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“THE BLACK WOLF” Ghost x Reader | Medieval AU | Part I (TW)

Ghost is a feared executioner and royal hound, always masked, rumored to be cursed by death itself. You are the court’s new healer or rather a noble prisoner meant to be used as leverage. But Ghost takes a strange interest in you. He stalks the castle halls, watching from shadows, until one night you're summoned to his chamber… and it isn’t for healing

Tags: Dark romance, possessive obsession, slow-burn smut buildup, medieval court setting, soft yet strong reader, power imbalance, filthy intent (later), stalking elements (TW) (MINORS DNI)

They warned you about him the moment you arrived at court.

“Don’t speak to the man in the black mask. Don’t look at him. Don’t be near him. If he’s in the hall, leave.”

He doesn’t eat with the others. Doesn’t kneel in chapel. Doesn’t speak unless commanded. He’s a hound, they say. The Black Wolf, his Majesty’s shadow, his axe, his punishment. His executioner.

But you are no stranger to monsters. You were raised by them.

They dragged you here across the border after your uncle’s rebellion failed. You're not a lady anymore, just a bargaining piece. A warm-blooded pawn under a pretty name, kept alive in this stone-cold keep so your father might behave.

Still, you're useful. You know how to tend wounds. How to grind herbs and sew flesh and hush a man’s death rattle. A little healer, locked in a tower, serving the very court that destroyed yours.

But not even you expected him.

Not the way his boots echo through the stone when the rest of the castle sleeps. Not the way he stops at the end of the hall where your chamber lies... not saying a word, just… standing. Watching. Not the way your hand trembles when you reach for the candle, knowing he’s near before you see him.

You catch glimpses sometimes. From a distance. In passing. Broad shoulders. A black cloak. That death’s-head mask. The smell of steel and ash and blood that seems to cling to him like a second skin.

You never speak. But he does.

Eventually.

It begins the night you're summoned.

Not by the King. Not by the Queen. By him.

A low ranking guard appears outside your chamber, armor half-unfastened and face pale as chalk.

“His orders,” he stammers, avoiding your eyes. “The Black Wolf. You’re to tend to him.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“To his wounds?”

A pause. “He didn’t say.”

His chambers are deep in the old wing, cold, firelit, and dead silent. The door is already ajar.

You step in with care, candle in hand.

He’s there, waiting.

Unmasked? No. The mask is still on, expressionless and fixed on you. He sits in a chair beside the hearth, one leg splayed, cloak draped over the other. Gloved fingers drumming on the armrest like he’s waiting for a command to strike.

He doesn’t speak.

You steady your voice. “I was told you called for me.”

“I did.”

A beat.

You try to read him, but the mask gives you nothing. Only those eyes. Dull gold in the firelight. Unblinking.

“I can prepare salve if you’re injured.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what-”

“I wanted to see you.”

Your mouth parts, but no sound leaves.

The fire cracks.

“You watch me,” he says, quiet. “I feel your eyes.”

You exhale through your nose. “Only when I hear the others talk. I wondered what kind of man you were.”

A pause.

“And?” His voice is rough... deep enough to settle low in your gut. “What did you decide?”

You meet his eyes. That’s your mistake.

He looks at you like he’s reading your thoughts. Or breaking them.

“I don’t know yet,” you whisper.

His head tilts. “You’re not afraid of me.”

You hesitate. “Should I be?”

The pause that follows is a threat in itself.

When he finally rises, the room shrinks around you. He’s tall- broad in ways you expected, but heavier somehow in presence. Like the air obeys him.

He stops just before you. You don’t move.

His gloved fingers reach out, slow, deliberate, and tug the candle from your hand. He sets it down on a nearby table, and in the sudden shift of shadow, he leans closer.

You can see the faint scar across his throat. The worn edges of the leather strap holding his mask in place. His voice, when it comes again, is lower than before- just for you.

“I watch you too,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t need to.

The room is hot with something unspoken. You feel it in your spine, your belly, your throat. He wants.

And it terrifies you that part of you wants to be wanted.

Finally, he steps back... just slightly. Enough to let your lungs expand again.

“You may go,” he says. “For now.”

You don’t sleep that night.

Not because you’re afraid. Because the part of you that’s still soft, still human, still untouched-

Can’t stop wondering what he’d do if you didn’t leave.

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Hope you guys enjoyed :D

Thoughts are well appreciated! also part two will come soon!

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For those of you who have sent me DMs checking in, Baby Riddle arrived Friday. Birth was very easy on me (thankful considering what a bitch pregnancy was) and my recovery has been great.

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LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO / MASTERLIST

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader (Daisy) - AO3 141 hospital au - additional content information here Each part to have individual tags and warnings

Transfer Coddled Cherries Cracks Slowly Circulating Halter

Daisy and Riley at home - moodboard title reference

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omegaverse au but it's simon who rejects you as his fated mate, to only throw a fit later when you're dating other men, trying to move on, and he ambushes you in some club or whatever

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“Worst Way” by Riley Green gives me John Price vibes

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If you’re wondering how maternity leave is going, I’m on book 6 of Ice Planet Barbarians…

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝟑 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝟐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝟏

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Tw: this is defiantly a slow burn, mild age gap (reader is 20ish Ghost is 37ish) kidnapping/abduction, psychological trauma? (if i miss anything let me know! I'm still new to this🥲 lol)

The road unspooled ahead of you like a ribbon of gray, lined with tall trees that blurred past in silent procession. Somewhere along the way, the clouds broke apart, revealing slivers of pale blue sky. You watch it all through the window, forehead resting against the glass, the engine’s low hum like a heartbeat under your feet.

You’d been driving for hours.

Ghost didn’t say much. He never did. But he hadn’t turned the radio on either, and that silence not strategic, not defensive felt different. Like something unsaid was taking up all the space between you.

You shift in your seat, stretching your sore legs. “You always this quiet, or is it just around me?”

He doesn't look over. “Noise gives people comfort. Comfort makes people sloppy.”

You let out a breath. “That supposed to be a yes?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You're starting to sound like you not understand this little arrangement.”

You turn your head toward him, searching his expression even though most of it is hidden. “Yeah, well. You didn’t exactly come with a user manual.”

That got the faintest twitch of his eyes. Maybe a smirk. Maybe nothing. But it was something new.

Eventually, he pulls off the highway, navigating down a side road with the ease of someone who’s mapped it out a thousand times before. The sedan slows as you approach a cabin nestled in the woods old, but sturdy. Like it had been waiting for a moment just like this.

Ghost parks, kills the engine, and turns to you.

“We’re staying here a few days. Off-grid. No signals, no eyes.”

You nod slowly, stepping out of the vehicle. The air is different here still, and thick with pine and damp earth. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been wound until the quiet swallowed you.

Inside, the cabin is sparse but functional: one bedroom, a couch, and a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. There’s no electricity, only lanterns and an old cast-iron stove.

Ghost moves with efficiency checking locks, windows, sightlines. Always the soldier. You find yourself watching him again. Not with suspicion this time. With curiosity. Maybe even… concern.

“You ever take a break?” you ask, looking around the room, trying to feign indifference.

“Breaks get people killed.”

You fold your arms. “So that’s a no, then.”

He pauses at the window. “We’ve got time. I suggest you sleep.”

You don't answer. Instead, you light one of the lanterns and settle near the fireplace. Your bones ache from sitting too long, your mind too loud for sleep. Ghost must have picked up on your mood, because he makes another pass around the cabin before he eventually crosses the room and sits in the armchair opposite you.

For a while, neither of you speak.

Then, softly, you ask, “Have you ever lost someone on a job?”

The air shifts. Like you’d stepped somewhere you weren’t supposed to.

But he doesn’t look away.

“Yes.”

You wait. Not pushing. Hoping the quiet will draw it out.

He speaks again, voice low. “Three years ago. Extraction went bad.”

You swallow the weight of that, sitting between you. “I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t change anything.”

“No. But it matters.”

His dark eyes meet yours across the space.

And more silence. And god, was it driving you mad. You wanted him to talk about something, anything. These days and days on long stretches of solitary highway had numbed your brain. It was starting to feel like you were floating just outside your body.

You stand, brushing your hands on your jeans. “I’ll take the couch.”

Ghost stands too. “Bed’s yours. I’ll keep watch.”

You hesitate. “You don’t have to do that. I mean… you haven’t slept either.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t sleep well in places like this.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And where do you sleep well?”

He looks at you for a long moment.

“Why aren’t you more scared?”

You blink. “What?”

“You should be. After everything. Most people would be curled up in a corner right now.”

You sit back down on the edge of the couch. “Maybe I’m too angry to be scared.”

But honestly, you knew that was just a half-truth. Anger didn’t even begin to cover it. You had been choking on the extent of your emotions since you found out your father had flipped. And even though you felt all kinds of numb now, they were still simmering under all the shock.

“That won’t last.”

You look up at him. “Then I guess I’ll just have to stay angry.”

There’s something in his gaze then. A shift. Not soft Ghost didn’t do soft but something close to recognition.

“You’re not your father,” he says.

It’s the first time either of you had said it out loud.

You swallow. “I know.”

“You don’t have to become him, either.”

You nod slowly. “I’m trying not to.”

Ghost steps away then, toward the window. But before he turns completely, he says, “Get some rest. I’ll be here.”

Not outside. Not on watch. Not guarding the perimeter.

Just: I’ll be here.

You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that until it was already said.

Later, when you lie in the bed staring up at the dark ceiling, you can hear him pacing the floor outside the room steady and controlled. And in the spaces between his footsteps, you feel something unfamiliar unfurl in your chest.

Not fear.

Not adrenaline.

Something quieter. Warmer.

Trust.

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The dream comes quietly, like a whisper through the trees.

You are running not from something, but toward something. A door. A face. A voice just out of reach. And then the dream fractures, replaced by a low creak. Something subtle. Real.

You sit up, heart thudding. The cabin is still, shadows soft and long from the guttering lantern in the other room. You listen the kind of listening that only comes when the world feels too still. Ghost’s pacing has stopped.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet touching cool wooden floorboards, and pad toward the doorway.

He’s standing there, back to you, still as stone. One hand braced against the wall near the window, the other hanging loose by his side. You don’t speak at first. Just watch. His breath is even, but his shoulders are tense not the tension of alertness. Something else. Like he’s holding something back. Or in.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask, voice low.

He doesn’t turn.

“Didn’t try.”

You cross the room slowly, careful not to break the quiet more than you have to. “You always keep watch like this?”

“This isn’t watch.” he says.

You stop a few feet behind him. "what is it then."

"Memory." he breathes.

“Memory of what?”

His silence drags out so long you think he isn’t going to answer. Then:

“My first year deployed. Nights like this, the air gets cold fast. You learn to listen for things… not see them. I had a spotter. Young. Joked too much. Died with a smile still on his face.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Not really. You weren’t trained for grief like that the kind that never lets go, that sits inside a person like a second heartbeat.

So you step closer.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

Ghost nods once, but it feels more like acknowledgment than acceptance. He finally looks over his shoulder at you, and though the mask is gone you can only see the faint outline of his jaw backlit from the window, but you can still see his eyes and they look raw with something too human to name.

“You ever think about what it does to you?” you ask. “Carrying all of it?”

He considers that. “Not until I look at someone who isn’t.”

You tilt your head. “Is that what I am to you? A clean slate?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“No,” he says finally. “You’re a fractured. But not broken.”

It lands in you like a stone dropped in water.

You steep up to the window next to him. Close, but not touching. Not yet.

“I think I’m more broken than I look,” you breathe.

“Maybe....But that doesn't have to control you.”

You look over at him, catching the gleam of his eyes in the dark. “Then what does?”

His answer is simple. Honest.

“What you do next.”

You exhale. Maybe a little shakily.

“I don’t know what comes next,” you admit.

His gaze doesn’t waver. “I do.”

And there it is again that quiet promise. Not protection. Not orders. Something harder to name.

Partnership.

You stand there for a long while, side by side, watching the trees shift in the wind. At some point, your shoulder brushes his. A small thing. Barely contact.

He doesn’t pull away.

“Go back to bed,” he says softly.

You look at him, tired but no longer haunted. “Only if you do.”

Another long silence. Then he nods once.

Together, without a word more, you return to the bedroom. He sinks into one of the overstuffed chairs, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

No arguments. No insistence on watch.

Just presence.

You lie back, eyes fixed on the ceiling again but it feels different now. Not hollow. Not endless.

His breathing steadies across the room, and yours begins to match.

Eventually, sleep comes not as an escape, but as a surrender. Not to fear.

But to safety.

And somewhere, in the fragile space between consciousness and dreams, you hear him say it.

Almost too quiet to be real.

“You’re not alone.”

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tag list: @your-internet-tenshi @full-cover32bitch let me know if you want to be added!

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Decompressing

18+ MDNI

You and Soap have an arrangement for when you have a particularly stressful day at work.

Tags: sex toys, dumbification, degradation, ass play, power dynamic, dom!soap/sub!reader, p in v sex

You call him on your way home, voice hitting that tone he knew meant a rough one on the job. One too many muttered curses under your breath or a bit of a sharp bite to your words when talking about your clients. You were fully in your head and he smiles on his side of the phone.

“Y’need a night off?” He innocently asks, words casual enough.

You nearly freeze mid step on the sidewalk. Just the thought of what he was implying had a chill coating your skin and a weight settling low in your gut.

“Y-yeah maybe,” you reply, steps growing quicker as you hurry toward your boyfriend’s flat.

“Your call, bonnie. You let me know when you get here,” he grins, and you can hear it on his voice.

Soap is such a considerate man. A real martyr when it comes to helping you unwind from a stressful week. It’s so hard for him to have to fill you up with the new plug he just so happened to find online a few days ago. The ad jus’ popped up, I swear! And when he has to make sure that pretty little head of yours is blissfully empty? What a difficult job indeed.

And he knows as well as you do that your ‘maybe’ on the phone was a yes. It always is. And your throbbing clit is also aware of that as it aches more with each step.

Shifting from foot to foot, you wait at his door, but it doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to tear it open, the impatient bastard. He smiles widely, knowingly, at you and ushers you inside. The lock gets thrown and his hand takes yours. There’s no hello, no time to unwind or unpack more of your shitty day because he is already pulling you into his room.

“Lie back, yeah?” he urges, nodding to the towel he’d already draped on the bed. You comply, because why wouldn’t you? The idea that he’s going to take care of you was already sinking in, helping you shed your stress like wrapping paper.

Before you can even fully shimmy onto the corner of the bed, he’s got a plug in his hand, lube in the other. This time, he doesn’t ask you to get undressed or even take off your shoes, he simply pushes your knees up and gives you a raised eyebrow look.

Hold them there. You know that’s what he wants and you do it, cheeks warming in anticipation.

He covers the bright pink plug, makes sure it’s nice and ready, and then flips your dress up, tugging your partially soaked underwear to the side.

“Oh, you were gettin’ ready for me on the way over. Such a good girl,” he coos, pressing the tip against you.

Your back arches as thoughts pop out of your head one by one. Easing it in slow, making sure not to hurt you, making sure you feel it all go in, he watches you. Praises you. His eyes flick from your rolling eyes to your clenching pussy as the plug sits flush in your ass.

“How’d’ya like that, hm?” He purrs.

You nod quick, the fullness sending little shocks through you. “ ‘s good,” you manage to croak.

“It’s good?” He mocks softly, fingers trailing up to your aching clit. You nod again, a soft whimper falling from your lips. He chuckles as he toys with your sopping pussy’s entrance. “How about you tell me about your day some more, bon?”

You know it’s an order, so you really do give it your best effort, but when he slides two fingers in you after the first syllable, all your words find somewhere else to be. A moan takes their place and as you writhe, the plug shifts and turns, lighting you up with pleasure.

“I thought you had so much to tell me,” he says, fingers pumping into you with more purpose. “You too full to think? Too dumb already?”

“Mhmm!” you whine, body hot and sensitive.

“Shame, that is. Maybe you can cum once you get yer voice back.” And he pulls away, leaving you a panting mess.

You sit up on your elbows, expression more wrecked than you’d like to admit. And Johnny looks unfazed. Wry. He loves pulling you apart like this. Loves seeing his brilliant, smart, confident girlfriend melt and become a puddle of need for him. And you do too.

It’s why you let him order you to go grab him a beer as he settles onto the couch. It’s why you don’t mind the shockwaves of intense stimulation that rock you with every step. And it’s why you never mind when he grabs your chin in his hand and calls you his good girl or slut or you-name-it as he makes you sink onto his lap.

Tonight, his cock gets buried deep inside you as you’re told to warm him. Don’t move, just take what I’m givin’. And you do so good, sit so still as you’re filled all the way. The base of his shaft has the right amount of hair to drive your clit wild, but you bite your lip and try your damndest not to moan until he tells you to.

And when he shifts and relaxes back, he strokes your chest absentmindedly, peaked nipples nothing more than a fidget toy for him. But Soap isn’t mean. He sees the way your eyes gloss over, the way your breaths hitch and catch. His smirk returns and he sets his hands on your hips.

“So, love. You gonna tell me all about that hard day at work yet?”

You swallow thickly as he rolls his hips beneath you. Your ass clenches, pussy throbs, and your head snaps back as you catch a cry in your throat. The last thing on your mind was your shitty day. Whoever had pissed you off was long forgotten and you suddenly can’t remember if the annoying meeting even happened this week or last.

All you can babble out is, “dunno, I dunno, Johnny. Just lemme cum.”

He smiles wide, chuckling that devious laugh of his and his grip on you tightens enough to clue you in on what’s about to come. “Hm, I’m startin’ to think your job cannae be that hard, bonnie. Never have anything to tell me.”

But you don’t even really hear his words as he starts to pound into you from below. He’s not wrong, not that either of you want him to be. As you soak his cock with your cum over and over, the last thing you’re thinking about are your co-workers or boss. As he makes you bounce on him, your tits now pulled out of the top of your dress for him, neither of you are too concerned with the work days either of you had. And you won’t have to be for a while, as he fills your fluttering pussy up, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

What a sweet boyfriend you have, taking away all your worries like that. A real saint Johnny is for you.

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I can’t help but laugh at the idea of the 141 with a southern woman on the team.

It’s not the “don’t take no shit” attitude that gets them, but some of the shit that comes out of her mouth makes them do a double take.

Personal favorites would be:

A mission gone awry and her blaming a new recruit for making all that racket. “They were louder than a pair of skeletons fucking on a tin roof.”

Gaz falling out of a helicopter again. Reader shaking her head before saying, “with your luck it could be raining titties and you’d still look and catch a dick.”

Being order to spar with Ghost and politely declining with a simple “I’d rather shit in my hands and clap.”

And with Johnny just being… well, Johnny. “Common sense is a top shelf item and everyone ain’t that tall.”

She calls John “Peepaw” just to piss him off.

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Forfeit

or: you and Country!Simon get in an argument and he fucks the anger away.

cw: 3.3k wrds, 18+ mdni, smut with little plot, jealous!simon, no use of y/n, married!reader (to Simon), angry sex, p in v, creampie, cunnilingus, pussy pronouns and slaps, back shots, cowgirl, nipple play, exhibitionism (if you squint), outdoor sex, daddy kink (papa/pa), breeding kink, country!simon, lucky!reader.

a/n: forfeit by Kiana Ledé was my inspo

It’s not that your friends were bad, quite the opposite really, they were great and easily welcomed your husband into the group even though he was on the quieter side. They’d come from the city to congratulate you on the marriage since just your two best of friends came to the wedding.

It was your friend, Vee, her boyfriend that didn’t know his fucking place.

He saw the way you looked at Simon, all heart eyed and yearning for his approval. And Simon’s pretty seafoam orbs would dance all over you, to your pretty face, to your lips to your chest and back to your dark mocha eyes and pretty skin, give you a smile under his skull bandana that no one would understand but you. And Simon would just know you were blushing because you’d look away with smiling harder than ever, squeezing his arm as you continued conversation with your friends—

God, Simon was in love with you. Could’ve done anything for you.

Would’ve beat the breaks off your friends boyfriend if he was alone for a second.

It couldn’t be more obvious that you were a happily married and taken woman. But that stupid bastard couldn’t keep his eyes up, continued to ask about you brushing off Simon, and to top it off you were acting like it wasn’t happening. Still entertaining conversation with him, laughing— giggling.

“Where did you two meet? I’m suprised a city girl like you would move so far just to live in the country.” The fool asked in the middle of conversation, cutting you off from talking about some story from college.

Strike two.

“O-Oh, we’ve known each other since we were younger—“

“—We fucked like dogs right in that old barn when we re-introduced ourselves though.” Simon doesn’t miss a beat. He’s not really one for white lies and he doesn’t care if the truth hurts.

He’ll be as crass as he wants to prove a point. Your friend’s boyfriend, the idiot, was staring too hard. Simon doesn’t mind when people looked, you were as pretty as rain. Curves nice as ever, that jaw dropping smile, pretty brown eyes and curls he loved to play with no matter how long or short. His drop dead gorgeous baby, married to him in the backwoods. Heavy on his.

Heat rushed through your whole body, embarrassment, while your friends squealed in excitement. Your friend Shauna teased, “[+], I didn’t know you were such a naughty girl.”

You washed it down with a sip of wine though, a playful smack to your husbands shoulder— a warning— “Nothins wrong with a little fun. Right Simon?” You emphasized his name. The first time you’d said it all night.

Five and a half times in that barn, but who’s counting?

The wild man gave a cheeky grin, “Course Darlin.”

More squeals from your friends, they thought Simon was right out of a movie. A dream man. He was.

Not when he was acting territorial.

When dinner finally rolled around Vee’s boyfriend, Samuel hate this whore, offered to help. It was the touching that was an issue. The sly touch to your back when he was moving around you, how he kept trying to brush fingers and you’d jerk your hand away— he’d knock the poor boys head off. Simon swooped in of course, told Samuel it’d be best if he sat, ‘let the man ‘f the house handle it’ while wrapping his arm around your waist and tugging you a little closer as you held the baked duck in your hands.

strike fucking three.

Thankfully, everyone was tired after their long plane ride down and the wonderful dinner you prepared. You sent them off with a tight smiles and big waves, yelling how you couldn't wait till tomorrow to show them around.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🍀 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Simply put, Simon never liked arguing inside the house.

Didn’t matter if it was cold or raining outside. He’d rather take it on that porch. Get out everything that needed to be said, even if he was giving you a spanking— he didn’t want that energy festering inside the house. Apologizing could be done there or in the house but don’t hold a grudge.

Ever since he’d been with you, the house was truly the definition of one of those wall decorations that said, ‘home sweet home.’ Peaceful, loving, quiet. The method Simon had you two so hung up on, worked.

Any anger or irritation got left at the door. You’re mad? Go for a walk or figure it out on the porch.

You’ve really only had a few arguments since your short time together, little things and could be resolved before they could even begin erupting. Nothing like this, that had you scrapping food off dishes to harshly and putting them in the dish water and washing the poor dishes so roughly.

Simon leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrow raised, bandana that once covered his face sitting on the counter.

“You gonna break the dishes if you keep doin it like that.”

You mumbled, shaking your head, completely incoherent, “Fuck off.”

“What’d you say?”

“I said, fuck off!” you yelled, placing the dish in your hand ever so gently on the drying wrack.

You laugh, nothing but sarcastic, “Why did you have to talk to him like that, huh? He was being friendly! Everyone was havin a good time!”

“Did you not see the way he was talking ‘nd ogling his damn eyes at you the whole night? Son of a bitch acted like he wasn’t looking at a married woman!” Simon scuffed.

“He was not!”

“[+] you can’t be fuckin—“ The older man cuts himself off. Takes in a deep breath— get to that porch. He grits, “Come on, let’s talk.”

You know exactly what he means, you know he really isn’t asking. But you’re unmoving, simply continue the rest of the dishes in the sink.

“No.”

“What?”

“I said, no! How many times do I gotta fuckin repeat myself tonight?! I don’t wanna do your talkin on the porch shit! I wanna finish the damn dishes and go to sleep on my side of the bed! You listen to everybody but me! Your fuckin wife--“ Simon doesn’t let you finish, just manages to get you over his shoulder. The utensils you had in your hand clanging to the floor as you slap at his back, shouting and thrashing to get out his arms.

You land on your feet when Simon puts you down on that hard wood of the wrap around porch. You shove at his chest, “You think you can just move me as you fuckin please, Riley!? I’m a person! A human being!”

“A human bein, I’ll move again if I fuckin want to till you fuckin get it in your big ass head-“

“—I do not!—“

“—You’re big ass head,” he repeated, “that, that idiot was fuckin flirtin with you! Lookin at you like a meal on a silver platter, kept tryin to touch up on you with his own damn girlfriend sitting next to ‘em! And ya went ‘nd encouraged-“

“—Don’t fuckin lie Simon! I would never encourage anyone to- to flirt with me! And the whole night I was lookin at you! Could barely get a handle on myself because I’m hung up on the likes of you!” You poked at his chest. He knew you were right, you’d never do anything like that, not even if the thought graced your mind.

You were a gorgeous little thang, any man with working or non working eyes would fawn over you just from your kindness alone, your pretty voice too. But for someone to do it so blatantly. Do it while Simon was right there. Oh, he hated it.

“Just fuckin admit it, you’re fuckin jealous! I don’t why you wanna pick a fight with me when you should be mad at your damn self for acting like that.”

Oh the unruly thing— to speak the truth on jealousy.

Forfeit the fight and apologize.

Simon’s hands clenched and unclenched, chest heaving up and down— he chose the latter.

Let him show you how you were his and his alone, right on that porch. He’d think of an apology mid fuck, say sorry once or twice and say it again to you tomorrow. Proper, make you breakfast and talk all soft how you like. Make you squirm in your seat with kisses on your neck till you shrug and whisper, ‘I-I guess Mr. Riley.’

Fuck, you were so damn cute. Couldn't keep his hands off you.

Till then, he’d bend you over while he sat in one of the rocking chairs. Hike that pretty white skirt up to your hips while bringing your mushy mess of clothed pussy right to his face.

How’d he do all that so quickly? Well it’s quiet easy when your both a little mad, a little cynical in your own right— so pissed off that you both need to “cool off” your own emotions. Rub one out.

That southern man would yank you close by the hip with his large hand and plant a kiss on your needy two tone lips. Roughly intertwining your mouths, if you’d interject (or tried to get another word out), he’d slap your ass a few times. Enough to get a moan out of you, telling you to ‘shut the fuck up.’ You’ll stumble over to the chair together and he’ll spin you around, do what he has to do.

And God, did he loooove fucking you on that wrap around porch. Whether it be at the end of a long work day or right after the chickens crowed on his day off that had to be spent with you and no one else.

Mouth salivating, Simon ripped apart your white cotton panties in two, with a cut pink bow and embroidered with Mrs. Riley on them, causing you to yelp out, swatting at his shoulder while he spread your pussy lips apart. Staring at the glistening pink mess only he could see, only he could create.

“So gorgeous mama. Ruinin this underwear, who’s all this for?”

He whispers, not to you, not to himself, to God— ‘Thank you for the meal’ he’d give your cunt a sweet peck before letting his flat tongue swallow you whole. Slurping up every drop that came out of you.

“F-fuck you Mr. Riley, seriously fuck you!” You gasped, hand reaching behind you to spread yourself wider.

He groans against you, slapping at your sopping mess once, “Lil girl, I’m tryin,” he flicks his tongue around your hole before sliding two fingers into you. “Therrre you go Lucky, all that damn talkin, just needed somethin in your pretty little hole huh?”

You moan, “Talkin c-cause I’m right! hngh- You’re just- hah- just so hardheaded- aangh!”

Simon thrusts his fingers harsher, sucking at the fingers you were getting wet, then down to your pretty button of a clit. You kick your foot out right when his fingers curl into you juuuuust right, almost falling forward till he wraps an arm around you to keep you steady.

“Stay still baby girl, or you’ll fall.” he gruffs, lapping his tongue every to slowly through your folds.

“Mr. Riley- I can’t! Shit! Augh“ you hiccup, you gut twisting in knots.

“Shhhh Mrs. Riley? Yer bein so loud when me ‘nd her are talkin.” Simon buries his face in your cunt, fingers slamming into creating a loud sloshing of your wetness until he feels you flutter once, his takes a breath away, his voice horse as your syrupy cum trickles down his throat and onto the floor. “This is just what she needs baby, just hush and take it.”

He bites the beautiful fat of your ass before diving back in, slurping and letting his fingers work in and out of you till you’re shattering around his thick digits. Screaming as you wet his face. And Simon swallows it all down. Sticking his tongue in your sponginess of your walls as you clench repeatedly.

Simon pulls away, turning you around while your still in a daze, face wetter than ever with your slick. He pulls you on top of him, springing his aching cock free from the boxers that restrained them, that slaps right at his abs. You rested your head against his, letting the man rub his aching red tip against your hole.

With a slap to your ass, you ease yourself down on him, a pornographic moan of pain and pleasure leaving your plump lips.

“Take this off.” Simon huffs, fingers pulling at the straps of your bralette and grinding up into you.

“Mmph- But Simon i-it’s strange.” You hiccup. You always get so nervous when you two go at it on the porch. His shy baby, he’d remind you that no one, especially at 1 or 2 in the morning, is coming or will ever hear your loud moans. But maybe you’d sound like a banshee if this man got anywhere near your chest. Your nipples had become so sensitive as of late and you didn’t know why.

Simon on the other hand, adored it. Couldn’t get enough when they got all puffy and the way you whined when they hurt. Like music to his ears. But he soothes you, rubs your back and rests his chin on your chest.

“Ain’t strange f’me tuh have what’s mine, is it? Come on, show ‘em to me. You know I looooove how pretty they are.”

You bite your lip, this man could get you to do anything. If this was 10 months ago, you would’ve laughed in your own face if you said you were fucking outside, let alone mindlessly listening to a man. You took off the material holding your breasts, throwing it off to the side.

Simon cups them both in his large hands, groping and squeezing at them, “Pretty tits gonna be filled with milk for our kid soon, huh mama? Can’t wait to see you feedin ‘em. Gonna look so beautiful.”

You moaned his lap, attempting to cover your mouth with the back of your hand as he gave one of your nipples a little suck. Gently taking it between his teeth and nipping at it.

You looked beautiful, your pretty mounds bouncing right in his face while you moved up and down, taking every inch of his veiny cock he was willing to give you. All while he sucked your hardened nipples, looking you right in the eyes. A groan escapes you lips, grinding your hips even harder.

He grunts, meeting you half way and thrusting up into you when your legs began to shake, “Love when I suck on ‘em don’tcha Lucky? Need it to get off.”

You only whimper, eyes fluttering, as you fight your own pleasure. You manage to stifle up a, “Shut up Mr. Riley.” But it does no Justice to the way your rubbing your perfect tits in his face. Begging for more. Wanting him to suck just a little bit more.

“Lil girl, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want, can I?” He tuts, looking up at you with such lust filled eyes.

“Please Si, need you, please?” You keen, letting your nipples rub against his face to feel something, anything.

Simon would give you anything at the drop of a hat, even if you didn’t have any manners, and most definitely if you used that ultra rare nickname with him. He grips your hips, slamming you down on his dick, taking your gorgeous nipples in his mouth and sucking like his life depended on it making you moan. His tongue swirled around your areola, French kissing both of them equally while he rudely bullied his cock through your velvety walls.

Your fingers find his golden locks of hair, running through them while he rams into you, finding your g-spot causing you to squeal, more of your slick dropping past your thighs and onto Simon.

“Fuck me baby, Gonna cum, you want it?”

“Want it so bad Mr. Riley. Nng- Need it all in me.” You whine. Your head falls on his shoulder as he sob his name like a prayer, clutching onto him as your walls tighten around his length, spasming.

“That’s it pretty, that’s it, s-shit.” Simon fills you to the brim, working his cum deep inside you, bouncing you a few more times.

You don’t even know how you got to the floor.

You fluttered your eyes open and Simon had you on your knees, the meanest arch with your back and your face pressed up against the hardwoods floor. Your mixed cum was dripping down to the floor while he smacked his tip against your sloppy cunt. You shuddered at the feeling, mewling in want.

Simon heard your phone ring from his back pocket, he scuffed yanking it out from his pants, just to see that idiot calling you. And probably while his girlfriend was sleep, that fucking cheating bitch. A curse feel from Simons lips.

“Mr. Riley?” You keened, You looked back at him with those big brown eyes, batting those long lashes, a pout adorning your face. You shimmied your ass back on him and he groaned.

Were you too cock drunk to hear your own damn phone vibrate? A devilish grin on Simons face, he’ll get what he wants and fill you up just how you need to too.

He answered it, leaving it on speaker before tossing it in the chair Simon just fucked you in.

“[+]? Are you there?” The stupid prick asks in a whisper, and right then Simon rocks himself into you. Giving your ass a harsh slap before drilling his dick inside your cum soaked walls.

“Fuuuuck- feels so goooood Mr. Riley!” You practically screamed, eyes fluttering shut. That was answer enough, honestly. Your Mr. Riley was fucking you dumber than dumb, your mouth forming a ‘o’ with movement.

“Tell me darlin, who you in love with?”

“M-my huuushband.” you slurred out, drool leaving the corner of your lips, nipples grazing the floor with every harsh thrust.

“And who’s that?”

“Mmmph- you Mr. Riley.”

The ends of Simons lip curve up, such a good girl taking his cock. A white ring forming at the base of his length, “ ‘S that right pretty?”

“I-I love you soooo much papa! More than- hngh- mooore than anything, I swear!”

Papa? New.

He likes it.

Simon snickers at your response, stretching you out so fucking much, and giving you the sluttiest, cruelest thrusts of his life. The loud, smack, smack, smack of your hips colliding could be heard miles away, “Pa loves you too, don’t I, Lucky?”

“So much, fuck, love on me sooo much Pa!” You breath hitched,

And it’s just enough to let that bastard hear exactly what Simon Riley does to you. Simon glances at the phone and it’s already hung up, he's sure the idiots dick got wet from the precious and needy sounds you and your sobbing cunt were making.

Love making was a be-au-tiful thing between a married couple who loved each other, wasn’t it?

Simon bends down, tweaking your nipples in his hands as he rams into you faster, swiveling his hips into you.

His voice is low, gentle, and he whispers right in your ear which makes you tingle all over, “I’m sorry sweet girl, was jealous.”

“I- shit, shit, shit, I know. Mmph- ‘s okay. Love you so much, always want you sooo fuckin much papa.” Your words turn into sobs, tears filling your eyes as you jerk in his arms.

“That’s my girl.” Simon mumbles against your cheek, holding you closer, makes you take his thick cock while he bruises your poor cunt. His hand comes down to your clit, giving it small circles with his thumb, and you cum. Hard. And maybe you were as loud as a banshee, completely soaking the dick that was splitting you cunt in half.

And Simon didn’t stop, fucking you right through your orgasm that seemed to never end.

Simon growls at the feel of your gummy walls, managing to get tighter while he gives you frantic thrusts. Gobbling at your neck while he snaps his hips into yours, kissing your cervix with his leaking tip. Grunts and moans of ecstasy fill the star fill sky as you two cum. Ropes of cum leaking right into your womb, just as you needed.

A good filling.

Simon pats your stomach, “That’s right where our babies gonna go Lucky. Promise, tonight a baby's gonna be right in there.”

You giggle, eyes low and dazed, “G-gonna make you a real Daddy, Mr.Riley.”

“Yeah,” he swoons breathlessly. Kissing the apple of your cheek making you giggle again. “Can’t wait to see our pretty baby sweetheart.”

a/n: this was a request so lmk what you think bubbas (I know it wasn’t that icky but idk I still think it’s cute). Also @bunnybeaches proofread for me so thank you so much🥺 I luv you.

most recent masterlist more country!simon

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Price: stay close and follow me

Me, twirling my ghillie suit: whatever you say captain 🥰

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Masterlist

Hi, I'm Leaf, and I used to write a lot back in the day, and then I didn't for like over 10 years, and now I'm back at it again! I also go by SSP, which is my AO3 handle and what I used to call myself. Also, sorry for any tonal whiplash you might experience on this blog. I'm out here trying new things!

Ongoing Stories + Series

Fun Secrets to Take to the Grave - Ghoap/Reader | Neighbor AU

You're pretty sure that the couple next door is keeping someone locked in their basement, but that's Johnny and Simon's business, not yours. You refuse to acknowledge both your suspicions and your growing attraction to them. Unfortunately, your neighbors find it highly entertaining to invite you over to watch you pretend like nothing's wrong.

Fantasy Adventurer Party AU - Task Force 141/Reader

The renowned adventurer party, the 141, have taken a break from clearing infamous dungeons and slaying legendary beasts to escort you while you harvest herbs in peaceful fields.

Completed

Blast Radius - John Price/Reader | Soulmate AU

You're with your father when terrorists attack Piccadilly Circus and strap a bomb to him. You meet your soulmate that day when he throws your father over a railing with the bomb still attached.

Selection of Drabbles

General Pairing Tags: Price | Ghost | Soap | Gaz | Task Force 141

A full masterlist seems like too much work, so here are some highlights of mine:

Johnny vs. your work pants

Gods and goddesses AU where you're a minor deity protecting the 141

Manipulative ex-husband Kyle and your second marriage

Anxiety is tiger hybrid Ghost pursuing you

You're convinced Captain Price has a secret wife

Ghost with a costume designer significant other that makes his masks

Kyle and the caps you buy him on your dates

Ghost and his significant other's hobbies/hyperfixations/areas of expertise

Serial Killer!Johnny and you sharing two halves of a murder victim couple and then Serial Killer!Johnny proves his devotion to you

Would you love me if I was worm except you're also an earthworm shifter + Bonus Ghost as a worm gifs

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Fun Secrets to Take to the Grave | Masterlist

𓉸 Ghoap/Reader | Neighbor AU 𓉸

You're pretty sure that the couple next door is keeping someone locked in their basement, but that's Johnny and Simon's business, not yours. You refuse to acknowledge both your suspicions and your growing attraction to them. Unfortunately, your neighbors find it highly entertaining to invite you over to watch you pretend like nothing's wrong.

Content Warnings: dubcon, manipulation, coercion, implied kidnapping and imprisonment, implied noncon, drugging?

Notes: Rating is mature but not explicit. Female reader, but mostly just when I need something to refer to the reader in dialogue other than "neighbor" and I go with female terms like "hen." Also available to read on AO3.

Part 1: A secret about a basement

Part 2: A secret about owning a pet

Part 3: A secret about relationships

Part 4: A secret about a stranger

Part 5: A secret about choices

Moodboard // Series tag: #🪦🔐

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The above is a video shared by smrchildsadness on Twitter, showing a person participating in a pride parade exchanging a pride flag with a person standing on his (am using his pronoun based on the TikToks/Tweets of what happened) doorway who had a Portuguese flag. There are sounds of cheers and crying and the two people hug each other as they exchange the flags. The man at the doorway then waved kisses to the crowd within the pride parade.

The Tweet says: "NO YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HE WAS WAVING THE PORTUGUESE FLAG BECAUSE HE DIDN'T HAVE A PRIDE FLAG AND THEY TRADED FLAGS AND HE'S SO EMOTIONAL TO GET HIS OWN PRIDE FLAG I'M EMOTIONALLY RUINED"

For context, apparently they were worried that maybe he's a nationalist because he was waving the Portuguese flag and some nationalists opposing the pride march were waving that flag. But upon interacting with him, it turns out he didn't have have a pride flag and he wanted to wave *a* flag in support of the pride march. So they had an exchange and now he has his own pride flag 😭🥹.

The image above is a Tweet by kunwara_ladkaa that says "I'm crying so much right now (Image taken by Manuel Fernando Araújo/Lusa)". The image shows the same man from the pride parade crying as he hugs his new pride flag.

The above image is a Tweet by dudz_zZzz that says "ainda não parei de pensar nele," which according to Google translate from Portuguese to English is "I still haven't stopped thinking about him." The image is a drawing of the person from the pride parade, crying as he hugs his new pride flag.

Posts were made on July 1, 2024.

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I am a huge fan of retiring to my quarters