#for love and duty

[rosesnink]

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As you may know by now, I am part of the @writeforgazaproject and have decided to take my part on the next level. As you know, I have several AUs going on, as well as the fix-it series from Blades.

After much deliberating, I have decided that, every two donations from my followers and readers that I get, I will compromise to write a chapter from the beloved series that are sadly neglected due to irl problems.

The rules here are simple:

1. Make your donation to any organisation from this post

2. Send me through DMs and asks proof of it and the series you'd like to see new content

3. Depending on the series, the donation will vary.

4. This is NOT a commission! You simply donate in exchange of content from my blog

5. No NSFW or violence in due respect to the victims of this apartheid genocide

The Donations Range

New chapters from The Viscountess, Plan B: 5-8€ donation

New chapters from For Love and Duty & Your Most Ardent Admirer: 10-20€

New content/lore of The Cursed Heiress: 20-25€

Blades Of Light And Shadow fics: 5-10€

[bitchofedensgate]

I catched a Cold myself so I thought

How the Seed Family takes care of you if you are sick

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Joseph

He won't leave your side

sits next to you in a chair and reads Books [mostly the Bible] out loud

only leaves to bring you some Tea or handkerchiefs

"Mhm your fever slowly fates" he mumbles to himself as he lays his hands on your forehead and cheek

makes sure you don't need to move out of the bed

John

is a bit panicking he gets sick himself

still is a caring boy-he let's the Cults Kitchen Chef cook you some good vegetable and chicken broth

is rubbing eucalyptus creme over your chest [ and gets a bit lost... "John. These are my Tits." "Right right sorry" ]

"Oh dear, I just hope it will fate soon. Here, have some more soup"

will fight the urge to tell you he has something special against your sore troath iykyk

Jacob

tries to seem unbothered but will stay awake to make sure you still breath in your sleep

holds speeches about how this will make you stronger and yada yada yada

will carry you like you weigh nothing into the bathroom to give you a hot, steamy bath and scrub away the sweat

"You are not dying god damn, it's just a cold!"

brings you lots of water to sweat out the germs

Faith

brings you so many Supplements and Pain Killers you are basically high

is not hesitating to snuggle up next to you

wipes you down with a wet cold cloath to make you feel clean

"Oh my, my poor Butterfly...don't worry, I am here for you, I got you!"

sings you to sleep

THANKS FOR HEARING ME OUT.

[itsbrucey]

Big fan of sun motifs in characters not necessarily being about positivity and happiness and how they're so " bright and warm" but instead being about fucking brutal they are.

Radiant. A FORCE of nature that will turn you to ash. That warmth that burns so hot it feels like ice. Piercing yellow and red and white. A character being a Sun because you cannot challenge a Sun without burning alive or taking everything down with them if victorious.

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[machveil]

Roommate!Simon Riley that doesn’t correct people for thinking you’re dating. Simon’s minding the trolley while you grab a box of cereal at the store, idly standing by while watching people dip in and out of the aisle. when an older woman says you make a cute couple he just nods and says ‘thank you, ma’am’. he especially doesn’t correct someone when he stalks up behind you, a protective hand on your hip when they scoff and ask, “Is this your boyfriend?”

Roommate!Simon Riley that knows you like the back of his hand - ever changing, but still familiar at the end of the day. a new scar marring his knuckles? he’ll memorize what you like from that new café that opened down the block. a new nick on his wrist? he’s picking up that new movie you were gushing about wanting to see, a genre you wouldn’t necessarily choose usually - he’s ignoring how the main love interest looks like him. at the end of the day, some things never change, like how he’s memorized your smile and the way your nose scrunches

Roommate!Simon Riley that’s fallen into a comfortable pattern with you. your friends always say you act like a married couple, but you wave them off. so what if you guys are in the bathroom at the same time? you need to squeeze a shower in and Simon wanted to brush his teeth - besides, he can hand you a towel when you’re done. so what if you sleep in each other’s rooms? the damn AC is busted again, it’s not your fault Simon is as warm as a furnace and welcomes you with open arms

Roommate!Simon Riley whose favorite start to the morning is seeing you bleary eyed and groggy. your hair is messy, pillow lines across your cheek, and your t-shirt is askew - perfect. he doesn’t care if you have crud around your eyes, he doesn’t care if you haven’t brushed your teeth yet, he doesn’t care that you’re wearing his t-shirt— Simon pauses, eyes glued to you. his last name decorating your back… maybe Simon does care about you wearing his shirt

[starsofang]

Simon didn’t like to hold you. He liked to be held.

At first, you didn’t understand why he’d turn his back to you in bed without saying anything. You thought you’d done something to him, or maybe he was in a bad mood. You couldn’t be any more wrong.

Simon Riley, an absolute brute of a soldier, was silently asking for you to be the big spoon. You nearly didn’t believe it when he finally brought it to your attention.

He was too embarrassed to ask you, so he’d resort to flipping on to his side and wait. And wait. Until he realized you didn’t catch the memo, even after many hopeless attempts.

In his mind, he thought being the big spoon would somehow convince you he wasn’t manly enough, as if his title in the service or his pure stature wasn’t proof enough of his masculinity.

To him, being held was a blanket of security. Where he’d always have to watch his back out on the field, both literally and metaphorically, he didn’t have to keep an eye out at all times with you. It was a chance for him to find solace in a person, and when he explained this to you, he was surprised to find you so willing.

And oh, when it happened, Simon nearly kicked himself for holding back on verbalizing it for so long.

The warmth of your arms when they wrapped around him from behind, your face buried between his shoulder blades, legs tangled in his, he thought that this was what inner peace felt like.

He was silly to think you’d ever be the one to judge him for what most deemed ‘unmasculine’. In all of his broad glory, he felt safe the moment you held him, like a child does when they feel a mother’s embrace except it was from someone he loved dearest to his heart.

And you? You found that being the big spoon was rather enjoyable when the man you’re holding was so damn comfortable to snuggle up to. It was a win-win for you both.

You just wished he wasn’t an idiot that left you wondering all those hopeless nights until the truth came out.

[s-oaps]

THE PRICE PAT™️ | CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE II & III

[yooo-lets-go]

He can’t talk right now, he’s doing hot girl shit

[theorist-fox]

Some more insecure Simon Riley talk, because he's precious.

18+

Word count: 1.4k

CW: nothing, just smut. Simon finds you in lingerie and has a stroke. I love him your honor.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon, who is not sure what to do with himself the first time you welcome him home in nothing but lingerie.

He’s so unbelievably tired, dropping his clothes on the floor of the bedroom without even lifting his head. Mumbling apologies to you—how he’ll clean tomorrow, how he just wants to go to bed and sleep fourteen hours straight, right now. Bonus points if you hold him through the night, too.

Yet you’re not replying, but he’s seen your silhouette in the darkness; he knows you’re awake because you whispered a soft “Welcome back” when he walked in the room. His heart pounds in his chest, his palms get clammy—he thinks he’s overstepping lines by not giving you the attention he thinks you deserve.

So, as he unzips his pants, he lifts his eyes to look at you, and fuck—

You’re lying on your side, propped on your elbow, chin tucked in your palm. Perfect tits covered in sheer fabric, burgundy and black, your nipples peeking through. The soft line of your waist is bare—he follows it with his eyes until they land on your hips. Ornated lace curves around your hipbone and thins into see-through, dark fabric over your mound. Two strips of silk clasp your knickers to a pair of thin stockings that cinch the fat of your thighs, and the sight makes his mouth water.

“Welcome back,” you say once again, this time with soft amusement.

He looks like a proper idiot. Hand still on his crotch, practically feeling how his cock comes to a stand at the mere sight of you.

He gulps. Feels a little lightheaded. “F’ me?”

You smile, chuckling softly but not derisively. Simon follows your hand as you guide it over your belly, up to the valley of your breast, as if you’re there, showing the goods he can pick and taste.

“For you.”

Simon is stunned into silence again.

Fuck is he supposed to do, uh? He’d be content just looking at you lying there and looking like you came out of a magazine, instead of touching you and potentially ruining what you did just for—for him?

He must not have noticed how his whole body (aside from his cock) has gone into standby—entered sniper mode. He's quiet, breaths reduced and silent, eyes attentive and narrowed.

It's a handful of seconds that leave you uncomfortable, as your plastic pose softens, your smile faltering at the corners.

“You don’t like it?” You ask, trying to sound steady, but he picks up the nervousness in your tone right away.

He won’t let you have it, obviously. He snaps out of it and takes you in for what you are: a fucking present, on his bed, wrapped in strings and bows and lace like gift wrap.

“Shoulda guessed it was too much, maybe. Should’ve gone for somethin’ soft—"

Simon is on you in seconds. Grabs your face in his hands and smashes his lips to yours something fierce, nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. No hesitation. Simple, tangible desire. Scorching lust. Want. Need—fuck, he’s never kissed you like this.

Your eyes lose their surprise, and they slowly surrender to him—hands wandering down to help him out of his pants and briefs. And then you wrap your arms around his neck, grazing his scalp with your nails until he shivers.

Simon thought there was nothing comparable to the softness of your skin against the harder patches of scars freckling his abdomen. But he’s proved wrong when he feels the rough texture of your lace scratch his chest and his hips—it has him leaking embarrassingly quick.

He’s all lips and tongue as he races down your chest, sloppy kisses leaving a burning trail between your tits, down your belly, settling on your cunt covered by thin mesh.

Simon looks up at you, holding your thighs between thick fingers, smushing them against his cheeks. His eyes are hooded, dark, different. He tilts his head and bites into the plump flesh within reach—not enough to hurt, but sure enough to taste. Mercifully passes his tongue over the teeth marks before biting into it again, until the sting has you arching your back off the bed.

And he never breaks eye contact, which leaves you dumbfounded and flustered to the bone—because where is this confidence coming from? You’re wide-eyed and biting your own teeth in anticipation—this is all new and all the more exciting.

His kisses travel from the lines of your stretch marks up to your sex, where he doesn’t even bother moving the gusset of your knickers, and he just dives in.

Tongue flat against your cunt, drenching the sheer fabric with his spit and your moisture. Your moans are so soft compared to the sloppy mess he’s making of you down there, his insecurity blessed by a sort of beginner’s luck. Or maybe he’s just that hungry, and that is enough for your cunt flutter around nothing anyway.

You’re speechless when he finally lifts himself up, slotting his hips between your kiss-bitten thighs. His cock lands heavy on your pelvis, painting your lower belly with speckles of sheer precum. Head swollen and red right above your belly button.

You look at him wide-eyed, on your back, stock-still—anticipating his next move with your heart rate spiking.

He takes you completely by surprise (once again? In one night? Who is this man?), when he moves your knickers to the side, and instead of plunging in, he slides his cock between your folds and snaps the lace back above it. And then he starts rutting in shameless abandon, holding you steady by your thighs, letting the sheer fabric of your panties cover his tip and half of his shaft, as he runs himself back and forth over the surface of your pussy.

“M’gonna ruin it, sorry.” He croaks, as one of his hands comes to clumsily grab your tits through the lace. “So fuckin’ pretty—fuck—bloody hell, you—”

You coax him to go on with breathless moans because he’s never looked more breathtaking than he does now. Tiny drops of sweat drip from his forehead onto your belly, cheeks flushed and long lashes fanning his cheekbones. His lips yield a grunt each time the lace scratches his shaft. Your breath hitches each time the head of his cock catches your clit.

“Gonna buy ya a new one, yeah?” He grunts, looking down at the wet patch his cock is making through the lace. “Gonna buy ya fuckin’ ten.”

He’s never been this vocal, and you don’t dare to mouth a whisper in case he catches himself in the act. Not even when you cum, a short and stinging orgasm that makes your clit burn at the friction, do you dare to moan. You tilt your head back and shut your eyes, neck corded in the strain to keep it in, flushing with warmth in unbearable silence.

You think you hear his voice crack through the cotton in your ears when you come back down from your high. “Fuck—God, fuck. Wha’ a gift, eh? F’ me. All f’me.”

He pulls back a few moments later, taking his cock out of your panties and into a thick hand. A few pumps, and he cums on your lace, painting your belly and your cunt in glistening white.

He’s panting as his hand languidly comes to a halt. Chest flushed and with a thin layer of sweat over it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, clearly dizzy—as if he needs to apologize for this. “I ruined it. I—just—gonna go grab somethin’ to—to clean y'up, wait 'ere—Jesus Christ.”

He slowly comes to stand, knees popping and legs shaking as he stumbles to the bathroom.

You look down at the spurts of cum covering your stomach and staining the lace of your panties, and then you flop your head back onto the mattress, wide eyes locked to the ceiling.

A chuckle of disbelief escapes you, still in shock from the sudden switch in behavior. And you think, when he comes back with a towel to clean the mess he’s made on your skin, that you might have to take another trip to the shop this weekend—buy yourself a new little piece.

But later, then, he falls asleep with his head on your chest, fingers lazily toying with the lace of your bra (because he’s asked you to keep it on, you know—“Like how 't feels”), and so you move up your shopping a little—already on your phone, running your thumb to skim through pinks and blues, laces and silks.

You might just order a new one right now.

It’s at that moment that he shifts in his sleep, slipping his hand under the band of your lacy bra and curling his fingers around your breast.

You change your mind.

You might just order ten.

[skyrigel]

Simon “Domesticated” Riley is my favourite.

Yes, he would kill for you and he would die for you but his affections and undying love isn't limited to oaths. It's boundless and endless.

He will cook for you, learn because he wasn't taught very good and he wants everything to be good for you.

He will sing for you, because you'd heard him in the shower and couldn't get past to fall asleep without his husky songs to make you fall asleep on his chest.

He will wash the dishes, side by side you. Laughing along as you dry the plates and using his hands at work to your own advantage to play mischief on him.

He will hear you, as you would continue to talk about everything because nothing was out of field, and despite you being a very seducing distraction, he's always trying his best.

He's a “my girlfriend, my wife” guy despite the other Task force guys teasing him about it, he doesn't mind holding your purse, instead he prods on it, he's always on his knees to tie your shoelaces, to help you out from those pointy heels. He doesn't mind being whipped, as Soap christened it, or smitten as Gaz chortled, because he is, as he should.

He's not patronising, despite being raised up to be one. He's gentle and kind and soft for you, and he's working on becoming a better man everyday for you.

He doesn't let his anger that's so unforgiving and terrible get the better of him, he's not a monster despite the blood on his hands as you've always told him so, he would pace around the lawn, sit in the grass, wash his face but he wouldn't let his anger be something you should be scared off, he wouldn't let it get between this holy thing called love.

He talks things out, understands your opinion, values them openly. 

He expresses everything even so it'd become difficult after being told to be stoic for so long, but he tries, always for you. 

He's always startled and flushed when you compliment him and he's trying to learn that you mean every word of it.

Masterlist

[tacticalprincess]

simon and könig being unable to stop bickering for a second, even when they’re balls deep inside of you. they’ve got you in an Eiffel Tower, könig’s cock filling your glossy pussy while simon stuffs your mouth. it took ages of convincing for them to even consider this position, but eventually they decided to put their discrepancies aside for the sake of you, their precious, spoiled little thing. it didn’t last very long though…

“jackhammer much, mate? you’ve got her choking on me over here.” simon points out, his heavy hand stroking your hair soothingly. könig’s using your hips as leverage, bucking into you at a rabid pace, each of his thrusts lurching your body forward and forcing you to take more of simon’s dick down your poor throat. “what happened to treatin’ the princess with care?”

“it’s okay, she likes it. isn’t that right, maus?”

your cheeks warm up as you hum around simon’s dick noncommittally. nothing gets passed the l.t though, and suddenly he’s gripping you by your hair, pulling your mouth off his cock.

“wait, you let him fuck your face?” he asks, sounding genuinely offended.

you wipe the line of spit that trails from your swollen lips all the way to his still hard dick, hovering just out of reach. you huff. “he’s more sadistic than you…” you say sheepishly in response, voice staccato from könig’s thrusts.

“you tellin’ me i’m the soft sex guy? the aftercare fuck?”

“‘s alright, mate.” könig reaches over your naked body to pat his comrade on the shoulder. “youve got boyfriend dick. happens to the best of us.”

[rosesnink]

For Love and Duty, Chapter Five: The Show Must Go On

Author's Notes

I'm free of exams for a while now! That means finishing the already written up and my, y'all just wait to see what I have in store, hehe. If you'd like for me to write the chapters faster, either from here or other projects, please consider donating to Palestine's cause! This post explains how the process is

English isn't my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistakes

No beta, we die like men and all that jazz

This series will deal with heavy topics, thus I do not reccomend minors to interact with it and heavily advice to read the tags before reading

If you wish to be tagged into this series specifically, go to my taglist and leave a comment!

If you're interested in my D&D projects, check out my D&D masterlist!

Summary: As Eleanor meets up with her mother, a reality check will change her mind about the affair

Word Count: 1.0k

Category: Tudor AU, Rennaisance AU, arranged marriage, slowburn, mutual pining

Pairing: Mr. Sinclaire x F!OC (Eleanor Foredale)

Rating: PG-13

TW: Mentions of prostitution

Book: Desire and Decorum

Eleanor weaved carefully through the halls of the palace, heart racing. How did her mother find her, and what did she want to say? Gulping, she silently prayed that it’d be the usual.

Finding the familiar cloak, she gave the agreed whistle and approached her. Her mother, of the same blonde hair that was now greying and her tired blue eyes gazed at her. “Took you long enough to come, girl.”

“The castle is not the estate, mother. I had to be extra careful.”

She hummed, not convinced “I hope that your handsome betrothed hasn’t kept you from your duties?”

“No, mother. I am doing as asked.”

“Prove it,”

“What?”

“Are you deaf, girl? I said prove it. Prove that you’ve been gaining intel on your father and how to take down the house from within.”

Eleanor gulped “Well, Harry’s been sensitive to some illnesses and remains reckless, Edmund is easily manipulated and grandmother is craving to please His Majesty.”

“And Vincent?”

“He is scheming, as usual. Don’t know what, but he is. I see him writing copious letters and talking to dubious men.”

Mary nodded “I shall look into it. You keep up your act. The day the wedding comes, they won’t know what to strike them.”

Before she could help herself, she blurted “Could we please spare my betrothed?”

She arched an eyebrow “Why is that?”

“He ought not to pay for his father’s past crimes. He is innocent of it all.”

Mary gave her daughter a mirthless laugh “Do you think your betrothed is an honest man? The townspeople whisper, girl. You simply do not listen.”

“I’m sure it’s all rumours.”

Mary frowned “You’re not falling for his lies, are you, girl?”

At the lack of response, Mary grabbed her daughter’s arm and dragged her outside palace grounds. They walked a long walk, all the way outside a very sketchy neighbourhood, with people staring at her, but did nothing due to her companion. They accessed a house, a pleasure house, where she saw something terrible: her betrothed, being friendly with one of the girls, who looked heavily pregnant, and laughing at something he said. She observed the other girls, and how familiar he seemed with them. Many things came to her: betrayal. Pain. Jealousy. Her mother whispered “I told you, girl. The British are liars and hypocrites and only look for themselves. If you think for a moment that they’re to be trusted, there is your proof. They’re savages, and will never truly love you. Not when you are what you are.”

She didn’t even need to say the word. She was a bastard, someone who shouldn’t had been born.

How could she be so utterly foolish? Was he acting as well all along? He felt so genuine… Like he truly cared for her as Eleanor, not a marriage pawn to boost his legacy, despite having plenty on his own right. Had this all been but a game to play?

With her dignity and soul crushed, she turned back, holding back tears, and went back to her bedchambers, not looking once behind. When she finally arrived, she started sobbing, covering it with a pillow, not wanting the staff to hear it. For a moment, she saw herself happily married to that man, and sending her mother to go to hell in her happy life.

But no. The show ought to go on.

She’d go along with the plan. She’d play the innocent, clueless bride, and when he least expected her to, she’d leave, her so called family be damned. ‘Let them all burn,’ she thought. That house had been standing for too long.

Mr. Sinclaire had talked with his old friend, Anne, who seemed to do better now that he had acquired the remedies for her pains “Oh, Ernest, you’re as witty as I remember! How I have missed talking to you. If I had to deal with one more man who wanted a frolic with my pregnant belly, I would’ve screamed.”

“Are you sure you don’t seek any other employment?”

“Oh, darling, who’d take a single mother in?”

He smiled knowingly “They don’t need to know that. You could be Sarah. Or Elizabeth.”

She threw her head back and laughed “Oh, my boy, what a sly fox are you!” Her eyes then gleamed “Tell me about your betrothed. Is she as pretty as the lords whisper?”

His gaze softened “A sight to behold.”

“I don’t know about this one,” she gestured to her belly “but soon you’ll hold a babe as pretty as the both of you!”

Flushing bright pink, he looked around “Anybody else who could use a hand? I’ve got a few hours to spare.”

She pushed him playfully “Go home, boy, to your beautiful bride, and worry about us once you’re a married man. And do introduce us when she knows the truth.”

He took out a bread loaf and leftover stew “For the children. You can use the soup for the littlest ones.”

“Go,” She encored.

He raised his hands amicably and left.

When he arrived at the palace, he decided to see how Eleanor was doing. Her candle had almost burned down, and she seemed quiet and unmoving, except from her breath, of course. He noticed that she did not cover herself up, and slowly moved to do so, caressing her long, blonde hair, easily matched by the yellow of the flame.

He was filled with inebriating joy: he’d soon sleep by her side, and call her dearest wife, like in his dreams. He was surer than ever that she was the woman he’d always dreamt of marrying and settling with.

Hell, he could even see himself falling for her, a privilege that very few had. What a life that must be, he thought. To truly, earnestly love your wife. And that she loved you back. How he longed to be loved back, ever after Rose—no, he would not think of her tonight. Not with the duke at the palace.

Stroking her once more, he left for his bedchambers, waiting impatiently to hear from the earl on when would they be wed. Wed to the loveliest and fairest maiden in all of England.

Wed to his Eleanor. His beloved, golden Eleanor, to whom his heart he was willing to give the moment he said ‘I do’. And he would. And he prayed that she would too.

[stargirlstabber]

imagine alpha!simon riley ruthlessly rutting his strong hips into you from behind. his massive hand pushes your head down as you moan and cry into the pillow, your drool slowly soaking the fabric. and that is not the only thing that's getting soaked. your tight cunt is soaking wet, literally dripping around your alpha's cock, milking him, eager for his knot. as well as the soaked sheets. mostly from your sweet release squirting out of you while simon never once stops pistoning his thick length into you. you just take what your alpha gives you, loosing count of how many times you already came. but don't worry, your alpha keeps track of that, he always counts your releases out loud for you to hear. if your cockdrunk brain can even grasp the information. once he rumbles out a two digit number, you ask yourself how you're even alive with the way he's fucking you.

[evilgwrl]

Simon Riley just loves eating you out.

Thick tongue lapping at your gushing hole, slurping up the sweet liqueur that you leak as you whine, puffy clit pulsing under his rough touch as you mewl out his name.

“So fucking good,” he would slur, drunk on the pure taste of you as his muscle prods at your entrance, licking among the gummy walls as he practically whines.

“S-Si,” you quip, voice shaky as you buck your hips against his face, stubble rubbing against the plush of your thighs, scratching the sensitive skin. Every inch of you is on fire, fuelled by the simplicity of his tongue lapping at your cunt.

He slurs against you, suckling at your sensitive nub, your thighs quivering in agony at the sheer pleasure.

“Give it to me, baby,” he would coo desperately against your mound, wet heat radiating off onto him. You would simply tighten your grip around his cheeks and he knew he had you, your pussy clenching around nothing as you gushed your sweetness, his tongue eager to collect everything you give him.

“That’s my girl,” he would say, gently stroking your stomach affectionately.

[machveil]

okay wait, because I was immediately struck with more Boyfriend!König after posting this

Boyfriend!König who comes home from a deployment - he reeks, he’s sore, everything aches and he feels like death. but, as soon as the door clicks shut behind him his eyebrows furrow. somethings cooking and it smells familiar. he’s kicking his boots off at the door and shrugging his coat off as he walks towards the kitchen. and there you are, standing next to the stove with a spoon held up to your lips, listening to music and unaware of his presence

Boyfriend!König who coughs, not wanting to startle you with his sudden presence. it’s worth it though, seeing you look over at him, eyes lighting up as you practically tackle him for a hug. it’s a sweet, short moment, but König’s eyeing the stovetop. when you let go you excitedly tell him you’re making dinner, something special since he’s been gone for a couple weeks. “You can’t look! It’ll ruin the surprise— uh, actually, maybe take a shower. I’ll call you when it’s done, okay?”, he chuckled at your rushed words, moved towards your bathroom when you gave him a gentle shove

hair wet and dressed in some ratty sweatpants, Boyfriend!König comes back to the kitchen while toweling off his hair. the scent from the kitchen is stronger than when he came in, but it’s nothing compared to what’s on the counter. he freezes, a little wobbly when he puts his foot down and looks at the food. tafelspitz. and suddenly that familiar smell registers in his head, his mama’s cooking. you had called her regularly while he was deployed, spent every other day learning how to cook some of König’s childhood favorites

Boyfriend!König whose eyes get watery when he starts eating because, oh, it tastes exactly how his mama makes it. he hasn’t been back home in a year and a half - purely from bad timing and deployments - and he’s missed his mama’s food so much. König who gets up from the table, walks over to you while chewing and hugs you, not giving you the chance to stand up or properly hug him back. as soon as he swallows he’s babbling ‘thanks you’s and kissing the crown of your head, murmuring how ‘you didn’t have to’. he’s got you in a death squeeze, eyes closed as he presses his nose to your hair, “Ich liebe dich— you’re too good to me, Liebling.”

[whateveriwant]

Simon Riley rough sex this. Simon Riley hard kink that. What about silly sex with Simon, huh? What about fun, carefree sex? What about goofy, awkward, ‘Ouch, you're on my hair’ / ‘Oh shit, sorry, love’ sex with Simon? Huh??? Ever think about that?

Simon who trips and falls after getting his feet caught in his trousers. Simon who fumbles his words as he tries to dirty talk, because you just feel so damn good he can't think straight. Simon whose sweat drips and stings your eyes as he holds himself above you. Simon who attempts to keep a straight face after one of you makes a fart noise, but then he breaks, which makes you break, and then you're both just dissolving into a fit of laughter. Simon who accidentally elbows you in the head as you're changing positions. Simon who misses your lips as he tries to kiss you in the dark, catching the tip of your nose instead. Simon whose voice cracks super loudly in the middle of a moan. Simon who forgot to lock the cat out of the room, and now she's jumping on the bed with you. Simon who has to pause and take five minutes after he gets a bad cramp in his leg. Simon who grins and chuckles to himself as he cums, biting his lip as he's overwhelmed by a feeling of bliss.

And finally, neither Simon nor you really worried about finishing, because at the end of the day all you care about is having fun together.