roe

it starts off simple enough. a bet. a bet between two weird frenemies, who dont quite get along, but can get behind this,

"bet ya cant last"

"bet ya i can"

"what, as a cuck? ya think ya can last that long?"

"fuck it. tomorrow night. the three of us."

you had zoned out of the conversation, only zoning back in at this crucial moment,

"hey guys - what's happening?"

and ten minutes later, the three of you were buzzing with a strange excitement. the type that had you impatient, unable to sit still at all. it was luck, that had given the three of you the day off - letting you use the day to prep (an everything shower, doing your hair and make up just right to be ruined - the usual), and the other two to stew in their impatience.

scott walks into your room first, a determined look on his face. he says nothing, going straight to the chair you had specifically angled opposite your bed.

the two of you dont wait long, fortunately, as logan bursts into the room, a scowl on his face. he's already pissed and irritated as it is - a good sign, of course. the rougher the better, no? he points at you, raising his eyebrows and gesturing to the bed.

he only gets halfway before noticing scott,

"so ya got here already, huh? how long d'ya think he'll last, peaches?"

"one round."

"if that.."

scott frowns, shaking his head and huffing as he crosses his arms,

"you can't be serious, logan. one round? really? you both have no faith in me, huh?"

the shared grin between you and logan says more than enough, as scott leans back in his chair. logan turns you to face him, lips pressing against your neck as he inhales your scent. the growl that rises from the back of his throat is enough to have your hips already bucking in his grasp. he tuts in response, shaking his head,

"patience, peaches. nothing comes that easy - not even scott.."

you whine and pout, and roll your eyes. logan pulls you closer - tearing off the brand new lingerie you had put on especially for tonight as you moan and complain<

"that was new!"

"i'll buy more."

"with what, lo"

"scott's money..?"

scott sighs, hand already reaching over his aching bulge as logan spins you to face him. he thinks about refusing - complaining and arguing - but the sight of you, torn apart with your hair already a mess as logan practically manhandles you already has him flustered.

yeah, scott's screwed.

logan reaches down, fingers touching around desperately to find that sweet spot he so easily teases over as you arch into his touch. and as his fingers gloss over your aching bud, you tense ever so slightly - a light gasp escaping you as logan doubles down. two fingers press down onto your clit, rubbing hard as scott watches.

you try at first not to make direct eye contact with him, but you really have no choice. especially when he's sat with his dick in his hand - hard and throbbing as he strokes himself. you can practically hear logan smirking behind you as he spreads your legs open, tearing off his own boxers to reveal his thick, veiny cock.

and a quick one two pump later, logan has you hovering above him. he pulls your hips down slow (planning to tease scott, of course. the longer you go on, the harder for him. the better for logan, duh). each inch that passes into your folds is agonisingly filling, and he does not stop until he fills you - to the brim.

"f-fuck, lo, m'so full.."

"oh, i know you are peaches. and look at scott. look at him. dick in his hand, watchin' us like that. ya like that, scotty? yeah, i bet ya fuckin' do..."

scott, who does in fact have his dick in his hand, is far too busy trying not to cum at the sight of the two of you to respond to logan's teasing. he's too busy trying to ignore the heat in his body rising with every slow thrust logan takes.

logan has your legs spread wide open - practically pulling you apart with his hands under your knees, tugging your body up and down as you try to keep up. every thrust has your eyes rolling back, seeing stars as logan seems to be the only one of the three of you with any kind of sense at the time.

scott's no better than you, of course. his eyes are trained - fixed - on where you and logan join. watching how he enters and exits you, thrusting and pumping faster and faster. one of logan's hands leaves your leg to rub your clit again as you try to curl up (not that he lets you - the other hand now holds both legs as open as possible).

the sight has scott unable to hold back - unable to control himself as he jerks his hand back and forth, faster and faster. he cant hold back the moans that spill out, hips thrusting up into his own fist as he really, really tries his best.

"fuck me, scott - shoulda done this sooner!"

"sh-shutthefucku-! up, log-! logan- fuck!"

he only chuckles in response.

you're past sense at this point, babbling and begging for him to go faster, faster, please, please, please, logan! because you just need it so, so bad! you're begging him to cum, and to let you cum - words spiral out of your mouth far before you can even think of them.

his hand leaves your clit, returning to hold you open as he addresses scott again,

"scott. look - fuckin' watch me. watch me go in and out, right now. hey - hey! ya lookin'? good, good, fuckin' watch me fill her up like this. fuck, peach, ya feel so good like this. ya like this? havin' scotty watch us fuck?"

"f-fuck! yes, yes, yes!"

"good girl."

ohhhh, he's evil, logan. he knows that'll drive you over the edge, have the tears rolling out as you cum hard and fast - shaking in his arms as he does not stop. he rides you through your orgasm, pushing you further and further as your nails dig into his arms - the only thing keeping you somewhat sane.

scott, who has been holding himself back just enough to keep himself from spraying bucketloads of cum all over, finally fails. the sight of you cumming like that has him unable to hold back as he cums. thick ropes jerk out of him, landing on the two of you as he continues to stroke his cock. his pace slows down to a more languid, lazy one as he relaxes back into his chair, breath slowly evening out.

logan's last to cum, it seems. he follows soon after scott, shooting up into you as he holds onto you - tight. it's hot, spilling all over you, and out onto your thighs. you whine and moan as he lowers his head to your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of sweat and sex that has attached itself to the two of you.

the three of you stay still for a while, gathering yourselves. and when you think it's over, logan pulls out - laying you down on the bed before calling scott over.

"eat her out, scotty. come on, man, ya gotta do somethin'."

and he does just that. scott summers drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, tongue lapping up each and every thick drop of cum that fills your pussy. his tongue reaches around - dipping between your folds, dragging cum up to your clit as he practically slurps at you.

this time, logan's the one to watch, a smile on his face (from the bet, or the sex?).

and when the three of you are done, you all finally lie in bed together. logan's arms wrap around you - kisses pressed to your shoulders and neck as he reassures you with sweet affirmations. scott's arms snake around your waist, head resting in the crook of your neck as he presses his own sweet kisses across your chest.

the three of you pass out in a long, deep sleep.

xoxo, roe~

YOUNG LEON, orphaned so young that he had not the chance to even think of parents, let alone mourn them. Who would roam King's Landing amongst the other homeless orphans, scavenging from bakers who would turn a blind eye as he would snatch a stale bread.

YOUNG LEON, who envied the City Watch, scouring the streets in their gold capes as they upheld 'justice'. He would watch them, hidden and praying to the Seven that he too would grow to be like them.

YOUNG LEON, who - despite the warnings his fellow orphans give him - stumbles upon a garden he is most definitely not to be seen in. And whilst he is trying to find how he can safely leave said garden, lays eyes on the prettiest girl he could have ever thought of. His own age, perhaps slightly shorter than him, wearing one of those stuffy, billowing dresses that every noble pushed their daughters into. As the girl calls him over, he forgets his position for a moment - rushing over to play.

YOUNG LEON, who does not realise the danger he is in (or the danger he would be in, were it not for Ned Stark's ever kind gaze) until it is too late, begging for forgiveness from a disgruntled King Robert Baratheon until the girl tugs on Lord Stark's trouser, staring up at him with eyes he cannot deny. And as he sighs, attempting to deny her, she only becomes more and more adament, until he turns to his good friend:

"Forgive him, Rob. You know how they are, that young."

"Why should I, the King, forgive him?"

Oh dear. You hide behind your father's legs as sweet, innocent Leon begins to shake - unable to hide his fear. Ned's eyes glance down, before he kneels to his height. For a moment, Leon thinks this is it. This is his short life, come to a quick and swift end. Oh, the horrors! And he would never see you again…

Ned lifts his chin, forcing Leon to look up at him. But he is not cruel, nor does he cause pain - keeping his hands and voice gentle as he speaks to the frightened boy,

"None of that now, lad. If you are to come with us, then you'll have to man up - think you've got it in ya?"

Behind him, two guards stifle their laughter. The King sighs, shaking his head and Ned almost fears he won't speak, until a small voice speaks out, behind the tears,

"I have! I have, my Lord!"

"Good lad. Your name, then?"

"My name is Leon Scott Kennedy, my Lord."

"Well then, Leon. You'll be travelling with my daughter and I, back to Winterfell. Got any belongings or family to inform?"

As he shakes his head, part of Ned's heart drops. Perhaps taking him in was a better choice than leaving him to rot in the streets of King's Landing.

"We'll take him on, Rob."

"Your loss, Ned."

YOUNG LEON, who's first act after being taken in by Ned is to thank you profusely. In fact, he does not stop thanking you until you order him to, and then he remains silent until you begin teasing him. The two of you spend the journey playing together (as young children often do), and Ned holds a sweet smile whilst watching the two of you.

YOUNG LEON, who upon arriving in Winterfell is told he will be taught with the other boys, raised to become a guard for the family. He swears upon the Old Gods and the New, that he would put his very soul into training - until he could not anymore.

TEEN LEON, who spends every day training and perfecting himself (for you). From the moment he awakens, to the moment he sleeps - everything he does is training in some way or the other.

TEEN LEON, who knows the girls of Winterfell have their eyes on him. Though he is sure they would be good to him, he keeps himself faithful to his promise. It does not help that he does not think the one he has eyes for could ever consider him in such a manner. Instead, he represses his feelings - focusing first and foremost at his work.

TEEN LEON, who does not miss how you spend two hours every afternoon reading in a room with a window that just so happens to overlook the training yard. He thinks you're just looking out for him. He does not know that it happens to be because those two hours are the two where he trains shirtless. Even better are when it rains.

YOUNG ADULT LEON, who has not been able to let go of the crush that has now blossomed and bloomed into a deep, gut-wrenchingly painful love. The kind of love he prays for every night, plagues him. He prays that he will never act upon it - for your sake, of course! And, he prays that whatever noble Lord you are to be betrothed to will love you as he does. He knows better though - he knows no one could ever come quite close to how much he loves you, and the thought of that hurts him. What he does not know is how you lie in your chambers, tears streaming down your face as you think of him.

YOUNG ADULT LEON, who has just been appointed your sworn sword - to watch and to guard you with every last breath. He makes eye contact with you when he is sworn in, and does not miss the smile on your face. He briefly matches it, before returning to a look 'more suitable' for his role, as he stands beside you.

SWORN SWORD LEON, who follows you everywhere (well… almost everywhere. Anywhere he cannot follow behind, he waits outside patiently as you continue to ramble to him). He tries not to engage with your ramblings at first - claiming that he must focus on his task - until you turn to him with that same pouty face you convinced your father with.

SWORN SWORD LEON, who - despite swearing he could care less - is very much invested in your gossip. Who wore what dress, who sneaks behind their Lord Father and Lady Mothers' backs to rendezvous with the stable boy in the middle of the night - he remembers it all.

SWORN SWORD LEON, who cannot maintain professional boundaries, no matter how hard he tries.

SWORN SWORD LEON, who really, really tries to ignore his true feelings.

SWORN SWORD LEON, who comes with you as you leave Winterfell to go to King's Landing with your father and two sisters - despite the horrible pit in his stomach that tells him to pull you aside and keep you far, far away.

SWORN SWORD LEON,

who - during the chaos of everything, stays by your side no matter what. In trying to return you to Winterfell, he does not leave you. Not even in your most personal of moments. When you ask him for space, he vehemently refuses,

"I swore an oath, my Lady."

"An oath?"

"To you. I am sworn to you."

"I can relieve myself in peace, Leon."

"I will turn away, but I will not leave."

"Leon…"

"…"

"…fine! Stubborn as ever.."

SWORN SWORD LEON, who when you finally - after quite literally surviving the trip to Hell and back - return to Winterfell still will not leave your side. And that is when Sansa sees it. That look in his eyes. She shakes her head, gesturing to Jon Snow in both of your directions. The two share a knowing look.

SWORN SWORD LEON, who is approached one day .as you are sewing in another room, by Sansa. His back straightens as she shakes her head, calling him over with two fingers. For a moment, he fears he has overstepped a boundary, or done something of offence. For a moment, he feels exactly like YOUNG LEON from all those years ago - barely able to make a sound.

"I see how you look at my sister."

"My Lady?"

"Do you think we cannot see?"

"No, no, you misunderstand! I do not look in such a manner, my Lady-"

"Relax, Ser."

"…"

"My sister probably looks at you similarly. I.. have an idea."

"…"

"Would you marry her? Not that she cannot take a suitor - believe me, she has many proposals, still waiting. But I do not trust them, not like I know I can trust you."

"My Lady, are you sure?"

"More sure of this than anything, Ser Kennedy. You love her, and she loves you. And I have seen how you have devoted yourself to her - no other man will devote themselves in quite a way like you do. So..?"

"What else can I say, but yes?"

SWORN SWORD LEON, who did not realise how difficult it would be to stay away from you as the two of you stayed separate to one another in the days leading up to your wedding. He returns to old habits - namely training in the yard to keep himself busy. Once again, he is oblivious to you watching him.

SWORN SWORD LEON, who feels uncomfortable in the clothes he wears on the big day. Who keeps tugging at his neck, feeling constricted. The only thing that keeps him sane is the fact that he is doing this for you.

SOON TO BE HUSBAND LEON, who cannot help but let his lips part like that when you walk towards him, ethereal in your Northern finery. The way your hair has been pinned back, and you step just like an angel. For a moment, he concerns himself with ideas of not being good enough for you, until you look at him with that same sweet smile that has him swooning.

DEVOTED HUSBAND LEON, who carries you all the way to your chambers, refusing to spend a moment away from you. Both your giggles and his carry through Winterfell for all to hear as you spend the night tangled in each other's arms. In the morning, the sight of your head resting on his chest has his heart melting.

DEVOTED HUSBAND LEON, who swears to love you with every breath - in this life, and every other life to come.

DEVOTED HUSBAND LEON, who sees YOUNG LEON in his dreams sometimes and tells him of how he finally made their dream come true. YOUNG LEON does not understand at first, but when he realises it's you, it all clicks.

DEVOTED HUSBAND LEON, who loves his sweet Stark wife with his whole heart and soul.

co-worker!ryland grace who knew the moment you settled in that he wanted to be your friend.

co-worker!ryland grace whose students teased him constantly and mercilessly for being "whipped" for the new pretty teacher because he always put extra effort when you were around.

co-worker!ryland grace who turned beet red when he found out what "whipped" meant and had his whole class lovingly laugh at him for the rest of the week. he couldn't look you in the eye because his dignity was brutally crushed and murdered by middle schoolers.

co-worker!ryland grace whose palms always turned sweaty when you stood closely to him. whose heart ached whenever you laughed. whose gaze always stopped to watch you in awe. whose soul felt at home with yours.

co-worker!ryland grace who knew he liked — no, loved you — when he saw you comforting a crying student underneath the stairwell in the emergency after school hours. you were gentle, kind, and patient; making the student laugh even through her tears.

secret admirer!ryland grace who put in extra effort after he made peace with his feelings for you. he took note of the supplies you kept on your desk in the faculty and kept extras in his desk drawers just in case you ran out of yours.

secret admirer!ryland grace who began talking to you more than usual. he always somehow finds his way to your classroom and he uses every single excuse in the book to stay in your company a little longer.

secret admirer!ryland grace who didn't deny or shut down his students teasing like before, making them squeal and giggle loudly optimistically. he was relieved that at least he had the support of his students.

secret admirer!ryland grace who always did things for you just because. he bought you lunch just because. he bought you coffee just because. he helped you clean your classroom just because. he changed his route home to accompany you just because.

secret admirer!ryland grace who was scared deep down that you didn't reciprocate his feelings because he didn't receive any signals that you might like him back. despite the reassurances from his students and co-workers, he just couldn't help but feel anxious!

secret admirer!ryland grace who felt betrayed by his co-workers when he was set up to work with you in organizing the annual school dance. he asked for your number under the excuse of "easy communication".

secret admirer!ryland grace who learned a lot about you during the whole process. he learned why you became a teacher. he learned about your family. he learned about your hobbies. he learned about your all favorites. he learned how you liked your coffee. god, he learned so much about you and he wants to keep on learning more.

secret admirer!ryland grace who made sure he wore his best clothes at the school dance (which wasn't much, really. but it was the best that he owned!)

secret admirer!ryland grace who fell for you even harder when you walked in the school gymnasium and he could've sworn that the entire room became brighter and warmer; like sunlight spilling through the window in a cold winter morning.

secret admirer!ryland grace who felt betrayed by his students (and later on, co-workers, again, after he learned that they were in kahoots with each other) when they shoved a boque of flowers in his hands and practically shoved him towards your direction.

secret admirer!ryland grace who suddenly felt a wave of gratitude for everything that went wrong in his life because seeing you light up at the sight of your favorite flowers in his hand made everything feel right.

secret admirer!ryland grace who very nervously — and bravely — asked you for a dance once he felt like you finished admiring the flowers. he almost melted from relief when you beamed with stars in your eyes and said yes.

secret admirer!ryland grace who finally mustered up the courage and confessed his feelings to you before asking you out on a date the next weekend. he definitely didn't cry tears of joy when you excitedly accepted his invitation and confessed your feelings for him too.

secret admirer!ryland grace who went back home smiling and giddy. any ounce of betrayal he might've felt for his students and fellow teachers was quickly replaced with overwhelming gratitude.

boyfriend!ryland grace who swore to marry you someday and never lose you to anyone — especially to a man named mark. you laughed and everything was going to be okay.

boyfriend!ryland grace who no longer lived his life like an eternal winter. your light drove the snow clouds away and your warmth melted the ice into pools of water. your smile was spring itself and the butterflies that would flutter in his stomach was enough proof of that to be considered a fact.

© forozren | do not copy, repost, or feed to ai.

You had a routine. The same old, usual bullshit - day in, day out. Monday to Friday, rest day on Saturday, prep day on Sunday. Sometimes, you'd give yourself a little leeway though, like tonight. After all, the rest of the team was out here for drinks too - so why not, hmm?

So here you are - in some random pub Soap had dragged you all to. Nursing a shitty beer, trying not to get your arms on the weird sticky surface every pub's tables had. It's loud (as it always is, on a Friday night), and you can barely hear yourself think. Gaz and Soap have been eyeing the karaoke machine for a while, leaving you all alone with Captain Price, making small talk as the two of you avoid proper conversation. Well… you're not really all alone.

The room shifts around you as he walks in - six foot four, towering over everyone as he swaggers over towards your table. You don't turn around (but then again, you dont need to. You know he's here), sipping at your beer as Price scoffs and shakes his head,

"Not how you drink that-"

"I know."

"And yet here you are, sippin' away like a baby."

"Fuck else am I supposed to do - tastes like shit, Cap."

"Can't deny that- Simon. Nice of you to join us."

His voice holds a consistent tone, until he acknowledges the other, a small inflection giving away his joy at seeing the still masked man. Price nods at him, and he nods back, taking a seat across from you. After he's finished his conversation with Price, he slowly turns to you - his eyes following after as he drinks you in.

The two of you lock eyes, and for a moment, both you and him know exactly how this night ends. But that's not an issue that either of you are willing to acknowledge at this point in time. As you have your slightly strange, very awkward moment, Price stands up and Gaz and Soap finally get their hands on the mics at the karaoke machine. He sighs, letting out an almost fatherly chuckle,

"Right then kids, steppin' out for a cig - don't call me unless you're dyin', or someone else's dyin', got it?"

..which was his own way of saying 'love you, but leave me the fuck alone tonight'. Neither you nor Simon stop him, watching him trail off and step outside. The two of you turn towards each other again, words tickling your tongues before you both think better.

One moment passes… and then a second… and a third, before you finally smile at him and get up, pointing towards the bar,

"I'm gonna go grab myself a new drink - can't stand this beer - you want anything?"

"I'm good."

"…cool…"

"…"

Your hips sway as you turn away from him, not realising how his eyes follow the way you move. Watching you as you order. There's something that tugs at him as he watches you giggle and play with your hair, leaning on the bar as you watch the bartender make your drink.

With their song finally over, both Gaz and Soap have had plenty of time to assess what's happening in front of them. And it's nothing short of a nuclear disaster, in their books! They pass their mics off onto the couple waiting patiently to sing after them, nodding to one another as Soap saunters over to Simon, and Gaz over to you,

"New drink, huh?"

"In my defence-"

"Shitty beer! Say less."

"Exactly! Ugh, why Soap insists on beers for everyone is.. beyond me."

"Some bullshit about it being the 'right drink', or something. So, whatcha drinkin' now?"

"Double Bells and coke."

He makes a low whistle, nodding appreciatively as he orders himself the same. As the two of you fall into a comfortable conversation, back at the table, Soap's just planted himself beside the not-so-stoic, struggling man,

"Lt!"

"Johnny."

"Preoccupied tonight, eh?"

"Never."

"I dunno Let, seems like ya mind's lost somewhere… perhaps on someone, even…"

"What're you tryna say, Johnny?"

"Nothing! Nothing…"

The two sit quietly (a stark difference to your and Gaz's bumbling gossiping away at the bar), hands shoved in pockets. It doesn't start out awkward, but with how Soap stares at him, and how the pub seems to suddenly feel so overpacked - he can't help but pull a face under the mask. He tugs off his jacket, letting his head roll back.

It's that exact moment that your eyes land on his stretched neck, watching how his Adam's apple bobs up and down and trying so very hard not to stare at the veins that colour his skin. You quickly tug yourself back into conversation, inhaling deep as you try to ignore what had just happened.

As both Gaz and Soap nod in some sort of success, Price walks back in - face dropped as he approaches the table. He turns to face Gaz and you, beckoning you over and then crossing his arms as he waits,

"Right. So. Our lovely Sergeants have fucked up their paperwork of the night - calling this lovely get together to a quick end. Unfortunately we'll just have to reschedule - understood?"

Both Sergeants moan and groan as Price practically drags them out of the pub. You miss the subtle wink he throws in Simon's direction, but don't miss the knowing eyebrow raise on his way out. Fortunately, that has brought a very awkward situation to an end… ish. Neither you nor Simon make any move to continue at the pub, leaving and catching the first bus back to your place. Despite all the places you had travelled, there was always a weirdly nostalgic feeling about Manchester at night. The slightly off-putting lights, the dinghy signs. Even better when slightly tipsy, riding a bus and stumbling back home.

As soon as the two of you stumble inside, you quickly fall into a well practiced rhythm - his hands pressing up against your waist, holding you up to the wall as he rips his mask off, and his lips find your neck. Your hands tangle into his dirty blonde hair, anchoring yourself to him as he lifts both of your legs and wraps them around his waist,

"Upstairs, now."

"So commanding - don't you get enough of that at work?"

"Oh, she wants sweet and soft tonight?"

"Hmmm… we'll have to see~"

He sighs, shaking his head as you wrap your arms around him, pressing kisses to the side of his face. As he walks the two of you into the bedroom, he lowers you onto the bed, and you elt your arms fall from him. Unlike before, there's no awkwardness as the two of you stare at each other. There's no weirdness between you as both you and him quickly strip down to nothing, as he lowers his own body - letting it loom over you and cage you in.

He can't deny how his cock twitches when you whine like that.

You take the moment, flipping him over as you take control (for now) (or does he let you take control?). He's briefly taken back, before he rolls his eyes, leaning against the headrest. One hand reaches out to flick on the nightlamp, casting a soft amber glow around the room and upon the two of you. And as the cold Manchester night rumbles on with winds and bursts of rain, the two of you finally bring yourselves together.

He runs a finger up your folds, before parting them, playing with the slick as you inhale sharply. Your hands find his shoulders and he moves his to your waist, helping you lower yourself onto him. You wrap your thighs around him, rocking back and forth as you slowly accomodate his thick length. His head drops to your shoulder, breathing in the scent of you as it mixes with his, and the sweet tang that begins to fill the room starts to waft in between. His eyes flit open as he groans, urging you to go faster,

"Patience, Simon-"

"Patience? Don't talk to me about bloody patience, love."

"What, the great Ghost can't practice a little restraint?"

"…"

"Awhh.. poor baby… sulking and sighing and-"

"Do you want to be in control?"

"Yes!"

"Do you want to stay in control?"

You roll your eyes but comply anyway, picking up the pace as you roll your hips up and down. His hands help, pulling and pushing your body. You tell yourself you're letting him help, but both you and him know it's not that. Still, you won't stop him - not when you feel so perfect, with his cock filling you in ways you had missed so desperately. Except right as it starts to feel like that, he stops. He holds your hips in place, pulling his cock out of you and ignoring your pathetic whines as he turns you around - facing the long, full length mirror in front of your bed as he pulls you back down onto him.

And now you're presented with the sight of you - legs wide open, back pressed against his chest as his mouth finds your ear, whispering softly,

"Sorry love - let me take over tonight, yeah? You can have another night."

"Not fair, Si-"

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay - I'll make it up to ya."

"You better.."

He hooks his arms under your legs, lifting them up and practically folding you on his cock. Your hands rest on his arms as shaky breaths trickle out of your throat - he's so much deeper than he ever was before, reaching further into you as he thrusts in and out at a pace that you know will have you sore in the morning. The need for him begins to envelope you, a thick haze clouding your mind with thick, lustful mists. You try to claw at him, to anchor yourself to him, and your nails practically dig into his heavily tattoo'd arms. Not that he minds. He never minds.

"So pretty and fucked out f'me, huh? Don't pass out on me yet."

"I- o-oh, that's it, right th-there!! I wo-n't~!"

"Good girl."

"Oh!"

The validation has you clenching around him as he chuckles, slamming his hips into you faster as your body falls forward from him. The two of you move into a position that has his arms caging you in, pinning you down to the bed as your hips move back into his. Your back arches and you feel one hand lower to your stomach as the other trails further.

The one on your stomach presses down as he kisses your neck, speaking into your skin as vibrations rumble through your body,

"Feel that, right there? That's me, fillin' ya up."

"F-fuck, Si-"

"I know, baby. Gonna fill you, don't you worry."

You only moan in response, body slumping as he drives you closer and closer to your release. The other hand finds your clit, rolling slow circles whilst you try not to buck your hips back into his (and fail miserably). As you get closer and closer, your hands dig into the bedsheets below - tugging at them whilst your brain drives itself over the edge, filled with a maddening desire for him, him and only him. You make the mistake of looking up in the mirror, meeting your own eyes (overtaken by a hazy lust) before finding his own eyes. When you do, he slams into you one last time as you cry out - entirely overwhelmed as you shake in his arms, small whines and moans whispering out of your throat.

The two of you stay still for a while, with him whispering slow, sweetened praises into your ear as you bring yourself back to reality. He slides out of you - taking his time, letting both you and him enjoy every inch before repositioning you in bed. With you now on your back, he trails kisses down your body.

Your neck.

Your chest.

Your nipples - the very peaks, before swirling his tongue around both.

Your stomach, and finally all the way down to your folds - coated with cum. He holds your thighs apart, pressing down with his hands to ensure you won't close your legs around his head (not that he'd mind if you did) before licking one long, unhurried stripe up your folds - stopping at your clit. His mouth latches on, sucking at your clit with a vigour that you just can't match as you cry and grab at his hair. Your hips rock up into his mouth, overwhelmed by his expert ministrations.

But he doesn't slow down. Instead, he removes his mouth from your clit - replaced with three fingers that swipe over with a maddening pace - and moves to your folds. As his fingers work tirelessly over your aching clit, his tongue plunges in and out of you. He laps up each and every drop that leaks out of you, all as you writhe and shake underneath him. You're rolling your head back, pushing your hips into his face and he's chuckling and humming over your clit. The sensation sends shivers up and down your spine as you attempt to clench your thighs around his face - held back by his hands still pressing down. Still, you cum fast and quick on his tongue. He works through, swirling his tongue through your folds as he ruts himself into the bed below. His cock leaks onto the bedsheets, sure to ruin them as he grinds down to relieve himself, his mouth still pressed firmly against you.

The last thing you realise before you pass out from the sheer overwhelming nature of it all is how he spells his name out - one letter at a time - into you.

You're not sure how long he spent with his head between your thighs, but if previous nights were any indication to go by, he probably stayed there well past you passing out. All you know is that when you wake up to the sounds of birds chittering outside, wrapped up in the arms of the man you love so very dearly, you feel nothing but content. Your head rests on his chest as you lazily draw patterns into his skin - tracing over his tattoos, trailing your nails up his skin as he sleeps-

"Oi - quit it, you."

His voice holds no real malice, nor any actual wish for you to stop as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. In respose, you hum, pressing a kiss to his chest and looking up at him. Oh, how he missed your doe shaped eyes, staring up so peacefully back into his own soft blue eyes. One hand finds your back, drawing circles onto your skin as the two of you slowly wake up,

"Been a while, hmm?"

"Mmm."

"Si?"

"Yes, love?"

"When are we gonna tell 'em?"

"Who?"

"Gaz and Soap?"

"…"

"Simon…"

"I dunno, love.."

"It's been three years. I'm tired of pretending! It was funny at the time, only having Laswell, Price, Nik and a few others in on the wedding-"

He sighs, closing his eyes as memories of you in your dress, twirling around flood his memory. Only to be quickly replaced by memories of him practically tearing you out of the dress, pounding into you all night as-

"Simon?"

"Huh?"

"You zoned out?"

"Oh.. erm.. we'll tell 'em soon-ish?"

You roll your eyes, closing them again and letting yourself drift off to sleep. Whilst outside, as morning birds sang their songs and two tired Sergeants stumbled out of base (oh, if only they knew!) - desperately seeking a bed and sleep, in here, the two of you had made your own sweet paradise.

You wouldn't change it for the world.

xoxo, roe~