#call of duty x you

[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

[simp4konig]

wait a minute. pookie. how do we think nikto would react to reader asking him to clasp her bra...

Omg!!! Never in my life did I type out ideas so FAST!!! 🏃🏼‍♀️💨

Fem! Reader Asking Nikto To Clasp Her Bra

Word Count: 1719

Implies friends to lovers with Nikto. Atrociously down bad Nikto for Reader <3. Themes not dissimilar to this fanfiction (only less intense lol 💀).

Reader is addressed as "You". No Y/N used.

*Russian Speakers, please forgive me for any linguistic inaccuracies. This is the first time I tried to write in Russian without relying on Google Translate 🥲... If there's any errors, please let me know! 🙏

❗SUGGESTIVE CONTENT BELOW THE CUT! ❗ (No sex, but allusions to it). Readers are warned for suggestive content. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

…Did you say what he thinks you've said, or was that the voices?

Did he imagine it? Was it a hallucination, maybe? Perhaps he's just a maladaptive daydreamer, and he hasn't realised…

His thoughts — or the words spoken by the voices, he's not sure — whisper in an uncharacteristically gentle tone:

Ммм... красотка. А... така красивая... рядом со мной...

They whisper to him about you. To him, for you. And to you. But those words don't leave his scarred lips, his throat hoarse and vocal cords damaged

Treasure. So beautiful. And with me, with me...

No. Not with you. He could never be with you. All he can do is content himself

“—Nikto?" You asked gently, eyebrows furrowed over your eyes, instantly dragging him from his trance. "Are you... okay? Did you hear me?"

Ah. There's that angelic little voice. How divine...

Wait. So it wasn't a hallucination? He didn't imagine you asking him to clasp your bra? Unless he heard incorrectly? Surely he heard incorrectly.

Staring at you with a blank expression under the mask, his response was less like a question, and more like a statement, if anything:

"You... want me to clasp your bra. Yes?"

"...Yes, please," you said, a sheepish, lopsided smile on your face, as you bashfully looked off to the side. "It, er... it came undone as we were cuddling. And uh... well. You know. I tried to be subtle and do it myself, but... it didn't really go that well, did it? So... put me out of my misery, please."

You were so very… casual. True, you were embarrassed, but you didn't display disgust at the prospect of being touched; rather, you were... expectant, as if it's what you wanted, and it made Nikto's heart soar at the possibility that his feelings could be reciprocated.

But he wasn't going to delude himself more than he was already.

You brought this up so offhandedly, as if this was some passing topic of conversation or an ordinary occurrence, and a normal favour to ask of someone. Someone normal. Who was be to be a fucking pervert?

When that fact registered, Nikto probably: a.) clenched his fists so tight that the remaining nails on his fingers pierce his skin and draw blood — all in a desperate attempt to see if this was indeed reality, and not a hallucination; b.), short-circuited and got into an intense unintentional staring competition with you, eyes vaguely red and unblinking for minutes, disbelieving, still and not moving as much as an inch; and/or c.), popped the hardest boner in his life that he almost lost consciousness, fainted, and fell from the bed to floor.

"I... why?"

A laugh almost escaped your throat — almost — but you swallowed it in time, realising that to laugh could have been making a mockery of Nikto.

"Ah... these clasps are so fiddly, you know? And... well..."

Awkwardly laughing, you explained: "...I couldn't reach. Not without drawing attention to myself, anyways. But it's really uncomfortable having to hold your bra while you try to be discreet when you clasp it, you know? And..."

Obviously, Nikto was not someone normal. Isn't.

This was extraordinary. A gift. Oh, what a blessing this was!

To look at you and bask in your presence is salvation in it of itself.

To be close to you, within arms' reach, his strength and size ensuring that in his wildest fantasies you'd be beneath him, with no chance of escaping, and in a position where all you can do is accept what he forces upon you.

Of course, he would never do that. The voices seduce him, urge him, order him to, but he doesn't listen. He won't touch you without permission, or without explicit consent.

Simply living has become worthwhile, as he can breathe the same air that left your precious lips. The pain, the agony, the aching, and the inexplicable grief, the, sorrow, the woe, the burden, and the mortal suffering — all meaningless and trivial if it means that you are with him.

So to touch you? And so intimately? Oh… боже…

Not only does it demonstrate that, despite the grotesque monster that he's been transformed into, the prospect of his hands on your body doesn't repulse you, but it proves how you trust him. You trust Nikto enough to touch you. To be vulnerable with him.

You consider him trustworthy enough to feel your bare back, and to trace his rough, callous, quivering fingertips over the delicate lace of your bra. You have decided that he's worthy of such a privilege.

Still, he wavered in his uncertainty. He'd rather be certain, than ruin things with you. His everything.

"...You are sure?"

Eyes crinkling in a small yet kind smile, you assured him, that: "Yes. I am sure. Please, just do it for me. I'd rather you do it."

He did not want to fuck this up. No fucking way. Ни хуя сибет.

You're friends. Good friends. As a matter of fact, you were his only friend.

But he was so fucking hard that he was almost nauseous — and that was before he has even touched you.

From his hazy recollection of his past and his continuing life which he occasionally unintentionally dissociated from, he can't ever recall being so turned on — half the time, his dick doesn't even function the way it should do.

But for you? You needn't ask; the effect which you have on him is evident. Simply through existing, you're his personal aphrodisiac.

A snort escaped Nikto’s broken, deformed nose at the sight of you shyly holding up your shirt tightly over your chest with one hand, and steadying your bra in the other — if it was up to him, he'd have hurled the offensive piece of clothing into some obscure corner of the room, and stripped you both naked, uncaring of his scars or of how his body looked, just to have you once, once.

But it was not up to him. And he wouldn't do something that rash. He wasn't about to scare you off when you were good... friends. Friends. Yes.

His fingertips touched the junction of your spine, tracing the subtle bumps of the vertebrae. His touch was so delicate, so tentative, that you could have almost mistaken it for a gust of wind.

You shivered involuntarily, goosebumps forming on your arms, and Nikto's breath hitches when you flinch slightly, your back arching a little.

“Блать… душа моя…”

He's trying to be good, trying not to cross any boundaries. You've already been so charitable, so selfless, to offer him this. If he wastes this, or ruins things between you two by making you uncomfortable to the point you won't be on speaking terms, he would rather kill himself.

Gently, with shaky, shaking fingers, he reaches for the clasp of your bra, which is lose, and attempts to clasp it for you.

His big, callous hands weren't made for handling such small, delicate things.

He's breathing heavily, his mask doing nothing to muffle the desperate puffs of air, his throat constricting and going dry. Your hair stands on the nape of your neck, and you shiver again — only, it's not from the cold.

He's gritting his teeth, pissed off by how fiddly this is, but he wouldn't ever voice this out loud — any intimacy and touch is better than none at all.

By some miracle, he does it. And he thought that was that.

To quell his temptations, he gently pulled the hem of your shirt down, fixing the material and making sure the midriff was exposed, and respectfully averted his gaze so you could fix your bra, denying himself the sight he'd cherish until he was blind and engrave the image in his brain.

That was that, he thought. It wasn't really what he thought, of course, since he silently hoped, yearned for more, but he would be thankful for any scraps of affection that he was allowed to give you.

Except...

"...You can touch me, you know," you murmured, averting your gaze as your cheeks heated up. “That… was the whole point.”

Suddenly, he couldn't speak English.

Or Russian.

Or articulate himself in any way, shape or form.

He's struck dumb. Dumbstruck. Dumbfounded. Bewildered.

Really? Really? You had wanted him to do it?

Before he had the time to process your declaration, your smaller hands took his and guided them onto your chest — not over your shirt, but under — letting him cop a feel of the skin he so desired to.

No... not letting him. Encouraging him. With a smile so impossibly sweet and effortlessly sexy at the same time that he had to bite his bottom lip until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

He needed you so bad. So, so bad.

Both large bear-like paws clutching at your chest, he held your covered breasts as if they were the most precious objects in the world.

His. Eго.

Нет... не его...

Not his. Not ever. You were only taking pity on him, aware of how deprived he's been of physical intimacy, the boner always prominent when you're close. He's pathetic.

A silence enveloped you both, but it surprisingly wasn't an awkward one; rather, a pleasant, calming, and comfortable one.

Nikto's hands wandered absentmindedly across your torso, stroking your skin, gently groping the soft parts of you.

You moaned in content, closing your eyes as he massaged your flesh as if he's never seen women's boobs or a woman's cleavage before.

He had, in another life, but never yours. So this is different. Special.

His pupils were blown black with love, eyelids hooded with adoration and complete focus. Only you. And only you. Только ты.

He wouldn't... he told himself he wouldn't... he shouldn't go further... he couldn't do this to you. To himself.

What if he ruined your friendship? If he was without you and alone again, he would really kill himself after all.

He shouldn't...

He mustn't...

Really. Really. He ought to stop now before he loses himself.

Your eyes open, and you bless him with the privilege of watching you undress, the shirt slipping over your head and revealing your body to his starved, starving gaze.

It's too much...

…

…

…

...The bra came off not long after, along with all of your and Nikto's clothes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[lxvvie]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGd131LGH/

Simon and the missus😌

"Simon, what the hell?"

"Gotta be quicker than that, sweetheart."

And your sugar fiend of a missus actually manages to start chewing before you can react so you decide to do him one better. You're gonna kiss the smug grin off his face.

And then he does you one better and the next thing you know, his candy-coated tongue is down your throat.

Gotta be quicker than that, sweetheart.

[archive-doll]

𝐼𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒹, 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 - 𝒦ö𝓃𝒾𝑔!𝒦𝓇𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃

Author Note: second story of kinktober for me! This one is focused on König, as a Kraken of course, and I tried to give myself some challenge with today's theme. As always, please be sure to read the warnings. Have fun! MASTERLIST

Day 4 of Kinktober : chasing kink / hunting kink

Trigger Warning: chasing prey/hunting kink is not consensual. Mention of sacrifice during medieval times, age gap he's ancient. Sexual penetration with his tentacles. ANGST, but he is very nice to you. König uses his venom on you, by accident → dubious consent. Mention of impregnation, breeding kink. size kink.

It's very long... there is plot, I suppose.

Have mercy on my grammar, english is not my first language, and as always minors do not interact.

You come often, by the river. It often comes from a place of longing, the yearning for freedom making your flesh tingle. Your fingers shake when you take the first step out of your cabin, a heavy scarf wrapped around your throat while the door falls close.

It hasn't been long since you moved into the dainty cabin, at the edge of the mountains. The exuberance of the city, the weight in the air when you slither around the streets, one day after another, became too much. Like a knot around your throat. The decision to leave has not been easy to make. You left all of your life behind, every connection you had - your friends, your works, your favorite coffee shop, the artistic museums.

But, as the cold air slides around the crevice of your fingers, there is no regret in that decision. Your garden still needs some readjustment, and your cabin a few renovations but the constriction fades away as soon as your eyes find the lines of the trees. Your legs shift without you needing to think of it, carrying you deeper into the wilderness.

It had rained for a few days, making the ground sloppy, but your feet easily make way after weeks of wandering in the mountains. You never cross anyone during your little escapades, only noticing traces of animals. Sometimes, hearing an owl, or the scurrying motions of a rodent.

You never feel safer than in the woods. Everywhere you look, there is only the undying beauty of nature. From the branches of the trees that dance beneath the wind to the smell that only comes with the rain.

There is freedom, with being the only human in the surroundings. It makes you feel small but in a good way. In a way that cradles your heart and makes your soul feel comforted because the world is so much bigger than you.

A little cloud emerges when you exhale, your body muffled into your coat. It's not long before you find yourself by the bed of the river, the gentle current like a lullaby as you approach. The oppressing weight that appears with your anxiety, lessens around your shoulders when you breathe into the quietness.

The path you take changes with the day, and the reason for your anguish. Tonight, you take the short travel, staying by the bed of the river uncaring of the mud that is starting to smudge along your boots. Watching the river flow along the mountains, making its way - ever so slowly taking a place for itself through the earth is relaxing enough.

Your nose is cold as you finally see the sea there, careful in your steps as you descend the little hill. With a sniffle, you push your hands deeper into your pockets, not sensing the eyes that follow your movement.

There are little movements that break the peace, creating little waves along the surface of the water, and you innocently think it's fish there or the slight breeze. It's dark here, which gives the landscape an eerie feeling that you relish in. A slight branch cracks beneath the sole of your feet before you step over the rock, finding one stable and large enough to accommodate your body.

A sigh escapes your lips; curling your legs against your chest, you nestle your chin into the creak of your knees. Here, in the meadows, the skyline is visible and you can see numerous stars that shine, their light finding you. It's reassuring, a gentle reminder that the world is bigger than you - bigger than the reasons that made you flee the city.

A splash in the water echoes around, water licking up at the rocks under you. You miss it, the tentacles that emerge for a second from the deepness, and you don't see either the red pupils that catch the light of the moon. Innocent little thing that you are, when the sea comes to great the ground, you simply think it is the tide.

The monster, him, creeps closer. Your smell and the sudden noises are known to him, after your multiple visits. Before, humans used to come to their domain in search of penitence. An old village even offered sacrifices in the hope of a good harvest. It has been years since a human appeared, and even longer since one looking so delectable.

Your cheeks are full. There is a softness in the line of your jaw and a plushness in your mouth. You seem ripe for the taking, with a sway in your thighs when you walked to him - an offering, just for him to have. They wonder, how you will look, with their tentacles slithering along the curves of your flesh, how hard he can tighten around you. How deep they could reach, how many of them they could sink into your body.

You are not aware, when the first tip of its flexible limb finds suction on the rock. There is a little distance between you and them, half a meter, beneath you, so close to its prey. And the sea is profound there, easily swallowing his stature. His breath hitch, watching ravenously how your eyes flutter up at the sky. You look so precious, there. A treasure for him to keep.

You hum in the safety of your perch, the humid wind prickling at your nose. The sea is moving beneath you, its own entity, and each wave is like a breath - it's hypnotizing. A little squeak comes then, breaking the gentle trance you put yourself into, and as your gaze was to flickers down if only by instinct, a burning rope tightens around one of your ankles.

A scream breaks your throat, the sudden constriction making you wail as you flap your arms around in terror. You're too scared to touch it, and your fingers find solace on the sharp edges of the rock when you cry out, heartbeat resonating in your ears. With one kick, the bottom of your foot collapses against a mass, and the rope twitches before lessening, but you can't stop shaking.

"Oh, god!" You whine, stumbling backward with a pump of adrenaline falling from your previously safe place.

The darkness of the night suddenly appears threatening. Your eyes catch forms, and you think you see something there but, there is no certainty in the madness that rises in your mind. The mystery coming along with the sea now is threatening, raising a dangerous need to flee.

The patch of flesh that has been clutch burns, even through the material of your jeans. Your palms fumble back until they dig into the ground, the slime of the earth making you slip.

"Fuck!" You gasp, skittering when your shoulders hit the ground, splatters of mud find your profile, and the air is suddenly taken away from you. Hair pressing into the ground, the rocks are hard beneath your leg, and you groan, immobilized for a moment by the lack of oxygen and the pain in your upper back.

A hissing sound crawls into the whistling of your ears, and you whine, hands trembling. The crawling of the sea is not what you notice first, as you come back to your senses. It should be, really, with how the surface appears to rise, and the water defiling gravity. The tide growing stronger, but no. Your mind, still dizzy from the shock and mixed signals, settles on the shadow creeping toward you.

You hear little sounds, peculiar noises like a clicking of teeth, and see slithering silhouettes writhing closer. A squeak leaves you as you try to escape, nails scraping against a hard surface, the fat of your hips jiggling when you roll to your front. The sight of you, and the softness that they can see as your coat and garment ride create and rumble across their chest.

"Little one..."

You were moving to get on your feet, wide eyes filled with fear flickering across the line of the tree when the thunderous voice erupts through the air. Maybe it's instinct, maybe it's the pain in your joints but you cease - bursts of air passing through your clenched teeth.

Everything in you is telling you to run, from your shaking hands to the prickling at your nape but, for some reason, it might be the need to know, to have a face at what makes you so scared. You're not certain, but you still for an instant, a matter of seconds, and tilt your head back. Your eyes move around, unable to focus after the hit against the ground, until you see slithering strands.

Your brows quirk in a curl of anguish and you think it is your imagination, might even be a hallucination from that previous fall. But, the more you concentrate, the less it appears to be a vision. The slithers are all connected, on top of the mountainly creature facing you. The clicking sound is still there, stronger, and there is a hiss as your hands reach further when you understand what it is.

Tentacles.

"Where are you going? Mäuschen, you cannot leave me."

The shiver is like a knife, skinning you alive, from head to toe when their voice arises. No, you can't stay, you need to run, you have to move.

In a blur, your knees shift and you are running. You are not fast enough or barely, with how your ankle burns and your head still spinning. Still, you try and don't look behind, too scared of what you will discover next time. Because behind you is an enormous creature, bigger than the whole sky, with a head filled with tentacles. A monster in the flesh.

Danger, your brain says, and you believe it.

Everyone knows, that running from a predator is not a good idea - actually, it's not recommended at all. When you first started to live out there, all alone in the woods, you took a few courses and learned how to behave if you ever found yourself in proximity to a predator. But, the instructor only told you what to do around a bear, hell, even a wolf.

What are you supposed to do, around a being that emerges from the sea, with a head filled with flimsy appendages coming from their head? You're pretty certain that simply standing there, trying to make yourself bigger, is not going to cut it.

What is the next best thing, then? Running, your adrenaline brain tells you. Your ankle burns with every shift, and you think it might even be swollen with how heavy your feet appear to be, but you don't stop. Not even when the clicking sound worsens, almost angrily, and you race across the salty swamp.

Your feet slide and barely find refuge on the ground, the heavy rain that had fallen early this week making you stumble with every step you take. The wind is harsher now, crashing through your body and making you deviate your course without your knowledge - until you're rushing along the edge of the cliff.

They are close behind, you can feel it. With every stride you try to take, every inhale engulfing your lungs, you can feel them right behind you. Two steps closer, a breath of distance. The tide had risen, and the waves crashed along the shore as you ran away, avoiding the bushes and the fallen branches.

Danger, danger, danger.

"Maüschen!"

The curls in your brow deepen when the voice growls in your ears, hair now sticking along the lines of your jaw, jeans heavy with the dampness of the air, and the splatters of the sea that reached you.

"No, no! Please!" It's useless to cry, it does not stop the burning at the back of your eyes when you see the tentacles from the corner of your eyes, your body bending forward as if to reach out for safety, in the last moment of hope.

The moment you feel one of them slither at your nape, you yelp, hand flailing in the air in front of you but they find your wrist too, the slimy appendages. All at once, they curl around you, sticky things pushing beneath the cover of your clothes, crawling along the plane of your body - you're caught.

They caught you.

"Sh, no need to cry, little one." The grumble is soft when they press themselves at your back, and you sob in fear, your exhaustion taking its toll on your mind, too.

Before you can process any of it, two very large arms surround your waist, cold and wet hands smoothing up your belly to grasp at your waist - and then your feet are dangling in the air. The tentacles do not hurt, you realize, when they flush you into their chest, a few feet up in the air.

They coddle you with every rubbing motion of their hands; even the tentacles seem to try to comfort you in their own way. They're tight around you, keeping you from fleeing again, but they slimmer along like a caress when you plead again. The ones around your jaw paddle along your flesh, circling it softly, and with a gentle push, it forces your head back, into what you think is a very broad shoulder.

"Shush, no tears."

Pearly tears fall into your cheeks when your hands are being pressed into your sides, preventing any movements. Hiccups make your breasts heave and the fear tremble in your knees. It coos at you again, their grumbling voice so close you can almost taste the words in your mouth until two red orbs find themselves in your line of sight.

"It is okay, Maüschen, you are okay."

It makes you uneasy, to have this creature binding you to them so easily, their appendages breaching your intimacy with how they swirl and push beneath your clothes - even now, passing the band of your jeans to knead at your thighs. But they are trying to comfort you; you can hear it. Their voice is softer now, and their head cocks to the side in a very animalistic way, their nose pushing into the softness of your cheek.

You wail at the proximity, fat droplets aching your skin as they fall from your eyes - they coo at you again, a thin mouth grazing your skin when they talk.

"No hurt, promise."

Your nose scrunches at the pain in their voice, and you sniffle loudly, snot passing your nostrils with your frantic state. The motions along your body leave a trail of what you think is saliva behind, kneading each inch of your flesh they find. Almost in a patting motion.

"No - no hurt?" You repeat dumbly, hands curling and twitching into the binding they have forced you into.

"No. Safe, Maüschen," they indulge you of course, and a cold mouth trails along your cheek in clumsy kisses unit they find the corner of your eyes. The temple of your soul, where they lick at your anguish.

"What are you?" You ask between cries, the little jolts in your shoulders becoming sparse as their hand rubs circles into your belly, pressing gentle pets at your hips.

The snap of the button of your jeans is unheard as they hiss again, and you make sense of the sound when you see the gills by their temples opening with the light of the moon. From so close, their face almost sinking into your own, you see the bloom of their tentacles across their chin and jaw, pink and white suction cups twitching in the air as if tasting your scent.

"You people named me Krake. I am König."

The flimsy libs that spread around your body almost have a mind of their own, as you watch them - him, blinks at you almost innocently. You don't see any sadism in his eyes, no hunger for pain, or anger. Mostly curiosity in how he nudges your hair with his nose to breathe beneath your ear. Slight arousal too, in the glint that settles in him.

You squirm, feeling the tentacles pushing deeper into your pants, some reaching to your knees, others circling your thighs, the suckering becoming slightly harder as they pass by your sensitive skin. The ones along your torso do not relent either; the gestures are more determined when they cradle the swell of your breasts.

"Oh, oh, no, not - !" You gasp, arms tensing into the restraints and he hums into you, their massive frame shifting closer as one circles your nipple. It's wet, and warmer than in the beginning, the sensation strangely addicting when one suckles at the hardening bud with no intention to leave. It makes your eyes roll back at the sudden contact, the eager suckles coating your flesh with heat.

"You are very warm, Schatz." He mumbles, lips caressing the slope of your throat as they bend their neck, your thighs clenching close when the tentacles ramp at the seams of your legs.

"Yes, warm - you, fire, I can, fire!" You gasp, trying to get his attention elsewhere, but you're not making any sense. Your eyes roll back when one presses against the gusset of your underwear, drifting right along the lips of your sex. It's wet, and it's thick as it caresses you, strong enough to make your hole weep and wink at the tentacles battling for the first taste of you.

"Fire?" König repeats, opening their mouth as he licks a patch of your skin, tasting the fear and the tears of your skin, a slightly sugary thing that makes him crave more. It's stronger the more he slinks himself along your soft cotton panties, starving for the solace of your pussy. "Flame."

"Yes, yes, flames - oh god." You squirm in his hold with a whimper, but now, it's not with the desire for distance, or to leave and disappear. Your hips grind down, and the previous burn at your ankle is more like a gentle warmth now, flooding along your legs, which shake and part when the probing at your entrance lulls your mind into a gentle pleasure.

"Little one, cold? Venom makes mortal weak."

A rumbling noise passes your lips, drooling tongue finding the corner of your mouth before König licks straight into it, groaning into you as he suckles your saliva with eagerness. You taste sweeter than he had imagined, the redness in his eyes darkening as he feels the sticky wetness dripping between your legs. Pure ambrosia, for him to delight in.

You barely understand his words, until you do, hooded eyes blinking down at him with confusion, finding König sniffling at your collarbone. His body curls around you as he continues fondling your tits, coat almost half raised to your shoulders, and your mouth part when his thumb pushes beneath one tentacle to pinch your harden teat.

It's a luscious sight, a naughty vision, some half-male half-creature thing, nipping and suckling at your skin into it blooms pink. The bottom of your clothing rustles up to reveal the blossom of your breasts, where his hands roam to accompany the tentacles lavishing your flesh.

It distracts you, the difference in size, your body levitating in the air while being groped so tenderly, his hands swallowing the heaviness of your tits with no hesitation. But, it breaks through the half-conscious state you are in, if only just slightly, and your lips graze humid skin when you turn to look at him better.

"Venom - you said?"

"Yes. In your blood. You're a feast, Maüschen." He groans, tongue slithering up, finding the little swell of the Adam's apple in your throat, before sucking on it. It hurts, but it's so nice, a distraction that makes your toes curl as he finally breaches into your cunt ever so gently. "Was not on purpose, you startled me then."

You gargle at the mixed sensation, the tentacles sucking and gushing into your wetness, twitching and thrusting their way in - one suckling, brazen, your clit. Your hips shatter, knees jolting upward once as he sinks deeper. Your jeans are slowly pushed apart beneath the strength of the appendages, too weak to keep you hidden under the assault of his desire.

"Where is your home, little one? Into the forest?" He murmurs, nipping now at the shell of your ears, watching how your skin shines under the stars, damp with his saliva. Soon, his little one will be flooding enough for him to feast.

König watches you, nodding with parted lips, a hazy sparkle in your eyes as your body jolt with the intrusion, your cunt parting to accommodate the heavy girth of his tentacles. Slowly clenching around each implacable limbs that undulate, in search of your womb. You keen again, hips stuttering upward in the air when one curls into you, bulging out with gentle thrusting, making you ooze onto the ground beneath.

"Good little mouse, let us then, you'll need the warmth for when I impregnate you, Schatz." He groans into your ear, his chubby cock thrusting into the plush of your bottom in rhythm with the starving suckle along your clit. His saliva is already making an effect. Soon, you'll be all mushy and sweet, just how he likes it.

And, he doesn't mind making you run, on the way there. The sight of you, all curves and fat, trying to abscond will help him relieve himself from his heavy seed, which he needs to do if he does not want to burst at the first sheath into your sweet pussy.

© archive-doll - all rights reserved. reposting or modifying, including translating or use on AI, is not permitted. original characters are not my own, but the stories and the writing are.

[kiwicopia]

MDNI | Themetober: Scarecrow

Shapeshifter!Simon x Fem!Reader

CW: brief mentions of stalking, brief mentions of voyeurism/reverse voyeurism, mentions of death/corpses/blood, brief cunnilingus, biting/marking, mentions of begging, some degradation, mating press position, squirting, creampie.

tags: @sweetchildcloud

You were never close with your grandfather on your mother’s side, with him becoming estranged even before her passing. Which was why it surprised you to get a letter in the mail one day, detailing that he had left you a sizeable piece of land in his will. The little farm he lived on was rundown and in desperate need of repairs, which came easily due to the assistance from local neighbors. The only issue, however, was the scarecrow in the cornfields.

A raggedy thing, you thought, with a hulking body that could easily frighten any creature that wandered onto the property. If it weren’t for its graveyard keeper appearance, and the fact that your bedroom window faced the cornfields, you would’ve thought differently about it. Still, against better judgement, and with it keeping the crows from taking what little corn you were able to grow, you decided to keep it where it was—perched up against a large, steady plank of wood that doubled its own size. 

Honestly though, you should have read the letter entirely instead of skimming it. Perhaps if you did that, then everything that followed would make more sense to you. It would have made sense knowing what it was, and had been, to your estranged grandfather. 

The half-buried animal carcasses on the property, the strange grunting noises outside your window at night—along with the milky white substance in the grass below your window—the large paw prints that littered around the edges of the property—sometimes along with dried blood—and the eyes that would watch you from the shadows, only to vanish the second you blinked. Not to mention how, during visits into town, either a crow or a large, black dog—or what you assumed to be a dog—would follow you. The entirety of it was all so strange, and it did little to prepare you for when he finally came to collect what was owed. 

Unbeknownst to you, and due to the skimming of the letter, your estranged grandfather had a deal of sorts with a certain creature—the scarecrow—which you came to find out a little too late one night. “Been waitin’ for ya,” he huffed. His tongue lapped at your cunt, feasting on it like a wild and starved animal. You tasted even better than he had originally imagined, and the soft and sweet moans and mewls that spilled from your lips caused his cock to throb painfully beneath torn jeans. 

Simon groaned, his patience having worn thin with the needless wait as he pulled back and finally freed himself from the confines of his pants. He was hard and ready, with the tip angry and red while weeping small globs of precum. His large hand wrapped around the shaft, pumping once, twice, three times with achingly slow movements. The nights of watching you through your window as you pleasured yourself while he fucked into his hand—in tune with your soft and tantalizing noises—were over. 

“The old man promised.” He lined his cockhead up to your slit, smearing the tip in your slick before impatiently pushing past the folds. “Fuck,” he groaned. You took him so well, with gummy walls hugging his dick tightly. His body pressed against yours, pushing you down further into the bed of hay as his lips kissed against your neck feverishly, resulting in a whine falling from your lips. 

Simon’s cock twitched at the sound, and his hips pulled back before slamming against yours. The sudden movement pulled a sharp cry from you as he repeated the motion. Faster and faster, his pace relentless as his teeth nibbled on the soft flesh of your neck before biting down. He was marking you as his, and in more ways than one. After all, your grandfather made a promise. 

“S’too much,” you whined. Still, his pace remained as it was as he ignored you. The shifter had waited this long for what was owed to him, and he was taking it without any further delay. Simon’s hands were tight on your hips, his fingers pressing into the plump flesh, keeping you still as his cock bullied your pussy. Your soft whining and pleas for him to slow down faded, having been replaced with neediness as you begged for more. 

“Fuckin’ slag,” he growled, his breath hot in your ear as he bit the lobe. His hips snapped against yours once more as he buried himself to the hilt again, and again. “Makin’ me wait f’ya. Makin’ me ‘ear that old man tell me over ‘nd over ‘bout ya.” He hated that. 

Honestly, Simon was glad for his death because it meant getting you. It was a deal made back when he first arrived on the farm, back when he was a walking body without a purpose. Oh, but your grandfather gave him one. Keep the farm safe and he would receive a reward for his hard work. When that reward became you, his sweet ‘ole granddaughter who lived like the man never existed, that was what kept Simon going—and now he finally had you. 

His hands moved from your hips as his body pulled back just enough to shift you into a mating press. The shapeshifter could reach deeper now, with his cockhead bumping against your cervix with each thrust, earning sharp yet delicious sounding cries from your lips. Simon couldn’t be gentle now, not when he finally had you in his grasp. He waited too damn long, with too many nights of fisting himself to the mere thought of you beneath him like this. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he growled, again. You tightened around him, causing his dick to twitch every now and then as your velvety walls coaxed him towards his release. The harsh slap of his balls smacking against your skin echoed in the barn, and you whined at the sting that accompanied it. “Little more, almost, almost.” Oh, he was close now, with only a few more thrusts until he came undone. 

When your cunt fluttered around him, that was the last straw. Simon pressed his face into your neck, teeth clamped down in a harsh bite that caused you to scream out and squirt around him the same time he spilled into you. His hot, creamy seed mixed with your juices and dribbled out and down the back of your ass when he pulled out of you. 

“Look a’ ya,” he smirked. “Fuckin’ mess now.” You stared up at him with half-lidded eyes and panted hard before leaning your head back to rest. The man mumbled something along of being his mess, but the pounding in your ears from being utterly fucked out had muffled it. 

Maybe you should have read the entire letter, or perhaps you should’ve had a better grandfather. One that didn’t offer you up like a steak to a starving mutt. Too many could haves and should haves for you to care right now. At least you had something akin to a guard dog now, even if the reward was a good fuck. 

[ghouldnight]

I'm pegging Commander Graves and NO ONE can stop me so here's a little blurb

NSFW Under the Cut - MDNI 18+

TW for: Mild choking, roughness, and that general sort of nastiness. All of this is CONSENSUAL (duh)

Please keep in mind for scenes like this, all things should be negotiated prior with any respective partners! Safe sex practice matters and so does communication

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The scene laid in front of you might as well have been a sculpture carved out of the finest marble. On the silk fitted sheets lay none other than the commander of the Shadow Company itself, a glistening layer of sweat sheened off of his tense form. Dark blond locks lay dampened against his forehead, slicked and tangled from your fingers and his alike raking through them.

His lips curled back into a half there noise, showing off the sharpness of his pearly whites as yet another shudder racked his form. For the better part of the hour, you'd been relentlessly teasing him. A hand on his thigh skimmed up, up, up so close to the throbbing hardness that leaked pearlescent drops from where it curved over onto his abdomen and the neatened happy trail there. Yet every time when his hips shifted upwards in a silent plea and his eyes rolled back the smallest bit, back arching so prettily, you guided your touch away once more.

To make matters worse for him, or better for you, you had him quite full of yourself. Literally. It's better than being full of himself and his attitude, as per usual. That's how you always reasoned it. Having something nestled inside of him in the most intimate way always served as a good attitude adjuster which was much needed when dealing with someone like Phillip. And what better way to do it than to warm him up, nice and slow, and get him properly acquainted with his favorite toy?

Much to his frustration, however, you didn't move. You kept him settled against the sheets, your length unmoving in him as you traced along his form, drawing invisible patterns only you could see. This time as your fingers diverted, skimming across the scar on his hip once more, a noise half akin to a whine left his lips as his eyes fluttered opened. In what must've been his best attempt at a glare, he exhaled a noisy huff, his nose crinkling as his head thumped against the pillow.

"C'mon, now you're just being a cruel bit-" He sneered, though his words caught in his throat when you grasped his shaft firm, circling your fingers tight around his base.

His eyes fully rolled back, a choked gasp leaving his lips when you squeezed your hand around it even tighter. Fingers clawed at the sheets, tangling them in his grasp as all planes of his muscles tensed again, his stomach sucking in as he tried bucking his hips. Your other hand held him firm, halting the motion as you shoved him back into the mattress, pinning his abdomen with your forearm.

"Phillip." You tutted with a click of your tongue, your eyes narrowing right back, "I thought I taught you better manners than that."

Whatever glare or venomous expression he tried to muster back melted off of his face when you delivered yet another squeeze to the base of his cock, feeling how it twitched in response. No matter how he protested or how his brows knit together, there's no denying just how much he liked it when his excitement practically wept for attention. You're sure if you kept it up, he might just follow suit.

Releasing his cock, you laid it on his abdomen as you raked your nails up his side, just enough to leave angry, red lines highlighted over the slight tan of his supple flesh. A violent shiver danced down his spine as his back arched once more, head tossing back against the pillows as his pretty lips parted in yet another silent noise. Your other hand moved to rest beside his head, dropping to your forearm as you removed your weight and touch alike from him and braced your weight, causing the bed to shift with another creak.

Tracing up and across his ribs, you splayed your hand over his sternum, keeping him pinned to the mattress. The tackiness of his pre-spend mixed with the droplets of perspiration beading like fresh drops of dew as you rested it there. Subtle curls of his paler chest hair swirled in mused whorls that you further teased a finger around the area right above his rapidly beating heart. Every shuddering breath, every quavering beat of his heart, resonated through your fingertips, right to your very core.

The healthy flush dappling his cheeks and chest alike might soon match the redness of the sheets he insisted upon if you kept it up. That thought brought a smirk to your lips once more, for once meeting no immediate comment from Graves as he kept his eyes squinted closed for another two moments more as he took in shuddering breaths.

When he opened them with tepid languidness, his vision hazy, those normally so wicked sky blue eyes of his scarcely had much focus. His throat bobbed as he closed his mouth, swallowing with a shaky exhale. The contemplation that shone in his eyes was palpable as he studied you, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets as the gears in his pleasure addled brain turned on a slow speed in the hazy heat you had built between you.

Licking his lips, he couldn't hide the tremble in his Texan drawl as he spoke once more, "And I... Thought... you knew better than to tease me." He challenged, his nostrils flaring as he canted his hips up, trying to find friction on the nothingness that now graced his lower body.

Ever the brat, he stubbornly refused to break eye contact as he arched his back and hips once more, a ridiculously pleased, self-satisfied noise leaving his lips as he felt the girth of the silicon stretching the sensitive furl of his hole open rub against his walls once more. He didn't hide how his teeth sunk into his lower lip nor how he shuddered in delight.

With a sigh, you eased your hips forwards, drawing his corded thighs over your hips once more as you settled yourself firm against him, bottoming out fully. A satisfied hum echoed from his chest as his toes curled, head lolling to the side as he exhaled a harsh breath through his nose.

Your movements kept still in response for a long, few moments. The silence that stretched between you was anything but comfortable, yet his mind clearly was elsewhere - likely on the stretch of the toy instead. As bratty as he was, he always made for a lovely sight as he lay there like the king himself, pleasure highlighted from the flutter of his pale lashes to the twitching of his cock and flexing of his abs as he breathed in deep breaths, savoring the feeling inside and out.

"You want it that bad?" You spoke after a few, long moments when he attempted to rock his hips once more, only being met with yours cemented in place, refusing to allow him that leeway.

A verbal answer wasn't something you expected, or ever got unless you made him sit there and use his words for a new scene or something you explicitly demanded clear consent for. Phillip wasn't ever one to say things like 'yes' or 'please', no. He's one who expected anything you gave towards him, as if he were entitled to every moment of his pleasure and yours alike.

So it wasn't a surprise when he didn't nod nor did he utter yes, he simply sighed once again, lifting his head to glare at you as he tried to rock his hips down and back in vain, trying to chase the elusive pleasure that evaded him so.

"No." Came the simple command as you lowered your voice to a hiss, something he paid no heed to as he tried yet again.

The hand that had braced on his chest at once snaked up to the base of his throat, circling around the flat of it as you splayed your hand across. An immediate intake of breath and a whole body shudder as he froze was exactly the response you'd been hoping for.

Those pretty blue eyes slid open, dilated pupils nearly drowning out the color as he peered up at you through his lashes, his tongue darting along his canines as he held still. The rise and fall of his chest matched the quickened beating of his heart as his soft, shallower breaths left him in visibly excited puffs. His hands trembled in the sheets as he held himself as still as he could, his gaze unable to leave yours as you leaned down.

"You want it that bad, huh?" You breathed as you arched an amused brow, the leering grin dancing on your lips anything but kind or welcoming.

"You want it that bad that you're going to act like a damn brat?" You repeated, this time moving your hips back in a drag slow enough for him to feel every ridge and bump of the toy as it tugged him open yet left him empty all the same.

A pathetic, keening noise graced your ears as he clenched down hard enough for you to feel the resistant tug of his body as you eased yet another inch out, the violent shudder of his form breaking the near motionless trance that held him taught. "No, no, don't. I've been so good, don't baby-" He babbled in a single breath as his body swayed with the motion, desperate to not let you deny him any further or the delicious fullness he craved.

"Quiet." You snapped, bucking your hips forward enough to force the length back into him just as he seemed to beg for in a fluid motion that knocked the air from his lungs (and yet another noise to boot).

His back arched off the bed, throat bared as he twisted and writhed, teeth sinking so hard into his bottom lip you're sure it would draw blood. "Yes, fuck, that's it. Give me-"

Your grasp on his throat tightened once more, cutting him off as yet another roll of your hips punched a breathy moan from his lungs, draining him of most of his breath. "I said, quiet." You emphasized with further pressure on the thin skin that he had bared for you moments prior.

The bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed met the warmth of your palm as you lightened your grasp. Any mercy in the gesture was short lived as you ground your length into him, letting him really feel how his favored toy rubbed against his walls in a way that truly stole his breath.

"Seems you have a listening problem, sweetheart." You breathed as you lowered your head, your lips skimming across his in a silent promise uttered in a way he could feel as you punctuated every syllable with yet another slow grind.

How you wish you could've capture the way he shivered in delight at the promise, the first whimper of the night escaping him as you finally brushed his sweet spot, his eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy as his back arched and toes curled. "Let's see if we can fix that... " You whispered as you traced your nose along his cheek, nuzzling into his temple as your lips graced his ear.

While it might be the first lesson of the night, it certainly wouldn't be the last. If how he tilted his head and silently demanded more were any bit of an indication of how it would go, you're sure it would be at least a few hours.

Good thing the sun had barely set below the horizon and you had the entirety of the night to test what would give in first: His spirit or his bed.

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 2: SPY RINGS AND MOLEHILLS

synopsis: you find a mole, and are all-too-happy to show off your skills to keegan and kick.

word count: 1.9k

ships: Keegan Russ/Reader, Ghosts team & Reader

notes: sorry for long gap between chapters (>A<) also warning for canon-typical violence this chapter

WHY DOES EVIL WEAR A FACE SO FAMILIAR? MASTERLIST

You and Logan stand, side-by-side, behind Rorke as he paces, his hands clasped behind his back as he looks at the ground. 

Before him is Fuerza de Asalto Resol – Strike Force Resol. (Resol doesn’t have a direct translation into English, but it more or less describes the glare of the sun off a reflective surface. And that’s what you and Logan and the rest of this strike force are – reflections of Ghosts. Twisted and sick reflections that hate what they’re reflecting, but reflections nonetheless.)

And it’s all of Fuerza de Asalto Resol. All the way from the top lieutenant to the most inconsequential info jockey.

“I have been made aware of a threat,” Rorke starts, still pacing. “Someone in here has been forking over information to America.”

Your eyes rake over the people that are supposed to be on your side. Everyone has a tell – whether it’s that they’re nervous, lying, or anything else. Body language tells you what the lips don’t.

You reach out and brush your finger against Logan’s glove. His hand twitches, then he moves the back of his hand against yours with more purpose to let you know he’s listening. You grab his hand and extend his forefinger, using it to point at a no-name corporal whose eyes are flitting across Rorke’s face. He doesn’t portray any nervousness otherwise, but you can tell. You’ve been trained to tell. 

Logan takes his hand away from yours and knocks his knuckles against yours lightly in acknowledgement. He’s seeing things from your eyes, and he understands it completely. 

You continue to stand side-by-side with Logan for the remainder of Rorke’s spiel, more like intimidating guard dogs than terriers you are – the ones that hunt down mole burrows. Though you both could still be mastiffs. It was just a matter of context and urgency. 

When Rorke eventually finishes, Fuerza de Asalto Resol starts to file out of the room. You wait by the doorframe and catch the corporal’s wrist just as he’s about to leave.

“We need to talk,” you say.

He swallows, his eyes flitting between you and Logan. Another tell of nervousness. He nods.

What a weak excuse for a dog.

Keegan rocks in his wheely chair, picking at his nails and flicking out the muck from underneath them. The room is quiet aside from the whiny squeak of the chair and the taps of Kick’s fingers against his keyboard. 

There’s nothing to do. Keegan had pushed for an expedition out to The Divide when the Ghosts had gotten wind of you and Logan going out there, but was shut down many times over. Alas – he’s just a sergeant. And as much as he had insisted, he was still just a sergeant.

So Keegan’s stuck here with Kick, in some out-of-the-way briefing room, playing with his hands –

There’s a sudden sound, and Kick jolts and hits the underside of his desk with his knee. Keegan’s head snaps up.

The screen of Kick’s laptop flickers, and an image slowly fades in. It’s… a live feed of some sort. 

Firstly, you look… different from when Keegan saw you last. Obviously he had seen you after you had become a victim of proselytization, but never this close, not with this amount of detail. You’re dicking around with the camera, trying to get it to focus or something like that. Keegan can’t rightly bring himself to care at this moment.

All he really cares about is how you’ve changed. How a scar carves into your hairline, leaving a thick line of raised skin in its wake. How your lower lip is permanently split at one of the corners, dragging one side of your mouth into a fake frown. How one of your eyelids droops lower than the other because of some physical trauma Keegan probably can’t even bring himself to imagine being inflicted upon you. 

(And how Keegan wishes, more than anything, that he was there to kiss the scars away. No, he couldn’t kiss away the mental trauma or the physical reminders that it occurred, but he… Can you forgive him for just wanting – needing – an excuse to kiss a lover? His lover? (Ex-lover.))

Keegan’s line of thought is broken when you suddenly smile, wide and crooked. It’s not the soft, loving smile he’s used to: it’s something crazed and twisted. 

You prop up the camera on something that provides a wide-shot view of the room you’re in – a table or chair, maybe. You adjust the camera, still with that smile, and step back. 

A man, in an undershirt and compression shorts, is tied to a chair, his arms bound behind him and his legs tied to the legs of the chair. His eyes are wide with fear and his breath is labored.

“We found your friend, Kick,” you say. You take the back of the chair and shake it, jerking the man around. “Rats tend to turn up when you lay out glue traps.”

“What the fuck?” Kick snaps. 

But it doesn’t really seem like you can hear Kick, nor do you really care to. You circle behind the man and prop your chin on his shoulder. 

“That’s the thing with us Americans, isn’t it?” Your eyes flick to the camera lens, then away. “We take. We take and take and you’ve seduced a man of the Federation with your appetite.”

You inhale deeply, slowly, and dig your fingernails into the bound man’s arms, causing him to grunt and grit his teeth. You continue, your eyes flitting about the room. “There’s this story from the Bible. Something… something about Christ finding one of his temples polluted by money-changers and beasts. But… did he ask them to leave? Did he cry? Did he just walk away?” 

Your eyes find the camera again. “No. He drove them out. He…” You exhale heavily and tighten your grip on the man’s arms. “He found them. And he made his temple peaceful again.”

Keegan can only watch as the man groans and small trickles of blood start to run down his arms. The screen makes it seem so far away, but he can swear he can smell the sweat that beads your brow, almost taste the blood you’re spilling.

“Are you watching?” You spit. “I want you to watch as we cut your communications. We found your rat in San Jose de las Lajas… just south of Havana. He was so close to home. So close to America. I wonder how many others are out there? Or just in Cuba alone.”

Your hand flies to the man’s throat, your bloody fingernails digging into his skin. You grit out, “I said, “I wonder how many others are out there?””

“No sé!” The man says. “I don’t know!”

“I find that hard to believe,” you hiss into his ear. “A spy ring doesn’t just consist of one spy. At least do your country one last service and tell us where they are – who they are.”

“But I don’t know!” The man insists. His face twists as he tries to strain and get his neck out of your talon-like grip. “I really don’t.”

You sigh, exaggerated and condescending. “Tell me, corporal. Do you enjoy killing?”

The man shakes his head the best he can with your hand almost crushing his throat. 

“Do you think I enjoy killing?”

Again, the same.

“You’re right,” you say. “But, when done with a purpose, killing is a chore, just like any other. Don’t you agree?”

“S-sí,” the man stutters out. “A chore, yes.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I just…” The hand that was still on his arm drops to his belly. You drag your fingernails over his shirt, surely digging into the skin underneath. Your nails leave a smear of blood in their wake. “Because it’s just a chore. Right?”

“But I’m not!” The man insists. “I’m not a spy! I swear, on my mother, on my daughter.”

“Those are some fairly innocent women to swear your loyalty on,” you say. Your eyes find the camera.

Don’t do it, Keegan thinks to himself, as if trying to project his thoughts to you. (You used to be able to read him so well.) Don’t fucking do it.

You bring out a small mobile phone and walk off screen. The man’s eyes follow you, his breathing still sort-of quick and panicked. 

Keegan and Kick exchange a glance. Neither can bring themselves to speak – to tell the other what they think you’re going to do. 

You come back a few minutes later, the phone cradled to your ear. (Keegan exhales heavily when he sees that you don’t have the actual child.) You mumble Spanish into the receiver, then hold the phone to the man’s ear. “Josefina wants to talk to her papí.”

The man stiffens and leans into the phone’s speaker. “No… no. Por favor, Josefina… por favor, cálmate. Estoy bien. Papí está bien. No escuches a la persona mala. Josefina, por favor…”

Keegan can just barely hear a voice on the other end of the line. It’s high-pitched and quick and very obviously panicked. He can pick up snippets – “Papí,” “por favor,” and sniffling sobs.

“Fucking child.” You swipe the phone away from the man’s ear and shout Spanish down the line before hanging up and throwing it onto whatever’s propping the camera up.

When you turn back to the man, it’s with a backhand across his face. He reels, his face screwed up in pain and his teeth gritted. He doesn’t give much of a reaction besides that.

And it’s like that sets off a switch within you. You grunt and bring your hand across his face again, forehand this time. People fall when pushed by your hand – so why isn’t he falling?

At least, that’s what Keegan thinks you’re thinking as you beat the shit out of this man. Your hand is made into a fist and your fist is made into a weapon. And that weapon was quickly turning bloody and bruised. The only sound is you and the man grunting and the sound your fist makes on impact.

After a few minutes, you pull away, cradling your hand, huffing and panting. The man is infinitely worse. His nose is broken in several places, there’s a gash beneath his eye, and his bottom lip is swollen and bleeding.

You circle behind the man and prop your chin on his shoulder again. That twisted smile returns to your face. “Your rat is resilient, Kick. I’ll give him that.”

Your hands go down to his arms and rub over the crescent-shaped scabs forming there. The man winces. 

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” you say, your voice a hissing whisper. “I will find your trained dogs. And I will kill them.”

You round the man and pick up the camera, quickly cutting the connection. Kick’s screen goes static, then his laptop crashes and restarts. 

He turns to Keegan. “What the fuck was that?”

Keegan’s still staring at the screen. You were so close. It’s like he could’ve reached out and touched you if he tried hard enough. 

But that’s not you. That’s just someone who looks like you – someone wearing your skin and speaking with your voice. He has to tell himself over and over that you’re not you. You’re not you. You’re not you. You’re not –

Kick grabs Keegan’s arm. His head snaps to look at Kick. “You okay?”

Keegan inhales sharply and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… shaken up, is all.”

But he’s not fine. That much is fucking obvious. You’re not you.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N, pointing: Is this seat free? Ghost: That's my lap Y/N: That doesn't answer my question Ghost: Yeah its free Ghost, pointing to his face: but this ones more comfortable Y/N: *short circuits*

[sweetiecutie]

Husband! König is very happy that your parents decide to finally come over to your house for a week to spend Christmas and New Year with you two. König does genuinely enjoy their company - they’re his family now after all, not only by law but by feelings that connect you all.

But there’s a little but. Husband! König just can’t help but feel frustrated at the lack of intimacy between you two these past days. Not only have you been occupied with holiday preparations, shortening the usual amount of attention you gave him, but constant presence of both your parents around the house meant nearly to no sex. From fucking you whenever and wherever he pleased, König now had to settle for a quick hand- or blowjob from you in a bathroom before going back to your parents, all broad smiles and innocence in your eyes.

Husband! König who clenches his chiseled jaw, throwing his head back so it hits the wall behind with a soft ‘thud’ as he tries his absolute hardest to bite back all the moans and groans threatening to slip off his tongue. You coo sweet apologies to him as your hand fists his leaking cock before the warmth of your mouth wraps around thick shaft, sinking down on it until your nose is buried into small bush of dark blonde hair on König’s pubic.

König can barely stay upright, the lack of any sexual interaction between you two in these past days making him even more sensitive. A string of hissed curses falling from bitten lips as your throat moulded to the shape of his dick, clenching down on him as you bob your head up and down, fucking the cum out of your husband with your mouth.

Husband! König who doesn’t last for long, soon flooding your throat with his thick pearly cum, making you gag and cough around his softening dick. You slip your mouth off his cock, tucking it back into his boxers and pressing a small kiss right under his bellybutton, practically making König melt in your arms. “I’m sorry baby, I promise that I’ll make it up to you once they leave” you whisper, pressing another quick kiss to his tummy before standing up and exiting the bathroom, leaving your hubby all hot and bothered still>:[

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Give writers some love, we live off your feedback<3

[cumikering]

Ghost x plus-sized reader

2.1k | fluff, drink spiking Did you just call Simon weak? The rest of the 141 didn’t like that

“Can I carry you?”

At the pub table, you almost spat the last gulp of your drink at the question. You turned to the source of the gruff voice, meeting the man’s chest before craning your neck up to his eyes. He had to be over 6 ft tall.

You set your glass down. “I’m sorry?”

“My mates are betting I can’t get anyone to piggyback.”

“And you picked me?”

He nodded at your top. “Skulls are sort of my lucky charm.”

You scoffed, looking past him at the other ladies in the room. “Are you serious? There are plenty who weigh far less.”

His brow rose. “Are you calling me weak?”

You took in the width of his shoulders, how his loose black shirt couldn’t hide the thickness of his biceps – the left one inked. He was handsome, rugged with the scar across his cheek, his short blond hair and light scruff, but his stare and bluntness made him beyond intimidating.

How could you get out of this situation with the least fuss?

“N- no.”

His eyes softened a touch. “May I? Please?”

Playing along and getting it over with should be the safest bet. “Okay... But-”

He turned his back and squatted slightly. “Hop on.”

“Wait- are you sure you can?”

“Hop on,” he repeated.

At that point, it was not your fault anymore if he ended up embarrassing himself. So you gripped his hard shoulders and did as told before he swiftly hooked his large hands under your jean-clad thighs. He didn’t grunt or strain when he bounced you to position and straightened up. As if you weighed nothing, which was a feeling you never thought you’d experience.

You had to give it to him - his strength was impressive. You chuckled to yourself, seeing the top of everyone’s head amused you. Across the pub, the table of three men grinned at the massive stranger. The one with the mohawk was very much entertained as he gave him thumbs up.

It was then that Simon groaned, because his team was embarrassing the hell out of him. That, and he finally got to feel how soft and warm you were pressed up against him. A little creepy, but a man was allowed to fantasise about a birdie he’d been eyeing, right?

“That’s all, yeah? You just have to carry-”

He stepped towards the bar, making you latch onto him.

“Oh! Where are you going?

“I’m getting you a drink.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Please, I insist.” When he flagged the barman down, you held on tighter. “It’s the least I can offer for getting you involved.”

You laughed, your breath warm against his ear. “Are you going to set me down or am I having my drink on your back?”

“Don’t give me ideas.” He chuckled as he lowered you to your feet.

He leaned against the bar, arm folded as he stared at you on the stool, downing your shot before looking at yourself on your selfie cam.

“Would you… like something as well?” you asked after you tucked your phone back in your pocket.

He shook his head.

“Okay. Well, thanks for he drink. You could get back to your mates if you want.”

“I’m Simon,” he mustered instead.

“Hi.” You shifted in your seat. “Is something the matter?”

“No.” He frowned. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s just you’ve been staring, and there’s nothing on my face. I checked.”

Bloody hell, could he be any more awkward? He just wanted to ask why you were alone without being weird about it.

He looked away. “I didn’t mean to.” You make me stupid. It didn’t help that your previous drink had tinted your lips, looking even more kissable up close.

“I think your mates want you back though.” You chuckled, nodding at his table.

When he turned to them, they immediately busied themselves with their drinks, averting their gazes.

“They’re a nosy bunch, they are.” He inched closer to you. “The one in the beanie, that’s our captain. The other two are my sergeants.”

“You’re the lieutenant?”

He hummed. “The one with the mohawk is the prankster. He’s a bad influence. He’ll talk you into doing anything.”

“He put you up to this then?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips.

As if on cue, Soap looked up with an uncontained grin, only to look back down when he realised eyes were on him.

”Seems like he can’t wait to say hi.” He swiftly picked you up off your seat, bridal-style. “Is this enough to show you weigh nothin’?” he asked, fighting the urge to grab a handful of your soft thigh and waist.

“Oh- oh dear!” You laughed, arm wrapping around his neck, pretty fingers grasping his bicep. “Wait, wait, put me down!”

When you were back on your feet, you pulled your phone out of your pocket. “Sorry, I’m actually meeting someone. He’s almost here.”

So that was why you were alone. You were waiting for someone. Disappointment anchored at the bottom of his chest.

“Right. Okay.”

You smiled. “Thanks for the drink, Simon. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He grunted and you headed to the end of the bar. He stood umoving for another second before retreating to his table like a kicked puppy.

“L.T., wha’ happened? She was havin’ so much fun!” Soap shot as soon as Simon took his seat next to him.

“She’s meetin’ someone,” he said quietly.

“Aww… Sorry, Ghost,” Gaz said. “But hey, she let you carry her!”

With your back to him, you looked at your phone whenever a man walked in.

Huh, first date?

You flagged down some other blond man who walked over to you with a smile. The barman took your order before you chatted with him with a polite smile, keeping a respectable distance between the two of you.

Simon was in no place to watch and invade your privacy – he really should look away. But what was it that simmered in him when the bloke scooted closer, his arm along the back of your chair?

He laughed, pointing at something on the TV. You looked up, and your hand deftly covered your drink, like an instinct.

He smirked. Smart girl.

“I know she’s with someone, but I can tell she likes you more,” Price said, and Simon finally tore his gaze away from you.

“Ye should fight ‘im, L.T. He dinnae stand a fuckin’ chance.”

“You can knock him out with a slap,” Gaz quipped.

He chuckled, blatantly looking over Price to you again. “Rather just look.” While it wasn’t for him, at least he could watch your pretty smile from here and quench his thirst a bit.

With the bloke’s drink in hand, he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, his other hand inching to your covered drink now. He tipped his glass over you, causing you to jump and grab serviettes to dab yourself with. Just as fast, his fisted hand opened over your drink before helping you.

“No fucking way,” Simon said out loud.

“What?” Gaz followed his line of sight.

He marched over, yanking the man around by the shoulder. “What the bloody hell did you just do?”

He stumbled off his seat from the force, making the lieutenant tower over him even more. “What? Who- Do you know him?” He turned to you.

His finger jabbed the man’s chest. “What. The. Fuck. Did you put in her drink?”

“Nothing! What are you accusing me of?”

Simon didn’t miss the crack in the man’s voice. He raised your drink to the man’s face, a tiny white tablet swaying at the bottom of the glass. “Empty your pockets.”

“Simon, what’s…”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

The man fished out his phone, wallet and keys with trembling hands.

“That’s not all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing else, mate!” he said exasperatedly.

Simon’s patience ran dry. He patted his front pocket, hand bumping over something. “You need to see this,” he said quietly to you.

You hesitantly stuck your hand in the man’s left pocket, coming up with a bag of white tablets.

The man smacked the bag out of your hand. “You planted that, you slag!”

“If you didn’t do anything, drink it.” He spat, holding out your drink to him, now cloudy and fizzing.

He stared at the glass. “Fuck you,” he said, pushing it onto Simon’s chest before dashing out of the pub.

“Did he…”

“The fuck was that, Simon?” Price questioned from behind him.

“Fucking piece of shit spiked her drink.”

Price turned to you, a hand on your shoulder. “You got his name and number, love?”

“Yes.” You blinked. ”Yes, his number and dating profile.”

“I’m sending the coppas his way.” He picked up the evidence on the ground with a serviette. “Simon, get the details and make sure she gets home safe,” he said before approaching the barman.

You dried his ruined shirt with a wad of serviette. “I can’t even begin to thank you for your help, Simon. Really, thank you so much. I wouldn’t have-”

“You did good.” He squeezed your hand over his chest. “You covered your glass when you weren’t looking, but spilling his drink on you was something else.”

When you looked up at him with wide eyes, he dropped your hand.

“Would you like me to send you home?”

“I don’t want to trouble you. I don’t even live nearby.”

“Would you let me, if I want to?”

There was a pause before you smiled. “I think I’d like that, actually.”

When he grabbed his jacket from the table, Soap patted him on the back.

“Good catch, L.T. What a fuckin’ disgrace, the lad.”

“Have fun, Ghost,” Gaz teased.

Outside the pub where the streets were quieter, you forwarded the profile and chat screenshots of the man from your group chat to Simon.

“Can’t be too cautious. I’m not surprised if that’s not even his name honestly.” You shrugged, stuffing your phone back in your pocket. “I knew it was dodgy he insisted on meeting here when I said I’d rather somewhere in the middle, in broad daylight. That, and he was half an hour late too!”

It was disheartening to know this was the reality of dating, that all sorts of people lurked online, sometimes not with the best intentions. He’d show you his ID just to prove he wasn’t a creep, just someone smitten with a staring problem if any.

“If it was me, I’d have taken you anywhere you wanted.”

You chuckled.

“On my back too, if you prefer. I think you quite enjoyed that.”

“I did, actually,” you teased. “Is it a bad time to tell you I’m starving?”

“Yeah? That’s good news, because I’m always hungry. A kebab sounds about right at this hour.”

“Extra chips?”

“Extra chips,” he affirmed.

“You know what, I think this is my sign.” You pulled out your phone again, deleting an app. “Don’t think online dating was ever my thing.”

Is a stranger at a pub who shamelessly stares at you more your thing?

“Going out with someone who offers to carry me around is more like it.”

He bit back a smile. “So? Another ride on my back?”

You chuckled. “Next time,” you said, taking his arm instead.

As much as he enjoyed your touch, he couldn’t do with your fingers over his jacket. He needed to feel you. When he held your hand in his, you smiled up at him.

Simon had to thank his team for painstakingly convincing the stubborn lieutenant to approach the lady he’d been staring at. You didn’t have to know there was no bet, that asking to carry you was his own idea, an outrageous excuse to talk to you. But he wouldn’t complain if he ended up helping you, taking you for a little supper and even got to send you home.

“When’s next time?” he asked at your door, squeezing your hand.

You really shouldn’t have said it, because he was going to make sure there would be one. It had become a goal to show you how you deserved to be treated on a date.

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“Right now isn’t even too soon.”

You laughed, pulling him down by the shoulder to meet your lips.

For @glitterypirateduck ‘s Ghost Challenge :D check out her page for fic recs!

Neighbour Ghost AU if he still had his family

Ghost's online fantasies came true Masterlist

[ebodebo]

Ghost Garage

—mechanic!simon riley fucking you in his car garage because you couldn’t afford to pay for his services:(( MDNI ofc

“You’re lookin’ at six thousand for a new engine,” Simon says thoughtfully, scribbling a collection of messy additions in his notebook. “And if you’re lookin’ to do just one set of brake pads and rotors,” he says, scribbling some more, “lookin’ at six hundred even for those.”

Your eyes widen at his words because how the fuck were you ever going to be able to afford this? You swallow hard, pondering your following words. “Do you do discounts or something?” You’re sure you sound like an idiot, but you’re desperate.

The corner of his lip quirks at your question as his eyes stay glued to the notebook paper, still scribbling. “No. Still no discounts ere’,” he says, capping his pen, finally looking at you.

You fidget with your hands, eyes on his. “I—um…there’s no way I can…” you begin, turning your gaze away from him, feeling bashful, “…afford that.” Even though you had come to Simon’s garage before, this was just the first time you outwardly told him you couldn’t afford his services.

He leans back in his chair, the base squeaking a little. “Do ya’know how dangerous it is to drive with worn-out brake pads?” he states, placing the pen in his mouth, awaiting your response.

“Yes. I’m aware, but—” you begin, only for him to interrupt.

“But nothin’,” he calmly says, shifty in the chair, eyes shamelessly dragging down your body. You pretend not to notice even though it invokes an immeasurable amount of wetness to gather in your panties.

He can tell you’re nervous—your body language says it all. Clammy hands you wipe off on your jeans every so often, you’re avoiding direct eye contact with him, and the fact he can hear your heartbeat from where he sits.

He shouldn’t even have unholy thoughts of you come across his mind. But, shocker, he did. Every night from the time you first went to the shop all of those four months ago, he would fist himself in the shower thinking about you.

You, who always had that doe-eyed, glossed-over expression. You, who always had to bring Simon a sweet treat when you came, whether it be candy or some fresh-baked cookies you prepared. Oh, and you, who would hug him after he did your car inspections. Ya, he thought about that one a lot.

He considers your predicament. He has a solution, but it’s risky—perhaps too risky?

Eh, Fuck it. What’s he got to lose?

“Tell ya what,” he starts, standing up from his chair and grabbing the notebook paper with the numbers. “I’ll throw this ere’ piece of paper in the trash—hell, I’ll burn it,” he cocks a brow, “If you do somethin’ for me.” He hovers the small, intimidating piece of paper over a small trash can.

“Anything,” you say, desperation coating your voice. He hums, ducking his head to stare at the trashcan.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says, followed by a gravelly laugh. You gulp, waiting for him to explain.

“I want somethin’ from ya,” he finally looks up at you, wiping his mask-less jaw with his hand. “Somethin’ that isn’t…money.”

You slightly confound your head. “Like I said…anything,” you amend.

He sticks his tongue in his cheek, drops the tainted paper into the trash, and then takes slow, deliberate steps towards you.

You inhale as he stands before you, unsure of his intentions. Exhaling sharply only when he brings his thumb up, dragging it delicately across your jaw, tilting it up so you are looking at him.

“I think we could figure out a way for you to get that work paid in full,” he rumbles, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip. “And a way I could feel that pretty pussy around me.”

Your eyes widen at his words, dumbfounded by his sheer bluntness and vulgarity. Though you admit, you feel a knot start to form in your lower stomach and more wetness pool between your thighs.

“Unless you don’t want to?” His tone his monotone, no signs of resentment as he drops his hand from your face.

“No—I do,” you affirm, even grabbing his hand and then dropping it from embarrassment. “I just didn’t think…you, uh, liked me like that,” you mutter, shifting on your feet and shifting your gaze to the concrete floor you both stand on.

“Oh, trust me. I like you like that,” he laughs lowly, stepping closer to you, bringing his hand back to the same spot to brush his finger against your pouty lip. “Can I?” He questions his gaze on your lips. You nod, standing on your tiptoes, gripping his neck, and bringing his lips to yours. You could taste remnants of cigarette smoke and the icy tang of Nicorette mint gum.

The kiss quickly became full of fervent urgency. Sloppy lips sucking your own, hands aimlessly gripping any piece of flesh it could, and teeth frantically clashing with your own.

“You do this with all your clientele?” you tease as Simon grips the bottom of your shirt and quickly pulls it off your head.

“Nah,” he coolly says, hands palming your breasts over your bra. “Just the ones I jerk off to.” You gasp at not only his hands on such a sensitive part of you but also his confession.

“You jerk off to me?” you tentatively ask, bringing your hands to grip the hem of his shirt, slipping it off his head. His lips instantly connect with your neck.

“What about it?” he murmurs against your skin, dragging his tongue from the side of your neck to your lips.

“I just…I finger myself thinking about you,” you admit in between his feverish kisses, which are apparently taking away your sense of shame. He pulls back only a little.

“You’re tellin’ me…” he reaches down to bring your hand up, grazing your fingers with his own. “You plunge these in your pussy, thinkin’ about me?” he stares at your fingers, unable to comprehend what he’s hearing. He darts his eyes to yours. “I get you off?”

“Of course you do,” you attest, dragging your hand so it rests on his cock that is tucked away in his greased stained jeans. He groans at your touch.

“Now let me see what I’ve been imagining.”

He wastes no time stripping you bare, throwing your bra and panties off to the side, before he unlatches his belt, roughly yanking his jeans and boxers down just below his thighs.

He grips the back of your thighs before hauling you over to a wood table that currently holds some pens and a toolbox. His lips connect with your collarbone, then to the fat of your breast, as you lazily stroke his cock.

“Little smaller than I imagined,” you cheekily say before Simon lightly nips at your nipple with his teeth, making you moan. He laughs against your skin, sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

“And yet it still makes you fuckin’ wet,” he cockily says as his hand slips to graze your glistening cunt. You don’t even talk; you have no breath left to speak. So, you let out a pathetic noise instead—somewhere between a moan and whine.

“Let me play with ya for a minute,” he murmurs into your ribs, pointer finger brushing against your labia. You squirm at his touch.

“Simon. I just…I need you in me,” you beg, pulling him by the hair so his ear is by your mouth, rocking your hips against his finger in you.

“I’m gonna come as soon as I’m in you, Sweetheart,” he says honestly, pointer plunging into your cunt, gently touching your clit.

“I don’t care…just…just,” you rasp, unable to speak with his hand plunging into you.

“Fine, fine,” he says. He gives his cock a tug before he pokes your entrance with the head, gripping your hips before he pushes inside you a little. He grits his teeth at the sensation, and you whine at the slight pain.

“Open up for me. Come on,” he hisses, throwing his head back as he sinks deeper into you. “There she goes,” he praises, gripping one of your legs and positioning it so it lies straight up against his body. You both groan at the deeper contact.

“Shit,” you curse as Simon starts up a good pace. His cock managed to graze you in all of the right spots—reaching places you didn’t even know was possible.

You knew you both wouldn’t last long at this pace—you’re honestly not so sure he would have lasted at any pace. He was painfully hard when you hadn’t even whipped your tits out.

Though you thought the jokes were on him, as soon as he brought his thumb to stimulate your clit, you were skewing curses, tightening around his cock.

“Fuck. That’s it…that’s—” he panted out as he felt you clamp around him, hearing you yell, ‘Coming,” before he followed with his orgasm.

Once both of your orgasms have subsided, he helps you off the table to grab your clothing. You gently tug on your lip before you speak.

“Also…about the payment?” You shyly question as he pulls his jeans up.

“Consider it handled,” he says with a smirk as he zips up his jeans.

a/n: bye once again i abused the italicized button

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[ramonathinks]

tiny repost <3 18+, mdni

cw: smut mention

simon joined the military right after he lost his wife and daughter, he figured he could numb his pain better this way, take out his pain in the field. his eyes still never lit up like they did all those years ago. but it was the small things that made it better. he would always love his wife and his daughter. but he knew he had to move on at some point.

when he returned with no one holding any signs for him and nothing but a taxi to get him home, watching his friends hug on to wives, children, parents and all… he realized how lonely he was. he just needed someone to hold for a few days when he was here.

he didn’t exactly go looking for you. but with one click on a website and a few scrolls down, he eventually came across your profile.

you wanted to co-parent a child, needed a sperm donor and had a lot of good qualities from what he could tell. it was a way for him to finally fulfill his paternal instincts and to cope. it was probably the unhealthiest thing but he knew he couldn’t replace his daughter nor his wife, but this was a better thing.

he wanted to do it the natural way. he didn’t believe in any other methods. he wanted to be inside of you, to feel you milk him down and clench around him. he wanted to watch your face contort into pleasure and to hear those pretty precious sounds. he wanted to make a baby not just leave you with a bottle of his sperm, he wanted to fuck a baby into you and to put his hand on you belly so that he can feel himself filling you up. he wanted to see lots of it spilling out of you and to use his thick fingers to fuck it back inside of you.

and he wanted to do it as many times as he could before he was called back out, he wanted to come back and to see your belly swelled and to hold you in the night.

[lxvvie]

Simon 'I'm a bloody fuckin' gentleman' Riley

Simon who refuses to let you walk behind him. You're either in front or right beside him and never on the side closest to the street.

Simon who opens your car door and closes it after you get in.

Simon who puts gas in the car and refuses to let you handle it, especially when it's cold.

Simon who will go outside at night if you need to get something before winding down.

Simon who won't let you carry anything heavy even if you can do so.

Simon who won't let you put together or fix anything around the house.

Simon who's your escort around town if need be.

Simon who's the first to whip out his wallet. Complain all you fuckin' want, luv, he takes care of his.

Simon who makes sure everything is taken care of before leaving for deployment.

Simon who makes sure to check in with you every time he can because he knows you worry about him.

Simon who does all that and more because he's a bloody fuckin' gentleman. Your bloody fuckin' gentleman, and he wants your life to be as stress-free and easy as possible.

Simon who hits you with this look when he finds out you paid the tab instead of using the loo like you said you were going to:

[abbu0414]

very anxious reader and her bad habits...

simon was very observant. so obviously when you got anxious and picked your cuticles till they bled, all he would do is hold your hands together, hold them tightly in his, and give lots of kisses.

watching a movie together and can't stop picking? you've lost your hand privileges. they're his now.

doing work? tough. he's got your hands and wrapping them in bandaids so you stop biting and picking and scolding you for hurting yourself like that.

he furrows his eyebrows as he's bandaging your hands.

"if you keep this up lovie, im gonna have to hold your hands all the time and id rather do that when you're not hurting yourself."

(i need a boyfriend)

[yuyuwritesss]

Kyle slowly bouncing you on his cock after having you cockwarm him for the better part of an hour, tucked into him as rested his head back on the couch.

He got home a bit too tired to fuck you properly but having your cunt clamped around him long enough breathed a new life into him, prompting him to hug your waist with one arm, the other gripping the underside of your thigh and holding you up. So he can slowly start hammering his hips into your wet, slobbering pussy. You don't know what's louder, your whines or the lewd sounds your heat makes as it takes him in completely.

Swallowing him whole as you kiss and bite away at his neck. His soft lips brushing your ear as he gently coos at you.

"You're doing such a good job, darlin' ", "taking me so well", "so wet f'me" is all you hear as you approach your peak, your grip on his shoulders tightening and your nails, even through his shirt, surely leaving the claw marks he loves to admire in the mirror the next day.

You come around him, your whimpers muffled by his neck, and he follows suit a second later, fucking into you as you both come down from your highs, his seed spilling out with each thrust and forming a creamy mess where you're both still connected. His hard breathing tickling your ears as he hugs you even tighter to him.

When both of your breathing calms, he plants small kisses all over your face while brushing back the hair matted to your face with sweat. Your closed eyes fluttering open to take in his adoring expression, the small smile on his lips bleeding into yours with the kiss you both exchange before he stands up, with you still attached to his cock.

You yelp and hold on to his shoulders, although the chance of him dropping you is as nonexistent as the space between the both of you as you move to your bathroom.

"Let's get cleaned up, hmm love ? "

[secretlovezz]

Simon coming home to you cuddled up into yourself on the couch, reading a book that looks like it has at least five hundred pages (he doesn't know how you do it), and wearing his clothes.

You're wearing his clothes.

You're wearing his clothes.

Something surges through his large frame and he realizes just how in love with you he is, how much he adores having this domestic life with you when he returns home. His hands start to shake and suddenly he's moving quickly to discard his boots from his feet and his jacket from his broad shoulders.

You look up from the pages you had been briefly lost in to see your lover as he walks closer to you. Your smile is bright at the sight of him and he swears his heart starts beating impossibly fast in his chest, you always made him feel like a teenager falling in love every time he was close to you.

"Hi baby," Simon tries to hide the way his lips twitch upwards at the sound of your voice. You close your book move it to the side and reach your arms out toward him. His shoulders shake with a silent chuckle at your grabby hands aimed at him.

When he reaches you he practically melts into your body. You're devastatingly warm against his cold exposed skin and he audibly groans at the feeling of being pressed against you.

You wordlessly move your hands to the base of his neck to remove his balaclava then run your fingers through his hair making an effort to scratch at his scalp which only has him groaning again.

"Ya look good in my clothes," He whispers into the crook of your neck his lips brush gently against your skin and it makes you shiver.

"Mm knew you'd like that," your voice is filled with amusementand you smirk.

His head pops up to look into your eyes and he glares but the smallest of smiles grace his scarred lips.

"Don't go teasin'," you laugh a soft laugh and he relaxes back into you.

He loves this, just being with you. It makes everything worth it the hours of grueling work just so he could get home to you, his little dove.

And for some reason, seeing you in his clothes makes it all the better.