Kail Rose

Also, shoutout to @wooceanic becuase she requested, and i got inspired ;P

The first time you realized Simon was actually making love to you was after your first big fight, when you had given him the silent treatment for almost two days.

​You didn't live with him then, so you tried to ingore his texts and calls, simply choosing to rot at work until the dead of night just to keep your brain from obsessing over him.

​Oh, but how naive you were to think you could escape him, or that he could last a day without seeing you.

He still had a key to your place just in case, a fact you totally forgot about until you walked in and found him waiting on your couch like a lovesick puppy, with an order from your favorite Chinese restaurant.

​You really had him completely wrapped around your finger, you realized, smiling to yourself.

​By the time he actually started begging for forgiveness, you were too far gone to remember why you were even pissed.

​He had you down bad, too. So dumb of you to think otherwise.

​Your bodies moved in sync and with the way his hips rolled with every drive, sinking deeper with every movement he gave you, you simply forgot your own name.

​He had your legs spread wide, bent almost to your shoulders, creating that sharp, sweet tingle in your belly every time he slammed into your sweet spot. And oh god, that fucker knew exactly how to hit it perfectly.

​Every. Damn. Time.

​He did that thing where he would curve his hips up and hold there for a moment, whispering into your ear, "It's right there, huh? I found it again." His head was buried in your neck, and the pathetic, desperate whimpers he let out after he felt how wet and warm you were, filled with his cum, made you clench your pussy around him even more, turning him into an animal obsessed with dragging every last orgasm out of you.

​Then it hit you. That this time was different.

​Usually, sex with him was hard and rushed. It wasn't bad, but this? Yeah, it was something else.

​He never whimpered like that. He was taking his time, watching every twitch of your body, caressing you slowly until you fell apart again and again, and it was so fucking hot seeing him like that.

​He practically begged for your forgiveness by fucking you slow and deep into the mattress.

​"Si, look at me," you managed to gasp between moans, yanking at his messy blonde hair until his eyes met yours.

​"You feel so good, love," he whimpered while looking into your half opened, glazed eyes, his pace growing slower. His hand was on your breast, squeezing and rubbing your nipple between his fingers. "Will you forgive me, and let me cum inside again?"

"If you keep fucking me like this I might."

​His hips stilled, but his cock remained buried deep inside while he started grinding slowly, so you could feel every inch, every vein, and that delicious curve of his cock pulsing inside you. Almost as if he wanted to prove how good he was for you.

​"Please, love, forgive me." He hooked your thigh around his shoulder, fingers digging into your skin and already leaving red marks.

"Fuck, let me just fill you up, pretty girl," he groaned into your ear while gently nibbling your lobe.

​You gasped, eyes rolling back, but you could not care less because you felt so incredible. You dug your nails into his bare back, tracing lines along his muscles and scars. They moved along with him, and you smiled, feeling the goosebumps erupt on his skin.

​"God, you're going to make me cum if you don't stop, Si." You bit into his swollen from kissing lips drawing a little bit of blood, the pleasure forced its way down your body. You tugged harder seeing how he wanted to hide in your neck already, his eyes were completely lost, and it made you clench around him. Usually, you were the one who struggled with eye contact.

​"Yeah? - thrust - You're gonna cum again? - another thrust, this time he reached for your puffy clit. You felt his thumb rubbing delicate circles, not to overstimulate you - You can cum - thrust that pulled the filthiest and loudest moan out of you - as much as you need, baby. I've got you."

​"Oh god, Simon, I'm..."

​"I know. Fuck yeah, cum on my cock, sweet thing. Please, cum on me, I'm begging you." He whimpered.

Since then, everything changed. He would make love to you on every occasion, simply because being that close and intimate with you became addictive in a way. Fuck it, he just loved it. After all, he felt like your relationship was turning into something serious, so it was only fair to care for your needs in every possible way. God, he loved giving it to you. Just looking at you in the bathroom brushing your teeth wearing nothing but his shirt made his cock go rock hard, and hearing your pretty moans and sighs was a different story entirely.

​Yeah, he was obsessed with making love with you.

The only problem? You have no clue what is and isn't socially acceptable for a werewolf to do.

The guys aren't exactly sure how to tell you that obsessively sniffing everyone's clothes is...weird. creepy. Because you being creepy is better than remembering the way you screamed during the transformation, right?

So they let you curl up in gazs hoodie, taking a sniff to mutter "woah, I like this. You smell so good, gaz."

It's worse when you decide to do it in public, still getting used to your new heightened senses. You don't hesitate to cuddle up to soap, astonished by how warm he feels, nose tucking into his neck. Cedar, cinnamon, gunpowder and his distinct musk all filling your nostrils.

Your instincts, too, are completely out of your control. You bark and whine and huff whenever they tell you to, even when it's considered...taboo to indulge in certain instincts publicly.

Like play-biting on ghosts arms whenever they are vaguely within range of your teeth, similar to how gaz sometimes acts, but you don't mind doing it in the middle of a meeting. Though you're wiggling happily with a phantom-tail common in most recent transformations, so ghost does nothing to stop you.

Truthfully, the team is glad you're so preoccupied in your new identity. Too distracted to notice the way they've been acting odd, sneaking off more often either alone or in pairs, coming back smelling odd which only makes you want to sniff them more. They've all agreed it's best to let you figure yourself out first, what with how disorienting a transformation can be, especially one as traumatic as yours.

Because really, who was going to be the one to tell you that by werewolf standards you've been violently flirting with the entire team?

Simon just returned home from his last mission, exhausted and battered, and all he wants is his wife. He knows you’re asleep, he knows you have been for quite a while, but he also knows you like being woken up with his cock shoved so deep in your pussy it feels like he’s in your throat.

He stands at the edge of the bed after pulling the sheets off your body, his cargos and boxers around his ankles, his heavy cock resting in his palm while he strokes himself at the sight of you. You lay on your side, your knees curled up against your chest with your cheek pressed against the soft pillows. You look so peaceful as if you are waiting for him to ruin you exactly how he wants.

You wear one of Simon’s t-shirts and it drapes across your body, swallowing your curves and leaving everything to the imagination. He doesn’t miss how your nipples peak against the fabric from the cold breeze of the ac the second the sheets fall off you. A tiny cotton thong wraps around your hips, hugging your body tight, the soft fat of your ass and lower belly peeking out around it.

He groans while rubbing his tip, collecting the precum beading there, and running it down his shaft. Within seconds his clothes are off, the material begins to feel claustrophobic the harder he becomes, and he gets on the bed as silently as possible. It dips under his weight, but he holds you steady, so you don’t stir.

“Hey baby,” he whispers, running his hands on your lower belly, his fingers worshipping the stretch marks there only for a second before he moves his hand lower to be in between your thighs.

Stop slouching, have a snack, take your meds.

Getting through each day IS being productive. Remember that.

The Lurking Horror found its diary, but insists it needs “more fancy ones”. I guess they’re taking after me?

Not that he directly says it, but even an SAS operative is hard-pressed to hide the subtle flinch of touch from his fellow teammates at all times. Skin always covered, always positioned away from people, it's an unspoken rule that no one touches ghost unless mandatory.

So why the hell does he let you, the new secretary, get away with it?

"Oh, sir! Hey, I needed an updated copy of that file–" you'll catch him in the hallway, hand on his bicep to get his attention before you lose him in the crowd. The strangest thing? Ghost actually stops and listens carefully. No tensing up or glaring at all.

Or when you happen to be next to him in line for dinner, you have no qualms bumping your shoulder into his side in lieu of greeting with full hands, already saying "hi, sir! Yknow, I was looking over those reports, and I really appreciate how you—"

It's an absolute mystery to the team. How you ghost is more than happy to be practically manhandled by you in crowded spaces or simply casually touched in conversation. There's only one logical explenation.

Ghost has a crush.

After that, it just becomes more obvious. How he angles himself closest to you in a group. How he subtly leans into your touch on certain days.

Curiously, gaz asks you about it one day. A casual water cooler ambush, designed to look purely coincidental when he interrogates "oh, you and ghost talk often, don't you?"

"Hm? Oh, ghost? Yeah! He's a great friend!" You smile, all wide and unassuming. of course you have no fucking clue, because ghost is damn difficult to read even to trained soldiers. You go on to smile to yourself, fidgeting with the manila folder held against your clipboard. "I'm honestly shocked he tolerates me so much, what with being just some secretary. But he's nice to talk to, yknow?"

...and it seems you are just as horribly enamoured by him. How the hell neither of you has figured it out is beyond the team.

The bass was drilling straight into your skull. At some point it stopped being music and started being punishment.

You were slumped sideways in the booth, cheek pressed against the table, eyes barely open. Your drink sits abandoned somewhere, condensation pooling like evidence of your bad decisions.

“Okay, that’s it,” your friend mutters. “We’re calling him.”

Your brain latches onto one word. shit.

“Him.”

You lifted your head an inch and immediate regret washed through you. The world tilted like it’s trying to throw you off.

“Don’t—” you mumble, reaching out. You miss completely, hand just… floating there. "traitor...", you mumble as you mock glare at your friend , who was busy dialing the number.

you don't realize as time passed, but you could sense it, a presence that cuts through the noise, through the haze in your head.

A hand on your shoulder. Firm and warm.

“You with me?”

You blink slowly, forcing your eyes to focus- and there he was. Simon stood over you like the physical embodiment of consequences.

You smile as the sight of him , “…Hi, handsome.” you manage to mumble.

“Jesus.”, simon hissed through his teeth.

You push yourself up a little, which was already too ambitious. The room spined hard and you wobbled, but he’s already there. One arm slid around your waist, catching you before gravity won.

“Careful,” he mutters.

You leaned into him without hesitation, head tipping toward his shoulder.

“Mmm. You came,” you murmur, voice soft and absolutely not as subtle as you think it is.

“Yeah,” he says flatly. “Against my better judgment.”

You grin faintly. “Liar.”

His grip tightens just slightly as you sway again.

“Can you stand?”

You consider it and decide honesty is optional.

“For you? Always.”, you grin at him, earning mock irritation.

Your knees nearly give out and you end up clinging to him, arms wrapping loosely around his torso. Then his hand comes up, firm at your back, holding you in place.

“Right,” he mutters. “We’re not doing that again.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, eyes half-lidded.

“You smell nice.”

“That’s not the issue.”, he responds flatly , although you could see the faint red creeping behind his neck.

“It is to me.”, you breath out under his ear.

He exhales sharply, already shifting your arm over his shoulders, securing you properly. You, meanwhile, are having an entirely different experience.

“You always this strong?” you mumble, fingers bunching slightly into his shirt, breath fanning over his neck.

“Focus on walking.”

“I am focusing. On you.”

“Walk.”

You could tell he was nearing the end of his restraint. “Easy”, he says, lower now, hands gripping at your waist tighter.

You laughed softly, which immediately turned into a wince. Your head dropped briefly against his shoulder as he guided you through the crowd.

“Missed you,” you murmur, words slurring just slightly.

god you were gonna be the death of him

You grin lazily, pleased with yourself for reasons that will not hold up tomorrow. The outside air hits you and you inhale like it’s salvation. you lean harder into him, practically hanging off his arm now.

“Tired,” you mumble.

“I know love.”

His hand shifts at your waist, thumb pressing lightly, keeping you steady as you wobble again.

You let him guide you down into the seat, your movements slow and uncoordinated. You nearly miss the seat entirely, but his hand at your waist corrects it instantly.

“Careful,” he mutters.

you sigh as you feel the relief of the cool leather against your skin and the smell of his faint cologne.

God.

Was it the alcohol or pent up frustration- you couldn't tell, but something was definitely feeling wet down there.

Simon slid into the car after you," right, you feeling better ?"

"i'm feeling more than better you know...", you say eyeing him up and down, fingers grazing his bicep.

"god, love..", He huffs something that might be a suppressed laugh. Might. Hard to tell.

You reach up slightly, fingers brushing clumsily against his jaw.

“We should do something about that", you say ,gesturing to his now evident arousal.

His hand catches your wrist gently but firmly before you can fully commit to whatever that was.

“Not right now.”

“Please”, you breath out ,trying to get closer to him in the cramped space.

There’s a beat.

"god, you will be the death of me"

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.๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑.

…yeahhh

anyway ghost has a cigarette settled between his chapped lips all while staring up at you. you’re riding him, although your movements are sloppy.

one massive hand sits atop your thigh, relaxed but every so often he gives it an encouraging squeeze cause “you’re doing such a good job for me, darlin’”

you’re sensitive. barely able to sit up straight as your pubic bone grinds against the patch of hair at the base of his cock. he’s buried so deep you don’t know where you end and he begins.

he has a hand resting behind his head, his biceps and the fat of his arms bulging each time he tenses. your inner walls drag along a vein that makes his eyes almost roll back into his skull.

i thought i got a good caption when the time comes to post these... i got none.