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outerhills · 2 months ago

Text

buzzcuts 𐙚₊˚⊹♡

rafe cameron + insatiable!kook!reader

warnings: mdni 18+, smut, buzzcut rafe, p in v, making out, cumming inside, cocky rafe, slapping (it happens like twice), use of "daddy" (only once), choking, squirting, reader and rafe live together

word count: 1.3k

you had been suggesting he get a haircut for about a week now, and of course he avoided listening to you to piss you off. he knew you were a spoiled little princess who always got what she wanted, and always thought she was right about shit.

which is ironic because he spoiled you along with everyone else.

there you sat in a silky pink nightie that sat just at the top of your thighs, leaving almost nothing to the imagination as you watched television on the flatscreen of your bedroom. of course you sat around all day doing nothing, you could afford to when your boyfriend wanted to do everything in order to stroke his ego. paying the bills, buying all of your clothes, whatever he could to make sure you couldn't shit talk him for anything.

considering he was out this late, you knew he was with his friends; he wasn't stupid enough to cheat on someone like you, he knew better.

but he also had been gone all day.

there wasn't much he could have been doing, since the last time you saw him was early the morning of before he left the house.

so, where the fuck was he all day?

you weren't crazy, you had better things to do than to blow up his phone and track his every move; but he'd definitely hear an ear full once he got home.

and of course you were more than prepared to talk his ear off once you heard the slam of a truck door, mouth practically watering to complain.

you'd lay in the bed, arms crossed, letting him come to you.

though that wasn't the case anymore once rafe stepped into the dimly lit bedroom with a freshly buzzed haircut, arms almost too large for the sleeves of the polo he wore.

your demeanor had completely shifted, shifting from a thick irritation, to a dying thirst, the folds of your cunt practically pooling at the sight.

not only did he look delicious, but you loved being listened to.

no, you weren't gonna let him win so easily.

"you've been out late," you coughed, rolling your eyes as your arms remained crossed. he gave a scoff, a smirk on his face. "don't start your shit, you know I was with topper and kelce." you gave a short huff, looking away from him.

it was hard maintaining the attitude when all you wanted to do was give him the sloppiest sucks of his life.

he walked over to you, his large hand holding your chin with a tight grip, forcing you to look into his eyes, but of course that smug smirk tugged at his lips when he saw how your eyes dilated.

"you play pretend, but you can't resist me."

rolling your eyes, you spoke softly. "i see you listened to me."

"mhm. don't get too used to that."

he walked into the bathroom of the master bedroom, the door open as he turned on the light and slipped off his shirt, revealing his toned body underneath, his arms even more visible as you looked out of your peripheral. rafe ran the shower, not before he caught the little side glances you gave him, a self satisfied grin on his face.

- - - - -

as the water turned off and rafe wrapped himself in a towel, he stood in the bathroom shaving off any amount of stubble he could find on his face.

there you stood, a sultry look in your gaze as you leaned against the bathroom doorframe.

"fuck..." was all that passed through your thoughts as you looked at him and his haircut. it sharpened his features even more, giving him an intimidating, almost mean appearance. instinctively, your legs squeezed together, the wetness of your folds damping your legs as there no barrier to keep it from dripping slightly.

"you're staring princess," he spoke in a husky tone, cutting off your thoughts. you walked over unfazed, standing in front of him as his broad figure towered over you, his bottom half still wrapped in his towel as he pulled you close to him by your waist.

you didn't speak, but your gaze said everything as you ran your manicured nails through the prickly strands of his buzzcut, slightly biting down on your bottom lip.

"i take it you like the haircut," he smirked, his free hand lowering to grip onto your ass.

"shut up." you didn't want to boost his ego even more than it already was, the tension building as you stood close enough to feel his body heat, your eyes drifting to his toned chest as your hands remained in his hair, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick your lips.

without a word, you pulled him by his hand to the bedroom, sitting him onto the edge of the bed as you straddled on top of him.

immediately, you captured his lips with your own into a heated, wet kiss. his tongue forced his way into your mouth as his hands found the curves of your waist, holding you in place.

"you look so fucking sexy rafe." the praise was breathy and brief as you grazed your wet lips over his before capturing him in another heated kiss.

"mhm, im knowin' it," he said lowly, smirking into the make out you were having. out of impulse, his fingers trailed between your legs as your straddled on his lap, his breathing heavy as he pulled back to see the sweet wetness you left all over his hand.

"look at this, all wet fa' me," he taunted, his other hand gripping your chin as he forced you to look at his drenched fingers.

"that's what happens when you listen to me you fucking idiot." it was in a flash that you felt a harsh sting to your cheek, rafe grabbing your chin once again forcing you to stare back into his darkening eyes, his jaw tightened.

"i don't think you have the right to be smart with me angel, when you're the one soaking up my lap."

"dont fucking sl-", and he did it again. "it's the only way to shut you up baby."

you definitely didn't want to egg him on, but the sheer force he used against you had your cunt dripping, the towel wrapped on his waist collecting the droplets.

and the feeling was mutual, as his swollen hard cock was constricted by the soft towel on his waist.

it was then that you removed the towel from his waist, almost moving to kneel before him until he restricted you by your thighs.

"don't bother." with a swift movement, he sinked your cunt fully onto his thick cock, giving you no time to adjust as he practically ripped you apart with his harsh thrusts. both of you let out breathy moans, rafe letting out a low groan as he gripped onto your neck.

"move princess, don't make me do all the work," he scoffed, his grip on your throat tightening.

you let out a small cough as he choked you, bouncing on his hot cock as the veins of his thick length scraped at your tight walls.

it was nothing unusual to go from such a soft intimacy to his cock now kissing your cervix as you rode him, your slick cunt gushing against him as he held you by your throat.

he pulled you close to him, capturing you into a passionate kiss as his hands rested on the jelly like curves of your pillowy ass cheeks.

you had pushed him back onto the bed, your manicured nails scraping his chest, causing him to let out a deep groan.

"fuck, im gonna-"

"do it baby, come all on me."

but it wasn't just cum as you threw your head back.

"ahhh, fuck~" you moaned, your body convulsing as you squirted all over him, his own cum mixing with your juices as your cunt clenched around him.

softly, you fell back onto the bed beside him as you pulled off his cock.

he let out a faint chuckle, his tongue licking his bottom lip as he looked at the juicy mess you made. "if i knew a haircut would have gotten me pussy, i woulda' done it sooner."

"that's what happens when you listen daddy."

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drgnflyteabox · 7 months ago

Text

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day.

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb.

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved.

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk.

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

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