Ye Of Little Faith | E. P.

Sleeping prank | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Nick pranks Chris and Y/N while they are sleeping.

Warning: None.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

PS.: I know I posted a Matt x reader just some hours ago, but I just watched the triplets' vlog in Texas and had this idea, I've never written so fast 😫.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Nick walked towards the double bed closest to the hotel room's door, their vlogging camera in his right hand, while his left hand held a bottle of lemonade.

He slowly approached, raising the camera so that the lens caught what was on top of it, or rather, who. Y/N and Chris were still fast asleep, both covered by the fluffy white blanket.

The girl was lying on the left side, that is, closer to Nick. Her head was lying on Chris's right arm, using it as her personal pillow, while the boy's left arm was around her shoulders covered by one of his t-shirts.

The only visible parts of the couple were their heads - which were practically on top of each other - and Chris's bare shoulders and arms that were slightly shivering from the Texas cold. Unfortunately, the room's heater didn't seem to be able to combat the coldness completely.

Nick couldn't see, but he was sure their legs were tangled under the blanket. He joked that when they slept together, they seemed to melt into each other with how close they were.

As the oldest triplet got closer to the bed, the camera was able to capture the small snores that came out of Chris's half-open mouth and the soft sighs that escaped Y/N's nose, both sounding like a lullaby to each other.

Nick pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to contain his laughter as he anticipated the couple's reaction. He loved playing pranks on them both, especially when they were sleeping.

"Chris, do you want a sip? Y/N?" Nick's voice sounded low behind the camera as the lens captured him, raising his left arm, the bottle entering the frame, bringing it closer to the couple's faces.

Chris, being a light sleeper, woke up seconds after. He lifted his head slightly as he tightened his arms around Y/N, pulling her closer - if that was even possible.

That movement woke up Y/N, or almost. The girl opened her eyes slightly, keeping them in a thin line, exhaling through her nose before closing them again, seeming not to register Nick in front of her.

"Hmm?" The questioning sound escaped Chris's throat. He turned his head from side to side slowly, trying to understand what was happening, his messy hair falling into his eyes.

"Do you want a sip? I think Y/N must be thirsty, too." Nick continued, his cheeks turning red from the effort he was doing while trying not to laugh.

"What, Nick?" Chris's voice sounded for the first time, the hoarseness making his words almost intelligible. The sound made Y/N open her eyes again, this time a little wider.

She lifted her hands, which were previously under the blanket, and brought them to Chris' ones in front of her body, intertwining them, shivering at the contact of her hot skin with her boyfriend's cold one. A sound of discomfort left her lips as she finally noticed Nick in front of her, holding what looked like a bottle. She quickly closed her eyes again, feeling too tired for whatever that was that Nick wanted.

"It's lemonade. Do you guys want a sip or not?" Nick prevailed, moving the bottle closer to their faces.

"If you drop that on me... I'll kill you." This time, it was Y/N's voice that sounded, equally hoarse and tired from the previous day's filming with Sam and Colby. She only opened one eye this time, looking at Nick but not really being able to focus on him, her vision blurred by sleep.

"It's lemonade." The standing boy spoke again, letting out a low, almost imperceptible laugh. He knew he would get yelled at when the couple actually woke up.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Chris responded, stretching for a few seconds without letting go of Y/N's hand, pulling her closer against his bare chest and burying his head in the crook of his girl's neck, exhaling the natural scent of her skin.

"Go away, Nick." Y/N spoke again, finally closing her eyes completely with the comfort of her boyfriend's body heat against her own, a happy sigh scaping her mouth.

They both fell asleep again within seconds, as if nothing had happened.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Extra - comments:

"the way they sleep so close together, being all cuddly and everything 🥺"

"Chris and Y/N are such couple goals"

"I've never seen a cozier bed in my life 😫"

"dear Santa Claus ✏️📄"

"I want a boyfriend who cuddle me while we sleep like I'm going to run away at any minute 😭"

"Nick is a real pest LMAO"

"Nick holding himself back from laughing behind the camera 😭"

"Chris and Y/N's sleepy voice 😔"

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all!! 🩷💋

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Could you do Daddy kink König x fem reader pls 🙏👉👈

König w/ a Daddy Kink

Warnings: 18+, Daddy Kink, Dominant König, Breeding Kink, Forced Breeding Kink, Consensual Non-Con/Dub-Con Kink (König would never force himself on you; he loves you very much and everything you do together is explicitly consensual), Somnophilia, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Submissive Reader, Fem Reader, Spanking, Discipline, Punishment, Petnames, Pussy Slapping, Plugging, Sadism, König’s dick is H U G E, Profanity, Fluff, etc.

DADDY KONIG AAAAAAAHHHHHH

Okay, Dom König absolutely has a daddy kink.

And you realised it by accident when you screamed “Daddy!” as he made you cum.

Body riddled with the ebbing of your orgasm, heaving chest flush against König’s, you lolled against him, perfectly oblivious to what you’d unearthed in König.

“What was that, Engel?” König said, panting, twitching, head tilting as he looked down at you.

You could barely talk, nevermind move.

When you didn’t answer, still panting heavily, König took your face in his hand, gripping your jaw, making you wince.

“Don’t test my patience, Engel.” His voice was low and rasping with lust. “I’m sure you don’t want me to pound you again. Not while you’re so…” He pressed his fingers against the bruised, sensitive skin of your lips.

You yelped, back arching, pushing you further into König’s chest.

“I…I called you…” Your gaze fell from his sharp eyes, drifting off to the side, shame obscuring your confidence and rendering you incapable of facing him.

“Go on,” König encouraged. “Say it.”

“Daddy…”

König shivered, his skin breaking out into goosebumps. He sucked in a hiss between his teeth, and, slowly, ground his half-hard cock against your aching flower. You whined. König growled.

“Mmmh, Darling,” his breath shuttered, “such a good girl.”

König rubbed against your clit, making you moan - cry - against him.

“M’gonna fuck you so hard ‘til–”

He groaned, his tip catching your lips. God, so tempting - so inviting.

“‘Til you make me a daddy.”

Expect many thorough breeding sessions after this.

Literally just König filling you until you look and feel like you’re about to burst, only for him to plug you and make you keep his seed inside you.

“Pull it out and I’ll keep going until you actually pop.”

Definitely into somnophilia.

Will wake up at an odd hour of the morning with a raging hard-on and will just feed his length into your pussy, feeling you squeeze him while you sleep.

“Gonna fill you up, Baby,” he’d whisper in your ear, giving a low moan when you shift in your sleep and invite him deeper.

If you wake up during this and tell König to: “Nnng, stop - please, don’t–”

You’re just gonna make him cum harder, draw him to his end quicker.

That being said, he has a slight (massive) dub-con kink.

Also, consensual forced breeding kink.

“N-no! Please, Daddy, I don’t wanna get pregnant–”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” König hissed, his cock bulging in your stomach, his hands pinning your wrists above your head.

“I’ll breed you as much as I like; m’gonna make sure you never leave this house again–” he moaned as he felt himself succumbing to his release, his member twitching. “So beautiful – you’re gonna look so pretty, swollen with my offspring.”

Well, given you actually want to bring a child into the world, of course.

If not, you and König can simply pretend, still indulging König’s daddy kink at every given opportunity.

König refuses to let you refer to him by anything other than ‘Daddy’ when he’s in the mood - failure to do so results in some serious pussy slapping.

Doesn’t matter how sensitive you are; he’s going to make sure you remember to call him Daddy next time.

The same goes for if you start being bratty.

König’s kink is not an invitation for you to start acting fussy.

“Oh, it’s too big?” he said, his eyes wide – mirroring and mocking your expression – inching his cock inside you, stretching you over him.

You whined, scowling, eyes doe and glistening.

“Daddy, it hurts!” you squealed. “Take it out, please–”

“Shh, Princess. Don’t make me angry.” König said, his eyes darkening. “Or I’ll make it hurt more.”

Definitely into discipline and spanking.

Will sometimes do it even if you haven’t warranted it.

Slaps your backside and thighs with his belt, breath quivering when he hears the sound of leather against skin, sees the red marks across your body.

And when a wide-eyed, confused expression crosses your face, he just smiles cruelly down at you.

“Shouldn’t be walking around with that tight little ass if you didn’t want me to hit it.”

In more ways than one *wink*.

Outside of the bedroom, calling König ‘Daddy’ is a proven way to get him to do anything for you.

Just bat your eyelashes at him and say in your softest voice: “Daddyyy, the cookie jar’s too far away; will you get it for me?”

And he’s DONE.

“Of course, Princess. Anything for you.”

He’s just so whipped for you.

Looks at you like you’re the Universe and all its celestial creations.

Tends to your every need, without question or hesitation.

Literally will not rest until all your needs are met and surpassed.

Sit in his lap, PLEASE.

He’ll literally just die in his seat if you do. Regardless of how dominant König’s feeling, he’s still vulnerable to your gentle advances.

And just vulnerable to you, to be honest.

But love will do that to a person, and König, a man whose profession made him think he was forced never to feel love himself, has never wanted to protect something - or someone - more.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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. ۫ ꣑ৎ . loser stiles and his out-of-his-league pretty girlfriend.

pairing: stiles stilinski x fem!reader.

summary: when stiles finally asks you to be his girlfriend and you say yes, he can’t believe it —and he’s not the only one. you two come in very different fonts. but, you’re so quick to prove him and his self-deprecation that you like him, fully and shamelessly.

warnings: used of y/n… im sorry. a little fluff? reader being a menace and the end of stiles life (in a good way).

a/n: i tried my best to be funny and make it a little longer. a mother needs to feed her kids. based on this req <3

stiles stilinski had spent a solid seven-teen years being a complete and utter dork. a nerd. a disaster in human form. the kind of guy who could tell you, unprompted, that the fear of long words is called hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia but somehow still couldn’t spell “necessary” on the first try.

he was the guy who tripped over air, made obscure pop culture references no one asked for, and had a deeply unhealthy relationship with sarcasm.

so, naturally, when you—actual goddess, the prettiest face in beacon hills, social butterfly extraordinaire—agreed to date him, stiles was convinced he was being pranked.

“she said yes,” he had told scott the night it happened, voice shaking, hands gripping his best friend’s shoulders like he was trying to transfer the shock through sheer physical contact. “she said yes. to me. like, willingly. no coercion. no hostage situation. just… yes.”

scott, ever the supportive best friend, blinked at him. “huh.”

“what do you mean huh?”

“I just—” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking way too amused. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but… dude, that’s y/n.”

exactly.

you weren’t just popular. you are the cool kind of popular. the kind that made people want to be around you instead of just tolerating your presence because of high school hierarchy rules.

you had this effortless confidence, this ability to make everyone feel like they belonged—even stiles, who had spent most of his life on the outskirts of social normalcy.

you are the type of person who could go from hanging out with the lacrosse team and his girlfriends to sitting with the theater kids in the same day, and everyone would be happy to have you there. people gravitated towards you.

meanwhile, stiles had spent most of freshman year trying to convince people that his name was, in fact, not short for “stilton” like the cheese.

It didn’t make sense. and yet, somehow, here they were.

dating you was like winning the lottery, except instead of money, stiles got the incomprehensible love and affection of a literal angel.

which was great.

except for the fact that he had no idea how to be cool enough to keep up with you.

“you’re overthinking it,” you told him one day as you sat in your car, legs propped up on the dashboard.

“I always overthink it,” stiles replied. “It’s literally my defining trait.”

you laughed, and god, that laugh. It was the kind of sound that made people pause, made them turn their heads just to see what could possibly be so funny.

“okay, fine,” you said. “then tell me. what’s running through that giant brain of yours right now?”

stiles exhaled dramatically. “alright, let’s start with the obvious. I am a disaster. you are not a disaster. explain.”

you tilted your head, amused. “you really don’t see it, do you?”

“see what?”

you smirked, leaning in a little closer. “you’re kind of amazing, stiles.”

he blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“you make me laugh,” you continued, like you hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his entire worldview. “like, really laugh. you make things interesting. and you care so much about the people around you. I like that.”

stiles stared at you, brain officially malfunctioning. “uh. are you… are you sure you’re not under some kind of supernatural influence?”

you rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. “just shut up?”

and just like that, he realized something insane. you actually liked him.

not just in a “haha, he’s fun to have around” way. not in a “pity date” way. not even in a “this is a temporary thing before I move on to someone more worthy” way.

you liked him. dorkiness, sarcasm, ADHD-riddled brain and all.

maybe he wasn’t as out of your league as he thought.

still, he spent the next few weeks in a state of perpetual disbelief.

he kept waiting for the moment where you would realize you had made a grave mistake and move on to someone who, well… had the ability to walk in a straight line without tripping over absolutely nothing.

but you didn’t.

In fact, you made it very clear that you were, for some ungodly reason, into him.

like, full-on, public displays of affection into him.

which was insane.

because now, not only did stiles have to deal with his own confusion, but also the confusion of literally everyone else at beacon hills high.

It started with a completely normal lunch. stiles, scott, lydia, and you were all sitting together, as usual, while he rattled off some extremely important information about why the original ‘star wars’ trilogy was superior to the prequels.

“you just have to accept that Jar Jar Binks was a crime against cinema,” stiles was saying, mid-rant, when he felt a hand casually slip into his.

he froze.

the table went silent.

you, completely unbothered, just kept eating your fries, fingers lazily intertwined with his.

scott immediately stopped chewing. lydia raised an eyebrow. somewhere behind them, he was pretty sure he heard jackson choke on his drink.

stiles, being the mature and composed individual that he was, blurted out, “are you—did you—was that on purpose?”

you gave him a deadpan look. “no, stiles, my hand just accidentally fell into yours.”

scott made a choked sound that was very unhelpful.

“I just—” stiles floundered. “you’re—you want to hold my hand? In front of people?”

you smirked. “what, do you want me to sign a permission slip first?”

lydia rolled her eyes. “stiles, stop acting like you just won the lottery.”

“but I did,” he said, eyes still wide. “this is like if someone found bigfoot, but instead of running away, bigfoot started dating them.”

you snorted and leaned closer, whispering, “you’re an idiot.”

and then—just to completely obliterate stiles’s ability to function—you kissed his cheek.

the cafeteria erupted.

all right, maybe “erupted” was an exaggeration. but scott definitely lost all ability to contain himself, because he burst into uncontrollable laughter, clapping stiles on the back so hard he nearly faceplanted into his lunch tray.

jackson muttered something about how the world was officially broken.

and lydia? lydia just sipped her drink and said, “honestly, this might be the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

stiles, meanwhile, was still sitting there, trying to process the fact that you had just kissed him in front of the entire student body.

“okay,” he breathed. “alright. cool. totally fine.”

you squeezed his hand. “you’re so lucky I can keep up with you.”

“I strongly agree.”

scott shook his head, grinning. “dude. just take the win.”

yeah.

maybe he should.

────୨ৎ────

now stiles had zero business being on the lacrosse team. he was only there because coach finstock occasionally needed a warm body to throw onto the field, and also because scott insisted that he “needed to be included in the team dynamic.”

that was stupid, because stiles was about as useful on the field as a drunk giraffe.

still, here he was, suited up, trying his best to not die.

you were sitting in the stands, chatting with some of the other girls on the cheer squad, but every so often, he caught you watching him.

why on earth would you be looking at him when there were actual athletes running around?

at some point, coach finstock (in a moment of pure insanity) decided to sub stiles in.

naturally, it went horribly.

he got knocked over in under a minute.

hard.

like, wind knocked out of him, stars in his vision hard.

by the time he sat up, still gasping for breath, he vaguely registered that someone was calling his name.

then, suddenly, you were there, pushing past some of the other students on the sidelines, crouching next to him.

“oh my god, are you okay?” you asked, eyes scanning him for any visible injuries.

“you,” stiles wheezed. “just—taking a quick—dirt nap.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “you really shouldn’t be allowed to play this sport.”

“tell that to coach crazy over there,” he muttered.

you rolled your eyes, then—without warning—cupped his face and kissed him.

right there.

on the field.

In front of everyone.

stiles was pretty sure his soul left his body.

by the time you pulled away, he was definitely malfunctioning.

“god,” he managed.

you smirked, brushing some dirt off his jersey. “maybe if I keep doing that, you’ll actually start scoring points.”

scott, who had jogged over at some point, burst out laughing, —again.

“please don’t encourage him,” he told you.

you just shrugged, standing up. “what can I say? I like an underdog.”

stiles, still staring into the middle distance, finally processed what had just happened.

then, very calmly, he said:

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m definitely not complaining.”

────୨ৎ────

stiles finally gets it. he gets you. 

It took three months of dating before stiles finally stopped expecting you to give up on him.

because the truth was, you could.

but for some ridiculous, unexplainable reason—

you didn’t want to.

and maybe, just maybe, that was the best part of all.

stiles stilinski had exactly one defense mechanism when faced with overwhelming emotional stimuli:

panic.

pure, unfiltered, high-octane panic.

and you?

you loved it.

you lived for it.

In fact, stiles was about 80% sure that her actual favorite hobby—above reading, music, and being generally awesome—was finding new and creative ways to make him short-circuit.

your weapon of choice?

kissing him.

at random.

without warning.

In the most inconvenient and socially inappropriate moments possible.

────୨ৎ────

stiles was already having a rough day.

coach had made him run extra laps for “being a distraction” (which was not fair, because technically speaking, it was danny who had laughed first).

so there he was, post-practice, dripping in sweat, hair a mess, brain still recovering from almost getting hit in the face with a lacrosse ball, when you materialized out of nowhere.

“hey, loser,” you greeted, leaning against the locker next to his.

stiles jumped about a foot in the air. “jesus—you can’t just sneak up on a guy like that!”

you, completely ignoring him, hummed thoughtfully. “you look cute when you’re sweaty.”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—what—who?”

and before his brain could fully reboot, you leaned in and kissed him.

right there.

In the locker room.

With scott and half the team still standing right there.

stiles froze.

his brain immediately short-circuited.

somewhere in the background, he could hear the distinct sounds of his teammates reacting.

jackson made a disgusted noise.

“seriously? right here?”

danny, ever the neutral observer, just snorted. “I mean, props to her, I do love watching stilinski suffer.”

scott, instead of helping, just shook his head fondly. “dude. just accept it.”

you, for your part, just smirked against stiles’s lips, completely unbothered, and pulled away with a satisfied little hum.

stiles, meanwhile, was still frozen in place.

mouth slightly open.

face burning red.

brain? completely fried.

“did I break you?” you teased, poking his cheek.

stiles let out a strangled sound.

jackson groaned. “oh god, get a room.”

you turned to him, smirking. “jealous?”

jackson scoffed. “not even remotely.”

you shrugged, looping your arm through stiles’s. “good. because I’m not sharing.”

and then you walked off, dragging stiles with you—leaving the entire locker room howling in laughter.

────୨ৎ────

stiles had one sacred rule in life:

the library is a safe space.

the library was for quiet and learning and pretending to do your homework while actually texting scott about supernatural nonsense.

the library was not for being publicly humiliated by your ridiculously hot girlfriend.

unfortunately, you did not respect the sanctity of anything.

stiles was sitting at his usual spot—textbook open, pen in hand, pretending to study—when you slid into the chair next to him.

“hey,” you greeted, voice suspiciously sweet.

stiles narrowed his eyes. “you’re up to something.”

you smiled, all innocent. “me? never.”

he squinted harder. “what do you want?”

you tilted your head. “can’t I just want to spend time with my adorable boyfriend?”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—you—stop that.”

“stop what?”

“being cute,” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

you grinned. “make me.”

before stiles could formulate a response, you very casually leaned forward and kissed him.

and not just a quick kiss.

oh, no.

this was a calculated attack.

a slow, lingering kiss, tongue and all—just long enough to completely fry his brain, but not long enough for him to actually do anything about it.

by the time you pulled away, stiles was bright red, gripping the edge of the table like his life depended on it.

“why?” he gasped out.

you shrugged. “felt like it.”

stiles gaped. “we are in library.”

you smiled sweetly. “uh-huh.”

“In a library.”

“yup.”

“where people can see us.”

she leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I know.”

stiles let out an undignified squeak.

and that was the exact moment lydia martin—who had apparently been sitting three tables away—very loudly shut her book and said, “I’m going home. this is disgusting.”

you just laughed.

stiles, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands.

────୨ৎ────

now, there were rules when it came to dating in front of parents.

rule #1: no PDA.

rule #2: seriously, no PDA.

rule #3: do not test sheriff stilinski’s patience.

you had no regard for any of these rules.

stiles had just walked you to the door, ready to say a very normal, appropriate, and respectful goodbye, when you suddenly grabbed his hoodie, pulled him way too close, and kissed him stupid.

right there.

In his driveway.

where his father could definitely see.

and as if that wasn’t bad enough—

the front door creaked open.

sheriff stilinski cleared his throat.

you pulled away completely unbothered, turned to the sheriff, and grinned.

“good afternoon, mr. stilinski.”

stiles, meanwhile, had stopped breathing.

the sheriff raised an eyebrow. “you trying to kill my son?”

you smirked. “not today.”

and then you smiled—like a menace—patted stiles on the chest, and walked off, leaving him to deal with the aftermath.

the sheriff stared at him.

stiles stared back.

after a long, painful silence, his dad just shook his head and muttered, “unbelievable.”

then, he walked inside—chuckling to himself.

stiles, still standing frozen on the porch, groaned.

you were going to be the death of him.

and, honestly?

he wouldn’t have it any other way.

thinking about older!bf simon riley with his younger girlfriend <3

older!bf simon riley who would pull you into his lap at any chance he gets. at home while he's on the couch, tugging your passing frame into his to hear your pretty squeal of surprise. at the bar, so he can wrap his big arms around your waist and ensure you don't get lost or messed with. getting you all flustered and sinking into him, tense shoulders relaxing when he kisses your cheek. at any and every available moment of his waking day, he's going to hold you close.

older!bf simon riley who constantly has to have a hand on you. on your hip in passing, cupping your knee or shoulder whenever sat next to each other. holding your hand while out and about in public is an absolute must, as well as on your thigh with your fingers still laced as he's driving. sometimes he'll just put you in a gentle chokehold while you lean back against his chest and aimlessly scroll on your phone, him either watching from over your shoulder for entertainment or on the verge of nodding off 'cause your warmth is so comforting to him.

older!bf simon riley who spoils you beyond what the definition entails. he could never get enough of your parted lips and raised brows whenever he walks in with yet another new piece of expensive jewelry for you, and your pitiful refusals for overly chic clothes and meals that only scream ‘yes, and more’ in his mind.

older!bf simon riley who can't even begin to understand your admiration for your personal belongings such as stuffed animals and the dozens of baby-pink blankets you snuggle up with, but he always admits how much he absolutely adores you for it. he proves that through buying you more rather than allowing for you to settle with what you already have, and agreeing to cuddling under said blankets despite the false look of annoyance plastered on his expression.

older!bf simon riley who will gladly flex for you and your photos or entertainment, even if his face tells you he’s disgruntled. wrapping a big arm around your midsection for a mirror pic, pumping his bicep so you can watch all the veins and muscles become more prominent. he just loves to see a bemused smile on his pretty girl's face.

older!bf simon riley who took a while before he came to terms with just how much influence he has over you, between the simplest of word choices and interactions. frequently makes sure to tell you he’s proud of you, giving you all sorts of praises that remind you who you belong to. would rather die than see a serious frown on your face or have you go a second thinking you’re not doing enough. his crude jokes and unfiltered vocabulary makes it difficult, but he can adjust.

but also older!bf simon riley and his desires for his lovely, little plaything :)

older!bf simon riley who essentially ‘tricks’ you into scandalous positions. sometimes it’s as sweet as dipping his thumb in brownie batter and asking you to clean it off for him but only using your lips and tongue, and other times he’s shamelessly coming up behind you to cage you in against the counter, lazily grind his crotch against your ass, and satiate his morning hard-on as he plays it off as merely hugging his pretty baby good morning.

older!bf simon riley who has you grind on things before he gives you anything more. your pillow, a stuffed animal, even his thigh or boot if he's feeling generous. he likes to have you warmed up for him, and his favorite part is how you ask so, so nicely for his cock afterwards. he knows he's a sick man when the sight of you whining and crying for more than an innocent plushie against your cunt has him harder than ever, especially when he denies you a break and you follow his orders almost always perfectly. if not, it's alright; he doesn't mind teaching his girl a few things, or threatening you with a little punishment.

older!bf simon riley who sparks an oral fixation in you and plays into it incessantly. your head will be perched between his thighs, pretty and drooling mouth cockwarming him as he finishes up a few calls. or, more domestically, he’ll notice you biting at your nails as you study or watch a movie next to him, prompting him to shove his ring and middle fingers in your mouth without uttering a single word.

older!bf simon riley who loves to have you suck on his thumb as he fucks you, sometimes leaving it in your mouth as you sleep soundly.

older!bf simon riley who finds humor in making you ask for what you want, going as far as outright refusing to give any of it to you ‘til you listen. likes making you say some of the most deprived sentences you’d never even think to say yourself, regarding your own body.

“c’mon, darling. tell me how much you want me to stuff my cock in this needy, tight little cunt of yours. fuckin’ soaked for it, y’must want it bad.”

“need it really bad, si, please…want you in me,” you plead.

he shakes his head; “not like that, baby. say it how i did.” and when your face heats up, going all shy on him at the prospect, he urges you on: “go on, it’s alright. just say it.”

“…want you to stuff your cock in my needy, little cunt,” you murmur.

“atta girl,” he smiles, not sure if it’s from the words themselves or how his stupid doll couldn’t even keep a clear voice throughout.

older!bf simon riley who will fuck you hard into the mattress as you cling on to one of your aforementioned plushies. cooing at you to hug it tighter to your chest, making you tell it how good he's making you feel. will only ever use it against you if you try to hide from him behind the plushie, prompting him to rip it from your smaller hands and throw it across the bed. you'll whine and cry but simon doesn't care, as long as he gets to see your pretty, fucked-out expression.

older!bf simon riley who mocks you for how terribly wet you get when he’s manhandling you. pulling away from him cause you know it’ll result in being overpowered and perched over his lap, refusing to meet his eyes so he’s forced to slap your cheek to get you to focus - with no real force behind it, of course - just enough to get through your insubordinate, ill-mannered mood. his favorite is when you’re being snappy at him for no apparent reason so he has an excuse to fuck you back into your place. act like a brat, get treated like one.

older!bf simon riley who gets off on the amount of power he has over you due to his age. how you instantly end your arguing when he reminds you that you don't know the world like he does, and using it as an opportunity to get you on your knees as an apology for thinking you could possibly be right over him. shoving his cock in your mouth to keep anything else so useless from coming out of it, showing you a better purpose for that snappy, inexperienced throat of yours.  

older!bf simon riley who tries to keep his debauched lessons to a minimum, however, as the last thing he wants to do is scare off his sweet, little trophy girl. he spends most nights with his head locked in between your soft thighs for the better part of an hour, sometimes much longer, licking and finger-fucking your pretty cunt til you're lightheaded and overstimulated and ready for his fat cock. 

older!bf simon riley who pulls the, “so proud of you, pretty baby,” while he’s hitting impossibly deep in your pussy 'cause he knows it’s what gets you going the most, what gets you to stop thinking too much. “that’s it, good fuckin’ girl,” and, “takin’ me so well, sweets.” once in a blue moon, “little cunt’s desperate for attention, ain’t she? just beggin’ to be fucked and ruined by a man twice her age, eh?”

honestly i just think that older!bf simon riley is everything a girl needs!!