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fawnpires · 9 months

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꒰ ₊˚⊹ ᨳ 𝐃𝐁𝐅!𝐊Ö𝐍𝐈𝐆. ꒱ — DBF!KÖNIG.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: age difference, cunnilingus, loss of virginity, innocence kink, könig's a massive pervert (still love him tho), groping, size difference & kink, panty kink, unprotected sex, praising, filmed sex, fingering, teasing, spreading the older man könig agenda.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ notes: finally got the motivation to write something again and i literally feel so bad for not writing anything, so i wrote a lil something for my bby könig.

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig enjoyed every single second of being your first time. he was practically infatuated with you—his best friend's pretty little daughter. when your father is another one of those high-ranking colonels along with könig, expect to find him being invited over almost every single day of the week for a simple drink with your father or a casual invitation to dinner. although unbeknownst to your father, there were times with könig that were deemed too debauched when it was just the two of you alone. one particular instance is when he snuck into your bedroom, your father off to sleep with the house to yourself, and könig. once you and him were kept in those four confining walls of your room, the door closed and only the lamp shade providing a minimum of dim lighting; the next thing you knew your legs were thrown and settled on top of the broad slopes of his shoulders, both of his large hands intertwined with your smaller ones while pinning them down to the surface of your mattress. sensual moans laced with softness spilling, at this point, without shame past your parted lips. the thrusts of his ample cock were carried with a firmness yet a loving, comfortable passion into your tightened sopping cunt, knowing that it was your first being so intimate with somebody. "try to relax, mein liebling. you're doing so good, and for your first time too, taking me in all at once like this - taking me all in like the sweet little girl you are."

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig was a sucker for everything about you. from your sweet and innocent personality, to your alluring exterior appearance. his favorite part about you was especially the fact that he was so much larger than you, both in height and that built-up military strength earned from his time spent as a colonel. his favorite thing to do was manhandle you into all kinds of different positions once you and him had settled into the routine of casual fuck sessions in secrecy, observing how the bare aspect of your pretty body curved and contorted while he fucked into you. his favorite perspective is when you're laying on your back, legs sprawled on either side of his torso while those hands of his kept a solid grasp on your waist to pull you back and forth on his cock. this never failed to force you into a state of mind where you were drunk on nothing but how his immense size relentlessly pounded into you without mercy. he can't help but allow a cocky smirk to sweep across his lips underneath his sniper hood at your state, temporarily raising the bottom edge of the veil to his nose before inclining the upper half of his body over you to rest his head in the crook of your neck; mouth pressing gentle kisses to the sweat-soaked skin of your neck in contrast to his violent thrusts before speaking in a husky tone, "who would've thought my best friend's daughter would be the best fuck of my life? you're truly a special girl, engel. very special." he comments breathily with a light chuckle that was so full of depth. “such a cockdrunk slut, huh?” his words barely registering in your fucked-out mind.

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig constantly finds ways to have his hands on you. sometimes his touches were innocent and loving in the sense—hands resting at your hips, his head leaning downwards to nuzzle the side of his head against yours, or just a simple caress of your hand against the back of his own. but knowing how perverse he was at the same time behind that sweetness. for multiple instances, it wasn't abnormal to find him groping and kneading at the soft, supple flesh of your tits or reaching beneath your skirt and that additional layer of panties to rub at your slick folds teasingly with his calloused fingertips in private or not. he never lets down on his praises though, his fingers would be knuckle-deep and thrusting rapidly in the warmth of your cunt and he would talk to you throughout it, "such a needy girl, hase. just couldn't keep my hands off of you, not when you've got the prettiest damn body i've ever seen." he praises through heavy breaths, his free lovingly rubbing circles into your side while you lost yourself in this spiral of arousal.

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig who's well aware how much of a perv he is. to his surprise, he pockets various kinds of your pretty panties either after giving you a good fuck or sneaking into your bedroom unabashedly—relishing in the concept at how confused you would be when you couldn't find them anywhere. instead those panties would be swathed around the throbbing length of his cock while he pumped at himself to the thought of you late at night in privacy; legs spread, his head angled backwards, near-animalistic grunts spewing from his throat, and pre-cum dripping down from the slit at the tip while it decorated the soft lace in a thin, white layer of sticky fluid. underneath that t-shirt sniper mask, his face sheeted over with slick sweat as the heat surrounding inside the cloth mask only piled on with his increasing arousal which ends up with his cum splattered all over your panties. it's not really a surprise anymore if you find somehow find your missing panties returned hanging off the edge of your laundry basket, a little messy reminder of him left in them.

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig adores how you look on camera. he'll take you out and rent some motel room for the night, or two if he's feeling special, and you'll find yourself pinned down onto the fresh crisp sheets of the mattress; one of his hands holding both your wrists right above your head, the other holding his recording phone firmly as it was aimed down at you under him. with bare thighs pressed up into the plush of your breasts, he positions the phone on a nearby pillow to hold it up just so he could sloppily eat out with your cunt, spit and all, with his mouth pursing around your swollen clit and his fingers rubbing circles into your dripping folds—creating a perfect angle to showcase both you and him in such a vulgar yet erotic manner. könig then picks up the phone once more as he finishes you off, holding it once more as he spreads your orgasm-slick thighs apart so he could pound his cock away into the tightness of your pretty cunt. every moan, every sound of skin against skin, every touch, is kept solely on that phone of just for him to relieve some stress while he's away from you and your lingering on that mind of his. "look at you, liebchen, like my own lil' personal pornstar. god, i can never get enough of you. look at the camera, baby, eyes on me. it's like you were made for it."

༉‧₊˚. — dbf!könig who was your first time for everything. first boyfriend, first kiss, first time. he can't help but feel a small amount of possessiveness over you knowing that, especially when guys around your age try to make some kind of shitty move on you. he relishes in the fact that he's the only one who could bring you to such heights of sensual pleasure, knowing just the right locations to touch you that caused you to writhe and whimper in the sweetest tones. you had a type of romance with him that you would only see in films, knowing that your father was always the strict type when it came to you and guys getting their hands on you. it wasn't a surprise when you found yourself feeling like the prettiest girl when könig would treat you so much better than boys your age; constantly bringing affection in the form of sweet physical contact while also treating you like his personal fleshlight when he was in need for some stress relief—drawing intense, messy orgasms after orgasms that would be leaving you whimpering and strangely in need for more of him. "könig..." you whined weakly, on the brink of a fourth orgasm with his pounding twitching cock buried between your trembling pulsing walls as you gave könig the most pleading and exhausted gleam in your eyes. it made you sound desperate, like a slut. "i know, engel. just a little bit more, baby. give yourself all to me."

#. ˚ ʚ — ꒰ könig. ꒱#könig x reader #könig x fem reader #könig x you #könig smut #cod mw2 fanfic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty mw2 #konig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig modern warfare #cod mw2 #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

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fawnpires · 1 year

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TORN ON YOUR HEART. — KÖNIG.

(in short: a concept about your husband, könig, wanting to ruin his pretty wife - and her pretty makeup.)

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: poorly google-translated german, husband!könig, slight dumbification, size kink & difference, body worship, soft dom!könig, manhandling, face-sitting, possessive sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, stomach bulge.

"Let me ruin that makeup off your face, mein kleines reh." his accented voice muffles from underneath you.

With his large anatomy in contrast to your much small-scaled body, it was without a doubt that the flat palms of his hands secured at the flesh of your thighs could keep you right where he wanted you to be. The veil of your husband's hood had been pushed up to a right enough amount to where his hooked nose had been exposed as well as his mouth where there was a visible scar starting at the right side of his lips that curved upwards to his cheek and possibly even up into his eyes — which were still shrouded behind the covering veil of his face, only two eyeholes teared in them to reveal the hazy blue irises that peek up at you when you were currently situated at his exhibited mouth.

"Köni! Mmph, baby... it's too much." Your voice comes out but nothing but a sole tone of a quivering tone, bare thighs sheen with sweat at this point while your chest rises and falls with each heaving breath. A mind fogged of entirely him and the pleasure he brings upon you, it causes you to have lose track of time; meaning that your trembling figure has rested on König's face for quite some time, but an obscured head of ecstasy forbids any kind of coherent thought to cross your head about anything outside of this dome of rapture. "I can't do a lot more, m'sensitive..."

"Awe. Come on, liebchen, don't be like that." König said, giving a small pause in between his words to lap more at your soaking cunt which he positions himself underneath; the warm muscle of his tongue causing your eyes to willingly roll back in your head while your thighs squeezed at his masked head with a bit more pressure, a faint squeal leaving your mouth from the mere pleasure of it all. "Just hold back a little longer, then you'll get your big reward, okay? Can my pretty girl do that for me?"

Voluntarily, you nod your head all of desperation to his words — nothing but absolute commitment to make the larger man underneath so proud of you in the moment. At your non-verbal response, a faint phrase of "süßes mädchen" came muffled below you as the motions of his tongue became more rapid without breaks. One of his hands had combined with the movements of his mouth, a circling thumb pressing on the nub of your clit which only sent your mind into a more in-depth condition of personal ecstasy. Your head was now fully thrown back, vulgar sounds of moans and whines falling from an agape mouth while a heated sensation began to birth at your lower abdomen. One of your hands plants itself right next to the bedsheets nearest to where your head laid while the other had a flat palm to his hooded head, your fingers twitching as I had started to lose myself more.

"König, fuck!" You whined out in a more high-pitched tone than intended, pools of sweat sticking to the soft material of your laced bra — chest puffed out which only pronounced on how heavily you were breathing, giving König the view of a lifetime; your breasts cradled above in the feminine-designed cloth of your bra, white and lining with a lace trim around the edges. The more his tongue sloppily lapped at your drooling cunt, the more that familiar sensation grew in intensity at your lower abdomen; the one that felt all tingly, like sparks were threatening to explode right there and now.

His eyes linger onto the soft plush of your breasts before peeking through your thighs up at your face before speaking: "Ah. That's it, kleines Reh, lose yourself to me." the man mumbles into your soft skin, palming at the flesh with his larger hands as the ministrations of his tongue could only speed up without break. The sensation at your lower abdomen approaches towards an end the more his tongue slid up the puffy lips of your cunt, bumping up right against the nub of your swollen clit along with the tip of his nose. Small whispers and mumbles of praises, which were barely audible, came from König as some sort of accommodation to the reach the final stage of an orgasm — he knew you were sensitive, and he knew damn well that the useful combination of both his voice and larger touch could make you easily fall compliant to him; your brain easily so stupefied into a state of only existing bliss.

By now, the tears that brimmed at the slightest corners of your eyes were ruining over the mascara that tinted your lashes — faint black streaks rolling down the sides of your face, the whites of your eyes mostly visible as they rolled back into the inner barriers of your head. Your hips had started to grind down onto his mouth while your trembling body had begun to get more responsive to him. "M'god... I'm gonna cum..." you whined out softly into the air, voice slightly hoarse from all the noises that creeped up your throat.

"Oh, you're gonna cum?" König asks, feigning a mocked innocence with a now more huskier voice and a growl to it. "Then go ahead, nobody is going to stop you, schatz." he adds on with a slight hiss, his hands moving from being wrapped to your thighs up towards your hips, then the soft skin of your stomach, then to your bra-confined breasts. He pulls off the delicate fabric and tosses it over to the floor, leaving you now completely bare above him.

Given his confirmation you don't hesitate to oblige with them — your body trembling a little more violently as you succumb into the tingling sensation that had expanded inside of your lower abdomen, pouring out without delay as you felt your orgasm finally burst into reality. Both of your hands moved to grip the bedsheets established at his head, holding them between your fingers in a near death grip while you rode out your climax. After a duration of a few more lasting seconds, you come down from your high; body coated in a light sheen of sweat, mouth widened to catch your breaths, and your grip loosening up at the sheets. Your head tilts in a downwards angle to get a better look at your mountain of a husband, steadily moving yourself down to sit on his bare and sturdy chest to gain a better perspective of his face.

König hadn't even given you a chance to catch even the slightest view of the aftermath of himself before his hands were back to your hips against, forcing you off his frame. He moved to lean up against the headboard, still holding you hostage in his more stronger grasp at your waist until he settles you in his lap. In his head, he almost thought of you as a fragile doll while you found placement on him; so much smaller in size, so easy to move around without a struggle with his more substantial clutch. His then leans into you and presses his mouth up against yours in a swift movement leaving you no time to think, breaching your mouth with his tongue that still had the aftermath of your orgasm residing there. Fingers trailed up the inner section of your legs before tickling at your thighs, slowly moving upwards to your sensitive cunt. His index and middle finger drag a slow line up your puffy lips, causing you to moan softly into his mouth while your tongue shyly wraps to his.

Those two fingers of his decide to no longer exist on the outer region of your cunt, plunging inside instead in a stretching method. A gasp is earned into his mouth as your body falls frail against his chest, back slightly arching at the sudden pressure inside of your aching cunt. You felt his fingertips drag at your inner walls the more they pumped in and out of you; it had first started off slow and careful, but they increasingly grew a little more violently with desperation. Your makeout session with König had gotten more heated and explicit, his tongue crowding your mouth and tasting every crevice that he could possibly reach to. His free hand held you steady on his lap easily as he took note of your hips bucking at the movements of his fingers pumping with more brutality. He can't help but chuckle to himself at your needy condition as he found it quite adorable, the sound resonating within his chest.

As he withdrew his head back from you, a thick line of saliva bonded at his tongue and had been shared into your mouth in a sloppy manner. He continues to move his fingers in and out of you without stop, your body squirming as your head was angled to look at him — but never breaking off eye contact with him. König grips that one side of your waist a little tighter, fingers speeding up to an intense rate while your inner thighs were now soaking of your leaking pre-arousal.

"A-Ah... König. Please, I want you." You whined out underneath your breath, the constant stretch of his fingers opening up your cunt was a bit painful but it didn't take long for them to subside into a stinging pleasure.

"You want me, do you?" He asks in response to your whining request, but never allowing his fingers to falter from their built rhythm.

You took a few seconds to pant out before replying. "I do, please... want you to fuck me."

Your words were like a shot of adrenaline to him, a sudden primal urge listing at his necessities. His exposed, scarred lips give you a smirk — one without teeth, but showing a smug kind-of expression to them even if you couldn't fully view his full face. He slowly extracts his fingers from your cunt before moving to the only article of clothing that was on his body at the moment, his pants. Underneath where you sat on his lap, his hand found the buckle of his belt and undid it from the hoops of his tactical pants. There was a distinct noise of a zipper coming undone as well as the rustling of pants to get off. Without even looking down, you felt it; there was no separation of fabric between the two of you anymore, just bare skin. Bare and sweaty skin against each other.

His erected cock rested against your inner thighs, only fueling the amount of eagerness you had that had lead up into this situation. Hands were placed at both sides of your waist while he guided you a little up above his lap to turn around and lean up at his chest, hovering over his cock. He lowered you just the right amount so your cunt could rub up against the head of it — smearing his precum around your swollen lips and clit, more wetness starting to pool down your thighs. König elicited a deep sigh and you bit your lip, full-on whimpers escaping past the bitten flesh.

"Want it so bad, oh, please..." The words slipped out into the usual whine of your tone, nails digging into the skin of your palms at the sense of his precum soaking your cunt. "Need t'feel you inside of me..."

"I know, mein Reh, and I will." he responds through a quick breath, carrying on with moving your hips so that your cunt was rubbing up against the head of his cock. "Don't worry that head of yours, my pretty little wife will get what she wants."

Those were his last words before sheathing himself entirely into your smaller anatomy, the more extreme stretch of his cock compared to his fingers had made you squeal out at the first thrust. You squealed as you felt him fill you up, make you full; allowing your cunt to swallow him up until he was right at the base. He was warm when sheltered in your inner walls, but you had felt you were being impaled in a good way. He kept a firm grip on your hips as he fucked up into you, starting off with slow yet powerful thrusts that made a loud squelching noise — but it wasn't long for him for his carnal wants to take over, slow thrusts becoming animalistic and eager. You supported yourself laying at his chest while your head slightly sloped back to rest at his shoulder, moans leaving your mouth at his vicious onslaught on you.

His fingers imprinted tightly into the skin of your waist as grunts began to emerge from behind his veil, his hips moving quickly against your soaking cunt. He rested his forehead against your shoulder as curses in his native language were muttered under his breath, muscles already layered with a sheet of sweat while pounding into you. His cock brushed up against your cervix with each of his pushes, inner walls pulsing as you savored the moment. Skin slapping against skin and personal sounds of ecstasy had started to reverberate against the room's walls, a divided choir of unadulterated material. His movements got more aggressive, more quicker as the both of you were left with no room to speak anymore; only grunting and moaning, incoherent words along with wet skin smacking so delightfully in a connected way.

You felt his hands transport from your waist to cup your breasts, still keeping you in a solid hold if you had wanted his fucking to continue. Large palms kneaded at your flesh while his head at your shoulder was turned towards the side of your neck, pressing small kisses there while he proceeded with splitting you open on his cock.

"This pretty body is alles meins, you hear me?" he manages to get out between grunts and heavy breaths. "Nobody else, just me... it will always be me." It's not like his words were some heavy lie to use you for your body, but they were genuine and came from his heart; the beauty of your anatomy was truly a treasure to him, and god consider him the luckiest man alive to have a woman possessing such angelic features as his wife.

"Mmhm, yes, all yours." you said through a foggy head full of rapture, head cocked to the side to give König better access to your neck.

His lips formed into a smirk at your words before he grabbed at your hips again, kissing and sucking marks of love into your neck while he pounded into your cunt; feeling himself on the brink of a climax as his grunts grew heavier, more pronounced with your cunt clenching around him like a vice. Your moans grew in volume as you felt a familiar heat start to ride at your lower abdomen, back arching into a curve off his chest as you slightly leaned your upper half forward — basking in the severe intensity of this moment. A more saturated wetness starts to drool down your inner thighs and onto his lap, the skin of his thighs glowing in your abnormally dripping arousal.

König moves one of his hands to the sweep of your stomach, taking notice of the obvious bulge that swells through the soft, sweaty flesh. His fingers inch their way on top of that protruding bump which appears more prominent each time the head of his cock pushed up against the barrier of your cervix, pushing against the area. Your eyes widened at the almost overbearing feeling, more arousal dripping down your thighs.

“-Eep! K-König! Hngh, please.” you said in a whining voice as you could only writhe against his touch, eyes glazing of tears that sourced from an overwhelming arousal, a second climax forming at your lower abdomen and threatening to spill over any second now.

“Mein gott, you’re so tight.” he growls, thrusts becoming less steady but more hostile; fingers pressing down harder on himself that showcases through the skin of your stomach. “Mmm - Scheiße, doing so good, almost there.”

It was a fact you weren’t going to last once he spoke those very words to you — his husky voice, his nonstop thrusts assaulting at your cervix, and his mouth presses wet saliva-soaked kisses to your neck; you couldn’t help but spiral into your second orgasm of the night, squirming at his lap and allowing everything to pour out. It was wet, everything was wet — his lap and bare muscular chest, your legs, the sheets of the bed. Your naked back was pressed to his chest as you immediately felt weakened by the experience. Soon enough, his own release followed your own and you felt every inch of him in your guts.

Your stomach was warmed and full, both of your skin sticky and blanketed with sweat. While he rested at the headboard, your head was idle on his shoulder — taking in his natural scent while you could only gaze absentmindedly at the sharp features of his face. He adjusted his head to stare back into your eyes, his left arm slowly coming to pat and wipe at your messy face with his thumb; streaks of mascara staining that thumb in an almost clay-like material, the sight causing him to chuckle lowly.

“Oh, süßes Reh. Who knew you could be even more gorgeous with a ruined face?” he whispers in a hoarse voice, giving you a small smirk which pressed to one side of his lips - leaning in shortly to press a small, gentle kiss to your cheek.

#. ˚ ʚ — ꒰ könig. ꒱#könig x reader #könig x fem reader #könig x you #könig smut #konig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #drabble #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

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fawnpires · 1 year

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EVERY MAN GETS HIS WISH. — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: under the enemy's eye, you're required to accompany the task force's lieutenant but an unfortunate situation of enemy attack occurs; falling victim to both things, your superior and some hidden feelings.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: sex pollen, non-consensual drug use, one-bed-trope, inappropriate relationship with a superior, oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, age gap, manhandling, pet-names, size difference, dirty talk, grinding, mild degradation, praise kink, porn with plot, loss of virginity, innocence kink.

He wasn't a saint, nor was he heroic man to be looked up to; which was baffling considering his status of customary deeds. Brave, noble, bold — all of those things checked off to be deemed as heroic, as simple as that.

Rather than a man of military, he was more of a vigilante — acting on his own accord, directing himself and the men he worked along with the mind of personal dominance. He knew he didn't fit the stereotype of a soldier; obscene mindset, crude jokes cracked, stiff posture that made him stand stall and all intimidating, and a exterior skull of a clothed balaclava. As daunting as the man was, he was just like peers — quite ill-mannered off the field, absorbed too much in himself.

But he had learnt to contain a majority of that. Solitude was more ideal than ill-mannered, and he preferred that. Often covered up with tracks of blood and brutality, his humanlike isolation made up the whole of him; swallowed him up whole. He didn't know why he enlisted for the military, or why he hadn't quit so many years into the position. Perhaps for the adrenaline rush, or to endure the experiences of war, but the utmost possibility was to make something out of the miserable man he was — sculpt a more successful alternative.

In some way, that had worked out, made him whatever a hero was supposed to be. If that had made him a hero, then be it, if it didn't, then who was he to care? It's not like he cared for his general image, what others thought of who he was; only a man of great cruelty, inhumane and cold-blooded.

A lot of that shifted with you. One of the few women recruited, reserved and utterly meek when interacting one-on-one. You're instantly caught in the range of his observations, curiosity and skepticism as the two perplexing sensations that send him over the edge. Though he's afraid, and not in a tensed sense, it's more based on his feelings; those feelings that he thought would be triggered off in him, until he has you in his sights. That's why he scarcely ever partnered up with you on missions, putting some separation there to rid of those perplex feelings compressed to himself.

Unbeknownst to both you and him, that changes by a great deal. With Price's organization of the next mission, only in need of two personnel, it's down to the coincidence of him being paired up alongside you. The one thing that he was oh-so-successfully doing so well for the couple months you've resided in the task force, but shattered to bits when approaching this unfortunate expedition — it's pressuring, wearing his nerves out — tense. (As if you weren't as equally on edge about being collaborating with your intimidating, enormous superior.)

You're close to him, practically almost rubbing arms together. The overhead sky is dull of sun and some additional clouds, reflecting off the shade of his masked face and the tactical gear he displays. Forwards on, there's nothing but fields of fading grass and a waning path. The intercoms attached to both your uniforms are radio silence; no commands, no Price on the other end except from a few minutes ago when given the straight order to push on until Ghost gives direct instruction there.

Every so often you feel his eyes on you, causing you to adjust your head in his direction only to see him facing the path in front of him; yet sometimes you catch him side-eyeing you through the holes of his mask. Anxiousness boils in the pit of your stomach with each passing second — with his close physical contact, aware of him catching tiny glimpses of you — it causes you to distance yourself from him without your own awareness.

"Careful, kid," he said, his rasped voice the only sound you've heard in the rounds of minutes, "Stay close, don't want you wandering off now."

You blink a few times in a daze at the name, sliding yourself right back next to him, uneasiness tainting the void that was slotted right between you and him. Your hold on your firearm loosens, clutching it closer to your chest, the fingers of your left hand tightening around frontier piece. The sole use of his pet name intact for you leaving you flustered and weak in the limbs.

A sigh blows past your lips. "How much further?" you ask, "Been minutes, hours."

"Almost there, right through this path." he replies swiftly, crouching before gesturing to the right, "Cut here."

He takes lead, in front, and you linger close behind. The trail is cut off, there's more open field and sky where the sky darkens; shadows drawn on the ground, sun merely in sights and lowering beyond the horizon line. Arising in the distance, a structure stands its ground; a warehouse, seemingly deserted, dim light fixtures hung side-by-side with a half opened roll-up sheet door.

In a crouched position, he kneels in the fields of dried grass, signaling for you to do the same — which you oblige with. The slinging strap of your gun digs through your tactical wear, felt into your skin, marking the flesh with the outline of it. Around the airspace is tight and claustrophobic, your chest heavy with the beat of your palpitating, head weighed with a throb and some exhilaration.

"Visual on the hideout," he presses his intercom open to Price, gloved thumb to the button and his head tilted.

Price is heard clicking his own intercom through. "All yours, Ghost, your command from there."

Ghost pauses in his movements for a second then aligns his head back in position on his neck, closing off his intercom as it goes back to the original state of radio silence. He revolves his entire body in your direction, even crouched he's still so much towering and intimidating, eyes a shade of sepia surrounded with black war-paint dying right into your bare ones. "Stay close by me, then separate once inside, then you stay on watch while I locate, understood?"

It's a different request, more distant than what you were usually accustomed to, but in this position; there was really no arguing back on this, or better yet declining.

"Affirmative." you reply, getting off the ground and maintaining a standing position, still bent on your knees to avoid possible detection. He does the same, taking lead again and scurrying out of the grass into the open expanse of the warehouse's front, taking careful measures as he leans to grab a hold of the half-opened roll-up door's handle and widening the entrance so that's their enough space to set foot in. You're sweating, pumped of adrenaline as the whole situation sends yourself into a condition of delirium and kicked of a strange thrill — rifle no longer clutched to your chest, but in a prepared-aiming stance.

A scent, between a bitterness and saccharine, stings your nose. The inside of the building reeks of it, your face hit with a handful of it, causing you to pull up the cloth of your uniform and hold it over your nose.

(Luckily for him, he sported that damned mask of a skull all the time. The one time that you've fully understood to why he would need it, even coming across a situation like this.)

Fluorescent lights in tubes buzz overhead, flickering in flashes across each of your faces, background of quietude besides the shuffles of Ghost moving in his gear and the humming of the lights. He raises his arm to gesture the previous order given, you stay put up against a wall while he proceeds further and observes the stairs, the upper level with a room; unsuspected of the flat, low contour of a light that casts through the glass panes of the space. You watch across your shoulder, moving up to the bottom of the case of stairs, detecting each of his calculated steps, prepared to act on direction.

He reaches the top platform and eyes the door — though, before he has the chance to elbow the door wide open, his suspicions of there being lifeforms present are confirmed — the solid matter of the door bursts open without warning and a clink of an object hits the ground where he stood.

Adapting the consciousness to back away from it was far too late to act on now, a blow of the now-identified smoke grenade pollutes the atmosphere around, white and clouds around more than you had expected it to. Despite having your uniform stuffed to your nose, the scent is brought back to you — that bitter, sweet-smelling one — and it throws you into an abrupt coughing fit. Some of it breaches to your eyes, leaving a whole of you to be incompetent to retaliate against the enemy; hell, you couldn't even fend it off.

There's a grit of your teeth while slump back against the stairs. You lay against your rifle that had been abandoned from the clutch of your hands, your chest abnormally heavier; as if you were lungs were filled with a burdensome matter. Through the veil of your fogged vision and the diminishing sheet of smoke, the lieutenant held more strength than you, holding himself up against the wall of the room and held the handle of his knife up into one of the perpetrators.

His strength in the moment was impressive, nearing admirable, but it wasn't enough to overturn the situation with more than one perpetrator present. About two circle him while another three take notice of your debilitated figure haunted with the beginning side effects seeping into the fissures of your body, your head.

The last few recollections were of slow footsteps approaching your comatose-like body, your breaths heavier and more echoed against the shells of your ear. That sensation in your chest sourced from the smoke was growing into more crucial, dangerous areas; the smoke's aroma intense and all that you could really smell. They're crouched and talk over your body through muffled hoods, gas-masks.

It's difficult to make out what they're saying, (In this state everything was difficult, from vision to solely breathing.) A palm rests at your forehead, frigid to the touch before it burns down to a more scorching feeling once left more on contact to your skin.

You use your last bit of brawn to grasp at an attempt to get away downwards but there's an additional grab to your legs from below. A grunt flows from your throat in a strained manner, the ramifications of the unknown dust outdoing your own control.

A palm to your forehead, acidity stench, and the rear of a shotgun to strike you to a vacant space of unconscious void.

Against your skin, there's heavy breathing, and motions of flexing arms under your lifted thighs. You find your hands balled in fists at the fabric of his tactical jacket, his jacket, Ghost. To your surprise, he had proved your accusations of his strength giving out back at the warehouse wrong — overthrowing the opponents and beating them to pulps like his usual violent self, his bloodthirsty persona which slaughters the targets he chooses. Undeniably, he was rabid. No morals, no mercy for his rivals like the truculent brute he was.

His hand supports your back, the other to your legs which had explained the flexes that continue under you. He stumbles over to a tree which provides a temporary shelter as he slants at the bark.

He isn't vulnerable, he almost never was. It was either a violent, bellicose identity or one of great endurance. Ghost was an inexplicable man. On the battlefield, he's nothing more than a weapon — a masculine personification of warfare that taunts and douses his victim in a bloodbath of gore. (Who knew if he had developed some sick satisfaction from it, years of countless executions bound to his hands.)

But now he an absolute contrasting mortal to that, possessing you in his big arms right to his chest. You almost feel safe, sort-of sheltered more than you've ever felt in your entire presence of being restricted to the Earth's grounds. You take notice of how he checks over his shoulder then sloping his head down to your laid physique. His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, lifting you slightly.

"Come on, c'mon," he whispers and buries his fingers deeper in your hair, "Stay with me, kid."

In response, your half-lidded eyes widen up a little more, hands ghosting over his forearm and leaving your fingers to brush over the sleeve. You think you hear a sound of relief, but it was complicated to say with his smothering mask dying down a mass of his words.

The collected scenery around had been ingested fully with the effects of dusk, nearing complicated to make out where you the both of you resided for the time being. All you could comprehend was that he accomplished to elude from the main origin of the danger, and had hid out nearby in this perspective of trees.

"How'd... how'd you get get away?" you ask, sitting up with his supportive hand still at your back.

"That's what years of military training does to you," he replied, panting, "Reinforced stamina, mask helped drag out some of the grenade too."

You blink slowly, bringing your middle and index finger to your face which gathers some of that bitter residue. "What is this shit, anyways?"

"Not sure, has to be some conjured batch of contraband. Never been out to be transported, personal use — that's what I say."

"Some strong stuff." you mutter.

His strength which is used to hold you up heightens when he stands from his crouched position, a grunt choked in his throat. You link your arms around his neck for more support, doe-like eyes staring right into the pit of skull and cloth.

He doesn't mind, you think.

"Saw a safe-house up there, we'll spend the night there." he states.

"What about the rest of the operation?"

"I'll get in touch with Price," he said, "Possible case scenario is the whole thing being postponed."

You can only bring yourself to nod your head; at the same time, those secondary effects of the substance flowing back into yourself, stronger. Ghost starts back up forward to where the safe-house was situated, and his motions produce perceptions of vertigo. A whimper is hushed from behind your closed lips, head pressed to his shoulder and submerging into his jacket. His own scent gives distraction from the sustained bitterness and swirling sweetness that made your head pulsate in equivalent palpitations to your rapid heartbeat.

Your limbs are brought to weakness, frail and shaky against the perimeters of your pants. Sweat sticks to you — your forehead, your skin, your clothes. The strap of your bra feels more mauled into your flesh, branding into your sultry skin. There's an unanticipated rush of heat that throbs out from between your thighs, another whimper muted from your secured lips. Right in the moment, like a natural instinct, you could't help but trail your eyes over to Ghost.

How his biceps flexed and bent underneath you, his distinctive scent stalling at your nose of gunpowder and pine. It was intoxicating, holding you in a trance complete of him; all your focus on your lieutenant. You were known to hold an admiration for him ever since recruitment, his particular set of skills and proficient demeanor that was worthy of your commendation. But now it had shrunk into nothing but merely a hidden, perverted desire that had been brought out in the faults of the anesthetizing matter. Pressing your head deeper into the cloth of his jacket, you force your legs to squeeze together — an aim to rid of the shameful sensations that were coming down at you at the same.

As you doubted it was never going to transpire, Ghost had successfully brought the two of you into the safe-house. No longer in use, abandoned and dead, the short-term sanctuary reserved for you and him only. One story, decently-sized, and ideal for hiding out from potential nearby threats.

You're supported up in his arms for an interval while he inspects the building until reaching the upstairs, in the single bedroom which had been the only one throughout the investigation. He leans downwards to allow you to stable yourself on two unsteady legs from his hold. You stagger over to the solitary mattress and sit on the edge of it, two hands resting on the edge, fingers compressing into the foam. By now, the effects the substance took on your body had evolved into a level of unbearable.

Sweat drapes over your body in a fitted sheet, that vertigo subsiding into a lower degree but adjoining to the intense pulsing of your cunt that you've managed to handle for a while now. You slap a palm to your forehead, down your face, examining the extreme sweat that stains the skin there. Ghost sits at the foot of the bed, close to you, and begins to strip of his vest and his jacket.

"Get some rest, you'll need it in the morning." he advises towards you, proceeding to strip of the rest of his heavy gear.

"Was there not another bedroom?" you ask.

"Just this one," he said, "Why? You ashamed of sleeping with a superior or somethin'?"

Sleeping. To your current perverted head, you take it a more immoral way, heat rushing to your face at the thought.

"No, no, I just... thought you needed more privacy. Wanted to have some alone time, you know?"

He glances to you. "If you're uncomfortable, I can just sleep on the floor, kid — nothin' personal."

"It's fine, Ghost, seriously." you said.

His stare drifts on you for a little while longer before shifting away, bending his upper half into the pocket of his tactical jacket for a lighter version of his balaclava; one that wasn't supported with the hard shell of a skull at the front, but printed with a the design of the skull instead. His eyes were more visible this way, tar-like paint on pale skin around the browned irises. You shyly strip of your own vest and jacket, leaving you in a black tank top and tactical pants. The only light that had really illuminated the room was the tranquilizing beam of the moonlight through the pane of the window, white and glowy.

You slump fully onto the bed and sink into the soften material of a pillow. Your resting position distributes some heaven from the tormenting sensitivity that throbs like hell through your pants. The space on the mattress from behind you droops with his weight, a breathy sigh leaving his lips as he settles close to you; the closest you've ever been with him, almost intimate.

After a slight period of time, he's knocked out in a slumber — but you're left awake, a hand now between your legs as the pulsing is at its height; panties drenched and your heartbeat thumping out of the cage of your chest. You gaze over your shoulder at him where he lays closer facing you, his eyes visibly slit shut with the gleam of the moonlight. He adjusts himself and moves in closer to you in his sleep, towering figure nearly pressed up at you. The adjustment leaves you flustered, shock.

Without hesitations, you remove your hand that nestled from the space of your thighs and slipped through the waistband of your pants; stripping of your pants, gliding into your panties and fingertips feeling the soaked fabric of it before trailing further, rubbing slightly against your cunt. Your back arches and you muffle a whine into your pillow, heartbeat sounding at your ears in impossible volumes. Shame was no longer present, libido taking authority over your body and leading you to do such perverted things while thinking of your superior — who was sleeping away right next to you.

In this sort of mindset you can barely grab control of yourself anymore and find yourself stumbling backwards into Ghost, your free hand over your mouth as you feel the area of his crotch press up against the curve of your ass. One of your eyes twitch, hand in your panties rubbing at your puffy lips while your hips begin circular motions at his clothed crotch. The hand at your mouth fails to stay together, fingers parting from each other and granting the noises from your mouth to spill out. His arm then wraps at your waist, unconscious or not, seemingly pulling you closer to him; a bulge in his pants felt at your panties.

"Lieutenant..." you whisper breathily, looking back at him only to see his eyes were no longer shut — but half-lidded and open.

His arm at your waist travels to your hips, trapping you in the enclosure of his hands while he pushes you down further onto his bulge; an audible whine leaving your mouth with additional pants.

"Look at you," he groans with a rasp in his tone, "Gettin' off on her superior like the needy whore she is."

"M' sorry, Ghost, fuck, needed you so bad..." you whine out as his hips grind against your ass harsher, almost in similarity to thrusting, yourself drunk on him and his cock.

"Yeah, love?" he questions, "Say it, how long have you've been like this for me? How many times have you touched that pretty little cunt of yours to the thought of me every night?"

Your eyes are shot vast, saliva pooled in your closed mouth and your panties moist — slick painting the inner sections of your thighs. Words struggle shape into coherent sentences through your mindless babbles and the disturbance of his erection prodding right at your clothed cunt, but you manage. "Ever since I joined the task force," you say through a half-whine, "Since I've first seen you."

A couple of months was your first appearance on working for the task force. Decently skilled and a couple of rank higher than your first impression of a rookie, barely given any training. That's how long you've yearned for him — how many times you've laid sole right at midnight, in your room of the barracks, a hand down your panties while breaths of weight exhale with personal noises of lust. You project his hand instead of yours in the fabric, veins and a bigger expanse of flesh that stretches your tight cunt out with lengthy fingers.

Now those momentary projections had manifested itself into the real life, the reality where your older superior had himself pressed up against you; hungering after you as much as you did for him.

He has his face in the crook of your neck. "Fucked my fist thinkin' of you," you said, "You and your heavenly body distractin' me on missions... drives me insane."

"Ghost, please." you whimpered.

"Tell me what you need, sweet thing, c'mon." he cooes against your neck, the arms around your waist locking you right to the area of his crotch when all you could do is whine and push yourself down for more of the relief. Your body burns and fits of sweat, the temples of your forehead pounding.

"Need you to fuck me," you pant, "Need you inside so bad."

Ghost places a masked kiss at your jaw at the confession and in an instant movement; you're underneath him, a caging shadow scarcely visible by the traces of moonlight through the glass panes. The loss of friction he once gave from behind you was no longer there, leaving you to press your thighs together once again in hopes to rekindle some of the loss. His palms are flat at each side of your head, the bulging muscles of his black shirt outlining through the material — and the thing you've longed for the most, the bulge that lines and becomes trapped in his fabric confines.

He uses his right arm and his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties, ragging the drenched item down past your knees and left to be discarded on the mattress. His eyes preserve in a mature desire; bleary and focused on the exposed region of wet flesh. You bite the skin of your bottom lip, sheepish to never having another person being so up-close to an area that was so confidential to you throughout a large portion of your life. Two of his fingers slide up your puffy lips, soaked of your collected arousal while he elicits a low gasp from you.

"Fuck, angel, never seen someone so wet all for me." he said.

You had wondered if you should tell him now — after you were the first one to make such a bold move on him, you had to confess the private matter of never having intercourse; the only closest sexual encounter you've had was with yourself. (Those nights in the barracks with your single hand.)

"Ghost, wait—" you stutter out, a palm spread-out at his chest in a way to interrupt him of his doings.

"Somethin' wrong?"

You breathe, your throat gone dry. "I- I haven't done this before." you admit.

"You're a virgin, honey, is that it?" he asked with his accent swarmed of concern, "Never had a man touch you like this?"

"No," you said, "I want you to be my first time..." the admission was brief to a point, sure, but it was what you were so desperate in need of. You reserved this occasion just for him, and it had finally gave life to itself.

"Oh, sweet girl," he caresses your face with both hands, large palms squishing your cheeks and rubbing soothing motions into the skin, "Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes, please," you whisper, "God, I've waited and waited, only for you to be the first. Nobody else."

With that, his hands drag themselves down your face, your chest and stomach, and aligning at your thighs. He leans himself down onto the mattress, pinning his body onto the cushioned material. Your legs rest at each of his shoulders and his fingers create a restraint; powerless to thrashing or releasing from his hold. His thumb and index finger momentarily fix up the bottom of his balaclava to the brink of his nose, moving back to the flesh of your thigh. You squirm a little from the long, dragged-out desperation that spread through your body like a disease — a plague of lust solely meant for your lieutenant.

At long last his head descends to that throbbing territory right between your parted thighs, all bathed in your bloomed arousal and swollen clit. You feel his tongue kiss over your skin before running one long stripe up your cunt, lips fully puckering over you. To this new, overwhelming ease —out of the extended period of time with the substance's aches— you throw your head back to the headboard, a breathy gasp leaving you throat each time his tongue comes to work on your cunt. His nose adds to the ecstasy that he sends you right into, nuzzling and prodding right at your clit when his mouth works along your slit.

You stifle a moan, but ultimately fails when his tongue fucks itself right into your cunt, nearly felt at your walls. Whines echo off the boundaries of the room, the double simulation causing your eyes to flutter and your walls to clench around his tongue. Your thighs squeeze at his head while trembling, leaving your fingers to claw at the sheets, each and every assembly of your exclusive noises the nearest experience he would ever capture to hearing heaven — an angel, his very own angel.

"Fuckin' heaven right between your thighs, princess," he praised, running his tongue at the spots he was quick to learn that were sensitive to you, "Needy thing, you are."

"Y- Yes, yes... fuck." you whine.

"M' going to ruin you, bunny," he said amid his pleasuring, "Be the first man to ruin you, and this sweet pussy of yours."

Your thighs tremble, thrown-back head releasing noises of pants and disgraceful moans. His tongue works more diligently now, in the habit of working at your cunt. The ministrations are more faster and insistent. "Oh, Ghost..." you whimpered, bucking your hips onto his face and essentially riding his entire facial structure. He lifts his irises to your fucked-out face, staring in admiration, a raw visual of beauty — open-mouth, tilted head, sheet of sweat over skin, and all because of his own doing.

Rather than alternating between lapping at the exterior of your cunt and pushing his tongue right into you, he makes his mind up of only plunging his tongue in-and-out of you. The more rabid motions of his tongue driving up into you is a whole new degree of euphoria, a knot in your abdomen tying itself at the muscle fucking at your delicate walls. But it's not soon when that knot is unbinding itself, your body writhing under him as your hips roll and ripples of pleasure drive out from the undoing knot.

When Ghost arises from his spot between your now-fully soaked thighs, his mouth and nose are saturated with the liquids of your orgasm; the first orgasm you've had provoked by another person. You spasm, at some state of relief — but not enough to fully satisfy the explicit emotions that fomented right to him. Heavy breaths leave your mouth and his, trembling fingers of yours coming to pull off your tank-top and bra; fully nude and stripped beneath him now. You take notice of his eyes widening for a brief second behind the warpaint — astonished, or whatever he had going on at that unpredictable mind of his.

"Such a doll, baby." he said, inclining down to press a kiss to your lips, straightening his stance above you — towering you. He strips of his own shirt, a broad chest of muscles and pale skin, then lingering a hand down to his tactical pants where he shrugs the cloth down to his ankles; thoroughly peeling away from any fabric, except for his boxers with that prominent bulge at the forefront.

You patiently look up at him through your lashes while he slowly tugs at the waistband of the remaining article of clothing, a sensation at your gut anxious for the release of it. He wastes no time pulling the boxers down, cock smacking at his lower abs. Undeniably, he was as large as you've fantasized him to be — but with more length added, more veins that adorned him and a blunt head that oozed of pre-cum. Your breath hitched at the sight, a slow blink of your eyes while he clamped a fist over himself.

He pumped himself a few times in the fist, never once leaving the perspective of your near-goddess body all spread out for him. The stare in his eyes were darker, more obscured with shadows and a deep, perverted passion that you once obtained; only for it to die down at his domination on you, reduced to your usual timidity. Observing his cock in his fist, you bite your lip, that throbbing sense at your cunt returning in a more intense wave.

In a more bent position over your anatomy, you feel the head of his cock prod right at your entrance and you gasped when it starts in circular movements — gathering some of the remnants of your arousal on the head.

His fingers grasp at your jaw, gently forcing you to make direct eye contact. "Hey, hey, look at me," he whispers, "Relax, honey, it's going to hurt a little since it's your first time, yeah?"

You give him a nod, lip bitten at your teeth.

"If it hurts, we stop, no big deal — got it?"

You give him another nod of reassurance. It was a huge thing to give up, to put trust into the hands of another man — but it was him, your lieutenant, the man you've admired and personally worshipped like your own god. You trusted him with your life, that's how far it was taken, and now you could trust him with taking your virginity; ruining yourself for him.

With the given permission, he slowly fills you up, the head of his cock slipped into your cunt. He groans at the tight sensation, a whimper of your end at his lengthy size inside of you. You already feel so filled, and it was only the blunt head that had been in you. Ghost immerses in how you feel clenched around him, tight and leaving him almost unable to fully thrust himself in; the intimate way your legs bracket at his waist, how your arms wrap his torso like a bandage and your fingers jab at his back muscles.

"Ghost—" you whine out, feeling yourself clench around the head of his cock that left you almost brain-dead — unable to speak, or form a coherent thought at that, "Oh, fuck..."

His large hands keep you confined at your waist, lips pressing at your face while one hand frees itself and cradles you in it. "Still doing okay, sweetheart?" he asks with a genuine concern, and you nod, allowing him to thrust the remaining inches of his cock right into your cunt. Your back arches off the mattress at the sudden movement and the short sting that accompanies it. "Doing so good, love."

He starts out in slow, steady thrusts and you whine with the flow of his hips against yours. Gradually, he speeds up once coming to the realization that you were already adapted to how he moved up inside of you. Your fingers at his back begin to dig deeper, breaking the skin and leaving red marks in the wake. His stamina is a whole stage of extremity than your own, which is why he's able to pound into your cunt without pause.

"You love this don't you, sweet girl?" he pants, "You love having your sweet little pussy filled up by your superior's big cock, huh?"

You rapidly nod with pants between your lips, saliva down the corners of your widened mouth, "Love it s'much, Ghost, oh—"

"My real name, say it, honey."

You whimper, the bottoms of your eyes twitching. "Love how you fuck me, Simon — be rough with me, please, I don't care anymore."

At the your request, his particular set of thrusts afterwards of his are hard and nearing animalistic, right up at your cervix — nearly at your womb. He reduced you to nothing but a writhing, moaning mess where you laid under him; legs fixated at his waist and your arms at his torso forcing him down closer to you.

"Always wanted to fuck you like this, y'know?" he rasps between grunts, "Every-time one of those lowlife rookies eyed you, wanted to bend you over and show them who you belong to," he said, "Fuck in front of everyone like a bunch of animals.

An audible, echoing whine slips from your mouth at his own perverted confession. Who knew he shared the same fucked-up fantasies as you did? (Truly a match made in heaven.)

In the way he fucked into your cunt at a rapid pace, it could be considered animalistic — just like his fantasy. His veined hands caress your waist while every thrust of his hardened cock brushing past your walls and pounding into your cervix extracts an angelic sound from your mouth.

"More, please, please—" you whine out, head thrown back and nails into his skin, "I'll be your girl, 'mmm my god — your only girl, I promise..."

He grunts. "That's right, bunny. I'm the only man who can fuck you like this," he said, "I'll make you remember this night, the first man to ever ruin you like this."

Ghost throws his head back, his posture aligning itself out while his jaw clenches. Sounds of skin-on-skin and a chorus of high-pitched whines along with raspy, masculine grunts leave the safe-house no longer deserted; conducted of sexual nature in its walls. You squeal as he never fails to reach your cervix while he continues to pound into you, addicted to the way your cunt clenches on him like a vice and how your body reacts to his cock impaling it like a natural instinct — clamping on, soaked of arousal just at the mere thought of it settled in you.

The space between your two thighs are messier than the first time, when you found yourself being carried like a bride in his arms, when you ground yourself right to the bulge of his pants. It's sloppy, with a combination of your arousal and his pre-cum painting your inner-thighs like a piece of artwork; the whole scene a scenario of a sexual, brutal renaissance painting.

"M' so close, Simon!" you squeal, "Need you to cum inside, mmph — please..."

"You want that, sweet girl?" he asks, "Want me to cum all inside of your pretty pussy?"

"Yes!"

He chuckles. "You lil' fuckin' whore, all needy like this for her first time."

And with that, Ghost smacks his lips to yours. His tongue laps at each crevice of your mind, a hand coming to grab at your jaw and keep you in position. The results from him eating you out still linger on his tongue, causing you to moan right into his mouth and allow him to eat you all up. Your insides feel raw at this point in the way his cock leaves squishes noises each time he meets with your puffy, sticky folds — cervix bruised and kissed with his overwhelming contact.

"C'mon, princess, show your lieutenant who you belong to," he breathes between kisses, "That's it, I know you can, bunny."

Ghost feels the abrupt stop of your clawing at his back when your cunt spasms around his cock, clenching as tightly when a burst of liquid seeps out and decorates the head of his cock, drooling down the veiny sides. The pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen clit during your orgasm, a loud whine earned at the contact. His cock twitches inside of you at your noise, and at the discernment of your pretty cunt squeezing down on him; in some way telling him to stay, never let you go, claim and haunt you down to never leave your side, never.

With your orgasm already wrapped and concluded, he undergoes one of his own; not long after yours. A gush of fluid plants at your walls and floods past your cervix, felt at the inners of your womb. Sensitivity still contemporary, you find yourself mewling at the impact when it spills to the parts deepest inside of you — coddled in the warmth of his seed, filled to the brim. He's quite the artist himself, painting your insides one of the prettiest tints of white. You capture him in a hug, pressing your face into the open slant of his neck while he sinks in the position for a little while longer. He returns the embrace and massages at your breasts before wrapping you in a full hug, collapsing to your body.

He rearranges the stances of your bodies while in the embrace — him on the bottom, while you lay on his larger structure. Your head rests on his naked chest, tiny pants from your mouth while he is successful in catching after his own breaths; his hand in your hair, petting in comforting strokes while he presses repeated kisses to your scalp.

"How was that for you first time, love?" he asks once in breath again.

"Brutal," you said, "I liked it, though."

"Think that grenade powder had quite the effect on us," he said, "fuckin’ hell."

You nosed at his jaw, kissing at him, inhaling his scent of sweat and gunpowder — addictive. "Never knew my superior could be such a pervert just cause of a little powder."

"Not only the powder, doll," he said, "It's you."

#. ˚ ʚ — ꒰ simon riley. ꒱#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #oneshot #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

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fawnpires · 9 months

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hi! if the requests are open could you please do sex pollen with Simon Riley? if you don't write smut, that's fine. thank you for your time and I wanted to say that ur blog is rlly pretty<3

ʚ LUST FOR LIFE. ɞ — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: sex pollen, car sex, porn with some plot, tit-fucking, size kink, manhandling, praise, unprotected sex, loads of dirty talk, missionary position, eye contact, cum play.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ notes: omg i've done a sex pollen fic with simon before and it was literally so fun to write for, i would def write for it again. (and tysm angel! you’re literally the sweetest, ty again for requesting. <3)

The assigned mission had gone in several directions — one being the fact that a majority of your team had split up directly after being ambushed by the enemy with smoke grenades filled up with this sour yet saccharine-smelling powdery substance which had not yet been identified by the general public. For seconds, you had somehow ended up slumped in the cramped backseat of a hijacked pickup truck on the outskirts of a well-camouflaged forest right alongside your brooding, composed lieutenant who had unfortunately been impacted with that same substance a great number of your other team members had been affected with too — including yourself.

And you don't know how, but somehow you ended up with your military uniform torn off of you and discarded onto the flattened floor of the truck with only the white lace of your panties encompassing around the curves of your anatomy — laying on your back against the plush of the backseat's leather while your head rested against one of the locked, closed truck doors. Your skin was clammy, head overcrowded with incoherent clouds of thoughts while that swirling aroma of that substance lingered within your nostrils and never seemed to vanish away despite being impacted so many hours ago. Those doe eyes of yours were angled upwards, taking in the rare sight of your lieutenant's naked and brawny statuesque frame towering right above your more vulnerable figure.

"You're drivin' me fuckin' crazy, doll. Keep those pretty eyes on me now." he pants out between heavy breaths spilling past his parted lips, his body now slanted over you which caused his shadow to envelop you in its entirety.

Those tactical jeans of his were left to be undone and forgotten at his ankles alongside the cloth of his boxers while the softness of your bare breasts engulfed the pulsating, girthy length of his kept cock as it thrusted between the flesh. His hands and arms of exposure, now bulging of some veins and hardened muscles, kept a firm yet gentle grip at your breasts — kneading them in calloused palms enhanced of faded scars, some new and some fresh; most hard to recognize beneath the provided lighting of the truck's dimmed dome light. Aroused sighs and moans of contentment were drawn from the deep backs of your throat, flowing out in undetermined intervals. Your thighs were pushed and rubbing together as it creating some sort of friction and a distraction from the substance's strangely arousing side effects while you were basically getting off on the sight of his cock fucking right amid the valley of your breasts.

Your eyes never wanted to leave his, something about them was so entrancing in the moment. Each thrust at the flesh left you in a puddle of a needy mess, the blunt head of his cock peaking out between the tops of your breasts while his thrusts grew more desperate and sloppy to reach his initial high. Suppressed grunts were pronounced from past the darkened black fabric of his balaclava, the corners of his eyes twitching as he threw his head back; large hands continuing to maintain a hold on your breasts, tweaking your nipples while he fucked them with a ferocity that left him panting like a dog in heat. Slick began to drool past your panties, running down your inner thighs in a line of fluid while your jaw hung open to discharge those sounds of ecstasy. The atmosphere of the truck smelled of sex, the panes of the windows beginning to fog up in a hazy mist.

"Gonna cover these pretty lil' tits all full of my cum, lovie. I can't believe I've never given this pretty body a chance. " he gets out while a loud groan comes from him, the more he desperately moved his hips through the sensual simulation your breasts provided him — the more his climax got onto the verge of spilling out of him.

"Lieutenant, please..." your voice had the slightest hint of a whine to it, almost pleading him in a more high-pitched tone of voice.

"You sound so good f'me right now, sweet girl. Just hold on a little longer for me, baby. Almost there."

With that, he gives one last and particularly vigorous thrust between the mounds of your softened breasts; his hands traveling down to either sides at your waist, fingers depressing upon the skin as his head slanted a little more further back in pleasure with satisfied groans no longer being held in. His seed jetted out in fervent pulses onto the smooth stretch of your chest, adorning the skin in a sheet of pure and sticky fluid. As his head slanted forwards again back in regular position, his pupils appeared to be more dilated — giving him the look of some sort of rabid animal, seeking out for a way to quench his hungering lust. (In this case, using your body would be that designated method for appeasing that hunger - thanks to the substance's effects on the man.)

In a craving manner, you find Ghost briskly pulling up the lower edge of that skull balaclava he almost always sports on the physical features of his face; head lowering towards the supple flesh while his tongue eagerly laps at the liquid, brushing over either one of your nipples periodically — drawing one of those needy and pent-up whines from you. A hand is felt dragging down between your thighs, parting them from each other as his index and middle finger formed circular motions at your pantie-clad cunt, your body slightly shuddering at the contact towards your wet and sensitive area.

"God, you look even better with my cum all over your tits," Ghost chuckles lowly against your breasts, suckling and licking at them with his exposed lips. "Didn't know you were this desperate to be touched like this by a superior."

"Can't take it, Ghost, please. I need you inside me already."

"I know, sweetheart, I know. Just a little bit more, I promise. Acting like a needy lil' thing, aren't you?" he responses in a breathless vocal tone, his accent more accented with each gravelly word spoken.

His fingers slip around the waistband of your panties, the wet article of clothing worn around your curves before it was yanked down your legs and left to be abandoned with the rest of your uniform. Ghost lets out a deep grunt at the sight of your naked figure, his lips granting both of your breasts subtle little kisses before straightening himself back up and imposing right over you. He was moderately leaned over you, his hands adjusting your legs to rest on top his shoulders before drifting down to settle at both sides of your waist. His now solid cock rests at your lower abdomen, kisses being pressed into your right calf while his body slowly grinds against the perspired surface of your exterior skin.

The precise, kept movement of his raw hips had your head rolling back against the door of the vehicle — right in a state of an almost overwhelming, yet such raw ecstasy — in addition to more sweat trickling and trickling down onto the leather beneath where you laid at. His mouth stayed attached to your calf, advancing and pressing those gentle kisses of his onto the clammy limb, (Despite his rough, cold-blooded presence out of the field; he was the most gentle towards you, almost in resemblance to a lover.) Your teeth bit into the flesh of your lower lip, gnawing feebly at it while your cunt throbbed excessively in unrhythmic patterns. His teasings were going straight to your aching head as the aftermath of the substance, now well-acknowledged to be running through the course of your veins, only seemed to worsen without relief.

Fortunately, he took notice of your practically pleading exterior on display just for him; causing him to lean back a few inches from your body before steadying himself over you, eyes never faltering from yours as his cock angled right at the entrance of your sopping cunt as he slowly inched himself inside the warmth of your walls accompanied with a squelch audible throughout the vehicle. His free hand was left to press up against the fogged pane of nearest window, a prominent cast of his palm being left there. His other hand held at your hip, beads of sweat outlining at his cloth-wrapped forehead while it trickled down past the visible eye area of his balaclava — combining with that black, smeared eye-paint gracing around those dulled brown eyes. A distinct grunt came from him at the sensation of your cunt engulfing him, and a whimper of a reached relief sourced from the initial contact of his hips pressed against yours.

"There you go. Such a good girl, taking me in so well." the lieutenant cooes from above you, his voice hoarse and slightly strained while his hips sustained a pleasant rhythm.

"Mmm— fuck, Ghost... feels so good." you moan out, eyes nearly closing to fully indulge in the sensation.

"And your pussy feels like damn heaven, Jesus." his words were spoken through a grunt, his hand at the window smudging at the fog. "Keep those eyes on me, want you to look me in the eye — know who's fucking you, making you feel this good."

The smallest smirk is held at one corner of his lips at your words of praise, his hand at your hip using the thumb to gently stroke at the skin while his thrusts increased in speed. Shamelessly, soft moans and various noises of pleasure were being pulled out of you now as his each pump of his hips into you was shaped into the interiors of your cunt. Your nails dug into leather below you, legs trembling out of bliss on-top of his sturdy and muscled shoulders tensing from the vast mass of euphoric feelings the both of you were undergoing. With each passing thrust within you, his motions quickened up through you, the head of his cock kissing right at your cervix repeatedly without stop.

Arousal was the only thing, the only emotion that your body could be running on at this exact moment — your inner thighs stained with your slick, leaving a small pool of fluid under you; evidence to how good he really made you feel when fucking right into you. Resonates of skin-against-skin and more noises of sexual matter filled up the once silent truck, the windows nearly curtained and blocked off with fog sourcing from the both of your bodies continually pressing up against each other. His hips angled in different kinds of ways, just to aim his cock right against the spots that would cause your back to arch off the seat and your hips to slightly raise in the air. More sweat began to form at your skin, glistening underneath the dim lights.

Your legs were more spread apart, nevertheless still perched on his shoulders as the positioned of your body arched off the seat raised body gave him a better approach to pound into you. His sweat mixed in with yours, cock drilling into your pussy at an pace that could be almost considered violent by the looks of it. He had his hand pushing down a little more into your hip, his build tilted over your own. Moans of his title — of his military title — were being moaned out from you in a head full of rapture where you saw stars in your vision, which fueled that arousal just about leading to his climax once he heard that angelic tone of yours speaking his name.

"You fuck me so good, sir." you whimpered in a fragile voice, that built-up tension in your stomach almost at its high.

Those words of yours were almost enough to drive him over the edge, but his composure was held onto just for a little longer.

"That's right, lovie. I'm the only man who can fuck you like this, nobody else, yeah?" he pants out, the violent pace of his beginning to stutter just at the slightest. His composure was slipping off now, without a doubt. "Can feel you squeezing me — shit, — let go for me, angel, come on."

With his words basically giving you the permission, your body stiffens while a series of whimpers and moans are mainly heard from a clear volume. Your cunt clenches around his cock while it remains still up against your cervix as he gives into a climax the same time as you do, his near-animalistic groans merging with your much softer moans. Ghost gives a single, last thrust before hot waves of pleasure spill from him as he fills your cunt to the brim with the warmth of his seed. Heavy breaths of almost exhaustion come from him for a few moments longer before he slowly pulls out of you, your weakened body vaguely at the feeling of it. His eyes sweep down from your eyes, to the rise and fall of your breasts, to the perspective of his seed spilling out from the puffy lips of your cunt and onto the splattered material of the seats.

By now, the influence of the substance has sufficiently gone down considering the quantities of alleviation that you and Ghost had managed to release off of each other. (In the most intimate, non-expected way possible — and during a full-on mission.) He cautiously lowers his hand at your hip to dip between your soaking thighs, the heel of his palm rubbing at your raw, delicate flesh dripping of both of your sticky releases. Your mind finally goes conscious for the first time since both you and him had temporarily hid out in this truck; a faint flush coming to rise at your cheeks once the realization hits you — you fucked a superior, your literal lieutenant.

It’s not like the either of you were to blame, you think.

He then leans down to you, palm still rubbing at your folds as you shakily sigh out, a kiss being pressed into your forehead. It was abnormally sweet, especially coming from someone like him. But you weren’t complaining, — as long as he wasn’t pissed about fucking a subordinate, such as yourself, or had any regrets about doing any of this with you; drug’s influence or not. You can’t help but allow your face to flush lightly at the kiss, a small blush blossoming around your cheeks. He then wholly lowers back the edge of his pushed-up balaclava, his full face now concealed like always.

“You regret any of this?” you asked quietly, not out shame or sadness, but a genuine curiosity to hear from his side. Your breaths were still coming out shaky from his rubbing palm.

It’s dead silence coming from him, before he then speaks up with a slight unpredicted chuckle.

“Regret this?” Ghost repeats back to you, his head cocked to the side as his eyes find yours once more. He looks at you as if you told some kind of joke to him — or just said something really stupid. “No way in hell would I regret doing something like this with a girl that has your looks, or your sweetness, sweetheart.”

“Good, but you better not be saying that because of the stuff we got hit with.” your said more teasingly.

“Nah. I only speak truth from my cold, dead heart, love.” his deep voice responds back to you, the corners of his black-smudged eyes crinkled in an indication of a grin.

#. ˚ ʚ — ꒰ simon riley. ꒱#ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x female reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

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fawnpires · 1 year

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AMORAL SILHOUETTES. — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

༉‧₊˚ ┊ PART 2.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: infatuations with older men were morally wrong, but never applying to him.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: afab!reader, manhandling, breeding kink, pet-names, praise kink, oral sex (female receiving), size difference, creampies, reader is in her 20's, ghost is a single dad, touch-starved, domesticity, squirting.

You've seen him around the neighborhood before — towering in height, bulging biceps, and a skull balaclava sheltering the structure of whatever laid under, the structure of his concealed face. It was a known fact that you bear an attraction to him, but you just couldn't own up to it, feeling a little too shamed to be conscious about a little school-girl crush on a man much older than you. A man who was a hard-working, ex-military, single father who paid no attention to girls in the same line that you found yourself in — but was it hard not to steal a view glances whenever he was seen around the neighborhood whether it was for a few minutes or seconds despite his lack of ability to communicate with others, though it was obvious he chose not to be around others for a good waste of his time excluding his children.

So when he came strolling up the slope of your driveway and a gloved fist beating at your front door, you had thought you were in another one of your trances — molded daydreams of him; minor fantasies of Simon Riley in that same balaclava giving you all of his affection, kissing you, treating you as if you were his pretty wife — a life that you could never make a single complaint about.

Ghost — his more preferred name used on other's tongues — stands eerily underneath the giving-out light of your porch, with nothing but a set of dusky eyes and a whole lot of muscle beneath the puny fabric of a black v-neck. You, stand on the opposite side of the door and impassively stare, nonetheless avoiding the eye contact when he gapes at you for longer than intended.

"I'm assuming you're the daughter." he said, reserved, dull.

"Sure am, did you need something?"

He clears his throat. "Well, this might be a strange thing to ask — and a bit sudden," He brought his hands to tuck in his pockets. "But would you mind looking after my kids for a while? I'll pay you for every hour, just a couple days of the week."

His offer was the last thing on the brink of your mind when he happened to show up, asking you for a favor — being in his house, where he lived, with his presence ghosting around. It sounded creepy. A bit stalker-ish to think of it like that — but you played it off as an innocent favor he asks of his neighbor, just a few hours of your day taken off to go kid-watching for the man who you admired the most.

"A couple days of the week?" You repeat his words back to him.

"I'm certain."

"I mean, sure, I'll take the offer, but when do you want me to start?"

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow evening is fine, around six."

You bit your lip. "Got it. Have a good-night, Mr. Riley."

"Knew I could rely on you, thanks, doll."

A single wave was managed. No verbal good-bye, just a wave from the hand that was freed from the confines of his pocket — and a pet-name taken straight to the pinpoint of your heart. You watch as he turns his back and finds himself across the street to where he coincidentally had lived — watching as he outstretched his arms and embraced a young girl with no emotion that had intentionally been shown to the public. Doll. It was unknown if his label for you was something he did purposely or had just slipped from his masked lips.

Either way, it made you feel like cherished like never before, his doll.

The day in which Ghost's favor was asked of you passed by quickly into the day the favor was actually supposed to be performed, straight at six, right in the center of where the sky was going through modifications of warmth to a bitter cold. Much like him with more anxiousness residing in your chest, you were across the street and bound to his porch, a dress shrouding your figure up to the bottoms of your thighs. Dressing and dolling yourself up made you look like you were going more on a night-out rather than a baby-sitting shift. Unintentional was the word for it. Unintentional to be all formal when in the same proximity. You half-recover from your birthing nervousness and thump on the door gently.

"Mr. Riley, it's me." you blatantly said, the door still closed.

With your words blurted out the door seemed to open on command — aggressively, as if it were going to be discharged from the hinges. Rather than a giant of a man in the doorframe there stood a girl half the size of it, lightly-shaded blonde hair up in pigtails with a cherubic face, staring right up at you as she titled her head. Honestly, you weren't good with children, but kindness was fundamental as of that. You give her a forced smile pressed up into the corners of your mouth as if held at gunpoint, whispering a small greeting and a wave. How maternal of you.

From further into the house came footsteps, blaring footsteps, and the little girl was no longer stood two feet on the surface of the ground but lifted into her father's arms with a brief giggle. You weren't going to stand here and be blamed a liar if that didn't advance an adoration for him in the moment.

"Thank you so much for coming and apologies, it's my fault for letting you in late," he said. "Make yourself at home."

"Don't worry about it." you reassure.

Ghost's house was clean and neutral, but gave off a decent interior of a past lieutenant's home well. There were a few toys littered around, a locked exhibition cabinet of ex-military trinkets, piled-up envelopes, and one other silhouette of a little girl bearing similarities to the one in his arms. Nothing in his house gave off a girlish ambience, besides two daughters, but it was masculine; like an adequate, suburban variety of a old-fashioned farmhouse with rifles and deer heads on display replaced with military collections.

There was a microscopic chance of danger with a bunch of firearms and artillery gear laying around but as someone as wise as himself, of course he kept a lock on it. Chain, even, if he wanted to get that far into territory.

"Bedtime's at eight, food is already ordered, and you have the entire house to yourself past the eight-o-clock mark." Ghost said. He provided you with a spare key, his bared fingers brushing against yours as he placed it in the middle of your hand. "So you have plenty of time to, you know, relax."

"When will you be home?"

"Around ten, but wait up on me — I'll give your pay up before you leave."

"So I stay until ten?"

"Sure do."

"You can trust me, for sure."

"I know I do." he said.

His eyes trail over you for a minute longer before bending his knees and and allowing his daughter to be freed from his grasp, legs straightening up again as he pat your shoulder. "Thanks, kid, I'll see you later."

All of these nicknames were blurted from his mouth like nothing — first it was doll, now kid, and it just left you anticipated for what he would grant you next with. That though stuck to your mind like a nail screwed by a hammer, watching as he took his jacket and folded it in his arms, swearing that he gave you one last glance before he unlatched the door and shut it behind him — leaving you to bathe in the first touch he acted on you, his effortless terms of endearment, and the two resembling daughters he relied to be cared of.

Spiraling. You had to be spiraling.

Your hours spent with the children were calm. They had warmed up to you pretty fast and had dragged you nearly to every spot of their home. Up the stairs where their shared bedroom stood at the hall, a couple of bathrooms downstairs, a storage closet, the showcase of weaponry, and even Ghost's bedroom. They declared his room was some kind of secretive hideout, only being in there a limited amount of times, but urging you to take them in there along you. It was going to be difficult to get out of the pressuring so, having your own fun, you let them explore around his room — like you were a cool older sister, or mother, to them.

The title "Mother" exclaimed from one of the girls, ultimately leading into them repeatedly a series of them calling you variations of mom, mommy, mother, throughout the night instead of the name you had given them to call you. You weren't extremely irritated with it, you actually found it slightly adorable considering that they didn't even have a mother and latched onto you as some sort of female parent never obtained, nonetheless it was practically harmless and brought no harm down on you.

Baking cookies, some sort of role-playing they convinced you to star in, doing their hair in all sorts of girly ribbons and accessories almost made you feel like you were a little girl again — it had drained them out pretty easily but gave them a sense of girlhood, giving no offense to Ghost. A vision crossed your mind, eventually spearing your mind, that you were the real mother to these girls. A female figure to look up to and issue them a full family with a packed set of two parents. It had been drilled to you the other half of the the night, you kept a close eye on them as they had gotten ready for bed and prepared themselves under the covers.

With a deportation of reading a shabby bedtime story and a few ruffles to both of their heads, you finally had his home to yourself. Anything you wanted to do was accessible, easy-to-do, but with no danger of waking up the girls. Exhaustion was present, though, with all of your lone ideas to-do in mind you ended up on the couch. Your head tilted in one palm as you legs crossed under the skirt of your dress, the illuminations of late-night talk shows on television glowing your face in shades of dissimilar hues.

Staying up and waiting for Ghost to walk right through the front door was starting to become a challenge. Blaming his daughters for putting you in a state of pure fatigue was never the right thing to do, although it was easy to admit. Your eyelids were heavy with one more glance at the clock, which read a quarter to nine, meaning that this night could come to its finale and you could see that face of his — physically, up-close, like you did three hours ago.

As you were right at your breaking point into a slumber the doorknob trembling and echoing into the room where you were buzzed you awake. Stretching over the arm of the sofa and sloping your head to where the door was visible, knob had stopped with the commotion, the door silently opening a crack before blew open. To your relief and satisfaction it's the man who've you longed for the entire day, like a depressed stay-at-home housewife. His jacket is thrown on a nearby table as he could only stare at your laid figure over the couch, eyes squinting.

"Welcome home."

"Appreciate it. Are the girls upstairs?" Ghost asked with a finger pointing to the floor above.

"All knocked out."

"Jesus, what did all of you do?"

"Just a little girl-fun, that's all, baking — stuff like that." you said with a no-teeth grin.

"I could only thank you again for that," he sighs and pulls out a couple dollar bills stuffed in the jean of his pocket. "You don't have any idea how hard it is to get those two asleep."

"Really? They're like little angels, they loved me."

"I bet they did," he said while setting your pay on the coffee table. "Here, an entire hundred stack."

"Hundred?"

"You deserve it, do you not?"

"I'm only a part-time babysitter, Mr. Riley, not a full time worker."

"Yes, but you're a good girl, are you not? Going through all the trouble to make time for me and my kids — so I can assure you this is my pay for you, think of it as a prize."

"God, well, thank you." you said, processing his terms of good girl, heat rising to your face. "You really love those girls, don't you?"

"They're my pride and soul." he said while taking a seat next to your half-laid body, dipping the cushion of the couch. "I only want the best for them, that's why I chose you to look after them."

"Me, why?"

"It's difficult to explain, and a bit strange but — you've always reminded me of my past wife, kind and loved her kids, soft spot even for the people she didn't really know."

"I didn't know I could resemble someone so much." you said, mouth going dry.

Ghost laughs. "Yeah, she was quite beautiful too, like you."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Hell, love, you've got the looks any man you could fall for.

His hand comes to gently rest on your thigh and you look up at him through droopy eyelids, this didn't feel real. This couldn't be real, right? It couldn't be proved as false when his calloused fingers started rubbing tender circles into your skin, eyes of his own half-lidded and crinkling around with the tar-like paint staining skin. You and him were playing a dangerous game, pent-up tension right in here in his living room, a man by all means older and more mature than you've ever been — it was so easy to give into him so fast.

"You like that, huh?" he keeps his voice low and continues the strokes on your thigh. "You ever been touched like this, dollface?"

"No, sir."

"Mm. I liked the way you called me sir, honey. Come here, sit-up."

You balance yourself on twitching elbows and Ghost moves in between your thighs, his body weight heavy compared to your smaller physique as he lifts the cloth-edge of his balaclava for you, revealing a light stubble peppering the anatomy of his face and somewhat coarse lips that pressed up against yours. Your hands hoist to caress his face, kneading into his sinking cheekbones with each move to intensify the kiss. His pink muscle of a tongue forces your lips open and laps at every crevice of your mouth — your arms linking around his head, his fingers once at your thighs now under your skirt and massaging in circular motions at your fabric-clothed cunt. Small whimpers of shame leak into the kiss, evolving into moans, his massaging enhancing with every finished motion.

Ecstasy ran through your veins, pulsing with adrenaline and contentment. Your legs are fragile, trembling, alongside your cunt flourishing a moistness in its fiber confinement. The man of your daydreams no longer is just a fragment of your delusional head, but right where you've longed for him to be, taking and compelling you to be obedient for him. Only him, always him.

The ministrations on your veiled cunt withdraws and drags a moan from the depths of your throat. One of his hands instead crawl underneath your pushed-together legs and the other supports your back. You dive into his lips with a hunger once more and he manhandles you so delicately despite the tough behavior, you're drunk on the taste of Ghost as he works through the house up the stairs, through the hallway, and brings you into his room where you once stood earlier — the click of the lock confirms your status, you're safe as long as you're with him.

His hands pressing into the flesh of your body is loosened up as he lays you gently on the mattress as if you were created of porcelain — which did have some sense in it bearing in mind that you, essentially, were his doll of a girl by his own words. Defines of his eyes stream your body up and down, towering over you in height, yourself much more reduced and small. Fingers assist you with stripping your dress, leaving you in an arrangement of panties and bra complimenting every curve and bow of your figure. He curses mutely under his breath, huge palms cupping and kneading at your breasts, his knees resting on the bed.

Your whimpers are more pristine and clear to his naked ear. Looking through your languid-like eyes, a bulge is positioned right at his jeans, and his shirt had been ripped off of him — possibly during the time where your eyes had been closed to immerse in his touch.

"Such pretty tits, love." He said with a grunt. A deep guttural grunt.

"They're all for you, mister, always have been."

"Not mister, not even Ghost — Simon to you, and it's going to be Simon when I'm pounding into this tight little cunt of yours."

His words add on to the wet arousal staining your panties, swearing a second heartbeat could be felt, a throbbing and senseless feeling.

"You like this pair?" Ghost asks, nudging at your panties.

"Not important." you reply through short, cut breaths.

With your consent, he takes both of his hands, ripping the fabric in half. A gasp delivers from your open mouth — both at the cold air's impact on your exposed entrance and the material ripping apart. He has a look in his eyes that resembles a feral animal, one that is undomesticated and always in a repetitive state of hunger. Ghost backs you up to lay against his pillows to allow more space for him to climb on the mattress with you. He wastes no time with leaning himself down and hooking your bare legs in a hold around both arms, resting right at his broad shoulders. Those same eyes of hunger peer up at you with the bottom half still exposed from the bruising make-out session.

You feel a mushy lick bumping at your clit, causing your back to arch to the ceiling with a high-pitched moan, who knew such a motion could make you so submissive in a short span of time. The palm of your hand is instantly cupped around your mouth like a guard as Ghost continued his ministrations on your lips — no longer kitten licks but long, dragged out ones that had your eyes rolling into the back of your skull and struggling to muffle such sexual noises deprived from your mouth for the sake of his daughters fast-asleep down the hall.

"You taste like heaven," he grunts. "You're such an angel, making those sweet noises all for a guy like me."

"Only you, fuck, you feel so good." you whined, fisting the bedsheets at your sides.

"That's my girl."

The slant of his nose stimulates your clit while he proceeds with his longer, stroking tongue advances reaching deep inside your cunt. Your surroundings are heated with an addition of pure wetness, sweat, and mess clogging your brain up. His tongue provides you with a pleasure even your own fingers couldn't drive out of you, drool pools at a corner of your mouth while his grip on your legs hardens, strokes of his tongue becoming more aggressive — driving you quicker over an edge, your stomach in knots and oversensitivity. Your vision starts to blur out once you realize you can't control the sounds that he forces out of you, his tongue again and again savoring you as if you were his last meal on death row — he was desperate and willing to lap up your juices staining his face and your inner-thighs, Ghost was just as deprived as you were for him.

A thick sensation adjoins his tongue and nose, overwhelming sparks of emotion possessing you. The palm around your mouth is useless at this point, it lays flat and abandoned as a fist clutching at the sheets, moans chased out humiliatingly. You needed to come, come for him, for your own sake — but that was hard to think about when Ghost was mouth-fucking and finger-fucking you at the same exact time, much like some pornographic type video. A cliche one.

You were squeezing around whatever he stuck in you next — his tongue, his fingers, his tongue, or an combination, you were with no doubt tight and squeezed around any of his body parts.

"Fuck, you gonna come, sweetheart?" he asked, muffled with your clit puckered between his lips. "It's okay, come for me, just like that."

"Baby! Oh my go-"

Your back arches to an impossibly high rate when the knot in your stomach unties itself willingly, a wave of arousal gushing in streams on his face. Audible whines fall from your lips as you fall back right in contact with the plush of the bed. Sweat and the scent of sex reeks around you and Ghost, your chest rising with each hefty breath that is fished from your lungs. Your blurred vision is somewhat returned to its original shape, enough to make out Ghost — with his bare chest and your arousal at his face, tongue used to make said arousal transpire licking around at it, and his inked forearm. He was sticky and sweaty, a little tired, but obtained the right amount of stamina to be right inside you, just like he had wanted.

"Simon." you heaved out below, his fingers pressing into your hips. "Fuck me, please. I need you so bad, needed you ever since you've first moved here."

Ghost releases a low grunt and within a few seconds, he's messing with his belt — shakily unbuckling it and shrugging his pants to the floor. His boxers are no place of concealment, the prominent outline of his bulge protruding beyond the fabric, the sight provoking you to press your thighs together and rev-up that weakness present in your knees. He tugs at the waistband and slowly, painfully, lowers the border bordering item down — his cock almost immediately coming to press against his lower abs, at his lower stomach, really giving you the idea of how big he was. His balaclava is fully suited back on his face as the he leans down to give a final stream of soft kisses at your stomach through the mask, a hand pumping from the base of his cock to the tip.

"You want this, angel?" he groans with his pumps before he releases himself from his hand, positioning the tip of his cock right at the entrance of your swollen cunt as he provided a pre-fuck with only his tip. "Want my cock deep inside your pussy, pounding you into the mattress?"

"Oh god, I do, want you to fuck me as if I'm your wife, your pretty little housewife."

With one unforeseen jolt of his hips, he slams into you, your tight walls fondling him as if you were made for him. Your arms link around his torso as he moves his hips slowly, nails etching into the muscles of his back.

"Fucking hell, I can feel you squeezin' around me, love," he pants out, thrusts developing into a more faster pace. "This pussy is so good to me..."

"You're so fucking big, fuck."

Ghost jackhammers his cock into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, your legs squeezing around his waist. Your mouth widens with each moan and whimper he could drain you of — he pounds into you, fucking you like an animal rabid, sinking fully inside with each thrust of his hips. There's a composure and steady rhythm he keeps, allowing him to punctuate each of his plunges with his cock kissing at your cervix, his hand moving down to your clit. His thumb rolls over the bud and correlates it with how he fucks you, your nails digging at the skin of his back.

"Want to put a baby in you," he groans as his hips rock faster, nearly knocking the breath out of you, his fingers ghosting over the imprint of his cock in your lower stomach. "We'll have a perfect lil' family together, such a pretty little mother to my kids. You would let me do that, yeah?"

He's pistoning his hips in-and-out of you, your cunt naturally squeezing around him as your whines grew in pitch. His words held so much meaning — an entire family with him? Spending a lifetime with the older man you've adored from across the street? It had sounded more like paradise, anything that you've ever wished for in life. He knew he loved you so much, and you knew you loved him as equally, so much that he could imagine your cunt all full of his seed — stomach swelling with his child.

You nod as an agreement and he grunts, thrilled at the idea of you and him birthing something so intimate with each other. A family, your family, his family. It was a scheme he never thought he would be overly-obsessing, despite his disagreement with it during his time serving the army. But he dropped it, as long as he had you, and a devoted life.

"Want that so bad-" you squeal out, the sensation of a knot in your stomach on its last support heels, each of his drilling thrusts pulling you nearly to a climax. "Wanna have your baby, yours forever." Your phrase comes out slurred as the knot is broken of the last support it was on, sending you back into another session of short paradise.

"You're so beautiful. Going to breed this pussy with all my cum, honey." He sinks into you more erratic as he feels the walls of your cunt grasp abnormally tightly around him, his head going bare and distorted, the only initial thought in-tact was to keep the flow of thrusts he had fabricated — though, said flow was quickly dismembering.

His fingers of projecting veins running up his knuckles that were conveniently gripping your hips with such a pressure molded your skin into his contact easily. Your moans coming from a thrown back head against his cologne-scented pillows merged with Ghost's persistent heavier grunts — it's almost like a choir, using two valid voices, and delivering some sort of out-of-tune melody but with a hint of great profound beauty behind it.

The sensitive nipples of your breasts rub up right against his sweat-sheen chest in company with the dog tags strewn around his neck swaying in your face. He's leaning into you and has you caged in with no escape, his flow of thrusts gone, both of you desperate for a release. His muted breathing is irregular and heavy, your legs trembling and weak encircling his waist. His name is on your tongue and it leaks into the air, chanting it like your life was depending on it at the moment — depending on him. The lewd squelching of the head of his cock kissing your cervix, his noises combined with yours, the slapping of skin-on-skin — all of it was such an erotic sight to the human eye.

His head is back resting in the expanse between your head and shoulder, balaclava raised to expose the area of his lips once again, the warmth of those lips stamping sloppy, wet kisses into your neck; you squeal out as you're driven to your breaking point, a rush of arousal pressuring from your cunt and spraying onto his lower abs while he douses his cum deep into your swollen cunt. His own high-point doesn't stop him from sneaking a few more smaller thrusts for a bit, assuring all of his seed stays remains inside you.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice breaking off, his knuckles are ghosting a shade paler than white while he keeps purchase on both sides of your hips. He's stuttering over breaths as he tries to catch up with them, eyes falling to your immobile self. Your mouth is vaguely unfastened with breaths taken, eyes nearly closed, body slightly shuddering with the collisions of his cock still felt up inside of you — leaving your filled cunt fluttering around nothing.

"Too rough on you, sweetheart?" He asks, raspy.

"I think I'm okay, besides —you made my night even better."

He chuckles, a rare vision coming from a man like himself. "I'm happy to assist with that."

"Also," you imposed a dopey grin on your lips. "You should ask me for favors more often."

#. ˚ ʚ — ꒰ simon riley. ꒱#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #call of duty mw2 #mw2 fanfic #oneshot #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

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fawnpires · 1 year

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┆.° ♡ — just a random concept about mean!ellie in college hate-fucking the popular girl that seemingly 'hates' her at some party they've both found theirselves at.

[ଘ] content warnings: usage of a strap-on, mean!ellie, dirty talk, semi-public sex, degradation & praise, squirting, mirror sex, ellie giving backshots, pussy-slapping, use of pet names, hate-fucking.

[ଘ] note(s): haven't written for tlou or ellie at all before but whewww, have i had this thought for a while so like this is completely self-indulgent (and very short!) ♡

"This what you want baby, huh?" she asks, "To go dumb on someone's cock for once just to shut that mouth up?"

The marble of the bathroom's counter dented the soft, pliant flesh of your bare legs. With your laced panties pooled at your ankles, the skirt of your dress pulled up to your waist, her hips clashing right with your ass, and the blaring music of the party just out-of-bounds from the locked bathroom which Ellie fucks you in — the scene was straight-up erotic, something ripped from a store-bought porno. Thankfully, the music was at it's maximum volume to drain out the whiny moans and whimpers that she tears from your raw throat.

Lengthy fingers wrapped at the structure of your jaw, practically forcing you to view the sight which you fall victim to; spread legs, a quivering bent body, and a desperate mouth aligned with a variety of noises the girl pulls from you. Underneath the low fluorescent bulb of the bathroom, sweat glistens over your thighs and sticks to the remains of clothes she hasn't decide to rip off of you.

"Ellie! s'too much, please..." Your voice comes strained, but coherent enough for her to distinguish into proper words. Ellie only chuckles at the pathetic state she herself drags you down into. In response, the grip on your jaw increases into a harsher touch, securing your head in place. "M'sorry, please, I'll never embarrass you again..."

"You can handle it, baby," she replies, almost soft and assuring, "Besides I'm only doing what you're known to do best, spreading your slutty legs." her words sharpen, tone hardened. "Isn't that right? That's why a slut like you loves this so much — you love how I fuck you because I hate you as much as you hate me."

The material of her strap pounds right into your needy cunt, high-pitched whines falling from widened lips as it never fails to meet with your puffy lips. By this time, you had no choice but to savor how the girl you once hated made you feel and with no doubts; you falter to the impossible admission that Ellie had turned you, the vain popular girl, into her own personal fleshlight. From where she stood, she lingers her eager eyes to your drenched cunt laced with your arousal. Taking her right hand from the place on your waist, she parts your dripping folds, her thumb in contact to your swollen clit; your legs quiver against the sink while you mewled at the additional pleasure.

"Oh, Ellie!" your hands find purchase at the margins of the sink she forces you against, eyes nearly rolled beyond their sockets at the pace her strap-on pounds into your cunt at. Her singular thumb brought down and slotted between your thighs causing your nub to feel entirely raw, delicate to her rough touch. "M' gonna cum, need it so bad!"

She grunts under her breath. "Not yet — I wanna hear this from you first; who's turning you into a cockdrunk whore, sweetie?"

With your fogged-up head full of rapture, you're not immediate to give her a retort to her question; the hand that rubs at your clit abruptly halting, instead a sharp twinge comes into association with the engorged lips of your cunt. You manage a squeal from your glossed-spit lips, legs jerking and tears colliding with streaks of your fallen mascara at the overstimulating sting.

"Fuck! Mmph, God... it's you, Ellie!" you nearly scream out, compressing yourself right onto the weight of her strap. "Only you!"

"That's right, baby," she straightens her posture, adjusting her hands back onto your waist for more anchorage before pounding into your cunt without breaks, almost nearing animalistic territory. "I'm the only one who can take of this achy bitch cunt, god, it's almost pathetic."

Her thrusts are rapid, warmth pooling to your abdomen in a pressuring sensation. The sight mirrored right to the front of you grew blurry through your own pair-shared vision, bundle of nerves rubbing right up against her strap just enough to bump at your clit. Arrangements of whines and squeals shamefully fall past your lips that had grown tender overtime from the constant biting and attempts at muffing your noises behind gritted teeth — which ultimately failed at the end.

Ellie leans herself down to the naked expanse of your sweat-coated back, lips kissing down the skin in a rare moment of benevolence. "Can feel you loosin' up for me around my cock, honey. Give it to me, make a mess out of yourself."

At her abiding words reveberating in the fogged barriers of your fucked-out head, her unforgiving thrusts through the capacity of your tight cunt cause the pressuring warmth to relinquish; a bursting rush of liquid transmits through your stimulated cunt and drips down the shape which your spread legs prop at as well as drenching the silicone of her strap plunged right up at the base of your cervix. The upper-half of your body sweeps of any persisting stability, slumping over the sink while two quivering hands pressed to the surface of the moist mirror hoist yourself up.

"Shit," she pants out a curse, the brawn of her two hands at your waist flipping your limp self over so that she was in a viewpoint above you, "Might hate your guts, honey, but there's no denying that you look fuckin' beautiful after a good fuck."

#・₊˚ʚ 📁 — ꒰ ellie. ꒱#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fanfic #the last of us #the last of us smut #the last of us drabble #the last of us fanfiction #drabble #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

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fawnpires · 1 year

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LOCKED AND LOADED. — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: ghost loves two things the most; you and his pistol, but there was nothing better than the two combined. (AKA - ghost fucks you with his pistol.)

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: gunplay, weapons, gun kink, slightly mean!ghost, oral sex (female receiving), pussy-slapping, dirty talk, edging, use of pet-names, mild degradation.

"You're fuckin' depraved you know that, don't you, sweetheart?"

His voice heavy of an accented tone sends a shock down your laid spine, your body quivering with tiny non-visible motions. The only lasting separation from your bareness and his lingering eyes were your bra and panties full of lace — with his difference, he had been fully clothed, draped in his military gear and tactical cloth considering his return from a month-lasting expedition a long couple of minutes ago. Through the front door and trudging towards your shared bedroom; your body laid already half-naked on the mattress — as if you in preparation for him — the view causing him to practically drop everything from his hold — duffel bags and a few of his more heavier rifles.

In the band of the utility belt, only a single rifle and a pocket of ammo to it — which is how you ended up with his much more towering, heavier frame suspending over you; the muzzle of said pistol to your clothed cunt, circulating in small and sensual gestures. He squints his eyes at how your panties leave a stain where the gun traces, a smirk pressed to his lips at the sight from underneath the skull of his mask.

"Gettin' off on my gun, huh?" he rasps to your ear, "You take anythin' I fuck you with, don't you, love?"

Your thrown-back head lifts itself from the pillow, staring right into the sockets of the mask. "Mmhm — waited so long for you, missed you s'much."

"I know, baby, I know," he said while his free-hand caresses the flesh of your clammy stomach, "Missed you too. Couldn't stop thinkin' about you and this pretty pussy." his eyes drift to your stimulated cunt, the confines of his tactical jeans growing tighter at the erection that bulges through the material.

"Please!" you whine, "Fuck. I need you so bad, can't wait anymore, Simon."

His edging maneuvers latch onto you, but they just weren't enough to your liking. For the duration of his absence away from you, you had craved more than just a gun running at the exterior of your cunt; some fleshy, physical portion of his body — not just the solid metal of a weapon running into you. It had just seemed to lack your needs — not to be demanding, but there had just been some missing addition that would peak up to your arousal. Your bottom lip was teared from the constant bite of your top teeth, nearly broken of the skin at the repeated sensations at the front of your panties; needy hips grind against your only source of pleasure, the muzzle of the unpredicted pistol — it could've been loaded, a hazard to your safety, or unloaded due to the amount of care that Ghost holds for you.

"Don't worry, sweet girl," he straightens himself back up and holds his stance between your bare legs which he spreads for you, resting them at both sides of his kneeled figure. "Won't torture you that much."

Your mind is left to ponder at his phrase, slightly curious and wanting to poke more at the topic of 'torture' he has in mind.

With his pistol still clutched at the handle in his right hand, he puts his left hand to use and wraps his fingers to the waistband of your panties, tugging at the elastic before slowly ragging it down your thighs. From your knees, and down to pool at your ankles until they were eventually shrugged off to be abandoned somewhere on the floorboards of the bedroom's ground; you were almost unconditionally bare, minus the lace of your bra cushioning your breasts that were nearly spilling out from the position the man above held you captive in.

The embarrassment of your cunt stripped of its fabric finally hits you, causing you to press your thighs together in an attempt to give some shielded cover. It had possibly been the span of time he had left you all alone but his usual superior disposition had left you a bit intimidated, meek to his eyes. He strips himself of his tactical jacket, then the black of his thinned shirt — somewhat equivalently bare to you.

"What'cha hiding from, baby?" he aims the point of the gun to one of your thighs, one hand brushing to a single side of your waist. "Seen you naked so many times for me, no reason to be so shy."

His words label an impact on you — warming up to his characteristic nature and steadily parting your legs wider for him, situating them back to the sides of himself. He can't help but bring himself to smirk at the act, pinning the bottom of his balaclava to the end of his nose and folding the blemished material for it to stay in place. "That's a good girl, openin' all up for me. Just like how she always has." he praises, his hand no longer at your waist but brought down to between your thighs — landing a flattened slap on the puffy lips of your glossy cunt.

Your body jerks at the impact, vibrations sent straight to your stimulated clit as a muted whine draws from your throat. You feel yourself pulsating from the cruel action, just about swollen and pigmented red. Ghost elicits a shallow, stifled chuckle at the reaction in which he extracts from you; directing the muzzle of his forgotten pistol to your cunt, nudging at the lips and placing it still there — no movements, motionless in place. Body engulfed in shame, yet you left yourself to do the disgraceful; revolving your hips at the muzzle, grinding onto the object much like the first time he set it into place — only more needier, more faster and desperate in each circular move. A shiver comes down onto your body at the cold of the firearm, but immediately warming up once the metal bumps at your swollen clit.

"Are you going to take this, huh?" Ghost graces your ears with the inquiry, watching as you hump yourself against his gun, slick drooling down the muzzle and all the way to the barrel — glistening and shined down to each portion of the weapon. He reaches a hand to your face, his large palm fondling at your features with fingers kneading into the skin. "You gonna let me fuck you with my gun, baby?"

"I- I dunno," you whine out, loudly and more extended, "but, Simon-"

"C'mon, don't be like that," he said, grim in tone, "don't'cha wanna be my good girl like always? Takin' what's given to her?"

You gasp as he presses the the gun further against you, prodding right at your clit; the new sensation of cold, hard metal causing your lips to part and your body to instinctually press yourself harder on it. Your left no choice but to nod swiftly — the only way you could really get further into the pleasure he edges you with. He feels his lips curve into a small grin, the grasp on the handle of the gun tightening.

He doesn't hold himself back anymore, no boundaries to stop him from slowly pumping the cooled pistol into the entrance of your drippy cunt. Your breath hitches, body squirming as one of his hands is pressed down onto one side of your waist; preventing you from breaking free of the stimulation. A shattered sound — something between a squeal and a moan — forces from your mouth at the operation of insertion. Your back arches, body tensed and moderately uncomfortable; still getting used to the feeling of a literal gun being shoved into your cunt.

"There you go," he said, eyes widening at the sight in which he gives power to. The abnormally loud squelching of your cunt while taking his gun and the released whines of your mouth were placing him into a personal paradise. "See? I knew you could do it, honey. Just for me."

Your body no longer writhes under the gun when it is at the limit which you can only take it in; right to the bottom of the barrel, slick painting the material.

"M' gonna start moving now, stay still for me honey. Just like this." he warns, leisurely pulling the weapon out of you before thrusting it back in a more quicker maneuver. Your hips lift themselves before being pushed back down into the mattress with the hand at your waist, a whimper pulling from past the teeth and tongue. "Love this slutty pussy s'much, sweetheart, you likin' this?" he questions, "You like — no, — love bein' this much of a slut for my gun?"

Through the continuous whines and towed moans, you can only manage a non-verbal response — another agreement from the nod of your head. He only grins, leaning down to your face to press a sloppy kiss to your forehead, kissing down the soft expanse of your chest and stomach before settling where his gun quickens in pace at your cunt, a delicate kiss from his lips places at your clit. The object pumps up into you more quickly now but is joined with his tongue giving one long, wet stripe up your lips past the gun. A high-pitched moan is plucked at the new sensitivity, back curved off the creaking bed, hips bucking and pressed down onto his face.

"Simon, fuck!" you moan, nearly coming out in a scream.

He smirks against your cunt, surrounding his lips around your clit and sucking on the bud. Ghost continues to thrust his gun into you, the rate of it violent and in carnal. With the supplement of both his pistol and mouth at your cunt, your mind is invaded of a stupefying cloud of haze. The muscle of his tongue repeats long, prolonged stripes at your puffy lips; occasionally putting time into lapping at your clit. Your brows furrow, collecting beads of created sweat as your chest rises with each heavy breath you take.

"Doin' so good for me, pretty thing." Ghost murmurs, his fingers wrapped at the handle for more leverage and pounding his gun to the warmth of your walls with that same violent pace.

His saliva coats your inner thighs, as well as the thrusting pistol; piling with the surface of your slick. Drool dribbles down the structure of his chin, using his utmost stamina to put strength into both fucking you with his gun and tongue. Your vision is blurred of tears, head in spirals while your left to leave your mouth expanded — no longer giving attempts to even muffle any of your noises, or suppressing right at your throat. An organization of heat begins to birth in your abdomen, threatening to spill of itself any second; any move of either his tongue or gun would be the root of that release.

"S'close, Simon!"

"Go on, then, love." his eyes flow to arching anatomy then to your fucked-out face, "I know how badly you were waitin' for me to come home, take care of this achy lil' cunt of yours," he cooed, "Want you to make a mess of my gun, of me."

The hastened blend of a pistol and his tongue vitalizing your cunt was enough for your head to be fully sent into a stage of dumbification and the birthed heat at your abdomen to be overturned; streams of rapture flood every crevice of your body as you gushed all over both the the gun and his tongue, covering both parties. The hand at your waist caresses your skin in gentle gestures, one last press of his lips to your clit before he lifts himself up — his mouth left to hang open, catching breaths. His gun positions still inside you for a minute longer before you feel the now-warmed metal of it being withdrawn from your sticky cunt.

When it's pulled out from you, almost the entire thing was submerged in your arousal; the liquid glinting from the illuminance of the bed-side table lamp. Your head leans up the pillow, staring at the stained object; then to him, with his alluring lips now smeared of all you.

"Shit, baby," he breathes, words ending in a chuckle while he stares down the slick-painted weapon, "You really did stain my pistol."

You dumbly smile up at him through your remaining orgasm, all lips, no teeth. "Don't you want a reminder of me when you're away?"

"Yeah," he replied, moving to your side and "and you were so desperate to make it happen."

You bite at the fleshy wall of your cheek with tearing teeth, more warmth rising to your face at his statement.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing, honey," he confirms while taking note of the silence you leave, bending himself down and caging you in with his body and two arms; one holding the pistol right above your head. His lips press to yours in a deepened, messy kiss before smaller ones are peppered to your face in comfort. "I like when you're desperate anyways, you get all pretty and fucked out."

#. ˚ ʚ — ꒰ simon riley. ꒱#simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x female reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #drabble #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

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fawnpires · 1 year

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SEEKING HEAVEN. — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: with two kids and a drained father's responsibility, he wasn't completely certain on the idea of becoming a father again; until you brought it up.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: single dad!ghost, afab reader (afab anatomy, femme petnames), daddy kink, dirty talk, spit kink, creampie, age difference, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, possessive!ghost, rough sex, multiple orgasms, belly bulge, neck biting & kissing, overstimulation.

Ghost wasn't the one to be a father, a parental figure to any child at that. He thought of himself as too brutal — too much violence and the blood of men tainting his hands to take on a role of a more softer, paternal nature. Although, once in a relationship with you, he had already had two girls of his own and all of those second-thoughts were pushed into a consideration that he thought would've never crossed his own perspective.

The thought of giving you a family, which had been brought up by yourself a couple times on occasion, was a constant thought in his head; even if he wasn't fit for it. He loved it — the concept of bending you over any kind of surface or even up against the wall to breed you, your cunt so full and stuffed around his big cock that was enough to put you under a trance of euphoria. How your moans and noises of pleasure would be so soft and beautiful to his ears, a symphony of angelic sounds that spill without shame. On his end, instead grunts would fall from his lips and twist with your own noises like a distorted harmony.

He didn't care if he didn't want it — to be a father again, to have a few more children. He would be on his best behavior to teach himself on how to put himself in that right position, mastering it overtime just to have that abstraction of a perfect, little family with his most beloved girl.

The clustered up thoughts made him act like a teenage boy again. His throat dried, drool pooling inside his mouth, eyes blankly boring into the nearest wall to project these thoughts into a mindful image.

"Simon?" your voice speaks like an echo, like an out-of-bound tune while your arm grasps and shakes his forearm a little as you settle on his lap, "Did you hear me?"

He would surge from the state of distraction, blinking slowly at the aimed wall before he rests his sights on you. His hand rests at the lower section of your back, the lids of his eyes half-lidded with a touch of his darkened pupils behind them. You slope your head to the right of your shoulder, the skin around your eyes creasing with the small grin perched on your lips. A faint laugh hushes at the back of your throat as the hand at his forearm loosens up, fingers brushing at his tattooed flesh.

"I'm sorry, angel, what were you saying?"

"I want a baby, Simon." you near-whisper, "Your baby."

Through that mask, concealed and veiled, you knew and it was clearly obvious; the way the fading black pigment alluded to pale skin complimented his dim eyes with an assumed hidden grin. The hand at your lower back starts in circles, gentle and careful.

"You really want that, lovie?" he asked, the globes of his eyes examining over you. For a while, you're too lost in him to answer — putting thought into the reply. He's patient and only handles you like porcelain on his firm lap, cradling at your body with a single arm at your back.

You close the last gap of space between you and him. "I really do," you said with a tone of half-desperation, "I really want this."

In hesitation, he clenches his jaw and bites the skin of his inner-cheek. As much as he was lacking the confidence to step into the role as a father yet again despite being low of the built-up responsibility, that doe look in your eyes was hard to deny or even ignore past right in front of him. Abandoning his life of barbarity and military could be easing, he thought, something to distract him. Easily, he gives in with a heavy huff under his breath and pulls you right against him.

"If that's what you want, doll..." he said, "Then be it. I'd do anything to make my sweet girl happy."

With the open expanse of where you two previously resided, it was just no good for the privacy of trying for a baby, so it brought you comfort that Ghost practically manhandled you from his lap and into his arms to the bedroom. He didn't waste time anytime throughout this; hence your clothes practically being ripped off of your laid posture at the center of the mattress. The next couple of hours are immersed in a room clouding in the atmosphere of sex; sweat, that fulfilled symphony of pretty moans and grunts, and the intoxicated high of lost-counted orgasms.

Your legs have gone sore and completely influenced with a numbness from being mantled on his shoulders for some leverage. His bruising fingers needled into your sides each time he pumped his cock up into your sensitive, soaked cunt along with a low grunt.

"You still doing okay, love?" he grunts while eyeing your bare figure through his half-lids. One of his hands move up to your lifted leg and strokes the skin gently, his head slanting forwards, the fingers from his other hand coming to lift the bottom of his mask to the tip of his nose before resting back at your side. An amount of spit dribbles from his puckered lips and right at your already-drenched, puffy lips. You whimper at the sensation, your noises ultimately evolving into a whine while he pulls out and uses the head of his cock to smear the spit that rests at your cunt.

After a few moments of smearing and whimpering, he finally plunges himself back into the warmth of your walls yet again. You're tight again, squeezing around him and savoring each vein and pulse when he's inside. His head slightly rests at your leg, gathering the chance to leave a trail of kisses at the sweat-sheen skin.

"Always so welcoming for me, so tight and ready for me to fill this sweet pussy up. Is that all you want, yeah? For me to stuff this pussy and give you my babies? You want me to stuff this cunt all full of me, doll?" he questions with a heavy accent, almost taunting. "Tell me, use your big words, honey."

"Yes! Daddy... please, want your baby so bad." you drag out your words with a followed whine. "...wanna be your girl forever."

His slower, subtle thrusts advance into more aggressive and ones full of brutality at your pleads. Your fingers grip at the crumpled sheets below while pushing your head back up into the cotton of the pillows. He hunches over you and blankets your entire structure, his lips meeting yours into a sloppy and vile manner.

"Yeah, angel?" You wanna be my girl forever?" he asks and you nod fervently with a hum, "That's right, I know you do. Going to be such a good mommy, so pretty all round for me."

He straightens himself back up and adjusts your legs that hold up at his shoulders. Heaven was the perfect word to describe the ongoing situation at your thighs; his moans right to your ears, the scent of his cigarette smoke and cologne all around, and the absolute condition of ecstasy he has you sent into for this time. A cuss is heard under his muffled breaths when his cock is felt and inched deeper into you, prodding at your cervix and suffocating in the comfort of your walls.

Through the aligning tears and blurred vision, you manage to glance down your body and make out the bulge that swells with each of his hostile thrusts. Shakily, you extend out a hand and press against the center of your stomach where that bulge is most visible. He pushes your hand away and does all the work for you — both pressing on the outline of his cock at your stomach and pounding right into your sensitive cunt. Your arms go limp to your sides, nails etching into your palms.

“You look so pretty like this,” he breathes, “All for me. Just for me.”

A whine comes into response, since it was all that you could give — that, or it was a moan or a whimper. Your insides feel raw, battered with each harsh pump of his cock up into you. There’s an ache but soon subsides with the rest of the euphoric waves that you fuel on. Your hands find purchase around his torso, practically forcing him to hunch back down over you while you dragged your nails down the naked skin of his scarred back. Marks that almost gleam of blood adorn him. In return, he tilts his head to your neck and kisses the skin before baring his teeth into the skin and gently lapping over the marks with the muscle of his tongue.

“You wanna come for me, sweetheart?” he said, eyes to yours while his palms were flat at each side of your head, “I know you can, I’ll fill you up and you’ll carry my most perfect babies. The perfect mother to my kids already, our kids.”

Your cunt squeezes around him like support, lines of moans falling from your tongue. His muscles are tensed, hips smacking against yours in an aggressive manner which happens to stimulate your clit all at the same time.

You breathe. “Simon, daddy… fuck,” you quiver, “Please fill me up, want that so bad. Fuck me full of your babies, please…”

“Is that it, angel? You want this?”

“Please!”

His hands move to grope at your breasts, then moving up to your face where he caresses the skin lovingly. A chorus of skin-on-skin, his entire upper-half bowed over you, your face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as the fabric of his balaclava rubbed into the side of your face while his exposed mouth kissed at your neck. Every short of a thrust into your cunt only caused your fingers at his back to tear into the muscles of his back.

"Keep your eyes on me, sweetie." He hoists himself back up to give a better perspective of you underneath, your legs frail on his shoulders while your head blurs of bliss and a faint dizziness, persistent gasps streaming from your mouth. Your body stutters every so often with his own. "Just like that, want you to look at me when I fill this pretty pussy all up, put a baby in you-"

Your stomach spasms at his praise, his words of promise. There's a sensation of fragility at your cunt once your orgasm is brought down upon your body, only managing a mere noise that is ripped from your throat — something between a loud gasp and a whine. Your cunt compresses around his rapid, pulsating cock as your legs seem to go stiff. A burst of liquid is aimed, flooding your walls and extends to an area much deeper, his load is thick and gives warmth to the inside of your cunt. It feels at your womb, that scorching and sticky caressing every crevice.

His leftover breaths stroke at your ears. Ghost gives you a few more rams into you, the combination of your arousal and his load leaking at your inner sides. He soon pulls out and sits back on his heels, allowing your legs to collapse from the cliffs of his shoulders and rest at each sides of his hips. For a second, he examines over you with an admiration; you were truly an angel to him, holy and glowing with the remnants of your orgasm still intact. With your eyes in half-lids and mouth agape accompanying quiet breaths, chest hauling with each of those puffs — he throws his head back and brings in back into position before stretching out a hand to pet at your hair.

You submit into the touch, humming a little while you whimper at the feeling of his load leaking out from your cunt. He eyes this, trailing the hand at your hair down your chest, then your stomach, and between that sensitive area between your thighs. His fingers toy with the fluids and run them at your puffy lips, pushing the two digits into your cunt that had been stretched by a few after his cock had pounded into you for a long duration of time.

"Mmph," you hum, "Too sensitive, daddy... can't do more." Your weak hand drags down to your thighs, where his hand and two fingers were stimulating your cunt, wrapping trembling fingers around his wrist in an attempt of a puny clutch.

He chuckles, deep and rough from his chest. "I know it hurts, honey, but you can do it." Ghost uses his free hand and rubs circles into your hip. "You're my big girl, you can handle it."

Before you can give response, he shuts you up with his thumb pressed to your swollen clit. You arch your back off the mattress a little and whine into the air, eyes nearly rolling back into the region of your skull. He watches over you, then fixes back to your cunt where he pumps the residues of his heavy load back into the interior of your cunt. His fingers are no comparison to his cock — pulsing, enhanced of veins which pump into your tight walls — but it gives you the right amount of pleasure that both stings and forces you back into a euphoric state. (No wonder he already had two children of his own with this authority to bring so much pleasure down onto someone.)

The pace of his pumping fingers speed up and another is added in addition. Through all this time, his eyes linger on you and fixate permanently on your whole being. With your bare anatomy laid out in front of him like this; he had no doubts on you being the mother of his children, certain that you were going to bear his children and be that maternal figure. He was obsessed with you — and you were as haunted with his genuine allure.

You gape at the ceiling through a languid-like stare, eyes twitching and your body arching in an impossible curve when he not only uses three of his fingers to restore that feeling of rapture — but the muscle of his tongue lapping at your cunt, swiping at your puffy lips and clit where his thumb presses in circular motions. Once again, your stomach tightens in a knot and your head pulses. His eyes peer at your through the holes of his balaclava and observe with adoration.

"I'm gonna come, Simon, fuck!-" you gasp, thighs squeezing around his head, legs spreading apart and welcoming more of him to please you.

"That's it," he breathes, continuing his overstimulating ministrations, "Come one more time for me, bunny, show me who gave you a baby — who never fails to satisfy you."

On his command, there's a strike of white and a dimmed perspective of the room's ceiling. The knot in your stomach unbinds itself and a rush of fluids gush out between your legs — soaking onto his tongue and working fingers. Your arousal stains the fabric of his mask and the naked section of his mouth, prior to it being pushed back inside of you with his stored load. His tongue laps up a few more times up your lips, withdrawing back from you and putting in some time to catch his breath and build-up some stamina.

You feel bloated. Full and stuffed with all of him, his palm splays out across your stomach sticky of sweat and he moves up your body. He settles at the headboard and you rest your head at his chest where he pets at your hair in soft strokes. The waves of his breathing patterns cause your head to raise up and down, heartbeat smacking through the skin of his torso in vibrations.

With your single index finger, and some following eyes, you trace the outlines of his glistening abs and then dangle down to the tattoos of his left forearm. He presses his lips to your scalp and proceeds with the fondles at your strands of hair. You take the wrist of his hand that was used at your cunt, taking two of his used fingers and tasting the combination of his and your arousal. Ghost grunts a muffled noise at the back of his throat, his stroking hand becoming more firm.

"God, you're a fuckin' minx, you know that, bunny?" he utters, "Such a perfect girl for daddy."

He moves his fingers around your mouth, pressing on your tongue as your hand is tugging at his wrist, muffled moans around his digits. "My pretty girl, soon-to-be-mother of my children."

#. ˚ ʚ — ꒰ simon riley. ꒱#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x female reader #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #call of duty mw2 #mw2 fanfic #drabble #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

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fawnpires · 8 months

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𑊡 ˚+ PROMOTION DAY. — COLONEL KÖNIG.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: inappropriate relationship with a superior, blowjob, dirty talk, unprotected sex, teasing, usage of pet names, throat-holding, groping, size difference, thigh slapping, softdom!könig (he's a lil bit of sweet & mean.)

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ notes: love nothing more than writing this man, plus this concept could not stop lingering around my head for days ! (which is literally why i wrote this)

When you were taken up on the offer of joining into KorTac's unit, you were aware of the fundamentals of being in the role as a soldier; to obey those who were superior to you, such as higher-ranks, and to not engage in relationships deemed as too 'debauched' with one who was seen to be praiseworthy and leader-like. And of course, being the compliant soldier you were, you spent a reasonable success of obliging by those specific restrictions based on how straightforward it was.

You had your morals in check, your position as a soldier stable persisting to a standard considered sufficiently well. Usually, those who kept up with this kind of etiquette were granted with promotions—complying along with successful deployments and expeditions they had shown greater parts of participation in. Perhaps you didn't reach that certain criteria, or haven't been performing as well as you thought you were; but so far, no promotions had been permitted towards you quite yet. Absolutely nothing.

It was like this for quite a while. Utter silence whilst you carried on with your habitual routine, watching on as your peers were practically being hand-picked by superiors for promotion. But thankfully you had luck, you had the colonel of the faction; possibly the only superior to personally elect you himself for that sweet promotion you've been oh-so patiently waiting for.

Now you've got yourself in place underneath his desk, in his office, a little after midnight where a majority of the unit had been gone to their own affairs. The minute you stepped foot into his office at the designated time to 'discuss' your promotion, you were basically being manhandled right over and against his desk; the bottom lining of his sniper mask shoved up to his very upper lip just so he could hungrily indulge in possibly one of the most passionate make-out sessions you've ever experienced in a lifetime. It definitely wasn't the type of discussion you were expecting yourself to end up in tonight, but it's not like you were going to complain about any of it.

He breaks away from your lips, using both hands to caress over the curves of your body through the cloth of your uniform as you stood there—knees gone unstable to the point where you had to lean up your entire body weight at the desk for support. With your head sloped backwards, his mouth finds somewhere new to attach itself on; lips pursing around the skin at your neck, nipping and kissing around in a subtle manner that wasn't enough to cause harm or break the skin. After a few seconds of shared heavy breathing and the rustling of your clothes caused by his hands on your uniform-clad frame, the sound of a belt being unbuckled, along with the undoing of a zipper, breaks in through the air.

"König..." your voice was something amid a gasp and a whine, your fingers tightening at the edges of his desk where your hands were gripping around.

"How unprofessional, addressing me on a first name basis, meine liebe." he gets out in a mock-teasing tone between kisses to your neck, "I'm still your superior, sweet thing."

Your head nodded absentmindedly, dazed over with an immense arousal at this point, barely registers in his words as breathy whimpers claw their way up from your throat to spill from the plush of your parted lips. His hands grope the mounds of your breasts through your shirt and bra before quickly discarding both pieces of fabric over your head, leaving them in a messed state on top of his paperwork. Those warmed hands found themselves at both of your shoulders, weakened body being pushed down gently and adjusted at your knees near the leg-room to his desk as your doe eyes peeked up at him through a lens of lust. A full perspective of his body was on display from where you sat, his belt loosely hanging off the loops on those unzipped cargo pants of his that gave you the sight of his evident hard-on even through the layers of cloth.

A sole large palm nestles at the top of your hair, fingers resting deep enough to prod at the surface of your scalp in an almost soothing way. His sniper mask was now fully restored to its initial state, shrouding the range of his face in the flowing, dark thickened fabric—yet those unsaturated blues of eyes still gazing down at your vulnerable position below him, sensuality present there. A muffled grunt sounds from the colonel, his unoccupied hand finally moving over his undone pants and boxers before shoving them down to the tops of his ankles. The length of his erect cock slaps against his clothed stomach, pre-cum dribbling at the slit of the head.

"You still want that promotion, engel?" König asked, his voice coming through a slight sigh—almost as if he were too desperate to have your touch on him.

You bit down at your lower lip, hands moving to rest at his thighs while you gazed up him with that same desperation. "Please, I really do, sir." you responded, the tonality of your voice shamelessly needy.

He chuckles breathily, his palm at your hair swiping lovingly at the locks. "Then get on with it. You do want to make your colonel proud, yes?"

For starters, you began with shakily breathing out as you leaned your face a few more inches inwards; feeling the burn of his eyes while he stared down at you darkly with all the hunger he held for you. You placed a hand on his thigh for additional leverage, feeling the muscle slightly flex at your touch as you had your head close to his crotch. Using your opposite hand, it wrapped itself around the girth of his cock as the weight was held up in your hand. Your tongue then darted out from your lips, beginning to gently lap and collect at the head of his messy cock while pre-cum continued to dribble down the sides of it—the taste alone compelling you to proceed on further with your ministrations on him.

Faint incoherent mumbles and grunts came from König here and there, his gloved fingers tightening their grasp a little on your head the more he took charge of your movements. His head was now fully tossed back, his muscles twitching and flexing in an ongoing line of raw arousal. You were now bobbing your head on his cock, a hand at your hair to assist you when needed. The head of it nudged at the back of your throat almost every time you came down on him, the tip of your nose barely at his pelvis.

"Look at you, taking me all so well. You've got the mouth of a damn angel, my slutty girl." he said in a praise, the back of his fingers brushing gently against your right cheek all while you filled the space of your throat with taking his cock down your throat.

You took him with an ongoing ease, hand strengthening around the range of his thigh. The vague gurgles you were exuding, the tilt of his head backwards, and the lewd noises branching from your lips connected to his length—the entire situation unethical in context when grasping onto the understanding you were certainly blowing off your colonel, but somehow it felt so right at the same time. It only took a few more bobs of your head as you found yourself steadily being lifted off of him once the muscles of his abdomen began to stiffened while nearing the pinnacle of his own climax, a thread of thickened saliva spanning from your moistened lips to the blunt head of his sturdy cock. In a dumbified state, you could only bring yourself to stare up at König; slightly tilting to the side in a dumbfounded, confused state to the sudden halt in your pleasure.

"Not yet, hübscher engel. I can't have myself receiving all of the attention now, hm? That would just be unfair to you." he chuckles lightly, using both hands at your shoulders to pull you up to your feet and off your knees. "Besides, I would much rather have my fill inside that pretty little pussy of yours."

The large hands at your shoulders steadily wander down to the indents of your shaped waist; pulling you back into his sturdy and wide-spread chest as he took a seat at his office chair. The bottoms of your thighs rested on top of his muscular ones, back pressed his chest as your head rested in front of his. The position — undeniably in the moment, — was one of the most intimate you could find yourself in. The warmth of his hands continued downwards from your waist, to your thighs, and to the top of your tactical pants. Your head tilts further back against his shoulder, hanging off the rear edge of it as your half-lidded eyes gazed down at where his hands were situated.

A shaky breath is exhaled at the anticipating scene playing out right in front of you, your back arched in the slightest even at his faint touches. His left palm comes to cup at your left breast, fondling the softened flesh in the delicate clasps of his fingers as his other reached to undo your own tactical pants and shove them to the floor, your ruined panties going along with it. His cock then nestled between your widened thighs as you sat against him, breaths coming out more sharp and fervent as your hands found his and grasped onto them in a death grip. König's right hand frees itself from you, extending to position his cock right up against the sopping front of your soaked cunt as his hips slowly bucked up and down against you—rubbing himself right against your puffy lips as small gasps were pulled from you, your legs widening apart while laying your body back further against his chest.

"You've got to stay quiet, baby," his voice more low yet teasing when speaking to you, accent more pronounced. "Wouldn't want the others to know how much of a little slut you are for me behind closed doors."

A plethora of kisses came from him as his face buried to the side of your neck, his hands freeing from yours entirely before adjusting to both edges of your waist as he guided your much smaller body to grind against the leaking head of his pulsing cock. Your breaths began to stutter as your gaze was still focused at where you and him were just about connected, but his taunting was merely preventing that from absolutely happening—leaving you on a frustrating edge of feeling that sensation of ectsasy in a full circle.

Your fingers dug into the sides of his well-built thighs, back arching off of his chest while your head held up and leaned back at the leverage of his shoulder once more. Sweat was staining at your skin, dampening the range of exposed skin you were displaying. His teases dragged out for a few more longer moments, which quite literally felt like an eternity the more the head of his cock nudged against your puffy clit, before finally catching on your needy slit and slipping inside of your needy cunt.

A veined hand to his right slithered up to your neck, fingers clamping around your throat in a tender manner and holding it as if you were a fragile piece of work. A whimper swarmed from your mouth at the feeling of him being engulfed in the warmness of your walls, thighs almost instinctively spreading wider apart as you solely relied on him while finding the slightest bit of purchase; his hold at your throat doing the majority of helping you keep steady.

König's hips moves started off slow, a pace in which allowed you to really adapt to the overall size and stretch it filled you to the brim with. Comforting nuzzles of his masked face rubbed up against your sweat-stained, flushed neck as his hand remained gentle while clinging to your throat. Your streaming noises of experienced ecstasy grew more constant and desperate-like, those effortless thrusts strengthening—the slapping of skin become more evident within his office volume-wise. Small praises of sentimental hymns were spoken against your skin, swathed up in those layers of mask he graced yet still easily registering through your head.

He fucked you with an onslaught of brutal, deft thrusts, at last contributing to what you've been fantasizing about the moment you two were left in a lone room with each other. A division of high-pitched moans and hoarse grunts amplified the once quiet room, the veins of his hand attached to your neck bulging out a little beneath the callous skin he earned from the dedication of keeping his position in the military. His thighs slapped against the bottom of yours each time you met with his hips, a hand coming down gently at first to the side of your thigh—causing a small gasp through a moan to come from you.

"Look at you, prinzessin, I've got you fucking yourself on my cock like the pretty little slut you are. You're really working for that promotion, aren't you?" he said gruffly, words followed by more sounds of effort and pleasure.

His cock bullies right up against your cervix now while he pounds away at your frame which he has limited right against him, your body shaped into an arch while your hips were slightly lifted now as he repeatedly had himself shoving right up into your messy cunt. Your body infrequently quivered at the heavenly sensation, skin heated and your heart racing all over your chest. He continued on with giving your thighs a few little smacks, some tough and some soft, just to leave you a few little love marks as reminders to what he does to you; what he turns you into.

In spite of his roughness brought down onto you with the effect of his massive size, there was a subtle undertone of gentleness to him; the way his covered hands treated and patted over your skin as if you were a little fragile doll, the slight nuzzles of his mask against your naked skin which couldn't help but only become additional to your spiraling attraction towards him. So much arousal was flooding into your body at the same time that a white, creamy ring formed around the base of his cock the more he ravaged your body in his state of barbaric rapture. Your throat in ownership of his hand forced eye contact between you too, your head to the side and slightly tilted upwards to meet his own—he just won't allow you to break it off, not when you two were so intimately close to one another at the moment.

Pornographic was the right word to describe your current circumstances, pornographic and deeply unethical. He's got his large, sturdy fingers at your neck, hips snapping against the plush of your ass, and an angle in which the tip of his cock repeatedly nudges at one specific spot within your warm walls that had your hips stuttering and eyes rolling back with your orgasm on the brink of approaching. He was drilling himself into you like his life depended on it by now, rasping groans echoing within your line of hearing.

His skin rubbed up against yours, coaxing out the filthiest moans you could conjure up. The pattern of his thrusts were growing to be more rapid, more merciless out of his gentle demeanor. You were turning into a sensitive, fucked-out mess on his lap, sweat fitting over your skin in almost overwhelming count as your legs grew weaker on top of his—a majority of your body being supported by his alone. His hand once slapping at the softness of your thighs inched up the bareness of your upper body, your breasts bouncing with his movements being kneaded and palmed at urgently.

The more his angled hips push up against that spot which makes you see stars in your vision, your inner thighs extremely messy with your own wetness. Your nails bit into the sides of his thighs as he moves his groping hand down between your legs, massaging at your swollen clit. Your arched back shoots up a little at the sudden second pressure being added onto you, a soft gasp being left from you. his masculine grunts perceptible in volume mixing in with your own sounds; anyone awake at this hour surely capable of recognizing what was going on between the colonel and his subordinate.

"Oh, that's it, my sweet." König's voice is a groan by now, dragging his eyes down to his fingers caressing over your drenched and stimulated cunt where his cock was still plowing in-and-out of you. "You're a messy little thing, aren't you? So fuckin' wet and precious."

You bit your lower lip, squeezing your eyes shut for a second for a moment before staring up at him with the most pleading eyes ever. "I can't, too much." your voice puny, orgasm on the line at this point.

"Don't lie to me, engel. I can feel your little cunt about to give out," he says without returning your gaze, instead focusing on how your cunt adorned the fingertips of his gloves with this glistening of your arousal. You squirmed against his chest, eyebrows furrowed and your breasts heaving up and down due to the intensity of your heavy breaths. "Your sweet pussy is taking me perfectly fine, so just take it like a good girl."

He pumps his hips a few more times in coordination with his fingers swirling circles around your sensitive clit before a final grunt leaves him, his movements stuttering while his hips stayed pushed up against your ass—and his cock buried in the most profound depths of your walls. A sensation of warmness expands over your insides as his release paints them in a sticky white, the thickness of his seed filling that emptiness once left in inside of you.

His own climax sets off your desperate own, more moans of a higher-pitch sweetly surging from you as your body quivers around him; a sense of euphoria being sent through you while your cunt gushes with all that stifled fragments of an orgasm you were holding back all this time, more slick enhancing his cock in the transparent and glistening fluid of your release. After a few moments of combined heavy breathing and recovery from the intensity of both of your orgasms, he carefully pulled out from the comfort of your walls—his seed spilling out from your spent cunt, head of his cock resting against your slick walls. He slowly moved his hips once more without the previous effort, smearing around your fused releases.

König's arm reaches up as he lifts the bottom of his sniper hood once more, giving you a view of his divided lips from each other. His face leans into yours, granting you the softest and gentlest kisses you could possibly ever accept; unanticipated from a man in a strict line of authority and physical size. A dopey smile slowly began to tug at the corners of your lips at his affection, blush tinting at your cheeks while growing a little flustered at your fond superior.

"My prettiest girl in the world, and the most hard-working." he said between breaths, a grin of his own beginning to paint across his features. His hands cup your cheeks in those large palms, the biceps to his body twitching from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

You lean into his touch, enjoying the solace of his care. "Do you think I've earned that promotion?" you ask him teasingly, head tilted to the side like some curious puppy.

"Liebling, you've earned way more than a promotion." he chuckles, his voice is back to one of sultry, but laced with a tenderness. "How about this: you meet me up in my office, same time, anytime you're available and we'll see how that arrangement works out with that promotion of yours."

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fawnpires · 1 year

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EUTHANASIA ROMANCE. — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

༉‧₊˚ ┊ PART 1.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: working regularly under your older neighbor serving as a babysitter for his kids, several affairs start to occur, and not just your starting relationship with him.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: domesticity, afab reader (afab anatomy, femme pet names) mentions of pregnancy & marriage, size difference, age difference, single dad! ghost, secretive relationship, possessive sex, gentle & rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), slight daddy kink, brief somnophilia, dirty talk, breeding kink, shower sex.

You were still asleep, but Ghost wasn't.

He couldn't doze off with you right by his side, body pressed up right against him, heat radiating off your tender self — sensitive flesh, red tainted marks made of his own love. You were practically his own canvas as of now; the cum-stained sheets, the drying sweat, the carmine splotches tinting your skin — a pure and honorable symbol of his own work.

It was one of the rare and subtle moments he could be granted with — propped and balanced on one elbow, admiring your dozing figure, Ghost couldn't help but feel fragile in the moment. Almost compassionate. He had felt compassion before, of course, but never in this sort of way. (Thank his daughters for guiding him a little through his disarranged row of emotions.) While with you, he didn't feel the need to impress. There was no obligation to sit around and put on a face of imposed perfect-father-syndrome — he could really act as himself, and himself was an apathetic man. A man of a former task force lieutenant, an expert of manslaughter by the hand.

The idea of starting a family never crossed his mind. He wasn't the one to bear the concept of losing his heart to someone, starting something with them, chained down to the restraints of fatherly responsibilities and hardships. It wasn't so bad so far, he thought, and it had taken a weight off his shoulders with your support on the side. He stroked your hair — lovingly, abstractedly, his eyes of adoration while ensuing his large palm gently petting at you in soft motions.

Awareness was a virtue, and Ghost knew that when it came to your parent's suspicions towards your relationship with him.

Your rants every so often to him about being berated for spending too much time with him nearly split a tear in his cold heart. If he wanted to, he could — move the both of you away from here, start new, start new and whole as two individuals with his kids, your kids. There was nothing to stop that from happening but he was skeptical about your opinion on it, not wanting to push that kind of agenda on you so soon.

But it had been a little over a month, or more, since you had started something with him. You were comfortable enough to treat him not only as an occasional hot-dad hook-up, but a lover, a boyfriend, a husband. Hell — you were on edge, desperate for him. You longed for him and his presence when you were away.

You’d always have Ghost. You were his, and he wasn’t intending on letting you go.

Ghost reached the edge of your face and caresses your cheek in his palm, his thumb rubbing delicate circles into the skin. You were so peaceful in the moment, so exhaustingly beautiful, so fucked-out — and most importantly, his.

He had kept an eye on you before all of this — the entire baby-sitting shift, spending uncut days at a time with him, situating yourself as a motherly figure to his daughters. Whether out in the front-yard or by an exposing window to your blind eye, he would observe you for short periods of time. Ghost wasn't stupid — he was fully aware of your little crush on him. From your little peeks at his home through a curtain, down to spying on him when you were damn sure he wasn't mindful of the girl, considered stalker, keeping a close eye on him herself.

Of course, you were both so exceptionally strange towards each other. Stalkers in love, lurking at each other, keeping tabs when given the opportunity. He especially admired your benevolent demeanor which accompanied your alluring in-the-flesh appearance. Although he knew that you were far more than that — behind the guise of smiles and looks, you needed something much more; you craved so much more, and that certain crave was him. You had just been waiting for him, longing for that hopelessness to be taken away from you.

Why else would you have purposefully strive to catch his attention if it were not for wanting?

And last night — it was a whole new affair for you. An episode of heavenly bliss, he recalled you being so obedient, so pliant, so depraved, all of those things at once. He was a tad sympathetic for not giving more time into preparation, but he needed to be inside of you so badly. He needed to fulfill that hungering ache — and apparently, you did too; with how you gave into his touch so suddenly, allowing him to pound into you, backed with rabid pants and sweet moans. Ghost had wished the two of you could stay like that forever, making love out of refined affection by all means.

You were just irresistible and he had done so well keeping his poise. He had a right to have you. After all the planning from the moment he saw you, the insomniac nights where he planned ahead of time so you could grow close to his children — to him. After all the torturous days spent in sheer agony keeping you under close observation, paying regard to how your genuine personality was, how your breath caught on itself if he brushed against you in the smallest portions of physical contact. He deserved to have you.

It wasn't entirely wrong — the relationship, but you had corrupted him with your natural appeal — drawing him in like some bait to a wild animal.

He gently shoved himself closer to the warmth of you, a small sigh parting from your lips, taking into realization that a bulge in his sweatpants was plunged up right against the cloth of your panties. Your back arched up, just slightly, but enough to bring satisfaction and to tell that you were still asleep.

Ghost budged himself off, keeping sights of your soothed face before he props himself at your lower half — you scented of a sex-like smell, sweat and complete combined lust. His loose pants expanded tightly as his face met between your spread legs with the guidance of his hands grasping them apart. He wanted to fuck you right now — he could've — but he wanted to save it for later; save both you and him for later, when it wasn't deemed as unmoral. His fingers tucked around the waistband of your poorly thrown-on panties, sliding them down your legs with ease, trashing them to the side.

Your blooming scent sent him over the edge. His eyes squinted, lips parted in an intense awe. His fingertips grace over your thighs, lightly grunting at how a trail of goosebumps were left in the wake. You were so perfect in his viewpoint — all laid out for him, ready, waiting. He linked your sore legs in a locked hold much like last night, lowering his head closer to the puffy entrance of your cunt. The bottom of his balaclava was thrown up suitably to the freed expanse to his mouth and nose.

His tongue licked a slowly, yet sensible swipe up your lips. A small moan escaped your throat as your legs twitched in his hold, pants drawn from you with every increasing lick of his tongue. You were quick to stain his face with slick, the bump of his nose meeting your clit everytime he savored your taste with his lips clamped around your cunt.

You felt feverish, though maybe it was a real fever with a growing heat in your body. The heat was overwhelming, it needed to be rid of somehow. You were dousing in it. It was piling on top of each other, growing to extensive lengths as it invaded every inch and limb of your body. Your hands hauled themselves down to the source of the invading warmth, struggling to get a hold of what it exactly was. The temperatures were growing fast, too fast.

Fingers wrapped and caught a hold of something — or better yet, someone. Though not an actual army of heat and flames, it was a physical being, and it reverberated waves of sickly pleasure as it grew abnormally in position. Whimpers were forced out of you as it got too much.

Too immense for someone like you to handle.

Dazed, your eyelashes flickered open. Heavy and blinking away languid after effects. You were sober enough to be conscious of your surroundings — you were in a bed, a bedroom. It wasn't your bedroom back at home, clearly, with the distinct softness of the sheets and a window's silhouette that allowed you to bask in the dawn's light. The mattress was larger and was preferably more a fit for two people — a scent of masculine cologne breached over the air of the room as well, combining with a bitter smell of sweat. Astray in a temporary confusion, a shot of heat travelled through you, another moan cried out from you; it was more responsive and awake.

"Morning." Ghost rasped out from below you, voice vibrating from between your wet thighs.

Your eyes fell to the heavy weight from underneath, wearily assembling eye contact with the man — his voice alone couldn't help but light a small contentment in your chest. His calloused fingers tightly pressed into the flesh of your thighs, spreading them, leaving himself as a surprise for when you had finally chose to wake up. He lifts himself slightly and keeps the eye contact between you and him, his tongue fully pursed at your folds and meeting at your clit, sucking at the skin nub.

All you could do was sigh and pin your head to the pillows — the distinguishable scent of Ghost all around you in the material. Your back arched, hips rising and close to his face as he proceeded with his blissful ministrations.

"Fuck," you softly breathed, "Please, more..."

A deep chuckle resonated from his chest as he felt your wanting fingers brush at his wrists, dancing around his palms, petting at the skin.

His hand, in which you were fighting to grab a hold of, snatched onto your own — intertwining his massive fingers with your smaller ones in a delicate hold. Ghost's thumb strokes over your knuckles as he continues to eat you out, savoring the taste, and driving sounds of sexual want out of you. His opposite hand is raised to your entrance, teasing with every touch, prodding at your sensitivity.

"Ghost, your fingers," you panted, "I need them — need you."

He hummed, hauling himself away slightly from you — much to your foggy desperation — and steadily pushed one finger through, your body aching for more as you swallowed and clenched around him, section by section until his knuckle was pressed against your folds.

“Such a good girl, sweetheart.” he whispered.

Ghost mounted himself up your frame, his face inches away from yours, eyes scorching at yours through half-lidded eyes as he watched you writhe beneath him. You sunk your teeth into the skin of your lower lip that had grown chapped from constantly parting your mouth; followed moans and whimpers of airy breaths coming through it. He cocked his head to the side, flattening his lips to your own, yourself steadying on wobbling elbows to catch the kiss at a better angle.

The faint taste of you resided on his tongue — all around the tissue of his cheeks and teeth. He made you dizzy, faint, and you wanted more of it; he was nauseating, in a good way. You moaned against him, his other hand resting at your thigh raising to cradle the back of your head. His palm gave you some sort of support and comfort, and as he did, his sole finger occupying up inside of you was occupied with another, ripping a loud whimper from your throat.

He cradled you against the bed as he pressured his tongue into your mouth, lapping at nearly every crevice of your mouth. His fingers had curled in you, gasps slipping from your occupied mouth, pleasure pervading your body. They had pistoned in-and-out of you, escalating in speed with such intensity but also fragility.

"Want you to come for me," Ghost slurred between kisses, "You think you can do that for me, sweet girl? I know you can."

You managed to respond with a quivery nod, lips parted and eyes growing heavy as your vision began to blur at the borders from a suffocating pleasure. Ghost sped up his thrusting fingers the farthest he could, making certain they curled with each push, reaching the base of his knuckles as he caressed against that sweet spot he had pounded last night.

He had wanted the best for you, and that's why he focused his work on that spot, causing you to fully throw your head back to watch the ceiling through euphoric lenses. He caught on about that, gripping your chin firmly and forcing your fogged gaze to his. “On me, my love.”

With a few more purposeful curls of his large fingers at your sensitive walls and an applied pressure of his thumb over your throbbing clit, you had gushed around fingers; practically screaming his name. His lips form a smirk at the result of his creation, withdrawing his fingers as he exhibits them to you. They glisten under the light drawn amid the curtains, only able to watch as he raises the digits to his mouth, slurping up your essence — effectively cleaning it, never once breaking his eye contact with you.

"You're always so good for me," Ghost mutters, collecting his shirt from off the floor and cleaning at your thighs. "You want to stay for breakfast?"

"Hm," you hum, still basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, skepticism hitting you like a brick. "Fuck, wait — oh my god."

"What?"

In the present time, you were adrift, all memories of the previous day vanished over the course of your sleep — a great majority of it coming back to you.

"Fuck, did we sleep together?" you sit up, hands propping the weight of your head. "God — my parents are going to kill me — finding out I'm fucking you, you're so much older than me and you're my neighbor,"

"Honey, honey, calm down." he sits up with you, a hand resting at your bare lower back. "Listen."

Your rambles were interrupted with a peck of his lips. Ghost clasped the wrists that were at your head, pulling them down and rubbing gently into them. All of it was confusing, flustering as he crept closer to and kept his sight on you .

“We’re both adults,” he said, “and there's nothing wrong with making our own decisions.”

“But — I feel like a disgrace. To my parents, to everyone."

"You're not a disgrace, sweetie. It's just sex." Ghost releases your wrists and instead brings you to his chest, arms wrapping around you, eyes closing as you enveloped into him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "So, why don't you get yourself fixed in the bathroom over there, wake up the kids, and I'll make all of us breakfast. How does that sound?"

You stare up at him, blankly and in astonishment, only able to establish a single nod as he chuckles and gives you one last departing kiss — to your lips this time. Eyeing as he moved to gather the same duplications as what he casually wears from a cabinet; a black v-neck and a pair of dad jeans, put together with that same balaclava. He undeniably is well-built, tattoos lining up his left forearm, back muscles flexing as he fit the shirt over his head.

He shoots you one last stare, soft eyes and all, as he left the room — leaving you to get dressed.

Nothing had felt real — well, at least from last night up until now. You slept with the neighbor that kept you up at night with dozens of fantasies and received the affection reserved for a married woman — like you were his legitimate wife. With his requests to wake up the kids and to get dressed, you felt as if this were your absolute and authentic life, no parents across the street or reminiscences of only being a babysitter to his kids. Your head was stupefied, body trembling.

Gathering enough strength to balance yourself on the ground, you found the bathroom and locked the door behind, stumbling over to the sink. Your breathing was, hard, uneven — fingers gripping the edges of the sink before running water from the leaky faucet and splattering your face with cold water to bring you out of the trance of sleepiness and doubt. Your head throbbed as you grabbed a spare toothbrush, wetting and squirting toothpaste on the bristles, shoving it into your mouth.

Your affair with Ghost couldn't be considered home-wrecking. Taking into consideration that his wife was long-gone from the picture, his kids were to understand that their father would soon have to find someone replace her, but with someone younger — more like some kind of older sister instead of a mother or a wife to their dad. Though they would have to take it in anyways, their father had found love in his youthful neighbor from across the street and they would just have to stand it. His daughters had warmed up to you quickly anyways — still young and capable to see you as a mother. At least now you didn't have to completely fantasize about him on a daily basis, having the real physical thing for yourself and yourself only.

Snatching your dress off the bedroom's grounds and esteeming yourself as presentable, you left his room and sneaked out into the hushed hallways, making your way over to his daughter's bedroom door — pushing it open with a flat palm and fingers around the doorknob. You wake them up with gentle strokes to their strands of hair, assisting them with getting ready, masking your previous worries with a big grin every-time they had announced an achievement as simple as dressing up or making their beds. They were as equally ecstatic to see you much like last night, but questioned why you were still here — and with your own reply, you obviously couldn't say you had fucked their father so the easiest way out was to say that you'd had a sleepover of some sorts in the living room.

You indulged in their child-like conversations as they both kept a hold of your hand in theirs, leading them down the stairs and into the kitchen where you had told them to have a seat. You're met with Ghost leaned up a counter, now-gloved hands around the handle of a cup as breakfast had already been made out in plates on the table. It was something strangely straight out a movie, like some kind of set instead of an actual room — an actual house where you stood.

The tension was certainly there but with the kids present, it had grown more ill at ease.

Sitting on the wood of the chairs, Ghost followed in pursuit as he took a seat right next to you — right at the end of the table. You weren't as hungry as you anticipated, taking a few bites of your breakfast food before offering the rest to be shared between the two. You and Ghost had met eyes a few times before brushing it off with not a single word on it until that tension had thankfully been broke off.

One of his daughters spoke up, more specifically — the one sat directly at your left hand-side. With a simple, "Are you staying with us? Forever and forever?" of her words, you were left dumbstruck, gazing over at Ghost who had a look in his eyes of the same emotion.

"Maybe I will, hon," you said, "I'm not sure."

Visibly, she pouts — leaping off her seat and pushing herself into you, small arms wrapped around your stomach in an embrace. You stutter on breaths, only bringing a hand to her hair and smoothing over it repeatedly, eyes heavy with some sort of guilt with her beg to get you to stay. Ghost can only bring himself to lightly laugh despite himself also having some guilt at his daughter's words.

"Don't go and crush her heart now, sweetie." he said, indicating to her. "I'm sure she would love to stay with us if she could."

You hurtle a widened stare to him with raised eyebrows, unaware he was going to touch on the brought-up topic. The thing is; you didn't know how you were going to make that come true, abandoning all remnants of your old life to birth a brand new one right here in this very house. He could only shoot you a stare back — sort of scolding, commanding.

"Well, it's about time you girls get on with the day." Ghost lifts his head to a clock on the wall, straightening his posture and hoisting himself up. "You all have your fun, I'll be out back if you need me."

"You're just going to be out all day?" you ask.

"I practice with my old firearms." he said. "Right in the backyard with a couple of targets, just to gain the skill back."

"Ah."

"It's quite relieving, you should try it out sometime."

"I don't think I'm that trusting with a weapon, sir."

He chuckles coarsely.

"Then I guess I'll just have to teach you sometime," Ghost said, that bit of familiar knowing persona brought back now that it was only you and him — sole in the kitchen. "Different finger placements, methods, positions."

"I guess you should."

"That's my girl," he stretches an arm across the tract of both your shoulders. "And I'm thinking the girls will be fine for a little bit on their own, so we can kill a little bit of time."

“With shooting bullets all day?” you question.

“Not only that, doll,” Ghost’s face is close enough to feel his breaths through the texture of his veiling face-cover. “Something way different, I think you’ll love it even more.”

It was an excruciating, long session of firing and teasing.

You didn't really possess the strength to fight him back on it. You surrendered completely, because you weren't genuinely one to argue with others — so you approved the way he slid ever so close to you, both arms surrounding you so his bigger hands lead your own to the trigger of a handgun, his frame vast over. You spoke in a small and terrified voice in your head, fuck me, take me as your own, touch me. It had been the only understanding in that moment, his veined arms locked with yours and trapping you in some hold. Sex and gunfire.

Ghost was obviously oblivious to this — or maybe not as entirely as you interpreted, but either way he was bad at pretending. A small flame ignited within him (because of how hard he was around you, as if he isn't always) but it had been drenched with your unintentional grind-backs into his body, lightly sighing and squirming around as he positioned himself behind you each time.

The late afternoon had a douse of heat to it. Sweat leaked beneath his mask, your dress sticky to your skin. Every so often, his daughters would come out and ask an innocent request out of either of you or observe the ammunitions laid out before running back inside. Ghost had been heated from the outside conditions, helping himself to strip off his shirt, chiseled chest exposed and glistening with sweat.

It was more difficult to focus on keeping a finger on the trigger, his chest rubbing against your back — thighs clenching and eyes glossy. You didn't want to cry, or even felt the need to, but it was out of some persistent plead that retraced back to the voice that spoke through the innards of your head. Why would you bother crying, anyways?

You definitely held some regret in sleeping with him, but you were in love — apparently. As Ghost pressed into your sweat-soaked-fabric back, crotch carelessly pushed against you and your hips, he wondered if you had ever been in such love like this, freed and enigmatic, as the one you held with him now.

Enigmatic love. The term pushed aside.

"Place your finger right here, on top of this ledge," Ghost instructs, guiding you with his own commands. "Now keep a steady grip, and press down."

The bullet through the head of the gun rings out through your ears — painfully, gutting your ear-organs out one way and the other. It clanged out a couple of more times till the ammo wasted out, gun lowering to your stomach, a huff of air puffing from your mouth. Ghost had you in a tight clutch, tighter than usual, seeming that you would break and run away from him.

"Perfect as always, love." he said, pressing a kiss full of cloth to the back of your head.

"I don't know how you do this for hours at a time," you confess, "Rings my ears out a little, I might go deaf, you know?"

"I'm used to it."

"It's getting dark, should we head back inside?"

"Shit. You're right, come on."

He wraps a bare arm around you, pressing you to him, his naked chest heaves unevenly at your backside. The inside of the house holds more moisture than outside, stuffy and hellish to breathe in, natural air banished. His kids had left small clutters of toys on the living room's table, television running some low-budget children's show, their only guessed presence was upstairs — maybe asleep, maybe not, it would some kind of miracle for them to put themselves to sleep without the assistance of an adult.

You look to him with some sort of pray to your eyes, an absence in your chest as if you longed something from him.

"Simon," you whispered. "Carry me."

"Carry you?"

"My feet are killing me, your trainings wore me out."

For a second, he hesitates, but rolls his eyes and gives in.

"Alright, give it here," Ghost unwraps himself from you and bends his knees to hoist you up. "You owe me for this one, sweetheart."

"Owe you for such a simple request?"

"I'm messing with you, dollface," he said, "You don't owe me a single thing except all that love of yours, and that body."

You smack him on the nose of his mask, playfully, wearing it away with a kiss pressed to it.

A kitchen wasn't good enough — it was too open, with windows all around for bystanders to see what the two of you were up to. Every room in the home was too polluted, so there was nowhere else but his bathroom to fuck in. His bedroom was too easily accessible, but the bathroom had more security to it, oddly enough.

"We should freshen up," you implore, "You smell like shit, I smell like shit, we're both sticky."

"Guess you're right."

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Well, we're not going on with the night all sweaty and reeking." Ghost replied.

His bathroom was spacious, a fit for two people, which was admittedly ideal for you and him. Locks on both the bedroom and bathroom door had been fastened, an excuse to his daughters of not interfering, to which they effortlessly agreed to. Two sinks, a single toilet, and a tub with a curtain for more provided privacy.

"Can you get that?" you ask of him, pointing to the zipper of your dress.

Ghost idly fidgets with the iron of your zipper before his fingertips brush at your exposed skin, dragging it down and unveiling the skin of your back. You finish it off by pooling your dress at your ankles, left in your set of undergarments — inspecting as he rids of his jeans and walks over to the tub, leaning over to run some water into the bowl of the porcelain thing.

For some concealed reason, he purges of every article of clothing plastering his build except that mask. That same mask of a skull and balaclava. It was unusual — He was unusual, he always was. Acquainted with him or not. It made you uncomfortable and turned you on at the same time, a division of yes-no, the outline of his body and the way his biceps flexed, a great mass of it came at you all at once.

You sat on the lid of his toilet, waiting. He leans at a wall as he waits for the water to fill a some perfect mark, switching the faucet off and turning to you. His boxers are peeled off with bulky fingers, the last portion of clothing on him — Ghost climbs in first, you soon following close behind, right between his spread legs that rested at each corner of the tub. It wasn't exactly quiet, just graceless and gauche, baring pure nakedness and that had been the strongest form of reliance. The overhead ceiling light reflects off the ripples of water, off the combined skin of you and him.

He only huffs, flicking droplets of water on your face before leaning further back and stretching his arms along the edge of the tub. His knuckles popped and his neck crackles as he rolled it, suppressed echoes into the dimly-lit room. You wielded a soiled cloth across your arms, water streaking over your skin in an effort to swab the sweat and gunpowder off.

"There's some on your back," he noted, eyes running along your back and spine.

"Mind getting it for me?"

"Hand it."

The cloth does wonders in his hands and on your back, scrubbing rather brutishly than you intended, between your shoulder blades and sides. Your humiliation of being naked around him had decayed away, there was nothing revolting about doing so, despite him already have seeing your body — and fucking it. He was tender and treated you like a play-thing, a pretty play-thing of his own.

You glance over your shoulder at him, not concerned about hiding a morbid interest as your eyes flickered over his obscured features. His balaclava clung to his nude neck, black eye-paint sweated off the scope around his eyes which crinkled in concentration. His broad shoulders littered with some scars, some faded and some fresh, biceps in his arms reeling as he washed away the blotches of filth from your skin that had been built-up over the course of the day.

"Don't give me that look, love, you're making my dick hard." he half-jokes.

"Your dick's already hard."

"Well maybe we can take care of that after a bath, yeah?"

"But why not do it now?" you spur him on a little, that doe look in your eyes, lips molding some sort of pout.

Ghost was beginning to appreciate this new side of you. You lacked a great deal of timidity — your improvements of confidence, libido, want. Your words cause him to pause the rag in its tracks, slithering it down.

"Little minx, aren't you?" he chuckles, shifting you around in his lap so that you were facing him — water splashing in your wake. Like previous sessions, he lifts the basis of his mask, visible of lips and nose. Kisses seep into your skin, head bowing back to give more access.

"Only for you, daddy." you pant out. "Only you."

Your words corroded over him — ashamed was nothing of existence as you watch him process the nickname. His jaw tightens, a measured breath streamed from his nose, his eyes closed for recollection as he continues with his kisses.

"Daddy, huh? Love when you use your words with me, love." he said, breathless. "Want you to call me that while I fuck you."

Hearing you use that term to describe himself was so natural, so instinctive. Your head was flooding again — foggy and blurry on nothing but the thought of sex. His hands knead at your breasts as if they are dough, fingers teasing at your nipples, whimpers falling into his mouth as you went drunk on his lips yet again — the water against your cunt dispensing some alternate method of pleasure whenever his fingers or girth weren't there to indulge you with.

Clamminess cools on your inner thighs and right at your cunt regardless of the moisture of the water all over the place. You clench around nothing in Ghost's absence. He rolls you over with his strength — having you pinned down where he once sat, thighs spread at the edge of the tub.

"So desperate for me aren't you, sweetie?" he breathes, "All you want is for me to breed this sweet cunt all the time, so fucking needy."

"Please, daddy, fuck me, need you inside me."

"You really need it that bad, doll?"

"Need it so bad, fuck, please," you whimper out.

Ghost is fond of the idea of teasing you, but not to an extreme extent. He falters to your begging and leans back, brand new rounds of whimpers knocked out of you as he smacks the tip right against your clit. You roll your hips at it, back arching, striving to chase the sensation.

"Beg for me nicely, show me your good-girl manners." Ghost said. "Show me how much you need me, long for me."

"Please fuck me, daddy." you manage between whimpers. "I want you to breed my pussy like I'm your good girl."

He succumbs to you, thrusting in slow and steady as you accommodate the stretch of him inside. The constant agitation of his stretch crowded your mind, all of him — him, him, him. Kept above you, Ghost grunts and pants, his palms massaging at your breasts as he starts off slowly pushing into the snugness of your cunt.

"Feel so fucking good," he mutters, "So tight for me, such a tight little pussy, all mine."

You can barely make out what he's saying over the ringing that stranded in your ears — ringing like the bullets forced from the muzzle of his firearms. The blunt head of his cock drills at your cervix in a pressure once he speeds his rhythm of thrusts up, your mind numbed, his thumb circling at your clit while your legs rest at his shoulders — water in vast amounts sloshing around with every movement.

"So deep," You whimper, nails digging at his forearms, nearly feeling him at your chest. "You're so fucking big, daddy."

His thrusts gain some growth, — no more short pauses in between, but constantly feeling up your warm walls which clutched around him like a fleshlight. You swear he's leaving a bulge in your lower stomach with the amount of brawn he uses to fuck you.

"You're all mine, you understand? Going to make you my pretty wife, marry you, fuck you full of my babies every night, we'll live a happy family here — to hell with all of that babysitting shit, you'll be the perfect mother to my children."

"Yes, yes — please, make me a mother, I don't care," you scream out, "I'm yours forever."

"My sweet little darling girl," he said in a half-sung sigh of some exhaustion and some sexual appetite, "I'll breed this pussy everyday, until you give me a child, day and night — nonstop."

You're whining and whimpering out for him, entire body quivering with the sustained need to be filled, twitching in a spasm. Ghost shows you what love is like — what it's meant to feel loved, to be loved; physical touch and words of praise that made you feel like his number one priority. His name embedded and chanted into the waves of the tub as his assaults on your pussy are more inconsistent but harsher, deeper, feeling every motion right at your cervix — nearly at your womb.

With a symphony of shrill moans and profound groans — his warm release is shot inside of you with his hands in a deep grasp of your hips and a grunt. Your heartbeat reaches soaring levels of speed. His cum is thick and has a tad of warmth of it, feeling as it reached up into the levels of your womb. Ghost gives a few more thrusts to your sensitive cunt, low whines falling from your mouth; he stops and lingers in position, out of breath, and collapsing over you. Some of his cum leaks out and mixes with the water, which has gone cold by now, but a huge majority is sealed within you. You're sensitive, wincing, a buzz in your lower stomach on repeat.

He lifts himself and stares into your eyes, a kiss to your lips, bringing you to his chest in a cuddle.

"Did you really mean it?" you breathe out through the loud silence, "Marrying? Starting a family here?"

"I only want the best for us, sweetheart," he said, a crush of triumph beating at your heart.

You were a picturesque of beauty in his eyes — even all fucked-out and sensitive laying in a tainted tub, you were the definition of it. Promising to be his good little housewife, to be the mother of his children, yet always his good little girl. He had given up everything for the military, wartime, so he could give up everything for a domestic life that had ran far past the atmosphere of violence; give up everything for you.

He feels as you nuzzle into his chest, his arms wrapped around your entire frame, head resting at his shoulder.

"I think... I think we fucked enough for today." you said.

"You think so?"

"We had sex in the morning, practically you edged me during that long training session, and now you fucked me in your bathtub."

"Me? Edging you? I think you mean teasing."

"Teasing, edging, whatever — you had your chest pressing up all against me — your sweaty and massive muscles."

"That wasn't my intention," he said chuckling, "But coming inside of you was definitely intentional."

tags - @ottooctaviusswife, @love4lacey.

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fawnpires · 1 year

Text

ROULETTE. — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: a game of russian roulette between you and your superiors doesn't end how you expected it to be.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: explicit sexual content, afab reader (afab anatomy, femme pet names) sexual tension, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, weapons, gun kink, size difference, dacryphilia, face-fucking, forced eye contact, begging, edging, overstimulation, oral sex (female and male receiving).

"Christ, how many rounds does that thing got?"

A single handgun. A revolver to be exact. The item is wedged between the hands of your lieutenant's, printed skeleton-fingers gloves caressing the firm grip. He makes sure to avoid the trigger considering none of you out of the three knew if the damn thing was loaded or not. The dim blinking of the fluorescent light above illuminates below adding to the uneasy tension growing in the room.

"Don't worry about it," Ghost says. "Even if the bloody thing is loaded, that's why we're here, to survive — and play."

You bite the inside flesh of your mouth, hands collected in your lap. You're sat at a rounded wood table with two other members of the 141 in a game of roulette — the idea executed by the lovely superior Ghost. It was assumed to be a game of somewhat fun, taking Ghost's word for it, even now with a loaded revolver involved.

Soap doesn't share the same suspicions as you, clearly. His face seems egotistical and far from anxious while you take a quick glance at him from across the table, brawny arms crossed against his tactical chest while leaning and tipping in his chair.

"How does the game exactly work?" You manage to form words out of your state of uneasiness.

Ghost shifts his darkened stained eyes from the shifting pistol in his hands to you, gaze stiff and almost slightly annoyed. "You ever heard of Russian Roulette?" he asks you, your head nodding a simple yes to his question. "Well, it's exactly like that, except we don't know if there's anything loaded in here." His index finger and thumb flick at the side of the weapon.

"So it's a game of survival?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Didn't know you were into these kinda games, L.T." Soap remarks from the side, a small chuckling escaping the side of his mouth. Ghost seems to let out a muffled scoff behind his mask before he pulls himself closer into the table, signaling with two fingers for both you and Soap to do the same. Your throat grows heavier by each passing second, a burden that wasn't going to be fading away anytime soon.

"Everyone ready?" He asks, spinning the cylinder. "Last chance."

You and Soap share a stare at each other before eyeing back to the lieutenant. There wasn't any backing out now. The cylinder came to unsteady stop, hand fully around the grip and lifting it, the muzzle coming to aim at Mctavish. You squint and narrow your eyes as the trigger is pressed half-way with a single finger, yourself looking away as the jammed noise of the gun going off rings off the walls of Ghost's room in the barracks.

Relief washed over you. There sat Soap alive and well as the revolver withdraws back into place. The cylinder was spun once again before coming to an abrupt stop, much more faster than the first time. It rises and rests against the cloth material of Ghost's mask and you watch fully this time while he presses down on the trigger, practically playing with his life right there and now.

Another jammed click.

So far the game wasn't going as bad as you thought it was. The first thought of pure blood and gore splattered around the room in a drenched horror but now — it seemed somehow safe knowing that the wielded weapon hadn't been shot and the amount of trust that you put onto your superior.

"Your turn." Ghost reminds off the side as he spins the cylinder for you, allowing it to go on for much longer. A buzz of worry bites as you, eyes following the turning object but it finally comes to a complete stop when it's worn out. Just like the two previous turns the muzzle was directed to the middle of your face, hole of the muzzle was all that you could focus on, and his finger resting on the trigger.

He seems to show a sign of rare worrisome as he stares at your fear stricken face, the small trembling movements of your shoulders. "Ya sure you don't wanna back out?" His head cocks to the side and the revolver weakens in his clutch awaiting your orders. You want to make the cowardly decision to do so but, there would be no fun in that, it just had to be accepted at this point.

"I'm sure, go. Shoot." You confirm with quivery words.

The revolver is given its strength back in his single hand. It's steadier and more precise when picked back up and brought back to your head. Your eyelids shut and the last thing in sight being the front-facing view of the weapon. The almost silent sound of the trigger being lowered down made your muscles tense, awaiting the inevitable to happen.

Once again the gun is jammed, and no bullet through your skull. Your eyes flutter back open and Ghost brushes the gun's muzzle against the side of your face for a brief moment before spinning the cylinder, wether intentional or not, a remote sensation felt up inside your gut — new and unexplainable. Heat rose to your cheeks and the new feeling replaced the previous waves of anxiousness.

You watch but turn away, half-conscious, the still gun to Soap's face. You expected another jammed click of the gun wadding the room but then came the piercing noise of the gun going off, ringing off the walls. Your blood ran cold at the sound, body frozen in place. Everything was stiff in the motions including your body, the air. Refusal was surely the appropriate reaction in this situation.

Though there was no sounds of struggle or the splotching sound of iron meeting brain matter, confusing you a little which caused you to rotate back around to figure out your suspicions. But there sat Soap with that smug expression on his face, the bullet discarded on the surface of the table. Soap lets out much louder chuckles as whips his head around to peer at you, Ghost slowly turning his head to you as well.

"Oh — oh my god, I thought you died," You stutter out to Soap, hands shaky. "Was that some kind of joke?"

"No. I'm just stickin' with the lieutenant's plan here." Soap replies.

"What? what plan?" You question the sergeant.

He faces himself back to the masked man, giving a simple nod of secretive communication as he stands from his position on his chair with a small squeaking of the legs. Soap seems to mouth him a quick phrase before he winks, wandering quickly on his feet to the frame of the room's door and twisting the knob, leaving with a loud shut of the door behind him. All that was left was you, Ghost, and that stupid revolver of his still bounded on to him like a prized possession.

"You want to tell me what was that about?" You ask Ghost while standing up and backing away a little, toying with your fingers and a trail of concern waiting to be answered.

Ghost sighs and leans forward in his chair, hoisting himself up with a broad stance. He inches closer to your steadily moving body until you're up against the wall, palms flat and meeting the frigid matter of the wall. "You really want an answer to that, doll?"

Doll. His unusual nickname for you has that heat returning to your cheeks and spreading like an infection throughout your body, your knees weak and struggling to keep yourself up if it weren't for your fingers clawing to keep you up on the wall. He's much near you now, not even inches away, his hand with the gun resting lowly where your right arm was. You stare at him with a doe aspect in your eyes, a heat of his own rising inside.

"Yes I do." You mutter quietly.

The sound of radio silence fills in the quietness of the background other than the heavy breathing coming from the much larger man in front of you, he hesitates to give you a verbal reply but those eyes of yours pulls the words out of his lungs. "Well, might've heard from someone that you're still a virgin."

You're sweating. More profusely now with a reason. "Oh yeah? What else did that little birdie tell you?"

"Also heard that you're not the little innocent thing I think you are," His voice hitches as he leans down to brush the lips of his mask to the shell of your ear. "Is it true? You just want someone to bury their cock inside your tight little cunt? Ruining ya for another man?"

You squeeze your thighs together and steady yourself with your hands now moving from the wall and finding purchase on Ghost's tactical vest. Fingers dig into the material as he moves his one arm to rest a hand on one side of your hip, opposite hand displaying the revolver that advanced to where your thighs were pushed together. "Down. I want these off, love." The gun nudges at the fabric of your pants.

Your eyes focus on him as his words tempt you, fingers extracting from their place on his chest and pulling at the sides of your pants, shoving them down your knees to expose you to the cold circulated air in only your underwear. He pins his gaze onto your bare lower half, gun returning to drag up your thighs slowly.

The warmth of his body diffused and gave comfort to your own. The barrel of the gun met with the thin layer separating your cunt from it, you gasp as the object starts to grind into you, a loud gasp erupting from your lips at the contact. His friction was extreme and your hands are back to gripping his vest, teeth meeting the soft flesh of your lips with a force that caused small drops of blood to blotch.

"Always knew ya were some kind of freak, but god, you're more degenerate than I thought..." He whispers into your ear, continuing the rapid ministrations with his gun.

Whimpers managed to break out behind your gnashed teeth, your hips moving on their own to meet the movements of the revolver, feeling your panties gaining moisture. Your nails are dug into his vest as you tried to avoid letting out more lewd commotions. The barrel is shoved more aggressively up into you, your legs clenching around it as you struggled to stand in place, your only source of support being his occupied vest.

"I'm the degenerate?" You pant out, "You're... you're the one with a revolver between my legs."

Your eyes narrow, the difficulty of keeping all your sounds to yourself beginning to become harder than it had been before. Your relationship with him was strained and laced with some kind of one-sided hatred, so no, you didn't want to award him fulfillment he was dying to deprive you off.

"But I'm not the one getting off on this." He spits back.

His hostility was expected but somehow it was different than other times, it fulfilled a part of the sensation that creeped up in your guts. His careful yet sloppy movements causing your brain to be compelled into a hazy-like condition. Your eyes dart lower and even without moving your eyes, his prominent bulge was rubbed up against your thigh formed a hardened feeling. You clench your teeth heavier.

"Looks like you went against your words," You comment, thigh kneading at his obvious erection. "You're more perverted than I am, sir."

He throws his back slightly and a low groan is extracted from his throat at your own attempt to give him pleasure, his eyes more obscured by the black paint as he glares at you through half-lidded eyes.

"I'm afraid not." He murmurs, retreating the gun back from you.

You nearly whine at the loss of connection, legs pushed together as you grind one thigh onto the other. Ghost releases his revolver onto the concrete below, both hands meeting to grab at his belt and hurriedly stripping it off, his tightly loose-fitting pants following but only kept at the top of his thighs. "Come closer — here." You follow his orders, walking with shaken legs and hands gripping your forearms to where he sat the foot of his bed.

You stood in between his widened legs, his large hands surging and caressing both of your hips in gentle motions. You're pulled closer while one of hand travels to the waistband of your panties, moving past them as his gloved fingers cupped your pussy. The leather of his gloves added to the painful yet pleasurable stir that pooled in your stomach, his dead eyes of black around the skin looking up at you with a small admiration. It was almost horrifying.

His fingers budged around your lips and had, at long last, encountered your clit. His glove fiber rubbing repeatedly at it which only added onto the pile of satisfaction. You wanted to deny the idea of even letting out one audible out for him this soon but despite it, you whimpered and let out a loud moan, his eyes still burning into you.

With one hand clutching your hip and the other dug up deep inside you, it was a excitement you've never experienced before — not even with your own fingers. He was moving more harshly, his middle and ring finger propped up at your entrance, his palm right at where your clit was. Tears of full bliss prodded and threatened to spill from your eyes at the euphoric touch.

"So good for me, aren't ya sweetheart?" He breathes out, more moans draining from your throat as you realize you're wrapped around his hand.

You were gasping as his two fingers were pushed up into your cunt, eyes twitching as your arms fell to grip his dressed shoulders. You knew his hands were much more bigger. Wrapped around his usual rifles or handling reloading his guns, they were quite huge in size. Though now they were almost all inside you, those fingers made you feel entirely stuffed to the limit.

Without warning, he thrusts his fingers in and out of you slowly before speeding up, body jolting. Your immediate reaction was to grind on his entire hand, his palm again constantly brushing up on your clit.

"F-Fuck!" You whined, whimpering and moaning with all of the vigor that held in your lungs. You leaned into him and wrapped your arms around his head, back arching as your legs contracted together in a stuttering motion. His breathing is harder on you as you moaned into his ear, the skull of his mask poking at the side of your head. It was a bit sore on your core but nonetheless, you didn't want him to stop — not now, — it was way too pleasant for it to be lost. Your fingers are clawing his clothed back while his hold on your hips grew jarring.

Your eyes are wired shut as you felt yourself on the edge of a climax, begging to him to let you reach it. "Sir please... I want to cum, I need to cu—" As you felt yourself tipping off the verge and surrender to refined ecstasy, his movements came to an end, your arousal quickly exhausting out fo you. You're fast to widen your eyes and free the clasp you had on him, confusion in your eyes and boring into his own.

Imprints of tears are left on the skin of your cheeks as Ghost chuckles from his mask. He bends you down with one hand sliding around you, pressing sinking into your lower back. His wet digit are pressed onto your lips, he mouths an open up while you just stare with a bewildered expression. You exhale as you broaden your mouth, the damp leather laid on your tongue. You lick around his fingers for some time before they're fallen back out, both of his hands resting on top each of his thighs.

"On your knees.” He growls with dull eyes boring into your own.

And you did exactly what he asked you to do. Your legs giving out from the loss of your orgasm and dropping to the floor — sitting on top of your heels. You’re still out of your head, foggy and wiped clean with no original thoughts. Although, he brings you out of it with a soft stroke to your cheek, you melting almost instantly into him. His prominent bulge sits in front of you while he returns his hand back to his thigh. You give him a blank stare before focusing back onto the tent in his pants, desperately undoing the zipper with calculated fingers, chucking his pants down his legs. He lets out a small laugh at the look on your face.

“Such a good girl.” He says, resting his hand on top of your head.

You stare at him with doe eyes through your lashes before making your way into his black boxers, freeing his erection from its cotton confines.

Your eyes sparkle with adoration. His cock is thick and leaking with precum, a distinguished vein running through the middle. Sheepishly, you take his base in both of your hands considering the amount of strength you needed to handle it with. A dryness in your throat spreads but that doesn’t stop you from darting your tongue out, licking the tip once to rid of the drooling wetness. You then gather the courage to wrap your lips around the tip, sucking carefully while his grip on your hair is more tough. Surprisingly you were quick to learn how to suck him off despite it being your first time.

It was moderately exhausting to fully take him in your mouth bearing into mind of his size. You took him in further as the tip hit the back of your throat, tears brimming at the borderlines of your eyes. Your jaw was unhinged and open enough to take him until his base was fully engulfed in your mouth, your hand jerking him off at the same time.

Drool pooled at the sides of your mouth and wet his cock without shame, sucking harder around him as your cheeks hallowed out. Your lips were stinging and paralyzed, backing out with a small pop while your hand proceeded to jerk him off rapidly. Fingers slid across his tip and pressed down onto the sensitive skin, a husky groan deriving from the pit of his throat. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this for a beginner, sweetie.” he praises with his heavy Manchester accent, a smile formed on your lips.

You returned to his cock, tongue tracing his vein before sucking at the tip and taking the entirety down your throat once more. It was a challenge to do so but you coped. He slid it deep down your throat to the point where a lump was apparent, your breathing becoming ragged, vulgar noises gurgling through your maneuvers. The insignificant portion of oxygen you were gaining made your head throb and spin with a small pressure.

One of hands gripped with a force at your head until he placed both of them at each side of your head, accompanying you faster.

Looking up at him with fluttering eyes, his head was fully thrown back, the angle of his Adam's apple in sight bobbing up and down with every guttural groan. His hefty grasp that was on both sides of your head almost made you feel like if you were about to explode around his cock. You moan swiftly and the sound vibrates around him.

Your whole form quivers, that arousal starting in your cunt again, causing you to grind against the floor underneath. His groans echo and elevate as you viciously take him more hastily with your grinding.

"You're doing so good for me, fuck." He grunts, the muscles of his abs flexing as you're taking him till his base. A warm wave of his cum floods your throat, having trouble breathing through your nose when he did stop you right at his abdomen. You're hauling him back in your throat as he tried to pull it out, swallowing every drop of his leftover cum. He's overstimulated, distinctly, but he let's you do so before gently guiding you off him.

You cough and hold yourself up, gasping for air to fill your once blocked lungs. He doesn't hesitate picking you up off your limp position on the floor and settling you on the mattress still with your orgasm unfinished. Shameful whines emerged from you as you watch him undress himself of his remaining clothes, the throbbing between your legs becoming unbearable to handle any longer.

When he's finished baring himself of his clothes, he's stood at the foot of the bed, each of his hands gripping at your thighs and spreading them apart. You grin with your mind fogged up, catching his attention.

"Eager aren't you?" He comments before grasping at the hem of your underwear, pulling down your thighs and leaving them to be abandoned at your ankles. You shiver at the air coming into contact with your now revealed cunt. Your legs are self consciously trembling while he inclines down into you, arms in a clutch around your thighs and holding your legs up to his shoulders.

His thumb and pointer finger pinch at the bottom of his mask and he lifts it to the brink of his nose, a light stubble peppering his vaguely sharp jawline. You were so entangled in his looks you didn't realize he was leaning down again, his eyes boring up at you as his mouth licks a straight stripe up your exposed pussy. A sudden warmth flooded your lower half as you legs tightened on his shoulders and around his head, eyes rolling back into your head.

A loud whine blurted from your lips as his tongue carefully stroked your lips, diving it inside a few times. He would often flick at your clit and watch such succulent noises scream from your mouth. Your juices collected at your entrance and on the exterior of his mouth which would be licked off by him.

You would have never expected yourself to turn out like this ever. A wailing, whining and obedient mess for your superior. You messily grated your hips against his face every so often to match up with his patterns but the tight firm grasp on your thighs would just constrain you to the mattress.

"My god, lieutenant...." Your voice is whiny and overstimulated when his nose is ramming into your sensitive clit, back arching off towards the ceiling at the contact.

Your legs are clenched impossibly tight around him while your head is thrown back into a pillow, your fingers have no source of support which concludes them to be either flailing around or bunching at the sheets. Salty tears ran down your cheeks and neck, eyes looking down at the man who ate you starved at your pussy. "Please sir... I want to cum — I need to..."

"You need to?" He asks keeping up with his rhythm on your cunt, a teased tone in his voice at the question.

"Yes!" You near scream at him.

He just watches your crumbling figure with glassy eyes and all, your chest heaving with each breath you took. "Then beg for it." Ghost commands faintly. "Beg for me to make you cum."

Frustration ran in your veins at his order but there was no alternative way to reach your pleasure unless you allowed him to torture you any longer with his cutting off.

"Please sir," You gasp out under him, insanity getting to you. He smiles smugly on his displayed mouth at your first phrase, his eyes having a sort of gleam in them for the first time you've ever seen. "I need you — make me cum,"

"See? Wasn't that hard." He mutters before continuing to eat you out.

This time his lips were closed around your clit, sucking like his life depended on it. You're spasming and moaning out of fulfillment, fingers harrowing into his soft sheets which smelled of a strong cologne. Your fingers manage to make their way to one of his hands, pawing at them which gifts you a questionable stare from him.

He's tender at your motions and extends his hand out to wrap around your more smaller hand, his bigger fingers entwined with yours as he flatten and squeezed your hand down. The leather on your skin drove you mad, mangling your hand with his in an intense ripple of emotions. He gets more hostile and you grind your hips against him with loud whimpering, his mouth switching between your lips then back to your clit for a longer period of time.

The knot in your stomach returns as he sent you on edge again, it building up in your stomach more faster this time. "Ghost, I'm gonna-"

A wave of ecstasy shot through every limb and corner of your body, mind turning into a bottomless pit of a void as you moaned the loudest you've ever had. Ghost proceeds to suck at your clit throughout your orgasm, his muscle on your cunt sending repeated shocks up into your spine. Tears flowed down as the pressure had became too much, though it did feel like you were in heaven. Your unable to form words and instead communicate with messy phrases and noises.

Your cunt had grown sensitive, limbs stiff as Ghost licked one final stripe up your pussy, those stiff limbs coming to life for a brief second.

He watches as you bathe in the aftershocks of your reached orgasm, he sat between your legs and grabbed something from the bedside table, a sharp object. You watched as he slid it in the middle of your shirt, cutting the fabric and revealing your bra underneath that cushioned your breasts. He then grabbed at your waist and forced you to sit up in front of him, your arms clinging to his neck as he does.

The black paint remained around his eyes but some of it wiped away with his sweat. His mask was still pulled up to his nose, his mouth agape and breathing. What was left of your shirt was rejected onto the floor, Ghost's hand circling around your torso and unclipping your bra for you, fully stripping you of every clothes you had worn.

Without warning he pushes you up against the headboard and wraps his hand around your neck, lips colliding with yours in a rough manner. He feasted onto you as your breasts smushed into his chest, a moan followed with his kiss. He took advantage of your expanded mouth and slid his tongue inside, tasting every crevice of you.

The taste of your own juices could be made out when sucking on his pink muscle, a grunt coming from him. The skull of his mask with sharp ridges prodded at your cheeks but it wasn't that big of a deal for you.

He remained possessed in your lips as he tugged at his boxers, laying you flat against the bed again. He pulled back from you and moved down to your neck and breasts, leaving love bites on the way. His handles fondle at your breasts while his mouth takes one of your tits in his mouth, sucking which drove a moan from you.

Your legs are enclosed over his hips as he settled his palm against your pussy, rubbing it right over your clit before his ring and middle fingers are delving into you. Your cunt more wet from your climax and causes it to make squelching sounds as he dove up into you.

His fingers are taken away and gripped at your sides, pushing you down harder. One hand pulls down at his boxers and his cock reaches to his abdomen, the size making you suck a breath in and drool. He pumps his cock in his free hand, precum already starting to leak from the tip again.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?" He asks you, keeping in mind that this was your first time and to avoid any painful events to occur.

"Mmhm, just please, be gentle..." You say biting your lip, "Then go hard on me."

He pauses before nodding, positioning himself and stretching your legs vastly. Your brain had gone to mush as you could only stare up into his mask, watching and waiting to be taken by him. His finger are gripped harder as he leisurely sinks into you, a dragged groan leaving his mouth.

Your eyes narrow while your back arches off. "Fuck!" your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the extensive pain of the stretch. It had felt like you were being split in half but also being stuffed to the maximum. His length implied that there was no stopping and it just kept inching into you.

His pelvis rested on your pussy as he fit inside with a low groan. It was painful taking him but it didn't take long for it to be converted into pleasure. One of your eyes had twitched closed when his balls came into contact with your clit, mouth wide and producing whimpers. You convulse in pleasure and push yourself down onto him, "You're so fucking big, Ghost..." you whine into the air.

You feel him pulse inside of you at your words, "Shit, you're tight," he returns through gritted teeth. The sloppy sounds of your pussy and the combined noises spilling from both of you bouncing off the walls. Your arousal made his cock slick and easier for him to thrust into you each time, satisfaction hitting every nerve in your body.

Your clit was oversensitive at this point against his pounding, writhing for him by each thrust. His repetitive grunts clashing with your high-pitched moans, boosting your progress towards your second orgasm.

"Lieutenant," Your voice whimpered out as you tightened around him, earning a growl from his lips. "Gonna cu-"

Jumbled blur of words spoke into the air as he grabbed your legs and placed them on his shoulders while he hunched over you, the new position sending you into a state of euphoria. Sweat from behind his mask merged with his lightly fading eye paint, dark droplets dripping onto your stomach decorating it in spots of black.

"Call me Simon," He pants out, "I prefer it when I'm fucking you."

His words sent you over the borderline, a sharp cry of Simon screaming from your mouth as you arched your sweaty layered body off the mattress at an incredibly high rate. It stung a little when you succumbed to your orgasm, eyes glued shut as the bursting feeling was nothing but discarded by Ghost — his cock continuing to drill into you through your orgasm.

All conscious of yours is restored piece by piece when Ghost pulls out of you, that sensation of being full no longer there. He keeps your legs high and exhibited on shoulders while he catches his breath, hands loosening their grip on your hips but still there. The larger man takes the time to lean forward further, stretching your legs almost to the brim of the headboard. His stare is more intense this time, petrifying to the mind.

Suddenly he's slammed into you again, your overstimulated pussy already hypersensitive to only the slightest touch of his hips or how his tip brushed against your cervix.

"Simon! I- It's too much!" You whine with hot tears collecting down your face. Everything felt too sore to keep going but you couldn't get enough of him.

The angle in which he fucked you was more extreme than the previous positions he bended you over in — heavenly would be the right word to describe it. With his cock pulsing against your walls and your cunt clenching around, the pleasure was equal. Your hands crawl behind him and ground onto his back, nails digging into the skin leaving red streaks of lines.

"Just a little more, doll" He reassures you comfortingly, his hand stroking your face that once held your hip. He wants to keep his anchorage and allows his hand to fall back to your hip, pounding himself harder into you. Your pussy gushes around him and a hand collapses from his back to his inked forearm, clawing at it with all your strength while you saw stars in your vision.

Those dark half-lidded eyes of his never failed to cherish you, to study you with a raw emotion. His name, his real name, is chanted into the air while your brain swore you saw double of him as you gave into another orgasm. A small line of blood adorned his cock, which must've been from the first time he was inside you. Thankfully it no longer stung when he fucked you and all you felt was how good it actually was.

He manhandled you gently but at the same time, violently. Surely bruises were going to be left on you the next day — from his mouth and his grasp. You sobbed more for him despite being at your limit, all of your stability gone.

You had started to grind and match with his thrusts again before he hoists your hips upwards, pistoning himself right up at your g-spot. You squealed as he repeatedly hit up so far into you with a set precision, picking up the pace in at an animalistic speed. Your legs spasmed in the air as he grunted above you, more of his sweat coming into a mixture of yours as it drips down onto your body.

"Give me one more," He stares down at your squirming form, "I know you can — fuck, — do it."

As much as it was tiring to have another orgasm out of the numerous ones you already yielded to, you couldn't help it. His grinding hips pounding faster into you and attacking at your cervix without any rest. You cry at the added stimulation to both your clit and g-spot, putting yourself through yet another more intense orgasm. Heat overtook your body as you came, your walls clenching on Ghost's cock like your life depended it. "Simon! Mm- I-" Any sentences you tried to create just came out as incoherent babbles or moans. All you could do was stare into those dark eyes of his, those alluring eyes of his.

A low grunt left his throat as he pulled out of you, hot ropes of cum splattering onto your stomach. His seed dribbled down at your entrance mixed with your own arousal, a smile twitching on your lips at it. He falls down onto you with his head resting in the crook of your shoulder, soon climbing off and sitting up-right next to you. Your head is guided to lay on his sweaty chest with his hand around you.

He reaches for a clean rag that happens to be on his bedside table, reaching down to clean you and him up while soft kisses were pressed into the temples of your forehead. "Sorry for doin' too much on you for your first time." He apologizes, chuckling.

"No worries." You say, formed together. "Besides, I wanted my first time to be a little rough."

His head crooks to the side, eyes staring at you in disbelief. A scoff puffs from him before you're gifted another chuckle. Your legs squirm a little at the fabric of the rag wiping down the excess liquids that were at your thighs and down his legs.

"We should play your games more." You say. "Without Johnny, of course."

Ghost shakes his head, a discreet smile behind his coverage. "You little minx."

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fawnpires · 1 year

Text

HOW TO DISAPPEAR. — CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: after a failed attempt at a date, you unexpectedly find yourself in the hands of comfort of your dormmate, (also known as your captain.)

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: bits of angst, age difference, comfort sex, body worship, praise kink, soft dom!price, vaginal fingering, size difference, size kink, just a whole lot of filth, grinding, overstimulation, daddy kink, missionary position, reader is described as feminine (descriptions of feminine clothes, anatomy.)

Provided with an interval of short respite, you find yourself in a situation; one that you would've never expected to end up in, much in similarity to a fly tangled in a spider's web. You in contrast to the fly, you're meet-up date the spider. As weird as the analogy was, it was the best description to fit whatever you were in. Drifted mid-thigh dress, Mary-Jane platformed heels, and an elegant touch to your appearance — a noticeable separation between your standard uniform attire and skin constantly caked in dirt and some drying blood originated from a concluded expedition. You'd been granted permission to be let off base for the night, just for this single opportunity.

A few miles away from base, in some settled town, there you stood in front of an entrance to a restaurant. Lip of your bottom lip chewed from your top row of teeth, the stinging cold of the wind blowing directly at your face each time you watched either sides of the sidewalk for the man. Sparks of anticipation raged at your chest in hopes for him to arrive.

Fifteen minutes, then thirty, then a hour. A second passing of that first hour.

You leaned up against the tile of the building, slumped and at a loss of confidence of him showing up. Perhaps it was the unsolicited consequences of your actions, having been warned by your peers days prior. Cautionary pieces of advice on how the guy could be a complete fraud — you having been fallen victim like the many other girls he had in the centers of his palms, tearing their hopes down and slaughtering their hearts apart. Naivety had got the best to you for this — immediate regret flooding.

A majority of guys were assholes. That was that, nothing more. Nothing practical, and no explanations to further expand into the subject matter. They possessed the kind of crudity, a sense of vulgarness that was nothing but mere torture — burying their teeth into people most sensitive to vulnerability, dismantling of their emotions. Warning signs came at you all at once and you do what you do best; be entirely oblivious to it, look past it and push on with your romanticized scenarios of the worst.

You had a terrible habit of doing that — being unsophisticated to new things. You loathed it, and wished you could overcome it but somehow; you just never do, never learn from your own tragedies. And it had just happened again on this particular night, one full of hope and keenness, now drained out and wrung of it. On the surface, you’re a solely normal girl. But if someone were to really reach down and observe your mentality in this moment, oh, how corrupt they’ll view you as. Corrupted. Heartbroken.

A deeper chew into your lip distracts you. From the tears that are right about to drip from your glossy eyes, that is. Another distraction is the bone of your thumb sliding across the screen of your mobile, alternating between multiple kinds of screens — waiting for a singular apology, some kind of notice from the man. The sight was humiliating to be in position, to you, at least; slumping at the wall of some restaurant, on the brink of the tears just because of one guy who wouldn’t give his presence to you. Fucking humiliating, you think, peering at the void of screen — sauntering away from under the restaurant’s porch and onto the sidewalk.

Chime.

Through a glassy vision, you examine the illuminated screen; white and blaring with a single slab of a message punctured right in the center. You're quick to press an index finger to the message, an eagerness — not too hopeful, not too built-up — risen to your chest. Right, don't get that eagerness up. If you squint through the pooling tears, it's not a formatted text, but a single photo attachment right in place of the chatroom (blurry resolution, a presumed accidental send right to you).

While you look more into the attachment, it just garners more and more of your attention. Nothing of the real world is real to you. Only that specific file.

You feel a swell of more humiliation rush to your face, bleeding of a scorching warmth while more tears just threaten to fall down your already-stained cheeks. None of it was a pleasure to see — a girl in the image pressed up against him — shoved right to your face. Jealousy wasn't the correct terminology, but provoked? That definitely was. Processing the image, a new message forms right underneath it — as if more of your reality couldn't come crumbling down within this night.

Wrong person, didn't mean to send.

His message makes you delirious, nearly driven to the borderline of hysteria — because, fuck, was he a jackass.

Found another girl, much prettier than you. You're nothing but an easy whore, easy to please, I never wanted to meet up with your slut ass anyways.

The final message of his shreds your heart to pieces, a pile of shattered fragments while the text replays in the back of your head; easy whore, slut ass, amateur insults you've heard frequently — but it clings to you so easily, weighing you down like a pathetic mass that is near-impossible to rid of. With a combination of pathetic weight, degrading names, and your heart burst into portions — you could only help yourself to cry; silently sob into the heel of your palms while you speed walk up the slope of the sidewalk. Sweaty, ruined, and teary-eyed — who knew you were so easy to break with a couple of shaming messages and a stood-up date?

By the time you've practically hiked up a few couple of roads and hills, the pain of the route wasn't the only thing that was causing a repeated ache in yourself — a reminder to never wear heels to a faraway date. Mascara ran down in gray-ish streaks with your pristine tears, the sniffling of your nose amid the quietude of the nearing midnight. The structure of base comes into view, a few windows of light plastered onto the colossal build; it's an abnormally comforting sight, one that you've grown used to — you could consider it home, somehow, in a strange way.

Carefully, quietly, you enter through the roofed front entrance and curve the usual course to the third floor — where your shared room was located. The halls were quiet, dimly lit with a disgustingly bright light of a tinted yellow. Some rookies were outside their doors chatting, greeting you as you somberly walked through the halls with a depressing greet back to them; through the sorrow, you still had conjured up formality. Weakly, you push on the solid matter of your dormitory room and close it behind you — the hallway light no longer spilling on the insides, shrouding you in a darkness that can only be eliminated with a glimpse of moonlight peeking through the curtains right between you and Price's mattress.

Staggering over to the edge of your own bed, you slouch down and tore your platforms off, legs to your chest while your face pressed to the patches of your knees. Aware that your captain had been knocked cold in a deep slumber a few feet away from you — you give an attempt to muffle your cries that were increasing in volume, some even gliding through the attempts and into the atmosphere. Just as you were about to give up as a whole to even try to lower your noises of misery; a lamp clicks on, filling the room with a burst of a glow, Price is positioned in a half-laid figure — muscle-tight white t-shirt, visible gray sweatpants under the thinning of his blanket, a mess of his darkened brunette hair, and his thick beard aligning the strong outline of his jaw.

He squints, then widens his eyes up to the sight, elevating more of himself up to where he sat on the edge of his bed — strong legs dangling off the cliff of the mattress.

"Christ, kid," His voice raspy, as if it ran across gravel, "What time did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago." you reply, still teared.

A smidge of concern is what he indulges himself in; the concern of your circumstances, and oddly enough — your own wellbeing. His eyebrows crook downwards in consideration, hoisting his athletic build off his bed, and he wanders over right to the own foam of your mattress. The foam right next to you slumps, heavily and in weight, his eyes delayed right set on you before they settle on his lap where his knuckles fold in a form.

"Thought you would be home much later. Tomorrow," He utters, thumbs twiddling in circles. "- And apologies if that's a bit intrusive. But-" he interrupts himself, sure that the topic would be too uncomfortable to speak on with a sudden upbringing, changing up. "You're crying, you're home early, so somethin' must've happened."

It was a polite nag — and it was unusual for your superior to show such sympathy right to you. Eased, you touch up on with his eye contact. He's not afraid of the embarrassment of staring, unlike you; damning yourself for being so meek. And you instead focus on the small wrinkles that touch at the skin around his cobalt irises with white, the stubble of his heavy beard, and the straight line of his pressed lips.

"I don't want to..." you trail off, impassive. "You know, put too much on you. It's way too late anyways, past midnight."

"Enlighten me." he assures, leaning to close more gap of space.

On his word and permission, your nails dig into the flesh of your exposed thighs under the skirt. It was sweet of him to offer a session of consolation, you thought — even if the slightest mention of the sensitive-touched subject was sufficient to your heart recycling that intolerable ache of shattering. But you gave into the man anyways, pouring your all right into him.

"Guy was a complete asshole, nothing more." You started off with a cruel remark. "Stood me up at that place we were supposed to meet-up at... you paused to take a chew of your bottom lip to prevent the tears, then finish; "...then he called me a whole load of nicknames — slut, whore — after he sent me a picture of him at a bar, with another girl."

His eyebrows no longer furrow, but slant in a condolence. The large palm of his hand rests at your back, patting at the cloth, while you couldn't help but bring yourself to embed your head into the white of his shirt — leaning yourself into him, both arms of muscle clamping around you and holding you tight. Tears inaudibly discolor the white cloth into a lighter gray, throat closing in on itself as it gradually grew harder to breathe.

"Sounds like a fuckin' slag to me," He melts into the embrace of your arms wrapping around his torso, tugging at his shirt. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I really am."

Sweetheart. Your heart throbs out of the ache, in a sheepish flattery at the term.

"John?" You ask. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

You pull yourself away from him, but keep your arms wrapped at his torso and your head at his shoulder blade. "Why are you being so nice to me?" the question of yours drags further on. "- never seen you this sympathetic to the rest of the rookies."

"Rookie? You aren't no rookie, kid." He said, taking your hands in his and keeping your wrists imprisoned in fists. "I can promise you that, you're considered one of the elite." he confesses, "And whatever that bastard told you is entirely wrong. He doesn't know you, really know you — he doesn't know you like I do."

Tension bred between you and him. With this input tension, he almost seemed like a whole new hollow of a person. Peculiar man. His words had an undertone of possessiveness to them — you didn't know if it had intended, or it had just came out in a way that you took as wrong; but it was wedged right in there, it had to be. In the juncture, he wasn't your superior, your ordering captain of an intimidating identity and wielded of firearms — but a man. A real, authentic, man clustered into a realistic wheel of pure emotions that you've grown a strange bond towards; like a quickly-developed bond out of the warfare.

He's a distraction. A pleasant distraction. Him and the conversation steers you away from your provisional depression, deteriorating it down to the backgrounds of your head. And you love it — every single minute that it consumes; and you love the way one of his hands palm at your thighs and brush up-and-down at the skin. Your hands in which encircle at his torso now rest at the front of hist chest, balling up the thinning fabric of his shirt, a breath hitching at his touch while you lean back by a few inches as both palms are now resting at your naked thighs.

One of his rested hands come to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in to feel his heavy breaths on the skin of your face. You alternate between his drowsy eyes of full lids and silk lips that bare only a minimum view of teeth; before you know it, those pairs of lipped silk on your own — finding purchase in clutching his shirt harder, more compulsion. His remaining hand at your thigh snakes to your waist during the kiss, manhandling you onto his lap. Your legs dangle off the sides, hands cupping at his face and pressing fingers into the scratch of his beard.

No longer a distraction he was but ashamed. Wanting to break off those plush lips of yours; resign off his position as captain, never to catch you in his sights again. But he just couldn't, devoted to entire being and after months of eyeing you around the barracks and missions — he had you right where he wanted you, pretty little thing right on his lap, the curve of your neck bent to slope your head down to press your lips to his.

Nothing wrong about it in these areas of pleasure, at least in his own set of minds.

He admires your anatomy through half-lid lenses; how your shut lashes curled to the upper section of your eye, the soft nudge of your nose to his, the exclusive shape of your face. His cradling hand favors almost the entire expanse of your head, locks intertwined between the slits of his thick fingers. Smacks of lips and grinding, a stir of unadulterated ecstasy, currents of shocks running along your spine — you worship everything about it, because it's a kind of a one-time thing, so sparse — quickly paced, (Although from now on, it might be something more of a complete thing with him).

"Never told me how good you could taste, darling," he rasps between kisses, "- and to believe you've been hidin' this from me all these months."

A few pants puff from your lips to his. "Wanted to, but didn't know if you wanted it."

"If I knew it felt like this, then I'd damned myself for not giving it a shot."

"I've wanted you for long." your words drag into a whine.

"Yeah? How long have you, honey?" he inquires, kissing along your jaw to give some breathing space in the mean time. "Want to hear you say it for me, come on."

You bite your lip, tilting your head back to grant more access for his lips to implant themselves on your flesh. "Even when I was still messaging that guy," you gasp on your words when he bites at your neck, tongue lapping at the mark. "I couldn't help but think of you. Pretended it was you telling me all of those dirtiest things, calling me your sweetheart, your girl..."

Your revelation stuns him back, kissing a particular patch of skin harsher when the words choke out from you — your hips grinding rougher into his crotch, hands on his chest tugging at his shirt, back formed in an arch.

"You never really wanted that man, didn't you?" he asks.

"No... no," you heave with your thighs squeezing together. "I guess I was just lonely, desperate to have someone fill the space where you should've been."

"Oh, you'll have me," he withdraws slowly, hands rested at each of your hips while a tensed eye contact returned, "Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours."

The next scene, his fingers trail down to your thighs once more — only this time they venture further, caressing the inner sections of your thighs from underneath the flow of your skirt. A whimper stifles in your throat; how long he’s waited to hear those noises. Those pretty, personal noises of yours.

His thumb rests at your clothed clit through your panties, a shock running up your spine at the contact. Your hands link around his neck, legs on-instinct spreading wider while on his lap. The thumb at your clit begins to rub small circles — and being no longer able to confine any noises or movements, your back arches in an impossible curl while you slant your head backwards and allow more of those pretty noises to tear from your throat. A feverish sensibility runs to your face like blood through veins, the rest of that heat flowing off of right into the surrounding air — nostrils continually crowded with the aroma of sex and his masculine scents of spiced cologne and puffed cigars where you tucked your head at the dip of his neck; face pressed into the side of his.

Thick fingers skate past the waistband of your panties, a gasp at the cold fingertips settling on your folds; moving ministrations collecting in rounds at your founded clit, middle and index finger prodding at your cunt — slamming into the sweet abyss of your cunt with a final maneuver; one that you've fabricated scenarios about in a wave of indignity established.

"John-" the whine of his name was cut-off when those fingers of his began to pump up-and-out of you. Your body grows frail, limp on his lap with only his one hand on your hip supporting you while the other was occupied at your cunt. "Feels s'good..."

"Yeah, doll?" he tilts his head to get a better look at your face of pleasured contortions, "I assure it'll be much better when I have you on my cock."

Your head tilts backwards using nothing but the air as a leverage, mouth agape; a range of sounds breaking free of the raw barriers of your throat. The concept of a ‘better’ sensation had caused your body to writhe under this every touch, a non-infectious fever messes at your head as your body does all it can do as of now; submit to him as if he were still under the title of ‘Captain’ out on the fields of war, putting you right under his controlled commands.

Price angles his head to where the point of his nose pokes at the heated flesh of your cheek, lips ghosting over the structure of your jaw. He pins ghost kisses over your cheek, then your jaw, flooding you over with an affection while his fingers worked their ways inside your cunt. The contact has a sting to it, almost like a prick of a needle — a burning, elating sensation against you that died down to a more soothed feeling.

The addition of two fingers thrusted up inside of you and a thumb rubbing in quick motions at your swollen clit matured a coil in your lower abdomen; sensitive and swirling in a dragged-out pleasure that was dying to be released of its own prison where it stood in place. Your mind was blank — full-on buzzed static and a memory like a cleaned slate; entirely drunk on wherever he chose to touch you, whether it was a small grasp of your waist or a rough motion to your the throb located right between your thighs.

Your skin had been wholly flushed of sweat and caused the material of your dress to stick to you, a pre-arousal starting to leak around the length of his fingers. Your chest heaved with each hefty breath, eventually diluting to shorter breaths that were practiced in shorter durations. The tips of his fingers never failed to press at that soft spot of sensitivity, a low moan or whine played each time he did press up at it.

You gather some composure to form words, stuttered and whines but perceivable enough to recognize as the spoken language.

“John- I’m gonna cum, feels s’good,” you whine.

He stares, languid. “I’m not stopping you reaching your own pleasure baby,” he whispers, continuing to ghost his lips against the bow of your jaw and the warmth of your cheek.

His permission was the maximum to send you over that long-awaited cliff of ecstasy; a glowing, flashing beam of white depicting of your eyesight. Your legs had extended themselves more in width at the overwhelming wave of rapture which brushes over your; back arched in an impossible hooked curve, nails digging through his shirt and leaving crescents into skin behind. A surge of your arousal bursts around his fingers, that still proceed to thrust into your cunt despite your orgasm already at its peak.

Your eyes twitch at his fingers through your orgasm, your fingers wrapping at the wrist of his moving hand. “S’too much, daddy, can’t do more…”

“Daddy, huh?” he questions, even shocked himself at the sudden term you use for him, “Never knew you were into that kind of shit, sweetheart,” his last sense of morality slips away, a carnage urge running through the path of his head. “But I gotta do this, get you all ready for my cock.”

He gives you a couple more of short, quickened thrusts into your cunt before he slides his drenched fingers out of you — a whine from your lips at the loss of contact that once filled you, kept you full and at ease. The hand rested at your hip travels to your back, easily handling you off his lap and gently tossing you back-facing the mattress. His hand of drenched fingers are slowly pulled in with the use of your fingers wrapped at the wrist, taking the digits into your mouth and lapping at your own personal taste.

“Christ,” he breathes, taking admiration in the way he stares at you while your tongue wraps at his fingers, “Fuckin’ minx.”

The clutch you have on his hand loosens up after you lap up the final remains of your taste on the pads of his fingers — now only coated in a thin layer of saliva. Price can only manage a gruff chuckle, eyeing his fingers before he can position himself between the space of your spread thighs; that had extended out for him without the need of a single order given to you.

You practically knew what he would’ve wanted of you in this situation; spread out those legs for him, exposing your all just for him.

He takes the time to quickly tug the white of his shirt over his head, an exhibition of a sculpted chest littered with some hair; glistened with sweat and glossed over in some shine. At this, your bottom lip tugs at your teeth and you raise an arm up to each strap of your dress — pulling the light-weighted item down your shoulder and down to your knees where your legs assisted with kicking the rest of it off. The both of you sat there, half-naked; a bra, panties, sweatpants, and boxers the only forms of shelters that was wedged in between from the final stage of being bare and intimate.

His fingers next work at the waistband of his sweatpants and rag it down along with his boxers — in some way, it was animalistic, like he was in some desperate need to get everything off in order to finally be inside of you, (Which was exactly that). You peel your panties, doused of a previous arousal, down your thighs and discard them onto the floor to be forgotten of. Focusing, you rested your head on a more elevated surface on the pillow for a better perspective — the perspective of his cock that hovered over your stomach; larger than average, a few prominent veins that ran from his base to the dulled head, and the pre-cum that glazed over the slit. A fist pumps at his cock a few times.

The sight was erotic — the absolute condition of the situation erotic. Pornographic, even; the modest swaying of your hips, the flat head of himself now rested at your inner thighs, and a spitting image of a man straight from a seventies adult film at your own personal use — something about this was so utterly artistic and devoted. Your chest grows heavy with an excitement, numbed of intense heat. The bleary-lidded aspect of his eyes only can help to cherish over you like a sacred entity; an angel sent from heaven for his own keep.

"Can't believe that arsehole, lovie," he vocalizes while running the rough of his hands up your hips, taking compliment to the way your supple flesh dents and forms to his touch. "You're absolutely gorgeous, such a pretty lil' lady."

"Please," you whimper, flat palms digging into the fitted sheet which your clammy body lays under. "Can't wait any longer, daddy..."

The nickname on your pretty lips again pitches him off the last bits of patience, the hold your hips tighter as his hips ram against yours — a rapid, precise movement. The sensation of his cock filling your tender cunt up after months of indulging in the same day-dream had your back arching over the mattress, head absorbed in the fabric of the pillow, legs reinforced around his waist. The few sets of thrusts are slow and devoted, due to your tightness and essentially preparing you for more to come.

"You poor thing," he breathes out, slamming his cock into your wanting walls, "You've longed of this, haven't you? Must've been achin' so bad for my cock in your pretty pussy."

You're deprived of your words — any consciousness of your body — and only can help yourself to nod, admitting to his query.

Your saccharine moans and additional whines that he hauls from you are sublime to his ears; ones that he, shamefully, has speculated while inspecting you each time you would return back to your shared room — in addition to his times of isolation when nobody was around and off to their combat drills, his fist fucking around his cock with his head thrown back to the tile of the shower, grunting and envisioning your swollen lips taking his cock in like a divine sacrament. His eyes drift to your chest — a grunt tearing from his throat each time your breasts jolted with each slam of your hips.

He shadows his body over your own, chest of hair pressing to the softer mounds of your breasts as his lips press to almost every spots of your face.

"Could he ever do this?" he questions against your face, head rested in the on your shoulder while the leaned position he holds himself in causes his cock to pound into you more aggressively and deeper. "Could that prick ever fuck you like this, baby? Like a real man?"

"N- No!" you stutter, pressing your face to his neck and digging your nails to the flexible muscles of his naked back. Your legs stand out in the air and twitch every so often. "He couldn't... only you can."

"Mmm," he hums, pounding into your sweet cunt like a drill-hammer. "That's right, doll. I'll be the only man to treat you like this, to pull those beautiful noises that you hide from me."

Drool begins to collect at a corner of your mouth as he converts your brain to a mush of mess, body compliant and gone completely frail to the way he pounds you into the mattress. His hands slowly move from your hips to the hardened walls behind your bed, distancing himself up by a few inches as he pursues with more thrusts brimming of carnality. Relevant creaks of the mattress and the shared commotion of solid grunts and pitched moans reverberated at the slim, smothered walls that had grew moist overtime in the airspace of sex.

The head of his cock kisses at your cervix, each protruding vein branding itself in the clenched walls of your cunt. Your back sprouts an ache in the arched posture you holds yourself in — one hand coming down to your stomach and pressing on the area you feel his cock stretches you out from.

A broken gasp abandons your lips, arms stabilized up at your head and trembling. "John, mmph—" you get out, "S'too much, can't handle a lot more..."

"I know, darlin'," he said, "But all you gotta do is lay here all pretty and let me fuck you, simple as it sounds. Can you do that for me, pretty?"

You squeal when he gives a particular harder thrust into you. "I dunno—"

"C'mon, pretty thing, you can do it," Price said, breath full of cigar smoke, "Make me proud, angel."

Tears — not of sadness, but the sensation of being cherished washing over you and hitting you like a brick — paint your shot-opened eyes, only a silent nod agreeing to his words. He smiles, leaning to give you a kiss on your forehead before positioning himself back to your gleaming entrance; large hands strong on both sides of your hips, his upper-half slumped over you, your lower-half elevated and rested around his waist. The next collection of thrusts are fast, laced with precision as you feel yourself grow weaker, whines leaving your mouth with his more often occurring groans. Your inner-thighs grow soaked, body filthy of sweat and the remnants of your former orgasm on your skin that he caused.

Your entrance is slick, glistened with your arousal that had just started to form up. The noises of skin-on-skin escalating, and the strength he drills into you becoming overwhelming. With your smaller frame in comparison to his much larger, bulky build; you were bound to be left sore and aching after this. Your head has gone stupefied in every single corner — drunk of his cock and how it never fails to inch your closer to the final stage of pleasure that has you seeing heaven and blinded visions of white. A familiar coil in your stomach has more pressure added onto it with his flat palm still resting on it, slightly weighing down on the sticky layer of skin. You're beneath under him once again, much like how you did first on his lap, but more amorous.

The bulbous girth of his cock reaches barbaric speeds, providing you with no breaks in between — your desperate whines and pleads out to him cut short, delivered in incomprehensible babbles. Your legs are desensitized; back offered off of the bed as the two of his hands move to clutch your waist in a humane nature as if you were some doll, his hips paused right to yours and his cock nestled in the depths of you. Your fingers run up and down his back in brisk movements, nails slashing the tattered skin of declined battle scars. Warmth spurts right through your walls and washes over your insides in tints of white.

For a second time, the constructed coil in you loses itself, inspiring your cunt to spill while motionless at his cock and douse his rested thighs in your arousal. He slouches over you, plunging his frame down to rest against you. His chest meets right to yours; the soft, plush flesh of your breasts contrary to his more vigorous torso of hair furnishing the domain. The present force once at your delicate cunt is absent, pulled out, a final low whimper given rise to at the loss. Your nails remove themselves from the violent burial they give to his back, compressing your palms and stiffening your arms into him that was an embrace.

His head that rests at your shoulder turns to your face of a fucked-out expression, a chuckle from his mouth at the sight as his lips press sloppy kisses to your neck and face; a hum from your mouth at the softened contact of his beard scratching at your face. Whispers of praise and repeated cooes dive to your ears — quite inaudible since you were clearly still numb from sex. Sex that you played-out with your Captain, your superior. In a moralistic classification, such a relationship with a superior figure was inappropriate; putting you and Price at the risk of being ejected from both your positions, but it didn't really matter as of now.

As long as he devoted himself to you with his all, and you did the same for him, there was no wrongs. He was the one in command after all, supplied with a great amount of power over the Task Force.

He peppers your face in the traces of his lips. "You doin' better now, dolly?"

"Mmhm, yeah..."

"Much better than him, isn't that right?"

You give him a dopey smile. "Way better."

Price brings his hands to your hair, petting at the strands and locking your face in the scent of himself while he never falters to bring a kiss to whichever part of your face. "Yeah, I know that, sweet girl. Much better."

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fawnpires · 1 year

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LONESOME SNIPER. — KÖNIG.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: being detained for your war crimes was unbearable to say the least, your new cellmate changes your thoughts otherwise.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: height differences, porn what plot/porn without plot, imprisonment, love confessions, developing relationship, dirty talk, cowgirl position, wet & messy sex, blow jobs, praise kink, eye contact.

"Have you took interest in a new sniper hood?"

"No..." König almost whispers from across the room, "I keep the same one."

Your head was cocked to your shoulder — body slacked and pliable in that floppy disgusting orange uniform drained of its color, eyebrows furrowed sitting high on top of lucid eyelids, an exasperated sigh falling from your parched lips as you tried to make conversation of jumbled questions. König figures it wasn't a question of genuine matter, but that it was out of a scope of boredom when he watches you skim your fingers through the brick detailing of the wall.

It was cold and moist with the shared air, the bare concrete floors even worse. The capacity of the room closing in and dying on both of you ever since taken into incarceration. There König sat on his side of the room, the drilled-in nails barely keeping his bed intact with the harsh conditions of the wall — as if the quality of the prison wasn't shabby enough. His legs hung over the edge where he sat, elbows resting on his thighs while he supported his hooded head in a palm.

You observed him, religiously. A height of a brute and wrapped in exposed pale skin, growing depleted by the minute, paler and paler than usual — although it wasn't your place to make assumptions despite never seeing any inch of his skin out on the battlefields. You've seen him from time to time while working as support, sniper either tucked under his armpits or held in two clothed hands before locating into position.

From where you are, König is leant over, grayish-tinted eyes inspecting his flexing hands that was overran with a few veins. You had to admit, your whole perspective changed on the mountain of a man without any distinguished awareness that you could recall in the moment, eyes half-lidded as you gazed at him with a bitten lip. He flicks his eyes from his hands and stares back — unable to maintain a full session of eye contact.

"König," you ask while sitting up slightly, "Do you take an interest in anything, at all?"

The question was out of the blue, as if you were interrogating him of his crimes, his posture tensed meaning he possibly processed that inquiry of yours. König clears his throat audibly, distinctly and loud enough for it to perhaps echo off the panels of the room. "...If I were to be honest with you, would you find it strange?" His words come out a murmur, now his own question taking you off guard.

"Not at all, try me." you reply.

He brings himself closer to you, thick hood mobilizing around in his movements. It takes some time for him to gather and form the right sentences, the right words that could form those correct sentences.

"If I'm being honest," he pauses, "The only interest I've taken is in you."

"Is that so? Or are you just trying to flatter me?"

"Of- Of course not," König protests, "I'm being completely honest with you, a hundred percent."

Shock. An expression of small shock smeared clean across your face at his subtle confession. The tone laced in his voice managed to convince you that he was, in fact, actually being completely honest with you. His eyes practically nag at you for an answer, a bright glint reflecting at the corners of his pupils giving off the impression of a begging puppy. "How long?" you question.

"How long have you been infatuated with me?" You repeat the question softly.

"Since I've been operator — a sniper... he replies, "So a while now."

Your eyes soften, feeling your insides go soft at the admission, so you carefully slip off yourself off the paper-like bed structure — going over to his instead and plopping down right next to him, your hand coming to rest on top of his. "And can I be straightforward about my interests now?" you tease, though it wasn't counted as a teasing subject in your book up to now.

He gives a nod and musters up enough courage to finally bore his darkened eyes into your own.

"I've been attracted to you myself," you confess, "But I'll admit, I was too shy. Too anxious to go up and start something with you."

König releases a sigh from behind his face covering, his hand that was once under your smaller one resting on top of it instead, rubbing soothing circles into the bones of your knuckles that stuck out from beneath the skin. A blockage in your throat started up again. That parching and dehydrated feel of not being able to swallow, but now the cause of it was solely because of him.

There you both sat in silence, dingy uniforms and cramped room. His face was beyond recognition but in a rare scene of tenderness, body motions and humanistic features could tell you easily that he really was in love with you. He was a shy man regardless of his physical appearance, obviously, but he was never a threat — not to you at least. Maybe he was to other faces but all you saw in him was a man who was able to show compassion despite his belligerent facade.

"I, I think we should get some rest now." you say while giving him a stare out of the muting void, "Y'know? Besides, I think this entire conversation was too much on you."

"It wasn't too much." He says with his Austrian accent conveying through, a chuckle escaping.

You leaned into him and smile looking up at him. "I can live with that."

"What do you mean?"

"I can live with the fact that I've fallen in love with a war criminal."

It was a pre-developing relationship, you decided, two war criminals head over heels for each other — how romantic. Two royally fucked-up people who were at each other like a bunch of animals incapable of separation, eating their faces off in private with tongues and all. You were a less experienced support member who managed a rifle. König was more of an expert, a skillful sniper who chose to have the blood of other men on his hands at the age of seventeen.

Though the confidence you possessed at the birth of the relationship had ceased to exist. He was strangely the more dominant one, in spite of being scared to act on affection, him being the one to first kiss at your lips and carry it onto a heavily make-out session — though never progressing into sex. It either ended with bruised lips that were entirely too damaged to continue or a mutual agreement to come to a stop.

When you returned from your assigned prisoner duties, he sat with his back flat against the wall located next to his bed, in his lap sat a decorative book with his fingers peeling at the corners each time he finished the words on paper.

"König?" you pop yourself into the cell, "I didn't know you liked to read."

"Oh, yeah." He mutters. "Edgar Allan Poe."

"Tell-Tale Heart?"

"Yes. How did you know?" He looks up from the piece of literature, eyes blinking once.

"Lucky guess." you say as you pull yourself further into the room, plopping next to him. "It suits you well."

His breathing hitched as you linked your arm around his, body rubbing up against the confines of his uniform.

The air was warm around, heavy and moist. Linked with his breathing and your movements of rubbing on him, it could be considered something of a pre-sexual review. You did have to admit, being in a relationship was a pleasant topic, but without a doubt the sex part of it was missed dearly — you didn't want to push it onto him, though. It was a requited attraction of vanilla puppy-love.

König wasn't quite sure what he wanted. Wether receiving the endearment of a woman or to have sex for the first time — which was something that he would never thought to occur in a prison, prison sex. He had a sufficient knowledge on the subject at the most and that was all, nothing extremely abnormal or crazy about it.

Both of shared the same concern with each other and had no idea how to approach it. Each time you strived to bring it up to him it would just come up verbal vomit that lead up into another conversation completely different and altered for your sake.

I mean, the chance was right in front of you right now, why didn't you just take it? It was preferably the best time to do so. Quiet atmosphere, nobody around — even though the door to the cell was in the solitary confinement category which left the both of you with the most privacy you could get in this system.

Fuck it, you thought.

"Can I ask you something? I'm sorry in advance if it makes you comfortable." you ask him, linked arm trembling a small bit.

"Go ahead."

"Are you a virgin?" you shoot out, "As in have you ever had sex with somebody?"

He seems to be a little taken back by the question, eyes adjusting from the page he read on the book to meet yours. His body stiff again, chest heaving up and down to compliment his breathing patterns that were more erratic than usual. "I haven't, no." he replies.

"Would you like to have sex with someone?" You said.

"Honestly, yes..."

"And who would you want to do it with?"

König's eyes travel from your eyes to the downs of your lips. "You, mein engel."

Your lips pressed into corners that made up a small smile before you lunged at him, causing him to drop the heavy book to the floor. His back is pressed against the narrow mattress while your hips straddle his own, lips hungrily devouring at each other in sloppy ministrations. König's mouth was warm and welcoming — the brief taste of cheaply provided mouth wash surrounding the pink muscle which lapped at the interiors of your own mouth.

A situated lump poked underneath your clothed legs, surprising but expected. Your hand comes to reach down and grope at it, honored that you were capable to cause him to become hard within a matter of seconds — how you longed for him, ached — to have the head of his dick prodding at your throat or practically anywhere inside of you. You were special to him, like a fine porcelain doll of glass manhandled in those strong hands.

You pushed your lips up against his, fingers circling the waistband of his pants that were soon pulled down to showcase his boxers. It wasn't long before he took control of the circumstances and caged your own hands in his larger ones, thick fingers wrapping around the skin of your wrists — his strength pulled you under him and landed him top instead — a minor gasp breaking loose from your vocal cords.

His pants were kept around his hefty thighs — mind thinking and thinking about how you would look naked at his touch, bare and all for him. The thoughts plagued his mind and eventually convinced himself to act on it, a hand in a fist that grabbed at your shirt and ripped it off of you with the brawn of a brute. "König," you heaved louder than intended. Your eyes were radiant, twinkling with the plead of him to place his touches on you more. Your hand came to rest at the edge of his boxers, pulling them down to reveal his leaking dick.

It was thick, and way above average. A few veins, similar to your observations of his hands, ran through the skin. Pre-cum collected at his flat tip and ran down one side while it

He'd had a single blowjob before, but it wasn't sentimental nor with a woman who he felt a genuine affection towards. He figured it was a cruel practical joke dared by the other soldiers due to his lack of communication with them, though with you he was in a complete paradise. König gripped at your forearms and forced you up to sit, his body laid to the wall behind the bed — fuzzily pumping at his dick with a single hand bubbling with strained muscles, imploring eyes on you at the same time — the most appropriate reaction a man could have before having someone blow him off.

"You want me?" You say, head turnt, palms flat on the sheets resting at the sides of your tucked legs.

"Please, meine Liebe." He forces out of heavy breaths and messy noises.

By that time, you're already scooted up to him, sat between his spread legs. Arms outstretched and crossed each other — the gaping window of your bra giving him the display of a lifetime. His hips thrusted with the speeding motions of his hand that came to a stop once your leaning body that was adjacent to the origin of his unnatural behaviors, mouth nearing.

König couldn't breathe, but he wasn't the one granting pleasure. Your lips plumped around the tip like a feather, some kind of soft petal of a flower, before taking the whole length down — praising the lord there would be no edging. The pressure of hands found leverage on his thighs as he watched you like a formless heavenly entity at his service, turning a blind eye to the grimy environment all around. He wondered if you had ever done this before; and if you did, he was more than honored — honored to drench in the soft and velvety interior of your mouth and compact throat.

The cloth of his hood was difficult to breathe in throughout the blowjob — never acting on taking it off, though. It clung to him at all times except times of privacy in the shower. Sweat flatten against the skin of his fast and moisten it up, head thumping at the walls while a hand nestled at the top of your head, cautious to not accidentally cause damage to you.

It was all the raw sensation, pent-up tension, that made you so desperate and longing for his cock — a sparse value in blowjobs — and a single man so responsive to you and your lone mouth, whispers of Scheiße or cluttered grunting cramming the usually silenced room. "You are a natural," he praises you.

You choose to thank him by fastening your movements down on him, earning you a string of more german curses and manly groaning that blessed your ears. You already knew he was on edge — which is why you decided to do such actions — pushing on his release to blow faster, which the matter was correct about, cock lodged to the back of your throat to fit his size while the warmth of his load was shot in.

Your mouth dislodged from him, a line of saliva connecting your mouth to his tip for a matter of seconds, as gross as it sounded it was quite alluring while in a trance of need. He had allowed you to trace your hands across his sensitive length a few times before jerking him off further, body warmth colliding with his, spurts of cum managing to stain your hands before it came out in a large splatter across your chest as well — a loud moan and stuttering of hips coming from him. An expression of bliss read in his eyes.

Tears glossed in at the edge of your eyes and tainted your eyelashes like early morning dew on grass strands. Sticky globs of cum illuminated under the mediocre light that gave some light in that sad room.

"Are you alright?" He asks with a genuine concern, head lifting off the wall, looking down at you who laid at his lower stomach.

"Yes," You rise slowly and gather the leftover strength to position yourself to sit-up once again. "Are you?"

"That was... more than I had expected."

"Would you be willing for round two?"

The tone that hid in your voice and expression on your glowing face could only tell him one thing — which was fair to him, but not to you — you hadn't had what he had yet. An orgasm, he recalled hearing about and what he just went through moments prior. König is no longer a panting nor whiny mess, the room silent again following the action in which he took you by your limp wrists that hung at your sides, placing you to straddle his hips on top. You had already been the dominant one at first, but you figured it was his time to shine in that light.

A hunger in his eyes flares as fast arms circle around you, unfastening the latch of your bra, the object thrown and to be left stranded on the floor. Temptation, — you were leading him into it, with your bare breasts exhibited and that tender look in your eyes that was almost doe-like. He's tensed and could only bring himself to stare, alternating between your chest and naked legs that no longer had baggy pants closing in on them — panties the only given coverage on your body.

He reaches shaky arms to your hips and allows them to slide down to the waistband. The piece of thin fabric glides smoothly down without any issues in its path, his eyes widening as they feast upon your bare cunt, the sight almost causing him to believe this was just a fantasy of his. "Heilige Scheiße, you are beautiful." he stutters out, the sight leaving him in disbelief — and another rising arousal.

Your nude body rises and sits upon him while he still bears the scratchy material of his prison shirt attire, creating a sort of power imbalance between you and him — strangely enough, you enjoyed it more than anything — the male of your dreams right at your hips below. You incline and press your lips to the cloth of his hood, to where his lips should be under the sustained material.

Though he hates the idea of showing his face off — and in this exceptional moment just for you — König's fingers brushed at one draping edge of his hood, pushing it away to the side for his mouth and tip of his nose to be exposed. His lips, boyish and rather plump to kiss at, and the hook of his nose sculpted as if they were by gods. The cloudy hues of his eyes and hazily curved jawline pulled his look in all together.

It's not long before you're inclined over him to reach his lips and give them a small fervent peck, you feel him return the peck on his lips onto yours further but you pull away prior to noticing he does. You brought yourself lower to to where his anew erection prodded at your inner thighs, aching to be buried in your core. At last, you decide to not to torture the poor and begging man, slowly taking in his lengthy cock inch by inch — a slow, painful process quickly maturing into a bittersweet stir.

You instantly bottom out once his thick tip bumped all the way to your cervix. Your body slouches on top him, thighs closing in and squeezing on him below. He brings himself to grab your stuttering hips which struggled to move up and down on him, guiding you somehow. A low moan breaches from your lips — and with the help of König, — you managed to steadily ride him, sloppy with no structured flow.

"Just like thaat, engel." He acclaims, eyes narrowed and legs convulsing with each of his combined thrusts and your continuous workings on him. Beautiful and grotesque it was, the fusion of love-making and loathsome bond of two war criminals. His grip was bruising and his dick submerged up inside of you made up for it — his deeper grunts and your moans that grew in pitch merging together like a choir.

He sits up back swiftly — one of his hands coming to rest on your lower back while the other keeps a clutch — and settles you closer to him. His hands leave the warmth of your body and strips himself of the only article of clothing that rests on his sweat-infested body, a shirt that was soon to be left with the rest of your own scrapped clothes. Laying under the ragged linen was a chiseled chest, abs carved by years of military training and a coating of mustered-up sweat sheathing his flesh.

"God," you breathe, "Were you hiding all of that under there from me?"

"Eh, of course not, I was planning on showing you soon anyways." He mutters through sharp pants, indulging in the taste of your lips again.

König's eyes observe your contorting face derived from pleasure as your leaking arousal drips down your thighs and surfaces every crevice of his dick in which impales you more violently with each thrust that rode up into you. "Such a good girl for me, honig, taking me in so well," he drags a hand down to your sensitive pussy, sliding his fingers over before circling at your wet clit — sending an electric shock through your spine.

He was honored — not only to just be your lover, but to make you endure the ripples of pleasure in which he planted at your body — and you steadied yourself, mind going numb and point-blank within the slightest seconds of the combination of his dick fucking up through your warm walls and the circular motions that increased in speed everytime each circle was completed around.

Sounds considered shameful out of sex brushed past your lips as you were now the one who incapable to keep eye contact, König locked in on your glowing frame and following each twitch or sudden jolt certainly due to his overstimulating actions.

"Too much..." You stutter out, straightening out only to be brought back slouching with your back arching to the ceiling.

"Do you want to stop?" König asks almost immediately concerned, "Because we can if we want, I don't want to hurt yo-"

"König."

"Huh?'

"Shut up. Keep going." The words come out a gentle hush despite the small aggressiveness added to it, squeals and moans released into the air, your head thrown back.

His thumb pushes to a deeper extent at your clit, sending you over the edge, a loud König esentially clawing at the borders of your already-sore throat and out of your lips. Your hunched over with your head buried in his shoulder, the feral and sloppy thrusts of his dick repeatedly bumping against your cervix proceeded through your orgasm — an out of body experience that caused stars to block your peripheral vision, body light and slumped against his still thrusting one.

The warmth of his seed finally pumps up into your body and his thrusts pause, although his cock lodged in there for the time that passes to allow him to catch his breath — his ragged and heavy breaths. Tears finally spill from the corners of your eyes, not of sadness but at the pure relief and the surprising satisfaction that you had gotten from prison sex. He pulls out and leaves a trail of sticky seed to drool down from your leaking entrance and onto his sheets below, arms wrapping you into a hug, a hand stroking at your back soothingly.

You felt strangely lonely at your core without the constant notion of König's dick shaping your walls and easily striking your cervix with his size, but despite that loneliness it was restored with gentle aftercares and reassuring words that came after the intense session of intimacy that had been lead into a territory far more than expected.

König grabs at the corner of the sheets, dabbing it at your sensitive entrance first before cleaning up himself. Disgusting? Sure it was, but he didn't care, as long as anything was left by you he didn't really mind the idea.

"You were so good, mein lieber." praises König, a soft nuzzle of his head against yours.

"I could say the same for you, honey." You said as you press your head into his bare chest, heartbeat going at mildly fast pace.

"Why? You do not think I would be good at sex?" He asked.

"No, my little Austrian boyfriend." you reply, eyes shutting out of exhaustion. "I was just praising you too, get used to it."

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