth of his black t was stained with your salty tears, he knew what they would taste like. he’d imagine countless times before—darting his tongue out to draaag the roughness down your cheek, receiving a pathetic whine of displeasure from you. maybe even a little shove to get him away, only for him to drive you back into his bulk, forcing you to let him clean you up.
he’d like to see you squirm—propping you up in his lap so you could feel his very noteworthy bulge resting against the skin of your thigh. get you all warm and comfortable with his hard, make you wet enough—that you would give into the intensity of the throbbing sensation in between your legs. make you needy. not for some silly boy—or even the need to be comforted by your father. but for him. for his comfort. for his body, for his cock. have you mewling for it, foaming at the mouth like a little puppy dog. scratching against his chest, as if it would hurt him. as if it could make him give in.
he was trained to not give into his desires, his dirty fantasies he’d been having since you were in highschool. he was able to wait—and he’d wait until you were begging, sobbing for some sort of relief. make you grieve over it, your cunt soppy from ceaselessly grinding against the clothed bulge, already imagining it stuffing you full. keep you from needing any kind of meal.
and now he wouldn’t have to imagine.
his cock was wrapped snuggly in your tight hole, warm and just so pleasant. the warmth of your pussy making him go a bit hazy, eyes barley open but the smug look on his lips was clear. though, you couldn’t see it for your face was buried deep, deep into the crook of his neck. hiding your face, the shame of being seated on your father’s friends lap. right in front of his grave. ashamed that it felt so good—but so disgusting.
your tears were hot. simon found them hot. falling on his neck making him grip your hips with an unknown amount of pressure you had ever felt before—it made you squeak. your tears made him hard—making him want to fuck you hard, enough for you to loose consciousness, enough to make you sob, to cum right into that tight little hole that had only been fucked once.
simon saw the guilt—chagrin on your face. god he loved it. “dirty girl.” he purred, mouth pressed against your ear, breathing heavily into it. “sittin on my cock—right next to daddy, huh? and just so worked up for me.” your pussy quenched around him, sucking him into your sloppy folds.
you shook your head—trying to defend yourself. make a practical excuse that you wanted to make yourself believe. “please—please don’t s-say that.” you’re shaking, hands trembling as they grab his wide shoulders for some sort of support.
“why, afraid he’s listening?” his laugh his predatory—mocking. he got you on his cock so comfort was needed no more from his part. though, he couldn’t help his thumbs from rubbing small circles on the sides of your hips, the slightest bit of comfort in the pain you were facing.
simon was huge, thick and girthy, more than enough to fill you up to the brim, leaving his oozing, pink tip brushing against that sweet spot that hadn’t been touched effectively before.
he sighs deeply, “ya know…he probably is listenin. looking down—or may i say up—at us. cursing me, cursing you for being such a filthy, nasty girl. a whore as his daughter.” his mouth his pressed firmly on your cheek as he speaks, forcing you to listen and take it. “thinking where he went wrong. alcoholic tendencies is my guess.”
you couldn’t help but feel your slick run down your thigh, bouncing with little strength you had with moans that made him chuckle lowly. his words were so cruel, hitting your heart but hitting your cunt deeper. “come on darling. gotta apologize to daddy for being such a dirty whore.” he muffles. a sharp spank to your ass makes you jump with a whimper, pussy quivering around him.
“i…i’m sorry, daddy!” you squeal. tears rolling down your eyes like a little babi. so cute. you feel his hands grip you tighter if it was even possible—slamming you down on his cock, making you cry out with a mixture of pain and pleasure. “i said i was sorry! i’m so, so sorry.”
simon’s heavy pointer lazily circles down to your clit, his movements softer but anxiously slow. “sorry about what? be specific, darling.” he feels your hips jerk forward in attempt to get more out of him, causing another sharp spank to your other ass cheek, and gently massaging the reddened skin afterward.
“i’m sorry for being—being a d-dirty, whore! i’m sorry for disappointing daddy.” your plea is whiny, your clit aching for more stimulation. eyes are strained—everything is. tight and wanting permission to let loose.
“don’t just say it to me. say it to him.” his chin nods to the headstone just a few feet away. you could practically smell his rotting corpse melting in the dirt, making you queasy. mortified, eyes shaking from left to right. you wanted to ask if it was necessary—to lock eyes with something that would make you feel so much more than shame. but the look on simons face was firm.
your head turns and locks eyes with your father name engraved on the stone, barely visible from the lack of light left in the sky. “i am so sorry daddy. im sorry for being a filthy whore—for sitting on s-simons cock.” the words are slurred and easily fall from your lips. and you’re rewarded with his fingers moving the slightest bit faster on your clit, simultaneously moving you up and down his cock.
“there ya go, sweetheart.” he drawls quietly, lips pressing a soft, sticky kiss to your forehead and then to your collarbone. “thats a good girl, ain’t it?” his brows are furrowed, breaths a bit ragged now. your movements hasty, grinding to get his dick to hit just the right spot. “gonna fuck you nasty right on my cock—don’t worry, i’m sure daddy will understand.”
Tumblr media Tumblr media
➽───────❥ masterlist . . . navi
1K notes · View notes
ebodebo · 9 months ago
Text
Hot For Teacher!
—professor!simon riley teaching anatomy… MDNI
(DISCLAIMER: in this fic, the reader is getting their master's, so reader is an adult! that said, this is still a student-professor relationship, so beware!)
Tumblr media
"I heard he was from Germany….or somewhere."
"He's probably sooo old."
"I can't find his rate my professor anywhere!"
"I heard he only has one leg!"
Murmurs can be heard spread around the room; your fellow graduates flooded the lecture hall seats, not an empty seat out of fifty in site. They were itching with anticipation and anxiously awaiting the arrival of your new gross anatomy professor, including yourself.
You were even more nervous than when you had to present your senior thesis for your bachelor's to four of the most knowledgeable, bright minds you had ever come into contact with.
That was intimidating, but this somehow feels worse. You find yourself sinking into the squeaky plastic chair, praying that whoever walks through that door is as gracious and kind as your last professor.
Heavy steps echoed down the hallway, slowly and steadily etching closer and closer to the room you sat in. Your eyes nervously shifted up to look at the wide open front door, and you tapped your foot, restlessly, to a non-existent beat in your head.
The footsteps became louder and louder until the man finally stood in the doorway, sparing the class not even a singular glance. He steadily turned to the right and walked up to the chalkboard, back towards the class, carefully etching something onto the board with a small piece of chalk.
The murmurs around the room seized as the screeching noise of the chalk against the board bounced off the walls and went straight into everyone's eardrums.
It was a quick, illegible scribble.
He set the piece of chalk down and turned to face the class, eyes roaming around the room, allowing you to get a better look at him.
He wore a black surgical mask just below his nose, covering his lips and jaw. And, God, was he tall. He had to be at least six-two, maybe even six-four. He wore a charcoal gray button-up tight enough to display his broad shoulders and buff biceps, with kaki cargo pants that did nothing to hide his thick thighs. 
Fuck, he was hot.
"Your last professor was quite lenient," his gravelly voice echoes around the room as he begins, leaning his hip on the table before him. "Don't expect that from me."
His eyes roamed some more, and the murmurs you heard about how hot he was seized as he spoke again. "If you think this class will be easy, you're sorely mistaken. Excellence is the bare minimum I expect from each of you," he sternly says. "I don't tolerate excuses. You're in the wrong place if you can't meet the deadlines."
You didn't know the first time meeting your professor would just end up with him lecturing you about his obscure conditions and rules like this was a damn military base.
You try to remember if this course was even required for your degree: it is.
"If you miss class, don't bother returning," he continues. The mood in the room had shifted entirely. There was no excitement left; it had been completely sucked out and replaced by regret and anguish. You swore you even saw some people with their computers quickly going to your university's directory, hoping they could still withdraw from a course.
"Lastly, mediocrity has no place in here. Push yourselves or find another course," he gruffed, pushing himself off the desk he leaned on and maneuvering back over to the chalkboard.
"What are the instructions on the board?" Your eyes snapped to a random girl raising her hand adjacent to you, and you were surprised by her bravery in speaking.
The professor glanced at the girl.
“Ah, yes. These are instructions on how to withdraw from this course if you so choose," he said. "Save me the headache and you, your dignity, and withdraw now if you cannot abide by my terms," he almost seemed disinterested. "Also, you will call me Dr. Riley."
He picked up the chalk, quickly etching a strand of words onto it. "These are my office hours," he says, setting the chalk back down. "Any questions?" He asked, turning to face the class.
Not a single peep can be heard. There was only a tiny squeak from one of the chairs. He crosses his arms. "Alright. Quiz tomorrow. Class dismissed," he concludes. You freeze up in your chair as everyone around you starts moving as quickly as possible to get out of there.
You're wondering what you learned today that could be material for a quiz. Instead of waiting behind to ask, you shuffle your things in a bag and speed walk out of there.
This was going to be a long semester.
Tumblr media
It was three months in, and this class was��kicking your ass. 
No, that's not right. The class was outwardly blistering your entire existence. You pulled countless all-nighters to try and keep up with the material, but it was too much. There weren't enough hours in the day to study the copious amount of material.
It didn't help that Dr. Riley was a bit of a dick. He gave no leniency. Can't make the exam? Too bad. F. Didn't make class? Yikes. Get ready to recite the last lecture in front of the class when you return! Can't answer a question he asks? Well, well, it looks like we have a slacker on our hands. Have a lovely time writing an entire essay on the topic question you failed to answer!
"Can anyone explain the process of bone repair following a fracture?" Dr. Riley questions, taking his eyes off the chalkboard and turning towards the now half-full class. You snap out of your daydream, carefully looking back to your computer to continue typing what he writes.
Everyone averts their eyes from him to avoid getting called on. "No takers?" He asks once more, eyes narrowing slightly. You look over the top of your computer, eyes wondering over the messy array of notes he wrote to try and decipher them. "You," he says, flicking a finger towards you. "Give it a go."
Your eyes flick to his before widening in horror. Shit. You hadn't even gone over this week's slides because you were still working on the hundreds of slides from last week. 
"Preferably today," he raises a brow, impatience written all over his face, crossing his arm over his chest. You take a deep breath, quickly scan your notes, and sublimely thank God you found what you needed.
"Well, first the bone goes through clot formation, then callus formation, then new bone tissue forms, then finally the bone remodels," you explain, issuing a polite smile after you finish, breathing out a sigh of relief as he nods.
"Uh-huh. It's a very interesting process. And do you know which of those processes has the longest duration?" He says blandly. You tilt your head a little, surprised to see he has another question.
"Well, I think that would be the bone remodeling," you affirm, shifting in your seat a little.
"And the shortest?" He quickly supplements. 
"Clot formation?" You say unsurely. 
"You seem unsure of your answer. Do you truly think it is clot formation?" He crosses his arms over his chest. 
You were sure of it, but then again, why would he ask you if you thought it was wrong if it was right? You open your eyes wider, almost like you have just had an epiphany. "I—no. It's callus formation," you say matter-of-factly.
"Incorrect," he says, uncrossing his arms and turning his back to you. "I suggest trusting your instincts next time." You sink deeper into your chair, hoping that somehow it will shield you from his scrutiny. 
"On that note, class dismissed." You quickly gather your belongings, but not before Dr. Riley pulls you aside to assign you a three-page, single-spaced essay about the formation of a bone after having a fracture due in two days.
"Also, be sure to discuss clot formation heavily," his voice carries a condescending tone. "So that when you present to the class, they understand the concept better than you did." 
Your brows furrow a little. "Wait, I do understand—" You begin, though he interrupts.
"That's all," he cooly says, turning to grab his things from the desk in the front before switching the light switch off and stepping around you to leave the room. "See you and your paper Wednesday." You scowled as he turned away from you to go to his office.
This was such bullshit. You answered all his question, but God forbid you answer one incorrectly—well, not even incorrectly; he just made you feel it was wrong.
This was far from over.
Tumblr media
"Dr. Riley. I, um, I don't understand why I have to write an essay," you found yourself saying later that day in his office, around six p.m. or so, when most of the faculty had already called it a night and left. His eyes stayed laser-focused on some papers he was going over.
"You didn't answer my question," he says, scribbling something on the paper. 
You find yourself coming in, shutting the door behind you, and sitting on the chair before his desk. "Yes, I did. I answered all one hundred of them," you say matter-of-factly. The corners of his eyes crinkle as they finally flick to yours, clearly amused by your exaggeration. 
"One hundred, huh?" He sets the pen down, leaning back in his chair, threading his fingers together. Your eyes wander to his arms. He had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his veiny forearms covered in tattoos. 
You flick your eyes back to eyes in a panic, praying he didn't notice you essentially checking him out. "Yes, sir," you tried to keep your voice even.
"So, you want out of an essay I assigned to you? 
"I—well. I was hoping…" You trail off, eyes averting his.
"No," his tone is authoritative, final. You release a small breath, sagging into the chair, feeling defeated. However, you caught your eyes wandering back to his forearms before moving up to his biceps. Fuck. They would have busted out of his button-down if they were any bigger.
He was a massive asshole. But, so fucking hot nonetheless. Had the most enormous thighs and arms you'd ever seen. Taller than anyone you'd ever met. Had a gruff, thick English accent you drooled over. Not to mention his raging ego, which did something for you.
"What is it?" Your eyes snap to his. Oh, God. Not again. 
"Nothing," you said quickly. He looked puzzled. You sat back in the chair, smiling awkwardly. He followed, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs wider to get more comfortable.
You find your eyes drifting down, observing his clothed cock in his pants. "Nothing? Huh?" The corner of his lip quirks. You stare back at him; your face is hot, and your hands are clammy.
This time, there was no denying what it was you were ogling so intently. 
"Listen," he sits up a bit, placing his elbows on his desk and threading his fingers together. "I sympathize with your situation." You raise a brow because there is no way in hell he was sympathetic. His lip quips at your expression. "So, I believe I have a solution to your dilemma." That has you perking up in your seat, feeling a sense of hope.
"It's a bit...unorthodox," he mumbles, eyes boring into yours.
You squint your eyes in confusion. "Okay..." You trail off uneasily, sitting up a little straighter. "What did you have in mind?" He tilts his head up a little, carefully observing your face, before standing up and gripping the knot of the tie and carefully pulling it down so it rests lazily on his sternum. 
"Tell me," he prompts, easing his way around his desk to lean against the side you sit in front of. "What is it that caught your attention earlier?" You raise a brow, not only at his new position but also at his question.
"Pardon?" You prod. He lets out a small, scruffy, breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and showcasing his huge biceps again. You release a slight breath as your eyes wander back to his arms. He tilts his head back as he examines your facial expression, dragging his eyes down your line of sight. He gives a breathy laugh as he realizes you are shamelessly checking him out. 
"Mhm," he hums. You snap your eyes to him in an instant, though this time you aren't embarrassed at the notion of him catching you. No. You wanted him to notice. Maybe, just maybe, then he'd finally find the courage to fuck you over his desk like you'd wanted since the first day he had arrived. "Your mind seems elsewhere," he observes.
"No, I'm—I'm just thinking," you whir, sitting in your chair.
He tilts his head back slightly. "What about?" His tone dripped with condescendence. He most definitely knew. He could read you like one of those fancy anatomy books he frequented. You lean back in your chair, legs spreading ever so slightly. His eyes glided to leer at your slightly agape legs. 
God, you had on that little fucking skirt you wore every so often. The damned thing was a couple of pieces of denim fabric. Not too short, but, ya, if you opened your legs at just the right angle, you could get a nice shot of your panties underneath. How lucky for your professor, who was at the receiving end of that.
"Oh, I don't know. Just things, you know?" You spread your legs just a little wider, and you swear you hear him release a breath. "It's the first day of fall tomorrow. Did you know that?" You casually say, spreading your legs that much further so he could get a better view of the wet spot already growing in your panties at him watching you. 
"I did." His voice was dry; he was surprised to get a damn word out. 
"Crazy, huh? Also, I'm thinking about our lecture tomorrow. What's it going to be on anyway?" You find yourself dragging your hand up your leg to the buttons of your shirt, carefully unclasping each of them gently. He could feel his cock straining against his jeans seeing you, legs spread, fingers fiddling with your cute little button-up top with frilly sleeves.
"Sexual reproduction," he gruffs, fingers moving to undo the buttons on his shirt. You get the final button of your shirt unclasped, carefully sliding it off and onto the floor, revealing a lacy bra that matches your panties. You honestly thought you'd be more nervous, but with a guy that hot and educated staring at you like you were the sexiest thing alive, how could you be?
"Maybe I should get a head-start, no?" You proposed as he unclasped his final button, slipping his shirt entirely off. Good-God. The man was chiseled and hairy. The scars etched into his skin only made him that much sexier. He reached for his tie next. "No, no. Leave it on," you voice, getting up from your chair to stand before him. 
His greedy hands instantly sought refuge on your waist, dragging his fingertips along the waistband of your panties, giving them a little pull. You release a slight whine as the elastic slaps back onto your skin.
"Like fuckin' music to my ears," he groans, pulling you flush to his body, ripping his mask off to encapsulate your lips with his hungry ones. 
You yelp into his mouth at the sudden sensation, though you find yourself getting into a rough rhythm. His hand's paw at your ass as yours covetously grips his shoulders. Although you were flush against him, you sought more contact. "I need—I need," you whined in his mouth. 
"Need me to what? Say it," he urged, hands slipping to thread through your hair, pulling it gently. Your mouth falls agape at the action, allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth. You moan into his mouth once more.
"I need you to—to," you stutter, unable to speak from how out of breathe you were.
"Say it," he hissed, pulling your hair harder.
"Fuck me. Please," you finally managed to say. He wasted no time picking you up by the back of the thighs and hastily placing you on his desk, flinging the loose papers and books that dawned it on the floor.
You reached between you to undo his belt and pant button as he slipped your panties down so they dangled loosely around your ankles. 
Your lips never disconnecting once. 
Once you got his pants undown and he your panties, he gripped your waist, hoisting you so he could pound his cock into you. You both moan at the contact, gripping each other tighter.
"Fuck," he groans, "Feel so good." You press your lips back to his as he makes work pummeling into you, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips to get as much friction as he can.
You were sure you'd have purple and blue bruises tomorrow.
He brings his mouth to nip and kiss at the side of your neck, his teeth gently grazing against the sensitive skin. "Drivin' me fuckin' insane," he grits, teeth nipping your skin again. You whined, bringing your hands to thread through his hair.
"I drive you insane?" You breathe out, dumbfounded, his cock still sliding in and out of you at a hurried pace. His tongue brushes your neck until it reaches your lips, quickly bullying itself into the sanctity of your mouth.
"Such a good student. Aren't you?" He gruffs into your lips; your mouth hangs agape at the feeling of him in you. "Always do such good work. Don't you, sweetheart?" You moan at his words; he presses a thumb to stimulate your clit. "Fuck—you, you drive me mad," he grits, moving his thumb faster.
You let a string of incoherent words, too caught up with his cock in you and thumb on you to form any real words.
"Huh? Ya, ya. But you must know that already. Or else you wouldn't have worn this—" he signals to the matching bra and panty set you had worn, "to meet with me," he finishes. You respond with another pathetic whimper, feeling your impending climax.
The moment he whispers into the shell of your ear, "Better come quick, or I may change my mind about that paper," you're a goner. You clamp around him at record speed, gripping his shoulders impossibly tighter, as you loudly moan in his mouth. His fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips as his orgasm chases yours.
It takes both of you a second to catch your breaths, both heaving and chests rising with much pace. After you have caught your breath, he helps ease you off his desk, deftly reaching for your panties that slipped off your ankles in a frenzy and softly putting them back on you, followed by your skirt resting on the floor nearby.
You slipped your shirt back on, buttoning it as he focused on dressing himself. It didn't feel awkward like you had thought it was going to. Sure, it was quiet, but it was comforting.
You grabbed your bookbag, giving him a slight smile as you walked over to the closed door. "I appreciate you meeting with me. See you tomorrow, Dr. Riley," you kindly say.
He nodded, pulling his tie to rest neatly on his neck. "Don't forget about the paper," he plainly said, moving to pick up some of the loose papers on the floor.
A confused expression overtook your face. "I thought—" you began.
"I don't play favorites, sweetheart," he interrupted. "Write the paper."
Okay, he was still a dick, but oh well, sure, you'd write the damn paper, maybe even put a couple of errors in it so that he could deduct some points off, and you could request to meet with him again.
Ya, that sounded like a fine plan indeed.
Tumblr media
a/n: inspired by a lovely who commented on my poll about professor!simon <33 @aiqsa (this took me so long omg)
reblogs & comments are encouraged!
2K notes · View notes
quitefawnish · 6 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
the prize of prey
knight!au, simon riley x reader, kyle garrick x reader, johnny mactavish x reader, brief soap x gaz, mentioned john price x reader
cw: noncon/dubcon, abuse of power
word count: 3.6k
synopsis: this is inspired by one of my classes actually, where we discussed how knights in the middle ages only had to court noble women, whereas any peasant woman was open to their desires, and they were in fact encouraged to do so. while this is disgusting as a concept, i am also disgusting, so ofc i wrote this..
Tumblr media
Everyone in the kingdom knew to stay out of the way of the knights. It was a common sight to see a vendor being heckled by a group of knights while many people walked by without sparing a glance. So you were well aware of how fucked you were when a group of them approached you at the market.
They were in their casual wear but the scabbards at their hips spoke to their knight status. The first one that started the conversation had tanned skin and a crooked grin that caused the edges of his stark blue eyes to crinkle.
His brown hair was styled in a mohawk, with the hair on the sides of his head crudely shaven away, and by the nicks that were spread across his scalp, you guessed he did it himself.
“Well, hello there, bonnie,” he practically whispered in your ear.
His hands gripped your waist as he pulled himself to stand closer to you with his chest against your back.
You stiffened, turning your head slightly backwards to peer at him. You had seen the group of them wandering the market earlier and you had hoped that’s the last you would see of them. You were not so lucky.
The second one, to your relief, pulled Mohawk off of you.
“Don’t crowd her, ye git” He gave you a grin, acting as if his friend hadn’t just groped you a second ago, but you had to admit, he was so pretty, it almost worked.
He had brown skin and tight curls that were close-cropped to his head. His facial hair was neatly trimmed, and his brown eyes sparkled with a mirth you didn’t share.
“I’m Gaz” he said, then he pointed to Mohawk, “he’s Soap.”
“But ye can call me Johnny, if ye like,” Soap interrupted, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
Gaz just shot him a glare and then pointed to the last man who had just been observing this whole interaction, “and this is Ghost.”
Ghost was a hulking creature of man, and if he wasn’t intimidating enough, he had on a skull-painted balaclava. Through the gap in the fabric you could see just his pale skin and soulless dark brown eyes that were boring into your soul.
You introduced yourself as they all stared at you expectantly.
“‘s a pretty name fer a pretty lass” Soap practically cooed at you.
This made you tuck further in yourself, wishing you could just disappear on the spot, “I.. don’t think this is appropriate.”
Gaz cocked his head slightly, “And why is that?”
You swallowed thickly, “B-because I don’t think my husband would approve.”
It was a complete gamble, maybe these knights would leave you alone if they thought you had a man to protect you. Problem is, you were decidedly not married, and all you could do was hope they wouldn’t see through your bluff.
“Husband?” Soap made a show of looking around, “if ye’re married, then where is he?”
“A man shouldn’t leave his woman to fend for herself in such a dangerous place, especially not one as beautiful as you, someone might try to take advantage,” Gaz said in a worried tone, but it was ruined by the slight grin on his face.
“He.. he went home already, I told him I needed to get one last thing, and I would be right home,” your lie was falling apart as soon as it left your mouth.
“He should have waited, no sense in making your woman walk home alone,” Soap grumbled.
By now, they had almost backed you into a corner, both literally and figuratively, as they advanced forward, forcing you to inch back towards the fruit stand behind you.
“He-he knows the people in the community, they would never do anything to me,” you managed to stammer out.
“If this husband o’ yours is real, where’s your ring?” You were startled as Ghost finally spoke up, his voice deep and rumbling as he glared at you with accusing eyes.
You put your right hand up and looked at it, faking bewilderment, “Oh! I must have left it at home this morning.”
“Ah, right, sorry for pestering you, then,” Gaz said, bowing slightly for emphasis, the other two following suit.
You gave them a small, nervous curtsy in response and smiled awkwardly at the three of them, “It’s quite alright. If you’ll excuse me, I think I should head home now.”
You started to walk away when Soap put out an arm to stop you, “Aye, but it wouldnae be right of us to let a woman walk home by herself.”
Your heart plummeted to your feet and your eyes involuntarily widened with horror.
“I should be okay walking by myself, thank you for the offer, sirs,” you said as you attempted to shoulder past Soap.
He just moved closer to you, “It wouldnae be right,” he said in a darker tone, implying this wasn’t up for debate.
You looked between Gaz and Ghost, who had blocked your other exits, and it didn’t seem like they were willing to budge on this either. You swallowed nervously, “R-right, let’s go, then.”
When you made it to your house, you had half-hoped for them to bid you a good night and go on their way.
They, of course, insisted on meeting your so-called husband and giving him a good talk about respecting his wife. You were fairly certain that at this point it was like a game for them.
It was obvious from the start that they never believed you and they knew you knew that, but that didn’t stop them from continuing this ruse, they were having too much fun.
You opened the door to an empty and dark house, it being abundantly clear that no one had been in the place since you left that morning.
“O-oh, I don’t know where he went, he must have gone looking for me since I took so long,” you lied, but winced at your wavering tone.
“Lass, we would have run into him on the way,” Soap said, making you turn around to face the three of them.
“He knows some different paths, maybe he took one of those,” you continued lying, knowing that it was never going to convince them, but you needed to keep talking or you were going to cry.
Noticing the devastated look on your face, Gaz walked forward and took your face in his hands, “It’s alright, luv, we’re not going to hurt you.”
You were shaking so bad that your teeth were practically rattling out of your skull, “You’re not? You’re.. going to leave me alone?”
Soap just shook his head, tutting at you, “We didnae say that, just that we aren’t gonna hurt ye, in fact, you’ll probably like it.”
The grin on his face made your stomach churn, and you stepped back from Gaz’s hands, backing up until you hit your bed frame. It startled you as you stumbled back into the wood, and you looked back to see what you had run into before trying to steady yourself.
When you turned back around, Gaz and Soap were practically face-to-face with you, Ghost choosing to settle in a dark corner of the room, settling into a chair as it let out a big creak of stress under his weight.
You turned your gaze back to the two knights in front of you who both have matching looks in their eyes, a mix of lust and excitement, as they eye you up and down.
“P-please don’t” you managed to stutter out.
Soap just pressed a finger to your lips, “Shhh, you’re okay. We’re going to take good care of you.”
You tried to lean out of the way as Gaz’s lips came towards yours, squeezing your eyes shut as if you could pretend all of this wasn’t happening.
Rough hands gripped your head, pulling your face towards Gaz, who captured your lips in his. As your eyes flew open, you saw that it was both Gaz and Soap’s hands that were holding you steady. Gaz’s other hand settled on your waist, gripping at the soft flesh underneath the fabric of your dress.
He leaned into the kiss, being somewhat gentle, as if he didn’t want to scare you off just so soon. You gasped softly into his lips as you felt Soap’s tongue on your neck, licking a stripe from your neck up to your face, ending it with a wet kiss to the apple of your check.
Gaz pulled away, staring blatantly down at your body before he began to undo the strings at the back of your bodice.
You tried to pull away, muttering out a soft “no” in protest, but Gaz worked efficiently enough that he was able to pull the piece over your head before you could do much else. Soap grinned down at your body, the top half of your thin chemise having been revealed.
Your hardened nipples poked through the sheer clothing, your body having betrayed you in response to Gaz’s kiss. Soap seemed transfixed as he palmed at your breast through the material, cupping both hands underneath your nipples.
“So bonnie, and just for us to see, aye?” he asked.
You couldn’t even move your mouth to answer and you just remained rooted to the spot no matter how much you wished you could move, fight them off, anything.
Soap didn’t seem to mind your lack of response, carrying on fondling your tits. While Soap was transfixed, Gaz slipped off your skirts, leaving you now with one practically translucent layer, which he was now starting to pull off as well.
That was when you got the courage to move, attempting to cover your body while also trying to keep your chemise on. Instead of grabbing your arms like you thought they would, Soap simply pushed you backwards so you landed with an ‘oof’ on your bed.
You tried to scramble away, slipping over your sheets in your desperation but Soap yanked you back towards them, “Behave.”
You swallowed nervously and stopped trying to struggle away, actually finding yourself nodding to his command.
He grinned, “Good girl.”
His words sent shivers down your body, ending with a fluttering in your cunt.
“Told you we were gonna make you feel good, yeah?” Gaz said, positioning himself in the space between your legs, gripping your thighs open with an ease that betrayed just how strong he was compared to you.
“I don’t want this,” you surprised yourself when you said this, having been frozen in fear just moments before.
Soap, who was now positioned in the space above your head, smiled down at you, brushing your hair back against your scalp, “Dinnae say that just yet, think ye’ll like this next part.”
Knowing that your protests would fall on deaf, uncaring ears, you shut your mouth and looked back down at Gaz who had now pulled the bottom part of your chemise up to reveal your pussy to the night air. Once again, you tried desperately to have some remaining decency and pulled your dress back down, only for Soap to grab your hands and pull them back to your chest.
He held them in an X formation with one hand gripping around both of your wrists, “Och, dinnae be naughty, lass. Wouldnae want for Ghost to have to punish ye.”
Your eyes flicked over to the man who was sitting in the corner who was staring over at the three of you, and you noticed him lazily palming at a bulge in his pants. You swallowed nervously and shook your head, looking back at Soap, “I’ll be good, I promise.”
He seemed satisfied and nodded to Gaz, who had flipped the bottom half of your chemise up once again. He pressed gentle kisses to your inner thighs, trailing up until he reached your entrance. It was horrible because even though you wanted them to stop, you needed for Gaz to hurry up and put his mouth on your aching bud.
As if sensing your thoughts, he put his lips to your clit and sucked. You couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped from your lips as he did this, your face flushing at the realization of the obscene noise that you had made.
It only egged Gaz on more as he began to practically make out with your pussy, wet smacking sounds echoing around the room.
Soap, meanwhile, had shifted your hands to pin them above your head, therefore giving him unobstructed access to your tits. He latched his mouth to your right nipple, sucking through the fabric.
He used his free hand to grope at your other breast, practically kneading it like a cat. All you could do was whimper softly, your arms and legs both being restrained. It wasn’t long before you could feel a pressure building between your legs, feeling the pleasure crescendo until it hit its peak and your body started shaking uncontrollably.
You could dimly hear Soap praising you with his mouth still on your nipple with your ears ringing slightly.
As the wave overtook you, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes back into your head. Gaz unsucked with a loud popping noise, and as your sight returned to normal, you saw him grinning triumphantly between your legs.
Soap had already unlatched from your tit, the sheer fabric that covered it being almost translucent from the saliva. Now that you had finally relaxed, or rather, was too tired to move or try to struggle, Soap let go of your arms. You left them where they were hanging above your head as you tried to catch your breath.
At that moment, Ghost stood up from the chair, startling you, as you had almost forgotten he was there.
“My turn,” he said gruffly, which made both Gaz and Soap complain loudly.
“Och, but I’m achin’ LT,” Soap complained, almost whining as he gestured to his dick which was straining against his pants.
“‘ave Kyle take care o’ you” he said matter-of-factly.
Although you weren’t sure of their ranks within the knight’s guard, it was clear that these two readily deferred to him as Soap reluctantly slipped off the bed.
Ghost walked towards you, looking you up and down with almost calculating eyes. All you could do was whimper softly as he approached you, half paralyzed from fear.
His eyes softened slightly as he looked down at you, and although you flinched as he outstretched a hand, he simply stroked your cheek with a softness you didn’t know he was capable of.
“Poor thing, probably scared out o’ your mind.”
You nodded meekly, hoping maybe he would take mercy on you and leave you alone.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good, yeah?”
He then undressed his lower half which was littered in scars and which also freed his erect cock, one that looked like it could split you in half, precum glistening at the tip.
Your eyes widened at the sight of it, “I.. I don’t think it’s going to fit.”
He shook his head, “It’s gonna fit, don’t worry, ‘sides, my boys warmed you up for me, didn’t they?”
You looked over at Gaz and Soap, the former helping Soap out by stroking along his cock with spit-slicked hands, making Soap moan out words in a language you didn’t understand. You stopped looking when Ghost’s hands found your jaw and turned your face back to him.
“Asked you a question, love.”
You nodded, but your lower lip wobbled slightly.
That just seemed to egg him on more, and his eyes crinkled through the gap in his mask. He repositioned you so you were facedown on the bed, legs dangling off the side so your ass was level with his pelvis.
He pulled up your chemise, and once again, your pussy was exposed to the night air. He sucked in a breath at the sight of it, dragging one finger up through the folds and dipping it into your hole. You inhaled sharply at the intrusion, clenching slightly on his finger in shock.
He just laughed, “Careful you don’t squeeze like that while I’m inside, yeah? ‘fraid I’d never pull out.” You took the message and forced yourself to relax, knowing that it was happening either way and it was best just to make things easier on yourself.
You tried not to jump again when he dragged his tip down your pussy, gathering the come that had collected in between your folds. Then he pressed into your hole, it traitorously sucking him in with ease.
He was able to get it in a good amount of inches before your insides started to ache. Sure, maybe you’d had a couple of fingers in there before but nothing like this, certainly not this length or girth.
You whimpered softly as he pressed in further and he soothingly pet your hair as he paused for a moment.
“You’re okay, I know, I know” he said, soothingly, “Just a bit more, okay?” You nodded weakly, knowing that it wasn’t an option to back out now.
“Good girl” he murmured softly as he pressed inch by inch into you.
You whined pitifully as his pelvis pressed against your ass, his cock now fully inside you.
It hurt, but what was worse to you was that this hurt felt.. good. You hardly had a second to take all of him before he slowly pulled out again, and stupidly, you began to hope he was done.
Those dreams were dashed the second he slammed back into you, making you cry out in surprise. He continued this, rocking back and forth into you, his cock dragging in and out of your hole as you gripped the sheets beneath you for stability.
Then, he lowered himself on top of you, bending over at his hips to press himself against your back. All you could hear were his grunts and the sound of his balls slapping against your pussy as he pounded into you.
Even though tears were building up in your eyes, you could also feel pleasure building between your legs at the continuous thrusting. Your body tensed up as you felt another wave overtake you, the sensations making your legs shake uncontrollably underneath Ghost’s.
Your breathy moans earned an even faster pace, causing a slight staccato in your breathing.
Now that your orgasm had ended, the pleasure bordered on painful and with the increased thrusts, you whimpered softly, “It hurts.”
He pressed a kiss to the back of your head and through his panting he said, “I know, I know, just a little longer. ‘m almost there.”
You felt another wave building, this time it felt too intense, too painful, but you couldn’t stop it from overtaking you just as Ghost slowed above you, grunting in your ear as he finished inside you. You couldn’t breathe for a terrifying moment, your lungs drawing in no air as your vision darkened. The ringing in your ears grew louder as you lost sensation, and eventually, lost consciousness.
When you woke up what you assumed to be a few seconds later, Ghost had pulled out of you and you were laying on your back on the bed. You could feel his and your come dripping out of your pussy which was still fluttering around nothing.
He had pulled his pants up and redone his belt, now fully dressed again.
He looked over at you, “Lost you there for a second, that good, am I?”
You didn’t really know what to say in response, sure, he was good, but he also forced his way into your home and your body. You weren’t about to praise the man that violated you. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind your lack of response, looking over to Soap and Gaz who had both finished, seeming both literally and figuratively.
Soap gave you a lopsided grin, “Put on quite a show, lass. Told ye we’d take care of ye.”
“Will you leave me be, now?” you asked bluntly. Now that they had all had their fair share, all you wanted was for them to leave so you could tend to yourself and lick your wounds.
Gaz raised an eyebrow, “Rid of you? Who said anything about that?”
Your heart sank, “I.. I just assumed that once you got what you wanted, you’d leave.”
Ghost shook his head as if you had said something egregiously stupid, “Don’t you get it? You are what we wanted, and we’re not letting you go that easily. From the moment we laid eyes on you, we had to have you.”
You looked between the three of them, this hadn’t been a spur of the moment thing, they had planned this. You knew all along that they knew you weren’t married, but you didn’t think they had planned this, all for them to take you like some unruly spoil of war at the end.
“You can’t do this, someone will wonder where I am,” you mustered the energy to sit up in bed, glaring at the three of them.
“Really? From the looks of it, you live alone, no one knows who you are, and we’re knights. It’s our duty to take things like you home, protect you, take care of you” Gaz said, taking on a more serious tone.
“Y-you can’t do this” you helplessly repeated.
“Oh, lass, we can, and we will. Dinnae worry your pretty little head about it. King John already said he would be very interested in meeting you, doubt he would be too happy if you refused,” Soap’s grin seemed almost malicious now in this lighting.
“It’s time to go home,” Ghost said, scooping you up from the bed.
You were unable to do anything but cry weakly into his shoulder as they brought you to their horses, knowing this would be the rest of your life and there was nothing you could do about it.
Tumblr media
a/n: ah ok! first fic on this acct and actually, my first fic writing smut 🫣 so lmk what you guys think, maybe i can write a part two if you’re interested??
sword divider by @/sister-lucifer
928 notes · View notes
yourstrulyrani · 4 months ago
Text
a/n: this song just screamed simon riley to me & i finished up my internship at a doctor's office so this is inspired by both..enjoy!
simon riley x doctor/wife!reader cw: suggestive right at the end // wc: 2300
Simon Riley would never even dare to think he was worthy of loving someone. He never deemed himself as someone worthy of being loved either because who would ever date an SAS lieutenant who was so cold and so broken, let alone marry one? You didn't think that though. Simon was the strongest man you knew. You didn't believe that just because he was your husband, but because of the man he is. He has been through hell and back and he still has the strength to live another day. Even with all the chaos in his life, this man loves you as if you're the only woman on earth. He plants kisses so delicate, touches so soft, and words so sweet.
So why isn't he like this anymore?
It has been weeks since Simon has been back from deployment. Weeks of Simon answering your questions and talking to you with mere grunts and murmurs. Weeks without his touch, every night is a bedroom filled without the mix of yours and his moans and grunts. You're driving back home from work, happy that you could get out at the decent time of seven in the evening for today. You love being a doctor and seeing your patients, but it was even more rewarding when you had a husband waiting at home for you to talk to, to kiss and to hold and to spend the rest of the day with. At the penultimate stoplight before home you decide you don't want to go home this time. You thought to yourself there is no point anyway, it'll be the same thing this time too: You will come back home, tired and dirty in your scrubs but still greet Simon with a kiss to his cheek in an attempt to get more out of him compared to yesterday. He'll grunt, acknowledging your presence but not you entirely. You'll shower. Head to bed and sleep without the warmth of his arms around you.
In a need for change, you take a right on traffic light instead of the usual left home and drive to the gym. You usually don't exercise after work, since you're already exhausted from your career as it is. But Simon always used exercise as a way to get his energy out, so why not try something he does? You think of doing something light today just for some quick cardio: the treadmill.
You change into your heavily wrinkled gym clothing in your bag, at the least thankful for the change of clothing. You check in, change in the locker room, and head over to the treadmill. It's now half-past-seven, so you reason with yourself and plan on doing thirty minutes and heading home.
After some time, you stop the treadmill and feel the sweat bead down your face and back. You can feel your heart rate gradually slow down, but you've never felt better. Your hair feels wet and your cheeks are hot with the heat from the exercise. You take a glance at the watch and check the time and in bright letters: 10:58 PM.
Well who knew some quick cardio planned for only half an hour could turn into three hours?
Your eyes widen in disbelief. In the same way you made a beeline for the gym over three hours ago, you now do the same to get back home. Since you lost track of time, you only had such little time to shower and wind down before you had to wake up for another early shift at the hospital again. Knowing you, you won't get enough sleep to last you your whole shift the next morning, but at the same time the time at the gym truly helped clear your mind. You park your car in the driveway right next to Simon's truck, barely driven lately due to his time on deployment and his idleness coming home from it.
Before you could put the keys into the door, it opened. Your husband is already at the door, dressed in nothing but sweatpants. You froze, your hand still holding the key positioned for the door.
"Inside." Is the first word you clearly hear from your husband in weeks and you followed the command, heading inside still hot from your exercise. He closes the door after you enter the house and you can feel his eyes on your body. "Where were you?"
Your eyes squint in confusion. Here you are in gym attire, and he doesn't get the hint? "Is it not obvious enough, Simon?" You wave a hand up and down your gym clothes, "The gym?" You bite back, offering him a sideways glance.
Your husband crosses his arms, widening his stance. "It is a quarter past 11, doll. Cut the crap. Where were you?"
You scoff at his dramatic change in behavior. Where is the Simon that has been distant? You almost miss it. You take a couple of more steps into the house, taking off your shoes and setting them off to the side. "Don't act like all of a sudden you care. I could have been on the side of the road and you wouldn't have given tw—"
"Don't. Don't finish that sentence because we both know it's not true. I care."
"You care? Really, Simon?" You cringe at the discomfort you feel at the whole situation. You're sweaty and your back is sticking to your clothing. Your hair is sticking to your forehead. You walked on a stupid treadmill for three stupid hours and you can feel your legs give out slowly and all you want is sleep. You're pissed off at everything, but mainly at your man who claims to care right now. Without a thought to spare, you head upstairs to your shared bedroom.
All you want is a shower and some sleep. Simon follows you, the both of you knowing full well this isn't the end of the night. Simon walks into the room and sees you standing by your vanity before you could change out of your workout clothes. "What did you even mean by what you just said? Are you questioning the care I have for you now? You’re my wife."
"Oh please, Simon. If anything I have felt more like a roommate than a wife lately."
Simon's eyes widen at your words as he walks closer to you. "A what?"
You roll your eyes and gaze daggers at him, "Did I stutter?" You're too mad to think straight at this point and walk over to him, enough to feel his deep breathing on your skin. "I." You poke his chest once with your pointer finger, your head propped upwards to look at him, "Feel." Poke. Like," Poke. "A roommate." Even after poking into his chest, Simon feels the remnants of your aggressive touch on his body and can't help but to realize how mad you are. He stares down at you, poking the insides of his cheek with his tongue and clenching his jaw after. "Well. Say something, Simon!"
You aim for one last poke but Simon grabs your hand before you could, gentle enough to not hurt but commanding enough so you couldn't move it. "Stop acting like a brat and talk to me. What's wrong?"
"You know exactly what's wrong." You look up at him, your eyes threatening to let the tears flow out.
Simon sees the self-control you hold as you prevent the tears from slipping, and his heart breaks at the guilt he feels. He lets go of your hand, resting it at his sides. "So use that pretty mouth of yours and tell it to me straight then. Where were you?"
"The gym."
He nods, acknowledging your truth. "Okay. Now talk to me."
"I feel—” before you could speak, you tried gathering your thoughts. Your mind which was once cleared is now crowded in self doubt and pressure. You felt so much at once and you felt so close to breaking under the pressure. “I feel neglected, Simon. You came back from deployment and you've been shutting me out. You barely talk to me. You don't touch me. We haven't even had sex in so long. I need you." You let the tears fall, "I just miss you. I come back from work almost everyday and you barely even acknowledge me.”
Simon heard the break in your voice at the last word, and he couldn't help but to berate himself. In this moment, is where Simon thinks again exactly why he isn't worthy of love. He made you cry. His lack of love towards his sweetheart of a wife broke her into pieces so much she would rather spend her time after work at a gym rather than at home.
“Is that it?” He wants to hear more from you in order to fully understand how you’re feeling. Simon sits on the bed, taking your hands and having you stand in between his legs. He looks up at you, admiring the gorgeous features that make up you.
“Are you cheating on me?” You blurt out accidentally and see Simon’s mouth open slightly in shock. Simon couldn’t believe what came out of your mouth and neither could you. You know Simon would never but with the way he’s acting you let the doubt creep in.
“What? No, of course not. I love you. You’re the only one for me.” Simon takes his hands and rubs his hands along the side of your body in reassurance.
“So why doesn’t it feel like it?” You sighed.
Simon stays silent, staring into your eyes as his eyebrows furrow slightly in frustration. “I'm not worthy.” He shakes his head and looks down in embarrassment. You can see Simon's lips pout slowly, something he usually does when he's overthinking.
“Worthy? Of what?" Your hands move to his shoulders, rubbing in slow, soothing circles. The feel of him grounded you, and the feel of you grounded Simon.
"Of you, sweetheart." His mouth is parted as he sighs and shakes his head in a physical attempt to let go of the tension. "I am not worthy of the honor it takes to love a woman like you." He sighs again and rubs a hand down his face, scratching the stubble of his beard. He despises bringing work home to you in a fear of giving you stress about what happened when he was away from you, but he has to speak up this time. "My job, sweetheart. It's the complete opposite of yours. You save lives and I take them away. It can't work like this," Simon's voice lowers in shame. "You're too sweet for this world, you care so much. And I care so little that I don't think twice about pulling the trigger. When I came home I drowned in guilt, so disgusted with myself." The more Simon talks, the more you can see his eyes gloss with tears. "I come home to a woman so warm and I am a man who gets more brutal as the time goes by."
You let Simon speak his truth before placing your hands to cup his cheeks, and you knew it was a good sign when you felt him melt into your touch by moving his head a little closer. His hands return to your sides, once again needing your body under his touch to ground him. "You are everything to me, Simon. I don't see you as a brutal man but a man who is worthy of my love." Your thumbs rub against his cheeks, feeling the mix of prickly stubble and skin as you do so.
"But I kill pe—"
You shush him gently before he could finish his sentence. "None of that. That's what you're supposed to do." A hand of yours moves to his hair, raking your fingers through it. In a way, Simon's hair represents how much of a mess he truly is. It has clearly grown out too much, which is unusual compared to the haircut he always has. He hasn't been caring for himself in the way needs or deserves, "You're a soldier, and an amazing one at that, Simon." Your fingers rake behind his ears, one of, if not his most favorite, spots.
"Feels good, lovie."
You giggle at the way he relaxes under your touch, "The touch or my words?"
He hums, "Both. And I didn't mean to shut you out. I love you. I'm sorry."
You frown at the sincerity of his apology and lean over to kiss his cheek. "I love you too, baby."
Simon passes you a cheeky grin, "You're calling your roommate 'baby' now? Weirdo." He chuckles, making a joke at what you said earlier. You smile fondly at your husband. Everything finally feels in tune with how it should be. You hear your husband chucking and see him smiling and being playful. You feel the strands of hair under your touch.
In the intimacy of the moment, you want Simon to know just how much you think he's worthy of you. Since you're already standing in between his legs, you lower yourself slowly. Your knees bend until they reach the hardwood floor and your forearms find their way to rest on your husband's thick thighs. Simon's head moved to keep his gaze on your body as it lowered. You could see your husband lick his lips and his chest rise quicker. "I promise I'm going to make you feel so worthy, Simon. Starting now."
He lets out a breathy 'yeah?' and you nod passionately. He adjusts his hips and spreads his legs further to accommodate for your body in between them. His hands find the ties of his sweatpants, already getting ready for what you're going to do next.
You for sure kept your promise and made him feel oh so worthy that night.
467 notes · View notes
dontmakemebabyblue · 11 days ago
Text
𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐥
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹
i literally know nothing abut the military/military related lore and almost nothing about task force 141 so... i apologize in advance lol
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹
You’ve never considered yourself unprofessional. Not seriously. You follow protocol, clean your weapon, file your reports on time. You're a dependable part of Task Force 141.
That is… until he walks by.
Simon Riley. Ghost. Reaper of men. Mysterious, masked, muscle bound legend.
Specifically: his pecs.
You don’t know what they’re feeding soldiers in Manchester, but whatever it is has blessed this man with two slabs of divine granite beneath his tac vest. You've seen them once accidentally, during a med bay visit when he had to peel off his shirt. You haven't been the same since. You dream of pecs. You see pecs when you blink. You think about them when you're eating toast.
And now, here he is, standing directly in front of you in the armory, the light hitting him just right, his black compression shirt doing nothing to hide what’s underneath.
You're staring. You know you're staring.
Ghost tilts his head. “You alright?”
You snap out of it like someone detonated a flashbang in your brain. “What? Yeah. Fine. Just thinking. About… ops. Tactical stuff.”
He nods slowly, eyeing you. “You were looking at my chest.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I was not.”
He crosses his arms, which does not help. It just makes them push up more. Press together.
God there should be a warning label on him.
“I’ve caught you staring before,” he says calmly.
You want the ground to swallow you.
“It’s not weird,” you say too fast. “It’s admiration. Professional admiration. Like wow, that man must bench press tanks, that’s good for the mission.”
He raises a brow. You can't see his mouth, but you can practically feel the smirk radiating through the mask.
“You wanna touch ‘em?” he asks.
You almost pass out.
“What?”
He shrugs. “Just saying. If it’ll stop you from nearly walking into walls every time I'm around, maybe we let you poke one.”
“Simon, are you-do you offer this to everyone who ogles your pecs, or am I special?”
“You’re special,” he says without missing a beat. “Also, Soap owes me fifty quid. Said you’d never admit it.”
Your jaw drops. “You- you bet on me being feral for your tits?”
“Not feral,” he says thoughtfully. “Just… vary aware.”
“…I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He steps a little closer.
“So?” he says, voice low. “One poke. Make it count.”
You hesitate for all of half a second before slowly raising your hand. Your finger meets an immovable wall of warm muscle under the shirt. It’s like touching the surface of a holy artifact.
You whisper reverently, “Oh my God.”
Ghost eye crinkle as he grins under the mask. “Feel better now?”
You don’t. You feel worse. You feel obsessed. You’re going to need therapy and/or a cold shower for the next 6 months.
But you nod. “Yes. Thank you. That was important for my mental health.”
He leans in. “Next time, just ask.”
And then he walks away.
All you can do is stand there, absolutely wrecked.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹
𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝟐
𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 !
399 notes · View notes
leyavo · 4 months ago
Text
| I am my father’s daughter | 7 |
Tumblr media
💖 Dad!Price & Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader
PART SEVEN: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over a year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2914words
[18+] MDNI | TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship
Previous parts > [Series Masterlist]
🔈Reader’s view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate
Tumblr media
Every fibre of your being is on edge, hair standing up on your arms, mouth dry and tongue heavy. You’re still laying on the floor, your finger trailing the grain of the wood. It’s cool beneath your touch, the subtle reminder that you are awake.
Your muzzy head trying to piece together everything after a second panic attack. All because your dad asked you if you were okay. Pathetic really, now that you’d calmed down a bit.
The Captain’s sitting with you, your cheek resting on his crossed legs. He hasn’t said anything since your breaths have evened out. No he just sits there, his hand on your back weighing down on your spine. It’s uncomfortable, the tough weave of his thick jeans and the bulky seam no doubt leaving a mark in your skin. You don’t want to move, not right now. Afraid to look at him and lose it all again.
Shards of broken ceramic litter the floor, much like you do. Broken beyond repair, even you don’t think you’ll be able to piece it all together. Telling the captain feels like breaking yourself all over again. Shattering everything in his past too and you don’t know if you can stomach the aftermath of doing so.
It also means facing your mother. You’re a grown adult, but in the presence of her you’re that little girl squeezing into small spaces and waiting for her to give up. Would there ever be a moment of peace? A life without raised voices or having to compromise your own needs for others? You see a spec of that with your dad. Glimpses of happiness, but you know they won’t last long.
Your mother’s voice on the phone a wake up call. A reminder that you don’t belong with the captain, he’s got his own family to look after and you’re just the latest project to make him feel less guilt. Another box to tick, a role to fill. No one sticks around, not in the way you need or want them to.
The thought of family turns your stomach, you don’t long for something you’ve never had anymore. You’re enough, it’s all you’ve known and you won’t let yourself down, not this time. No expectations and worrying about others actions.
You lift your head from his lap and sit up, the captain's hand pawing the hair out of your face. A little heavy handed, but it’s no slap in the face. His thick brow’s furrow, weathered lines of age and his forever scrutinising gaze settling in his forehead.
“Come on,” he says, fingers grasping your arm as he helps you off the floor. “Mind your step.” His palms on your hips as he lifts you over the sharp broken pieces and onto the bed.
The Captain’s side of the bed is neat, sheets tucked under the mattress with military precision that it barely creases as you sit down. His side table’s a little cluttered, crooked reading glasses on top of a crossword puzzle book and pen wedged between the pages. A sticker with his name printed on the front cover, as if anyone would take it.
He crouches down, sweeping the shards up and declining your offer to do it, since you made the mess. It’s second nature to him, you remember him cleaning broken glass off the floor as a child and how he carried you back to bed each time, telling you he dropped a cup. Silly daddy, you'd say and now you’re older you understand why his smile would falter. Why he’d rush to pull the blankets back over you and tell you to go back to sleep.
“Did mum ever hit you?” You say it without thinking, but it’s something you’ve wondered for years.
He freezes mid sweep, gaze darting up at you. “No. She hit you?” His head snapping to you so quickly, you winced.
“No,” you say, quick without missing a beat and on instinct. “You and mum always used to argue, was hard not to hear.” Seven year old you in your bedroom, head shoved under your pillow as you tried to drown out their yelling.
Their constant arguments always seemed to grow louder when you went to bed. Some nights you were herded into your room early, your mum telling you to get under the covers before she turned off the light. You hated the dark.
“You remember that?” He asks, scratching his moustache and waiting for your nod. “I mean she threw a glass at me every now and then, luckily ya’ mum’s a shit shot.” He laughs it off, but it doesn’t quite rubble from his chest like when you see him joking around with the guys.
The tiny scars curving his fingers look a lot more familiar now that he’d confirmed you were right. That you hadn’t made it up.
“Me and ya’ mum weren’t exactly good for each other. Both stubborn and just had different things that we wanted. We’re better apart,” he said, placing the brush in the dustpan to keep the ceramic pieces from falling out.
“And you never hit mum?” Adding the never to soften the blow, to try and convince him that you didn’t quite believe he would too.
“No,” he shook his head, the tic in his jaw tensing. “And I’ll never hit you either. Under any circumstances, understand?”
You nod, not sure if you’re able to trust your previous judgement when it came to most males or adults in your life. Mum always said you were easy to manipulate, that your dad only looked out for himself. He just won’t hit, so what exactly would he do if you were to earn his anger?
The captain’s eyes scan you head to toe, lingering on the twitch of your fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.
“You know if there’s something me or the guys said or did that triggered…” He’s so gentle, soft spoken as if he were going set you off if he spoke any louder. Those eyes searching yours, deep rims carved beneath them as if he hadn’t slept a wink since you’d arrived.
“No,” you snap, rising from the bed and retreating from his outstretched arm. “You said we didn’t have to talk about it now.”
His hand grasps your elbow, “hey, it nothing to be embarrassed…”
Except you were, you hated seeing the pity in his eyes. The way he treads careful and picks his words, you could see him going over what to say in his mind, because you have the same tells as him. Maybe you are your father’s daughter.
Push, that’s what you do. You push him away, retreat from any warmth knowing that you can’t stay. Hurt him before he hurts you.
“Because you’re suffocating me! God sake I can’t take the constant fussing. Just leave me alone.” You spat, yanking your elbow out of his hold. Why couldn’t everyone just leave you alone?
He froze, arms back by his side as he rocked on his heels as if he’s wanting to come closer but thinking better not. You hate yourself for it, but you can’t understand his need to be around so much. Just like your mother, pushing him away when he’s trying to help.
If he hates you, it’ll be easier to leave. If you’re difficult to love, then he’ll let you go.
“I’m sorry kiddo, I know I’ve been a bit full on.”
You scoff and in that moment you can't commit to the act of hurting your dad. Those damn eyes softening as they remain on you, "I'm sorry," you mumbled, toeing the edge of the curled rug. "He called me, on a different number and it just caught me off guard."
Yep, lyings so much easier than telling the truth. The way it fell so well crafted from your lips, just like your mother taught you.
Tumblr media
A soft knock tapped against John’s office door, so light and quiet he almost didn’t hear it against the typing of his computer keyboard. He paused waiting for another tap.
“You can enter.”
The door creaked open, but he's too focused on the computer screen and the redacted words of whatever file had landed in his inbox. He assumed some new recruit had messed up his office with the sorting office. It wouldn’t be the first time a gangly teen accidentally entered and stuttered their way out with an apology.
He pushed his glasses back up his nose, clicking the mouse. “What do you need?” He mumbled, pen scratching the notepad as he made some notes and jotted down a number.
“Uh, dad.” His finger slipped the keyboard, not expecting to see you hesitating in the door way. He’s still getting used to you visiting his office, the same worn brown cord jacket hung from your shoulders. Still getting used to you calling him dad, which was rare these days as you preferred to call him the captain.
He makes a mental note to get you a decent winter coat and accessories.
John shut the window on his computer screen and leant back in his chair. “Everything alright, Kiddo?” That seemed to be a recurring question when it came to you.
No other way to figure out if you needed anything as you never asked much of him. You haven’t discovered that you can sign yourself out of the base yet, not even tried. That’s the first thing he thought you’d do.
John expecting to wake up and get a notification about you leaving, but you’ve stuck around. Given him a chance and he’ll do anything to make it right. Even if it does take time.
And that’s why he hadn’t told you that yet, he’ll wait until you’re fully healed. Then he’ll say you can sign yourself out, all he has to do then is trust that you’ll come back. He won’t force you though.
“I got the job.”
John’s stomach drops, well looks like you’ll be signing yourself out for the job. A little sooner than he hoped. “Ah, well done, kiddo.” He pushes out of the chair, raising his arms and wrapping them around you.
You’re tense, spine straight and hands glued to your side, but they slowly inch around his torso. Head leaning into his chest and shoulders loosening as you fall into his hold. John doesn’t remember the last time he’s praised you. Knows that you haven’t worked in over a year, abusers like to isolate their partners and John knows how much of a big deal this is. You doing something for yourself.
He pulls back, rough palms framing your face. “Proud of ya’ kid,” he said, lips pressing against your forehead. And your eyes flutter shut, body swaying as he steps back and releases you.
It’s been a couple days since your panic attack, he’s kept his distance and let you approach him. Allowed you space, privacy to sort through your head. You no doubt prepared yourself for his hug and touch, obviously not something you’re used to. It was like living with a cat, one pet and then he’s getting scratched. A step forward and three back.
“Thanks dad.” Your voice low, gaze scanning the floor. It’s not often that you hold his gaze, never did as a child either, but the more time he spends with you, he knows it’s a shield. Less attention on you, downplaying the good as if you’re preparing for something, someone to knock you down again.
John wonders if that’s your mother’s doing or the ex-boyfriend’s. Not that you’d confide in him, not yet. He knows he’ll have to gain your trust before that happens.
“How’s about we go to the pub for a few drinks, celebrate?” he says, frowning as your chest shudders and your body tenses at the mention of drinking. “The guys can come too if you want. No alcohol for us though as early start in the morning.”
He leans over his desk, turning the computer off and giving you space to think, to breathe. Without his influence and his gaze looming over you. Baby steps, he supposes until you get used to having the freedom to think for you and no one else in mind. Sure you’ve got a fiery temper, but that’s only when John’s fussing or you’re speaking of your mother.
“Sure.”
John bites his lip trying to hide his smile as his gaze flits to the rearview mirror. You’re squished between Kyle and Johnny in the back of the truck, elbows tucked in and knees raised. Talking to Kyle as he teases you about your driver license photo. He tosses it to Johnny and you punch his leg, snatching the license back. But you’re smiling, something John hasn’t seen in a long time.
The local pubs a little grimy and dingy, the type he’d wipe his boots on the way out instead of the way in. John and the guys have been there plenty, their usual booth in the corner with the flickering light free. The perfect spot to unwind and not get the traffic of people from the busier main area. That and the derelict dart board right beside it, little holes in the wall around it.
Simon gets the first round, giving you a separate congratulations as he hands you a vanilla float. You seem to fit in with Kyle and Johnny, playing darts and nudging whoever’s turn it is to throw.
John can’t help but notice the way you lean towards Johnny though, hand a little too comfortable on his arm as you smile up at him. The way he offers you a swig of his non-alcoholic beer and wipes the drip on your chin. John forgets that his sergeant’s around your age, four or five years older. You deserve someone softer, a person that hasn’t seen the things that he has.
He trusts Johnny, but he’s still going to pull him later and warn him of the boundaries.
You’re off to the toilets and John makes a beeline for the space you left next to Johnny. He plucks the dart out of the sergeant’s grasp and points the sharp tip at him. “Only gonna tell ya’ once, off limits lad,” he says leaning in for just him to hear, Kyle none the wiser as he collects his darts wedged into the board and wall.
“Just being friendly,” Johnny says, nudging his head in your direction. “He looks a lot more though.” He smirks as the captains gaze follows his and he spots you talking to a man by the bar.
Do you give out smiles to every man, but your dad? The twitch of your lips always falter in his presence as if it’s a painful act and you’re trying to please him.
Nah, this blokes too close for John’s liking. He walks over to the bar and steps between the two of you, “what do ya’ want kid?” He asks you, sliding the drink that man had offered you into his hands.
Kid, make it seem like you’re much younger than you look. He keeps his eyes on the shelves of whisky behind the bar, watching the man’s reflection in the mirror.
The man stutters out an apology, hands raised as he tells John he meant no harm.
Your fingers drum against the tacky bar, head tilting as you try to catch John’s gaze. “He was just offering me a drink.” You shrug, taking the soft drink from the bar maid and stirring the ice with the straw.
“You ain’t havin’ it,” John says, lifting the drink to his nose, swishing the liquid in the glass. “Could have put something in it.” He can smell the alcohol a mile away, more vodka than lemonade. Bastard. His head jerks to the side and he scans the bar, but a gentle tug of his sleeve steals his attention.
There’s something childlike in the action, he can see the pinch of fabric you pulled still sticking out on his sleeve. Little you always used to tug on the hem of his shirt or his belt loops. As if you were afraid to bother him for something silly.
“That and he’s a good ten years older than you.” The thought of someone around his age approaching you, he didn't want to think of it. Wasn't worth wasted breath or the spike of anger heating his skin.
“Isn’t that the typical thing with girls and daddy issues?” You say, casual as ever as you glance up at him. You bump your shoulder into his arm and he stumbles. “Relax, old man. Just teasing, it’s the mommy issues you gotta worry about.”
Some part of John knows that you’re being honest, but it’s like getting blood from a stone when it comes to you talking about your mother.
You're good at telling lies, John notices the little things. He should know, he lies to get the job done no matter what. How your phone was on the coffee table in the living room and your mothers recent call logged into his answered list. So whatever truth you're holding on to, he knows its your mother and not the ex.
God did he need a strong glass of whisky and a cigar when they got back to the res' house. He wished he'd kept the one in his pocket, the lighter no use on its own, might as well burn a hole through his jeans.
[PART EIGHT]
Tumblr media
Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it :) John's starting to question everything now... There might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces. Sorry for the long wait I had a minor head injury and just getting back to editing - Leya
Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie @elegancefr @jesskidding3 @thepowers-kat-be @frangiipanii @ye-olde-trash-panda
318 notes · View notes
blingblong55 · 2 years ago
Text
Need more- König NSFW
Tumblr media
Art belongs to: @kinky-thirsty-reader
Based on a request:
reader sitting on desperate!konigs face please i feel like he would be so shy about it but he would eat pussy so good
F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, mentions of face sitting, f!ngering
This man knows how to eat his meal and make a mess with it. He will have you on the couch, bed, side of the road, kitchen table or counter. Anywhere as long as his tongue is fucking into your cunt. His fingers are deep inside of you. Your moans and your juices that leak from you, making him cum in his trousers. Your clit is being abused by his tongue and fingers. Your hands pushing his face, and oh does he love when you do that. The way he looks at you as he eats you out, the hunger and desire for more of you, always makes him need that sweet taste of your cunt. Your slick coating his lips, the ones he licks after he had the privilege to eat you out.
Sometimes he has you before you drop him off at base before missions, other times he is at the side of the road when you pick him up from the base. He loves it when you wear your pink panties and how he slides them to the side or off your body when his needs get the best of him.
On days when he is actually shy about eating you out, that is when you know the orgasm will be better. He gets flustered, excited and nervous to even lift your skirt up. His face flushed, innocent look to him, a stuttering mess when you guide his fingers inside of you. "Meine Liebling, I-is this..this okay?" he says as he rubs your clit, one look from you or a moan and he is a mess. He licks and kisses your pussy, always whispering how much he loves you and the taste of it all. His eyes are closed when he is enjoying eating you out. The room dimmed making him more and more needy. His hands wrapped around your thighs as he keeps your legs open for him.
Once he has made you cum at least twice he smiles and opens his eyes, "I love it when you are like this, Meine Liebling." two more fingers inside of you. You squirm and moan, feeding his inner desires. He sometimes makes you ride his face, but that is only when he knows you deserve a reward after taking him all night. Your inner thighs are always covered with love bites or hickeys, only for him to see. At times, he gets on his knees and eats you out just like that, but it's always in front of a mirror because he loves it when you watch yourself cum and moan.
Days when he is overstimulated and when he is eating you out is when you see him cry. He loves how much you praise him, he adores how you stroke his hair away from his face or how you nod and smile as you watch him eat you out. His favourite view is watching you get drunk on orgasms. Your smooth skin, your thick thighs and your pussy, that is what motivates this man to always fight to come home.
Tags: @liyanahelena
4K notes · View notes
tojisbunni · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
saw this image & made this drabble .݁ ˖ mdni
Tumblr media
simon likes to tie you up in bed. real, thick ropes. he doesn’t like the fancy shit with the pretty pink colors and comfortable silk fabric. he likes the look of a rope—one that’s he’s experienced in knotting nice and tight. a rope that he knows you can’t get out of.
simon likes to see you writhering. red, itchy marks rounding around each of your wrists from the friction. he wants to hear your pathetic mouth cry out to him to loosen the restrictions—to make the rope just the slightest bit looser.
simon doesn’t listen, he’s in charge and you know good and well not to question his ways. so you take it, take it like a weak little bird, aching for your muscles to allow you to fly again.
oh, and not just your wrists—but wrapping the rough material around your plush breasts, seeing the soft fat mush up, nipples perky and awaiting his pointer and thumb.
Tumblr media
�� please don’t copy or translate any works ! likes and reblogs are always appreciated ᵎᵎ 🐰 ꒱
199 notes · View notes
saywren · 1 year ago
Text
I can't stop thinking about free use medic!reader. Earnest girl who joined up to help people, keep them healthy. Who becomes part of the 141 and comes to realize that though they're a united force, they're each so different, with their own strengths and personalities and quirks that she quickly grows to appreciate not just professionally but personally too. She likes Price, and Gaz, and Soap, and Ghost, and so she tries hard to keep her boys healthy. Patches them up, keeps an eye on their injuries even once they're healed so they won't act up, cause them undue pain. Makes sure they're eating right and resting between missions, not pushing too hard in training or drinking and smoking too too much. Okay, they don't love that part, but she's good at her job, and they do secretly like the attention, how she fusses over them, even if some of them pretend they don't. It's a different sort of care than they show each other, and it's nice to have that extra support, know someone's looking out for them beyond just their usefulness.
And, well, if their physical health is important, so is their emotional health. Lots of cortisol and adrenaline involved in their line of work, and not a lot of ways to burn it off. It only makes sense really that if she's sewing them up and rubbing out the tension in their muscles, she may as well bend over and let them use her holes for stress relief. That's what she joined for, after all; they need her, she's there, ready to take care of it. Anything to make sure her team can function to the best of their ability, of course.
And it works real well, letting them fuck her whenever they want. Their moods have improved, along with their training stats, almost across the board. Teamwork, too, and their medic has certainly had a hand in that seeing as they work together to work her over fairly regularly. They can't even remember a time when Task Force 141 didn't have their little medic with them.
And then hmm idk, mayhaps reader's IUD fails idk idk
669 notes · View notes
sleepyeepyp3rson · 3 months ago
Text
john soap mactavish x arms dealer!reader
Tumblr media
John "Soap" MacTavish likes dangerous women. And he finds one on a mission.
an: hey........ *slides this to you nervously in an attempt to not get stoned for being gone so long*
tw: female reader, choking in a non freaky way but soap makes it low key freaky, gaz gets knocked out lmao (love you buddy,) slightly creepy language surrounding reader????, soap is a freak™, soap and reader tussle (you both punch eachother and he tackles you)
(masterlist)
John "Soap" MacTavish likes dangerous women.
Feral things with teeth and claws that'll bite him if he gets too close. He likes to poke and prod, see what makes them snap their teeth and what makes them yield. Likes to see if he can fix them too, if they'll be tamed by pretty words and a nice warm bed, or if it takes more than a treat.
Maybe that's why he's so intrigued by you. An arms dealer, with no affiliation, no cause. Usually, he wouldn't even bother with poking his nose into an operation like yours, but whatever Laswell wants, Laswell gets. And who is he to say no when Price even threw in a nice little incentive? "Mean as hell, and she's all yours, Johnny."
He has to admit, you look nice from the scope of his rifle. Maybe it's the way you're yelling at the Russians trying to buy off of you. Maybe he likes how pissed off you look. Maybe he just likes pretty things.
"Target in sight. Remember, this is capture or kill, but we'd rather have her in one piece. Move in."
He shifts himself at Price's command. He and Gaz sneak in from the back, Price, and Ghost as their eyes. Should be smooth sailing, and he'll leave with only a few bullets missing.
He nods to Gaz and the door is swiftly picked, and they enter without much resistance.
"We're in, no bird ye--" Gaz doesn't even get his sentence out before he crumples to the ground.
And all Johnny can do is react, swinging his fist into the moving blob in front of him. It staggers back with the force of his punch and swings at him too, and he grabs the nearest arm and tackles it to the ground.
Not it. You. The target.
"Steamin' Jesus." He looks over to Gaz. Not bleeding out, not dead. Good enough.
"Get the fuck off of me you--" Right. The lass. The lass who is currently kicking and clawing and yelling in his face. Your nails catch on the skin of his throat as you try and choke him with one hand, and the burn feels good. Teetering right on the edge of fatal. The same rush he gets when he's nose-deep in disarming a bomb.
"Easy. Don't wanna hurt ye." He grins, all sharp canines and sharp eyes. Well, until your hand winds back and you deck the shit out of him, that is. He doesn't even have time to curse before you're wiggling out of his grip.
By the time he props himself up on his knees you've found a stray pistol and have it trained straight to his head, and all he can do is sigh heavily as Gaz stirs awake. Your next words are directed to the handsome man on the ground.
"If you move, I blow his brains out."
So much for all his.
85 notes · View notes
hbma · 1 year ago
Text
Some small dilf!Simon thots. F!reader.
You had to run some important errands so you’re arriving later and pushed Simon (who also gets dragged by his young daughters) to parents night/ some parent/child event.
Mans is definitely wearing either a hat or surgical mask with his jacket . Big scary looking man his 2 adorable daughters. all the single moms attempting to get close and flirt with him. Even if he’s trying to make a point of the wedding ring on his finger. But Simon is reserved, and quiet. he’ll only accept this flirty behavior from you, and so he tries to be as cordial as possible with them without coming off as rude.
And his little girls’ logic is “lady being close to dad should be mom”. but this lady = not mom. So they loudly proclaim “you’re not my mommy!” And simons looks down and tell them “you’re right” and gives the lady a pointed look. And so they’re his little bodyguards keeping other moms from approaching him until you arrive. Simon is probably like “thank god you’re here”.
Also: if there are any physical activity games involved, Simon and his girls would OWN everyone else.
I need to have his babies NEOW
475 notes · View notes
quitefawnish · 5 months ago
Text
just thinking about reader having an nsft tumblr acct and tf 141 being obsessed with it..
cw: sexual content, slight voyeurism?
Tumblr media
soap is the first one to stumble on your tumblr account. he originally got tumblr because he wanted inspiration for meal planning and thought about making his own fitness blog.
of course, he eventually went down the rabbit hole of hornyposting and after a few weeks, he discovered you.
you had started this blog to feel better about yourself, or at least that’s what you told yourself, maybe you just liked the attention. either way, you started off slow, posting in a sheer shirt or just a bra but not wanting to show off too much.
it only took a bit of prodding and pleading from your followers to get you to post your whole body. that’s where johnny first saw you, in a post where you did a full body reveal (sans face for obvious reasons). it had a few thousand notes and was the top picture for some of the tags you used.
soap practically felt his eyes bulge out of his skull at the sight of you, this perfect lass posting pics like that for free??? he was quick to follow you and then look at the rest of your posts, spamming you with likes as he went through your entire blog.
he contemplated keeping you to himself but knew the others would appreciate you just as much as he did, so he saved the original post he saw of you and sent it in the group chat. their messages were immediate, something to the effect of “holy fuck.”
that’s where the obsession with you started, and soap acted as their drug dealer, sharing in the group chat when you posted a new photo. of course, the other three knew that they could coax your username from johnny and they could make their own tumblr account to follow you but they found it more exciting getting your pics this way. one thing he did share with them was your throne wishlist which was full of lingerie and cute clothes you might want.
you had posted in sets you had gotten from other followers and the guys were interested in how they could buy you things too. your eyebrows practically disappeared into your hairline as you checked your phone and saw that your entire wishlist had been bought out. even the stuff that you put on there as a faraway desire, like the pair of mary jane’s you had been eyeing or the marker set that was too expensive to justify buying with your own money.
you always tried to thank people who bought from your throne personally, dming them on tumblr and sending exclusive pics in the things they bought for you. problem was, it was all under anonymous accounts and you didn’t get any messages owning up to the shopping spree. you decided to make a post asking who just bought you all that stuff and that you’d like to thank them.
soap was quick to message you, claiming responsibility for the gifts bought. you both get to talking and he mentions how he shares your pics with his mates, and how they get so excited when he sends a new picture of you. you respond back how you’re honestly so flattered, and you’d like to talk to them as well and thank them for their contribution to your wishlist.
eventually, you find some app or website that you can use to chat with them while not giving out any personal information. of course, when the things they ordered come in the mail, you make sure to send them plenty of videos and pictures.
they are hooked.
now it’s almost like you have four sugar daddies, paying for your bikini waxes (if you want them, they don’t mind hair down there yk), sending you money for groceries, for getting your nails done, or just because. sometimes, they even compete between the four of them to see who can make you the happiest (determined by the amount of exclamation marks you use when thanking them).
Tumblr media
a/n: this is so self indulgent and kind of based on some of my experiences when i had an nsft blog on tumblr lolll 🙈 anyway, this is kinda unedited and rambling but would any of you guys want me to write more w this concept?
651 notes · View notes
milkyblxxd · 8 months ago
Text
⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧
slasher!TF141 cw: blood, death, chasing, unconsensual touching, big bad men being scary, f!reader, vague and incomplete, barely edited
wanted to post this as a tester to see if this is something people would be interested in
๋࣭ ⭑⚝
Every breath burns. Your legs are moving on their own, desperately fleeing as flight completely overrides your nervous system. Tree branches whip into your face, but your brain can hardly register the stinging pain they bring. The darkness of the forest swallows you whole and refuses to release you from its jaws. The full moon mocks you as it dangles in the sky, peeking between the gaps of the evergreens - free of earthly horrors. 
It’s impossible to tell if it's blood, sweat, or tears running down your face. You don’t even know if it’s your own blood. Nausea violently twists your stomach, images of your friends' mangled bodies flashing through your mind. 
What was supposed to be a summer getaway to celebrate the end of finals ended up to be a nightmare. 
The warning signs were there. Dark figures lurking at the edges of the lake waved off as shadows playing tricks on your mind. Items disappearing or moving around (but you swear you brought that brand new yellow bathing suit - did you take my hairbrush from the bathroom?). Skin erupting into goosebumps as you try to sunbathe because it just feels like someone is watching you - but your friends brushed off your concerns. 
You just need to relax - you’re too wound up!
 I don’t see anything…how much have you had to drink?
You’re gonna freak everyone out if you keep being all weird - 
What else were you supposed to do? Walk 10 miles to the nearest gas station, hitch a ride back home all because the woods are creeping a city girl like you out? 
A root catches your bare foot, sending you face first into the ground. In the attempt to brace yourself your body twists the opposite direction, a shooting pain that travels from your ankle to your spine makes you heave. You can’t help but lay there for a moment as the pain and exhaustion seep into your bones. A patch of moonlight catches your eye as you gasp, short breaths cutting through the hum of the forest. You don't stop your eyes from fluttering shut.
Hopefully your friends will forgive you for not getting away…
Thundering footsteps and muffled shouts snap you back to reality. Gritting your teeth, you claw your fingers into the earth. Like hell you’re gonna die tonight. Adrenaline forces you up onto your feet as you find the strength to move. Hiding is your best option, if you can just hide until daylight, find your way to the nearest road and limp until you can find anyone - you can survive, you can survive - 
The hope that sparked within you was snuffed out just as quickly as it was ignited - with what you could only describe as a brick wall bulldozing into you. You’re sent flying to the ground, wind completely knocked out of your lungs. Before you can even recover, a heavy weight is straddling over your waist and manhandling you onto your stomach. Coughing, you can only weakly struggle against the iron grip around both of your wrists, the feeling of a rope twisting and cutting into your skin as you’re restrained. 
A leather clad hand grips the hair at the base of your skull and tugs, a cry slipping from your lips as you’re forced to arch your spine to relieve the sting. The light from a phone screen being shoved into your face is blinding. You can only see the screen for a second - but the grotesque image makes you freeze. Blood and dirt covers your face, trails of clean skin left behind as your tears cut through the grime - but what was behind you was the real terror. The red of the skull mask your assailant wore almost perfectly matches the shade of the blood smeared on your body.
The sound of the camera shutter goes off.
Your head is suddenly being shoved back into the dirt, heavy hand pressing into your wet cheek as you sob. The leather is strangely cool against your hot skin as he strokes underneath your eye, cleaning up your tears in an act of…comfort? 
The man shushes you and mumbles incoherently in a thick accent, muffled through the mask he wears as he huffs.
“Couldnae let yah get away-”
“-sweet little bonnie, don’ cry-”
“-made me so hard chasing yah like that, fuck-”
You can feel something hard pressing into your ass when what sounds like a radio is being activated.
“Got our little lamb.”
154 notes · View notes
dontmakemebabyblue · 2 months ago
Text
𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒚𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆.
You bolt upright in bed, the plush bedding no longer as comforting as it was just moments ago. The late spring air carries a gentle warmth, and you'd opened the windows earlier to let it in. Now, some mix of the night breeze whispering through the curtains and the nervous energy coiled in your belly sends a shiver skimming down your spine as you pad across the floor.
Your heart beats faster with every step down the hallway.
You find Simon in the dining room, sitting in a chair, facing away from you. The house is mostly dark, lit only by the milky wash of moonlight spilling in through the windows. Still, you can make out his form elbows on his knees, head bowed, shoulders pulled so tight you can practically taste the storm simmering inside him.
He straightens slightly when he senses you behind him.
The moment his dark eyes meet yours, they soften. Relief crashes through you so fast it feels like you’re breathing for the first time in days. His gaze follows you with such quiet intensity, with so much longing, that your hands tremble a bit as you step between his legs. You cup his face in both hands, your heart pounding hard against your ribs as his calloused palms settle gently on your hips.
"Hello," he murmurs.
The deep rasp of his voice vibrates through your chest and it's almost more than you can bear.
Your throat tightens; you feel tears sting behind your eyes.
How many nights had you woken up crying from dreams that felt too real?
How many times had you turned around, swearing you’d heard his voice only to find empty air?
For a moment, all you can do is look at him. Then, you throw your arms around his neck and press your lips to his. One of his hands slides up your back, anchoring you to him, pulling you into his warmth.
God, he tastes like safety. Like home. Like him.
“I missed you so much,” you whisper, trailing soft kisses across his cheeks, his jaw, his brow. His eyes flutter shut.
“I miss you too,” he breathes, and pulls you onto his lap, guiding your legs around him so you straddle his hips. His arms wrap around your waist, locking you in place like he’s afraid to let go.
“Missed that too,” he says with a rare smile, eyes half-lidded as you run your nails through his hair.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊
hey! so this is my first post/fic/attempt at writing in general lol so if it's bad I'm sorry! 😭🩷
𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 !
308 notes · View notes
myhornysaga · 11 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
If there's ever a conversation in context of you or you and Keegan, there's 4 words that are always present in the sentence... 'crazy, psychotic beautiful bitch'
You and keegan are nothing but a messy 'couple'(?) Heck you two are both insane. For crying out loud, you married him the evening he was leaving for his deployment, he was 21, you were 19. After that deployment his entire life and personality changed.
He would never talk about what happened in that deployment, neither any of his colleagues did. All you knew was something really bad went on there and he lost most of his teammates.
The marriage started to turn sour due to Keegan's sudden PTSD/panic attacks. And they were bad. Its something you never told anyone or ready to talk about.
Needless to say in almost 2 years of your marriage, it ended as abruptly as it began, all on a whim.
The reason keegan's teammates started calling you crazy is due to the fact you just stomped into the Marines base on a fine tuesday to drop the divorce papers. Keegan had a 36 hour shift that day.
And that is how you both divorced.
Everyone thought you both are on your different path now, with someone new. Keegan's friends tried to encourage him to find 'some other chick' or 'plenty fish in the sea' or saying that you were toxic anyway. The boys did their best to encourage the man who got divorced so publicly.
But all their 'encouragement' went to waste.
As it turned out, as soon as keegan's shift ended, he came to the abode which was two days ago a marital home and you both had verbal fight which turned physical in under few moments...
"I CAN'T do this SHIT anymore Keegan", you screamed at him.
Your ex husband has always, by nature, has been quiet man. Only speaking when spoken to and only speaking if necessary.
But on god you ARE something else! You make this usually quiet man want to scream his throat out.
"Couldn't you have waited ONE FUCKING DAY for the divorce?!" He growled.
You two sweared like sailors at each other and then you came a little close to his face pointing your index finger, trying to look intimidating.
Your finger pointed towards him so close triggered his PTSD. He immediately grabbed held your finger then tricep and then he threw you onto the ground on your belly while your arm behind your back.
It all happened so fast you couldn't grasp what even happened. All you knew was your right arm was hurting a little and keegan was on top of you.
Shit. Its started. You know this is one of his panic attacks! You have seen it before but this was new. This has never happened in midst of a 'conversation'.
"Keegan? Babe? Its me y/n babe you need to calm down its just me", you started frantically calm him down. Your chest hurts due to his weight on top of you.
Keegan was in a daze, all that was going in his head was how all his squad died on that fateful day. How he hid under the corpse of a Sargeant, covered in that dead man's blood in order to look like corpse.
He snapped out of it the moment he heard your voice and rolled off of you and laid on the wooden floor with his hand on his chest, heavily panting as if to grasp as much air as possible.
You were finally free of his weight and quickly got up and saddled on him and started to calm him down by gently patting, caressing his face. You started to kiss him.
"It will be okay babe, I'm here, im right here. Its okay, you're safe now." You whispered into his ear while peppering him with your warm kisses.
He was back. He opened his arms to hug you and happily gave in.
He hugged you tight.
"I'm sorry y/n", he mumbled.
And since then, despite being officially Ex husband and Ex wife, you still live in his house and still sleep with him.
Your bond has become more stronger than when you two were 'married'.
You two still fight, but it always ends up in a rough makeout session.
Keegan's teammates will never get why Keegan is with you. But then again, even they know nothing beats 'the crazier the better'.
--------------------------------------------------
M.list
228 notes · View notes