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[lilyarchived]

The urgent need of soaking price's mustache with my pussy liquids..

It's my period I'm a horny woman😭😭

HONESTLY?? I need to see this man's beard fully wet after he's been eating it for 30 minutes straight, I'd be soaking wet even if he doesn't finger me. No lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jittering, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, cant walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cutting, spectacular, brain cell dissolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tangos, bro could put a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

[lilyarchived]

OH MY GOD

soap x reader x simon

soap doesn't know how to make you cum on his cock so he asks his trusted lieutenant to teach him how.

sub!reader, dom!simon, switch?soap, getting fucked by soap in simon's lap, wet&messy, cumming untouched, size difference/kink, threesome, fat dick!soap, MDNI

<3 just some horny nonsense that was spinning in my brain!!!

When Simon found out that sweet Johnny was struggling with something personal and even as embarrassing as making you cum, Simon’s mouth moved faster than his brain with an offer he never thought he would utter.

“I could help you out with that,” he had said, making Soap pause, mouth agape. Simon almost rescinded those words, brushing it off as a crude joke.

But then Soap spoke.

“Would you?” he asked, blue eyes glistening hopefully.

And Simon felt his cock twitch in his jeans.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t make you cum, Soap had defended on the drive over to your shared flat. Soap was good with his tongue and his fingers, could make you squirt by just rubbing that sweet little spot inside your gooey cunt.

The problem was whenever Johnny got his cock in you, he just could never get it right. The pace was wrong, the angle was off, he went too deep – anything that he could do wrong, he would do wrong.

“It’s never been like this with other…partners,” Soap shyly whispered. Though it was dark in the truck, Simon knew his friend was blushing in embarrassment, “I-I don’t know what I’m doin’ wrong this time.”

“Well, we’ll figure it out, Johnny,” Simon assured, shoving the door open the second Soap turned the engine off.

You and Soap lived on the top floor and the elevator ride up was stifling. Soap was fidgeting, clearly more than a little nervous about how this night was meant to go.

You and he had been together for a while – long enough to move in together. Simon wondered what finally made Soap reach out for help on this little problem after so long.

But Simon wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d wanted to get his fucking hands on you from the second you bounced into the room, radiant and so sweet in the way you shyly clung to Soap’s arm. You were precious and Simon’s not proud to admit he had gone home and tugged his cock fucking raw over the way you had batted your pretty lashes at him when you looked up at him – so much smaller than him.

He knew he would be a fucking wreck the second he had you within his grasp and fuck, he was right.

His hands were shaking as he held you in his lap, gripping your knees to keep you spread wide for Soap to slot his hips between them.

You were a sensitive little thing, Simon learned. You came so easily around Soaps fingers when he worked to stretch you open for him. If you came so easily then why the fuck couldn’t Johnny get you off from his cock?

You were trembling, wide eyes teary as you watched your boyfriend carefully work his cock into you. The stretch was always so good, always making your eyes roll back in your head. Your cunt was so slick and sticky, eagerly swallowing every inch of Soap. So fucking messy. It made Simon's mouth fill with saliva at the sight of how wet you were, he wanted to taste you so badly.

Johnnys cock was fat, thick and heavy, no doubt burning your poor little cunt with how wide he had you stretched around him. You creamed around him, juices dribbling down his balls and wetting his sweatpants. You even dripped all over Simon who held you in his lap.

When Johnny started thrusting, Simon immediately understood why you couldn't seem to cum. Sure, it felt good, and you were moaning - twitching and gasping every time Soap sunk in and brushed against any sweet little spot inside. But Soaps rhythm and pace were inconsistent and he didn't seem to have any idea how to aim his cock to really hit those gooey spots that would have you falling over the edge into bliss.

Simon took a few moments to admire the scene unfolding right in his lap. You, creaming all over a cock that couldn't make you cum. Soap desperately humping your pretty cunt haphazardly and sloppily. He wasn't even bothering to touch your clit. Beneath his mask, Simon grinned.

It was so cute how Johnny went so stupid the second he got his cock wrapped up in a tight, hot pussy.

“Johnny…” Simon finally spoke, “Slow down.”

Immediately, Soap did as he was told. His pace slowed, careful rolls of his hips replacing the jackhammering.

“There's a good boy,” Simon praised, eyes darkening at the sight of Soap’s ears turning red, “Go nice ‘nd deep You gotta hit all those nice spots inside.”

Soap’s pretty, blue eyes were half-lidded as he watched you writhe and twitch in his Lieutenant’s arms. With every deep stroke, both of them could hear the sticky, wet noises of your pussy swallowing every inch.

One of Simon’s hands trailed down your thigh, inching down and down. Soap’s eyes followed every movement until his fingers finally found your hard little clit. Immediately, your cunt clamped down around Soap’s cock and the Scot moaned.

“You gotta touch this cute little clit,” Simon teased, “If you really wanna know how it feels to have a pretty cunt cum around you.”

Soap nonsensically nodded, blunt nails digging into your hips as he held himself back from fucking you like a madman again. He kept Simon’s words in mind - deep and slow. Aim for those little spots. He knows where they are, he knows where it feels good. Just don't think with his cock - that's all he had to do.

With Simon’s callused fingers swirling over your sticky clit and Soap’s fat cock stuffing you full just right, it came as no surprise when you finally came.

Soap wasn't able to stand how good it felt with how tight you were squeezing around him, pulsing through every wave of your orgasm. You were gushing, creaming sticky and wet all over him. Simon could feel you clit twitching under the pads of his fingers.

With a shout, Soap filled you up with his load, “Fuck!”

As the two of you came down, Simon’s big hands carefully stroked up and down your thighs until their trembling ceased.

“You know, Lt,” Soap panted, looking up at him through his lashes, “I think I could use a little more hands on training. How about you really show me how it's done.”

Even though Simon had quietly came in his own pants, his cock was chubbing up again at those words.

“I like the sound of that, Seargent.”

do not modify translate, or repost to other websites. reblogs welcome!

[lilyarchived]

oh. my. god.

I desperately want to see the mafia!141 realize that they've been raping her, and actually use that word, because sex under duress is not sex, it's rape, and I desperately want to see them realize that she's only been having sex with them to try and save her own life, and thus they are all rapists. Couldn't get their heads out of their asses long enough to realize that she didn't even want to, they were too caught up in all of their needs and their wants

this. is an excellent take on it and here's why; this is sort of an analysis of the past events + an update of approximately an hour after [cracks in the wall] [part of mafia!141] warnings: dark themes, talks of dubcon/noncon (though, it's kind of accidental??? just that lines were blurred), +18 smut/mentions of smut, whump/whump aftermath, guilt and regret, implications of kidnapping and imprisonment.

it's kind of been implied since losing interest in this particular paragraph;

and it's been easy to let them do whatever they wanted. sell your little apartment. move you into another one. take you to their base. sit on their lap. kiss them. have sex with them. let them pump you full of cum whenever they like. it's easier that way because you don't want to have to think about what'll happen if you refuse to do any of it.

especially that last line. from the moment you came to the conclusion that you are not in an ideal situation, that these men, no matter how good they've been to you and that they haven't physically (or emotionally) hurt you, it does not make them any less dangerous and in your mind, it does not mean that they won't turn on you at any given time for whatever reason.

so you're kind of stuck in this state of awareness, after seeing how they were around someone who's not to be trusted, how 141 gets when they don't like someone or they aren't getting their way. things get nasty for the other party. you've seen it with the two guys who mugged you (by the way, you still doesn't know what really happened to them but you doesn't think it's anything good).

and if you've learned anything about dangerous men, it's that they're easier to handle when they get what they want. so you gives them what they want, regardless of whether you want to or not because again, in your mind, they can turn on you if they're angry for being denied certain things. and where did you learn all that? yes, you guessed it, Blair.

though in that same chapter, Price tells you that you doesn't have to give him sex if you don't want to, and it kind of reassures you for a second that at the very least, you doesn't have to worry about being violated in that regard, that feeling of safety is wiped out in the next chapter when you feels the iron fist clamp down on you and keeps you grounded when you try to flee.

because you may have escaped and outlived your first captor, but you've now gained four more;

and there it is. always the same damn problem, always the same shtick. same man, different faces. you feel the sting at the corner of your eyes, your heart beating too fast for your lungs to catch up.

so of course you apply the same rules. of course you apply the same methods that have kept you alive before. complacency. silence. submission. on repeat. all day, every day. and it wears you down faster than when you were with Blair because there's four of them, you have to do it more often since they're constantly around. at least with Blair, he was around for a couple of hours max before he got bored and sought the comfort of another woman, leaving his wife to rest a little bit. survival mode, you'd would call it.

now from the boys perspective, it looked more like staring down a brick wall. sure, you smiled and laughed and went along where they guide you, but it felt hollow. there was none of the spark and natural emotion on your end.

it felt manufactured. some days, you were better at hiding it, some days, you were not. it just depends.

on days when you hide it well, they thought you felt better about the whole ordeal, that you were starting to accept that keeping you here was for your own good. especially since you'd been followed and nearly been abducted by one of their enemies, it was evident that you were in danger and you needed their protection, so the best way to receive it is by listening to their instructions and staying put.

so things were easier. for them. they saw a pretty smile and didn't want to question the validity of it. they'd hoped, at least, that you'd cooled down enough for them to try and soothe whatever ire was left.

they approached you with caution, with soft words and heated mouths to try and seduce you back into their bed. although you went along with it, let them lie you on your back and spread your thighs, you don't quite fully put your mind into it. just go with the motions until it's over and leave right after.

it does help that they make it enjoyable. makes it easier not to restrain the urge to struggle or push them away. but you wish you didn't have to spend so much energy catering to that specific need, even if it is for your own survival. it is, at the end of the day, a necessary evil.

but even if you do enjoy it, it doesn't mean that the boys would've gone through any of it if they knew you didn't want to. Kyle had suddenly suspected that in cracks in the wall in this scene;

"then please explain what exactly it is he meant." you said, putting the bottle down and swirling the half-full glass. "because i've done all you guys have asked without one complaint." he doesn't like the way you phrase that. it implies you've been forced to do things you don't want to do and that's not... true... is it? Gaz tries not to think about that for a minute. tries not to think about what that could imply.

because what it does imply is what @slasherfantasy pointed out.

and it is not something that sits well with 141.

they know they should've paid more attention. seen the signs. the very brief hesitation in your eyes when they approached you or initiated sex before it was replaced by a smile. the stiffness in your posture, the tremble in your hands, your dull eyes feigning all the emotions they wanted to see, instead what they should've seen.

a cloud of remorse fall upon the four of them as they sit at the table in silence. each nursing a glass of hard liquor of their choosing. and don't think Ghost is guiltless in all this, he's still beating himself up for not speaking to you sooner while all of this was happening.

"i think i'm gonna be sick—" Soap immediately went to the bathroom to hurl out his insides. he could almost hear his parents severe disappointment. his mother and sisters out casting him from the MacTavish clan, casting him aside for being such a disgrace to them.

same with Gaz and Price. it's a bit different with Ghost because he abandoned you and couldn't save you, the same way he couldn't save his mother.

the echo of your voice, calling Price by a different name. calling him Blair because that's who you saw in him. in all of them.

none of them slept that night. Price, through the tightening in his throat, rubbed Gaz's back while the Sergeant quietly wept. Price trashed his office that night, feeling the last bit of control slip through his fingers. a failure. an abuser. a monster.

Ghost, in his absence, turning his back on you. and he felt like with his insight, his experience with living under survival mode and living with someone else in survival mode (his mother), he would've been able to tell. to at least see what was going on with you. but no. he turned a blind eye to you because he was too stuck in his own anger for you trying to escape a situation his mother would've probably tried to escape too. he may not have raised a hand to you, but he feels just like his father.

and Gaz? your best friend. your confidant. the one who communicates and knows your thoughts better than all of them because you trusted him, trusted that he wouldn't hurt you. he should've been the first to know. should've been the first one to fucking tell. and he was, which was the most fucked up part. but he didn't want to think that he (or Price, Soap and Ghost) were the direct problem, just the rules they implemented. he didn't think... he didn't think the problem wasn't that extensive. he assumed that you were just upset you don't get to go anywhere anymore.

all four of them grieve for what they'd unconsciously done, for being worse than Blair even.

they couldn't look you in the eye next morning. didn't dare to touch you, knowing you wouldn't appreciate it. for the first time in weeks, they kept their distance out of fear of upsetting you even more. each of them kneeling at your feet, uttering endless apologies and promises of "never again".

you didn't talk to them. went completely silent after your outburst. truthfully, you were exhausted. too drained to spew any more fire. you just wanted to sleep.

and maybe never wake up if it meant looking any of them in the eye again.

banner by @cafekitsune mafia!141 masterlist offer a note in the picklejar

[lilyarchived]

simon who knows ur in love with him so he asks u to marry him bc hes lonely. he doesn't love you, barely even likes you. but you give him affection and you're so devoted to him that he decides he can just use you to fuel his own selfish need to not be alone. doesn't care that he hurts you when he ignores you for days on end or when he never tells you that he loves you back. you're just there to keep his mind off things and keep his bed warm. only does enough to keep you dangling on the line, enough to keep you from crying for more from him because he doesn't want to deal with u whining about your feelings - he doesn't care about your feelings. you love him wholeheartedly and that's the only thing that's useful to him.

[lilyarchived]

i eat this shit up pls dont ever stop

"Simon Riley fucks" "Simon Riley knows how to use what he's got" BLAH BLAH BLAH BORINGGG

What about virgin Simon Riley? What about Simon Riley who didn't really have any opportunities in his teen years? What about Simon Riley who didn't have very strong urges from his teen years to his early 20s? What about Simon Riley whose libido became almost nonexistent after his SA? Not just because of the nature of what happened, but because his brain shut that part of his brain off until he was ready for it.

What about Simon Riley who meets you, his sweet girlfriend, and begins to feel those small urges come back? What about Simon Riley who feels a little lost as to what to do? Not because "Oh he's so nervous and a cinnamon roll 👉👈", but because he just missed out on opportunities that would have taught him what he doesn't know now.

What about Simon Riley who kisses a little sloppy? Who goes a little too fast, eager to feel you and finally has those urges he's heard so much about? What about Simon Riley who is very sensitive due to the lack of experience and touch? What about Simon Riley who lets out little whimpers when you straddle him and grind down on him? What about Simon Riley who almost cums just from dry humping, having to all but push you off him so he doesn't cum too quick?

What about Simon Riley who has never eaten pussy ever in his life? What about when he gently lays you down on the bed and gently removes your pants along with your panties? What about Simon Riley who is worried he won't be able to make you feel very good? What about Simon Riley who spaces out a little, overthinking what he's about to do? What about when he feels your hands brush through his hair gently, wiggling your hips a little, desperate to feel him? What about when he slowly licks a stripe up your cunt and all but moans at the taste and feeling? What about Simon Riley who becomes pussy drunk so easily that he could be mistaken for the one receiving? What about Simon Riley who begins to hump the bed slowly as he eats you out? What about when he pushes two fingers into you and whines at how warm you are? What about when he hears your gasps and moans get higher and higher pitched as you get close to your release and finds himself joining in? What about when you cry out as you come, thighs tightening around his head, and he does the same? What about when he feels the bed below him become warm and sticky? What about when he hides his face in your thighs, embarrassed at his mess? What about that, hm?

[lilyarchived]

oh lord

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! new Neil's instagram story

[lilyarchived]

stop stop the difference between the kisses 😔😔 i love this sm no one understands

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon waking up in the middle of the night horny and unable to get back to sleep. There's only one thing he wants to fix it.

The room is doused in darkness when Simon stirs awake, an ache situating itself in his chest that only grows the more he comes into consciousness. There is a flush in his cheeks, a heat in his face that he can sense now; the beginning signs of something visceral happening in his body that cannot be stopped. It's very late, too late to be awake, yet the longer he lays there the more his thoughts keep him from drifting back off. 

Sleep has caused you both to separate and find yourselves on opposite sides of the bed, but that gnawing feeling in his abdomen pushes him to close the distance between your bodies. Turning back over to face you, he moves through the cover to wrap his strong arms around your middle and pull himself up against you until his warm, bare chest rests as your back. United once again, his nose nuzzles into the crook of your neck, broad chest molding perfectly into the curve of your spine. 

He hopes that maybe a little touch will sate him enough to fall back asleep, but it only makes the hunger worse. The blood begins to rush like liquid fire through his veins along with an overwhelming sense of anticipation: hot, invigorating energy coursing into his limbs that causes his mind to go hazy as he craves more contact. 

Movements are subtle at first, drawing you out of your dreams and gently back into being consciousness of the room as Simon stirs against your back, pressing himself tightly up to you until you mimic puzzle pieces with how your bodies fit together. You can feel the bulky contours of his chest through your tank top, the hair covering the surface lightly tickling the skin exposed along your shoulder blades between the straps as warm breath from his nose tingles across your shoulder and down your back.

Still drunk on sleep it takes you a minute to feel a stiffening, throbbing bulge pressing into your butt cheek through his boxers as the sensation of exploring hands finding their way underneath and inside your tank top numbs your already thoughtless mind. Roaming the curves of your hips and torso up towards your chest, delicate touches from calloused hands become more intentional by the second as soft, silky skin tantalizes his rough fingertips. 

Lips pepper themselves along your shoulder, quick, staccato kisses hot and sleepily sweeping over the curve of your neck as far as he can go. His lips leave burning trails along your flesh wherever they find themselves pressed until you tingle with a growing euphoric passion that urges you to seek more. Steamy breath hits your earlobe as that husky, gruff voice of his, more raspy and thickly accented from just waking up, breaks the silence.

"Can't sleep," he groans in a desperate whisper into your ear. “Need ya somethin’ fuckin’ fierce, sweet girl. Gotta come or I ain't gettin’ anymore rest tonight.”

Slowly he slides the arm on top of your hip palm side down over your abdomen and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties so that he can enter them and slip down the font. You are positioned on your side, your leg hiked up towards your chest so he can easily get between your legs. As fingers slip further down and into the space between your thighs, his breathing becomes more strained, hitching as he gets that first taste of the heat that waits for him. 

You adjust yourself in his grasp, pressing your butt up into him as his hand lingers against your inner thigh for only a moment. Your reciprocation only enhances his desire, positive nervous energy coursing through his limbs as he presses a burning palm up into the mound of your sex. Your body squirms at the sensitivity of that first contact as his hand applies pressure.

He inhales sharply through his teeth; he is losing it fast. “You’re so fuckin’ warm; so warm and soft. Fuck sweetheart, ya feel so goddamn good."

Gently, a finger splits you open to dive inside and up against that pleasure center as the top of your sex, drowsy whimpers and whines from your lips begin to fill his ears while he starts to draw soft circles over your clit. Careful, easy caresses he uses, nothing too hasty even with his gnawing desire eating away at him the more he gets a feel of all that ecstasy between your legs; soon enough he will be diving into all that goodness.

His mouth makes its way back to your shoulder, occasionally embracing the skin until your body trembles against his lips from the pleasure the more you melt into him. Words fail you as you can only focus on how good his fingers feel, relaxing your body with a few simple strokes while you still hover between sleep and awake. He feels like a goddamn dream, ecstasy in every single stroke to ease you into a tantalizing calm.

Faint, gratifying moans punctuate the silence of the night and send excited shivers down his spine. He wants to touch himself, but is satisfied enough to touch you while he lets the friction of his body grind his crotch into your side to take him further. “Goddamn, ya make me feel good. Do I make ya feel good, baby?” he asks breathlessly; he craves your music, but wants your desperate words most of all.  

Simon’s hand presses up harder into you, pushing you to answer him. You wriggle as you shake your head up and down. “Yes,” you mewl, a pronounced ache in your tone. 

You invite him to move in further as you spread your legs open wider so that he can access your core and with two fingers he pushes them inside. Instantly he is met by the slick wetness that envelopes his fingers as the walls of your pussy close around them to suck them in. 

“Such a pretty girl wrapped ‘round my fingers,” he purrs, as he rests his forehead on your shoulder, thrusting those longer digits in and out of you to the beat of his heart as you begin to rock on his hand. “Ya always look so good with any part of me buried in ya.”

His arm that is situated underneath you is still in your shirt and crawls to your chest to cup a breast against his palm, kneading all the beautifully plush tissue that fills it. Massaging all that fullness in his hand you lean into the feeling, but your tank top is a bit too restrictive, not allowing full ease of access, and so off it must go. Simon helps you wiggle out of it and discard it somewhere in the confines of the bed as his fingers stay resting inside of you until you can lay back down. The cool air outside of the covers sends a chill down your spine, though it doesn’t last as he is immediately pulling you back underneath and up against him again in that spooning position once more.

Your eyes flutter shut as you embrace the pleasure as your hazy mind is only full of thoughts of him. “You always do this to me, make me a mess,” you say breathlessly as he gets right back to work. 

In and out, in and out his fingers glide up into you as the dampness grows and leaks out of your entrance the longer he goes. Your body responds to him just as if it was designed to do so and soon you are a puddle in his capable hands. The more wet you get, the more his mind races; that urge that caused him to wake up reaching its peak. He needs to have you, needs to feel himself inside you, and with each pump of his fingers that need grows.

“Gettin’ fuckin’ desperate sweetheart, can't stop this ache till I have ya,” he groans at the edge of your ear before taking the tender flesh of your earlobe into his mouth to nibble at. “Do ya feel how fuckin’ hard I am? Goddammit, I need to be inside ya. Are ya ready for me?”

A muted hum of approval escapes your mouth; he’s gotten you close enough. “Please god, put in,” you agree between quick breaths. “I-I don’t wanna wait any longer.”

Simon is tugging down his boxers before you can even finish your sentence, his cock springing to attention now that it is free of its cage and pulsing wildly with his increasing heart rate. You go to roll over and face him, but he places his hand on your thigh to stop you from turning. He wants to fuck you like this, back to chest, spooning you in his arms. 

“That’s it, keep your leg up just like that. Wanna hold ya while I make the both of us feel fuckin’ amazin’."

Oh, you have no doubt about that. 

Keeping your hips forward and pulling them back he holds the base of his cock in his hand as he aligns it with your entrance, pressing the tip against the hole and adding his arousal to yours to coat you in even more lubrication. You can feel how hard it is, just waiting to pierce up into that tight, warm hole in your pussy. 

One arm wrapped around your middle holds you to him while his opposite hand grips into your ass cheek as he pushes against your top hip to keep you spread until he can carefully thrust inside. He only gets the tip in before he has to pause as the sudden restriction around his phallus has his body quivering and you gasping as he stretches you wide.

“So tight, so f-fuckin’ tight,” he bites back a moan as his voice wavers. “God, you’re fuckin’ heaven, luv.”  

A few deep breaths to calm himself and Simon thrusts again, this time pushing himself all the way inside right down to the base. Goddamn, the bellow of a moan that ripped through his chest vibrated throughout his entire body, his toes curling at all the overwhelming sensation of his cock smothering inside you, your walls clenching around him as your body desperately fights to accommodate being so full. 

“How the fuck am I not supposed to be obsessed with ya,” he whispers in a shudder, closing his eyes and bracing himself to become more calm before moving again. 

His thrusts are easy at first, but still forceful, shoving his thick, veiny cock as far into you as he can get. Hips rolling, back arching parallel to the mattress, he picks a steady rhythm and sticks to it while taking on the brunt of the work as it was his craving for your ecstasy that got you both here in the first place.

Every movement of his cock at this angle engages that sweet spot inside as wet, slapping sounds become more audible the more soaked you get, punctuated by his strained grunts with each time he slams into your pussy. The pressure feels divine, almost too good; mix that with the sinful beauty in your sounds and soon he’s being swept up in it all so that his mind goes numb. 

What starts as slow quickly picks up speed as more feral desires flood to the surface, leaving him at the mercy of his need. His pace is now intense, pounding into you with ferocity to make the bed shake beneath your bodies. The muscular arm that lays underneath you moves up to cradle your neck as it stretches across your chest to cup your breast. Again he kneads it more roughly this time, teasing the nipple with his fingertips as he rubs circles over it before taking it between his fingers to pinch at the tender flesh and make your body writhe with the extra stimulation.

Rotating your upper body at an angle, you now face him and immediately his lips are on yours, capturing them in sloppy, heated kisses that steal the oxygen straight from your lungs making you gulp in air in short bursts whenever your mouths break free, which isn’t for long. You are completely overtaken by his entire form as he steals kiss after aggressive kiss until your lips are raw and stinging.

Sweat gathers along your brow, tiny pinpricks of perspiration as he pushes you to your limit. At your back you can feel his abdominal muscles clenching tight with each plunge of his cock inside. You want more. Reaching down the front of your body, you find your clit and begin to rub circles around the nub. Simon catches the movement from the corner of his eye and breaks from your mouth.

“My job,” he struggles to speak as he rips your hand away from your pussy and replaces it with his own. 

Christ, you are on fire, grinding against his fingers as his cock fills your cunt from behind. “Yes, y-yes,” you choke out, eyes slamming shut as the multiple forms of stimulation drive you insane; every single brush of air upon your skin, each movement of his body against your own, each tug and grip and rub leaves only more pleasure in its wake.

“That’s it, sweet girl, ride me, ride me,” he grunts desperately. “Fuck, I’m almost there.” 

You were just as close, that gathering hot tension in your stomach ready to shoot off at any second. The slick begins to dribble down your thighs and onto the sheets, covering your skin in that warm, sticky liquid. Simon feels it too and the taste buds on his tongue light up as he thinks about all that sweetness coating the both of you. Even harder and faster his frenzied pace drills his cock into you relentlessly as those thoughts  fill his mind and make him ravenous for all parts of your beautiful body.

He’s about to blow. “Be a good girl and come for me-yeah?” he practically begs, wanting to feel himself come undone by your orgasm. “Let go, that’s it.”

All of a sudden you go silent as the string finally snaps and over the edge you fall with just a few more thrusts inside your dripping hole. Shit you are seeing stars as your toes curl and you cry out with a whimper that has him rocketing over the edge as your engorged walls clench around him.

“Fuck!” groans loud and forceful as his arms wrap around you tight, holding you to his chest so hard you can barely breathe. His hips continue to pound into you as he milks himself dry, grinding against your ass until he has nothing left to give. Body shuddering as all his urges drain from his mind he falls back onto the mattress to breathe through the high as you roll over to lay against him. 

It takes him a few minutes to calm down, but once his breathing is under control he leans down to press more delicate kisses to your lips this time. “Sorry I woke ya up,” he apologizes, though it hardly sounds like he is remorseful at all. “Seems I just can’t help myself when it comes to ya.”

You chuckle softly. “I’ve noticed.”

Simon smiles back at you, hand cupping your face so that he can rub his thumb gently over your flushed cheek. “Can ya blame me when I have such a sweet thing right at my fingertips? Who wouldn’t get a midnight craving?”

[lilyarchived]

i eat this trope up for breakfast lunch and dinner frl !! i can see reader hurting when their kids grow up to look exactly like their dads 😞😞

I love your mafia!141. Its so interesting and realistic at the same time, its just wonderful. But what if... someone tried to frame the reader and succeed. The reader was just at the right places at the right time and some uses it against them and with the tention between the reader and mafia!141, it was so easy to belive they betrayed them. So they interrogate the reader and hurt them to get answers that dont exist. And by the time they realize what they did, it's too late. They go looking for they were they last left ( unceremoniously dumped) them and find nothing. The reader gone in the wind as if they never existed. The reader however was surprisingly help by someone passing by that just happens to be an agent of some sort and gets put under witness protection. Now its been six /seven years later, the boys think the reader is dead and the reader is living a life somewere new with her twins ( heteropaternal superfecundation), a pale skined,blue eyed and brown haired boy and a chocolate skined, hazel-eyed and curly haired girl. And one day the boys have to do business in a different city and see the reader somewhere with the twins. The guys are shocked to say the least and think they mite have seen a ghost, till they see them again one morning as the reader is taking the twins to school. And thus they realize they have kids with a woman they thought they killed... And so i leave the rest to you if you do deside to use any of this.

your mind is so wrinkly but i kinda hate you for putting this in my head because this trope is my weakness👽 I've only seen one reference of heteropaternal superfecundation in mainstream media, which was from s1 of American Horror story and it's a nice touch to bring the idea here👌🏽 not going into the canon timeline of mafia!141 but i'm leaving this here for all to see because it's just too good to leave rotting in my inbox🫠🫠🫠 warnings: dark themes, stalking, mentions of torture, elements of ptsd, unconventional parenting schedule/custody arrangements, a looot of guilt.

it's unclear whether they're devastated, relieved or just in pure shock upon seeing you after all these years. and with two boys too, aged eight now.

eight years. eight fucking years since they last saw you. that can't be a coincidence.

they kept a close eye on you, so they don't lose you again. kept your movements tracked, learned where you live, where you work, where your kids go to school, who you and your kids hang out with, the whole nine yards and more.

they don't approach you for a good while, at least a few months. too afraid that they might spook you. too afraid that you might take off and leave without a trace. this time with your children— their children.

but eventually, due to your past trauma, you catch on to the fact that you're being followed. that unnerving itch at the back of your head, a quiet whisper telling you that you're being watched. it nags at you, makes you fearful that you're in danger, that your boys are in danger.

so you quietly pack up all the necessities you need to get out in case things turn sideways fast. and your sons have already made aware that they're going on a trip, but they're smart, as kids are. they notice that something's wrong and it's making their mom worried.

but the second you try to run, they're already at your doorstep because, again, they've been watching you closely.

you're not surprised when you opened the door to find Price standing there.

"can i come in?"

if he's here, then no doubt the others are too. watching. waiting for you to make the wrong move. you have no doubt that the house is surrounded. that even if, by some miracle, you get through Price, either Soap or Ghost will be waiting for you and Gaz is somewhere on higher ground, watching through the scope of a rifle.

no way out. just like last time.

you don't look away from Price as you call out, "boys, go to your room."

their footsteps quickly patter down the hall and you hear the door close. you step back to let Price in and close the door behind him. you don't offer him a drink, don't offer him a seat. nothing. he deserves nothing from you.

"beautiful home." he muses, glancing around the cosy interior of your house. he turns to look at you with a wry smile. "beautiful children."

you can't think of anything worse than him getting his hands on your sons. what they put you through was bad enough. in fact, it should've killed you.

you would rather go through all of it again than let them harm a single hair on your children's heads.

"keep them out of this." you spoke too sharply. the words cut through the air.

you think maybe it's not such a good idea to speak like that to someone who holds your life in the palm of his hands.

"please..." it's a whisper this time, a plea. "please keep them out of this."

something crumples in his eyes. a flash of heartbreak, of a devastation that will take an eternity to heal. but it's fleeting. gone as quickly as the wind. what's left is something somber.

"i just want to talk." he finally says.

the boys stick close to you. naturally, they feed off of your energy. they watch you closely, see how you react to things and follow your lead. rightfully so; after all, mother knows best.

you hardly go anywhere far when 141 is around them. always ready to step in if you feel that your sons need you. always beckoning them when you can't see them for more than a few minutes.

Gaz and Soap might be fathers to each boy, but that doesn't change how unsafe you feel around them.

the fact weighs heavily on all four of them.

Price and his boys don't uproot you and your children. not this time. they learned the hard way that doing so will only make you more fearful and by extension, making the boys less trusting of them.

instead, it's better to work around your already established life and schedule. even if it means moving 141 headquarters to an entirely new city, they'll do it. they'll do whatever you want, as long as you keep them involved in your and your sons' lives.

Ghost and Price are good to your kids. Price adores listening to them talk about school and Ghost sort of treats them like mini-adults because he feels sort of out of his element when it comes to children.

but they can't help but think that you're only allowing Soap and Gaz supervised visitations to keep some semblance of peace. because deep down, they know you feel as though you don't have a choice, that things will be worse if you don't give them something to work with.

deep down, they know that if you had the power, your sons would be kept as far away from their fathers as possible. and not out of spite, it's out of fear. you're terribly afraid that they'll hurt your children.

yet, that's not even the worst part.

slowly, with time, the boys become a little more open towards their dads and their uncles. they smile more, they're more playful, more talkative. but you remain steadfast in your cold demeanour.

if the boys need new clothes, you remain afar while Soap and Gaz take their pick from the clothing aisles and do their shopping. you hardly say a word during the process. you treat it more as a tedious task, rather than a bonding ritual. and you don't accept any gifts from Soap and Gaz either.

any stray dresses or accessories that don't look like they're for kids that wind up in the shopping basket are promptly taken out and put back where they were found when your sons aren't looking. you either claimed that you didn't like them or don't have anywhere you'd like to wear them to.

which, technically, isn't a lie. you hardly have any friends. you just don't trust people nowadays.

you keep yourself seperate from them, aside from the supervised visits. you don't allow for them to get close too you because you don't want to have to go through the same heartbreak before if someone betrays them and thinks you did it again.

and they hate themselves for it. it's not your fault you're so aloof with them. not allowing them to touch you, to hold you, even for just a few seconds. refusing dates, refusing gifts, not using their cards for your own stuff like treating yourself with a spa day or a shopping spree.

the only notifications that come onto their phones are food and stuff you bought for the boys. that's it. nothing else. and it hurts because they adore spoiling you rotten and you won't let them like before.

it's their own personal hell. being so close, yet so far from you. held at arm's length as if they were mere strangers.

banners by @cafekitsune mafia!141 masterlist offer a note in the picklejar

[lilyarchived]

HELLLO??? NEEDS MORE ATTENTION THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER

All I want for Christmas

For my lovely wife @juvenillia as a part of the secret Santa exchange. I'm sorry it took so long love

Simon Riley x f! reader

Summary: Your holiday plans are thwarted when the task force is abruptly called away for a mission.

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: reader celebrates Christmas.

You’d always been ambivalent towards the holidays, especially the christmas season. The wonder that had illuminated your childhood at the lights, the decorated trees and the general spirit people exuded had long since faded. While you didn’t hate the holiday season, it was hard to muster up the same level of excitement and magic that children seemed to naturally conjure. 

When it came down to it, you supposed the issue in truth was your family, or rather the lack thereof, most of the remaining members of your jagged family being low, to no contact completely. Atleast, that was the case until your old lieutenant, John Price, had dragged you into his new off the books task force. Sergeants Kyle Garrick and John Mactavish were hard people to hate, not that you’d tried, and both had very quickly wormed their way into your heart through the high stress situations you’d endured together over the years. 

Though given the way Soap had seemingly latched on with both hands and refused to let you go, dragging you to his concernigly empty home in Scotland to spend the holidays together a few years back let you know that he was likely just as lonely. Kyle had hosted the next, Captain Price had been bullied into opening his apartment for the third, and then when it became apparent this would be a 141 tradition, surprisingly Laswell and her wife had welcomed you all with open arms into their home. 

It was through your team, your family, that you started to once again regain that childlike wonder for the holidays. Even Simon, grinch that he seemed to be was always present, glass of Eggnog in his hand as he watched his teammates engage in childlike behaviour from the corner. Soap had tried to pester the large man into wearing the matching pajamas that you, Kyle and him all now proudly wore but that was apparently a step too far. 

You weren’t fooled by his nonchalant persona though, not when you could still so clearly picture the shock and vulnerability that had settled over his pretty unmasked face the first time you’d handed him a full stocking decorated painstakingly with his name in silver thread. The stockings you’d made for your team were incredibly shoddy, a labour of love not skill. Yet even two years later, frayed and chunky, they were still in use. Johnny had been genuinely aghast when you’d tried to take them back, to buy them new, better quality ones. 

With the way your eyes seemed to naturally gravitate towards Simon it would have been impossible not to notice the way he had flinched slightly at your suggestion, hands protectively clutching his stocking. Nor could it escape your notice that every year as the stocking frayed more and more, Simon’s still seemed to be in immaculate shape. Somedays you could swear it seemed to be better off than when you’d first gifted it, though that was probably wishful thinking.  

Your fifth Christmas with the team was rapidly approaching, a fact Johnny wouldnt let you forget, practically vibrating out of his skin at the exciting prospect of celebrating Christmas at your place. As you and Simon were the only remaining members who hadn’t hosted the onus had fallen on you even if you hadn’t volunteered. It seemed the entire squad had silently assumed it would be you, not the paranoidly private Simon, yourself included. 

The apartment you lived in was small but comfortable, and with two weeks until Christmas it was already decked out with lights, tinsel and a small tree covered in garish ornaments. You’d received some odd looks from people in the shopping centre but you were too excited to care. Presents had been bought, multiple for each of your teammates in fact when you kept finding better gifts. Or rather, you’d gathered an assortment of gifts for everyone but Simon. Nothing seemed to quite fit. Sure, there had been a few bits and bobs that you could have settled for, but in your mind nothing had been good enough for him, his gift needed to be perfect. An announcement that the centre was closing ringing through the stores PA system had you dejectedly walking back to your car, the determined promise of tomorrow for sure ringing through your mind. 

Tomorrow is thwarted when the phone you keep in the bedside drawer rings urgently at 3am, rousing you from the light slumber that was characteristic of all your nights sleep. It only takes a few minutes for the gorgginess to exit your system as Price’s grim voice filters through the speaker as you roll out of bed with a less than professional whine. Couldn’t the terrorists or whoever have waited until after the holiday season? Until March even?

Johnny’s just as pouty as you and though the two of you form a coalition to turn your best puppy dog eyes on Price to try and convince him to pawn whatever bullshit mission you’ve been called on to another squad, the captain apparently doesn’t find the act cute enough. Simon jokes that Soap’s ugly mug probably hindered more than anything and thus you were stuck between the two as a sacrificial lamb before things escalated. 

Between the early wake up call and the prospect of being called out so close to Christmas tensions were running a little high. The lack of decent intel further fraying the nerves of everyone bar the ever unflappable Ghost who sat rigid and alert as ever even when you slumped down in the seat next to him on the helo. You’d barely been given a few hours to prep before you were already getting shipped off to Chechnya where the team was then tasked with entering the country very illegally and covertly. In otherwords the whole thing was a shit show and a half and it was felt through the silent tension that thrummed in the air. 

Simon’s large muscled frame pressed lightly against your side, something you were increasingly aware of as the flight droned on. Heat emanating from his body and sinking into your skin. Pressed so closely, you could smell him before he was marred by sweat, dirt and blood, a rarity. He didn’t wear a nice cologne, smelling like simple soap and washing detergent, but it was nice nonetheless. It was nice because it was just so Simon. 

Exhausted already both physically and mentally, you quickly fall asleep to the lull of the whirring blades and warm pillow of muscle sitting to your left, head lolling to slump against his arm. Lost in your slumber as you are, you completely miss the way he tenses minutely at the sensation before quickly relaxing, shuffling just a little to ensure your maximum comfort. He spends far too long staring at your sleeping face, warm eyes committing every little detail to memory. It’s not until he reluctantly tears his gaze away from your peaceful visage that he sees Captain Price’s amused look, brow raised pointedly as he stares at his two subordinates. Not for the first time in his life Simon is thankful for the mask, leaving none of the pink blush marring his skin visible. 

The mission goes totally fubar almost immediately, because of course it does, the whole thing was fucked from the start. Somewhere in the back of the alarms whirring in your mind as you ran through the dense woodlands you recognise that maybe Kyle’s theory of foul play wasn’t so farfetched. 

Price is barking something over the gunfire that you don’t hear over the chaos and deafening ringing  in your ears, Johnny’s swearing over the comms as he switches between sniping and hightailing it down from overwatch to the exfil location. You’re half dragging, half carrying Kyle along as he mumbles deliriously, head slumped into the crook of your neck and left leg hanging nearly limply as you both blindly stumble. 

You’re fucked. You and Kyle are so unbelievably fucked it’s a little funny, and if it weren’t for the fact your lungs were burning and working overtime to expand and provide you with desperately needed oxygen you’d probably be laughing. 

You’re fucked. You’re probably going to die. You and Kyle, who’s useless without you, who’s relying on you to get him to safety. That’s the part that stings the most, that causes your lower lip to wobble traitorously and tears of panic to build in your lashline. Not the fact that you’ll die, forgotten and buried in a cover up orchestrated by your government, but the fact that you’ll take Kyle with you. Sweet, loyal, driven Kyle who wormed his way into your life and into your damn heart. Your confidante. The only person who knew how you really felt about… Simon. 

Simon Riley. The goddamned smug, cocky, bastard that had taken it a step further than the rest of your teammates when he smashed his way into your life. The man you eventually came to realise was nothing like the fear tinged rumours. Sure, the Ghost was scary and more than a little rough around the edges but Simon was kind, generous, gentle, funny, and looking back on it you suppose you’d been doomed from the start. 

You were going to die and he was all you could think about. Where was he? Was he hurt? Was he safe? What if he didn’t make it out? Would he die alone, bleeding out in the snow, not knowing that you loved him?

Moving on a cocktail of adrenaline, muscle memory and desperation you finally burst out of the treeline and towards the road where the exfil vehicles were already roaring to life. A quick head count has you sagging in relief despite the situation. Johnny. Price. Simon. They’re all waiting for you and Kyle, and though it’s impossible to gauge any injuries just yet, it seems that you and Kyle are the worst off by far. 

The relief abruptly leaves your body with a yelp as you take one step down the small hill towards the road only to immediately trip, legs giving way as you and subsequently Kyle fall forwards and tumble down through the slush. Between one blink and the next the shouting starts up again and you’re ceremoniously pulled up from the ground and tugged into a vehicle in a mess of confusion and limbs. 

When your vision finally focuses it’s to the sight of brown eyes crinkled with more concern than you’d ever seen surrounded by a signature skull mask. Trying to sit up, the world tilts precariously once more as a large hand pushes your sternum back down against the seats and a gravelly accent barks something at you. Any other time you’d be elated at the touch but right now you couldn’t even begin to think to appreciate it.

Simon’s yelling something that sounds vaguely like your name, as if trying to get your attention between whatever he’s screaming at who’s driving. Your head lolls to the side in an attempt to better gauge your surroundings but the movement does nothing but send your vision spinning, a sudden sharp burning pain radiating from near your collarbone. Clumsily one of your hands attempts to clutch the aching site, attempting to locate the problem. You end up missing in spectacular fashion, blinking in confusion at your sudden lack of motor skills until there’s a hand on your chin, tilting your face back up to look into uncharacteristically alarmed eyes. 

Simon’s other hand pushes down on your shoulder harshly and pain anew lights your nerves on fire as you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks as you thrash. All you achieve is further agitating your injuries and expending the very little adrenaline fuelled energy you still had. 

“-me. Look at me!” Your hearing suddenly kicks back just in time to hear the tinge of desperation in the Lieutenant’s voice, the black spots in your vision clearing just a little to allow you one last look into Simon’s eyes. Even when they’re wide with terror you can’t help but think how pretty his eyes are, the sentiment might even slip past your tingling lips though you can’t be sure as you abruptly lose the battle and your body shuts down into unconsciousness.  

It’s a steady, consistent beeping that your mind registers first, before your eyelids that feel like they’re weighed down with glue even open. Your lack of vision quickly becomes second on the list of priorities when you try to breathe, only to find yourself gagging and choking on an obtrusion in your throat. You struggle blindly for what feels like an eternity, panic mounting as you fight for oxygen and to get your leaden, useless limbs to cooperate. 

Suddenly hands are grabbing at you, firm voice speaking over the now rapid beeping of what’s probably the heart monitor. Your eyes burst open at the same instant the trachael tube is pulled out, leaving you to gasp and cough for air as a warm hand cups your cheek tenderly whilst helping you sit up. It takes a few more seconds for the blur in your vision to completely clear but when it does it’s to the visage of Simon’s soft brown eyes once again. 

He’s not wearing his mask, giving you the perfect view of his deep purple eye bags and greasy, dishevelled hair. “You look like shit,” your voice is a croaky rasp, throat like sandpaper and Simon’s handing you a styrofoam cup of water before you can even ask. You take small sips of the cool liquid, savouring the soothing nature. 

“Pot meet kettle” he grunted, slumping down into the far too small chair that had been pulled to your bedside. You watch in appreciate silence as he brings one arm up to rub the back of his neck, the muscles in his biceps flexing beneath the sleeve of his shirt. Though after a few more seconds of observation the corners of your lips dip into a frown, he seemed far too used to the room, almost as if he was used to it. Had he been watching over you? Waiting for you to wake up?

You don’t comment on it though, a sudden panic smacking you square in the chest as you sit up instinctively once more, ignoring the pain that shoots up the left side of your body once more as you suddenly remember, “Oh god Kyle-” 

“Garrick’s fine, already discharged. We’ve just been waiting for you to get your lazy ass up sleeping beauty.” You hate the way your traitorous heart skips a beat at his words, the monitor betraying your emotions and given the way Simon smirks at you it’s clear he noticed. 

Though the embarrassment is quickly flushed away by a second round of panic, “wait, what’s the date today? What happened? How long have I been out?” the questions fly out rapid fire. He answers all your questions calmly and with patience, not at all angry. You’d been shot, which certainly explained the fierce ache in your chest and arm even through whatever drugs they’d doped you up on. That made sense you supposed, but it was hardly as alarming as when the date registered in your mind. 

“Wait it’s the 26th?” devastation coloured your tone, “I missed Christmas?” It was such a silly, trivial thing to get upset over. You’d almost died, but that was nothing in the face of missing getting to celebrate with your team. Your lower lip starts to wobble dangerously before you can stop it as Simon’s eyes widen in alarm, standing so quickly the chair falls over with a clang that gets ignored as he hovers anxiously, taking your clenched hands in his own and rubbing calming circles over your pulse point in your wrist. 

“It’s ok lass, nobody’s upest with you. We’ll celebrate when you get discharged yeah?” Looking back on the memory you’ll laugh, but right now you’re too emotional to react logically. 

“S’not just that, I didn’t have time to get you a present! Everything was s’posed to be perfect and now it’s all ruined” you exclaim. The two of you must make quite the sight from an outsiders perspective, a near hysterical woman more upset over the prospect of missing Christmas than the fact she’d been shot and a hulking man in black hovering somehwat frantically in an attempt to soothe. 

“You waking up is the best present I could’ve asked for darlin’” he finally murmurs, so quietly that you almost don’t hear. His long, calloused fingers entwined with yours as he sat on the edge of the mattress, having finally disengaged the finnicky railing. 

“That doesn’t count” you weakly protest, once again cursing the heart monitor for giving away your internal struggle, “‘sides, Johnny and Kyle got three things.” Some of the humour has returned to the situation for Simon, and your pout only deepens when he smirks at you. 

“Did they now? You playing favourites?” You know he’s teasing but you still can’t help but squawk of indignation. “You’ll have to make it up to me,” he continues on, completely unphased even as you smack him on the arm like a child throwing a temper tantrum, “How bout a kiss? That should be enough yeah?” The heart monitor blares like thunder in the background in a way you’ll know will probably alarm the nurses but you can’t think about that. Can’t think about anything other than Simon. The baritone lilt of his voice that had trailed off as he dipped his head towards you, leaving enough of a gap for you to pull away if you wanted though the warmth of his breath still fans across your face. 

His lips are rough, chapped and the scruff of his unshaven face is uncomfortable against your skin but the kiss is perfect nonetheless. Even with the blaring monitor and the burning fire that consumes the left side of your body in agitation from your sudden movement you don’t pull back just yet. Both hands cupping his cheeks reverently as you all but threw yourself at him. Despite the pain and slight embarrassment, it’s perfect. 

When your lips part neither of you pull away, and Simon rests his forehead against your own as you hum contentedly, the both of you leaning desperately into each other’s touch. It’s not until you hear a whooping holler and a series of whistles that you both startle and jerk away from each other in alarm. Kyle’s clapping and jeering alongside Soap whilst your captain simply sighs in exasperation at the scene, though there’s amusement detectable in his smile. 

“And here I was thinking ye’d need this” Johnny grinned mischievoulsy, waving around what you quickly realise is a bushel of mistletoe, causing you to roll your eyes at his theatrics as Simon huffed. 

“Just cause you need an excuse to get kisses doen’t mean I do Johnny” Simon quips and it’s your turn to laugh at the blatant offense that covers the Scotsmans face. The four of you are then promptly made subject to unintelligible Scottish blathering as Simon presumably gets cussed out. Your laughter is briefly interrupted when you feel fingers entwine with yours and you briefly shoot Simon a look from the corner of your eye before you squeeze his hand, face beaming as you turn back to look at Soap. 

It may have been a day late, but as you sat surrounded by your team, with Simon by your side, thumb stroking circles over your wrist you had to admit that it was the best Christmas to date. 

Taglist: @ghostslillady @bunnyreaper @tokusho@ohworm-writes @kmi-02 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jumpofmyclif @tiredmetalenthusiast @Chibijustuff @cooliofango @101crows

[lilyarchived]

i am losing my mind

König at a bar with you:

Tags: Related to this post / Fluff / Headcanon / Gender neutral / König is drunk and trusts you / König keeps his hood on

Word count: 400ish

He is talking more than usual, breathy laughs in between his words with a slight undertone of drunkenness, clearly in a good mood. König is talking about Austrian bread, Semmel, to be exact. You can hear his smile under his hood, describing how delicious Käsesemmel and Schinkensemmel are.

“Speak English, König.” You chuckle at him. He realizes he’s getting too comfortable with you and his German babbling stops. He clears his throat to hide away his slight embarrassment, then proceeds to explain: “Käsesemmel means cheese roll, it’s a round bread sandwich made with wheat flour, with cheese slices inside.” He explain, raising his voice a bit, excited about his country’s food. “It tastes amazing when it’s fresh out the oven. And it’s…” König holds his hand into a fist on the table, using it as a size reference. “It’s this big — the roll, I mean. And Schinkensemmel means ham roll… why are you laughing?”

You can’t help but laugh a little when he passionately describes his favourite bread. “Because you’re cute when you’re drunk, König.” You look at König’s eyes, and he quickly glances away onto something else. He lets out a dry laugh, you wonder if he’s blushing under the hood. “Mein Gott… stop mocking me like this. And I’m not drunk.” He mumbles with a grunt, in denial from your comment.

He’s always like this when you tease or praise him. If you drown him in praises, he’ll let out a frustrated grunt and tell you to cut it off, but nothing is truly aggressive from him, to you. You find that cute too.

“I meant it, even when you’re not drunk. I find you very… charming.” You insists, leaning a little towards him. His warmth is subtlety radiating out of his vest, and he starts to fumble with his fingers and knuckles on the table. He doesn’t say anything. What should he say? He is so flustered by your words. Bar and alcohol and you make his mind melt.

After a minute of silence of his uneasiness, you worry if you went too far. “You’re alright?” You ask, gently putting your hand on his back, comforting him by slowly moving up and down. To your surprise, he doesn’t push your arm away or anything. Instead, he turns his massive frame to you, hesitating. A pair of pretty eyes stare at yours, before he finally puts his head on your shoulder. You can’t help but to smile, feeling him nuzzling a little. You decide to be a bit bold as you slide your fingers from his back to the under of his hood, touching and massaging his neck.

König clearly tenses up for a second, then pushes his head deeper to your neck, letting out a sigh. You tease him as you softened your voice. “If you’re feeling sick, I can carry you back to the base, and we can eat some Käsemel together.” His laugh rumbles deep and intimate by your ear, and he gently wraps his arms around your waist. “It’s Käsesemmel, and you can never carry me, Liebling…” Of course, König is a hulking 300 pounds Goliath, nobody can carry him on the back. But he feels…small, and safe, under your touch. He buries his hooded face on you, so close that you can smell the Jägermeister from his breath. It was strong, he is definitely drunk.

The others are playing by the pool table away from you two. Billiards collide, and one of them cheer loudly. Looks like they will spend the night with pool and poker cards. And König chooses to spend the night with you. Talking, cuddling, anything. He closes his eyes, sits still and holds you in a little more. You smile, keep him comfortable by your side, as he lets himself to be vulnerable just for once.

“So it’s a no for Käsesemmel too?” You ask, then feeling a squeeze from his hand on your waist. “Käsesemmel, with you, always.” He mumbles back, as your touches make him sleepier by the second. He’s drunk, from the shots and drinks, but also from your caress.

[lilyarchived]

Plagueeeed by thoughts of being Simon's medic gf who spent most of the time studying and never really bothered learning how to cook.

Performing impromptu surgery, putting soldiers back together, saving lives... it's what you excel at, not baking. You're looking down at the homemade bread you made, proud of your little experiment which seemed fairly decent until you had a bite of it. It was bitter, and way too salty.

''Can't be that bad.'' Simon's arms wrap around your waist from behind, planting gentle kisses all over your shoulder while you wash down the bitter taste with milk.

''It's awful, Si. It's like I made this handcuffed, blindfolded, and with the enemy pointing a gun to my head.'' He chuckles softly, letting go of you to take a piece of the bread, giving you a small smile.

''I'm sure it's not that bad, love.'' He regrets his words as soon as he takes a bite of the bread, shoulders tensing up and eyes widening slightly, though he tries to hide it and keeps chewing the bread, waiting until his mouth watered to be able to swallow the bread. He doesn't want to upset you or make your disappointment worse, even though you can see through his lies.

''S'good.'' He rasps out, going to take another bite despite how bad it actually tastes. You look up and him with an amused smile, grabbing his wrist and offering him the glass of milk instead, which he downs like he has been walking in a desert for 12 days and Jesus Christ himself offered him water from his holy hands.

''I really don't know what went wrong— I swear that flour had something evil. A hex.'' Your words drag a snort out of him, warm hand ruffling your hair before he pokes the bread, a small smile on his lips at how... odd it looks from the inside.

''You can try later, yeah? This time with fewer evil spirits.'' The smack to his arm hurt more than he'd like to admit.

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I’m glad we all agree König eats pussy for himself

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name changed coz i fear the irls are getting closer to finding this account

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boys trying to survive nnn with their partner (141 + los vaqueros + könig x f!reader)

a/n: if it wasn't for @blissful-bunny, there wouldn't be nnn. LMAOOO i hope y'all will enjoy, it's my first time doing something like this... and i think i don't hate it as i did before!

mdni, as always. nsfw below.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Being around Ghost durning this time is funny, to say the least. You know about this bet from Gaz, when you invited the whole Task Force 141 for dinner. There wasn't much of a reaction from you, just a nod and a hum that's interesting to hear that. Nothing more, until your boyfriend's friends went home, and you stayed with him, washing dishes.

"You think you're gonna last?" you ask, and you pretty much can't stop yourself from laughing when he gives you a side eye.

"'s just a month." he grumbles, and you know, you somehow irritated him. Or, the bet did, you're not really sure. "Been through worse."

Theoretically, it is true. He's military, he has seen things that you won't ever see, something so stupid like this challenge shouldn't be something hard to do.

Practically? Practically, he takes every fucking chance to get closer to you. You're making breakfast, showering, washing the dishes? He's gonna be right behind you. It's not surprising at first, he liked to be near you always, but it has a malicious intent to it, when he drags his clothed cock up and down your ass, grunting right into your ear. He gets you worked up, and you're pretty sure he's gonna lose, but he stops right before he cums.

You can't really decide if it's funny or sad to see him like this. It's his pained expression that he gives when he bites on his lower lip, grumbling something about watching you touching yourself, so it will be better. You can't really say no to a man starved, so you put out a show for him, thinking how so much better his fingers would be in your pussy.

If it would depend on you, you'd kneel and relieve him, but what can you do, when he has this ridiculous challenge of his?

He breaks after two days, when he sees you in your shared gym, exercising. It's unexpected, when he puts down dumbbells you were working with, doing squats; you want to ask what's wrong, but when he lifts you up, your back hitting the wall, you just know. You even forgive him when he doesn't prep you enough, and he just thrusts into you without much thinking of it, his balls heavy.

You know you won't leave this gym for a long time.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"You're participating in what?"

To say it was weird, was one thing. To say that Kyle does it, was even weirder, especially that he was straight from two months of deployment. Needy. You knew it, as you were with him almost three years by now, he had always spent hours in bed with you because he missed you like a madman. These two months were pretty much the longest you've been separated with him, so, you can imagine your surprise, when you learned about the challenge, when you two were cleaning your apartment. He was touching you every now and then, giving you little kisses, and now he was talking about something like this.

"I'm—"

"—No, I heard you" you chuckled, shaking your head. "I'm like… trying to understand who convinced you to do so."

"Bet with Soap. Lad thinks 'm not gonna last with you." he murmurs, and you just know that this motherfucker made this as a personal challenge. So, you just nod your head, to Kyle's surprise on his pretty face. "That's… all you're gonna say?"

"What else I'm supposed to say?" you raise your eyebrow, amused. "That I feel sorry for you, this will do?"

"That ain't funny."

"It is, kind of funny." you grin, as you kiss his forehead, at which he closes his eyes, so you repeat kissing his forehead a few times. "I'm gonna support you in this, yeah? So it's gonna be easier."

It wasn't easier. You could see that he glances at you every now and then, when you are doing domestic things around the house, giving him little, encouraging smiles. Little do you know that Kyle's bulge is growing larger and larger every time he looks at you.

Gaz is pretty calm, at least until he sees you in his t-shirt (that is way too big for you) and just panties underneath, sitting right beside him with a bowl of popcorn. You two planned to watch a movie, but your boyfriend quickly brushes it off, as his hand wanders under the hem of your panties.

"Kyle, you—"

"I know." he almost growls, as he puts you on his lap.

The moment he feels your wetness, he's a gone man; he makes you ride him, and the challenge is just a fading memory, when his lips attack yours.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Soap is absolutely offended when everyone in Task Force 141 tells him he's gonna lose the challenge. He can't shut up about it for an hour straight, as he lays with his head on your lap, telling you something about celibacy and being true lover, not some "horny arse like the others". You listen to it with a small, amused smile on your lips because as much as you love your boyfriend, everyone is right about it.

He's not gonna last, and he knows it personally too, but you say nothing about it. You just listen to Johnny's ramblings, until his eyes are on you, observing your reaction so casually.

"What do ya think? 'm gonna beat it? Be the best?" he tilts his head like a puppy, squinting his eyes. It's an icy ground you're standing on right now.

"I think… it's gonna be hard." you answer; slowly, reluctantly. It's not something that he wants to hear though, as he groans, shaking his head with displeasure. "What? You asked!"

"I ken it's gonna be hard. 'm askin', if 'm gonna beat it" he emphasizes his last words, and you can feel he barely holds himself from rolling his eyes.

"…well, baby, as much as I have faith in you in other things…"

It's not a good answer for him, nor for a challenge, considering that you end up getting fucked by him – it's some kind of punishment, he tells you, when he folds you in half. He tells you that he also didn't lose the challenge, technically, as you had sex November 1st , at 3 a.m. You nod, hesitantly, so you could go to sleep without causing him to ramble about it again; you are exhausted.

It takes him three days of fucking you in various places to finally come into the conclusion that the challenge isn't for him. Three days of promising and hearing him whining that it's gonna be 'st the tip, baby, to feel you good.

"Good that you've figured that out." you say with a small smile, in restaurant's bathroom, his forehead against yours, as his cock is still buried deep inside you.

"Lasted longer than lads. Sure of that."

John Price

You want to think of your husband highly, when you hear of this stupid thingy. The authority, someone that leads the Task Force 141, setting the example for his younger proteges with his willpower. Someone who actually cares about engaging in challenges, even if they're stupid, even if he shouldn't even look at something like this.

Yet, you know John, you're married to him, for God's sake – and you know his sex drive. When this man is home, nothing and no one stops him from getting what he wants, and that's on you. In your mind, there's a core memory of him saying that he absolutely loves your pussy, multiple times.

So it's not a surprise that he doesn't participate in this challenge. It's not a surprise when he babbles about having kids with you while he fucks you wherever he can; kitchen counter, under the shower, your couch. His obsession over kids grew over this month more than ever, and you were happy to meet his expectations in a middle, since you thought of having a little angel in your small family for a longer time now. Having a dog wasn't enough.

A surprise comes when he proudly admits that he won in the end of the month. Boys are pretty much shocked by this, considering that their Captain didn't even look frustrated once, and he was in better mood than usual. Yet, they don't have a place to complain, so they accept the defeat with a frown on their faces, and a quick comment from Soap that he for sure cheated.

"You didn't win, honey." you laugh to him, sitting at his lap, when he's in his office, alone.

Price arches his eyebrow in amusement. "I did."

"That's not really—"

"Listen, we were tryin' for babies, weren't we? It wasn't egoistical fuckin'." he explains, completely serious.

It takes all in you not to either gasp or laugh again. "So, if it would be without the intention of making babies, you'd lose?"

He gives you a quick nod. "Exactly, missus. Exactly."

Alejandro Vargas

It's easy to last a few days for Alejandro. Maybe even a week, or a bit more. With his kind of work, being a Colonel, you often didn't see him for days, or even weeks if it was a bad time. Right now, with working over destroying a Mexican cartel, being home was rare for him. Was it saddening? Of course, but you knew what you were doing when you married him, you've talked with him about it for days, maybe weeks, even.

So, maybe that's why he didn't really think much of a challenge when he agreed to it, one of the nights he was drinking with Los Vaqueros. Just for fun, just to make a fun memory in this mess they were in. Days were passing in the blink of an eye with the same routine; a few hours of sleep if he's lucky, patrol, documents, action and repeat. Nothing too fancy, nothing too new for a man of war like he is, he got used to it all.

Harder was the moment he came home to you, where you were waiting for him with your open arms, all needy for his presence, for his touch, but somehow, somehow he managed, giving you the best orgasm of your life with his mouth only, even if he was in need too.

"Cariño?" he calls you, confused, when he doesn't see you in bed in the next morning. In his sweatpants only, he goes to the kitchen, following the sound of pan that sizzles lazily in the background.

"Makin' breakfast, Ale!" you reply, looking behind your shoulder with the biggest smile that slowly falters the moment you see his eyes darkening in the span of seconds. "What's with the face?"

He approaches you slowly, caging you between his arms. "Just… appreciating" he says, as he starts kissing your neck "my little wife. Who's been really patient with me, gone for so many days. And now, you're making me breakfast—" he groans, shaking his head. You can feel his growing bulge, as you grind your ass against it.

It's obvious that Colonel lost the challenge, after he arrives to his work with his wife, his arm possessively around her. Why? Maybe it's your neck covered in hickeys, your trembling legs, or his arms visibly scratched, but no one says anything about it in the base.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

You have a kind of forbidden romance with him; you're the one of Los Vaqueros, and the romance is absolutely prohibited here, to prevent the collapse of the squad. Not to mention that he's a right hand man of Alejandro, so he has to follows the rules directly. Maybe even more than anyone here, to be honest; setting an example that he's not a exception to the rule.

It doesn't help that you're so kind. That you nod every time you see him as a silent greeting, and then you rush to do whatever you have to do today. It doesn't help him that you're helping everyone around you with a smile that could light up the whole town, and he smiles every time he sees it, too.

Everyone pictures that Rudy would win the challenge easily, since in their heads, his head wasn't occupied with anyone, and he could easily withold himself with his desires.

And maybe he would. Maybe he would, if you weren't the one guarding the base with him, if you weren't the one who was smiling at him with those plump lips of yours.

"If you'd only know how much I thought about… hah—" his breaths are ragged, as the pace of his hips gets quicker. His lips finds yours, as he kisses you with such hunger, you know without a doubt that he means what he says. It automatically makes you smile.

"It's fate that binds us, then" you say, your fingernails clutching at his arms; you're sure that you're the creator of bloody crescents here, but you can't care less about it. Not when the man of your dreams is fucking you.

He smiles at your words.

Rudy never been a good liar, and you painfully learn it, when Alejandro asks him why he's so happy; as you stand nearby, you hear the whole conversation. It's cute in some way, the way he's a blabbering mess, without any sense of it.

It takes Colonel's one look at you, and he knows.

You never walked faster to your work, neither did Rudy.

Konig

If you think he's gonna even try playing at this, you're in deep denial. Maybe if he'd be alone he could try of a genuine curiosity, but not when he has you. Such a pretty, obedient girlfriend, that he has wrapped around his finger, and a girlfriend that is pretty much at his service every time he wants.

He's a man to laugh about that challenge with his squad, telling them that they're filthy, and he would last the whole month, maybe even longer, if it weren't for you. Because he's such a caring boyfriend, he listens to your needs, even if you're whiny.

At least, that's the story that his squad knows.

He tells you about this while he folds you in half, that he needs to act a little grumpy around his squad, to put a facade that he's hungry because it's the right thing to do. When you suggest that he could even try, he barks a low laugh, while he pumps his cock before thrusting into you.

"Schatz, as if. Not gonna play the kids game." it's all he says, kissing you with affection on your swollen lips. "I do not intend on torturing you like this. You wouldn't survive a day without my dick."

There's some truth to it — but you're truly wondering if that's you who wouldn't survive without his dick, or he, that wouldn't survive without your pussy and sex, considering he is even more of a maniac than you are.

dividers by cafekitsune

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hes saur omg

How the fuck is this all we get from Gaz?! The main character in the background, you cowards.

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You really think she’s your girl. My brother in Christ she’s up in here every night twirling her hair and kicking her feet to the raunchiest “x reader” COD smut on the planet.

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turning into a werewolf howling throat sore from screaming ripping my shirt apart eating my hand

kicking my feet thinking about how ghost adores your little crush on him – finds it cute how you think it’s not obvious :((

the way he has to bite down a smile when you bring a hand up and ask to compare hand sizes with him. he holds it up anyway and watches the way your eyes gloss over at the size difference, your tongue poking out to swipe at your lips.

the way he stops himself from taking you in his arms whenever you drop by with baskets of sweets. he’s not even particularly a sweets guy but for you? got him changing his whole palate and all. sometimes he loves teasing you – he really can’t help it, with you acting so cutely – by bending down and tugging at his balaclava enough that his lips are showing, and silently demanding that you feed him. the attention he gives you always makes you glow and who is ghost to stop that? he loves seeing you sparkle, especially because of him.

the way he keeps a couple of hoodies and sweaters in his trunk because you always seemed to strategically forget your jacket when you’re out with him which ends up having him offering up his own to keep you warm. thing is, he loves your pretty conniving mind. loves that he doesn’t have to find an excuse to see you in his clothes because you present yourself to him, all wrapped up with a pretty devilish smile and a sharp glint in your eyes.

yeah, you truly are so adorable in the way you desire him. adorable in the way you think he doesn’t know. don’t worry, he’ll reward you soon.