#call of duty modern warfare 2

[grimmroach]

a shadow and his light

done with my non-dominant hand forgive any wonkiness pls.

[bunnys-kisses]

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ be careful who you go home with - lt. simon r. ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

it started out as drinks in a small town bar in the middle of summer. you were in a tank top and cut off demin shorts. your sneakers were scuffed. you didn't care, on a month long road trip along the countryside, you were more than happy to let loose and get drunk. but as you danced by yourself, you could feel the lingering gaze of someone. when you looked over you saw hulking size of a man and he raised his glass to you. you were curious as you swayed over to him, the liquor polluted your mind gasoline on water. making your thoughts cloudy as you leaned over the bar and looked at him. your pretty breasts on a full display for him. he could almost see your pretty nipples. made him curious what colour they were. how they'd feel between his rough fingers. "c'mon, bird. why don't ya have a seat, i'll buy ya a drink?" and who were you to deny such a handsome man. even with a lot of his face obscured by his hat and mask. but when you compared his hand to your hand in terms of sizes, you were smitten. it made you say, 'i wonder what they say about big hands is true?" then smiled so sweetly at him.

you ended up in the bathroom stall, it was a bit cramped, but simon got you on your knees easily. he got an even better look at your pretty tits and your pink tongue as you stuck it out while looking up at him. like a docile little puppy. simon liked when his girls were agreeable, made it easier for him. he got his cock out of his pants. he didn't even need to ask pretty for you to suck it. it was big, and it made you choke. but you were so desperate, when you drank you became a stupid little slut and simon was lucky. you were the catch of the night. "know there's bad men out there. men who'd do bad things to you." he said as he rubbed your cheek. you looked up at him and smiled with his cock in your mouth. you still choked him down like a champ. oh, you were something else. you looked like you wanted to say something, but simon didn't care. he just wanted you to keep sucking his cock and cum down your pretty throat. if he could he would've finished all over you pretty face, marking you in hot cum. but, the night was young and you were still fairly drunk. you held onto his strong thighs while his tattooed hand was in your hair. he controlled the pace and you obediently took what you were given. "such a pretty thing." he said, "usually don't get lookers like you. but you're something special." you whined a little around his cock and rubbed your thighs together. your wetness was threatening to stain the front of your jeans. everything felt hazy in the best way possible. nothing like anonymous sex while drunk, wasn't that what being young was about. you clutched onto him and continued to orally pleasure him. and simon held onto you tightly. he even yanked your hair hard enough to threaten ripping it out. you looked up at him while his cock throbbed in your mouth. simon admired every inch of you and figured out the damage he could do to such a sweet little princess. but first he finished down your throat. he made sure he was as deep as he could go and watched your eyes roll back into your head. he took his cock out of your mouth and watched you swallow his cum (he didn't even have to ask).

well, weren't you full of surprises.

"let's get outta here, love." he said with that heavy voice of his. and the rational part of you was quieted by the electricity in your body, the curiosity of what else this mysterious man had to offer. you wiped the corner of your mouth and savoured the taste of his cum in your throat. salty and delicious, your knees wobbled when you got to your feet. simon was a gentleman at least, he guided your out of the bar and into his rusty red pick up. you should've been more alert to the fact that the doors were locked as soon as you buckled yourself in and simon's thigh was painfully close to the top of your thigh. you giggled, "where are we going, mister." simon smiled under his mask and put his large hand on the back of your head, "somewhere where we can have a lil alone time, and you can be as loud as you want." the engine of the truck started and dust was kicked up as he pulled out of the parking lot.

they called him the ghost for a reason, because he had a habit of making pretty girls disappear. <3

[the-whispers-of-death]

Imagine watching scary movies with Johnny to celebrate it being October.

If you're easily scared, he'll happily allow you to hide under his arm. He laughs in amused, lighthearted manner, happy you indulged him in watching a scary movie. He promises to protect you, giving you a teeth grin when you lift your head from his chest to look at him.

If you like scary movies, Johnny will enjoy watching the classic scary movies with you, a bowl of popcorn in his lap as you both watch the movie. He grins while you both jump and laugh at every jumpscare. He challenges you to watching the scariest movie he knows, seeing which one of you two can handle watching it without hiding their face into the arms of the other person.

He ends up being the one to hide his face, conceding that you're the one that can handle the most jumpscares out of the two of you.

Banners made by @cafekitsune

[cutiecusp]

Devoted, part 7. A meeting.

Tw for this series, mention of cam girl/sex work. John and reader are together, so no mention of other men. (yet)

@xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @livingoutsidethetardis @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

[keeg8n]

leave him alone he's on a break

[nrdmssgs]

"I'm the paper cut that kills you I'm the priest that you ignored I'm the touch you crave, I'm the plans that you made Fuck all your plans"

Christine 'Riot' Vega belongs to @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot

OCs Masterlist

[bzurk]

soap x reader, WIP, 1.3k, sfw. cw: isolation, manipulation.

Johnny wasn’t the same after he came home.

You noticed it immediately, the shift in the air, the way everything about him feels wrong. You notice it in the way his hands tremble when he holds you, in the small, fleeting glances he throws your way when he thinks you're not looking. He’s there, standing in the same space as you, but it’s like a part of him stayed behind, lost in whatever place he was in when the bullet hit.

It’s been months since they handed him back to you, since those days in the hospital where you listened to doctors carefully navigate words like “trauma” and “prognosis,” where they spoke around the truth without touching it. The scar near his temple has faded some, just a faint crescent of pink flesh now. But the deeper wound, the one you can’t see, festers. It gnaws at him. It’s changed him.

At first, you waited for him to come back to you. Thought that all he needed was time. That he'd slip back into normal life, back into the routines you once shared. You told yourself he’d find his rhythm again, that the nightmares would fade, that he’d laugh the way he used to, that the silence between you would shrink. It always did. But not this time. Time didn’t heal him. If anything, it’s made him more distant, more afraid. Your Johnny, the man that never knew fear, was afraid.

He hovers. Watches you from the corner of his eye like he’s scared you’ll disappear. He’s quieter now, more distant, but with this strange, desperate energy simmering beneath his skin, like a spring wound too tight. You feel it in the way his touch lingers too long and too tight as if he's trying to hold onto something that keeps slipping away.

Some nights, he doesn’t sleep at all, restless. You hear him moving through the house long after the world outside has gone still. The creak of the floorboards in the hallway, the soft sound of him touching things as if he needs to reassure himself that they’re still there, that you’re still here. He checks the doors, the windows, again and again. As if he can’t trust that you’re safe. When he finally returns to bed, you pretend to sleep, but you feel him watching you in the dark, his breath shallow, counting the rise and fall of your chest like he’s afraid there won’t be another inhale.

And then there are his words; haunting and chilling in their implications.

"Do ye think there's anything after death?" he asked one night, his eyes empty and distant as if speaking to someone beyond this world. The concept consumes him now, gnawing at his sanity and eroding away the person he once was.

“What if something happens to ye? What if- what if I lose ye?” His voice is low, strained, as if the thought of losing you is more unbearable than anything he’s seen.

And you try to reassure him, tell him you’re not going anywhere, but you see it in his eyes; he doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t trust that life won’t take you from him the way it nearly took him from you.

You catch him sometimes, just sitting by the window, staring out, fingers absently tracing the scar near his temple. You ask him what he’s thinking, but he never really answers. His eyes tell you more than his words ever could. It’s not death that haunts him anymore. It’s the idea that he survived - survived only to lose the one thing he still has left.

He’s afraid of something else now, of losing you. Of life slipping through his fingers while he’s still alive, as if he's trapped in some limbo between living and dying. The fragility of everything weighs on him now. How quickly it can all be taken away. In that fear, you see how tightly he clings to you, how much he’s come to depend on the idea that you’re still here, still with him.

With his reliance, his dependance, came isolation.

It starts slowly - so slowly you don’t even notice it at first. A missed call here, a forgotten message there. In the beginning, it feels like he needs you more than anyone else does. His grip on you tightens, but it’s soft at first, wrapped in affection. He says he just wants more time with you, more moments where it’s just the two of you, safe and together. And after everything he’s been through, who could blame him?

It felt nice, to be needed. Appreciated. Loved.

But over time, it changes. The excuses start. You skip one dinner with friends because Johnny’s having a bad day. Then it’s a weekend with family that you can’t make because he’s restless and doesn’t want to be alone. You brush it off because he needs you, and after what happened to him, it seems right to put him first. But it becomes more frequent. More insistent. And before you realize it, you’re missing invitations altogether.

You find yourself canceling plans because when you mention going out, his voice tightens, his eyes flicker with that haunted, empty look, and he asks, “Why d’ye need to go? Can’t ye just stay here? With me?”

It’s not a request.

There’s an undercurrent of something darker now, something desperate. He’s not just asking for company, he’s asking for control, cloaked in the guise of needing you. His paranoia rubs off on you, stains your skin with goosebumps and chills. What if something happens to him while you’re gone? What if something happens to you? What if he’s left all alone?

He’s lost so much already; his teammates, his sense of purpose, everything he once knew. They’re all back out there, fighting without him, and you’re all he has left. You see that fear in his eyes, the terror of being abandoned again, of losing the last person who’s still within his reach. And that’s when you realize you’re not just his partner anymore. You’ve become his tether to the world, his lifeline. And in his mind, if he loses you, he loses everything.

The weight of his fear has begun to press down on you, smothering you slowly, the way his presence always seems to leach into every corner of your life.

It becomes easier to say no to people, easier to lie and tell them you’re busy when really, you’re just trapped. You try to tell yourself it’s okay, that he’s been through enough, that this is how he copes.

You feel the isolation creeping in, like walls closing around you.

He doesn’t want you talking to your friends. He doesn’t say it outright, but you can feel it in the way he sighs when your phone rings, in the tight-lipped silence when you mention meeting someone for coffee.

“I just want ye to be safe,” he says, voice low, almost pleading. “Can’t trust the world out there.”

And the worst part is, you start to believe him. He knows the world outside better then you do, doesn’t he? He’s seen it without the tinted glasses of ignorance, exposed to the underbelly of it, been trapped in it, scarred and mauled by it. Swallowed by it and spat back out.

You’ve begun to crack under the strain, hairline fractures that splinter and spread under stress. The weight of his fear, the constant need to reassure him, to be there every second, begins to suffocate you. He doesn’t see it. He thinks he’s protecting you, protecting both of you. But you know that he’s pulling you into the same darkness that haunts him, isolating you piece by piece until you’re just as trapped as he is.

You love him, more than anything, but you can feel yourself drowning.

[yeetmyboi]

Don’t Feed a Stray if you Don’t Intend to Keep it.

Chapter 1 : A Wandering Stray

Nothing in this line of business was consistent nor guaranteed. Money, weapons, comrades— even your own survival. Fate and fortune were just two sides of the same coin that dictated each and every one of your missions.

That’s just the way it was. And you were fine with that.

Embraced it, even.

You’ve worked for a US Private Military Company, Hollow Inc, a up-and-coming PMC for a year now. Which has allowed you to keep those skills that were drilled into you sharp.

All that’s really left from your time in the military.

Being the US’s ‘legal’ version of a mercenary, meant that you were always on the move. Contract after contract. Getting paid large sums of money to act on whomever hired you. Some were with groups of other US military, others by yourself acting on part of the US. Miles and miles of places you’ve visited adding up like the ever growing number of scars and marks that littered your body.

In turn, you learned to be adaptable. With too many unknown variables involved in your line of work, it was best to assess information quickly and effectively, then act. ‘Think flexibly, cope with change easily, and always maintain a good attitude’ as a wise friend once told you.

Well, that last part you were still working on…

Your mission contract had just expired with your previous employer. Just another successful job under your belt. Already on your way back. To a small ‘luxury’ apartment in a bustling city, that was where you called home. Not even a few minutes of walking in and dropping your duffel bag, the burner phone you were given started to ring. Buzzing in your pocket with that annoying default ringtone. With it being given to you just before the end of your last contract, you suspect it was another ‘job’ calling. At least work has been consistent lately. A rare thing these days due to the company’s still developing reputation. Even if your bones begged for a break.

Idle hands are the devil’s tools, you reminded yourself.

“Hello?” You answered. Flipping the phone open and pressing it to your ear. Static filling the air for a moment before a female voice could be heard.

“Ah, Lieutenant. Glad to know you’re back on US soil.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. This voice wasn’t one you’ve heard before. Let alone, this woman was addressing you by your old title.

One you no longer held…

“I have a job for you. When’s the soonest you can get to the café down the street?”

In your mind’s eye, you knew exactly where it was. A quaint little place run by a sweet older lady whom you’ve exchanged pleasantries with numerous times. It had quickly become your favorite place to read and enjoy a hot cup. Merely 5 minutes away.

“I can be there in 15.”

“Excellent.”

Then the line was dead. Short, simple, and sweet. At least this job was already seemingly cut and dry, if that single conversation was anything to go off of.

You quickly change into something more casual. Going for civvies rather than something that screamed ‘military-trained killer’ that you are. Can’t be scaring the locals now, can we? Active wear being your most comfortable choice.

Given your hair has seen better days, you opted to wear a light gray beanie. Just to hide the awkward indent your hair held onto. All from being in a tight ponytail for far too long. Slipping on your white tennis shoes, you headed out the door.

The café wasn’t too busy this time of day, the late morning. Most people having already gotten their caffeine fix by now. Making it easy to spot the person you were to meet up with. A lady sitting in the outdoor patio section, the only one with two coffees.

She was a petite woman, looking up to see you through her blonde bangs. Slowly, she rises and welcomes you at the sleek metal table set. The steel squealed on pavement as she pushed her chair back, rising to extend her hand out to you in a well-practiced handshake. Her coffee, half drank, implied she had been here for a short while.

“Hello, Kate Laswell, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Please, have a seat,” gesturing to the adjacent seat, she slid back into her chair.

You join her, briefly glancing at the coffee set before you then back up to her. Business first. Catching your drift, Kate gave a tight lipped smile and continued, “Your file is quite impressive, and you’ve come highly recommended from your company.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“We went ahead and ran a quick check on you. You’ve been cleared and given the green light.”

You give a small nod, itching to get at the meat of the conversation.

“See, we don’t really reach out to others. Rather, we are the ones others reach out to. However,” Laswell paused, moving to pull out a manilla folder. Your folder. Her deft fingers flipping it open, and pulling out a pen, “We are looking to expand our team for an indefinite time, due reasons I can’t yet discuss. With the skills you possess, it would make a great fit.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes stay steady on her. Working with a team wasn’t unusual for you. Done it multiple times. Even when you rather preferred your own company. What was unusual was that there wasn’t a set amount of time.

Moving forward to lean on your elbows, resting them against the cool metal table, you nodded once more. Conveying your interest but not wanting to interrupt her.

“But there’s one thing I have to ask. Tell me, why did you leave the military in the first place? Only to continue your work elsewhere just a year later?”

There it was. That dreaded question. Same one you’ve been asked over and over this past year. Yet it still had a habit of making your throat instantly go dry.

Surely your file already explained it? Your contract with special forces was just about up when it happened. You remember the exact moment your commander broke the news to you while out with your platoon. That you were heading home, and quickly.

Next thing you knew, it was 18 hours later, and you were there— kneeling bedside by the last person you considered your true family.

It’s just a quick psych evaluation on the subject, you reminded yourself.

You give a small nod while clearing your throat. Your smile not faltering. Reaching out to that coffee in front of you, you take a sip. The coffee had long since lost its warmth. It’s bitter and barely lukewarm as it travels down your tight throat.

“An unexpected death in the family. I was needed to come home to sort a few things out.” You state simply, setting the cup back down. “I was put in charge of settling everything.”

“Ah,” Laswell nods, “I see. Apologies for your loss.”

You watch as she clicks the pen and scribbles something down in red ink. Your eyes flickered down to her writing before snapping back up. You manage to keep a polite smile, but already wanting to move off the subject. Still, you could tell she was trying to be understanding.

“Well, that’s it then. Welcome to the team,” Laswell clicked her pen and closed your file.

“Thank you, ma’am. How soon am I shipping out?” You asked, gauging how much time you had to wait before being pulled right back into action.

“That burner will text you the location and time. Dress warm.” Laswell gave a warm, knowing smile while moving to stand. You mirroring her movement. Both of you shake hands and part ways. While she walked away, you turned to head inside the café. A hot coffee, sweetened to your liking, you found yourself suddenly craving.

[euno11a]

it is proven that majority of women can’t orgasm from intercourse alone. So imagine reader who can’t make herself cum, no matter how she touches her swollen little bud.

it’s becoming more annoying as you keep trying, different speeds, pressures, and angles, but nothing seems to work for you! It’s gotten to the point where you’ve quite frankly given up on even touching yourself. You’ve tried for so long, yet always get nothing.

so imagine telling Simon when he asks you, oh so kindly when on deployment, to touch yourself with him to make you both feel good. The silence over the phone when you say you can’t.

“What?”

“I just can’t. I’ve tried, but it just doesn’t work for me.”

“‘Ave ya-?”

“I’ve done everything, Simon! I can’t, okay?”

it was clear that this was something that you weren’t comfortable with talking about. It made you upset that you didn’t “function correctly” like other women. So the night Simon came home, he greeted you with a soft kiss. There wasn’t any harsh underlying emotion, just soft and sweet love. His large and calloused hands would cup your cheeks and look at your eyes, watching the slight confusion slip into your gaze.

now laying against his sturdier chest, looking at yourself in the mirror with him behind you, you knew what was happening. He gently pulled down your sleeping pants, taking his time to let his fingertips brush against every inch of your thighs, all the way down to your ankles. And soon enough, off came your panties too. He started by admiring the slight glistening of your slick right by your entrance, using his fingers to gently dip into the fluid that he loved. Dragging his fingers upwards, he brought his fingertips to the side of your clit, letting your slick be the lube for his fingers.

Simon looked at you through the mirror, keeping eye contact as his fingers pressed onto your clit. The gasp that left your lips was sudden, almost reaching down to grab his wrist, but stopping when he gave you a stern warning look. Everything felt different - his touch felt electrifying, while yours felt like watching paint dry. Why was it so different? Your eyes fluttered shut, head resting on his shoulder when he started speeding up his small circular motion. Your thighs spread a little more, shuddering when you felt a build up in your lower tummy. That burn you never felt unless you used a toy, the burn you got before you were clouded with euphoria; it was coming. You let out small squeaks and whimpers as your hips lifted and you came undone. Usually that’s when you’d stop, let your body just relax, but Simon kept a firm hand across your torso, using his leg to keep yours pinned down so he could still rub you till complete satisfaction.

once his movements slowed and he was panting along with you slightly, he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, looking at your eyes through the mirror again.

“I don’t care what time of day it is, if ye need t’cum, y’tell me and I’ll help, love. Alrigh’?”

you mustered a small nod, droopy eyes falling to the wet and sticky mess between your thighs, and the lovely hands that helped you along the way.

[amustikas]

“I showed you my fish pls respond”

would you swipe right on him???

oh and happy valentines ;)

[minkei]

forgot to post this here

[abbsaura]

Simon Riley fucking you like this, Simon Riley fucking you like that… okay, buy what about Simon Riley making love to you.

He can be a kind person sometimes. Just imagine it. Missionary position and soft thrusts and him moaning in a low tone. He would say that you’re so perfect and gorgeous, how long has he waited to have you like this…

He is a normal human being, he would like to experience pleasure like all of us. Some days it can be gentle and sweet and some other days he would fuck like it’s his last day on earth.

Just some intrusive thoughts I had, I dislike almost all of the hard porn about ghost in here.

[bunnys-kisses]

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ i like my men older - simon riley♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

you knew that your friends from school raised an eyebrow when you told them that you were dating a man almost double your age. you were in your twenties, while this 'simon' guy was close to fifty. you told them that he was an army man who had a gooey center for you.

your friends could see the upgrade in your laptop and the new knapsack with a logo that proclaimed it was expensive. the small chain around your neck with a 's' on it that you toyed with when they asked questions about him.

you looked happy, healthier even! you weren't eating minute meals and surviving off of black coffee. there was a little roundness to your cheeks now and you looked more alive. a glow to you that wasn't that while you trudged through your graduate program. so honestly, how could they complain?

if you had a glow to you, it was because you were often fucked out. most women your age through that dating an older man would mean having to go slow. be patient about technical difficulties regarding their cocks. that was what you expected from a man that old. especially one with aches and pains like simon. your poor si, he had been in the military his entire life. barely had the touch of a woman during that time! poor guy! of course you'll teach him all the ways a woman should please a man. the first time you ran your tongue on the underside of his cock he cam all over your head, and while you whined. it made you crazy hot. fucking simon was like fucking a live wire. he hadn't slowed down with age. he fucked like a stallion in breeding season. and he loved when he pulled his heavy cock into you. you once told him that he could be a cervix breaker. and he simply said, "well, if i break it... i can't breed it." which made you go slack jaw for a moment before he continued to rut up against you. you didn't expect a man of his age to have a breeding kink.

you practically begged your doctor to give you birth control, because he was not buying condoms. "don't fit in 'em, lovie." he said as he patted his clothed cock when you started dating. you knew that was impossible, condoms could fit a lot of things and while simon was fairly big. he could fit in a condom. but, no. when you tried to put them on yourself, he simply took it off, tossed it to the side and pinned you under his heavy weight. legs in the air as he rutted against you like a hungry animal.

he was so much bigger than you. wide shoulders, strong thighs and a bit of a gut to keep you folded under him. there was a masculine heft to him. he was strong, picking you up was easy to him even when you tried to tell him your weight. one time he gripped you by the waist with one arm and moved you out of the way. you kicked and squeaked as you were moved. but to simon it was easy as lifting heavy equipment. but that softness to some of his muscles really got you hot all over. it didn't help that part of your role as his girlfriend was to make sure that your man was fed. you cooked him meals and he over devoured in your sweet dessert. he loved you in an apron. all domestic and sweet for him. you were real wifey material. could easily be cooking meals for him and the kids in a few years. you can have a graduate degree and a few riley babies. "look good cookin' for me, darlin'. know how to make a proper meal for your man." you wouldn't admit but his words excited you.

simon can be a little... chauvinistic. it was just his age. while he respected female colleagues in the military and was beyond happy that you were getting your degree. he'd do things for you that you could clearly do on your own. like when you tried to fix the leaky tap in your flat. or when you try to carry all the groceries inside. yes, darling, you're a strong woman. but let him take over. take care of you. that was what a man did right? he'll cut the onions for you and try to fix your buggy wi-fi connection. he's pay for dinner every time and even get you dessert after. he'd wipe your face clear of the sweet treat you'd have. "don't ask her anything too difficult, johnny. she doesn't need to be thinkin' too hard." he once said with his hands over your ears and glared at his teammate. which only made the scotsman laugh. simon didn't mind if he had to take over. he'd never pull the rug out from under you, even when you were under him. you looked prettier under him, letting him take charge of your fucking. he took care of his girl, even when you whined and told him you were capable. there was no need to whine. simon needed to take care of his much smaller, much weaker baby girl. no need to break a nail trying to do stuff that simon could easily do for you.

even with the grey in his blond hair, he still kept up to you. there were times that you were too exhausted from day-to-day that you let simon rut between your thighs until he covered your round ass with his hot cum. you'd whimper which would turn into a yelp when he easily slipped his heavy cock into your sweet pussy. where it belonged. he fucked you heavily as his cum coated your behind, even trailing down your sloped back as you had your head in the covers.

"don't spill a drop off that pretty ass, baby girl. or else i'd might have to mark you again." thank god you liked your men older. <3

[amaranthinespirit]

boyfriend!simon riley who's very attentive to everything about you

simon knows you like the back of his hand; he can tell whenever something's changed about you, down to the smallest of things.

he can see the difference when you get your hair done. even if you only got a couple inches of dead ends off, he'll run his calloused fingertips through the silky strands and comment about how good it looks on you.

you always smell so good, though after an extended period of time, he becomes nose blind to the way you smell. when you get a new perfume, it's like he's lost all sense of himself, dumb and mindless as he follows you like a lost dog through the house.

"smell s'good, luvie," he'll hover over your shoulder as he indulges in the sweet scent that wafts from your skin, sticking his nose where the perfume concentrates on your neck.

he's made a note of everything you've got in your closet, the way you cycle through your clothes. so, naturally, he notices when you get a new article of clothing or a pair of shoes, and not because of the tiniest dent in his wallet that it makes. his eyebrows perk up at the sight of a new top, his eyes having a more lively look behind them. the way his rough hands paw at your hips to pull you closer, rubbing the fabric of the new cloth between his fingertips.

"s'pretty, jus' f'me, hm?" he'll mumble gruffly while his hands tease around the hem of the material.

when you get your period, and the way your face contorts with discomfort. his big hands you grasp at to use as a personal heating pad. he huffs out a chuckle, but nonetheless lays with you while you use him for his body heat.

when your mood is off and the way your thighs clench together with every word that falls from his lips, no matter the insinuation. just the fact that his deep, gruff voice whispers in your ear, the warmth of his breath kissing your skin, makes your pussy throb and thigh press harder to relieve the pressure. suddenly, you're hyper-aware of the way your panties seem to rub against your desperate cunt. the cotton across your clit makes you shiver next to him on the couch.

when your eyes are hazed over as he fucks his fat, lengthy dick into your tight pussy, grunts falling from his lips as you clench around him. the sound of flesh slapping is filthy and lewd, the squelch of your sopping cunt whenever he drives his cock back into your hole. his bulbous tip kisses your cervix every time his hips piston into yours. the backs of your thighs are turned red, arousal dripping down them as it pools onto the couch cushions beneath you.

he holds your knees together with a single, large hand, the other reaching down to toy with your clit. his ears prick, becoming more sensitive to the way your little mewls and gasps are strained, quieter as if stuck in your throat.

when you're about to come, the heat in your tummy building and building as his fingers continue to paw at your clit furiously. he's mumbling strings of phrases, praise, and more encouragement that doesn't reach your ears as they begin to ring. his cock is painted white, a creamy ring nearly to the base of his cock and more painted down your thighs and sticking to his hips whenever he slowly drives his hips forward.

"jus' needed t'go dumb on m'cock, hm?"

[the-palelady]

the only thing reaching simon’s ears is the sound of your pathetic little moans, breath heavy and labored, eyes shut taut. your fingers grabbing at the silk sheets beneath you, holding on as if you were falling. but simon would always catch you even if you did slip from his grasp.

“eyes up here, angel,” he whispered down to you, leaning forward to plant a lingering kiss against the damp skin of your forehead. slowly your eyes opened just the slightest bit.

“bit more. let me see those beautiful eyes.”

and when you opened them the rest of the way, simon could see hearts looking back at him, your expression dazed.

“there she is.” his lengthy fingers were wrapped around the circumference of your waist, hands not far from one another with how big they were wrapped around you. he held onto you, not too tight, but enough to keep you locked in place while his hips pressed up into you, cock gliding along the velvety wetness of your pussy.

“si…si i…i can’t take anymore,” you whined helplessly, bottom lip jutting out and quivering when his bulbous tip poked at a sensitive spot.

“come on, love. you can take it. just a bit more for me, ya?”

[nova-lunosi]