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CW: Soulmate AU (thought hearing), masturbation (m & f), some cursing.
Note: Getting over an all-day migraine, only to have the midnight thoughts cook this up on my phone. Not sure if I'll make something out of this, but enjoy. I dunno if people play sounds in their head, but I sure do. ;)
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
His voice groaned in the back of your mind, the huskiness sending a shiver down your spine. You still didn't know if he was aware that you could hear him or not, considering his thoughts flooded your mind a few days ago, and vice versa. Even if he did, there was a lot of doubt that he would even care. He groaned again, the guttural sound clawing at your brain so viciously that you couldn't help but slide a hand down to your cunny.
One finger, two fingers, the tips curling every now and then as you slid them in and out. You tried to keep your breathing in tune with his groans, but faltered when your own pleasure began to flood your senses. A string of moans fell from your lips, hips bucking up against your hand as you chased that euphoric feeling.
"Fuck me." It was a small slip up, really. Something that should've fallen from your lips rather than echo softly in your mind. The realization of what occurred only hit you when his delicious sounds ceased, and you began to panic.
One minute, two, it was silent on his end before hearing a gruff, "Fuckin' 'ell, bird." He heard you plain as day. "Again," he breathed out. His voice was raspy, a telltale sign he came and wanted another wank. You hadn't even crossed the line on your end, but you couldn't deny his wish.
You were cheeky with it, letting your mind conjure up a plethora of things for him to listen to in his own head. From whiny moans to full on begging, and letting it slip with certain positions for when the two of you would finally meet. Your fingers sank into your slick cunt one last time as you let out a shaky cry, with gummy walls clenching tightly around your digits.
He knew you came, and he fucking loved it. Simon wondered what it would be like when finally meeting. If you would talk like that with him, make all those pretty sounds, how your mouth would feel around his cock, how your pussy--.
"Fuck," he groaned for a final time, hand gripping his thick length tightly as his spend coated parts of his hand, abdomen, and thighs, again.
Oh, bird, you are going to be the death of him one day. Occupying his thoughts more than ever now, until he finally finds you.
Note: I've been thinking about this for the past week. ;)
Requests are open.
Kyle sat there, stroking his virgin cock to the sight of your flushed frame nestled perfectly against his captain's chest. Watching the older man lift you up and guide you back down onto his thick dick sent a pleasurable shiver up the younger man's spine, and his grip tightened further around his length. It felt shameful to watch another man fuck his girlfriend, but there was also something so hot about it, too.
Not a single hint of regret was seen in Kyle's eyes the more he watched John continue sliding you up and down on him. The pace was slow and the movements gentle, something Kyle would take into consideration for a possible later date. His attention soon shifted when his captain slid a hand down to your clit, his thick thumb rubbing it in a slow, circular pattern.
The moan that fell from your lips caused his cock to jump, and he let out a soft groan as he thumbed over the tip, smearing more of his precum over it. "Hear tha', Garrick?" John asked, earning a slow nod from the other man. "Tha's how she likes it." He pressed down on the little bundle of nerves, eliciting yet another moan from those pretty lips of yours.
The sound rang in Kyle's ears, and he bit his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself in control. He didn't want to release so soon; not when you hadn't had one yet. But the way you looked, panting softly while his captain both fucked you in his lap and stimulated your clit, it had his mind and body reeling with pleasure.
"Look a' her, Garrick. Look a' how she bounces."
His eyes roved over you as the older man shifted tactics, and the soft and gentle pace beforehand was quickly replaced by a much rougher and fast paced one. Kyle's tongue rooted itself between his teeth, watching the way your tits bounced with each thrust. So beautiful, so tantalizing, so...
Fuck.
A guttural groan ripped from his throat as Kyle gave his cock one last pump, tossing his head back as thick ropes spurted from the tip. His hand was coated in the cum that dribbled down his shaft, coupled with the few ropes that splayed across his heaving chest. The sight alone was enough to make John follow suit, his own cock burying itself into your tight cunt for the final time; tip kissing your cervix as your gummy walls milked him.
The strangled moan that slipped out from between your lips in response had your boyfriend slowly stroking himself once more, despite the sensitivity that took hold of him at the moment. His head lifted and his gaze met with yours, watching as his captain kissed your temple before letting out a soft, "Good girl."
It was a moment neither of you regretted. Kyle for asking John with a bit of help in how to pleasure you, John accepting almost immediately, and you for going along with it all. Your boyfriend would keep this memory etched into his mind forever, letting it be the driving force for future fucks.
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TW: Fake kidnapping, slight exhibitionism, creampie, sex against a wall.
Note: This was inspired after I learned that you could hire a group in tactical gear to fake kidnap people from events. ;)
Your arms tightened around his neck while his thick fingers dug into the fat of your hip, one hand keeping you steady against the wall as his hips slammed against yours repeatedly. His other hand moved downward, sliding your dress up a bit more to reach your clit, thumbing it in a pressured, circular motion. It caused your legs to tighten around his waist from the pleasure.
It was unlike Simon to do this sort of thing after a gig. Your friend paid a pretty pound to have you "kidnapped" from some event he can't even bother to remember, not to have his cock shoved up your cunt. It couldn't be helped though. You're a pretty bird, and Simon likes pretty things.
You didn't seem to mind it, either. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted slightly, allowing moan after moan to fall out, only for them to be swallowed by a rough kiss. Simon had to keep you as quiet as possible. He wasn't one for sharing, especially with his teammates.
It was complete and utter bliss, even if the "kidnapping" did frighten you in the beginning. He swallowed another sweet moan of yours when his thumb pressed against your clit again, the pleasure from it shooting up your body, merging with that from the thrusting. You were absolute heaven for him.
Your gummy walls gripped his cock every time he slammed back inside, as if trying to keep him from leaving again, and he groaned at the feeling. His hips soon sputtered, falling out of the fast-paced rhythm he had set for himself. You could feel how close he was simply from the way he twitched; his length eager to empty inside of you.
That didn't stop his harsh ministrations to your clit, only furthering quickness at which his thumb circled the bundle of nerves. Your legs began to tremble, and he felt it. "Cum f'me," he whispered, pulling away from your lips.
It was a command that caused you to unravel then and there. A wave of white, hot pleasure crashed over you, and his lips captured yours once more to swallow the sharp cry that he knew would have been heard. Your cunt convulsed around his cock, milking it so harshly that a groan rumbled in his throat.
Simon held you in place, your legs still shaking a little, and his forehead pressed against yours. The cloth of his balaclava was wet from his sweat, now soaking up yours, but he didn't care about that. "Good bird," he mumbled, his chest heaving slightly.
It had been a while since he had a fuck that good, and it was at that moment that he decided he would keep you. Simon liked pretty things, and you, little bird, were by far the prettiest he ever had.
TW: insinuated fighting, poorly written British (?), insinuated groping and catcalling, protective bf Simon.
(requests are open)
You let out a small sigh as you dabbed another small, alcohol-dipped cotton ball on his knuckles. Simon was protective, this you knew, but you didn't think he'd have beaten a man unconscious for not only catcalling you, but for having copped a feel, too. Then again, you're his pretty bird, no one else's. It's a good thing your boss likes Simon, otherwise things could've ended differently.
"Bloke had it comin'," he mumbled. You knew he was right, but you decided against agreeing with him for the moment. "Whistlin' at'cha, then touchin' my bird?"
You only nodded as your boyfriend kept mumbling and huffing about how daft the bloke must've been. "I'm just glad that you didn't kill him."
Brown eyes met your gaze shortly after, the anger in them from earlier having softened a smidge. "I should've," he said. Your head shook at his response, and you sighed before putting away the alcohol and tossing the used and bloodied cotton balls into a bin.
"Then I'd have to bail you out of the clink, Si. Besides, I think he'll remember not to do it again. If he remembers anything at all."
"I hope tha' he doesn't," he replied. You shot him a glare, causing the mask-wearing man to look down at his knuckles. They looked a lot better than earlier. Less bloody, but the bruising had begun to show. "Wish ya took tonigh' off. Hate havin' ta fight blokes."
A small hum left your lips as you moved towards him, and he shifted slightly as you slid onto his lap. "I know, but it's not like I can do that on short notice." He grunted in response and shook his head a little.
"Ya could, lovie," he mumbled. Truth be told, the only reason your boss' pub was so popular was because of you. A pretty little thing serving drinks to creeps, who Simon often claimed crawled out of the gutter.
The idea of taking off was enticing. The pub could manage without you, and you could do without breaking up another brawl between your boyfriend and a patron over incidents like earlier. "Fine," you relented, letting out a small sigh that was followed by a smile. "I'll take tomorrow night off if it means you're not beating men unconscious."
He was chuffed at your words. "Good," he replied. Honestly, you couldn't blame him for the way he was, and he knew it, too. Simon was just protective of his pretty, little bird. Like a dog with an everlasting bone that it didn't want to share with anyone else.
And you were fine with that. Even if it meant him treating every man that made a move on you like the next contestant in a boxing ring.
prompt: simon notices you in the stands (welder/amateur rugby player au). (nsfw, 1.9k)
-
She’s in the stands again, and he doesn’t know who for.
The same bird as the time before, and the week before that. Always a few minutes into the match, like she snuck in through the backdoor. She always leaves in a hurry, up and out of her seat with her jacket already tugged on, her strides quick on her way out the main doors.
In the years since joining this amateur league, Simon’s never been tempted to talk to any of the people in the stands. For the most part, they’re there for one of the other players anyway. Wives, girlfriends, sisters—the odd cousin or fuck buddy, those girls dipping in and out, replaced by newer, sparklier versions of each other, the older ones licked clean.
His focus narrows when he steps onto the field anyway, shrinks like horse blinders sunk down over his skull. Hardly a reason for him to spare more than a glance towards the stands.
Rugby’s not a sport for spectators. At least, not such a low level league. Barely amateur—just some of the locals with a bit of built up stress and aggression to work off. It’s why he’s here after all. Simon spends the hours of his day hunched over sheets of metal and carbon steel, sweating into the metal mask pulled down over his face and staring without blinking into the heart of the flame just inches from his face.
His nerves are a closed fist in his chest and it grows and grows until he steps out onto the field of the local rec centre and hears the timer overhead start to count down and feels someone’s chest cave in when he drives his shoulder into their solar plexus, hears the breath whoosh out of them, their next breath in thin and febrile.
It sets his head right. Violence with no consequences. At the end of the game, he looks the man he just bruised and bloodied in the eye and shakes his hand. Puts the world to rights.
And he needs nothing more than that. His bills are paid, bloodthirst sated, thirst quenched when the team hits up a pub after the match, after which he slinks off into the night to head home with his hood drawn over his head, the size of him rarely inviting more violence. Occasionally it happens that someone with the bad luck of choosing him to mug wants to prove that they have the bigger cock, but that never ends well. Not for them at least.
Simon would fight for a living if welding paid him less. As it is, he satiates that beast in him on the field or the occasional back alley, and it keeps him in check.
But now there’s a bird in the stands drawing his eye and distracting him from the match. It rubs him the wrong way. The blood pumps through his veins more viciously, and the pretty thing in the stands watches the game completely unaware, a serene smile on her face. His gaze keeps being pulled towards where she and a couple clusters of fans sit and nurse paper cups of tea.
She cups both hands around her tea and he wonders absently whether she’d have to hold his cock the same way.
It’s Gaz who calls him out on it first, panting hard after the first period and frowning at the scoreboard. “Not to be a dick, but that was bollocks, Simon. Never seen you miss a pass like that.”
Few people could get away with speaking to him like that, but Gaz is right. He’s been playing like shit, too preoccupied by the bird watching him with wide, rapt eyes.
He doesn’t know how to apologise though, so he doesn’t. “Graves is a useless twat. Can’t throw for shit.”
Gaz rolls his eyes. “Not saying he isn’t, but you’re distracted. Where’s your head at?”
“Stay out of it, Garrick,” he says, not even bothering to meet his gaze, the warning clear in his voice.
“Sorry for caring,” Gaz shouts after him as Simon jogs away.
He asks around at first, trying to find out if she’s someone’s relative or girl, but all the guys just shrug, no answers. If she’s someone’s, they aren’t staking a claim on her. It’s good news for him. Bad news for anyone else taking an interest in the girl that comes to their every match to cheer them on.
His urges sit deeper than the abyssal plain.
She’d probably turn tail and run if she knew the hunger festering in his belly. She sits sweet and innocent in the stands cheering him on and all Simon can think about is pushing her knees up to her ears and feeding his fat cock into her pussy. Shoving his tongue into her cunt, licking her from hole to hole. Sucking each puffy lip into his mouth until her moans go garbled, eyes unfocused.
No, Simon thinks when she jumps to her feet enthusiastically at the end of the match, she probably wouldn’t like that. Women rarely do. Objectifying them and all those other terms that Gaz likes to wax on about, Johnny nodding along like he isn’t the same kind of mutt as Simon.
Even during the day, she troubles his thoughts. Troublemaker. He thinks of her when he cleans and buffs in between passes, mind not lulled into the rhythmic emptiness of usual. Even the sound of steel sizzling in his ears doesn’t clear her from his thoughts. Instead all he can think of is her walking into the shop in a little skirt and top, and dragging her to the back where he’d bend her over the closest desk and pull her panties to the side before sinking in to the hilt, mask still on.
He’s never gotten his cock wet on the job—never been tempted to. For her though, he’d make an exception.
By the next match, Simon’s made up his mind. When he sees her sneak in after the match has already started, he feels his blood pump harder, his tackles extra rough. His opponents walk away wincing and cursing him under their breath, but it only makes him preen when he glances over to find her watching him, hardly able to pull her eyes away. Price would call it peacocking. He wouldn’t be wrong.
He approaches her himself at the end of the match before she’s had time to pack up and leave, leaning over the railing separating the field from the stands, covered in sweat and grass stains and bleeding from his right eyebrow.
She stares up at him wide eyed, looking a little lost for words. “Hi?”
“Got somewhere to be?” he asks, blunt. He’s never had it in him for pleasantries. Why waste time when he can see even now the way her eyes rove over his chest appreciatively?
“…No,” she finally answers, shaking her head. “Just home for supper.”
“Look like you could use a good fuck. Come round back with me?”
The blatant proposition makes her eyes widen, but Simon doesn’t see the problem. Figures if she doesn’t have a man, there’s no issue with him trying out for the part. He waits her out though, vaguely admiring the pert shape of her mouth, lips round with shock.
Finally they come back together and she chews on her lower lip nervously, caught off-guard but considering it. He doesn’t hold it against her. His bird’s pretty enough, but he doubts she ever puts herself in the position to be asked. He sees the yes in her eyes before she says it.
Still, he enjoys the way she stutters it out softly, eyes downcast. Simon doesn’t bother with his goodbyes to the guys still on the field before ushering her out of the arena and down the hall to the locker rooms with a hand on her back. He drags her into the first empty supply closet he finds, locking the door behind them. She breathes a bit heavily, almost stumbling over her feet, and that’s the eagerness he’s been looking for. Proof his bird’s just as hungry as him.
She definitely is, Simon thinks, smug when he hoists her up and her legs wrap around his waist without a second thought, her eyes already glazed over. Like she’s been waiting for this for weeks, cunt already sopping wet when he nudges her panties to the side with his knuckles and buries his cock into her. She grips him like a vice, slack jawed and whimpering into the stretch. He likes that. He likes it more when she digs her nails deep into his back, leaving her mark behind.
“C’mon, don’t get shy on me,” Simon huffs into her neck when she tries to grab his hair instead, what little of it she can. He stares with eyes half-lidded at the way her tits bounce with each thrust. “I like it rough.”
She clenches up at that, dripping wet. Almost a shame that he couldn’t get his mouth on her first. He’ll have to follow her back home like the mongrel he is, mess her pretty bedsheets up and make her scream until she can’t even face the neighbours the next day.
He doesn’t need her to tell him to know that she’s a good girl, doesn’t do this ever. Only for him. He can tell by how tight of a screw she is, practically purring in his arms; it’s a fight to bully his cock into her. It’s nice when she stutters it out though, strokes his ego the right way.
“D-didn’t think you’d notice me,” she says, all shy even with her legs spread.
“Hard not to, pet,” Simon teases, endeared by her soft edges. His slot right in, if not a bit jaggedly. “Been panting after it for a while, haven’t ya?”
“I just wanted to get out of the flat for a bit,” she whispers.
That shifts his perception of her a bit. Infinitesimally so, but still. He didn’t expect the bird to have a lonely flame in her heart.
“Well, I noticed,” he grunts, and then bends to suck at the salty skin at the crook of her neck before pumping a load into her.
She’s a real good girl. Comes nice on his cock and muffles her whine by biting into his shoulder. He can’t wait until he’s covered in her bites, until his nipples hurt from making her chew on them and his neck is littered with hickeys like a schoolboy.
Taking her home is easy enough after that. She lets him drive them both back to her place, handing him the keys with a little yawn when he tucks her into the passenger seat of her own car all limp and pliant.
And he’s right, of course. He makes a right mess of her bed come morning.
When he leaves after a morning fuck in the shower and breakfast, the cold sinks into his stomach like a lead weight. The fist in his chest is clenched as ever; Simon hadn’t noticed it loosen in the bird’s presence, but he feels it now drawn tight again. Maybe he thought fucking her would finally shake her from his head, but instead it’s made it worse somehow. The lonely flame in his own chest flickers.
He stands in the middle of the sidewalk and thinks it over while angry nine-to-fivers snap at him before really taking him in and scurrying along. Then he turns back around, heading back the way he came.
The next time Simon sees her in the stands, he feels his smile like a phantom limb. He doesn’t have to ask to know she’s there for him.
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
It's important to have a general plot in mind, as well as telling me what the reader is in terms of sex. If not, I take matters into my own hands with the plot, and the reader is female by default. Certain things I will write and others I won't. If you feel unsure, PM me. I also have the right to refuse a request if I deem it so.
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Harass me about a request. Please. There is no need whatsoever to constantly message me about it. I always mark them down, so I certainly won't forget. There may also be others that have a request prior to yours. I also do have a life and sometimes it can get hectic, or I have a depressive episode, so I can't always sit down and write. All I ask for is patience.
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