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tongue on loving wound

simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader | omegaverse!au | alternate universe to In Limbo | alpha!ghost x omega!fem!reader | masterlist

Chapter Three: leave me panting on the kitchen floor like a dog begging for scraps

tw: smut, scenting, scent intox, intense first time heat, fingering, creampie, breeding kink, scent gland playing

By some miracle, Simon manages to get you to sleep through the first night of your heat. 

It doesn’t come easy. You wake often in fits, whimpering and writhing as you try to pry yourself from the nest for no discernable reason other than the fact that you’re uncomfortable. Itching from the inside out. Stuck within your own wretched skin. Sweat glues the two of you together as he holds you back, not that it takes much effort. You’re weak. You give in easily at the mere weight of his forearm across your torso and quiet shushing against the shell of your ear. 

The only thing that truly quells this discomfort blossoming in you seems to be his scent. Thick hormones—a near paralytic. For hours he lies next to you with his palm cradling the back of your head as he keeps your face pressed against his neck where the secretions of his scent is most potent. You nap like a baby when he’s got you like this. Quiet, and drooling as if you’re starving for a taste of him. 

A few hours in, you almost rouse. Somehow during his own sleep, you’ve managed to turn away from him. Back against his chest, face in the sheets—he wakes at the sound of your groan. Thick and caught in your throat like phlegm, he snaps awake as if it’s an alarm. Panicking, he grabs the first article of his clothing he can find within the nest and shoves it against your nose as if to gag you. It knocks you out cold as if it’s chloroform and not the mere scent of him. 

When Simon notices that it’s a pair of his boxers, he thinks he ought to switch it out for something less degrading, but the way you mindlessly nuzzle into it with a sigh warns him he shouldn’t. 

Dawn breaks over the house in pale silver. A storm is brewing. Downright angry with thunder humming in the distance and light rain already spitting against the window panes. When he notes that you’re still fast asleep, Simon does his best to slip out of the nest unnoticed. Careful, strong limbs guide him over your body until he’s steady on the floor. 

It’s hard to fight his own instincts as he looks down at your curled form, and he can’t pretend as if your scent isn’t intoxicating. All things soft that follows brutality—blood after a laceration, gauze on wound, a shuddering breath from a punctured lung. Your hand begins to stretch in your sleep, fingers unfurling before curling into the mess of blankets and clothes. The sight makes him dizzy; forces all the blood in his body to flow where it knows he needs most. 

Swallowing, he strips his shirt off of his torso before placing it on top of his boxers, gifting you his fresh scent before he leaves the room. 

If he had known your body was about to spring such a brutal heat upon you, Simon would have prepared better, and a part of him is a bit frustrated that he wasn’t able to pick up on the scent. He stares at the sparse contents of his fridge with pursed lips. For half the night you’ve been sweating, overheating, and damn near combusting. Body thrown into overdrive, forcing your mind to undergo something you’ve never had to experience before. You’re using up too many nutrients. You need food. Water. And, of course, the obvious. 

Simon snatches up a half finished packet of bacon before turning the stove on and shoving bread in the toaster. He rummages through his pantry in search for more protein. Nutella, or peanut butter—something with calories, something that’ll fuel the two of you with enough energy for what’s about to take place. 

The bacon is halfway done when an inconsiderate clap of thunder shakes the house. Every wall rattles around him, and he wrenches his eyes shut as he holds his breath, hackles raised. It isn’t long before he picks up the faint sound of your feet trudging down the hallway. 

“Simon?” He can tell from your voice alone that you’re already dehydrated. Each syllable cracks in your throat as you walk up to him with mist in your eyes. “Come back to bed, please.” 

And he wants to. Oh, how he’d sweep you into his arms and lay you back in your nest and shove his cock into your pussy as many times as you need—and he will, in due time. But right now the drive to take care of you is stronger than something as debauched as that. 

“Not yet, baby,” Simon murmurs. He stifles your pout with a gentle caress of his thumb against your cheek. “Gotta get some food in ya, first. Grab a seat, I’ll be done soon.” 

You don’t wander far despite his prompting. Wobbly, unstable knees give out beneath you and he finds you sitting on the kitchen floor next to him as he continues to cook. Bacon grease pops and sears the bare skin of his chest, but it’s easy to ignore the pain when you’re clinging to his leg. Hands wrapping around his thigh, forehead rolling back and forth over his hip. 

It isn’t long before you begin to wander. Nose prodding against his crotch, Simon feels himself harden within an instant. He does his best to push it out of his mind as he sets a plate for you, but the audible sounds of your inhaling leaves his mind spinning. It only worsens when your lips fall apart to press against the band of his joggers in an open mouthed kiss, wanting tongue already darting out to wet the cotton. 

“Sweetheart,” Simon sighs. He places his hand on the crown of your head, prompting your neck to crane back to look at him. Everything about you is wet—your cunt, your eyes, glistening tears on your cheeks, sweat coating your throat, all failing to douse the fire churning within you. “You gotta eat.” 

“I don’t wanna eat.” You’re getting bratty now. Whining with your brain telling you to devour one thing, and it certainly isn’t food. Trembling fingers curl into his joggers before you yank, sending the band pulling past his hip bone. “I feel worse. I just—everything is so foggy. You said you were gonna—Simon you said—you were gonna take care of me.” 

He steadies both your body and attitude with a soft grip on your jaw. The movement silences you immediately, and all you can do is stare up at him as he clicks the stove off and retrieves your breakfast with his free hand. 

“Poor little ‘mega thinks she’s got this all figured out, yeah?” He tilts his head to the side as he leans forward; nothing but a curious dog. “But you don’t, do you sweet girl? That’s why you need me. Need your alpha to take care of you, don’tcha?” 

Simon slinks low enough until he’s on the ground next to you, plate of food on the floor to his left while his legs sprawl out. When his thighs part, the straining bulge in his pants is glaring. Growing ever rounder, more firm, damn near throbbing through the fabric—it’s hard to tear your eyes away from the sight when he pats his lap. 

“C’mere sweet girl. We’re gonna eat.” 

He situates you until you’re between his legs, back pressed against his chest and head rolling against his shoulder. Simon feeds you by hand. Slowly. Salted pork, buttered toast—it all presses past your lips until every crumb is in your mouth. Though your whimpering hasn’t stopped, your kvetching has. Jaw too busy chewing, biting through flesh, retaining the energy he knows you’re going to need. 

While one hand feeds your mouth, the other feeds your cunt. Shoved past the band of your panties, Simon’s fingers swirl around your clit effortlessly with the wetness that’s accumulated over the countless hours. You’re impossibly firm, tender skin perking up nice and pretty just for him. Every now and then he slips a finger into your hole just to feel the way your hips jump and writhe. 

“S-Simon,” you gasp. 

“Less talkin’ and more eatin’ baby.” He brings the last half of toast up to your mouth where you gingerly take a bite, incisors hardly stealing more than a nibble. 

“B-But I’m—you’re—everything feels weird like… like tight and… fuzzy…” 

He knows exactly where this is going. It’s been growing for the last few minutes in the twitching of your legs, nerves misfiring, muscles contracting, a flood of spasms waiting to erupt. Before he lets that happen, he presses the last mouthful of toast into your mouth and waits for you to swallow before his fingers begin to pick up their pace. 

“Yeah? What else, baby? S’it feel good?” Simon prods—playing with his food. 

All you can do is mumble something hardly coherent as you nod. Back beginning to arch, hips levitating off the floor, heels digging into the hardwood—you shatter with a squeaking groan. Taut thumbs curl into his thighs where you hold purchase to keep yourself steady before you’re panting and gasping as if you’ve already sucked all the air from the world and you’re still hungry for more. 

“Atta girl, there she is. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Eatin’ all your food like a good pet.” Once your breathing has calmed down a considerable amount, he raises his hand to your mouth where his fingers are still stained with bacon grease and crumbs. “Be a doll and lick me clean.” 

You follow his order with a gusto he didn’t expect you to muster after he dismantled you like this. Taking his fingers into your mouth, you suck each and every one of them clean, all the way down to his thumb. When he raises his other hand away from your sex, your jaw falls slack, waiting for him to ask you to do the same, but he only chuckles. 

“Nuh uh, this treat’s for me, sweetheart.”

Tight muscles begin to melt beneath his touch as Simon’s hands wander over your body. Heat still emanates out of you as if you’re a furnace, but he notes how the perspiration isn’t as thick anymore—which could either be a good or bad thing. He hums something about needing to clean up before he slips out from behind you. With all the strength sapped from your body, you do not wander off, but instead lie on the floor with your cheek pressed to the cold ground. 

Rain slaps violently against the window as he begins to wash up. The food he had made for himself has gone cold, but he shovels it into his mouth before disposing of the grease and soaping the plates and pan. Thunder purrs overhead and Simon thinks about how perfect everything is. You, here where it’s safe as this storm rages on, hidden deep in his den where not even the elements can lay a hand on you. 

Simon’s drying his hands off by the time he turns back around to check on you, and that string that tugs at his navel nearly forces him to pounce on you. Knees digging into the hardwood, rump raised high into the air while your face stays flat on the floor—your hands are between your thighs and he can see everything. How you desperately try to move the soaked gusset of your panties to the side, the way your fingers pitifully press into your hole, palms pressing at your cheeks, spreading yourself wide for him. 

“Too empty,” you cry. “Simon, i-it feels wrong; please fix it, fix me, I can’t…” 

He’s on his knees behind you in an instant. Hands ghosting over your lower back, kneading into the tense muscle before his fingers slip beneath the band of your underwear. You’re swaying with his movements, unsteady even as you’re nearly laying. Jasmine wafts in the air and his eyes nearly roll into the back of his skull. 

“Need your alpha’s cock, is that it sweet girl?” he asks. Simon tugs at the fabric and yanks them past your hips until there’s nothing covering your sex. He can see her in all her quivering glory—glistening and clenching. Waiting. “C’mon, what do you need, baby?” 

“You!” Your response leaves in a near shriek, only to die off to a susurrus. Then, your swaying tenses. “My… my alpha?” 

“Yeah, your alpha, baby,” he nods. 

“My alpha. I want it.” 

You’ve waited so long, and been such a good girl about it. Laying pretty for him in a nest strewn in his bed, waiting by his feet as he cooks, came so sweetly on his fingers—he cannot deny you this. Simon shoves the waistband of his joggers down and grunts at the way he springs free, cock bobbing as he tenses before he takes it into his hand. Warm metal greets his palm as he lazily strokes himself, squeezing precum free from his tip so he can wipe it off on your cunt and chuckle at the way you jolt. 

A sob escapes your throat when he pushes in. You stretch so well around him, pulling him in and forcing him to stop once you’ve swallowed the head of his cock. You’re panting, fingers curling into your palms, nails digging into the flesh, knuckles tapping against the floor as your feet begin to kick. 

“Easy baby,” Simon says through a hiss, grabbing your hips for his own stability. 

“More, more please, I can’t- too empty, Si, too empty,” you babble. 

He’s impressed at how easy it is to shove the rest of himself in. Not even his frequent lays before this could ever take him as well as you do now, and he has to bite back the murmur that bubbles in his chest. This is proof. Your scent—sweet and tender in the way death always is—how you’ve so easily wrapped him around your finger, consumed every thought—his mate. His omega. 

That tender spot on the side of your neck looks tastier by the minute. 

Simon’s pace is quick—you won’t accept anything less. Whimpering every time he attempts to give you a break, begging for more, refusing to let him treat you as if you’re delicate; he relents. Fingers curling into your hips, broad thighs slapping against your own, sending sharp claps echoing throughout the empty kitchen; it’s raw. Pure and unadulterated. 

It’s frustrating how fast his orgasm approaches, but he can tell by the kicking of your feet that it’s exactly what you’re wanting from him. To be full not only of him, but everything he has to offer. You’re begging now. Incoherent rambling hits the floor as your head lowers as if in prayer. All Simon can do is hold on to the fat of your ass as he watches the way his cock plunges into you, wetness glistening along the back of your thighs as you soak him to the very bone. His jaw clenches, teeth creaking, diaphragm spasming—

A strangled sob leaves your throat when he comes. He’s twitching inside of you, half sheathed but still filling you up properly with all the spend he has to offer. With narrowed eyes, Simon witnesses the way his knot swells just outside the entrance of your pussy and he growls. It hurts. Too much pressure and not enough counterweight to squeeze him tight—the tender skin bulges and reddens. Cursing, his palm slams against the cabinet as he grinds into you, but it’s useless to offer any reprieve for his aching knot. 

Once you’ve caught your breath, he finds you finally looking back over your shoulder. Neck craned, hips rolling—it isn’t long before you’re pouting. Dazed, Simon doesn’t realize the way you’re pulling away from him until it’s too late. You rock back into him, body colliding with his knot in a way that makes him growl. Instinctively, he reaches a hand for the nape of your neck before he presses hard, forcing your chest to the floor, leaving you squirming. 

“None of that,” Simon warns. 

“You didn’t give me your knot,” you whine. 

“You’re not ready for that yet, baby.” His weight forces you to collapse until you’re flat on your stomach, legs straightened with his thighs forcing them apart. The fear of being crushed ought to scare you, but all you do instead is moan. “Too much at once for a sweet ‘mega like you.” 

Hips still wiggling, you attempt to shake your head as best as you can. “I can take it! I need it, need you so bad Simon, you’re so- you’re so mean.” 

“Mean?” He can’t help but chuckle at that. “No baby, I’m takin’ care of ya. Just like I said I would, yeah?” His grip loosens on the back of your neck, but his thumb begins to wander to that quivering gland. You tense, body ready and eager; your head tilts to the side. “I’ll give you this knot nice and proper later, yeah baby?” 

You wiggle in defiance. “I can’t wait, Si. I don’t wanna wait.” 

“You can do it, sweetheart. I know you can.” 

Without warning, his thumb digs into the side of your neck where the skin of your shoulder meets your throat. Your mouth falls open but a sound doesn’t escape you for a long moment until a moan eventually bleeds out between your lips. Soft gland pinched by his nail, every inch of you begins to tremble. Cock still shoved inside of you, he feels the way you come just from that mere touch—that feigned bite that he knows your brain craves primally, but is unsure if it’s what you truly want. 

Simon’s eyes close as you squeeze him in rhythm with your orgasm and he doesn’t loosen his grip until you’ve gone truly limp beneath him. Perspiration coats your face but that doesn’t stop him from leaning down to kiss your cheek. 

“You’re drinkin’ some water, then you’re gonna nap, yeah?” It’s not a question, but rather a preordained series of events he knows you need. 

The fight has been drained out of you—for now—and you nod with a sigh. “Yeah, okay.” 

It takes several minutes to get you back into the nest you so meticulously put together on his bed. Pulling out of you, Simon sits on the floor next to you as he rubs your back until the strength returns to your body, but even then your knees are nothing but jelly, and he has to guide you to the room with an arm wrapped around your waist. 

You settle into the plush sheets and mess of his clothes so nicely, having already carved out a space for yourself. He lets you rest for only a moment before he’s cupping your chin and pressing a water glass to your lips. Half of it spills out of your mouth. Soft streams dribbling down your chin, wetting your chest—you hum at the way it cools your feverish skin. 

Simon hardly has time to settle into the nest next to you before you’re winding up again. Hands pawing at his chest, nose nuzzling against his flank, mouth wandering too far down for his comfort—he has to cradle your face into the side of his neck to even temporarily sedate you, but even then your wiggling persists. He attempts to satiate you by jamming his thigh between your legs to allow you to grind against him, but if anything the stimulation only works you up even more. 

“Is it time for more?” Your question is so saccharine his teeth ache at the thought of biting into something so sugary. 

“Not yet, baby, you need to rest first,” he gently reminds. 

“No, it’s okay, I’m ready.”

He chuckles. “No you’re not.” 

You attempt to look up at him but he refuses to let you rip your face free from his neck, so instead your hips begin to rock more violently. Naked clit sliding along the fabric of his joggers, he can smell the wetness. Brine and cum, flowers and blood—his growl emanates low in his chest. 

“But I want you. I want- I want everything, Si,” you whine. 

“Everything?” 

“You, and—oh everything. Your babies, I wanna- I just- it’s too much, I just need it, I know I do.” 

Electricity shoots through his brain at that. Your babies. Everything short circuits as your hips continue to rock and grind, stomach dangerously close to the growing desire separated only by the cotton of his trousers. His knot is still angry—frustrated at being ignored—but your talking has him riled up again. 

“You don’t want that, baby, that’s just the hormones talkin,” he murmurs. 

“Yes I do,” you huff with a challenge. “I can… smell it. It’s so strong. You. Your scent. Fuck, it’s so good. My alpha. My alpha, and I’m your omega, you said it! You said it! You can smell it too.” 

He can’t tell what’s worse—your rambling or the fact it’s making so much sense. Puzzle pieces falling together, intersecting lines pulling taut, dragging him towards this fantasy. Images of you, plump and round with his kids haunts his mind and he finds his heart freezing at the thought because fuck why does that sound so good? So delicious? 

“My alpha… my mate… want you to fill me up, wanna have your babies, wanna—oh—be all yours a-and… f-fuck…” 

Legs tightening around his thigh, fingers digging into his arms—your orgasm catches him off guard as your hips stutter to a stop. Though your words are now lost, Simon feels them echoing around in his skull, bouncing off the bone and burrowing straight through the grey matter of his brain. It’s a dangerous seed. Quick to germinate and root until all rational thought is snuffed out. 

His only saving grace is that you’re riding out your high and melting in his arms, temporarily satiating you. Holding you closer, he takes a deep breath with his nose pressed against the top of your head while he attempts to ignore the sticky parchedness of his canines. 

“Try to get some sleep, baby,” he urges before you can regain your energy again. 

You grumble against his throat. “I’m not tired.” 

“If you get some rest, I’ll knot you properly when you wake up.” 

At that, you perk. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

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nsfw. simon ghost riley and his love for blowjob.

He might be a big man, a walking death machine, one with blood between his fingers and an air of disinterested around him, someone who can't be moved. Someone who can't be tethered easily.

But then again, here he is, sitting on the chair and digging his hands into the armrest, trying to be such a good man for you— letting you help him relax.

And it's this obscene way he wants to drag his fingers through your hair and shove his wide girth down your throat and hear you choke, that gag reflex making you tap his thighs repeatedly, the pearly tears collecting at the corner of your eyes as you try to pull away.

But he's being a good man right now, not being the fucked up freak he is— letting you have your way. Your mouth all warm and slick as you blib your head up and down, tongue dragging at his base as you pull out with a pop. He shudders, one hand behind his head as he pants, eyes hazy with some lewd thought of making you choke, making you cry on his cock in your mouth.

Your tongue lays flat on his tip, kitten licks as you give him a lazy smile and hands working slowly up his girth. He looks at you, gulping slowly muttering a way to go love, before you're licking a long stripe down his base to his balls.

A low grunt escapes his mouth, your fingers around his cock moving up and down, mouth on his balls as you take em in your mouth. You give them a languid suckle, drooling as you hear him let out a low moan, expression so fucked out as his eyes roll back.

You grin, fingers rolling around his red angry tip, now sensitive to touch as he jerks away— or tries to, but your mouth is on his tip, sucking and letting your teeth scrape against it making low yet deep whines escape his mouth which eventually turns into him whimpering and asking you to stop teasing.

Even if he knows he can have the control, he loves it when you have control over him.

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Simon and his habit of fucking you to sleep.

(Hear me out)

It was honestly accidental the first time, he’d gotten back from a deployment and whilst he was desperate to feel you…to be close to you and re-familiarise himself with the heat of your cunt…

He was also tired. Cant blame the man…

So the first time it happened, it was an accident. The slow, steady rock of his hips whilst his built frame was completely covering you was honestly enough to have you both nod off. His thick cock nestled in your cunt until you’d both woken up that morning…

And then after that…it happened a little too often.

He’d come back, strip off his gear and join you in bed. Getting settled behind you as his arms would wrap around your waist. Tugging you back into him with a tired and low hum of affection.

He’d lift your leg, just enough to slip into your cunt…he’d let out this sigh, almost relieved once the hot wet walls of your cunt wrap around him.

“Fuck…missed you.”

A calloused hand would grip your hip, keeping you completely pressed back into him as he’d slowly roll his hips back and forth. Gentle in the movement.

It’s that slow rhythm that would end up lulling you both to sleep, his arms wrapped around you, head in the crook of your neck.

But he’d always make up for it in the mornings.

It was also how he’d wake you up, his cock sinking in and out of your cunt gently at first…but when you let out that familiar moan as you start to wake up…he’ll move a little rougher. Holding your leg up properly so he can reach that sweet spot like always.

“S’good f’me…fuck…”

Neither of you would leave the bed until he’s made you cum at least two or three times to make up for it. But no matter what he’d be cleaning you up with his tongue each time.

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CW: Exhibitionism, fingering, semi-public sex, power imbalance 18+

You sneak off to the rec room to jerk off at night, but Ghost seems to have a similar idea.

You know why you’re doing this, that part isn’t even a question.

How you’ll be able to justify it to yourself tomorrow? That’s another mountain entirely.

Silently you slip through the vacant fluorescent hallways, weariness tugging at your shoulders, but something completely different propelling you between your legs.

Two of them have apologized to you. Garrick and MacTavish both took the time to find you and offer seemingly sincere remorse over what happened, though you suspect it’s more to avoid an internal investigation than anything. Price has opted to pretend those moments never occurred, and LT—

You’d rather not think about LT. At least, not until you get to where you’re going.

The rec room is dark and lifeless in the middle of the night. It smells of stale coffee and old carpet, and that specific scent of plastic interacting with skin oils. You pause for a moment before closing the door behind you, trying to decide whether or not to turn on the light. On one hand, it would recreate the scene better. On the other hand, you’re about to get naked again behind a door that doesn’t lock, and you’re terrified of being discovered.

Not that you’d deserve any less. Going through with this in the first place directly proves that you’re a bad, bad person, with nasty horrible ideas and not enough self control. Still, you really hope you don’t get caught. That would mean disgusted eyes instead of curious eyes. It would be something completely different than the controlled environment you had before, the one that disrupted your world so badly, you’re doing shit like this instead of sleeping.

There’s a dim bulb glowing above the pool table, so that should be enough to get the job done. Willing your hands not to shake, you glance around for something to push against the door. A metal chair is found to be serviceable, so you wedge it under the handle and absorb that wave of safety that washes over you. Even if someone does try to get in here, you’ll have time to put yourself to rights before they can see anything too incriminating. You’re safe.

You start removing your clothes as you make your way to the couch in the back of the room. Your shirt, your bra, things you were wearing that first time, but the point of tonight is to feel as exposed as possible. All of it gets you off — the chill of the air around your skin, the fabric of the well-worn couch against your ass. Even the knowledge that it’s probably covered in grime and germs just makes it better. This is meant to be gross and dirty and wrong, and that’s why you’re already wet even before you’ve begun to touch yourself.

With one last glance to verify that the chair is still in place and the door is still firmly closed, you slide your underwear down your legs and toss it to the floor. You brace your heels up on the edge of the couch and spread your knees wide, closing your eyes in perverted bliss at the pinpricks of shame across your skin.

Slut.

Indefensible, filthy slut.

Unconsciously, fingers find your clit. They’re your fingers, but you don’t focus on that fact. Your eyes are closed, so you can imagine that they’re MacTavish’s fingers, teasing you and baiting you with a confusing mix of anger and arousal. He did this. He took advantage of your gullibility, and it’s not your fault that you’re so wet and you’re enjoying the mean—

“It’s not going to work, you know.”

With an alarmed shriek, your knees slam closed and you jolt upright on the couch, staring in shock in the direction of that low rumble.

LT.

Right there, sitting at the little card table next to the coffee pot. He’s slouched in his seat, nursing a little styrofoam cup of coffee and silently watching this whole entire time while you…

“It’s not what it looks like,” you rush to say, clamping your arms around your chest.

The masked head tilts slightly, a movement you can only discern because your eyes have adjusted to the dark. You try to position your body to be less conspicuous and awkward, but find it impossible because you’re completely out in the open and naked, and where the hell did you put your underwear?

“It looks like,” he observes, slow and bored, “a normal person taking a crack at some normal kinks without hurting anyone.”

Oh. You swallow down some of your panic, soothed by the… the lame-ness of it, when he puts it like that.

“I… didn’t know you were in here,” you admit.

“Wouldn’t have locked us in if you had.”

He bunches his mask up to his nose to take a sip of coffee, and you have to wonder if this is a place he comes very often. If he’s here most nights, staring at that usually empty couch, without ever expecting to see a naked person on it. Maybe he takes the mask off when he’s here by himself. Maybe this is his exposure room.

“What d-do you mean,” you stammer, your brain finally catching up, “that it won’t work?”

“What you’re doing. It’s not going to feel the same, without someone watching.”

Dick. What does he know, anyway? You were doing just fine without him. You’re definitely turned on, and also, it’s not even any of his business if it feels great or feels like shit.

Irritation shoves your embarrassment aside, and you reach down to blindly locate your underwear on the floor, keeping your knees clamped together and your forearm glued to your inconvenient breasts—

Right as there’s a little creak of the metal chair, and LT gets to his feet. Instantly you’re straightening up, frozen in dazed stupidity while he stalks right over to your couch. He’s anything but casual now, coming to a measured stop directly in front of you with his boots braced shoulder width apart.

You’re not sure exactly how much he can see in the shadows, but you plaster both arms around your front for good measure. “Sir?”

“You’ve got to get a lock on that, having to prove yourself right all the time.“

Another layer of heat rises to your face, but it’s muscle memory that has you muttering, “Yes, sir.”

“You gotta learn to shut up, or you’re gonna find yourself in a fuckin’ spot some day.”

“I’ll… work on it. Sir.”

There.

This is when he’s supposed to move. 

That’s what you’re waiting for, because he’s supposed to turn around and unjam the door, and go off to bother some other naked person for the rest of the night. He’s not meant to stay here looking at you while you’re naked and he’s been scolding you, and you’re still unfortunately wet. 

Ghost finally moves, seeming to take notice of something on the floor. He crouches to scoop it up, too quickly for you to get a look at whatever-it-is, though you have a panicked feeling that you already know. From the direction the light is coming, and the way his head is tilted down slightly, you can’t see where his eyes are pointed, whether they’re on the object he’s holding or on you. But as he stands there, you can definitely discern that hand moving, slowly smoothing your panties between his fingers.

It sends a delicious shiver of fear through you, made all the more intense because you weren’t expecting it. You had no idea he was going to be like this, was going to interact with any part of your sexuality. You’d kind of assumed he was – well, not repulsed, per se – but at least a little bit uninterested. He had a perfectly good opportunity to mess around with you two days ago, and he expressly chose not to participate. 

You’re not certain he’s participating now, until you feel the nudge.

It’s such a small movement that you don’t understand it at first, when LT shifts his weight a little, until you feel the rough toe of his boot against the inside of your foot. A humiliatingly verbal huff of air escapes you when he doesn’t stop, just methodically pushes at your ankle until your foot slides a few inches across the carpet, opening a space between your legs. 

You keep it there, because... Well, you know.

Your other foot gets the same treatment, shoved aside with your assistance this time. You willingly open your legs, listening to your heartbeat pounding in your ears and the soft, appreciative, “Mm,” that escapes him when you don’t make him work for it.

Shut up, you’re going to shut up, just like he said, and maybe—

“You want me gone?” he finally asks, standing there with your panties in his hand and his boot shoved against your foot. 

“No, sir.”

The fabric moves again in his fingers. It’s just cotton, but he seems to like it. 

“You want fingers?”

Through pure force of will, you convince your arms to drop away from your chest, fingers turning into fists at your sides. “Okay.”

He doesn’t move right away. It gives you this weird rush of insecurity, like you’re doing something inherently wrong, and he’s waiting for you to fix it. You don’t know what to do but put your feet back up on the cushion, spread your knees back and make sure he has access to everything. 

And he still doesn’t move.

He still stays there watching you, watching your chest move up and down with your shallow breaths, watching your toes curl and your hips fidget with the discomfort of so much blood rushing to your pussy so quickly. It makes you feel vile and pathetic and so, so in need of fingers. 

That’s when he finally gets to his knees, when you’re pathetic. When you’re begging in all the ways but verbal, when you’re spread open and trembling and couldn’t possibly feel more exposed than if you walked back to your room without a stitch on your body. That’s when he finds your pussy with his warm, steady fingers, and he doesn’t bother to pretend not to know where the g-spot is. 

He makes a home for his fingers inside you, in that warm, sticky puddle that was waiting for him. Sinking them inside you, in the dark, over and over until that thumb that’s sliding up and down your clit is just a backdrop to the noise of getting filled up. 

It’s humiliating how fast you cum. Less than five minutes, if you’re being generous. Two fingers inside and you’re cumming on them in wet, hot pulses that have you babbling incoherent fragments of, “sir,” and “fuck,” until the next orgasm hits you, right on the heels of the first. 

He doesn’t touch any other part of your skin with anything but his eyes, but you’re a quivering, fucked-out mess when he’s finished. One foot falling off the sofa, one knee shoved up to your chest, you work on catching your breath when he finally leaves your clit alone. It’s just those two fingers inside you, stroking a gentle comedown now, as if loathe to part from the soft slickness of your cunt. 

You’re in trouble.

Next Part (previous part here)

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

18+ only please and thank you

Roommate Ghost who’s basically a rehomed cat.

You barely saw him at first. He’d come out of his room to do laundry, and you’d occasionally spot the back of him as he’s leaving for work, but otherwise it was like living with a ghost. A large, moody ghost who seemed to think eye contact was an unforgivable breach of privacy.

So you did the obvious thing, and coaxed him out with food. You’re lonely, he seems nice enough, and he’s also just conveniently there. It’s no big deal to make something that smells really wonderful when he’s home, and hope he’ll take the bait.

It takes three whole entire dinners. Two delicious meals without so much as a stir from his room, and you’re just about to give up on the whole scheme, when you’re finally rewarded with a tousled head poking out of his room on the third attempt.

“Want some?” you immediately pipe up, giving him an encouraging smile while you scoop noodles into your bowl. Realizing your mistake, you quickly relocate your gaze back to the food, so as not to scare him off.

Cmon, take the bait. Come on out, kitty. You know you want it.

Silent as ever, your massive roommate indeed emerges to fill his belly.

A soft, “Thanks,” is all you get for your efforts, but it thrills you. You sit there practically vibrating with glee, trying to play as cool as possible while you both eat and purposefully don’t speak to each other. There’s just chewing and silence, and the quiet clatter of spoons and forks, and you love it.

The next day, the contents of your personal grocery list have magically appeared in your refrigerator. The meat you needed, vegetables, your special milk for your cereal. Bemused, you step over to your pantry and verify that, yes, he got the dry stuff too. You weren’t planning to cook anything fancy two days in a row, but hell, if he’s around again tonight, you might as well.

But he’s not around. You don’t see him again for several weeks, never even got a text that he was leaving. You were just starting to make progress, and now it’ll all be erased when he returns. You lost your one window of opportunity for building trust, and it’ll be back to silence, back to emptiness, back to being strangers.

But to your surprise, when he does finally come home, he meows at you.

Not officially. Not in, like, actual cat language, but he drops his bag by the door and responds to your quiet greeting with a heavy sigh, and, "It’s good to be back.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, so you quickly hide it by staring at the TV.

He joins you for dinner the next time you cook. And the next. Groceries pop up like spring flowers, anything you write down, even if it’s snacks he never touches.

He starts hanging out with you while you cook. On the other side of the counter at first, looming like a dark shadow, just listening to your music and offering answers to your small talk.

You keep it light. Keep it friendly and easy, and entice him over occasionally to taste what you’re making. He starts lingering closer, letting the kitchen light touch him, leaning against your side of the counter. The scary side.

And then one day he tells you a joke. Just completely out of the blue, “What do you call an angry carrot?”

“Uhh…” you pause peeling carrots for a second, trying to wrap your head around some scenario where this is a legitimate question, because surely he's not about to tell you an actual joke. “I dunno?”

“A steamed vegetable.”

You return to your carrots with a delighted laugh. He's being friendly, he's making jokes! Best not comment on the progress he's made, because you don’t want to scare him off.

Good luck with that.

He starts following you around like an actual stray cat. You can’t bear to close the door on him, so he’s just always there, hanging out in the doorway, telling you little bits about his day while you brush your teeth for bed. He doesn’t talk a whole lot, prefers to listen to you yap, but he’s shut in his room less and less.

Except for the bad times. Simon goes through phases where he recluses himself again. Sometimes it’s only a few hours, other times it’s days, but he occasionally needs time to himself, and you don’t mind. You still get a thrill every time he appears again, metaphorically meowing at you and rubbing up against your leg.

God, you wish he would. You could use some good leg rubbing, actually.

Is he the rubbing type? He’s never made a pass at you, never touched you at all, and even the times when you’ve hung out together in your room, he always stood politely in the doorway. Always turned his head to the side when you’ve had to open your underwear drawer or spilled sauce on your shirt and had to strip it off. He’s just like that, always aware of your personal space and his, uncomfortable about the two bubbles touching without warning.

When it finally happens, it's you who's surprised.

You've just halted mid-step in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at the corner of the cabinets because you swear you just saw something move.

When all of a sudden, and actual mouse scampers across the floor, doing erratic zig zags like it's too scared to decide where to go, and all you can do is scream because it's coming right for you--

A thick arm clamps around your stomach, and your feet abruptly lose contact with the floor. You've completely lost track of the mouse, you're just frozen in shock from the fact that your whole back is glued to Simon's side, and he doesn't even bother to hold you up with both arms as he swivels around searching for where the mouse went.

"Thanks," you squeak, patting his forearm as a signal to put you down. "You're really strong, holy shit."

He grunts like he doesn't agree. "Doesn't take much to lift somebody."

Your feet touch back down to the linoleum, and you just hope your hot face isn't too evident. "Right, uh huh. Cause I could definitely lift you."

"Probably could."

You eye him skeptically, all the way from his socks, to the always-mussed hair at the top of the mountain. "I don't feel like throwing out my back, but thanks for the offer."

"I wasn't offering."

It's just small talk. Regular jokes, with his usual deadpan delivery, but you swear there was something he meant to say in those words. You try to discern them, gazing up into those brown eyes that don't mind meeting yours anymore.

It's hanging in the air, the thing he meant to say. You don't want to try and guess. It's too risky, and you might hurt yourself if you get it wrong.

"What is it, Simon? What's wrong?"

His eyes stutter for just a second, like he's ripping himself out of a train of thought. "I think you should hide in your room while I find that mouse."

Stupid, cockblocking mouse.

You don't sleep well that night. You keep thinking about your quiet roommate, end up having to jerk off at two in the morning just to get a little bit of relief, and your sleep is fretful even after that.

You ask about the mouse the next day, and he swears he not only caught it, but released it in the woods a mile away. There's absolutely no telling if he's pulling your leg or not, so you just drop it, too absorbed in the questions that were haunting you all night.

"I'm not good at... fucking."

Your head snaps up, staring wide eyed at Simon's troubled expression across the table. "What?"

"I've never been with a woman before. At least, not... like this. Wager I'll make a fool of myself, so I might as well get it out in the open."

"Oh. Um." Your heart is pounding, your mind whirling to comprehend how you got here so suddenly. He looks so scared, holding himself rigidly into place without so much as blinking, and you're taking far too long to answer at this point.

"I'm good at it," you finally tell him, hoping it sounds more comforting and less like a brag. "We can figure it out together, if it's something you want to do."

"Okay."

It takes a little while to get there. Some time to find a natural moment to take his hand in yours, for him to return the gesture by wrapping his arm around your waist and bringing your body over to his. But then his hand finds the back of your neck, and he's definitely not a beginner at kissing.

You've wanted it for so long, imagined it so often, that the press of his body against yours almost feels familiar. The seeking movements of his lips, the soft breaths coasting over your cheek. It's quiet and slow, in the corner of your shared kitchen.

He tucks your body into his, lets you saturate yourself in each second of this moment while you both learn the way the other likes to kiss. You end up in your bed soon after, just for the sake of comfort and lining up your mouths a little more conveniently.

It's easy to lose yourself in the safety of him. Your body feels at home in the muscled softness of his, in the thoughtful, patient movements of his hands exploring under your clothes. It feels like he's belonged to you far sooner than today.

His first time isn't perfect, but he makes up for his inexperience by taking his time. Laughs at your breathless, "a hole is a hole" statement, and insists on exploring with his mouth and fingers first.

Simon makes the prettiest noises when he finds your wetness waiting for him. He seems to enjoy the feeling of it on his fingers, sliding them in and out so carefully, studying the textures inside you. He tastes his own fingers, less like a scientist and more like a little kid who's discovering new flavors in the sandbox.

He makes a sound then, a warm, rumbly one, and then pulls his fingers out of his mouth to lean down and find your clit with his lips.

A hole is a hole, but there's something special about whispering little cues at him in the dark, and the way he efficiently adjusts himself, ever the dedicated soldier. A hole is a hole, but you cum like that, with your roommate's strong hand gripping your hip, and his mouth accomplishing exactly the motion you need to draw a slow, brain-melting orgasm out of you.

"Yeah, just like that," you pant a few moments later, shoving his face away from your oversensitive pussy.

Just like that.

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

18+ only please and thank you

Roommate Price who keeps seeing you naked.

It’s not intentional, at least, not at first. The first time was a legitimate nip slip. The door handle caught on the strap of your bikini top, and as soon as you straightened up, both of your titties sprang out right in front of him.

But his face. The way his words turned into gibberish mid-sentence, blinking down at you in pure shock while you did your best to cover yourself with your arms.

He wouldn’t stop glancing at you upon your return later that day, kept finding excuses to be near you, to occupy the same rooms.

To be honest, you didn’t hate the feeling of his attention. It didn’t feel scary or dangerous. It settled over your skin like the hot water from a bath, tingling and coaxing across your nervous system. He’s curious about you, that’s all. Curious about your body, the way it looks, the way it feels.

You encourage him after that. Partly because you like the attention, and partly because you like the feeling of having some kind of power over him.

You start showering with the bathroom door cracked open a couple of inches. Start being in such a hurry while getting dressed, carelessly pulling your shirt over your head halfway through stepping out of your room. Start getting your midnight snack in a sweatshirt and thong, seemingly clueless as you lean against the counter and spoon ice cream into your mouth, watching the TV while he watches you.

And he doesn’t do a damn thing about it.

It’s like this is all he wants, to have a half-naked person around all the time for him to look at. He doesn’t seem inclined to touch, or to change the state of your roommate relationship at all. He just likes to see you.

And you like to be seen.

Your bedroom door gets left open all the time now. You shave your legs in the bathroom sink, wearing only a towel that barely covers your ass. Do your makeup in a tiny satin bra, with your favorite music softly playing in the background.

He’s there for it all, leaning against the doorframe, chatting with you about the neighbors, or giving you advice about work. His eyes run up your thighs, linger on your ass and breasts.

It makes you feel like such a pervert that you find yourself constantly aroused from exposing yourself to him. You can hardly glimpse him in the kitchen anymore without fantasizing about him finally feeling you up. Wrapping his arms around you on some random day, learning the truth about your dirty thoughts, in that sticky wetness his fingers would find between your legs.

But you’re both stubborn, and neither of you makes the first move. You continue to change with the door open, and he continues to openly stare at your body. You feel divine, the way he looks at you. The sizzle of desire in the air leaves no room for self consciousness, and you become more and more comfortable revealing your body to him.

You don’t expect it, the day he actually breaks. You haven’t seen him around in a few weeks, probably a mission that needed wrapping up, and you get extra sloppy. You leave your bedroom door open while lotioning your body from the shower.

Back to the door, you’re absorbed in the routine task, when suddenly you hear a soft, “Let me do that.”

It’s John. Home out of nowhere, looking a little sleep deprived, but otherwise right as rain. He’s not looking at your nude body, he’s staring straight into your eyes, honest and steady.

“O-oh,” you stammer, covering your breasts with one arm. “It’s just lotion, I got it.”

“Let me do it,” he says, like he’s perfectly practiced the words. “I’m good at it.”

He takes one step into your room, and your heart leaps into your throat.

“It’s really okay.” God, why are you so nervous all of a sudden? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? “I don’t want to make you work, you just got home.”

He extends a hand out to you, palm up. “Give me some. Let me take care of it.”

You have to drop your arm away from your breasts to pick up the lotion bottle, and bravely squeeze a healthy dollop into his waiting hand.

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

Riding Simon 😩 (nsfw)

Your thighs on either side of his enormous ones, so you're spread wide open. Your hands hold onto his shoulders for support as you move up and down, whimpering.

His hands hold your ass, guiding your movements, helping you when your strength fails you and your body starts to weaken.

“I know, baby, I know. It ain't easy, but you're doing so well f'r me,” he says, leaning in to kiss your neck just below your ear.

His cock is deep in you, the angle making you feel fuller and allowing him to hit all those spots that have you seeing stars. You can feel him filling you up almost to the womb.

You end up bouncing on him weakly, whimpering as your thighs burn from the effort.

Simon laughs lowly, a thick, deep sound. One of his hands moves from your ass to push your top down, freeing your breasts so he can watch them bounce with each of your movements.

“Such pretty tits, darlin'. Would look even prettier covered in hickeys,” he grumbles, leaning down to suckle and kiss at your breasts.

You mewl. It's all too much. The feeling of him inside you, his hands on your ass, his mouth on your tits, his lower abdomen pressing against your clit...

You whimper, almost sobbing from how overwhelming it all is, and Simon sighs gently.

“You need me to take over, baby? Need me to do it for you?”

When you nod, he chuckles.

“Mhm. 's okay, darlin'. Just hold on tight.”

---

Taglist

@booboobear-12

*if you wanna be added to my Ghost taglist, lmk 🫶🏼

---

Blog masterlist

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

simon didn't even say anything when you asked, he just complied.

"shh– 's okay, baby," he sushes your cries, hand brushing your cheek but his eyes are glued to where you two are connected. "i'm– shit— i'm halfway in already."

"halfway?!" you whine, and both of you giggle at the notion. well, nobody told you to ask your best friend to fuck you with his huge dick. "hate you, simon," you gasp, all bark and no bite.

he kisses your pouty lips, moaning at the way the movement makes him slip a bit deeper in you. "hm, tha' so, luv?"

no, you don't. he knows it and you know it, it only gets more obvious when he's bottoming out with a thumb on your clit and you're coming around him. he can only coo at you, "fuckin' hell– hate me, ya said?" slowly fucking into you. "don't think–" he's cut off but his own moan, you're still clenching around him as you come down from your orgasm. "don't think so, baby."

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

I just loveeeee the sincerity of conversations after sex or during the sex

like after sex you are lying there trying to breathe properly and he comes out of the bathroom with a towel in hand and casually goes just as he wipes the cum off your ass

"did ya see the video?"

"what video?"

"two muppets got caught sneaking up a phone in base. price got 'em real good. smashed their head into each otha when they were broadcasting. i don't know-it's instagram or somthin'."

you nod enthusiastically and snort "soap sent to me. was too violent for me to watch. he thinks it was funny though."

he chuckles just as he strokes the redness on your ass. "you handle violent just fine"

or like you are in the middle of it, bouncing on him with all you've got and he says

"i don't like it when you don't call."

and you just freeze because what the hell he could have had this conversation around the time when he decided to watch football. so you ask, trying to comprehend.

"what?"

he simply shrugs and tightens his arms around you.

"makes me sad when you don't call."

"i-i don't know what to say."

"can't say hi?"

and it makes you wonder what happened to the man you fucked in the early days of your not-a-relationship-just-fucking thing because ghost didn't even moan let alone talking.

this one is simon you suppose.

sorry, wish my english was better and i knew anything about english accent. 😭

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

MDNI 18+

simon fucked nasty that’s a given, but he also loved telling his dollie how pretty she was whilst looking like an absolute mess.

“aww look at you sweet thing, can’t even think straight hm?” he cooed softly as he wiped the mascara running down your cheek.

his cock had been plunging deep into your cunt until you started crying, your folds all swollen and puffy as you sobbed from the pleasure.

it’s been years since he had gotten his dick wet, years of fucking his rough hands and using his imagination.

now, he had you - his sweet girl.

“deep breaths yeah? can’t have yer goin’ to another universe can we?” his large tatted hands gently rubbing along the side of your body as you hiccuped.

“cute lil mess aren’t ya sweet’heart.”

gently, he brushed the hair out of your face - saying how he wanted to see your face whilst he was fucking you.

after years in training he had built quite a strong stamina, his body begging for more after your orgasms.

frankly simon didn’t care about how many times you came, he had a routine.

ride his thighs, then have his fingers knuckles deep inside your cunt, then his mouth, then his cock.

repeat.

“si,” you panted in between your small hiccups - your mind all soft and hazy.

“i know dollie ‘s a lot hm? jus’ a few more bounces for me yeah?”

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

- amira. 05/19/25. 6:46 AM. (simon’s pov.)

I fuck her like I’m never gonna see her again.

She’s folded beneath me, thighs pressed to her chest, body shaking against the mattress as the headboard smashes the wall with every brutal thrust. Doesn’t matter if the neighbors hear — she’ll be louder than them anyway. And fuck, the way she clenches around me like that? it’s like she wants them to know, wants the whole bloody building to hear how good I fuck her.

Her cunt is soaked, stretched tight around my cock, fluttering like she’s already coming again — I’ve lost count. Doesn’t matter. I’m not stopping. Not ‘til she forgets her own damn name.

My mouth drags along her neck, biting, sucking — leaving marks like an instinct. I feel her pulse under my tongue, her breath stuttering. “So fuckin’ good for me,” I growl against her skin, hips snapping into her. “Your cunt’s made for me, yeah? Squeezes me like it knows who owns it.”

I bite down, harder this time — right where her shoulder meets her neck. I need to leave something that stays. The bruises on her tits and thighs? They’ll fade. This one—this—will linger, just like the ache I’ll leave deep in her belly.

She’s trembling, whimpering under me, I feel her walls flutter again. She’s close — again — but I’m not done.

Just when her body starts to go limp, thinking I’ll finally give her a break, I flip her, dragging her onto me. She whines — a sweet, pathetic sound — hips shaking as she tries to move. Cockdrunk, and ruined, barely holding herself up.

“Aw, what’s wrong, darlin’?” I taunt, voice thick with mock sympathy. My hands gripping her hips, forcing her to grind against my cock, buried inside her. “s’ it too much? Can’t handle my fat fuckin’ cock?” i mock.

Her eyes roll, tears clinging onto her lashes, lips parted like she wants to beg. I almost let her. Almost.

My hand snakes down between her parted thighs, finding her swollen clit, pinch. Not gently.

She gasps — back arching, as her body jolts.

“Need help?” I echo, tilting my head with a grin. “That’s too fuckin’ bad, isn’t it?” My voice dips lower, dangerous. “You’re not gettin’ a fuckin’ thing until you ride like you mean it.”

she will. She always does — eventually.

I’ll make sure of it.

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

this is in the "141 and john price's wife" universe. still gn pronouns. i also don't think price texts that much- old man syndrome.

the 141 absolutely have a group chat dedicated to pictures and information (porn) about their little wife.

it starts, as many silly things do, with johnny and a picture of you asleep on the couch. cuddled into the armrest covered in the tortilla blanket he'd gotten you as a gag gift, and it was just too good not to share. (although he only sent one of the thirty he actually took, he's gotta keep as much of you to himself as he can.)

then it was kyle with you in the yard, laying in the grass after cutting down branches in the sweltering heat (something john would never let you do if he'd know about it, but he appreciates the flush of your cheeks and the angle of the photo makes it seem as if you were under him doing another strenuous activity.)

and it continues like that for months, cute little pictures of you gardening with price, walking with simon, watching tv between kyle and johnny- just sharing the daily life of their pretty bird.

but the real nature of the group chat doesn’t start until simon sends a picture of you bent over, putting something in the oven, in the tiny, red daisy duke shorts that are only just long enough to be considered inappropriate for the public.

sr: fuckin' lucky that shit only takes 10 minutes to cook or we'd be in the kitchen all day.

soap: fuuuuuuuuckin' hell

kyle: don't rub it in simon, we'll be home in two days

sr: don't worry, i'll warm 'em up for you

price: Behave yourselves.

and it all just unravels from there.

john's the next culprit. he has loads and loads of less than decent pictures of you, perks of being the first husband, but he's not reaching into the stash for this one. he has a point to make: if anyone's getting off to pictures of his wife, he's gonna be the one sending them.

it's barely two hours after the other three left that something is sent into the chat. face down, ass up, cunt dripping with cum as price uses his thumb to keep your pussy open to the camera, the rest of his hand palm down on your ass, the ring on his finger glistening in the flash.

sr: fuckin' filthy captain

soap: BRING ME BACK, PUT ME IN CAPTAIN

kyle: tell 'em i said thank you

it's not surprising that the minute he comes back, johnny's on you. methodically placing the camera, making sure it captures all of you and his face buried between your thighs. it wasn't the first video sent into the chat but it's definitely one of the best ones.

your head thrown back, hands in his hair, gripping what you can so you can grind your pussy on his tongue. his phone is just close enough to hear your small pants and groans as he sucks on your swollen clit.

soap: i could spend the rest of my life right there

sr: you let 'em fuck yer face like that?

soap: lt i'd let 'em gag me

soap: then step on my dick

soap: then leave me on the floor to rot

*kyle, price, and sr disliked three messages*

soap: like you fuckers wouldn't

and kyle is not a man to be left out, but he is also not as keen on sharing his private time with you as johnny is. so there aren't videos coming from him, instead he has 4k close ups of your tits after he spent almost an hour sucking hickeys into every part of your chest he could reach.

and kyle is like an artist, he makes sure your hair is splayed out perfectly, and that you're just fucked out enough to give him a bright smile. he also makes sure that the locket they gave you, the one that's has their names engraved on the inside, sits perfectly above the swell of your boobs. and goddamn is he proud of his pictures. (it's not hard for you to look pretty in pictures because you're already pretty but kyle thinks he's the best at actually capturing it).

soap: another two things i would put my face between until i suffocate

*sr, price, and kyle disliked a message*

soap: go fuck urselves

and simon is just mean, fingers peaking under your panties, finding your clit just to sit there, finger pressed on your bud, only moving for a few seconds before falling still again; his other hand hold your hips down so you can't do anything but wait for him to move again. and he does it the entire length of the manchester game until your panties are completely soaked through.

soap: stone cold, lt. stone cold.

but before he can do anything, he has to take his picture so the other fools can remember what a whore you are for him. and because it's between games he'll let you sit on his dick and grind into him during commercial breaks. maybe he'll even film in and send it to the guys, let them see you drip all over his lap whole stretching to fit him in your cunt.

but whether his team loses or wins, he'll flip you over and fuck you into the couch cushions, so at least you get that!

then they're all away on a mission, and you know about their little chat (it's hard not to when suddenly they have a camera out every time you're in their vicinity.) so you take it upon yourself to give them their fix. and why not play around with them well you're ar it?

it starts when you go shopping merely three days after they left. they tear up your bras and underwear so obviously you would need to buy more eventually. but usually when you go shopping one of them is with you to share their opinions, but since they're away, you just have to send pictures instead!

a whole catalog, in facts. you've got angles, dressing room lighting, and a whole lot of time on your hands.

*you sent 22 photos to 'the bird house'*

you: i can't choose :(((

you: help me out?

kyle: give me 6 hours to fly home and i'll help you with anything

price: Looks great. But I can't tell from the pictures, you'll have to try them all on again when I get home.

soap: licking the screen isn't working, captain i think i need to go home.

*sr saved 22 photos to Camera Roll*

kyle: smooth riley, real smooth.

and of course it doesn't end there. you have a chance to torture them a little bit with zero consequences and you're going to take it.

but it takes a while for you to send videos, usually you send  your outfits, or the tiny bathing suit top you wear while tanning, even one of you in the kitchen in nothing but your tiny apron. (it's the only one that john does not appreciate, popping a boner between briefings as a captain is not hie proudest moment.)

but as the months go longer and longer, you get more and more desperate. your toys are reserved for times like this, a small bullet vibrator and a thick 8-inch dildo. it's nowhere near as nice as fucking your men but it'll have to do for the time being.

and you know them being away is not their fault and they'd be home in an instant if they could choose to be; but if you have to deal with your pent-upness, so do they.

so you set up your phone, leaning it on the lamp that sits on your bedside table, so it captures your entire body, covered only by sheer light-blue lingerie and your locket, as you sink down the length of your dildo, vibrator pressed to your clit. you send four different videos, one for each of them, in the order they came into your life (you think it's cute, they're one picture away from firebombing the whole country they're in and flying home).

you: just something to hold you over until you get back!

kyle: so good for us babe.

soap: yer evil bonnie.

soap: my arm can't keep up with this

sr: birdie thinks it's real funny now

you: i do

sr: not gonna be so funny when we get home, yeah? might have to give you a refresher about what happens teasing birds.

price: 6:30am tomorrow, get everything you need in order because you aren't moving for the foreseeable future.

*you loved a message*

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

MDNI 18+

mentions of: grinding, brief mentions of uniform kink?? age gap (legal)

big older! simon riley with salt and pepper beard with his younger girlfriend

it was usual to have people stare at the two of you, someone as big and grumpy like him having a younger girl who was a ball of energy talking his ear off. it was comical to say the least.

“you sure she’s not uh… too young?” his captain stared at you as explored the base, clueless to the prying eyes and whispers around you. simon shrugged, a rare smile tugging on his lips as his eyes followed you. with his years of experience with bloodshed each seemed to be etched on his skin, slight lines and creases forming. “she’s a grown woman, she can make her own decision and she chose me.”

simon wouldn’t admit it, but it was an ego boost to have you under his arm, knowing that he got a sweet thing like you and not some snobby guy your age.

“you have enough energy to keep up with her?” price raised a brow as you chatted among the workers in the base, your mouth moving faster than your brain could comprehend.

simon narrowed his eyes, “‘m not that old, i can keep up with her just fine.” he grumbled.

price shrugged, “jus saying, ‘m older than you and well… i don’t think i have the stamina to keep up with their needs, their horny lil things.”

oh he knew.

“trust me, i can handle her just fine,” simon grunted as he shifted in his seat, the uniform felt slightly more restricting now, specifically around his crotch area. price hummed, “jus’ surprising that’s all, you’ve got that salt and pepper beard goin’ on and you still have stamina?” he eyed simon before going back to you, asking random questions to people you just met. “must be pussy whipped aren’t ya? lucky bastard havin’ something nice to come back to after deployment.”

though their conversation was interrupted when you sat down on his lap as his arms instinctively wrapped around your body. “mus’ be fun havin’ a body guard eh?” price teased as he flashed a smile to you, a smile plastered on your face at the comment. “he’s the best,” you gushed staring at him all gooey eyed as you gently caressed his cheek, his stubble and rough skin scratching you slightly.

“look good in uniform si,” you whispered as your finger gently traced from his vest down to his cargos, specifically the crotch area. his grip on you tightened, he knew just how horny you were, the way you were already slightly grinding on his thigh. “not now, not here,” he warned, price giving him a knowing look. though simon knew that you didn’t care, you never did.

“a girl has needs simon, if you won’t attend to them im sure many of the people here will.” nodding towards the group of prying soldiers, their eyes focused on you. “not here,” simon grunted as he got up, tugging you to the nearest room before slamming it shut.

he wasn’t lying to price when he said he could handle you, because even the thick walls couldn’t muffle your moans.

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @prettyinpink-bimbo @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

MDNI 18+

mentions of: vaginal sex, ddlg

simon riley being intimate with his shy sheltered girlfriend?? his sweet innocent girlfriend who blushes at the smallest thing and shies away from him with a small smile that he’s just so desperate to corrupt!! he loves you so much, but the way you were shying away whenever he tried to get slightly intimate was slowly driving him insane. you were insecure, trying to cover up or pull down your shirt the moment his hand slid under it, avoiding eye contact like it was the most shameful thing.

simon made sure to take care of his sweet girl, showering you with affection, grand gestures and small acts of services. he gave it all to his sweet bun. you were always obedient, willing to listen as he coaxed you to bed. “jus’ lay there and daddy will take care of it ok?”

“lookin’ so pretty in the lace baby,” his gaze drifting down to you kneeling on the bed, all pretty in pink with the lingerie he bought.

he made sure to show you just how much he loved you. “my pretty luvie,” he cooed his his large calloused hand gently traced up your legs, brushing against your inner thigh just near your clothed cunt. simon tried his best to ignore the way your thin lace panties stuck onto your mound like it was your second skin.

“wait si,” you blushed when he gently traced against your folds through your panties, pinching your clit. he held you firmly as you tried to wiggle away, “nah nah where are you going bun? ‘m gonna make you feel good yeah? need to take care of that little ache that’s been bothering you.”

simon took care of his sweet’s needs, especially the ones that made you feel all hot and bothered.

simon noticed the way your cheeks turned a soft shade of pink when he had you bare, his tip gently nudging towards your glossy cunt as you whined. “bein’ all shy but this lil cunt is dripping for me.” his voice hoarse as he rubbed your clit with the pad of his thumb, you arching your back pathetically. “needy girl aren’t you?”

“i need to be good,” your voice barely audible as you played with the charm on your necklace, shying away as if this was a sin. “you are good,” simon responded quickly, his voice firm to reassure you. “you jus’ have a lil ache in between your pretty legs that’s all, ‘m just takin’ care of it.”

“havin’ needs ain’t a sin luvie.”

he whispered quiet reassurances as his cock plunged into your soppy hole. “still so good luvie, daddy’s just takin’ care of your needs yeah?” your soft moans and hiccups filling up the room as you nodded, your mind feeling fuzzy.

“daddy’s takin’ real good care of you yeah baby?” gently nudging your chin up to avoid you from shying away.

“if you wanna have that heat in your stomach gone and come i need you to look at me yeah? don’t need to be so shy.”

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @prettyinpink-bimbo @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

simon’s not vocal during sex. like before you knew him well you’d even get a little insecure about it. but now that you know he isn’t, it doesn’t bother you.

the only time you’ve ever heard more than a grunt from him after he sinks into your warm, wet cunt for the first stroke is when he’s bone dead tired.

only when he’s so exhausted and his legs feel like they’re being weighed down, will he let you know how good he feels.

your soft body bouncing lazily atop of his, barely raising your hips before simon’s calloused hands are pulling you back down onto his cock.

the warmth of your pussy practically lulling him to sleep. warbled, almost pained, noises leaving his lips.

grunts, mewls, whimpers leaving him as you fuck yourself on his cock.

“fuck, doll. slow down, gonna make me cum.”

but he’s the one slamming you down onto him. guiding your movements as growls leave his throat until he cums inside you with such a guttural moan that your clit throbs deliciously.

rocking you down into him as his chest heaves with exertion. eyes slowly blinking up at you as his thumb finds your clit to rub lazy circles until your tightening around his cock and you find your own release.

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

plink inspiration

simon ghost riley adores when you're a little bit messy during sex, all due to his fault, with your hair mussed over along the crumpled pillowcases, every ounce of skin mapped throughfully with wet hickeys and sweet, tingling bruises, sensitive nubs of your breasts all swollen and pebbled, skin around gathering goosebumps, but what attracts his attention the most, is how soaked your panties are, soiled completely, tucked aside to expose your puffy pussy.

he jerks the hot, swollen girth of his cock all over the thin, cotton fabric, precum pearly and dripping steadily off his rudy, engorged tip, soaking into your panties and mixing in with the slick mess that oozes helplessly out of your pulsing, gaping hole, but simon keeps leaving her without any attention, needy and soppy while he rubs down into your cunt, catching on the fluttering folds and your ruined underwear.

simon plunges in your pussy only when his stomach coils with impending orgasm, making his cock twitch and throb restlessly, before sinking in the slick, cushiony tightness of your hole, pliable, walls stretching to accommodate his thick length, clamping around impatiently, with little noises escaping out your gaping mouth breathless and saccharine, keening prettily while he humps in with quick pumps, your pretty legs only spreading wider, encouraging him for more.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[livvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv]

Here me out (mentions of pregnancy) From the moment Simon put a ring on your finger, you’ve been bent over every surface in the house. kitchen counter, dining table, even the washing machine mid-spin (i make myself laugh LOL) So it’s no surprise you ended up knocked up. Honestly, it was kind of the point. He wanted to see you like this. Full. Round. Swollen with his baby.

Now, months later, your back aches, your belly's heavy and your husband’s hands are right there, soothing, lifting, holding you together with a kind of reverence that makes your knees weak.

Because if it was his goal to get you like this… then it’s his job to take care of you now that you are.

-------

From the moment Simon put that ring on your finger, he made a quiet, devastating promise with his body as much as with his words.

You’d been bent over every surface in the house. The kitchen counter, hallway wall, the back of the couch, his lap in a dining chair, gasping his name into the crook of his neck, legs trembling while he kept you right there.

It was no surprise, really, that you ended up pregnant.

He'd wanted it. Wanted you round and full with it—his. Not out of ownership, but out of something deeper. Legacy. Healing. The need to build something softer than the war-torn world he came from.

Now, months later, your belly swelled gloriously with the proof of all that want. His want.

And tonight, it hurt.

Your back screamed from the weight, pressure clinging low and stubborn as you leaned over the kitchen counter in the dim glow of the fridge light. You were trying not to cry, not to wake him. But Simon always knew.

You heard his footsteps before you felt him, that quiet shuffle down the hall. And then—

“Back again?” came the rasp, sleep-heavy and warm behind you.

You nodded without turning. “It’s… too much tonight. I can’t get comfortable. I feel like she’s pulling my spine apart.”

Simon stepped closer, hands coasting over your hips, then around to your belly. He didn’t ask, just moved with quiet knowing, slipping his hands beneath the curve of your stomach and slowly lifting the weight off your aching back.

Your knees buckled slightly from the release, from how the ache dissolved under his touch. A long, broken sound fell from your lips, something between a sigh and a whimper and you melted into him completely.

“Oh my God,” you exhaled, your head tipping back to his shoulder. “Simon…”

Simon didn’t say anything at first, just held the weight of you both in his hands. His lips pressed to your temple, then down to your cheek.

“You carry her all day,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Let me carry you.”

Your heart ached in the best way as he held you there, hands beneath your belly, supporting all the strain, all the pain. You let yourself sag into his body, trusting him completely.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, arms curling back around his waist.

Simon was quiet for a beat, his voice soft as velvet when it came. “You gave me a home I didn’t know I wanted. You gave me this…” His hand splayed gently across the side of your belly, where your daughter shifted softly beneath the skin. “I’d do anything for you.”

The silence that followed was heavy with love. The kind that needed no words.

Eventually, he helped you back to bed, slow and careful, cradling your body like a sacred thing. And when you curled into his chest, belly pressed to his side, you swore you heard him whisper thank you into your hair.

Like he still couldn’t believe he got to have this. Got to have you.