John Price With A Health Obsessed Wife. She Always Wants To Make Sure His Health Is At Its Best.

Gaz who frequents your flower shop

I think he’s a big believer in getting ephemeral gifts. Things that are so so good that have a short window of time to enjoy. Fresh fruit, freshly baked breads, flower bouquets.

So he’s at your place for almost every occasion. Promotions at work, birthdays, holidays— even if it’s just a single rose, fresh flowers always brighten things up, don’t they? He thinks it’s a tradition that needs to make more of a comeback.

Anyways, one Valentine’s Day, one of your busiest days (full of rush orders from rude people whose romantic relationships apparently hang in the balance, and probably for good reason), you see Kyle coming in around closing. For anyone else, you’d say you’re afraid you’re closing up for the day, but for him? You can stay open a little while longer and do a quick arrangement.

Only he’s already got flowers in his hands. Beautiful ones. You recognize the work and the signature filler— it’s from an extremely nice shop. Not a competitor— because it must be at least a 3 hour drive from yours.

The bouquet is dwarfing the little teddy bear that’s got its arms wrapped around it, backdropped by the satin ribbon on what looks like a beautiful chocolate assortment. You smile, a little puzzled.

“I’d ask for your order, but it looks like you’re already kitted out for the holiday, hm?”

He almost looks a little nervous.

“Well, I— these are for you, love. I figure you spend the whole year making romance come alive for everyone else, I wondered if someone thought to get you a little something…. Then again, maybe you have a boyfriend and I look like a right prick right now,” he says with a little smirk, realizing he kind of just assumed you’d like the gesture. “Or maybe you’re a bit tired of flowers, hm?”

You take them gratefully from his arms into yours, the sound of the cellophane and tissue gently crinkling. “I… I don’t remember the last time someone got me flowers.” You look closer at the arrangement. Smell them. Bleeding hearts— an appropriate choice, but not very popular in the arrangement world. “Would you… would you want to come back to mine? Help me pick a vase to put these in. In my line of work, you tend to accumulate them, and it becomes so hard to choose. I can make coffee,” you offer hopefully. He sighs in what can only be described as elation and relief.

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

when I was younger I didn’t understand why “may you live in interesting times” was considered a curse in ancient greece.

I get it now.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Third time’s the charm. Simon/fem!reader. Handjobs, edging, cumming untouched, thigh riding, femdom behavior, somewhat submissive!simon, literally tried to cure my depression with this (did not work)

-

“You said you usually go three times in a session. We should try one more time, shouldn’t we?” 

Ghost looks at you like you’ve grown an extra set of eyes. He shakes his head a little, his eyes hard and disbelieving when they meet your own. “Have I not embarrassed myself enough for you?”

“Not really—? I mean—fuck,” you fumble, running a hand down face. “That didn’t come out right. I just meant that I don’t feel like you have any reason to be embarrassed.” 

He stares at you, through you, like if he looks long and hard enough he’ll be able to see your truth straight down to your bones. Well let him look. He hadn’t exactly bared his soul during the few weeks you had spent discussing this before meeting in person, but he had told you plenty: his issue had cost him relationships. It had cost him jobs thanks to lack of focus. Friendships thanks to neglect. You couldn’t imagine anyone willingly choosing something which gave them so much suffering. His lack of complicity cleared him of any blame in your eyes. 

At length, he must see that there is some honesty in you. Looking like it pains him, he nods his head, hulking shoulders deflating a little. “Fine. One more time. I’ll need a few minutes though.”

“That’s fine,” you offer, and it is, or at least it would be if it meant you both didn’t have to sit in complete silence, Ghost uneager to offer up conversation topics and you too awkward to try. 

He keeps staring at you, too. Or more specifically, your breasts. You’re wearing a simple t-shirt, but the effect is aided by one of your prettier bras. You had worn it unsure if Ghost was serious in his insistence that there would be no sex taking place between you both 

It seemed a pity for it to go to waste. 

“Do you want to see?” you ask him, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and gripping it tightly, folding it a little anxiously back and forth like an accordion’s bellows. 

“See? What? No—!”

“I don’t mind, honestly.”

Ghost reaches up a hand to rub at one eye like a headache is forming behind it. His mouth never abandons its signature frown, even as he says, “If you want? Jesus, fuck. I don’t know. I’m not going to stop you.”

You find that you do want. You kneel up, take the hem of your t-shirt into your hands and work it up over your breasts. For all his lack of enthusiasm, his eyes crack open straightaway and glue themselves to you, widening a little at the sight of your strappy, lace-laden bra. 

“I know you didn’t fucking wear that for me,” he says, sounding winded. 

“I’ll be honest, I thought this was just a ploy to hook up. I wore the matching panties too, do you—“

“Stop—talking,” he mutters, closing his eyes. His hand reaches down towards his (valiantly hardening) cock, but thinks twice, turns into a fist, and comes to rest at his side. “And under no circumstance should you take your pants off.”

“Got it. Pants stay on.”

Ghost sighs. “I’m ready. Let’s get it over with.”

That’s the spirit, you think to yourself dryly. You lift your hand to your mouth, creating a little cup with your palm and to spit in, your eyes locked on his own. You hear the click as he swallows, but it’s progress that he doesn’t cum, right? That must mean that he had experienced some level of desensitization, either to you as a partner or to the specific stimulus or a mixture of both. 

But that’s not how this is supposed to work. The whole point is to help him learn to last when he’s as desperate as possible, hoping that edging when he’s truly suffering will lead to a more satisfying orgasm and therefore a need for fewer of them. 

You lower your hand instead of spitting and grip the hem of your shirt, tugging it off over your head altogether. Ghost can’t seem to find his tongue, staring at you with dark, huge eyes as you reach around back and fumble with the clasp of your bra, but at last that comes undone, and you peel it away from you, letting it join his jeans and your shirt on the floor. 

His eyes rake over your naked breasts, mouth forming a curse that he lacks the breath to whisper. His cock is so hard and heavy that it lays against his belly, thick and twitching. 

You shift and straddle his thighs just proximal to his knees. He fists the bedsheets, abs tensing sharply as he watches you with silent awe and trepidation. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. 

“Getting comfortable?” you suggest. 

Now you cup your hand and spit into it. Then you offer it to him, holding out your hand expectantly. Looking wary, he leans up onto his elbows, ducks his head, and spits into your hand too, quite delicately for being a giant of a man. 

You take your hand and place it palm down against where his cock lays on his belly, slicking the underside from top to bottom. Ghost groans, a low sound torn deep from his chest. He collapses off of his elbows and onto his back, hands finding his eyes and palming at them again while you slick his cock all over with a delicate touch, barely more than a tickle. 

“Are you teasin’ me?” he grits out. 

“I would never.” The tips of your wet fingers trail down over his balls, tight and drawn up against his body already. He hisses through his teeth, cock flexing. You fight a grin. 

Taking him firmly in your hand, you give him a series of smooth, slow strokes, your hand loose and gentle where it is cupped around him. His body writhes against the sheets. 

“Stop, please stop,” he gasps, and you do, letting his cock fall to rest against his belly with a soft thud. He opens his eyes, takes one look at your tits, and squeezes them shut again. ”Fuck, can’t believe you took your shirt off.” 

“I can put it back on if you want.” 

“Really don’t want that. Really fucking don’t. Just—sit there. Please,” he tacks on to the end like an afterthought. You’re grateful to have received a please at all. He takes deep, slow breaths, his nostrils flaring as he strains for air. 

When he gives you a curt nod, eyes still firmly closed, you reach down and use one hand to grip the base of his cock. The other you place toward the head so that you can softly drag your thumb over the deep red tip, tracing the sensitive ridge and over the leaking slit. He whines, honest to god whines, a sound which you feel viscerally in your belly and lower. You shift on his thighs, wondering if it would be so bad to just straddle one, to get some pressure right where you need it most. It’s not like there’s any sort of propriety in a situation like this. He’s getting his, why can’t you get yours? 

You use your thumb to trace a vein up the length of his shaft and smooth the slick over his tip, polishing it softly. 

“Fucking—! Stop! Stop!” 

You stop, and you swallow an unhappy sound. Things had just been getting fun—for you, at least. Ghost looks like he’s being put through the wringer, redness creeping down his neck to disappear under his shirt, knuckles white where he grips the sheets, breaths rapid and shallow. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. He laughs a little, a self-deprecating, unhappy sound. “You’re too good at that.” 

“Good with my mouth too,” you say on a whim. 

His eyes flash open, wide and surprised (and narrowed in on your mouth), his lips parted in a look of near comical astonishment. His hand scrambles to grip around the base of his cock, squeezing painfully. “You—you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” 

“Way more than I thought I would,” you admit. “An obscene amount, honestly—I’m so wet—“

Ghost releases his death grip around his balls and strokes his cock, once, twice, thrice, quick little strokes as his face crumples, as he gives up on the whole fucking thing. You can see it in his face, the defeat, the submission. He’s going to jerk himself off to a quick, unsatisfying release—but it doesn’t seem fair. 

“Stop,” you hiss, reaching out to grip his wrist. He lets go of himself like he’s been burned, immediately obedient even as his face twists with fury. He pulls away from your touch but watches as you shift until just one of his thick thighs is between your own. 

You give a soft, gentle sway of your hips against him. His face is so fucking expressive, his eyes and brows and mouth telegraphing his every little thought and feeling. He watches you with something like tortured awe, eyes flickering towards where your clothed pussy rubs against his bare thigh. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” you breathe, pleasure zipping up your spine at the friction against your cunt. “I want to see if you can cum like this.”

“Came went you spat in your fucking hand,” he breathes, abs tensing, cock twitching as precum pools in his happy trail, watching as you get yourself off against his thigh. “Can cum like this no fucking problem.” 

“You’re not as sensitive now,” you pant, planting a hand against his tensed chest to gain the leverage you need to lengthen the rolling of your hips. 

“Am too.”

“We’ll see.”

His face twists. “Will you—keep going? Even if I do?”

You consider for a moment and then shake your head, breaths too shallow to make words properly. You feel saturated, swollen and sensitive. Every drag of your hips sends muted pleasure up your spine. Normally this would take you ages to cum, but you haven’t been this worked up in a long time. Watching Ghost’s cock turn shades of red and plum is like live pornography, obscene and arousing. Feeling a little cruel, you tell him: “Gotta hold it.”

He tenses his thighs, heels digging into the bed. It does something to the muscle pressed against your cunt and makes your nails dig into his chest. 

He’s shaking his head. “No. Negative. Can’t.”

“Hafta.” 

“Can’t—fuck, I—“

“Goddamnit Ghost,” you whine, hips working feverishly against him. “Hold it and let me cum.”

He really can’t—really and truly. His cock spurts against his belly, a pitiful amount of pearly cum as he groans low and long, moan forming half-hearted, breathy apologies: sorry, ‘m sorry, couldn’t hold it—

You groan, a sound more frustrated than aroused. Your hips slow and stop, and your mouth fights to make a pout. You will it away. It really isn’t his fault. 

“You…you don’t have to stop,” he says, a little shyly. 

You shift off of him and swallow your own sigh, feeling sticky and unsatisfied. “It’s okay,” you reassure him. “Maybe next time I’ll get my pants off.” 

His cock, spent, still twitches against his belly. 

immeasurably self indulgent,,

just got a retainer so i had to make the experience a little kinky. enjoy this john x reader meet cute

you weren’t meant to smoke with your retainer in, but you’d left the case at home and holding it in your palm while you you fumbled with your lighter outside didn’t seem like a viable option either. so instead you made a solemn promise to your dentist in your head to floss extra thoroughly that evening to make up for it.

and you couldn’t be too mad at yourself really. not when you might not have bumped in to john at the pub otherwise.

he’d joined you after raising a brow at the empty spot next to you on the bench and huddled in closer than socially acceptable after a moment when you shivered from the winter chill in the air, even wrapped up in your big puffer coat.

heat seemed to seep from him like the heavy smoke from his lips as he pulled on his cigar and you happily and greedily soaked it up from where his arm and thigh lightly sat against yours. you smiled thinly but politely as you lifted your cigarette to your lips.

the smell of his cigar was cloying, too thick and earthy for your tastes, even as a long time smoker, but you didn’t say a word as he blew it into the wind, unwilling to ruin the little bit of peace you’d found.

it felt intimate sat there just the two of you in the dark early evening; your friends just a hairbreadths away inside but none the wiser to the silent, temporary companion you’d made on the rickety bench.

you were the designated driver tonight, decided when you’d gotten to your friend’s house and realised you’d kept your retainer in by habit and wouldn’t be able to drink without damaging it. the group had encouraged you to go ahead anyway but the price of the bloody thing had you hesitating and offering to drive everyone home instead in your friend’s beaten up ford focus.

and yet despite the precautions you’d taken early on in the evening, here you were anyway.

you’d just have to get yourself some good dental cleaner tomorrow for it and hope dr singh didn’t notice any staining when you next saw her; mouthwash would have to do for tonight to freshen it up again.

“don’t think i’ve seen you around before,” your companion spoke as you dotted out your tab end against the ashy brick wall to your left, an unspoken ashtray going by the litter of filters gathered on the floor at your feet. “i’m john.”

“i’m here celebrating a friend’s engagement,” you said with a small smile. “it’s not my usual haunt, but she likes it and the ciders cheap enough.”

john winced. “don’t tell me you drink that swill.”

“not tonight, at least,” you snorted. “not good enough for your… acquired taste?” you paused to nod at his cigar with a wrinkled nose. pungent.

john huffed, biting back a smile.

“what are you drinking tonight then? said you’re celebrating, so you on the champers?” he asked.

“last time i checked they were ordering shots,” you recalled with a grin.

“aye? wanted to be able to buy you a drink when we got back inside, maybe convince you to talk to me a little longer where it wasn’t freezing cold. but i can do a round of shots for you and your mates instead.” at the mention of the chill you felt your hands ache and your legs clench to halt your shivering. john was warm, but without the distraction of a cig, you were suddenly a lot colder.

“that’s kind, but im on the lemonade. staying sober for the night so we can avoid taxis since this was all a little last minute.”

“ahh,” john nodded. “so no chance of you finding me charming enough to come have a cuppa back at mine later then.”

“oh that was supposedly in the cards for you tonight, was it?” you laughed, taken aback by his confidence and assumption.

“i’ve been told i’m pretty convincing,” he winked and took another puff. “shame though.”

“mm, is that so?”

“aye. for you in particular,” he continued to tease. “because i’ve also been told i’m a great kisser.”

“have you ever been told you’re a bit of a brag?” you asked.

“is it bragging if you can back it up?” he asked seriously. his eyes dropped to your lips before looking back up again. “and i do make a great brew.”

“coffees more my thing,” you said, leaning into his arm.

he took a deep pull with a shake of his head. he let the smoke go as he spoke, curling in the air like you could touch the humour lacing the words on his tongue. “cider and coffee. not sure if this is gonna work out between us after all, love.”

you couldn’t help but giggle, kicking yourself for falling for his charms as easily as he said you would.

he smiled as he looked at you.

“alright, so i can’t prove that i can make a proper brew, but i can prove the other thing if you’re interested,” he offered. his cigar was close to a stub, half burnt down from all of the talking. you’d imagine he’d be angry at the waste if you weren’t so caught up in his trap, readily hitting each mark he laid out for you perfectly.

“hmm, going to warm me up?”

“like you’re not already hot ‘n’ bothered,” he scoffed under his breath, though you were close enough to catch it, and slipped one arm around your back. he pulled you closer by the hip and leant down so your noses touched. “are ya gonna let me?”

you nodded minutely and in the next breath he was cupping your face to tilt your chin up ever so slightly. you don’t know where he dropped his cigar stub but it was far from your mind as his rough beard caught on the sensitive skin of your cheeks and lips, chapped from the cold.

your writhed in his hold on the small bench, eager for more before giving him the chance to get started. begging for his heat and touch and tongue.

your breath hitched when one of his hands slipped beneath your thick coat and wiggled its way under your shirt, squeezing and palming at you fervently, like he was just as desperate. he bit at your lip and you whined, digging your hands into his shoulders where you held on tight, tugging him closer as your thighs clenched and shifted, knocking his own.

he smiled as he ducked back in to kiss you, pleased at your reaction, skimming his thumb beneath your bra and slipping his tongue passed your lips when you moaned.

your tongues brushed and you opened up wider when his hand pressed gently - just a suggestion - at your jaw, before using his height to angle over you and kiss you deeper.

“john,” you breathed out, barely able to speak as he dove back in with a heated groan.

he licked at your teeth and suddenly you both froze. you’d never felt so aware of yourself as you felt his tongue prod at your lower teeth once more, quick sharp, before he pulled back.

you felt red hot embarrassment fill you head to toe as you suddenly recalled your retainer. you prepped yourself, ready for his disgust confusion or pity, and pulled back reserved. frustration prodded at you as you saw john lift his fingers to his tongue with a frown, checking his fingertips for blood when he pulled them back.

“i’m so sorry,” you blurted. “i forgot i had my retainer in.”

his eyes widened in understanding and his frown disappeared. “caught my tongue on the edge i think, woulda been more careful if i knew,” he laughed. you were happy to realise it wasn’t at you. it was at himself. “too bloody eager, wasn’ i? slobbering on you like a dog.”

“i liked it,” you admitted quietly, your shoulders high out of bashfulness instead of embarrassment now.

“aye?” his grin was slow but satisfied, eyes hooded as he pressed closer again. “wanna do it again?”

you grinned back but before you nodded you bit your lip and lifted a hand to touch a tooth covered by your retainer with a finger.

“i don’t have the case with me, i can’t take it out,” you said, worried you were rapidly ruining the mood after somehow managing to keep john interested.

he shrugged, unbothered. “keep it in.”

you blinked, taken aback. “o-ok.”

“what d’you need it for anyway? used to have braces? got a cute photo of you grinning with a mouth full of metal?” he teased.

you rolled your eyes. “i clench my jaw all the time, cracked a tooth because of it. my dentist is hoping this might help,” you explained.

john licked his lips as his gaze dropped to your mouth. you could’ve sworn his own breath seemed suddenly laboured and that his hand felt heavier when it rested high up on your thigh.

he dragged his eyes back up to yours and smiled a little lecherously, eyes darker than they’d been all night. “i can think of a way to train y’out of that.”

so I’m a little freak that gets a raging boner when stupid doofus characters realize how much they messed up and hurt someone

would cum in my pants a little if you made college Johnny from the promethean series suffer I’ll be real

I’d like to think Simon actually manages to coax shy!reader out of their shell and make some cute noises for him during sex :(( and Johnny has to hear just how sweet they sound when someone fucks them right

need that dog to come begging for scraps (please)

This also gives me a boner

Promethean: Coming home to roost

Why is he doing this? Why is he doing this?

He’d come to Simon’s room to talk about his their the bird. The logic just didn’t click in his brain in time. Obviously if his door was closed, it meant she was inside with him, didn’t it? That he was inside of her—

Soap was about to knock when he heard it. Angelic. That was the word for it, really. He prided himself on his skills, but he didn’t know women could sound like that. That you could sound like that.

Johnny had made you cum. Every time he was with you— at least once, usually more. But your sounds were so hushed. You bit your lip and whined. It was cute, and he wasn’t so invested in your pleasure that he needed you to scream for him or anything. He knew you were having a good time, that was enough. Right?

But the moans he heard through that door. He could picture you, mouth wide and back arching while Simon held his calloused fingers at your clit, his strokes careful and deliberate. Soap felt himself rooted at the door. He shouldn’t be listening. But he can’t bring himself to walk away.

Your sounds change. Punctuated. Like you’re crying out for more with every thrust. Johnny can just barely hear the wet smack of flesh on flesh, of your cunt gushing she takes everything Simon has to give.

“Yes, yes— Simon, oh, fuck— please? Oh my god—“

Johnny’s used to getting so horny is brain fogs up. It’s normal for him to get hard and think “this is the hardest I’ve ever been”. But this time it might be true. And he hates it. Why didn’t you sound this good in his bed? Why did he give a fuck?

He knew why you didn’t sound as good back the . He could hear your cries being swallowed by Simon’s mouth as he kissed you. Fucker probably had you in missionary (he did) and was holding your hand (he was) while cooing in your ear about how gorgeous you were and how perfect you felt (it was more like growling).

You were getting fucked proper. And here he was, the once proud hound now pawing at the master’s door like a stray. He doesn’t just want you back, which is horrific enough to realize— he wants to be in the room with the both of you. Wants to see how Simon’s cock is making you feel religion. Wants to stroke his cock and watch how it’s done, then take a turn in your creamy pussy after he’s done and get scolded with Simon’s hand pinching his neck from the back— scolded for not knowing how to fuck you, love you, appreciate what you’d—

Your near sobbing cry from beyond the door snaps free the coil that’d wound so tight in his belly.

Oh fuck. No, no, no. He couldn’t have. Untouched? Never— not him. Fuck.

You’re on your side, nestled under Simon’s arm and nuzzling into his chest when you hear a door slam in the hallway.

Underground Fighter!König X Rich!Reader IV

A/N: aw shit here we go again. This chapter is much longer than usual and has a slightly different format, but I think it turned out great! I'm also posting this fic on AO3 if you prefer it.

Psst, their relationship is progressing 👀

Part I - Part II - Part III

From the earliest he could remember, König was drawn to solitude. He wasn't sure if it was a byproduct of the alienation he’d faced since childhood, the solitude was always preferable to beatings after all. But regardless if it was learned behavior or simply part of his genetic making, he just knew he liked being alone.

He never missed people, a part of him was even glad for his imprisonment, since it meant every interaction he has had a clear and defined purpose. No nonsense and no need for pleasantries. The people around him were either fighting him, taking care of his basic needs, or paying him. Which brings him to his current, urgent dilemma.

You.

He missed you.

In every fight he has had for the past three months, he would scan over the entire crowd, searching for a glimpse of red and finding none that held your warmth. There was no trace of you anywhere, and the only answer he got from people he had threatened asked was that you were “Busy running a business”

With more patience than he knew he possessed, he waited. He sat in his cell, anticipating the sound of your heels clacking against tiles in the hallways. Sadly all he heard was the buzzing of the lights and agitating sound of the guards' boots stomping about. Nothing, not a glimpse of you to be seen for three months. As the fourth month crawled along. He could feel his mind working against him.

What did you get up to when you weren't with him?

He could feel his hands clench around nothing, knuckles white with irrational anger.

König is not a stupid man, he knows he has no right to you from the start. You were his employer, he was an investment, a cog in a multimillion dollar industry. Your father drew the lines clearly and was happy to provide, especially since he made a pretty penny and lived in relative comfort. He had such few concerns since then, as he could provide for his mother consistently, he was...Not happy, but content, which was a rarity in his turbulent life.

And then his boss passed away, and you walked into his life, with your well practiced smile and gentle voice. Speaking to him as if he was a new hire and pissing him off.

He could deal with your naivety for a while until you learned how this world works, he can't deny how endearing he found your terrified eyes and warbling lip, it helped ease the guilt he felt needling at his consciousness.

He knew he was yours when you proved to have a backbone, you occupied his every thought since. He marked you as his as soon as the opportunity presented itself, it wasn’t enough, he wanted more. He wanted to spend his every waking moment pushing every button you had, making your brows furrow and see your pathetic attempt at a glare melt away into a scared, fawning look as he put you in your place. 

He both cursed and thanked the bars between the two of you. He knew he would chain you to the bed if he had the chance, giving you a necklace of bite marks and keeping you dumb and docile.

Such a spoiled little thing... Have you ever had to beg for anything? He could feel his dick strain against his pants at the thought.

He’d have to properly train you if he had you. 

Forcing you to sleep on the cold floor until you got on your unscuffed knees, pressing your tear stained cheek to his thigh as you plead for him to allow you to sleep with him and borrow some of his warmth. How cold and uncomfortable the ground is for someone like you. 

He snakes a hand into his boxers and tugs at his hardening cock as he thinks about how graciously he would warm you up. He would run his hands through your hair before gripping it and dragging you to the bed as you mewl and whimper little thank yous to him. Maybe you would be a polite little thing and call him sir too.

He would reward you, of course, you have been so good and pliant for him. Wrapping his arms around you, warming you up by pressing you against his body and groping your ass.

He bites back a groan at the memory of how addictively soft you felt in his hands. His hand strokes faster, a frenzy of images flash through his mind as he dives head first into this fantasy.

Images of him grabbing your head with both of his hands as he fucked your throat, your eyes filled with tears as wet, slick sounds reverberate through the room. Your undoubtedly expensive mascara running down your cheek while he fucks your face. 

Images of him taking you from behind, your loud moans only spurring him on and making him thrust faster. He reaches under his pillow for the silken panties you had left behind. Your scent long since faded, but the softness of the fabric reminded him of how pretty and soft your skin felt in his rough, calloused hands.

He wraps it around his aching dick, the feel of delicate fabric on his skin almost sending him over the edge. He imagines it's you, straddling his lap and bouncing on his cock.

The image of your pretty eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel your orgasm approaching, his name falling from your lips as you tell him that you want him, you need him, you lov-

His abdomen muscles tighten as he cums, coating his stomach and hands.

König leans his head back and breathes heavily, slowly coming down from his high. A cooling sheet of sweat covers his body, it makes him feel oddly filthy.

He really thought he outgrew the shame that comes after such activities, but it seems that the guilt was only laying dormant until now. He is not a stupid man, he never was. He knows this shame like an old blanket, the way it settles over him and suffocates him, muffling any cry threatening to escape. 

It's intimate, it is a shame that came from feeling stupid, naive, too trusting. He truly thought he understood how to curb this feeling, the rose colored glasses crushed under a jackboot since he was 17. 

With a sigh, he wipes away his cum and steps into the shower, hoping to wash away both the sweat and uncomfortable thoughts. But the sound of the water only spurs him on. The tightness in his chest is more uncomfortable than any bruising he had earned in the ring. You became more important to him than he should have allowed, he should have kept you at arms length or at least just enjoyed your touch without getting attached.

Maybe this was a mercy on your part, forcing him to confront the massive chasm that separates the two of you. Maybe that's why you stayed away from him, not wanting to feed him any more delusions. 

Thinking back, have you ever…? You never promised anything, the only thing that solidified any kind of relationship between you two is his skills in the ring. He thinks back to your meeting when he injured his leg, your words morphing from a declaration of affection to empty words meant to subdue him until he could get better. He reaches down and rubs his now heeled knee. ‘an investment’ he thinks. He leans his head against the cool wall, letting the water wash over him as he continues to wallow. 

He steps out of the shower and slowly dries himself, not bothering to put on any clothes as he plops onto the bed, The musk and sweat coming off the mattress is a reminder of how long he spent in this facility.

As sleep tugs on his eyelids, lets his mind wander and imagines what a life with you would be like, allowing himself a moment of respite this evening. Waking up in a bedroom decorated with whatever style your graceful tastes would prefer, having a warm body lay next to him and urging him to wake up so the two of you could eat breakfast.

The thought makes him smile, you seem like the type to get fussy about waking up early, maybe you would drag him to a morning jog. He wouldn't mind, he would probably drag you to a woody area nearby and eat you out against a tree. He indulges himself in a multitude of domestic fantasies as he wraps himself in the thick blanket you had provided for him, promising himself that tomorrow, he would move on.

His eyes flutter open when the door hinges screech, a cursory look at the window high above on the wall tells him its dark outside. He groans and rolls to his stomach, assuming it is a doctor or guard coming to check up on him.

The cell door is open and an angelic voice calls out to him;

"König...?”

You step into the dark cell, eyes still not adjusting to the dark. Buzzing with energy, you can’t believe how much you missed him while you were away. You only stayed in your house to shower and freshen up after a flight, putting on a light weight, earthy red colored dress as you rushed to see him.

You see him stir, awake and likely recognizing your voice, the thought of him just as excited to see you as you were him makes your heart swell.

“Are you awake?” you say, smile evident from your tone. 

“I am now,” he grumbles, his voice still hoarse. 

“I’m sorry, I just came back and couldn’t wait” You giggle and place a hand on his back, he is a furnace and it only reminds you of how cold you were, the flimsy dress offering no warmth. 

‘Fuck it’ you think, getting on the bed and laying on top of him. Resting your head on his back. You almost melt into him, the warmth seeping into your bones. You don’t miss the way his breath hitches when you lay on him, still making no attempt to push you away

“I missed you” you sigh into his shoulder blade, the exhaustion from the long flight and constant work making you less reserved with your feelings, you can’t remember a time when you were this docile and cuddly with any of your previous boyfriends. You were always cautious with other men, a wall built solid around your heart. You knew what most of these men wanted was money, it was always a fact that lingered whenever you lay next to them. Despite the fact that he was nowhere near as rich as any of your ex boyfriends, there was something about him that felt…transparent? There is a strange, almost caveman quality to him, what he wants, he gets. He has been misogynistic, violent, perverted, and he has never once been deceitful. It’s refreshing, having grown up knowing only prim and proper men doing a hell of a job of covering up those exact same qualities. You appreciate him so much more now, having dealt with these people exclusively for months. 

“Where were you?” he blurts, he sounds hurt. 

You lift your head from his back, reaching out and scratching gently at his scalp, the prickle of his buzz cut hair pleasantly rubbing against your finger pads. He hums, his body relaxing more with each gentle swipe of your thumb.

“I had some business to attend to, since my father passed away there were a lot of deals left hanging, so I had to tie some loose ends with business partners” you whisper softly, leaving out the grueling schedule of meeting after meeting after flight after fake smiles after email. 

“Just business partners, ja?”

You blink. 

Oh?

You lean in and press a kiss to the base of his neck, you know he could feel you smile against his skin. He is unbearably cute when he’s pouting.

“Just business partners,” you whisper, he hums unenthusiastically. You move and lay next to him, he turns his head away from you and reaches for the nightstand, grabbing his mask. It is too dark to make out what his face looks like, you only got a glimpse of prominent cheekbones before he turned. 

You prop yourself up on your elbow as he turns to face you, features now concealed behind the mask.

Unexpectedly, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close, only then do you realize he’s naked, his erection pressed flush against your thigh, of course he’s hard. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his masked cheek. 

“Are you jealous?” you tease. Not bothering to hide your glee. He only huffs in response, it’s not needed when it's this obvious. You push him on his back and lay next to him, using your arm to press his head to your chest.

“You don’t have to be” you purr, snaking a hand under his mask and rubbing his stubbled cheek, making him sigh and nuzzle more into your breasts as you pepper his temple with kisses. 

You trace a nail down his neck as he shivers, his breath is choppy and he closes his eyes tight. You glance down, his dick is twitching against his abdomen, pearly droplets of precum coating the trail of hair running down his abs. You reach down, having to maneuver your body lower so you could comfortably wrap your hand around his cock.

Your head now rests on his chest, rising with each deep breath he takes. You start to pump him slowly, relishing the way his cock throbs in your palm. You lift your hand from his crotch and spit on it, earning you a sinful whine and a muttered ‘fuck’ as he grips the sheets tight. 

You stroke him faster, the filthy sounds coming from both your actions and his mouth sending a bolt of heat down your core.

You lean in and bite his pec, just around his areola. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as his hips stutter upwards, you can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as to why he enjoyed that. 

You flatten your tongue over his nipple before wrapping your lips around it and sucking on them while rubbing the tip of his shaft at the same time, making him moan loudly. He turns his head away from you, you can feel the heat of his flush flowing down his chest. 

“Look at me” you say breathlessly, the hand on his dick slows, stroking lazily. Soft, blown out pupils make contact with yours, his head still turned away. 

“You want to cum, don’t you?” Your voice sounds sinful even to your own ears. You feel his cock twitch, begging for release. He nods slowly, you can barely make out tears wetting his lower lashline. 

Your hand stills just under the crown of his cock. 

“Do it then” You grin, “Fuck my hand, make yourself cum” 

His eyes widen, darting around your features before he starts to thrust into your hand, making you grin wider. 

“That’s it, keep going, you're so good for me aren’t you? You wanna be a good boy for me don’t you?”

He doesn’t respond. Just groans and continues to thrust upwards. You lift three of your fingers, your thumb and index barely touching him. He whines, his voice high pitched as German curses spill from his mask-covered mouth. 

“Don’t you?” you repeat with more authority now, he nods vigorously, too horny to be concerned with something as trivial as shame. 

“Ye-yes! fuck, bitte liebling, I want to cum, please let me cum” He whimpers, his voice breaking as he moans. He rolls his hips, trying to get any friction he can. 

You oblige, wrapping your hands around his shaft tightly and pumping him as he sings your praises in a mix of english and german, he thanks you repeatedly before his muscles pull taut, rope after rope of white cum coats his stomach and your hand. Neither of you moves, only your heavy breathing filling the room. König is the first to break the silence. 

“I…Missed you too” 

You smile and nestle into his chest, his arm wraps around you, gently petting your hips. 

“I like your dress” he mumbles into your hair. You roll your eyes and kiss whichever part of him you could reach, such a silly man you've gotten yourself tangled with. You hardly settle into the bed before you hear a soft snoring. You have to bite your lips to suppress a giggle. 

Slowly, you try to lift yourself up to leave the bed without disrupting the sleeping giant. 

The muscular arm around you tightens and you are secured against Königs side. His mass then rolls and lays on top of you. You groan as you feel his semen smearing over the dress he supposedly liked. 

The weight of him pins you to the mattress, making you unable to move with the exception of your hand which was tapping at his side repeatedly, you curse the fact that he isn’t ticklish. 

“König”

“Mmm?”

“Get off”

He gives you a kiss on your cheek. 

“Nein” 

I hope you guys like this chapter! I had a lot of fun writing it ^^

Reblogs and comments much appreciated, please let me know what you think <3

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@suimon @llamasplaything @boingboingboom @uhohdad @kneelingshadowsalome

When you blow johnny and just keep gagging and choking he'll most likely laugh at you. But because you don't just let things slide–that man needs to be put in his place anyway–you pull out one of your dildos, and tell him to suck it. He laughs incredulously at first, though not totally opposedto the idea. But once he saw the expression on your face he knows you're serious. And he was never one to turn down a challenge.

Safe to say he's gagging like a bitch. Can barely take half the thing without tears stinging at his eyes. And if you're mean you tell him, "well, that's pathetic, baby." In a mocking tone. (lt makes his cock twitch dw) and if you're even meaner you decide to 'help out'. Forcing the toy down his throat with your hand. Do it over and over. Like he does when fucking your throat without consideration. He's a mess by the end, sweaty, eyes red with tears flowing from them, drooled all over the toy, down on himself like some mutt. But some time during it he came without even being touched.

He doesn't make fun of you again.

you know that whole “141 hunkering down at one of their nearby flats when desperate on a mission” trope that ends in them meeting reader they didn’t know about?

yeah well, simon reluctantly bringing the team back to his flat when they need a place to lay low. and simon doesn’t warn them about the sweet thing he’s got waiting back home for him

and they just gawk when you creep out into the living room, his shirt barely covering your ass when you crawl into his lap to greet him. no shame from either of you as you greet each other with a sloppy, tongue-filled kiss

one hand groping your ass when he introduces you to the lads, side eyes shared between them because not one of then knew simon had a bird

sharing a cigarette together on the balcony before he sends you back to bed, since he’s still technically on duty. crawls into bed after setting the lads up in the living room, snuggling you back to sleep just for you to wake up alone in the morning

ramblings before bed

smut! 18+ below, minors dni.

thinking about ellie accidentally sending you a video of her fingering herself.

the video preview is completely dark, so you have no clue what to expect when you click the play button. you assume it’s another one of her rants - lately she’s taken to sending you clips of herself complaining about her family, work, politics. she’s sent a few videos of her trying new foods while completely obliterated on an edible, too, which you’re kind of hoping for. her eyes look so pretty all droopy and red, and she has the cutest laugh when she’s high.

but oh, no. this is… nothing like that.

you’re lounging in bed, head propped up against a pillow, when you get the notification from ellie and click to your text thread. you hit play on the video, watching with a furrowed brow as the camera moves from darkness - the forest green fabric of ellie’s duvet, you realize - to reveal her room. and it’s a familiar sight; you’ve been there a hundred times. but that’s where the familiarity ends.

because this new camera angle shows ellie naked from the waist down.

she’s flushed, her cheeks tinged the faintest shade of pink. her chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm; the light catches on a smear of wetness on her inner thigh, and you realize with a flutter in your belly that she’d been going at it for a while before she’d pulled out the camera.

“okay, fuck,” ellie pants, her voice a bit tinny through the speakers of your cell phone. she lifts one muscled thigh to her bed, which she’s standing before - right in front of the camera. your mouth goes dry as your eyes flicker over her body: heather grey tank riding up her toned hips, the faintest sheen of sweat on her chest, her thigh flexing as she spreads herself in front of the camera.

“i got close beforehand so i wouldn’t… didn’t wanna be nervous,” she says, avoiding eye contact with her phone. “but i’m - wait. why the fuck am i talking? you’re not supposed to talk in these, are you?”

blood rushes into your cheeks, warming your face until you feel like your skin is about to burn off. you should probably stop watching, shouldn’t you? you should click out of the video, pretend you never opened it in the first place. this is clearly not for you to see.

but you can’t look away.

ellie reaches her hand between her legs, and your stomach warms with arousal. there’s a flutter between your legs that leaves you squeezing your thighs together, seeking pressure.

“oh god,” ellie mutters as her fingers play in her own pussy, the lewd, wet sounds echoing. she slips a finger inside of herself, then two, her eyes fluttering shut as a string of curses leaves her lips.

she starts to pump her fingers, the heel of her hand pressed to her clit, and your breath catches in your throat when she looks up at the camera. you know she’s not really looking at you this way, but you tense up regardless. the look in her eyes is sultry, lustful, hungry.

there’s a growing damp spot on your underwear.

ellie’s getting close; her brows are pinched together in concentration, and each of her moans is more ragged and high-pitched than the last. beneath the thin fabric of her tank, you see her abs tense with her impending orgasm. you bite your lip until you’re sure you taste blood.

she comes with a shuddering cry, bicep flexing as her hand stalls between her legs. strands of auburn hair, darkened with sweat, cling to her freckled forehead. she lowers her leg from the bed and stands upright again, still panting. she reaches for the camera and the video ends.

you’re still staring wide-eyed at your phone when a series of texts come through from ellie.

oh my god

please tell me you didn’t see that

holy fuck i’m an idiot

i’m so sorry

i did not mean to send that to you. holy shit i’m sorry

your chest tightens with sympathy - you can imagine how panicked ellie is on the other line, how utterly ruined her post-orgasm bliss must be.

you type out a quick response: it’s okay. give me a second to reply, alright?

finding a convenient place to prop up your phone, you hook your thumbs over your underwear and tug them off, leaning forward to press record on your phone.

read part two here!

Texting the COD men that you can’t pay rent!

Tags: COD men x fem!Reader, smau, suggestive, nsfw on soap’s slide, cursing, mdni

An: Based off of the tiktok trend :3 I wanted to do this with JJK men, but I think the COD men make it even funnier. This is also my first COD smau. I went with the characters that I’m most comfortable portraying. lmk if you want to see more of them or someone else!

Incl - Ghost, König, Price, Keegan, Soap