"Get A Load Of This Guy" I'M TRYING TO!!

Cann, we get more chubby!reader x artist!könig please 🙏

I might write some drabbles before the part 2 is up, what would you like to see? Don't be shy!

priceghost x reader. dubcon themes.

thinking about being john’s newly-wed, barefoot and warm as an oven, stumbling to the door when you hear his iron foot fall. it’s been months, but you recognize the cadence on the porch. sounds like morning tea and his favorite cigars.

unlocking the door and throwing yourself into his arms, smelling the space above his shoulder, inhaling…petrichor. wet dirt. blood.

that isn’t your husband.

you slowly peel yourself away, stunned when your eyes meet brown instead of blue.

“where’s…”

“right ‘ere, dove.”

you glance over the stranger’s shoulder (who is still holding you up) and find your husband, looking a little too amused that his wife is in another man’s arms.

once you reach him, he kisses the top of your head, before rubbing your shoulder to coo the loud creature of embarrassment before it reaches your mouth in the form of an apology.

“you’ve met simon. he’ll be staying with us for a little while.”

you glance between the two before meeting your husbands eye. “I-“

“im sure you don’t mind the extra stomach, right darlin?”

you swallow.

“of course not,” you glance at simon, who’s face remains neutral, “the more the merrier.”

you meant for meals. they seemed to understand it differently.

now you sleep between the two of them, quilt unnecessary while their meaty limbs keep you sweltering.

the bed is heavy, and you haven’t complained because you’re a hostess, and simon is john’s friend. even when you feel him palming your clothed cunt ‘in his sleep’, you don’t fuss.

instead, you silently turn on your side, trying your best to subtly grab your husbands attention.

but he’s already there, watching. smiling gently, like he does when he says he loves you.

“there there dove. you can learn to share, right?”

Simon Riley posts an ad for a stray cat he does not want, and you answer.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem! Reader

Tags: fluff, short n’ sweet, eventual romance/smut

Pt. 1, Pt. 2 | ao3 | mlist✎ᝰ.ᐟ

It has to be some form of trauma. A hallucination. A dream. Anything but that stupid fawn-colored cat outside his door.

Scratching. Meowing. Terrorizing him.

He ignores it for as long as he possibly will. Turns the volume of his TV up, washes clothes to drown out the sound, pretends for a while longer that he doesn’t know what’s waiting for him just outside his wooden door. That it doesn’t have a tail and four legs.

But he can’t push it away forever, he’s a man for fucks sake. He doesn’t flee and cower in the face of a threat. A small one at that, curled on his skull mat, waiting for the moment he accepts his fate and opens his damn door. A hostage in his own home.

So, he cracks his door open— just a smidge.

Looks to see if the animal is really there or if the voices, cats, inside his head are playing a cruel joke on him. And sure enough, there it is, licking its paws leisurely as if it fucking belongs there.

A part of him had been hoping he was going crazy, that he was just imagining the high-pitched meow. He could deal with crazy, preferred it actually.

What he couldn’t deal with was the cat outside who seemed convinced he was its home. He’s grateful he hasn’t deleted your contact yet, for multiple reasons now.

It’s easy to ignore the cat, even easier to shut his door in its face, deny it access to his home. Now, as he remembers the events of last week, he thinks he should bring it inside. He’s not entirely fond of the idea, but he’s even less fond of roaming the neighborhood for a second time for the cat.

This is how he finds himself staring at it with a scrutinizing squint and crossed arms on his kitchen counter. It stretches, two front legs reaching out while its hind raises in the air. Simon has to ignore the fact that it’s dirty paws are on his kitchen counter and that it’s fur doesn’t fly in the air as it shimmies itself into a sitting position. He’ll have to bleach the spot and purge the area of any remnants of the pest.

The cat doesn’t seem to sense his aversion because it just stares back, slowly blinking, tail whipping behind it like it’s happy, content. Staring affectionately at him like he hasn’t spent the last several months doing everything in his power to get rid of it.

When you arrive, he begrudgingly takes it into his arms, opens the door to an anxious smile and more fuzzy socks. He dangles it between the two of you with both hands around its torso.

You squeal at the sight, “Churro! What are you doing here, huh? It’s a long distance, pretty lady! It must have been a very dangerous adventure.”

Simon watches you talk to the cat like it can understand you, watches the way your brows pinch, and a small frown forms on your lips in actual concern for its safety. It’s confusing that you would care so deeply for such a thing, but it makes the corners of his lips twitch.

Churro just meows, rubbing her nose and forehead against your cheek. This makes you coo, smiling gently at her, pressing your cheek against hers in turn.

You haven’t even turned your focus to him for a second, no ‘thank you for watching the demon,’ no ‘hi, how are you?’ Just more kisses and sugar-spun words to your precious kitty.

“Was the big scary man mean to you?” You ask, staring at it with beady eyes, “Did he call you the devil again?”

Oh really, cat lady? That’s how it’s going to be? He supposes teasing is better than you being terrified of him.

He scoffs, “Did no such thing.”

You finally look at him, giggling softly as you pull Churro back against your chest, “I’m sure you were nothing but generous to her.”

“I was. Treated the damn thing like royalty.” He grumbles because he was. Carried it into his home even though he wanted to do the complete opposite just so you could have your bloody cat back. And all he has to show for it is you ignoring him for the likes of the cat.

“Well,” You say, nodding your head, “I’m sorry you had to deal with her again. I left her inside before leaving for work, I’m not sure how she managed to get out.”

That was the first time it happened, and of course, it wasn’t the last. Nothing seemed that way with ‘Churro’ because the following week she made her appearance at his house again.

It became a routine. Once a week Churro made her way over to Simon’s like she was visiting him, Simon messaged you— ‘The demon is here.’

Sat Churro on his counter and watched her with pinpointed eyes while he waited. Then you arrived shortly with snuggles and apologies. A new explanation each time; you closed all the windows, checked twice, even locked them! Same with your doors, there was no way for her to get out, but somehow she always managed to escape.

Simon didn’t entirely mind the whole ordeal. Didn’t mind you, quite frankly, he liked opening his door to Tasman slippers, a glimmer in your eyes, and a soft noise of excitement. Pretended as if it was because of seeing him and not the stupid cat in his hands.

Except somewhere along the lines, Simon’s hatred for Churro morphed into something else completely. Ignoring her for as long as he could turned into letting her in after the first scratch. A glowering scowl shifted to furrowed brows. Crossed arms and balled fists became relaxed and loosened at his side. Helicopter supervision simmered into free access, let Churro roam his house while they waited for you.

That wasn’t to say he liked the damn cat because he didn’t. Tolerated her at most. For you, at least.

Irritation still burnt his lungs when he watched you coddle her, when you ignored him as you took her into your arms and rocked her back and forth, when you cuddled her close to your chest and hummed tender words to her instead of him.

Simon wasn’t exactly sure what it was or what it meant. Not when he deprived himself of anything of the sort, thought he had buried it six feet under and sealed it with a cross. But that was the thing, he couldn’t exactly mourn the loss of something when he hadn’t fully committed to severing it of himself completely, held on to it with a thin thread.

It became painfully apparent when he texted you not to come to pick up Churro one day; it was pouring rain, storming, and as much as he didn’t want to have the damn cat overnight, he’d much rather keep you from being stuck in a storm. Still, he opened the door to drenched clothes, shaking fingers, and chattering teeth. His temples pinched, ushering you inside instantly.

Maybe he shouldn’t care, shouldn’t invite you inside, but he does anyways.

“Bird,” He sighed, “Told you to stay home.”

“I know,” You shivered, petting Churro with a wet palm, “But I felt guilty. I know you don’t want Churro here and we’re just inconveniencing you.”

“Not an inconvenience, I don’t mind doing it for you,” He grumbled, “Stay right here. You’re not going back until the storm stops.”

You looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth parting slightly, but he doesn’t give you time to respond, leaving you standing there in shock before bringing back dry clothes for you, a black sweater, and gray sweats.

“Here,” He grunted, handing you the clothes, “You can change in my bathroom.”

“Oh no! It’s okay, I can just go home,” You argued, attempting to push the clothes back in his grasp.

Simon levels you with a sharp look, makes you pull the clothes to your chest because he won’t take no as an answer for your safety.

“Okay, yeah,” You nod your head, “Yeah.”

He makes tea on the stove while waiting for you, Churro jumps on the counter in the meantime, with a soft chirp, plopping her way over to rub her body against his forearm.

“Oy, be careful,” He chastises, pushing her away, “Stove’s bloody hot.”

“So you do care about her!”

Simon turns around to find you standing in the doorway of his kitchen. There’s a smug look on your face, but he doesn’t focus on that, can’t focus on anything other than how you look in his clothes. You swim in the material, sweater sleeves hiding your hands completely, sweats pooling at your sock-clad feet. He has to pinch the inside of his cheek to hide his smile at the sight.

It’s cute. Endearing. Makes his teeth ache in his mouth, fingers twitching against the pot on the stove in a strangely possessive way. He doesn’t even care that he’s been caught caring for the damn pest when something warms curls in his chest.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lies.

You laugh, padding your way over to his side, “Oh, whatever. Now I know why she keeps coming over here to see you.”

“And why’s that? I can’t for the life of me figure out why she won’t stop botherin’ me.”

“Maybe she has a crush on you,” You joke, cupping Churro’s face in your palms, “Huh, pretty lady? Do you have a crush on the big scary man?”

He snorts, “Not likely.”

You lean towards him as he hands you a cup of tea, “Maybe she thinks you’re her dad.”

Simon stares at you a little dumbfounded, watches you turn to talk to Churro again, asking if she thinks Simon is her dad. He tries to submerge the overwhelming feeling underwater, drown it, and wash away the insinuation, but it’s almost impossible when you’re adorned in his clothes, oversized fabric hanging off your smaller frame.

Excuses himself by clearing his throat, throwing your soaked clothes in the dryer to distract himself from the drowning.

The storm lasts for a little while, so you sit on his couch with Churro curled in your lap, purring quietly to sleep. Simon tries to scavenge a meal for you, but he doesn’t have much in his fridge, wishes this was planned, so he could cook you something worth eating. You don’t mind, shushing him when he apologizes with an assortment of snacks on a tray, giggling softly at his poor attempt to feed you.

“It’s okay,” You reassure, smiling pleased at him, “I’m not really hungry anyways. Next time we can prepare more.”

Yeah, next time.

When the storm relents, the two of you are preoccupied, finishing a movie you wanted to watch. Some rom-com, he doesn’t entirely know, can’t focus much when he’s sitting next to you on his couch. There’s a measly cushion separating the two of you, sitting on either end of the couch, but it still claws at the back of his mind no matter how much he tries to rationalize it.

In his home. Sat on his couch. Wearing his clothes.

He tries not to be greedy, claim you as his own, but it only gets worse when you pull your feet up, leaning your head against the back of the cushion, snuggling deeper into his couch, and making yourself comfortable. He’s sure you don’t even realize that the storm ended or when you turn towards him and ask if he liked the movie.

He doesn’t mind that you stayed after the rain stopped, doesn’t even mind that Churro made her way to his lap halfway through the rom-com. You don’t point it out either, just flicker your eyes with a knowing smile.

Did he like the movie? He honestly can’t recall a single line.

@lighthousebats @cococococ @sai-int @tessakate @starboykel @imrandomstuffsblog @your-internet-tenshi @glossy01 @orangegreensun @uriahs-burn @ye-olde-trash-panda @akkahelenaa

thank you to my sweet @bunnybeaches for the cat name ‘Churro.’ 🐇🤍

PORN DIRECTOR KÖNIG

nsfw. perverted older man. come eating. pussy slapping. voyeurism. manhandling. degradation. squirting. stomach bulge. sex work. unsafe sex. unrealistic sex. nasty.

you never planned on doing porn.

you don't think anyone does, really. you had a whole different life mapped out— degree, stable job, retirement.

but college was bleeding you dry. bills stacked faster than you could pay them, textbooks cost more than your monthly groceries, and your financial aid office had the efficiency of a broken vending machine. part-time jobs barely kept the lights on. dinner was whatever was cheap and lasted the longest.

you worked, studied, scraped by, but it felt more like drowning in slow motion.

camming started as an experiment. a shot in the dark born from desperation.

you bought a cheap ring light from amazon, found a secondhand webcam on facebook marketplace, and set up your little filming space in the corner of your apartment. it was nothing fancy. the lighting was bad, the camera wasn’t great, and instead of a tripod you had a stack of books.

but it worked.

you slipped into the only matching lingerie set you owned— soft pink lace, delicate ribbons, tiny bows stitched in all the right places. sheer enough to tease, but still leaving just enough to the imagination. the bra straps slipped down your shoulders as you posed in front of the mirror, lips parted, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

picking the best ones, you captioned them with something playful then posted them to onlyfans, shut your laptop, and forgot about it. you weren’t expecting much. maybe a few subscribers, a little extra cash, nothing major.

then, your account blew up.

someone with a bit of reach had apparently found your photos and posted them to a a ddlg subreddit, and suddenly you were everywhere.

at first, you didn’t notice. but when you woke up to hundreds of new notifications, dms, and tips flooding in overnight, you started digging.

that’s when you saw it. a post on reddit. thousands of upvotes. hundreds of comments dissecting your photos in excruciating detail.

[r/ddlg] found this new onlyfans girl and i'm losing my mind. she’s so soft. look at her. look at her.

🔺14.3k upvotes 💬 793 comment

u/daddysfavorite456: this is the most perfect little babygirl i’ve ever seen wtf

🔺6.2k

u/sirspanksalot: the way she’s tugging her panties down just a little… i need a moment

🔺4.9k

u/subsugarplum: her little pout in the third pic is actually ruining my life

🔺3.3k

u/softdom_daddy: how do we make sure she never pays for anything again in her life?

🔺7.1k

your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled. every detail of your photos was being analyzed. obsessed over.

the way you tilted your head just slightly, eyes wide and doe-like. the way your fingers curled in the hem of your panties, like you were hesitating. like you needed permission. the little pout in the last photo, lower lip caught between your teeth, the faintest furrow in your brows.

suddenly, your subscriber count was doubling by the hour.

new subscribers flooded in overnight. your follower count jumped by thousands. dms piled up, requests, tips, compliments, outright begging.

"you're perfect. please let me take care of you." ($20 tip)

"you’re the softest little thing i’ve ever seen." ($50 tip)

"tell me you do custom videos. i’ll pay whatever." ($100 tip)

the sudden influx of attention was overwhelming. you barely had time to process it before people were demanding more.

demand skyrocketed. they were practically clawing at your metaphorical door, begging for more content, more variety— more, more, more.

for now, solo work was fine. it was safe. comfortable. easy to control. but you knew it wouldn’t be enough forever. you saw it in the comments, in the messages, in the ever-growing list of requests. they wanted more than just you and a camera. they wanted another presence. another body in the frame.

you debated your options. a studio would be the safest bet. you had the budget now— painstakingly built, every small tip, every renewal adding up until you finally had enough that you didn't need to comprise comfort.

but finding the right studio was another thing entirely.

you didn’t want the overproduced, garish lights and cheap theatrics of mainstream porn. you wanted subtlety. intimacy. something with taste. good lighting, soft edits, angles that captured the feeling rather than just the act.

something that matched the persona you had so carefully built.

you thought about it for weeks before finally bringing it up to valeria, a girl you often had collabs with.

she tilted her head when you mentioned it. "professional production..? you know there are a lot of seedy guys out there."

you nodded, worrying your lip between your teeth. you’d done enough research to know that most so-called "professional" setups were just glorified scams, with sleazy directors who treated performers like props.

valeria watched you for a second, then clicked her tongue. "but, if you ever actually follow through, i know a guy. a lot of the girls have worked with him before. big name in the business. respects his actors. good guy." she pulled out her phone. "i’ll send you his portfolio. put in a good word."

you meet könig a few weeks later, after countless back-and-forth emails, late-night calls hammering out details, discussions about setups, plot points, pricing. every conversation had been strictly professional so far and you appreciated the distinct lack of attempts to try and get in your pants.

you don’t expect to spot him the moment you step into the airbnb you rented for the shoot, but there he is, standing head and shoulders above the rest of the crew. and the first thing that strikes you isn’t his height (though jesus, he’s massive). it’s how out of place he looks.

he doesn’t carry himself like someone in the industry. doesn’t exude that easy sleaze, that over-familiar smirk you’ve come to expect from men in this business. no tight black tee straining over biceps, no carefully curated air of supremacy with just a hint of nicotine.

instead, he looks like someone’s dad who got lost on his way to a hardware store and somehow ended up in the adult industry instead.

his glasses are perched high on the bridge of his nose, pushed up with the absentminded shove of a knuckle. his sweater— soft, thick, comfortable— hangs loose on his frame, sleeves pushed up to reveal thick forearms dusted with silver hair. he’s dressed like he should be standing at a backyard grill, not directing an erotic film.

he’s older than you expected. forty, according to his portfolio, and he wears it well. silver threading through black, crow’s feet at the corners of sharp, washed-out blue eyes. his nose is crooked— like it had been broken once and never quite set right— makes his face look lived-in, a little rough around the edges. his stubble is light, a soft dusting of salt and pepper.

he looks warm.

he’s talking to someone. one of the crew, maybe, head dipped slightly, listening intently. but even hunched, even relaxed, his sheer size makes him loom.

and then the door clicks shut behind you, and he hears it. könig's head lifts, pale blue eyes settling on you in an instant.

he excuses himself with a quiet murmur. hands tucked into the front pocket of his pants, broad shoulders rolling slightly like he’s trying to make himself smaller, less imposing.

it doesn’t work.

“good to finally meet you,” he says, accent curling soft in his words.

oh, you think. you hadn’t expected that, either.

his voice is deep, just shy of being harsh. it's a far cry from the sharp tone you’d imagined after hearing him speak over the phone. there’s something smoother about it in person, a warmth undercutting the rough edges.

you shift the tray of coffee in your hands, balancing it carefully before setting it down on the small folding table near the entrance.

“brought coffee for everyone,” you say, wringing your hands because you refuse to brush them off on your dress.

he glances down at the cups, and for a second you think you see something soften in his expression.

“thoughtful,” he murmurs, and though his face remains unreadable, you can hear the approval in his voice. something warm curls in your stomach at that.

you exhale, trying to shake off the nervous energy thrumming in your chest, and clear your throat. “figured caffeine would help. don’t wanna be the reason your crew collapses mid-shoot.”

könig huffs something close to a chuckle, tipping his head toward the set-up behind him. “they’ve worked under worse conditions.”

you’re not sure what that means, but before you can ask, he gestures for you to follow him further into the space.

the next few minutes are easy. professional. you go over the shot list, the angles he’s planning, how he likes to work— efficient and minimal retakes unless absolutely necessary. he asks about your preferences, what you don’t want, what you do.

it’s…comfortable. smoother than you expected. he’s patient, but direct. no wasted words, no unnecessary small talk, just the work. you like that.

and then your phone rings.

you pull it from your pocket without thinking, glancing at the name on the screen.

simon riley. your co-star. you press accept, bringing the phone to your ear.

“hey, you on your way?” you ask, already stepping away from könig, mind half on the conversation you’d just been having.

but simon doesn’t answer right away. there’s a beat of silence. “can’t make it.”

your stomach drops. you stop short, your pulse spiking. “what?”

“somethin’ came up. won’t be able to get there.”

you glance at könig, your breath stalling in your throat. this cannot be happening.

“simon, i can’t reschedule,” you hiss, stepping further away, out of earshot. “i already paid for the location, the crew’s already here-”

“nothin’ i can do, sweetheart,” he says, not unkind. “’m sorry.”

but sorry doesn’t fix this. sorry doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t shoot today, you’re out thousands.

your grip tightens around your phone. “simon, please-”

but the line clicks. he’s gone. panic creeps up your spine, cold sweat starting to form on your palms. you can’t not shoot today. you can’t afford it. the budget’s already stretched thin, and a reschedule isn’t just inconvenient— it’s impossible.

you drag a hand through your hair, swallowing hard.

könig’s eyes are on you and you can feel the heat of his gaze. when you turn, he asks, “problem?”

you open your mouth, hesitate. because what the fuck are you supposed to say? every option you can think of results in you losing a few hundred dollars at the minimum.

“simon's out.”

könig watches as your fingers tighten around your phone, knuckles turning white. you press your lips together, trembling just slightly before biting down, like you’re trying to hold yourself together by sheer force of will.

he tilts his head, slow. "know anyone that can sub in?"

you shake your head immediately, too fast, too frantic. a sharp inhale makes your shoulders rise, lashes fluttering against the unshed tears that suddenly gloss your eyes.

fuck.

you’re going to cry.

könig shouldn’t be looking this closely.

shouldn’t be cataloging every shift of your body. the quickening of your breath, the rise and fall of your chest. shouldn’t be tracking how your throat works as you swallow, how the delicate line of your jaw tenses under pressure.

it’s detail he shouldn’t register. detail that has no purpose. no place. no right to send his thoughts careening somewhere they have no business going.

but they go there anyway.

because he's been watching you.

not in a way that's creepy— könig tells himself that, over and over. he was just a professional doing his research, getting a feel for his clients. it’s good business practice, staying informed, making sure he knows who he’s working with, what they bring to the table.

and if that research led him to your socials, to hours of footage in soft, honeyed lighting, to endless clips of you sprawled out on pristine white sheets as you mewled into the camera— well. that was just part of the job, wasn’t it?

nothing personal. certainly nothing unprofessional.

but the truth, the thing he never says out loud, not even to himself is that he’s spent far too many nights with his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, watching you through the screen.

watching you in those tiny lingerie sets. pink and white lace, frilly little bows, the kind of girlish softness that makes his teeth ache.

könig's watched every fucking video. every stream. every post. hours spent with his laptop open, pants shoved down around his hips, hand working his cock as you bat your lashes and moan so sweetly it makes his head spin.

‘am i a good girl?’ you breathe into the mic, like you’re talking right to him. like you know.

and god, does he know you.

he’s studied you. learned you. mapped out every twitch, every tell, every fleeting flicker of pleasure that crosses your pretty face. the way your brows pinch together when you’re getting desperate. the way your lips part right before you come, glossy and swollen, tongue darting out to wet them like you want something in your mouth, like you’re inviting someone to grab you by the jaw and fuck your throat until you can’t think.

he’s seen how your thighs start to tremble when you edge yourself too long. how your back arches off the sheets when you finally let go, hips rolling into your own hand, breath catching in your throat as you fall apart in a mess of shuddery gasps.

könig has jerked off to all of it.

not just once. not just twice.

so many times he’s lost count.

sometimes slow, drawing it out to hear that little whimper you make at the end— the one that sounds like you’ve been fucked dumb.

sometimes rough. desperate. chasing his own release with one hand fisted in the sheets and the other pumping his cock.

it drives him fucking crazy.

it’s worse up close. worse when you shift on your feet, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, trying to hold yourself together.

stop.

he clenches his fists. drags in a breath through his nose. he is not some fucking rookie. not some kid who can’t keep his head straight.

but then you make a sound that crawls under his skin and sinks deep. and suddenly his thoughts are careening somewhere they shouldn’t go—

places where that breathy little sound is choked out against his palm. where those fingers twisting at your sleeves are scrabbling at his belt instead, pulling, fumbling, desperate.

his cock twitches.

jesus christ.

it’s perverse. it’s wrong. twenty years between you. he shouldn't even be thinking about you like this. but then he thinks about how small your hands would look trying to wrap around his cock. how easily he could press you up against the nearest wall, let you feel how bad he wants you, let you know exactly what you do to him—

and yeah.

he’s fucked.

his grip tightens on the coffee cup, knuckles white, cardboard crumpling in his palm.

"we can reschedule." it’s the logical thing to say. the right thing.

but you stiffen immediately, shaking your head almost violently, like the mere suggestion hurts.

"i can’t." your voice wobbles. "i don’t have the budget for it. the airbnb, the crew- if we don’t shoot today, it’s done. i lose it."

he can hear the distraught in your voice, the panic creeping in, rising in your throat. and könig— könig has never been good at ignoring that kind of thing.

his jaw tightens. his fingers flex. his pulse pounds in his ears. and before he can think better of it—

"i can do it."

your head jerks up, eyes locking onto his. wide. startled.

"what?"

könig lifts a broad shoulder, deceptively casual, ignoring how his pulse is hammering in his throat. acting as if he didn’t just offer himself up like it was nothing.

"i can do it," he repeats. "you need a scene partner."

he pauses, just long enough to make sure you’re really listening before he adds, pointed: "i’ve done worse for less."

it’s true too. könig had started shooting for money, not for passion, not for art. there were years where he took any job that paid, no matter how grimy, no matter how degrading. no dignity in it, no careful framing, no thoughtful direction. just harsh lighting, rough hands, the sound of too many bodies shifting in too little space.

it’s not like that anymore.

now, he works for himself. he makes art, in his own way. he only takes projects that meet his standards, only shoots what he knows will look good.

and this, you, would look incredible.

"are you-" you swallow hard, throat working, voice tight. "you’re serious?"

könig lets out a short, amused breath, tilting his head. "wouldn’t offer if i wasn’t."

your gaze flickers down to his mouth, just for a second, before snapping back up.

he notices. of course he fucking notices.

you hesitate, worrying your lip between your teeth, and he wants— god, he wants.

he lifts his coffee, takes a slow sip. watches you.

"think it through," he says, letting the accent curl around the words. "do you trust me?"

you stare at him, breath coming in short, uneven pulls. your fingers tighten around your phone.

and then, even though you probably shouldn't, you nod.

this is insane, is all you can think as your hands smooth down the dress, fingertips catching on the fabric’s delicate weave. it sways when you move, hem teasing the tops of your thighs.

the crew picked it because it feels normal, something someone’s wife might wear on a lazy sunday, waiting for her husband to walk through the door. not lingerie, not tight or short or scandalous. innocent.

somehow, that makes it worse.

the set sprawls before you, carefully crafted to mimic home. the couch sits comfortably worn— or at least looks like it, upholstery creased just enough to suggest years of use. a blanket lies draped over the back, fringes brushed out to seem effortless.

the coffee table holds small artifacts of a life: a half-empty mug with a faint lipstick stain, a book splayed open, pages curled, a pair of keys glinting under the warm overhead glow. off to the side, a framed photo perches, two strangers caught in mid-laugh, frozen happiness you’re supposed to claim as yours.

the lighting bathes it all in amber. soft, forgiving. like sunset spilling through a window that doesn’t exist. everything is designed to feel. to pull the viewer into a scene that isn’t real but wants to be. warmth. comfort. longing.

your pulse trips. nerves coil tight under your. stepping out, you inhale–

and there he is.

könig stands beside the couch, posture loose, almost as if he’s holding himself back from something. the uniform strains against him, fabric pulled taut across broad shoulders and the solid line of his chest. it’s glaringly obvious that it wasn’t tailored for a man like him— you doubt anything ever is— but he wears it like it belongs to him anyway. the belt grips a tapered waist, dog tags resting cold against his sternum. they glint when he shifts, catching the warmth of the lights.

he’s big. that part you knew. everyone knows. but there’s something about seeing him like this, the bulk of him filling the space, boots planted, arms crossed, sleeves clinging to thick forearms, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

he looks like he could hold the world in his hands. break it if he wanted.

then he lifts his head. and his gaze finds you.

it hits like a physical weight, gravity pulling you closer.

his eyes track the line of your body. starting from your face, drifting down, and back up again. for a moment you assume he’s taking inventory, cataloguing details you didn’t know you were offering.

your skin prickles under the attention. heat pooling low, spreading outwards.

könig’s jaw shifts. a muscle ticks. his fingers flex where they rest against his bicep, knuckles pale for half a second before he eases them loose.

you swallow. "do i look okay?"

silence stretches. then: "you look perfect."

his voice sounds like it's been scraped raw from something you can’t name. and you know you shouldn’t take his words to heart. shouldn’t make something out of nothing. he was just being polite—

but god, he doesn’t stop looking.

you breathe out. "are we ready?"

that seems to snap him out. könig exhales, nostrils flaring. “yeah," he says, looking away.. "we’re ready."

you nod and he turns, clapping his hands together.

"quiet on set!" his voice cuts through the chatter. "lights- ready? camera?"

a muffled ‘rolling!’ comes from behind the equipment.

he glances back, stepping into place. "sound?"

"speed!"

he nods, shoulders shifting under the snug uniform. "all right. action on me. three... two..."

his gaze flickers forward, locks onto you. his hand lifts, a silent ‘ready?’

you nod.

"action!"

the front door creaks open.

you see him first— broad shoulders filling the doorway, boots heavy against the worn rug you picked out last fall. his bag drops with a dull thump, keys jangling, and for a beat, you just stand there, watching.

it doesn't feel real. something out of a dream. your husband looks older somehow. tired. lines carved a little deeper around his eyes, hair at his temples brushed with more gray than before.

it's longer now too, the ends curling where sweat and travel have left it mussed.

then his gaze lifts, blue catching yours. and that’s all it takes.

you move.

your feet carry you faster than you realize, dress fluttering against your legs as you throw yourself into him.

könig catches you with a small grunt, part effort, part relief, hardly moving from his spot. strong arms close around you as he lifts you off the floor with an ease that's almost unfair.

his hand finds the back of your thigh, fingers splayed wide. "easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rough from disuse, deepened by exhaustion and age. there’s an edge to it, earned from years of barking orders and nicotine abuse. "still getting old, you know."

you huff a breath that’s almost a laugh. "you’re not that old."

"hm." könig presses his face into your hair. "tell that to my back."

your chest tightens. god, you missed him. missed the way he smells— soap, leather, that faint trace of cologne you’d tucked into his bag months ago, almost worn off, but still miraculously there. you press your nose to his neck, breathing him in, and whisper, "missed you."

"missed you more." when he pulls back, his gaze traces every line of your face, eyes crinkling at the corners. "lemme take a good look at you, baby."

heat blooms in your cheeks, but you let him. there’s something reverent about his gaze when you meet his eyes.

then, he kisses you.

and fuck.

it’s messy. warm. his mouth is rough against yours, stubble scraping your skin, tasting like coffee burned down to the dregs.

"god," you breathe, voice catching on a gasp. "i love you."

könig chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours. "love you too," he murmurs, using that voice he saves for early mornings when you’re tucked against him, trading lazy kisses and whispered secrets.

his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you close. the world tilts, narrows, until there’s nothing but him. his body, his breath, the scratch of his stubble when he tilts his head, brushing his nose against yours.

then his fingers slip under your dress. his breath hitches the moment he finds you bare, his touch grazing soft folds, sticky and warm with slick.

"no panties?" his voice dips somewhere between a laugh and a growl.

heat blooms in your stomach. you bite your lip, shrugging. "figured you'd appreciate it."

his gaze darkens, blue eclipsed by black. "oh, do i."

könig’s fingers slide between your folds, dragging through the slick mess you’ve already made. you flinch at the contact, hips twitching toward him before you can catch yourself.

he pushes it in, slow. the stretch punches a gasp out of you, walls fluttering around the intrusion. he pauses, ignores your whine, brows drawing together, finger knuckle-deep. "did you get tighter?"

his voice is soft, almost like he’s talking more to himself than you, words slipping out under his breath.

his finger curls, pressing snug against your walls, testing just how much resistance it meets.

you whimper, thighs twitching, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. "m-maybe if you fucked me more, i wouldn’t be."

the words tumble out before you can think to stop them. your pulse skips as you process what you just said. heat floods your face.

könig’s head tilts. his eyes flick up, narrowing, — not angry, not exactly— but his stare steals the breath from your lungs all the same. your lips part, trying to fumble out an apology stuck at the back of your throat when—

slap.

he pulls his finger free and smacks your pussy.

you squeak, body jerking as the sting blooms quick and hot between your legs, warmth spreading through your skin, rushing up your spine. you’re caught between shock and the low, simmering heat that pools in your belly.

"careful," könig warns although his tone is deceptively light. his fingers tap against your clit in soft, featherlight pulses of teasing pressure that makes your thighs jump. "keep that attitude and i’ll slap this pretty little thing five times. make you count every single one. s’that what you want?"

your cunt clenches, slick dribbling down to coat his knuckles. he feels it, of course he does. feels how your body betrays you, responding before your mind can catch up.

chest heaving, you shake your head, breath shivering out of you. "no-"

"no?" he echoes a soft mockery, fingers dragging through the mess between your thighs, spreading it just to hear the wet sound it makes echo in the space between you. "then behave, sweetheart. don’t make me teach you."

your heart pounds, breath coming in little gasps as you offer him a jerky nod. könig only watches with lazy half-lidded eyes.

"now," he murmurs, finger filling you again. "gonna ask one more time. have you gotten tighter..." his thumb brushes your clit, just enough to make you twitch, "...or have i just left you empty for too long?"

heat surges through you. your hands clutch at his jacket, grounding yourself in the weight of him. your face burns.

"you were gone for so long," you whisper, voice small, shame curling in your stomach.

he sighs. something in his gaze softens, guilt threading through his voice. "i know, baby." his forehead presses against yours. “missed you too."

you sniffle, nuzzling into his shoulder. "y-you can’t go away that long again..." the words tremble, cracking at the edges.

he kisses your temple, breath warm against your skin. "i won’t," he lies, gentle. "let me stretch you out, yeah?"

könig guides you further into your home, coaxing you down on the couch. könig kneels between your legs, broad hands spreading you open and drinking in the sight of you laid out before him.

"look at you," he murmurs, thumb dragging through your folds, gathering your slick up to rub slow circles against your clit. "so wet for me already. miss having me inside, huh?"

your fingers clutch at the cushions as he begins to fill you, head tipping back. "yes-"

"you gotta watch, pretty," könig interrupts, fingers tilting your chin back down.

your gaze drops, breath catching when you see it— his thick fingers buried deep inside you, slick dribbling down his knuckles. the gold band around his finger shines beneath the mess you’ve made, drenched, the sight obscene and somehow more intimate than you’re prepared for. your walls flutter around him, clenching down like your body’s desperate to keep him there.

"look at that.” he grind. "look at your cute little cunny... makin’ a mess all over me."

your cheeks burn. you squirm, trying to close your thighs, but his other hand tightens on your hip, keeping you spread. "no hiding," he says. "told you to watch."

so you do.

you watch the slow drag of his fingers pulling out, coated in slick that strings between you. your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing, and you let out a soft, desperate whimper. könig hums, pleased, pressing the pads of his fingers against your entrance again, rubbing slow, lazy circles that make your thighs twitch.

"look how well you take me," he says, dragging against that spot inside that makes your vision blur.

you whimper, head spinning, hips grinding down onto his hand. "feels so good-"

"yeah?" he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "gonna let me in now, sweetheart? let me fill you up nice and slow?"

you nod, frantic, words lost to the heat coiling low in your stomach. könig smiles, pulling his fingers free. you whine at the loss, walls fluttering, already aching for him again.

"shh," he soothes, wiping his slick-covered fingers against the head of his cock, spreading you over himself. "gonna take care of you. just lay back and be good for me, yeah?"

his hands grip your thighs, pressing them up toward your chest, folding you beneath him. your skin burns under the pressure, nerves sparking with every shift of his weight.

the blunt head of his cock nudges against your entrance. he’s patient, achingly so— dragging it along your folds, gathering your slick, smearing it along his length until you’re soaked enough to take him. or so he thinks.

könig’s gaze drops to where you’re spread open for him. "ready to be stuffed full?"

your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails biting into muscle. you nod, breath catching in your throat, but it’s barely a sound, barely a thought when he starts to press in.

he breaches you, the thick crown of his cock pushing past your entrance, molten-hot and unforgiving.

your cunt clenches on instinct, trying to force him out, but könig presses on.

every inch feels like fire licking up your spine, burning through every nerve until you’re nothing but sensation. too much. not enough. your body wars with itself, torn between squirming away and pulling him in deeper.

"gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” his voice is a low rumble that vibrates through your bones. "stretch you out every day i’m home-" he drives forward another inch, making your back arch, "-’til this pretty cunt just opens up for me."

you can’t speak. can’t think. everything narrows down to the drag of him inside you, veins and ridges catching on the soft walls of your cunt. your mind spins, vision blurring as your hips jerk, instinctively trying to escape the overwhelming fullness. his fingers bite into your thighs, holding you in place.

"uh-uh," he murmurs, dark amusement curling at the edges of his words. "don’t run, baby. you wanted this."

he braces himself, broad shoulders tense above you as he tries to sink deeper. but even with how wet you are, how pliant you’ve gone beneath him, your body refuses to give.

his hips stutter, pushing, pushing— yet still, there’s that impossible last three inches he can’t force past.

“p-please- need it, need you-” the words spill out.

"i know, baby, i know," he pants, forehead pressing to yours, sweat slick between you.

he pulls back an inch— just enough to drag the thickest part of him along your sensitive walls— before rolling his hips back in. the pressure spikes and you cry out.

"too big," you choke out, voice cracking, eyes glassy with tears.

"yeah?" he drags a hand down to your belly, spreading his fingers over the taut skin where he can feel himself inside you— a thick, obscene bulge pressing up from the inside. "look at that, baby. fuckin’ you so deep you can see me. stretchin’ you so good, huh?"

you glance down, drawing a blank at the sight of your stomach distending.

könig tries to push further, to bottom out, but your cunt clenches stubbornly. frustration twists across his face, the sight of you writhing beneath him, cunt stretched wide and still too tight to take him fully— it’s driving him insane.

"gonna have to fix that," he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

you nod, dazed, tears slipping down your temples as you sob out a choked, "yes- yes, please-"

"shh," könig soothes, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, lips soft against your tear-streaked skin. "you’re doin’ so good, baby. takin’ me so well. just need to open you up a little more, yeah?"

he pulls out slow, then presses back in. your walls flutter, trying to accommodate, stretched tight around him— but those last inches refuse to fit.

he groans, brows furrowing further. “this isn't working-”

könig adjusts his grip, hands sliding beneath your knees, lifting you with ease. before you can even register the shift, he’s pulling you up against his chest, arms hooking beneath your legs, locking you back in a full nelson.

your breath stutters, eyes going wide as your body is left entirely at his mercy, weightless in his grip, spread open around him.

könig’s lips graze your ear. "gonna let gravity help us, yeah? let’s see if this pretty little cunt can take all of me now."

your toes curl, breath hitching as he angles his hips, smearing your slick between you. the position leaves you open, stretched wide, no leverage to resist— not that you would. not with the way your body is shaking, your cunt throbbing, desperate for him.

he groans, voice ragged. "so fuckin’ tight, baby."

then he lets gravity do most of the work.

your breath leaves you in a shattered moan as your body sinks down, forced open as he drops you down on his cock. your walls flutter, clenching around him, stretched impossibly wide, struggling to take him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you squirm away.

"that’s it," könig groans, arms flexing as he holds you still, keeps you spread, forces you to feel every thick inch of him pressing inside. "so fuckin’ good for me, baby. lettin’ me stretch you open- gonna make you take it all."

you whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your lips, eyes rolling back as the last stubborn inch finally, finally sinks in, his cock seated fully inside you for the first time.

"fuck," könig grits out, forehead pressed to yours. "you feel that? got all of me inside, sweetheart.”

your body twitches in his grip, thighs shaking, stretched wide around him. your cunt clenches, pulsing around his cock, so full you can barely breathe.

he growls, pressing his palm over your belly, feeling the bulge there, feeling how his cock fills you up completely.

"that’s my girl," he murmurs, his voice low and pleased. "knew you could take it, baby. knew you just needed a little help."

könig doesn’t give you much of a chance to adjust. the moment he thinks you're ready, his arms tighten, muscles flexing as he hauls you up, dragging his thick length from your cunt before slamming you back down.

you jolt, body shuddering in his grip, cunt forced to stretch and squeeze around him with every brutal thrust. his strength controls everything— the pace, the depth, the way you bounce like a ragdoll, helpless to slow him down.

"look at you," he groans, lifting you again, letting gravity pull you back onto his cock, forcing you to take every inch. "so fuckin’ small- thought you couldn’t handle it, but here you are, takin’ all of me."

your head tips back, a broken moan spilling from your lips. he’s slamming himself inside, spearing you open over and over, forcing you to stretch wider than you ever have.

your walls spasm, clenching down, but könig just grunts, his grip bruising, dragging you back onto his cock harder, faster.

you can’t keep up. your limbs go slack, muscles useless, brain short-circuiting. your vision blurs, eyes rolling back, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your mouth falls open in a wrecked, silent sob.

könig chuckles, pleased, watching the way you’ve gone completely limp in his arms.

you whimper, trembling, your cunt fluttering around him, soaking his cock, dripping down his thighs.

"so fuckin’ sweet," he murmurs, rolling his hips, grinding deep before slamming you down again. "gonna stretch you out like this every single day. keep you full, fuck you dumb, make sure this little cunt remembers who it belongs to."

he bounces you faster, harder, dragging you down onto his cock like he’s molding you to take him, shaping your cunt to fit his size.

you sob, overstimulated, fucked senseless, but könig only groans, his grip unrelenting as he forces you to keep taking it, to keep bouncing in his arms like his perfect little toy.

your body convulses, overstimulated, wracked with sensation too intense to hold in. könig keeps moving, bouncing you in his grip, fucking you onto his cock like he’s trying to break you apart piece by piece.

"n-no-" your voice barely comes out, wrecked and high, a sob caught in your throat as your fingers claw weakly at his forearms. your legs shake, toes curling, your stomach twisting with unbearable pressure. "k-könig, i-i can’t- gonna-"

he groans, feeling you squeeze tighter around him, your walls clamping down, fluttering, struggling to take him.

"aw, sweetheart," he coos, pressing his hand over your belly, feeling himself there, the thick bulge where his cock fills you up. "gone all dumb on me already? can't even talk, can you?"

you shake your head, eyes welling up, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. "g-gonna pee," you whimper, voice broken, breathless, body locking up, thighs trembling as your hips twitch helplessly.

könig's grip tightens. "no, baby," he soothes, dragging you down harder, grinding the thick head of his cock against that perfect spot inside you. "you’re gonna cum. gonna make a mess all over me, aren't you?"

your sob turns into a choked wail as something snaps inside you. the pressure bursts, your body seizing as pleasure slams through you like a freight train.

you gush, squirting hard, the release almost violent, soaking könig's thighs, dripping down to form a puddle on the floor beneath you.

he groans, hooded eyes watching you fall apart, grip tightening to hold you up as your body jerks and trembles in his arms.

"good girl," he praises, sounding utterly enthralled by the mess you’ve made. his cock twitches inside you, still stretching you wide. "fuckin’ knew you’d soak me- knew you were just a little messy thing."

you sob, breathless, dazed, body slumping against him, muscles useless, the aftershocks still making your cunt flutter weakly around his cock.

könig hums, dragging his fingers through the wetness on his thighs before bringing them up to your lips. "open.” he taps them against your mouth.

you do, lips parting, tongue sliding out obediently, and könig groans, pushing his soaked fingers inside.

"good fuckin’ girl," he murmurs, watching as you suck yourself off him, your body still limp, still trembling, still his to use.

your body barely registers the shift before you’re being turned, manhandled, pressed down against the floor, cheek squished against the slick puddle you just made. the scent of it floods your senses, hot and humiliating, making your skin burn.

"könig-" you whimper, trying to lift yourself, but his broad hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, keeping you open.

he ignores you, fingers digging into your hips, adjusting your position, spreading you wider.

you cry out when he lines himself up and pushes in, stretching you open all over again, stuffing you to the brim with his cock in one deep thrust. your toes curl, your fingers claw at the wet floor beneath you, the slick sound of him sinking into you obscene in the quiet.

"good fuckin’ girl," he groans, dragging his cock out before slamming back in, his thighs slapping against your ass. "just let me use you, yeah? just take it like my perfect little cumdump."

you sob into the mess beneath you, könig presses your face harder against it, his broad palm splayed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned.

"lick it up," he orders, tone smooth, assured, the kind of voice that expects obedience.

your whole body burns, but the heat between your legs is hotter. könig feels the way you clench around him at the command, the way your body betrays you before your lips can even form a protest.

"kö-”

“don’t make me say it twice, sweetheart," he warns, hips pulling back, dragging his cock out until only the tip stretches you open.

"what’s the matter?" he mocks. "you were so eager to make this mess- now you’re going shy?"

your breath shudders out in a small, broken whimper before you obey, lowering your head, tongue flicking out, just barely grazing the puddle beneath you.

könig clicks his tongue. "that’s not licking, that’s teasing."

his hips snap forward, knocking you further into the mess, forcing your mouth against it. your lips part with a gasp, and könig watches, eyes dark and hungry, as you taste yourself properly for the first time.

"there we go," he hums, smug satisfaction. "now clean up every drop."

your cheeks burn as you press your tongue flat to the floor, licking a slow, tentative stripe through the mess. the taste floods your mouth and your stomach twists— but the weight of könig’s cock inside you, the way he keeps you full and stretched and pinned beneath him, sends another rush of slick dripping down your thighs.

he notices. of course he notices.

"oh, sweetheart," he breathes. "you like this, don’t you?"

your body betrays you again, a little shiver running down your spine, your cunt fluttering around him.

"mm, you do." he chuckles, dragging his fingers through your hair, tightening his grip. "filthy little thing. you’re gettin’ off on this."

you squeeze your eyes shut, shame crawling up your throat.

"könig-"

"uh-uh," he interrupts smoothly, grip tightening, making you whimper. "keep licking, schatz. don’t stop ‘til it’s gone."

your breath hitches, your tongue flicking out again, lapping up another mouthful, swallowing it down even as heat prickles behind your eyes, even as your body trembles.

könig groans at the sight, his free hand stroking down your spine, over the curve of your ass, his touch slow, possessive. "that’s it, baby," he breathes. "such a good little slut for me."

you whimper, your thighs squeezing together, your hips rocking subtly against him, desperate for friction, for anything.

he notices that, too.

"oh, you poor thing," he coos, all false sympathy, his fingers stroking your cheek where it’s damp with tears. "s’this gettin’ you all worked up?"

he pulls back just a little, his cock dragging slow and thick through your overstretched walls, making you gasp, making you squirm beneath him.

"you gonna come just from this?" he asks sweetly, rolling his hips. your body tenses, toes curling. "from licking your mess off the floor like a good little bitch?"

your face burns, your whole body trembling, too full, too overwhelmed, too much— and yet, you nod, a choked little sob escaping your lips.

"fuck," könig groans, his grip tightening, his hips snapping forward harder, faster. "you’re mine. mine. gonna ruin you. gonna keep you like this forever.”

his pace stutters, burying himself to the hilt with a ragged groan. his fingers tighten around your waist, holding you still as he spills inside, his cock twitching, pumping thick ropes of cum into your swollen cunt.

"fuck," he pants, chest heaving, his weight bearing down on you. his hands smooth over your hips, his breath hot against your ear. "so good, baby. took me so fuckin’ well."

you whimper, body limp, trembling beneath him. his cum is hot inside you, sticky, leaking, seeping out around his cock as he slowly pulls back, as he watches his mess start to slip from your overstretched hole.

könig hums, almost thoughtful. then he presses a broad palm against your pussy, scooping it up, pushing it back in with two thick fingers, shoving his spend as deep as it’ll go.

"not wasting a drop.” he pushes his fingers deeper, feeling his cum mix with your slick, watching your body twitch, watching you try to squirm away.

"keep it in,” he says almost absentmindedly.

könig lifts his hand after a moment, tilting his head as he examines the way it drips from his fingers.

"look at that," he murmurs, amused, rubbing his thumb over the band wrapped around his ring finger, smearing the mess across the metal. "you made such a mess."

his free hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up, your lips already parting before he even has to tell you.

"clean it up," he orders, sliding his ring finger past your lips, pressing heavy against your tongue.

your lashes flutter, heat prickling up your spine as you close your lips around him, sucking gently, swirling your tongue over the ridges of his finger, tasting yourself, tasting him.

könig groans, thumb stroking over your cheek, watching your lips stretch around his thick digit, watching your tongue flick against the band wrapped around his finger.

"good girl," he breathes, eyes hooded, cock twitching against your slick folds, already stirring again, already wanting more.

he presses his finger deeper, until it nudges against the back of your throat, until your breath stutters and your eyes go hazy, wet.

"so pretty like this," he murmurs. his other hand slips between your legs again, rubbing slow circles over your swollen clit. "gonna keep you like this forever, wife. nice and full."

he pulls his finger from your mouth with a soft pop, watching the way your tongue flicks out after it, lips wet, eyes dazed.

"gonna make you a mommy.” he grinds his cock against your you “fill you up every night until it takes.”

“-and cut!”

soap is the kind of guy to come back from deployment with two bullet wounds and his arm in a cast and just shrug it off like achhh it’s nothing serious hen. but when he gets the stomach flu he’s literally on deaths door whining and complaining pestering bird about her taking too long to cook him his chicken noodle soup. also she should really check his temperature again he’s still burning up :(

“my fuckin’ pussy” simon says as he’s pounding you in a mating press. your heel-clad feet are hung over his burly shoulders, flopping with every thrust.

“mmmn, yer fuckin” pussy” you slurred back.

“oh my, we’ve gotta talker, doing a little repeat after me? fuckin’ simon says, huh?”

he’s such a tease.

dinner's ready

CoyoteHybrid! Philip Graves x Cowhybrid!Reader

CW: noncon, both degrading kink and praise kink, you're dumb, stupid, no brains, only beauty, no protection, cumming inside, Graves is an asshole

Mhmnhm, farmer! John Price, punishing cow hybrid! reader for being a brat by making you sleep outside with the other cows, you weren't used to sleep in the grass, you were so much smaller than the other cow hybrids, you looking like a calf next to the big ladies, they were so much older, so much more experienced, these cow ladies have been around for so long they already know what to do and not to do, and one of the things to not do was don't trust the coyotes, they might sound sweet but they just want to take a bite out of you — you wasn't aware of that, the other cows might seem sweet and even motherly but you're too shy to approach them, so you just lay in the grass, thinking about how mad you are at your farmer and how you miss your warm bed.

When, all of a sudden, you hear some noises coming from the woods, it is dark; you can't see anything. The bell on your collar ringing as you went to check what that was about, your little ears fluttering and your tail moving curiously — you shouldn't, you know you shouldn't, but this will teach a lesson to Price! Maybe this way, he'll learn to not leave you alone (even if you were acting like a brat).

You clumsily jump over the fence, staining your nightgown in the process. You follow the noise, trying to be quiet, but the bell on your neck makes it harder. Unfortunately, you can't take it off; only Price has the key, that bastard! You swear to yourself you're going to bite him as hard as possible when you see him.

"Oh... What do we have here?" You jump in surprise, a voice coming out from behind you. From the dark, he appears. A coyote with light blonde fur and blue eyes, he was tall, with a body you could describe as athletic, his tail swinging with curiosity, his eyes wandering your body as if you are his next meal, and he had a scar on one of his cheek; you wonder why...

He gets closer, making you freeze. What should you do? Run??? You've never been in a situation like this; you don't know what to do. He puts his hands on your waist, pulling you closer. Your body shivers, your ears get flat on your head, and your tail goes between your legs.

He sniffs you... And then bites down hard on your neck, drawing blood. "Ah!" You yell out in pain and surprise, using all your strength to push him away. He falls to the ground, and your legs immediately start running.

You don't know where you're going; he knows this place much better than you do, and the fact this stupid bell is on doesn't help! His footsteps are getting closer and closer; he's much faster, and in a quick movement, he pins you down to the ground.

You squirm, trying to get away. "Help! Help!" "Shh, shh... I'm sorry, m'kay? Shh..." He puts his hand on your mouth, silencing you. Tears stream down your face. That's it; you're dead. You're so dead.

"Didn't mean to hurt you, cow. You just smell so good." He smirks. You try to fight back, kicking your legs, but that's easy for him to pin down back again. "You look so fuckin' delicious, I could eat you whole, sweetheart." He, basically, whines out that he was... drooling... like a starved dog.

"Your ears look so soft... I wonder what they taste like." He gets closer to your face and bites on one of your ears, making you squirm and cry. But, from that position, one of your arms and hands was free, and you took the opportunity to try and fight back, giving him a slap on the face. That makes him freeze, stop munching on your ear, and stare back at you... And smile. A twisted smile.

"A fighter, uh? You're so adorable, cow. Have no idea how happy this makes me." He starts... Humping on you. Stupid nightgown, why did it have to be so short?! He seems to be turned on by the slap, a masochist; no matter how much you bite, kick, or slap, that only makes him more aroused.

You can feel his hard cock through your thin panties. He stops for a moment and stares at you. "You know... I was going to eat you. But I won't... Do what I say, okay? Or else..." You nod frantically, just wanting to go back to the farm and apologize for being so disobedient.

He gets up and forces you to your knees, making you face-to-face with his bulge. "Have you ever sucked cock, cow?" A shy and scared no is what comes out of your lips. "You're going to now." He unzips his pants and his boxers.

His cock was long and thick, with veins all over it, precum leaking out of the tip. He pumps it a few times before getting it inside your mouth. "Hmm... So warm and wet... Come on, up and down." He moves your head alongside the 'up and down' command, teaching you how to do it. "No teeth. If I feel one tooth, you're dead."

Scared, you begin moving; it felt so weird! Stretching your lips and throat in a way you didn't know was possible, it was so big, filling all of your mouth. You try to stop for a moment to breathe, but he forces your head back onto his cock. "Don't stop."

Tears in your eyes, you keep moving. After a while, he starts groaning a bit more, and then a strange liquid fills your throat; he forces your head in place, making you drink all of his cum. "Oh, fuck..." he moans.

The second he lets you go, you're coughing, breathing for air. "W-what was that?!" "My milk... You produce milk too, right? That's my milk, men's milk." He jokes, saying it in a tone as if you were stupid.

"C-can I go now?" You ask, voice shaky and shy. "What? Of course not." He kneels down in front of you and pushes you down to the ground again, aggressively taking off your panties and putting his cock in without warning. "Ah! No, wait—" "Shut up!" He smacks your face.

It hurts, it burns, but it's so good. You're so wet and tight, pretty pussy, so good it was just waiting to be ruined by a man like him. "I don't want to see your stupid tears..." He frowns, groans and moves you to lay on your stomach.

His moves are nothing close to gentle; they are aggressive and fast, your bell making noise every time his dick slammed back into your pussy, he smirks, "That bell is so cute.. I like it." Then, he moves even faster, wanting to hear more and more of the bell.

He's treating you like a sex toy. "You're so tight... So wet... You're turned on by this, aren't you? Dirty cow." "N-no—" "Yes, you are. You like this, don't you? You love a big, mean coyote like me, taking you by force." He teases you, his thrusts hard and hurting.

"I'm going to fill you up so good, little cow... I want you screaming my name." "I-I don't-I-" He scoffs, "You don't know my name? It's Graves. Graves is the man that is fucking' you." He pulls your tail, making you squeak and squeeze your walls against him.

He smirks, pulling your tail even more, making you cry more. Everything about this hurts, hurts so good... "Scream my name, stupid cow." "Graves! G-graves— ah!" "Good fuckin' girl, so cockdrunk, uh? Stupid cow, pathetic."

His moves start getting more and more out of rhythm, and that same warm liquid you felt on your mouth is now filling your pussy. He stimulates your little bundle of nerves, making you cum and squeeze around him once more without any effort. Without any ceremony, he pulls his cock out of your pussy and dresses himself up. Leaving you there on the ground, tired, cum dripping out of you...

Maybe you shouldn't have disobeyed Price.

Stupid cow.

Little Mermaid 🌊🐬 pt 2 !

part 1!

mermaid!reader x sailor!John Price

!!warnings: fluff, none really just super cute :) F!Reader

English isn't my first language! Not proofread, i apologize for any gramatical mistakes

It has been a few weeks since the strange encounter with the mermaid and captain Price hasn't stopped thinking about her since then. Her beautiful tail, who had shine in that moonlight, the cutesy way she spoke... He wasn't being able to get her out of his mind.

⋆｡𖦹°‧

A few months passed. He had lost hopes to find the mermaid again, she was probably too scared to get out of her place again, he tried staying up as long as he could but he was always dragged to bed by his sailors after 2 am...

Price had a mission today, catch some fish. He prepared everything and got on his boat, he wasn't planning on getting some big catch, just some small fishes that he could eat in 2 or 3 days.

He was in a safe distance from land but still a few far into the ocean, the sea was calm and he didn't had any worries...

While waiting for some fish to take the bait, he starts appreciating the landscape... Which was just the sun and water, but it was still beautiful.

After a few moments, he starts noticing a strange movement on the water, it was getting closer and closer and closer... He grabs his gun and points at it but when he sees the familiar color of the mermaid's tail, he immediately puts it back down.

"Y/N?! Is that you?!" He shouts, looking at the water for any sight of you until you emerged from the water, looking at him with curiosity.

You wanted to ask him what he was doing here, in the middle of nowhere, if he was lost but you couldn't figured out how to say it, it was too complicated for you.

He sighs in relief, "I thought you were dead." He says and sits back on the boat, "What brings you here?" He asks, grabbing a cigarette from his backpack and lightening it up.

When you doesn't answer, he looks at you with a raised eyebrow, "Did the cat got your tongue?" He asks. You tilts your head, looking at him confused... What's a cat?

"What... What cat?" You asks, trying to sound audible, the strong accent making it almost impossible. Price stares at you for a moment before realizing... You don't know what a cat is. He chuckles, looking at you softer.

"Cat is a domestic animal, a feline. You know what a pet is?" He added, looking at you and taking a puff of the cig. You nods, you've read about dogs before in your books but never cats.

"Well cats are... Like little lions, tigers. They hunt rats, cockroaches, uh... You don't know what any of these are, right?" He explained and then asked and sighed when you nod. He took off his phone from his backpack and showed you a picture of a cat, "that's my cat, his name is Whiskers, my daughter begged for a cat after she went to her friend's house, she takes care of him and such." He spoke, smiling.

Your eyes sparkles, that thing was cute! The cat's orange fur mixed with white was adorable, his big dark eyes and pointy ears were like nothing you saw before. Price chuckles, seeing how amazed you looked, you try reaching for the phone but he flinches, "Nuh uh. You're gonna get it wet." He puts his phone back on the backpack, you looks up at him confused and he smiles, "Don't give me that look... Hey, can you get on the boat?" He asks and gives him hand for you to grab. You grab his hand and he lifts you up like if it was nothing and puts you on the boat, that's when he gets a good look on your body.

Your tail was beautiful, shining in the sunshine, the jointed fingers and the fact you didn't had a belly button, it was weird but fascinating, you were so pretty, the wet hair and how the sun shines in your skin was mesmerizing.

"Oh god, you're so beautiful." He was amazed, he touches your cheek and caresses it, feeling your soft skin and how cute your eyes were, it was nothing like he saw before, big but with sharp pupils, probably to see better on the dark sea, you touches his hand, leaning into it, his touch was so comfortable and warm and your skin was chill, kinda blue.

You then see the fishes in the bucket and looks at it a bit confused, you points at it. He looks at it and smiles, "That's what i do to survive, pretty. I sell fish to feed my little girl." He explained and you nods understanding, your family had a similar business, your father hunts shrimp, crab from the deepest seas, the ones that tasted the weirdest and was still extremely delicious.

"Mine... Dad sells... Hm..." You starts but forgets the word for 'crab' and 'shrips', so you starts mimicking the movements of a crab, which makes Price starts laughing heartily, finding it funny and cute.

"Crab? It's that what you're trying to say?" He calms down a bit and asks and but nods.

"Yes... Crap!" He then laughs again, making you confused. "Crap...funny? Haha... Haha!" That just makes him laugh more at your attempt to laugh with him but clearly confused.

He takes a deep breath, "No, no. Crab, crap is what you say when something goes wrong, you know?" He says after calming down a bit, smiling.

You nods, "You know, you nod a lot, does your head doesn't hurt? You can always say 'i understand', 'got it' or 'yes'. C'mon, say with me 'got it'." He teaches you, "G...goot it...?" You try.

"No, no. Got it. Don't extend the 'o'." He smiles, explains. "Got... It.... Got it!" "Yeah! Like that!" His smile widen and he pats your head.

It was getting late and he had to go back to the beach, where the base was so he ruffles your wet hair, "I have to go, it's getting late and you should go too, it might be dangerous, the sea is full of surprises." He says. You smiles, your sharp fangs surprising him, "bye...bye!" You say before jumping on the water, swimming away on the big ocean.

He sighs happily and starts paddling back to base, he caught a good amount of fish and found the mermaid he was looking for, what a day...

┄┄ ︰ ┄୨୧┄ ︰ ┄┄

Simon Riley who never gets mad at his wife. No matter how angry he is. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon was practically fuming. First he'd been ordered by Price to train a group of new recruits, then, the young recruits decided to be a colossal pain in the ass, and to top it off, he'd missed his lunch break where he would normally have some respite by calling you.

So now, he was shouting at the recruits. More than usual. The recruits all looked dead on their feet. But Simon didn't care, they decided to be annoying little pricks. They needed discipline or they'd never make it in the military.

"For fucks sake, you mongrel! Run ten laps!" Simon roared at a recruit, the others looking nervous. Not wanting to be the next one to face Simon.

"Uh, sir?" One of the recruits squeak.

"What?!" Simon roared, the recruit pointing behind Simon.

Simon turned with a low growl, clearly not in the mood for anymore antics, only for him to look down and see you. His wife, in a pretty little sundress and holding a Tupperware container full of something. It didn't matter what was inside, his stomach was growling at the thought of your cooking.

"Swee'heart" Simon sighed in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing and his arms wrapping around your waist. He relished in the squeak that came from you as he lifted you up and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"You alright, big guy?" you giggle. Simon grumbling in agreement. Making you laugh again.

Simon set you down, barking at the recruits to find Price and that he'll be taking over the training, before walking behind you with his hands on your waist to guide you to his office.

"Si, if you're busy I can go" you offer, and Simon can barely handle how fucking sweet you are to him.

Simon shook his head, taking off his balaclava and sitting in his office chair. Pulling you to sit on his lap.

"Made you some cottage pie" you grin, opening the container in your hands and handing it to Simon. God it was still warm. "I thought you were gonna yell at me with how mad you were at the recruits"

"Would never yell at you, princess" Simon said, rubbing your hips as you fed him a forkful of the cottage pie. He groaned at the taste, making you giggle.

"good?"

"so fucking good, lovie. Needed your cooking after how shit today has been" Simon smiled, bringing your left hand to his lips and kissing your wedding ring gently.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

btw guys I pulled white lily cookie and dark cacao cookie while writing this :p