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sinkovia · 4 months

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The idea of losing you

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Angst, Mentions of suicide, Violence, Blood.

The mission had been intense, with bullets whizzing past and adrenaline pumping through your veins. You and Ghost were working together, taking down enemy operators one by one. Amid the chaos, you called out for Luna, your loyal German Shepherd, who had just finished killing an enemy operator attempting to flank your position.

With a simple command, you beckoned her over, and she trotted to your side, her ears perked up and her gaze locked onto you, awaiting your next orders. Ghost was at your side, urgently calling for reinforcements as you watched from a distance. The tension in the air was thick as you both knew that this mission was far from over.

The faint sound of approaching aircraft grew louder, and you looked up to see an ominous sight—a squadron of fighter jets streaking across the sky. Then, it happened in a heartbeat. The building where your brother was located, the very same building you had just passed moments ago, was engulfed in a fiery explosion.

Time seemed to slow as you watched in horror, the world around you muted by the deafening roar of the explosion.

Your heart shattered as the realization hit you like a tidal wave. Your brother, who had always been there for you, your rock in the tumultuous sea of your life, was now gone. The airstrike had claimed him, ending his life instantly. Beside you, Luna whined, as if echoing your grief. She felt it too; she sensed his presence vanish, and in her own way, she mourned the loss.

For a brief, agonizing moment, the mission, the gunfire, the chaos around you all faded into the background.

Ghost's firm grip on your shoulder pulls you back from the brink. He turns you to face him, and his eyes convey a stern determination. He knows you're hurting, but he also knows that there's a mission to complete. In that silent exchange, Ghost encourages you to hold on, to push through the pain. The mission is still in motion, and you can't afford to lose yourself to grief, not now, not here. With a deep breath, you muster the strength to nod, acknowledging Ghost's unspoken command.

In the days that followed your brother's funeral, your life had taken a downward spiral. Grief had consumed you, making it difficult to eat or sleep. You had distanced yourself from the team, retreating into solitude as you grappled with the loss that weighed heavily on your heart. Your teammates understood, giving you the space and time you needed to process your pain.

Through those dark days, Luna never left your side, her presence was the only thing that seemed to tether you to reality. She stayed by your side, a silent companion that understood your pain better than anyone else. On one sleepless night, you took Luna for a walk. The night air was cool against your cheeks, carrying a faint scent of pine and earth. Luna trotted beside you, her warm presence a comforting reminder of the life that still existed, despite the overwhelming grief that clouded your heart.

As you wandered deeper into the quiet night, you stumbled upon Ghost. He sat on a bench with a cigarette in hand. His gaze was fixed on the mountains in the distance. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, the soft ember glowing in the dark. You approached him, Luna at your side.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, your voice a fragile whisper in the stillness of the night.

He glanced over at you, his eyes reflecting the dim moonlight. "Be my guest," he replied, his tone a mix of weariness and understanding. You took a seat beside him, the night air cool against your skin, and for a moment, you both sat in silence, staring at the mountains in the distance.

The weight of the world seemed to press down on your shoulders, but here, with Ghost beside you and Luna at your feet, you found a moment of respite from the relentless storm that had become your life. Finally, Ghost broke the silence, his voice tinged with concern that he couldn't conceal.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes shifting to study your face in the faint moonlight.

Ghost wasn't one to readily express his feelings, but his worry had been gnawing at him ever since you started pulling away from the team. He would never admit it to you, but your absence had left a void, and he missed the sound of your voice, the liveliness you brought to the group. Your presence had, in its own way, always been a comfort to him, a reminder of life beyond the shadows of his past.

You grounded him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

You took a deep breath, you decided to be honest with him. "To tell you the truth, I thought about ending it. Several times actually, with one quick bullet to the head. But I realised I couldnt give up, Luna needs me." You softly patted the top of her head and smile as she looks up to you. Ghosts eyes never left you, his gaze scanning over your features, lingering when he noticed the deep bags under your eyes.

"My brother gave her to me after our parents died. She’s all I have left of him. She was just a puppy when she was thrown into this hellish world of war. I can’t leave her behind. Im trying to pull myself together for her sake. Shes the only reason I havent given up."

Ghost listened, his gaze never wavering from you. He saw the pain in your eyes, the weight you carried, and he didn't know what to say. But when you looked at him, he met your gaze with sincerity. Breaking the silence, he spoke gently, his voice a calming presence in the still night.

"You're not alone in this, Y/n. The team, we're all worried about you. We care about you, and we're here for you whenever you need it."

Ghost's gaze remained on yours, his eyes reflecting the concern and genuine care he felt. "Don't push us away, we care about you more than you might realize."

Don’t push me away… I care about you more than you realize…

Words he would never dare speak to you.

"Thank you, Ghost" Your smile, though faint, warmed his heart.

The horizon began to shift, the first soft rays of the rising sun peeking over the distant mountains. Together, you and Ghost sat in the comfortable silence of the early morning, Luna at your feet, as you watched the sun rise.

A couple days after your talk with Ghost you were thrown into another mission. You were meant to infiltrate a building, and the team had split up to cover more ground. Luna was at your side as you cautiously opened a door, not anticipating the nightmare that awaited on the other side. In a fraction of a second, the situation went from under control to utter chaos. Luna leaped into action, her training taking over as she swiftly neutralized the enemy in front of you. But you failed to realize that it wasn't just one target; there was a group of them inside.

Two of them emerged from behind the door, pinning you to the floor before you could react. You struggled against their weight, your heart pounding in your chest as the situation escalated. Panic surged through you as you saw one of them raise their weapon, aiming it at Luna. The deafening gunshot pierced the air, and you watched in horror as Luna was struck, the bullet tearing through her leg. She cried out in pain, collapsing to the floor beside you, her once vibrant eyes now filled with agony. You screamed out as two men began kicking her.

"Please stop. Please dont do this!"

You were mere inches away, your arm slipped from the mens hold on you. You outstretched your hand, fingers trembling as you desperately tried to reach her, to offer any comfort you could. But they were quick to grab your arm, pinning your hands behind your back. All you could do was watch helplessly as she lay there, her gaze locked with yours, a silent plea in her eyes. The pain and guilt gnawed at your insides, the anguish of being so close yet utterly powerless to save her.

"Luna please get up."

You watched as one of the men took the pistol from his holster aiming it at her head.

"Im begging you shes all I have left please dont do this. Please just let her go."

Luna who had been looking at you the entire time lets out a low whine. All you can do is look at her.

"I'm so sorry" was all you can say before the deafening gunshot pierced the air.

The rest of your team burst into the room, and in a flurry of gunfire, they took down the enemy operatives. Ghost hurried to your side, but the tears continued to fall silently as you stared at Luna's lifeless body. Ghost positioned himself in front of you to shield you from the lifeless form her. Gently, he lifted you, cradling you in his arms, and carried you away from the room, heading towards the medevac.

Ghost had been there for you every day, his presence unwavering after the loss of your brother and your Luna. He remembered the words that had echoed in his mind, how Luna had been the last thing keeping you from ending your own life, and that thought scared him to the core. He couldn't bear the idea of losing you.

So, he checked on you constantly.

He would bring you tea at random times of the day, ask you to training sessions , and do anything he could to prevent you from being alone for extended periods. You looked okay, you had accepted every cup he brought thanking him with a small smile, joined him for training sessions, watched movies with him and the team in the rec room. He knew you were faking it, putting on a facade to shield him and the team from your pain.

Then, one day, you finally told him that you were okay.

"I'm okay, Ghost. I'm trying my best to pull myself together. It's just... a lot, you know?"

Ghost nodded, "I know," he replied, his voice gentle. "And I'm here for you, always. Dont forget that."

Ghost, ever the soldier, wanted to believe you. He wanted to believe that you were strong enough to overcome the grief and trauma that had engulfed you. But deep down, he had a nagging feeling that you were still hurting, that you weren't as okay as you claimed to be. He knew that healing from such profound loss took time, and he wished he could do more to help you through it.

You guys had just finished watching a movie in the rec room, the two of you were walking back to your rooms. His room was right next to yours, he stopped in front of his door. The nagging feeling in his heart was screaming out to him to not leave you alone. His mind flashed back to you laughing at the movie with Soap. You had made a joke that Soap thought was hilarious.

He thought that maybe you were trying your best to be okay. So he turned saying goodnight to you before stepping into his room and closing the door. He couldnt fall asleep, he had been tossing and turning for an hour. His mind wouldnt let him rest, he was worried about you. Something had kept screaming out at him to knock on your door and check on you and so he threw the covers off himself.

He opened his door and walked over to yours, he raised his fist to knock on your door when he flinched.

The sound of a gunshot made him flinch.

"Y/n?!" he tried opening the door but of course it was locked. He started to ram his shoulder against it until he finally broke through. He saw you laying on your bed, your eyes were open.

They were far away.

In your hand was a gun.

And you lay in a growing pool of your blood.

Ghosts breathing was labored as he looked at your eyes, you had been crying in your last moments. If only he had come sooner, if only he had listened to the gut feeling that screamed out at him the second he left your side. His eyes went to the small piece of paper in your hand, he carefully grabbed it, slowly opening it. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes read over the letters.

Im sorry Simon.

You noticed how hard he had been trying. Your conversations with him were always one sided before your brother and Luna's death. He was always the one listening, he never bothered to start conversations, never bothered to make plans, never offered you tea, never went to the movie nights.

He had tried his damn hardest to make sure you would be okay but it still wasnt enough.

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daisies-daydreams · 1 year

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Something About Us (König x F!Reader)

Pairing: König x F!Reader Category: Smut/Angst (18+) Warnings: One Bed Trope, Wet Dreams/Sex Dreams, Dry Humping, Sexsomnia, Slight Dub-Con, P in V Sex, Creampie, Cervix Fucking, Dirty Talk, Descriptions of Reader Near Death Experience (Knife Violence), I Can’t Speak German Word Count: 6,654

Summary: After a short mission, you and König crash in a safehouse, only to realize that there’s one bed.

Author’s Note: This one took quite a while to write. I know, it’s a “oh no there’s only one bed what are we going to do???!” piece, but I wanted to see what I could do with it (and also make it a song fic for good measure). I apologize for getting carried away with the word count.

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

You and your partner exchanged weary glances. A small "queen" sized bed rested in the center of the barren bedroom. Of course, the couch was broken in the small living room just down the hall. Why wouldn't it be? König rubbed the back of his neck before he cleared his throat.

“I can just sleep on the floor,” the Austrian coughed. You raised your brow and waved your hand.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I'm sure both of us can fit,” you said eyeing the bed. König remained silent, his massive form hovering at the threshold of the bedroom door. You nearly tripped onto the mattress. König’s hands flew out to catch you.

“I’m okay!” you laughed. His shoulders relaxed. You turned and bent down to tie your loose shoelace. You noticed König staring at you in your peripheral vision.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased with a smirk. The man’s blue eyes widened beneath his sniper mask. He shifted uncomfortably before he quickly strode to the other side of the room. You watched him walk to a corner and drop his things. His gun sank to the wooden floor with a loud ‘clunk’. Something about the sound reminded you of how he ripped the knife out of a terrorist's hand just a few hours prior.

There was a hostage crisis, a politician who provided resources against a terrorist group in a small, Eastern European village. Seeing as it was a single hostage, KorTac sent you and your partner along with a few local operators on the mission. While you and the other personnel fanned out, König acted as a battering ram through the rundown facility. The mission was successful, and the politician was returned safely. However, you had a close call when one of the terrorists had a knife to your jugular. If König wasn't just around the corner, you’d be gone. Chills ran up your spine at the thought, your hand rubbing over the front of your neck. König’s boots landed on the other side of the room with a sudden thud, drawing you back to the present.

You gazed over your shoulder, the mountain of a man hunched over on the bed as he stripped himself of his outer tactical gear. He was always a man of few words, yet unrelentingly polite. Yet the moment he was on a mission, his demeanor changed completely. The light in his eyes dimmed as he broke through doors, barriers, even soldiers set before him like a bulldozer. You frowned as you watched bruises peek out from beneath his shirt.

“Are you doing okay?” you asked. He turned his head slightly, his azure eyes dull and glazed over as he followed your line of sight.

“Ja, just a few bruises,” he replied. You sighed as you walked over to him, the floor creaking beneath each step.

“I know, but that’s not what I meant,” you said. König’s shoulders tensed as you slid next to him. You had to crane your neck up just to look up at him. “You’re being quiet,” you said.

“I’m always quiet,” König grunted. You laughed through your nose.

“Yeah, but you seem more quiet than usual,” you said. He clenched and unclenched his fists. His palms looked just as sweaty as the rest of him. His face was twisted into a large knot of emotion. Fear. Rage. Annoyance. You couldn't quite put your finger on it. The sun sank low in the sky as the two of you sat in the cold, dimly lit room.

“I’m just tired,” your partner stated bluntly, averting your gaze. You tilted your head.

“Are you sure?” you asked. König shifted on the bed, his face now turned towards you. He said nothing at first, only playing with his fingers. You felt a warmth bloom in your cheeks as his hooded eyes locked onto your face.

“I…” his voice trailed off. König bounced his leg, his fingers digging into his dirtied and torn pants. You held your breath, waiting for his response. He bunched up the fabric in his hands. “I just…can’t stop thinking about today. How you almost got-” his voice shook before he swallowed thickly. Your brows arched, heart sinking into your stomach.

“You mean when that bastard nearly slit my throat?” you asked. König winced at your words.

“Ja,” he muttered under his breath. You frowned, your hand moving closer to his arm to comfort him.

“König, look at me," you said firmly. His eyes drifted back to you. "I’m fine now. The hostage is safe. Evac is probably going to be here soon. There’s nothing to worry about,” you tried to reassure him. His hood moved beneath him. You imagined he was biting the inside of his cheek.

“I know,” he seethed, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was clenching his pant legs. His breathing grew ragged the longer you held his hand.

“Then what’s wrong?” you asked with knitted brows. König looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. He slipped away from you, your hand falling out from his.

“I’m going to take a shower,” your partner groaned as he turned his back to you. You frowned, a slow heat simmering in your chest.

“Alright,” you said with a sigh. He shuffled over to the door, pausing briefly, then continued to lumber into the hall. The door closed behind him, the sound reverberating across the thin safehouse walls. You were all alone.

“Fuck,” you cursed to yourself. Your nostrils flared as you felt yourself sink into the bed. You didn't mean to interrogate him. You just wanted to look out for your partner. Why couldn't he understand that? Why was he avoiding you when he literally treated you the same way on the ride over here? You blushed as you remembered how König held your hand, his long, thick fingers gripping you tightly, as if he believed that if he let go, you’d slip away. Tears pricked at the corners of your red, tired eyes. You scowled before wiping the wetness away. You didn’t want to deal with whatever emotions were tangled up inside of you right now, but they were persistent as hell.

Yes, König was your partner, but only in the professional sense. You bit your lip as you’ve thought about the times he’d saved your ass, and you’ve saved his. That sense of camaraderie started to shift into something more peculiar…something that kept you awake at night fantasizing about him. He caught you blushing one time when he pinned you while sparring. König didn't say anything, his face shrouded by his dark cloak, though you knew in your heart that your flushed cheeks and blown pupils said it all.

You shivered as another cold chill ran down your body. The heating unit in the window sputtered to life, though it provided little warmth to the empty room. The sun had set behind the curtain of mountains that loomed over your current residence. You reached over and wrapped yourself in an extra blanket that lay on the end of the bed. Your eyelids began to feel heavy, yet you wanted to take a shower, too. A clear image of you stepping into the shower with your giant partner flashed in your mind. You screwed your eyes shut and shook your head as you tried and failed to push the fantasy from your mind. The hum of running water echoed from across the hallway. You yawned and shuddered beneath the covers. Wrapping yourself even tighter, you found yourself curling up into a ball on the mattress.

You've had a very hard day. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to indulge, just a little bit…

You slid out of your bra and panties, his dark-haired head cresting just above the shower curtain. He didn’t seem to notice you slipping into the bathroom, humming a soft tune while he scrubbed his hair. Your hand pulled back the curtain. König’s singing stopped, his soapy muscles bulged as he turned towards you. His cock was flaccid yet the sheer size made your mouth water. Your eyes trailed up his broad chest and to his chiseled face. He was devastatingly handsome, face covered in scars and stubble. You bit your lip and blushed, wiggling a bit as he gawked at you.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice laced with lust as you leaned your naked breasts forward. He was completely silent, eyes wide and cock twitching ever so slightly. König nodded. You grinned ear to ear as you stepped into the steaming hot shower. He nearly took up the whole space, but you were still able to squeeze in front of him. His large body was blocking most of the water splashing onto you. You shifted your thighs together when his cock tapped between your ass cheeks. Immediately, his hands flew down to hold onto your hips as he tried to compose himself. You turned to give him a doe-eyed look as you held up a washcloth.

“Could you please help me scrub my back, Kö?” you asked sweetly. His cock twitched on your ass and you moaned, knees pressed together. He swallowed before taking the cloth from your hand. His large hand lingered on yours as his other rubbed circles your hip.

“J-Ja,” König flushed. He stepped out of the way for the water to splash over you. You raised your arms and stretched, flexing your back muscles while your breasts jutted out. You heard his breath hitch behind you.

“Verdammt,” he muttered. You peeked behind your shoulder to see his cock. His fat, red mushroom tip now stood at attention. You gave a cheeky smile before bracing yourself against the shower all. You pushed your ass out towards him and swayed your hips side to side.

“Make sure to scrub hard. My muscles have felt so tight,” you whined. He stepped closer to you, hesitantly placing the washcloth on your shoulder. You released a long sigh as he lathered your back, only to moan when his other hand came up to grab your breast. You looked back behind you to see him biting his lip.

“Schatz,” König whined as he slotted his cock in between your thighs. You rolled your head back as he tweaked your hard nipple between his finger and thumb. His length began to drag below your wet lips, your arousal smearing across the top of his thick shaft. Both of your pants and moans echoed across the shower walls as he thrusted between your thighs.

“Fuck,” you keened. You arched your back when his head caught your clit. König’s lips were on your neck, trailing a long line of kisses down to your shoulder. You felt yourself careening towards the edge, body tensing as he spread your labia with his heavy cock. He groaned behind you, balls aching for release.

“Vögelchen, I’m so close,” he whined into your ear. Your mouth opened into a silent scream, ready to fall off the cliff. Your fingers scraped down the tiled wall, his hand harshly gripping your breast while his dick rubbed you in all the right ways.

“König,” you sobbed.

Suddenly, the feeling of your rising pleasure was gone. You blinked a few times. Your brows furrowed when you realized you were no longer in the shower with him. You were fully clothed in tactical gear and back at the abandoned building from today. You began to panic when you didn’t hear a single noise except for the wind howling through the broken windows and rotting structure.

“König?” you called.

Nothing.

You scanned the room for any sign of hostiles. You jumped when a wild cackle echoed through the building. Your feet carried you through the door.

“König!” you cried as you sped down the hall. The room was twisting into a black hole, your cries loud and deafening as you frantically searched for your partner. You gasped when you rounded the corner. A sharp blade was pressed against your jugular. A masked man who was most definitely not König let out a wicked laugh before holding his finger up to his lips.

“Go ahead, scream your partner's name again and I’ll spill your blood all over the floor,” the terrorist’s voice growled, dipping the knife even further near your throat. You gulped, your throat bobbing towards the edge of the blade. Before you could open your mouth, a familiar voice rang out in the distance.

“Maus?”

---

“Maus? Maus, wake up!” König shouted as he shook your shoulders. You screamed and thrashed around beneath your covers, hot tears pouring down your cheeks.

“König!” you shrieked, lip shaking as you swung your arms around wildly. His eyes widened before he shook your shoulders even harder.

“(Y/N)!” König barked. Your eyes shot open, chest heaving as you released several shaky breaths. You flinched when you met eyes with the tall, dark figure towering over the side of the bed. He exhaled shakily, his hands falling away from your shoulders.

“It’s okay, (Y/N). It’s just me,” König said, his voice soft and raspy. You blinked, tears still leaking from your weary eyes. Your heart was pounding in your ears as König remained completely still. The heater hummed lowly in the small room as the feelings of terror from your nightmare began to drift away.

“König? Wh-What happened?” you stammered. He rubbed the back of his head. He was wearing a new set of clothes, though his face was still shrouded by the cover of his mask.

“You were screaming for me. It sounded like you were having a bad dream” he explained. You remained silent, cheeks burning. You hoped your screaming was more from the nightmare than from the previous dream.

“It was just a nightmare,” you said quickly. König cocked his head as he watched you shiver beneath the sheets. You curled into a tight ball with chittering teeth. His eyes scanned you like he was deep in thought.

“Is it alright if I...help warm you up?” he said hesitantly. You stared at him blankly. König sighed.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Please," you suddenly spat out. The giant man blinked a few times before shifting into the bed. He nearly pushed you off as he adjusted himself, his hand balancing on your hip. You bit your lip to stifle a soft squeal. You wiggled over slightly as he pulled you to his chest. Your heart raced as both of you lay in silence. You closed your eyes as he rested a hand on your head. His fingers smoothed over your hair, the tips massaging your scalp.

“I-It was the terrorist from earlier,” you sniffed. His fingers suddenly gripped your locks, but not enough to hurt you.

“Scheißer,” he angrily muttered under his breath. Your eyelids began to fall as he trailed his thick fingers through your locks, untangling any messy knots along the way. Your breath hitched as he leaned his face closer to your ear, his lips almost dancing against the flushed shell.

“You’re safe now," he comforted. You relaxed beneath his touch, melting into his side. "I promise I won’t let anything like that happen to you again,” König murmured. You turned your head to him, nearly capturing him in an accidental kiss. His movements ceased as a small gasp left his lips. Your eyes were shining as you felt your heart bursting at the seams.

“Thank you, Kö,” you sighed. The man gave a quiet grunt. You soaked in the warmth his body radiated, his thick, muscular form nearly swallowing you whole like a blanket.

“Entspanne. Go back to sleep, Maus,” König whispered while he continued to stroke his fingers through your hair. You nodded, eyelids falling as you drifted back to sleep.

___

You were stirred from your sleep again. This time, it was from feeling something hard rutting into your backside. You were puzzled at first, only to remember the man who had been sitting by your side earlier. How much time has passed? You eyed the window that faced you. It was still dark outside, yet the dark blue hues told you the sun wasn’t far from rising. You gasped as König’s arms squeezed around you, holding onto you like a teddy bear. You blushed when you realized he must have fallen asleep with you.

“Meine Katzchen,” he purred lowly. Your heart jumped as he gave another thrust into the plush globes of your ass. The tips of your ears burned when his exposed lips grazed over your fluttering pulse. Another deep rut caused you to stifle a soft moan. You felt a tension growing in your core as you instinctively arched your back the more he rubbed his aching cock into you.

“So gut,” König murmured. His arms wrapped you even tighter, keeping you in a snug cocoon beneath the blanket. Your clit throbbed as his hips snapped into you. “Du fühlst dich so gut an,” the large man moaned. His words rattled you to the core. You had to bite your lip to keep yourself from swearing, the heat building in your cunt. A loud snore nearly ruptured your eardrum. Your soul shot out of your body. He was still asleep.

His arms were pressing you closer to his chiseled body as he dipped his covered cock into your ass even further. You muffled a squeal as his length brushed past your ass and slightly over your cunt. He felt massive. You let a frustrated exhale through your nostrils. As much as you enjoyed this, you knew it wasn’t right. You bit your lip and tried to wiggle your way out of his grasp. He protested with a whiny grunt and hooked his leg around yours, locking you in. Your lips tightened.

“(Y/N),” König groaned lowly. Your mouth shot open. He was dreaming…about you? Your partner moaned into your neck, his lazy strokes now steady and paced as he clung to you tightly. Your mind was scattered to the wind as your pussy fluttered, folds soaked in your arousal. He whimpered as his fingers tightened around your body.

Your inhibitions were slipping away as his hot breath fanned over your neck, his hard length threatening to burst from his pants. The thought of it being inside of you made you drool. You couldn’t help the moans left your lips. They blended in a duet of quiet, lewd noises that rang through the tiny room. A throbbing heat began to rise from your core and trickle down to your fingers and toes. You gasped quietly when König released a feral growl, stilling himself against your ass. Oh my God. You noticed the wet feeling that leaked through his pants and onto your backside.

“König,” you keened. You quickly slapped your hands over your mouth. His eyes shot open. König gasped and released a surprised yelp. He shoved himself off of you, sputtering curses and apologies in German.

“Es tut mir leid!” he shouted repeatedly. His breathing was tense as he scrambled away on his hands and knees. You slid off the bed, trying to ignore the tension in your core.

“König, it’s okay!” you assured. He violently shook his head.

“Nein! I just-I mean-I didn’t mean-,” he gave up and threw his hands over his face. You frowned as you watched him shudder, his massive body sliding down the wall. A sharp pain struck your heart as he tried to squeeze himself into a tight ball, as if he wanted to disappear forever. You stepped closer to him, holding a hand out.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” König repeated. He shook on the floor, hands gripping at his dark hood. You knelt down before him, eyes soft and warm.

“König, look at me,” you said firmly. He shook his head, body tense and curled into itself. You sighed. “König, it’s okay,” you cooed. The man shivered as he sniffed. “I know you didn’t mean to,” you continued. Silence, then more sniffing. You shuffled closer, still keeping your hands balanced on your thigh.

“I’ll never forgive myself,” König’s voice cracked. He sniffed and tried to turn away from you. You gently laid your hand on his forearm. He kept his face away from you when you leaned closer.

“Please, you have to,” you begged. König peeked one of his eyes from between the cracks of his fingers. You swallowed, your throat feeling dry. “I know you didn’t mean to do that. You were asleep, you didn’t have control over what you were doing,” you explained. König’s voice was caught in his throat as you moved even closer, your knees bumping into his. You splayed your hand across his tense arms, keeping your voice soft and sweet.

“I’m not mad at you at all,” you clarified. König drew his head from his hands. His hood was wet with tears as he sniffled beneath it.

“Really?” he asked. You gave him a small smile and nodded.

“Really, I’m not. In fact, I…” you blushed. He tilted his head down, his regret quickly shifting into curiosity. The words that wanted to come out felt stuck in your throat. I really, really liked it. Was it even the right thing to say?

“You what, (Y/N)?” he murmured. Your clit throbbed between your folds. You wanted nothing more than for him to take you right then and there. On the bed. Against the wall. Anywhere. You shook your head.

“Nothing,” you dismissed as you went to rise to your feet. König’s head perked up as he quietly gasped.

“Did you enjoy it?” he gasped. You remained still as your cheeks flooded with a deep crimson. You hung your head and gave a slow nod.

“Mein Gott,” your partner muttered. He ran his hand over the top of his hood, his body trembling. Both of you remained frozen in place for what felt like an eternity. Your face grew an even deeper shade of red when he finally took his hand and wrapped it in yours, his thumb pressed into the back of your palm.

“I-I know this may sound crazy, and it might not be the right time…but,” his entire body was shaking. Your heart skipped a beat.

“König?” you asked. You clasped your hand over his and squeezed it gently. He instantly relaxed. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long,” König swallowed thickly. Your eyes widened at the implications of his words. He stroked across the back of your hand, humming to himself. Your eyes flicked up to his hood, his blue eyes shining in the pale moonlight. “I want you, (Y/N),” König said. Your lips curved ear to ear. “I’ve wanted you to be mine since the moment we first spoke,” he sheepishly chuckled. Your heart melted right then and there, ready to burst in your chest.

"That's why today...when that fucker nearly killed you before my eyes, I wanted to tear him to pieces," König seethed, his fists clenching. You remained quiet as he continued. "I couldn't bear the thought of living another day on this earth without you, and today that almost came true," he shuddered. Your bottom lip shook before you came up and pressed a small kiss to where you imagined his cheek would be. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates as you pulled away.

"I know. I was scared shitless. But I have you to thank for me still being here," you smiled warmly. König returned your expression, pulling you close to his broad chest. Both of you held onto each other, soaking in the fact that the two of you were living here and now. You nuzzled your face into his chest as he kissed the top of your head, his hand stroking your lower back.

"Schatz?" he piqued. You tilted your head up, your lips inches from his.

"Yes, König?" you hummed. His hand rested on your hip, fingers digging into your waist.

“Do you...do you want me to?” König asked. You grinned and crashed your lips into his, forgetting about the hood entirely. His eyes widened with surprise, but he quickly leaned into your kiss. Both of his hands snaked down to your hips, tenderly holding you as you pulled away.

“I always have,” you said softly. The corner of König’s eyes crinkled. You pecked where his lips would’ve been before you pressed your forehead to his. “I always have,” you repeated, your voice quieter yet more firm this time. You came forward, your hands falling onto his broad chest. You felt his heart hammer beneath your gentle touch. He rested his forehead against yours, his breathing choppy and hands squeezing your hips. Your fingers slowly came up to the cloth covering his face. The face you’ve never gotten the joy to see, never had the pleasure to touch.

“May I?” you asked. His eyes flitted between your hands and your lips. He nodded as he wrapped his hands around your wrists. You slowly pulled up his hood, his face coming to you in pieces. First, his plump, slightly pink lips that were parted. His strong chin was sprinkled with dirty blonde scruff and light pink scars. Next, a slightly crooked yet otherwise sharp nose. You imagined it was from the amount of times it’s been broken. König’s breathing grew heavier as you rolled the cloth up close to his eyes.

“I can stop if you want,” you said. His hands tightened around your wrist as he licked his dry lips.

“Nein, bitte…I want you to see all of me,” he said. You smiled and continued to pull up the sheet of fabric. He screwed his eyes shut as you rolled it off of his head. Black face paint covered his eyes and upper cheeks. His short, dirty blonde hair caught the light of the sun that peeked just over the mountains. The weight of silence was heavy before you finally spoke.

“You’re breathtaking,” you awed. He opened his eyes and blinked. They were like two pools of sapphire seated in a field of his ivory skin. His face was undeniably rugged, torn and scarred from years of being in battle. However, you couldn’t deny how it only made him more handsome in your eyes. Your thumb came and stroked his stubbled chin, then his cheek. König nuzzled into your touch and purred.

You smiled as he rubbed his cheek in your palm, breathing in your scent. A gasp left you when he suddenly took your thumb into his mouth, his soft muscle swirling around it. You rubbed your thighs together as he picked you up and gently placed you back down on the bed. His massive form hovered over you, your finger still lodged in the wet cavern of his mouth. You slid your hand away, your thumb coming out with a wet “pop”. König’s gaze was lidded, pupils blown as he leaned in.

“Liebling, I’ve wanted to feel you for so long. Would it be alright if I did so now?” he rasped into your ear. You shivered beneath him, hands wrapping around his thick neck.

“Please, König,” you keened while arching your hips. He sucked in a deep breath, in awe of the beautiful woman below him.

“Danke,” König sighed. His long fingers slid down, over your breasts and landing on your waist. You sighed when he pressed his lips to your face, eventually finding your own. Your mouths danced around each other while he worked your pants and underwear down your waist. He sucked in a sharp breath when he laid eyes on your dripping cunt.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed in astonishment. You spread your legs wide for him to get a view of your whole aching cunny. He growled when you dipped your hand in between your folds, your finger playing with your clit.

“It’s your fault,” you teased. His Adam's apple bobbed, eyes darkening with lust. You arched your back as you circled your nub and let out a loud moan. A red curtain fell over his cheeks. He reached down between your hips, replacing your hand with his. You whined as he pressed a thick digit into your bundle of nerves.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop and I will,” König whispered. You nodded and wrapped your hands around his taut forearms. He leaned back down to kiss you while his thumb drew slow, languid strokes across your clit. Pleasure rippled through your pussy as he dipped his head, pushing his tongue into your soft mouth. Your tongues flicked and sucked on each other as he swallowed your moans. The pressure began to steadily build in your core with each flick, stroke, and circle across your bundle of nerves. König gritted his teeth as his cock began to swell painfully in his pants.

You mewled when you felt one of his long digits sink into your hole. The ridges of his finger delicately brushed across your walls, stroking in spots you didn't know you had.

"Need to make sure you're ready for me, Liebling," König murmured. You nodded and gripped onto his arms. Your head felt dizzy from just one finger inside of you. He curled it into your upper walls, the pad brushing against the spot that made your toes curl. You moaned as you felt him pump into your heat. The pool in your belly began to bubble up as he rubbed your clit beneath his thumb in tandem with his thrusts. You saw stars when he added a second finger.

"That's it, look at you opening up for me so well," König praised. You bit your lip as he scissored his fingers inside of you, spreading your walls deliciously.

"S-So good, König, making me feel so good," you slurred. He chuckled quietly as he continued to pump his fingers into you, his thumb still dancing over your juicy bundle of nerves. The heat only began to rise inside of you with each stroke. He cursed beneath his breath when he watched your hands slip away to twist your perky nipples in between your fingers. Everything felt so intense, from his digits being swallowed by your cunt to your nubs being rolled by your own hands. You arched your back when a third finger slipped inside of you. The stretch was borderline painful, yet the pleasure quickly overshadowed it.

"Are you feeling okay, Maus?" König asked, his blown pupils trained on your face. You nodded and swallowed thickly.

"Y-Yes," you gasped as you felt yourself teeter on the edge of your high, your walls spasming around his digits. His lips curled back over yours as he slid all three fingers into you, your pussy squelching loudly with each drag.

"Fuck, I've dreamt of doing this to you for so long," he moaned. "Making you squirm with pleasure," König grunted. His voice seemed so far away as the cord inside of you wound tighter and tighter. He gave a deep swipe across your bud and thrusted his fingers into your spongy spot inside. "To see what you would look like when you came undone," he groaned hungrily. Your vision went white as you cried out beneath him, walls clamping down around his slick digits.

"Just like this," he breathed, thrusting his fingers with each word. His tongue swiped up a drop of saliva that dripped out of the corner of your mouth. You shuddered as you felt your high surge across your body, your nipples sensitive in your grasp and clit throbbing below the pad of his thumb.

"K-König," you slurred. König's mouth enveloped around your lips as he slipped his fingers out of you.

"Shh, it's alright. I'm here," he cooed. You panted as he shifted above you. The bulge in his pants was even more prominent, making your jaw go slack.

“Scheiße,” he grunted as he took in all of you. You were flush from head to toe, your body spread out like a full-course meal. He licked his lips, wanting to know so badly how sweet you'd taste. Perhaps some other time. He pulled his shirt off, then his pants and briefs. You gawked as his cock sprang from the confines of his pants and smacked against his rough abs. He noticed your staring and blushed.

“You’re so big,” you gaped. König's eyes lowered, his body tense.

“I-I know,” he stammered. You tilted your head. "I-It's caused more problems than I'd like," König confessed. You frowned. You ran your hands up his thighs, looking at him lovingly. His breath seized as you stroked one of your palms along his thick shaft.

“Don't worry, we’ll figure it out,” you smiled reassuringly. König cracked a smile, then groaned as you tighten your grip around his length. You gave it a few experimental pumps, feeling a large vein that ran across the bottom of his shaft bulge across the creases of your hand. He rutted into your hand, thighs spreading slightly when your other came up to cup his heavy balls.

“Ah,” König moaned as his hands came down near your shoulders. He lowered his dick closer to your folds, his red tip kissing over your wet lower lips. You licked your lips at the welcoming heat of his cock prodding your entrance. His member twitched in your grasp as he panted, eyes screwed shut and head tugged back.

“Schatz, if you keep doing that, I’m going to cum,” König strained. Your core fluttered at his words. You slowed your movements before sliding your hand back to his forearm.

“Please, fuck me, König,” you moaned as you bucked your hips. He shuddered before spreading your legs wider. You stifled a whine, realizing just how much he was going to stretch you open. He raised your hips as he rubbed the leaking head of his cock against your tight hole.

“I’m going to go slow. Is that alright?” König asked. You didn’t care what speed he went, you just needed him to be inside of you.

“Yes,” you moaned. He nodded before angling his hips. Your mouth opened into a silent scream as his head breached your entrance. The man above you hissed as your walls sucked him in. You were afraid you’d be split down the middle…and he wasn’t even halfway in yet.

“Please relax, Vögelchen. You’re so tight,” König groaned. You slid your hand between your hotly pressed bodies, circling your clit feverishly. Your pussy loosened a little, allowing him to sink into your wet heat. Your toes curled as his cock brushed against your spongy g-spot, your pussy wracked with sparks of arousal. His hands were almost bruising your hips as he gave a sudden, sharp thrust. You cried out.

“Shh. I know, I know,” he cooed. His hand came up to cup your cheek as your lip quivered.

“I-I can’t do it, Kö,” you sobbed. His thumb brushed a tear that fell from your eye. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, but holy fuck, did your pussy feel divine wrapped around him.

“Just take a deep breath with me, Katzchen,” he said. Your eyes opened, wet with tears of the pleasure and pain that emanated from your core. König drew in a deep inhale through his nose.

“In,” he said. You did the same, the cold air filling your lungs. “And out,” König murmured before exhaling through his mouth. You followed his lead, your body relaxing as you released your breath. The pain began to fade the more both of you breathed together, his cock slipping further inside. Before you knew it, his hips were flush with yours, head buried against your cervix. He sighed and patted your hip.

“See, Schatz? I knew you could do it,” he praised with a sparkle in his eyes. You blushed as he gave a gentle kiss on your forehead. Tears still pricked at the corners of your eyes as his thick length stretched you to your limit. His heavy balls rested against your ass as he shifted his hips.

“Are you feeling okay?” König asked. You nodded and bit your lip, your fingers still drawing deliciously slow circles around your bundle of nerves.

“Y-Yes. Please, I need you Kö,” you mewled. He groaned when your walls tightened around him. Your eyes popped out of your head when you saw a bulge poke from beneath your stomach. Christ, he was going to break you. König gripped both of your hips as he looked you in the eyes.

“I’m going to start moving,” he said. His voice was slightly hoarse, dripping with lust and each syllable heavy with his Austrian accent. You hooked your legs around his waist as he slowly dragged his cock out of you, keeping half of it plugged in. Your jaw went slack as he fully pushed it back inside. Each stroke was tender and slow. The slight pain that remained began to dull as his cock slid past your plush walls. You moaned as you pinched and rubbed your clit along with his thrusts.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasped, your mind wrapped in a blanket of ecstasy. His brows were knitted together as he pumped into your pussy, the lewd squelching making him curse beneath his breath. The bed creaked and groaned as you began to push your hips into his, matching his pace. The tendrils of your oncoming orgasm creeped in.

“(Y/N),” König moaned as he bit your neck. You curled your toes, his head pounding into your cervix as his pace became more driven. His balls slapped against your ass, your slick coating them as it leaked down to the sheets below. Everything felt clear and blurry at the same time as your head reeled with bliss. You cried as your walls fluttered around him.

“König, I’m close!” you wailed. He pounded into your cunt, his hand that was on your hip now pressed into your lower stomach where his cock bulged beneath your skin. Your jaw went slack.

“Cum for me, Liebling,” he growled. You cried and raked your fingernails down his back as your orgasm ripped through you. Your walls contracted around him, pussy squelching as he continued fucking you through your high. You moaned and babbled incessantly as liquid euphoria seeped through your veins. Your head spun as König grunted above you, his thrusts now heated and sloppy.

“(Y/N), I’m right there,” he warned into your ear. You drooled from a corner of your parted lips. The waves of overstimulation lapped at your core as you threw your head back.

“Cum inside!” you mewled. He tilted his head, his lips still snug against your neck. “I-I’m on the pill,” you breathed. König groaned and tenderly pushed into your hole.

“Hinreißend. It’s like your perfect pussy was made for me,” he moaned. His thrusts quickly became more fervent and hungry before he finally snapped his hips, his tip reaching all the way inside of you. You moaned as he spilled his thick seed into your weeping cunt. König stiffened above you as his cock pulsed inside of your walls, his cum splashing against your cervix.

“Oh my God,” you gasped as you felt his spend and your arousal erupt from where your sexes connected. He caught his breath before locking eyes with you. He leaned down, kissing you deeply while he pulled out of you. More cum oozed from your puckering entrance and dripped onto the sheets. Both of you moaned into the kiss, your mind swimming in the bliss of the afterglow. You smiled as he pulled away.

“I love you,” you breathed. You knew it wasn’t something you’d say to someone you just had sex with for the first time, but something about those three words falling from your lips just felt right. König snapped his head up, his eyes soft and filled with joy. He nuzzled his lips against yours before peppering your face with small, sweet kisses.

“Ich liebe dich,” König murmured against your skin. He pecked your lips, his hands rubbing over your hips. “I love you, too,” he whispered. You smiled, warmth flooding your chest. He pulled you to his side, his bulky arms wrapped around you.

Birds began to chirp outside as the golden morning sun peeked through the window. You traced your fingers along the dips and curves of his arm while he nuzzled his nose into your neck. You thought about his cum trickling down your thighs. You’d clean up later. Right now, all you could think about was the man holding you in his arms and the love you held for him in your heart.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Translations:

Ja - Yes

Nein - No

Schatz - Treasure/Darling

Verdammt - Dammit

Maus - Mouse

Entspanne - Relax

Vögelchen - Little Bird

Scheiße - Shit

Scheißer - Bastard

Meine Katzchen - My Kitten

So gut/Du fühlst dich so gut an - So good/You Feel So Good

Es tut mir leid - I’m So Sorry

Mein Gott - My God

Liebling - Dear/Darling

Bitte - Please

Danke - Thank You

Hinreißend - Gorgeous/Beautiful

Ich liebe dich - I Love You

2K notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Anhedonia 2/2

Word count: 5,5 k (part 1) and 4,4 k (part 2)

Pairing: Ghost x F!Reader Tags: SMUT 🔞🔞🔞 Literally just unadulterated, deranged filth, plot is there for decoration. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Mutual pining, sexual tension (duh), blood & injury, p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), mutual masturbation, cum all over the place, light humiliation, dirty talk, some praise, swearing, mask stays on, fluffy/reconciliatory ending. Summary: Reader is a Task Force 141 operator and a terrible brat (and suffers the consequences of it later). Enemies to lovers/toxic relationship that takes a healthy turn in the end. Read PART 1 here

"Wha' a good girl you are now…"

His first words hit you like a moan-inducing massage, but you stay silent and steady in your resolve.

"Good soldier, too. We just need to get you to follow orders so that you don't get hurt," he speaks gently.

There it is, finally – a good girl and a good soldier. You have to mentally bind your hands behind your back and place an imaginary gag in your mouth not to chirp and bounce up from joy. It's pathetic, but it's also harrowing: Ghost never meant to fuck with your head; he only wanted to keep you safe. But then he causes another riot in your brain with the next thing he says.

"Such a beautiful sight… You'd make a fine pet."

- - - - - - - - -

You go to offer your apology the next day after sleeping on it.

You feel like you're the most horrible person in the world. And yet, when you knock on his door and call yourself in when only a silence answers, the scalding gaze that locks into you like the sights of a gun remind you why you said what you said.

It's like the man has struck a knife in you, and twists it just to see you squirm. And you do: it's a telltale sign that you've been claimed when you kneel in the middle of his office while he sits behind the same desk he rutted you on less than 20 hours ago.

He says nothing. You wait, equally as quiet, like you're waiting for a pardon from Caesar.

The atmosphere is mellow: his shutters are closed but one window is creaked open, allowing birdsong and summer wind on trees to pass through to his otherwise stale office. It stirs the softest, small smile on your lips as you look at him, adamant and all locked up.

Your knees hurt, but he eventually breaks first: something you hadn't even calculated might happen. The brimstone of his eyes steal a breather to the side, then come back to you with a tinge of confusion in them.

Then he lifts his chin, lifts a hand, a command for you to approach.

Your smile only softens as you go around his desk, and he pushes the chair away with one foot, turns to meet you as you fall on your knees again, then on all fours before starting a slow crawl to him.

His eyes go wide, his head draws back as if you approaching him like a housecat is the most threatening situation he has ever been in.

You have planned this through, and he has the instincts, the sixth sense of a seasoned hunter as he opens his legs wide to make space for you.

He certainly doesn't stop you as you free his erection from the sturdy cargo pants and offer your apology by taking him in your mouth.

He knows what's coming but still gasps and grabs the arms of his chair with white knuckles. You're on your knees, seemingly domesticated, but he's the one begging for mercy before you have even begun. He's heavy in your mouth, but you welcome the weight with greed and a hot tongue.

His thighs travel wide and far, just like yours did last night. The first moan is divine. He eases into the chair while the muscles on his stomach and thighs twitch and shudder.

A pair of boots echo in the hallway behind the door, the sound soon disappearing into the distance. Anyone could walk in at any given moment, and the notion makes your head feel dizzy.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't disclose in any way that he is considering forgiveness.

But eventually, he starts to melt upon your tongue like a snow-covered mountain ridge basking in the sun. Something in the way with which you work him slowly and with gusto makes him send a hand on your head. It strokes your hair softly.

"Wha' a good girl you are now…"

His first words hit you like a moan-inducing massage, but you stay silent and steady in your resolve.

"Good soldier, too. We just need to get you to follow orders so that you don't get hurt," he speaks gently.

"Such a beautiful sight… You'd make a fine pet."

You give him some teeth for that. Just the lightest scrape as you arrive near the base of his cock. He hisses, then laughs.

"Careful, love."

It's the first time ever you've heard him properly laugh. The sound implements itself into your core, your spine, your DNA. It's genuine and hearty, and the summer brushes past the open window to your face in a reviving breeze. Combined with the dark musk of his laughter, it makes your heart flip, and a small, tickling giggle bubbles inside you too. It arrives muted against his cock, but it's a magnificent moment – you two laughing together, even if for a second, even if yours is just a huff of an exhale against his pelvis.

"You don't like the idea?" He asks you a question as if you didn't have your mouth full of him.

His offer is alluring – of course you'd like him to take you as his pet. You could get good food and caresses, get to curl next to him when he goes to sleep. He could show you off like a domesticated animal if he wanted to. He could parade you down the street on a leash, and you would only purr as you go.

But while the proposition is enticing, you leave him with no answer, knowing it will only intrigue him if you don't say yes.

"I would be good to you," he starts to slip, and you up the pace a little. Open your jaw as far as it can go to accommodate him as much as you can, the soft hood of his cock meeting the back of your throat.

"So good– nh..." You can almost hear how his head rolls back, and you catch yourself worrying if he might hurt his neck because the chair has no headrest.

You do it again, and again, almost choking while trying to show him how good you are, how well you can take him and what your tongue can do too. You nearly stumble while you're at it, so lost in him, and you have to reach for support to prevent yourself from falling.

Your hand finds his leg, clutches the khaki that hugs a broad thigh. You flinch when a hard, heavy palm descends on top of yours. It brushes a thumb over the back of your hand as his sighs travel through the stagnant air, rampant and unchallenged through the fabric of his mask.

"Be my pet, sweetheart," he prays, growing weaker by the second. It's like a charm that transforms you into a priestess, a Babalon whore, a scarlet woman who adores men before sending them off to war.

His hips buck, he starts to clutch your hand like you're a rope that's going to save him from drowning. The other hand is more gentle in grip, but mercenary in demand as he grabs a fistful of hair to guide you along his length. Your gag reflex almost shoots him out of your mouth, but he is relentless.

He knows you can take it.

"That's it–that's it, luv," he rasps, and every other noise gets shut out of your brain as you go deaf to the sonic world. You can feel his thighs bunch and tremble around your head, the earthquake under your fingers pressed against hard, lifeless textile when they should be scraping his skin instead. He opens like a woman, massive legs spread hungry and wide as he shoots a load in your mouth. Ample, abundant, even if he just filled you to the brim not too long ago.

You drink him dutifully, greedy for the praise of a job well done, but such a thing never comes. He just breathes heavy over you, sounding happy, the happiest man on earth. You lick him clean, although there's really nothing to clean except your own saliva. The cock glistens, jolts happily one last time after you're done.

"I can make you scream on that desk," he offers while his hands release their death grip on you. Your hair gets tucked behind your ear, he even squeezes your hand briefly like you're his most trusted companion. His cock is flaccid, so you assume he's offering his fingers, perhaps even his mouth to you.

You'd like nothing more than to know if he has a stubble under that balaclava. To see if he would kneel on the floor too to shove his face between your legs while you're splayed over that desk. If he would forget about the door too, making it possible for anyone to catch him with his nose up your cunt. For Soap or Gaz or even Price to see how the broody commanding officer is just a thirsty hound dog on a bowl.

But then again, you just worked yourself up to a shattering orgasm. Two times, actually – deliberately, before you came here. The taste of his cum on your tongue will have to suffice; hell, it's almost better than him finally fucking or licking you into a deranged bliss.

You sense another opening, can't just help yourself…

"Thank you, sir. But that won't be necessary."

- - - - - - - - -

You begin to fear that you're the narcissist here. The way you make him twist and turn like a corkscrew, the way it makes you feel to see how he spirals deeper into madness. Even your eyes are too much for Ghost, who avoids your stare on missions but hunts you down at the base.

"What does it take?"

He ruts you whenever and wherever he can, in the toilets if need be, too busy to haul you into his room after a mission. You just so happened to pass him by, and it was the nearest space with a lock on the door.

"What the fuck does it take?"

The static hum of the bright, unyielding light and the smell of chlorite oozing out of tile seams is everything but a romantic setting as he drives into you from behind and watches you through the mirror on top of a small sink – watches how you give him nothing.

You're trying to take support from the white porcelain even though he's holding you firm against his chest with that inked arm wrapped around your middle. You want to spread your legs for him but can't, since he barely had time to rip your pants down before getting himself out as well to fuck you, so you settle for admiring how vulnerable he looks while he tries his all to please you.

"Do I have to take the mask off? That it?" He's far from a calm and collected lieutenant as he sweats black paint and despair. "Ya want my mouth? Just say it. Promise I'll make you cry."

You laugh at him through the mirror. It's an involuntary, spontaneous action, and you can't really help it. The man is absolutely adorable… And here you have been, fearing him for weeks without realizing he's just another lonely soul.

He doesn't know your strategy. He doesn't know that it's just you and your hand that are his worst enemy.

"What're ya laughin' at?"

You bite your lip, allow him to see mischief and a quivering smile, wet, adoring eyes paired with simple silence. He could force and command and bully you, but he doesn't do it.

Who's the pet now?

"Obviously, you like my cock," he grunts. "Always wet 'n' ready to go, like a fuckin'–"

It ends in a huff before a potential slur comes out.

Truly a gentleman…

"You let everyone 'ere have a go at you?"

He ticks like a time bomb inside you.

"I'm the last to get to fuck you? Huh? I get the fuckin' scraps, is that it?"

He doesn't need slurs to tear you down, but on the other hand, Ghost only reveals more of himself with the insults and assumptions he hurls at you.

He's desperate, crying for it, longing to be the one who makes you cry and scream and purr. Be your one and only.

"No," you hum. "I'm all yours, Lt."

He blinks a few times, exhausted lids fall to cover most of his eyes, and the stare tells you he has entered a dreamworld.

"I'm–," he groans with a broken voice. "I'm… Fuck–"

You shiver with ecstasy – his orgasm is a better reward than anything else he could ever give you. He collapses again, even more humiliated than the day before, or the day before that. He doesn't seem to care anymore. His hips press you against the cold sink, and you fear the porcelain is going to break under your combined weight. He doesn't slip out. Instead, Ghost tucks his mask on top of his nose to catch breath.

He has a shadow of a stubble, a stern jaw, and the notion makes your walls pulse. Thin lips part to gasp for air, his blazing chest heaves behind your back, threatens to topple you all over the sink and against the mirror already misty from your mingled heat.

And the mask was lifted for a whole other reason than to catch some precious air.

He presses his lips against your bare neck, breathes you in with mouth slightly open. Pants, like a tormented beast.

"You almost got killed," he whispers on your skin. Your heart leaps, and he still doesn't slip out…

"Took that blast and those bullets f' me."

Your heart flutters; it competes in rapidness with the blinks of your lashes. He's gentleman enough not to raise his head as you swallow some panic.

"Why did you do that?"

You can't tell him it wasn't even that heroic. That the ultimate reason was just to get his attention. To get him to proudly acknowledge what a good, talented little soldier you are. His girl.

The thick, softening heat inside you is too much. It shouldn't be this close, he shouldn't be this close. Tears are not allowed; they would be the end of you. The end of the fucking world. Your doom.

Claustrophobia makes it a shaky business to tiptoe him out of you, to slither and struggle out of his embrace and yank your pants up, fight your way through the cramped space and out of the door.

- - - - - - - - -

He suspects something.

And of course he does: the man is not a clandestine operations expert for nothing.

You usually do this in the morning, knowing you won't get another chance before he steals a moment with you. But this morning, you slept in and know that you're in the biggest danger ever. If he catches you before you're satisfied and immune, you're dead.

Everything's been fucked up ever since you met him. He's like a sickness, and you've fallen ill. You're practically bedridden because of him.

You have to use a toy because your hand is not enough anymore, and you fear that one of these days you will climax while he's inside you.

The funny thing is, you forgot to lock the door.

Maybe it's a subconscious wish – to end this sickness and receive some healing.

And the perfect healer walks in like he owns the place. Owns you.

Your heart shoots up your throat at the sound of a door opening to your most sacred space while you're most relaxed, spread naked on the bed, nipples perked up and pointing to the sky.

You forgot to lock the door…

The chant arises right before he emerges like a dark mountain after opening that weak, thin piece of plywood that separates you from civility and prudence.

You forgot to lock the door you forgot to lock the door–

He freezes the exact moment his eyes hit on you. He's a northern slope that never catches sunlight while you're at your weakest, most vulnerable, leaking around a toy made out of plastic, trembling naked and full of goosebumps from the sudden cold he emits.

"You fuckin' little…"

His chest rises and falls, then he slams the door shut, locks it without ever taking his eyes off you.

He understands the mystery to the full. It unravels before him clear-cut like the steps of a mission he knows by heart before even entering the field. You can't move, can't speak, but you clench around the lifeless substitute of him, far smaller and a thousand times more tame than what he has on offer for you. The throb is simply a reaction to how he looks at you while he realizes the entirety of the childish trick you've managed to pull, a game – some stupid little antics of a stubborn, lovesick girl and nothing more.

"Alright then. Let's hear it."

"Mhm-"

He takes a step, chest puffed up and shoulders wide, eyes burning under the chalked white skull.

"Go on then. Get on wit' it."

You obey like never before. He watches how you push the lavender-colored toy fully inside, up to the hilt, and let out a shy, sad whimper. The first of many cries to come.

Ten soldiers in one man approach your bed, stand tall all around you as you gaze up at him like he's a god. He's panting by the time he gets himself out of his jeans. His eyes scourge you as he takes his cock in hand and starts to pump in sync with you.

He makes more noise than you do at first. You make him falter by changing the speed from slow and languid to shallow and quick. He tries to keep up with you like it's a race, eyes darting from your quivering mouth and wet stare to your soaked pussy.

You sigh and moan, fuck yourself sloppy, dirty, and he looks like he's about to lose his mind and burst.

"Good girl," he says with a charred voice, a soft rasp that hits you with a delicious heat. "Such a good fuckin' girl."

You swallow tears and love, give him moans and sighs, even a high-pitched mewl or two.

Somewhere along the way, you notice you're following his cue and rhythm instead of your own, and the way the angry bulge of his tip disappears into and reappears from his fist dries your mouth right up, makes your eyelids heavy. You're breathless and incoherent, far too close to the mountaintop — already were before the actual mountain even walked through that door.

You have to slow down to brace yourself for the pleasure that swells.

"Oh– oh my god…"

Your sigh is a final admission: how he is a literal god to you. His hand claps against his balls as he pleasures himself, angry as fuck and as relieved as anyone could be when they find out that their heartthrob is just a delightful little minx instead of a cruel, heartless woman.

Everything shakes and quakes and shifts, your insides shudder, your walls grip lavender when they want to grip a man. The skull tilts, the man who compels you is like an avatar of death, but his eyes are hazel longing.

The scream is celestial, wreathed in needy pain, and his shoulders sigh and shake as he watches you come for him.

"Yeah… That's it, fuck that's sweet." He doesn't slow down, quite the opposite: he beats his flesh like a maniac as you slowly but surely come down, squirm on the bed, still clutching the toy as your pussy throbs around it. If it was his cock, you fear the grip would never release him.

"Here comes," he gives an announcement, weak and breathless, rough and mean. Ropes of cum hit your breasts, neck and face, and his eyes are those of a fallen angel. Your chest rises and falls in shock and adoration as he works himself to the last of it, drips of heat dropping on the sheets, the last spurts not powerful enough to reach you from where he is standing.

When he's done, he raises his hand, like the strings of hot lust are some sort of an art piece you're supposed to gawk at.

"There ya go luv," he wipes his hand clean with you, on you. The sticky semen coats you from face to navel, and you half expect him to smear it all over you.

But he doesn't.

He forces the heavy, teary cock back inside the confine of his pants like he's mad at himself and not you.

Then he drops down like a shadow, making you quail again – one hand sinks with a fist on the pillow next to your head, the other sweeps all gentle across your belly and down over your mound. He takes hold of your hand, uses it to ease the toy slowly out while leaning over you, keeping you as a prisoner with his hawklike stare. He pulls more than just the small, harmless toy out of you: a moan or two, a final confession, but he's not pleased. You two are far from even, and he knows it, and he's fucking done. You can see it in his eyes that he's ready to quit.

He leaves you empty and barren, with just a toy to keep you company, heads for the door like a storm cloud.

"Simon…"

He walks away, much slower, but still. Leaves a memory of your shared hate and love on the doorknob as he turns it, as you start to panic.

"Don't leave," you wheeze.

Don't leave me.

Tears prick and burn your eyes as the room turns into a dismal, empty space at the very thought of living without him from this day forward.

"Please."

He opens the door a crack. Probably to let the ghosts out, because after opening it and hearing your heart-wrenching, helpless sob, he closes it.

By the time he turns and walks back to the bed, you're crying like a baby. Finally crying for him, utterly exposed. It's not the way either of you had meant for things to go, it's not the sobbing and wailing he wants.

Still, you expect him to feast on your tears as well, watch with glee how you curl into a fetal position while covered in his cum. You don't want to see it, so you close your eyes before he rapes you with his stare.

"Sweetheart."

But his voice shatters a heart. So tender that it washes over you in waves as you repeat it inside your head like a lullaby.

"Sweetest…" he trails off into somewhere, some obsidian space that stretches out before you, between you, until you cross that space with no effort at all. Meet him in the middle.

"Yes, love..?" Your own shaky voice is a mirror of his compassion as you pledge yourself to him. A warm hand brushes your cheek not seconds after, dries a tear away, adds to the heat that pangs on your face.

You open your eyes to dare a peek up. He has the same wet look in his eyes as he did when he found you in the rubble, bleeding for him.

"You did well today," he says, voice laced with love. You don't know if he means you did well at work or on this bed just now. What makes the praise scary is that it's authentic, the way he adores you with both word and touch. It breaks you into smaller pieces still, and your voice comes out as a needy whimper.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

You hope he would take you in his arms, just the way he did weeks ago. You still remember how it felt to succumb to his warmth and the soft tang of gun oil and smoke that always surrounds him. Now you're only shrouded by the scent of tears and salt.

"Must be due to a good leader," you whisper.

He cocks his head, the hand halts, hovers over you, a last suspicion.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your hands are crossed over your chest, palms on opposite shoulders, shielding you from him. But you open them as he lays down and settles beside you, takes you in his arms, and presses your head to rest on his heart, underneath his chin. The massive palm covers half of your head, but the predatorial weight is gone. He only feels like home.

"Look at you, ya silly little thing… Always gettin' yourself into trouble." He brushes your beef off with a few words and an imply that you're just a blameless, stubborn little thing who he can't be mad at even if he wanted to. And it feels like the sickness finally starts to pass, that it was just an odd inflammation, a passing fever that made you so delirious. You anchor in, slither an arm under his to take support of the bedrock of his back.

He caresses you, makes you sob in his shirt from the sudden overdose of gentleness. His cum dries somewhere between your skin and his clothes as he swallows, then asks you about the mission that went wrong.

"Why did you do it?"

He's not an idiot. Surely he knows why by now. He only wants to hear it because he's stubborn like you, but also in desperate need of love and affection.

"I think you know why." You're exhausted, only able to breathe through your mouth, but the bitterness from your tone is gone. Lost, somewhere in his shirt that smells of ferrous solitude. You wonder what your combined scent, your togetherness, will smell like. It must be something sweet. Promising, like a refreshing summer rain.

"Yeah."

He caresses you slowly now, until his hand comes to rest on top of your head, making sure you won't escape his sanctuary.

"Never do it again," he commands, so soft, voice only a smoked whisper. "Love. I need you to promise me."

"Mh."

"Promise me."

You're feeling sleepy and spent, and he's to blame for it – he simply feels too good. You decide that your first kiss can wait just a little while longer. It's only wonderful; to have something lovely and pure to wait for.

"I promise…"

You drift off to sleep, cradled by the safe slopes of his mountain.

#ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #ghost x female reader #simon riley x female reader

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moonlightndaydreams · 10 days

Text

A Friend in Need

You’ve finally had enough of your cheating bf and want to forget about him. Your friend Minho is more than happy to help you do just that.

Pairing: soft dom Lee Minho x fem reader

Trope: friends to Fwb?

Read time: 12 minutes approx.

MDNI // CW under the cut.

CW: alcohol, masturbation, fingering, blow job, cum swallowing, face riding, unprotected sex, choking, cream pie, soft dom /sub. Slight body insecurity.

🍷🍷🍷🍷

“So are you sitting on my face or am I fucking you over a table?” Minho grinned as you opened your front door greeted him. “I’ve got wine, condoms, and…” he looked in the plastic bag he was holding, “batteries for your toys. As requested.”

“Let’s start with the wine, I think.” You took the wine from him and made your way to your couch where you had two wine glasses waiting amongst a mountain of scrunched up tissues.

“Start with the wine?” Minho questioned. “I thought I was just picking up a few things you needed. Oh Shit!” Minho whistled, stopping still when he saw the state of your coffee table. “What did the fucker do this time to make you need an entire box of tissues?” He plopped down on the couch beside you.

“Oh, Minho!!!! I caught him fucking cheating on me. Again! In our fucking bed this time!!!!”

Minho blew out a breath taking the wine bottle back off you and immediately filling the glasses with the red then handing one to you.

“I’m so angry, Minho. I hate him! How could he?”

Minho wasn’t the least bit surprised. He knew you were dating a jerk. This was, Minho added it up in his head, the fifth time your boyfriend had cheated on you. This year. And he was pissed. Cunt. He thought to himself.

“Are you okay?” Minho asked softly, hiding the anger building in his chest.

You sat silently for a moment, deep in thought.

“I want to take you up on that offer.” You said bluntly. Minho was taken by surprise, sitting upright and stared at you blankly.

“If the offer still stands, that is. If the offer was real.” You added suddenly sounding unsure whether he was ever serious to begin with.

Every time your boyfriend would cheat on you, you’d confide in your long time friend Minho, and he would always offer to help you “forget that fucker’s name” by making “you cum so hard you’d never want to go back to him”. You’d always brushed it off as a joke. But when you came home yesterday to find your boyfriend in your shared bed, well, you were beyond livid. It was the last straw and you kicked him, and his little whore, out of your apartment. For good.

Now you needed to get your anger out of your system and forget the asshole even existed. That’s where Minho and his offer came in.

Minho examined your face and nodded slowly. “Okay,” he smirked. “So your shopping list was for tonight then?” He grinned. “Right. Operation Forget Your Ex. I’m down.” He said sipping the wine.

Your eyes widened. “Really? You’d help me do that? You’re not shitting me?”

Minho nearly spat out his drink he was so excited, although the circumstances weren’t ideal. But he played it cool, and boy was he far from shitting you. He’d been dying to show you how good fucking could feel. From what you’d told him, your boyfriend, no - ex-boyfriend now, barely even brought you to orgasm. It was an absolute shame. You deserved all the orgasms in the world. Tonight Minho planned to start by giving you at least three.

“Well, kitten, we’ll have to lay down some ground rules. Boundaries. Safe words and such.”

“Tentacles.” You piped up.

“What?”

“My safe word. Tentacles.”

“Riiiiight. Tentacles. Why tent- never mind.” He shook his head. “Do you want to be in charge or leave it to me?”

“What do you prefer?”

“I like to be in charge.”

“Okay, you’re in charge.”

“What’s your pain threshold? Do you enjoy spanking? Degradation? Praise?” he raised an eyebrow. “Any hard no’s?”

You stared at him like a deer in the headlights. "I-I'm not sure." you said, then gulped down the rest of your wine.

"Woah! Slow down, kitten." he lunged forward and took your glass from your trembling hands and placed it on the coffee table. Then he took your hands in his and held them tight.

"We don't have to do this. You know that right? I don't wanna take adva-"

"Please, Minho." You whimpered. "Please make me forget." You looked at him with soft eyes.

Minho suddenly felt nervous. He'd imagined fucking you plenty of times, and up until this moment he felt sure he'd have no problems in actually doing it. But now, faced with the reality of it, he was so fucking nervous.

But his dick throbbed, and you were the one asking, inviting him to do things to your body. He couldn't let his nerves get in the way and fuck up this chance.

He cupped your cheek and pulled you in for a soft kiss. The way you responded by moaning and parting your lips, was so tantalising that Minho couldn't help but deepen the kiss with a sense of urgency. You've got all night, he told himself. Don't rush this.

"So..." he peeled his lips off of yours. "do we need to replace any batteries for your toys?" he asked, reaching for the plastic bags.

You shook your head. "Just want you." you whispered.

Minho smirked at your admission. "I think we should take this to the bedroom so I can thoroughly fuck you." he said, taking your hand and picking up the box of condoms.

Minho tossed the condoms on the bed and pressed your back into your bedroom door. His hands caressed the sides of your waist before grabbing the hem of your top and pulling it up over your head. His fingers immediately found the clasp of your bra.

"Kitten?" he said low in your ear. "I'm not going to stop unless you say your safeword, or use the colour system. I need you to know that."

"Yes, I know." you moaned, as he squeezed your breast.

"I'm going to take your pants off now." he reached for the button on your jeans and locked eyes with you. Your arms came up to cover your bare torso.

"Kitten? Talk to me." he looked at you with concern.

"Minho. It's just that... the women you...um... normally hook up with are so glamorous."

Minho blinked rapidly. "Kitten, you're fucking perfect." he gently tugged you to stand in front of your full length mirror with him standing behind you. "Look at yourself." he whispered, pulling your arms down from your body so you couldn't hide.

You leaned back against his chest as he nibbled your neck. He undid your jeans, sliding them down your legs and helping you kick them off.

"You're the most gorgeous woman in the world." his hands explored your waist, stomach, hips. Then he took one of your hands in his and placed it on your stomach and making you caress yourself. He brought your hand up to cup your own breast, and then back down your body and between your legs over your panties.

"Feel how perfect you are." he said in a lustful tone. He pressed on your hand that was cupping your pussy. You whimpered and began to feel unsteady on your feet. You'd only had one wine.

"You're gonna take your panties off for me now." he said releasing his hands from yours. His hands moved back up your body, massaging your breast with one, the other splaying on your neck.

You slowly peeled your panties down, revealing your most intimate parts, and shimmying them off and flicking them to the side with your foot.

"Good girl. Now play with yourself." he squeezed your neck slightly causing you to lean your head back some more.

You felt so exposed standing fully naked in front of your mirror, leaning against a fully dressed Minho. Your friend.

Your eyes flicked up to him in the mirror. He was taking you in with dark eyes. Your core ached. His hardness was pressed into your back. Fuck!

"Touch yourself." he urged.

Your heart was pounding as you allowed your hands to explore your curves and soft skin. Your fingers found your pussy again and you parted your lips with your fingers. You groaned as you watched yourself. This was so erotic. So sensual.

"Are you wet kitten? Let me taste." he pulled your hand up to his mouth and sucked on your finger. "Fuck. Taste yourself." he swiped your fingers back through your folds and then into your mouth.

"I need to play with your pussy." He took a few steps back to sit on the edge of your bed and pulled you onto his lap. "Open your legs, that's it. Show me." He hung your legs over his thighs so you were open and on display in the mirror.

"Don't take your eyes off it." he said in a gruff tone.

Minho's fingers delved into your heat, inserting two all the way inside. He fucked you like this for several minutes before pulling them out and rubbing on your clit. Then he'd finger fuck you again, alternating between stretching you open and rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves. You could feel your core tightening. Minho's fingers were magic as he played with your body.

The pretty sounds you were making had Minho straining in his pants. He wanted to sink his cock into you so fucking bad. But at the same time he wanted to take his sweet ass time. He wanted you to beg him to stop. He wanted you to be a whimpering mess.

By the fifth round of finger fucking you were clenching hard and soaking his hand as you came hard. Your chest was flushed as your breasts heaved. You looked so fucked out.

"Now, kitten." He said as calm as possible. "You're going to undress me now."

He watched you stand in front of him. He bit his lip as you fumbled taking his shirt off, your bare tits dangling in his face, and then his trousers, leaving him in just his boxers. "You've forgotten something." he quirked an eyebrow.

His cock visibly twitched when you dropped to your knees between his legs and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers.

You tried to not let Minho see how nervous you were as you came face to face with his cock. You wanted to show him how much you wanted him right now. You wanted to show him how beautiful, how sexy he was making you feel, despite how self conscious you were.

You took his glorious cock in your hand and experimented with licking the pre-cum from the tip. He was hard for you. He was leaking for you. "Aren't you going to boss me around, Minho?" you purred, looking up at him through hooded eyes.

"Choke on it, kitten." he said not breaking eye contact. "Show me how much you can take."

Minho could barely contain himself as you sunk your warm, wet mouth over his shaft. He truly believed he was going to cum there and then. Maybe he could, and then get it up again to fuck you? It'd be pretty easy to get hard again when you were driving him crazy like this.

"That's it, beautiful. Make those pretty noises around my cock. That's it. Deeper, baby. You can take it. I know you can." he started to thrust his hips up, making you gag as his cock hit the back of your throat.

It turned him on immensely hearing you struggle. Your hand found his and when you placed it on the back of your head, he knew you were made for him. He held your head in place as he fucked into your throat. He watched your ass in the mirror and imagined what you were going to feel like with your cunt wrapped around his cock. He came hard with a loud moan. Your lips were pressed against his pelvis and tears ran down your face as he spurted cum down your throat.

He was almost instantly hard again when you slid your mouth off and opened it up to see you'd swallowed every drop.

“Ride my face." He panted.

“Oh Minho.” You shook your head. “I don’t think—“

“Safeword? Are you going to use it? ‘Cos I fucking want to eat you out.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you in for a kiss. “Please…I can make you feel so good. I need you to ride my face.” He was practically begging you.

Minho didn’t know what was happening to him. He was always so in control when it came to sex. He’d never said ‘please’, he always instructed, demanded even. But this was you. You were different. You stirred something in his stomach, and made his heart beat faster.

“Okay, Minho. But I’ve… you know…never done this before.” Your face went red.

So that fucker never got you to ride his face? He wondered if he’d ever eaten you out. He quickly shoved thoughts of your ex out of his head and focused on what he was about to do. Make you cum all over his face.

“It’s okay kitten, I’ve got you.” He shuffled more onto the mattress and laid back. “All you need to do is straddle my face, and sit.”

He made it sound so simple. But to you nothing could make you feel more vulnerable than what you were about to do. But the way he sounded so desperate for you to do it made you want to please him. You climbed up onto the bed.

“Na uh. The other way. You need to be able to watch yourself.” He grinned.

You swallowed nervously, but did as instructed. You watched yourself hover inches away from Minho’s face.

“Fuck, I can see how fucking wet you are. Quick, sit.” He hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled you down on top of him.

You cried out as Minho’s mouth met your pussy. He ran his tongue through your lips then sucked your clit.

“Shit, Minho… it… fuck you feel good.” You choked. Minho chuckled against your cunt, sending shocks through your body.

Your eyes went to the mirror. Seeing your reflection of being eaten out by the man underneath you and how you could be suffocating him, turned you on more than you could’ve imagined. Could he breathe? The thought of him struggling for air made you gush. You started to rock your hips and grind against his face. He moaned against your core in approval.

Your orgasm was close, and when he slipped his tongue into your creamy hole, and you ground your pussy hard and fast on his face, you cried out loudly as you flew over the edge. Your thighs were physically shaking around Minho’s head from the intensity of the orgasm.

Minho didn’t even let you recover before he had you on your back, legs pinned up near your chest. He kissed you sloppily, smearing your wetness all over your mouth. It was the best thing Minho had ever experienced, having his face buried in your pussy while you fucking rubbed your slick all over him.

He gazed down at you. He knew he was weak for you, but he didn’t know he had it this bad.

“You going to fuck me now, Minho?” You looked up at him.

Minho nodded. “Yeah.” He whispered “Let me just find the cond—“

“Don’t you want to feel me, Minho? Nothing in the way.” You purred, pulling him in for another kiss. The length of his cock pressed against your sopping pussy.

“Just the tip?” You whispered. “Just for a second?” You begged.

Fuck! He groaned at the temptation.

“Kitten,” he said sternly. “If I put it in it won’t be just the tip.” He slid his entire cock into your heat. The stretch, the fullness, made you gasp.

“And,” he growled, “It won’t be just for a second.” He partially withdrew his cock and slammed back in. “It’ll be until you beg me to stop.” He hammered into you. “I’m going to fuck you until you have to use your safe word.”

You felt so good around Minho that he highly doubted he’d be able to follow through on such promises.

“I’m never gonna use my safe word, Minho.” You cried as he pounded into you. “Feels too good. You feel good, Minho… oh fuck…Minho!”

The way you were crying his name catapulted him towards his climax. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

“You want me to fuck you forever?” He panted.

“I want… I want…you to…”

“What is it kitten, anything.” He meant it. He wanted to give you everything you wanted.

“Ch-choke me while you fill me up.” You squeaked.

Without slowing down, Minho searched your eyes. You were serious.

Feeling Minho’s cock so deep in your cunt, stretching you do deliciously, had you on the brink of your third orgasm. But when his fingers wrapped around your neck and squeezed, it made your core clench harder than usual.

You’ve never let anyone do this to you before, never trusting anyone enough. You only ever fantasized about it, watched porn, or experimented on yourself. You never dared tell anyone, especially your ex.

Your vision became blurry as a lightheadedness took over you. You felt fuzzy, floaty, and then you felt yourself coming back, taking in deep breaths before he’d squeeze again. You were certain Minho had done this before, and so you succumbed, letting him take control of your body, letting him choke you and bring you back as many times as he wanted, without any fear that he’d go so far as to render you unconscious. You lost track of how many times he did it. Five, maybe six times?

“This time you have to cum for me.” You heard him say. “Then I can fill you up. I wanna fill you up so bad, kitten.”

His hand squeezed around one last time and you felt yourself come undone. You squeezed around Minho’s cock like a vice and felt him release inside you. You felt like your entire body was exploding, until Minho let go of your neck and held your close, brining all the shattered pieces back together.

“You did so good, kitten. You’re back now. Safe I’ve got you.” He soothed as you began to sob. You’d never experienced anything so intense, so powerful in your life.

You fell asleep almost straight away, and Minho cleaned you both up while you nodded off. Sweet fucking Jesus he wished he’d have been able to do this with you sooner.

He watched you, dead to the world, marvelling at what had unfolded.

“I fucking love you y/n. I hope you’ll have me a little more permanently and never think about that dick ex of yours again.” He whispered as he laid down beside you.

He didn’t know you’d heard him.

🍷🍷🍷🍷

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @kangnina @weareapackofstrays @bethanysnow @newhope8 @itsseohannbin

#lee know smut #lee know x y/n #lee know x reader #lee Minho smut #Skz smut #sorshas fic

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roll-of-royces · 2 months

Text

Drabble: Workplace Violence (Zayne x AFAB!Reader)

Content: You get hurt. Zayne picks up the pieces, and maybe, possibly, loses his temper.

Rating: T for slight violence and injuries

Spoilers: Slight Chapter 4 mention

Word Count: 1170

It has become a bit of a habit of Zayne's and so the other staff have begun to notice it. Whenever a Hunter comes into the hospital, (specifically a female hunter) he always asks, "What is her name?"

This is the only time he ever asks a patient's name unless it is prevalent to what he needs to do next. After all there are clipboards with that information, it's not important if he's deep in surgery, covered in blood trying to keep someone alive.

But he asks, and he waits with bated breath for any name that is not your name.

So when Greyson pops his head into his office, "Hunter in surgery. You're needed."

Zayne stands, runs his hands along his coat and asks as he always does, "Their name?"

And then Greyson does something he never does, he looks down at the floor and hesitates. Because his staff are starting to pick up on why he asks. They're starting to notice one woman that is always around. The woman that eats lunch in the cafeteria, and shows up unannounced and lets herself into Zayne's office.

The woman that Zayne leaves his office door open for in the first place.

Greyson says your name.

Zayne is torn between two sides of himself, the side that is calm, a doctor, he asks, "What are her injuries?" His voice doesn't waver, his expression shows nothing. He is the cold creature half the hospital thinks he is.

The other side of him riots, he feels ice curl up his back from his Evol before he gets it under control. He wants to ask what happened, who hurt you, who could have stopped it. This side of him stays silent as he follows the other man into the hallway toward Operating Room D, the one specifically kept for Wanderer related injuries.

Greyson rattles off everything that needs to be mended and fixed. He came prepared. He knew Zayne would ask, of course he would ask. You'll need surgery, but the chances you'll live are greater than ninety-three percent. That high rate comes from Zayne himself, he's not arrogant, he's just better than most.

When he slips into the operating room you're already there, sedated, prepped for operation. Against his wishes he freezes for less than a second, staring. There's bloody gauze in the waste bin below the table, you have wounds that seep red ichor down onto the metal table.

Your hair, which you're always running your fingers through to keep smooth is in disarray. Your skin is pale, lacking the playful pink it normally is.

But now is not the time to mourn what has happened to you. Zayne bottles it all up, shoves is deep inside himself where mountains and men in black coats live and gets to work.

It takes five hours of extensive operating to stabilize you completely. He doesn't let anyone do anything but the most necessary work, he trusts his hands. He's not arrogant, he's just better. That's what he keeps telling himself on repeat.

It has nothing to do with a desperate attempt to make sure that tomorrow you look at him with those wide beautiful eyes. It has nothing to do with the ice in his heart, and the terror of the idea of living without you.

All Zayne knows is something breaks in him, something integral and controlled that lives in his chest at the sight of all the blood coating his gloves, his operating suit, the table, your body.

Once he has you in a recovery room, door closed, asleep for now, he turns to Greyson. "What happened?"

"From what I heard she ended up taking on too many Wanderers alone, her partner brought her in."

Zayne swallows, "Is Xavier here?"

Sure, he knows all about your partner. You're his girlfriend, you chat about the other man occasionally. He's talented but under-utilizes his abilities. He's lazy, too casual, and is inept at plenty of basic tasks like cooking, remembering how to get into his own apartment, and directions.

Zayne didn't care much for Xavier before today, but now...

"He's in the waiting room."

All of his patience, all of his understanding, all of his careful step by step planning has been used up on making sure that you live to see dawn tomorrow. His feet hit the tiles of the hall hard as he heads for the waiting room.

Pushing through the door he looks around. First, he looks for Caleb out of pure reflex, because if you are injured he will be here. The distinct lack of your brother is a stark reminder of the pain you have already suffered.

Next he categorizes the others waiting for you. Tara is nibbling on the edge of his finger, anxious with a few of your other coworkers. Rafayel, is sitting off alone looking down at his hands, quiet. Respectable enough.

And then of course there is Xavier. He sits in his bloody uniform, head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. As if this doesn't matter, as if you did not almost die. He's taking a nap.

Zayne is not on most days what he himself would consider an impulsive or violent man. Today is an exception for many things.

He advances and Xavier has just long enough to start opening his eyes before he's yanking him out of his chair by his collar. The Hunter straightens, but doesn't pull away.

His acceptance is his guilt.

"What were you?" Zayne's voice echoes. Staff and visitors alike stare, because this is not like him at all. He doesn't raise his voice at anyone let alone grab someone like he's done to Xavier.

When Xavier doesn't immediately give an excuse Zayne keeps going, he puts all of his fear, all of his frustration into it. "Where the hell were you when she was getting torn into? Forty-three stitches! The stress can make her heart condition worsen. She'll need weeks, possibly months, to recover. Where were you?"

"I was late getting to work." Xavier replies, there's no more fatigue in his eyes. "I made a mistake. I won't let it happen again."

Zayne's hand tightens on his shirt, "Why were you late?"

Jenna stands, "Doctor Zayne, I understand - "

"Why?" He snarls at Xavier ignoring her entirely.

Guilt again. Good he should feel guilty.

"I overslept."

Something ugly overcomes Zayne, something covetous and cloaked in darkness. Something old and new, something foreseeing and breaking. He lets go.

And punches Xavier as hard as he can.

His knuckles crack against the man's jaw. Xavier stumbles under the hit, hand reflexively coming to his face. He makes no move to attack back. There will be no war in the hospital waiting room.

Before anyone can say anything else he drops his bruising hand to his side and addresses the crowd, "She'll make a full recovery, but won't be taking any visitors today. Please excuse me, I need to check on my patient."

#l&ds #lads #love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #Protective Zayne

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theoutlawfaleena · 1 year

Text

speaking like friends

könig x gender-neutral reader warnings: it just gets a lil suggestive inspired by this, this and this part 2 of this

The effect you have on König is hardly a secret.

The team knows you as charming, someone with a silver tongue and the means to use it well, but König knows you differently. He knows you as a partner, as a friend, and as someone who gets under his skin in a way that he cannot explain.

You only know this because he confessed it to you.

He had left you to sit with the statement that he had no words to say just what it was that you did to him. Your prying gaze that longed for a clearer description only made him a stuttering mess that quickly apologized for even saying such, and in your shock, you told him goodnight and let him be.

Ever since then, you can't get him off your mind.

Any eye contact that you make with him is broken at once by a turn of his head. You notice the way that his entire body seems to grow taut when you draw near, as if he has taken in a breath and held it. Just a mere second of meeting your eyes will send him stumbling over his words in discussions with the other operators, knuckles turning white as his grip on his gun tightens.

There is little mystery in how he feels about you.

You cannot deny what you feel for him, either.

Being at his side on the field makes your heart race. If you can't be with him physically, you keep up with him over the radio, asking him for his status and smiling to yourself when he answers, voice trembling with an adrenaline high. You had made a silent vow to yourself when you began this way of life that you would never get too involved, never put yourself in a vulnerable position, never open yourself up so much that you couldn't go back.

Time and time again, you'd broken your own rules, all for him.

Since that night, there's been a discernible shift in the energy between you and him. He speaks much less, but he looks at you far more; you feel his gaze when it finds you from across the room, staring past everyone else. Though he cannot seem to find it within himself to talk to you anymore, you find that he's always close by, almost as if he is keeping watch over you in the way he sees fit.

In return, your silver tongue begins to target him specifically.

You refer to it as "payback" for his recent bout of silence towards you. In truth, seeing his eyes widen and his pupils dilate as a result of something you say makes you a bit weak at the knees. Passing him in hallways pulls a smile from you, and sitting next to him always leads to brushing touches and soft apologies that fix nothing, for the contact never fails to come again. The other operators make snide comments about how close you are to him, how the man built like a mountain seems to completely change when you're around, falling all over himself and losing every bit of his composure. They ask you just what in the hell it is that you've done to him.

You wonder about that, yourself. The night things changed left you without an answer.

One evening finds you with the team, and him alone -- as usual. But he isn't far, and it's never hard for you to find him. Stepping outside of the base and into the cool night air leads you to him, his large silhouette seated in the grass and hiding among the parked Humvees.

"You know I don't like seeing you alone, König."

The sound of his name catches him by surprise and he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You smile at him, and he shifts slightly, looking down.

"Don't like all the noise," He murmurs.

"Or you're avoiding me again."

There's a sound like a little laugh from the back of his throat, a humored hm.

"Never," He says. One simple word to elevate your heartbeat.

Quietly, you approach him, and a gentle nudge of your knee upon his shoulder acts as your request to sit with him. He nods wordlessly, and you settle down at his side. The night is dark, and staring out into it seems to go on for miles and miles. You lower your hands to weave your fingers into the grass, and your fingertips ghost against his hand in one fleeting touch. He tenses, mumbling a hasty "tut mir leid." When you lean over and bump his shoulder, he grunts in surprise, turning and finding your eyes.

"When will we speak like friends?"

Rapidly, he blinks.

"... Wh - what?"

"That's what we are, isn't it?" You arch an eyebrow, staring at him. "You tiptoe around me like I'm going to bite you, then say sorry for hardly anything at all. You say you want me around, then avoid me like a damn plague. Surely you know that I don't mind having you around, either."

"I--"

"That... is what we... are, right?"

Friends.

The word sits on the tip of your tongue with the weight of a lie. You cannot bring yourself to speak it again, not when König can't seem to decide if he wants to look at your eyes or your lips. Your heart races behind your ribs, fingers itching to pull the hood away and really look at him.

What is it that you do to him, that which he hadn't the heart to tell you?

"I'm beginning to think you don't like me after all," You say.

"It's not... scheiße, it's not that," He quickly stammers. His muscles are taut, like ropes beginning to wear down and fray. Without a moment's hesitation, you place yourself in front of him, sitting between his legs and staring into blue eyes that fixate on your lips.

"What is it, then?"

Your hand rests on his knee and he takes in a shaking breath. Slowly, you move forward, and he instinctively leans backward, audibly swallowing when you're on hands and knees above him and staring at him expectantly. His elbows rest on the grass beneath him, and he has nowhere else to go. His fingers are twitching, as if every part of him is longing to put hands on the exposed skin of your stomach where you feel your shirt riding up.

"We are... friends," He responds, rattling the word out, doing what you could not. "And I like you. In fact, I like you far more than..." He pauses, swallowing again. "... more than most."

A soft smile pulls up at the corner of your mouth. Despite the chill of the night, your face is hot.

Friends.

You can't bring yourself to even say it.

#SHIDDDD #THIS WAS A LOT OF FUN #könig cod #konig cod #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #konig x reader #könig x reader

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psygull-arts · 3 days

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The entity known as "Indrid Cold," first sighted in the Point Pleasant area by Woodrow Derenberger on November 2, 1966

#alternate title: is that a disastrous bridge collapse in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?#indrid cold #cryptid #delta green #operation: silent mountain #technically this is mothman prophecies fanart. john keel's oc do not steal #artists on tumblr

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psygull · 2 months

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having fun in our delta green campaign's server (for now)

Cary Zane belongs to @steampunkforever love you Cary

#we're basically playing Mothman Prophecies fanfiction. we have a john keel emoji and everything #psygullisms #delta green #operation: silent mountain

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zepskies · 1 year

Text

Break Me Down - Part 5

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Get ready, there be some surprises in store for this one…

Word Count: 5,100 Warnings: 18+ only. Smut (m. receiving oral and implied smut), SB’s attempts at flirting lol.

Part 5: Morning, Night & Day

Now that you were allowed to roam the mansion freely, you were able to confirm that it was huge. And it was beautiful…if a bit dusty.

The house boasted Spanish style arches and textured walls, cherry wood furniture and rod iron lamps and wall sconces, not to mention various art pieces on the walls that looked well-curated. No doubt Soldier Boy had hired an excellent interior designer.

You were more interested in the garden outside. It was tucked away behind the pool, in the shade of large palm fronds and bigger trees. Peeking through them was a lovely view of the mountains.

Though it reminded you of the damn cliff where you fell, Soldier Boy saving you, and of course, being an arrogant asshole about it.

Your lips pursed in annoyance. What a dick.

Expelling a heavy sigh, you shook the thought of him out of your head as best you could, and tilted your head up to the sunshine. You’d found a nice stone bench to just sit and be, and try not to think about why you were here.

“Lunch time,” Frank said, encroaching on your solitude. He wasn’t a chatty man, always one to hand off your meal and leave. Escort you back to your room and leave.

You were bored enough (and perhaps lonely enough) to attempt a conversation.

“You seem to be the brains of the operation,” you remarked. “Yet he’s got you babysitting me. My condolences.”

Frank gave you a bland look. He wasn’t a hothead like Tony, but he was starting to look annoyed as he was still holding out the plate to you. It looked like a roast beef sandwich on rye with some mixed fruit on the side. At least they were trying to keep you healthy.

“I’m not a fan of rye bread,” you admitted. “Tastes like sour cardboard.”

But you took the plate anyway.

“Want to sit?” you offered a place next to you on the bench, before Frank could scurry off. “I doubt doing Soldier Boy’s bidding is more fun than ignoring me for a few minutes.”

You could tell he was about to leave anyway. So you tried one more thing.

“He’d probably want you to watch me,” you pointed out. “Make sure I don’t choke on a grape or something.”

Frank’s mouth twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. After a moment of indecision, he surprised you by sitting down with you. You’d been trying to get Frank to talk to you for days, but he was definitely the strong and silent type. The good soldier, following his orders.

You were a curious person by nature, but more than that, you wanted to know what kind of men your captors were. You weren’t just learning Soldier Boy. You had to learn his team too.

So you offered Frank a grape. He met you with a raised brow, but he didn’t take it. You shrugged and popped it into your mouth.

“So,” you started, tucking into your sandwich next. “Ex-military, turned private sector?”

Frank shot you another look. He was older than you, though not quite old enough to be your father. He could have been around M.M.’s age.

“You carry yourself like an military man. Marine maybe,” you guessed.

Frank sighed and gave a short nod. “Good guess.”

“My father was a Marine,” you said. And that was the truth. Military men ran in your family—from your father to your grandfather, though you’d never met the latter. He’d died of liver and kidney failure, thanks to good old-fashioned alcoholism.

Frank snorted. “My condolences.”

You eyed him with a small smile. “You got a family? Wife and kids?”

He hesitated, casting his gaze ahead. You sensed it was a question with a potentially loaded answer, so you let it be.

“Yeah,” you said. “I know the feeling, being married to your job. Harder to quit than heroin.”

When you offered him another grape, this time, he actually took one.

Being able to tell between night and day somehow told your body that the night was no longer for sleeping. So your wandering continued that night.

Moonlight poured through the tall windows outlooking the garden, but most of the mansion was dark and eerie and all but silent, except for some quiet rain pattering outside.

It’s like an episode of Scooby Doo in here, you thought with a shiver. The long halls were empty and mostly dark, with just a few dim wall lights along the way. Still, you’d rather be alone than run into one of Soldier Boy’s goons, or even the man himself.

But you wanted to rejoice when you found the kitchen. Finally, you could put together a meal for yourself that wasn’t a damn sandwich.

Both the pantry and fridge were fully stocked with expensive-looking ingredients. At the moment though, you weren’t so hungry for a heavy meal as you were for a snack. Maybe something for your incurable sweet tooth.

You rifled through and found something you recognized: a family-sized tray of Chips Ahoy.

Ooh, success! With a grin, you ripped open the top and rifled through the cupboards for a glass.

“The hell’re you doing?”

You jumped with a yelp at the voice that startled you. You looked over your shoulder and frowned in annoyance when you noted Soldier Boy in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. A snappish retort was on your tongue, but at the last moment, you held onto the threads of your temper.

Don’t be difficult, you reminded yourself, however much the thought grated.

“Midnight snack,” you replied, nodding to the open parcel of cookies. “Want some?”

You took out two glasses without looking at him, but you could hear him approach. When you went to the fridge to look for some milk, you noticed him take a seat at the kitchen island in front of you, where there were three stools.

“What’re you, a fucking eight-year-old?” he remarked. You raised a brow at him and took no less than five cookies from the tray.

“You’re never too old for milk and cookies,” you said sagely. You were a proud dunker, and you did so until your cookie was half-soggy with milk. You shoved an entire one into your mouth and looked him in the eyes when you did it.

His lips tugged upwards, dryly amused, while his gaze not-so-subtly raked over your form. You almost rolled your eyes, but you resisted. He could take in your oversized shirt and sweats all he wanted.

“‘S that a man’s shirt?” he asked.

“Yeah. Not a lot to pick from here at the Holiday Inn,” you quipped. You were running out of clean items that would actually fit you, and you weren’t about to run around here in some of the slutty shit you’d found.

“Can’t sleep?” You distracted him with the question, then slid a glass of milk in front of him. Regardless of what he said, he’d glanced at those cookies twice.

This was an opportunity, you thought. A chance to get into his head, see what the fuck made him tick.

Soldier Boy eyed the milk, then you. After a moment, he grabbed a cookie and took a bite. He didn’t answer your question, and instead asked one of his own.

“How’d you get caught up with Butcher?” he asked.

You smiled behind your glass. It seemed he was curious about you too.

“I work at Supe Affairs.” That was easy enough for you to admit. And if he was smart, he would’ve had Frank run a background check on you.

Soldier Boy snorted. “Yeah, I figured that fucking much. Doesn’t answer my fucking question.”

So damn rude. You wanted to sigh.

“I help run surveillance,” you said. But before he could ask his next predictable question, you continued, “Grace Mallory recruited me because I was a private investigator…and like you, I worked at Vought for a while.”

His attention piqued at that.

“Though your tenure was a bit before my time,” you couldn’t help a light jab.

His lips curved again. “Why’d you take a job you couldn’t hope to win? You got some vendetta against me, like Butcher?”

You arched a brow, watching him shove another cookie into his mouth. If anyone had a vendetta against him it was M.M., but trust Soldier Boy to conveniently forget murdering the man’s grandfather.

“You’re asking if I’m obsessed with you? I think not,” you said with a genuine chuckle, then sipped at your milk with some decency. Unlike your companion, who already had a pile of soggy crumbs on the counter beneath him.

Soldier Boy shot you a frown, and his eyes said he didn’t believe you. He sat back in his chair, his jean-clad legs falling open casually. His gaze on you, however, was anything but. You wouldn’t admit it, but it made heat creep up the back of your neck.

“Really?” he said. “‘Cause I gotta tell ya, sweetheart. During your slutty little seduction act, you were pretty fucking responsive.”

He rubbed his palms slow down his thighs, like he could still feel yours wrapped around his hips and grinding your hot core against his slacks.

You stared back at him as your lips pressed together.

Soldier Boy tilted his head at you, his smile turning smug. “The filthy sounds I was getting outta you…”

You set down your glass on the counter. Reaching for another cookie, you rested your elbows on the counter and leveled him with a teasing smile of your own.

“Unlike you, Ben, I’m a good actor,” you replied.

His brow twitched at that, however subtle. You couldn’t tell if using his real name annoyed him, or if it just added to the game you two were playing. But it felt right, stripping him of at least that façade.

He wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t even a superhero, really. He was just a man.

Albeit, a super fucking strong one with an ego the size of Empire State. But a man. The same kind you’d dealt with all your life.

And he crossed his arms, like he was starting to lose his patience with you.

“Then why’d you come out here?”

Munching on a dry chocolate chip, you answered, “To get paid. Why else?”

Again, it didn’t look like he believed you.

“You don’t look the type,” he said.

“Don’t I?” you said. He seemed to know you were holding something back, but not willing to admit he wanted to know it.

And you weren’t willing to give it to him. He didn’t need to know that you’d taken this job to support your family. Because what the hell would he know about family?

…But at the same time, his curiosity just made it all the clearer: in whatever small way, you’d piqued his interest. He wanted to figure you out.

And maybe that was the real reason you were still alive.

It started to happen like that more often.

Midnight snacks, as you’d continued to call it in your head. When you couldn’t take being alone with your thoughts (or being alone at all), if you made your way to the kitchen you often found Ben.

Whatever was keeping him awake, he seemed to crave the company as you rifled through the pantry. From alfajores, macarons, and chips, to the entire leftover ham from dinner, he often smoked a large blunt and ate whatever you found.

You’d taken a hit once when he offered, but the shit was so strong than you abstained afterwards. You wanted to be in your fully right mind around him.

And you talked—about the old-ass TV shows he never got to see the end of, and the new music he hated. You’d enjoyed (gently) teasing him about being an old man who didn’t understand Cardi B when you played it on his phone. You suspected he didn’t quite understand how all the bells and whistles worked on an iPhone yet. (But he’d taken it back from you before you could text anyone.)

“In my day, there was a little more fucking class,” he’d said. “Sinatra. Nat King Cole. Christ, the fucking Beatles.”

You’d rolled your eyes at that. You liked all those guys too, actually. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t bang out all the words to “Bodak Yellow” and “Please Me.”

You also talked about the movies he missed out on. The ones you thought he’d probably enjoy, like the Terminator sequels and Liam Neeson’s Taken (if only for the sheer irony). And all the while, he asked you probing questions he likely thought were subtle.

“What did you do at Vought?” he asked over chips and salsa.

You thought the salsa was a bit too spicy, but he was lapping it up. It both amused and disgusted you.

Until he licked some of it off his fingers. Catching your gaze, his became mischievous. He slid his fingers out of his mouth with an obscene noise. All the while, his deep green eyes held yours.

You would never admit to being turned on, but you felt your cheeks warming up as you fought not to react, watching the juices drip down his fingers.

“I ran down criminals for the supes to ‘catch’ them,” you managed to reply. “They just got to do the sweeping in part.”

“Lazy shits,” he remarked, licking off the remaining salsa from his hand. You tried not to focus on the sight of his tongue. Afterwards, he gave you reprieve by wiping his hands on a paper towel.

What the fuck is wrong with me? You inwardly shook your head at yourself.

“Back in my day, we actually ran down our own leads,” he said. “Sure, we got tips every now and then, but we did our own busts.”

You didn’t know how much of that you could believe, considering he’d never even fought in World War II, despite his numerous claims of pounding Nazis up the ass.

“How’d you end up there, anyway?” he asked.

“Vought paid more than private practice,” you wryly replied.

He eyed you then. “And before?”

Before? Was he just bored, or did he genuinely want to know about your life?

Still, this was starting to veer into things you’d rather not talk about.

“Worked for my dad’s P.I. firm,” you said, making an effort to untighten your spine. “I learned what I know from him.”

That much was the truth, though you hadn’t spoken to him in over a year.

Ben chortled, making you frown. “‘A’ for fucking effort there, sweetheart.”

You huffed. Yes, you did realize the irony of being kidnapped by the man you’d hunted down (sort of). Didn’t mean he had to be such an asshole about it.

“He must be fucking proud,” he added. Your gaze sharpened with irritation.

“Like your dad was proud of you?” out came your pointed reply, before you could stop yourself.

His amusement faded, likely as he stared back at you and saw that you knew for a fact what he’d told Butcher.

A fucking disappointment.

He didn’t bother lying, but his lip curled into a sneer.

“Be careful, sweetheart,” he warned. You heard the underlying threat in his voice. You forced yourself to keep your mouth shut, lowering your eyes. The act was grating on you, boiling your blood.

But it seemed to mollify him enough. He let out a low chuckle.

“I’ll let that one go,” he said. “Next time, I might not be so fucking nice.”

You believed him.

It was a week of this, before you finally found out the hard way where Ben’s room was.

You were wandering down a long hallway on the second floor, over in the west wing of the house. Your room was in the east, so you really hadn’t seen this side of the mansion before. The problem was, all these halls were looking the same to you.

And now you had no idea how to get back to the main hall, where by now you could navigate downstairs to the kitchen, the back garden, the pool hall, a study room (with several shelves of books), a gym, and even an indoor movie theater.

Suddenly, you thought you heard a woman’s voice, high and giggly. What the hell?

Your natural curiosity led you farther down the hall, where you could see light and movement beneath the closed door. Whatever (and whoever) was in there, you really should just let it be.

You’d been able to successfully avoid Ben for the past few days, and you didn’t feel like dealing with the headache of another encounter with him—for as long as you could manage it.

So you were just about to turn back and keep on your merry way.

But when you heard a slap, followed by a feminine cry of pain, you halted in your step. With your brows crunching in concern, you couldn’t help but approach the door again. You leaned in to listen.

Another slap, another pained mewling from the girl. Your mouth turned down in an angry frown of alarm.

What the fuck is going on? You didn’t know what kind of sick shit he was into, but if he was hurting some poor girl for his own entertainment, you knew you couldn’t just walk away.

After one more second of hesitation, you gripped the door handle and shoved it open.

What you found seared your eyes.

In unblinking shock, you took in the shambled state of Ben’s room. Clothes strewn haphazardly about, remnants of lines of coke on the coffee table, plates of half-eaten delicacies left on a wheeled in buffet, bottles of liquor, half-empty glasses and shots rolling around.

And a California king bed occupied the center, where the sheets and pillows had fallen off while Soldier Boy fucked no less than five prostitutes. All looked to be of various ethnicities and a wide age range. The oldest of them looked saggy enough to be in her seventies, but she was working as hard and skillfully as the rest of them.

One of the younger ones, maybe around your age, was getting spanked by one of his large hands while another girl’s head bobbed over his lap with gusto. The other three were finding things to do, whether on the man himself, or to each other in front of him on the bed.

In reality, you probably took all this in for just a few seconds.

But a gasp fell unbidden from your lips, along with a “Jesus fucking Christ!”

Ben looked like he had been working up a mild sweat. Broken from his concentration though, he glanced up at you. And then the broadest, Cheshire cat fucking grin spread across his face.

“Hey, baby doll,” he greeted mischievously. “You here to join in? Here, tag in for, uh…what’s your name again, sweetheart?”

He looked down and grabbed the shoulder of the girl in his lap. She released his cock out of her mouth for a second to answer, “Jasmine.”

“Sure,” he said with a nod. Then he frowned and gestured to his still rock-hard dick. Your eyes widened in shock—both at the audacity, and at the size of it. You blushed hotly.

“But don’t fucking stop now, Jesus,” he said to the girl. And he looked over at you with a raised brow. “Unless you wanna jump in…but seriously, don’t make me wait all fuckin’ day here.”

Your face contorted in disgust.

“There’s not enough fucking therapy for this,” you muttered.

Then you fled the room, slamming the door behind you so hard that it rattled. It still didn’t muffle his laughter behind the door.

Your face, neck, and the tips of your ears were on fire as you hastened down the hall.

By the time you got to the kitchen, you could even hear your rapid heartbeat in your ears. You set a hand over your chest and felt the thump, thump, thumping under your palm.

Images continued to flash through your mind—naked flesh, bouncing tits, shockingly adept wrinkled hands. And then the man’s chiseled bare form, planes of tanned skin over muscle, and strong-looking hands.

Fucking hell. You shook your head to try and rid yourself of your brain’s ongoing loop, but it was a losing battle. With a long and frustrated sigh, you reached into the fridge and grabbed all the ingredients you needed to make a damn sandwich.

You knew Ben had hired a personal chef (Simone, you thought her name was), but you were pretty sure she was currently part of the service the supe entourage today.

You slapped together a turkey and provolone sandwich with some lettuce, mayo, and a pickle for added “razzle dazzle.”

Though on second thought, you put the pickle back.

With an aggravated huff, you stood at the counter and tore into your dinner (you were too angry to sit at this point). You devoured half of it and nearly a whole bag of Doritos by the time that cocky bastard strolled in like the cat that got the cream, and clearly, more than once.

He looked freshly showered, and finally clothed in casual pants and a buttoned down shirt, rolled up on the sleeves.

Ben eyed you with a smirk. You raised a brow at him.

“That was fast,” you remarked. “I expected you to be in that fuck dungeon all night.”

“I wouldn’t call it a dungeon,” he said, leaning on the other side of the counter opposite you. “More like a cellar of fine delectables.”

You snorted. “All right, Hugh Hefner. I want to scrub my eyes with bleach.”

“Didn’t look that way from where I was sitting, doll face,” he quipped. His brow rose at you with a salacious, curling smile. You leveled him with a look.

“At the very least, you would’ve ended that little dry spell of yours,” he added playfully.

Your gaze sharpened at that. You dropped your sandwich on the plate to glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“What’s it been?” he asked, leaning closer into your personal space with a more knowing grin. “Don’t really fucking tell me it’s been three years since somebody’s laid you out right.”

Despite your outrage at his audacity, your mouth fell open the slightest bit.

“What…”

Again, he eyed your form, and not subtly at that. Today you’d found a pair of jeans that you’d managed to squeeze into. The polo shirt clinging to your waist and ribs and tight across your breasts wasn’t helping you either.

But you were honestly surprised he could still be looking at you like that when he’d just been doing some Olympic-level fucking.

Your spine tightened nervously when he straightened to his full height, walking around the kitchen counter towards you. His hand slid across the surface, his head tilting at you in amusement.

“It’s amazing what you can hear on shitty hotel roofs,” he said.

Your eyes widened when you understood what he was getting at. When you were on the phone with your sister…

“Maybe then you’ll—and let me not shock you here—meet someone,” Louisa had said. “And finally put an end to that three-year goddamn dry spell.”

And that prickly feeling you’d felt then, licking up your spine and raising the hairs on the back of your neck…

“You were watching me,” you realized.

Ben just looked down on you with a deepening smirk. His green eyes were alight with mischief, and yeah, probably lust too.

“You fucking creep,” you said, with both a sigh and a roll of your eyes (despite your growing blush).

He chuckled and raised a hand to lightly grip your chin. “That’s not very nice.”

You glared up at him, too angry and stubborn to remember to mind your temper. He seemed to like it though, working you up. He teased and prodded you enough, almost like a little boy trying to get a girl’s attention. Except this one was the most powerful supe alive.

So why does he like it so much, this stupid cat and mouse thing?

Not for the first time, you wondered why he decided to keep you around. And you had a feeling it wasn’t just to bait your friends. Maybe he just liked toying with you, seeing how far he could push until you snapped.

And then what? you wondered.

Though if you were honest with yourself…you were just as into this little game as he was, albeit for different reasons. You wanted to understand him.

At first, it was the job. Know the man you’re after.

But now, it was more. Knowing Soldier Boy, getting to know Ben would be the key to making it out of this situation alive. You just knew it…if only he didn’t make it so damn frustrating.

“Seriously, tell me,” he said, still with a deceptively light grip on your chin. The pad of his thumb brushed your full lower lip, making your breath hitch. He glanced down at your mouth, then back into your eyes.

“How fucking long’s it been since that pretty pussy’s been touched?” he asked. “‘Cause in my opinion, that’s a crying shame.”

For a moment, your breath got stuck in your throat. You felt a hot blush rising in your cheeks, down your neck…and maybe warmth between your legs at the mere suggestion.

You inwardly steeled yourself, clamping down on your anger and your embarrassment. Instead, you leveled him with a cool smile.

“Not forty years, I’ll tell you that,” you said.

While he raised a brow, he let you slowly push his hand away. You left him in the kitchen soon after, but he watched you go. Whether you meant to or not, the sway in your hips and your delectable ass in those tight fucking jeans made his dick twitch.

Figures, he thought, that you’d get all fucking huffy. He shrugged and picked up half the sandwich you left behind.

You found nothing else for your frustration but to head outside.

With a sigh, you sat down at the edge of the massive pool and just dipped your legs in. You didn’t have a swimsuit, and you didn’t want to take any chances by getting your clothes wet around here. Or even worse, stripping down to your bra and underwear.

You blushed at the memory of Ben’s proximity, his touch, his rich, teasing voice that dripped with lustful promise. And that just reminded you of the scenes from his room, which flashed in your mind every so often like a bad porno.

Shit. You absently bit at one of your nails. Ben had also heard that entire conversation with your sister. That meant he knew about her, and that gave you no small amount of anxiety.

But he already had you. He hadn’t tried to extort you for anything (yet). You knew though, that if he threatened Luisa, or tried to use her to manipulate you in any way, there wasn’t much you could do but play along, like everything else.

Right now, anyway…

You noticed a dark shape out of the corner of your eye, and for a moment you were annoyed, ready to tell Ben to give you a moment’s peace.

But it wasn’t him. It was Tony standing near the end of the pool. He must’ve been freed from desk duty, or whatever Ben had him doing while he presumably recovered from his injuries.

“What up, Tony?” you greeted, unable to resist a teasing smile when you noticed the large boot for his broken foot. Now plus a few extra bruises from your last tussle. They were dark, but yellowing around the edges.

His lips twitched at a cold smile. “They’re letting the little mouse out of her room now?”

You shrugged, smirking.

“You look good,” you replied. “How’re the balls though? Still broken?”

Tony expression tightened into a glare. “You better watch it, bitch.”

“Or what?” you challenged.

There was enough distance between you and him across the pool for you to feel comfortable, but really, you weren’t too afraid of Tony.

Yeah, he was a dick. But you’d taken him down before. You could literally break his balls again if he needed more encouragement to fuck off.

Tony just smirked back at you, deciding to leave you alone for now. You watched him head back into the house with sharp eyes. He wouldn’t take you by surprise again.

Frank was waiting for you when you got back to your room. You were more relieved to see him than you’d like to admit, and you greeted him with a genuine smile, before you noticed the shopping bags in his hands.

“What’s this?” you asked. Frank dutifully handed you the bags, and inside you found new clothes. They actually seemed to be your size.

You looked up at Frank, both shocked and grateful. “You got me clothes?”

“Boss’s orders,” he revealed. Your brows rose high at that.

“He told you to do this?”

Frank expelled a breath through his nose, hesitating, like he was debating how to frame his reply.

“He provided them,” he said. It felt like a confession, one that made your eyes widen at the implication.

Soldier Boy bought you new clothes?

You didn’t know how to compute on this one, honestly. But you still answered with a tentative, “Oh. Well…thanks.”

He nodded, and soon left you with your thoughts and your spoils. You went into your room and dumped the bags onto the bed so you could examine their contents.

There were casual shirts and yoga pants, a couple pairs of jeans, some sneakers, thank God. All the bras and panties, however, were lacey and expensive.

You shook your head with a smile, eyeing the labels. This man really went to Victoria’s Secret to buy you new underwear.

It was both kind and somewhat sleazy, knowing he was going to be imagining you in the sexy, but admittedly tasteful lingerie.

The “kind” part took you by surprise though. The clothes overall weren’t revealing or obnoxious. Even the underwear and bras were in styles you’d probably wear, under normal circumstances.

So you put together an outfit out of one of the shirts and a pair of jeans, breathing a sigh of relief when you could peel the old ones off.

This was a far cry from bullying and annoying you, and generally being an arrogant son of a bitch.

The truth was, Ben was confusing you.

Perhaps now more than ever.

AN: 🤭 Well, one would argue that she saw more sides of Ben than she thought she would (or wanted to). 😜

Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Things are definitely going to ramp up in the next one...

Keep Reading: PART 6

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igotanidea · 1 year

Text

Cheshire cat: Jason Todd x fem!reader

It was bad.

It was really, really bad.

She was shaking, the whole world was spinning, her head was killing her and she had that clenching feeling in her heart telling her that something happened.

Jason Red Hood was on the undercover operation and she hadn’t seen him for almost three weeks and it was killing her. Quite literally. On the first week she fell sick, on the second twisted her ankle during training with Tim and on the third headaches and nausea started.

Of course, Dick and Tim were making sure she was doing fine. Even Damian took some interest in her well-being. Alfred was constantly checking up if she was all right and everyone were trying to convince her to move to the manor for some time, but even Bruce could not convince her to actually do it. She only felt at ease in her own apartment. In the Wayne household she would constantly stumble upon Jason’s stuff, his books and his old clothes and would spend the entire time in his old room which will only amplify the pain and fear for her. Besides, she had been through it once, when he was killed by Joker, and doing it again would definitely brake her. So she refused, staying in her own house, only meeting boys for patrols, when it was needed.

Y/N was a long-time friend of the family. Her father was one of Bruce’s most trusted RD employee, the very first to learn Wayne was actually Batman. Sad thing that this knowledge got him killed and the man left a daughter alone in the world. So, being chased by some slight guilt Bruce took her in, soon after he adopted Dick. So at the point, instead of one sidekick he had two. Robin was mostly the second line of attack, but Y/N, who took vigilante’s name Cheshire was supposed to be the distraction. For some reason she was extremely good with playing with people’s mind and the silent words she used to make them confused and turn them into a bunch of sheep, lost in the dark was kind of her thing. Sure, she was capable of kicking asses but observing criminals losing their shit just because of well-chosen words was far more entertaining. She truly was like a Cheshire car in Alice in Wonderland, from whom the girl took the name.

And from the first time she was on patrol with Dick and Bruce the things started accelerating.

After a few years, Dick left, Jason came in and became Robin.

And then, despite clear potential for being more than friends with Y/N he was killed by Joker, leaving the only thing happening between them in the form of awkward flirting.

And then Tim came in. And Damian.

And then Jason came back to life. Only he was not the same.

She was the first person he showed himself to, not able to stay away. She was his anchor and he wanted her back, now truly ready to be more than friends. And he was willing to fight for her, to go through the desert, climb through the highest mountains, crawl the jungle and to do any crazy shit just to prove to her what she meant to him. Luckily, she let him in without such extreme display of affection, however making him work for it. She trusted him, even if his new alter ego, Red Hood was probably a bit too violent and angry, Y/N knew the motives behind that. And many, many times she had to remind him, she was in relationship with Jason Todd, not Red Hood when it was hard for him to differentiate and literally drop the mask when he was with her. She knew it and never complained, because she loved him too. Sometimes, being with him was like living hell, but most of the times it was … peace. Knowing that no matter what will happen he was there, ready to protect, hold and love her. And she reciprocated it all. Just being there with her in their own bubble built in the shithole Gotham was. She would never complain or ask him to stop his action, after all she was a vigilante herself so it was easier to understand.

But still, when he was gone for some business and she could not come the fear crept in. No message, text or anything for three weeks. That was the standard procedure to keep her safe (Jason’s words, not hers). But there was also one more rule. If a month came without any sign of being alive she was allowed to start one-person search party, without involving any of his brothers. She only had to go through one more freaking week.

***

Y/N knew the location of most of his safe houses, so when 4 extremely long weeks passed she dressed up in her Cheshire gear and started her solo mission. Much to her annoyance and unease he was nowhere. Even his best friend Roy, who she never get to meet before was not in any of the places. So there were two options: she could sleep in the place she found herself in at the moment and reopen the search next night or risk losing consciousness on the street due to tiredness. The choice was obvious and she just slumped onto the bed, drifting off instantly, still in her gear.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” a strong hand clasped around her wrist lifting her from the bed. The man who was brave enough to do it was taller than Y/N so her feet just dangled in the air for a second. “Are you trying to burn this place!?”

“Let. Go. Of. Me” she wriggled desperately kicking her legs and finally kicking the man in the groin.

“You little rascal! I’m gonna get you and ….” He reached for her again but she jumped away and crashed into someone else’s strong chest, immediately feeling a pair of arms encapsulating her and familiar scent became palpable.

“What the fuck Roy! What the hell were you doing?!” Jason held Y/N closer to his chest, shocked by his best friend behavior.

“She broke in! She put us at risk, Red! She should be…..”

“SHUT UP! Just shut up! So it happens, she is allowed to come here any time she wants. Unlike you, she can keep quiet.”

“Fuck, Jace. You are holding her like you know who….. oh…..” his eyes widened in realization “so, she’s the she.”

“Yes, Roy. She’s the she. It’s a shame you two met like this, truly.”

“Wait.” Y/N let go of Jace for a second and turned around to face the other guy. “You’re the Roy? The Arsenal?”

“I am.” He mumbled a bit embarrassed now “Sorry about that. I can be a bit…. Extreme when it comes to safety.”

“I can tell who taught you that” she smirked her gaze landing on Jace, who just shrugged. “Oliver send his regards, then. You know, despite everything you could let him know you are alive. Oh, and you should work on your grip, your hands got a bit sweaty when you were holding me making it so much easier to just slip away. Maybe some new gloves would help with that.”

“I see why you fell for her, Red. She’s a fast talker.”

“What were you expecting?” Jason smirked “She’s the Cheshire after all.”

“The real name’s Y/N. It’s only fair I tell you mine if I know yours.”

“Ok, if you two are done with your pleasantries, get the hell out Roy. I’d like to have some alone time with my girl.”

“For god’s sake just keep it quiet, will you? the walls are thin and I’m not a fan of hearing anything from what you two are going to do…..”

“GET OUT!” Jason yelled and seeing him shaking in rage Roy was quick to leave the room, moving to the bathroom.

“Y/N….” only now Jace took of his domino mask and his alerted gaze met hers

“Hi, Jay.” She whispered softly and just the sound of her voice made him relax “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s been four weeks, hasn’t it?” he sighed deeply and cupped her cheek caressing her skin with the thumb making her lean into the touch instantly.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry. I guess I lost track of time.”

‘I can see” she chucked pointing towards the pile of bottles in the corner of the room “bet it was quite a party here.”

“It’s not like that…..”

“Hey, relax, I’m joking. A bit.”

“Were you worried a lot?”

“Me? Worried?” she scoffed “Nope. Never.”

“Really?” she could be denying but he noticed her pale skin, bags under her eyes and how she was now shaking in the attempt to keep herself all together. He put her through it. What was worse, there was a eschar on her hairline, clear sign she was back at her poor habit of head scratching during stress. Extreme head scratching. Normally, he made sure she wasn’t hurting herself but for the last weeks he couldn’t and it was showing.

“Absolutely.”

“Then why are you here? You were clearly looking for me?”

“Sure. To kick your ass. Wait, did you think I was going to fall into your arms like a freaking Disney princess?”

“You got your name from Alice in Wonderland, so Disney it is.” He shrugged and she smacked his head playfully “but you act more like Rapunzel.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her into his chest delighting in her warmth, feeling her tensed shoulders and back relax a bit under his touch. “You’re only missing the pan.”

“I don’t need one” she muttered “I can still beat you with my bare hands” said hands were currently sneaking around his back.

“Sure you can, sweetie, sure you can. But definitely not now. You need rest. And so do I.”

“Jason.” she pulled away and looked into his eyes “are you ok? Seriously? Any injuries, bruises, broken bones?”

“Oh, you are worried….” He cooed grinning

“Once again, never. I’m only trying to assess the scope of damage I can cause you myself without breaking you.”

“there’s only one thing you can do to really break me.” He whispered leaning his forehead on hers

“and that being….?”

“breaking my heart. That’s one thing I don’t think I could recover from. “

“That’s one thing I’m not planning on doing.”

“Good.” He leaned forward and pressed his chapped lips onto hers. Just this second he realized how much he missed her. The way she always melted into him, locked her soft hands on his neck and let him kiss her. Never pushing away, not even when he was literally taking her breath away. “Needy, huh?” he smirked

“Shut up. It seems so me like you are far more excited to see me than the other way round. I can feel what’s going down there, you know.”

“Should I check your……?”

“Shut up!” she turned red instantly and tried to wriggle out of his embrace, but he did not let her.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean anything wrong. And you are right. I did miss you, all right? You can’t hold that against me….”

“I don’t Jace, I don’t.” she pecked his lips quickly “I know it’s hard for both of us.”

“But it’s worth it, right?” his voice was now unsure, all the vulnerability and fear that one day she will just leave him to live easier life creeping in “you won’t …..?”

“Of course I won’t. Come on, Jace. I love you, you know that. And you know too much about me and my alter ego to just let you walk away from me freely.”

“I love you too, you little pussycat.”

“Stop calling me that! God, Jace. Roy is next door! This is inappropriate….”

“What? You don’t want him to think you are turning into puddle because of me? That the famous Cheshire is not as tough as it seems?”

“I have my ways to compromise your Red Hood notoriety as well, honey” she stepped on her toes, hands moving up his chest painfully slowly and she whispered in his ear “I bought something new lately and so it happens I got it all underneath that skintight suit” he groaned and much to her delight tightened the grip on her hips “such a shame you will have to behave.”

“Y/N…..” he growled warningly

“Besides, now that I know you are safe I think I’m going to head home……”

“Forget it, you are not going anywhere and…..”

“Is it safe to enter? Are you two done now or do I have to keep my eyes covered?” obviously Roy chose this moment to interrupt them

“She’s staying the night.” Jason stated simply

‘Oh, Lord, why? I’m being tested right now.”

“You do realize what that means, don’t you?”

“That I’m about to be a witness to a show?”

“That you are taking the couch, you idiot!”

“Come on, that is unfair. She’s the guest and ……”

“Roy.”

“I hate you Todd. I really, really hate you. Do not expect me to cover your back again when we are patrolling.”

“I’m not worried about that. I’m pretty sure if I got deadly hurt, Y/N would find me, bring me back to life and then kill me for dying. Isn’t that right, love?”

‘Sure it is, Red. Sure it is.”

901 notes · View notes

seabysiren · 10 months

Text

rain down on me

summary: a solo mission gone wrong, you found yourself on the verge of death when something otherworldly unearths itself.

[venom!reader]

its silent in the forest. the frozen limbs upon dead bark rustle in the heavy wind as you squint through sheets upon sheets of snow. it would've been blinding had you not had goggles protecting your eyes.

your breath puffs out in silent clouds as you slowly trek through the snow, the crunch only reminding you of the limited time you had out here.

this was it.

the last mission you were ever going to go on. no more laughing with soap and pulling pranks with gaz. no more silent nights with the reassuring presence of your captain late at night. no more scratching pen on paper as the two of you silently fill out paperwork.

no more funny, not so funny, jokes with ghost and soap. or teasing gaz everytime he tried to pick someone up at the bar after a successful mission.

because you were alone. a mission just for you to retrieve hidden intel high into the permafrost of russia.

price trusted you.

the 141 trusted you.

laswell trusted you.

yet here you were in the frigid cold, numbly flexing your hands as you kept a watchful eye out for anyone. anything.

intel said there was supposed to be a base up here. but after days of aimlessly trekking through snow and higher up the mountain, everything felt hopeless.

you didn't have enough supplies to survive weeks. the frostbite would get to you before you found anything.

but still, you trekked on.

you silently counted each step in your head, your gun feeling aimlessly heavy against your body with each step.

one.

two.

one.

two.

the fatigue that shook your body was ignored. you ignored the deadly cold that wanted to lay waste in your bones and make its home deep in your ribcage.

breath in. breath out.

keep going.

there was no radio chatter. no buzzing noise in your ear or a low, raspy voice giving you hope with his shitty jokes and cues.

you were alone.

because this was a solo mission.

get in. get out.

you were the best survivalist in the team. the one who recognized anything and everything edible in forests. who hunted in the desert when supplies ran low and thirst ravished everyone. where the sun was high and you could feel your heartbeat.

because it was you or them. and there was no chance that the squadron would perish with you besides them.

hope bloomed in your chest when you laid your eyes on tracks. not the track of deer or foxes. not the cawing of crows and their beady eyes always watching.

human tracks.

you immediately hunched over, using the brush and snow to hide yourself as you began to follow with renewed energy.

the snow beneath you didn't even crunch as you moved with precision. you didn't hesitate to bury yourself in snow once you heard voices. the harsh accent of russian made you perk as you listened, faintly translating their voices.

"...the package arrives today-" "-make sure everything is ready for the doctor" "...no screw ups..."

you waited until their lingering stopped, their voices growing harsher once another group of soldiers came closer.

this was it.

you kept your gun close as you wadded closer to doom. you laid your eyes on the whole operation. stealth planes running on cleared runways, trucks marked with the infamous russian military logo.

soldiers marching and officers checking cargo.

and there it stood before you. the warehouse and science facility. you muttered to yourself before finding an adequate place to rest. there were too many people here to go in knee deep.

so you climbed the nearest ledge covered in foliage and dropped your bag. you quickly unfolded and donned the snow terrain ghillie suit and made a suitable place to lay in.

you sighed as you propped up your rifle. seems like you were going to be here awhile before figuring out a way to infiltrate without risking your life in broad daylight.

it was early. the snow was bleak and tinged a deep blue since the sun went down. everything was well lit as you watched shift after shift through the scope. you mentally noted any squadrons, the officers positions and the parked cargo and army trucks.

you watched as each patrol walked. watched as each person had roughly a two minute gap before the next person would take over. you knew every way the patrol would go, and where they would check.

finally.

this is it.

you took a deep breath before situating your rifle and hovering your hand over the trigger.

your fingertips were freezing beneath the gloves, and you were faintly aware of how numb your feet felt. but you shook it off. there was no time for weakness when you were so close to the finish line.

you narrowed your eyes and stopped your heart.

the trigger was light against your finger as you quickly shot, ignoring the sudden panic that exploded with each person who fell. the blood against the snow was refreshing as you quickly picked off everyone near the runway and within the open warehouse doors.

you had no time to watch them begin to scramble. now was the time, with your gun held safely in your arms you ran.

time was of the essence as you trekked and slid down narrow cliffs, further from the warehouse and closer to the facility.

there would be reinforcements within mere minutes of where you were. but you couldn't stop and panic. there was no way to hide, the only way you were going to survive was with speed and precision.

your boots slid across patches of ice as you heard voices and radio chatter come closer. you dove into the brush and buried yourself in the snow just in time to avoid the running soldiers who were eager to shed blood.

they were getting closer to the perch you were on. but the only thing they would know are the traps and mirrors you placed to mimic a sniper.

you stilled your breathe as you quickly nailed the closest patrol officer with the butt of your rifle, watching him go down as you snatched the badge from his belt.

good.

you were getting there.

you could barely think as your body went through the motions, swiftly turning corners with your rifle ready to dispatch anyone coming across your vision.

but it was almost empty of personnel. good. going all according to plan. everyone should've been drawn to sweep the surrounding areas and look for the possible sniper, while none the wiser that you were here.

because all the important files were in the warehouse. no one would've suspected you were going after the classified files in the facility. of the latest biological weapons that were being produced in the middle of nowhere.

you busted down doors and sweaped offices and labs. bodies fell, blood spilt, glass shattered.

you finally got to the final ward. the testing facility.

your body was hot. the drastic change in freezing temperature to the sudden warmth was wreaking havoc on your body. it made your vision fog as you ripped your goggles down your face, hanging only by a strap wrapped around your neck.

your fingers and feet felt like they were on fire. yet your steps were swift and steady as you let go of your rifle and tore your gloves from your thawing flesh.

you narrowed your eyes as you typed away on the mainframe computer, plugging in a bright blue drive into the side while it scanned and pulled up all documents. the green text flashed at you as you waited with baited breath.

that was until you felt a heavy hit to the back of your head. it made your body spin and your eyes water as you growled, swiftly turning around to slam the nearest filing cabinet into their body.

you were swift as you slammed your rifle down against their torso when they fell, taking out a knife from your thigh holster to press it harshly against their neck.

you cut through the jugular and through the esophagus, wincing slightly at the splatter of blood that stained your ghillie suit.

you flinched as glass broke nearby, causing you to snap your head to the side to locate the source.

the scientist was carrying a jar filled with a strange, black goo like substance.

"the hell?" you muttered, curiosity overcoming you as you watched the almost alive thing wither on the ground before stilling. you looked at the scientist then back at the black substance when it suddenly rammed straight into your face.

"the fuck-" a strange feeling invaded your nerves as you quickly wiped at the foreign substance, flicking the residue onto the ground and wiping it on the labcoat of the deceased person next to you.

but you had no time to ponder when you heard an insistent beeping that made you turn back to the computer and snatch the drive.

you rapidly began typing as you began to install your latest program. one that was supposed to wipe everything on the system and leak every personals involvement with the hidden base.

this was what you came here for.

now all you had to do is make it back alive to the rendezvous spot.

with the hard drive tucked close to your heart, hidden deep within the inner pocket of your jacket you ran. you were uncaring about the way your boots slammed against the pristine tile of the facility. the heavy footsteps of you echoed through the empty walls when you bursted out the door.

the only thing you had on your mind was surviving. getting back to your boys. the team. the 141.

you could feel it. you were so close.

but as you squinted against the harsh light, your heart dropped into your stomach.

it wasn't a few more hours until sunlight.

you gulped as spotlights shown on you, courtesy of the dozens and dozens of soldiers surrounding the exits.

oh.

that was why the facility was so quiet. so... empty

this was it.

this was the end.

as you felt the impact of the first bullet against your vest, you roared.

you had to try. you had to struggle. you had to make it out alive. people's lives were hanging in the balance of this.

and your squad.

your family.

they would've never been able to handle the grief. price would beat himself up with how you reassured him you could do this. no backup. just a heli waiting for you.

desperation rushed through your veins, adrenaline filling your body as you took your rifle and picked off anyone and everyone you could. but the pain was getting to be too much.

it tore through your skin with ease. spilling dripping, red blood down onto the pristine snow beneath you. your breathes became heavy as your vision blurred. your body wracked in pain as everything seemed to slow down.

maybe this was what death felt like.

and as you were about to blackout, you heard a voice.

a strange, deep voice in your head that made you feel strangely at ease.

"time for a feast, little morsel."

you gained consciousness when everything ended. confusion and nausea set itself into your bones as you looked around. you no longer donned your ghillie suit, nor your rifle.

blood and organs were everywhere, staining the once white snow in blood and strange fluids.

you panted as you looked around. everyone was dead. demolished. ripped apart. you took a deep breathe before looking down at your gear, covered in blood and bits of flesh.

"the hell?"

your hands were dyed in blood. and as you looked around, you found your discarded goggles, and in the reflection you saw your uncovered face, smeared with blood.

"shit. shit. shit shit. what the fuck is going on!" you muttered to yourself desperately trying to wipe off the endless red stains from your face and gear.

before you stilled at a voice in your head.

just had a snack.

you whipped your head around to look for the source of the voice, but all you saw was mutilated body upon body. not a soul to be seen.

"who's there!" you couldn't stop the way panic flooded your system as you frantically looked around. for something. for an answer.

but all you heard was a deep chuckle in your mind.

no need to freak out, little human.

you looked down at your uniform and squinted at the bullet holes, but beneath was smooth, pristine flesh. without a speck of a wound or scrape.

"did... did I do this?"

there was a pause. before the thing responded.

we did this.

you felt like you were going crazy as you spoke out loud. trying to find any grasps of sanity as you tried to understand.

what was this? "and who is... we?" there was an immediate response. it was strange. having a conversation in your head.

we am venom.

"venom..." you echoed.

you took a deep breath before continuing.

"...is this what they were working on? are you the biological weapon they were developing?" no. there is nothing those lousy scientists could do to great me.

"then what are you?" we are venom. we come from klyntar. you didn't even have to voice out your questions before venom contined.

our home was destroyed. and we came here from beyond the void. we need a host in order to thrive.

"like a symbiote?"

yes.

it was strange. you could feel venom in the back of your head. his voice called to answer every question with a strange amount of patience.

that was until you realized you had to get back. the heli would only be waiting for a certain amount of hours before it would leave. with or without you.

you swore to yourself before quickly looking around. you could barely feel the cold as you began to run towards where you had stashed your bag, close to the distraction sight you were in hours ago.

unimaginable strength coursed through your veins as you ran through the snow with newfound ease. you barely felt tired from days upon days of little to no rest.

venom continued to talk as you got to your bag. you stripped through the ruined uniform and began to quickly dress in your spares. which, unfortunately were black in color.

those people made a good snack.

"what's with you and eating... people?" you shuddered as you hauled your bag onto your shoulder and began to trek away from the ruined base.

your stomach grumbled in protest as bile rose to your throat and into your mouth. you gingerly swallowed.

i need it to survive.

"so i have to eat people for you to... survive?"

you will die without me.

you stopped. dread filled you as you asked the sole question in your head.

"what?" i am keeping you alive. i am constantly regenerating your heart. without me, you would be dead.

you clutched your chest and inspected the old jacket you had worn before. truth be told, he was right.

bullet holes riddled your gear. but the most important detail was the holes that were supposed to go straight through your chest. straight through the heart.

it felt like your throat had dropped into your stomach as you traced the frayed clothing. each bullet hole would've lodged itself into your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

everywhere.

"fuck."

foreign knowledge began to flood your head as you clutched your head in pain. words and languages of the symbiote. of his origin and exactly how he was bound to you. how he was keeping you alive.

and without it...

you wouldn't get to return home to base. no more price or soap. no more gaz and ghost.

nothing.

you gulped heavily as you moved.

venom gave you strength. he gave you power.

he gave you life when you were without.

god.

how the fuck were you gonna hide this from the squad?

#cod #cod fanfic #cod x reader #gender neutral reader #venom reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #venom au

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ourmadmusings · 11 months

Text

‘Come home,’ the Hexie mountain said, to begin another end -

Miguel O’Hara is a proud man - he’s built a reputation from zero, the leader of the spider-people, tasked with the fate of the multiverse. He’s proud of the burden he’s placed on himself, if he didn’t shoulder it, who would? With such great responsibility, it warrants great sacrifice. Sacrifice is something he’s very friendly with, the concept hangs on him like a tattered blanket, the idea that at any moment, it can and will get worse. And worse it does get. He comes back from a long and tedious mission only to find a smiling Jess at his control center, “I think I found someone you’d be keen to meet, O’Hara.” She’s standing proud, back straight as you peek around her back, bent slightly at the waist, you give a small wave. You’re smiling, despite the mask wrapped around your head, “hi, I’m fro-” “What did I say about bringing people back here without explicit permission?” He’s curt. His mask is intimidating, the red stands starkly around the black, but you can tell he's scrutinizing your every breath. “Well, hey, give’em a chance, will’ya? You haven’t seen what-” “No.” He’s turning his back to the two of you as quickly as he’d come in. “No variants that I don’t approve of in this operation. Protocol, you know that.” You feel yourself shrink back behind Jess subconsciously, trying to escape the fire. He’s quick to leave the two of you without another word. Jess offers some supportive words, that he’s not nearly as bull-headed as he’s pretending to be, just give him time to warm up. She sends you back home with a wry smile.

You fill your time at home, in your own world, doing your routine rounds. Keeping things in check when it happens - a soft hum turns into a static buzz, it pulls the hair to stand up on the back of your neck. The littering of pebbles on your building's rooftop start to pull away from the flat top, as if fishing wire had pulled them up in a pathetic magic trick. They come crashing down as a chorus of car alarms ring out around you, your feet carry you to the edge and you stare, wide-eyed, as Electro visualizes out of thin air. You take a second to consider the possibilities when you hear a familiar voice - “I knew we’d see more of you, kid.” It’s Jess, coming from behind you, “lend us a hand, let’s show O’Hara what you’re made of, yeah?” She’s smiling at you, springing into action without another word. You go through the motions with her, and she contains the anomaly, as she put it, so he’s ready for transfer. You’re only catching half of what she’s saying, “come on, Miguel, you’re being obtuse, we could always use an extra hand, we can keep’em on the back burner, let me lend a watch, please?” You hear the device on her wrist sigh, an exasperated fine, and a click. She tosses you a gold watch soon thereafter, “we’ll be in touch, honey.” She’s all smiles, winking at you as she speeds away, a dark cloud opens up, several spider-people emerge, collect the out-of-place Electro, and everything goes silent.

You get called back to the citadel a few weeks later. It’s all hustle and bustle, a perky brunet meets you with a rather standoffish spider, he’s all smiles as he pulls you back through the halls, explaining the in’s-and-out’s. He does a bang-up job explaining the transfer systems, containment, how the watches work to connect the web of spiders to one another to help sort out anomalies in the multiverse, it’s our job, he says with hands on his hips, to make sure none of us have to sacrifice more than necessary. You’re trying to convey your understanding from behind the mask, “you can take it off here, you know?” The tall man says, he’d been close on your heels, never really chiming in on your little tour until now, “we’re all pretty safe here. All things considered,” he mumbles the last part, but you tell them you’d be more comfortable keeping it on for now, “ah, you’re probably smart for that,” Hobie finally says. You’re not sure what he means, but you’re thankful he lets it go after that. The tour ends at the control center, you’d been here before, you tell Pav. He’s a little surprised when you tell him you’d even met O’Hara before. Not formally, of course, but he’d made your acquaintance. Hobie laughs, “yeah, well, he ain’t one for chit-chat.” “Enough,” he finally chimes in, just as curt as you remember, and in habit you shrink into yourself, “don’t you have somewhere else to be?” “Oh, yeah…” Pav trails off as he grabs Hobie’s arm, pulling him away. They’re quick to say their goodbye’s to you and head off into the hallways, leaving you with mister boss-man himself, alone. He’s bigger this time, it feels like. Or maybe you just feel smaller. You’re not quick to say anything this time, without his mask, you can see the scowl on his face, he looks tired. The urge to comment bubbles in your guts, but you busy yourself picking at the hem of your glove - “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself, Spider-woman from Earth twenty-fifty-four?” You’re not sure what he means by the Earth part, but you feel your back go rod-straight, “O-oh yeah, sorry I’m-” “Don’t apologize,” he sounds frustrated, “I already know who you are, I’ve been keeping an eye on you at Jessica’s request.” “The Spider-woman who brought me here the first time, right? The one who gave me the watch?” You’re trying to keep up with everything, but the way he stalks over to you, eyeing you up and down, scrutinizing your every move is unnerving. You’re sure he’s doing it on purpose, trying to intimidate you, and you hate to admit that it’s working. The hair on the back of your neck has been itching since Pav and Hobie said goodbye. “Yeah, that’s right. Can I ask, why are you keeping your mask on in here?” It sounds like a genuine question coming from him, like he’s a little hurt you don’t trust the safety he’s built yet. “Oh, just - Uh, just cause.” You smile under the mask, nervous and apprehensive. You don’t want to admit that you’re intimidated by him, the mask being your only source of mock-confidence in situations like this. “It’s just more comfortable.” “I know that’s a lie, mine gets so muggy I can hardly stand it some days.” He’s turning away from you as he says it, the blase way in which the statement rolls off his tongue surprises you a little. Maybe he’s offering an olive branch, trying to ease you into his presence. “When I first started all this stuff, I used to keep a dryer sheet tucked behind my head.” You’re speaking before you realize, suddenly embarrassed, “it helped a little, but it was itchy…” you hear him chuckle, a low rumble from his place in front of you, he turns with the comment, “really? I’ve never heard of someone doin’ that, it really worked?” “Heh - y-yeah, but it would make my hair really greasy, too. I stopped doing it and just changed the material around my mouth to help instead,” your hand flies to the back of your head, the faint itch from the memory lures your hand to scratch. His eyes crease with a smile, “that’s kind’a funny…” The quick conversation ends there and he gets to business, telling you where he needs you, what’s expected, and how to properly use his little device to catch an anomaly. He’s trusting you to go with a Peter variant, he tells you Peter B. Parker doesn’t venture out on missions very often anymore, though he’s very familiar with the tech, so he’ll help you, but you were in charge of the heavy lifting on this one - a trial run, he’d said. You thank him for the opportunity and tap at your watch until the portal opens, you step through and start your working-interview for the spider-society.

a/n: lets start from the beginning, how did a guy like you end up with O’Hara wrapped around your little finger? Pt. 1 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 -

#across the spiderverse #spider-man: across the spider-verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Anhedonia 1/2

Word count: 5,5 k (part 1) and 4,4 k (part 2)

"Think you're smarter than your lieutenant? Is that it?"

"No sir."

You coat your voice with steel. Stainless, similar to the knife he has strapped to his thigh. You would lick that blade clean if he asked gently, but he's not gentle. You'd flatten your tongue on his thighs too, if he asked nicely, if there was a chance he might pet your hair while you do it – but Ghost doesn't take pets.

He only has soldiers. Subordinates.

- - - - - - - - -

He's a mountain you want to climb.

A peak you wish to conquer.

But there's no basecamp, nothing to hold on to. You learn that relatively quickly, during your first weeks under his command.

And he's good. You find yourself wondering how on earth the man's not a captain by now. Perhaps they want to keep him on the field, because he earns his alias every day. He's a shadow no one sees before it's too late, he impregnates his enemies with bullets. Dead silent as he does it, or if he's in the mood, prefers to drive thick, sharp steel between the soft spot behind the collarbone.

It's ridiculous how your eyes steal their way to his left hand as soon as he rids himself of those skeleton gloves. To catch if there's a ring, a warning sign that he's taken.

He's not.

He notices – you're caught red handed. Caught like a fly in a web.

So you decide to go cold on him. Prove that it was just a sweep of a gaze, not a probe, a giveaway.

"Think you're smarter than your lieutenant?"

You're doing it now as he questions you, tries to bully you into submission. You guide your eyes right behind the top of his head, which makes it seem you're looking at him although you're not.

And it drives him crazy.

"Is that it?"

It's the first time you're here, in a silent office booming with his barks. But you know you're under scrutiny from now on. Caught his attention, just like you wanted to with that little stunt of yours.

"No sir."

You coat your voice with steel. Stainless, similar to the knife he has strapped to his thigh. You would lick that blade clean if he asked gently, but he's not gentle.

You'd flatten your tongue on his thighs too, if he asked nicely, if there was a chance he might pet your hair while you do it – but Ghost doesn't take pets. He only has soldiers. Subordinates.

You pull your gaze down to his at last, allow him to see the yawning hunger in your stare before you blink it away.

He draws air through the mask, and you wonder if the skull he's sewn onto the black textile came from a real human.

"Dismissed."

- - - - - - - - -

At some point, you notice that Ghost isn't just a good commander. He's a man on a powertrip, and a fucking bully.

He treats you different, like you’re made of glass. You’re a fresh arrival, but you’re also the only woman on his team, so you figure your Lt is just a good old “gentleman”. You’re always the last to enter a stormed building and the first to get back on the plane. You almost hope there would be some hazing, a rite of passage, but there’s only plentitude of cold shoulder, a roaring lack of trust in your abilities.

You pull more stunts. Clear his upstairs, take some bullets for him - and he doesn't even notice. It’s just that you didn’t know there would be a bomb planted in there as well. The warning comes right after you’re done cleaning.

"Wha' are you doin' - get outta there…!" He does forget to swear, and you notice too late that his accent grows thicker when he's worried. To the marrow of his bones, you would say, but that assumption would be even thicker than his Mancunian – to expect that he cares a single flying fuck about you.

He only wants to stay out of it. Doesn't want blood all over his hands, go to sleep with the knowledge that some kindly relatives get a death notification of a soldier that used to belong to him.

Maybe that's why he's the first to arrive - how the hell is a man so huge capable of being so quick? - to assess the damage.

"What the fuck have I told you-" he starts before he sees the state you're in. Half of your left sleeve blown and burnt off, revealing second-degree burns and jagged skin. The side of your hip bruised by shrapnels, some of the fragments tickling inside the flesh, ugly debris that will soon cause an infection or worse. You'd still say you got out lucky.

"I dunno. What have you told me?"

I did well, didn't I?

You lie there like it's nothing, back against a half crumbled wall and a spoil of bodies around you. Victorious, because your body is the only one that's still breathing. If anyone else had done this, he would praise them on a job well done, on the site, on the spot. With a lighter tone to that charred voice. Then call for a medic.

But inside, you're feeling cold. You disobeyed orders, so there will be no praise for you. Creeping shock takes you with it as the ice seeps further into your chest and your arms start to tremble.

By the look of it, you'd say he's infuriated.

But that doesn't stop you from laughing when you see the look in his eyes, the only part of him that shows skin, shows emotion behind all that gear and ombre of his mask.

Blood bubbles on your lips, coating pearl white teeth in crimson froth.

Shit… Things are far worse than you thought.

And he blinks. Scans what you can't force your own eyes to look at. The reason why you're gurgling blood.

A tiredness spreads through your limbs, so profound that it surpasses even his usual state of exhaustion. You barely discern how beautiful those pale, almost white eyelashes are against all that darkness.

Something inside you breaks, gives in to the cold. It allows his stare to pass right through. It grips your heart and soothes your wounds.

You almost tell him he would be a fine leader if he wasn't such an asshole.

"Haul me back, will you, Lt?"

He's struck silent, like the blood on your lips and the manic laughter had weaved a spell that binds him mute.

His arm twitches, disguises the jolt into a motion to reach and lift you up, not in a fireman's carry, but close to his chest; bridal style, like you're his heart's chosen one.

You tell yourself it's only the shock speaking. He carries you like this because of the gut wound.

- - - - - - - - -

"You tryin' to get yourself killed or you just wanna end your career?"

He sits next to your bed while you wake up, high on opioids and tied to an IV.

Nice to see you too.

He leans on his elbows, legs spread wide, and with an annoyingly soft look inside the sockets of that skull. It almost fools you: that he might actually care. And of course he does. Just not about you. Only about his own reputation as a superior who almost had their KIA count crawl up by one soldier.

"Hey? You still wi' me?"

You know you passed out in his arms. Only to wake up to the sound of his voice: in a bed less staunch than his embrace, as you notice to your horror.

You wonder whether he had ever even left you. Whether he had sat on that chair as a hulking sentinel for hours. Or days. The thought makes you more drowsy and content than the morphine running through your veins. The odd intimacy falsely makes it seem that this is not an interrogation, but a hushed discussion between teammates. Friends, dare say.

"What have I done wrong this time," you sigh, more as a statement; but he answers a question.

"You didn't obey orders."

"I did, I tried to get out as soon as-"

"Don't get me started on how ya ended up there in the first place." He raises his voice, an order for you to stuff your explanations up your arse. Under his breath, he continues. "A fuckin' poor excuse for a soldier..."

Bright, searing light flashes before your eyes as you hear what he never even meant to be a silent whisper for his ears only.

"You're a fucking bully," you croak a weak, dry rasp, voice coated with tension like a string about to snap in two.

And it shuts him up. For a second or two, at least.

"If that's what it takes to get you to obey orders then I'm happy to be one."

"Happy?" You feign a laugh, then wince when you feel a blunt pain between your ribs. "Do you even know what happiness is?"

He leaves.

- - - - - - - - -

"You feelin' better?"

He stops you at the base as you brush past him like he doesn't even exist. He's standing wide and tall as you turn, hands clasped in front of him. Over his cock, you can't help but notice.

Some distant voice tries to tell you that he only tries to offer you a truce. But even the idea of Ghost worrying about your health makes your stomach turn.

"Yeah, had a nice little vacation from your barking. I'm feeling splendid."

He gives you a once over with a gaze turned steel.

"You better quit with that tone, soldier."

"Or what?"

You take a step, and notice he has to fight some urge – to back away, or to take a step forward to meet you, you cannot say. It encourages you to start some shit. It makes you want to throw caution to the wind and rip out his throat.

"You better quit with the fucking bullying 'cause it doesn't work on me. Try something else for a change. Sir."

The hallway echoes with your piercing spurt of words. You sound childish, but he takes it all in like a sponge. Stands taller still, looks down at you like a dark, unwavering maw.

You expect more barking. Furious shouting, spit flying if it wasn't for his mask. You expect a slap – no, a fist to your face, or a giant hand clamped around your throat to remind you of your place.

You expect him to threaten you with being dismissed for fucking good.

But instead, the wide blown eyes get half covered with heavy lids, smudged paint running to the creases to reveal how pale his skin is under all that black. The liquid in his stare turns to solid glass, but not before you catch a flash of chutzpah.

- - - - - - - - -

The following week is horrid.

He treats you like a princess. And not just when you're alone with him – precious few seconds, barely a minute every now and then – but when you're at work. On the field.

He humiliates you in front of your teammates. Showers you with attention and praise.

Tries something else for a change.

You come back soaked and shaky, barge into your room only to send fingers down as soon as you're out of your gear and cleaned up. You think about his hands, the forearms covered in faded ink and bulged veins and the muscles that bunch as he tucks a gun against his shoulder. You think about his stare that locks gazes with you as he leans back against the hull of a plane, you replay his voice in your head, the thick smoke that loses all blaze and cools down into soft embers as he asks if you're in position.

Everyone else can hear his purr, everyone is thinking by now that the two of you got something going on. Everyone else gets unemotional distance and professional sharpness.

You come against your fingertips, so wet that it's difficult to rub through the afterwaves with precision. You're near the point of tearing up as you stifle the moans which threaten to echo all the way to the hallway, betraying your desperate longing for his cock.

You would get in position for him if he was just a tad nicer, if there was any promise of those cruel arms holding you after.

After only a few days of hearing his feigned care and concern through the comms, you march into his office.

"I'm fucking done with you," you slam the door shut so no one else has to hear how you unload weeks of frustration on him.

"Is that so?"

You feel like you're a storm, an entire tornado in one woman, but he remains calm, doesn't even bother to get up from the leisurely position he's in – on a chair far too small for him. Plucks you like a chord, nibs at you like a wound that tries to heal into a scar but is not allowed to.

"You just want me to quit this shit, don't you? Is it because I'm a girl?"

You hear yourself breathe, know he's thinking you're hysterical. He asserts dominance simply by not taking any part in this absurd little fit of yours.

"What the fuck have I ever done to you?"

You think it's a reasonable enough question, that he is a man who would welcome tearing down every last scene of this stupid charade too. But he merely stares at you, calm as he ever can be. Spreads his legs further apart, and you catch a bulge – it's difficult to tell, because he's wearing field pants and not jeans, but you can almost swear the motion is meant to disguise a swelling erection.

And even the concept, the idea of him getting off on you screaming at him and making yourself a fool after he has just humiliated you, causes something to crash and burn.

"You're just a psycho," you accuse, not being able to come up with anything better. His eyes narrow with a smile, tired pools of brown that tell you he thinks the exact same thing of you, especially when you're the one who's freaking out here. Getting wounded and losing your shit during the first few months on the job.

The look could be mistaken as affectionate, but you know he's just tired. The smile makes him look slightly drunk – and not with love.

"Then what does that make you?"

You blink and stare, blink and stare, just like you have always done with him when he's being a dodgy asshole.

"The fuck do you mean?"

"No need to play games with me, luv."

Your chest is heaving. Your heart is pounding. Saliva pools into your mouth before you send it down with a throat-wrenching swallow.

Luv.

You're caught, wrestling and strangling in his web, and you know it – he knows it.

"What games," you still try, try your all to make him break first although you already know that's not going to happen in a million years.

"I know ya want my cock."

"Huh- wha-..." You stutter like a moron at first, then find your English again. "Excuse me?"

"Want it so bad I bet you're wet even now."

It only adds to your shame that it takes you a moment.

"I'm out of here."

He laughs.

He fucking laughs as you go.

The waves of darkness follow you to the door. And the thing is, you're unable to leave. You march away with horror in your chest, with weak legs and an aching cunt and a burning heart, but none of it makes you turn the knob.

"You forgot something?"

His voice is molten, burning velvet, and your stomach lurches, your pussy throbs.

"It's right here if ya want it."

You quiver a sigh, turn slowly, the sound of squeaking boot soles on the vinyl floor being a fitting melody to how your will finally breaks in half.

Everything bends under his searing gaze, and you're still breathing like you had just run a mile, your heart pounding in your ears instead of your chest where it belongs.

"What happens if I do? Want it?"

Your heart can be heard in your question which shimmers between you until he drops one giant hand on his thigh, just a fingerbreadth away from the thick tent between his legs.

"You get fucked. Hard."

You're not smart enough to suppress the faint breath before it escapes through your teeth. The creases at the corner of his eyes deepen, they reach under the mask.

"What if I want you to be gentle?"

You sound pathetic. Weak. He doesn't buy it, doesn't understand that what you're asking is actually part true… No, your most secret wish.

"As if."

"What?"

"As if you wanted it gentle." He mocks you over and over again, and it pricks at the back of your neck, like an itch you cannot reach.

"You don't know shit about me."

"You're making it pretty hard to get to know you, sweetheart."

The term he uses eats its way through your skin like a worm, starts to fester like a spreading plague right beneath your heart.

"I'm not your sweetheart."

He cocks his head, only slightly. A gesture that reminds you of an anaconda trying to decipher whether the animal in front of them is a plaything or prey with teeth.

"Hurts my feelings when ya say that."

You don't take the bait: ridicule or point out that he has no feelings.

You just wait. The time of prancing and dancing is over, and you're tired. Worn out.

The tension of weeks, the restlessness of sleepless nights and adrenaline induced faps do not end with a seize of a wrist, a hungry kiss or him smashing you up against a wall. It all ends with him rising from the chair with a rustle of fabric and a creak of wood, and you hear yourself swallow.

I never meant to hurt your feelings, the little girl in you whispers with a puny voice, the girl who believed in fairytales as a child.

But the grown ass woman knows the man before you is only here to take what he wants, which is nothing more than to drive his cock inside your cunt. There's nothing romantic about it, he just wants to empty himself into you like he would empty a gun into unsuspecting flesh.

Still, you search for some emotion as he walks to you, some cue or clue that he has feelings too – and you want to slap yourself for it.

You square your shoulders and bring yourself down to his level, which means you have to transform yourself into a cock thirsty slut. Not that it requires much of an effort. It comes fluidly, far too easily, especially when he looks at you like he has already stripped you. Like he has done it a hundred, if not thousand times before: took your clothes off with his eyes. Traced the way your ass and breasts swell inside camos and field shirts and how they press against concrete as you take support for your aim or sit down on a plane, how the fabric stretches to curve and hug the flesh he wants to sink his hands and teeth into.

He stops a breath away, the breadth of his shoulders looming over you like a tower. A summit you can't reach.

You remember a name, something not uttered around the base, even if everyone knows it.

"Simon," you breathe, and he staggers – takes a ghost of a step as if answering a call. It turns into switching his weight on the other leg, but technically, he's closer now, close enough to drown into. "Why are you so mean?"

You can hear his teeth clash together as he clenches his jaw. You're walking on a tightrope, and you're faltering, far more wobbly than he. That question is tender meat, it allows him to see a glimpse of the girl, silken soft, innocent and plush, trusting. It causes a glitch, confusion he's not familiar with.

Then he lifts his chin, just a hair's breadth.

"Thought you wanted me to be."

It's almost sentimental, what he says. How he says it. Equally soft… Tentative, inquiring. He's still bone and steel and tendon, but his eyes and voice are not. They're a relic from a distant past, and you stand there, agape.

You dare to hope that there's more to this man, that he isn't here to retaliate. That you're not here to be punished. You risk a flutter of lashes as you scan his face – his bone charade, a prison – up and down, then swallow a decision with a solemn intake of air.

"Where do you want me?"

You're sanguine, almost flirty, but your offer hits nothingness.

There's no additional giveaway to him having any kind of longing, other than the longing to insert himself inside you and take whatever sick pleasure he gets from torturing you. The brief slant was just a fish hook to be sinked into your lungs and carry you to the shore for him to gut and roast. Feast upon.

"Desk."

It's too late to back down now.

Not that you even want to.

You stuff your heart down your throat before it spills up in tears, then slip past him, to the furniture he wants to be your marital bed.

He watches, shoulders rising with heavy breaths as you undress. Shoes and pants end up in the same heap you soon step out of. You enjoy the flash in his eyes at the notion of you wearing strings – something so impractical and uncomfortable yet sultry under all that durable, heavy canvas. A woman emerges from the waves of thick fabric meant for a soldier. Some Aphrodite.

Well, it's something for him to think on after this. Something to torment himself with while on missions if this is to be just a one time only slip.

The bulge in his pants is even more visible now. Demanding, and it adds to the warmth already pooling down below as you set yourself up on that desk, near the edge, for him to feast upon.

You don't spread your legs for him, though. You want to make him work for it. You simply shiver as the cold wood meets your skin, but even more shaky you get when he doesn't have to go through the same ordeal as you. He simply opens the front of his pants and tugs the fabric down, just enough to allow the hefty thickness to spring free.

And it doesn't exactly spring, because it's so immense that you have to do a double take. It simply vaults, bounces up once when seeing you on that desk. You throb at the sight of him, even if he doesn't give you much – he's still fully clothed, with his mask on, only cock jutting out and hands liberated from black gloves with bones printed on them.

His balls hang heavy beneath the veined weight of his cock, and you instantly think about how you're going to fare with at least a week load of cum about to be stuffed inside you. You've had a hand down your pants almost every night for weeks on end, while he has been staring at you with a thickening haze of lust and what seems to be a pair of heavily encumbered nuts.

You don't even notice how your mouth drops open in hungry astonishment.

"Have seen that look before," he brags, and you snap your mouth shut.

Fucking manchild.

He grabs the veined girth like it's his favourite weapon, something he's proud of, and your legs part by themselves for him to step in between. He doesn't have to work for it after all.

"Knew you wanted it," he rubs it in your face like someone who has passed an IQ test with genius scores.

There's nothing ceremonial about the way with which he spreads your lips with the thick tip, slides up and down to coat himself with your wetness, ample amounts of it. It only takes a probe or two for him to find the right angle, and you help him instinctually, offering yourself to him as he slips inside.

The hungry clench grips him immediately, making it a long, arduous journey for the both of you as he has to practically force himself in. But it's worth every thick inch, and your head tilts back with a moan.

"Yeah… Sing f' me, just like that," he cheers you on, and you feel a trickle of hot, wet cream run down your ass. Your slickness is probably running down his shaft by now, too. He adjusts his stance, comes closer, so close that you feel like you are sheltered by his upper body, the shoulders that form a warm cave around you.

And your body betrays you. His praise makes you tight around him, and he groans. You bite your lip at the sound while he takes his time with a few exploring thrusts, then settles fully inside, like you're his new home.

"Nice 'n' snug, just like I thought," he turns toward your ear, the edge of the jarred skull brushing your cheek and making you flinch. He sounds appreciative, relieved, like you're his little treat after a hard day. He's been thinking about you, imagining how tight you'd be for him…

"Didn't take long for you to spread your legs for me."

And he has to be an asshole about it. Has to tear you down a bit for every inch of vulnerability. Your teeth sink in the inside of your lip from the sheer heartache, a little too hard.

"Didn't take long for you to offer your cock to me," you cut back, tasting blood on your tongue. He chuckles.

"An offer you couldn't refuse," he muses, satisfied with himself.

His hand comes to cradle your shoulder, then slides down your back. It feels… feels like a caress. A fond, loving touch. Paired with the thickness spreading you open for him, it also feels like hell.

You grab hold of him, fingers curling around the slippery fabric of his jacket. He allows you no skin, and you try to hold on to the sleek shield you can't get past.

"No," you admit with a panted sigh as he slowly glides in and out of you. "Is this how you break in all your new recruits?"

He doesn't offer a witty comeback, but the silence is stretched further by the fact that he stops moving.

"’S not about breakin' in," he finally answers, resumes to thrust slowly. Agonizingly slow, like he wants to commit this moment deep into memory. Not a quick rut then, as you had expected, hoped, even. But the feeling of thick heat, the brush of his pelvis on your clit, has you clinging to him like he's your knight in shining armor.

And he's gentle with you.

Gentle.

It makes you want to kiss him, lift that mask just enough to have a taste of his neck, see his mouth just before it opens to devour yours.

"You didn't- ah- answer the question." Your shaky breaths must be music to his ears, but you decide that's all he's going to get. He knows now that you're jealous of his attention and his cock.

"Not here to answer your questions," he says, but you hear a lacing on top of it: amusement. "Just wanna hear your pretty cries."

Even if he's far more tender than you had expected, his cock soon pounds into you seamlessly. Fat, urgent. You stretch around him, hear the slickness and an occasional squelch guide him through the thrusts with ease. A lewd fucking that has his shoulders shaking as he reaches for a better hold of you, almost enough to call it a hug. His tightening balls hit against the hard edge of the desk instead of your flesh, but he doesn't seem to care at all.

"C'mon… Let's hear 'em," he coaxes, begs, almost, but you don't sing on command. Much less cry for a man who's tormented you for weeks on end.

"I'm not giving you anything," you utter while giving him loads of hungry cunt and tugging of clothes. If he was naked, he would have scratches all over his back by now.

"You drive me fuckin' insane. 'N' that's sayin' somethin'..." His hiss of an outburst causes you to recoil from him, or perhaps it’s the cause of his hands which thieve their way under the hem of your shirt. But he doesn't probe or squeeze. The touch is far from carnal, even if the palm hovers warm near your breasts. It settles against your ribs, a featherlight caress across the healed wound you suffered not too long ago because of him.

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes.

Fuck… You might open your legs for him, take gunshots for him, but you're not going to cry for him.

"Good, then we're both crazy," you whisper while trying not to choke on a flood. He hums – it's a rumble that rises from his chest and ends in his smoke-burned throat. And for every bit of weakness, he allows you a peek of his own fragility. It's a transaction, you assume, only used to trap you further into the abyss.

"You've dreamed of this, then?" The shadows sigh into your ear, ravenous.

"Mh," you nearly sob. You tell yourself it's just a noise that happens to erupt, not a confession. But he's the jury and the judge, decides your whimper is a full-scale avowal.

"Mmh…" he mocks with a satisfied rumble in your ear, overjoyed with the bare minimum of a moan you just gave him.

For a moment you fear you're dealing with a starving narcissist. He's praise-starved, love deprived, but good at what he does, and you feel yourself clench around him again. It's an increasing grip this time, not a throb or a suck. The first sign of an approaching orgasm, and it drives him over the brink far too soon.

"Fuck– I'm close," he pants, slightly alarmed. "What about you luv?"

"Not yet," you lie, and he believes you because it dips right inside his deepest fear, like a finger poking an open wound.

"My cock's not good enough for you?"

He discloses something precious: women are usually writhing in his arms by now, but you're not screaming, you're not crying and coming. You're not coming at all, because he's too greedy, too lost in the solace of you.

It's kind of sad, how fiercely you've masturbated at the thoughts of him, only to get the real thing and have it end too soon. You want to surrender and lean back on the cold desk, show him how good you can be as you wrap up around him and make lots and lots of noise just for him, only for him…

But your fingers find an opening, they steal their way under the mask and trace his blood heated neck, and you know he's not going to last – and you have to tear him down while he's at his weakest.

"It's good enough..." you give him the truth and a Judas kiss, knowing he will gobble it up like cake. Slowing down isn't going to do shit, the man is a split second away from heaven, and you tell him what's the matter with a whisper.

"...but you're not."

He comes right then and there with a throaty moan, the most agonized wail you've ever heard leave him. His back arches as he tries to bury himself deep, sweat breaks upon your fingertips from the shame and fury – caused by your words or the fact that he came before giving you your peak, you can't tell.

You feel him throb inside you, like a pulse of a powerful heartbeat before his shoulders cave in, rendering him fragile. A crumbling colossus, too heavy to bear his own weight.

He allows himself only a breath or two. They break upon your skin, somewhere between neck and shoulder, the humidity of his torment nestling in the valley behind the collarbone where he usually shoves knives in. Then he withdraws like a wounded soldier, leaves you emptier than you were before you even knew him, leaves only a fat trickle of combined cream and cum behind. It begins a steady trail down your perineum, ends up on the desk, like a proof that this is all you two are good for.

You're on display, your destroyed and hungry cunt winking against cold air, mourning the loss of his thickness. Your skin aches for the callus of his palms, the touch of them far more reverent than you had ever imagined.

He tucks himself inside his pants without sparing a single glance your way. An injured animal that needs to seek shelter to lick his wounds.

You feel terrible pity, a sinking fear and a blast of guilt upon noticing you might've been wrong. You want to apologize, not as a heartbroken, scorned woman – but as a girl who only wanted everyone to be happy.

"Simon…"

He zips his pants – an audible hint meant to tell you that he got what he wanted, and nothing more. It's like witnessing a giant's limp, and you want to fall on your knees and beg forgiveness.

The voice that follows cuts deeper than the bullets you took for him.

"Dismissed."

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