#call of duty smut

[pedropascallme]

Teach Me Something

Pairing: König x f!Reader

Summary: “But the thermal wear was tight, hugging your body and intensifying your silhouette. Maybe it could be considered sexy; maybe part of you hoped that König would think so.”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) p in v sex, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), face fucking, forced proximity, size kink, mentions of overstimulation, use of honorifics (“Colonel”) in a sexual scenario, dom/sub dynamics, dom!König but he's pathetically needy, rough sex, dirty talk (a lot of it is in German), creampie, implication of cumplay, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: One bed trope CAUSE I CAN. Also I don't speak German, so if you do speak German and this sounds like absolute gibberish to you, I'm sorry in advance <3

What had seemed like a promising respite from such a drawn-out mission had swiftly proven to be less than liberating and more of a tease.

On the outside, the safehouse looked like a cabin out of a Christmas movie—something cheesy and re-watchable that you might put on around the holidays as background noise. Sturdy, light wood, powdered with snow.

It didn't look out of place in the forested locale, and anybody passing through would likely think it was a fixture of the area; a quaint vacation home to a little nuclear family.

But on the inside, it was absolutely barebones, and that was putting it lightly.

A raw sort of cold crept in through cracks, and the breeze inched over the thick layers of dust on every surface. It looked like you and König would be the first people to use it in months, if not years.

The chill was uncomfortable, and while the fireplace would've been a delightful way to quell the chatter of your teeth, you knew you couldn't use it—smoke from the chimney could alert anybody of your whereabouts, and the last thing you wanted right now was more practice in self-defense.

There was a small armchair pushed into one corner, and the green velvet faded on the back to reveal frayed weaving. One single bed was pushed to the far side of the tiny room, seemingly frozen in time, and you wondered if the blankets would even peel back from the mattress.

The only source of light was a standing lamp, and when you yanked the cord, it flickered piteously.

Instructions had been clear, and you knew you'd only be here for a night before you had to keep moving, but you couldn't help but huff at the state of the cabin when you had spent all day on the move.

König walked in behind you with a huff; he hated snow, and he abhorred waiting in a safehouse like a sitting duck all the more.

“Mein Gott…” He shook his head, shivering dramatically.

“It’s just a little snow, Colonel.”

You could’ve laughed at the display. You knew he was overreacting; he tended to, and a man of his size couldn’t get cold very easily.

“We will freeze before evacuation, maus.” He grumbled, closing the door with a grunt.

“You’ll live.” You cooed, smiling.

You wouldn't go as far as calling him your friend, but König was certainly a welcome presence despite his intimidating demeanor. He was clever, and an effective soldier; a generally amiable person when he was in the right mood.

And it helped that he was nice to look at.

You appreciated that he actually spoke during operations. Some people—especially superior officers, you'd found—preferred to stay stoic and silent, even at the best of times. But König was chatty, in his own right.

It was clear that he liked the sound of his own voice, but you didn't mind; he could be funny, a refreshing source of entertainment on and off the field. His thick accent and less than stellar pronunciations often led to even more amusement in conversations with him.

He never spoke about himself—you didn't even think König was his real name; you knew it probably wasn’t. But it was the name he responded to, and it was the one you mumbled when thoughts of him forced their way to the front of your mind as you pressed down just right on your clit.

You made your way to the derelict bed, unhooking your chest rig and tossing it onto the mattress. You half expected the frame to collapse, but it was a pleasant surprise when all you got was a quiet squeak from the bedsprings.

“What are you doing?” König watched intently as you lay your belongings out.

“Putting my stuff down.” You looked at him over your shoulder, quirking a brow.

“On the bed.” He was just voicing what he saw, but you knew he had ulterior motives.

“Didn’t see your name on it,” you turned to face him properly, eying him where he leaned against the door. “Take the chair.” You nodded at the armchair in the opposite corner of the room.

König scoffed softly.

“You are joking?”

“Or you could take the floor,” you couldn’t help but smile; you enjoyed riling him up. “Plenty of room for you to stretch out.”

He shook his head, and you watched his eyes narrow behind the mask.

“No. You are smaller than me. You sleep in the chair; I have the bed.” He said it with a sense of finality, reminding you that he was, in fact, in charge.

“That’s not fair.” You argued, crossing your arms.

“You wanted me to sleep on the floor,” he pushed himself off the wall and took a step closer to you, “I am being kind.”

“You’re not,” you scowled, “Not at all gentlemanly, either.”

He chuckled, tilting his head to the side.

“If you will make such a fuss, we will sleep in the bed together, Kleine.”

“Seriously?” You balked at his words, caught off guard.

“Is it a bad idea?” It was almost as if he was goading you; toeing the line to see if you’d agree or if you’d back down.

It wasn’t uncharacteristic of him; he enjoyed teasing you as much as you enjoyed teasing him. He liked to see how hard he could push you when you were deployed together. It brought him a sort of contentment to see you squirm.

It was innocent, as far as you were concerned, and he knew he had the power to do it.

“No…” you decided not to bow to his prodding. “I just—are we allowed to…I mean, I’m fine with it, if you’re fine with it.”

You practically scoffed, uncrossing your arms and gesturing vaguely.

“I just…yeah. No—yeah, that’s a—…let’s just share,” you nodded, trying to reason aloud as you made your decision. “Better for…body heat.”

He nodded, and you were certain he was smiling beneath his mask.

You grabbed your chest rig from the bed and tossed it onto the armchair. Slowly, you began peeling off your kit. The thermal under layer of your uniform was perfect for sleep, and you weren’t about to crawl into bed with the military-grade fabric still on.

But the thermal wear was tight, hugging your body and intensifying your silhouette. Maybe it could be considered sexy; maybe part of you hoped that König would think so.

You shoved your clothes onto the chair with your chest rig, turning back to face the bed.

König had already prepared himself for bed, and you were nearly startled when you looked up to see his mask gone.

It was a rarity; he wore it 90% of the time, probably more as an intimidation tactic, but you also assumed it was a comfort thing.

The more shocking revelation was that he’d stripped down completely, forgoing even the thermals, as he sat on the edge of the bed in just his boxers.

“Not gonna get cold?” You quirked a brow, not at all unsatisfied by the unobstructed view of his form, but still a bit taken aback.

“It is nice in here,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders before rubbing a hand over his chest. “And your body will be warm.”

His phrasing made you roll your eyes, but you smiled just a little.

“Alright, Colonel,” you shook your head, “Sure.”

You ambled over to the bed, pulling the blanket back and frowning when you realized how thin the material was. But you situated yourself beneath it all the same, lying on your side and eager to curl up and allow yourself to get some rest.

When König maneuvered himself beneath the blanket next to you, you threw a look over your shoulder at him.

“No funny shit,” you glared, though it was playful, “Hands to yourself, or I’ll cut them off.”

König laughed lightly, folding his arms over his chest.

“I will not touch you, Kleine.” He was amused by your threat, but humored you.

“Good answer.” You settled back onto your side.

You found yourself unable to relax.

The room hadn’t warmed up in the short time you’d been inside, and you couldn’t seem to garner the warmth to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. The thermal clothing wasn’t doing much, and the wind howling against the wood of the cabin put you on edge.  

If you were less proud, you might have pushed yourself up against König in search of warmth and comfort. Instead, you let yourself continue to shiver, huffing softly.

But your exasperated sigh turned into more of a stunned gasp when you felt König reach out for you, tugging you into him until your back pressed against his chest.

“Said hands to yourself.” You mumbled, though the relief was immediate. The warmth of his body permeated the thermal shirt you donned and sept into your skin.

“Sh,” he splayed his hand against your stomach. “Dir ist kalt.”

“I’m not cold. I’m…” You tried to think of a valid argument, “I’m not cold.”

He grunted, a wordless response of disbelief.

The room fell quiet again, and you stayed pressed against his body. Part of you was tempted to grab his hand, lace your fingers with his and lean into the situation. But you stayed still and just appreciated the position you’d been pulled into.

“You understand me often now,” König’s voice broke through the silence. “You did not know German like this before.”

“Hard not to pick up on bits and pieces,” you were whispering, but you weren’t sure why. “Most of what you say over comms is German.”

“You are learning, maus,” he seemed pleased, his thumb brushing over your stomach. “Tell me.”

“I know that maus means mouse,” your voice picked up a bit, eager to share the small amount of German you had learned. “Was war das means what was that. Schnell is quickly, ich weiß is I know.”

You paused, thinking for a moment before you continued.

“Verdammt is damn it, and geh zum Teufel means go to hell. I think.”

He let out a small laugh behind you, and you felt his chest move against your back.

“Gut.” Though you couldn’t see it, you could hear the motion of his head against the pillow as he nodded.

You found the confidence to turn over, adjusting yourself enough to face him while staying pressed to his chest.

“Will you teach me more?” You asked, sincerely curious about the other phrases you'd heard him use.

He smiled. “What do you want to know, maus?”

“Will you…” you smirked, thinking, “Will you teach me more curses?”

“Girl after my heart,” he chuckled, running his hand over your back in an oddly docile gesture. “Ja, I will show you.”

He thought for a moment, squinting into the dark of the room as he considered where to begin.

“Em…to call someone’s mother a whore: huresohn.”

“Starting strong.” You laughed, chancing a glance at him.

“There are no weak curses in German.” He smiled down at you. “Scheiße is shit.”

“I know that one.” You yawned, placing an open palm on his chest.

“Fine, then, you are so proud of your skill; Weißt du was Schlampe ist?” He quirked a brow at you, smug.

“You’re going too fast—” you complained, pushing against his chest. “Do I know what what is?”

“Keep up, Kleine.”

“Kleine means small.”

“No—” He furrowed his brow, “Ja, it does, but also ‘little one.’”

You paused, looking up at him again.

“Little one?” You asked, echoing his words.

“Ja.” He nodded, sighing softly.

“Colonel, when you say things like that, I’m almost convinced you have a soft spot for me.” You smiled, putting your other hand on his chest and playfully pushing against him a bit harder.

“Vielleicht,” he moved to place his free hand over one of yours as you pushed him. “Ja.”

There was a pause, both of you taking a moment to stew in the silence and the feeling of each other.

“König…” You were whispering again, staring at how his hand dwarfed your own.

He looked down at you expectantly.

“I have—…I want to know one more thing.” You shuffled up the bed slightly, trying to position yourself to match his eyeline.

“Ok,” he nodded, now moving his hand to toy with a loose strand of your hair. “What?”

“How do you say…”

You could feel yourself shiver, but it had nothing to do with the cold, which you had long forgotten. You worried about overstepping, about saying the wrong thing and making the situation awkward and uncomfortable.

“How do you ask someone to—to kiss you?” You asked anyway.

You saw a flash of something in his eyes.

He paused, tucking your hair behind your ear and letting his fingers trace down your jawline until he could hook a finger under your chin.

“Küss mich.” He scanned your features, watching for a response.

“Küss mich…” You stared back at him, your lips parted.

You felt dazed, but it wasn’t unwelcome; there was a heat in your lower stomach, and it grew with every twitch of his fingers against your skin and with every word he spoke.

“Braves Mädchen.” His words were muttered as he leaned into you, capturing your lips with his and kissing you.

You squeaked, clawing at his chest before slowly reaching around him to pull him closer by the nape of his neck. You could feel his pulse, the quick thrum of his heart pushing against his skin almost as intensely as your own.

The kiss was covetous. He wasted no time pushing his tongue into your mouth, eager to taste every part of you; and you were eager to let him. You cupped the back of his head, pulling him into you, and he perched his hands on your waist, manipulating your body slowly until you were on top of him.

The position was awkward, but you could hardly notice when you were so focused on him. His touch was so warm, and you felt yourself melting beneath his palms; your skin was on fire, but it was a happily received blaze.

The chill of the room that had crept into your bones was long gone, replaced by the heat of his grip on your body.

You trailed your hands over him, taking in the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips. He was so large, muscular in a comforting way, and you whimpered softly against his lips when he gave your hip a squeeze.

“So long,” König mumbled against your jaw, “Have waited so long.”

“For this?” You breathed, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the way his hands trailed over you.

“For you.” He growled, pressing kisses to your throat.

You giggled at the feeling, his lips tickling your pulse point, but he didn’t stop—if anything, it just spurred him on.

“Liebling,” he spoke against the sensitive skin of your neck, “Meine Kleine. Do you know how you tease?”

“I d—I don’t tease, Colonel.” You moaned when he sucked a bruise into your neck.

“You are doing it now,” he tsked, “Telling me no hands—if that is what you want, shall I stop, ja?”

“No...” You whined; the thought of him removing himself from you now was deeply upsetting.

König huffed a laugh against your throat, straightening back up to meet your gaze again.

“Always teasing,” he reiterated as he brought his hand to your face, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. “In these silly clothes when I invite you to bed with me.”

“Off—” Your plea came out rushed and unfinished, “Take them off, then.”

He laughed louder now, pleased by your zeal.

“Greedy maus,” he ran his thumb over your cheek, “Move, then—I will help.”

You scrambled to push yourself off of him, sitting up and waiting to see what he’d do—whether you’d be faced with further instructions, or if he’d simply take the opportunity to strip you as you’d asked him to.

He sat up with you, studying you as you clamored to kneel next to him on the mattress.

“Come.” He beckoned you, and you shuffled forward until your face was mere inches from his.

He caressed your sides, and despite the gentle, chaste nature of the touch, you whimpered softly. König curled his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head slowly—almost teasingly, as he exposed your top half.

It wasn’t out of any urge to taunt you, he was just so thrilled to be able to see you bare yourself to him; to scan every inch of your flesh.

He tossed the shirt to the side, and you made a mental note to grab it later so you didn’t leave without it.

“Back,” he instructed, pressing on your shoulder to encourage you to lie down, and you obliged happily. “Raise your hips, Kleine.”

You pushed yourself off the mattress awkwardly, trying to give him the space he needed to strip you of the final bits of fabric.

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your thermals, huffing impatiently when he realized that you had underwear on beneath the thermal layer. But he chuckled as he peeled both articles of clothing down your legs, and you let out a quiet gasp as the cool air of the room hit your core.

“So eager,” he tutted, tossing your bottoms in the same direction he’d thrown your top. “Just a touch. You are so easy to please.”

“Shut up…” You muttered, turning your head to the side to hide your satisfaction.

He grunted, bringing his hand to your face and squeezing your cheeks as he moved your head to look up at him again.

“Cruel girl—this is no way to talk to your Colonel.” The cold blue of his eyes somehow seemed to turn red hot; demanding and predatory.

“König—” you stuttered, “Colonel. Please.”

“What would you like, Kleine?” He kept his hand on your face, enjoying the way his palm swallowed you. “Be honest.”

“Fuck me,” you breathed, “Want you to fuck me.”

Upon hearing your words, he laughed, removing his hand from your face and trailing it over your exposed breasts.

“Fuck you? Already?” He kneaded the plush flesh of your chest. “We will be here all night, meine Liebe—I want to enjoy you.”

“Now you’re teasing.” You whined, arching your body into his touch.

“No,” he shook his head with a smirk, his eyes never leaving your chest as he groped you. “I will make you feel nice.”

With that, he leaned over you. His tongue followed a messy trail over your tits; circling your nipples before pressing his lips against the pillowy skin to suck deep marks into you. He treated it like a game—a meal, even, as he nipped at you, learning and memorizing what would make you squirm beneath him.

When he grazed his teeth over your nipple, you let out a sharp moan, reaching down to press his face further into your chest.

“No hands.” He mumbled into your skin, and you sighed dreamily.

“Think we’re past that…” You let your other hand wander over his shoulder blade.

“We are not,” he pushed himself off of you, forcing your hands away as he rose. He found enough balance to grab both your wrists, pressing them into the pillow on either side of your head. “You must listen when I say these things, Kleine.”

You whimpered, nodding an affirmative.

“Do you understand?” He looked down at you, “You will tell me. Speak.”

“Yes,” you nodded again, swallowing. “I understand, Colonel.”

He let go of your wrists, and his chest heaved; with lust or pride, you couldn’t tell, but it was likely a combination of both.

As he pushed himself down the bed, he couldn’t seem to separate himself from your body; pressing his face, his lips, into your skin; murmuring against you as if he wanted your bones to hear the filth that fell from his mouth.

“Such a pretty girl,” he mouthed just beneath your navel, “Finally behaved.” 

You bucked your hips, trying to encourage him to bring his mouth down to where you needed it most. But he bypassed your cunt completely, situating himself between your legs and biting at your thighs, only eyeing your core.

“Maus…” He sighed the petname, pressing kisses to your inner thigh before finally releasing his grasp on your leg. “So wet from kisses?”

He leaned forward, as if to drown his senses in you; your scent and your image, he wanted to appreciate it fully.

“Pathetic, a bit, mm?” He swiped a finger through your folds, collecting your slick, and you whimpered. “So desperate, to drip like this…”

“König,” you were whispering, afraid to warp the charged atmosphere. “You can do anything; just do something.”

He laughed at that, basking in the pleas you directed towards him as he removed his hand from your cunt and pressed a kiss to your clit.

“Schlampe.”

He buried his face against you, pushing his tongue into your entrance and lapping up the slick that dripped from your core.

You moaned, raising your hips off the mattress in an effort to find even more friction. König pressed down on your hips, effectively pinning you to the bed; holding you captive with his grasp and the movement of his mouth.

“Sweet engel,” he moaned against your cunt, “You taste like heaven, Kleine.”

“Fuck—” His actions were one thing, but his words hit you hard; it felt like forever since you’d been with someone who showed so much enthusiasm.

His gruff moans as he lapped you up only served to push you further towards the precipice of total pleasure, and you could feel yourself teetering over the edge already.

“You are so excited, Liebling,” König groaned bringing a hand up to press two thick fingers against your entrance. “Wetting my face this way, but still too tight for my hand.”

He began to nudge your hole, letting his fingers circle your entrance before sinking into you. He went as far as the first knuckle before stopping.

“Scheiße,” he cursed as he watched your cunt struggle around his fingers, “How will you take my cock, Kleine?”

You whimpered at the way his fingers stretched you; penetrating you shallowly, but enough to make you feel so full.

“You can—I’ll—I can take it,” you stammered, “Please, Colonel, make me take it.”

“Bitte…” König’s moan neared a whimper, pushing his fingers deeper into you. He bucked his hips against the mattress in response to your words and the filthy squelch of your cunt around his hand. “Whatever it is you want, maus, I will do for you.”

“More,” you begged softly, “Want more.”

He smirked, more to himself than to you, and continued his ministrations.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, flicking his tongue over you as he fucked you with his fingers. Whenever he heard you let out a soft gasp, he increased his pace.

“Probably one more can fit,” he spoke against your pubic mound, his lips finding purchase on your body again and exploring more of you with his tongue as he threatened your entrance with another finger. “Ja, Kleine?”

“Yes—another one.” You were so hot, maybe even sweating as he worked you open, but the flush of your skin did nothing to discourage you from whimpering for his hand. 

He pushed a third finger into you, and the stretch made your body contort; your back arched and your legs tensed. The pads of his fingers danced over your most delicate spot as he thrust them in and out of you.

The pressure in your abdomen was immense, but damn, if it didn’t feel amazing.

And he was thrilled by you. Every sound you made and every clench of your walls around him made König feel lightheaded, grinding himself down against the bed just for a moment of relief; imagining the pure bliss that would be getting to bury himself inside of you.

He could feel his boxers growing damp, the tip of his cock crying for you, just as you cried out for him.

“Little thing, so tight,” he was moaning, his sounds almost as eager as your own as he lay his head on your thigh to watch his fingers work you open. “Verdammt, Schatz—bitte, bitte, cum on my hand like this.”

He dipped his head down to lick the slick that coated his fingers, gradually moving his tongue so that it dragged over his fingers and up to your clit. He sucked the bud between his lips, and you white-knuckled the pillow beneath your head with both hands, the pleasure overwhelming to the point that it was almost too much.

You came with a cry of his name, just as you always did; but this time he was there with you to hear it; this time he was the one manipulating you to feel the rush of ecstasy.

“Hübsche Hure…” König continued to push his fingers in and out of you, determined to push you to the brink and see just how much you could take as your legs trembled from the overstimulation. “So good for your Colonel. So good to let me prepare you.”

You keened under his praise, your eyelids heavy. When he removed his fingers from you, you regained your senses as the pleasure that had wound itself so tightly around your muscles began to dissipate, leaving you in a hazy state of fucked-out bliss and feeling empty.

You reached down to brush your knuckles over his cheek, and he closed his eyes when your hand made contact with him, still resting on your thigh.

“You will look so pretty wrapped around me, Liebling.” He murmured, turning his face and kissing your hand.

He’d seemed to have forgotten about his previous request that you keep your hands to yourself—that, or he was too drunk off of you to care, content with the domestic gesture of your fingers trailing over his skin.

“Show me,” you whispered, the dull ache his fingers had left in your core swelled at his words, and you found yourself squeezing your thighs together in anticipation. “I want more.”

“Eine Schlampe tut es immer,” he muttered. He moved to lick up your thigh, savoring the slick that had gathered there to make your skin shiny and syrupy. “You will stay like that.”

You nodded, watching him perch himself on the edge of the bed before he stood.

You almost felt like you should avert your gaze; he fiddled with the waistband of his boxers, and you noticed the slick spot on the fabric that highlighted his need for you. It flooded you with a new wave of arousal—to want and to be wanted was such a tremendous thing.

But it was when he removed his boxers that you felt your breath hitch, eyes widening slightly in an almost comic way before you turned your head to stare up at the ceiling.

You had figured his mentions of readying you were just rooted in König being typically boastful. But the image of his cock, hard and weeping and big, as it sprung free from the confines of his boxers made you recognize that his preparatory measures were warranted.

Your mouth watered, but you maintained your gaze on the ceiling.

“Look,” König approached the edge of the bed, “Look at me, Kleine.”

You didn’t really need to be told twice, shifting onto your side to admire him; big might’ve been an understatement, and your lips parted as you lay still, just staring.

“Touch.” The harshness in his voice as he delivered the command was undercut by the tender way he reached for your hand and guided it to his cock.

You wrapped your fingers around the base, and König let out a short sound of approval. It made you feel powerful, to have a man like him by the cock, to be forcing such sweet noises up from his chest.

But mostly it just made you want even more.

“Bitte,” he bucked his hips leisurely into your hand, your dry palm creating the friction he’d been chasing, “Your mouth, engel. Taste.”

You hummed at his request, leaning forward to lick circles over the head of his cock. The sound that came from his throat was choked, stifled as best he could manage when you took the tip beyond your lips and hollowed your cheeks.

“Oh—Gott,” he tilted his head back, eyes closing as he relished the way you wrapped your lips around him. “Perfekter kleiner mund.”

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was saying, but you knew enough to know that he liked what you were doing, and it spurred you on.

You leaned further into him, trying your best to take more of him into your mouth and down your throat. A bit less than halfway down his shaft, you found yourself gagging; spluttering around him as you jerked the rest of his length in your hand. He grunted out a curse, bringing a hand to your hair and tugging gently at your roots.

“Very nice, maus,” he groaned when you glanced up at him, lips still wrapped around his cock, choking on him. “Take it deeper.”

You lifted yourself off of him, drooling.

“Too much…” You croaked out, “Too—too big. I can’t.”

It felt so conformist to say; expected, like an actress in a porno, faking it for the camera. And despite the fact that the words that left your mouth seemed almost cringeworthy, what you said was true: there was no way you'd be able to manage taking all of him.

But you loved a challenge.

“I was not asking,” he tsked, tightening his grip on your hair and earning a moan that traveled from your mouth in a breathy puff. “Put your mouth back. I will help.”

You whimpered, rubbing your thighs together as you lowered yourself back onto his cock and wrapped your lips around him. His authoritative nature on the field was always more attractive than it should’ve been, but this took the cake.

König fucked into your mouth like it was a toy, guiding you up and down over his cock, using your hair like a handle as he pulled you over his length.

You choked, spit and tears mingling on your face and dripping down his length, and he seemed to enjoy the sight as much as you enjoyed the feeling; his moans grew louder, the image of you helpless under his grasp getting him off in equal measure as the feeling of your mouth on his stiff cock.

He pulled you off abruptly, removing his grip from your hair and trailing his hand from behind your head to perch on your cheek. He wiped stray tears from your face with his thumb.

“I will cum if we keep playing this way, Kleine,” he panted, “And I would rather fill your cunt.”

You moaned wantonly at his words alone; he spoke so plainly, clear about his intentions, and you whimpered at the notion of having him spill inside of you.

“Fuck me, then,” you sighed, using the back of your hand to wipe your mouth. You took on a playful cadence, “Don’t keep me waiting, König.”

“Not waiting,” he shook his head, grabbing you by the chin and forcing your eyes on him. “Preparing.”

“Show me what you were preparing me for, Colonel.” You smirked, watching his face contort in arousal and a smug sense of assuredness.

He didn’t hesitate to climb onto the bed and hover over you, pressing a kiss to your chest just above your breasts before settling between your legs.

“You are impatient,” he muttered, “I only wanted to make you comfortable, Liebling.”

He held your hip in a vice grip, tugging you down the bed a bit to line himself up with you.

“No complaints when you are given what you have begged for.” He looked down at you, under obvious strain from his desire; his eyes had grown shadowy to the point of turning gray in the dim light of the room.

He ran his cockhead through your folds, grunting at the feeling of your slick mingling with the spit you had left coating his cock. He pushed his hips further, breaching your entrance with a groan.

Your hips moved on their own accord, rising to meet him, as you mewled.

“Ja, gut,” he moaned, “You need more—you need it all.” König kept his eyes glued on your cunt, watching his cock disappear into you.

He was growing impatient, sinking into you slowly had him gritting his teeth and breathing hard. You, too, felt restless at the pace; you could feel the stretch so viscerally, the pressure of his cock against your walls, the pain that faded into pleasure, and you craved more—you craved everything he had to give you. All of it.

“König,” you whined beneath him, squirming slightly, “Give it to me—I won’t break.”

“And if I want you to?” He queried, his voice low and wolfish.

You whimpered. It wasn’t often you felt vulnerable; guns strapped to your hip and a legion of other soldiers behind you. But now you felt exposed, prey waiting for the final act, and you relished in it.

“Do it.” You begged, waiting to see what he would do with the permission you gave him.

You didn’t have to wait long; König thrust his hips forward until they pressed against your own. He bottomed out with a whine, knocking the air from your lungs.

You cried out, full and stretched in such a foreign way. But you wrapped your legs around his hips as you writhed beneath him, locked in a battle with your pleasure.

“So tight,” he was panting, whimpering; six-foot-ten and easily 200 pounds heavier than you, and all it took for König to completely lose his edge was the feeling of your cunt wrapped so deliciously around him. “You—Scheiße, you are swollen with me.”

He traced a hand over your stomach, pressing against the bulge his cock produced, and you moaned at the sinful gesture.

He was just as overcome with lust, entranced by the image of your body squeezing around him, opening for him like a toy. He seemed so content to simply look and feel for a moment, but you grew impatient.

“König…” You pressed your heel against his back, trying to express your urgent need for him to move, to speak—to do anything that would let the pleasure spring free from the coil that had begun to tighten itself so harshly in your abdomen.

He swallowed, nodding in a manner that made it seem as though your words had brought him back down to earth. He pulled out of you slowly, hesitant to leave the warmth of your cunt, and you whimpered; you could feel every vein, and the round head of his cock dragged against your walls to further overstimulate your core. You bucked your hips, chasing the feeling.

“Oh, meine Liebling,” he shuddered, “Du willst es verdammt nochmal, eh?” He rumbled, drawing his hips back until the tip of his cock just barely penetrated you. “I will give it to you, Kleine.”

He pushed himself back into you just as harshly as he had the first time, and again you screamed for him, grabbing at his forearms and clawing at his skin in an attempt to ground yourself before the bliss became too much for you to handle.

“You want to break?” He muttered in your ear, his labored breaths fanning the side of your face, “Then you will break.”

“It—oh my god, König, please—” You pushed your head back against the pillows, angling your body closer to his to allow him free reign over you. “Fuck, it’s so much—so fucking—please.”

“Was willst du, Kleine?” He cooed, licking over of your collar bone, “You would like more?”

“M—more,” you managed, “Yes. More.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning at your stammered pleas, and he was more than willing to deliver.

He straightened up, grabbing you by the hips and practically hauling your bottom half up like you were a ragdoll; you whined, loosening your legs around his waist as he was clearly able to support you on his own.

He fucked into you like a toy, like your body was for him and him alone to use in whatever manner pleased him, and you relished in the control he exhibited over you.

“Tiefer,” he grit his teeth as he forced himself into you roughly, “You are easy to use this way, schlampe—so beautiful. Take all of my cock, engel, be good for your Colonel.”

You couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone a verbal reply. You stared up at him with lust-blown eyes, expressing your feelings through heady moans as he pushed the air from you.

You couldn’t help the way your hand meandered from its spot beside your head, leaving its home in the fabric of the pillow to trail down your body so that you could brush your fingers over your clit while König ravished you. You just needed that little push, the outer stimulation to match what he offered you, so that you could free-fall into satisfaction.

And perhaps he’d changed his mind about disallowing you to touch—he hadn’t disputed the way you’d grabbed at his arms when he’d sunk into you. Besides, he seemed too focused on your cunt to worry about any previous demands. Either way, there was only one sure-fire method to find out.

But König wasn’t pleased by the initiative you took. He dropped you, pressing one hand roughly against your hip bone to keep you still as his other hand flew to your wrist.

You yelped at the suddenness, but you’d be lying if you said it hadn’t been the reaction you’d wanted.

He stared, almost in shock, at your hand, your fingers still grazing your clit, before practically throwing your arm back to your side and leaning over you, looming.

“No hands,” he pressed his body against yours, engulfing you, “You have not listened, Kleine.” He thrust shallowly into you, not able to stop himself from appreciating the way you felt on his cock despite his urgency in chastising you.

“I thought—” you searched for an excuse, “Thought you wouldn’t mind.”

He chuckled lowly, glaring in a manner that seemed to border on tender.

“I think you are lying,” he accused, “I think you enjoy being treated like this. You are testing me, schlampe.”

You let out a shaky, needy breath in response to his assertion.

“I’m sorry, Colonel.” You mewled, moving to clasp your hands behind your head in an attempt to show him you had seen the error of your ways.

“I do not want your apology,” he grunted, his thrusts increasing in pace suddenly as he planted his hands on either side of you. “I want your pleasure.” He smiled down at you, leering at the way your face contorted in tandem with the way your body contorted to allow the intrusion of his cock. “I would like to feel it.”

He moved to rest on one forearm above you, his free arm snaking between your bodies to replace your hand with his own on your clit.

His fingers were so much bigger than yours, and he was somewhat clumsy as he rubbed circles over you. But the pressure was exquisite all the same, and he pulled new sounds from you that rose from your chest in appreciation of the friction he was granting you.

“Bitte,” he had once again begun speaking through whines, “Bitte, meine Liebe, let me feel how your cunt squeezes. Wet me with your cum—bitte.”

His broken requests, intercut with guttural grunts and whimpered groans, flooded you with heat. He pressed down on your clit right as he pushed his cock deep into you, lifting his hips upward to create an angle that allowed him to press against your most delicate spot.

You tried to stifle the sound that flew from your throat, and found yourself screaming silently into the room as you came.

“O—oh, bitte,” König’s hips stuttered against you, his head falling back as he reeled from the impact your orgasm had on him. “Ja, I—oh, bitte, bitte—”

He let himself fall forward, crushing you under his frame—though the weight of his body was comforting as you trembled through the aftershocks of your high. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, moaning wantonly as he approached his own release.

“Engel, meine Kleine—perfektes Mädchen,” he was only partially coherent as he licked a stripe up your throat. “I—I will fill you, ja? Bitte, would you let me fill you this way?”

“Please, König,” you breathed, overjoyed by the promise of being able to feel his cum leak from your spent cunt. “Cum in me, I want it—I want it, Colonel, please.”

He growled, reaching his tipping point upon hearing your words, beautiful sounds of approval falling from your lips as you expressed your eagerness at the prospect of him finishing inside your perfect cunt.

He came with a loud moan, guttural and sourced from his chest; his hips stuttered erratically against you as he let your cunt milk him.

You whimpered beneath him, accepting the warmth of his spend as it painted your walls.

He stayed on top of you, both of you taking a moment to recalibrate and catch your breath. When your pulse settled, you took the chance and wrapped an arm around him, trailing your fingers in vague patterns over his shoulder blade.

“König,” you whispered, voice hoarse, “You’re a great Colonel, but you’re a fantastic lay.”

 He rested his chin on your chest, staring up at you. He seemed to translate your words at a much slower speed than he normally would.

He shot you a smug look when it finally clicked.

“I am glad I meet your standards,” he sighed, pressing his cheek into your skin and letting the sweat that beaded over you cool his face. “Are you tired, maus?”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t have lied even if you wanted to; your muscles felt loose, and your body sunk into the suddenly cozy mattress.

“Sleep.” He shuffled down your body, maneuvering one of your legs over his shoulders and slotting his face between your thighs.

“What are you doing?” You smiled down at him, and he looked back at you with bright, eager eyes.

“I would like to clean the mess I made.” He replied in a tone that made it seem as though his plan should have been obvious to you.

You hummed, squeezing his head lightly with your thighs.

“Mm...so the mask is really just a muzzle, hm?” You mused.

“We will be here all night,” König smiled, nipping at your thigh as he reiterated his earlier words. “I want to enjoy you.”

☆Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi :)☆

[wetpussyju1ce]

Awkward Alpha könig x Omega fem reader (smaller than König)

+18. mdni

big awkward Alpha König with the prettiest Omega in town as his girlfriend. he didn't even ask her out. she's the one who decided he'd be the perfect boyfriend and told him he should take her out. and he was too stunned to say anything so he nodded and that's how it went down.

he's not sure how he ended up with her. everyone is convinced he somehow blackmailed or threatened her to date him. considering their worrying size difference. I mean, it's not that she's the size of a doll, she's of an okay height, it's him that's fucking massive for no apparent reason. how his mum even pushed him out is scary to think about sometimes. but his gf doesn't give a shit that he's giant looking. all she cares about is that he's happy with her and that she's happy with him.

he does anything and everything she tells him to. he cleans things, fixes things, cooks whatever she asks if he has time and energy. and it's not like she treats him as a servant. she's just so in tune with him that's she quickly realised that he really likes doing things for her. it makes him feel useful. and she also realised that he really likes it when she praises him for it. gives him rewards for doing what she asked. it may be taking him out on a date somewhere and wearing a dress she knows makes him feral. she bakes him sweet treats, packs him an extra special lunch when he goes to work, and does this thing where she dedicates a special day and special time when they're both free to dote and coddle on him. and he loves it.

she kisses him all over, runs him a bath, washes and brushes his hair, applies skincare on him while pretending she's running a spa resort, and honestly, König sometimes is convinced she likes this more than he does. treating him like a doll or a kitten. but he doesn't give a rat's ass because this shit feels good. really good.

König's a good listener as well, she found out, he remembers things very well and is detail oriented, he cares and keeps things in mind. he does things exactly as she wants, none of that weaponised incompetence shit in sight.

but the only time where he's allowed not to listen, to do whatever he pleases is when she gives him permission to go to town on her pussy. and he does. with everything he's got.

König is no longer her soft and gentle giant. instead he fucks her with his whole weight, makes her really feel their sheer size difference. he bites and squeezes and licks and sucks, leaving marks all over her soft skin. He enjoys making a mess out of her. Enjoys battering her pussy so much that when he's done, he likes to admire his hard work, how her cunt is all red and puffy, how slippery and shiny her lips are and how stretched out her hole is, and his favourite part is the mess of cum leaking out of her, that's smudged between her thighs as she shakes on the bed, worn out.

then he hovers his body overs hers, grips his massive cock and taps it on her pussy, slapping it and watching the cum web and connect the tip of his cock and her pussy. he hums and shoves his thumb in her hole, pulling to the side and she sobs. König blinks at the mess between her legs and decides he's not had enough, and shoves his already hard cock inside her, so slowly not because he needs to stretch her out, but just because he wants to make sure she feels it all. She moves her arms to push him away, cheeks wet with tears, "Kö-- Baby, please, stop--"

König leans down and smacks a wet kiss to her warm cheek, humming, "Stay still, Alpha's not done with you yet, it's the least you could do for me, hm?" He grabs her wrists in one hand and holds them down above her chest, easily pinning her as her pussy throbs around him, hot and slippery. "I do so much for my sweet Omega, I give you so much, so give me this, all I want is to stuff your pussy full of me, knot you up until you're begging me to use your ass just to give your pussy a break,"

König knows he's just dirty talking, he knows that probably won't happen, that they do have safe words set in place just in case things get too intense. But that doesn't mean he can't get creative with his dirty talk, not when she's hysterical under him, leaking like a faucet and crying and heaving under him, "König-- Alpha, please, come in my pussy-- please,"

König snarls and starts slamming his hips, his balls slapping her with each thrust, with one hand over her chest, pinning her in place and the other near her head, holding him up, he's driving in her pussy with the sole intent of filling her up, like they both want. and when she's riding up the bed by the force of his thrusts, he gets annoyed that she's getting further from him, so he drags her back by the waist and turns her around, flips her on her stomach and wraps an arm under her, pinning her against his front. He's practically holding her whole body up against him, driving her hips to meet his, she's not even doing anything but wailing and drooling as he uses her body like a fleshlight.

König loves his girl, his sweet Omega, he's so grateful that he gets to fuck her nasty like she was nothing but a tight hole to him, but also wake up to her next to him in bed, that she loves him for his kindness and sweetness, and not just because of the fact that she claimed his dick is the best thing she's ever experienced. even if it is true.

[ghostmoon1]

- Part One - Part Two - Part Three -

Price x Nikolai - Omegaverse - 1.8k words

CW : A/B/O, heat cycle mentions, suppressants (mentioned as pills), smoking, eventual smut, 18+

A/N: Hello guys :3 I decided to write this lil fic, it'll only be three parts. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for the next two! There will be smut in the last part, so I'm flagging the whole fic as 18+. There's gonna be things I get wrong, but we're here for the gay men...

“Sir, I can not give you any more of those,”

The nurse's voice was sincere, and her apology for the situation was written all over her face, but that didn’t stop the anger from building in John’s chest. His heart felt like it was being gripped in a vice, those suppressants were his lifeline for this career that he had worked so hard for. Something he wouldn’t have if it weren’t for those suppressants. The higher-ups would have never let him stay if he had been through any heats during his missions. They would ruin everything, his scent would set off even the most controlled alphas in the base.

“You don’t understand- I need these. If I don’t have them, everything is fucked!” he growls, his scent blockers struggling to fight the horrific smell of ozone wafting off him. His hands were clenched into fists, struggling to contain his anger. But under the burning anger, there was something else he wouldn’t ever admit. 

Fear.

“Captain Price, you have been using these same suppressants for three years- the recommended time is only for two, you are going on four now. You must go through at least one heat, or the consequences can be horrible.”

He groans at the nurse's voice. He knew she was right, using suppressants for too long can go bad. The side effects of using them for too long can be horrible, including completely fucking up one's heat cycle, which in the long run leads to medical problems. He couldn’t afford those sorts of problems while captain of the task force, but he couldn’t afford to go into heat either. As soon as the higher-ups get the smallest whiff of his scent, he’d get demoted, or worse, kicked out completely. 

“Please, there’s got to be something. Anything-” A lump of fear and worry gets caught in his throat, making him unable to continue. 

The nurse’s expression softens, full of empathy. But empathy won’t help him in a situation like this. Nothing but those suppressants would help him. The nurse lets out a soft sigh, reaching for a clipboard on her desk. “The best thing I can offer you, sir, is natural medicines to help you get through your heat. If you don’t have a mate to help you get through it, without these medicines, the experience will be… very unpleasant.”

“Fuck… fine,” he mutters reluctantly, unpleased by the whole situation. He leans against the busted wooden desk as she files through the cabinets, grabbing a few small jars filled with herbs and other wonders of Mother Nature. She places some of the different herbs into some containers, humming as she maneuvers around with practised ease.

“Alright. This one’s here,” she murmurs, holding up the first container filled with small yellow flower buds of some sort. “These, you can make a tea out of. They will help with your symptoms before you go into heat. I recommend taking them a week before it starts. And now these, you can crush into a paste and put it with water or food, to help ease the symptoms during your heat. They are much stronger, only twice a day, no more,” she continues to explain, lifting up the other container which contained a bunch of dried, purple leaves. 

Price nods, only half listening and grumbling under his breath as he takes the containers and stuffs them into his coat pockets for no one to see. Natural substances were well known, especially between the alpha’s of the base, their ruts were easier to fend off compared to an omega’s heat. And their medications and suppressants were far less dangerous than the ones an omega has to take to control their heat. But these ones… if anyone was to see him with them, they’d know in an instant what he really is.

The nurse gives him her warm goodbye, in which he replies with as much fake politeness he can muster. The containers in his jacket felt like weights, weighing him down from which he could wish he was. Anything but an omega. A beta would be better even, at least they were allowed to join the army. They didn’t have what he did, they didn’t suffer through unbearable heats. Simon was the only alpha in his team, while Johnny and Kyle were betas. Just the thought of his own team being higher up than him in society as a whole, and their own biologies, made him bristle and want to hide away. He never could, never would. He had a job, to serve as the almighty captain of the Task Force 141. The only thing was, he wasn’t as almighty. His own biology betrayed him.

The trudge back to the barracks was horrible, the weight of his own identity weighing heavily on him. He didn’t feel like he was who he was supposed to be, an omega couldn’t be one of the best captains. But here he was. It all felt like a lie.

The whole barracks reeked of alpha, a scent so in your face it would normally make any omega drop to their knees in submission. He had learnt to control his instincts, one of the few reasons he was so good at what he did. It was normally the polite thing to do, wearing scent blockers in a place like this, but many didn’t. Too absorbed in their own world. Reasons why the betas often retreated to their rooms, or just a place away from the onslaught of alphas to get away from an alphas scent. It overwhelmed them, but it was nothing compared to what it can do to an omega.

His boots echoed through the hall, the walls plain and sterile, no light, no fun. War was never a place for fun. The plaster was peeling and had cracks all through it, it had been like that ever since he got here. Outside the halls, the sound of soldiers training and yelling at each other echoed through the barracks, what little fun they could make in a life like this. 

As he reached his room, the door was an unwelcoming sight as was the rest of it. The memories of sitting up late at the crappy desk, filling out paperwork. Sleepless nights, tossing and turning in his cot, staring up at the roof, eyes tracing each crack and blister in the plaster. Nights of falling asleep at his desk and waking up with a sore back and his once pristine paperwork scrunched up and over the floor—early hours of the morning, going through the same routine that he has grown accustomed to. Days of training and briefings are always the same. He was thankful for his boys, always throwing some colour into his dull days, even if it was listening to their snappy comebacks to each other or Simon’s dark jokes. At least there was always one thing to look forward to.

He yanked the containers out of his pockets, throwing them onto his desk to join the pile of papers and pens. He places his calloused palms against the rough wood, splintered and cracked over years of use and leans against his, eyes trailing over what his life has come to. Rubbing his hand over his face, he curses softly under his breath. This was not what he needed.

He kneels down next to his cot, checking underneath and scavenging through the pile of used suppressant bottles. He grabbed them by the handful, throwing the empty bottles onto the mattress, hoping to hear just one rattle of a pill inside one of the containers. Something that he can take, fend off the inevitable. He knew he couldn’t avoid it now. If he tried to reach out to anything else, anyone he’d be done for. Not even Laswell or Nikolai could help him now. He didn’t want them to know. Only the people that needed to know knew about this. Those who didn’t, would preferably never find out. He groans as he finds nothing, slamming a fist onto his desk, the pain dumbed by his desperation and pure panic. What was he going to do? He can’t do this. Not like this.

His emotions were becoming a haze, pulling him down as he struggled with what this all meant for him. This job was everything he had, he’d be nothing without it. He couldn’t imagine his team without him.

He couldn’t imagine himself without his team.

The thoughts pained him, crashing onto him until his legs felt weak, short panicked breathing, gasping for air. He felt like he was choking on his own fear and panic, knees buckling and giving out as he grasped the mattress, knuckles going white and a clatter of pill bottles against the floor. Hot ears flowed down his cheeks, getting lost in his beard. His eyes were stinging, the pain making him rub his eyes violently until he was seeing an array of colours. He couldn't do this. He can’t. He won’t.

The tears continued to fall, the flood had started and he couldn't stop it. He lets out a pained yell, slamming his fists into the desk again as he forces himself onto shakey legs to get to the window, pushing it open in desperate movements. The air felt cold and bitter, something else to choke him more and remind him of his situation. He felt embarrassed of himself, crying like some sort of pup over something like this. He was a captain. He was the captain of Task Force 141. He didn’t act like this.

He runs his hand over his face, trying to get rid of the tears. He reaches for his pack of cigars, lighting it and bringing it to his lips, letting the smoky haze fill his lungs, watching as he breaths out a plume of smoke and disappears into the sky, blending in with the dark clouds rolling in.

As he takes another drag of the cigar, a soft knock on his door drags his attention away. He didn’t want to deal with anyone right now. He didnt want anyone to see him like this. Clearing his throat, he replies, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, cap.” Kyle’s voice echoes into his room, a somewhat soothing thing to here right now.

“What is it, Kyle?”

“You told us yesterday, you’d run some drills at 1000… you’re bout’ half an hour late cap.”

He curses under his breath, putting out his cigar and placing it on the ashtray. “Yeah, yeah. Got caught up in paperwork. I’ll be out in a moment.” He grabs his gear, replacing his jacket with a tactical vest. He just needed to get through this, and everything will be okay. He’ll figure this out.

He needs to. 

[gloomwitchwrites]

Morning After: Bonus Chapter

Alejandro Vargas x Female Reader

I know there was a request for this. It was sitting in my inbox for ages. But somewhere along the way, the physical ask disappeared when I went to make the draft. Thanks a lot, Tumblr. But this user knows who they are! (They saw it on Ao3 first).

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Morning After - 141 Imagines Link

Content & Warnings: brief alcohol mention, one night stand, brief cock warming, unprotected piv

Word Count: 944

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

The hint of stale cigarettes lingers on your tongue. Outside, you hear the lull of traffic, of people, of horns, of noise. It drills into your skull, leaving behind a throbbing sensation that might have been there upon waking. Thin rays of morning sunshine peek through the shut blinds, providing just enough light to see by.

Rubbing at your eyes, you stretch, the soft sheets twisting around your body further. A silent yawn follows, the joints in your knees and shoulders popping, muscles gently resisting. Within all of that is soreness, not only in your limbs but…between your legs. Shifting, the tenderness spikes, and you wince slightly.

Last night starts to come back in fragments—pieces.

A smokey bar. Music. A man kissing your neck as the two of you swayed to the beat.

For a moment, you smile, and then reality comes crashing down like a boulder. There was a bar, music, and plenty of liquor, but you went home with someone.

Slowly, you turn your neck, finding that someone.

Alejandro.

That’s his name. The one he gave you, the one you moaned while he was balls deep and licking stray droplets of tequila off your nipples.

He’s asleep and on his stomach, one large, muscled arm bent under the pillow to support his head. The bedsheet pools at his hips, revealing his bare back and portions of his legs.

More memories follow.

You straddling his lap, lips connecting, grinding on his thigh as he told you how pretty you looked. There was tequila—a river of it. A walk back to his place. There was no pause. No space for breath. When he had slammed the door shut, you were already reaching for him, the two of you shedding clothes quickly, fucking on the floor before eventually making it to the bed.

The soreness between your legs makes itself known again. As you adjust, a sticky residue rubs at your inner thighs. Reaching under the sheet, you examine the area, only for your fingers to come back with a substance you know all too well.

Alejandro groans, and then the bed beneath you dips slightly as he rolls onto his side, stretching. Those dark eyes open, and immediately find you.

“Good morning,” he purrs, a husky quality to his voice.

Your pussy immediately clenches in anticipation. The two of you might have fucked like animals trying to reproduce last night, but what’s a morning of doing the same? Even though it’s returning in fragments, you did enjoy yourself.

“Morning,” you reply softly.

“You moved away in your sleep,” he says, and it sounds like a complaint.

You open your mouth to reply but Alejandro is already reaching out for you, using that brute strength to roll you onto your side and pull you against him. His warmth instantly greets you, wrapping you up, muscles relaxing into that comfort.

He sighs, nuzzling your neck. Lips brush just behind the shell of your ear, making you shiver. One large hand slides to your front, lowering until it almost grasps your sex. His other arm curves just under your neck, that hand lightly resting at your throat.

Like this, your body responds, wanting closeness. And it’s clear that his body wants you too. His dick rests against the curve of your ass, all hardness.

Alejandro’s mouth shifts, his lips pressing kisses to the exposed portions of your neck between his fingers. “Let me in,” he murmurs. “Warm me up.”

His hand against your pelvis shifts to your thigh, and you lift in invitation. Hooking your foot at his calf, you create enough of an opening for Alejandro to shift his hips. The head of his cock drags over your skin and then settles at your entrance. Alejandro’s breath is warm against your skin.

He gently rocks forward. Though the tenderness flares slightly, your pussy eagerly accepts him, adjusting like it’s remembering the memory of him inside you. The moan you let out is more a whimper as he sheaths himself entirely.

Alejandro holds there, not thrusting, not moving, only kissing your neck and shoulder. His fingers gently clasp your chin, shifting your face enough that he can find your lips. You melt under that connection, accepting it like a refreshing glass of cold water.

As your hips press back involuntarily, Alejandro squeezes your thigh, keeping you still as he holds himself inside you.

“Not yet, mi vida,” he croons.

The hand upon your thigh relaxes, shifting lower until he finds his prize. You gasp against his mouth, pussy clenching around his cock as Alejandro’s index finger circles your clit.

He hums with contentment. “That’s what I want.”

A few more strokes and your thighs quiver.

“Almost,” he whispers.

The slick sound of his fingers sliding over and around your clit overshadow everything else. An orgasm builds—sharp and ready to strike. It doesn’t take much until your breath hitches and your cunt clamps down on him.

Alejandro begins to move, hips rocking back and forth in a steady motion. But he never ceases touching you—never stops teasing your clit with his fingers. Every moan and gasp you give him is greedily consumed, his tongue delving into your mouth for a taste.

It is intimate. Passionate. And you hardly notice when his pace increases.

Not until he gently shifts you onto your stomach, his cock never slipping out once as he adjusts.

The pillow is cool against your cheek.

Your arms are pinned above your head by the wrists.

Alejandro pumps savagely, murmuring in Spanish like he’s sending a prayer to the heavens.

You lift your hips, spread your legs a little wider, and smile.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[msilwrites]

More Trouble (Johnny 'Soap' Fic) - Two

Whatever size/colour/ethnicity you are, you are hot in Johnny's Eyes! Reader, Soap is smitten with you! Reader, Agent! Reader, Reboot! Johnny, Reboot! Soap, but he is Captain! Soap (Now!!), Captain! Johnny, Captain! Soap, Fuckboi! Soap, Manwhore! Soap, Judgemental! Johnny, Judgemental! Soap, Shameless! Soap, Cocky! Soap, Bastard! Soap

Soap x Reader , Soap x Y/N , Click here for Part 1 | This is Part 2 | Part 3 ( In Progress)

NSFW

Genre: Drama/Comedy/ with some Smut MDNI Summary:

After you disappeared on Johnny following that passionate night, you quickly realized you had forgotten your bracelet at his place. A few hours later, you called him to retrieve it, but Johnny had other plans. He playfully suggested that he would hold onto the bracelet until you met him again, turning the situation into a flirtatious game.

Despite your initial resistance, you found yourself falling back into his arms. What started as a simple arrangement to get your bracelet back evolved into a weekend ritual where you and Johnny would meet, the passion between you undeniable. However, as the weeks turned into months, the relationship became more complicated. Pregnancy scares and arguments began to surface, and you realized that you wanted more than just a physical connection.

You found yourself falling in love with Johnny, but you knew he wouldn't take you seriously. The emotional turmoil and the realization that you deserved more led you to decide to move on. Unfortunately, Johnny refused to let you go, his obsession growing more intense with each passing day. Good luck escaping him, Birdie—because he won’t let you slip away so easily! In fact, he won't let you escape at all.

A/N:

This is the continuation of Trouble, featuring our sunshine Captain Johnny Soap MacTavish—who just so happens to be a little obsessed with you! Buckle up for the whirlwind, the chaos, and the sizzling tension. Enjoy! 💙

----------

Johnny's lounging at home, the bracelet dangling from his fingers, when his phone rings. The caller ID shows an unknown number, piquing his curiosity. He answers, his voice casual but guarded.

"Hello?"

It's you—your voice cool and businesslike, but he can sense the underlying tension.

"Hey, it’s me. I need my bracelet back."

Johnny's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He smirks, leaning back in his chair, the realization dawning on him that it's you on the other end of the line. "Oh, now you remember me, Birdie. Thought you’d flown off for good."

You sigh softly, trying to keep your composure. "Look, I spent a lot on that bracelet. It’s not sentimental—it’s expensive. Just... I need it back."

Johnny's grin widens, a mix of amusement and satisfaction playing on his lips. "Expensive, eh? Then I reckon I’m holdin’ onto it ‘til you meet me again. Fair trade, don’t you think?"

There's a pause as you bite your lip, trying to think of a way out. "Can’t you just mail it to me? Or drop it off somewhere neutral?"

Johnny's tone turns playful but firm, hinting at his hurt pride. "You disappeared on me, lass. Think I’m lettin’ you off that easy? Not a chance. You want it, you come get it."

----------

Reluctantly, you agree to meet at a quiet café. As you walk in, Johnny's cheeky grin throws you off. He's leaning back in his chair, the bracelet dangling teasingly from his fingers.

"There’s my runaway Birdie. Fancy seein’ you again."

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your cool. "I’m just here for the bracelet, MacTavish."

Johnny's grin widens. "And here I thought you missed me."

The banter escalates, the chemistry sparking just as strong as before. You reach for the bracelet, but Johnny pulls it back, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Not so fast," he says, his voice low and commanding. Before you can react, he grabs your wrist and pulls you onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around you. You can feel the heat of his body, the firmness of his muscles, and the unmistakable bulge pressing against you. "You can’t just waltz back in, get what you want, and leave. What’s the rush, eh? Sit with me a while."

Your breath hitches as you feel his breath on your neck, his lips brushing against your ear. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help but melt into his embrace. The chemistry between you is undeniable, and you know you're in for more than just a simple meeting.

Reluctantly, you agree to stay. The conversation flows, and before you know it, you're back at Johnny's place. The passion reignites, and this time, Johnny is determined not to let you slip away.

----------

"You think you can keep runnin’, but I’ve got news for you, Birdie. You’re not just walkin’ out on me this time."

The air between you is electric as Johnny's words hang heavy with promise. His eyes lock onto yours, a mix of determination and desire burning in their depths. You can feel the tug of his strong arms, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, and the unmistakable connection that pulls you closer.

As you find yourselves back at Johnny's place, the tension that had been building all day finally snaps. His hands roam over your body, both gentle and demanding, exploring every curve and contour. You can feel his breath hot on your skin, his lips trailing kisses that leave you breathless and wanting more.

"You drive me crazy, Birdie," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I can't get enough of you."

You smile, your fingers tracing the muscles of his chest. "You're not so bad yourself, MacTavish."

His eyes darken with desire as he begins to undress you, his touch deliberate and teasing. You help him, your hands trembling with anticipation. His shirt comes off next, revealing his sculpted body, and you can't help but admire how sexy he looks.

"Like what you see?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Very much," you reply, your voice barely a whisper.

With a swift movement, Johnny scoops you up, swinging you effortlessly onto his broad shoulders. You let out a surprised laugh as he carries you to the bedroom, his strong arms holding you securely. He throws you onto the bed, and before you can react, he's on top of you, using his strength and weight to pin you down.

"You're not going anywhere, Birdie," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "Not this time."

Your breath hitches as you feel his body press against yours, the heat between you intensifying. His lips find yours in a passionate kiss, and you lose yourself in the sensation, the world outside fading away. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like a claim, a promise that this time, things will be different.

The passion between you is intense, a dance of give and take, of pleasure and need. His hands explore your body, his touch both gentle and demanding, driving you wild with desire. You arch against him, your body responding to his every touch, your moans filling the room.

Afterward, as you lie tangled together, Johnny reaches for the bracelet. His fingers brush against your skin as he carefully places it back on your wrist. The gesture feels intimate, almost like a claim, solidifying your connection even if neither of you admits it yet.

"There you go, Bonnie," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "This belongs on you. Just like you belong here with me."

You tease him about finally giving it back, but the smile on his lips and the warmth in his eyes tell a different story. "You just can't resist keeping me close, can you?" you whisper, your voice soft with contentment.

Johnny's grin widens, and he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "Never, Bonnie. You're mine now."

And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, a mix of emotions swirls within you. You feel safe, protected by his strong embrace, yet there's a lingering uncertainty. You wonder if Johnny will take you seriously, if this connection is more than just physical. His presence is comforting, his touch electrifying, but the future feels uncertain, leaving you with a sense of both belonging and fear.

----------

The Weekend 'Tradition'

From that night on, you both fell into an unspoken routine. You’d show up at his place on Fridays, and by Saturday morning, Johnny would be in the kitchen cooking breakfast with a self-satisfied smirk.

Your weekends were a heady mix of passion and playful arguments. He’d tease you about your high-maintenance tastes, calling you “Princess” just to watch you scowl, while you rolled your eyes at his cocky charm.

“You think you’re God’s gift, don’t you?” you muttered one morning, pulling the sheet up around your bare chest.

Johnny, still shirtless and looking entirely too smug, leaned back against the headboard. “Aye. And judging by last night, I’d say I’m right.”

You threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly, laughing.

But it wasn’t just the physical chemistry that kept you coming back to each other. You texted during the week—playful, flirty exchanges that Johnny looked forward to more than he cared to admit. Sometimes, you’d send him a picture of your lunch, and he’d reply with something ridiculous like, “Ye know that’s not real food, right? Come over, and I’ll make you a proper meal.”

It was easy, fun, and thrillingly uncomplicated. At least, that’s what Johnny thought.

----------

The Pregnancy Scare

One weekend, you didn’t show up on time. Johnny waited, pacing his flat, his phone clutched in his hand as he debated whether to call you.

When you finally texted, it wasn’t your usual sarcastic remark or teasing quip. It was a simple, cryptic message: We need to talk.

Johnny’s heart sank. Never good, that.

When you arrived, you looked unusually tense, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. Johnny greeted you with his usual cheeky grin, but it faltered when you didn’t immediately snap back at him.

“Alright, Birdie?” he asked, his tone softening.

You hesitated, then blurted it out: “I might be pregnant.”

Johnny froze. For a moment, the words didn’t register. Then his brain caught up, and he blinked at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“You... what?”

“I’m late,” you said quickly, your voice uncharacteristically quiet. “It’s probably nothing, but I thought you should know.”

Johnny stared at you, his mind racing. Then, to your utter shock, he grinned. “Well, I guess I’d better brush up on my lullabies.”

You gawked at him. “Johnny, this isn’t a joke—”

“I’m not jokin’,” he interrupted, his tone sincere. He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Birdie, whatever happens, I’ve got you, alright? We’ll figure it out.”

For once, you didn’t have a snarky response. You just stared at him, a mix of disbelief and something softer in your eyes.

----------

Making Johnny Jealous

Johnny lay sprawled on the bed, his chest rising and falling with slow breaths, a lazy grin on his face. The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across his skin. He watched you from where he lay, his head propped up on one arm.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your dress—simple, elegant, and far too classy for someone who had just spent the night tangled in his sheets. You smoothed your hair, adding a touch of lipstick to your already swollen lips.

Johnny smirked, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. “What’s the rush, Birdie? Cannae stay for breakfast? I make a mean fry-up.”

You didn’t even glance at him, focused on slipping your earrings in. “Tempting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Johnny’s grin faltered, a faint furrow forming between his brows. “Somewhere more important than me?”

Finally, you turned to look at him, your tone casual—too casual. “I’ve got a date. Don’t want to be late.”

For a moment, Johnny froze. His brain scrambled to process your words, replaying them like a scratched record. “A... a date?” His voice cracked slightly at the word.

You nodded, your expression calm, like you hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on him. “Yeah, you know, dinner, conversation, maybe something long-term if it works out. People do that, Johnny.”

Johnny sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist, his hands bracing on the mattress as if to steady himself. “Wait a minute. You’re tellin’ me you’re goin’ on a bloody date right after... after—” He gestured wildly to the bed, his face a mix of disbelief and irritation.

You shrugged, picking up your clutch. “We’re not in a relationship. You said it yourself—we’re just having fun, right? No strings.”

Johnny’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with possessiveness. “Aye, I said no strings, but that was before I claimed you as mine. You think you can just walk away from that? From us?”

Your brow arched, defiant. “Johnny, this isn’t about ownership. I’m looking for stability, for something serious. You’re... well...” You gestured to him—shirtless, rumpled, and indignant in his bed. “You’re great in bed, but this? This isn’t long-term material.”

Johnny let out a sharp laugh, though it lacked any humor. “So what? You’re just gonna find some rich tosser to settle down with? That’s your plan?”

You crossed your arms, your tone firm. “If he’s stable and can offer me the kind of life I want, then yes. That’s the plan.”

Johnny swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing in one fluid motion. His broad frame towered over you, his frustration palpable. “Stable? Birdie, you think I cannae give you that? What, you think I’m just some daft squaddie who can’t keep up with you?”

You tilted your chin up, meeting his fiery gaze with your own. “Johnny, I don’t even know what you do. You disappear for weeks without a word, you show up out of nowhere, and you expect me to believe you can offer stability?”

His lips twitched into a smirk, despite the tension. “Maybe I like keepin’ you on your toes. Keeps things excitin’, eh? But that doesn’t mean you can just go shaggin’ whoever you want. We had an arrangement, Birdie. You’re mine, and that means something.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him to grab your coat. “This is exactly what I mean. You’re not serious, Johnny. And I don’t have time to wait for you to figure out what you want. You can’t have it both ways—claiming me as yours and then acting like I’m just some casual fling.”

As you headed for the door, Johnny caught your wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. His voice softened, the anger giving way to something more vulnerable. “Birdie... you cannae just leave. Not like this. Not after...” He trailed off, searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

You looked at him, your resolve unwavering. “I’m not leaving, Johnny. I’m just... moving on.”

As much as you hated to admit it, the date was actually just with your girl friends. You were spending time with them, and you were pissed with Johnny and the way he treats you sometimes—claiming and being possessive, but acting casual with your relationship. You just wanted to piss him off, to make him feel a fraction of the frustration you felt. You think of this as you walk out of his house, your heels clicking sharply on the pavement, your mind a whirlwind of anger and determination.

He let you go, watching as you walked out the door, the sound of your heels echoing down the hall. For a moment, he stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Then, with a determined glint in his eye, he muttered to himself, “We’ll see about that, Birdie. You can run, but I’m not lettin’ you go that easy.”

----------

An Unexpected Return

It was a Saturday morning, and Johnny was sprawled on the bed, a cocky grin plastered across his face as you slipped into your jeans. The sheets were tangled around his waist, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself, his bare chest rising and falling lazily.

Much to Johnny's delight, you had come back after your last heated exchange. Despite your initial anger and frustration, you found yourself drawn back to him, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. You had resumed your weekend sex sessions, each encounter more intense and passionate than the last.

“So, Birdie,” he drawled, propping himself up on an elbow, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “How’d that wee date of yours go, then? Hope the poor lad didn’t bore you to death.”

You shot him a sharp look over your shoulder as you zipped up your jeans. “None of your business.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he teased, his grin widening. “You’re not gonna tell me he didn’t measure up, are you? Not everyone can, y’know.” His voice dropped an octave, dripping with smug confidence.

Your lips curled into a smirk as you sauntered back toward the bed, leaning down just enough to grab your shirt from the floor. “Let’s just say,” you murmured, your tone sweet as honey, “you’re a lot better at talking than you are at listening, Johnny.”

Before he could fire back, you tugged your shirt over your head and turned to leave. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head, entirely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

----------

A Dance of Tension

The weekends continued as usual, your "situationship" a tangled web of passion and unspoken tension. Every time Johnny teased you about your "dates," you put him firmly back in his place—often quite literally. The truth was, it wasn't a real date; it was just a simple outing with friends, meant to make Johnny jealous. And while it had worked, his teasing only increased, fueling the fire between you.

Despite your search for a man who could offer stability, you found yourself continually drawn back to Johnny. The magnetic pull between you was undeniable, and the passion you shared was intoxicating.

“Tell me, Birdie,” Johnny groaned one night, his hands gripping your hips as you rode him with deliberate, punishing control. “Did he kiss you like this?”

You rolled your eyes, smirking as you leaned forward, your hands splayed against his chest. “No,” you whispered against his ear, your voice laced with mockery. “He was a gentleman. Something you’ll never be.”

“Good,” Johnny rasped, his grip tightening. “’Cause I’d hate to have to ruin him for you.”

You laughed, low and wicked, but your heart wasn’t in it. “Don’t worry, Johnny. Once I find the right guy, someone stable who can give me the life I want, I’ll stop coming back to you.”

Johnny's eyes flashed with anger, and he gripped your waist tighter, pistoning his pelvis up roughly. “You think you can just walk away from this?” he growled, his voice thick with desire and frustration. “You think any other man can make you feel like this?”

You laughed again, your head tilted back as you reveled in the sensation. “Maybe not,” you admitted, your voice breathy. “But I need more than just passion, Johnny. I need stability.”

Johnny's grip on your waist became almost bruising, his movements more urgent. “You’re mine, Bonnie,” he rasped, his voice dark and possessive. “No other man is going to have you. You’ll always come back to me, no matter how hard you try to fight it.”

The intensity of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and exhilaration. The line between passion and pain was blurring, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up the facade. You were falling for him, and it terrified you.

----------

End of the Line

One night, it all comes to a head.

Your chest aches as you watch Johnny stride out of the bathroom, his damp hair sticking to his forehead and a towel slung low on his hips. It's impossible not to take in the sight of him, all taut muscle and raw masculinity, the very image of temptation. For a split second, you waver, your mind screaming at you to rethink everything.

You're sitting on the edge of his bed, fully dressed, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. Johnny, fresh out of the shower, runs a towel through his damp hair as he walks into the room. He frowns when he sees your expression.

“Birdie?” he asks, his voice softer than usual. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, refusing to meet his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore, Johnny.”

His grin falters. He steps further into the room, water still glistening on his skin. “What are you on about, lass? We’re fine. You were just in my bed an hour ago, screaming my name, far as I recall.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you don’t back down. “This isn’t fine. It’s messy and complicated, and it’s not going anywhere.”

Johnny frowns, his hands resting on his hips. The towel shifts slightly, which isn’t helping your focus. “What’s brought this on, then? Thought you were happy.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Happy? Johnny, I’m not even sure what this is. We’re not in a relationship, but we’re not just hooking up either. And the pregnancy scare—”

“That turned out to be nothing,” he interrupts quickly, though his tone is softer now, almost pleading.

“It wasn’t ‘nothing’ to me,” you snap, your voice rising. “It made me realize how dangerous this is. I can’t keep doing this with you.”

You steel yourself, gripping the strap of your purse tightly. You aren’t going to let him or your feelings pull you back in. Not this time.

Johnny’s piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, his brows furrowing in anger and confusion. “So that’s it, then?” His voice is sharp, almost accusing. “You’re just walking away like none of this meant anything to you?”

Your heart clenches painfully, but you refuse to show it. “Don’t you dare,” you shoot back, your voice low and trembling. “Don’t you turn this on me. This isn’t about what it meant to me, Johnny. It’s about what it doesn’t mean to you.”

He scoffs, running a hand through his wet hair in frustration. “What the hell are you on about? We were fine, Birdie. You were happy, weren’t you? I mean, we had a good thing going.”

“Good thing?” you echo, your voice breaking with bitter incredulity. “Johnny, this—” you gesture between the two of you, your hand trembling, “—this was never about me. It was about convenience. A convenient warm body on the weekends, someone to text when you were bored. But you don’t know me, not really. And that’s not enough for me. Not anymore.”

He takes a step closer, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “That’s bullshit. You knew what this was, and now you’re acting like I’m some kind of villain for it?”

“No, you’re not a villain,” you say, your voice softening for a brief moment before hardening again. “But you’re not what I need, either. I want stability. Someone who knows me beyond the bedroom, who loves me for more than just... this.” You motion vaguely toward yourself, your voice faltering. “And that’s not you.”

“Why not?” he asks, his voice rising again. “You want stability? Fine. I’ll give you that. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you. Be my girlfriend.”

You shake your head, your eyes glistening now. ���It’s not that simple. You don’t know anything about me beyond what you’ve made up in your head. I can’t live like this—weekend after weekend, never knowing where you stand, what you’re thinking, or even what you do for a living half the time.”

“And whose fault is that?” he shoots back. “You’ve been keeping me at arm’s length since the start. What the hell am I supposed to think?”

He scoffs, his pride prickling. “You’re one to talk. I don’t even know what you do. You flit about in your fancy clothes, disappearing whenever it suits you, acting like a bloody princess or—”

“Or what?” you cut in, your eyes narrowing.

He hesitates, but his temper gets the better of him. “Or like some high-end escort.”

Your lips curl into a wicked smirk, though your heart clenches at the insult. “You really think I’m a princess and an escort? Sounds like I’m doing pretty well for myself, then.”

“Don’t start,” he warns, his tone low and tight.

“Why not?” you shoot back, tilting your head defiantly. “Does it bother you, Johnny? That I might have standards? That I like nice things? God forbid a woman treats herself without a man assuming the worst.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, save it,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. “I know what you think of me, and I’ve let you think it because it doesn’t matter. But now you’re using it against me? Classy, Johnny. Really classy.”

“Think whatever you want,” you say, your voice hardening again. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done, Johnny.”

Johnny’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing. “So that’s what this is about? You’ve got some other bloke lined up, some stable life you think’s gonna make you happy?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, already tired of this. “It’s not about someone else. It’s about me. I won’t be your convenient distraction forever, Johnny. I can’t.”

His laugh is harsh, bitter. “Aye, sure. You’re so bloody noble, aren’t you? Princess, or whatever you are. Or maybe you’re just a high-end escort who thinks she’s too good for me now, huh?” His words are cutting, his tone venomous. “Who the hell’s gonna love a materialistic, spoiled brat like you? Or a—” he bit back the rest of the sentence, but the damage was already done.

Your chest constricts at his words, the sting of them worse than you had expected. You inhale sharply, trying to hold back tears as you force yourself to look at him. “Thank you,” you say quietly, your voice trembling but steady enough to convey the weight of your decision. “Thank you for helping me solidify my decision, Johnny.”

You grab your purse, pausing only for a moment before shaking your head. “And don’t worry,” you add, your tone soft but firm. “I won’t come crying to you. I’ll be happy somewhere with someone who’ll actually love me.”

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, but you don’t wait for his response. You turn on your heel, walking out of his flat with your head held high, even as your heart feels like it’s shattering with every step.

Johnny stands there in stunned silence, the tension in the air suffocating. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving him alone in the quiet chaos of his living room. For the first time, he feels the true weight of your absence, and it burns in a way he can’t ignore.

----------

Johnny’s Obsession

Johnny had never felt so restless in his life. He’d called you first, dozens of times, but all he got was the droning, detached tone of your voicemail. He messaged you after that, small apologies mixed with clumsy, rambling texts about how you should talk things through. But all you did was leave him on read. No replies. No acknowledgment. Just silence.

Then one day, when he tried calling you again, the line didn’t even ring. Instead, he was met with a sharp, cold message: The number you have dialed has been blocked or is no longer in service.

“Blocked?” Johnny muttered, staring at his phone in disbelief. His blood boiled, and his chest ached.

Fine. If you didn’t want to talk, he’d find you another way.

----------

Johnny Tracks You

Using what little intel he had, Johnny began digging. He didn’t need much—a phone number, a sliver of information, and the skills drilled into him from his time in the SAS were enough to get him started. But the deeper he went, the more roadblocks he hit. Your number led him nowhere—it was registered under a nondescript corporate account with no personal ties. No home address. No employment history.

It didn’t make sense.

“Who the hell are you?” he muttered, staring at the screen. His instincts buzzed, a gut feeling that there was more to you than you let on.

Before he could dig deeper, his team was called up for deployment. A quick, high-priority mission that demanded all his focus. But even in the thick of the action, during quiet moments between the chaos, his thoughts drifted back to you. To the way you smirked at him. The way you felt in his arms. The way you walked out of his life.

When Johnny finally returned, worn but eager to resume his search, he tried everything—new tactics, calling in favors—but came up empty again. It was as if your entire life had been scrubbed clean.

And that only made him more suspicious.

----------

The Briefing Begins

Roach’s palms were sweaty as he glanced around the room, double-checking every detail of the briefing materials. He straightened the projector slide one last time before glancing nervously at the glass window of the door.

“Relax, mate,” one of his teammates chuckled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

If only, Roach thought bitterly. He wasn’t worried about a ghost—he was worried about Johnny.

The undercover agent, the one briefing the team today, was none other than Johnny’s “birdie.” Or, ex-birdie, technically. Roach had heard all about your situationship—the whirlwind sex, the late-night phone calls, and then the crash-and-burn breakup. Johnny had been moody ever since, which was saying something for the usually upbeat captain.

Now you were here, standing at the front of the room in a smart casual suit that hugged your figure in all the right places. You exuded confidence, your sharp eyes scanning the room as you prepared to deliver your findings. Roach could barely look at you without cringing.

“Let’s just get through this without any incidents,” Roach muttered under his breath.

It didn’t help that their Lieutenant Colonel, Ghost, had mentioned General MacMillan was visiting today. The brass was here, watching their every move, which meant the team had to be on their best behavior. And if Johnny showed up and saw you? Roach didn’t even want to imagine the chaos that would ensue.

----------

Tension in the Room

The briefing began without a hitch, much to Roach’s relief. Johnny was nowhere to be seen, and you were professional, concise, and sharp as ever. Still, Roach couldn’t help sneaking glances at the door every few minutes, half-expecting Johnny to burst in.

But the door stayed shut.

After the briefing, Roach offered to walk you to your car, hoping to usher you out before Johnny caught wind of your presence. You smiled, grateful for the gesture, and began packing up your things.

That’s when the door creaked open.

Roach froze, his stomach sinking as Johnny leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his blue eyes locked on you like a hawk spotting prey. He wore his casual gear, a simple black t-shirt clinging to his chest, his dog tags glinting faintly under the harsh lighting.

“Well, well,” Johnny drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’ve we got here, Roach? Thought I wasn’t needed for this one.”

Your hands froze mid-motion, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. Slowly, you turned to face him, your expression a mix of shock and wariness.

“Johnny?,” you said, your voice steady despite the tension crackling in the room.

“Birdie,” Johnny shot back, the nickname a loaded reminder of what you once had.

Roach gulped, glancing between the two of you like a trapped animal. “Uh, I was just—”

“Leavin’,” Johnny cut in, his gaze never leaving yours.

Roach hesitated, but the intensity in Johnny’s eyes made it clear that sticking around wasn’t an option. With a sheepish nod, he mumbled something about catching up later and bolted for the door.

Now it was just the two of you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Johnny said, his tone casual, but his eyes betrayed him. There was a storm brewing behind them, a mix of hurt, anger, and something deeper he wasn’t ready to name.

“I could say the same,” you replied, squaring your shoulders. You refused to let him intimidate you, even as your heart pounded in your chest.

Johnny stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Blocking me. Wiping your tracks clean. You’re real good at disappearing, I’ll give you that.”

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your voice calm. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” he challenged, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “You think you can just walk out of my life and act like none of it mattered? Like I don’t matter?”

“It’s not about that,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “This is my job, Johnny. My life. And you don’t get to interfere with it.”

“Your job,” he repeated bitterly. “And what job is that exactly? Playing dress-up? Whispering secrets to the lads? Or are you still trying to convince me you’re just some posh bird who likes slumming it with soldiers?”

Your eyes flashed with anger, but you bit back your retort, unwilling to let him bait you.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” you said quietly, brushing past him toward the door.

But before you could leave, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist���not forcefully, but enough to stop you in your tracks. The air between you was electric, charged with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

You looked up at him, your gaze steady despite the tears threatening to form. “I already did.”

The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife as Johnny’s hand tightened on your wrist, pulling you back just enough to stop you from leaving. You froze, your lips pressed into a thin line as you turned to face him again.

“Johnny,” you warned, your voice low.

But he didn’t back down. His blue eyes were blazing, frustration and hurt pouring out of him in waves. “You’re not just walking out of here. Not like this.”

“Oh, like you get a say in it now?” you shot back, your tone sharp. You tried to pull your wrist free, but he held firm—not hurting you, just making it clear he wasn’t letting go.

“You didn’t even tell me, did you?” Johnny said, his voice rising slightly. “What you do. What you really are.”

Your jaw clenched, and you rolled your eyes, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, now you care? It didn’t matter before, did it? Whether I was some spoiled brat, a high-end escort, or just your convenient shag. You never took me seriously anyway.”

“That’s not true,” he snapped, his Scottish accent thick with emotion. “Don’t twist this, Birdie. It does matter—because it’s you.”

You laughed again, bitter and humorless, and reached for your bag. “Well, congratulations, Johnny. Now you know I’m not some high-end prostitute. Feel better about yourself? Good. Now I have to go.”

But before you could take a step, Johnny grabbed your other arm, holding you in place. “You’re not walking out on me again!”

“Oi, mate—don’t!” Roach’s voice broke through the tension as he stepped forward, hands raised cautiously. “She’s a bloody agent, Johnny. You can’t just grab her like that.”

Johnny shot him a glare that could have turned stone to dust. “Stay out of it, Roach.”

Roach hesitated, his eyes darting between the two of you and the door. His heart was racing. If anyone else—especially Ghost or General MacMillan—walked in now, you were all screwed.

“I’m just saying, maybe don’t manhandle the lady in front of the brass!” Roach pleaded.

You looked between Johnny and Roach, your expression one of equal parts disbelief and fury. “Let me go, Johnny,” you said firmly, your voice quieter but no less intense.

He didn’t let go. “Not until we sort this.”

“Sort what?” you hissed, your voice rising now. “There’s nothing to sort, Johnny. I told you what I wanted. Stability. A partner. Someone who could love me for who I am—not just what I can give them. And you—you made it bloody clear that you weren’t that man!”

Johnny’s face twisted, his grip loosening just slightly. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, it’s not fair?” you spat, your eyes flashing with anger. “You called me a materialistic brat! A spoiled princess! You assumed the worst of me at every turn. And now, what? Now it’s not fair because you’re realizing you might have been wrong? Too little, too late, Johnny!”

His voice dropped, quieter but no less intense. “You don’t get it. It’s you. None of that other crap matters—it’s just you.”

You stared at him, your chest heaving, your own emotions threatening to spill over. For a moment, it looked like you might say something, but then you shook your head, pulling your arms free.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling but steady. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to chase me now that I’m gone. You had your chance, Johnny. And you blew it.”

You turned to leave, but Johnny’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“You think I don’t care?” he called after you. “You think I don’t bloody care about you? You’re in my head, Birdie. Every damn day. Every damn night. You’ve been there since the moment I met you, and you’re still there now, even when I try to bloody forget you.”

You froze, your back still to him, your fingers clutching the strap of your bag tightly.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” Johnny admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “With you. With how I feel. But don’t you dare tell me I don’t care.”

For a moment, the room was completely silent. Even the lads watching from a distance—wide-eyed and barely breathing—didn’t dare move. Roach was sweating bullets, praying to every deity he could think of that Ghost and General MacMillan wouldn’t come around the corner.

Finally, you turned to face him, your expression unreadable. “You need to figure out what you want, Johnny,” you said softly. “But don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself.”

And with that, you walked past him, your heels clicking against the floor, leaving Johnny standing there, staring after you like a man who’d just lost the only thing that mattered.

You barely made it two steps before Johnny grabbed your arm again, this time more firmly, spinning you back toward him. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was resolute, his determination blazing in those blue eyes of his.

“No, you’re not walking away from me again,” he said, his voice low but sharp with emotion. “We’re not done.”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, your lips parting in shock and frustration. “Johnny, let go of me,” you said, your tone icy.

“Not until we talk about this,” he shot back, his accent thick with frustration. “You don’t get to just walk out and decide what this is without giving me a bloody say!”

“This?” You laughed bitterly, throwing your free hand toward him in a dramatic gesture. “You didn’t care about ‘this’ when you were calling me names! When you assumed the worst of me, when you made me feel like I was nothing more than a warm body to keep your bed warm!”

“I never thought that!” he snapped, stepping closer, his grip still firm on your arm. “And I never said you were nothin’, Birdie. I never meant—”

“Oh, don’t you dare backtrack now!” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You made it clear what you thought of me. Some spoiled princess, some materialistic brat, some… high-end escort, as you so eloquently put it!” Your words dripped with venom, and Johnny winced as if each one was a physical blow.

“I was angry!” he said, his voice louder now. “I said shite I didn’t mean, alright? But you—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You drive me mad! You make me feel things I can’t bloody make sense of, and I don’t know how to handle it!”

You yanked your arm free, glaring at him, your chest rising and falling as your emotions boiled over. “So you insult me instead? You reduce me to a caricature of everything I’m not because you can’t figure out your own damn feelings?”

His hands balled into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. “Because I didn’t think you’d bloody stay!”

That stopped you. You blinked, your brows furrowing as his words hung in the air between you.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the cracks in his armor that he was finally letting you see.

“But you stayed,” he continued, his voice almost a whisper. “And I didn’t know what to do with that. I didn’t know how to keep you, so I unknowingly pushed you away.”

Your throat tightened, and you had to fight back the sting of tears. “Johnny…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry for every bloody thing I said, for every way I hurt you. But don’t walk away from me now. Don’t leave me like this, Birdie. Please.”

For a moment, you faltered. The sincerity in his voice, the raw emotion in his eyes—it was everything you’d wanted from him, everything you’d begged for silently in your head.

But before you could respond, there was a loud ahem behind you.

Both of you froze, slowly turning your heads toward the sound. Standing just a few feet away, with arms crossed and brows raised, was Ghost. Beside him stood General MacMillan, looking equally bewildered. And flanking them? Ghost’s two teenage daughters, Tommy and Bubby.

The room fell utterly silent except for the muffled sound of someone snickering in the background.

Roach, standing off to the side, looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his temple as he glanced nervously between Ghost and the arguing pair.

“Oh no,” Roach mumbled under his breath.

Ghost cleared his throat again, slower this time. “I think,” he said, his tone clipped but calm, “you two need to get a room.”

A/N: Well, folks, it seems Johnny and his Birdie (You, Y/N) turned their lives into Soap’s very own 'soap opera' (PUN INTENDED!!)—and they performed it live for the brass, Ghost’s teenage daughters (one of whom now has the receipts), and a very flustered Roach, who looked like he might just melt into a puddle of secondhand embarrassment. General MacMillan? He was just trying to enjoy the drama without choking on the tension.

Stay tuned for Part 3, where we’ll see if Johnny can salvage his soap opera debut… or if Ghost locks him in a cupboard to rethink all his life choices. 👀

[ghostsanctity]

Simon had always known he was possessive, but this… this was something new. It all started during a rambling, half-drunk conversation with Soap, the kind they’d both forget by morning—except for one comment that had lodged itself in Simon’s mind like a splinter.

“Lass can’t forget you if she’s knocked up with your baby,” Soap had muttered with a lopsided grin, slurring just enough to make Simon dismiss it at first.

At first.

Simon knew you’d never forget him, no matter how long he was deployed. He trusted you, loved you in ways he couldn’t always put into words. But once the thought was planted, he couldn’t forget it. Maybe deep down it was the fear you’d leave or just the desire to know that you were fully his, round with his child, but whatever it was, when he got notified of an upcoming assignment, he knew he was gonna damn well try.

Which is how you ended up here now, pressed into the mattress beneath him, his broad chest blanketing your back as his lips dragged heatedly along your neck. He reaches around, pulling your body up enough for you to stabilise yourself as he roughly palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples between his fingers as he continues to rut against you.

He's been at it for hours, fucking you with a relentless intensity, determined to fill you with every drop of his cum before he leaves. You’ve lost count at this point, never knowing he could go for so many repeated rounds but you certainly know it now as you feel his cum run down your thighs, the squelching noise every time he fucks back into you, a combination of your arousal and how many loads he’s given you so far tonight.

"Fuuck-" he groans, his voice low and gravelly with desire. "Gonna knock you up so good. Gonna make sure you're round with my baby by the time I get back."

He pulls out, his cock sliding from your well-fucked hole 

He stares down at your pussy, mesmerised by the sight of it dripping with his cum. He leans down, his face mere inches from it as his heated breath ghosts your folds. He watches, transfixed, as another thick spurt of his previous load oozes out of you.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, his breath hot against your skin. "Look at that. Look at what you do to me."

He reaches out, his fingers gently parting your swollen lips to get a better look. He teases your entrance, circling it slowly before scooping up some of the cum that's leaking out and guiding it back in with his middle and ring finger.

He pushes his fingers deeper, scissoring them to work his own cum back inside you. He wants to make sure every last drop takes.

"Gonna plug you up-" he growls, his voice rough with lust. "Keep you nice and full of me.”

He withdraws them, glistening with the thick, pearly fluid before bringing them up to your mouth, pressing his fingers against your lips.

"Go on-" he purrs as he slowly pushes his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean. You can taste the saltiness of his cum mixed with the musky scent of your arousal. It's a heady combination that makes your head spin.

"Good girl," he praises, his voice rough with approval. "Such a good girl for me."

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, only to bring them back down to your pussy. He circles your clit with them, the slickness of his cum providing the perfect lubrication before he gestures for you to roll onto your back.

He straightens back up as he slides the head of his aching cock through your folds, nudging the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts that do nothing to satisfy the ache inside you.

"Y’not going anywhere," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Not after this- fuck -you’re not leaving me…You can’t–”

You could hear the subtle desperation in his words, a fear that you'd abandon him. He needed to know that you would be here, waiting for him, even when he was deployed.

He kisses desperately, trying to put every fiber of his being into this kiss, hoping to portray even a fraction of the strong love he felt for you. His hips start to move again, his cock sliding into you with a groan. He sets a slow, deep pace, each thrust deliberate and purposeful as he works himself in and out of you.

"Fuck, I love you," he grunts, the words torn from him. "Love you so fucking much…You're my everything, I swear I’ll never let you down-"

He wraps his arms around you, holding you as close as possible, fingers digging into your flesh as he impales you on his thick cock over and over again.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his forehead pressed against yours. "So fucking tight and wet for me. Always so ready for my cock, god you’re perfect-."

He adjusts his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts so that he's hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. Your back arches off the bed as your nails rake down his back and you moan wantonly.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes, his voice husky with desire. "Gonna' fill you up so good. Gotta make sure it takes before I leave-

His hips piston faster, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. He's getting close, you can tell by the way his muscles tense, the way his breath comes in short, sharp gasps.

"Gonna cum," he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Shit- fuck-”

He buries himself to the hilt, incoherent mutterings rolling off his tongue as his cock pulses, filling you with another thick load. He bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans as you feel it, hot and heavy, painting your insides white. He collapses on top of you, all his weight heavy upon you, though you don't mind at all, arms wrapping tightly about him.

He stays buried inside of you, his now softening cock still buried deep within you. He rests his forehead against yours as his breath comes in short pants, trying to catch his breath.

"I meant what I said, you know…gonna' make you mine in every way possible," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he lifts some of his weight off of you. "Want you to have my baby- And when I come back, I'm gonna marry you because I’m completely yours and I want you to be fully mine, officially."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

reblogsノcomments are greatly appreciated <3

© ghostsanctity → do not copy or translate any of my works

[gloomica]

Simon Riley, the stoic and imposing type of man to try and hold back his moans in the bedroom. He's usually quiet, save for a few groans as his orgasm crests, but when it comes to you? oh he's a moaning mess.

It surprises even him, when he pushes into you for the first time and lets out a breathy moan he didn't know capable of leaving his lungs. You're just that intoxicating, though, just that right level of dangerous to break down the walls of a man like him without putting him on the defence.

He learns to let it be. Rather than bite his tongue and hide his face in your neck, occupy his mouth with your skin between his teeth, he moans into your mouth instead. He lets you swallow the noises he makes, take them into your body just as you're taking him deeper than you had thought possible.

And it only gets worse the needier he is. If he's been gone a while and deprived of your touch, Simon will come home and whine as you run your nails across his scarred shoulders. Straddling him, putting him in the spotlight of pleasures as you sit on his cock and take him inch-by-inch until he's balls deep inside of you and already on the verge of spilling inside of you.

He's a mess of moans and rambling dirty talk that you can't make much sense of, not when his cock is so deep and so thick that you're actively fighting back tears at the sheer stretch of him. How overpowering he is, how his strong corded arms lift you up and drop you back down onto his cock. How with each thrust you swear he breaks deeper into you, and hes the one moaning like he's already overstimulated.

His sounds become your favourite thing when he finally cums, filling you with himself even further, and between the choked moans of his orgasm, he tells you that he fucking loves you.

husband material amirite

[simonz-angel]

“fuckin’ look at me.”

the growl of words bounces in your mushy skull, watery eyes blinking till pretty crystal tears drip down the apples of your cheeks.

you’re lost, fluttering eyes fighting the fog, the way he reaches into your guts. it has you struggling and gasping.

yet, when simon’s fingers curl tight round your jaw, thick digits pressing dimples into the fat of your cheeks, you finally start to snap into reality.

“yeah, baby,” he laughs down into your face, teeth glistening in the soft bedside lamp. “i’m here, i’m here.”

and it’s not a sweet coo, it’s a harsh taunting, a mere joke to him to watch your eyes cross, and roll.

“t-too much, si, n-no” and it’s a broken, desperate cry, hands violently pawing at the backs of his thighs when he shoves himself meters into you.

you can feel every ridge, every vein, the way the tip of his pretty cock lays sweet frenchies against your cervix. and he stills, letting you really accommodate to the mere length, the width of him.

“let me see your pretty eyes, baby,” he huffs, breath heavy against your face in a way that does nothing but suffocate you. “you tired? you done?”

and your silence speaks for you, eyes bouncing back and forth from pupil to pupil. you can’t focus, the tips of your toes digging deep into his calves almost angrily.

it feels too good, in a way that has you squirming up like you’re under some spell.

“that’s what i thought,” he coughs up in a laugh, taking you by the lips aggressively. he lets his tongue open you up, and he explores your mouth carefully, hips pulling back as he readies himself. “now just be pretty for me and take it, yeah, hun?”

ion even know, this is so fucked 🤦‍♀️ send mama requests.

[evilgwrl]

“That’s it baby, just like that,” Simon would coo, coercing you on as you whined on his cock, pussy stretched to fit his length, slowly sinking down with a stutter.

“I-It’s too big,” you hiccup, pushing on his chest whilst you still your movement.

Simon was a patient man, he loved you, but he knew you could take it. That’s why he flipped you over, his cock now resting against your heaving stomach as you whine.

His member was quick to slap against your sensitive nub, rubbing the tip against it as prickles of precum catch on the bead, stringing it down to your entrance as he pushed in. Your chest was tight, reluctantly pushing against him at the burn before he bottomed out, his balls jutting against your ass as he groaned.

“My perfect girl can always take me, can’t she?”

He found your nod adorable, but he found you screaming his name even more so.

[feelgoodinct]

nsfw, mdni.

simon becomes an absolute dog when he sees you in his shirt.

cw: possessive simon, sex on carpet (ouch), unprotected p in v, creampie, size kink (?).

simon is a good roommate. he’s organized, clean, pays rent on time, and minds his own space. the only thing is—roommate is hot. stupidly hot. you know he doesn’t have a girlfriend and he’s never once brought back a girl let alone mentioned one. you figured your little crush on him would pass like all the other (it does not). you start dropping hints that you find him attractive. like wearing your tightest tops, brushing your ass against him while reaching for a cup, even leaving one of your lacy thongs to mix in with his laundry. he never bites the bait. you start to think that maybe he just doesn’t find you attractive or even worse he finds you creepy. so you tuck your schoolgirl crush away into the cavity of your chest.

you close the washer with your hip, cradling your laundry basket back to your room. you hear the familiar turn of your front door lock letting you know simon is home from his morning gym session.

you pad into the living room to ask simon if he needed any clothes washed. simons back is turned from you when he begins to slip off his trainers, dropping his gym at the foot of the door.

“need any clothes washed? i’m starting a load up right now.” you ask eyeing the movement of back muscle underneath his compression shirt.

he finally turns to you and starts to respond “nah don’t think-“ before he snaps his mouth shut when he sees what you’re wearing. “that mine?” his voice gruff, it’s his army issued shirt that is long enough to cover your shorts. a deep green color that frays at the hem and has his last name in bold at the back of it. you notice he’s staring at the worn fabric waiting for an answer.

you look down, “oh yeah. sorry was doing laundry found this in hamper. my clothes are in the wash. hope that’s okay?” you sound apologetic like you just did something unforgivable. jesus christ what were you thinking wearing his shirt without asking. you shift trying to ease your embarrassment.

he’s on you in three short strides. making a noise between a growl and snarl. you don’t know how or when you both ended up on the living room floor. frankly, it’s the last thing on your fucking mind now that you’re on your knees cheek pressing into the shag carpet. you can feel the heat of his stare between your legs. you get a glimpse of your shorts and panties strewn across the floor leaving you in his shirt. you wait with bated breath for him to touch you. you wiggle your hips in a silent plead to get him to do something, anything…everything.

he gives the flesh of your ass a heavy smack that has you clenching around nothing. “be good now.” is all you hear before the sting leaves an angry red mark that you know is gonna leave you wincing for the next week. simon smooths a hand over the back of your (his) shirt making a noise in the back of his throat.

you hear shuffling behind you before you feel the head of him catch on to your opening making your mouth gape like a fish out of water. he groans at the contact, kneading the fat of your hips, before he presses in painfully slow with a hiss. you whimper into the carpet, fists balling, feeling hot all over. your cunt pulses trying to make room for him inside your womb.

“i know. i know, pretty girl. almost there.” simon bites back a hiss when you clench at his words. you think you might die like this. laid out on ugly apartment carpet trying to take simon’s cock. you could cry with relief when you feel simon’s balls meet your clit letting you know he’s all the way in. simon lets out a guttural sound bordering on animalistic at the sight of you speared open on his cock, last name across your back, absolutely crying for it.

he fists the bottom of the shirt to keep you still and eases his hips back just to sink back in slowly. the pressure in your navel hurts so good it’s starting to make you dizzy. simon sets a pace that has you trying to cant your hips back to meet his thrusts. he lays a heavy palm in the middle of your back, just under the boldened ‘RILEY’, keeping you pinned giving you no choice but to take what he gives you.

“prettiest fuckin girl i ever seen. gonna give this cunt the proper treatment she deserves, yeah?” he bends his left leg, somehow sliding in deeper. there’s no doubt that you can feel him in your lungs. “s’deep simon.” you slur, reaching a hand back to weakly press against his stomach. he chuckles at the act taking both wrists into one of his hands pressing them at the small of your back, forcing you into a deeper arch. you sob at the change in angle. your nipples being rubbed raw by the friction of his thrusts.

“needed this real bad, huh? don’t worry baby. i’ll make sure you don’t go without it again. wearing those tiny tops think i didn’t notice.” his voice rough and deep behind you. “uh huh.” you reply without a second thought, you don’t even care that you’ve been drooling into the carpet or that you’ve been caught. simon gives a deep chuckle at how pliant you’ve become just from some good dick.

he knows your close by the increasing volume of your sounds. he never lets up his pace determined to give you his all. “where?” he asks in a quick breathe. you take a few seconds to register his words. “huh?” you manage to squeak out. “where do you want me, pretty thing?” he says in an almost pained voice. the gears turn in your head before you speak up “inside. want it inside. m’clean. pill.” resorting to short clipped words. you beg, as if you have to, simon thinks.

your orgasm comes hard and fast leaving you sobbing out garbled version of please and simon. simon is not far behind burying himself as deep as your bodies will allow and comes inside with a pinched “oh fuck.” he pulls out with a pop and watches his spend leak down your slit leaving a small puddle on the floor that he knows he’ll have to scrub out later.

simon pats your backside affectionately. “don’t think we’ll be doing any laundry today” he says with a grin that makes you giggle. “yeah, don’t think so.”

[pedropascallme]

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚Call of Duty Masterlist

💋Smut | 🫀Fluff | 🥀 Angst | 🧠Imagine | 🪡Series | 🌷One shot | 🗣️Drabble 

Deny Me 🥀 -> Set My Mind Free 🥀🫀💋

Teach Me Something🫀💋

[sunni-stuff]

You who's studying abroad in the UK where you have a one night stand with Ghost at a bar; it's a special night for the soldiers and he gets lucky after making you laugh by telling a shitty joke thanks to the liquid confidence in you. You ask his name, and he tells you there's no need — that you'd forget by the end of the night.

Taking you back home, there was no time wasted. The man practically has you seeing stars. He pumps you full of cum, whispers absolute filth in your ears and leaves bruises on your thighs by the time it's all over. He at least cleans you up, gives you proper aftercare before disappearing while your still fucked out of your mind.

Anyways, a great night. perfect 10/10, you have a story to tell your girls. So, your life continues on track as normal, right?

Wrong!

You dream of him. You have countless dreams of him. They were graphic reenactments of that night. His stubble rubbing against your cheek, his lust-filled eyes burning into yours even in the darkness. And oh, his voice - deep and confident - the very reason why you were drawn to him in the first place.

He creeps into your dreams every single night without fail, so much so that it frustrates you. surely not because you were soaking wet afterwards, no, no, it was only because he was so annoying! Surely it wasn't because you’d end up pumping your fingers in and out your soaked cunt for hours in hopes of recreating that mindblowing orgasm he'd given you only to fail each time.

After your 10th failed attempt to cum, you crack asking the friend who took you out to the bar in the first place if she knew who the soldier was and she claims her boyfriend does. You've met Kyle before, he's a handsome man with dreamy eyes and a gentleman's demeanor.

Kyle tells you he'd pass the word back to his lieutenant, but he's a busy man who doesn't stay in one place. There's no guarantee he'd even respond.

Lucky you, screwing a lieutenant who probably doesn't remember who you are or won't have the time to find out.

The waiting game painfully starts all while the dreams continue. Each torturous night leaves you more and more agitated than before. By the 4th night, you already embraced the restlessness sure to come when the vibration of your phone changes everything.

Directly on the home screen was a text from an unknown number. There was no name, but you had a feeling who it was based on the message.

“Keep the front door unlocked for me.”

A/N I wrote this during hurricane francine when my power went out, I think she gave me superpowers. Idk I'll start flying tmr!!

P2 here

[devil-in-hiding]

virgin!reader getting ready to make your usual escape to living room when you hear Simon’s heavy grunt from the other side of the wall

only to pause when you don’t hear a responding feminine moan

Just Simon’s heavy breathing, almost like a growl and you feel heat pool in your stomach, thighs clenching when you hear a guttural “Oh fuck-“

The image of Simon, spread out on his bed, boxers around his thighs and one rough hand stroking his aching cock has a breathy whine slipping past your lips, which you quickly try to cover up by slapping a hand over your mouth

He’s vocal, something you never would have guessed. Groans and punched out little grunts float between the walls, and with each new noise you clench down around nothing, pillow pressed between your thighs as you rock your hips, trying to smother your little whines with your hand

[motomamita]

college!bf!könig × female!reader

warnings: +18, smut, risky sex!

college!boyfriend!könig fucking you in his room, not caring that his roommate is there. He wrapped his strong arms around you, making sure you didn't escape anywhere while one of his hands covered your mouth.

"shh, be quiet, honey." He murmurs in your ear with his hoarse voice. "You don't want him to realize what's going on here."

both of your eyes are locked on the other boy in the room, who has his back to you at his desk working on his essay, having no idea what's going on behind him. König had developed a taste for fucking you in places where both of you could be discovered, his bedroom being his favorite place.

könig's thick cock slowly entered and exited your pussy, hitting your most sensitive spot with each thrust and making you moan lightly. Your thighs were wet as were his balls, making a sticky sound every time he entered you. His roommate continued working, totally focused on his laptop despite both of you moaning.

"i'm sweating... Let me cool off." In one movement König removed the blanket that covered you both, leaving you completely exposed.

you tried to cover yourself but he held your wrists with one of his hands while the other grabbed your leg. König increased the speed of his thrusts, fucking you as if you were the only ones in the room. Without a blanket over you, the sounds of your bodies colliding could be heard clearly as well as the moans that escaped your mouth. His cock moved in and out of you at a cruel, totally pleasurable pace that made you completely forget that anyone else was there with you.

it wasn't enough for your orgasm to come, followed by König's who grunted as he filled your insides with his hot semen. When you managed to calm down you looked at the roommate who was now wearing his headphones and playing music at full volume. he had definitely heard you. oops!

[leafavleo]

GHOST who never would’ve expected that he’d come back home one day to find you in sexy Christmas outfit, waiting for him by the door of the bedroom that you both had been sharing.

“Love, what?” He could only ask as he placed his backpack on the floor and loosened the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling hot and bothered.

“What?” You asked back innocently, leaning against the doorframe, staring up at him with a soft smile. The dress was soft but short, with white down trims on the skirt. The Santa’s hat on the top of your head looked a little too big.

After taking in your outfit a bit longer, he finally approached you, sliding his big, rough hands down your hips, feeling the material.

“Santa came early?” He said in suggestive tone, looking down at you with those eyes that said he was ready to devour you whole right on the spot.

His hands wandered down, under the edge of the velvet, red skirt, feeling that besides the fishnet tights, there’s really nothing else. Just your skin.

“And someone unwrapped my gift.” He growled playfully, grabbing your thighs to pick you up, causing you to gasp, and carrying you to the bed.

Santa might’ve came early this year, but Ghost definitely didn’t.

[bejeweledblondie]

When I tell you I was pissing my pants laughing at this.

“This wallpaper is so cute, we could live here” ME IN A NUTSHELL I have ADHD (I’m medicated for it) but when I’m off it this is me 😭