💀🕷️⛓️👻🔪🩸

You've no clue why but you also don't mind all the delicious food.

In truth, he loves showing off in public.

He did this.

He’ll wrap them around your throat, pulling it back so it forces you to arch as he slams his hips into yours.

He’ll bundle them up into a ball before forcing them into your mouth to muffle your cries of pleasure.

He’ll steal a few from your drawer to fist his cock late at night if you’re out for too long, cumming right where he imagines your pretty pussy to be.

He’ll fuck you with your panties still between you two, managing to get about a quarters way in before the fabric just cant stretch anymore.

He’ll stuff it in his pocket once he’s done, oblivious to the fact that he sometimes has bits of pink fabric peeking out when he’s around base - much to the surprise of his fellow peers.

He’ll show up with a package once a month - panties in red, lace, mesh, cheetah print, g-string, cheeky, anything that piques his interest.

The apartment had gone unbearably quiet after he yelled.

Not the comfortable kind of silence either. Not the kind Simon liked after long missions where the world finally stopped demanding things from him.

This silence was wrong.

You stood by the stove with your back turned, shoulders tense, blinking rapidly like if you just tried hard enough the tears would disappear before he saw them.

Too late.

Simon stared at you like he’d just watched himself pull a trigger he couldn’t take back. His chest rose once. Heavy.

“...Fuck.”

The word came out under his breath, barely audible.

You wiped quickly at your face. “It’s okay.”, you whispered , hurt and embarrassment blooming in your chest.

It wasn’t okay.

And Simon knew it immediately because your voice did that tiny shaky thing it only did when you were trying very hard not to cry.

He felt sick.

The kind where the person you love looks hurt because of you.

Simon took one cautious step forward. Then another.

“Love.”

You shook your head without turning around.

That hurt more than the tears.

Usually when he came home, you gravitated toward him automatically. Hands on his chest, arms around his waist. Soft little smiles like he was something worth waiting for.

Now you were standing as far away from him as the kitchen allowed.

Because he yelled.

Because he came home carrying all his anger and dropped it right at your feet.

His jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?”, you mumbled, trying to smoothen your voice.

“Stand there acting like you deserve that.”

You finally turned a little at that, eyes glossy. “Simon-”

“No.” He scrubbed a hand down his face harshly. “No, don’t excuse it.”

You went silent. He looked wrecked now. More wrecked than when he first walked in.

Rainwater still clung to his jacket. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but guilt sat on him even heavier.

“I came home to you,” he said, voice rough. “Warm flat, food on the stove, you waiting for me.” He laughed once bitterly at himself. “And first thing I do is bark at you like some miserable prick.”

Your lips parted slightly.

Simon looked away, jaw flexing.

“Spent two bloody weeks thinking about getting back to you.” His voice got quieter. “Then I walk through that door and make you cry inside five minutes.”

The tears you were trying to stop spilled over again.

The second he saw them, he looked genuinely devastated.

Not angry. Not frustrated.

Devastated.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

He crossed the room immediately then stopped himself halfway, hesitating.

Simon Riley, who would walk through gunfire without blinking, suddenly looking uncertain about whether he was allowed to touch his own wife.

“You don’t have to comfort me,” you whispered.

That nearly broke him, his eyes shut briefly.

“Christ.”

He finally stepped closer carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. His hands settled lightly on your arms, almost tentative.

“I’m sorry love,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Ever.”

You looked down, vision blurring, “I know you’re tired.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I wasn’t trying to annoy you-”,you huffed ,choking slightly on the tears.

“I know.” His voice cracked slightly then steadied. “I know you weren’t.”

The guilt in his expression got worse somehow.

“You were taking care of me,” he murmured. “That’s all you were doing.”

You tried to look away again but Simon gently caught your chin before you could.

“Look at me.”

You did. Big mistake.

The second he saw how hard you’d been trying not to cry, his entire face softened into something painfully guilty.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”, he murmured ,gently cupping your face.

“You never yell at me.”, you sniffled.

That one hit directly to the ribs.

Simon actually flinched.

His thumb brushed carefully under your eye, wiping away a tear with absurd gentleness for a man built like a concrete wall with emotional constipation.

“I swear to you,” he said quietly, “the second it came outta my mouth, I wanted to take it back.”

You could hear how honest it was.

Simon wasn’t good at pretty apologies. He wasn’t poetic, wasn’t smooth. But guilt made him painfully sincere.

“I hate that you looked at me like that,” he admitted softly.

“Like what?”

“Like you were trying to figure out if I was angry with you.”

His voice nearly disappeared on the last part. Because that was the thing eating him alive now. The fact that for even one second, you’d looked at him uncertainly instead of safely.

Simon pulled you against him suddenly, firm and desperate, burying his face into your h.air.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly against your temple. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You felt the way he held you tighter after every apology, like he was trying to physically make up for it.

“I missed you,” he admitted in a low murmur. “Missed you so bad it felt wrong sleeping without you there.” His arms tightened. “Then I come home and act like that.”

Your hands slowly curled into his shirt. Simon exhaled shakily at the feeling.

“There she is,” he whispered, relief and guilt tangled together. “Thought I fucked this up properly for a second.” he mumbled ,inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You didn’t.”

“Nearly did.”

And judging by the way he kept pressing little apologetic kisses into your hair like a man trying to repent for his crimes against domestic peace, he was going to spend the rest of the night making absolutely sure you knew he regretted it.

Only halfway in and your legs are shaking. You keep hissing every time he tries to move. König muttering to you in half-German, big meaty paw clumsily pushing your damp sweaty hair from your face.

"Das is gut, Liebling. Little more, ja?"

simon ghost riley x female (wife!)reader / 18+

When your husband, Simon, is away on deployment, the messages start. Not every night, but enough to keep you on edge. Your phone buzzes at 2 AM with a single, grainy photo of his hand wrapped around his thick cock, the tattoos on his forearm stark against his skin in the dim light of wherever he is.

The caption is brief: "Thinking of you."

The next night brings a short, filthy video—no face visible, just the obscene glide of his calloused palm over his shaft, heavy breathing crackling through your phone's speaker as he works himself. The wet sounds of his arousal echo in the silence of your bedroom.

It's never a demand for reciprocity. Rather, his messages are a territorial claiming broadcast from across oceans and time zones, proof that even in some godforsaken shithole, his cock still belongs to you.

Sometimes it's just audio. His Manchester accent comes through the line about how he’ll ruin you when he gets home, how he’ll spend days making up for lost time with his face buried between your thighs. "Gonna leave marks so deep they'll still be there when I come back again," he snarls, and through the speaker, you hear the rhythmic slap of his fist against his balls, the sounds of his precum as he strokes himself raw to thoughts of you.

Simon has a wild oral fixation, almost every day he's begging to be between your legs. He would, and has, gladly spent hours between your legs making you feel good. His hard on harshly rubbing against his pants. He cant help it, the sweet noise that come out of you just make him so fucking horny and he's not ashamed to say he’s cum at the sound alone. Simon doesn't care when or where, if you give him permission he’ll be in between your legs. He’s also not ashamed of all the places he’s gotten on the floor just to eat you out, and all the people who have heard you shamelessly moaning, honestly Simon considers it an accomplishment.

But during your period Simon can't have his favorite meal. Not because he’s grossed out, he couldn't give a fuck about that, Simon would gladly eat you out even if you're covered in blood. In fact if he’s being completely honest, the idea of tasting your blood while making you feel good makes him incredibly hard. But rather it's because you're just in too much pain, even with meds it still hurts too much to even think about that, all you want to do is cuddle up with Simon.

Simon rarely complains during your period, that would be an asshole move to complain about not having sex while you're actively in pain. Not to mention Simon is usually very focused on getting anything to help you, trying to make you as comfortable as possible. The idea of sex just goes out of the window for him too. Occasionally he will ask you, not because he’s so impatient but rather because he knows it might help, he just hates seeing you in pain, but you've always turned him down.

The week before your period is when you hear all of Simon's complaints. He’s all pouty and sulking about how he has to wait a whole week. He complains that he’ll be starving. He begs you for extra time between your legs that week and the week after your period, to make up for the lost time obviously. It's like knowing he won't get to taste you next week makes him more horny and needy, any chance he gets he wants to be in between your legs. He always makes a big deal about it, not only because he’s horny and loves you but also because he knows how much your worry and anxiety grows knowing your period is coming, and knowing how much pain you'll be in, Simon is just doing what he can to distract you.

18+

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.

Like just imagine Simon tied up in some warehouse beaten half to death and still too proud to look it and one day he just hears gunshots and a comically loud “WHERE THE FUCK IS MY HUSBAND!????”

Yup, that’s his wife, his girl.

NSFW ♡ MDNI

CW: smut, choking, dacryphilia

John Price is a wonderful boyfriend.

He buys you whatever you want, pays and plans for 80% of all your dates, and texts and calls as often as he can when he’s working. He also fucks you good.

He’s got a nine inch dick that’s almost two inches thick and he knows how to use it.

He’ll start off slow. Kisses, lubed fingers, wet licks, making you cum at least once on his fingers and tongue. He’ll press in slowly and whisper, “Takin’ me so good.” He’s gentle until he bottoms out and you give him the go-ahead to start moving.

“Such a pretty baby I’ve got here.”

“Takin’ me so fucking good. So good.”

“Aw, squeezin’ me hard. I must be doin’ somethin’ ya like, baby. Tell me. What’s got you clenchin’?”

“Talk to me, baby. I know I haven’t fucked you dumb yet.”

If you’re in doggy he’s got you in a chokehold with a hand pressing on your stomach to feel himself.

In missionary he’s got hand on your throat and licking the tears welling in your eyes.

If you’re riding him he’s squeezing your ass hard and thrusting up into you.

He’ll never cum first. The faces and sounds you make when you’re gushing get him over every time.

if there was one thing you loved about your husband, it was his hair. there had been countless nights where the two of you curled up together on your bed while you ran his hands through his soft golden locks. it was an unspoken ritual that existed between the two of you.

it didn’t matter if he came home late, shoulders heavy and quiet, or if the night had been easy and light — somehow, you always ended up there. your fingers in his hair, slow and gentle, and him slowly melting beneath your touch.

after he had been sent on a week mission, the door barely had time to close before you were already there. only one other person had a key to your house, which was him, simon.

“simon—”

you stopped mid-step.boots stepped inside, heavy but familiar. a duffel bag dropped by the door. and then you shrieked:

“what happened to your hair?!”

simon? he slaps with weight. his cock is heavy, girthy, and he sort of just lets it drop against you, wet, blunt smacks across your lips and clit until you’re slick enough that every smack sounds obscene and you’re whining for him to just put it in already.

price slides his. he doesn’t tease so much as he just wants to watch his cock coat with your come. dragging the length of himself through your lips slowly, getting himself nice and wet until his fat head finally catches at your entrance on its own.

kyle’s the kind to feed you only the tip just to pull it out and drag the whole length of his cock up to your clit and back down, notches the head in again, pulls out, drags it back up. he’ll get lost doing it too if you let him, ten-fifteen minutes of it.

Waking up in the morning and Price is buried between your legs. It's not his usual frantic or hungry pace, he's not eating you out to make you cum, he's just enjoying your taste, savouring you.

Price is the type to hold a hand over your stomach, keeping you from squirming too much, keeping you from taking away his breakfast. Price is the type to look at you through his lashes, tongue swirling over your clit, watching you as you throw your head back, whining, it's still too early for this even when you're shivering everytime his moustache and beard brushes against the tender skin of your inner thighs. But Price isn't the type to move away from your folds when he needs to murmur his scold; his words sending the softest of vibrations through your core “Don't start the day by complaining too much, doll”

Although he won't give you the chance to complain, or even utter a word, because when Price starts his morning with his head buried between your legs, there's a high chance you won't be getting out of bed at all that day.

Si and us just straight up with this face: ( ・д・)

Or in the future, trying to finally travel to Pound Town and their kid just hits the door asking for a snack or to sleep with them.

Simon Riley fucks hard.

It’s all he knows. He doesn’t really have much of a choice when you arch into him like that, back off the bed, and hands fisting the sheets as you try to meet his thrusts eagerly. He’s given his all, and still you’re begging for more, harder, faster, please Sim-

When the bed breaks his movements stop and you look up in shock, disbelief on both of your faces. And then the both of you are laughing, curling your bodies from how hard the two of you laugh.

“Jesus, bird, can’t go that hard.”

He finishes the job, of course. It’s not the first or last time it happens.

He thinks a night like that was the reason you got pregnant in the first place. Not once, but twice.

Now, instead of broken bed frames, sex is interrupted by his baby girl, teddy bear in her arms, and tears in her lashes because she had a nightmare.