🔭

You peered down at him as if seeing him for the first time and wrinkled your nose with renewed embarrassment. “Hi, down there,” you murmured through a nervous laugh. The gauzy overhead lights swathed the room in a murky amber like swimming through honey, his stark blue eyes oddly anchoring through the fuzzy shadows.

“Hey there, pet.” The hem of your babydoll top tented over his head as he skimmed his lips across your navel, his wiry pepper-and-salt beard tickling your sensitive skin. A satisfied hum rumbled in his throat upon feeling the tremor of your skin under him—the way your breathing immediately fell out of rhythm.

The button of your denim shorts popped off with a soft clink and he dragged the shorts down with your panties without delay.

“Comfy?” Price asked, squeezing the ball of your heel in his big hand and rubbing the soles soothingly, then drifting his hand up to your calf as he held your knees open around his head. His warm breath fanned against your slick cunt unhurriedly, a shudder going through you as you wrought your fingers through his hair and dropped your head back.

“Oh, shush.” Between your legs wasn't the best place for conversation, you thought, your cheeks burning, though Price seemed perfectly in his element, mouthing against your inner thighs. It didn't seem right to affirm how good all of this, something so wrong, felt—you liked it far more than you should—but actions speak louder than words anyway.

He lowered his face to the top of your mound, kissing softly, a heavy breath rumbling through his chest as his big hands roamed along your hips and your belly with a certain reverence. You certainly weren't his to love and to hold, but the taste of you, so tangible and pooling on his tongue, felt like holding you in the palm of his hand, the heartbeat between your thighs a persistent flutter.

Before you, Price's relationship with his son may as well have been nonexistent. That was especially true after the fateful night when his son decided to rekindle their relationship to introduce his new girlfriend, and brought home… you. The same broad Price had shagged one year ago. A mindless one night stand between deployments. Price had popped your cherry before Tommy even got to third base.

It wasn't cheating at the time; you weren't dating anybody back then. Not officially, at least. You wanted to gain some experience before standing ten toes in with the guy you were seeing, learn what you were getting yourself into so you could do it right, on your own terms, when the time came.

Price could've, should've kept it that way—clean, in the past. You probably wouldn't have been able to stay with Tommy after knowing what his dad sounded like in bed, but you would've moved on eventually. But Price, when presented with the forbidden fruit right in his backyard, knew right then that he wasn't going to stay away. It wasn't in his nature. Tommy may have been the result of a mistake—another, one night stand—but you were no mistake. No one could convince him otherwise. He chose you and continued choosing you between every, 'We shouldn't be doing this,' and, 'We should stop meeting like this,' leading into bed.

His tongue dipped between your folds, just tasting, lapping up the slick that gathered there with your hips twitching against his mouth, his throat bobbing as he looked up at you and tilted his head.

“Is this cunt off limits, baby?” There it was. You hesitated, feeling quite dumb and exposed with your legs spread around his shoulders while he reminded you that you in fact weren't supposed to be doing this, and wanting to beg him not to stop now. Quite frankly, Price was having fun. Watching you get all wound up and off-balance with an amused crinkle around his eyes, though he presented a sympathetic croon at your plight. Price was unfair.

He bit a fair chunk of your thigh for a reaction. “Come on, baby, tell me. Should I stop touching you here?” You shuddered as the pad of his thumb circled your clit languidly, tugging on his hair on instinct, a traitorous trail of arousal running down the cleft of your ass.

“Stop it--”

“Stop touching-?”

“No!” A whiny, petulant noise unlike anything you've heard from yourself filled your ears, you may as well have been kicking your feet. “Stop bein' gross.”

That earned a truly hearty chuckle from Price—the old, distinguished kind, crow's feet deep. Pearly strands stuck to his fingers as he pulled his hand away from your seam, caressing your thighs as if calming a small, angry animal. “Gross? You're right, baby, we should stop. I mean, look at you—you're soaked. This is just filthy, darling. You don't want these dirty old hands touching you, do you? This is gross.”

“That's not what I-” You were getting all puffed up and red, he knew. Overwhelmed, even. It required too much brainpower to keep up with his games while your cunt was all achy, and his mouth was right there. “Please don't stop, Iʼm so, so wet, I don't wanna think about him right now-”

All in one, long-winded breath.

“Atta girl.” The vibrations of his voice rumbling through your sensitive bundle of nerves made you gasp out, his middle and ring finger plunging inside your cunt before you could ever catch your breath. The achy throb between your legs was tuned into a deep, perfect fullness that left no room for thought as his fingers curled inside you.

You never mentioned 'him' in these moments, refused to acknowledge his existence altogether. But that was too safe, too easy. Price didn't offer you the respite of ignoring reality, to languish in a safe little bubble where you forgot your obligations to your lover for a while. That might have went over with another man, but not one like Price, who thought the forbidden—Or perhaps just seeing you compromise your morals for the pleasure he gave you—was half the fun.

Spit and arousal alike dripped down your cunt while he slurped and lapped at your center, thick, deft fingers squelching inside you. His lips closed around your hood, sucking gently as he let out a muffled groan that pulsed through you. "Christ,” Price hissed against you, drawing your hips closer as you mashed your cunt against his mouth. “There's my girl. Don't fucking come until Iʼm inside you. Wanna feel you come all over me.”

The sound of his zipper unfurling made your eyes fly open, met with the blurry sight of a water-damaged ceiling through tears you didn't realize had sprung in your ears. His moans down below had grown more feverish by the minute, and you realized he was fucking his fist. You propped yourself on your elbows as you guided Price's head down on you and let your gaze fall over him, the fabric of his trousers stretched across his thighs as he kneeled on the carpet with his hard cock in his free hand.

“Price-” You preened his name brokenly, only to earn a muffled grunt from him against your clit, his tongue flattening against your folds with each lap. The muscles in his forearm jumped and tightened, veins standing out as he crooked his fingers and worked that spot in sharp, merciless curls. Too close—your thighs cinched around his ears, your fingers curling in his hair like you meant to drag him off, but you only pulled him closer.

Price slid his fingers from your cunt with a wet spray and a whimper fell from your lips, your hips jerking against the air uselessly.

You scrambled up the sheets as he climbed onto the bed, one knee on the mattress, then another. “You close, sweetheart?” Price cooed while settling between your legs, knees pressed wide to accommodate the breadth of his waist, your thighs tender from being scratched by his beard. His big hands haphazardly reached for the fabric of your top and ripped it over your head.

“I-Iʼm close-” You nodded your head, fisting up the sheets restlessly. His heavy cock rested against your seam, dragging back-and-forth through the mess while your walls clamped around nothing. “Please, need it-”

“Fuck—” Your breath mingled together as he pushed inside your heat with a guttural sound, your sloppy cunt practically drawing Price all the way in. “—That's it,” he grunted, “Gonna come for your daddy, luvie?”

You were already close—so close—every nerve pulled taut from what he'd just done to you, but it felt humiliating to finish as soon as he was inside, like some inverse of a teenage boy. Yet, your messy head of hair nodded wildly in the crook of his shoulder, wobbly legs criss-crossed behind his back.

The air knocked out of you as Price bottomed out fully, breathless cries spilling from your lips as your walls spasmed around his girth. His hips pummeled into you impatiently until your release slicked the way for his desperate strokes, a lewd, heavy slap of skin connecting with his beefy body bearing down on you, mattress springs groaning. A weak, trembling hand pressed against his stomach, trying to push him back, but his hand closed around yours, pinning it to the mattress as he drove into you through the oversensitivity, a guttural groan rumbling from deep in his chest.

“Ssh, I know, darling, I know,” he murmured, voice ragged, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It's my turn now. You can take it.”

— writing cheap sleazy porn intended to be sold at half-price bookstores as usual. just a quick oneshot to give my brain a break from my longer wips! you guys should be grateful i took a break from bingeing TWD to post something. + sorry if there's any inconsistencies in the tenses, iʼm a little rusty with using past tense ever since i started writing fics.

"ohhh, baby...." he whispers, turning your head in his grip so he can kiss at your cheek. the taste of those tears on his lips only makes him want you even more. he can't resist leaning up to kiss the corner of your eye.

"look at me," he coaxes softly before licking away a stray tear, slow and cat-like. "you're doing so good for papa."

"i can't," you reply hoarsely. "can't take it all..."

"you can take it, baby. you've taken it before, and you'll take it again. you like to feel how deep i fill you, don't you, princess? you love feeling how much i stretch you?"

"yes, papa," you whimper, "but—"

"shh, no but's sweetheart," he hushes you, starting up a punishing rhythm, his hips smacking against your ass. "see? you're takin' my cock so well. you like bein' a good girl for papa, don't you? you wanna make him happy 'n proud? wanna make papa feel good?"

"yeah," you moan as tears slip from your eyes. "wanna... oh, papa, feels so good..."

jack loves the way you sound, so eager and sweet and soft for him. those pretty eyes all watery, and the walls of your pussy clinging to him so fucking tight.

"thaaat's it, baby, cry it out. tell me, angel, who's your papa?"

"y– you are, you're my papa!" you sob against the pillow.

jack makes a low grunt of approval as he roughly thrusts his cock into you, forcing a cry from your lips. he kisses the crown of your head as his hands leave your hair, wrapping around your front and squeezing at your tits.

"that's right. your papa's right here, papa's got you," he whispers into your ear, "and you're takin' his cock like a champ, princess."

afterwards, when he's got you curled up in his lap, he mutters, "you were such a good girl for me just then, weren't you, sweetheart?"

you nod, eager to receive the praise. "mhm. and i only cried just a little..."

jack shakes his head at your words, amused by how you try to downplay it all. he knows you just love the tears and feeling so overwhelmed by him. he kisses your wet lashes, taking a moment to tilt his head down at you and grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Simon felt kind of ridiculous sneaking into his own house like this, late at night.

He’d only just got home the day before, but ended up being called in for a quick job early this morning.

This is the way it is, you know this. You knew when you married him.

Except you’d been so excited when he’d told you that he’d managed to get leave off for your birthday tomorrow, and as much as you tried, you couldn’t hide your disappointment from him. He saw the way your face crumpled when he told you. It felt like someone kicked him in the stomach. He’d rather that.

What you didn’t know is that he’d managed to come home again so soon, making your reluctant peace of spending your birthday without him.

Which is usually fine.

You’d celebrate birthdays the next time you saw him. Again, you knew what you were signing up for when you married Simon, except now since you’d been expecting him there for once, the disappointment was crushing you.

You didn’t hear when he unlock the door, or hear when he walked down the hallway. He could be deadly silent when he wanted to be, like a ghost.

You didn’t have a clue that the skull mask of a 6’4, deadly, muscle packed, highly trained, walking weapon of a special forces soldier was looming behind you as you washed the last of the dishes.

You gasped loudly as the crotch of rough combat trousers suddenly pins your hips to the counter in front of you.

You don’t even get a chance to turn around before one gloved hand is wrapping around your waist, pulling you tight against a solid body in full tactical gear, while the other is gripping your jaw, keeping it turned towards the window in front of you.

The darkness outside made it look like a mirror.

You take a sharp intake of breath when you made eye contact with him in the reflection. Beneath the skull mask of Ghost.

He stares at you, piercing gaze that felt like it was looking through your very soul.

You’re unable to hide your slight grin even by biting your lip. Heart pounding in your chest changing from shock to excitement.

Bringing your hand up to grip the wrist of the had he was using to hold your face, you tapped him twice with your fingers, your nonverbal sign for yes. Letting him know you wanted this.

You trusted him completely.

Feeling that signal seemed to kick him back into gear. He’d been almost waiting for your rejection but no. You wanted him, even like this.

He’d been a little hesitant when you’d asked for Ghost in the past, not liking the idea of you seeing him like this. But then he’d come home from a mission, dead on his feet from lack of sleep for over like 60 hours, maybe more, he doesn’t even know.

He’d not had a chance to get changed. When he walked in, in his full gear, only slipping the mask off when he was inside, he literally watched the way your eyes shifted from surprise to a heated look of arousal.

You weren’t scared of him like this.

Unfortunately, that day, as much as it pained him, he really had been too tired to do anything other than shower and pass the fuck out.

But now?

“Don’t. Move” Ghost all but growled the command in your ear, voice full of authority like he used in the field.

Moving his hand down to hold your throat, he applied a firm pressure against the arteries that makes you feel a little lightheaded in the best way. The tone of his rough, commanding voice makes you shiver, as you feel a new wave of arousal soak your underwear.

“Fuckin’ answer me” came another command when you didn’t acknowledge his words.

“Y-yes sir” you almost whine, barely able to form a sentence as your brain turns to mush almost immediately. He grunts in approval at your words.

You were wearing a ratty old t shirt, legs bare. Perfect.

The arm on your hip moved to grab the specifically dull knife (you didn’t need to know that) from the holster on his thigh.

He’d been planning this, waiting for the opportunity. He wanted to give you what you wanted, but like fuck would he actually risk any harm to you.

The arm that belongs to the hand on your throat rested across your chest to make sure you don’t even flinch when he presses the knife into the neckline of your shirt.

You shiver as you feel the flat edge against your skin.

“I fuckin’ mean it, don’t fuckin’ move” Ghost commanded again, then in one fluid moment, with a harsh ripping sound, cut through the back of your shirt. If the movement was mostly his strength and less the actual knife, you also didn’t need to know that.

You gasped at the shock, holding back an almost moan, unable to really believe he’s actually doing this for you but you’re so unbelievably turned on.

He made quick work of your shirt, and then holding you tight against him again, pressed the knife into your hips and cut away your underwear too.

You were nearly panting at this point, dizzy with the pressure of his hand on your throat and the pure need growing between your thighs. Your eyes had slipped shut and you were leaning most of your weight on the soldier.

Goosebumps rose across your skin as you feel the tip of the knife trace down the notches of your spine, then round your hips to trace down the centre of your chest, the cold metal making you shiver against him again.

“Such a slut, I’ve got a fuckin’ knife pressed against ya and I bet you’re fuckin’ soaked” Ghosts rough voice spat rather meanly in your ear.

You opened your eyes again meeting his in the window, and whimpered in agreement, unable to find your voice but you couldn’t help but press your thighs together in want.

“What did I just fuckin’ say? Stay the fuck still” another growled command came, as he held your throat tighter, only for a few seconds as the lightheadedness came and then went. The rough feeling of his gloves made you clench around nothing and you let out a whimpering moan.

Ghost threw the knife way on the counter with a clatter, then groped at your chest, giving your “pretty tits” he grunts, a self indulgent squeeze with his now free hand, then tweaking your nipple enough to make you whine.

He wrapped his arm around your bare hips to pull you as tight as possible against him. You can’t help but let out a moan again at the feeling of the rough buckles and material of his uniform rubbing against your completely bare skin. You moan again as he grinds his covered but obviously hard cock into your ass, the size of it unmistakable.

“You fuckin’ like this, pretty baby?” He grunts, hand wrapped around your waist slowly moving down to where you so desperately wanted him. “Gonna let the big bad soldier have his fuckin’ way with you.”

That last sentence wasn’t a question but you desperately tried to nod your heads against his hold anyway. He scoffed.

“So fuckin’ needy.” Simon muttered.

His harsh gloved fingers finally brushed through your slick core, making you whine his name and try to buck your hips into him.

It just makes him pin you harder to the counter with his own hips, using your ass for friction against his aching hard on.

Gathering some of your wetness, he rolled your clit under the pad of his covered finger. You were a whimpering mess already, sweating as your knees threatened to buckle. But Ghost held you up.

You’re clawing at the arms wrapped around you, moaning unabashed as he reaches down to slowly slip a gloved finger inside you, careful not to hurt you, with the palm of his hand still on your clit.

It’s a slightly bigger, harsher stretch than usual, and paired with the pressure on your bud has you trembling.

He works you quickly towards an orgasm, adding another finger and knowing exactly where to press to get you gushing.

You’re so close already, you’re a whimpering mess, clawing at any part of him you can reach, about to tip over the edge until…

Ghost pulls his hand away suddenly.You keen in disappointment of your orgasm being ripped away from you.

“Did I say you could fuckin’ come?” He spat, moving your head with the hand on your throat from where it fell back on his chest to make you look at his reflection again.

His now wet glove harshly tugs your nipple, making you yelp out at the sting.

You whimpered, shaking from how close you had been.

You shake your head no, babbling out a “please sir, ‘m sorry” as you try to roll your hips for more friction.

Ghost presses his hips hard into yours to cease your moving, and grinds his clothed length against your bare ass again.

His hand travels back down to your core, lightly circling your clit before he presses on it. Hard. You cry out at the sudden sensation.

“You cum when I fuckin’ say” he grunts, still moving against you, unable to deny himself a little friction on his insanely hard, throbbing cock anymore with how god damn needy you’re being.

“Yes, yes sir, anything you want, please, I’m yours, I’m yours to use, Lieutenant, please” you babble, brain like soup in your head at this point from how turned on you are.

Something snaps inside Ghost when he hears you use his rank like that.

He presses his cock into you one last time, groaning a breathy “fuckin’ hell” and then you’re suddenly span round, and being lifted up over his shoulder.

You squeal in surprise, but it’s quickly turned into a moan when Ghost spanks your ass cheek.

He marches to your shared bedroom and throws you down on the bed. You land with a little “oof” as you bounce, before he’s kneeling onto the bed and taking little effort to flip you around, so your ass is in the air for him.

You feel him grope at your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to see your drooling hole fluttering around nothing. Normally you’d feel a little embarrassed, regardless of how many times he’s done it, but you’re too far gone to care, you just want him to fuck you.

Ghost groans appreciatively at the sight, running a finger down your core to spread your wetness around. Pulling the bottom part of his mask under his chin, he licks a firm stripe up your cunt, taking you by surprise.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, such a sweet cunt, tastes so god damn good” he groans as your wetness covers his tongue.

You moan loudly at the contact, falling further into the bed when your muscles threaten to give out as he circles your clit with a firm tongue.

Already drawn tight from his earlier denial, it takes you almost no time at all to get back on that edge, whining out yes and please mixed in with his name and lieutenant.

You cry loudly when his tongue leaves you just as you’re about to fall again, only for it to be replaced with his still gloved finger, rubbing in the same rhythm his tongue was.

The slight pause had pulled you back from the edge slightly, but you desperately tried to rock yourself back into his hand, letting out a frustrated whine.

“You wanna come?” Ghost taunted, “fuckin’ beg me then. Tell me how bad you want it” came the commanding voice.

“Please, let me come Lieutenant, please I want it so bad, so bad please, please Lieutenant, you can do whatever you want to me, anything, just please let me come” you cry, spewing a mush of barely understandable words into the mattress below you as your hips desperately rocked against the iron hold he now has on your hips, because you won’t stop fucking moving.

The finger on your clit slows down again, making you let out a pained sob from being kept on the edge for so long.

Ghost tuts, “I dunno, I told ya to stay still but look at you, so fuckin’ squirmy”.

“Please” you sob again, so desperate for the release you can almost taste. You continue to babble brainlessly, not making much sense “please Lieutenant, wanna come so bad, only you can, please, Si, so mean, missed you, please I’m so close, love you, love your cock, your fingers, your mouth, all of you, please please please”.

Ghost finally takes pity on you and gives in, moving his mouth back over your clit to give you the friction you so desperately want.

His will is only so strong when your begging included how much you loved him.

It only takes two fingers crooking inside of you and a suck of your clit paired with a few flicks of his tongue before you’re finally, finally tipping over that edge.

Your back arches as you cry out uncontrollably, making the sound bounce off the walls.

Your body goes tight as you come all over his face, body lit up with intense pleasure. Ghost works you through your orgasm, drawing out every bit of pleasure he can from you.

But he doesn’t stop.

You’re swiftly approaching that pleasured pain of overstimulation as his tongue relentlessly sucks your throbbing clit.

You’re trying to move away from his assaulting mouth but his grip on your hips is too tight.

“Simon” you whine loudly, torn between wanting more and wanting less. You didn’t even have time to come down from your first orgasm before you’re already being thrown into another.

You nearly scream this time, forced into the intense orgasm that doesn’t seem to end, as waves and waves of bliss washed over you.

Thankfully, after your walls stop fluttering so dramatically, Ghost pulls away from your poor abused clit, and pulls his soaked, gloved fingers out of you.

You immediately sag into the mattress, held up only by Ghosts arm around you. He manhandles you again so you’re flipped on your back, thrown into the pillows, looking up at the half masked face of your husband, your slick spend covering the lower half of his face, and some of the skull itself.

The bedroom is quite dark, only the soft glow of your fairy lights illuminating the room, making the white of the skull seem to glow.

Making intense eye contact with you as you recover, panting, Ghosts hands go down to his belt.

You can’t help but glance down at the straining, heavy bulge in his combat trousers, as you watch him undo his the buckle.

Slowly, like a taunt, he undoes his trousers, the sound of him pulling the zipper down fills the room. You’re squeezing your thighs together again already at the sight of him, unable to take your eyes off of where he reaches into his trousers to pull out his thick cock. It’s impossibly hard, leaking profusely, flushed dark at the tip with want for you.

Ghost gives himself a few strokes with his gloved hand, unable to resist as he looks down at you. The way you’re looking at him makes his dick throb.

You’re looking at him with such an intense heat, flushed and sweaty with heavy, hazy eyes, panting slightly from both the orgasms and the truly erotic sight in front of you.

He chuckles slightly under his breath as he watches you watch him touch himself. You see the smile where he hadn’t pulled the bottom half of the mask back up.

“You really like this, don’t you?” He teases, tone lighter than it had been.

You blush further, if that was even possible and nod, biting your lip.

“I just love you,” you replied looking back to his masked face, voice breaking slightly from your earlier crying, but honesty in your tone, “all of you”.

You smirk deviously then, and add a “Lieutenant” to the end of your sentence while giving him a sultry look.

The last of his self control snaps. Grabbing your thighs, he bullies his way between them to lean down to give you a filthy kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth so you can taste yourself.

Satisfied you’re left panting again, his rough gloved hands hold the backs of your knees and he pushes them up to your chest, slotting himself behind you to rub his throbbing cock through your damp folds, letting your ankles drape against his shoulders.

You moan and jolt as the head of him catches your overly sensitive clit. He lifts your legs so they’re resting on his shoulders and bends over you.

“So fuckin’ desperate for me, you want this cock?” Ghost grunts, positioning himself at your entrance.

You nod furiously, mussed hair spreading around your head on the pillow like a halo.

“Please, please Lieutenant” you beg as you try to shift your hips to get him to sink his cock into you.

You yelp when he pinches your thigh in punishment for the movement.

“So fuckin’ greedy” he groans, but presses into you regardless, unable to resist you any longer. Especially when you keep using his rank like that.

Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his hot, heavy cock slowly sinking inside you. You can feel every vein, every ridge.

Your walls flutter around him as he slowly works his way in, carving space for himself inside you. The position he’s holding you in makes him feel impossibly deep. He leans forward to wrap a hand around your throat again, pressing ever so slightly.

Letting you adjust to him for a second once he’s fully seated inside you. He’s not small and he knows it. There’s a pretty big size difference between you both.

“Fuck, you take me so fuckin’ well baby” Ghost groans when he’s as far in as possible. His hips press against your ass, then slowly pulls out, a breath, and then with a fierce snap of his hips, he plunges back inside you with the weight of his body behind it, aiming his cock directly into your g-spot with military precision.

You cry out at the electric pleasure that pulses through you, hands scrambling to hold literally anything they can find to ground yourself.

Your hands grip the fabric of the various straps on his gear, almost pulling him closer if you were strong enough.

But you’re not.

He sets a relentless pace, slamming into you hard and fast, spewing filthy words into the air in a bit of a mindless ramble.

He grunted and groaned about how “you take my cock so fuckin’ well, so wet for me, such a needy slut, just need me t’ fill ya up huh? That’s what you want right? To be ruined by a big dangerous fuckin’ soldier? Can feel you clenchin’ ‘round me, fuckin’ hell, s’ fuckin’ tight” in been thrusts, pace getting harder and faster with every sentence.

His harsh pace has you flying into another orgasm, already overstimulated from earlier and you sob.

Ghost groans a “oh fuck, yes that’s it, my good fuckin’ slut, come on my cock, just like that” in pleasure as your walls tighten impossibly hard around his length.

You were an absolute mess underneath him. The angle of his cock hammering into the spongy spot deep inside you in a way that was making you see stars.

You’re moaning incoherently, only the words “Si”, “please”, “lieutenant” or “more” being understandable.

You’re pretty sure you’re crying.

Ghost is pretty sure too.

He can see the slight reflection of the low lights in the tears running down your face.

“Cryin’ on my cock huh?” He grunts the rhetorical question condescendingly. He decides wants to see properly.

Slowing his hip movements, he lets go of your body to lean over you further and turn the bedside lamp on.

A soft, warm glow fills the room.

You both take eachother in, in the better light. His hips had slowed down to a steady, but still hard pace and he watches your face, brows furrowed in pleasure when he thrusts particularly hard, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut as your mouth drops open in another moan.

Ghost scans over your form, taking in the way you’re gripping the arm of the hand wrapped around your throat now, nails leaving marks even through his clothing.

He looks at the light sheen of sweat across your body, how flushed you are from your face down to your pretty tits. He watches them bounce in time with his thrusts, eyes flicking back and forth between them and your pleasured face like he can’t decide which one he wants to watch.

Suddenly, you feel him freeze. Completely.

You scrunch your face up in confusion at the sudden lack of overwhelming pleasure, cracking your eyes open to look at him.

“Si?” You ask softly, moving your hand up his arm to the side of his masked face but his eyes are on your chest.

Well, more specifically, the left side of your chest.

Simon hadn’t noticed it in the dark earlier, and then his arm had been blocking it from view from the hand on your throat. You’d both shifted with his vigorous fucking and suddenly, he noticed it.

There, in an elegant swirly little scroll, right above your heart, sat the initials “S.R” tattooed permanently into your skin.

You quickly caught on to what he’d noticed. If you could have blushed more, you would have.

Simon’s hand leaves your neck to pull his glove off with his teeth. He chucks it behind him to trace over the ink with his bare fingers, the skin still slightly raised from only being a few weeks old.

His eyes wide, looking slightly bewildered. A look that had not graced his face under this mask before.

“Baby…” He says softly, looking back at your face for confirmation that it’s real, like he’s not really sure he sees it, or that it’s going to be some kind of joke. His eyes keep flitting between your face and the tattoo.

You just nod and smile at him, slipping your hands under the mask to take it off him. You’d wanted to surprise him. He has his wedding ring tattooed so you wanted something just as permanent.

The second the mask is gone, you get a glimpse of his flushed, truly adoring, devoted face and messy blonde hair, before he’s leaning down to pull you into an incredibly heated kiss.

The shift makes his cock press that much deeper inside you and you gasp into his mouth.

Your gasp kickstarts his hips again, as if he’s suddenly reminded he’s still buried in you, and slowly starts to rock his hips back into you.

He leans back again to look at the tattoo, spreading his large hand over your tit in a way that makes his fingertips brush the raised inked skin of his own fucking initials.

The concept of what you’ve done for him seems to be catching up now, after he was for once in his life, left speechless.

The sight of his hand being big enough to be able to spread over your tit to touch his name inked into your skin makes his hips rut deep into you, and a rough moan is pulled out his throat. He loses all self control after that.

You cry out as you’re suddenly being fucked at a furious pace. Simon moves his hands down to pull your hips against him in time with his thrusts, and bends over you so he can press his lips against the tattoo, kissing it and groaning with every snap of his hips. You feel his tongue darting out to taste the sweat on your skin.

Cradling his head against you, you pull at his hair, making him groan against you again as his hips somehow snap even harder.

“Fuckin’ hell baby” he outright moans against your skin.

“I love you so fuckin’ much” he groans breathlessly, “m’ perfect little wife marked up with my name forever.”

His pace is hard and fast, but the way he’s curled over you, rolling his hips into the spot that has you keening, pressing sweet words to your skin, pulling you to him with every thrust can be described as nothing but incredibly passionate.

“I love you, love you, love you” you chant, every love you getting louder as you start to fall into yet another intense orgasm, his name stretched out into a loud cry.

“Fuck, such a good girl, that’s it, come on my cock, belongs to you, only you, all of me, oh fuck, such a good tight cunt for me, love you so much, such a fuckin’ good wife, oh fuck I’m gonna- fuck” spills roughly out of Simon’s mouth onto the tattoo, as your orgasm rips his out of him.

He moans your name loudly, hips stuttering and thrusting incredibly hard into you, once, twice, and then he pushes himself as deep as he can, shoving you up the bed, rocking himself through his own intense finish, groaning still as you twitch around him.

You feel his warmth flooding deep inside you, right up against your cervix. You love when he’s unrestrained like this, his noises of pleasure being one of the hottest things in the world to you.

Simon tries not to collapse on top of you, as you both pant, coming down from your highs.

“Holy shit” he mumbles, suddenly feeling incredibly warm and sweaty in his full gear. He leans up to kiss you, both of you groaning slightly at the feeling of his cock still inside you, sensitive on both ends.

Moving the hair that’s stuck to your face, Simon gives you the sweetest kiss, the sensation making your toes curl in contrast to the hard fuck he just gave you.

“I love you” he breathes across your lips. Breaking away, he then leans down to kiss the tattoo again. You run your hands through his hair and he shivers.

“I love you too Si, so much” you say earnestly, but your voice is wrecked. Your eyes are already fluttering shut.

Despite your weak protesting, Simon managed to get you to come take a shower with him. He washes your hair for you, and presses kisses to anywhere his lips will reach.

When it’s your turn to wash him, he smirks slightly, raises his arm and flexes his tattooed arm.

Slightly distracted by his muscles under the spray of the water, it takes you a few seconds to notice the ever so slightly darker tattoo lost in the sea of others on his very inner bicep. You get closer to see what it is, since the water from the shower was obscuring and warping it.

You gasp quietly when you see it clearly, running your hand over it.

He’d gotten your first initial tattooed.

It was carefully hidden amongst the other skulls and military imagery, somewhere it’s incredibly unlikely that someone would ever see.

He didn’t want to make it obvious, he liked his personal life (you) private, wanting to keep it (you) to himself. His tattoo looked older than yours.

“Oh Simon” you sigh dreamily, smiling up at him with teary eyes. Your fingers stroke the tattoo and he lets you admire it for a minute before he lets his arm drop, and it’s gone from your sight.

“Fuckin’ love you” he mumbles as he pulls you into another heated kiss, “my pretty wife”.

He doesn’t let you leave the shower till you’ve come at least three more times. You deserved it after all, for being so sweet to him.

After the shower, you’re cuddled up in bed with your head on Simon’s bare chest, listening to his steady heart beat, freshly washed and fucked, again.

You sigh happily at the feeling of having your amazing, sexy as hell husband back in your shared bed. Back home.

You’re already on the brink of passing out. It’s well past midnight by now.

“Happy Birthday my love” he whispers anyway, pressing his lips to your temple as he pulled you close to him.

there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.

at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative— going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.

midnight schedule it was.

it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.

the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.

and then there was him.

tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.

the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.

(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)

he moved through his workout with terrifying

efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.

you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.

“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.

you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”

“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”

you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”

he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"

“i do not know his entire workout routine.”

your friend raised a brow.

you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”

his brow lifted higher.

“…and arms on thursdays.”

silence.

“right.”

“shut up.”

you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.

the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.

and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.

What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.

so, you stayed quiet..

until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.

in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.

“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”

“i use it,” you protested.

“you walk through it.”

okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.

you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.

you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.

the bar didn’t budge.

you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.

okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—

"y’need a spotter?"

you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.

you swallow. "uh."

his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"

"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."

he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.

your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.

"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.

you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!

he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.

"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"

you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"

"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.

you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."

you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.

he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.

a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.

but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.

"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"

he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."

you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?

he hesitates. "depends."

"on?"

"the day."

you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"sure it is."

you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.

it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)

you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.

"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."

and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”

he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”

you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.

"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."

you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.

“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”

“drop it.”

“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”

“drop it.”

some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.

it’s unbearable.

like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”

you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.

you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.

the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."

you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”

he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."

you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”

his eye twitches. “just drink it.”

and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.

one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.

you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.

simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.

"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.

you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”

he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.

"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.

you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—

his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.

"fix that grip, sweetheart."

you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.

"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."

your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.

his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."

you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.

you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.

and then— "good girl."

barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.

your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.

you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.

and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.

"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."

simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don’t do what, sweetheart?"

your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."

his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"

"yes."

he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."

you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.

"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."

your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.

"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."

low, warm, approving—

"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."

simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.

"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”

“please.”

the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.

simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.

his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.

his hips roll up.

you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.

he does it again.

your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.

"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."

his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.

his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.

you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.

"fuck-"

he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.

"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."

your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.

"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"

you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.

his patience snaps.

one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.

simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.

he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.

the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.

simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”

he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—

he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.

"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"

"yes- yes, please-"

"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."

he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.

the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.

"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"

you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.

his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”

your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.

simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”

you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”

he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.

your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.

his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”

then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.

you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.

simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”

he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.

his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”

you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.

his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.

“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”

he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.

then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.

his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”

the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.

simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.

he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—

he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.

"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."

your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"

"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"

you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"

"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."

you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."

then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.

you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.

"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"

you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

"s’not fair," you mumble.

"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.

"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."

you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.

"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"

you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.

when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.

then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—

you take him.

the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.

"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."

you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.

breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"

"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."

but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."

his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."

"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"

he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."

then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.

"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.

simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."

the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.

"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"

he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.

it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.

but you’re already gone.

your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.

"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"

you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.

he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.

"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."

"s-simon-"

"what, love? too far gone already?"

his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.

you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"

"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."

he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.

"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.

"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."

he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.

"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"

"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.

"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."

You’re both on the running track, doing your morning runs at the same time.

“On your right,” Simon grunts, just loud enough for you to hear. He pivots just a bit to your right so he can pass.

But then you also slide a bit to your right, speeding up on the way so that you’re still in front and blocking his way. When he tries going to the other way, you zig zag with him. Left, right, left, left, more left, right.

In the end, you stop when he stops. You turn towards him, eyeing him like a moldy meal you forgot to throw out.

“Oh. Hi, Lt.,” you say. “Didn’t see you there.”

“I told you to move, Sergeant,” he mutters.

“Sorry, Lt., what was that?” You cup your ears. “Couldn’t hear you over my music.”

You’re not even wearing any earbuds.

He turns on his heels and leaves with his fists clenched tight.

It’s been like this since you first joined. He remembers it as clear as day-- a younger, somehow more stubborn-looking you. 

Plucked fresh from whatever unit you were in before them, you had greeted them— Price, Garrick, Johnny— with respect: a salute, a handshake, and a smile to boot.

But then you hear his name, see his mask, and it’s like hell freezes over on your face.

Lieutenant Riley, nice to meet you– like it was the exact opposite, like it caused you physical pain to even say his name.

Johnny makes fun of him for it. Dae ye know 'em? Face looked like ye curbstomped a bairn or something.

You drop the filter entirely once you settle into the team months later. Tongue gets looser, no pulled punches, thinly veiled contempt slipping into pure snark.

He needs to grab something from a cabinet you’re in front of? Your hand shoots out, waggling your fingers. Five quid and I’ll move, Lt.

Helping him bandage up on an op? He grunts when your fingers dig just a tad too deep into his skin and wrap the wound just a tad too tight. Maybe if you didn’t get hit in the first place, Lt.

It’s infuriating.

But you don’t stop because there are never any consequences. 

No matter how many looks Price shoots him when the old man overhears the blatant disrespect.

No matter how many times other soldiers stare at you like you’re out of your goddamn mind (you are) for saying the shit you do.

Why?

Because the reason Simon never writes you up for insubordination is the same reason he's fisting his leaking cock in bed like some horny fucking teenager.

It's the same reason he lets you snark in his ear over comms, quietly grinding his rock-hard erection into cold dirt, and grunts to hide the pleasure that shoot down his spine when your nails dig into bloody skin.

It's the only thing he can think about when he's like this— your nails tracing the muscle of his back and gripping his cock until his spunk gets all over you.

Simon doesn't remember when it started. Doesn’t remember when the want became a need.

Maybe it was the time you sassed him in front of the others, or maybe it was when you looked him straight in the eye and told him 'you look like a cosplayer, Lt.' Or maybe it was since the beginning, on your very first day.

The one thing he is sure about is how much he wants to fuck you.

Simon wants to fuck you until you're all babbles and wails— bend you over in his bed until you can't think straight and all you can muster is how you want more of his stupid, stupid cock.

He wants you to want him as much as he wants you. But he doesn't want to fuck the fight out of you though, no.

Yeah, a part of him still wonders why you hate him so much, but he doesn't mind you sticking to whatever fucked-up preconceived notions you have of him.

Your fire is what makes it fun, and Simon loves to burn.

He cums like that, mind flush with the thought of you fucking yourself on his cock while telling him how much you can't fucking stand him.

When the haze of pleasure finally recedes, he's stuck with one goal in his mind,

—getting you in his bed.

Your lieutenant's acting strange.

Ever since he walked away from you on the track, Ghost has been... accommodating. Moreso than before.

It's suspicious as fuck.

You're not an idiot. You know your behavior should've gotten you sacked ages ago. Even though Ghost might let it slide for whatever reason, it's still highly disrespectful to your CO. (But you have your reason, as petty as it is. He deserves it.)

So it's strange when he starts acting almost-nice to you.

Exhibit A.

Standing up for you.

The 141 is respected amongst operators and soldiers alike; this is fact. But there's always bound to be a green recruit who thinks, I can do it, I'm special, why not me?

These are the ones you encounter most as the most recent and youngest addition to the 141. It's something you had to grow new skin for, but that doesn't mean it isn't fucking annoying to deal with.

"I bet I could take them in a fight. They don't even look that tough," the recruit prattles. "Do you think the captain will let me into 141 if I beat them?"

The group of soldiers he’s posturing to snicker and laugh. They don’t seem to care that you’re standing ten feet away, or that you can very visibly hear their conversation.

You're about to tell them to drop and give you fifty when a big hulking man steps towards the group.

"Think you got what it takes, corporal?" Your lieutenant drawls, staring down at the recruits who look like they're all going to piss their fatigues.

"L-lieutenant! No--yes, I mean, I--"

Ghost jerks his head towards the training mats.

"Let's see how good you are then."

The recruit gets dropped within ten seconds.

Your lieutenant mutters something to him before barking at the rest of the group. Get your asses on the field. You lot are runnin' laps until you know what it means to respect your betters.

Does he even know how hypocritical he’s being?

Later on during dinner, the recruit who insulted you walks up to 141's table, still ruffled from the nasty takedown and sweaty from running around base. He barely manages to squeak out an apology to you, shooting the smallest glance at your lieutenant before running away with his tail tucked.

(How do you grapple with the way your heart turns?)

Ghost doesn't react, doesn't even look up. Only sips his tea like nothing ever happened.

Exhibit B.

Since when did Ghost start talking back to you on comms?

"If you let me die tonight, I'm going to haunt you and your bloodline forever, Lt."

An undercover mission. Infiltrating some invite-only bourgeoisie gala that's an alleged meeting place for many, many VIPs. Coincidentally, 141's newest target happens to be invited and you are the one who's thrown into the lions' pit.

"My bloodline? Not happening."

He's somewhere out there, watching. On the roof of a nearby building probably.

There’s a sense of comfort in that. You may not like his guts, but you’ve never doubted him on overwatch.

"Why? Got no game, Lt.?"

"Got plenty," he says.

The soft rumble of his voice tickles your ear. It's unusual-- weird-- to hear him banter with you over comms like this. He usually only ever does it with Soap.

"Well, make it happen then," you mumble.

A waiter passes by with a tray of champagne. You smile politely, shaking your head ‘no’.

It’s not the highest risk mission, but the amount of armed guards you’re seeing is a bit annoying. That, and your target is still nowhere to be found.

If you have to send another flirty smile to another grimy man while waiting, you're telling Ghost to aim the crosshair at you instead. And then you're going to haunt him.

"You volunteerin'?"

Your brain short-circuits.

What?

Your mouth bobs open, then shut, and then open again. Hoping to whatever deity out there that your lieutenant's scope isn't actively trained on you right now.

Shit hits the fan faster than you can gather your thoughts.

Screams ring out through the ballroom as windows shatter and gunfire fills the air. Chaos quickly spreads through the masses as people run for cover. Ghost's voice flickers in over the noise.

"Sergeant, take cover, now! Go!"

You don't need to be told twice.

There'll be time to think about what he said later, when you aren't actively in danger of being hole-punched.

And then, Exhibit C.

This is how it culminates.

Outside, on the fields with your fellow sergeants and Ghost. The four of you toss sticks to decide sparring partners; it's sheer dumb misfortune that you end up pairing with Ghost.

You've sparred with him before. He's relentless. There's always a bruise or two on your body when he's done with you. Never once have you won against him; you don't expect this time to be any different.

“Let’s see if you’ve improved, Sergeant,” Ghost taunts.

“I swear I won’t accidentally kick your balls, Lt.,” you reply.

The two of you grapple at each other, swiping and pushing, body on body. Ghost is wearing a tight compression shirt today. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't somewhat distracting with the way it hugged the planes of his muscles— no! Keep focusing! It's never easy to wrestle a man as big as him. But you have to try.

Your hands can barely wrap around his biceps, but you use what you have to your advantage. Nails nearly break skin as you dig deep. He grunts, grip tightening on your arms.

A man's strength can sometimes be his undoing.

You let your weight shift, using his hold on you as an anchor. Tilting back, you let your legs swing forward, grappling around his waist. The momentum has Ghost stumbling back, and you make your final move.

Ghost lets out a surprised grunt as you let go of his arms and force your way through his grip. You push through, pressing your forearms against his throat until his whole body tilts and falls back onto the mat.

Oh, you're gasping out breaths. Holy shit.

You did it.

Ghost is, like you, breathing hard through his nose, eyes lidded. His hands no longer wrap around your arms. Instead, they're settled on your hips, holding you firmly in place.

It occurs to you then the position you're in.

Legs spread over his waist, sitting right on his belly. You're bent forward, hands splayed across his chest and next to his head. Practically laying on top of him.

He's so warm.

An involuntary jolt rolls through your body as you jerk backwards, an attempt to get some distance from his face.

Big mistake.

Holy fuck, this is not happening right now.

You feel it beneath your ass. Unmistakably big, undeniably hard.

A shiver makes it's way down your spine. Your legs clench tight, squishing his abdomen and grinding deeper against him. With the way Ghost's fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, you know he feels it too.

There's a fog closing in on your mind. The sight of your lieutenant under you shouldn't turn you on like this— and yet, the growing dampness between your legs tells you otherwise.

Panicked, you rip yourself off of him and get on your feet. A look over at Soap and Gaz, but they're still in a grapple of their own. It's only a temporary relief that runs over you when you realize they hadn't seen what happened.

"Sergeant," your lieutenant calls out. He's propped up on his arm; you look anywhere but him.

"Sorry, Lt. Feeling a little sick," you say, licking your lips. "Going to freshen up a bit."

You don't wait for him to dismiss you before you're jogging back to your quarters.

Standing in front of your little bathroom sink, you splash cold water onto your burning face. It barely helps.

How did you end up here?

Was it when he started being nice to you, even though you were never anything but rude? Was it when he defended you against egotistic recruits?

Or has it been doomed since the start, when he first looked at you through his stupidly long lashes, like he was trying flip you inside out with his stare?

You weren't lying when you told him you felt sick.

It's a creeping feeling in your gut that's been burning low for a while now. Don't want to call it denial, but what else could it be?

(Betrayal, maybe. You shouldn't feel anything else. Shouldn’t be feeling anything but spite for your lieutenant. It isn't fair to your friend who—)

Knock knock.

The sound breaks you away from thought. A part of you dreads opening it, because you know who stands behind the heavy door. The other part of you is who turns the knob.

Ghost stands there, towering over you.

"Alright, Sergeant?"

His composure is unfair. It's like before never happened. You take a deep breath before replying.

"Yes, sir," you say. It comes out all crackly and rough. "Nothing to worry about."

The silence that falls between you is unsettling.

“If that’s all.” You start to close the door, but his hand catches it.

“Need to talk to you ‘bout something,” he says.

You feel your heart drop somewhere into hell. “Sir, there’s nothing—”

He pushes the door back, pressing into your room. “D’you have a problem with me, Sergeant?”

Eyebrows scrunched, you back up into the wall behind you. “What?”

“I repeat, do you have a problem with me?”

Ghost tilts your chin up. His hand feel like a brand on your skin. Your gaze moves back and forth from his eyes to where his lips shift under the mask, all of a sudden taken back to the picture of him lying beneath your legs. He follows your stare, searching.

“Yes or no, Sergeant?”

His voice is all guttural and deep, like he’s holding himself back from something.

“…N-no, I—”

“Good,” he hums. “Won’t have a problem with this then.”

He moves faster than you can process. Hand slipping his balaclava up, just enough to expose thin scarred lips and a crooked nose. You blink, and suddenly they’re pressing against yours.

Any semblance of self-control melts away after that.

He kisses you like a man deprived of oxygen. Feels more like he's eating you up rather than kissing you. Like he's trying to drink up the air you breathe and more.

But after all he's been doing these past few weeks, the contact feels like a deep reprieve in your bones— a relief you don't want to admit to needing.

You chase him when he pulls back.

“Do you hate me?” He asks, thumb tracing your swollen lips.

"I just let you kiss me," you say, breathless and incredulous. "And you're asking me if I hate you?"

He smirks-- it's stupidly attractive seeing a real expression on him.

"Can't be sure when it comes to you, Sergeant."

You furrow your brows, annoyed. "What's that supposed to mean— mmph!"

Ghost cuts you off with another kiss, hands moving down to your hips. You yelp when he pulls your legs up to wrap around his waist, hauling you up by your ass.

"Arms around me, love," he grunts between pecks.

Once your arms wrap around his shoulders, he pushes off the wall and carries you over to the bed. With surprising care, he drops you on the mattress and settles on top of you.

"Tell me to stop," Ghost growls against your neck. "And I will."

You should say no. No to fraternization, no to betraying your morals.

Stand strong in the face of evil temptation!

"More," you plead instead, because the devil lives inside you. "Want more, Lt."

He groans into your skin. It excites you infinitely more. Leaning back, he pulls his shirt off, revealing firm muscles and a soft belly.

Fuck, he’s so stupidly hot. Your own top and pants comes off a moment later, left forgotten on the floor.

The two of you are a mess of tangled limbs in your little bed made for one.

Ghost kisses down your body, latching onto your soft skin and sucking bruises down your chest. He says things that make you burn a fever pitch— fuckin’ gorgeous, sergeant, knew you needed me, isn't tha' right?

It’s unbearable how turned on you are.

Whines bleed through clenched teeth as you paw at his body. He bites, eliciting a sharp flinch from you.

Always pissin’ me off with tha’ smart mouth of yours, he mutters. Makin' me go wank off like a fuckin' teen.

Your mind is blur— everything is happening too fast, too hot, to process what he's saying to you.

Ghost moves down your body, giving your chest a rough fondle before settling in between your shaky legs.

When he drags your underwear down, your pussy is glistening with how utterly wet you are.

"All f' me?" He asks, pupils blown at the sight of his prize. "Fuckin' drippin'."

You squirm, cheeks searing hot. "Shut up—"

He doesn't let you finish, burying his face between your thighs in one smooth motion.

If Ghost kisses like a man starved, then he eats pussy like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

He pulls you close in his arms and drinks you up like the slick dripping from your pussy is his own personal ambrosia. Moans and groans like it's some divine providence to have his mouth on your cunt.

Your hands claw at his neck and shoulders, but it only spurs him on with more fervor. You feel it simmering into a boil in your belly; the telling signs of your orgasm building.

"Hah—Fuck, Lt., I'm gonna—," you moan, squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation.

But then he stills.

Just stops completely as his mouth leaves your pussy cold and shaking. You lift your head to look down at him, eyes in a frenzy from a ruined climax.

"W-why'd you stop—,"

"Never answered my question, love." He blows cold air on your clit, teasing.

"Huh?"

"Tell me why you hate me," Ghost says, staring at you through soft lashes. "Tell me why you act like such a fuckin' brat, and I'll let you come."

Your breath hitches. “You’re such a fucking asshole—“

You try to kick your leg at him, but he's strong and there's nothing you can do with them pinned down. He nips at your clit, making you yelp out in shock.

"Answer the question, Sergeant."

Ghost shifts his arm, bringing his hand over while still holding your leg down. It's sinful to watch it happen-- his tongue flicking out, licking two of his fingers until they're shimmering with saliva, petting your pussy from the clit down to your pulsing hole.

"Mmhh—"

The stretch of his fingers in your pussy makes you tremble with anticipation. But he doesn't move them the way you want. Only teases you slowly and gently.

"Please, Lt.—"

"Not fuckin' you 'til you tell me, pet."

And isn't that simply the most aggravating thing to hear?

You let out a frustrated whimper. Mind running back and forth over what you could possibly say so that he'll make you come. A shock of pleasure flickers through you when he suddenly crooks his fingers inside you.

"C'mon, pet," Ghost encourages you. "Know y'want it."

Keeping your gaze, he flicks his tongue out and drags it slowly, tracing a line from where his fingers fuck into you, all the way up to your clit.

"Promise I'll fuck you right if you tell me."

The words bubble up your throat before you can stop them.

"...myfriendaskedyououtbutyourejectedthemsoI'mobligatedtohateyou— please, let me come, Lt.," you half-beg, half-sob.

It’s embarrassing. Borderline humiliating to say it aloud.

The real reason for why you treat him like trash— how you only really hate him by proxy.

Truthfully, there's never been any real ill intent. Only a sorry moral obligation to be as spiteful as possible for an old teammate who had confided in you after being coldly shot down by the masked lieutenant of 141— the very one that's currently knuckles deep in your throbbing cunt and covered in your juices.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it, love?” Ghost purrs, fingers still slowly pumping in and out of you.

He's still smirking, that fucking asshole. You wriggle your hips, but he keeps you still with an arm and it’s just not enough.

“Fuck you,” you cry out in frustration.

“I will," he hums. "All tha’ sass for what, hm? Someone I don’t even remember?”

He presses his nose into the plush of your thigh and takes a deep inhale.

"Jerk— hngh!"

Broken moans escape you as his lips find your clit once more. This time, he eats you up without mercy, thick fingers curving wickedly into that one spot inside you. A familiar spark beginning its ascent from where it first fell.

You want to tell him that he's mean, a straight jerk for not remembering someone confessing to them. That this was your friend he was dismissing like a nobody.

(Oh, but what would your friend say if they find out you're in bed with the man who rejected them?

It was so long ago though, your mind whispers. Surely, they've moved on by now, right?)

His tongue laps with just the right pressure on your bud, full broad strokes that make you see stars. His fingers work your pussy with focused precision, sinking into the spot that keeps making you cry out in pleasure.

It's all too much for you to take.

When he finally wraps his lips around your sensitive clit and sucks— you come with blinding lights in your vision, hips grinding up into his face uncontrollably.

"Tha's it, just like that, Sergeant," Ghost coos against your clit, sending another jolt through your legs.

He slips his fingers out of you and pulls himself up back towards your neck, nipping and nestling at your throat. His still-clothed cock grinds gently against your pulsating core.

With the crash comes some of your rationality.

"They liked you, you asshole," you accuse softly, boneless.

"Like me?" Ghost says bluntly against your skin. "They don't even know me."

You roll your eyes. "What, like I know you?"

He pulls back, both arms braced at the sides of your head. Something indecipherable in his gaze.

"Don't you?"

Don't you?

Your breath catches in your chest.

And what would it mean to know someone like Ghost?

His name? His face?

Is it to know the same ten jokes he tells on the field? Or how he always makes sure to give his soldiers a once-over before heading out, and is always the last to exfil?

Or maybe it's to know the sound of his voice in your ears, to be able to pick him out from a crowd of blurry faces. To be able to recognize the scarred curve of his lips, the rough callouses on his palms against your skin.

You sink into the deep end when you realize how close the proximity between you and the man-you-tried-to-hate has become.

"You with me, pet?"

Ghost pulls you out of your thoughts with a nibble on your throat.

"Worryin' too much," he nuzzles into your neck, suckling a sensitive spot that makes you whine. "Couldn't care less 'bout your friend."

You frown, opening your mouth to berate him again, but he beats you with a deep kiss.

“Don't care f'anyone else," Ghost utters between kisses. "Copy?"

The thought makes your head go fuzzy. You nod.

"Good, 'cause 'm gonna fuck you now."

Like a switch, Ghost goes back to teasing you. He kisses you hard, still as desperate and hungry as it was before. Your hands slip down his muscly frame, tugging at the hem of his pants.

"—off," you manage to say between breaths.

Ghost obliges, breaking free from you to tug off his pants. You salivate at the sight; you'd felt it before, on the training grounds— knew it would be big.

His cock is fat and heavy on your cunt when he settles back in between your legs. Even against the size of his bulk, he's fucking huge.

"Scared?" He teases.

You break eye contact with his cock to look up at him. The stupid smirk is back on his lips, irritating you in all the right ways. His eyes stare down you, as heavy as his cock feels.

"I've had bigger," you lie.

He tilts his head. "S'that right?"

Grabbing your hand, he pulls it down towards his cock. His own hands guide yours as he drags them up and down his length.

Holy shit, you can barely wrap your hands around him.

He makes you press his cock against your pussy. It squelches with how wet you are, as his cock slides against your lips. Your breath hitches when his fat tip catches on your slick entrance.

"So fuckin' wet f'me," Ghost groans. "Want my cock inside you tha' bad, pet?"

You whine, needy pussy fluttering every time his nudges his cock at your hole. "Please, please—."

"Please what? Use your words." He presses his tip in, just a bit.

"Need you to fuck me, Lt.—," you plead, grinding your hips down in attempt to fuck yourself on his cock.

"Say my name, pet. I know you know it."

Fucking. Asshole!

Frustrated, you dig your nails deep into his arms, earning a pained grunt from him.

"Oh, go fuck yourself, Simon."

You're not ready for the way Ghost absolutely buries his cock deep inside you with a pathetic whimper.

Your own breath is knocked out of you with how fucking big he feels, legs shaking at the sudden intrusion.

"Fuck— so fuckin' tight," Simon grunts out.

His hips shift back just a bit before plunging back into your ruined pussy, drawing a choked moan from you. The stretch is euphoric— combined with the way his tip rubs up against that spot in your pussy, it's all you can do to keep yourself from falling into the haze.

“D'you know—,” he says, sinking again and again into your cunt. “—how much I thought ‘bout this?”

"'Bout fuckin' this pretty cunt—" Thrust.

"Bending you over in my bed—" Thrust.

"Makin' you come over and over—" Thrust.

It's no use; you lose yourself in the pleasure of his cock, eyes rolling back as he repeatedly pounds you further into the bed. His hands squeeze tight around the curves of your ass, pulling you flush against him and stuffing you full with each thrust.

Simon doesn't stop teasing you.

"What's wrong, love? Got nothin' to say?" He taunts you, lifting both your legs over his shoulders and somehow fucking into you impossibly deeper.

"Cock's got your tongue?"

"F-fu-ungh—"

Tears trail down your cheeks as the simmer in your belly grows overwhelming.

He slips a hand between your legs and starts rubbing circles on your clit, coaxing a string of debauched sounds out of you.

"Sound so fuckin' good like this," Simon groans, eyes hazy and looking just as wrecked as you. "Should jus' keep y'here and fuck you forever."

"—mngh, f-fuck... you," you finally managed to choke out, voice raw and scratchy.

It doesn't distract from the way your cunt clenches tighter than before, not with the way you watch his eyes flicker dark.

He bottoms out with a particularly hard thrust at your words, leaving you a sobbing mess as he fucks you relentlessly.

You grasp away at him as your pleasure begins to overwhelm you— now threatening to boil over. Simon, Simon, Simon is all you can muster, but it's enough.

His cock ruts into you with no reprieve, fingers still flittering over your aching clit.

"Come f'me, pet."

And for once in your life, you obey your lieutenant.

Euphoria burns through your nerves as a second orgasm crashes over you from down under. Your cunt pulses in unrelenting waves, the pleasure borderlining too much. Squeezing his cock even deeper as Simon chases his own climax.

When he finally unravels, it's chaotic and frantic. Simon bends you over, covering you with his body and pulling you close as if to keep you under him. His eyes are squeezed shut, panting as sweat drips into the fabric of his mask.

Your pussy flutters one more time— milking his cock dry at the idea of knowing what Simon Riley looks like when he comes balls deep in your pussy.

“I still hate you,” you whisper, once the electricity fizzles out of the air, leaving only faint static remnants.

But there’s no real venom in your voice.

Simon huffs on top of you. You feel it in the way his chest jumps against yours.

“Right.” He relaxes his body onto you, weight squishing the air out of your lungs with a small ‘oof’. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, love.”

You can't describe the silence that falls over the both of you as comfortable, but... it's not bad, either. There's still a lingering sense of guilt in the back of your mind— but it's no longer screaming at you like before.

Simon's head shifts, the mask pulling on your sheets as he turns and mutters into your temple.

"Still plannin' on hauntin' me now that it's gonna be our bloodline?"

You slap his side as best as you can with your pinned arm.

His quiet chuckle rumbles deep in your ear.

Fucking prick.

Once Simon feels as though you are ready, he notches his tip at your entrance, and your eyes begin to water just from the slight burn. He rests his elbows on either side of your head, digging into the mattress where his arms cage your head in, and he places a feather light kiss to your soft, swollen lips.

He pushes in slowly, and when you cry out, he kisses you harder, swallowing the sounds of pain that have yet to turn into pleasure as if he can’t bear to hear you like this. Pulling away, he stills inside you with only the tip in, rocking ever so slightly without pushing anymore in. Your walls stretch around him, tightly wrapped around his length, slick coating him to make it easier.

“It’s okay. You’re okay… you’re doing so good,” he praises, waiting for your body to adjust, for you to tell him you’re ready for more.

When you nod your head, he pushes in some more, but your body is so tense he can barely sink another inch into you. His thumb quickly finds your clit, and he rubs slow, tight circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves to ease your body into relaxation. You moan louder for him, your body giving in to the pleasure racing through every last inch of you, and your walls relax around him, allowing him to sink the rest of the way in.

Tears well up in your eyes when he stops, fully buried inside of you with his tip leaking precum against your cervix, and he kisses you with the utmost passion. He takes away the pain of your first time, rocking into you slowly, barely pulling out before pushing in again. Your walls mold to him, the burn and stretch from his impossibly large length turning into the most blissful feeling the longer he works your muscles.

"So good for me… you feel so good for me," he praises, resting his forehead against yours, letting your warm breath mingle with his from the proximity.

He pulls out further now, the delicious feeling of his length inside of you consuming everything you know. He takes you slowly, the veins and ridges of his cock sliding through your walls, filling you up to the brim, leaving no space inside of you empty for long.

You moan out from the sensations running through you. Your nipples drag against his chest, your cheeks are wet from tears due to the previous pain, your mouth hangs open from the overwhelming feeling of being so close to the man you love. You whimper and whine, you cry and beg for more, for so much more.

"Goddamit- you're so tight lovie," he curses, your walls wrapped so tightly around him, and he tries his hardest to hold back his release from happening too early.

Arching your back from the mattress, your chest presses against his, and the warmth of his skin floods your body. Your hips meet his every thrust, your body begs for more without you having to say a word, and he meets you there in every way. His fingers find your clit, and he rubs the sensitive bundle of nerves with tight, quick circles. His pace picks up as he begins to pound into you, pulling out until only the tip remains before sinking back in and knocking against your cervix.

It isn't until he slides a pillow under your hips that you truly feel the pleasure he can give you. He thrusts in hard, hitting your sweet spot with precision, and stars burst in your eyes when your lids shut tight.

"F-fuck Si," you cry out, your hands curling around his biceps where your nails dig into his rough skin and you listen to him grunt out from the pleasurable pain of you.

He keeps hitting that same spot, over and over again, devouring the way your body writhes beneath him, knowing he is the first person to ever make you feel this way. Heat pools in your lower belly, unfamiliar and scary, and as it sits there like a coiled spring ready to snap at any given moment, you try to warn him.

"Simon… p-please it feels weird," you whisper, pulling his body closer to yours, unable to control the feeling building inside of you as he continues to please your body.

His thrusts slow, his fingers on your clit matching the same pace, and he moves his mouth to suck in a nipple. It peaks between his teeth, and he sucks, bites, licks against the sensitive bud until you're writhing again despite the slow pace. He builds up your orgasm, knowing what it is even if you don't, and he reassures you the best way he can.

"Just let it happen lovie," he says, slowly picking up his pace again, angling his hips to hit that sweet spot buried so deep inside of you.

The feeling builds again, undeniable and intense, and before you can protest, his lips find yours and he swallows the words right out of your mouth. He thrusts into you fast, deep, hard, anything to push you over the edge that your body so desperately craves. Your walls tighten around him, pulsing and clenching with need, your body becomes rigid and your muscles draw taut.

Cum gushes from your entrance, soaking his length in your pleasure, leaving rings of cream around his base as he continues to fuck you through your peak. You squirm beneath him, the feeling so foreign and addicting, and you give your body to him, knowing he can take care of you in every single way it demands.

"That's it… you did so good for me," he whispers, placing kisses along your jaw, moving down the length of your neck where he finds the spot on your soft, salty skin that makes you weak.

His hips roll against yours, his release inevitable as he chases it, and with a guttural groan and a few more thrusts, he's burying himself to the hilt. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, spurting out with each pulse of his cock, coating your walls in everything he has to give. He pumps himself in and out, slow with unsteady movements and jerky hips, until your pussy drains every last drop of his seed.

Simon collapses on top of you, his body warm and sweaty against your own, and you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist to pull him even closer. He stays inside you until his cock softens and your body grows exhausted, and then he pulls out and cleans up the mess with his tongue, promising you that he will have you squirming on his face as soon as he can catch his breath.

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you’re closer now, arm to arm with your body turned into his. his brows furrow, rubbing at the growing stubble on his cheek. Jack wraps his arm around you now, palming at your hip lovingly and allowing you to lie on his chest. “and toys don’t..i mean is that still on the table for you?” “i use them..but it just..gets boring after a while. tiring. i wanna have sex, not just..play with myself all the time.”

the image of you with your legs spread, using a dildo or wand on yourself is front and center of his mind. he sees you whining with frustration, bucking your hips needily. jesus. “i mean is it me? did i do something, am i just not sexy anymore? you’d tell me if he told you that, right, Jack?” you’re looking at him with big, tear brimming eyes while you paw at his chest. Jack is a weak man, sweetie.

“of course i’d tell you sweetheart, he’s..Robby’s somewhere else right now. don’t blame yourself you’re..you’re so sexy. sexiest girl i know, that’s for sure.” he gives you a gentle smile, but you’ve still got that pouty, needy look on your face. “really?” “yes really honey, robby’s bein’ real stupid…”

he’s gazing into your eyes, mind racing as he licks at his lips. “he’s being mean too.” “real mean. i’d..never be mean to you.” he can’t help himself when he closes the gap between you two, pushing his lips onto yours. you moan upon impact, fisting his shirt as he grabs at your body, rubbing down your hips before hoisting you fully onto his lap.

he feels how much you need this in the kiss, pushing your tongue in his mouth, your hands snaking up his neck and into his hair, yanking it slightly. the way your body arches into his, legs raising slightly to kiss him harder, pushing him deeper into the couch. you moan when you feel your clothed cunt drag along his bulge, brows furrowing hard before grinding down, getting a sound out of him.

“fuck.” he whispers, still messily kissing you, hands now grabbing at your warming love hands under your big shirt. your ring twists into his curls, making him wince, which makes you pull away. “are you ok??” you pull your hand away, letting him take it softly in his. “your-your ring, got my hair.” your ring. your wedding ring.

“oh my god. Jack i..” you put your hands on his chest, scooting down off his lap, though still straddling his thighs. “i can’t do this with you, oh my god..” you rub your hands down your face, the cold metal against your hot skin feels like a zap. “wha..why not?” he breaths, brows pinched with confusion as he pulls your hands away from your face.

“Robby, Jack. i..he’s my husband i can’t do that to him! i’m so terrible!” you scoff, eyes wide with fear. “you’re not terrible, what’re you scared of? betraying him?? what the fuck has he been doing to you, then?” he pulls you back closer, so close your hands roughly land on his chest.

you pull your head from his gaze, keeping your hands down for distance, but he doesn’t let you. “that’s different Jack, he’s..disembodied right now he’s just distant..” “that’s still neglecting his wife. shutting you out, which is the last person he should be doing that to. i never once shut out my wife. you said it yourself. he’s being mean.”

you pout, whining at the words that sting to your heart. Robby is being mean. he’s being mean to everyone, but you especially. “Jack i..” you scoff, you can’t even find the words, “it’s not right, i mean i love him too much.” “you can still love him, it’s not like im some guy. you know me, sweetheart..” you don’t fight when he kisses down the shell of your ear, trialing slowly down your neck in a way that makes you shiver.

your arms end up at his shoulders, eyes shutting in his touch. “i just wanna help you. been so long for you.” his stubble tickles your neck as he speaks low, almost a whisper. you’ve only heard this sugary tone once before. “been wanting this, right? to be touched like this? kissed like this?” he moves slowly down your comfy shorts, cupping your ass as the cotton slides off at the knuckles of his huge hands.

“yeah..” it comes out more pathetic than you could control, but your heart was pounding out your chest. “yeah..” he nods, kissing back up your jaw and taking your lips in his. “i know. let me do this for you.” you raise up to let him pull off your shorts, and the heat turns up in an instant. the kiss turning passionate, moans and groans trading under tongues as you lift his shirt over his shoulder, “can’t..” you pant, eyes hooded.

“cant happen again,” your hands move faster than you can think, untying and pulling down his scrub bottoms. “only one time. this time.” “this time.” he repeats, and you squeak when his big hand cups your pussy over your underwear, a throaty hum exiting him as he feels how fucking wet you were.

you can’t remember the last time you were so fired up to fuck. grabbing at whatever you could while he fingered you open, accidentally scratching at his biceps as your hips move greedily against him. “you’re so fuckin’ wet sweetheart, want this real bad.” he pants, eyes locked in you as you moan into the air. “please just…Jack please.. need it.” it almost comes as a sob, and he couldn’t ever refuse you. not like this, especially.

“lemme take it out. gonna get it sweetie, promise. gonna give it to you.” there’s that sugary tone again, and you find yourself moving at his command without a second thought, throwing your shirt off your sweaty body and reaching for his leg. you help him pull off his boxers and then his prosthetic, hearing a sigh of relief above him as you set it down.

he moves you back over him, and your eyes widen slightly at the sight of his hung, veiny dick. “jesus you’re..so big,” and he wants to say something cocky. he really does. but he just thumbs at your hip, nodding with a small smirk. “you can handle it.”

your eyes are big on his as you lift yourself over his cock, letting him guide you onto his tip, then his girth. he goes slow, gripping your hips as he rocks you lower and lower, drinking in the little gasps and squeals you let out. “Jack you’re-fuck you’re so big, you’re so fucking big,,” you whine, shaky breaths as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“you’re taking it.” his voice is rasped, quiet watching your pussy engulf him. “you’re taking it baby i promise, you’re fuckin’ takin’ it. so good too, holy shit.” he wants to let all his greedy, jealousy induced thoughts out. can’t believe robby’s missing out on this, fuck. should’ve bagged this pussy forever ago, clearly Robby wasn’t putting it to good use. but it doesn’t exit his mind, not wanting you to feel worse about it all.

“oh yes, oh my god yes,” you moan out, head thrown back as your hips take over, his hands guiding you ever so gently as you bounce on his cock. “fuck you’re..fuck Jack it’s so good,” he moans under you, your pleasure making the butterflies dancing in his stomach as you fuck yourself on him.

“that’s it sweetheart, there you fuckin’ go. y’like that? yeahhh baby, feels soo good.” his eyes roll back, hands grabbing at every curve he could before the moment was over. pawing at your tits, smacking at your ass, squeezing at your belly. you’re everything to him, sweetie.

he can’t help but let himself submit to you in this time of need, in this sweet notion of helping his friend. because that what it really was. just helping his friend blow some steam, she’s just pent up. losing the same amount of calories as if he took you boxing. nothing wrong with it. “yeah sweetie, let it all out. just like thaat, fucking god,” he feels dizzy watching you hump him. your body’s consumed with greed, with a mission in mind.

latching onto him, filling your house with high shaky moans. and he was doing so much for you, and more. grabbing you, holding you lovingly close to him as you ride him into the couch cushion he was leaning his back into you. letting out sweet words to you, praise, helping you through riding him. groaning loudly into the room, the sounds alone coming from him fueling you, swelling your head.

sounds Robby never made. never talked you through it unless it’d been a long time, or till he was close. barely made noise either, no matter how many times youve told him you liked it. you were jelly in Jacks touch. he was pushing you steadily over your edge, whether he touched you or not. he filled you completely, inside and out.

his left hand started shoving you down on his cock, your moans coming out in sharp, quick gasps of air, eyes wide watching yourself slam on his dick and feeling his tip kiss that sponges spot in you. his right hand sucks on his thumb, getting it nice and wet before bringing it to your puffy clit, flicking it in a way that makes you suck in a harsh breath, dragging your nails down his shoulder, a high moan exiting you as you throw your head back.

“fuck ohmygo-Jack!” your moans are bordering on pornographic. and you look fucking delicious. hips bucking up to his touch all jittery, sweat gleaming your tits as they bounce with every move. your nose is scrunched slightly as the side of your mouth sneers upturned, and your brows sitting hard and tightly pinched, so overturned with pleasure you can’t control how loud you are. and Jack is straight up drinking it in.

“you’re so good, you’re fucking me so good Jack, better than i’ve ever fuckin’ felt..!” your words come up high, it’s music to his ears. to get that out of you, to know you’ve been with Robby almost half a decade, and Jack barely moving his hips is the best you’ve felt in that long?

“you’re fucking me, sweetie, and you’re doin’ so good. look at you, takin’ it from me..” his eyes are hooded over your body, his soft puppy eyes working over you in your vulnerable state. “keep using me baby, just fuckin’ take it. haven’t gotten dick like this before, haven’t had this in so long, right? you deserve this. say it.”

it’s barely getting through your ears honestly. your stomach is heaving, your ears are almost ringing, eyes rolling back as you fuck yourself on his thick cock like a toy. “i deserve it..” you slur in heavy pants, eyes rolling back as you feel your heated orgasm approach. “yeah you do. yeah you fuckin’ do sweetheart,” he’s quick to hold you in his grasp when you collapse into him, mushing into his shoulder while you grind lazily.

his arm wraps around you, turning in his place to keep you close, keeping his pace on your throbbing clit as you shudder against him. “there we fuckin’ go, cmon you can do it. been talkin’ about gettin’ fucked for weeks i know you can do it. use me sweetie, use me like you fuckin’ mean it,” there’s a rough, almost degrading tone in his words, and your body submits to him at the impact.

he fucks into you from the side, your leg coming up immediately to let him in deeper, and as he groans in your ear, your dam breaks. “ohhh Jack, oh god, Jack!” it’s one big breath before you’re gasping out again, shrinking into him as your pussy flutters around his dick, stomach so tight as you practically burst under him.

“don’t stop, please don’t stop im..im—” you can’t even finish your words, and Jack doesn’t mind a bit. nodding to your words, his mouth echoing yours, agape with his own groans as his eyes roll back. “let it alll out baby, take it fr’me it’s all yours..” you feel you leg cramp up from how hard your orgasm had hit you, your body falling limp on Jack as he continues fucking into you, removing his hand from your shaking pussy to hold your leg up.

his lashes feel weighted, glittering as he takes in the sight of you, your fucked out face as your eyes rest, down your sweaty body, to where you two met, the creamy ring around his cock glistening and cresting rather nasty strings of cum as he thrusts into you. heat builds in his chest, his cock twitches inside of you and his hips stutter. that cold sweat rolls over him, and he looks to the ceiling with an oh god before back at you.

“that’s it baby, that’s it, that’s fucking it,” his praises to you turn into revelations of the immense pleasure weighing on him. hunching over you and pushing you on your back on the couch, finding the balance to slam into you. you moan in tandem at the new position, the way he lays all his unbalanced weight on your thighs he’s keeping up, slamming into you like it’s beyond his control.

with your back arched off the cushion and your hands fisting st it from the side, you watch his face as he loses his composure, bitting his lip before letting groans spill from him like a music box, eyes rolled to the ceiling as his brows flex to the hairline. “oh my god, can’t even..aghh can’t fucking believe you gave this pussy to Robby,” he rolls his eyes, “did so fucking good, scratching me up and shit you-you’re fuckin’ everything..”

his mouth moves faster than his mind. poor guys lost in the sauce, chest heavy as it turns that familiar red you’ve only seen a few times in the sun. “god you’re so good, gimme a kiss sweetie, so prouda’ you,” you practically yank him down onto you, kissing so sloppily you think drool is getting everywhere because of how over the moon you guys are.

you gasp sharply, feeling his tip kiss at your cervix. you dig your nails into his neck, a high, almost pained moan exiting you through his lips. “Jack you’re—Jack hold on,” you mewl, though feeling him shake his head frantically. “i know sweetie i-im sorry i just-fuck i can’t, icanticanticant,” he moans, and his following groans come up higher, weaker as if he’d been yelling all night (which..he probably has).

“can’t stop, fuck you’re so good, m’gonna cum, baby m’gonna cum,” he doesn’t even try to kiss you anymore, “you’re so good, doin’ so fucking good baby i..” you hear the slapping of skin from between you, feeling impossibly split open as he slams into you, groaning like he couldn’t breath.

with a final loud groan he grabs at the cushion next to your head, eyes tightly screwed as his hips come to a halt, and you feel his dick twitch into you as he finishes hard, the following groans coming out as weak whines. Jack lets his body collapse over you, reaching behind himself to caress at your shaking legs, still panting into each other’s mouths.

“did i..hurt you?” he whispers, you feel his lashes against your crows feet. “no, no. just..was a lot. is your leg ok..?” look at you. all the more worrying. all the more caring, loving. it makes Jack chuckled breathily, shaking his head as he kisses at your cheek. “i’m ok, sweetheart. been through worse.”

he pushes himself off you, giving you a once over for any damage before pulling out, sitting upright next your body. speeding your pussy with his thumb and pointer, in the blink of an eye he’s watching his cum seep out of you and onto your ass, and almost onto the couch cushion had he not cupped his hand under the leakage, stuffing it back in you. “fuck i..i didn’t mean to uh..just got carried away.” he gives you a remorseful look, that he also looks away from to gaze at your beat, puffy pussy.

“are you on birth control?” “no..i stopped a few months ago. we wanted to try for a baby.” your cheek quirked to the side before you pout a little, and Jack feels his heart break a little. “ok. i’ll get you plan b, then.” you nod and lift on, crawling into his lap once again, but this time, you give him a slow, gentle kiss.

“thank you..Jack..” you sigh, feeling him wrap his arms around you. “don’t gotta thank me. just wanted to help you, sweet thing. s’what friends are for.” he joked, making you scoff a chuckle. you nod, “yeah. what friends are for.” for fucking so hard you see stars. of course. “lemme get my foot awake, then we’ll clean up.”

"a-and do what?" you stutter.

he smirks, his breath warm against your ear as he leans in close. "lie with me," he murmurs, voice rough with want. his hand tightens on your thigh, pulling you just a little closer. "let me touch you everywhere… taste you... make you take my cock..." one fingertip traces your collarbone as he whispers, "tell me you want it too, little girl."

you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder. "uncle jack..."

he grins, feeling the effect his words have on you. he knows he's playing with fire, but he can't help it. "just say yes, honeygirl. give yourself to me for the night. let me take care of you."

"you want me to describe all the filthy, naughty things i wanna do to you? is that what you want to hear, baby?" he whispers, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "because i've been thinking about 'em. a lot," he continues, his fingers slipping under the hem of your tank top to trace your spine. his breathing is getting heavier now, his mind consumed with the thoughts of what he wants to do to you.

"it's all i think about, baby girl, when i'm lying in that cold, lonely bed in my room… i want to know what those moans of yours would sound like. do you wanna know what i'd do to you, sweetheart? hmm?"

he lets out a low, rough chuckle that rumbles through his chest and into yours. "every damn night," he murmurs, "i lie there thinkin’ about how you’d feel beneath me. how tight you’d be when i finally sink inside your pussy… how your breath would hitch when i take your nipple in my mouth just right. i wanna make you tremble before I even touch your pretty little clit."

his lips brush your neck, as he mutters: "then I’d make you come on my tongue… again and again… until you’re so soft and dazed all you can do is whisper my name."

he shifts slightly, letting the hard length of his cock press into your thigh. "and when you're ready— when those pretty legs are quivering and beggin’ for it— i’ll slide deep inside and show you how much uncle jack wants his perfect girl."

you whine, shaking your head. "f-fuck... we can't..."

he chuckles, it's getting harder and harder to hold himself back, your soft skin is driving him crazy. "why not, baby? we're two consenting adults, aren't we? just think about it: every night this summer, just you and me, stealing moments like this… come on, baby. you don't want that pounding?"

you gasp, your back arching into his touch. "i... i..."

he feels you writhe in his arms, and he grins, his lips pressing against your shoulder. he wants you to snap, to give into what he knows you both want. "what's goin' on in that mind of yours, angel?" he purrs against your skin, his hand moving lower, tracing the curve of your hip. "you're so close to giving in. just say yes. say you want me, baby. just be a good girl and say yes."

you melt, your eyes slipping shut as his lips drag across your skin. "i'm a good girl..." you whisper obediently.

"my good girl," he murmurs as he nips gently at your neck, his hand sliding even lower, slipping under the elastic of your shorts. "you know what my good girl gets, baby?" his hand disappears under your panties. "what you get for being so sweet and good?" his fingers glide slowly through your curls, teasing, making you shiver. "you get every single thing you’ve ever wanted from me. touches… kisses… my cock deep inside that tight little pussy."

he finds that soft, sweet spot between your legs, his fingertips tracing light, teasing circles. "whatever my good girl wants, she can have— and what she wants is to be touched," he whispers, as his fingers reach your swollen clit, "right here…"

"ahh..." you whimper, your thighs slipping shut around his hand.

he chuckles again, his lips brushing your ear. "oh, i know how desperate you are, baby. you need it so bad. that ache won't go away unless i make you feel good, huh?"

his fingers slide further down, teasing you even more. "i wanna touch you so much more, angel. wanna feel you around me, your hands all over me, your pretty sounds filling my head. i want to take you to bed tonight, baby girl. do you want me?"

he loves the way you're rocking against him, so soft and sweet. he knows you're just on the edge, and all it's gonna take is a little more from him to push you over.

he leans in closer, his lips grazing your ear. "i can make you feel so good, baby. i can make you whimper and gasp and cry my name. wanna come for me, angel? wanna be my beautiful, naughty girl and let me play with you all night long? i wanna hear it, now. i wanna hear you say 'yes, take me to bed, daddy'."

"ye— mmmfgh—" you interrupt yourself with a squeal, thighs squeezing around his hand again as you reach your peak, slick pooling out of your cunt and into his palm.

he smiles at your reaction, and gives you a moment, his hand still pressed against you while he whispers in your ear. "there you go, that's a good girl. you're so pretty when you come. did that feel good, baby?" he kisses your cheek. "are you still wanting me, angel? still saying 'yes, daddy?'"

you pant, looking up at him with wide, awe-stricken eyes. "i... what?" you murmur.