You can say with certainty that you've never seen Simon this drunk before.
The drunk text you got from Soap was a step away from being complete gibberish, but you were able to understand that he was telling you it was probably a good idea to come pick up your boyfriend.
You had no idea what to expect, but when you show up at the pub, Simon is slumped in the booth and the smell of booze is so strong you worry about any open flame sparking up around him. The moment he sees you he nearly tumbles out of his seat altogether from how violently he reaches out to you.
"Oi, lovie," he says, his accent thick with the alcohol. His big, clumsy hands land on you far heavier than they ever would sober. "There's my bird, my fu-" his voice catches in his throat for a moment from either a hiccup, burp, or nausea, "fuckin' baby."
"Yes, Simon, hello. I think it's time to go home." You glance over at Soap who's barely any better off than the giant man actively trying to crawl into your lap while you still stand. The sergeant just smothers a poorly hidden laugh behind his hands.
"'m drunk," Simon says like he's telling you a secret.
"I can tell."
"Don't divorce me, luv," he mumbles with such a hangdog look on his face it takes you a moment to realize what he said.
"Well, we'd first have to be married to do that."
"Wo'?"
"What do you mean 'what?'"
"We're no' married?" he says, looking genuinely distraught.
"No, baby." The dawning look of horror has you biting back a smile, not wanting to laugh directly in his face.
"But you're my wife."
You splutter. "Since when?"
"Fuckin' always."
"That's news to me. You want me to be your wife?"
"Yeah!" he hollers before immediately catching himself and looking up at you with those big, watery, brown eyes of his. "Sorry fer yellin'. I love you."
You lose the battle and can't help the laugh that punches out of your chest. Your hands cup his scarred, flushed face.
"I love you too, you silly, silly man. Come on, time to go home. You're not going to feel very good tomorrow."
Through a precarious balancing act you manage to get him more or less upright and on his feet all while your sweet boy mumbles to himself, "Wha', i's just yer my bloody wife, yeah? 'S my girl."
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johnny 'soap' mactavish who is almost begging you everyday to sit on his face. "aye, even better bonnie." he'll say as you keep assuring him that you're too heavy and that you will crush him to death. soap was almost offended that you'd think he couldnât handle you. the day you finally reconsidered his offer and decided to change your mind, he quickly made you regret you didnât accept much sooner. you came multiple times as he was grunting, big hands making you stay in place and soaked face deep in your folds. you didnât even notice the man coming untouched in his pants.
I know a lot of people have probably mentioned that Simon Riley eats pussy like a starving man. I would like to humbly put forth the idea that he eats like a dog, sloppy, with just the edge of teeth.
You were used to the hungry way he laps at your folds, the sinful moans of appreciation coming out of his mouth as he eats like his life depends on it.
You werenât however, prepared for the sharp edge of his teeth just grazing over your sensitive clit. It has your legs jerking, held only in place by a set of strong arms that mercilessly keep them open.
âSimon ââ you whimper, your fingers barely finding much to hold onto as you tangle them in his buzz cut. The only response you get is a growl, and a deliberate, slow drag of his canines over your poor bud. Evil.
(Later, you find that your plan to get back at him by giving him the same treatment backfires. Because the moment you graze your teeth against the length of him, the slight edge of pain, the hint of danger, has him cumming so hard down your throat you canât help but choke on it.)
summary: just things you'll hear (and won't hear) while dating keegan
warnings: sexual content
a/n: i love me a quiet military man
dating keegan p. russ means knowing he's not a man of many words, lots of "mhmm"s and "oh, yeah?"s during conversations. he holds bold, silent eye contact as you talk out of your ass for hours, the light blue color in his eyes literally staring into your soul. he cocks his head to the side a bit when you start stammering under his gaze, and he smirks while leaning forward in his seat. your eyes distractedly widen at the way he crosses his large arms over the table, straining against the tight fabric of his shirt. "keep talking, baby, i'm listening..." he murmurs, but you don't ever doubt that.
dating keegan p. russ means getting sparse calls from him when he's away on deployment. "kee, is that you?" you whisper hopefully. "yeah, kid, it's me," comes his grainy reply. your shoulders tense at how tired he sounds. you don't realize you've fallen silent until he says, "c'mon, talk to me..." and you giggle a bit, causing him to smile on the other side of the phone. "i miss you," you tell him in that sweet tone he likes to hear. "mm, i know," he says gently. "tell me what you're wearing." you roll your eyes, teasing, "nothing" but he can hear the lie in your laughter. "yeah, yeah, stay out of trouble...just a little while longer," he tells you, and then he pauses. his voice sounds an octave lower when he whispers, "i love you, you know that?" you nod even though he can't see it. "i know, kee." he shakes his head. "gotta hear you say it back..." so you take a deep breath and smile as if he's right in front of you. "i love you, keegan."
dating keegan p. russ means having his noises all to yourself. he's not very vocal in group or social settings, but he's loud and shameless in your ear during sex, his sweaty body sliding against yours with dirty words you couldn't imagine him saying if you didn't know him any better. "ohh, fuck, just like that, yeah..." he groans, grabbing your hips to move them over his cock. you moan and clench around him, bouncing harder at the rough hand that slaps your ass before soothing over the reddened skin. "fuck," he grunts again, followed by a surge of heavy pants you feel in the crook of your neck. "oh, god, i'm gonna cum..." he rasps, his hands holding your waist with a bruising pressure as you squirm to the way his hips thrust up into you, rough and only sloppy when he's this close. "gonna cum in this tight, pretty pussy," he mutters, lifting his head to press your foreheads together, your lips parted and resting against each other, sharing the same breathy moans. "yeah..." he whispers to you, "that's it..." you gasp when his release spreads through your thighs like a bullet, and he kisses you to muffle his low, throaty groan, falling back on the bed with your writhing body covering his.
dating keegan p. russ means the only time he talks more than you is when you're going down on him. he fucks your smart mouth every time your attitude resurfaces, fisting your hair to push your head down on his cock, his vision dotting with stars as you clench and gag around him. his hips thrust into your mouth, and you feel him hit the back of the throat through a deep groan. "tired of you talkin' back to me," he scorns, "look at you, drooling around my cockâcan't even take it, huh, kid?" he tilts his head down at you with mocking sympathy, his thrusts getting more relentless as you desperately try to keep up, licking your tongue along his length before swirling the bud. he throws his head back a bit at the sensitivity, baring the tight column of his throat to your hungry gaze. "fuck, there we go..." he breathes, his hand smoothing down your head, "thereeee we go...uh-huh...fuck..."
dating keegan p. russ means trying to act normal when you're out together, and his already low social battery has depleted, replaced by an impatience to get home and get you out of your skimpy little outfit. he's slick as he reaches under your skirt to squeeze your ass, playing with the thin string of your thong. you jolt, and he pulls you into his chest, leaning down to whisper, "better say your goodbyes early, yeah?" you whimper under your breath, feeling his fingers trace the curve of your ass forward, to the warm, wet heat between your thighs. "keegan..." you mutter cautiously, but he's silent, his stare loud and clear with what he wants.
dating keegan p. russ means craving to know what's going on inside that damn head of his. he keeps a lot of his thoughts to himself, and you see them weighing behind his gaze during your most intimate moments, lying together in bed with your hand caressing through his hair. he spaces out while you stare at him tenderly, whispering, "you okay?" his eyes flick toward you before they cast away again. he exhales deeply and wraps his arms around you, breathing you in as he presses his whole weight on you like a blanket. "yeah, baby, i'm okay." he kisses your temple and buries his face in your chest. "you know you can tell me anything, right?" you tell him quietly, lightly scratching the back of his head. he nods, because he does know that, but he often chooses not to. in the line of his work, he prefers to hide the ugliest truths, the horrors he doesn't want to stain your innocence with. he sees you trying to get through his walls, and you hear him breathe you in softly, inhaling the safest part of his life like you're his air.
Price loves to overstimulate you until you're in tears. Pussy sore and throbbing. His fingers deep inside you, massaging your insides until you cum again and again while your moaning and whining. He holds you down to get every last drop out.
Soap is an absolute pussy eater at heart. He'll dive down for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He especially loves it when you're freshly out of the gym or work and he smells how musky and sweaty you got. You get embarrassed but he tells you it adds "flavor."
Gaz likes to hold your hands, his fingers slotted between yours as he gently fucks you into the mattress. It makes it so much more intimate to him. And he whispers sweet words and encourages into your ear to send you over the edge.
Keegan loves making out with you the entire time. Teeth biting your lip and tongue, his own tongue deep in your mouth like he's trying to reach your throat. He likes to hold the back of your neck and control your angle to his liking.
Ghost loves to caress every inch of your body as if you're made of glass. Sliding up your sides to squeeze your breasts, then down to hold your hips and massage them, moving them to his rhythm.
KĂśnigs favorite is the stretching to get you to fit him. The man is atleast 9 inches long with the girth of three to four of yours fingers. An absolute monster. But he loves to watch you squirm and writhe as he spreads his fingers to get you nice and loose for his cock. Murmuring about how you can take it.
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the safe word was just for show with simon riley â 18+
â âcncâ
Simon has you on your back, wrists bound together and knotted to the headboard as he eats your pussy. While you're usually more than enthusiastic to have your him go down on you, there's a point where pleasure blends into pain and overstimulation, and you've reached it.
"Si-si... baby..." You call out weakly for your husband.
He grunts. "Told you not to rush me, wife." His tongue laves over your pussy, swirling around your clit roughly before dipping back down to your hole. You jolt, whimpering weakly. Your head feels so fuzzy, your eyes heavy lidded and glossy. But you don't want to disappoint Simon by giving up.
He'd been away on a mission for the last week, and upon his return, had said he just wanted a taste of you, nothing more, nothing less. You'd said yes, because how could you deny him, when he works so hard for the two of you? "All y'have to do is lie still and stay quiet, love. I need this. Don't give me a hard time."
"I k-know, but... mnh, I c-came t-three times already." Your eyes fly open and you yank on your restraints when his mouth covers your pussy almost all at once, leaving a little gap for him at the base of your pussy to pump two thick digits deep inside you, his motions sharp and fast.
He practically scissors his fingers inside of you, squelching sounds resounding throughout the room as you throw your head back, tugging at your restraints. "Shh," he warns, voice stern, but a little heavy with how aroused he is. "Be a good girl for me. Missed you so goddamn much. Palming myself to you every night and dreaming about this sweet little pussy, fuck, tastes so good, love. Ainât stopping till i say so."
Your heart wonât stop pounding in your chest, and you seriously believe youâre going to pass out. Usually, when you and Simon did all nighters where you guys had multiple rounds, heâd check in on you and let you have little cuddle breaks, but when youâre about to hit your fourth orgasm without any cease of his tongue slurping on your bundle of nerves before making its way down to lick and slobber all over your folds, you donât know how much more you can hang on.
His tongue parts your folds, laying flat against your soaked cunt while he laps his tongue against them, his fingers twisting and curling inside you to find that extra soft spot that makes you squirm a little more. He finds it and pushes down firmly just as his nose stimulates your clit, and you gush all over his face yet again, coming down with a scream.
Youâre absolutely done now. Anymore will kill you, youâre sure. "Wait ngh⌠Si-simonâŚ" He grunts, clearly not ready to stop yet. You jolt when he coaxes in a third finger into your swollen, dripping pussy, your eyes wide and anxious. "No! S-si⌠Simon!"
He ignores you, using one hand to keep your legs from shutting, while he slowly forces in a third huge finger inside you. Tears fill your eyes, and you lift your head to see that heâs ignoring you, his mouth now kissing at your extremely over sensitive clit. Youâre twitching and keening now, trying to kick at his shoulders, and he growls, taking his fingers out of your pussy so that he can grab both legs and spread them apart hard.
"You do that one more time, and iâll tie your legs to the bedposts and strap you to a toy the whole night," He says, his voice gruff. You whimper as he slides his three fingers into you again, curling them inside you to make you scream. You let out a sob, panicking now. "S-stop, please, itâs too much, Mhn, red⌠r-red, Simon!"
Simon pauses for a moment, his fingers still buried knuckle-deep inside your fluttering, overstimulated pussy. He lifts his head, his intense gaze locked with yours as he takes in your tear-streaked face, your chest heaving with panicked breaths. A flicker of satisfaction passes across his face as he drinks in your distress, his lips curling into a grin. "Red, huh?" he murmurs.
"But I'm not done. Tha' means we have a problem, isn' that right?"
He punctuates his words by thrusting his fingers roughly, twisting and curling them inside your sensitive pussy, making you cry out and clench down on the invading digits. A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he feels your body's instinctive response, even as you tremble and sob beneath him. "I know you can take one more," He mumbles, dropping his mouth back onto your cunt.
"Mmh," He groans at the taste of you, cock straining against his boxers, which are now damp from pre since he's been rutting his hips against the bed. "I know what my wife's capable of."
Your head thrashes from side to side on the pillow as you feel another orgasm building, your body tensing and coiling like a bow string about to snap. "Please, I can't- mmmh..." Your protests dissolve into a sharp cry as Simon chooses that moment to lean in and seal his mouth over your clit, sucking firmly while his fingers thrust into your cunt, shaking his head back and forth a little so he can get every inch of his wide tongue on your cunt, lapping at your soaked folds.
You squirm uncomfortably beneath Simon, a strange pressure building in your lower belly that makes you feel flushed and weirdly tense. You try to pull your hips back, to ease the strange sensation, but Simon's firm grip on your thigh keeps you in place, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.
"Si, wait... I... I have to... I feel so weird..." you stammer out, your heart pounding as you try to wriggle away. Simon just ignores your babbles, knowing what's coming. He's waited for the day he'd get to experience it first hand.
âGood. Y'doin' so good f'me. One more and that's it, yeah? You'll feel much better in a minute." he murmurs, his voice soft, causing vibrations on your pussy. "Just relax and let it happen." Simon dives back in, burying his face between your thighs and covering your whole pussy with his hot mouth. A jolt of electricity shoots up your spine at the sensation, and you find yourself arching into his touch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.
Your tummy locks up, your pussy clenching and fluttering around Simon's probing tongue as he laps at your juices. The tingly feeling spanning your body and the tight coil down at the base of your tummy makes you more aware of every swipe of your husband's long tongue, every suckle on your swollen folds. "Please!" You moan, "It's dirty, Si- oh!"
Your protests dissolve into a choked moan as Simon seals his mouth over your entire pussy once more, his lips parting as he sucks your clit hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud. At the same time, he pushes his thick fingers deep into your fluttering walls, stroking over that spongey spot that makes your toes curl.
Suddenly, you feel a rush of liquid gush out of you, splashing over Simon's chin and lips as you squirt hard directly onto his face. To your mortification, he doesn't pull back, instead swallowing greedily, his throat bobbing as he drinks down every drop of your release.
Your vision goes white, and you scream, your pussy spasming almost violently around Simon's fingers as you gush and soak his hand with your release. But he doesn't let up, forcing you to ride out the intense waves of pleasure-pain, his fingers still pumping and curling inside you, pushing you ruthlessly towards another peak. He's fascinated, lapping up your juices like you're his last meal. He knew this would happen. He'd spent the days away from you imagining how he'd make you squirt on his face when he got home. You taste so goddamn sweet, and with a roll of his hips against the mattress, he soaks his boxers.
"Ohmygod," you cry out, your voice breaking as you feel another surge of liquid gush out of you, splashing lewdly against his chin and cheeks. Your face is flushed and burning with humiliation, but you can't deny the incredible sensations coursing through your trembling body. "That's my good girl," he fusses, sitting up to press kisses to your face and lips, wanting you to taste yourself on him while he busies his hands with undoing your restraints.
When you're free, he sits on his knees and tugs down his pants and soiled boxers, his hard, leaking cock hitting his stomach and twitching as he examines how wrecked you are. "Fuck... look at what you did to me, wife. Had me cumming in my pants like a schoolboy." He tuts softly, petting your hair. "Just need you to clean me up, hm? You're the one who got me so hard to begin with..."
Eating Out
Keegan Russ x F!Reader
cw: personified pussy (guys wtf is that called I actually don't know. Pussy pet names??????), smut (obvs), min being horny on main for the billionth time today :P
Somehow, your insecurities disappear when you feel his mouth against your cunt. All the whines and protests, no thanks to your asshole ex-boyfriend, are gone. Your hands thread through his black hair, tugging at it as your back arches from off the mattress.
Keegan's like a man possessed.
His tongue brushes against your clit, sending electricity coursing through your veins and you squeal when you feel him lick a stripe up your pussy. You clench your legs when he pulls away to catch his breath, all to earn a slap against your wet cunt as he forces your legs apart.
"Ah, ah," he hisses, "she's mine, yeah, princess? Not yours. Mine. I decide when I'm done eating, not you."
In an instant, he's back on you, his nose grazing against you clit as he crudely slurps.
You hands are against your face and your face is flushing red as your eyes roll backwards. You want so desperately to be mortified, but, unknown to you, you're grinding down on his face and he's smirking to himself as his tongue prods against your hole.
Guys I'm so sorry for being so horny on main actually, my posts today have been diabolical.
Husband! Keegan who barely knows how to use social media such as Instagram since he always says he's too busy for this shit, yet he still downloaded that app and registered an account. It's not because he wants to share his life or something, he does it for keeping an eye on your daily life when he's away from home. He likes and saves all your selfies in his photo album for some dirty late-night fun before sleeping, which he definitely won't tell you about.
Husband! Keegan who keeps low about your marriage. He's not a man who likes showing off, but he'll set your selfie as his phone wallpaper and leave it open on the counter. If his teammates or some rookies at the base ask him who the woman is, he will introduce you as his little wife to all his boys and start bubbling about you, saying how cute you are and how you greet him with hugs and kisses every time he gets home from work, just to see the jealous faces they throw at him.
Husband! Keegan who helps you do all the chores once he's on vacation. The pipe in the kitchen is leaking? Don't worry, he'll fix it within minutes. The attic hasn't been lived in for a long time so it's covered in dust? Not a big deal, he can clean it thoroughly even if you don't ask him to. Feeling hungry even it's not the proper time for meals? Just tell him what you want to eat and he'll cook it for you at any time without complaining.
Husband! Keegan who gets on his knees willingly and devotedly buries his head between your thighs every time he does something to piss you off. He'll eat your pussy and drink your juices like they're a rare gift from heaven, and he won't stop easily till you reach your peak and cum all over his face. He just can't stand having you mad at him for even one second, and making you cum is the best way to calm you down during an argument, then he can have a real conversation with you.
Husband! Keegan who always fucks you gently and slowly, just to enjoy you begging him to speed up and go rough. He likes teasing you with compliments, good girl, take me so good like you're made for me yeah? then he can feel your walls wrap around his dick even tighter than before, which will make his eyes roll back and hiss in a low voice.
Husband! Keegan who absolutely has a breeding kink. He respects your decision not to have any kids at first, but once he's fucked you without any obstacles, he starts to grow on the idea that fucks you raw. He's so obsessed with you that he'll breed you again and again till his cum is dripping down your wet pussy, and all he can imagine is your round belly with his pups.
simon who is left all alone horny while you'e away for an extended period of time. he struggles to fuck his cock by hand because his palm is just too rough and dry in comparison to the soft and fleshy warm hold of yours. he struggles to finish, senses aching for your touch, your voice, your warmth, your scent that he can only weakenly roll over to your side off the bed in search for the last remaining remnants of you. he rubs his cheek against the soft satin, sharp nose dipping into the foam of the mattress before he finds an unexpected rough material further beneath the blanket. he finds it to be one of your (his) ratty old t-shirts and, like a dog to a bitch, desperately presses the tee over his upper body. in his hazy mind, he could've imagined the tee could turn into the delicate skin against his, and for a second, he could've swore it was, his nose catching onto the addictive fumes of your musky scentâvanilla perfume, and floral lotion. instantly, like trying to smother himself, he pressed the fabric tighter into his nose, tongue darting to t-taste the old crumbs of your sweat dried within the cloth. your scent, your taste, the small blessing of the faded remnants of you awaken his cock, sending painful throbs into his cock. he's suddenly lost his composure, suddenly the dam in his throat has let through, making way for the pathetic whimpers and pleas that comes pouring out. what was taking nearly three hours now only lasts for another mere two minutes before his muscles start seizing and his hips are humping into the tight palm of his hand, cock spurting out a hot, warm load meant for you.
Keegan P. Russ doesnât call you unless heâs really desperate to hear you.
And trust me, itâs his #1 problem since he started dated you. He knows. Heâs not good at calling or texting, so yes, he wonât reply back to either. He keeps your voicemails though, listens to them to fall asleep or when heâs in form foreign country.
Heâll reply back to a voicemail a week or so in the form of a letter or take from the stack of unused Florida postcards, his perfect penmanship on paper done with his mini stationary he keeps on hand. Heâll ignore the elephant in the room, replying with âNo you canât watch the new episode without me :( instead of âIâm sorry baby, I shouldâve called you back. Next time, I swear.â
But itâs rare for Keegan to call, itâs an unknown number, and youâre sure someone is fucking with you,
âLook, I donât need any help with my bank so fuck off-â
Thereâs a snicker on the other crackled line, âThatâs my girl, thought youâd jump me through the phone.â
You yelp out, âKeegan?! Fuckin say somethin next time you ass!â
âIâm sorry doll, Iâm sorry. But I fuckin love that about you.â He laughing wholeheartedly. But itâs hushed, heâs in a place he shouldnât even be taking yout call. But even if itâs the last time, heâd rather hear your cursing him out. A silenced fills the two of you, itâs tense. A fear of the unknown in the next ten minutes, maybe less.
âHey baby,â he breaths, closing his eyes just for a second in the cold air that hits him, itâs only you on his mind, he can almost see a clear path to you. âYouâll tell me that little thing yeah? Let me hear you?â
You hum, couch pillow now in being clutched in your arms tightly, âYouâre mine, you know?â
âI know.â
âSo youâll come back to me in one piece, heart beating ând all. No other shit.â
He lets out an airy laugh, nodding to himself. Home, no problem, just get home. He can see it, itâs a clear shot to you, even though the hell heâs surrounded by.
âRoger that kid. Iâll be home soon.â
And the phone clicks before you can even say another word.
Left in the empty house, alone. Praying youâll see that idiot one more time. Tell him you love him one more time.
a/n: finally got this out the dumpster fire. Itâs okay.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
cw: slightly toxic dynamic, shameless smut, pussy pronouns (not personified pussy, thank you tojisteddy for teaching me that), possessive sex, implied age gap (reader mid-20s, Keegan mid-40s), sorta public sex, mirror sex, dumbification
Dilf!Keegan who's a munch. That man will not come away from that sweet little pussy of yours; he'll eat you until you're crying, until you're squirming and trying to push him away because you're just so sensitive. And he'll coo at you, pulling away, mouth covered in you, "Aw, I know, princess, Too much for you, isn't it?" His sympathy is all a fad because he'll grin and say, "I'm not fuckin' done eating," before dipping his head back between yours thighs and lapping at your clit like a thirsty mutt.
Dilf!Keegan who still makes a point to make sure you know that your pussy isn't yours. No, he'll reiterate it until he's blue in the face: she's mine; I'm the one who has her gushin', I'm the only one who knows how to please her. Not you and definitely no other man, you hear that, baby? And when you nod in response, too fucked out to give him a proper answer, he'll bark out a laugh, "That's fuckin' right, princess."
Dilf!Keegan who has no issue threatening other men. He sees someone talking to you when you're out for dinner?
He'll be running before he even has the opportunity to ask you a question. A waiter being too nice to you in the restaurant? He's got a hand on your wrist and is pulling you to the nearest bathroom and fucking you there and then. He'll have you in front of the mirror, salt-and pepper fringe hanging in his face as he thrusts into your cunt, hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you to look at yourself. "He couldn't make your little cunt cream round his cock, could he? No, he fuckin' couldn't; she needs me. My cock. No one else's. Fuuuuccckkk, that it's it, baby girl, cream all my thick fuckin' cock, fuck, you messy fuckin' girl"
And when you limp out of the bathroom afterwards, he grins to himself when the waiter can't even look you in the eye.
The first time, you donât even notice until you hear boots behind you, steady, familiar. Not close enough to crowd you, not far enough to pretend itâs coincidence. When you glance back, he lifts his chin once in greeting, eyes already scanning the street like itâs habit.
You slow down without thinking. He matches it.
Neither of you says a word.
After that, it keeps happening.
Youâll leave the mess hall with your hands full and somehow heâs already there, taking the heavier box without asking, nodding once like itâs the most natural thing in the world. Youâll sit down somewhere quiet and a moment later thereâs a mug of tea set within reach, how he knew exactly how you take it, youâre not sure. You donât remember telling him.
Simon never hovers. Never crowds. He just⌠fills the empty spaces.
When something breaks, he fixes it before you even realize itâs broken. When someone raises their voice at you, Simon doesnât step in, he just steps closer. Itâs enough. Itâs always enough.
You start to expect him.
Not in an entitled way. In a way that feels like muscle memory.
Sometimes you talk. Mostly you donât. He listens like every word is being carefully stored away, filed somewhere safe behind those quiet eyes. When you trail off, unsure, he waits. Never rushes you. Never finishes your sentences.
If you look cold, his jacket is suddenly around your shoulders. He doesnât make a show of it, just drapes it there and looks away like heâs embarrassed by his own kindness.
At night, youâll find him outside your door under the excuse of âchecking the locks.â He doesnât come in. Doesnât linger. Just makes sure youâre safe before disappearing back into the dark.
And then one day, someone asks, half-joking, half-curious
âSo⌠you and Riley?â
You open your mouth to deny it.
But Simon is already there, standing close enough that your arms brush. Close enough that his presence feels like a constant, solid thing at your back. He doesnât look at you. Doesnât look at them.
He just says, quietly,
âYeah.â
Itâs not a confession.
Itâs not a declaration.
Itâs a fact.
And when you reach for his hand later, no words, just fingers brushing, he hesitates for half a second before curling his hand around yours like heâs been waiting for permission all along.
Neither of you ever say I love you.
You donât need to.
Itâs in the way he follows you.
In the way he helps without being asked.
In the way you both move through the world already certain youâre not alone anymore.
what happens when you keep ignoring simon riley? â 18+
⤿ pt i
"F-fuck! Simon, t-too much!"
He's got you folded in half with your knees almost completely pushed against your ears, while he holds you open by your plump thighs, his cock splitting you open.
He takes his time, each inch of his thick cock stretching your gooey walls with deliberate slowness. The wet, obscene squelches of his cock filling you and bottoming out slowly fills the room as he thrusts so deep inside you that your mind is starting to feel foggy.
"Hm. look at you." Simon grins, his voice smooth and soft like he's speaking to a lover. "Want me to leave you alone, you said? Could have fooled me, lil lady. With the way your greedy little pussy's sucking me in like she's trying to swallow my dick whole."
You nudge his hands off you and push your arms over your face to hide the way that it's contorted in pleasure. Showing him how good you feel won't do anything but prove how he's won against you yet again. He grunts in annoyance when you hide your face, and he draws back...
Withdrawing until just the tip of his cock remains nestled inside you, he slowly, torturously pushes back in until your pussy and guts stretch obscenely around his girth, wet, squelching sounds filling the room.
"Fuck... s'fuckin tight... you can hide all you want." He murmurs, still thrusting into you slowly. "This pussy knows the truth. Knows who it belongs to."
"I d-don't.. mmh! belong to you, idiot!"
Simon pauses at your words, almost amused at your backtalk. He likes when you give him attitude. Gives him a reason to be mean to you.
He pushes your legs open impossibly wider, nearly bending you in half with your legs up against your chest.
"You keep saying shit like that like it's going to get me mad." He laughs softly, before groaning with pleasure. "Maybe I get off to brats, pretty little thing, did you ever stop to think of that?"
You bite your lower lip so hard that it hurts to hide any noise you're making. If you lifted your head, you'd see the faint outline of his cock in your tummy and the way your pussy struggles to accommodate his size, and the look of rapt fascination on his flushed cheeks.
He pays no mind to your attempts at modesty, too focused on the wet, sloppy sounds of his cock churning up your insides. He sets a slow, punishing rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained inside you before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt with a filthy squelch.
"God... this pussy does dangerous things to me, y'know that?" Simon taunts. His cock churns up your soaked, velvety walls with each roll of his hips, your pussy clenching around him like a vice as you desperately attempt to adjust to his size.
Youâre shaking, fingers curling into fists in the sheets underneath you. Youâre not sure how much more you can take. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks in a low, taunting murmur.
"Bet you're worried about me creaming in ya, huh?"
Your head finally leaves the crook of your arms to stare up at him in disbelief. Your whole body locks up, heat flashing through your tummy. "Yo-you wouldn't, I w-wouldn't let you," Simon uses the opportunity of you moving your arms to grab both your wrists in one hand and pin them over your head, his free hand still holding your thigh.
"Yeah you would." He snaps back, almost aggravated at your tone. "You'd let me. You know why? Because you want me. Just too damn proud to admit it."
He notches the tip at your entrance, slowing his thrusts, before slamming forward and forcing his girthy shaft deep inside you. "Look," He moans, looking at your tummy bulge. "You've got my cock poking outta you. Think your tummy'll bulge like this if i put a baby in you?"
"S-shut, mngh up! S-simon... m-more... f-feels so good" You moan out, but this time, he forces you to keep eye contact, and his gaze flicks between the way your small, fluttering hole stretches wide to accommodate his length, and the way your face is scrunched with tears tracking your cheeks and your lips raw from biting as he shoves his cock in you.Â
"Ha... d-don't tell me to shut up, like you're not the one moaning and crying like a bitch in heat." He retorts. Simon's cock impales you repeatedly, not stopping his thrust until his swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass.
Simon continues his relentless, sloppy assault, each thrust accompanied by the most vulgar noises. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes through the room as he fucks you with deep, purposeful strokes. Your body jolts with every impact, tits bouncing lewdly as you try to stifle your cries.
He changes his angle slightly, and your tummy coils up tight into a knot as you feel your orgasm come crashing down, your back arching sharply off the bed. He knows he found that sweet spot deep inside you as your toes curl and your eyes roll back.
Simon focuses his thrusts there, grinding against it with every push forward, determined to make you fall apart completely on his cock, and you let out a final strangled cry as you cum around him.
He rocks you through your orgasm, still hitting that gummy spot that makes you sing so pretty that his heart throbs.Â
"I want you to stop... ngh... playing games with me," he demands, voice serious. A bead of sweat drips down his handsome face. "I'm taking what's rightfully mine, and you're gonna accept and be my lady, you got it? No more cat and mouse." He thrusts real deep at his words, like the thought of being closed off makes his blood burn hotter. You jolt, crying out loud. You feel his swollen mushroom tip kiss your cervix. He stops there, watching your orgasm continue to crash through you.
Your pussy, now overstimulated and sloppy from your recent orgasm, throbs with sensitivity. "S-simon, please, please, itâs too much," You cry out, and he coos at your pretty sounds, ignoring you.Â
"No. We stop when I say we're done." He continues. âThis pussy belongs to me now. You belong to me. Say it. Say whoâs pussy this is.â
Your sloppy cunt swallows his thick cock over and over, your lips, swollen, clinging to his cock tightly. Squelches and sloppy lewdness fill the air as he plows into you, each thrust pushing out a fresh gush of your cum. The creamy ring of your hole stretches and bulges around his girthy shaft, struggling to contain the thick cock splitting you open. "Ah! Yours, Si! Y-your pussy, Iâm yours!"Â
He could feel your cervix fluttering against the tip of his cock, the spongy flesh yielding to his pounding. "Thatâs my girl, baby. All mine," He grunts one last time as your womb clenches and ripples, ready for the hot cum he was going to pump inside you.
He lets out a strangled moan as he empties inside you, balls twitching as he fills you to the brim with his cum. Itâs thick and creamy and never ending, and his head lolls, hips still pumping as he fills you up good.
The room is quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing, the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. Your body is still trembling, skin fever hot and slick against his, and yet he hasnât moved an inch. Heâs still there, stretched out on top of you, pinning you down.
Simon turns his head, smirking at the dazed, wrecked look on your face. He reaches out, running a slow finger down your jaw, tilting your chin up so you have to meet his gaze. His pupils are still blown, his mouth swollen from kissing you earlier, but he does it again anyway, his cock twitching inside you as he tastes you, lips molding over yours so good that your heart jumps.
He pulls back to rest his forehead against yours and look at your shining eyes. "One step closer to makin' you my wife, baby."
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cw. mentions of sex, pushy! simon, love at first sight trope, avoidant! reader, slightly angsty with a good ending in part two
synopsis. simon thinks he's found the one, but the one isn't interested in him.
a/n. consider this a prequel to this fic
simon riley never goes to the pubs unless his mates want to have a night out with drinks and chatter about the past, with the night ending with them all drunk and sloppy with a cute girl or boy on their arm or in a cab as they head back to johnny's for a cuppa. simon prefers the latter. he's not the type to bring a bird home on a whim.
it's not like he can't get one - he's plenty of people's kind of man, if they like the brutish, marred face type - but he just doesn't like the thought of fucking a random and throwing them out the next day to never speak again. he's not trusting enough to invite a stranger into his home either way.
but all his inhibitions flew out the window the minute he saw you. pretty, giggly, in a big friend group, with most of them fawning over you and giving you tons of attention. he could see why. you seemed to gather attention onto yourself without even trying. it wasn't even anything you did at first. after all, you weren't trying to seduce him.
you weren't perched on a stool scanning the crowded area for someone to buy you drinks and take you home. you were just smiling and focused on the atmosphere in an outfit that's just slightly too revealing to be innocent (after all, when you lean forward against the bar he can see a colorful strip of your thong poking out) and having a grand old time.
you're completely unaware of the way a man about twice your size has gone still on the opposite end of the pub.
simon didn't believe in the childish stories about first sight or fate or any of that cheesy rubbish, but gosh, if you weren't his type on paper come to life...
"oi," johnny nudges simon with his elbow, grinning into his pint. "y'starin' a hole through that one, mate."
simon doesn't answer, too focused on you. he knows he's staring, but he can't peel his eyes away no matter how hard he tries. when you giggle and lean in to hear what one of your friends are saying, your back arched just enough to make his brain start to fog up, he decides to get up and throw all caution to the wind.
he barely remembers crossing the floor, only the way the noise in the pub seems to dim the closer he gets. your friends go quiet when they notice him - the biggest guy in the pub in all black covered in tattoos and scars. "alright?" he nods towards you quietly, not looking at your friends.
your eyes go all wide as he directs his attention onto you, and you shift in your seat, assuming a more proper position as you fight the urge to adjust your clothing or your hair. you don't want to look desperate and showy, but he is hot. older, rugged, and after you. nobody but you. "yeah," you say, giving him a quick onceover. "you?"
" 'm alright too."
your friends exchange looks and a few teasing murmurs, but you don't move away. if anything, you lean closer to him as he towers over you from where you're sitting. it's as if the decision had already been made in your head: you're going to spend the rest of the night with this man.
"can i get you a drink?" he asks, already digging into his wallet to buy you whatever the hell you want, but he knows not to be a dick and assume you want him too. he's delighted - but maintains calm - when you accept his offer with a pleased, "yeah, i'd like that."
his offer of buying you one drink turned to two. two drinks turned into the two of you abandoning your friends to go to a secluded booth and talk about your lives while tipsy and horny. his hand was on your thigh, high up so if he wanted, his pinky could brush against your groin. maybe slide his hand up all the way and cup it in his massive palm. you know you'd let him. you've spread your legs open to accommodate him.
you might've manifested your thoughts into existence, because a few words later, and he was pressing you into the cushy back wall of the booth, one hand holding your throat to keep you still as he kissed you deeply, the other rubbing the heel of his hand against your core, providing just the perfect amount of stimulation to make you twitch and drip into his hand.
you didn't think this man would be the type to finger you in the middle of a pub, but here he was, tugging your bottoms just low enough to be inconspicuous, along with your wet, stringy thong, and pushed a thick finger into you.
he seems to know your body better than you do, and finds your sweet spot on the first curl of his finger inside you. he pushes down on that soft area, rubbing the rough pads of his finger back and forth and coaxing you open enough to slide in a second finger.
just a few seconds after he starts scissoring and twisting his fingers inside of you, you clamp down on him and make a mess, your creamy cum leaking down onto his wrist. he kisses you through it, shushing you so you don't scream and thrash as he pumps his fingers in you throughout your orgasm. any passerby would be clueless to know what he was doing to you.
entranced by the way you cling to him afterwards, all dewy eyed and eager for more, he can't hesitate any longer and fixes up your clothes so he can drag you out of the bar and back to his place.
ἍáĄ.
simon wakes up to cold sheets and silence. an absence of your body laying beside his. he slides his hands over the spot where you should've been, but feels nothing. no proof that the night before hadn't been a fantasy his brain cooked up in the dark.
you'd abandoned him.
he stares at the mattress he'd had you in just last night. you, who he'd thought while he was balls deep in you, pounding into that sweet, soft, warm hole that fit around him so well, was his actual soulmate sent down from the heavens, had left him after draining him dry like he was some cheap hookup. clearly you hadn't felt the sparks he felt.
your coat's gone. your shoes, your bag. there's a faint trace of your scent in the air; the only thing that told him you'd been there at all. "fuckin' hell." he grunts, sitting up on the edge of the bed and scrubbing a broad hand down his face. no note, no number, no name beyond the first one you'd given him between giggles and drinks. the same one he'd been moaning in your ear last night. moaning. simon doesn't fucking moan, but you were something special. and he'd been so sure he'd see you again when the sun came up.
for someone who never let strangers close, your disappearance shouldn't have mattered to simon. it should've been like every other almost. every other possibility he'd walked away from. but it wasn't. and so as his two days off come to a close, the thought of you sat heavy in his mind. as he packed his kit and returned to the base, he'd managed to convince himself of the only thing that made sense; you were a once in a lifetime mistake. he felt something burn inside him, then go out in a puff of smoke. he decided not to let it bother him. dwindling on it would just make him feel worse.
johnny's the first to spot him when he got in. "oi! Riley!â he jogs over, grin already stretching across his face. "have ya seen already?"
simon barely looks up as he slings his bag onto his bunk. "what."
johnny steps forward to lean smugly into simon's face, clearly enjoying whatever he thought he knew. "did you know your bird is here?"
simon freezes for half a second, then he scoffs. "piss off."
" 'm serious!"
simon straightens slowly, turning to glare at him. "i don't have a bird."
johnny only laughs. "right. keep tellin' yourself that."
simon shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about his friend being an idiot, and went about unpacking. whatever joke johnny was running with, he didnât have the patience for it. especially not when he was still getting over your disappearance. or rather, your blatant rejection of an actual relationship with him. he needed the range right now. he wanted the familiar weight of a rifle in his hands to settle his thoughts.
luckily for him, it's quiet and near empty when he arrives. a few lads are already set up, with the occasional cracks of gunfire booming through the space. simon goes straight to the lockers to close his fingers around the grip of a rifle-
-at the exact same time someone else does. he looks down, preparing to yank it out of their grip with a grunt and tell them to get their bloody own, when he sees you standing there, looking up at him with wide eyes.
for a second, he thinks his mind is playing a cruel trick on him to taunt him about the loss he's pretending to be unaffected by, but as he feels his fingers skim yours, he knows this is real as day. you're standing there in fatigues, eyes focused on him hard. you have an expression on your face that's half startled and half mortified.
"oh," you breathe.
simon has absolutely no idea what to say, and so a silence passes between the two of you that's painfully, unbearably awkward.
he releases the rifle first, stepping back and out of your way. his eyes flick to the ground. he knows looking at you for more than a second might give something away. he recalls you saying something about being a military brat and following in your family's footsteps, but he didn't really think you were serious. when you were telling him about it while in the pub, tipsy from the drinks he'd been buying you, he thought you were just saying that to have things in common with him, and now here you are.
"didn't-" he clears his throat. "didnât know you were assigned here."
you nod too fast. "yeah, uh... same."
more silence.
you reach for a different rifle,, causing him to step aside and hunch his shoulders awkwardly. his heart is thudding weirdly and he can feel that horrible sensation of rejection once more as you brush past him like nothing... like he didn't creampie you a few days ago, take care of you after, and put you to bed. you head off to the furthest open spot in the range and don't look back at him.
and thatâs how it starts. from that moment on, everything between you becomes a mess of near-misses and badly timed glances. you start avoiding him without even meaning to at first - opting for the long way down the corridors if you hear his voice. You switch benches in the mess hall if you spot him coming near you. you volunteer for drills that keep you on the opposite side of the base.
it's all because the memory of being with him, the warmth of his body on yours and all the sickeningly intimate, heartfelt things he'd whispered in your ear as he fucked you slow and sloppy had felt way too fast and confusing for you. all the feelings that had risen up in you hadn't helped either.
it doesn't matter. you didn't owe him anything. it was one night of mistakes and letting your guard down with a man who'd gotten attached to you too fast. that was his fucking fault, not yours. but it's hard to hold onto that logic when you keep catching him staring at you anytime you're in sight.
simon, for his part, is not doing so hot.
the man's never been good at hiding what he feels - after all, he usually doesn't feel much at all. but now, realizing as the days pass and the more he sees you and thinks of your night together, how perfect you were for him when he fucked you, how you seemed to finish each other's sentences in the bar and feed off each other's energy, the more he just wants to get you back.
and until then, he's been irate, even quieter than usual, and distant with all, even his friends.
"you're not still on that one, are you mate?" kyle asks one afternoon. "y'gotta let it go. 's just a hookup, plenty of others'll want you."
simon tightens his grip on his kit and stalks off.
he wants to talk to you. but you make it bloody impossible, with the way you walk off briskly and turn your back on him whenever he gets close. he's not much better, really. the few opportunities he's had during moments of forced proximity between the two of you had been wasted; he'd been too tongue tied and fucking caught up in his own head to articulate himself.
meanwhile, you think you're getting good at avoiding him. you've mastered the timing of ducking out of rooms just before he enters and pretending to be busy when he's close enough to attempt interacting with you. it's been working, until it doesn't.
"oi." the sound of simon's voice makes your stomach drop. you'd been cutting through one of the quieter hallways by the training rooms to practice combat skills when simon had come up behind you out of nowhere. you don't stop walking as he addresses you.
"don't," you say quickly, your voice coming out harsher than intended. "i'm busy." you take a few more steps before attempting to make a turn, when somehow, someway, the tank of a man ends up in front of you. he's not grabbing or manhandling you, but blocking your path to keep you from going anywhere without force. somehow there's not a single soul around but the two of you. no one to rescue you from this long overdue confrontation.
"been tryin' to talk to you for days," simon says quietly, his voice laden with frustration and a touch of hurt. "you keep scamperin' off like 've done somethin' to you."
"... just leave me alone, riley," you mutter.
he shakes his head down at you, eyes narrowing as he listens to the unsure defiance in your tone. he can tell you don't know what you want. that you're embarrassed about running and evading him for weeks now without an explanation. "no." he says stiffly.
you lift your chin. "what?"
"said no." simon leans in a fraction to tower over you a little more, making sure you won't run or continue this ridiculously childish cat and mouse game. but he still leaves a smidge of an opening for you to take a breather or back off if you want to. at least if you left him now, he'd tried. it'd help him get the closure he's looking for, even though he wants to be with you more. "you know how that feels? wakin' up and you're just gone, without a note, number, nothin'. i thought i'd made the whole bloody thing up in m'head."
your voice drops in volume. "it was one night."
"for you, maybe."
the sentence comes out before he can stop it, and there it is. the words he's been trying not to say since the moment he saw you again. how you're not understanding how he's feeling because that night hadn't meant to you as much as it did for him. this is the make or break point, where you agree. say: "yeah, it was just one fuckin' night, get over yourself." or "no, it wasn't one night. it meant a hell of a lot more to me than you think."
as you stare up at him and take in his words, you see that his anger is still there, sure, but underneath it is him being vulnerable and laying his feelings out to bare to you. you can't keep yours in much longer if he keeps doing this with you. "you don't get it," you whisper. "i wasn't trying to hurt you."
"then what were you doin', lettin' me fuck ya 'n ditching me before i could wake up to say goodbye?" he demands, "because from where i was standin', you came into my life, turned it upside down that night, and walked out like it meant nothin'."
"that's not fair and you know it."
simon laughs breathlessly. "neither was you disappearin', love. wasn't bloody fair to me."
you shake your head. "you should've let it go, there's someone else out there for you that'd be better than me. i don't even know what i want right now." you say.
"can't let it go. i know what i want, and i'm gonna work damn hard to get it." his eyes soften as he sees you start to relax and see how sincere he's being. how serious he is about you. "i tried to forget you, y'know that? told myself it was just a night. then i see you at the range and suddenly 'm right back there, wonderin' if i'd ever get another chance to ask who you are."
you don't answer him at first because your mind is all clogged with a thousand thoughts you've been trying not to think of since the night you creeped out of his bed. you feel it all too. you want him like he wants you, but you just don't know how to put it out there the way he is. a part of you still thinks this is one big joke. that he's not serious about this and is just making fun of you because he knows you're the one who's worryingly infatuated with him.
your overthinking reaches simon. "talk to me." he says quietly.
"you wouldn't understand."
"try me."
you shake your head, doubting he'll understand all the weird, confusing excuses you have for not wanting to be with anyone. "i don't want to get attached. it'll turn into something i can't control."
simon's brow furrows slightly. "you wanna control me?"
"it's not like that..." you whisper. "you were never supposed to be more than a night. but you weren't going to be if i stayed."
"so you ran."
"i panicked, b-but i didn't mean to. i liked you too much and didn't know what to do with myself."
for a long moment after he takes in your words, he just studies you. then he speaks again. "you know what i did when i woke up and you were gone?" he murmurs, and you shake your head in response, bracing yourself for what he's about to say.
"laid there like a bloody idiot wonderin' what i'd done wrong." a small, bitter huff of a laugh.
"i didn't mean to make you feel like that." you say as he moves forward again.
"i know." simon says quietly "but it doesn't change that i've been thinkin' about you every damn day since."
He reaches out slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. his knuckles brush your cheek. you can feel him coming closer, and you lean in on instinct. suddenly he's right there, and you're looking up at him and there's not enough room to breathe. his voice drops to a rough whisper. "if i tell y'i'm gonna kiss you right now⌠you gonna tell me to stop?"
you don't. you shake your head and start to close your eyes, and his mouth is on yours before you can think better of it. his hands slide under your thighs and around your back, and he lifts you off your feet without breaking the kiss, taking you back to the barracks to show you just how much he missed you since you left him.
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read part two
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the two of you spent the last month enjoying your time together as he had finally a well deserved vacation, he would pick you up every day after work and somehow always find a new place to make you discover. you were also having a lot of sex, leaving both of you even more in love after your intimate acts.
however he noticed you behaving differently since a few days, your kisses were only small pecks, you started to take your own car to go to work and you even refused to do anything, affirming you were tired.
of course simon would never be bothered by you not wanting to be intimate, but he could notice that you seemed a bit dispirited, your mind always somewhere else.
he was now walking upstairs, looking in the hallway's direction curiously ; he had called your name and you didnât answer. "love ?" he asked as he swung the door open, his eyes falling on your silhouette.
you were in your pj's, sat on the edge of the bed in front of the mirror, you seemed uncomfortable as you rubbed the side of your neck. "i called ya, didnât hear ?" he softly asked, still holding the doorknob.
his brows furrowed as he saw you looking at you in the wall-mounted mirror, "wha's wrong ?" he asked again, walking slowly to you, almost scared you'll run away.
you got up suddenly, facing him. "do you notice anything new on me ?"
shit.
the lieutnant mentally cursed himself, his eyes frantically roaming on you, same hair, no new nails, not a tattoo in sight. as he was observing you, he noticed your eyes becoming glossy and panicked even more. what the fuck was he not seeing ?
"did y'buy new socks ?" he said with his heart beating a little faster, funny how a high ranked man like him could become so thoughtless in front of you.
you sighed loudly in frustration. "fuck simon !" you turned back to the mirror and tears began to roll down your rosy cheeks as you looked at your reflection. "canât you see how fuckinâ fat i got ?"
at this moment simonâs brain just short circuited. he frowned, looking at you in disbelief. now your behavior was all making sense, not wanting him to touch you anymore, to get intimate, refusing date nights at the restaurant.
"fuckâs sake baby did ya go nuts ?"
when he realized that he was standing there as you were sobbing in front of him, he quickly wrapped his buff arms around you, squeezing you tightly. you sobbed against his broad shoulder, hands hiding your face.
"please dove" ghost said, feeling strangely emotional by seeing you cry, "you're my whole world, you're perfect" he kept whispering sweet words, trying to shush you.
you only calmed down after a lot of praises from simon, not really believing him, it pained him to see you that way. these beautiful eyes of yours full of tears, lips shivering. the person who helped him open up about his own insecurities and traumatisms.
he wished you saw yourself as he saw you, as he saw his soon to be wife who was the most beautiful woman to him.
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kĂśnig raging at the game and you being a little shit about itâ¨
Your wheezing laughter sounded like an engine sputtering to life. âI donât know, at some point you gotta stop blaming your teammates and admit that you suck at the game.â
KĂśnig gives you a sharp look, one. Youâre gone, practically hopping off the couch, a squeal left your throat the minute you heard thunderous footsteps nearing you by the second.
âCâmere you littleâjust wait till I get you!â
âNo!â You screech. He catches you sooner than expected and blows a raspberry in the crook of your neck, meaty paws scrambling to get under your shirt with the sole purpose of tickling you.
Another screech, âNo! KĂśnigâ! Wait a minute!â But no matter how much you thrash, his grip remains unforgiving, âI surrender! You donât suck! Ah! Have mercy!â only stopping when thereâs tears in your eyes and your face is flush from laughing so hard.
