wardaddy is sooo stern with his partner, like your brain is just a mush of “yes sir, yes daddy.” No thoughts, just him.
oh Don… oh my sweet Don…. the things you do to me…
It’s not even the fact that he’s stern, he just has that aura. years in the war dealing with stubborn ass insubordinates and having to be the one to show a brave face in front of his crew that he carries authority like it’s nothing.
Home, finally after that horrid environment of muddy base and men, he’s finally home and he can’t drop old habits. The hazy sunset casting pretty colors into the shared bedroom, large hand roughened by handling weapons and the blood of allies, splayed across your sternum holding you down against the bed.
fingers splitting you open, disappearing inside that makes your mind dizzy hands grabbing at his thick wrists before he sneers, “stop fuckin’ trying to push me away” a demanding growl, like when he dared the younger men to keep pushing their luck on base
his tone makes you tense, cunt squeezing around his fingers as more heat blooming in your lower stomach, your digits still gripping his wrist tightly “m’sorry sir—” you choke out, it’s laced with panic and submission as you squirm under his hold, “but you’re being cruel !” a complaint that tears past your lips like a plea for mercy and it makes him tsk. Don pushes his fingers deep inside you, all the way to the base of his knuckles. the pressure feels overwhelming, too much, so much that it draws a pathetic whine from you before he presses his forehead against yours, crowding your space more than ever “you don’t know a god damn thing ‘bout cruel sweetheart”