lizzie the lobotomized

Endurance runners

You, who cant STAND the horrible heatwave engulfing the UK right now, with the heat only being a million times worse on base.

Youve finally made the decision to switch to summer uniform, opting for a tank top when able to do so, and thinner cargos. And occasionally having your hair tied higher up, rather than the standard low bun, on more casual days on base.

Weirdly enough though, your Lieutenant seems to be more evasive these days. He already was, to a degree, but he was now moreso than ever. You chalked it up to the extra layers and mask he wore, making the heat all the more unbearable for him.

Ghost who refuses to spar with you nowadays. You thought you had finally proved yourself to him, saving his ass on the last op, but apparently not!

You, who, rightfully, gets annoyed, confiding in the other sergeants to which they placate you as best they can, but it only riles you up even more!

Ghost who is entirely unused to seeing so much of you, having seen you as nothing but a capable soldier before this... only to learn that you were doing things to him. Things you had no right doing.

Ghost who cant stand the sight of the exposed nape of your neck, the very sight of it setting off something inside him, drgging his thoughts to nothing but being able to bite and ravish your soft skin. Night after night he thinks about you, you and your stupid neck that make him think impossibly dirty thoughts.

Gaz and Soap who know how much Ghost is going through it right now, and at the same time, pissing you off. They both share a wall with the Lieutenant after all, and know all about the effects you've had on him.

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cw: 18+ mdni, heavy fauxcest.

Tiptoeing around the house to make him coffee and pancakes with some fruit for his breakfast in bed. The baby crawling all over him as he fakes his morning yawn awake. The man isn’t too much of a heavy sleeper, knows when you’re trying to suprise him. You’ll bring out the card you’ve made with the baby, his handprint covering the paper in different colors, a botched ‘best dad ever’ the baby definitely scribbled lines through.

Then its chill a very chills day for the rest of the day, very lazy, the baby must be growing because they sleep so much but your thankful, you get to curl up close into John’s beefy arm, legs over his lap while he drinks his beer. Leaving small kisses on your knuckles, your knees, your temple, hand going up and down your spine as the tv runs some of his favorite movies you’ve been playing on the dvd but it’s an afterthought to him. And it’s not sexual, just, you and your pa, your man, the father of your baby- your everything.

It’s just before dinner you bring out the gifts you got him, a set of new binoculars for bird watching, a book you’d noticed him eyeing in the bookstore, managed to get the signed copy on eBay for your allowance you’d been saving up, the kicker? A small heartfelt letter. It’s not too much, less than a page long, you’ve never been the best with words. but you tried your best to express how much you love Price. How much you understand him and he, you, more than anyone on this planet. How you do anything to make all his past mistakes and pain go away, and if you can’t you’d still hold his hand through it. Because it’s really scary being alone, that since you’re together now, he has nothing else to worry about. You’ll find a way to protect him too.

Price doesn’t cry. Atleast you’ve never heard it, but you finally catch his look while trying to find those blue eyes you hold so dearly to your heart. And they’re shimmering, tears threatening to fall but they don’t. He cups your face, a ragged and airy chuckle leaving him. So rare, your stomach is doing flips.

“Ta love, really.”

John holds you tight, closer than you could imagine. Mumbles of “my girl” “my one ‘nd only buttercup” “How could God ‘f given a bastard like me a perfect girl like you, hm?”

You don’t even get to make it to dinner, only lifting his shirt you had on all day, groaning when he sees just your fat pussy lips glisting there for him, ready for the taking. And he ravishes you right mom the couch. Over and over, it’s so warm, clutching onto his hairy back as he ruts his fat cock into your cunt. You’re moaning and mewling out those sweet ‘Dad’ and ‘Pa’ gasping at the feel of his throbbing cock pressing against your spongy g-spot.

His head pops up from your hardened nipple, lapping between the valley of your chest, and whispering in your ear as the coach creaks with every thrust, “Not goin anywhere buettercup,” he lets out a low groan, rocking his hips slightly faster inside you. “Was made just f’you. Dad’s just for you.”

pre-meeting contact —

bonus:

behind the scenes. I was actually on a flight when drawing this panel.

what was I doing? watching PHM…

________

You will be remembered as a hero. ________

Smoke knows you have that confidence in you, you just need a little reassuring! Sometimes he’ll give you a good pep talk before going into a place, lift your chin up and fix something about your outfit he saw wasn’t right. He’ll say something like “Don’t overwork that pretty mind ‘f yers. Ain’t shit you can’t handle.” Or he’s giving acaress of his hand on your cheek, or giving your thigh a squeeze. And after you say what you need to properly your eyes are immediately looking at Smokes for approval. He doesn’t mind though, give you a little curt but pleased nod that makes you wanna fall on top of him and roll around in his warmth while you giggle.

Or when he’s drilling his meaty length inside your sopping walls, your head pulled to the side with hearts in your eyes. Salvating at the sweat dripping down the side of his face that you want to lick up, you’re mewling out, “Is good ‘Lijah, it’s hck- it’s good?”

He lets out a grumble of curses, damned at how sexy you look all fucked out and needy. Pretty pussy clamping down on him like your aching for his cum, his lips fall to your neck, your chin, leaving sloppy kisses on your lips while he gives you slow sledgehammer into your heat. Crown of his head pressing that special spot you love so much.

“Course it is darlin- fuuuuck me, yer wonderful princess.”

It only makes you moan louder, creaming his length as he holds you close, letting your nails claw down his back as he doesn’t stop railing you, only fucking your through it. Pushing your curls back as he’s got your head inbetween his bicep.

He groans, thrusting his cock into you faster, dirtier, “Shit, you can take this baby, can’t you? You’re my good girl, aintchu? Don’tcha wanna make yer husband cum?”

Almost like an affirmation of love.

Probably started calling you his wife after a month of dating because he was sure there wouldn’t be anyone else. He kept it to himself for the most part, up until he had to curse your partner out on the group project you had because they kept disrespecting you.

Smoke doesn’t really do back and forth and he’s just telling the guy like it is, his hand squeezing yours, towering over the guy, “If you even fuckin think ‘about belitting my wife one more fuckin, I swear to god I’m gonna send you to hell you won’t even get a chance to ask God for forgiveness.”

You don’t even get the chance to really think it over till he’s dragging you out the library and to the car, yout bag slung over his shoulder.

The drive home is silent, to his place of course and not your dorm. It’s when you get inside you finally have the courage to say something, you try giggling it off, “Smoke, we ain’t married.”

He sets the keys down in the bowl, shuffling off his shoes while he walks further into the house, “You ‘nd me gon’ a be married one of these days.” And his words are just, no hesitation as he goes into the kitchen. You can hear the faucet running.

“Oh.” You blink a few times. Heat blooms beneath your skin, heart pounding as you stand in the entryway as the seconds go bye. It makes you let out a little squeal of delight as you meet him in the kitchen to help out with dinner, “Right, of course, right.”

It was all supposed to go perfectly. Your friend had set you on date for Friday night, Simon had the kids at his place because it was his weekend. Kelela blaring from your speakers as you fixed your makeup in the mirror, large rollers in your hair, a nice dress freshly ironed layed on the bed.

Simon absolutely ruined it.

Petty argument that was laced with every bit of jealousy, spiraling into you on your hands and knees, getting your back blown out by your massive ex husband who was stretching you desperate spasming pussy out in the sluttiest way imaginable.

Your slick dripping onto fabric of the dress who worked hard to buy. Sobbing at how good you felt while Simon railed into, using your hips as leverage, practically bruising them. He grunts, “This what you’re doin now? Hm? Hah- thinkin about cheatin

“Fuck- fuck you- mmmph- we’re not- aangh- were nooot-“ you can’t even finish your own sentence, broken moans escaping your mouth, your head falling and toes curling as your ass kept rippling against his pelvis every time Simon bottomed out.

“-We’re not wot? Huh? Wot was tha again?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, slamming his hips into your harder, only earning more keens of his name and curses. You walls quivering around his hefty girth, tears burning your eyes. Then you feel the sting of his hand come down on your rear end, “I’m expecting words from you, that brain on?”

No- probably not- all you knew it was so much- a good much- taking over your entire body. Your hands grinned the headboard of the bed, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold.

“Awww,” the blonde condescendingly croons, dragging your hips down to the base of his member, “Mama can’t take ‘er husbands cock.” He hikes himself deeper inside you, hissing as your nails vlaw as his thigh. “Can help you remember swee’art, ‘s what ‘m ‘ere for.” His arm snakes around your neck, calloused hand around your neck and guiding your hips back into his, the filthy smack, smack, smack! filling the bedroom with every pound of his cock into you.

Simon has you cumming and cumming, endless as a car pulls into your driveway. Simons eyes are nodded over, holding you so close and tight as he grinds into you, “My dear wife,” the military man’s stomach tightens, jaw clenched as he rests his head on your shoulder, sloppy thrust after sloppy thrust in your your oozing pussy, slowing filling with your mix of cum. “pretty fuckin wife, love you so- shit- sooo much dovie” he slurs out, leaving more little bruises up your neck, breathless and sucking your ear as he empties his creamy load into your perfect cunt, “where else would I be without you, baby, bloody hell-“

It’s those screams you’re letting out that has your date thinking your calling out bloody murder that makes the guy rush in your unlocked house. The noises are louder with every step he man makes up the steps the bed threatening to break with every brutal thrust. And you’re there, on the bed, legs over Simons broad shoulders, while he pistons into your slipper pussy, balls smacking against your ass. Your ex husband is pushing you down by your plush thighs, feet flat on the bed and drilling into you without a care in the world. Simon whips his head around, the stranger gobsmacked in horror.

A sinister smirk grows on Simons face, “Guest ‘f honor is ‘ere dovie, don’t you wanna great ‘em?”

Your heat only clenches, only thinking about your husband- the father of your kids, love of your life— Simon, Simon, Simon, Simon-

“So cockdrunk yer speakin out loud,” he lowly snickers, pushing your knees up to your earlobes, smooshing his strawberry cockhead against your cervix, pushing his fingers in your mouth for you to shut up, but you only moan at the sensations he’s giving you. Both mouths stuffed, both set of puffy lips drooling in delight.

Simon cracks his neck, staring holes into your ex date, “If you could close the door on your way out, her husbands taking care of ‘er now.”