jaalismyhusband

[jaalismyhusband]

A Man of His Word | Simon indulges your CNC kink.

AFAB/Fem!Reader x Simon “Ghost” Riley.

Summary: You tell Simon you want to try CNC. He delivers.

A/N: So nervous to post this but fuck it we ball. First time writing Ghost, absolute madlad that he is. Thank you @merz-8 for giving this a look over!

Words:7,248 (Oops?)

[AO3]

CoD/141 MasterlistMain Masterlist

Warnings: This is a CNC (Consensual Non-Consent fic) Reader is ok with everything going on here, any panic/disgust comes from playing into the scenario, reader will only express true discomfort through use of a safe word (not mentioned here but it is established they have them). 

Proceed with caution as this will not be for everyone. Read the warnings under the cut. 

Warnings: Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual non0consensual Somnophilia, Degradation(Simon is mean reader is called a bitch, a whore, a slut), Pet Names(love, sweetheart), Anal Fingering, Vaginal Fingering, Fingerfucking, Ass Play, Spanking, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Throat Fucking, Blow Jobs, Rough Oral Sex, Oral Sex, Aftercare, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Breeding, Forced Breeding, Doggy Style, Breeding Kink, Size Kink, Choking, FearNo description of reader except they have a vagina, breasts, and are reasonably believed to be able-bodied. No race or appearance specified.

You’re drumming your fingertips on the top of the kitchen worktop – waiting for a text from Simon to tell you he’s been delayed – when the sound of keys jostling in the door snap you out of your thoughts. You’re relieved to see him, there’s always some anxiety around whether or not Simon was going to come home to you, the nature of his job was something you struggled with in the beginning. But now you’ve made peace with that anxiety, because you’d rather suffer the uncertainty, than to be adrift in this world without him. 

But, on this occasion, you had hoped to receive the text to say he’s been delayed. For a distinctly salacious reason.   

A few weeks ago, after a particularly long deployment and a shared bottle of wine, you’d admitted one of your deepest, darkest fantasies to Simon. 

-

You were tangled in bed, lying face to face as Simon languidly dragged his cock through your tight walls. Your fingertips traced the lines of his face, both the hard slopes of his nose and cheekbones, and the scars littered across his handsome face. 

“Hey, Si?” You’d whispered as you adjusted the leg draped over his hip, pulling him in deeper. He had groaned, rolling his hips at the way you helped him bury himself so tight in your pussy.

“Ye?” He snarled, dick twitching inside you as you bit your lip, “What is it love?” 

“You know what CNC is right?” 

A groan had ripped through Simon’s chest as he pulled almost all the way out before he snapped his hips deep inside you, evidently, he did know what it meant. 

“Fuck,” he had hissed through gritted teeth, “‘m guessin’ you don’t mean industrial laser cutters?” 

“No,” you had laughed, pressing your forehead to his as you had scraped your nails down his muscular torso, making him shudder beneath you, “I think you know what I mean, Si.” 

“You tryin’ to tell me something?” He asked as his icy eyes had met your own, blown out pupils hazy with desire and you suddenly felt embarrassed, the fleeting confidence depleted once you’d said it aloud. 

“Forget it,” you’d groaned as you had buried your face in his broad chest, “It’s stupid.” 

As always, Simon wasn’t going to let something like this go without a fight. 

“C’mon, don’t get all shy on me,” he had said, voice low and husky as he began rocking his hips into you at pace, driving soft gasps from you with every thrust, “D’ya want to role play? Is that it?” 

Your head snapped up and you clenched hard around him at the cocky grin on his face.

“Yes,” your admission hung in the air between you as Simon let out a low groan, his smirk turned feral. 

“Yeah?” He rasped as he gripped your hips, rolling you onto your back, still buried deep inside you, “Kinky girl, what do you want me to do? Tell me.” 

You rolled your hips up to meet Simon’s thrusts, whimpering with every slow, purposeful thrust into your wet het. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you pulled him impossibly close, his broad chest pressed flush to your own as you whispered in his ear. 

“I want you to surprise me,” you began as you pressed a barely-there kiss to the corner of his jaw, “I want you to catch me unawares. I want you to degrade me and take me while I fight back, I want to make you work for this desperate little hole. Dominate me Si, show me how much of a filthy whore I am.” 

Simon’s eyes grew dark as you felt his broad palms on the backs of your thighs, bending your knees over his shoulder as he wordlessly pinned you down. 

“Jesus Christ,” he said with a groan as he picked up the pace, “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he rambled as he filled you over and over again, fucking hard and fast into your tight cunt as you writhed and mewled under him.

“Next time I’m off on deployment,” he continued as he dropped a hand down to your swollen, throbbing clit, “Maybe I’m delayed, leaving you all frustrated and alone.” 

“Fuck yeah, Simon,” your voice was barely more than a strangled moan as the pressure in your core built. 

“Then maybe you’re a stupid little slut and leave a window open, yeah?” He continued as his breath came in ragged bursts, he was close, “I slip in and show you the consequences of being a dumb little bitch? How’s that sound?” 

“Yes,” you panted as the degradation short circuited your brain, “I want that so bad, fucking use my cunt, make me beg, fuck Si!” You came with a wail as Simon fucked you so hard you saw stars. He followed soon after, coming deep inside you with a roar. 

Later, after a shower, a few pints of water and some snacks, you confirmed the details, including hard no’s and safe words. After that, all you had to do was wait. 

-

“Sorry love, traffic was a bloody nightmare,” Simon calls from the front door as you turn to see him saunter inside. 

You can’t help but smile as you see him, his broad chest stretching his plain black t-shirt at the seams. His cloth face mask covering his mouth and nose, and his grey hoodie pulled up so that all you can see of his face are his subdued amber eyes. 

“You back in one piece?” You ask coyly as you close the distance between you, rocking up onto your tiptoes so you can drape your arms around his neck. You scrape your nails across the short, blunt hair at the base of his skull as you push his hood back. 

“Somethin’ like that,” he rasps as he peels off his face mask, “Need to take a shower, fancy ordering in?” 

“Sure, I’ll call while you’re in the shower,” you say as you lean up to kiss him. 

Simon hums softly as his broad hands fall to your waist, fingertips digging into your hips as he pulls you flush against him. You melt into his large form, lips sliding over his as you feel heat pool in your belly.

But it’s over too soon, Simon pulls back with a half-hearted grin on his face as you try not to pout up at him.

“Go on, I’ll see you in a few,” he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before heading to the bathroom. The door closes with a soft click, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed. 

The evening passes without event, both of you eating your fill and sharing a few drinks before you’re curled up, fast asleep with your head in Simon’s lap. He tries to rouse you but you’re dead to the world. 

A smile creeps over his lips as he pops a small blue pill between his teeth and gulps down some water before carrying you to bed. You don’t so much as stir as he tucks you into the middle of your shared bed. He smiles to himself as he leaves the door open a fraction as he retreats into your apartment. 

He has prep to do. 

~*~

You shiver, eyes cracking open as you slowly come around. You’re in bed, but you don’t remember falling asleep. The bed is bare but for a fitted sheet and a single pillow. You clutch at the sleep shorts and oversized t-shirt you don’t remember putting on. 

Simon must have taken me to bed. 

You think to yourself as you hear the rhythmic flapping of your living room curtains in the other room. 

“Si?” You call out into the gloom, fumbling for the light switch. 

Click.

You frown as the light stays off before padding into the living room, the bare wood cool on your toes as you continue to shiver slightly. You feel a pang of shame as you walk, your cunt is soaked, your slick folds sliding obscenely with every step. So wet you dip your hand below your waistband to check you haven’t gotten your period early. You frown in confusion as you wipe your fingers in your shorts. 

No blood.

“Simon?” You repeat as you reach the open sash window, vaguely registering that you hadn’t opened it all day. You rub your eyes with the back of your other hand as you turn to face the dark expanse of your apartment, something feels off. You pat your shorts, looking for your phone but realise you must have left it on the nightstand. 

You trudge back into the bedroom, closing the door behind you, your tired eyes missing the dark shadow looming behind the door. 

Your phone isn’t where you usually keep it. You’re finally coming round enough to feel a sense of dread and unease slither up your spine. Then you hear it, the softest brush of fabric as something – no – someone moves behind you. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands up as you try not to react. Your heartbeat hammers in your ears as you try to breathe evenly. You crouch down, opening the bottom drawer of your nightstand slowly as you sense movement behind you. 

You reach into the drawer to retrieve the hunting knife you keep there; you’ve always hoped that you would never have to use it. To your dismay, the knife is gone but before you can panic you see a note in familiar handwriting.

Thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you? Surprise sweetheart, remember to safe word if you need it. The moment you turn around we start for real.

Si

“Looking for something, love?” A gravelly rasp asks mockingly from behind you. You don’t turn around straight away, slowly you reach for something else in your second drawer. Adrenaline is coursing through you still, but you have to keep yourself from smiling now. Gone is the fear, the unease washed away by the comfort of safety and security of role-play.

You’re excited. 

“Look, take what you want,” you say, your voice comes out more even than you expected as excitement thrums through your body, “There’s a safe under the bed, I can tell you-,” 

You’re cut off by a barking laugh. It’s a cruel, sadistic, sound as he takes a heavy, purposeful step towards you. You have to keep telling yourself not to think of him as anything but an intruder. 

“Not interested in your money, daft cunt,” The voice makes your gut twist, it’s familiar, but altogether alien as you slowly rise to your feet. Something about the way Simon’s voice is lower, darker somehow, has your cunt throbbing.

“Then what?” You ask, voice trembling as adrenaline continues to pump through your veins, you know the answer, there is only one answer to that question. 

“I,” the voice starts as you hear him stride towards you, “Want- no,” he pauses as you feel his impossibly large form crowd you from behind, “I’m going to fuck this sweet, needy little cunt,” you feel a gloved hand press against your belly before it slides down to cup your mound over your shorts. His whole hand swallows your sex, his palm pressed against the curve of your pubic bone as three thick fingers prod at your clothed core. 

“Please,” you whimper, “Just leave me alone, I have money, we can go to a cash machine-,” you try and bargain, but a large hand grabs the back of your neck as he bends you forward. You smell an unfamiliar aftershave, cheap and cloying as he curls around you. His familiar scent is concealed but you can still smell a hint of him through it all. 

“You really that fuckin’ dumb? Didn’t you hear me? I’m not interested in money,” he snaps as he presses his groin against your ass, “I’m going to take what I want from you, and if you’re a good girl I might even let you live.” 

You stifle a whine at the sincerity behind Simon’s tone, you almost believe him, which only makes you wetter. His presence is suffocating, and you try your best to feign a sense of dread, but it’s hard when you can feel the evidence of your arousal every time you squirm. 

“Ok fine,” you go limp, gripping something tightly in your right hand as you feign compliance, “Just get it over with.” 

“Sweet little thing, I’m going to take my time with you,” the man behind you says with a sneer as he tries to turn you around, clearly trying to push you down onto the bed. 

But you’re ready for it. 

The moment you feel his grip alter you’re twisting on the spot, using your hips to leverage a wild swing of your right hand. Your blow almost lands and you’re ready to celebrate when a large hand snatches your wrist mid-air.

The base of the six-inch glass dildo stops just short of the intruder’s face. You recoil in horror as you see the black balaclava adorned with a crude, white skull. You can see the sick joy in his sparkling tawny eyes that seem to bore into your very soul. 

“That,” he punctuates the single word with a click of his tongue, “Was really fucking stupid,” he snarls as he shoves you down onto the bed. 

Your back hits the bare sheet, glass toy clattering on the ground as it slips from your grasp. Before you can move, he’s bearing down on you, his sheer mass smothering you as he traps your hips between his broad thighs. 

“I’m so glad you decided to make this interesting, sweetheart,” he rasps as he snatches your hands and pulls them above your head, securing them together in his left as he slowly trails his right hand down your cheek. 

It’s almost a tender gesture, but you turn your head away, trashing futilely against the weight bearing down on you and pulling hard on the hand that pins you in place. He only laughs at this, tightening it with every defiant tug. You swallow around the lump in your throat as you feel the hard bulge in your assailant’s trousers grind against the damp fabric of your shorts. 

“C’mon,” he growls as he brushes his gloved fingertips over your lips, “Don’t act like you’re not fucking drenched for me right now.” 

“Fuck you,” you hiss as you pant up at him, trying to avoid the way that your clit throbs at the friction as he slowly rolls his rock-hard bulge against your mound. You want to throw your head back and moan at the sensation but you won’t give him the satisfaction. 

“You telling me you’re not soaked under these slutty little shorts?” He asks, taunting you as the harsh leather of his glove trails down your chin. 

You watch as he flattens his palm on your chest, his broad hand pawing at each of your breasts in turn. You have to bite your lip as he finds each of your nipples through the fabric with ease, tweaking them firmly to bring them to stiff peaks. Your cunt clenches and you can’t help the way your hips try and buck up to chase for some friction. 

“See? Filthy slut like you just loves this don’tya?” He says with a laugh as you glare silently up at him. He’s a picture of menace as his eyes rake over your heaving chest and down to where his fingers are now toying with the hem of your shirt, riding it up to expose your soft belly. You want to buck away from his lecherous touch. But you can’t, he’s too big, too heavy. 

“So,” he pauses as the leather scrapes above the waistband of your shorts, “Am I going to find a sopping wet cunt under here?” 

He hooks a finger under the elasticated band, and you shake your head furiously. The brush of his fingers on your sensitive skin makes your clit ache. He stretches your arms taut above your head with his other hand as he dips his head down to whisper in your ear. 

“Lying to me will only make it worse,” he warns as his fingers dip lower over the curve of your pubic bone, “Are. You. Wet?” 

You consider lying, but you’re already drenched, not just from before. The way his scent invades your senses, the manhandling, the rough register of his voice. You’re trying so hard not to enjoy this, but your body just won’t listen. 

“Yes,” you whimper as you feel his hand retreat and you almost cry in relief as he chuckles low in your ear. 

“I know,” he leers as he pulls his hand up to your mouth, “Sweet little cunt was just begging to be played with while you slept.” 

“What the fuck?” You hiss, eyes going wide as he wraps his hand around your jaw, holding you in place as you try and squirm away from him.

“Been here a while sweetheart,” he murmurs as you hear him inhale deeply, burying his masked face in the crook of your neck, “You were sleeping so soundly, I bet I could have stuck my cock in that whore pussy of yours and you wouldn’t have woken up.” 

“You’re lying,” you mewl and the thought of him using you while you slept has you breathing hard around a knot in your chest, you shouldn’t be so turned on. Your skin burns with a deep shame as you can’t help but shudder pleasantly.

“I’ll prove it,” he chuckles as you feel the grip on your neck recede. 

You watch as he slowly peels up the bottom of his face mask, revealing plush lips haloed and spliced with scars as they turn up into a smirk. You’re about to ask what he means when his lips crash into yours. His thick, heavy tongue breaches your mouth and you’re helpless to resist the whine that gurgles in your throat. 

He drags his tongue along your own, languidly licking into your mouth as he grinds his hips down. You taste yourself immediately and you can’t help but enjoy the familiar musk. He slowly retreats and you find yourself chasing his mouth. You purse your lips defiantly as you scowl up at him.

“See,” he breathes against your lips as he no doubt feels the way your body is reacting, “Sweet, isn’t it?” 

“You’re a fucking psycho,” you spit, heart hammering in your chest as you try and thrash out of his grip once more, but it only serves to make him laugh. 

“Maybe,” he says with a shrug as he brings his hand to his mouth, pinching the leather between his teeth as he gently tugs it off, “What does that say about you, huh? Getting off on a psycho eating her cunt while she sleeps.” 

You feel the heat prickle under your skin at the truth behind his words, but you say nothing, fuck you being a little redundant at this point. You hear the slap of the glove hit the floor and you watch as he slips his hand back under the band of your shorts. 

You’re about to cry out in protest as you feel his fingers nudge at your clit. Your mind goes blank as you feel the bittersweet pleasure course through your body. His fingers are thick and rough as they circle your slick bud slowly. You let out a breathy whine as you feel your orgasm creeping up on you.

“There she is,” he groans softly as he slides his fingers lower against the tight seam of your cunt, “Spread your legs like a good whore, yeah?” 

He widens his stance, shifting his knees to give you room to do as you’re told, and it’s like your body moves on its own. The moment the tension on your thighs eases they part, inviting him in. Two of his fingers slide inside you with little resistance and you gasp at the sudden intrusion. 

“Fuck,” Simon growls as he buries his fingers down to the knuckle, “Tight little cunt is going to struggle with my cock,” he laughs as he feels you clamp down on his digits, “You like the idea of me splitting you open?” Another clench has him fucking you faster on his fingers, “Yeah she does.” 

“Please,” you whine as his thumb finds your clit, you don’t know what you’re even pleading for as your toes curl in pleasure. 

“Settle down, pet,” he murmurs against the corner your jaw before licking a long, wet stripe across your cheek before sticking his tongue back into your mouth. It’s disgusting and unnerving but you can’t help but keen, your back arching up from the bed as you quiver in debased euphoria. 

You moan at the way his fingers and tongue are filling you completely, claiming both holes as his own as he ruts his hard length against your thigh. Your orgasm bursts through you, rocking your body with poisonous rapture as you come all over the thick fingers buried in your cunt. 

“Good,” Simon rasps as he continues to fuck your overstimulated pussy with his fingers, “Let it happen,” he coaxes you through your release and you clamp your thighs around his forearm, silently begging him to stop as you ache from overstimulation. 

“Aw, does the little slut need a break?” He coos venomously as he continues to pump his fingers inside you, curling them up against that sweet spot as you weep, your body trembling and convulsing as you whimper for him to stop.

“Please, too much.” 

“Alright sweetheart,” he says as he nips at your jaw, eliciting another mewl from your gaping mouth, “I’ll give this hole a break.” 

You sigh in relief, even though you know he’s far from done, the respite is welcome. You’re surprised when you feel the pressure on your wrists ease, then disappear. The weight on your hips shifts and you look up to see the smirk on his partially concealed face. The skull on the balaclava still sending shivers down your spine. 

“On your knees,” the intruder orders as he shifts to the end of the bed, one hand on his belt, “Now.” 

You consider running now, he’s given you enough time and space to afford the opportunity to do it. But you freeze as you flick your eyes to the door and back up into the face of the intruder. There’s a challenge in his cold eyes, one that dares you to try. 

The idiom, “giving someone enough rope to hang themselves with” comes to mind and you swallow thickly as you dismiss the notion. You get on your knees and shuffle to the end of your bed; the wet evidence of your arousal is cool on your knees as you cross the spot where you had just been lying. 

“Good little bitch,” the intruder praises you and you grimace at the way it turns you on, “thought it’d take longer to break you in.”

You say nothing as you wait for his next command, both out of fear of reprisal for not obeying his order to the letter, and to delay the inevitable.

“Even waiting for her next command like a good girl,” he snarls as he cups your jaw with his gloved hand, “You’re going to suck my cock now, if that wasn’t clear?” 

You nod, eyes downcast as you try not to flinch away from his cruel touch. You yelp as his grip twists and he grabs your face roughly, fingers and thumb pressing into your cheeks, as he forces you to look at him. You splutter at the way he’s forced your lips apart as tears spring at the corners of your eyes. 

“Answer when you’re spoken to,” he snarls.

“Sorry,” you whimper, spluttering through your forcibly parted lips. 

“Sorry, what?” He shakes you a little and you let out a groan as you blink away the tears.  

“Sir, sorry, Sir,” you respond, hoping it’s the right answer. 

“Good girl,” he hums as he loosens his grip, “Take your clothes off.” 

“But-,” you splutter, forgetting yourself just a second too late before a hand fists in the front of your shirt. There’s a warning in the way he hauls you up to meet his gaze, your thighs hurt as you try and keep balanced on the bed. 

“I said, strip.” 

“Yes, Sir,” you submit as he smirks down at you. 

Quickly you shed your shirt and you try to ignore the hiss that escapes his lips as your breasts spring free. You awkwardly peel off your shorts and before you can throw them aside he catches your wrist and you cower at the look in his eye. 

“I’ll take those,” his voice is dark as he snatches them from your hand and brings them to his face, “Fu-uck,” he groans as he takes a deep inhale of the soaked crotch. 

You hate the way it stirs something inside you, a creep like him huffing at your arousal while you kneel before him. You should be disgusted but all you want is him to bury his face at the source. 

“Get to it,” he remarks almost lazily as he gives you a sideways look, his face still buried in your soiled shorts. 

You don’t respond this time, unsure if you can even form words at this point. You make quick work of his belt, the quick release clasp makes a loud clinking sound as it detaches. You suck in a breath as you peel his zipper down to reveal he’s not wearing underwear. 

His thick, leaking cock springs free and you salivate at the way his foreskin strains against his tip, smeared with precome. You clearly take too long to get to work as a large hand grabs the back of your neck, pulling you flush against his shaft as he pins his hips to your face. 

“I won’t tell you again, suck.” 

He pulls his hips back, his hand still tight on the back of your neck as you bring your hands up to steady his cock. You wrap your dominant hand around the base of his cock as you brace the other on his thigh for balance. 

He’s smooth and thick in your hand as you slowly pull back his foreskin to reveal his dark, weeping head. He’s huge, both long and thick and you don’t know how you’re going to fit it in. You make a precursory lick on the underside of his head, trying not to moan at the way his salty spend coats your tongue. 

“There it is,” he grunts above you as you circle his head, gathering his precome almost greedily before slotting your lips around it, “Go on, don’t be shy.” 

He presses you down onto his cock with the hand on the back of your head, forcing the first few inches inside. You splutter at the sudden intrusion, hollowing your cheeks to stop yourself from gagging. You look up through bleary eyes to see his mouth agape, his eyes glassy as he watches his dick disappear into the wet heat of your mouth. 

You moan around him as you squeeze the base of his cock, losing yourself to the moment as you bob your head up and down his length. You convince yourself that if he just comes in your mouth he’ll be satisfied, so you make it your goal to make him do just that. 

“Oh fuck,” you hear him huff above you as you remove the hand at the back of his cock, pushing yourself down until your nose is brushing against the wiry hair at the base, “Good fucking slut, taking this cock so well.” 

You hum around it as you continue to work your mouth up and down, pulling almost all the way out to lap and suckle at his head. You use the tip of your tongue to toy with his slit and he shudders, you smile to yourself before committing to something more. 

You relax your mouth as much as possible before starting to take him deep in your throat with hard, fast movements. The wet sound of you burying his cock deep in your throat is loud in the otherwise quiet room. 

“Eager girl,” he says through gritted teeth, “But you ain’t as clever as you think,” he chuckles as he rocks his hips forward to meet your eager mouth. 

You cough and splutter around him as he picks up the pace fucking your throat until tears are streaming down your face. He finally relents as you feel your throat contract, threatening to make you gag. You gasp for air as he holds your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he grins down at you. 

“You think I’d just nut in your mouth and leave?” He taunts as he pushes you back down on the bed, “No chance, love,” he says, almost dotingly as he peels off his black t-shirt, revealing his swirling tattoos and scarred body, “I found those cheeky blue pills in your medicine cabinet, I can go all night if I want to.” 

You look up at him, ashamedly open mouthed as you feel the arousal swirling in your core. The thrill of the role-play and the preparation Simon had done for you makes you gush. You can feel it as your slick coats your thighs as you lie there, completely at his mercy as he shucks off his black cargo pants.

“There she is,” he says with a smirk as he crawls over you, pushing your thighs apart as he kneels between them, “Submissive little bitch.”

You ball your fists at your sides as you glare up at the half-masked man above you. His thighs hit the backs of yours and you shudder as his thick cock rests on your slick folds. Your body craves to be filled, ruined by this man, even if you try to tell yourself otherwise. Your mind drifts to Simon, your Simon, not the man above you and there’s a pang of instinctual shame in your belly as you try and close your legs. 

“Oh, you found some bite huh?” The intruder grins as he speaks, his tongue darting out over his lower lip as he slowly rolls his hips, raking his length through your slit, bumping your clit with the tip slowly, purposefully. 

You writhe beneath him, pathetic panting mewls escaping you as you squeeze your eyes shut. His hands home to rest on your hips and you instinctively try to push them away, it’s pointless as you feel the low rumble of a laugh rock through you as his fingers dig in deep enough to bruise. 

“What’sa matter slut? Worried your little cunt can’t take my cock?” 

You shake your head as you try and squirm out from under him, but he shakes you forcefully, pinning you back down into the sheets. 

“Tell me,” he grunts as he rolls his hips back, letting his tip slip through your folds and notch for a brief moment at your core, “Don’t be shy.” 

“Thinking about my boyfriend,” you mutter, shame slithering under your skin as you try not to buck up against the blunt head of his cock at your entrance. It’s like you’re thrumming with energy, desperate to be filled. 

“Poor baby,” he coos as he sits back on his heels, removing his cock from you as he tilts his head to the side, “You’re never going to be satisfied by his little prick after I’m finished with you.” 

“No,” you shake your head as you try and twist out of his grip again, “Don’t want to think about him,” you groan and to your surprise you manage to turn, denying him your bare cunt for the briefest of moments. 

“I think you should,” the intruder sneers as you feel him flip you over onto your front, only now do you realise he let you squirm, just to get you like this, “Think about him while I do this to you.” 

He commands as he pushes your hips up so you’re forced onto your knees, ass in the air as your face presses into the sheet below. You turn your head, about to ask what he’s talking about when you feel his thumbs press into the seam of your ass, spreading you wide. You don’t have a moment to think before his tongue glides through your folds, the press of his nose against your ass has you groaning. 

Your legs quake as he takes your clit between his lips, sucking slowly as his tongue swirls around your aching bud. 

“Tastes even better now,” the intruder moans into your dripping folds as he grazes his teeth on your clit, “Such a sweet little pussy, wet and dripping just for me.” 

You cry out in pleasure as he slurps messily at your cunt, inhaling deeply as he works you over. Again and again he licks broad, slow stripes through your folds only to nip and suck hard at your clit with feral abandon. You’re trying hard not to come for him, to ignore the pressure building in your core as you feel two thick fingers press into you behind, followed by his thumb rolling over the puckered ring of your asshole. 

“Such a pretty little thing,” he murmurs against your cunt as you clench hard around his fingers as he uses his thumb to knead your tight hole, “Wonder how good your ass will take me.” 

“Please, no,” you whimper as you feel the pleasure streak through you, the way he’s playing with your ass makes your clit tingle. You’re going to come, you know it, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

“Not tonight, love,” he reassures you, but you cry out as he presses his thumb inside you, “Maybe some other time.” 

You don’t have the chance to question him as your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave. His broad tongue lashes against your clit as he fucks your asshole and pussy in tandem. The combined pleasure pulses through you as you scream into the sheet below, fists curled into the soft cotton as you quake and tremble through one of the most powerful orgasms of your life. 

“There you go, such a good little whore,” he says as he slowly pulls his fingers out of your holes, “Nice and loose for me now.” 

You barely register his words as you feel him shifting behind you. Your brain is a soupy mess of adrenaline and endorphins as you feel aftershocks of pleasure ripple through you. You nuzzle into the bedsheets, the smell of sex, your detergent, and somehow Simon’s musk fill your nostrils and you close your eyes for a moment. 

“No fallin’ asleep on me now,” you hear a harsh voice from behind you before a sharp crack ripples across your asscheek. You arch your back in pleasure and pain as the impact sends heat straight to your drooling cunt, “Want you to remember just how well I split this little hole open.” 

You feel his tip notch at your core, and you whine, arching your back at the familiar stretch as he presses just the head inside you. 

“Good girl,” he hums as you feel his broad hands slide down from your waist, rubbing firmly over your ass as he kneads the pillowy flesh, “Knew you’d take me well, knew you’d fucking love being fucked by a psycho like me.” 

“So good,” you groan as he stretches you out, throwing your insult from earlier back in your face. You feel like you should feel shame, disgust even. But all you can think about is how you want him to fuck you so hard you pass out. You want to come on his obscenely large cock and ruin the sheets below you. 

“So big,” you whimper into the sheets as you look over your shoulder at him. His mouth is twisted in a grimace as he focuses on your pussy. He’s savouring every second of his dick splitting you in two. 

He’s slow but firm, never giving you more than a second to adjust before forcing himself deeper into your slick cunt. He’s so big, you can barely breathe as he pulls you back onto his cock, spearing you on it as he groans low in his chest. 

“So full,” you pant as his eyes lock onto yours as he leans forward, pressing his chest against your back. Your knees wobble and you’re helpless to resist as he presses you down into a prone position. Your cunt clenches as it feels even tighter, his cock sitting heavy and deep within you as he smothers you with his large body. 

“Never want to stop fucking this tight little hole,” he rasps in your ear as you feel him roll his hips, “Feels like fuckin’ heaven.” 

He drags his cock through your walls, pulling almost all the way out before plunging deep inside you. Each time stretching you out around him, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you that makes you cry out in bliss. 

“You like that?” He snarls as he picks up the pace, fucking down into you as he sucks the column of your neck, he’s marking you as he tears you up inside, “You like being fucked dumb?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself babbling at the way he fills you so completely with every snap of his hips, “Yes, sir.” 

“Good fucking slut,” his harsh praise makes you weak as he snakes a had under you, thick fingertips finding your clit as he pounds into you, “Come on my cock, come on, milk me dry.” 

You clench at his words but the thought of him coming inside you snaps you out of your cock drunk haze.

“Wait,” you plead as he picks up the pace, clearly chasing his release as he rubs your clit with frenzied fingers, “Don’t, not inside.”  

You try and move but you’re utterly pinned, his one hand on your clit pinning you back against him as he fucks you with desperation now. You feel the panic rise in your throat at the same time pleasure burns in the pit of your stomach. You’re so close you don’t think you can hold back much longer.

“Going to fill this little cunt with my come, fuck it deep inside,” he grunts in your ear as he nips harshly at your skin, “Maybe knock you up, make sure you keep coming back for more.” 

“Please, no,” you whimper as you clench around his thick length, his tip slamming home into that sweet spot deep inside you, “Pull out,” you beg as you feel his pace quicken as his rhythm falters. 

“Going to fucking breed you, love,” he coos almost affectionately as he pressures your clit just right that you see stars, “There we go, milk it good, gonna fill you to the brim.” 

You come hard with a scream as you fist the sheets, squirming beneath the suffocating weight of the intruder as he fucks you through it. Your toes curl and your mouth falls slack as you whimper and moan, pleasure spasming through you like electric pulses. 

“Fuckin’ yeah,” the intruder roars in your ear as he punches his cock deep inside you as he comes. You feel the way his cock pulses and twitches inside you, and you can’t help but moan. He comes for what seems like minutes before he falls forward, still grinding his spent dick inside you as he mouths at your shoulder. 

You lie there, blissed out and shuddering through your aftershocks, filled with his come as it trickles out of your hole around his softening cock. 

“There you are pet,” he croons in your ear, “All fucking mine now.” 

You turn your head to press your cheek against the still-present balaclava and hum softly. The spell broken as you press a soft kiss to his jaw and hum contentedly. 

“All yours, baby,” you sigh and you feel the corners of his mouth twitch up as he comes down from his high. 

“You doing ok sweetheart?” He asks, slowly propping himself up on his elbows as he relieves you of his weight. 

“Fucking amazing,” you sigh as you roll onto your back, Simon’s cock slipping out of you with ease as you notice the wet trickle of your combined spend flow down your ass crack and onto the sheets below. You silently praise the birth control you’re on as you savour the way it feels.

“Didn’t hurt you?” He asks with glassy eyes as he removes the balaclava, “Didn’t upset you none?” 

“I meant it Si,” you say with a lazy smile on your lips, “Was fucking amazing, perfect even.” 

A boyish grin spreads across his lips and he dips his head down to kiss you softly, savouring you gently, tenderly. 

“Going to flip the breaker switches and put the kettle on, heat you up some of those leftovers after I’ve got you in the shower, ok?” He says softly, lips brushing yours as you nod slowly. 

“Sounds good,” you hum as your eyelids flutter shut.

“Stay awake, need to get you cleaned up, you smell like another man,” he jokes, and you roll your eyes as you force them open. 

“So do you,” you say with a frown and he cups your jaw as he places one last kiss on your lips.

“No shit,” he laughs and your stomach flutters at the gruff sound.  

“Si?” You call after him as he pads over to the dresser at the far end of the room to get some fresh clothes for you both. 

“Yeah?” He looks over his shoulder, worry in his eyes as he studies your face. 

“Thank you.” 

“No problem sweetheart,” he chuckles as he shucks on a pair of sweatpants and tosses you clean sleep shorts and one of his t-shirts. 

You watch as he restores the apartment’s electricity and turns the heating back on. He comes back in with the bedsheets and makes the bed fresh, making you get up and you whine in protest. But you’re grateful even if a little groggy. 

Soon he’s passing you a glass of water and a sports drink. You sit in Simon’s lap as he rests against the headboard, wrapping himself around you as he peppers every inch of your shoulders, neck, and face that he can reach with gentle kisses.

“Meant it about the shower and food,” he reminds you gently as he holds you tight against his chest. 

“I know, but this is nice,” you hum as you close your eyes, fingertips tracing patterns on Simon’s forearms as they wrap around you, “Five more minutes?” 

“Anything for you sweetheart,” he mumbles against your temple, and you know he means it. 

You also know he will drag your ass into the shower exactly five minutes and ten seconds from now. 

“I love you Si,” you say as you look up into the scarred face of the man you trust more than anyone else in the world. 

“Love you too sweetheart,” he leans down to kiss you slow and sweet before breaking away, “you’ve got four minutes left, savour them,” he whispers against your lips before dipping his tongue gently into your mouth. You make out slowly, without purpose or urgency, until Simon is hauling you up and into your shared bathroom.

Simon Riley is nothing, if not a man of his word. 

CoD/141 MasterlistMain Masterlist

[jaalismyhusband]

Anything (König x Reader)

The 1st instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: I have no idea how we got here

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic description of violence || Graphic description of injury || Graphic language

“You’re a liability.”

The words rang like a church bell. You were never one for petty violence but in that moment, after he’d so calmly said the words, you thought that you just might kill him.

“A liability?” You hissed, glaring at your superior like he’d grown two heads. “I’m a sniper, Sir, not a fucking ninja.”

The captain simply shifted his weight lazily, unfazed by your temper. He’d dealt with it many times throughout the years but it hadn’t bothered him because you weren’t inherently his. You were somebody else’s spitfire, under another unit’s command; but now you were part of the 141 and you needed to learn.

“Come on, Birdy. You know I’m right.”

Birdy.

You had Soap to thank for the name. ‘Snipers and birds both shit on people from above’. It wasn’t creative and honestly you could have thought of one hundred better names to offer, but once Ghost started addressing you by Birdy, it was set in stone.

When you said nothing, he continued.

“You can’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag,” he scoffed, swallowing a snort when your eyes widened. “Sniper’s need to defend themselves too, Birdy. You learnt that the hard way, remember?”

How could you not?

The knife wound had healed but the memory of it had not. Images of the hooded man wedging a blade into your shoulder flickered across your vision. Fists bearing down onto your jaw. Fingers wrapped around your throat.

A chill skittered across your skin.

“So, what’s your suggestion?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

When the corner of Price’s mouth quirked upward, you’d already begun to regret asking.

“Simple, really.” He shrugged, “someone’s gonna train ya.”

Your stomach dropped and a cold shiver traced the length of your spine.

“Who, Sir?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Ghost’s not here. Everyone’s on leave.”

Price smirked.

“Not everyone.”

___

You felt nauseas.

Anxiety had your stomach in a death grip, and it was all you could do to not throw up. Pacing up and down the gym mats, you tried to cool your nerves.

There was only one person that had remained a complete anomaly to you and now he’d been given literal permission to beat the shit out of you.

Training.

You remembered what they loved to call ‘training’ at your old unit. You’d never been the fastest or the strongest, that was not your job. You were the one who could take make an impossible shot a kilometre away, but that’s not what ‘training’ entailed.

Your body ached at the memory.

There was a small noise by the doorway and your body stiffened. He was letting you know that he was there, his equivalent of a knock.

You both knew that he could have had you on your back whenever he pleased.

“König.” You acknowledged him as confidently as you could, turning to face the beast head on.

The giant stood in the doorway looking like the fucking bogey man himself.

“Birdy,” König inclined his head. Those dark, watchful eyes observed you from beneath his hood, taking in your visage. Heat licked the back of your neck and you began to sweat under his gaze.

He was clad in his usual getup from the waist down, the tactical cargo pants and the hefty boots being his barracks favourite. It was the hoodie that had caught you by surprise, you’d seen it a few times in passing, but up close it rendered you breathless.

“I didn’t realize you were staying with the 141,” you said, swallowing nervously as he stepped into the room, ducking his head to avoid hitting the frame above.

This was a sick, sick joke.

“My transfer was approved,” was the only explanation that he offered you.

You knew, logically, that what had happened between the both of you had been a misunderstanding. It was a communication failure on behalf of the brass that had almost gotten you killed but the idea of working with him, training with him, made your stomach drop.

König’s hands got to work removing his gloves and the memory of those fingers wrapped around your throat made you flinch.

You’d set up a sniper’s nest atop the rooftop, watching the entrance of the building the 141 was infiltrating. They were going to flush out the target and send him running right into your line of fire.

No-one had been informed of KorTac’s involvement.

You’d heard König before you’d seen him, the dismantling of your trip mine giving you enough indication to roll onto your back to investigate. By then, he was already upon you.

You’d kicked the rifle from his hands but that was where your advantage finished. He’d dragged you by your ankles from your weapon, straddling your flailing body as he got to work. The knife he’d brandished stabbed into your flesh violently, and at first, you’d thought he only punched you.

Until the searing hot pain bloomed across your body and blood sprayed across his hood.

Those emerald eyes were wild and hard as he gripped your face over your balaclava. You couldn’t think to react, dizzied by the agony of knife he twisted into your skin. His palm covered the entirety of your features, fingers tight against your temples as he pulled your head forward then smashed it back into the concrete.

You thought your skull had exploded.

Fists ploughed into your jaw but it was as though you were numb now. Finally, his fingers were drawn to your throat, squeezing tightly as he leaned in. The cloth of his hood brushed against your battered body, filling the space between you as his lips pressed against your ear.

“Your fight is finished,” he hissed heatedly. Then König pressed down into your skin.

You don’t remember what happened afterward. You knew that he’d been called off by his chain-of-command just in time to stop himself from ending your life, but that was according to Soap.

You were in a coma for two weeks.

It took you months to recover.

And only once you came back to work, fit to fight and ready to go, had you discovered that König had applied to transfer into the 141 shortly after the incident. KorTac had offered him up to fill in your position while you recovered.

Not only had the bastard nearly killed you but he’d taken your place.

Now that you were back, he would lose his place as a sniper and be back to running with the team on the ground.

König watched you carefully from where he stood.

“You’re my instructor,” you said plainly, stating the obvious. “Price made you my hand-to-hand combat trainer.

“Ironic, isn’t it,” his voice came quietly from beneath the hood, a small snort following in suit.

You would have laughed had you not been so fucking terrified. You were about to take your place back on the team, a position this giant clearly wanted and now he was given the chance to put you back into the hospital with no questions asked.

You wouldn’t be able to do anything against him. König was a mountain of a man, a force to be reckoned with, and while he tried to make himself as disarming as possible it was implausible to hide that frame.

“Did you want to get started?” König asked, leaning his hip against the table beside him. He was so casual for someone who had nearly killed you.

“No,” you said simply.

“Are you not up for this?” König ventured carefully, pushing off the bench and taking a slow step towards you. Your heart thrashed against your ribs at his approaching figure and you forced yourself to stay still. “You still have bruising-“

“That’s what happens when someone shatters your fucking face, cunt,” you snapped, casting your gaze from his. You were hoping that he wouldn’t bring it up, everyone had danced around your condition for so long. No one spoke about how fucking ugly you looked as you tried to recover.

“It was an accident,” his voice was hard, almost bewildered at your sudden aggression. “We both paid the price for someone else’s mistakes.”  

“Don’t talk to me about paying the price, you fucker,” you snapped, shoving against his chest. König yielded a step and it infuriated you even further to know that he’d allowed it. “You got the fucking job you wanted, you got the transfer you wanted, you got the training you wanted. Didn’t you?”

“Yes, but-“

“You wanna know what I got?” You snapped, shoving him harder this time. König’s eyes narrowed and he snatched your wrists, holding them against his ribs to stop your assault. You continued anyway, walking his body backward until his heels hit the wall. “I got put into a fucking coma.”  

König’s gaze softened, his chest heaving beneath your hands. You could feel his heart pounding beneath your fists, you could hear his breaths grow ragged.

“I know,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on your wrists. “I was assigned to watch over your bed for those two weeks."

You stared at him for a long moment, sniffling and gasping for air after your rant. König lowered his head and his grip loosened.

“What I did to you…” he trailed off, unable to meet your gaze. How ugly must you have become that he couldn’t withstand looking at his own handiwork?

You turned around, hiding the hot tears forming along your lashes. You were so fucking ashamed by the terror gripping your throat, embarrassed by how much your image affected you. You hated feeling disgusting. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you at all times it was suffocating you, they gawked and stared and whispered about how your 'pretty face was ruined.'

You began to understand why people wear masks.

“You ruined me,” you rasped. “And I couldn’t do anything to stop you.”

König was silent from behind you, mulling over your words. You couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your outburst. He had stabbed you, shattered your skull, broken your nose and jaw and nearly snapped your neck- he deserved to listen to you yell at him at the very least.

Fingers slid over your shoulders, slowly turning you around to face him. You tugged against his hold half-heartedly, vision swimming beneath never-ending tears.

“Look at me, Birdy.” His voice was soft and pleading, his hand slowly moving to cup your bruised jaw. You froze as he manoeuvred you, forcing you to face him square on. König slowly lowered himself to rest a knee on the ground, leaving him still taller than you but closer to eye level.

With the hand that was free, he reached for his hood. You swallowed nervously as he carefully pulled it from his head, resting the cloth on his upright knee.

Dirty blonde hair lay splayed across his forehead, the length curling by his ears. Dark brows framed the emerald gaze that watched you intently, taking in your visage as you observed him. All of him.

The scars caught your attention.

Winding from his upper lip, across his eye and leaving a line through his brow, the winding length of damaged skin presented itself. There was another scar along the bridge of his nose that travelled across the width of his cheekbone and into his hair.

“Do I…” König trailed off, full lips parting as he mused over his next words. You stared in awe at the innocence of the freckles smattered across his features. “Are you afraid of me?”

You said nothing for a long moment, mesmerized by the features of a man that had haunted your thoughts for months. He’d been the centre of your existence for so long, the reason you ached and the reason you’d bled. König had plagued your every waking moment ever since the incident, and now he knelt before you. He was on his knees baring his vulnerabilities to you, knowing you could destroy him with it.

“Of course,” you whispered; your voice shaky as you met his gaze.

König’s expression became pleading, “then let me teach you how to beat me.”

His thumb lightly caressed your purple cheek, brows furrowed as he took in his handiwork. “Let me pay for what I’ve done by teaching you how to never let it happen again. And when you finally beat me, revenge will be yours and you may do as you wish.”

“Anything I want?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.

A wry, sad smile pulled at the corner of König’s mouth.

“Anything, mein vöglein.”

My little bird.

____

Next Chapter

[jaalismyhusband]

Pretty Little Thing Part 3

18+ Minors dni

Mob!Bucky x f reader, Rumlow x reader (forced marriage), a little steve x reader (platonic) 

Bucky’s starting to fall for you, Rumlow is a cockblock, being your abusive husband and all. Please like, comment and reblog! <3

Warnings: ANGST, forced abusive marriage, swearing, abusive marriage, fluff! 

Word count: 1.4k

Part 2 here 

Bucky sat at his desk, nursing a glass of whisky, his mind foggy as he thought about the evening he had with you. He kept his distance for the rest of the night, knowing if he sat too close, he’d be unable to keep his composure together. He held your hand as you both sat by the fire, regretting brining you there in the first place, because with each minute that passed he felt himself fall for you more.

You both spoke of family, hopes, dreams; you spoke about everything and nothing at all. In those moments, he felt free. The burdens of his job disappeared into thin air. He wasn’t a feared mobster; he was just Bucky with you. The little boy who ran down alleyways with Steve by his side, the boy who would run to his ma when he had nightmares. He wasn’t the man who lost his arm when his father’s enemies took their revenge through him. He wasn’t the cold ruthless killer that often went by the name Winter Soldier.

Keep reading

[jaalismyhusband]

Pretty Little thing Part 2

18 + Minors dni

Mob!Bucky x f reader, Rumlow x reader (forced marriage) A/N: Decided to break this into parts, protective mob bucky to the rescue, Rumlow can go choke. Please reblog, like and comment! 

Warnings: ANGST, forced marriage, abuse, swearing, FLUFF

Word count: 2k

Part 1 here

Rumlow barged into your room, grabbing you roughly by your hair, forcing you to look at him, his breath hot on your face, reeking of liquor.

“You want him?!”

You whimpered in pain as he continued to tug. He had never touched you before, this was the first time. You tried to shake your head in confusion but his grip on got tighter.

“You know who you stupid bitch, you took your time feeling him up, staring at him like a cock hungry whore”

Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, streaming down your face as you tried to answer.

“No! I-”

“SHUT UP” Rumlow let go of you as you fell to your knees, shaking as he began to pace around the room. “You are my wife. You only look at me like that, no someone else. I’ve been patient with you, letting you live your little fantasy, giving into all your stupid little needs.  You will give me what I want or the deal is over. You and your family can enjoy a new home 6 feet underground”

Keep reading

[jaalismyhusband]

Pretty Little Thing Part 1

18+ Minors dni

Mob!Bucky x f reader, Rumlow x reader (forced marriage)  A/N: This is going to be in parts because it was getting way too long for a one shot. Felt like writing some protective Mob Bucky because he is an absolute treasure. Rumlow is a piece of shit. Please like, comment and reblog! <3 

Warnings: ANGST, forced marriage, swearing, abusive marriage 

Word count: 1.8k

Bucky reluctantly got in the SUV after Steve nagged him for 2 hours about the importance of maintaining civil relationships with business partners and rivals.

“You know what they say punk, keep your friends close and your enemies closer”

Bucky groaned, adjusting the gun in his holster wondering how he let Steve convince him to meet with Brock Rumlow again.

He had zero interest in having any business dealings with Rumlow; he had agreed to a meeting to maintain an air of peace. Though they were both part of the same world, Bucky had some morals.

As they neared the residence, something was different this time. Bucky frowned, wondering why the mansion they were pulling up to looked so…homely. A trail of flower bushes lined the gravel road to the entrance. A large garden swing sat on the lawn. Rumlow didn’t seem like the type to sit outside on a sunny day to lounge on a garden swing. Not unless someone half naked was on it. The large balcony that was typically occupied with the women Rumlow was entertaining that week was empty. Instead 2 guards that had previously never been seen had taken up residence at the main door.

“He’s up to something, this man didn’t suddenly turn into Mr. Rogers” Steve shook his head, doing a quick pat down of his weapons before exiting the vehicle.

Keep reading

[jaalismyhusband]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

From the request HERE

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Only a few more days are left of his short leave and Simon is determined to make every last second count with you. What better way to start the day than buried in between your thighs, helping you wake up by the feeling of his tongue alone and then overstimming you.

Word Count: 4.6 k

Warnings:

The sun has just started to peek itself through the small gap in the blinds covering the window, illuminating the bedroom in enough light that it causes Simon to stir awake with the first signs of life as those brown eyes flutter a few times from the brightness until he comes back into consciousness. Rubbing his bare chest and scratching at the patch of hair on his lower abdomen as he rolls over onto his side to face the other body lying peacefully asleep, his breath hitches at the sight that he’s greeted with. 

Your long eyelashes rest delicately against your cheek, your chest slowly rising and falling with your deep, calm inhales and exhales as you still drift mindlessly through your dreams. The covers that are pulled up to your breasts conceal your naked form lying just underneath and the way they cling to your form allows him to follow the contours of your body through the fabric. You are a fucking picture of peaceful beauty.

Damn, you are so perfect he cannot look away and suddenly there is a tenting forming beneath the covers still wrapped around his lower half. It’s not his fault; how is he supposed to keep himself restrained when this is what he gets to wake up to? An ache situates itself in his chest, a gnawing blooming in his stomach to caress all that flawlessness. It is a hunger that only grows stronger the more he gazes until he is compelled to get up.

There are only so many days left in the short bit of leave he has and he wants to make every single second count. That’s why you both find yourselves naked even as you sleep; he needs his body to memorize the way yours feels against his and he needs to fuck you whenever the moment strikes, so there is no sense in wasting any amount of time with superfluous things when you both are about to go months without seeing one another. And right now that is working to his benefit as he wants to shower you with some extra attention to start the day.

Just a taste won’t hurt, he thinks, knowing full well that once he starts there is no stopping. Just till she wakes up.

He moves out from the warmth at your side as carefully as he can to ensure that his movements don’t wake you, not yet. The blanket slips from his unclothed hips as he shifts up onto his knees and positions himself over you, his hands atop the mattress on either side of your body so that he can push himself down your sleeping form while his lips take advantage of all that uncovered skin. Feathery light kisses trail down across the supple flesh of your breasts and over your soft torso as his hot mouth presses delicately into you in adoration for all this beauty that he gets to have all to himself. 

All these curves, all this smooth, voluptuous skin always ready for him to caress, it is enough to drive him insane.

Muscles ripple through his bare back as he continues down the line of your body, inching slowly so as not to miss any patch of flesh. He is careful not to drag his face too harshly as he goes along so that the stubble on his jaw won’t prick your skin, opting instead to pick his head up off you as he moves only to lower it back down at the next spot ready to receive his attention. Your skin is heated from being snuggled down in the bed and it invites him to nuzzle his nose into it as he goes.

Simon eventually reaches the edge of the covers that have fallen around your waist from him getting up and he has to lift them out of the way to reveal the rest of your gorgeous body to his yearning mouth. Rolling them back at a leisurely pace, he makes sure not to reveal too much so the cooler air outside of the blanket doesn’t have a chance to make you uncomfortable until the warmth from his lips can keep the skin flushed. Over the curve of your waist, your stomach, your hip bones he places his steamy kisses. It is when he gets to your belly button that the anticipation finally hits him that he is getting closer to his favorite spot: that beautiful place in between your thighs.

The mattress creaks under his weight as he arrives at the foot of the bed so that he can remove the covers and push them off your legs. He can feel his cock throb as he pulls them back and finds what he’s always pining for. A heavy exhale falls from his lips and his mouth begins to salivate as he catches that first glimpse of your legs laying splayed open and that sweet little pussy just there waiting for his mouth to embrace.  

Simon can’t ever get his fill of it and God, he needs it so bad now that he sees it again. For a split second he thinks about making his movements more pronounced to wake you up, but a sudden intrusion of an idea makes him stop. You had mentioned recently that you were wanting to try something, to be woken up with his tongue lapping against your clit. What kind of man would he be if he never indulged his sweetheart’s fantasies? Today seems as good a day as any to make your dreams come true, not that he ever needs an excuse to get lost in all that goodness between your legs. 

There are times when he is so ravenous for your cunt that nothing else will even come close to satisfying that beast inside him, but today he doesn’t want it to be about the harsh and rough… well, not yet; this morning is all about making you so delirious and overstimulated off his tongue only that you won’t be able to get out of bed at all and he can keep you all to himself for the entire fucking day.  

Quietly Simon slides himself off the edge of the bed to situate himself kneeling on the carpet so that he can lay his torso on the mattress, giving him a better angle to be able to move in. Your legs are positioned open in such a way that from here he can easily slip his face up in between them and right against you, but he is in no rush. Ever so gently he pins more tender kisses along the soft, supple muscles of your inner thighs, his lips embracing your flesh with silent promises that everything he is fixing to do he is going to do for you only because you deserve it. 

His pretty girl, his sweet thing, so perfectly made as if just for him; fuck, do you make him want to worship the ground you walk on. 

His eyes catch the goosebumps forming under his breath along your body wherever he places his warm mouth and he cannot help but smile at your automatic physical reaction to him. Even in sleep you know his touch and respond to it. 

“My sweet girl,” he whispers in his husky morning voice into your calf as he continues up the length of your leg. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so goddamn beautiful. I’m one lucky bastard and I ain’t eva’ gonna forget it.” 

He continues on without hesitation as he slides all the way up until he is right at the threshold of those delicate petals that he wants his mouth on. A moist heat meets his lips as he leans in and places kiss after kiss to them; never has something felt so perfect pressed against him. If Simon could live between your legs permanently, they would never fucking find the man again. 

One of those beefy arms he slips under your leg to prop it up and move it even further out of his way so that he has as much space to work as he needs. Restraining himself from going in fast and heavy isn’t easy, but what he wants is to keep his movements relaxed, not crazed and insatiable like on occasions when he’s had a bad day and just needs to smother against you. No, you deserve the full princess treatment from him and that is what you are going to get. Taking the opposite hand not around your thigh, he uses two of those long, thick fingers to delicately spread apart the lips to get at all that lays in waiting inside.

“There she is,” Simon sighs quietly as he immediately spots that sweet little bean that he desperately wants to suck until it’s swollen and throbbing and then even more until you are coming on his face.

He doesn’t go right for the kill first, instead building the anticipation of your body as he kisses that crease between your petals and your thigh, using his balmy breath to stimulate that sensitive area as he switches sides a few times until he feels you twitch and only then does he continue. Gathering up all the spit in his mouth he collects it on his tongue and presses it through your petals to coat the area until your body can take over. As he pushes that thick muscle into you he catches the sound of a quick rush of air escaping through your nose, followed by a sleepy sigh as you stir.

His movements are tender and intimate, circling the nub with the tip of his tongue and slowly using the pad to make love to your clit. You sigh again heavier this time as you begin to squirm in your sleep the more he strokes, your hips rocking faintly over his face as the sound of your fingers clawing at the fitted sheet is caught. Just a little more stimulation and you aren’t going to be able to stay asleep much longer.

Your quiet, breathy moans become more than whispers now and those amber eyes dart back up to your face over the curves of your body, desperate to watch the subtle changes that ripple across your features as he works at bringing you into consciousness by your pleasure alone so he can witness the very moment you wake. 

There is a brightness on the other side of your shut eyelids as you slowly slip back into the realm of consciousness, the sound of your own muted groans filling the quiet around you along with something else you cannot quite distinguish and it feels like you are still dreaming. Then it hits you: there is a familiar glowing, warm sensation in the pit of your stomach that amplifies as you continue waking. Your eyes flutter open as the sensation is so intense that you can’t ignore it anymore and as you look around to gather your bearings you notice that there is a blonde-haired head rocking undisturbed between your thighs.

As you focus you realize that he is staring right back at you and the corners of his eyes crinkle as you feel his lips upturn against your petals; you know he’s pleased with himself at what he is doing. He doesn’t stop or try to speak, he only tightens his grip around your thigh that he has propped on his shoulder and continues to service your clit with his tongue while he presses his face in tighter so that the pressure adds to the stimulation. 

The sensation is damn near overwhelming now and you realize that he must have been at this for a bit as it feels like you are about to come. Your head falls back heavy against the pillow as your eyes close to allow the feeling to wash over you completely, needy moans unable to be kept under control fill what was once the silence in the room. 

That’s when you feel his lips lock around your clit before he sucks down on it and using the very tip of his tongue he twirls around the bud while his fingers come back into play. He finds your entrances and gently shoves his middle finger inside to rub across your G spot and instantly you can feel your calm shatter into pieces. A euphoric spasm shoots through your entire body, making your limbs start to tingle, and you know by the feeling that it is only a few more moments that remain until you are going to spill.

“Simon, shit…gonna come,” you whimper his name as you grind your head into the pillow. To have so much ecstasy hit you all at once overwhelms you with its intensity and leaves you unable to function. You are about to come, that is all your half-asleep brain can process. 

With a few more strokes of that strong muscle and a few more flicks of his finger resting inside you, the pressure building at the base of your spine and the warmth gathering in the pit of your stomach reach their threshold and you spill over the edge with a strong jolt that causes your back to arch up off the bed as you cry out. The force of it makes you buck against Simon’s face, but he is ready and digs his fingers in full force until his hold on you is so secure that he isn’t going anywhere as you ride out wave after wave of your orgasm that crashes over you like a tidal wave. 

Fuck, what a way to start the day.

In your sleepy, mind-numbed state, you forget just how voracious your military man can be and mistakenly believe that at any moment he is going to emerge from your thighs and come lay beside you…except instead of letting you go, he doesn’t stop. Simon keeps at it, only slowing his pace down to almost nothing, but not pulling away from you. Instead he sneaks quick breaths by tilting his head to the side so that it exposes his nose to the air before he buries it right back in against your now dripping slit. 

“Simon, baby,” you call groggily down to him as you try to wriggle free of his grasp; it’s the only thing you can do to persuade him to release you, “you can take it easy. It’s still early, we got all day.”

Just a second, you need to take a break only so long as to catch your breath.

Simon hears your pleas, but it falls on deaf ears as he does not even budge. His plan is already set in motion and you are not nearly exhausted enough for him to even think about stopping yet. This day needs to stay in the forefront of your mind for at least a few weeks after he leaves and be the specific memory that fuels your desperate masterbating while he’s gone and not able to fix the ache.

“Shh…” he hushes mutedly against you. “I only have a few more days with ya and I wanna give ya my full attention. And this mornin’ I wanna take care of ya. I’m gonna take care a ya so fuckin’ good, baby.”

Is there a way to say no to that? If there is, you can’t find it and don’t want to. Even through the overly sensitive nature of your body right now, you don’t want to deny him a thing, not when he says it like that. And to be honest now that he has you at his mercy, his tongue still stroking along the line of your slit before coming back up to circle the nub, you are starting to want it again too.

Tiny beads of sweat like mist cover over your body as the feeling of Simon’s arms slithering up your torso are felt running through the perspiration, greedy hands searching for your chest without being able to see. Grabbing onto as much of your supple breasts as can fit in his large palms he pinches the nipples and rolls them between his thumb and forefinger to make your heated body burn until you whine out loud as they stiffen at his touch.

“Shi-i-it, Simon,” you say, your speech starting to slur together as the mindless haze floods your thoughts from the activity at your chest that radiates in waves of arousal you can feel throb in your clit. Keep sucking, keep playing with my tits, don’t stop, your mind screams.    

Everything outside this is like a distant memory; your body is floating and your mind drunk as you exist only in a world made of pure ecstasy. Your hand reaches down around his arms across your torso to the back of his head where you can press and push him in tighter to your pussy and you hear Simon hum a deep, contented sigh at the feeling of you forcing him to suffocate even more. 

Tha’s it baby, drown me, he thinks to himself as some feral part of his brain gets activated. 

There is movement in the mattress that shakes your body up and down as Simon begins to grind his aching cock against it, trying to use the friction to relieve some of the pressure in the swollen tip. Hearing your beautiful music while being smothered in your pussy is like a religious experience that is akin to having heaven on earth. 

Your glistening thighs are vibrating around Simon's ears and as each flick of his tongue finds its mark you are brought closer to climaxing again as you spiral into sensory overload. Over and over he engages with your core, his mouth filling with your sweet juices, the tip of his tongue playing in such a way it feels like he is signing his name on his favorite part of you. 

His name is falling from your lips in pathetic whines now as the only word you can recall in the fog of euphoria that you are trapped in. Every inch of you is wrapped in a cold sweat that feels like you’re about to burst into flames, the muscles in your belly contract rigid as the pressure in your spine increases with every stroke.  

Right there, it’s right there. You have to come to release the tension.

And that tightness finally snaps just like that and you come again, this time harsher and more intense than the last. Your thighs lock tightly around Simon’s head as you writhe wildly, your body struggling to take all that immense euphoria that fills up every inch of you.

Lengthy seconds pass as you come back down from that high while the sounds of your whimpers act as a gauge to the man crushed in your leg lock how long he will have left to stay suffocating. Once you settle back down again into the pillows and release his head from your hold does he actually emerge fully to sit up for the first time since he went down. 

Twice is enough, right? For anyone else it would be, but for Simon you know the man is still craving more. He wipes away the accumulation of cum and spit glinting in the morning light off the hairs on his chin onto the sheet he has picked up, a contented grin filling his beautifully stark features as he sets the damp fabric aside and stalks back up onto the bed like a lion ready to pounce. Stray kisses embrace your lower abdomen as he sets himself into position kneeling between your legs. 

“Ya ready for more a’ me, baby?” he asks, though not waiting long enough for an answer before he is gripping into your hips to pull your body down over him until your butt rests on top of his thighs. 

You shake your head back and forth. “Too much, t-too much,” you plead, but that isn’t going to do anything and you know it. He is ravenous.

Simon licks his raw, swollen lips. “But you’re takin’ it all so fuckin’ well. Your legs aren’t even shakin’ that bad yet, sweetheart. Said I was gonna take care ‘a ya good and I think that means ya need more.”

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry at the thought of going again. “I can’t…I can’t…” you continue, the back of your head digging into the pillow. His fingers run along your inner thighs to send shockwaves of overwhelming ecstasy shooting up your spine to the top of your head and your mouth struggles to form the rest of the words. “Just give me a minute. Please, Si. I don’t think I can go anymore.” 

“Yes ya can, beautiful; you’re not done,” he grunts with a sharp inhale as he takes your legs in his grip and lifts them up so that he can rest your calves over his shoulders in a way that will strap you to him. Looking down at you through the gap in your legs he flashes a toothy, mischievous grin that has you shivering with anticipation as the heat from his breath rolls over your stomach. “Come on, sweetheart, I know ya ‘ave a little more in ya. You’re gonna take it all for me, yeah? I want ya ta fuckin’ soak me.”

You’re screwed.

Nodding your head in agreement, he immediately leans his face in until his nose can nuzzle against that overstimulated button and your back harshly arches right off the mattress, hands gripping with iron strength into the bundled up sheets you’ve gathered in your fists. Those long, rough fingers holding up your sides drive deeper into your hips so that you can’t slip away from his face while you buck roughly as the movements of his tongue settle back into a steady rhythm again.

So velvety soft, so warm, so moist, it makes his engorged cock throb hard and can feel it prod into your butt. He is overtaken by a desperate, burning need that floods his veins like wildfire; he wants to bury his face even deeper into you as if he is trying to fuse himself with your body. That feeling in him is unleashed in all its fury and he laps at your cunt faster and harder with each passing minute and your already weakened body is overwhelmed. 

“Fuckin’ breathe, sweet thing,” he says in a deep, desperate growl, ripping his face from within you for only long enough to speak the order, as he looks down to see the mixture of pain and pleasure ripple through your brow before he is right back in. 

Hot tears are stinging at the rims of your eyes now as your overly sensitive clit is stimulated again, collecting until they finally break over the edge to stream out from the corners and down over your cheeks. Simon stares at them glinting in crystalline drops as they catch the light from the window before they disappear and gather on the pillow behind your head and goddamn are they so beautiful they nearly stop his heart. 

This is it, this is the one that will do you in and his mission will finally be accomplished. He is pushing your body to its limit of what it can handle and you take it all so gorgeously. To see his sweet thing so out of her goddamn mind is something he hopes will be ingrained in his memory for the rest of his miserable life. 

The heels of your feet dig into the sides of his bare torso until his ribs are stinging under the pinpointed pressure. You don’t know if you have another one in you, but just as the thought burrows into your intoxicated mind you can already feel that gathering warmth in the lower part of your abdomen…except… Something is happening, that feeling of orgasmic pleasure bubbling up in your core is similar, but different. 

“Do ya want me ta stop?” he asks with his mouth full, prompted at the feeling.

You whimper pathetically through the tears spilling from the corners of your eyes; as overwhelming as it is, there is no way in hell you can let him stop now. “No,” you say pitifully as you try to push his head back down tighter against you, “don’t, don’t. Please…oh fuck, fuck!!”

“Good girl,” he growls as he dives right back in like he hasn’t already had you twice now.  

It’s too much, the pressure is overwhelmingly too intense. A deep sense of release more extreme than any orgasm you’ve ever experienced leads to a gushing sensation from between your legs and you throw your head back as you squeal loud as ever as it just keeps coming. Your body shakes and twitches as everything you have is released onto his face for the last time.

“There ya go,” he praises in between breaths as he strokes you through it, stopping once you lay limply in his grip. “Ride it out for me.”

Legs shaking, chest heaving, eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed, Simon lowers you back down from his face and notices that his lap is wet and there is a markedly large wet stain soaking into the sheet under you both now. His face is just as coated and Simon is quick to realize what has happened. 

You can barely move at this point, but still turn your face back towards him to be met with a very happy and content man gazing back at you with those fiery auburn eyes as he wipes at the moisture covering face to clean it.

“Goddamn,” he says with a grin as he emerges from the same sheet he used before, “my pretty girl gettin’ so worked up she fuckin’ squirts on my face. Ya do know how ta fuckin’ treat me right, baby.”

You’ve never experienced anything quite like it before and are surprised that you are even able to do it in the first place, but if anyone could make you do it, it would be him. For a split second you feel a little self-conscious at this new development, but the way that Simon looks at you as if you have just hung the stars makes you giggle from the combination of nerves and adrenaline and settle back down.

He crawls back up the bed and drops down exhausted, but completely satisfied beside you and once he settles he reaches out to pull you into his steamy, heated embrace, skin to skin against his chest. His hand cradles the back of your head as he simply gazes into your eyes until your breathing slows and only then does he finally go in to kiss the last part of you he has left to claim.

His lips meet yours softly, but with the entirety of his passion for you. This is his little slice of paradise that he cannot help but feel lucky to have. Out of all the shit he’s had to deal with in his life, he found you and that means something to him. That’s why things like this he will never mind doing, not for you. Not if it’s to keep you satisfied. 

“Ya know, ya make it so fuckin’ hard for me ta leave,” Simon sighs quietly against your lips as the backs of his coarse fingers caress the delicate skin of your cheek in featherlike strokes. “I gotta make it just as hard for ya. Cause I’m gonna miss ya like hell. Still got two days left; gonna make ‘em count, sweetheart.”

Oh, he will… he definitely will. He always does.

[jaalismyhusband]

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place. 

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay. 

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle... 

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages. 

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue. 

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox. 

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots. 

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom. 

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger. 

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”  

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious. 

Why would you say that? 

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. 

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you. 

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile. 

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur? 

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you. 

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts. 

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly. 

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you. 

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.” 

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears? 

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat. 

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to… 

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels. 

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats. 

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use. 

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want. 

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man. 

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone. 

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out. 

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand. 

He wants you to guide him to his father. 

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years. 

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens. 

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you. 

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is. 

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh. 

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out. 

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely. 

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory. 

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand. 

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission. 

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm. 

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.” 

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick. 

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.” 

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

[jaalismyhusband]

Home And More

hiii my back is killing me but horny for simon NEVER stops!!! afab but gender neutral reader, consentual somnophilia, simon eats u out whilst u sleep bc he wants u that bad, simon cums in his pants from eating u out

Ghost was always there for you. 

He lived up to his namesake in that regard, always spotted in the corner of your eyesite, most of the time gone by the time moved to greet him, or ask what he was up to during some rather strange times you caught him watching. 

He protected you, kept an eye on you best he could, wanted to keep you safe.

He knew you didn't need it, knew as a fellow member of 141 that you could easily protect yourself, he trusted you more than he trusted himself sometimes, but you two were close. Not in the same way the rest of 141 was, despite how strong your relationship was with them, it was different with Ghost. It was more.

Whilst neither of you outright defined your relationship, never had the time to go on proper dates or spend as much time together as you wanted, it was obvious to everyone, including yourselves, that you loved each other more than life itself. The situations you both often found yourselves in caused your relationship to blossom much quicker than would be considered usual, but nothing about your relationship was usual. 

Long nights of watch often lead to keeping each other company as you cleaned your weapons, sitting together in a comfortable silence and just existing together. To him, it was the little things about you that he craved, the happiness in stolen moments together, even in the worst of situations. It was comfortable with you, even after days of fighting, after having to shield every emotion behind getting the job done efficiently, prioritising anything but yourselves. 

It was these times spent together that led to Simon longing for you when apart, the silence away from you almost unbearable. It was the same as it always was, even when you were there the silence was the same, but to him it was a stark difference. Your missing presence was notable, it left him on edge and more snappy than his normal, usually friendly jabs. Fingers twitching often like he wanted to hold something, wanted to reach out and grab.

It was this pining, the want in his chest that lasted the entire mission, that led him to your room, quickened steps uncaring of the time of night, of the fact anyone of sound might would be asleep right now. Not Simon, however, not when he spent the last weeks aching to touch you, the time alone on watch usually spent by your side instead spent humping his fist, nothing being enough without your touch, your voice right beside his ear.

The way he slammed your door open he was surprised you didn't wake up immediately, the desperation causing him to use a little too much force, if the walls weren't as sturdy as they were, he was sure the door handle would have left a sizable indent in the wall behind. He just couldn't help himself, not when you were finally in his reach, finally before him, finally able to feel you again, properly. 

The scent of you, your room full of everything you, was enough to make Simon shiver, hands almost shaking as he removed the blanket from your sleeping form and grabbed your hips, dropping to his knees and pulling you towards him. He knew you were okay with this, heard your voice telling him to just take you whenever, you really wouldn't mind, not when it's him, not when you've missed him just as much as he's missed you. Any touch from him is a blessing, waking up to him is an honour. 

He made quick work of your shorts, your underwear alongside them, almost groaning when he could finally see all of you, finally see the hole he'd been desperate to fuck the entire time he was away from you. His hand never compared to being buried deep inside of you, how tight you were, how you would whine his name and beg for more. Shoving the mask off of his face, the balaclava up above his nose, he spread you apart with his thumbs and let a low hum at the sight, how absolutely delicious you looked. 

He missed this. Missed seeing so needy for him, even unconsciously, he loved knowing that you needed him as much as he felt like he needed you.

It was easy for him to lean down, press a soft kiss against your clit, before absolutely devouring you. 

It was your own loud, depraved whine that woke you up, your thighs tensing around Simon's head and hand immediately going to push him away. 

"Don't," Simon all but growled at your attempt, flattening his tongue to lick from hole to clit. His voice was so deep, so gravelly, you couldn't help the whine that escaped. 

You went slack against the bed, the hand in the top of his mask only tightening, no longer pushing him away but pulling him against you, thighs tense on either side of his head. 

"Sweet thing," Simon's voice was low, a quiet whimper. "Sorry for wakin' you, just needed your cunt too badly." 

"It's- okay!" Your voice was all whines at this point, high pitched and needy. Even when trying to reassure him, he didn't pause for even a minute. Even when you were trying to tell him you didn't mind, that he could spit in your mouth and use you so that he gets off, you wouldn't care at all, so long as he feels good.

Sleep still clouded your mind, still covered your thoughts in a blanket of grogginess, but the pleasure Simon gave you was red-hot, almost blinding. It was hard to even think when he was this close, this determined to bring you to the peak of your pleasure over and over, as much as his energy drained body would allow. 

"Simon," You whined, and you could feel him grin against you, could feel the low groan he let out at you simply moaning his name at his actions. He really was pent up, if just your voice and taste was getting to him that much, and he thanked whatever God was out there that you were too tired to focus on anything, you weren't able to see how he was humping the air. 

"S'okay, love, just stay still, yeah?" Voice slightly muffled, unable to pull away even to respond. "I'll take good care of you…" 

He touched you, ate you, like a man starved. And he was. He missed your taste so much, missed feeling you tremble on his tongue. He would happily spend hours between your thighs, devouring you whole.

"Needy cunt just wanted attention, who am I to deny my sweet little thing?" 

Suckling your clit into his mouth, it wasn't hard for him to move his fingers to your hole, for him to press inside, very little resistance as a result of his tongue and how much your pussy was practically drooling against him. 

Your hands were tight in his hair, the balaclava pushed off due to your grip, your desperation to touch him, your Simon, not any mask or material.

"S'too much, please-!" 

"You can take it," He muttered against you, eyes lidded and watching, tone almost stern. "You're always so good for me, always so sweet… you can take anything I give you, pretty thing." 

His lips and tongue on your clit, fingers pressed deep inside, the fact he was finally here, in your bed like you dreamed of him being, was all so overwhelming. It didn't take long for you to reach your peak, not when you've been waiting for this since the moment he left, been waiting for his touch since the last time you felt it.

The hands in his hair tightened, your voice raising an octave as you moaned his name, and if Simon wasn't as strong as you knew he was, you would be worried at how tightly your thighs were around his head. You knew he didn't care, knew he welcomed anything that meant you were as close as possible, loved when rode his face and used him for your own pleasure, as you were doing now, bucking against him and holding him close.

The groan he let's out is low, needy, and if you weren't as overwhelmed as you were, completely out of it with white hot pleasure, you would have teased him for how much it sounded like a whine.

It quickly became too much, hand still holding his hair tight moving to push him away, move him away from your incredibly sensitive cunt. 

The grin he gave you was devilish, devious as he moved up from his knees to kiss you, to press his lips against yours and consume you whole, based on how desperate he seemed. 

"Simon," You muttered into the kiss, breathing slowly and heavily. You had missed him so much, missed feeling him against you, it was such a blessing to have him back. 

"Gimme a minute," Your voice was low as you pulled away, moving to instead trail kisses down his cheek, his jaw. "You can do whatever you want to me."

"No need," he spoke quietly, slowly, like he was ashamed. You would be worried if it wasn't for the flush on his cheeks, the way he narrowly avoided your eyes and refused to look at you. "I'm uh... I'm good." 

Simon, the insatiable man that he was, refusing something like this? You moved one hand to hold his jaw, pulling back with narrowed eyes. He still refused to look at you, and when he moved his hips away, you realised what happened.

Simon came in his pants from eating you out.

The grin that spread across your face was quick, bright, and it only made the flush on his face worse. 

"Simon!" You whispered, grin bright and tone full of fake shock, "Really?"

"Don't," He groaned against you, hiding his face in your shoulders. "Seriously. Don't you dare. Fuckin' embarrassing."

You quickly moved to press another kiss on his lips, full of love and utter adoration. You knew what he was like, knew how easily he could turn against himself, feel bad about the smallest of things that didn't truly matter. It was easy for him to put walls back up, to pull away and retreat back into himself, and you wouldn't let that happen. 

"You're so fucking hot," You muttered into the kiss, gently biting into his lower lip. "Jesus, Simon, really? God, I can't believe you're this hot,"

The low noise he let into the kiss made everything worth it. The time away, the time spent missing him, it didn't matter when he was here, finally. 

Simon was home, back with you, where he belonged.

[jaalismyhusband]

Refugee (Jealous!Ghost x Medic!Reader)

Rating: Explicit Genre: Smut, angst, comfort Word count: 6,5 k Tags/warnings: SMUT 🔞 Jealousy, possessive behavior, grumpy/sunshine dynamic, pining, like... all the pining. Size kink, p in v, cunnilingus, creampie, hugs. Minor injuries. POV: horny, bitter, lonely Ghost. Reader is female and works as a medic at the base. Everyone is a hot mess. Summary: Oblivious & jealous Ghost makes the reader feel better.

Pretty smiles are much like traps, and he has learned to avoid them. But there's a hole in his armour, some weak spot that allows hers to slip inside. It's not the first time, nor the last, so he squares his shoulders and starts to mend that spot. He stuffs it full with whatever he finds; he does whatever it takes.

But then he sees her smile to Price, beaming like the fucking sun.

Of course it has to be the man he respects the most, the man he wishes nothing but well. And there's nothing more to it. She likes the captain, and of course she does: everyone likes John Price. She'll soon be waiting for him if she isn't already. Smiling, wet and sweet, spread all over the captain's bed.

It's only work that awaits him. From dawn till dusk, with hungry arms and a cold, dead cunt.

---

The first thing he notices is a fuckable mouth.

It's crude, but so are most of his thoughts, from sunrise to sunset. It has been years since he has even tried to check them. They are allowed to run rampant nowadays: he fucks hostiles with bullets and knives, and it hasn't given him nightmares in years.

And besides, it's a nice thought: one of the very few.

Women are women, and he has killed the desire for anything more than flesh beating against flesh years ago. There's no time, no use, so why torment himself with something that will never be?

But the mouth turns into something more than just fuckable. It's also a smile.

She's smiling. Often, too. Far too often for a woman who works in a place like this, for people like them. Far too softly when stitching up someone like him, only to send him off to meet death again.

Pretty smiles are much like traps, and he has learned to avoid them. But there's a hole in his armour, some weak spot that allows hers to slip inside. It's not the first time, nor the last, so he squares his shoulders and starts to mend that spot. He stuffs it full with whatever he finds; he does whatever it takes.

But then he sees her smile to Price, beaming like the fucking sun.

Of course it has to be the man he respects the most, the man he wishes nothing but well. And there's nothing more to it. She likes the captain, and of course she does: everyone likes John Price. She'll soon be waiting for him if she isn't already. Smiling, wet and sweet, spread all over the captain's bed.

It's only work that awaits him. From dawn till dusk, with hungry arms and a cold, dead cunt.

---

By the time he sees her in a civilian setting, he knows he's pretty much fucked.

The oversized medical uniform doesn't disguise her frame this time. Everything's on tray, not distastefully, but still. She's classy, feminine, and so fucking gorgeous that it takes him a while to rip his eyes off her as she walks to the pub with Price.

It was supposed to be just him, Soap, and the captain but of course Price had invited her – some medic – as if it was the norm here to invite medical personnel out after work. It changed the mood – that there was a woman. Tongues were tied, jokes were prude, three cocks competed for her attention, whether consciously or not. Seeing Price and her laugh together was a vision he could do without.

But as much as the boys followed the sway of her ass at the pub, they didn't see the potential jerk approaching at two o'clock. It was fucking pathetic of him to check her out as she walked to the bar and then feel a flare of rage as some drunken fool did the exact same. But when the obvious preying starts, no one leaves him with no choice but to walk to the counter too. No one does a thing, and he's slightly appalled: not even Price will claim her.

Women can handle themselves and all that shit, but he's not going to watch the whole night how she tries to politely rid herself of a bloke who doesn't seem to take no for an answer. The guy is small and so plastered that he wouldn't even notice the knife before it sank into his liver.

"Sod off."

He gets a mock of a whistle – disappointment and awe.

"Look at that… Of course you're into big fuckers."

The comment is directed at the woman behind him, and it's fucking laughable how it makes his chest puff up like he's a gorilla.

Like he's her man.

He wants to be big enough to make everyone in this joint cast their eyes down when they pass her by. Wants them fear to raise their sights from the ground while he's standing here with her.

There's fear in his eyes, pissed as the sorry little idiot is. It doesn't take much more, just a silent stare and the printed mask. Maybe 6 feet and then some more. A hood to disguise everything else so that the only thing he can see is a big fucker with a stare that says nothing to lose.

The man creeps back to where he came from, and it's not unheard of that he gets his thanks. He even waits for it like a fucking dog, like it's some kind of a treat she offers from her silken soft palm.

"Thank you, lieutenant."

The name causes a twitch in his lip. She always calls him lieutenant, sometimes even sir. Never Simon. She calls Price by name, calls him John, sometimes when she slips. Calls Soap John, too.

"I could've managed, but thank you."

She could've managed, but never said anything when he came to interrupt the eye fucking.

"No problem."

He continues to eye fuck her himself for the rest of the night. Imagines what it would be like to be her man, to be the one who takes her home. But he hasn't got a home, really, only a room to crash at. It's not a place for someone like her. He's not a place for someone like her.

---

She is everydayness. Decency. Normalcy.

But there's nothing mundane or bland about her. She's unique, perfect, perhaps because she's unattainable. It's just an enchantment, nothing more. It's safe to look at her because she will never be his.

Because he is chaos, underworld, madness. He will never have to fear her leaving because she will never be his in the first place.

She is fierce and alive while he walks through life like he's at the bottom of the sea. There's no variety; every day is the same, only a repetition of what he already knows. Perhaps that's why she hurts so much: because she's far too bright. The colours surround her as she walks. Her luminosity is blinding.

"You should quit."

He sees her approach, but when she finally speaks, it causes the smoke to get stuck in his throat. She takes her gloves off and sighs, leans on the wall, and he chooses to look at the trees instead of her. He has to.

"Old habits."

He hopes she will just leave it, but she doesn't.

"Hm. A shame, really."

He blows the smoke from his nostrils this time, hoping it will cover the ugly scar on his lip. The mask is only halfway in place, and he doesn't want her to see any of his face.

"...What is?"

"I thought you were the perfect man."

He lets his gaze drop to the asphalt to not give away the storm raging inside him.

"Turns out you're only a mortal like the rest of us."

He can hear her smile as she speaks. Softly.

That fucking smile…

"You don't have vices?"

He's talking to the ground like an idiot. He shouldn't be talking at all; he should just leave her be. Leave her to Price, who's better than him – at least in these things. In terms of being good to a woman, making them smile and laugh, making them stay and want more. The perfect man.

"Oh I do. Just nothing that will kill me."

He turns to look. Long lashes drop over eyes, then rise again as she gathers the courage to look him in the sockets of the skull.

"I'm not dead yet," he rasps, throat dry from smoke and something that tastes like bitter, fucked up yearning.

"Let's keep it that way, lieutenant."

---

When he sees her at the beach, the day's obscured by sunlight, and he's maskless. He almost turns away, but then he remembers she cannot know what he looks like, not even after seeing half his face amidst some wisps of smoke.

She might recognize his walk, might remember the way his shoulders are raised even when he tries to free them from tension and will them down. But she doesn't really notice anything but the card game she's playing with her friends.

Everything's so alive: her hair in the wind, the way she tucks it behind her ear, the way her breasts press together, barely covered by an apricot bikini. The sweat that gathers there, between all the softness, then runs down her stomach and into her navel.

Her smile is wide and fucks up all his hard work. The stuffing in the hole he has tried to fix drops out like days, weeks of iron will ain't nothing. The wind takes it, but it never takes her smile.

He is supposed to just walk by, but the sand and sweat between her breasts makes him sit on a bench further away. He's soon panting like a dog, wishing to lick and lap her sweat and follow the trail down and under the hem of the apricot swimwear while crawling over her for a sixty-nine. See how much of him she can take in that pretty little mouth while he makes her forget she even has a name.

And he realizes he's a fucking creep.

Was he really a goddamn stalker now? Is this what it had come to?

He leaves them to it, to their fun and games in the sun.

There's nothing but silence and old dust in his apartment, his shadowed territory of barely 20 square meters. The sun never reaches here, even when it's the middle of summer. The armchair is old, but it welcomes him like an old friend as he spreads his legs and pulls himself out, already half hard, and dreams of hot cum spilled on apricots.

---

If seeing her smile is bad, seeing her cry is even worse.

First, he walks by, pretends to buy the way with which she tries to suck up her sniveling. Tries to act normal, tries to hide in plain sight. Then he turns.

"Hey."

She doesn't freeze. The pain is bad enough for the woman to seek consolation anywhere she can get.

"Everything alright?"

She finally raises her stare, and everything comes right through: pain, months of it, something that has festered behind that pretty little smile.

"Mum's at the hospital," the walls whisper to him, and before he knows it, she walks to him and lands on his chest.

She smells of coconuts, full-bodied cream, with a tinge of palm trees – a peculiar scent in the midst of a dim, sterile hall. All her softness meets his middle, and a head tucks under his chin, almost like a memory – hers or his, he can't tell. There's a shudder, and then the dam breaks: she cries hard and good while his arms close around her. Awkward, but sweet.

Nothing in her is fuckable now; he just wants to be… there, needed, or something. She feels like another bad habit, illegal, almost. It's fucking dangerous, and he knows it, but he is a mortal like the rest of them, just like she said.

He knows people grow mad without physical touch, without human connection. He grew mad years and years ago. And this is not enough; it only makes him want to rip her apart and then bury himself in the ruin, fall into an eternal sleep there.

"She's a smoker, like you."

It is not an accusation, only a gentle whisper. It grabs his heart and yanks as if it's an iron fist instead. He raises a hand, moves a strand of her hair from her shoulder. Strokes her head, and her cries gradually fade. His caress has the power to do that…

"I can talk to Price if ya need time off," he tries delicately. The last time he was delicate was with a computer.

"There's… there's no need. But thank you."

There's the softest silence swirling about them, and he feels ethereal. It's a peace like no other. It's better than smoking, this. His nerves settle into a lukewarm sleep.

"Is there anythin' else I can do?"

Her hands clutch the back of his shirt and tug; she holds onto him like he's driftwood, perhaps something even sturdier – and he responds by pressing her against him, crushing her so that she lets out the tiniest little whimper. Her hands start to wander, and his cock stirs – she's fuckable again, and he's in trouble.

"Could you…"

He grows tense with hope and greed, not only from groin but his shoulders as well. His whole stomach goes tight like an iron coil, his neck starts to sweat. He imagines himself fucking her against the wall, making her cry for a whole other reason, ghosting kisses along her neck and down her shoulder, marking her if need be. As his. Fucking his.

"I– um, no. Uh, nevermind."

She withdraws, thinks he's refusing her by tensing and powering up like a fucking bulldozer. He knows what she was going to ask, or at least, he hopes –

"Thanks for the… hug," she detaches from him like a fragment of his soul, gives him a small smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Mission failed; all of them.

---

He could patch himself up just fine on his own, but he needs to see her. He's an addict after that hug. He even takes the smiles she gives to other people – he would lick the floor for some crumbs if it came to that.

"Lieutenant."

She gives him a smile when he enters her little domain of disinfected steel and rubber gloves.

"Nice to see you." She looks to the floor and smiles even more. But it's shy, almost timid. He's the only one this little sunbeam is shy with. "What can I do for you?"

All the purity has stopped him at the door for a second, then he steps in.

"Need some stitchin'."

Another smile, and a bit flirty, at that. Perhaps his mission didn't fail after all. Then she puts her profession on and pats the little bed he always fears he might break with his weight.

"Hop on."

Gloves are put on with such delicate daintiness that it's like he's watching a dance, some kind of a show just for him. The purchase on his arm is less gentle; she has the grip of a person who has done this a hundred times before. The smell of antiseptic hits his nose, but underneath, he catches the hints of a summer beach. Tropical, rich, like a whole plate of fruit. He knows he reeks of old sweat and gunpowder.

"Price was in a good mood today," she starts to prattle as she cleans the wound and then gets to it. The softness is covered only by a thin veil of rubber, and her hand looks uncorrupt and small against the scratched, scarred, tattooed surface of his arm. He's a thrumming effigy as the needle threads him through: she could touch her with a sledgehammer, and he would only feel a ripple of pleasure.

"That man's always in a good mood."

"Are you ever..? In a good mood?"

The goddamn woman is flirting with him. The soft tone rises higher at the end of her string of words until it sounds like she's singing a little song to him, making his cock twitch.

"Yeah," he lies. "Y'just can't see it."

She hums a soft laugh right on his skin.

"Would be nice to see it," she says, softer still, and his heart rams against his chest like his ribcage is too small for the organ.

"Careful what ya wish for."

There's awkward silence, blushing, stitching, and he has to bend a little to conceal the erection – only a fucker like him gets a fucking hard-on while a good-smelling, well-meaning woman is stitching him up – he disguises the movement as pain, and she turns her touch even more gentle while quickening up the pace.

"There you go," she pats him too when she's done. He doesn't even have to look at her work to know that it's fine, that it's something he will remember as a gift instead of the knife that caught him unawares. She turns even scars into blessings.

"Neat work. As always."

"Well, it's my job."

Price would say something warm. Clever. He would have the girl in his bloody arms by now.

Why the fuck isn't she in his arms by now?

"You like the captain?"

"I– yeah, I think so. I mean, of course."

But he's not Price, and he's not that clever. His tactic is different, and he already knows it's the most wrong possible one.

"Well, he's not taken. In case you were wonderin'."

---

She's sad. Price tries to make her smile; Soap cracks his dumbest jokes to summon even the faintest laugh.

Perhaps he's got it wrong. Perhaps Price is taken, and she can't have him.

He's a prick and twists the knife inside, continues with his tactic: foul, like the rest of him.

"Asked him out yet?"

The spoon in her coffee stops stirring. The woman likes her vices sweetened and watered up: there's two sugars and some cream in her coffee, not even milk, but cream. As if she wasn't sweet and lush enough already.

"No."

She gets back to it, then stops again. The tactic works, and she's trapped, and his chest is filled with pressure that precedes a flare-up, a detonation.

"I didn't mean…" She starts, and the smallest, sweetest of bombs goes off. "I don't like him that way."

Perhaps she can't get Price for some unfathomable reason or the other. Settles for the second best. Doesn't know that it's the worst option.

He can keep her safe from everyone and everything except himself now.

"Hm."

He reaches for a mug around her, closes her in and against the counter. She gasps lightly, her ass perks up – fucking beautiful. He bends a little toward her ear and summons the deepest voice he knows will go straight to her cunt.

"Good to know."

The swallow that follows is even more exquisite than the feel of her ass in front of his crotch. He resists the urge to shove his hips forward and up, to impale her with himself right then and there. See if she moans for him. She is still breathing heavy as he pours himself hot water and reaches for a bag of tea; her breaths follow him as he walks out of the breakroom.

He doesn't even wait for the next day like he had promised himself he would. He's a horny dog, and not just for her cunt: he wants her sweetness, the soft look in her eyes. A taste of cream and sugar he had in his folly thought were the antithesis of vice. They are as much a sin as his cigarettes. Too good, too addictive; she is pure weakness and love.

"Did you get nicked again?"

"No."

"Well what can I do for you today?"

"That one night. What were you going to ask?"

Her hands shake slightly, but she tries to hide it by organizing the clutter on her table.

"Mm… Can't remember."

The attempt to lie is so pitiful that even the woman's aware of it as she turns her head to the side. Caught, poor thing, who doesn't know he has interrogated dozens of people before she was even allowed to buy beer. He has a knack, a talent to know what makes different people break. For some, it's fear of pain; for some, lack of sleep. Prolonged exposure to sound or light. He knows because he's been forced to study it all, down to the marrow of his bones and soul.

Not that he'd ever batter the truth out of her. He doesn't have to. It breaks no sweat to see her weak spots. It almost makes him feel sorry: to witness such softness in a creature.

And it's the weakness that does the trick. Combined with his silence and stare, it's torture. She breaks for him beautifully, with a shuddering sigh.

"I wanted to ask for your help."

"Figured as much. What did ya need help with?"

"For god's sake, Riley." She lets go of her little things and leans on the table.

"Tell me."

She looks up to the light in the ceiling for help. Blood-red tongue swipes the bottom of her lip and then retreats back to her sweet little mouth.

"I wanted to ask if you could make me feel better."

She can't have Price. Settles for the worst.

His hunger is deafening, all-encompassing; it threatens to swallow him.

"Still need help with that?"

She turns to face him with pure helplessness in her stare. It's such a benign hunger, the complete opposite of his own. It's chaste; it doesn't feel hatred or despair. She knows how to do things properly. A perfect woman.

Let me inside. Let me feel all that.

Just a taste-

"I don't know."

"Ya don't know?"

She's afraid. Not unlike the bodies under his knife. This time, it's a culling, a whole sweep of a scythe.

"I thought you didn't like me."

She is reaching out with her eyes, but her body is still. He cocks his head a little, nearly forgets he's bigger than Price and wearing human bones. Of course she's scared.

"What a silly thought."

"Is it…?"

He shifts, and it causes her to gasp. She turns slightly, looks down at the objects splayed on the table, reaches for support on the edge. A prey who knows what's coming, trying to play dead.

He takes a few steps, gently, gently, to not scare her away.

She comes back to life as he presses against her from behind, grasps her neck in a tight hold, draws fingers up until she is exposed and at his mercy. The small mirror in front of them shows her fear, and he's the devil himself because it makes him hard.

"Ask again."

Her eyes flit between his eyes and his hand. It's a blessing he got rid of the gloves before he came here. The pulse under his thumb is like a choir of angels.

"You're scary," she whispers while her ass reaches for his crotch, foolhardy and everything but timid.

"Unlike your captain?"

He allows her to see his jealousy in full. A dark glare under the mask: the eyes of a madman. Her head tilts back, the throat under his hand is stretched wide open for his taking.

"He's not my–"

He catches that breath with his fingertips like it's a treasure, then gives her another lie that, to his horror, might actually be the truth.

"Ya don't have to be scared."

"Says the man in a skull mask…"

That ushers out a chuckle. In his world, it's a whole outbreak of laughter. The first in many, many weeks. Might be years, even.

"This is not the proper place for this, Riley."

"Don't give a fuck about proper."

He releases her throat to dive down her sternum. Her breasts heave: they are desperate for some claws. He uses both hands to rip her tunic open. She doesn't even wear a shirt underneath. For the first time ever, he's surprised at her audacity.

Naughty girl.

She's wearing fruit again: plum or something, dark like wine, and just as tasteful. Lace, elegance, lust, right there under that tame professionalism.

She breathes even more rapidly when he pulls the thin fabric of her bra aside and paws each breast before they catch the raw air. She's soft and warm – like sun-kissed sand.

Her head rolls back against his shoulder as he weighs her, sweeps calloused thumbs across her nipples that respond to his touch like soldiers called to arms. She arches her back even more, tries to offer herself to him. The woman is melting like snow between his arms, trapped against the hard table and an even harder body. It's his turn to swallow. Then he grinds his hips against that rich ass currently driving him insane.

"Are you clean?"

The hushed question is clinical, a blunt blow in his stomach. It's a sane, healthy thing to ask, but it makes him feel like a dog full of fleas even though he has none. He can barely remember the last time he touched a woman. Always protected. Distant.

He wants nothing more than to stuff himself in now, vile and bare.

"Yeah. Are you?"

"Yes."

"Do we need a–"

"I take the pill."

She's breathless under his touch. Tries to cover it all up, but she's plummeting, falling straight into his lap. He's relatively sure she would suck his cock if he asked. But he has caught a scent and just has to have a taste, a sniff.

Her pants come down easily enough, and he falls on his knees behind her. Before long, he has his mask on his nose and his nose up her cunt.

"Jesus–"

She doesn't know what he's capable of, that he has no shame. He follows the scent, pushes his tongue in there as well, nearly laughs upon finding her running with cream.

"Oh, god…"

The bone on his mask must feel cold and jagged against the silky skin of her folds and ass. It's a good thing that his tongue is thick and hot: he's not dead yet.

"Ask again," he gruffs inside her, chin wet with juice.

Let me in. Take me home.

"F-fuck, Simon…"

She uses his name. So that's what it took.

His tongue makes her even swear, and he could take it as a plea; it almost sounds like a command. And she might be one of the very few who possess the power to command him.

"Ask."

She hovers, tries to get away and sit on his face at the same time. She tastes sweet – sugar and cream, and he's suffocating in his pants.

"Could you…" She's panting, swallowing tears. "Make me feel better? Please?"

"Ya want my cock or my tongue?"

"Uh…"

"Can't have both."

At least not at the same time, he thinks somewhat begrudgingly. He would lick her arse if she let him.

She pushes her cunt down again, hesitantly. He gives her another sample of what he can do, and she wails softly.

"No need to be shy," he mutters somewhere in her depths. The woman's leaking all over him.

"I… want you to feel good too," she peeps somewhere above him.

She wants him to feel good too. She fucking…

"Alright."

Poor little thing. His tongue would hurt much less.

He rises, finally frees himself, fat and ugly – it's always painful to shove something so ugly inside someone so beautiful and sweet. And she's the sweetest to his ugliest…

"Kind and considerate, are we?"

He prods around with his cock; it slips between her cheeks in a surreal fantasy. She's so slippery that it drives right through, slides smoothly between her thighs, and the sugar and cream soon coat his whole length.

"Well-bred and polite…"

Her eyes shimmer and blow wide as she looks at him through the mirror. She can see the scar now, can see that he's out of breath and desperate. The most desperate man soon to be inside her. He grabs the weight, bends, hinges at the hip, and finds her – and the bulge of his cock dips right in.

She gasps, cute little fuckable mouth open, looks as sweet as can be as he glides more of himself in.

"Christ you're huge," she sighs, swallows as she tries to gulp that confession back down her throat.

"Barely halfway in," he cannot help but boast. Brag. It squeezes out a cry from her – it's almost a mewl, hopeless… And it makes him even harder; he pushes another inch in, and she tightens like a snare around him.

"Bloody hell– you tryin' to strangle me?"

She laughs, with teeth, smiles for him… He pushes himself all the way in until there's no air left between them; he's lodged in, buried deep, safe, home. She takes him surprisingly well, accommodates him like she's made for him. It's warm, hot, so wet that he can guide himself effortlessly through a reluctant withdrawal and another hungry thrust.

Her mouth opens more, lids drop to cover at least half of those doe eyes. She’s everything but in pain. Every emotion comes right through, and it's going to end in things much sweeter than blood.

Something rattles on the table as he pushes her against it with every homecoming. He has no trouble with this: he has to bend in the knees to pull out, then jerk himself up to be buried back in, but he's got stamina. It's no problem, even if it leaves him breathless.

But she's trembling, her thighs are already shaking, the much smaller body is trying to take him and stay upright, wants to succumb to pleasure, too – he has to wrap an arm around her middle to keep her steady and supported, and his hips and chest do the rest. Thighs against thighs: she should have no fear of falling. He's here.

Forever has been, from the day he saw her. He didn't know it then, but he knows it now.

"Ya smell good… Sweet," he tries to say something nice while fucking her brains out.

She's sighing with every thrust, crying against him, in front of him. His cock makes her fucking cry.

"Simon," she's begging, meowing like a cat. The woman's begging, and it makes him dizzy. "I thought you didn't like me…"

She’s repeating herself, a divine heap of mess.

And she… she doesn't want Price.

She doesn't want Price.

She's into big fuckers.

Bloody fuckin' hell.

A tiny hand rises to cup his neck, and she looks at him like he's the most wondrous thing she has ever seen. He pants some of the shock out, then remembers he's inside her.

"Well think again," he grunts in her ear, a tender scolding. He drives himself in with more purpose, more hunger.

She sobs, grabs him by the neck and by the arm holding her by the waist – it makes his cock throb, makes his heart swell and nearly burst inside his chest.

The woman holds onto him like he's some kind of saviour. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, but it's her eyes and soft little mouth his gaze is glued to. Hot sweat and cunt juice run down both their thighs, the wetness sings around them, the frigid, hollow walls of the room echo the sound back to his ears and make him want to roar. But he's soft with her, has to be – and he wants her to tell him, tell him how his cock makes her feel…

"How does that feel?"

He sounds harsher than he means to while savouring every fat inch of his thickness plowing its new home. She looks at his reflection, eyes kind and wet and loving. The woman's soft and soaking all around; she swallows him like a wave.

"You like that…?"

His voice turns soft and loving too. She's a pretty little thing, desperate for his cock and care.

She doesn't want Price…

"Yes." It's sweet, the despair in her broken voice. "Love it, I love it…"

She sings to him about love.

He hits so deep that it makes her jolt in his arms, and he takes a wider stance, a huff or two, resumes…

"Might not make you smile," he grunts as he continues the torture, "but sure as hell am gonna make you feel better."

He fucks her slow but sweet, and she is shuddering with each thrust now. He pulls her more tightly against him: she's not going fucking anywhere from his cock or his hold. She wraps around him, with both cunt and hand, so tight that his head sinks somewhere in her neck.

His first kiss is planted on her pulse, the next behind her ear, and the oozing honey of her moans and pleas surround him in waves.

"Simon…"

She likes his kisses, his rhythm too, offers her cunt with such generosity that it makes him want to cry. She comes more undone, one thrust after the other, until it feels like she's trying to consume him whole. She sounds like his cock is slow torture, and he grits his teeth, keeps the pace steady, groans on her skin as every muscle in his body grows taut.

"Simon– Jesus Christ…"

She tightens around him the last time, a strong, starved pull that sends him seeing white. A tight cry paints the air; the woman moans and throbs, then shatters all over him. His balls are taut, shot to the sky unless they weren't shot up against her soaked cunt, and the load that blows nearly makes him blind for a second.

Can't fucking believe it–

It's a dream, a hallucination-like vapor, to realize that they come together.

He can't even move for a while, the first spurt seems to last forever, until the second demands action, and he has to release her and grab her by the hips instead to fuck them both through the reverie.

She collapses on the table like a ragdoll that has lost its strings. He hasn't shed tears in ages, but he gives her everything he has to give: starved noises and a load that would make paid women blush. He fucks through the third spit, fourth, and then he loses count, he's gone.

"Oh…god.."

His cock still sails in her cunt after there's nothing left. The woman is high on it, rocks back and forth on the table, limp and frail when he's not supporting her. It's painful, and he stops, like a gentleman should.

He pants, then closes his mouth before he drools all over her. A loving caress steals its way under her tunic, up her back, then settles to splay over her hip again – possessive. He's even more famished than before he got here.

She's opium, or morphine, the kind they stick in him in the field if things have gone more than amiss. It could lead to an addiction, the haze that follows, the feeling that everything's kinda ok in the world.

But this is even better; this is fucking heaven. A Shangri-la where the sun never sets. He doesn't want to pull out, not even when his cock settles into numb slumber, as if satisfied. As if.

He wants to grab her with both hands and take her to...somewhere, anywhere, out of here. But women like her won't debase themselves. She might not want Price, but that doesn't mean she wants him to stay.

He has to finally draw his hips back and watch how the only part that can make her feel good slips out of her. His departure is followed by a miserable little whimper and a desperate amount of cum. A week's worth of load, if not more – the last time was after he saw her on that beach.

His hand lingers on her still, drifts somewhere between her hips and waist, ghosts along the tender line of her spine.

"Was I of any help," he asks, and she pushes herself from the table, wobbly and sweet – so bloody fucking sweet. She laughs as if this wasn't his doom, a pitfall from which he can never climb out again.

"Yes." Her laughter shoots him full of holes. "Thank you, lieutenant."

Fuck.

His rank on her lips feels foul; it sounds as wrong as can fucking be.

"I got a name," he says, can't tone down the bile.

She turns slowly – a difficult task when still trapped between a table and a jealous giant who's only left wanting more.

"Sorry. Thank you, Simon."

The wet pools of love regard him with dedication. She raises her hands, they go about his neck. The breasts he so crudely exposed now press against him, and he curses he wears a mask, that he wears gear or clothes at all.

"Could you stay for a bit? I– I really need you."

She's high on cum and hormones that make women want to bond. He wants to extend his welcome long after they've worn off. But stay…

"You're always in a hurry," she sighs and nuzzles her way into his neck. Makes a nest there, like a bird.

"Am not."

She laughs again, a singsong laugh.

"Yes you are. Always running from me." She settles over his heart, more solemn now. "Wish you could stay for a while."

Fuck.

Fuck, if that ain't his wish too.

"I really like you," she whispers.

"Yeah?" He swallows. "I like you too."

She appears to like hugs, closeness, and it rips his chest open, claws his throat to shreds. His hand finds her hair again as he holds her close.

"Don't worry. I'll stay."

She squeezes him like it's a deal. He is hers to do with whatever she pleases.

"We could go to the beach someday," she sings more happily. "Have you ever been to the beach?"

"No," he lies, fluently.

"I can take you there," she smiles promises on his skin. He doesn't deserve such gentle kisses, but she grants them nonetheless. "You can make me smile in return."

"Don't know how to do that."

"Yes you do."

She lifts to kiss his lips next. The little hands around his jaw hold him gentle and tight, fingertips caress their way further under the mask; they trace the skin he hasn't shaved for days. He crushes her against the table again on an instinct – and she smiles all over his lips.

"There. You see?"

A smile pulls at the corner of his lips as well. God damn…

"Yeah," he breathes in her mouth, and neither of them has dragged their pants up yet, he is half hard and sticky against her stomach, and she won't let go of him, won't let go…

"You're a silly man," she whispers. Her eyes are drowsy, and he wishes they were someplace else, at his place, even, so he could lay her down, maybe fall asleep while cradling her.

"Have been called a lot of things but never silly."

"Well, you are. Can't see what's right in front of you. I thought you were supposed to be an expert in infiltration."

He tries to catch some breath. A sudden need pulls him, dread and stress that can only be relieved by smoke – but he doesn't want to go anywhere from her little grip.

Need you too.

Fuck, I need you…

The hole in his protective gear is fist wide. It allows all kinds of things in, things that tear him apart. He surrenders to death gladly, offers his ruin to her as a refuge. A forgotten little bird's nest for her to occupy.

"My mistake," he mutters.

"Make it up to me then, lieutenant."

"Told you I got a–"

"Oh shut up, Riley." She laughs straight into his mouth like an angel, soothes a wound somewhere deep before kissing him silent. He can hear the sound of waves crashing on the shore, on the beach where the sun never sets.

And to think that she will take him there.

[jaalismyhusband]

Accismus - pt. 1

{part one} {part two} {part three}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: After coming across a djinn, you wish for constant protection. He grants it by sending you a witcher.

Warnings and tags: Mentions of nausea, vomiting, and corpses. No usage of Y/N. Enemies to lovers if you squint.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: First Geralt fic (which all my friends saw coming). This is the first chapter of a multi-part series, with more soon to come! I haven't seen the show - this Geralt is based off the third game, and the characterization, settings, and descriptions are written as such. Hope you all enjoy!

accismus - feigning indifference to something while actually desiring it.

The woods are quiet today.

Stillness blankets it all like a fog, thick and heavy in the morning air. The dawn sky, painted scarlet-orange and deep blue, gilds the tops of the trees with golden sun. If it were not so utterly, pittingly silent, it would be beautiful. 

The wind is absent in the leaves. Animals are frozen in place, statues in the trees and underground, and nothing moves even an inch. It seems the world is holding its breath.

Then a chirp erupts from the trees, clear and piercing, and the forest returns to life. Whatever threat had been is gone, and the birds go back to their usual high, sweet chatter that echoes through the nearby clearing. Leaves and branches softly rustle, rabbits scurry across the ground, and wolves howl in the distance.

Well-hidden in his position, the witcher sits alone, not yet detected. Despite his state of stillness, his eyes are restless, searching for something he cannot find. 

His frustration seems to slowly devour him, eating away at him little by little.

Nothing here is amiss. The earth smells as it should - of mud, crisp air, berries ripened and full. Salt from the sea lingers in the wind, dulled to a fine mist in the breeze, and bloodmoss oozes the scent of metal and rot.

Aside from the sound of the birds, waves crash on the shoreline in the distance, but there is little else - only the occasional creak of a branch as an animal hops from one tree to the next. 

All should be well. For reasons he cannot explain, it is not. 

With a sigh, the witcher rises to his feet. The movement triggers a flurry of wings into the air, which halts him for a moment before he continues on - feeling as if he’s being watched.

This sensation has gone on since last night, and it only seems to strengthen by the moment. His senses seem to have betrayed him. He can’t sleep or get a moment’s peace, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a contract. 

If Yennefer were around, he’d ask her opinion on it. She’s nowhere to be found, though - hasn’t been for months now. As usual, she hadn’t deemed it important to tell him where she was headed off to.

When he reaches the clearing, he stops. Even the beat of his heart is wrong now. Too fast, out of rhythm. The uneasiness increases until it seems to swallow him whole. Then the hair stands up on the back of his neck. 

His eyes dart back and forth through the trees, searching for something, anything, but finding nothing. Too quiet, he thinks. Hushed and muffled - the woods are waiting, just like he is.

Something takes hold of his feet. How, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t hear a thing, doesn’t see anything at his boots - but, inexplicably, he’s being pulled backward by an unseen force. His chest hits the ground, hard. Then he’s being dragged.

His ribs throb and ache. His ears ring. He searches for purchase in the ground but finds nothing but soft earth. Then, as his fingers claw at the dirt, he’s yanked into the air.

The pressure of the grip becomes a hot, wrenching pain. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that it was branding him - invisible, fiery hands plastered to his ankles, seared forever into his skin. The ground is ripped out from under him in an instant, and he falls into the sky. 

The world becomes darkness. It blurs slowly into life, then fuzzes into waves of colors. His stomach churns with bile, acidic, rancid, and rising up his throat. Colors fade into pure white. The white fades into green. 

Green, which flies toward him in a flash until it hits him, knocks the wind out of him. Only when his fingers curl into it does he recognize it, gasping and straining for air. 

The pain lessens. The green is soft under his hands. 

The witcher breathes into it - the sharp smell of it, the keen familiarity against his cheek and fingers. He moves to stand, and for just a moment, his feet hold him.

Then he is sick on the grass.

Geralt of Rivia falls from the sky. 

There really isn’t another way to describe it. One moment, the air is unnaturally thick. The breeze in the grass stills, hair rises on the back of your neck. Even your lungs seem to halt. 

Then, the sky opens a few feet above you and spits a white-haired man onto the grass. He hits the ground with a loud thump, a sharp, scraping breath, and a moment of silence. 

For that moment, you worry he’s dead. Dealing with this stranger’s corpse would be the final straw on the haystack of an awful, awful week, and you really don’t have it in you to dig another grave at the moment. 

Then, mercifully, his lungs return to their work. The hoarse inhales are painful to listen to, but they’re familiar from experience - he’s out of wind. Eventually, his breathing returns to normal. A little strained, perhaps, but whole and deep. He’ll be alright. 

Relief settles, and your eyes scan him from head to toe where he lays.

A good deal of black armor, fitted with brown straps of leather and chainmail pauldrons. White hair, but the color doesn’t seem to be from age. Not that you can exactly be sure of that when his face is toward the ground - making it impossible to do any sort of real inspection - but the two swords on his back say enough when they catch your eye.

The White Wolf. 

It must be. You’ve heard enough stories. Two swords mean a witcher. Two swords and white hair mean Geralt of Rivia. 

A very stunned Geralt of Rivia. 

His fingers curl into the grass and he stands, stumbling around for a moment before collapsing onto the ground, spilling up the contents of his stomach.

You give him a little privacy. Back turned, eyes scanning the horizon. Your mind is desperately trying to compensate for why he’s here, ignoring the persistent, nagging voice at the top of your head.

You know why he’s here; you just don’t want to believe it. Anything but this.

After a moment, the sounds of his sick fade into nothing. All you can hear is the soft whisper of the breeze against your cheek. When you turn back to him, he’s laying on the grass again - face up this time, a hand drawn over his eyes.

Wherever he’d come from, it must have been a hell of a trip.

“Where am I?”

His voice is not anything like you’d expected. From the stories, you’d thought it would be ice. Cold, emotionless, piercing. Instead, there’s a gruff hoarseness to it; an underlying warmth.

“Velen,” you answer. “Not far from Crow’s Perch.”

He lets out a disapproving noise. “Five minutes ago, I was in Skellige. Why am I in Velen?”

Your lips won’t seem to work, but Geralt doesn’t wait for an answer. If it’s really him, that is. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe there’s another witcher with white hair. Unlikely, though.

He sits up once more, steadier this time. Analyzes the severity of his injuries, then his surroundings, then… you. His voice may not be piercing like you’d thought, but his gaze cuts into you like a knife, cold metal tracing along your frame. 

The hair on the back of your neck rises as he looks you over, suspicious but not scrutinizing. He’s angry and wary of you, and - considering everything - perhaps he should be.

“We haven’t met,” he says. A fact, not a question.

“No. We haven’t.”

Your voice is stronger than you feel, and that gives you just enough of an edge to meet his gaze, even if just for a moment. Then your confidence breaks, and you look away.

“Care to tell me how I got here?” he asks.

“A portal. You fell out of the sky.”

He lets out a huff. “I gathered that.”

It’s much quicker than it should be, the way he pushes himself to his feet and steps toward you. Your legs freeze in place, heart thumping loudly against your ribs as he approaches.

Up close, you can see the gold of his eyes - a witcher’s eyes, slitted like a cat’s. A scar runs deep in his left cheek and up his forehead, and there’s another above his right brow. The little doubt you have left at his identity is crumbling. 

You know better than to lie to him, and your words are chosen carefully.

“I’m not sure how you got here. There was nothing, then you arrived.”

It’s the truth, technically. You aren’t sure - your suspicions are just that, for now. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” He cocks a brow. “Mind cluing me in to whatever you’re hiding?”

Shit. Your shoulders slump a little, betraying you.

“I need to confirm my suspicions, first.” You can’t process what to say next - the words stumble from your mouth, blocky. “I - I’m not even sure you’re who I think you are.”

“And who is it that you think I am?”

This conversation isn’t going the way you want it to. He’s too forward, sees too much to try to slip anything past him. You can’t even decide what to call him. Well, the Butcher of Blaviken probably isn’t the safest bet, and the White Wolf seems wrong.

“Geralt of Rivia.”

“Then you’d be right,” he confirms. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way-”

“-Wait,” you cut in. “I need you to try something before I explain. There’s no point in telling you if I’m wrong.” 

His gaze on your face feels like fire in a way that makes it impossible to meet directly. You can’t help shifting your eyes away from it as you step back. Then you point in the direction of the horizon. 

“Walk twenty paces that way.”

If he was suspicious before, he’s ten-fold now. 

“Some kind of trap?” he asks. “You shouldn’t waste your time.”

“I’m unarmed. I’m only asking you to walk away from me, and I’m sure that you can hear there’s no one else here. Do I look like a mage to you?”

“No,” he says, eyes sweeping over you, “but I know the makings of a trap when I see one.”

He’s right to be cautious, and you haven’t exactly given him a reason to trust you.

“I’ll do it, then.”

Eight steps are all it takes. Eight steps to feel exactly what you’d expected to feel, but what you hoped you wouldn’t.

It’s like meeting a wall - a solid, invisible stopping point. When you push past it, the world blurs. Everything spins. Your head feels like it’s being squeezed, gripped, as if waiting for the bone to finally give. Your legs lose their strength and crumble.

When you topple back, bile rising hot at the back of your throat, the sensation disappears altogether. It’s a bitter awakening from your earlier denial.

“Alright, what the hell was that?” Geralt croaks. He’s hunched over, voice strained. “Some kind of magic? A curse?” 

So he’d felt it too, then. You might as well take the plunge and get it over with.

“It’s a wish, actually,” you tell him, shakily getting to your feet. “A wish from a djinn.”

He bristles at the sound of that, straightening up. “Talk. Fast.”

You’re not going to argue with that.

“I wished for protection to be with me always, and - apparently - I got a witcher as the answer.”

Something flickers in his expression before he answers - something that looks a little like fear but could easily be anger. Perhaps both. Or, maybe, it’s something else altogether.

“Better undo it, then,” he says.

“I can’t.”

“You used all three wishes?”

Your silence serves as an answer.

“Great. Stuck with you until we find another djinn.” He runs a hand over his face. “How’d you get your hands on one in the first place?”

“It was… given to me.” The words come out ingenuine, and Geralt’s eyes narrow. “Is that the only way to break it?” you add quickly. “Another djinn?”

His gaze lingers on you for a long moment, as if searching for something hidden in your expression. You wish he’d stop doing that. It's unnerving.

“Yes,” he says. “There’s no other way.”

“I didn’t mean to involve anyone else.” Your words are hushed, but you know he can hear them. “What if… what if we found another djinn? Undid the wish?”

“Being easy to find isn’t exactly what djinns are known for,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Your luck gets worse and worse. Not that you’d thought that djinns grow on trees, but - well, with Geralt being a witcher and all, you’d hoped he’d have more of a lead than you do.

“What do we do now, then?”

You aren’t exactly fond of monsters. Running witcher contracts with him would only put both of you in danger. There’d be a mental toll on both of you, unable to get any privacy. Not to mention, the sorceress from all those stories probably wouldn’t enjoy your neverending presence, either. Clearly, if you want to continue to live, staying like this is out of the question. 

Geralt muses over the situation, considering his options. “Yennefer - a… friend of mine - might know where to find a djinn, but… well, I wouldn’t know where to find her, either.”

The word friend sounds like he’s tempted to say something else. You have a pretty good idea of what it is, but you let it slide without comment. He’s already unhappy with you, after all.

“I could ask around at the Chameleon,” he continues, “see if anyone’s heard anything. Unlikely, but it’s a start.”

“The Chameleon?” you ask, pushing away your curiosity.

“A tavern in Novigrad. Friends with the owner.”

“Right.” You kick a stone, wishing you could go back in time. You’ve wished for that a hundred times in the last few days, and - as usual - it doesn’t come true. The rock rolls pitifully across the dirt, and your eyes sting. “Which way?”

“Let me guess,” he says. “You don’t have a horse? I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly want to walk to Novigrad.”

The image of a beautiful black stallion is raw in your memory. You close your eyes to shut it out.

“No horse,” you confirm, turning away so he doesn’t see your face. “There are stables not far from here.”

“Got any money?”

You do, for once. It feels like blood money in your pockets, weighing you down, but you nod.

“How much?”

“Enough for two horses, at least.”

The least you can do is pay for his horse, after all. Maybe that’ll make him a little less angry.

“Lead the way,” he says.

The sun is up now, starting to heat the earth, hot dirt under your shoes that will scald later in the day. Geralt stays close to you, closer than he needs to, his right fingers flexing every now and again as if he’s itching to grab one of his swords. He doesn’t trust you; why should he?

The walk to the stables seems so much longer in the growing heat, and it’s even worse with an angry witcher behind you. When you finally make it, drenched in sweat, Geralt heads in to talk to the stable owner. 

You’d prefer to stay outside and wait, but the djinn’s wish doesn't allow that. You follow him in - lingering a few steps behind, keeping your head down. 

He’s much better at negotiating than you’ve ever been. Two minutes of talk later, you’re buying horses at a very reasonable price. The stable owner leaves for a moment and returns with two shiny brown mares, glancing nervously at the swords on Geralt’s back. Geralt doesn’t waste a moment before leading his horse outside.

“Is it always that easy?” you ask, following him out.

“No,” he says. 

He spends a moment longer there, giving his horse some oats and a pat on the neck, murmuring something under his breath. The words aren’t for you.

For some reason, you feel as if you’re invading a private moment - something you’re not meant to see. Just as you’re about to turn away, he props his foot into the stirrup and swings smoothly into the saddle. It’s followed by an impatient look in your direction. “Well? Are you coming?” 

You scramble onto your horse without another word, and your journey to Novigrad starts.

[jaalismyhusband]

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 | 𝐉.𝐁.𝐁

Pairing ☽☾ Incubus!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Word Count ☽☾ 3.2k Warnings ☽☾ Swearing, pet names, dark themes, mildly dubious consent in the beginning, smut (somnophillia, oral f receiving, monsterf-cking, unprotected possessive piv, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, praise kink, choking kink, breeding kink, a lot of dirty talk) Author's Note ☽☾ Well, this was originally not in my wheelhouse, but here I am. A very big thank you to @buckyismybicycle for her help on this and looking it over - appreciate you so much, babe! For @the-slumberparty's week 4 moodboard challenge that evolved into this... whatever this is.

Check out the beautiful and awesome art that @mxaether made for Incubus!Bucky!

Slumberparty Masterlist

𝑫𝑬𝑴𝑶𝑵 : ̗̀➛ an evil spirit or devil, especially one thought to possess a person or act as a tormentor in hell.

The creatures of the night were stuff of legends, tales to tell children to dissuade them from misbehaving. You had ignored the stories as nothing more than what they were made for–they were just that, stories.  Oh, how you were wrong.

Nightmares were something you weren’t all too familiar with. Sure, you had a few here and there, but it never persisted beyond what you could settle with a simple breathing exercise you had learnt to loosen the vice in your chest. 

What was abnormal, however, was the fact you dreamt non-stop of a towering figure that never moved from the shadows in the corners of your room. Its wings, blackened like soot, and two horns that wound and curled up towards your ceiling made the creature’s stature all the more intimidating. You couldn’t be sure if you had imagined it right, but you swore there was a tail somewhere in the mix too. 

It unnerved you to no end — to the point you had started to be afraid to fall asleep without a light on. 

The day had passed much too fast for your liking. Your job had been tedious, testing your limited patience to no end, and dammit all, you were looking forward to curling up under the blankets on your bed, and getting some damn sleep. 

Dinner was uneventful, if you discounted the shadow you kept seeing out of the corner of your eyes that moved whenever you moved. “Losing my damn mind,” you muttered, frustrated.

A sudden stab of fear made your heart stutter in its rhythm, and the dish in your hand fell to the sink with a loud clatter. Your breathing turned fast, sharp gasps for air as you looked around your kitchen and into the shadows of the hallway. “I swear to-” A spark of heat spread through your body when your eyes glanced over where your bedroom door lay wide open. It lit up along your skin in crackles and zaps of electricity – with it, came the uncontrollable urge to clench your thighs together. 

“What the fuck!”

Your exclamation echoed in your empty home, and the feeling of being watched settled heavy in your stomach, joining the simmering warmth.

“No, I’m not doing this,” you said, shuffling around the kitchen and haphazardly throwing your dishes in the dishwasher to slam it closed. “I need some fucking sleep.”

The soft sheets of your bed made you sigh in relief, they were cool, a nice contrast to your warm, feverish skin. It was an easy assumption that maybe you had developed a cold, or flu, so you brushed it off in favour of burrowing into your pillow with a heavy breath, and sleep took you not long after you closed your eyes. 

Your dreams were flashes of that creature, of tongues and sharp teeth carving their need onto your skin and making a home; becoming one with it, connected in a way that would make a sinner sweat.

It was late, well into the night, when dread joined the mix of nerves and arousal in your stomach. The sourness woke you and your eyes fluttered, just as a weight settled on the back of your thighs. 

“So fucking pretty, sweet thing,” a voice purred. “I might keep you.”

What the fuck.

You tried to squirm, your stomach brushing against the mattress. Stomach — You were not a stomach sleeper. “No- No, get off of me!”

“Aw,” the voice cooed, an octave lower and you hated how it sent a chill up your spine, the instinct to stop moving and bare your throat in submission shrouded your better judgement to run–run and not look back. “Don’t get all shy on me now, sugar.” 

There was a slight hiss to the words, the weight on your thighs lifted, and with it, you took a breath. “You were callin’ me in your sleep, squirming all over the bed with the need to be fucked and filled.”

What in the actual fuck. 

“You were, sweet thing,” the voice purred, having sensed your budding denial, and its face finally came into view. It was all you could do to not cry out in shock — it was the creature in your dream! Horned, winged, and pointed teeth- “I can fucking smell you, I know you want it just as bad as I need it.”

“What the fuck-” You gasped. The creature grinned, pointed fangs and forked tongue bright in the light cast from the bedside lamp. Its eyes were an icy blue, disappearing fast behind a black veil — its irises were bleeding into the whites of its eyes and- “What are you?”

“Just an Incubus, sugar. You had a lil’ bit too much fun as a teenager and I’ve been following you since. After all,” it said, shrugging a shoulder before leaning in close. “Not everyone is as silly as you, summoning something like me.”

Your mind reeled back to that stupid sleepover when you were in your late teens, mucking around with Ouija boards and everything a teenager should not do. “Oh, god,” you groaned. 

“Oh, no, honey, not God,” the Incubus purred, pressing his heated lips to your temple. “It’s Bucky.”

The world froze, the axis jarring to a stop and you stared wide-eyed up at the Incubus — Bucky — horror struck. He seemed to sense your sudden terror and his brows furrowed, black eyes glinting in the warm light. “What is it, honey? Don’t wanna be sweet for me no more?”

“Please don’t hurt me.”

Bucky looked affronted, as much as a fucking demon could, anyway. “Hurt you?” 

He moved off you like he was burned and moved to lay next to you — though you still could not move. “I won’t hurt you,” he breathed, bringing a hand to cup your cheek. “I only want to fuck you senseless, tha’s all.”

“How romantic,” you huffed. Bucky barked a laugh and you watched his forked tongue while it wet his lips, unable to help but think about what it would feel like —

“Oh, sweet thing, you keep thinking like that and I won’t be able to control myself.” Bucky’s nostrils flared and his eyes glinted dangerously, making you gulp. “Go on, tell me.”

“You can read minds?”

Bucky shook his head, his long hair swaying with the movement. “No, but I can smell just how fucking wet you are, and your eyes-” he paused, as if to prove his point and licked his lips again. You watched helplessly, ensnared and desperate to know. “You’re watching every single move I make.” The bastard finished with a dangerous smirk; the tip of his fang just visible. 

You couldn’t help it — you shivered. Bucky shifted closer and to your surprise, placed his lips on yours softly and moved his tongue past your lips. It was heaven, and your cunt clenched around nothing, forcing a sound from your throat that you’d never even heard before. 

The kiss ended far too soon and you whined, but Bucky shushed you. “Nuh-uh, patience, sweet thing.” Bucky moved to sit up and then stand from your bed which turned cold without his presence. 

“Wait, don’t go-” You tried, but Bucky was already walking towards the corner of the room, the shadow where he had hidden for years. 

“I will be back, sugar,” Bucky purred, a small wink thrown your way. “You just get some rest, sweet thing, I need you to have enough energy to cope with what I am gonna do to you tomorrow night.”

A click of his fingers, and you were out like a light. 

The next day dragged impossibly slow, but you felt surprisingly energetic, a rubber band of tension that would snap without even a second's notice. Bucky had said he would be back, and the sun had started to set, casting an orange and pink glow through your bedroom window. It would be night soon.

It was surprising, though, when you had the intense urge to sleep just as you moved to lay down in your bed, a sudden exhaustion settling deep in your bones. The last thought you could muster before your eyes closed was a fleeting hope that Bucky would be back — you were desperate to know what he had planned, consequences be damned. 

Your dreams were the same, tongue and teeth, wings and horns, all of which belonged to Bucky — blackened and tainted with lust.

Shuffling sounds came from the corner of your room and you only just registered it when heavy weight settled on your thighs again, but you couldn’t open your eyes. You could hear them breathing, a soft steady rhythm, and then you felt something brush your leg. “Wha- Oh!”

A heat like no other lapped at your core and you groaned, pushing back against whatever it was. You had enough wits about you to look over your shoulder to see horns and a set of ruffled wings. “Oh, fuck, Bucky!”

In lieu of an answer, Bucky forced his tongue deeper in your cunt and you keened, arching your back so your ass was higher in the air. A low growl vibrated against your clit at your sudden movement and you gasped. “Don’t stop- Ah! Oh, fuck me, Bucky!”

The forked tongue you had dreamed of pulled away, and you whined loudly at the loss. “Hold on, sweet thing,” Bucky soothed, voice low and honeyed. You looked back over your shoulder again and gasped, his chin was covered in slick and a predatory grin that sent a sharp spike of heat straight to your core. “Get on your back for me.”

You hastened to obey and sprawled on the bed, watching as Bucky crawled back up to nestle between your thighs. “Grab-” He commanded as he grabbed your hands and placed them on his horns, “-hold.” He grinned and dived back into your cunt with a low moan, and you groaned back. It was like having every thought, every dream come to life. 

“Oh! Bucky, there!” You yelled, your entire body pulling taut. Bucky’s tongue had just found what he had been desperately searching for, and like hell was he going to let the discovery go to waste. “Fuck- Ah! Ah, Bucky! Please!”

The tension snapped, and you screamed to the ceiling, jerking and twitching while Bucky continued to lap at that spot through the aftershocks only to trigger another. Chants of his name and a litany of curses filled the air until they turned into whimpers and weak moans. 

You pushed back against his horns when it became too much, and he obliged, pulling away with that same wolfish grin. “Hey there, sugar,” he purred, and you moaned weakly, gesturing for him to move up your body. “Miss me?”

“Fuck me,” you gasped, pulling him in for a bruising kiss that he returned in earnest. The taste of yourself on his tongue only sent another shiver of desperate need down your spine. “Please, please I need it-”

“I will fuck you, sweet thing,” Bucky simpered. He moved and attacked the column of your throat, his teeth scraping against every spot that made you sing. “I will, but I wanna make you desperate. Hearing you beg, baby,” he sighed and pulled back to loom over you. The hand that had been next to your head suddenly wrapped around your throat, his thumb tilting your chin up so you would be exposed. The sight seemed to tear at his restraint, if his darkening eyes were anything to go off of. “It’s so fucking good, honey. I wanna hear you beg for my cock.”

“Plea-”

“Not tonight, sugar, I tired you out.” Before you could whine in protest, Bucky clicked his fingers and you fell into a deep sleep, sated and exhausted. 

Two nights passed by without a sign from Bucky. There were no shadows, there were no heavy feelings deep in your gut, it was just nothing. You supposed the good night’s sleep you’d been having for the past couple days were his doing, but it did nothing to abate the tension that had ruthlessly settled in your core. 

Bucky had promised to fuck you, and he had disappeared. 

It wasn’t that you were disappointed — hell, you couldn’t lie, you were, but you missed him. Everything seemed to be okay when he was around, and you missed his company. 

The sun had started to set, and you had decided to dress in just a long night shirt because that odd feverish heat had settled over you again, your skin too hot to bear. You were confused on how that would have come about, you weren’t sniffling, nor expelling a lung with violent coughing fits, no — you were healthy, and normal. If you didn’t count how insanely aroused you had been the past two days.

Sleep settled over you like every night before, and the same dreams played on repeat.

“Oh, look at you, honey,” a voice whispered in the shadows. You didn’t register it, but the figure moved closer. Whimpers and moans were coming from the bed and the atmosphere turned heated, consumed in fire. “Oh, sugar,” they whispered again. 

Your dream changed suddenly to visions of someone moving you on your stomach and then moving your legs, and your legs moved apart on instinct, your ass titling up with the angle. Someone inhaled deeply and moved behind you in the dream, it was a shadow, not discernible in shape or form, and as it neared you squirmed against the hold it had. “Ready for me, huh?” The figure leant over you and you squirmed again, pushing against the billowing heat. “Such a good girl for me. You can wake up now, sweet thing.”

Fire enveloped you and you gasped awake, pinned and unable to move for the weight above you and being speared on a huge cock. “Hey, honey.”

“Oh, my-”

“I know,” Bucky soothed, his voice so low and deep it reverberated in your bones. “Taking it so well, honey. Such a good girl for me,” his voice ended in a sigh and you felt him move forward, slowly and only slightly, but it felt like he was carving his way through and splitting you in half. “Lookatchu,” he purred, leaning close and breathing hotly on your neck. “I told you I’d fuck you.”

Words failed you. Your walls pulsed and Bucky hissed. “I haven’t even started and you’re close,” his tone was sly, mocking — dangerous. “You gonna come for me, sweet thing?”

You whined and nodded. “Please, move- Ah!”

Bucky surged forward and latched onto your throat, sucking harshly and pushing further into your wet heat until he was seated to the hilt. “You’re gonna take it, and you’re gonna say thank you, aren’t you, sugar?”

“Thank you- Oh, fuck, thank you-”

“Good girl.”

The pace was brutal, each thrust punched a high keen or moan from your lips and you could feel Bucky grin each time. A hand wound its way around your throat, forcing your head back so you could just see Bucky’s horns. “Bucky- Please, I can’t-”

“Yeah, you fucking will,” Bucky panted into your ear, speeding up his thrusts. “You’re going to take it, and you’re going to come.”

You wailed and Bucky hummed quietly, shuffling in his stance, then you screamed. The angle had changed and now every time he fucked into you was right against that spot. “There it is, sugar,” Bucky growled, gripping your throat tighter. “Come for me. Scream for me, go on.”

Incoherent babble escaped you as the pleasure surged and exploded, your thighs shook with the force and you went limp, at the mercy of the throes of blinding pleasure Bucky had given you—was still giving you, because he had not stopped. 

“Tha’s it, baby,” Bucky cooed, slowing just a second so he could kiss your sweat slicked temple, almost lovingly. “Did so good for me, such a good girl.” His pace picked up again and you mewled. “Gimme another one, honey, then I’m gonna fucking fill you.”

“Oh fuck,” you gasped before Bucky wrenched you up by the throat, his grip iron tight. 

“Beg. Beg for me,” Bucky moaned, his thrusts not slowing or stopping. “Tell me how good I fuck you, sugar.”

It’s a good thing you weren’t going to the pearly gates, because hell had swallowed you up, and he was in you — fucking you senseless, just as he promised. 

“S’good, Bucky, fuck,” you breathed, hiccuping with the force of his thrusts. “Don’t stop- Ah!”

“I think I’m gon’ keep you, sweet thing,” Bucky said, his breath hot on your throat. “Fuck you and fill you whenever I want- You want that don’t you, honey?” At his words, you tightened like a vice and forced his hips to stutter. “Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me.”

Tears began to fall and you sobbed, overwhelmed and on the edge again. “Please, I’m-”

“You gonna come again for me, honey?” 

You nodded fervently and pushed back as best you could against his thrusts. The sudden pressure of his hand against your stomach startled a gasp from you, and the roaring fire intensified tenfold — it was unbearable, you were gonna implode. 

“Go on, sugar, come for me.”

Amidst the earth-shattering orgasm he had ripped from you, Bucky had forced you down flat against the bed, and fucked you hard into the mattress. His arms were wrapped tight around your chest and stomach while his tail wrapped around your thigh, nestling itself at your clit. The constant flick and pressure made your vision white out. “You feel so fucking good, baby, fuck-” Bucky moaned, going impossibly harder, faster— “‘M gonna fill you, make you mine.”

“I want it! Please, I want it, Bucky!”

Bucky’s hips stuttered and a shout echoed around the room, followed by the intense heat of his seed filling you and leaking out with the shallow pump of his cock. The pressure forced another climax from your exhausted body and you moaned, trying your best to squirm and push yourself back against his pelvis. 

“Don’t move,” Bucky growled, still thrusting slowly. You complied and fell limp against the mattress and in his arms. 

A sudden jolt in your heat made you cry out and tremble, grabbing weakly at the sheets. “Wha-” 

Bucky nuzzled against your cheek and it happened again, ripping a weak moan from you. “You’re mine.”

It happened again, and this time right against that spot. “Bucky!” You came weakly, shaking and squirming in Bucky’s hold. 

“Easy, sugar, that’s just the barbs.”

“Bar- Oh!” Bucky had rolled his hips just as you began to speak and you shuddered. “What the fuck?”

Bucky didn’t answer, he only pulled you impossibly closer and sighed happily. “You’re mine.”

You’re mine. 

The words caused a rush of affection and you took a deep breath, feeling how tight he held you, like you were precious. “I’m yours?” You asked, suddenly nervous. “How-” Bucky cut you off with a bruising kiss that you returned, just as heatedly. 

A reckless feeling flooded you, having never been one to go against the norm; always following rules, not really having fun, everything that led you to be in the stalemate that was your life. You pulled away from Bucky’s lips and hushed him when he whined quietly, chasing your lips. 

“Take me, Bucky.” He looked at you and blinked, a slow blink that told you he hadn’t expected that. “Take me, I’m yours. I want you.”

That wolfish grin returned, and his tongue ran over his lips, considering. “I can do that, sweet thing.”

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[jaalismyhusband]

Interrogation

This is my first ever CoD post/post in general. Just a thought that turned a bit inappropriate... okay, a lot inappropriate.

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader

Synopsis: Captured by 141 while working for Hassan, Alejandro leaves you in Ghost's hands to get the answers they need.

Warnings: SMUT to the max. MDNI. Knife play, size kink, fingering, oral, unprotected p in v sex, bondage, spit play, overall a real nasty time.

Your hands tugged against the rope, itching against your naked wrists. Your hands were tied firmly to the arms of a chair. You couldn't see anything, but the small twinkles of light through the knitting of the bag over your head.

You could feel your breath fanning back against your face, chest rising and falling quickly. Your ankles were bound to the legs of the chair, and you shifted uncomfortably. You'd lost track of how long you'd been sitting- your tailbone starting to ache.

You were sure your wrists were raw as you fought your restraints. Still feeling the heavy weight of your vest, you wondered if your captors had forgotten to confiscate your radio. Shifting your jaw, you moved your head to see if you could find it.

A flicker of hope ignited in you when your jaw hit the antenna. Now, it was just a matter of turning it on. You weren't sure your reinforcements would be able to track your location. Being able to communicate with them would be much easier.

You stuck your jaw out again, trying desperately to turn on the right channel- the odds were not in your favour.

Suddenly, a loud clang sounded before you, squeaking of rusted metal, blinding light making you squint, even through the bag.

You heard boots- a lot of them, and suddenly the bag was lifted. You shifted again, letting your eyes adjust to the light, before the door was shut with a loud bang.

The only source of light now, was a single bulb that hung from the ceiling of what appeared to be a shipping container.

You looked around; six, armed men staring back at you. Your heart began to pound. They were well equipped, not shy about their heavy weaponry.

"You're the one they call Y/N?" A Hispanic accent sounded from beside you.

You turned your head, eyes focusing on the tall soldier. You didn't respond, eyes staring him down before he nodded.

"Thought you would decline to speak, hermosa," He said, taking a few steps toward you.

He glanced back at his colleagues, then made eye contact with you.

"You aren't really in a position to deny our help," He enunciated, glancing to your binds.

You still remained quiet, eyes shifting from his to stare at the metal wall behind him. There was nothing but silence, aside from quiet breaths and your heartbeat in your ears. The container creaked when any weight shifted, the soldiers before you antsy to get their answers.

Though you were restrained, you held all the power. The knowledge they were looking for.

"Habla, carajo!" He shouted, his face in yours.

You could see the anger in his eyes; brows furrowed, eyes like glass. Sweat leaked from his pores, dirt settled in the crevices of his skin, lips chapped with the heat.

Your lip twitched, trying your best to control your temper.

"Alejandro," Another man said, gripping his shoulder and pulling him back. Alejandro shook the hand off his arm, pacing for a moment.

Alejandro lifted a hand to his beard, rubbing his palm against the scruff. You heard their quiet whispers, speaking amongst themselves while calculating their next move. You watched it unravel, your gut twisted in knots.

Finally, he turned back to you, having collected himself.

"So be it," He shrugged. "I'll leave you with my hermanos. Soap, Ghost," He said, head nodding in your direction.

Four of the six men exited the shipping container, leaving you with the men you deemed to be Soap and Ghost. Your breathing was a bit shakier now, but you knew you needed to remain calm- unaffected.

You pursed your lips as you exhaled a soft breath, leaning back against the chair. You wouldn't reveal Hassan's location, even if it meant death. No amount of pain would break you.

"Tell us where Hassan is," The man with the Mohawk spoke. A Scottish accent accompanied his words, causing your ears to twitch.

You lifted your chin, tilting your head ever so slightly. He huffed when you stayed silent, letting your fingers tap rhythmically across the arms of the chair.

"We can protect you if things go South, but if you don't speak now, there's no tellin' what he'll do to you," The Scot said, shifting his eyes to the taller, broader man.

The other man, who also decided to stay quiet, was leant against the wall, arms crossed over his utility vest. He wore a mask- a white skull. One foot jutted out to stop him from sliding, his gaze burned holes in your face. You could barely see his eyes from your position, the single bulb offered minimal light.

Your eyes were glued to his frame, finding yourself drawn to his calm, quiet demeanour.

"I'll take my chances," You spoke finally.

The Scot nodded, lifting his arms in a defeated manner.

"Right then- all yours, Ghost," He said, gripping his rifle as he exited the shipping container.

The door slammed behind him, but Ghost stayed put. His eyes didn't budge. He was raking over your body, trying to figure you out- gears were turning in his head.

He kicked off the wall, sauntering toward you, knife unsheathed. The blade touched your throat, and you swallowed. Your heart began to race, looking up into his eyes as he leaned down. He was massive- a mountain of a man. You hated to admit it, but his size intimidated you.

"Speak, now," He ordered. You furrowed your eyebrows.

"Your methods aren't very motivating," You said, eyes locked with his.

He hummed in response, the blade digging into your flesh.

"You're not very cooperative," He

"I can be, just not for you or your men," You shot back.

"Suppose you wouldn't be- Hassan pays well."

Your lips pressed together, staring into the black abyss of a man before you.

"This is futile," You said. "You're wasting your time."

"Not surprised you'd say that," He added a bit more pressure to the blade against your neck. "You're talkin' an awful lot now though, ain't you?"

"I have plenty to say- but it won't be what you're looking for. Pain isn't very convincing," Your eyes shifted from his vest to his gaze.

It was like a switch had been flipped, his head cocked every so slightly, like he'd made a sudden discovery.

He pulled the knife away, leaving a nick across your skin. You sucked in a breath through your teeth, arms straining against the rope.

"I can be very convincing," He replied. "Just takes the right touch."

You tilted your head. "What is the right touch, Ghost?" You leaned forward, lips parting as you finished his name.

Your eyes fluttered to his hands as he sheathed his knife and pulled his gloves off. Long, thick fingers, decorated with strong veins that pulsed down the back of his hand. You swallowed.

He leaned closer, hand now gripping your thigh. You tried not to focus on the way it felt- the way his biceps and hands looked. Your eyes travelled up, spotting an assortment of tattoos. You could feel saliva pool in your mouth, womb burning with a sudden desire. You wanted to give your head a shake- he was the enemy. He was going to torture you.

He could nearly squeeze your entire leg in one hand- it made your stomach drop. You dragged your eyes from his place on your leg, to find his eyes. Dark brown- nearly black.

"Only good girls get to find out, sweetheart," He said, eyes unmoving.

Your blood felt like it had run cold, the only warmth settling between your thighs. Your pussy clenched as he called you sweetheart. You wanted to cross your legs, find some sort of relief. Your eyes scoured up and down his tall frame, taking in the thickness if his thighs, the way he shifted his weight and his broad shoulders swayed. You hated the way you'd fall to your knees for him, if he asked. But there was no way in hell you'd deliver him to Hassan.

"I haven't been a good girl?" You raised a brow.

"Not in the slightest- otherwise, you'd tell me where I can find Hassan."

"I think Hassan would take issue with me disclosing his whereabouts. He's a very private person."

"That's too bad. I can tell you're wet already- was looking forward to feelin' it myself," Ghost said, standing before you. His hand reached out, the faint touch of his fingertips trailing up your clothed thigh, resting his fingers just above your pussy.

The unexpected turn from pressing a knife to your throat to his fingers ghosting your groin nearly had you speechless.

Deciding to call his bluff, you played into his new method of torture.

"You still can," You answered, thighs spreading.

You were reminded of your restraints, ankles stopped from moving any further. He removed his hand.

"Ah- then how would I get what I need?" He asked, head tilting.

"You'll get what you need. And more," You said, face stoic as you gauged his reaction.

He came closer, squatting down before you. He was nearly the same height as you now. Your lips just barely curled into a smirk, watching him 'tsk' as he shook his head.

"Now you're just bein' cheeky," He said. "Won't get you anywhere, sweetheart."

His hand reached out to your ankle, warmth radiating through his hand. He dragged his hand up your calf, inner thigh, letting his palm cup your pussy. You held back a gasp- he clearly wasn't bluffing. Your cheeks burned red, body festering with heat. You shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to feel about the foreign territory you'd just entered.

He tucked his fingers in a bit, seam of your pants hitting your clit. You fought the urge to let out a deep sigh. Your body was so touch starved, you couldn't remember the last time a man made you orgasm. You sucked in a deep breath through your nose, determined to push past the facade of sexual gratification he'd created.

"Sure seems like it is," You said, a bit less confident now.

"Feels good now, doesn't it?" He said quietly. He leaned forward. "'Til I ruin you. Break you in half."

"That sounds quite enticing," You sighed, trying to maintain your cold exterior.

"I'm sure it does- you ain't a good girl."

You could feel the wetness drip from your pussy, you were sure it was nearly soaking the seat of your combat pants. Thank God for camo.

"Humour me," You spat.

"I'm afraid that's a negative," He sighed. "Looks like I'll be havin' to resort to other methods."

He gripped your vest, pulling it open on your chest, tugging it up and off your body. You gasped, his hands not quite finished as they ripped your button-up open. You couldn't help but clench your teeth.

He watched your breasts spill over your bra with every breath, chest expanding rapidly. You clenched your jaw even harder, chewing at your cheek.

"Knew you weren't a good girl," He whispered. "You get off on bein' manhandled?" He asked.

You bit down on your cheek, sure you'd drawn blood, eyes half-open as you contained yourself.

His knife made another appearance, the tip landing on your neck, softly tracing its way down to your right breast, gently prodding at the tissue. Your deep, rapid breaths pushed the skin of your breast into the knife, and the small sting made you lift your chin. Ghost stuck the blade beneath the fabric of your bra, ripping it with ease. He discarded it in the dark recesses of the container.

You groaned softly, hands balled into fists as your fingernails dug into your palms. You shut your eyes, nostrils flaring.

"Suppose you'll need to learn to be a good girl," He said, his hand reaching out to fondle your breasts.

Your head fell back again, neck exposed as you tried to fight how good it felt- how badly you needed him. His fingertips grazed over your nipples, erect in the cold of the room.

You were tired. Physically, your back was aching from your seated position, body taken a beating from every mission you'd been on in the last month.

Mentally, you needed sleep. You hadn't felt good in a long time. You needed a release, a hiatus from thinking and acting. Your head fell, eyes darting from the floor to his boots. Exhaustion having taken its toll, you no longer had the willpower to resist. So you gave in, and dove headfirst into the dark abyss.

"Teach me," You whispered, eyes meeting with his.

He nearly chuckled, hands still cupping your breasts. He offered a quick pinch of your nipples, making you suck in a harsh breath.

"Receptive," He drawled. "Maybe we can make somethin' of you yet."

You nodded, body tense against your restraints as he let his fingers trail down your stomach. He yanked your belt from the loops of your pants, and would've pulled you out of the chair had it not been for the ropes tying you down.

Letting it clank to the floor, he pulled open your pants, yanking them off your thighs. They pooled around your ankles, leaving you overexposed in the dim room.

He stepped back, looking over your form- breasts exposed, blouse hanging off your shoulders. Your black panties clung to your pussy, wetness leaking through the cotton.

"You look good, sweetheart. I'm sure my men would love a look at a sweet lil' thing like you," He quipped, leaning forward to speak directly into your ear. "They ain't had pussy in ages. Would you let 'em use you?"

Your eyes opened in shock. Your cheeks flushed, the imagery sent even more warmth to your clit, tilting your hips as you grew uncomfortable with the ache between your thighs.

"You like that?" He asked, exhaling a breath of disbelief.

You couldn't help but nod, body betraying you.

"Use your words," He said suddenly, a hand coming forward to grip your cheeks. His hand squished the apples of your cheeks, puckering your lips.

"Yes," You breathed out.

"Yes what?" He replied.

"Sir," You answered. "Yes, Sir."

He left a soft slap on your cheek, nodding.

"You're learnin'," He nodded. "Won't be long now."

You breathed deeply as he rid himself of the vest, the mask covering his balaclava. Even in his shirt, you could tell he had toned muscles. Your pussy fluttered.

"Could do this all night," He said aloud, sauntering toward you, before circling you like prey.

You stared straight forward, not daring to look back at him, waiting with anticipation as he stood behind you. His hands made contact with your neck first, sliding down slowly, resting on your breast. Your breathing picked up, body jolting when he pinched your nipple. He continued his endeavour, running down to your panties. He groaned when he made contact, wetness seeping through.

"Christ," He muttered. "Wet already?" He scoffed. "I knew it."

His fingers dug into your pussy, circling your clit. You went to lift your hands up, when they were stopped by the rope, and you groaned in frustration.

"You just sit back, sweetheart. Lesson's only just startin'."

You let out a shaky breath, writhing beneath his touch. His fingers were talented, the friction of your panties on your clit had you moaning aloud. Your breath hitched in your throat, grinding your hips against his hand. You felt a slap against your pussy, gasping softly. Your thighs shut around his hand.

"Don't move," He warned, eyes stern as he looked at you.

You nodded.

He cocked his head, expectantly staring at you.

"Yes, Sir."

"Better," He mumbled.

He continued his torture, and you fought every instinct to ride his fingers. Your moans escaped without shame, body quivering under his touch. He rubbed a bit harder now, watching you with hungry eyes as you threw your head back.

Your stomach tensed, climax teetering back and forth as he circled your clit, hard and fast. Just when he felt your thighs clench, he removed his hand. Your orgasm died, pussy practically vibrating. You groaned, frustration settling in your chest.

"Only good girls get to cum, sweetheart."

You opened your mouth to protest, your furrowed brows conveying your anger.

"That's- I was-"

"Shut the fuck up before I find another use for that mouth," He scolded you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your body revealing the flame of desire that lit up your womb.

"Just- please, I need-"

"You're just beggin' for me to fill your mouth," He scoffed, standing off to the side as you jumped against your restraints. "You wanna suck this cock?"

You stopped, eyes slowly lifting to meet his.

"Not sure I'll let you, that filthy mouth's been runnin' this whole time. Not sure you've quite learned your lesson."

"Please," You whined. Your eyes widened, brows drawing together as you pleaded with him. "Please, Sir."

"You sound so sweet," He drawled. "Ask me nicely."

His hands moved to his belt, pulling the leather from the clasp, metal colliding as it fell against his pants.

"Please, Sir, let me suck your cock," Your cheeks were flushed, mostly with desire, but the humiliation of begging to taste him added to it.

"There's a good girl," He stepped closer, pulling his cock from his briefs.

It was large, bigger than the outline you'd managed to see in his pants. Your eyes must've widened.

"Open your mouth."

As he neared, you smelled gasoline and gunpowder. A tinge of sweat, just enough to make your mouth water. It only reminded you he was a man's man, tough and seasoned with war-primal- and your pussy jumped.

You did as he said, letting your tongue rest on your bottom teeth as he slid his cock in your mouth. You groaned as he pushed all the way back, hitting your uvula, then receded. You gagged, sucking in a gasp of air.

"Fuck," He grunted. "Mouth is much better like this."

You didn't speak, eyes poring into his as his hands gripped the ponytail you wore. He held you still, his hips thrusting quickly in your mouth. Even through multiple gags, he did relent, growls bubbling front the back of his throat. He pulled out and you sucked in a deep breath, saliva trailing from his tip, connecting to your mouth.

He didn't wait long, stuffing himself between your lips, relentlessly pushing his cock further down your throat. Your eyes watered, throat and nose burning.

He paused, waiting for you to put in the work instead. You breathed through your nose, heart racing at the rush of oxygen. Your tongue licked the underside of him, cheeks hollowing as you suctioned your lips around him. You sucked harshly, moving your head to try and take his whole length.

"Atta girl," He said, jutting his hips forward. His hands clasped together behind his back.

You looked up at him again, watching his head gently sway, sucking in a breath every so often. Your throat closed around the head of his cock, squeezing gently. He grunted in response.

"So pretty like this," He said.

His hand reached down, gripping your cheeks.

"You're pretty, ain't you sweetheart? Mouth full of my cock," He shook your jaw back and forth, hand leaving a soft slap against your cheek.

You moaned on his cock, thighs rubbing together as the saliva dripped from your lips, the vulgar sounds of spit echoing around you.

"Enough o' that," He said, pulling his cock from your mouth. "Time to talk."

He zipped his pants back up, moving between your thighs. He stuck one finger between your pussy and your panties, yanking up harshly. Your pussy swallowed the cotton, and you let out a gasp as he tugged it against your clit.

His blade ripped through the soft fabric. He left your panties under you, moving back behind you. He didn't take his time, and instead he let his fingers drop to your clit.

You moaned, finally finding relief as his fingers worked your sensitive bud. You remembered to stay still, panting every so slightly as he took your clit between two fingers and tugged.

He dipped even further, two fingers sliding inside you with ease. Your mouth dropped, pussy clenching around him as he drove them even further in.

"You're just drippin'," He groaned.

You could hardly focus, the callouses of his fingers adding more stimulation to your insides when he began to curl them against the rough patch in you. His lips were beside your ear now, leaning down, speaking in a level tone.

"You're doin' yourself a disservice, sweetheart. Best to let us handle Hassan from here."

He gripped your ponytail with his other hand, tugging your head back to look at him. Your mouth gaped, plump lips teasing him.

"Let me cum, I'll tell you whatever you want," You gasped, mouth glistening with spit.

His thumb began to rub against your clit, and you whimpered softly, body jerking as you neared your climax.

"You've been listenin'," He sounded impressed. "I expect you'll be singin' my praises in no time."

You prayed he'd let you finish this time- you'd done well enough to deserve it. You whined on his fingers, panting as he kept your neck at the uncomfortable angle. Your lips stayed parted, looking up at him with desperation.

He broke his grasp, lifting the balaclava enough to expose his lips and nose.

"Open," He commanded. "Wider."

You opened your mouth wider, breathing heavily. He let a string of spit fall from his mouth, dripping into yours. Your tongue swirled it around your mouth, the burn in your womb beginning to spread to your clit.

"Swallow," He said.

You did as he asked, and he groaned.

"Good girl," He whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. "Go on, cum on my fingers."

You exhaled loudly, relief flooding through you as you clenched down on his fingers, body shaking until you bared down, unintentionally squirting over his palm.

He groaned, the warm liquid flooding his fingers, adding to the creamy sounds of your pussy that rung in his ears. He could've cum right then and there.

"Fuckin' hell," He grunted, allowing you to catch your breath, releasing your head.

He pulled his fingers from your core, they were drenched. A white ring around his knuckles, glistening in the light, a web formed between his fingers.

You were sure you were flushed all over, heart racing, cheeks reddened.

"Anything to tell me?" He asked.

You stayed quiet, eyes narrowed as you tried to recover.

"I don't mind fuckin' it out of you," He spat. "Bet you'd like that wouldn't you? Think you can handle this cock?" He asked, unzipping his pants.

"Yes Sir," You said quickly, leaning forward in your seat.

"Make a move, I'll have to further restrain you," He warned.

At that point, your instinct was not to run. You wanted to obey, feel the pleasures he had to offer.

He cut the ropes on your ankles, and one wrist.

"Get up," he ordered. You listened. "Up," He said. "On your knees."

You did the best you could, lifting your knees to the seat of the chair, which was slippery with your cum and sweat.

His palm slapped against your ass, and you gasped as the sting radiated through your body.

"Head down," His hand gripped your neck, pressing you down to the arm of the chair where your wrist was still bound.

You heard his pants come down further, and peeked over your shoulder to see his cock, hard. He ran his hand up and down his length, and you felt the nudge of his tip against your pussy. You shut your eyes, relishing in the chills of anticipation. Your ankles crossed, arching your back for him.

He pushed himself inside, bottoming out in one fell swoop. You heard him moan from behind you. He listened to the sounds of your wet pussy, hugging his cock like it was made for him.

"God," You moaned, fingers gripping the chair with white knuckles.

"He ain't here sweetheart," Ghost muttered. "You wanna call for someone, say my name."

You nodded, "Yes Sir."

You screwed your eyes shut, as Ghost picked up his speed. Cock thrusting into you as his hips hit your ass. His hands came down to grip your waist, using it as leverage to go deeper.

"This pussy is tight," He groaned, hunching over your body. "I might just break you in half," He said.

"Please," You whispered.

The chair rocked with Ghost's thrusts, but his grip kept you steady. You weren't concerned about falling, only focused on the impending climax.

His hand moved to grip your throat, lifting you to his chest while he thrusted into you. He stepped his left leg up, camo-print-covered thigh tucked against your own, and a muddy combat boot resting right beside your calf as he had you flush with his body. You let out a harsh groan as he now had even better access to your core, thrusting with ease.

"Play with your pussy," He ordered.

You let your free hand roam down, running over your clit while his cock scraped against the soft lining of your insides. You moaned even louder, body shaking in his grip. The hand around your throat squeezed, your moans becoming breathier as you gasped for air. He'd allow you a moment of relief, before squeezing down again. Your pussy clenched, contracting around his cock as your orgasm drew near.

His hands were everywhere- your throat, waist, and breasts. He took note of your pussy squeezing him, lifting the flesh of your ass to dig deeper inside you. You let your head fall back to his shoulder, lips parting with your rapid breaths.

"You wanna cum on this cock, sweetheart?" He asked.

"Y-yes Sir," You cried.

"Where's Hassan?" He asked, low and rough in your ear.

You stifled a sob, head falling to his shoulder. He slapped your hand out of the way, letting his fingers dig into your clit.

"Tell me, sweetheart. I'll keep this pretty face safe," He grunted.

Your mind was going a mile a minute. He could've easily tortured you- painfully, of course. He could've killed you. Yet, he was offering a safe place, shelter from Hassan. You were a bit skeptical, having been burned before, but he hadn't done anything untrustworthy while you were restrained.

You wondered if Hassan would show you the same mercy, knowing you'd just been captured. He didn't like his soldiers caught up in the middle- he eliminated any loose ends. You were a foot soldier; disposable. You knew your best shot at survival was to give in. Tell Ghost where he'd gone. You trusted that he'd keep you safe.

"Chicago," You cried. "He left, he's in Chicago."

"Good girl," He groaned again. "Pussy is so wet," He breathed, stirring your insides while he rubbed your clit. "Go on, cum for me, sweetheart."

You didn't need any other incentive, and your abdomen tensed as you went rigid, your orgasm rippling through you, waves enveloping your body. Your pussy drenched his cock, and you let out a strangled exhale, collapsing against the back of the chair.

"Fuck me," He cursed. "Good girl, showerin' my cock. How sweet," He cooed.

Your heart was pounding, pussy sensitive as he still pounded into you.

"Nearly there, love," He groaned. "Where d'ya want it?"

"Inside," You panted. "Inside me, Sir."

He grunted in response, unloading himself inside your pussy, thrusting a few times after to make sure it stuck, coated your insides the way he wanted.

"Keep it in there," He whispered in your ear. You nodded softly.

Slowly, he pulled out, tucking himself away in his briefs, then his pants.

"Here," He said gruffly, lending you his jacket to cover yourself with.

He leaned down, slicing the rope with his knife.

"Get dressed, we're goin' after Hassan."

When he exited, you heard exclamations, his teammates asking what happened and why it was so loud, if you were still standing. Your lips curled into a smile, buttoning your blouse and yanking your pants back over your thighs and ass.

You felt his cum leak out of you, and wore it like a medal of honour as you walked out of the shipping container, into the pack of wolves.

[jaalismyhusband]

how about simon whos fucking you from behind and uses his weight to cage you and grinds into you with every thrust bcs of this position

BABY FEVER

The lack of Simon requests in my inbox is criminal. thank u for the request anon, ur truly feeding the masses <33 uh somnophilia.. otherwise pretty soft

"mhmm.. just like that, takin' me so well, lovie.." simon whispers right against the warm skin of your neck, nosing your jaw to press kisses just by your pulse point as he helps you through a rippling orgasm that has you tipping your head back.

you don't quite remember how you've ended up in this position, memories all muddled with the haze of sleep.

you can only think of eager fingers slipping past your nightgown and someone playing with your clit. then heavy hands handling your all too receptive body to lay on your stomach.

simon feels over your flesh, wandering every patch of exposed expanse he can lay a claim on that hasn't already been sucked purple.

you mewl sleepily, hazy eyes lidded with exhaustion, completely succumbing to the heat of his sculpted front pressing against your back, simon tracing the perfect arch of your back with a reverence that nearly feels out of place.

you can do nothing when he drags the head of his cock across over your weeping cunt, aligning his hips so the spasming muscles of your tempting heat crown his thick and throbbing head as he pushes just the tip in.

the fluff of the pillow that cushions your hips and tilts your pelvis up so simon can have access to your pretty and drooling cunt is surely soiled by now, long ruined by your husband's seemingly unending need to stuff your pussy completely overflowing with his cum.

you don't argue when he forces all of his weight into his thrusts, wheezing out breaths and whispers of his name that sound like prayer as he fights back against the way your pussy tries to push his too-big cock out.

"just one more, sweetheart?" he straightens himself, eyes settled on the way the head of his cock comes out glistening when he pulls out. "gimme one more and we can stop, yeah?"

you know it's not true, can feel the lie in the way he grinds against you, heavy balls slapping against your clit when he wraps inked arms around your hips and leverages you up.

but still you nod, pretend that you don't know he's going to keep you up all night with the steady push and pull of his cock till you're splattering mess after mess on the sheets.

"use your words, love." the softness of his tone is a direct contrast to the way he manhandles you as if you weigh nothing, strong arms lined with bulging muscle and ink, veins running alongside both limbs and criss-crossed with rough scars that pull at his skin.

"anything for you, si.." you mutter, hands fisting the bed sheets and preparing yourself for the rough slam of his pelvis by your ass.

surprisingly, his scorching breath tickles your ear with a groaned "anything?"

you blink hazy and watery eyes, turning cheek to meet his gaze that nearly looks like a trench ready to swallow you whole. his thrusts have paused, and now you're left only to clench at him, urging him to move his too-fat cock and chase the near painful coil of your gut.

"anything?" he repeats, blinking down at you, soft groan broken by heavy pants for breath. hands trace over the dip of your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. "don't think you're ready to give me anything, love."

"anything! anything at all!" you shake your head, willing him to believe you.

simon chuckles, beginning to drag the thick length of him up your sweet cunt, sinking himself till he's balls deep.

".. mhmm.. how 'bout i make you a mommy?"

[jaalismyhusband]

💭 — 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧

summary. — for so long, he’s wanted to hold you down and tell you that he loves you.

pairing. — Dark!Stepdad!Andy Barber x innocent!fem!reader.

warnings. — DUBCON, stepcest, large age gap (andy is 51, reader is early 20s), coercion, lying, manipulation, gaslighting, grooming, taking advantage, perversion, possessiveness, obsession, isolation, loner reader, innocence kink, corruption kink, smoking, smut, Daddy kink, fingering, mentions of oral (both receiving), overstimulation, degradation, praise, blowing smoke in face, missionary, cowgirl, mentions of male masturbation, size kink (andy’s cock is huge), pet names (little girl, little one, baby, sweetie, sweet girl), creampie kink, reader is extremely innocent, inaccurate explanations of sex, virginity loss, spanking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. — 9k

author’s note. — here’s the continuation of my step dad!andy concept that i posted in may. this is before, during, and after the concept. i copy and pasted some of the concept and inserted it here! everything is legal. andy married the reader’s mom when the reader was 18, and he formed feelings for the reader then. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY! @hansensfics

Andy sighs deeply as he sits in his room, bones aching immensely. He’s been standing by the window, behind the sheer white curtains for far too long. Fifty-one years of turmoil have caught up to him, but thankfully, it doesn’t show as much as it should. 

He feels your discomfort as much as he does his stiffness. The awkward angle he’s been stuck in is a reflection of your personality. You never socialise like you should, and when you’re forced to, it’s all wrong. 

Andy hates seeing you out of your element. The sight of you sitting on a white lounge chair in a dress you clearly don’t like is painful for him. He knows you prefer his company—that’s why he’s always offering it. 

Today, he planned on showing you his notes from court on a case about a man assaulting his neighbour with a wrench.

It’s almost as if said wrench was thrown into his plans, because now he has to watch you try to keep up with the brain-rotting chatter of unruly college girls. 

Your mother had organised the day with her fellow neighbours who incessantly brought up how lonely you are at the community barbecues. Andy remembers that day very well—he caught you crying out of frustration when you didn’t want to go.

Endlessly, he’s had to tell your mother to let up and leave you alone. Andy understands how you are all too well. Lonely, but content. You never connected with anyone growing up and stuck to your devices—books that are either overrated classics or underrated masterpieces. 

It was no surprise that you were immediately drawn to the twice exiled, unlucky man. Like a moth to the flame, you looked at him with such wonder and stuck yourself to him, yet still remained far. 

Your close connection was only formed when he found you in a pile of tissues and drowning in your own tears. Seconds away from hyperventilating, he pulled you back into the ocean everyone calls reality. To this day, however, he still isn’t sure why you were in such a state. 

The laughter he hears is either fake or simply aggravating. He can’t find yours in that mess, though, and he tries to come up with a reason to take you away.

Andy is your stepfather—he can say anything he wants. Chores haven’t been done yet, your mom’s calling you, we have somewhere to be—I want you all to myself. 

But it feels wrong—feels fake. He strives for authenticity after years of ingenuity. Before, he’d patched the cracks in the facade of his forced suburban life before anyone else could see them. Now, he embraces the breakage. In fact, there is none, because there is no farce.

From the low level of the bed, Andy unfortunately cannot see you. Even though your company is the sun, you remain in a white dress. It’s the face of ingenues all around the world. You shield yourself from the scorching sun, the brightness making your eyes ache. 

The idea of making some lemonade (for you and only you) crosses your stepfather’s mind, and he decides to do it.

“Oh my gosh—So, basically, Elijah and I’s anniversary is coming up! Apparently, he wants us to go to Vegas, which I’m so down for. I’m not sure what to get him, though,” a woman in her early twenties, like you, nearly squeals. Her excitement makes you smile. “He’s not a fan of jewellery, so anything like that is out of the question…”

Her name is easy to remember, and very pretty as well. Gianna, and she’s an interior design major. 

A snort is heard from the chair over—Kennedy, who finds humour in anything and is the nicest to you. “Sex, sex, sex! Dude, that’s the easiest thing ever. Just indulge in whatever fantasy he’s got. Maid, landlord, plumber—”

“—Ha! Let him do anal, GiGi. Get a sparkly plug, some decent lube, and spread those cheeks,” the other friend, Imogen, giggles. She claps at the end of her sentence, and the three women laugh for a few seconds. 

“...We’ve already done anal. For his 25th…” The sheepish admission from Gianna makes her friends hoot and holler. You’re not sure what to say—you don’t understand. 

“Is there anything you haven’t done?” Imogen questions in shock. “Listen, y’know that frat guy that keeps hitting on me? Well, I gave him a chance and we were, y’know, getting it on,” she eagerly spills.

“Getting it on? Just say you guys were raw-dogging and spitting in each other's mouths,” Kennedy interrupts, sipping on a fruity drink. Honestly, they’re all sweet. They keep trying to rope you into their conversations, but you’re not sure what to say, so you stick to little hums and gestures. 

“Shush!—Anyway, we were fucking, and he started to talk a lot. And it was so hot, like he was saying the hottest shit ever. He checked every single kink-box!” Imogen brags, and the others are proud of her. “Like what?” Kennedy prompts, curious to the point where her eyebrows raise.

“Breeding, degrading, praising—even a Daddy thrown in every now and then,” she whisper-shouts. “And, get this, he made me squirt!”

The women continue trading stories about their debauched experiences, and you feel as if they’re speaking another language. You’re not sure what they mean or why the things happened. Questions fill your brain as you purse your lips, trying to give yourself the answers.

“—Uhm, I can take that in for you. I think I forgot to cancel this appointment and they keep you on hold for a while during the afternoon,” you lie, standing up and grabbing Gianna’s empty cup. “Oh, you’re so sweet. You’ll be back soon, right? We wanna get to know you better,” Kennedy says, and her girlfriends nod their heads.

You join them in their motions, before jogging to the sliding door and slipping past it. You place the cup in the sink, and then make a beeline for your room. It’s the space you spend too much time in, to the point that your stepdad has had to coax you out of it on numerous occasions. 

The ceiling is at an angle due to the triangular roof of your home. The decorations might not match but they add a cosy feeling that is reminiscent of autumn. You wish the season could remain all year round. 

There is even a window seat. Andy had it built and installed for you last year on Christmas. It was a dream come true—something you’d always wanted. 

You plop yourself onto the space and pull your laptop over. You turn off SafeSearch and look up the things the women were talking about. Videos with dirty thumbnails pop up, along with articles and a warning about the setting you turned off. You’re too scared to click on the videos, so you stick to reading the articles.

But the words don’t translate well in your mind. You feel like you’re the last person in line in a long game of broken telephone. You’re left with more questions than answers, and so you snap your laptop shut. 

Gnawing your lip, you let your curiosity eat away at you. It nags and it nags until you can’t take it anymore. So you wander down the hallway and stand outside the slightly ajar door to your stepdad’s room. 

“D– Daddy? Are you busy?” you shyly question, standing with your hands clasped behind your back. At the sweet sound of your voice, Andy immediately rushes from his place in front of the sink. His hands smell of your lotion—a bottle he stole from you because he couldn't help it. “No, not at all, little one. What’s wrong?”

The older man opens the door even more for you, ushering you inside. You sit on the end of the bed, and he joins you. Your palms grow sweaty as nervousness takes you over. Bite the bullet, it won’t hurt you.

“Uhm…” you start, “I have some, uh, questions.”

“Hit me. I have some answers,” Andy jokes. 

“Okay…” you unfold the sticky note of the things you wanted to know more about—the things your friends were talking about. “What’s a– anal? Like, the bad one,” you ask, whispering and worried.

Your innocence is like a drug that Andy has tasted for the first time and it has kicked in quickly. He swallows thickly and he wonders why you’re asking. 

“Well… There’s numerous ways to have sex… With penetrative sex, you can penetrate any of your holes. And, you see, you have three holes. Your mouth, a– and your private parts. Anal sex is when someone penetrates your butt, essentially,” he explains, not sure what words to use.

He watches as your face twists in confusion. “What do you mean? They can do that to any of your holes? Like, they put something inside?” you press, voice incredulous and shocked. “Yeah, they put something in, and they move it back and forth. There are things meant to go there, though,” Andy tells you.

Clearly, you still don’t really get it. It’s neither your fault nor Andy’s.

“I– I have more.. S’that okay?” Andy immediately nods his head, looking down to try and look at your list. 

“Squirting… Can you explain that one? Please? And why do people like calling other people mean things? And getting called those? I mean, I get why someone likes it when someone else says nice things—but the mean one, I don’t understand. And why do people like using the word Daddy? I thought that’s for certain people…” you ramble, pulling at the yellow paper until it slips.

“Shh… One at a time, baby. Squirting is something that happens during sex. It’s a kind of ejaculate. And with the mean names, it’s just what people like. It makes them all happy, y’know? All tingly on the inside—like when they get praised,” he says, cock fully hard and face flushed.

“Yeah, but, what’s sex? Oh! I get those tingles a lot… But not in my tummy…” you sheepishly admit, and it piques Andy’s interest. But then, he replays what you said. What’s sex? A question that normal people would laugh at—but Andy is anything but that. “...You don’t know what sex is, baby?”

You let out a whimper—something of frustration and fear and insecurity. It makes his cock throb within the confines of his pants. “...Nuh-uh,” you sigh, ready to dart and lock yourself in your room.

“Oh, that’s alright, baby. Don’t worry. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, okay? Daddy’ll explain it all to you—I’ll be your teacher,” he smiles, but then frowns when you shake your head. “B– But I don't understand any of it! Not when you explain it, and not when I read about it. It’s all so confusing and doesn’t make one bit of sense.”

Annoyance with yourself seeps from your words, and Andy detects the leak. He’s quick to patch it up, though.

“No, baby! Daddy’s gonna teach you it in an easy way! Remember how you didn’t know what acquittal meant? And I told you the definition? Now you tell other people what it means when they don’t know!”

Andy chooses to ignore the fact that it was only your mother who didn’t know what it meant. 

“But that’s different! Even if you explain it simply, my brain just won’t grasp the concept,” you try to reason, so desperate to learn about the things that other women your age are so well-versed in. “Can you show me it, Daddy? Please?”

Your stepfather nearly asks you to repeat yourself. Your request is innocent and full of desperation—you want to be in on the joke that everyone seems to know. His cock has chubbed up inside his boxers, begging for a release and even crying tears of pre-cum.

“You want Daddy to show you those dirty little things, hm? C’mere, baby. Daddy’ll tell you all about it,” Andy encourages, motioning with his hands for you to move closer to him. You scoot your body until your right leg touches his left. “You’re gonna be a good girl and do whatever I say, right?”

When you nod your head, the older man wonders if he’s won the jackpot. Luck is on his side, clearly. After years of struggle, he’s finally got a good thing. And he’s going to take full advantage of it—he’s going to cherish the treasure he’s been bestowed with. 

“Good girl—” Andy cuts himself off with a groan as you preen under the praise, “—so good for Daddy.”

Your stepdad slowly leans in and presses his mouth against yours. The kiss is searing and passionate, but it soon turns rough and possessive. You try to keep up with Andy as he claims your mouth—biting, licking, and sucking at your supple, wet skin.

He tastes of beer and cigarettes, and the smacking of lips grows wetter and sloppier. You let him take control and try to replicate some of his movements as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Andy holds the sides of your head with two large, strong hands.

But his touch is gentle and encouraging. You let the older man do whatever he wants to do, sure that you can ask him for another tutorial later on. Eventually, he pulls away with swollen, red lips and blown out eyes.

The pale blue (with a tinge of green) has disappeared. Like black paint spilled, darkness is all you can see. 

“You’ve got such a cute little mouth, baby. Think I can fit my cock in there, all nice and snug,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. You’re not sure what he means, but you go along with it and nod your head. Your eagerness is almost unreal—maybe because Andy has fantasised about it for so long.

Moments with his hand wrapped around his large, leaking cock after you said or did something his perverted mind twisted and misconstrued. Showers longer than they should be, and boxers gone in the wash sooner than they would.

“But don’t worry your pretty head with that just yet, little one,” Andy tells you, standing up and in front of you. He gently pushes you back on the bed, and you land with a small thump. Be brings your feet to rest against the edge of the mattress, caressing your skin with his rough, warm hands. “So soft…”

The lawyer brings your left leg up, and meets it halfway. He presses open-mouthed kisses on your moisturised skin, taking in your scent. Eventually the romantic feeling turns ticklish, and you giggle and try to writhe out of Andy’s grip.

Though, there’s a warm feeling that blooms in your cunt. You folds ache, but you’re not sure why. It’s like the tingles you seem to get every now and then, especially when you’re around the older man. 

“Daddy… I feel funny,” you tell him, and Andy halts his movements. 

“What do you mean, little girl? C’mon, tell Daddy,” he urges, genuinely curious. Is it fear? Excitement? Or something more physical? 

“Tingly… And warm… And it kinda hurts—but not in a painful way…” you try to explain.

“Where, baby? Show me where,” your stepfather demands. His eyebrows are mildly knitted in a bit of concern—curiosity. “D– Down there,” you whisper, looking away from his intense gaze. 

A broad hand that belongs to Andy makes a bold move. It moves to your mound, and pushes at your pussy. “Here, baby?” he nearly growls, feeling your warmth and folds through the two layers of fabric that protect you from this ravenous man. 

His fingers dig into your skin and find the bump of your clit, pushing on the nub and watch as you moan softly from the unfamiliar yet pleasurable sensation. “Uh-huh, right there, Daddy,” you mewl, subconsciously bucking your hips upwards.

The feeling is reminiscent of the kind you feel when you press your thighs together—just amped up by a few hundred volts. “Well, Daddy’s gonna make you feel better, okay, little one? This happens sometimes, and from now on, you gotta tell me whenever you feel those tingles. Understood?” Andy orders, and you shyly nod.

“Words. Use your words, little girl. I need to hear it.”

“Y– Yes, Daddy. I– I’ll tell you when I feel tingly—P– Promise.”

“Good girl.” Andy’s hands move to the waistband of your white skirt, and he pulls it down. Your panties go along with it, strings of wetness pulling and breaking when he gets too far. Your pussy glistens in the cracks of sunlight, his white curtains a blessing for once. “Such a gorgeous fuckin’ cunt.”

You bring your hand up to your face and shy away behind it, making Andy coo at you. He throws your bottoms behind him and pulls you a bit closer by your legs. He then looks up at you, pink tongue slowly darting out just a peek. 

Three of Andy’s digits move upwards. He gives them one long, slow lick, soaking them in spit. “Gotta open your legs wide, little girl. Can you do that for me, baby?” he requests, and you immediately nod your head. 

For your stepdad, you open your legs as wide as they can go without hurting. Anything he asks, you’ll do.

“Good girl,” he hums, and he brings his dominant, wet hand to your sopping cunt. Your stepdad tests the waters for a moment, swirling your slick around and caressing your swollen, achy folds. You gasp at the sensation as his large hand covers practically everything. From your clit down to your creamy fuckhole. “Feels good already, doesn’t it?”

You nod your head, and Andy smiles at you. “It’s gonna feel even better soon, little one. ‘M gonna get my cock in that little honeypot’a yours—fuck it nicely and ruin you for other men.” As he speaks, Andy maintains a trained gaze on you. “But you won’t have other men, will you?”

“You only want your stepdaddy, huh? Daddy’s girl—All mine,” Andy murmurs. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, gently biting down. “I gotta stretch you out first,” he tells you.

Andy pushes his pointer finger in first, and groans as your walls welcome it immediately. He lets the digit slip into you entirely, until it’s buried to the hilt. “You’re doin’ so good for me, little girl,” the older man smiles at you. 

Slowly, he begins to thrust in and out of your channel. His finger glistens with your creamy slick, and Andy curses. Once he believes you’ve adjusted to the first digit well enough, he pulls it out and prods two. 

“How was that, baby?” he questions, but you’re too breathless and at a loss for words to say anything. You give him a simple thumbs up, hoping it’ll suffice. “Use your words, little one,” Andy urges, and you whimper out a simple ‘was g– good’ for him.

“You’re soaking, y’know that? Makin’ a mess all over my hand,” he notes aloud. “So innocent but so needy… You make such a perfect whore for Daddy.” 

Andy thrusts two digits into your drooling hole, and he fingers you with that same slow pace. Every now and then, he makes scissoring motions meant to open you up even more. “Daddy… ‘s so much now. Feels even more tingly,” you tell him, looking at your stepdad for reassurance.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be, baby. Feels good, doesn’t it?” he prompts, and you hesitantly nod your head. Andy is right—it feels so good. It’s like the fluttery feeling you tend to get, the one you felt just a few moments before, but it’s not nagging and it’s better in comparison. “Yeah, that’s it. Take Daddy’s fingers, slut.”

Your stepfather knows he shouldn’t be saying these demeaning things to you—shouldn’t be ruining you—but he can’t help it. 

It’s almost hypnotising with the way your cunt sucks Andy’s fingers in as he penetrates your tightness again. And the way you cling onto him as he pulls them in and out of you is downright pornographic—just like the sounds you’re making. 

“Bet you never even got this far, little one. All you ever did was rub this li’l cunny on whatever you could find, hm?” He wonders out loud. “Poor pussy’s been neglected. S’okay, Daddy’s here, baby,” Andy whispers, and he picks up the pace of his hand. 

He finds that rough, spongy spot inside you. It makes you toss your head back and squeeze your eyes shut, limbs trembling. “D– Daddy!” you cry out, confused yet welcoming his touches. “Shh, it’s okay, baby,” Andy soothes, stroking your sweet spot with his fingers.

Purposefully, he neglects your clit. He knows it’s pulsating—aching to be touched by your stepfather. Your volume raises just a bit, and his cock throbs with every other noise. Your pretty face has formed a frown of pleasure, and Andy thinks to himself he can really get used to this.

“W– Wait. Feels like I needa go to the bathroom…” you shamefully admit, and this time, Andy really chuckles. “You’re so cute and innocent, little one. Gonna give Daddy a cavity with how sweet you are,” he says, picking up the pace of his fingers. He makes sure to keep stretching you out, though.

“Feels like it’s burning and building, huh? That’s normal, baby. Don’t worry. Just take one more finger for me, okay?” Andy skillfully brings you closer and closer to your release. The wet, lewd sounds of your cunt grow louder. “You’re fucking soaking. S’that all for me?” your stepfather asks.

You don’t really know what he means, but you chose to nod your head. At your answer, Andy decides to push a third digit into your cunt. The fit is strugglesome—tight, warm, and snug. You can barely handle his thick fingers, pussy struggling to adjust to them at first. He can’t wait to get his cock inside you.

“H– Hurts, Daddy,” you whine, the stretch uncomfortable. Andy shushes you gently, whispering praises until the pain dulls away and all you can feel is fullness and pleasure. “You’re drippin’ everywhere, little girl. I can’t wait to get a taste of that sweet pussy,” he murmurs, and he continues to attack your g-spot. 

Your cries grow louder and more high-pitched, and Andy knows you’re close. The older man grunts, “That’s it, good girl. C’mon, give Daddy your cream, baby.” Your body goes from thrashing just a tiny bit to seizing when your orgasm hits. 

It takes you by storm. Your eyes squeeze shut and you sob, cunt clamping down on his hand. “Atta girl. Goin’ all dumb for Daddy—that’s what I like to see, little one.” Andy fingerfucks you through your climax, admiring the creaminess that coats his skin. He’s sure some has dripped down to your rosebud, and that makes him so hard.

“Oh– Oh my gosh,” you pant, tears stinging your eyes from the stimulation. “See what I just did, baby?” Andy questions. 

“Uh-huh.” He looks at you, carefully examining the fucked-out look you have on your pretty face. 

“Only Daddy gets to do that to you, little girl. No one else. Understood? You belong to me.”

Obediently, you nod your head. “Uh-huh. All yours, Daddy.”

Your words have his cock twitching underneath the confines of his pants. Andy slowly pulls his fingers out of your wet channel, consoling you when you whine from the sudden emptiness. Your fuckhole gapes just a bit, and it makes your stepdad eager to get his cock out. 

“Damn right, little one,” he grunts, unbuckling his belt and pulling his thick cock out. “See this, baby? It’s Daddy’s cock, and it’s the only one you’re ever gonna go near. Y’know, your pussy was made for it,” he hums, stroking himself from the thick base to the leaky, bulbous head. 

Your mouth parts in interest. Whatever he says and does soaks right into that empty mind of yours. 

Andy pulls you up to the bed with his other hand, strength coming in handy. He puts your head on his pillow and then crawls between your legs, making you part them wide once again. He hovers above you, and you involuntarily clutch the blue fabric of his sweater for comfort.

The older man slaps the fat tip of his engorged dick on your clit, making you flinch from the jolt of pleasure. He then slides the head down to your slightly-stretched hole, and he begins to push in.

When your face contorts in confusion and mild discomfort, Andy is quick to tell you everything is okay. “Shh… It’s alright, baby. You’re fine,” he says, speaking gently and pressing chaste kisses to your face. 

He looks down to where his fat cock pushes into your tightness, stretching you wider than ever before and claiming your fuckhole as his. The sight is mesmerising, and Andy can’t help the groan he lets out from it. 

“Taking my cock like such a good little fucktoy. Fuck—you okay, little one?” your stepfather questions, and it takes you a few moments to respond to him. Slowly, you nod your head. Though the breach is unfamiliar and a lot to handle, you’re determined to be Andy’s good girl and fight through it.

There’s a pain that burns—and you bite onto his sweater to keep quiet. Andy examines your face as he continues to sheath his length inside you. “That’s my good girl. Feelin’ shy, baby?” he coos. “Aw, how cute.”

Eventually, your stepfather bottoms out with his heavy balls against your ass. He hums your name and the pet names he’s given you, waiting for you to pull your pretty face away from his chest. “Show me those doe-eyes, little one,” Andy requests. Slowly, you peek up at him.

Your eyes are big and they still hold that innocence that Andy knows he can’t rip away from you. “Good girl. How do you feel, baby?” he asks. 

“Uhm—weird? Feels different… Deep, too…” you process out loud, and the older man nods with your every word.

“Yeah, I’m so deep inside you, little girl. All the way in your belly.” The thought has him growling, and he begins to shallowly fuck you. You mewl with each of his half-hearted thrusts. The pain is soon replaced with pleasure, one that you immediately grow fond of. “There we go…”

“More tingles,” you note, punctuating your sentence with a gasp as Andy’s movements grow more vigorous. “So many, Daddy.” Your stepdad nods his head and smiles at you sweetly, “That’s right, little girl. That’s what happens when Daddy stuffs his fat cock inside your babycunt.”

When he calls you those two words—little girl—your body reacts. You shy away from him whilst your pussy clenches around his dick, and he bites back a loud groan. The veins at his throat bulge, while his jaw clenches.

“I’m gonna start fucking you now, little one. You just gotta sit there and take whatever I give you,” he forewarns, and you nod your head. “Okay, Daddy.” At your words, Andy begins to pummel in and out of your pussy. Obscene noises come from where you’re connected to him—wet sounds and skin slapping against skin.

Andy looks down and watches as his cock forcefully disappears and reappears, your tightness still not used to such a large intrusion. His heavy balls smack against your ass, where your slick stains. “Drippin’ everywhere, baby. You love this—I fucking knew it,” he grunts, his pounds the perfect speed and intensity.

His cock kisses your cervix each time, making you writhe in pain. But when he rubs against your sweet spot, that discomfort leaves almost immediately. “Look, little one, your cream is all over my cock. You’re leaking down to my balls—fuck,” Andy harshly pushes forward at the realisation.

You wail from the intensity. “Yeah, you like getting fucked by a dirty old man, slut? Hm? Like getting fucked by your stepdaddy?” Andy questions, and you hesitate before nodding your head. He swears once more, and then leans down. 

Though he’s repeatedly knocked the breath out of you, he now stops it from moving at all as he kisses you. At first, it’s soft and what teenage dreams are made of. But then, like the way he takes away your virginity, it grows rough and desperate. He takes the lead, shoving his tongue into your mouth and doing all kinds of things you can’t keep up with.

Andy eventually pulls away, noticing that his thrusts have dulled down. He picks his pace back up, his pelvis slamming into yours. Your cream coats his cock, leaving a stain that even reaches his patch of hair. Your lips are raw and glistening from the passionate, bruising kiss he had you locked in.

Your stepfather rams into your fuckhole without relent, forcing more of your wetness out with his shaft. His length strokes your sensitive walls with skill and aggression, abusing your cunt like he’s always wanted to. 

Your chest is pressed against Andy’s, and he uses one of the hands that holds him up to pull down the top of your shirt, exposing your hardened nipples. The cold air adds to the ache of them. “Stupid little girl making the biggest fucking mess on her Daddy’s cock. Y’gonna clean it up after, baby? You better—with that cute mouth of yours.”

Nodding your head, you make the older man inhale a sharp, controlled breath. In contrast, you pant like a bitch in heat as your chest rises and falls. There’s a feeling that grows at a fast pace. It’s like when you have to go to the bathroom so badly—except this time, it’s more intoxicating than intolerable. 

“D– Daddy! Feels funny—like before, but way m– more?” You’re so unsure of yourself—of your body—that it’s utterly adorable to Andy. 

“That’s called an orgasm, little girl. You just sit there and beg Daddy to let you come, okay?” he requests, and you nod your head.

It feels like something that needs to desperately continue and be alleviated—but you know only Andy can do that for you, so you do whatever your stepdad says.

“P– Please let me come, Daddy! Need to come so bad… Please, please please—!” you gasp loudly, Andy’s cock driving deeper and he grinds with each pump of his cock, rubbing against your clit. “Good girl—such a good little slut for Daddy,” Andy hums, sensing you’re even closer to coming. 

“Soak Daddy’s fat cock, little girl. C’mon, wanna see you make a stupid mess on this dick,” he commands, landing some slaps on your ass and the side of your left thigh. Your cunt suddenly convulses around him, clit thrumming and back arching as you come around his cock for the very first time. “Atta girl.”

He growls as your eyes roll back into your head, lids squeezing shut as your face pinches. Your mouth drops open in shock from the heat that envelops you. The grip your pussy has on Andy’s dick grows tighter, squeezing him and begging for more.

Your stepfather fucks you through your orgasm, slowing down just a bit when you begin to twitch from the pleasure. Your walls spasm until he manages to get you through the high, and then he resumes fucking you harshly. Your tits bounce with each slam of Andy’s hips, your body pushed upwards before he pulls you back onto his dick. “Ah—ah—ah,” you moan, going dumb on the older man’s cock. A mildly blank look is on your face, and you babble like a baby. 

“Dumb little girl—talking about dirty things and behaving like a whore when you haven’t even had big girl sex yet,” Andy sneers, grabbing your jaw and puckering his lips up. He spits in your mouth, before telling you to swallow the wad of saliva. Like a good girl, you do exactly as he says. You even smile at him afterwards, before your face pinches again from the sensations his cock brings. “Greedy girl—that hungry pussy is just swallowin’ up Daddy’s fat cock,” he grunts, forcing his thickness in and out of you.

Your toes curl and feet point as your stepfather pushes your legs against your torso. His strong, well-built arms flex, and so does his muscled-chest. Your hands clench his sweater and subconsciously grope his pecs, and you marvel at his figure. 

Because Daddy has to do everything for his helpless baby, he takes your arm and uses it to hold up your left leg, while his left hand pushes on your right. At this new angle, your stepfather’s shaft is far deeper than it was at first.

It’s almost dizzying—the way he’s practically in your tummy. And his thrusts are now stronger, too. Andy’s got you pinned to the bed as he pounds into you, determined to bring you to another orgasm before he blows his load. And even after that, he won’t stop.

“‘S so deep, Daddy! C– Can feel it in my g– guts,” you whine, and your words make Andy’s cock throb within your tight, wet walls. Your cream drips all over his cock, leaving a thick sheen and ring coating his base. Even his balls are soaked. “Uh-huh—you’re just so tiny, baby. Daddy had to force it in—but now you’re takin’ it like a champ.”

You preen under his gaze and his praise, but your tears still leak. “Aw, poor little crybaby. Daddy’s just fuckin’ you too good, huh? S’okay, I got you,” Andy whispers, wet noises filling the air along with the smell of sex. Your sweet tang is amongst the scent, and Andy knows that later on, he’ll rub your cunt raw with his beard.

“My little fuckdoll… This is Daddy’s pussy now—all mine, just like the rest of you,” he grunts, and your second release hits you all of a sudden. 

You writhe away from Andy as best as you can, but it doesn’t get you anywhere. Instead, your aching nipples end up rubbing against the stitched threads on your stepfather’s sweater, adding to your pleasure.

Andy’s thick length nearly splits you open, having a bit of a harder time to move with your increased tightness. “Good girl—that’s it, go dumb on Daddy’s cock. My good little slut,” he moans, peppering kisses at your jaw and nipping at the skin every now and then. 

Heat spreads inside your body as the mattress gets wetter with each drop of your arousal. “You’re makin’ a mess everywhere, baby. But it’s okay. Daddy knows that little girls like you can’t help it—you need Daddy’s help with everything.”

Mindlessly, you nod your head. You gush around Andy, coating his cock while you have him in a vice-like grip. Your swollen folds get nudged by his dick, and the sight is pornographic—something he can never forget.

“Looks like this cunt is perfect for Daddy to fuck, baby,” your stepdad tells you. “Made for me to use however I want. Gonna turn you into my little whore.”

Andy’s words make your pussy constrict even more around his dick. You practically choke him, begging for his cum without even realising it. “Daddy…” you sob, limbs trembling from the amount of euphoria his actions bring. Your stepfather’s jaw clenches at your use of the title.

“That’s right, little girl. I’m your Daddy,” he grunts, now using your fuckhole like it’s his fist. He fucks into your with vigour, determined to fill you up with his cum before he switches positions. He loves the struggle of getting his dick to fit inside your pussy. “You’re making Daddy feel so good, baby. ‘M gonna give you a nice reward for being so sweet.”

At his statement, you perk up as best as you can. Though it’s difficult to think or say anything. “R– Really, Daddy?” you question, elated at the thought of a reward. “Really, little one. You’re such a good girl for Daddy—all the time, too. Never made me have to spank that ass ‘till you’re crying.”

He mumbles the last part, but you catch a bit of his sentence. You don’t understand him though—crying? No, Daddy would never hurt you. Andy’s said so numerous times—times where you’ve cried in his arms and clung to him like a kitten.

Now, your cunt does the same. It weeps and doesn’t let go of Andy’s dick, and the mounting pleasure inside him is as desperate and needy, too. “Gonna give you a belly full of my cum, baby. I’ll fill you up until you’re leaking with my seed for days,” the older man grunts, before cursing wildly.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck.”

Suddenly, the snapping of his hips stops, and he shoves his cock forward until he can’t move any further. The harshness makes you frown, wincing at the mild pain. Then, warmth fills you up, undoubtedly claiming your walls and coating them with white stickiness. 

Andy pants above you, heart clamouring in his chest as he hit his release. He grinds into your pussy to prolong it, only stopping when his hard length grows sensitive. Already, his cum leaks from the sides of his cock. 

“There we go—now you’re all mine, little girl. And I know you like being Daddy’s,” he smiles at you, coming down from his high. His face has a blush to it. 

Andy takes one of his hands and puts it on your tummy, rubbing your skin slightly to get you to relax. It works—but not in the way he predicted.

“A– Again, Daddy? Please?” you start to beg, taking your stepdad by surprise. “W– What do you mean, baby?” he questions, moving his hand to grip your hip. “Do it again, please. F– Feels so good, made some of the tingles go away…” you explain, tightening your channel at the thought.

“You want Daddy to stretch this pretty pussy out again?” Andy asks. It takes you a few seconds and his index finger pointing to where he is penetrating you for you to answer. “Uh-huh!” you moan out, gyrating your hips to alleviate the newer, fluttery feeling at your core.

“Alright… Wanna play a fun game, little one?”

You nod your head, eager to spend more time with your stepfather.

“Good. It’s called horsey,” Andy says, slowly pulling out of your pussy. You whine loudly at the loss, cum leaking out of you and spilling onto the bed. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain it for your little baby brain to understand.”

Your stepdad grabs your and manhandles your body, sitting against the headboard and placing you in his lap.

Your dripping pussy is against his hard cock. “All you have to do is bounce on Daddy’s cock—feel it? Yeah—and make it go really deep inside of you. Think you can do that, little girl`?” he says, rubbing his dick against your swollen, wet petals. 

Above him, you shudder. The pleasure is almost too much for your little-self to handle, but you push through its intensity. “O– Of course, Daddy! ‘M your good girl—gonna do anythin’ for you,” you mumble, and Andy’s hands pull at the cloth covering your torso. 

It then rips, and he removes the shreds from your body. “That’s right, baby. You’re my good girl,” he coos, reaching down to grab the thick, wet base of his hard cock. He gives himself a few languid strokes, before lifting you up a bit.

The fat, sensitive tip of your stepfather’s cock prods at your hole that’s still mildly stretched-out from his brutal fucking. Andy pushes in, pulling you down a bit so you meet him halfway. He knows it’s going to be deeper than ever—and he can’t wait to see that dumb, empty look on your face when he bottoms out.

But then he looks at your mug, and he finds himself feeling something rotten. Something terrible, sinking in his chest until his lust takes over and turns him selfish once more. No—not selfish… Just complicated.

“Daddy, feels scary,” you admit, trying to fall forward and lay against his chest. Andy tuts, holding you up and giving you one of his charming, sweet smiles. “It’s okay, I got you. Daddy’s here, little one,” he assures you, tone saccharine in a stark contrast to his dirty actions.

As you slide down his length, it becomes more difficult to take him. You try to move away from the older man—run away from his intimidating cock. “Nuh-uh. I thought you wanted to play with Daddy, baby,” Andy pouts, and your heart breaks from his sadness.

“C– Can’t take it, Daddy,” you explain to him, half of his dick inside of you. “Yes, you can, sweetheart. Let Daddy help you, it’s okay.” 

Andy’s hands hold your waist, and he looks down to where he’s connected to you, and suddenly thrust upwards. You fall forward with a cry, unprepared for the new angle. He lets you seek comfort in him and his sweater once more, rubbing his hands up and down the length of your back. 

“Shhh… you’re okay, it’s okay. You’re lucky Daddy pumped your pussy full of cum, baby. It would’ve hurt way more,” your stepfather tells you, waiting for your whimpers to die down. “Daddy’s dick is so deep inside you, hm?”

You nod your head slowly, gripping his sweater and pushing your face into his chest. “I know, little one. But when you start to play, it’ll be fine. Try bouncing, baby. Just move up and down.”

Once again, you nod and try to sit up. Andy’s hands move down to your waist, and you splay yours on his clothed pecs. “Up and down—c’mon, you can do it. Daddy knows you can,” he urges, and you begin to lift your body up. 

You stop when you feel it’s right—when half of Andy’s thickness is left inside you. Then, you slide back down. A growl rumbles in the older man’s chest, his cock throbbing as your walls stroke him. “W– Was that good, Daddy?” you question.

“So good, baby—have you played this game before?” he playfully asks, but then that humour turns to jealousy. The thought of you riding another man’s dick has Andy fuming—possessiveness boiling hot inside him and reaching the temperature of the sun. “Nuh-uh. Only you, Daddy. Nobody else.”

Like salve on a wound, you heal that vulnerability of his with your words. “Atta girl,” he praises. “How about we add a fun little rule, sweetie?” he offers as you continue to glide up and down on his cock. You whimper with each movement, muscles burning from the strain.

“O– Okay, Daddy. W– What’s the rule?” you innocently question, looking at him with your doe eyes. “Everytime Daddy slaps your ass, you have to move quicker, okay?” your stepfather tells you, moving his palms down to the globes of your ass. He caresses the skin gently.

Before you can worry about the pain, Andy lands a sharp smack to your butt, making you yelp. You pick up the pace of your movements, still careful, however. “Such a perfect pussy, little one. So tight and warm and wet… And made for my cock,” he whispers, punctuating his sentences with spanks.

Unfortunately, Andy’s cock doesn’t kiss those spots with expert aim. And you’re too scared to take his entire length. So, your poor legs give up, and you fall forward again. You cry out from the wasted euphoria—gone is the dull fire inside you. But not entirely.

“Aw, you can't do what Daddy does, hm? Poor baby. You need me so bad,” your stepdad coos, but it’s more like he rubs your failure in. “Dumb little girl—acting like a whore even though you can’t ride Daddy’s cock. How silly of you—don’t you feel stupid?”

You let out a whine that turns into a sob, and Andy quickly shushes you. Stupid Andrew, he chides himself, hurting this sweet thing… Don’t you love her? “Baby?” he calls out, trying to coax you out of the shell you’ve crawled back into.

His cock isn’t buried to the hilt like it was before, and the ache between your legs still needs to be taken care of—Andy’ll fix that after. He wedges his hand between your face and his body, pushing you off him roughing and holding your hand in his palm. You frown and cry out from the pain, face twisted in discomfort. 

“‘M sorry, little one. Daddy's sorry. Fuck—can’t help it,” he slurs, hating himself for getting so rough with you. But it’s not his fault he’s this way. You just awaken something ferocious in him—something that needs to be held down with chains and locked away in a cage for eternities. 

Something so terrible yet so addictive. 

“I love playing with you so much—that’s why Daddy hurts you, little one. I love you, I just get excited sometimes,” he explains, cupping your cheek and smiling at you. Eventually, you come around. “S’okay, Daddy,” you whisper, looking downwards. 

“It’s my turn to play horsey now, little girl. All you have to do is sit up straight, okay? Try not to lay on Daddy.”

Andy’s heels dig into the mattress and he bends his knees just a bit, still holding onto your hips. He looks down to where he breaches your tightness, and notices the tinge of pink that mixes with his spunk—the same cum that leaves out of your fuckhole.

At that moment, he ignores it. He stores that thought for later—for when he’s lonely and desperate to feel guilt. Andy bottoms out inside you slowly, enjoying the lewd squelching sounds that come with his action. “Oh, gosh,” you murmur, eyes rolling back into your head.

The hairy base of his cock touches your core, and his balls rest against your ass. Andy’s hands move to your butt, and he spreads your cheeks apart. One of his fingers prods at your other hole. The older man has half a mind to defile your little rosebud that’s sticky with wetness and his cum.

You can feel Andy’s cock so deep inside you; it’s dizzying. The breath is nearly knocked out of you, and you feel as though you’ve bared something to your stepfather that has left you utterly vulnerable. The feeling has you distraught, but Andy told you he’d take away all your thoughts, so it’ll be okay. Right? 

“You're such a good girl for me. So good. My good girl,” Andy grunts, and he’s lifting you off his cock until just the tip remains inside you. His hips then return to the depths of your wet channel. He starts to fuck up into you, and the familiar sound of skin-on-skin reverberates throughout the room. This time, it’s louder.

Andy stares at your pretty face while he fucks you into oblivion, making sure to study each aspect. From the way your eyes roll into your skull when he shoves his thickness into you to how your jaw falls slack so quickly. It’s all for him.

“Daddy—Daddy—Daddy!” you squeal, toes curling and limbs stiff yet twitching. Is it possible to be hooked on the way someone says something? You’re not a ‘someone’ though—you’re so special and so different. The answer must be yes. It must be normal, too.

Your tits bounce with each of his upward-thrusts. This new angle is unlike anything you’ve ever felt—more profound and accurate. Your stepdad fucks into you with such roughness that it’s hard to keep upright. Especially with the building sensitivity in your lower abdomen.

“Fuck, yeah. Take Daddy’s fat cock in this tiny cunt, little one. Fucking take it, slut,” Andy grunts, getting meaner by the second. It’s a helpless habit, and thank heavens that you don’t understand half of the words he’s saying. 

A blank smile spreads itself on your face, but your eyes are full of hope. Hope that you’re doing good for your Daddy. 

“You’re my good girl. My good girl—my dumb little girl. No thoughts in that head, hm? You just wanna please your Daddy and get fucked until you can’t think anymore,” he spits, and the word that diminishes your intelligence has your bottom lip wobbling. 

You want to please your Daddy, but you must be doing something wrong, no?

“Aw, don’t cry, little one. Daddy’s being nice to you, okay? It’s good like this!” Andy quickly tells you, slowing down his thrusts. He grinds into you in the meantime, and he doesn’t miss the way your cunt is gripping him even tighter. “O– Okay, Daddy. T– Thank you?” you apprehensively say, unsure of so many things. 

“Daddy’ll teach you all about it after. Okay? You’re so cute and polite, little one. You’re doing so good for me,” Andy coos, rubbing a thumb on your face. You grin at him before squeezing your eyes shut, feeling that funny sensation inside of you. 

It worsens as your stepfather continues to fuck your guts, stroking your walls with his thick member. In the midst of his actions, Andy craves a cigarette. He wonders if you’d let him blow smoke in your face since you said he can do whatever he wants to you. Of course, you would—you’re such a good girl. 

“Wanna make Daddy even happier, sweetie?” he wonders, stretching one of his arms to reach the bedside table. He pulls the top drawer open and blindly sifts through it. “O– Of course, daddy. Please? Wanna make you happy,” you plead, absentmindedly gyrating your hips on your stepdad’s cock.

Andy finds the lighter grouped with the pack of Parliament cigarettes. He doesn’t bother closing the drawer, but he does bring you closer and forces you to catch yourself on your hands.

Your stepfather—who had promised your mom that he kicked the habit—plucks a smoke from the box and places it between his pink lips. “Daddy? What are you doing?” you question, halting your movements. Andy smiles at you, the cigarette wobbling a bit.

“Don’t worry your little baby brain about it, sweet girl,” he simply tells you, before lighting the cigarette. He takes a drag from it and puffs the smoke back out, satiating the craving he had a few moments ago. He then places it on the ashtray as you watch the grey smog swirl in the blue of his room.

Andy pulls you towards his chest and holds you, fucking up into your cunt. His cock drives in and out of you, balls slapping against your ass and his thick thighs jiggle each time. 

“Uhm… Oh–! Uh, Daddy?” you murmur, finding it harder to breathe. “Shh… Don’t worry, little one. Just soak Daddy’s fat cock,” Andy shushes, and you mewl at his filthy words. 

Your cunt aches immensely, but it’s the kind that is more resounding and pleasurable than anything. Andy abuses your cream-filled fuckhole like it’s all he can do—all he knows how to do. Make you feel good—that’s it. 

He’s spewing grunts and curses, and each time he utters a filthy word, you take note of how gravelly his voice is, how it rumbles in his chest and you can quite literally feel it. It’s a harsh contrast to your high-pitched wails and choked-out moans. 

“Come, little one. C’mon, fuckin’ make a mess for your Daddy,” he demands once more, punctuating his words with hard thrusts. 

Your body comprehends his words, and it starts to have that reaction.

The one where your back arches yet your limbs flail and your head tries to pull away from the crook of his neck. It’s almost as if you’re trying to run away from your stepdad. He won’t let you go, though—he never will. Yet it makes him so hard when you try to escape. 

Your mind soars high above the cotton candy clouds of your skies. You start convulsing around Andy’s member, creaming and soaking him. Your body freezes and you let out a wail that is music to his ears. He cheers you on with small ‘yeah’s that have you giggling slightly. “Good girl.”

Your tits jiggle, and your body jerks upwards as Andy roughly fucks you through your orgasm. “D– Daddy,” you mewl, and Andy simply begins to fuck you quicker. Eventually, those sparks he brought became too much. You’re not sure what to do, though, so you simply writhe on his lap. 

“‘M gonna fill you up again. Gonna pump this cunt full of cum until you’re leaking for days. Turn you into my messy little girl,” your stepfather says through grunts and growls as he sloppily uses your pussy. You nod your head and grin, wincing every now and then.

The older man’s sloppy, selfish pumps grow erratic. Andy then stills deep inside your cunt, burying himself to the hilt. A guttural moan leaves him, one that is louder than intended. He holds your body tightly, not wanting to let go of you.

His white ropes paint your inner walls until the sides of his cock are dripping, and there’s a ring at the base. Spilling inside you, Andy turns you into his cumdump once more. “Fuck,” he groans, your tight pussy tempting him to go again and again. 

Maybe he will. His cock remains locked inside you, and both of your chests rise and fall with exhaustion. “Daddy…” you whimper, cunt sensitive and stretched out from his engorged dick. 

“Shh… Daddy’ll take care of this greedy pussy again, little girl. Don’t you worry,” Andy tells you.

Your hands are on his body, and you brace yourself up using his waist. It’s hard to stay upright with the weakness of your body and the wobble of your arms. 

Andy reaches for the ashtray and plucks the cigarette back up. He dusts the ash off, and puts it back between his lips. He inhales the smog, and then pulls the smoke away to puff out the grey fumes. 

“That’s dirty, Daddy. Don’t do it, please,” you bemoan, curling in on yourself at the sight of your stepfather harming his health. “Well, I guess that makes Daddy a dirty old man, no?” he half-quips. 

Your stepfather takes another drag, and then he pulls you close to his face. Andy exhales, smoke directed in your face and he catches you at the right time. You take a breath in, unexpectedly drawing in the fumes of his cigarette.

You giggle apprehensively—still worried and it’s written all over your face, even if you don’t mean it to. You’ve got that look you always have when you’re trying to fight back your sweet tears, trying not to burst into sobs. Eventually, the smoke goes away. But the revolting smell of it remains, lingering in his room. 

In Andy’s mind, it only makes sense a dirty old man like him would have an equally as nasty habit. 

And to balance it out, an innocent little girl like you on his cock. 

[jaalismyhusband]

You’re already so sexy

pairing: Lumberjack!Henry Cavill x Wife!Reader

Summary: Henry has to uplift his woman after she has some major insecurities about herself and his pussy, but all she needs is him (Major Dom Henry)

requests are open/likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Henry Masterlist, Full Masterlist, Taglist form

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“See sugar, you don’t need all that if you don’t want it, think you’re so pretty without it”Henry growled shoving two fingers into the crying woman’s mouth, her mascara leaving dark trails down her face as his cock plummeted in and out of her core. “I-I love you Hen, love you so much” She whined out around his fingers, her drool covered face being cleaned up by his tongue.

“Sugar, are you doin’ your makeup? Is that for me, lookin’ pretty?” Henry smirked watching his wife apply another layer of mascara, her face lovingly done up. “Mm just wanted to be prettier, saw all my friends doing it n’ maybe I should start shaving down there too?” She pouted at him through the vanity he made for her. “But butterfly, you’re already so sexy n’ gorgeous even without all this” Henry growled pulling at the string of her dress, causing the chest part to fall off.

“Whose pussy is this? Is that my pussy? This pretty lil pussy belongs to me now, don’t u dare touch it” Henry groaned putting one hand on the back of the vanity and the other was now holding up her other trembling leg. “Awk baby, look your puffy clit is all swollen, should I help her?”

“Mhm help her please, need more bear” Y/n whimpered rutting her hips against his cock, her fingers holding open her hood to show off her clit even more. “That’s my good girl, I know what’s best for you, I do. You’re sexy as you are sugar, don’t I know it.”

Y/n just nodded helplessly, feeling Henry’s thick calloused fingers pinch and rub at her raw clit, spitting into it lewdly before slapping her tits. Her tongue outstretched as he spat onto it, watching her swallow it gratefully. “Well then say it baby, come on”

“I-i’m your good g-girl” Y/n moaned grabbing Henry’s hand putting her cheek to the palm of it; rubbing her cheek softly with his thumb Henry leant forward, “N’ what else pretty girl? M’ waitin’ “

“I’m beautiful” Y/n cried letting more tears stream down her face, Henry only smirking in satisfaction as he found her repeating that phrase as the orgasm washed over her. “That’s right, you’re beautiful, gorgeous and everythin’ else” Henry cooed thrusting his hips before pulling out swiftly, “Now let me just show you how purty I think your tits are” Henry smiled kissing her lips softly, coaxing her off the vanity and onto the hardwood floors he had set down himself.

“Push em together to make my own pocket pussy baby, would fuck you everywhere if a’could” Henry felt himself harden even more at the sight of her pretty manicured fingers struggling to push the globes of flesh together, his cock pushing itself between them. “S’too big” She whined kissing the head of his dick softly, licking up the juices erupting from it.

“Fuck honey do that again and i’ll cum all over your gorgeous face” Thrusting his hips upwards he couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of her soft fleshy tits enveloping his cock, her lips frenching his cock every time it reached the surface. “Baby you’re kissing my cock like it’s my lips, dirty girl” Henry chuckled seeing her so desperate for his cock, when it was this time last year that he was so desperate for even a reply from her in conversation.

“Cum on my face bear, wan’ it so bad on my pretty face” She smiled moving herself to fuck his cock even more with her tits, her eyes sparkling with need as Henry’s face formed an ‘O’, her lipstick smudged all over his lips and cheeks.

“Yeah I will honey don’t you worry” Henry said wiping a bit of the mascara trail, her makeup all smudged and running down her face from the tears, sweat, and drool.

“M’ready baby” She moaned fondling his balls, noticing how it made him go on edge, and within seconds her face was painted white with his cum. Picking up some of it on her cheek with her finger, she kept Henry’s eyes as she sucked it off cheekily, maintaining that sweet soft smile on her face.

“C’mere you” Henry laughed grabbing his discarded shirt and wiping as much of her face as he could, his dominant (slightly mean and grumpy) demeanour returning. “Stop laughin, i’m embarrassed” Y/n whined now standing up, her hand intertwining with Henry’s large one as he walked them both into the ensuite bathroom.

“You sit there while I prepare us a bath” Henry said pointing to the toilet seat, turning on the hot tap and pouring in some of her favourite bath scents. “My face is so messy” Y/n said finally looking at herself in the mirror, her thoughts interrupted as Henry brought a warm washcloth and gently dabbed over her face with it, “but you’re my beautiful mess, you’re mine. Forget those stupid friends of yours baby, you don’t need them. You need me “

———

Taglist Tags (Form is up there^^): @ggmimitf @ninasw0rld @acornacre @keiva1000 @spencerreidat4am @diyabhanushali1 @angelmather1 @hp-hogwartsexpress @lastwandastan @fdl305 @alexxavicry @bookfrog242 @alina02 @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @aerangi @sparklemarysunshine @oliviah-25 @mischiefsemimanaged @nikkitc0703 @hallecarey1 @misshale21 @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mansaaay @princess-paramour @stormcloudss @uwiuwi @marvelgurl @mysticfalls01 @kebabgirl67 @athena-roy @tinyelfperson @madebylilly @dumb-fawkin-bitch @vrittivsanghavi @beck07990 @kimhtoo17 @thereisa8ella @pandaxnienke

[jaalismyhusband]

Sleepy Snuggles

pairing: Boyfriend!Henry Cavill x Girlfriend!Reader

summary: Henry loves on his cockdrunk girlfriend all through the night, especially during Christmas season

requests are open/likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Henry Masterlist, Full Masterlist, Taglist Form

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Butterfly, you feel so good wrapped around me like this, all cockdrunk and snuggly” Henry whispered kissing Y/n’s cheek from behind, his arms around her waist tightly as he thrusted up into her. Feeling her eyes start to lid from exhaustion, Y/n couldn’t help but just whimper out at the words of her boyfriend, wiggling her ass back onto his cock.

“Missed you so much Hen” Y/n moaned out, feeling Henry’s hands venture up her oversized sweater, his fingers toying with her hardened nipples. “I know baby, I know. Missed my girl so much too” He whispered back, his hand resting on her hip to help her rock back and forth, his lips continuously kissing the back of her neck.

Henry had just come back filming a new movie, and was just in time for Christmas, his girlfriend of 2 years had decided to welcome him home with an amazing homemade dinner. Feeling stuffed to the brim with food, the couple decided to settle in the living room for a nap, only when things got silent both sets of hands went wandering. Starting with Henry removing Y/n’s cotton underwear from under her sweater, and Y/n slowly grinding onto Henry’s cock behind her.

“Go on butterfly, hug onto your pillow, i’ll take care of you love” Henry said watching his girl start to claw at her pillow, hugging onto it while he thrusted his cock into her velvety walls, her warm pussy sucking him in with every force. Whimpering Y/n wrapped her arms around the plush cushion, using it to slightly stifle her moans which were slowly increasing in volume.

“You’re so big, feel you stretching me out” Y/n whispered, her other hand holding onto Henry’s arm and pulling it over to wrap around her waist; ending with him pulling her flush against his chest, their bodies perfectly moulded together. “Can I cum inside you love? Is that okay?” Henry asked feeling his cock start to get even more sensitive.

Nodding against him Y/n snuggled her head into the crook of his arm that was around her torso, feeling her orgasm start to catch up to her as well. “Need words baby”

“Y-yes, cum inside me, wan’ feel all stuffed n’ warm” Y/n said softly, whimpering when Henry’s hand slowly slid down to toy with her clit that was now poking out of its lips, all swollen and asking to be played with. Starting to rub it gently as not to hurt Y/n, Henry felt himself empty out into her pussy, both of them gasping at the new sensations.

“Gonna cum bear, real soon” Lifting up her leg, Henry started to fuck his cum back into her, feeling the juices start to spill down her thighs. “You going to keep my cum inside you butterfly? Want to keep you full of me”

Nodding her head rapidly, Y/n’s legs started to shiver and spasm, her voice sending out muffled whimpers and moans. “F-fuck baby, feel you up here” Y/n whispered pulling Henry’s hand up her stomach, her orgasm slowly washing over her as Henry just let her rock back and forth at her own pace, pulling out once she calmed down.

His hands now pulling back her hair to swoop it into a low ponytail, both of his arms wrapped around her torso to pull her even more against him. His lips kissing the shell of her ear and whispering any and everything to calm down his girl, her heartbeat rapid against the palm of his hand.

“I got you butterfly, Hen’s got you” Turning around in his arms, Henry kissed her forehead, watching her glossy eyes stare up at him; her lips graced with a sleepy dopey smile. “I wanna feel you Bear, take it off” She complained tugging at her own jumper tiredly, Henry smiling at the clingy nature of his girl.

“Okay okay” In one swift motion Y/n was now naked, her warm skin against his, her eyes watching as Henry reached over for the couch blanket sitting by their feet.

Now engulfed by the warm fabric, Henry felt Y/n’s start to grind on his cock, her pussy lathering up his length in their mixed juices. “What do you think you’re doing butterfly?”

“can you stay inside me? J-just until I fall asleep” She asked looking up at him, placing tiny kisses onto his chest, neck and face. “Of course I can baby, is’ all yours” Henry growled kissing her lips softly, their tongues meeting in a sweet sloppy kiss as Y/n guided his tip into her wet cavern. Both of them hissing out at the slight overstimulation, but breathing out once Henry had filled her to the brim. His balls just resting against her pussy as Y/n shimmied closer to his chest, her arms wrapping around his torso.

Her fingers tracing over her man’s chest, playing with the curls decorated on it, smiling contently as Henry kissed her head every few seconds and reminding her how beautiful she looked. “You have never looked so beautiful my love” “Wish could keep you on my cock forever” “ I Love you so much, my gorgeous girl”

———

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[jaalismyhusband]

Punching Bag (Bucky Angst)

Summary: As much as Bucky can't stand Y/N, he's tired of her taking all the blows on the field. They have to come up with a plan.

Word Count: N/A

“Get your hands off me.”

She shoved him away, as best she could given her state.

“I can do it myself.”

She took the med kit from his hands, in her drunken stupor she stumbled to the dining table, fumbling with the latches on the case.

Bucky was tired. All he wanted to do was sleep after a long—god awful---day and put the mission behind him.

He dropped his mission bag at the doorway.

“All you’re going to do is make it worse. I don’t need you waking up tomorrow complaining about your drunken hack job.”

She glared at him, pulling out supplies.

“Sober or not, I can stitch myself up fine. Just because I’m not an army vet doesn’t mean I don’t know basic field medics.”

She mumbled something more under her breath; probably dick or asshole, some of her common artillery when insulting him.

He didn’t need this. He really didn’t need this right now. Today had been hard, and for Bucky that was saying something. Whether it was being back in Russia, during its coldest and iciest period of the season; or being stuck with the person he loathed the most, he wasn’t sure what had triggered him.

But he was on edge and exhausted, and he wanted this night to end.

Then she had to go and get stabbed of all things, and now this dark hour was dragging on and on and on...

It was then Bucky realized that this sad excuse of a safe house would not give him enough space from her. It was a bachelor style apartment, something small enough that would never catch the eye of enemies, tucked away in an complex that was filled with much more shady individuals that them. There was a kitchenette, a dining table with two chairs, and a couch that pulled out. There was also a rickety old rocking chair, which looked far from comforatble.

This night wouldn't get any shorter.

“Ow.”

She stabbed her self softly with the needle, swaying slightly as she tried to stablize herself.

“Jesus Christ," Bucky said, "did you even wash your hands?”

“Fuck you.” She retorted.

His jaw tensed as he stopped himself from raising his hands, he wanted to tear his hair out strand by strand.

Why was she always so fucking argumentative?

“Would you stop saying that?”

He strode across the room, kneeling in front of her chair and grabbed her arm.

She attempted to pull away from him, which was stupid to do with a needle in hand.

“Let go.” She demanded.

She pulled back, hard, and Bucky gripped her forearm.

“Will you just—enough.” His voice stern and commanding.

She halted, slightly hazey and swaying. But she stopped.

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh.

“For once, can you just shut up and listen? For five seconds, can you do that?”

She blinked slowly at him, pursing her lips.

He recognized that look in her eye; it was always followed by a sly grin, a tilt of her head that said “what are you gonna do about it, Sergeant?”

This time, she slumped back into her chair. She relaxed her arm and used the other to shove the kit towards him.

“Fine. Do your worst. I don’t give a shit if you leave a scar.”

He waited a moment, to see if she’d say something more or change her mind, maybe smack his hand away one more time.

But she didn’t.

So Bucky picked up the needle and went to work.

She didn’t look at him while he stitched her up, remaining in her dead stare as she looked straight at the wall.

She winced a few times but said nothing.

After a few minutes, the quiet made Bucky’s skin itch.

“Why did you jump at her, anyways? I had it covered.”

Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling through gritted teeth.

Responding wasn’t worth the effort, so she shrugged.

“Really? You’re not going to say anything?” He asked.

She groaned. “Does it matter? Not like I can do anything about it now.”

He shook his head, continuing as if he hadn’t heard her. “--And downing a bottle of tequila won’t make you feel better.”

She bit the palm of her hand as he worked his way along her side.

Her breaths stuttered as she inhaled.

“Hurts less.” She mumbled.

He paused a moment.

He remembered what that felt like. How much these kind of things could hurt you. He could imagine the pain she was going through, he could see it in her face. But he tried to ignore it. He was still mad at her.

“I don’t get you. You do this every time, you’re not invincible you know—”

She slammed her hand on the table.

“I know that! Jesus, you tell me every time—AH!”

She pulled away from him, hurting herself as he had tightened a stitch.

He looked up as his hands steadied her, and his voice softened.

“Y/N, sit still...”

Her head was turned away from him, but he could still see the corner of her eye and the downturn of her lip.

He hadn’t realized she’d been crying.

He tilted his head down, biting on the inside of his cheek. Best to just get this over with.

“Just… sit still. I’m almost done.”

They fell into silence again. The winter snow was building up on the safe house windows, the wind pounding against the panes.

He tried to shut it out. But it was either listen to the howling storm or rehash the scenario in his brain.

Her voice came over his ear piece, she told him to watch his six; that agents were entering through the south wing of the building. He ignored her, he had it covered.

She must’ve taken his silence the wrong way; she figured he was in danger. She was like that, she’d assume the worst and abandon her post to cover. Fuck, why did she have to do that…

“Did you get a hold of Sam?”

Surprised by her question, Bucky looked up from his hands. She still wouldn’t turn to face him.

“Called him while I was walking back. Said he can get a jet in a 4 am. With the storm it’s hard to get here—”

She winced again. He groaned.

“Stop moving.”

She awed at the ceiling and clenched her hand into a fist.

“My god, would it kill you to have some sympathy?”

He tied off the suture and snipped the thread.

“I don’t have sympathy for idiocy.”

She scoffed, “Fuck you.”

Which she had said for the umpteenth time today.

He decided to ignore it. But he was still fuming, still angry at her… why, why would she do that?

He should’ve watched his six, he knew he should’ve.

They came up behind him, 4 out of the 6 agents had decided to cover his wing.

He was holding his own, but the one was smart. Patient. Waiting while the others hammered Bucky with brute force to deliver a fatal blow. She had been aiming for his right side, probably trying to stab between his right ribs or his into his spine…

“You know, normal people say thank you.” He nodded to her left side, where 10 stitches sat neatly in line.

“I could say the same thing to you.” Her words were icy, she nearly spat them at him.

Bucky scoffed. “Why should I thank you? I had it covered, you jumped in and now I have to patch your drunk-ass up—”

“I did it because it’s instinct. I saw my partner outnumbered and I saved your ass. Sorry it’s an inconvenience to you because I’m not a goddamn super soldier.”

The slam of his hand on the table made her jump, and her eyes went wide at the thought that he might actually make her shut up for once.

"You can't throw yourself in a fight where you'll get more hurt than I will."

His eyes faltered when he looked at her, "We... we talked about this Y/N--"

Silence fell between them again.

She fumbled with the bottle cap on the table, and Bucky stood still at her side.

He didn't know what more to say, and she didn't know how to respond.

Because he was right, they had talked about this before many times.

There were never tender moments between the two, but the closest they'd ever gotten to something like that was usually Y/N's recovery. They were paired together more often than not; aside from them loathing one another, they were extremely compatible.

But each time they teamed up, something like this happened.

Y/N would get stabbed, she'd get shot, she'd break a bone or two, she'd pick a fight that was out of her depths.

He'd get mad and so would she, then a day or two would pass and he'd watch her struggle with something. Whether it was taking the stairs, or doing her physio, or getting back into training...

Somehow they'd end up alone and they fell back into this same conversation.

You can't always put yourself at risk for me, I know you're skilled but there's situations where you need to be more careful.

She'd sit with it, and usually come back with the same response.

I know you're capable of taking more than most people, but it doesn't mean you get to be a punching bag. If my partner is in trouble, I'm going to step in.

There was never a solution made, because he was the immovable object and she was the unstoppable force.

In short, they were both too stubborn and too proud.

Normally, she wouldn't bring it up. But feeling brave, or drunk enough to be brave, she did.

"We're going around in circles, Barnes."

She didn't look up from the table, but he continued to stare.

"We can't fight about this every single time we go on a mission. We've requested to be separated, and that's not happening. So tell me what the fuck you want me to do, because I'm not just gonna take a seat every time it gets ugly."

He sighed, "What I'd like you to do is not be an idiot out there--"

"Hm," She took another drink, "And I'd like you to stop being an asshole."

His jaw clenched again. Every time with this girl...

"Do you not see where I'm coming from?" He gestured to her ribs, "Look at you, Y/N. How many scars is that now? From our missions alone?"

She shook her head, fiddling with the cap.

"I don't know Barnes, that's not the point."

She did know, it was nine now.

"The point is I'm not going to change my mind and neither are you. So figure it out with me instead of fighting me every chance you get. Pick a different fucking solution."

It seemed Bucky couldn't stop sighing, he wanted to walk away from this night and be done with it. But he knew they'd be back in this position a month from now, and a month after that, and so on.

So, begrudgingly, Bucky sat down at the table.

"Fine. If you won't stop being reckless--"

"--And you won't stop being a dick--"

He pointed at her, "Okay first. Stop doing that. I get you're frustrated but you swear at me a lot. I hate it. It feels like you try to pick a fight."

She went to speak, but all she could think of were insults involving curse words. He'd proven his point.

Her lip curled in a scowl, "Fine."

He nodded. "Okay."

She shifted to sit with her arms crossed on the table, eyes flicking up to him.

"Stop telling me I'm an idiot. And stop saying I'm reckless. You think it's reckless 'cause I'm not Steve or Thor, or whoever else was enhnaced on the team... just because I'm not like you guys doesn't mean I'm being stupid when I'm out there."

God, he wanted to fight her on that.

Different capabilities meant different actions in certain situations, at least in his eyes.

But he kept it to himself, at least they were starting to work on something.

"Okay..." He drew out the word, subtly saying he wasn't okay with it, but Y/N didn't care.

He could think what he wanted, but he didn't get to throw it in her face every time he wanted.

"I can't control what you do on the field." Bucky started, "You make your own calls and you... you know what you're doing out there."

Y/N smirked at the look of pain on Bucky's face, she know he hated to admit it. But she was damn good at her job.

"--but if there's a situation that I think you need to stay out of, respect me when I ask."

"What if I think I can handle it?" She questioned.

He lifted his hand off the table slightly, halting her to let him finish.

"If I need you, I'll tell you."

She rolled her eyes, "So I'm supposed to wait until my coach puts me in?"

His fists balled in frustration. "No, I'm saying be there but..."

He leaned back in his chair, looking up to the ceiling.

"I don't know, maybe we have a call sign when we both need each other."

He said that to appease her, he didn't think there would ever be a time he'd need her, but maybe she would need him. And at least it would keep her from jumping in and getting sliced to bits.

She snorted, "What, like a safe word?"

He huffed slightly, "I guess so, yeah."

That seemed to be enough conversation for her, as she stumbled out of her chair and clambered over to the musty pull out couch in the corner. She was still nursing that damn bottle in the crook of her arm.

Bucky sat, somewhat surprised that that was the end of it.

"I'm tired." She mumbled as she slipped onto the mattress, kicking her go-bag onto the ground.

I guess I'll take the floor, Bucky thought.

He raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug, his words laced with contempt. "Any thoughts on the safe word?"

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, already feeling the early effects of a hang over.

"Yeah," she muttered, "Punching bag."

Bucky waited for more from her, but after a few moments of silence, her snoring began and he accepted that as the end of their conversation.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

He accepted his place in the awful rocking chair, but not before picking the bottle of tequila out from beneath her.

He took one final look at his patch up of her ribs, before settling into his seat, eagerly waiting for Sam's arrival.

~

They didn't speak more of their truce after that night, but there had been an unspoken agreement on both ends to keep their promise.

They'd be less hostile towards one another; and they'd been indepenedent in their mission roles unless someone asked for help.

And, oddly enough, their "safe word" popped up more and more with each mission. It was easier than saying the words "I need your help", because both were so stuck in their pride to ever admit that. But "punching bag" worked just fine.

In fact, they had gotten so comfortable using it during their duo missions, that it became an oddity to the rest of the Avengers in team missions.

"Barnes, what's your location?"

"Intersection of Francis Street and Main."

"I'm west of Francis by one block. Alice Street. Punching bag."

Within less than a minute, he was there.

It was rare for Bucky to use it, but every so often he had.

One time, it had been used because Bucky's metal arm had adhered to the FOD magnetic sweepers of their combatant's tank.

Y/N had laughed when she arrived, but never brought it up afterwards.

That was another thing, an interesting development so to speak. In its month's of usage, "Punching bag" somehow became "come, no questions asked."

Sam, Joaquin and Sharon had all taken notice of this new addition to their lingo; but decided not to press it. Ever since it had been implemented, the two were actually get along. Sam would argue they were somewhat friendly with one another.

It was a peaceful three months since their Russia mission, and the team was going to ride it out as long as they could.

~

Bucky felt numb. Which was bad, because usually that led to an anger spiral or a drawn out dissociation episode. Neither were good options for him.

It was a bad day. A really fucking bad day.

He had called his therapist, but at the fourth call with no answer, he had assumed she was asleep.

Of course she was, in was 2 in the morning.

Bucky tried to remember what she had taught him; their so-called "game plan" when things went south.

He didn't want to listen to music, he had tried going for a walk, he had tried using that dumb journal she recommened he'd buy but he couldn't write anything down.

Call someone, she had said, your line of work has a select few that understand what you're going through. And those select few happen to be your friends, you can lean on them . That's what they're there for.

He had hovered over Sam's contact for, about, 15 minutes. But he didn't want to.

Some nagging feeling in the forefront of his mind pulled him another way.

He scrolled down, clicked the contact, and sent a quick message.

Punching bag.

And then he waited.

-

Bucky had left his location on in their group comms chat, and Y/N was surprised to see that he was in his own apartment.

Her mind jumped to an intruder holding Bucky hostage in his own home, or him being kidnapped with his phone being left behind and it was the last message he had been able to send before being taken away.

She got paranoid like that. She was working it out in therapy, or whatever.

Bucky rarely used their safe word, which she resented him for, but when he did she knew it was serious.

She was there in 10 minutes.

Bucky heard shuffling outside his door, as stealthy as she was, he had the fortune of super-soldier hearing.

Then she gave their call sign, an additional one that was in early development. One knock, a pause, then four knocks.

You're, one syllable, an id-i-ot, four syllables

He'd respond back with two hard knocks to signal it was clear; two syllables for "fuck you".

Apparently their old habits died hard.

He had left the door unlocked, and she entered slowly.

With a quick scan of the room, she had deemed the coast was clear, even more surprising considering the text she had received less than 15 minutes ago.

She looked at him with question, "Our safe word is usually for emergencies, y'know."

He nodded, but said nothing.

She pursed her lips, more confused but coming in regardless.

"...Alright."

She slipped off her coat and kicked off her boots. She was surprised to see him on the floor, then noticing the pillow and blankets laid out on the hardwood, she realized that's how Bucky slept.

Late at night, she put two and two together; he'd tried to sleep and couldn't.

She folded up her coat and sat down across from him.

She stayed silent, patiently waiting for him.

He continued to say nothing.

She waited for a few minutes longer, prompting him to give some sort of explanation for his text.

But again, nothing.

She clapped her hands once on her knees, and stood up. Bucky panicked, fearing she would leave---

"You got back at 10, right?" She asked.

Bucky was taken aback by her knowledge of his returning home, but nodded after his pause.

She hummed, "Okay. Have you eaten?"

"Uh--" Bucky thought for a moment, realizing he hadn't. "--No."

She nodded. It was a start.

"Okay. Then uh---I'm gonna get you some food."

After digging through the cabinets whilst Bucky sat on the floor, she mustered her supplies; butter, cheese, and bread.

Grilled cheese wasn't the fanciest of meals, but considering the situation, it would have to do. Besides, she didn't know how to cook anything else.

5 minutes later, a plate plopped down in front of him, and she sat cross-legged already delving into her sandwich.

He watched her for a moment, before she looked up at him with a mouthful.

"Don't let good eatings go to waste Barnes," she wiped crumbs from her lips, "I put my blood, sweat and tears into this meal."

Shockingly, even to himself, Bucky laughed. And then he ate.

"I would've added onion," She said, "But you don't seem to have... many ingredients in your fridge, Buck."

He was surprised at her wanting to use onion, and even more surprised at her usage of his first name. But he let the latter slide.

"Onion?" He questioned.

She sent an odd look back at him, "What? You've never had onion in your grilled cheese?"

When he shook his head no, she went into a ramble.

"My god, you're missing out. I'll tell you this; one time, my Pops went into this diner, you see--"

Bucky felt himself smile as she went on, telling a story of her grandpa recommending the restaurant make it a special of the day, "grilled cheese with onion", and how it had been such a hit with the locals, that they gave her grandpa a free grilled cheese every day from that day on. Which was how she knew how to make it.

She told more stories about her grandpa, then about her family, and Bucky realized he'd never heard more about her in one sitting. In fact, he realized he had known nothing about her personal life the entire time they had been working alongside eachother.

He sat happily listening, grilled cheese in hand, and even took her up on seconds as she continued to talk.

Y/N figured that, sometimes, that's what someone needs. To fill the silence, to feel the normal, especially on days that were less than good.

And eventually, the other person would start talking too.

People need distraction. Sometimes they need to talk, they need advice, or they need help and action. But when someone needs you, and they can't find the words, talking of nothingness can be the best thing.

Y/N could be good at that, something Bucky never knew about her. And, something Bucky never knew he liked.

A silence fell over them, but not like before. Not the tense words-unsaid sort. But comfortable. She washed dishes and he sat on the floor.

She flicked her hands at the sink before drying them, Bucky wondered if she did that all the time.

"So," She said, "do you want to talk about it?"

The question might have been jarring to others, but to him it wasn't. Bucky just shrugged.

"I don't think so."

He didn't need to, he thought. This was enough.

She nodded. "Okay. Do you want me to go?"

He was shaking his head before he knew it, and she smirked.

Not the spiteful one she used to adorn with him, but more of a cheeky one. One a friend might give to another.

"Alright. Do you want me to stay?"

He picked at his ratty blanket he had tucked beside him.

"Kinda." He thought before adding, "If you don't mind."

She checked her watch, "I've got nowhere to be."

She said something about a deck of cards, and went to search his house, which for some reason he didn't mind.

She found a deck, Bucky hadn't known he owned one.

"So, I'm gonna teach you how to play King's Corners, kick your ass at King's corners, and then we're gonna talk about this bed situation which is unacceptable..." she trailed off in her teasing, and Bucky found himself laughing more.

She did teach him how to play, and he ended up kicking her ass, which she claimed was beginners luck.

She stayed all night.

More nights like that began to happen, sometimes Bucky spoke and sometimes he didn't.

Sometimes they fought, most times they didn't.

The fights happened less and less. The all-nighters happened more and more.

And Bucky noticed more things he liked. More than her grilled cheese, more than her comfortable ramblings, and soon he found there were more things he liked than not.

She trusted Bucky to hold his own on the field, and he tried not to be as protective of her, letting her choose her own actions. They found out that was what he was afterall, and she realized she had been too.

She had been staying longer and longer. The next thing they knew, she wasn't leaving at all.

~

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