WARNING [NO AFTERCARE, domination, worshipping, choking, degrading, praise, missionary, mouth covering, fearplay(?), VERY long drabble w/ marination]
You couldn't get enough of the plush pillows your head laid between with each rest, the deep crimson of their covers matching the gigantic silk comforter that swallowed you whole. Your sleep was always tender on nights of no stress or rapid thoughts, and, even then, you never felt a wink tired after you woke up.
Slowly but surely you became conscious, your eyes eventually cracking open and meeting with the slick alarm clock that screamed 17:30 in neon red. You pulled yourself upright against the ridiculous pile of pillows, blinking away your sleepiness as you untucked your legs from the blankets and swung them to your slippers at the side of the bed. Stretching up to reach the ceiling, you hear the center of your chest crack in with your shoulders as you put your feet into your slides.
They softly pattered against the wood floors as you went out of your room and down the hall, the bottom of your shirt caressing the middle of your thighs with every step forward. You knew where you were heading, what turn to take to get to the stairs, and even which staircase to use to get to where you wanted to go even faster. You frequented this home more than your own at this rate, getting a call every 2 weeks to confirm availability for your cleaning services at the same time, same dates, same hours.
Every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday⯠your fingers slid against the banister that encircled the stairs⯠and Friday were mandatory for you to show, while weekends⯠you reached the top of the stairs and began to descend down⯠you had to be on call. You were paid handsomely for being openly available during the weekends despite sometimes not having to show, and you couldn't be more grateful for a job that paid you as well as this. You thought that this gig would be a scam, a dud, a total waste of your interest, until you were paid for Monday. Then Tuesday. Then the weekend arrived, and you were stacked to the brim full of money⯠money that you were not going allow to be put into someone else's pockets. Though, as you thought more about it, it comes together as to why the owner of such a home would pay as much; professional cleaners deserve a professionals' salary, especially when cleaning a house this large.
Your feet hit the floor and you were off towards the kitchen, your fuzzy slippers slightly dragging on the floor boards from their heft. You began to buy nicer items as your time spent with this job grew longer, up to the span of almost a year. The slippers you wore at this very second were, in fact, a splurge purchase from a brand you've been eyeing since you saw their popular furry boots, but could never afford.
You got to the dining room, the entrance of the kitchen just in sight when you turn to face the long dining table. You ate here⯠you pass by a seat that sat under the wall mount of a large stag, its antlers stretching towards the ceiling like a tree growing for the sun⯠whenever duty called, the long hours of the day passing by with every harsh scrub to the grout between tiles. You were cautious at first, when the owner's assistant informed you of your duties and boundaries of working in this house; you could cook food, eat at the dining table, use whatever you needed from select spaces. But soon, those boundaries shrunk, the assistant saying the owner was offering for you to use the furniture to subdue your aching muscles, use the showers and baths to ensure the water runs properly⯠to even go as far as to want you to increase your availability for overnight stays, stating the beds needed to be used to keep the dust away.
Eventually, as the half year mark arrived, you finally met the owner of the manor. It caught you off guard when you saw a large shadow fall in front of your view of the bookshelf you were giving much needed attention to, your duster tensing in your hand as your grip threatened to snap it. When you turned to face your boss, your hold on your tool did not falter, and instead tightened to the point you swear you heard it cracking under your fingers. He had a dominant, overpowering atmosphere plaguing the room with his arrival, his demeaning gaze nailing you through his black sunglasses as he eyed you once over. He knew your were uneasy, he could practically smell the stench of your nervousness, and it was apparent to you with the way his gaze remained unwavering, like he was observing you, seeing how you would react to his sudden appearance. You could feel his eyes sink in to your face, then your hair, then your uniform, and finally, your eyes; you could feel them being drawn to stare, and never turn away, as if your very soul was being bound to submit through your sea of color. In reality, he knew what you looked like, his cameras across the manor watching your every move the moment you drove just ever slightly close to the property (eventually as you settled in with working for him, he would send one of his assistants to go pick you up and take you home in one of those sleek black cars you knew cost a fortune).
⯠Soon, you turned to the kitchen and froze, your eyes skimming the sudden view of your boss who was leaned over the sink and washing the dishes. His usual uniform was gone, and in its stead, he had his casual white dress shirt on, it noticeably hugging his back and biceps like a perfectly fitted glove⯠his sleeves were rolled up in an oddly meticulous way, you noticed⯠with nice iron pressed pants and matching black dress shoes. His hair looked disheveled, just enough to where you could tell he ran his fingers through it in what few could recognize as irritation.
You felt sick, your face paling and your hands clamping onto the bottom of your shirt⯠shit, your shirt. You looked down at what you were wearing and felt completely defeated, your chest feeling the snake of shame wrap itself around your beating heart to the point you truly felt it pause a beat. To top it all off⯠you looked back up to view him once again⯠he was doing the dishes. Your job.
What made the shame ever so slightly surrender, however, was the fact that your boss himself had told you if you ever felt the need to, use the guest room to rest. That's what you did, so perhaps he would excuse this first time instance?
You blink, and you realize you've been staring longer than you should be. You clamp onto your shirt one last time, letting it absorb any possible sweat, and relax your anxious expression before plastering on a soft, awkward looking smile.
"Good afternoon, Mister Wesker."
There was a pause in the air that felt as long as a year, yet was but a second, the sound of running water and the scrubbing of dishes being the only thing making noise. You cringed internally at the silence, half tempted escape while you still could, but you knew you would land yourself in a deep grave if you attempted such a thing.
"It took you long enough to address me."
You flinched when his voice cut through the air like a knife to butter. Your smile was wiped clean and your eyes dodged to the floor, the malice in his voice evident, even if it was but a small amount, "I apologize for that, sir. I was unsure if I was in the appropriate clothing to greet you."
Wesker didn't get home till late at night, compared to the regular 9-to-5 job, and when you were working, you were meant to greet him at the door and have the house spotless. Him arriving early is a first⯠a once in a blue moon occurrence, if you will. You always follow the rules and have things ready for his arrival, his expected time varying between 9 PM to even 7 AM, and on late nights like those, you're either driven home, or allowed to spend the night; vigorous hard work is rewarded with a luxury bed.
He placed the last dish into the dishwasher and dried his hands on the rag placed to the side, his voice running through the room, "Dishes left in the sink, waiting to be cleaned, and you're sleeping upstairs."
Your hairs begin to stand, his a-matter-of-fact manner of speaking tipping you off, "I apologize sir, I did not expect you to be home this early.."
"I hire a cleaner to clean, and yet I find my hands taking over your occupation." Wesker folds the towel and sets it in its spot.
Before you could answer, he turns around, his ungloved hand running through his hair to home one of the blond hairs that laid slightly out of place.
"However," He crosses his arms, his watch glinting in an almost taunting way at you, "I don't mind touching with my humanity every so often."
You felt a weird sensation at his words⯠you could sense something was out of touch with him the moment you had met Wesker, and the way he spoke about humans or humanity as if he were a higher being never sat well with you. Perhaps it was because he was rich, or perhaps it was because of his work being important to the people of the world, as he has told you before many times.
"Regardless. I pay you an extraordinary amount of money that any sane person would dream of, even kill for."
You stand in silence, clasping your hands over one another at your stomach as he continues on, "Have I allowed your rules to be too laxed? Or, perhaps I've spoiled you to the point of lower standards."
"No, Mister Wesker." You answer, "I just needed rest."
He eyes your attire, "I can see that, little lamb."
Your eyes widen, knowing you're in deep now, and you unconsciously pinch the hem of your shirt. Somehow, you work up the courage to bring your eyes up to give him the respect he deserves, but you grow the regret it as you catch his light hazel eyes peeking above his glasses staring at you in a way that screams you fucked up.
You breathe out your nose and let your shoulders drop.
Wesker had shoved you against his office desk, fear coursing through your veins as your heart beat with the strength of an oil rig. You felt the world spin and your brain run oddly cold and fuzzy, every pump of blood feeling harder than the next as your back was pressed onto the mahogany table.
"Your punishment has been long overdue, lamb. Don't think I haven't noticed how you've been slacking off." He tensely spoke.
"I haven't been, Mister Wesker! I swearâŻ!"
You froze as his hands slide just below your shirt and pull your shorts to your ankles, "Do not swear to me when being dishonest. The only thing it will do is get you into deeper trouble."
Your gut dropped to your feet as his fingers glid under the straps of your panties, your head beginning to go dizzy as you felt every vein flow faster and faster through your body. Slowly, his fingers curled around the hem and began to pull down, down, down.. You could barely breathe as every bit of air lumped together in the back of your throat, the muscles in your neck twitching when it became too much, then to implode with your heart and release all together just to start over in an endless cycle.
Yet, with the very fear that bled into your bones, striking every limb, muscle⯠and you had the audacity to find pleasure in the pit of fright. You always have.
He firmly shot you a glare, "Eyes on me."
Your eyes snapped up towards Wesker, "Keep your eyes on my hands."
You did as he instructed, moving your gaze to his hands as they went down to grasp his belt. The veins that bulged and rooted themselves throughout the back of his hands and up his arms were noticeable, delightful; they intricately wrapped around each hand and slithered up his forearms, his left arm having a vein that slid itself down to the knuckle of his middle finger. You watched as he meticulously unbuckled his belt, the straps coming undone before he unbuttoned and carefully pulled down his zipper.
"Excited for your punishment, aren't you?"
He snapped you out of your daze, and yet your eyes stayed glued on his hands as he pulled down his pants just enough to allow his covered bulge to rest outside the opened zipper. You felt hot, and you knew you were the kin of a blooming cherry red with how tingly you felt all over your face.
"Punishments are supposed to beâŻ" Wesker grabbed you by your throat in one swift motion, a short audible gasp passing through you, "hurtful. So why, my dear, do you seem to be enjoying this?"
You have the look of pure ecstasy on your face, your eyes trailing up his veiny forearm, then his toe-curlingly thick bicep, as you imagine the type of punishment you would receive by his hand.
".. Because I deserve it, sir." You quietly respond.
A smile of wicked entertainment spreads across his lips, "Of course you would be blissful from that. You should be grateful I'm even bothered to put a woman as disobedient as you in your place.."
With a squeeze from his hand around your neck, he released you and brought it to the slit of his boxers, "'You know what to say, girl."
The curl of his voice sent an ache between your thighs, desperation making a home in your brain and heart, maybe even your very soul with each second that passed. Embarrassment ran wild for you, your eyes averting to the corner of his office.
Just as fast as you pulled your eyes away, his hand shot out and grabbed your chin, your lips puckering and eyes snapping to him.
"Don't look away from me, you pathetic lamb."
The flash of aggression in his voice made your insides clench and spill to the desk, your thighs instinctively closing together. Wesker took a pause, then turned your head slightly to the right, and then the left, your eyes never once leaving his face.
"I have to say, you are quite the specimen.." He mused, turning your face back towards him.
"And those eyes of yours.. So expressive. Especially when I.."
His free hand slowly grasps the band of his boxers and tugs down, a veiny cock hitting his stomach before curving downwards from its heavy girth. Your pupils blow out and your eyes widen as they flash down to his pulsing dick that, to you, felt like it was gazing back with a thick bead of sheer white fluid gathering at the tip, almost as if it was tempting you to make a move.
You felt the grip on your chin tighten, your lips now in a full pucker as you feel his eyes pierce through your sockets.
Wesker's eyebrows furrow, "Oh yes.. Just like that."
He paused, "⯠Now, are you ready for your punishment, little lamb?"
You look up at him, and give a short nod, your thighs spreading to allow his own to rest in between. You watch his cock glide under your shirt and rest on your lower stomach, the shape of it molded against your clothing to the point you could see its pulsating motion; there was even a streak of dampness where the tip had caressed your clothing.
Wesker let you go, only to quickly grab you by your neck with one hand, and the back of one thigh with the other to spread you farther apart. His thick tip drew back from under your clothes then aimed down, pressing into your clit and pushing against your weak spot before sliding down between your slick folds. When it caught on your hole, he pushed the head of his cock into your tight mess, watching as it settled in akin to a lollipop sinking between your sweet lips.
You felt your insides twitch around the tip, only a second spared for you to adjust, until he made sure you remembered that this was a punishment, not a favor. Wesker slammed his full, thick cock all the way in till you could feel his lower stomach pressed against your clit, and the head kissing⯠no, bullying your cervix.
Before you could cry out, he moved his hand from your throat to cover your mouth in a firm hold.
"Remember, little lamb, this is your punishment, and I am not holding back."
Wesker snarled at you, pulling his hips back and snapping them back into your thighs. You moaned through his palm, your hands coming up to grab his wrist and dig your nails in just enough to sting. You could feel every ridge, every thick vein of his cock as he was beginning to plunge harshly into your mushy pussy, his hips getting into a violent rhythm as he painfully began to ravage your hole.
"Dear god, lambâŻ," He clenched his teeth and sharply sucked in air, "oooo..⯠despite all of your nonsense, you have a delectable cunt I can't seem to stop craving for.."
You closed your eyes and whined behind his hand, his cock hitting one spot that just felt so painful yet indescribably good, as he vigorously made sure to sink his entire length into every quick, deep thrust. In a flash, he gripped your cheeks once again, your lips set agonizingly in an 'O' shape with his rough grab.
He snapped at you, "Do NOT close your eyes while I'm fucking you stupid, whore."
You flinched at that word; whore. It shook you deeply, sentimentally as tears brimmed your eyes in shame.
You felt your tears roll down your cheeks, your face beaming red and your mouth letting out sickly pleasured noises as your cunt plaps over and over again against his heavy balls. He was mean, so very mean today, and yet you, the sick attention seeking girl you are, reveled in his words, your pussy clenching on his length.
He breathes heavy, "With a body like this, I expected it to be tainted long before me, little lamb. You should be grateful I was the one that let you see stars."
Wesker groaned a soft fuck, before letting your face go and slamming his hand onto the table, his brutality causing him to falter as he felt his balls fill up from the fast pace he set for you. You cried and moaned and whined with each passing second, the constant bullying of his cock hitting your cervix filling you with bliss, and yet, you were constantly battered out of it when he would thrust hard and cause a light pain to ripple through your womb; you honestly thought it was him being rough and creating a bruised spot, but you soon realized it was the pure force of his hips that caused the tip to break through ever so slightly into your womb.
Your eyes began to roll back, your legs beginning to shake as you laid your hands next to your head and took all he was giving you.
"You do so good taking me, little lamb⯠fuck." Wesker's face tensed as he leaned his face down to the side of your head, grabbing his sunglasses and ripping them off his face.
He pinned his glasses down beneath his hand as he placed it back where he had slammed it before, his reality slipping through his fingers with every pound inside of you, and every bead of sweat that glimmered against his skin. He would never admit it, never, and he finds it impossible he even has such a mindset about you, but⯠he slides the hand he held the back of your thigh with under your shirt towards your waist and squeezes⯠you are perfect. Wesker finds it absurd he could even imagine someone like you would intrigue him, and at first, you were like any other maid he had hired in the past, but as he watched you through the cameras, there was something peculiar. Something that screamed at him that you were significant. Worthy.
And yet, with such thoughts, he could not shake the addiction he had for staring at you, talking to you, touching you, fucking you. You had him wrapped around your finger, and you would never know. To him, you were his goddess on earth, and he loathed that fact. To have thoughts of someone like you being compared to that of a god, before himself, ate at him alive. But he contently drowned in the thoughts of you like that of a sacrifice. You took him over. Sinfully, and absolutely.
He plunged forcefully back and forth into your wetness, Wesker groaning through clenched teeth as your moaning and whining sent him into a frenzy. He was close.
You grabbed onto his shirt towards his collar and cried, "Wesker!"
That completely unraveled him.
With one abusive thrust, he shoved the tip of his cock past your cervix and fed your womb full of all he had to offer. You let out a shaky moan as you felt his hot seed spill into your hungry hole, your walls convulsing with intent to suck him empty.
He did one last hard snap into you before letting it sit, then slowly pulling out. He stood straight and looked at your sex, seeing it fully agape from where he had let himself take you. Not a drop leaking out.
"You were starving for my seed that bad, huh." Wesker spoke, but it felt like it was directed to your puffy cunt more so than yourself.
You slowly closed your eyes, your body completely shutting down as he let you go and placed his sunglasses back on. Wesker eyed you once more, lust breaking through into his brain as he watched your chest rise and fall, and your pussy slowly adjusting to being without him⯠but, he needed to get back to work. You heard him fixing himself up before going behind the desk and opening a drawer, soon closing it and setting something on the desk behind your head.
With a sigh and a comb through his hair, he went to the door and spoke as coldly as his usual self, "Clean yourself up and finish with the house, Miss (L/n). While you're at it, clean up the mess on my desk. I don't want your excrement ruining my mahogany table."
And with that, he left, shutting the door behind him and leaving you there to pick up after yourselves. That quick exit really hit your heart sore; he didn't even bat an eye at you, or help you pick up yourself. Fresh tears brimmed your eyes in shame, but you sat up and gained your balance when you stood on your feet to slide your panties and shorts back up.
You wiped your tears away and took a moment to process. Wesker never left you without aftercare, even if it was chopped when he would caress you in comfort, or intently helped you cum your soreness away. This really enforced the fact that this was a punishment. And you hated it. Which was a part of his plan.
You recall that he had taken something out of his desk, and you turned, seeing a leather red necklace box sitting with a note that had Lamb written on it. You stepped around the table and picked up the note, turning the clearly expensive card around and reading what was wrote in cursive.
Wow, how nice. You bitterly thought, placing the note next to the box before picking it up. When you opened it, your sourness and sorrow washed away, a golden necklace sitting in black silk. It was a thin chain that had golden omamori shaped tag with what you could tell as Kanji engraved vertically on the small pendant.
ćçŸ
Kohitsuji..
Your cheeks felt warm as you slid your hand under the pendant and lifted it closer to your face. You had been practicing reading Kanji and speaking Japanese for some of Wesker's important peoples that would visit the manor every now and then for a meeting, and it seemed to have really paid off.
Lamb.
You smiled and took the necklace, putting it around your neck when you faced the mirror by the door. Your heart was bursting with happiness, and it showed as you flaunted the necklace off to yourself. Until you remembered you had a mess to clean.
You turned towards the table and saw the mess you had made, some of it even leaking down the front... How embarrassing.
hehe what if the entity let another one of the killers fuck you while she restrained wesker and made him watch since he didnât do well in a trial đ«Ł
I absolutely fucking loved The Ghost's Pet and was wondering if you'd consider a part 2? or even like another unrelated Ghostface fic? because the way you write smut is amazing and that petplay was... I don't even have words but it was good and I'd love to read more!! thanks anyways, love ya<3
I do not have any plans for a part two as of right now due to the complications of needing to re-design my entire writing account- (it felt too messy with how many character lists and master lists I posted and I admire the way other writers have theirs so I got inspired to clean mine up).
Due to this, however, I will probably end up getting around to making one, just at a later date. I will @ you when that arrives <3
I just read harsh directive, bitch (respectful usage) like I canât. Just no words. I just like ????? So good ????? Like I canât even form a thought???? I have never read something so GOD DAMN GOOD BEFORE??!!??!
Thank you so much! It may have been a while back that I wrote it, and you may have sent this a long time ago as well, but reading these replies about my stories despite the time frames makes me smile.
When I post another Ghost story, I will definitely @ you since I'm now alive and ready to write!
harsh directive was incredible youâre actually INSANE for posting such toe curling, well written smut oh my GOD it takes a lot for fics to genuinely turn me on nowadays cos iâve read too many and theyâre all similar-ish but the pacing??? the descriptions??? taking the reader away from the current situation just to put her in a super sexual flashback and then dropping her back in the main event??? DELECTABLE. finally some good fucking food.
I know it took me a billion fucking years to respond, so sorry about that, but I really appreciate the kind regards <3
I actually planned to post a separate COD fanfic account (that is ready and up, but no stories posted yet), so if you're interested, I will be announcing the @ very soon!
As soon as I'm done with all the requests and re-designing this account, I will 100% let you know!
Summary: Being Albert Wesker's wife was never easy. Yes, he gave you love, but it would come and go in small segments because of work despite him actually working from home. After discovering Albert's secret projects from having the last straw, you ran, scared he would kill you for finding out before his confession (if there ever were to be one). A full year had gone by, no sign of Wesker. Until now.
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Word Count: 2.6k
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MASTERLIST | Resident Evil List | Albert Wesker
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WARNING [dub-con, feral sex, doggy style to mating press, hair pulling, spanking, degrading, dumbification, major breeding kink, domination]
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He caught you, and now there was no escape.
"You are fucking delicious, my little cock starved slut."
Against all odds, he found you right in the comforts of your new home.
"Donât you ever run away from me again."
How could your life have come to this?
Wesker fucked into you savagely, one of his hands tangled in your locks as he tugged you back on his dick, and the other holding your leg up. He screwed you nearly dumb despite your pleas and cries for him to stop, your pussy drooling his loads and your juices all over your inner thighs.
You let out a loud yelp when Albertâs hand came down on your ass, a sharp slapping noise echoing around the dining room. He had pushed your leg up onto the table before hanging his hand at his side, still keeping the tight grip on your hair as he made sharp, quick thrusts.
Wesker snarled down at your trembling figure, âIf you even try to pull another one of your escape plans on me, Iâll make sure to fuck you stupid so you canât escape.â
You managed to choke out a few words despite the fear that laid in your stomach, tears streaming down your cheeks as you turned to look up at him from behind, âI hate you!â
Albert couldnât help but let out a laugh from your words, one that was taunting, dark. In several swift motions, he pulled you up by your hair and held your back flush against his chest, opposed to your pained whine. He then roughly grabbed your now struggling wrist, forcing your hand to flex out and reveal the shiny silver piece on your ring finger.
âIf you hate me as much you say, why are you wearing your wedding ring?â
Wesker stopped thrusting, allowing you to sit on his cock and feel every pulse and twitch as you tried answering his inquisition. Your mouth hung agape, sputtering nonsense while your face flushed red.
Before you could even form a full sentence, he answered for you, "Because you don't hate me. In fact, I think you still love the very man you ran from."
"I do not-!"
Albert interrupted you with a hard thrust into your quivering sex, making you mewl in surprise before biting your lip to keep quiet. He smirked from your pathetic attempts to silence yourself before bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your knuckles, making sure you saw his actions even if you had a disgusted look on your face.
"You are a horrible liar, dearheart."
Suddenly, you were slammed back on the table with a loud cry, his quick roughness knocking the sense out of you before he started ramming back into your cunt. The hand that still tugged on your hair loosened its hold, letting you rest your head on the table and take the fucking you were given. You tried desperately to fight back against Wesker's grip on you, but he was stronger, much more built than you, and at this point, all you could do was let him abuse your quivering pussy until he's had his fill.
It didn't stop the tears that still trickled down your cheeks, or your quiet begs that all meant nothing, "Please Wesker- mmph!- just l-let me go!"
Albert didn't hold back the chuckle that ran through his throat at your attempts to stop him, feeling your hands weakly push against his hips to yield his thrusting. His v-line stilled flush against your ass, but don't begin to think it was because of your efforts.. Wrapping your hair around his hand, Wesker slowly leaned down over you and tugged your head back, letting his lips just barely caress your ear.
"I'll never let you go again."
He began plunging deep into your drooling sex, his hand finally leaving your hair and being placed on your waist. Wesker picked up your hips so you were arching against the table, your leg coming down to touch the floor, before hammering straight up into your cervix. You felt your eyes widen and your heart thump hard when you felt his tip reach deep inside of you, your tongue pushing past your lips on instinct and allowing saliva to drip down your chin. A low, gruff grunt came from Albert when he felt your pussy clench around his dick, the grip on your waist tightening to the point of bruising while his nails practically punctured through your skin. He ravaged your insides, milky white streaming down your legs and onto the floor that would soon be replaced by another one of your husband's loads.
"Deeper.. Guh- I need it.. deeper."
Wesker paused his onslaught and quickly flipped you over onto your back, now staring at your tearstained cheeks and scarlet face. He watched your chest heave up and down as you continued to pant, eyeing your nipples that perked up over your tank top as your breasts shuddered from his piercing gaze.
Albert quickly slammed back into you, earning another strained moan from your abused mouth before it became pained when he grabbed your legs and forced them widely apart. Your spread pussy gave him more room to shove his cock inches deeper, your eyes crossing up to the back of your head when he hit your cervix again with the tip of his dick. Before he could begin his assault, he paused when seeing you shakily bring a hand up to his chest and give it a weak push as your last attempt to get him to stop.
"Please, Albert.. No more.. I can't take it." You whispered with a strained voice, your eyes glossy from crying as you gazed into his firm ambers.
To your surprise, Wesker took one hand away from your leg and brought it up to your cheek, cupping it gently while rubbing his thumb lovingly across your trail of tears. Involuntarily, you leaned into his touch, and brought up your other hand to hold onto the back of his to keep his warm palm against your cheek. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and savor his affection, even if it could've been fake; you were so touch deprived after being on the run for so long, and now that the person you secretly longed for was giving you attention, your body just melted.
When you felt Albert's blonde locks graze against your forehead, and his nose brush softly against yours, you opened your eyes to gaze into his. You almost cried when you noticed the familiar glints of love under his firm gaze, some unknown relief flooding through your system.
Wesker's voice pierced through the silence, his tone low and tauntingly gentle, "Dearheart, do you even realize that you're leaning into my touch despite what you've been telling me?"
You finally broke, the overwhelming emotions of missing and hating your lover collapsing, "It's okay.. Just let me have this.."
He chuckled silently and allowed you to nuzzle into his hand, continuing to stroke your cheek as he watched your every move. God, he really did miss you. That full year of not having you by his side made him more aggressive, fully honed in on finding you and bringing you home. The little things he never thought he'd miss made him regret every second of not giving you his full attention, and the nights you both shared in your bed, either intimate or just sleeping, practically made him an insomniac now that he never woke up with you next to him. You really turned his world upside down.
Slowly, Albert leaned close to your face, kissing the tip of your nose before saying, "I'll stop when you're finally honest with me."
Wesker snapped his hips into yours, making you throw your head back and let out an airy moan, before retracting his hand back to your waist. He didn't bother to start out slow, plunging in and out of your drooling cunt with burning desire. You kept a hand on his chest while using the other to grip onto his wrist, trying your hardest to ground yourself and keep your eyes from blurring up from the pleasure. You refused to be fucked dumb by Wesker. You were supposed to be mad at him, scared of him - that's why you ran, after all. You were suppose to be angry and sorrowful because of him bursting into your new life and slamming you on your dinner table to fuck you breathless. Where did all my sanity go?
Albert watched your conflicting eyes with a devilish smirk, giving a harsh thrust to gain your attention, "Come on, sweetness. All you have to do is confess and this will all stop just like you wanted."
You stared at him with hazy eyes, blinking away your fading tears as you stuttered, "Y-you promise..?"
His smirk widened into a grin, "I promise, my dear little wife."
Taking in a shaky breath, you began letting out your confession like it was a sin, "I missed you- I missed you- I missed you! I missed your body, your touch, your kisses, your love! I missed the way I'd wake up to you every morning, and I missed the way you'd fuck me dumb into our bed!"
Against what you thought would happen, Wesker let out a feral growl and fucked into you faster, snarling at you, "Keep going."
You gazed down at him, finally letting your eyes fill with love and spill out your true thoughts, "Wesker, I missed you so much! I'm sorry for leaving you! I love you so so so much! Please forgive your cock hungry whore of a wife!"
"Atta' girl.."
Albert roughly grabbed your thighs and threw you into the mating press, slamming his dick directly into your sweet spot over and over with every carnal thrust. Finally, oh-so finally, your mind went blank and your eyes turned foggy, your moans and cries sounding euphoric against the squelching of your pussy and the slapping of his balls against your ass. You grabbed sloppily at Wesker's shirt to pull him closer, the yearning to kiss his lips winning over your fried mind.
He remained solid as he rutted into you, looking down at you through his loose strands of hair while firmly growling, "I've trained you better than this to try and get what you want. What do you say, you disobedient bitch?"
"Please kiss me, hubby! I need it- I need it- I need it!"
Wesker grinned madly at your use of your husband nickname, now fully confident that he won you over, "That's my good little wife."
He smashed his lips onto yours, swallowing up your lewd moaning and whines as he shoved his tongue straight into your mouth. You licked at his wet muscle as he dominated yours, tears of deranged happiness leaking from the corners of your eyes as you finally got the kiss you've dreamed about ever since you made the stupid mistake of running from your husband. You held his cheeks with the palms of your soft hands, earning a tighter grip on your thighs that were sure to turn purple later. Fuck, he was just eating you up; this is what depriving a husband from his wife for so long does to a man.
With his skin rubbing up against your clit, and his thick cock bursting into your tightening cunt with seemingly no end, your womb began to feel heavy and clenched. You knew this feeling all too well, Albert being your first and only partner to ever make you squirt and see stars.
Despite not wanting to, you pulled away from his lips and looked straight up at him through lidded eyes, "Albert, I'm- I'm going to- fuck.. cum!"
Through clenched teeth, Wesker snapped his eyes up into yours and raised his voice in command, "Cum on my cock like the good slutty wife you are!"
From his rough words, the slapping of skin, and the erotic wet noises coming from your sex, your body lurched forward and let out a high pitched whine. Your quivering cunt spurt out all of your pent up honey and glazed it all over his dick and stomach, your knot finally coming undone. You saw bliss from how much your body released, your eyes remaining at the back of your head as your muscles convulsed and twitched. Your toes were in a tight curl, and your legs were bent up towards the sky despite cramping up from your position.
Still, Albert continued fucking into you with every ounce of strength he had, his intention to make you cum fueling his need to release.
With an animalistic snap, he slammed his hands on either side of your head and leaned over your small figure, "I'm going to breed you with my young. Be thankful that I even want to fuck you full of my semen after running away from me like that. Say, 'Thank you for breeding me, my darling.' just like how I taught you."
Doing just as he said, you dumbly followed his command through your overstimulation with slurred words, "Thank you for breeding me, my darling.."
With the last slamming of his hips, Wesker buried his dick fully inside of you and let out a feral groan, spilling his hot cum straight into your womb. He missed how he bred you on your sheets, filling you full of his boiling hot semen, rope after rope, load after load. Of course, you were always on the pill to prevent any accidents, but knowing that you were fresh and fertile made it his absolute obsession to release inside of you round after round tonight. Albert let his basic male instincts take over, fully aware of the consequences, and practically asking for them.
This would make you stay at home for the safety of you and your child, his protection being the only thing you'd need now that you were heavy with his kid. And after you were normal and well with your baby, he would just breed you full with another. This was the only solution to keep you with him; your body constantly carrying his young.
You practically purred at the sensation of his milk spilling into you, rolling your head back onto the table and letting his cock plug you full. Wesker's heavy panting puffed hot air straight into your face as he leaned over to catch his breath, holding your hips up to prevent any leakage.
Finally stabling himself, Albert gazed down at your blissfully hazy eyes, grinning at his work on your body before returning to his serious exterior. Catching his now semi-tense stare, you looked up to his eyes as you let your mind come back to earth. Slowly, Wesker pulled out of your abused hole, leaving it gapping and clenching around the sex filled air. You let out a weak whimper when you felt his warm love begin to trickle out of your pussy and to the table below, but before it could get any further, Albert wiped it on his fingers and plunged them back into you. You bit your lip and held in a moan as you felt your husband's seed leak back into your sex from his fingers, your legs shaking despite Wesker's firm hold on your thickness.
"Don't think for a second that you're not keeping every drop of me." He whispered violently, thrusting his fingers into you once and earning a surprised yelp from your plumping lips.
This wouldn't be the last time of the night you would be fucked stupid, trained, and bred from your lover's hand. And as much as you hated to admit it, you couldn't wait.
With another grin, Albert pulled you up against him and forced you to look up at his piercing gaze, "I'm going to fuck you numb, dearheart. Just you wait."
I've been seeing a lot of screenshots and videos going around recently about the cod fandom and the VAs that I thought I'd touch on. I've seen some people mention this topic and I'd just like to reiterate that people need to separate the character from the person. That person has boundaries and deserves respect just like everyone else.
Especially with a fandom as interactive as the cod fandom. Neil and Nick particularly are people. As human as us. They don't deserve to be impersonated on the internet or AO3 (it's illegal).
They deserve space and are allowed to do what they want. Specifically people yelling at them not to find AO3 or Wattpad or sending them edits and fanart. At the end of the day I understand why people would act that way, but they are not their characters. A lot of people have said this probably better than I have, but I just want to try and remind people that there is a difference and anything you wouldn't want done to you on the internet, don't do to the VAs. We are blessed to have interactive VAs like Nick and Neil. And even Alain, Barry and the others even if it's not as much. We are a good community and it only takes a couple bad apples or interactions to push them away.
I've seen how happy people are to have the two and I am one of those people. But there are some people that can take that further than it is meant to be taken.
I know that at the end of the day if they find what I've written about the characters I'm not going to care. They are adults, they can handle it. If they want to explore it and find the art, fics, and whatever else they don't need us yelling at them to not look or throwing stuff at them.
There are other Twitter posts about this that I'm having trouble finding but please remember to respect decent human boundaries and any other boundaries set by the VAs.
Rating: M
Wordcount: 8k
Tags: Aftercare, Post-nut clarity, Praise kink, Taking a bath together, Just 6 dudes taking care of their girl after completely and utterly wrecking her
A/N: ...This was supposed to be a drabble. No few regrets. My personal take on the aftermath @yeyinde 's "Body electric". Special thank you to @guyfieriii @moondirti @zwiiicnziiix @ladiilokii and many others
Summary:
Itâs over.
The world around you feels dense, cryptic, laden with mysteries and vagueness as you still try to process how you ended up here. Your eyes stare up at the creaking, wooden rafters of the safehouse, vision still swimming, dried tears flaking at the corner of your gaze. Every small motion seems to roil with a discomfort thatâs heavy with the aftereffects of pleasure, bleached to the bone and dull, cracking at the edges. Splayed over the table where maps and gear had been hastily shoved aside you canât deny the chafe, the rawness that manages to soak deep into your veins.
The boys are milling around you, speaking in tired, disbelieving tones at the events of the past few hours, at how you had managed to take them, all of them at once.
It had been a blur, your memories drowning in a cacophony of slickened skin and torrid, whispered praises, or grunted pleasures and hissed curses as they all took as much as they gave. You werenât sure whoâs idea it was at first, but in the course of fucking you, of ruining you, you had surrendered completely to them, let their hands and voices guide you as you floated on an endless sea of sensation and desire. Even as they had drunk their fill of you, of your salted moans and whimpered, pleasured cries, they had been ever attentive, listening to the roll and tide of your ebbing lust, knowing exactly when to push and pull you like the ever-changing undercurrent of the ocean itself.
Now, in the aftermath you feel like youâve been washed ashore, left there by the churning waves as fluid drips across your skin and clings there like salt.
You donât survive this long with the 141 without your fair share of injuries. Burns, cuts, and blisters are your war medals, decorating your skin with a silent story of pride. Grenades, IEDs, the ground shattering sensation of a missile launch or the back-kick of a rifle. These things were familiar to you. Not this.
When you blink, itâs to wince at the rough chafe between your legs, the tender touch of a love bite sucked into your throat. You ache all over, and while the afterburn of pleasure still roils low in your stomach, sated and simmering with fading euphoria, the dull, insistent stretch and soreness of handling five men at once feels at once too much, too sharp, too severe.
A whimper bubbles up your throat when you try to shift, try to roll over onto your stomach with your back still braced on the harsh metal table braced against your back. Someone had been kind enough to spread a towel under you, but itâs still not enough to ease the bite of discomfort clinging to you like rose thorns.
The chatter around you ceases instantly at the sound that pours from you when you try to move. The world around you seems more like hazy, indiscernible shapes with how overstimulated your senses are, an abstract of shades and shapes that make little sense to your pleasure-addled brain. Yet even so, itâs Rudyâs face that flickers into your vision, brow still slick with sweat but scrunched with concern.
âShh.â He hushes you, and his hand is petting your hair from your face and your eyes flutter shut under his touch. âEasy, mi CorazĂłn.â
âHow is she?â
The voice is gruff, accented, and the question itself seems more like a demand than a question, spoken with an air of unquestioning authority. Price.
âTired.â You manage, voice tacky and stick in your dry throat as you swallow and taste bitterness there. âSore.â
Rudy clucks at you, and the sound feels for all the world like a worried mother hen. His thumb smears a drop of flaking cum against your cheek, and the touch is tender, careful with your over exhausted state.
Except then thereâs another touch, one that grasps at your hand and raises it between two calloused palms, bitten with years of duty.
âYa did good, hen.â Soap coos, and you twist your head to see him, his eyes still glazed over but bright, warm as they regard your lidded gaze. âDid so well for us.â
You can only hum, trying and failing to find the wherewithal inside you to summon a proper response. Soap smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.
âWhat do you need, doll?â A different voice asks, and you tilt your head to see Gaz leaning on the table next to you, one hand planted next to your shoulder as he gazes down at you. His head is tilted, eyes tracing over the mess of fluids and grime caked on your skin. Thereâs something that flickers across his eyes, bitter and almost guilty, and had you not been so spent you would have reached for him, murmured reassurances against the curve of his jaw.
âWater.â You mutter instead, and instantly Gaz is gone from you. Before you can try and follow him with your eyes thereâs hands bracing at your shoulders, fingers spreading against your bare skin. The world shifts around you, body bent and raised up to a sitting position.
âEasy, querida.â Alejandro soothes as you let out a little whimper of discomfort when he sits you up. âCon suavidad, mm? Gently now.â
You donât have the strength to sit up by yourself, choosing to lean heavily on him instead, body slouching and trembling. From what you arenât sure. Youâre bare as the day you were born, and though the safehouse seems a touch chilled by the evening air, the shiver in your limbs runs deeper than that, wear and overspent.
âSoap.â Alejandro speaks, and his voice is muted, quiet so as to not startle you. âA blanket.â
Soapâs footsteps fade just as Gaz draws near once again, wrapping your hands around a canteen even as your grip shakes unsteadily. When he helps you tip the flask, the water soothes mercifully over your chaffed and cracked throat, and you gulp greedily. Yet itâs too much too fast, and it only takes two deep swallows before you cough and splutter, water trickling down the corner of your lips.
âCareful.â Gaz warns, voice low as he hovers in front of you, one hand still engulfing the hand holding the canteen. âNot too fast, doll.â
Yet then you feel him pause, shift and make room for a different figure that presses closer to you, a calloused hand gently gripping your chin and tipping your head back once youâve caught your breath. When your eyes flutter open once more, itâs to meet the vision of Captain Price, eyes grim as he faces you head on, gaze never wavering.
âHow bad?â He asks, and you know that tone, firm and demanding to know what you know, for you to not lie as you convey the depth of your awareness into his.
You swallow.
âIâm fine.â You tell him, and itâs the truth. You feel the ripple of suspense, of apprehension dissipate with a sigh from the men around you, relieved yet still precariously concerned with the sight of you, shivering, exposed, and exhausted from the inside out.
âIâm justâŠtired.â You emphasize again, incapable of conveying much more. ââŠand kinda gross.â
Price nods, the motion firm. You can see him digesting the information youâve given him, letting it simmer and ruminate as he configures his next attack like a battle-hardened soldier.
âRodolfo.â He states, and you hear the sergeant shift somewhere behind you, standing at attention on instinct at the solid, instructive tone of the captainâs voice. âIs there a bathtub here?â
âSi.â
âGood. Go run a warm bath. Not too hot. Gaz will help.â
âRog.â Gaz affirms, and when his touch vanishes from you itâs Alejandro who keeps your hands steady, with your shoulder still pressed to his chest and head lolling onto his collarbone. Heâs murmuring soft words at you that you hardly hear, fatigue dragging at you insistently like a riptide.
âSoap.â Price summons next, eyes turning to the Scotsman who still hovers close to the three of you with the blanket heâs retrieved. âThink you can find a clean set of clothes and fresh sheets?â
Through your wobbly gaze you see Soap perk up, eyes glinting with the look of a mission driven soldier.
âAye, cap.â He confirms and takes two large steps before heâs again vanished from your sight.
Itâs only once heâs gone that Price turns back to you, his calloused hand cupping your cheek and tilting your head up to face him once again. You whine at that, at the way the motion reminds your body of whatâs already there, tender and raw and aching.
âEasy, love.â He gentles you, and his voice rumbles rough in his chest like cigar smoke, smoggy, acrid but warm all the same. âYou did so well for us.â
His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, touch firm and insistent despite the little hiss of tenderness you summon in response. Yet then the captainâs eyes soften, drinking in your flushed face and clouded gaze, lips parted under the rough pad of his thumb.
âSo well.â He repeats, eyes distant for a moment as they trace over your lips before at last flickering up to your eyes. âNow let us return the favor and take care of you.â
It takes a moment for your hazy thoughts to process his words but when you do, you ease into his touch, breathy exhale spilling across the flat of his palm and eyes rolling shut. With a single, blissful sigh, you surrender once more to these men, let them take care of you in the way only they can, with their soft, firm voices and calloused, tender touches that bouy you as if you're lost at sea.
Then, the soft touch of a fabric as Price helps Alejandro drape the blanket across your form, enveloping you in a soothing warmth. You go limp, more pliant than you already are, leaning into the warm embrace of Alejandroâs form. A single hand comes up to clutch the blanket, velvety and worn under your fingertips.
Price vanishes somewhere beyond you, and Alejandro tucks you further into his side, nose buried in your hair as you shiver against him. Your bare legs dangle from the edge of the table, feet barely skimming the ground. Priceâs voice is somewhere nearby, murmuring to someone you canât see. You think you hear the sound of running water somewhere, but your thoughts feel clouded, hazy and sated with the knowledge that these men are intent on your care as much as your pleasure. For a moment you feel the riptide of fatigue pull at you, lulling you under as sleep beckons with an insistent, raw promise.
Footsteps. A presence, omnipresent and heavy like the force of gravity itself. You donât open your eyes, donât need to, already knowing whoâs shadow falls across your form.
âGive her here.â Simon asks, demands from the colonel, voice low like the rumble of distant thunder.
You feel Alejandro stiffen, hesitate at the thought of entrusting you to the hulking soldier, remembering the way you went blank-eyed and completely limp under him, under the weight and pressure and force that is Ghost.
âLet him.â Price encourages, voice careful between the two. âIâll need your help in here, mate.â
That seems to do it, because Alejandro is pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head before he extricates himself from you, steadying you long enough for Simon to catch you by the crook of your knees and width of your shoulders, hauling you up against him. The blanket bunches around your form, legs dangling and head lolling into the breadth of Simonâs chest.
Yet the motion isnât without punishment, not as youâre shifted and your body protests valiantly at the abruptness of it all. A choked, pleading moan frees itself from your throat as Simon begins to walk away from the common area, strides large and purposeful.
âS-Simon-â You try, unsure exactly what youâre pleading for but wanting to be closer, huddled deeper into his massive form.
âEasy, love.â He murmurs in response, accent thick and cloying in your thoughts. You settle at that, at the illusive, strangely sympathetic tenor of his voice. Youâre too tired to do much else than recline against him with a shivering sigh, limbs aching and caked in grime.
Itâs the sound of his boots against tile that rouses you only moments later, the warm steam of the bathroom curling across your skin and licking against clammy, chilled flesh. Ghost hovers just inside the doorway, hands splayed against you as they cup you to his form. You wish you had the forethought to lift your arms, tangle them around his neck, but the thought is gone as another figure hovers at your side.
âI got it from here, LT.â
Simon gruffs a sound of affirmation, and with surprising care dumps you into Gazâs waiting arms. The blanket wrapped around you gently pulls away, and when you shudder Gazâs lips are pressed into your temple.
âItâs alright, pretty girl.â He hushes. âLetâs get you cleaned up, yeah?â
Heâs bare, you realize dimly, exposed flesh pressed against you. The thought is strangely mortifying, considering the man has been balls deep in your ass earlier. Yet you donât realize why heâs naked until heâs stepping into the tub, lowering you down with him into the warm, soothing water.
It takes a few moments for you both to settle, some of the water sloshing out onto the tile with both your forms inside the tub. Yet Gazâs chest is pressed against your back, legs on either side of you and arms caging yours as you sink lower into the water with a blissful sigh. You feel it when he rumbles a chuckle, a hand vanishing as he reaches for the supplies Rudy no doubt provided him.
You reach for them as well, but your hand is gently knocked aside by the sergeant youâre pressed against.
âNuh-uh, love.â He chuckles. âThis is all me.â
You find it difficult to protest, instead sinking further into the warm water.
He starts by gently pouring water over you, dunking your sweaty, matted hair and loosening the strands carefully with his fingers. The sergeant works systematically, lifting each limb and scrubbing it free of flaky cum and caked sweat, the soft bubbles of soap grazing across your arms and legs. You relax into him completely limp and utterly euphoric. Everything smells like coconut and aloe, aromatic and perfumed and warm as the water laps at your legs and chest.
Gaz takes careful attention to your face, gently cleansing it free of the tear trails and semen caked against your cheeks and the corners of your mouth. Heâs murmuring gentle encouragements to you all the while, voice hushed and soft in your ear, full of âThere we go, that'sa girl, sit up for me? Thank you, doll. Almost done, back next, shh, easy.â
When he gets to the apex of your thighs however, you flinch at his touch, just barely too firm against your chaffed, stretched holes.
âTake it easy.â A voice gruffs, and you blink your eyes open, vision adjusting to the dusty brown hues of the bathroom, seeking the cockney laden voice.
Heâs there, in the corner, arms crossed and lurking, massive frame hunched into the otherwise too small space. Ghostâs eyes level at the both of you, gaze unblinking, blistering as he observes, watches, intent on observing and seeing through whatever mission heâs been tasked with.
Gaz only nods at him, his voice quiet in your ear as he speaks.
âYou want to do this?â He asks, tone low, concerned at your reaction. You manage a nod over your shoulder, delicately taking the washcloth from his grip and letting it sink beneath the murky water.
It takes a moment, but you manage to hiss past the pain and arch up to scrub yourself, cleaning the mess of caked fluids that decorate your inner thighs and ass. You can feel Simonâs gaze on you all the while, the way heâs taking in every wince and jolt that flashes across your face.
âDeep breath.â Gaz encourages softly in your ear, and when you oblige thereâs a slosh of water pouring over your head and dampening your locks.
You moan when Gaz works his fingers into your hair, massaging shampoo into your scalp and raking his fingers against the crown of your skull. You melt into the touch, all previous indications of soreness vanishing in the instant it takes him to chuckle warmly at your response.
âThatâs nice, yeah?â He asks, and you can hear the touch of smugness in his voice, pleased with the way you grow limp and pliant against him, the way your eyes roll back into your head at the gentle, rolling motion of his fingers into your scalp. You can only hum a sleepy âMmhmm.â In response, blissed out on the sensation.
Heâs surprisingly good at this, you find out, making sure to go so far as to condition from the tips of your hair up, carefully combing your hair through his fingers. You relax fully into him, sink yourself up to your nose in the cooling water and let drowsiness take hold. Yet itâs only when you shift that you feel him, feel the hardening nudge at the small of your back that has you stiffening, sucking in a sharp gasp of air.
âGazâŠâ You warn, casting a pleading look across your bare shoulder.
Youâre not sure if itâs the warm water, the lingering haze of lust, or the blissful, relaxed sounds that spill past your lips, but you can feel him, can feel the blunt pressure of him against the nudge of your spine. It sends a lingering shower of sparks racing through your veins, but the heat of it is dulled, muted by exhaustion. You canât, not again, not right now.
Gaz seems to read your mind, sees the way your eyes flicker with wariness. His hands still for a moment as he leans, entering your field of view with warm eyes that dance with a touch of mischief below the caramel surface.
âDonât you worry about me, doll.â He replies softly, but thereâs a sultriness there that isnât fully extinguished. âThis is all about you.â
And when his thumbs dig a dull, heavenly touch into the nape of your neck, you find it hard to complain.
All too soon, you hear the bathtub drain gurgle as Gaz pulls the plug, the water receding like the tide gone out to sea.
âThey done?â A voice asks from the doorway, and your gaze blinks up to reveal Soap, present with what looks like two changes of clothes in hand.
âJust about.â Gaz replies, and you feel him shift as he detaches himself from you, scooting so heâs halfway out of the tub and can help you wobble your way to a stand to step out onto the cold tile.
Yet at the first step your legs tremble like an unsteady filly, and it takes both Soap and Gaz to steady you, sit you down on the edge of the tub. When you plop down on the edge, however, a remainder of soreness shoots across your hips and up your spine and youâre unable to bite back the moan that escapes you.
Gaz and Soap shoot each other a look, self-satisfied smirks tugging at the corners of each of their mouths.
âShut up.â You grumble, feeling warmth threaten to flush across your face once more.
They spare you, thankfully, and as Gaz dries himself off itâs Soap whoâs drying your hair, wiping the water from your shoulder and back. You trace the planes of his face as he does, watching the way his brow scrunches with concentration, the way his eyes linger over the swell of your tender, bruised breasts and the curve of your hips. The plumpness of his lip is sucked between his teeth, and you can tell heâs restraining himself, trying not to indulge with his touch on you, letting his fingers wander and press and summon whimpered pleas from your bones. His hands are assertive in the way only soldiers are, resolute with duty and yet still somehow gentle, considerate when he grazes over the soreness of you.
You attempt to help, feeling a trembling strength returning to you now thatâs your hydrated and clean. Yet Soap merely grumbles at you, refusing to hand over the towel.
âJust sit back, hen.â He tells you, and his voice is firm despite the tenderness there.
You purse your lips at him, feeling a flash of guilt at letting yourself be so completely pampered like this, not allowed to do so much as properly dry yourself. Yet Soap notices, steely blue gaze flickering to yours when he notices your hesitation.
âLass.â He begins, that cocksure smile tugging at his lips once more. His eyes are sparkling, and you canât stifle the helpless flop of warmth that pools inside of you at the sight. âYou just let us shag you seven ways to Sunday and were bloody perfect for it. Let us spoil you, aye?â
Yet youâre still unsure, and when the Scotsman sees youâre unconvinced he sighs.
âWhen else are you going to have five burly men at waitinâ on you hand and foot?â He asks almost impatiently, and that thought is intriguing to say the least, enough to make your hand fall limply back to your side.
Soap grins. The warmth thickens.
âThatâs a good lass.â He murmurs, and thereâs a touch of smugness in his voice, at the way heâs managed to school you into surrendering, letting yourself succumb to his touch once more. Yet that conciliation is enough to get him chattering now, tongue loose as he purrs little praises and encouragements at you all the while.
âSo pretty.â He coos as he turns your face up in his palms, towel brushing hair from your brow, as he wrings water from your hair and carefully wipes at your still tender hips and thighs. âPerfect little bonnie for us.â
Youâre pliant, docile under his touch, letting him do as he needs to and letting the familiar touch of hebetude pull at your senses. It would be easy to fall asleep right here, to lean against him and let rest take hold of you, drown you as it's meant to. Clean now, warm and undeniably sated, the promise of sleep creeps near with a touch that feels achingly familiar. The temptation is an enticing one, the promise of deep, velvety unconsciousness dragging at you even as Soap reaches for your change of clothes.
âArms up.â He encourages, and you canât help the drowsy little grumble that escapes you in protest.
â âm tired, Johnny.â You slur at him, but the sergeant merely tuts at you.
âI know hen. I know. Weâre almost done.â
You grumble even as you oblige, lifting your arms up and letting him slide a T-shirt that seems far too large for you over your bare torso. Pants follow, and you have to fumble with the drawstring of the sweatpants to cinch them around your waist so they donât pool at your hips. Yet itâs the hoodie that Soap slips your arms through that makes you slouch into comfort, hum a note of appreciation at the back of your throat.
âSmells like you.â You mumble, eyes sleepy and warm at your sergeant, and you see Soap melt.
âOnly the finest.â He grins back at you, eyes glinting with that tell-tale elation he has whenever heâs got your full attention.
Thereâs a call from down the hallway that you donât catch, one that draws Soapâs attention and causes him to turn his head. You follow his gaze at first, but find yourself distracted by the shadowy figure still present in the corner, head tilted as he observes you, watches you watch him. You can see his eyes, see the way theyâre slightly narrowed at your slouched form on the edge of the tub. It isnât clear exactly what Simon is looking for, but he seems to find it nonetheless, gaze darting up from your pebbled nipples to your open, curious expression.
âThink you can stand?â Soap asks you, drawing your attention back to him. You nod, and with his help wobble to your feet, bare soles still sliding across the wet floor.
Yet again, when your legs shake with weakness itâs all you can do to remain standing, hand gripping Soapâs arm with a trembling, unsteady grip. Your gaze flicks upwards, once again finding the skull mask that haunts the edges of the room and the periphery of your thoughts. You donât make a sound, barely alter your expression, but within moments Ghost is rolling his shoulders to push off from the wall, closing the distance between you both and wrapping an arm around your waist.
He doesnât say a word as he scoops you up once more, and even Soap seems a bit surprised at the sudden gesture, eyebrows arched as the mammoth soldier cradles you into his broad chest.
âI-â You try, but when Ghostâs eyes peer down at you your throat feels dry, tongue heavy, and the words are lost.
Soap trails you both as Ghost escorts you back in the direction of Price and the others. As you round the corner your nose instantly fills with the thick, scented spice of garlic and onions, and soon you find Rudy and Alejandro in the kitchen, turned to each other with smirking, tell-tale smiles as they bend over a pan of something that you think smells like heaven.
âHere.â
You turn at the sound of Priceâs voice. Heâs seated at the head of the table, and the chair creaks as he scoots away from the table, widening an arm in Simonâs direction. Simon follows the order without protest, gently depositing you into Priceâs lap even as you whimper at the tender flesh of your ass coming into contact with him.
You should be embarrassed, you think. You should be a little bashful at this circumstance, perched in the lap of your captain who smells like cigar smoke and gun oil, at the way his arm closes around you and keeps you braced against his chest. Yet Price is warm, solid, his grip on you firm and reassuring, so you struggle to find yourself to care.
Price reaches for something on the table, a tube of what looks like ointment. You blink at it for a moment, brow furrowing even as he deposits a liberal smear on his calloused fingertips. When he catches your wary expression he merely huffs, the mutton chops of his beard twitching upward with his smile.
âOintment.â He explains. âItâll help with the tenderness.â
You arch an eyebrow at him, surprised but also a touch curious.
âYou say that like youâve been in this situation before, captain.â You remark carefully, but Price merely huffs at you, warm, smoky breath ghosting across the planes of your face.
âYears of experience, love.â Is all he gives you before his hand is snaking under the hem of your shirt, up to the tender, suckled flesh of your breasts. Itâs a shock, you flinch under the cold touch of his slickened fingertips. Yet Priceâs opposite hand digs into your thigh, steadying, guiding in the way only he is. You arch into him with a little protest as he smears the ointment across the rise of your chest, whimper caught in your throat.
âEasy.â Price gentles when you squirm, and the tickle of his beard whispers over the nape of your neck when he presses a kiss there. âI got you.â
You only nod, eyes scrunched shut and breath stuttering in your chest, hands gripping his arms and head tucked back against his shoulder. Your heart thrums louder, skin burning, yearning for the grip of him but knowing itâs too much, too soon, that you can only sit there and take it as his war-worn hands smooth the cream against your battered flesh.
Yet itâs when his touch vanishes from you, when you sigh that you hear him huff, chest jolting with the motion as you brace against it. Except then heâs shifting, and you feel a hand pull at the hem of the sweatpants youâre wearing -black, you notice- as his fingers descend past them, along your belly and towards the core of you.
âC-captain-!â You shudder when Price smoothes lotion across your folds, and suddenly the world is too hot, too bright, and youâre shivering under his touch, body growing taut. Yet Priceâs touch is purely medicinal, purposeful and clinical even as you gasp and writhe weakly against him.
âYou can take it.â He encourages, voice grumbling and firm, ever the leader, anchoring you from the discomfort and the rapid, uncertain flutter of your heartbeat.
You try to stay still, you do, but Priceâs and feel like a warming brand against your skin, reigniting a coiling flame there, one that you canât indulge in despite the wish that you could. Itâs all you can do to tuck your head back against him, shiver under his hand cupping the core of you, your hands digging into him as you seek gravity. When you whimper, Priceâs touch softens, soothing circles into your hips, your thighs, your ribs.
âThere we go, love.â He rasps when you sink against him, caressed into docility as you perch on his lap. âThatâs a good girl.â
You whimper, and the sound is enough to summon a grumbling groan, caught like the grind of gravel deep in his chest.
âSo fuckinâ beautiful.â And itâs Soapâs voice nearby, lilted low with desire as he watches you writhe and whimper on the lap of his captain, eyes scrunched shut and hands clutching at him to ground yourself from Priceâs perseverant hand slid under the waistband of your pants. You look at him, gaze half-lidded and hazy, and when you do his eyes flash darkly at you, a curse bitten off in a language you wish you understood. It summons a weak, distant burst of arousal in you, one that has you squirm back against Price, seeking ground on which to retreat.
Yet all you find there is a grunt, a hand digging into your thigh with a warning as you recognize the bulge that presses up against the swell of your ass.
âCareful now.â Price mutters darkly, and you shiver at the desire there, even with his hand flat against the front of you, his beard tickling the nape of your neck as he at last withdraws his hand. âI donât think you're quite ready for us again, sweetheart.â
For a brief, dizzying moment, you wish you were.
Footsteps, and when you turn your head Alejandro is approaching from the all too distant realm of the kitchen with a plate that has steam curling into delicious, mouth-watering whisps. When you catch his eyes you see him grin, and it feels for all the world like a promise of things to come, blooming like cumulus clouds against a far-off horizon.
âArroz rojo.â He announces as he sets the plate in front of you, the red rice blooming with the scent of cumin at the back of your throat. âRudy said you might appreciate something easy on your stomach.â
You twist in Priceâs lap towards the direction of the kitchen, catching Rudyâs dark head of hair as he turns to meet your gaze. Contentedness blossoms across his expression, deeply satisfied and almost glowing with the hazy aftereffects of a man completely and utterly sated.
âLet me know if you like it, mi CorazĂłn.â He replies, and his voice is almost shy, a touch bashful despite the fact that heâs the same man who spilled down your throat earlier.
Priceâs fingers tap on your thigh, drawing your attention back to him. You crane your head to look at him, and then shiver at the darkness there, restrained but still ominously present.
âYouâre going to have to move, love.â He gruffs at you. âUnless you want me to spoil your appetite.â
You gulp.
âHere.â Alejandro offers, arms open. You donât have a chance to protest before youâre being moved between them, transferred from one set of arms to the other, adjusted until you balance on Alejandroâs lap.
âI-I can feed myself.â You try, feeling the ripe blister of embarrassment creep up your face as Alejandro reaches for the plate before you.
Yet the colonel ignores you, fork clinking as an arm keeps you braced against him, even as you try to appeal to him with half-lidded, weary eyes.
âCan you?â He asks, and that damned smugness thatâs present in all of them is there in him too, as his eyes gleam down at you, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.
Still, you nod valiantly, grappling the fork away from his hand even as your own grip shakes lightly, spilling grains back onto the plate. When Alejandro chuckles the sound is warm, like the blaze of sun-kissed skin and spices curling on your tongue. His hand engulfs yours, steadies it as you raise the fork to your lips, letting the warm, cloying spices curl across your tongue.
When you give a little hum of enjoyment Alejandro practically purrs in your ear, and you realize that this must be doing something to him. With your tender and sore figure perched in his lap, the object of his desires smelling like musk and aloe and just a touch of him-
âMe estĂĄs volviendo loco con esos ruidos.â Alejandro murmurs, and the sound is more of a groan than anything else, spoken into your damp hair, arms hauling you tighter against him as you savor the food, a happy little noise hummed high in your throat. âThe sounds youâre making are almost as pretty as you, bonita.â
âI take it that means you like it?â Rudy asks as he sets down a glass of water in front of you beside the plate, and you grin up at him, pleased.
âMm.â Is all you manage around a mouthful of rice, and you see Rudyâs eyes melt, glaze over at the sight of you, fed and happy and satisfied. His hand flicks out, and you still as he brushes a stray grain from the corner of your mouth, drawing his thumb back to let his tongue run across the tip of his thumb. You still, tracing the motion with your eyes as a different heat flicker within you.
âAgua.â Alejandro encourages, reaching for the glass and tipping it up towards your waiting lips. You follow the command, the motion is easier now than it was before, when you were fresh out of a warzone that left you blistered and bruised but sated.
The two men before you seem entranced by you, damp and warm and docile in Alejandroâs arms. Thereâs a sense of pride there, you know, something about keeping you warm and fed and clean and protected that makes something primal pace against the confines of their thoughts. Itâs the thought that theyâve rendered you to this much, carved gasping, lecherous words into your flesh and pushed you over into the abyss, time and time again, only to haul you back into their waiting arms.
It's not just them. When you cast a glance about thereâs chairs pulled up to the table you were defiled upon, the men around you quiet but observant, gazes looking over your slouched, cuddled form with your drowsy, pleased expression and damp hair sticking to the corners of your face. Price, with his smoldering stare like the glowing burn of tobacco; Soap with his bright, keen gaze that glints at you from the distance between; Gaz with his softer, warmer eyes that still hold the hazy dying dusk of desire.
Ghost, who lingers against the wall just beyond. His eyes havenât left you this entire time. It feels almost wolfish, the way he doesnât shift, doesnât blink when you look at him, arms crossed and gaze still dark, hungry for you in a way he doesnât bother to conceal. You can still feel him, feel the way he split you open and left a piece of himself there, branding you with the heat of him nestled against your womb and his teeth grazing possessively over the underside of your jaw.
Alejandroâs fingers trace there instead, drawing you back to him, and your lips part around another forkful of arroz as heâs murmuring words into your skin that taste like cloves and paprika, aromatic and piquant.
âWish we could keep you here, carina.â He mutters as you swallow, as his thumb smoothes over the still-trembling hand in his grasp. âWe could keep you happy here.â
You are happy. Blissfully so. Despite the tenderness and fatigue, youâre undeniably comfortable, clean, fed, warm, satiated from the attention of the men around you. These men, who youâve fought beside, who youâve entrusted your life and body to, the ones who took their own pleasure from you as much as they gave you yours.
Maybe itâs the simmering coolness of your nerves, the way youâre so exposed and vulnerable like this, or the way Rudyâs hand pets your hair, the way Alejandro is murmuring to you, or the way Gaz looks at you with something that feels suddenly like longing-
You feel tears swell against the corner of your eyes, fat and heavy and too hot for your blistered skin. Thereâs a tightness that clogs your throat when you tilt your head back, trying to keep them from spilling like a cup over filled.
âHey, hey, hey-â Rudy coos, and his finger smears the growing wetness from your gaze, clearing it so you see his face flicker into view, brown-eyed gaze tenderly soft and worried at this sudden change in you. âMi vida, whatâs wrong?â
You swallow, and the capsicum taste of cumin lingers there. It does nothing to quell the tightness there, something skin to a sob threatening to bubble up when you speak. It dissolves as a sigh instead, one that falls across Rudyâs fingers cupping your face as you gently shake your head.
âNothing.â You say, but your voice cracks in betrayal as you try to find the words needed to explain this strangeness in you, overwhelmed and burning at the edges but undeniably happy in a way youâre unfamiliar with. You feel like youâve been dragged from hypothermia and into a sauna, body and mind reeling at the adjustment but grateful all the same, trying and failing to express the rawness of the sensations that threaten the crux of you.
âIâm justâŠhappy.â You tell him at last-
And begin to cry.
Now they crowd around you, hush you with gentle words even as mortification and contempt flood your veins. When you try and wipe your tears, hide your face as you sniffle, there's a hand that pulls it away, wipes your face. Hands smooth along your shoulders and sides, rubbing gentle reassurances there that echo into the air around you.
âIâm sorry.â You manage between stifled hiccups. âI-it was good, really good, I-I donât know why-â
âYouâre exhausted, love.â And itâs Price whoâs talking now. You think itâs his hand that cups your chin, over your quivering lip as you try to contain yourself. âYouâre overwhelmed and tired. âs not your fault.â
â âM sorry.â You try again, but he merely tuts at you, and thereâs hands in your hair and Alejandroâs voice against your shoulders and someoneâs holding your hand and rubbing circles into your hips and-
âDonât you worry about that now.â The captain tells you, and his voice is softer now, almost ginger in the way heâs regarding you, you whoâs taken bullet wounds and shrapnel and yet have become undone by the simple, irreplaceable act of being cared for.
You nod, feeling your shuddering gasps begin to wane, the shiver in your limbs subside as they once again drag you ashore, out from the blazing sun and into the cool shade of their embraces.
âThink you can handle a few more bites, Querida?â Alejandro asks, and you nod, let him lift the fork to your mouth even as salt obscures the taste.
âNext time Iâll have you come to the ranch and make you elote e carne asada.â Alejandro rumbles, and you feel the smile of him against your shoulder.
â âNext timeâ?â Soap chuffs, and thatâs enough to draw the attention away from you and to the sergeant, who crosses his arms in Alejandroâs direction. âWhat makes you think there will be a next time, mate?â
âYeah.â Gaz chimes in, and heâs leaning forward so one arm rests against the table. âBesides, your ranch? Next time will be back at Beacon base in the UK.â
âYouâre both wrong.â Price grumbles, fingers tapping on the width of his arm. âWeâre staying in Lancashire at my place.â
âNow hold on, captain-â Rudy objects. âDo you know how expensive it is across the Atlantic? Tickets these days are-â
Theyâre bickering, the previous, united camaraderie of soldiers evaporating as they discuss the groupâs future endeavors like mapping out battle plans, pinpointing targets and 0600âs and supplies. You donât bother to listen, not even as Alejandroâs tumbling voice echoes over your head and his arm wraps around your middle in a gesture that seems more possessive than it does stabilizing, the warmth of his hand burrowing against your ribs with nothing but the cotton of your too-large shirt to separate him from your skin.
Full now, belly warm and senses cloudy with contentment, you lean your head back against Alejandroâs shoulder, body slumping as you feel the familiar drag of fatigue wind around you, pulling you downwards. Thereâs nothing left. You donât think you could walk even if you wanted to, limbs heavy and immobile. Thereâs fuzz between your ears, like cotton balls soft to the touch, obscuring sound and sight as the heavy weight of drowsiness washes over you.
âA few more bites, carino.â Rudy encourages, and you whine at him, too far gone to summon a real protest. The sound is enough to make Alejandro brace his head into your shoulder and groan at the little pleading whimper in your voice, too full and tired to bother with much else.
âChica bonita.â Rudy purrs at you. âAre you tired? Need to sleep?â
You nod up at him, feeling a small flush of self-awareness at how you must look right now, bedraggled and tired and damp, draped in clothes far too big for you, eyes lidded and heavy with the promise of sleep. Yet Rudyâs eyes are affectionate when they catch yours, and you can taste the melted chocolate that oozes from them, dark and sweet.
âLetâs get you tucked in then.â He murmurs, looking over your shoulder at Alejandro. They exchange in Spanish you donât understand, and it gives you the opportunity you need to let your head drop, eyes fluttering shut even as youâre lifted, moved. The world tilts around you, yet this time it feels less like the daring free fall of a skydive and more like the gentle, reminiscent swing of a hammock on a sunny afternoon, dappled sunlight streaming through a forest canopy. The world is warm, cloaked in color and birdsong, the air around you like a salted ocean breeze that licks at the folds on your clothes and tangles in your hair.
âShh, shh, gently now.â Soap murmurs, and you can smell him as he helps you down into the bed heâs helped make, military corners tucked in with precision. You sink into it, knowing itâs nothing more than a cot but thankful to the gods to at last be horizontal, laying on your side as a hand lifts your skull to slide a pillow there. You curl in on yourself even as a blanket falls across your form, shivering.
Yet when Soap tries to leave you catch him, fingers tugging on his pants even as he tries to step away.
âItâs cold.â You manage, voice small despite your bold, unspoken request. Little do you know that when you ask like that, when you blink your pretty lashes up at him, nose hidden under the sheets and fingers hooked on his pants leg, that thereâs no way he can refuse.
âSteaminâ fuckinâ Jesus.â He breathes, voice thick with wonder. Yet then heâs moving, tugging off his boots with a curse. The cot shakes as he braces on it, shudders when he manages to slip into the sheets next to you. A thick, brawny hand comes up to cup your skull, dragging you into his chest and pressing you there, and when you breathe in itâs him, cedarwood and ashes of the fire, thick and musky across your senses.
When you think itâs finally, blissfully over, however, thereâs a hand petting your hair, and a younger, British voice on your other side.
âRoom for three?â Gaz asks, and you manage to free a hand enough to wordlessly reach for him, wanting, needing him at your back. Itâs not long before heâs settled in as well, spooning you from behind on the bed that is almost definitely too small for three people, two of them being built, sinewy soldiers.
You donât care. Youâre warm on all sides, warm from pleasure and affection and treatment from all of them. It feels like youâre suspended, floating on something beyond yourself, spirit lifting from your corporeal form and into the darkening sky above yet anchored by the touches of the men beside you. Youâre too far gone to notice Rudy come, place a kiss atop your hair; to notice Alejandro drape another blanket over you, of Price and Ghost discussing in low tones by the doorway. The others stay, linger, on chairs or nearby. You think you see Rudy and Alejandro on the cot beside yours when your eyes flutter open.
Your vision shifts, gazing over the slope of Soapâs neck to the lit doorway. Ghost mutters something, a goodbye perhaps, and turns.
Itâs to be expected. The man is a lone wolf, he works alone. For him to even be here is a miracle, and to have even participated at all a divine sign from the gods themselves. Now, however, he retreats to where he belongs, to the shadows that engulf the breadth of him, the kingdom where he was born and where he shall remain.
âSimon.â
The name escapes before you can stop it, and Ghost freezes, his head jerking upwards as he hesitates, turning to you, hidden within the embraces of his comrades.
You swallow, trying to conjure the spell to keep him here, within armâs reach, forever now and always.
âDonât get lost.â You mutter at last, and you think maybe your vision wavers when his shoulders droop, when his eyes blink at you, reflecting light.
His shadow falls across you on his approach, the width of him bulked by the tac gear he still hasnât entirely gotten rid of. Ghost- Simon- blots light from the doorway like the shadow he is, absorbing brightness and drowning it in the essence of him. A hand reaches, smoothes the hair from your face.
âNever.â He mutters enigmatically, and even so you feel the edges of him splinter, crack like obsidian.
Your eyes flutter shut under his touch, cloak the world in mystic darkness as you surrender to him, to these men, to at last the inexorable, inescapable comfort of them, of sleep.
The harsh week of cold and rain had settled in your gear nicely, your firearms in desperate need of a cleaning, and your knives looking pitifully dull. Your skin felt dry, covered in a layer of grime from not having a shower in so long, and your hair was definitely greasy, and flatter than when you had left. You needed a wash, some food, and resting time to get yourself back in order. Sure, the carrier gave you two of those three things, but the comfort of base was calling your name and singeing itself well into your brain; your own bed, your own food, your ownâ well, semi your own, showerâ were the only things that would satisfy you, and you were willing to wait the next 3 hours of flight to reach your gratification.
You silently sat with your arms crossed and legs spread, leaning back into the aisle chair while purposefully pressing your back into the buckle to keep yourself in discomfort. You were refraining yourself from dozing off, maintaining a kink-free neck and back from the horrid sleeping posture you would surely put yourself in; you refuse to go through that torture ever again â training with a sore spine was a bigger pain than what you had anticipated, and the aftercare was difficult to manage when itâs just you massaging the bolts out of your neck and back. You grimaced at the memory of barely being able to climb out of bed and slide your uniform on, slowly gazing up to the roof while holding in a chuckle from the next flashback of almost falling while shoving your pants on.
Your eyes fixated on the lights above that lit the fuselage in a dim glow, aircraft nets swinging gently with the plane and knocking on the walls with soft clatters. It was quiet, unusually quiet, until you heard a loud snore croak in front of you and being followed up with another. Quirking a brow, you turned your attention to your front and on Gaz and Soap, who were completely knocked out in the seating across from yours. Gazâs arms slumped crossed, and had his head tilted down to his twined legs, while Soap was widely spread and fully tilted back towards the ceiling.
Had it been any other situation, you wouldâve laughed at the sight of their drooling faces and horrible postures, but the overwhelming drowsiness took over your complete being and left you oddly calm and collected. Just the sight of them made you envious of their sleep, but you would rather be safe than sorry in the long run during one of Priceâs excruciating trainings. You blinked slowly away from the sight and to the cockpit doors, fighting the urge to nod off and instead pinching yourself with your vestâs clasps.
âArrival will be in two hours. Weather is gloomy with possible heavy rain, so prepare for a stroll, lads. Again, arrival will be in two hours. Out.â
Priceâs voice disturbed you aware, leaving you a bit more alive and conscious from the startling overcom. The static undertone helped waken your eyes as you heard it go in and out, tired tears pearling into your lashes from the sudden energy surge to stay aware, and soon being wiped away by your scarf. You felt lightly gleeful that home was so close, only needing to remain awake forâ counting the time it would take to walk, as wellâ 2 and a half hours. You could do that.
A small smile formed on your lips, a hand bringing your scarf up to cover it and allow the subtly present scent of your detergent to sink in through your nose. Home. You were going to be home. You wouldnât have to smell like dried blood and muddy earth anymore, or have to wear it on display. Until your next mission, of course. Either way, you were just glad youâd be going to base soon, and get the well deserved rest you needed.
A rough shot of cognizance rattled through your spine, your hands stiffening and the smile you had deflating as your hairs stood at attention. Your left side felt completely vulnerable all of a sudden, and you felt deeply discomforted by the abrupt exposure, now shifting in your seat to gain some comfort back. Your whole side burned. You felt every layer of protection cease to exist under the blazing stir that set on what felt like your very skin. You were being watched, and definitely not with sweet eyes.
You didnât need to guess where it was coming from, or who the unforgiving glower belonged to â Soap and Gaz were out, and Price was in the bridge, so that left one out of the four personnel that could be watching you like an angry hawk. And to think you would have a happy time home.
You knew you wouldnât get away with the stunt you pulled, despite hoping he would brush it off eventually. How could he? He never neglects your wrongs. He never lets your blunders slip by. He never forgets.
You knew it all too well.
Letâs just hope you make it out alright this time.
-
You were in deep shit the moment you set foot into base. The way your name instantly shot through the room when Ghost snapped for you to come see him tensed the whole squad, already knowing what the issue pertained to. You didnât need to look back to acknowledge they were all sending weary eyes your way.
âIâll get your whiskey ready, Hops.â
âThanks, Soap. Iâm gonna need it.â
Taking your time to get to the door, you threw your gear into a room on the way and let your hair down from its bun. The tingling sensation of your relaxed scalp gave you a short peace of mind as you massaged the sore muscles and succumbed to a false happy place. You thought of all the nice things youâd partake in now that you were home â a nice shower, some cooked food, and your own bed to nap in now that there were no missions to fling yourself into. How you would all sit around the living room and converse about stories of the past, like how they got their scars, type of thing, as you drank the better-than-nothing whiskey for where you were. Ghost barked gratingly for the second time, his voice sharper, louder â filled with impatience, and knocked you straight out of your comforting haven. You felt your nerves pile onto the tip of your tongue, biting your lower lip to sooth the hard beating of your organs, and making your way to your superior.
You passed through the living quarters and down the long hall towards the debriefing room, quietly wishing you could turn around and pretend like you didnât hear as you watched the comforting bedroom lights glow teasingly into the corridor. You had blinked, just once, and magically appeared in front of the open door that led straight to your doom. You were an anxious mess, fumbling with your gloves as you pulled them off and set them on the counter just beside the door. Taking a deep breath, you began to reason with yourself, mumbling incoherent encouragements to get you to go into the room and power your way through whatever he would yell at you for. Come on, White, you got this. At least you arenât at Deathâs door.. I hope.
The door slammed shut behind you when you had eventually entered, your heart stammering from the harsh snap of wood-on-wood. It felt like you had left reality and entered the dark dungeons of Hell from how drastic the atmosphere shifted. Not even the light felt the same as it blinked inside from the covered windows, nor the speckles of dust that would cascade down to the floor. You focused on your breathing despite your lungs want to collapse from the underlying fear that now set the scene. They practically did when you felt the looming presence of a ghost standing just a few feet away from your back, and deathly silent rage surrounding you like a cloud of toxin.
You need to relax.
You grazed your eyes over to the center table, signature black gear already laid across it with dissected guns and removed armor plates. They looked to have just been cleaned and reapplied with oil, but the finish looked rather rushed and almost careless from how he set every part across the counter. The sight made a cold shudder slither up your spine; Ghost always took care of his artillery, never using rushed hands and little thought when cleaning and placing pieces. You had gotten to him. Bad.
You tore your eyes away from the table and burned them straight ahead, the sound of heavy boots slowly prowling close catching your attention and flooding your veins with mixed apprehension. You recognize that gait, know those boots. Oh fuck..
There was a clipping sound paired with rustling fabric before you saw his vest get tossed by the table with a loud clatter. You flinched at the raucous noise, standing even firmer at attention despite the soft look you tried to portray and mitigate your angered superior.
âWould you like me to put your stuff away with mine?â You asked with a built sweetness. What good would this do? Dig your grave a little deeper? Might as well and try to knock two birds with one stone; ease the tension, ease the Lieutenant.
âYou defied a direct order.â He uttered, the underlying reverb in his throat startling your overly aware nerves as his boots heaved on the floor with every step behind you. He had yelled at you, demanding that you fall back on him and not pursue the objective. âWhite Rabbit, if you take another bloody step into that building, I will personally suspend your ass for a full week. Do not engage.â
You grimaced at the failed attempt to improve the situation, your shoulders tightening and your hands becoming clammy. When you saw the back of his cotton warmer, his steps ceasing after appearing meters in front of you, you audibly sighed, âIf we didnât get those vials then, we wouldâve never been able to ransack like that again.â
âI donât give a bloody fuck,â His tone reached deep into his chest, his head snapping just barely to the side. It was a silent command to stand and shut the fuck up.
You snapped your mouth closed, watching as the Lieutenant peered down to a hand and flexed it out to rid the tension in his burly toned arm; he looked as if he would be flexing out claws, his large hands twitching from the urge to grab you and slam you against the wall to teach you a lesson. He was shaking, even just slightly, and was positively fuming for your disregard of his command and jumping straight into a no-coms zone. He had no clue if youâd come back to him either just as you were, or in a fucking casket. âIf I see you dead, (Y/n), I swear to whatever bloody fuckinâ god is up there that Iâll be proper fuckinâ shit-pissed. Stay alive. Donât you dare come back to me strung up in medals.â
He turned fully towards you, his broad frame blocking the incoming light from the window behind him. You looked two sizes smaller than Ghost â his body could fully cover you from view â the size difference enforcing intimidation without even mentioning his burning anger.
"I gave you an order, White." He stalked towards you, every agonizing step forcing you back on instinct, "You don't just ignore your superior's ordersâ especially not in this line of business."
You bumped into something solid and stopped, your eye contact with the black-suited soldier imposing on your soul and bleeding out with your incoming submission, "I'm sorry, Ghost, I really am. But if we didn't get those vialsâ"
His fist slammed right next to your head and into whatever you backed up against, your words hitching in your throat as a cracking noise came from the object behind you.
"This isn't about those fuckin' vials, Rabbit."
You felt your heart practically rip out of your chest with every beat, your eyes wide and your hands pressed flush against the now cracked wall with your back. Your mind screamed at you to run away, acting on your prey instincts from the threatening presence in the room. Yet, you remained silent, unmoving as the Lieutenantâs eyes bore into yours, daring you to take a step away like he knew what you were thinking.
âDo you remember what I asked of you,â Ghost pierced through your ears with an alarmingly rich sonorous hum, âwhen I had you flush against my door, right on your pretty little knees?â
You felt a boiling heat rush throughout your body, your eyes snapping open even wider in full awareness. The scent of cigarettes and husky cologne was more potent now that he was so close to your figure, a mixture of dirt and old blood evident in his musk.
It practically clouded your senses, a dazed look setting in your eye as the oh-so familiar scent plunged deep into your lungs, yet you still conjured up whatever shitty pride you had left against your dire situation, âSir, please.. This isnât the time.â
He grimaced down at your audacity, his accent flaring with obvious fire, âFuckinââ Do you remember what I asked of you?â
You couldnât hold eye contact any longer, your embarrassment overpowering your confidence and causing your head to turn away. Yes, you remembered. You remembered the whole ordeal.
The way he shakily purred your name as you bobbed your head up and down his length with soft teary eyes and a constantly bulging throat. How he forced a hand through your hair as he leaned all his built weight into the other, curling his body above you and into his skillfully tattooed arm as he stroked your locks carefully. This was different. This was sensual. He wasnât rough, and his touches were all filled with the utmost delicate attention like he was handling one of his most precious weapons.
You let out a short, uneasy scoff, trying to divert the perverted memory, âWhat does that have to do with any of this?â
He flashed you a hard glare, your hope of him going along with your words disappearing instantaneously. When he knew you were firmly silenced, his voice cut through the quiet like a knife through butter, âIâm going to ask you one last time. Do you or do you not remember what I asked of you?â
â.. Of course I do,â You meekly gave in, your eyes scathing back up his body and to his gaze, âThat was the last time we were alone together before Op: V.â
He gently combed his fingers through your hair as you continued to suck and lick, focusing on his veined v-line that kept going back and forth with every thrust of your head. He let out a rough groan as your tongue swept along the underside of his sex, his body visibly shuddering as he mumbled, âGod damn it, love..â and gripping his supporting hand into a tight fist. He began to snarl incoherent praises, saying how good you were for him, and how he was so lucky to have you assigned under him as his rookie.
"Bun," He inquired, jaw clenching as his eyes gazed down at you with glints of abnormal longing, "Come back to me in one piece.. Stay alive, and play safeâ bloody hell, please."
âThen why did you risk it?â
You curled your hands up behind you, looking at anything but him in an effort to ignore the question. You had no option, however, when Ghost called your name with a chilling rasp, your arms becoming littered with goosebumps as your hair stood on edge.
"It's.. It's just.."
You could feel his eyes spark with curiosity at your stutter, finding your nervous form a rare sight, and savoring it with every look over. Despite this, he remained firm with heavy superiority behind every word, "âs just what, White?"
".. I didn't want to get in trouble." You whispered, afraid the whole world would hear your confession.
The room went dead quiet, so much so you swore you could feel the air thicken and begin to choke you through each breath you took. Ghost had froze. He froze with a blank stare straight into your eyes, like he was processing word for word what you said. I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up, your mind repeated, never once breaking from his swirling gaze. You had no clue what he was thinking, what the subtle glints in his eyes meant as they showered around your body in tantalizingly slow look overs. You wanted him to say something, anything to keep you from basking in the silence and spiraling yourself into an overthinking mess.
You abruptly flinched as he pulled his head away from yours, his voice vibrating in a low pitch and deepening his accent, "What did you say?"
"I didn't want to get in trouble.." You repeated, gulping down a chunky lump in your throat.
He took another moment of pure silence before slowly peeling himself off you. You gawked after him as he went to trudge across the room towards his strewn about gear, looking through it with haste as you remained stuck to the wall. You stood in utter confusion, wondering what in the world was going to happen, until he snapped his fingers and pointed down by his side without giving you a single glance; "Here." You, of course, followed his instruction, and walked up quietly behind him to his side all the while picking at your fingers in nervous habit. You didnât like not knowing what would happen next, and it seemed like everything he did was to play on your discomfort, taking his sweet yet rushed time to gather whatever he was seeking.
"Trying to get yourself out of trouble is what gets you in trouble. Fuckin' shit, Whiteâ you should know this by now."
You felt like a private all over again, being scolded by the second lieutenant during training for doing something slimly out of line, "I'm sorry, Ghost.."
He snapped his head towards you, giving you a scowl through his eyes like that was the last thing you should've said, "Sayinâ sorry won't fix anything when you're fuckin' dead."
You clamp your mouth shut as Ghost turned back to the table, pulling out one of his black cloths from a vest pocket. You were beyond anxious from each of his rushed actions, watching him flick the cloth out of its folds and holding it between his hands.
He turned to face you, watching you examine the black fabric in his hands with wide doe eyes, âTurn around.â
Without wanting to make matters worse, you comply and face your back towards him with a shaky turn. You hear his boots thud against the floor as he comes straight up to your behind, his close presence causing your back to feel oddly sensitive despite the zero contact. It worsened as you felt his firm chest graze your shoulder blades when he leaned forward, his breath seeping into your ear through his balaclava.
âClose your eyes.â
You felt a shiver creep nerve-by-nerve through your system, and how your whole spine became pleasurably tender from marinating in his close-up musk. Your eyes closed with the single flutter of your lids, your adrenaline accelerating from your lack of sight and creating a blissfully heavy sensation in your core.
You gently twitched when you felt what you assumed to be his arms graze past your shoulders, and place the black cloth over your eyes before tying it off securely behind your head. You didnât dare remove it, and instead embraced the enhanced senses you were given, feeling every vein that split through and around his exposed forearms, and hear every low breath from behind his skull coverings.
ââOnly you were this well behaved on the mission. Itâs really a shame, White.. qui-te the shame.â
You let your body tremble as his hands trailed painfully slow down your neck and to the dip in your back, his gloved fingertips grazing your quivering figure with rare delicacy. You relished in the rare attention, involuntarily leaning into his warmth with a soft, shaky sigh passing through your lips from the contact. You missed him. You missed all of him. His body was not something you could see yourself without, and that whole mission was absolute torture; running around to get the job done with little to no time with your ghost. The first night without him went fine, but after the second?
You were both aching for touch. It was becoming impossible to stay curled in your tents, and the overwhelming need for one anotherâs bodies burned your very cores with hot desire. One thing led to another and you both had your earbuds in, dialed on a private line, and letting yourselves confess your needy desires to the dark heavens above.
âRaise your arms above your head.â
You did as you were told, shakily lifting your arms straight up to the ceiling. His hands removed themselves from your sides and went for your wrists, bringing your arms behind your head and wrapping them around his neck. It stretched your body out nicely, his height forcing you on the balls of your feet and to the tips of your toes just to adjust with the position. Your fingers felt on something soft, something warm gliding under your tips as you stroked down the fabric material. The soft surface subtly rose with bumps as your nails lightly scratched what you remembered as his nape, feeling his locks peak out from under the balaclava, and gently feeling for it. A thick vein trailed up the side of his throat and caressed your exposed wrist, your pulse radiating with his at the sensation of his firm flesh. You were anxious, yet you could allow the Lieutenant to do as he pleased when he brought his palms down to your stomach.
You began dreading the blindfold, wanting to see everything he was doing to you, âGhost.. Why do I have to wear this cloth?â
His tone reverberated along his throat in a growlish pitch, âSo you can understand exactly what I saw when you went into that bloody building.â
âBut I donât seeââ
His fingers dug into your v-line and forced a whimper from your chest, his voice burning low, violent, âThatâs the fuckinâ point. I didnât see anything, not a proper fuckinâ thing when you went into that warehouse.â
He leaned in close to your ear, his breath nipping against your shell with every hot exhale, âYouâre going to feel exactly what I felt. Youâre going to see exactly what I saw. Only you put yourself in this position, and youâre going to sit your ass through it just as I did.â
âDo I make myself clear, Sergeant?â
âYes, Ghostââ
His grip tightened painfully through your warmers, a hiss falling with your sudden intake of air and shutting you up.
âItâs either yes Lieutenant, or yes sir.. Youâve forgotten your place, White, so youâre goin' to live in it until I see fit. So again, do I make myself fuckinâ clear, Sergeant?â
Had it not been for his leather gloves and your cotton warmer, you knew his nails would've punctured through your skin with how tight his grip on your body was. Did you wish that was the case? Abso-fucking-lutely.
You let his rough handling of you coax an answer from your lips as you finally gave in, your soft voice wavering in defeat, "Yes, Lieutenant.."
"Atta' girl.. Such a good obedient thing when you want taâ be, ain't that right?"
Oh, if your insides weren't clenching before, they were definitely clenching now. It sounded so dirty, like he stripped you clean of any human title and dubbed you almost like a pet. The blindfold was tied snug against your eyes, unrelenting with how tight your heat was clinging to your insides, or how it made being called a good obedient thing by the predator behind you turn your mind into liquid. You could feel how his body encased your own, and how his skin was burning hot, muscles completely flexed and solid in restraint to keep himself together.
You sucked in a deep breath when you felt his big hands trail down to the buckle of your belt and slowly unclip it, "LâLieutenant..?"
With a harsh tug, the belt came straight out of your pants and right to the floor, "'Won't be needin' this."
Picking up the bottom of your cotton shirt, he raised it up and over your chest, letting the hem rest messily along your collarbone as he pulled his hands fully off your body. You were stood right against his hard frame, your pants now unbuttoned and zipped down, and your pretty abdomen and covered tits on full display.
His gloved hands grazed down your neck and over your perking breasts, giving them little attention as he continued to trail his cold gloves along your warming skin. You wish heâd rip open your bra and pinch your nipples with unrelenting roughness, but when his leather palms glazed over your v-line, right over your panty line, you wiped that thought clean out of your head with a gentle sigh.
As if sensing your shifting emotions, he clicked his tongue and set his hands just on the hem of your cargo pants with a strict sneer, "Sergeant, keep yourself together."
You let out a shaky response, his firm command urging out a submission of acknowledgment, "Yes, sir."
âThatâs my girl. My good, pretty little girl.. I think we should get started with your punishment."
His fingers made their way through your pants and straight to your clothed cunt, his gloves snagging gently against the silky fabric of your panties. His sudden assault caused a flinch to ripple through your body, your mind asking to any god above if this was truly what he said it would be right before he began his torture. You let out a soft squeak when you felt pressure begin to push against your covered slit, drawing small circles on the tip of your clit with his middle finger as it nestled right between your puffy cameltoe.
"Feels fuckin' good, doesn't it?" He murmured, keeping his other hand pinning your ass against his hips.
"Feelin' so right and perfect on my fingers.. Just how I felt when you followed and obeyed under my command like nothing could go wrong."
Noticing your pussy begin to grind against his fingers, he scoffed, settling his hardening arousal right against your ass, "Fuckin' hell..â
He let you continue to move your hips, his mask shifting right against the side of your cheek all the while he savored how your plump rear would shift and press against his thickening sex. He missed this. He missed you. How every morning you'd greet him with such warm eyes, and how every night you'd welcome him into your gushy insides with the most submissive pleas and cries. When you would whine and beg to be stuffed full of nothing but his thick cock, or when youâd put on something that begged for his instincts to grab you and taint your flesh and blood with nothing but him. It practically made him feral at just the remembrance.. But, as much as he wanted to indulge himself, Ghost knew he couldn't let you off the hook, not after firing him up and really showing how scary a tosser could be when it came to his woman.
"'s just like this, yeah? Seeing nothin', absolutely fuck all, and left with the pleasure of knowin' you're alrightâ knowin' you're in ear's length of coms."
With the increase of pressure on your hardened pearl, and the rougher grind of his large finger circling the pulsing nub, he began to push the little restraint you had on your voice, and forcing quiet groans and mewls past your trembling lips.
"'Felt so goodâ so fuckin' perfect, like nothin' could wrong me as long as you listened and stayed in contact."
All your mind could focus on was the overwhelming growth of slick and lust forming straight into your guts, and the death pulsing grip the Lieutenant had on your bruising skin. Your bucking hips became desperate, your need to feel your knot grow and snap intruding and releasing your lustful pheromones in the air like an animal searching for a mateâ or better yet, to mateâ and clinging to every little thing.
"And every single time you answered my call.. It was like music to my ears, Bun. 'Couldn't see you, yet could feel your hot breath right in my ear like you were fuckin' there, right stood next to me, just as it should've been."
You let out a strained gasp when you felt his finger push your panties away from your drooling cunt and forcing itself inside, the palm of his hand rubbing circles over your clit in his finger's stead. The grip you had on his balaclava disappeared, only for your fingers to run straight under the fabric and shakily grab at his hair to somewhat ground your slushing brain. His finger felt like it was stretching you out already, the leather glove aiding in the attack as his digit went in and out, curled and uncurled. You were getting drunk on just his hand, your back arching off Ghost's body as shocks of wrecking pleasure pulsed through your very bones.
A purr-like growl began to rumble inside his throat, his eyes never once leaving the sight of his hand stuffed down your trousers and finger fucking your weeping pussy, âIt felt just like how youâre feeling nowâ so full and right. So euphoric to know you were right under the palm of my hand, and that nothing would come to stop us from getting home.â
You felt your tongue push past your lips when he injected another finger into your clenching hole, shoving right against your flexing cunt, âFâFuck!â
His hand suddenly stopped moving, earning a needy whine from your pathetically crumbling body, âWatch your fuckinâ mouth, Sergeant. If I hear another swear out of you, Iâll leave you as the dumb mess you are right on that couch.â
You felt your eyes widen behind the black cloth, needy pleas and cries straining for his continuous touch, âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry! Iâll behave, I promise!â
With a cocky smirk, he gradually began to set his pace back into your sex, sloppy âthank youâs and âmoreâs croaking from your drying throat, âGood girl.â
Your hips began to spasm, the tight knot youâve been craving for forming at a rapid pace as his fingers hit knuckles-deep into your cunt. Your eyes began to roll up and become half-lidded, drool seeping down the corner of your lip when you let out a short cry from your pussy suddenly quivering and gripping around Ghostâs fingers.
âBloody fuckinâ hell, Bunâ are you gonna cum already?â He mused, rubbing his palm harder against your hot clit.
You couldnât even focus on what he was taunting over, being too caught up in the boiling heat that hit over and over against your insides. You were about to snap, your muscles contracting and retracting rapidly as your body convulsed. The hold you had on his hair was hard, your nails digging into his scalp with a vice grip, and the foggy look you gave to the blindfold screaming for release.
Ghost rubbed the hard edge of his mask right against your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing your bruised hips in a forged comfort, â'Felt the same way when I heard you call in after my every order. How it felt so fuckin' warmin' to have you submit whenever I needed to hear your confirmationâ without your daft tongue."
A harsh spike of snapping thread spread throughout your womb, flooding your lower half in fuzz and intense heat as your cervix quivered with every involuntary clench. You felt panic rise into your lungs, finding it harder and harder to keep your panting under control as you realized your ending point was being fucked out of you quicker than normal.
You slurred over every word, spreading your thighs out wider as your jaw began to tighten, "Cummingâ Lieutenant, I'm gonnaâ no, I'm gonnaâ!â
His voice burled deep and rough, the accent you oh-so adored sounding like Satanâs damned temptation, âBut then, oh then, did that comfort crumble right through my fingers.â
Just when you felt your eyes roll back into your head, your body fully prepared for your stuttering womb to snap, his touch disappeared in an instant, and the overflowing high that was soon to tip over washing away gruesomely fast. You were left empty, hollowed even, with how quick the change was as your body adjusted to being denied its pleasure. You were left in shock. What the hell just happened?
You could hear the devilish taunt of his voice as you glared into darkness with helpless teardrops forming in your eyes, âYou really thought Iâd let you burst, White? Bloody fuck, youâve really been spoiled rotten.â
You sniffed as drops of your pearling tears fell from your eyes, âThâThatâs not fair..â
He couldnât help the amused scoff that found its way through the mask, his hands grasping your luscious waist in a rough clutch, â'Didnât tell you to talk.â
âI did what I had to do!â
He snapped, âWatch it, Sergeant.â
The commanding bark quieted your pleads, your sniffs and silent whimpers remaining as your only hope to get what you needed. You pressed your thighs back against his legs, trying to press more of your body into him as an offering, even going as far as to grind your ass against his dense arousalâ you were acting like a bitch in heat, and it was getting to the point where even Ghost couldnât see straight anymore from how slutty you were acting for his dick.
In one rapid moment, you could feel the leather covered fingertips hook around the front of your bra just milliseconds before it came ripping right off your torso. You gasped from his brute strength forcing your bra to come apart in his hands, the weight of your tits forcing out a small whimper of need before you felt the cool fabric of gloves cup the underside of your mounds in a firm hold.
"'Missed these slutty tits and how they fit into my hands just right. 'nd the way your nipplesâ" He finally brought his attention to your teats, giving them a painful pinch and pull, "â were always so excited to see me.."
You felt the hard skull covering press into the space between your neck and shoulder, listening to him take a deep inhale of your warm scent, "Damn proper perfection, and it's all for me to fuck and break."
You press further into his broad frame, your back flush against his snug fitted warmer. You couldn't get enough of him; you needed more with every passing second, and now with him practically milking your breasts with how he kept pulling and twisting your nipples, you were hopelessly in need of Ghost.
Your heart jarring to keep up with a healthy pace in spite of your embarrassment, you sputtered, "Please punish me more.."
A low chuckle vibrated through his chest, pulling his head back from your shoulder as one of his hands left your tit and grazed it up between your breasts to gently touch your neck, "Punishment isn't meant to be pleasurable, Sergeant."
You tilted your head to the side, allowing his fingers to brush against your pulse and lay comfortably around your throat, âI canât help it when itâs you punishing me..â
He impulsively allowed his hand to wrap around your supple neck, that small ounce of control he had left finally splitting as his voice dropped down heavy octaves, "You're asking for it now, Bun.."
Swiftly, he released your throat and tore the blindfold right off your head, not giving your eyes a moment to adjust before grabbing onto the back of your bruising nape and pushing you towards the center of the room. You were tripping over your own feet to keep up with his large strides, your legs getting caught up with his in an intertwined mess. Your heart was beating in your ears and your mind was running wild with the varying scenarios that could play out right in this room like the many times before. You were practically dripping at the thought of being manhandled and fucked so stupid that you wouldn't be able to walk for the next few daysâ hopefully the next few weeks. You might even get your wish with how hasty he was being to get you into place just for him to abuse and litter with his crazed ardor. You brought your hands down to keep yourself steady when he finally got you into a comfortable spot; you were faced right in front of the coffee table, your eyes once again staring at his carelessly thrown about equipment.
Taking no more time to waste, he brutally shoved all his equipment off the table, and slammed your front onto the now clear countertop, breasts down, ass up. You gasped from suddenly being thrown around like a doll, hitting straight onto the wood with a slight bounce, and your pliable flesh rippling from the impact. You could feel the harsh coolness of the wood rub into your nipples, your breasts painfully aroused as your innocent nubs continued to tighten and perk.
In one jarring movement, Ghost had your pants down past your ankles, and your panties left disheveled on your blemished hips with heavy impatience. For the second time, he froze â even if it was only for a split second, you felt it. His hand flinched with a sudden stop against your naked thigh when he began to retract, and the hard breathing that echoed around the soldier had grown quiet for just that moment.
It was proper fucking magic. The way the straps of your underwear perfectly dipped into your glistening flesh, and how your puffy cameltoe was deliciously accentuated by the soft fabric of your cotton panties. It only made his mind spiral helplessly into a feral slop of what it once was, the remembrance of needing to punish you completely forgotten and thrown to the back of his mind. The hunger to ruin your full being was fucking with his brain to where even he was losing his cool.
Like countless times before, he retracted his knife from his chest holster and slammed the 11 inch MTECH right into the oak table, blistering up the surrounding wood layers. He engraved it right in front of your eyes, the brutal sound of the blade ripping straight into the countertop ringing in your ears as you watched his hand linger for just a moment to make sure you acknowledged it, before he let go of the tang with an agonizingly slow retraction â it was a warning.
An unclasping sound startled you out of your stare-off with his weapon, the noise of metal clinking together as his belt buckle laid lax against his thighs coaxing a noise out of you. You swore you were about to lose it when you heard him unbutton his pants, and the unzipping of zipper teeth graze painfully low behind your ass. He was drawing this out for as long as he could, and you knew it, too. From the amount of times heâs edged you, forced you to beg for what you wanted; to put it into perspective, you didnât know how far gone you could go until you were once on the brink of passing out from the painful edging and needful crying, thatâs how well you knew his tendencies.
The knife laid clattered with your torn lingerie, droplets of thick glossy honey dripping onto the long forgotten pile. Slapping of skin and squelching mush underlined heavy growls and sob-filled moans, the room filled with the damp smell of sex and pornish sounds of pleasure.
Through your broken cries, Ghost couldnât help the snarl that rose from his throat when he felt your weeping cunt brutally hug onto his dick with need. He had lost himself the moment he sunk balls deep into your hole, letting his desire take full responsibility of fucking you till you were completely stuffed with all he could give. He became an animal, his only need being to shove you full with his cock in the most feral way possible. He needed to.
With a final harsh snap of his hips, the grip he had on your waist indented into your skin, and the hold that marked carnally around your neck dug even deeper into your pulse. He sloppily stilled with a small -plap- between your thighs, keeping flush against your raw sex as he took a moment to gather himself. Sweat lined your skins with a shear layer, heavily falling chests fueling the desperate pants for air that puffed against your exertions. You were on the brink of cumming, your pussy convulsing around his cock as you mewled quietly for him to let you release â this was the third time this round he stopped just before you could snap, and the many tears that drooled down your cheeks were evidence of such sin. You couldnât even beg for it, you poor thing, thatâs how far gone you were.
He shut you up with a violent slap on your plump thigh, earning a muffled cry as he made sure his pelvis pressed right into your clit insync.
âAh ah ah, loveâ no whining for your fuckings, remember? Youâll take what I give you, and appreciate it like the proper sex whore you are.â
He drew out your orgasm for the next thirty minutes no matter how desperate you cried, or how fucked out you looked. He couldnât bring himself to let you out of his room without making sure the only thing your body would remember was him and how he was the only one that could fuck you this good. No one could violently edge, or screw you dumb the way his dick could, and your body better fucking remember that.
You felt something hot glide right through your mounds, the moistened cotton of your panties dragging against your clit in slow, shuddering thrusts.
"Fuuckk.. Fuckin' Christ.." Ghost hissed through bared teeth, grinding himself firmly between your wettened thighs, "'Don't know how much longer I can take this.."
You could cry with how badly you needed him inside of you. It was becoming stressfully hard to keep back your curses and whines, and he was picking up on every little frustrated jolt your body made as he made it worse and worse. And it did worsen when you let out a choppy sob as you felt the warmth of his bulge pull away from your soiled underwear, your clit twitching in red searing need for his attention. It all washed away before you could start begging, when you felt a boiling hot heat prod against the very same bud, squealing out when you felt a warm substance smear across your panties up and down over the entrance to your insides.
His fingers hooked under your thin covering and pulled it to the side of your swollen lips, the cold air hitting your exposed inner flesh and causing it to spasm closed. You hiccuped with every passing breath, imagining what was waiting just mere inches away from your weeping hole; is it his fat cock, pulsing blue veins strapping up the underside of his painfully hard arousal? Or was it another teasing set of fingers to ready your cunt for his dick to bottom out inside you? He answered your question to the fullest when he pushed the bulb of his thick cock right between your folds, earning a shocked moan from your quivering lips.
Utterly pleased, he tilted his head back as he savored the way the tip of his aching dick began to slide back and forth against your sex, feeling every wettened, pulsing piece of your cunt. He ran a hand to the dip of your back as he carelessly hung the other at his side, pumping his happy trail with every slow, teasing roll of his hips against your ass.
A guttural sigh purred deep in his chest, one final 'Fuuck..' rumbling through his stitched balaclava before he stilled his hips, regaining some of his lost composure with every raspy breath.
"Time for theâ hah..â main event, don't you think, Bun?"
You could only nod as an answer, your heart trying to steady itself while causing a lump to get caught in your throat. Your body was scorching, all too eager to get what you "deserved" and completely milk it for all you could. You were desperate for any friction, and it started showing as you settled your ass back on his twitching desire, small presses and shifting hips never once escaping his sharp eye.
He tutted his tongue in disapproval as he gave your ass a firm smack, letting his dense fingers sink into your plump rear and melt into your flesh, âPatience, little rabbit. All you have to do is say please, and I might consider giving you what you want."
You practically leapt at his offer, twisting your head back to face him with blown out eyes, "Please fuck me, Lieutenant! I can't take this anymoreâ it's been way too long since we've touched, and I need it! Please, please, please!"
Ghost couldn't help the chuckle that ran up his throat, pushing his glistening cockhead on your burning clit as he started to taunt your pathetic begging, "Who knew the stubborn White Rabbit could be taken down a few notches from just a bloody cock.. What would the team think?"
He slowly glides his fingertips up your spine, going straight from your Venus Dips to your delicate nape with taunting emotive trails of gentle leather kisses, âNot like that matters.. âSides, if they even thought about my dangerous little bun all fucked out and sobbing.. Well, I can guarantee theyâd rethink what Hell looked like.â
He leans down over your trembling figure, sliding a hand around to the front of your neck and keeping it in a snug grip, âI donât give a fuck what the regulations say. Youâre mineâ all mine to adore..â
Your eyes began to blur with every word, âmineâ ringing through your ears like an angelâs love song. It sounded so comforting, so intoxicatingly beautiful that it wouldâve brought you down on your knees to listen and hang over every lyric. It wouldâveâ shouldâve been the case, except for the fact that in reality, it wasnât a heavenly call, but was the Devil in disguise dangling your precious desires right in front of your face with every deep, luscious promise. Fucking Christ.. Who knew the Devil looked so good in black?
âSay it.. Say youâre mine, and Iâll give you my fucking cock to cry over just how you want.â
âI..â
You gathered your mush of a brain to at least spark some type of sense in you. You sputtered silent nonsense as you tried to please him, tried to give him an answer like the good girl you were. It felt impossible, but you managed with what little control you had over your dumbed-out mind, and responded with such a weak waver of song.
âIâm yours, Lieutenant..â
âThatâs my fuckinâ girl.â
In one violent push, his cock plunged to the root in your mush, a sickening smack of wet skin signifying your glistening pussy lips now trembling around his dense girth. Had it not been for his tight grip around your pulsing neck, you wouldâve screamedâ screamed in absolute pleasure of finally feeling him to the fullest context. Your attention remained glued to the knife, the shiny serrated edge glinting at you in mockery of your pathetic cry. But did you care? Absolutely not. Simon Ghost Riley was stuffing your cunt full of his dick for the millionth time this month, and you would never feel even the slightest bit of shame in taking him. You were infatuated. You were drunk on him. You were in love with him.
Just like how he was in love with you, his pretty little Sergeant.
Flexing his muscled back with a satisfied sigh, he ran his strong hands down your waist and held it in a deathly clutch, âYouâre not allowed to cum unless I tell you to. Is that understood?â
You felt your lungs tighten as a breathy sigh passed through your lips, âYes, sir..â
âGood fuck bunny. Such a lovely piece of fuck meat, just for me.â
Wrapping your hair around a knuckles-white grip, he slammed away at your gushing insides in pure animalistic rage, delicious feral fapping and squelching noises dragging him on to fuck you as he set off with no soft pace. You gasped out only to whine and moan against every hard slap of your hips, the weight of his dick pinning right up into your cervix tipping you over alreadyâ his cock was long enough to reach far inside your cunt and push delectably into that one weak spot that sent you reeling; thick enough to leave you molded, gapping the shape of his cock as a momento of who fucksâ who owns your very being, inside and out. God, you were in pure bliss. Feeling this man every night in his bed has left this hole in your chest, something you couldnât quite describe without thinking about him doing you in and touching every inch of your body. Heâs left his mark on you, forever attached to a ghost that guarded from the shadows, yet a man that bedded you in nothing but his deep primal musk. The sensations of his carnal sin would never excrete; your body, mind, and soul would remember the way he tastes, feels, and fucks for the rest of your life. But was that really a problem?
He leaned his broad frame over your glittering body, making sure each thrust was passionate, invigorating as he intimately kissed your guts with wild heat. You felt his abdomen graze your back with every pull of your hips towards his exposed pelvis, the feeling of hot cotton and tightened muscles looming above your figure as he pressed you further into the table. You were small compared to his burly size, a single hand able to make home around your neck in a clasp that could still touch at the back of your throat. His thighs that kept yours spread were thick, thrusting against them in a firm stance to ensure they stayed apart and around his dense muscles. His torso.. donât even get started on his torso. The tight fit of his black shirt perfectly accentuated every crisp line of his abdominal muscles, his strong ribs and sharply cut v-line pressing neatly into the fabric around every tensed ab. You were a lucky girl to experience such a deadly built predator like himself rubbing and fucking into your poor subordinate body. He was the size of an ox compared to you, a small bunny.
He growled lowly in your ear as he tugged your head back into his shoulder, âDonât you ever disobey me again.. Donât you everâ fuckâ go under my authority again.â
Pulling you back on his dick, he slammed into you after every rough word, âIs.. -plap- that.. -plap- under.. -plap- stood?â
Your nails dug straight into the wood, pressing your reddening cheek into his stitched mask in an attempt to ground yourself, âGnngh! Yes, sir!â
Without another word, he let go of your hair and allowed your head to rest on the cold wood, swiftly taking hold of your arms and pulling them back towards him in a single clasp. He released your bruised waist from his vice clutch, only to grab onto your shoulder and pull you back on his cock as he rashly snarled, âTake it.. Take this fucking cock.â
The tip of his dick deliciously fucked into your tight pussy, the feeling of his happy trail pounding possessively into your ass gushing out more of your stringy honey. He never let up on his assault, making sure you savored this just as much as he was; the way his cock relentlessly claimed every inch of your guts, and marked your pink in glossy white precum. And how with each passing second, your moans grew louder, unfiltered by anything to hold your pleasure back and overpowering his raspy curses and growls.
He starts coming back to himself, slowly but surely, as he drove his hips into yours in a constant state. He began to have the ability to appreciate how he sunk into your sex inch-by thick-inch with mild resistance of your clenching walls, and how your body would jitter perfectly against his when he thrusted just at the right angle. You were so delicious on his dick, trying to milk him for his worth with the vice-like clench you had on his pumping arousal. How he managed to survive the mission was beyond him, but the reward afterwards was all worth the wait as he could finally refill your hole with his veiny, heavy cock.
Tears prickled into your soft lashes, a small hiccup jolting through your ragged breaths, âOh, God..!â
His hips slowed just enough to where your voice would calm down, taking your chin in a harsh grasp as he removed his hold on your shoulder and forced you to look over at him. His eyes burned holes into yours, clear utter possession and want flaring around his deep leather browns as he watched pearl after pearl streak down your cheeks from your cute butterfly wings.
âYou know, itâs very fuckinâ rude to moan another manâs name as Iâm bottominâ out in you, even if youâre praying to God himself.â
With a low scoff, he whispered against your burning ear as he turned your head back to his knife, âLike he could do any better..â
Your stuttering apology slurred into nothing but noise, too fucked out to even try as your mind focused on how his dick twitched inside of you and dragged against your insides. The overwhelming heat of your sex piled and piled, getting far too scorching that you were on the brink of calling it quits. And yet, at the thought of having this end, you couldnât bring yourself to tap out and return to your original home plan. You were drunk on his cock, the feeling of every pulsing vein and curve of his twitching sex throwing you further and further into the lustful fog at the back of your mind.
Your soppy cunt sucked and squeezed on his dick, your end drawing near with every slap of your coated thighs, and every desperate tug at your aching arms. Your womb burned with the need to snap, your legs shaking violently as your body begged for release, to reach that plain of ecstasy that would make you see fuzzy white. It was driving you mad, the denial to cum earlier ravaging your nerves like a powerful source as he continued to fuck you straight into the table. You were overwhelmed by all the cloudy sensations of sinâ his smell, his dick, his chest, his maskâ him. It was like biting into the forbidden fruit when you met him behind closed doors, your bodies colliding and dancing in the fires of your own desires as you gave in to your intrusive thoughts of the ghost.
It was likewise for the shadow himself, feeling the wrongs of behaving in such an inappropriate manner with his subordinate, yet being unable to look away from your innocent eyes as he passed by. To him, you were the temptation, the taboo. You were the forbidden fruit that God himself placed before himâ a perfect little angel all for him to ruin and claim with every searing touch. He knew he was trapped the moment he gave in and took your body as his with a simple little graze of his fingers across your naked back. He didnât mean to get attached. He didnât mean to always come crawling back to your door that sat just across the hall. But he wasnât dumb. He knew once that innocent little spark ignited in his cold chest, he had to have you. Call it fiction, but it was like fate for you to be his, just as it was his to be yours.
Sliding his hand away from your neck, Ghost pulled up his balaclava just above the tip of his nose before returning his grip to your blemished throat, âYouâre going toâ fuckinâ shitâ cum all over my cock, and scream out my name like the good little fuck rabbit you are. Copy that.â
âCopied..â You moaned as your eyes scathed away from the knife, accentuating the 'e' with a short, fucked-out purr.
He groaned at your weak answer, shoving his clenching jaw into your neck as he looked up at your glistening face, âThatâsâ Thatâs my fuckinâ bun.â
As his need grew, he couldnât hold back the feral upbringing of possession before he sunk his teeth into your flesh, only enough to leave a gruesome mark for your later discovery when you would clean yourself up in the showers. The possessiveness in his affirmation only made your heart flutter as your stomach did flips from how his voice thundered low in a lustful pitch before he laid needful claim on your neck. It didnât stop there, either, as his teeth made your neck his personal canvas with deep love bites and purpling hickeysâ you were his muse, and his muse alone to show off.
Pulling back from yet another hickey with a sickening pop, he placed his skull covered forehead right into your trapezius with a carnal snarl, âIn or out, pet.â
You gasped out for a shaky breath of air against his rough thrusts, looking up into the ceiling as you arched your back in acceptance, âIn!â
That was all he needed to hear, his pounding into your raw cunt becoming a feral mess of loud squelching and quickened slaps as his abdomen clenched and heavy balls tightened with the need to cum. You werenât far behind, not in the slightest, as your mushy pussy began to spasm with your pulsing clit, your womb a burning fire that was ready to spread in an instant.
âOhâ cumming! Cumming, cumming, cumming!â
âSay itâ say my fuckinâ name. Scream my bloody fucking name to whatever god is listening as you cum.â
That was it. You tipped right over the edge and screamed out his name, screamed out Simon. Your womb stuttered with each thread snapping and flushing throughout your core in convulsing heats, your hips bucking back into his as your eyes crossed up before fluttering shut. His arms quickly encased your body, wrapping around your waist and hugging you close as he fucked into you and coursed you right into overstimulation. With your arms caged under him, and your twitching figure forcing gurgled noises past your lips, he bottomed out inside of your cunt, sharp thrusts pushing every last drop straight into your womb and filling you to the brim.
Strained pants and groans puffed through the air as you came down from your highs, your legs shaking and possibly put out of commission from the restless fucking you had been given. The Lieutenant laid over your worn out body, resting his arms on the table to keep from piling too much weight on your small figure. He gazed at the mess of your spoiled skin from his markings, surging with pride over what he had done to his girl as his panting began to return to normalcy.
His attention snapped down to you, however, when he felt one of your soft fingers delicately trace along his tattooed sleeve, your eyes foggy while you looked over your shaky work. To keep his returning arousal down was a fucking war, but he managed when he noticed a gushing sensation ripple around his softening cock.
Ghost slowly sat up, running his hands over your sweaty skin to see what mess he had left between your quivering legs, and oh boy, did another war tear right through him when he saw that you had creamed all over his pelvis. His seed had began to spill out of your stretched hole, mixing with your own exertion as it traveled down your thighs and leaked straight from the source.
âFuckinâ hell.. What a mess.â
You could only listen as he pulled out of your cunt, still keeping his form over your body in a protective stance just before he gently picked you up off the table and placed you on his lap when he sat in a chair. He pulled you close to him, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you finally managed to catch your breath and fill back with your lost sanity.
Stroking your back with a careful thumb, he peered down at you and spoke with a soft rasp, âYou okay, love?â
You swallowed a forming saliva, wetting your dried throat before responding with a weak voice, âIâm okay.. I just hope they didnât hear..â
Ghost couldnât help the smirk that wiped onto his lips, âOh, Iâm sure they did. From the way you screamed my name, thereâs no way they didnât hear you creaming on my dick.â
You shook your head and nuzzled into his bunched shirt, sighing contently despite the sinful activity that just took place, in the debriefing room, no less, âGod damn it..â
-
âLetâs go, MacTavish! Youâre taking two minutes longer than last time!â
âYes, sir!â
Price watched as Gaz and Soap wrestled around in the dirt, trying to overthrow one another as the spar continued. Ghost stood silent, arms crossed as he watched the two Sergeants have at each other, noting all their flawed advances and misses.
The Captain flashed his eyes towards his Lieutenant, gazing over his attentive posture before going back to the training, âWhere is White?â
âI told her to sleep in for today.â He responded, eyes never once leaving the two men.
âI wonder why..â Price muttered, running a hand down his face with an amused scoff before returning it to his side, âYouâre lucky I sent those two off to help with the luggage.â
Ghost just barely gave him a side glance, his own amusement underlying his blank stare before looking back at Soap tackling Gaz.
With a sigh of defeat, he shook his head as he crossed his own arms, âYour way of punishment astounds me, Simon.â
At this, he couldnât help but let out his own thoughts, a subtle joking tone playing in his voice, âA little harsh directive time and again saves you the trouble, Price.â
âYeahâ saves me the trouble, grants you the pleasure.â
was so horny for ghost in the rabbit fic he took off her panties twice please i didnât want to notice this im sorry for even telling you my only conclusion is autism..
Thanks for the note!
I reread the Drabble to see if I could find what you were talking about, and I couldnât find it :(
So basically, the panty trail went like this:
Under her pants
Moved around in her pants
Left on her hips
Moved to the side
So technically, they were never removed, just moved to the side. :)
Still, I appreciate the comment and that you came to tell me what you thought! I hope the Drabble was to your liking.
