patience was worked through simon. etched, carved into every fiber of his being. he was born with it, the rough military work simply engraving it deeper. it came easy to him, he knew the mistakes when it came to rushing, he knew the risks of impatience, disobedience.
yet patience burned away at his nerve endings, sizzling out the tips of his fingers, his toes. he was never patient with you, all hands and teeth. and here he was, fingers wrapped tight around a beer with you in his lap. his poor cock oozing into you, slathering your soft walls disgustingly.
but the most disgusting part. you werenโt even fucking moving, not an inch, he couldnโt even feel your breaths. just your pretty pussy planted onto him, sucking him in and holding there nice and warm. it was so cruel, had his mind dripping in cruel, poised thoughts. knuckles white at the back of your neck, pressing your tears into the couch cushions as his hips fuckedโฆ no. no.
his hips bucked just slightly, subconsciously as want, need, began to consume him. and the slight movement had him whimpering out, had his head rolling back against the wooden framing of the couch. if he could justโฆ. just once more.
โsimon.โ your tone was berating. you couldnโt even bother him a look over your shoulder, just a demand. a demand that had his balls aching, his poor cock thudding inside of you, milking itself dry without even a fucking release.
he breathed slowly, shallowly. before he smiled gently, free hand resting just gently on your thigh. his motive clear as his thick, rough fingers stretched out. his movements were slow, precise, desperate to not distract you, fingers just ever so slightly brushing across the slick nub of your clit.
slap!
โkeep tryinโ it โnd youโll be here all week.โ you snapped, chin jutting angrily. he was so damn impatient, always expected to get what he wanted the second he wanted it. he needed to learn obedience, to be a good boy. โand i wonโt let you fuckinโ cum once.โ
he whined, vocal cords going raw as it pitched into a greedy growl. he was panting, so worked up, so needy. he couldnโt help the roll of his hips despite your threatening words, couldnโt help the shudder, the shaky, desperate thrust of his hips as he came.
โmโsorry, mmphโฆ so sorry, love,โ he couldnโt even form a sentence, rocking into you as he worked himself through his own pathetic release. you tried shoving him down, but his hips were stronger, glued to your backside as he shook. โjustโฆ. i-i had toโฆ. hurt so bad, baby, donโt you understand? needed to cum so b- hah- bad.โ
he was babbling, beer spilling onto the couch cushions, release so heavy his thighs pressed together beneath you. his head lolled back, hips stuttering to a slow halt, his tongue drooling out at his bottom lip as he whimpered out low, heavy breaths. he couldnโt get a grip of himself, especially not with the way his cum began to seep out of you, pooling at the base of his cock.
when he finally blinked, fluttering the blurry haze away from his vision, his heart was stopping next. you were glaring back at him, teeth just ever so slightly baredโฆ and god, he fucked up.
the plush, fluffy material felt almost foreign between his dirty fingertips. his scarred thumb running over the beady little black eyes. they peered up at him, innocent and cute. your pink little teddy, as soft and pretty as you.
there was a blush-like ribbon adorned around its neck, threatening to break with every thrust of his cock. the chubbed, thickness of him ran shades deeper than the pretty teddy, disappearing into the cottony inside. the friction alone was enough to have his eyes watering, his thighs shaking, hips reaching, reeling up off the bed.
and simon thrashed, rolling onto his side, hips fucking up into the messy hole heโd cut. god, he was fucking desperate. jaw dropped, mouth hung open, he could feel the drool, the spit seeping from his mouth onto your duvet but he couldnโt get a hold of himself. if anything, he liked it, to think maybe your perfect little cunt would sit right down on his sticky spit, unknowingly claiming you.
and your poor teddy, just barely bigger than his hand was being put through it. taking each and every thrust. he could hear the threads ripping, cock bullying its way in, however he pleased, at whatever rate it pleased. without a single apology, without a drop of empathy.
tears welled in his eyes, shame silenced with the pleasure. he was getting close, the insides of the teddy absolutely painted with his silky pre. every stroke stuck to him, the fibers wrapping and adorning his sweet cock just like that ribbon. he could see the scruffy fluff with every backstroke, knotted around him. it was beautiful, he imagined the ring your drooling pussy would leave on him, just like the pretty lipgloss you always wear, all sparkly and sticky.
his chubby fingers flexed around the stuffie, grabbing tight. he allowed himself to meet every messy, nasty, shudder of his hips. and the weight that hung between his legs clapped, balls sticky and shining with just how much of a gooey mess he was overspilling, just making an absolute mess of himself on your bed.
โso-so close, baby, justโฆ. just fucking take it. youโre my good girl, yeah? gonna fill you up, baby, f-fuck you so full.โ he hammered, rolling his face down into your sheets. he smothered himself, breathing in every fraction of a scent he possibly could get out of the material. and than his teeth sank, biting, tongue pressed at the backs of them as he cried out, throat raw with all his pathetic sobs.
โyouโre just so- ah, ah, no no-โ he slowed himself, balls drawn, spine curved. fuck, he was so close, too close. but, impatience was trickling down his spine, the same spine his release was lingering on, body unable to help itself as he shoved forward, a shaky, desperate thrust, his sensitive tip blunt knocking against the head of the bear.
โso fucking pretty.โ it was guttural, ripped from his throat, as he shallowly humped himself into your little bear, soaking and knotting the fibers inside with a disgusting mess. he couldnโt breathe, couldnโt do anything but drown inside his own release, blonde brows screwed tight as he whimpered out like some kind of puppy.
and when hed finally gotten himself to pull out of the warm, melty cotton, heโd place the bear right down on your pillow. a sick, confection like satisfaction growing as he watched his own release melt down over your sheets.
If Yuji was asked to describe his girlfriend? There was only one way โธป pink, glittery, vanilla scented, pretty.
But don't be fooled. Most men would want a way out. Yuji does not. In fact, if he could be anywhere in the world, he'd choose to be with you.
He is exactly where he wants to be.
"Yuji?" You're sprawled on his bed, watching as he games. It's some dumb fighting game he'd insisted on buying.
"Hm?" He doesn't glance up from the console.
"Do you know where my lipgloss is?"
He immediately abandons his game, clocking into his boyfriend duties. "Which one?"
"The clear gliterry one." You reply, watching as he searches the wrinkles in his duvet, under his pillows, the floor, his desk.
"Have you checked your bag?" He asks as he peers under the bed.
You glance towards your little pink handbag. "No." You frown. Reaching for the bag, you rummage around a bit. "Found it! Thank you, Yuji. You're the best."
He beams at the praise. "Of course, baby." He tosses himself down beside you, watching as you apply the lipgloss.
As the designated taste-tester, once you've coated your soft, juicy lips in shimmering gloss, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours.
You make a small whiney sound in the back of your throat. When he pulls back, your lips are pushed out into a pout.
He licks his lips. Vanilla flavoured. "10/10, baby." He says trying to go in for another taste.
"Stoppp," You giggle, pushing him back. The sound makes him smile.
He is absolutely, undeniably obsessed with you.
"Fine." He relents with a dramatic, mock sigh, rolling over theatrically.
"C'mere." You whine.
The second he rolls to face you, you're on top of him, your thighs on either side of his torso. His hands instinctively find your hips to hold you there. You take his face gently, holding his chin with one hand, as you lean closer, applying the shimmering gloss to his lips. Your breath mingles with his. Yuji stays perfectly still until you're done, then his tongue darts out to lick his glittery lips.
"Yuji!" You huff as he laps up the gloss off his lips. He grins up at you unapologetically.
his neck goes limp, head lolling off to the side. his cheeks burn in a violent blush, a blush that crawled down over his neck, burning away at his chest. he couldnโt face you, not with the tears that welled upon his lower lash line, not with the way he mentally folded and did exactly what you asked of him, so obedient. such a good, pathetic boy.
โlook at me, simon.โ it wasnโt exactly a demand, but your tone was tight enough to leave no room for question, no room for disagreement. so he picked his head up slowly, watery eyes raising to find your enthralled ones.
and there you were, perched at the foot of his bed, just barely sat down between his spread legs. you werenโt even looking at his screwed face, eyes too focused on what teases you just a bit lower.
his hand, thick, chubby fingers wrapped around the thickness of his cock. you watch, grinning like a cat as he jerks himself off, wrist flicking on every upstroke, thumb scaling the flushed tip until heโs dripping down his own fingers. itโs cruel the squelch the follows every thrust, itโs shameful.
โfaster than that, baby. whatโre you beinโ shy for?โ youโre teasing him, crawling yourself under his skin like dark ink. tainting him. itโs adorable to watch the way his eyes widen, the way his face pales at the request before flushing crimson ten shades deeper.
โmmm- ah- no, no,โ he garbles, choking up on his words. you can practically see the weight of how close he is, lower belly tightening up, glistening under the layer of sweat. every once in a while he jerks, back yanking up off the bed, knees shaking and pulling towards one another. โmโnot- canโtโฆโ
โoh, but you can, and you will.โ you grin, eyes shining in nothing but evilness, or thatโs what heโs convinced of. but he abides, fingers tightening up ever so slightly before his bicep flexes, and his pace raises.
his hand jerks, tight, quick thrusts. they border along messy, every other stroke faltering. his hips raise up slightly, meeting himself halfway. itโs the most embarrassing thing thatโs ever happened to him, yet itโs the very thing that has his achy balls drawing up, convulsing up with every passing second. theyโre so full, so big between his beefy legs, all red and pretty.
โgonna- ah- gonna cumโฆโ he trails off, gasping. you can see the way his lashes flutter, the way he fights his eyes from rolling. his swollen lips part, the soft blonde of his eyebrows knitting together as he chokes on pathetic, whimpers. crying out like you might help, though youโre the reason heโs in this state. โlet me, mama, let me- fuuh- fucking cum.โ
but all you do is tsk, leaning forward to pinch the pinky sack between his legs. he coughs out a whimper, feet kicking and thighs closing up in a defeaning gasp. his release wriggles away, shooting back up his spine as quickly as it was arriving, and poor boy is defeated.
his blunt nails slide, slow, deliberate just beneath his belly button. fingertips fuzzy as they glide through the sandy blonde that disappears beneath his joggers, a pure line that leads to something even purer.
though, his hand never stops, and he breathes shallowly. something just beneath the surface of his lower stomach contracting, pulling tight before the resistance breaks and shoots right between his thick, spread legs. letting it sting in what sits heavy, full, ready to spill over onto those very fingers.
he fights his palm from flattening, he fights himself from digging beneath the waistband of sweats, and instead his fingertips continue their steady drawl. allowing his tongue to draw out, leaving a puddling drool amongst his lower lip. allowing his lashes to flutter, his spine to pull up.
itโs like he enjoys leaving himself shaken up, enjoys sitting with the throb between his jumpy, shaking thighs. enjoys letting his eyes roll at the possibility of what he could doโฆ
Blunt!Simon, who has never once been good at keeping his mouth shut. He says this exactly as he sees them. Simon, who has the exact same mindset when he sees you enter the bases gym, clad in leggings and a standard issue sports bra.
'Can see yer nipples cuttin' through yer top, luv' he said gruffly, when you came over to say hi. You stopped dead in your tracks, blood rushing to your face, who even says that?!
You knew about his lack of filter, and youd always had a slight crush on him... but even then, you could feel your cheeks heating up
You try your best to get on with your workout, opting to do some cardio to warm up...
After a few hours, you head over to the water fountain to hydrate, where Simon had been standing, filling up his bottle. 'Been enjoyin' the outline 'f yer cunt, luvie' he says, looking down at you as you cough on your water in shock.
He bends down to get close to you 'dyin' for a taste... give yer LT a han', aye?'
Blunt!Simon who has you throbbing with his crude words.
f!reader, smut mdni, PIV, blood, mentions of violence, size kink.
You only notice it because your hand slips.
It had been curled at the back of his neck, fingers buried in his hair beneath the edge of his mask, holding on until your knuckles went bloodless because there is nothing else to do when Simon Riley is above you like this; one forearm braced beside your head, your knees spread and pulled back to your chest, his weight pressing you into the mattress with his hips grinding slow and mean like he has all the time in the world to ruin you.
Youโre boneless under him - open-mouthed, shaking, letting him take you apart more and more with each of those deep, deliberate strokes that make your thoughts scatter into useless little pieces.
All is perfect until your hand slips, and you feel your thumb drag over something tacky.
You blink up at him through the haze, thinking maybe youโre imaging things - but then you see it. There, smeared dark along the thick column of his neck, just under his jaw.
Blood.
Your mouth moves before your brain catches up. โSimonโโ
He stops, buried balls deep inside you. His eyes lift to yours from beneath the black smear of his paint. Brown eyes gone flat and dangerous.
โWhat?โ
Your fingers swipe at his throat, and then pull back to show him your now candied fingertips. โYouโre bleeding.โ
For a second, he just stares at you.
Then his mouth shifts beneath the mask. โSโnot mine.โ
The room seems to go airless around you. For a moment, your brain does not know what to do with the words.
Not mine.
They land somewhere distant - muffled by euphoria and the heat of him still seated inside you. They should mean something immediately - they should send you upright, sober you, sharpen you. But youโre too gone beneath him, too pliant and overheated and pinned, your thighs trembling around his waist while he stays buried deep enough that every breath you take has to move around him.
So you just stare at him.
At the dark paint around his eyes, at the blood smear, at the shape of his shoulders above you. You stare long enough that the unusual details begin arranging themselves in whatever clear space youโve got left in your mind.
His gloves, first.
Theyโre clean. Fresh black tactical gloves, one of them still gripping your hip as he stares down at you in pause. You canโt shake the feeling that theyโre different - you know his kit. You know the worn seams, the scuffs, the little frays on the knuckles from use. These arenโt the pair he wore earlier.
Your gaze flicks lower.
His shirt, too.
Not the one from briefing. Not the one with the faded shoulder seam and the dust at the collar. This one is clean, dark, newly pulled on in a hurry. You catch a faint whiff of barracks detergent and bathroom soap with every move he makes.
He cleaned up.
The thought comes through the haze in pieces.
Simon cleaned himself up before he came here but somehow, he missed this. One dark smear beneath his jaw.
You swallow. Your voice comes out thin. โWhat happened?โ
Simon watches your mouth form the words.
Your breathing sounds too loud now, while his somehow stays perfectly even - like he isnโt pressed into you to the hilt - like he isnโt the reason your thighs are shaking around his waist. Like he didnโt come to your room with another persons blood still drying in the place he forgot to wash. He lowers himself closer and the mattress dips beneath the weight of him.
His masked mouth brushes the corner of yours, not quite kissing you but just hovering there - dragging the rough fabric against your skin as he speaks.
โWhat happened was,โ he pauses. โGraves opened his fuckinโ mouth.โ
A cold thread winds through the heat in your stomach.
You go still beneath him, even though your cunt is still fluttering helplessly around the thick of him. The name alone does something ugly to the room. Sours the air. Pulls the world back in around the two of you.
โWhatโโ you have to stop to breathe. Your nails dig into his shoulder. โWhat did he say?โ
Simonโs hand slides slowly from your hip.
His palm moves over your waist, up your ribs, dragging goosebumps in its wake. He maps you like he already knows every reaction he is about to get - like he can feel the exact second your pulse jumps. His gloved fingers skim the base of your throat and settle there.
Thumb resting over your pulse. Counting it.
โHe said heโd wondered what you sounded like when you begged.โ
Your breath locks. You blink at him, stupidly.
For a second, you canโt reconcile the sentence with the room youโre in. With Simon above you. With Gravesโs name in Simonโs mouth and blood under Simonโs jaw and your own pulse hammering against his thumb like it wants to betray you.
But Simon says it like he has had the words sitting behind his teeth for hours. Like he has been waiting to put them somewhere. Like he needs you to understand exactly what happened to the man who said them.
โHe said,โ Simon continues, each word dragged low through his teeth, โthat a mouth like yours would be wasted on 141.โ
Your nails bite into his shoulder.
โI-Iโโ you whimper. โSiโโ
His hips move before you can say anything else.
A slow, devastating thrust that punches the air out of you and leaves the rest of his name caught uselessly in your throat. He watches you take it. Watches your face twist. Watches the thought you were trying to form scatter completely.
โThat Price needs to put you in your place,โ he hisses through his teeth. โThat heโd have had you on your knees by now.โ
Your stomach twists.
You shake your head, but you donโt even know what youโre denying. Graves. Simon. The heat blooming under your skin. The fact that the words should disgust you cleanly, but Simonโs voice saying them like a death sentence makes something dark and shameful coil inside you.
He pulls out just to thrust in again.
Harder this time - hard enough to break the breath right out of you. Enough to make the headboard creak traitorously behind you. Enough to make your thighs tighten around his waist before you can stop them.
Simon feels it.
โThen he looked at me,โ he says, voice dropping into something ruined and vicious, โand asked if Iโd taught you to take orders.โ
Your heart slams so hard you feel it in your throat, pulsing viscously under his palm. The room narrows to three things - Simonโs eyes, the blood on his neck, and the place where he is still holding you down.
There is blood on him.
Someone elseโs blood.
Gravesโs blood.
The realization comes slowly at first, then all at once.
You see it too clearly: Simon standing there silent while Graves ran his mouth. Simon listening. The moment the Ghost stops being a man in a room and becomes a consequence. You see the gloves he must have taken off. The blood on the old pair. The careful cleanup after. The way he must have washed his hands, changed, checked himself in the mirror, decided he was clean enough to come to you.
Clean enough. Except for the one place he missed.
Simon watches the realization move across your face.
โOh God.โ You force the words out. โWhat did you do?โ
Your voice is barely a whisper.
His answer is immediate. โI hit him.โ
The answer is too simple, too small for the blood under his jaw and the hell in his eyes and that is only because you know Simon.
You know the careful economy of him - the terrifying restraint. The discipline carved into his bones so deep it has become part of his breathing. Simon does not hit men because he is angry. He does not waste movement. He does not lose control unless something in him has already decided the consequence is worth it.
He ends things because he has weighed the cost and found it acceptable.
Your fingers curl tighter in his shirt. โHow bad?โ
For the first time, something almost like satisfaction passes through his eyes.
His hips roll in one slow, merciless stroke and your back arches before you can stop it. You spread your legs and take him deeper; helplessly, embarrassingly, betraying every sensible thought trying to form in your head.
โHowโโ you try to ask again, but the question fractures halfway through another thrust.
Simon lowers his mouth to your ear. โBad enough Price had to pull me off him.โ
Your stomach flips in something stupid. Fear should come first.
It doesnโt.
It should be horror. Concern. Anger. Maybe all three. You should shove at his chest. Demand to know if heโs lost his fucking mind. Tell him he canโt do that, canโt put his hands on Graves over his disgusting mouth and a half-formed threat. Canโt turn command into a blood sport. Canโt risk his place, his rank, Priceโs trust, your trust, just because another man said something deserving yet ultimately meaningless.
But what blooms under your ribs is not sensible enough to be outrage - it is hot. It is fucking shameful.
It is dark and possessive and awful in the exact shape of him.
Because he heard another man talk about you. Heard Graves put his hands on you in theory. Heard him degrade you, heard him imagine you on your knees, your mouth, your begging, and decided violence was the only answer he trusted.
Your body betrays you before your pride can stop it - a tight little clench around him.
Simon feels it. Of course he does.
He stills above you, and somehow that is worse than movement. Heโs pressed to the hilt again, the pressure of him so intense now it leaves your breath caught uselessly behind your teeth. His eyes narrow in something that sees the betrayal before you can hide it.
Your face burns.
โNo,โ you whisper, before he even says anything.
His mouth shifts beneath the mask. โOh.โ
The sound is low. Cruel in its understanding.
Your pulse kicks under his thumb. โSimonโโ
โThere she is.โ
Your breath stutters, caught somewhere between a moan and a denial, and you hate that he hears both. Hate that he can read you so easily. Hate that your body has already answered him before your pride can even get its feet under it.
Simon looks down at the place where your legs have tightened, then slowly back up to your face. Itโs a deliberate act; he is taking inventory of every betrayal.
โYou liked that.โ He croons.
You shake your head, but itโs weak. Useless. Barely more than the brush of your hair against the pillow.
โN-no.โ
His thumb presses against your throat, not hard, just enough to feel the wild little flutter of your pulse.
โLiar.โ
Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. You canโt find a single defence, a single outrage. No clever thing you can throw between you and the truth and it is all because he is still inside you. Still wearing fresh gloves like he thought that would be enough to keep you from knowing. Still carrying that one missed smear of Gravesโs blood under his jaw like a secret he failed to bury properly.
And now he has caught you reacting to it.
Caught the hitch in your breath. The clench of your cunt. The heat climbing up your neck. The way your whole body went soft and greedy around him the second you understood what he had done.
Simonโs eyes go darker. Hungry in a way that feels worse than anger.
โYou should be pissed at me,โ he murmurs.
His hips pull back an inch - just enough to make you feel the loss before he sinks back in, slow and devastating, until your hands shift to grab at his shoulders because there is no dignity left in you. No clean line of thought. No clever answer.
โYou should be callinโ me reckless.โ
Another thrust. Your eyes squeeze shut.
His hand leaves your throat and for half a second, you think he is letting you breathe. That is until both of his hands find your own wrists and pin them firmly above your head.
Your eyes snap open to meet his, expecting full satisfaction, but what you see is worse.
Itโs all of him - the width of his shoulders blotting out the dim light, the black of his mask, the hard set of his jaw beneath it, the blood under his neck, those steady eyes watching you like he has already decided exactly how much of you he is going to take apart before he is finished.
โYou should be asking what the fuck I was thinkinโ,โ he says, and you can almost hear the grin in it.
You swallow. โYou canโtโโ
He moves again, and the words break apart in your mouth.
Your back arches and your fingers curl helplessly against his grip. Your knees shift higher around his ribs, dragging him closer instead of pushing him away, because apparently your body has no interest in helping you survive this with any pride intact.
Simonโs eyes drop to your mouth, then back up to the glass in yours.
โI canโt what?โ He murmurs.
You try.
You really do.
You drag the sentence up through the wreckage of yourself, but he is too deep, too thick, too much. The stretch of him keeps interrupting every thought before it can become language.
โYou canโt justโโ your breath catches on a thrust. โYou canโt hit him because heโโ
โBecause he talked about fucking you?โ Your whole body jolts. His eyes burn into yours. โIf thatโs what you mean, say it proper. Like you fuckinโ believe it.โ
You canโt.
Your mouth parts, but all that comes out is a broken little sound when he grinds deeper, cockhead bullying your walls slow enough to make you feel every inch of him, cruel enough to leave you trembling closer to the edge. Any sensible thought is drowned out by the wave of bliss washing over you.
Simon makes a low sound. A rough breath leaves him.
โToo far gone to scold me now?โ
You glare at him, or try to. It doesnโt land.
And it didnโt stand a chance, either. Not like this - not with your lips parted and your eyes glassy and cunt stretched pathetically around him. Not with your wrists trapped above your head and your hips still trying to meet him every time he gives you another devastating inch.
โIโm, mmffโserious,โ you whisper.
โSo am I.โ
โSimonโโ
โNo.โ His voice cuts low through the room. โYou donโt get to say my name like that while youโre grippinโ me tighter for it.โ
Your breath leaves you in a gasp.
He feels the way you clench again, and you see it hit him. See the slight flare of his nostrils beneath the mask. The way his eyes flutter for just a second. The way something brutal and possessive moves through him before he can smooth it down.
โMhm. Yeah.โ His voice drops into something rougher. โFuckinโ problem, you are.โ
Your face burns hotter.
You want to deny it - you want to shove at his chest and tell him heโs wrong. Tell him itโs just your body. Just the position. Just the fact that he has you pinned and overstimulated and too cockdrunk to think straight.
But itโs useless because Simon would know itโs a lie.
He moves again, slow and deep, and the denial dies somewhere behind your teeth.
โThatโs it,โ he murmurs. โNothing clever now?โ
โMmff.โ Your nails dig into your own palms where he holds your wrists down. โShut up.โ
His eyes flash. โMhm.โ
โI mean it.โ
โNo, you donโt.โ
โI do.โ
He gives you another measured thrust, and your voice breaks around a gasp. Simon watches it happen with only the most intent focus.
โTry that again.โ
You hate him a little. You want him too much for it to matter.
โYouโreโโ you inhale sharply when he pulls out almost all the way and then back presses in hard enough to make the mattress shift beneath you. โYouโre going to get yourself benched.โ
โProbably.โ
โPrice is going toโโ
โAlready did.โ
You blink up at him, breathless and stupid. โWhat?โ
His thumb drags once along the inside of your wrist.
โRead me the riot act.โ
Your nerves jump at that. โAnd you came here?โ
โYes.โ
Something in your chest tightens. โWhy?โ
Simon looks at you for a long second and the room almost seems to shrink around his silence. Your head swims with all of it; the blood under his jaw, the fresh gloves, the heat of him still locked between your thighs.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. โBecause I had to see you.โ
God. You think heโs lost his mind.
โSimonโโ your back arches and his mouth falls to your neck. โThatโs notโthis isnโtโโ
He lowers himself closer to you, folding you deeper into the mattress.
โYou think I lost it because he insulted you?โ You donโt answer. His thumb strokes once over the pulse flying at your wrist. โNo, sweetโeart.โ
His hips move again, slow enough to be cruel, deep enough to make your eyes flutter.
โI lost it because he thought about touching whatโs mine.โ
The words hit you low and you make a sound you do not mean to make. Your cunt pulses at the word. Mine. A catastrophic vulnerability to a word you will never ever tire of hearing him say.
โThatโs it,โ he murmurs. โThatโs what you like, yeah?โ
You squirm under him, helpless. โSimonโโ
โHe said your name like he had a right to it.โ His voice roughens. โLike heโd survive putting his hands on you.โ The next thrust punches a feral moan out of you, and the pace turns to something almost vicious. โI had to let him know what mine felt like first.โ
You moan, eyes shut. Helpless and needy as a whore.
He pauses again. One hand leaves your wrists and grips your jaw. โLook at me.โ
You do.
โAnother man touches you like this,โ he whispers, a lethal rasp through his teeth, โand Iโll break every finger he owns.โ
You shiver. His eyes flick down over your face, your mouth, the wrecked shape of you beneath him.
โAnd if he talks about you like that again?โ
You barely manage the whisper. โWhat?โ
Simon presses his forehead to yours. โI wonโt stop at his face.โ
For a long second, neither of you moves. Then he rolls his hips, and the whole world narrows back down to him - his body over yours, his hand at your jaw, Gravesโs blood drying on his neck, and the awful, devastating tenderness in the way Simon kisses you like he is still trying not to become the worst version of himself.
One of your hands slip out from under his to touch the smear of blood again. Simon catches it and pins it back beside your head.
โLeave it.โ
Your breath trembles. โWhy?โ
His eyes darken. โBecause I want you to remember what happens when a man forgets who you belong to.โ
And in the back of your mind, you think maybe you should argue. Maybe you should tell him you donโt belong to anyone or that this is crazy or that heโs going to get you both transferred - but then he does what he always does and starts fucking you deep and hard and mean - and your body reacts before your pride can save you.
Simon huffs a quiet, humorless breath. โThatโs what I thought.โ
Then he kisses you - filthy, possessive, furious, and fucks you like Graves is still in the room and Simon needs the whole world to understand it.
Youโre Simonโs for as long as youโre both breathing.
loser kรถnig who snaps pictures of his sweet sleepy roommateโฆ
thereโs a thrum, heart beating so violently, he hears it run through the shell of his ears. he can feel his pulse prick in his eyelids, pretty blue eyes fluttering as nervousness clogs his senses, but something stronger drowns them. excitement.
the tips of his ears prick up, gently. just ever so slightly at the sound of your soft breaths. youโre tucked beneath your fluffy, plush duvet, body rolled over to its side as you snore softly. perfect.
his footfalls are silent, just a barely audible thud over the carpet as he brings himself to the side of your bed. heโs just barely a silhouette amongst the darkness, the curves of his body hidden by the shroud of darkness blanketing the two of you.
itโs then when his fingers find the edge of your duvet, they pinch, lip catching beneath his teeth to fight the urge to pounce. itโs this unexplainable feeling, nervous system so worked up that he can feel the muscles in his body pull taut, feel the way he wants to go absolutely animalistic. but he doesnโt, no, no.
he peels the duvet away from your body, pupils bouncing blown as your body reveals. youโre in a tank top, plush tits smooshed to one another. he can see the faint peachiness of your soft nipples beneath the white, tank top too flimsy to cover much of anything.
and then he pulls the duvet further, and his poor cock jumps at the site. your panties. they caress the pretty roundness of your bum, hollowing at the dip of your hip. thereโs a delicate trim of lace along the top, just tight enough to cause your skin to swell and dimple around the waistband.
his once pricked ears flatten back down, eyes steady on your lower half as he slowly reaches out. heโs thankful for all the years of training, his movements quieter than air itself.
and then his pointer finger hooks, hooks beneath your panties and heโs pulling. pulling them up tight until your once bikini cut tapers to a thong. and his chin cocks over, eyes reveling in the way your sweet pussy strains up against the fabric, reveling in the way your thighs tighten themselves up at the pressure.
he smoothes his middle finger down the slit of your cunt, pressing down just ever so slightly on the dip, pushing just enough to feel the fluttering opening of you, so desperate to just be filled. so desperate for him. and heโs the same, so desperate to shove himself into you, to spear, to split you wide open.
but not tonight. no. he came for one thing. a picture. and thatโs when the flash illuminates.
