J's

The thought alone makes you smirk. I mean, did he really think you were going to reward him for being such a hardass? Some genius.

"G-getting close?" Zayne sucks in a breath, feeling your upcoming orgasm in the way you start moving faster, hips slamming down on him relentlessly. You moan when his fingers reach around to find your clit, circling tightly until you cry out, vision going white as you cum hard around his cock.

He's panting behind you, waiting the torturous time for you to recover, to keep moving. Zayne's a gentleman, so he won't rush you, even though he's painfully close to bursting.

You slip off his cock with ease, biting back a laugh when you hear him involuntarily whimper at the loss of your warmth. When you slip off the bed, still not sparing him a glance, he pipes up.

"Are you taking a break?" He questions, sitting up and watching you carefully. You turn and smile, shaking your head with mischief in your eyes.

"Nope, just going to shower."

"You're not..." Zayne trails off, truly baffled at this turn of events. Perhaps he'd catch on quicker if the blood was in his brain, not his cock.

"Going to help you finish? Now why would I do that?"

Sylus

You love kissing Sylus.

He's just so good at it. I mean, you'd think he would have at least one flaw, but nope. Just perfect. It was infuriating. Sometimes, you just wanted to piss him off just to see what he would do.

Sorta like tonight.

"O-oh fuck!" You gasp, hands braced against his chest as you bounce on his cock. Sylus is laid back, the picture of sex on a stick as he watches you, hands guiding your hips.

"Feeling good, sweetie?" He leans up to kiss you once more, smiling when you moan into it. It's a sloppy, messy kiss, but it only turns you on more.

"Y-yeah! God you're-you're so big." You wish you were exaggerating for the sake of his ego. Unfortunately for you, his ego was well earned. Sylus's cock was a thing to behold, and the son of a bitch knew it. Every time you struggled to sink down on it, he'd smile that same cocky smile that just made you want to punch him.

"I'm-I'm close!" You gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you rock against him faster. He hums, eye burning bright red as your sheer desire overwhelms every one of his sense.

"Cum." He murmurs, smiling when you do it immediately. That stupid smile.

You're happy to see it falter when you sigh dramatically, rising off of his leaking cock and moving to get out of bed. A hand grabs your wrist, his brow raised.

"Forgetting something, sweetie?" He asks as if he truly thinks you're forgetting about him, and his orgasm.

"Hmm I don't think so. I mean, I came. So we're done, right?" You lean in to peck his cheek sweetly. He accepts it, but in a flash your bodies are flipped. Sylus pins you to the mattress, a grin splitting his face.

"I don't think we're done yet, kitten. If anything, you should cum a few more times. Right?"

Valko

Maybe it was mean.

Okay, it was definitely mean. Valko was such a softie, just the sweetest boyfriend in the whole world. Teasing him like this might be going a little too far, but isn't that what girlfriends are for?

"Please-please..." Valko whines into your mouth, holding you so close that instead of bouncing on his cock, you're really just grinding your hips against his.

"I-I know baby." You murmur, chest pressed against his so tight that it makes it a little hard to breath. He's working on his strength control after all.

"Feels-feels so good. You're so perfect." Praises fall from his lips every moment. His amber eyes might as well have hearts for pupils with the way he's looking at you, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Well, his tail isn't out right now.

"You're-you're sweet too honey. God I-I'm close!" You gasp, managing to snake a hand between your bodies to circle your clit. Valko takes your nipple in his mouth, sharp canines scraping against it and making pleasure shoot through your spine. It's evil, how good he is at this.

But not as evil as you're about to be.

"God!" You nearly scream as you cum, head tossed back. Valko gasps at the sensation, not quite there yet. But you know he won't be far behind, so you have to act quickly, despite the aching in your legs from his unbelievable size.

You slip out of bed, but he immediately moves to follow you, frowning the moment he isn't touching you.

"Where-where are you going?" He pouts, trying to grab you. You do your best to act nonchalant, avoiding his sweet, pleading gaze.

"Just to shower! Is something wrong?"

"I...no. I guess not." He pulls a pillow in front of his cock, though you note that it's the pillow you sleep on, and his hips have already begun to buck into it.

"Well, alright! I'm gonna shower okay?"

"Wait! Can...can I join?"

"...Alright. Come on babe. You can finish in the shower."

Him and his damn puppy dog eyes.

John Price

“This for me?” John saunters over to the bed, absently rubbing his hairy chest. “And above the sheets?”

“No,” you warn, because you know that look. You know what John is up to. “Don’t think about it. Not tonight.”

He cocks an eyebrow, all flirty mischievousness. “Have I done something?”

“No,” you repeat. “It’s hot. And you’re a furnace. You’ll get me sweaty.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

John dives at the bed, crushing you beneath him. “Doesn’t have to be a cuddle, love. Could do something rigorous.”

You twist, evading a kiss. “Stop poking me with your dick.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You and Kyle lay on your backs, staring at the ceiling. Overhead, the ceiling fan whips up a breeze but offers little to alleviate the heat. Worst heat wave in the last decade. That’s what they’re saying.

“I know,” you reply. “I hate it, too.”

The pillows are gone, bed stripped down to the fitted sheet. Both of you are freshly showered and naked, and still you’re sweating. Kyle’s arm shifts, the side of his hand brushing against yours. Your index fingers connect, hook around each other. Sweat immediately accompanies it.

Kyle reaches for his phone. “I’m ordering another fan.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Johnny,” you grumble, half-asleep.

His hand pauses on your bare hip. “Can’t touch you?”

“Too hot,” you mumble. “How are you not hot?”

The bedding is tossed aside, pushed to the edges of the bed. It’s the middle of the night but feels like the middle of the day. Has been for weeks. A goddamn heatwave.

Beside you, the bed shifts. “Not even a hand?”

“No.”

“What about a finger?”

“No.”

Johnny sits up onto his elbow. “A tit?” You open one eye and glare. “A quick squeeze?”

“Fine,” you mutter, relenting. “But only one tit. And only one squeeze.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Sleeping naked under the covers isn’t an option. It’s disgustingly hot out. If you just lay here, on your stomach and above the covers, naked, unmoving, you’ll cool off. You just can’t move. You can’t—

A hand comes down on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap.

You bolt up, startled. “What the fuck, Simon? I’m trying to sleep.”

Your husband stands next to the bed, hand still raised like he’s aiming for another. He shrugs. “Couldn’t help myself.”

You roll your eyes but Simon is settling beside you anyway, handsy as always.

your profile had been remarkably simple, a straightforward list of what you could do, cleaning, laundry, shopping, and meal preparation. you had listed no demanding requirements, and for some inexplicable reason, your requested salary was incredibly low. it was an absolute dream, though he had been fully prepared to pay an inflated price just to have his squalor managed.

following a characteristically brief, dry exchange of messages on his part, he scheduled an evening meeting with you. not making the slightest effort to clean up before your arrival. when he threw the door open, his hair was a shaggy mess, a week's worth of patchy stubble shadowed his square jawline, and a pair of stained gray sweatpants hung low on his wide hips beneath a crumpled shirt that was entirely too tight for his massive form.

yet, you didn't even blink at the sight of the jagged scars marring his face, nor did you falter at his unkempt clothes. instead, you fixed your gaze strictly on the surrounding mess, doing so without a single grimace or frown, an unbothered composure that pulled a rare grin from his lips behind your back.

“what', no scream?” simon grunted, clearly amused now. he took a slow step closer, tracking the way your eyes flitted about, systematically scanning the wreckage of his living room and kitchen with the callous efficiency of a trained robot, only looking back at him when you let out a fickle, noncommittal hum.

“seen worse” you answered shortly, offering a small, indifferent shrug, craning your neck at an angle to look directly into his face, holding a steady, unblinking gaze with his honey speckled irises. the blackout curtains were parted just enough to let in the fading light, the amber sunbeams catching the edges of simon’s messy hair and bleeding into his eyes.

“yau look a bit' too yaung to hav' sein much” he remarked, and it was the truth, you looked far younger than him, and certainly younger than the hardened faces he was used to surrounding himself with. your expression didn't even flicker, holding his stare, maintaining a heavy, awkward silence that nearly made his skin crawl.

“i’m a witch” you finally grumbled, tone blunt and clipped in a lazy drawl as you quirked a single eyebrow upward. simon went dead silent, mirroring your stillness for a heartbeat, before he suddenly barked a loud, booming laugh, baring his crooked teeth in genuine entertainment, and the tension dissolved there.

you moved on to discuss the payment, admitting that he was right about your age, a student simply looking to earn what she could when your schedule permitted. when he offered a significantly higher rate than you had asked for, you declined politely, fixing him with a scowling glare that openly labeled him a creep. leaving your number in his phone, you agreed to return tomorrow, once again in the evening.

what simon had expected would take no less than a month to clean had been thoroughly tidied up in less than a week, every single corner scrubbed bare and dust cleared from places he hadn't even known existed. for the first few days, he had slept through most your shifts, knowing you were there and setting his alarm strictly for the hour you were about to leave.

every night he’d wake to a new miracle, finding you’d somehow hauled the heavy sofa across the floorboards to clean the dust bunnies beneath it, and had dusted behind the television without breaking a wrist or even a sweat. amused, he changed your contact name in his cracked phone to witch.

when you accidentally caught a glimpse of the screen one evening, you flashed him a smile so unexpectedly sweet that it nearly gave him a stroke, accustomed as he was to seeing you either plain faced or frowning in deep concentration over chores.

your cooking was something he would actively brag about to johnny and kyle, never in his life had he wanted to lick a plate clean, yet whatever you prepared whether roasted, baked, meat, fish, or soup he devoured it like a starved stray dog, licking his lips and declaring aloud “shit', nevuh tasted anything bettuh than this”

crucially, you never commented on the cum stains on the boxers he frequently dropped into the laundry basket when sorting out the clothes. nor did you find it strange when he abruptly altered his sleep schedule just to stay awake while you were cleaning.

watching you patiently from the couch, his long legs spread wide and his head cocked, while the television hummed with the very show you had earlier dismissed as utter shit out in the background.

“stay for dinnuh next' tim', my treat', i’ll do the cooking” simon offered one evening. it had been nearly a month since you started working for him, and because you stubbornly refused all his attempts to raise your salary, this was the only compromise his mind could conjure, at least a dinner, a chance to treat you to something fancy.

“since when do you cook?” you had asked, your voice far more amused than curious, openly teasing him considering you’d been the one fixing every bite he ate, down to the chalky protein shakes he needed for his workouts, possessing far too much culinary expertise for your age.

“i can handl' a stov'” he let out a gravelly huff, rolling his shoulders as he watched you tie your shoelaces, bent over with your pert ass curved beautifully in his direct line of sight. your clothes weren't revealing, just simple jeans pulled taut against the swell and stretchy shirt, yet his cock stirred in response, chubbing behind the sweats and boxers.

simon knew damn well you caught the outline the moment you spun around to accept the dinner invitation. actually lingering behind the following evening for a flawlessly seared steak draped in a rich bourbon garlic cream sauce, paired with crispy roasted potatoes.

you finished the plate, warmed up and satisfied with your belly full, and ended up straddling his fuzzy thighs right there on the sagging couch. hips rolled down onto his brawny lap, and his swelled girth thrust in brutal and deep, plunging itself within your tight, sappy cunt. walls convulsing around his bottoming base as he pistoned in, your jiggly ass smacking against his heavy balls.

“christ', even yauh cunt' the best'” his humid breath hit your face in a thoroughly ragged rasp, hooded eyes wandering, darting from your eyes, which had gone completely glassy, veiled in a thick fog of pleasure, to the way slick rolls in tacky rivulets in response to how he rams in. scarred hips angled to hit deeper, battering the lumpy spot that makes your thighs cramp and shake.

you were uninhibited and deliciously loud, answering his heavy rhythm with nothing but breathless, sharp moans and high pitched whines as you rode him completely dry, tight walls contracting in a vice like grip around his veined girth, spilling an abundant, glossy slick that churned into froth.

this wasn't his first lay in weeks, but you were driving him entirely out of his mind, leaving him so dazed and overwhelmed that his vision blurred and his umber eyes nearly crossed. broad paw clamped flat against your hip, dimpling the supple skin as he kept your weight down, his fingers toying idly with the waistband of the panties you hadn't even bothered to take off.

he didn't tighten his grip to hurt, but his blunt fingernails still bit hard into your curves, branding your flesh with stinging raw indents. he slams in, and you leak out, strings of arousal stretching in glimmery strings, matting coarse pubes that rub across your pulsing clit, making your body seize taut, squealing “a—ahn, s—simon!”

heavy lidded eyes grew long since glassy with desire, even further as he nuzzled in to press his mouth hungrily against your sternum. peppering a path of biting kisses outward until his mouth was filled with the lush, bouncing swell of your breast, tongue swirling in demanding, drooling circles around your pebbled nipple.

simon cums quick, you don't know about that, but he acknowledges that his peak comes much more earlier than he's used to, heat pooling within his bulging veins and spreading mercilessly, rapture hot pressure gathering at the rise of his spine and traveling, your own tummy threatening to snap with feverish coil.

heat clenching sporadically around him, encouraging on, and he follows, jerking when your cunt wraps tight and spasms, creaming his length while his balls twitch. thick cum plugging you deep, the excess a creamy, frothing mess that coats your thighs in pearlescent dews alongside lacquering slick.

he let's out guttive groan, words ripping raw from his chest “that''s it — feiling so good, lovi', fucking best'” large hands had long since moved from the slope of your hips, roughened fingers now buried deep, kneading the round, plump curve of your ass, gripping to hold you flush to his pelvis while he floods your satiating hole, nicked lips pressed softly against your sweaty temple.

you shuddered on his lap, slumped heavily against sturdy chest, sore yet adorably content, huddling closer as hushed, exhausted whimpers slipped past your teeth. hiding your sweltering face beneath the rough scruff of his jawline, breath ghosting uneven against his blotchy skin, and he wished with all his horny heart that this could happen every damn day.

nothing changed outwardly when you left, just a polite goodbye and a brief, muttered “until sunday, yeah?” tossed between you in the hallway, a flat, unimpressed frown marring your face when you noticed your soiled panties stuffed casually into his pocket, despite his earlier claim that they had simply been ripped during the frenzy.

simon spent his weekends as usually, sleeping, eating the meals you had so lovingly prepared and packed for him, working out, and then fisting his leaky cock while single mindedly sniffing your stolen underwear, over and over again, until you finally returned on sunday.

both acting as usual, showing no avoidance and no lingering tension, but somehow you ended up with his weathered face buried right against your gooey cunt, bent over the kitchen counter while your fingers still gripped a microfiber cloth, now knuckling it. he knelt down behind you, calloused hands spreading your asscheeks to hold you open to his eager tongue.

by the time he let you up, you left his flat on wobbly legs, far later than you ever should have, the skin of your inner thighs raw and chafed from the relentless scrape of his rough stubble, making your muscles clench with ache. behind your back, simon had already pulled out his phone, display lit up and mirroring his toothy grin, thick thumb swiping to change your contact name once more, my witch.