#cod soft smut

[random-thot-generator]

A Patient Man

Rudolfo ‘Rudy’ Parra x Fem Reader

Summary: You’ve been dating Rudy for a few months and now you’re ready to take the relationship to the next level, but Rudy is a patient man and won’t let you rush this momentous occasion.

Warnings/Tags: Explicit sexual content and language, Oral- F receiving, P in V sex, soft fluffy lovemaking, No use of Y/N

(Notes: This is just soft sweet Rudy smut. Baby boy needs more love, and I’m more than happy to deliver. You can thank @sofasoap​ for inspiring this sticky sweet mess. Sorry, not sorry.)

Word Count: 3024

It was getting late, almost eleven at night, and Rudy is still sitting next to you on your couch. His arm is around your shoulders, thumb absently stroking your arm. The television is flickering blue shadows over his face, and you can’t stop thinking about how handsome he is, and how sweet. He is a good man, a patient man, and you feel lucky to have him in your life.

You’ve been dating for almost four months, and he has been nothing but a perfect gentleman this whole time. He’s so unlike the men you’ve dated in the past, treating you like you’re something special, something precious that he treasures and holds dear. He doesn’t seem to realize that you hold him in the same regard. You’ve fallen so hard for him, and you want to take that next step, but you know Rudy will not be the one to initiate it. He is waiting for you to decide when the time is right.

You are certain the time is now. 

It’s all you were able to think about while on your date. Rudy picked you up that evening and took you out to dinner, but your mind kept drifting, your thoughts on what you hoped would come after. Worried by your odd behavior, he had asked you more than once if you were alright, which seemed to fluster you even more than you already were. You felt flushed as you stammered out weak excuses, praying he couldn’t see how nervous you really were.

When you got back from your dinner date, he walked you to your door like always, fingers tangled with yours, shoulders bumping together. You turned to him and smiled, and his eyes glowed like amber under the porch light, soft and warm and devastating. You felt your heart flutter in your chest as you made up your mind to make your move, though Rudy himself had no clue. He held you by the waist, a gentle smile on his face, waiting patiently for you to place a hand on his shoulder and lean up on your tiptoes to kiss him goodnight. Instead, you asked if he’d like to come in for awhile, since neither of you had work the next day.

“I’ve got some beers in the fridge. We can watch a movie, if you like.”

His eyes went a little wide, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, but he gave you one of his shy smiles and nodded. “Si, querida. I would like that, but only If you are sure.”

“I’m sure,” you said, feeling more confident than you had all night, and led him inside your apartment.

Now there are two open beers on your coffee table, half-empty and warm, and the two of you are sitting back on the couch, shoes off, with you leaning into his side. You’ve been like this for over an hour and the movie is halfway over, but neither one of you is really paying attention to it now, because...

Rudy has finally taken his arm from around your shoulders, lowering it to rest between the two of you. Your breath catches in your throat when he lays a tentative hand on your leg.

His hand lies just above your knee, nothing inappropriate, his touch light, even though you secretly wish he’d slide it up a little higher, squeeze your leg a little tighter. You let your knees fall open, just a little bit, and press your thigh to his, letting him know you don’t mind him having his hand on your leg at all.

You can’t help but close your eyes for a second to enjoy how warm his hand is on your skin, and you try not to think about where else you’d like him to put his warm hands, but it’s so hard not to think about it when he’s this close. It makes your heartbeat faster and your breath grow shallow, and you can feel your skin heating up— on the back of your neck, between your breasts, even the bend of your knees, and you think to yourself, when did it get so hot in here?

You wonder if Rudy thinks it’s too hot, too. Maybe you should ask if he’d like you to turn on the ceiling fan or crank up the A/C, so you glance over to ask him, but...

Oh.

Oh... just look at him.

The look on his face is really something else. Those warm brown eyes are smoldering and half-lidded, pupils already expanding. His jaw is set firm, the muscle ticking, and his lips— those soft, plush lips of his— are pressed together into a hard, thin line. He’s trying so hard to behave, to be respectful and patient, to not be that guy who’s in a hurry to get laid, but here’s the thing.

You don’t want him to behave.

So now, you put your hand on his thigh. You hear him inhale, sharp and hitched, feel his thigh flex and go hard under your hand, and when you grip it tighter, he huffs out a shaky breath and his eyes flutter shut for a moment. When he blinks them open again, the expression on his face makes your insides clench. God, he’s so beautiful. 

His fingers slide up a little higher, curl into the meat of your inner thigh, and your knees drift further apart. When he loosens his grip to caress your skin, rubbing slow strokes down to your knee then back up to your inner thigh, it drives you crazy. It’s so soothing but sensual, all at the same time, and you feel that warm tingle low in your belly, feel it slowly spread out to suffuse your lower half, heating up other parts of your body as well.

How does he get you so worked up with just a touch, you fret, but then you feel him move beside you, watch his knees spread wider as he shifts his hips. You glance over and—

You discover you’re not the only one feeling this way. You can see him smoothing his other hand over his denim-clad thigh, squirming a bit in his seat because he’s trying to re-adjust, to accommodate what’s pressing hard against the seam of his dark jeans. He exhales a long, slow breath through his nose and his eyes shut again as his hand comes to a stop and grips your thigh.

Your eyes wander to his neck where you can see his pulse fluttering beneath the skin. Before you know what you’re about, you’re leaning towards him without realizing it, the smell of his cologne, warm and enticing, filling your nose and drawing you closer. When you press your lips over his pulse point, he huffs out a breath and whispers something low and urgent in Spanish, then he’s turning his head to look at you. His body twists and shifts toward you, his hand coming up to curl around the back of your neck, his thumb stroking over your jaw as his gaze flickers down to your lips.

“Querida, what are you doing?”

You want him to kiss you. Really kiss you. All you’ve shared are those innocent kisses on your front steps. He hasn’t tried to push you for more because he wants to court you properly, but you can feel the heat behind his kisses, the restraint he wields when his lips touch yours. It’s endearing and maddening and just about the hottest thing you’ve ever seen a man do.

No more holding back, you decide. You want this, want him, and you’re tired of denying yourself. 

“Kiss me, Rudy. Please?”

The moan that falls from his lips is ragged as his arms come up and wrap around you. His hands are like brands searing into your back as he pulls you close. and oh, when he finally presses his lips to yours, it feels like flying, floating, ascending high up into the clouds. You sigh into his mouth and open for him like a flower, inviting him in to taste you.

It surprises you how well he can kiss. He’s always so shy and unassuming, so gentle and sweet, but this— this leaves you panting in his arms, moaning for more. You don’t know when you brought your arms up to twine around his neck, but they’re pulling him closer to you now, one hand pressing to the back of his neck while the other buries itself in the soft strands of his dark hair.

“Dios, cariño... You are driving me loco,” he mutters against your lips, and then he’s kissing you again, groaning as he leans into you.

Your body yields to him, lying back onto the cushions, taking his weight to bear on your chest. His hands are at your waist, clutching, grasping, kneading, wanting to move, to slide over your curves, but again, he is holding himself back, and that just will not do.

Turning your face to break the kiss, you pant out against his neck in an urgent whisper, “Touch me, Rudy. Want you to touch me.”

The sound that catches in his throat makes your belly drop in arousal. God, you want him so bad. Unable to wait any longer, you take his hands and pull them up to your chest, placing them over your breasts and holding them there.

A shuddering breath escapes his parted lips as he allows himself to finally touch you. His fingers curl around the soft globes of your breasts, his thumbs circling over your nipples on instinct, cursing under his breath when you moan at the contact and arch your back to press more firmly into his touch.

“Mierda!” he hisses before capturing your lips in another earth-shattering kiss.

Your hands have begun to wander now, too, sliding over his shoulders and back, sliding up into his hair to scrape at his scalp. He shivers in your arms, breath gusting out over your cheeks as he pulls back to look at you.

“Mi amor, wait. I—”

“I want you, Rudy. I want to be with you. Don’t you want that, too?” You don’t care that you sound desperate for him, because you are. You just want him, only him.

His eyes grow dark, a positively sinful smile stretching across his sweet face as he murmurs, “Oh, yes, querida, I want you very much, but I will not fuck you on a couch, not our first time together. I want to make love to you, in your bed.”

You blink up at him and for some reason you think you might cry. You’ve never had a man tell you he wants to make love to you before, never had anyone make you feel this valued, this special. If any doubts still lingered, they were cast aside now.

“Then take me to bed, Rudy. Make love to me.”

The smile on his face can only be described as beatific as he sighs your name and presses his forehead to yours. “As you wish, mi amor.”

You both are up now, his hand in yours as you hurry to the bedroom, eager to finish what was started on the couch. When you stop before the bed, he pulls you into his arms for another kiss. He’s in no hurry, wanting to savor the moment.

He is so careful as he removes your clothes, so patient as he lays you back on the bed, kissing you breathless as his hands and mouth move over every inch of your body with slow intention. He wants to learn where all the spots are that make you gasp and sigh and commit them to memory. You whine and mewl and plead, but he stands fast in his resolve. You will never want another man but him. He will make certain of it.

He has only managed to remove his shirt by the time he settles between your legs, his mouth hot on your sex, hands holding your thighs open as he drives you slowly insane with his tongue. You cum sobbing his name, hands buried in his hair and hanging on for dear life.

He rises above you, shushing and soothing you as you come down from your high, his lips that still taste of you coaxing you back to him. “Mi amor... Dios, you are so bonita... will you let me make love to you now?”

“Oh, God, please, Rudy...” you whimper, but he silences your pleas with another mind-melting kiss.

When he finally rises from the bed to strip off the rest of his clothes, you lie back with glittering, dazed eyes, watching this beautiful man reveal himself to you. He is stunning, his smooth brown skin gleaming in the moonlight sifting through your blinds. He reminds you of a sleek jungle cat, his body lithe and supple, Lean muscles bunch and flex as he climbs back on the bed and crawls towards you, and you feel your channel bear down hard as a fresh wave of arousal flows from your core.

“Rudy... please. I need you,” you pant out, desperate to finally feel him inside you.

“Shh, be patient, mi amor. I will take care of you. I promise,” he vows, settling himself between your thighs.

You can feel his length bobbing against your inner thigh, his seed already beaded and smearing over your skin. You wish you had thought to taste him as well, but he has taken over completely, leading you in this dance. You know he will not be distracted or swayed from accomplishing what he has set out to do.

“Look at me, querida,” he whispers, lining himself up with your entrance. “Let me see you while I make love to you.”

Eyes locked with his, your mouth falls open as he begins to ease his way forward, your channel greedily pulling him in inch by devastating inch as he finally slides home. He holds himself above you, eyes soft but blown wide with lust. Tears are already pricking at your eyes, the experience more intense than any you’ve ever had before.

“Do not hold back, mi amor. I want to hear how good I make you feel. Will you do this for me?”

You can only nod, hands grasping to pull him down for another kiss as he begins to move slowly. It’s the gentlest of rocking, slow, almost lazy in execution, but it is sending you, leaving you reeling and calling out his name in breathy, wavering cries.

Rudy uses his whole body to make love to you, hips and shoulders rolling, arms and legs flexing as he carries you higher and higher up to that peak. You can do nothing but give him the same, your body writhing and lifting to meet him, thrust for thrust. You can feel your thighs begin to tense as the pressure in your core builds to an unbearable point. Tears are flowing freely down your cheeks, hands buried in his hair, heels locked over the backs of his thighs as his strokes deepen and increase.

He is murmuring to you in both English and Spanish, words tumbling out of his mouth as his thrusts intensify even more. He is still staring deep into your eyes, watching as he takes you apart. He groans at the sight of you and bites his lip, chest and cheeks flushed with his exertion. Nearing his own end, he moves a hand down between you, pressing his fingers onto your throbbing nub. “Cum for me, cariño. Por favor... pl-please, mi amor!” he gasps out.

His fingers circle your clit only three times before you shatter around him, throwing your head back as you keen at the ceiling. Your entire body has locked around him, channel clamped down hard enough to slow his thrusts. With one final hissed curse, he spills his seed inside you, his back arching as he too throws his head back, baring his corded throat. You cling to him, panting and sobbing his name, unable to control the tremors that course through your body to leave you a trembling, boneless mess.

As the last of the aftershocks quake through your core, you fall back to the mattress, spent and shaking. Rudy soon follows, falling to your side before drawing you into his arms. He too is shaking and panting for breath, the experience just as intense for him as it was for you.

Neither of you speak for several minutes, quiet and at peace as you both drift back down to earth. Your eyes are closed, cheek pressed to his chest, a blissful smile curling your lips.

“Are you alright, querida?”

You hum and nod, stretching in his arms. “Perfect.” You lift your head to peer into his eyes. “You’re perfect.”

He huffs, a slight blush rising to tinge his cheeks. “I had a good partner,” he teased, voice and eyes soft. “That makes all the difference.” He hugged you to him, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I think we are perfect for each other, no?” he whispers, a hopeful note in his voice.

You raise your head, smile beaming, and press your lips to his. Shifting your body, you throw your leg over to sit astride his hips. Smiling down at him, you bite your lip. “I hope it was worth the wait,” you murmur.

He smiles up at you, hands caressing your thighs. “Oh, yes, mi amor. It pays to be a patient man. You have given me everything I could want.” He then grabs your hips and turns, bringing you beneath him once more. Settling back between your thighs, he shocks you by sliding back into your heat, fully erect again. “But I must beg for your patience, now, mi amor. I have waited a long time for you, and I am far from finished.”

-

(End notes: @sofasoap​ I hope I did your Rudy justice. Love ya, sweets!)

[qtboni]

╰﹒ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒, 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 !

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: Simon woke up to you sleeping far away from him in the bed so he pulls you back to him <//3

C/W: none just clingy simon missing u in his sleep (pure fluff) !!

W/C: 944 bubs

Simon shifted in his bed, feeling the empty coolness beside him. He reached out, wanting to feel your warmth, but his hand met nothing but empty sheets and bed covers.

"Love..?" He whispers faintly, his voice filled with a quiet desperation to find you.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Simon slowly opens them to find you there, on the other side of the bed, lying with your back turned to him.

He lets out a quiet chuckle at the position you're in, your legs flung out in a starfish, snoring the night away. It's a silly sight, but it cracks him up, and he can't help but chuckle softly.

"Baby..." Simon sleepily whines to himself, calling out to you. "C'mere.."

Simon gently moves closer to you, pulling on the sheets to free himself. You feel his arm encircle your waist as he pulls you towards his warm body, spooning you in his arms.

Your skin meets his, and the warmth from his body causes your heart to skip a beat. You feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, feeling peaceful and safe in his embrace.

As he holds you close, Simon's thoughts drift to you. He thinks about how soft he is for you, how you make him feel alive and whole, how he doesn't want to let go, ever.

You're his everything, his world, and he can't imagine life without you. He feels his heart swell with love for you, and the need to be close to you and hold you tight, to never let you go.

With you in his arms, Simon feels complete. He would do anything to keep you close, to love and cherish you every day for the rest of his life.

You're the love of his life, and he will never forget the moment he first held you close, feeling your heart beat against his own, and knowing that he had found his soulmate.

As he holds you close, Simon's body moves instinctively, nuzzling his face in your neck, wanting to feel your warmth, to be closer to you. He wraps his arms around you tighter, unable to bear the thought of ever being apart from you again.

The warmth coming from his body slowly roused you from your slumber, your eyes fluttering open as Simon's arms tightened around your waist. You could feel his heart pounding against your back, beating in time with yours, and your heart skipped a beat in response.

"Simon?" You called out to him, voice still slightly hoarse from sleep, and you could hear the smile in his voice as he responded.

"I'm here, love," he whispered, his voice low and full of love, and you could feel his body pressing up to yours, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. His hands softly carressing your waist and hips. You felt his breath upon your neck, his heart beating in yours, and you felt a deep sense of peace wash over you.

"I love you," he whispered, almost inaudible.

As his arms wrapped around you, you felt a rush of warmth and comfort wash over you. His voice was low and gentle, and you could feel the love and intensity in every word.

You loved him more with each passing moment; each time he held you, each time he told you how much he loved you, and each time you felt his heart beating against yours.

"I love you, too, Simon," you whispered back, further relaxing into his embrace as you pecked his bicep that was hugging you close by your shoulders.

You could feel the love and intensity in every part of his body, from the warmth of his breath against your neck to the way his heart beat in time with yours. You knew that you would always be by his side, loving him and cherishing him for all eternity.

As you drifted back to sleep, his arms wrapped around you tightly, unwilling to let you go and wishing to always be this close. You could feel the love in every part of his body, and you knew that this was the love that could never be broken.

Simon pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck, his breath warm and soothing against your skin, and you felt a pang of love and comfort wash over you.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, unwilling to let you go even for a moment, and he held you against him, feeling your heartbeat against his chest.

"Goodnight, love," he whispered, his voice low and filled with all the love he felt for you as he cuddled you close.

"G'night..." you sighed dreamily and closed your eyes.

As you drifted off to sleep, with your head resting against his chest, Simon couldn't help the rush of affection for you. He knew that you were the love of his life, that he would do anything for you, and that he couldn't imagine a future without you by his side.

Holding you close to him, he felt your heart beating slowly and regularly against his chest, and he felt a deep sense of peace wash over him. Every fiber of his being told him that he loved you, that you were everything he had ever wanted in life, and that he would always be there to protect you, to love you, and to cherish you.

He whispers your name softly, almost inaudible, as he drifted off to sleep, holding you tightly in his embrace. The love and intensity in his voice, in his touch, and in his eyes, was overwhelming, and he knew that you felt it too.

navi / masterlist !

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) captain price nsfw alphabet with p-links, 𝒶⸺𝓏

𝒜 = aftercare (what they’re like after sex) : john, as i've stated before, is very touchy. he likes having his hands on you in any way that he can. so he'll pull you to his chest as the two of you catch your breath and run his hands along your body, pressing kisses to the crown of your hairline. you usually end up dozing off before john does and so he takes the initiative to grab a warm, damp cloth and clean up the mess of cum between your thighs. after he's done, he'll hop right back into bed and pull you flush to his body, sliding his hands along the expanse of your thighs and counting each beauty mark and mole along your body in the dim lighting of the room until he eventually falls asleep. [connected to this post and this one as well!]

𝐵 = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) : john's favorite body part of his would have to be his hands. they're big and calloused from work and he enjoys gently grasping your hips with them when he pulls you in for a slow kiss. he also adores how much you love them as well, his hands swamping yours whenever the two of you interlock fingers with each other. now john has an obsession with your lips, for him, they convey your emotions much better than words ever could. he can tell when you're annoyed with him by the purse of your lips. can tell when you're feeling shy by the slight upturn of the corner of your mouth. can tell when you're being sassy and sarcastic with the cute smirk that'll grace your lips and also when you're feeling sad by the way your lips curl in on themselves to form a line, and perhaps that's not a body part but it's his absolute favorite.

𝒞 = cum (anything to do with cum basically... i’m a disgusting person) : john's cum is pearl white in color and it's sticky and thick and there's always so much of it when he cums for the first time. the taste of his cum is slightly salty but it's not overbearing, you love the taste of him. price prefers to cum inside of you rather than anywhere else, this only started after john saw you holding your friend's newborn baby in your arms, it's been john's mission to impregnate you since then. [connected to this post!]

𝒟 = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) : it's no secret that john is older than you, there's an obvious age gap and some people may sneer at your relationship (as you're in your mid to late twenties and john is thirty-seven.) during playful banters between you and john, your go-to "insult" is always, "old man", "yes, daddy." or something along those lines. and despite himself, price always finds that he's thick and hard in his pants. he won't ever tell you that though.

𝐸 = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) : okay, price isn't the type to sleep around, he's had some occasional flings here and there, but that's about it. that doesn't mean he's inexperienced though, john puts in work. he studies your reactions and what you like. a delicious roll of his hips has him hitting that spongey little spot inside of you. licking his thumb before planting it on your clit to rub quick figure eights, has your thighs shaking and his name falling off your tongue like a prayer, and whispering lewd things in your ear and kissing you all sloppily in his pussy drunk state? has your cunt leaking all over the place. john price knows how to fuck and make love, he's perfect.

𝐹 = favorite position (this goes without saying. will probably include a visual) : hm, john's favorite position is called the 'g-whiz' it's a stupid name lowkey but it gives him the perfect view to watch your face as you fall apart over and over on his cock. it also gives him access to your g-spot and your clit as well. three birds with one stone (he loves watching your tits bounce too.)

𝒢 = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) : it's a mix. there are times when the two of you are going at it like bunnies and perhaps bump heads a bit too hard. or maybe one of you trips while pulling off a piece of clothing-- there's going to be obvious laughter. during softer sex, where john's thrusts are deep and rolling, slow and intimate--- his gaze is always so full of his adoration for you and it leaves you breathless at times. he kisses gently, whispering words of love to you and smiling at the tears that sting your eyes. so yeah, he's a mix.

𝐻 = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) : john, before he met you, wasn't really sexually active, and so he didn't keep up with grooming himself, there was no need for him to. he was out in the field for weeks on end at a time and when he was off the field all he wanted to do was relax and sleep as much as he could before he had to go back out for another mission. after he met you, however, he wanted to groom himself. not that you seemed to care, nor had you ever complained. but he did it anyways. so, price's hair is brown, nicely trimmed, with no scraggly hairs in sight.

𝐼 = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) : please, john is madly in love with you and he himself knows it and he loves to make it known to you often, even outside of sex. price loves keeping eye contact with you, whether it's through a mirror, while you're riding him, or in any other position that allows the two of you to be face to face. he loves watching the small ticks in your expression as he grinds his hips into yours, cock sinking into you at the most excruciatingly slow pace he's ever gone. loves the way your cheeks flush and your cunt squeezes him when he calls you his, "pretty girl." this man also says 'i love you' often, and it's always so genuine, you never grow tired of hearing him say it. (he definitely doesn't kiss your chin when you give him an annoyed pouty look at his slow pace, he definitely doesn't apologize and speed up either.)

𝒥 = jack off (masturbation headcanon) : i find it hard to picture price masturbating, but i believe he does so when he's away from home for weeks on end, but it's not mindless masturbation like most men are prone to doing. john, when he's away from you for long periods of time, gets almost…needy?? in a way. this man misses you like no other, he misses the smell of you, your loving touches, your smile, your cooking, you pulling him to the living room floor to dance, your horrible singing when the two of you shower together and god he misses the sound of your voice. and this feeling is all so new to him and it's almost overwhelming. 

so when price has the downtime, he calls you, it's a spur-of-the-moment call and when you pick up, he can hear the thickness of sleep in your voice; he feels selfish and a bit foolish, he was acting like a horny teenager. however, after hearing the excitement in your voice and the surprise, he can only smile and ask how everything has been at home. who would've thought that the sound of your voice, all sleepy and soft would get him hard and thick within his cargos? who also would've thought that john price would unzip himself to pull out his rigid cock, tip leaking with pearlescent pre-cum and pulsing in his large hand. yes, john ends up fucking his fist to the sound of your voice, humming and grunting softly to signify that he's listening to you, thighs tensing and heart hammering in his ribcage. i mean, what you don't know won't hurt you.

𝒦 = kink (one or more of their kinks) : hear me out, roleplay, please! wait, think about it, perhaps it's not full-on roleplay but it's something of the sort, john gets a raging boner when you call him 'captain price' mockingly or 'sir'. another would have to be breeding, john wants to knock you up so bad it's almost an obsession, would love to see you swollen with his child, most definitely says something along the lines of. "good girl, wan' t'get you pregnant so bad. you'd like that, hm?" during sex. a mild voice kink? loves the sound of your voice and almost always cums instantly when you beg him to fill you up.

𝐿 = location (favorite places to do the do) : don't really see john being too much of an exhibitionist but the two of you have had sex outside at a park, while on a picnic. you had crawled into his lap and kissed him softly, pleadingly, blinking your pretty little lashes at him and i mean; who is he to say no to your greedy little cunt? however, he prefers to do it in the comfort of your shared home. ♡

𝑀 = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) : your teasing. whether it be playful or sexual it always riles price up. it's one of the many things that he loves about you, your sense of humor. and you express it well, not just through your actions or your words but also through your eyes, they're always so expressive and glittering with light mischief that he can't help but sweep you off your feet, throw you over his shoulder, and carry you into the bedroom.

𝒩 = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) : hurting you in any way, there are some things he's a bit lenient on if you like it; like choking and light slapping but other than that, it's a no for price. man loves you too much to do anything of the sort.

𝒪 = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) : as much as john loves having his cock buried down your throat, watching as you stare up at him with tear-stained cheeks, your mouth and chin covered in spit and his cum— he enjoys eating you out. he loves the taste of you on his tongue, loves to overstimulate you, loves to control your orgasms, loves to hear you beg and roll your hips on his tongue. if john could he'd spend the rest of his life buried between your thighs, large hands gripping the fat of your hips to keep you still as your thighs quiver and your pussy pulses from being too sensitive, he would. well shit, i guess that should be one of john's kinks too then, huh?

𝒫 = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) : price is usually slow and sensual, with fervent deep strokes, tender kisses, and whispered murmurs of love. what can he say? he loves showing that he loves you in all that he does. however, on the days when he comes home after a mission gone awry or being away for a long time in general, he's gonna be fast and rough; using your body any way he pleases. on days like this, he prefers you in 'doggy style' or even the 'mating press', and immediately gives you cuddles afterward though, telling you briefly of his mission as you run your hands through his hair. ♡

𝒬 = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) : hm, john isn't one for quickies, i mean he doesn't mind a quickie, the park sex that the two of you had was a quickie after all. but i believe he much prefers proper sex, that way he can pull orgasm after orgasm from you and take his time as well. 

𝑅 = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) : john is down to try something at least once, especially if it's something that you want to try. not too long ago, you handcuffed price to the bed and edged him until he had literally begged you to let him cum, it was quite the sight and he's down to do it again. 

𝒮 = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) : give this man two good rounds, and then he's tuckered out. however he doesn't mind if you're still reeling to go, he'll pull you onto his lap and let you ride him until you're sated. or even make you ride his face, he could never deny you anything after all. 

𝒯 = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) : y'all hear me out once more....vibrating panties. rahhhh, hold on hold on. you guys use it when you're out on walks, at restaurants and sometimes even at dinners with your friends. man gets bricked up at the sight of you squeezing your thighs together, breathless and completely out of it. however, in the bedroom, price is all you need, the man is much better than any toy.

 𝒰 = unfair (how much they like to tease) : teases you often, whether it be with overstimulation, ruining your orgasms, or even having you beg him to let you cum. the man, believe it or not, likes to see your eyes water and your lips pout. loves that he can get his sassy, fiery wife all squirmy and pleading with just a few strokes of his tongue. 

𝒱 = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make) : john is not shy, he'll tell you how good you're making him feel, not with just his deep, guttural groans, but also with words. price is the king of dirty talk and he does it unknowingly, he most definitely curses when he's moaning as well, drawn out 'fucks' and at when your pussy squeezes him tight, he'll say. "shit, sweetheart y'r pussy s'made for me." calls you the lewdest names known to man, but says it so lovingly that you can't help but be turned on even more than you already are.

𝒲 = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) : has definitely had you suck him off while underneath his desk while on a computer call with laswell. poor baby, his face was pink from holding in his moans, especially after you buried him to the hilt down your throat. totally didn't get caught or anything.

𝒳= x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) : the picture speaks for itself. ♡

𝒴 = yearning (how high is their sex drive?) : you guys, price is 37, atp? he's 40, it may not be as it used to be when he was younger but! he puts in the work and most times tires you out before he tires out.

𝒵 = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward) : it takes awhile for price to succumb to sleep, no matter how tired he is. so it's usually you falling asleep first. he lays there, holding you close and running his hands along your back and then further. he'll drift off to the sound of your slow breathing and the steady rhythm of your heart.  ♡

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : the full alphabet! ahem, i enjoyed doing this

[rowarn]

WAIT NO !!!! LISTEN!!!!!!! LISTEN TO ME !!!!!

simon who is really really big on emotional aftercare. he could fuck you like he hates you and whisper the most vile shit in your ear about how ur his cumdump but then turns around the second the highs have worn off and he's cupping your cheeks in his hands and kissing u so softly and telling u how sweet and pretty you are and how precious u are to him!!!

he thinks the most important thing isn't cleaning all the cum off each other but holding you close and talking u down from the chemical soup that's mixed in your brain. simon has awful mental health and he'll be damned if u end up stewing in anything negative caused from your intimate time together ):

but ALSO CONSIDER simon, who never really considered aftercare for himself, always just assumed he'd be the one giving it. he doesn't really understand why he would need it bc he's not the one being pounded into the mattress and manhandled like he has no other purpose than to be a toy for a nice, fat cock.

but then you turn the tables and he realizes how nice it feels to just.....talk.......and let himself calm down and level out after sex. he doesn't always let his guard down enough to really sink into receiving the aftercare (he'll always be most concerned about you and doesn't know how to compromise there!!) but when he does it's the best damn sleep he ever gets <3

[deunmiu-dessie-sideblog]

john price is a loving man. john price is also a man who loves holding you in his arms, fight me if i'm wrong. since he's usually away from home for weeks, even months at a time, whenever he comes home; he drops to his knees and buries his face in ur tummy to hug u, all while ur hands run through the soft tufts of his hair.

john price, even after fucking u like an animal in heat, thick cock bruising ur cervix, and having his skilled tongue pull orgasm after orgasm from u, is a touchy man. he pulls u into his chest and asks softly about the things that have happened since he's been gone, thick fingers brushing through ur hair. he's particularly fond of ur newfound dislike for the next-door neighbor.

[connected to this post!]

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

thinkin about polite gaz being... not so polite when he realizes you're attracted to him. 

not like you let it slip on purpose. he only catches on because he's teasing you and flirting with you and he gets playfully physical and pins you against a wall. he does not miss the way your breath catches in your throat or the way you flush. bit submissive, aren't you?

his attitude changes instantly. he bets you he could keep you pinned right there. hell, he bets he could pick you up, toss you over his shoulder if he wanted to. when you ask him (a bit too breathlessly) if he'd really do that, he smirks at you and says there are plenty of reasons he might have to pick you up. makes it easier to show you who's boss, yeah?

your face gets so hot you think you might actually pass out. you fucking bottom.

he leans in, getting closer this time so you can't shy away; you have no choice but to hear him clearly. "you think you could handle being thrown around?"

if it killed you, you would die happy.

"how about i just throw you into bed instead?"

please, you squeak out.

his eyes gleam and he chuckles. "say please again and it'll be the floor."

nsfw ↓

he's not kidding about being able to pick you up either. or throw you. the moment he has a chance, he's definitely getting you into bed. and he's definitely enjoying how you squirm.

can i ask a favor of you? he asks, so politely, like he's not literally on top of you, pinning you down.

literally anything. you would do literally anything he asks.

"say please again. for me."

you stutter.

"you asked quite nicely for me to throw you. so if i ask, would you beg nicely for me to do other things?"

oh god. oh god. you're glad you're laying down, because you're sure your knees would give out if you were standing up.

when your brain reboots, you stumble over yourself to say yes, absolutely, please kiss me, please tear my clothes off, please hold me down and have your way with me--

god, he really likes that look on your face. he is really going to enjoy you. 

"you really are an excitable little thing, aren't you?" he says, smirk widening as his hand traces along your hip.

is that bad? you ask him.

"it's really hot. almost makes me feel bad for everything i want to do to you."

no, please, don't feel bad, you tell him. you immediately shift, trying to press yourself up against his body. you want him to use you for everything he wants. everything.

"so eager. can't wait, can you?"

no, you can't. you'll die if you have to wait. you try and fail to reign yourself in and be so fucking needy. you fumble with the buttons on your shirt, undoing them one by one, impatient and frustrated. he just smirks at you, letting you get yourself all worked up. just leans back and watches you, enjoying the sight.

when your mind catches up with what your hands are doing, you stall out on the last button. then, finally, he gives in and reaches forward to unhook it himself. then he yanks the whole shirt out of the way.

"good girl. god, you're cute when you're so red like that. you're really into this, aren't you?" his voice is sultry as his caress moves down to the button on your jeans. really just takes his damn time, enjoying how the slower he goes, the more desperate for him you get. but the way your hips twitch when he lays his hands on them has him fighting demons.

"that's it. keep moving. keep squirming." his voice is low and slow--he's trying to keep himself under control as much as you are. he wants so badly to grab your hips and just fucking rail you into the mattress, but it's more rewarding to be patient. how's he going to hear more of those sounds, see more of your desperate ploys to get under him, if it's all over right away?

obviously you have no such reservation. the moment he has your jeans unbuttoned, you're wiggling out of them and flipping onto your stomach, pushing your ass up in the air and fucking presenting yourself to him. please, you beg him, losing your goddamn mind, you can't take it anymore. can't he just...?

gaz damn near short-circuits at the image of you with your ass in the air. he barely manages to stop himself and weigh whether he should deny you a little bit more to heighten the anticipation.

fuck it. he can torment you more after he's inside you. multitasking.

you squeak in delight when he plants his hands between your shoulder blades and pushes your top half into the mattress, dragging your hips up toward his. he pushes you down, fitting his body over yours and putting his mouth next to your ear. he whispers right in your ear. "say please again."

please, please, please, you'll do anything, you tell him, wiggling your hips at him.

and he plans to take you up on that offer.

he leans in close, his breath warm on your skin. "good girl, he tells you. obedient girl."

you've never wanted to be under someone so badly.

your easy submission has him grinning. "are you a good girl all the time or just for me?"

for you, you mumble, hot with shame.

he pulls himself back even more and puts a knee on each side of you, pushing your legs apart. it gives you a shot of dopamine so intense you almost can't keep your ass up. 

"are you being good right now?"

you could be better for him, you tell him, so much better.

he likes the sound of that. it's getting hard to think, having your legs open and right there and he's trying to hold himself back but who wouldn't fall for the temptation he's experiencing right now? "how much better?"

you tell him you could please him more if you knew what he liked, if you could focus on him, if you didn't need more right now, if you didn't need him inside you so bad. your hips twitch again as you ramble, almost mindless.

"i like it when you speak so earnestly," he tells you.

that approval sends another shot of dopamine through you, and your hips buck against nothing. he hasn't even touched you there and you feel like you could finish any moment just from his voice. you're gonna die if you can't have him right now.

he's breathing heavier now, eyes fixed on your opening. his voice almost wavers, heavy with implication. "how bad do you need me, darling?" 

you start to dissolve into begging again--god dammit, he said he wanted you to beg and he's not even doing what you want, what you're begging for--and he interrupts. "you're going to ask properly first."

of course he's gonna make you fucking say it.

you beg and plead in every way you know how, promising every debased act you can think of. when his fingers finally press up against your heat--a teasingly light brush at first, and then a firm press--you dissolve into a mess of broken cries and pleas for him to keep going.

obviously he keeps talking to you in that low, sultry voice, telling you what an impatient little thing you are. chastising you. just another way to flex a little more power over you, and you're so weak for it. and then for that, he praises you.

"such a good girl," he tells you. "you want more?"

you open your mouth to say yes, you want everything, but then he presses his fingers in just the slightest bit, fingertips splitting you the slightest bit, and all you can do is keen. you rock your hips back into him desperately, sliding his fingers into you, and something in you snaps. you tip over the edge. oxytocin floods through you, your legs lock up, and shameless sounds fall from your lips. gaz's breath catches as you finish. then he grins.

gaz pulls you up to him fully and lies down above you. kisses you on the mouth and then trails his mouth down your jaw to your ear. "that was perfect," he says, breathless, and unashamedly horny about the fact that you just came on the second knuckles of two fingers.

you stare at him in muted shock yourself. you can't believe you just... you really just came like that? what's wrong with you?

"how about this," he says in a low, smooth voice. "since you were good, why don't you lay back down and let me fuck you properly?" he lifts your legs off the bed and raises your hips toward him. "let me do everything i want to you."

you swallow and nod, not trusting yourself to speak without squeaking.

"good girl." this time there's no hint of teasing. his eyes are hungry. "let your man take care of you."

...

[part 1] / part 2

more Gaz / masterlist tag

[toshidou]

lighthouse for a lost comrade . . .

Pairing // Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word count // 4.9k

Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon's perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir' kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they're hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing

AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable

AO3 link here

Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.

Until he met you.

You were a wide-eyed rookie, Laswell bringing you into the fold as a technician, a skilled hacker and mechanic who despite your innocent doe eyes, held lethal talents. He remembers so vividly, the way your head had cocked to the side as Laswell introduced you to the peculiar members of task force 141, remembers the way your eyes stopped on him. You showed not a single ounce of fear or hesitance, just pure unbridled curiosity. That same curiosity led you to asking him far too many questions, relentlessly prying to see more of the man behind the mask, to see Simon Riley, rather than ‘Ghost’. It should have pissed him off, he should have reprimanded you for your callousness towards your Lieutenant, but somehow you knew exactly which questions to ask, knew exactly when to stop and move on to other subjects.

Contrary to popular belief, Simon doesn’t hide his past, doesn’t try to use it to fuel the mysterious and mythical reputation he’s unwittingly built. It’s just that no one ever asks. Maybe it’s something about the skull mask, or the egregiously high kill count he sits so casually on top of that has people wary of ever approaching him. But you—you had no hesitation. You read him like a goddamn book every single time, and it simultaneously terrified and relieved him.

One glance and every secret he shoved behind his balaclava is left bare before you, leaving him with a vulnerable, gaping wound in the shape of a lifetime of trauma and tales that Simon knows no person should ever have to experience. And yet, your eyes hold not an ounce of pity, no awkward silences attempting to be alleviated with an awkward pat on the back and a “that sounds rough, buddy”. You see his past, his pain, his suffering, his bad habits, without him ever having to explicitly say anything. And in return, you say nothing. You don’t try and mollify him about circumstances he’s moved on from long ago, you make no effort to coddle him, to sit him down and patronisingly ask him if he’s doing well, or when the last time he slept was.

Instead, you leave him cutely packaged leftovers on his doorstep, easy meals he can throw in the microwave when he’s too tired to even comprehend making food. You buy him a multitude of jigsaws and puzzles for when sleep evades him as it so often does. You never once try to change him, never force yourself into his life just so you can claim that you’re some selfless martyr. To Simon Riley, you are nothing short of a blessing, and falling in love with you was quite frankly the easiest thing he’s ever done.

He takes off the mask for the first time when neither of you were prepared, nor expecting it. The mission had been so fucking rough, camped out in the middle of nowhere on the hunt for someone he was sure had long since gone. Weeks spent trudging through thick mud, swimming upriver, tracking footprints that led nowhere, steered them to no one. His bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up with him after being shot in the leg and falling nearly 75 metres off of a cliff, plunging into the water below. Price had insisted he go straight to the medic tent back at basecamp, but then simply sighed and shook his head, resigned, as he watched Simon limp off the chopper, and in the exact opposite direction.

To most, this would be the latest example of Simon Riley once again disregarding his health for the sake of keeping up the stoic, strong mask he never let slip. Yet this time, Simon Riley was not disregarding his health, he was, for maybe the first time, trying to preserve what little of it he had left. His leg was near numb by the time he made it to your tent, his foggy mind quickly soothed by the sound of you humming along to the radio, accompanied by the rapid clicking of keys as you worked on some coding. It takes him hissing in discomfort as he attempts to remove his military boots for you to turn around, eyes going impossibly wide as you watch an alarmingly large pool of red grow at his feet.

“Jesus Christ Ghost, are you trying to redecorate my floor?” He kept his mouth shut, using the last dregs of his energy to keep his gaze pinned on you, dark brown irises following your every move as you usher him into the chair you occupied merely seconds before, gingerly hovering your hands over the drenched material that clings to his thigh, soaked in blood and water.

“I’m going to cut the material above the wound, okay? I need to see what I’m working with here.” Your eyes connect with his unwavering gaze, translating his silence into a language that has taken you an eerily short period of time to become fluent in. He watches you nod to yourself, can pinpoint the cogs turning in your mind, can practically see you write the list of how best to deal with this situation as you unpack your first aid kit. Somehow, despite his leg stinging like a bitch, despite how utterly worn he feels, so raw and rough around the edges, he feels at peace.

Price may think he was a stupid bastard for not seeing one of their trained medics, but Simon knows without a doubt that you will always be the best thing for him, you will always be the first port of call, the lighthouse that guides him oh so safely to shore, to home. Even when your stitches are a little uneven, even when you dab a little too much alcohol disinfectant onto his wound, even when you wince every time the muscle in his leg twitches involuntarily, he watches you pour every ounce of care and tenderness into every touch, watches you take care of him in a way no one else ever could, not that he’d let them.

You’re finishing off wrapping up the wound on his thigh when Simon realises he doesn’t want this moment to be over. He selfishly craves more of your delicate, gentle care, unsure if he could ever have this again after tonight, if he deserved it.

So, he waits. He waits for you to lean back on your haunches, bending back to check your handiwork with a satisfied smile tugging at your pretty lips. He waits for your eyes to drift to his, as they so often do, and then he speaks.

“I uh, I got hurt here too,” The words grate against his throat like sandpaper, rough and unsure as he lifts his hand to prod at his cheek, “think I hit a rock in the water after falling.” You stand immediately, eyebrows furrowed together as your fingers gently brush the small rip in his mask.

“I can’t see much with this in the way, Ghost, though I think you’ll live.”

Simon couldn't pinpoint exactly what had his fingers hooking under his mask, couldn’t single it down to any particular moment or word that had him pulling the black material over his chin, and up past his nose, he just knew it felt right. All he focused on was the way your lips fell agape, how your hands lifted automatically towards his wrists, whether to stop them or encourage them further he didn’t know, but he sure as fuck clocked the slight tilt to your head, taking him immediately back to when you first laid eyes on him.

You were looking at Simon in a way he can’t say he’s ever experienced. Like a complicated mixture of guilt and awe. But he feels no fear, no regret as he throws the skull balaclava unceremoniously onto the floor, and directly into the pool of blood he’d left by the door.

“Should be a little easier to see now, don’t you think?”

All he gets in return is a small huff of a laugh, the ghost of your breath fanning across his exposed face, he swears he’s never felt anything as sweet. That is until your hand comes to cup his face, shudders erupting down his spine when the pads of your impossibly soft fingers brush just under the superficial cut on his cheek.

“I don’t know Si, I think we might have to amputate.” You murmur, an overly dramatic lilt to your voice as you pretend to further examine the ‘wound’. And Jesus fucking Christ, if he isn’t so impossibly, incredibly fond of you.

“That bad, huh doc?” He leans forward, just enough to catch the way your pupils dilate, the slight hitch to your usually even breath, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to save it? I’m particularly fond of that cheek.” He drinks in the soft hum you give in response, watches you with rapt attention as you lean further forward, and nearly passes the fuck out when you press your lips to his upper cheekbone, because what the fuck.

Before this, Simon Riley could say with absolute certainty that he’d never once blushed in his life, but now? He could feel the blood rushing to his face, knowing without a doubt that you could feel the heat radiating from where your fingers and lips remain connected to his skin. His wide eyes, blackened around the sockets from a mixture of paint and week-long exhaustion, remain firmly fixed on you, hardly hesitating before he secures your hand against his face the second he feels you pulling away.

There are no words exchanged, nothing but shallow breaths and searching eyes before Simon allows himself to be selfish just this once and pulls you onto his uninjured thigh, guiding you to sit with his other hand, fingers digging ever so slightly into the meat of your hip. And now he has you here, right where he’s always wanted you, there’s not a chance in hell he’s ever letting you go.

“Please kiss me, Simon.”

As if he could ever say no to you.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He removes his hand from your wrist, dragging his scarred knuckles as delicately as he possibly can across your cheek, fanning out his fingers around the side of your face, using the leverage to guide you impossibly closer. He allows himself one last look, tracing his gaze from your lidded eyes to your lips before he lets his eyelids fall shut, and loses himself in you. Loses every ounce of tension and exhaustion under the ministrations of your fingers as they tangle into his hair, and finally, fucking finally, he feels his once cold, dead heart thrum to life as you sigh contentedly against his lips. Kiss of life in-fucking-deed.

He's lost in every inch of you, can’t get over how soft and warm the plush of your waist is under his fingers, how responsive you are when he slides his hand ever so slightly under your oversized t-shirt. He wants more, he needs more, can’t help himself as he moves his kisses from your lips, down your jaw, until he reaches the base of your throat, sucking deep purple bruises into your supple skin.

“You taste like heaven,” He’s all too aware of how raspy his voice has become, desire only deepening his tone further as he drags his lips back up the expanse of your throat, a deep groan pulled from his throat when he feels you shift on his lap, highlighting the growing pressure of his cock straining against his pants. “Driving me fuckin’ wild already. Look what you’ve done to me, gorgeous.” His fingers come to curl under your jaw, directing your gaze down to the prominent tenting of his trousers, ensuring his eyes don’t dare drift away from your face as he watches you take in the view before you.

“Mine.”

The noise Simon makes in response is nothing short of primal, it wasn’t a sound he was even aware he could make, near guttural, but of course you would be the one to pull it out of him.

“That’s right baby, all yours, fucking hell,” he’s powerless to stop his eyes squeezing shut when he feels your fingers curl around his clothed cock, mustering every ounce of strength he has left not to cum in his pants there and then, because he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anything get in the way of giving you the pleasure you deserve.

“Come on Si, look at me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he finally opens his eyes again, instantly zeroing in on your fingers as they begin to unfasten his pants, before flicking back up to meet your gaze, “Is this okay?”, your voice tentative.

“More than okay, Jesus,” Simon wastes little time after that, hands sliding under your shirt and shifting further up your torso, muscles freezing when his hand contacts nothing but bare skin, grazing the flesh of your breasts.

“No bra? Lucky me.” You laugh, arching your back further into his touch.

“More like lucky me, those things are basically torture devices, Simon, I’d like to see you try and work with metal wire and straps digging into your boobs and back,” He grins, pinching one of your nipples between two of his calloused fingers and revelling in the way your smirk twists into a moan, hips twitching against the rough material of his cargo pants.

“I think it’s about time you took these off,” He mutters, one hand dropping to thumb under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about how pretty you’d look getting yourself off on my lap.” Apparently, Simon doesn’t need to say anymore, watching with intense eyes as you pull away from his grip, and begin undressing. Your top joins his mask on the floor, soon followed by your pants and underwear until you’re stood in all your naked glory, mere inches away from him. Simon must be the luckiest son of a bitch on this entire fucking planet.

He takes advantage of your absence by lifting his hips, cocking an eyebrow at you as he gestures towards his trousers, “Give an injured soldier a hand, would you doll?” Truthfully, Simon knows he would have no issues removing them himself, but why would he do that when he can have this instead? When he can have your body pressed in between his thighs, your deft hands undoing his buttons and sliding the material of his military pants slowly over his wrapped-up leg, when he can watch your eyes drink in every inch of new skin revealed with barely contained desire. No, he would much rather have this, especially when your dainty hands peel away his boxers, leaving him only in his top and vest plate.

“Simon…” You whine, your lips so perfectly pouted, a cute little furrow between your brows as you pull and tug at various parts of his vest, “help me take this shit off. It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” He hums, schools his face to show careful contemplation, reaching up a hand to rest on your bare upper thigh.

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”

“Please, sir.”

Well fuck. That awakened something within him.

With military precision, he unsecured the armoured vest from his body, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head, joining the now large pile of clothes left scattered across the floor of your tent. For a brief second, Simon feels so incredibly vulnerable under your intense gaze, wondering if maybe this is how people feel when he fixes his stare upon them, bare and defenceless. But then you lower yourself back into his lap, settling across both his legs with such gentle care, wrapping both your arms around the back of his head and pinning him with a look he thinks most likely reflects his own.

“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” It’s almost too much, the sincerity in your voice mixed with the way the words were uttered so softly into the air, as though they were a secret only to be shared between the two of you.

“I’m nothing compared to you.” You shake your head, smiling, leaning forward until your nose brushes his.

“Just take the compliment, Lieutenant.” He tries his best not to shiver as he feels your hand trace down his spine, instead shifts his focus onto how close your lips are to his, or the quiet noise you make in the back of your throat as his hands come to grip the meat of your thighs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Something in the air changes, as though the collective patience between the two of you could stretch no further, so taut it had no choice but to snap. His lips crash into yours, desperation surging through Simon’s veins like wildfire. Fuck, what are you doing to him?

“Can I touch you?” he mumbles against your lips, large hands aching from where they rest, yearning the feeling of your wet heat against his fingertips.

“God, yes, please.”

With newfound strength, he lifts you from his lap and twists you until your back is flush to his chest, uncaring of the twinge of pain he feels from his leg as he settles you fully on his lap. Now, Simon has full access to every inch of your perfect body, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as he litters the skin with open mouthed kisses, humming contentedly at the way you arch into his hands as he cups your breasts with both hands, fingers toying with your nipples until they’re perked and firm under his touch.

“No teasing, please,” Your pleading breaks him from a momentary stupor, bringing his head up to watch as you place one of your hands over his, guiding it further down, sweeping over your sternum, past your belly button, until his palm rests over your cunt, “I need you here, Simon.”

Fucking hell.

He couldn't find the words, couldn’t articulate them even if he had any. So, instead of speaking, he presses his hand over the curve of your cunt, groans when he feels just how hot and wet you are, all for him.

“Mine.” He repeats your words from earlier into the shell of your ear, a smirk stretching onto his lips at the full body shiver you give in response, growing near predatory when he feels your pussy twitch under his hand. God, how the fuck are you so wet? His fingers glide over your folds with ease, teasing your clit on every upwards swipe of his fingers, and when he finally dips his index finger into your cunt, he’s rewarded with the sweetest symphony. Breathy whines and whispered pleas of “more”, “deeper, Simon, please”, every request he happily indulges, now curling two fingers against your velvet walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you keening against his body. It takes a shift of his palm, the angle changing just enough to have you choking on a gasp, his other hand remains fixed to your breasts, pushing your chest down until you’re pinned against his body.

“Atta girl, feels good huh?” He slips a third digit in, cursing under his breath as he feels your pussy clamp down, twitching helplessly around his fingers as they continue to stroke relentlessly at your g-spot, “Gonna need you to cum at least once on my fingers before I give you anything else, baby.” He dares to steal a glance at your face, and is met with closed eyes, your mouth agape, and head thrown back onto his shoulder, you’re nothing short of a masterpiece. Your hands desperately grip onto his arms, nails digging sweet red crescents into Simon’s inked skin, as though the hold you have on him is the only thing keeping you grounded, and he feels positively fucking drunk on it.

You’re close, that much he can tell, and as much as he could absolutely keep you like this on his lap for another good few hours, he takes pity on your furrowed eyebrows and soft whimpers, removing his hand from your chest and placing his thumb into your open mouth. He doesn’t even need to instruct you as you close your lips around his digit and suck, your tongue eagerly lapping at the rough pad of his finger. He doesn’t have the strength to leave it there for much longer, overly aware of the way his cock desperately twitches from where it’s trapped between your bodies, instead focusing on the way you react the second his spit slicked thumb begins to rub tight circles around your clit.

“Si-, fuck, Simon ‘m close, so close, wanna cum,” There was never any other option for him than to watch you fall apart on his lap, but if he somehow needed further encouragement, “Please Sir, please make me cum.” It would be entirely impossible for him to stop the moan your words drag from his throat, to think of anything other than giving you your release. It’s obvious when your orgasm hits, having to stop toying with your now engorged clit to instead pin your hips down, worried there was a chance you might fall to the side if he didn’t keep you grounded.

“Good girl, such a good fucking girl, made such a mess of my fingers baby,” Simon hums against the side of your head, slowing his ministrations until he’s lazily fingering your still spasming pussy, drawing out the sweet sounds of post-orgasm sensitivity from your spit-shining lips. He waits until you finally regain some form of lucidity, waits until your neck straightens, no longer lolled against his collarbone to finally withdraw his fingers, soothing your whines at his absence with kisses to your jaw. But he makes sure your eyes are locked with his when he brings his fingers to his own lips, ensures you’re watching with nothing less than rapt attention as he cleans every drop of your arousal from his skin.

“Taste fuckin’ divine, princess.” Your head tips forward into your hands with a groan, and Simon couldn’t hide his pleased grin even if he tried.

“You’re not allowed to be this hot,” Your words muffled into your palm, the Ghost’s heart rate spiking when you looked at him shyly through your fingers, affection surging through his bloodstream like a shot of pure adrenaline. “Especially when I can feel your cock pressed against my ass.” As if he needed the reminder, as if that singular thought hasn’t been plaguing him for the past 10 minutes.

“And what exactly are you going to do about that, darling?”

His words were meant to make you shy, were said to watch those sweet eyes of yours widen. Except, Simon realises, he must have awoken something within you, something bold, something utterly fucking debauched, because instead of shying away, you lock your eyes with his, rising to the challenge he set. You stand up, turn yourself around, climb back onto his lap and sink down onto his cock in one fluid motion.

“Fucking-, shit, what the fuck,”

“I think that works for both of us, right, Simon?” You need to stop, or you at least need to give him some time to adjust to whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now. He can tell you’re far from unaffected, however. The slight quiver to your voice, and the way the slick walls of your pussy clench greedily around him show at least that much. And yet, you’re pinning him with a fierce gaze, your fingers forming an iron grip on loose brown hair at the base of his skull, using him as leverage to grind your hips in circular motions. “Let me take care of you, handsome.” His response cut off by a groan as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock, his eyes frantically flicking from where your cunt swallows every inch of his shaft, back up to your heavy-lidded gaze, locked onto his as you effortlessly ride his cock.

So instead of trying to take the lead, to lift his hips to meet yours, for the first time ever, Simon Riley does as he’s told. He allows you to control the pace, lets you direct his hands to your waist, but doesn’t use it as a point of control. Instead he caresses your skin with rough fingers. He lets you take care of him. And God, does it feel good.

He lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slip closed, and allows himself to just exist in this moment with you. A luxury he hasn’t been able to afford for far too long. Instead, he focuses on the sounds dissipating into the air around your joined bodies, the soft pants and moans that spill from both his mouth and yours, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin combined with the slick noise of his cock fucking into your heat, and if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can hear the rapid beating of your heart where your chest is pressed flush to his.

“C’mon Simon, baby, look at me.” It takes an embarrassing amount of energy for Simon to lift his neck up, refocusing his gaze onto you, “You’re doing so well, letting me look after you like this.” And fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, can’t remember the last time he allowed himself the comfort of crying, but he feels so unequivocally safe around you. Still, the time for tears will come later, right now, Simon wants nothing more than to feel you lose yourself on his cock. He secures his hands on your ass, and stands, ignoring your surprised cries and worried scolding, and walks as best he can towards the mattress near your desk. He doesn’t want to admit that lowering you both down onto the cheap material nearly left him breathless, and he definitely won’t admit that you were right, he didn’t have the strength to do that. But now that he has you lying on top of him, cock still buried deep inside of you, he knows the pain was more than worth it. Because in this position, he can ground his feet into the mattress and focus on fucking you like you deserve.

He ignores the sting of pain in his thigh, no doubt ruining some of the stitching you had done earlier, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when you’re mewling into his chest, nails scratching long, thin pink lines down the expanse of his chest as he fucks his hips ruthlessly up to meet yours. He knows he won’t last much longer, you feel too fucking good, and he has no strength to hold back, praying that you’re as close as he is as he snakes one hand down to toy with your clit once again. Relief washing over him when he feels your cunt clench like a vice around his length, allows himself one, two more thrusts of his hips before he finally reaches his peak, cock twitching like a heartbeat from where it’s buried within you, not moving until the last weak spurts of cum finish painting your cervix white.

“Fucking hell,” with his energy long since depleted, his body slumps into the mattress below, dragging you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around your form.

“That good, huh?” You grin up at him, eyes glinting in the low light. You look positively stunning.

“You know it, sweetheart,” Simon pauses, looks down at where you’re still sprawled against his chest, and silently thanks the motherfucker who decided to shoot him in the first place, he’s not sure if he would have ever gathered the strength to have you like this, in the way he always craved. “C’mere, I want cuddles.” He grunts, choosing to ignore the surprised laugh you give in response, says nothing at your incessant teasing and light threats to tell Soap that “oh my god, Ghost likes cuddles”.

He does none of that, instead, he holds you close, stares up at the ceiling as you bury your face into his neck, whispering sweet confessions into his skin, words he soaks up and saves for a rainy day. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never been a man to care about his own health, even now he still sees that damn hourglass, unsure of how much sand remains. But now he has a reason to change that.

Now, he has you.

[yandere-kokeshi]

Warnings: yandere, grammer not checked, and bad detailed smut.

Desperate yandere! Simon Ghost Riley is a whole other level. The type of man who forces himself to be submissive towards you. He always adores you, looking at you with heart-shaped eyes.

Behind the glass — Ghost is popularly known for his terrifying stare, structure, and skull mask. A large killing spree that leaves others choked. Most fear him and know what he's capable of. Wrath and anger. Fast and serious.

But with you, he becomes extremely overwhelmed; gasping quietly at every touch you give him. Especially on his right pec; the scar thick and sensitive. Goosebumps trailing all over his body when you hold his hand, because he feels like he doesn't deserve it. Feeling a little lost at what to do, and begs softly for sex.

His kisses are sloppy — too wet and slippery, too eager to feel you, and ends up accidentally nipping your lips with his sharp teeth. A small sorry mumbling out onto your skin, and I'll make it up, ends up with him bucking his hips onto yours with a large boner. Feeling your hands go through his hair, grasping it gently when he nips at your lips again, makes him go over the edge. Cumming at your gasps, and ends up hiding his face in your lower stomach, embarrassed of his mess. He only gets harder when you praise him, telling him it's okay.

Or how he gives oral, he lives for it like gifting flowers.

Begs for your cock / cunt as an evening snack when he comes home from work; planting himself on his knees, not changing clothes, curling his arms around your legs whilst talking nonsense; only telling you that, I want ya'. He rubs his face directly on top of your crotch, breath blowing hot, whilst promising to make you feel good. And when you finally agree, his eyes light up- glistening like a rare rock. He ends up dishing out many sounds, slurping away at your sex, who quickly becomes drunk that he could be easily mistaken for the one receiving.

He plays with your sex — massaging his spit into your skin like lotion and licking your cum like sweets. He mentions on how a piercing would doll you up, show you just how pretty you are. He'd love to get matching ones.

Oh and, the sex is hot. At times too fast, loving and soft, yet desperate. He fucks you like a rabbit, mumbling I love you so fuckin' much in your ear when he cums for the 3rd time in a row. You've lost how many times you have, and he begs for another round; promising that it'll be the last and how he'll treat you like a god when you two are done. But as soon as his thighs grind against yours, and his hips slap against yours, his lips sucking on your neck, it tells you that he's not going to stop anytime soon.

At times when he looks at you in public, his knees get weak, finding your body too perfect, and he gets hard. His possessive touches barely leave you alone, grinding his hard-on you and begging for you to let him have you. It's only a matter of seconds when you two make it to the bathroom stall, hollow hope that it would act fast. But as soon as he moaned, putting his tip into your sunken sex, he loses all hope of control.

Simon clenches his teeth as he grabs your ass, pulling you on top of his lap completely as he controls you; keeping you trapped in his large arms, his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly. He whispers small: 'm sorry, you feel so fuckin' good, and many strings of profanities.

Until he cums — filling you to the brim, making you gasp out, as he moans. Simon pushes his face into yours, kissing your lips and cheeks whilst apologizing. It's only a matter of small confusion as he starts rubbing his hips into yours, nudging his face into your neck with many apologizes. He starts over again, making you two have many orgasms to come.

[luna-andra]

König is the type of man to appreciate the feeling of your fishnet leggings as he traces his hand up your thigh. He takes his time feeling you, taking note where you twitch and squirm, what areas make you bite back that moan that’s been stuck in your throat ever since he hoisted you up on the table.

König is also the type of man to rip through that delicate fabric to get to your dripping pussy. He’ll mutter curses as he uses one hand to rip off his belt whilst the other is knuckle-deep in you. “Couldn’t wait ‘till we got home, huh Prinzessin?” His eyes burning a hole right through you and you know he’ll only force you to look back, so you keep giving him your best doe eyes in hopes that he will keep your dress intact.

König is the type of man to give you short, cold warnings when you’re getting too flirty on the job. “Watch it.” “Careful.” And your favorite, because of the way it rumbles in his throat. Your name. God, it makes you flutter in places that it shouldn’t.

In the same breath, he will shove the two of you in the armory to give you that attention you so desperately needed. “Gonna act like a filthy slut, I’ll treat you like one then, ja?” You almost come from the way he growls into your ear, his brawny hand gripping your tiny throat while the other plays with your clit mercilessly.

König is the type to draw you a bath after you have been sending him texts about what a shit show the day has been. He’ll help you take off your shoes, help you undress and hold your hand as you dip into the water with a drawn out groan. He will listen to you rant some more while he massages your scalp, admiring how your hair feels in his fingers.

He doesn’t mind pampering you like royalty, because when he comes home after a stressful mission – gear still on, sniper hood concealing his face – he expects you to run like hell out the back door when he walks in through the front. And you better hope that you’re wearing shoes, because a barefoot chase will be a short chase. And it’s so cute how you still try to fight back once he scoops you up or slams your little frame into a tree. “Time to have what’s mine.”

[random-thot-generator]

Try a Little Tenderness

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem Reader

Summary: Simon has just returned home in the middle of the night from a mission in less than stellar condition. Understanding that he was in desperate need of some TLC, you put aside the ‘frenemy’ dynamic the two of you usually operate within to take care of him, instead. Your gentle ministrations elicit a reaction that neither of you expect, but perhaps have been yearning for all along.

Warnings: Language, explicit sexual content, touching of naughty bits - Simon gets a helping hand in the bath, fluff and feelings, no Y/N

(A/N: This is a thot connected to an idea I had for a series. Still not sure about the series, but what ev. 

This is just me exploring the intimate relationship between the characters. It is minor smut compared to what I usually write, meant to be a vulnerable moment for Simon, and for reader as well. I dunno, I feel like a certain amount of trust needs to be established before Simon allows himself to be with someone in an intimate way. 

For a little backstory, Reader is Simon’s housekeeper/roommate/frenemy. It’s been platonic up to this point, but there have been some charged moments leading up to this. This is the turning point in the relationship, the first time Simon allows himself to really indulge in reader’s attention and care. Reader and Simon have been living together for about a year by this point but have known each other for almost two. Simon’s pet name for reader is ‘Doll’; reader’s pet name for Simon is ‘Grumpy’.)

Word Count: 2777

It was almost midnight by the time Simon shuffled through his front door. He was dead on his feet, still wearing the same clothes he put on three days ago, covered in filth and stinking to high hell. He would normally have stayed on base, cleaned up, ate and retired to his quarters to rest, but for some reason, he’d texted you mid-flight to tell you he was on his way back. He hadn’t been expecting an immediate answer, but he got one.

[DOLL]: What’s ur ETA? I’ll wait up 4 u. Have u eaten? 

Simon had hovered over his phone, glancing about the plane, not sure how to respond. He supposed he didn’t have to stay on base. He’d just never had a reason to return home before. He knew he should tell you not to wait up, to go to bed, that he would see you tomorrow, but instead he found himself tapping out a different message.

[GRUMPY]: Landing in twenty. Be home approx 2hrs.

[DOLL]: I’ll be waiting. C u soon.

He re-read the message several times. ‘I’ll be waiting.’ This was new for him, having someone to go home to, having someone there expecting him, waiting up to see him. Sure, he had come home to you before, but not like this. This was... premeditated.

As he closed the door behind him and locked it, he heard your feet padding through the sitting room and turned. He couldn’t help the smile that spread under the balaclava when he saw you. You were dressed in one of his old T-shirts, a pair of flannel sleep shorts peeking out beneath the hem, and a pair of those ugly fuzzy socks on your feet. Your hair was loose and hanging down your back, not quite dry yet from an earlier shower, and your face was free of makeup. He liked seeing you like this better than any other way.

You were looking at him in that direct way that always got to him, assessing him, checking him over. He waited for one of your customary snarky greetings, but instead your brows furrowed.

“You look exhausted, Si. C’mere. Sit down,” you instructed, pointing at the entryway bench. Simon didn’t even hesitate, just did as he was told. He watched you kneel before him and start unlacing his boots.

“Ya don’t got t’do that, Doll. I can―“

“Si, hush,” you murmured, your voice soft and gentle. “I got this, okay? You’re home. Relax.”

He didn’t have it in him to argue, so let you have your way. You removed his boots and stuck them under the bench by his trainers, then stood and held your hand out. “C’mon. You need a bath.”

He let you lead him up the stairs, but instead of taking him to his ensuite bathroom, you led him down the hallway to the bathroom that you used. You motioned for him to sit down on the toilet while you stoppered the tub and turned on the taps. He watched with curiosity as you opened the cabinet below the sink, taking out a glass jar filled with some sort of pinkish granules, sprinkling a generous portion of it into the filling tub.

“Wha’s that?”

“Epsom salts with lavender and eucalyptus. It’ll help ease your sore muscles,” you told him, replacing the jar in the cabinet. You turned to look him over again. “Let’s get you out of those dirty clothes. I’ll get you some clean ones once you’re in the bath. C’mon. Arms up.”

Simon thought about objecting. He was a grown man, he could undress himself, but as soon as he felt your hands on him, all complaints went right out the window. He held his arms out so you could pull the tail of his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans, shivering when he felt your fingers graze his lats as you peeled it up and over his head.

“I smell like shite,” he grumbled, embarrassed for you to be this close to him when he was in such a disgusting state.

You huffed, the sound low and amused. “You smell like a soldier who just got back from deployment. Believe me, I’ve smelled worse.” You motioned for him to stand again. Once he regained his feet, your hands went to his waist, undoing the belt and pulling it free, then you undid the button and fly of his jeans. You pushed them down until they bunched around his knees, then instructed him to lean on you while you tugged them off his legs.

And he just... let you. He had not had anyone care for him like this since his last stint in the medical bay, and that had been a male nurse with hands rougher than his own. He’d not had a woman care for him like this since he was a small boy, when his mother would get him ready for his bath. He felt his chest constrict, almost told you to stop, but your hand on the back of his calf silenced him.

“Foot up,” you said, letting him lean on you again as you stripped off first one sock and then the other. Once you straightened, you placed a hand at the small of his back and gave him a gentle push towards the tub. “I’ll go get you some clean clothes while you get in,” you said, then stooped to gather up his dirty things. “Be back in a minute.”

You left him staring after you, disappearing down the hallway. He turned back to the tub, eyeing the hot water lapping at the sides. Aromatic steam rose from its surface, too tempting to ignore. Pushing his underwear off his hips, he let them drop on the floor and stepped out of them, then climbed into the tub.

He groaned long and low as the hot water enveloped him, certain he had never felt anything better in his whole life. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back on the edge, only then realizing that he still had on his balaclava. He hesitated for a moment, then reached up and pulled it off as well, dropping the dirty hood on top of his underwear. Fuck it. You’d seen his face before and hadn’t made a big deal out of it, didn’t even comment on it, really, just took it in stride like you did everything else.

He cracked an eye open when you re-entered the room, watching as you placed his clean clothes on the counter next to the sink. You opened another cabinet and removed some towels and a washcloth, glanced over at him, then opened a drawer and took out what looked like a pack of wipes and a squat, plastic jar with a pink lid. You brought it all to the tub with you and knelt by the side, near his head. You held up the pack of wipes and pointed at the black paint around his eyes.

“Figured these would help take that gunk off. I’ve got some cold cream, too. Can I...”

You wanted to touch his face. His mouth dropped open to say no, but then he closed it and swallowed. You were looking right at him, a normal expression on your face, not flinching away or averting your eyes. If it didn’t bother you, then he would allow it. For now. He gave a slow nod of assent.

You opened the pack of wipes and set them beside you, then opened the cold cream. “Lean your head back and close your eyes for me.”

Simon did as he was told, though his brain was sounding a klaxon alarm in his head. He was exposing his throat to someone, was closing his eyes and leaving himself vulnerable to your mercy. Did you see how tense he was? Could you see the muscles spasming as he fought not to move, to push you away, to fend you off like an enemy? Did you understand what this was doing to him right now?

Apparently, you did, at least to some extent. 

“Okay, Si. I’m going to put this cream around your eyes. It will feel cold, so don’t freak out. If you need to stop, just say the word. Alright?”

“Yeah,” he croaked out, waiting, steeling himself for the contact.

The first touch had him flinching, but he forced himself to remain still as you spread the cream around his eyes, working it in with your fingers in small circular motions. When you finished, you set the jar down and picked up the wipes. “I’m gonna clean all this off with these wipes. They’ll feel cold, too.”

This time, he only nodded, more relaxed now. Your touch had been soothing once he’d gotten used to it. It was... nice. He didn’t even twitch an eyelash when he felt the cool pressure of your fingers against his jaw, letting you tilt his head towards you. Your other hand began wiping gently at his face with one of the wipes. They smelled slightly floral, similar to the cold cream; he liked it.

It took several minutes to clean his face, neither of you saying anything. You were patient and methodical, cleaning away all the paint until none of it remained.

“Okay. Done with that,” you murmured, fingers moving from his face to his hair. “I’m going to wash your hair next, okay?”

“Hm,” he hummed in consent, not even bothering to open his eyes.

You wet his hair and then poured shampoo into your palm, working your hands together before placing them on his head. As your fingers curled and began to work his hair into a lather, Simon couldn’t help the low groan that rumbled out. It felt like heaven, the way your fingers massaged his scalp and neck. He could have whined when you stopped, but his breath hitched when he felt your fingertips under his chin, tilting his head back.

“Just need to rinse your hair, Grumpy. Keep your eyes closed.”

Again, he did as you instructed, not offering so much as a grunt of complaint when you rinsed his hair and then used the washcloth to dry his face. You raked your fingers through his hair, noting how choppy and uneven it was. Maybe he’d let you cut it some time, but for now, you would stick to what you knew he would allow.

“How ‘bout I wash your back for you and then I’ll go downstairs and make you something to eat while you finish your bath?”

He blinked his eyes open and stared at you. The steam and trapped heat from the bath were making you sweat, a light sheen making your skin gleam in the warm light. He had the sudden urge to run his thumb up your throat, collect the moisture beading there and taste it. He felt his cock give a twitch of interest below the water and brought his bent knees closer together. Grasping the edges of the tub, he pulled himself in to a sitting position, back bowed towards you.

Pleased to see him so cooperative, you dunked the washcloth in the water and grabbed your body wash, squirting out a couple of dollops. Working the cloth in your hands until you had a good lather, you rested one hand on his shoulder and used the other to slowly scrub the cloth over his back in large circles. You could feel the tension easing out of his shoulders, watched his head tip forward until he finally crossed his forearms on his knees and rested his forehead against them.

When you were done with his back, you didn’t stop, moving up to his shoulders and then down his arm. He leaned back, studying the way you washed each finger, working the cloth between them. You glanced up at him. “Other arm?”

He twisted around and held his arm out to you, resting his wrist on the edge of the tub. You washed it with as much care as you had the other, leaning over the tub to reach his underarm. When you went to slide the cloth away, he caught your wrist and pulled it to the center of his chest. He then closed his eyes and leaned back, letting his head rest against the edge again.

Slow circles worked the lathered cloth over his broad chest and collarbones, and you smiled when he tipped his chin up to let you wash his neck. A soft breath hissed between his lips as your hand dipped below the water’s surface to wash his sides and stomach, his brows ticking together when you brought the cloth back up. He shifted, his knees going wide to lean against the sides of the tub.

You were beginning to feel heat simmering in your lower belly that sent a blush creeping up your neck. “Do, uh... I can wash your legs next. If you like.”

He caught your hand in his, eyes still closed, and pushed it beneath the water again. “Wash here,” he replied, his voice like gravel in his throat.

You held your breath as he guided your hand down to his cock, let him wrap your fingers around its swollen girth and hold them there. His chest was rising and falling, chin tipping forward to rest on it when he felt you grip him tighter. Your lips parted as you gave him a tentative stroke, your breath puffing out in little pants as you watched him let out a shuddering breath, his eyes rolling open to reveal a lust-dazed expression before sliding closed again.

Your hand slid up and down his shaft in slow, even strokes, working him gradually, wanting him to enjoy what you were doing to him. His pleasure incited your own, and you could feel your panties grow damp with your arousal as you watched him slowly fall apart. He was panting now, head lolling back once more, hooded, hazy eyes staring up at the ceiling, his knuckles going white as they gripped the edge of the tub.

Your thighs squeezed together when a wrecked moan tore from his lips as you worked at him beneath the cloudy water, wishing it was clear enough for you to see him as well as feel him. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, the feel of his hot length pulsing in your hand almost too much to bear.

“Ah, fuck...” he huffed out, his back beginning to curl forward. He lifted his eyes to yours, mouth open and panting, a look of near desperation on his face. His hand came up to grip the nape of your neck, drawing you close until his forehead rested against yours, holding your gaze. His nose brushed against yours in an intimate caress, lips almost touching, the two of you sharing the same air. “Don’t stop,” he husked out.

The speed of your strokes increased, your hand slipping up to focus on the head, making his knees draw up as he tensed. You could feel him swelling in your hand, growing bigger and harder as he neared his release. His eyes grew wide, mouth falling open as his jaw went slack.

“It’s okay, Simon,” you whispered to him, “I got you,” and that was all the prompting he needed.

His grip turned into a vice on the nape of your neck as he erupted beneath the surface of the water, and he growled against your mouth, teeth gritting into a snarl as he pulsed in your hand. You didn’t stop stroking him until his eyes closed and grip loosened on your neck, his breaths puffing out in exerted gasps over your lips.

You let him rest against you, not bothering to move or say anything, wanting him to have this quiet moment, to just relax in the knowledge that he was home and safe, that you were here for him. You closed your eyes and let yourself enjoy the moment as well, relishing the quiet, the peace.

Simon’s eyes flickered open, not sure what to expect, only to find your eyes closed, lashes shadowing your cheeks, a gentle smile on your face. You looked so calm, so at peace. You looked... content.

You blinked your eyes open, startled, when you felt the hesitant press of his lips against yours, but you didn’t shy away, instead letting him feel you smile against his lips before you tenderly kissed him back.

[qtboni]

╰﹒ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 !

┆ ⤿ 💌 ⌗ 1K CELEBRATION ☆ . ࣪ ˖ ࿐

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

CHOSEN DRABBLE: "He wakes up to the sight of you by his side, your gentle fingers inspecting the dressings on his wounds."

REQUESTED BY @sowlcat <3

W/C: 1.9K

Sighing softly, Simon entered his home that he shares with you. He sluggishly took off his muddied boots outside the door, knowing how you would scold him in the morning for putting them inside. Recalling your cute frustrated face looking at him as you cutely stomp on the ground to prove your point made him chuckle.

God, was he such a soft for you.

Fatigue washed over Simon as he stood at the door to his home. His eyes were filled with exhaustion after driving hours to see you. Suddenly, he caught himself on the wall with his hand plastered on it as if in a daze. He heaved a breath, slowly craning his neck up. He spotted the bloodied knuckles and scuffs that had marked his skin. His eyes filled with regret as he realized he would be left with scars. Nevertheless, he could not help but find comfort in the thought of coming home to you.

Closing his eyes as he felt deeply exhausted, Simon thought of you and how you would never hesitate to stay up for him. You would be there by his side to patch him up in the bathroom with a thoughtful look on your face. He didn't want to disturb you, realizing that you were still curled up in your sleep. He tiptoed his steps, careful not to make a sound as he walked toward the bedroom. You meant the world to him and the thought of waking you from your blissful slumber would never cross his mind.

"Maybe I should patch myself up first, Simon whispered to himself as he slowly eased open the door. He peeked inside, expecting to see you safely tucked away in his bed, all cozy and warm. But when the door was finally opened, he was greeted with a scene unlike any other. His heart seemed to melt as he laid his eyes on you, sleeping peacefully in his bed. All trace of exhaustion was lost as a soft grin formed on his face.

Completely sound asleep in his bed was undeniably you. Your legs spread out comfortably with a large pillow between, your arms cradling another pillow, and though he couldn't get to see a glimpse of your face, he can tell you were probably snoring the night away.

Gently shooking his head in amusement, Simon walked over to you and crouched in your side of the bed. Though he has dried blood on his hands, it didn't stop him from pushing your stray hair away from your face, careful as he does not want any of the dirt in your skin.

Leaning in to you, he softly kissed your forehead and for a moment, he closed his eyes in contentment, missing your presence from all the days he was away from you. Now he was here with you. "Love you," He whispered against your hair. "S'damn much."

Simon placed a peck on your cheek so softly like a feather's touch. He just wanted nothing else but to bury himself into the softness of the blankets and sleep in your arms. Grunting, he decided he had to freshen up first before he can join you on the bed that was looking comfy as ever.

Though, begrudgingly he stood up from his crouched position and sauntered over to the bathroom. Finally entering the shower after removing his clothes, he visibly relaxed when the lukewarm water hit his tensed muscles. It felt so good that he stood under the shower head for awhile, letting the warm water massage his sore body.

After showering, he wrapped a towel around his body and let the warm steam from the bathroom envelop him. Now feeling quite better, he approached the vanity box and grabbed the tools he needed to patch himself. Bandages, gauzes, scissors, and some antiseptic liquid were all laid out infront of him.

Simon sat at the bathroom counter and carefully tended to the various wounds he had on his body, bandaging and covering them as needed. He worked with care, ensuring that each wound was properly cleaned, dressed, and protected. Despite the pain and discomfort he felt, Simon remained focused and determined, refusing to let his injuries hold him back.

After applying the last bandage, Simon made his way to the bedroom, careful not to disturb his wounds any further. He climbed into bed beside you, settling in for a long overdue night of rest. He gently wrapped his arms around you as he spoons you from behind.

With your comforting presence at his side, Simon finally allowed himself to let go of the tension and stress that had been weighing on him for so long. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, feeling a sense of peace and comfort in your arms.

—

Simon stirred awake from the soft voice calling out his name, the soft caress of the you fingertips waking him from his slumber. He have yet to open his eyes but still, he can fell himself lying in your arms.

You didn't say anything, your eyes were filled with a hint of sadness and concern as you continued lightly caressing the bandages and gauzes on your lover's body. You woke up quite early as you expected, but it was because of the heavy yet familiar feeling of an arm enclosing your waist.

You had excitedly opened your eyes and turned to your other side to face your now sleeping Simon. You carressed his cheeks as you feel yourself getting emotional. Simon is home. You softly left pecks of your kisses in his chest, each of them filled with love and appreciation.

He could feel how much love that were pouring out of you all over again, it made his heart burst out from so much affection that he thinks were undeserving to him. He felt his arm getting slowly grabbed at and a low coo of concern coming out of you.

Simon was confused on why you had such a reaction. But then it clicks on him. The gauzes. The bandages. He was about to recoil from your touch as to hide his ugly arms away from you to see, but the feeling of a tender caress made him stop.

"Sweet thing," You whispered, your voice soft with concern as you pressed gentle kisses to Simon's wrapped wounds, your lips lingering over each bruise and cut you saw peeping out from the bandages. "You don't deserve anything like these..."

As Simon basked in the comfort and warmth of your loving touches, emotions rushed through. He wanted to let himself cry. He knew that the kisses would not heal his wounds instantly, but the gesture meant more to him than words could say.

The feelings of love and caring that surrounded him were almost too much to bear, and he could feel the tears welling up in his closed eyes. It had been such a long time since someone had cared for him in such a way, and now, as he was gently kissed and nurtured, he felt that he could finally let go of the pain. But even as the tears threatened to fall, he tried to stifle them, afraid of breaking the calmness that had enveloped him.

As you turned to Simon, your thumbs still gently carressing his bandaged hands, you were surprised to see that he was awake. You stopped what you were doing momentarily, letting the silence fill the room.

"Hi," You cheekily whispered to him, a smile gracing your lips as your heart swells with love for the man in front of you. He's just woken up, but even the fatigue in his eyes can't erase the warmth and affection that shines through when he looks at you.

"G'morning, lovie," Simon greets as he grew more soft towards you. The tired lines on his face soften as he takes you in, and you can't help but feel grateful for each moment you get to share with him. He brought up his hands and pulled you closer to him.

As your face was against his chest, the smell of him filled your nostrils with every breath, like a comforting embrace. You felt his heartbeat pounding beneath your ear. There was a comfort in his warm presence, a sense of safety that you could never find anywhere else. He was your home.

"Thank you," Simon muttered as his arms wrapped around you even firmer as if you would flee away if he didn't. His grip held you closely, as if he was afraid to let go and lose you to the world outside. He put his chin on top of your head and inhaled deeply, drawing comfort and reassurance from your presence. There was nowhere else he wanted to be, but right here with you.

Confused, you softly asked, your voice muffled against the small space between your face and his chest, "For what?"

Simon's heart skipped a beat when he heard your voice. He couldn't believe how cute you sounded when you spoke in that sweet, whisper-soft tone.

"For this?" he murmured, tightening his embrace around you and pulling you even closer, reveling in your warm, intoxicating scent. His voice was low, almost too low for you to hear over the beating of your hearts.

You pulled away from his embrace gently and put your hands on his cheeks. He looked up at you with a sweet smile and you couldn't help but return it.

"Of course," you murmur, pulling him even closer. Showering him with affection is just a normal, natural thing for you to do, especially when he is injured. "I'll take care of you, my love. Always."

And though it's so, so hard for him to admit, he's soft when it comes to you. He's always known that you take care of him, that's your role, but today he can't shake the feeling that it's not quite so simple. He tries to say no, tries to put up some resistance to your tender, gentle caresses, but the resolve is gone before it even arrives at his throat. He submits to you, like he always has and always will, as a contented smile plays across his lips.

"I will always be here for you, Simon", you continued softly as you stroke his hair. You want to make him feel taken care of, loved and protected, and it melts your heart seeing his relief as he buries his head into your chest. You know this is where he belongs, and you both feel at peace.

Your touch brings him comfort and peace, and you can feel the tension and worry easing away from his body. He leans against you and lets out a deep sigh, his muscles completely relaxed. In this moment, there is nothing else that matters. Just you and him.

Simon presses his face against your chest one last time, breathing in your scent and feeling your heart beating steadily beneath your skin, and he is at perfect peace. The two of you are finally home, together in each other's arms, and nothing will ever come between you.

A/N: ty bby for requesting this ! this ws so cute to write omg

[iite-cool]

roommate!simon who's spending his time before bed doing what he usually does: tugging at his fat cock with his ear pressed against the wall to hear your cute little mewls and moans.

he's convinced you're doing it on purpose, to rile him up and make him so hard he can't fucking think. it's working. simon's got his shirt between his teeth to muffle his groans while he fists his cock to the sound of your cunt's slick slick slick as you finger yourself with a vibrator pressed against your throbbing clit.

he can hear your gasps getting high pitched and the wet sounds get faster as you approach your high. you moan his name, unbridled, and then quickly muffle your mouth and simon has to bite his fist and hold his cock so hard it hurts just to keep from spurting cum all over himself. he starts rubbing his tip faster and faster so he can cum as you do but just then the bzzz of your wand gets slower and slower until it stops. simon hears you sob in frustration, mourning your lost high. your whimpers sound loud and clear through the wall and let him know that you're having no luck getting back to your peak.

he all but sprints out of his room, tucking himself into his sweats, as he takes a second to even his breathing before knocking on your door. the sounds of your sheets rustling and you rushing to get decent leak through.

you open the door, disheveled and flushed. "simon? what'd you need?" it takes him a second to answer you - he can't fucking focus, not with the way your top sits messily unbuttoned on your soft tits, not with the way you're panting in front of him.

he leans in close, bending himself down to your height and whispers right into your ear, "need some help, love?"

masterlist

this is filthy i'm sorry, please comment i have so many thoughts about this man that need to be talked about

[sky-is-the-limit]

𝙿rice 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐, 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜.

𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔, 𝚎𝚡𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚢, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎.

𝙷𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚝𝚑. 𝙷𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎.

𝙷𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚗𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝. 𝙷𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚓𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜, 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎. 𝙷𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚌𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚜, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢.

𝚂𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗, 𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜.. 𝙷𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚑, 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎.

𝙷𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎. 𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖, 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚛, 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

"𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚑𝚖?" 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚖𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚝𝚑. 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. 𝙸𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

11 / 2476 words / sequel to falling into bed with impolite soft dom gaz

...

The next morning, when you wake up, there's a feeling of dread in your chest. You can't believe you did what you did last night. You can't believe who you did it with. The things you said to each other. Was it too much? Were you too much?

Gaz is already awake, laying face-up with one arm folded behind his head. He seems to be thinking about something. Not a good sign. You mentally prepare yourself. He turns toward you slowly, lifting his head so he's looking over the top of your body. "Good morning, darling."

You swallow, your gaze pulled down to his arms, his chest, his abs, and lower.

"Hi. Um." You drag a hand over your hair, sure it's messy. Sure you just look like a mess in general. "So last night..."

His smile falters. "Yeah... last night was..." He shifts until he's leaning on his elbow so that you two are looking directly at each other. "It was really good."

Your heart skips. "It was?"

"Too good," he says, a playful note creeping into his voice. "You were way too good. You might be in trouble." He smiles at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze.

Your face heats up at his smile. Oh no, oh no. "I... I think this isn't how this is supposed to go. You're supposed to awkwardly offer to make me coffee but lowkey tell me to leave."

"Nah. I think I'll keep you around for a bit. I like you." His eyes are a little soft and a little wicked as he says it. "The way you were so eager to, to..." His voice trails off. He clears his throat and leans slightly away from you. "You're a... unique breed of woman."

You try and fail not to squirm under his gaze. "You brought out some things in me last night. I said a lot of things."

"Yeah, you really did. I don't think I've ever heard anything like it, to be honest. Made me feel like a king." There's a pause. Neither of you say anything. He's watching you, his eyes raking over every inch of your body. "You're my kind of woman."

Your heart beats even faster, and you have to look away as your cheeks go pink. You bury your face back into your (his) pillow with a groan. "Just tell me to leave. Please. At least then I know what to do."

He looks surprised, his voice growing gentle again. "Why would you feel better if I told you to leave?"

You smush your face more firmly into the pillow. "Cause... then I feel like you're being honest about it instead of being polite."

"Ah, I see. So I shouldn't be polite to you?" He leans a little closer to you. "Do you want me to be brutally honest, then?"

You peek at him and nod, face still red.

His look softens. He leans himself over you so that you have to look directly into his eyes. "I'll drag you back in the moment you try to leave."

You stare at him, struck dumb. He has no idea how dangerous he is. That smile, those muscles, that voice, and that personality... Christ.

You sigh into the pillow, feeling hot and fluttery and weak. "You promise?" you croak.

"I promise." His eyes flicker down to your lips, and he leans a little closer still, his voice low and husky. "I promise to ruin you. And if you don't listen, I'll tie you up again to make sure you stay put."

The way he says it... his voice dips into the same commanding tone it did last night, and your body responds immediately. You squeeze your thighs together under the covers. Another wave of heat passes over you, dizzying. "I... see."

"I'm glad you understand. And do you agree?"

"I, ah... if that's not too much. If I'm not too much."

"Are you too much for me? Is that what you're saying?"

You look away. "Sometimes I get carried away about everything and I've been told it's too much."

"Are you telling me I'm not man enough to handle you?"

"No!" you squeak. "You're man enough! Please handle me."

"Then don't ever tell me your needs are too much for me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," you say quickly.

"Good girl." He smirks. "I'll never let you forget that it's my duty to give you exactly what you need." His voice drops again, barely above a whisper. "I'm not planning on letting you leave, and that's all there is to it. Do you have any issues with that?"

You practically swoon. "None, sir."

"Good, good." His voice softens again, fraying into a tease. "That means you're all mine, then. I own every inch of you until you say otherwise."

"Until I say?" you ask.

"Until you safe-word," he says. "Any hint that you want me to stop, and I will. Until then, you're all mine."

"I don't really know how that works," you admit. "I've never had a safe word before."

"It's whatever word you pick. If you say it, I'll stop whatever I'm doing and check in. It's basically a hard stop."

"Stupid question, but, um, why would I ever want you to stop?"

He grins in pure, debauched amusement, his chest momentarily swelling with pride at himself for making you say that. Then he collects himself. "Sometimes these things can hurt and you might want them to stop. Some people might get tired and need a break. You don't have to say it unless you really want to. But you do have to remember it," he adds, voice playfully stern.

You grip your pillow for a moment as memories from last night distract you. "Whatever you want it to be, I guess?"

"Then here's what it's going to be," he says in a firm tone. He's still close to you, leaning on his elbow so his face is right next to yours. "We're going proper old-school with yours. Your safe word will be 'red'. So if you tell me 'red,' I'll instantly stop whatever I'm doing and check on you. Fair?"

"Yes," you say immediately. At his amused look, you flush and scramble to repeat it. "The safe word is red. I don't have to use it, but I can if I need you to check in. Got it."

“Good girl.” He says, the amusement still in his voice. “It’s your responsibility to make sure you know it properly. Remember it. Can you repeat it one more time, just so I know you remember?”

"Red." You already get a little shot of dopamine just from doing what he asks.

He can't help but smile, which he makes no effort to hide. “Good girl.” His nose is almost touching yours as he says it, and he looks very close to kissing you. His voice is low. "I want you to forget this whole act of srhinking yourself down and pretending you don't have needs," he purrs, "and just let yourself have what I want to give you. No more playing it cool with me. Okay, sweetheart?"

A little bit of embarrassment picks at you. "Oh, um, was I being cool? Could you tell?"

“You're not fooling me, darling. I can see straight through that little front you put up. You’re not going to get anywhere by trying to make me think you're too demure to have impure thoughts.” At your abashed look, he smirks. "Just embrace your natural state, yeah?"

"My natural state being...?" You know you're fishing here, but you can't help it.

"A sweet, needy little submissive who wants to be taken care of." His smirk grows ever wider as  he continues. "Who needs me to pick her up and throw her into bed, hold her down, and have my way with her. You can enjoy that. It's only the two of us here, darling."

You practically melt into the bed at his words. "You don't think that's unfair? If you're doing all the work and I'm just... enjoying it? What could you possibly be getting out of it?"

"Control." His voice is still that low, quiet murmur, and he's still so close to you. "The control you give me by being so completely and utterly vulnerable and exposed. You have no idea how many men would kill to..." He takes a deep breath.

"Control? That's it? It just seems like it would be a lot of work to me."

His expression softens. "I live in a world where everything is chaotic and unpredictable, and it's my job to put order to chaos. I want to keep people safe. So when I see someone like you, all powerless and eager to depend on me, it's... validating." He chuckles, letting his knuckle ghost up your thigh. "You need me. It makes me feel like I'm providing you with something you can't get anywhere else. And I get to enjoy your body."

"Oh."

"Last night was really something. Had you ever done that before?"

You look away from him, shaking your head. "I've never been with a man who encouraged me like that. My last boyfriend just told me to tone it down all the time. He wanted me to act more confident. Like a pörnstar, I guess."

"But that didn't make you more confident, did it? Just made you self-conscious."

"I guess so."

“I want the opposite. I want you to become completely comfortable acting and sounding every bit as submissive and needy as you are, deep down. I very much enjoy that part of you. Do you understand?”

"I'll try. If you promise not to resent me."

“The only thing I’ll resent is if you don’t fully let yourself go and let me have power over you. When I give you instructions, you’re not expected to stop and ask why. The answer is that I’m in charge, and you need to trust me to take care of you. I know it's a bit selfish, but that's what I'm asking of you."

"You think you're being selfish?" You blink at him in surprise. "I thought you were giving me permission to be selfish. You're just making me feel good all the time. How is that you being selfish?"

He pauses for a moment like he's reconsidering things from your perspective. "I might be doing things that make you feel good, but it's about my needs, too. I might be taking care of you, but in return I get your complete attention. To the point of obedience. You depend on me to take care of you. When you're willing to submit to me because you need me to satisfy you... it's addicting. Would you do that for me?”

"Yes," you say immediately. "God. Yes. That sounds like a dream."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

He leans closer again, looking as if he's about to kiss you. Instead, he gives you a small, teasing smile. "I certainly wouldn't mind hearing you call me sir in that sweet voice all the time. Anytime, anywhere."

"You mean, like, other than in bed?" you ask.

"Everywhere. At all times," he says, eyes molten.

"You mean you want to hang out together? Not just here?"

"Of course. This isn't going to be a one-time thing, is it? I've been wanting to have you. Now that I've got you, you're mine forever." He kisses your nose sweetly. "So I'd like it if you acted this attentive in public, too. Selfish of me. But you can just be my little girlfriend while we're out and about instead if you don't want to go that far."

"Your girlfriend?" That dizzy feeling comes over you again. "I am? In a real way, or?"

"A real way," he says softly. "Are you okay with that?"

A new wave of butterflies sweeps through you. You fall back into the pillow, feeling like you might pass out for real this time. "Yes."

"You don't realize just how adorable you are when you get flustered." He smirks down at you. His hand drifts down your arm and rests over your knuckles.  "You really have no clue, darling."

You shiver at his light touch. "As long as you think so."

"I know so. If you're gonna keep dismissing my compliments, I might have to do something about it."

You lean up to him immediately, eyes bright as you put your lips next to his and wait, hoping for a kiss.

His smirk grows even wider. "You're a quick learner. You should do that whenever you want my attention, by the way."

"Do what?"

"Look so eager to please me."

Your toes curl. "Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "You know what would make you even cuter?"

"What?"

His voice is playful as he whispers back. "If you just begged, I'd be even more pleased. If you could just give a little push and beg me to take you, that would make for a very pretty picture."

You jump at the chance, your brain already half-empty. "Could you take me again? Please? Right now?"

Your words send a jolt through his system more powerful than anticipated. "You little tease. Get on your back for me. I'll take you just like you want."

You fall onto your back immediately and open your legs, staring up at him, shifting and scooting down for him as he hovers over you.

His eyes narrow as he leans back and looks you over, taking in every detail. Your cute, blushing face, your eager expression, and that submissive sparkle in your eyes. He wants you so badly.

“Should I beg like this?” you ask.

He swallows, staring down at you. "Be careful talking like that, love.”

“Why? I’m yours, aren’t I? You told me not to hold back.”

“I’m starting to worry I’ll never recover from this, to be honest. How am I supposed to maintain any sense of humility or decency around you?”

"So the more I boost your ego, the more you want me?"

"Absolutely. And a woman like you... you make me feel like a king. This is nothing but trouble."

"I can make you worse," you say instantly. "I can give you a god complex. If, um, you want me to."

His eyes darken with hunger, pupils blown out. "You catch on too quick. You know I'm not letting you out of this bed until you make good on your word."

"Yessir," you squeak.

"You are a dangerous little minx."

You bite your lip through your smile when you see how your offer affects him. "But I'm your dangerous little minx, right?"

"That you are." His voice is a low, sensual rumble. His hands slide over your palms, pinning them to the mattress, and his fingers thread through yours. "Mine and only mine."

...

part 1 / [part 2]

more Gaz / masterlist tag

[graphicpepsi]

secure (nsfw, mdni)

OR what happens when König is having a rough time at work & takes it out on you. starts a lil angsty

You could always tell when König was having a rough day.

When long talks turn into short, gruff responses; when soft, delicate hands on your body turn to rough, firm slaps- not that you minded, of course- you loved it when he got rough. For the past week he had fucked you to sleep every single night- pounding into you mercilessly- disregarding whenever you asked if he was alright with a wordless hand on your jaw, or a hard kiss to your lips that took every single thought in your head away.

But tonight was going to be different- you were determined. That's why when he came through the door at eleven pm, rushing to get his hands on your waist, you pushed him away hard enough he knew you wanted him to stop. He looks at you, face twisted into a confused expression.

"König, you need to talk to me." You say, crossing your arms and hoping he can't smell the arousal radiating off of you. You can't help it, he's just so big, towering over you like that-

"Later." He says shortly, moving to kiss you again. You step back.

"König, no, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, love, I just wanna-"

"Stop!" You exclaim, "Just stop! god, don't you want me for anything more than sex?"

You hadn't meant to say that because you knew it wasn't true. He looked alarmed.

"What? Of course I do, schatz, where is this coming from?"

"That's the longest sentence you've said to me all fucking week, König." You say, exhaustion evident in your voice.

You sigh, collect yourself and take his hands in yours.

"I'm not mad at you Köni, I just- I'm worried about you. And I'm tired of feeling like a sex doll."

"You're not a sex doll," He says plainly, "You know that."

"Then why're you treating me like one?"

"I thought you liked it when-"

"God, you're not getting it, König." You run a hand through your hair, leaving his hands to drop to his sides once again. He stands stiffly in the hallway.

It's silent between the two of you for a few minutes. He stares at you, while you stare at anything but him.

"You think I'm using you for sex." He finally says, breaking the silence. "Fuck."

"You're treating me like a one night stand, König, if you're bored of me just fucking say it." You spat, even though you prayed silently that wasn't the case.

Of course it wasn't.

He engulfs you in a hug so quickly and so tightly you think you might pass out. It's only when your hands fly up to rub his shuddering back that you realize he's crying.

"Oh, Kö, I'm sorry I don't mean that, I'm just upset."

He shakes into you, and you suddenly feel sick with guilt.

"I killed a teenage girl." He whispers, so quiet you hardly catch it. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, love, I just- you're the only thing that distracts me."

The sudden confession caught you off guard. He had killed a young girl?

"What happened?" You ask, pulling partly away from him to study his teary eyes.

You both sink to your knees in the hallway, and somehow, even at this height he's still a foot or two taller than you.

"You know how they are in the republic, sending out innocent civilians in front of their soldiers, thinking no good man could shoot-" His words fall into sobs again, his shoulders heaving with every inhale. You've never seen him cry like this.

"Shh, it's okay," You say, because you're not sure what else you can say. It's not okay, and you both know that, but your delicate hand on his shoulder is enough for him to half believe you.

"I know you wouldn't do a thing like that meaningfully, Kö."

He nods, tears still steaming down his face. You wipe them away with your thumb, cradling his face in your hands. He shuts his eyes almost shamefully.

"I could never be bored of you, could never live without you," he says breathlessly, and you get the feeling he's hoping you can't hear him.

After a few seconds he's calmed down tremendously, enjoying the feeling of your hands on his face.

"This is what I missed." You say, "My boy."

He opens his lidded eyes to look at you.

"Thank you," He whispers with a sigh, and it's you that leans in to kiss him this time.

His lips are salty with tears, but you relish in the feeling of his mouth against yours in the soft, loving kind of way.

For the first time in over a week, it's you who deepens the kiss, and he gently guides you until you're sitting on his lap.

"Let me fuck you properly, schatz," He whispers into your neck, pressing soft kisses over the purple marks that litter your skin. His thick accent next to your ear makes your pussy pulse against his growing hard-on. You sigh, relaxing into him- something you haven't been able to do for too long.

He picks you up, mouth still on your neck, and carries you to your bed. He places you on it like you're made of glass. You take your shirt off and König's hands are almost instantly on your tits, squeezing them softly like they're the most delicate things he's ever held.

You take his hand from your chest and put his thumb in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as you look up at him. Fuck, he thought you were pretty like this. Perfect tits on display, sucking on his thumb, pussy dragging back and forth on the bed for any kind of friction- and it was all for him. He loved doing this to you.

He loved fucking you just fine; pounding into you with a hand on your throat, slapping your ass and denying your orgasm- but god did he love it when you got so worked up like this, so worked up over nothing.

He peels his shirt off, throws it across the room. You could whine with how slowly he takes his belt off. You're completely exposed for him now- jeans forgotten somewhere on the bedroom floor along with your shirt and underwear.

"Kö-"

"I'm coming, baby," He whispers, finally done undressing and climbing on top of you. You can almost hear his heart with how fast it's beating. God, you're wet for him.

He presses a light kiss to your lips before bracing himself with a hand on the bed frame- and god was that a sight to see- his muscular arm extended out above you with the other holding your jaw gently, trapping you intoxicatingly. You can see the way his hand flexes as he starts pushing into you, his veins growing bigger ever so slightly.

"König- yes, god, more-" You murmur, eyes threatening to screw shut at any moment.

"Fuck, love." He grunts into your ear, "Such a pretty little pussy."

He's fucking you now, thrusting into you harshly as he looks into your eyes, at your face.

You've missed this so much. Just him on you, fucking you proper, muttering sweet things into your ear with a voice threatening to break because of how good you feel around his dick.

You claw at his back because you know he loves it. Loves to wake up to see your hand prints and nail marks all over him.

"Kö, Köni I'm close, Köni-"

"Sh, being so good baby, good girl," He whispers, fucking into you hard and slow.

You practically cling to him as you let yourself go, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes with how fucking good it feels to come on his cock. So full, so good.

König pulls out and comes on you soon after, replacing his dick with his fingers inside of you to fuck you through your orgasm. His cum spills all over your tits, splattering a few droplets on your lips and jaw which you instinctively lick up.

Fuck he loves you when you look like this.

All fucked out, panting, lips parted and face flushed- he thinks he could look at you forever.

"I missed that, König." You say softly.

"Me too, love, I'm sorry." He kisses your cheek, "I love you so much."

You say nothing- just burying your face in the crook of his neck with a content sigh, inhaling the scent of sex and cologne that sticks to him.

A/N: hehehehe i love him. thanks for reading if u want me to write something specific lmk, otherwise i'll just write whatever my horny for cod men brain comes up with. Later y'all

[lycheedr3ams]

just thinking about konig saying "my dear" to his beloved. his voice would be so gentle, the tone reserved only for you. the little crinkle in the corner of his eyes as he smiles, the unfathomable depths of love reflected in his eyes