#thistlewrote

something, something Simon with a woman so soft He is afraid of her.

Tensions in the Riley household were high. It wasn’t because he was aggressive or mean. Hell, he didn’t even raise his voice at his woman. No, Simon was simply scared to death of her.

It wasn’t out of fear for his safety, but rather the opposite. She was precious and kind, and she… cried. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and the thought of being the reason for those tears terrified him more than any fight in a foreign country ever could.

On a quiet Saturday morning, Simon rolled out of bed, feeling the chill from the lack of comforter. He sat upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His Bird had always been the type to wake up at the crack of dawn just to have breakfast on the table, despite his typical protests that she needed more sleep. He knew exactly where to find her.

He stood and walked through the small house to the perfectly tidy kitchen, finding her bent over the stove, cooking something that smelled delicious, probably bacon…god he loved bacon.

“Baby,” he rumbled, his gruff voice extra deep given he’d just woken up.

When she turned to face him, his heart nearly sank to his feet. Tears. Why were there tears? No, no, no.

“Bird, what’s wrong?” he asked, quickly crossing the kitchen to pull the sniffling woman against his chest.

His mind raced. He had only just woken up; there was no way he could’ve done anything yet. Except... did he forget to take the trash out? Did he pull away and not cuddle her enough in his sleep? He had half worked up the nerve to just apologize for whatever crime he had certainly committed when she mumbled into his shirt.

“I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed. You wake up too early, Si,” her trembling little voice whispered.

She was crying because she wanted to surprise him. He would forever wonder what he had done to deserve this woman.

“I will take my arse right back to bed then, yeah?” he asked, pulling back a bit to look at her.

She nodded, wiping a tear away. She was too sweet for her own good, her heart too soft for the world he lived in.

“Yeah,” she sniffled.

And so, he did. Simon went and laid back down, all the while wondering how he got so lucky, how he actually managed to pull her, and more than anything, realizing that he could not possibly live his life without marrying her.

CoD Masterlist

John Price X Reader

AN: just a short little thing I wrote in like 15 minutes :)

You looked over at your husband, noting the tired expression on his face. He’d had a long day. You understood the feeling or at least you tried to. The truth was, you’d never truly understand what he did every day on base, how the mere prospect of war or the constant need to take charge would take such a toll on someone. You tried to grasp it, but in truth, you couldn’t. And you especially couldn't, given the fact that you hadn't held a job since you got married; he wouldn't have it.

“John, you alright, baby?” you asked tentatively.

It was blatantly obvious to anyone watching that John loved the absolute shit out of you. When you were walking in public, his hand was always on the small of your back, guiding you in the direction he wanted you to walk. If you were at a store, he’d sigh and hand you his credit card. He always provided whatever you needed. That being said, you knew exactly who you were marrying: a man who was grumpy, loud, and aggressive. Never violent with you, but aggressive. A part of you enjoyed it.

“No, love, not fuckin’ alright. Try showing me your tits, and we’ll see,” he said, glancing over at you with his signature frown as he puffed on a cigar. He was sitting in his worn leather recliner, a complete eyesore in your otherwise very cute living room.

“John!” You fussed. Couldn't he have a normal conversation for five minutes? You knew he loved you; everyone knew he loved you. But his love wasn't soft touches and romantic gestures. It was a constant presence; it was helpful, it was leading. But it was not soft. It was crass far more often than it was gentle.

“Don’t ‘JOHN!’ me, petal. I’ve had a long day, and if you’re trying to make me feel better, take your fucking top off.”

You just sighed and rolled your eyes because, despite his tone, you knew he wasn’t angry. He loved you, loved you to death.

TW: age gap relationship (20s and 40s?)

AN: this is so stupid but I laughed for a good and solid five minutes after I finished it.

“Lovie?”

Your ears perk up at the sound of John’s voice echoing through the house. Setting down your Switch, having finished a productive session of terrorizing your Animal Crossing villagers, you head upstairs toward his home office.

As you cross the threshold, a smile forms across your face. You wander over to the side of his desk, leaning your hip against the mahogany wood. Being with a man significantly older than you comes with its fair share of Baggage; people always have preconceived notions about how your relationship functions. Some of them are spot on, the way you call him ‘daddy’ being the most obvious, but it isn’t always like that. Sometimes, it’s just this:

John looks up at you, a deep frown etched into his face.

“What the bloody hell is a 6 7?” he asks. Genuine, pained confusion is written all over his features.

You can’t help it. You burst into laughter.

“John, I’m not that young,”you wheeze, clutching your stomach. “I don't even know why people say that either!”

Sure, you were Gen Z, but there were limits. You continue to laugh at him for a solid ten minutes, right up until he gets cranky and mutters for you to “get out and shut the door.”

You really do love that old man.

Soap who doesn’t think twice before calling his much older wife “mommy” at a table full of people.

Gaz who doesn’t even react because everybody is used to soap’s shit.

Ghost who chuckles a little not necessarily because it’s funny, but because Soap’s shamelessness is endlessly amusing.

John who is silently trying to work out the fact that he could’ve had his much younger wife calling him “daddy” the entire time and nobody would’ve cared at all apparently.

cw: established poly relationship, anal, vaginal sex. Authors note: for the first time in my life, I get to give one of those ridiculous notes to preface my fic. as I was writing this my house was swarmed with BEES so I'm sorry if it's bad lmfao. John Price X Simon Ghost Riley X Reader.

“John?” John glanced over at you, his focus mostly on the newspaper in his hand.

“Yes, princess?” 

“Love, why is Simon in the guest bed?” You question him, you weren’t upset by any means, truth be told you love it when Simon comes over, even more when he stays for a while it’s just when John crawled into your bed last night he hadn’t mentioned Simon was with him.

“Probably because he’s tired.” John said not looking up from the paper, it was the kind of plain, dry statement you usually got from your otherwise adoring husband. You met his gaze with a rather unamused expression, a silent demand for an actual answer.

“Needed some love from baby girl, that's all, we had a rough go round this time.” He states, leaning back farther into his recliner. You watch him as he gives a slight wince at the pain in his side. You hate that. John was clearly feeling as though that statement was enough of an explanation, and for the most part, it was.

You understood little of your husband’s job beyond the simple and watered down explanations he gives when he comes back from missions, still, you understood enough to know they needed extra love and care for a while afterwards, Simon is no different except for the fact he’s easier to deal with.

You make your way down the hallway, feeling the soft new carpet that you begged John for beneath your feet, muffling your steps. You open the door to the guest bedroom to find Simon sprawled out on the small bed.

“Si?”  You cautiously speak, you know for a fact he is not sleeping, the man rarely sleeps as is but definitely not in a bed two sizes too small and especially not after going through God knows what.

“Honey.” You probe again, walking now fully into the room and sitting down on the white crinkly duvet next to where he’s lying. His eyes are open but still, you get no response, you look him over noticing the new cut on his cheek, the facial hair he hasn’t bothered to shave yet, the bags under his eyes, the way his blonde hair sticks up in every direction from tossing and turning all night.

You never have loved the way he looks after a mission, always worse off than John, you know that John just hides it better but you worry for them both.

“Gotta tell me what you need, baby boy.” You mutter trying not to let the worry in your face show while brushing your fingers along the curve of his cheek, feeling the rough stubble that he will no doubt shave within a few days. He looks up at you, for a brief moment you can see the relaxed expression, like for a second he forgot about everything, everything but you. 

“I’m hungry.” A soft smile finds its way to your face. You lean down to place a soft kiss to his chapped lips.

“I’ll make you something.” 

As you cook you think of Simon, of John, you think of how lucky you are to not only have an amazing husband but to have the man in your guest bedroom. John doesn’t say it enough and Simon won’t ever admit it but the three of you have found a rhythm, this is Simon’s home as much as it was yours and John’s. It’s better when he’s home.

“Cookin’?” John asks after a few minutes, walking halfway into the kitchen and leaning onto the door frame.

“Yes.” You respond softly looking up with a smile, where John and Simon differ is mostly in the way that they treat you, neither one bad or wrong but different. John saw you, his little wife, as some sort of angel; he’s told you as much. He never asks or demands anything of you. You don’t work; you only cook or clean out of your own volition. To him, you’re more of a precious artifact that can’t be tampered with.

Simon is different, he’s a little more closed off, so you need a more aggressive approach, he’s learned over the years that your demands for him to tell exactly what he wants will be met with not hostility, but a soft hand and a loving voice, doing for him exactly what he needs. You’re sure that John wanted breakfast just as much as Simon did, but John would never ask for it.

As you cook, John remains in the kitchen, not speaking, but there’s a quiet understanding between the two of you, it’s comfortable, loving, and warm despite John’s current condition he wants to be in your presence.

After a long stretch of comfortable silence, you speak again. “Simon looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.” You mutter. You know that despite him not always behaving like he does, John cares as much for Simon as you do. Simon and John have a relationship that is difficult to explain, not only in how John allows him into both your home and marital bed. But also, how John relies on Simon to take care of you when he can’t, to meet you at the petrol station to fill your tank when he’s closer, to call and check on you when his phone dies. John expects Simon to have the same kind of care for you as he does.

“He hasn’t.” John’s simple statement makes you stand on edge a little, you love Simon, John knows that. You know when they are gone doing things that they won’t explain to you, Simon has John to look out for him, but they are men. A pat on the back from John does not have the same effect that a tender embrace or a home cooked meal does.

Once the simple meal of toast, eggs, and sausage was cooked, you made John a plate, sitting in front of him with a small clink of ceramic against the granite island. He smiled, a wordless “thank you.“ as you made Simon a plate carrying it with you to the guest bedroom.

You didn’t bother with a knock when you entered the bedroom. You set the plate on the nightstand, then sat in the same spot you had previously.

“Sit up, love.” It’s a demand, a loving demand, but a demand, nonetheless. He does as requested.  You never wish for Simon to be wearing a shirt, but at this moment, seeing the bruise along his torso and the bandage on his arm, makes you almost wish he were wearing one. Your incessant need to mother your men at war with your desire to focus only on what you could control; you could control breakfast.

“Here.” You hum, placing the plate on his lap. His tired eyes find yours. As Simon eats, you don’t move, you just chatter, talking to him, as though he were responding you watch his silent nods as he shovels food into his mouth as if he would never get to eat again.  As Simon finished his plate you began to pick it up, taking it to clean when you felt a big rough hand wrap around your wrist.

“Don’t go.” His deep voice echoed through the room, not loud, or demanding but a clear plea. You nodded, understanding what he needed in that moment was not breakfast in bed or space but rather just your presence. 

You move over the bed, making a mental note to buy him a bigger bed for the guest bedroom since he’s the only one who stays in it. You cautiously curl up into his side, pushing your legs beneath the covers to intertwine them with his own. Simon wrapped his arms around you and sighed deeply.

It was a satisfied sigh. You let the large man manhandle you, allowing him to pull you where he sees fit with your head now resting against the inside of his shoulder and your fingers grazing along his tummy. He speaks finally for the first time without you prompting him to do so. “Missed you.” It’s quiet like a confession he doesn’t feel he’s allowed to make.

“I missed you too, baby.”  You don’t hold the same reservation about voicing your adoration for the man curled up next to you. A soft kiss grazed your lips as he pulled you further into his chest.

“Love you.” he murmured against your lips, your want to say it back was stopped by his mouth, continuing to move against yours, holding your arm, as if he feared you trying to pull away. Things with Simon have always been silent, actions rather than words. While he is silent, you are fully aware he is asking for something in the way his hands wandered from your arm to the small of your back, to your ass. 

A desperation to be close, close where your bodies can meld together. When his lips moved from yours to your neck you let out an involuntary little whine. His soft, loving kisses, turned into something more, an outlet.

“Si.” You whine out. He, despite being tired and drained from the past month, let out a laugh and an almost condescending chuckle, sure the sweet boy had been waiting for soft kisses and breakfast in bed, getting to cuddle with the captain’s missus but he was hungry and not for food.

You let out a little gasp when his hand slipped down the front of your leggings. “Si.” You repeated it again this time, breathless, longing.  He let out a groan when his fingers swept between your folds.

“There’s my girl.”  He said, his fingers gliding along your slick sex. You had no words left, no protests either. Already the world around you grew hazy, and before you knew what happened, your T-shirt and leggings were in a heap on the floor.

Simon took his time watching, touching, kissing. He drew orgasm after orgasm from your body with just the deep plunge of his fingers.

“Well, that’s a pretty sight.”  A deep voice hummed from the doorway. Normally, you would acknowledge the presence of your husband but the way your lover was working his fingers into you could make even the smartest of women feel dumb.

Simon didn’t respond, just glanced over through his dilated pupils, merely continuing as John crossed the bedroom sitting down on the duvet.  For a moment you thought he would just watch His lieutenant pull sweat noises from your lips, but you believed you may have seen God when his thumb made contact with your clit.

“Give us another, pretty girl.”  You weren’t sure in that moment exactly who the words came from; you were unable to respond. All you knew was that the words were being spoken to you. 

And you did, not that you could help it. It was almost instantaneous, the way your body tensed before releasing. You drenched Simon’s torso, you didn’t even realize what you’d done at first, you squirt so rarely.  Once their hands came to a halt, you blinked you opened your eyes. Embarrassment worked its way onto your already pink cheeks.

“I’m s…” Your apologies were instantly cut off. “Shut up.” The words weren’t mean despite the quickness and aggression in them. It wasn’t mean, it was desperate. Shirts were ripped off, pants unzipped. While you lay there heaving and trying to come down from your high.

There was zero protest from you when you were lifted from your spot on the bed. You were pulled to lay on top of Simon‘s chest. Even in your limp and already fucked out state, you had half of mind to protest simply because of his bruise. The words died in your throat though, as your husband knelt in front of you.

“Be good okay, Pretty?” John said, positioning your legs, pushing your knees against your shoulders as Simon held the underneath of your thighs. You nodded, both men seemingly took that as their go ahead.

Simon pushed himself into you, a sensation you had gotten used to throughout the years. He was big, but he likes your ass, so it’s not an abnormal feeling either. You whine and wiggle a little at first, but as he settles, your body got used to the stretch, as you tipped your head back John too, began nudging your wet hole with the reddened, hard tip of his cock.

John, however, did not give you the same consideration as Simon, there was no time to get used to the stretch. He plunged himself to the hilt, touching your cervix. In an instant it was as if everyone let out a sigh of relief, like this, despite the responsibilities and lives of every person, was exactly where they were all meant to be.

Both of your men began moving, each at their own pace. Each grunting and groaning. You don’t believe in heaven, it has always seemed an abstract concept. But this? This has to be it.

As they both rutted into you, you whined. “Don’t start crying on me now, princess.” John’s deep voice commanded. You obey as best you can. Simon squeezes on your thigh as he continues his relentless pace. The huffing and gripping onto his arms is all you can do to keep from screaming in pleasure.

They each continue with rapidly increasing speeds, speaking filthy things to you as they near their individual climaxes. “Milkin’ me fokin’ dry.”  The first words from Simon’s mouth in a while, an indication of just how close he was. 

John was not far off, his breathing was rapid, his grip on your knees nearing on painful. His strokes got harder, rougher. Then all at once you could feel him snap, you could feel the warmth of him spilling into you. His pace slowed as he rode out his orgasm.

Simon did not stop. Soon his pace too slowed as he filled you up with him. 

You all lay there for a moment, no one speaking. Just breathing in the comfortable, love filled space. You always know exactly what to do to give them the little TLC they need.

CoD Masterlist

__________________________________________

John Price was not a man who was used to push back or upset. He does whatever he wants whenever he wants to. A decorated SAS captain, especially one as stubborn as himself, very rarely has many people questioning him, maybe the occasional higher up but not his team, not his colleagues, not his ex-wife, not his most recent girlfriend. But this woman is driving him up a wall.

Eight months, eight months with his bird. He thought moving in with her would be a walk in the park, she’s so sweet, so loving, a good cook, she smells nice, beautiful. He thought it would be easy, but the fuse on that woman was so short.

“Bunny rabbit?” John questioned while wandering through his house to find his sweetheart. He stopped at the bedroom door, hearing low cursing and muttering.

“Bun?” he repeated leaning against the door frame and watching whatever tantrum was happening in the bedroom with a mild amount of amusement. Laundry was being thrown, why she was mad was a mystery to him although he could make a guess.

“Jonathan” his little rabbit turned to look at him, her lips pressed together, her gaze sharp, clearly upset, probably at him, he reasoned.

“Mhm?” His tone didn’t change, the look of amusement didn’t falter. He couldn’t help it, he’d always thought It was funny when she turned into a little brat.

“I swear to God, you are a grown man, you should have the common sense to be able to say to yourself ‘Gee John, there’s a laundry basket right there. Maybe I should put my clothes into it instead of tossing them onto the floor.’ That might save your girlfriend a lot of time whilst doing the laundry don’t you think?” She spoke to him in an almost mocking tone, irritated with him, speaking to him like a mother would to a disobedient child.

“Sorry love.” he crossed the room intending to put his arms around his woman, usually settling her a bit, she rarely turned down affection, never turned down attention but the way she flipped around to glare at him was a little jarring.

“Laundry” the little rabbit demanded while pointing at the pile of clothes on the pristine carpet, a demand, if he wasn’t going to actively choose to pick up after himself, then he was gonna be forced.

“Want me to pick it up for ya, bird?” he asked, entertained, trying to tug at her waist to get her to ease up a little bit. He would pick up the damn laundry if it would make her quiet.

“Oh no, you’re going to do the laundry. if you insist on making my job harder, you can do it.” Deadpan, almost cold. If he wasn’t so irritated by the fact she shrugged off his affection, he might be a little impressed.

“Seriously?” Looking down at her like she was crazy, of course, his woman asking him to do the laundry was not that absurd, it's just he doesn’t do laundry, he works. She does laundry.

“Deathly, go!” a white basket was shoved into his hands, he had half a mind to tell her no but she did not look pleased, he walked to the laundry room with her following in toe, her arms crossed, brow furrowed. 

He did the laundry, it’s not like he didn’t know how he lived by himself for many years, he had no want to do domestic chores, but he’s not some kind of incompetent man. The trouble was the entire time he threw clothes into the washer. She just sat there, outside the door, looking at him, as if to make sure he was doing it right. Once he finished, he turned.

“You done pouting at me?” 

“No, while you’re at it, you can sweep up the pile of ash by your recliner.” She refused to relent. God this was going to be a long life with this little bird but she’s damn cute when she’s upset. 

“Yeah? Maybe I should fuck the attitude out of you instead?” He’s a patient man, but he only puts up with so much. And John would be a liar if he said he didn’t get a little excited when she starts bitching. He ended up bending her over the back of the couch and suddenly she had no issues sweeping up that pile all by herself, pretty little thing.

CoD Masterlist

One of your favorite bits that you do constantly is whenever you and John are out at a pub together and you get hit on by some 20 something year-old guy you like to respond to advances with your favorite line first by looking over to your boyfriend, and then by looking back to the man trying to get you in his bed “I’m sorry I only date old men.“ it’s funny mostly because they never know what to do and because John always gives you this exasperated look followed by some version of “m’ not fuckin old.”

blah blah blah price is your very rude neighbor that wants in your pants so bad he can't stand it.

TW: Fauxcest, Age gap (20’s and 40's?), kinda dubcon if you squint. use of both “dad” and “daddy” AN: per usual if you read this despite the warnings THATS ON YOU BABY BOOO.

prologue to this

It had been a truly long, miserable day. The kind that made your only goal a simple one: shower off the lingering chill, climb into bed, and make yourself dead to the world until morning. It was a wonderful, foolproof plan. You were sick of your boss and his incessant micromanaging, sick of your mother calling to ask too many questions, and most of all, tired of the persistent rain that left your skin feeling damp and sticky.

You stepped out of your car, ready to put your perfect plan in motion, when, of course, there was just one more damper on your already awful day. John Price.

The smoke smelling older dude had been your neighbor for over a year, and he rarely brought anything but annoyance and irritation. He was an old soldier with little to no manners and even less understanding of what constituted an inappropriate conversation.You suspected it was due to his job; you reckoned being around flying bullets and men all the time would do that to anyone. Regardless, he was not your favorite person, despite his good looks.

He was standing out on his porch, where he always was, a cigar between his fingers. In his usual attire: an old wife beater tank top that had seen much better days. You knew it would be rude not to at least offer a polite ‘hello,’ so as you walked up to your front door, you glanced over at the identical house next door, taking in the sight of the rough, muscular man you knew as your neighbor.

“Hi, John.”

“Hey, kid,” he replied in that fucking voice. It was deep and rough from years of inhaling poison, and despite your consistent efforts to avoid him, it made you feel like you'd just met God.

You shifted awkwardly, digging  through your bag for your keys, desperate to get inside and become one with your shower.

“Seem tired. Had a long, tiring day of being office eye candy?”

It might have been a joke, but you glared regardless. You’d known him for over a year; he really was just like that. You had learned to live with it, even in your current state of pissed off exhaustion.

 “HA, funny,” you stated, making it very clear you in fact did not find him the slightest bit amusing. Hot, maybe, but not amusing.

And yet, he seemed to get off on it. It was something you'd noticed through the months of trying to escape conversations with the grumpy mountain of muscle next door.

He stared at you for a good long moment while you desperately continued to search through your purse, trying to locate your keys. God, you had to clean out this bag. You could feel his focus on you, an almost physical weight that settled on your shoulders, but today, you simply didn't have the patience for it.

“Why are you doing that?” you asked, deciding for once to abandon your polite demeanor for how you were actually feeling inside.

He grinned. God, you wondered what he’d do if you just slapped that fucking look off his face.

You allowed yourself a long, thorough look at your neighbor: the patch of hairy chest visible under the collar of his tank top, the vein pulsing in his neck, the condescending way he tilted his chin when he looked at you. For a split second, you were so caught up in his looks that you almost forgot who those looks were attached to.

Then he spoke, because of fucking course he did. 

“Like what, kiddo?”

“Just staring at me, old man.” You shot the retort back with a quickness and bite that would usually have made you cringe. Much to your surprise, instead of getting upset, he just laughed. You weren't sure if he was laughing at you for calling him an old man or simply because your visible annoyance was so amusing to him.

Despite you being what you considered to be incredibly rude, he crooked a single finger at you. It was a silent, arrogant command telling you to walk yourself away from your door and over to his porch.

In that moment, you couldn't say exactly what came over you because you listened.

As you walked up the few steps of his porch, your bag still slung over your shoulder, you nearly talked yourself into turning around and retreating to your own door. That thought died the moment you were standing directly in front of him. Jesus, you forgot how big he is.

“Is this how you always act to men that want to fuck you?” he asked.

As he spoke, he pulled you toward him: not aggressively or meanly, but with a sudden, firm grip that was entirely about control. You sputtered for a second, the wheels in your head spinning. What did he just say?

“Excuse me?” was the only thing you could actually manage to get out.

Between the shock of his words and the sudden, warm pressure of your chest against his, you felt an embarrassing loss of all that oh so smart brain power you prided yourself on.

“You heard me, kid. You're young, not dumb.”

You had absolutely nothing to say to that. What were you supposed to say to that, exactly?

The objections flew through your mind: It was so incredibly forward. He was far too old for you. It would be too weird, considering he was your literal next door neighbor, and...

... and you wanted to let him fuck you so bad.

He seemingly noticed you working through your thoughts. He let out a little chuckle as he blew a stream of smoke through his lips.

“I didn't know,” you mumbled, the only defense you could come up with, feeling small and awkward pressed against his body.

“Mm. We’ll show you then, yeah?”

You can't remember if you nodded. You can't remember if you said yes.

What you do remember is the scent of smoke as he ground the end of his cigar against the wooden railing of his porch. You remember him turning, leading you into the dark house, and then you remember this:

Making out with a man nearly old enough to be your father, while he tore away bits of your clothes and tossed them haphazardly onto the floor.

Your brain was mush. You hated that you always did this, that you surrendered the second a man got his hands on you. John, however, seemed more than entertained by your reaction: the small whines that escaped every time he touched you, the way you obeyed every slight tilt of his jaw.

You were so wrapped up in him, distracted by the feel of his hands unclipping the hooks on your lace bra, that you almost didn't hear him speak.

“Daddy didn't pay you much attention, huh?” he asked, pulling your arms free of the straps.

You looked up at him through hazy vision, a heavy heat already pooling in your underwear. You shook your head slightly. Why lie? He had clearly already figured it all out.

“Thought not. We’ll get that sorted, won’t we?”

You nodded again. A small, frantic part of your brain was still fighting against your desperate need for attention, but the struggle was instantly silenced.

He dragged the rough scratch of his beard down your chest, moving from your lips to your now exposed nipple.

Yeah, you were fucked.

It wasn't like you’d never been fucked before. Hell, you’d had quite a few boyfriends, but this was different. He was a big guy, and how silly of you not to think that the rest of him would match.

After completely undressing you, and thoroughly making a mess of you with nothing but his mouth, he flipped you over onto your tummy. You let out a small, startled squeak.

“Shh, quiet, pretty girl. Let me make you feel good, okay?” he groaned into your ear as he dragged his index finger up your soaked folds.

The words slipped out before you even had a chance to think about them. Your head was spinning, your heart was racing, and the dizziness only intensified when he finally gave your aching body what it was crying for. When he started to push into you, the gasp you made was involuntary.

“I know, too big, huh? Relax for me, all gonna be okay. You can be good for me, can't you?” he cooed softly though condescendingly into your ear.

Yes, you could do that. The sound of his voice eased your mind, just enough to override the pain.

“Yes, sir.”

That seemed to please him. He made a low humming noise in his chest as he grabbed hold of your shoulder, pushing you firmly down onto his length.

He took his time with you. Despite his eagerness earlier on the porch, he pushed slowly into your body until he bottomed out. You could feel the overwhelming sensation of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“I uh,” you tried to get some real words out, but nothing else would come. It only got worse as he truly began moving.

“That's a good girl. There she is. Didn't need that pesky attitude, did ya?”

You attempted to mumble something in response, struggling through his overwhelming rhythm and your watering eyes, but a rough grip on your shoulder told you this was not your time to talk.

“Just needed a dad, poor thing living all by herself over there.”

Poor thing. You were a poor thing.

By the time he finished, after hours of muttering filthy words into your ear, he not only had you trembling and utterly falling apart on his cock, but he had you genuinely convinced of it.

The next words he spoke, you thought, would remain in your head for the rest of your life.

“You were so good for dad.

CoD Masterlist