#cod oc x cod oc

[the-whispers-of-death]

Content Warning: Suggestive at the end.

Stone was outside, mowing the front lawn as his husband was in the backyard, tending to their fruits and vegetables garden. It was a hot day, so hot that Stone had taken off his shirt, showing off his scarred brown skin.

"Hi," a woman's voice cut through the noise of the lawn mower Stone was using, signaling to him that she was standing there on the driveway.

Stone stopped the lawn mower and looked back at her, his cold and stoic facade quickly settling in place amidst a stranger. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice cold because only few saw his softer side.

But his coldness didn't deter the woman, who was attractive even if he wasn't exactly looking, and she still managed to preen at his deep voice.

"I moved in next door and thought I should come over, introduce myself," she said, stepping closer to him. She stepped onto the freshly mowed grass, oblivious to the tick forming in Stone's jaw as she extended her hand for him to shake. "I'm Denise."

"Call me Stone," Stone said, shaking her hand only to be polite. He didn't bother touching her more than he had to.

Denise seemed oblivious to all of the signs Stone was giving her as she asked, "So, Stone, are you free some time? I'd love to have you over for dinner one day, so I can get to know you better. I want to get to know my neighbors." Her eyes seemed to rake up and down his burly figure, clearly liking what she saw.

Stone opened his mouth to answer, but Sarabi, his husband, stepped forward. He seemed to have come out of the shadows, making Denise jump back in surprise.

"Unfortunately, my husband and I don't go to other people's houses," he said, his voice super gruff. He stepped closer to his husband, the possessiveness seeping out of his pores as he wrapped an arm around Stone's waist. "But I'm sure we'd be willing to host the dinner here, if you'd still like to get to know us?"

Denise's eyes went between the two men, her smile faltering at know learning Stone was married but she kept her smile up. "Of course, I'd be happy to come over. Whenever you're both free," she said, though she sounded a little sour at the news Stone was taken.

She stayed for a minute more to confirm details about their dinner together before she left, practically scurrying away in a hurry.

Stone rested his head on Sarabi's shoulder. He melted when he felt his husband's arm around his waist tighten. "You know, it's so nice when you get possessive," he murmured to Sarabi.

"Is that so?" Sarabi asked, his gruff voice softer now. "I was almost tempted to kiss you right then and here just to put her in her place."

Stone took that as an invitation, turning just enough to be able to lift up Sarabi's balaclava just enough to reveal Sarabi's mouth and he leaned in to kiss his husband. It was a sweet kiss, but Sarabi's possessiveness was still there as his thick, strong hand took hold of Stone's ass through Stone's pants.

Sarabi growled softly when they pulled away for air. "You're mine, my husband. You got that?"

"Perhaps... You should make sure I remember that," Stone said, panting softly.

Sarabi took that challenge, switching his hold on Stone to pick him up and carry him into the house.

The garden and the lawn were forgotten for the day, but neither man cared.

[luminni]

Simon has a favorite jumper. It's simple, black wool, fits him well, and he wears it all the time. Only problem is, he wears the thing all the time. He's had the thing for years and it's practically all he wears when he's on leave. By this point, the poor thing is threadbare, little holes around the armpits, the neckline, and the cuffs. It's pilling everywhere and it's covered with dog hair (from where, he has no clue).

You loved the jumper on him, he looked fantastic in it, but even you could see the thing was in a dire situation.

"Simon?" You questioned, holding up the jumper in your arms, folding it after its last round in the wash (which it mercifully survived).

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever...thought about getting this thing dry cleaners?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Don't trust 'em, they'll ruin it."

It was a simple answer, one that told you the subject wasn't up for debate. But just because he didn't trust the dry cleaners with his jumper didn't mean he wouldn't trust anyone with it. And there was no one he trusted more than you.

...

Simon came home from his last deployment late into the night, trudging through the front door and setting his bag down as gently as possible as to not wake you. Toeing his shoes off and finally being able to tug off his mask, he couldn't wait to get out of the rest of his gear.

Stepping lightly through the house, dodging the floor boards he knew were going to be squeaky on his journey to the bedroom. Ready to join you in bed the moment he got into a pair of sweat pants.

When he opened the bedroom door however, he did not find you tucked away in the covers. You were crouched on the floor, humming along to quiet music playing on a small speaker. And you were bowed over that black jumper of his.

"Love?"

"Oh! Simon you're home!" You squealed, jumping up and throwing yourself into his arms, snuggling your face into his chest and drinking in the scent you had been without for so long like you could get drunk off it, and in many ways you could.

"Hey there sweet'art" he cooed, practically purring it into your ear and enclosing you in a big bear hug. "What'er ya' up to?"

"Oh just..." you turned back around, anxiety lacing your voice, "doing a little repair work." You handed him his black jumper, folding it into his hands.

He could believe his eyes, it was smooth like it was new, no pills of fabric clinging to it. The tiny, threadbare areas and holes were patched up. Now, perfectly matched black wool was weaved in to fix it. He stared at you, wide eyed, in disbelief while you just grinned nervously. He brought it up to his face, no dog hair to be seen and it smelt like you had just picked it up off the shelves.

He kept on staring at you "how..?"

"I just," you turned back around, grabbing the sweater trimmer, the replacement wool, the sweater scent spray, and the lint roller, all in your hands. "Used a couple things" You grinned

Simon could have sworn he never felt this way before. There was this weird tightness in his chest, it felt like it was going to explode. He had owned that sweater when he Tommy was still alive, that sweater had seen the first pub crawl with the 141 boys, he wore it on your first date. The sweater was more than just something he wore often, it was his good memories wrapped up into one piece of soft and comfortable wool. His arms moved before he could stop them and he buried you in another hug, squeezing you (and his jumper) into him.

"Oh- Simon!" You giggled, dropping your supplies.

He buried his nose into you shoulder, lifting you up into him, off your feet.

"Thank you," he murmured, voice cracking a bit, "thank you."

[simonz-angel]

simon who gets off on your pretty face… literally

your eyes sparkle up at him, diamonds cutting through the pretty iris, your plush, swollen lips grinning up at him. it dimples your cheeks, swells the apples that flush in a sweet pink.

and his cock slaps, tapping at that pink and drags, dragging against your skin nice n hot. it was crude, letting him bathe you down with the flushed length of him, letting him drag and slide his cock over your pretty face.

“stop grinnin’, bun,” he chuckles, taking the pretty pearls of precum n dragging em cross your lips in a pasty lipgloss. “not fillin’ your mouth tonight.”

you pout, letting your tongue catch at the sensitive tip of his cock, sucking the sweetness off your lips with a soft moan. and it has simon sucking his teeth, eyes taking you in with some kind of supernova, your sweet impurity breaking him down.

and he pats at your face with his freehand, digging the ball of his hand up into your cheek with a sick satisfaction, watching your skin pull and face drag up with his touch.

“keep it closed, you hear me?” he snarks, grabbing you suddenly at the back of the neck and pressing himself further into your cheek lewdly. “always so fuckin’ greedy.”

[oceantornadoo]

inspired by a dramoine fic i read! simon riley x f!reader

it’s the third time today someone has handed you simon’s paperwork and you’re starting to get confused. in fact, there’s the distinct feeling that you’ve missed a memo.

first, it was the visiting captain, so you couldn’t blame him for confusing lieutenants. but then it was johnny turning in his mission report, muttering something about “cannae be late this time if ah give it ye, lass.” which was odd, considering you weren’t his direct report (you were gaz’s). but what really sent you over the edge was getting called into price’s office and being met with a load of folders addressed to one Lt. Ghost (Confidential).

“sir, i’m a bit confused as to why you can’t just give these to him yourself.” price looked up from his desk, eyes flickering from under his boonie hat. “hav’ you seen ‘im today, lieutenant?” you nodded immediately while trying to scoop all of this paperwork (that was not yours!) into your arms. “yessir, i saw him before breakfast and then during training and then…what?” price had silently quirked an eyebrow, his beard echoing the movement. “i haven’t seen ‘im all day, so i figure it’s faster for you to deliver since you’re more well-versed in his movements than i am.” huh. “i’m sure he’s just doing his ghost thing, y’know? slipping into shadows and…”, price patiently gave you an exasperated look, “but i’ll get these to him, sir. see you later!”

the problem was, you knew exactly where simon was. in your office.

his own had an unfortunate ground level window near the track, so he was always complaining about nosy recruits until you offered to share some office space. temporarily, of course. it’s not like you were using all the empty space anyways and it made it much easier to get the opinion of your fellow lieutenant on a report by walking over to his desk, rather than going up and down stairs. that was the second point he made, and who were you to say no?

after pushing open your office door, you beelined for simon’s desk, dumping the stacks of folders on his desk. “wot’s this?” his mask was off so you could see his eyes widen at the mess of papers. “everyone now thinks i’m a drop off box for your paperwork, so i got burdened with all of this when i was doing my rounds.” he nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea. “cheers, love.”

“what do you mean, cheers? don’t you think it’s odd for them to give me your paperwork? and why do we even have so much paperwork? i swear im drowning in it this week.” he snorted at your last sentence, opening the first folder in front of him while you rounded your desk, sitting in your comfy chair with a hmpf. “yer out an’ about more than me, tha’s all.” well, that was true. the infamous ghost was not known to be a sociable person on base. “i guess…” you turned to your old radio, passed down by a retired captain, and turned on simon’s favorite classical station.

“ya want mess or the pub tonight, love?” another great thing about being on base with simon - you never had to pay for dinner. “actually, that thai place we like is doing a special tonight.” he gave you a half-smirk, one cheek ticking up. “bloody raccoon. we had thai two nights ago.” you didn’t respond, instead blinking your best impression of puppy dog eyes at him. simon sighed, then shook his head at his desk. “olrigh’. the things i do.” you smiled and winked, dipping your head back down to your desk. “thanks, si.”

-

two weeks later, you were prepping for a duo mission with simon. price had been grilling the two of you for the past three hours, making sure you had everything memorized. satisfied, he leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his temples, the feeling of a headache coming on. “one more thing.” both of you snapped your head up at price, desperate to leave and eat. you’d already missed dinner and your stomach was complaining.

“the safe house is pretty small, basically a shack. one bed, no couch. i assumed ‘s fine since y’r datin-“ “‘s fine, captain.” simon cut him off, an out of character move that had you frowning. “it’s fine, cap. not like ive never slept on a floor before.” now price was frowning at what you said. he turned to simon, who shook his head imperceptibly before becoming still again. price’s brow furrowed but he didn’t push further. he got up from his chair, eyes flitting suspiciously between you two. “i’ll see you at 0600.”

“what was that about?” you whispered to simon after as you walked down the hall. “‘s nothin’.” you were missing something but it was so unclear what. “he thinks that we’re datin-“ “said it’s nothin’, sweetheart. he’s an old man. let’s get some food in you, yeah?” you nodded, letting him guide you to the kitchen. price wasn’t that old. and you were not dating simon riley.

-

the mission was beautiful, your best one in years. it was the first duo mission between you and simon, so the nerves of pulling your own weight had settled in hard. thankfully, your skills balanced each other out and you’d gotten the target in record time. now, all you had to do was wait in the safe house for exfil.

“you were so good.” you whispered once he’d locked the door. he only hummed a response, checking exit and entry points while you set up your packs, scrounging up MREs and testing the shack for electricity. price wasn’t kidding - it was practically a studio apartment. one bed, a bathroom and a decrepit stove. the soldier part of you was fine with it, but that small soft part of you ached for the warmth of your apartment. memories of yelling at simon for using all your shampoo even though he didn’t live there, of him running you a bath after a long day of training.

“you were good too, baby.” he snuck up from behind your spot on the floor and lifted you onto the mattress that had definitely seen better days. you hadn’t even checked it for bed bugs yet. “c’mere.” he pulled you into his lap, unbuckling your tac vest as you pulled off your bandana. you tugged off his mask - the hard shell since you were on a mission - and ran your nails through his short haircut. simon started kissing your neck, wet and sloppy like he couldn’t get enough. the unrestrained want he displayed sometimes scared you. the respective pulsing in both your chest and cunt scared you more.

“so are you sleeping on the floor or am i?” he flipped you over, your back flush with the mattress as simon loomed over you. there was still eyeblack around his eyes, caught on his blonde eyelashes as well, and you couldn’t help the hand that reached up to brush some of it away. “y’r funny, sweetheart.” you grinned at that - a real toothy smile. he bent down to kiss you, scarred lips caressing your own. simon bit your lip and you moaned, sliding your legs out from under him to wrap them around his torso. when you tugged him in he went willingly, grinding into your clothed cunt. his tac vest was still on, scraping against your shirt, hardening your nipples.

“keepin’ you in this bed all night.” cold fingers dipped past the waist of your pants. you were already wet, his fingers sliding easily up and down your slit as they warmed up. that’s when you realized he still had his glove on, his movements harsher than normal. wide eyes met his own, and simon stopped so you could make a decision.

it didn’t take much as you dug your heels into his back harder, meeting him in a sloppy kiss as his gloved thumb played with your clit. “fuckin’ made for me.” he whispered, and you chalked it up to dirty talk because obviously, you weren’t together. he just knew exactly what to do, giving your clit the right amount of pressure as his other fingers teased your hole, the stretch burning more than usual. it only took a few flicks and you were off, your orgasm settling through your bones like a warm cup of tea. “jesus, si.” he grinned, his scarred lips pulling up to show a beautiful smile. “know ya like th’ back of my hand, huh?” you shook your head, capturing the idiot in another kiss.

-

after the mission, after debrief and a hot shower, you made your way back to your base office. thankfully, paperwork had only slightly piled up. one envelope stood out though - a thick card-stock with glossy, swooping letters. an invite to london’s military gala, addressed to a Lieutenant & Lieutenant. simon’s name was next to yours, connected by a singular symbol. you turned to him in disbelief. simon had been going through his own backlog, but his head snapped up under the focus of your glare.

“simon, are we…dating?”

-

this was fun!!! check out the fic i linked it was so good and i couldn’t put it down.

[stargirlstabber]

imagine simon riley being in love with your thighs. he simply loves them. they're his favorite place to nap on, they're soft like a pillow, here and there the big man leaves bite marks after a good nap. throughout the day, he randomly comes up to you, bending down to press a kiss to your neck, a massive hand squeezing your thighs. he loves them. if you're insecure about them, that will probably destroy his heart. how could you not love such beautiful body parts? especially when he's eating you out, the squeeze of your soft thighs around his head from the pleasure simon's giving you. heavenly. he falls in love with you over and over again.

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

something I do a lot without even meaning to is call people babe, honey, sweetheart, etc, but it's usually in a context that's a joke not like just in passing etc. it's the southern or the whore in me, idk. it's not even flirty, I just do it for the silliness. but when someone does something especially nice for me I occasionally go "you're the love of my life" or "we're getting married." no idea why I chose to express myself this way, but usually it gets a blush or a giggle (very rarely do I do this to a man).

however, I would do it to simon riley.

it's some small task that would only take ten minutes max. he brought you a sandwich from the mess or he finished up a bit of paperwork for you. so you forget yourself in glee and it slips out.

"Riley, we're getting married"

he freezes as you chirp out a "thanks babe!" as an afterthought and munch while filling out a health survey.

he just stares at you, nods, and heads off. you thought that'd be the end of it until he turns up an hour later with a bountonniere and a bouquet. he shoves the later at you.

"heard you say you liked these once" he mumbles as he sits down beside you. you look up confused at him.

"Riley, what are these for?" you say with a little grin. you've never got flowers from anyone before.

"my wife gets what she wants. always." he says, placing a hand on your thigh. "c'mon. not open much longer."

your eyes widen at his words. he tugs you up and out, asking if you have anything you want to wear or should you guys stop somewhere to pick up a dress. he swears he won't look beforehand, he'll just see you at the courthouse in it. he'll pay and he's got a dinner reservation afterward, sorry it's not before! do you want to take his last name?

please, doll, call him simon.

gaz is going to do pictures and price and soap will be witnesses. he's sorry it's rushed bird, but the quicker it's official the quicker he can start his husbandly duties.

[simonriley09]

Praise - Konig [Kinktober Day 23]

TW: NSFW, Fem! Reader, Sex, Praise, MDNI.

You feel König slowly insert his huge, fat cock into you, Praising at how well you take him. "So gut maus... So verdammt gut." You cant help but squeeze around the tip, making him groan. "Ja.. keep squeezing me like that and i might have to cum inside Liebling."

He slides half his dick in making you squeeze tighter, He thinks you might push him out with how tightly you're squeezing, Maus. Only half his cock is inside you but it already feels like it's hitting the back of your throat, it makes you wanna scream but the only thing that comes out is a breathy whine. König grins at your whine, slipping an inch deeper which makes you suck in a sharp breath and claw at his shoulder blades, Toes curling from the pressure. He finally bottoms out with a low groan, looking down at your bulging belly. "Such a good girl... taking me so well." "Gonna be so good for me, right maus? Gonna be a good girl?" He ends his words with a sharp thrust against your cervix, causing you to cry out, a loud moan escaping your lips. "So loud.. make more noise for me i love it." His hips rolled into yours, stuffing his fat dick into your cunny perfectly. Molding you wet, velvety walls into the shape of his dick. Your nails dug deeper into his back as he started thrusting faster, One of his hands suddenly pushing down on the bulge on your belly until you squirt all over him. Causing the bedsheets and his pubes to be covered in your slick. "Gut.... sehr gut, maus." He continues thrusting through your orgasm before pulling out and cumming all over your belly with a groan.

[milkywayhou]

Dad!König

I desperately need to sleep owch

[elysianightsss]

Delivery guy Simon pulls up in his piece of crap ford car, grabs his bright orange just eat bag from the car, slamming the door shut as he walks up to your house. All black attire and sporting no mask, never does during deliveries after being told by his boss it unnerves people you can’t wear that man.

You’re already there before he rings the doorbell, opening the door and giving him a bright smile. Eyes full of hunger, you stomach growling as you inhale the smell of McDonalds. After a shitty week at work you just wanted some junk food to binge on and there was no way you were cooking.

Simon clears his throat out of his temporary freeze, “Here y’a go love.” His deep gravelly voice has your focus off the food he’s picking up and holding out to you in an instance.

You actually look at him and fuck he’s gorgeous. He’s got a couple scars and his nose is crooked, like it’s been broken one too many times for it to be fixed. 6ft 7 at least, he’s built like a damn ox, there are scars on his arms too. If you could even call the both of them that, they’re just as huge as the rest of him. Graced with veins and stretch marks from where the muscles have grown bigger.

He’s a whole ass meal, forget the McDonalds. You’d happily eat him for dinner, just as the thought crosses your mind your gaze shoots down to the giant bulge in his trousers. Your mouth waters at the sight and you swear you see it pulse behind the fabric.

Simon happily stands there letting you, fuck you gorgeous little thing in a tank top and short shorts, eye fuck him. A smirk growing on his face as he watches your hungry eyes dart all over his body.

“Hungry love?”

You blush so deep at his words, cheeks and ears burning hot as you mumble out, “Starved.”

[the-whispers-of-death]

A/N: This is because of this post. Also I'm calling this AU Mr. Silent & Mr. Grumpy AU. Because I can.

**

Stone woke up from his dream, his eyes opening wide as he softly gasped. Beside him, his husband stirred and tightened the arms that were wrapped around Stone's waist, grounding him in reality.

"Was it another flashback?" Sarabi asked, lifting his head from where it had been nestled into the crook of his husband's neck. "It's okay, Vikram. You're not there, you're here. With me."

Stone took a few deep breaths, letting the remnants of the flashback fade away as he felt Sarabi massage his hips to make him relax.

"Ivan... Would you still love me if I was a worm?" he asked, needing something to distract him from the flashback that had woken him up.

Sarabi nodded almost immediately, kissing the crown of Stone's head. "Of course, baby. I'd keep you safe by building you a big enough enclosure so you could have so much space to roam around and I'd pour the finest dirt inside so you'd only have the best dirt to burrow around in," he answered, always the romantic.

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?" he asked Stone, curious to know his husband's answer.

"Honestly..." Stone started saying, "Well, only because we're married, since the whole "in sickness and in health" vows come into play. But if we were just dating, well... No."

Sarabi chuckled at that, tilting his head up to nuzzle his nose against Stone's scarred cheek. "Oh, so if I get cursed and turned into a worm anytime soon, you'll still love me because we're married?"

Stone nodded and Sarabi couldn't help but smile. He hummed in approval when Stone nuzzled Sarabi's cheek with his own nose, turning his head to the right and nuzzling the unscarred cheek of Sarabi's.

"I love you," Sarabi murmured, needing to tell Stone that. He just loved the way Stone always melted when he heard those words, and he could never get over the fact that he had the honor of calling Stone his husband.

One of Stone's hands settled on Sarabi's left hand, Stone's fingers gently caressing the wedding band on Sarabi's left ring finger. "I love you too," Stone responded, feeling at peace.

They both closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep, content that they were still alive, still married and retired. Because no matter how many flashbacks either of them got, they could deal with it.

Together.

[luminni]

Can’t stop thinking about how much Simon “Ghost” Riley loves his American girlfriend.

(sorry for this being a 3rd repost, I had an account called Lumi_bunsblog but that one got deleted for some reason so this is the new one now ig lol)

Unlike the other 141 boys he wouldn’t poke fun at you or tease you about the different words you use. Kyle loves to correct you,

“Whens the soccer game on tonight?”

“Its football love, not soccer, ‘cause you kick the ball.”

“You kick the ball in American football as well.”

“Yeah but...ours is better”

Johnny’s a tease

“Have you seen my swimming suit?”

“You wear a suit to go swimming?”

“I’m not calling it a costume”

“Well it sure as hell isn’t a bloody suit”

Even Price gets in on it by pretending not to hear you,

“Can you grab some chips from the kitchen?”

“Hm? Sorry dear can’t hear ya’”

“Grab me some chips!”

“Gunna’ have'ta repeat that”

“....crisps”

“There ya’ go, really outta speak up more sweetheart”

Never mind the fact he was right beside you on the couch.

But Simon, Simon is different. Never once has he corrected or teased you, to the point where its become a bit of a hindrance.

“Can you stop by the gas station on your way home?”

And he’ll just stare at you, an almost blank expression on his face, only the fidgeting of his fingers give way to what he’s thinking.

“The petrol shop Si’”

“Right.” 

Is it because he doesn’t care? Or maybe he’s too frightened he’ll scare you away if he corrects you? Whatever it is he’ll never say, but one thing is for certain, he’s absolutely elated when you start to pick up the British dialect.

You tell people your boyfriend is a leftenant instead of a luitenant and he’s looking at you like you hung the very stars in the sky.

Ask for a “wife beater” while pointing at the bottles of Stella Artois in his fridge and he swears his heart just skipped a beat (despite the crude connotations of the nickname)

Ask him to pick up ‘Maccies for you bolth on the way home and he almost causes a 20 car pileup because he has to hide his burning face.

Tell him you like the black jumper he’s wearing and theres three more in the online cart already.

And when you start swearing like a “proper brit” he’s ready to get down on one knee. He hears you mutter “bloody hell” from across the flat as you listen to news report an expected  10cm of rain for today and for the first time in his life he’s thanking god Manchester is such a dreary place.

You’ve become part of his life, he hadn’t scared you off, you hadn’t gotten tired of him. You wanted to be here, you wanted him. You’ve been here long enough to pick it up, you’ve spent enough time together even your words are beginning to match each other, and theres nothing in the world that could make him happier. So he’ll never once correct you or tease you when you ask to go on a vacation even if he’s blindly nodding along to your requests and scurrying off to the bathroom later to look it up and figure out you wanted to go on holiday with him. Cursing under his breath while he fishes his phone from the sink because he dropped it in his shock at the revelation you wanted to go on holiday with him. Give him two days and he’s already bought the tickets

[yawnderu]

''You're such a fucking asshole and—'' Your words are interrupted by a whiny moan when Keegan starts to thrust up, not letting you get distracted by anything despite your rant.

''Yeah? Keep going, baby. Ride this fucking cock.'' You do as he says, getting on your feet to be able to ride him harder and deeper, the tip of his cock hitting your spongy cervix every single time he goes all the way in. One of your hands is on his hard chest for support, while the other one is holding his jaw, keeping his mouth open to hear the downright lewd groans leaving his lips.

''And... annoying. Cocky. Arrogant—'' Each insult is punctuated by you dropping on his cock, walls tightening up even more when you feel him throbbing inside you.

''Horrible.'' You keep ranting about him despite how good he feels inside you, despite the way his fat cock has your lips gripping on him for dear life. He is all of those things and more, but the tension that has been building up to this day was impossible to ignore. You're impaling yourself down on his cock and he's letting you, mouth open slightly ajar and eyes rolling to the back of his head.

''Fuck— yeah?'' He finds the energy to speak despite the way you're destroying his cock, not even thrusting up anymore and simply letting you do all the work. His hand trails up your spine, grasping at the hair on the back of your neck and keeping your head in place, letting you ride his cock despite his rough hold.

His hand lets go only to slap your face, making you ride faster despite the stinging pain. What a fucking asshole. It doesn't take long for you to return the favor, hand coming up to slap the annoying smirk off of his face— and it works shortly, he looks shocked at getting slapped back, yet pure amusement is soon written all over his annoyingly handsome face, seeing it as a challenge.

You know you fucked up when his calloused hands grasp your waist, holding you in place before using his strength to switch positions, now on top of you. His cock thrusts even deeper like this, hitting your cervix over and over at an almost punishing pace.

''Acting like a fucking bitch all day—'' He groans out, words interrupted by the sharp hiss leaving his lips at the way your pussy tightens more around his cock. He looks down at your lips, leaning closer while managing to keep his brutal thrusts.

''Open that fucking mouth, baby.'' You obey, too fucked out to even think much about it. You're barely able to register the way he spits into your mouth before kissing you, tongues wrapping around the other in a disgusting mess of spit. His hand comes up to grope your tit, fingers squeezing and pulling on the nipple every few seconds as he kisses you, ignoring the way your mixed spit is dripping down the corners of your lips.

The air is heavy with the smell of sex and the sounds of your muffled moans, his grip on your body bruising, fingers digging into your skin as he fucks you with an almost animalistic hunger. He doesn't stop making out with you even when his thrusts become even more brutal, spilling into you with a final, deep thrust. His hot white cum filling you up only makes your body tense up, riding out your orgasms together before he collapses on top of you, his weight keeping you pinned to the bed.

''Get off of me, fatass.'' Your protests go ignored, the asshole only making himself even heavier on top of you even when you try your best to get him off.

[simonz-angel]

simon who leaves his sweet best friend for the military…

his eyes wander over the small portrait, the one with your pretty face taken upon it. he remembers when you’d handed it to him before he left, a soft, sad smile gracing your face when you’d whispered, “promise you won’t forget about me, simon?”

it was silly of you to ever think your grace of a presence would leave his mind. it was quite the opposite, every day in training he’d run off you like fuel, praying upon the very day he’d get to have your softness in his arms once again.

as for now, he’s alone, cold… desperate.

his head reels back, lips splitting till blood pools in the cracked skin, mouth dropped open as he chokes on his heavy gasps. you were his best friend from back home, the pretty girl next door, yet even in the hell he faced, you still had him wrapped round your finger.

he had locked himself away in an old storage closet, trying his best to keep from waking his fellow sergeants yet as his fingers squeezed and slid their way up his cock, he was finding it increasingly difficult.

you were stuck in his mind, the plush pillows of your cherry tanged lips, your fluttering eyes, the bounce of your full breasts… gah simon could go on n on, and it all somehow had his cock dripping.

he sucked his lip between the pearls of his teeth, chest contracting into tense angry muscles before loosening in heavy breaths. he could barely keep himself up, even with the wall he had heaved himself against, knees weakening by the second, the stroke.

“f-fuck, fuck,” he breathed low, words coated in a sugary sweet whimper, and your face flashed bright behind his lids. pupils soaking in the messy thoughts, all that presented you in nothing but impure.

he was hooked, deeply infatuated with your presence yet forever scared to mention it, knowing you were only, only friends. this is how it had to be forever, home or not, you were only a dream, a whisper of what he so desperately needed.

[ghouljams]

What's the opposite of a secret baby trope? Aggressively telling the man about the pregnancy?

You bursting into the farmhouse on the 141 ranch and having to stop yourself from swinging on one John Mactavish, opting instead to shove five positive pregnancy tests under his nose and ask him what the hell he's going to do about this? Only to be met with a marriage license he'd signed months ago?

[biancawritings]

"You’re doing it again," you said, not bothering to look up from the gear you were checking. You didn’t need to—his stare was heavy enough to feel, pressing down like a weight.

"Doing what?" Simon’s voice was low, gravelly, casual in a way that made you wonder if he was toying with you.

"That thing," you muttered, finally glancing up to catch his expression—or lack of it. His skull mask hid everything, but the slight tilt of his head was enough to tell you he was amused.

"Can’t help it," he said, stepping closer, his tone unshaken. "You walked in here like you’ve got something in mind."

You snorted, shoving a magazine into your vest pocket with a little too much force. "Yeah?."

"Yeah" He raised an eyebrow, a trace of humor creeping into his voice as he crossed his arms. "You look good putting that pretty little mind to work."

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the counter and crossing your arms to match his stance. "You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking like that. Pretty sure you’re the definition of trouble around here."

He took a step closer, his broad frame closing in on the already cramped space. "Might be," he murmured, his voice dropping enough to send a shiver through you. "But you’re the one holding my attention."

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself not to react. The mask didn’t hide the way his eyes crinkled, catching you off guard.

"Like that," he said, his voice dropping even lower now, barely more than a whisper. "Pretending you’re all innocent"

You straightened up, narrowing your eyes. "I’m not?"

"Maybe," he said, stepping close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his voice a low rumble. "Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to give you a reason not to be."

For a moment, you met his gaze, your pulse quickening against your will. But you weren’t about to let him win. With a tilt of your chin, you let your voice turn sharp and cool. "Quit it."

A slow, wicked grin tugged at the edge of his mask—not wide, just enough to make his eyes sparkle. "Acting all tough for me?"

You turned away before he could see the smile that tugged at your lips, keeping your tone light as you tossed back, "Does that bother you?"

Behind you, his soft chuckle lingered—a deep, low sound that stayed with you long after you’d walked away.

[theferalgremlinmfb]

IMAGINE:

You’re Ghost’s little student, he trained you from pistols, hand in hand combat, knife fights to managing snipers… but what happens, when he’s in danger, when he has never experienced such predicament, and somehow there he was…

Suddenly the men around him dropped dead, blood seeping out of their heads, as he stared wondering what just happened.

He wasn’t shocked, or showed any emotion.

Then he heard a static on his comms, only for him to hear the cocky tone from the one and only.

“Got your back, teach… Maybe your classes weren’t that boring after all,” you said, a smile crept across your lips, surely looking like a mischievous Cheshire Cat from a certain film he had to watch once.

He let out a low and soft chuckle, of course Price called you, it was only if necessary and the call was made, there you were.

“Good to see you too, kid,” he said, almost prideful in his tone, he did train you after all.