but you also know his habits. fucking girls and breaking their hearts, cheating and moving on to his next play thing: you vowed that you wouldn't be his next plaything.
"I want you to prove that you love me," you told him, so, so sweetly.
"anything," he cooed, hands already crawling up your thighs.
sometimes, you go to hug him goodnight or five him a kiss and he has to pull away, hands in the air likes he's guilty of murder.
you turn over in the middle of the night and cuddle in close, one of your legs over his.
"Don't look at me," he groans. "Your fucking face in making me hard."
"my face?" you ask, skeptical.
"Mm, yeah. Your sexy face and your pretty lips." He pulls you in closer and you can feel it - that hard lump pressing between your legs, twirching for attention. you haven't done anything other than look at the man, and he's ready to take you.
your body practically convulsing with want.
"should we be bad?" he mumbles. "cheat just a little? end it just a couple months early?"
you mumble his name with disapproval.
"I know, honey, I know." he holds you for just a moment longer. "I'll think about you when I jack off."
and of course, his friends razz him all the time about how pussy whipped he's become and he just tells them all that they're jealous that he's found a future wife and they haven't
~ vaguely categorized by fandom... most of them involve injuries i don't know it's what gets my heartstrings tugged. what does that say about me?
ā slashers
@dawnwriterimagines : i'm here : thomas hewitt
thomas's s/o gets kidnapped.
ā anime
@piichuu : near death : sanemi shinazugawa
prompts: 4. āplease donāt leave me, i canāt be without youā 20. ādonāt ever scare me like that againā
ā marvel cinematic universe
from @bucky-bucket-barnes : bucky barnes
pansies, pain, and other things about bucky ; you and bucky are begrudgingly paired on a mission together. this is less than ideal considering neither of you are too keen on the other tagging along. all goes as normal until a surprise attack severely hurts both of you. feeling incredibly guilty, bucky helps you tend to your wounds. he has trouble admitting it, but he wants to make sure youāre safe.
the two of us ; you and bucky go to investigate the phenomenon happening in westview, new jersey. while attempting to understand the issue, you yourselves are sucked into wandaās world of pretend. now, you believe yourselves to be the happily married mr. and mrs. barnes; in real life, you are most definitely not a happy pair. it is up to you and bucky to piece together whatās happening while dealing with one another inside the hex.
ā call of duty
from @criminalamnesia
intertwined : john price ; missions with price never seem to go as planned.
even if it kills me : john mactavish ; a mission goes wrong.
from @velvetures : honorifics : simon riley
you've given ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. the situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. reader is nicknamed "brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper.
from @mockerycrow : frozen fingertips : simon riley
you and simon are in an extremely cold and snow covered area of russia and manage to get separated from everyone else when a blizzard comes out of nowhere. ghost helps keep you alive.
ā television shows
@g0dlyunsub : warm you : spencer reid
spencer finds you in a state of hypothermia while the both of you are on a case, and he quickly works to warm you up.
@ddejavvu : passive aggressive : spencer reid
spencerās stressed, and he takes it out on you. youāre sure it would have hurt far worse if heād shouted, but instead he broke you down bit by bit, his cold demeanor leaving you crying in your car.
Fuck-or-die sex pollen fic, where Ghost insists on being the one to fuck you and help you through the toxin.
The others think it's because he has a thing for you (he does), but only Price really understands why Ghost is volunteering. Because there was a time where Ghost also didn't have a say in whether or not someone was inside him, where his choice was also 'be fucked, or die'.
And at least if it's Ghost fucking you, he can make sure that it's as gentle and kind as you deserve. He can make sure it doesn't hurt, that it feels good, that you're given all the respect and dignity possible. You can't consent right now, but he's going to ensure you aren't traumatized like he was
And if he can do this for you, and be gentle, and kind, it proves that he really hasn't become who Roba wanted him to be, right?
Hello lovesš I still can't get over your writing I'm obsessed!!
I would love to request Roommate Kƶnig x fem reader. Kƶnig hears you fucking some guy on the other side of the wall and he can tell you faked it so once the dude is gone he's got you over his shoulder and is walking you to his bedroom to fuck you right. I love the idea of her trying to get him to confess to her and trying anything after months or years of mutual pining, her last resort is to make him jealous.
Overheard
a/n: I'm so sorry for being so slow my love... I always have the worst self-confidence with nsfw reqs. I constantly write them, delete them, and start all over... (this is like... the 8th full-draft retry) So I hope you'll forgive me if this isn't up to standard. Also, I know this trope has been covered by some really talented writers and I hoped to do it justice, and not feel like a carbon copy of something better. (ps. This shit is too long... but I knew if I deleted anything, I'd delete the whole thing over again.)
tw's: 18+ ONLY, nameless hookup, alluded unprotected sex w/side character, unintentional orgasm denial, the reader is mentally not in the best place for sex (disconnected), voyeurism, jealously, fem-oral receiving, fem-fingering receiving, dirty talk, Kƶnig being a bit of a loser, Kƶnig omitting his lack of experience, aftercare.
His mom kept saying it was about time to settle down. That the biological clock, normally pushed on women, was ever-present and ticking against his favor. But his sweet, innocent, mother didnāt know the depth of his awkwardness. Not even the slightest idea that her well-mannered boy, turned praise-worthy Colonel was nothing but a bumbling fucking idiot when it came to speaking with women. In the field, sure. He could give orders, discuss tactics, and even bullshit with the best of the bestā¦ but if a woman was among those? Oh hell. It was like trying to talk to a brick wall with a randomly developed stuttering issue.
He didnāt understand where it came from either.
It wasnāt like his mother was one of the overbearing types that made dating impossible, and nor did he exactly have the worst time when he was younger with women being interested. It was justā¦ after they showed interest, that became the struggle. Relaxing wasnāt possible. Not when he knew that a womanās perception of him was far higher than that of any man. Believing that even the smallest of gestures and phrases could earn him an immediate dismissal, and his name or photo being sent in some group-chat to be berated after a first date. He didnāt blame any of the women thoughā¦ he knew what he looked like. What he sounded likeā¦ and God, how miserable his personality was compared to what his career and position would lead others to assume.
A shred of truth could always be found in his motherās warning though.
Heād gone years without any meaningful relationship where theĀ softer, side of a woman could be found. He found bastardized ways of getting a taste, but he could only allocate so much money a month to porn sites and camgirls without feeling like a total sleaze. The Colonel felt much more confident mapping out a prospective warzone than the contours of a womanās body, and fuckā¦ it made him more than a little embarrassed to admit. Enough so, that when you mentioned that your rental agreement was coming to an end, and you were trying to find somewhere new to stay, he offered for you to just move in with him.
He owned. Which made the idea of ārentā or you paying it almost unquestionably stupid. It made the deal a little sweeter -in his mind- for you to agree, and then he wouldnāt have to be quite so personally diligent on logging onto online portals to pay utilities. That is, if he could get you to move in. And while in his own mind and body, every synapseĀ screamedĀ that he was being unrealistic, you hadnāt caught on. Heād looked just as stoic and cold as ever when he propositioned that you just start moving over your things into his house.Ā Save moneyā¦ itāll be easier for you;Ā Heād said, hard eyes glancing over your face. You thought saying āyesā was anxiety-inducing? Kƶnig nearly passed out in his office after walking there on numb feet and weak knees.
In the week following, he brought you a small ring of keys, and you started moving your life into his, one cardboard box at a time. And every night after returning from his on-base duties, he would have to physically restrain himself from opening up the taped flaps and getting a peek at the unattended items sitting by the front door. At the time, he thought it was nothing more than unchecked curiosity and instinct to feel-out a new situation. Just simply wanting to learn more about you before you started sleeping over. Merely the soldier in him. But box, by box, that curiosity didnāt dampen down. Even when your items began making their way out of their containers and enmeshing with his around the house.
Tea cups in the kitchen cabinet next to his thicker, coffee mugs. Throw blankets rolled and stacked in the far corning of the couch he rarely sat on. A little rug youād tossed down in the kitchen in front of the stove with a little floral print that heād been utterly possessed to not get any stains on while cooking, or by taking off his boots before walking inside. And while never claiming to be a āminimalistā man, he learned right away that his house was nothing short of a hotel when it came to personality.
Youād brought at least five full walls worth of decor. Little trinkets and cute things from all over the world youād been sneaky enough to stuff into the pockets of your gear. And all of it, had initially been shoved into an empty linen closet heād been perfect happy with you claiming as your own since it was āon your side of the houseā. That was, until he found himself noticing that youād put more than āstorageā things away, and had silently refused to put them where they belonged.
On the damn walls.
āI donāt decorate well anyways..ā Itād been his excuseā¦ or at least something along those lines. Maybe a little bit more gruff. Guarded. Because even in his own home, he had the tendency of walking around like someone was going to sneak up behind him.
So one week, while he was away, you took the permission and ran with it. Buying the picture hanging kits, and everything else needed to begin covering the Colonelās walls with your amassed collection of utterly unnecessary, but brain-scratching decorations, art, and collectable junk. Spending a good half hour walking around the halls and rooms with a little smile of accomplishment on your face seeing the colonelās house feeling more like a home. Totally unaware that heād been checking the security cameras dotted around, watching you scale a shitty stepladder, climb the kitchen cabinets, and struggle to lift the more heavy items. All the while, growing more and more intrigued with this new arrangement. Debating whether he liked it or not. Rapt attention making the instinctive suggestion that youād make a good wife far less perverse than he shouldāve felt it to be.
Missions took precedence though. And it kept both of you busy more than not. Fully living adjacent instead of in a more dependent role. But there were decidedly small decisions that needed to be made. Like who was in charge of buying groceries, and getting essentials that you both used. Kƶnig ended up just leaving cash on the counter once a week so you could take care of his end for him. Saving the trouble of a second loaf of bread being bought, or doubling up on paper towels after a miscommunication lead to fifty rolls of the shit needing to be stored somewhere. You did the job more than credibly, and it got you out of the house too.
Which was good, because you rarely left.
Not unlike him, you preferred your time spent in calm situations. Either reading reports, answering emails, and other related tasks before just closing that tab on your laptop and opening up an new one to watch a show or scroll on your phone. You appeared to thrive in his house when you could curl up like some little bird in a nest and just rest. Developing almost permanently sleepy eyes when you came through the door, and a softer tone of voice that took some getting used to. Kƶnig didnāt exactly understand it. Why your demeanor changed so much within the house, and how it got substantially much more noticeable when your schedules aligned for both of you to be there at the same time.
A solid seven months or more passed before he got his answer. And from your late-night scrolling nonetheless.
Some woman, blabbering on about her husband, and all of the ways that he effected her life once she moved in with him. And, honestly, Kƶnig wasnāt listening all that much. Having just begun sitting on the other end of the couch with you, since it was where you spent your evenings after dinner. And, itād become a little bit of a new experience. Just being halfway close to you. Interacting, but not. A safe way to enjoy your presence without any expectations. But that woman on your phone caught his attention when she made the joke about being tired all the time. Tired. Sleepy. All the fucking time. He had to stare down at the TV to keep his head from snapping in your direction.
Apparently it was chemical. Some little thing in the back of a womanās mind that men didnāt have the complexity to experience the same way. That this woman -and you- were so mentally focused for such a long time, that when the right person was around you, and created a safe space, it acted like a the strongest sleeping pill in existence. Flooding you with dopamine and melatonin to the point that your pretty face got even sweeter with those deep, sleepy looks and constant yawns at all times of the day. Getting a glimpse of you tapping the screen twice, and then tapping at your keyboard to leave a comment only reinforced his inquisitiveness. From the moving boxes, to watching you on cameras while awayā¦ and now realizing that you acted so sweet and docile around the house because of him..? He didnāt know how to control himself, and still find a way to keep figuring you out.
Wanting moreā¦
Needing a chance to find out if things could go further than just living in his house.
Dating wasnāt a walk in the park for you either. Call it a hazard of military work. Computers and filing paperwork was more your speed than the guns and blood that Kƶnig was accustomed to, but it still limited the amount of men who were interested. Especially in the long-term.
It really came down to the uniform and lack of free time that could be allotted to the guys that you did have the fortune to meet. They wanted to take you on dates, and your superiors preferred you stay late to take minutes for a meeting. They always suggested you take a vacation, since it was clear just how tired you were on a daily basis. But vacations were practically a laughable dream you knew wouldnāt come to fruition until you finally were sent the retirement packet everyone in the service dreamed of. But.. on the rare occasion, you did have the energy to entertain a man for a night. Just. One. Night.
Thankfully Kƶnig was out.
Such good timing considering youād spent nearly a week, taking your sweet time to wring orgasms out of yourself just for the sheer frustration of getting them, and still not feeling satisfied. Instinctively missing the warmth of skin on skin and the dynamic of having someone else provide and take pleasure from you. Even getting on the app had felt more like a shopping trip than a chance to go on a date. Looking through photos and bios with nothing more on your mind than someone big enough, and pretty enough to make the ordeal worth it. The guy who answered back to your painfully blatant request for a good fuck, didnāt ask any questions either. Just asked politely asked if you wanted to go to him, or vice versa and gave you ample time to get yourself ready before the knock on the front door.
Your mental ruined any chance of having a good time though.
The poor guy sucking at your neck and grunting soft praises was niceā¦ but you couldnāt get into it. Feeling tense. Going through the motions. Foreplay becoming an act of forced moans to reassure the guy genuinely trying to make you feel good, and unable to even make eye contact for a slightly guilty feeling that pervaded your thoughts. Hell, you even refused to have missionary, just to make sure that your facial expressions didnāt have to constantly match the fake whimpers and whines.
Johnā¦ Joeā¦ Jacobā¦ whatever his name was, he was honestly a sweet guy. Giving your clit attention, no just shoving his cock in you without prep, and actively checking in without making it overbearing. On another day, youād have really been trying harder to impress him. Give the impression that you were interested in him for more than the sex you couldnāt surrender to. Hope that he liked you enough to stick around. But deep down, you thought better of it. Withholding your feelings to ensure that when he left you alone for the night, that you wouldnāt hate yourself.
Kƶnig, on the other hand, came home a bit earlier than expected. Walking in the door quietly to expect a silent house, and you sleeping in your bed or on the couch after waiting up for him. Only to be stunned with wet, skin slapping and familiar, pathetic, whimpers getting overrun by deep grunts and low, almost whispered sounds from a man.
Godā¦ you were gettingĀ fucked.
His whole chest tightened in embarrassment and his face felt hot. Youād never been quite this comfortableā¦ at least to his knowledge. Plenty of nights he had overheard the faint sounds of you getting off aloneā¦ soft little moans and gentle hums of a vibrator filtering down the hallway to him. But heād never heard anything quite thatā¦ loud. Even when you fucked yourself on a dildo -heād always been too curious not to listen intently- the slick sounds of your cunt always made louder noise than your voice. As mortified as he was hearing itā¦ part of him knew something was wrong. Like his whole body was stiff, realizing that you werenāt enjoying it.Ā Faking itā¦Ā for some unknown reason.
Why couldnāt you say something? Surely you could ask him toā¦ to do something different right? To let you use a toy? Orā¦ or touch your clit? Whatever it took to help you enjoy yourself. But those pinched, almost broken moans starting grating on him withinĀ seconds. Stalking towards your bedroom door quietly, and leaning against the wall. Eyes closed and his breath getting heavier with each imagined scene in his head that developed. Picturing him doing all the wrong thingsā¦ Touching youā¦ tasting youā¦ and living out his own pleasure without the slightest idea that every sound out of your mouth was aĀ fucking lie.
Kƶnigās jaw clenched. Resisting a sudden desire to bang on the door or make some other loud noise that would bring this all to an end. Even his fist clenched at his side flinched towards the bedroom door, as if he was insane enough to actually bust in.
What would he even do?
The question rang out a bit too harshly in his mind.
He didnāt have the first idea how toā¦ do better. To make you feel good, or any woman really. Plenty of jealousy rose in his throat at the thought of that bastard fucking you, but he hadnāt evenĀ touchedĀ a pussy in years. And the last time he did it, he was,Ā patheticallyĀ inexperienced. Using his huge fingers to try and prep his partner, but not hitting any of the right spots. Accidentally taking a clinical approach, and it left him feeling like a damn gynecologist instead of a good fuck.
He couldnāt please you, no matter how much he wanted toā¦
The sobering thought forced him to back away from your bedroom door. But pride alone forced him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of scotch in his hand. The last -and unavoidable- line of defense before the front door. No doubt in his mind that if nothing else, heād get a good look at the man youād brought home for a disappointing night of sex. Wanting to at least humiliate the bastard for a few seconds. Because while he knew himself to not be an acceptable partner, the guy currently riding out his high in your bedroom wasnāt going to know it. And seeing him -in his daily fatigues- and his hood, would give any man a moment of pause.
You felt sticky. Hot. And more than a little achy in all the wrong ways as Jeffā¦ Joshā¦ whoever the fuck he was, removed himself form your bed and began pulling on his jeans. Watching cautiously as he excused himself into your bathroom -sweetly- offering you a wet washcloth and a too-shy smile for a man whoād just come all over your stomach.
You didnāt bother putting on pants to walk him out to the front door. Too disappointed and stuck in your own head to see Kƶnig standing in the corner of the kitchen. His dark eyes glaring daggers at yourā¦ āguestā who was much more observant, and stood stock still. Shirt in his hands, and forced to raise his gaze more than normal to get the best look at the terrifying man looming in the shadows. It took you far longer than it shouldāve. To trace Jonahā¦ Josiahāsā¦ gaze, and recognize your roommate. And even longer to remember that you werenāt wearing pants.
āHey manā¦ā
You had to give whatās-his-name credit for being as casual as he sounded. Because in all honesty, you were just as taken aback. Shuffling to stand behind the guy just enough that your bare pussy and ass werenāt totally out for him to see.
āEveningā¦ā Kƶnig soundedā¦ bored? Not his normal tone. āHeading out already?ā The guy you were using as a shield, just nodded his head. Looking a bit apologetic, but still anxious.
āYeah, manā¦ā He pulled his head over his shirt, patting his pockets for the jingle of car keys before glancing back at you with an truly apologetic smile, and a clear unpreparedness for the situation. āIā¦ uhā¦. thanks forā¦ letting me come overā¦ā
You canāt manage more than a nod. No smile, no reassuring touch to himā¦ nothing. Just a silent acknowledgment and the subsequent scamper over to the couch to grab a blanket to cover yourself up.
Shitā¦Ā Kƶnig fucking waved byeā¦
He didnāt expect you to come out. Nor to get his first-ever look at your pussy. And god itād taken a lot of restraint not to just stare at you and memorize what he could get get a look at. You just lookedĀ soft. So fucking small and softā¦ A slight sheen of sweat on your face and the roots of your hair damp from the erotic affair.
Too bad it was all an act.
āThanks for letting himĀ come, huh?ā He canāt resistā¦ the guy just hadnāt been cautious enough to not fuel the fire of jealously in him.
Seeing you wrap that blanket around you tighter, avoiding all eye contact, and even turning your side to him a bitā¦ it makes him smile under his hood. An amused one. A sickeningly happy sort of feeling rising in his gut where you appear vulnerable under his gaze. Youāre already much more expressive just talking to him than youād sounded with that bastards cock inside you.
āDidnāt think youād be back for a whileā¦ā Your valid excuse falls a bit flat, especially when those dark brown eyes scan your entire body. He lifts his tumbler of scotch under his hood, nodding before taking a long drink. Feeling a secondary burn that soothes the heat building everywhere else in him.
āI can see thatā¦ā He chuckles lowly. To him, it sounds unsureā¦ and maybe tinged with anger, jealously. But on your face, heās clear that you donāt recognize it. Far too embarrassed to see that thereās just as much uncertainty flooding him as well. āCouldĀ hearĀ it tooā¦ā
He literally sees your shoulders sink. The wave of embarrassment. Part of him loves it. Knowing youāre experiencing some of the same things he is. That you to, know what itās like to leave a bed feeling like things didnāt go right, and thereās a guilt that hardens like sediment in your gut. Yet the other half, resists pushing harder. Using this same, defensive, and chastising tone. To give you just a bit of respite, because, heās not reallyĀ madā¦ heās just fuming with jealously.
āIf I knewā¦ I wouldnāt haveā¦ā You canāt manage much more. Both of you knowing damn well this wouldnāt have happened if you knew what his arrival was going to be. You always kept so good to his schedulesā¦ and not just because this was his house. But because you were so genuinely sweet around him.
āBeen so loud?ā He suggests, downing the last gulp of his scotch and pushing away from the counter. āSpeaking of thatā¦ā His gaze lingers on your throatā¦ those faked moans echoing in his mind.
āI didnāt know it was common practice for women to walk their fucktoys to the doorā¦ especially when he doesnāt make you come.ā
If your stomach was twisting before, there wasnāt a doubt now. And godā¦ you couldnāt tell if it was that he was home, or his voice, or just the edged-feeling of your aching pussy; but Kƶnig was making you squirm. More than heād ever done beforeā¦ and youād gotten yourself off to the thought of him plenty of times before when no other fantasy had done the trick.
āI finished.ā You defend, tightening the blanket around your waist and tucking your bare feet under the excess material pooling on the floor.
Kƶnigās eyes blacken, and he laughs lowly. Itās the closest youāve seen to his behavior when heās interrogating someone. His power of knowing all the right answers and just dangling the freedom to lie right in front of your face. Maddening, to say the least. And enough to make your thighs flex together.
āIād like to believe youā¦ā he begins, making leisurely steps closer. āYet, Iāve spent more nights than I care to admit hearing you comeā¦ and what I just hearā¦ isĀ nothing closeĀ to the real thing.ā
āItās different withāwhen itās not just me.ā You gape at him, trying to find anger at the audacity.
Searching for something other than a feeling of arousal knowing that despite your muffled cries into pillows, heād still heard you at night. Still listened, and if nothing else, knew what your true pleasure sounded like to call you on bullshit. He shrugs, massive hands resting on his hips. Watching them sway a little as he keeps getting closer. Testing the boundary lines you no doubt had. Pushing and prodding at weak spots, and wondering if he can set foot on the living room rug you stood at the center of.
āDifferent, huh?ā The fake acceptance doesnāt last long. āSo if I asked for proofā¦ youād have it?ā
āProof?ā You choke out. āWhat kind ofĀ proofĀ could I even give you?ā There are plenty running around in your head, all of them raunchier than the previous. But youāre almost desperate to hear him say it.
āSweetheart, youāve got the wettest fucking cunt Iāve ever heard,ā He growls softly. āYou never finish yourself off without making the slickest goddamn noises. Can hear it from down the hallway like itās playing off my phone.ā He adds, voice getting gritty, eyes lowering towards your hips and back up.
āShow me, that isā¦ if he really did make you come.ā
Air in your lungs evaporates. God itās criminal how fucking lewd anything could sound coming from his mouth. And your dry pussy is pathetically getting wetter by the second. Fluttering muscles twitching with each filthy admission he makes. Youāre already resorting to putting pressure against your clit by flexing your legs, trying to deny the feelings. Excusing it all by the still-lingering desire for release and not Kƶnig. Not moving, and a miserable lack of a response forces him to approach faster. Stepping onto the rug serving as a mental barrier for you.
āEmbarrassed?ā He asks, head tilting a little and stretching the hood to pull away from his chest a little. Putting a bit more of his chest on display in that tight t-shirt.
You shake your head defiantly.
āOh? Okay thenā¦ you should be able to show me then, right? Pretty girl like you, wanting to get fuckedā¦ Should be more than willing to brag that you got satisfied. That he left you satiatedā¦ā
Your face burns. Debating how to answer. If itās even smart to try and test your voice in the first place.
āNothing to seeā¦ got-got cleaned upā¦ā God the miserable truth that your no-name partnerās cum was the only thing needing cleaned off of you hits like a punch to the gut.
A massive hand grabs at the blanket in your grip stops all possibility of lying anymore. A warning. Gentle, for sure and meant to be just a small test of consent. However, you too far into this to not want more. Heās just hitting all the right buttons, whether he means to or not.
āHow about Iā¦ check for myself?ā He asks lowly, free hand -covered in a glove- sliding up under his hood and returning into sight with the achingly sexy sight of a huge, scarred hand. His meaning isnāt lost on you, and itās almost like your cuntĀ floodsĀ in anticipation.
āSlide my hand between your pretty thighs, and see just how good he treated youā¦ā He murmurs, trailing fingers down the two sides of the blanket pulled together. āLet me see if that pussy is fuckingĀ drenchedĀ like she deserves to be.ā
āKƶnig.ā You warn softly, eyes darting down to his hand and back to his eyes.
Not the slightest bit worried about him touching you. Not at all. But about what would happen after all the tension faded. What would come of your relationship if you fuckedā¦ or, just made things complicated in general.And he pauses, looking to you a bit cooler. His breathing still heavy, and laden with emotion.
āYes, sweetheart?ā
Youāre desperate to think of a way to explain yourself, but the most basic, stupid, comment comes out of your mouth.
āI donāt want this to end badly.ā
He straightens just a bit. But his hands donāt move. And while from your perspective, it seems heās hesitating on whether or not to continue, thatās not whatās got him stuck mere inches away from slipping his fingers between your folds.
Heās worried you know. That youāve caught on to his inexperience, and are merely defending yourself from a second bad experience in one night. And god it makes this throat burn. Desperate to defend himself and prove that while -yes- heās more than a little bit lost when it comes to the manual process, heās still going to be the most teachable fucking man youāve ever met.
āIāll listen so wellā¦ā He eventually mutters, stepping just a bit closer. Voice lowering and a hint of desperation entering it. āCanācan give you everything you wantā¦ Just need to tell meā¦ā he adds, unable to look you in the eyes.
Itās not exactly what you were expecting to hear, but it still strokes that burn between your thighs. Especially when his hands grip your hips through the blanket wrapped around you. Groping softly, massaging at the fat over your muscles and feelingĀ hungryĀ just to touch you.
āIā¦ I donāt want things to be awkward afterwards.ā You try to reexplain. Hoping the clarification will help him see why you hadnāt already leaned into his commanding touch.
āAwkward,ā he repeats, as if itās a foreign idea. Like itād never crossed his mind. āDonāt plan on ignoring you anymoreā¦ NotāNot after hearing thatā¦ and knowingā¦Ā fuckā¦ā
āHe couldnāt have listenedā¦Ā pleaseĀ tell me you tried to tell him what to doā¦ what you wanted,ā His rambles get more panicked. Like every thought in his head is equally important and he canāt take the time to pick one and let me even answer. āShouldāve asked what your pussy neededā¦ how to make you feel goodā¦ make those pretty sounds..ā
Youāre half dazed just watching his breathy words fan the material of his hood to react to his boot kicking your feet apart. Wide hand sliding between your thighs andĀ groaning. A deep, guttural sound that reminds of him being winded. And reallyā¦ he probably should be. Because your inner thighs are dry to the touch. The wetness heād been creating still not enough to make much fuss over. But heās not satisfied with that alone. Immediately curling a finger to spread your lips, feeling the thick, slick of new arousal that had been nothing, if not his doing.
āOhh, you poor babyā¦ā He sighs lowly, head rolling back at the mere sensation of your pussy under his fingertips. Feeling you a bit anxiously, yet getting a buzz in the back of his skull when your hole pulses against his prodding touch. āLeft you so fuckingĀ hotā¦ā
Itās a fast movement but heās got you off your feet and dropped down onto the couch in one swift move. Your back arched in the slumped position and the blanket thatād been covering your -pathetic- modesty, fluttered open on both sides of your hips. Leaving your core exposed to his hungry and heavy-lidded eyes. Letting out a little whine of a sound when he slowly drops to a knee; tracing his hands down your inner thighs like he was scared of touching you too harshly.
āKƶnig, pleaseā¦ā You gasp out, watching his thumb run over your swollen labias. Pinching your fat lips together softly and inadvertently putting delicious pressure on your swollen clit. He curses under his breath, free hand grabbing your thigh with bruising strength.
āTell me how to please you,ā He commands, eyes flashing dangerously wide in the icy moonlight streaming through the living room windows. āI need to make you come.ā
His desperate, and knows you can see it. His whole body shakes seeing your flushed pussy a mere foot away from his face, and nothing but opportunity and his hood preventing him from burying his face in it. Watching as you shyly reach for his wrist, guiding his hand where you want it. Extending his fingers and whimpering when your motion for him to rub small circles over your clit sends those to-intense waves of pleasure through your pussy.
āLike thatā¦ just like thatā¦ā Youāre able to praise with a shaky nod of your head.
Rocking your hips in tandem with his movements and nearly crying out in relief when he diligently keeps the same pressure to you despite your little twitches and grinds. Allowing you the freedom to plant your feet on the edge of the couch and simplyĀ feel. Kƶnigās lost in it. Lost in the sight of you. Your pretty mouth gaping open and your hips chasing the touch heās providing. His breath catching when you cry out or give a weak praise for his work. Like youāreĀ enjoyingwhat heās doing.
But god heās happy to stay right where you want him,Ā howĀ you want him. Feeling his knee dig into the harsh floorboards, and ignoring it with a refreshed feeling of duty heād long lost as a soldier. Never had he been given such a pretty fucking prize to work for. Nothing as sweet as seeing your cunt drip from his rough fingers rubbing soft, almost too-soft circles over it. Not even realizing that heād spent almost fifteen minutes just rubbing your clit lazily when your hand reaches back down. Happy to direct him yet again, especially when he doesnāt even need a verbal direction to do exactly what you want.
āFingers,ā You whisper through panting exhales. āGive me your fingersā¦ā
Your little hand grabs his pointer and middle fingers, spreading your own slick over them like a goddamn professional before guiding him down to your aching hole. Letting go just long enough to feel the thick digits press though that first little ring of tightened muscle. Forcing your eyes open to witness his mostly-hidden expression as he sinks knuckle deep inside of you.
āSo fucking pretty,ā His head shakes a little, lost in the creamy slick gathering at the base of his fingers as he curls him up towards your pelvis just a little. Subconsciously scared to do the wrong thing, but desperate to keep your cunt flex and mold to his touch. āTell me, sweetheartā¦ show me what she needs.ā
Youāre too possessed to chase your high to not listen. Readjusting your bent legs on the couch to gently lift your hips and sink them back down. Slowly getting used to the feeling of his thick fingers, already deeper than your no-name partner. Groaning when they bump into your g-spot just hard enough to make your clitĀ burn.Ā Grinding against his hand and keeping one hand wrapped around his wrist just to try and ground yourself to the present situation. Lost in the rhythm of fucking yourself -quite literally- stupid within mere minutes. Beginning to hear that vulgar, sucking sound of your pussy gripping his fingers and utterlyĀ droolingĀ over his palms.
Kƶnigās helpless to so more than sing your praise. āThatāsĀ a good girlā¦ so good for me. Using me like aĀ fucking toy.ā
Itās the best heās felt in a long time. Watching you take from him. Too absorbed to even think about anything other than yourself. Not in enough control to evenĀ worryĀ about the true moans and yelps escaping you. Real pleasure wracking your body and burning every nerve ending.
āMoreā¦ please moreā¦ā You cry softly, hips slowing to a painfully sexy grind as you squeeze the tendons in his wrist with your thumb.
Kƶnig takes a little more initiative than heās normally comfortably using, but adds a third finger. Slowly pumping them in and out, little by little, to help you adjust. Watching as your eyebrows pinch together in focus. A low growl rumbles in his chest, his mouth practically watering as your cunt sucks him in.
āLet me taste it, babyā¦ā He huffs, head flinching forwards before backing off, repeating the action a couple more times. āWanna helpā¦ justājust let me taste youā¦ā
You clench around his fingers when he rests his cheek against your inner thigh. Big, wide eyes pleading with you so innocently like he isnāt stretching your hole wider than the biggest of your toys can with nothing but a few fingers. Forcing you to slow the roll of your hips, a shaky hand reaching out to cup his face through the mask. Rubbing a thumb over his hidden cheekbone with a little whimpered hum. Pulling his head closer to you, hissing when the hem of his hood merelyĀ grazesĀ your clit.
āHowād you want it?ā He asks, head down and pulling his mask up so youāre stuck. Forced to merely feel his mouth so close to you, and not see the shape of his mouth.
āLick-lick my clitā¦ s-softā¦ā You whine, eye shutting when the hot fan of his exhale his your fevered skin.
Holding his head steady with one hand, you almost coming up off the couch when his tongue makes one, long, lazy, lap between your folds. Gripping at the material of his hood just tight enough that he ends up ripping the whole thing off. Tossing it to the floor with an aggressive snarl that rumbles against your clit. Sparks of pleasure forcing your thighs apart and jerking your hips back up. Chasing his mouth. The rough texture of his tongue, and the slight graze of his teeth against your slicked folds.
Your orgasm approaches fast from there. Between his fingertips stroking you deep, and the new rhythm of his tongue lapping your slick up to massage your clit, itās hard to even warn Kƶnig that he canāt stop for risk of ruining your long-awaited release.
āKƶnigā¦ Kā¦ ohā¦Ā fuucckkā¦ā
Your back arches tightly, both hands grabbing harshly at his hair with an unintelligible shout as you come. Jerking wildly and one of your feet losing itās hold on the edge of the couch. Trying to fight through the shocks of pleasure, and groaning curses with a hoarse throat. Feeling Kƶnigās free hand latch onto your thigh to keep you from running away too far from his still-working lips and tongue. Sucking up the wet drips of release trying to drip down his hand.
āSlow, slow down.ā You whimper, pushing at his forehead just a little. The pressure too much. The stretch of his fingers still satisfying but overstimulating.
Your so fucking grateful that he doesnāt fight you on it, or force you to try for another. And maybe itās just the mere sight of you. abdominal muscles twitching, forcing your upper body to do baby-curls with each flex of your pulsing cunt. Toes curled and an all-over buzzing sensation making it hard to even make sense of where your limbs are in relation to the rest of your body, much less Kƶnig or the couch your hardly laying on.
āYou okay, sweetheart?ā His softened voice almost gives you emotional whiplash, especially when he bends over you forehead resting against yours softly.
Gently removing his fingers with murmured apologies when your little winces mar your pretty features. Both hands sliding up your sides to help lift you back onto the couch, moving to sit himself next to you just long enough to reposition your body on his lap. Pulling that blanket back over your bottom half and maneuvering your cold, tingling feet between his thighs like he can tell theyāre freezing. He presses soft kisses all over your forehead and nose. Rocking you softly and squeezing at the muscles in the back of your neck reassuringly.
āYou needed thatā¦ needed to feel goodā¦ā he murmurs almost lovingly.
You nod dumbly, laying your head against his shoulder. Letting out soft nearly unconscious whimpers and a soft repetition of his name in cum-drunk appreciation.
āTold you I could listenā¦ could be good for you,ā He adds, almost like heās reassuring himself of the idea. āWanted to be better thanĀ him.Ā Needed to prove it.ā
He holds up your weighty head, stabilizing it with care and a sickeningly sweet look of devotion in his eyes.
āYouāre never going to fake it again, sweetheart.ā
Soap would be so fucking protective of you, and I canāt get it out my head. So now itās your problem :)
You donāt like drinking? Heās the first to draw attention away from the lack of a beer bottle in your hand. Using that irresistible charm to woo everyone out of their questions and peer pressure to get you to join in. He sees how nervous it makes you. And heās far too sensitive to your feelings to let it happen. Besidesā¦ heās gotten really good at giving the right orders to bartenders, so that he can give you some fruity, soda-laden thing, that passes off as one of the other cocktails all your friends are nursing.
Uncomfortable family dinners? You know, that one where your least favorite uncle is oh-so-willing to give you shit for not going into the career all of them think you shouldāve pursued? Oh hell no. Soap wonāt spend one second thinking over whether itās polite or not to speak up. He just does. Abandoning your momās casserole heās been complimenting with a full mouth, just to look your bastard of an uncle in the face and tell him heād be better off complaining to the business end of a pistol. At least then, heād get a response that would shut him up for good.
That ex who wonāt take ānoā for an answer? Heās as good as dead. Not that heās instinctively jealousā¦ because really, he knows better. Itās just the mere thought of someone taking advantage of your life. Of your time. Heās livid because youāre too special to be harassed like that. Treated like a game that can be picked up and put down whenever the mood arises. Soap wonāt make a spectacle of itā¦ but the monthly calls and texts suddenly stop after a while. And you think itās because you finally broke down and changed your phone number a second time. Butā¦ that hadnāt stopped your ex the first time. Soap just shrugs. Giving the excuse that common sense mightāve given him a change of heart. Johnny just didnāt have the heart himself to tell you that ācommon senseā didnāt have the chance. He was far quicker.
Soap had lived a life so uncomfortable for so long, that seeing a sweet thing like you experience it becomes intolerable. Itās as if all of the killing and destruction heās committed was for nothing, when something -even trivial- blockades your walk through life. His nature is to fix the problem. And his training only enhanced the instinct to do it violently. Quick and controlled action, using brute force to make the world spin to your tempo. And godā¦ you hate when he does it. Constantly reassuring him that youāre an adult. That youāre prepared for life not to be easy, and that itās only going to make you stronger in the end.
He wonāt hear it though.
He wants you soft. Desperately, actually. More of a requirement for his own happiness than anything. And often times he thinks that itās selfish. That maybe he is truly robbing you of some experiences that might be good for you. Make the life you lead interesting for the kids and grandchildren you tell stories to. But then again, heās so staunch in his ways, that it comes to fruition like muscle-memory. Placing you on your silken throne and taking a defensive stance in front of you like a medieval knight hellbent on keeping his royalty alive and well.
John MacTavish knows your place and itās to be behind him. Right where he can protect and provide, without the fear of you crying or getting hurt by the seemingly endless amount of people who unfathomably donāt want the same things for you. They all say they love youā¦ want the bestā¦ but he challenges it.
A/N: Yeah... I don't know about this. I'll probably take it down since I'm unsure if it's got enough of a consistent vibe. Let me know if it's actually something you enjoy since I don't write angst or hurt/comfort often. I ALWAYS WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS THO. That's a damn promise.
Summary: You've given Ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. The situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. Reader is nicknamed "Brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper.
T/W: angst, cursing, Ghost being an emotionally unstable human, yelling, the reader having a breakdown, smidge of not eating, smidge of not drinking anything, comfort, feelings, female reader, not proofread.
When you joined the task force, things didnāt exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would. Training sessions usually ended up with you either getting your ass beat or nearly surviving a full-on embarrassment by the skin of your teeth just to be told that you still werenāt in good enough shape to keep up with them in the field. Surely being a woman didnāt excuse you from being in shape for the kind of work Laswell and Price had brought you in for, but damn if it wasnāt difficult to try and have a one-on-one fight with someone like Soap or Ghost without the benefit you would typically have in a real-world battle situation. The reality that all of the men in the squad were literally the best of the best aside, there could be just barely enough room for you to compete on the same level when it came to sheer physical strength. While that wasnāt your specialty anyway, the Captain made it clear you needed to prove you could handle your own against serious physical fights without assistance. After nearly five weeks of having one of your squad mates slam you on your ass one too many times in the training hall, you finally were able to prove to Price that you could go out in the field and he didnāt have to extend any extra worries for your ability to survive.
Logistically as a sniper, it meant you frequently held a much more distant role in missions. By watching from a scope you could ensure that infiltrations, covert ops, and other hush-hush kinds of operations that typically the 141 wouldnāt have the luxury of. Being the skilled marksman you were, it made sense to take advantage of your talents and also extend you a job that progressed past what youād experienced in your āstandardā military career and multiple tours overseas. However, that meant communications were essentially the backbone of your usefulness aside from your rifle. Next to nothing else, your daily and mission-based work almost exclusively went through Lieutenant Ghost. Whichā¦ often proved to be the largest obstacle that you faced aside from making sure that your scope didnāt get bumped off sight the -often- rough flights and drives to insertion points.
The Lieutenant was particularly meanā¦ he certainly didnāt give a single thought to if anyone thought that he was a little too harsh of a personality to swallow. That went for everything you came to learn about Ghost. From his lack of willingness to speak unless required of him, to his unique ability of appearing and disappearing from anywhere without the slightest sound or hint of where heād come from or gone to. Trained as a distance marksman, even you were impressed that such a massive man could move around like smoke on water. That and his physical appearance; good god above. Surely a man like Ghost had never graced the face of the Earth before, else heād have been just as mythical in his legendary life and wouldāve been known by thousands of people. He stood towering over just about everyone, in whatever room he was in, and compared to your own height it was downright laughable the difference between the two of you as operators.
The one thing that made the biggest impression on you after meeting the Lieutenant was his voice and how he spoke. That thick accent always sounded rough and a little gritty. His deep timbre gave such a commanding authority that if given the choice between getting yelled at by Captain Price or Ghostā¦ there was no choice youād sit for hours listening to Price threaten you over Ghost. He just sounded so scary and attractive all at the same time. Unsurprisingly, it developed into a subconscious dynamic where you saw Ghost as such a superior officer -and human- that no matter how much you liked to daydream about Ghost in less-than-professional situationsā¦ You gave him the utmost respect at all times. Easiest of all to recognize was that from day one, you had never addressed Ghost to his face as anything other than āsirā. Not even his rank gave enough nuance to his character and presence, so for you, Ghost was inextricably attached to the name.
Ghost howeverā¦ didnāt like it.
Such a simple address actually made Ghost grit his teeth beneath the shield of his mask. When he heard you call him that, he automatically related it to how he had called General Shepherd āsirā as a subtle sign of mockery and defiance. Thinking about that made him more than necessarily angry and confused, but he couldnāt really accuse you of having ever been given much of a reason to detest him. Therefore, he had to come to the conclusion that you were doing it out of some kind of respect that a drill sergeant or boot camp instructor had bashed into your brain so hard that it stuck permanently. Not surprising since you were much different from the rest of the task force. Yet he had to revise that after the first six months of you being with them permanently. You had gotten settled in. Enough so that you called the Captain, āCapāā¦ Soap, āJohnnyāā¦ and Garrick, āGazā like everyone else did. Exceptionalities only appeared when it came time for you to be around him or have any sort of interaction that wasnāt the occasional silent nod of acknowledgment when walking past each other in the hallways.
He honestly tried to ignore it andĀ you altogetherĀ for that matter in an attempt to keep his bitter anger at a minimum. Seeing such a small and fucking happy woman always lingering around somewhere in the corners of his sight couldnāt be anything but a distraction waiting to happen. A bad habit that he didnāt have the mental capacity or emotional willingness to take on. Fuckā¦ he already had to worry about the 141 as a whole, to begin with. Now you on top of that? It was more responsibility than heād signed up for initially. Hearing you call him āsirā day in and day out began to take its toll on his self-control. Ghost needed to either find out why you were hellbent on calling him that, or at least be enough of a bastard to you to be reassured that you did it because you wanted a polite way to tell him to shove it up his ass sideways.
The Lieutenant had been being nothing short of a prick in the last few months.
He was making paperwork back at HQ a nightmare that couldnāt be solved alternatively through someone like Gaz or Soap who often didnāt mind playing the part of the unbiased third party. Refusing to sign things when you stopped by his office, outright ignoring your necessary questions, and stonewalling you at every single stop along the way just to yield at the last moment and do everything youād been asking for so the both of you wouldnāt face heat from any higher-ups. That alone was enough for you to consider talking to Soap privately since he knew Ghost the bestā¦ but youād kept putting it off hoping that it was just a passing phase of shitty attitude.
Your patience and emotional strength fell through the floor after attempting for the third time in a week after something so fucking simple as trying to get his approval and official signature on a post-mission report Price had delegated to you after being called to Washington D.C. for a meeting. It wasnāt a major task, but knowing that the Captain had given you the responsibility first over anyone else made you want to impress him and take care of business without incident. God forbid you do something as simple as ask Ghost to pick up a pen and scribble his name at the bottom of a page so that you could send it on through the higher-up channels. It resulted in the Lieutenant straight-up yelling at you in the middle of the hallway outside his office when heād found you standing there patiently waiting for him to show up. He wasnāt threatening physically, but it cut much deeper into your pride and feelings than it should have.
With every word that dripped venomously out of his masked mouth, you lost a little extra peace of mind on having such an untouchable and unshakably good opinion of Ghost for so long. This moment of undeserved verbal punishment was enough to make the corners of your eyes burn with inner disgrace, self-doubt, and plain old sadness which motivated you to get the hell out of there before the Lieutenant saw you cry. When you turned your back and walked away right in the middle of his berating for you being ātoo fucking annoying to tolerateā, your only destination was your personal quarters on the other end of the building where a lock on the door could shut out the entire base for as long as you saw fit. Upon the first estimation, it would be after Captain Price returned so that you could have at least one single chance at not getting a second punishment or dismissal from the squad. The sound of your door slamming shut and your back sliding down against it on your way down to the floor silenced the entire room around you, leaving just enough room for the papers clenched to your chest to flutter onto the ground and your weak cries to sounds amplified.
It was hours before you could drag yourself off the floor and into bed, too tired and wanting to fall back on the trained and instinctual desire to hide away somewhere isolated and not move for hours on end. Being a long-distance marksman gave you the talent of patience insurmountable to the average person, allowing days to pass by without you needing to do more than go to the bathroom before coming right back to a motionless position. Thatās what you wanted tonight. You needed to focus all of your energy into your brain alone and use it to sort through the hurt burning through your eyes and throat, and the questioning that gave such a sickening feeling a chance root in your stomach. Questions of if it had been foolish to trust Ghost as much as you did the others, knowing how youād been warned that he would be difficult to work with. Hoping you hadnāt been truly so ignorant of judging behavior to think that the Lieutenant was something much greater than his behavior had been not only today but for the pastĀ months.
The next two days were spent laying near motionlessā¦ not hungry or thirsty.
Just thinking, sleeping, and staring at the wall across from your bed.
A solid knock on your door was the first human sound that hadnāt been made by you in over forty-eight hours. Youād not looked at your phone or any communications since locking yourself inside, and there was a good chance someone from the squad had come searching for you after such a long period without seeing or hearing from you. When you refused to answer right away, another harder knock banged on the door twice and rattled the steel in its doorframe. Impatient. Testy. Quite familiar with everything youāve been through lately. Recognizing the Lieutenant was the one outside made your gut churn all over again. Questioning whether to get up or not wasnāt hard. Laying perfectly still in bed, you waited. If you were being honest though, itād been a long time since youād spent so long restricting yourself from basic needs for the purpose of acting like a living phantom. Close to three years since any sniper position had left you utterly abandoned without resources. Only this time it was self-induced and nothing short of a trauma response you wanted to hide away from. Truthfully you couldnāt tell if walking to the door was an easy feat or not. After not drinking anything, using the bathroom wasnāt necessary and the last time youād stood up didnāt cross your memory clearly.
Ghost slammed his fist against the door again one last time. But he didnāt wait long enough for you to answer before rattling the handle to the door with a heavy sigh that was audible through the cracks separating you. Metal on metal gritted softly and moved the door handle a bit further. Recognizing that as nothing short of Ghost picking the lock to your quarters without the slightest care of how heād be breaking multiple stipulations laid out for them living in HQ. Either your physical or mental state kept you from giving a damn when the handle gave way fully, leaving a bright fluorescence light flooding in from the hallway into your pitch-black room. It made your eyes water and the urge to turn your head away was strong enough to budge your head into the blankets and pillow surrounding. Heavy boots made the paperwork scattered on the floor crunch softly and the sound of his deep breaths gave away his current state of frustration. Clearly not appreciating being locked out of a room that he had no fucking business being in. A long pause led to shuffling around, and the sound of your desk chair creaking under his weight.
āGonna say somethinā?ā He sounded no less irritated than the last time youād spoken.
It made your throat burn to evenĀ thinkĀ youād allowed his to get in your head so deeply just to utterly rip every last bit of security and respect away from you for no damn reason. Your silence made quite the statement, even if the actual task of speaking hadnāt been a totally voluntary one. Youād not moved your jaw in days at this point.
āYouāve missed five drill sessions, two mandatory meetings, and one phone from General Shepherd.ā
Listing off your offenses hardly bothered you. The consequences of this had been fully accepted days ago, and Ghost would have to do a lot more to get you up from this bed. Youād trained for hell, and no matter how badly Ghost had ruined your almost loving and patient view of him there werenāt enough men on the planet to make you get up voluntarily. Drasticā¦ yes. Satisfying to your own prideā¦ undoubtedly. When you didnāt even let out a single breath loud enough for Ghost to hear instead of that instant apology or willingness to appease himā¦Ā please himĀ even, with that little quip of āsirā ready on your tongue, the Lieutenant was up out of that chair so quickly you heard it roll into the wall behind him hard enough to thud against the drywall.
āGoddamn it Brass, I demand a fuckinā answer!ā His loud bark caught your attention, but the feeling of your blankets being ripped off your body was a far more startling sensation.
Baring you to the cold air of the room, all your body managed was to raise chills on your skin in a feeble attempt to keep you warm or alert you to seek out that heat again. Tension exploded into shocked silence when Ghost didnāt utter more than a sharp inhale after getting one, shadowed glimpse of your body totally frozen on your stomach. You knew it couldnāt look great. Snipers could come back looking like skeletons sometimes after a long mission if they were given the orders to stay put. Youād not been laying nearly long enough for that to be the case, but dehydration was certainly a symptom you were ignoring quite easily, as well as the possibility of some minor pressure ulcers that would linger for a few weeks if you didnāt move soon. Ghost wasnāt as familiar with the sight of how you felt internally. Snipers werenāt commonly used or in collaboration with Task Force 141. Youād been their first real look at how the inner workings moved or didnāt, and much of your personal way of doing things had dispelled or blown away any misguided assumptions theyād made about your skills early on. Viewing a sniper after days of doing literally nothing, of her own free willā¦? That wasnāt healthy or accepted in general military companies. Lucky Ghost got the front-row seat though.
When you heard his movement next to you, weight pressed down the mattress at your side in the shape of his hands, and a low sigh registered.
āBrassā¦ā Failing to even say something, you wondered if your own assessment of yourself wasnāt accurate. āItās been five days.ā His faltered tone was truthful, and it destroyed your semblance of time that had been misled by the absence of sunlight coming in through your room.
You thought about trying to say something, resolve falling flat when swallowing felt difficult. A gloved hand rested against your thigh and Ghost almost growled again, sounding a lot more like he was resisting the urge to squeeze you hard. Only his fingers traced along your hip and over the curve in your waist with a tense and heavy swallow. He was beingĀ gentleĀ beyond your concept of his depth of emotion and understanding. Nearly loving as he paused over your ribcage with another pinched sort of sound. Staying like that for what felt like hours, you struggled to keep yourself awake. It had been a struggle to move your tongue in your mouth, testing what mobility youād lost in the short term. Only Ghost wasnāt leaving like you expected, and suddenly his voice returned it its normal stature.
āThisās Ghost. Get a bay ready now, Iām bringinā someone in.ā The reverb of his voice crackled in a radio you knew hooked to his vest. A backup short-range alternative in the case that SAT couldnāt be established or wasnāt clear enough to rely on in the field. Apparently, he used it to keep in contact with someone on base. Or multiple people for all you knew.
āCopy Ghost.ā A static voice could be heard and quickly the room was pitched back into a silence you wanted to remain in, but Ghost was adamant to keep infracting alone with a whole list of other rules that, for whatever reason, just didnāt fucking matter or apply to him.
His other hand searched around the dark until he found your face resting amongst the fabric of your bed, curling his hand around your head and meticulously lifting you so very slowly away from the bed with his other arm steadying your legs that had also been taken up off the mattress. Youād never touched Ghost once in all the time youād known him. Understanding that with his sour attitude, there couldnāt be a single chance in Hell that touching him was an acceptable action. Whereas with Soap, Gaz, and even on occasion Price: hugs, handshakes, shoves, and other physical touches were common, Ghost totally ignored all human contact. Maybe Hell had frozen over outside of your quarters for your weak and still motionless body to be lifted up against the Lieutenantās chest and carried preciously outside of your room into the burning light of HQ. His chest heaved deep and quickly against you. Both hands curled around you and flexed tighter each time you were able to hear another set of shoes approaching closer to you. Possessive like a soldier. Silent like a Ghost. Determined.
He takes you straight to the medical hall where three nurses and two of the on-shift doctors are fast to respond to your condition. Only Ghost refuses to let them take you away from him for any reason. Stoically stonewalling them just like he habitually did to you as they begged him to lay you down on a transport bed so they could take you back to a room for assessment. The Lieutenant took you there himself, with the group of nurses and doctors hot on his heels and surrounding your bed once Ghost had you settled down inside a private room.
The whole place smells sterile and like alcohol. Itās not the first time youāve been here, but these are far different circumstances. Youāre still too sensitive to open your eyes, but hands are all over your body, gloves fingers touching around the sore places on weight-bearing points on your body, pricks in your fingertips, and a needle poke to the back of your hand. Itās overstimulating, to say the least, and youāre worried theyāre going to think youāve tried to starve yourself to death or decided that living altogether wasnāt worth it and simply wasting away into your bed was the solution. Right away, one of the voices of the medical professionals breaks that worry in your mind by calling for some of the tests to be staggered, needing time between them for nothing other than your own benefit.
āTreat this no differently than prolonged active reconnaissance,ā The female voice states softly. āBeing on-the-gun for this long is detrimental to all senses, and sheās going to need a while to wake up in a meaningful way.ā She added, voice coming clearer the closer she got to your head.
āYouāve been working very hard, I suspect. Maybe not in the fieldā¦ but youāre one tough lady.ā She commented to you quite personally, her hand falling to your shoulders. āWeāre going to get you plenty of fluids and start you on a vitamin drip to get everything running as it should again. Youāve also got some slight bedsores, but as long as we take care of them now, youāll be right as rain soon, sniper.ā
Tests were run, treatments began, and nurse after nurse was brought in with both doctors running rotations in and out of your room for the rest of the night. All of them were under the hard watch of Ghost whoād not moved from his position sitting in the corner of your room where he could see not only you but anyone approaching the door. Heād been very quiet throughout the process, watching and waiting for someone to give him some news about your condition with actual certainty. Stewing over the guilt he felt knowing damn well he was the reason youād shut down so far and were still unable -or unwilling- to come out of it yet. Youād been nothing but the perfect little woman, doing her job with skill and grace, making everyone around you happier just with one glance in your direction. ButĀ fuck,Ā he couldnāt stand seeing someone do the callous profession of killing people with one single squeeze of her finger and still have so much innocent and emotional humanity inside such a small body. Ghost couldnāt wrap his mind around it. So instead of trying to do the right thing and figure it out, he did what a man so out of touch with empathy did: Try to snuff it out.
You threatened him whether you or he realized it in the beginning.
But now he could see it with that crystal fucking clear hindsight. How monstrous he was for punishing you with no foundation other than his own selfish fear of seeing a dynamic he didnāt know was possibly wrapped up inside of you. Sweet and little you, never saying anything to him other than a āyes sirā or āno sirā. Goddamnit Ghost knew heād nearly killed you in a way. Seeing days of neglect in your sallow expression, darkened under eyes, and weakened body was more than even his cold heart could take all at one time. Wasting away for someone as useless as himself, all because heād never given you enough credit for finding something worth liking in him where no one else had. Screaming at you. Cursing your existence. Right in your face, while heād been too big of a pussy to even take off his own mask he hid behind every day as he utterly destroyed your meaningful position and life working alongside of his and his squad. Owing you his life wouldnāt nearly cover his offenses. Laughably, Ghost admitted his own life or death couldnāt measure up to yours. So instead of saying any kind of bullshit apology, he sat in the corner of your room and denied himself sleep, food, and water because there wasnāt anything else he could do until youād been considered healthy and strong again.
Almost one week to the day you had been signed off for return to duty with zero restrictions. Your physical and mental evaluations came back clean, and with both Price and Ghost signing off on the doctorās orders, you returned to your quarters where you expected to see your room exactly as youād left it before Ghost brought you into the medical wing. Only nothing was as youād left it. All the paperwork left on the floor was gone, as well as the other documents that had been left on your desk that still needed finishing. All of it was gone. Your bed and all of the bedclothes youād been taken from were also missing. Replaced with totally brand new bedding in dark hues of dark green and navy blue with a decidedly feminine pattern on the quilt. Items you didnāt own. Or have any idea where they came from. Even the smell of stale air was traded for a woody, and familiar smell that wasnāt of a candle, or room spray; It was from a person. The person who sat in the corner of your room in your desk chair with his massive arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes staring at you through the painted visage of a skull gracing a black compression mask.
āSir,ā You greet hoarsely, still working through some of the non-significant parts of your recovery that lingered. Ghost stood from his seat and met you halfway across your room with a silent nod, his hand reaching out and motioning for you to step closer to him. Warily but complicit, you make the few steps forward and watch his hand turn to slide against your jaw and stay there firmly. āI expected you to be at drill.ā You say with a tinge of surprise at the touch of his bare hand resting against your cheek.
āShould be,ā He replied flatly. āBut Iām not.ā You nod a little, biting your tongue when his fingertip rubs over the curve of your ear. His eyes were soft and his unarmored physique was highlighted by the shadows made by the lamp on your side table. Heās inspecting you, you know as much. Clear by his thumb pressing over your pulse point and the minute exactly that he waits before speaking again.
āDo you like the color green?ā His question knocks you off guard and his eyes slide over the quilt laying neatly over your bed. You were quick to answer honestly out of mere habit.
āYes, sir.ā
His hand stiffens against your cheek, and Ghost takes another step closer. His boots graze the tips of yours and his chin is nearly tucked against his chest to look down at you properly. Youāre breathing a little harder, anticipating another break of his patience and an onslaught of screaming all directed at your apparent mistakes made right in front of his face. Judgments youād still be unable to solve no matter how much you thought about it or what you did to try and find a solution of healthy -or not- motives. Ghost doesnāt yell though. He actually lowers his face down to yours, eyes locked right on you and an intensity burning there.
āWhy do you call me that?ā His low growl made you shiver, especially when his hand dropped lower to your throat. Now squeezing, but holding your gaze steady on him, reminding you of his strength. The power over you heād always held, and given you the instant to call him āsirā in the first place. Everything about Ghost was overwhelming, and youād always been one wave away from drowning under him.
āYou deserve the honorā¦ā You answer, certain. Even if heād broken your spirit and came back in the aftermath with questions you still believed to be much too complex for a single-sentence answer. Hopefully, he understood a little bit better but the way you leaned against his hand, letting him actually feel the pressure of your throat pressing into his palm. Literally offering your trust in him over again, testing the Lieutenant and watching as his eyes widened. His other hand came up to your face, counteracting the pressure youād applied to keep your breath and blood flow uninterrupted. His face is still only inches away from yours but unflinching at the close contact.
āBrass,ā He murmured, masked face teasing closer with his own lack of control. āIām not what you think I am.ā Your chest tightens with his words, soaked in desperation that heats your lips and cheeks.
āWhatās that, sir?ā You question, earning another flinch of his fingers against your skin.
āSafeā¦ Trustworthyā¦ Honorable.ā He replies, getting even closer. The smooth material ghosted over your lips, and his breathing fanning over you wetly through the damp material. You sigh, feeling lightheaded. Weak in his hands, confused yet happy to have your life held in the palms of his hands. Confused about where his mistrust comes from, but gaining perspective every time he flinches when you address him in the way you always believed heād feel the most revered andā¦Ā loved.
āYouāre wrong,ā You challenge, hands moving from your sides to run up the thin shirt covering his chest. āYouāre a man of fear. One that death shakes at the mention of. Even looking at you through my scope a mile away is enough to remind me youāre capable of inhuman thingsā¦ā Your voice lowers, hearing thoughts straight from your soul escaping without filter from your brain. āYet youāre human. So much more than anyone sees. Because itās not evil that keeps you going. Itās the fear and hatred of losing anything that means something to you.ā Your hand rests over his chest, hearing his heart thundering against his ribs.
āYouāre not a monster, you are terrified of losing everything. That is why I call you āsirā, is because youāre a man unlike any other,Ā Ghost.ā
Hearing your own voice say his name like that feels so foreign. Coming off your tongue with the letters not fitting together in a way that youād experienced. But Ghostā¦ he reacts differently. His hands tightened around you and he hugged you against his chest tightly. His chest heaves up and down and the thunder of his heartbeat impossibly quickens until your left ear canāt hear anything but the repetitive thrum of blood coursing through his body. Heavy arms snake around you, one around your head to secure it to him and the other clinging to your waist with his hand fisting into your shirt until itās skin-tight on your stomach. The Lieutenant practically shakes against you, using your much smaller frame to steady himself.
Yet heās dropping to one knee on the ground, bringing you down with him until heās nearly cradling you and softly rocking your weight back and forth. Soothing himself in much the same way a child would after scraping their knee on the sidewalk and the tears have begun to dry up. God, it made the massive man feel so weak; much like you did after heād yelled at you a week ago. Both of you kneeled on the floor now with all of your wounds opened up to each other and had silently found a calm within the eye of a destructive storm that had been raging against the pair of you while everyone on the outside had been simply looking on with bated breath to see how the ending would play out.
āBrass - Iā¦ā Ghostās voice choked up again, his arms tightening around you. āGod, I canāt do this anymore. I canāt ignore you anymoreā¦ Iām losing my mind.ā
You lean into his chest harder, arms struggling to reach all the way around his wide back in an attempt to support him a little bit. You understood through the way he was grabbing at anything on you he could desperately. So you did all you could and rubbed your hand up and down his back quietly allowing him the time to work through his thoughts. Both of you had been hurt by this, and while the Lieutenantās form of apology came in the way heād ushered you for help when you needed it most and unquestionably been the reason behind the way your quarters looked. Now it was you, cradling a man whoād never shown a single crack in his armor, feeling the weight of so many emotional wounds that he was practically bleeding out with pain and palpable regret.
āYou donāt have toā¦ā You whisper, resting your forehead against his.
Ghost just nods his head, panting heavily and giving a low sort of whine. āIām so sorryā¦ā
You smile sadly. āIām sorry too.ā
His eyes soften more, blinking away at wetness brimming at his waterline. āSay it againā¦ please. I need to hear it. God, please.ā
āItās okayā¦ā Your hands cradle his cheeks, feeling the sharp lines and hard muscles. āIām right here, Ghost. Weāre going to do this over againā¦ Together, Ghost.ā
Nodding weakly, he meets your gaze as you say his name again. Reveling in it. āTogetherā¦ together, with you.ā
I am stunned. Absolutely stunned. You poured so much heart and soul into this story and it shows. The way you develop and explore the characters is so amazing.
This is a character driven story and you definitely understood the assignment. Thereās so much to unpack for the reader. So, this is a story that needs multiple reads, over and over because its characters are so layered and so finely nuanced that you know you havenāt gotten it all on the first time.
I love how you fully immerse us in her POV. I appreciate that you went all in and didnāt sacrifice one facet of exploration. That kind of attention to detail is everything. It separates a great writer from all the others. This is the kind of stuff readers want to gorge on when they sit down to consume a fic.
I love the fact that the 141 are some of the most highly skilled military men in the world on a special team for their deadliness and thus would want to blend in during covert times, yet we have...
Mohawk
Big guy in ski mask
Mutton chops
And just the prettiest boy you'll ever goddamn see
Hi um...can I just say your comfort fluff fics have made me realize just how touche-starved I personally am. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
So, if I could be so bold as to ask for a fic with Soap or Gaz or Keegan with that same theme? Making sure they're taken care of, or make them feel safe enough to let their guard down for a bit?
Again, totally fine if you have other things to do, but it would really male my day if you did. Thank you and have a nice day!
- š
Fall Back
a/n: thank you for the request babes... I'm sorry Christmas is just now here in mid-fucking May :( I'm ashamed. Additionally, this is my first time writing for Keegan... and I'm still working out the specifics for my interpretation of his character and behavior. So this is a bit different from what I've written before. Hopefully you enjoy it.
summary: Keegan's worn down to the bone. And you're there to help him.
t/w's: none.
his eyes are almost identical to my husband's... why didn't I notice until now...
He only comes to you when things get too heavy to bear.
And not in the way a refrigerator empty of food, or a late rent payment would weigh on your mind. Youāve not seen the same things he hasā¦ and fuck, heāll do anything to make sure you never do. The mere thought that any of the nightmares and constant PTSD triggers that make him jumpy could touch your conscious would send him into an entirely new mental warfare, impossible to win. No, he shows up when he needs it most. No matter what you might be doing, or how it could appear, heās crawling on his belly with a broken look in his eyes. Pride bruised, strength dissolved, and voice rough with more pain than you thought he could ever survive.
You tried keeping the back door unlocked for him. Thinking heād take it as a sign that your home is always welcome. It resulted in him forcing you to lock the doors and make him a key. That lasted a couple of months, and then he lost the key somewhere in Cuba. Something about a guy ripping his chain off his neck and subsequently the key to your door that he wore alongside his dog tags. Heād been quick to change all of your locks after that. And since then, heās decided that crawling in through your bedroom window is the only way heāll enter your house unless youāre formally inviting him in.
Maybe itās the anti-social part of him that believes he canāt come and go as he pleases. Spending precious time sneaking into your little house instead of doing what he came for in the first place. Getting close to you. Sometimes he wonāt wake you up. Just taking off his bloody-soaked gear and taking a quick wash in the shower before curling up to you in bed. Tucking you under him, and breathing in the soft smell of your soap and fresh sheets. Other times, youāll stir away when you hear boots scuffing heavily against the floor. Hearing heavy breaths and his tac vest thumping to the floor. Witnessing what itās like when a ghost finally runs out of hatred and cold-blooded determination.
āAre you hurt?ā Itās almost always your first question. After so many missions, heās almost always got something that needs looked at. And while you never thought that tying stitches or cleaning shallow stab wounds would be a common occurrence in your life, Keegan has made it so that your medical kit under your bathroom sink is always stocked and ready for emergency-room worthy injuries.
Heās not going to talk much, even if heās in good shape. Itās not in his disposition. More like a shelter dog sent back too many times for growling or bearing his teeth. Wary of everything, yet so desperate for touch that heās willing to show you exactly where a bullet grazed his thigh. About eight hours old and weeping blood, staining a pair of pants that youāll spend time scrubbing out in the morning while doing laundry. But if youāre worried, heās going to hide just how badly heās hurtingā¦ if for nothing than your sake.
Heās already broken into your houseĀ againā¦ and now bleeding all over the bathroom rug with pretty flowers you bought after the last time he made a mess in there. Constantly reminding himself itās selfish to demand you care for him. To show up with a shitty fucking attitude and guilt you into licking his wounds when he canāt bear to do it himself, or admit to the medical staff on base that he needs it. Youāre too kind for this kind of bullshit. Too sweet to run him off though. And itās why he keeps crawling back. Greedyā¦ hungryā¦ insatiableā¦ heās always admonishing himself for just how little control he possesses when thereās an opportunity to leave you alone, or place himself right in the middle of your life again.
āEveryone come back alive?ā
Keegan has a love hate relationship with that particular question. Debating on whether or not he likes that you worry for his teammates in such an honest way; or if heās so jealous of your mind wandering to them, and what fucked-up things they do during missions that itās almost unbearable to hear you ask it.
āAlive.ā He breathes out steadily as you thread your stitching through his skin for an eighth time, tying another knot over his twitching and aching muscles.
Youāre always asking questions about the missions. About what he had to do, if he got hurt, where they wentā¦ itās innocent enough. You mean well. But he never can tell you much. Protective instinct and top secret red tape make much of the details not worth the risk of divulging. But heās patient with you. Giving away small hints maybe by saying a few words in a native language, or talking about a particular landmark that mightāve been close enough that you can make a guess from there. At this point, youāve learned at least a few words in: German, Russian, Thai, and multiple hispanic dialects. A smart woman, of course, but heās always surprised when you connect his work to something youāve seen on the news.
Itās like youāre always watching for him.
āCome on, letās get you cleaned up.ā
Maybe you do look out for him in more ways than one. Not bothering with the fact that youād already completed your nightly routine, just to strip down and get a shower running. Rubbing out strained shoulders with soft hands, and gently thumbing out the thick knots in his lower back. Itās the only pressure heās willing to accept in this state. Merely breathing just to live for more of your touch. Keegan canāt even bother with soap, and had it not been for you, he wouldnāt have at all. Feeling you scrub down every inch of him. Much more like a maid thanā¦ wellā¦ he still didnāt know what kind of label to put on this relationship.
There were too many variables and more questions than he could answer. Sure it wasā¦ transactional at times, but heād be remiss to ignore all of the ways you occupied his thoughts when it wasnāt appropriate to. And you always do more than youāre supposed to. Just like now. Wrapping your arms around him for behind and kissing over his shoulder blades. Humming a soft tune and letting your fingertips trace over his stomach. Any man should be able to admit that heās weak for itā¦ but Keegan canāt readily do that.
Fighting his own heart pounding in his chest as you sway him back and forth. Wishing he could let this feeling go. Be a stronger man. Be a better ghost and lock himself away behind the gear and guns.Ā Fuck.Ā Youāre so good at it though. Stripping him down to nothing, even when he thought there wasnāt anything else left. Soothing aches and kissing away pains he blocked out for so long that he felt like had disappeared. You are smarter than that. You know how his mind works whether he likes it or not. How willing he is to go from hell and back so many times that heās unsure of what kind of being he truly is. Caught between worlds of warfare and the softer one where you always welcome him back, knowing that within a few days the gore will call him back for service.
āSleep on the couchā¦ā He mutters, standing with a towel slung around his hips and a bleary look in satin light-blue eyes. āDonāt wanna stain your sheets.ā
Heād seen them upon arrival; crisp white and hundred-dollar softness he didnāt want to touch. Between the blood and feeling of getting spoiled to them, it wasnāt worth it to him. Heād done it before without much thought, but this time something was making himĀ attemptĀ responsibility.
āThen Iām coming with you, Russ.ā
Youāre smiling that damned smile he dreams about. That one where the gap between your front teeth shows and the dimpled skin on your cheeks shadows just enough to make him forget that youāre human. Angelic. Teasingā¦ Gracefully not leaving him room for an argument. Simply turning around and headed towards the bedroom without another word as to if heād be choosing to lay cramped on your couch. Hell, itās four in the morning, and your mind is sharp enough to play with him just enough that heās stalking back into the dark room and watching you crawl into the bed with an expectant, innocent look directed at him.
Keegan canāt help it.
Heās under the sheets and unceremoniously reaching for you without hesitation. Feeling his callouses catch on your skin and wincing when he hears his rough palms scratch at you. No matter how rough it feels, youāre still sliding closer. Careful of bruises and cuts, tucking yourself against him and using one arm to guide his head against your chest. Laying just above him. Incentivizing him to hug tightly to you and tuck his head under your chin. Allowing this unfeeling soldier to hide in the temporary shelter of your heartbeat.
You rub his head, and feel short, clipped, hair tickle your fingertips. Soft from a shampoo and condition after weeks away in sand that made the bathroom floor feel gritty. Youāre almost always pressing kisses to his forehead and using your other hand to rub over his brow bone and bridge of his nose. Seeing in the nighttime shadow where his face paint has settled into wrinkles that you didnāt manage to wash off in the shower. Looking at long, black eyelashes that flutter a bit when you scratch up and down the back of his neck.
āYouāre so prettyā¦ā You always talk to him like this. Unable to keep from spouting praise that wells up after long periods of not knowing if heās alive, let alone safe.
Youāre not dumb. You know heās dangerous. Maybe even a monster in some peopleās eyes. But itās a necessary evil, and itās something you came to terms with easily. Because you didnāt just see him for the guns and direct orders. You got to witness moments like this where heās nothing but a man in desperate need ofĀ humanity. Hungry for connection. Soft touchesā¦ and whether he liked it or not, the praises that you whisper against his pink-tipped ears.
āYouāre the pretty one, dollie.ā He grumbles back, squeezing your hip in a big hand.
It makes your face heat up just ask quickly when he pulls that one out. Almost always with a nickname up his sleeve that just makes it all that much more worth it. But being anything other than your own name to himā¦ itās a different kind of reward. One that has you smiling like a fool as you get sleepier. Nearly petting him to sleep, and hoping to god you can stay awake longer than he does just to prove youāre willing to. MaybeĀ willingĀ isnāt even strong enoughā¦
Any way you think about it, thereās a sense of duty you hold much like his to a career as a ghost. Yours stemming from love so deep for this man that itās painful watching him crawl to you as a last resort. Despising what or whoever made him feel like wanting a warm bed, and someone to look after him when heās weak, is wrong. God itās enough to make you angry. Looking down at a man who could make anyone tremble, and seeing him curled up against your chest like heās clinging to a shred of comfort. If you thought picking up a gun alongside him would change things, youāre certain youād have done it years ago. Right when all of this started and Keegan was much more proud. Unwilling to relent as easily as he does now.
But it took that long because there wasnāt another option.
He wouldnāt have allowed it if you were any different of a person, or hadnāt possessed the patience for him to let go like this. Youāre positive no one knows that this is where he runs to when things get too hard. None of his team, and with no family to speak of, youāre left as his final resort, but the only one he trusts. Unlike Keegan who avoids his medal pinnings with sheer hatred, you wear your designation proudly. Youāre always shining itā¦ polishing itā¦ looking for the first opportunity to show just how willing you are. Just for the chance to hold him. Anything to feel his breathing even out after weeks of holding it. Anything to clean him up. Put him back together.
All while silently praying that itāll be the last time. Wishing heād see that you arenāt a last resort, and that he can lay here as long as he wants without losing the worth he assigned to himself after becoming a ghost. Wondering when itāll come to an end where he can come back and hang up the guns laying on your bedroom floor, forever. Patiently anticipating the day you can not have to wait until heās asleep to say exactly how you feel.
simon riley loves himself a chubby girl ā being a big man he is simon addicted to the feel of weight against him, as well as the softness, plushness of the supple flesh, and he isn't small by himself at all.
he's got a lot of muscle mass, a wide body with a small belly and wide palms that will fit perfectly on your body, he's ready to swear he's just going crazy when he sees the chubby girls, and you've come to him at the best time to knock a man to his knees before you.
simon is gentle and caring ā all the best for his girl, he can't keep his hands to himself, he can't stop carrying you in his arms like a princess and moving mountains for you alone, he even learned to cook, no matter how difficult it is, just to please you with your favorite treats.
and he especially loves you in the bed, with passion and tenderness, stroking the supple skin and every fold and your pudgy belly as if you were about to shatter like a marble sculpture.
simon treats you like one, too ā calloused and rough, wide palms caress every hollow and stretch mark that forms on your skin like tiger stripes with a tenderness that makes you shudder, fingers greedily, almost possessively gripping your rounded ass and digging in before moving to your waist.
he caresses, kisses, whispers sweet words of affection that slip past his thin lips with rumbling purrs like ā āfricking hell you pretty, my beautiful girl with such a perfect, mind blowing bodyā and you can't even muster anything harsh against yourself, tell him he's not right, because he is, you're a goddess to him.
a goddess with a sweet, fat pussy that he likes to devour with you sitting on his face, your body is literally limp and occasionally trembling with small convulsions of pleasure while simon's crooked nose fidgets and rubs against your clit, his wide tongue flattens against your weeping, fluttering cunt.
you drown his face in your honey like sweet slick and creamy cum, letting it dribble past your folds against his lapping tongue that already curls deeper again ā simon won't let you off till he pulled at least couple of orgasms out of you.
because he likes to see how you look when he folds you in missionary, to see your glossy and half lidded delirious gaze, your body feels even softer, limp after all that he's done with his tongue, emptying you completely and leaving only mess and pulsing need in your puffy, clenching pussy.
so simon will fuck you nicely, stuffing you full of his meaty cock as you'll cunt grip him tightly, sucking him balls deep and he wouldn't even mind ā harsh rolls of his hips leaving you gasping and mewling into the thick air, skin glistening with sweat as he toys with your pretty, rounded tits and cups them as gently, while rearranging your insides.
he'll make you cum again and again, fill you with his potent, creamy loads just to see how it dribbles out of your gooey cunny, making simon's every new thrust squelch.
and he won't stop fucking his pretty girl into the mattress, with his slightly pudgy stomach rubbing against your belly ā until you squirt all over the sheets and shake against the sheets, vision whitening out as your cunt clamp and pulse around his fat length, with simon grinning smugly.
