#this is for you COD people

[robinthisbank]

TikTokers are such pussies when it comes to ships. “B-but they’re not canon 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😖😖” honey back in my day we shipped characters from entirely different medias uphill both ways in the snow

[nenayaquisieras]

Simon has always been confused on why you gift him toys. Sure, most of the gifts you gave him were some of the things he liked. Bourbon, masks, gloves, make up for him to smudge his eyes with, some daggers and knives. Things that we're useful for him, just him. But later, you gifted him a toy airplane. He makes a comment about it, saying he is not a child anymore and you were better off giving it to Johnny instead.

"No, this is specifically for you, take it."

When he gets to him room, he walks toward his trash can, opening it with the tip of his boot. He gives one more look at the toy, his mood souring before throwing it into the trash. He goes on about his day, training, signing paper work, drills. Doing anything to ignore the pain stinging memories that the toy brought back. Emotions that were buried thousands of feet deep it could reach hell itself. Later, he lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, avoiding looking at the cylinder shape that's calling for him in his peripheral.

Fuck.

He pulls the covers off vigorously and stomps over to the trash can. He is standing over it like he's trying to intimidate it, as if it was an enemy he's trying to get rid of in battle. To anyone else, the scene would look comical.

He sighs to himself and reaches down to take out the toy he so cruelly threw away. He sets it on his desk and quickly walks toward his bed, facing away from his desk.

The next day, he wakes up feeling different. He swears he sees his room more vibrant, more lively. That energy follows him through out the day, having his other teammates notice his rather bright mood.

You catch him in the hallway. Pulling him aside to ask him about the paper work you left at his desk this morning. Of course, he notices the way you smile brightly, more so than usual. But he notices that you're not looking at him. More like looking at something next to him.

"What's got you so cheery?"

You turn to look up at him, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I just..." You take a quick glance at the spot next to him, before bringing your eyes back upon his.

"I just hope you liked your gift." The same bright smile appearing on your face.

He stares at you, examining your words. Your expression.

You think you see his eyes crinkle a bit.

"Yea,"

"I liked it."

[postmortemnivis]

nobody knew simon’s name, his cold glances penetrating souls whenever someone on the force even dared to call him by his first name. he preferred it this way. he wasn’t the kind to blend personal life and work, he didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror without his mask and still see a murderer. his hands were clean, protected by the gloves ghost slipped on each time he reached base. it was soon that the other soldiers almost forgot his name, agreeing that their lieutenant was indeed a ghost.

that was until your worried voice called for him.

you didn’t know of the ghost identity, it had never even crossed your mind that your simon, your sweet and caring boyfriend’s personality would switch into a cold blooded killer as soon as he set foot at base or in the field. of course he never mentioned it with you, he sporadically talked about his job and his missions. you knew he was a strict lieutenant, but you had been kept away from more by the person with the skull mask and balaclava.

“simon?” you asked for the third time the receptionist. she apologetically looked up at you and shrugged. “oh cmon, simon riley. i know for a fact that he’s here. please, i need to see him.”

“i’m very sorry miss but…” the woman shook her head again, “let me call the captain.”

you sighed and sat down by the waiting area until a man walked in and talked to the woman.

“who’re you looking for?”

you stood up. “simon. simon riley.”

“ghost?”

you shook your head, almost clueless. “no, simon riley.”

“yeah, that’s him…” he said, “he’s training the recruits now. shall i deliver a message?”

“no, i need to see him personally. i wouldn’t have come all the way here if it wasn’t important, captain.”

you'd seen price a few times, simon's loyalty to the man was almost like a dog's one, always following orders and rarely complaining. he often talked about him when he was at home, all he shared with you about his threatening job was the friends he made along the way: johnny, kyle, price, gary, nikolai. he'd often go out for a pint –or two– with johnny and kyle, who also occasionally would come to your shared apartment for dinner with their temporary girlfriends.

"follow me." price sighed. you eagerly followed him, as close as his shadow, and the courtyard came into sight. dozens and dozens of soldiers in scarlet training uniforms were running laps of the immense open space under the pale sun, and that's when you spotted a tall and muscular man in black tactical gear. hell, he was hard to miss.

"another lap, smith!" his mancunian accent was stronger than his will to neutralise it. "if my gran was alive she'd be faster than ya."

you'd recognised the voice, of course, even if it was much harsher than usual, but you couldn't recognise him.

you realised, that was ghost. his cold eyes were studying each of the recruit's tired and red faces, his arms behind his back as he barked for five more laps for the ones who didn't look sweaty enough. even his voice was different, but what shocked you was the black balaclava with the white skull drawn on top.

you'd seen the mask once or twice over the years, shoved on the bottom of his duffle bag or drying on a windowsill, but you've never given it much thought, why would you?

"si?" you asked, standing directly behind him as price stood a few feet from you.

his head snapped in your direction at a worryingly fast speed, his eyes immediately becoming soft, then confused.

"what're you doin' here?" his voice spoke, much sweeter.

you kept staring at him, not recognising the man you loved.

he immediately grabbed the crown of the balaclava and yanked it off without a second though. holding the black piece of clothing in his hand, both of them came to cup your elbows, drawing you closer to him.

"love?" he called you.

still at loss of words, you reached to the balaclava and twirled it between your fingers.

"love, talk to me." his voice sounded worried.

"ghost?"

he shook his head. "simon, love."

"we'll talk about that at home." you raised your eyebrows, attempting a smile.

he looked at you impatiently, his fingers brushing up and down your forearms.

you fished in your bag a small plastic bag and gave it to him.

this wasn't like one of the times when he'd forget his lunch at home so you'd drop by and give it to johnny so he'd give it to an always so busy simon ghost; he could see it in your eyes that this was something more.

he unwrapped the plastic bag that you had rolled up on itself. his eyes looked brighter than ever when he took with shaky fingers the finally positive pregnancy test.

[bluegiragi]

that's an order.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[belltari]

he's just admiring the view

(ghost's horse's name is Gob. it's short for Gobshite)

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 8 - Breeding

John Price x Reader - 1k (on ao3)

summary: You worry that your boss sees your relationship as more long-term than you do. (Reader POV, second person)

cw: implied stealthing, under negotiated breeding kink, one-sided daddy kink

You tell yourself it’s just a kink.

You’re not ready to become a mother - you’d like to be married for at least a year before even trying for a baby, and you’d like to have an established career before even getting married. For you, the idea of a bun in the oven is so far down the line it’s not even visible on the horizon yet.

But you know it’s not the same for Price. He’s older than you, has lived a far wilder life and lost it what must be nearly a dozen times over. He’s a weathered man, with deep lines on his forehead and wrinkles around his eyes, just the tiniest hint of silver creeping into his beard.

You know it’s not smart to have a fling with him. Not only is he your boss and a controversially older man, but he’s also the exact opposite of a commitment-phobe like you. He’s always looking for more commitment in fact, something you hadn’t expected considering the illicitness of your relationship with him.

You'd assumed an affair with your boss would involve mostly quickies in closets, a refusal to be in the same room as one another during the workday, maybe even pretending to dislike each other around other coworkers. Instead, he talks to you more once you start sleeping together than he had before - he parks himself on your desk at any time he pleases, invites you to have lunch in his office with him (alone), and laughs when your co-workers call him your work-husband.

So you know that he wants more, that he wants you to really be with him (he hints at far more than just that, but doesn’t dare say it aloud, which you’re glad for) past just being his secretary and his fuckbuddy. 

In fact, he’d nearly torn you into two when you’d giggled and called him a “bootycall” after he called you back into work hours after you’d gone home. His face had gone from eager and affectionate to what you can only call scolding, and he’d been rougher with you than normal. You enjoy a few smacks to your ass, but that night he’d spanked you hard enough to leave you squirming the next morning when you sat at your desk. You’d been pouty about it, had glared only half-playfully at him when he smirked, but the way he ate you out on his desk for lunch more than made up for the discomfort. 

And he makes these… comments sometimes, while he’s buried inside you. Things that allude to a future you’re not ready for.

Gotta come after me, sweetheart, it takes better like that.

Hips up, don’t let any of me drip out.

Gonna make me a daddy, pretty thing? Huh? Gonna take my cum and grow me a baby?

My good fuckin’ girl, lettin’ me breed her pretty cunt.

Gonna look so pretty, all round for me. Gonna take such good care of you.

C’mon, honey, wanna make sure it sticks this time.

You tell yourself it’s just a kink. He plugs you up with a couple fingers once he’s finished, says “Just to make sure you don’t lose any of my cum, can’t be wastin’ it right now,” and licks your clit until your legs shake. 

He hardly fucks you in any position that isn’t bent over his desk, no matter how much you whine and beg for me. He just smacks your ass, gives you an extra orgasm or two to keep you placated. More often than not he leaves you bent over the desk after he’s finished, tilts your hips up a little higher and gives you a kiss on the temple as he sits back in his seat to get back to work.

You’d told him to use a condom the first few times, even though you’ve been on birth control for years. You’ve always been responsible with flings, been more than willing to send a man packing at the first hint of whining if he didn’t want to wear protection. A baby has never once crossed your mind as an option, and it certainly doesn't now.

So it was instinct to tell Price to put on a condom before he fucked you the first time. And he had, without kicking up any fuss about it past a furrowed brow and a grumble or two.

But then the condom broke, and you were left with his cum dripping down your thighs. You’d had a moment of panic, but he’d given you money for Plan B, and you told yourself the odds of getting pregnant with Plan B and birth control were so low it wasn’t worth stressing out over.

The condom broke the second time. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. And every time after that you asked him to wear one.

At some point you stopped asking, and he never remembered himself. A few muttered questions about what brand he’d been using between fevered kisses, thick fingers at your cunt a distraction, and eventually you told yourself it wouldn’t matter as long as you kept taking the birth control pills.

It would be rude to demand Plan B after every round, right? Plus, asking for cash minutes after you'd both gotten off always made you feel a bit... dirty. When you feel him drip down your thighs, when you pull your panties up and feel the mixture of both of you gather there, you tell yourself that the birth control will surely do it's job, and you try not to worry.

Now, pulling open the drawer where you keep your pills, you wonder if maybe all his talk of babies and his cum taking is more than just heat-of-the-moment dirty talk.

You stare down at the empty drawer and every time he’s called himself Daddy echoes in your ear like a choir.

[natelia-aldelliz]

Ghost after meeting Soap.

Price : Have you slept?

Ghost : Depends what day it is

Price : Go to bed.

[nightshadowhawk]

Design idea for s10 Grian i had while watching his ep 2

I considered the hat being made of the mangrove roots but the waffle opportunity was too great so it’s made of straw or something

[ghouljams]

Excuse me while I talk about how soft Ghost is even though I just said the CoD boys aren't soft. The difference here is that he's learning to be soft again. He's making a space for himself to heal in. It's just that he needs the right people for it. All those walls up protect a wanting heart, and he's never been safe enough to let them down. Ghost gets comfortable in the 141 and suddenly he finds a place he can smile for the first time in decades. He can shake out his hands after he cracks his knuckles. He sits down with Soap and Gaz in mess and it's the first time he hasn't taken a meal in his room in years. He's a slow burn but he'll come back if you feed him.

He chuckles at a joke you make and Gaz nearly breaks his neck turning to look at him, Soap chokes on his water. It's warm and rough, but comfortable. It's the first time any of you have heard him laugh. It takes months dating him for him to warm up to the idea of holding your hand without his gloves on, to letting you see him without his mask, to fuck you with the lights on. He's deeply traumatized, he's rough around the edges, he's trying to keep himself safe, but that doesn't stop him from falling for you. Ghost knows better than anyone that when he falls he falls hard. The first time he thinks "I love you" is not in a soft moment, it's when you're spitting mad on his behalf. Yelling at a recruit for asking stupid questions when Ghost gave them clear instructions.

And it's that, that makes him pull you aside and tell you quietly to call him Simon. Maybe not around everyone, but around the people that matter. Just so he can be a little human again.

[haztory]

i’m a firm believer that john price, while he loves to take care of his lady and spoil her endlessly, is not a fan of seeing her reduced down to a baby.

if he’s into daddy kinks, it’s with the premise of you making him a daddy just as he will make you a mommy. if he’s spanking you, it’s not as a means of punishment but instead because it riles you up. he’s not into feeling abnormally ancient within a relationship dynamic, he actually quite likes when his woman is on par with him— intellectually, maturity, physically. he doesn’t like infantilization because he’s not into girls, he’s into women. sturdy ones that can hold their own and dish out as much as they can take.

it comes with its occasional drawbacks, however. the one—and only time— john ever lost his temper and yelled at you (not because you made him angry but because work is stressful, and his last assignment left him having a hard time readjusting to home, and you’ve been so patient, and he’s frustrated that he just can’t be what you need him to be) it was a staunch reminder that this is not a fling with some naive girl who idolizes him for his age and stature. he’s in a relationship. an adult one.

you’re staring at him, a brow raised and a stern look on your face as the echoes of his shout settle in the room. it’s a kind of glare that is only etched out by mothers to their disobedient children. stilling and telling of how exactly you feel about john’s outburst. there is no reason for gnashing teeth and snarling bites when you’re asking how you can best support him. and while you know in your head he doesn’t mean it, it still doesn’t excuse it.

“let’s put a pause in this, cause clearly we’re not going to get anywhere.” you say, voice carefully neutral but he can see the rage bubbling in your gaze, “why don’t you go take a walk, and when we’re both calm, we can discuss this further.”

and he hates the therapy speak, the measured and careful approach to emotions— it’s ridiculous, almost insulting. you’re treating him like a child, an explosive time bomb when both comparisons could be further from the truth. he’s the expert in bomb handlings, for christ’s sake. but he listens, grabbing his keys and a cigar and stepping out the door with an annoyed huff.

time and space, john begrudgingly admits, works wonders on a irritated mind. he finds his error in the mist of vexed thoughts and irrational moods, tempers it down with a long drag of his cigar and the wash of brandy at the pub. and he’s remorseful, incredibly so as he walks through the threshold of your home when the sun is setting to find you in the loveseat, book in hand and dinner simmering on the stove. you spare him a quick glance before returning to your novel, nothing further said.

he stands at the door, shameful and cognizant of his idiocy. he’s removing his fisherman beanie from the top of his head and moves to stand before you on your place on the couch. it has you closing your book, laying it down on your lap as you turn your attention to the man.

“i’m sorry.” he says lowly, eyes fixed on the hat in his hand as he picks a stray string on the fabric. “i shouldn’t have shouted at you. there was no need for that.”

your eyes stare knowingly into his, understanding written all over your face and while it’s a relief to see, it’s only a further iteration of what he’s come to realize—you are not just anyone. you’re someone who he wants to build his home with, navigate through terse and stormy waters with because you’re the perfect balance to the man who tries so hard to balance it all. it’s not perfect, but you don’t care about that. you don’t need perfect, have never demanded it to be—you strive for healthy. you model it by example, and you’ve whipped him into shape for it.

“it’s hard adjusting right now.”

“i know,” you tell him softly. your hands grab at his, pulling him down to his knees so you can see him at your level. you place your hands on the sides of his face, bringing him in for a gentle and sweet kiss. “if it’ll help, i can give you some space. a couple of days, i can go stay with my parents—“

“no.” he’s quick to shoot it down, shaking his head and rubbing his hands up and down the tops of your thighs, “i want you with me. i’m better when you’re with me.”

“okay.” you give him another gentle kiss. “thank you for apologizing. are you ready to eat some dinner or do you want to freshen up first?”

either choice doesn’t matter, he’d rather do whatever it is that you’re doing.

so yeah, john likes women who put him in his place. it turns him on a bit.

[simon-rileys]

I went on dinner with friends and we were discussing wedding plans and I said, very firmly, I do NOT want a big wedding. In my culture weddings are a whole affair with hundreds of people invited and expensive clothes and jewellery and flowers and venue and just the thought of it with constant scrutiny and attention makes me overwhelmed. Two of my friends insisted I'd change my mind if my future husband (not out to them as bi) wants to coz then 'its not your choice to make'.

So. I have brainworms. Obviously. Coz I'm feeling humiliated and sad by their dismissal and I need validation.

-----------------------

Give me a Simon Riley who expects a big wedding when he proposes. It's not his ideal choice, but he knows traditionally that's what partners want and he just wants to marry you, in any place in any way you want. Except he firmly assumes it's a public affair with venue booking and dancing and people invited. He fully prepared for it before he proposed. He thought of requesting the first dance be in private before going out in front of people as his only input.

Except. That's not what you want. You're engaged and ecstatic and Johnny practically badgers Simon for hours during their poker nights on the few occasions all the boys are home, and Simon says nothing, just glances at your silhouette on the sofa reading a book and says whatever you want goes.

The boys are taking a break, and you find yourself getting mauled by a six foot four koala bear feeling deprived of your affections since the last time you kisses him two hours ago, what a cruel act of injustice he says. He mentions Johnny getting on his nerves about the wedding (it's a lie you can see he's smiling) and says he wants you to plan it all and he'll support you every which way.

'What if I wanna get married in the courthouse tomorrow in my pyjamas?'

The koala bear simply clings tighter and mumbles into your shoulder 'Just lemme know when, love.'

You're nervous. You said it as a joke but it's not a joke to you. You're quiet, too quiet, and Simon, ever perceptive, sits up to face you. 'I mean it,' he holds your face in his hands, 'I wanna marry *you*. You're what matters to me, lovie, not the wedding. You wanna get married in a castle and wear a crown and invite everyone we know? You got it. You wanna take a day off and run down to the courthouse to get married and not tell anyone? You got it. You wanna get married right here in the living room? Gaz got ordained last year for Laswell's niece. Price can give you away. Anything you want lovie, jus' wanna marry you.'

The kiss is so sweet you feel a tear fall down your cheek that Simon kisses away. 'And Johnny?'

'Well you'll need a bridesmaid, no?' Simon's grinning, brown eyes twinkling with mirth. You hit him playfully with a throw pillow, only to end up pinned underneath him. 'Behave, love. The boys are over.'

Your nerve ends are on fire, you can feel Simon getting hard under your ass. His voice is gruff, low, and the way he keeps whispering in your ear should be a crime.

'And 'sides, what kind of a bride would you be if the wedding party catches you slutting yourself out to your husband right in our living room?'

[konigsblog]

crying and looking at simon after he says the most Manchester ass shit like "oh my god you're so British.."

imagine he's comforting you, just rubbing your back while making his stupid ass jokes, saying the most manchester thing ever known to man.

“simon, what the fuck?!” you weep, hiding your face further into the pillow, listening to his confusion and questions.

“you couldn't have said something more british, jesus christ..” he just snorts, patting your back and telling you more downright disgusting, gag worthy, terrifying, fear inducing, britsh thing to ever say.

[bluegiragi]

giving season ✨

support me on patreon

--

Ghost visits Soap while they're both on mandated leave for the holidays. He'd like to say that dropping off something for Price was the only reason he made the trip but...that would be a lie.

[nsharks]

against the wall | simon “ghost” riley

words: 1.7k

plot: simon finds himself (uncharacteristically) wanting to put a baby in you when he comes home

tags: breeding kink, lots of cum? lol, pregnancy talk, smut, fem!reader

______

Simon told you he doesn’t want kids.

But fuck, if he isn’t obsessed with burying his cum deep inside you and watching it seep out onto your thighs.

He started with condoms in the beginning, but you’d notice how frustrated he seemed, how he’d quietly groan in your ear that he wished he could fill you up. Mark your cunt as his.

Without him asking, you took the initiative to get on the pill. Surprised him with it one day when he was reaching for a condom and you grabbed his arm.

“I… I’m taking the pill now.”

He had stared at you intensely, a flicker of something primal in his eyes. “…What?”

“While you were gone, I went to the doctor. Started taking it so we don’t have to… We don’t have to worry.”

That was early on in the relationship, when the trust was still being built, so Simon requested to see the pills before he fucked you raw, a true testament to his self-control because his mind was already going into a frenzy at the idea of it.

But now the trust is there, you are officially his girlfriend, and Simon cums in your pretty little cunt all he wants.

And when he comes home after a few months, he’s got a lot of it saved up for you. Refusing to fuck his hand those few weeks before coming back so he can give you just what you deserve.

It’s only evening so he is certain you’re still awake when he gets back. Not bothering to take off his boots or uniform, Simon closes the door behind him and is met with a warm, cozy home that smells like you- a scent he had grown feral trying to recreate in his mind.

You’ve been eagerly waiting on the couch for him, wearing just a pair of pajama shorts and one of his big, long-sleeve shirts. You practically run to him when he comes inside, socked-feet slipping a little against the wood floor and causing you to tumble into his arms.

“Be careful,” is the first things he says to you. Scolds, rather.

You don’t really hear him as you wrap your arms around his shoulders the best you can. He used to be hesitant about hugs, but now he’s quite the fan; loves how he can feel your breasts squish against his chest even through the uniform, and he feels how wild your heartbeat is, indicating that you’re just excited about seeing him as he is you.

Pressing your nose into his chest, Simon drops his duffel bag so he can fully embrace you.

“Missed ya,” he tells you, swallowing down the thrumming lust in his veins because he’s not sure if you’re in the mood that he is. He should be exhausted. Should undress and melt into bed without another thought. But the feel of you in his arms, that vanilla and floral scent of your shower gel that fills his senses and reminds him of how it feels to bury his face in your hair, makes him uncomfortably stiff.

“I missed you, too,” you sigh.

It’s a sweet moment, but the air quickly shifts when you feel his clothed cock press against your lower stomach. Your hug breaks slightly and you lift your head from his chest to look up at him in question.

“Don’t give me tha’ look,” he huffs. “What did you expect after three months?”

And with the way his bulge brushes against you, a soft whimper leaving your lips, Simon doesn’t have much control left. Not when he’d been saving himself for you, eager to spread you open and show him just how much he’d been thinking about you. Show you just how crazy you make him, despite all his previous efforts to keep some distance.

“Simon…” you whisper, and he’s already lifting his mask to cover your mouth with a firm, touch-starved kiss.

“I know, baby,” he mumbles into your mouth, letting his hands fall to your hips. Thinks it’s so cute how your little hands ball up the thick fabric of his shirt as you sigh into the kiss.

But he doesn’t kiss you for long.

It’s a flurry of movement, and in no time at all, Simon has his trousers bunched up at his ankles and your body pressed against the wall. He might’ve worried about being too rough with you, given how breakable you feel under his strong hands, but he’s known you long enough to know that his rough touch invites an excited gleam in your eyes and a slick warmth between your legs.

“Do you know how many times I thought about your cunt?” He demands low in your ear, keeping his body pressed close against yours. The warmth of him is consuming and the hairs on your skin stand up eagerly. His briefs are still on, barely able to keep his hard cock contained and you feel the tip of it peek out and graze against your thin shorts.

“In the middle of a fuckin’ mission,” he continues, groaning. “Miles away and your cunt still manages to distract me.”

He’s got a filthy mouth, and maybe he’s taunting you with it, but that doesn’t seem to be a concern as he fits a hand under your shorts and touches your folds. His fingers are met with the evidence of your arousal- evidence of how much of a distraction he was for you, too. Collecting some of the lubrication, his hand is soon gone so he can tug out his cock and stroke your wetness over himself.

“Thought about you, too,” you tell him weakly. Cheek to the wall, you feel his hand wrap around your hair and another hand shoves your shorts down.

It was sort of telling, how Simon had barely made it two steps into the house before you ended up with his weeping cock against your bare ass.

“Think you can take me?" he asks quietly, low and possessed. "Just like this, hm? Without my fingers getting you ready?"

You nod feebly against the wall, because you're not really sure if you can, especially since it's been awhile. But you're his girl, and you are always eager to please him. Eager to part your legs and open up for him without warning, no matter how much of a tight fit it may be at first.

He's wearing that hard skull mask of his and you feel it press against the back of your head, his warm breath in your ear as he rubs his cock against you. Everything is already slick and hot to the touch; he groans so hoarsely that you feel his chest vibrate against you.

Simon eases himself inside you and tightens his fist in your hair when he's met with resistance. "Relax for me," he orders in your ear. But you're feeling a bit overwhelmed by the thick, deep press of him.

It's not until his hands move under your oversized shirt that you feel yourself open up some more for him.

His hands are always explorative, but this time, he fixates them on your stomach as he finally manages to fit all of himself inside you. You feel stretched and sore, but his rough touch cupping your stomach and his encouraging words in your ear ease the discomfort until you feel your cunt lengthen enough to accommodate him.

"Good," he swallows, beginning to move. "That's... that's good. Feel you openin' up. I know it's been awhile, pet."

As you relax a bit, he's able to move faster. Keeping his hands on your stomach to hold you steady against his firm body, the draw of his hips languid and strong and desperate.

He's not in his right mind.

You do this to him. Make him think about things he shouldn't, like how soft and warm the skin of your stomach feels under his splayed palms. He cups and touches and rubs it, possessively, and you might have wondered what had him so obsessed with it this time more than any time before. But you're too busy whining and whimpering. Your hands pressed against the wall to absorb each powerful movement that he rocks into you.

"Simon," you manage to say.

"I've saved it all for ya," he grits out. "All my fuckin' cum. Didn't want to waste it in my hand. Wanted to... wanted to fill you up right when I got home."

"Yes, baby. Fill me up," you coax him and subconsciously jerk your hips back to meet his movements, inviting the head of him right to your cervix. It's a satisfying spot that needs attention, nestled deep inside you, and you moan out loud each time he fucks into it.

You notice his thrusts get sloppy and the sounds he makes indicate that he's close. So close... so fucking close because it's been so long, but also because Simon is deliriously rubbing your stomach and now your breasts, too, and there's something in him, something animalistic, that imagines really filling you up. Filling you up with his seed so it takes, stretches out your soft stomach, and fills your breasts with milk. You'd be marked with him in the most primal, noticeable way, and he doesn't know how or why this urge has overcome him.

He's not in control of what he's saying when he grabs your breasts and chokes out, "Gonna put a baby in you."

It's a shocking thing to hear.

But your cunt grows impossibly slicker and his words earn him a tight hug from your walls.

"That's right," he lifts up his mask just so he can bite at your shoulder. Encouraged by the clenching of your cunt, he continues. "You would like that, wouldn't ya? Letting me breed your pretty cunt?"

Breathless, wide-eyed, and about to cum, you nod and cry out, "Yes... Yes, I would like that. Give me... your baby, Simon."

It's all he needs to hear to flood your cunt with his pent-up cum, which he had saved just for this. And as he finishes in you, chest heaving and his hands still feeling over your stomach and breasts, Simon can't help but imagine that you're not on the pill this time. That his cum might really take hold. That even when he's gone, there will be evidence of him right underneath your shirt.

It's a scary (but very real) thought that he is left with even after his cock slips from you and all the cum drips down on the floor.

[cerise-on-top]

Hi!!

I really love your works and writing on cod! I really enjoy reading it! ❤

Can I request Konig, Nikolai, Rudy and Alejandro reacting to reader speaking to their native tongue?

Take all the time you need! ❤🐱

Hello, I'm glad I can write something people can enjoy! And of course you can, even if I'm not sure I understood this ask perfectly! I wrote it as reader speaking the native language of the lads with them, so I hope that's okay! If you wanted reader simply speaking their own native language, please let me know! Thank you for the request, this one was very fun to write for!

Alejandro, Rodolfo, Nikolai and König with an S/O who Speaks Their Language with Them

Alejandro: He’d definitely be surprised if it comes out of nowhere, but he’s anything but mad. He can speak English fluently, has no problems whatsoever with it, but if he can speak Spanish then he definitely won’t mind either. If you’re a beginner and it’s evident by how you stutter in Spanish, then he’ll be patient with you. He’ll speak slowly and clearly so you can follow while also getting a good feel for the intonations the language has. However, when he just wants to tease you a bit then he’ll speak the way he’d usually speak while also not shutting up either. Alejandro can be eloquent in Spanish if he tries, but he barely ever does, only when he wants to confuse you with words you’d likely only hear from people who are 100 years old. The more you look like you’re in despair, the more it cracks him up. He will apologize afterwards, though, and give you a kiss on the cheek. If your Spanish is already pretty good, however, and you just wanted to surprise him, then congratulations, he’s likely going to speak a whole lot more Spanish with you than before. Just because it’s a popular language doesn’t mean everyone speaks it, so when he wants to tell you something for your ears only while there are people around, he’ll say it in Spanish. It’s comfortable for him, getting to speak his mother tongue with you. He thinks in Spanish, so it’s a whole lot easier for him as well. Tells a lot more jokes in Spanish too, even though they’re some of the worst ones the language has to offer. While they may not be Ghost-level lame, they’re something else still. Come up with your own and he’ll be so proud of you, rewarding you with more awful puns he came up with. He’s just happy he gets to share his language with you.

Rodolfo: As soon as you come up to him somewhat timidly and strike up a conversation in Spanish he’ll be a bit surprised, but absolutely smitten. Since it’s obvious you’re still learning he’ll try to use “nicer” Spanish on you, so more words that aren’t just exclusive to his dialect, or Las Almas in general. Very supportive, he would never judge you for making grammar mistakes while speaking, taking a while to remember a word or mispronouncing something, it’s part of learning a language, after all. Might nudge you in the right direction or correct you gently, but he’d never mean it in a bad way, he just wants to help you. He’ll speak clearly to you, slowly as well, so you can learn from him. It’s not often he gets carried away, but sometimes hearing you speak Spanish is just so cute that he might chuckle a bit or be a bit more excited than usual. A very patient teacher, who can appreciate you trying to learn something new. Now, if your Spanish is already pretty good then he does like holding a conversation with you in Spanish every once in a while. It’s just nice to turn your brain off without having to translate every other word into another language since he, too, thinks in his native tongue. Soft petnames from time to time, or maybe just mixing English and Spanish together when he can’t think of the word immediately as well. Somehow, as soon as he knows you speak Spanish, he’ll believe you’ve taken an interest in the corresponding culture, so he’ll teach you more about Mexico if he can. Teaches you how to cook the food, the customs, what the people are like in general. While he may not be as connected to his culture as Alejandro, he does like talking about it from time to time.

Nikolai: The second you greet him with a cheerful privet he knows you’re in for something. You should have expected such from him as well, though. It’s a gamble with him, he’ll either speak more quickly than he usually does just to mess with you or he’ll hold a prim and proper conversation with you and it all depends on how playful he’s feeling that day. Overall, he’s pretty chill about it, though. You wanna know how to pronounce something? You wanna know what gender a noun has? What his neighbor was yelling about again? He’s got your back. You can ask him the most embarrassing questions a million times, he won’t mind. Besides, if you want to then you can come to Russia and experience everything there first hand. Nikolai knows all the good places in Russia that are suitable for someone who’s not usually there, so you won’t have to worry about anything either. If you want to hold a whole conversation about how tortoises have survived for millions of years, then you can. Besides, hearing you botch the pronunciation from time to time is just the most precious thing there is. Will smile a bit when you pronounce something incorrectly, but won’t ever outright mock you for it. As mentioned before, he just thinks it’s cute. And when you know Russian very well, then he still won’t speak it too often. Nikolai knows eight languages, he doesn’t always think in Russian, usually in English since that’s what most of his closest friends speak with him. If you really insist on speaking Russian with him, he will, but won’t think too much of it. Many people know the language, Russia is a big country, after all. If you want to, then you can spend some holidays there and he’ll show you around since there likely isn’t a better guide in the whole country than him. But he will not make a big fuss out of it.

König: German isn’t a very popular language due to its grammar, so you can imagine his surprise when you walked up to him with the most adorable Grüß Gott he’s ever heard. He could just squish you then and there, but he refrains from doing so and instead focuses on trying to have a meaningful conversation with you. Doesn’t matter if it’s good, doesn’t matter if you’re just asking him how he’s doing, a conversation is a conversation and you’re learning. Besides, you learning German, especially if it’s just because of him, does move him just a bit. Might not always initiate a conversation in German with you because what if you’re not in the mood? But you can always just talk to him in German, he doesn’t mind it at all. Though, he might not be the best person to learn German from since he uses regional words that people his age use. While he does try to speak high German with you, he does not really care much for it, so his dialect slips in every once in a while. But hey, at the very least you get to learn his dialect. As soon as he hears you call someone Hawara he becomes oddly proud of himself, thinking he’s doing well as a teacher even if he barely does anything. He loves Austria, so if you really want to see it, he’s more than happy to take you home, show you Vienna, Styria and Lower Austria and make you try some good old Brettljause. If you already know German, then chances are you’ll only know high German, which is alright too, but please know that from time to time, König will speak his dialect with you, which you might not always understand. He barks quite a bit when he speaks too, making it a bit harder to understand him as well. However, he’s always more than happy to play translator for you and teach you words no one uses anymore, such as hal. Austrian words are a must know for you, therefore you’ll learn fairly early on what a Seidl or an Erdapfl is.