#hare drabbles

It was no secret that König was a needy man. Everybody could see it first hand when his cock hardened at seemingly random times all throughout the day. Some days it seemed like he just didn't go soft at all.

It was starting to get in his way during ops, to the point where his performance just wasn't cutting it anymore. Instead of firing an otherwise great asset, however, his higher ups decided to look for a solution.

That's where you came in, specially selected. A shockingly big dildo had been locked into you with a chastity belt as prep, with you being declared as free use for the entire 141. You know, just so you'd get used to your upcoming position, of course. Nothing to do with Price pulling a few stings for his team.

Kyle liked shoving the toy in and out of you until you cried. Johnny would ignore it all together and fuck your ass. John would take it out, only to force his fist and forearm into its place. And Simon... he was usually the worst. He'd thrust into you besides the dildo, forcing your hole to capacity to the point you feared you'd tear every time.

After a little while, your training was considered done. You trembled as a gag was strapped around your head "so you don't bite your tongue off". With a lot of lube applied to the both of you, you were impaled on König's length. It still hurt worse than anything the taskforce had put you through. You sobbed behind your gag as they strapped you in place underneath his body.

Now every step he took, every move he made, rocked you back and forth on his cock.

From then on you were always full. Not just with his ridiculously fat dick, but also the plentiful amounts of cum he'd blow into you from time to time. Your soft walls were of constant stimulation and he couldn't get enough. Sometimes he'd lean you against something so he could properly fuck you.

You came with the added benefit of always providing him a place to relieve himself. If he was in a tight spot during ops he now had the luxury of just letting go.

Your stomach was in a permanent state of uncomfortable distention from all the cum and piss he kept plugged inside you with his cock. You were usually fed while stuck in place and only removed for cleaning about one a week, or whenever they got the chance during missions.

He couldn't help himself. You may have thought there was no way he'd be able to hold you up longer than a minute, but one of the very first times you'd hooked up he was already nearly begging to take you standing up.

He held your thighs apart like it was nothing, rocking you back and forth on his length as you were helplessly suspended off the ground.

It turned him on to no end, having you take whatever he decided to give with no chance for you to squirm away.

And the man was insatiable. The more time you spent together, the more his cock needed to be in you. It sometimes seemed like he couldn't be around you at all without getting turned on. It kept his mind at bay, saving him from the flurry of traumatic memories his job had left him with.

When you moved in together it was over for him. To have so much access to your body all the time drove him wild. After some discussion, you came to a kind of free use agreement. Now, whenever he wanted to, König could simply grab your body and impale you on his cock however he wanted it.

He made sure to stay productive throughout it, though. He'd balance you on the kitchen counter, toes barely touching the ground as he did the dishes. He'd hook your legs over the arms of his treadmill and fuck into you while he jogged. He'd carry you around the house, each step rocking him deeper into you. If it had been socially acceptable, he'd keep you on his cock even as he went to the store.

König didn't find it very silly. He thought it was adorable. You had made something especially for him, something he could easily take with him wherever he went. It showcased how you viewed him, in a way. Warmth flooded his face at the idea of you sitting down to draw him. Had you stared at a photo of him? Had you liked what you saw?

Now he refused to go anywhere without his chibi self attached somewhere. He likes rubbing it for good luck. Other times he'd stare down at it and mumble "What do you think, little me?" as if the object would be able to give him advice.

Maybe torture session would be more accurate. He gets beaten, starved, even electrocuted. But he never breaks. He's too loyal to his team, and he fully trusts them to get him out of that hell hole.

There's also you. His poor, innocent little wifey sitting at home, probably worried sick. It infuriates him more than anything that he's being kept away from you. He'd take a thousand more beatings as long as he got to assure you everything will be alright.

Softly staring or toying with his wedding ring is the only way to keep himself sane in between bouts of the mistreatment. He imagines how good it will feel when he gets back to you, how you'll hold onto him with all your strength. He thinks about your scent, the texture of your skin, the silhouette of your body.

After a week and a half with no progress on the side of his captors, it seems they're getting more desperate. All it really takes is Ghost being the slightest bit unsubtle one time when he brushes the ring on his finger for an idea to arise.

He refuses to let it show outwardly, but he's just about ready to break down sobbing and/or kill everyone within a mile radius, as his captor casually chats about the ring.

Got a little lady at home? She must miss you so bad. How about we pay her a visit? Get you two reacquainted?

The man sits down in front of him, slowly pulling out a knife. His expression is gleeful, which can't mean anything good for Ghost.

He tries with all his might to wiggle away as his captor moves his ring a little further up his finger, although he doesn't take it off fully. This isn't about the ring, it's about the entire finger.

Ghost nearly bites through his tongue as his ring finger is sliced off with a knife that's dull enough to make it take a while. He watches in tears as suddenly he's not wearing his ring anymore. The anchor of his sanity, the blessing you'd given him that beautiful day, gone just like that. He watches in despair as his detached finger gets picked up like a coin off the street, a small satisfaction to the man he swear to tear limb from limb the moment he gets out of his restraints.

But it couldn't just stop there. No, that would be too merciful. As if it's nothing, the process gets repeated on his other ring finger as well. For the first time since his childhood, Simon considers begging. Losing the finger he held your ring on was one thing, to lose even the chance to move it to the other one is downright cruel. Even if he logically knows there is much worse physical trauma they could inflict on him, this is mentally the most painful. It feels like breaking his vows, ones he took as, if not more, seriously than any op he'd ever been on.

The rest of his stay in that bunker is a blur. Without the physical reminder of his home, he feels like there isn't much time left for him. Either they'll finally fully break him physically or he will surely fall apart mentally. Every time he tries to reach out for his ring, he feels bile rise in his throat. Add to that the growing anxiety that they are going to find you and take you there too, and he isn't able to get any rest anymore in between visits from the monster who did this to him.

The day the Taskforce finds him feels like nothing but a dream. In a haze, they untie him, Price kindly pulling a balaclava over his bared face. It should feel like a homecoming, back in the security of privacy, but he's still too out of it to care. Regardless, a gun gets pressed into his hands and he knows what he must do.

He doesn't let himself escape until he finds the man responsible for the brunt of his pain. He shoots him in the shoulder, disarming the fucker so he can get what he wants.

Where is my ring?

Ghost is lucky enough that the guy still has it in his vest, simply forgotten in there as if it isn't even worth a nickel.

He stares at it for a while once it's back in his possession, nearly breaking down all over again as he realizes he doesn't know what to do with it now. Against the rumbling within his stomach that tells him it's wrong, he deposits it on his pointer finger instead. It's not a perfect fit anymore, but it's solid enough that it won't just slide off.

He shoots the guy in the knees for good measure, leaving him there to bleed out surrounded by the corpses of his teammates. It would be satisfying to do more, but Ghost finds it's not even worth it. It won't change anything.

He collapses the moment they reach the heli and doesn't wake back up until three days later, confined to a shitty hospital bed as they keep an eye on his well being. He's still a tad dizzy when he awakens, but not enough to not instantly recognize you where you're sitting by his side.

You all but leap into his arms when you notice he's awake and at last Simon can feel himself letting go of his suppressed emotions. With the little strength he has, he pulls you right on top of himself, sobbing into your shoulder as if this is all a dream that could vanish at any moment.

He doesn't notice he's apologizing until you pull back, shushing him with a soft smile. Still, he doesn't stop, wanting to make it clear that he would have rather died than been without that ring for even a second.

He finally stops when you, very softly, punch him in the chest. You're crying too, trying to explain how you couldn't give less of a fuck about a piece of metal as long as he came back home to you alive. You cup his face, telling him all the ways in which you missed him, in which you needed him, while he was gone.

So many people walking around on base, yet most seemed to avoid you like the plague. Sure, they were nice whenever you did have interactions, but while you wished for more, it just never seemed to happen.

If only you'd consider what your bond with the 141 looked like to anyone outside of yourself.

Most people simply assumed you were taken, what with all the playful flirting, sparring that was always just a tad too much on the touchy side, and even the few times you'd slap Soap's ass in crowded rooms.

The Taskforce just got back from another successful mission. They're still outside, stood in a circle to chat before heading their separate ways for the next couple of days.

The captain is in the middle of saying his thanks, when he notices Kyle's eyes flicking down next to him, his lips now trying to suppress a smile and look serious. He takes a peek for himself, only to feel like his heart is about to leap from his chest.

Price's little boy, not even two years old, has walked the small distance across the tarmac as if it's the most casual thing and has proceeded to calmly grab his father's pant leg. His little smile is radiant and Price can't help but immediately lift the child into his arms, continuing his chat like nothing is out of the ordinary.

You watch the scene from right next to base. You'd allowed your boy to waddle around, it wasn't a surprise he'd go to his daddy the second he realized he was right there.

Now your big scary captain looks closer to how you know him; domestic, soft. You can tell when he stops his talk because Johnny instantly takes a step closer and starts babbling to your child, who replies with excited squeals.

Kyle's broad shoulders keep your calves pressed down beside your head. He's obsessed with seeing you bending yourself into whatever position he pleases, impressed you've held on so long. It makes his hips speed up in excitement, crashing down into the mating press he's held you in until it becomes impossible to hold off his climax any longer.

Simon is pinning you to the mat like you've personally wronged him, yet carefully enough to not cause actual harm. His arm is curled around your neck, his weight restraining you and allowing you no choice but to take the ungodly pace he's giving. And oh boy, does he keep on giving.

Price got too impatient to even find a surface. Coming home after a night out, you're pressed against the wall within an instant. His lips are desperately chasing yours, before his hands roughly turn you around by the hips. Your skirt flips up, his pants unzip but barely get pulled down before you have to lean your arms against the wall. His hulking frame hunches over you as his abdomen meets your ass again and again.

König lifts you like he's never done anything easier, suspending you upside down into a standing 69. You lavish him with as much attention as you can before the blood streaming to your head becomes too much, but the dizziness fuels the fire even more.

Nikolai stands there shirtless, pants only undone at the front, pulling your arms behind your back to keep you up as he fucks into you where you're bent at the waist. He admires the view of your naked skin, using the leveraging hold to effortlessly shove you back and forth on his length until your eyes are rolled back all the way.

It's impossible to forget that fact, but it's especially when you're underneath him that it becomes undeniable.

All you can see is his chest, maybe his face leaning against the mattress if you tilt your head back a little. He's glistening with sweat, veins bulging on his arms for exertion. It never fails to amaze you how his biceps are practically the size of your head.

The difference is all the more pronounced once he lifts your legs up, folding you in half until your entire body is covered by his. He can so effortlessly maneuver you however he pleases and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't one of the sexiest things about him.

It does make things needlessly complicated at times. Not every position works out or stays comfortable for longer than a minute. While he's more than used to discomfort, you want him to be as relaxed as possible during something so intimate.

While you get to enjoy your differing builds, Simon bemoans the fact that he can almost never easily look into your eyes. He forces himself up so that the majority of his weight is leaning on one hand, the other still desperately clutching you by the hip.