#call of duty smut

[everlyblaar]

Blurb, not full fic | MDNI

So, Artist!Reader who unfortunately is going through creative block. But no worries! You know how to get the juices going.

The secret is that you just need a good orgasm or two so the system pumps up some happy chemical and you’re good to go.

Lucky for you, Neighbor!Soap is always happy (eager) to help. Can’t let a sweet thing like you needy and desperate, right lovie?

No string attached. Just sent him a quick text and he’s at your door the next second.

But thennnn. When you text this time, and open the door this time. There’s this huge grumpy masked man instead.

Cue awkward stare until your phone chime, sneak a quick glance at the screen, you saw Johnny texted you.

Saying that he can’t be here this time but knows who can help.

Oh well, that works too.

No string attached, right? They’re just helping you get back on your track.

Thennn, the next time you open your door to a beautiful smile.

Thennn, a DILF who looks like he climb out of your dashboard to be here between your legs.

So whenever Johnny is deployed but the others aren’t, they’ll make sure their little birdie is satiated.

A side mission for the 141 if one might said.

They’re happy that you’re happy. All satisfied to be able to go back to be creative. .

Until they are all on leave at the same time.

They mightttt have gone overboard, so now you can't even think, much less getting out of bed to do anything.

"Sorry lovie," Johnny chuckles, kissing your neck lazily as his hand works its way down between your legs again. "Let we fix it for ya? Huh? Just one more."

That's a lie, you quickly learn.

[simonz-angel]

riding simon riley’s thigh 😎😎

your nerve endings sting, singing hot till they fray up and your heart hammers, beating and bruising your ribs. beating so hard your cheeks flush and your head spins, rolling back on your shoulders loose.

but his hands steady you, grounding you to get back to work. and you do, letting your hips roll, roll over the meaty, tensing surface of his thigh. it’s fucked that he lets you, lets you make a mess of yourself, embarrass yourself on top of him. but you can’t seem to slow, chasing and gasping so desperate to reach that impending edge of euphoria.

“that feel good, hmm?” it’s comical to simon, his thick accent dripping in heed but tainted in humor. but when you slow, head dropping till your staring at him with these low, blown eyes, he sobers.

his nails dig before he’s laying a striking slap against your ass, one that has you shuffling and yelping. “get back to it, baby, we both know yr’not embarrassed of shit.”

he’s right, you give no fucks to the wet spot you’re leaving on his jeans, no fucks to the way you press so desperate to find that just prefect friction.

n you abide, folding yourself over him, gasping hot over his ear as you press his face to your breasts. they jump with every grind, jiggle and swell over his cheeks. honey brown eyes, peer up in batting lashes at your pretty face from where he suffocates.

“that all it takes to shut you up?”

ugh wtv this sucks, can’t write for shitttt. give me song recs plsss plsss

[bunny-jpeg]

tags: smut/pwp, best friend!simon, break-ups, rebound sex, cowgirl position, sweet talking, mentions of violence

*whispers* your shitty boyfriend breaks up with you, but who comes to the rescue? best friend!simon! anything you needed, he got for you.

want to watch your favourite trashy movie? of course. want some more ice cream? he was already headed to the fridge. want to cry in his arms and swear off men? simon's got the perfect strong arms for that.

want a one-night stand rebound sex with him? well, he's not going to say no now is he?

you still had pretty little tears in your eyes as you started to undress, simon eyed you as he leaned up against the headboard of your bed. all of your stuffed animals were nicely placed on the floor. simon didn't want to break your heart even further with them being thrown on the floor. they were the hardest working soldiers right now with all the tear stains on their soft fabric.

this guy really gave you up, huh? he was a gunner for forces, simon had seen him around a few times. simon didn't think he passed inspection to date you, he barely passed inspection in the military. he had seen him a few too many times at the local pub.

but simon was nothing if not a supportive friend, he had to look after you. after all, who else would? not that gunner that was certain. broke things off with you right before his first deployment, what a pussy. simon remembered when he was at the russian-latvian border and he still managed to call you a few times. and he wasn't even fucking you - well that changed tonight as he got his tank top off and rubbed himself through his black track pants.

you swallowed, "are you sure this is okay?"

simon nodded, "of course. anything to help you feel better, i know this has been tough for you." he knew next time he saw that (ex) boyfriend of yours, he'd make sure to use his rank to mess with the guy's head. no one fucked with what belonged to simon, you included. he watched you get undressed and he marveled at the sight of you.

that gunner didn't want to keep you? simon needed to see this guy's seeing test. especially when you got naked and on the bed with him, you crawled over and staddled his waist. you spread your hands across his chest and looked into his brown eyes.

simon reached out and rubbed your back. your bottom lip wobbled, simon leaned in a little closer and asked, "can i kiss you?"

you nodded, "it would feel weird if you didn't." simon was inclined to agree. you held onto his chest while he kissed you, you melted a little against his lips and he wrapped both of his strong arms around you.

the kiss was tender, almost loving. more loving than rebound sex should be. you held onto him tighter, now by the shoulders and rubbed your bare pussy up against his trackpants.

"simon." you said softly as you rubbed up against him, "please."

"of course." he said as he pushed you away a little to get his cock out of his sweatpants. he eyed your naked body and said, "look at you, beautiful." he chuckled lowly and then looked surprised when you got onto his cock.

you sank down on his length and held onto his shoulders. your thighs stretched to be on either side of his waist and you started to rock back and forth against him. you whined as you eyes fluttered shut. it was intense, he was much bigger than your ex-boyfriend, by a great deal. and you loved the feeling of it inside of you.

you never expected to be fucking your best friend, but it felt so right, like this was the only cock you should be fucking. simon placed a hand on your ass and guided you up and down his length. he watched you moan and shift your hips, you felt amazing. and looked divine too.

"simon."

"it's alright, beautiful." he said, "just keep going." and held on tightly with both hands, he let you move up and down his cock at a pace that suited your best. he eyed your soft chest as you moved. he licked his lips before he started to pepper your breasts with kisses.

he knew your ex couldn't love you the way he could. be that provider you needed. not only in the bedroom, but in every other way. he could easily be the boyfriend you deserve, the one that you need in your life. that stupid fucking gunner didn't know what he loss out on. but that was almost, simon would be more than happy to take you.

have you, cherish you, love you. he kissed your chest once more before you took his face in your hands and kissed you deeply on the lips. you tasted like heaven to him, everything he needed in a partner. he felt up your sides with a certain affection that he knew that he had to have you in his life for the rest of his days. more than a friend.

"how does that feel, dove?" he asked softly as you worked yourself against him. it felt amazing for him, there was something about how your cunt wrapped around him, milking him for all he was worth that just heavily aroused him. you felt like his little slice of heaven and he couldn't be happier.

you nodded and looked into his brown eyes, "feels really good, si. thank you."

simon gave your ass cheek a little love tap and he chuckled up at you, "feels good, real good. hope you're not straining yourself." you shook your head and he leaned up to kiss you on the lips, "good, good."

his words were like melted butter in your head, it felt hot and so good. you held onto his shoulders once more for support as you rocked yourself against him.

"simon."

"yeah, dove?" he asked as he palmed your ass cheeks between his larger hands, "look like you got something to say."

you swallowed, feeling full of anxiety as you looked down at him. he looked beautiful in the low light of your bedroom. this felt right, you mustered up the courage as you asked, "maybe... maybe we should date?"

simon broke into a grin, the scar on his lips only intensified the smile. he said lowly, "i thought you'd never ask." then before he kissed you again you said.

"don't think of this as rebound."

he shook his head, "never." then groaned as he kissed you once more. it felt so good and you held onto his shoulders tighter. you thrusted your hips and felt the pleasure come over you.

"you and me?" you asked.

"oh yeah, you and me. always, as it should be, dove." simon rambled and kissed at your chest once more. you giggled and clung to him tightly. the two of you moved together, held on to each other.

you shared another kiss and you squeezed your thighs tightly around his thighs and could only think about him. you smiled into the kiss and he held you tightly.

"look at you, bouncing on my cock. should have done this ages ago. fuck that little private, shouldn't even call him a gunner." he thrusted up further into you, "deserve a proper soldier." he chuckled lowly, "someone with a little more experience."

you moaned loudly and he just guided your cock faster onto his cock and watched pleasure change your expression with each heavy thrust. you were perfect.

"i've always wanted you." simon said.

"i'm sorry it took too long for me to realize." you cooed as you felt yourself close to orgasm. you felt the shiver of pleasure through your core as you felt the leap in your chest. you needed simon, you clawed at his shoulders to his biceps and held on tightly as you felt climax take over and you clenched around his cock.

you arched your back as you came, you felt the excitement of climax rush through you. it was more intense than you ever had with your ex-boyfriend. you let out such a sweet whine and simon pulled you in for an intense kiss, you moaned into the kiss.

simon got you onto your back with him on top and he rutted up into you in the missionary position before he kept you pinned under him and came. his jaw tense as he sharply exhaled as he finished. the pleasure felt incredible and it made his flushed all over. he continued to thrust through his climax. then he slowed to a stop and gave you another steamy, messy kiss.

he made sure not to press a lot of weight onto you and continue kissing you. it felt good, and it made something shiver up your spine. being so close to him felt like nothing else. you looked into his eyes once more and smiled.

"you're perfect, si. i'm sorry for being an idiot."

simon held you by the chin and said, "better late than never, dove." then kissed you again before he got off of you and tucked you against his chest.

you felt yourself start to drift off in his arms. you tucked against him sweetly as you dozed off. simon held you close as you fell asleep.

when you were fast asleep, he went to grab for his phone. he sneakily snapped a photo of you and sent it to the gunner who had the audacity to break up with you.

"better luck next time" he texted before he put his phone away and snuggled up next to you. <3

[gazstations]

Come Home, My Darling

CHAPTER TWO

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

Details of why Kyle pulled your family from your home come clear. Meanwhile, you and John share a special moment alone.

♡ Chapter Warnings: Smut :)

◇ Notes: I'm breaking my no writing smut rule for you guys. This one scene popped into my head, and I decided it was necessary to add, hehe. A special thanks to @callsignpxnguin for being a real one and beta reading it.

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ PREV ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

YOU HAD NEVER BEEN ON THIS SIDE OF JOHN’S JOB. You always felt disconnected from this reality, for good reason. John escaped into another world as soon as you saw him off, perched on the wooden boards of your porch. Detail was a fact that was purged from your mind.

You had been on the base premises under ten times during your relationship with John. Most of it far off in another past when you did not have little footprints on your body from the two kids you brought into this world. The last trip willingly to this location had to have been when William was just a blip in your womb.

You were not accustomed to the way anxiety swelled inside you when you were here. Nor did you like the way three burly soldiers hovered around you, faces stoic and attentive. Gaz would've been present, but he offered to watch the kids since he already had a thorough rundown of the situation.

The sympathetic glance he sent your way as he was leaving did not help the way your stomach curled.

Kate Laswell stood in front of your ragtag group, stress written all over her face. You couldn’t remember the last time she taken a break. Even John managed some leave time and he was a workaholic. But Kate was someone that needed to keep parts moving and relay many components of information to different subgroups. What she did was not an easy feat. You respected the hell out of her.

Maybe you'd convince her to have one day with you. If she wasn't off in America.

“There is no easy way to say this…” Kate started. She dropped several closed files on the table between all of you and looked to you and then John. “But your family is in danger. Enough to turn some heads.”

“The point, Kate,” John, arms crossed and face crinkling with stress, interrupted impatiently. You pinched his arm, urging him to allow Kate her own space.

“Someone requested a hit on your family,” Kate continued.

She opened one of the files, and John took it but obscured your vision when you tried to get a glimpse as well. You frowned when John didn't acknowledge your bitter attempts to see the contents.

You did watch as his stance grew rigid, a scowl appearing on his lips. He swallowed, Adam's apple bulging slowly down his throat. His expression went blank, the black of his pupils blowing out the deep blue.

“What fucking creep took pictures of my kids!” He hissed.

Your eyes widened and you gripped the tan colored manila folder from his hands before he could stop you. You scanned the page presented to you, a horrified gasp escaping your lips. Seeing your kids playing unsuspecting in the front yard of your home caught as evidence for a bigger monster made your blood run cold.

John was on your defense in seconds. He pulled you towards him, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His large hand pressed flat on your back. You could feel the slight shake in his body - whether from fear or anger, you didn't know.

John's touch soothed you. It always did. But even then, the foundations of your sanctuary were crumbling. You had to remind yourself that William and Edith were currently safe. they were most likely making a jungle gym out of Kyle, overjoyed to be with their uncle again.

“It's alright, darling,” he muttered. “Nothing is going to happen to them.”

Would it be okay? Someone had slipped into the cracks of your home and advertised purity in the cruelest way. You wanted to vomit your insides out.

You had always cherished how safe you felt at the cottage John built for you. but this was an invasion that infected your mind. How could you go back when the damage had already been done. Someone had broadcasted your precious life to people who didn't have a shred of deserving.

A bitter resentment for John's job lingered inside you. You always worried that he wouldn't be the one returning, but maybe you should've been more concerned about the fact that you and your babies were now endangered.

You knew that if something happened to them, there would be no forgiveness towards John. You were still feeling disheartened by his dismissal of your fears earlier. The question of whether or not he would ever choose the three of you taunted you. Maybe he didn't choose family fast enough.

You never knew the names or details of the enemies John made. You knew that he had scars that haunted him in the dead of night - some innocent and some necessary.

Sometimes, you found it hard to grapple that your husband was a killer. When his hands traced the dimples and natural bends of your body, you never thought about how they had been stained an inky crimson. The same hands that kept the world clean provided comfort for the children.

“Maybe you shouldn't listen to this,” Kate spoke through the long silence. Her eyes analyzed you closely as your head turned to meet hers. You frowned, a steely determination growing in your heart.

“No. I'm staying,” you said sternly. “You are not keeping this from me. I want the details.”

Kate looked hesitant. It wasn't often civilians became privy to knowledge they discussed privately.

“She's staying.” John had your back. But he knew you well enough to predict that locking you out would only create a very pissed off mother. While he never wanted you to be involved, it was inevitable at this point.

Soap shifted, opening his mouth. “Watcher, ye got any trace of an IP?”

Kate shook her head. “The only thing we currently know is what was willingly shared. Someone has a bid going. Dead, alive, injured - they don't care. Someone wants to see John burn.”

“Yeah, so do a lot of people,” John huffed.

“No one has directly attacked your family before, though, sir,” Ghost spoke.

John couldn’t argue that. Someone was bold. You watched his face show more and more stress. John always prided himself on how well he protected his family's identity.

“Did someone access files then?” Soap questioned.

Kate nodded, “A week ago. Someone with high-level security clearance requested access to the database.”

“Who's badge was scanned?” John asked. He pulled away from you, taking the manila folder back from your clenched fists.

“It was wiped,” Kate informed.

“Inside job then,” Soap muttered in exasperation. “Steamin' jesus, that raises more concerns.”

You didn't like this discussion. while it was intriguing to see the way they bounced off of each other, you never wished for it to be in this situation. There was a target on your back and it unsettled you. As if a sniper shot was going to sound just as a window shattered from a bullet.

You had seen John's scars. You couldn’t fathom the vile things that would be done to you to really grind John's heart into a pulp.

“General Shepard is leaving us dry on this one,” Kate speaks, and Ghost lets out a huff.

“Bloody bastard,” he remarks.

“Our research is on us now,” Kate explains. “We're dealing with someone on the inside. So I started making preparation for a protective custody.”

Your throat felt dry. No, you wanted to go home and pretend your bubble was still secure. How would you explain this to the kids? Could you? Your breath stuttered as you processed the words.

“Absolutely fucking not,” John snapped. Maybe you both didn't want to accept defeat.

“Your home isn't safe. The base might not be safe either,” Kate said matter of factly. You respected her ability to keep her cool and declare what needed to be done. But you loathed the current plan.

“You're asking my family to go dark, Kate,” John argued. He dropped the manila folder onto the table and leaned over it.

“Cap, it's better than nothing,” Soap argued.

John sighed, a hesitant resolve washing over his face. His blue eyes blinked over to you, and you offered him a sad attempt of a comforting smile. You didn't want to leave him either. It felt different from the times he left you during deployments.

“For how long, Kate?” you asked.

“I wish I knew,” Kate admitted. There was nothing satisfying about this desperate end to hopefully prevent a tragedy. “Could be a long time. Until we know the threat is clear.”

“Were other files pulled?” Ghost questioned.

“Kyle’s file was accessed a day ago,” Kate reported.

“They're looking for weak points then,” Ghost concluded.

“Sounds like they weren't expecting to find Cap's family,” Soap added.

Knowing there was a hunt for more files a week after John's was accessed was unnerving. Were they trying to avoid arousing suspicion by delaying each search? That was your best bet. Even if it wasn't your job, you couldn’t help but analyze the data presented as if you would figure out some useful intel for a group of trained military operators and a member of the CIA.

“A likely possibility,” Kate agreed.

This was information you never expected to know. The weight of John’s world settled on you, and you felt a bit nauseous. You knew his job was far more dangerous than the average person, but what it sounded like to you was that he had personal adversaries. What the fuck was your husband a part of?

“Is Kyle’s family in danger then?” You asked in a concerned tone. You met Kyle’s sister at your wedding years ago when he brought her as his plus one. She was a sweetheart as much as she was a badass. You admired her.

“We can’t go off speculation right now,” Kate said. “I’m worried about you and the kids right now. We put our resources into keeping you safe.”

You wanted to protest, but Kate had years of experience in this sort of thing. You had to trust her. Even if your instincts told you to protect everyone. You didn’t want something to happen to Jocelyn while you were being secured.

“I put a warning on all of the team’s files. If anyone tries to access Soap or Ghost’s next it’ll hopefully be brought to my attention,” Kate added when no one said anything.

“They wouldn’t find anything,” you hear Ghost mutter under his breath. You catch it and curl your fingers around the implication. A loner. But not necessarily alone. His only family was the one in this room and down the hallway. He seemed indifferent to the fact he had no one to return home to.

You don’t harp on that detail. Ghost’s business is his own.

“The family has been approved to stay on base until I settle the terms of the custody,” Kate continued her speech.

Meanwhile, you were just trying to put all the puzzle pieces together. You had been living in blissful peace up until now. Now, you hoped the beast in the shadows didn't bear their fangs and wrap you in their drooling maw.

You were in danger just by association.

John’s large paw was on your back, right between your shoulder blades. “Come on, darling. You need rest.”

You didn't, but you humored him.

♡◇♡

John clung to you that night. All day, he had a tension rooted deep in his bones. His eyes crinkled, and his lips were straight as he lingered in the discomfort of his mind. You knew he was discontent with the way his face scrunched up momentarily, and he mumbled to himself.

The kids were happy to occupy their father's time while on base. You watched them in the common room, a fond smile on your face as John let Edith curl into his side. His low timbre always sounded so heavenly when he read, and you found yourself enraptured by his spoken word as well.

You did love John. Deeply.

This cresting resentment was because you knew he could do better. He could come home, become a retired veteran, and create a little nook where his new life lay. He wasn't all malice and crippled bone.

He would be good at it. You longed to see him in a different light. Tummy layered by a healthy fat because he could indulge in your cooking more. A softness in his eyes when he realized he no longer had to be the one running head first into the flame. Maybe you'd glide your fingers up the fur on his chest and beg for another baby.

And there would be a sweet contentment when he covered your body with his brawny form and relished in your pleasure.

Soap and Gaz, being the doting uncles they were, paraded around with your little hellions. Letting you finally quiet your mind for just a moment. John remained glued to your side, silent but attentive. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he wanted something.

Maybe you did as well. Desperation to remain together bred into something more.

You were supposed to be going to dinner. Instead, you decided to drown yourself in the shower. The water wasn't hot, but the lukewarm temperature kept you vigilant. You hummed softly as you ran soap along your body.

A tempting display for your prowling bear.

His hairy chest rubbed against your back just as you scrubbed the flesh of your thighs. The soap wasn't your typical scented one, but you made do with what you had. The team was returning home to collect items you'd need tomorrow. You could handle the unfamiliarity for a bit longer.

John's lips attached to your vulnerable neck a second later, facial hair tickling and burning your delicate skin. You sighed softly, reaching back to run a hand through his short hair. His meaty, calloused palms wandered the bends of your stomach as he peppered your neck in his kisses.

You pulled softly on the top of his head, making him grunt.

John picked your chin up with one of his hands, turning your head and then the rest of your body so he could see you clearly. You smiled as blue analyzed you with gentle love, his eyes crinkling at the edges as they flickered down to your lips and then your eyes. This time, the crinkle was born out of the quiet happiness to be in your orbit like this. Was this the emotional goodbye intimacy you dreaded since the meeting?

John quelled your nagging thoughts when he pressed a fervent kiss to your waiting lips. He groaned the moment you returned his gesture, one hand sliding up to cup at your cheek as he bullied you into the shower wall. The tile was cool against your spine, and you tensed for a moment, but your husband was warm and tethered, and it seeped into you.

Your breaths were hot in their exchange, that desperation taking command now. John made you linger there, soaking up the musk of the last cigar he smoked. You licked at him like he was the last slice of heaven you could possibly touch. Maybe he was. Your husband was your fine crafted version of your beginning and end.

Your hands pawed at the hard muscle of his biceps, searching for a nice place to sink your claws and make him remember you always. He let out a deep chuckle against your prodding lips, a sound that settled in the crevices of your stomach.

His hand descended between the valley of your breasts, rolling one of the nipples teasingly. Just enough for you to ache for more with a small complaint. His fingers left goosebumps on your naked stomach, muscles rippling as he snaked his digits down to your mound.

Your hips canted towards him and he finally released your wet lips. Your eyes blinked open to find the wild reality you were putting your husband in. His blue irises were swallowed by feral black, his gaze smothered you whole and ignited the burning fire in your core.

A small gasp left your lips when he sunk his index and middle finger into the warmth of your damp folds. He hissed, leaning forwards to nip at your jaw once before he played with you.

“Shh, darling…” He rumbled. “I got you.”

His free hand returned to your neglected and teased chest. He tweaked at one nipple, rolling the sensitive bud between his dexterous fingers. All the while, his fingers glided through your arousal, prodding at the entrance to your welcoming pussy.

You panted against his lips as you pulled him into you again. You wanted to be enveloped by him. Until his essence entwined around your ribs and merged into your bone marrow. With him, you would bloom soft, colorful petals along the muscle of your body.

You pulled back to let out a soft whine when he finally slipped his index finger into your fluttering walls. Your fingers dug into the flesh on his shoulder, making him shift the way he was standing. His knee knocked against your sensitive clit as he went chest to chest with you. Everything was him as his form pressed closer to you, his lips attaching to your neck one more.

“John…” You whined pitifully. It was just his fingers and yet you were unwound and vulnerable. Legs jelly and body completely reliant on him to keep you steady in the shower's stream.

“I know, darling,” John cooed, baritone coming straight from his chest. “So sweet for me.”

Your hips rocked rhythmically to his fingers’ tune. He found your cunt sloppy and warm, yearning for how little or how much he could give. His deft fingers curled at the first knuckle, biting at your soft walls until he hit the pressure point that made you writhe even more.

You trailed a hand down his stomach, eyes half-lidded as you grabbed at the rigid length of his cock. His eyes focused on you immediately, desire cooling on his face. You palmed at him, moaning softly as your pleasure reached a crescendo.

You wanted him to join you.

But John had other plans.

An expression akin to disappointment marked his face as he pulled your hand from his cock. He kissed you once - placating your confused hum and rolled his thumb over your pulsating clitoris bringing back the honeyed pleasure from your parted lips.

“This is ‘bout you, pretty girl,” he purred.

He doubled his efforts, lips descending upon a perky nipple, tongue laving over the area until you pulled at his hair. He rolled his fingers inside you, making your voice reach a higher pitch as your orgasm crested further.

Your arms helplessly flung around him, holding him just as close as he was you. You raised a leg, opening yourself further for his prying limbs. He supported you, keeping you flush against the wall in case you slipped.

Your eyes flickered down to him, catching that the deep blue in his eyes had returned and he was watching you. Water plastered wispy flyaways to his forehead. He looked utterly debauched even though you were the one being ruined.

The mixture of sensation brought you to a satisfying end. You tucked your face into his neck as you trembled against him, coating his fingers in milky release. Your chest heaved and John held you, rubbing at your back with one hand, the other still tucked between the throbbing cleft of your pussy.

“That's my good girl,” he praised.

He straightened, one last sad whine pulling from your lips when his sopping fingers left your warmth. A slow smirk formed on his face as he looked you dead in the eye, relishing in your afterglow as he traced his fingers to his crude mouth and sucked at your essence.

It made your pussy pulse again. Yearning for more.

“C'mon, darling,” John spoke normally again. “Let's get you cleaned up some more.”

Words of questioning died on your lips as soon as the spray of water rained over your head. Your body was exhausted just from that one orgasm, and you relaxed under the flow as John tended to you. His hands were gentle, chaste as he ensured you were refreshed.

You appreciated him.

“You didn't get off,” You spoke, voice leveling to soft tones.

John chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple as he rinsed the last bit of soap from your body. “‘M fine. Was about you. That can happen later,” he declared.

“Not now?” You asked. You knew he was wanting. Could still feel his aching against the small of your back. You pushed back experimentally, reveling in the way his breath hitched.

His palm splayed out against your belly, pushing gently “I would love to have you right now,” his voice was thick with barely contained arousal. “But I gotta get you to dinner. ‘Fore my sergeants break down the door with our kids.”

You smiled, understanding even if you had to cool the burning in your core for the time being. You turned and nuzzled your nose against his, a silent acknowledgement to his words. John responded to that with a peck to your forehead.

In the afterglow, reality started to crash through the temporary facade of bliss. You knew you had to return to the truth of your current world eventually. Though, it was nice to live in a complacent heaven for just a moment.

“I love you…” You confessed. Are we going to be okay?

“I love you, too, darling,” John responded. We're going to be okay.

You took his quiet assurance and cradled it tightly in a white-knuckled grip.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

@callsignpxnguin @crystal-freak24 @haneybunny @tenshis-cake @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @thriving-n-jiving @leon-thot-kennedy

If you would like to be added for future chapters, let me know!

[gloomists]

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

[sai-int]

TICKET TO PLAY | john price

Sheriff Price has a habit of pulling you over, and you have a habit of seeing how far you can push him. It’s a game you've been playing for years—a harmless one, until he gives you exactly what you’ve been asking for.

⤿ based on this | [ AO3 ]

18+ AU, fem!reader, small town vibes, porn with minimal plot, smut, oral (m receiving), dom!john (back and forth between hard and soft), bratty—sort of pathetic reader, fingering, squirting, public sex, smidge of voyeurism, size kink if you really read the fine print, implied slight age gap [ 6.6k words ]

You weren’t going that fast.

Maybe nudging 35 in a 25, but the road was empty—just you and the soft, golden light of a July evening slipping into dusk. The cicadas hummed their lazy symphony, crickets chirping in harmony, while the air carried the scent of fresh-cut grass and summer warmth. It was the kind of night that wrapped around you like a blanket, slow and sweet, the kind that made you want to roll the windows down and let the world drift by.

But then the sirens sliced through the calm, sharp and jarring, shattering the stillness. Red and blue lights flashed in your rearview, splashing the road ahead in a chaotic swirl of color. Your hands tightened on the wheel, that familiar knot twisting in your gut. You didn’t even need to check the mirror to know who it was.

Sheriff John Price.

The small-town Sheriff (asshole) that had a sixth sense for catching you when you weren’t even doing anything wrong. The guy who’d written you up for a rolling stop at an empty intersection, or a right on red at 2 a.m. when the streets were dead silent. Sure, maybe you were five over on a straight stretch of road, but come on—did he really have nothing better to do than hassle you over that? It was starting to feel like he was just looking for excuses to pull you over.

At this point, you figured you were practically on a first-name basis. Hell, you were probably the most frequent flyer on his ticket roster. But that was the trade-off for living in a town where the sheriff knew everyone’s business—and apparently, yours most of all.

You eased the rickety old Nissan Skyline to a crawl, tires screeching softly as you pulled onto the shoulder and shifted into park. Your fingers moved on autopilot, fishing the registration out of the center console before he even asked. If John Price had one talent, it was knowing where you were before you did—and you’d learned the hard way to keep things within arm’s reach.

The music blared for a second longer before you killed the volume, the sudden silence pressing down on the summer night like a weight. You rolled down the window, letting the warm, sticky air flood the cabin, thick with the scent of grass and distant rain. Leaning back in your seat, one hand resting lazily on the wheel, you waited. Same old song and dance.

First came the slam of his cruiser door, sharp and final, like he was already annoyed at the prospect of dealing with you. Then the crunch of his boots on the asphalt—slow, deliberate, each step dragging out the inevitable. It was almost comical, the way he took his time, like he wasn’t the one who’d flipped on the lights and sirens.

The window hissed as it rolled down, the sound jarring in the quiet, and before you could stop yourself, a smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. You didn’t bother hiding it this time. If you were walking away thirty dollars lighter, you might as well make it entertaining.

"Evenin’, John," you drawl, letting the words hang in the air with a playful edge that makes his jaw tighten.

He leans in, his arms braced against the window frame like he owns the whole damn road. His face is all sharp lines and shadows in the fading light, the faint scent of cigarettes and worn leather wrapping around you, mingling with the heavy, humid air of the summer night.

“Don’t call me John,” he grumbles, his voice rougher than usual, like gravel under tires.

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a grin. “Why not?” you tease, letting your fingers trail lazily along the steering wheel. “Thought we were friends, John.” You bat your lashes, adding a pout for good measure, laying it on thick just to see how far you can push him this time

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. His eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he leans in closer, his presence crowding you. “We aren’t ‘friends,’” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “You know why I pulled you over?”

It’s not really a question—it’s a challenge, and you can’t help but rise to it. You tilt your head, letting your gaze linger on him, your smirk widening. “Hmm… maybe ‘cause you’re a sucker for a pretty car?” you suggest, your tone dripping with sarcasm, sweet enough to sting.

John’s lips press into a thin line, but the subtle shift in his posture tells you everything you need to know. His gaze is unrelenting, sharp enough to cut through the cool facade you’re trying so hard to maintain. Internally, he’s fighting not to laugh—you can see it in the way his shoulders tense, like he’s holding back a cackle.

“If this—” he steps back, his eyes sweeping over the exterior of your car with deliberate slowness before landing back on you, “—is your idea of a ‘pretty car,’ I might have to issue you a ticket for driving without glasses.”

You lean back in your seat, arms crossing over your chest, your mouth hanging open in mock offense. Just because Fergie was old didn’t mean she was ugly. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an ass?”

He stands there for a moment, just watching you, his expression unreadable. It’s like he’s weighing how much more of this he’s willing to put up with. Finally, he tilts his head, his voice dry as dust. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a brat?”

“Touché.”

You two had been here before. Over and over again. Ever since you’d come back home from college, he’d been hot on your trail—always showing up at the worst possible moments, right when you thought you might’ve gotten away with it.

This was your town. You’d grown up here, knew every road, every corner, every face. It was small, sure, but it was yours. And then John Price showed up. Sparkling, brand new hot-shot sheriff, fresh off the Mayflower. Sworn in by all the touch-starved wives and swooned over by every teenage girl in a fifty-mile radius. Ever since he’d arrived, it was like Elvis all over again

You figured he didn’t have the right to boss the locals around like he owned the place. No shiny badge or gun on his hip was going to earn him any respect from you. This wasn’t some big city where the badge meant everything. Out here? You could be just as stubborn as he was.

Still, he had a knack for showing up when you least expected it, always lurking in the background, keeping an eye on you for reasons you couldn’t quite figure out. No one could explain it, but there he was, always hovering like you were some kind of problem. But you never did anything wrong. Not really.

“I bet you 50 bucks there’s about five disgruntled teens smoking pot under the high school bleachers as we speak,” you say, leaning back in your seat with a grin tugging at your lips. “Surely, they deserve your devotion and attention more than little ol’ me.”

He pauses, clearly weighing your words, and you can see the flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I don’t want your money,” he mutters, his tone dry but with a hint of amusement—and something else you can’t quite place. “Besides, I doubt you’ve got 50 dollars to spare, considering how often you’re in the precinct paying off tickets.” He leans in just a little, his gaze sharp, like he’s daring you to argue.

You shrug, playing the part, even though you know he’s right. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’re wasting your time with me. I’m practically a model citizen. Those kids under the bleachers, though? They could be causing all kinds of trouble.”

You give him a sidelong glance, letting the playful challenge hang in the air between you. “I’m just trying to help you out here, Sheriff.”

Your tone is sweet—too sweet—and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out whether you’re messing with him or just being your usual self.

He takes a slow breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. His hand pinches the bridge of his nose before he exhales, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Oh, I’m sure you are,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Big help, givin’ me that advice.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward just enough to close the distance between you, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. “What can I say, Sheriff? Someone’s gotta make your job worthwhile.”

For a moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of you. The air grows heavy, charged with something you can’t quite name, and the silence stretches taut between you. But then the faint hum of a car engine cuts through the stillness, tires rolling past on the asphalt—a sharp reminder that you’re not alone out here.

“Step out of the car.” His voice is calm, steady, but there’s a flicker of something darker beneath the surface, a low undercurrent that sends a shiver down your spine.

Your jaw tightens, anger flaring hot and sudden in your chest. He’s never asked you to step out of the car before, and the demand catches you off guard. You can’t afford to be arrested—not with a shift at the diner at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning, not with the way your life is already balanced on a knife’s edge. The thought of cuffs, of being hauled into the precinct, makes your stomach churn.

But you don’t move. Not yet. Instead, you meet his gaze, your own sharp and defiant, and for a heartbeat, the two of you are locked in a silent standoff.

You don’t say a word, just reach down to unclick your seatbelt with an indignant sigh, movements slow—like dragging out the inevitable might change the outcome. The latch pops, the sound too loud in the quiet, and you open the door, letting the evening air rush in, cool against the heat prickling at your skin.

You step out, tugging your shorts down where they’ve ridden up, keeping your gaze on the ground, on the cracks in the pavement, anywhere but at him. You try to keep your breathing steady, try to act like this is just another bullshit stop, just another way for him to waste your time and break your wallet. But your heart’s already racing, faster than you want it to.

Then his hand is on your hip.

Firm. Unmoving. Not quite guiding, not quite restraining. Just there. A weight that lingers, like a silent reminder that he’s the one in control here, no matter how much you want to believe otherwise.

For a second, you freeze.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches you. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, charged with something you don’t want to name.

You swallow, still refusing to look at him. “Gonna write me a bullshit ticket, John?” Your voice is casual, flippant—too much so. You know it, and so does he.

He doesn’t answer right away, and that makes it worse.

Because the truth is, you’d rather he just do it. Write the damn ticket, hand you the fine, and send you on your merry way. That would be easy. It’d be normal.

But nothing about him has ever been easy. And this? Whatever this is? It sure as hell isn’t normal.

His fingers tighten—just slightly—but it’s enough. Enough for you to catch it, that flicker of something dark and barely restrained. His jaw tightens, his nostrils flare, and you realize he’s at his limit.

Like he’s weighing his options. Like he’s wondering if he should just give you the damn ticket and walk away. 

You tilt your chin up, finally meeting his gaze, like a challenge. Would he?

His voice is tight when he finally speaks, low and strained, every word biting through the air.

"You think this is a game?"

You pause, letting the question linger as you ponder. Is it a game? Is that what this has always been? This back-and-forth, this constant chase—where you go about your life, minding your business, and he shows up, lurking, watching, like he’s got nothing better to do than make you his personal problem.

Would he really arrest you? Pin you against his cruiser and throw you in the back? Take you downtown like you’re some criminal? The thought sends a slow, involuntary shiver down your spine, but the more you think about it, the more ridiculous it sounds. If he was going to do it, it would’ve happened already.

He’s just a big softie. A stubborn, gruff, self-righteous pain in the ass who acts like he’s got the whole town in a chokehold but has spent too many years shadowing you for it to be a coincidence.

And deep down, you reckon he must have some sick, weird crush if the only way he can muster up the courage to see you is by stuffing a white slip of paper under your windshield wiper, like he can’t even be bothered to have a conversation without the safety of bureaucracy to hide behind.

You don’t even have to think about it anymore. 

This is a game.

You keep your gaze steady, watching him. Watching the way he’s fighting to maintain that authority, to keep control. And through the harsh headlights from his car, it’s almost cute—the way his jaw tightens, the way his nostrils flare ever so slightly, the way his fingers twitch against your hip like he’s waging a war with himself. Like he thinks he can win.

But he can’t.

Not really.

His grip on you tightens, fingers pressing deeper, slipping beneath soft flesh to squeeze the bone. Like he’s trying to ground himself. Like he thinks if he just holds on tight enough, he can remind himself who’s in charge here.

But you see it—the shift in his expression, the cracks forming right in front of you. His eyes are darker now, narrowed with something he’s still pretending isn’t there, and his teeth grit like it physically pains him to keep standing here.

You just can’t resist.

You lean in just enough, close enough that your breath tickles his cheek, and with a slow, knowing smirk, you whisper, “You’ve been dying to get your hands on me, haven’t you, John?”

The words hang between you, sharp and saccharine, and for a moment, it’s like the world holds its breath.

His eyes go dark, that flicker of anger flashing through them like a warning. But it’s not just anger anymore. It’s something else, something raw. For a split second, you’re certain he’s off the deep end.

Before you can even blink, his hand moves. It’s fast, and suddenly, he’s grabbing you by the arm, yanking you toward him with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Get over here,” he growls.

The words are rough, guttural, scraping against his throat like he’s been holding them back for too long.

The next thing you know, he’s dragging you to the hood of his cruiser, his grip tight and bruising as his fingers wrap around your wrist, effortlessly dwarfing it. The cold metal of the hood bites against your skin as he shoves you down, bending you over the car.

And then he’s on you.

His chest is solid heat against your back, his weight pressing you into the hood like he’s making sure you stay there. Your breath catches, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements as you try to process just how quickly the shift between you has turned into this.

“Talk so fuckin’ much,” he mutters through clenched teeth, his voice a growl of frustration and something deeper, something rougher. His breath fans against your ear, hot and unsteady, sending a shiver down your spine.

One hand clamps over your wrists, holding them firm against the small of your back, while the other tangles in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose the vulnerable line of your throat.

The grip is possessive. Unforgiving, like he’s staking a claim.

“You think you can just keep pushing me? Keep fuckin’ with me like this, hmm?”

A soft whimper tumbles from your lips, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip, the rest of the sound dying in your throat. His hand pulls on your hair, making your neck arch back, and the sharp tug sends a jolt straight to your cunt. You try to choke back the reaction, but it’s impossible—the way he’s holding you, the way he’s pressing into you with every word, every move.

His body presses into yours, the intensity of it all making your pulse race. Despite everything, despite the situation, a shiver runs down your spine. You can tell he’s holding back by the way his teeth grit, the sharpness in his voice. 

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze from the side. “By the way John Jr’s more sprung than a rainy day in April, I’d say you like it,” he groans and you chuckle, “You do like it, don’t you, John?”

The words slip from your lips, taunting him, and you can feel the shift in his posture before he even moves. His grip on your hair tightens, pulling you back further, forcing you to arch your neck more as he leans in, his breath hot and heavy against your skin, each exhale brushing over you like a warning.

“Think you’ve got me figured out?” he growls, teeth grazing the curve of your ear, his words a promise and a threat all at once. “Since you’re so fuckin’ knowledgeable, tell me something…”

Your pulse quickens, the anticipation like the loaded gun in his waistband. “Tell you what?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost breathless, but your eyes never leave his.

“Tell me what I do t’dumb girls that don’t know how t’speak only when spoken to,” he murmurs, his grip shifting, pulling you in closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes it impossible to ignore the growing bulge in his pants. 

You can feel his cock twitch with interest in his jeans, and instinctively, you roll your hips back into his. The firm bulge presses against your pulsating cunt, offering just the smallest bit of reprieve from the ache in your clit and you can’t help but whimper. “You give them a ticket and send them on their way?”

��Nice try, love,” he says, the words dripping with disappointment, like he’s genuinely let down by your guess.

Before you can even react, his hand leaves your hair, and you hear the cold click of the cuffs snapping around your wrists.

You jerk against the restraint, but it’s useless. You turn to look up at him, but the look on his face—hands on his hips, blue eyes locked on you—makes you stop.

No smirk, no joke. Just intensity.

“Get on your knees,” he says, voice low, rough, without hesitation.

You bite your lip, the urge to snap back hitting you. But instead, you swallow it down and push yourself up, kneeling before him on the pavement. The roughness of it bites into your skin, the cuffs digging into your wrists, each pull reminding you of just how much control he has in this situation.

His boot taps lightly against your thigh, the sound sharp in the quiet air, a silent demand for your attention. You glance up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s a look that makes your pulse quicken, as if he can see right through you, into everything you’re trying to shovel deep..

“Sit,” he commands, the word simple, authoritative.

It takes you a second to realize what he means, but when his boot nudges against your clothed cunt, you get it. 

You lift your hips slow, like you’re not sure but can’t help it, settling atop his boot. The sensation makes a shiver run up your spine. His fingers find your hair again, firm, enough to tilt your head back and make you look up at him.

“This’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it, dove?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, like he’s savoring the sight of you—knees to the ground, wrists bound, eyes wide as you stare up at him. He can’t help but palm himself at the sight.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, heat simmering in your cheeks with anticipation. “I’m not gonna beg,” you sneer, defiant like your cunt isn’t already drooling for him. The lie sits thick on your tongue, heavy enough to choke on.

He smirks—slow like he’s amused, but there’s something else there, like he’s already decided how he’ll play with you.

“That’s cute,” his fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head back just a little further. Your lips part on instinct, a quiet, pained mewl slipping out before you can stop it.

“but you will,” he hums with a smile so saccharine, it makes you want to smack it off his face. His free hand reaches for his belt, fumbling with the leather as he pulls it out of the buckle. You can feel your body buzzing with anticipation, the tension building in every nerve of your body. Everything in your mind is screaming at you, telling you how wrong this is, how this can’t happen. But deep down, you know he’s right. This has been a long time coming.

But fuck, he’s a literal cop, the Sheriff. This has to fall under some public indecency law.

But despite everything, despite all the warnings your mind throws at you, the pull is stronger, too real to ignore. And you can’t stop yourself from leaning into it.

He peels down the zipper of his blue slacks and the sound echoes in your ears. You’re on your knees on the shoulder of a road, the last vestiges of daylight fading, and God help you, your mouth waters when you see the outline of his solid cock through his boxers.

He doesn't break eye contact, his other hand still tight in your hair, daring you to even try to look away. The recklessness, the sheer audacity of him whipping out his cock in the middle of a traffic stop. It’s all so palpable, like a stack of weights on your chest. He tugs down his boxers in one fluid movement, his cock springing free, and you can’t help but try to back away at the sight. 

He's massive in every sense of the word. Dark curls trail from his navel to the base of him, thick but neatly kept. His cock hangs low and heavy between his legs, thick and long with a few veins and just the softest blush of pink at his tip. There’s no way you can take him all, let alone in your mouth. 

He could see the shift in your eyes, the sudden apprehension in your demeanor, and the hand in your hair loosened. He trailed his fingers from your scalp to your cheek, his thumb wandering to the plump flesh of your parted lips.

“You can say no, dove. I won’t hold it against you,” he says softly, giving you an out. His blue eyes soften as they meet yours, and you know he wouldn’t force you. But the way the hard leather of his boot presses through your shorts, firm against your clit, has you fighting the urge to grind against him. You want—No, need him. Badly.

You bow your head to meet his cock, tongue darting out, hungrily swiping up the drop of precum dangling from his tip. He automatically groans and his hands find their way back to your scalp, feeding his cock into your mouth. Your lips tighten around him immediately, suckling as he presses in and stretches you out. 

“Fuck— that’s it, love, so fuckin’ tight,” he babbles as he watches his length disappear in your mouth over and over. His eyes flutter shut as he tips his head back—he knew if he looked at you any longer he’d blow his load too soon. Your tongue is just so hot. He hadn’t expected it to be ice, but God you were sweltering. He nestled himself in the back of your throat so nicely, tickling and toying with your gag reflex each time you bobbed your head. You coat his length with slick spit, the sounds of your gags subconsciously making him push your head down even further. 

You focus on steady breaths through your nose as his grip tightens. Your hands strain against the cuffs, aching to touch, to feel, to at least stroke where your mouth can’t reach. So pretty like this, he thinks. The way you look up at him, defiant yet desperate. The way your breath catches and your throat flutters around his mushroomed tip.

It drives him crazy—how much he wants to break that control, to make you lose it completely. His groans only spur you on further, your tongue moving with purpose, tracing the prominent vein along his underside.

Your hips jerk against his boot as spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, knees grinding into the asphalt, but you barely notice the sting. All you can think about is the way it makes heat pool in your cunt—sends sparks up your spine. 

You can’t help it—your hips keep moving, grinding against his boot, the rough leather driving you wild, and you’re sure you’re leaving a wet spot. The friction is delicious, and you’re so lost in it that you almost miss when he speaks.

 “Look at you,” he says, smirking despite how badly he needs to cum. “Can’t even help yourself, can you? Just a needy little mutt, humpin’ my boot.”

His hand tugs your strands, not rough but firm, just enough to make you gasp. “Just need your pretty pussy touched, that right?” he tuts softly, pulling you off him, a thin strand of saliva connecting your glistening lips to the tip of his cock.  “On your feet, come on.” He guides you up, your legs shaky and chest heaving but his grip steadies you. “There you go, sweetheart.”

The sky’s a deep blue now, the sun long gone, the cruiser’s headlights casting faint shadows. He shoves you back against the hood, the metal cool against the backs of your thighs. His hands are on you immediately, rough and demanding, squeezing your thighs, your tits, like he’s marking his territory. 

You bite your lip, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s useless. His fingers dig into your flesh, and your hips jerk instinctively, craving more. “So quiet now, hm?” he hums, his face centimeters from yours. “What happened to that smart little mouth of yours?”

The way he switches from caring to being so dominant, it makes your head spin. You glare at him, but he doesn’t care. His hand slides under the waistband of your shorts, fingers dancing over your soaked panties, and you can’t stop the way your hips roll into his hand, desperate for any touch he’ll give. “All this for me, sweet girl?” he mutters, middle finger slowly circling your sensitive clit, “All wound up, yeah? Need me to set you straight?”

“Fuck—,” you whine, your hips bucking into his hand, you can feel his breath against your lips as he chuckles. He deftly pulls your panties to the side, groaning when his fingers slide through your folds. His lips find your neck and he mouths at the sensitive patch of skin above your pulse, sucking a dark, red splotch into your skin as if you’re his. 

You instinctively toss your head back, letting him lick hot, wet stripes from your clavicle to your jaw. He slips a single finger into you and your cunt squelches embarrassingly. 

“Feels so good, John—,” you whine into the evening breeze as he pumps his finger in you, curling to hit your g-spot with precision you’ve never experienced. He smiles against your skin before enveloping your lips with his.

It’s hungry, messy, and desperate. His tongue crowds your mouth trying to drink you whole, like he’s been parched, waiting for you to quench his thirst since he first met you. He swallows your whines and pleas for more as he works you open, grinning when he slips in his ring finger alongside the middle and you gasp.

It’s a pathetic attempt, really, to kiss him back—to try to match his fervor. He has you at his mercy and you’re near collapsing into him as he finger fucks you, low heat pooling in your belly as the coil tightens, as you claw at the hood of the car, wishing the cuffs weren’t there—wishing you could claw at him instead.

“Feel you gettin’ all tight ‘round me, dove. Gonna cum? Gonna soak my fingers, doll?” He questions against your lips. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, sucking him in and keeping them there. So greedy, he thinks.

You nod vehemently, biting your lip so you don’t scream—or sob, you aren’t sure how to feel—into the air. He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit, and that’s all you need to finally break. You near black out when you cum, sparks shooting up your spine and making your vision go black for a moment, his fingers lazily working you through your orgasm as your legs shake and your walls damn near break his fingers. 

“That’s my girl, knew you could do it,” he hums against your temple, wiping away tears you hadn’t known fallen. 

You hadn’t cum that hard in your life. Not by yourself, and most certainly not by any of the lame frat boys you fucked in your college days.

But John isn’t in a frat.

And he certainly isn’t just a boy.

He gently slips  his hand out of your pants, bringing his fingers up to his lips before popping them into his mouth. The way his eyes flutter shut, eyebrows pulling together softly as he groans at the taste of you on his tongue, it’s all fucking sinful. You watch him, mesmerized as he pulls the glistening digits out of his mouth with a pop. 

He dips his head to yours, kissing you again, but much softer this time, less hungry, more savoring. You can taste the subtle tang of your own juices on his tongue, and you’d be a liar if you said it didn’t turn you on further. 

John subtly tugs your shorts and panties down, the fabric whispering against your skin. He fishes for a small key in his pocket, before using them on the cuffs. They open, releasing your raw wrists with a near-silent snick. You feel the moment the cuffs fall away, and your hands move as if drawn by an invisible force, reaching for him, clutching at his jaw, pulling him closer with urgency. Your fingers roam his shoulders, his neck, tracing the hard lines of his body as he spreads your legs, tossing your discarded shorts aside. He settles between them, lazily pumping his cock with his free hand. 

“You want this, love?” he whispers against your lips.

You nod almost imperceptibly before crashing your lips back to his, like you just can’t get enough. 

He kisses you back like a magnet, but just as quickly, he pulls away again.

“Words,” he says sternly.

You huff, ever the impatient brat. “Put your fucking cock in me or I swear to God, I'll get in my car and drive right out of here.”

“That right?” he scoffs, "You gonna drive off?" He brings his angry red tip to your sodden folds, teasing your sensitive clit with each brush, making you jolt, “You want t’act like a brat,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Then we can do this the hard way.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours. “Unless,” he murmurs, ghosting the head of his cock into your hole, “you'd like to ask nicely.”

You bite your lip as you watch him tease you, fighting a groan at the way your cunt squelches and stretches around just his tip. 

“She’s so greedy, already tryin’ to suck me in,” he coos, “don’t want to deprive her, now do we?”

You whine as he notches just the head in. He pauses, waiting for you to speak before he moves any further. ​You open your mouth and your voice just breaks as you leak and drip around him and onto the hood of the car. 

“Please, John, Please, I need you—Please, I’ll be so good,” You break and claw at his shoulders and back, desperate to pull him closer to you, to have you flush against him, chest to chest and full of his cock.

“See how gorgeous you sound when you’re nice? See where that gets you, love?” He coos as he inches his cock into you. Your walls are already fluttering, still all worked up from your last orgasm. He has to fight the urge to cum right then and there, gritting his teeth as his grip tightens on your thighs, fingers dimpling the fat as he spears you open. 

You’re slack jawed, eyes glassy as he bottoms out. You’ve never been so full and stretched in your life. You can feel him in every orifice of your body, you feel him in the pits of your stomach, in the hollows of your lungs, in the cavern of your throat. His tip nudges against your cervix and all you can manage is a strangled sob. 

“Oh none of that, lovie, none of that,” he hums, pecking your lips and wiping the tears from your eyes with the pads of his thumbs.

 “Gonna fuck you real nice,” the thumb he used to wipe your tears away travels south, finding your clit and drawing soft, slow circles that have you gushing and relaxing around him, “Just be a good pet and take it.”

You nod as he cradles your head in his hand. He gently moves his hips, inching his cock out of your cunt before sliding back in, squeezing the air out of you like a fucking balloon. 

Gasps fall from your lips with each stroke, not entirely from discomfort, but from the sheer intensity of the feeling. He repeats the motion, a slow, deliberate push and pull that sends shivers down your spine. He keeps his thumb on your clit steady, making your legs shake, a burning heat already blossoming low in your belly. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his clothed frame as you try to anchor yourself against the rising tide of sensation.

He continues, his movements becoming more insistent, more demanding. Each thrust is deeper, faster, steady plaps from where his hips repeatedly meet yours. He knocks the breath out of you, each stroke forcing a soft mewl from your lips, your body trembling with anticipation. The world narrows, focusing on the rhythmic movements of his hips, the feel of his skin against yours, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling with his.

He leans, his lips brushing against your own. “That's it, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Take it all.”

His words ignite a fire within you, a raw, primal need that surges through your veins. You arch your back, meeting his thrusts with a ferocity that surprises even yourself. His pace quickens, his movements becoming more urgent, more erratic, and you know he’s getting close. The burning in your abdomen intensifies, spreading outwards, and throughout your body.

His name falls from your lips in a litany—John, John, John, john—a prayer, both a plea and a demand as his cock plows into you with staggering precision. Your cunt clenches around him, milking every ounce of pleasure from each stroke. He groans, cursing as his grip tightens on your hips, until you wail, toes curling and clawing at his back, your voice hoarse as you squirt all over him. He continues to move, his rhythm relentless, until he too reaches his peak, groaning as his body shudders, as he spurts hot ropes of cum deep inside your cunt.

You’re breathless, spent, your limbs heavy and relaxed. The dampness of sweat cooled on your skin, a pleasant contrast to the lingering heat between your legs. The world slowly comes back into focus and a soft smile plays on your lips as you trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips.

“That was…” you murmur, your voice still rough.

He nuzzles your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “A lot,” he finishes for you, his voice low.

You hum in agreement, tightening your grip on his jaw just slightly. You don't need to say more. The silence that settles between you is comfortable. He shifts slightly, and it reminds you he's still there, sheathed inside you.

You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his body against yours, a comforting heat that seeps into your skin. Every nerve ending still fires, buzzing with aftershocks.

Slowly, he inches out of you. It feels weird to not be full of him, a sudden emptiness that makes you instinctively clench. He's out, and the cool air against your skin is a stark reminder of the reality of the situation. Of the fact that you’re literally on the side of the road. John reaches for your discarded clothes, picking them up with a casualness that borders on audacious. 

He starts with your panties, briefly bending down in front of you as you step into them. He pulls them up your legs, snapping the elastic against your hip. “Sheriff’s discretion,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with amusement as he fastens your shorts too. “Wouldn't want you getting a ticket for indecent exposure.” Fucking knew it.

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “You were just as indecent as I was, if I recall.”

He shrugs as he tugs up his own pants, a picture of nonchalant authority. “Evidence suggests otherwise, doll,” he counters, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dropping to a low rumble, “I'm the one writing the tickets.” He finishes buttoning your shorts, his fingers lingering against your skin. 

The world sways for a moment, your legs still a little shaky. He steadies you, his arm around your waist. He walks you back to your car, the silence between you comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. He stops just short of the driver's side door, his hand resting comfortably on your back.

“Drive safe,” he says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it.

You nod, your eyes meeting his. You stand on your tip toes and kiss him, a soft, lingering peck on his lips that’s got him feeling like a teenager again.. He responds in kind, other hand moving to cup your cheek. Judging by how he holds you close, he’s reluctant to pull away.

But he does, and he turns and walks back to his cruiser. Eventually, You watch his car fade away, a strange mix of emotions swirling within you. Then, with a deep breath, you turn and get into your car. The door shuts and you just exhale, replaying everything that just happened. 

You reach to crank the keys sitting in the ignition and your eyes fall on a small white rectangle tucked under the windshield wiper. You get back out of the car and pull it free. 

It's a ticket. For speeding.

Asshole. 

[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.

[stargirlstabber]

imagine könig, the big man he is, slamming his massive dick in and out of you, not caring if it 'doesn't fit'. he will make it fit. he will. he'll manhandle you into various positions, the ones he wants to fuck you in that moment. you'll probably start crying by the time he chases his second release or when he decides to fill both of your tight holes and pushes a dildo or a plug into you. or maybe a vibrator. it really depends on his mood and how good you've been for him. squirming away won't help if he's balls deep into your sloppy cunt, the grip his massive hands have on you holds you like you're a doll to him. which you are.

[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.”

[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

[simonz-angel]

shower time w/ simon n his pretty lil roommate

water beats down at his shoulders, scorching drops pelting down the arch of his arms, down the rippling muscles of his chest. soap lingers on his skin as his hand words quick strokes over his cock, head falling back to let water run through his hair and over his flushed face.

on the other side of the shower curtain there you are, he can barely see the silhouette of your body, can barely make out the soft of your voice. but fuckkkk the mere outline of your plush curves had him in some fuckin trance.

“ugh, i still don’t understand why they couldn’t just come over and watch a movie with us.” you’re speaking of your friends, painting your lips in a cherry, explosive red as you get ready to go out to the bar together. but simon couldn’t focus on anything except the emphasis of us. good god.

he presses his free hand to the striking cold shower tiles, lip stung between his teeth as he chokes back his guttural noises. his stomach rising, flexing and pulling back suddenly taut against his organs, breath ragged.

“si?” you chirp, and he can hear the click of your heels at the edge of the curtain. he can see the slightly sliver of your soft, thick legs. fuck fuck fuck. “would you tell me if i look good in this.”

and he abides, folding his back to the shower wall, hips reeled forward to keep working his hand. and when the beads of water strike his cock, he’s in shambles, jaw dropping and eyes rolling, barely concealing his reaction when his neck rolls and his head hits the cool tile.

his eyes scan you, your sweet dress cuts down into your breasts, accentuating em in a way that they spill into his face. it cuts into the plush of your waist, silhouetting your figure sweetly. and when his eyes drop to your legs, his cock spurts.

“so?” you giggle, giving him a lil spin, before you’re popping a hip in question. “how do i look?”

and simon chuckles to himself, pulling his lip between his teeth to hide the whimper that works itself up his goddamn throat.

“y-you look beautiful, babe.” he chokes slightly, desperate to lick the tang of your red lip off, to have it ringed round the base of him. n his head rolls back, low eyes looking down your dress as he mumbles, “one more spin for me?”

[thundersoothers]

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man.

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him. 

“Shhh!!  You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.” 

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of.  The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.  

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants.  He has one sock on with a hole in the toe.  You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway. 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here.  Damn lock… can never— oh, shit.  Heh. Wrong key.” 

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in. 

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely.  He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila.  You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off. 

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside.  I bet you’re so cold, all naked.  Here, you can go in my dress, is that better?  Fu—ow!  Don’t bite my tit, Jesus!  Sharp teeth…” 

Price suddenly feels much more awake.  He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer. 

“This damn door… ah!  There we go.” 

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered). 

“Remember, we have to be quiet.  My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up.  He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.” 

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit.  And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet. 

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad.  He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me.  He’ll understand.  I had to.  I just had to!” 

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark. 

“Stay there, don’t move, okay?  Stay, yeah?  You know that, don’t you?  Mummy will teach you if not.  Just stay right there.  Lemme get these damn heels off…” 

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“ 

Bang! 

You groan loudly. 

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug.  You have one heel on.  The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over.  Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched. 

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan.  “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.” 

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad. 

“You hurt?” he asks.  “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little.  “I’ll just sleep here.” 

He laughs softly.  “Come on, none of that.” 

“It’s so comfortable.  I’ll just—“ 

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement.  You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you.  You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view. 

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. 

“Right.”  He crosses his arms, looking you over.  “Who were you talking to just now?” 

“No one,” you say quickly.  “Myself.” 

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.” 

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry.  “No.  You’re gonna be mad.” 

“Just show me.” 

“Promise you won’t be mad.” 

He sighs.  “I won’t be mad.”  You give him a look.  He sighs again.  You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy.  “Promise.  Now show me.” 

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest.  “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay?  No biting, please.  Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay?  Can you do that?  Yes?  Okay.” 

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement.  Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband. 

It’s a puppy. 

It’s quiet. 

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes.  He barks up at John, high pitched.  A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

It’s still quiet. 

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John.  “You said you wouldn’t be mad!” 

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad. 

“You look mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says again.  “It’s just… dirty.” 

You gasp.  “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog.  You pull him to your chest.  “He’s just a little mangey, you see.  But that’s okay.  It can be fixed.  You know—they have medicine for that.  Or lotion, or whatever it is.  He’s very nice, John, I swear.  I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow!  That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.” 

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you.  Yep.  You’re fucking wasted. 

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.”  You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you.  “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy.  Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you?  Yes, you can.”  You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says. 

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering. 

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied.  You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better. 

Of course it’s this.  What else could it have been?

A puppy. 

A puppy! 

“Oh, hello, there.” 

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road. 

“What are you doing here, all alone?  Come here, love, I won’t hurt you.  Come on, puppy, come to me.  Yeahhh, there we go.  Oh, look at you.  You’re so cute.  You’re all mangey, though.  Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.” 

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He wags his tail and nips at your fingers. 

“Where’s your mummy?  You shouldn’t be out here all alone.  No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you?  I don’t want to leave you.  I’m not sure what to do.” 

He barks at you, high pitched. 

You nod at him seriously.  “Oh, yes, good point.”  He barks again.  “Mhm.  Yes, yes.  I thought so, too.  Exactly right.” 

He runs in a circle around you. 

“What are you, a month?  You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone.  Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.”  (He’s wagging his tail.) 

“It’s so cold.”  (It’s summer.) 

“Maybe you can come home with me?”  (Your husband would be so mad.) 

“Yes,” you decide.  “You’ll come home with me.”  (Your husband is going to be so mad.) 

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life. 

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price.  I’m from around here.  I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much.  It’s very cute, but that's mostly because I decorated it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away.  See that big tree there?  That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home.  I’m not great with street names, so I go by landmarks.”  He barks.  “Yes, yes, you get it.” 

“Anyway.  So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John.  I love him very much.  You’ll like him, too,” you tell the dog seriously. "He’s very likable.  I like lots of things about him, puppy.  Actually," you say, "I like everything about him.” 

“He says I can’t have a dog, though.  He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in.  What do you think, puppy?  Should we do that?  I think we should do that.  We’ll have to be very quiet, though.  Very quiet.” 

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a military Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug. 

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.” 

“By Notting Street?” 

You furrow your eyebrows.  “Notting Str—I dunno.  Maybe?  I just know the big tree.  The one with all the branches.” 

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly.  “Right.” 

“But he was there all alone so I took him home.  I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little.  And he’s very cute, look at his little ears?  And his little feet?  His toes are soooo small.  His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark.  Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“You heard?  Oh.  I was trying to be quiet.  I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

He smiles at you.  “I know.” 

You smile back. 

“Give me the dog.” 

You frown.  “No.” 

“The dog, please.” 

“No.”  You hold him tighter.  “You’ll take him from me.” 

“Well,” he says, “yes.” 

You sigh heavily.  “Be gentle.”  You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him. 

A puppy. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully. 

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy.  “No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“But…”  You trail off and he looks back down at you.  You’re starting to tear up. 

“Oh—love, don’t cry.” 

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…” 

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.” 

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’) 

“Really?!” you gasp.  

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause.  For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really?  Oh, thank you so much!  Puppy, did you hear that?  Daddy said yes!  See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember?  He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“ 

“The dog can’t understand you.” 

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor.  “How are you handsome even from this angle?”  You frown deeper.  “Stupid face,” you mutter. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Let’s get you up.” 

“I’m so comfortable.” 

“Hand.”  He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you.  He crooks his long, thick fingers at you.  “Now.” 

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his. 

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder. 

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal.  “Hey!!” 

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand. 

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him. 

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You grin.  “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.”  He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest. 

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed.  “I’m so lucky.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too.  You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world.  He’s so good to us.” 

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says.  “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.” 

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue. 

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him.  He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him.  “Hush now.  Your Mummy is asleep.”  He shakes his head and sighs.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog.  “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you), throws a fluffy towel onto the ground (also for you), and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.” 

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 02.17.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

[bunny-jpeg]

packing my husband's lunch

simon "ghost" riley - inspired by this

tags: smut & fluff, domestic, established relationship (marriage), housewife!reader, butcher!simon, food, body worship & praise, missionary,

a/n: changed a little bit of it for the fic, i hope that's okay! i hope everyone loves it!!

it wasn't supposed to be a big deal, these were little videos that you made when simon was at work. people did a lot worse on the internet! you were mostly in sweet aprons with your username embroidered onto them and occasionally one of the dresses that your loving husband bought you!

you wanted to keep yourself busy now that you were a stay-at-home wife and the income from being part of the creator's program was a nice bonus.

"thank you for the banana bread recipe, mrs. riley!"

"where did you get that dress?"

"i wonder what mister riley looks like! i bet she totally lucked out!!"

you built up a sweet little community that was mostly sharing recipes that you've aquired over the years. viewers were impressed of how well you could handle spice despite your gentle demeanour, but you once said in a video that you had been eating spicy food your whole life!

"plus, my husband loves it too!" that was the big mystery of the account, who was mrs. riley's husband? viewers knew he existed and that videos occasionally were about making his lunches. but he had never showed his face in any video.

you thought the comments were cute, you'd often show them to simon while you were in his lap on the couch.

"they think that you're like christian grey."

"who the hell is that?" simon chuckled as he rested his head on top of your head so he could look down at your phone, "sounds like a real prick with a name like that."

another day, another video. you worked within the kitchen explaining the recipe. "you have to remmeber to add the spices before it all comes together or else it won't have time to mingle with the potatoes or the carrots. the taste will be all off!" you tone was like a bird's chirp as you had one hand on yourhip and the other stirring the pot with a spoon.

"my husband loves this! and i think who ever you make this for, wife, husband, boyfriend, partner, family member, friend, they'll love it too! but i suggest if you're making it for your nana that you tone down the spices a little!" you talked away as you continued to cook.

it filled the near silence in the kitchen and allowed you to keep viewers engaged!

but this video ended a little different. while you showed off finished stew in a pastel pink bowl, viewers caught the sight of him. hulking mass of man in a white t-shirt with a suspicious amount of red stained across it.

"girl, are you okay?"

"who is that?!"

"pack him a sandwich in the next video if you need help!"

"hey girlie, close your fist with your thumb inside if you're not safe!"

you were confused by the comments, simon wasn't a bad guy? he had never hurt a hair on your head. you've been trying to get him into more experimental kinky play in the bedroom!

you heard the door unlock and peeked out of the kitchen to see your husband coming home. you were use to grime he brought home, you met at the butcher shop his long time friend price owned. so a t-shirt stained with blood was nothing new. but then it clicked in your head.

oh they thought that simon was some kind of serial killer.

before you could say anything to your husband, he pulled you in for tight kiss and held you by the back of the head with his strong hand. you smiled against his lips and giggled when he picked you up. you wrapped your legs around his waist and held onto his shoulders.

you weren't the lightest thing in the world, but simon had spent most of his life hauling things (meat) heavier than you could ever be. he eyed you from top to bottom and smiled. his smiles were rare to others but frequent with you.

"how's my love bug today? makin' more videos for the fans." he asked as he carried you to the couch and put you down gently. he then leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

"yeah, they think you're a serial killer though."

his blond brows raised, "serial killer?"

you looked at him in return, "you were in the back of one of my latest videos, i didn't notice anything until i realized that you were in a work shirt and it looked like you were a serial killer."

"i see, i see." he said as he sat next to you and laced your fingers with his, "tell them i'm not, i don't need rumours to start." simon didn't like being the center of attention.

he once told you that he married the brightest woman he could find so she could be the center of attention and he could be supportive from the sidelines. it was why people gravitated towards you while being a little afraid of you towering husband.

you pulled him closer to you and kissed at his scarred face. he was an active service member before he became a butcher, so much history on his body and you loved every molecule of him. when you kissed him, he deepened the kiss and held both your hands.

"simon."

"let me take you to bed." he replied softly before he pulled you to your feet and then pulled you up into his arms bridal style. it took you a while to get used to him carrying you. not that you were worried about him not having a good hold on you, but rather you not having a good hold on him!

he brought you to your shared bedroom and placed you on the bed delicately. he then got his shirt up and over his head, exposing his strong body to you. he wasn't model trimmed, he was built with proper strength.

i ain't no pretty boy, dove.

but you thought your husband was the prettiest of them all. slowly you started to take off your dress, you could feel your husband's hungry eyes on you as you undressed for him. your viewers saw a sweet little wife, bu simon saw that sweet little wife totally nude.

when the mis-matched pair of bra and panties ended up on the floor with the dress, simon felt like a new man. he worked hard to provide for your family of two and would continue to work hard every day. you were his wife, his everything. and he loved you more than he could ever articulate.

so he expressed his love by getting undressed and into bed with you. laid out on top of the covers, your head in the pillows with simon between your legs.

"look at mrs. riley." he cooed as he rubbed his rough hands up and down your bare thighs, "prettier than those little cookies you make.' he chuckled a little, "boy at work watch your videos all the time, you've been a big help to them, finally able to cook for themselves." he went in to kiss you on the lips.

"glad i could help." you replied as you held onto one of the pillows under your head. you arched your back a little when he lined his cock up with slick entrance and pressed himself in.

he leaned forward and braced a hand up against the headboard as he got his cock inside of you. the issue with a size difference like yours, it made it a little hard to have sex in certain positions. usually you were on top, but since you got married you've been able to figure out missionary.

"honey."

"i got ya, dove. you feel so good as always." he said lowly, "everything i have ya, it's a complete treat. you take good care of me, you know that. you are a good wife. happy you're making your little videos, and i'm happier i get to come home to you."

you blushed a little bit and wanted to hide your face but he stopped you by pinning your hand to the bed.

"don't hide from me, dove. i want to see my wife's face." he said with his voice tinged with affection. he loved the sight of you, you were beautiful under him, he couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of you.

"you make me blush too much." you said as he moved against you. your loving, caring husband moved his hips in a steady pace as he held onto your hand and the headboard. his thrusts were easy on you, not too rough but just enough to make you excited all over. you loved the feeling of him, there was just something about it that made you feel a twinge of excitement in your core.

he was a perfect lover and you loved him so much.

"all mine." he purred as he continued his movements. he watched your videos daily during his lunch break, happily eating the food you made for a video that morning or the day prior. the stews, baked goods and pasta dishes that you were known for.

your emphasis on couponing and how to store foods to make them last longer. it was an honour for simon to be with such a lovely woman. you encouraged food as a form of love. and you showed that love ten times over with simon.

he captured your lips and continued to move against you. he devoured the feeling of his lover up against him. you felt amazing, you felt like heaven. he couldn't help himself. he moved against you and continued to kiss you.

"work so hard every day, you work your ass off beautiful. and i love it, all of you. you know that. i can't get enough of you, how you feel against me. how i feel like our souls are connected."

you giggled, "no need to butter me up, handsome." you smiled when he placed another kiss on your lips. you moaned into the kiss, you eventually held onto his strong shoulders. you two moved against each other, husband and wife. quite the pair you were, and simon wouldn't want it any other way.

"baby." he cooed.

"shh, shh." you said, you opened your eyes and stared into his brown ones, he was so handsome. even when he tried to deny it, you knew the truth. he was quite the handsome man. the kind of man that made your toes curl with each hardy thrust of his hips.

the pleasure ran through both of you, the intensity of it made you kiss one another once more. he continued to work himself inside of you. live in each of this thrusts, affection in every movement. simon loved you and you loved him, hence why you held onto him so closely.

"oh, dove. look at ya. perfect for your husband." he cooed as he felt closer to his climax, it was an intense feeling. the kind of feeling that excited him greatly. he loved you and when he watched your pleasure reach its peak, he felt a swell of pride when you clutched onto him tighter.

"fuck, honey." you moaned as pleasure crushed down on you. you tensed up then relax, enjoying the feeling as it moved through you. you shared another kiss.

simon continued to work his body up against yours, and soon he finished inside of you. he rocked against you through his climax and then only broke the kiss when he stopped. he looked you in the eyes, those beautiful brown eyes.

you giggled lightly and pulled him in once more before he laid out on the bed beside you and held you in his arms.

"not too bad for a serial killer."

"yeah, i bet they'd never know that you're such a teddy bear." you dragged a finger across his strong chest and let out a small giggle. he felt so good against you. you soon sat up and said, "i have something i want you to try, i am working on a new recipe."

before you could get too far, he pulled you back into bed with him and wrapped his arms around you. he held you close and said, "whatever it is, dove. i bet it's amazing, but right now i just wanna hold ya."

-

the following day, on one of simon's days off. you set up the camera and stood beside your much taller husband. you were all smiles as you were ready to bake a nice spring treat.

"hello, love bugs! it's mrs. riley again, and today i have a guest!" you gestured to your husband. you whispered, "you'll need to crouch down a little." and simon bent his knees, "this is my husband, mister riley!"

you hoped that this would quell any concerns your fans might have. and while the comments were positive one made you blush.

"i used to think i had a crush on mrs. riley, but now i have a crush on mr. riley too!"

i hope you love this fic! if you have any suggestions, my open! till next time <3

[mooonjin]

w: idek, sex? yeah, sex.

hmmm könig acting like an excited but desperate puppy, asking you “does that feel good? do you like it? tell me, is that the spot, my hase?” constantly because he has slight doubt. except he underestimates his size and already, his seemingly ‘slow’ pace is drilling into you so you’re unable to answer him.

now you’re being fucked dumb and you haven’t said anything, by his own knowledge of sex, he simply assumes he’s not pounding you good enough. his ‘slow’ pace becomes almost impossible to take when his thrusts begin to speed up and fuck you deeper.

still, könig is asking if that feels any better but you’re face first burying into the pillow, biting the sheets, given up on asking so you just end up taking his fat cock til you both cum. (aka til you feel like you’ve met death)

[skyrigel]

Possessive!Simon is one thing, but you ? You’re crazy about him. When it comes to him, you go all feral like a hissy cat pawing at their steak, he's your meat ! And Simon—so oblivious, so utterly devoted, he doesn’t even notice the hungry eyes trailing over him. All black gear, a half-masked, mysterious, broad shoulders and puffed out chest —of course birds and bats, all are salivating over him.

It boils your blood, ofcourse your man is hot, but eyes on him. Fuck no. You claim.

You tangle yourself around him, arms locking behind his neck, rising on your toes, dragging desperate, searing kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the edge of his mask. Grinding into him and ecstacy reveling because Simon gets all flushed under you.

None of these eyes can do that. Only you.

And then, without shame or hesitation, you yank the mask down, baring his lips just for you, claiming his starved mouth. The way he moans, all taken back your lips hot with slick and need for possession. Your fingers curl tight, nails scraping sharply on his nape as your body presses flush to his. Call it pathetic, call it insane, call it what you want but you will have him. A silent dare, a wordless mine.

Simon exhales rough and low, hands gripping your waist, grounding you—but not stopping you. Then, very effortlessly he lifts you, dragging you so close, his voice thick with heat as he mutters, "Always yours.”

Like he’s reminding you. Like he’s making damn sure you never forget who he belongs you.

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