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ohworm-writes · 5 months

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「✰」 ━━ AS GOOD AS I DO

RATING R - Restricted [ Content warnings : 18+ mdni, smut, dom!Nikolai, fem!sub!virgin!reader, alcohol consumption, strong language, thigh riding, heavy make-out session, praise with heavier degradation, oral fixation, fingering, size difference, loss of virginity, corruption kink, p in v sex, mirror sex, hair pulling, spanking ]

SYNOPSIS You didn't know that it was a military bar, so you had no warning about all of the pent up soldiers that have their eyes on you and your friends. As most of them leave to have fun of their own, you don't. Why? Because you're a virgin. To your luck (or loss), a particular Russian pilot has his eyes set on you, and he intends to make the most of your first time that will have you crawling back for more.

WORD COUNT 11.3k (Too fucking much.)

The cold air bites harshly at your exposed skin, sinking its fangs in deep, forcing a shiver up your spine that makes you tense and makes way for goosebumps to break out all across your skin, the hairs on your body standing on edge as you roughly rub at the areas in hopes that the friction will do its job properly in warming you up.

It does, if only momentarily, give you a small sliver of reprieve and the opportunity to bask in the warmth before it’s cruelly yanked away the very second you halt your movements, letting that frigid cold seep right back in and settle deep into your bones, comfortably making a home for itself there.

From the exterior, the bar hardly looks... appealing, should we say? The exterior reeks of piss, stomach acid, and sex—a combination of scents that makes you scrunch up your nose in disgust and discomfort—and the building itself is hardly any better, the paint chipping and cracking all over the place with the brick looking as if it’ll crumble with so much as a gust of wind.

So, with a deep, heavy breath, you push open the old, creaky wooden door and take a step inside, immediately being greeted with a rush of warmth and the smell of fresh food and liquor. Lively, half-drunken chatter fills the air from the bar’s patrons, with some groups seated along the bar and others at tables scattered across the hardwood floor; nearly everyone within the establishment has one or more people to be paired with, leaving nobody alone.

The people, though, aren't exactly who you expected to see. When your group of close friends initially invited you to come out with them for a night of drinking near one of their flats, far off along the outskirts of the bustling city, you really had no reason to refuse the extended offer. After all, you hadn’t seen some of them in months, so this would be the perfect opportunity to catch up, no?

Well, it is. But nobody thought to tell you that you’d be walking right into a military bar.

Apparently, according to one of your friends, there’s a base just a few kilometers down the road, and, given that this is the closet bar in the vicinity of it, it’s where every active-duty soldier and veteran comes. They make up ninety percent of the bar’s patrons, too, so you and your friends are some of the few groups that aren’t associated with the military. Well… yet.

And not that there’s any issue with it being a military bar, of course! It’s just that… you aren’t exactly accustomed to dealing with such… bold personalities.

While your friend group does, in fact, consist of a few colorful characters and then some, the other patrons at the bar are a little too much for your taste. You’re used to your friends making crude jokes, being loud and rowdy, and playfully flirting with you and everyone else, but when it comes to others? You aren’t exactly prepared.

You and your friends are sat around a large wooden table near the very center of the bar, a number of large splits cracking down the length of it, with one of the legs being propped up by a book due to it not being long enough to reach the floor. At least the chairs are somewhat comfortable, even if they’re nothing more than metal barstools with a bit of cushion on them.

The alcohol is fairly cheap, to everyone’s delight, especially when it’s actually good. You’d think, with the state that the bar’s interior and exterior are in, that the drinks and food would be equally as abhorrent with mold or bugs or something disgusting, but no! The food is cooked through and seasoned well, and the drinks are as they should be. So, none of you can really complain when the main attraction is enjoyable.

You all talk about anything and everything: who is sleeping with whom, what co-worker or boss got exposed for something or other, whatever celebrity drama is happening at the moment, what show or movie someone saw recently that you just have to watch. It’s a mixture of small talk and deep discussion, with the conversation flowing smoothly as everyone enjoys their food, drinks, and the company that surrounds them.

Until the first soldier approaches.

He’s young, no older than twenty-two—even that might be a bit of a stretch—dressed fully in uniform, the green camo pants he wears tucked neatly into a pair of black boots with a fitted shirt clinging tightly to his skin, emphasizing his physique. He isn’t bad-looking per se, but he definitely isn’t your type.

He walks over by himself with a smug, self-assured grin plastered on his face as he approaches one of your friends who sits directly across from you, giving you a perfect view and earful of the interaction as you take a sip of your liquor, watching as he puts his hand on the back of her chair, speaking in a hushed whisper.

“Hey there, pretty girl. You look bored over ‘ere with all of y’r friends. I could make y’r night more interestin’, y’know. You interested?”

Okay. Wow. Starting off strong.

And before you even know it, she’s giving a sheepish smile to the rest of you, apologizing and excusing herself from the table as she grabs her coat and purse from the back of her chair, waving you and everyone off before turning and hurriedly trailing behind the man like a lost puppy and out towards the car lot outside, no doubt ready and willing to get in some action of her own before the night is through.

And that’s just the beginning. After another half hour, all of your friends have either grabbed their things and said their goodbyes to go home with the soldier of their choice for the night, or they left to the bathroom or back alley, only to come back with a limp to their gait, bruised lips, marks, tousled hair, and fucked-out eyes. And if it’s the latter, it only takes them a few minutes before they leave, just like their formers.

It’s not like you haven’t had your fair share of men and women alike trying to court you, either. In fact, there have been four different people who have come up to you throughout the night and have tried their hand at seducing you, whether it be shitty pick-up lines that they use or bold flirtatious remarks, some even trying to trail an eager hand across your shoulder or back as a means to further entice you.

But you haven’t failed to turn each and every single one of them down, polite as you may try to be. It’s for two separate reasons, you deduce. One is that the people who are coming up to you aren’t exactly your type, be it in terms of the way that they look or their personality, while the other reason is… slightly more straightforward.

You’re a virgin.

So, to you, it’s no surprise that you’re adamant on turning down everyone that comes up to you to try and, for lack of better wording, try to get into your pants. Your other friends who have already been approached and taken up their offers for a good fuck, be it bent over the bathroom sink, pressed up against the brick wall in the alley outside, or going home to enjoy that ecstasy in a bed, intend to spend their nights well.

They’ll be having more of a “good night” than you will, even though they’ve all wished you well with some variation of that phrase.

So, here you sit at an empty table, nursing your drink with a soft sigh, bored out of your mind as you trail your pointer finger around the rim of the glassware in a slow, calculated manner. You can’t help but feel a bit left out. Again, not as if you haven’t already been given a multitude of chances and offers that you could have taken up hours ago, but none of them—to you, at least—seem to be someone worthy of taking something as intimate as your virginity away from you.

To hold it in their palms like a trophy or medal to display with smug, overzealous pride. To flaunt, to brag about, and then to ultimately forget, because to them, your virginity doesn’t matter. It’s something that can boost their ego for a momentary period of time before shrugging off and away because it didn’t matter and wasn’t important.

So, no, you decide. None of the overconfident, liquid courage-fueled bastards are worthy of taking your virginity away from you. Thus, you only have yourself to blame for your “lack of action," so you can’t complain about it any longer when you’ve dug in your heels and chosen to stick firmly by your decision, now can you?

That is, until a particular Russian man donning aviators and a brown leather flight jacket downs his shot in one go and stands, beginning to take slow, confident strides in your direction from his previous seat positioned at a small table in the far back corner of the bar from behind you, with four men urging him on with a few whistles and cheers.

Not that he has any need for encouragement or prayers, of course.

You don’t even notice him as he approaches, because you’d assume with a man of his size and stature that you’d at the very least be able to hear his footsteps, but no. He’s completely silent until he’s right behind you, one hand holding onto the back of your chair in a casual manner while the other splays out right beside your drink as he leans into it, both next to you and behind you all at once.

You can feel his hot, vodka-soaked breath fall heavy against the exposed skin of your spine even when his mouth isn’t anywhere near you yet, still maintaining some level of control over himself and his actions. You’re unable to see the way he catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he grins, thoroughly amused with the way a shiver crawls up your spine, right to where you had felt the ghost of his breath just moments ago.

That, and the flames of desire that flare up and burn behind his eyes.

“I cannot help but notice that your friends left you behind all by yourself. So cruel to do that to someone like yourself.”

You can only assume that sarcasm laces his tone with the way he puts emphasis on certain words or the way he speaks with a specific lilt, but that couldn’t be the furthest thing from the truth. He means every word he says, so, if anything, it’s pure and unbridled amusement and honesty that lace his words and the way that he speaks.

Because he does think that it’s cruel that all of your friends have left you alone with nothing more than a quick, uncaring, departing word or phrase before they rush out to follow behind and fuck some other mindless soldier who, more than likely, has already had their fair share of the bar’s civilian patrons. Your friends don’t mean anything special to those soldiers, as unfortunate as it is, but that fact in and of itself is what separates him from those men.

Even if, yes, he’s in just as much of a desperate need to get off as they are.

You have to fight against the urge to roll your eyes at his words, your pointer finger continuing to drag lazily along the rim of your glass as you work to ignore him, not exactly up for trying to craft another excuse as a means to reject whatever proposal of having sex you assume he’s come up with, content with picking up your drink and finishing it off with a slow, steady breath, letting the liquor burn down your throat with indifference.

But, unfortunately for you, that only furthers his intrigue. So, with a smirk that slowly begins to spread out wider across his lips, even if you still don’t turn to see it, he chooses to take his shot and make a move. Or, rather and more accurately put, he makes an executive decision that he won’t allow you to refuse.

“Let me buy you a drink, да? Keep you company.”

And, just as stated, he doesn’t allow you to refuse him or turn down his offer like you had done with the others, already waving and making a few hand gestures at one of the servers, calling out to them for a refill of whatever you had been drinking and to place whatever your tab had been under his card, pulling out an empty chair, and taking his place in the seat beside you, getting to see that smug smirk for yourself for the first time.

And now your in it.

He’s… surprisingly pleasant to be around, you come to find out as you begrudgingly begin to converse with him. At first, you still try to ignore him, not even touching the new drink as it’s set in front of you just yet, keeping your eyes trained on and tracing the different rings in the wood table, but, in coming to the conclusion that he isn’t going to leave you alone, you start talking.

The conversation is forced when it begins, consisting of quick responses from you that lack any emotion or indication that you want to keep speaking. But he’s patient, and he waits, and he shifts his approach to asking questions that you can’t just give one to two word responses to, forcing the conversation into something of value. And only then does it begin to flow, slowly blending into something smoother—something that you can enjoy.

You learn his name, Nikolai, tasting it on your tongue with a sip of your drink, letting the flavors and tastes seep into your palette and glide down your throat until you feel it pool and fester in the depths of your stomach. The way you say his name makes his own cheshire-esque grin wifey further, his eyes crinkling with a flicker of undeniable mischief. It’s dangerous, but it draws you in just like a siren to a sailor.

He keeps the conversation civil at first, not wanting to scare you off just yet when he’s barely captured your attention, asking a few generic questions and molding them into something of substance, giving a few answers of his own and straying away from keeping them vague, trying to be as specific as he can afford to allow as a means to keep your attention drawn in on him.

But after you finish your drink and he moves to order you another without question, he gets bolder.

Brushes of his fingers against your bare skin, remarks and words heavy with innuendo, heavy heated breaths that fan across the space between you both, and purrs that make your head spin in the best ways possible. It’s equally overwhelming as it is underwhelming. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s doing it better than you could have ever anticipated, drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

You’re in over your head before you can even comprehend what’s happening.

“Come on, лапушка … let me give you a better night than your friends could ever even dream of having.”

His voice is heavy, as is his accent, his body turned to look at you with his face no more than a few centimeters away from your own, one of his hands busied with trailing his fingertips lazily up and down the exposed skin of your forearm, barely even touching it at all, while the other rests atop your thigh, the warmth from his skin seeping through the fabric of your pants as his thumb brushes back and forth in a methodic motion.

Nikolai’s staring down at you with these half-lidded eyes that you can barely even make out through his dark aviators, his breathing coming out in slow, shallow exhales, weighing heavy in his chest as he drags his tongue across his bottom lip, gently cocking his head to the side with that same smug look that hasn’t left his face or lips since he first started to speak with you, danger dancing behind his eyes.

A warning and a question wrapped into one, questioning if you’re ready for a man like him.

You look up at him, searching for as much as a flicker of that same cocktail of overzealousness and egotism that you so easily caught in every other person’s eyes as they presented you with a similar offer, seeing you as nothing more than a warm body to accompany and please them for the evening. To be able to decline him, turn down his offer, and go home for the night… to be able to forget about him and this before you let it get out of hand.

But you can’t find it. He wants you, yes, that much you can tell, but not in the same way that they did.

“Okay. Yeah… sure. Yes.” You tell him, stumbling over your words messily, but he doesn’t seem to care about it in the slightest. That smile of his edges with danger as he effortlessly moves his hand, grasping onto his aviators, taking them off and hooking them onto his shirt, his other hand leaving your thigh as he moves you in front of him, moving his hand to the small of your back to guide you around the bar towards one of the bathrooms near the back.

He stands tall from behind you, confidence radiating from his very being as he casually walks, uncaring of all the eyes that stare down at the two of you from all across the establishment as the watch, knowing full and well exactly what’s about to transpire, even if you don’t. His friends, the four, sat at the table just a few feet away from the bathroom door, sending him sly smiles and nods of approval. One of them, a bearded man wearing a bucket hat, holds up his wrist and taps at his watch, sending Nikolai a knowing look even as he grins just like the rest. You don’t exactly know what it means, but it doesn’t seem to phase the Russian in the slightest, rolling his eyes as he opens up the bathroom door, the hinges creaking loudly as it arches open, ushering you inside as he follows suit, letting it close with a groan, the lock clicking.

He’s on you in a second.

He turns you around, pressing you back roughly against the door as he crowds you against it, one of his knees wedging itself in between your thighs, shifting them apart, and one of his forearms moving to lie against the door above your head so that he can lean over and look down on you, giving you a crystal clear idea of how much bigger he truly is than you, bucking his knee up against your cunt.

A moan threatens to spill past your lips at the action, eyelids fluttering as the noise bubbles up… but he’s quick to catch it. Before it can boil over, Nikolai presses a bruising kiss to your lips, groaning into it, the sound rumbling like an earthquake from deep within his chest. A long, drawn-out “fuck” passes through his lips as he pulls away momentarily, trying desperately to catch his breath, his actions filled with lust.

His eyebrows knit together, and he bucks up his knee once more as he looks down at you, watching and relishing in the way your lips part and allowing for another sweet moan to drip past your lips, breathing stuttering, catching in your throat as he brings one of his big hands up to hold at your hip, urging you to grind against his knee, a high-pitched keen from you filling the empty space, occupied only by his heavy breaths.

“Look at you." Nikolai mumbles out, almost mockingly, taking in the sight before him of your parted lips, your shoes just barely touching the floor as he supports you on his knee, guiding you to grind along the length of it, the half-liddedness of your eyes. The sight is intoxicating, one that he desperately wants to photograph, frame, and keep to himself for as long as time allows, because, God, you’re a vision.

Nikolai dives back in for another kiss, this one lasting far longer and being much heavier—nothing short of tongue and teeth—as he loses himself in the taste of you. You aren’t much better. If anything, you’re in so much worse of a state than he is right now. You can feel your own composure crumbling apart in his hands, held together only by the taste of his lips. You can’t even fight it—not that you’d even want to in the first place.

You bring your hands up, letting them glide across his shoulders, fingers splayed, taking in the expanse of them before they go up further, tangling into his hair. The sensation forces another groan out of him, the sound trickling down your throat without a single ounce of shame, freely showing to you just how deep his need and desperation are to have you run within his bones.

“Have to… have to have you… You understand, да? You’ll let me?”

Nikolai breathes out between kisses, unable to decide whether he wants to lose himself in the feeling of your lips against his and nothing more, or if he wants to map and memorize every part of the inside of your mouth with his tongue. It’s a tough decision to make, so he opts simply to alternate between the two. It’s the best he can get of both worlds, he decides.

And your mind is finally allowed the space it’s ached for to remind you of exactly what this entire situation will lead to.

He didn’t intend to bring you to the bathroom just to have a quick, hot and heavy make-out session with you, as nice as that would be. No! That’s not what you signed up for, dummy! The second you agreed to be led back here by him, you were giving him permission and consent to fuck you, and you know it!

“Imavirgin!”

The words come flowing out past your lips like water as you pull away from him, the back of your head falling back against the wooden door as you gasp desperately for air, breathing in quickly and out brokenly before you can even process what you’ve said, trying to regulate your breathing from the way he had taken the oxygen straight out of your lungs. And when it does catch up to what you’ve said, you feel your face burn white hot, completely flushed.

You’re looking at him with wide eyes, something akin to a deer in headlights, while he looks back at you, now in the process of catching his own breath, with nothing more than a slightly confused expression as he works to pick apart your hurried, panicked words. And when it dawns on him as to what you’ve said, his pupils blow wide just a fraction, minutely, and just barely noticeable.

He doesn’t look disgusted or weirded out by your words, to your surprise, having expected that exact response from him and being wildly confused when you can’t find an inkling of that expression on his face. “That wasn’t what I asked, лапушка.”

Nikolai mumbles out to you, pressing his forehead against your own as he allows his breathing to slowly but surely level out, his dazed, lust-filled eyes boring into your own, fingers loosening gently around your hip as he watches you intently.

He doesn’t care that you’re a virgin. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest, and, if anything, it turns him on. But what he's saying now is that he wants you, but he’s asking at the same time if you’ll let him, allowing for that decision to lie completely within your control. He isn’t forcing himself upon you, still giving you the ability to say no and withdraw your consent before he pushes anything further, simply asking if you understand what he means and if you’ll let him.

So, now you’re faced with a decision.

Do you withdraw your consent and tell him that, no, you won’t let him go any further with this? Because, quite frankly, you aren’t ready. Not ready to have sex for the first time in your life, not ready to lose your virginity, and certainly not ready to give up such an intimate part of yourself to a man you only met less than an hour ago.

Or... do you take a leap of faith without sparing a single glance beforehand and tell him that, yes, you do understand what he means, very clearly comprehending it and recognizing what’s to come with the acceptance of his proposal, and that, yes, you will let him have you and your body? That you’ll let him do whatever he wants to you, to be the one to take your virginity from you… and maybe then some.

It’s an important decision for you to make, one whose answer determines whether or not you lose your last sense of innocence. And, for better or for worse, far beyond your better judgement, you don’t spend too much time weighing the pros and cons before making your decision.

“I… ah… I understand. And… yeah, yes. Please.” Just like before, your answer comes out laced with hesitation and apprehension, both emotions undeniable, especially with the way your voice cracks and strains, leaving you to stumble and stutter over your words as you give him your answer with a shaky voice. Your hands are still tangled into his hair, albeit much looser now, but still present, the tremors that wrack through them gently tousling the dark strands.

And, after a moment, allowing his space to process what you said, Nikolai’s fingers resume their tight grip on your hip, the thick fingers bruising the skin, no doubt, even through the layers of your clothes. Never breaking eye contact with you, he pulls his head back, removing his forehead from its spot pressed against yours, his eyes shamelessly looking you up and down, his tongue gliding over the skin of his teeth.

“Умница.”

Nikolai mumbles out with praise, his voice barely louder than a whisper, though gruff and gravely beyond belief, a testament to his desire, moving his hand down for your hip to cup and grope at your ass through your pants, the other quickly following suit as he hoists you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips so as not to fall. Even if he wouldn’t ever let that happen in the first place, of course.

With your legs wrapped so tightly around his hips, you can very easily feel the hardness of his cock, even through all of the layers of clothing that separate you. You feel your breath hitch and stutter as it comes out shakily, your eyes boring into his own with parted lips and an open mouth, so unaware of what he has in store for you.

Oh, sweetheart, he’s going to fucking ruin you.

Unlike before, his footsteps are heavy as they move against the tiled floor of the bathroom, the thuds filling the space between the two of you, mixed with your own shared heavy breaths as he moves to, rather unceremoniously, drop you onto the long sink that lines one of the walls. Your legs dangle over the edge of it, and your thighs spread apart so far that you can feel your pants straining to accommodate them and the burn of your thighs as he stands between them.

He brings you back in for another kiss, his body towering over your own as he forces you to lean back against the cold mirror behind you, a shiver crawling up the length of your spine as you moan into his mouth, earning a pleased groan from him, just like before. His hands move, hooking into the loops of your pants as he forces them down, not even requesting for you to lift up your ass to make it easier, doing all the work for himself.

Nikolai’s tongue glides along your bottom lip, teasing its way into your mouth. His teeth clink against your own, and the kiss is sloppy and messy in a way that makes you moan out, whining softly. They’re two sounds that he eagerly swallows from your lips and drinks in like wine. He roughly shoves your pants the rest of the way down, moving them around and off of one foot so they dangle off of the other, the leg dragging against the floor.

Pulling back, Nikolai chuckles darkly at the way you try to cling to him, gently and desperately tugging at his hair with a whimper, trying to urge him back down for another kiss. He clicks his tongue, tutting at you with disapproval, shaking his head as he does so, giving you a warning look that quickly makes you remove your hands from their position, letting them come to fist at his shirt, gripping onto it with desperation.

“Нет. None of that. You're so eager for something that you have never even had. You don’t know how to act. We have to fix that, да?” It’s condescending that the way Nikolai speaks, mocking you and making fun of you for how desperate you are when he hasn’t even done anything of real substance yet—nothing more than a bit of making out and thigh grinding—has you acting out of line. Granted, you don’t really know where that line stands, given that you haven’t ever done this before, but he’s here to show you. To teach you and ingrain into you the role that you play beneath him.

Nikolai brings one of his hands up, cupping your chin and holding it tightly and firmly between his thumb and forefinger, the others pressed against the side of your throat, tilting it upwards as you strain your neck to keep up with the action. He inches his thumb up further, looking down at and watching you with narrowed eyes, cold and calculating as he presses them against your lips, feeling the way you exhale shakily out of your nose.

“Open.” It’s not a request, as you can tell, so you don’t waste any time looking at him with confusion, simply parting your lips for him and opening your mouth, just as he’s requested. He doesn’t even give you a moment to fully comprehend what's happening as he pushes his thumb past your lips, presses the rough pad down onto your tongue, and hooks it behind your teeth as he pulls you closer to him.

Drool begins to pool inside your mouth as you look up at him with wide eyes, trying to speak, to whine, and to say something, but he tightens his grip in response, growling lowly. It’s your second warning.

“I thought you were a smart girl? Didn’t I say that? Умница, Да? Act like one.”

His other hand, the one currently positioned near your calf, not having moved since pulling your pants roughly down your legs, inches its way upwards, brushing against the exposed skin and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Teasing, maybe, but it further ingrains his point into your head that, if you don’t start to behave and let him do the work, you won’t be getting any satisfaction or pleasure out of this.

He doesn’t care if this is your first time or not, and it’s not in a dismissive or cruel way. He’s simply treating you like he would any other person that he was going to have sex with, so it’s a mixture of equal rights and equal opportunity, you suppose. Whether or not that’s a good or a bad thing is… undetermined.

His palm presses against your thigh, fingers splayed as they continue to inch upward, branding your skin with the heat they exude, and, as much as you want to buck your thigh up into his palm and beg for him to rush and hurry up, you don’t. Because, lucky for you, that critical thinking skill is starting to work, the gears in your head are turning and allowing you the space to think. You have to be patient and good if you want what he can give you.

So, rather hesitantly, you wrap your lips around his thumb, gently gliding and swirling your tongue around his thumb, covering it in the slick, sticky saliva that pools in your mouth, looking up at him as you wait, playing that role of the smart girl that he wants you to be. Not rushing, not hurrying, and not begging.

And, oh, are you rewarded for it.

Nikolai lets out another deep and heavy "fuck," but this time it’s shaky and strained, the heat and movement of your tongue against his skin lighting up fireworks in his body that go straight down to his cock. His composure slips, if only momentarily, before he picks it right back up, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down onto it roughly, shakily breathing as he watches you with half-lidded eyes and a twitching grin.

“There you go. Much better.”

Nikolai’s fingers brush against the fabric of your panties, his eyes breaking away from your face as he looks down and leans his body back slightly, watching his own actions as, with one finger, he moves them to the side, exposing your glistening cunt to his wanting eyes, pushing it until it touches your other thigh, using his fingers to spread out your folds, listening to the squelching sounds they make.

He gently presses his thumb to your entrance, not yet pushing inwards, simply moving it around the area with purpose, listening to the sounds that it makes—a perfect symphony, if you were to ask him. He drags the pad of it upwards just as slowly, letting it glide and trail over the length of your pussy until he reaches your clit, his eyes flickering up at you as he presses down against it, making slow, gentle circles around it, watching you.

Even with your mouth wrapped around his thumb, you let out the prettiest moan, muffled into a hum as your hips jerk upwards unintentionally at his actions. Your eyelids flutter, twitching and arching your back in a quick spasmed motion, and he drinks in the sight of it with greed, his breaths so hot and heavy as he watches.

You’re going to put him in an early grave, Nikolai thinks to himself. How is he going to survive when you’re so good and so eager for him? Letting him play with your pretty pussy like this, toying and playing with it as if the action were innocent in nature without arguing, whining, and begging for more?

He’s being so mean to you when it’s your first time. He should be treating you so sweetly and nicely, shouldn't he? He should’ve sunk his cock into you a while ago, broken you in, and given you the soft lovemaking you deserve to have. He should’ve made you cum already; feel you squeeze him and listen to you make more of those pretty sounds that he’s starting to crave like a drug.

But that isn’t the man Nikolai is. But, then again, he can still recognize and appreciate your actions. He can still praise you and give you something of substance before he lets himself take away your innocence and let his most perverse thoughts run wild.

Taking his thumb out of your mouth and watching the drool drip down from it, Nikolai places it into his own mouth, sucking your taste from it until it’s clean. Only then does he bring his middle and ring fingers to your lips. And now, you know exactly what to do without instruction, leaning forward and taking them into your mouth, gagging softly as you take them as far back as you can, your tongue drooling and licking all over them, wetting them thoroughly.

And this time when he removes them, he quickly moves on to shift them to your other set of lips, smearing the saliva all over your cunt, right near your entrance. He teases the tip of one of his fingers around it, pressing in gently and slowly, taking his sweet time. His fingers are so much thicker than your own; one of them is akin to the width of two of your own.

It doesn’t hurt, nor does it strain too much. It’s bearable—something you can handle. That is, until he works to ease the second finger in, letting you get used to the feeling of one of his fingers inside of you for only a few moments before pressing the second one in. And this time, instead of your breath simply catching in your throat, it’s as if the wind has been knocked out of you, leaving you gaping and gasping. "O-oh, fuck, please."

You whisper out softly, your voice breaking into a whimper as your back fully arches against the mirror, your jaw slack as you moan out pathetically, closing it only to swallow the saliva in your mouth down harshly, making an audible gulp, before opening it once more, breathing out heavily with whimpers falling from your lips as he eases it in further. The burn from the stretch has you dizzy in the head—a mixture of pain from the sting of it and the pleasure of being filled so well.

Nikolai smiles slyly, pushing in all the way until his fingertip brushes against your cervix, cooing to you in a degrading manner as you cry out, your thighs instinctively squeezing together, trying to urge him away.

“What? Do you want me to stop?” Nikolai muses with a smug grin spread out across his lips, taunting you with the way he spreads his fingers out into a v-shape. He struggles against the tightness of your cunt, feeling your walls gripping onto him like a vice, but not stopping either way. He’s pushing you to your limits, maybe even far beyond them at this point, but everything he’s doing is sending your mind into a blurry haze of pleasure.

So much as him mentioning stopping makes you want to sob.

“No! No, no no no, please no. Please don’t stop. Please.”

You beg him with your breathing bordering on hyperventilation from how quickly you’re inhaling and exhaling, with a tone raw with emotion and desperation, just as it was before, but the contexts feel so different this time. You spread your legs impossibly wider, that burn from before feeling like nothing in comparison to the way he’s stretching you out right now, his fingers knuckle deep into you.

Nikolai lets out an amused hum in response, slowly closing his fingers, feeling the way you squeeze him and force them back together, before spreading them out wide once more, his thumb creeping its way up towards your clit. You can barely notice it, too busy moaning for him and trying your best to keep your legs spread as much as your body tries to fight it. Unshed tears brim at your eyes, a testament to how good it all feels.

And when his thumb eventually makes its way to your clit, applying pressure as it moves in slow circles, you swear on everything you hold dear that you could cum then and there. Your eyes roll back into your head the second he presses his fingers back together and starts to curl them upwards, hitting that gummy spot that makes your body go rigid with tension.

“Good. I need to get you ready for me, after all. It will not do either of us any good if you cannot take all of me.”

If you had even half of your brain working, you might be able to formulate some kind of response to his words, but, with your mind so overwhelmed with pleasure, all you can do is squeeze his fingers tighter and moan like a whore. He continues his motions of pumping and curling his fingers inside of you, his thumb gradually picking up its pace, swirling tighter, quicker circles around your clit.

You’re mouth is perpetually open, and all the sounds that rise up deep within your throat are bubbling up without a single barrier to block them, your hands gripping tightly onto his shirt with no intention of letting go. Nikolai takes them all in with pride, every sound fueling his ego and his desires, only encouraging him further to quicken his motions. With the way your whines get higher in pitch and the way your body tenses, he can practically taste how close you are.

His free hand moves up your chest, slipping underneath the fabric of your shirt and hooking his thumb beneath your bra, pushing both upwards. He stuffs the fabric of your shirt into your mouth, muffling your moans, and, while it isn’t necessarily his intention to do so, he just has to get a look at your tits.

He can see how hard your nipples are and the way your tits jerk and bounce softly with every catch and stutter of your breath, and the sight drives him just as wild as the picture of his fingers stuffed inside of you with a mixture of your drool and slick smeared messily around your cunt and all over his knuckles.

Nikolai can’t stop himself as he leans forward, ensuring that you meet his eyes with a gentle tap of his fingers against your cheek when he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around it and his teeth gently grazing against it with a teasing bite. That sight and those sensations, combined with the way he’s been abusing your poor, puffy clit and pussy with his fingers, are all it takes to push you over the edge.

Your orgasm hits you with the force of a truck, completely knocking the wind out of you. Your breathing catches in your throat before stopping altogether for a moment, all of the blood in your body seemingly rushing to your ears. Your thighs snap shut, squeezing tightly around his wrist, and your eyes roll back into your head as far as they can go as you cum around his fingers, gushing and leaving them covered in your essence.

He lets you ride it out without saying a word, simply watching with a grin as you lose yourself in ecstasy—the pleasure that’s thrumming through your veins like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, and he knows it. The very sight of you like that has him gritting his teeth, growling out a low “yeah, there you go" against your chest as he detaches his mouth from your nipple, watching as you come undone, slowing down the movements of his fingers and thumb to let you ride out the waves of your orgasm undisturbed.

Your breathing stutters, that familiar glossy haze covering your eyes as you come back down to earth, blinking up dumbly at him as you regain your sense of awareness, opening and closing your jaw. All of that tension dissipates from your body with ease, fizzing out, leaving you practically boneless atop the bathroom sink, working on catching your breath as you try to remember how to think.

As you do that, looking down, Nikolai slowly pulls his fingers out of you, his eyes completely blown out as he watches the way your body tremors with aftershocks, shivering once he’s completely pulled out. Just like he knew they would be, his knuckles are covered in a ring on white, and the length of his fingers smeared with your cum and slick, soaked.

He wants to taste it; truly, he does, but that would just ruin what comes next.

Blinking, slowly coming out of the fog that the afterglow of your orgasm covers you in, you watch as Nikolai pulls back, bringing his hand away from your face as he brings it down towards his lower half, mumbling under his breath in Russian as he makes work of his belt singlehandedly, loosening it just enough that he can unbutton and unzip his pants. He doesn’t even shove them down his legs to kick them off fully, simply maneuvering the waistband of his boxers beneath his balls to free his cock.

And the sight of it sobers you up quickly.

How the fuck does he expect you to fit him inside of you?

“You’ll take it.” He tells you without missing a beat, confident, practically reading your mind because he’s become well acquainted with that very look that crossed over your features when you saw it. It makes him chuckle, if anything, using his hand covered in your juices and smearing it all across his length, and you can’t help but watch greedily at the sight, understanding exactly why he’s so obsessed with sound with the way the smearing of your slick and cum fills the air between you.

Nikolai takes a step back, not yet bringing his eyes away from the sight of his cock as he mixes your juices with his own pre-cum, eyebrows knitting as he loses himself in his own thoughts. After a moment, he clicks his tongue. The sound immediately catches your attention, effortlessly making you perk up and shift your eyes from his cock to his face.

“Get down from there and turn around. I want you bent over this sink.”

Oh, fuck. This is really happening.

You nod at him, gulping down harshly as you shuffle your body towards the edge of the sink until your ass is to the very edge of it, pressing the tips of your toes against the floor as you hop off of it. Granted, you nearly collapse, not having anticipated the force of your orgasm to leave you incapable of standing on your own, but, thankfully, your tight grip on the rim keeps you standing.

Nikolai lets out a huff of amusement at the sight, making no move to assist you as you awkwardly turn yourself around while still holding onto the edge, legs wobbling and shaking as you stand in front of the sink. Now, with the change in position, you can truly see just how fucked-out you look in the mirror, just like your friends had been once before on the chance that you saw them before they left tonight.

Your hair’s a mess, strands stringing out in every direction, fuzzy with static, and your lips are completely swollen and bruised from how hard Nikolai kissed you. Drool dribbles past the side of your mouth and down your chin, eyes red from unshed tears, pupils blown out and darker than you ever would have imagined they would be. You look like an entirely different person in some ways, but in others, you look exactly the same.

But Nikolai doesn’t exactly have time for you to admire yourself in the mirror, so, with a grumble, he takes a step forward, moving his hand to your upper back, seemingly sweet and intimate with his actions, before roughly pressing you down against the sink, your nipples coming into contact with the cold surface of it, making you moan out and shiver. With his free hand, he pulls your panties down to your thighs, ensuring they won’t be in the way or an issue, before moving his hand back to hold onto his cock.

“You can admire yourself when you’re wrapped around me, лапушка. I gave you a command, so… I expect you to listen to it. Поняла?”

He kicks your feet further apart with his boots, gliding his hand down the expanse of your back and moving your shirt up the slightest bit so he can admire your ass. He taps his cock against the curve of your ass, obsessed with the wet sound it makes, letting out a deep, gutteral groan as he trails his tip along it lazily, tilting his head to the side. His thumb gently caresses the skin, rubbing up and down in a small area before suddenly removing it, only to bring it down with a harsh smack against it.

The sensation makes you lurch forward, yelping out loudly, completely caught off guard, not having expected it in the slightest. As much as you want to say that you don’t like it… the way that your cunt clenches around nothing in anticipation combined with the breathless moan you let out is undeniable. It’s an easy indication of your desires and how much you truly enjoy the sting it leaves behind on your ass.

“I said поняла?”

Nikolai growls out, breath fanning along your neck as you hear his voice right next to your ear, his hand pressing down into your lower back to support himself as he lines himself up with your entrance, bringing his tip to glide up and down through your folds, the squelching sound it makes causing you both to shutter in anticipation. You let out a pitiful whine at the feeling, one that earns you another harsh smack against your other cheek, forcing tears to your eyes.

“I don’t know Rus-”

He doesn’t even let you finish your words before he’s plunging his cock into you, pressing through your entrance and bottoming out in one swift thrust, enveloping himself in your soaked heat.

“Ебена мать!”

Nikolai curses out, muffling himself as he bites down hard enough on his bottom lip to taste blood. The squeeze of your tight pussy around him is enough to make him feel lightheaded and dizzy, gasping as he takes in a shuttering breath and pressing his forehead between your shoulderblades as he pants.

He fills you up completely with his cock, stretching your already sore cunt far past its limits as his tip presses against your cervix. Your eyes are forced to screw shut tightly as you try to grasp onto anything, but, alas, the countertop that spreads out along the edge of the sink is completely smooth, leaving you helpless.

You dig your fingers into your palms as a solution, your knuckles turning white as you press your forehead against the cool surface, trying desperately to ground yourself as a means to combat the stinging pain that comes with the stretch. The sensation is overwhelming, with all of your nerves feeling as if they’ve been lit ablaze.

It makes you want to writhe—to wriggle yourself out of his hold and scramble away from just how much it aches and burns. But, as you wait, your breath coming out in strained, stuttered breaths, you realize that he isn’t moving whatsoever. He keeps himself buried inside of you, completely still, his chest pressed against your back, as he breathes in with considerable effort and breathes out with just as much strain.

So, as the both of you lay there waiting for the pain to subside, you’re able to focus on and enjoy the feeling and be completely and utterly full. When Nikolai had his fingers inside of you earlier, you thought that that sensation was the most full you were going to feel. But, with the way that his cock leaves no extra space inside of you, filling you to the brim in a way where you can feel him bulging out against your tummy, you realize how enjoyable the sensation is.

It’s intimate and almost comforting, in a way, to have someone fill you up completely.

So, as you lie there, focusing on that sensation, you can feel that initial discomfort and overwhelmingness dissipate, leaving you solely with that fullness. It feels good, you come to find out, much better than anything you’ve ever felt before, and all you can think about is how much better you know that Nikolai can make it. So, you choose to gently press your ass back into him, taking him in impossibly deeper and giving him the subtle indication that you’re ready.

You feel him suck in a sharp breath that fands out against your skin. In a slow, fluid motion, he draws his hips back, pulling his cock out far enough that only the tip of it is left inside of you, before giving a gentle thrust to his hips and plunging himself back into you. The two of you moan out simultaneously, the sound he makes being more of a groan in nature and yours more of a whine, feeling the way he moves his hand to hold at your waist.

“Nik…” You whine out to him, your voice cracking into breathlessness as you feel him thrust slowly in and out of, the desire to beg for more threatening to pass through your lips, but the harsh squeeze he gives to either of your hips shuts you up instantly, listening to the way he strains to breathe and speak, rolling his hips with each thrust, ensuring he can get as deep inside of you as he can, his tip brushing against your cervix each time without fail.

Nikolai lets out a particularly heavy breath, grunting as he snaps his hips with a bit more force into you. Steadily, he begins to pick up speed with each in and out of his cock, much to your delight, losing himself in the wet, squishy noises it makes with the motion.

“I am going to fucking ruin you. Mold you to my cock so that nobody will ever be able to make you feel as good as I do.”

He mumbles it out, primarily to himself, even though you can clearly hear it, standing up and leaning back slightly. He lazily turns his head to the side, eyes focused on the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing with each thrust he makes, trailing up the length of your back and looking into the mirror, getting to witness it from a different perspective. The vision makes his cock twitch inside of you, forcing another groan out of him.

Taking one of his hands away from your hip, Nikolai reaches it upwards, finding the base of your neck, fingers splaying out as they cup the back of your head, before reaching forwards, tangling themselves into the strands of your hair, and pulling. The motion forces your back to arch, your head lifting away from the expanse of the sink, your eyes boring into… your own, the mirror giving you a perfect view of yourself.

Jaw slack, drool dripping past your lips, tongue out, eyes blown wide, hair a mess of strands, tits out, bent over with the prettiest sounds freely falling from your lips as you get fucked from behind in a shitty bar bathroom by a man you’ve barely met an hour ago. Nikolai takes in the same scene, his eyes watching yours as you focus on yourself, grunting out with each thrust, shamelessly making noise to properly translate just how much he’s enjoying this.

“But you would like that, да? To be unable to enjoy anyone else fucking you because I’m the one who took you first.”

Another slap to your ass leaves you reeling, your eyes rolling back into your head as he thrusts himself in deep, snapping his hips with a roughness that forces the air out of your lungs before you can even take in another breath. You feel him readjust his grip on your hair, forcing your back to arch even further as he growls, bouncing you along the length of his cock as he fucks into you with vigor.

The coil that resides in your lower stomach begins to slowly but surely tighten with each thrust, accompanied by your own pathetic moaning, whining, and keening—those beautiful tears falling down the length of your face without anything to hold them back. Your eyes glisten, flickering away from your own expression as you opt to watch his own, seeing the way he bites onto his bottom lip to hold back his moans and whines, even as he fails to do so without any resistance.

“Such a desperate whore for my cock, aren’t you? It is amusing how you’ve never had sex yet act like a slut.” Nikolai coos out cruelly, emphasizing his words with a particular harsh thrust that has you drooling, letting his own hand grip at your waist as he pulls you back into each thrust, ensuring he bottoms out each and every time without fail. The obscene sound of his balls slapping against your soaked, sticky cunt fills the air. You can feel his tip slam against that spongey spot on your inner walls—the one that makes your toes curl and leaves you feeling boneless—and when he hears the sound you make, he’s relentless in focusing all of his attention right there.

God, it makes you see stars. You feel so unbelievably full in a way you’ve never felt before, each thrust of his thick, fat cock ripping the air from your lungs, leaving you sweaty and breathless. It’s overwhelming, yet in a way that makes you never want it to stop. Drool drips onto the counter from your tongue, hanging off in stringy globs, flicking back and forth with each thrust. You can feel yourself getting close, your walls closing in on him with a grip that leaves him groaning and growling, completely pussydrunk off of you as his eyes catch on to all of the different telltale signs he’s coming to learn from you.

The way your eyelids twitch when your eyes roll back, the way your whole body tenses up with anticipation, and the way your noises get so much higher pitched

He’s never letting you go after this, he decides. Nobody is going to get to have you once he’s done with you—once he’s claimed you. He was your first, and he’d be damned if he let anyone other than himself be your second, your third, and so on and so forth.

“Come on, красивая вещь. Cum on my cock. You can do it.”

Nikolai growls out, his fingers bruising against the flesh of your waist as he holds on to tightly, as if you’d slip through his fingers if he were to loosen it, if only by a fraction. And you’ve learned from your lesson before that, being a smart girl and knowing to do what he says when he says it, so your body instinctively reacts to his command. Blinding, white-hot pleasure courses through your veins, ever nerve ending in your body, feeling like it’s on fire when you gush around him. You feel your entire body go rigid with tension,your, heart stopping for a moment, unable to breathe or see from just how hard you cum.

Oh, you feel like jelly. If you thought you were boneless before, the way his grip on your hair is the only thing keeping you up right now really shows you what “bonelessness” feels like.

Your entire body convulses, spasming and twitching and jerking you as you fight the overstimulation of him still ruthlessly pounding into your pussy, whining and keening as you babble out incoherently at him, everything making you so dizzy with pleasure. Nikolai himself isn’t that much farther behind you, the squeeze of your pussy bringing him teetering over the edge, barely able to pull out in time with a strained grunt of your name as hot, thick cum spurts from his twitching cock.

Ropes of it leak from his cock, painting pretty white lines against your ass as he groans out gutturally, leaning his head back as he basks in his own pleasure. He pants out heavy, each breath strained with effort as he blinks, chest heaving as he struggles to regain control over his own breathing, letting his eyes drop back down to admire the scene before him. There’s this dazed, lopsided smile that’s spread out across your lips, your eyes glazed over with ecstasy, just like before, but the difference in seeing your fucked-out face cockdrunk off of him. Oh, that just makes it all the better.

He blinks a few times, his jaw slack as he swallows down his own saliva and pants, his hand moving to smear his cum messily along your ass, rubbing it into your skin as if it were lotion. He knows it’ll stick to his own clothes if he does, but he can’t help himself nor care as he leans himself against you, bending over you, allowing himself to rest his forehead between your shoulder blades as his body comes down from such an intense high.

Seeing you like this, having you like this… it’s something he doubts he could ever leave.

His breaths come into sync with your own; the steady breathing, lungs filling with air, and breathing out, expelling all of that air, is an action that the both of you focus on as one, uncaring about anything else but this moment. You feel him mumble something against your back, unable to make it out through the haze of your afterglow, unable to hear all the whispers of praise he allocates to you, pressing gentle kisses against your shirt.

The moment is undeniably intimate, something you may not suspect from him, especially given the way that he treated you. But it makes sense, the way he has this imposing and overwhelmingly dominating persona that he leans on, yet can be equally caring and loving when the situation requires it. It’s a delicate balance that he maintains, further proving the extents of his own control, both over his partners and himself, and you can’t help but appreciate and admire it.

But unfortunately, the calm atmosphere that begins to settle between the two of you is so rudely interrupted by the sound of multiple harsh, sharp poundings against the door to the bathroom. Even though the door remains locked, which, thank God, Nikolai had done, the handle still gets jiggled with haste. Muffled, barely audible conversation can be heard happening from beyond the door, but it doesn’t seem like, according to your actions, that each of you cares all that much.

“Nikolai! Hurry up in there. If you don’t come out soon, we’re taking your truck back and leaving you here.”

A gruff, deep Scouse accent barks out, muffled only by the barrier of the wooden bathroom door that continues to shake from the sheer force of the pounding the knocks have been making against it. Nikolai groans out with a mixture of frustration and annoyance against the fabric of your shirt, still working to catch his breath as his pants begin to slow down, the heat of them seeping through the fabric and sticking to your skin.

“Maybe I should let him…” He mumbles out for only you to hear, his palm gently rubbing up and down the curve of your ass, working to soothe that ache that lingers from his harsh, sharp smacks. He presses a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades, trailing his lips upwards as he follows your spine and the curve of your neck, leading him to make his way to press them along the edge of your jawline. The sensation makes you let out a shuttering breath, which is uneven and shaky in nature.

The afterglow of your orgasm still lingers, mixing in with the dull ache left behind by the rough way he treated your cunt, your mind hazy as it swirls with pleasure, focusing on those sensations and nothing else, not even his words. You let out a soft hum in response, still fucked out and dumb without a single thought occupying the space in your head, not even knowing what it is exactly that you’re acknowledging. It makes him chuckle.

“Good first time; I take it, then?” He muses smugly, knowing full well that you won’t be able to give him a proper answer. But, with the look that shines behind your eyes and the state that he’s left you in, he doesn’t even have to ask that question to know the answer to it.

So, with a heavy and reluctant sigh, pressing one last kiss to your jawline, he pulls himself back. Gently, he moves to rest your head back down against the sink, turning his gaze downward as he tucks his softening cock back into his boxers. He pulls back up his pants, re-buttoning and zipping them, and fastening his belt through the loops. He composes himself after doing so, smoothing down his clothes and checking himself in the mirror.

Well, as composed as a man who just fucked can, you guess. Then he moves on to you. He presses gently kisses along your exposed skin, helping your boneless form readjust your bra and pull down your shirt, pulling back up your panties and pants, ensuring they’re all situated as he gives you a once-over from behind, pulling you against him as he checks you out in the mirror in front of you. A kiss is pressed to the side of your neck as he looks at you in the mirror, his eyes still half-lidded and a smirk adorning his lips.

“Come on, лапушка. Focus. It will be hard to walk if your legs don’t work, да?”

He teases lightheartedly, helping bring you back to reality as he helps you stand, your knees buckling instantly, but he never lets go of you once, remaining patient as the pins and needles slowly but surely dissipate, and you’re able to stand on your own, finally able to string a sentence together and cultivate coherent thoughts Still leaning into him, even if you don’t need his support anymore, you let out a soft whine laced with disapproval.

He hums, wordlessly acknowledging you.

"I don't want you to go." You complain, drawing out the last syllable as you voice out your thoughts to him, not at all ready to depart and go back by yourself. To, quite possibly and realistically, never see him again once he leaves. You aren’t ready for that, as selfish as it might be to admit. He chuckles at your words, not out of malice but out of loving amusement, gently turning you around so that you’re facing him, tilting your head up with one of his fingers curled under your chin.

“Well… I suppose my comrades can find their own way home, don’t you think? They’re capable enough. You, however…”

He trails off with a chuckle, wordlessly acknowledging your state with raised eyebrows and a shit-eating grin, to which you can only whine out into the air between you both, clearly not amused as he is by his words. But once you’re actually able to register what he means by that, you look up at him with parted lips, that dumb expression still on your face, but now it’s more endearing than anything.

He leans forward, the scruff of his facial hair scratching gently against your skin as he presses a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger around the area for a few moments before ultimately pulling back.

“Let me take you home. You might have lost your virginity, but… that was only in one position. I think it’s only fair I help you lose it in all of them, don’t you think?”

It’s cocky and overwhelmingly confident—exactly what made you turn down the others who had tried their luck convincing you to have sex with them earlier in the night—but, coming from Nikolai, it’s a trait of his that has you hooked. Be it good or bad, you can’t find any part of yourself that’s inclined to refuse his open offer. So, with a dopey, lopsided smile that spreads out across your lips, you nod, accepting.

Because he’s right: it’s only fair.

Умница - smart girl

апушка - sweetheart

Нет - no

Да - yes

Поняла - understand

Ебена мать - holy shit

Красивая вещь - beautiful thing

#originally this was just a small idea #i just need him 😔#so now it's... a lot more #i love him so much #if you couldn't already tell that #(my past written posts all being Nikolai related staring at me like: 🧍‍♂️)#your honor - i'm a whore. I CONFESS IT!#nikolai x reader #nikolai cod x reader #cod nikolai x reader #nikolai #cod nikolai #nikolai cod #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare 3 x reader #mw x reader #mw2 x reader #mw3 x reader #i genuinely became enemies with this fic bc i put off all of the things i've needed to do these past few days to finish it #i don't even care if it's good anymore like i'm so tired #ELEVEN FUCKING THOUSAND WORDS #i need to shut the fuck up oh my gods #it's like... i don't even know what i wrote anymore so- enjoy???#edited for Russian corrections. thank you!

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

Text

absolution - prologue

-simon 'ghost' riley x wife!reader

-warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of scars, fluff

-word count: 1.4k

-summary: you're a sniper and reconnaissance specialist in the military, secretly married to Simon, as the knowledge of your relationship would compromise both your posts. One night he comes home from a mission and you tell him that Price wants you on the team for an upcoming 141 mission.

next chapter fic masterlist

a/n: this is the first time I've written any sort of fic so pls bear with me, there will be smut eventually, I haven't mapped everything out so don't worry there will be spice. also, I'm not super advanced when it comes to mw lore, aside from the events that occur in the new mw2, but I really love this character and I hope I do him some justice. I'm gonna make a part two, maybe multiple chapters but I'm not sure so pls let me know if you'd read more. :)

this fic was inspired by 'The Captain' by @/as-is-above-so-below which is really phenomenal, so please read that if you get the chance.

It was late in the night when you heard the door open, usually you were a heavy sleeper, but you could always sense when Simon came home. He had been gone for six months on his last mission, somewhere in south america was all he could say about it, before packing up and taking off to leave you alone in your shared flat once again. A mutual understanding had been made during the beginning of your relationship, both of you were military personnel, and you understood that it came with perks, months off spent together, but it also came with its downsides, being separated for months at a time, never knowing what condition the other was in, and living in a constant state of worry about your partner. When Simon proposed, he promised to always come home to you, to never leave you alone like everyone else did, and you believed him, trusted him, and he never broke his promise. His footsteps were light when he came into the bedroom, still wearing his mask, but donning his less formal jeans and black sweatshirt, you caught him lingering in the doorway as you moved to flick on the light next to the bed, casting a dark shadow behind your husband. As soon as your eyes met he lifted his arms to pull his mask off, no longer the ghost, but now standing as the man you so loved. A faint smile crept up on your face as you awakened fully, happy to see him in one piece after being away for so long. You urged him over to the bed with a nudge of your head and he so happily obliged you, kneeling down beside your frame to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, and lastly your lips, a deep kiss filled with longing.

“Hello” you smirked and glanced forward through your eyelashes as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Hi lovie” he responded in almost a whisper.

“What time is it?” “late, go back to sleep, ill be here in a minute” he said, as he brushed his knuckles against your cheek and left your side. You watched him cross the room into the bathroom, and close the door almost fully, you two never closed doors fully when you were home together, a sort of unspoken law that allowed you to never be separated. As you heard the shower turn on you sighed to yourself and fell back against the pillows, turning off the bedside lamp. Minutes passed before you heard the shower turn off, waiting for Simon to emerge from the steam-filled room. Once he did, he quickly crossed to the closet to find suitable clothes to sleep in. Entering wearing a simple pair of sweatpants, rare considering he typically wore nothing to bed as the man was like a personal space heater, constantly burning to the touch. He settles himself next to you under the covers and turned to his side so he could pull you close. Resting his face inches from yours, looking at you like he was trying to memorize your face as if he could ever forget it.

“Did you buy more pillows while I was gone?” he asked whilst fussing with the various adornments you have thrown onto the bed. You smirked to yourself, “Yes, but only ‘cause I was trying to make the bed comfier” “The bed is comfy” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Not when you aren't here,” you said as you snuggled close to him, tucking your head under his chin and settling your arm over his waist to allow it to wander over the expanse of his back, feeling over his scars, old and new, silently cursing yourself that you couldn’t do anything to stop him from getting hurt.

“Knife” Simon breathes out. You respond by simply tilting your head and quirking an eyebrow at him. “ ‘sfrom a knife, this cartel was big into watching people bleed”. A meek oh was all you could manage, as you thought about him hurt in the field, a literal knife in his back as he tried to survive. “I’m alright lovie, nothing I haven’t been through before.” He was always this way when it came to his wounds, paying no attention to them after the fact, simply regarding them as an addition to the collection of marks that littered his body. You hated thinking of him hurt, but in an odd way, you regarded the scars kindly.

“You think they’re ugly?” He asks while resting his lips on the crown of your head. “No,” you respond without much thought. He tilts your head to meet your eyes, urging you to explain. “They’re reminders..” you say while looking into his dark eyes. “They prove how hard you fight to come back to me.. I could never find them ugly”. He gives you a simple hmm in response before he arched his neck down to place a kiss on your lips.

“How was it, while I was away?” Simon liked to start conversations later in the night as it meant less time trying to force his body asleep, thankfully you were still awake, which meant he could talk to you rather than staring blankly at a wall or tossing and turning for hours in the hopes of maybe getting a few hours of peaceful sleep.

“Boring” you respond “Went to work, filled out paperwork, trained some new recruits, and practiced grappling” “So nothing interesting happened” he asked. “Well, one thing” you respond moving yourself to look at him. “Price called me” you state, waiting for any change in his face to dictate whether or not you should continue your sentence, he remained stoic. “He wants me for a mission with the 141,” you say. “No” is all Simon responds.

“You don’t even know what it is yet”

“No, you know what kind of missions we get, you’ve seen the paperwork. I don’t want you in any position that could risk your safety”

“Si, every mission risks my safety this wouldn’t be any different”

“Except I would be there, that makes this dangerous”

“How?”

“I can’t do my job if I’m constantly worrying about you, where you are, how you are. It would compromise me”

“Well, what do I tell Price? He doesn’t know we’re married, I can’t just explain to him that my husband doesn’t want me in the field with him, he’ll need a solid reason, and I don’t have one”

“I’ll tell him” Simon grunts.

“You’ll tell him what? That we’re married? You’ll give up that information just because you don’t want to risk me potentially getting hurt, that's bullshit and you know it” you argue as to begin to sit up in the bed, feeling yourself getting angrier at the idea of your husband not trusting your abilities in the field. “It’s not like I would be in the middle of the action, my position is a sniper and reconnaissance, I’ll sit on some rooftop for hours waiting for all of you to clear the way before I even think about pulling the trigger.”

“And what if something goes wrong, what if one of us is compromised? What then?”

“Then we deal with it! Like we always have, we’re a team Simon, I don’t expect your full support on this but I expect a little trust in my capabilities, I have never stopped you from going on a mission just because I thought it was unsafe, I have always trusted you. Please, do the same for me.” You beg as tears begin to prick your eyes.

He stares at you for what feels like minutes as you will him to talk. “Okay”, he says finally. “You’ll come, but this, us, stays a secret. I can’t have the enemies knowing I have any sort of weakness”

“I’m a weakness,” you ask.

“Yes, you’re a weakness. Because I don’t know what I would do if you ever got hurt. They can use you against me. I won’t let you be a pawn”

You reach your hand up to hold his cheek as you lay a soft kiss on his lips. “Okay” you whisper as you curl yourself into him, finding comfort in his warmth, as his heartbeat slowly lulls you to sleep.

Simon stayed awake, listening to your soft breathing, feeling your chest rise and fall with every breath. Holding on to you like if he even loosened his grip you would fall out. He lay awake thinking of all of the ways he would cuss out his Captain, all the ways he could try to get you taken off the mission, tormenting himself over all the possible outcomes of you joining him in the field, until eventually, his eyelids became too heavy, and he joined you in sleep.

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grievedeeply · 1 year

Note

Could you possibly write ghost x reader, of like the reader returning from being MIA (missing in action) for like a week?

If not that's okay!

my first request for cod!! thank you! i really like this idea, so i hope you enjoy my writing for it! decided to make it headcanons :)

gn!reader | tws include : kidnapping , being held hostage

join my taglist!!

ghost's s/o returning after being mia headcanons

you barely remember anything while you were alone. you know you were separated from your squad, and they spent hours looking for you. you were told that by the people who had kidnapped you

they wanted information. they always did. you weren't too sure why they took you out of everyone you were with— but there you were, stuck there with no weapons and no one to help you escape

simon knew you were out on a mission. he knew you were capable and more than experienced to do so without him. he worried. he always did— but he knew you would be okay

so when he's told you've been declared as missing in action, his world flips upside down. where were you? were you dead? alive? locked up somewhere? tortured? the thought of you being anything but alive and safe made his stomach churn

you were found after a week and brought back to where your base was quickly afterwards. you were questioned for hours by your superiors, and given looks of pity from people like laswell and price for what you went through

your eyes are empty. cold. you went into your kidnapping with a positive outlook, but as the days passed you wondered if they even noticed you were missing

simon sees you and his heart melts. you were safe, and you looked unharmed from what he could tell. he knew you were far from okay— though. what those people could do to force information out of someone.. it hurt even thinking about it happening to you

you gave no information away, even after days of starving and questioning. you refused to. you wouldn't put simon in danger

he feels the need to hover around you for a few days. the rest of the 141 hardly ever see him during this time. they know he cares about you more than anyone else, though. it's not a surprise he's been gone

it's probably the most emotional simon has been a long time. he doesn't cry, but he feels like he could if he thought about it too much

he gets you everything you might need or want and hardly ever leaves your side unless he has to

if you have nightmares, he's shaking you awake, holding you in his arms as you explain what had happened in them

he does everything he does because he wants you to know he cares for you

he knows he can be distant, but he knows with your line of work tomorrow is never promised. he never takes his time with you for granted. he can't. not anymore.

#mw2 x reader #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 x reader #mw2 #cod x reader #cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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nevadancitizen · 1 month

Text

-> HURTING, LONGING, LOVING – DANCING TO DISCO MUSIC

synopsis: you wake up and have no memory of simon. you can only hope to find him among your fractured memories and the scattered lights of a disco ball.

word count: 2.3k

characters: simon "ghost" riley, amnesiac! gn! reader

trigger warnings: transient global (aka temporary) amnesia, mentions of canon-typical violence/interrogation

notes: heavily inspired by disco elysium and part one of @roosterr 's amnesia series. go give it a read if you haven't already (＊๑˘◡˘)

Nothing surrounds you. Only warm, primordial blackness – the pond you learn about in Biology 101, the one where everything and everyone comes from. You don’t know this, of course, because you’re curled up in it, your mind fermenting in it. You’re no larger than a grain of yeast. You don’t have to do anything anymore. Ever. Never, ever.

But you’re growing. Gram upon gram of yeast, slowly morphing into meat. Muscles and bones and organs and a beating pig heart, decaying as soon as they grow. Soon you’ll need to do things. There’s a faint tickle of an idea. Soldiers. Battlefields. IEDs and tanks. You don’t know what to do with this information.

Somewhere within the idea – a sensation! Pain. Arcing, shooting pain, lightning through every new nerve in your new body. The limbed and headed machine of pain and barely-dignified suffering is firing up again. It wants to walk the streets of Manchester. Hurting. Longing. Loving. Dancing to disco music.

It wants someone. You want someone. A blurred-out face, someone you’re kneeling at the feet at. A ghost of a man. So lost he doesn’t even know what his face looks like.

“I swore I wouldn’t let you go,” your barely-formed mouth mumbles. Your teeth are hot, melted-together plastic and your tongue is jet-fuel-fired rebar.

Look up. No. You were just talking to yourself. That’s all you ever do. Even in this primordial pool. And the act is wearing thin, the spots of the disco ball fade around you…

The warm blackness is instantly replaced with a cold, artificial light. You bring your hand up to block it – since when have you had these? Gangly things with a red wire further down in… your elbow. That’s not a wire – that’s a tube. Of blood? Your blood. You have blood.

You remember now. You were born with hands and elbows, knees, feet, organs and fat and a copious amount of blood. A collarbone you’ve broken more than once. A body that was molded in the crucible of battle.

And holy shit does that body hurt. That hindbrain wasn’t exaggerating when it said that you are a being of suffering.

A dull throbbing is behind your eyes as they rove around the room. They land on a button neatly labeled Call Nurse. You press it and wait.

Everything after that is a blur. Nurses, doctors, “Follow my finger with your eyes, but don’t move your head,” poking and prodding with various instruments, “Tilt your head back so I can feel your neck,” blue latex gloves, “How much do you remember?”, bright lights in your eyes.

One nurse checks the dressings on your forehead. It’s just above your temple. His hands are rubbery and unfeeling as he re-dresses it. A trickle of cold liquid dribbling down from an alcohol swab. Bandages press against your skin. “What’s your name and date of birth?”, “Can you name the members of the task force you’re a part of?”

A man cuts through the blur as he comes thundering through the door. A balaclava with a skull pattern. Three men are behind him, hanging in the doorframe, out of the way. But the man moves quickly towards you, standing on the edge of the crowd of medical professionals, pacing back and forth, eyes on you, like how a sheepdog circles its sheep. Longing, waiting. Held back by an invisible leash of respect.

After a while, most of the personnel disperse, leaving you with a transient global amnesia diagnosis, a nurse, and the men. But even then, they leave after casting a glance at the sheepdog.

He moves closer, then stares at you for a while. He’s expecting something. His brown eyes are like sodium lights. A small trickle of streets and the sky. In your mind, you know he’s the place to be. You’re still alive while he’s around.

Yeah. He’s groovy. You want to disco with him. He is disco. But somewhere, a deep unaccessed area of your mind is saying, “You don’t want to disco like this. Not really. Not in the deepest part of your soul, where blond eyelashes only make you sad.”

Wait – come on, what are you talking about? Sad blond eyelashes? Blond eyelashes are fun!

“Why do I hurt all of a sudden?”

“Hey, it’s alright, darl.” He kneels by your bed and takes your hand in both of his. They’re warm, rough, calloused in places you thought couldn’t be calloused. “It’s me, it’s Simon.”

“What?” You pull your hand away from his. “I don’t know a Simon.”

Simon scoffs, but it’s more of an exhale of disbelief. “Don’t you remember me?”

“No.” You narrow your eyes. “Should I?”

Simon crumbles before you. His sodium streetlight eyes go out with an explosion of guilt – the bulbs pop with a fizzy sound. He looks like he should be groveling at the feet of a feudal lord, providing excessive evidence of his crimes, or throwing a cat-of-nine-tails over his shoulder and ripping the flesh from his own back. Whatever made him this way – you can be damn sure it was your fault. Those three simple words, instead of “I love you,” are “No. Should I?”

“It’s me.” Simon’s voice cracks as he speaks. Tears flood his waterline. He takes off his mask, revealing his pale face and dyed-blond hair. “It’s your Simon.”

“Simon,” you say softly. You look at him and hurt. A hole in your still-beating pig heart. Blood spills out from where the bullet went in.

“No. Nothing.” You look down at his hand. It’s palm-up, splayed out where you let go of it. It curls up into a fist, then Simon pulls it into his lap.

He says nothing. Just stares at you like you’re familiar yet somehow unknown.

You don’t know what to say. You just can’t conjure up any thoughts as you stare back. The morphine can’t be the cause of your dumbness. And it certainly isn’t the new modafinil that was just introduced to your system.

You search his eyes and feel, above all things, lost. Lonely in a hospital full of people.

Simon pulls away. His breathing is heavy and labored. A single tear slips down his scarred cheek. He doesn’t look like he’s one to cry. The tear leaves a trail of wet that looks like a new scar.

He tugs his balaclava back on and shuffles out, casting one last longing glance over his shoulder before closing the door behind him with a soft click.

That’s where it is. He is disco. He’s stumbling through the streets of Manchester. Hurting. Longing. Loving. Dancing to disco music.

You’re stuck in the hospital for a week for physical therapy and observation. Simon visits intermittently. He brings things to jog your memory – men that are part of Task Force 141, small snow globes from where you and he have apparently been deployed. Some of them work. But none of them bring back any memory of your apparent relationship with Simon – your boyfriend.

Today he comes in with a small device. It’s not a phone, but resembles it. A small wire comes from the amp and ends in a small circle of plastic.

You point at it. “What’s that?”

“It’s a contact microphone.” Simon settles in the chair that’s set up by your bed. He points at the blocky part of it. “This part holds the recording. You can play it back if needed.”

“Are you going to play it back?” You ask.

“No,” Simon says. “This one is blank.”

You take it from Simon’s hand and turn it over, looking at it. Examining. “Then why are you showing me this?”

“You are…” Simon sighs, trying to find the words. “You were a profoundly talented interrogator. You used contact microphones to record the interrogation, the confessions, the works. There’s a specified interrogation chamber underground. Contact microphones pick up the noise better down there.”

You continue looking it over. Fiddling with the wire. Running your thumb over the mesh of the microphone.

“Anything?” Simon says.

You close your eyes and think. Contact microphone… violence, blood. There’s a welding torch in there somewhere. The smell of bubbling flesh and burning hair. Cauterization without anesthesia. It was that way on purpose.

You open your eyes and look at Simon. “Interrogation.”

“Obviously.” Simon huffs out a laugh. It sounds forced. “I told you that.”

“Yes.” You sigh, looking down at the contact microphone. You try to think more. Contact… physical contact. Your fist making contact. Something hard. Solid bone breaking under your hands.

But also… something soft. Something that smells good. Smells homey. A black hoodie with some cheesy skull pattern on it. Actually, a closet full of black and grey clothes. A monotone voice to match a monotone closet.

The clothes smell faintly of cigarettes. A carton that’s mostly empty. They taste better than regular cigarettes – they’re some European brand.

“Do…” You look up at Simon. “Do you smoke?”

“Why?” Simon asks. “Do I smell like cigs?”

“No. Just…”

You close your eyes and try to remember more. The carton is a brown-orange color. The back is plastered with warnings about nicotine being an addictive chemical. No filters. A smooth, walnut-esque finish.

“Revaality,” you finally say and look up at Simon.

“Yes! Yes.” Simon takes your hand instinctively, excitedly. He smiles. Like crying, it doesn’t really fit him, but you’re glad he’s smiling anyway. “That’s the brand I smoke. I smoke Revaality.”

He takes your face in his hand and guides you to look at him. His sodium light eyes are bright once again. “Anything else? Lovie, please…”

You cringe away from his touch. Again, Simon is punched in the fucking face when he remembers that you don’t know him. Not like that.

Simon pulls his hands away. “Shit. I…”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “I know.”

I know you know a different version of me. The thought lingers, loud and unsaid. Simon, you’re a man with a lot of past, but little present, and almost no future. I’m sorry we only live in your memories, because I don’t even have those.

“I’m trying.” You look down at the contact microphone. “Believe me, I’m trying.”

“I believe you,” Simon says. “It’s just… it’s hard.”

Silence for a while. The artificial lights above you buzz and cast harsh shadows on Simon’s face. He looks… tired.

“I still love you,” he says quietly. Almost a whisper. “I… you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

He rests a hand on the railing of your hospital bed. “I’m not the best. I drink. I smoke. I have a laundry list of mental issues and types of trauma. So much it’s not even funny.”

“But you…” he sighs. “You fell in love with me anyway.”

You look up at him. He’s crying again. A pang of empathy in your heart. You don’t know why, but you don’t want to see him cry. The tears that cut through the dirt on his face are unbefitting.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is a mirror of Simon’s. Soft and wavering. “I want to remember. I don’t even know what happened to me. The doctors always dance around it when I ask.”

Simon bunches the end of his sleeve up in his hand and wipes away his tears. “You were a fucking idiot. That’s what happened.”

You scoff. “Excuse me?”

“Not in a bad way.” Simon lets go of his sleeve and rests his hand on the railing of your bed again. “You love too much and too hard. You saved me.”

“It… the building…” He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his waterline to clear of tears. “The building was coming down. We thought we were out of danger close. But there was a piece of rebar that…”

Simon looks down at his lap. He’s ashamed. “It was supposed to hit me. I was supposed to die. I’m used to it. I’m used to close calls and blood transfusions.”

“But I’m not used to…” He glances up at you through his eyelashes. His long, blond eyelashes. “People I care about being hurt. Or people caring about me in general.”

“Simon.” You reach out and lay your hand over his where it rests on the railing. He holds his breath like he’s afraid.

A pause. You want to be sure of your words before you speak.

“I’m going to try my damndest to remember,” you say. “Even if I don’t remember everything, I – I want to try to learn to care about you again. Because, based on our limited interactions, I know you’re a good man. Even if you drink and even if you smoke and even if you have a laundry list of mental issues and an assortment of trauma.”

Simon slowly brings his other hand and rests it on top of yours. His callouses brush against your knuckles. Abrasive yet comforting in a way you barely remember.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Really, truly. Thank you.”

And, in this moment, Simon finally has some sense of control in an ever-turbulent world. The world that tried to take his one and only love. The world that has taken his one and only love and is only now feeding him droplets of what he knows – what he once knew. He must exercise this control carefully, lest he lose you again.

In the sky, there are no dogfights and no silverplate bombers. Only stars and the rabbit curled up on the moon and a singular winking comet. God is in Heaven. Everything is normal on Earth.

Somewhere, the spots from a disco ball freckle the dance floor once again.

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vintgedoll · 20 days

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you left me at the train station. — simon riley, crush series.

crushing on younger! simon would include :

୨୧ ... your bedroom was his safe haven. sometimes, it was messy with pleated skirts, spilled nail polish, and empty soda cans covering the floor and sure, he hated it, but he felt guilty when it was clean - everything had its designated spot and simon felt like he didn't belong yet his own things found their way on your desk, in your closet, his sneakers even found home on the shoe rack by your bedroom door.

୨୧ ... new tights and a bare face when you didn't want to go home right after your part-time job, working at some shitty gas station ten minutes away from your brick townhouse. so, you would go and knock on the door and pray his dad wasn't home or that someone else would at least open the door. sat on the swings of your local park. when you feel confident enough, you told him things you had never told anyone. "even if you decide that you hate me one day in the future, never tell anyone this." you pleaded with him the first time. "why would i ever hate you?"

୨୧ ... staring at the ceilings when you held him in bed with his head on your chest, an act that left you with a quickened heart rate and colored face. if you were at his house, the ceiling would be stippled and cracked. his room wasn't unloved - far from it, actually. his family didn't have much and you quickly understood his room was loved and looked after, unlike the rest of his house.

୨୧ ... piggyback rides whenever you asked him to walk you home from parties you'd been out to. you were always tipsy and complaining, asking him to carry you. sliver eyeshadow and ripped fishnets under frayed black shorts, your cheek against his shoulder. you always asked him to run away with you, leave manchester - maybe even england - behind. "we could get an apartment, it'd be ours and we could decorate it however we wanted." he never paid much attention to your ramblings but the thought of spending the rest of your life with him was something you could only hope for, so why not ask when all your confidence was based on liquor?

୨୧ ... if he went to bed early or his father got to the phone before him and hung it up, you had to walk on your own, black jeans and beaded bracelets while trying to remember his address with your arms crossed. "twenty-five, twenty-six..." squinting at the house numbers while mumbling. when you found your way, you stood on the outdoor ac unit, knocking on his window. "can i come in?" it was asked before he could even open the window halfway, staring at him with a sluggish grin.

୨୧ ... bruises you run your fingers over and bloodied bandages you'd change for him. "your dad?" he never responded so you stopped asking. early mornings of sitting on the porch and helping him after getting the med kit from the family bathroom, the silence only being broken by your occasional sniffling from the cold. lilac and baby pink was your style and you treated him with the same softness as your color palette.

୨୧ ... using him as your human notepad whenever you were out with him. "palm." turned into a heads up, your glitter pen already piercing against his hand before he could even blink as wrote down numbers, addresses, even tab amounts you owed. "i'm preparing you for tattoos so you won't be a baby in the chair." you always joked.

୨୧ ... all it took was one bad day for an impulse to guide you to the train station. it was two a.m. and the last train to london left in five minutes. it all happened so fast and he barely processed any of it until you were buying the tickets, your left hand holding his right. the ceiling lights flickered and there was a blue hue coming from the train windows and open doors, purple graphic liner and lip gloss. "we shouldn't." you squeezed his hand. "of course we should." you scoffed, smiling. he let you drag him all the way to the train doors before he finally stopped. who would protect his mom? he was afraid of what his dad would do if he saw he was gone. you had gone back and forth, the overhead announcer telling the few remaining bystanders the train would leave in one minute. your throat tight, you set down your bag and let go of his hand. "i love you, okay? i love you a lot and i hate everyone but you, so just please come with me." but simon shook his head. you weren't gonna get off and he wasn't gonna get on, so you left him. standing on his sneakers, you went to kiss him, lips just barely touching and simon wished you did but neither of you closed the space. rather, you hugged him with a kiss on his cheek, lip tint and glossy material lingering. you grabbed your bag and without looking back, without a goodbye, you got on the train. you left him there in the cold, humid train station at two in the morning.

#modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare ii #modern warfare ii x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #divider credit to hyelita!

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wintersongstress · 8 months

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Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Summary: The first time Simon lays you down beneath him, you wear something special for him.

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: Soft Simon™, kissing, foreplay, sweet words of praise, mild smut.

A/N: I wanted to get my feet wet with some headcanons for Simon, since I’ve never written for him before but am planning on writing a multi-chapter fic soon. I like to imagine him very soft and adoring with his girl, so if fluffy mild smut is your thing I hope you enjoy this little scenario where the reader wears nice lingerie for him 😊

❁ — Simon should have known that your first time together, when he lifted the last layer of clothing from your head, you would make it special for him to see you like this.

❁ — When you stumbled through the front door together kissing feverishly, he couldn’t go fast enough. He scooped you up by the knees and walked you backwards to the bedroom, your laughter making him smile and kiss down your neck. He loved the fragrant hollow of your throat where you enchanted your skin with perfume, and how when he whispered in your ear, goosebumps erupted on your skin at the tone. You wanted each other, he was doubtless of it as you fisted the back of his shirt in your hands and sighed for him yearnfully.

❁ — The bed is soft and moonlit as he lays you down upon it. You wait for him as he switches on the light on your bedside table, and the stained-glass lampshade casts a mosaic of warm honey colors all over you.

❁ — Smiling, blinking slow, you part your legs for him as he stands to his full height, inviting him between them, but Simon is transfixed. The rush that compelled him earlier, the one to cover your body with his own, simmers as he leans in.

❁ — Dwelling dreamily, he traces the side of your lovely, soft face with his knuckles. Along the curved plane of your temple, the pillow of your cheek, down to the lush seam of your parting lips. Your lashes dip and you capture his hand to press a kiss into the heart of his palm.

❁ — “Love,” he murmurs. He was so in love, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His other hand comes to rest on your knee and he circles a thumb across your tights. “I could spend all night just looking at you like this.”

❁ — You hum, lifting the skirt of your dress a little higher up your thighs. This was his way of saying that you didn't have to do this if you weren't ready; Simon would be happy with whatever you decided to share of yourself with him. A light of understanding glimmers in your gaze.

❁ — “I want you closer.”

❁ — A knot tightens in his throat as he watches your fingers flirt with the frill of your hem, shuddering to think of them up higher, between, glistening.

❁ — “You’re sure?”

❁ — A sun of hope burns in his chest as he awaits your answer. He holds it back with all his self-control, his fingertips trembling along the swoop of your collarbone. If you say yes, he would succumb to all the things he's imagined doing to you, thousands of times, scrambling for where to start in showing you how much you mean to him.

❁ — In a liquid motion, you slide up with your hands braced behind you to gaze up at him and place that hesitant, dreaming hand of his over your heart.

❁ — “Simon, you’re all I think about.”

❁ — Whatever remained of his granite cracks and you move together.

❁ — He unzips your tall boots, holding your ankle as he tugs them off. Your tights join the floor next and he’s gathering the soft folds of your knitted dress up over your head. The undressing of himself is all a seamless blur—he has no interest in seeing anything other than your bare body and has no patience for hindrances, but when you lift a final, snowy camisole above your shoulders Simon's stomach flutters and his breath catches.

❁ — With all his imaginings, nothing could've prepared him for the heavenly sight of you before him in lingerie, and his jaw goes slack.

❁ — You let him look, gaze shy with your bottom lip tucked in while your fingers fiddle at your side in anticipation.

❁ — Your breasts are perfectly cupped in a translucent bra, the powder blue mesh fabric of which is embroidered with a garden of wildflowers with seed pearls at their centers. A wispy little bow rests in the center, a shimmery lace that scritches between his thumb and forefinger as he marvels at it. Your underwear matches, framing your hips in a way that makes him groan.

❁ — "Christ, you're fucking perfect," he murmurs at last. A tremor of unworthiness stays his hands, too afraid of tearing the delicate garment to touch it.

❁ — "I wanted you to see me like this," you begin. "Because I thought you deserved something nice when all you do is make me feel so....worthwhile."

❁ — A stone rolls away from his heart. Simon's brows drawbridge up, forgetting his own feelings of inadequacy as he cradles your warm shoulders in his hands and leans in to kiss you. He could never word the depths of his gratitude and awe, so he imparts it in this kiss instead, bruising, tender, and acheful.

❁ — He finds your lips soft, warm, and beaded with moisture as your calves enfold around him like the wings of a dove. He's falling back with you on the covers and he cannot help but grind himself against you until you're whimpering, desire taking over his thoughts. He wants to watch you come, just like that. He wants to feel your warmth around his fingers and lave and tease at you with his tongue until he heard you call his name in the pleasure-filled tenor of your voice, to behold this beautiful sculpture of a woman unravel. His kiss breaks away to view the sight of you laid out for him and his palms course along your torso appreciatively.

❁ — "Oh, sweet girl. How can you want me?"

❁ — You lean up with an arm thrown over his sturdy shoulders, unhooking your bra, which he pulls away as you bring your caress to his thickset arms, holding yourself upright to kiss at the tragedy of scars across his chest. Simon holds you by the small of your back, letting his eyes fall shut and embracing how much he feels the delicacy of your soft kiss across his skin, the sensation warming his body down to his toes like sunshine.

❁ — Reaching his shoulder, you trace a nail along the groove of the scar that cuts through his mouth, your eyes aglow with affection. It's a look he's not ready for; it stirs in his chest a throbbing ache to never be without you, but what you say next surpasses it.

❁ — "Make me yours."

❁ — In a moment when the thickness of his fingers were tangled with the grace of yours, Simon once told you that whatever was left of him belonged to you. You could have the broken shards of a man he still had left to give. But then you embraced him, held those pieces for long enough to carry him here to the moment when you said those exact words that made his soul alight, and he is suddenly entire.

❁ — A groan flutters from him, and in his head he maps out a plan for everything he wants to do to you, knowing where to start first as he travels down your body. Parting your thighs around his shoulders, he kisses the wet spot darkening the bridge of your underwear with the fullness of his mouth, pressing his nose into you until you keen and lift your hips, giving him the opening he needs to pull your underwear down blindly and show you what you mean to him.

Comments are appreciated 🥺 Thank you for reading 💖

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley imagine #ghost x reader #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley x female reader #modern warfare 2 x reader #call of duty mw2 #ghost fanfic #ghost imagine #mw2 x reader #*my writing

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skylarsblue · 1 year

Text

✦Incorrect C.o.D Quotes✦

(Bros I'm so sorry, I've had the biggest fucking writer's block. I'm hoping some silly lil meme posts will make up for it until I can write something substantial, I'msosorry-)

Y/N: Some of us, I don’t wanna name names, give me a headache when they speak and its- Soap: Is it me?? Y/N: No. Graves: Is it me? Y/N: …it’s not Soap- --

Price: I’m gonna make you a soup. Gaz, delirious with the flu: I don’t wanna be a soup, Captain… Price: …right, how about I give you soup instead? Gaz: That’d be nicer. Price: Right. --

Soap: What the fuck knuckles is this? Valeria: *holding her hyper femme gf in her lap* She’s my girlfriend you intolerant shit. Soap: Whoa! Pump the hate brakes Fox & friends. I’m just surprised anyone would date you. Especially Pinkie Pie from My Little Pony. Y/N, on Valeria’s lap: You know that cartoon? Soap: No comment. Ghost: No, I think you should comment more, Johnny. Soap: NO. COMMENT. Moving on! Gaz: We’re gonna circle back to that. --

Graves: I think the term you’re searching for is ‘current captain’. Ghost: The words I’m searching for, I can’t say. Because there’s a rookie *motions to Soap* present. Soap: No no, say it. I can handle it. Ghost: You sure? Soap: Absolutely, L.T. Ghost: *looks at Graves* Fucking donkey lookin’ muppet bitch. Soap: Brutal blow, sir. Well done. --

Y/N: *comes in* Hey, Gaz, how old is your captain? Gaz: What? Y/N: No not like that…it is, it is like that. How old is he? I came into base, he asked if I needed anything to eat. I said ‘eat what’? Gaz: Okay, first of all, put my plate down and stop hitting on my captain! Y/N: Don’t get mad at me! I don’t even wanna be here. Y’all the ones that want me to be here. --

NPC: Ohhh if I weren’t a lady, I’d deck you! Fem!Y/N: Oh please. Try it and I’d have you on your back so fast you’d think you’re on a date. Ghost: *spits tea* Price, covered in tea: That was so unnecessary- --

Ghost: Mmph. Y/N: Dark room, avoidant, you seem tired despite sleeping for awhile…you wanna try and get out in the sun or do you just need to be in the sadness dungeon? Ghost: *holds up two fingers* Y/N: Would you like some tea for the sadness dungeon? Ghost: …Mhm. Y/N: Tea for the sad dragon coming up! Ghost: Mmph. (Aka “thank you”) Y/N: No problem! --

Y/N: Ya know sometimes there’s times in life where you just have to sit back and go, “ya know what? I’m proud of myself.” Gaz: Is this one of those times? Y/N: No- Soap: *wheeze* --

(Shibari reference)

Price: …alright, when I said we needed to restrain him in a way that ensured he couldn’t get out. This is not- Gaz: These are not military knots. Y/N: No, they aren’t. You all suggested knots that he would know how to get out of. You told me to get rid of that possibility. So, I did. Soap: He is tied…to the ceiling. Ghost: You kinky bitch. Y/N: *shrug* Price: Where did you even learn this? Y/N: That is for me and my daddy issues to know, sir. Don’t worry about it. Just wake him up so we can start interrogating him.

Graves: We can rule the world! Ghost: *turns to leave* Graves:: *watches him pull out something of Y/N’s* Graves: WH-YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FUCK MY WIFE Graves: GHOST. G H O S T Ghost: *leaves* --

Graves: Let me log into Twitter- WAIT, IS THAT GHOST’S DICK!?! Ghost: I fucked your wife. Graves: AGGHHHHHH- --

Medic!Y/N: Don’t torture yourself Ghost. *snips bandage* Medic!Y/N: That’s my job.~ Ghost, internally: Stayfocusedwecannot- --

Price: We’re you listening to me at all? Y/N: No I was fantasizing about beard burn. Price: Pardon? Y/N: Huh? --

Ghost: He died of natural causes. Gaz: You pushed him off the roof. Ghost: Gravity is natural. --

Y/N: Nuh Uh, no. I’m not doing it. I have self respect, and I will not stoop so low as to- Gaz: *brings out 100£.* Y/N: -oooooo*takes money* I’ll have it done in an hour. --

Soap, looking at Konig: That man is a tree. Y/N: Then I'm a fucking squirrel. Soap: On the hunt for nuts then? Y/N: Famished for them. Ghost: Why do I sit with you two...

#call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #konig #cod konig #john price #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #phillip graves #valeria el sin nombre garza #incorrect cod quotes #incorrect quotes #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare

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mockerycrow · 10 months

Text

Emergency Contact (2/2) (Ghost x GN!Reader)

-> PART ONE OF EMERGENCY CONTACT

Summary: You never expected Simon to come to your aid, and Simon assures you that he would come every single time.

A/N: I genuinely appreciate the support of this concept <3 I truly did not expect so many people to want a part two, so here it is! please rb with what you think, i love to hear y’all’s thoughts! i’m honestly not the happiest with this, but i did what i could. i may rewrite this in the future.

[WARNINGS: Hospital setting, fluff, hurt/comfort, medical inaccuracies, ooc Simon.]

IT TAKES YOU FOUR DAYS to wake up. Four entire days for you to even move an eye muscle. Four days of anxiety, of Simon lying in wait, waiting for sign of life. Despite the doctors’ assurances of your condition, the confirmed brain activity, Simon was panicking.

He just couldn’t lose you, too. Not when he has such a great thing going for him, so when he learns you’re in a mini coma—induced by your own body to allow your body to rest and heal, he can’t help but freak out. His mind screaming that you’ll never wake up, that you’ll always by lying in a hospital bed, until someone in your family decides to come and pull the plug. He tried to keep himself preoccupied—he read books and articles on his phone, memorized each time the nurses came in to check your vitals, he even texted Price an update about his situation—it wasn’t much information, but he said something along the lines of something happened at home and he thinks his leave with have to be for a month, but there’s a good chance it might be longer.

Simon barely left the room—he couldn’t. Not when at any moment you could wake up, or any moment you could’ve died. He didn’t manage much sleep, either. Every time he managed to fall asleep, the same nightmare would play; what he imagined how your accident went. He imagined you walking down on the sidewalk towards the crosswalk down a street you both frequented together. You were always careful when walking—he knew you were having car troubles for the last few weeks. You press the button on the crosswalk pole to trigger the lights to turn red. Cars slow to a stop, and your crosswalk signs turns to a walking man. You quickly hurry across the crosswalk, but a car comes speeding down—and smashes right into you, full speed, sending you across the road. Simon is just standing there, watching. Completely unable to help. He always wakes up once he walks up to your mangled body.

Simon gasps quietly and jolts awake again, blinking the bleariness away, and the slow beeps and exhales of your machines come back. His rapid heartbeat begins to slow as he realizes that he’s still beside your hospital bed. He looks at you—you’re no longer on a ventilator, but you have an oxygen mask, a way to help your collapsed lung. It makes him feel a bit better, but Simon would very much prefer your eyes to be open, your fingers moving against the blanket you’d likely hate the texture of when you woke up—if you woke up—and he would want to feel your muscles moving under your skin. He also tries to ignore the fear of you having Amnesia after waking up.

Simon isn’t sure when he laid his head back down, but it shoots back up the second he hears a quiet noise escape you—it’s the first sign of life to Simon, his wide eyes scanning your body. His eyes fly to your hand, your fingers twitching a bit. Simon grabs ahold of your twitching hand immediately and looks at your face and he isn’t so sure why his heart is pounding beneath his ribs, but he doesn’t have too much time to focus on it as your arm twitches. It’s like you’re slowly coming back to life in a weird way, but Simon finds himself totally silent, like he can’t find the right words to say just yet. He doesn’t mean to hold his breath, but he does as he watches your shoulder twitch next, and then your eyebrows furrow. Your eyes are already closed, but you squeeze your eyelids together harder. Simon realizes that you haven’t had your eyes open for about four days, so he quickly dims the rooms lights and returns right back next to you. Simon reaches for your hand and gently holds it, watching you slowly get your surroundings.

Your eye flutter open slowly and you blink, and it’s obvious you don’t immediately process that you’re in the hospital. A croaky moan of discomfort leaves you and Simon sits up, the worry eating at his stomach. You look at Simon with unfocused and exhausted eyes and your eyebrows furrow again and your lips part.

“..Simon?”

He releases the breath he was holding and he nods, his black mask slightly moving as his lips move. “I’m right here, [name]. Right here.” Simon absolutely hates how shaky his voice is, and he watches you bit your lip as your eyes begin to fill with tears. His heart skips a beat—what’s wrong? Are you in pain? Are you scared? Simon decides he needs to know because he can fix it, he can help you, right? He needs to fix it—“Y.. You came for me..” You whisper, blinking a tear rolls down your cheek to your jaw quickly. Simon’s own eyebrows furrowed—did you think he wouldn’t? “Of course I did, love.” He murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I will always come for you.” You try to hold in the quiet sob, but your shoulders begin to shake. Simon reaches up and gently wipes away a tear with his thumb while he squeezes your hand. “No tears now, hm? You’ve.. You’ve survived the impossible.” Simon says, forcing his voice to be steady. His eyes begin to burn with his own set of tears forming. “I came as soon as I heard, [name]. Don’t ever think I wouldn’t come for you.“

Your lower lip curls as you try to not cry from his sentiment; this is the man who took you in after losing everything, and it took him a long while to even let you know of his actual name, let alone see his face unmasked. This is the man who does not tell you the details of his job, but you know that he could be killed from it. This is the man who sits next to you near his windowsill when you both can’t sleep—the man who wakes up, just knowing something is up. He makes you a cup of your favorite morning drink whenever he can, he signs his sticky notes with a poorly drawn skull instead of his name, he makes piss poor dad and army type jokes, annoys you with his cockiness and bought you a damn mattress and bed-frame—even thought he never had to. He remembers the little things about you, your favorite shows and games—your favorite books, your favorite foods, hell, he remembers every little awful story about your workplace and your job. He’s always been like a wild animal—you come too close and he flees, but if you’re patient do what he needs, he’ll come to you.

Simon blinks away the tears and he clears his throat, his voice hesitant as he speaks. “You made me your emergency contact.” His tone isn’t questioning or warbling in any way—he says it like a statement, a fact, which it is. You laugh quietly which quickly turns into a grimace, causing Simon’s thumb to stop moving over your knuckles for a moment. Of course any movement or sound would hurt. “I.. I had to put one down, I just.. put the first person who came to mind.. Y’know?” You murmured nervously. Simon’s breath hitches for a moment and he only responds with a “mmh” for the time being, which definitely makes you way more nervous than you started out to feel. Your heart monitor spikes for a moment, causing Simon to speak up. “Hey—just relax, okay? M’not mad, love. Not mad at all,” He begins. He glances away from you for a moment before looking back with such a vulnerable look—like he’ll break at any moment. “It was just.. a surprise. That’s all.” But both of you know it was more than just a surprise. It was a small declaration of prioritizing each other—you setting him as the first person to be notified for an emergency, and his acceptance of this role. Simon never thought he would be sitting here, beside anyone else than his teammates in a hospital setting.

Simon isn’t sure when he fell in love with you. Whether it was the first moment he laid eyes on you or way later down the road—he doesn’t know. What he does know is that this.. feeling, isn’t as scary as it used to be. People getting close to him used to terrify him and it still does—but.. there’s something about you. Something about you that makes Simon feel safe. Makes him feel like he doesn’t have to sit in the corner to watch the entire room, you make him feel like he doesn’t have to sleep with a hunting knife stashed under his pillow. You make him feel like he doesn’t have to question your motives with anything you do, you make Simon feel like he can just sit down and relax without having to worry about, well.. anything else besides from the question of what you’ll have for dinner that night. He tries to hold in the shuddery breath and when he can’t, his eyes dart away to your arm. You open your lips to speak again, but you begin to cough. Simon grabs the paper cup of water that has a straw in it that he’s prepared for you everyday just in case you had woken up and he slots the straw between your lips, which you greedily accept and drink down the cold water. It soothes the ache in your throat from being on the ventilator and from not speaking for a couple of days. Once you’re satisfied, he places the cup back on the side table. “Hey, Si,” You croak, your fingers weakly squeezing his hand. Simon’s eyes immediately meet yours again, searching for any hint of pain. You lick your lips, a light smile coming to them. “Two blondes walk into a bar. You’d think one of ‘em would’ve seen it.” He stares at you for a moment, his eyebrows raising. “Did.. Did you just..” You laugh weakly and nod, looking at him. “I did.” You clear your throat again and squeeze his fingers. “Did it because you’re in your head.. Don’t hafta think so.. so much when you’re with me, Simon.”

Simon brushes his thumb over your knuckles once again and he can’t help but silently agree—he doesn’t have to think about anything right now, he can just sit here, with you—even if it’s in a place like this, with you in a condition like that. Simon looks at you and you look back at him, into his soul—and for the first time, he doesn’t want to look away.

taglist;; @alwaystired--neversleeping @handsomeunderwear-art @indefenseofkara @kaysav608 @1-is-loneliest-number @rosee-sensuelle @kitty-satan1 @k4marina @rahmown @royalty-purple @bowtruckleninja @cumikering @silent-neptune @purechaosss @hauntedpass @mxtokko @meimhem [crossed out = not able to tag sorry!]

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ivestas · 1 year

Note

Thank you for writing my request, I loved it!! I have another idea but it's a deeper subject so I understand not everyone is comfortable with writing about it. Could you write about a younger reader and the team see self harm wounds and scars while they were injured or while they were changing? (Something along those lines) and what they would do/ react? Xx

what is most precious to you?

Summary: The 141 discover a part of you that you’d wanted to bury.

Tags: TW s/elf harm scars + sui/cide and talk of it, please read carefully/don't read if this topic triggers you, platonic!141 x medic!fem!reader, reader implied to be mentally ill, younger!reader, descriptions of blood and injury, canon typical violence, soap + ghost focused, unedited

Word count: 1.5k

Notes: im glad u enjoyed the previous req anon! i hope I'm able to do this req justice too 🫡

You’d been a part of the 141 long enough for the others to know and trust you.

An esteemed medic that knew medicine and all things fixing like the back of her hand, despite your age—it was a natural skill, it seemed. Your hands were always so damn fast with a gauze—hell, even a dirty rag you’d make use of in an instant.

You were just good. Reliable. Consistent. Seemingly just a normal young lady whose only eccentricity was the job she chose to be: a medic for a merc group.

Soap often liked to joke about that normalcy that clung onto you.

“Bet when you’re on leave you work a 9 to 5 and sleep right at 8. I’m right, aren’t I?”

You snorted. “No, I’d sleep at 9.”

“Ohhhhh, daring! Don’t be too crazy! Ya might just lose a leg!”

Even Ghost would sometimes jump in, adding his own joke occasionally.

“Should I get you a planner for your birthday? A nice, minimalist one with neutral stickers to match.”

You’d scoff and jab back, whether it be at Ghost’s mask or Soap’s current and past hair-styles.

But they never gave you a tough time about it—they were glad that one of them was able to blend back to civvy life with ease.

Price even said it was his favorite trait—”sometimes, you need the practicality and mindset of a normal lady to get shit done.”

“Thanks?”

The guys all had a similar image of what your childhood was like: middle-class, parents all stiff-like and old-timey, your favorite hobbies probably were things like football or reading, things like that.

However, that image shattered during a post-mission intermission.

Things went wrong, completely askew—the enemies were clearly prepared for the attack, because landmines were everywhere and the area was crawling with hostiles.

It was a resounding loss—many casualties, wounded, etc.

You could hardly keep up, trying to patch up as many as possible, even when the sky rained of bullets and the air tasted thickly of gunpowder and death. It was like a place between purgatory and hell, a constant flow of shouts, screams, explosions.

It was too late for you to noticed a bullet grazed your arm; it was deep enough to be visible, but luckily it wasn’t aimed low enough for it to shoot into your arm.

You had ignored the wound—in your mind, it only made sense to focus on the soldiers who were fighting for their lives and riddled with bullet wounds.

So you just did that: focus on them.

But, due to the constant movement and strain, the graze only worsened, almost tearing. The adrenaline numbed the pain, but you knew it was gonna hurt like a bitch soon enough.

Luckily though, Ghost shouted in your ear through the comms.

“Bravo-1, retreat!—fuckin’ hell—everyone, retreat!”

You did just that—retreat.

Huffing and puffing, you were quick to run to the distant chopper you recognized as the 141′s. A haze of sand was the only saving grace as it covered you from the enemies direct line of sight.

Soap pulled you into the helicopter with a quick grab of your wrist, completely unaware of the graze that arm sustained. You let out a sharp hiss of pain, feeling the skin tear just a little more.

The entrance of the helicopter shut, and with both of you heaving, the plane finally shot back into the air, rocking back and forth the slightest bit. The sound of bullets slowly melted away into harsh whirring and mechanical buzz.

You took a moment to collect yourself, inhaling sharply before you got up, arm still bleeding.

But, strangely, you felt it drip along your arm and into your hand, running along your finger—ah, it should’ve been obvious, the sleeve of your wounded arm had completely torn.

You lifted the arm, examining the wound.

Scars of varying sizes, textures, and freshness—some having strange bubbly dots, others consisting of messy lines. Some of the fresher scars had torn a little, causing thin lines or red to rise.

Your blood ran cold. You glance up, hoping—praying—that Soap didn’t see, or even understand the implications.

But you could see he was staring, the cogs in his mind slowly snapping together.

You put your arm away to your side, hiding it from his view.

“Lass—“

“I need a medkit. We have one on the plane?”

You loathed the look of sadness, of pity that shone in his eyes, pulled at the muscles of his face.

Don’t. Stop.

I’m not weak. Don’t—I’m not weak!

A chorus of words, feelings, of palpable dark was what filled your mind now. Insecurity, self-hatred, all of it—you’d been working on it, trying to regulate, to reason with the miasma that had taken ahold of your consciousness.

But, fuck, you’ve revealed it to Soap of all people—he felt bad, didn’t he? Disgusted? Worried? He was gonna tell Price, wasn’t he? That your unfit for the 141, that—

A hand rested on the top of your shoulder.

“Can I patch you up?” Soap asked softly.

You grit your teeth. Moving away from his hand, you shook your head, glaring at the floor. A small splatter of blood was there. “I can fix it myself.”

You expected—wanted—him to berate you.

But he didn’t. He was kind.

“Sure, kid. I’ll just get ya the med kit—stay put.”

Another wave of shame rocked you. You sat on one of the small seats connected to the walls of the heli, rubbing away the small bits of dried blood.

Consumed by your thoughts, you didn’t hear Soap murmuring to Ghost.

“The kid—she, ah...” He ran a finger along his wrist. “Catch my drift?”

“Cutting herself?” Ghost said bluntly.

“Sometimes I wish you had a little more tact, L.T.”

Ghost ignored him. “They fresh or old?”

“Both,” he sighed, grabbing a med kit from one of the plane’s various compartments. “What’re we supposed to do? Don’t wanna scare off the kid, but don’t wanna leave her on her own devices hacking away at ‘erself!”

Ghost grabbed the kit from his hands. “I’ll handle this. You sit down—go near the Captain. Try to leave us some privacy.”

Hesitantly, Soap nodded. “Work your magic, sir.”

Ghost made his way to the other end of the helicopter where you were. You were hunched over your wound, a deep frown on your face. It’s uncharacteristic, but he knew it was a part of yourself you’d prefer to be shrouded in dark. Suffering wasn’t a nice look, was it?

But it was human. Denying your own right to feel it—it made Ghost frown too.

He sat beside you, kit in his hand. You had finally looked up then, alarmed.

“Gimme your arm, kid.”

You opened your mouth.

“Not leavin’ till I patch your arm up, so don’t even try.”

Shamefully, you lifted your arm slowly.

He took it with gentle but firm hands, a thumb running along a faint scar.

Ghost opened the kit haphazardly with another hand.

“When I was your age—maybe a little younger—couldn’t find much meaning in everything.”

He lifted his hand from your arm and grabbed alcohol and a small cotton rag. Dampening the rag with alcohol, he drew it to your arm, rubbing away the excess blood and cleaning the wounds. You didn’t make any noise, only breathing raggedly.

“The suffering was pointless, in my eyes; thought, ‘this isn’t bloody fair’. Born in a shitty house with a shitter father, food hardly ever on the table, my mind deteriorating, and the world cast in deep gray.”

You nodded.

Ghost grabbed a bandage gauze, unravelling it and wrapping it gently around the graze and the scars. It was calming, watching him work away, even if the wrapping was a little clumsy.

“The harsh reality came a little while later, and it’s that people like me—us—we gotta work hard for shit to change. That this weight forced upon us, it’s only we that can shed it off. It’s still not fair—frankly, suicide is easier. Thought of doing it for the longest time... But...”

He shook his head. “In my eyes, it’s a coward’s way out. We should never die by our own hands—there’s always something to live for.”

“What are you living for?”

“Mmmm.... For tomorrow’s pint.”

You laughed.

He grabbed a safety pin and pinned the end of the gauze. “...now, I know it’s ‘silly’ to say, but you know we’re here for you?—the 141′s got your back, kid—how about this, let’s make a deal.”

“Yeah?”

“You ever have the urge to cut yer arm, you come straight to me, or the others. They’ll listen. They care.”

They care.

It’s weird, but hearing the words said out loud, it hit you.

They really care.

You took in a shaky breath. “Thank... you.”

“It’s no problem at all, kid. Stay strong.”

AO3

Masterlist

Requests are open

#modern warfare x reader #modern warfare 2 x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #tw s/elf harm #idk if its an unpopular opinion to assume ghost has some variation of depression #but its a personal headcanon!#john mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #simon riley x reader #mw2 x reader

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ohworm-writes · 6 months

Text

「✰」 ━━ NIKOLAI HEADCANONS

RATING R - Restricted [ Content Warnings : 18+ mdni, gn!m!f!reader, strong language, alcohol mention and consumption, fluff, possible mistranslation, spider mention, smut, dom!Nikolai, sub!reader, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, praise, degradation, masturbation, riding, hair pulling ]

SYNOPSIS Both general and romantic, safe for work and not safe for work, headcanons for, arguably, one of the most underrated Call of Duty: Modern Warfare characters to date - Nikolai. (This is my first time writing smut so any tips and feedback is greatly appreciated!)

WORD COUNT 1.2k

SAFE FOR WORK

His hands, and just his body overall, run naturally warm. Not to the point where he can be considered a "walking heater" or burning to the touch, but just exudes a constant warmness overall.

Dad-bod, no questions asked. He's not completely cut, not all hard surfaces and muscles - he's got a plush softness to him body that's equally as firm. He works out and keeps himself in shape, of course, because, granted, it's a given that comes with his profession, but he indulges himself equally as much.

He doesn't drink heavily, per se, setting a hard cut-off point for himself that he abides by like it's law, but he won't deny a drink if he's offered it. After all, drinking culture is big in Russia - he can hold his own just fine. That being said, vodka isn't his favorite, but he doesn't hate it by any means, either.

Acts of service and quality time are his love languages. He loves spending time with you whenever he can, especially considering how his profession can take him away for months and more at a time. If it's possible, you're always by his side or he's by yours. Will do anything you ask of him, too - be it chores, tasks, or anything else.

That being said, it can also be argued that giving gifts is one of his primary love languages, too. Any time he's out on a mission, he always tries to get you something from wherever he's been to - there are many perks to being a pilot, now aren't there?

He snores when he sleeps, and he sleeps heavy. Not to the point where you'd have to dump a bucket of ice water over him to wake him up, but to the point where you have to shake him vigorously to get him to slowly rouse. Sounds like a lawnmower when he snores.

His kisses are soft and slow, one hand on your waist or back, pulling you in, while the other holds your chin with such tenderness, guiding your lips to meet his, breathing out a heavy sigh as he relaxes into you.

Opts for Russian terms of endearment over English ones. It feels more personal to him, calling you something in his native tongue rather than something he hears everyone around him call their partners - it's more special to him.

Лапушка/Лапочка - Lapochka/Lapushka (sweetheart)

Любимая/Любимый - Lyubimaya/Lyubimyy (darling)

Surprisingly or not, he's actually a really good cook! He's traveled to so many places and tried so many different kinds of food so, naturally, he's learned to make them for himself. He downplays his abilities, but he looks like an absolute professional when he's in the kitchen.

When he's not away for work, he's actually quite domestic. He has a house of his own far away from everyone else in a remote little town, at least an hour or two outside of any major city. A cabin of sorts, with a place for his own little garden that he tends to (or, more accurately, which you tend to).

He even has his own little stall at the town's farmers market where he sells what he grows whenever it's ready. Everyone has so many theories about him because, honestly - why wouldn't they? A Russian man who lives at the edge of town in a big ol' house, disappearing for weeks or months at a time. It's a cause for concern.

He's so polite and he has the best manners, no question about it.

Though, to combat it, he can be quite a loose-canon. He's reckless and unethical in his methods, especially with work, but some aspects carry over to his personal and domestic life. (If there's a spider, he's pulling out his pistol first, not grabbing a book or a shoe).

He has this sarcastic, almost morbid sense of humor, smug as all hell (worse than Graves, more often than not) but he's genuinely just playful. He's a friend to everyone he meets and can easily match vibes with anyone.

NOT SAFE FOR WORK

Dominant in every sense of the word. He might let you act like you're in control from time to time, but he's quick to show you your place and has no shame in doing it.

His hands are always on you, no matter the occasion. He has to have some sort of physical contact when it comes to you. Be it a hand on the small of your back to guide you, on your shoulder to assure his presence, his leg touching yours when you sit down, a palm on your thigh as he drives.

One-hundred percent an ass man. Squeezing, slapping, spanking, groping - doesn't matter. If he can, his hand is there, no discussion.

He's an exhibitionist, easily. The risk of getting caught, whether if he's by himself or if he's with you, turns him on beyond belief - it gets his head spinning.

Helicopter sex! He's absolutely obsessed with getting you to ride him while he sits in the cockpit, holding onto your hips, fingers bruising into the skin, his legs spread wide with his jumper zipped down as far as it can go, fucking up into you as you bounce on his cock.

Jerks himself off in his helicopter too, biting down onto his fist as he fucks into his hand with purpose.

He's noisy! All grunts and growls, whispering to you how good you feel, practically narrating what he's doing sometimes.

It's a balance of praise and degradation that he gives. Sometimes it fifty-fifty, saying how you're taking him so well, like a good whore should. Sometimes it switches from one to the other (be it extremes or not) - it just depends.

Gives oral like it’s his job. Steady grip on your thighs, pushing them back and wide and buries himself between them for as long as you'll allow him to. He's so sloppy with it too, drooling and spitting all over you as he sucks you off/eats you out. (If you look close enough, you can tell it's started to bleach his beard, too).

Takes his time fucking you. He doesn't like quickies at all - if he isn't able to fuck you at the pace he wants, he isn't doing it. Now, this doesn't necessarily mean that he isn't up for hard and fast sex, but it's more so that he doesn't like time constraints.

More often than not, though, he goes slow (at least, at first), teasing you until you're begging before slowly pushing into you, dragging his cock in and out of you at an excruciating pace.

Speaking of, too, he's such a tease and he knows it.

Loves loves loves pulling and grabbing your hair, forcing you to arch your back as he pounds into you from behind relentlessly, watching the way your ass ripples with every snap of his hips.

Dumbification, too. Loves getting you all cock-drunk and fucked out to the point where you can't think for yourself, teasing you and borderline-mocking you as he slides a hand down your stomach, bringing his thumb down to your clit and making slow circles around it/grabbing the base of your cock and slowly stroking up and down it as he coos at you.

This goes hand in hand with overstimulation - loves making you cum over and over and over again until you can't think and it's too much, only to coax another orgasm out of you.

#call of duty x reader #cod x reader #Nikolai #Nikolai COD #Nikolai x reader #Nikolai cod x reader #cod nikolai #cod nikolai x reader #modern warfare x reader #mw x reader #mw2x reader #mw3 x reader #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare 3 x reader

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rivalriotrenegade · 10 months

Text

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

About this fic: This is technically supposed to be a Monster Simon x reader but can also be read as just human Simon. The monster type isn't specified so you can read it with whatever monster you have in mind! This is also inspired by @ghouljams Fae!Ghost AU. So if you like this I HIGHLY recommend checking out some of their stuff. Its amazing!

Word count: 719

Warnings: GN reader, small references to kinks and slight NSFW so if you ain't 18 this ain't for you :) Sorry not sorry. I also can't figure out the :readmore: so that's my bad guys.

You sit on Simon’s lap quietly reading as his face rests between your shoulder and neck, completely unaware of the inner turmoil that he’s currently going through. The longer you sit there, the more the edges of his mind begin to fray as he takes in your scent.

It calls to him. Reawakens parts of himself he thought he had long since buried. A forgotten instinct that he had tucked away deep within the darkest corners of his mind. Slowly, he feels it coming back to life, the darker, more possessive parts of himself.

The parts that make him want to snarl and snap at anyone who gets too close, at anyone who would dare take you away. Friend or foe, it doesn’t matter. He wants to stay like this forever, everyone else be damned.

He toys with the thought of sinking his fangs into you, of permanently marking you as his. His mouth waters at the thought. Simon Riley was never one to make a show of things, but the idea of everyone knowing who you belong to fills his head with plenty of dark fantasies.

His instincts scream at him to do it. “Now! Before someone else comes and takes them away!” They cry. If he was thinking logically he’d know that you would never leave him for anyone else, but he’s not thinking logically. All he knows is that you’re his and he needs everyone else to know it too. “Mine. Mine. MINE!”

Unconsciously he digs his fingers into you, pulling your body impossibly closer to him, determined to keep you there. Your flesh fills his hands perfectly, so soft and supple and all his.

The things he’d do for you, the things he’d do to keep you safe are outweighed only by the things he wants to do to you. All the nasty, horrible things. Things that’d make you scream and cry and beg for mercy… or maybe you’d beg for more? He doesn’t know which sounds better.

He wants you under him, filled to the brim with everything he has to offer! He wants to bring you to the brink of sanity and push you over it again and again. It doesn’t really matter how, though he might have some preferences.

Tied up and blindfolded or lost and hunted? Either would do. Humans are always so scared of the unknown, but he’d make sure you had nothing to fear. Nothing but him, that is. Pain and pleasure can be interchangeable or are they one in the same?

He doesn’t know anymore. Blame the war or the torture he’s endured or even his fucked up childhood. All he knows is that whatever it is it feels good. He’s never cared for anyone else’s pleasure but his own, but he wants, no he needs for you to feel good too.

But you're so different from him. Would you be able to handle all the vile things he’d do to you? Could you handle being held down and marked up? Could you handle being manhandled, bent to his every whim and desire as he slammed into you? Could you even take his—

“Are you okay? You’re breathing kind of heavy.” You ask him sweetly and just like that he snaps out of it. Carefully he shakes his head dismissing the intrusive thoughts. “I’m fine love, just go back to reading, yeah?” You look at him, tilting your head inquisitively. “Are you sure?” You ask. His heart hammers inside his chest, like a caged animal trying to break free. “Yeah lovie, I’m sure.”

Your eyes soften and you smile at him in a way that gets his blood racing. “I love you.” You say, so gently that it’s hard to even fathom that you’re talking to him. A man so messed up and broken. He swallows thickly. He can hardly believe that someone like you, so kind and caring, gentle to a fault, would choose to love a monster like him. If you knew what really went on inside his head, would you still love him?

He has to remind himself that you don’t know what goes on inside his head. You're so far away from the monster that he knows himself to be. So for now he’ll keep on indulging in you. “I love you too.”

That's all guys! I hope you enjoyed it and I also really hope it wasn't too cringe. If you have thoughts on it please let me know. Constructive criticism is ALWAYS appreciated. Have a lovely day!

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

Text

mary on a cross - the unforgiven

-simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

-warnings: mdni (18+), violence, death, smut, unprotected pinv, creampie, blowjob, mention of scars & alcohol, oral (fem rec)

-word count: 5.5k

-summary: you and simon take a break from the chaos of the pub

prev chapter masterlist

a/n: okay idk why this took me forever to write but it's done, not proofread

You reach for him in your sleep, your eyes fluttering open as the feeling of the space beside you being empty, you reach for the sheets, pulling them to your face and inhaling his scent. The room is bright when you finally wake, the large windows illuminating the space, breathing life into the room.

You glance around looking for him, your eyes catching the clock beside the bed, it was around 8am, you drag yourself from the bed, pulling the blanket around you as you stumble across the floors. You call out for him a few times but there’s no answer, nearing the other side of the flat you can hear shuffling downstairs.

You make your way down the stairs, your blanket tucked tight around you, keeping you warm as the sounds of the men fill your ears.

“Morning lass” Johnny gives a whistle as he eyes your form, bare legs and hair a mess from your sleep, your cheeks blush at his comment, Simon peeking around the corner.

“Hey sorry, didn’t want to wake you” His arm snakes behind your back and he places a kiss to the crown of your head.

“S’okay, what’s goin on?”

“Stopped by for some coffee”

“Tea” Simon interrupts

“Fuckin brits”

You giggle a little, “I’m gonna get dressed” You smile and make your way back up the stairs.

“She still doesn’t know?” Soap asks

“No, and she never will, I’m done”

“You’re a shit liar”

“I won’t drag her into this”

“Little late for that, by the way, that ex-boyfriend is heavier than he looks”

“I told you not to get involved Johnny”

“And if I didn’t you would’ve had a body in your alley to deal with”

“Why were you there anyway”

“Wanted to check in”

“You’re a nosey bastard you know that”

“Oh don’t I”

You jog down the stairs, newly dressed, sitting next to Johnny on a stool.

“So, what’re you two talking about?”

The two men exchange a quick look, “Simons thinking of takin a vacation” Johnny says, Simon turning his stare to frown at Soap.

“A vacation? Where are you going”

He has to think quickly, and make something up, “I’ve got an old cabin up north, was thinking of spending a weekend there”

“That sounds nice”

You smile at him, a lightbulb going off in his head, “Was thinkin you could join me?”

“Who’d run the pub?” “We can close for a weekend”

“Won’t that cost a lot”

“You don’t need to stress about it”

You give a small nod, “And what about you Johnny, what are you up to”

“Oh ya know, couple of things here and there”

You raise your eyebrows urging him to continue

“Mostly some tidying around, boring errands”

Simon releases a sigh, swearing that if he could he would strangle Johnny right there

“Well, are you gonna be around the pub?” “I think I’ll hang around for a little longer”

“Great, I’ve gotta run out so I’ll see you later” You hop off your stool, moving around the bar to stand on your toes, placing a soft kiss on Simon’s lips, he blushes at the action while Soap rolls his eyes. You wish the two a quick goodbye, walking out the front door to get started on your own errands.

“She’s good for you” Soap quips

“Shut it”

“I’m serious LT, she’s sweet, a nice change from your grumpy attitude”

Simon just stares at Johnny, his face saying enough as Johnny sips his coffee, a smirk on his lips.

You spend a few hours running around the town, picking up some things, and dropping off some breakfast for Mia before you get back to the Pub.

“Hey where’s Johnny”

“Had to go”

“Shame”

“Yea, so about this weekend”

“You don’t want me to come”

“What? No, I was just going to say that it’s a pretty long drive so we’ll have to take your car”

“Oh, okay”

“So we’ll stop by your flat before we go, you can grab whatever you need”

“Sounds perfect, we’ll close early tonight”

You smile at him as he walks towards the backroom to grab supplies for the bar. Work was slow, with barely any patrons during the day, you occupied the time with conversation between you and a few regulars, trying your hardest to understand what they were saying through their thick accents.

“Oi love”

You look up from the table you’re cleaning, Simon’s changed into shorts and a t-shirt, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, “I’m gonna go to the gym, we’ll head out when I’m back?”

“Let me come, it’s dead here anyway”

“Alright, c’mon then”

You giggle as you trail behind him, waiting for him to lock the door before walking the few steps next door to the gym, you step in and the thick air hits you, the place reeks of sweat, scattered people all working out, you feel out of place in your casual clothes, Simon placing a soft hand to your back to guide you through the room.

He stops in front of a punching bag, throwing his gear down before he wraps his hands,

“You box?”

“I used to, trying to get back into it”

You give a hum in acknowledgement, watching as he sets himself up in front of the bag, his strong arms flexed at his sides, he hits the bag hard, watching it swing back before delivering another blow, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on a little bit, watching his arms flex as he made contact with the bag, the concentration on his face as he timed his hits.

You watch him practice some hits, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin before his hand moves to stop the bag, keeping it still,

“Enjoying the view”

You suddenly realize that you’d been staring at him the entire time, your cheeks blush slightly as he catches you, your teeth biting lightly into your bottom lip as you nod your head, he lets out a light chuckle, shaking his head before resuming.

You stay quiet as you watch him workout for some time, running to grab him some water after the first 20 minutes, he continues for a little longer, his breath heavy as he pulls his fists back, unwrapping his hands.

“All done?”

“You want more?” “I could watch you do that for hours”

He smiles, a genuine smile as he leans down to grab his bag, his sweaty arm slinging over your shoulders as you make a face of disgust,

“You smell terrible”

“Guess we’ll have to clean up”

“We?”

He moves in front of you fast, arms wrapping around your waist as he lifts you into the air,

“Gross your sweat is all over me now”

“Whatever will we do?” He gives an exaggerated gasp, you roll your eyes at him, following behind as he unlocks the doors to the pub, making his way upstairs.

He moves to the bathroom, turning on the shower before stripping his clothes and tossing them to the side, your eyes are glued to him, drool practically forming at the sides of your mouth.

“You just gonna stare”

“Not a chance in hell”

You strip your own clothes, closing the space between you as you reach up to kiss him, your arms wrapping around his neck, his hands grab at the backs of your thighs, lifting you up so you can lock them around him as he walks the two of you into the shower, the steam from the water just heightening the heat that's emanating from you.

He presses your back against the tile wall, the water dripping over his bare skin as he peppers kisses down your neck, you let out a small gasp as his teeth dig into your flesh, biting lightly at your collarbone.

You can feel his hardening length pressing against your thigh, you wiggle your hips against him desperate for friction,

“Please Si, need you so bad” You whimper

He pulls back from you, his dark eyes scanning your face, full of lust, he leans in for one more kiss before he lines himself up with your weeping core, you clench around nothing as he teases at your entrance.

You sob into his shoulder as he pushes into you, the stretch of him moulding your entrance to his cock with every inch, your slick coats him as he pushes in deeper.

“Fuck love, see what you do to me, how bad I need you” He grunts into your ear, the noises shooting straight to your core as you cling to him. He holds your weight with his arms, keeping you against the wall as he thrusts into you, groans falling from his lips.

He nudges your head with his shoulder, urging you back so he can see you,

“Don’t hide, want to see you, want to hear all those pretty noises you make for me”

Your nails take across his back as you let your moans drip from your tongue, he leans in swallowing them with his lips.

He adjusts his grip on your legs lowering one so his free hand can toy at your clit, circling it with the rough pad of his thumb as you arch into him.

He presses his forehead to yours, the water cascading over the both of you as you melt into a puddle of moans and cries, his cock pounding into you as his fingers work your bud.

“Need you to cum for me angel, cum on my cock”

He thrusts harder, your hand bracing against the wall trying to keep your balance as you feel your legs weaken.

“Shit, so perfect for me, such a perfect little pussy”

His words ignite a fire in you, you grind your hips down to meet his thrusts, chasing your high as it bubbles in your stomach.

“So close Si, please”

“C’mon love, soak my cock”

You practically scream his name as you cum, your fingers pressing into the flesh of his shoulder as your limbs go limp, he holds you steady, his abdomen tightening as his own orgasm approach’s, he pulls you in for another kiss, holding your lips against his as he spills into you, his seed filling your core with warmth as a string of curses fall from his lips.

He releases your leg, his arm around your waist keeping you steady as you stand, the stream of water helping to ground you as your heartbeat settles, he holds you against him, choking back the words he so badly wants to say in order to stay in the moment.

You turn your back to him, reaching down to grab a bottle of shampoo before dispersing some into your hand, reaching up to run it through his hair, he hums at the contact of your fingers moving over his scalp, slumping his shoulders slightly to allow you easier access.

You can’t fight the smile that creeps on your lips, seeing such a large and daunting man melt under your touch made your heart skip a beat, his hands find purchase on your waist, his thumbs tracing over your wet skin as you work the product through his hair, you hands meeting his shoulder to urge him under the water.

He rinses the product, turning to grab a sponge, pouring some soap onto it before turning back to you,

“Your turn”

You giggle lightly as his hands make contact with your stomach, circling over your skin with the sponge as he watches the bubbles run down your frame, his touch is light, tickling you as he moves around.

You rinse off, finishing in the shower before stepping out, Simon grabs you a towel before wrapping himself in one and you can’t help but stare at his muscles, each ridge that sits on his chest,

“You stare a lot”

“Not every day you have a real greek god standing in front of you”

He scoffs at your words, “Don’t know about that one” He runs a tender hand over your jaw, his fingers pushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in to kiss you.

“Right, c’mon we’ve got things to do” He smacks your ass playfully, walking into the bedroom to get dressed. You do the same, throwing on your clothes as you watch him pack a small bag, tossing it over his shoulder before threading his hand into yours, the two of you making your way downstairs and through the pub.

Simon locks up before returning to you, he’s tall by your side as you walk down the few streets to your flat, the sunny weather outside amplifying your good mood as you chat.

You reach your flat in no time, unlocking the door before tossing Simon the keys to your car, letting him pack his things in as you step inside to gather yours.

You move around quickly, throwing things in various bags, picking out some clothes and sexy underwear just in case as you make your way back outside.

Simons leaning against the car door, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips as he eyes you,

“Ready to go?”

You skip over to him, standing tall to kiss him, he tastes like tobacco but you welcome it, smiling at him before moving around the car to get into the passenger seat. He smiles to himself, taking a final drag before flicking the butt to the pavement and getting in the car.

He was right, the drive was long, you’d already been on the road for two hours, passing by a few towns before you had made it to the country, bunches of trees breezing by your window, Simon's hand had been resting on your thigh for the majority of the ride, only moving to change the radio station or turn the ac up.

When you finally arrived it was close to sunset, the sky a mixture of purples and oranges as you approached the old cabin, he tosses you the keys while he grabs the bags from the car. You open the front door and scan the area, it's completely different than his flat, it's cozy, there are pictures on the wall, you take a minute to look closely, Simon's in a few but you don't recognize the others.

"My brother" He appears in the door frame, you turn your head to him, "In the pictures, it's my brother, sister in law and my nephew"

"You didn't tell me you had a family"

"I don't"

Your heart drops as your mind makes sense of his words, "This was their house?"

"Haven't been here in a while, little dusty"

You shake your head, "It's perfect" You move to him and wrap your arms around his waist, his snaked his around your back to hold you close.

“Whaddya wanna do” You ask, your head tilting up to lock eyes with him

“Honetly, go to bed”

“To sleep.. Or to bed” You smirk

He smiles at you, his arms hooking around your thighs as he lifts you, carrying you to the bedroom, your giggles echoing throughout the house.

The next morning was quiet, you woke up before him, watching the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, your fingers tracing his tattoos as you count the freckles on his cheeks.

“Mornin” He grumbles, he doesn’t bother to open his eyes, simply extends his arms around you, pulling you closer, you pepper kisses over his collarbones leading up to his face,

“Sleep well?” You giggle

“Best in years” His fingers push your hair behind your ear as he reches his neck to kiss you,

“C’mon” You move off of him, “You hungry?”

“Starving”

You make your way to the kitchen, pulling open cabinets to search for something, “Theres nothing to make” You pout, he stands in the hallway, arm braced against the wall as he stares you down,

“Not what I’m hungry for”

Your cheeks blush as his stare grows darker, closing the gap between the two of you and lifting you from the ground, his arms secure under your thighs as your ass falls against the countertop, the cold stone stinging your bare skin. He doesn’t bother to take your shirt off, he simply slides your panties from your legs, positioning your thighs over his shoulders as he trails kisses down to your core.

Your fingers thread through his hair, quiet pants falling from your lips as he teases around your dripping sex, placing kisses everywhere except the spot you need him most,

“So perfect” His breath ghosts over your pussy, the feeling making you clench around nothing

“Simon, please”

He stares up at you through his lashes, his hands pushing your thighs further apart, your hand falls back to brace against the counter, your chest heavy as your slick drips out of you. He licks lightly around your bud, whimpers escaping you as he teases around the bud, he enjoys watching you squirm, he wants you begging before he gives you anything. Your fingers are tugging at his roots, trying to pull him into you but he stands firm,

“Needy girl”

“Please”

“What do you need pretty girl”

“Need to feel you, need your fingers”

His hand extends toward your mouth, you open and he inserts two digits in, you swirl your tongue around them, hollowing your cheeks before he pulls them out with a pop, tracing them down over your chest before he pushes them into you, you let out a sigh of relief at the contact, his thick fingers working in and out of you, curling them as he pushes past his second knuckle, he watches your face scrunch from just the touch of his fingers.

He can’t wait any longer, his lips attaching to your clit, your elbow buckles from the contact, your back laying closer to the counter as his tongue flicks over the bud, swirling and sucking until you’re breathless.

“Taste so sweet baby” He purrs into your skin, your slick is coating his chin as his fingers pump into you, your leg tightens around him, holding him to you as he continues his assault, humming around your clit as your fingers tug at his roots.

“Please, so close”

“You wanna cum for me baby?” “Yes, please, need to”

“Good girl, cum on my fingers baby, doing so well for me”

His praise has your eyes squeezing shut, your pending orgasm forcing all your muscles to constrict against your will, you drop your head back, hands falling from him to grip the edge of the counter as his fingers brush against your sweet spot, over and over.

“That’s it baby, cum for me”

His free hand reaches to pinch at your hard nipple, the pressure building inside you threatening to explode, he presses his tongue flat and flicks over your clit, the change has you seeing stars as your climax hits you, your knuckles are white from the grip you have, your legs holding him against you as his fingers fuck you through your high, your hips twitching under him as your moans fall freely from your mouth.

“Such a good girl” He eases his movements, letting you come down before he stands, leaning over your breathless frame to kiss you, the remnants of your slick on his tongue,

“Told you, taste so sweet”

His arms help you from your position, sitting you on the counter as he holds you,

“You hungry?” He asks

You nod, biting your lower lip as your hands move to his pants, he stops your movements,

“I mean real food”

Your chest deflates a little, “Nothing here”

“I’ll go get some, towns a few minutes away” He leans in to kiss you, “Be good while I’m gone”

“I’ll do my best”

He smirks at you, placing a final kiss on your forehead before moving to the bedroom to get dressed. You wait a few minutes after he leaves, wandering the house, you check out a few rooms, your heart panging in your chest when you come upon a bedroom that clearly belonged to a young boy, trains and toy cars scattered across the floor, you know you shouldn't be snooping but curiosity takes over, you move around the upper floor, into the largest bedroom, everything looks like it hasn't been touched in years, the bed is unmade, there's laundry sitting in the basket, either Simon hasn’t been here in forever or he’s kept it the exact same for over a decade.

You leave the room, descending the stairs, trying to find something to do while you wait, deciding that going for a swim was the best option. Changing into your bathing suit you make your way out onto the back deck, it’s a small beach that the house looks out onto, but private, the water is cold when you step in, the waves lapping against your legs as the sun warms your skin, you make your way out further, the water sitting just below your shoulders.

You must’ve been in the water for a while as your trance is broken by Simon calling for you, you turn to him, arm braced above your head to block the sun as he stands on the desk, grocery bags in hand as he waves for you, you shake your head with a smile, urging him to join you, he drops his shoulders and you can practically hear the sigh that falls from his lips. Giving in he drops the bags, peeling his shirt off before making his way over to you, you can’t help but blush at the sight of him, tall and broad shoulders, his skin glowing under the light of the sun, the way his arms flex as he takes his shorts off, long strides carrying him towards you.

“It’s bloody cold”

“You get used to it”

“Right,” His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his form as the water from your chest transfers over to him, making his muscles tense a little.

“C’mon, let’s go eat”

“It’s so nice out here though” You pout

He huffs a laugh, bending down before his shoulder connects with your stomach, lifting you from your place and throwing you over his shoulder. You thrash your legs around but his grip keeps you firm against him,

“Oh my god, let me down!”

“Nope” His palm smacks your ass, making your flinch against him, the water from both of you dripping as he carries you into the house, planting you down on the floor once inside.

“I’m soaked”

He smirks at your words and you roll your eyes playfully,

“I’ll clean it later, come”

He urges you to sit, pulling out a few boxes and placing them in front of you, he devours his breakfast in seconds while you sit picking at your food.

“So this was your brothers house?”

He’s apprehensive to answer, waiting a best before choosing his words,

“Yeah, him and his wife lived here with my nephew”

“And they’re, gone?”

He just nods, turning his attention from you, you push your food away, standing in front of him before wrapping your arms around his dorm, his cheek settling against your chest.

“I’m sorry”

“S’not your fault love”

“I know it’s just, it sucks”

He huffs a small laugh, “Yea, it does”

You hold him for a moment before pulling away, your hand moving to grab his,

“C’mon”

“Where to?”

“Still hungry”

“Your foods there” He quirks his brow

You don’t respond, simply leading him to the bed room when you let go of his hand, turning to face him you pull the strings of your bathing suit, letting the clothing fall to ground before you make your way into the bathroom. He watches you curiously as you lean to turn on the shower, giving him the perfect view of your body,

“Coming?”

He moves towards you, “I will be”

You step into the shower, warm water washing the sand from your body as he stands in front of you, you reach up to kiss him, the water droplets cascading down your form as your hand snakes down his stomach, palming over his length.

“Been thinking about this all morning” Your hand grabs his length, squeezing lightly before running your palm over it, you feel him twitch into your grip, his hands roaming your form as he gazed at you.

You kneel in front of him, he plants one hand in your hair, pulling it back from your face while the other braces him against the wall, you stare at him through your lashes as you lick a stripe from his base to rip, feeling him grow harder under your touch.

He lets out a weak sigh as you take him into your mouth, your lips wrapped around him as your tongue flicks over his tip, gathering his pre cum and swallowing it.

Simon grunts as you take more of him into your mouth, his tip poking the back of your throat as your nose nestles against his pubic hair, you moan against him and he has to stop himself from thrusting into your mouth.

“Fuck love, feels so good”

You hum at his praise, your hairs roaming his form before settling on his thighs, grounding yourself as you bob along his length, flattening your tongue to lick every inch of him.

You feel him get unsteady as your hand plays with his balls, kneading them in your palm as you continue to work him,

“Shit baby, doing so fucking well”

You pull off him, staring up as a string of spit connects your lips to his tip, drool that pooled in your mouth falling to drip between your breasts, his eyes are glued to you as your hand pumps him.

He lets out a string of moans as your lips return to him, bobbing faster as the the sound of wet gags fills the air,

“Fuck, m’so close”

You stare up at him, gently squeezing his thigh to give him the okay to use you, his grip on your hair grows tighter as he holds you on his cock, burying himself in your throat as he begins to thrust, you gag around him, your digits squeezing into his skin to stay balanced as he grunts above you.

You focus on breathing through your nose as his tip makes contact with the back of your throat, over and over until he sets himself deep, holding you there before you feel his balls tighten.

He lets out a deep grunt as he cums, the hot spend dripping down your throat, he loosens his grip on your hair and you move slowly over his length, milking him for every drop.

He lets out a small whimper as he finishes, the sensation of your tongue overstimulating him before you pull off, swallowing as he stares at you.

“God you’re perfect” His hand cups your cheek as he helps you stand, pulling you in for a kiss and swirling his tongue over yours, his salvia mixing with the salty taste of his seed in your mouth.

You spend the rest of the afternoon outside, swimming in the ocean together, bathing in the sun, always in arms reach of the other. As the sun fades the two of you make your way inside for dinner, eating whatever Simon had cooked and managed to not burn while the sound of the waves and cicadas flood your ears.

“Can we stay here forever?”

“I wish love” He responds, smiling at you

“Don’t wanna go back tomorrow”

“I know but the pub can’t run itself”

You huff a small laugh, turning back to your meal.

The rest of the night was quiet, falling into a sort of domestic routine of washing dishes and sitting together on the porch, chatting about nothing in particular, you wanted to ask more about his family but you knew he didn’t want to talk about it, saving your questions for another time.

The next morning was just as calm, waking before him again and simply staring at him, he looked so peaceful when he was asleep, nothing to worry about or bother him, you trace the line of his nose with your finger, he scrunches his face in his sleep and you let out a small laugh.

He opens his eyes slightly, dark eyes staring back at you as a small smile creeps across his face, his arms pulling you into him as he lifts his body over yours, his broad shoulders resting against your form. You roam your hands over his back, fingers feeling over every ridge of scar tissue as he buries his nose in your neck, humming against your skin.

“Have to get up” You place a small kiss to his shoulder and he mumbles, “C’mon, it’s a long drive”

“I’ve changed my mind, we stay here forever”

You laugh against his skin, your fingers moving to thread through his hair as you pepper kisses over his shoulders and neck.

He pushes up with a grunt, gazing at you for a second before leaning down to kiss you, his warmth enveloping your skin as his body cages you against the mattress.

“So beautiful” He whispers and you can’t help but blush at his words, reaching up for another kiss before he gets up.

The two of you go for a final swim before packing all your things away, enjoying the water and sun as in a few hours you’d be back to work, busy and reeking of alcohol.

Simon carries your bags to the car, sitting himself behind the wheel before his hand finds its usual spot on your thigh, his thumb tracing over the skin as he pulls away from the house. You watch the building fade from view, your eyes glued to the sight of the ocean and the terrain as you drive back to the city.

You were a few miles out when you could already hear the noise, car horns and people shouting, there must’ve been a football match that day because everyone was in the streets, running around and shouting from their windows.

Simon pulls up to your flat, parking the car before getting out to open your door, he lifts your bags into the house before meeting back with you,

“I’ll see you at the pub in a few yeah?”

You nod, reaching up to kiss him before he walks away, his talk form navigating around the herds of drunk people.

You unpack your bag, throwing on new clothes and fixing your hair before making your way over to the pub, trying to ignore the shouting from drunk men on the streets, wishing deeply that you had your personal bodyguard to protect you. You arrive at the pub and stand outside for a minute, the lights are off but the door is open, stepping in you shout for him.

There’s not response but you can hear noises upstairs, making your way to the second floor your heartbeat rises,

“Simon?”

“Stay downstairs” You hear him yell, his voice is panicked as a loud thud echoes.

“Is everything alright? The door was open”

“Just go downstairs!”

His voice booms, setting your nerves on edge, your mind races with all the thoughts of what could be happening, thinking about all the things he could be hiding you muster up some courage and push open the door.

A million thoughts ran through your mind, you almost wished it was a girl he was hiding compared to this, the sight of a lifeless body on the ground, a trail of blood across the floor while Simon drags the man.

He drops the body with a thud, his eyes locked on yours as fear sits in your chest, he moves toward you, his hands covered in red as he throws his palms up in defence.

“He broke in”

“You killed him” You’re frozen in your spot

“He had a knife”

“You- you killed him” You can’t face him, your gaze set on the dead body lying on the floor

“Love, look at me”

You shake your head, “How, what?” You struggle to form a sentence, his arms reach for you and you flinch, stepping back.

“Baby it’s ok, just go downstairs”

“No, I don’t, Simon what the fuck” Tears prick your eyes, “How are you so calm”

“You know I’ve done it before love”

“Those are different circumstances, right?”

“Yes”

“This, this is murder”

“Self defence, please, just go downstairs and I’ll explain everything”

You stare at him for a moment, your options run through your mind, how could a man so gentle, so tender with you be capable of this, be so calm during this, you should run, should call the police but against better judgement you listen, leaving down the stairs you lock the front door, sitting down to try and catch your breath.

You can’t think about anything except the sight of your maybe boyfriend dragging a dead man across the floor, your ears don’t even focus on the noises above you, the sound of Simon grunting as he moves the body.

You sit in silence for 10 minutes before you hear him come down the stairs,

“You stayed” He sounds relieved

“You have a lot of explaining to do”

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