Mizmo da Cat

Soon he tosses the glass that was in his hand seconds before into the nearest bin and he's across the room before his brain catches up to his body, the predator instinct drowning out any reason, and he slides in behind you, his chest pressed to your back, and his mouth finding the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

You stiffen for a hot sudden moment, but knowing it was your bf then instantly you melt like a cotton candy in the water, a pavlovian response he viciously enjoys. "Now, luv," he murmurs, his voice pitched loud enough to carry that edge, so that bartender can know, you were with him, his breath hot against your neck tickles all the small hair rise on your body and you feel the wetness start to damp your underwear. "You told me you were gonna make tonight unforgettable. Did you forget?" He says it deliberately, making sure the bartender hears him, and fuck heat floods your face, that was visible even in the dim light, and the man -- before you and simon, cough slightly his pale skin turning pink as if he was embarrassed for you and he stutters something under his breath, retreating back to another side, with his face scrunched with disgust or fear, simon didnt know.

Good though, Simon thinks, satisfaction curling darkly in his chest, and his, thoughts inside his chest chants, No murder for today.

You turn towards him, your eyes flashing him embarrassed and furious daggers, "Si," you hiss, smacking his chest. "He was the bartender. I was ordering us a drink."

Simon doesn't blink and keeps his eyes fixed on you, then he chuckles softly at your little pout and his hand finds your waist in a firm grip, which makes you cuss under your breath, then he pulls you flush against his chest, and you groan dramatically--yet you make no way to wriggle free for him and he bends a little putting his chin on top of your head and he swore he can hear your pulse hammering, he can smell your shampoo and your anger and underneath it, but also the faint unmistakable scent of your arousal that starts to drip from your core. "Not that it matters," he says, and his voice soon drops to that register that makes your knees weak, the one he uses right before he ruins you. "You're still getting reminded." He leans down and croons against your ear, "who... you... belong.... to, luv."

He doesnt give you a moment to speak instead he pulls you closer to him, just enough to plant a ferocious kiss on your lips then he pulls back with a satisfied smirk, threading his fingers through yours, and soon he is already walking you toward the exit, towards the home, your bed, where he will make sure to remind you, that you belong to him in every way, he can.

• possessive bf!Simon always has your location on his phone not because he doesn't trust you. God, he trusts you more than he trusts himself. It's everyone else he doesn't trust, because his mind is always full of what ifs, when you go out.

What if you get followed? What if something happens? What if someone looks at you the way he does?

The thought alone makes his jaw clench. So he keeps your location on — not to keep tabs on you, but to make sure you're safe and sound. Do you know about it, though? Probably not. He hopes, atleast.

• possessive bf!Simon always keeps a hand on the small of your back whenever you're out together, whether the place is crowded or not.

• possessive bf! Simon who has a thing for your bratty mouth, your sharp tongue, the way you put him in his place when he's being an ass. He shouldn't love it, and he hates himself for loving it, but he does bloody love it.

And the moment you snap at him, the moment your eyes narrows at him and you tell him exactly where he can shove his attitude, something in him cracks open.

He willingly sinks to his knees out-of-fucking-character for him, he knows, but fuck, you think, this man who commands rooms, who terrifies enemies, who wears authority like a second skin, he cant help but be on the floor for you when you talk back to him, his big hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider, and in one swift motion he pulls down your slacks and underwear to your ankles and leans a bit forward his mouth hovering where you're already wet despite yourself. "W'nt my mout', here, luv?" He teases.

You swallow hard trying to hold onto the anger, and trying to remember what he did, what he said -- the reason you were furious five minutes ago.

But as soon as he growls against your inner thigh, super close to your dripping cunt, this low, wrecked sound that vibrates straight through you and your thoughts scatter in an instant, and only thing you feel the ghost of his breath against you.

He doesnt wait for your answer instead he flattens his tongue against your hole and makes a slow long stroke from his tongue to your clit, and your knees begins to shake but his grip on you remains so strong that you dont fall, and then he sucks on it with such pressure, his tongue lapping on it until you're trembling, and gasping his name repeatedly, and your fingers turns white-knuckled in his hair, begging him shamelessly to go faster, and he does, circling his tongue on your clit before vaccuming the bud in his mouth as he keeps his eyes on you watching your face crumble with the pleasure and just as you teeter on the edge of your heat -- just as your orgasm builds sharp and inevitable inside your belly, he stops abruptly ignoring your protests and pulls back, just enough to look up at you with those dark brown eyes, his mouth shining with juices of you, and the smirk on his face that screams pure sin. "Who's in control right now, luv?"

You want to slap him , yell at him, and grip his hair and force his mouth on you, just so he could finish what he started, but no sound would come out of your pretty little mouth, and the only sentence that you managed and came out of you was a broken plea, "You. Fuck—you are, si."

"Good girl." He smiles, and dives back inside your cunt and finishes you ruthlessly, and drinks your juices down his throat, while you sob his name, in utter pleasure -- and just like that every damn time, you give in.

• possesive bf! Simon always makes sure you sit beside him at restaurants or at someone's party. He always saves you a seat and expects you to slide in next to him.

• possessive bf!Simon can't seem to stop answering for you, someone asks you a question? even a perfectly harmless one — and he's already speaking before you get the chance. His voice stays calm, accompanied by a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. "She's with me." "She's not interested." Which has the stranger running for his life and you glare at him. "Si, he was just asking where the cereal aisle was." You say rolling your eyes at him, and Simon doesn't even flinch, he just tilts his head innocently. "He can read." and you just sigh in response, intertwining your fingers with his, "stupid." He always act like he didnt hear it but he does, and he loves every syllable of it leaving your mouth.

It also happens when someone invites the two of you to a party, and before you can open your mouth, he's already turning away with a quiet, final, "no." And you swear he hears questions as personal challenges -- not that you hate it.

• possesive bf! Simon who fucks you into oblivion when he's jealous. Honestly in his defense it's not deliberate — nothing so calculated as that. The jealousy hits him like a physical blow in his chest, like a jolt of electricity down his spine, and before his thoughts can reach to his mind he is already reacting in ways, he-not-so-regrets.

Though he does hate it, hates the feeling of something hot and vicious churning in his gut. Hates that someone else made you laugh, touched your arm, held your attention for even a moment.

Because your attention is his.

He knows it is, but knowing alone doesn't stop the spiral. Doesn't stop him from hauling you home, from tearing at your clothes with shaking hands, from driving into you before you've even finished gasping his name. He needs to feel you around him, needs to fuck you until you can't remember anyone's voice but his, anyone's touch but his, anyone's name, but his. "Say it," he growls, teeth at your throat, hips snapping brutally inside your entrance, and the picture that hung behind you on the wall rattles with force of his thrust into you. "Say who's."

And you do, tell him recked and sobbing and his. "Yours, si, yours", he growls satisfactory, "always, mine."

• possesive bf! Simon hates when you get angry at him. Even if it's his fault— well , especially then. He can't help it. Because when you get angry? You ignore him.

and he can't help wanting you to look at him, to acknowledge him, even if he has to be stupid about it, even if he has to be desperate. He'll do whatever it takes to get your attention: trail after you, follow you from room to room, crowd your space until you have no choice but to look at him. Then he'll tease you, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. "Hate me, luv?" he croons and though the smile is sharp, almost cocky but his eyes betray him.

They're full of panic... and a quiet plea for you not to shut him out.

The truth is, he hates any distance between the two of you. He hates when you're not talking to him. He loves your attitude—your fire, your sharp tongue, the way you never hesitate to put him in his place. But the silence? He hates the silence. It's worse than any argument, worse than any screaming match. Because silence makes him feel like he's lost you. So for the sake of peace and to not lose you, he had apologize first, even if you say you hate him he just smiles knowing you dont and he have you talk it out the issue with him, and finally when you are not-so-angry he had make it upto you in ways you always love.

• possesive bf! Simon who is way too protective or call it anything you want, all because he knows he can lose anyone and everything... but he can't lose you.

John Price

It’s rare, but it happens. Missions don’t always progress the way you want, the outcomes diverting from the plans, leaving Price and his team stranded. Humans are unpredictable. They’re funny that way.

Which is why they’re laying low, taking refuge in an abandoned farmhouse in the English countryside. There are no roads, not paved, anyway. No one will come looking for them here.

“Water still works,” comes Kyle’s voice. “Surprising with no power. Think they’d cut this place off.”

Price removes his shirt, groaning. It’s filthy. Covered in blood. Not his but the fabric’s stiff. He doesn’t want to sleep in it.

“Steaming Jesus, Captain. What happened to your back?” chortles Johnny. Price starts to form a reply but the man keeps going. “You shag that lass at the pub?”

“Johnny,” warns Simon.

“Gaz!” Johnny shouts. “Come here and see Captain’s back!”

“Sergeant,” sighs Price, turning to glare at Johnny, only to discover his back as he chats away at Kyle.

“You remember? That bonnie thing Price kept eyeing?” From the corner, Simon snorts, head resting on his pack, eyes closed behind the mask as he stretches out on his sleeping bag.

“Scratch marks,” guffaws Johnny. “Fucking bright pink.”

“Sergeant!”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle hisses between his teeth, back stinging as he inspects himself in the mirror. He’s alone in the communal showers—as alone as he can be. Ghost and Soap are in here, too, but they’re behind their own respective curtains.

He lightly probes the tender marks. None are bleeding, but they’re only scratches. They’re just raw and haven’t scabbed over properly. Your nails didn’t cut all that deep, leaving behind thin raised lines that are slightly darker than his skin.

There are a fuck ton though. When he was balls deep, Kyle didn’t think much of it at the time. The pain from your nails was distant. All he knew was how tight and wet your pussy was.

“Kyle!” Johnny’s voice startles. Kyle pivots quickly, finding his teammate half-in, half-out of the shower. “Can you—what is that?”

Kyle blinks, confused. “What?”

Johnny’s surprise becomes wicked glee. “On your back.” He laughs. “You fucker.” He steps out, completely naked, yanking back Simon’s curtain. “Ghost!”

“Fucking hell, Johnny!” snarls Simon.

“Did you know Kyle had a shag last night?”

Simon’s hand connects with Johnny’s face, pushing him backward. “Fuck off,” he growls, yanking the shower curtain shut. “And good for him.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Turn around.”

“No.”

“Let us see, Johnny.”

“Yeah. You’re always having a go at us.”

Johnny won’t turn. He won’t. Any other time he might show off, flaunt the scratch marks, boast about his dick and how good he fucks, but they’ve caught him unawares. Snuck right up and cornered him. They’ll get nothing from him.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” shrugs Johnny. Leaning in, he wiggles his eyebrows at Simon. “If you want me to drop my towel, all you have to do is ask.”

Simon’s mouth quirks but otherwise sustains his stoic nature. “Cute, Johnny.”

“What’s the matter?” asks Kyle. “Embarrassed?”

“No—” Kyle reaches forward and lightly slaps Johnny’s left shoulder, making contact with the fresh scratch marks. “Fuck!” Johnny swats at Kyle’s hand. “That fucking hurt.”

“Still fresh,” laughs Kyle, observing his fingers. “Still bleeding.”

“Are you hiding her, Johnny?” teases Simon. “Not interested in sharing?”

Fuck.

This might be their private showers and workout space, but Johnny doesn’t really want to share you, even though Simon is right. You are here, hiding.

Simon’s gaze drops to Johnny’s dick and then flicks back up. “That’s pussy slick.” He points at Johnny’s crotch. “Hair’s wet, too.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

As Simon removes his shirt, smothered laughter erupts behind him. The wheeze is Johnny, face likely going red as he attempts to breathe. The cough-snort is Kyle. No question. Simon takes a steadying breath before depositing the sweat-soaked shirt onto the bench.

He turns, finding the two men desperate for air. “What?” he growls. Johnny’s face grows redder and Kyle hides his face in his hands. “Spit it out.”

“Your back,” Johnny manages between clenched teeth. He chokes on his next breath and it all falls apart. They can’t hold it in, falling into hysterical laughter. “Have it off with a cat?”

The image of you under him, legs spread, pussy stretched and perfectly taking his cock instantly rises, enveloping Simon in a lecherous embrace.

“Something like that,” answers Simon.

Johnny crouches, arms up, hands curled like a pretend monster. He makes a strangled meow while scratching the air.

“Soap,” laughs Kyle. “Christ, mate.”

Simon simply stares at them, outwardly unamused, but not on the inside. “Knock it off.”

Johnny switches to an imitation of a feminine voice, volume rising. “Oh, Simon,” he sing-songs. “Harder. HARDER!”

Kyle and Johnny devolve into fits, attempting to moan dramatically but only sounding strangled.

Alejandro Vargas

“Shouldn’t let the others see.”

Alejandro turns his head, finding Rudy leaning against the locker next to his. He’s already dressed and ready, but Rudy is always punctual, which means early.

“Let the others see what?” asks Alejandro.

Rudy’s mouth curves into a knowing smile. He tilts his head to the side, gaze pointedly on Alejandro back, to the accumulation of scratch marks. Lingering a moment, Rudy slowly shifts his gaze back to Alejandro.

“Those,” he indicated with a nod of his head. “It’s all they’ll talk about for weeks.”

Alejandro snorts, rolling his eyes, putting on a fresh shirt before adding the rest of his uniform. “They won’t.”

“They will,” insists Rudy. “Give you hell about it, too.”

“Like you are? Right now?”

Rudy doesn’t take the bait. “Which one was it?”

Alejandro sighs. “Does it matter?”

Rudy shrugs. “Marked you up good. A few look deep.”

Not surprising. Alejandro goes home with prostitutes because there aren’t any strings, and you, his favorite of the bunch, always go with him. For the money, yes, but also for his large cock and how he uses it. The scratch marks are evidence.

“You know which one,” answers Alejandro.

Papa ghost who finally knew what true love felt like the moment he held your son for the very first time. He watched in awe as your little boy’s tiny fist curled tightly around his much larger finger, those big, brown eyes already full of life as they stared directly back into his own. In that instant, it was as if all of his past trauma and the weight of the world simply melted away; this tiny, innocent creature was looking up at him as if he were the only person in the entire world. It is a moment Simon will carry in his heart forever.

Papa ghost who carries a set of dog tags with "Jr." quietly inscribed on the inside—a nod to little Simon Jr., named after his daddy. At first, Simon had been deeply hesitant about the idea; he had spent the better part of his life trying to run away from the name "Simon Riley," believing it was far too heavy and stained with trauma to ever be passed down to an innocent baby. You, however, refused to let him see it that way, gently showing him that this was an opportunity for rebirth—a chance to stop running and finally view his own name with dignity, healing, and hope. He is so incredibly grateful he listened to you, because for the first time in his life, he is filled with a quiet, overwhelming pride; on those long, freezing nights on deployment, he constantly fidgets with the tiny engraving, letting the cool metal remind him of the perfect family waiting for him back home.

Papa ghost who genuinely shuts down whenever little Jr. gets fussy or starts crying. He can't help but let his mind spiral into that dark, suffocating place, drowning in corrosive thoughts—convinced that he's a terrible father, that you and the baby would be infinitely better off without him, and that his violent past will eventually bring danger right back to your doorstep. During those gruelling first weeks when Jr. was first brought home, you were already struggling to survive the physical and mental demands of new motherhood, yet you were forced to act as the sole emotional anchor for your spiralling husband as well. There were painful, silent nights when Simon would disappear into the dark without a word, becoming so distant and detached that you felt like you were losing him all over again. To this day, looking back at that time, you still wonder how on earth you found the strength to pull your family through such a dark and exhausting period.

Papa Ghost who came out the other end of those dark times a better, stronger man, eventually pulling back from his active-duty military commitments so he would never have to be away from his family again. He wanted nothing more than to be fully present for Jr., to raise him and guide him with all the love and gentleness he wished his own father had shown him. Simon fiercely swears that he will never let Jr. join the military, refusing to let his son ever witness the horrors he had to survive.

You absolutely love watching him interact with your son now, always marveling at how incredibly gentle he is with his massive hands. In the beginning, he had been so awkward and stiff, barely knowing how to hold him and constantly terrified that he would somehow hurt the fragile baby.

Now, Simon takes his role as a father so seriously that he has crossed over into completely coddling him; it used to be that Jr. would cry the moment you left the room, but now that Simon is home, your little boy can’t go more than two minutes without demanding to be held in his father's arms. The absolute cutest moments are when Simon is sprawled out completely on the living room couch, with little Simon curled up into a tiny, peaceful ball, sleeping gently on his giant father's chest.

-

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-

-

The man is in his late twenties and spends most of his days and nights in his crappy big office with floor-to-ceiling windows showing the city view.

He probably spends more time with you than anyone else.

Does he even have a life outside this office?

“This is—” Nanami pauses to think of the right words to put out. “quite personal for work hours, yeah?”

“I got off work two hours ago.” you were just waiting for your signal to clock out and you are losing your patience.

He ignores you. But you poke him more.

“So you are a virgin, huh.” you repeated it like it's the prophecy written in the stars for him. You walked up to his desk and placed both hands on the desk. He finally lifted his head from his laptop.

“I had some experiences, yeah?” he gave in. His eyes went back to his laptop. You could feel his breathing shift, like he's more nervous.

He's definitely a virgin.

If you were to describe Nanami with just one word, you couldn't think of any words that fit him.

A workaholic, maybe. You could see his eyebrows furrowed when he's on the phone call with his clients.

He doesn't laugh at anything, takes everything way too seriously, and is way too focused on his company.

At some point in your life as his assistant, you thought that this man was going to die alone and that's a really sad reality for him.

Does he even have a life besides working? Is he even dating? Most guys his age have dated already at least.

He's just straight out boring and takes away the fun in everything. The age difference between the two of you isn't even that big, so you wonder what is considered ‘fun’ to him.

Probably working.

You nodded at his answer and just stared at him, trying to read what's on his mind. You have to admit, he does look hot, especially in his suit. Bet he looks even better without it.

You shake that thought away. Why are you even fantasizing about that? He's your boss.

“Do you have a wife?” you continue to ask away. This time you walked your way to the massive window displaying the glowing city on the horizon.

No answer.

You turned to face Nanami who seemed to be typing something on his laptop.

“A husband?” you tried again.

You could tell it was a rough day for Nanami by just the way he sighs. And you're probably making it even worse by asking him these weird personal questions.

You just want him to call it a night and kick you out.

“What?”

“It's okay, I don't judge you know, there's nothing wrong—”

“No.” he cuts you off.

You just stared at him. There are some white strands of hair visible on parts of his hair. Probably from all the stress he's carrying.

Maybe he could use a little stress reliever.

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you made your way next to Nanami and leaned closer to take a peak on what he's working on.

That was it. Something inside Nanami just snapped.

He walked up to you at full speed and pinned you against the window. The kiss that follows was desperate, like he's been waiting for this moment for his whole life.

You kiss him back, clinging your arms around his neck. This is it. The moment you've been waiting for. You knew he wanted you, you just don't know how to prove it.

He unbuttons your blouse and yanks off your pencil skirt in the blink of an eye. You did the same to his clothes, struggling to undo the buttons with your shaky hands.

Soon enough, both of your clothes are discarded on the floor and he's kissing you hungrily.

He tucks some strands of your hair behind your ear and trails down to your chin, lifting it up to make eye contact with you.

“Nanami—”

“Kento.” he corrects.

“Fuck me, please, Kento.” you tried to press your weight to his. He just smirks at you in return.

“Beg for it.” he turned you back and pressed you to the window and you could almost feel the entire city watching the two of you inside the skyscraper.

“Make me.” you responded, not wanting to obey another order from your boss.

The thrill of getting caught in the act made you even more excited. Your heart rate rises when he pulls your hair, making you arch back. His other hand cupped your left boob making you whimper.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself.” he leans closer to you and whispers to you, kissing your ear that makes you tingle. “Beg. for. it.”

Anyone from the outside could catch the two of you if they looked close enough. The thought of it makes you even wetter.

Right now, all you care about is what's happening from the inside and tonight, you decided that you're not clocking out until you get to fuck Nanami Kento.

“Please, fuck me. I need you, Kento.”

That's all that he needs to hear before he proceeds to bend you down on his desk.

Your stomach felt the cold desk immediately but you didn't have enough time to react because Kento’s hand reached out and pulled your hair, making your body weight shift up from the cold desk.

“Let this be a lesson for you to stop being such a brat.” his hand spanked your ass and you jolted, not expecting he'd do that. You let out a muffled sound.

His fingers find their way to your clit and circle around it. Soon enough, his index finger slips inside you, then another.

You let out a satisfied moan when he curved his fingers. Once you are wet enough, Kento grabbed his hard cock and started pumping it before he angled his tip on your dripping opening.

“Are you sure about this?” he gives you one last chance to back off before it's too late. You nodded your head.

“Use your words.” he spanks you again.

“Yes, I'm sure—”

That's all Kento needed to hear before he grabs your ass and thrusts into you. You swear you almost escalated to heaven. For a moment, your vision turned white and the sound you let out was utterly embarrassing.

He smacks your ass again, “You like that, you brat?” he thrusts even harder, hitting every sweet spot of yours. You let out a long embarrassing moan.

Your hand grips the edge of the desk, holding it for your dear life.

“What? Cat got your tongue now?”

You moaned in response, head too foggy to think of what to say. He spanks you hard.

“Yes, just like that!” he continues to thrust deep in you, pulling you hair as he places kisses on your shoulder. He made sure to leave some marks. For the memories.

The sound of a phone ringing from a distance didn't make Kento stop.

“Keep quiet.” He flips your body and how you're laying on your back. You lift your legs and place it on his shoulders. He continues to fuck you like a ragdoll.

He answers the phone and your eyes widened.

His hand massages one of your tits and pinches your nipple in between. You covered your mouth, trying your best not to let your moans escape your mouth.

Hot tears burst out from you trailing down your cheeks. You could see Kento's mouth moving, uttering out words you can't seem to make out.

Each thrust makes it even harder for you to contain your moans.

He hung up the phone and threw it somewhere on the floor. And you lost control, letting the moans out as you cried. You prayed that no one would pass by the office to witness this scandalous behavior of yours.

“I'm close.” you cried out. your hands gripped the edge of the desk right as you curl your toes.

The paperwork and things on his desk have long been scattered down on the floor. You couldn't care less.

“Together yeah?” he orders. He speeds up his thrusting. You didn't even notice your legs were shaking uncontrollably until he grabbed them.

You arched your back and his weight crashed down to your, shooting out white fluids on your stomach.

The adrenaline has slowed down and your brain has finally registered what you had just done.

Fuck.

Literally.

At least you got your answer.

Nanami Kento is definitely not a virgin.

“Simon..” You turn to see him laying peacefully asleep next to you.

“Simon.” He jumps up.

“Wha—What? Baby what?”

“I think my water broke.” He’s up now. He’s up as if he was never asleep. He puts on pants and a tshirt. He tosses you one of his hoodies.

“Put this on while i go start the car.”

You obey and begin putting on the hoodie. He slips out and returns a moment later.

“Your hospital bags are in the car. I have the car seat. I have chargers, phones, wallet, extra clothes, food, and water. Am I missing something?”

“Nope.” He walks to you.

“Do you want to change now, or wait?” He’s on his knees in front of you.

“Wait, because i’ll keep leaking.” He chuckles.

“Alright, come on mamas.” He picks you up and carries you to his truck.

He buckles you in before climbing in. Immediately he turns on your seat heater. Then he calls Price while he drives.

“Why the hell are you calling me this early?” He grumbles.

“Shes goin’ into labor.” Simon says calmly.

“WHAT?” You hear wrestling and a assume it’s Price getting up.

“We’re headed to the hospital now. Get the boys up. Bring coffee.” Then he hangs up.

You groan in pain.

“Hang in there, baby.” Hi hand finds yours.

You make it to the hospital and Simon helps you in. You’re escorted by two nurses to a room. They help you change into a hospital gown. Once you get in the bed, Simon runs back to the car to get your bag. When he returns Price, Johnny, and Kyle are with him.

“How’s my little girl doing?” Price comes up to your side.

“Im okay..”

“Gonna get an epidural?” Johnny ask.

“Absolutely.” He chuckles.

There’s a knock, then the doctor walks in.

“Good Morning, quite early to be here. Im Dr. Kurves. I’ll be helping you get this baby out. Whp will be staying in here with you? You can have one person.”

You turn to Simon. “He’ll stay with me.”

—————————————————

“Couple more pushes! You’re doing great!”

You push as hard as you can, Simon’s holding your hand.

“Come on baby.”

Finally you hear a cry fill the room. The doctor holds the baby.

“You did it, baby. Im so proud of you.”

Simon walks over to the doctor, and cuts the umbilical cord. One of the nurses wipe her off, then they hand her to you.

“Oh my gosh.” You stare at her, then you turned to look at Simon. Tears are falling from his face, he quickly wipes them.

”Would you like to hold her?”

“What if i hurt her?”

“Si, you won’t.”

you hold her up towards him. He sits down before carefully taking her. You watch them. Your daughter is the size of his hand. More tears fall from his eyes. He whispers to her,

“Im gonna protect you and your mama at all cost. My pretty girl.”

a/n: I hope you enjoyed!! I think for now im gonna focus on some request because i have two i need to work on. Then i’ll resume this series!!💕💕

Taglist!!: @xoxocelestial @figaaa6 @damonlore @mrwagster

Divider creds!!: @bbyg4rlhelps

sweet enough that the idea of having sex with him stopped feeling like something insurmountable and started feeling more like excitement curling through your veins instead of terror.

so you told him. over dinner one evening. all casual.

he'd looked up from his pasta, nodded. "want me to… book a hotel? or a cabin? you wanted to go away for the weekend, anyway." a pause and then, "or is that too much pressure?"

you'd blinked. once. twice. like the idea of making an occasion of it hadn't even crossed your mind. you'd swallowed softly and then nodded. "yeah. that would be… nice actually." but then you'd pulled a face - eyebrows knitted together, lips purses. "…what if i bleed on their sheets?" like the idea of inconveniencing hotel or air b&b staff was more concerning to you than the fact you might bleed at all.

then it was simon's turn to blink. "… i'll bring some blankets. if yer that worried love." he'd offered back - not mocking. just cataloguing all the things he can do to make this less stressful for you. there's a pause, "might not bleed. not everyone does."

you'd stared at him.

he'd shrugged.

"been doin' some… recon. about how to make it easier for you." he'd admitted quietly. "not… done this with someone who ain't before. don't want to… traumatise you or some shite. want you to enjoy it. not suffer though it."

your heart had flared warm in your chest.

you'd smiled softly down into your pasta.

"cabin would be nice."

the drive was quiet, just the low sound of what you teasingly called simon's dad rock coming from the car speakers. his right hand was on the wheel; left resting on your knee whenever he didn't need to change gears, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb on the side of your knee.

"love, i want t' talk before we get there."

you spine stiffens automatically at the words, eyes flaring wide as your head snaps around to look at him.

the corners of his lips twitch.

"not like that love. you don't need t' act like i'm sendin' you to the headteachers office."

you can't help but laugh - a soft little huff of air as your shoulder relax.

"sorry, habit." you murmur back, slumping back into the seat. "so, if i'm not in trouble, what do you want to talk about, si?"

he rolls his eyes. "in trouble? when th' fuck 'ave you ever been in trouble with me love?" he grumbles back, but the crinkles in the corners of his eyes give away that he's nowhere near mad. there's a moment of silence - not heavy, but there - before he continues carefully, "i just want to talk about… expectations. or a lack of 'em really."

you open your mouth to interject. he squeezes your knee to stop you.

"jus' let me talk a minute love." he says softly, glancing across at you for just a split second. "i jus' want to be clear with you. we're goin' away for the weekend. that's all. i know we've said we'd… y'know. but if you don't want to? if you change yer mind? at any time? that's fine love. i just want t' 'ave a nice weekend with you. that's all."

you're quiet for a moment, warmth flaring in your chest. that feeling that's so close to love you can almost reach out and grab it. for a moment you don't know what to say, how to shape a sentence that conveys how much you appreciate that - or how sure you actually are about this weekend. and when you open your mouth? nothing eloquent comes out.

"i bought fancy knickers."

simon's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, but he doesn't take his eyes off the road. he clears his throat slightly, absolutely shoving the image of you in whatever you mean by fancy knickers somewhere deep in the back of his brain so he doesn't drive you both into a ditch.

you bite your lip, suppress a laugh that threatens to bubble out of your throat. "i just mean… i went out and bought special pants for the occasion. i've been uh, looking forward to it. but… thank you. for being so sweet about it."

he glances sidelong at you, eyebrows pinched into a frown "it's not sweet. it's basic consent, love." he says quietly, squeezing your knee again and for a moment you think he's got more serious talk to get out of his system before you get to your destination; but then his mouth twitches in the corners, "but i am lookin' forward to seein' these fancy knickers, in that case."

simon has outdone himself with his choice of weekend getaway destination.

a cabin nestled in the clearing of a forest. log burner. claw foot bathtub on the deck.

no neighbours for miles; unless you count the owls currently hooting from the trees.

it's perfect.

he presses a kiss to the side of your head, "go unpack. i'll put th' kettle on."

forty minutes later you're curled into simon's side on the back deck, mug clutched in both hands, both just staring at the night sky with quiet awe; the stars visible here in a way they aren't back home.

your new fancy knickers and matching bra have already been slipped on under your sweatpants and hoodie. simon looks down at you, at how soft and open your face looks; the way your jaw hangs slightly loose with amazement as you look up at the sky. his chest flares warm, unable to stop the way his entire expression softens.

"i've been under a lot of nice skies, all over the world." he says quietly. "but this one might be my favourite."

he doesn't need to say it's because you're there. you can tell from the way his arm tightens around your shoulders, the way he leans his weight into you slightly.

you melt inside. like butter left on the counter on a hot day. that same warm feeling from the car flaring in your chest as you tilt your face to his.

then you're kissing him. mug discarded on the deck. half crawled into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

for the first time in the months you've been together you're not holding anything back. you're not trying to leash yourself to stop this going further than you're ready for. you're all in.

simon can feel the difference. the way you're letting the energy you usually keep simmering under your skin out into the air around you; the way you kiss him deeper, let your hands wander over his chest and biceps.

he's instantly, painfully hard in his sweatpants.

and acutely aware of the fact that you can tell. that the fabric of his sweats does nothing to hide the way he's hardened underneath you, that he's thick and heavy against your inner thigh where you're now practically straddling him. he tenses slightly underneath you; not able to control his reaction but hesitant to be the one to take the next step.

but then you groan into his mouth.

the sound goes straight to his core.

he scoops you up in his arms without hesitation, carrying you through the cabin and kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

"christ, love. those really are fancy knickers."

you don't think you've ever seen an expression on simon's face quite like the one he wearing now, staring down at you sprawled out beneath him, clothes removed with enough care it made your heart ache.

reverent. that's the only word for it.

"yer really… jesus. yer fuckin' beautiful dove, you know that, right?"

your cheeks heat automatically at the compliment, "it's the underwear. it's doing a lot of the heavy lifting." you reply, mock serious - deflecting.

simon rolls his eyes. "shut up. daft bint. s'all you."

before you can retort he pulls his sweatshirt off over his head, and the only word you're left capable of is "fuck."

you reach out; trace your fingers over the scars that criss cross his torso like a roadmap of everything he's survived. the muscle of his chest and stomach is solid; but there's a soft layer of fat over his abdomen that he gets between deployments - the layer that makes him feel warm and soft and human; not just the soldier everyone else sees.

simon's breath hitches when your nails graze lower, but he catches your wrist, bringing your open palm to his lips to press a kiss against the centre of it.

"lay back for me, love." he murmurs, "i'm takin' care of you first."

you nod, heart slamming in your chest so hard you're sure he can hear it.

your bra comes off first; carefully unhooked and pulled away from your body, placed carefully on the side next to you.

your underwear comes next, the soft black lace you knew was perfect the moment you picked it out in the store. cool air hits your skin as he tugs them down your calves and you fight the instinct to close your legs.

simon looks down at you from below his lashes. "yeah. it's not the fancy knickers love. yer just fuckin' beautiful."

simon settles between your legs, lips pressing a trail down your stomach to where your thighs part; and for a moment he hovers above your bare cunt, nose flaring as the warm scent of you hits him.

he groans.

your ears go hot.

he looks up at you, "gonna go down on you now love, alright?"

you manage a short jerk of your head, pupils blown wide as you stare back down at him.

then his mouth is on you.

the last time he did this - that one night on the couch - is burned into simon’s memory. and he remembers, in beautiful high definition, what each little gasp and groan you made sounded like, and what he did to drag them out of you.

the first slow lick from your slit to your clit pulls a shaky sound from your throat, fingers tightening in the sheets next to you.

he doesn’t rush.

has no intention of skipping steps.

he’s treating this like the main event. like if he could just stay between your spread thighs for the rest of the weekend and the two of you didn’t go any further than that he’d be fine with it, happy about it even.

he explores every inch of you with his tongue; licking broad stripes across your entire cunt, before flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit - little patterns that make your thighs tremble.

“si…” you breathe, feeling yourself relax into the mattress with every touch.

simon pulls away to press a kiss against your inner thigh, “okay up there, sweetheart?”

you nod.

vigorously.

then reach to tangle your fingers in his short hair and tug his mouth back towards you with a desperation that surprises even yourself, like now he’s started you really, really don’t want him to stop.

his lips twitch in the corners, his shoulders relaxing a fraction, like you’ve just convinced him you really are okay.

he seals his lips around your clit and hums softly; the vibration shooting straight up your spine and sparking white behind your eyes. you hips jerk, hard; immediately one of his hands comes to rest on your lower belly, pressing down gently - reassuring rather than controlling - whilst he continues to work you with his mouth. he sucks softly, then harder, alternating rhythms until your fingers are twisted tightly in his hair and your breathing comes in short, ragged gasps.

it’s messy.

the wet sounds of his mouth fill the quiet of the room - slick, obscene noises that you think should mortify you but actually only turn you on more. he pulls back just to groan softly, eyes flicking up to yours. “yer fuckin’ perfect love. can i open you up proper?”

one finger circles your entrance, spreading slickness - but he waits until he sees your chin jerk in confirmation before pushing in achingly slow. it’s an unfamiliar stretch; his finger thicker than your own, but it’s not unwelcome, not unpleasant. he sinks that first finger to the knuckle before curling it upwards, searching for the soft, spongy part inside you that makes your back arch sharply off the mattress.

“there you are.” he murmurs, a soft kind of satisfaction threaded through his voice.

he doesn’t stop, just keeps working you in a steady rhythm while his mouth finds your clit again.

your eyes flutter shut. body slowly melting into something that feels like syrup and not flesh against the sheets as pleasure crawls through you.

after a few minutes he carefully adds a second finger - immediately slowing when he sees you wince at the slight burn low down in your pelvis, only continuing when he feels your body go soft again. “easy sweetheart.” he murmurs against your folds, the slight pain mixing with pleasure as as he works his fingers in and out, scissoring gently to open you up. your thighs tremble around his ears; you’re gripping his hair too tight, probably hurting him, but he doesn’t complain - if anything he groans against you at the sensation.

you’re right on the edge. stomach tensing, muscles tightening when he pulls back. his mouth and jaw are slick and shiny with you and his eyes are so, so soft when he gazes up at you.

“not yet.” he murmurs, moving so his body covers yours, wiping his face with the back of his hand, leaning down to kiss you. “want t’ see if i can get you there with me inside ya.”

he shifts, stands, tugs his sweatpants and boxers off in one motion.

you swallow. hard. watching his cock spring free - thick, heavy. flushed dark at the tip and already leaking.

you have no idea how the fuck he’s meant to fit inside you.

he sees your pinched expression, the nervous flicker in your eyes, and he leans down, crawling back over you, resting his forehead against yours. “we go as slow as you need. you say stop, we stop. you say you need a break, we take a break.” he promises, voice thick with want but edged with control.

he reaches across into the bedside drawer, grabs a bottle of lube he’d clearly tucked away there earlier.

he really did do his research.

your pupils blow wide as he squeezes a generous dollop onto his cock. he wraps a calloused hand around his length and strokes it slowly, spreading the slick shine from base to tip, lower lip sucked between your teeth as he starts to guide himself to your entrance.

the blunt head nudges against you, slipping a little because everything is so wet.

he pushes forwards.

the first inch stings. sharply. you hiss through your teeth, nails digging into his shoulders.

simon freezes immediately. “too much?” he asks, voice strained.

“just… a lot.” you manage, trying to breathe through the burn. “give me a minute.”

he stays perfectly still, barely inside you, dropping soft kisses on your face - your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. he reaches between you, pad of his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, soothing circles until the edge of pain dulls into an aching fullness. you nod, shaky, but firm.

he sinks in another inch. the stretch is intense - you feel every ridge, every vein as he works himself in deeper; your walls slowly opening up and moulding around him.

then he slips. just a little.

simon is tall - broad and long limbed - and the angle he’s curved himself into is awkward. shoulders hunched, one arm braced at an odd angle so he doesn’t crush you.

his cock slips out completely on the next shallow rock of his hips.

“fuck.” he mutters - frustrated with himself. “sorry love. ‘ang on.”

he tucks a hand under your knee, lifting your leg higher and hooking it over his hip.

the new position makes it easier; opens you up more. so this time when he pushes back in, he slides a little deeper in one smooth glide.

you both groan.

the fullness is overwhelming, foreign, bordering on too much.

but it also feels right in a way that makes your chest ache.

simon’s breathing is ragged against your neck. sweat already coating his skin under your palms. “christ, you feel like fuckin’ heaven. you alright?”

you nod, nails digging into his skin. “move… please.”

he starts rocking into you - slow, shallow thrusts at first. the wet, obscene sound of him moving inside you fills the quiet cabin.

it’s messier than you expected.

your bodies don’t slot together like puzzle pieces; there’s sweat, the awkward shift of limbs, your leg keeps slipping off his hip until he grabs it again.

every thrust drags against that perfect spot inside you, but there’s still a sharp little spark of pain when he finally bottoms out completely. you whimper. simon freezes again. “talk to me dove.”

“it hurts. a bit.” you admit, voice small. “but… don’t stop. please.”

he curses softly and adjusts again, reaching for a pillow and sliding it under the small of your back.

the new angle… changes things. the next thrust makes your toes curl for a reason that isn’t pain. pleasure starts overtaking discomfort -and on the next snap of his hips you rock up to meet him, chasing the sensation. his fingers press firmer against the sensitive little bundle of nerves just above where he's buried inside you.

you feel your cunt flutter around him.

he lets out a completely wrecked sound.

"that's it." simon hisses through his teeth. "yer doin' so fuckin' well love."

the praise goes straight to your head, to your core, setting alight nerves you didn't know could be affected by words.

both your movements grow less coordinated, more desperate. sweat gathers in the space between your bodies. his hips snap a little harder, still careful but less restrained; the slap of skin on skin louder now. his hand that's not still slowly stroking your clit between your bodies finds yours, lacing your fingers together beside your head.

the tenderness of the movement makes your eyes sting.

you come suddenly - a sharp, peak that makes you clamp down around him. it's an unfamiliar wave of pleasure, coming with him inside you like that, and you let out a long, low moan that he feels in his bones, that he feels burning its way into his brain as a new core memory.

simon groans, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. the overstimulation makes you whine, but you can tell from the way he's tensing that he’s close too.

“gonna come inside you.” he bites out, voice wrecked. “that okay?”

you nod frantically, legs tightening around him. a few more deep, messy thrusts and he buries himself inside you with a broken groan, hips jerking as his own orgasm hits. thick pulses of heat flood you, his cock twitching, face dropped into the curve of your shoulder as he presses his mouth against where your pulse is hammering in your throat.

neither of you move. you just stay wrapped in a little bubble of oh fuck that just happened. simon's collapsed half on top of you, propped up on one elbow so he doesn't smother you completely with his body. his breath is warm on your neck, heart slamming in his chest against your arm.

“you okay love?”

simon's voice is gentler than you've ever heard it, cautious in a way that you know he only ever is with you.

“yeah.” you breathe back. “i’m good.” you shift slightly underneath him, wincing as you unhook your legs from his waist.

he notices. immediately shifts so you can untangle yourselves properly, sliding out of you with a soft, slick noise.

you wince again, glance down, see a faint smear on your thigh; cum, slick - both tinged faintly with pink - and stare down in fascination at the physical evidence of what you've both done lingering on your skin like a brand.

he follows your gaze, jaw tensing when he sees the faint pink mixed into your shared fluids. “you sure you're okay?”

you pull him down next to you, curl into his chest, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. “i'm good. i promise. i’m… i’m happy, si.” there's a brief pause and then you add, almost awkwardly, “...was that okay for you?”

simon leans down and kisses you slowly, before pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead on yours. “you were perfect.” he murmurs. “that was perfect.”

you laugh weakly. “that was not perfect. we were like… tangled giraffes at one point.”

he huffs a quiet laugh against your mouth. “yeah, well. still got there in th’ end. still perfect.” he drags his knuckles down your cheekbone, eyes soft in the low lamplight. “no regrets?”

“none.” you whisper fiercely - and you mean it. you ache in the best and worst ways, but the warmth in your chest is brighter than any discomfort. “thank you. for not rushing me. for… that.” simon kisses you again, slower this time, then carefully climbs off the bed. “stay there, dove. i’ll get a cloth and run th’ bath. i reckon that fuckin’ clawfoot thing outside looked big enough for both of us.”

you watch him pad naked across the room - huge, scarred, relaxed in a way you rarely ever see him - and feel a rush of affection so strong it almost hurts.

you get that same pang when he wipes down your thighs with a warm, damp cloth and again when he deposits you in the bathtub on the deck, climbing in behind you without a second thought.

simon settles you both into the warm water, your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around you, the night breeze ghosting over both of your skin. one of his hands strokes lazily up and down your arm without thought.

“next time we’ll try you on top,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “see if we can avoid the giraffe shite.”

you laugh, loud and free in the quiet night, and tilt your head back to kiss him again properly.

yeah, you're already looking forward to the next time.

Vergil often detested booking hotels during or after jobs, finding the need for human commodities as a frivolous expense. However, a year of adjusting to civilian life and the last two weeks on the road for this pesky mission, he didn't object this time when you proposed the idea of a night in, already imagining a hot shower and room service. Despite the sideways looks you two got from reception, the keycards were secured and your filthy forms made it up to your designated floor. The room was beige and simple, but it was clean, safe, and quiet—which is all either of you could ask for after such a demanding job. 

You stepped in first, coat slinking off to be hung up in the wooden closet by the door. As Vergil bolted the chains, he attempted to follow suit, a wince of pain making my scrunch his features.

“Here, let me,” you mumbled as you turned to help. Stubborn as ever, he stepped back and scowled, the sting of pain revoking his manners.

“I am more than capable of—”

“Let me do it.”

Vergil’s features wilted at your tone, losing his bite and dropping his arms to let you have your way. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, but more than he had gotten so comfortable in your presence that he often tried to find ways of still establishing his individuality. He refused to be seen as anything less, but it was hard to uphold his stuffy values when you doted on him with the utmost sincerity. As you pulled his coat off, Vergil watched you over his shoulder, ocean eyes wordlessly conveying gratitude despite the wrinkle in his brow. With the leather jacket off and away, you could see the slits in his vest where the demon you two had vanquished struck a few good blows in. Led to the edge of bed, he sits down and waits til you’re sat behind him before he starts at the vest’s fastenings. 

“It’ll all heal, you know,” he grunts between words, the lining of the vest slowly peeling away from bloodied skin. “I can’t imagine why you feel the need to fret over surface cuts.”

Even so, you watch his back muscles ripple as the vest is shed, reopening the wounds as it peels away healing skin. The inside of the vest was, well, disgusting. Bloodied, with pieces of his flesh stickered onto it, due to the duration of having it on working against his regenerative abilities. You make a face at the nasty sight, sighing as you toss the vest away to the floor.

“Any longer, and we would’ve had to cut you out of it. Again.”

Only a hum of acknowledgement—or dismissal—rumbles back to you. Sliding off the bed, you pad to the adjoined bathroom and wet a rag. You study your own battered appearance in the mirror as the water runs. Dirt darkened your skin, caking into some of the cuts. You looked rough, but never as bad as he usually did; he would never allow you to fight harder than him, to be in harm’s way when he could stand as a shield for you. That wasn’t to say he doubted your fighting abilities. In fact, the only reason you two had partnered up was because of the respect he had for you. But, as emotions and attachments grew, Vergil found it harder to watch you limp and writhe in pain after jobs, much preferring to take the brunt of the damage. 

You find your way back to him, seeing him already tending to his wounds himself. He expunges saliva onto his fingers to rub into the cuts, the skin already rebuilding itself as the saliva encourages the swelling to fade—an old trick he learned from a demon many moons ago. Passing the damp towel over his back, he makes a sound in the back of his throat, tense as he goes still for you. Vergil watches silently as you rub away grime from his skin, eyes following the patterned route your hand made with the rag. The rhythmic motions lull your own thoughts away from the present, mind drifting to planning out the next courses of actions after returning from the job. A touch to your face summons you back, eyes focusing to find his already trained on you. Vergil’s thumb swiped over the bone that cradled your eye, gently smearing away a streak of blood.

“Where’d you go?” His voice came out tentative, as if worried his disturbance would upset you. His eyes searched yours to attempt to steal a peek behind them, wishing he could read your thoughts.

You shake your head gently, lowering the rag. “I’m here.”

His stare remained courteous, yet you could tell he wanted to pry, ever the attentive partner. Instead, though, the half-demon sighs from his nose and lets his features soften.

“You fought bravely tonight. I’m beside myself, with how well you’re beginning to carry yourself in battle. I often must force my reflexes to heed and allow you to take point, as you have earned that right,” Vergil’s throat bobs with a faint swallow, finger tips still tracing the side of your face. “Thank you, for being by my side.”

Praise from Vergil is always genuine, and it never fails to make you feel singular. Your eyes crinkle slightly as a smile warms up your tired face. “The blood loss is making you sentimental. But, it’s nothing, really. I love you, and I love fighting with you.”

“And I love you, very much,” He lets his hand slip down to your shoulder briefly before sitting himself up and facing you properly. “Enough to feel compelled to take care of you, now that I am no longer bleeding to death.”

A huff of a chuckle leaves him as he stands, hand pulling you along.

“Up. A shower would do us good.”

—

Between the food in his stomach and the robe warming his aching body, Vergil felt like he could melt through the mattress. He watched the back of your head while you ate, preferring to observe the way you chewed french fries over whatever nonsense you had put on the hotel TV. As much as he enjoyed the rush of endorphins he got from demon hunting with you, he found the quieter part of himself started to crave this kind of intimacy more. There were no expectations or watchful eyes—just the certainty of company and the solace it brought him. 

As you licked salt from your fingers, a calloused hand yanked you back towards the headboard. Giggles filled the room as Vergil pulled you to him, his own mouth latching onto the greased fingers with a shake of laughter. Despite weak protests of faux disgust, you didn’t try very hard to stave off the attack, practically letting his coil around you. Long, lean legs cage you in as he releases your fingers, only to bite at your wrist. 

“Nuh-uh—you can’t leave now.”

“Get off of me, you freak,” you snort and squirm against him, lamely trying to wriggle free amidst the play-fight. He cares little for your insult, mouthing his way up your arm instead. Laughter mingles between you two until a moan makes you still, hips lips suctioning to a spot on your neck. Blood rushes to the area as he sucks on the tender skin, staccato breaths from his nose puffing over you as he laughs at your complicity.

“That’s all you got? No more verbal abuse or grabbing?” He unlatches from your neck to peer down at your face, flashing imperfect teeth in an exultant smile. 

You start to give quick excuses, only to be shut up by a desirous kiss. Your limbs betray you, turning to jelly as he shifts against you, tongue knocking for entry. You greet it with enthusiasm, only to fail at returning the kiss once a hand parts your legs. Eager fingers pet at the growing heat of your sex, gentle despite the obvious intent. When you've proven too pliant to kiss back, he trails his lips back down to your throat, teeth threatening to break the skin. 

Vergil pushes off your robe enough to grant him skin-to-skin contact, his own slipping open and exposing an already hardening cock. Deep inhales against your skin fill his senses with your scent, only encouraging him to keep going and feed the need for connection. The hand between your legs alternates between familiar circles and strokes, knowing exactly what rhythm gets you worked up enough without pushing. As you arch into his hand in response, he grinds into from behind, the head of his length rubbing against your ass for much needed friction. Your breathing hitches as your gut twists with approaching, lazy pleasure, head lulled back into him as you welcome the onslaught. Compared to the grit of demon-hunting, this was easy bliss, and you had no problem giving into the temporary gluttony. 

Just as your body was about to fall over the peak, his hand withdraws to rest on your hip. A mewl of denial slips out from you as you rut against nothing, painfully close to coming. “God—, Vergil, wait—”

“Patience,” Vergil’s body vibrates with a laugh, low and taunting in your ear as he sucks on the lobe. His hand slides up your front, fragrant with your sex, and holds your chin taut. “I will not deprive you, sweet girl. I merely wish to be selfish, just for a moment.”

With one more nip to your ear, he releases your jaw to guide his cock behind you to your warmth. His breath ghosts over your shoulder as he pushes himself in, silver strands of hair tickling your cheek. Vergil hides in the privacy of your neck, thankful you’re unable to see the look of relief on his face as he bottoms out. Your hips urge him to move with little syncopated rolls, walls throbbing around him from the previously stunted release. If you two were home, and the day hadn’t been so long, he might’ve prolonged the moment, dragged out the denial til you were sputtering tears for him to kiss away. But, god, you were so tight, and so very warm—he couldn’t fight it.

“Oh, I missed you, missed this,” the words come out muffled against your skin, his hands returning to your hips to grind into you. Calloused hands flex against the supple flesh of your hips, adjusting his grip as he works up to a steady pace behind you. The hotel bed moans with you as you stretch back towards him, jaw slacked as the coils of an orgasm curl back up. Vergil pokes his head out to accommodate your head leaning back, opting to watch your lashes flutter. 

As his fervor increases, he snakes a hand under your thigh and lifts your leg, allowing for more room to accommodate his size. The kisses pressed into the side of your face draw you back to the world of the living, foggy eyes opening to find him. You’re greeted by a blissful smile, Vergil planting a kiss under a dopey eye. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You can come, it’s okay; I won’t stop you.”

You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.

By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.

That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.

And things had only been official for a week.

You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.

He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.

Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move

Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.

You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.

“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.

You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.

“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.

Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”

He slid deeper for emphasis.

You didn’t.

You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.

“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.

Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.

This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.

Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.

“Better?” The man’s question was simple.

Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.

You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.

Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.

“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”

“I—I know, I just can’t—”

At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.

You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.

“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”

The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.

“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”

“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”

“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”

But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.

Maybe you’d never found that place after all.

This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.

You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.

Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”

“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.

Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.

With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.

You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.

“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”

Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.

It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.

“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.

“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”

Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.

Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.

He still held onto your other hand tight.

Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.

Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:

“Higher.”

“Higher?”

“Um, to the…to the left.”

Simon tilted his hips left.

Yes.

That was just it. So close.

Almost…

Or, maybe…

“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”

Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.

Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”

The grin above you stretched even wider.

“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.

“Right there.” You nodded furiously.

A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.

“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.

“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”

Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.

The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.

Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.

You realized as much when he whispered it to you.

“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”

Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”

Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.

“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.

“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”

The ones that you’d been with before.

You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.

Simon was back inside you in a blink.

Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.

He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.

Vindicated.

“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”

You nodded in agreement.

You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.

“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”

When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.

And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.

Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.

“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.

His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.

You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”

“Feel good when I hit it?”

“Fucking perfect, Si.”

You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.

“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”

“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”

“Go on then, love.”

And, shortly, you did.

Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.

Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.

It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”

You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.

“Thank you,” you murmured against him.

Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.

He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.