DEADOVELOVE

🎶 the people you love are all you have to lean on so treat them well 🎶

I've been avoiding drawing even though I really want to draw.. so I decided to just sit down, put on some music and just draw whatever is on my mind. I didn't overthink it, I just let my hand draw. I imagine this is the visual representation of false vacuum. I finished this in around 20 minutes despite struggling with every drawing for weeks and honestly I'm surprised to even be able to draw something myself without a reference. I listened to this album and it's one of my favs:

Long and incoherent personal rambling below:

Simon should really look away. 

But he can’t. Because the way your lips close around that grenade pin, teeth gripping the metal as you jerk your head back and pull it free? Well, it has him thinking dangerous things.

He can’t tear his eyes away from you as you throw it right into the enemy’s pile of ammo and it explodes with a deafening boom. And when you turn to him, framed in fire, a triumphant smile on that pretty mouth? 

He’s done for. 

Back on base, it’s pure coincidence that he walks past the gym and sees you inside, giving the punching bag hell. His boots falter as you whip around, focused and mean, and strike the bag with your glove hard. The impact rattles the chain and stirs hot, wicked embers deep in his gut. 

Suddenly, you turn, eyes snapping to his through the window. But Simon can’t bring himself to move. Slowly, you raise your hand and rip the velcro strap of your glove back with your teeth, pulling it tighter around your wrist.

The tension finally comes to a head late one night at the range. You’re there with your newly issued Glock, putting a few rounds through it before the op the next day when he silently chooses the lane next to yours, despite all the rest being empty. 

You don’t say anything, but your eyes flick to his under his mask as you bring a bullet to your lips. You tuck the blunt end between your canines, cock the chamber back, and then proceed to drop the bullet into the gun.

Simon watches you, his gaze catching on the purse of your lips, your lashes brushing your cheeks as you grab another and place it into the slot with your mouth, the way your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip to taste the gunpowder—

Suddenly, he’s moving, shoving his way into your lane and plucking the bullet from your lips with two gloved fingers. 

“Want somethin’  in your mouth so bad?” he grunts. “All you have’ta do is ask.”

never want to put my feet back down

maybe it was how cool and collected he always was. that hot, quiet confidence.

if only you knew when you’d finally got him into bed. ready for him to be rough, to be a little mean, not that you’d mind.

in reality, he was whining into your neck as he pumped into you at a primal speed. whispering and mumbling half words into your throat as he groped you anywhere he could. his eyes were rolled and he was drooling on your collarbone.

“o-oh.. oh, fuck- nghhhuhh… yyeah?.. awww… my baby.. gonna fill y-you… mhm…”

sweet little brain-numb nothings falling of the tongue of the smartest, coldest man you know.

Soap corners him after the fifth time he cancelled, all crooked grin and too bright eyes, leaning into Ghost’s space. “Ye’re skippin’ again, LT. What’s the matter? Bird got ye on a curfew?”

Ghost doesn’t answer at first. Just shoulders his bag higher and keeps walking. But Soap follows, wheedling in that relentless way of his. “C’mon, Simon. Ye’ve not bought a round in weeks. Ye skint? Need a loan? Or is it her? Ye spendin’ all yer money on that pretty thing ye’ve been seein’?”

Ghost stops, turns just enough for Soap to see the flat line of his mouth beneath the mask. “Money’s tight.”

“Tight?” Soap barks a laugh, but it dies quick when he clocks the look in Ghost’s eyes. “You? The fuck’re ye spendin’ it on, then?”

Ghost doesn’t elaborate, just walks away. Soap watches him go, brow furrowed, and later- when it’s just the three of them and a half empty bottle- he tells the others what little he got.

“She’s drainin’ him,” Soap says. “He’s cuttin’ back on everythin’ else. Won’t even split a pizza. Says he’s savin’.”

Price swirls what’s left in his glass. “Seen it before. Good men go soft for the right pair of legs and a sweet smile. Ghost’s got discipline, aye, but he’s still a man. And men like that… they’ve got bank. No one to spend it on before. Makes ‘em easy marks.”

“Gold digger,” Gaz mutters, not quite under his breath, shaking his head at another brother lost. “Better men’ve fallen for less.”

They keep this to themselves, where Ghost can’t hear them. Wouldn’t matter if they did. He’s already gone- head, heart, and wallet- in a way none of them have ever seen. They think he’s blind to it. That he’s being played.

What they don’t see is the way Ghost’s cock twitches, thickening in the grey confines of his pants, every time he pushes his tongue past the sticky-sweet barrier of your sixty dollar lipstick until it smears, thumb dragging across your lower lip, deliberate, spreading the color onto your chin.

Doesn’t see how hard he gets until he’s dizzy with it, one fist buried tight in your blown out hair, gripping at the roots and ruining the careful- expensive- work the stylist did until damp strands stick to your skin.

Blunt head already drooling a thick pool of pre, balls aching as he watches the mascara run down your flushed cheeks, lashes clumping, while he feeds his cock into your perfect warm mouth until the flared head gags the back of your throat.

And maybe he is just a man- a weak, greedy, obsessed man- as he swipes his card on yet another several-hundred-dollar clothing purchase despite your soft protests, already half hard at the thought of how he’s going to rip those pretty new things off your body the second the door closes behind you both, bullying his cock into your cunt around the remains of yet another tattered pair of fifty dollar lacy panties.

You always say something about the cost, about how he can’t keep doing this, but Ghost just shakes his head once, sharp and final. “Can. Will. Shut up an’ let me see what I bought.”

The lads can think what they want. Let them whisper about gold diggers and better men falling. They don’t see how turned on Ghost gets spoiling you rotten, just so he can see you all soft and wrecked, expensive clothes twisted and stained, hair a mess, face streaked with him after he fucks you stupid.

Ghost overhearing, leaning over your shoulder, and letting you know "I'm just keeping your seat clean until you're ready to sit on it, love".