#call of duty dividers

[mariariley]

⋆✮⋆ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ⋆✮⋆

·:*¨༺ MASTERLIST ༻¨*:·.

on a hiatus! :(

Russell Adler

Frank Woods

Alex Mason

Helen Park

Lawrence Sims

Eleazar Azoulay

Anton Volkov

Perseus

🖤

Captain John Price

John “Soap” Mactavish

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Gary “Roach” Sanderson

General Shepherd

Vladimir Makarov

🖤

Captain John Price

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Alex Keller

Farah Karim

Roman Barkov

Nikolai

Soldier J-12

🖤

Simon “Ghost” Riley

John “Soap” Mactavish

Captain John Price

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kate Laswell

Alejandro Vargas

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

Valeria Garza

Phillip Graves

Warzone bonus: König

🖤

x fem/gn reader

no ships

no pedophilia, rape, pregnancy, gory self harm, mental illnesses, fursonas or any animal-like add ons

no heavy BDSM and weird fetishes

platonic relationship with female characters

will do mental breakdowns, hysteria, death (not too gory)

will do angst, fluff, sometimes smut

will do headcanons and NSFW alphabets

self written fanfics in 1st person

requests and headcanons in 2nd person

please make your requests clear and with enough details 🖤

Dividers belong to @firefly-graphics , @benkeibear 🖤

Banners are mine, tag if you use them 🖤

[tojisteddy]

Phone calls | cw: fluff, age gap (reader mid 20s, John late 30s), part two

John Price who absolutely loves his phone calls with shy!reader.

Your voice is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, still so small even though you’ve been dating for a couple of months. He loved hearing you talk because when there’s a lot of people you’re as quiet as a mouse, so he lets you ramble on and on about whatever comes to mind for how ever long until you’d try and crawl back in your box again.

“ ‘M sorry, I’m talkin too much, aren’t I?”

“No dove, let me hear more of you, yeah?”

And you’re attentive too, always have a follow up question to any of his stories. Giggles filling his ears when you laugh together. God, it just gave him that perfect burst his aging heart needed every single time.

His favorite thing to do though?

The old man would call your house phone when he’s right outside your flat, leaning on his car and looking up to the 5th floor, right where your apartment is. He’d see your gorgeous silhouette in the curtains, you’d pick up that old yellow rottery phone that you’d gotten from him as a replacement for the one that broke.

“H-Hello?” You’d squeak out, disgustingly cute, twirling the line with your fingers.

“I’m downstairs, thought I’d see your face before I left.”

“Where?” And you’re quick to uncover the blue and white embroidered curtains, revealing yourself on the baloney, curls touching just above your shoulders, only in your damned underwear and a tight top, with your nipples peeking through. If he told you about the way you’d look right now, you’d leap out of your skin.

But John just loved how he was the only thing on your mind when he called. Your big brown eyes searching the street for the bearded man, and he’s right there. Giving you a wave with a smirk he just can not hide.

“Hi John,” youre breathless through the phone, love sick on that dream boat of a man.

“You’re fuckin gorgeous love, always so beautiful.”

You yanked the phone away, hiding your face with your curls as you squealed, stomping around cute as ever. John could so easily get you all flustered, you peek down at him and he’s tapping his phone, listen.

You put the phone to your ear again, “Don’t have long. Just wanted to see your face.”

And it’s clock work, John would tease you every time he wanted to see you by threatening to leave. As if he wouldn’t climb up the damn apartment with his bare hands like you were fuckin Rapunzel. But you’d believe him every time, eyes widening and mouth opening and closing, words fighting to get out.

He’d get your heart pumping even more as he turned to his car, “I-I- dont you wanna come up John? Just for a tea?”

He turns, to look back at you, eyebrow raised, he hums, “Not sure love, gotta be up early.”

“It’ll be five minutes! I swear John.” And your pretty bottom lip is out, pouting— the man couldn’t resist you for long.

It wouldn’t be five minutes, it never was, just as the older man had planned. He’d agree, just for tea, with a grin. Practically zooming through your complex to get to you and taking you in his arms.

His sweet girl.

It couldn’t get any better than you.

a/n: did I write this cause I haven’t done a proper part two to a certain price fic? Well— but this was fun!!

shy!reader masterlist most recent

[uhohdad]

(18+) John Price x Reader

John knows what he’s doing.

He’s not an idiot, and he’s certainly not blind to the glow of your cheeks and the way your voice takes on both a stammer and a higher pitch when he’s around. A captain has to be vigilant, and that just so happens to mean he’s observant to the slight shake in your knees, the nervous laughs spilling from your warped lips without caution, the way your fingers fidget in his presence.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered, if he said he didn’t like being the object of your desire.

So he leans into it. Toying with you, entirely under the guise of plausible deniability. Keeping you guessing and fueling your fantasies, giving you hope that maybe, just maybe, your Captain returns your affection. He likes having you wrapped around his finger, and intends to give you just enough hope to keep you there.

Crossing his arms over his chest, watching you carefully as you struggle to keep eye contact, those pretty, shy eyes sneaking glances at his arms.

Lowering his voice and coating it in honey when he calls you Love, Sweetheart, Darling, just to make you falter.

Leaning in far too close when he looks at your screen over your shoulder, until you can nearly feel the heat of his chest on your back, the scent of a burnt cigar and laundry detergent intoxicating you, his voice a low and gravelly vibration in your ear. He’ll pretend he didn’t notice the sharp, squeaky inhale you make that sends blood rushing to his cock.

Approaching you from behind, resting a hand on the small of your back and sliding it off your waist as he turns to talk to you. Reveling in the way your wide eyes stare back at his, basking in the warmth radiating from your cheeks, knowing full well you’re too flustered to pay attention to a word he’s saying.

Oh, you should have seen it - the first time he responded to, “Yes, Sir,” with, “Good Girl.”

Your whole body tensed, a hitched breath catching in the back of your throat. Lips parted to say something, anything, but John broke you, didn’t he? With two little words - halted every thought in that pretty little brain and sent a wave of arousal straight to your panties.

He couldn’t even bite back his smug grin.

“You like being my good girl?”

You’re frozen, a fawn in headlights, shoes glued to the floor and unable to bring yourself to speak, settling on a faint nod instead.

“Then why don’t you bend over your Captain’s desk, Sweetheart?”

♡ DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[ebodebo]

I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man!

pairing: john price x fem!reader

wc: 7.2k...sorry lmao plz read…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, fluff, established relationship, oral (m. receiving), road head, porn w so much plot, hair pulling, angst, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, dysfunctional family, i.e., ongoing conflict, reader having familial issues (mostly maternal), age-gap, secret relationship & marriage, & john being a protector.

author's note: this was brought to fruition by a singular barry sloan edit that had me salivating and @sai-int's fic 'a ticket to play', which single-handedly re-sparked my love for price! so, yeah, anyways, enjoy this horny mess!

dividers by @/saradikagraphics!

John Price is a man...

“John, you didn’t,” you hiss, eyes wide as you set down the groceries on the counter, your wrists aching from the heavy load.

“Didn’t know it was your mother, sweetheart,” he replies, his tone sincere. He quickly grabs the bags and begins unpacking the groceries.

You glance at the house phone positioned beside the fridge, then peel off the old sticky note attached there. You read it aloud, “Don’t answer calls from the 406 area code. I’m talking to you, John,” before pausing to think, lips pursed in contemplation.

He opens the fridge, sliding the milk jug inside before carefully shutting the door. When he turns back to see your knowing smile, his eyebrows lift in a silent acknowledgment, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping his lips.

“Well,” you urge, grabbing the aromatics from the counter to put up. “What did she say when you picked up?” You ask, attempting to sound as casual and disinterested as possible.

“Oh. Nothin’ you’d find interestin,’” he hums with a knowing smile as he tears open a pack of paper towels.

You press your lips together. “Well…yeah,” you mutter, picking up a few grapefruits. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me,” you defend, emphasizing the ‘doesn’t.’ “I just want to know what she thought,” you shrug, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Mhm,” he hums thoughtfully as he gathers the now-empty reusable bags, hanging them on the hook next to the cabinet.

“I’m serious,” you say, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “I really don’t care.”

"I know you don't, hon." He turns to wash the fresh berries in a colander, the water splashing against the metal steadily.

"You don't believe me," you exasperate.

He lets out a low laugh as he washes the berries. "Didn't say that."

You lean against the kitchen island, your body language betraying your frustration. "You were thinking it," you accuse, with a dramatic sigh.

He sets the berries back into the colander and turns his head toward you, a playful half-smile on his lips. “No, I wasn't,” he replies, clearly amused.

You poke your tongue into your cheek, mentally cursing yourself for marrying someone so adept at reading your emotions, your inner conflict laid bare.

“But,” he says, tearing a paper towel to dry his hands. “Now, I’m starting to feel that you do care.”

You don’t respond, trying to avert your gaze as heat creeps into your cheeks like he’s caught you sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Baby,” he moves closer, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “It’s okay to care,” he whispers softly into your hair, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

You gently shut your eyes, pressing your face into his warm abdomen, finding comfort in his presence.

“Damn it,” you mumble, your words muffled against him. He chuckles softly in response. “Alright, fine,” you pull back slightly, locking your eyes onto his as his hands cradle your cheeks. “I do care. Now, spill the juicy details.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “Well, she started by checkin’ in on you.”

You release a dry laugh, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, right. She always has ulterior motives," you grumble. "I swear that woman is always up to—"

"Shh," he squishes your cheeks together as both thumbs rest over your lips to silence you. "Will you let me finish?" He prompts, quipping a brow.

"Sorry, yeah," you apologize, your voice coming out muffled and nasal. 

He nods with a smile, moves his thumbs off your mouth, and drops his hands to massage your shoulders. "Said your sister is gettin' married, and she thought it would be nice if you came down for her engagement party this weekend," he supplies. 

Correction remarried.

She's on her fifth? No, her sixth husband now.

Guess she thinks six will be the lucky number.

Who’s gonna tell her?

However, that’s beside the point; you care about something much more…pathetic.

You feel frustrated because all you really want is to know how your mother reacted to the deep, gruff voice of the Englishman who answered the phone.

You wait with a bated breath, eyes wide with anticipation, but his expression remains flat, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What else?" You finally question, unable to contain your curiosity.

"That's all," he plainly says, his words hanging in the air.

You scoff. "She didn't ask about the random guy answering my phone?" You voice with disbelief.

Your mother is a shallow woman, but surely you getting what she’s constantly pressured you into getting would have her jumping for joy.

A sly smirk grows on his lips. "Am I just some random guy?" He jokes.

You smile yourself before pressing a kiss to his lips, arms coming to wrap around his torso. "You’re my husband, so not to me," you begin. "But to her, yes," your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him down to peck his lips again. "You know that," you say matter-of-factly.

His hands drift to your waist. "Mhm, I'm your dirty little secret," he hums softly.

"John," you frown, guilt flooding your brain. "You know I would, but—"

"Just jokes, baby," he interjects, pressing a light kiss on your temple as his eyes light up. "I love you in any way you’ll have me," he murmurs softly.

"God, you’re perfect," you reply with a smile. 

"She did question who I was," he starts. "Had no idea she was so southern," he remarks casually before continuing. "She thought I was the plumber," he quips, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

He tried, but he could feel the tension in the air.

Sees the disappointment and anger in your eyes.

In your posture.

You're fucking pissed.

"Typical," you remark, stepping away from him, arms flailing around. "She—she thinks I'm so incapable of finding someone that she would resort to thinking you're a person I pay before actually thinking you're with me." Your voice is filled with frustration.

"Hon—" John begins, voice soft as his hand reaches for you.

"And she wonders why I never visit," you release a dry laugh. "Never reach out."

"Come ere,'" he coos, hand pulling you by your wrist, so he can engulf you in a hug.

"It's not fair," your voice is once again muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but he can hear the tightness in it and the sniffle against him, a clear sign of your emotional distress.

"No, it's not," he affirms, fingers easing through your hair.

"Nothing is ever good enough for her," you exhale into his abdomen, fueled more by anger than by despair.

John gently kisses your hair while his fingers soothe your back with a gentle massage.

"I’ll never be good enough for her," you mumble absentmindedly, your voice lacking emotion.

"Sweetheart," he begins, his voice low as your hair muffles the sound. "Don't take offense, but you're mother is a real nasty woman. You're fuckin' perfect, and if she can't see that, it's her God-damn loss," his tone rough yet sincere.

You chuckled, a smile spreading across your face as the corners of your eyes crinkled. "I love you."

"Love you so much," he whispers, gently planting another kiss on your head.

He leans back slightly to look into your eyes. "Want me to run you a hot bath?" He asks, gently massaging your shoulders.

"That sounds really nice," you reply, taking a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Course. That's what I'm here for," he says effortlessly, leaning down to kiss your lips tenderly. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

You nod quietly as he moves to draw the warm bath.

The thought of sinking into steamy water and enveloping bubbles soothes your mind.

Honestly, to hell with your mother's opinions.

They just weren't worth the headache.

And there was no way you were going back to that house.

The promise of the bath, with its comforting warmth and enticing bubbles, would wash away your worries and quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.

Visions of your mother and that place would fade, never to resurface again.

"Can't believe she thought I would actually come down," you sigh contentedly, feeling the warmth of your husband, John, as he works shampoo through your hair, creating rich suds.

So much for the visions of your mother fading. 

It had been a whole day since your mother's call, and the weight of her words still lingered, stirring up a storm of conflicting emotions within you.

"Still on your mind?" John asks, eyes hyperfocusing on ensuring the shampoo coats every strand of your hair.

"I just—I don't understand why she thought I would come," you suspire, turning to massage the loofah against John's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension in his muscles.

"Must have gone mad, I suppose," he jests, his fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp, adding a touch of humor to the heavy conversation.

Your lip quips at his joke, eyes lighting at the sight of him taking such good care of you, ensuring your scalp is tantalizingly clean. "Maybe," you murmur. "Because all she ever does is ridicule me and constantly ask if I've found a man.” You gently move the loofah over his chest to ensure he is squeaky clean.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs, his hands coming to massage your facial cleanser into your face before returning to the issue at hand.

"Wouldn't let tryin' to examine your mother's psyche take your day, hon," his hands move with familiar ease as he massages the liquid into your cheeks. "You'll never know why. Can't change that,” he says.

"I hate how logical you are," you sigh, finding yourself relaxing at his touch.

He lets out a gruff laugh. "Would you rather me be some git?"

Your eyebrow quips, eyes remaining closed. "What does that mean?"

His lip quips. "Sweetheart, how long have you lived with me here, in England?" He enunciates the last word as he moves you under the faucet to wash away the cleanser's remnants. 

"Not long enough, I guess," you smile cheekily, wiping your eyes free of water to open them. "Honestly, forever isn't even long enough," you add, trying to shift the focus, though it's true; you can't quite remember how long you've been living together  

"Oh," he tuts softly. "Nice save. Can't argue with that," he replies, smirking before leaning in to kiss your lips.

After a stretch of silence, you turn around so he can wash your back with the loofah. Your mind is still swirling with thoughts. "I kind of miss seeing my niece," you find yourself reminiscing.

"Even though my sister and I don't get along too well, her daughter and I have always had a special bond," you say with a sigh.

"What else do you miss?" Since you never really talk about where you grew up, John prods, he's curious.

"Well, in the spring, my cousins and I would go flower picking in the field behind my grandfather's house," you find yourself getting more excited.

"He also had an old peach tree, Mindy, he called it, that we would pick dozens of peaches from and just lay in the shade under the tree and eat them till he thought we might become peaches ourselves," you snicker, turning around to face him, eyes light.

"They were fucking good peaches."

"Sounds like you miss it," he grins.

Your hand turns the lever off, and the water stops, leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. "I do," you confess, stepping out of the shower to grab you and him fresh towels.

"But, my mother knows how to ruin the best of memories," your voice is monotone. "I want those great ones to stay intact, you know?" You shrug, wrapping the towel around yourself, offering comfort.

He wraps the towel low around his waist. "Course I get it, sweetheart," his voice soft yet gruff. "Let's get you all nice and dry, and we'll order some takeout. Yeah?" He asks, reaching for your hand to lead you into your shared bedroom to get dressed.

"Sounds perfect," you voice, the thoughts of going home almost completely absolving. 

A few misses wouldn't make you completely switch gears and go.

It just wasn't worth it.

Only your mother could figure out how to make the enjoyment and amazing things crumble up and burn. 

But you won't let her. 

So, you've made up your mind. 

You will not be going.

That's final.

It's two days to Saturday.

You've been manically counting down the days.

And so, naturally, instead of basking in the serene morning, with birds chirping and the gentle glow of the sun filtering through your kitchen window, you're perched on a barstool, computer propped up, as your breakfast grows cold, hand hesitating over a plane ticket that will whisk you away tomorrow morning to your hometown. 

Just one click, and you'll have solidified yourself as going.

You're only feeling so impulsive because your impulse control, aka your husband, is at work.

Your finger hovers over the 'confirm' button for about twenty minutes.

You know what's holding you back.

The anxieties claw up about your mother and what ifs that could happen.

And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, it all becomes clear.

'Could.'

It's not a promise, just a possibility.

You had spontaneously decided that you wouldn't let the could control your decisions.

Yes, one thing was holding you back, but what about the multitude of things that you wanted to see or the many people who loved and cared about and desperately wanted to see after so long?

You were not going to let the 'could' control your decisions.

You were going to overcome this worry and take the leap.

You sit up tall in your chair, turning your head with a wince as you click "confirm."

"Oh," you murmur. "That was dramatic for no reason," you say monotonously.

But, now you can't help but feel a surge of excitement.

You would get to see your niece after so long.

And the flower field and, of course, Mindy the peach tree.

Who could forget your childhood room full of posters and knick-knacks you collected throughout your teenage years.

You find yourself smiling as you get that familiar chime from your email confirming your flight ticket.

Can't get cold feet now.

You take a swig of your tea, which has long since gone cold, but your throat is parched from the anxiety that grips you, a knot tightening in your stomach.

The mug was a gift from your husband for your birthday last year.

It featured your favorite flowers made into it and even had your birthday engraved on the bottom.

John was always so thoughtful.

You pause your movements, lips hovering over the clay mug, a moment of hesitation freezing your actions.

John.

Your husband.

Of course, he didn't care that you bought the ticket or wanted to go, but he would be pissed if you just left.

Sure, you could wait until he returned home, but the urgency to communicate your decision gnaws at you, compelling you to act now.

You hurriedly reach for your phone, fidgeting to press his number.

He's at the top of your contacts.

You tap your fingers against the cool granite countertop, waiting until he picks up.

It rings.

And rings.

...and rings again.

Until the line picks up, you sit up, ready to unload on him, only for it to be his voicemail line.

"Shit," you curse, hanging up as your foot bounces on the metal footstep on the barstool.

As you sit there, unable to wait until he gets home, you can't help but feel a surge of dramatic emotion. This internal conflict, this emotional turmoil, is what drives you to act impulsively.

But this is a big deal.

You never go home.

Rarely mention it.

So your next actions feel rationalized to you.

Without a second thought, you spring up, grab your keys from the hook by the door, slip your shoes and coat on, and speed to your car, most likely looking like a mad woman. 

But at this moment, who cares about appearances? 

The urgency of the situation overrides any concern for normalcy.

Normalcy is overrated, anyway.

You throw the car into gear, and though you are in a rush, you don't speed there. 

Carefully, you make your way, chewing on your lips nearly the entire drive.

Despite your earlier determination not to return, you find yourself on the way, a plane ticket already in your possession.

The anticipation of what your husband has to say fills you with a slight unease.

He wouldn't be mad.

More surprised than anything.

And honestly, you shamelessly loved seeing him at work.

His professional demeanor, always in control, never fails to impress you.

You can't help but oogle him.

It secretly really got you going.

But, this time, it was a purely innocent visit, of course.

You find a parking spot, ease into the front part, giving the officer guarding the gate your name.

She quickly lets you through.

You are the captain's wife, after all.

Walking, you head straight through a door and through another one.

So many God-damn doors in this place.

Until you reach the middle portion of the base, grass surrounds you, and various equipment is placed orderly around.

Sandbags, wooden ladders, and weights are among the items you see. 

Your eyes sweep the area until they land on the man you're looking for. 

He stands tall, his broad shoulders filling out his uniform, a few strands of hair escaping his signature hat.

His eyes are focused on the recruits, his expression a mix of determination and frustration.

From the looks of it, he's training new recruits, something he doesn't often do, but it's a real treat when he does.

His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his veiny arms. 

His arms, usually strong and steady, now appear more veiny than usual, a sign of his apparent frustration with the recruits. His jaw is set, and you can see the tension in his muscles as he barks orders.

"Runnin' like a fuckin' slug," he reprimands. "Pick up the pace."

You hate how hearing that makes you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Get your head out of your ass," he grunts outs, clearly annoyed. "The hell are you lookin' at," he asks a recruit who, along with a few others, seems to be on another planet, eyes wandering behind him.

John turns to his side to see you in a cute dress, waving to him sweetly. "Course," he lets out a dry laugh, giving you a small wave.

He turns back to the recruits, his authority palpable.

"Eyes off my wife, or you'll be doin' extra laps," he scolds, his tone low but intimidating, before yelling to move to the ladders with Soap.

He makes his way over to you, a warm smile on his face. "Nice surprise, hon," he greets, kissing your cheek.

"I'm gonna go," you murmur.

His brows furrow in confusion. "Go where?" 

You raise a brow at his confusion. "To...see my family."

His eyes bore into your intently. "By yourself?"

"I didn't think you'd want to go," you say honestly. 

"I'm going with you," his tone final, with no room to argue. "You bought a plane ticket?" He questions.

"I did...sorry, I just thought—" you begin before he cuts in, his hand pressing against your cheek. 

"No worries," he says. "I'll get the ticket when I get back to my office," his tone casual. "You're sure about this?"

"I think so," you say. "Plus, if I cancel the ticket, we'll be out six hundred dollars," you laugh out.

"Screw the money, okay? You tell me if you don't want to go," he tells you, face serious.

"If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know," you lean up, pressing a short kiss to his lips. "Also, you should always wear your shirt like that."

His eyes narrow as he lets out a laugh. "You like it?"

"Looks sexy," you purr quietly, teeth coming to bite your lip.

His face warms slightly. "Should see what it looks like off."

"Are you flirting with me, captain?" You say, hand coming to your heart in false surprise. 

"Just givin' you a preview for later," his tone is husky. 

"I'll be waiting," you begin, beckoning him to lower his head so your lips can hover over his ear. "Already so wet just thinking about it."

He releases a low grunt as you press a kiss to his cheek.

"See you at home," you say sweetly as if you didn't just give him a hard-on at the thought of you all wet and needy for him.

"See you, sweetheart," he almost chokes out as you turn to go away, your ass swaying in the dress you wear.

He's going to make you pay later.

And honestly, you can't wait.

You need something to take your mind off tomorrow's morning flight. 

Though it was going to take a lot more than sex to ease your mind.

A horse tranquilizer may help.

No. Too dangerous.

Whatever, you'll take your chances with John's hand all over and in you to have you sleeping and at ease.

Maybe you'll get lucky, and you two can sneak off to the airport bathroom and finally join the mile-high club.

That would definitely keep your mind off things.

For now, you’ll wear a smile, and excitement will radiate from your being.

Everything will be fine.

Nothing bad will happen.

Even so, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?

Statement retracted.

Your trip thus far has been a shitshow, and you haven't even seen your family yet.

Your flight got delayed three hours because of fog.

That was understandable, annoying, but understandable. 

What wasn't was the lady who insisted on sitting between you and John on your flight in the seat you paid for.

An older lady, maybe in her late forties or so, with a determined look in her eyes and a set to her jaw that said she wasn't going to let a little thing like a seat assignment get in her way.

She was nice at first.

She became insufferable rather quickly.

Very persistent.

You deduce she did that so she could sit next to your man. 

It didn't bother you so much, plus you knew if you showed it did, John would make a scene, and you just wanted to close your eyes and sleep, so you let her have your seat and sat by the window instead.

But every time you got settled, eyes closing gently, the soft lull of the plane helping you drift off.

"Going off to college?" She piped next to you, oblivious or noncaring about your eyes shut.

Your eyes open rapidly, and you look at her, awaiting a response. "Uh, no. I graduated a couple of years ago," your voice is drowsy. 

"Oh. You two must be going on a father-daughter trip, then?" She poses.

Your wide eyes drift to John's; a smile etched on his face. "Such a kind father you are," she compliments without missing a beat.

The sheer absurdity of her assumption leaves you speechless, and John can't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"Thas' actually my wife," he says, trying to contain another laugh. 

"Oh," her eyes widen in shock and apparent envy. "Well, aren't you a lucky one," her tone is dry as she eyes you.

That was funny.

But not when she did it about five hundred times on the eight hour flight.

It was like a broken record, playing the same tune over and over again, and you were the unwilling participant. 

Over and over again like clockwork.

Drove you bat shit crazy.

Sure, maybe you could have just told her to shut the hell up, but you kept telling yourself it wasn't worth the fight, and you didn't have the energy to make the effort.

Also, since the lady was sitting in the seat between you, formally yours, you didn't feel comfortable asking John about the bathroom sex.

She would have most likely dropped dead or asked to join.

You didn't want either.

So, it is safe to say that when the plane landed, you sat up excitedly to escape the stuffy plane.

The lady tried to follow you and John out, but you grabbed John by the wrist, dragging him behind you as your legs gained more momentum to try and escape her.

It was like a horror movie.

"Oh my God. She was so weird," you laugh out to John as you manage to get away from her, stepping out of the airport to collect your rental truck. 

"I know. Kept lookin' at me the whole flight," he says with unease as he places your suitcases into the backseat of the truck, shooing away your hands from the bags so he could lift them himself.

"Do we need to get you a counselor?" You half-joke as he opens the car door for you to get in as he moves to the driver's seat.

"Think so," he gruffs before his eyes fixate on you. "You okay?"

You had put the address into the truck's maps system, settling back into the leather seat, eyes now on his. "I'm nervous," you confess.

"Nothin' to be nervous about. I'm here for you, okay? If you need to leave, just tell me," his voice is soft as his hand caresses your thigh in comfort. 

You give him a nod, turning to look out the window at the passing buildings, a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You had already texted your niece you were coming, so you're sure your mother and sister know. 

It's not like you'd be staying with them.

That's too much too soon.

Plus, you and John could have sex anytime in the hotel with no fears of your estranged mother walking and seeing John balls-deep in you.

It was really better for all parties.

Once you pull up to the house, you swear you could hurl.

"Was this a bad idea?" You ask John nervously as he pulls your suitcases out of the backseat.

He gently sets them on the dirt. "It's just nerves," he says, locking the truck. "Let's scope it out, and if you want to leave, we'll go. No questions," his hand rests gently on your shoulder.

"Promise?" You prod, tilting your head towards him. 

He smiles at you. "You have my word, sweetheart."

You release a deep breath. "I think I'm going to pass out."

He chuckles deeply, hand snaking around your waist to lead you to the front door. "I'll catch you if you do."

You feel your nerves subside with John by your side as you flip up the familiar peach-shaped doorbell cover to ring the bell.

Stomping feet approach, the voice growing nearer and nearer until the front door pulls open to reveal your sister.

Flawless as ever. 

Her eyes light up. "Thought my daughter was tellin' fibs," she jokes, pulling you into a warm, tight hug. "Missed you." Her genuine affection wraps around you like a comforting blanket.

You reciprocate the hug with equal tightness. 

Although you may not have gotten along well, she was still your sister, and you could feel the love a million miles away. 

She pulls away, eyes falling onto the mysterious, hot, stoic man to your side. "Who's this good-lookin' hunk?" She coos, smacking her gun.

"This is my, um, my husband, John," you say, fumbling your words a little.

"Nice to meet you," his voice is low and most shockingly British, as he sticks his hand out.

Cordial as ever. 

"Oh, come on. That's just not even fair, sis," she jests, taking his hand fast and tight.

Her playful banter adds a lightness to the moment that almost absolves your nerves entirely.

"Where's...mom?" You ask, your heart pounding in your chest, the unease apparent in your tone.

She looks back at you. "Kitchen," she says before offering a reason. "She's makin' peach cobbler. Come on in," she steps aside so you and John can enter the door.

The familiar scent of the old wooden floors, the sound of the creaking stairs, and the sight of the family photos on the wall all bring back a flood of memories.

Warm smiles and familiar voices greet you as you step inside.

Cousins, aunts, uncles.

They approach you one by one, their surprise at your arrival evident, but even more so at hearing that you're married to the burly man at your side. 

Your aunts keep him occupied as you wander into the kitchen.

They keep him engaged in their lively banter, shamelessly flirting with him while their husbands sit in the living room, engrossed in their own discussions. 

You feel a little bad for leaving him to fend with the wolves, but he assured you he was alright and all but pushed you into the kitchen.

Sure enough, your mother was busy rolling out some dough on the countertop for the crust for the top of the peach cobbler. 

"Mom," your voice is quiet as you move around the island to where she is.

She turns. "Well, I'll be," she begins, eyes wide and full of surprises. "Ya came."

"I did," you amend with a smile. "And I brought someone I'd like you to meet."

"Some city guy?" Her head moves back to the dough, no longer on you.

"He, yes, he's from the city," your voice is outwardly confused.

"Thought so," her tone is snarky as she delicately lays the dough over the cobbler filling. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" It comes out more defensive than you intend. 

"Nothin,'" she says flatly. "Enjoyen' your fancy life in the city?"

You roll your eyes, already anticipating the direction this conversation is about to take. "Mom," you urge, your frustration palpable.

"No, hon. I get it," she looks up at you, shrugging. "Honestly, surprised you came. Wouldn't wanna dim your new sparkly life," her tone is condescending. "That is why it's been so long, right?"

"It's not like that," you try to justify, but you know it will do no good.

She completely disregards that, instead changing the subject. "Supper's ready," she bussies herself with stirring the gravy. "Better snag yourself a seat quick," her tone is dry. "Table hasn't grown none."

You release a shallow breath, turning around to escape this stupid God-damned kitchen and moving to find John. 

It's a familiar feeling, this resignation. 

Guess some things never change. 

You approach him, and before you say a word, his eyes are already locked on you, body language now stiff. "What's the matter?" His hands are on you in an instant.

You should have known.

He can read you like one of those mission reports he reads daily.

"Nothing," you mutter, forcing a smile, but the words feel heavy with the things you're hiding.

His eyes narrow. "Can't lie to me," he voices.

You'd just about rather crawl in a hole and die than re-account. 

What was supposed to be a happy recount turned sour rather quickly.

"Tell me," he urges, sensing your inner turmoil. 

"Drop it," your tone is more icey than usual. "Please." 

He gives you a light nod, eyes full of concern.

"Let's go eat, okay?" Your hand moves to his, intertwining your fingers, and guilt claws up your throat.

He gives you a nod as you drag him into the dining room to snag a seat at the main table.

Mom was right. The table is still too small to accommodate a family of this size, so another table sits outside and another in the living room. 

Others crowd around the breakfast nook and sit on barstool at the kitchen island. 

This house has never known loneliness. 

Your mother, father, sister, sister's daughter, and your sister's fiance are at the table with you and John. 

Your niece opts to sit next to you, gushing about her new boyfriend, the son of the florist downtown, and asking questions about the city.

"Hush now, darlin.' She gets all fussy about that," your mother chides your niece, referring to your early conversation about you living in the city.

"Mom," you quip, eyes wide at her sheer audacity.

She hadn't even addressed John, just jumping straight into a fight.

Typical.

"I'm just sayin.' Ya jumped all over me for talkin' about it," she says, trying to sound innocent. 

Seems her memory is slipping.

"That's not why I got upset," your tone is teetering between desperation and frustration, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.

She plops some mashed potatoes on her plate before passing the bowl along. "Then what was it ya were so hurt about earlier, huh?"

You're sure steam is rolling out of your ears.

"You hold a, a vendetta against me for leaving," you spew without much thought, anger taking over. "Because you never got to leave, you take it out on me," you finish, and you're sure you're shaking. 

If all eyes weren't on you before, they are now.

John is leaning back in his chair, eyes wide.

He's kind of scared if he touches you, you'll punch him, so he instead crosses his arm over his chest.

"I think the city is cool," your niece randomly chimes in, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Would love to visit someday."

You give her a smile before your mother starts up again.

"Didn't your mother teach ya about city girls," she snaps to your niece. "Nothin' good ever came from any of em.'" 

You can taste the metallic taste of blood on your tongue; you had bitten your cheek so hard you bled.

"Ain't that right," your mother says, eyes shifting to your sister.

Your sister is great.

Just not in the presence of your mother.

She takes on her personality and thoughts.

Agreeing with her without a second thought

That includes her fights.

"It's true," she snickers. "City girls can't tell a pencil from a pecker."

You find yourself standing abruptly, and your sister matches your action, spewing more garbage. 

And for some reason, her fiance stands up, which makes John stand up, matching his movements.

He's easily a foot taller than her fiance, and he's much more muscular, too.

"Enough," John's low, commanding voice is fitting for a military captain. It splices through the room, the commotion dying as he speaks. "I will not sit here and let you treat my wife like this," his head tilts towards your sister and then to your mother. "Now or ever."

He doesn't even need to yell to get any attention. 

His voice just demands attention already. 

Your sister, usually so quick with a retort, is silent.

The fear in her eyes is unmistakable, adding to the intensity of the confrontation.

She’s scared.

Hell, everyone is.

Well, except your niece, whose lip quips secretly, a small smirk playing on her lips despite the tension in the room. 

"Your daughter came down on her own merit to see you," he points to your mother. "Could have done so many other things, but she wanted to see you," he enunciates the last word.

"Well, she—" Your mother begins, her face bright red with anger, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Tired of hearin' the excuses," his voice cuts through hers. She quickly shuts up, a surprising silence falling over her. "Can't even believe your daughter turned out as amazing as she did growing up with this," he gestures towards you.

He stands with his hands on his hips, disappointment is evident on his face. 

"My wife is a God-damn saint," his voice is rough.

You find your lip quipping at the praise and how much he appreciates you.

He worships the ground you walk on.

That was made abundantly clear. 

His hands reach to rest on your lower back. "Appreciate the food, but we'll be leavin' now," he mutters, stepping back to push his chair in.

You don't argue with him.

Hell, how could you?

He said everything you couldn't

Laid all your thoughts on the table and even added some extra.

He did what he was born to do: protect.

You step away, push your chair in, and turn around, not bothering to say goodbye as you walk to the front door.

You'll text your niece later. 

The chill in the air, carrying the scent of magnolia trees and damp earth, hits you like a slap to the face.

John's hand is still on your lower back, guiding you back to the truck.

He opens the door so you can slip inside as he makes his way around the driver's seat.

The heater is blasting as he shoves the key into the keyhole, and the engine is stirring alive as he easily backs out and pulls onto the road. 

The silence is heavy as he drives down a straight, desolate road.

It's silent for a moment before he starts to comment, apologizing profusely about how he overstepped and saying sorry that this trip turned out bad.

You're tuning him out and instead focusing on how he stood up for you.

He was just such a man.

He always knew how to be what you needed him to be.

Protector.

Listener.

Talker.

He always knew which role to take on to support you, to be your anchor in the storm of emotions. 

Just that thought alone made you incredibly wet. 

You don't know why.

You should be crying from the way things unfolded with your family.

But you're not sad, not even remotely.

Just incredibly horny.

You find yourself slipping the rubberband off your wrist and quickly tying your hair in a messy ponytail.

"Hon," John says, noting your unusual silence. "I'm so sorry," he quickly glances your way before looking back at the road.

You don't speak, opting to brush your hand against his cargo pants as your fingers fumble with his zipper.

He makes a noise of surprise. "What're you doin?'" He asks, his voice breathy.

"You took care of me," you mumble, shimming your fingers under the waistband of his boxers to release his erect cock, to which he grunts. "Want to do the same," your voice is lazy, as your lips brush against the sensitive head.

"Me yellin' at your mother got you all hot?" He jokes though it dies halfway on his tongue as your lips spread open to accommodate his size.

His knuckles are white as he tightly grips the steering wheel so as not to crash.

Your mouth makes a pop noise before you speak. "You're just so sexy. All manly like that," you mutter against his cock, the tingle of your words sending goosebumps throughout his entire body.

"Am I?" He chokes out as your lips move back to encase his cock.

"So hot," your voice is muffled as you take in more of his cock.

"Oh—Christ, thas' it, hon," he groans as you bob your head up and down.

His mind has gone fuzzy at the feeling of your tight throat, taking him so good, even swerving a little, before quickly straightening the wheels.

"So fuckin' good," he grunts, as one hand moves to gather your ponytail in a loose fist. 

Your tongue works in tandem, rubbing against the underside of his cock, sending more pleasure through him. "Such a good girl, babe," he praises, and you just know that your underwear will be soaked. 

"So good." Your moan against him at the next praise, making him sputter his hips up, his cock slipping in your mouth entirely. 

He chokes out some incoherent words you can't make out; taking note of his body going taut, you can presume he's close.

"Gonna," he strains out as you continue bobbing up and down, his hand tightening around the fistful of your hair. “Come."

You bring your hand to pump the base as your tongue flicks across the tip.

He groans with anguish, legs shaking as he comes in your mouth.

You pull your head up, your eyes boring into his so he can watch you swallow out every last drop, even using your fingers to clean up the residue in the corners of your mouth.

His eyes stay glued to your mouth before you yell at him to watch the road.

"Christ," he shouts, gripping the wheel tight to stay in his lane. 

You laugh as you lean, pressing a sideways kiss on his lips.

He can taste himself on your lips.

He almost comes again.

But the high lasts just as short as when you look in the review to see police sirens hot on your tale, the siren invading your eardrums. 

John curses but pulls off to the shoulder, sneakily grabbing his military badge in his pocket.

"You always just carry that on you?" You smile slyly, the body still warm from your escapades. 

"Will come in handy," he assures, rolling his window down as the officer makes his way to his window.

"Evenin', folks. Gotta call from a concerned driver sayin' you were swervin' out of your lane," he says.

"No, sir. Not us," you answer, John glancing towards you.

"That right?" The officer prods. "I'm going to need to see your license and registration, sir," his monotone voice says. 

"Yes, sir," John says, slyly flashing his military badge as he "looks" for his license. 

"You're military?" John nods. "Hell," the officer laughs, tucking his notepad back in his pocket. "I know you aren't some juveniles."

John laughs as he glances over to you, glancing down to see a little remnant of his come on your shirt.

He almost feels guilty.

Almost.

He lets out a cough.

"You alright, sir?" The officer asks, brows furrowed.

"Yeah. Fine," his voice is strained.

You shoot him a look before the officer starts again.

"Well, I'll let ya'll get on your way," he pats the top of the car.

You both issue a heartfelt thanks before John pulls back out onto the road, a palpable sense of relief in your voices.

"Can't believe he just let you off," you groan, hand coming to intertwine his. 

"Thought you'd be happy?" He laughs. "Can get to the hotel in record time now."

You raise a knowing eyebrow. "For what?"

"Saw you squirmin' in that seat," he teases, his affectionate tone wrapping around you. "I need to take care of my girl," he adds, his voice filled with warmth and love. 

You release a shallow breath.

His girl.

You.

Just you.

That's what you loved about loving him. 

You didn't have to keep up with his expectations.

You could simply exist, and he would kiss the ground you walk on.

The thought lit up your brain.

John Price was your man.

And in his eyes, you'd always be his girl.

mini author's note: i'd have to be surgically removed from him...

[simonz-angel]

yall can say wtvvvv to me simon is a softest lover

his lips spread like a burning wildfire across your skin, saliva acting as gasoline as it shines over your smooth skin, igniting you in a hot daze.

your lips pop open, mind desperately attempting to conjure up any form of words, incapable of spreading your gratitude. the only thing you can do is gasp, writhe and touch his warm, rugged skin softly. letting your fingers touch the pain he’s conjured and hid over the various years of suffering.

your touch is warm, understanding on a deeper level, and he can feel the tender of your exploring fingertips, your hands skimming and hesitating on every gauge, showing him you accept and you understand him for who he is.

he cups your face, thumb gently settling over your lips, and his eyes peer into yours. his gaze is vulnerable, pupils blown in adoration. “it’s okay, baby, you don’t need to say anything, just feel it.”

and you breathe, teeth skimming across the warm pad of his thumb. his hips settle, meeting yours in a soft embrace, he’s gentle and slow. peeling you apart in layers just to bring you over the edge and have you grasping at his sticky skin.

it was always the best part for him, watching your gaze unlock from his, your body pull and sink against the sheets, your lips slip open in the sweetest of sounds. it was more than sex, it was a way to feel you, to connect mentally and physically, a way to reach into your soul and unlock your deepest feelings, darkest secrets.

although it feels too deep to others, simon couldn’t help himself. being gentle with you, to you was all he could do. he’s been dealt the worst hands within his life, and with work, everything in his life dominated the gentle spiritual of life. your his calm, and he treats you with nothing but a tender love, he can’t help himself, never wanting to show you what he’s seen, what he’s been through.

“that’s it, love, can feel you,” he gasps, hands propping up your legs, careful not to spread you to wide knowing your muscles will begin to cramp, knowing you will ache for days. “just… just take it for me, baby, just let yourself feel good.”

mighta hit the blunt a lil too hard yall

[swordymacaroni]

🎀A/N-I know for a fact that Simon would be obsessed with you but would refuse to just admit it, finding the stupidest excuses before he finally relents.

Warnings-Suggestive/Language

Just so I don't break her heart, Simon thinks to himself when Gaz and Soap tell him that you wanted to go out with him. He's not oblivious to his charm; many find him attractive. He doesn't really care about you, he'll just go on one date to change up his routine a little bit.

Just so I don't break her heart, Simon tells himself when he meet you in a dimly lit bar, the disco lights highlighting the gorgeous outline of your body. He only met at the rendezvous point because if he didn't you'd probably bitch to the entirety of 141 that you got stood up, and he didn't have time for the drama.

Just so I don't break her heart Simon reasons as he voluntarily secures his hands around your soft waist and leads you out onto the dance floor. He dances with you the whole night thinking maybe you'll lose interest in him and he can go on his merry way. Definitely.

Just so I don't break her heart, he thinks though a lavender haze as he rips off your dress in a dark nook of the bar, drinking in the contours and curves of your body. He needs to relieve tension anyway. He'll just forget you exist tomorrow.

Just so I don't break her heart, Simon mumbles to himself as he curls around your smaller body, greedily soaking in your warmth. Your love. He should leave. You'll wake up and start being clingy. He should leave. As soon as you turn around and tell him you were his and his only.

Just so I don't break her heart, his thoughts are dimmer each time you laugh, sob into his shoulder, touch his cheek, grow irrevocably closer, become his. It's progressed to a fling, but will be nothing more. Really.

Just so I don't break her heart, he thinks as you walk down the aisle in your flowy white dress, gracing him with your goddess-like presence as tears flow unchecked from his cheeks. He says his vows with reverence and devotion. Just so your special day isn't spoiled. He doesn't care about spending his whole life with you.

He does

He does

He fucking does

Just so I don't break her heart, Simon's thoughts begin before something bright and brilliant shoots through his mind. It says, Whose heart? The singular one that beats between two people? Simon pushes it out, away, as he gently unbuttons your wedding dress, staring at your face lovingly. It looks the same as it did all those months ago. Beautiful.

Just so I don't break her heart, Simon thinks as you fall asleep in his arms. Because if he does, his own will shatter into a million pieces.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Coquette Thoughts

TW: 18+, Profanity, Fem!Reader

König and his coquette girlfriend as she ties a pink ribbon into a bow around the base of his painfully hard, thick cock, pre-cum staining the fabric and making the bow wilt under the weight of his plentiful seed. He hisses when she pulls the bow taut, catching the most prominent vein on the underside of his member, leaving him aching and begging for her to touch him already - please, I can't take anymore :-(

[zombiegutfuck]

tf141 men and their love languages

captain john price will spoil you to the heavens. anything for his little wife. new perfume with the same high notes he knows you absolutely adore, expensive jewellery that jingle together every time you move your wrists, designer heels for date nights that he can’t wait to take off for you, big fuzzy coats for those dark, winter nights to keep you warm when he’s on deployment and he can’t supply you his own warmth… the list goes on. he has the money to spend, so why not spoil his dear darling.

lieutenant simon riley will do absolutely anything for you, you don't even need to ask. the pipes are making a funny noise when you turn on the shower? oh, lovie, he’ll get that fixed for you in no time. the fence blew over in the storm a couple days ago? sit back, love, he’ll go out and make the garden look nice and pretty again, just how you like it. it’s that time of the month again? he’s up and out at the brink of dawn, restocking your favourite snacks, painkillers for the aches he can’t get rid of, and a new fuzzy hot water bottle. the old one was in tatters, sweetheart.

sergeant kyle garrick believes in the old style of love. every night when he’s off on deployment, he’s either reading your handwritten letters under the dim light of his desk lamp in his barracks, gazing lovingly at the pictures you sent with it, or he’s spending hours writing his own to you. unlike how you write about updates in your daily life, he writes about how much he misses you, how beautiful you are, how he can’t wait to come home to you. he has a phone, of course, but it’s only use is to message you in the morning, when he knows you’re getting up after three alarms, to wish you a good morning and to have a nice day at work, don’t forget to eat and drink plenty of water.

sergeant john mactavish would have to be forcibly removed from you with a construction vehicle of some sort when he gets home from deployment, maybe an excavator would do the trick? he’s absolutely glued to your side. how couldn’t he be? look at you, bonnie thing. his beefy hand is 100% engulfing yours as you walk through the markets in town. if not, his hand is firmly planted in the back pocket of your jeans. the broke boyfriend hug doesn’t exist with this man, he pays for everything, he just doesn’t want to leave you alone, he doesn’t want to not be touching a part of you. why not downsize the sofa, bonnie? it’s overly big, his lap is just fine for you! why are you sleeping all the way on that side of the bed? don't be daft, lassie. come, let him be your personal heater.

i love them and they don't even exist (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ that's how i like my men

[gildui]

your always yapping everywhere. its so annoying lol

oh mate, that sucks. anyways, heres some free to use COD dividers if anyone wants them.

only black for now but if you want any other colours, or have requests, just shoot it into my inbox <3 feel free to tag me if you use em. peace, luv, don't be a shit to your creators :)

[lunarw0rks]

────141 headcanons: touching the belly────

a/n: y'all know i'm a sucker for the the pregs trope so i had to do this request. and i only did the four dinguses for this one, sorry anon ☺️

warning(s): pregnancy, fluff+angst, invasion of reader's personal space/privacy, protectiveness, hurt/comfort?, afab!reader

‧˚₊ MAIN MASTERLIST ⟢ 141 MASTERLIST ‧₊˚⊹

๋࣭ ⭑ PRICE

⌞one of the perks of being married to john is being supported. quite literally the definition of it, in every form. that goes for your baby too, no questions asked. he's more akin to simon in being traditional while you're expecting. wants you home, resting and not lifting a finger.

he's very particular about who he lets close to you, more than ever now. it makes sense considering his work and the general fragility of a new family. in the same way as kyle, he's constantly stressed. wants everything to be perfect for you and soon to be little one.

always has his eye on you, just like he does all his men. there's nothing he doesn't see or already knows about. honestly, may even spot a bad apple before you do. won't even bother with politeness and will shoo them away before their hand(s) even make contact with your tummy.⌝

๋࣭ ⭑ SIMON

⌞ he was already protective enough before you got pregnant, but he's at a whole new level now. practically a full-time security guard by the time you reach your third trimester. ESPECIALLY when you two find yourselves out and about — which isn't often.

on the off chance that you're at some sort of gathering with simon, he's at your side no matter what. eyeing every person who approaches you, only chiming in when spoken to, out of mere courtesy. as soon as you give him any inkling of discomfort, he's asking you if he should go start the car.

one thing he hasn't gotten used to yet is the touching. how people often belaud pregnant women. cross boundaries constantly to get a feel of them and their bellies. it's already hard enough getting the man to relax, but it's hopeless now with all the new people he "needs" to keep an eye on. it's not a matter of him catching someone touching your belly; he'll already be standing there most likely. glares, huffs, will certainly go as far as removing their hand if it lingers long enough.⌝

๋࣭ ⭑ SOAP

⌞doesn't see any point in excluding you from functions if you think you can handle them. loves having you on his lap or right beside him when he's out, even in pregnancy. as long as you're comfortable and able to signal to him when you're too tired or need something — he's just happy you're there.

most of all, johnny is fiercely protective of the bump. more than he is of you (which is nearly unfathomable, i know). and if there's one thing he loves more than you — it's gushing about you to anyone who'll listen. so, initially, he might not notice someone making you tense while amid his blabbing.

but after so long with him, you've learned to accept the flattery for what it is and remember how easy it is for him to get distracted. a firm squeeze to his hand or a tug to his jacket will do the trick. but once realizes what's happening, he's on it (with his new Dad Speed). finds a way to distract the person and slip you the car keys. promises he'll be out in two minutes to drive you home — and he always is.⌝

๋࣭ ⭑ GAZ

⌞ even though he'd prefer you bundled up in bed and waiting for him, kyle still enjoys doing things with you. he definitely gives a wider berth than the other guys, but he's just as vigilant (if not more). he's more subtle about it, if anything.

it isn't just you to protect anymore, it's you and his baby. so, forgive the man for his pinched brows and clenched fists, he's reverted into nothing but a ball of anxiety the further the months progress.

doesn't mind people having a feel of you, usually, when they only mean well (it's typically older ladies anyhow). but sometimes it's a more unsavory interaction; someone who isn't taking any hints, who can't bear to leave the two of you alone. on one hand, gaz understands — an expectant, attractive couple out on a wholesome shopping trip is bound to lure attention. he takes a slower approach, less hostile to avoid upsetting you anyone. brushes it off with an excuse; "oh, love, you got that appointment today, right? don't wanna be late." and then makes his exit, a guiding hand around your waist.⌝

[ctrl-alt-bucky]

♡ Aftermath ♡

Simon Riley x Female Reader

You find yourself against the shower wall in the midst of a second round because— well, it's never one and done with you two, is it?

Y'all encouraged it, so here it is: a follow-up to Release! Highly recommend reading that first for context, but you won't be too lost without it tbh. This one includes more focus on you ;) Enjoy!

Posted on: 2/7/25 | Words: 2,073 | Tags: fempov, shower sex, foreplay/build up, fingering, breast play, cunnilingus, very minor pregnancy scare, standing doggy, mild choking, mutual orgasm

We’ve got some work to do, Ghost had said as you extracted yourself from the slippery table and honest-to-god waddled, like a penguin, with your hand cupped between your legs over your cargos as if that’d somehow stop the mess from flooding your ruined panties.

Apparently that work was worth putting off another couple of hours.

Ghost has you pushed up against the wall of the shower, the cold, slick tile pressing to your warm skin as water cascades around you both. His stubble is rough, no doubt leaving behind pink marks on your chin and underneath your bottom lip as he licks into your mouth like he's making it his mission to claim your insides.

As far you're concerned, he already has.

Steam obscures half of your vision when you open your eyes. Simon's chest is rising and falling rapidly, the skin dashed with lines of scars and dotted with healed bullet holes. His hands, previously holding your waist to keep you from slipping back, cup your breasts and lightly squeeze, thumbs rubbing over your hardened nipples.

You tangle a hand in his short blonde hair and bite your bottom lip. It's far too late to reel yourself back in. The calm and controlled soldier everyone knew you as was shattered in Ghost's eyes; you were sure of it. He's the only one to see that facade falter— the only one to snap your resolve, lose you in pleasure, and make you nearly beg for more. And in a way, it isn't one-sided.

Ghost's brown eyes are intense when they meet yours. The way he's looking up at you is foreign. Where he usually towers over, he's bent now, his face inches away from his grasping hands as they squeeze, release, and squeeze again. While it isn't direct stimulation, nothing compares to the heat buzzing between your legs— itchy, almost, with need. That's the only way to describe the feeling: as if it's a deep scratch in need of relief, pulsing with heat and blood and the primal urge to soothe.

But Ghost must understand this. You only know it, because he seems to be purposefully holding off from doing what you want. The bastard.

Your hand tightens in his hair and you watch as a subtle grin grows on his kiss-bitten lips. Christ, as if the mask wasn't bad enough, he's even more attractive under it; No room to speculate on what the crinkles of his eyes mean; You can see exactly the type of amused expression he proudly sports.

“Simon.” You huff.

“Mm?” Ghost hums, playing dumb. He kisses the side of your breast, then flicks the tip of his tongue over your nipple and grins again when it knocks a puff of air from your lungs. Sensitive, your body screams. Go too long without stimulation and look what happens— you react like a virgin now. How embarrassing.

Ghost's breath isn't as warm as the steam or water, but it still tingles your skin as it travels further down. He's a bit clumsy as he fits himself between your legs. The shower isn't exactly made for two people, what with the built-in lip of a tub surrounding the small square of space, but he somehow manages to sit, kneeling, on the backs of his ankles as his broad body forces your stance wider.

Water runs down Ghost's back and flicks droplets off the top of his head onto your skin. It makes his hair stick to his face, so your thumb idly brushes away the front strands to expose that amused, hungry gaze of his again. Except he's no longer looking up at you— his focus is entirely captured by the mess still leaking from your pussy.

Ghost's cum, inside of you, dripping down the insides of your thighs, getting washed away bit by bit from the droplets tracing your flushed skin— you realize you're blushing from head to toe, even though compared to all the other things (namely, potentially alerting the team as you screamed and came on his dick earlier), this wasn't much to get worked up over. But it's the thought of being marked in a way you never obtain, so intimate and risky, fuck, it didn't even occur to you once that your coupling was unsafe. Sure, neither of you are getting laid around here— that's half the reason you climbed him like a tree the second he caved— so there's no real transmission risk.

Pregnancy, however?

You push the thought away as soon as it strikes. There's no way in hell that can happen. You won't let it. You won't—

A sharp pain in your inner thigh rips you from your spiral.

Ghost's eyes are curious, but his expression is concerned. His thumbs rub soothing circles into your hips as he stares up at you questioningly. Before he has a chance to ask, you stammer,

“I-I'm not on the pill.”

Ghost’s expression doesn't waver. In fact, his lack of reaction just makes the panic tightening your chest feel all the more restricting.

After far too many tense seconds of silence, Ghost lines his fingers up to your entrance, pointer and middle pressed tightly together, and he murmurs,

“Let's get it out then, hm?”

You hardly have time to process what exactly he means before his fingers plunge in, slickened by the cum, yours and his, and the wetness already inside. At this angle, the pads of Ghost's fingers rub right over that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of your quivering walls. Gasping, you throw your head back against the tile wall and hope to god your legs don't give out beneath you as he makes a scooping motion with his fingers while he sloppily thrusts them in and out. Each curl sends shocks of electricity to your core, the buzzing, itching need deep within you returning insistently within seconds.

The bastard.

You bring your hand up to your mouth to cover it— an action you probably should've thought of prior to the shower. Your hips buck uncontrollably, twitching with unreleased energy as Ghost builds a steady rhythm, in and out, the sounds sloppy over the rushing of the water, lewd in ways that make your brain feel like it's going to turn to mush.

And then you decide to look down.

Not only is the squelch of your cum-soaked pussy loud enough to hear, but so is the equally hot sound of Ghost's hand on his cock, which pumps in time with each thrust of his other fingers. It's a bit uncoordinated, but his focus is strong. If it weren't for the shower, a sheen of sweat surely would be forming over his tense, rippling muscles and veiny arms. Ghost’s eyes are half-lidded, but they close as he leans in and runs the tip of his tongue over your clit.

You jolt, groaning, and he does it again, tonguing the sensitive nub in slow circles. The stimulation is so direct it’s almost painful, but you don’t stop him. God, you’d be insane to.

Ghost’s tongue goes flat while his fingers curl in, the wall vibrating with the sound of a thump as the back of your head hits it. Eyes squeezed closed, you feel your thighs trembling as your orgasm builds and builds. What finally pushed it over the edge, the final straw that has you grasping at Ghost’s hair and gasping for air, is when he seals his lips over your clit and sucks while he flicks his tongue rapidly back and forth.

Your pussy spasms, each pulse clenching down around his thick fingers while they rub and rub and holy shit you might actually pass out from this—

“St-Sto- ah!” You push at Ghost’s head as the pleasure turns into a sting of overstimulation, and reluctantly, he tips it back to look up at you, an expression of pure hunger in his eyes. A second later, his fingers follow, which then join his hand as it grips your hip tightly. Ghost stands up, his body knocking yours in his scramble. You have no idea what he’s planning, but he’s feral about it, spinning you around against the tile so fast that your feet lose their balance for a second or two. But it doesn’t matter because Ghost is there to catch you, to steady you, as he always is.

You can’t recall a time where he wasn’t there for you.

Ghost’s stubble is rough on the juncture between your left shoulder and neck. He bites down gently, teeth scraping the skin lightly; a message that he could mark, but he won’t.

But Christ, you really, really wished he would.

And then his tip is at your pussy, clumsily rubbing between the folds and over your clit. You reach a hand down, but only the tips of your fingers can actually touch at this angle. Regardless, you manage to guide him in, and it’s a long, smooth slide that’d embarrass you if it weren’t for your foggy brain. A part of you internally wonders if it was his cum still slickening you up or if your body really was that greedy and easy for his cock.

“That’s it,” Ghost murmurs in your ear, his voice low, rough. He pulls his hips back by an inch and thrusts back in, hard, like he’s trying to wedge himself impossibly deeper. “Atta girl. Just like that.”

You cry out a mixture of his name and whatever gibberish your brain supplies. All you know is that you’re slurring— begging?— while Ghost fucks into you in short, sharp thrusts, chasing his own pleasure without a care in the world for yours.

One of his hands leaves your hips to rest upon your neck, his thumb in the dip of your throat. He grips lightly, but soon he begins to squeeze tighter and tighter the louder you cry out. Head fuzzy, you rest your cheek against the tile and do your best to breathe with what little oxygen he supplies you. Even without him restricting you, the air is clouded with steam, making the tiny space even hotter. At this point, water isn’t the only thing dripping down your forehead.

The slap of Ghost’s hips against yours is muffled under the water. He turns, his big, strong hands sliding down to tightly grip your waist like you’re his own personal fleshlight, and he bites down on the juncture of your neck again and sucks, teeth grazing the skin, as you feel his movements stutter. Your face is no longer against the tile, freed only briefly so that you can gasp in air and scramble to flatten yourself against the wall while Ghost grunts out an order to stay still.

Cock slipping free, you see Ghost’s arm jolting furiously as he jerks off. He slaps the tip against your ass every so often, smearing pre-cum that gets washed away a few seconds later. Ghost’s eyes are hungry, his chest heaving, and you’re no better. Christ, the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins while you arch your back and wonder, briefly, if shoving him back in was worth the risk.

You don’t have the chance to decide for long, however, because then Ghost is holding you steady and breathing out a low curse as his cock spurts short ropes of cum onto your flushed skin.

“Oh fuck,” You pant weakly.

Ghost makes a noise like he’s agreeing with that sentiment.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting the tension flood from your body; Tension that you weren’t even aware that you held until it became suddenly clear that the ache between your legs and in your thighs might just not be completely from desire.

Groaning, your left hand reaches for the handle and turns it, shutting off the steadily cooling water. Ghost chuckles behind you and you roll your eyes.

“What?” You mutter, unable to help a smile.

“You sore?”

You shove at Ghost’s bicep weakly and he chuckles again before stepping over the lip of the tub onto the bath mat. A towel gets wrapped around his waist, the other one getting tossed over you. With a huff, you wrap it around your shoulders and join him.

“Might need to work on your fitness regime.” Ghost comments. You realize, strikingly, that he looks at ease for the first time since you’ve met.

“I wouldn’t mind daily lessons.”

Ghost turns to you, amused.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Any specific kinks you wanna see in the future? Lemme know in an ask! As always, prompts/requests are open! Check my ficlist for more, my AO3 for additional fics, and thanks so much for reading! ♡♡♡

[tojisteddy]

untitled unmastered

or: simon fucks the brat out of you.

cw: 2.1k words (omfg), mdni 18+, smut with tiny plot, harddom!simon, dub-con, brat taming, edging, dacryphilia, p in v, vibrator, spanking, daddy kink, ddlg dynamics, (lite) degradation, dumbification, squirting, pet names

a/n: I didn’t have a title for this, my bad. There was a chunk of words missing double my bad.

Simon doesn’t do brats.

Plain and simple.

Truthfully there was only enough room for one brat— him. He knew but he was kinda shitty, lovingly shitty (only to you, everyone else didn’t get it) and Fish on Simons good days (the dog that he swore was yours and yours alone because he truly was an annoying little shit).

Simon didn’t have the temper for them.

The blonde didn’t know where the little attitude came from, your period was weeks off, and the man himself (who admittedly had a track list of making you cry ((in the past-ish)) hadn’t done it this time.

But Jesus, you’d spent so long cursing up a storm at him, rolling your eyes and doing the exact opposite of he told you to do— looking back, he let you. He’d let you huff and puff like you’d blow that brick house down, you of all people, his precious Princess, would never get the reaction you wanted out of him.

It’d go on and on, and on till you’d finally notice the silence radiating off of the blonde and the large mahogany front door of the house locks with a ‘click.’

There’s a bone chilling, ‘snap’ as you two stood in the foyer, Ghost pointed his large index finger towards the couch, “Sit.”

“Simo—“

It’s quick, he’s grabbing your forearm, dragging you to the living room and placing you on the couch. A pout forms on your lips, you already know you’re in for it. Internally cursing at yourself, your big brown eyes follow his movement to the steps upstairs.

“I-I don’t want to.” You squeaked out. And Simon stops in his tracks, eyes squinting at you.

“ ‘S it ‘bout what y’want? The fuck did I tell you to do?”

Without another word, he’s up the steps and you can feel the lump in your throat build. He’d let you sit in fear for a few minutes, restless, heart beating louder than the house creaking. You hear Simons heavy footsteps as he comes back downstairs, your brown eyes on him again, and this time his hands aren’t empty.

A little vibrator with a remote in one hand, a pack of cigarettes in the other. He sat on the couch and looked over at you, “Gonna get in daddy’s lap or am I gonna ‘have t’make you?”

Most didn’t know unless you were on an opposing person, Simon was ridiculously heavy handed. Calloused & large hands that were good with multiple weapons of destruction were also good at keeping things in order. Keeping you in order. And the first smack is like a strike of thunder. Egregiously loud, painful, “It hurts!” You yelp out trying to get out of his hold.

“‘S meant to,” he grunts, his lips in a thin line, pulling you back on his lap, rubbing your bottom, soothing it.

The next couple smacks has you thrashing around, trying to apologize ‘I’m sorry’ ’I didn’t mean to’ and trying to get out of this man’s grasp so much he pinned your arms behind your back, smacks down to your thighs now—

Letting out a sigh through his nose, “Make it worse f’y’self, don’t give a shit kid.”

And you sob, body jerking with every swat, then resetting itself properly over Simons lap. Your ass was raw by the time he’d decided to stop, something the older man knew he’d have to take care of later because it would be purple from how bad he bruised it.

Simon almost wants to ask if you’re the crazy one here because despite him making sure your ass was busted and blue— your panties were soaked. To the point it’s starting to get his jeans wet. It’s almost laughable. Almost.

He slides your panties to the side, dipping a thick finger inside the wet ocean that was your hole then replacing said finger with a devilish little vibrator Simon only brought out to fuck with you. And you despised the little thing. Simon lifted you off his lap and to sat you on the ground, right on your aching bottom so he’d see you cry a little more.

You looked so gorgeous crying for him.

He gave you a devlish grin, sucking your remnants that was left on his finger. “You stay like that till I say.”

You frantically shake your head, wiping away the tears, “Daddy I- hicc- I can’t. I can’t do it.”

Simon thinks for a moment, taking a cigarette out of the pack. He cracks his neck, lighting the cigarette after a few ‘flick’s of the lighter that sat it on the coffee table, raising two fingers as he rests his elbows on his knee.

“Got two options, you know ‘em don’t you?” or was your brain already fizzled out?

You’d either: take the vibrator out yourself and make this whole situation ten times worse or you’d handle it.

Good girls handled it, didn’t they?

The blonde had turned the tv on, a burning cigarette hanging from his mouth, nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes were on the monitor, fully laid back like what was happening to you wasn’t happening, but he’d kept you in the corner of his eye. Observing, watching as you withered to a complete, fucked out mess.

“Pa, I wan- I wanna stop. I’m sorry.” You keened, you were fully laid on the floor. Your body trembling on the carpet.

But all Simon did was lift his pointer finger to his lips, shushing you.

“Hear that?” and your eyes are shaky following his gaze as he gestured to the quiet of the room. The only thing heard was the murmur of the tv and your soft mewling as that damned vibrator humming inside you. “It’s what it should always sound like when you don’t piss me off. I don’t think you understand that yet though.”

“I do! I do pa-“

“Shut your fuckin mouth [+].”

Slowly but surely turning the vibrator up, up, up and that fatherly sixth sense kicks in because he knows you, and I mean really knows you. The way you moan, the way you squeeze your legs together for friction, closing your eyes shut because you’re about to cum and at the exact right moment, he turns it all the way down so you won’t.

And every time you beg, plead for forgiveness, you whine, sob, roll around on the floor like a god damn animal. You’d reach out to hold on to him, he’s pushing you off, right on your tender bottom, and turning up the tv.

Simon doesn’t want to hear it. It gives him a headache.

And it goes on like that, for hours.

It could’ve been days and you wouldn’t have realized. edging you to completely dumb you down and sub you out, till you’re on the brink of insanity.

Shaky breaths, and a tear stained face, face laying on the couch and drool & snot wetting the cushions, mumbling incoherent words.

And then you hear it, God speaking, “Come here Kitty.”

And it takes everything in you to pull yourself off the floor, legs just about ready to give out with every little step you made towards Simon. You stood in between Simons thighs, flopping down on your knees and full on weeping into Simons thigh. Oh the dramatics.

Your chest rapidly moved up and down, choking on your on tears. Ghosts large hand came down from what seems to be heaven, taking your face in his hand. You immediately leaned into it, your eyes finding his.

“You understand doin this shit is annoyin don’t you?”

“I- I understand.” you hiccuped, biting your lip to hold in whatever cries were still left in you.

“I don’t like beatin you but you have to understand. You don’t curse at me and bitch all fuckin day and think I’ll let it slide. Didn’t raise you like that, have I?” Simons huffs, going through the end table in search of something, then places it in your hands. “Wipe your face doll.”

“No sir,” you sniffle, wiping away whatever mess was on your face has been left there with the tissues Ghost gave you. “I- I was- I wasn’t bein smart.”

“No, no you weren’t. You were a dumb little brat. You use your words when you’re annoyed at me, think it’s quite a simple thing I ask of you and still you went and threw a tantrum. Almost gave me a headache from that whinin… but it’s just a little fuck up huh, honey?” He lifted your chin in his fingers, still his pretty baby, just a little absent minded.

“Yes sir, I- hmm- hicc- I wanna be gooood,” you slurred, gripping his hand in your own. He hummed, gently pulling you into his arms. Your body immediately melted against him, rubbing your face in his neck as his hands rubbed your back. You hadn’t even realized you started humping his thigh, soft whines leaving your plump lips.

He chuckles, “Damn, you’re fuckin trouble, thinkin with your fuckin cunt. Such a slut. Think I should help you? Hm, let you cum once?” One of his hands trail from your neck, down the valley of your breasts to your ruined underwear, bucking his hips against yours.

You moaned just from his touch, “Need you- need you shoo bad daddy. Only you. I’ll be good- promise! I’ll be good!”

“Turn around then, you know what to do.”

Like instinct, you got your hands and knees on the couch. Gripping the back of it and lifting your ass in the air. Simon ripped your panties off, sliding two fingers inside your cunt to fetch the vibrator that had hiked up inside you. You moaned, lashes fluttering shut and body finally going limp from exhaustion once he pulled it out. Simon caught you though, gripping onto your cheeks from behind and squeezing them together.

“Ah, ah, ah, stay with me now doll, gotta give you what you asked for.”

And all you can do is take it because it’s truly what you need after he’s out you through the wringer. Daddy’s cock giving you a nice and hardy K.O.

“Biiiig stretch, come on baby, fuckin chokin me ‘ere.” He’s rocking into you, slow. Making sure you’re stuffed and every vein of his pulsing dick that was splitting you in half.

As soon as he’s fit himself fully inside your pussy, a smack lands on your bruised ass. You look back at him with those big doe eyes, so fuckin sexy, “Hurts pa.”

“I’m sorry doll,” Ghost crooned, hands trailing up and down the sides of your hips. “Didn’t mean to.” Force of habit.

Your bottom lip stuck itself out, eyebrows furrowing, “You’re lyin.”

That damned smirk can’t help but form on his lips, chuckling before slamming his hips into yours, “Fuck, you’re my pretty girl for a reason. Know me. so. damn. well.”

Simons jackhammering into your cunt, fast and incredibly rude thrusts into your velvety walls. So fucking big, you could see the budge forming in your stomach in your low eyes with every kiss Simon gave your uterus with the tip of his dick.

“I can- I can feel it, alllll the way in my throat pa,” your fucking blabbering whatever was coming to mind, drool starting to come out of your mouth. “ ‘mazin, so amazin daddy. Thank you, thank you,” Hearts were forming in your eyes.

“Tch, So fuckin stupid on my cock, a brainless kitty. You love it, don’t you sweetheart?”

You moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head “Love it soooo m-much nnngh!”

Ghosts hand cums down to your puffy cunt, giving your clit a little flick with his fingers before slowly starting to rub it.

“ ‘M sensitive. It’s sensitive Daddy.” You mumbled, trying to push his hand away but all he did was rub harsher, cooing, “Shhhh, I knooow kid, it’s okay, lean into it.”

Your breath hitched, eyes widening as your stomach turned, you knew that feeling. Too strong, to powerful, too much— “No, ‘s too much-”

“-Cut it out [+],” Simons voice is sharp, it drops lower. the slouching of your sopping cunt and his precum getting louder by the second with every movement.

“The couch’ll get messyyy!” You mewled, You were kicking your legs, as if that would do anything with the position you were in.

Ghost grabbed you by the hair, tight, pulling you you into him, growling in your ear, “Then get it fuckin messy you filthy. bitch.”

And it’s like a guns gone off, you see every single white star forming in your eyes, your whole body shaking, fucking spraying the couch with your juices as you scream. Creaming all over Simons length, dripping down your thighs.

And Simon holds you against his chest, a tender kiss meets your forehead, “good girl, princess.”

a/n: celebrating 2k!!! Thank you everyone so so much!! I love youuuu stinkas🥺 I’m not all that confident in my work but at least one of you reads it. I’m greatful. In the words of Marge Simpson, “whoever you are, thank you🥺😘”

most recent masterlist more meanie!simon

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @figthoughts @tessakate @sevikasblackgf

[uhohdad]

(18+) König x Reader - Jealous of Your Sex Toys

WARNING: Implied Toxic Relationship Dynamic

You’re a grown woman. You are allowed to have sex toys - it’s expected even. And yet, you feel guilty. Caught doing something you shouldn’t have been. Body locked up and eyes wide as you stare down at the brightly-colored silicone sex toys resting in the flat of König’s massive palm.

“You don’t need these. I’m enough for you, ja?”

It’s a simple question - a yes or no question - but you both know there was enough strings attached you could spool it into a ball of abrasive twine.

You weigh your options.

‘Yes’ - No more sex toys for you. A life of relying purely on your fingers and him, clit never knowing the buzz of a vibrator again. Giving into his will and letting him control you to a degree that you know isn’t healthy.

‘No’ -

Well, you can’t say no.

Aside from how soul crushing you understand the weight of that word would be coming from you - it’s far from the truth. He is enough for you. More than enough - too big, even. Too insatiable. Too much of an ego to not leave you whimpering and covered in the evidence of finish after finish until you were begging him to stop.

Your hesitance is somehow worse than either of your impossible options. You should have just blurted the first answer that came to mind.

His brow quirks as his gaze continues to bore into you with sly, half-lidded eyes.

“No?” He asks, with a quirk of his brow and a thrilling glint of mischief in his eye.

You still can’t bring yourself to confirm or deny.

He nods in understanding, his giant hands wrapping around your sex toys, so little in his palms.

“That’s okay, mein Nervenkitzel Sucher,” He purrs, “I can share.”

Your shoulders brace instinctively, insides coiling as tight as that ball of abrasive twine, those attached strings getting more and more tangled with every silken word that rolls from his tongue. He says it’s okay - but it sure doesn’t feel like he means it. Choking you with those tricky strings.

The fistful of your sex toys - your misdeeds, your dirty, shameful little secrets - falls to his side. He approaches with precise steps until he’s between your knees, looming over you.

“I’ll show you,” He says with a dangerous crinkle in his eyes, a sickeningly sweet smile surely hidden underneath that mask.

You unintentionally shrink in on yourself in the shadow of his hulking, commanding figure. A calculated move. Not-so-subtly reminding you of just how small and defenseless you are in his presence. His voice drops, and those brows furrow, that smile surely faded behind the black fabric obscuring his face as he stares down at you intensely.

Your mouth has gone dry, your attempt at words - an apology, a flirt, a joke, anything - leaves you as nothing but a dried out squeak lodged deep in the back of your throat.

“I’ll show you how I share.”

-

“Kmph-Kmph!”

“Sh, sh. Isn’t this what you wanted, Blümchen? To keep both?”

You let out a truly pathetic whine, throwing your head back on the mattress. How many times have you cum?

You lost count, lost your very rationality, lost to him - the gift of bittersweet pleasure twisted into something unbearable.

“Greedy, greedy girl.”

Plugged, stuffed, and spread open. Your vibrator buzzes ruthlessly on your abused, swollen, throbbing clit at a torturous speed. Restrained by your own handcuffs, secured tightly to the headboard and keeping you from putting up the fight that would be useless anyway. There’s surely a metaphor hidden somewhere within this detail - but your thoughts are so clouded with arousal there’s no way you’d be find it.

Too much, too much, König, too much!

And while you know he knows exactly what you’re pleading, your mouth will never form the words - stifled by the drool-covered gag nestled between your lips.

His pumps in and out of you at a punishing pace, thick cock soaked with your arousal and disciplined hips snapping against the back of your thighs, ignoring the tears of pure overstimulation streaking down your temples.

He studies you with narrowed, unreadable eyes, watching you writhe. His stare lingers on your chest, arching and twisting beneath him as you fight the cruel pleasure between your legs. His stare is eerily cold for a man whose cock is being pleasured by a warm, tight cunt. You’re not even sure if he’s enjoying it, or if this is purely a lesson he must teach you in his eyes.

You know he’s trying to prove a point - to show you that you only need one or the other. Can’t you see? Both is just too much for a little girl like yourself to handle.

So choose wisely, little one.

♡ KÖNIG DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[2kiran]

゛ KEEGAN P RUSS ⸝⸝ “damn, kid, who taught you that?”

synopsis. a man who's too starved of attention and a man who's low on patience. you two make a great pair, in spite of the prominent presence of your denial. | word count. 0,9k // 978 ◞

caution. bratty keegan. top male reader. mentioned spanking. gun play. degradation kink. dumbification. rough anal sex. no use of protection (wrap it before you tap it). namecalling (whore, slut).

3KVENT NAVI ﹑ MAIN MASTERLIST

keegan russ who's the epitome of need. he'll shamelessly yearn for your presence, grabby hands clinging onto your shoulder to feign friendliness with the gesture. he grips harsher than necessary, stepping a little bit too close. it's normal; unordinary out of sight, until his clothed cock purposely brushes against your thigh and you decide that act alone is your final straw.

his face nuzzling the pillow within his arms, muffling the high-pitched whimpers that fleed his quivering lips. “please- haah.. don' be a tease.” keegan russ who lazily pushes himself back into your face when your harsh hand relents it's assault on his ass, now replaced with your mellow and wet tongue tracing the red prints.

spittle dribbles down your chin, gathering on his lower cheek. it stung, tears prickling keegan russ' lashes. the angry head of his cock spat out pre, weeping at the feeling of the pink muscle lapping at him. you were right there, his muscles contracting around nothing as he felt your breath hit his hole. if only he knew how to make you move closer.

“or what?” cold and deadly. something so familiar trailing down and down until it heavily rested against the base of his dick.

he's internally panicking, heart skipping beats until his hips gently rock, pursuing that sensation. keegan russ' mouth is lost and locked on his face. “you're fuckin' pathetic. are you not ashamed? a man like you gets so wet from a gun.”

he loves when you use that tone on him. he tilts his head enough, eyes peeking above his shoulder and he nearly cums on polished wood when his stare lands on your kneeling form. your teeth grazes him, tickles his flesh, injecting into his skin and you're suddenly a drug that's inscribed into his being. engraved into that distant heart of his, pounding with life solely for you.

“that's your doin'.” keegan russ states, matter-of-factly. he lets out a drawled whine when you pull away, saliva sticking to him and it's concerning how he doesn't feel an ounce of disgust. the sight has you itching to snap an image of his ass matching the crimson on his flushed face. “did i say you could speak, whore?”

you rise to your feet, fingers wrapping themselves in his strands and tugging him closer to you. he's like an obedient dog, well trained to know the signal, locking his lips onto yours. an intimate tangle, shoving your tongue into his awaiting mouth and swallowing down his surprised moan.

pressing your straining cock against his sensitive backside, it's as if you're sucking the air out of his lungs. he's the first to free himself from the kiss, panting harshly to recover.

“you - hnnn - asked me a question, and 'm not ashamed. i want it, want you.” he's murmuring through dreamy breaths, hips gently rolling to wordlessly convince you to finally fuck him.

the muzzle of your gun coaxes out a bone-chilling pattern up his length, rubbing along the underside of his tip. your jaw tenses, clenches, attempting not to lose your temper and give in immediately. his teasing undeniably worked on you, the memory of that daring look he passed you too tempting for you to rid of.

the hard structures built in his mouth dug into the silk case of the pillow, drool seeping and smearing across the material. his groans barely dulled, sobbing freely to eradicate the blur in his vision. keegan russ reduced to a stupefied slut, bent to your will as he's teetering both on the edge and your last nerve.

“is that th - the best you can do?” he gasps, clenching around you.

you grind inside of him, cock caressing his prostate with slow, smooth motions. drawing out, rim taut around the thickness. “shut it.” your hips slam forward, jolting the man and it has pain striking his abdomen when the edge of the desk jabs him.

the pistol sits neatly within your hold, pointed to the back of his head. it sends an abrupt shiver to his spine, the sense of death overwhelming him. “shit, you're so tight. what, you don't want me to pull out that badly?” he doesn't get to answer. you don't let him.

keegan russ who almost shrieks when your other hand grabs his hip, the bruising grip failing to genuinely hurt as you force him to fuck himself on your dick. “hnnngh! it's—” he interrupts himself with a loud gasping-moan, muzzle pressing on him harder.

“not your fault? just look at yourself.” you guide him, hole clinging onto you desperately, as if he's keeping you in - begging you to stay inside of him. he's never felt so full, unable to form rational sentences that would defend his current state. “all dumb 'cause of my cock. can't believe it took a few touches to get you like this.”

the pace quickens, body numbing from the force. you wrap an arm around his middle, yanking him upwards. the weapon against his temple, reminding him of it's presence, a weak whimper falling in between the pleasure-blinding moments. “what a slut you are.”

your leaky tip repeatedly rammed his sweet spot, his walls carrying the shape of your size. keegan russ cries out, hands reaching your forearm to ground himself to reality. a zip of ecstasy runs through him and up to cut his train of thoughts. brain idly sensing how your finger was centimeters away from the trigger.

his dick twitches, pearly, thick ropes spurting from his neglected slit. he would've doubled over if it wasn't for your strong hold keeping him in place, lowering the gun and kissing his cheek whilst he comes down from his high.

keegan russ groans out, the sound mixing with a half-whine. he was needy, and you lacked the copious amount required of patience to tolerate it. he had to have more. “why'd you stop?”

[simonz-angel]

LOVE YOUR WRITING 😝😝‼️

can we get simon fluff please?? 🙏

purely sfw, like how he’d cheer you up after a bad day. some hugs, kisses, cuddles, jokes, tickles, etc. etc. 💜

hii lil nonnie!! i hope i did this justice… dunno if you noticed but i typically don’t lean towards the sweet stuff. anyways please lemme know if you love this or not (or anyone plz guys) i put some real love into this just for you sweet pie ♡♡♡

❥ simon… the big, broody man? nah, he’s an absolute ball of fluff, of candy-like sweetness that melts into you with every touch, soul binding to yours with every sweet kiss, every sweet moment.

❥ he’d be one to kiss you every step through the door, it was like he couldn’t get enough. could never memorize the softness of your lips, the hesitation in your touch, unsure if he’s hurt. it was dizzying every time, his thin, cracked lips simply pressed against yours had worlds colliding, his world splitting open.

❥ and he’s the type to crack his eyes open right when the suns rising, feet padding their way to kitchen to get a roast heated. and you’d soon be behind him, in one of his big t-shirts, hair tousled, eye brows scrunched and pouting up at him. god, it was a sight every morning, and gah it had him soaring, depths into the heavens to know he had you beside him.

❥ he loved how when he barged through the door bloody and battered he had someone to lean on. you’d be rushing over, pressing your lips to his cheek then to his before you’re guiding him to the bathroom. your gentle heart is what he fell in love with, the way you’d care so deeply and the way your warmth could mute any pain in these worlds.

❥ he hated how he succumbed so deeply to every desire of yours, but when you’d beg for five more minutes in bed, he’d sigh softly and grip you tighter, pulling you further into him. sitting warm beneath the sheets, limbs tangled as your inhales matched rhythm and your exhales combined, dancing around.

❥ or when you’d convince him for late night snuggles up on the couch, pleading with a “the movies almost over, please si?” and he could never reject your glowing eyes, your lips pulled so downward your cheeks begin to dimple. it’d always end with you asleep against the soft beat of his heart, a lullaby truly. and he’d have to pick you up bring you up to your bedroom.

❥ he’s one to admire audibly. whispering sweet things for only your being to hear, voice so soft it barely touches the air. mumbling at how your so perfect, so beautiful, the best thing life has granted for him. he’d go through lives n lives of hardships if it meant he had you waiting for him.

❥ he’s one to crack jokes to see your pretty teeth sparkle when your lips pull into the most shattering smiles he’s ever seen. it was mesmerizing every fuckin’ time, watching you giggle and shoo at him as your cheeks flushed and your lungs hiccuped for a deep breath.

❥ n when you wouldn’t smile, when you’d brush him off with a tired eyes a droop to that memorable smile, his heart would fail. and he’d sit you down, fingers dancing along your scalp to feel your soft breaths against his chest. he’d let you speak your mind, not interrupting, purely listening to how horrible your day went.

❥ and when it came to cheering you up he knew just how. he had methods, late walks, skin to skin, a movie, a warm filling meal. or simply the best jokes and the sweetest sarcasm that had your eyes rolling and cheeks balling in a smile.

❥ it was easy to see simon as some sort of monster, a fearful man born without an ounce of empathy. but when he meant you, that all seemed to crumble down, as he began to trust, when his heart began to pump wildly every time your name touched his ears, you were his forever.

[celestialprincesse]

i love you and your writing so fuckin much babes🥹💗😭

would you write about simon with a partner whose libido has decreased due to taking antidepressants

i think he takes them too so he might have the same issue

it's ok if you don't wanna ik it's a bit weird sorry to bother you

It's not at all weird! I take antidepressants and the way it fucked with my sex drive was such a confusing side effect🫠

Having long since devolved into a mess of tangled limbs and sloppy kisses, a calloused hand creeping under the fabric of your shirt as you and Simon make out on the couch, you know the trajectory that tonight seems to follow. Should follow. But, like a moored boat, no matter how much you want to drift off into the desire faintly tugging at the back of your mind like a calling tide, you can't.

It's not that you feel uncomfortable with him, not at all. You just...don't feel like it. But it'll be fine. It just takes a while to get going. You just need a minute.

"Hey."

Fuck. His hands have stopped roving, moved back from their hazardous purchase on the clasp of your bra to settle on your lower back with soothing weight and warmth.

You give a noncommittal hum, trying to melt back into Simon's body, to give back in to it, to unmoor the boat and drift off into the blissful sway of the waves.

"Look at me." His hand on your chin stops you in your tracks, forcing you to meet his stern, worried eyes. "We don't have to - to fuck or anything, yeah?"

The way he sees through you, and your feeble attempts at trying to work yourself up, it's embarrassing. Why can't you just give in to it? Most people would jump up and down to have sex with a man like Simon, and yet here you are having to think about the shitty smutty books you used to read or sex scenes in trashy corset-ripper romance shows just to get out of your own head.

"I want to." You lie, feebly, at that. Judging by the furrow of his brows, almost offended, he can see that you're lying too.

"No, you don't." He huffs, keeping your cheeks smushed between his fingers to prevent you from interrupting, leaving your brows furrowed like a petulant child. "I get it, you know." Simon continues, his free hand smoothing back the hair he'd mussed up in your haphazard make out session. "When I'd just started out in the SAS, I got put on fluoxetine. Used to get taken the piss out of for not getting it up."

You can't help the way your brows furrow sympathetically at the thought of your Simon being made fun of for something so juvenile and silly.

"I get it, m' not fussed about it, either. If sitting here sucking each other's faces off is all you feel up to doing, that's more than fine by me."