#COD MW fanfic

[nastybuckybarnes]

Street Mouse

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Summary:

Warnings: Language, Violence, Minor Angst, Hinted attempted assault, fluff, military inaccuracies (teehee)

Word Count: 2.3K

A/n: i've got a whole bunch written for this pairing, and i might make some hc explanations. I've never played COD, sue me. I hope y'all enjoy and I'm gonna probably keep pumping out more parts of this cause i love love love it.

~*~

The distant sound of gunshots is akin to a lullaby now.

You're curled up in a rundown building, a tattered blanket draped over your legs as you try to get some rest.

The sound of more gunshots, these ones much closer, jolt you upright.

Risking a glance out the broken window, you peer down at the street below you, eyes widening as you see two men fighting intensely.

Your heart jumps into your throat at the display, and you can't tear your eyes away.

Eventually, the larger of the two plunges a knife into the smaller man, watching as his body crumples to the ground in a heap.

A shiver races down Simon's back, and he straightens, eyes carefully scanning the area for danger.

He turns around, glancing into each window before finally resting on the eyes he could feel piercing through his gear. His hand twitches toward one of the many weapons strapped to his body, but something about the wild curiosity in her eyes has him pausing.

You hold his gaze, unblinking and absolutely entranced.

He's a huge man, with a skull mask covering his face. Only his eyes are visible, and they all but gaze through your soul. He holds the staring contest, turning to face you fully until there's a soft grunt from behind him.

He glances over his shoulder as his comrade comes into view, and when he glances back at the building, you're gone.

He turns back to Soap slowly, risking one more glance over his shoulder, but it's as if you were never there in the first place.

"What is it? Ya see somethin', Lt?"

Ghost says nothing, only starts heading back the way he came, pausing to rid the corpse on the street of the weapons he was carrying.

You slowly peek out the window again, watching as the two disappear into the darkness of the night.

For weeks, maybe months, the country you now call home has been war-torn.

Schools have long since shut down, and the majority of the population has fled to find refuge elsewhere.

Which makes it a perfect place to hide.

And even though you know you should be keeping a low profile, you can't help but be intrigued by the skull-faced man.

And so you begin to follow him.

The streets are familiar now, as are the schedules of the soldiers and the hostiles.

Which is how you find yourself here.

You're not dumb enough to follow him onto the base or anywhere near it, but in the city when he's on patrol, those hours are all yours to observe.

Your curiosity does have you venturing farther outside of your comfort zone than you normally would, but it pays off every time your eyes meet.

And he's not oblivious to the new eyes that seem to be following him whenever he's in the city. Sure, he's gotten used to the locals staring whenever any of them walk through the streets, but these eyes aren't afraid or hostile. No, these ones are curious. Excited.

The next time he feels the gaze on him, he's outside at just past one in the morning, puffing on a cigarette in one of the few safer areas of the city. Goosebumps rise on his skin and he flicks the end of his cigarette, watching as the ash floats to the ground.

"As much as you try, you're not going to sneak up on me," He says softly, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it with the steel toe of his boot.

You say nothing, only watch curiously from the second floor of the house he's leaning against.

He turns around, backing up a few paces as his eyes dart from window to window, searching for your face until finally, they land on you.

"Show yourself."

You cock your head to the side, eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Come on, I won't hurt you, but I won't ask again," he warns.

A little grin pulls at your lips and you lean forward in the moonlight, not enough to fully show yourself, but enough for him to see the outline of your face.

You shake your head at him and bring your hand up to the side of your head. With your pointer and middle finger extended, you curl your ring and pinky finger in, pointing the faux gun at your head.

'Bang,' you mouth, knocking your head to the side dramatically.

Ghost lets out a breathy chuckle at your theatrics, his hands resting on his tactical belt.

"Why have you been following me?" He finally asks.

He's not one to second guess himself, not after all he's seen, all that he's endured. But he has to give you credit - you made him question his sanity for a day or two there.

Knowing that you're real, that someone has, in fact, been following him, puts his mind at ease.

You give him a soft smile then lean forward and press your lips to the glass.

He stares at the kiss mark left on the window, traces the soft pink mark with his eyes and then looks back up to where your eyes were, only to find that you've disappeared once again.

Simon Riley is a man who prides himself on his attention to detail, his situational awareness. But he cannot, for the life of him, understand how you manage to disappear into thin air like that.

This starts happening more and more frequently. Little run-ins, kisses left on windows, your twinkling eyes in the pale moonlight.

It's gotten to the point where he volunteers to go out on patrol if only for the possibility of catching a glimpse of your pretty eyes hidden between shadows.

And soon enough, the drawings start to appear.

The first one is drawn on a window, and he doesn't even notice it. Soap is the one who points it out.

"Look, Lt, looks like you've got a fan," he says, pointing to the window across the ally.

He glances over, following Soap's finger, and his brows raise.

On the window, drawn in what looks like marker, is a skull that matches the hard-plated mask on his face.

He scoffs, but deep down, he knows exactly who put that there. His suspicions are confirmed when he catches a lightning-quick glimpse of your eyes peeking through the curtains.

He starts seeing them more often. It surprises him how you manage to get into some of the most dangerous parts of the city and leave nothing but a skull drawing behind.

What really gets him, however, is one particular day, when they're tasked with a particular assignment.

Hostage rescue.

But the exact location of the hostages is unknown.

That is, until he notices little skulls drawn on the windows of one building. More skulls than he's ever seen you draw before.

Trusting his gut, he nods toward the building, signalling for his team to follow him as he approaches.

Sure enough, the skulls lead them better than breadcrumbs exactly to the hostages, and the hostiles are taken out quickly.

"How did you know it was this one?" Gaz asks once the building is secure, leaning outside with his Lieutenant as he lights up a cigarette.

He takes a long drag from it the blows out a cloud of smoke, his eyes flickering around in search of his helper.

"A little mouse told me," is his reply.

Never one to question his Lt, Gaz only nods and heads back inside to meet up with Soap.

As he smokes, Ghost notices a small piece of paper fluttering in the wind, half hidden beneath a rock on the ground.

Crouching down, he picks it up and unfolds it, scoffing out a chuckle.

On it is none other than one of your signature skulls. His little Banksy.

With his cigarette tucked between his lips, he grabs a pen from his breast pocket and scribbles down a half-assed picture on the paper, then tucks it beneath the rock one more time.

Though he can't see you, he knows you're nearby. He can feel your ever-present gaze.

"Ghost! Let's go!" Price calls from inside.

Tossing his cigarette onto the ground, Ghost turns on his heel and heads back inside to meet up with his team.

His back is turned for what feels like only seconds, but when he glances over his shoulder to check on the paper it's already gone.

~*~

You don't see the man with the skull face for a while after that, but you keep his drawing on you at all times.

It serves as a pleasant little reminder that life isn't so bad. Not all the time.

Your thoughts are shattered when you bump into a hard chest, tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

The night may be dark, but the moon shines brightly enough above you to illuminate the back alley you were sneaking through.

"Well, well, boys. Look what we've got here," the man says, a sick grin on his face.

He wears a similar uniform that your skull-faced soldier does, but this man's eyes are sick and snake-like. They send a shudder racing down your spine as you scramble back, scraping your hands on the ground until your back hits a wall.

"It's a long time past curfew, sweet cheeks. What're you doing out so late?" The ringleader asks, stepping closer to tower over you while his comrades circle around you, leaving you with no escape.

One of them grabs your arms and yanks you to your feet in front of them, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

The leader drags a dirty finger down your cheek, his brows drawing together when you yank your head back.

"I asked you a question, bitch," he snarls, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to keep your head where he wants it.

You glare up at him, then spit directly in his face, watching with satisfaction as he flinches back.

He chuckles after a moment, squeezing your face harder and glancing at his friends.

"Looks like we've got a fighter. That's okay, we know what to do with those, don't we, boys?" He asks.

This elicits chuckles from the men around you, and you feel your stomach drop.

"Do we?"

The voice is like the crack of a whip in a still room, and the laughter stops immediately.

The men beside you straighten up, hands coming up in salute.

Like water dousing a flame, you feel some of your fear ease at the newcomer.

"Tell me, Corporal, just what might we do with those?" Ghost asks, stepping out of the shadows.

"Lieutenant! We were just... this street rat was out past curfew," the man holding your chin tries to reason, quickly dropping your face.

Ghost nods, looking between the men, his eyes scanning over their names before finally resting on your eyes.

"This is what you lot spend your nights doing? Terrorizing the locals? The people we're supposed to be helping?" He asks, stepping even closer.

The tension grows thick, and you watch as the man in front of you turns around to face his superior.

Ghost chuckles dryly, the sound lacking any humour.

"You know bloody well what we do to terrorists, Corporal," he whispers, his voice deadly, dangerous.

"Now, would you care to explain to me what exactly you were doing to this nice young lady?" He asks again.

You stare up at his hard brown eyes as he makes the man cower, absolutely bewildered and warm inside.

"She's out past curfew," the Corporal tries again, his voice whiny and afraid.

Ghost nods, "and if I remember correctly, we give the citizens a warning and escort them home, we don't corner them against a wall and try to have our way with them. Or did you miss that day of training?"

The soldier's mouth opens and closes several times, but Ghost stays stoically staring at him, gaze sharp enough to kill.

"I asked you a question, Corporal, and I expect an answer!" He snarls, stepping into the man's personal space.

"There's a place for scum like you, and it's not on my team. You're removed, go back to base." His eyes find the other men, "if I ever catch you lot in the city pulling a stunt like this again, I won't be so forgiving. Dismissed."

With that final word, the three men all but sprint away, leaving you alone with the man who's consumed your every thought for the past several weeks.

He watches the men leave, and you're tempted to make your escape.

As if reading your mind, his gaze snaps back to you and his head cocks to the side.

"Even you can't go everywhere unseen, can you, mouse?" He asks.

You blink up at him, your heart racing in your chest.

He watches you for a moment longer, his brows drawing together.

"You speak English?"

You blink up at him again and he sighs, "Christ."

Slowly, you reach into the pocket of your sweater and pull out a piece of paper, opening it up and showing it to him.

His lips twitch upward when he sees his scribbled mouse next to the skull you've drawn.

"Mouse," you whisper, touching the paper.

He nods, pointing to the little drawing.

"Mouse. S'what you are. Quick, hard to catch."

You cock your head to the side and he takes that moment to take you in.

Since that first day, he's imagined what you look like, what you really look like, and he has to admit, he's not disappointed.

You're pretty, lovely even. If circumstances were different... if he were to see you in a bar, he might buy you a drink, ask for your number.

But you're a local, a street mouse, and he's here on business.

He gently pushes the paper back into your grasp and takes a small step back.

"You keep yourself safe. Try to stay out of the streets after curfew." He turns his back to you and takes a step away, then pauses.

"Or at least don't get caught."

[sentientcave]

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Read on AO3

Chapter 4- Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

<Prev Chapter -

Contains: OC x Gaz, Lorelai "Rory" "Scout" Blackmoore-Price, Age gap romance (Scout is roughly 25), Annoying old men, Schemes and Plots, Poor decisions, alcohol mention, Inadvisable Flirting, Gaz does know what he wants and he should probably not go for it

~5.7k - 18+ Only - MDNI

Betting that Gaz would keep his distance after their conversation in the car had been a miscalculation. He must have been watching like a hawk, waiting for her to make her escape. Stupid mistake, only distracting two of Cerberus’ heads, leaving the third free to lock his teeth around her ankle and drag her back into her own personal hell: Being managed like a child.

And worse, he had the audacity to look smug about it, as if he already knew exactly what she was up to.

“No,” Rory said, crossing her arms defensively. “I just needed some air.”

“Which is naturally why you snuck out the back door, yeah?” He settled against the wall, tucking his lighter back into his pocket. “I’m sure you think you’re pretty clever, gettin’ Soap all turned around, but you’re gonna regret that.”

“Am I?”

“Well, you would if you had any sense in that pretty little head of yours, but I suppose the jury’s still out on that.” He glanced down the alley, the silver hair at his temples catching the light for a moment. He braced the foot of one boot flat against the bricks behind him, the very picture of casual nonchalance.

“Oh, so you think I’m pretty?” Rory asked innocently.

He raised his eyebrows, half hooded eyes flicking back to her. “It’s well established by now, isn’t it, darl? If you were anyone else, I’d’ve had you a thousand different ways by now.”

It’s the matter-of-fact tone that got to her, like there was no question that he could’ve and would’ve taken her home the day she bumped into him in almost this very spot, despite all her insistence that she wouldn’t have accepted him while he was still on the rebound. He was so confident, infuriatingly so. Rory wanted to take him down a peg, but didn’t quite trust herself not to prove him right. “A thousand, huh? You haven’t been around that much, I don’t think even your ego has that much stamina.”

“You’re just beggin’ for someone to shut you up.”

“And yet, no one rises to the challenge.”

“It would be wiser to just wait till you get bored of hearin’ yourself yap,” he pointed out. “If I do something about that mouth of yours we’re gonna end up in the backseat of my car.”

Rory scoffed, ignoring the very real flutter of desire that descended from her stomach. He was hotter when he got a little mean, that condescending smirk on his lips devastating to what little restraint she had. It was only that mile-long streak of mulish pride that kept her reactionless, unmoving. “You’re not half as irresistible as you think you are.”

“I have a very high opinion of myself. Probably still makes me pretty hard to resist.”

“Who’s yapping now?”

Gaz tossed his spent cigarette to the ground, a shower of sparks ricocheting up and over his boots before they fizzled out. Rory let her eyes linger on the orange embers for a moment too long, too slow to do more than back up as he stepped forward.

Her shoulders hit the opposite wall, knocking the air out of her, leaving her without any more words to throw between them as a flimsy shield. He braced one forearm against the wall, his other curling around her waist. “See, the trouble is, I’ve already figured you out, Rory.” He pulled her hips closer to his, fingers digging into her flank, arching himself over her, face much too close to her own. “You get quiet when I get my hands on you, don’t you?”

Rory swallowed hard, resting her hands on his shoulders, arms locking up before she could push him away.

"The only thing I'm left wondering," he continued, lips barely grazing along her jaw on his way to her ear. "Do you get quiet because I've called your bluff, or because you've gotten what you wanted all along?" He let go of her waist so he could push her loose hair out of his way, fingers threading into it with a deliberate kind of slowness, like he wanted to make sure he was noting exactly what touches made her breath catch.

“It’s not— I’m not— I don’t want anything from you.” Rory winced at how uncertain she sounded. The heat from his skin bled through his shirt and into her palms, the bitter smell of cigarette smoke and his cologne, vanilla sweet and rich like coffee, somehow reminiscent of a lazy morning in bed.

“Alright.” He started to pull back, but couldn’t go far when Rory reflexively grabbed his shirt. “Ah, there’s the truth of the matter. You just don’t want to admit how badly you do want this.” He settled his body against hers again, smiling mockingly. “You don’t want to give it to me, hm? You want me to take it.”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He moved himself closer, his very noticeable erection pressed against her, lips ghosting over the tip of her nose, than so close to her lips that she could feel the soft puff of air when he spoke. "Well, I want you to ask. So where does that leave us?"

"I think I hate you,” Rory told him, tilting her chin up to glare at him.

He laughed darkly, unimpressed with her declaration, intent on having a conversation when he could just have what they clearly both wanted. "I think you like me. Tell me you haven't been thinkin' about last night all day long."

“Didn’t we talk about this?”

“We did. But lets be clear. I’m not going to let some idiot put his hands on you. So either you admit that you want me, and I give you what you’re looking for, or we go back inside and you get nothing.”

“Fine. I admit, you are a tiny bit more interesting than this town typically offers. But it’s not gonna mean anything, understood? One time thing, just to get it out of our systems.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” He grabbed Rory’s hand and started walking, glancing over his shoulder as though he expected Ghost or Soap or even John to materialize out of the darkness and shoot him for even thinking about it.

It was a bad idea, but somehow knowing that didn’t make her dig in her heels or protest. She was dizzy from his cologne and the few drinks she’d had, acting irrationally, not in her right mind—

— Except she knew that she was in her right mind. Infuriatingly clear-headed, unable to blame her actions on anyone but herself. And Gaz, at least a little.

He had no right to be as attractive as he was. No business flirting with her or keeping her from flirting with others. If she knew was was good for her, she’d put a stop to this, instead of letting him lead her by the hand down the street, his brown eyes gleaming with triumph when he glanced over his shoulder.

Gaz unlocked the car and opened the door, shoving her into the back seat, his hand protecting her from hitting her head. She shifted over to give him room to drop in behind her, shutting the door firmly behind them.

“Now, come here.” His voice was little more than a growl as he hauled her roughly into his lap, his fingers curling around her neck to drag her down for a scorching kiss.

His lips tasted bitter-sweet, like cigarettes and the rye and coke he’d been nursing all evening. If she’d been paying more attention, she might have realized sooner that he’d kept himself from drinking too much just to keep an eye on her, well aware that she would try something.

Asshole.

He was so annoying and smug, it was too easy to forget how well-earned that arrogance was. Gaz wasn’t some green boy, and she couldn’t run circles around him nearly as well as she thought she could. As clever as her plan had been, she hadn’t banked on the fact that Gaz had been watching her flirt shamelessly with Ghost and Soap, and hadn’t liked it one bit. She’d made him jealous and now had to pay for it.

He controlled the kiss, plush lips light against hers one moment, demanding the next, pulling back when she tried to deepen the kiss, reeling her in roughly when she tried to get enough distance to say something bratty. Gaz was a captain, after all. Used to getting his way, to having his orders followed, to controlling every situation he entered.

When Rory finally relaxed into him, letting him lead, he hummed against her lips, pleased, hands beginning a more thorough exploration, sliding over the silky material of her dress. He kissed down her throat, hooking his fingers into her dress and pulling the neckline to rest below her tits. Calloused fingertips pinched her nipple roughly, making her gasp. “Fuck. Aren’t you pretty.”

Rory ran her nails down his neck lightly, grinding her hips down against him. Gaz groaned in response, wedging a hand between them to rub her clit through her soaked panties.

“This all for me?” he purred. “You—” His phone started ringing, cutting him off. He pulled it out of his pocket, seeing Soap’s name on the screen, and tossed it on the seat next to them, ringer off. It went dark, and then lit up again.

“Just answer it. Tell them you took me home.”

Gaz grumbled, but picked up the phone, holding it a little away from his ear so that Rory could hear as well. “Hello?” His other hand returned to her clit, rubbing a tight circle around her clit, fingers finding their way under the cotton to her wet centre.

Rory clamped her hands over her mouth, glaring at Gaz.

“Where’d th’ two of ye run of tae?” Soap asked. “Si’s on the warpath lookin’ for ye.”

“Rory wanted to go home. I’m driving her back.”

“Withoot sayin’ goodbye? I dinnae think so, Gaz.” Soap’s voice was sing-song, teasing, like he already knew exactly what was going on.

“It’s true. You can talk to her, she’s right here.” Gaz grinned wickedly, offering Rory the phone.

Rory was going to kill him in the most painful way she could imagine. Her hands shook as she took the phone, and he continued his slow, torturous touching, not at all helping. “Yep, r-right here. Had an— ah— headache. Just want to go-o to bed.” To Gaz she mouthed the words stop it! but to no effect.

“Doesnae sound like ye’ve go’ a headache, lass. Sounds like Gaz has his hand in yer pants.”

“Well he doesn’t,” Scout snapped. “Goodnight, Soap!” She ended the call and threw the phone onto the seat. “Oh, you bastard. I’m going to— Oh!” Gaz slid a finger inside her, grinding his palm against her clit instead. She braced her hands on the back of his seat, letting her hips rock back and forth on his hand, chasing more. “I hate you so much,” she panted. “You’re a fucking menace to society.”

He responded by kissing across her chest and sucking one of her nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling over sensitive skin, pulling an unmuffled moan from her. When she sucked in another breath to scold him, he bit down lightly.

The door opened, and Ghost braced on the roof of the car and the top of the door, leaning down enough to look at them. “Wun’t do that if I were you, Garrick.”

Rory yelped and shoved Gaz back against the seat, yanking her dress back up with her other hand. “Go away, Ghost!”

“No. Out, you little tramp. Should’ve known you were up to somethin’ the minute you put your ‘and on Johnny’s leg.”

Gaz gripped her hips tightly, keeping her from moving even as she struggled to do as Ghost said. “She can do what she likes.”

“So long as what she likes is you, yeah?” Ghost beckoned with one slightly crooked finger, his dark eyes meeting Rory’s. “Out. On the double, little Price.”

Scout finally managed to peel Gaz’s hands away and awkwardly climbed out, Ghost giving her a hand as her feet hit the pavement. “Could you all stop this?” she asked. “I’m just trying to get laid.”

“No, you’re actin’ out for attention, ain’t you?” Ghost slammed the car door shut before Gaz could climb out after Rory, and braced a hand on either side of her, leaning in, his eyes dark, shadowed by his brow and the angle he leaned over her. “Well, you’ve got it, kid. Din’t listen t’good sense, so this is your last warnin’. I’m not gonna hold their leashes any longer. You behave the way you’ve been behavin’ tonight again, you’re gonna find yourself bent over the nearest waist-‘igh object or pushed up against the nearest wall. You think we’re possessive an’ overbearin’ now? ‘Ow do you think Johnny’ll act once he’s gotten between your legs?”

Scout grimaced. “Ah.”

“As for ‘im,” Ghost continued, pointing at the car window behind her. “There’s no way he’d ever let you go again. So unless you’re lookin’ to become the next Mrs. Garrick, I suggest you keep yourself in check.”

“Right. Well. Thank you for the warning.” She tried not to show all her embarrassment on her face, but it was hard to keep from crumbling under Ghost’s stern gaze. The game didn’t feel fun anymore, and she just wanted to go to bed, drag the covers up over her head, and hope that no one ever mentioned any of this ever again.

“Last night should’ve been warnin’ enough. Your old man’s not above killin’ us for touchin’ you.”

“You’d think that would be reason enough to keep them from responding to my flirtations in the first place.”

“Well it’s not. The fact that you’re off limits just makes you all the more temptin’.”

Rory crossed her arms defensively. "I don't see how that's my problem."

"Its only your problem if you make it your problem."

"Are you gonna let me flirt with other people?" she asked.

"No," Gaz said as he climbed out the other side of the car. "We're not."

"Then you've kinda got me by the balls here!"

Of course, that was what they wanted, wasn't it? For her to have no one to go to other than them, but they could point to all the warnings and take no accountability if anything happened. Fucking typical.

“Shit luck,” Gaz said unsympathetically. “Are you gonna come back with us and behave? Or should I take you home?”

Ghost snorted. “Not you. Not leavin’ you alone with ‘er. Johnny an’ I will take ‘er. You stay ‘ere an’ figure your shit out, got it?”

“Like you’re so much more trustworthy.”

“I’m not the one who was just fingerin’ ‘er.”

“I’d like to go home, just so I don’t have to spend any longer with you lot. But I’ll walk. It’s not that far.”

“Not ‘appenin’. You’re like a cat in heat, can’t let you out without supervision or you’ll come ‘ome with kittens. Let’s go, kid.”

“Wait— I’d better put my jeans back on.” Rory opened the car door again and bent over to retrieve her abandoned clothing from the floor of the backseat. “Doesn’t matter who takes me home, if I get back in with less clothing on than I left in, dad’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

“Christ alive,” Ghost grumbled. “Should be illegal to sell dresses that short.”

“It’s not my fault I’m tall,” Rory complained. “Stop looking at my arse, you pervert.”

“Next time keep your goddamn trousers on.”

Rory wiggled her way back out, jeans in hand. “Alright, let’s go. Where’d you park?”

“Lot across the street. Gotta find Johnny first.” Ghost raised a few fingers to his mouth and whistled, piercingly loud. Distantly, someone whistled back.

“Got your husband whistle trained?” Rory asked.

Ghost put a big hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her forward, steering her toward his vehicle. “Be glad I ‘ave ‘im so well trained. ‘E was ready to drag you off an’ adjust your attitude hours ago.”

“You’re all awful.”

“Shunt’ve encouraged us.”

“I haven’t been fucked in months! Excuse me for wanting to find an easy lay in a cheap bar. If I’m driven back to my ex I’m blaming you lot.”

Gaz trailed after them, in no rush to return to the bar alone. Probably still thinking about how he was going to explain himself to the other soldiers. “What’s so great about him? You clearly didn’t want him before. Why lower your standards?”

“He’s many things, but a lousy fuck is not one of them. It’s not a good idea to re-open that door, but—”

“You’re not gettin’ back with ‘im,” Ghost said, a note of finality in his voice, as though he had any say in the matter. “‘Onestly, Scout, get your ‘ead together.”

“Found her, aye?” Soap called out, jogging down the last block to meet them.

“Wasn’t that ‘ard. Just ‘ad t’find Gaz’s car.”

Soap grinned, leaning heavily on Gaz’s shoulder, filling in the gap between Gaz and Ghost, fully boxing Rory in against Soap’s stupid blue muscle car. “Shoulda made a break for it, Gaz. If ye’d drove a mile’r two out into the country ye could be fuckin’ her by now.”

“Johnny,” Ghost said tiredly. “Don’t give them ideas.”

“Dinnae be a stick in the muck, Si, ye’ve ne’er been one tae leave a pur lass wet an’ wantin’ either.”

“Gross. Can I please go home now?” Rory complained. “I really have no problem walking.” Walking would, at the very least, give her a chance to burn off the simmer of extra energy that was building, and put the thought of the three men in front of her out of her head. The flirtation with Gaz was bad enough. She really didn’t need to think about the other two old perverts like that either.

It wasn’t fair that they were all so hot.

“Let’s go, kid.” Ghost opened the passenger door and tilted the seat forward so Rory could climb into the back seat. “

"Right. Yeah." She clambered in past him, jolting at the sharp crack that sounded behind her.

"Ow! What was tha' for?" Soap exclaimed, cradling one hand with the other, glaring at Ghost.

"No touchin'. You should know better."

"That's no' fair! Gaz had his hand doon her pants."

"I thought you weren't going to hold their leashes," Rory said, leaning forward from the cramped backseat.

"I'm not gonna stop them from givin' you what you're askin' for, but you weren't askin' for him to fondle you while you climbed into the car." Ghost snapped the seat back into place, nearly hitting Rory with it, and slammed the car door shut, turning to the others with a frown etched between his eyebrows.

Rory started wiggling her jeans back on, ears straining to pick up their conversation that they were having outside the car, with no luck. They were keeping their voices low, nothing more than indistinct rumbles reaching her. Soap slapped Gaz on the shoulder before circling around to the driver’s side, and he and Ghost hopped in.

"Aw, looked better without the trousers, lass," Soap said, twisting to look at her, blue eyes disappointed when he found her legs now covered. He shifted back toward the wheel and started the car, sighing wistfully.

"Johnny," Ghost said warningly.

"Dinnae fash yersel, Si, it's no' like ye weren't thinkin' the same."

"I think we've all thought about Price's little girl enough."

"Oh she's no' so little. The lass is half leg."

Rory leaned against the window, meeting Gaz’s eyes through the glass for a moment. He looked serious, thoughtful, arms crossed over his chest, his sleeves pulled tight across his biceps. Those arms weren’t just for show, either. The way he’d pulled her into his lap earlier was going to stick in her head for a long time.

Gaz knew exactly how to touch her.

Fuck.

How was she supposed to function now? How was she supposed to act like nothing had happened between them? They had to live in the same house until one of them finally moved back out. It would probably have to be her.

At least she could move back in with her mum, for a little while. John would be hurt, but he’d get over it soon enough. It wasn’t like they were all that close. They could go back to their monthly phone calls and visits on special occasions. Better that then him find out she’d been fooling around with one of his friends.

It was a good thing that Ghost had stopped them when he did.

Or maybe a bad thing.

At least if they’d fucked, there wouldn’t be anymore question about what it felt like. She could at least put it out of mind. Move on.

As it was, she might spend a long time thinking about those long, clever fingers and how they felt curled inside of her. How his body would feel pressed against her, stretched out over her, how he would sound in her ear as he pushed inside her.

She was going to wear out the batteries in every vibrator she owned trying to forget about him sleeping across the hall. She couldn’t let herself be tempted.

“Quiet back there,” Soap remarked. “Y’alright, Scout?”

“I’m fine,” she said tersely.

“Don’t be pissed at us, we’re just lookin’ out for you,” Ghost said. “You’re a smart girl, most’f the time. You know it was thick-‘eaded.”

“I know. I know! I don’t need to be reminded.”

“Then cheer up, aye? Could curdle milk with a scowl like tha’.”

“Look, I’m tired, and I’m not sober or drunk enough to be in a good mood right now. I just want to go to bed and have a little melt-down.”

“Aw, Scout—”

“I’m not in the mood, Soap. This has all been mortifying. I think I’ve earned myself a small fit in the privacy of my own room.”

“Bit dramatic,” Ghost said.

“You saw my tits today! I think I’m being under dramatic.”

“Oh ‘ardly.”

“What, has everyone seen yer tits but me?” Soap asked, affronted, turning in his seat to look at Scout. Behind him, Ghost reached over to keep the wheel steady while Soap was distracted. “Pop ‘em out real quick fer me.”

“No. Can you concentrate on the road?”

“How can ye expect me tae concentrate on drivin’ when everyone’s seen ye half naked but me?”

“Soap!”

“It’s no’ fair!”

“Soap, you’re a grown man, stop acting like you can’t just look up tits on your phone whenever you want to. You do not need to see mine.”

“Sides,” Ghost added unhelpfully. “Gaz go to do a lot more than just look. Seems if we’re evening the score…”

“You’re an asshole,” Rory grumbled.

Soap at least returned his attention to driving, settlin back in his seat the correct way. "Tha’s true. It wouldnae be fair tae just look. Scout should let us touch too. Maybe a wee bit of kissin’, Ah ken Gaz doesnae waste time ‘fore he gets his tongue involved.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Aye, s’pose not. Guess yer auld da would have us kilt for it anyhow.” He waggled his eyebrows at Rory through the rear-view mirror. “Might be worth it. Nearly died from doin’ much worse than a long-legged lass in the lane behind a bar.”

“Nice to know I’m not even worth a car’s backseat to you,” Rory commented wryly.

“Didnae mean it like tha’. Yer in the backseat now, do ye really think ye’d have room to manuever if I was back there too? Laneway’s more fun. Sometimes ye get doggers. Pull a wee crowd, since ye like attention so much.”

“Is that what you’re after, Scout? An audience?” Ghost asked, his voice a teasing rumble.

“I hope I get struck by lightning.”

“Tha’s no’ a no, is it, big man?”

“Sounds like a yes that she dun’t want to admit.”

“I changed my mind. I want both of you to be struck by lightning.”

“She’s awful crotchit when she doesnae get pumped.”

“We’ve just gotta ‘ope that she’s charged her vibrator, or she’ll be out of sorts all weekend.”

Luckily, Rory only had to endure a few more minutes of their teasing before they reached the farmhouse, and she was able to climb out of the car. She flipped them off when she reached the front door, and reached into her shoe for her house key.

She kicked off her heels at the door, breathing a sigh of relief. “Hey dad,” she called out. “I’m home.”

"Back early, pumpkin?" John called back from the living room, looking up from his book when she halted in the doorway. "Where's Gaz?"

"Still at the bar. Ghost said he didn't like the way I was flirting with the team and drove me home."

John chuckled, marking the page in the book and setting it to the side. "Good."

“I disagree, but I suppose he’s your man, first and foremost. He’s going to do what he thinks you want most of the time.” She walked into the kitchen to get some water. “You want a cuppa?” she asked, filling the kettle.

“I do, thanks.” John followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, looking at her over the rim of his reading glasses. “The lads are just trying to keep you safe for my sake.”

“I know. They’re just so annoying about it. I thought the others were nice though. Nitro is maybe the coolest person on the planet.”

“She’s a hard worker too. Enlisted as a junior felon, and pulled herself up the ranks by being one of the best. Lot like Soap. She’s a little more even keeled, at least on the surface, though.”

Rory nodded, pulling mugs out of the drying rack. “Lucky was nice too.”

“He was the one flirting, I imagine.”

“A little,” Rory said. “I didn’t think it was a big deal, but apparently I don’t know anything much about men.” She rolled her eyes. “As if I’m a kid that needs looking after. I had a boyfriend for years without any intervention from you all.”

"And look where that got you,” John said teasingly. “Livin’ with your old man and unemployed.”

“To be fair, I have a long history of under-employment. I don’t think we can blame Brandon for that part.” Rory threw tea bags into each mug and poured in hot water. “And he’s not the only loser I’ve dated, he’s just the worst, because he was more interested in my connections than in me.”

John grimaced. “I s’pose your mother bein’ a cabinet minister might be attractive to a toady little social climber.”

“Exactly. I could drop half of my last name and it wouldn’t be so obvious, but I don’t really want to have to do that.” Rory sighed, stirring sugar into one of the mugs. “Dating sucks. I think the only thing that sucks more is being single.”

John laughed at that. “Can’t say I disagree.”

“I know you don’t disagree. Someone that’s comfortable being single doesn’t get married four times. Or fuck my friends.”

“In my defense, she came onto me.”

“Yeah. Jessica is a slut with daddy issues. You’re like catnip to girls like that.” She set his mug on the counter near him and rifled through the pantry. “Got any biscuits?”

“You tell me. Pretty sure you did the groceries last.”

“Damn. I bought ice cream as my treat for the week. Gaz ate it last night. You hungry? I’ll just eat ramen if not, but—”

“I could eat. Was thinkin’ about makin’ popcorn, but I lost track of time.”

“Popcorn is good. But I really want bread. Which I know we are also out of because Gaz ate three sandwiches for lunch. I’m gonna have to readjust the grocery list if he always eats like that.” She pulled flour out of the pantry and a mixing bowl out of one of the other cupboards.

“It’s usually just the first days back from an op. You eat MREs for a month straight and you forget how good real food tastes.” He watched her measure milk and butter into a saucepan. “What are you makin’?”

“Khachapuri. You’ll like it. It’ll take a bit, but we have quick rise yeast, so we should have it before Gaz stumbles his way in. If he doesn’t find someone to go home with, anyway.” Rory swallowed the bitter taste of jealousy, reminding herself that there was no good that could come of being jealous. Kissing Gaz had been a collossal mistake, one not to be repeated a third time. She knew better than to let herself get turned around by a pair of pretty brown eyes.

Ghost was right. She had to be careful. Gaz might have an iron grip on himself in the field, in the line of duty, but he dropped it at the door, all too eager to jump at any suggestion that she might want him— He was just looking for a rebound anyway. He couldn’t hurt her, but she still didn’t need the hassle of getting remotely involved with a man who was still in love with his ex.

“You’re still not helpin’ him with Billie?” he asked.

“No. Definitely not. I think she’s better off without him.”

“He’s a good man—”

“I’m not saying he’s not.” Rory had to wonder if John would maintain that opinion if he knew that Gaz had tried to fuck her in the backseat of his car less than an hour ago. “I’m saying they’re not good for each other. Billie’s too nice, and all she wants is a partner that’s gonna be around. Gaz isn’t ready to be that guy.”

John sipped his tea. “You’ve got his number already, do you?”

“He’s… A lot like you.” Rory tried not to think about the implications of that. She’d always prided herself on being level dispite both her parents being too busy for her a lot of the time. Maybe she did have daddy issues. “You spent all that time chasing the idea of mum, trying to recreate a relationship that had never really existed. Gaz should focus on himself, find someone new once he’s actually ready to settle down. And keep it casual until he is ready. Not every woman that falls into your bed is going to be the one.”

“I did learn that one,” John protested.

“It took you a really long time.”

“Well, we can’t all be so wise so young,” he ruffled her hair. “Gonna read a bit more. I know you said not to talk to you about it, but it’s good. I’m glad you finally shared it with me.”

Rory laughed lightly to cover her embarrassment. “It’s just silly stuff, really, but I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s not silly, Scout. It’s good. You’re a good writer.”

Rory waved him off, ducking her head down to focus on what she was doing, turning on some music, bouncing slightly to the beat to rid herself of some of the excess energy still bubbling under her skin.

She was just folding the dough around the cheese mixture when the sound of the door unlocking signaled Gaz's return. Rory strained to listen to his low conversation with John, but couldn't catch anything. She was just finished shaping the boat-shaped breads and set them on top of the warming oven to finish their final proof,when arms grabbed her around the middle and pulled her into a solid chest.

"Hey, beautiful," Gaz mumbled against her neck. "Couldn't stop thinkin' about you."

Rory stiffened, resisting the compulsion to sink into him. "Gaz, don't you dare."

"You want it too," he groused, palming her ass through her thin cotton pajama shorts.

"We absolutely cannot talk about this right now."

"Don't want to talk. Want to make you come until your legs give out." His teeth tugged at her ear playfully. "Let me treat you right. I wanna be so good to you."

"You're drunk. Go sit down and behave yourself or I won't let you have any khachapuri."

"Cruel," he sighed, but he retreated to a seat on the other side of the counter and dropped his chin into his palm, watching her with half-lidded eyes. “Why are you makin’ bread in the middle of the night?”

“Because I felt like it. And I knew that you’d be coming home less than sober, although I didn’t expect this drunk either. I certainly hope you didn’t drive.”

“Nah, Soap drove me. Came back after they dropped you off. Ghost wanted to scold me some more.” He grinned lazily. “You worried about me, doll?”

“No.”

He hummed disbelievingly. “You’re not foolin’ me, Rory. I know you like me. We both want to finish what we started.”

“Go take a cold shower,” Rory ordered. “You are not being sensible. My dad is not even twenty feet away.”

He got to his feet and took a step toward her. “Alright, alright. I’ll go. Gimme a quick kiss—”

“No! Get out of here!” Rory swatted away his outstretched hands impatiently.

He retreated, but stopped in the doorway and turned back to her. “I’ll be thinkin’ of you.”

“You’re disgusting. Get out of here right now.”

He left, laughing, but Rory was left with a pit of dread in her stomach. This promised to be nothing but trouble, and she needed to find a way to nip the whole thing in the bud as quickly as possible, before John found out and killed Gaz.

Although… That would solve her problem neatly.

Something to consider, if things got out of hand. Rory slid the tray of cheese-stuffed bread into the oven, mulling it over. The problem was that she couldn’t be entirely sure that John really would disapprove. He liked Gaz. He trusted him. If he was going to trust anyone with Rory’s well-being, it might very well be one of his men.

She’d have to be very careful, or she’d have a whole lot of trouble on her hands.

Image Credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - Banners by @/cafekitsune

[x3no9]

Started my first ever mpreg fic. (C-section removal) Omegaverse idea that anyone can get pregnant but it is different for males in that it's detected much sooner.

It's a Call of duty fanfic featuring Soap x Ghost and Makarov x Graves. I keep them all in character most of the time too. Which was a challenge in this scenario lol.

WiP

[phantasm-ae]

cw: fluff, cowgirl afab reader x ghost, grumpy x sunshine, clumsy reader

HEADCANON: the team meets Ghost’s little bird

PAIRING: Simon Riley x reader

It all started when Soap, half-joking -- not really -- asked over a pint of that terrible guinness that one of the recruits mentioned that he voiced out a lingering thought out loud,

"So, Ghost. Ye ever gonna introduce us to yer missus? Or is she just some hallucination ye made up tae wind us up aye?"

Ghost, who had never confirmed nor denied anything about his personal life, simply shrugged. "Pub. Friday. Seven."

Soap thought he was joking.

At exactly Friday, seven-fucking-pm though. Soap. Soap realized he was wrong.

They met at a grimy pub near base. Price was wary. Gaz looked openly curious. Soap just looked excited, because how normal could Ghost’s wife possibly be? Some goth lady with a death glare? A sniper with a scar over her eye? A shadow in human form?

None of the above.

What actually walked in was—

A tiny woman in a beat-up leather jacket, dusty denim jeans, a battered cowboy hat tilted low over her messy braid. Coupled with a pair of cracked leather boots that clomped across the floor like she owned the place.

Holy shit

She looked like she could ride a bull, shoot a rifle, and kiss you breathless — not necessarily in that order.

She waved frantically the moment she spotted them though — knocking over a chair and nearly tripping over her own boots as she did.

"HEY, SI" she yelled across the entire bar.

Ghost — stoic, terrifying, 6'4" Ghost — immediately straightened in his seat like a teenager seeing his crush. He actually moved. Stood up. Went to meet her halfway like she was the only thing that existed.

Soap’s jaw was physically on the table.

This tiny woman. Small. Wiry. Sun-kissed and with the greatest pair of tits Soap has ever seen immediately launched herself into Ghost’s arms like a missile. He caught her easily -- of course -- one hand on her lower back, the other ruffling her tousled brown hair with ridiculous tenderness.

Leaning down to let her smack a kiss right onto the cloth of his mask like she couldn’t give a single shit about what people thought.

She yanked the brim of his hat down over his eyes — wait! when had he gotten a hat?? — and laughed that big, reckless, wild West laugh that turned every head in the pub.

The team stared in horror and awe.

"This can’t be real," Gaz muttered. "I’m dreaming. I died in Syria."

"She's so small," Soap whispered back, scandalized. "And she’s—she’s—hot??"

They made it back to the table, Ghost’s hand resting casually on her hip like a leash.

When they made it back to the table, she shoved Ghost into a chair, plopped herself onto his lap without ceremony, and grinned at the rest of them.

"Howdy, boys," she said, tipping her hat.

Soap almost cried.

She was absolute chaos. Stole the darts right out of the wall and challenged Soap to a game ("loser buys shots, city boy" "'m from Scotland, lass" "Cattle country ain't like sheep country, sugar" "we have cows. They moo too").

Gaz: "You're so fucking stupid mate"

Soap: "Shut it aye?"

Flirted shamelessly with Ghost across the table — calling him "sugar," "cowboy," and "my big strong man" with zero shame in her Southern-twanged voice. Told Price he looked like a "sheriff with a broken heart."

Somehow wrangled Ghost into a pool match where she used him as her pool cue guide — pressed up against him, his huge hands guiding hers, while she winked at the others over her shoulder.

Ghost never smiled. Never joked. Never talked much. But with her? He was... different.

Softer. More human. Maybe even a little helpless, the poor bastard.

Price, to his credit, kept a straight face. Barely.

Soap, meanwhile -- after losing to her on those stupid darts and took on the challenge of guzzling down the said shots -- was vibrating with suppressed laughter.

She was chaos. Pure, distilled chaos — loud, funny, mean, fun, but also wildly affectionate. She stole a chip off Gaz and a stranger's plate without asking. Shooed off two creeps with a death glare who wouldn’t stop pestering the girls at the counter. Challenged the bouncer -- a hulking and massive bloke -- to arm wrestle and actually fucking won! Spent half an hour helping to take pictures of an old couple on a vacation to send to their grandkids. And started a chant for Price to shotgun a beer (he declined, though grimly but... endeared).

And through all of it, Ghost just... watched her. Silent. Steady. The same way he’d scan a perimeter — except more devoted. Soap swearing that he could even see him smile behind the mask.

At one point, she tugged on his sleeve and whispered something in his ear that made him let out a genuine, low chuckle. An actual laugh. Gaz's drink came out of his nose at that and Soap almost passed out from the shock.

By the end of the night, they were all completely obsessed with her.

(And slightly terrified. She challenged another guy twice her size to a pull-up contest and won.)

As they stumbled out of the pub, she looped an arm around Ghost’s waist and shouted, "THIS IS MY HUSBAND! HE’S BIGGER THAN YOUR HUSBAND!" at absolutely no one.

Ghost didn’t even blink. Just tugged her closer and murmured, "Alright, birdie. Inside voice yeah?."

"YOU LOVE ME BABY," she hollered back.

"Yeah," he said simply, not caring who heard. "I do."

And if anyone at the pub dared to stare — well, nobody wanted to make eye contact with a man wearing a skull mask who looked like he could bench-press a car and the woman who looked like she could drive said car through you and still smile while doing it.

Soap later: "Lass is unhinged aye?." Gaz: "You’re just mad she drank you under the table, mate." Price: "I like her. She’s good for him." Soap: "Naw, like... she’s pure mental. He’s just as daft. It’s a match made in hell, I’m tellin' ye.

Ghost, hearing them gossip: (Just shrugs.) "I like her loud. Makes it easier to find her."

masterlist

[khioneee]

simon is possessive and obsessive.

“you’re mine.”

the sound of his hips slapping against yours echoed through the room, each thrust harder and faster than the last. the force of him inside you was overwhelming, leaving you gasping for breath. a broken cry escaped your lips as your orgasm hit, tearing through you at the unforgiving pace he’d set. your body trembled beneath him, bouncing uncontrollably with each thrust as you clawed at the floor, desperate for anything to hold on to.

tears blurred your vision, but even through the haze, you could see him—ghost. his massive frame loomed behind you, the white skull mask glowing dimly in the low light. his blue eyes pierced through the shadows, flickering occasionally into a deep, predatory stare before shifting back, as if a monster lurked just beneath the surface.

a shaky, heated smile curled your lips as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror—wrecked, helpless, taken completely by the man behind you. every thrust sent shockwaves through your body, and the way he possessed you made it clear there was no escape.

simon leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and rough. “i’m going to make you watch me take you over and over again until you’re nothing but a numb, broken thing.”

then he slammed into you harder, pulling a ragged cry from deep within you. your nails scraped the floor in desperation, but there was no reprieve, only his unrelenting rhythm.

“i’m still angry,” he growled, his words vibrating through you as he thrust deeper, faster. “and i’m going to make sure you understand, love—no other man will ever satisfy you again.”

his pace quickened, every thrust a punishment, every motion a claim. you could feel it—his rage, his desire, and the dark promise that dripped from his voice. and in the mirror, it was all laid bare: the power he had over you, the way he unraveled you completely.

simon was taking you, body and soul, and there was no turning back.

[slater-baby]

Tags: Age Gap, Daddy kink, overstimulation

Price gets whiskey dick HARD. Like, literally, a glass at dinner and it’s liable to happen

Though, it never really bothered him. It just means he has more time to spread you out over the mattress, bully his clumsy, drunk fingers into your soft cunt, and swirl his tongue around your clit until the taste of alcohol has left his mouth…it also conveniently gives him more time to loosen up his creaky knee joints enough to fuck you lmao

When you first started dating, Price was a bit worried if a man like him would be enough to satisfy a young bird like you. But the first time he took you home and leant you over his bed frame, your sweet little thighs raw and sore from chafing against the hair on his graying beard…

Well, he didn’t see the point in being embarrassed about having a take a couple of viagra to get it up.

After all, you were so fucked out after waiting all that time, brain fried from more orgasms than you could possibly count, that you hardly noticed when he let go of you.

It was nothing short of perfection, looking at you like that. Sprawled out on his mattress, panting like you’d just run a marathon.

Meanwhile, he leans against the bathroom doorway, popping a little blue pill between his teeth, flicking his belt buckle out of the loops.

“Shhh—don’t worry, baby,” he coos, stepping towards your beautiful, ruined body, “Daddy’s almost ready now. Only half ‘n hour more before the pills start workin’…”

When tears start falling from your eyes mere seconds after your fifth orgasm of the night…well, John drinks them in just as well as a glass of whiskey.

“Shit, birdie, don’t start cryin’ yet…gonna let an ol’ man like me outlast you in bed? Where’s your sense of pride gone now, huh, darlin’? Now, spread your legs, baby, c’mon. I didn’t take all those lil’ pills for nothing, yeah?”

[sweetiecutie]

Husband! König is very happy that your parents decide to finally come over to your house for a week to spend Christmas and New Year with you two. König does genuinely enjoy their company - they’re his family now after all, not only by law but by feelings that connect you all.

But there’s a little but. Husband! König just can’t help but feel frustrated at the lack of intimacy between you two these past days. Not only have you been occupied with holiday preparations, shortening the usual amount of attention you gave him, but constant presence of both your parents around the house meant nearly to no sex. From fucking you whenever and wherever he pleased, König now had to settle for a quick hand- or blowjob from you in a bathroom before going back to your parents, all broad smiles and innocence in your eyes.

Husband! König who clenches his chiseled jaw, throwing his head back so it hits the wall behind with a soft ‘thud’ as he tries his absolute hardest to bite back all the moans and groans threatening to slip off his tongue. You coo sweet apologies to him as your hand fists his leaking cock before the warmth of your mouth wraps around thick shaft, sinking down on it until your nose is buried into small bush of dark blonde hair on König’s pubic.

König can barely stay upright, the lack of any sexual interaction between you two in these past days making him even more sensitive. A string of hissed curses falling from bitten lips as your throat moulded to the shape of his dick, clenching down on him as you bob your head up and down, fucking the cum out of your husband with your mouth.

Husband! König who doesn’t last for long, soon flooding your throat with his thick pearly cum, making you gag and cough around his softening dick. You slip your mouth off his cock, tucking it back into his boxers and pressing a small kiss right under his bellybutton, practically making König melt in your arms. “I’m sorry baby, I promise that I’ll make it up to you once they leave” you whisper, pressing another quick kiss to his tummy before standing up and exiting the bathroom, leaving your hubby all hot and bothered still>:[

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[allllium]

Why haven't I seen anyone talking about how Simon Riley would 100% get tattoos of things that remind him of you??

Y'all don't even have to be together and he'll be permanently marking his skin just because it makes him happy to be reminded of you.

He'll get small things in-between his other tattoos so you don't notice either, like he'd be head over heels for you but panic at the thought of you knowing.

The team totally notices and teases him for it too. They won't let this man rest when they see all the tiny things that are so obviously you.

He's also the type to get your name tattooed somewhere. It'd most likely be your initials somewhere people won't be able to see but it eased his mind to know it's there.

If you ever notice how he has all your favorite flowers and animals, maybe even your hobbies on his body, he'll deny it so hard. Like what do you mean those are my favorites too type gaslighting.

Anyway the point of this is to say we need more people to call out how down bad this man gets 🤞🤞

[gothghostiie]

something babysitter!reader waiting for price to drive them home while he's on video call with one of his friends, the little one in his lap, tapping around on the screen; until it somehow does something to make the screen go weird. he chuckles and shows you, inevitably holding the camera right onto you for a moment and showing you before turning it back on him. all you hear from the phone now is a curious hum. "who's the lil' tulip on the couch?"

[sheepispink]

thinking about sleeping next to simon thanks to @thatsamericasass24

“What’re you doing up this late?” His gruff voice rang out, empty bottle in hand coming to fill it in the sink here, but all rationality seemed to run to waste when he saw your state.

For some reason, you cant sleep in your bed tonight whether that’s because of a giant spider, a nightmare scaring you or your bed entirely breaking mid sleep. Either way, you’re shaking in the common room, hands wrapped around a warm mug as you recount the previous events like a broken tape playing the same part.

With that, he had ushered you into his bedroom, knowing he couldnt just leave you to tremble any longer on that couch. He never planned to sleep beside you, no, he would only lay next to you, make sure that shiver stopped. He settles in the bed first, making sure to be on the edge before patting the space next to him in the dark room, only the small lamplight glowing up the untouched sheets.

You let out a soft breath of relief as you shuffle beneath the covers beside him, only to tense up immediately when your leg collides with his. “Sorry!” You squeak out, shuffling forward only to meet your tipping point, your hand gripping the bedframe to stop you from completely falling off the mattress. You were seconds away from falling off altogether but you couldn’t fathom complaining so you just lay there, squashed into yourself to avoid touching him once more— your hands still holding on desperately so you dont fall off the bed altogether.

His teeth grit as he watches the situation unfold, clearly having underestimated just how large he was. Of course his own bed was more than sufficient for himself— he didnt really think twice when his arm fell off the bed in the mornings. so he figured the same would apply to you. Now he could only watch as you lay stiffly, trying your best not to be ungrateful for his help but it was a little difficult when you felt more on edge than before. Literally.

He taps your shoulder and motions for you to face him, which you do, rolling over when your shoulder brushes his arm once more, a flush on your cheek.. Looking down between you two, there’s only an inch of space at best, and even so, he’s not even in a comfortable position. “Sorry— i’ll just go back to mine-“ You begin but he shakes his head, settling himself properly in the bed until his arms bump yours.

“Hold onto me.” You blink in surprise and instinctively follow his instructions, reaching an arm out before he guides your hand to settle over the expanse his chest. He would’ve wrapped you up tightly with his own arms, keeping you safe in his strong grip. However, the last thing he’d want is to scare you off by being his usually rough self. This way you could choose what you wanted to do, without feeling pressured to comply.

And you do, your hand snug over his chest as your body slowly pushes more against his, right in the crook of him. “I think my arm is too short.” He loves the way your lips quirk up into a nervous grin, afraid yet still finding entertainment in the silliness of this situation. He shuffles onto his side instead, every inch of him pressing against your body as he moves. “You gonna keep being cheeky or can i hold you properly?” He knew what you were implying but it was best to be sure, especially from how shaken up you were earlier. “The latter, please.”

You let out a soft squeal as he wraps his large arm around you, his forearm pressing against your back as he tucks your head into his neck. “ ‘m not gonna let you fall off. Close yer eyes.” He squeezes you a little, forcing the breath you’ve been holding in the corner of your lungs for hours now to finally release. Your eyes flitter, the warm skin of his neck bringing colour back to your cheeks. The panic from before dissipates now, sleepy eyes drifting close as your hand reaches around, only landing on his side at best. “Night, Si.” You squeeze him just as tight, your nose nudging his neck and he chuckles, never having thought he’d ever be able to hold you like this.

“Night, sweetheart.”

[nastybuckybarnes]

Bumps and Bruises

Pairing: Ghost X Reader

Summary: The tension between Ghost and his little street mouse finally snaps.

Warnings: Language, Violence, Implied Assault, Mouse has a sad back story, Mentioned Murder, Smut, unprotected sex, creampie, choking, probably more,

Word Count: 2.7K

A/n: The way that i have so many ideas for this series. also idk why but this smut was hard to write?? felt like my first time writing smut in a while which isnt the case??? anywho! I hope you enjoy 🩵

~*~

His footsteps are silent as he moves through the building, searching for any hostiles.

As he steps through a doorway, his hand comes up instinctively, grabbing onto someone's wrist as they swing the blade of a knife at him.

He grunts in surprise, yanking the person forward and pressing the gun to their head, only to immediately lower the weapon when he recognizes the eyes glaring up at him.

"Jesus, Mouse. Coulda killed ya," he huffs, tilting your hand to the side and inspecting the knife in your grasp.

"'ve been lookin' for this. Shoulda known you had it," he murmurs.

You tug out of his grip and hold the knife tightly to your chest, your eyes wild.

"Please. I need it."

His brows furrow, and then his eyes zero in on your split lip and the bruise on your cheek.

He takes a step closer, raising a hand toward your face only to pause when you flinch.

"Who did this to you?" He asks gruffly, gloved thumb lightly dusting over the cut on your lip.

You tug your head back, away from him, and step further into the darkness.

"I asked you a question and I expect an answer, Mouse. You know how this works."

You roll your eyes and shake your head, arms crossing over your chest as you try to forget the man who tried to take advantage of you.

He got what was coming to him.

"I tripped."

Ghost scoffs from behind you, shaking his head and following you as you walk into the dusty old bathroom.

You peer at yourself in the mirror, the darkness of the room making it hard to see, but the outline is there, as is the darker bruise blooming on your cheek.

"Let me have a look," he says, waiting until you turn around to take another look.

You finally turn to face him, your eyes finding his for a long moment before he brings his gaze down to your lips.

One big, strong hand holds the side of your face, tilting your head this way and that so he can take a better look at the damage.

He hums, thumb stroking your cheek gently, absentmindedly, and then his eyes flicker back up to yours.

"Tell me who did this so I can put a bullet in their head," he whispers.

How dare anyone ever lay a finger on you, his soft little mouse.

Your gaze softens and you lean your head into his hand a bit more.

"He is dead," you whisper, nuzzling into his hand.

An eyebrow raises beneath his mask and Ghost finds himself leaning closer to you, thumb dragging down over your split lip.

"By your hand?" He asks quietly, his heart skipping a beat when you look up at him with those big beautiful eyes and nod.

"Good girl."

Those two words make your heart double in pace and warmth pool between your legs.

His eyes are fiery and focused on yours, reading your mind, your soul, until he speaks.

"Close your eyes for me, mouse."

You obey him as if it's second nature, letting your lashes kiss your cheeks.

You're about to question him when you suddenly feel his warm lips press against your own.

All thoughts die in your head as you melt into the kiss, your hands splaying on his vest as he leans in to deepen it, tongue flickering out to finally, finally get a taste of you.

You let out a soft sigh, one hand reaching around to the back of his neck and pulling him closer to you, desperate to feel more of him, to have more of him. All of him.

He obeys like the good soldier he is, pressing the entirety of his firm body against yours, slotting a thigh between your legs and holding steady when you buck your hips.

"Easy, love," he whispers against your mouth, pulling away to spin you around.

You tumble forward, hands bracing yourself on the bathroom counter, and he's quick to yank your pants down your legs.

Your panties follow next, but he's not even patient enough to take them off completely. No, instead he lets them dangle from your ankle as he lifts your leg and rests your knee on the counter.

He yanks his gloves off with his teeth, desperate to feel your bare skin.

"Gonna take me like the good little mouse you are?" He asks, wetting his fingers on his tongue then sliding them through your folds.

The noise that leaves your mouth nearly makes him cum in his pants.

"Fuckin' hell, 've barely touched you an' you're already fuckin' soaked. Naughty little thing," he whispers, warm breath fanning against your ear.

You can hardly see him in the mirror with how dark it is, but that only makes you wetter.

One of his thick fingers slips into your heat, pumping slowly and he groans at the tight grip your walls have on the digit.

"Tightest little cunt."

His lewd words make you clench around him and he wonders for a moment if you can even take his cock.

When you rock your hips back against his hand, desperately searching for more, he decides that he doesn't care. You're going to take it. He's going to make it fit.

He quickly slips a second finger inside of you, scissoring you open and relishing in the breathy moans falling from your pretty lips.

"Take your top off. Wanna see those pretty tits 'f yours," he murmurs. using his free hand to shove his pants down just enough to free his aching cock.

Your fingers tremble as you tug your shirt off, bra going next and leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze.

Your eyes find his in the mirror, his gaze hot and heavy, and your walls clamp down around his fingers.

He's surprised at the sudden flutter of your walls, the way your legs shake and your back arches, but not at all disappointed.

"Poor little mouse," he whispers, smoothing one big warm hand over your bare back. "Nobody's touched this pretty little cunt in a while, hmm?"

You shiver, arching into his touch and sighing like the sweet little thing you are.

He thinks back to your confession earlier, of you killing the man who tried, and he feels his cock throb at the very idea of it. The fact that you would kill someone else for touching you, yet here you are, putty in his hands. A man whose face you've never even seen. Who's name you don't know.

A dark chuckle leaves his lips and he lines his hips up with your ass, sliding his cock through your twitching folds.

You flinch, then lean into it, arching your back impossibly further, putting your sopping pussy on display for him, and he grunts softly at the feeling of you.

He knows he's forgone his shot at heaven, but this is close enough.

He can only imagine what it'll be like to be inside of you.

With both hands on your ass, spreading you open, he watches intently as the thick hot tip of his cock catches in your sloppy little cunt.

He inches his hips forward the tiniest bit, pausing when you let out a sound akin to a yelp.

"Come now, love, none of that. This greedy little pussy's just achin' for a big cock to fill 'er up. Let me take care of her, yeah?"

He slides one hand up around your neck, pulling you up so your back is to his chest while his other hand comes up to shove two fingers in your mouth.

As his fingers plunge between your lips, he snaps his hips forward, sheathing every thick inch of him inside of your sensitive quivering walls.

The moan that escapes you is muffled by his fingers, and your vision starts to blur as you feel him pulse inside of you.

"Fuck," he hisses, teeth scraping your neck.

"Fuckin.... ah fuck."

You don't even have the strength to make a sound. All you can do is drool helplessly and take his fat cock in your cunt.

Slowly, he rolls his hips, pressing his head against yours as your walls grip his length.

"Fuckin' tight..." he whispers, groaning deeply when your walls clench at his words, his voice.

"Say my name," he growls, teeth nipping at your ear.

You whine around his thick fingers, and he drags them from your mouth, only to grab your face and smear the mess on your cheeks.

"G-ghost," you try, weakly, only to get a harsh smack on your ass as punishment.

"Simon," he corrects, the hand on your ass moving to grope at your chest, "say it." He punctuates his demand with a particularly rough thrust and you mewl, your eyes rolling back as pleasure rolls through your body.

"Simon," you whisper, clenching around him every time the tip of his cock hits that spongey spot inside of you.

He grinds his teeth together, sweat rolling down his back as he pistons his hips harder, faster, desperate to hear you say his name again.

"Yeah, that's right. Tell me who's makin' you feel this good, mouse."

You whine again as your second orgasm of the night approaches, and he forces you to take it.

Splayed out on the counter, he fucks into you like you're a doll, fucks you through the waves of bliss, through your quivering walls and aching muscles.

Fucks you through it all just to hear you preen and moan and cry his name.

"Simon! O-oh yes... yes... Simon..."

He lets out an animalistic guttural groan at the sound of his name falling from your pretty lips, and loses himself in his own high.

His hips still, and you almost sob at the feeling of his hot cum coating your walls. Your cunt practically milks his cock, so tight around him that not a drop leaks out.

You breathe heavily, gasping and whining every now and then as aftershocks wrack your frame.

Simon's no better, but he manages to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer to him, nuzzling his nose into your hair and taking a few deep breaths. The scratch of his gear against your back serves as a reminder of just how wrong this is, but neither one of you seems to care.

"You a'right, mouse?"

It takes a moment, but eventually you nod, relaxing into his arms even as his cock softens inside of you.

A few precious, tender moments go by like this, and you wouldn't change them for the world.

Eventually, he lets out a heavy sigh and brings one hand to your thigh, carefully sliding your knee off of the counter and helping you stand on trembling legs.

He slides his cock from you and you feel your poor little hole gape at the loss. You swear your body has been permanently re-sized to fit his cock, but you're not mad about that.

He spins you around once again, eyes drinking in your figure from your feet all the way up to your own eyes, staring up at him with that same wonder, same awe that you always do.

If anything, it's amplified now.

He stays still as your fingers reach forward, tracing over his scarred lips.

"Simon," you whisper, tracing over the stubble on his jaw.

"Hmm?"

You only smile shyly up at him, then lean up on your toes to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He's momentarily stunned by the intimacy behind it, the softness.

When you go to pull away he grabs you by the back of the neck firmly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to get you to stop moving.

He leans down and slots his lips against yours fully, kissing you once more.

It's softer than the kiss you shared earlier, less hurried. He takes his time, lets his lips explore yours for a long while before slowly pulling away.

He brings his free hand up and strokes your cheek gently, watching as you nuzzle into his touch once more.

It amazes him how freely you let him touch you. You've seen firsthand what this man can do, what he's capable of, yet here you are, seeking out his touch.

The same hands that have ended lives without a moment of hesitation, and you're letting him hold you with them.

"C'mon, little one. Let's get you cleaned up."

He does, in fact, get you cleaned up, and in turn, you show him to one of the new places that you call home.

It's a large house, with a mostly intact upper level. Your few belongings are tucked away safely, and you've made a bed out of all the blankets and pillows you can find.

The two of you lie together on what you call your bed, his arm wrapped around you and your head on his chest. His vest has been discarded next to the two of you, and you can hear his heart beating beneath your head.

"Ghost leave?" You ask, nails scraping at his exposed wrist.

He shakes his head, "not yet, not for a while."

You nod happily and snuggle closer to him, sighing heavily as sleep threatens to overtake you.

"Where are you from, Mouse?" He asks after a moment of silence, holding your little hand gently in his and inspecting it closely.

"And what happened here?"

You hum, lifting your head and watching as he traces a finger over your smooth palm, the scar tissue hiding any trace of your fingerprints.

Your eyes float up to his face and you spend a moment admiring him.

The hard skull plate of his mask is on the floor beside him, and the black balaclava is pushed up over his nose.

You can see more of his face than you ever have before.

"Not from here... not on map. I spend... long time trying to come here. Through trees... on boat... that is how I come here."

He nods slowly, absorbing every word of broken English that you're speaking.

"I live with mother... and father. But he... he is not good man. There were many young children... like me... and he keep us in... box for dog."

"Cage?" He asks, his heart hurting when you nod.

"Yes. We are kept in cage, in cold dark room. No food... no water... for days. But mother... she bring us food and water. She teach us to hide, to be quiet, to not be found. Show us how to leave cage. But one day... father find me."

Your eyes get a little distant as you remember that day. The way he didn't scream or yell, simply grabbed you and brought you into the kitchen. Forced your mother to boil the kettle. You remember her pleas, her cries. He was quick to silence her. You didn't understand what was going to happen at the time.

"He put hands in... bad water... burns... and he say that I... deserve it. That... it is what happens... when girls try to leave. He say that I will stay forever, until someone want to buy me... for babies."

The pieces start to make more sense.

Of course you're stealthy and quiet. You've been forced to be, all but trained to be. Your survival depended on it, and it still does now.

Rage builds up in Simon's chest and he wants nothing more than to find this motherfucker and put a bullet in his head.

"Where is he now?"

You sigh and rest your head back on his chest.

"One day, mother say... to run. Run and do not stop. Do not look back. She open cage and so I run. But I do look back. And I see... fire... big fire... and mother... is gone. But so is father. She... sacrifice for me. Everything."

You've had nothing but time to reflect on your childhood since escaping, and it's nothing new to you.

You miss your mother dearly, the only sense of comfort you've had until now.

"I'm sorry, Mouse."

You frown at his words and look up at him. Why is he sorry? He didn't burn your hands, rip your mother from you. He didn't keep you locked in a cage with the intention of selling you, your body, your purity, to the highest bidder.

Why should he be sorry?

Ghost says nothing more though, only pulls you closer to his body, plants a kiss on your forehead, and silently vows to do everything in his power to protect you. To keep you safe.

[x3no9]

It's done!

Ghost x Soap, Makarov x Graves, Graves x Alex Keller, Makarov x Alex Keller and a surprise at the end lol.

This has it all. Love, betrayal, gunfights, mpreg, polygamy, sex and more ( odd kinks here and there but very briefly). If you like domestic, tender Ghost x Soap ( bottom Ghost) and Makarov being himself but with Graves this is it! Also might be the first Alex Keller x Makarov fic out there lol.

[phantasm-ae]

cw: afab reader x ghost, smut, p in v, overstimulation, rough, mean simon :((, feral simon

HEADCANON: Jealous of Bunny getting all the attention — smug bastard — you buy a bunny tail butt plug as a joke. You didn’t expect Simon to absolutely go feral over it though

PAIRING: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

"nghh-- Si-- n-no more please--", you whimper. Voice wrecked. High. Shaky and slurred with overstimulation. Having been incoherent since two?--three?-- orgasms ago.

But Simon only growls low. Holding you more pliant atop him as he makes you sink deeper on his cock. Making you take him to the root again and again. Hands gripping your wrists behind your back as he practically bounces you on his dick like he threatened he would. Groaning lowly at the sound of your whines. Enamored by his little bird's soft sobs of pleasure as he shoves the tip of his dick further into your cervix.

Like he was trying to brand himself further into your very marrow. Not wanting to stop until he knows the outline of your womb remembers every inch of his cock.

"Come on, baby", he rasps, voice rough, almost tender under the wrecking as well. Having came twice inside you when he took you from behind. Mounting you like a buck in a rut. From the side where his arms banded tight around your waist and neck. Holding you close to him and dragging you back onto his cock over and over until you sobbed helplessly into the sheets. And now he was on a personal mission to fill you one last time to the brim on top.

"Bounce on it birdie. Said you wanted to be a bunny now do it", he coos. Mocks. Toys and smiles menacingly at your defeated and overstimulated whimper. All mock-sweetness and cruel affection.

It had all started as a stupid idea -- dumb dumb girl. Should stop thinkin' yeah? -- born out of pure, petty jealousy. Watching Simon fawn over Bunny. Patting his head. Calling him "good lad" in that rare, fond voice that made your heart ache.

You hadn't thought much You did actually when you bought the bunny tail butt plug online with shaking hands, wanting some of that attention for yourself. Maybe as a joke. Maybe to tease. Maybe to taunt.

And besides! You wanted to be cute too! You just wanted him to look at you the same way.

You just hadn't expected it to work this well. Hadn’t expected this -- being fucked to absolute ruin, tail bobbing humiliatingly behind you with every merciless slam of his hips.

You had been discreet about it, you swear. Nope not really

Slipped it in with trembling fingers upstairs before dinner, cheeks hot with mortification. You thought you could play it off -- just have your little moment, bask quietly in whatever reaction you could steal.

But Simon?

Simon always knows when you're hiding something.

Always.

So when you bent over innocently to grab the casserole out of the oven, humming and swaying your hips a little too much, he froze.

The metal fork clattered out of his hand and onto the counter. His mouth parted on a silent groan. Pupils blown wide and dark -- the way they get when he's well and truly feral.

And the second he caught sight of it -- the little white puff sticking saucily out of the curve of your ass -- you knew you were fucked.

Literally. Figuratively. Utterly.

He stalked across the kitchen without a word. Big hands grabbing you by the hips, pressing himself up against you, grinding that hard, throbbing heat between your thighs until you whimpered.

And now your thighs quake. Muscles screaming from exertion and pleasure both, but Simon -- the hulking bastard of your boyfriend -- doesn't let up! Grip only tightening on your wrists as he makes you bounce. Using you like a fleshlight on his cock, hole sopping and dripping both from your orgasms and overstimulation. Clit sore and labia puffy as he only quickens the pace.

You sob, hips jerking away weakly only to be pulled back down on his dick -- desperate, frantic -- as you try (you really do) to obey. Try to lift yourself off his cock only for him to slam you back down again with a guttural grunt, thick and punishing and so deep that your vision whites out at the edges.

"That's it," Simon growls, hips snapping up hard enough to rattle the bedframe. "Look at you — awww baby right there? — Good little bunny, lettin' me f-fuck you stupid."

Your breath hitches on a shattered whine, drool slicking the corner of your mouth. You can feel it -- hot and obscene -- the way his spend is already leaking out of you, making a filthy mess where you’re spread wide around him, the little fluff of the bunny tail butt plug bobbing wildly with every brutal, merciless thrust.

Simon laughs low and broken under his breath, voice thick with pride and possession.

"All mine now, yeah? — shhh I know birdie I know" he says, leaning up to mouth along your jaw, catching your earlobe between his teeth in a quick, sharp bite that makes you jerk and cry out. "Womb's mine. Pussy's mine. Pretty little bunny tail and all."

You nod desperately -- or try to -- the movement so feeble and pathetic it makes him chuckle again, soft and mean and loving all at once.

"Jealous of Bunny, that it baby?" he huffs against your skin. Thrusts brutally upward when you only respond with a soft whine. Broken. Wrecked. Wanton and done for.

"Shoulda just told me, birdie" Simon murmurs, low and almost cruel in its tenderness, muttering a soft fuck as you clench involuntarily at his words. His breath scalding against the shell of your ear. "Didn't need to dress yourself up like a pretty little toy -- shit that's it --Always had my eyes on you."

Another sharp thrust -- a ragged gasp punched from your chest.

You whimper -- desperate, delirious -- thighs trembling from the effort of keeping yourself upright.

Simon hums, pleased, and lets your wrists go for a moment -- only to immediately grab your hips, dragging you flush against him as he starts fucking up into you even harder, reckless and raw.

The bunny tail bounces wildly with every slam of his hips, obscene and humiliating and so hot you think you might just pass out from it.

You’re babbling nonsense now -- tears streaking down your cheeks, throat raw from sobbing his name over and over -- but Simon doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even think of stopping.

Not until you’re a shaking, oversensitive mess. Not until you can't tell where he ends and you begin. Not until you’re bred so full his cum drips steadily down your thighs, thick and hot and never-ending.

"That's it, pet," he rasps against your neck. "My pretty little bunny. Gonna keep you plugged up all fuckin’ night. Make sure it sticks."

You shudder, high and keening at the thought -- too gone to even form words anymore.

And Simon just holds you tighter. Fucks you deeper. Growls soft and feral into your hair like a wolf who's finally caught his prey and has no plans to ever let go.

Snarling as his rhythm falters. Jaw clenching. Grip tightening and teeth gritted. Low and wrecked. Burying himself twice. Deepest as he can go. Not caring at the soft sob you make as the tip of his dick kisses your cervix. Cock pulsing hot and thick inside your womb before he cums with a guttural and broken moan against you throat.

"Fuck yeah, that's it birdie. Takin' it like a good little doe. My own little bunny in heat"

masterlist

[khioneee]

you don’t follow simon’s orders.

mdni.

you’ve always had a defiant streak when it comes to your lieutenant. something about the way he barked orders, the way he towered over everyone, the way his presence demanded respect—it made you want to push back, to see how far you could go before he snapped.

today, you might’ve gone too far.

‘you better watch that pretty little mouth of yours,’ simon growled, his voice low and dangerous, his gaze pinning you in place.

but then his lips curved into the faintest, cruelest smirk as he leaned in closer, his words dripping with a dark, unspoken promise.

‘before i fuck it.’

your breath hitched, the air around you suddenly feeling too thick, too charged. defiance warred with something else entirely, something you couldn’t name but burned all the same.

this was a game, wasn’t it? a battle of wills. but now, you weren’t so sure you’d win.

[bxllydxnnabxtch]

Selfless

Simon (Ghost) Riley x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: After a close call that left Simon terrified to lose you, Simon is desperate to carve every inch of you into his memory.

Explicit content ahead!

Warnings: Swearing, choking, mentions of reader almost dying, creampie.

“S-Simon-“

Your voice shook and stuttered as Ghost rutted into you, the table creaking and shaking under the force of his thrusts. Your head was spinning, you could feel your wetness smearing across your aching thighs at the mercy of his thrusts and his shaky breath as he did so. His hand gripping your shoulder kept you locked in place against the table as he took his frustrations out on you.

“Where’s that filthy mouth of yours gone, love? You were swearing like a sailor a minute ago.” His words sent a rush of anger through you, your arms coming to push yourself up from the table. You went nowhere. “Fuck you- shit-“ You squealed when Simon’s cock grazed your g-spot, the man laughing as he leaned over you, pressing his lips to your ear. “There it is.”

He pushed you further up the table, your toes barely being able to touch the ground as your thighs shook relentlessly. “Don’t fucking act like- ah you didn’t s-start it.” You stuttered out, the fight never leaving you despite the compromising position you were in. You felt his hand snake into your hair, and you let out a yelp when he pulled you up to his chest, his hand winding around to your throat.

“I’m not the one who threw themselves out of a Humvee.” He whispered, his hand tightening around your throat. Simons hand effectively cut off any argument you were going to make, the only noise coming out of you being choked moans and squeals as Ghost worked you towards your release.

Your head grew fuzzy with the lack of oxygen, the only thought making it through your brain was how good Ghost felt filling you up and how much longer he was going to have you bent over this table. You gulped down a mouthful of air when he finally released your windpipe, the rush of blood to your head making your mind feel cloudy and dizzy.

Ghost sped up his thrusts and you collapsed back onto the table, his hand reaching around to rub tight circles into your clit. Your breathing became more ragged as the pressure increased, Simon becoming eerily quiet as he watched you quake and moan over his cock.

He desperately tried to burn your image into his memory, the sight of you throwing yourself out of the Humvee constantly replaying in his mind, reminding him that at any given moment you could be ripped away from him. He carved every movement, every sound, every shudder into his brain so he couldn’t- wouldn’t forget.

You held the table in a white-knuckle grip as your core exploded, searing hot pleasure flashing through you as you choked over your own moans, tears welling in your eyes. You had no choice but to let your release ripple through you, Ghost letting out a groan as you tightened around him.

Simon let out a choked curse, rutting into you a few more times before cumming inside you, painting your walls white. You were still trembling as you came down from your high, the only sound in the room being yours and Ghost’s ragged breathing.

You leaned your forehead on the table, a wave of guilt passing over you. “I’m sorry.” You said, feeling Ghost rub his hands up and down your back, releasing the tension. He hummed, brushing the sweaty hair out of your face.

“It’s okay. Let’s get you cleaned up sweetheart.”

[pokechbi]

🎀König’s fave positions🎀

NSFW 🔞

Although he loves to watch your face contort with pleasure as he slides his long, thick meaty cock in and out of you, he can’t help but submit to the idea of watching the fat of your ass jiggle against his hips as he fucks you doggy style. This can also be said for reverse cowgirl.

He loves to watch your cunt grip him from behind, relishing the view and sounds of your soppy walls squelching around him.

The main reason he loves to fuck you from behind, has to be because he can easily slip a thumb right into your virgin ass, handling you like a bowling ball as he pumps into you. He’ll use his thick thumb to control your speed, not allowing you to throw your ass back onto his dick and drive him crazy like you know you do.

König is obsessed with having you on top of him, your back to his chest and your feet propped up on his knees as he drills into you mercilessly. He can easily reach around and wrap his big hand around your throat, play with your nipples and ferociously rub at your clit. You love this position too, savoring the feeling of him moaning into your hair.

He often finds himself unable to contain himself from slipping into you during spoon-time, holding your leg up with one hand as he chokes you with the other. Cuddle time leads to this more often than not, but you weren’t complaining. His insatiable appetite for your sopping cunt was the reason you both couldn’t last long while embracing each other.

The mating press is also among his favorites. He favors the way your breathing restricts as he presses his weight into your thighs, folding you like a lawn chair. It also allows him to get so deep into you, filling you up to the brim with his hot cum. He can feel the way your body jolts with delicious pain as he slams into your cervix, practically feeling your womb graze the tip of his fat dick. He loves the way this position fuels his breeding kink.