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carnalcrows · 1 month ago

Text

russian roulette

genre: smut

pairing: salesman x male!reader

CW: unprotected sex, cum as lube, gunplay, slight-dubcon, blowjobs (reader receiving), anal, creampie, breeding, the salesman is a warning of his own, the term [y/n] is not used

word count: 1.6k

The dim light of the underground room cast long, jagged shadows across the walls. The metallic scent of oil and gunpowder clung to the air, mingling with the faint coppery tang of fear. You sat tied to a chair, your wrists bound tightly behind your back. The sharp edges of the ropes bite into your skin each time you so much as shifted.

Across from you, the Salesman leaned casually against the table, his signature smirk firmly in place. He toyed with the revolver in his hand, spinning the cylinder with a flick of his wrist. His eyes—dark, calculating, and endlessly amused—never left you.

“You know,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk, “most people wouldn’t agree to this game. It’s dangerous. Final. But then again...” He stepped closer, the gun dangling loosely from his fingers. “You’re not like most people, are you?”

“Guess I just enjoy living on the edge,” you shot back, refusing to let the tremor in your voice betray you.

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, you’re more than just that. You’re reckless. Stubborn. And,” he tilted his head, his smirk deepening, “you’re very, very intriguing.”

The gun clicked as he opened the cylinder, slipping a single bullet into one of the chambers. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and deliberate. He snapped it shut with a flourish, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Let’s see how lucky you are today,” he murmured, stepping into your personal space.

You tensed as he crouched in front of you, the revolver resting loosely in his grip. His free hand reached out, brushing against your jaw to tilt your face upward. The touch was deceptively gentle, his thumb lingering for just a moment too long.

“Do you always get this close to people you’re threatening?” you asked, your voice laced with defiance.

“Only the ones worth the effort.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp, dissecting you as though trying to unravel the very core of who you were.

He straightened, spinning the cylinder once more before pressing the cold barrel of the revolver against your temple. The pressure was light, almost playful, but the weight of what it symbolized made your heart pound.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, leaning down so that his lips were just inches from your ear. “Not so fearless now?”

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe I just don’t feel like giving you the satisfaction.”

His laugh was quiet, almost a hum. “Oh, you’ve already done that.” He pulled back slightly, shifting the revolver to your lips. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip as he tilted your head back further, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Open.”

The command sent a wave of heat through you, not from fear, but from something darker, more visceral. You parted your lips, the cold metal slipping inside, heavy against your tongue. The intimate nature of the act was suffocating, his hand steady as he watched you, unblinking.

“There it is,” he said softly, almost to himself. “That spark. That fire. You don’t want to lose, do you?” Click. The gun doesn’t go off.

You glared at him, your breath shallow around the barrel. His smirk softened into something more unreadable as he removed the gun, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw once more.

“No,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “You’re not afraid of death. You’re afraid of me.”

You clenched your fists behind your back, the ropes biting into your skin. “What do you want from me?”

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lowered the revolver and crouched again, his face level with yours.

“Maybe I just like watching you squirm,” he said, though the words carried a weight that contradicted his playful tone. His hand came up to your face again, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Or maybe... I just like you.”

The confession, if it could be called that, hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. He stood abruptly, spinning the revolver one last time before slipping it into the holster at his hip.

“Lucky for you,” he said, his smirk returning. But instead of stepping away, he lingered, his sharp gaze raking over you like a predator sizing up its prey.

The tension in the room thickened, the charged atmosphere pressing against your skin. You wanted to say something—maybe challenge him, maybe break the silence—but the words caught in your throat when he leaned down again, his gloved hand brushing against your cheek.

“You look like you have something to say,” he murmured, his tone low and laced with amusement.

“I was just wondering,” you began, voice steady despite the heat building between you, “if this is what you consider being generous.”

He chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that made your pulse spike. “Oh, you think I’m playing rough now?” His fingers trailed from your cheek to your jaw, the leather cool against your skin. “You don’t even know half of it.”

You swallowed hard, meeting his eyes even as your breath quickened. “Then why don’t you show me?”

The smirk on his lips faltered, replaced by something deeper, darker. For a moment, the mask of playful arrogance slipped, and you glimpsed the man beneath—the one who thrived on control, who relished in watching others unravel.

His hand moved lower, the tips of his fingers brushing against your neck. He tilted your head back, exposing your throat as his thumb pressed lightly against your pulse. “You’re bold,” he murmured, his voice a whisper against the shell of your ear. “I like that.”

His proximity was intoxicating, the scent of leather and faint cologne filling your senses. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, as he leaned in closer. His gloved hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm but not painful.

“I could make you beg,” he said, his words a dangerous promise. “But I think I’d enjoy hearing you defy me more.”

You met his gaze, the challenge clear in your eyes. “Maybe you should try.”

For a moment, the world held its breath. His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth—not quite a kiss, but enough to make your heart race. His voice dropped to a near-growl.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his breath warm against your skin.

“Good thing I like danger,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper.

His laugh was low and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

He hooks his finger through the hem of your pants and slides it down slowly, along with your boxers. Your cock hardens with the sudden rush of cool air. He stares at it momentarily, before kneeling down to – put it in his mouth?

That was not what you had expected, but it wasn't like you were complaining. He slowly licked a stripe from the base to the hand, while his other hand brought out his gun from the holster at his hip.

“S-stop teasing,” you whimpered, and before you could say another word, he had taken your cock till the hilt. You let out a strangled moan, head falling back.

He slowly bobbed his head on your length, while his other hand had placed the gun on the floor and was now trying to free his own cock from the constraint of his pants.

Soon enough, you were at your climax, but he pulled off, and finished with his hands. You came with a groan, all over the man’s face. He seemed to be enjoying it though.

As your breathing slows down, he lifts your legs up (while you are still tied to the chair). Before you can say anything, a cold object presses to the rim of your ass. When you look down, you realize that its the revolver.

Click

It doesn’t go off.

“Today might just be your lucky day,” the salesman chuckles, before slowly inserting the tip of the revolver into your ass before you could protest, using your own release as lube. The feeling on the cold revolver has you seeing stars, it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

As the gun keeps going in and out of you, the salesman utters what you think to be a mix of praise and degradation.

“Such a pretty little whore for me, that’s it… Do you get off to this? Having a gun up your ass?” Before you could respond, he gets up, takes the gun out and slides his cock in its place. He doesn’t even wait for a moment, and takes you all the way to the hilt.

He rocks in and out of you slowly, pressing the gun to your temple. “Such a good boy f’me,” he says as he drags the gun down to your neck.

One particular hard thrust hits your sweet spot, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Seeing this, he loses all form of self control, and stashes the gun, taking both of his hands to you hips before fucking into you like a wild animal.

“Fuck.. I’m gonna–,” he interrupts himself when he releases into you with a loud groan, throwing his head back. You too reach your second climax, painting both your stomachs pearly white.

After a few minutes, the man pulls out, cleans himself up takes his brief case and leaves with you still tied to the chair.

“Are you kidding me–”

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bi-writes · 17 days ago

Text

sweet as simon's sugar-mommy <3 (18+) PREVIOUS

you trace a line down the side of his mask. he looks so peaceful when he sleeps, and he sleeps like a rock with you. snores all thick and low. you needed a nap after work, and you just curled up right here on the couch, and he just followed your lead. now it's dinner time, and you're hungry, but you don't want to wake him when he looks so cute.

as your hand falls over his lower stomach, you're reminded he's not so cute everywhere. nope, not cute...but delicious.

you wake him up with soft kisses to his cheek. you tease the band of his sweats, smoothing a palm over his happy little trail, and when he blinks his eyes open and turns his head towards you, you pucker your lips and slide a hand between his thick thighs.

"can i?" you purr, and simon sighs deeply. his blushes always show on his chest, pale skin burning a little pinker, and you giggle when he nudges his nose against yours.

it's heaven with you. you look so cute. bobbing your head, pretty lips wrapped around his cock, suckling on his tip all sloppy and wet. you pay special attention to the underside of him, wrapping your hand around the tip and tugging gently until he spurts hot cum onto your tongue.

it's all worth it when he cups your face to kiss you and you feel the sting of the ring he's wearing, white gold band on his thick finger on his left hand⏤just where it's meant to be.

you sit like that beside him at the dinner table, same smile on your face as you load his plate with veggies (you need more greens, baby) that you did putting his dick into your mouth not even an hour earlier.

he takes you to work now. you hate the manner in which he does, that obnoxious motorcycle that makes way too much noise, but you couldn't help yourself when his birthday came around. you saw the helmet in the boxes when he finally moved in (just until you get back on your feet, yeah?), and you woke him up that morning naked with the keys to the bike between your teeth.

if you fucked him with the helmet on later that day, too, well...no one had to know about that.

he's getting better at receiving your gifts. at first, you had to pretend they weren't gifts. when he came out of the shower, you'd hand him some new clothes, or he'd touch something on the shelf at the shops, and somehow he'd find it in the bags once you got back home. he learned slowly that giving him things was your love language; the shine in your eyes when you saw him using something you gave him made him warm all over.

you're still getting him used to baths, too. your bathroom has a magnificent tub--white porcelain, wide and large, jets, gold detailing. the first time you tried to get him to take a bath, he couldn't find it in himself to sit still like that and relax. he doesn't know how to relax.

your new strategy seems to work, though. you kick off your heels from work. simon's in the living room, his tools laid out on the coffee table. there's a disassembled handgun there, and he's oiling up one of the chambers when you lean over the couch and wrap your arms around his big shoulders. you kiss the side of his mask, watching him, getting a little too distracted watching a thick finger push into the cylinder slowly to clean it.

"hey, hot stuff," you coo in his ear. he grunts, looking away, but you hear the heavy swallow in his throat as he tries to be anything but bashful. "i'm exhausted. gonna get in the bath. wanna join me?"

simon doesn't say anything at first. he's still feeling it out, the relaxing part, but when he turns to look at you, you're unbuttoning your blouse and shimmying out of your work skirt. both fall at your feet, and when you unclasp your bra and toss it, the drop of your tits is enough to have him on his feet and following you into the bathroom.

simon always gets in first. he settles with his back against the far side, and then you get in. you make a show of bending over to sit, and simon snarls a little when he's facing the curve of your ass for just a beat too long. you lean back against his chest, letting the warm water and bubbles cover you both. his arms circle around your middle, and you close your eyes once the water has settled.

"feel nice?" you mumble. simon just shrugs, and you turn over a little until your chin rests on his shoulder. you cup the back of his neck, scratching as his cropped blonde hair with your nails, and he hums a little. your new manicure is simon-approved, it seems, and he leans into your hand as you drag the tips of your nails across his head and soothe him that way. "you deserve it, baby."

it's hard for him to hear it, but you try to say it anyways. there's good days and bad days. some days, it's failed cake recipes and good takeout and hours spent on the couch watching movies. he'll be smiling all day, enjoying the quiet and peace of his new life, and then you'll make love and take a long walk and sleep in the next morning.

other days, the pain in his back seems to hit him tenfold. the spasm in his knee acts up, and he'll falter a little, and he'll look ashamed when he has to take a seat, even if it means sliding down the nearest wall until he's sitting on the floor and cupping under his knee with a hiss. those days, you see a little less of simon riley, and a little more of something else. he looks defeated. you know he must feel useless. his body betrays him, but his mind knows better, and you know it kills him inside because he'll spend the rest of the day quiet and in another headspace.

it doesn't matter how much of himself he is that day. simon deserves it, you know he does. he deserves good food and expensive wine and nice things. he deserves hot baths and hydrating moisturizers and as much chocolate as he can stomach. he deserves messy kisses and more than one orgasm, and if you can give him even a fraction of it, it's money and time and love well-spent. simon has always been dealt the worst hand⏤he's earned this life of luxury.

"my..." simon clears his throat as you sit in his lap at your vanity, draping a cool face mask over his face. you're listening still, just concentrating on smoothing the edges of the face mask over his nose and along his cheeks, massaging the excess product into his neck. "my team is gonna be around next week. goin' to the pub. if..." simon swallows, and you meet his eyes. "if y'd like t'come..."

you smile a little.

"is this...your little task force?" you tease, and simon just purses his lips.

"just...they want t'meet you."

you put your hands on his shoulders, giggling. he looks so cute with the face mask on, and he's even cuter when he's being shy. those eyes are deadly--a killer's eyes, you know this deep down, but simon will never scare you. he's your big, soft teddy bear, and he sleeps in thousand thread-count cotton sheets now.

"you told them about me?"

he gives you that dead stare, but all it does is make you laugh. you scoop out a generous amount of body butter from a container on your vanity and start to massage it into his shoulders.

"you are so adorable, simon," you murmur, watching and feeling as the tension in his shoulders starts to melt under your warm touch. already, your fingers are working the knots out of his neck, and he leans towards you as they touch a particularly tender area. "right there, baby? oh..."

the conversation quiets. you're much too busy concentrating on pampering your sweet lieutenant.

simon's never been nervous seeing his team before, but he's also been out of service for more than a year now.

they have experiences without him now. life or death situations that they've survived together, without him. jokes and hours spent sleeping on dirt floors, places they've seen and people they've met, and simon's been here, sleeping in a king bed and learning about how much better his skin feels now that he uses that hyaluronic acid serum you gave him a few weeks ago.

he's got a ring on his finger now. there's a credit card in his new wallet (no more velcro, baby) that he doesn't pay for, and even his mask looks different now that you insist on daily rotations of them and frequent washes.

he's a pampered fucking prince, and he doesn't know whether they will laugh at him or not be able to recognize him.

which is worse?

they look the same. his captain still looks like a tired bear, and he still wears that awful hat. johnny still has a giggly grin on his face. kyle still is the one to retrieve the drinks so he can try and talk up some bird that he'll definitely take home later.

they still leave the spot closest to the corner with the wall to his back open for him.

"where's the missus?" john asks. he's nursing a warm drink, ice long melted, and simon scratches the back of his neck.

"workin'. she'll be 'ere soon."

you're on the phone when you walk in. hair clipped up out of your face, perfectly manicured hands holding the phone to your ear as you make your way inside. you walk very assertively, expensive purse over your shoulder, and johnny leans back to look you up and down as you finally come into view. you're wearing a perfectly tailored work suit, blazer over your forearm as you talk animatedly.

your eyes light up when you see simon. you wave at him, blowing him a kiss, and simon shuffles in his seat a little.

"bloody hell," kyle mutters, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "tha' her?"

"tha's her."

you get to the table just as a server brings drinks. he sets down the beers for the sergeants, another whiskey for their captain, but you put the phone aside as you pick up the bourbon and take a whiff of it.

"what is this?" you ask.

"bourbon."

you raise a brow. "really?" you laugh a little. "that's bottom shelf, honey. open up a good bottle, and⏤i'm sure he asked for it on the rocks, did you ask for it on the rocks, baby?"

"he did," johnny grins, and you smile at the server.

"and bring it on the rocks."

you tuck a few notes into the server's shirt pocket and look at captain price expectantly.

"you gonna move, captain, so i can sit next to my fiancé, or should i sit in your lap?" you raise a brow. "great to meet you, by the way. i've heard so much about you."

john chuckles, slipping out of the booth, and you hop up onto it after him. you cup simon's masked face and kiss him softly over it, rubbing a thumb under his eye.

"you alright?" you coo, and simon just nods. "you ate dinner, right? it looks like you didn't eat dinner⏤" the server comes back with the bourbon, on ice, and you hold up a finger, "⏤do you have a menu? you know what, it doesn't matter, just bring us some fish and chips. whatever you have."

johnny can't wipe the smile off his face. he nudges kyle with his elbow, looking at him with wiggly eyebrows, and kyle just chuckles.

you pick up simon's bourbon and take a sip of it, humming low.

"finally. some good fucking liquor."

you pass it to him with a wink before turning back to his team.

"alright, what did i miss?" you ask. you put your phone on silent, sticking it back into your purse, and you assume a relaxed place there in the booth, nails scratching along the back of simon's balaclava as you pay attention to the conversation. simon nearly purrs as you scratch him, leaning into your hand as his eyes flutter a little.

you are enchanting. johnny's enamored with the way you pay such attention to simon even when you're enraptured in conversation. you always keep a hand on him somehow, always showing him you're actively thinking about him with your fingers rubbing circles in the back of his hand or smoothing a touch over his head or leaning your cheek against his shoulder. always touching, always soothing him, always checking in even without words.

kyle notices the way simon is so relaxed. his shoulders are low, his eyes are lidded, and he doesn't fidget like he normally does. he's just leaning into you, completely at ease.

john adores the way you take charge. you always have an answer to everything, and you know exactly what you want. from just the drink you order to the way you talk about your new life, there is nothing timid or questioning about how you feel, about yourself or simon.

where you live? you have places in manchester and london, you come back and forth. are you really getting married? you've never been more sure about anything in your entire life. is simon really that pretty under the mask? he'd be in more magazines if he was out of your bed more often, probably.

on the way out, you pay the tab. you slide a heavy credit card over the table, and you don't even look at the receipt, just sign it quick and take simon's hand when you get outside, waiting for your car.

"you're always welcome at our place," you tell them, smiling wide. "got plenty of guest rooms, don't we, simon?"

"plenty," he echoes, and simon opens the car door for you when it pulls up to the curb. "give me a minute, love."

you duck your head and slide inside, and simon turns back to his team, shrugging his shoulders as he looks at them.

"so?"

"mighty fine, LT," johnny grins.

that's all he really needed to hear.

his belly and his heart are equally full when you ride him that night. he's naked on your bed except for his mask, tattooed arm anchored around your waist as you throw it back, pussy squeezing his cock as your thighs meet his all languid and heavy. your mouth is open, hot breaths leaving you as your dig your nails into his shoulders, and he grunts as he feels his balls tighten up every time you gasp his name.

"what would i do without you?" you whine, and simon grips your ass tight with the other hand, shaking his head.

"i should be askin' tha'."

"n-no," you kiss him, tongue wet against his, and he groans into your mouth as you wiggle your hips, until his cock nudges against your cervix, and you can feel him in your stomach. "i need you, simon. i need you⏤"

"bloody fuckin' hell⏤"

"you deserve it," you babble, fisting the sheets beside his head. you move your hips quicker, cupping his cheeks, and the part of his face that you can see flushes pink at your words. "deserve m-more, simon, y-you deserve⏤"

your breath gets knocked out of you when he flips you onto your back. ankles hanging off his shoulders, back bowed, mouth fallen open, you melt right into the sheets as simon fucks you straight into them. he's so heavy, a big weight pushing him even deeper, and the angle has your toes in a tight curl as he throws you over a cliff's edge as his pelvis stimulates your clit just enough, right there, just like that⏤

his cum between your thighs is warm. you bite your lip when you feel his thick fingers cup your pussy, sliding through your folds before he pushes two fingers into you, soft and slow. you whine from the overstimulation, but your hips push into his hand anyway.

"you spoil me," simon mutters in your ear.

"how's that?" you whisper, nudging your nose against his. he props himself up on his elbow, pushing his fingers into you to the last knuckle. your legs shake a little, and your back arches again, pebbled nipples pressing against his taut chest as you give into him.

"olways givin' me wot i want," simon hisses. "olways sayin' yes ta me. keepin' me fat 'n happy...think i don't know wot y'r doin'?"

you giggle, touching his lips. he's fighting a smile, dark eyes trained on your own, and you trace his bottom lip as he pulls his fingers out and swipes an eager tongue over them.

you pinch his hard jaw between a few fingers and bring him closer. when you kiss, he relaxes, and the thought of simon having just another good night's sleep in your big, comfy bed makes your heart clench.

seeing his team tonight made you think, and while it hurts to admit it, you are happy simon will never go back with them. he'll never join them again. he'll always be here, his head on your silk pillow. he'll always be home, eating good food, getting the attention and the care he so desperately needs.

what he's so desperately owed.

simon would've died for king and country, and they don't deserve it. they can't have him.

he's mine.

"thanking you for your service is all, lieutenant."

it's the truth, even if he doesn't want to hear it. he's warranted this kind of life, even if he doesn't believe it, even if he rejects the soft hands and the comfy cushions and the filling food. simon is an abused dog; he's not violent to his core, he isn't a biter or a fighter by nature, but when you are forced into a corner for all your life, it's the only thing you understand⏤it's all you know.

you don't want that kind of life for him. you don't think it was the one meant for him. simon's been looking over his shoulder for his entire life, but it's over now.

it's time for him to lay his head down. it's time for him to rest.

"do you miss it?" you ask. you know he's not asleep; his heartbeat hammers under your ear, and even though it's dark in the room, you know he must be looking at you. you can feel his eyes, even though you can't see them on you.

do you miss them? do you wish you were there and not here? is there a part of you still stuck there, finger on the trigger, mind over matter, life in-between death?

"no."

simon tells you this with ease. his voice doesn't waver. his hand anchors itself to your back, where you know it will stay⏤where you know it will be tonight and even into the morning.

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