Fun

The Secret History

“But how,” said Charles, who was close to tears, “how can you possibly justify cold-blooded murder?’ Henry lit a cigarette. “I prefer to think of it,” he had said, “as redistribution of matter.”

The way I'm obsessed with this group, ugh!!!

Digital Illustration, 2025

Gorchart

Thinking abt the secret baby trope with gaz

You’re crouched in the grocery store, inspecting and comparing a few items on the lower shelves (why does there need to be a banana, a vanilla, and a banana & vanilla flavor of these baby puff snacks?) while your baby is sitting up in the cart. She’s an angel— never cries or throws tantrums at the store, just sits patiently with her little pint of blueberries. You’ll pay for the empty plastic container with everything else.

Gaz spots her first. Deep brown eyes staring into his soul from down the aisle. She stops looking at him only to get another blueberry— excellent pincer grasp for her age. He loves seeing babies out in public, and this is an exceptionally cute baby.

So of course he tries to make her smile. Makes some silly faces, he’ll be the first to admit. Sticks his tongue out, scrunches his nose. She bursts into a little fit of laughter, the gurgly kind that babies do— and it makes you stand up to check on her.

And you meet his eyes. The same eyes your baby has. And he meets yours. The girl he met on leave— must’ve been a year or two ago.

Oh.

I’m sorry this train just won’t stop

More Johnny and Ghost with Ghost’s selectively mute (edit; I originally labeled reader as non-verbal, but I was made aware mutism more accurately describes this!) gf

Soap loves it when Simon fingers you in front of him, movie totally forgotten, and lets him cum on your stomach when he jerks off. And seeing Simon wipe it from your pretty belly and put his fingers between your lips? Goddamn.

But you know what makes him feel over the fucking moon? When you hug him at the door when he’s heading out. When you say goodnight so, so quietly in his ear.

We all know that man is a dog. And now you’ve got him by the fucking leash. He’ll do anything to hear more of that voice.

He’s totally addicted. Now every time he meets up with the guys and you’re along, or he comes to your place for movie nights, he’s leaning down for you to whisper hi, Soap, or goodnight, Johnny. Two little words and he’s melting. And he starts unlocking more little bits— learning to prompt in ways that you’ll respond.

Instead of asking how you’ve been, what you’ve been up to, running his mouth the way his thumping heart is telling him to, he just asks “you okay?” So he can hear your sweet, quiet tone when you say I’m ok.

Makes him fucking hard. He’s never been so hard on so little before. Just two fucking words and he feels like he’s gonna pass out from his blood rushing down.

i do usually stick with the idea that simon’s got some insane stamina and can go for multiple rounds but something about simon being spent after one round is just so hilarious to me.

in his defense, your tight cunt’s, well, too greedy — sucking his poor cock into her until he’s all drained out and just laying limp on the bed, trying to catch his breath, fearing for his life too maybe.

“you’re tired?” you asked, the genuine innocence in your voice making him grumble, his hand gesturing you on top of him. not your fault, anyone would assume this big guy’s got more in his store.

“not really been doin’ all this before meetin’ you, love. don’t have the time in my job.” he panted softly, calloused hands gripping your hips as you settled on top of him.

“but you have time for me?” you smiled. his heart skipped a beat, and in that moment, he had decided that if he’d die like this, this was the best way.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

MEN IN UNIFORM

Another idea dump

Soap x Reader

tw: smut

You, who willingly let yourself be escorted home by this cute stranger with a mohawk, eager to get over the misery of not being able to move on from your recent ex..

You broke up through text, because well- he wasn't available most of the time anyway, too busy with his job to give you the amount of affection you wanted.

Well, he hasn't responded yet- but still.

So you let this man, Johnny, help you forget about your ex.

You weren't picky, and he was very interested in you, even after you overshared about your ex to him, a stranger. A bad habit you often did when you were a bit tipsy.

A second after the door was closed, he was on you. Moaning into your mouth as he kissed you messily, getting you weak in the knees before he lifted you up and brought you to bed.

And as he started pounding into you, as you were gripping the bedsheet with your eyes rolling to the back of your head- you heard a continuous buzzing along with a familiar ringtone.

You whined when you felt Johnny slowing down his pace, and through the tears, you saw him reaching for your phone before tossing it to you.

He smirked at your confusion, deliberately slowing down even more, savoring your frustration. A desperate whimper escaped your lips as you pressed your heels onto his back, a silent, needy plea for him to move faster.

But he only smiled. "Answer it".

Somehow, you managed to grab your phone and read the name flashing on the screen. "Boyfie ❤️".

Oh, right. You haven't changed his name in your contact.

"Johnny-" You gasped, your breath hitching as he bucked his hips against you, the velvety head of his cock nudging right against that blissful spot deep inside.

"Do it, Bonnie" he purred lowly before dipping down to capture your nipple between his lips. "Make him hear just how damn good yer feelin' without him".

He rolled his hips slowly, making sure you felt every inch of his shaft dragging against your sensitive walls.

Knowing it would leave you to be desperate for more.

And he was right.

So you complied, and with shaky hands, you swiped the button on the screen before the phone slipped from your grasp as Johnny slammed into you again.

The other end of the line remained silent, but you knew someone was there—listening to every sinful sound echoing through the room.

Until..

"Luv?"

At that, you whimpered—not just from the gruff voice that still sent shivers through you, but from the way Johnny’s movements momentarily faltered.

"S-simon.." You mewled in response.

A needy whine escaped your lips as Johnny suddenly stilled.

Before you could ask what was wrong, he pressed your legs to your chest, gripping the backs of your knees before slamming into you—fucking you hard until all you could do was squeal and sob.

As the seconds on your phone ticked by, the call remained connected.

Welp, since absolutely no one asked

Here are the types of bodies I think the 141 have ✨

TF141 x Female Reader

Tags: cum eating, blow jobs, oral (fem receiving), cumming in pants, multiple orgasms

Warning: NSFW imagery beneath cut

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

As far as sheer beauty goes, Gaz might top them all. I head canon Kyle as being pretty lean, body composed of sculpted, sheer muscle. He's got a slim frame, like a runner or boxer.

Graceful. Strong. Built for endurance and agility.

What's more? It's fucking effortlessssss. Like, legitimately. When he was a middle schooler, he might have been told he was skinny once or twice. But the minute he hit his growth spur and shot up like a bean stalk, no one could say shit.

Why?

Because Gaz looks like a goddamn male model and he doesn't even have to do anything to maintain it.

Perfect skin? Yep. He uses five dollar lotion.

Legs like a ballerina? Uh-huh. The only training he does is for work.

Sculpted, mouth-watering abs? Check. They were built by McDonald's fries, Netflix, and the grace of God himself.

Let's face it. Gaz looks like he walked off the cover of a magazine purely because the lord has favorites. Let's move on.

Now, Gaz might only go the extra mile when it comes to work training...

But those muscles didn't just come from anywhere.

And the first time Gaz gets you underneath him, cock pounding into you for what feels like hours, you finally fucking understand.

Gaz's body—slick, strong, and slim—is built for agility. For endurance.

It's built for trapping you beneath the length of his covetous frame until you're too exhausted to struggle. For holding you down until he's dripping with sweat, until every muscle in his shaking body screams for a break.

Until his long, aching cock is slowly dripping semen onto the flat of your stomach.....for the third time in the past hour.

Gaz might loathe running the track, but he'll have you fucking like bunnies until you manage to buck him off.

The man has stamina that could rival a racehorse, and god help any woman that found herself in his grasp.

"Sit still, baby," he pants loudly, wrenching the globes of your ass in two of his model-esque hands, "M'not fuckin' done yet. One more...I just—need one more."

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Now Soap? probably the exact opposite of Gaz.

When body building became popular online, Soap jumped right on the bandwagon. Perhaps he grew up as the youngest brother in a horde of boys...or perhaps he was just tired of being the shortest boy on the football team...

But the minute he was old enough to afford a gym subscription, he was there. From dusk 'til dawn, practically. To Johnny, the gym is more than just a hobby. It's a lifestyle, and one that he enjoys immensely.

Soap is bulky, built of bulging muscle, broad shoulders, and thin hips. Every inch of it, from his plush chest to his cut abs, was painstakingly earned by hours of pumping iron.

He goes lifting six days a week, tracks all of his nutrition down to the last calorie. Everything he puts into his body is tracked and monitored--and that's the way he likes it.

He'd never say it aloud, but if it were up to him, I think he'd be the type to participate in those fitness/body building competitions.

In simple terms though? Without all those fancy words? "Macros?" "BCAAS?" What the hell is that?

In layman's terms...

Johnny has arms like tree trunks and ass for fucking DAYS. With the bulk and cut cycle, he oscillates between beautifully fatty in the thighs....to shredded like a piece of paper.

You can't help but watch him go back and forth, mind reeling with the change.

In the winter, you rest your head against the soft plains of his stomach while you lap at the head of his cock, soft and squishy from holiday cookies and hot cocoa. You like him like this.

Full. Rosy cheeked. Cock leaking strings of slick in the dip of his belly button, semen thin and stringy in your mouth.

In the summer? God help you.

In the summer, Johnny's out more than he's in, running himself ragged between his diet, work, and the gym. When he comes home, he's grumpy and agitated, balls achingly full, and semen thick after months of careful water intake.

His caloric intake might be down...but he prefers a different type of eating, anyway.

Good thing he has all those muscles. All the better to hold you down while he fucks you on his tongue.

"Johnny—" you mewl, shoving at his head when his tongue curls around your clit again, "It's past five already—aren't you ready for dinner?"

His lips pop when he pulls off of your swollen clit, eyes glazed over while he watches the way your pussy leaks.

"M'not hungry, doll," he mutters, "Got more than enough to eat here, anyway..."

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Simon Riley....

Now, he's just a big fucking boy. Like, 6'4, over 250 lbs type of big.

Hear me out. Contrary to popular belief, I think Simon has more trouble keeping weight on than keeping it off. I wholeheartedly believe that when he was a teenager he was a thin guy.

Like, he'd fully grown into his height, but just didn't have the nutrition to support it. Simon doesn't cook, and...for lack of a better description, he's not great at taking care of himself. When he was a teenager, still trapped in his parents house, he probably skipped more meals than he ate. And before he joined the army, I think it's safe to say he was a lanky, underweight kid.

But the minute that man starts eating three meals a day?

GODDAMN DOES HE GROW. Like, I'm pretty sure by the end of basic training his drill sergeants were terrified of the monster they'd created.

Simon's fucking heavyyyyyy. Built equally of fat and muscle. He likes the gym, but his body isn't built for the magazine. It's built for utility. For war. For fucking blood. He doesn't care about appearances. He needs strength than can kill.

Barrel chest. Biceps bigger than your head. Stomach muscled and heaving. A trail of wispy, blonde hair leading down from his belly button into the hefty bulge at the front of his pants....

Simon's a behemoth, and anyone whose fought him on the mat knows better than to stand within his arms' reach.

Now, his weight fluctuates pretty heavily, too. A rough few months in the field could see his weight dropping quickly, in which case his hard earned muscle would show through.

But when he's on leave?

...homeboy sustains himself on granola bars and ramen noodles. He gets soft around the middle and also should probably drink more water but...good luck trying to get him to eat more than convenience store junk. He’ll set the kitchen on fire if he tries to boil some water.

Simon's big.

And he's big everywhere.

The zippers on his jeans are remarkably tight. His fatigues look almost like lingerie on his thick thighs. And if he's wearing grey sweatpants?Simon's a lethal fucking weapon at that point.

Why am I telling you this?

Because the first time you see him naked, you might be tempted to reconsider opening your legs for a man like him...your cervix will be bruised to hell and back--not to mention your ass and thighs, too. His hands aren't kind like Kyle's, nor are they careful like Johnny's.

He'll rough you up, pound into you like any reasonable woman could ever manage to take the full length of him without crying.

He'll bite his identity into your collarbones, burn his fingerprints into the fat of your ass cheeks. And when it's all said and done, he'll bully the fattened head of his ruddy cock between your lips and watch the tears drip from your eyes, swollen mouth quivering when you try to swallow his cum.

And if it's all too much to handle? Good luck getting out from under him. Because once you're there, you're not leaving unless you can push him off, match his strength, or make him cum fast enough to leave before he's hard again.

Though, nobody's ever managed it before...not like they'd ever want to.

"Mm—Simon, you're—“

"Shhhh, love," he grunts, your body shoved flat to the mattress beneath his massive frame, "Don't move. Don't fuckin' move. I'm almost there, just....fuck, sit still and let me fill you up, yeah? Then I'll let you go...I promise this time."

Captain John Price

Now, if there is anyone in the 141 that actually enjoys the food they eat, it's Price.

HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

okay so, Price, as a Captain, probably makes substantially more than the other three. That, and he's a good bit older too. He's past his prime (or so he thinks), and whether or not he has a perfect six pack when he looks in the mirror is the LAST thing he could ever care about.

Price isn't one for keeping up appearances--at least not as it concerns his body shape.

Is his beard trimmed and oiled? Always. He's damn near neurotic about it.

Is he always freshly showered, groomed, and cologne-d? Without a doubt. It's a point of pride.

Does the watch he's wearing compliment his clothing? he spends a STUPID amount of time thinking about it.

Will he gain another pound if he eats the Oreo cheesecake at the end of the night? Yep. And he'll enjoy every. Single. Second of it.

Price is as close to a foodie as a purebred military man can get. He loves cooking, and he recently remodeled his kitchen. He has GREAT taste in wine and spirits, and has spent a significant amount on amassing a good collection in his house.

If there's one word that describes Price, it's this: DECADENCE.

This man drinks, smokes, and eats as much as he pleases because he's lived long enough to learn the value of hedonism.

Why skip the cigs for the cigar when you could smoke both? Why stop at popping a just a single bottle bottle? Why not order the most expensive steak on the menu? Or the thickest slice of chocolate cake you've ever seen? What, like he'll regret it?

Price doesn't regret anything, and his body reflects that.

Of course, due to his profession, he never truly falls out of athletic shape (he's ready to be called away at a moments notice, after all). But he's LONG SINCE ditched his glory days. Like the others, his body fluctuates between highly cut to soft around the edges.

Price is thick around the ribs and plush in the chest. His weight settles around his hips and arms, making his biceps fluff up if he eats enough. His stomach is soft and sweet. So are his thighs.

The only thing that doesn't change?

The hair. Holy shit this man has a lot of chest hair.

All in all, Price likes a good meal, but he's still in elite fighting shape. Though, unlike the other three, his age stops him from being purely athletic. If anything, he looks more like a construction worker or landscaper. Someone who spent a long time building things with their hands instead of running laps around the track.

Now, what was that about decadence? Drinking, smoking, eating...

Price was indulgent in every sense of the word. Indulgent to himself, to his friends, and to his family.

But in bed?

The way Price fucks makes you understand why people let their teeth rot for another bite of Halloween candy.

Price wouldn't know moderation if it hit him in the face. And when it comes to your pleasure, to your body in and of itself, Price will be damned if you walk away without a smile on your face.

He's a service Dom through and through. Hell, just feeling your cunt clench around his fingers, your voice crying through another orgasm, is nearly enough to make him cum in his pants.

He'd done it before, too.

Was he embarrassed about it?

Not at all.

"John," you gasp, watching his length twitch rapidly beneath his jeans, a wet spot appearing at the top of his bulge, "Did you just..."

"Yeah," he groans between kisses, "So what?"

"It's—It's just that...isn't that a little—"

"Embarrassing?" he chuckles, "Hardly...Not if you'll go as red as I think you will when I let you lick me clean."

To John, watching you lap at his softening cock--and enjoy it too--is more than enough to get his blood pumping.

He'd always give you exactly what you want...even if you didn't have the guts to ask for it aloud.

Inspired by this post and @waves-against-a-cliff "Cbf!Johnny" comment. I present more of John Mactavish as the dog he is.

cw: dubcon(reader agrees but just covering my bases), f!reader, overstimulation

Living with Johnny was an easy decision. You've known him your whole life, and with his frequent deployments you usually have the flat to yourself. It's like living alone, except sometimes your best friend is around for "long term sleep overs" as he pitched them. He has his share of the bills on autopay and for the most part it's fun when he's around. You watch movies and throw popcorn at each other. You laugh at his stupid jokes in between complaining about your most recent attempt at dating.

"You know it wouldn't be so bad if any of them were halfway decent in bed," You tell Johnny absentmindedly. He's got his head in your lap, eyes focused on the TV screen as your fingers pet through his hair, barely paying attention.

"Hard getting practice in, not like you can ask a bird to play test dummy," He shrugs. You groan, leaning back against the couch. You guess that's fair, but it's not like you're asking for anything spectacular. An orgasm shouldn't be this hard to come by.

"The special service isn't training you to give head?" You tease.

"No that's just the navy." Johnny grins, finally turning his attention to you. His eyes dart over you, he's got that spark in his eyes that means he has a bad idea. "You know," He rolls the idea over his tongue, "I'm a little out of practice."

You push at his head with a laugh. Johnny sits up rather than be pushed off the couch and grabs your hips to drag you close. You shriek and feel his fingers pinching at your soft sides until you laugh.

"Good for both of us, yeah?" He asks, "I get to practice and you get off."

"You're not funny," You giggle out between fits of laughter. You twist in his grip to crawl away and he pulls you right back. His fingers tighten hard enough to bruise and you whine at the ache. "Ow, Johnny." You kick at him and he catches your ankle, flipping you onto your back.

"Lemme see your cunt." He says and the air rushes from your lungs. You stare up at him, his smile too wide. You've always found his toothy grin to be boyish, charming, but now it feels warning, predatory. You blink at him, feeling your cheeks starting to burn.

"Not funny," You tell him more firmly, turning to tug yourself out of his grip, your fingers twisting against the arm of the couch. You forget how strong military life has made him, too familiar with the scrawny kid you used to beat at footie. Johnny pulls you with a strength you've never felt, hauls you down the couch to lean over you. He's actually starting to scare you a little, the heat in his eyes is too close to burning and his teeth seem so dangerously promising.

"I'm not joking," His fingers drag from your hip, trail down to rest against the soft swell of your mons. He holds your legs open with the hand around your ankle and you struggle to take a breath. "Who else am I gonna practice on? You tell me what you like, yeah? And I'll show you what I can do with my tongue."

"Johnny I don't-"

"Ya were just sayin' you're in a dry spell," He reasons, his fingers rubbing teasingly between the waistband of your sleep shorts and just dipping too close to your clit, "can tell me exactly what you want as long as you want, know ple'ny of hens would love this opportunity."

Somehow that gets you. You wince at the mention of someone else, Johnny's never been one to date but he brings girls home sometimes. Or- no he usually goes to their place. Stays out late drinking with the boys and doesn't come home until late in the morning. You scrunch your brows together and he starts in on the begging.

"Please hen? Please," He pouts, dropping to rest his chin against your hip, "please? Please. Lemme do it. You gotta. Please. Ahm askin' nice an' everythin'. Please, please, please."

"Christ," you push at his face, just so you don't have to look at it anymore, "Fine, but just this once."

"Just this once tonight," Johnny agrees too quickly, already ripping your shorts down your legs.

You expected any sort of hesitation, but it feels like you've barely gotten your pants off before Johnny's pressed his mouth to your pussy. His tongue licks broad stripes, his head wiggles to try and push closer, lips kissing and sucking at your folds so eagerly it makes your head spin. You swallow, he's messy, unorganized, but the enthusiasm is there. Your fingers find his hair again and you swallow down your hesitation a second time. Johnny's your best friend, you can tell him anything, so you can tell him what you like.

"My clit," You start, tugging at his hair, "lick- lick it, um-" Johnny follows directions well, moving easily to flick his tongue against your clit. It's too gentle, maddeningly gentle, you can just barely feel it. "Harder," You suggest, "more pressure." Johnny presses his tongue harder against you, laves his tongue like a wave against your clit with firm pressure. You whine, feel him drag his mouth against you, his beard scratching your sensitive thighs. His tongue maintains its position, licking at your clit with varying degrees of intensity, testing the waters and listening to your soft panting whines.

You meet his baby blue eyes, his pupils blown wide, and he pulls back to let you see the way his tongue moves. Flat and pink, flicking against the sensitive bundle of nerves in teasing licks before he lowers down again. "You can s-suck too," You manage.

"Where hen?" He asks, lips closing around your clit and sucking hard. Your next words die on your tongue, your mind flooded with the sudden pleasure. His pulls back, and you try to come up with the words again, watching his thumbs spread your folds to further expose your clit to him. He sucks at it again, tongue working against it when his lips aren't pulling it. He only stops to work his tongue between your folds, dragging the tip around your hole to collect slick before pulling it towards your clit. "Gotta be specific or I won't know."

He's such a cheeky fucking bastard. He sucks at your folds, sucks at your thighs as his thumb rubs over your clit. Johnny's mouth is on your clit every time you open your mouth to give another direction. He works you up and then lets you drop back down, his lips kissing over your like he has all night.

"Fuck," You whine, hips following his mouth as he drags his tongue from your hole to your clit, "Johnny." He hums, lips around your clit, tongue fluttering against the sensitive bud. "Your tongue my-" He pulls off with a wet noise, and holds his tongue against your slit, waiting like a dog for your next order, "-my, uh-" fuck, having to ask for it out loud is embarrassing, and yet the heat on your cheeks has started to spread through your entire body, "-my hole. Please." You tack the politeness onto the end. You feel a little... guilty asking, but it's Johnny and he asked you to do this. (sort of)

"Look at you," Johnny coos, "such a good girl, so polite when ya want somethin'." You throw your arm over your eyes so you don't have to look at him. Your skin burns with embarrassment. You can't look at him right now.

"Shut up," You mumble. You feel his tongue prod at your clenching hole, the squirmy muscle wiggling it's way inside you to lap at your gummy walls. Johnny sucks your slick straight from the source and groans. The noises he makes, the wet slurping and sucking, make your blood run hot. His thumb rubs at your clit, his tongue stretching you out, the combination makes your cunt tingle with pleasure. Your whines sound more desperate than you'd hoped.

Johnny pulls back, dragging his tongue in broad strokes up your cunt. His licks are long and desperate, too eager to taste you, his eyes closed in bliss even as his ears twitch with your every moan. His mouth leaves you, and you pull your head up from where you'd been arching off the couch to see what he needs. Meeting his gaze is a mistake. As soon as your eyes touch his hand comes down hard on your clit. You yelp, as his fingers soothe over the sting. The sharp pain dissolves into heat, tingles over your skin like a rush of goosebumps. His fingers tap at your clit, and you whimper.

"You gotta keep talkin' hen," He presses, his fingers toying with your folds, "or I might start pullin' at the leash."

"You hit me," You whine. He pouts at you, imitating your own pout, and spanks you again. Your hips jump, your head dropping back against the couch. Two more sharp stinging spanks hit you and your stomach clenches. You can feel slick dripping off of your cunt and wetting the couch underneath you, which means Johnny can feel it too.

"Think you like it," Johnny grins, his fingers press into your cunt, two thick digits filling you without warning. You whine, clenching around the intrusion. "I thought you were helpin' me practice," His fingers twist in and out of you, and you grab for his wrist, "Where's my polite girl gone, hm?"

You squeeze his wrist, try to get him to stop fucking you with those delicious twisting jabs. It only makes him fuck his thick fingers into you faster. You gasp, your muscles tightening as he hits that delicious sweet spot you never seem able to find yourself. Moans drip from your lips, his fingers only slowing when Johnny lowers his mouth to suck at your clit again. You try to blink the stars from your eyes, your lashes fluttering until you can't keep your eyes open anymore. Your pleasure crashes into you with shaking legs, your pussy fluttering greedily around Johnny's fingers.

It's not good enough for him. His mouth leaves you, his breath heavy, and his fingers thrust into you hard. You writhe against the couch, your whines turning high and tight. The spring in your stomach coils and coils, holding you at an edge that doesn't seem to have an escape. The begging in your head falls out of your mouth.

"Please, please," You sob, your hips humping Johnny's fingers, "please Johnny, gonna come."

"Oh bonnie thing," He coos, his fingers picking up their pace, "you come as much as you want, my polite girl." His words split through you. Your back arches, your hips jump, the tightness turns into popping heat and wetness, and you come. Your slick squirting up his arm as he makes soft encouraging noises. Johnny's fingers never stop moving, your orgasm drawn up and released again and again until your hips hurt. Your insides ache, your cunt pushing at his fingers desperately for a break.

Your head is spinning, your vision blurry and your body heavy when you find enough energy to open your eyes. You glance down at Johnny, watch the way he rubs his cock against you. His tip is red and angry, drooling, the length is already coated in the slick it pulls from between your legs. You twitch when he nudges your clit, whimper at the sensitivity.

"Johnny?" He isn't looking at you, eyes glued on the mess between your legs, on the glaze of your come coating your pussy, dripping down your thighs. He wrenches his gaze from you only to shush you, leaning over your body to press his lips against your cheek.

"Just practice," He mumbles, "doesn't count, doesn't mean anythin', does it dummy?"

You feel his tip nudge against your entrance.

𝖾𝗑-𝖿𝗐𝖻!𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 “𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵” 𝗋𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗒 𝗑 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗐𝖻!𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 “𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘱” 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗑 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖼𝗐 : 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾

𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾. 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖾.

𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾, 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎—𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼. 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌; 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝗇𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖽𝖽 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗑. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗎𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍?

𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖾. 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅. 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗆, 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾.

𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁. 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖼𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝖻𝗒 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖽. 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆: 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎; 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍.

𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎: 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗁𝗒, 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍—𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉—𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅. 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋.

𝗂𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗆, 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌—𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗆𝖾. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌.

"𝘺𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 '𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰' 𝘧𝘶𝘯," 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖼𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐. 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽? 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄.

𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾; 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌.

𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗁. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽. 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽-𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝗒. 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾.

𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 141. 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽, 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘦, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅. 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽.

𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖽. 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒, 𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾. 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗌. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒? 𝗈𝗁, 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗒, 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀.

𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇. "𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽, 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝖽, 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, "𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘦. 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘦," 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗄 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾.

𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇, 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒. 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗑. 𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗀𝗈 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗇. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝖺𝗓. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗀𝗎𝖾𝗌.

𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐, 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇—𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗅.

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍. 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝖿𝗍. 𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗉 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍 𝗎𝗉—𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒'𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍. 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁, 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗉𝗍 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗃𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐? 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

"𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘓.𝘛.?" 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋. "𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸?" 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾. 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝗌𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗇𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗇𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝖺𝗉. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗇𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗁𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍. 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗎𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗎𝗂𝗍.

𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗋. 𝖻𝗎𝗍, 𝗀𝗈𝖽, 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻? 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌. 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌. 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆. 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐.

𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝖽𝗂𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽.

𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗇𝗍. 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽?

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨.

𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢

Simon, without ever really considering it, places a lot of weight on a name. It's why he likes the separation between Simon and Ghost, why he gets to a point where he calls Soap Johnny, even when no one else does. It's important, what you call someone. There's a lot in a name.

With you, you'd never even know about Ghost -- to you, he's just Simon, and that's all he ever wants to be. He doesn't want those worlds to mix. Simon will do just fine.

But, after you've been dating a while, when you've convinced him to relax enough to lay his head in your lap while you watch tv and you let out a soft little "there you go, baby"?

Well that's something else entirely.

Because he's never been a "baby." He's never been "honey" or "sweetie" or any of those other cutesy little names you come up with, but when you call him those things, it's nice. Sort of relaxing in a way he never knew it could be.

"Baby, can you change the lightbulb for me?" "What's for dinner, baby?" "Right there, baby, don't stop."

He notices, every single time. It makes him want to try it too, to see if it'll give you the same little easy thrill it gives him. But he's not sure what kind of pet name feels right. He turns over words and phrases in his head when he's trying to go to sleep or in the shower -- he'd absolutely never admit this to you -- and he practices, trying to figure out what feels natural, what feels like you.

In the end, all the practice is for naught, because the right one slips out without him even thinking about it.

It's after he comes home from a deployment, exhausted from both everything that happened and from trying to hide his desperation to see you. When he gets home, you take him in your arms, and all the tension, for the moment, anyway, just falls right out of him, and he holds onto you like a lifeline.

"Missed you so fucking much, sweetheart."

He can feel you smile, your face pressed against his chest, and while he is glad to see you seem to like it, he wasn't prepared for how much he'd like it himself.

Because what you call someone matters. He'd spent the first half of his life as Simon, the second as Ghost, and now, as a complete surprise to him, he's getting a third chapter where he gets to be "baby," where he gets to be close enough to you to share these special little names. He gets to know your sweet heart, and it's more than he deserves.

But he'll never, ever stop trying to earn it.