#Heid Smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redwithjoon · 1 year ago

Text

"Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers uncontested."

"You don't want to...?"

Ultimately uneventful :/

HotchxReid

Word count: 8k

Just filth - NSFW!!!

An insanely stressed Hotch was ready to fight an inmate and is currently giving Spencer a seminar about how his wife wants a divorce pronto. Spencer decides that this just can't be and takes matters into his own hands. Quite literally. Oh, and he also finds out that his boss has a weirdly specific kink??

Read on Ao3

I come bearing food: @observaureium, @gay-in-a-jar, @castielryan

Have fun ↓

"Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers uncontested."

There it is.

Spencer has been silently wondering why his boss 'escalated the situation' by losing his patience and was about to fistfight a whole serial killer so easily. Hotch had faced down more unreasonable, violent unsubs in the past, but for some reason, the moment he was baited by that man, he instantly snapped.

"So we don't waste money on lawyers."

Well, that'll do it. Having your wife screaming you down over the phone about how she wants you to officially divorce her already was obviously not an ideal start of the day but it can't just be that, can it? His boss is ridiculously pent up, and it's not like he had anyone to bitch to. After a few seconds, Spencer realized that Hotch wants some kind of response to his almost-confession but he's still unsure of what to say… like he literally has no fucking idea what Hotch wants him to do? Reassure him that it was going to be okay? Tell him that he's a good man either way?

"You don't want to…?" Well, yeah obviously.

Hotch continues to randomly complain to him about his problem with his soon-to-be ex-wife and Reid just lets him be, trying to help him by giving responses he thinks would calm him down and make him feel the slightest bit better but there's only so much he can say.

And to make it even worse, now they're stuck in traffic. In an absolutely insane traffic.

Hotch subtly asks the taxi driver next to their car what exactly is happening and the driver just sighs. "I dunno, there's apparently a car crash not too far from here. They're rerouting the cars but…"

"It'll take a while." Hotch thanks the man and rolls his windows back up.

Christ. What can they do? Hotch is already irritated and now they have this. And the burden is not just mentally, Hotch has been driving for a while now and Spencer knows it's usually nothing for the man but it's a bit more tiring when you're stressing out about your imminent divorce, huh?

Like a good friend, Spencer just listens to him, he listens, he listens, and he listens.

But, fuck… there's only so much passive-aggressive talk about Haley that he can take.

"Are you tired?" Spencer cuts off Hotch in the middle of his mumbled rant, Hotch was talking about custody or something and Spencer has been listening long enough that he feels like he could be a divorce lawyer too by now.

"Not really."

"Well, I'm tired, it's the uh, the heat, you know, and I'm still a bit shaken from before." He is not shaken from before, but he'll say whatever it takes to get the hell out of this car.

Hotch's previous potential outlet, a literal full-on fistfight, has been taken from him and now it has nowhere to go, no relief from the frustration. Too bad that they're not in the FBI's training room where Hotch can go berserk in shredding rubber dummies.

"I see. We can pull over, but there's still no place to rest."

Right. Ah… think, Spencer, think. You may not be under intense terror anymore and can't do your best work, but you need to come up with something.

Hm… what will he do when he needs to let out stress– wait, no, not him, what would guys like Hotch do when he needs to let out stress other than sweating it out? Reid is tempted to just tell him to do laps but then a sudden realization hits him like lightning, so fast and shocking that he almost jumps on his seat.

There's another way to sweat things out, right?

But that won't do, does that even exist in Hotch's list of options of stress relief? Workout? Deep meditation? And…?

"Hotch, do you want to rest? There's uh… well, there's a hotel there." Spencer points at a discreet-looking hotel. Hm… too discreet in fact with its own parking lot and everything.

Hotch blinked. If it's any other hotel, he'll just chalk it up to Spencer needing that sweet coolness of AC and some subpar dining. But that's not that kind of hotel, is it?

"That's not a proper hotel, Reid." Perhaps his subordinate just doesn't understa–

"I know."

Of course he knows. Look, he knows a lot of stuff, a lot, some of them irrelevant, but even he knows that that is a love hotel, a short-stay hotel to be exact, paid by the hour for obvious fucking reasons. Hotch knows, he knows, he's just offering.

It's silent for a while and Spencer's hyper brain is already thinking of dozens of different ways on how he would be fired (he's up to 57 potential scenarios by now), but shockingly…

Shockingly, Hotch makes a left turn, he drives down the rather empty road and parks into the almost-hidden parking lot. Quiet, discreet, just everything you need to make sure no one sees you come and leave.

Hotch turns off the engine and Spencer is just… he's waiting for Hotch to unlock the car. He's nervous. Sure, he was the one that offered Hotch to stay in a love hotel for a few hours with the obviously very unprofessional, potentially damaging suggestions, but he's still nervous, okay? He just… wants to get Hotch's mind off of this downright spiral he is on and he's not the best in–

"Are you sure?" Hotch's voice is as calm as ever, if Reid isn't a profiler he would've missed the slight tremble on his voice.

"…No one has to know."

"No, Reid, are you sure you also want this…?"

Yeah, Reid, do you want to fuck your boss? His brain is taunting him, asking him why he's offering sex to his boss but then again, why did his boss accept, hm? Why did he even consider the idea? He's not the only one in the wrong here.

"I…" He clears his throat. "Can you just unlock the car…?" He could hear the door unlocked, Spencer walks out first, still looking everywhere but at Hotch. "…Do you have cash?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Good. So um, we're… good?"

"Good."

Spencer wants to scream from all the one-word answers. Of all times can Hotch just sound less formal? Just once, can he sound less formal when they’re literally going to have real sexual intercourse?

…probably not, huh?

The less they talk the better. Reid wants to hiss the moment they walk into their room, the thought of how dirty this room must be even though it looks perfectly clean considering the purpose of such accommodations but he pushes through it.

Okay. Now that they’re here, uh… what should they do first?

Spencer almost jumped when Hotch walk past him and sits on the bed. The first time they finally lock eyes with each other, as if creating a silent agreement, Reid lightly nods and put his bag on the chair. Okay, no thinking, (no bitching about divorce too,) only uh… only…

Okay, class? What should we do first?

That's the limit on how his brain is functioning right now, thinking about what should they do first? What should he say to his boss? Should he, like, give him options? List out the menu like he's a waiter just asking when he wants for lunch?

Hotch hasn't said anything and it's unnerving to be honest.

Spencer sighs comically loud before he decides he might as well chose for him, if Hotch doesn't know what he wants then they just do whatever they can do.

It's not like Hotch doesn't know what he wants.

When Spencer turns around to grab something from his bag, Hotch can't help but watch and linger his eyes on Spencer's body.

He admits that he has never, in the years and years of them working together, thought of Spencer as sexy. One part of it must be from the fact that he had started working with Spencer since he was a lanky, nervous 21-year-old who looked like a kid straight out of highschool. He never really noticed the change until now.

Hell, even the word 'sexy' doesn't seem to fit him at all, with Reid always dressing up so conservatively.

He always, always dressed like that, the only casual clothes Hotch had ever seen him in is his standard academy uniform and some shirt he wears strictly when the summer heat just gets too much. Even then he would wear short sleeves button up.

Suddenly he remembers how surprised he was when one scorching hot day, he saw Reid with his long hair tied in a ponytail with the first two buttons of his shirt undone. It's not… he's not showing any excessive skin, the buttons didn't even show anything that can't be compared to Prentiss' shirt but it just looked… vulgar. It looked so vulgar merely because of the rarity of it. He remembered for a second that he almost looked away, like it's not something decent or proper for his eyes but then he remembered how illogical that is.

That's something he didn't remember till now but it comes back at full force right this minute, when Reid bends down just the slightest bit to rummage through his bag to get…

It's ridiculous how hot it is when Spencer pulls out a hair tie from the bag's tiny pouch, the man reaching back to gather his neck-long, perfectly curled hair. It's ridiculous how he feels himself getting more and more aroused just to see Spencer unbutton his cufflinks.

The fact that he feels some kind of excitement seeing Spencer struggling to pluck his cufflinks off…

He needs to stop thinking and just enjoy it. Besides, isn't this Spencer's idea? Is he not in the wrong? Hotch's brain desperately needs some kind of justification as to why he's weirdly turned on already.

Spencer, still pouting as he struggled with his right cuff, started walking towards Hotch.

Spencer decides that he is going to straddle his lap, almost like he's used to if even. He only paused for a second, as if contemplating for the last time if he's going through with this or not but decides that there's no backing out now and he slowly starts to climb on his boss' lap.

Spencer is nervous but he knows what he's doing.

…Hotch doesn't know why that ticked him off, not in a sense that he hates what Spencer is doing, but in a sense that it shows this is Not Spencer's first time.

Is it absurd of him to expect this 27 year old man to be… a totally inexperienced person? And why he finds himself feeling the smallest bit of disappointment when he realized Spencer isn't a fumbling, blushing mess. He's not aggressive in any way, still pretty much the Spencer that he knows, and yet.

He got pulled out of his mind when he hears a relieved, tiny laugh as Spencer finally got the cuffs of his shirt off, then those same hands hold Hotch's shoulder, using them to brace himself as he tries to get comfortable on Hotch's lap, moving his knees subtly here and there on each side of Hotch's thighs to minimize discomfort, he expected Hotch to help him but–

Spencer feels hands on his waist to… push him away?

The 'rejection' puzzles him greatly, looking down at the older man with the same pout, just more confused this time. "You don't like it…?"

"I do." Well. Then why? Spencer wants to ask when Hotch fully push him off his lap, making him stand up again. Hotch's hands are still holding Spencer's waist and Spencer could still feel the desire if the way Hotch's fingers are pretty much massaging his waist is something to go by so he isn't sure why the man is pushing him away.

"I… like how you look unbuttoning your cuffs."

The little confession made Spencer gasps ever so slightly. Hotch is actually talking to him about what he wants? Really?

"I'd like to see you strip everything down yourself, if that's not too uncomfortable for you."

Oh, how careful this man is. Reid offered sex and Hotch still asks if he's uncomfortable, truly a gentleman.

"I can do that. Do you want me to do it slow?" Spencer doesn't fucking know how to do a strip tease but he's good at improvising (as they both just saw) so he's sure he can do it right. Hotch's brows furrow in contemplation, he's also not sure what he wants but… he has an idea. "That's not necessary, I like it more if you do it casually."

"Casually?"

"How you would strip when you're in private, like your bedroom for example. When you strip for a shower or to simply change clothes."

"Oh… okay, then." That's a relief, though it is a weird request is it not? Act like he's at home? As if he's just relaxing alone? …Like doesn't know he's being watched? Hm… is that a kink? Is it, in and of itself, something sexual?

Reid decides that he's thinking too much about it and thinking isn't what both of them want right now, right?

Rarely has Hotch ever been this focused in anything other than work. He follows those trimmed, slim fingers slowly unbutton the rest of the dark, almost black cardigan off. Was it slow? He wasn't doing it slow, was he? No, he wasn't, he was undoing them normally so it might be Hotch's brain that's working slow. Not just his eyes, his ears also seem to be hyper aware to the slightest sound, because he got pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Spencer's rolled up cardigan being tossed to the hotel's lone sofa, it feels like he could hear the lightest sound of the silk tie (always coloured or patterned) being unfurled easily by a single tug.

Is he sweating? Because Hotch feels his body temperature going up for some unknown reason. (He knows the reason is arousal but he refuses to recognize how easy it is to get him hard.)

Spencer then unbutton his white shirt one by one, this time he folds them a little neater before putting them on top of the cardigan. He's wearing a thin, loose tank top undergarments underneath. God, just how many layers does this man wear on the daily? Again, for some 'unknown' reason, Hotch finds that arousing. Probably because of how conservatively Spencer always dresses and he is probably one the only ones that gets to see his skin, because of that tank top, even if Spencer sweats or gets wet, no one can see his chest, his nipples or belly button. Yet he can.

Hotch almost jumps when he hears the slightest frustrated groan as Spencer struggles to unbuckle his belt, eyes looking down and his lips pouting in focus. Wait, what? No. No, don't do that, get rid of that tank top first. Hotch is screaming on the inside, just one thin layer of cotton fabric and he could finally see his bare upper body. God, why is he being a tease?

Well, maybe he isn’t being a tease, maybe this is just how he–

Can't think, Hotch can't think when he hears the thump of the belt buckle hitting the floor, Spencer accidentally dropping it, he picking it up and spun it into a circle. Hotch thinks he must look like a creep, eyes focused on every millisecond hearing that typical unzipping sound as Spencer pulls down his zipper. Pants pushed down to the floor and Spencer stepped out of it one foot at the time.

There's something about this, he's not doing it to seduce Hotch, just like he requested, Reid just stripped like he's at home going to change from his work clothes to something more comfortable, no moving his hips or ever looking at his boss. Spencer is wearing a loose, bright blue underwear, his habit of wearing colourful clothes underneath all his formal look is endearing, especially seeing those mismatched socks, moss green with a star pattern on the left, orange with red stripes on the right.

Spencer pulls off his tank top, unfurling his hair along with it, he bends down and was about to pull off his socks when–

"Wait– what– wait!!" Spencer stumbles when Aaron suddenly stands up from the bed, his hands gripping Spencer's bare waist and manhandling a bit too roughly and it caught the younger man off guard. He lets out a surprised huff when Hotch shoves him on the bed on his stomach, gasping when he feels Hotch on top of him, trapping Spencer with both his knees on the sides of his thighs.

He knows it's ridiculous, but Spencer felt the slightest bit of fear knowing that Aaron can just… do anything to him if he wants, he knows his boss won't hurt him of course, but the fact that Spencer is hanging on the belief that Aaron is a Good Person still makes his heart beat faster.

Spencer hears the sound of zipper being undone, Hotch stripping on top of him impatiently. Oh… he wants to see that too… it isn't fair? How is it that Aaron gets to see everything while he's trapped on the bed?

Reid swallow his silent protests when he feels Aaron's lips on his neck.

This is the first time Hotch ever touched him more than hugging him and dragging him by the hand when he almost got shot for the 5th time because he thought it was a good idea to talk down an unsub without his vest on. Hotch is touching him and Spencer is dead silent about it, his mind still trying to wrap around the idea that he's basically naked under his boss who's stripping patiently.

"Hotch– Aa…"

"Aaron." Hotch finishes for him. "It's okay, Spencer." Reid didn't reply, squeezing the pillow under him viciously when Aaron grip each side of his underwear and tugging them down so roughly that Spencer hissed out loud at the feeling.

"I'm sorry…" Hotch's voice is so low, so… just so… It's doing things to reid and suddenly he doesn't really mind anymore.

"It's okay…" at least Hotch is nice when he takes off his socks, it's sweet even, how he bends his legs and pulls them off one by one. Then, as Spencer suspected, Hotch rolls him to his back, the first time Reid is facing him when he's properly aroused. "Hey…" he whispers, pulling on Hotch's shirt collar, whispering at Aaron to take his clothes off first. And he does, but still when he's on top of Reid, when he keeps eye contact that makes the other squirm.

He had never seen Aaron naked before, Spencer tracing his fingers on the old scars peppered on his body, to the little beauty marks on his neck and chest, and, aha… Aaron has a lot of body hair, a lot, it tickles him a bit and he just knows he's gonna get some kind of chafing later.

"What, um… what do you wanna do…?" Spencer mumbles as he strokes Aaron's arm, going up to his neck and shoulder, sighing when he feels Aaron nuzzling his neck and his jaw… "I'll do whatever you want." Spencer adds. "Just… can't go all the way."

Penetrative sex is a painful thing, at least at first, and it's unsaid but both of them are tired from the day's work and Hotch is mentally exhausted from all the stress.

Spencer whispers to Aaron that hotels like these usually have condoms and lube stashed on the bedside drawer and he's right, but despite all that, it'll still gonna take a long while. Spencer would have to clean up, they both have to take things slow, foreplay that could take minutes till hours since that's what Spencer needs if he doesn't want to be a rigid, awkward mess. And both of them don't have the energy for that. What should they do, then…?

Spencer reach around blindly until he finds the bottle of lube and squeezed a considerable amount into his hand, he hesitantly pulls Hotch into a soft kiss again when his hand move down ever so slowly until he finally wraps his slick, slippery fingers around Hotch's straining erection.

"Sorry–" Spencer whispers between their kisses when he hears Hotch hissing loudly. "Sorry it's cold…" he has nothing to be sorry about but he gets sensitive during sex, sometimes he's extremely cheeky and insufferable and sometimes he gets just a little too soft and this is the latter.

"Don't," Hotch replies, Reid is slowly stroking his cock, squeezing hard at the base and lightening up at the tip just how he likes it. Huh, how did Reid know what he likes?

Hotch's hand moved from softly caressing his back to Spencer's shoulder, basically shoving him down on the bed, Spencer gasped in surprise when he– "Ah! Aaron, I– fuck…" Aaron shoved his hand away, hooking his hands on Spencer's thighs, spreading them, and hooking them on his waist as he forcefully grinds down on Spencer's groin.

It feels so– it feels so good, it feels so fucking good, holy shit. Aaron is grinding down on him, squeezing Spencer's erection between their bodies, the fast, heavy stroke milking his cock from the mere friction alone. It feels good but it also fucking hurts, fucking Hotch and his fucking body hair, it's just everywhere! It scratches and tickles his skin and it– fuck, don't stop, don't stop, don't– "No…" Spencer groans loudly into their kiss when Aaron stops.

Why the hell did he do that? What the hell is his problem!? He–

"I'm sorry–" Hotch blurts out. "I’m– I'm sorry, I have to stop…" He knows he pissed off his younger partner, but… "Had to stop, I was already close."

Wait, "What…?" Spencer doesn't want to sound rude but he's actually caught off guard, they've only been doing this for a few minutes, so why?

"It's you," Hotch whispers yet again, his voice is so soft, he must also feel humiliated to some degree. "I've never done this with a man before and there's just something about you…" Hotch started kissing his jaw, Spencer twitching from the feeling of Aaron's lips lingering on his skin, parting his mouth as he lick and suck in the softest way possible because Spencer has an inkling that Aaron’s a bit possessive when it comes to sex and he's fighting with every nerve in his body not to leave painful, glaring hickeys all over his partner aka him.

Something… about him? Because he's a man or because he's Spencer?

"It's okay," Spencer said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "We can just…" Spencer pushes Aaron away from his body, sure Spencer is loving all the kisses but he also needs something else.

He slowly turns around and lays on his stomach, his legs spread wide as an obvious invitation that Hotch readily accepts, taking only a second before he slots himself between those thighs, his hands rubbing from Spencer's hips, waist and back slowly, going up and down in a firm, almost painful strokes with how deep Aaron is digging his thumb on his skin.

"Can't do too much, Aaron, but I don't mind." Spencer is driving him crazy, Hotch is completely sure Spencer is doing this on purpose because those long, bony fingers of his are reaching back slowly spreading his cheeks apart till his rim strains, "Use me…"

Use– Fuck, Hotch is so pissed off at the fact that Spencer knows, he knows this is driving him crazy yet he does it anyway, baiting Hotch to completely let loose and just, use him. If he can't fuck him, he can grind on him like Spencer’s just a toy, that's what he’s implying and Hotch is going to do just that.

Hotch grabs both his wrists and forces them both to the pillow again. "Keep them there, don't you move." Spencer nods, he can do that, bringing his hands in and tucking it on his chest.

He hissed when he smells latex and feels Hotch's thumb rubbing the liquid roughly between his cheeks, making sure that he's slick till the bottom, Spencer shudders when Hotch absentmindedly start massaging his perineum with his thumb, making Spencer whines as quietly as possible into his hand, it's nothing overwhelming, it just feels good.

Hotch stops much to Spencer's disappointment, but then he feels Hotch on top of him. Not just above him, he feels Hotch's body on top of him. Feels his chest on his back, feels his full weight trapping his body down. But that's not even close to the overwhelming feeling he gets after.

Hotch shoved his cock between his cheeks and started grinding him down so hard that even with the lube, Spencer could still feel the burn of the movement, how his cock would drag low and slow and then push back up again, Spencer feeling his body being trapped by Hotch, how his damn heavy weight is making it hard to breathe but Aaron is enjoying himself and Spencer doesn’t want to stop that. Christ, he could feel how big Aaron is just by grinding on him, could feel his rim rubbed by the tip of his heated, rock hard erection, so hot and veiny, just… it makes him wonder if it'll even fit in him?

"Aaron–" Spencer gasps when he feels Hotch's fingers digging into his back, leaving white marks from his shoulders to the dip between his thighs, those same hands squeezing his ass painfully hard, grabbing them so roughly that Spencer can't handle it, one hand reaching back frantically only to have it pinned down on the bed, unable to wiggle them free no matter how hard he tries to get away. "Aaron, please…"

There's a pause, Spencer gasping when Aaron starts kissing the side of his head, down to his cheek, his ear, damnit. "Shh… it's alright, Spencer. It’s alright." Alright, he said, but he didn't let up.

Though he finally, oh god, finally… lift himself up and bracing himself on his elbows, finally letting the younger one breathe properly, letting Spencer's hand go. He can't blame Aaron though, he doesn't want to because he said it himself didn't he? Use me. And Aaron is doing just that.

Aaron pulls apart his cheeks with his thumbs even more, enough to make Spencer hiss and grip the pillow tighter.

It feels good for Aaron though, even better than before, he could get himself more snug in there as he continues to grind down on him. Fuck, he could just… feel his hole whenever he pulls back before thrusting up again. And this, this lust inside of him is infecting his brain with all sorts of sinful thoughts.

He could do it, Hotch thinks. He could spread Spencer's legs apart and make him take it, he could pin him down, Hotch knows he's strong enough for that. Pin his back down with his body, pin his arms and wrist down with a forceful grip, use his legs to pin his calves in place and he could just make Spencer take his fucking cock, just take it, take it, take it. Just shut up and–

Wait, hold on, what was he thinking? What kind of depraved imagination did he come up with? Hotch got rid of those thoughts off of his head instantly.

But he can't deny that this is so good that his mind is having trouble processing it. The way his precum is making it easier to slide his cock up and down, to grind in harder and harder, he could feel every single fucking time how the tip of his cock would brush past his hole, and it– fuck, it feels good, for some reason even something as simple as feeling Spencer clench under him every time is making his mind thought of those horrible things. He feels shameful, completely appalled by his wretched thoughts of forcing Spencer.

For some kind of reassurance, Hotch suddenly kissed Spencer's neck, making the younger one's breath hitch under him, Spencer's thighs shaking a bit when Hotch parts his lips, mouth sucking on the spot, way too wet for a hickey while his teeth ever so slowly push and drags on Spencer's skin. Only when Spencer whimpers did he stop. That didn't last long though because Hotch starts doing the same thing to his shoulder down to his shoulder blade, all the while he hasn’t stopped grinding down on Spencer.

It's almost embarrassing how quickly he feels his orgasm brewing, how his breathing gets heavier, his body more tense, Spencer could barely move from how hard Hotch is holding him.

Spencer is hurting; Aaron is squeezing his arms so tight that it turns his fingers white, he kept thrusting so hard that Spencer feels the sensitive skin around his rim randomly stinging with every pull, and to be completely honest, Aaron's weight on top of him is making it hard to breathe. Though Spencer doesn't tell him to stop and is not planning to, he knows Hotch is nearing his orgasm, knows that if he breaks that momentum, he would probably feel too sensitive to continue, or his orgasm might not end up as satisfying and that's the last thing Spencer wants. This all starts with him trying to make Hotch feel so good he'll forget about his, uh, absolutely ruined marriage, for an hour or so, and he’s going to do just that.

Spencer's a man too, it happens so quickly that despite being prepared, it still surprises him nonetheless. Because Hotch suddenly freezes, Spencer feels hot semen staining his lower back right after and he shivers with disgust. But it's fine, after a few seconds and a few more drops of warm come wetting his skin, he knows that Hotch is done.

Now finally flaccid, Hotch slowly moves off of him, rolling to his back to take deep breaths. Spencer's waist and thighs are aching, the skin between his cheeks and especially around the rim starts stinging from the burn of previous friction, he desperately wants to just roll back and heave in some breaths but he can't fucking do that, can he? He's not going to smear this whole bedsheet with his boss' drying semen. Christ, this is both humiliating and irritating.

Spencer pushes himself off the bed, still pretty much erect as he stands on wobbly legs, carrying the damp towel with him. He didn’t look back at Aaron once as he stumbled his way into the bathroom.

Well. They finished what they set out to do, right? Spencer tosses the towel to the laundry bin and walk inside the shower, making sure that the water is hot before stepping into it.

Spencer squeaked from the sudden stream, gasping in pleasure as the water relieved some of his tension. He reached back to, ugh, rub the slippery semen off his back, it just feels… wrong but the water cleaned it up so it's fine.

His head thumps lightly on the wall, wondering what the hell he's doing.

Whatever though, he's still turned on and hard and that's really numbing his critical thinking.

The bathroom reverberates his moans when he wraps his fingers around himself, pumping up and down his length in an impatient manner. He just wants to fucking get off already so he can function normally again.

It's a love hotel, these things are bound to happen, right? So he doesn't care if he's letting out sounds here and there, he's not being super loud and fuck it, if he wants to jerk off in the shower he'll fucking do it.

His other hand hits the wall and curls into a fist, his mouth breathing hard on the tiles, he's not sure what's dripping down his chin anymore, is it water or spit? He spread his legs carefully, making sure he won't fucking slip and bust his head or something but he needs to thrusts into his hands, it feels good. It feels so, so good…

The hot water is fogging up the shower's glass and mirror outside and he couldn't care less. His hand moving from the walls to the glass, his shaking palm wiping up the fog, he's almost bouncing on his legs now with how good it feels and how much he wants to get off.

Oh god, he's going to come, he's going to come– he's right there! Right– he just needs a few more minutes, just a little more… a little…

"Spencer?"

Fuck.

He gasped loudly and had to bite down a loud groan from his frustration. Great, Aaron is here, just when he was about to come, that's just–

"Aaron…?" Reid whispers when he feels the shower's glass door being opened, the older man slowly stepping inside. Spencer… he knows what's happening but it's really hard to think right now, not with Hotch pulling him off the wall, not with him pushing Spencer on the glass door, not with Spencer feeling just how fucking hot the surface is. All that is forgotten when Hotch presses his back to his chest, kissing and pecking Spencer's neck and shoulder again as his hand rubs his waist roughly, his hips, his upper thigh, his–

"Aaron! Aaron… oh god… fuck…"

Spencer's forehead thump on the glass, lips bitten down and his face scrunch up in pleasure. It does feel different when someone else is jerking you off, someone who has the same sex as you, who knows just how to pull, tug and squeeze just right. Spencer feels his eyes rolling back, his eyelids fluttering close, mouth open in a silent gasp.

Hotch grips his erection harder and Spencer keens, feeling his thumb pushing down on the tip with each fast stroke, would rub up and down his prominent vein and his slit and–

"AH!! AARON– MORE, YES, yes just like that, oh god, god, faster, faster! More, goddamnit, I'm so close, I'm so close, baby, just like that… just–"

Hotch's brain glitched for a second there. Reid's the type that slips in nicknames when he's having sex, huh? Well, he isn't sure what to do with that information, but it's sexy, god, that sounds so sexy.

"Baby, yeah, more, oh god, Aaron, I'm gonna–"

When Spencer's body twitches hard and freezes, Hotch squeezes his cock oh so painfully tight, all hard and fast till he fucking comes in his hand, nails dragging hopelessly on the slippery surface, staining the glass and his fingers.

He strokes him through his orgasm, then he lightens up ever so slowly, only letting go when Spencer's soft in his hand and so very, very satisfied…

It took the younger a couple of seconds to truly get himself back to earth. It was so fucking good that if he isn't so exhausted he would've loved a second round. Despite the orgasm, his brain is still numb from pleasure so it's not really his fault is it? When he turns around, humming and curling his hands around Hotch's shoulder, when he leans in close, so close that he's sure Hotch would pull back and push him away but… he's playing along?

Their foreheads pressed together, both of them breathing hard, lips just a breath apart. "Thanks…" Spencer whispers. "That felt so good…"

And Spencer, Spencer was about to fucking kiss his boss when– wait.

Wait– Fuck. Fuck, this is his boss. This is Aaron…

Spencer quickly pulls away as the haze passes, looking everywhere but Hotch's eyes. He sounds stupid trying to make excuses why he needs to shower alone but Hotch seems to understand, washing himself under the stream quickly before walking out.

Spencer's left alone again and for a second he just stands there unmoving. Yeah, so… that happened.

Spencer feels awkward when he walks out only wearing a towel to see Hotch who's already fully dressed. Spencer, at the speed of light, managed to get his singlet and underwear on, he wants to put on the rest of his clothes too but he actually has long hair and he needs to blow dry them first.

Hotch didn’t say anything, it would’ve been creepy if Spencer doesn't know his boss well enough to know that he's just… thinking. At least Spencer made him think of something else other than the divorce papers, right? Mission accomplished? Wow, he's trying to make this less awkward but it's not happening.

The only brush he has is the flimsy one he got from the bathroom so it was a nightmare getting his hair to settle down, they always bounce back every time he tries to straighten them so he just gives up, putting the rest of his clothes back on.

Hotch is trying, and failing, not to focus on Spencer dressing up, it feels… It feels weirdly disappointing when he sees Spencer almost fully dressed. He noticed how the younger is looking around for his belt and Hotch picks it up for him, hidden under the chair.

"Thanks– I, um…" Spencer really doesn't know what to say when Hotch, without asking, starts putting his belt on for him.

His fingers slowly pulling the tip after every loop, it feels kinda rough but nothing too hard. He buckled it up for him, Spencer doesn’t even realize how close they're standing now.

Okay. So, that's weird. But when Hotch was about to step back, Spencer clears his throat to get his attention. "Hey, Hotch, uh, here." Spencer hands him the folded tie. "Put this on for me too."

Oh, Spencer surprised himself with how bold he is, but what the fuck is he trying to accomplish? He just has this weird inkling that this whole thing, stripping and dressing up thing, kinda turns Aaron on in a weird way? Like not enough to get him hard obviously, but enough to make him want it. Spencer's testing the water but for what, exactly? This is a one-time thing, why is he taking notes on what turns his boss on?

Hotch pulls his shirt collar up, looping his tie around and actually putting it on for him, his tie turning out neater than it would whenever he did it himself.

Again, when Hotch was about to walk away, Spencer stops him. "Can you tuck in the back of my shirt? I can’t really see…" Spencer turns around, and true enough, there's a slight wrinkle on the bottom of his shirt, not anything he needs help tidy up though and both of them know this but for some reason, Hotch just follows.

Reid didn't feel anything for a second and was just about to ask when he feels Hotch yank him back by the waist, he pretty much shoved the shirt down and going a step further by making sure they're all neatly tucked by rubbing his fingers hard from the back to the front. Spencer has to stop his gasps whenever Hotch would shove in his perfectly tucked shirt roughly for no fucking reason. It seems like Hotch also has a limit on how much teasing Spencer dish out. Spencer's not complaining though.

He almost stumbles when Hotch gives his waist one last squeeze before finally letting him go for real this time. Spencer’s done dressing up but he feels eyes watching the undone button on the bottom of his shirt from all of Hotch's rough handling. Hotch didn't make a move to fix it though, probably not wanting to touch Spencer's hip again.

Spencer finished up the rest of his clothes, putting his socks and his shoes on, tapping the tips once to get them snug before walking to the door.

Both of them have been silent till now, looking all prim and proper like they were before. Spencer went to crack open the door, the slightest orange light of the hall seeps in but it instantly disappears when Hotch slams the door back close and single-handedly turns Spencer around.

Shocked and confused, Spencer doesn’t fight it when Hotch shoves him up the door and kisses him full.

Fuck it, Spencer pulls on his shoulder and yank him flush to his chest and deepens the kiss shamelessly, his brows frowning and lips parting to roughly kiss Aaron's mouth, open-mouthed and dirty, Spencer would be disgusted when their spit wets his chin but he couldn't care less, not when Hotch shoved his tongue inside his mouth, when Spencer bites the other’s lower lip when they part for air till Aaron was groaning at him. Mm, that sounds nice, Spencer decides that he likes it and he's going to pull more of that off of him.

It was Spencer that initiated more, telling Hotch that hey, it's not just a kiss, they're not going to stop at a kiss, no, Hotch opened the floodgates and none of them can stop it. Spencer grips Hotch's hair, keeping him in place so he could kiss down Aaron's neck.

Spencer fucking hates how physically stronger Hotch is compared to him. How easy it is for the older man to drag him off the door despite Spencer's loud whining.

Spencer felt Hotch pulling on the belt that he himself puts on just minutes before and unbuckling it with the patience of a toddler, roughly unzipping Spencer's pants and swallowing his loud moan with another round of rough kisses.

Spencer's not going to back down without a fight, though. He pushed the older man off his body with all the strength he can muster, before Hotch can wrestle him down, he slip to the side and this time he shoved Hotch to fucking sit on the bed. He didn't even get to ask Spencer what the hell he's doing before the younger one went to his knees in seconds unzipping Aaron’s pants impatiently and–

"FUCK–"

Oh, he's cursing! He's cursing and that makes Spencer giddy. He got his head between Hotch's thighs, his fingers spreading the zipper apart as much as it can go before leaning in and dragging his tongue on Aaron’s cock through the thin material of his underwear, his putting his tongue flat and dragging it up and down as hard as he can, wetting the fabric with spit that Spencer obviously doesn't give a shit about. He knows it drives him crazy, it apparently entertains him and Hotch knows this. This time it's Hotch's turn to grip his hair in place painfully before shoving his underwear down with one push. God, he's so fucking hard already and it's all because of the cheeky thing sitting between his thighs.

He knows Spencer can be cheeky when he feels like it. It drives Hotch absolutely insane when he looks down and he sees Spencer, trying to pull pry fingers off his hair to lighten the tension but still supporting that grin on his face. Hotch… he tries not to curse, he never does in front of someone else but he keeps doing it under his breath now, Spencer managed to pull all that out of him and he knows how smug he is about it.

He's going to wipe that grin off his face though, he’s– "Gonna wipe this grin off my face?" The younger man says knowingly like the profiler he is. "After I turn you on just by letting you fix up my clothes, hm?" Spencer is teasing him, it probably gave him a big wave of satisfaction from knowing he manage to fluster his usually always stoic boss, and Hotch has to admit that he's impressed by his little game. He's going to make him regret it (not really, but oh well).

Spencer whines when the grip gets harder, when Hotch yanks his hair up so hard that Spencer is leaning up on his knees, pulling a real reaction of pain from the younger. Spencer kept trying to get his grip off but he didn't fight it when Hotch drags him closer, even voluntarily opening his mouth as wide as he can go, sticking his tongue out in a blatant invitation.

It's so fucking dirty, holy shit, he's so fucking shameless. Hotch's brain froze for a second from the sight of his usually awkward, youngest teammate now waiting for his boss to face fuck him. If it's anyone who he knows is naturally flirty, this image might not break his mind this badly but because it's Spencer… Hotch isn't sure how his brain is still functioning but it's functioning enough to grip his cock and slide it into Spencer's mouth. Sliding is such a soft word to describe him gripping the man’s jaw to make sure it stays open.

"Ha… fuck…" Hotch moans when the sudden tight wetness envelops him, Spencer letting Hotch force his jaw open, Spencer trying his damnest to get that cock in as far down his throat on the first try. He didn't manage much, just 2 or 3 inches but the moment he starts bobbing his face up and down, the more he can get into his mouth. That's good, that's nice, but the thing is, Hotch is already feeling his orgasm coming fast and he needs to–

Spencer sounds confused and alarmed when the hand on his hair lets go, that confusion turns into surprise as Hotch grabs each side of his cheeks instead, forcing him there as Hotch thrusts his cock inside his mouth and down his throat, making Spencer let out a real, almost panicked sound.

He kept fucking his mouth, gagging Spencer again and again, Spencer fighting every urge in his body to push Aaron off because he knows now that's what Aaron likes. What triggered his orgasm is Hotch looking down and seeing that previously smug face now turns all red and teary, nose flush and lips painfully spread open, he keeps eye contact until he, shamefully enough, comes in around a minute or two inside his mouth. He almost passed out when he felt Spencer's throat contracting around him as he swallowed his semen. Not like he has any choice, he would’ve gagged if he didn't.

A wet squelching sound can be heard when Hotch finally, ever so slowly slides his softening cock out of Spencer's mouth. Spencer instantly heaving for air, coughing a few times and wiping the spit and semen off his lips and chin. Hotch could hear Spencer curse under his breath, finally getting his breathing back to normal.

Hotch wonders if he's twenty years younger, can he get hard again so quickly? Because his cock twitched at the sight of Spencer looking absolutely ruined.

That looks so good, Hotch wants to take a picture of it but then realized how vulgar that is and what a disaster it will be if someone accidentally sees it.

Hotch grabbed Spencer's shoulders up, the younger falling to the man's chest with a soft 'oof', hissing when Hotch's hands gripped and squeeze his ass roughly, just about to yank his pants down too when Spencer whines, pretty much slapping his hands away. "Don't! You're gonna get me hard too and you never sucked cock before have you?" Spencer said with a pout in a matter-of-fact way.

Then Spencer moves away from him, going to the bathroom to wash his face and rinse his mouth, thankfully none of that stained his collars and tie.

When he got out, Hotch already zipped his pants back on, he looked disheveled and there were some stained spots on his pants but nothing that won't be covered with the bottom of his suit, small blessings.

"Let's go." Hotch said and their way back out isn't so awkward this time. After Spencer paid the fee, Hotch even opened the car door for him, ugh what a gentleman. He seems much more relaxed than before, Spencer's theory is true, orgasm does help you relax, he just didn't know Hotch needed more than one.

"Pretty boy! How was Connecticut?"

"Hm… Ultimately uneventful."

Thankfully, Hotch had his dry cleaning in his office so no one had to see his come-stained pants and sweaty shirt.

Well. Spencer hopes that what happened earlier would be considered 'uneventful' compared to what will happen tonight. Tonight when Spencer promised to show his apparently not-so-straight, clueless boss on how to fuck a man proper.

Besides, he would probably need those orgasms again after he signed those damn divorce papers, right?

#I want to thank not only god but @sapphicstruggle for their post that single handedly created this fic #we all have to be silly and a lil crazy so heres 8k smut #I have shit memory I wish i could tag the ones that asks me to im sorry i just tagged the ones that replied and rb bc my notifs only shows #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotchreid #hr #heid #not beta read #fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #my fics

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cwarscars · 1 year ago

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i think one really important thing i wanna note w/ my portrayal of heid is that i never want to 'woodbify' him. i do not want people to feel sorry for him.

i write him as having had hardships. he's lost loved ones brutally, he's been the victim of torture and war ( as much as he brings it about others ) but he is entirely in control of his own destiny, decisions, opinions, beliefs and attitude.

he's been through tragedy and awfulness / horror, yes.

but it's his decision to respond with anger, hate, vicsciouness etc.

i dont want people to ever think that i'm making him 'soft' or 'gentle' or 'tragic'. he's not really to be sympathised with. obviously, your muse can & like, anyone can sympathise with a character, that's fine. but i don't want people to ever think im attempting to justify his behaviour / actions.

i see it less as a justification and more of an explanation / exploration. this is WHY he's the way he is, but it isn't necessarily right. nor is right for him to be this way.

you can go through tragedy and come out a better person. heid didn't. he came out a worse person. that was his choice. he's a bad dude.

#im so worried about eveyr lil element of my portrayal lately i feel the need to justify this #but like i get shit if i write too much nsfw/ smut or too much 'wooby' shit or too much of this or that #and i want him to be canon / canon compliant whilst having my own elements #and i want to always play him / write him as a villan #he just has human elements #and like i think anyone no matter how awful they are can feel pain #but im very much like i subscribe to the idea that you shouldnt use your pain / dwell on it as an excuse #'oh this happened which is why im nasty' - its no excuse and i dont even think #heid would use his past as an excuse to be awful hes just a bad dude lol #(important)#(analysis)

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terrorbitch · 1 year ago

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walking to the alter, she moaned. there was nothing worst than seeing the ugliest fucked up demon on the planet standing there waiting to marry her. like he was some goddamn machine made from the abyss, holding crystals that will deeply suck her soul. he would make her lose her appetite every time she saw that sunken face. so she turned around, ripping the wedding veil off. followed by ripping her garment piece by piece, letting the expensive silk fall to the ground, trailing towards her pearly nude bosom and naked frame. as she ran, she ran into THE ONE THEY LOVE. naked, cold, and honestly? a bit horny, she kissed them big on the lips like she could never before do. jeckaline heid was so happy (and wet).

#indie rp #indie smut rp #indie lesbian rp #txt. jeckaline heid

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krypticcafe · 2 years ago

Note

Y/N, staring at König: I bet I could take him

Soap: ... in a fight, right?

Y/N: :)

Soap: In a fight, right?

Alternatively, little ooc but

König: I could take you on

Y/N: ... like in a fight?

König: Ye- yes?

Y/N: Oh. Pity.

König: What.

Take On Me

rating: teen

pairing(s): König x GN!Reader

warning(s): suggestive themes, language, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as a sergeant, fluff at the end, possible grammar errors

a/n: decided to make this a one-shot! I enjoy writing and reading sexual tension, but ironically, I'm always on the fence about writing full smut. oh and please ignore the poor quality of the fight scene, I can't write them for shit :')

synopsis: fight or not, you're pretty sure you could take him on.

The room was filled with the smell of sweat and leather as soldiers took on their training time in the base's surprisingly sizable gym. Several were utilizing the exercise machines, some simply resting on the benches, and others making light conversation.

Currently, you were in the midst of putting your sparring partner in a deadlock, motivated by the small crowd that cheered and winced at the sight. With a face flushed red, your opponent tapped out and a chorus of boisterous laughter, groans, and exclamations rang around you. You threw yourself off of them, helping your partner up and thanking them while also throwing in a compliment on their performance as a show of good sportsmanship. As you stepped off the platform, you were given several pats on the back and comments. While it was definitely an ego boost, you were by no means the best in the base, but people knew that you were on the 141 for a reason, and your combat skills were nothing to laugh about.

Feeling a harsh slap on the back, you turned and gripped their arm, twisting it at an uncomfortable angle since your body was still working on instinct.

"Ow ow ow-! It's me!" Soap yelped, but you further clenched your hand, "I was just going to congratulate you! Christ almighty, you've got a grip-"

"You scotsmen have a real funny way of congratulating people then," you quipped, letting go of his arm, "Honestly Soap, you should know better than smacking a soldier right after they get out of the ring."

He muttered under his breath, holding his sore wrist to his chest in mock offense and sighing, "How about I treat you to a water then? Consider it an apology of sorts."

"Oh you mean the jug on the bench that's just about 4 meters away? Why, I'd be so honored to have you as my escort, Sergent McTavish."

"Awa' n bile yer heid!" He scoffed with amusement, "Can't even let me do something nice without takin' a stab at me, can ya?"

You shook your head, laughing with him while you two went to grab a drink. He at least had the courtesy to pass you a towel to wipe your sweat off. Hanging it around your shoulders, you grabbed a bottle and started chugging. Tilting your head back, you noticed in the corner of your eye another match that was going on. It wasn't surprising, considering how multiple sparring matches would go on simultaneously all the time. But it wasn't the match itself that got your attention, but rather the person that was in it.

You recognized him instantly with how he gained notoriety for his size (no, not in that way, but you'd be lying if you said the thought hasn't crossed your mind for the briefest of moments) amongst the soldiers, even though he was part of KorTac. His presence led you to the conclusion that SpecGru and KorTac were most likely holding another joint operation together again, unsurprising since they're practically sister companies. Not to mention, the two of you had small talk in the past in passing from previous missions together and whenever you bumped into each other on base.

Staring for a while more, you watched as he viciously pummeled his opponent into the ground, barely breaking a sweat. Catching sight of his eyes behind his dark hood, you caught the way they lit up at his victory, as if delighted by the violence in an almost animalistic manner. It made your arms prick with goosebumps, you didn't want to know why. It was a surprise to find him in such a state since every time you've seen him, his eyes were usually darting around like a skittish lamb, contradicting his appearance in every sense. But who were you to question it? After all, your own lieutenant was feared like the grim reaper in the battlefield, but at base with the others, he was just another British geezer at heart.

Soap whistled and stood by you, eyeing the way you were fixed on the match in front of you. "Looks like someone's caught yer eye, aye?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah I guess." You hummed, not taking your eyes off the Austrian as he pinned his opponent down.

Soap raised a brow and smirked. It wasn't hard for him to catch on, but he was surprised to see you so entranced by a person for once. "I see... well, I don't blame you. The guy sticks out like a sore thumb and he's an absolute unit."

You nodded absent-mindedly, a little too focused on the way König flexed while keeping his enemy down. Much to your demise, his shirt was painfully tight-fitting, especially when damp with perspiration and christ, you felt like you had to tear your eyes from staring at his thighs for too long. How can someone be built so... so...

Delicious?

Before you knew it, the fight ended and König was beginning to head your way, most likely to grab water. Without thinking, you turned to the side and muttered under your breath, "I could probably take him."

"Oooo, cocky now, aren't ya?" Soap laughed, missing the message. You, on the other hand, tried to keep your composure, rubbing the towel on your neck.

"Uh, sure... You could put it that way."

The scotsman had a look of confusion and was about to ask you to elaborate until he saw König pull up beside you. "Oi, König! You did a real good job out there-"

Looking at Soap, you saw a mirth in his eyes that you immediately recognized, your eyes widening as you began to mouth silent protests to him and gesturing for him to 'not do whatever the fuck you're thinking of doing'.

"-you think you can handle another round? You two already know each other, right? I was thinkin' you could use a change of pace, and what's better than going against a prized member of the 141?"

You watched as König eyed you up and down cautiously, and you had to resist letting a shiver run down your spine. Why did he have to look at you like that? You knew the bare minimum of the guy, and yet you were acting like a fool in your own head.

After he was done sizing you up, he nodded, his eyes lighting up, "I could take you on."

"Like in a fight?" Once more, your mouth had outrun your brain, probably fried from the way he was practically checking you out.

"Y-Yes?" König stuttered, caught off-guard by your bizarre question. What other connotation could his words have had?

"Oh. Pity." You mumbled with a sigh, tossing your water bottle to the side along with your towel, beginning to walk towards the sparring box.

"Wait what-"

You cut off König's confusion as you hopped over into the box, folding your arms and leaning on the ropes. "So we gonna fight or what, soldier?"

"I- uh," He paused, trying to get his mind into the present. He shook his head and nodded, "Yes, sergent."

There was something about the way he strided over to the ring and only needed to swing his legs over the ropes to get in that made your heart beat twice, or maybe it was the way he looked back at you, the two of you staring each other down like hungry animals preparing for a cage match.

Though your hunger was that of a different kind if you were being honest.

Soap stood outside on the side of the box, playing referee for the match. At his signal, you set yourself at a stance and got a feel for the area, preparing yourself.

As you expected, König struck first. After all, you weren't just staring at him during his match, you were watching as well, which gave you a bit of an unfair advantage, but you figured it'd balance out his size advantage. Moving to the side, you followed up your dodge with a quick jab to his side. You were about to make another, but he had more control over his reflexes than you thought. He blocked it and countered by hitting you square between your shoulder and chest. The two of you were even.

He was a formidable opponent, certainly not at the level of Ghost or Price, but good enough that you'd think he'd ought to be a candidate for the 141. Sure, his technique was sloppy, but if he cleaned it up, then combined with his strength, he could be one hell of a soldier. Soap seemed to take note of his potential, too, giving König tips here and there. You'd almost forgotten this was supposed to be practice for him.

You were starting to grow exhausted as the fight went on, it hadn't been that long, but you two were lasting for quite a while in the ring, and neither side had held back. At several points throughout the fight, one of you would get in a hit or move in a way that had Soap cringing and gritting his teeth, watching at the edge of his seat. Hmph. At least someone was enjoying themselves.

While the fight was a nice way for you to get an eyeful of your opponent, it wasn't that enjoyable when you were panting and sweating your ass off, counting all the non-sexy bruises you'd wake up with later. Wanting to put things to an end, you looked for the right chance, dropping and sliding past his legs before getting up and propelling yourself forward. With a leap, you launched yourself onto König's back, latching onto it and pulling him down with all your weight. Just before he'd come crashing down, you swung yourself around his torso, shifting to his front so you wouldn't get crushed in the fall and further push him down.

He went down like a tree, shaking the platform as he made contact. Soap hollered in awe, whistling at your takedown. "That's our sergeant! Steamin' Jesus, wasn't that a show?"

You were panting hard from the stunt, but you managed to give König a sly grin, leaning down that you were just inches away from his veil, "So whaddya say König? You done, or you want go another round?"

"I- I'm done-" His voice strained, writhing under you since the pressure on his chest was making it hard to breathe properly. In addition, he was trying his best to not stare too much since even he was aware of how this looked, with you settled on his chest, knees on either side of his head and effectively trapping him with your thighs, not to mention your hands held his wrists above his head, locking him in a very compromising position. Your view was just as nice, giving you a good look at his face, or at least what you could see of it. A part of you wanted to say it was only because they were the only thing of him you could see, but you felt your heart flutter when the two of you locked eyes. It never had occurred to you, but his eyes were a sage green with a muddled ring of crystal blue that glimmered under the lights above, and the way he looked at you alone almost made you breathless again.

When were his eyes so damn pretty?

"Good choice." Although you played it off as a friendly threat, in reality, you were relieved he didn't want to go again, far too weary for another round and undoubtedly, you'd lose that one.

Rolling off his back, you stood up and outstretched a hand to him. Even though you couldn't see his full face, you could tell he appreciated the gesture by the friendly crinkle of his eyes and the way he took your hand, yelping when you yanked him up.

"Whoops, too hard? My bad."

König shook his head, "Oh no, not at all, I was just surprised. Ah, and thank you for helping me practice, Sergeant. It helped me realize a few things I need to improve."

"It's no problem at all, König, I'm glad I could help. All that matters is that you got something useful out of that loss and turn it into a gain."

"Price really must be getting to you."

"Shut it MacTavish."

The two of you stepped out of the ring and started to pack your things, further discussing improvements for König and some for yourself. Soap left a little early to "attend business with Ghost" (probably to ramble about the fight), to which you cursed him out with a glare for ditching you so abruptly. Now, it was just you and the Austrian in the gym.

"Well, I'll be going back to my place now, I guess I'll see you sometime soon?"

"Yes, of course. Maybe we could spar again sometime soon?" König asked, much to your surprise.

"Sure, I'd love to," you smiled to yourself a moment, debating your urges and ultimately deciding to shoot your shot because when else were you going to have the confidence to? Insecurity be damned, the post-victory adrenaline was getting to you. "Maybe we can even have some more... private matches?"

"Mhm, I wouldn't mind that. But I think we'd need someone to watch, no? Or unless you want to record and we can study it."

Not what you're implying, but his response definitely could be taken that way, causing your face to warm up again. Maybe if you pushed him in the right direction, he'd realize. "Er- I was kinda thinking we'd do it in my place, maybe? Unless you're more comfortable at yours."

All your attempts were going over his head as he grew more and more confused. "Sergeant, I don't believe the rooms are big enough for a fight-"

You burst out laughing, giggling to yourself at how ridiculous it all was, you dancing around your point and how it was leading him on a wild goose chase without even knowing it. Wiping a tear from your eye, you wheezed, "I- ohmygod- I'm so sorry- it's just, wow-"

You felt bad for laughing, but it was the only way you could make things less awkward for yourself and ease the tension. "I'm so sorry, König it's just- you're not really good at picking up hints, huh? But honestly, I should've been more straightforward with you, so,"

"What I'm trying to say is," Taking in a deep breath, you stood straight and looked him in the eye determinedly, "Would you like to hang out sometime? Just the two of us? Together?"

"König?"

Silence.

At that moment, König had put all the puzzle pieces together, or at least what little of them he had, and realized that you'd been (horribly) flirting with him the entire time. He also realized how hopelessly clueless he sounded. Like a computer needing to reboot, he began to overheat underneath his mask and sputtered, an incoherent jumble of words both German and English spilling from his lips. You giggled and pat him on the shoulder, "I take that as a yes, then?"

He let out a slew of words in German, catching himself immediately afterward, "Yes! I would love that- I mean, like that!"

"Really? Oh thank god, I've actually been meaning to ask that for a while now," you nervously chuckled, grabbing a pen and notepad from your bag and taking his hand in yours, putting a note in his palm, "Hope you don't mind if I just write something down... I think the weekend I'll be available so until then?"

"Mhm," He mumbled, trying not to fixate too much on how your hand was holding his as if you two weren't throwing hands earlier.

"Great! See you then!" You pressed a quick peck on his cheek and scurried away before he could react. You sneaky lil thing.

Stunned, König stood still for a solid minute until finally looking at his palm to see what you wrote.

"Here's my phone and room number! Next time we meet, be prepared because I can and will take you on! On a date, of course."

#x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty #cod #codmwii #codmw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #könig x reader #könig fluff #könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #kortac #kortac x reader #könig codmw2 #könig fanfiction #fanfiction #oneshot

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fixfoxnox · 2 years ago

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Letters To Love (2)

Description: Soap starts receiving letters from a mysterious man who keeps calling them fiances.

Warnings: Slight smut, like pretty vague tbh

Parings: Soap/Roach, Soap/Random Person (for the smut scene)

Notes: Based on the book "When A Scot Ties the Knot" by Tessa Dare

One Year Before The Wedding

Soap pressed the shorter man back against the table, his mouth ravaging theirs with rough biting kisses. Their hands traced over his painted chest temptingly, skirting over his nipples and forcing his hips to grind forward into theirs. It pulled a gasped-out moan from their lips.

He wasted no time with any other foreplay, they both knew what this was. His hand was quick to tug down their trousers, just enough that he could wrap his hand around their aching cock. He was quick to shove down his own bottoms, giving himself a few careful strokes before taking both of their cock's in his hand.

The interaction was sloppy and rough. Teeth nipping, nails scratching, hands tugging harshly. Soap moved his hips and his hands quickly, chasing the release that was slowly building up inside of him. The man pressed against him gave several stuttered moans, his head thrown back as he called out Soap's name.

Things continued, Soap focused all of his energy on the man in front of him. All of his energy until-

"Soap, whenever you get done fucking whoever you have in there, we're ready for you in the war tent!" Ghost's voice was sharp, "Be fucking quick would you?"

Soap gave a groan, pulling away to bury his head in the shoulder of the man in front of him. Annoyance ticked at his chest, certainly not helped by the pun that his friend had added at the end. "Awa' an' bile yer heid!"

He could hear a chuckle outside of the tent, but he didn't pay it any mind, focusing himself back on the man in front of him and the pleasure that was shocking up his system.

The man against him finished a few moments before him, shaking in his arms as Soap continued rutting up against him, desperate for his end. He found it moments later, the feeling of overwhelming pleasure pulled a grunt from his lips and he bit down on the man in front of him as he rode through the pleasure that flooded him. After several moments of catching his breath, he pulled away.

He was quick to clean himself and his temporary partner up, helping them redress as they grinned at him. He paid them no mind, only grabbing two apples from the basket at the center of the table. He tossed one to them and kept one for himself as he started out of the little tent.

"See you after the next battle!" The man called to him playfully.

Soap only gave a small grunt before calling back, "We'll see!"

He moved through his army's large camp, people calling out to him or giving a quick bow as he passed. He gave a grin to several of the men, waving them off as he continued the short path toward the war tent where he knew that his team was waiting on him.

Finally, he pushed his way through the tent flaps, meeting the amused looks of the three men waiting on him. "Don't look at me like that," he groaned out, making his way toward the table.

"Can never wait until after we do our meeting, can you?" Gaz teased, "Ridiculous."

"I don't want to hear a word when I walk in on the two of you," he motioned between Gaz and the older man leaned back calmly in his seat, Price, "Almost weekly. Cannae keep your hands off of each other!"

Gaz went a bit red at the chuckles that resulted from around the room, "Careful or I'll turn you into a frog, it would certainly fit your looks better!"

"That's a threat to the king," Soap teased the man before stepping up to the table and looking down at the various maps and pieces that sat in front of him. "How are we looking?"

"They're still trying to advance," It was Price who spoke, smoke puffing from his mouth every few moments thanks to the cigar that sat perched on his lips, "Like idiots."

"You'd think losing four battles in the same place would make them hesitate," Ghost spoke carefully, as always, "obviously not."

"They can't stop," Price gave a sigh, "They started this war, to give up already, to lose to us, it would be an embarrassment for them."

"This war will be an embarrassment for them," Gaz shook his head, "Who in their right mind challenges the lineage of a war god?"

"Fancy fuckers who think that we're lower than them," Soap answered, crossing his arms over his chest. He glared down at the maps again, "Reinforce our overwatch on the hill, rotate out our archers like normal. Daily patrols and recon, we want to be waiting for them when they finally show up." He looked over at Price carefully, "Any word from Alejandro?"

"They're still pushing in. Managed to successfully flank and defeat the outer forces around the kingdom." He shrugged lowly, "They've done major damage to the supplies like we wanted them to."

"Good," Soap nodded, "Alex and Farah?"

"Their roamers have been handling the straggler armies well," he paused for a moment, "We've had a slight problem though."

"What kind of problem?"

"Hadir," Price started carefully, "Farah's brother. He's gone missing and, according to Alex and Farah, so has information about our armies."

Soap paused for a moment, blinking at the man. Ghost was the one who asked, "They think he's gone to the enemy?" His voice was harsh, anger burning through it, Soap felt something similar burn at him.

Price gave a slow nod, "They asked Gaz to perform a directional test on his location, and," he tilted his head toward Gaz, "It pointed toward the enemy armies."

"Fucking hell," Ghost muttered.

Soap rubbed his face for a moment, "What information did he get away with?"

"Information on the armies," Gaz started slowly, "Numbers of men, supply stores, and information on all of our generals. Luckily nothing substantial."

"Good," Soap pushed himself away from the table with a nod, "Let them know how many men we have to defeat them with." He turned to Price again, "Laswell?"

"Holding down the fort back home," Price confirmed, "No attacks to any cities or towns have been reported."

"Good," he quickly repositioned several parts on the war board, knocking out the army they'd just defeated and making quick updates to locations, "Let's keep it that way."

The meeting was long and, when finished, Soap felt the weight of the day weighing him down on his feet. Battle, a good fuck, and a long meeting meant that he would sleep good that night. That much was sure.

He felt like dead weight as he started back toward his private tent. His eyes felt heavy and he couldn't wait to collapse into his furs and sleep the next day away. He didn't pay much attention to the people who called out to him, likely wanting to share a drink for a well-won battle. Nothing registered to him, nothing until a bird landed on his shoulder as he was walking.

He stopped in his place, looking up at the creature with narrowed eyes. Several letters were grasped in its claws and he knew immediately that they were for him. He gave a deep sigh and brought his hand up, running his fingers gently along the creature's feathers, "Hey there Bonnie." He admired the creature for several moments, a smile ticking up his lips as it trilled at the attention. After a moment, he grabbed a piece of bread from the plate of a man passing by him, piecing it apart and feeding it slowly to the creature. He only stopped when he spotted Gaz passing by, "Ay, magic man, look what's come to visit."

He could see Gaz's face light up and, before he knew it, the other was gently transferring the messenger bird from his shoulder and into his arms. He set to cooing at the creature, only stopping to hand the letters it carried over to Soap. "Gorgeous thing," he grinned at Soap, "I'll make sure it gets rest and food."

"Right," Soap started away from him, "Have fun with your magic bird."

"Messenger bird!"

"Is it magic?"

"It is imbued with magical-"

"So it's a magic bird," Soap gave a chuckle as his friend sent a rude gesture his way. He continued on his way to his tent with his letters in hand.

When he finally made it back to his tent, he plopped down in one of the seats around his small table. Though he was tempted to just collapse into his furs, he knew that the responsible thing would be to check over his letters first.

The first few were usual messages, just random updates from Laswell of complaints and worries that were pressing enough for him to hear about. There was a marriage request from one of the nobles of his kingdom, he was quick to toss that out. Nothing quite caught his eye, though, like the pristine white envelope.

Unlike the rest of the letters that had been sent, rather haphazardly, this letter seemed to have had a great deal of care gone into it. It was a creamy white color with a deep red seal closing it. He ran his fingers slowly over the image on the seal, a flower of some sort.

The letter was addressed to him in flowy script and, it wasn't until he looked at it that he became suspicious. This letter was not one that would be sent to him from someone in his kingdom. It was one of the many reasons why he and his people had been declared "barbarians" by other kingdoms. They did not bother to waste their time with presentation or pleasantries or propriety.

This seemed like a letter that would have come from another kingdom, from one like the type that his kingdom was currently defending itself from. It made him feel overly cautious as he opened the letter, his hands careful as he unfolded the single page of paper inside.

The letter was in more flowing script, and, as he started reading, he almost struggled to understand what was written. It was beautiful, oddly enough, but it was difficult to understand at times. Still, it didn't stop him from understanding the first words written, the ones that had his eyes going wide and his mouth dropping open just slightly.

"My dearest fiance..."

This had to be for someone else. The envelope said his name, but it had to be for someone else. He surely wasn't the only John MacTavish in the world. This was clearly meant for another John MacTavish. Yes, that was it, that had to be it. After all, he had no fiance.

The letters were meant for him. They were written to him. He had to face that by the third letter. This one was addressed to John MacTavish, just the same as the others, but in the several pages that were sent this time around, the person referred to him as Soap. What were the chances that there was another John MacTavish in the world who was also a king and also had earned the name Soap for himself? He understood that they were very slim. The letters were for him.

The letters were beautifully written. Their author, this Gary Sanderson who often signed and referred to himself as Roach, he was a gifted writer. And Soap had to admit, he enjoyed reading the letters, but he was stressed beyond anything. He never remembered meeting this man and he certainly didn't remember proposing to him.

This thought led him to one of the fires around where his friends were eating. He didn't bother with any leadup before asking the men in a quick voice, "Have I ever proposed to anyone while drunk?"

Price and Ghost had nearly spit out their drinks from laughing, Gaz had only raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry?"

"Have I ever proposed to anyone while drunk?" His voice must have been desperate enough because soon Gaz was speaking in a calming tone.

"No, Soap, you've never proposed to anyone while drunk. You've never proposed to anyone at all as far as I am aware." He shook his head, "Why? What's going on?"

Soap didn't tell them, he just raced back to his tent with an overwhelming sense of confusion running through him. Who was this person and why was he sending him these letters? Why did he think that they were engaged?

He found himself scanning back through the letters with the excuse that he was trying to discover the reason behind it. Still, that excuse certainly didn't explain why he found himself with a sense of affection curling in his chest and a smile on his face as he read.

Five Months Before The Wedding

It turned out that Soap didn't care much why Roach thought that they were engaged. He'd decided, well, if Roach thought they were, then maybe they were. The thought often brought an odd grin to his face, a sense of excitement overtaking him at the idea.

In every letter he received, he'd learned more and more about Roach. More and more about this mystery person. He kept every letter that he'd been sent, every letter and every envelope that they came in. He'd read many of them numerous times and he often found that the best part of his current days was returning to find another letter from the man.

His favorite of the things that he'd received, though, was certainly the picture. Roach had included it with one of his letters, telling him that it was a little sketch his friend had done of him. Whoever Roach's friend was, he was an excellent artist. And, whoever Roach was, he was absolutely gorgeous.

Soap had found himself staring at the drawing several times, just stunned at the fact that the man who had been sending him such beautifully written letters about his life, essentially baring his soul to him, could be so incredibly beautiful. He was more than embarrassed to say that the drawing hadn't gone into his little box that held the other letters but rather stayed on his person at almost all times.

He'd found himself thinking, more than once, that he wouldn't mind being this man's fiance. That he would be more than glad to claim the man who he'd come to know over the past few months as his own. He thought he'd been rather subtle with his thoughts, but, as Price, Gaz, and Ghost marched into his tent unannounced, he found that that wasn't true.

He scrambled quickly when they came in, scooping up the letters as quickly as he could and depositing them safely back into their little box. Ghost had raised an eyebrow at him from under his skull-like warpaint.

Once the letters were safely away, he straightened himself out and demanded, "What's the meaning of this? Just bursting in whenever you want?"

"We're investigating," Gaz spoke carefully.

"Investigating?"

"You," Ghost clarified as he and the others took a place around the small table, "We're investigating you."

Soap gaped at him, "Me? What?

"You've been acting strange lately," Price spoke carefully, "Distracted. And, based on the way you jumped out of your skin when we came in," he pointed to the box on the table, "I imagine it has something to so with whatever is in there."

There was a brief pause before, suddenly, all of them were moving at once. Soap lunged for the box but was quickly pressed back into his chair by Ghost and Price, both of them holding his struggling form down as Gaz calmly grabbed and opened the box.

There was a pause after Gaz opened the box, both Price and Ghost watching his confused expression. "Well," Ghost stared gruffly, still holding Soap down, "What is it?"

"Letters?" Gaz pulled one out, carefully setting the box down before beginning to scan over it carefully.

"Ay!" Soap struggled more, his face going a bit pink as an odd sense of protectiveness fell over him. He could see as the other man scanned the letter, his eyes slowly going wider and wider as he read.

"You have a fiance?" He declared suddenly, slamming the letter back to the table.

There was a pause as Ghost and Price finally let up on him, all three of the other men staring him down in shock. Soap deflated into his seat, playing with his fingers nervously as he responded, "I don't think so."

"These are addressed to you," Gaz started, "And whoever this Roach is, he's referring to you as 'my dearest fiance.' But you don't have a fiance?"

After a brief moment, words started pouring from Soap's mouth. He couldn't stop them as he confessed everything from getting the first letter to getting the drawing to now where he found himself constantly looking forward to another letter and rereading the ones that he had.

When he finally finished, his breathing heavy from how fast he'd been speaking, all three of his friends were just staring at him as though he was crazy. He didn't have a moment to react when Gaz lunged at him. The man took his face in his hand and held him tight, holding him in place as he snapped around him in various places.

After several moments of this his eyes widened and he stepped back from him. "He's in love," he declared suddenly. He turned his attention back to the letter that he'd pulled from the box, holding it up and twisting it every which way. Soap would have complained when he saw the man sniff the letter if it hadn't been for the excuses that he was sputtering out.

"I-what-you don't!" His face felt like it was on fire and he couldn't manage to form a proper sentence. Sure he hung off of every word that Roach sent, sure he'd stopped having sex two months ago because it made him feel like he was betraying this man he'd never met, sure on one or two occasions he'd finished over his hand with the thought of Roach underneath him, and sure the mere thought of Roach was enough to brighten up his day, but none of that meant that he was in love!

After a moment Gaz set the letter back down. "No magic," he declared, "The fuckers fallen in love all on his own."

"Hey!" Soap protested.

"If they aren't a spell," Ghost crossed his arms, "Then why is this person sending him letters claiming to be his fiance?"

"Soap," Price started carefully, "Has he mentioned anything in his letters about why he thinks the two of you are engaged?"

Soap winced at the question, letting his friends know that he knew exactly why he'd been getting these letters. He'd learned the reasoning months ago, in one of Roach's more ranty letters. He'd been thoroughly amused and pissed on behalf of the man when he'd learned the reasoning. So-called "elegant states" and yet they would force someone to marry a man that they hated all for the reason of elevating their status. There was nothing elegant about it.

"Soap?" Gaz crossed his arms carefully and raised an eyebrow at him. Finally, Soap started talking again, explaining the situation as Roach had explained it in his letters. He was never meant to receive the letters, but he had, and he was eternally grateful for that fact.

By the time he'd finished explaining, all three of the other men had an amused smile on their faces. "So," Ghost started, "Let me get this straight. His parents are going to force him to marry someone, so in response, he decided to fake having a fiance by sending letters that he never thought would actually get sent. Does he even know that you've been getting them?"

"No," Soap deflated slowly, "I've thought about writing him back but...well you guys see his letters. I'd just end up fucking something up!"

"Well," Gaz started around the table, planting a comforting hand on his shoulder, "At least you have a fiance now?"

"I hate you."

Three Months Before The Wedding

The letter was different this time. He could tell immediately. Perhaps it should have said something about him that, when he received it, just the weight of it in his hands was wrong.

He didn't tear into it this time like he normally would, eager to drink up Roach's words. Now he just stared at it, tracing the white envelope, with no red seal with what he'd learned were honeysuckles on it. It was wrong. Roach always included a seal.

The scrawl on the front of the letter was different this time as well. It wasn't Roach's neat swirling letters, it was more scratchy and quick, but still flowy. The letter included a return location now. A kingdom a decent bit away from his own. Neighbors with the kingdom that he was currently at war with.

He must have stared at the letter for too long, something must have shown on his face. "What's wrong?" Ghost nudged his arm, "You usually dive into those things right away."

Soap didn't say anything at first, he just kept staring. Finally he moved his hands to begin opening the envelope. "Something is wrong," he spoke without reading the letter first. He could tell without reading it.

"You can tell that from the envelope?" Gaz joked lowly.

"Yes," Soap responded, his tone serious as he began to read over Roach's neat scrawl. His tone quieted the men around. It was rare that he spoke so seriously. His eyes scanned over the page carefully, horror filling him slowly.

The letter was short, but he understood immediately what had happened. They'd finally brought up the marriage to Roach and they'd called him out on his lie. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. This was on him now.

If he didn't respond, Roach would be forced to marry some fucking creep, but if he did respond, then what? Roach would be forced to marry him instead? The idea of marrying Roach brought a fluttery feeling to his chest, but he didn't want to force the man into anything that he didn't want.

"You've gone as white as a sheet," Ghost observed, "What's happened?"

"They finally approached Roach about the marriage," he folded the letter, holding it delicately in his hands as he continued, "called him on his lie. They sent me the letter to confirm that I still intend to marry him."

There was silence for several moments. No one said anything until finally Price, in a casual voice, asked, "Well, are you going to send a letter back?"

"If I do," he buried his face in his hands, "If I show up, they'll force him to marry me."

"You want to marry the man," Price said, "I don't see an issue with that."

"But I don't want to force him to marry me," Soap spoke simply.

"But if you don't," Gaz countered, "He'll be forced to marry the creepy Prince."

"But I can't force him to marry me," Soap insisted, "I can't have him hate me!"

"Why not let him choose," Ghost spoke his words quietly.

"What?"

"We're almost finished with this war," He shrugged, "We'll send a letter to Laswell and let her know where we're going, then we show up in the kingdom."

Gaz nodded along slowly, "You get to see Roach, he gets to know you and, before a wedding, he can choose what he wants to do."

"All your problems solved," Price agreed with a puff on his cigar, "He'll have the power to choose."

Soap hesitated for a moment. Of course there were a number of doubts running through his mind. Roach was nobility in a shiny kingdom, and sure, Soap was a king, but his kingdom was so much different. He was so different. He wasn't fit for a life in a cushy home, he had no care for propriety, and any "proper" people he'd spoken too had no issues spitting the word barbarian at his feet. Roach would likely hate him.

But the upside of the situation, allowing Roach to choose his own path, to give himself at least a chance to make an impression on the man who'd set his heart aflame with only words on a page, it was too good to pass up.

"Let's win the war," he said finally, "Then...then I'll go claim my fiance."

One Month Before The Wedding

They'd sent a large majority of their army home, only those who wanted to stay for extra pay or whatever other reason remained. And yet, as Soap and his men settled themselves on the outside of the city walls, as he, Gaz, Ghost, Price, and a procession of men entered the city, you would have thought that he'd arrived with his entire army.

The people of the city stared at them with fear and awe and, when they arrived at the gates to the castle, the servant who met them seemed as though he was going to wet himself. It was far too amusing to Soap who, dressed in his best, informed him that they were there to see the king and that it was of the utmost importance.

The servant had stuttered out a terrified reply before scampering off, practically running away from them. "Well," he'd muttered to Price, "I think we can safely say they've never seen war before if just this scares them."

"Fancy cowards," Price agreed lowly, "Should be easy to get your fiance though if they're like this."

Soap gave a short chuckle at the man's words. Anticipation was building up in his chest and excitement buzzed through his veins. This was it, after months he was going to see Roach in person. He was going to get his chance to prove himself. To have the other man as his own.

The thought of marrying Roach, of having the man to himself, of getting to take him apart under the eyes of the gods as his? It was almost overwhelming for him and he had to remind himself to slow down. Woo Roach first, then think about their wedding night and all the pleasure he could wring from the other man.

After some minutes, the servant returned. He still seemed to be terribly frightened of them, but he led them into the castle and started guiding them toward the grand hall with little to no issues.

As they'd approached the double doors to the grand hall, Soap straightened up, calling for his men to do the same. They would make a good first impression.

When the doors to the hall were opened, Soap was immediately met with the paling faces of the king and Queen, both of them perched on their thrones. The man next to the king, likely the Prince that they were trying to force Roach to marry, looked beyond angry. He hid it mostly well, but Soap could see it burning in his eyes. He could also see the disgust on his face. He pushed on, after all he could give less of a shit about what some creep of a Prince thought of him.

His procession stopped halfway into the grand hall and he continued forward without them, moving until he was stood close in front of the king. His eyes had skated quickly around the room as he approached, but he hadn't been able to spot Roach. It was likely a good thing as it allowed him to focus fully on his interaction with the king. Once he was close enough, he stooped into a short bow. A sign of respect since he was in the other's kingdom.

"I apologize for the sudden appearance," he stood back up and gave the clearly frightened king and queen a grin, "I was eager to arrive, though, you must understand."

The king squirmed in his seat a bit under Soap's gaze and an odd sense of satisfaction crawled over him. Let him intimidate the people trying to force the man he loved to marry someone he hated. "I, uh, yes, of course. Why such haste to arrive to us?"

"Well," Soap couldn't help but grin, "You see I've just won a war and I thought, you know what would be better than a feast in celebration? A wedding." It would be the perfect celebration for a fight hard won. If only Roach would choose to marry him. He thought he could make him quite happy.

The king sputtered, his face going red, "A wedding!"

"Yes," he gave a short laugh, "See I've come to finally marry my betrothed. I have kept him waiting for too long." He could feel the air in the room tense around him and he could hear as bits of chatter broke out among the nobility.

"So that must mean," the king's face went red, "You are-"

"King John MacTavish," he answered easily. "Apologies for not sending a return letter, war keeps a man quite busy."

"Yes," the king seemed to spit the words out. His ire only made Soap grin more. "Of course." There was a short pause before an easy smile crossed his face, one that told Soap that the man thought he was about to pull something over on him, "We are honored to have you here and to host your wedding to," he paused, "Roach. My, it surely has been some time since the two of you have seen each other, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Soap responded easily. He remembered the story Roach had given in his letters, after all he practically had them all memorized at this point, "Yes not since I proposed to him at the end of summer."

"On your trip to.. " the king prodded again.

"I would hardly call it a trip, more of a diplomatic meeting. But yes, on my trip to the trade center of your neighboring kingdom. Not the one I beat in the war, of course." Soap gave a knowing chuckle and responded with his own quick jab, "With this prodding, I almost wonder if you had thought I wasn't real?" The king joined in on his laughter and Soap relished in how uncomfortable the man sounded. It made his own laugh much more genuine. He was quick to move on though, wanting more than anything to see the man he'd come for. "Now then, might I be permitted to greet my fiance?"

The king gave him a clearly forced smile, "Of course."

He didn't comment on the kings clearly fake politeness, instead he started scanning the room, trying to pick out the man whose image he'd studied. Whose image he had memorized like the back of his hand. His eyes found him quickly and he couldn't help the grin that pulled to his face.

Roach was just as gorgeous as he looked in the drawing he'd sent. Just the sight of him had Soap's heart beating quickly in his chest, adoration blossoming in him as he looked at the man. He started toward him eagerly, noting the shock and nerves that painted the other's face. He also noted with pleasure that the other man had a strong blush rising to his cheeks.

When he finally stopped in front of the other man, he was quick to move into a greeting that, though likely a touch too intimate for this kingdom, was quite normal among his own people for lovers. He took one of Roach's hands in his own, lifting it slowly so that he could place a short kiss on the back of his hand, he quickly turned his hand so that he could kiss his wrist next. He grabbed Roach's other hand to do the same, keeping his eyes firmly looked on Roach's, even as the other seemed to only grow redder at the attention. Finally he stepped closer to him, placing a hand carefully on his waist while keeping the other laced together with one of Roach's own. "Apologies for how long it took me, but I've finally come to make good on my promise." He allowed himself another kiss to Roach's wrist before meeting his eyes again to add lowly, "I've come to make you mine."

#gary roach sanderson #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty #soap x roach #soaproach #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #call of duty fanfic

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sylix-royalty · 1 year ago

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Request Prompts

I keep seeing people doing numbered prompts that people can request, so take this as my version! Super excited!

I'll write most ships (Nothing romantic with Rossi, tho, he's a Pasta dad to me.) But I prefer things like Heid, Jemily, and Moreid though I haven't read/written a lot of them! But I will do straight ships as well! If you'd like, you may also include Jack or Henry for a little Jack or Hen-team/parental/fatherly bonding

I do write smut, so some of these can drift into that territory as well. (And for you Spencer lovers out there, I will also write Ethan as a little Pre-Canon special)

Just lemme know!

"Do you really think I'd leave you like that?"

"Do you want to go out next week? Or... maybe tomorrow?"

"Listen, I'm still trying to figure everything out."

"You can kiss me, it's okay."

"(S)He's mine. Back up."

"You're hands surprisingly soft..."

"Do you want kids/more kids?"

"Breathe (name), just breathe for me, okay? Keep breathing."

"Do you love me?"... "Prove it."

"You shouldn't fear your scars. They're one of the many things I love about you."

"Your brain isn't something to be feared, it's something to embrace" (Clearly targeted)

"I'm not as innocent as I look."

"I'm overwhelmed and I need to get away from here. Now."

"Please... I'm so scared."

"You're staring at me... again."

"Do you want sprinkles or not?"

"You can't hide from me!"

"I see through your shit."

"You work too hard."

"Kiss me one more time."

"I'd die for you."

"I'll kill for you." (Addition: "Please don't."/"You already have.")

"I'm... lightheaded..."

"Fucking christ, can you do that again? Please?"

"You're unbelievably sexy. It's unfair, actually."

"You taste like coffee."

"Please keep holding me."

"I know you hate being touched, but... I need a hug."

"I've never done this before... am I doing it right?"

"You can teach me."

"Let's go."

"Come back."

"Someone who loves you would never do this to you."

"You need to run. Run like you've never run before."

"Can you stop avoiding me and talk to me like I'm a fucking person and not a text on your phone?"

"You're drunk, let's get you to bed."

"Mmm, I looooove youuuuu~!" (Drunk)

"It's okay, you can sleep on me."

"Is this okay?"

"I need you."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #derek morgan #emily prentiss #heid #hotchreid #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #david rossi #Sylix's little snippets #Writing #creative writing #Jemily #hotchniss #Moried #And other ships maybe #fic prompt #writing prompt #dialogue prompt

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empressaraceli1992 · 2 years ago

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A Song for Ghost

I heard this song, and thought of this little scene. Please feel free to continue it (I cannot write smut to save my life).

The 141 sat together in the common room of the Valqueres base. A short mission to take out some straggling Shadows complete. Price sat next to Gaz on a small loveseat enjoying–in his mind– a well deserved cigar while Gaz fussed over a minor laceration on his Captain’s upper arm. Ghost occupied the only reclining chair, pushed into the corner of the room so he could observe everything, sharpening one of his favorite knives. Alejandro, Rudy, and Soap sat on the couch. Alejandro and Rudy were talking quietly while Soap sat curled around his sketchbook drawing, and humming to himself.

“Gaz quit clucking, and relax.” Price chided gently, removing the sergeant’s hands from his injury. Gaz gave him a hard look, but listened nonetheless leaning back into the loveseat. Alejandro laughed at something Rudy whispered to him. Both men gave Soap a sidelong glance.

“You’ve got it bad Hermano.” Rudy grinned leaning into Soap to peek at his drawing.

“Awe bile yer heid.” Soap said, playfully shoving Rudy away with his shoulder.

“What are you humming anyway?” Alejandro asked, reaching around Rudy to prod Soap’s knee.

“Yea Soap, why don’t you give us a bit of entertainment while we relax?” Gaz snuggled into Price’s shoulder. Soap threw his small white eraser at the other sergeant. Everyone in the 141 knew that Soap had a lovely singing voice, though he rarely sang around them. Most of the time they would have to catch him when he was cleaning lost in his own thoughts to hear his beautiful voice echo down the halls. The one time a recruit caught the sergeant off guard, embarrassing him, and Soap refused to sing for a month. The recruit was punished thoroughly for the slight even if he didn’t really understand why.

“If I do, I don’t want you to laugh at me.” Soap growled seriously without looking up from his sketchbook.

“You know we wouldn’t.” Price assured him.

“Unless it’s a love song.” Rudy cut in cheekily. “It sounds like you’re pinning hard over there Hermano.”

Ghost looked up from his knife, hands stilling.

“Maybe I am.” Soap muttered. “Wouldn’t matter anyway. Ye want me to sing or nae?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Rudy amended.

“Good.” Soap grinned, settling down more comfortably into the couch he cleared his throat. His hands continued to move as he sketched.

“Like we're under water

Can't hear nothing You've been

Casting a spell I'm all yours now

Yeah you've been filling the space up in my mind”

Everyone stilled–almost scared to spook Soap as they listened to his voice wash over them.

“And tell me everything

Both the good and bad cause

Whatever you would tell me

I would still like everything that I see”

Even Ghost set aside his knife and wet stone–leaning forward his elbows on his knees as he listened intently.

“Cause nothing feels better than us

I'm so high, can't get down

No nothing feels better than when I'm with you

My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I won't lie

Nothing feels better than when I'm with you”

Soap glanced up from his sketchbook–ocean eyes met warm amber.

“Nothing feels better than us

Nothing feels better than us

Let me be your safe place

If the sky would open

I'm making sure that you'll stay dry

In the greatest of storms I'll be your light

And they can't tell me nothing

That will make a difference

Since I got everything I need

In you

I'm invincible, I believe”

Soap felt his heart slam against his rib cage as Ghost held his gaze for a long moment. Taking a shuddering breath he prayed no one noticed he pushed through the next chorus. His eyes returned to his sketch as the tips of his ears turned red.

“Cause nothing feels better than us

I'm so high, can't get down

No nothing feels better than when I'm with you

My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I won't lie

Nothing feels better than when I'm with you

Nothing feels better than us

My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I won't lie

Nothing feels better than when I'm with you”

Soap didn’t look up again, scared to see the look on the lieutenant’s face now that he had finished. Rudy and Alejandro–who had never heard him sing before–looked at him with wide eyes. Price gave a proud fatherly smile.

“You do got it bad.” Gaz quipped, a sleepy grin on his face.

Soap opened his mouth to spout off a smart ass remark–Ghost stood, and walked out. Soap felt the remark die on his tongue, his face fell ever so slightly. If you didn’t know him well you wouldn’t see it at all, but Price knew. Price saw. Soap went back to his sketch without commenting.

“Alright lads, time for this old man to head to bed.” Price got to his feet, Gaz following right behind him, and patted Soap on the shoulder as he left. Soap hummed an acknowledgement, but didn’t move otherwise. Alejandro took his cue from Price, and helped Rudy to his feet, wishing Soap a goodnight, and they too left.

Soap waited until he was certain he was alone before he let the first tear slip out. He stared through his blurred vision at the sketch of Ghost–Simon–without his mask staring back up at him the corner of his mouth turned up in the slightest hint of a smile. Slamming the sketchbook shut, Soap chucked it against the far wall. The book hit the wall with such force the old seam split and pages scattered everywhere. Groaning Soap dropped his face into his hands as the tears now fell unopposed.

He was such an idiot. Not only was it against every rule about fraternizing it was obvious Ghost didn’t feel the same. How stupid was he to sit there and sing his heart out like a fucking teenager? Soap bit into his bottom lip to stifle his sobs, and ground himself. He had annoyed Ghost over the comm constantly with his heedless flirting. Of course Ghost didn’t feel the same. Soap was just as annoying now as he had been in his team before the 141. Soap’s shoulders shuddered with his silent cries as he mourned his broken heart.

Something rustled nearby. Soap’s head shot up alert. The pages of his sketchbook flittered across the room–the slight breeze from the open window had swept them further into the opposite corner. Growling to himself, Soap flung himself off the couch. He might as well clean his mess up before anyone else noticed. Squatting, Soap began plucking the pages off the ground, stacking them neatly in his hand.

There were numerous drawings of each member of the 141: Price with his cigars, Gaz with the recruits, Ghost…Ghost standing against a tree in full gear during their last mission, menacing, and yet so… Soap shook his head snatching up the drawing. There was another drawing of Ghost, his mask rolled up above his nose as he ate. Soap felt his heart ache as he picked that one up. There was even one of Ghost standing in the middle of the makeshift ring they had built for sparing, a dozen faceless recruits staring up at him in awe as he explained one of his more complicated takedowns. Soap almost smiled at the thought, almost…

Where was his latest drawing? Soap glanced around confused, he had every piece of his sketchbook, but that drawing. His eyes fell on a pair of black army issued boots. Only one person could sneak in without Soap noticing. Sure enough when Soap lifted his eyes slowly the owner of the boots stared down at him through his skull plate mask. Soap’s latest drawing in his massive hands.

“Hey L.T.” Soap croaked rising carefully. “Sorry ‘bout the mess.” He held his hand out for the drawing expectantly. Ghost glanced at the drawing and then at Soap’s outstretched hand before meeting the Sergeant’s uneasy gaze.

“This supposed to be me?” Ghost asked flatly. Soap winced.

“Yes, sir.” Soap wasn’t sure, but he hoped honorifics felt like it would placate the lieutenant. He didn’t want to ruin what little they had left, IF they had anything left. Soap still wanted to work with the man without him hating him entirely.

“With me, Sergeant.” Ghost turned on his heel and stomped out. Soap felt his heart plummet into his stomach. He was so fucked. Hurrying after the lieutenant, Soap tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.

Soap knew Ghost was going to go to Price and demand that Soap be transferred. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth. Soap could feel the tears welling up again. Ghost led him down the hall stopping at an unmarked room. Pulling out a key, Ghost unlocked the door, and threw it open gesturing for Soap to step inside. Soap stepped into the room–it was pitch black. The door shut behind him, and the lock slid into place.

Soap let shuddered sob. So Ghost was just going to lock him in here until he could deal with him? Rustling, the slide of fabric against skin. No, no, no Ghost was still in here. He was going to chew him out for his blatant disrespect.

“Sir, I’m sorry I–mmmph!” Soap’s brain short circuited.

A large hand wrapped around the back of Soap’s neck forcing him to turn—warm chapped lips crashed into his own. Soap whined into the kiss dropping the remnants of his sketchbook. His hands wound around the broad chest in front of him twisting themselves around the fabric of the hoodie. Ghost growled into Soap’s lips wrapping his free hand around Soap’s thigh pulling his leg up around his waist. Soap was going to die–die happy, but die.

Ghost’s tongue slid across Soap’s bottom lip. Soap groaned. Ghost took the opening and slid his tongue inside, exploring Soap’s mouth as he deepened the kiss. Soap gave as good as he got, his tongue warring with Ghosts as he ground into him. Grunting, Ghost spun pressing Soap’s back against the wall grinding back into him viciously.

“Fuck!” Soap gasped. Ghost’s mouth trailed down his chin tasting his stubble. Soap gave a pleased shudder turning his head to allow Ghost more access to his neck. Ghost nibbled, and licked his way to the place where Soap’s neck met his shoulder.

“Last chance to tell me to stop.” Ghost warned, mouthing the flesh there.

“God, please don’t stop.” Soap begged, he wrapped his hand around the back of Ghost’s head, the other around his shoulders. “Please…”

Ghost sank his teeth into him–Soap moaned, throwing his head back against the wall with a dull thud.

“Don’t brian yourself before I can fuck you.” Ghost grumbled licking the tender spot before moving to a new spot. Careful to bruise the sergeant up as deliciously as possible. No one would touch his Soap, his Johnny ever again.

youtube

#ghost x soap #john soap mactavish #ghost #price cod #gaz cod #alejandro cod #rodolfo rudy parra #Youtube

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ao3feed-tatortsaarbruecken · 3 months ago

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kar1nsworldx · 1 year ago

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BRUNOOOOOOOO

#heid smut

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imagining-in-the-margins · 11 months ago

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CM Office Party Fics 🎉

Hey everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who participated. I am so happy to share everyone’s hard work. If you have a oneshot or masterlist you’d like me to add, please send me a message - new additions are always welcome.

SFW Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Inexperienced by me: Virgin!Reader has a secret no one expected, least of all Spencer. She’s a virgin… in every way.

Dancing with the Doctor by @smalltownbeautyqueen: After hearing the BAU's prom stories, Garcia decides to throw her own BAU prom.

Gift Exchange by @ssahopelessly: It’s time for the Secret Santa gift exchange at the BAU.

Secret Santa by @c-m-stuff: Reader and Spencer are together for Secret Santa.

Better for You by @incognit0slut: Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.

Clue by @pathologicalreid: A fic in which Penelope hosts a NYE party with a murder mystery theme.

Mistletoe's for Two by @andiebeaword: At the annual Christmas party, Spencer gets caught under the mistletoe by the woman he didn’t want to kiss.

More ratings and pairings below!

NSFW (18+) Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Prom Night by @foxy-eva: After everyone shared their sad (or non-existent) prom stories, Penelope decided to host a BAU Prom, giving Spencer the perfect excuse to finally ask out Reader.

Funhouse Mirror by me: SSA Reader promised Spencer he’d be surprised by her costume of the Doctor for the Halloween Party. He definitely was.

Kiss ’n Tell by me: Reader gets drunk on a night out with the girls and accidentally mimics her boyfriend’s habit of oversharing.

Unhappy Holidays by @reiderwriter: Reader runs into Spencer at holiday celebrations four years in a row, including this NYE.

Always Bet on Black by @reidmotif: Reader realizes she has an advantage at the Bureau's Casino Night, when Spencer can't seem to take his eyes off her and her dress.

Never Have I Ever by me: After a case involving kink culture, Spencer is assigned to judge the girls’ game of Never Have I Ever. Later, him and Reader compare scores.

Other/Fem!Reader (SFW)

Somewhere I Belong by @0and0its0doctor0: (Hotch) Hotch has a little liquid courage and breaks the rules.

When Snorter Does the Unexpected by @alluring-andrayav: (Derek) It's Derek's birthday, and he receives an unexpected gift.

Other Pairings & Gen Fic (SFW)

All is Bright by @masterwords: (Hotchgan) After a long series of failed dates, Hotch and Morgan finally come to their senses thanks to some well-placed mistletoe.

Talk of the Town by @/masterwords: (Hotchgan) Hotch has an invite to a Christmas party at the White House and he's asking Derek to be his plus one.

October by @gaelic-symphony: (Temily) The couple spends Halloween together.

November by @/gaelic-symphony: (Temily) The couple spends Thanksgiving together.

So Just Keep Kissing Me Under the Mistletoe [AO3] by @starzzyeyed : (Hotchreid) Spencer's dreading the BAU's christmas party for many reasons; not least because it means spending time off duty with his boss.

Happy Hotch Day by @codename-mom: (Platonic) Penelope wants to cheer her boss up as he still suffers from what Foyet did to him. The team prepares a surprise for him.

It's a Piece of Cake by @/codename-mom: (Platonic) Jack is turning six and Penelope wants to do something for the occasion.

The Sweater Case by @/codename-mom: (Platonic) The FBI organizes a gala with all the agency directors in the country. Hotch doesn't want to go.

Happy Reading!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds challenge #criminal minds women #criminal minds fanfic #temily #hotchgan #hotchreid #heid #criminal minds gen fic #gen fic #cm writing challenge #fanfic rec #fic recs

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manicrouge · 11 months ago

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Saccharine

[𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛]

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 29/12/23

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: After a particularly difficult mission and eyeing a 'joke' made by Johnny, Simon calls you for a favour, one you've been filling for months, only this time, something is different.

[𝙲𝚠]: smut, possessive!Simon, creampie

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 5,455

[𝙰/𝙽]: I don't rlly have much to say here, hope you enjoy !!

It's difficult for him to put into words how he's feeling as he walks through the base. His uniform marked with ash, gunpowder, and despite its darkness, he's quite sure he's covered in a fair bit of blood too.

His mouth is dry, his body is aching, and he's walking through the halls as a phantom would in hopes of finding its resting place after straying too far away from its grave. His head is pounding and he's dreaming of the hot shower in his room, fighting to keep his eyes trained on the thought to combat the thought that has been following him around for days after hearing your name mentioned by Laswell.

Only, his focus on his shower is ruined as he slows down when he passes a particular door. It's difficult to miss; it's right beside Price's office and has a sticker with shoddy handwriting slapped across the golden plaque, blocking out your last name.

Johnny can be childish sometimes, not beyond a practical joke (as he's unfortunately come to terms with), and he finds himself rolling his eyes at the sight of 'MacTavish' being layered over your surname.

His jaw clenches the longer he stares at the sign, a short spout of air escaping his flared nostrils as he keeps his eyes trained on the sign.

'You upset I got meself a wife, Si'?' a voice calls from behind him with a short chuckle, 'me 'n bonnie might as well be husband and wife the amount of time we spend together, don't ya think?' he continues on, and with his aching head, he finds teeth grinding together as he turns to address the slightly shorter man standing behind him.

Johnny looks up at him with crossed arms, a shiteating grin on his face. It's difficult to fight the urge to wipe it right off of his face, but he knows all to well the consequences of doing something like that. So, he shifts on his feet, staring at him. 'You're gonna get the both of you in deep shit if y' keep doing stuff like this,' he responds, shaking his head.

'Yer aff yer heid,' scoffs the man, shaking his head.

'English-'

'Y'u're crazy, Lt,' he simply states, unfolding his arms as he begins to move past him, patting his shoulder and stopping beside him, looking up at him. Simon doesn't bother to turn his head, instead, keeps his eyes trained in front of him as the man adds, 'just say y' jealous; Price isn't bothered about it, an' neither should y',' he utters before walking away.

He finds it difficult to swallow as he continues to stare at the sign, before ultimately turning around. His pace towards his room quickens as the urge to shower melts away all thanks to that stupid sticker on the door to your office, and the scot who thinks such a joke is humorous.

—

It's late when you get the phone call.

In fact, you are just getting ready for bed, a book resting in your lap, the lamp beside your bed illuminating the little cosy corner of your bedroom when your phone sitting beside it begins to vibrate.

You let out a short breath, staring at the vibrating phone sitting against your bedside table, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you glare at it. It will ring out if you don't pick it up soon and you can't seem to find any form of sympathy for the person on the other end of the line; you know who it is. The lateness, the bleak night sky, all of it blends with the man who is expecting you to pick up the phone. Besides, he's never been one to call in the daytime.

He never even picks up your calls when you call him during the day, so why, when the sky shifts to a dark abyss must you play by his rules? It hardly seems fair.

Despite such, you begin to move towards the your phone, the edges of the book resting in your lap digging into your stomach as you grasp your phone in your hands, a small breath escaping you as you feel the vibration come to a sudden stop. You're too late to pick up the first call. Bad move, but it's what you want, isn't it? To ignore him, to not give into him. So why do you press on the notification greeting you when you open your phone, and why do you hold the phone up to you ear in anticipation to hear his voice?

You don't know the answer, and quite frankly, you don't really need to know. It happens and you're sitting here waiting for him to answer your call in the dead of the night. How he puppeteers you is frightening, twisting the invisible strings wrapped on your wrists from a distance, leading you to follow in his footsteps; now you're the one calling him in the dead of night.

'You let it ring out,' says the voice on the other end of the phone. You hold you breath, swallowing hard at the sound of the gruffness of his tone. He sounds tired, but bitter. Exhaustion never softens a man like him, only sharpens his edges. 'What have I said about-'

'I was in the shower,' you quickly answer, finding some form of excuse to soften the blow of his words. He lets out a small 'hm' and you picture him rubbing his hand over his masked mouth. 'I called you right back, didn't I?'

'I need to see you,' he confesses, wasting no time to mask his intent behind the phone call. 'I've just got back, 'can't stay in this base; I'm one more jab from Johnny away from doing something I'll regret,' he says, lowering his tone as though the man with a mohawk was waiting around the corner to pounce on him for his words.

A small smile forms on your face as you hear him lower his tone, before you look back to your drawn blinds again, sighing. 'Si', it's late,' you say, 'I'm getting ready for bed- I've had a long day,' you add.

You know, as you're speaking down the line, that the words you're saying are most likely going to go through on ear and right out the other, but you show little care to such as you wish for the goodnights sleep since you had left your office at the base. It's all thats been on your mind all day and you know the man is going to be cruel enough to rip that away from you all for the sake of distressing.

'Y' don't have to do anything for me tonight, sweetheart,' he breathes, sweetening his tone all to butter you up. Your mouth curls at the nickname, your face growing hot hearing such drip off of his tongue knowing, when he's here, he's certainly going to drop the nice act all for the sake of getting off.

It's a shame really; soft words sound so good coming from his mouth.

'I'll do all the work, love. I've been stressed for fuckin' days- I need this,' he tells you, and you swear to yourself his tone has a slight pitch to it as he address you down the phone.

Poor needy Simon Riley, he just can't help himself, can he?

'You're really that desperate?' you ask, a small smirk forming on your face. It's a compliment knowing someone like him is pining over you, especially when, in the workplace, he hardly addresses you. While it should be insulting, you're quite comfortable with your relationship at work; you could do without the distraction. 'And you're gonna do all the work tonight?' you continue.

''Won't have to lift a finger f' me, doll,' he reassures.

So, while you curse yourself for falling for the sweetness of the words leaving his mouth, you find yourself edging closer to the edge. An hour at most, then he'll leave, and then you'll be right back where you are right at this moment in time: comfortable in bed with your book. Only, after his visit, your book won't be digging into your stomach like it is now, instead, placed firmly in your hands.

'Okay,' you relent, 'but one more thing.'

'What is it?'

'Be gentle tonight,' you utter.

He pauses.

'Could do without limping around the base tomorrow, especially if Price has me running around like he usually does.'

There's apprehension in his silence and it's painful for a short moment until you hear him exhale. You're hoping his exhale means he's succumbing to your request.

'Okay, deal.' While he confirms such, you hear the strain in his voice, yet, rather than focus on it, you choose to skip over it; a deal is a deal and there's nothing keeping you from kicking him out if he doesn't keep to it.

'How long are you goin' to be?' you ask, looking down at you book in the hopes you get to make it through the first few pages before he appears at your apartment door. There's a moment of silence on the other end of the phone and you fight off the urge to sigh at the man's typical nature.

Always mysterious, never one for words.

'Twenty minutes, give or take,' he answers, 'got to shower first; 'covered in blood, don't think you'd appreciate me showing up like that, sweetheart.'

'When aren't you covered in blood?'

'Difficult question t' answer,' he responds, 'I'll be quick,' he adds, and with that, he hangs up. Charming.

So, you place your phone back against your nightstand, not bothering to put it back on charge, instead, you shuffle further into your bed, holding your book in your hands, opening it.

You might as well be productive while you await his arrival.

—

You feel embarrassed as, when you hear a knock at the door to your apartment, you're heart begins to pace. Setting your book down against the nightstand, you inhale as you shove your duvet off of you, wincing when your bare feet meet with the cold wooden ground of your bedroom. Rubbing your face with you hands, you slip on your slippers, glancing at your reflection in the mirror of your vanity as you exit your room.

You've absolutely looked worse, you know that; he's seen you with make up running down your face, drool down your chin while grabbing your hair and forcing you down on his cock so, really... your hello kitty pyjama shorts are absolutely the least of your worries.

Walking through your living room, you stop at the front door, taking a moment to peer through the peep hole, catching the man on the other side of the door. Ghost, the persona he carries with the mask, has been abandoned at the base, and while he still has a mask pulled up to his nose, you rejoice at the sight of his skin unmarked by the thick blobs of paint he typically uses; it never truly dries down and, during previous sessions, you recall having to scrub and scrub to get rid of the marks he'd left on you.

Stepping away from the door, you unlock it and pull it open. 'Was beginnin' to think y' fell asleep on me,' he sarcastically remarks, not waiting to walk into your apartment, your shoulders brushing as he steps into your living room. Closing the door behind you, you wrap an arm around yourself, leaning against it. 'By the looks of things, you almost did, long day, hm?'

'Imagine yours was longer,' you answer, hearing the sarcasm dripping off of his tongue, 'this really couldn't have waited until tomorrow? You're a man of discipline aren't you?'

There's something in the way his eyelids droop upon you say that that makes you believe he's a liar; you're familiar with that look, a look bred from jealousy and lust- anger. Stepping towards you, you drop your arms to your side as he presses a hand against the door beside your head, leaning into you. Your eyes are focused on his as he stares at you, his brows furrowing as he continues to look at you.

Despite all the time you've spent with him, you know there will never be a day where Simon Riley does not intimate you. Even with the mask left in a locker room back at the base, you find that Ghost never truly leaves him; you find it's more than a mask and that, really, he's embedded in his soul.

'Difficult to be a man of discipline,' he says, and you gasp when you feel his free hand up your clothes cunt. He pushes his hand firmly against you, the palm of his hand pressing against your clit. A sudden wave of pleasure strikes you as you quickly grab his arm, clamping your mouth shut. He's still looking at you, keeping his eyes trained on you as you fall apart in his arms, letting out a short breath before continuing on with his sentence, 'when this pretty pussy is all I can think of, yeah?'

You gulp hard, wide eyes staring at him. 'W- We have a deal, Riley,' you carefully speak, 'gentle, remember?' you reiterate, knowing well where such behaviour and words have led before. He's a dangerous man to please, likes playing with his food too much to be what you desire him to be, even for a night.

Your faith in him and his promise is slowly fading the longer his hand stays on your cunt. His gaze doesn't change, instead, his furrowed brows lift and you catch the muscles under his mask contort into a crooked smile. 'Seriously-'

'I am bein' gentle, doll,' he answers, pushing the fabric of your shorts to the side, brushing his pointer finger between your folds. Removing his hand from beside your head, you watch as he tugs down his mask, leaving it pooling around his neck. His tongue trails across his lips as he hears you let out a short, stifled whimper, snapping your head away from him as he rubs his finger against your clit.

Grabbing your face with his free hand, he forces you to look at him again, a full smirk on his faces as he lets out a small laugh. 'You’re fucking soaked, doll,' he panted, the addition of his index finger against your clit causing you to squirm against the door. 'All this for me, hm? An' I haven't even fucking touched you.'

Squeezing his arm, you moan, 'don't really wanna fuck against the door,' you confess. He rolls his eyes and you fight off the urge to whine as he pulls his hand away from your shorts. Stepping away from you, he quirks an eyebrow as you grab his hand, pulling him out of the living room, leading him to your bedroom.

Pushing you down onto the mattress, Simon catches your wrists in his holding, pinning your arms above your head as he takes a moment to simply look at you, soaking in your appearance. 'Really dressed up for me, huh?' he asks.

You scoff and roll your eyes, 'was getting ready for bed actually, you interrupted me.'

He doesn't respond, instead, grabs the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down. Lifting your hip, you allow him to pull them down your legs, watching as he drops them on the ground before wedging a knee between your leg, hovering over you. 'Still wearin' pretty panties for me, though,' he observes, his fingertips brushing over your clothed clit. 'Wanna taste you,' he confesses, 'but I want your cunt more.'

Pushing his hand up the fabric of your shirt, he grabs the band of your panties, tugging at them. Your furrow your brow, only for your confusion to be solved as he moves his other hand down. A harsh tearing sound tells you what he's done before the damage had truly settled. 'They were expensive—'

'I’ll buy you all the pairs you need, sweetheart; ’s nothing money can’t solve,” he quickly cuts you off in the midst of you whining. '‘Need to be in that pretty cunt of yours now,' he says through a laboured breath, tossing your ripped panties somewhere into your bedroom.

Grabbing your waist, he moves you so you're laying with your back against the mattress, and, despite his eagerness in his actions, his hold of you is gentle, and he guides you with a brutish care which is striking for a man like Simon Riley. Lowering himself down, he presses the pads of his fingers against the bottom your chin, forcing your head up. Such a movement leaves you confused for a short second before you feel his the wetness of his mouth against your throat.

Pulling down his boxers, he presses kisses into your neck, a muffled ground escaping him as you hear him rubbing his free had up and down his cock. It's a dirty, slicks sound, and you found your soaked cunt pulsing at the very thought of the precum trailing down his cock as he jerks himself off.

'I ever tell you,' he begins, pulling away from your neck, sitting back on your bed, grabbing your hips to pull you to him. He moves you as though you're a doll, yet still, he persists with the terms of your deal, moving you slowly, cautious of his hold on you. Still, his grip is quite harsh, but you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from spoiling his attempts to fulfil your demand. 'You're one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen.'

His words leave your face beaming with colour, and you suddenly find it's difficult to breathe. Flattery certainly was not his forte; he has a method, a way in which whatever this thing is between the pair of you is works, and he has never strayed from it. Until now, of course.

'Uhm,' you quietly begin, 'no.'

He keeps his eyes on you, a peculiar glint in his eyes. While you notice the sluggish lids, reading the as jealousy, it's difficult to figure out what exactly that look in his eyes mean. If you didn't know any better, you're finding yourself inclined to say that it's a hint of adoration.

Holding his cock in his hand, rubbing it against your clit, he soaks the tip of his cock with the wetness of your pussy, letting out a satisfied grunt. Your legs press against his side, blushing as your realise his praise was causing your hole to clench around nothing. It doesn't take much to please you, you figure, and hearing such words pass his lips makes the heat in your stomach grow.

'Well, I'm sorry, sweetheart,' he says, dragging the head of his cock between your folds, settling it just above your hole. 'Shoulda told that a lot sooner, 'cause you're fuckin' gorgeous.'

He is trying to kill you, you're convinced.

Squirming beneath him, you can't help put let out a pathetic moan as you feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. A particular fear possesses you and you grow fearful to the fact that you're very much convinced, if he proceeds with his sweet-talking, you very well might cum from his words and his words alone. You absolutely couldn't live that down if that comes true.

'You’re so fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t you?' he asks, placing his hand against your cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone. The skin on his hands is rough, almost coarse, yet, you find yourself pushing into his touch, looking up at him with bleary eyes.

'Please,' you whisper, looking at him.

Leaning over you, he looks you in the eyes.

'What do you want?'

There's the typical Simon Riley. You thought you lost him for a moment, and selfishly, you find enjoyment in whoever it was who was calling your 'pretty'.

'Simon,' you whine, lifting your hand you, placing it against his cheek, narrowing your eyes at him. He's going to make you spell it out, you know he is, and you loathe him for it. Despise him, even.

'I’m not giving you what you want until you beg me for it,' he states, 'use that pretty mouth of yours for me, sweetheart, tell me what y' want.'

To express the way he makes you feel in this moment most definitely will be enough to send you to hell. Although, after the way the both of you have behaved tonight, you're smart enough to know that you will not be floating upwards when your time finally comes. However, you settle in the knowledge of knowing that he is no better than yourself as he slaps his cock against your cunt, and you find a part of you is rejoicing in the fact that both of you will spend your eternity burning together.

You weaken to his request.

'I want your cock in me, please,' you breathe, 'I- I’ll be good, I’ll be so fucking good for you, I promise,' you ramble. A wicked grin appears on his face and he removes his hand from off of your face, placing his against your hip. 'Please,' you repeat, feeling your eyes grow wet as your poor hole clenches around nothing again.

Your back arches against the mattress as he finally pushes into you, the thickness of his cock causing a delightful burn as your hole stretches around him. Not matter how any times you've take him, you have never adjusted to his side, only knowing that he's tainted the experience with anyone who isn't him as you're convinced your cunt has grown accustomed to take his cock and no one else's.

'Oh, fuuuckk yeah, that’s it, take it,' groaned the man, 'good fucking girl, so good for me,' he exhales as your greedy hole continues to take him in further and further. Your eyes are teary by as he pushes the last few inches into you, and you hiccup a sob as a few stray tears escapes from your eyes.

Pushing himself forward, he lets go of your hips as he holds himsel with an arm, using his other hands to brush away the tears falling from your eyes. 'Shh, my sweet girl,' he exhales, 'you're fine, made to take my cock,' he utters, 'you're doin' so well for me, taking me so fuckin' well,' he hisses, pulling out slightly.

You clench around his cock, fisting at the sheets below you with teary eyes as he gently thrusts back in. His hand remains against your face, wiping away any tears that fall as he presses his lips against yours, continuing with a slow pace, though, he hardly pulls out of you as the pair of you engage in a messy kiss. It's sloppy, divided by brittle breathes and your whimpers as he begins to slowly pick up the pace.

With his lips still against yours and the quickening pace, he removes his hand from your face, snaking it under the fabric of your t-shirt, cupping one of your tits. 'Love your tits,' he says, taking a moment to pull away from the kiss, 'made for me, weren't they, sweetheart?' he asks. You eagerly nod your head, moaning as he proceeds to pinch on your nipples, 'fuck, of course they are, fit so good in my hands,' he groans. continuing to pinch it as his cock the steady pace of his cock fucking your hole quickens.

Removing your grip on the sheets, you bring your arms up, wrapping them around the back of the mans neck, letting out breathy moans as he pulls his hand away from under your shirt, resuming his grip on your hip. He forces you up slightly, angling his cock to fuck you deeper than prior. A crude wetness fills the bedroom as his balls slap against your ass. His hold on your hip tightens, feeling almost bruising as a dull ache grabs your attention.

Screwing your eyes shut, you cry out when you feel his cock brush against a particular spot which has you squirming in pleasure. Your mouth opens wide as he proceeds to his the same spot . 'That the right spot, princess?' he grunts, 'open those pretty eyes for me, wanna see you,' he says. You don't listen to him however, his words seemingly muffled as he continues to pound into you. Your nails dig into his back, trailing downwards. ‘Keep your eyes on me, princess,’ he demands, his gentle tone slipping as he says so through gritted teeth, 'not gonna ask you again.'

Opening your eyes, you turn your head to look back at him, 'drunk off my cock already, sweetness?' he coos, 'y' look so good like this, all fucked out because of me and my dick, no one elses,' he chuckles, as he captures you in anothr sloppy kiss.

Intimacy with Simon has always been strange, but, you're convinced that tonight is the oddest you're ever seen him being.

His tongue brushes against the inside of your mouth as his thrusts grow sloppier. You moan into the kiss, opening your mouth wider while doing so, moving your hands from his back, pressing your hands against his chest, pushing him away as you feel the coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter each time his cock presses against the spot which has you seeing colours. He breaks the kiss with a huff as tremble under him.

‘I- I’m close,’ you weakly confess like a sinner during confession, squeezing your legs around his waist.

‘You’re close?’ Simon hums, his hungry eyes on you causing you to clench around his cock.

‘Simon,’ you whine in an embarrassingly needy manner, pushing yourself down to meet with his thrusts. You need to cum so fucking bad and his smugness is not going to be the thing that stops you.

One of your hand slips from his chest, although he's quick to grab it, letting go of your waist. ‘You’re gonna cum from my cock and my cock alone,’ he firmly states, his grip on your wrist tightening. ‘'Don’t think I could deny that pretty pussy of yours anything… takin’ me so fuckin’ well,’ he says frankly, his words causing you to tighten around him, letting go of your wrist to grab your hip in order to fuck you harder, ‘fuck, that’s it princess, go on, cum for me.'

Letting out a pathetic moan, your eyes roll back, thighs trembling as the cord in your stomach snaps and a wave of pleasure washes over you. You gasp, arching your back from off of the bed as a stroke of colour fills your eyes.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you sob, tightening your legs around his waist as you cum around his cock. Your entire body spasms as he fucks you through your orgasm, his thrusts growing sporadic, nearly resembling that of an animalistic in nature. The sound of your skin connecting is wet, indecent, though, you're far too out of it to even cringe at such.

Simon continues to fuck into you as though you're nothing but his toy, letting out short, breathy grunts with every thrust, cursing under his breath. 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's it sweetheart,' he moans, 'gonna fill you up with my cum, mine, no one else's. Gonna ruin your little pussy for anyone else, it's mine,' he grunts out, as his grip on your hips tightens as he pushed himself as deep as he could, and he let out a low, guttural moan.

It's a filthy feeling, feeling his cum paint your walls as he ruts his hips, swallowing hard as his cock pulses inside of you. A short breath escapes him, and you moan feeling him push deeper inside of you, forcing you to take him to the hilt, your soaking cunt pressing against his pubic bone.

You stay stagnant for a short while, your rough breaths mixing together in some form of melodic chorus as you look at each other. Your face is red, recalling the possessive words he had spoken as he came. It's difficult to think of anything but the harsh 'mine' that escapes his lips a few moments prior, and you let out a small his as he slowly pulls his cock from out of you, your hole clenching around nothing as he presses another kiss against your lips before pulling away from you.

You watch through heavy eyes you watch as he leaves the room, and while you're fearful of the possibility of him leaving, you seek comfort in the fact that his shirt is still in your room, and when you hear the door to the bathroom open across the hall, you allow your mind to settle, falling into exhaustion of your orgasm.

—

'Sweetheart,' Simon calls, and you hiss when you feel a warm cloth pressing against your oversensitive pussy, jolting awake as he wipes the cloth over you. 'Shh, you're fine, I've got to clean you up bef're y' think of goin' to sleep,' he says gently. 'You did so good for me.'

'Why'd you say 'mine'?' you sleepily mumble, 'you've never done that before,' you admit, 'never been one for praising me either,' ypu continue, wincing as he presses the cloth against your hole, wiping away the trail of cum oozing from out of it.

His lips form a thin line as he looks at you and you find his apprehension is causing your chest to tighten. A part of you is hopeful he meant something when he said that to you, yet, his silence is proving to be inconvenient.

'Tell me the truth, Si'.'

'Sick of seein' you and Johnny together,' he mumbles, pulling the cloth away from you. You stare at him, wide eyed as you look at him.

'You're jealous?' you slowly say.

He doesn't answer you.

'You said this was just... you working out frustrations, Simon. Since when has it been anything different?'

'I don't know,' he confesses, 'since I saw his fuckin' last name attached to the sign on your office door at the base, or maybe even before that, I don't fuckin' know.'

He's growing flustered as he speaks, stumbling over his pacing words as he looks at you with beady eyes, his Adams apple bobbing as he gulps. 'All I know is tha' the pair of you walk around the fuckin' base like you're together or somethin' when I'm the one who's fuckin' you, not him,' he hisses, 'takin' credit for something he doesn't even do, 'cause it's not his cock you're cumming on, it's mine.'

You sit silently and listen.

'He doesn't fuckin' deserve you, I do-'

'Simon,' you interject quickly before the man works himself into an inescapable spiral. Truthfully, you've never seen him in such a state, and while startling, you're oddly flattered. 'It's a joke.'

'I don't give a fuck what it is,' he retorts, tossing the cloth onto the ground, getting back into your bed. Resting his back against your headboard, he turns to you, grabbing you by the waist, pulling you onto his lap. You straddle his waist, flinching when you feel your cunt pressing against the fabric of his underwear.

'You're jealous,' you state, a small smile forming on your lips, looking down at the man below you. Resting your hands against his shoulders.

'I am,' he confirms, 'don't want anyone else having you.'

Your face is boiling as he looks at you.

'What are you saying?' you ask.

He looks as you as though even he himself doesn't know what he's saying, but then, his eyes soften as he looks at you, and he brings his hand to your cheek. 'I don't know,' he answers, ''just want you to be mine... but I don't know what else that means.'

'It doesn't have to mean anything right now,' you answer calmly, 'you don't have to know what it means but... if it makes you uncomfortable, I'll tell Johnny to cut it off,' you offer.

'Why would you do that.?'

''Cause I guess I sorta... like you too,' you admit through a heavy sigh, a startled gasp escaping for when he caught you in a chaste kiss.

'That's all I need,' he shortly confesses before pressing his lips back against yours.

While not knowing what exactly anything really means, you find solace in the fact that, while rough, Simon Riley is the sweetest thing you have ever indulged in, and while snappy and stoic at the best of times, it's when the pair of you are together that the mask slips and you find some form of twisted comfort in knowing that you're the only person who can have such an effect on him.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

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