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#he knows
mexisco · 1 year
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GUYS? Martin Scorsese’s daughter Francesca told him about Goncharov and he said he made that film years ago I’m fucking crying.
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piperscharm · 3 months
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something the percy jackson fandom isn’t accepting is nico getting better. everyone’s used to him being the emo little meow meow. he ain’t the fandom’s lil emo pout pout boy anymore. remember his 10 year old jumpy and excited self? he’s coming back to that. maybe not as much energy but he’s becoming more (un)serious, content and calm. he’s not angry, sad and emo anymore. in fact, he’s slightly annoyed by his emo boy title. my boy is becoming lightly happy again. he’s coming full circle and that’s beautiful. i’m sorry that some of you can’t accept change (i have a lot to say on with jason’s death).
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ofmd-ann · 4 months
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Behind the Flag: Mermaid Day (x)
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deathblossomm · 11 months
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I'm going to leave this here and go slowly...
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rosegardeninwinter · 4 months
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also, while I’m out here correcting things and being annoying, here’s another misconception: Peeta KNOWS Katniss is acting in the first arena because HE instigated it and encourages it (“remember, we’re madly in love”) … buuuut much like she begins to see through his supposed facade to the true feelings below, he begins to see the development of her GENUINE feelings for him (do recall she wants more kisses, has real intimate moments of friendship and flirtation with him, and oh just the tiny detail of being willing to die for him at the end) … that’s what he feels upset about at the end; he’s not stupid about the act; he just starts to understand when it isn’t an act anymore … and he thought she understood too
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millenniumscreampuff · 2 months
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He probably can tell the age of a skull by looking at it.
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countingstars-17 · 1 month
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when he:
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so him:
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whispermask · 1 year
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Soap’s Naughty or Nice Quiz
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leclercskiesahead · 2 months
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Carlos ig stories 10.02.24
💪 flexing
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braverytattoos · 5 months
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Louis looking hella good in Manchester
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hypnautic-cereal · 18 days
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SPOILERS FOR THE NEW WELCOME HOME UPDATE‼️
Sooooo, guess who’s favorite character is going through it rn and definitely knows more about Home and the neighborhood than he lets on?
Anyways, when that whole “Eddie is finally happy” sequence went on, for whatever reason it reminded me of Get Out by Jordan Peele, aaaand I drew this
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shiftythrifting · 1 month
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resale store in Northern Michigan
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elitadream · 6 months
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"Wh... Who are you?"
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I couldn't resist. 🙇‍♀️ Here's another quick scene I made for the body swap concept, this one directly inspired by your inquiries!
A little gift for @pianokantzart, who seemed especially invested in Luigi's side of the story.^^ Enjoy!
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sunonyoreface · 1 year
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He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 19
An: Thanks for your patience, I am so excited about this part!! SMUT WARNING, it gets spicy!
Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.
Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.
Word count: 6100 (way too long!)
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader
Warnings: SMUT, 18+, minors dni, angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of knives, mentions of death.
Photo credit to @ave661
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Ghost towers over me, his dark shadow cast upon my cowering frame. Fearful eyes drag over the predator in front of me. How he analyzes my every move. How his black shirt clings to the thick muscle around his shoulders and arms as his chest eagerly heaves with excitement. How his gloved hands clench and release, ready to wrap themselves around me and tear me apart. This is what he was made for. This is the chase that sets him on fire, makes him feel alive.
“Now what’re you going to do?” his voice sounds like it could cut. After his initial attempt, I quickly cornered myself between the wall and the dresser. Now Ghost fills the entire walkway between the dresser and bed, leaving me with nowhere to go. Everything about his posture tells me he’s only seconds away from trying again. I spare a glance at the weapon in my hands and my grip tightens around it. “Your trapped, y/n, what’s your next move?” What the hell kind of training is this?
But I don’t get much time to think. The ambiguous soldier in front of me slowly stalks forward. There’s a vertical slit in his eyes like those of a wild cat who has just identified its next prey.
 “If I wanted to kill you right now, how would you stop me?” he inches closer. My mind falters: the knife. The knife. But I can’t use it. I don’t know how. What if I end up hurting him? I feel my head start to shake, the word “no” at the tip of my tongue. He sees the fear finally catch up. “Use it, y/n,” Ghost urges me.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” the words are quiet on my lips. Tension fills my body.
“You won’t hurt me,” his words are immediate and almost cocky. The corners of his eyes crinkle from a cruel smile. Have I forgotten who he is? Don’t I know his reputation? He didn’t take his vest – his main source of protection off for no reason - I’m the furthest thing from a threat to him.
Ghost is done taking his time with me. He lunges forward with his arms outstretched. I make a last-ditch attempt at escaping by leaping toward the bed, but just as my foot touches the mattress a thick arm wraps around my waist and roughly pulls me flush against his chest. His other hand wrestles the knife from my grasp and as soon as the metal is gone from my hand, I feel the strangely familiar pressure of it against my throat.
“You’re not holding the knife properly,” he reprimands. Ghost’s chest pushes into me from behind and I can feel his arms flex as they constrict even tighter.
“Is this your idea of training me?” I bite back. Fear turns to frustration. How is it so easy for him to manhandle me like this?
“Come on, I know you can take it rough,” Ghost’s coarse voice brushes against my ear. “If you let the enemy touch you like this, you’re dead.”
“Then I guess I’m lucky it’s you,” thick sarcasm coats my tongue. I feel the hem of my shirt start to rise above my stomach as the electric heat from his body transfers through my skin. Then, just as fast as it happened, he lets go.
“Here,” he wraps my fingers around the handle in the proper position. “You’re not about to win a knife fight against a member of the task force. Your only goal is to create an opportunity to escape,” there’s a newfound seriousness to his voice. I turn around to meet his eyes. For a moment, I almost know what he’s thinking. If the Ultranationalist tries anything the next time he visits, Ghost won’t be there to protect me. I’ll be all on my own. This, and the wiretaps, are the best he can do.
“Okay,” I resign. “How?”
“You have to draw blood. Lots of it,” his lower lids squint as he gauges my reaction. How capable am I of violence? He hasn’t had the opportunity to witness that yet. If I’m being honest, neither have I. I’ve never been put in a position where I’ve had to hurt someone before. I don’t really know what I’m capable of. It’s a daunting possibility.
“Show me,” I force a nervous swallow as he closes the space between us. I feel my heart rate start to pick up.
“There are only two vulnerable spots that’ll slow him down when he’s wearing a vest,” Ghost starts to circle me. I don’t hear when he stops behind me. But I feel his large hand slowly snake around my hips, stopping on my stomach. His bicep flexes as he pulls me against his chest again. The back of my head is just level with his shoulders and I feel him bow down as the soft balaclava brushes against my hair. “His neck or his gut. Arms and legs won’t work, they’re not painful enough,” a shiver runs down my spine from his chilling words.
“They sound pretty painful,”
“Not enough. You need to do real damage,” the low vibrations of his voice against my skin makes the hair stand on the back of my neck. Ghost presses his fingers into the soft flesh between my hips and moves his hand back and forth in a straight line, tracing the vulnerable area. I can’t help the involuntary gasp that escapes my lips. “This is where you’ll aim. Drive the knife deep into his stomach and drag it across as far as you can. If he tries anything, I want you to spill his fucking intestines,” Ghost’s breathing deepens as he imagines the scene. His fingers press harder into my skin and some twisted part of me wants him to leave bruises, but not with his hands.
“Is that what you’d do?” the words are light on my tongue. Every part of my body he touches feels as though it’s about to combust.
“I will do so much fucking worse, y/n. When this is over and I get my hands on him, his own mother won’t recognize him. They’ll have to use his fucking teeth to identify him,” he growls. The pictures that flash through my mind are horrific. But some part of me likes it – knowing the extent that he is willing to go to for me.
There’s a palatable tension in the air. I can taste it: metallic and salty like iron. Like the desire for violence. Like the static before lightning strikes. I feel it radiating off him in waves that wash down between my shoulder blades. I believe every word from his mouth.
“Let’s try again,” I suggest, changing the topic.
Sweat rolls down my skin as we practise again and again for hours. Ghost lays out several different scenarios, from trapping me against the dresser to pinning me against the bed. He is relentless. But with every touch, every grab and push and shove and pull of hair, every time he presses himself against my hot skin, the desire to feel him in me grows even stronger. Sometimes I think he’s doing it on purpose. Because I know how much he likes to see his hands wrapped around my throat. And I know how he was filled with a jealous type of rage after that man had a knife pressed against the same spot. Every time Ghost’s hands pull me closer, it feels like I’m being reclaimed.
My heart pounds in my ears after so long without a break. When he pulls away after another round I finally collapse onto the floor, just for a moment, just to catch my breath. Ghost looks even taller from this spot as he watches me with his arms crossed.
“Get up,” he huffs, not nearly as out of breath as I am.
“In a moment,” even my voice sounds exhausted. My face is hot and I’m sure it’s flushed.
“I don’t want you lying on the floor,” Ghost grumbles. I feel the corner of my lips twitch at the thought that pops into my head.
“No?” I feign innocence. “How do you want me?”
“Watch your mouth y/n,” he snaps. Ghost steps around me to pace the room, but I don’t miss how he takes the opportunity to adjust his pants when he thinks I can’t see. A warm sense of pride blooms in my chest. He feels the same tension. The same desire as the night in the cabin. Maybe even stronger this time.
“I need to rest for a moment,” I lie my head on the floor while keeping eye contact with him. I can just see the edge of the black paint around his eyes, peeking out from under his mask.
“Sweetheart, you’ve got more in you than that,” there it is again. Sweetheart. I can’t even hide the effect it has on me. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from outright smiling. And it works. He has me up on my feet embarrassingly fast.
“Fine. Let’s go, I’ll win this time,” there’s fresh determination behind my words, but even I know they’re not true. I can tell he’s smirking by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. Ghost is enjoying this way too much. But I can’t lie, so do I. He knows.
Ghost comes at me fast. I know he’s holding back and yet his power is terrifying. He grabs me by the shoulders and whips me around toward the dresser. One of his hands tries to snatch away the knife, but I hold it just out of his grasp. Then he goes for my neck again as my back presses into the hard edge of the wooden dresser. Ghost is careful about the force he uses. He knows how easy it would be to seriously hurt me right now. His hands lightly hold my throat, just enough to immobilize me, but I know if this were any other man, I’d be in serious trouble right now.
With both hands occupied I take my chance and swing the knife toward his stomach. His eyes flicker down to watch the move. He still has time to stop me, yet his hands remain where they are. I let the tip of the knife gently drag across his shirt.
“You let me win,”
“It’s not ‘letting you win,’ it’s training you to take an opportunity when you have it,” Ghost’s eyes are back on mine, his hands still wrapped around my throat. He could’ve let go almost a minute ago and yet I feel his thumb gently rubbing up and down the tender skin just below my ear. “Besides, I was thinking about something else…” he trails off, a smug smile evident in his voice.
“And what’s that?”
“Places better than the floor,” Ghost keeps eye contact with me as he says this. I feel my stomach drop and that familiar ball of desire starts to form again.
“Better than the floor for what?” I furrow my brows in feigned confusion, but when he glances down my bottom lip is already drawn between my teeth. He knows he has me. There’s electricity in the air between us. Something magnetic simultaneously pulling us together, yet preventing us from connecting. I feel his hands twitch against my throat.
A low hum stems from his chest. “We could do this all night, sweetheart,” Ghost’s eyes darken. We’re close enough that I can see his pupils dilating and my reflection staring back at me in his eyes. I wonder what he sees as he looks at me.
“Yeah?” I murmur. “But we don’t have all night, do we? So, tell me what you want Simon,” my voice is low and seductive. Two can play this game. He pulls me closer. Our foreheads are almost touching as my hands find their place on the sides of his ribcage. The knife is still wrapped between my fingers.
“You already know what I want,” his voice deepens as his volume drops to a whisper. His scent wraps around me and reels me in. The metallic musk is warm and inviting. The scent of gunpowder no longer so alarming, but simply rather a part of him. But there’s something new about him too, something sweet and spicy that I can almost taste, that makes me want to wrap my lips around him and savour every part.
“I want you to show me,”
“I want to,” he barely whispers. “I don’t want to hurt you,” his grip tightens enough that I can start to feel the effects of his hands. My cheeks are flushed and my head feels lighter than before.
“I trust you. Then and now,” I run my hands up his strong arms before tracing the tip of the knife against the mask and along the outline of his lips. Ghost takes the blade from my hand and places it on the dresser behind me. A warm sensation spreads throughout my body as his hands travel down the side of my abdomen, past my hips and thighs, before wrapping around the back of them and heaving me up onto the sturdy surface.
“Are you sure about that?” Ghost asks as he rolls the bottom of his mask up and tucks it out of the way at his nose. My lower stomach turns to static as my eyes latch onto his lips. His tongue darts out across his bottom lip. I think about how soft they’d be as they glide across my own.
Ghost rubs the outside of my thighs as he presses himself between my legs. There’s that unmistakable twinge of desire from the soft pressure. It’s like every time I look at him, the sensation grows and clouds my better judgment. This is dangerous. Everything about him is dangerous. And yet he’s so alluring. When I stare into those dark eyes it feels like someone is draping a velvet curtain around me, completely blacking out the rest of the world. The only thing left, is him.
“Yes, sir,” I don’t hide the teasing smile that crosses my lips. I know how crazy it drives him to hear those words drip from my tongue. My hands travel across his broad chest as Ghost loops his arms around my back. His lips brush against mine tantalizingly slowly. I dwell on the sensation of his warm, damp skin moulding against my own. A fuzzy feeling encases me everywhere until I feel the familiar sharpness of his teeth skirting my bottom lip, revealing what he really wants.
He’s like a dog with a taste for blood. Once Ghost took my flesh between his teeth for the first time, he knew there was no going back. I feel that same hunger now as his sharp canines move from my lips to my neck. The serrated sensation is startling as he attaches his lips to the tender patch of skin just under my ear.
“Simon,” his name escapes as a breathy gasp. My mind starts to slip, but I can’t let him mark up my neck. “Not there.”
He hums against my throat, sending pleasurable sensations through every nerve. I want him to keep going so damn bad. But he can’t.
“He’ll see,” I can barely make out the words.
“Good,” Ghost mumbles against my skin.
“That can’t happen,”
“I know sweetheart,” he croons, slipping his hands under my shirt. “But you’ve no idea how much I want him to,”
“What?” I lift my arms as he slides the shirt over my head and drops it to the floor.
“When I think of those dirty fucker’s hands on you all I see is red. I want to bash his fucking head in until his skull is dust,” Ghost presses a delicate kiss to my collarbone with those vile lips. His hands gently caress my shoulder blades and run down my back, stopping at my bra strap. “If they knew you were mine, no man would dare touch you,” my lungs freeze from his words.
“Yours?” I ask and his head rises. Ghost’s hand leaves my back to cup my face. His charcoal eyes meet my own with an indescribable intensity. They’re incredibly dark and thrilling and full of desire. And there’s nothing like them - nothing like Ghost. The feeling he stirs within me is so unique, so completely irreplicable, that no other person will ever compare.
“My asset,” he rasps. “Mine,” his thumb brushes against my lips.
“Just your asset?” I already know his answer, but I want to hear the hushed words fall from his mouth.
“So much fucking more than an asset,” Ghost presses his lips against mine. I’ve witnessed the violence he’s capable of, so to feel him handle me with such a level of tenderness is all the more significant.
“Show me,” I whisper against his mouth. I feel the sharp breath he draws in and the accompanying hunger.
Ghost’s hands return to the back of my bra and skillfully release the clasp. I let the fabric slide off my shoulders, before dropping it to the ground. It’s almost as if I can physically feel his eyes rake down my body and take in the sight before him.
Ghost hands press against my back, arching me towards him as he bends over to attach his lips to my sensitive skin. I slide a hand up the back of his neck and under his balaclava and wind my fingers through his thick hair. The heat of his wet tongue glides around my nipple and goosebumps rise across my chest. Then I feel that familiar sharpness that causes my breath to hitch and I know he’s about to leave bruises. If anyone ever sees below the hem of my shirt, they will immediately know I’ve been marked - no, branded as his.
He revisits the faded hickeys from the night at the cabin while also adding to the growing collection. The large bruises from all those weeks ago have faded from my torso and legs. So, he paints over them with his own.
As Ghost works his way lower and lower, I reach for the neckline of his long-sleeve shirt and tug it upward.
“Use your words,” his cool breath fans against my hips.
“Please?” without answering me, Ghost pulls his shirt off in one swift motion, baring himself all to me. Last time the only light I had to see was from the glow of the fire. Now, every inch of ink, every freckle, and scratch and scar littering his upper body are exposed. Not a single mark diminishes his magnificence. And while his beauty is altered from war, he is more stunning than any man I’ve crossed paths with before. The power he holds is almost beyond comprehension. Time and time again he leaves me in utter awe.
My eyes drag across the artwork painfully etched into his skin as his lips tease even lower on my hips. The throbbing between my legs intensifies with anticipation. The pictures tattooed on him are a brutal reflection of the horrors he’s witnessed and committed - of the people he’s lost. Like some part of him was afraid of forgetting and this was the only he could ensure he’d remember. My hand is cold against his warm skin as I run it up his arm.
At the same time, he reaches for the button of my pants, unhooking it with just one finger. Careful eyes glance up for permission before sliding them down my legs. Then, he quickly loops a thumb around my underwear and pulls them down immediately after. Ghost rests on his knees as his arms wrap around my thighs and pull me to the edge of the dresser.
The warmth of his lips lightly brushes over the faded bruises on my inner thighs and just when I think he’s about to add more, I feel the heat move up between my legs and press hard against my clit. The mask and black paint frame his eyes as he peers up through my legs with a half-drunken gaze.
“So fucking wet already,” his deep voice vibrates against the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Is that all for me, Sweetheart?”
“Yes sir,” the words escape as a whimper. He has me wrapped entirely around his finger. In this moment I would do anything for him. Anything just to feel him touch me, to feel him pulse inside me with as much need as I have for him.
“Atta girl,” Ghost hums and then presses his tongue against my clit in wavelike motions. The pleasure from his movements consumes me as my head is thrown back and I gasp for air. “Look at me, sweetheart. I’ll stop if you don’t look,” and when I do, every feeling intensifies even more.
Ghost traces a wet finger around my entrance before slipping it in as his tongue continues to work in circles. He gently teases another finger before adding it as well, slowly stretching me even more. Simon worries about all the ways he could hurt me; thinks of all the reasons he shouldn’t be trusted and yet I’ve never had someone take the care he does to make me feel so damn good.
The waves of pleasure coursing through my body intensify as he picks up pace.
“Simon,” I plead. “I-I’m close,” the words feel like prayers on my tongue and only one god can answer them.
My knuckles whiten as my hands desperately grip the edges of the dresser. He curls his fingers and hits that perfect spot. Tremors travel through my legs and I feel myself climbing closer and closer.
Simon presses his other hand onto my stomach and adds to the thrilling sensation even more. His starving eyes never leave mine. The vibrations of his soft groans against my very core are almost enough to send me over the edge.
The waves of pleasure grow stronger and the only things I can focus on are those reflective pools of desire. The rest of the world blurs and all that matters is him.
Simon’s fingers curl against me again and every muscle in my body tightens all at once before simultaneously releasing. Yet he doesn’t stop. Even when my legs latch around him and cage him in as I ride my high, he doesn’t stop.
My heart races and with every breath I take, the air feels cleaner, purer. My head feels lighter and a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. And as my body relaxes, Simon stands from his knees. His forearm brushes against my bare chest as his hand wraps around the back of my head and his lips press into mine. I can taste myself dripping from his mouth.
“You’re mine,” Simon murmurs against my skin. The addictive spice of his cologne fills the air. It lingers closer to the nape of his neck and mixes with the heat of his skin.
“Yours,” I confirm. As he pulls away, there’s something different about his eyes, something undeniably possessive.  
Simon wraps his arms under my thighs and lifts me up with ease as my legs wrap around his back. My hands rest between his neck and shoulders. I let my gaze drop to the section of his tattoo that covers his shoulder and half his chest. There’s a collage of objects and events, a line of barbed wire seemingly wrapped around a man in a field. The sudden feeling of falling overtakes my senses and my entire body tenses as my back lands against the mattress.
His hands are still wrapped around my legs as he towers over the bed.
“Fucking hell,” Simon muses to himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
I feel that familiar pit in my stomach as he reaches for his belt. The quiet, clinking sound of metal fills the room and my heart rate starts to pick up. The tension in my lower stomach grows again as he moves to undo his pants and smoothly steps out of them.
I never thought I would enjoy allowing someone to have so much control over me. But as he stands over me and climbs onto the bed with a definitive goal in mind, I am willing to submit to whatever he wants.
The heat of his legs spreads to my sides as he straddles my waist. Simon has all the power in the world over me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Soft hands rest against his thick thighs as he considers the expression on my face. Wild hair frames my flushed cheeks. My lips are chapped as I draw them between my teeth at the sight of him. As his eyes continue down my frame, they proudly skirt across the marks garnishing my chest, past my hips, until he finally lingers on my hands gently rubbing circles into his meaty flesh.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Simon’s head tilts as he asks this. He grabs the tops of my hands and leads them up his thighs.
“I’ve a few ideas,” my voice cracks as I speak. I almost feel nervous again. As we reach the hem of his underwear, he slows but doesn’t stop.
“Every day,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “After every meeting with you, every time you grab my arm or whisper my name or look at me with those fucking eyes, this is what you do to me y/n,” he places my hands over the large bulge in his underwear.
I feel him throb under my hands as he strains against the fabric, aching to be freed.
“Every day I wrap my hand around my cock and imagine it’s yours,” Simon holds my hands in place as his hips subconsciously grind against the friction. “I think about what you felt like wrapped around me that night,” his voice is thick with desire. I feel myself gripping tighter as I long for his touch against my feverish skin. “No one’s ever done that to me before, y/n.”
“Simon,” my voice is unsteady. His eyes flicker up from our hands. “I need you.”
He leans down and cages me in with both arms, yet my hand never leaves his pulsing length. Simon’s breathing deepens as I stroke him above his boxers. He pauses, searching my eyes for something I’ll never understand. When our swollen lips meet and his tongue brushes against mine, I slip my fingers just past the band of his underwear. A low growl vibrates through his chest as my hand inches closer and finally grasps him.
“Fuck, y/n,” he groans as I pump his cock in my hand. The needy sounds escaping from his chest make me want him even more. As I trace my thumb around the head of his cock he starts to grind against my hand. “y/n.”
Simon grabs himself and slides his length along my entrance. I revel in the feeling of being trapped under him.
“Please Simon,” I whine as he teases me back and forth. The need to feel him is overwhelming. Fuck, he’s all I can think about.
“Look at me sweetheart,” Simon mumbles and as our eyes meet, I feel him push his throbbing tip in. “Does that feel good?” he whispers.
There’s a distinct tightness as he stretches me out perfectly around himself. Already I feel my walls clenching around him and he hasn’t even started thrusting. Simon slowly adds more length. He bites his bottom lip as he watches my expressions. He revels in knowing how feral he makes me.
“Oh, fuck,” the breathless words graze my lips. So damn good. Every small movement sends jolts of pleasure through my core.
Simon grabs my waist with his hands and starts to pick up speed. Each thrust feels like he’s reaching deeper within. And every time he hits that tiny bundle of nerves and I clench even tighter around him I feel like we grow even closer.
The muscles in his back flex as I wrap my legs around the vast space and pull him closer. My hands grasp his forearms cemented into the bed beside my head. My fingers and knuckles turn white from holding onto him so tight as his thrusts grow harder and harder. Fuck is he thrusting hard. Each stroke is so damn powerful that I can’t help the whines and whimpers that echo throughout the room.
As his intensity grows, so does the volume of my cries. Until a large hand wraps itself around my mouth and stifles the sounds. “Shh, can’t have anyone hear how good I make you feel,” Simon’s hot breath brushes against my ear.
His quiet grunts fill my ears as he picks up his pace even faster and he bows his head to the crook of my neck.
Every nerve in my body is overwhelmed with pleasure. His compelling scent fills my lungs. His desperate sounds reverberate through my ears. The pressure and friction of his body against mine are all too much.
I already feel another high coming.
Simon’s fiery lips latch onto my collarbones. As his head is bowed, I slip my hand behind the mask and feel his thick hair between my fingers. It's every small detail about him that drives me over the edge. His heavy breathing. How his hand presses hard against my mouth to stifle my moans. How hot his skin is against my own. Beneath my fingers, he feels so real.
Every thrust strokes that perfect spot so deep within me. I slip a hand between my legs and circle my clit. Behind my eyelids, stars explode with pleasure. I try and tell him how close I am, but the words don’t make it past his hand.
“Such a good fucking girl,” he moans into my ear. “I know you’re close,” Simon’s lips press against my ear. His sharp teeth gently tug at my lobe. Despite his hand, my moans grow even louder. He maintains a steady, powerful pace that rocks the bedframe and stirs my soul.
My hand circles around myself even faster to keep up with him. Every muscle in my body grows tenser and tenser. Inching closer and closer to a complete release.
I so badly want to close my eyes, but I know if I look away from him now, he’ll stop. I feel them well wet with tears from how fucking intense he makes me feel. The rest of his room, the base, and the world all disappear. All that matters is him. All I need is him. Simon. Fucking hell, Simon. My vision blurs and my walls tense harder than ever before.
Stars explode behind my vision as I stare into his eyes and I feel like I can reach out and touch his soul. White light blinds my vision and I feel my entire body freeze like I’ve been possessed by something otherworldly. Everything releases all at once and I ride the waves of pleasure that course through my bones. Simon replaces his hand with his swollen lips.
“You did so good sweetheart,” he rasps. But I know his mind is elsewhere right now. I sense how rock-hard he is in me. How his cock throbs with every thrust. I know he needs this as much as I did. How desperate he’s feeling right now.
“Don’t hold back, Simon,” I whisper into his ear. He pulls his head back to look me in the eyes. Being intimate with him has taught me just how much he values eye contact. This is how he connects. It’s not about sex, it’s about vulnerability. And this is a state he doesn’t let others see him in. Whether he’ll admit it or not, he trusts me.
I stroke his jaw and lock my legs around his waist as he quickens his pace. His breathing deepens and his hands tighten around my waist as he uses me as leverage to thrust even faster.
His lips part as quiet grunts and moans work their way through his chest. The soft sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. My walls clench around him. After my second, high every part of my body is even more sensitive. Feeling him inside me is borderline painful, but watching the look in his eyes is all that matters.
Simon’s thrusts begin to falter. His chest brushes against my breasts as he leans down and brings himself closer. His hands move to cup my face as his eyes bore into my heart. One last desperate moan escapes his lips as he presses his forehead into mine. He pulls out and finishes on the duvet before collapsing directly on top of me.
“Fucking hell, y/n” he mumbles into my neck. My hands wrap around his broad back and rest there as we both catch our breath. “You’re something else.”
A comfortable silence settles over us in the moments afterward. Simon gives me a Henley to wear and slips on his pants before settling back on the bed. His hands gently wind themselves through my hair as I lean against his chest.
I expect him to pull the balaclava back down almost immediately like he did last time. But he doesn’t. Simon leaves the fabric rolled up and his jaw exposed. As he rests his head against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, I gently trace my fingers along the sharp feature and down his neck.
My mind drifts to all the possible reasons why he wears it all the time. Why none of his soldiers know what he looks like. Why even after being so vulnerable with me, he choses to keep it on. But I won’t ask. I know if I’m ever going to find out it’ll be because he feels the time is right. But I don’t think I’ll ever find out. Because I don’t think I’ll know him long enough.
The time on his watch reads 17:04. There’s just under an hour before I have to be back in my room.
The soothing motion of his hand brushing along my hair is almost enough for me to dose off. His breathing is slow and even. His heart thunders strong and healthy behind his ribcage. There’s something so sure about him. Something safe.
“Simon?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you read to me?” I think of his copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that I skimmed across the other day. About the story of a boy who escapes an abusive childhood. Who finds freedom. And I wonder if he sees himself in the story. If he feels like he escaped.
“Would you like me to?” his low voice almost sounds tired.
“I would.”
He sighs as he reaches for the old beat-up book. Simon flips the worn pages open to a dogeared spot just over halfway through. He clears his voice and then pulls me further up his chest so his arms can wrap around my waist and hold the novel at the same time.
Simon’s voice is quiet and thick and comforting as he starts at the top of the page. I don’t know what events led here, but the characters sound troubled. My entire body relaxes and wishes we could stay like this forever. The looming threat of returning to my own room hangs over my shoulders, yet I try my best to push it away. Instead, I focus on the feeling of his warm skin against my cheek. Of the strength of his heart. I allow it to lull me almost, but not quite asleep.
“I couldn’t bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn’t think about nothing else. It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the wrist,” Simon slowly reads the pages, leaving himself time to picture the scene.
My head moves with his chest as he breathes deeply. He’s like an anchor, holding me here, keeping me safe as the storm wages on around us.
His words fade and the room gets darker and darker.
When I wake up, I recognize my quarters.
And I recognize the looming shadow. His husky hand wraps around my wrist and demands my attention.
But this time, I’m expecting him.
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ndcgalitzine · 23 days
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'You've got nice lips, haven't you? I'm butchering your lips right now.'
NICHOLAS GALITZINE & Tony Curran draw portraits of each other for HuffPost UK✨
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whoisspence · 25 days
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when matthew said "i'm like a disease, in that once you catch me.. you can't not catch me" he didn't know how right he was
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