good time! not long time

CW: Smut (MDNI) — Simon and making you cum so much you cry

—

Simon and sex?

It’s an all night ordeal.

You’re already three orgasms deep and he’s still fucking into you from behind. One big hand splayed between your shoulder blades to keep you where he wants you, his other hand splayed wide around the juncture of your hip.

Using you as leverage to pull you back onto his thick cock over and over. Your hips tilted so he’s driving as deep as he can, fat head of his cock bullying against your cervix.

The tears you let out, the sobs and whines only fuel him. You’d think they’d make him stop, but they don’t.

Of course he checks on you,

“Y’r doin’ so good for me, lovie.”

“Ya alright, bird? Takin’ my cock s’well, like a fuckin’ dream.”

“Can feel ya squeezin’ ‘round me. See those pretty tears. Y’want me to stop?”

You don’t actually tell him to stop and that’s all the confirmation he needs to keep going. He hasn’t even came yet, solely focused on breaking you down until you’re a mess of slick and drool and tears beneath him.

He’ll change positions, turn you onto your side, bring your leg up over one broad shoulder and never slide out in the process. Spreading you open wide for him, hips rolling slow at first to let you adjust before he’s pounding into your poor sloppy cunt once again.

He’ll move one big hand to cup your face, fingers squeezing into your cheeks just light of being painful and make you look at him. Cheeks flushed, lashes wet with tears, and he’ll coo at you.

“My pretty girl, takin’ what I give ‘er so well.”

“Made t’take my cock, aren’t ya?”

“Gonna make ya cum one more time, bird, one more f’me, yeah?”

He keeps his promise.

He makes you cum one more time, groans at the way you squeeze around him, slick all sticky between you. A white ring of frothy slick around the base of his cock from how many times he’s already made you cum.

But then he’d pull out, hold you spread open wide still and take his hand from your face to stroke his cock until he’s spurting thick white ropes over your ruined cunt. Creamy white roping over your puffy pink folds as you hiccup your relief from above.

You…weren’t anticipating that the gym would cause so many issues.

It’s the military for god’s sake. You work out. Your teammates work out. You work out…together…as a team. That’s nothing new.

And yeah, so what, your new team is very easy on the eyes. And maybe your eyes wander when they’re doing reps and their biceps and thighs bulge out and their skin glistens with sweat and—

You’re getting off track. But that’s the point. Sure it can be distracting, but you simply remind yourself that you are a professional and are unaffected by such frivolous things like how absolutely humongous Simon’s biceps are. You don’t care.

But then one of the guys ended up cramping on mission and literally almost died. It was stupid and kind of funny after the fact, but Price tore into him about not stretching properly. So now on top of normal work outs you had to endure group stretching.

Which is about as compelling as it sounds. Watching Soap do downward dog…Gaz doing cat cow…but what really got to you was when Price made you roll out your muscles.

Hamstrings was fine, it was the quads that were the problem. Not only because by the time you got to this last step, you were all exhausted and sweaty and they started to get far more vocal, but also because of the position.

Because suddenly you’re all flipped over, and they’re holding themselves off the ground with their forearms, sweat dripping down their arms and onto the mats, groaning as they try and roll out their thighs…rocking back and forth with their chins tucked to their chest, whimpering a little when they hit a knot…it gives the image of…something else. You kind of wish you were a foam roller…

“Sergeant!”

You snap your head up to your captain, realizing you had stopped your own roll-out to ogle your teammates and…picture things.

“Did I say you could stop?” His hands are on his hips as he stands in front of you and looks down at you.

“No, captain!” You start rolling again, ignoring how close he is and how the angle you were looking up at accentuated…things, and how every movement almost makes you bump into him.

if theres one more thing you love in the world than your own husband, simon ghost riley, is pranking him.

he's pretty much used to them by now. none of them are ever that serious, the poor man is a sweetheart and so you know you've never gone far enough to prank him with things that could actually affect your relationship.

anyhow, you’re in the kitchen, perched against the counter, watching him move around like he always does while he makes something for you guys for dinner, his treat he insists — quiet, efficient, broad shoulders taking up space like the room was built for him.

the epiphany comes up to you and you perk up. simon. your husband. who is already very tall, has to duck under most archways and who's feet hang off the bed. which is exactly why you say "simon?"

he grunts in response.

"do you ever wish you were taller?"

the silence that follows stretches out.

"taller?" he repeats, blue eyes locking on yours like he's just begging you said something wrong, making sure he heard you right.

you shrug, trying not to smile. "yeah."

another pause. he looks you up and down, then back at your face, eyes narrowing slightly. "i'm six two, love." he says flatly.

he exhales through his nose, something almost like a scoff, shaking his head. “what kind of question is that?” he mutters, accent thicker as iti usually is when he has to genuinely think before speaking, words a bit slower. “who sits there and thinks that, hm?”

you grin. "me."

"clearly, bird."

he finally turns fully toward you, crossing the space in a few easy steps, boots heavy against the floor. "why?"

you try to shrug innocently. "just asking."

he scoffs, crossing his arms. "yeah, and i'm the bloody king."

you laugh, but he doesn’t. he steps closer, until he’s right in front of you, towering, presence heavy in that calm, controlled way that always gets to you.

"you’re thinking something," he says, voice low, clipped. "spit it out."

you swallow. "i mean, it wouldn't hurt if you were a bit taller."

his head tilts to the side, arms tightening around his bust. "talle'," he repeats, accent altering his voice.

he lets out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and disbelief. "ya serious?"

you don’t respond which is answer enough. next thing you know, his hand plants on the counter beside you. then the other. boxing you in.

"right," he murmurs, voice dropping, accent heavier now — softer but sharper at the same time. "you think i’m not tall enough, yeah?"

"well," you say slightly haughtily, "i didn't say enough —"

your heart starts doing that annoying fast thing again.

“i was just asking.”

he leans in slightly “do i look short to you?” he asks quietly.

you shake your head immediately. “no.”

“funny that.”

there’s a beat.

his gaze drags over your face, then down, then back up again, slow and deliberate. and then his hand slides to your waist. before you can react, he lifts you — easy, like you weigh nothing which you probably don't if he compares you to the weights he lift — and sets you up on the counter.

you blink. "alright."

he steps in again, closer now, one hand still resting at your waist, keeping you there like it’s where you’re meant to be.

now you’re eye level or close enough. “better?" he asks, calm, almost dryly.

you tilt your head, pretending to think about it. "maybe."

he lets out a quiet huff, something amused slipping through despite himself. thumb brushing lightly against your side. "good," he mutters. "because i’m not getting any taller for you, love."

© bittersweetlyblue

Also wanted to ask if you could pls draw other TF141 members (Price, Laswell, etc.) in your style, too??!

hello!! thank u so much i appreciate it 🥹! here is a dump of them !!

Laswell and Price!!

Gaz and Price betting on things

Ale and Rudy sat around

TW | Mentions of cheating | Insecurity | Fluff | Resolution of conflict??

like 950 words

You had been cooking dinner while your boyfriend, Simon, was milling around the bedroom to put the freshly laundered sheets back on your mattress. He’d left his phone on the kitchen counter with a timer going for whatever you had in the oven. 

Stirring a pot of sauce on the stove you hum quietly to yourself, before hearing his phone buzz. You assumed it was the timer for the oven, yet when you glanced over to his phone, the screen simply had a text notification. Curious about who could be texting Simon, the man who barely even used his phone, you peeked at the banner.

An unsaved number, a message you were certainly not expecting to see.

Hey hot stuff, when am I seeing you again? 

And then a second message.

S’been too long since we’ve seen each other. 

Your mouth felt dry, the apron you had on was too tight. You swallowed thickly, glancing at the bedroom where you saw Simon stuffing a pillow into a blue pillowcase. You looked back at his phone, blinking hard as the alarm went off, and you took a deep breath. 

Grabbing the chicken from the oven, you clenched your teeth hard, turning off the burner on the stove as well. While taking a few plates out of the cabinet you paused, seeing that you were grabbing one for you and one for Simon. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you put one plate back and closed the door. 

You served yourself a helping of pasta and sat down at the kitchen table without calling your boyfriend out for supper. He could get it himself, since he wanted to go looking for other women. 

After a few minutes, Simon walked down the hallway to the kitchen and kissed the top of your head from behind, his hand catching the side of your neck. He found it a little odd you didn’t make him a plate like usual, but assumed you were just quite hungry. 

“Smelled amazing lovie,” he says softly, moving to serve himself while you watched.

You felt like screaming at him, asking what kind of sleazy woman he was talking to, how he could cheat on you. But you just stared at him, feeling yourself wanting to cry. You just didn’t want to believe Simon would do that to you. He couldn’t.

You were trying to hold it together when he looked down at his phone at the counter, letting out a small “heh” as he read the message, you assumed. He placed down his plate almost immediately, picking up his phone to reply with a slight grin on his face, and then heading back over to the table where you sat. 

“Something funny?” You ask, your voice soft, shaking a bit.

“Nah. S’nothin.”

You just nod slightly, your gaze falling down to your plate of food that didn’t look too appetizing anymore. Simon noticed you had been quiet and moved his hand to the top of your thigh, tilting his head a bit while looking at you. After a few minutes he cleared his throat, squeezing your leg a bit. It made you want to cry. 

“Foods great, dove. Reckon I could eat five more ‘elpings.” 

You still didn’t look at him, just humming a bit.

The rest of dinner was quiet, and Simon felt like he was going crazy. He had gone over ever special date in his mind, every holiday, even the day you said your childhood dog died. He didn’t know what could be wrong.

You eventually started cleaning the kitchen as Simon excused himself to the restroom for a moment. While scrubbing the dishes you heard his phone go off, and you nearly teleported to it, swiping up the lock pad to see the full text exchange. You read his reply immediately.

Miss me that much, eh? Don’t bother me. I’m with the missus. 

I’ll see ya soon enough.

Now you felt like bawling, and you hadn’t even gotten to the woman’s reply yet. Your eyes fell on the chat, as well as the moving text bubble.

Missus can’t wait a minute? 

Bet I’ve seen you naked more times than ‘er.

You wanted to puke, feeling absolutely sick in moments. What the hell was this? Was he really seeing someone behind your back? And when? When did he have the time, you were always with him, he would barely let you out of his sight. 

When Simon walked back out of the bathroom you had gone back to cleaning, and he gently placed his hands on your hips from behind. 

“Dunno what’s ‘appining in that pretty mind of yers, but I’ll finish the cleanup lass, you relax,” he says into your hair, and you feel the first tears start to fall, and you start trembling. 

He absolutely knows you’re crying now, and quickly turns you around in his arms, trying to soothe you and ask whats wrong. 

“Ah angel whats wrong? C’mon lovie, I knew something was up with ye…”

“Who is she?”

His expression changes, and his brows furrow. Simon steps back a moment, hands sliding up to your arms.

“Wot?”

“That… that woman you’re texting… said she wants to see you soon.”

You’re full on crying at this point, chest heaving as you look Simon right in the eyes, lids red rimmed and lip quivering. Hell, you even had a snot bubble. 

His face drops, and then a bit of a smile forms. He pulls you into a hug, laughing a bit as you try to push him off you until he speaks. 

“Ah sweetheart… ‘she’ is Johnny.”

You didn’t believe him at first, not until he called the bastard and put it on speaker when you finally heard Soaps voice. 

“Right about time ya called me, ya cunt. Got a girlfriend and suddenly ya never wanna go to the pub again.”

*freehanded

(closeup under the cut)

Soap had to pick his jaw up off of the floor when he met you for the first time. You were nothing like Gaz.

For lack of better words, you were fat. Like... fat, fat.

"... ehm, nice tae meet ye, lass." Soap said, awkwardly shaking your hand.

"Nice to meet you, too. I've heard so much about you!" You respond, a smile lighting up your face.

"All good things, ah hope." Soap says, giving Gaz a side eye.

You smile, "Oh, a little bit of everything, to be honest. I know you microwave tea just to piss Simon off, and that Simon purposely butchers Scottish names to piss you off."

Soap glares at Gaz while you and him laugh.

"Arsehole..." Soap mutters, brushing his hand through his hair. "So, uhm, Kyle dinnae mention what ye do for work."

"Right now, I'm a TA. I'm getting my doctorate, so I don't really have time to work full-time anywhere." You respond, your hand moving to hold Gaz's.

"Yup, my girlfriend is a certified fuckin' genius." Gaz laughs, playfully shoving Soap.

"Well," you start, kissing Gaz on the cheek, "I am going to grab a cup of water, I will be right back."

Soap waits until you walk away, out of earshot, to say anything.

"She seems nice. I guess I jus' I didn't know you were into..." Soap starts.

"Fat women?" Gaz asks, giving Soap a look.

Soap sputters, "Well... yeah. I thought ye would want someone that could keep up with ye, physically. Like at the gym."

"She's the most amazing woman I could ask for. She's getting a doctorate, John. She loves how she looks, and she's healthy. That's all that actually matters." Gaz says.

He looks lovingly at you, sitting on the kitchen counter in the next room, a cup of water in your hand as you watch birds flutter past the window. Soap can tell from the look on Gaz's face that you're the woman he loves.