puracatt

[puracatt]

Cat and dog boyfriends

[puracatt]

Can I interest you in some silly sex with Simon? 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

18+

Word count: 1k.

CW: nothing really. Just silly sex. Just giggling sex. Just I-need-to-give-this-man-some-humanity sex. Simon is ticklish and you find out, that's the plot.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

You look delectable straddling his hips.

Naked and soft, plump tits sitting prettily in his hands. His thumbs swipe idly around your perked nipples as you ride him slowly, early morning sun peeking through the curtains and lapping at your skin. What a way to wake up, what a sight.

He stares at your lips and how they part for him—something he still has to get used to, though he probably never truly will. How dulcet does his name sound if it’s your voice whispering it, how beautiful your eyes when they take in his face.

Soft hands are pressed on his chest for leverage, and you’re treating him with a view he keeps pinned to the forefront of his brain—gliding your cunt until you’re chock-full of him, stroking yourself until you’re shivering.

He likes it when he’s on top, sure. He’s used to taking the lead and orchestrating every detail, in and out of the job. 

But when you allow him to sit back and take it? Hell, sign him up. He’d do it every day. Especially when it’s this lazy sex here, in which you’re canting your hips to cum before he does, giving him the blissful chance of feeling you clench around him when he's still hard. 

Goosebumps rise under your nails as they graze down his chest and brush his stomach. Your hands wander blindly on his belly, then his sides, as you clock his eyes with your heavy ones, panting softly, idly—my beautiful, beautiful girl.

But then you inadvertently brush his ribs, and he stiffens—even squirms, and your movements come to a halt.

You blink as conscience returns to you slowly, and the room sinks into tense silence. His cock twitches inside of you when you tilt your head inquisitively, squinting your eyes.

Experimentally, you brush your fingertips against his ribs again, and his biceps flatten to his sides, trapping your hands.

Your eyes widen, and his do the same.

“Don’t.”

You gasp, “Oh my God.”

“Darling, no.” He warns, but you’ve clearly made up your mind already.

Your lips are curled in a smile that promises mischief, and he can only give up, sit back, and count his losses.

“Darling, yes.”

Simon feels your fingers wiggle under the tight press of his arms, but no matter his strength, they're seemingly useless against that playful resolve you're displaying.

His cock is still embarrassingly hard inside you, and Simon reckons it won't soften any time soon. You don’t seem eager to get off him either, thus prolonging the torture with each tiny movement you make.

He inhales sharply and fights tooth and nail to school his expression into neutrality. His eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is locked tight. The only thing giving him away is the flush of his cheeks, getting pinker by the second because he refuses to open his mouth to breathe a much-needed lungful of air. Knowing that if he would, he'd bark a laugh that would proclaim you as the winner of this fight.

He would never.

You roll your hips, then—cheap trick. He unravels with a shaky breath, and his biceps give out enough for you to slip your hands away.

And then, he knows he's done for.

“Cut it out.” He barks, trying to sound stern and miserably failing. He knows because you're laughing even harder.

Your fingers feel like tiny bugs crawling up his sides, and they make his breath catch in his throat.

“Never.” You say, with a grin that scrunches your nose. A smile that would normally make his heart throb, but right now just makes him wish he were a lesser man so he could throttle you.

“Fuckin’-“

You chuckle.

You evil little cunt.

Resistance lasts a few more seconds before he bursts.

It’s not a full laugh that leaves him; more of a wheeze that makes you chortle like a wicked witch. His chest heaves as your fingers frantically tickle his sides. Tries to get you off him by shaking his hips, but that only makes the two of you falter and moan, and then chuckle and catch your breaths.

His shoulders shake in a breathless, choking laugh that pitches upward as you continue with your assault (yes, assault—he is not being dramatic), eyes veiled with tears of frustration and mirth. He shrieks when your hands travel under his armpits—the sound makes you giggle in a way that would have him melt. 

“That laugh’s lovely, baby.” You say with a smarmy grin he wishes he could wipe with a kiss, hands unrelenting against his sides. “Sound like a kettle whistling.”

He tries to glower and push you off, but you’re surprisingly strong when you’re focused. Right now, your only goal is to apparently make him hate you—he'd rather be held at gunpoint than being forced to hold in a laugh that makes his stomach hurt.

Simon now looks shockingly harmless, with his cheeks flushed bright red and his voice an octave too high—wouldn't look dangerous if he tried.

“Tea ready, yet?” You add, batting your lashes, because why not rub salt into the already embarrassing wound marring his pride.

It’s that unfathomably stupid joke that finally makes Simon crack. He barks out a laugh that bubbles up his throat, rippling through his stomach so suddenly that you bounce above him. Your own laugh follows soon after, because each time you manage to steal one from him, your heart vibrates with loving triumph.

But still—he is Simon Riley, isn’t he? Member of Task Force 141. Lieutenant in the UK Special Forces, SAS. The Ghost. There is some pride in there, one he'd like to keep intact.

He tries to recollect his breath, sniffling, and his arms shoot out to wrap around your waist. He rolls onto his side, taking you with him.

It’s then that you find yourself in a position of utter disadvantage, on your back with your big brute of a boyfriend holding you down. You’re wide-eyed and still smiling with barely contained giggles, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn't make his heart soar.

Sure, he’s panting, still proper flushed and apple-cheeked, with shivers wrecking his spine and unshed tears in his eyes—but he takes great pride in having won yet another fight (again, not overreacting at all, if you ask him).

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

You fix him with a look. “Simon, no.”

Before you can add more to your complaint, he rams his cock into you until your chest stutters, your lips mouthing around a shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

He fucks you into the mattress, then—once, twice, until the remnants of laughter vanish from your face and you’re trembling in bliss, eyes rolled back under heavy eyelids.

He places a sloppy kiss down to your collarbone.

“Simon, yes.”

[puracatt]

hey guys!!

im going to start blocking people who follow w/o their age in their bio to be safe. by tomorrow, please have some indicator that you are 18+ !! :]

[puracatt]

hey guys!!

im going to start blocking people who follow w/o their age in their bio to be safe. by tomorrow, please have some indicator that you are 18+ !! :]

[puracatt]

жена: Nikto x Female Reader

tw// mdni (ages in bio or be blocked), adult content, stereotypical gender roles in marriage talk, female reader gained some weight

oOo

Some men used endearments; some would say a direct, forward approach to all things, even in domicile, was crass; some expected embellishments to married life. But Nikto was not some man, and he was invariably forward, but never crass. Traditional in nature that fit the masculinity of his kin, but not domineering. He just was.

So he called you by that. Wife. Startling, at first, when he called you that after he slipped the ring on your finger. And you were to call him husband, but maybe the straightforward titles were a little bit too soon for you, so you still lauded him with his name and other endearments that he never seemed to mind. Nikto. Honey. Baby. Sweetie. Comical, when such an address juxtaposed the seemingly brutalistic being that was your husband. But he still held onto your waist when you called him Gum Drop and let you fuss over him like an aristocratic cat named Niki.

Wife. Direct. But that was what you were. His wife. And it was growing on you, when he did the little things like call you over and give you irises back from deployment. Ready the car for you to play passenger princess. Turn you over to press your face against the heat of his chest. There needn’t be poetry or fanciful declarations, not when he fixed the things in the house you brought up ASAP, packed cash into your purse before he was off. If things were broken, he could repair it. If things were lost, he could find it. If there was a need, he would chase it down and hand it over with a single word.

“Zhena.”

Wiping your hands on your apron, you placed the sbiten on the tray and brought it over, setting it down on the coffee table. Your husband didn’t need to call you twice. You gently climbed onto his lap to lay your cheek against his. Settling you onto him, Nikto took the hot beverage and salo and took his fare, the bob of his Adam’s apple lulling you to coziness. He occasionally brought the glass to your lips and fed you bits of buttered bread. The radio’s soft jazz played on. It was snowing again. The small jack-o-lantern he carved for you glowed with the lit candle inside.

All was good. Domestic. You’d never expected to settle into the role of doting wife, but Nikto just made it naturally happen. The marital bliss, however, came with some rather daunting weight gain. If Nikto noticed it, he never said anything. Actually, no, he definitely did notice, but all that happened was him cooking even better and, if you weren’t being extra in thinking this, settling his hands more over your backside and thighs. He also resized your wedding band without a word and added a few more diamonds. Maybe the only thing he ever brought up in regards to your new figure was being able to brave the eastern European winters better, and then he rolled you onto your tummy and took you hard and fast from behind.

Wow. You flushed hot at the memory, squirming in his hold. Your husband must’ve taken it as you wanting more food, so he prepared a rather large slice of buttered bread with salo and brought it to your lips. You took a hearty bite to cover up the last vestiges of your embarrassment. Maybe it was better to calm down. You had prepared one of his favorite meals at finding out his return this morning, and you were going to go all out for dinner. Also snuck in some…not-so-lingerie, but conceptually-lingerie lingerie, also known as a white simple cotton nightgown. That was lingerie to Nikto. The type that was all the way down to your ankles, and had no patterns or other colors, complete with no undies, no bra, and hair undone. Simple man. Kinda weird when you first found out, but you weren’t complaining, because you didn’t have the mental energy to truss yourself up like a turkey the whole night.

With the pre-dinner refreshment done, he leaned back and closed his eyes. You played with his hands while smoothing his brow. Whatever he did, wherever he was sent, must’ve been more of something than the usual. He had the usual patience to indulge you, ever so patient, but he was shorter with his words, and you could tell he needed a good sit and drink immediately. The two duffel bags full of euros raised some questions, though, along with a large case that most likely housed some type of firearm. Must be a new toy, the cash a bonus. Whatever. You don’t question him about these things.

“We will take you to Mykonos next month”, and then you felt a cool length slip around your neck with a click. You looked down. A cluster of emeralds on gold gleamed in the soft lamplight, immediately warming on your skin. What was a wife to do but pull her husband in for a slow kiss at the sight?

“That’s lovely, Honey, thank you.”

oOo

He left the nightgown on tonight. You’re not sure how he wasn’t buckling under your weight, but he was as solid as an oak tree the way his hands clamped onto your asscheeks so he could pound into you at will. There’s a tinge of frustration in his movements. He’s hurried in chasing his release, and you relent, cooing into his ear that you wanted it inside, thanking him for giving you three O’s beforehand. Whatever he wanted to give, whatever he wanted to get out, you’d take it all, all too willingly. 

The slight bite on his earlobe is what does it. With a hoarse grunt, he burrowed his face into your neck and came. Hips stuttering. Eyes closed with labored breaths. You dug your fingers into the large, raised scars in his back with a squeal, met with a sudden climax of your own when he suddenly supported your entire body with one hand to rub at your clit. With the last few twitches of your body, he pressed you close so he could gently set you on the bed. He took exactly eight of your gazillion pillows off of the setee and rearranged them the way you always liked, and you grinned tiredly as he repositioned you and pulled the comforter over your body.

With a slight brush of his cheek against yours, he left to go to the balcony after pulling on a pair of sweats. Normally, one would take offense at their partner leaving, but with Nikto, it was different. You didn’t need to look to know he went out for a smoke, and the haze outside left with you a smug countenance. He must’ve liked, no, loved, the whole nine yards tonight, no matter what thorn was poking at him. When the day culminated relatively well, with good food and good sex, it was a habit for your husband to go out and light one up. Not the greatest fix to have, and it was a work in progress to get him to quit, but you let him have his vice as long as he chose herbals or menthols when he was with you. Out on the field, there was probably no guarantee. Then again, when a man was constantly faces with the bite of bullets and blood to support himself and his woman, you weren’t going to nitpick.

Menthols tonight, it seemed. He came back a few minutes later while you lightly dozed and got under the covers. Not a moment later, his arm extended out as an invite to snuggle, and you gladly took the offer, pressing your body again his own, feeling the consistent thrum of his heart. The hand that rested on his chest was open for the taking, so you interlaced your fingers with his to rest his simple gold band next to your diamond-encrusted one. Perfect. The bitter Russian cold outside was daunting, but here, inside, cuddled next to your man, everything was perfect.

“Zhena.”

It’s a hushed whisper, but you heard it. Felt it. Knew it. Outwardly muted, but within his embrace, it was loud and clear. Not a plea, not a demand, not an insistence, not an immutable role that was an expectation. But a call. Reverence. You canted your head up to look into his eyes and you knew.

“Muzh.”

Your husband kissed his wife.

[puracatt]

!! MDNI !! 18+ RESPONSIBLE FOR CONSUMPTION

cod masterlist :]

tf141

[8/10] stalker! gaz

[8/18] [f] pregnant! reader/gaz

valeria

tba

nikto

[8/8] [1] the mpreg crack fic

[8/18] [2] the mpreg crack fic

konig

[8/25] coming untouched

[puracatt]

Nikto who just doesn't let you leave his home after a one night stand.

You had a general idea of how one night stands went; you get in, you fuck, you get out. It wasn't really something you did often but when your neighbor who, in all honesty, has had your interest for a while asks... It was hard to keep your mouth from saying 'hell fucking yes'. Prior to this your interactions consisted of little more than pleasantries but you knew, from other neighbor's accounts, that he was more talkative with you than anyone else. And now you knew why.

Your neighbor did not disappoint. Nikto fucked the senses right out of your skull. Your clothes crumpled and discarded along with your inhibitions. You'd be feeling him for days; between your legs, in your mouth, in every bruise left on your skin and random twitch in your thigh. It was one hell of a good time but you knew how these things ended. Knew that once the breathing died down and the adrenaline left your senses it was time to put your clothes back on and skedaddle.

However Nikto finds every excuse for you to stay;

You shift to leave the bed but his arm casually wraps around you, pulling you back against him. You look back at him confused but his eyes are already closed and he only says one word. "Sleep."

The next morning you go to put on your clothes only to find they're nowhere in the room. Instead one of his shirts was left on the side of the bed you slept on. You tug it on and when you find him, he's doing laundry. "Hospitality. I clean them for you." He grunts. And so you end up chatting with him in the laundry room, helping out by seperating the clothes.

When that's all done you make one last trip to his room to double check you've left nothing behind. You announce your departure but Nikto stops you from in the kitchen, declaring he's already made breakfast for two. "Don't waste food." He says putting a plate in your hands. To his credit; it was a good hearty breakfast.

Another attempt to leave? He's rented a movie you mentioned, it has to be watched within 24 hours. "You wanted to see this, da. Come, we watch now?"

And another? "You've been wanting to learn how to bake, da? Let me teach you this recipe."

Another one? You can't leave without letting him show you one of his collections

Another? How about another movie?

And the final attempt? "It's too late to be out, better to just spend the night here." He says as if your home wasn't a hop, skip and a jump away from his.

You caught on, of course, but you don't really mind. It's been a while since you've felt wanted and the flattery had you beaming inside. You probably should be alarmed but he hasn't used any force, no intimidation, just a socially inept man trying to convince his pretty little neighbor to move in in the most roundabout way possible.

[puracatt]

i’ve been hooked on certain….. thots. being valeria’s pretty trophy wife, that is.

you have your own lil mansion. not because of marriage issues, but for safety. after all, we’ve seen what’s going at the main abode in mw2, so it makes sense, right?

valeria doesn’t play when it comes to you. if she even sniffs a bit of foul play towards you? hell.

you know what she does. maybe not the extent of everything, but you love her, and she loves you. sure, it’s not normal to sleep with a gun under your pillow, but the sheets are silk and your lingerie is expensive.

you’re used to her being gone for long periods of time. it sucks, but it comes with the business. doesn’t keep her from contacting you, though. not surprising when you get a text from an unknown number that reads: locked up. be out soon, mi amor.

only to get a text two months later: coming home. wear that set i like.

i’m blacking out from horniness. my ask box is open if anyone wants to share their own Thoughts 🧍‍♀️

[puracatt]

I will never get tired of drawing them kissing

[puracatt]

Pookie hear me out on nikto accidentally being too rough in bed/too deep and hurting his s/o

!! MDNI !! 18+ RESPONSIBLE FOR CONSUMPTION

nikto tweaking,, this one isnt super sexual, its mostly just a compilation of his thoughts :P

you flinch.

nikto works long, hard hours. more often than not, he's in the desert blasting down shabby enemy hideouts or in the snow just waiting for the perfect shot. nikto knows that deep down, all the way to his bones, he is jaded and rough and inexplicably hurt by a life of warfare and bloodshed.

and that means he is rough. and mean. but hardly ever to you, no, not to the only one capable of peering through his mask and seeing him for who he is.

he tries to be gentler, he really does. but, he slips up sometimes.

it takes a moment for him to register that you're frozen beneath him. when he finally comes back down from his high, he realizes your jaw is tense, and your teeth are biting down behind your parted lips. oh, you're in pain. he's slipped up and ruined everything.

he slips away from the warmth of you and moves to lay beside your shaken body. nikto knows that your lapse in state has passed once your eyes find his, but he feels… shitty, like he failed a mission.

he doesn't give you much aftercare-- he may be making an effort, but he is still uncaring for the most part. but, he does stare at you, like he wants to say he's sorry but he can't.

nikto just plays out what could happen over and over again. if he were normal, he'd take you into his arms and tell you he'd be careful. if he were okay, he wouldn't just stare at you. but no, he only thinks until he falls asleep.

[puracatt]

sorry everybody, im almost done with requests, but my laptop’s charger died and therefore i cant turn on my computer 😿 it’ll probably be a little before i can start writing again since i have all my WIPS on Notepad

[puracatt]

Edging nikto for hours until he's so soft and pliant that he's begging to untie himself just to jack off

!! MDNI !! 18+ RESPONSIBLE FOR CONSUMPTION

sorry chat this'll be about MY MAN velikan... i cant stop thinking about him :[ </3

velikan can't come. well, he can, but you just won't let him. he doesn't think he could come even if he wanted to, not after grueling hours of soft touches to his cock. his tip is red and swollen and aching-- every little stroke is a shot of pleasure down his fried nerves.

he wants to beg you to untie him, and to let him rub one out. but velikan hardly speaks. at work, he doesn't talk at all; you're lucky if you hear a soft "no" or "yes," maybe even a puff of laughter.

he could tap out. he could whisper the safe word, and you'd wrap the rope and have it put away in your nightstand drawer. he could have you squeeze his pathetic cock and stroke him fast until he makes a mess of himself in your hands. but he won't. no, he wants this to last just a little longer--

[puracatt]

Baseball AU sketches. Locker room shenanigans, and Soap considers himself something of a baking expert.

[puracatt]

Making König wear a cockring during a meeting that forces him to move around so mcuh that everytwitch of his thigh makes his dick weep

!! MDNI !! 18+ RESPONSIBLE FOR CONSUMPTION

i agree!

"klaus?"

könig blinks and turns his head back to the upper brass in front of him. they've been waiting for his input for nearly a minute now. he straightens his back and swallows thickly, trying not to drool onto his papers.

"ja? oh, i think we should move forward."

just before he could leave home, you pressed a ring down the shaft of his cock. he needs your unforgiving hands now more than ever-- he needs your lips on his tip, and your hands here to cup his heavy balls.

he's been leaking and needy ever since he stepped foot in the building. his fat cock ruts against the sides of his built thighs with every shift he makes, not to mention when he walks.

he's miserable in this meeting, but he can't deny how dizzy and good he feels. he never wants it to end, this ache that makes him light and ditzy for just a few seconds.

but, all good things come to an end. before he knows it, he's creaming in his boxers, his thighs spasming as his employer drones on. fuck.

[puracatt]

Nikto.... IN LINGERIE🗣🗣🗣🗣‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

NIKTO IN THOSE SOFT SILKY LINGERIE THAT HAS ABSOLUTELY NO LACE CAUSE IT ITCHES AND IRRITATES HIS SKIN. WEARING IT ONE NIGHT WHEN HE THOUGHT YOU'D BE OUT FOR A WHILE ONLY TO FIND OUT YOUR HANGOUT CANCELLED BLESSED BY THE MOMENT YOU SNEAK BACK INTO THE BEDROOM TO SURPRISE HIM.

NIKTO WHO FREEZES FROM SHOCK AND SHAME TRYING TO EXPLAIN HIMSELF AND TRY TO MAKE YOU STAY BY SAYING THAT SOMEONE BLACKMAILED HIM TO DO THIS BUT YOU KNOW HE'S LYING BY THE RED PINK BLUSH ON HIS CHEEKS COVERING HIMSELF BY THE FAR TOO SMALL AND TIGHT DAINTY GLOVE SET HE BOUGHT FOR HIMSELF.

ION KNOW MAN NIKTO WHO NODS HIS THOUGHTLESS LITTLE HEAD WHEN YOU SLIDE YOUR INDEX BETWEEN THE FABRIC, TEASING THE SKIN AND MAKING HIM SHIVER WHILE HE DROOLS THROUGH HIS OPENED UP JAW.

"You like this?"

"Yes, lyubov'."

"You want me to touch you in it?"

"...Yes, lyubov'."

"Stay quiet."

". . . . .Yes love."

[puracatt]

Chat can we get some soft gentle sex with nikto 🤓👆

!! MDNI !! 18+ RESPONSIBLE FOR CONSUMPTION

tw // vaginal sex

nikto who just wants to make love tonight :[

he's never been a man who jackhammers into his partners. no, he peels you apart like an orange, picking off bits and pieces until all that is left is a raw, needy form.

but tonight, he doesn't want to play mind games and play with your pussy until you're a writing mess. no, he wants something vanilla; he wants just plain missionary with a condom.

in floral, smooth bedsheets, he takes you. he's gentle but not painstakingly slow-- he doesn't intend to tease you. the gradual grind of his hips is heaven against your aching folds. his gloved cock fits so sweetly inside of you. you're so drunk on the thought of clenching around him, of squeezing him, that you hardly notice you're soaking the sheets.

after being off vanilla for so long, you've come to realize that this really is something to be cherished. you feel like a lethargic cat, having gotten everything you wanted without needing to work for it.

afterward, you ask nikto what made him want vanilla tonight. he only wanted to see if his inclinations changed with age. he yields, not wanting to soften up the image you have of him. you'll have to find out for yourself the next time he wants sex.

[puracatt]

Taking König's gear off after a long day and riding him slowly/gently?

!! MDNI !! 18+ RESPONSIBLE FOR CONSUMPTION

könig who is so, so tired when he comes home.

his team is hopeless. no matter how he tries to batter them into shape, they fail miserably. nearly every mission yields poor results.

and as his wife, you can't bear to watch him work himself into the ground. he's so miserable that he hardly even eats, and a man like him needs big helpings of sauerbraten to keep his muscle from falling away. you can hardly sleep knowing he's tossing and turning on the other side of the bed.

but when he comes home today, you don't let him stray and run off elsewhere. you sit him down on the couch, his feet firmly planted as you fumble with the intricate buckles and stubborn velcro of his gear.

he falls apart like sand in your hands. oh, he curls into your palms so sweetly, begging for more, more, more. he whines and begs for you to grip his shoulders tighter like your grip isn't already knuckle-white, or for you to go faster even though your thighs ache.

when he comes, a stuttering, whiny thing, it's like a dam snapping and crumbling. he leans into your arms as he wilts. the sheer weight of handling his team seems to have broken his spirit, and being so pent-up from sex was the nail in the coffin.

he's perfect, he really is-- you can't imagine looking into any other man's pitiful eyes.