John Price wasn’t a man prone to sentiment. But lately, he’d caught his son watching him with that quiet, studious expression that five year olds wore when they were trying to understand something big.
It started small. A look, a tilt of the head when John helped you ease onto the couch, one hand steady at your back, the other adjusting the pillows just right. Then came the little imitations—a small hand pressed to your knee when you sighed, a too-big glass of water pushed into your hands before you even asked for it.
Yeah. The boy was watching.
John saw it in the way his son trailed after him, his steps careful and deliberate, like he was trying to map out the rhythm of care he has always provided for you.
He didn’t just follow orders; he anticipated. When John pulled out a chair for you, the boy did the same at breakfast the next morning, brows drawn in concentration as he dragged the heavy thing across the floor. When John pressed a hand to your lower back in passing, the kid reached up later, tiny palm resting there for half a second before scampering off, satisfied with a smile that he made his mother feel comfortable.
And when you winced one evening, shifting uncomfortably, it was your son who slipped off the couch without a word, returning a minute later with one of your small heating pads from the bathroom. He set it down beside you, nudging it toward your hand before looking up expectantly.
John, sitting across from you, just huffed a quiet laugh.
Smart boy.
He didn’t tell him to do any of this. Didn’t have to.
The kid was simply learning straight from him. Picking up on the way his father moved around his mother, how he noticed things before you had to say them, how care wasn’t in grand gestures but in the easy, natural rhythm of love.
John caught his son’s eye, tilting his head just slightly. The boy straightened a little, waiting.
Good lad, he thought, with a small nod of approval.
Pornstar!König's cock is a bitch breaker— that much you know by the way he's ramming every single inch of thick, veiny meat into your sopping cunt, his large hands digging on the supple skin of your waist in a bruising hold, his heavy balls slapping against your sensitive clit every time he manages to bury himself all the way in.
His blue eyes are fully focused on the screen displaying your face, the rhythm of his thrusts only getting rougher to drag more whiny moans out of your parted lips, exhaustion written all over your face at having to take his large dick on what was supposed to be a day off— only accepting a job after thousands of comments bombarding your media, begging you to collaborate with König. Perverts, you knew, yet you're more than happy to play into their fantasies.
One of the cameras pans to your face, fully capturing the alluring scene of your fucked-out state, beads of sweat dripping down your warm forehead, half-lidded eyes barely managing to stay open despite the way they're threatening to roll back with each deep thrust, and that famous smile that shows you crave his treatment. A trademark of sorts, something that made you end on the front pages of popular porn websites more than once, the very same thing that caught König's attention months ago.
“Harder.” A command you instantly regret the moment his hips falter, his brow scrunched up in mild disbelief, yet what is the behemoth of a man if not a people pleaser? König lets out a muffled chuckle, his warm hand trailing up to your chest, lazily rubbing your sensitive, pierced nipple with his thumb.
“Harder?” He repeats, his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace, a smirk pulling on the corners of his lips beneath the mask the moment a whiny moan of protest is dragged out of your lips.
“Fuck yourself with my dick.” You can hear your own heartbeat pulsating on your ear, the rate steadily rising at his command. His breath hitches the moment you impale yourself onto his throbbing cock right after his words, his calloused hand giving your tit one last squeeze before moving back down to your waist, his large fingers digging onto the crevice of your warm skin, admiring the thin layer of sweat covering your body, the way your ass jiggles every single time you move on his dick.
His eyes darken with desire, his hands almost itching with the growing need to fuck into you, something he manages to ignore for mere seconds before thrusting back into you the moment you pull away, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the way his bulbous head hits your sensitive cervix over and over, his wide hips slamming against yours, filling the room with a lewd melody of skin slapping against skin and combined moans desperate for release.
König doesn't hold back, his thrusts deep and powerful as your fingers grip the bedsheets, trying to find a way to release the overwhelming sensations. He can feel your body trembling beneath him, the sound of your whiny whimpers only serving to heighten his own arousal, shooting one of the cameras a look that drips pure arrogance— his movements becoming more urgent and demanding.
One of the screens displays the way your eyes roll back in ecstasy as your walls tighten around his thick cock, a sense of satisfaction and pride filling him as you cum, only then allowing himself to succumb to his release, his cock throbbing inside you as ropes of hot white cum shoot right into your womb, a loud groan leaving his lips.
Despite how rough he likes to fuck, König pulls out of you, his softening cock coated with your slick and his own cum as your body falls on the bed, utterly exhausted. You can feel his large arms wrapping around you from behind, the sound of fabric rustling filling your ears as you feel his warm lips press a soft kiss to your temple, whispers of praise that have never come out of his lips slip out with so much easiness that it almost surprises him.
Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions
A/N: Big man on the outside, such a softie on the inside. That's my favorite combination.
"Not yet babygirl, not yet, hold it just a bit longer. Be a good girl for me now." Simon's rough, gruff voice made your ears ring. Not because he was being loud but because you were so close to the edge that everything seemed like too much.
"Simon, please! I can't... I need to... need to come... Si-mon!" You knew you'd be waking up with bruises with hos hard he was holding you down, his fingers digging into your hips while his fat cock carved it's shape into your pussy.
It was torture. It was bliss. It was everything you asked for.
"Almost, I'm almost ready to fill up that sweet pussy. So you need to wait. Don't you dare come until I say so." You almost felt like crying and yet your body obeyed his commands while your mind protested and rebelled.
He could see your turmoil and he could feel it on his own body. The way you clung onto him, legs locked around his broad hips, arms around his back, your nails leaving marks he will be proud to wear.
"Simon, please!" You could feel yourself going crazy, you wanted it so much it almost hurt. Your body needed release so desperately, your pussy tightening and begging for it along with you.
"Yes, come for me! My pretty girl, you've been so good, I'm letting you come! Simon's hips hammered into yours, every breath a grunt as he shoot his cum into you, your pussy filling up with potent cum. "Fuck, your pussy is even better like this! All mine!"
Your body curled up into his, you moaned into his ear, not even trying to hold back as you came. You could feel every little spasm of his cock as you drew out every drop of cum that you could.
Price is getting older, retired from the SAS now. his work never allowed him to settle down meaning no wife, no girlfriend, not even a casual hookup. so after hours of stroking his cock to puppygirl porn, he decides he should get one for himself. maybe make some home videos.
he browses local shelters. most the pup hybrids are the same. all thin and muscular. their bodies profiled by sharp angles and sharper teeth. then he sees you.
your picture is sweet. a sweet smile, floppy ears, sharp eyes. your tail is blur, clearly wagging it at the time they took your picture. he clicks on your profile, he has to know more.
‘one of our newer rescues! she’s a sweet girl, but too smart for her own good! this pup would best be suited to a household that can give her lots of attention and training to avoid misbehaviour. ’
a smile quirks at his lips. perfect. pretty, smart, and a little needy.
you’ve got a soft body- rolls and curves that he desperately wants to grope. he can imagine it now, you’d be sat pretty in his lap cockwarming him. he’d stretch your tight cunt, grope and squeeze at your tits, slap your clit when you squirm.
within a week, he’s adopted you.
the first few weeks fly by. a month in and you’re fully settled. price treats you well, extremely well. praises almost everything you do, constantly pets and kisses you, feeds you the highest quality food. devours your cunt every night.
he’s made you drunk on him. every morning you wake up nuzzled in his arms. within ten minutes he’s shoved his fingers into your soft cunt, rutting his hips into your ass. prices voice low and growl as he praises you; “fuck, pup. so fuckin wet for me. my good girl. cmon, cum for me, show me how needy you are.”
afterwards, he feeds you. makes you whatever you like. once youre full and happy, tail wagging back and forth, he shoves you under the table. sits you on your knees between his legs. price tangles a hand in your hair, eases himself into your throat. your ‘morning treat.’
breakfast is followed by a walk. he is ex-military, old habits die hard. by the time you get back, you’re sweaty, body worn out and tired. ready for a shower.
this is prices favourite time of day. he takes you into the shower, gently washes your body. soaps you up in sweet smelling bubbles, washes you down with warm water.
the whole time, he’s squeezing your soft body. knows exactly where to grope you to make you squeak.
the part he loves the most though? when he spreads your chubby thighs, changes the shower setting, and sprays water directly on your clit. he bites and sucks the fat of your tits, grumbles against the soft skin.
“cmon pup, gotta make sure you’re clean. be a good girl, spread your legs f’me… atta girl”
every moment of your day, you’re lavished with attention and praise. so when you act up, break the rules, disrespect him? his punishments hit hard.
he gets up before you do, already gone on his morning run. he makes you food, but leaves it on the bench. he doesn’t so much as look at you for the first half of the day, let alone speak a word.
it’s only when you’re crying at his feet, grinding your wet aching cunt against his boot that he bothers to look at you.
with a hand in your hair, he tilts your head. the sight of tears running down your chubby cheeks making him rock fucking hard.
he uses the other hand to squish your cheeks together, eyes stern and cold, voice flat as he speaks. “What did you do wrong?”
he doesn’t let go, making you talk through a forced pout. he waits until you’re begging and sobbing, eyes needy and desperate before he gives in.
price pulls you up over his knee, big hands a little too rough with you. he pushes your panties down, exposing your cunt. lets out a groan as he slowly toys with your soft clit. you’re fucking dripping.
“Mhm, i know puppy. you’re sorry. didn’t mean to make me mad, huh?” he smirks as you nod. he’s practically drooling at how your thighs surround his hand, the fat burying it.
he waits till you're relaxed before he pulls his hand back, delivering a stinging spank. he keeps his other on your neck, forcing you still.
Price continues to spank you, making you count each one. grinding his tent against your tummy as he turns your ass red, only getting harder as your tears wet his jeans.
he makes you count in intervals of ten. spanks you red and raw, then after 10, strokes your pretty pussy. he gets you nice and relaxed, acts as if it’s over, then repeats.
he only stops once you’re shaking and sobbing, his jeans completely soaked with slick and tears.
Ghost x reader
Description: Ghost searches for Reader after their argument.
Genre/Warnings: zombie apocalypse AU, Ghost x fem!reader, survivor!reader, angst, POV change, filler chapter
WC: 1k
My Masterlist
** Oh? What is this you ask? Could it finally be?? a new chapter?! Yes. Yes, it is. Finally, I got Chapter 6 complete! Still iffy about how this one turned out but I NEEDED a Ghost POV chapter so bad. Please forgive my hiatus I actually had a chapter almost done when I came up with this one and I've been working on 6, 7, and 8 for some time... Just completely out of order and flopping between the three... So, anyway here is this, next one might be short as well but 8 will be HECTIC and looong so hopefully it makes it up to y'all. Also, yay!!(or not?) Ghost is back!! Teehee. Enjoy. (BTW My taglist somehow ended up a whole mess. So, if you are on there by mistake OR missing, please let me know thanks.)
If you'd like to be added/removed from the taglist please, let me know.
<< PART 1 / << PART 5
*GHOST POV*
“Bloody hell.”
Ghost murmurs under his breath, standing in the middle of the empty master bedroom he’d left you in just a short while ago.
She couldn’t have stuck around a few more bloody minutes?
He thought to himself. He dragged a hand down the rough material of his mask. You as well as your things had vanished.
It's been less than an hour since I left her behind. She couldn't have gotten far.
Ghost searched the neighboring houses for you. His heavy boots flattened the unkempt grass.
Clearly, she didn’t need me if she took off so soon.
When he'd left, he had some time to reflect on your argument and how he’d stormed out. Thinking that maybe he had been a bit harsh. Which is what led him to turn around, backtracking to the house you’d been searching together. But now you were gone.
Why am I wasting my time? Not like she’s my responsibility. Besides, she can survive on her own. If she doesn’t… that’s not my problem.
Ghost knew the cost of caring for people, he didn't need attachments. Not anymore. He made that mistake before and wasn't going to shoulder that burden again.
He continued back into town, the mantra repeating in his mind, hoping to squash the guilt that pooled in his gut.
It’s fine. It’s fine… She’s fine.
The sun had set by the time Ghost reached the roof of a shopping center. He’d swept the shops clearing each corner before laying out all his gear to repack, minimizing the load and ensuring he only had necessities.
As he finished organizing his supplies Ghost took a much-needed smoke break.
The stale cigarette burned his lungs as he inhaled the smoke, leaning on his elbows over the ledge of the building.
The night was quiet. Trees rustled softly in the wind. The swirling smoke dispersed quickly as he blew it out into the night. The metallic tang lingered on his tongue.
For a moment he had no thoughts on his mind, successfully ignoring the gnawing guilt he’d been feeling all evening.
Until a distant car alarm caught his attention. It was faint, almost inaudible. Ghost chopped it up to one of the infected bumping a car on the freeway.
But then, a gunshot shattered the silence. Echoing across the empty streets.
“What the…”
He muttered, His scowl deepening as he scanned the dark road below. The night consumed the sky, leaving no light save for the cherry end of the cig burning away between his fingers.
Can’t be her. She only has a pistol—it wouldn’t sound like that.
He took another drag, forcing away the thought.
The second shot came quickly. Then a third.
The gnawing guilt crept back in stronger than before.
What if it is her? What if she’s in trouble?
He paused listening for another shot, but it never came. Finally, as the faint sound of the car alarm ceased, the worry poking at the back of his mind became too much.
“Damnit.”
He grumbles. He flicks the cigarette butt on the ground and snuffs it out with the toe of his boot. He pushed off the ledge Before gathering his things, abandoning his plans to camp there for the night, and headed towards the road again to investigate the shots.
Ghost is on the freeway when he spots you, perched on top of a truck, legs tucked under you, looking bored.
Immediately the tightness in his chest is replaced by relief and His grip on his bag loosens. Though he’d never admit it he was relieved to see you alive.
Your features were illuminated by a faint light as he looked you over. To his surprise, you seemed lighter somehow, not anxious or scared like he’d expected… as you had been before.
At least now he could follow through on his plan. Bring you through the city, get some supplies, find a safe place for you to settle in, and he’d be on his way.
He took a few more steps forward and opened his mouth to call your name but, froze when the figure of a man appeared beside you. Hands on his hips in a casual manner.
Ghost sunk low behind a nearby car taking cover in the darkness. His knees brushed the cracked asphalt.
His relief changed to irritation as he watched your interaction. You slid down off the roof of the truck and the man’s hand found its way to your back in a comforting gesture of familiarity.
The man turned, closed the door, and rounded to the back end of the truck. When he pulled himself to sit on the tailgate, that’s when Ghost got a glimpse of the man’s face.
“Graves.”
He growled. The name fell from his lips like a curse. It had been what felt like ages since he’d seen him. Ghost was in disbelief; he hadn't expected Graves to still be alive let alone have stuck around here.
Ghost couldn’t deny his anger; he’d lost daylight searching for you. He’d come all the way out here, in the dark, following gunshots because he was worried about you.
You were the problem.
He was losing his head because of you. Helping you on that road made you an obligation. You begged and cried, pleading with him to stick together, And for what?
He was torn with what to do now. On one hand, it bothered him, you being with Graves. But, at the same time, you were no longer his to care for. Although he didn’t exactly trust him, Graves was a capable man, and you’d have better odds sticking with him than going it alone.
And Ghost is too prideful to come crawling back with an apology, groveling at your feet to come back with him. Why drag you along with him when obviously you were more comfortable with Graves? As far as he was concerned you had gotten exactly what you wanted.
He watched for a few more moments. The wind carried the sounds of your light-hearted chatter.
What was it about Graves that left you in such a relaxed state? How did you not feel this safe with him? Ghost was always about caution and precision, but here Graves was hardly paying attention to your surroundings, and you seemed fine with it.
As you and Graves settled into the bed of the truck, likely to camp out for the night, Ghost sighed. You didn’t need him anymore, and he no longer needed to feel guilty.
Pairing(s): Neighbor!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Single Mom!Reader
Word Count: 7.0k+
Summary: After leaving your abusive husband, you and your 17 year old son, Tommy, move to the U.K. from the U.S. for a fresh start. He's less than enthusiastic to be moving countries, having to be the new, weird American kid on the block. He's even less enthusiastic about his new neighbor who seems to be making moves on his mother.
POV: 3rd Person Omniscent; No use of "Y/N" or "You"; Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns.
Rating: Mature/Restricted - MDNI; Ageless Blogs DNI
Categories: HEAVY ANGST- PLEASE READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING, slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers
CWs: Scenes and depictions of domestic abuse and child abuse in the form of slapping, kicking, and punching. One scene of implied sexual abuse happening to the reader via rape. Illegal age gap between reader and her ex-husband (age difference of 14 and 21). Depictions of violence between Tommy and his father. Underage alcohol consumption and implied dubious consent via alcohol. Reader gets disowned from her family. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.
Note: Thank you guys so much for being so patient with me as I worked through some writer's block. Here is the first chapter. I know a lot of people were asking about a taglist, however, I have chosen to not include a taglist because they overwhelm me lol. I'm sorry. Please let me know if I have missed any CWs that you believe should be added. Thank you. Also, my depiction of the UK/Manchester and Simon's accent is probably very inaccurate lol.
MASTERLIST
SERIES MASTERLIST
“An embryonic love—
The first time that it scarred,
Embarrass yourself for someone,
Crying like a child…
And the boy who kicked Tom’s head in
Still bugs me now.
That’s the thing—it lingers,
And claws you when you’re down.”
There were a lot of things that Tommy didn’t understand. For instance, he didn’t understand how stars were formed or why he had to take an astronomy class. He didn’t understand why cat lovers claimed that dog lovers didn’t have a sense of consent or boundaries, as if dogs don’t have clear boundaries of their own? Speaking of dogs, why didn’t that dog like him at the park last week? All dogs love him.
He could go on and on about the mundane things he didn’t seem to understand, though his astronomy grade would be plenty of testimony that he clearly didn’t understand the formation of stars. However, none of that would ever compare to the constant state of confusion he found himself in as he grew up.
He had the American dream. A two-bedroom home in the Indiana suburbs with a white picket fence that had been bought all the way back in 2007, just before the recession hit. He had a mother and a father. He lived in an area that was well-off enough—he wasn’t rich or poor. It should have been a comfortable life…
But as his mother nervously drives down the road, heading off to their new home in a new country, making a comment about how “the infrastructure in this country is absolute dog shit, and I hate driving manuals. We should have just moved to Canada,” Tommy cannot remember ever being comfortable in his home for the life of him.
What he does remember is his first memory. He wishes it was something beautiful, like seeing his mother smiling and cooing down at him. Instead, it's a vivid image of his dark bedroom with his "Cars" bed sheets pulled up to his chin. The sound of someone crying and wailing spills through his sky blue walls and into his ears. There's a pressure that pushes insistantly against his chest. His tiny feet pitter-pattered against the tan carpeted floor to open his door just a smidge to investigate. He sees a tall, dark figure towering over one cowered low to the floor. It doesn’t take him long to realize it’s his mother and father.
He didn’t understand it back then, but as the memory flashes through Tommy’s mind, he knows what had happened very well. His father’s hand was clenched into a fist, tugging on his mother’s hair as she screamed and kicked at him. "Stop," she cries. "Danny, please, stop!" His entire body lay on top of hers. Tommy wants to throw up as he remembers the ripped clothing, the tears on his mother’s face, and how his father looked at him.
“Go back to bed, Tom,” he said. “Mommy and I are just playing. First day of school is tomorrow, so you need to rest.”
When Tommy looked to his mother for confirmation, she only nodded. He knew something was wrong, but couldn't quite understand it. "Why is mommy crying?" He asks with a soft and timid tone.
"It's okay," he mother whispers, looking at him. "Just go to sleep, okay? Mommy and daddy love you... Goodnight," she grunts.
So Tommy goes to bed, and he tries to block out the sounds coming from the hallway.
It wasn’t until Tommy turned 12 and entered middle school that he understood the abuse his father gave to his mother. She had suddenly decided to enroll him in soccer, telling him that he needed to be out of the house and active more; he needed a hobby and a space to make new friends. Truthfully, he loved it. He enjoyed the game and the adrenaline rush it gave him, and he loved the people he met because of the sport.
But one time, practice had gotten canceled. The coach’s daughter had gotten sick and needed to go to the hospital, and even though Tommy loved the sport, he was excited to be home early, before dinner for once. Maybe he’d have some extra downtime after finishing up whatever assignments he had for the night.
He could hear sobbing when he got to the front door, and his stomach turned. It reminded him of that night, of his first memory. Only this time, he was older. He knew better; he knew that something was off.
With shaking hands, he pushed the front door open, and then he saw it. Right in front of him, his father was standing over his mother, one hand holding her down while the other relentlessly made continuous contact with her face. “I’m sorry,” she kept repeating. “Please, stop. I’m sorry.”
Without thinking, Tommy rushed in, placing himself between his parents. “What are you doing?” He shouted at his dad. “Leave her alone! Stop it!” He didn’t sound intimidating or convincing in the slightest. His small frame and cracking voice certainly didn’t help.
His father only grunted and grabbed onto him instead, throwing him to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he could see his mother diving for him, screaming at his father to once again stop, and before he could react, he felt the side of his father’s boot make contact with the side of his head.
It was like a scene in a movie, a montage of sorts. There was ringing in his ears as the blurry vision of his mother pushing his father away filled his head. She’s still sobbing, screaming at him, begging him to leave Tommy alone. “Danny, stop it!” She screams. “No! Don’t touch him!”
He blinks just once, and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself staring up at the ceiling of his room, a bag of ice sitting on his head. “Tommy?” A voice calls out, dulled and echoing through his brain. “Baby… Wake up…” He turns to his side and sees his mother’s tear-stained, bruised-up face.
“Mom?” He grunts. “Are you okay?”
The question makes her break down. Her son, the boy she loved more than anything in this world, had just been kicked in the head by her husband, and yet, here he was, asking her if she was okay. It makes her sob into her hands as she kneels down by his side. “Baby,” she whimpers. “Promise me that you will never, ever step in like that again…”
”But mom—“
”Thomas Daniel Fletcher, you promise me,” she insists. “Don’t make your father angry like that, okay? You let me handle it. I don’t want you getting hurt again… And don’t ever speak of this to anyone… He’ll only make things worse for us.”
Looking back at it now, Tommy thinks he only agrees because he was possibly concussed. However, he silently made a promise to both himself and his mother that day. He swore he’d make himself stronger, strong enough to stand a chance against his father one day. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand by, knowing exactly what his father was doing.
From that day forward, he ate more meat and drank more milk. He begged his mother to buy him protein shakes whenever she went to the grocery store. Every morning, at 6AM, he took the neighbor’s dog for a run and did pushups in his bedroom before school.
Once he entered high school, he finally hit a growth spurt and spent almost all of his time in the school’s weight room. If he wasn’t at soccer practice, he was lifting weights. By age fifteen, he was 6’3” and around 215 pounds of muscle. While he was lean, he could put his arms to work. For years, he’d been training his body to be bigger and stronger, using the sounds of his mother crying and wailing as motivation.
It’s a Tuesday afternoon in October. The hot summer sun was no more. Instead, a cool autumn breeze ran through Tommy’s hair. However, his back is still wet with sweat from soccer practice. He’d played extra hard today. Kicked and dribbled every ball with extra precision, his brows low as sweat dripped down from them. Before he’d left, his coach clapped him on the shoulder, telling him to go home and rest–he’d earned it after working so hard today.
The sweat, body odor, and sore muscles are all telling him to hop into the shower as soon as he gets home, but his brain and the adrenaline coursing through his veins tell him that as soon as he sees his father, there’s no holding back. He’d kill the bastard if needed to. He can hear his parents arguing before he even reaches the door. Well, his father does most of the yelling while his mother begs for mercy. His large hands push the door open, sending it flying into the wall, the knob putting a hole right through it due to the amount of force he uses. He sees his mother jump at the sudden noise.
His father glares at him, almost snarling. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” He turns his body towards Tommy. They’re just as tall as each other now; their eyes sit at the same level. This intimidation tactic wouldn’t work anymore. “You don’t ever walk into my house, slamming my door like that. You will show me some respect, boy.”
Tommy can see how his mother grabs his father’s arm, trying to pull him away. “It was an accident, Danny,” she says. “Just let it go, okay? We’ll get it fixed.” Her eyes flicker at him; this is the first time he has looked at her since getting home. She wasn’t wearing makeup today, nor was she wearing long sleeves like she usually did. She must have not left the house today. It wasn’t like her to keep her bruises so exposed. As his eyes cascade down the yellow and purple marks, it only fuels his rage even more.
Without a word, Tommy suddenly lunges at Danny, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. He shoves him harshly up against the wall. His timing is impeccable, giving his father no time to react. Then, he pulls his arm back as much as he can before he begins to ram his fist into his father’s face over and over. He can hear what sounds like a delicious and deep-toned crunch when he makes contact with his nose. He thinks he can hear his mother gasp and call out his name, but he can barely hear it.
Danny grunts as he takes each blow. He can see Tommy’s endurance draining fast, and when he finds the opportunity, he shoves his son back, sending him into the cabinet beside them. He swings back at his son, hitting him in the jaw so hard that it practically spins the teenager’s head right around. He smirks victoriously, blood spilling from his nose. He then throws the boy onto the floor before lifting his foot and forcing it into the boy’s gut. It knocks the wind out of him. However, the evil smirk wiped off his face as Tommy tackled him to the ground with a grunt. The younger man is much faster and has better reflexes, giving him the upper hand in this fight.
At this point, Tommy catches a glimpse of his terrified mother. His left hand wraps around his father’s throat as he sees her shaking, frozen in place, with tears dripping from her swollen eyes. He can’t look at her. If he keeps looking at her, he might actually kill his father, and he couldn’t leave his mother alone. He’d stood by, witnessing the torment his father put her through for long enough; she would need him to stick around. “Call the cops, Mom,” he says to her.
Then he glances back down at his father. He hates him. He hates that they share the same nose and eyes. He inherited his hair texture and body composition. They both metabolize protein better than they do carbohydrates. In so many ways, he and his father were the same. Even now, Tommy begins to believe that he was only capable of the violent act he was committing because it was in his father’s blood, and therefore, it was in his own. Unfortunately for Danny, his son can’t seem to care about all that right now.
As he holds his father down by the throat, Tommy brings his fist down again. Again. Once more. He thinks he can hear his mom finally speaking to the dispatcher on the phone. When he sees his hands stained with his father’s blood, he decides that he’s done his job. He stands up, hunching forward a bit as he feels a stinging sensation in his abdomen. His solid but tired arms hook themselves underneath his father’s underarms, and he drags him out the front door, leaving him a bloody mess on the lawn. He huffs and puffs, trying to catch his breath as he returns to the porch step and sits down.
“Tommy!” He hears his mother cry. He lifts his head slightly as she kneels before him, immediately reminding him of when he had just started middle school. Instead of being kicked in the stomach, he’d been kicked in the head, and his mother was kneeling by his side, crying with regret permanently sewn into her facial expressions. This time was different, though. This time, he was actually able to protect her, and that’s all that mattered to him.
“I’m okay, Mom,” he grunts as she feels him lifting his shirt to inspect his wounds. The sounds of police and ambulance sirens start to ring out, growing louder and louder as they get closer.
When the police arrive, they are greeted with quite the scene. A young mother, her teenage son, and a deadbeat father on the lawn, all of them looking either bloody or bruised. The EMTs immediately get to work, doing checks on all of them before allowing the police to speak to each of them.
However, as they’re taking statements, one of the EMTs walks over to Tommy’s mother. “We’re gonna need to take him to the hospital. It’s likely he’s got some internal bleeding going on,” he says. “We’ll need you to come along.” The officer closes up his notepad, stating that he’ll follow them to finish getting her statement there.
After that, it’s a long legal battle. Unfortunately, the right to a speedy trial is loosely defined. It’s definitely not as speedy as the Constitution would like its citizens to believe. It took around 90 days for any of them to step into court, and it takes even longer for a proper sentence to be given. Having a group of state-appointed lawyers trying to prove that your father was an innocent man while watching your mother sit on the stand, photos of the bruises and scars that had been accumulated over the years was one of the most challenging and most rage-inducing things he’d ever gone through.
It resulted in a divorce, Tommy’s mother being given full custody, and 38 years in prison total for his father under felony charges of child battery, sexual battery, rape, and domestic battery—Tommy swears he should be getting more. Still, due to the lack of documented evidence, most of the sentencing was minimal. He sincerely hopes that his father dies in that cell. He heard plenty from Reddit forums about what happens to people who commit crimes against children. Many would tell him it wasn’t right to wish death upon someone. Tommy doesn't give a single fuck.
Of course, just because his father was now out of the picture didn’t mean that things would be easy for Tommy and his mother. Just because he was in prison doesn’t mean that the two weren’t almost always on edge, scared that he’d either escape or be released early on “good behavior.” They were both left with heavy amounts of PTSD. Tommy especially continued to struggle with the fact that his bare hands could have easily ended a life, and he struggled even more with the thought of not caring if he’d killed his father. He was scared that there was something within him that made him violent, like his father, and he was afraid that it could fester into something more.
Because of this, his mother enrolled him in therapy. It wasn’t hard to see how much it weighed on his mind. Her quiet son is even quieter and more distant. While he was still on the soccer team, his chances of becoming captain became less and less likely. His grades were beginning to slip, putting him at risk of needing to attend summer school. He stopped taking the neighbor’s dog for runs in the mornings. He simply was losing himself to the storm that consumed his mind.
When Tommy gets the news from his mother about the move, he doesn’t seem to be thrilled at all. He believes that moving solves nothing. A fresh start solves nothing. All it means is that his high school credits are gonna be a bastard to transfer over to the UK’s education system; he’d have to leave his soccer team behind, and he’d have to establish himself with a new therapist. If anything, a “fresh start” is the last thing that he needs. He was only one school year away from finishing everything up; he wished she could have waited until then.
His lack of enthusiasm shows now as he rests his head against the window of his car, trying to block out the noise of his mother continuing to complain about the infrastructure. She’s been going on about it for the past thirty minutes. He really wishes he hadn’t tossed his carry-on luggage into the trunk of the car without grabbing his headphones first. Instead, all he has to entertain himself are the raindrops that fall down his window. “This place is a shit hole,” he mutters.
“Thomas,” his mother warns. When he says nothing else, she sighs. Her eyes glance at him briefly before focusing on the road, a frown pulling down at her lips. “Listen, I know that… our life hasn’t been very easy for you, and I’m sorry. I wish I could have been stronger for us both back then,” she says remorsefully. “I just want us to be safe, to have a home where we don’t have to constantly look over our shoulders.”
Tommy loved his mother. Indeed, he did, and despite the nightmares, the somewhat unhelpful therapy sessions, and the constant fear of becoming his father, he wouldn’t ever hesitate to protect her. He’d relive the day he finally beat his father over and over again if it meant the safety of her. That didn’t change the fact that this move was irritating. “He’s the one who did wrong,” he grunts. “There’s no reason why we should have to be the ones running.’
”I know, Tom,” she says.
But truthfully, they had nowhere else to go.
She was 14 when she got pregnant with him and 15 when she gave birth. Her parents had already told her that she was forbidden from seeing and being with Danny, considering that he’d been 21 when they met. They didn’t find the age difference to be appropriate, and rightfully so. They’d gotten into an hour-long screaming match about it when they found out how old he was.
“There is absolutely no need for a man that old to be with you! How did you even meet him?” Her mother shouted. “What kind of creep that old tries to get with a girl who has just started high school?”
“You and Dad have the same age difference, so what does it matter?” She argued back. “Danny loves me, and you guys should be happy for me!”
”The difference is that your mother and I were both adults when we met!” Her father said back to her. “You are way too young to know what loving someone like that even means.”
She had been grounded for three months after that. After school, she was meant to march straight back home, and she could forget about hanging out with her friends, using the family computer, or using the family phone to speak with anyone. Of course, she’d also been forbidden from seeing Danny ever again.
That didn’t stop her, however. All that resulted from the grounding and forbiddance was her skipping out of class to meet her precious Daniel at the park. They’d make plans for her to sneak out of her window so he could drive them back to his apartment, where she would spend the night.
She wishes she could have seen it back then. It wasn’t at all acceptable for a twenty-one-year-old man who had graduated college and had a full-time job to be picking up his juvenile girlfriend. What adult dates someone who has to sneak out of their parent’s house? Not a normal one, that’s for fucking sure.
She’d spend the nights in his home, drinking each and every beer that he’d handed to her until she was just the slightest bit tipsy, giggling at everything he’d said.
“I’m gonna marry you one day, you know that?” He’d teased her one night as they lay on the couch together. He was on top of her, slotted right between her legs as his hands gripped at her uncovered thighs. The second she stepped into the apartment, he’d taken off her clothes and tossed one of his own t-shirts on him, just to remind her exactly who she belonged to.
She giggled as she felt his lips pressing against the skin of her neck, groaning as he began to suck on her pulse point. “Danny,” she whined. “Nothing visible. My parents could see it,” she reminded him, but she made no discernible efforts to push him away or stop him. She never did.
And it madehim smirk against her skin. He liked the amount of control he had over her and liked that she was willing to listen to him only. She didn’t seem to care about what her parents thought, and she was more than willing to defy them just so that she could be with him. His teeth grazed against her before he bit down, causing her to gasp. A chuckle slipped from his lips as she cried out for him again.
He felt no guilt whatsoever for any of his actions, and when she had gotten into his car with tears streaming down her face as she broke the news to him that she was pregnant, it was as if everything had fallen into place for him. He finally had found the opportunity to keep her with him forever.
“We’ll figure this out, baby,” he promised her as she cried in his arms. His hand trailed down to the top of her stomach. “I promise I’ll be with you every step of the way…” He looked deep into her eyes before kissing her. “I love you.”
“You do?” She wondered, wide, teary eyes looking right back at him. “I love you too.” She kisses him back, clinging onto him for dear life.
“My girl,” he thinks as his kisses grow hungrier. “All wrapped around my finger.”
She breaks the news to her parents the following day.
When they found out that not only had she gone against their wishes but also ended up pregnant without much of a plan, they kicked her out. Not only had they been furious with her, but they had also feared what their small community would think of them as parents.
”How did they not know?” “Where were they?” “Did they even pay attention to their child? How could this have happened?”
The whispers around town had spread far and fast. She had to drop out of school once she’d started to show, and as she began to work at the local grocery store, she could see the parents of her former classmates make eyes at her, full of either pity or disgust.
She moved in with Danny. It’s not like she would have anywhere else to go. Her parents had disowned her after all. He was happy to have her around. It meant he got to come home to the mother of his child and a warm, home-cooked meal. He would spend all of his time with her rubbing at the baby bump and feeling the kicks beneath his hands, and though she’d been sad that her parents had been so cruel to her, he made their life feel like a fairytale.
Just before Tommy was born, Danny bought a house for the three of them to share, and it made her hopeful that things would get better. This feeling of hope only increased when the two had married only a year after their son was born, the second she’d turned 16.
But then things started to change. She had to quit her job to take care of Tommy; she couldn’t just leave him home alone, and they had moved so far from Danny’s parents, so they had no one to babysit. They sure as hell couldn’t ask her parents to help out either.
Being a stay-at-home mother meant there was only one income to contribute to the household. Bills got harder to pay, and the grocery prices had increased. On top of all that, Tommy was quite the fussy and busy child.
To cope with it all, Danny began to drink more than he usually did, and one night, when he’d gotten home after a long day at work, he reached into the fridge and cracked open a beer. He grew angry after finding the lack of a hot meal on the stove. The sound of his son crying rang throughout the house, and his wife was nowhere to be seen.
He called out her name, and she rushed out of the bathroom. “Hey, babe,” she greeted, exhaustion written all over her face. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get started on dinner soon. Tommy has just been so fussy today, and he still needs a bath, and I haven’t had the chance to clean the house or—“
She was cut off by the sudden feeling of stinging on her right cheek. Her ear rang as she stumbled back a bit, trying to process what had just happened. It hurt; why did it hurt? What’s going on? Tears welled up in her eyes as she was finally able to move her head again, looking back at her husband. “Danny, what—?”
”I spend all day at work to provide for us,” he growls. “And all you have to do is take care of the goddamn kid and make some fucking food, and you can’t even do that fucking much?” He exclaims. “Fucking grow up. You have a loving husband who provides for you and takes care of you. The least you could do is repay him by having some goddamn food on the table!”
She’s stunned, unable to move. Had he really hit her? What was he even saying? What happened to the sweet, doting man she’d fallen in love with? Where was he?
Without another word, she moved to make dinner, and once he was done, she flinched as Danny wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she continued to flinch whenever he moved near her.
The morning after, he had gotten down on his knees and apologized to her, telling her that it would never happen again. “I was just having a hard day, baby,” he said. “You know I would never hurt you on purpose. It was an accident. I love you; you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he cried out. “Please don’t leave me. Don’t take away my son. I love you; I won’t ever do it again.”
She wished she hadn’t believed him. The first time is never the only time; it’s never the last, but what choice did she have? Who did she have? Her parents kicked her out, and she didn’t have any friends. All she had was Danny and her son; she couldn’t lose all she had.
Since then, she hadn’t spoken with her parents, and she refused to. There was no way in hell that she would let such cruel people near her son, especially considering what he’s had to witness the past seventeen years of his life. If she’d gone running back into their arms now, she knew all she would get was a lecture about how they were right, and she was wrong. She swore she could hear their voices in her head. “How could you let him do that to your son? You’re a horrible mother for keeping our grandchild in that situation!”
What they needed was to completely disconnect themselves from their old life.
“But let’s try to make the best of this, alright? We’re in a new place with new people. There’s a whole new culture for us to explore, and everyone out here loves soccer,” she says, trying her best to cheer him up. She knows her efforts are likely to be futile. “Though, they’ll probably punch you if you call it that over here. It’s football.”
Tommy doesn’t respond. His eyes just continue to stare at the raindrops. In his head, they’re racing each other. It’s the only thing that he can find entertaining right now. He’s silent for the rest of the bumpy car ride, and before he knows it, they’re pulling into the driveway of their new home.
He steps out of the car and looks up at the building. It’s a semi-detached house made of old red brick. It’s a stark contrast to their home back in Indiana—a completely detached house made of white siding and a large front and back yard. He’s unsure if he even has a front yard here, and there’s no way the backyard could be much bigger.
“Tommy, come help me with our stuff,” his mother calls out to him.
He turns around to find her struggling with the luggage and sighs before walking over to her, taking them from her hands. “Mom, I told you to let me handle all the bags and stuff,” he says softly. “I can lift all this stuff. You’ve been driving and taking care of everything else. Just relax.” He may be a grump, but that wouldn’t stop him from being a good son.
With soft eyes, his mother watches as Tommy takes the bags from her hands, along with the keys to the house, and walks up the sidewalk. He pushes the key inside the keyhole, and before they know it, they’re on their way to settling into their new life—a safer life.
Meanwhile, the man next door—tall (an understatement) and well built (another understatement), blonde with dark brown eyes that cut right through whoever he’s looking at—watches from his window. He’d never taken an interest in his neighbors beforehand. As long as they didn’t make too much noise or cause any trouble, he felt no need to pay them any attention, but as he gazes through the glass panes at the woman who seemed to be struggling to reach into the boot of the car and pull out even more heavy luggage, he can’t help but to move his feet right out the door.
She jumps at his voice. “Need help, miss?” He grunts, looking down at her.
She pulls herself out of the trunk, and her neck cranes as she looks up at him. Her eyes flicker all around his face, over every scar that seemed to be present before they finally settle on his eyes. “Yeah, if you could,” she finally manages to stutter out, in awe of the absolute giant in front of her. A handsome giant at that. With a smile and an outstretched hand, she introduces herself by name.
“Simon,” he tells her, voice low and raspy. He then begins to reach into the trunk, and he easily pulls out the luggage. He pretends to not notice the way she gawks at his large arms. “I live righ’ next door,” he says. “Not the house attached to yours, but the other one.”
The woman looks over to where he seems to motion. The house on her right side looks exactly the same; it is just attached to a different unit. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she tells him. “I’m not from around here, so it’ll be nice to get to know everyone around here.”
Simon’s interest piques at this statement. “Can tell from the accent,” he says. “S’why move ‘ere? Much nicer places in the country to be.” Was that rude of him to say?
”Well,” she says. “Just… Trying to get a fresh start. Manchester was in the budget.” A small chuckle leaves her lips. “This place just seemed like it would be a good change of pace for my son and I.”
Her son—right. The young man that Simon had seen briefly. He glances down at the woman’s left hand and sees the absence of a ring, nothing to indicate that she was legally tied down to anyone. Then, he glances back at the house. The door is still open. “Righ’,” he says. “Jus’you and your son then?” He asks.
She knows exactly what he’s hinting at, and a tight-lipped smile pulls at her lips as she nods in response. “Yeah, the father’s not in the picture anymore,” she tells him. “Good riddance.”
Simon chuckles. “Well, seems like it’s his loss, aye?”
Before she can respond, the sound of a cleared throat pulls them out of the conversation. When they look over to see where the noise is coming from, they see Tommy standing in front of them, clearly apathetic to the fact that he’s just interrupted whatever conversation they were engaging in.
“Tommy, honey,” his mother says with a smile. She reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, bringing him closer. “This is our new neighbor, Simon.”
It’s a bit awkward now, isn’t it? Simon knows exactly what this looks like to her son, and while he did find the lady attractive, very attractive, in fact, he didn’t know her. It’s not like he’d make moves so early on. Hell, he didn’t know the last time he’d made moves on someone in general. Nonetheless, he tries to push past all that as he holds his hand out for Tommy to shake. “Nice to meet you, mate,” he says. “Just helping ‘er out with the bags. Looked like she was having some trouble.”
Tommy eyes the man in front of him. He sees the rugged exterior, the short, grown-out buzz cut, the tattoos, and the scarring across his face and body. Though he’d always been taught to never judge a book by its cover, it’s not as easy as it sounds. When he sees this Simon character, he can only think that he’d be trouble. This man shouldn’t be anywhere near his mom, and he’d be damned if he would let it happen.
So, he says, “Right,” without shaking his hand, not caring that he’d be scolded by his mother about it later. He puts his hands to use by grabbing more of the bags instead. “Well, bye,” he plainly says before walking back towards the house.
His mother frowns and gives Simon an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about him. He’s not very thrilled about moving out here.”
As Simon watches Tommy drag his feet against the sidewalk, lifting the bags with ease, he can sense something more from him—something familiar. “‘S’all righ’,” he excuses. “I’m sure ‘e’ll come ‘round in time. Don’t know much about kids or teenagers, but I know they can’t always be the easiest. ‘E seems like a good kid, though.”
The woman has a look of melancholy on her face when she looks over at her son, but the way she speaks seems to be filled with fondness. “Yeah, he’s the greatest,” she tells Simon. “Best kid I could have ever asked for.”
She feels a sense of shame and embarrassment. Even after everything Tommy had been through, he’d managed to be such a good kid; he didn’t seem to hold any resentment and anger towards her, and she never understood why. She knew that the second Danny had laid his hands on her son, she should have gotten them out of there, but she didn’t, and there’s never a day that goes by where she doesn’t wish she’d done things differently. With every glimpse of her son, she regrets not being more assertive. Instead, he’d been the reason they were able to leave.
Before she can spiral even further, she turns back to Simon, who has taken the rest of the bags out of the trunk. “Well, thanks,” she says. “Tommy and I will get the rest of them. Obviously, he’s not too keen on meeting new people right now, so…”
Simon nods. “Yeah, I get tha’,” he says earnestly. “He’s probably just tired; try not to give him too much shite for it, yeah?” He chuckles. “Jet lag and all...”
It makes her giggle, and she gives his hand another shake, saying goodbye before Simon retreats back into his house, thinking about the lovely new neighbor and her son. It wasn’t like him to be so forward and outgoing. He was the coldest grump around. Sure, he’d talked to his neighbors before; he wasn’t wholly reclusive. Mrs. Davies, the quaint old lady who lived in the unit connected to his, often needed help with her groceries, and he was always happy to provide assistance, but this was different. This was a woman near his age, with whom he found himself completely enamored. There’s something familiar about her, and he can’t quite place his finger on it; it's the same thing with the kid. There was something about the family of two. ‘
Meanwhile, the woman begins to drag some of the bags inside. Once she’s in, she places a hand on her cocked hip and looks at her son with a look of annoyance. “That was rude, Tommy,” she states. “We’re new to the neighborhood. We should be making a good impression.”
“Mom, can we not talk about this right now?” He sighs out. “Let’s just get our bags inside and start unpacking—“
”No, Thomas,” she protests. “I know that you are upset with me and the fact that we have to move away from home, but it wasn’t safe for us there anymore. All I’m trying to do is protect us—“
”I’m not mad about the move, Mom!” He argues back. “I’m not mad at you at all, but…” He huffs. “I get that you’re my mother, and I know that you feel like you have to protect me extra now to make up for all of those years, but I want to protect you, too,” he confesses.
His mother frowns, eyes full of sorrow. It hurt to hear how much he felt the need to do such a thing. She knew that, in reality, Tommy had lost a lot of his childhood, being hellbent on finding a way to kick his father to the curb. She knew that he was tormented by what had happened. She would never be able to even begin scratching the surface of what life was like for him growing up.
“Tommy,” she sighs, putting a hand on his shoulder. As she looks up at him, her eyes dart over every aspect of his face. She runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve done plenty of protecting,” she tells him. “If it weren’t for you, we’d still be there with him, and I will never forgive myself for not fighting back the second that he touched you.” Her thumb brushes over a deep crater on the side of his head. The image of a large, black boot against his youthful skin flashes through her mind. “But it’s not your job, and it’s never been your job to protect you. It’s the other way around, okay? Just let me do this.”
Tommy’s jaw clenches as he feels his mother’s hand on his scar. His head shakes in response. “I will never stop protecting you, Mom,” he tells her. “And I just… The neighbor—I saw the way you looked at him, and I just—“
”I get it, Tommy,” she interrupts. “I wouldn’t ever make a decision like that without considering you. No man or woman will ever step into my life like that without your approval.” She brings him into his arms, and his large frame has to hunch over just to hug her back. “He’s just the new neighbor. Nothing more.”
Tommy nods. He wasn’t ever much of a hugger, not since he’d turned twelve. Once he’d gotten old enough to understand the dynamic of his mother and father’s relationship, she’d made an apparent effort to keep him at a distance. She’d hoped that keeping him far away would mean that Danny would leave him alone, and it had worked. He kept the promise to his mother that he wouldn’t ever step in ever again, not until he was strong enough to kick his father’s ass, of course. As a result, his father hasn’t laid a hand on him ever again since that fateful day.
Still, it was hard. It was hard to know exactly what his mother was going through. It was even more challenging to stay silent in fear of not knowing what the result would be if things had been reported. Not being able to comfort his mother at all was a challenging task. It had also been hard to wake up with nightmares every night and crave the warm, comforting touch of his mom.
Because of all this, hugs weren’t his forte. They felt awkward rather than comforting now, and even after years of therapy, he still didn’t know how to process comfort or any emotions other than anger, but he had to admit, this hug made him feel safe again. Maybe it was just the first step to healing what his previous therapist had called his “inner child.” Whatever it was—he liked it.
He’s the first to pull back. “Gotta go get the rest of the bags,” he grunts, moving towards the door.
”Tom,” his mother calls out, causing him to stop and look back at her. “Thank you… I love you, baby.”
Tommy gives her a tightlipped smile. “Love you too, Mom,” he says before walking back out the door.
So this would be the beginning of their new lives. Tommy, his mother, and the mysterious neighbor next door. As his mother stands in the house, the sound of the sprinkling rain and the calls of blackbirds seem to drown everything else out. All she can hope for is that she’s made the right decision.
SYNOPSIS Both general and romantic, safe for work and not safe for work, headcanons for, arguably, one of the most underrated Call of Duty: Modern Warfare characters to date - Nikolai. (This is my first time writing smut so any tips and feedback is greatly appreciated!)
WORD COUNT 1.2k
SAFE FOR WORK
His hands, and just his body overall, run naturally warm. Not to the point where he can be considered a "walking heater" or burning to the touch, but just exudes a constant warmness overall.
Dad-bod, no questions asked. He's not completely cut, not all hard surfaces and muscles - he's got a plush softness to him body that's equally as firm. He works out and keeps himself in shape, of course, because, granted, it's a given that comes with his profession, but he indulges himself equally as much.
He doesn't drink heavily, per se, setting a hard cut-off point for himself that he abides by like it's law, but he won't deny a drink if he's offered it. After all, drinking culture is big in Russia - he can hold his own just fine. That being said, vodka isn't his favorite, but he doesn't hate it by any means, either.
Acts of service and quality time are his love languages. He loves spending time with you whenever he can, especially considering how his profession can take him away for months and more at a time. If it's possible, you're always by his side or he's by yours. Will do anything you ask of him, too - be it chores, tasks, or anything else.
That being said, it can also be argued that giving gifts is one of his primary love languages, too. Any time he's out on a mission, he always tries to get you something from wherever he's been to - there are many perks to being a pilot, now aren't there?
He snores when he sleeps, and he sleeps heavy. Not to the point where you'd have to dump a bucket of ice water over him to wake him up, but to the point where you have to shake him vigorously to get him to slowly rouse. Sounds like a lawnmower when he snores.
His kisses are soft and slow, one hand on your waist or back, pulling you in, while the other holds your chin with such tenderness, guiding your lips to meet his, breathing out a heavy sigh as he relaxes into you.
Opts for Russian terms of endearment over English ones. It feels more personal to him, calling you something in his native tongue rather than something he hears everyone around him call their partners - it's more special to him.
Лапушка/Лапочка - Lapochka/Lapushka (sweetheart)
Любимая/Любимый - Lyubimaya/Lyubimyy (darling)
Surprisingly or not, he's actually a really good cook! He's traveled to so many places and tried so many different kinds of food so, naturally, he's learned to make them for himself. He downplays his abilities, but he looks like an absolute professional when he's in the kitchen.
When he's not away for work, he's actually quite domestic. He has a house of his own far away from everyone else in a remote little town, at least an hour or two outside of any major city. A cabin of sorts, with a place for his own little garden that he tends to (or, more accurately, which you tend to).
He even has his own little stall at the town's farmers market where he sells what he grows whenever it's ready. Everyone has so many theories about him because, honestly - why wouldn't they? A Russian man who lives at the edge of town in a big ol' house, disappearing for weeks or months at a time. It's a cause for concern.
He's so polite and he has the best manners, no question about it.
Though, to combat it, he can be quite a loose-canon. He's reckless and unethical in his methods, especially with work, but some aspects carry over to his personal and domestic life. (If there's a spider, he's pulling out his pistol first, not grabbing a book or a shoe).
He has this sarcastic, almost morbid sense of humor, smug as all hell (worse than Graves, more often than not) but he's genuinely just playful. He's a friend to everyone he meets and can easily match vibes with anyone.
NOT SAFE FOR WORK
Dominant in every sense of the word. He might let you act like you're in control from time to time, but he's quick to show you your place and has no shame in doing it.
His hands are always on you, no matter the occasion. He has to have some sort of physical contact when it comes to you. Be it a hand on the small of your back to guide you, on your shoulder to assure his presence, his leg touching yours when you sit down, a palm on your thigh as he drives.
One-hundred percent an ass man. Squeezing, slapping, spanking, groping - doesn't matter. If he can, his hand is there, no discussion.
He's an exhibitionist, easily. The risk of getting caught, whether if he's by himself or if he's with you, turns him on beyond belief - it gets his head spinning.
Helicopter sex! He's absolutely obsessed with getting you to ride him while he sits in the cockpit, holding onto your hips, fingers bruising into the skin, his legs spread wide with his jumper zipped down as far as it can go, fucking up into you as you bounce on his cock.
Jerks himself off in his helicopter too, biting down onto his fist as he fucks into his hand with purpose.
He's noisy! All grunts and growls, whispering to you how good you feel, practically narrating what he's doing sometimes.
It's a balance of praise and degradation that he gives. Sometimes it fifty-fifty, saying how you're taking him so well, like a good whore should. Sometimes it switches from one to the other (be it extremes or not) - it just depends.
Gives oral like it’s his job. Steady grip on your thighs, pushing them back and wide and buries himself between them for as long as you'll allow him to. He's so sloppy with it too, drooling and spitting all over you as he sucks you off/eats you out. (If you look close enough, you can tell it's started to bleach his beard, too).
Takes his time fucking you. He doesn't like quickies at all - if he isn't able to fuck you at the pace he wants, he isn't doing it. Now, this doesn't necessarily mean that he isn't up for hard and fast sex, but it's more so that he doesn't like time constraints.
More often than not, though, he goes slow (at least, at first), teasing you until you're begging before slowly pushing into you, dragging his cock in and out of you at an excruciating pace.
Speaking of, too, he's such a tease and he knows it.
Loves loves loves pulling and grabbing your hair, forcing you to arch your back as he pounds into you from behind relentlessly, watching the way your ass ripples with every snap of his hips.
Dumbification, too. Loves getting you all cock-drunk and fucked out to the point where you can't think for yourself, teasing you and borderline-mocking you as he slides a hand down your stomach, bringing his thumb down to your clit and making slow circles around it/grabbing the base of your cock and slowly stroking up and down it as he coos at you.
This goes hand in hand with overstimulation - loves making you cum over and over and over again until you can't think and it's too much, only to coax another orgasm out of you.
what if i said price x reader firewatch au. (psst here it is)
you talk to each other over the radio every day, but you've never seen his face and he's never seen yours. he watches you from his tower as you go about your day, admiring the silhouette of your form in the golden light of the afternoon.
people only take this job if they're running from something, he tells you – including him.
he tells you stories from his time in the military, and insists that you tell him stories about your life as a civilian, despite how much you argue that its all boring in comparison to him. he never agrees. it's not boring to him. you could never be boring.
and then, inevitably, there's a forest fire, and you can do nothing but watch with john the smoke grow closer day after day. the wind takes an unexpected turn and suddenly you don't have an escape route anymore. the only option to save yourself is to hike up to john's tower, and evacuate from there.
he waits for you, because of course he does. despite all the times you tell him to think about himself, to get to safety, that the helicopter will come back for you, but he never listens.
when you finally reach the peak, covered in sweat and soot and smelling of smoke, he's there, waiting, just like he said he would. neither of you say a word as he drags you into his arms, dirtying his own clothes in the process but he can't bring himself to care.
he's waited months to see you, to touch you, to hear your voice untainted by the disturbance of the radio. now he has you, he fully intends on keeping it that way.
both of you took this job to run away from something and, by some string of fate, ended up running straight into each other's arms. do you see my vision.
