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đ thinking about re9!Leon Kennedy threatening to shave his happy trail 18+ Iâm insane about him oml
Heâs standing at the foot of your queen-sized bed in a pair of boxers, having just gotten out of the shower. âI think I might need to shave this off soon, baby.â Your head instantly snaps up at his direction, dropping the book you were reading onto the mattress beside you.
You watch in silent horror as he runs his hand over the dark hairs that dust across his chest and down towards that delicious happy trail of his, his brows all pinched together in contemplation, even the thought of him considering it sent you into panic.
âAbsolutely not. No,â you tell him, shaking your head in vehement protest as you shuffle to the end of the bed on your knees.
His eyes catch yours, and his frown softens into a grin. âLook at it, baby, itâs getting out of control down here.â He huffs in amusement, fingers still grazing over the coarse hairs, heart melting a little at the way your lips purse out into a frowny pout.
âItâs sexy, Leon.â You tell him, brushing his hands away from the sacred trail with a huff. âYouâre not allowed to just shave it all off.â your fingers now toy with the waistband of his boxers.
He chuckles, cupping your cheeks between his big palms and tilting your head back. âNot allowed? What you gonna stop me?â
âNo⊠but if you shave it off I-I-â you pause, wracking your sleepy brain for a suitable punishment, âI wonât have sex with you until it grows back.â
âOh, fighting talk, huh? You wouldnât last a week, babe.â He replies smugly, knowing for a fact that heâs not wrong. You barely survive when he gets pulled away by his ever-demanding job, always relying on those special homemade videos you both made.
You groan in frustration, and he coos down at you, running the pad of his thumb over your pouty lips to try and coax you to smileâ but it doesnât work, you seem genuinely heartbroken, and he would be lying if he said it didnât amuse him just a little.
âCâmon⊠donât look at me like that, baby, it needs taming.â
You donât answer, but your expression turns determined. You lean forward, looking up at him through your lashes as you press a wet kiss right over the hard ridge of his abs. His fingers slip into your hair, tightening a little at the roots, your name catching in his chest as you drag your tongue back up his firm stomach.
âOh Fuck-â his voice comes out hoarse, ragged.
âPromise me you wonât get rid of it.â You tell him, dragging sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down to his V-line, and when he doesnât answer right away, you pull back, scowling at him. âPromise me, Leon.â
âYeah, yeah, I promise⊠Iâll keep it, sâall yours gorgeous.â He breathes out heavily from above you, dick already hard and twitching to life against the thin fabric of his boxers.
âGood.â You beam up him happily, tugging the waistband of his boxers down a little further with a lick of your lips.
àȘâ⎠Resident Evil Masterlist àȘâ⎠General Masterlist
AN: is this a safe space to say I love big hairy men and women?
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established!Rabbot X Reader, Jack Abbot X Reader, Michael Robinavitch X Reader
Summary: Robby âhatesâ his new resident so much that he notices something very interesting about her
Warnings: Praise kink, BDSM in a non-sexual setting, non-sexual submission, non-sexual intimacy, very soft jack abbot, small bit of an asshole michael robby robinavitch,so many pet names, mentions of workplace bullying, mentions of suicide and medical procedures
Wordcount: 4,021 words
A/N: This is all disgustingly self-indulgent. I am writing this while very sleep deprived and very lonely and just in need of a little comfort. Please let me know if anyone is too OOC!! Also i stole samira's case from ER đđ
Abbot gif is from @ho-ii and i'm not sure where Robby's is. If anyone knows lmk!!!
Robby wanted it to be known that he really, really, really did not want to like you.Â
You, who was headstrong, stubborn and particular. You were a Presby transfer, one of their prized senior residents who just didnât get along with their team. It was hard and impacted your ability to work and after one too many cruel schoolyard jokes, you jumped ship. You took to the teaching hospitalâs ways and its momentum quite quickly. You didnât hesitate to correct an intern or med student. You never gave a second thought to questioning an attending or fighting a call someone made that you didnât agree with.Â
You, who was also patient and kind. You took extra time with struggling interns, calling them into labs to practise sutures or to go over procedures they couldnât seem to crack after your shift - time you knew you wouldnât be paid for. Any mistake a student made during procedures was gently amended, be it by putting your hand on theirs to guide them or just by giving additional verbal instructions.
This was all mostly fine to Robby. Really, he told himself he could handle it for someone Presby was borderline crying over losing.
It was all fine until you walked in on him absolutely whaling on Samira Mohan.
You stood at the door, expression changing immediately. You gawked at him when he told you he was busy, and to ask Dana if you needed something.
Mohanâs case was not too complicated, all things considered. A lady came in after being hit by a car. The car wasnât going all that quickly, so she wasnât too badly injured. You had overseen Whitaker doing some of her sutures and knew they had it handled. No internal bleeding, great GCS level, maybe a minor concussion at most.
Nobody had accounted for her general melancholy throughout the procedure. She was lamenting about how late sheâd be for work. There wasnât much anyone could say to that, she needed treatment and she was getting it in a very busy, very understaffed ER. Mohan ran it by you afterwards and you approved the discharge.
She was back in maybe an hour later. She had jumped from a three-storey height. It was hopeful when she first arrived, but things turned complicated and she never even made it to surgery. Time of death, 6:12PM.
Robbyâs brows were so furrowed they were pretty much touching. He was going on and on about missed signs and how the car accident had clearly been a suicide attempt. You stood up and argued back - how could she possibly have predicted someone would do that? Her sadness was chalked up to the adrenaline leaving her system, and why wouldnât that have been the answer? She was just in a car accident!
You sent Samira out, and he reminded you that you had absolutely no authority to do that. You told her to go, anyway. The two of you went back and forth and back and forth until he finally relented. This wasnât anybodyâs fault. Youâre doctors, not mind-readers.
After that âblatant disrespectâ he had suffered, he was doing everything he could to try and find fault with you. He needed something to write you up, to ride you about. He needed to even the score, and remind you he was top-dog around here.
He followed you from case-to-case, watching how you spoke to everyone and did everything. This was when he noticed something about you.
You were very, very quick to dole out praise.
Whitaker assisted you in a really clean intubation? âGood man, thatâs exactly what we want.â
Javadi catching a small symptom that could have turned fatal? âAmazing catch, weâd be lost without you.â
None of it was sarcastic or felt over-the-top. It was warm and fond and real. You loved teaching them, you loved seeing them gain their confidence.
You were shy, too. Not usually, but sometimes. When you got a taste of your own medicine with a âgood saveâ or a ânice jobâ, you got so bashful. All red and quiet, for once. He filed this information away, although he really didnât know why.
You werenât warm to him. You were strictly professional after you caught him with Mohan. You seemed to be good friends with her. He liked Samira, he really did. She was talented and could be brilliant if she applied herself like he wanted. Maybe he pushed too hard, she seemed to perform perfectly with you.
Abbot really liked you as well. You worked a double in your first week and you - unsurprisingly - got along just as swimmingly with the ânight crawlersâ as you did with the day shift. It was starting to piss him off at this stage.
Every time he and Abbot met up at home, you were the first topic of conversation. He ranted and raved about what you did and what you didnât do and why it annoyed him and why he didnât think you were gonna be a good fit in the long run.
His husband listened, of course, and empathised with him. Itâs hard to work with someone you donât seem to like at all. But days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. This time, when Robby started, Abbot had to intercept.
âMike, baby. This is becoming an obsession." When Robby opened his mouth to argue back, Abbot couldnât help but take notice of the slight flush on his cheeks. The same flush he had had every time he brought her up recently.
At first, he had assumed that he was just getting worked up about you, but nowâŠ
âHoney, I think you might have a little crush.â Abbot said softly. Robby scoffed in response.
âWell, Iâm hardly gonna leave you at this stage.â He put his palms on his eyes and pressed hard. Abbot leaned over and gently lowered them before he hurt himself.
âSheâs fake as fuck, brother. You should hear how she talks to the others. Itâs like a fucking kindergarten.â He groans, squeezing Abbotâs hands.
âWhat, all this âcause she wonât call you a good boy?â He joked, but he smiled when Robby blushed harder.
âOhhhh, brother.â He laughed, scooping Robby up into his arms and squeezing him. âYou got a crush, itâs okay.â
âIâm married.â Robby whispered into his shoulder.
âYeah, I know, champ. I was there.â Robby raised his head to glare at him.
âI wouldnât want her to be anywhere else. I meanâŠâ Abbot looked down at Robby, wiggling his eyebrows emphatically. âI wished sheâd have preferred nights for a while.â
Now, Robbyâs head flew up.
âYouâve thought about her?â He asked.
âNot as much as you, hon. But, yeah, I have.â Abbot squeezed him gently again.
âW- why?â Robbyâs question was fair. Theyâd swung for a bit, yeah. But Abbot didnât go for women. Not after his late-wife. Robby fiddled with Abbotâs blackened out band, resting underneath their matching ones.
âWell, sheâs pretty. Seems like sheâs a good girl, too.â Abbot said, shrugging off his concern.
âDonât tell her that.â Robby huffed, rolling his eyes. âIt fucks with her flow.â
âDoes it now?â Abbot intoned. He found that very, very interesting.
It had been a few weeks since you last ran into Jack Abott. Robby was off and Shen had covered the day. He did a hand-off and ran for the hills. Abbot is secretly glad he doesnât prefer the days. Heâs a pretty vital part of his crew. Abbot met you just as you were surveying the board for the last time.
âAnything you need to warn me about?â He asked. You laughed, this guy was a sucker for gossip.
âNothing too interesting. Central 12âs a biter, though. Relative distance is recommended.â You supplied, lips thinning even with your smile.
âDoinâ anything for the night?â
âNothing, just sleeping.â You responded, sighing. This little tell was the closest to complaining heâd seen you. Abbot nodded. You looked like shit.
âEat something nice and go straight to bed.â He didnât quite order you to do it, but it definitely wasnât a suggestion either.
âSir, yes, sir.â You gave him a mock salute, standing up straight.
âGood girl.â He said, patting your shoulder and walking away. He looked back after a moment to look at you and sure enough, you were short-circuiting.
Like Robby had been doing for you, you very much actively tried to avoid him. Which didnât typically work. You couldnât seem to stop running into him.
Your frosty demeanor didnât waver with him, but his had softened greatly with you. He had taken to sticking around for your procedures again, nodding affirmatively when you did the right thing, or offering a gentle âah-ahâ when doing something he thought wrong.
He often went to you after a tough patient, asked if you needed anything or if you wanted to talk. You tried to be open to it, you really did. But he got under your skin. You were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
You had spoken to Samira about how Robby was when first started, kind and encouraging. How quickly he turned cruel and empathetic when he found a new âstar studentâ. You didnât want to be his star student, but you seemed to have had most of his attention recently.Â
You knew heâd turn on you again, and when he did the others would follow. It happened at Presby, and itâll happen here. You could feel it in your bones, you wouldnât let them get the leg up on you like that.
The day finished up and like always, you searched the board. You wanted any reason to stick around for a bit, to chat to someone, to be useful to someone else. Robby walked over and prattled on about his weekend plans. Him and Abbot were both off, something that almost never happened.
âCâmon, you got here early. Iâm not gonna let you do any overtime.â Hands on your shoulders, he gently steered you towards the exit. You hadnât brought in anything other than your worn hoodie and your phone, both of which were in your possession, so you had no excuse to not follow.
âYou got a ride?â He asked, eyeing your lack of keys.
âCarâs at the shop.â You admit sheepishly. âIâm walking today.â
Robby frowned.
âNo, youâre not. Iâll give you a ride.â He shook his head, hand going to your shoulder to hold you in place before crossing the road. He used the same hand to lead you across the road. You couldnât help but relax a little at the action. You liked just following along with whatever people wanted at the end of the day. I mean, your whole job revolved around making choices to save lives, who would want to make a decision about themselves after that?
âYou really donât have to, Dr. Robby.â You murmured.
âHeâs not, I am.â A gravelly voice caused you to look up. Jack Abott stood by their car, dangling the keys until they made a jingleing noise. You clearly werenât the only one surprised. Robbyâs eyebrows shot up. He went over and kissed Abbot on the cheek.
âWe actually had a question for you.â Abbot spoke, hand rubbing Robbyâs back.
âIf you donât have plans tonight, would you have dinner with us?â Your brows shot up this time.
âBut- youâŠâ Your eyes shifted between Abbot and Robby several times.â
âWant you to have dinner with us? Yes.â Robby finished off what he assumed your sentence would have been.
âI- Iâd hate to intrude.â Was all you could think to say, because one part of your brain immediately wanted to say âyes!â.
âGood thing you wouldnât be, then.â Abbot smiled at you, winking. âLook, if you donât want to, you donât have to. We want you to, but your word is final. We wonât be offended.â
âWe can pretend this never happened. We drive you home and we donât talk about it again.â Robby confirmed softly.
âNo, I- I donât have any plans. Dinner would be niceâŠâ You admitted, stomach starting to grumble. Robbyâs did too, causing Abbot to laugh.Â
He ushered both of you in the car and drove to what you could only assume was their house. A real nice, big townhouse a little ways outside the city. It was quiet, but thoughtfully decorated. The lawn was stunning and the colour pleasing to the eye. You were invited inside to see the gorgeous interior. The kitchen was a mix of modern furniture with retro colour schemes - reds, blacks and blue used interchangeably. The house seemed to be lit according to mood, with the kitchen lights on full whack and the dining room a little dimmer.
âI actually have it all ready, just sit down anywhere.â Abbot instructed, not caring that he admitted he assumed you were going to say yes.
âCan I help?â You asked.
âYes, by sitting down.â Robby replied, pointing to one chair in particular. Right to the head of the table.
Abbotâs voice rang out again - âDo you drink wine?â - Upon hearing your affirmative, his head popped through the doorless frame.
âWhite or red?â
âRed, please. Will I help set out the drinks?â You asked for the second time.
âYou can stay right where you are, please.â You are told for the second time.
After what feels like an eternity (it was 5 minutes), a small bowl is placed in front of you and your wine is topped up just slightly. Robby took the seat in front of you and Abbot beside you, at the head.
All three of you ate in relative silence, before you broke it to compliment the soup. It was potato and leek, so creamy and starchy that you didnât even feel the crunchy onion-y texture.
âThank you, youâre very sweet.â Abbot smiled at you. You tried to control your blush, ducking your head modestly.
âIsnât she just?â Robby agreed, as you hurriedly spooned another mouthful of soup into your gob.
The first course passed quickly after that. Robby collected the bowls, pushing you down in the chair when you got up to help him. He disappeared into the kitchen.
âYou donât know when to give up, do ya?â Abbot asked, laughing slightly.
âIâm not good with being idle.â You admitted, laughing along. He stared at you for a bit.
âYou can relax, you look so tense. Did you have a bad day?â He asked kindly.
âNo, no. Everything went very well. Iâm just⊠Iâm just like this.â You laughed again, albeit a bit more nervously this time.
âUh-huh, well, I want everyone who walks in here to feel better when they walk out. Is there anything I can do for you?â His gaze followed yours, ducking his head to look you in the eyes. Itâs hard to ignore the husky undertone in his voice.
âLook up at me, please. Itâs not good to slouch.â He gently corrected and you rushed to remedy yourself.
âSorry, Dr. Abbot.â
âYouâre okay, I just donât want your back to get sore. And, call me Jack when weâre not working.â
âYes, sorry Jack.â
âGood girl, youâre okay.â He doesnât miss the way the tension leaves your shoulders. You stare at him for a moment, your eyes almost glazing over before Robby returns.
âRoast should be ready in 20.â He murmured, squeezing Abbotâs shoulder as he passed him. Him and Abbot exchanged a few looks before Robby began again.
âYouâre a very smart girl.â He stated simply, you couldnât help but whip your head over to him.
âSettle.â Abbot huffed a small laugh.
âIâm sure you can see we didnât call you just to eat with you.â You didnât know what to say to that. You simply hummed and nodded for him to continue.
âJack and I have a particular⊠void that needs filling. And you seem to be the perfect candidate.â Robby continued, watching your face very closely. He saw your brows furrow.
âWe arenât asking you to have sex with us.â Abbot spoke very quietly, âThat isnât what we want.â
âThen what is this âvoidâ?â You asked cautiously, not sure if you felt relieved or disappointed you attendings didnât want to have sex with you.
âWeâre old men, who make a lot of money and donât have family to look after. We want someone to take care of.â Robby informed you.
âYou want me to be your sugar baby?â You asked, a bit incredulously.
Simultaneously, you heard a ânoâ and a âsort ofâŠâ. Abbot glared at Robby.
âAre you familiar with BDSM dynamics, honey?â You tried not to react when Abbot called you honey but judging by the way he looked at you, you failed.
âI-yes, I am.â You mutter, looking down again.
âAh-ah, look up.â Abbot couldnât help but remind you. Robby gawked at him, but you looked up automatically. Abbot tipped your chin encouragingly.
âHave you had any experience with it?â He asked and Robby turned his attention back to you.
âUh, a bit, yeah.â You admitted in a whisper. God, this was so fucking embarrasing. Robby reached across the table for your hand, which had clenched around itself. He unwinded your fingers and placed his hand on top of yours, rubbing circles onto it.
âCan you tell us what you were doing?â He asked softly. Suddenly, it was hard for you to remember why you didnât like Robby.
âI was- I was a submissive. Sometimes for sex, but usually domestically.â You murmured, feeling a bit lost in his gaze.
âThank you for answering. You had a regular dom then?â He asked. You blinked up at him slowly.
âNo, I was a part of this, like, group. You texted in and someone usually responded. I knew a few of them well but not all of them. I just⊠I just needed to be out of my head.â You shared, feeling a bit like a common whore. You went to look down again, but Robby clicked his tongue.
âI believe Jack asked you not to do that.â
âSorry, Dr. Robby.â
âMichael, please.â
âSorry Michael.â You murmur automatically.
âNo apologies necessary, sweet girl. That must have been hard to tell me.â You nodded without thinking. Abbot piped up again.
âThatâs exactly what we want. A submissive. You donât have to fuck us. We want to feed you, bathe you, dress you up. We want you to listen, and do as youâre told, and to feel free.â Abbot took your other hand, thumb rubbing up and down your wrist.
âYou donât have to even try it. If youâre not interested, we eat dinner, drop you home and pretend none of this happened.â Robby promised, squeezing your hand.
âNo pressure. If you want to think about it, then same thing.â Abbot assured.
âI⊠I do want to try. I havenât done it in a bit, I might be a bit shit at it.â You admitted, feeling a bit exposed.
âYou have been doing absolutely wonderfully.â Robby reassured you quickly.
âYou wouldnât have to worry about a thing, weâd do that for you.â Abbot added.
âOkay, Iâll try it with you. But if I donât fall deep, donât be upset.â You warned
âStop getting in your own head about this, weâll take it as we go, babe.â Robby brought your hand to his lips, kissing each finger between words. You revelled in the attention for a moment, and you knew they knew. You felt yourself settle down, the weight rolling off your shoulders.
You didnât notice Abbot getting up beside you, so you jumped when a plate was placed in front of you. Abbot petted your hair soothingly.
âHush, itâs only me. Here, MikeâŠâ As he passed Robby his own. He placed his own down and quickly plucked the cutlery from your hands.
âWould you like it if I fed you, hon?â Abbot asked quietly, waiting for your response. You nodded slowly.
âBrave girl.â He noted you must have been wrecked to give in so easily.
The plan had initially been to just ask you tonight. Talk to you a bit about it, get to know you. Youâd talk about expectations and fears and all of you would set a schedule. Which would still need to be made, but tonight was not the night. Abbot really hadnât meant to start domming you before youâd even discussed it, but you were plain irresistible. It irritated him how you couldnât see it. He could see you needed it tonight, Robby could too. You were barely hanging on.
âDo you like to try everything separately first or do you usually go straight in with your meal?â Robby asked before Abbot began.
âSeparately, if itâs not too much trouble.â You disclosed, reaching to take the fork from Abbotâs hand preemptively. Abbot gently lowered it.
âHands on your thighs or on the table, please. Thank you for telling me, Iâd like to feed you.â They had a feeling you would need more than a simple instruction. You seemed to be a lot more insecure in yourself than they originally thought.
Clear instructions, easily-won praise often, and many reminders of the initial order or rules. They could remedy that, if you would let. They could only hope you would.
Abbot handfed you every bit, stopping every few to take some himself. When he was eating, Robby took the opportunity to feed you some of his own.
âYou are taking this so very well.â He murmured, rubbing your cheek after a bit.
You had cleared the plate before you knew it, and Abbot smiled wide.
âVery, very good. Do you want anymore?â You shook your head lightly, muttering a small âno thank youâ.
âThank you for being so polite, sweet girl. You are doing so well. Itâs hard to let someone take care of you, isnât it?â Abbot asked empathetically, taking both of your hands in his own and kissing them. He turned to Robby, who was only watching.
âMike, could youâŠâ He asked Robby something, but you didnât quite catch it. You watched him stand up and walk around to you.
âCâmere⊠Thatâs a good girl.â Robby spoke, bringing you into the living room. He plopped himself down on the middle of the couch and when he went to pull you into his lap, he was surprised to find you on the floor. You knelt between his legs, not needing to be told to get into position and falling into total habit for the first time tonight.
âArenât you a high achiever?â He crooned into your ear, petting your hair. He grabbed a pillow from the end of the couch and quietly ordered you to move for a moment. He could see the panic in your eyes and dropped the pillow. He brought his hands to your hips and looked up at you.
âI just wanted to move this underneath you so youâre not in any pain. Youâre not in trouble, weâre all okay.â He assured quickly, thumbing circles onto your hip bones. You nodded and lowered yourself onto the pillow when he had it placed.
âIs that much better, honey?â He cooed at you from above.
âMhm-hmm. Thank you, Michael.â You instinctively leaned against his left leg. He continued cooing at you until Abbot came back in. They said something to each other, but you werenât listening. You didnât feel like you needed to. You werenât told to pay attention to anything.
âFeeling okay, baby?â Abbot looked down at you, gently tugging your chin upwards to meet his eyes. He was sitting on Robbyâs left side. You nodded slowly, eyes glazed over. You smiled softly at him and he released his hold, letting your head fall back to where it was.
âBest girl.â He said, scratching your scalp, while Robbyâs leg supported your body weight.
In the morning, you would hope and pray tonight was not a fluke and that you impressed them. But tonight, you werenât worried about that. You werenât worried about a thing at all.
the 141 arenât stupid -- they wouldnât carry a photo of you in their vest or helmet. no name written anywhere, nothing on their body that could potentially trace to a woman back home.
but they all carry something.
simon has a hair tie on his wrist. black, cheap, the kind you buy in packs of fifty and lose all over the damn flat. it sits under the cuff of his glove, biting into his skin, reminding him exactly why he needs to make it home. it always smells like your shampoo for a bit before it starts to smell like his own sweat, he finds himself a new one on the bathroom floor before each deployment.
price wears a watch. itâs not the watch thatâs about you, really. itâs that he started setting the second time zone to match yours. he checks it more than he should, especially at night when he canât sleep and itâs three a.m where he is and eight a.m where you are. heâll think: âsheâll be making coffee, i wonder what she wore to bedâ and thatâs the closest he lets himself get to mixing you with work.
kyle wears a bracelet. itâs thin braided yarn, the kind of thing you learned to make as a kid at camp. you made it on a slow sunday afternoon while he was half-asleep on your thigh. he said âoh, thatâs sick, darling. ta!â, put it on and hasnât taken it off since. itâs absolutely filthy these days. and when it starts to fray, he simply keeps re-knotting it, sometimes johnny has to help get it tight.
johnny carries a folded square of paper thatâs gone so soft it feels like fabric, he keeps it safe in a zipped pocket on his kit. itâs a grocery list in your looping handwriting that youâd left him on the kitchen counter one morning. eggs, soy milk, the good butter, berries, your stupid crisps, wine (red). itâs got a small heart in the corner -- thatâs the most worn bit because he brushes his thumb over it every night.
in a perfect world, johnny would be the first to retire. he would be the first to find someone, fall head-over-heels in love, and throw all of his hard work and dedication away in favor of a quiet life by the ocean. it would be tough, at first, it would take years for him to truly shake the weight of the war from his bones, but he would do it. he would rather be a good husband, a father, than just another tragedy in an endless string of them. he would marry you as soon as his retirement papers cleared. he would give you a home full of laughter, and children, three at the very least, maybe a dog. he would be at every ballet recital and sports game, every parent-teacher conference and award ceremony. he would grow old with you, dance with you in the kitchen even at the ripe age of sixty-something, would complain about his creaking back right up until the bitter-sweet end. john mactavish would make a fine husband, given the chance.
kyle would be the next to jump ship. one day, he would see himself in the mirror, and heâd realize that he doesnât recognize the man he has become. the years have taken their toll on him, heâs tired, heâs scared, heâs angry. his youth will have passed him by, and heâll have forgotten to enjoy it. all the time he shouldâve spent falling in love, and planning for the future, and making stupid decisions so he would have them to laugh about one day, was spent on the front lines, fighting somebody elseâs war. heâll decide that he wants no part in any of it, not anymore, and heâd turn his papers in the following morning. he meets you after, somewhere casual, maybe heâd spill his coffee all over you in his rush to get somewhere that, in retrospect, was entirely unimportant. heâll buy you dinner to make up for it, and then again the next week, just in case his debt hasnât been settled, and again, every friday for the next several years. heâll marry you sometime in between, something small and intimate, with his brothers in arms as your witnesses, maybe heâll finally give his mama the grandbaby sheâs been begging for his whole life. kyle garrick would choose to be a better man, given the chance.
simon wouldnât retire by choice. not in any world, not even a perfect one. but, eventually, itâs bound to catch up with him. even the worldâs most capable soldier is vulnerable to his own damn humanity. heâd be forced to return to manchester, sooner or later, older, meaner, sore all over, all of the time. heâd buy a bike, a passion project, just something to keep his hands busy, lest he goes mad in his empty house, nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company. it wouldnât be enough, in the end. it canât chase away the skeletons in his closet or tell him that itâs okay to be scared of the dark, even at his grown age, so he would do what any half-sane man would, and adopt a dog. a retired military mutt, just like him, whoâs greying at the snout and growls at little kids when they pass by on their bicycles. heâd meet you at a dog park on a sunday afternoon, would remember your face but not your name. not until you chase him down in the street some weeks later, at least, and claim that his boy got your girl pregnant. heâd pay the vet bills, and he would help you find good homes for the puppies, and then, heâd stick around still, because he, like any stray, is desperate for a place to call home. youâd let him stay so long as got his boy neutered. he wouldnât give you kids, wouldnât burden you with his last name, but heâd damn sure love you. simon riley would learn to be happy, given the chance.
john wouldnât retire until heâs already halfway to too late. the kids are nine and twelve already, old enough to resent him, and youâve gotten used to having the bed to yourself, setting the table for three instead of four, brushing your friendsâ comments off when they bring up how strong you are, doing it all on your own. your worrisome heart would sink every time the doorbell rang unexpectedly, or when he went too long without contact, fearing for the worst. it would not be some big, sudden revelation on his end. heâd notice in fragments. no, he doesnât know his kidsâ teachersâ names, and, no, he didnât know that your son was diagnosed with asthma last summer. he canât remember the last time the two of you celebrated an anniversary, or went out for dinner, or talked about anything that mattered. he wouldnât make a big show of it, wouldnât even tell you that he was considering it, but youâd wake up one morning, expecting him to be long gone, and heâd be stood at the stove, burning eggs, and he would never leave you again. heâd do what he could to make up for lost time. heâd schedule date nights for the two of you, without prompting, heâd take your boy fishing sunday mornings, share all that hard-earned wisdom over soggy sandwiches and plop his boonie hat on the kidâs head to keep him from burning in the summer sun, heâd sit on his daughterâs bedroom floor with a tiara on his head, sipping shitty tea from plastic cups, and heâd thank god. john price would right his wrongs, given the chance.
but this isnât a perfect world.
john mactavish dies at twenty-seven, shot in the head by a man who shouldâve died two years prior. you bury him before you get to marry him. your daughterâs born three months later â sheâll never meet her father, but she has his eyes, and his smile, and you know he wouldâve loved her. he always wanted to be father.
kyle garrick spends the rest of his life fighting for a cause he doesnât know if he believes in. your paths donât cross in that little coffee shop, because heâs on the other side of the world, getting shot at, while you go about your life none the wiser. he dies at thirty-six on an operation no-oneâs allowed to talk about, desperate and alone.
simon riley kills himself a month after his sergeantâs untimely demise â not like anyone can prove it. itâs impossible to claim that he walked into the line of fire intending to be shot down. what exactly was going through his mind, no one knows for certain. in your late twenties, you adopt an old military mutt, whoâs greying at the muzzle and growls at your neighborâs kids.
john price signs the divorce papers when you send them, because he knows itâs unfair of him to keep you tethered to him. he watches your children grow from afar, through the pictures you send and the quiet, solemn voicemails you leave. you never stop loving him, but you canât wait around for him forever. you three are the only ones left to attend his funeral, when the time comes. youâre the only one with something kind to say.
you know when men slap their dick on your pussy a few times before they put it in? i feel like the 141 each have their own ritual.
simon? he slaps with weight. his cock is heavy, girthy, and he sort of just lets it drop against you, wet, blunt smacks across your lips and clit until youâre slick enough that every smack sounds obscene and youâre whining for him to just put it in already.
price slides his. he doesnât tease so much as he just wants to watch his cock coat with your come. dragging the length of himself through your lips slowly, getting himself nice and wet until his fat head finally catches at your entrance on its own.
kyleâs the kind to feed you only the tip just to pull it out and drag the whole length of his cock up to your clit and back down, notches the head in again, pulls out, drags it back up. heâll get lost doing it too if you let him, ten-fifteen minutes of it.
johnny slaps your cunt with his cock because he likes to watch. eyes locked on the way you twitch every time it lands, bringing it down in quick, smacking succession. distantly wondering where the hell he left his phone.
A part two of [this] post where reader met ghost in a chatroom and didn't expect him to have such a massive dick...
"It won't fit!!" You hiss, trying to squirm but unable to with the weight of ghosts hand pinning your hip to the bed.
"C'mon, lovie, look at it. Not that bad." Ghost coos, pressing his cock to lie against your pelvis, fhe tip practically at your belly button. Oh shit. "Bit o' work, but..."
Ghost slips his other hand down to your entrance, three fingers easily pop inside and you still know it isn't enough. Not when his cock jerks lazily and drools precum over your skin.
Some deeper part of you really wants to know what it feels like, wants to feel him in your mouth, between your hands, on your skin, inside you.
"Mh. Good choice." Ghost hums in delight when you allow your thighs to fall open that last bit, nervous but determined. He rubs his tip in circles around your entrance just to make you nervous, laughs to himself as the embarrassed whine you let out before pressing inâ
"Fuckin' hellâ!" Ghost groans, doubles over and only catches himself from falling on you by bracing a forearm next to your head. You can feel the huff through the fabric of his balaclava "christâ fuckin' tightâ"
"Holy shitâ ghost, ghostâ fuckâ" you toss your head back with a high keen, whole body burning from the sudden fullness. You've never used anything but your fingers before and nothing could have prepared you for this.
You grind into him as best as you can both overstimulated and still asking for more, completely lost in just how good it isâ
"Fuckâ you're so bigâ" you feel your core tighten and are unable to do anything, back arching off the bed, pulling ghost into a kiss as your orgasm crashes over you.
Only after you've caught your breath you notice ghost shaking, and slowly realize that asshole is silently laughing at youâ
"Not even halfway." He snorts, presses a kiss to your jaw then sits up, still inside you, to show his still-hard cock, only a third of the way in.
You just came and ghost is only a third in.
Somehow, this makes you equally excited and terrified for the rest of the night.
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Imagine joining an online chatroom because you struggle meeting people in real life, but god do you want to lose your virginity, right?
Most of the men you meet aren't all that interesting, but there's this one guy...fucking hilarious, witty, a bit dry. His chat name might be "deadmeat" but by the pictures he sends it's anything but.
Deadmeat: thought of you again, bloody mess. Can't wait to have you.
The picture attached is his usual, hard cock covered in at least two previous loads, tip flushed pink and wanting. The calloused, tattooed hand it's cradled in is what drew you in initially. Most folk in the chat room were...well...gifted in size, and as fun as it is to imagine you can hardly manage two fingers on a good long day.
But this man? Perfect fit. About the width of his palm, fingers easily wrapping around. Not small by any means, but definitely not heart-stopping in a bad way.
You: just a few more days. Got the motel booked?
You make sure it's safe, of course you do. Swapping photos together in anticipation for the day.
Deadmeat, or ghost as he requested you call him now, is...a little different than you expected. Tall, for one, nearly brushing his head on the top of the doorframe when you nervously unlock the motel room.
You don't quite realize the breath of your mistake until you and ghost are half undressed in bed and you slip a hand under his waistband. You slide you hand along the soft hair at his base, wrap your hand over it andâ
...no. no way.
The amusement on ghosts face as you frantically shove his pants down and pull out his dick is palpable. Holy shit, he's massive. You're a few centimeters shy of wrapping your hand around him, not to mention the length.
You swallow thickly, glance up at him.
The fucker has the audacity to chuckle, reaching down to wrap his impossibly large hands around his dick, give himself a few pumps "well? Everything you were expecting? Don't worry, i can make it fit."
mating press is heavy on my mind today like not even being able to squirm underneath him because heâs literally shoving you through the mattress with his entire weight. him not even thrusting but letting his heavy cock sit all the way deep inside you as he presses kisses all over your face and reassures you that itâs okay and that heâll take it slow. and you tear up a little because it hurts just the tiniest bit in this position but then heâs whispering how good you are for him while caging you tight in his arms and
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