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bunnys-kisses · 3 days

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boxers

simon 'ghost' riley

cw: smut/pwp, boxing au, boxer!simon, injury/bruises, protective!simon, size difference, unprotected sex, cowgirl position, gentle sex, simon luvs his missus,

you liked strong men. strong however was a broad definition. thought a man could be strong in a lot of ways, not just physical. strong convictions, strong emotionally, there were many examples.

but when you started seeing simon, you were enthralled by his physical strength. he wasn't some eight pack having, dehydrated mess. he was bulky, which was good for what he did.

punch the living daylights out of other boxers.

wide shoulders, a softness in his stomach, strong arms with one lined with tattoos. not to mention those thighs, he could crush a watermelon with them if you asked nicely (no, he wasn't going to crush your head). the facial scars add a scary look as did those dark eyes of his.

despite it, simon was a total sap.

at least to you, no one else. god forbid johnny or any of the others. but when it was just the two of you, he was a big puppy. you once described him as a huge german shepherd who thought he was a lap dog.

simon simply said, "just be glad i don't wanna sit on your lap, love. i'll break ya." then pulled you to him to give you a kiss on the forehead. he'd never hurt you though, he'd rather take his own life than yours.

and you loved him back, even with his loud snoring, you still adored him. you thought that he was the perfect boyfriend. which was why it hurt so much when he came home late at night with bruises on his face.

"si."

he dropped his bag and let you get in his arms. he kissed the top of your head lovingly. and welcomed your embrace. the man had enough fractures and scars. so to see another shiny bruise only left you feeling sad.

you brought him to the kitchen by his hand and sat him down at the kitchen table. he looked so large in the small space, which really highlighted your size difference.

"c'mon, pretty thing." he said as held out his arms to you.

you looked over your shoulder from the freezer, "give me a second, honey. i need to find the frozen peas."

simon groaned. he wanted to touch his woman. he cursed the universe that the frozen peas were in the back of the freezer. you managed to grab the bag before you turned to your boyfriend.

you sat in his lap and pressed the frozen vegetable to his bruised face, "poor baby." you cooed as you gave the bag to him.

he hissed a little at the feeling of it against the heat of the bruise. you rested your head on top of his and held him close to your chest

"do i need to talk to anyone?"

he chuckled, "no, love. i just need you right now. i wanna feel my woman." he nuzzled up against your chest. he even kissed the little gold chain around your neck.

eventually the peas started to melt and you put them back in the freezer. however with your back turned to your lover, you didn't notice his approach towards you.

he cornered you against the fridge with his large, scarred hands on your hips. he let out a shudder, "i need you." his voice sounded a little strained.

you swallowed as you kept your hands on the front of the fridge. you could feel his cock pressed against your ass. the rush was the fight was wearing off, but he needed another release.

"you could've just asked, riley."

he curved his back over you to lean in to kiss your neck. his hands traveled north to your breasts and groped them. the flesh filled his hands, his grip was a little rough. but, you didn't mind that.

"i know, love. but i couldn't find the words. i just needed you." his voice was like driving over gravel. it left you hot all over.

you blushed a bit at his words. you turned so you front was facing him. you took his face in your hands and brought him in to kiss his bruise. you said, "si-"

"please." he said as he curled an arm around you middle and brought you closer to him. your hands were splayed across his broad chest. he pulled you into a kiss and you had to get on your tip-toes to meet his lips.

he held you by your middle, his strong arms draped around your waist. he groaned against the kiss, "mine." his voice was as light as it could be.

you really had no choice. it was either you fucked on the bed or up against the fridge. and you knew the landlord would not want to deal with that. so you got out of your boxer boyfriend's grasp and took him by the hand. then you practically dragged him to your shared bedroom.

his eyes were on you as you walked. he felt his cock stir in his pants. you were just so good to him. you were the perfect girl for him. it made him smirk to himself even if it did hurt a little.

he watched your beautiful body on display for him as you tugged off the oversized shirt (that belonged to simon) and baggy sweatpants (that were yours, because his were two sizes too big!). he put his hands on your hips, feeling the softness under his finger tips.

he leaned in a down at you and kissed your cheek. he squeezed your hips and groaned against you, "pretty girl." you trailed your fingers through his blond hair.

your core throbbed for him, your heart leapt when he got a better grip on you and almost tossed you onto the bed. you bounced a little and laughed. "simon! no need!"

"i need ya love, you were takin' too long." he quickly got his shirt off. he hit his nose in the hustle of it all, but was too wrapped up in his deep lust for you that he didn't even wince at the pain, "c'mon, love. either you get them off, or i'm rippin' em of!"

usually he liked to slowly take off your bra and panties, but tonight was an inferno. a huge fire that burned in his core. his heart thumped as he go the buckle of his belt off and he slid the leather off from his waist. he watched you hastily get your underwear off and laid underneath him.

"i wanna see my girl on top." he said as he leaned in for a searing kiss and grabbed you to put you on top of him while he laid on the bed. you were both naked, two pieces of the same puzzle.

you moved so your pussy brushed up against him. he let out a choked groan as you didn't fully sink down him. he could feel his heart up into his throat.

it should be illegal for you to do that, and punishment for it is to get dicked down for five hours.

"like that, si?"

"if i wasn't so worry about breakin' ya, you'd already be ridin' it." he loved when you were on top. the sight of your eyes on him as you hold onto him for a leverage as you rode him.

"si." you smiled as you splayed your hands on his chest and sank down onto his cock. you could feel your heart in your throat as you sank yourself down on his impressive size. you choked out a moan and felt the pleasure pollute your head.

"that's it, baby girl." he said softly. his voice was a rumble in the back of your head like thunder. he guided your hips. he wanted to see close to his missus.

your big scary boyfriend. close to being the number one fighter in the league. the big shot. the ghost. there he laid under you, his eyes closed and his body melting into the bed. his hands your hips as he slowly guided them up and down. your cunt felt like a comfortable vice around him, he could hear the hitch in your breathing when he hit just the right spot.

what a beauty, the most loveliest woman he had ever laid his eyes on. that's why you were his woman, the only one he wanted. through hell and high water, to the moon and back. he kept his hand steady on your waist as you moved up and down on his cock.

you could hear your heart thumping in your ears from the blood rush of having sex with him. the most handsome man you ever had the privilege of loving. you held onto him for support as you raised and lowered your hips against pelvis.

you felt the curl of pleasure in your gut as his cock prodded at your most intimate parts. he felt so right. that was your man, as you leaned in and kissed him on the lips, you felt the inferno in your gut.

you felt hot and heavy all over, you felt the rush of pleasure echo through your body as you moved against him. he was your simon, the bloodied boxer, the ghost of the ring. he came home to you every night, he kissed you until you fell asleep in his arms, he brought you home flowers on tuesdays and always cooked dinner on sundays.

that was your charming bloke who punched people for a living. with his scars on his cheeks and lips, the crookedness of his nose, those piercing brown eyes and all the love he could give you. while he didn't believe it was much, it was more than you ever wanted.

"si"

"love."

you pulled him in for another hot kiss as you bounced more on his cock. the stabbing of his cock in you made you feel lightheaded, there was so much to fit in you. everything about simon felt big, from the meat on his shoulders to the width of them. his strong arms that were now wrapped around your middle, to of course his cock that was filling any gap in your pussy.

you dug your nails into his tanned skin and you let out a loud moan as simon clutched onto you and continued to push his cock up into you. it made you see stars as he moved.

"that's my woman." he huffed, "bright beauty." his voice drew as he bounced you on his cock. even if the pain in his face was still there, the sight and feeling of you around his cock managed to dull the pain. who thought pussy was a good cure for a bruise.

he pulled you closer to him, until your chest was against his. simon bent his knees and got a different angle to hit the back of your soaked cunt, "been thinkin' about my missus all evening. probably why my game got thrown off. was thinkin' about this sweet treat rather than johnny's punches." he chuckled as he managed to fuck you faster.

you whined, you didn't want to be the cause of simon getting hurt. but he quieted you down with a searing kiss. he didn't need to hear that, he wanted to hear your pussy getting fucked by him.

the angle made your head a little dizzy as you tried to keep some more of control. but it was too late, simon had already dominated your little pussy yet again. it was alright though, the feeling left shivers through your body.

he continued to make out with you, the kisses were sloppy and needy. it made your cunt ache as he rocked into you. the bed shifted under you two as you continued to make love.

simon loved you. he'd never hurt a hair on your head, even a chipped nail was a cause of concern for him. he kissed at you hot face as he felt you grow tense around him.

a few hard thrusts later and you were clamping down on him, orgasm pulled from you and you felt hot all over. the pleasure left your head swimming. you panted wildly as he continued to move against you.

he gave you filthy praise as he felt his own orgasm come over him. with a heavy thrust into you, he slammed his cock all the way into you and finished. spurts of cum hit the inside of your pussy and he left out a harsh grunt.

he dropped his arms down onto the bed and laid fully out. you clung to him and his cum clung to your pussy lips. you both laid there, basking in each other's embrace.

you leaned up and kissed him gently on his bruise, "my boxer." your fingers dragged down his chest, "you have to be careful. i hate when my man gets hurt." you kissed him on the cheek under the bruise, "i need you to come back to me in one piece."

simon's cock soon slipped out of your pussy and you softly kissed him on the lips. he said to you between kisses, "i always come home to my love. i love you so much." his words were like honey that melted to your core.

you laid in each other's hold. he had been a fighter all his life, but now he was simply yours. wrapped up in the comforts of bed, the bruises would heal but your love for him would be eternal. <3

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libingan · 3 days

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—how the tf141 are like when they’re sick.

im sick. that’s literally my only motivation to write this.

i feel like absolute shit but holy fuck i wanted to write this so pls enjoy

no horny juice rn, so its all fluff

JOHN PRICE

when price gets sick, it’s almost like he’s in denial about it. he’s the type to downplay everything—says it’s just a little cough, just a bit of a sore throat. but then, as the fever starts creeping up, you see the cracks in his usual solid demeanor. he’s flushed, his breathing a bit labored, and when you gently place the back of your hand on his forehead, he swats you away at first, grumbling that he’s fine.

“you don’t have to worry about me,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice steady. but the cough that rattles through his chest betrays him, and eventually, even he can’t deny it anymore.

you coax him into bed, tucking the blankets around his broad frame, and he grumbles under his breath about how ridiculous this all is. he’s not used to being taken care of—he’s the captain, the one in charge, and letting someone fuss over him isn’t in his nature. but there’s a moment when you bring him some tea, and he accepts it quietly, his eyes softening just a little as he watches you.

“i’ve had worse,” he rasps, his voice thick with congestion, but when you sit beside him, he leans into the warmth of your presence, even if he won’t admit it. he tries to stay in control, tries to ask about your day or if there’s any work that needs to be done, but you can see how tired he is. when he finally gives in to sleep, his hand rests loosely on yours, a silent acknowledgment that he’s glad you’re there, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK

gaz is the worst when he’s sick, and he knows it. he tries to be strong about it, but the minute the fever sets in, he’s a mess of sniffles, groans, and dramatic sighs. you find him sprawled out on the couch, a blanket barely covering him as he flips through channels, looking utterly miserable.

“i feel like death,” he complains when you sit next to him, and despite the obvious exaggeration, he looks pitiful enough that you can’t help but smile. he’s not usually one to be overly needy, but when he’s sick? he’s all about the attention.

you bring him some soup, and he gives you a weak smile, propping himself up just enough to take a sip. “you’re an angel,” he mumbles, but even that little bit of gratitude is followed by a dramatic cough that makes you roll your eyes.

he’s restless, constantly shifting under the blankets and complaining about how bored he is, how much he hates feeling like this. you offer to stay with him, and his eyes light up, a mischievous glint behind the obvious exhaustion. “you gonna keep me company?” he teases, voice thick with congestion. “or are you just here to make sure i don’t die on the couch?

you settle in beside him, and even though he’s feeling awful, he still cracks jokes, trying to keep things light. but there’s a quiet moment where he leans into you, his head resting on your shoulder as he drifts off to sleep, his breathing finally evening out. you stay there, feeling the weight of him against you, knowing that as much as he’s complaining, he appreciates you being there.

JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

soap is absolutely insufferable when he’s sick, and he knows it. at first, he tries to play it off—still bouncing around, still grinning, still acting like everything’s fine. but then the fever hits, and it’s like watching a hurricane get knocked flat. he’s sprawled out on the bed, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable no matter what he does.

you bring him a glass of water, and he gives you that familiar, cocky grin, even though he’s clearly not feeling well. “you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he rasps, taking the water and downing it in one go. his voice is rough, but there’s still that glint of mischief in his eyes. “ye know, if i weren’t sick, we could be havin’ a lot more fun right now.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the way his teasing makes your heart flutter. he’s always been like this—flirty, cheeky, always pushing your buttons. even now, as he’s lying there, feverish and miserable, he can’t resist making a comment.

“don’t suppose you’ll give me a wee cuddle, eh?” he grins, shifting on the bed and patting the spot beside him. “might help me feel better.”

you know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, but when you settle next to him, he actually quiets down for a moment, resting his head on your shoulder. his skin is warm, almost too warm, and you can feel the tension in his muscles as he tries to get comfortable

“don’t worry,” he mumbles, his voice soft now. “i’ll be back to my usual self soon enough. ye won’t be able to keep yer hands off me.” despite his words, he’s clearly exhausted, and when he finally drifts off, he’s peaceful for once, his usual energy gone, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

when ghost gets sick, it’s like he’s trying to hide it from the world. he’s not the type to show weakness, not even to you, and it takes a lot for him to admit that he’s not feeling well. but eventually, even he can’t fight it off anymore, and you find him in bed, eyes closed, the tension in his body betraying how much he’s struggling.

he doesn’t say much when you sit beside him, offering him some medicine and a glass of water. he just nods, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes the glass, the touch brief but enough to let you know he’s thankful for your presence.

he’s quiet—always quiet—but even more so when he’s sick. there’s no grumbling, no complaining, just the occasional shift of his body as he tries to get comfortable. you adjust the blankets around him, and his eyes flicker open for a moment, dark and heavy with exhaustion.

“you don’t have to stay,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. but there’s no force behind his words, no real intent for you to leave. in fact, the way his eyes follow you as you move around the room tells you that he doesn’t want to be alone, even if he won’t admit it.

you sit beside him, and for a while, there’s just the sound of his breathing, slow and labored. he doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t demand your attention, but the way his hand occasionally brushes against yours is enough. he’s not used to being taken care of, but he lets you stay, lets you be the quiet comfort he needs.

eventually, his breathing evens out, and he falls into a restless sleep. you watch over him, knowing that even though he doesn’t say much, your presence is enough to ease some of the weight he’s carrying, even if only for a little while.

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod #cod mwii #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader

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yukioos · 3 days

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20191009 i like her — simon riley x reader

summary: simon comes home from deployment late at night with no warning. he walks in and finds you sleeping soundly and peacefully on your shared bed.

warnings: not proofread

authors note: sorry if this is a lot like my previous post! i’m working on a logan sfw alphabet too, hope u enjoy!

word count: 0.9k

simon walks down the familiar, concrete path that leads to the house where he finds comfort. his steps are tired and heavy, and his boots stomp slowly on the ground. he places his dirty, gloved hand on the picket fence and opens it, the wood creaks. he closes the short fence behind him and continues to walk closer to where his family would be.

a light hanging above illuminates the white porch, and he steps up the stairs with ease. he grabs a silver key from his pocket and inserts it into the black keyhole, twisting it and slowly opening the door. he steps into the house, untying his laces in the dark and placing the shoes near the door.

he then begins to unbuckle all his gear, taking off multiple pounds of protective clothing. he sighs as he walks to your shared bedroom, wanting to double-check you’re home. he places his hand on the doorknob, twisting and pushing.

simon’s eyes widen but soften when he sees the lamp on your side of the bed, lighting up the room. a book lies on his black shirt that appears so adorable on you, and your hand reaches out to his pillow. your eyes are closed and your head is tilted toward your husband’s side of the bed, missing the warmth you crave so often.

he grasps the back of his mask and pulls it off, feeling sweaty in his layers of clothing. he knew you’d complain about how you’d have to take a shower, and how you’d have to wash the sheets if he slept in his dirty gear.

he grabs a pair of boxers and grey sweats, tossing both over his shoulder as he makes his way to the bathroom connected to your shared bedroom. he cracks the door open and switches the light on, then strips himself of his clothes. he tosses them on the ground, deciding he’ll toss them in the hamper in the morning.

he turns on the shower and takes a quick one, only lasting about 5 minutes. he turns the water off and takes his towel off a hanger, next to yours, and dries himself off. he ties the towel around his waist, and quickly brushes his teeth so he can lay in bed with you, after months of not seeing your face.

he spits the toothpaste out and rinses his mouth, then unties the towel and puts his boxers on. his sweats follow shortly afterward, and he quietly opens the door and turns off the light. his chest warms at the sight of your still body and your chest rising and falling every second.

he twists the ring around his finger, a sign of his vows and his love for you. he slowly climbs into the bed, and you stir in your sleep, causing him to pause in his tracks. he then reaches his arm to your side of the bed, grabbing your book and placing it on your nightstand.

he turns the lamp off with ease, then slowly sinks back into the bed, staring at your lips. he’d do anything for you to wake up in that moment, for you to realize he’s home again. but he knows you need your sleep, and he needs his as well.

so your husband places his head near your chest and wraps an arm around your midsection. he grasps you tightly, yet not enough for you to feel pain. he feels you stir again next to him, and he places his cheek against your skin.

a body is felt next to you, and you’re flooded with confusion. there was no way simon was home yet, he hadn’t even called you or texted you in advance. you softly mumble and open your eyes, rubbing them once you see the lamp isn’t blinding your vision.

you run your hands against the body next to you, and the back is scarred and hurt. you then know it’s your husband, and he sighs and kisses your side, tightening his arm around you.

“si?” you mumble, still not fully awake, “you’re home?”

he nods and moves up so you’re face-to-face, “i’m home, sweetheart.” he places his large, calloused hand on the side of your head, and you swing a leg over his.

he leans into you, pressing his lips against yours. you’re filled with relief and happiness once you feel them against you, after months of not being able to contact him, months of resorting to staring at photos of you and him and cuddling his pillow, which didn’t compare to him.

once the two of you pull away from the kiss, you sigh as you yearn for him once again. you pull his body closer to yours and place your chest against his. you then place kisses on his scarred chest, appreciating how he’s finally in your arms.

you fall asleep quicker than you would without your husband, and simon feels your chest breathing against his. he smiles and kisses your forehead, and placing his head above yours. it’s only when you’re asleep, when he feels safe enough to fall into the slumber that would otherwise haunt him if you weren’t there.

#yukioos #simon ghost riley fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost fluff #ghost #cod mwii #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty #cod modern warfare

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drgnflyteabox · 2 days

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lament [1]

part one -> honey || part two -> tbd

pairing: john price x fem reader summary: as you recover from prolonged illness, you meet a man on a hike in the woods just as strange things begin happening around you. tags/warnings: creepy / horror vibes, slowburn, phone sex, masturbation, injuries, mention of hospitals, pneumonia, mobility aids, softdom!price (for now), dubcon due to intoxication, tags will update as the story does w.c: 5.9k

The woods are a peaceful, meditative thing. You’ve been spending your mornings there walking with Diva, meandering through the local trails and venturing off for pictures of red mushrooms or Diva in her little yellow raincoat, sniffing something or other.

The trails were scarcely used and took a couple of hours to finish, a longer trek in taller trees that closed off the sunlight and created peace through insulation, like an echo chamber of wet pitter patter from rain the night before and the gentle calls of birds, broken only by the sounds of your hiking shoes crunching gently through pebbles and leaves.

Quiet. It’s just what you need, slowly erasing memories of bright fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptics. The trail isn’t elevated, it’s long, but not elevated. That’s important for your recovery, two months spent in a hospital bed attached to breathing apparatus.

Relief, freedom, as slow as your steps are and as beleaguered is your breathing, it’s pure relief. You’re no longer breathing through a straw, building strength walk by walk, spending time with Diva and watching her little tail wiggle under her coat. This time is good for her, too. You could sink to your knees and praise a higher being for the time off and sick pay policies your job has - so could Diva.

The shaking continues, your limbs still weak, muscles unused to standing and walking. You often find yourself sitting, on a log or a rock, and taking time to breathe and recover. Sometimes a granola bar makes its way into the mix, sometimes a handful of trail mix.

The last few times, there’s been a man. Tall, imposing, walking much quicker than you even with a brace around his knee. His posture tells you he takes himself pretty seriously, or he’s military, if there’s any difference.

Mutton chops, mustache, cargo pants. He’s been coming up behind you with sure steps, barely a limp even with his knee, and going by you so fast there's a breeze, makes you a little nervous to get mowed down.

Diva is weary of him. Her hackles raise, though she doesn’t bark, and she tucks close to you when he goes by. You don't feel unsafe, just a little surprised at the break in monotony no matter how tiny it is.

Doesn’t help that it’s pretty nice watching him go, that broad back and tight shirt, those well sculpted legs. Hey, you’re still sick and weak, still recovering. Sue me, you think, leaning on a tree when your lungs start burning again a little too much.

He stops, a few feet in front of you.

“You broken?” His voice is just as you imagined, rough maybe from smoking, maybe from overuse.

“What?” Broken?

“You alright?” He repeats, turning then. The quiet is a little oppressive now, with your struggle. You’re wheezing.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine-” you cough, dryly. “Just asthmatic.” It’s an easy explanation, you’re trying to get him to move on. You’ve never felt in danger, but it’s still the middle of the woods and he’s still a strange man.

“Need a hand?” He has to look down at you, even from a distance. His head is tilted down, arms folding across his chest, biceps calling to you like sirens.

You shake your head, squatting down as best you can, taking the breaths learned from your doctor and pulling out your steroid inhaler. One puff, two puff.

The man looks at you skeptically, eyes small and narrowed, flitting once to Diva who would fail as a service dog, but tries her best at guarding you despite being so small. Her gaze is pinpointed to him, as stiff as he is.

”Right, then,” is all he says before he’s back to his soldiers march.

You imagine him with horse blinders on and pulling a sled behind him, wheezing a laugh into the empty air.

Recovery is not linear. That’s what your doctor tells you, what you were told before you left the ICU, before you were discharged all together. There’ll be ups and downs, moments where you feel you’ve backslid to the point of having to start all over.

You get it, really. It’s a mantra. Recovery is not linear.

What they don't warn you is that it’s different when you’re actually feeling it, waking up weaker than ever and coughing, burning in your chest. It’s jarring, every cell in your body crying for oxygen and yet you aren’t low enough that you need to go back to the ER, just sit up in bed and stare out the window to the fortress of green that surrounds your house.

Recovery is not linear. You watch comfort shows - animated Halloween specials, a couple months too early. They fit the cooling temperatures, the slow yellowing of the trees.

Food is hard when you can’t stand for long periods of time, so you order in. Soup, and an extra chicken crunch treat for Diva on her dinner.

It’s only when you turn Charlie Brown off that you hear it.

Tap tap tap. Deliberate, timed taps, like a mini hammer on a mini nail. Quiet enough that your ears strain, and yet you can just barely catch the sound. It’s coming from the side of your house, opposite to your bedroom and closest to the living room you were just in.

Tap tap tap. Maybe it’s the vibe you put yourself in, but you shiver with apprehension. Could be an animal, you do live fairly far out, and by the woods. Your driveway is long, separated from the highway just outside of town.

Diva is usually a false alarm - she raises her hackles at the stove, she’s not trustworthy when it comes to alerting you. And yet you look, and find her standing straight up and staring at the wall the sound is coming from, lips peeling back.

Only there's nothing you can do. You aren’t gonna go check, not with your weak limbs and thin breath. Theres a landline in the kitchen with a long cord, and your cellphone. The best you can do is lock the windows and doors, which you do, shuffling so as to make the least amount of noise possible.

Next the lights and curtains, drawn and shut. You tuck a knife under your mattress, more for reassurance than anything, and close your bedroom door behind Diva.

The only reason you’re able to sleep is the bedroom door locks. The handle has one, and there’s a chain above that. You tuck into bed under the covers like a child hiding from their closet, straining to hear the tap tap tap. Sometime between you locking all the entries and exits, it stopped, but you’re still unmoored.

Your lungs fare better the next morning, eased by rest. You’re back in the woods by late morning, driving up to the trailhead through the canopy of trees. It really is beautiful, part of the reason you moved here, other than peace and quiet.

There's another car as you pull up, a reliable model in a dark colour, a surprise since you’re usually the first one there.

You park away from it in an effort to not be creepy, but still sneak a peak while Diva does her post-car ride shakeout and pee.

It’s the man from before, sitting in the front seat, talking on a phone. He looks serious, frowning, talking in a measured way but you can still hear the volume as you pass by.

He waves, and you wave back, giving him a little smile.

Diva leads the way, prancing into the woods without fear even as the leaves start blocking out the sun. She inspires you - a little dog, brave, braver than you were last night.

God, it was probably a rabbit or a possum stuck somewhere. Maybe a mouse, and though you hope it isn’t it is the season for them. Cooler temperatures means creatures trying to enter your house. Means you have yet to drive down to town and pick up insulation supplies for your windows before fall really hits and you’re freezing.

Making a mental note of that, you lean heavily on your walking stick and pause. It’s one of those days, needing more aid than usual after yesterday and more breaks.

Crunch.

“Sorry, honey,” the army man holds his arms up, seeming sheepish as you flip around to face him. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” your cheeks burn in embarrassment. “Just jumpy today.”

“That’s alright,” his eyes crinkle at the corners, softening at the edges. He’s approachable today, not speed walking through the woods like there's a pot of gold at the end. “Mind if I join you?”

Unexpected, but with your eyes at pec-height it’s an easy yes. You deserve a handsome escort for the second half of the trail, and your emergency alarm is tucked in your front sweater pocket if you need it.

“Sure,” you nod. “I’m pretty slow, though, just to warn you. Recovering.”

“That’s fine, I should be taking it easier anyway. Make my physio happy for once,” he gestures to his knee with a chuckle. “John.”

You tell him your name. John. It suits him, the masculinity of it, the simpleness too. He gives the impression that he’s careful about how he presents himself, that outside of this sudden friendliness he’s very closed off - the way he was when you’d come across him before. Now he calls you honey, and touches his fingertips to your back as you navigate a patch of rough terrain warped by roots.

“I’m off until my knee is battle-ready, again,” he says it like it’s a joke, but there’s a steel edge beneath his words. You ask about his job: contract work, he says, not self-employed but with pockets of free time.

“Did you move here recently?” The wind shivers the trees, chillier than last week, as you meander.

“Ah, didn’t move here,” he scratches his thumb with his nose. “Staying with a friend. Needed the fresh air.”

“I get it,” your shoulder brushes his arm. “That’s why I moved here too.”

“Helps your asthma?”

You pause for a moment, confused. And then.

“Oh!” You’re a little embarrassed. “I don’t have asthma, actually. I mean I could have it, or develop it. But really I had pneumonia for a while, really wiped me out.”

“Ah, I see,” his voice says surprised, but his face stays the same. You wonder if he notices. “Terrible, that. My mum had a bad bout of it a couple years back, gave us a scare.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” you aren’t sure how old John is, but you can assume it was dangerous for his mother to have caught such a bad infection. “How’s she doing now?”

“Much better. Healthy as a goat.”

“A goat?” You’re laughing, then. A giggle that has him smiling back at you. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

John hums when he doesn’t reply verbally, and nods like you’re giving a university lecture. The attentiveness is nice, but it makes you self conscious, unused to having so much attention so focused on you. And he is so focused, like you’re discussing nuclear launch codes or what a quark is or something important. Honestly, it makes you hide your face in an embarrassingly shy way, avoiding eye contact.

He walks with you slowly, patiently down the path, arms crossed behind his back. Every once in a while either or the two of you laugh, which seems to bother Diva, whose been looking back at John suspiciously or trying to get between you the whole time.

“So sorry about that,” you really don’t know what’s gotten into her. Sure, she’s a pro at finding innocuous things suspicious, but you’ve been walking for a while now and she usually warms up when she realizes you’re okay with the offensive person or item.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” honey again. He sure knows how to make a lady flustered. “She’s just looking out for her mama, right?”

If your pussy reacts to that, it’s no one’s business but your own.

The air chills, day by day. John has begun joining you on your walks every other day, and sometimes you catch him jogging to the trailhead from the road instead of driving it. It makes you wonder where he’s, whether it’s close or he’s really pushing his knee, and whether or not he’s flirting with you when he shows up all sweaty in a tight shirt.

Another anomaly is that the tapping has returned, nearly every night. You’re scared every time, won’t even let Diva out for a final pee and have stuck to walking up at the buttcrack of dawn to make sure she’s taken care of.

Tedious, is what it is. Ridiculous. And yet when those little taps come, in different places around the house now, different walls, you hide under the covers with Diva growling her little growl at the bedroom door and try to sleep.

When cabin fever starts to set in, anxiety and insane thoughts like, what if someone is trying to break into my house? You decide it’s past time for a visit to town.

The trip serves many purposes, anyways. Diva needs treats, kibble, and a new ball. You need groceries, tampons, new socks. Overall worth it outside of the fresh air and human interaction with more than just one person.

“Hey! Hey you!”

You’re in the bakery, weighing with your hands two loaves of artisanal bread. Just the one will do, since your freezer is small, but you want both. Pumpernickel or dark rye? Which will go better with the honey ham sandwich slices?

“Hello? Earth to-”

Your deliberation is interrupted by a waving in your face. You realize Jo, your only real friend in town, has run across the street to catch your attention.

“Oh gosh, my bad,” you look down at your shoes, then reach for a hug. She squeezes you.

“That’s okay, babe, off in your own world?” She’s dazzling, too cute for such a small town. Her ringlets bounce on her shoulders and her mouth, which is always smiling, is stretched wide with mirth. Makes you feel warm inside that she cares for you.

“Trying to make a hard decision. You know, end world hunger or stop all wars.” Stupid, but she laughs. You love making her laugh, and if you were lesbian you’d have made a move on her. Maybe you were, just a little.

“Why not both?” Her hands find your shoulders and squeeze. It’s then that you notice someone behind her, a much taller someone. At first the muscled chest and thick neck make you think it’s John, and a small squeeze of jealousy grips your stomach.

Then you see the mohawk, the difference in height. This man is looking at you with a similar intensity, though, all piercing blue eyes, thick furrowed brows, pin-straight posture.

“You’re right,” your laugh is more awkward, then, motioning with your eyes to the man.

“Oh, I’m so rude,” she turns to him. “This is Johnny, we met a few weeks ago.”

A wink. Ah, they met a few weeks ago. You picture them in the only bar in town, low lighting and Jo looking like Botticelli’s Venus, plump cheeks and red lips. And yeah, Johnny’s pretty good looking. You’d laugh about the mixup and the names if it wasn’t rude.

“Nice tae meet ya,” his accent is thick, palm warm and rough against yours. “Shall we, lass?”

He’s talking to Jo. They exchange glances, him looking at you once so fast you almost miss it. There’s something uncomfortably familiar about the look he gives you, but you shake it off. Nerves, you think. From the taps.

“Right,” Jo looks a little sheepish, then. “We’re off to the movies, but nice to see you!”

You raise a brow. You can’t help it, it’s 10am. Jo laughs and they leave.

You bake, sometimes. It’s a good hobby for someone on a leave of absence with nothing much else to do but read, walk and play with her dog.

The oven sometimes scares Diva, and she curls up in your room indignantly until you’re done using it. You’ve always wondered why, since she came to you as a puppy and hasn’t got a single reason to be upset with the appliance.

Oh well.

You decide to bring brown butter chocolate chip cookies on your hike, hoping to see John and give him one. Your interactions haven’t progressed past leisurely chatting and walking together, but he’s a handsome man and you're still a little stir-crazy. At least with work, it wasn’t just hours on hours of uninterrupted alone time.

Funny how that works, isn’t it? You spend every day at work wishing not to be at work, and once you have the opportunity you have no idea what to do with yourself.

John loves the cookies. He takes two right out of the Tupperware, flattering you by groaning as he eats. The recipe is that good, but you think he might be putting it on a bit anyway.

It’s sweet.

“Fantastic,” he says, licking his fingers. You try not to look. “You bake often?”

“Just something to do, keeps me busy.” Diva has growled at John again, her second offense. She’s being a real heel today, rude and fussy. You elect to schedule a vet visit for a checkup soon.

“No one to keep you company in that house?” He stops when you need to stop, takes the opportunity to stretch his bad leg.

“What?” You take a puff of the inhaler, frowning a little.

“Are you lonely?” A weird question, but you chalk it up to small town weirdness.

“A little, but that one over there keeps me company,” as if she knows, she turns and yips. “What do you mean, that house?”

“You mentioned you live in your grandfather's house, no? Inherited it.” He chuckles at Diva.

“Did I? I don’t think…” you fully frown, thinking back to your conversations. Did you mention that? You haven’t even thought of it yourself for a while, not wanting to revisit painful memories. Your grandpa did pass you his house, but you’re usually more private than offering more than surface-level information to strangers.

“I believe so,” he looks deep in thought himself, squinting up at the umbrella of trees above you. That comforts you, the fact that he’s trying to recall. You’ve been so anxious lately.

“I must have forgotten, sorry. I’ve just been so scrambled lately.” John perks up at that, turning towards you as you finally continue walking.

“Scrambled?” His palm finds the back of your arm, the meat of it. He squeezes you, and it fills you with warmth. “How so?”

“Ah, well, just some animals around my house. I think,” you meet eyes, and he gets the best of you, so you elect to stare between his brows.

“Want me to take a look?” His tone is very serious. You shiver.

“I don’t think it’s necessary… I think there’s just some mice making a home for winter. I gotta call an expert,” He slides his hand down to your elbow, holding it gently. You’re nearing the end of the trail, the woods getting brighter around you. Diva marks her territory here more than anywhere else and yips at John again.

“I could do it for free though, honey,” the air drops where you are, a gust of wind creating a symphony of sound all around you. A little romantic, you think. Ridiculous.

“Well,” far be it from you to pass up free help. “Only if you let me pay you back somehow.”

“You have already,” he holds up the cookie Tupperware, shaking it gently.

“Then let me make you dinner. Whatever you want!” The enthusiasm in which you say it has you cringing at yourself, but mentally you justify it; it’s completely normal to invite a friend over, especially to pay back a favour. You’re not being obvious that you’re attracted to him at all, no sir. Definitely not scared and in need of comfort, Mr John sir.

“Sounds like a plan. I’m free after 7 o’clock.”

You elect to be cliche and make British food. Good British food, a proper roast. Something you’d had a few times with friends in pubs or that time you’d visited London as an exchange student. Hot, smothered in gravy, salty and perfect with a mug of beer British food. You really hope he likes it, that he doesn't think you’re weird or making fun of him for his accent.

John is a proper gentleman, so punctual that he knocks on your door the very second it turns to 7:30 on your oven timer.

Diva has to battle her hatred of the stove with her need to announce a guest, staying in hallway purgatory barking at both.

The smell of garlicky roast beef, rosemary and thyme, salt and boiling potatoes is rife in the air, no doubt spilling into the woods through your badly insulated windows.

The moment it hits John, you can see it. Your door opens, creaking, and his eyes fix to you so quickly it’s almost physical.

“Hey! Thanks for coming,” you open it, motioning for him to come in. “Don’t mind Diva, she’s not a fan of the oven being on.”

He toes his boots off, still staring, like you’re a prize heifer and he’s set on buying you at the farm auction. A little sexy, mostly nerve wracking. Diva peeks around the corner at him and the sound of her little nails on the hardwood breaks the tension.

“Smells like home,” he leans closer to you to put his coat up on the rack. “You really went through all this trouble?”

“It’s the least I can do for your help.” At that moment, he seems to remember.

“Right, the mice. Want to show me where you heard them, or can I not steal you away from the stove?” His voice deepens as he talks, intensifying, grating hot coals and growling like a bear. Blue, focused eyes find the half-apron you’re wearing. You swear his pupils dilate, but he shakes his head before you’re sure.

“I can show you, there’s still a few minutes left for everything.”

The air is biting outside, cold with the evening breeze and dark already. So dark you equip your biggest, brightest flashlight and walk around the house with him, explaining the taps all around.

“I figure it’s them trying to dig holes so they can get in,” you hand the flashlight to him, feeling your fingers brush, and shivering in response. “I’ve been too chicken to check, to be honest. I keep thinking it’s a person walking around, not some animal.”

John nods as you speak, squatting by your little tool shed, looking diligently and moving items as he needs to. Then, he looks up, smiling a little.

“Why don’t you head inside, darling? Let me take care of this.”

“Sure,” you squeak. Squeak. Your stomach makes a knot and you scurry like one of the mice he’s looking for back into the house to mash the potatoes and make the gravy.

You are quite proud of this meal, not a proper cook by a long shot but it looks and smells pretty good. The Yorkshire puddings are alright, too, and that was the hardest part. Plus, you think, it’s free food. He’s gotta be happy with the effort, even if he winds up not liking it, right? That’s something your mother always told you. Someone’s put in a lot of effort for this meal, she’d say, pointing at you with a long nail. Better eat it.

“Think I found the little buggers,” John startles you just a little as he comes in, toeing his boots off again. You’re plating his plate, huge portions of mash potato and roast carrot and brussel sprouts nestled to the beef. His eyes look at the plate, then to you, then down to your apron, and you pretend you can’t see him adjusting his pants.

This isn’t what you think it is, you remind yourself. Two friends, one lending a hand and the other paying them back. You don’t even know his last name.

“Oh god, how bad was it?” You ladle gravy over his portion, then yours, pretending to be unaffected when he walks into your kitchen and takes a huge sniff.

“Not too bad. I’ll have to come back with some traps, if that’s alright.” You want to say John, you can come back anytime, but you don’t.

“Glad to know it was mice at least,” that’s the truth. A feeling you didn’t totally realize you had turns from paranoia into relief. “I was really scared it was some creep walking around my house, trying to get in.”

“Here,” John takes his plate when you hand it to him, but puts his phone into your hands before you can get yours. “Put your number in there, honey. Call me if anything like that happens.”

Honey. You fucking love that, so much it renders you temporarily mute as you punch in your number. He doesn't let you bring your own plate to the table, picks it up while you’re busy and comes back to shepherd you there with a palm on your lower back.

“Thank you,” you say, struck timid by his casual and yet firm guidance of you.

Diva makes an appearance for supper, summoned by the smell of beef and the oven being turned off. Her little claws tip tap against the hardwood as she circles your chair, tucks herself under the table looking for scraps, and whines at John while he’s trying to eat.

You nudge her away from him with a socked foot, stuttering that she isn’t usually like this, honest, only for him to brush it off kindly.

After supper, when you’re full and you can’t handle him looking at you with those half-lidded, well-fed bear eyes anymore, you move to pick up the dishes and bring them to the kitchen.

“Ah ah,” John cuts in front of you, stealing the plates and cutlery. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”

Useless to argue - he’s built like a brick shithouse. You’re forced to pack up the leftovers, one container for you and one for him to take home. For no reason other than you’re feeling especially soft and gooey, you wrap up a few homemade fig and date granola bars for him to take too.

“Thank you,” he gruffs, rolling his sleeves to his elbows, flexing his forearm muscles, making you hot again.

“It’s really the least I can-”

Snap. Fuck, the day that creepy noises don’t happen near your house is the day you convert to whatever religion that’ll make it happen. Both your heads turn to the living room window, where the sound came from, a crack in the otherwise quiet night air.

Anxiety curls in your stomach, sharp and dreadful. You try to remind yourself that you live in the woods for gods sake, there’s gonna be sounds, but that awful sense of danger is back and if you were Diva your hackles would be raised.

John frowns, wiping his hands on a towel. He doesn't seem as phased as you are, probably because he’s not worried over boogeymen haunting the forest like you are, but when he looks back at you and sees your fright he leans in and murmurs that he’ll go take a look.

“It’s okay, it’s probably one of my furry friends,” you try, but he shakes his head, putting a palm on your hip for a brief moment as reassurance and then he’s out the door.

God, you’re so nervous you whip out a bottle of wine, desperate for a little courage. The feeling is so strange, you’re used to feeling safe and cushioned by your home, by the forest. Even your little dog whimpers, tapping her way into the kitchen, rubbing her face on your leg like a cat. She’s a comfort still, something about there being a more nervous person (or animal) that inspires bravery. Still, you won't peek out the window.

The wine is good. A little too dry, but still good. A housewarming gift from your mother, even though she knew you didn’t drink unless it was social.

Or unless you were nervously waiting for some man to come back, having dealt with your problems for you. She’d weep to see you, aproned and wringing your hands and sipping red wine too quickly. Whatever, you think. There’s nothing wrong with letting him help.

John comes back in, maybe a few minutes later or maybe a half hour, you can’t tell. Your wine is half empty, and you feel awkward about it so you pour him one without asking.

“Think you’ve got more than one furry friend,” John says, laughter in his voice. In his fingers he’s got tufts of light brown hair, which he holds up. “Dinner, if you hunt.”

“Ah, I don’t,” and you wouldn’t. You’re fine eating meat or even purchasing it from a local hunter to eat, but there’s something in you that’s deeply uncomfortable with the idea. Maybe it’s cowardice, unable to do the dirty work and yet enjoying the fruits of someone else’s labour. Maybe you’re putting stock in something that really isn’t worth stressing over. Either way, you’re overthinking, and only stop when John steps into your space.

“Hey- you alright, darling?” You like darling too, just as much as honey.

“Yeah, sorry,” your hands find the wine glass you poured for him, and you hand it over. One thing about abstaining is that it hits you quickly, even with the big meal. “Want to sit? I’ve got a fireplace.”

You cringe at yourself, not meaning to sound so suggestive. Oh well, he doesn’t seem to mind, just nods and takes you by the elbow again to your living room.

“This all the heading you’ve got?” John asks.

“Er, no. I have to get my windows insulated for winter, then I can turn the heating on without it all going to waste. For now, I make do with the fireplace,” when you sit, Diva runs to you both and demands to be swaddled in her blanket. It’s an old knitted one, a college project finished between essay assignments and readings. There’s sentimental value there, especially with your pup who doesn’t even let the presence of a strange man come between her and her cozying up.

“I can help with that,” John says. Briefly, Westley pops into your head shouting As you wish! and it makes you smile.

“That’s okay,” you sip, tasting spice. Would’ve been good with dinner. “I owe you double now for helping me again.”

“Not at all, sweetheart.” Oh, he’s full of names - and getting bolder.

The conversation ebbs and flows naturally. Sometimes you both sit in silence, sipping, refilling glasses, staring at the fire. He’s easy to talk to, soothing, his confidence and sureness leaving you relaxed.

“I better get going,” he grunts as he stands, extending a palm to you.

“Are you okay to drive?” You’re half worried, half disappointed. There’s been a steadily building sense of heat between your legs the entire evening, brought on by his touches and his pet names and his taking care of you

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I live close-by.” That’s one mystery solved.

“Well, okay. But will you call when you get home?” If you weren’t three glasses in, you might be embarrassed. John crinkles his eyes at you while he puts his boots on.

“John?” You’re in your pajamas, face hastily cleaned with a makeup wipe. Your door is double locked again, anxiety beaten down by the wine.

“I’m home,” he sounds distant. You can’t really hear anything, just his breathing, the sounds of him taking off his coat and his boots. “You tucked in bed, sweetheart?”

“I am,” you breathe, eyes slipping, drunker than you thought you were. “Did you drive okay?”

“I did,” he laughs. His keys jingle and make a clamor as he tosses them. You imagine him in a house that fits him, a log cabin or a house built by hand, before remembering he’s talking with someone. Disappointment dampens you a little.

“I guess I should let you get to bed then,” you try to keep it out of your voice, but you’re curled on your side with a hand pressed against your clothed pussy and it’s hard not to be sad at the fact that you have no idea if he’s actually been flirting with you, or just being friendly.

“You sound disappointed,” either he’s perceptive, or you’re more obvious than you’re trying to be. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you without saying goodnight.”

A pulse, between your legs. You rub with all four fingers, moving the phone away from your mouth.

“That’s okay, I don’t want to keep you,” you scrunch your eyes shut, trying to stop, not being able to. You’re starved, really, haven’t been touched or talked to like you’re desirable in quite some time and he makes you feel safe. Taken care of.

“You touching that wet little cunt, sweetheart?” A shockwave, from your nipples tightening to your toes tingling, curling. You stop hiding, breathing whines into the phone.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble, biting your lips. It feels like permission, and maybe it is or maybe it isn’t, but you stuff your hand into your pants and start focusing on your needy clit. “I’m so-”

“Shh, sh, sh,” you hear a mattress creak, a grunt, and imagine him laying back. Maybe palming his cock. “That’s okay, baby, I could tell how needy you were.”

Panting, you stuff two fingers in your soft hole, grinding your palm into your clit. You hear him making sounds, quieter than you, but you’re straining to hear them. He starts talking you through it, murmuring into your ear, calling you sweetheart and honey and baby, telling you to put three fingers in and to play with your tits.

“Go ahead and touch your nipples, sweetheart, go on,” his breath is growing laboured. “Needed to come so she could sleep, did she?”

For a moment, you think he’s talking about you.

“Poor little pussy needed some attention,” his voice gets rougher again, like when he walked in and saw that you had made him a roast. “Give it to her then, baby, go on, let her come.”

That’s all you need. You squeeze your nipples one last time, letting your tits out of your shirt and turning over to hump your hand unashamedly. Your clit drags against your palm still, hips desperately moving, listening to him grunting and groaning on the other side of the call, waiting to hear him come before you let go.

You shake, shiver, curl into yourself as your core tightens and explodes like an elastic band snapping. It’s great, just what you needed, and you’re half asleep by the end of it

“John..” you mumble into your pillow, just enough consciousness left to pull your hand out of your pajama pants.

“It’s alright, it’s time to sleep now, alright? Close your eyes.”

“Alright, John.”

“Good girl,” his voice is distant, sleep taking you, muscles more relaxed than they’ve been in so long.

You’ll deal with the rest in the morning.

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tradgedyinwaves · 3 days

Text

tw: emotional neglect, military inaccuracies, one sided relationship, sex, cursing, not necessarily unwanted sex, but not encouraged

You told him.

Over and over.

If he didn’t stop treating you like a maid and fuck buddy, you were done.

“Simon, you didn’t do the dishes like I asked and now I have to do them before I can get started on dinner,” you chastise, moving dishes around so you can get them done. His team was coming over for dinner that night, but he’d made no move to help you.

“Ah, I forgot. ‘M sorry,” he called from the couch, eyes still glued to the game flashing across the screen. You huffed and got to work, mentally creating a list of everything that would need done before the guys arrived in…four hours. Great, you had to shower too.

Only once you’d finished the dinner and were getting into the shower, did Simon finally rise from the couch. He pushed his way in, joining you in the shower. His massive hands found your hips before sliding between your legs, searching for the little bundle of nerves.

Oh, now he wanted to pay attention to you? “Come on, luvie. Let me feel your tight cunt on my cock. I know how much you love my cock,” Simon grunted against your ear, his fingers dancing over the most intimate parts of you. And you let him.

Let him take what he wants because at least, he’s paying attention to you, right? You sigh as he slides into you, feeling the familiar burn and stretch. It’s quick and dirty. He pulls out to shoot his seed between your legs and down the drain. You don’t finish and climb out of the shower to let him finish in peace.

You stand in front of your closet, opting for a black dress that flaunts your curves but still allows you comfort. Stepping out of the bathroom, fully nude as he uses a towel to dry his hair, he grunts when he glances at you but makes no effort to compliment or even really look at you.

“I thought I asked you to do the laundry. You know I have that court marshal and Price will have my head if I don’t look presentable,” Simon rants from the bedroom, looking for the ONE button up he owns that he wore earlier in the week to a meeting with some big wigs that the higher ups wanted them to meet.

The issue was that you were currently bedridden and unable to leave the bed for more than a few minutes to use the restroom or grab food. You’d been laid up with a case of pneumonia that led to bronchitis, making breathing difficult, let alone doing your boyfriend’s laundry.

You didn’t answer him, rolling away from the closet and curling into yourself. He’d not even been taking care of you, citing that he couldn’t afford to get sick. What if he needed to be deployed, but he was stuck in bed because he was taking care of you? His reasoning was fair, but you were his girlfriend. Shouldn’t he be more worried about getting you well?

It was Simon’s last night home before being sent on a mission. You weren’t privy to where he was going or how long he’d be gone, but that was normal. Something you’d adjusted to when you started dating the man.

Normally, he’d at least stay home with you the night before. Maybe a movie or something before he’d fuck you into the mattress for three minutes, leaving you unsatisfied. But he tried right?

This time though, he was throwing his leather jacket on and grabbing the keys to his bike. “You’re seriously going out with the guys you’re shipping out with instead of staying home with me?” you cried, tears slipping down your cheeks as you finally broke from the quiet ways he neglected you.

“Sorry. They wanted to have a good night of drinking before we’re forced to be sober for weeks on end,” he reasoned, barely even giving you a glance before coming over to kiss the top of your head then disappear out the door.

The door clicked shut and you heard the key turn in the lock.

When Simon returned two months later to an empty flat and all of your things missing, he was stunned. Finding the note and your copy of the flat key laying on the coffee table had him collapsing on the couch as he stared at the two sentence note you'd left. He’d taken you for granted for too long, neglected you when you deserved the world. 7 words to shatter his world.

“Don’t come looking for me. I’m done.”

#call of duty x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #angst #neglect #fiction #cod 141 #cod mw ghost

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evilgwrl · 1 day

Note

can you do a somnophilia with König pretty please?

ofc my love <3

CW: Somnophilia

You didn’t realise König was serious after he asked if he could fuck you while you slept. It wasn’t his fault, sleeping next to you just made him so horny, thick cock weeping with strings of precum as he watched your slumbered frame.

Your skin was so soft and inviting, the plushness of your pretty thighs on display as his large shirt you were wearing rode up, a hint of your panties visible.

He was so painfully hard, the tip flushed a darker shade as he pulled his stained boxers down, curls of hair stained with creamy anticipation as he pushed your shirt up. Soft tits jiggled under his rough hands, nipples flush against overworked palms as he mewled at the sight of you.

“My schatz, look what you do to me,” he whispered into the air, his voice thick with arousal as he slipped your panties off, sucking in at the sight of your aching cunt.

His cock ran through your folds, nudging your achy clit with every jerk as he hissed into the air. He was so eager, so desperate for you as he worked himself into your warmth, tight hole fluttering around his length. You were always so welcoming, always so ready for him.

He was hopeless at holding in his grunts, his mouth splayed open as he rocked into you at a feral pace.

“F-Fuck Maus - so good for me, even asleep.”

His pace was relentless, chasing his high with every pound as he rested a thick hand around your neck, another tweaking at perky nipples. A soft groan left your lip as you woke up, eyes fluttering with confusion before you felt a gush surrounding your pillowy walls.

“Baby?” You whispered, feeling an absence between your thighs, followed by something dripping out of you in thick, sticky interludes.

“Close your eyes, liebe,” he cooed, fingers probing at your entrance to stuff the rest of his cum back inside your weeping pussy.

#evilgwrl #call of duty x reader #konig smut #konig x you #konig x y/n #cod konig #konig #call of duty smut #cod smut #cod #könig cod #könig smut #könig x y/n #könig x reader #konig x reader #könig call of duty #könig

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ghouldtime · 3 days

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Alone. Truly Alone.

A fanfic based on the Alone Operator, for all the monster lovers out there Pairing is: Alone Operator (aka Simon Riley)/ Gender neutral Reader / John "Soap" MacTavish

Prologue/Drabble: Tomorrow

Chapter One: Going into an abandoned military facility for a quick job for some extra cash wasn't your best idea

Chapter Two: You go to collect your reward and end up with leaving with more than the money alone

Chapter Three: Johnny didn't want someone who asked questions - to him, anyways. That didn't mean you wouldn't try to get your own answers

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girlsgraveyard · 3 days

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cw - panty-stealing, dirty soap, allusions to peeping 18+

retired!soap as the guy your father hires to work on the family farm without asking you first.

he's abrasive, you note first—he's fresh out of the military by only a season, he told you, still riddled with perfectly jagged edges and eery alertness. he talks too much about how little they pay him now, and how the horses keep taking his cheques anyway.

he takes up space, to the point where you feel claustrophobic when he moves into your section of the house. it's the only side with extra bedrooms, you were told, and he tries to be friendly, but he makes it hard for you.

soap might be the nicest guy in town, roughly good-looking too, but he's dirtier than your pigs.

soil from his boots on the stairs, sweat-saturated laundry left on the bathroom floor. an unmade bed, a toilet seat left up, a fraying toothbrush that will never be replaced. he's nice enough, but he dirties your things, and it pisses you off to no end.

you don't notice more than his filth, but he loves it when you storm off to be anywhere besides his stomping grounds, anywhere far away from the laundry basket he's ruined. because then, when you're far away, he can go unnoticed.

unnoticed when he rifles through your linen blouses and fresh denim, linking a calloused finger through the holes of your underwear; dangling them in front of his face and sighing into the crotch of them, tucking them in his back pocket before looking for more.

he knows he should feel shame, but he craves the day you finally notice all of your favourite pairs going missing, until you march into his room and find one wrapped up in his hand, gripping his throbbing cock through your fabric.

your hand on the doorknob, those eyes peering at him with the disgust he sees everyday—he replays it in his head every night, before soaking through your light cotton with a groan, cursing how his hand is never gonna be warm enough.

he listens after, listens while you tip-toe to your room with a glass of water from your kitchen. he waits for you to walk in, to finally stop listening through the floorboards and give him a reason to clean up his act.

and every night, your lamp clicks off, your sheets settle, and you leave him there panting.

he doesn't know what he'll find when he runs out of your panties, but maybe some night you'll start leaving your door open.

you’re roommates, after all, you should become more acquainted anyhow.

#tw dark content #soap x reader #soap smut #cod x reader #cod smut #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish smut #meyer.writes

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soggyriceee · 2 days

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when your period was supposed to come and it didn’t, you knew it was because you had a married man’s baby growing inside of you. you felt ridiculous. sleeping with a married man is one thing, but allowing him to cum inside you and give you a baby? that was another. and you felt even more stupid for allowing him to do you like your first baby daddy did.

you didn’t bother to take a test. within the following weeks food disgusted you, even your favorites. water was hard to keep down, and your back hurt more and more each time you thought about it. but you kept a strong, brave face for your son. now allowing him to see mommy fall.

“so, i set the appointment for the 10th.” you had said into the phone, walking past your sons room for the final time tonight to make sure he was sound asleep. “i feel so stupid Marie. how can i be so stupid.”

“well, i cant say you aren’t stupid. you thought you were in love. what’s important is your not making the same.. choice, as you did with your first born.” your friend replied over the phone.

you didn’t have Konigs phone number. heck, you didn’t even know his age. he never opened up to you about his life. all you knew was his wife was terrible to him, and he used the club and you as release. as a breathe of fresh air. you hadn’t bothered to go back to the club either. you let your manager know your situation, and he was nothing but understanding and compassionate.

you began to head up towards your room, when you suddenly got a knock on the door. acknowledging the fact it was 11 at night, you slowly walked to the door, making sure your friend was still on the line. the peep hole was blocked, only adding to the suspense. your neighborhood was known for nightly break ins, apart of the reason as you why having another baby right now was no good choice.

but when you got a second knock, following a familiar voice, you couldn’t help but wrap your hand around the knob and pull the door slowly, slightly, enough for your nose to peek out the crack.

“open the door Scarlet..” the voice would say. for a moment, you were filled with happiness. he wasn’t gone he hadn’t ghosted you, he had come back for you. but then, you immediately felt anger. because while he did come back, he still left.

“i’ll call you tomorrow girl.” you said, opening the door wider and pressing the red button on the screen. in front of you, Konig presented himself, eye bags darker than his skin tone, eyes hooded. he smelled of booze and cigarettes, his oversized hoodie covering his eyebrows as small strands of his black hair peeled through. you couldn’t ignore the bags that he held on his hand, some obviously for you, some obviously for your son.

“i hate you.” was all you could mutter.

“i had a feeling that he would enjoy some ninja turtles pajamas.. you had mentioned how it was his latest hyper fixation.” Konig said, watching as your smile not once left your lips. “he’s gonna love it.”

you placed the pajama back in their bag, placing it beside the other bags he had brought in. the 15 minuets of happiness and gift opening was over, and he knew he had some explaining to do.

“i.. i know i disappeared. but it wasn’t because.. because of what we did.” he began, resting back on his arm. “i had to figure some stuff out. home stuff.. life stuff. i missed you every second. you.. you pushed me through these last two weeks Scarlet.”

you almost didn’t wanna hear what he had to say, still traumatized from your first relationship and how that had gone. “and i know that i was fucked up for doing that to you after what you told me..” his hand grabbed yours, forcing your avoidant eyes to now look at him. “what i said that night.. all of it every last word i meant. i.. i’m in love with you. im so in love with you, i’m willing to take you and your son and.. and our baby to a better place than this.”

you flinched at “our baby”, forgetting that you had another human growing inside of you. “i’m getting an abortion.. on the 10th.. it’s already scheduled.” you blurted.

the air quickly became tight, the only noises that could be heard was the crackheads and drunks outside the apartment. and it stayed like this until he sat up. “you were gonna kill.. our baby?” he asked, trying to make sense of the absurdity that came from you.

you cocked your head to the side, a small chuckle coming from you as you straightened your posture. “i’m sorry.. are we forgetting how you ghosted me for two weeks? the last thing you saying to me was your gonna take care of me and then you disappear? we haven’t seen each other since and you really expected me to go through what i went through the first time again?”

you stood from your bed, stepping over the gifts and walking to your bedroom door. as you began to open it, ready to tell him to fuck off, he grabbed your arm, pulling you to the bed. swiftly, you were beneath him, one hand enough to pin both of yours above your head. “get off me you think i’m in the mood right now? you-you left and i didn’t know if i was even gonna hear from you again.”

you weren’t even surprised that you began to cry, all of the emotions, anger hurt sadness from over the last few weeks coming up at once. you continued to curse him out as quiet as you could, reminding yourself you can’t fully freak out for the sake of your son. but you were hurt, so hurt you felt it in your chest.

but Konig didn’t say anything. he simply listened, his still drunken eyes locked onto yours. he was hurt to. he was hurt that he had hurt you. hurt that you were hurting. but he did it for you. for your, -no- both yours and his son …for your new family.

when you had finished cursing him out, tears still streaming down your face, all he did was kiss you. he pressed his lips to yours, sliding his tongue on easily. his other hand, grabbed your hip gently, pulling it up to meet his. and of course, you kissed him back.

as soon as he got your response, he kissed you harder. his grip on your hip tightened, a low growl coming from him. “i.. i hate you.” you said in between kisses, warning a soft chuckle from him.

he slowly pulled away from you, pulling your bottom lip with him. “yea? you hate me?” he asked, taking his hand from your hip, down to your thigh. grasping it, he pushed it into a butterfly pose, releasing your wrists with his other hand and hooking his pointer finger around your panties.

he had pretended to notice the lack of pants you’ve worn the whole night, nothing but a loose long sleeve on your body. he noticed the french tip toenails too, his favorite. if he hadn’t fucked up by, in your words, ghosting you, he would’ve already been working a third orgasm out of you.

his thumb grazed your cunt, before running his thumb through your lips. you let out a soft moan, your hips jerking back slightly as you remembered this was the first time you were gonna cum since he touched you. period. you were so hurt and confused, an orgasm was the last thing you wanted, remembering how much better it felt when it was Konig making you cum.

“doesn’t feel like you hate me, prinzessin” he would whisper, circling his thumb around your pulsing hole. he would moan softly, a smirk on his lips as he slowly dragged his thumb back up to your clit, massaging small circles against it as a gentle pace. he didn’t want you to cum just yet, but he could tell you wanted to.

your legs, quick to shake, parted more for him, your hips thrusting up. the pit of your stomach turned, your finger nails digging into Konigs poor muscles. but he didn’t care, not one bit. he loved how he’s only just started touching you, and you’re already almost on the edge.

his eyes wandered down to your breasts, noticing how pointy your nipples looked. and, he wanted them.

as his thumb kept massaging your thumping clit, he leaned down to the end of your shirt, gabbing the hem of it and pulling it up with his teeth slowly, taking in every inch of your body up until your breasts. that’s when he locks eyes with you.

“o-oh God..” you whimpered, grinding yourself onto him more, needing more.

he let your shirt go, licking his lips as he looks at your bare breasts. “play with them.. you wanna cum play with those pretty nipples.” he said, moving his thumb away from

almost immediately your hands went from his arms to your nipples, rolling the sensitive buds in your fingers. he moaned softly, placing his thumb right back on your clit. your eyes rolled back, the amount of stimulation your body was getting becoming almost too much.

meanwhile in konigs pants, he was sure he had potentially creamed his pants as soon as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, but he wanted to believe he wasn’t a loser and it was only pre cum. a lot of pre cum.

“open for me baby come here.. open that mouth.” he grabbed your chin with his free hand, hooking his thumb around your bottom row teeth, forcing your mouth open. almost simultaneously, he slid his noticeably empty ring finger inside your cunt, earning a surprised moan from you.

“oh this pussy is so tight baby it’s been waiting for me huh?” he moaned, his eyebrows furrowing as your wetness coated his finger within two pumps. “nobody else has touched it right? you’ve been a good girl and waited for me hm?” he asked, sliding in a second finger as you gave him a loud yes.

your stomach was doing turns, your orgasm coming quickly and you had no intention of loosing it. the way konigs thumb continues to rub on your pulsing clit as his fingers worked their way in and out of you, it was too much truthfully.

konig felt you clenching around him, you whimpers turning into long whines. more “pre cum” filled his boxers, surely leaving a large wet spot right around his red tip.

konigs hand pressed against your mouth, leaning down to your ear. “ cum prinzessin… you deserve it, you deserve it..” he praised, keeping that same pace as you shook beneath him, Konig desperately dry humping be bed between your legs, making himself cum, yes cum, in his pants yet again.

your eyes fluttered shut, konigs hand coming off of your mouth. his head rested in your chest as he kept his fingers inside of you, slowly pumping them as he too shut his eyes closed.

he was drunk. so drunk that he believed that he indeed had the energy to make you both cum again.

he slid his fingers out your still throbbing cunt, smiling at the small whine you make. he pulls himself off the bed, looking down at your lifeless body. it made him hard yet again, the feeling of the cold, sticky substance in his pants making him even more hard.

he pulled his pants down, taking note of the amount of his own cum covering up to the middle of his cock, his tip angry red. tossing them on the ground, he made work of your panties, tossing them somewhere in the same direction oh his.

crawling on top of you, your eyes slowly peeled open, looking down to his horse third leg cock only inches away from your hole, his tip kissing your sticky lips.

“koni i..” you swallowed, your mouth dry, “i cant.” you said, shaking your head. he laughed, grabbing his cock as he dragged his tip in between your lips. “off my fingers alone i’ve fucked you too well? you must’ve really missed me liebling.” he chuckled, pressing his tip to your hole.

it wasn’t at all that you were worn out. or maybe you were, he should give you a break! it’s been so long since you’ve had an orgasm at all. it was the fact you could never take him fully sitting up!

when you and Konig first had sex, you asked him if you could strictly be on top, and he understood 100 percent. “if i ever get you on your back, would you stop me?” he would ask, his hands on your hips as you bounced up and down on him, just enough for him to just barely be hitting your gspot.

you cant remember what you said to that truthfully, both you and konig so drunk, you were surely over your paid time.

slowly, be pushed his tip in, gasping as his tip plugged right into your hole. he pulled his hips back, and then forward again, just enough to be fucking his tip in and out of you alone. the mix of his cum and yours was enough to get an orgasm out of him, but he refused. he wanted to feel what all of you felt like.

he slid back out, repositioning himself as he grabbed the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer. your eyes watched as his cock rested on your lower stomach, his tip reaching the top of your bellybutton. “k-koni please just do it how we usually do.” you asked, pleaded really, taking note of how he was dragging his tongue across his lips, smirking at how far he was gonna fuck into you.

“it’s okay my love… m’gonna train this pussy to take all of me.” he said, taking your hand in his as he smiled down at your panicked face.

with his free hand he grabbed his cock, again pushing himself into you up until his tip. “you’re so wet.. it won’t even hurt.” he said, not even looking at you and instead where your bodies connected.

slowly, inch by inch, he pushed into you, stopping every time you winced out. it was going good until he he began to get greedy. he was impatient and truthfully, just wanted to absolutely use you like a flimsy little pocket pussy he bought off a sketchy website. the liquor in his body also had something to do with it.

his hand pressed your face to the side, his other hand holding your hip to the bed as his hips began moving back and forth, almost with no time to spare. his eyes crossed, feeling your warm, wet gummy walls sucking his cock back in, his tip never leaving your pussy. he was in heaven, his mouth hanging open, tongue slightly hanging out as drool collected at the tip of his tongue, slowly drooling down from him.

you, on the other hand, were fighting for your life. it felt good, way too good. of course, his tip hitting at your cervix felt like hell. but it felt so good at the same time. “k-koni it h..it hurts.” you panted, your hands gripping his wrist to move his hand off your head.

and he did. to instead wrap it right around your throat. he pulled you up by your neck, connecting your lips together. drool sept from both you guys’ lips, the both of you moaning into each others mouths as his cock abused your hole.

“i-i’m all the way inside you.. fuck i’m gonna c-cum so deep… so deep inside this pussy.” he moaned out, his eyes hooded as he kept his grip on your throat.

his other hand remained on your hip, making sure you weren’t moving at all as his hips rutted into you. “i-it hurts.. please slow-“ but konig pressed the hand that was on your throat back onto your mouth, pressing your head into the mattress. “shut the fuck up.” he would mutter, pushing your legs up to your chest.

immediately, his hips would slam onto your ass, his balls making contact with your skin. he was gonna cum without even having time to react, the feeling of your wet, warmth was too much for him. it was something he hadn’t felt in ages.

he had never told you, but him and his wife’s marriage truly was done years ago. but for the sake of kids and work. he stayed. the first time you both had sex, was the first time in 10 years he had sex. his wife didn’t touch him. and slowly over the last two years, stopped sleeping in the same room as him.

“l-liebling… oh i’m gonna cum in you i’m gonna cum.” he whimpered, looking down at your face. your eyes were squeezed shut, your legs shaking violently as your second orgasm made its way through your body. “w-wait for me my love wait for me.” he panted, quickly wrapping your legs around his waist, his hands on your hips.

“i c- i cant.” you cried out, your fingers rushing to your clit. but he slapped your hand away, earning a cry from you. “i know i know i know.. i’m so close my love i’m s-so… oh fuck.”

his body hovered over you, pressing your hips further to the bed as his jaw fell open. “come liebling come right now come… oh-oh yes~” his hips gave you one final thrust, his tip hitting right at your cervix as his come poured deep into you. your legs shook around him, your back arching up and off the bed as you came and pulsed around his own pulsing sex, your fingers digging into his back and dragging down as you both came over the high.

slowly he rocked his hips, giving small whines at his cock kept pulsing more come from him. “o…oh i cant breathe.” he mumbled, collapsing on top of you.

you both stayed like this, the sound of rain slowly starting to come down. you had begun to fall asleep until Konig spoke into your neck. “marry me.” was all he would say.

that’s when you remembered his empty ring finger. “i already have a ring at our new home. we can’t have it yet i’m still.. still in the process of things..but i promise you by the end of this year.. i’ll sign any papers i’ll take your son in as my own i’ll raise him like my own and. and well even have a new baby too.”

he say up, now looking at you. when you open your mouth to respond, all you could do was cry. and he didn’t even need you to say any words for him to know you meant yes.

would you guys believe me is i said i wrote this whole smoking a joint AGAHAHAG

#cod #call of duty fan fiction #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #konig #konig fanfiction #konig smut #konig cod

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