#Ghost sideways is cracked

[ka-wa-bunga]

Got some more harpy Au doodles, then just something silly I drew for alerudy (because Rudy is best man) While I blasted Magnolia

Livin my best life with these lil freaks

[sceletaflores]

slippin' and slidin' all over you!

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, sweating, mutual masturbation, sweat licking (i don't know???), not-so-dry humping, p in v, JUST THE TIP RAHHH, creampie, fingering (fem!recieving), oral sex (fem!receiving), come swapping, come eating, literally over four thousand words of pure nasty smut, this is gross lowkey, idk i'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: very much not the winner or even an option of the poll i posted last week but...shhh don't hate me. it’s october and over 80 every single day, what the fuck is that? only good thing that came from this heat is thoughts of nasty sweaty sex with logan. once again shoutout to my wonderful husband @ebodebo for reading this over for me (i successfully changed her vendetta against sucking up some man sweat...which was the real point of this fic tbh) go give her fics some love if you're a slut for ghost! kisses!

logan forgot to fix the ac...

It's too hot out to be alive. 36°C and sunny.

One of the hottest days in recent memory for Alberta, and you're really feeling it.

"Remind me," you say slowly, the first words spoken in almost ten minutes. "How many times did I ask you to fix the air conditioner?"

"Don't start," Logan says from his spot across the room. His head is tipped back to rest on the couch cushion, eyes slipped shut.

You ignore him, lazily rolling your head to the side to look at him through squinted eyes, your brows furrowed in thought. "Was it ten? Or maybe thirteen?"

Logan huffs a breath, slow and heavy, but he doesn't move--doesn't even open his eyes. “I said don’t start,” he mutters again, though there’s the faintest edge of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't worry baby," you say, voice pitched lower in a terrible impersonation of Logan. "I'll get to it, promise. Won’t get too hot for another couple months."

Logan finally cracks an eye open, just enough to give you a sideways glance, his mouth twitching with amusement. "You done?"

You hum noncommittally, the sound lingering in the air like the lazy summer breeze doing nothing to cool the temperature outside. Your gaze slips down the side of his face to trace the jut of his jaw, then lower to the sweaty column of his neck. 

Both you and Logan lost most of your clothes earlier in the day, too hot to bother wearing anything but underwear. You trudged around the house like zombies until you finally gave up on trying to be productive, you both ended up in the living room. 

All the windows are cracked open, trying in vain to let in any cool air. You claimed the armchair closest to the fan, refusing to be anywhere near Logan and the massive heat wave he constantly gives off.

Logan’s on the couch, stripped down to the thinnest pair of sleep shorts you’ve ever seen. His chest is bare, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that mats the dark hair dusted along his pecs to his skin. 

You can’t help the way your eyes follow the drops of moisture that slide slowly down the contours of his abs. A low heat starting to swirl through your gut when it disappears into his happy trail.

It's funny. When you basically peeled yourself off your mattress this morning, sex was the absolute last thing on your mind.

Now, as your eyes glide over the strong expanse of Logan's body on full display, you're having second thoughts.

Maybe it just comes with the heat. That sort of slow, syrupy feeling that slides along your overheated skin to pulse pleasantly between your thighs.

A bead of sweat slides down the length of your spine slowly, falling until it soaks into the damp waistband of your panties. You try to not notice how Logan is halfway across the room, not touching you.

You fail.

“It’s just a shame, though,” you start, fingers idly toying with the hem of your tank top. “If it was cooler, I could come over there.”

You slide a leg up, letting it rest against the wooden rest, newly exposed skin gleaming under the sunlight filtering in. 

The move isn't lost on Logan. You see his jaw clench slightly, the tiniest shift in his posture.

"Something you wanted?" Logan asks, his voice going low and teasing. "Looks like you've been gettin' yourself all worked up over there."

“Just thinking,” you reply, shifting slightly on the sticky leather of the chair.

Logan’s fingers twitch at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes slide the rest of the way open, his gaze heavy and lingering as it ventures down to where your thin shirt sticks to your skin, outlining every curve.

“Oh yeah?” he prompts, his voice a little rougher now. “Thinkin’ about what, baby?”

“You,” you say easily, fingers slipping down to your thigh. You bring your other leg up, perching it against the opposite armrest. Your thighs spread wide enough that you know Logan has a full view of the wet spot growing along the gusset of your panties.

The hitch in Logan’s breath has you stifling a smug smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch the way his chest starts rising faster.

"That's real sweet, sugar," he drawls, an unimpressed look on his face as he drags his eyes back up to your own. "But if you're tryin' to get me over there, you're gonna have to do better than that." His voice slides through the air heavy and warm like molasses.

You bite back a grin, enjoying the slow game that's unfolding between the two of you. 

"Maybe I don’t want you to come over here," you let your fingers trail a little lower, just to the edge of your panties, teasing. ���Maybe I like you right where you are.”

Logan’s brow raises, his thighs tensing before he spreads them just a touch wider. The fabric of his boxers goes taut over the strong muscle, riding up to expose even more hairy skin to your greedy eyes.

"You're playin' with fire, kid," he warns.

The tent in his shorts is obvious now, the hard length of his cock pressing against the fabric where it lays across his thigh. Your other hand twitches by your side at just the sight, your pussy throbbing with the sudden need to be filled.

"Am I?" you murmur, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, just enough to make sure he knows exactly where this is headed. ”It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it, you’re too busy pouting."

With a deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers lower, brushing against your clit with just enough pressure to let out a soft gasp at the contact. You arch your back slightly, relishing in the way the air feels against your skin, hot and sticky.

You want him to see how badly you need him—how his heat is the only thing that could truly satisfy the insatiable ache building between your legs.

Logan's nostrils flare, jaw tightening and eyes darkening at the sight of you teasing yourself. His restraint is slipping, and you can practically feel the tension building in the room, thick and stifling like the oppressive summer heat. 

But he still doesn’t move, doesn’t rush over like you expect him to. Instead, he shifts his hips slightly, spreading his legs wider and letting his hand fall on his thigh. 

You can’t help the way your breath quickens at the sight, the way his fingers drift dangerously close to his own growing bulge, teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him. 

You tilt your head to the side, gazing at him through your lashes. “You're really just gonna leave me hanging?” you goad, fingers circling lazily around your sensitive clit. “Come on stud, whip it out.”

Logan chuckles low, a sound that sends shivers through you. "Is that what you want, baby?" he asks, voice thick and taunting, a smirk curling on his lips. “You want me to whip it out for you?”

“Yeah,” you murmur breathlessly, biting your lip as you maintain eye contact, your breath starting to come in short bursts. “I need to see you, Logan. Need to see how hard you are for me.”

“Need to, huh,” he muses slowly, fingers finally grazing over the hard length of his cock. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about this?” You slip your hand out from your ruined panties, fingers glistening with your own wetness as you hook your thumbs on either side and drag them down your legs.

You let the soaked cotton fall to the floor, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Logan’s pupils dilate, an inky black completely swallowing the warm hazel. He licks his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue running along his teeth like he wants to sink them into you. His cock twitches visibly beneath his shorts, the growing tension in the air between you thick enough to choke on.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice low and gravelly, more of a growl than a word.

You smile, shifting in the chair to give him an even better view, your legs spreading wider. "Yeah?" you purr, running your fingers over your slick inner thigh, feeling the heat radiating from your own skin. “You like what you see?”

Logan swallows hard, his hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts, palming his cock as he watches you. “You know I do,” he says, voice rougher than before. 

You let your hand trail back down to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as you hold his gaze. “Then show me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea now. "I wanna see you."

Logan lets out a low, rumbling groan, his fingers making quick work of shoving his shorts down enough to free his cock. It springs free to slap lewdly against his stomach and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips at the sight.

He strokes himself slowly to start, his eyes locked on you, watching your every reaction, feeding off the way your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.

"Like this?" he asks, his tone taunting as he strokes himself from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the head with a low hiss. “That what you wanted?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, straining and in his hand. The sight of his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock sends a hot, electric pulse through your body, your hand between your legs moving in time with his slow strokes.

"Yeah," you whisper, voice trembling with need. "Just like that."

You slip your hand lower, sliding two fingers inside yourself with a low moan. Logan groans like he’s the one being touched, his hand speeds up, eyes glued to where your fingers disappear in your slick heat.

His cock leaks pre-come over his knuckles each time his fist passes over the dripping head, the wet sound of it mixing with the low hum of the fan and your own breathy sighs.

"You look so fuckin' good like this honey," Logan groans, his voice rough, strained. "All spread out, playing with that pretty pussy for me."

You whimper at his words, your body aching for more than just your own touch. You need him, need the feel of his rough hands on your skin, his mouth, his cock—anything.

Your fingers move faster, slipping deeper inside with each pump, but it’s still not enough. The stretch is nothing compared to taking Logan, to the feeling of him carving a place for his thick cock inside your pussy, hitting that spot inside you that your fingers can’t quite reach.

Your hips buck up towards your hand, your back arching off the chair as your free hand clutches the armrest tightly.

Logan’s pace quickens, his fist pumping his cock with a new urgency, heavy balls bouncing with every rough tug.

“God, look at you, such a needy fuckin’ thing” he growls, chest heaving as his gaze flicks between your flushed face and the glistening mess you’re making of yourself like he can’t decide where to look. “You want it bad, don’t you?”

"Please," you whine, desperation creeping into your voice. Too keyed up to draw this out any longer. “I need you inside me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore.”

Logan groans, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. His hand falters slightly on his cock, squeezing hard around the base as your words push him dangerously close to the edge. His jaw clenches, eyes raking over you, and with a growl, he stands. 

The last threads of his restraint snapping.

 He crosses the room in two long strides, towering over you where you sit. His cock swollen and hard, sways between his legs with every step, glistening with pre-come that drips to the floor. His eyes, hooded and burning, drink you in as he reaches down, yanking your hand away from your slick heat.

“Thought you said it was too hot to move,” you tease breathlessly, unable to quit egging him on even when your legs start to tremble with need, spreading wider to welcome him.

Logan ignores you, tugging your hand to his lips. Your breath catches in your chest, a weak moan escaping you as he takes your soaked fingers in his mouth. His tongue swirling along your skin to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours as he does.

“Changed my mind,” he growls, strong hands rough and possessive as they drop your wrist and haul you out of the chair so he can spin around, collapsing into it with you in his lap. The wood gives a warning creak beneath you but neither of you care.

Not when his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding as he slides his tongue past the seam of your lips. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating, but you welcome it—craving the weight of him on you.

You melt against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, every inch of him alive and pulsating with need. Logan’s hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to send a rush coursing through you.

It’s intoxicating, the way he devours you, his hands exploring every inch of your back, grasping and pulling you impossibly closer. 

The hard jut of his cock presses against your thigh, a thick plane of heat that makes your pussy throb with need. You shift your hips, grinding down on him in messy circles.

“You feel that?” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “That’s all for you, darlin’.”

“Need you,” you whimper, grinding down against him faster, desperate for the friction that sends pleasure rippling through you. “Please, Logan, I need you inside me now.”

“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending sparks all up your spine.

He dips his head, capturing your lips again, while his hands roam hungrily down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs to urge your legs open wider. “You wanna tease me, you’re gonna have to get off just like this.”

Logan angles his hips so that his cock slips between your drenched folds the next time you roll your own down.

The hot, slick glide sends electric shocks of pleasure racing through you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You gasp against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair as you push down, desperate for more.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, his voice dripping with lust as he watches your movements with hungry eyes. “Just for me, huh? She’s droolin’ just for me.”

You nod breathlessly, chasing the friction, craving the feel of him so close. You lift your hips and rock back down again, the blunt head of his cock brushing against your swollen clit, and you feel your body pulse in response. 

“More,” you plead, leaning in to nibble at his lower lip. “I need it.”

Logan pulls away, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Come on, tough shot,” he says, giving your ass a quick smack and kneading the tender flesh in his hand roughly. “You’re gonna come like this, you can do it baby.”

You whine, dropping your chin to your chest. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into the strong muscle. Your chest slips slickly against his, the front of your tank almost entirely soaked with sweat.

Yours or his, it doesn't matter. The white cotton turned transparent enough that your breasts are on full display, nipples hard and visible.

You watch a single bead of sweat make its way down the length of his throat. It trickles down and down and down until it dips between the pronounced muscles of his chest.

You duck your head, dragging your tongue up the valley of his pecs. A deep moan bursts from your lips, pussy drooling more slick over Logan’s cock at the coarse feel of his thick hair on your tongue, at the heady taste of his sweat filling your senses.

Logan groans, hands tightening their hold on your waist. The dull ache his strength leaves behind is enough to let you know that two hand shaped bruises will be blooming over your skin by tomorrow morning. 

“Come on, girly,” he encourages, nipping at the sweaty column of your throat, the sharp points of his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin deliciously. “Fuck me, give it to me good.”

Your hips speed up, his hard cock sliding through the slick folds of your cunt faster. The tip bumps against your clit deliciously with every move, smearing pre-come along the way to add even more to the mess between your legs.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he groans, breath puffing warm and hot agasint the slick skin of your lips. “Pump you so full of my come you’ll be leakin’ for a goddamn week.”

He shifts underneath you, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance just enough for it to push inside on the next grind of your hips.

The barely there fullness has you coming with a sharp cry, nails roughly dragging down Logan’s back hard enough to leave red welts that heal as you go.

The pain mixing with the pleasure of finally getting to feel the warm, wet suction of your pussy has Logan coming with a rough shout of your name. He throws his head back, hands tightening their grip on your hips enough to have your bones grinding together as he pumps you full of his come. 

“Logan…” you mewl, your pussy fluttering over the tip of his cock, greedy little clenches like you're trying to suck him the rest of the way in. Drunk on the way his release paints your insides, how you can feel each thick spray coating your walls to claim you in the rawest way.

Logan pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering as he watches you squirm in his lap.

"You’re not tapping out on me already, are you?" he teases, his voice rough and gravelly. "I thought you were tougher than that."

A weak, breathy laugh escapes you, but it’s cut short when he applies just a little more pressure, making your thighs quiver. "Not tapping out," you manage between shallow breaths, your head falling back against the chair. "But you’re—fuck—you’re insatiable."

Logan smirks, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth scraping just enough to send shivers coursing through you.

"When it comes to you, baby?" he murmurs against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over your pulse point. "Fuckin’ always."

A lazily smile takes over your lips as you tighten your core and push, the rest of Logan’s come leaking out over his fingers. Logan groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder to try and ground himself.

His cock throbs where it sways heavily between his thighs, still hard and ready to go even after he just came. His hand slips down your body, thick fingers running through the creamy mess of come and slick to messily push it back inside you.

“Fuckin’ shit, honey,” he groans lowly, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

Before you can respond, he stands again, gently placing your trembling form back into the chair and dropping to his knees in front of you.

Your breath hitches, legs widening despite the way your pussy shakes with overstimulation, like you can’t help but spread your legs for Logan anytime he wants.

Logan smirks up at you from between your legs, his lips already ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Look at you," he growls, voice low and filled with lust. "Still so needy."

The slick heat of his tongue runs along your folds, lapping at the mess he just made of you. You let out a sharp gasp, thighs trembling as your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer.

The sensation is overwhelming—the rough, demanding pace of his tongue as it swirls around your clit, teasing you, while his hands grip your thighs with bruising force. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, keeping you spread open for his tongue.

Your body arches off the chair with a loud cry, every nerve alight with raw pleasure as he feasts on you, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin.

"Fuck! Logan," you moan breathlessly, head falling back as you try to keep up with the sensations he's pulling from you.

The heat that was pooling low in your belly reignites, stoked by the way his tongue flicks faster against your clit, each stroke sending you higher.

Logan doesn’t let up, his tongue delving deeper, drinking in every moan, every shaky gasp as he drives you closer to the edge. He moans into your pussy, his own arousal clear in the way his hips buck into the air, seeking any kind of friction.

You tug on his hair harder, desperate for more, for release. "Logan, please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with need.

"Atta’ girl," he rasps, his voice thick with desire as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "So fuckin’ pretty like this. You gonna give me another one, baby? Gonna come for me again?"

Every lick, every rough squeeze to your thighs, every teasing stroke sends you spiraling closer to that edge you’re dying to reach again. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your soaked skin and driving you wild.

“Logan, I—” You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, urging him closer, closer, closer. “I’m so close—”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, nose and jaw glistening in your juices.

"Give it to me," he growls, the rough rasp of his voice sending a shiver through your overheated body. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."

It’s all the encouragement you need. With a strangled cry, your body tenses, thighs quaking as the orgasm crashes over you.

Logan keeps his mouth on you, tongue working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you’re trembling and gasping, your body boneless in the chair.

When you finally come down, panting and spent, Logan pulls away. With one last kiss pressed over your clit, he makes his way up your body, not dropping eye contact as he settles over you.

His hand comes up to your face, thumbs meanly hooking into either side of your cheeks to gently force your mouth open. You part your lips willingly, the heat still radiating between you, a mix of lingering pleasure.

Logan leans in, and the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex surrounds you as he spits what he collected from between your legs back into your own mouth. 

Your cheeks burn with shame, a broken moan ringing through the space between you. Your glassy eyes stare into Logan’s, his own gaze so intense and all consuming you fight the urge to squirm.

"Swallow," he commands, unwavering. 

You hesitate for just a moment, caught off guard by the pure audacity, but the way his eyes darken with hunger makes your resolve crumble. With a breathless whimper, you obey, tasting the remnants of your own pleasure mingling with his, the act both humiliating and intensely arousing.

Logan watches you closely, his gaze never straying as you swallow, a dirty smirk creeping onto his lips. “That's my girl,” he praises, his tone thick with satisfaction.

As the taste lingers on your tongue, you can feel the weight of Logan’s stare like a physical touch.

“Think you can handle another round?” he teases, his voice low and sultry. “I don’t plan on letting you off that easy, kid. Not with all that mouthing off earlier.”

You catch your breath, shaking your head in exasperation. “You’re relentless,” you whisper, a hint of laughter in your voice, though your body betrays you, already craving more.

“Only for you, baby” he replies, brushing the strands of hair plastered to your sweaty forehead behind your ear. “Only for you.”

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mini nat's note: i started my period today chickens...that explains it...

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x medic reader, where you might as well be the sun to them)

The phrase started as a whisper.

It drifted through the base like smoke curling around corners, impossible to pin down but impossible to ignore.

“Here comes the sun.”

It bounced off walls, passing lips in hushed tones, slipping into conversations as a half-joke, half-omen. At first, the 141 didn’t pay it much attention. Soldiers had their quirks, their superstitions- rituals to keep them sane when missions dragged too long and they smelled more blood than earth. But this one stuck.

Price furrowed his brow the first time he heard it. Ghost only tilted his head slightly, filing it away. Gaz grimaced and muttered something about troops getting weird ideas. Soap, though- he took notice.

He’d caught it more than once before a mission, said like a prayer or maybe a warning. He’d asked around, but answers were vague. “You’ll know when you see it.” That’s all they’d tell him. It irritated him to no end.

Then the mission happened.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. A quick in-and-out, but things went sideways fast. Soap had been covering the team’s six when the ambush hit. A sharp crack split the air, followed by the searing pain in his side. He hit the ground hard, blood soaking into the dirt, a familiar, burning ache travelling through his body.

“Soap’s hit!” Gaz’s voice barked through comms, panic threading through the static.

“Pull him out!” Price ordered.

But the line fizzled and died. Soap’s world narrowed- gunfire, shouts, and the taste of copper in his mouth. He couldn’t hear the others anymore. The ground felt colder than it should have. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was bad. Really bad.

This is it, he thought. This is where I die.

The edges of his vision blurred. He barely noticed the figure sprinting toward him until a flash of bright red and orange, a blazing fire, pierced through the smoke and haze.

Like the sun.

You hit the ground beside him, all motion and precision, your gear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bright red and orange covered your tactical vest and helmet- colors that didn’t belong in a war zone. Colors that should’ve made you a target, a dead woman walking.

But instead, you looked like salvation.

“Stay with me, Sargeant.” You said, voice sharp and steady. You weren’t panicked- not even a little. It was comforting.

Soap stared, wide-eyed, as your hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. He should’ve been paying attention to the pain, to the gunfire, to anything else- but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“What the hell are ya wearing?” he rasped, because that was apparently the only thought his brain could form.

You didn’t look up. “Bright colors make it easier to spot me. Medics don’t have the luxury of hiding- we have to be seen when it counts.”

“It’s bloody ridiculous.” he muttered- and then sucked in a sharp breath as you tightened the bandage.

“Maybe,” you said, finally glancing at him. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”

Soap’s heart stumbled. Your eyes were sharp, focused- but there was something else there too, something warm. Something steady.

Here comes the sun.

It hit him all at once. That’s what the others meant. It wasn’t just the colors. It was you. The way you moved, the way your voice cut through the noise, the way you didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Stay awake, Sargeant.” You ordered, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart remark.

Much later, he woke up in the med tent, groggy but alive, and immediately found himself staring at you again.

You were restocking supplies nearby, your bright gear an almost comical contrast to the sterile white walls. The moment you noticed him looking, you crossed the room.

“You’re awake,” you said, checking his vitals. Your voice was softer now, calm and patient. He felt like he could melt. “Good.”

“You’re real.” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”

“Thought I was hallucinating.” He gestured vaguely at your vest, a grin cracking on his lips. “I mean, look at ya.” Lovely. The sun has never looked better.

Your lips twitched, like you were holding back a smile. “I get that a lot.”

Before he could come up with anything else to say- anything remotely smooth- the tent flap opened.

Price, Ghost, and Gaz stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on you. And for once, Soap wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

Gaz blinked. “You’re… bright.”

“Easy to spot.” You said, beaming.

Ghost stared at you for a few seconds longer, peering, before he spoke. “…You’re the sun.”

Price studied you for a long moment as well, then nodded like something clicked into place with a sigh. “Makes sense.”

You, on the other hand, looked confused and unsure, tilting your head once more in the way kittens do.

Soap couldn’t stop staring. He barely even heard the others talking, answering your confusion. All he could think about was how you’d shown up when he thought he was done for- and how you’d looked like a fiery star in the vast expanse of a cold, dark sky.

You glanced at him again, eyes sharp and warm all at once, lips quirking in a delicate smile while Gaz talked with you.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

(… would it be possible to cradle the sun, such warmth, in his hands?)

[readwritealldayallnight]

Home

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 1.6k words

warnings/tags: fluff, kinda barely angst

Soap has to bite his lip to keep himself contained, absolutely itching to make another comment, take another jab at the Lieutenant sitting next to him who couldn’t seem to sit still. Ultimately he decides he’s rather fond of keeping his nose intact, and refrains from teasing Ghost further, for the sake of not being punched with a little over an hour to go until they reach base, if nothing else.

As excitable as the Scot usually is in any circumstance, he does have a point though, even Price has never seen Ghost so antsy to return from a mission before. The skull faced man keeps checking his watch every other minute as though it would motivate the seconds to tick by faster, he can’t seem to stop bouncing his leg in impatience, casting quick glances out the window every so often. He wants, no, needs this jet to land back at base already.

“Somewhere you need to be LT?” Soap feigns ignorance, a smirk across his face, apparently having refrained himself long enough since the last joke all of ten minute ago.

“Don’t ask me to take you to the medics when we land, mate.” Gaz comments casually, not bothering to look up from where he’s fiddling with a deck of cards in his hands, equally trying to pass the time. “You’re askin’ him for it.”

“Ach, I’m just curious to know wha’s got the big man in such a haste to leave his dear ol’ mates behind, ya ken? Almos’ as if he has somethin’ waitin’ for him back at home.” The blue eyed sergeant replies, casting a mischievous sideways glance towards the man in question.

“Reckon it’s more about who’s waitin’ for him.” The Captain pitches in himself, sending his own knowing glance at the Lieutenant.

Ghost can’t be bothered to acknowledge any of the conversation happening around or about him, checking his watch again. Not when he’s on his way home after being deployed for three months. Not when this is the longest he’s had to be away from you yet. Not when it feels as if a piece of his beating heart was ripped out from between his ribs and had made a home for itself in the fissure tearing through yours, leaving him feeling as though he was wholly and irrevocably missing a piece of himself.

Simon thinks he could spend the rest of his life learning every language that’s ever been spoken my mankind, and never have the proper words to explain how much your absence has shaken him to his core, how much he’s missed you. Utterly and simply, missed you.

The first month apart, he found himself missing the more obvious things. He missed your smile, your laugh, making you laugh. He missed your voice, hearing you hum in the shower, sing in the car, recount your day, talk in your sleep (you refuse to believe him when he tells you this, but he swears it’s true). He missed holding you, you holding him. Missed your touch, your kisses, your body. Missed the way you feel, the way you make him feel. Missed falling asleep to you and waking up to you.

The second month, he found that he was really starting to miss the little things. He missed the smell of your hair fresh out of the shower. He missed the way you always ask him to crack the eggs when baking because you insist he’s just better at it than you are, gets less shell in it. He missed you teasing him about his driving, holding your hand over the console, opening the door for you to watch you smile and roll your eyes every time.

As the mission dragged into its last month, Simon found he just missed you. Simply you. He missed watching you get ready for the day, getting dressed, going about your routine. He missed existing in the same space as you, hearing you move throughout the flat, always there even if he can’t always see you. He missed seeing traces of you, finding strands of your hair everywhere, tripping over shoes left in the doorway, seeing both your mugs together on the drying rack. Evidence of a life lived, together.

The nature of the 141’s work meant that things had to be kept extremely tight-lipped and on the strictest need to know basis, especially in ensuring the men’s safety. This meant never being able to know where Simon was going or was at any given moment. It meant not being able to speak on the phone, because even with the very best protection and programming, phone calls can be tapped, and traced. And while that one isn’t a precaution that everyone strictly follows, taking the occasional quick phone call to a loved one on a secured line, but Simon has been through too much, seen too much to every put you at risk, no matter how minuscule the risk may be. He simply won’t take it. Not with you.

And so you take up the next best thing, a tried and true method through time. You write him letters. You tell him that you don’t expect him to write back, you understand that he won’t want to write down an address someone could track you to, you haven’t put down a return address either, adding that you’re not even sure when and if he’ll be able to read or receive them.

You love this man with every fibre of your being, but you really do know next to nothing about this part of his life that takes up so much of his time. It feels like they’re stealing your time when they call him away, stealing time spent with him. The no contact was especially difficult for you in the beginning of your relationship. It had been the cause of your first fight with him.

You’d told him the time apart (a month, the longest you’d gone through back then) was too much, you missed him too much. Seeing you hurt, and hurting himself, equally as tense about the periods of long distance, Simon had angrily lashed out. He wasn’t used to this, someone caring about him this much, caring about you more just as much. Not only was the intensity of these feelings foreign, but you were wanting to talk about them now.

He’d asked you if you wanted him to leave you then, not wanting to go on hurting you if it really was too much, to which you replied that no, the solution to you being too sad when he’s gone isn’t to leave you permanently. Neither of you knew how to actually navigate this, and Simon was still harbouring deep, slowly healing wounds that made navigating this uncharted territory an endeavour that left him feeling vulnerable, exposed. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to leave you, but the thought of hurting you was equally as bothersome.

You two idiots in love had your first proper fight, had your first proper makeup, and eventually came up with a sort of placeholder solution. It wasn’t perfect, nothing about Simon being gone was ideal really, but for the two of you, it worked. While he’s away from home you write him a letter, not every day though, per his request (‘So that I don’t start to feel more like homework, yeah?’), only when something worth writing comes to mind. It winds up being about a letter every other day, anyway.

You mail them to their permanent base, and he either gets to read them when they’re delivered, or he’s rewarded with the sight of the envelope atop his desk upon returning from wherever else they may have been temporarily based for the time. He reads them, every single one. Over, and over, and over. He has them essentially memorized, as numerous as they are. Every squiggle of your pen, each little doodle you add in on occasion, depending on the story you might be telling. You usually try to keep them lighthearted, happy, something that can brighten his mood and reassure him you’re doing okay. But sometimes you’re honest, you admit when days are hard and his absence is especially difficult.

In turn, Simon writes his own letters. His process is a little different than yours is. While you’re writing yours as the days of his absence pass, he often arrives back on base to discover multiple envelopes piled atop one another, a sight akin to Christmas morning in his eyes. Still, he always diligently reads through each letter of yours, and for every one you write him, he takes his own pen to paper to write his response to each and every line you draft for him. He adds in comments, witty remarks, the occasional joke or fun fact, sprinkles in stories if he has any that fit. He tells you how he misses you too, wishes he could put these letters in your hands himself.

He will soon enough though.

He has his letters, papers that might seem so insignificant to anyone else on this jet, tucked in between a pair of extra clothes in his pack, in hopes of keeping them as safe as he can. The majority of your letters are carefully stuffed in there as well. The most special ones however, the ones you’ve written for him with your penmanship etched upon page after page of writing, with your lipstick stained kisses across them, with your perfume sprayed on them, those he has neatly folded and tucked under his vest, just above his heart.

Soon as his feet are back on solid ground and he’s dismissed, he’ll be making his way back to you. Where he’ll take out each and every one of those letters he’s written in response to you, and he’ll read them to you as he holds you in his arms, feeling your hearts beating against each others again, where they belong, and that’s how he’ll know he’s home.

[verstappensrealwife]

Get in loser, we’re going shopping. - Max verstappen x fem!Reader

[max verstappen masterlist / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... reader takes her boyfriend, max, shopping. ʚɞ fluff  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 1100 words ʚɞ warnings: fem!reader implied, lingerie, makeup.

-୨♡୧-

Victoria secret. Max Verstappen stood in Victoria's Secret, an unmistakable tension in his posture. He had clearly entered a world far outside his comfort zone, one where the vibrant pink stripes of the walls seemed to mock his unease. His usual confidence was nowhere to be seen as he fidgeted, eyes darting around like he was searching for an escape route, only to be met with racks of lacy bras and silk pajamas.

Every so often, he would sneak a glance at the scantily clad mannequins, immediately recoiling as though he had seen a ghost. When you picked up a particularly elaborate set of lingerie with a playful smile, Max’s gaze involuntarily followed your movements, only to snap away the moment he realized where his eyes had landed. His cheeks were turning a shade that could rival the blush of the silk and satin surrounding him.

“What do you think about this one?” you asked, holding up a dark blue, lace-up one-piece with a flourish, as if presenting a rare treasure. The garment seemed almost to sparkle in the store’s soft lighting.

Max’s eyes widened, his throat bobbing as he tried to process the question. “Oh—yeah—” His voice cracked, then steadied as he tried to muster a semblance of expertise, even though he looked like he was trying to decipher a complex mathematical formula. “Yeah. It, uh… looks good.”

You couldn’t help but snort with laughter. The sight of him standing there, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, was both endearing and hilarious. “Oh, come on, Max,” you said, tossing the dark blue creation into your basket with a dramatic flourish. “We can pay now. Stop worrying. You look like you’re about to break into a cold sweat.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and for a brief moment, his shoulders relaxed. As you made your way to the checkout, he kept his eyes resolutely on the floor, as if studying the intricate patterns of the carpet might somehow make this experience more bearable.

When the cashier flashed a friendly smile and began ringing up your purchases, Max’s face turned a shade of red that was almost a match for the store's pink décor. He shuffled his feet, looking everywhere but at the register, clearly relieved that the ordeal was coming to an end.

As you walked out of the store, basket in hand, Max let out a sigh of relief. “Well,” he said, trying to sound casual, “at least that’s over.” He gave you a sideways glance, and despite his discomfort, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Next time, let’s do something less, uh, colorful.”

You laughed, looping your arm through his as you headed toward the next store. “Deal,” you said, still chuckling. “But I have to say, you’ve got a pretty good eye for lingerie.”

Max shot you a playful glare, though his lips twitched upward. “Just don’t make me go back there anytime soon.

Sephora. The moment you stepped in, you were greeted by the familiar scents of perfumes, the vibrant displays of makeup, and the soft lighting that made everything feel luxurious. Max followed closely, looking a bit out of place but curious nonetheless.

“Alright, what’s first here?” he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.

You laughed, enjoying his willingness to go along with it. “Well, I need to restock on a few things. But first, let’s find you a cologne. I think you’ll like it.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but game. “Alright, show me the way.”

You guided him to the fragrance section, where rows of sleek bottles lined the shelves. You picked up a few testers, spraying them on the little cards and holding them out for him to smell.

“This one’s nice,” you said, offering him a card with a fresh, woodsy scent.

He sniffed it, nodding in approval. “Not bad, actually. Do you like it?”

“I do,” you replied, smiling. “But let’s try a few more.”

You went through several options, each time watching his reactions as he tried to distinguish the notes—some he liked, some not so much. Finally, you both agreed on one that was a perfect balance of musk and spice.

“Alright, I’m sold,” he said with a grin. “Now, what else are we getting?”

You laughed, knowing full well he had no idea what he was in for. “Well, I need a new foundation, and maybe a lip gloss or two. You can help me pick.”

As you moved to the makeup section, Max started to loosen up, asking questions about the different products. You explained the basics of what each one did, enjoying the role reversal as he tried to understand why you needed five different shades of lipstick.

“Why not just one?” he asked, holding up a bright red tube.

You giggled, shaking your head. “Different occasions, different moods! It’s all about options.”

He seemed genuinely interested as you swatched a few colors on your hand, comparing shades and textures. “This one’s nice,” he pointed out, picking up a soft pink shade.

“Yeah? I like it too,” you said, adding it to your basket. “Good choice.”

After a while, Max even started having fun, pointing out products that caught his eye and making playful comments. By the time you reached the skincare section, he was fully engaged, asking about face masks and moisturizers.

“What does this do?” he asked, holding up a jar of night cream.

“It helps keep your skin hydrated while you sleep,” you explained, opening the jar so he could smell it.

He gave it a cautious sniff, then smiled. “Maybe I should start using this. I could have skin as nice as yours.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Maybe you should! We could do face masks together.”

He smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Only if you pick the least girly one for me.”

“Deal,” you agreed, feeling a warm sense of happiness that he was willing to dive into your world, even if it was just for an afternoon.

By the time you left Sephora, Max was carrying the bag, looking surprisingly pleased with himself. “You know, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” he admitted. “And I got a new cologne out of it.”

You smiled, looping your arm through his. “See? I told you it’d be fun.”

“Alright, next time, we’re going to my store,” he warned playfully.

“Deal,” you said with a laugh. “But you might have to drag me out of the next one.”

As you walked out of the shopping centre together, you couldn’t help but feel a little closer, grateful for a boyfriend who was up for anything, even an impromptu trip into the world of Sephora.

[pseudowho]

Operation: Babymaker-- Wet Dreams

When it comes to trying for a baby, Nanami Kento always works overtime. And the reader had better be ready 💛

When the busy days and exhausted nights keep you and Kento apart, things get a little...creative 💛

💜 💛 Part 1 LINK HERE: A Trip to the Tailors

💜 💛 Part 2 LINK HERE: Benchpress

💜 💛 Part 3 LINK HERE: Ditch the Party...again

💜 💛 Part 5 LINK HERE: Honeytrap/Maid Café

💜 💛 Part 6 LINK HERE: Grapple

Warnings: 18+ throughout, breeding kink, fertility/infertility discussion, somnophilia (m receiving and f receiving)

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"I miss you. So much. I'm going to be home so late, I know it."

Kento could picture you now, leant against the wall, the heel of your palm pressed to your forehead, trying to massage away the impending headache. Eyes drifting closed, he sighed, craving you back home.

"I'll wait up for you," Kento assured, smiling as you sighed, feeling that soft breath whisper over his ear instead. You had been gone for days, and Kento had resisted every urge to stroke himself to the thought of you, knowing he should save himself for when you were home.

Images of all that cum, dripping from you, and being pushed back in with his fingers, and the sound of your voice, had his cock swelling embarrassingly fast. Picturing your disappointed face over the last two months, the small pile of negative pregnancy tests, he felt a competitive surge, a challenge. Kento shivered, jaw clenched, cracking his fingers in anticipation.

"And if I do fall asleep," he half-joked, wicked, "do feel free to have your way with me."

A giggle, a hushed moan ("Kento, stop-- you'll give me ideas"), making him twitch against his pyjamas. Kento reached down, trying to squeeze his cock into submission. Hand shaking, hooking himself out of his pyjamas to sit, hot and heavy, leaking onto the honey-blond hair of his belly, Kento begged, low and husky.

"Tell me more," he hummed, edging himself with no intention to finish, stroking his slit with one pre-cum wet thumb, "about those ideas."

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You were right about being late home.

At 2am, you crept through the doorway, stripping all the way to the bathroom, moving seamlessly from front door to shower, finally feeling the grime of the day wash off you in glorious wet heat.

You heard soft snores from your bedroom as you stepped out, hair wrapped and drying. Reaching out to where you knew Kento had left his t-shirt for you-- clean, but with just enough him smell on it to make you feel deliciously his, your face softened at his sleeping form.

Half upright, propped on pillows, Kento's hands rested on a folded book across his chest, face sideways, warm and relaxed in his slumber. You crept over to him, needing to touch him, scratching your nails languidly through his sleep-mussed hair.

Kento groaned, his chest rumbling in his sleep, and you felt a stir of want in your belly to see his hips twitch upwards, as if he were between your legs in his dreams.

Biting your lip between your teeth, remembering your conversation on the phone, you ghosted your hand over Kento's bare navel. Scratching your fingers down his happy trail, you were delighted to see his belly twitch, his eyebrows pinching together.

Possessed, you climbed slowly onto the bed, your hips either side of Kento's knees as you reached into his bedside drawer, retrieving the little remote control vibrator he hid there.

"God, Kento, you're so beautiful," you whispered in the dark, lowering his pyjamas just enough to free him, soft in your hand, "you don't even know it."

Leaning forwards, lightly squeezing Kento's cock, you slipped the vibrator inside your underwear, sliding it between your rapidly wetting folds, switching it on. You hushed your own moan by opening your mouth, and sealing it around Kento's twitching cockhead.

His mouth had dropped open in his sleep, one hand slipped from his chest to fist at the duvet, a shivering gasp in the night. You let the spit collect in your mouth, tonguing his cockhead, wet and warm, sucking the blood to his length. Awash with the eroticism of him hardening, completely unaware, inside your mouth, you rolled your pussy against his legs, using the pressure to rock the vibrator against your clit.

You swiped your tongue around him, feeling him grow between your lips, his tip hitting deeper with each bob of your head around him. You tasted salty pre-cum, licking it down with a swallow, thrilled by his unadulterated twitches, gasps, and slow sandy moans.

Half-hard against the roof of your mouth, you released Kento, and he whimpered in protest, fucking himself up into your spit-wet hand. You were captivated by him, obsessed with the way his body reacted so viscerally; hips twitching, brows furrowed in anguished pleasure, pre-cum dripping out into your hand...

...you could have cum then and there, jerking him off faster and harder to have him spill in your hand. Instead, you slowed, stretching out your tongue to taste him again. Spitty, mewling around his length as you edged yourself with the vibrator humping against his legs, you moved your mouth fluidly as you pictured Kento awake, knuckles deep in your hair while he fucked your mouth.

Solid and throbbing in your mouth now, Kento panted, hair mussed, cheeks flushed as one hand fisted the duvet, and the other reached up behind him to squeeze the pillow, his fingers rolling over something absent mindedly in his dream.

"Is it me?" You whispered against him, painting your lips against his cockhead while Kento shuddered, "Is it me, in your hands? I hope so." You felt his thighs and back twitching rapidly, feeling his impending orgasm, desperate to feel full with him, desperate for the day you could finally surprise him with his morning coffee and two sweet blue lines--

Giving him one final lick as his hips bucked up towards you, you stripped your underwear, holding your vibrator in place as you held his cock upright, rubbing it against your entrance. Kento's gasps were shuddering and desperate now, words ghosting over his lips, his hands shaking, white-knuckle-clenching the sheets.

You quickly lowered yourself, taking his whole length in one smooth drop onto his hips.

"Oh fuck, Kento--" you mewled, not pulling him out at all, rocking him inside you and feeling his tip kiss your deepest walls, already fluttering around him and desperately close to orgasm, "-- feel so good-- so full-- cum inside me please please please--"

You begged him like this as you pleasured yourself on his cock, circling the vibrator over your clit in trembling little movements. Kento mumbled, your name on his lips, teeth gritted as his pleasure began to peak, lost in the wettest dream.

Rutting yourself down onto him, hips wiggling just a little harder to feel him in your belly, Kento grunted, euphoric and convulsing beneath you, and you encouraged it as you came with him, clamping down around him, lost in a blissful haze with his reflexive orgasm inside you.

"Fffuck.. that was amazing," you smiled to yourself, full of admiration to see Kento relax, marshmallow soft and slumped against the pillows. You pressed a kiss to his chest, slipping him out of you with a shiver, legs clamped together, snuggling yourself under his arm as you put his softening cock back into his pyjamas.

You fell asleep like this, ecstatic that you had shared your wicked little ideas with him before you got home.

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Kento woke early, to the birdsong dawn and you, soft and snoring, under his arm. Wakefulness came to him slowly, unsure why he felt sticky inside his pyjamas, why there was a pair of your underwear on his belly, why the vibrator he liked to pin between your legs was now under the covers, pressed against his thigh--

All the puzzling couldn't stop the way his cock answered the question for him, that morning testosterone whoosh making it rock solid against his belly in seconds.

"What have you been up to, you dirty little minx?" Kento whispered, low and conspiratorial as he snaked one arm under your head and neck, the other lazily lifting your leg over his hips as he shucked his pyjamas down, kicking them off.

Kento's other hand grazed down the front of your body, moaning to feel your thighs and pussy, soaking wet and dripping with more than just your arousal.

"Did you fuck me while I slept?" He whispered against your ear, feeling your body squirm against him, far away in your lavender clouds, "How...presumptuous of you. I should rather have been awake." Kento's fingers dipped between your folds, sliding easily into your entrance, fingering you with his own cum. He groaned to feel your walls flutter around him, pressing three fingers into you as you mewled, twisting against him.

Kento laughed softly, deep and sleep-gruff, "Come now...you've had bigger than that," he teased, teeth clenched with the taboo thrill of using you while you slept, "and just a few hours ago, too...shall we fill you up some more?"

Kento was possessed, overtaken by the squelch of his fingers pistoning into your sloppy cunt, biting his lip with husky groans to feel you jolt and wiggle, whining against him. Adding his thumb over your puffy clit, tightening his arm over your neck and chest, Kento felt his cock leap against you as you sank your teeth into his arm, mewling in your sleep.

"Good girl," he encouraged, "we'll fill you up again, hmm? Have you all fucked-out and dripping, all tucked up in bed..." Kento moved his fingers faster, reaching as deeply as he could, pressing against your spongey sweet spot, "...and then I'll make you breakfast...and fuck you some more."

You cried out, twitching weakly as you came, wet and clenching around his hand, and Kento was so far gone, lost in how good you'd feel, all pliable and blissful in his arms. Locking your thigh over his hip, Kento began to push easily into you, clasping you against him with his other arm across your chest.

Feeling you, floppy and sleep-warm against him, had Kento biting into the back of your shoulder, nuzzling and nipping, resting his cock in your tight walls for just long enough to pull himself back from the edge.

"...haaah, darling-- too good...s'too good-- fuck, 'm not letting you out of bed today--"

Kento started to move within you, drunk on the wet drag of himself through you, moaning, shuddering into your neck. He kept this torturous pace, fast enough to feel you shiver with pleasure, and slow enough to keep you from waking.

Kento's hand roamed your body unashamedly; squeezing the soft pouch of your belly, trailing fingertips lazily along stretch marks and cellulite, the softness of your hair, the full plush of your breasts and thighs, rolling your nipples in a way that brought him faint, distant memories of his dreams that night.

Eyes closed, deep in the sensual little cocoon of your bed, Kento whispered dirty little thoughts to you, the sunlight warming his back, casting shadows on his hips as they rolled into you; "--send to you work tomorrow-- haaah, fuck-- cum dripping down your legs-- your panties in my pocket-- lock the staffroom door and-- and--shit--"

Hips stuttering, groaning and burying his nose into your soap-scented hair, Kento came, holding you by the belly as long spurts of seed painted your cervix white. Feeling you shuffle and whimper, Kento bit into you with a growl, instinctively trapping his cock inside you. Grunting as his cock twitched weakly, emptying him of the last few spurts of cum, Kento felt you twist your head towards him, sleepy as you nuzzled the side of his head.

"...mmmm...morning, gorgeous."

Receiving a fractured little groan and hot, fast pants in response, the rest of your body began to wake, and you wiggled with a smile to feel Kento's cock, warm inside you.

"...sorry," offered Kento, sheepish, "...couldn't resist." You giggled, accepting musty morning kisses from him as you pictured him the night before, fast asleep, irresistible, book folded open on his chest.

"I know what you mean. Want to go out for breakfast?" Kento groaned, eyes still closed as he manhandled you onto your back, pressing sloppy kisses onto your face as you giggled, being rocked from side to side.

"Another day," he begged, voice low and persuasive "you're too busy today-- got a baby to make."

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My pussy wrote this, and she hopes you liked it 💛

[moonlight1110]

Crawling back to you

ex-boyfriend!Ghost x Reader ; (Late) Valentines Special ;)

Your ex-boyfriend who comes banging at your door in the middle of the night. He desperately wants you back, and when he invites himself in, is there really nothing else you can do?

Tags: afab!reader, p in v, smut, nsfw, vaginal sex, rough sex (kinda idk), mating press, pathetic!Simon, far from canon simon, i write with badjhur's voice in my ear, not propfread, proofread anyway BC I hate typos

Notes: planned on writing something for valentines but uni fucked me sideways so im posting today <3

"What the hell..." You jump as three hard knocks come from your door, almost as if the person on the other side was just a second away from breaking it down.

You didn't need to go through your mental library to know who it was, you knew exactly who was at your door at this ungodly hour because who else in their right mind would show up uninvited except him.

With a grunt, you roll off of bed and trudge to your front door. A heavy feeling pressing down on your chest as you got closer and closer to the door, you contemplated if opening it was even a good option, but knowing who was on the other side, choosing to ignore him was going to be a poor decision on your part.

With an tired sigh, you grabbed the door knob, squeezing it as doubts ran through your mind, but you are snapped out of it when he knocks, even harder than before.

"What are you doing?!" You ask, trying not to scream at him to avoid receiving another noise complaint from your overbearing neighbors when you opened the door slightly to peek out the small crack of it. Standing on the other side was someone you knew all too well.

"Let me in" his voice was low as he looked down at you, dark eyes staring at you from the opening of his balaclava. "Please..." He took a step forward, placing a hand on your door, but you stayed firm. "Simon, you can't just come here in the middle of the night and expect me to let you in" you argued, hardening the hand that was holding your door.

"I miss you, baby, come on..." He pushed the door slightly, you knew you wouldn't stand a chance even if you tried your hardest to shut the door. With how strong and large Simon was, trying to fight back against him was next to impossible.

"Simon, please..." You looked at him, brows furrowing. However, even at your attempts to stand by your decision, there was a part of you that wanted him to just push your door open... An unexplainable feeling, you thought.

"Take me back... I'll do anything" He sounded desperate, his voice sounded unlike the person you thought you knew, he sounded hurt, vulnerable, not like the usual stone cold and stoic Ghost you knew.

"You broke up with me remember... You can't just go back on that when you want to" your expression hardened in contrast to his which softened as he looked into your eyes. He regretted it, deeply.

"I did, I know that but I didn't know I would be making the biggest mistake of my life, love..." He steps closer, pushing your door open just a bit again. "Don't call me that... Just don't" you shake your head in disapproval but that small part of you just misses the way he called you that, how it rolled off his tongue like honey, you missed it.

"Just let me in, let's talk... I miss you" the last part comes out as a mumbled plea as he pushes your door open finally, stepping inside like he never left. Those three words just made you want to jump over the boundaries you so desperately tried to build up, but all you could do was step aside and let him in, there was no point in fighting him.

"What's there left to talk about, Simon?" You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as Simon removed his shoes, it looked so familiar next to yours...

"I want you back, I can't fuckin' live without you..." His brows knit together as he looks down at you, reaching out but you step back with a disapproving look. "Then why did you end it in the first place if you were just gonna come back to me anyway..." Your hands fall to your sides with a defeated sigh leaving your lips.

"I told you, it was the distance, my work... I thought breaking up with you would be the best choice for the both f'us..." Ignoring your attempts at creating space between you, he steps closer, caging you between his arms as he leaned against the wall, effectively trapping you under him.

"I was wrong, baby... So fuckin' wrong..." he whispered, his eyes silently pleading for your to just listen. He leaned forward so close you could feel his hot breath even through the fabric of his balaclava.

"I didn't even want to leave you..." You started, your face scrunching as you remembered the events that happened the day he cut things off between the two of you. "You made up so many reasons, so many excuses... You put words in my mouth..." You looked away, feeling your chest tighten again at the recollection of your memories together. It hurt to bring up and remember but with seeing Simon standing in front of you again, it was impossible to push those thoughts away.

"I know, I know..." He took your chin inbetween his index and thumb, willing you to look back at him. His expression was one of guilt and desperation, that much was clear with the way he was looking at you.

"But I can't stand another day without you, been regretting that decision every fuckin' day, love..." He leans in, snaking a hand around your waist. You want to pull away, to push him off and tell him to fuck off from you forever but you don't, you just cant find it in you to push him away when all you wanted was to be with him.

"Those months away from you felt like an eternity, don't wanna feel that anymore..." He pulls you closer, holding you tightly against his chest with his nose now inhaling the scent of your hair from the crook of your neck.

"We can't... This is the type of shit that complicates things, Simon..." you place your hands on his chest as if you even wanna push him off you. "I don't care..." He groans and pulls his balaclava off, breathing against your neck. It makes you squirm the way his hands are travelling down now, you missed it more than you were willingly to openly admit to him anyway, but that's no issue for how your body is responding.

"Fuck if it means we'll get complicated, I need you back..." He kisses at your neck, still familiar with all the spots that just made you melt. "Can't be away from you for another fuckin' day, baby..." He groans, pinning you against the wall by your hips, grinding a knee to your clothed cunt.

"Just say the word and I'll leave..." He groans, giving your throat a good lick all the way to your collarbone as his hands found your ass, kneading like he owned it. "I'll leave and I'll never come back, I won't bother you... But y'need to tell me..." His lips drag along your shoulder as he pulls you closer on his thigh, "Tell me... Tell me y'never wanna see me again, push me away..." He mumbles against the side of your neck.

Your breath hitches in your throat with the way he was talking to you, you knew Simon was a man who was true to his word and once you'd tell him to leave, he would.

"C'mon..." he retracts from your neck and pulls back to look you in the eyes, his brows are furrowed and his eyes are blown out as his eyes flicker over your features like he's trying to memorize every single detail before you told him to leave.

"I..." you scramble to find the words, you wanna tell him to leave but you also want him to stay, you two didn't even end on that much of a bad note, it was a misunderstanding, a poor decision which was made in the heat of the moment...

"Don't leave..." You give in to your emotions, just seeing Simon again after your breakup hurt like hell, but god would you curse yourself if you allowed him to leave again... You couldn't take that, seeing him walk out again, leaving you for the second time.

"Fuck..." He groans as he connects your lips, his hands are pulling at you and pinning you against the wall. It's a passionate and desperate kiss from him, which you return with your own, full of want and the same desperation you craved would be quenched for such a long time. No one did it like him, no one ever loved you like Simon Riley ever did.

Your arms find his neck as your head tilts, allowing Simon to push his tongue past your lips. He doesn't let up, doesn't get up for air, he just fucking wants you, wants to take you right then and there with how much he misses you.

His hands cup your ass as he lifts you up against the all and you wrap your legs around his torso as he finally pulls away from the kiss. "I need you, baby... Fuckin' missed you too much..." he practically growled as he sucked on your neck, walking to your bedroom.

"Simon, calm down..." You mumbled as he set you down on the bed, you could feel how rapidly his heart was beating but that only made him chuckle. "Can't calm down when I have you in my arms again, love" He stared down at you as he leaned back up, removing his shirt quickly.

"Missed you so much..." He whispered against your ear when he dove back down, making space for himself between your legs as he hovered on top of you with his arms on either side of your head. "Missed the way you feel around me..." He hummed while his hands trailed down your waist, to your hips, then just above the hem of your flimsy sleeping shorts.

"Did y'think 'bout me too? hm?" he asked, pressing a kiss to your jaw as his hand travelled under your shorts, his middle finger now circling on your wet clit through your panties. You didn't notice how you ruined your underwear until you felt how slick and uncomfortable it was when Simon pressed harder against your clit.

"Yeah... I did..." you whispered breathily, back arching at the feeling of Simon's thick fingers pleasuring you. He smirks, taking the opportunity to kiss and suck at your neck. "Mmm... Yeah?" He chuckles against your throat, parting your slick covered panties to the side to finally tease at your wet pussy.

"Fuck baby... She missed me didn't she?" he laughs, looking down at the way his hand moved from under your shorts. "Fuckin' pussy missed me too, huh?" He chuckles, as he pushes his thick finger inside you, making you gasp and grip at his arm.

"Simon!" you shut your eyes, back arching as he pressed gentle kisses against your throat. "Relax baby... need to prepare you again, been too long since I've fucked this pretty little pussy..." He coos, adding another finger to stretch you out, curling them so deliciously inside you.

"Fuck... I-" you whimper, sucking in a breath as he finds that spot inside you that just makes you break, he still knows of course, knows every single spot and every single way to make you crumble and submit to him. "I'm gonna cum, Si..." You whisper breathlessly, hands shaking around Simon's arm weakly.

Simon doesn't say anything except give you a cruel chuckle when he waits for the perfect time, just when you're about to cum to take his fingers out and it makes you shoot him a nasty glare. "Why did you do that?!" You whined, but your voice weakens at the sight of the hard bulge under his pants.

"Don't want you cummin' on anything but my cock tonight, love..." he chuckles dangerously, sitting on his knees to unbuckle his pants. He looks down at you with a hunger in his eyes, licking his lips as he finally rolls the zipper down. "C'mon, don't just stare" He smirks, snapping you out of your trance. "Right..." you blink, moving closer to him.

"Good..." he praises as he watches you tug his pants and boxers down together and tossing it down the side of the bed. "Fuck..." He hisses when he's finally free, his dick rock hard and heavy, twitching as beads of precum roll down from the tip. Your breathing quickens when you see it, it's bigger than you remember, thick and running with veins you wish you could memorize.

"On your back..." Simon commands, his voice low as he wraps a hand around his shaft to stroke his dick slowly. "But..." you look into his eyes but he shakes his head with a mean smirk when he looks at you. "As much as I wanna fuck that pretty mouth of yours, that's gonna have to wait another time" He chuckles, pushing you down on your back by your shoulder.

"I need t'fuck you, baby... Need t'feel you 'round my dick again..." he growls, watching the way your face is flushed and your legs are spread out on either side of his torso. He strokes his dick in his hands as he hums, using his free hand to slide your shorts and panties over your legs, throwing it with his pants.

"Fuckin' hell..." he groans when his eyes finally see your bare pussy, your clit twitching and your entrance clenching around nothing. It makes him fist his cock harder as he runs his free hand down your stomach, his thumb finding your clit and rolling it down in little circles.

"Stop teasing..." you say through gritted teeth as one of your hands grip the sheets under you and the other pressed against Simon's chest. "M'not teasing" He chuckles, tapping his dick on your clit a few times. "Just shut up and fuck me already, Simon..." You whine, slapping his chest pathetically.

"Gettin' feisty now, eh?" he laughs lowly as a low satisfied rumble comes from deep in his throat when he grinds his cock against your pussy, letting it catch your slick. "Need to take it slow, love... I don't wanna hurt you" Simon groans, aligning his tip with your entrance.

"Oh... god-" you breathe out matched with a long moan from Simon as pushes the tip in. It makes a lewd, sort of wet sound when he enters you. It makes your head spin in the way it makes Simon throw his head back as he pushes deeper until he's completely inside you with a hard thrust.

He rolls his thumb over your clit, waiting for your breath to steady. "Doin' so good, baby... Taking me so well..." He coos, pressing on your clit as his eyes narrow on the sight of your body, all hot just for him. "M-move, Si..." You whimper out, closing your eyes tightly and adjusting to the feel of Simon inside you again after so long.

Simon hums while he rolled his hips, slowly thrusting his cock in and out. It's slow so he can let you adjust, help you remember how good he stretches you out that it makes you all dumb and pliable for him. "Mmm, yeah... Feels so good, love" he grunts, his hips moving just a tad bit faster.

He thrusts all the way to the hilt every single time, and it feels like he goes deeper and deeper with every thrust he gives you. He squeezes at your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he parts your legs even more, putting you in a mating press.

It makes you whimper the way you're starting to feel the slight pain of Simon's body pressed right into you. He's like an animal now, fucking you in such a primal way when he growls in your ear, encouraged by the delicious moans you give him and how you squirm and say his name in your breathy, fucked out voice.

"That's it, taking me like such a good fuckin' girl" He chuckles, driving his hips harder, the sound of his skin slapping against your cunt almost drives you crazy. He leans up, letting your legs rest as he massages them gently, a sharp juxtaposition from how hard he's fucking your weeping cunt.

"Needed this so bad, baby..." He groans, pulling your legs around his torso as he leans down to kiss at your neck. You can hear him mumbling sweet little nothings in your ear as his hands grip at your thighs and the soft skin of your waist.

"Tell me y'missed me... I wanna hear it" He mumbles against your neck, moaning lowly. He sounded so calm and so gentle yet the way his cock was filling you up and stretching you out so good was far from gentle. "Tell me y'missed this dick, baby, c'mon..." He hums, his hand travelling up to play with your tits.

"I-I mis-" You started, but the way Simon was fucking you so good made your head spin you couldn't even string a proper sentence together. He laughed, grazing his teeth over the skin of your shoulder, "Awe can't even speak anymore?" He teases, slowing his hips down and it makes you groan in disapproval.

"Why'd you slow down..." you whine, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Wanna hear you say you missed me first" He chuckled. It was bad enough that he slowed down, but it's even worse when he pulls out and looks down at you with a cruel smirk, stroking the cock that was supposed to be making you cum.

"Tell me how bad you missed me, baby, you can do it" He laughs lowly and he doesn't look away from you as he fists his cock to the look of pleasure on your face.

"I-I missed you Simon, so much-" you moaned out desperately as your pussy clenched on nothing. You were ready to beg for his cock again if he needed you to but you didn't have to worry for long when he turned you around, stuffing your pussy with his fat cock from behind.

"Good girl... Such a good fuckin' girl, aren't ya?" His words are so dirty it makes you tighten around him with a stifled moan as he fucks you fast and deep, not giving you a chance to adjust to the new angle he's pounding you in.

You can't respond and all you can even do is moan and take Simon's hard dick stuffing you over and over again. It doesn't take long for you to feel that tight knot forming in your stomach and Simon can feel it too from the way you're starting to tighten around him.

"Gonna cum, baby?" He asks you with a drawn out hum as he kneads your ass, watching the way it jiggles with every thrust.

You nod, moaning into your pillows as you clawed at the sheets. "Cum for me then... Cum on my dick..." He coos, pushing your hips down to give himself a better view of your ass. Your arms give out and you're practically being fucked into the bed.

Simon chuckles, taking your wrists and pulling them towards him suddenly. It makes you gasp when you feel the pressure building in your shoulders when Simon tightens his grip on your wrists.

"Si... M'close..." Your voice comes out choked out and broken, spiking up every time he bullies his cock harshly inside you and makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Don't need to tell me baby, just cum f'me..." He mutters breathlessly, now holding your wrists behind your back with one hand as the other lands a harsh slap to your ass, making you whimper.

You gasp as tears rolled down your cheeks from how overwhelmed you were. "Simon... Simon..." your voice shakes as you struggle against his grip on your wrists. "Do it baby, cum for me..." He hums, giving your ass a loving squeeze.

You dig your nails into the sheets when you finally feel that knot in your stomach unravel, you feel tingly all over as you cum on Simon's cock with a loud moan of his name. It makes you whine when he doesn't stop, chasing his orgasm now when he feels your pussy tighten around him so good.

"Fuck baby... That's it, that's it..." His groan turns into a drawn out moan as he throws his head back. With the way you were clenching down on him, it made him sloppy.

Simon was sounding whiny now while he chased his high. His hands were squeezing your hips as he held you down and fucked you harder into the bed. He was babbling now, about how good you felt and how you were such a good girl. All for him.

"Feel's so good, lovie... Let me cum inside, please?" He whined through gritted teeth, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. "Please let me cum inside? Please, baby... Please..." He moans into your skin desperately, leaving wet open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder.

"Yes... Yes, inside..." You nod desperately, feeling overstimulated after just coming down from your high and now being used by Simon to chase his own climax.

"Oh fuck..." His voice shakes as he cums inside you, painting your walls white with his cum as he gives you a few more hard thrusts to make sure you take all of it.

"Thank you, love... Thank you" he whispers after some time had passed, giving your hips an appreciative squeeze as he slowly pulled out of you. You whined when he finally pulled out, leaving you breathless as you felt his hot cum drip from your pussy to your clit.

"So beautiful..." Simon whispers as he lays beside you, pulling you close to him in a warm hug with your back against his chest. He wraps his arms around his waist and means his head down on your shoulder to give you gentle kisses.

"I love you..." He whispered close to your ear as his hands caressed your body soothingly. You hummed in content as you relaxed in his arms and allowed yourself to move a bit closer.

"I love you too..." You say quietly, rubbing his arms which were wrapped around you. Simon hums and kisses your hair, lingering there to take in your scent. "I won't leave again... I promise" he mumbles against your hair, his arms tightening around you ever so slightly.

You nod, looking over your shoulder to give him a warm smile, you were too tired and spent to talk but you knew Simon would be able to know what you were thinking just by looking into your eyes.

He chuckles and presses a soft kiss to your lips briefly. "And you know what's funny?" He laughed softly, raising a hand to caress your cheek, "It's Valentine's day" he looked over to the window and you followed his eyes.

The sun was starting to rise and it made you scoff that Simon really came back to you at the perfect timing.

"We're staying in, that's for sure" you laughed quietly, feeling your eyelids grow heavy as sleep slowly overtook you, but you didn't feel lonely anymore. Simon was back, and he knew he would never leave again.

[maskedbyghost]

One Bed, One Night

(NSFW, MDNI)

SMUTSMUTSMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT

The safe house was small, too small for the tension simmering between you and Simon. It had been building for months—snarky comments, sidelong glares, and an unspoken rivalry that no one else on the team understood. You worked well together in the field, but when it was just the two of you, like tonight, that façade of professionalism cracked.

The room had one bed, which seemed like some sort of a sick joke. Simon was pacing, his heavy footsteps making the wooden floor creak under his weight. You sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, watching him with the same look of annoyance you always had when you two were alone.

"Just take the bed, Ghost," you said with a sigh. "I'm not in the mood for one of your standoffs."

He stopped, turning his masked face toward you. "And wha', you think I'll sleep easy while you’re pretendin' you're fine with the floor? Not happenin'."

"Well, I'm not sharing it with you," you shot back, with a voice colder than the night air outside. "So either take it, or we both sleep on the damn floor."

Simon grunted, his jaw clenched beneath the mask. You’d been through worse together—gunfire, explosions, missions gone sideways. But this was different. This tension, this friction, wasn’t just about who got the bed. It was about everything you never said.

"Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?" You muttered, standing up to face him. "You act like you're above it all, like you're untouchable, but we both know you’re not."

His eyes narrowed beneath the mask, his broad shoulders tense. "You don’t know anythin' about me."

You took a step closer, your voice rising. "Oh, don’t I? I know you push people away. I know you act like you don’t care about anyone, but it’s just a front. Do you think that mask keeps you safe? It doesn’t."

The room felt too small now, the space between the two of you shrinking with every breath. Simon's heartbeat quickened, but it wasn't from anger. No, it was something else—something he’d been burying for too long.

"Maybe I just don’t care about you," he growled, though even he didn’t believe the words.

Your eyes flashed with hurt, but you hid it quickly behind a cold laugh. "You know what, Ghost? I don’t care, either. This stupid rivalry, whatever this is between us, it’s exhausting."

Simon’s face darkened, his voice low and rough. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Maybe not,” you snapped, your voice trembling with frustration. “But I know enough to see that this—” you gestured between the two of you—“isn’t just about a bed. It’s about everything you still refuse to face.”

He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with a fiery intensity. The air between you crackled with tension, every word heavy with unspoken emotion. “Then what am I supposed to do about it?” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You drive me crazy, you know?" you whispered, your breath hot against his skin.

Simon’s eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. He could hear his own breathing, heavy and uneven. He could see the tension in your body, the way your chest rose and fell with every frustrated breath.

"You think you’re the only one?" Simon’s voice was low, rough. He couldn’t stop himself now. His hands itched to touch, to feel the heat that had been building between you for so long.

Before anything else, Simon’s hand reached up to his face. His fingers hesitated on the edge of the mask for only a second before he ripped it off, tossing it to the side like it was nothing. His face, usually hidden behind that stoic barrier, was now bare—intense eyes locking onto yours.

There was a slight pause, the air between you thick with anticipation. Then, in one swift motion, he grabbed you, pulling you close. Lips crashed together, hard and desperate. There was nothing gentle about it—this kiss was months, maybe years, of pent-up frustration and desire finally unleashed.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer. Your back hit the wall, as he pinned you there, his body pressed against yours. You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into his hair as you kissed him back with equal need. It was messy and heated, all teeth and tongue.

Simon’s hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips, and you arched against him. The heat between you was electric, bodies moving instinctively like they’d been waiting for this moment for far too long. Every touch, every kiss was a release of all the tension, all the frustration that had been building for years.

Your breath hitched, and Simon smirked against your soft lips, feeling your pulse quicken beneath his touch. He kissed you harder, deeper as you pushed him back toward the bed until you fell onto it together.

"I'm goin' to mark you as mine," Simon whispered between kisses, causing that damp spot on your underwear to spread. Though you truly made an effort not to appear desperate, he was skilled at using his voice, his mouth, his hands, just his everything. "Wha' should I do with you?"

"Tonight is all about me, so get down on your knees and put that tongue of yours to work." You said with a breathless voice, earning a low chuckle from Simon.

"Bossy-" he kissed your neck, "-I like it." His hands roamed freely across your waist and hips, his touch firm and insistent. "I see tha' you’re eager to start.” He continued, a deep rumble of laughter in his chest. "But be careful wha' you wish for, love. I’m more than happy to show you exactly how I like to be in charge. However, I suppose I can play along for a bit." He concedes. With a final, mocking grin, Simon slowly sank onto his knees before you, his hands still holding your hips. He looked up at you with a hungry look in his eyes.

You stopped breathing for a moment, as Simon pulled down your pants and underwear, nodding at you to take your shirt off, leaving you completely naked in front of the man you are supposed to hate. You always had something to say, but when you saw that hungry look in his eyes, you were left speechless.

Ghost took a moment to admire your bare form before him, his eyes roaming slowly over every inch of your body, taking in every curve and contour. "God, you're gorgeous," he murmured, his voice deep and gruff. "I could look at you all day." He slowly reached out to touch you, his hands gently tracing the soft skin of your thighs, his touch both tender and possessive.

You could feel his gaze on the damp spot between your folds, a reminder of your growing desire. Unable to bear it any longer, you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to where you needed him most.

Simon's breath hitched at your insistence, his hands tightening on your hips as you pulled him closer. "So needy, are you, love?" he murmured, his lips curving into a cocky smirk. He leaned in, his mouth just centimeters from your awaiting core. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"Simon—" The words slipped away as you felt his mouth on your most sensitive spot, your eyes rolling back from a sensation you hadn't experienced in a long time.

Simon chuckled against your skin, enjoying the way you squirmed beneath his touch. "That's it," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "just relax and let me take care of you." Simon didn’t waste any time, his skilled tongue delving between your folds, exploring you with a relentless pace.

He took his time, drawing out every little gasp and moan from you. "Bloody hell, you taste amazing, love."

You couldn't talk or even think straight at the moment, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure.

"Show me how much you want me." Simon's fingers slowly traced your inner thighs, causing a shiver to run down your spine. His touch was gentle, but there was a hint of dominance in his tone that sent a thrill through you. "Let me hear you say it,” he purred. “Tell me how much you want me."

"I-" you whispered "-I want you, Simon, please." This is probably something that will eat you alive tomorrow, but oh well, that is tomorrow's problem. Right now you just wanted to get fucked hard by your lieutenant who you hate so much. Apparently.

Ghost chuckled at your plea, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Hmm, I could tell you wanted me from the start, you just needed a little push, huh?" He crawled back up until you were face to face, his breath warm against your skin. "Lucky for you, I'm in a generous mood."

With that, he pressed against you, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until there was no gap between you.

"I'll take good care of you, don’t you worry." Simon said as he started unbuckling his pants, while you helped him with his shirt. Finally, the both of you were naked, and damn he was quite a sight.

Simon's body was a work of art, his muscles toned and defined, his skin smooth and unblemished, save for a few old scars. As he pressed up against you, you could feel the heat of his body, the firmness of his chest, his strong arms holding you tight. He leaned down to murmur in your ear, his voice low and seductive. "You ready for me, love?"

You could only nod once, before you felt his tip enter your sensitive hole.

Simon's lips grazed your neck, his breath hot on your skin. He slowly began to rock into you, his movements measured and careful, as if he was enjoying the moment. A low growl escaped his throat as he spoke.

"You feel so good, love." he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "You have no idea how much I've wanted this."

"Yes, Simon, yesyesyes-" your brain turned into mush as he continued bringing you close to your orgasm. "-don't stop, please don't stop."

Simon's hands gripped your hips even tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as he increased his pace, driving you closer to the edge. He got up with you in his arms, your legs and arms wrapped tightly around his body, and he pushed you back until you were against the wall, and he had you pinned between his body and the hard surface behind you.

"Not a chance," he grunted, his voice strained. "I'm not stopping until I have you completely."

As Simon continued to move inside of you, he brought his lips back to your ear, murmuring hot, filthy words that sent shivers down your spine.

”You’re mine now,” he whispered, his breath hot on your skin. “Completely mine. I’m gonna show you just how much I’ve wanted you.”

That was all it took to bring you over the edge, your eyes rolling back once again, and your whole body shuddered in an overwhelming pleasure. The bastard made you see stars, and for some reason, that infuriated you. Maybe it was because you could’ve had this every time you fought in the past if only you had known.

Simon groaned as he felt you clenching around him, the heat consuming him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He buried his face in your neck, his grip on you almost bruising as he fought to keep himself together. “I don’t know if I can hold on much longer.”

"Don't stop-" you pulled him in for a quick kiss before whispering against his lips, "-don't stop until you cum. I want to feel you cum."

Simon’s breath hitched at your words, his body shuddering. He brought his mouth to yours again, the kiss messy and desperate, before he pulled away, gripping your hips even tighter. "Dirty mouth on you," he muttered against your lips, before nipping at the sensitive flesh. "You're gonna drive me insane, love."

You watched his face, his brows furrowing and eyes shutting tight as you felt something warm and liquid inside you. Simon groaned, burying his head in your neck and holding you close with a grip so tight it felt as though he never wanted to let you go.

Simon panted heavily against your neck, his body shaking slightly from the intensity of his release. His grip on you didn't loosen, keeping you close against him as he tried to catch his breath. He lifted his head slowly, meeting your gaze with hooded eyes, filled with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. "Christ-" he muttered, his voice gruff. "That was-"

"I know," you replied, trying to steady your breath.

Simon chuckled weakly, his gaze roaming over your face with an almost tender intensity. "You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that, love." he murmured, his hands running over your skin, as if he was trying to memorize every curve and contour of your body.

You met his eyes, a mix of relief and lingering frustration softening your expression. "Well, it’s about time you did something about it."

His fingers continued to trace gentle patterns on your skin, but you could feel the weight of unspoken words and shared secrets settling between you. Simon pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "I think we’ve got a lot to talk about," he said softly.

"Yeah," you agreed, your voice a whisper. "But let’s not rush it."

He nodded, his hands still caressing your skin as if afraid to let go. "No rush. Just us. For now."

You settled into his embrace, the warmth of his body and the softness of his touch making you feel safe and cherished. At that moment, everything felt right—like the beginning of something new and beautiful that neither of you had fully understood until now.

idk. i feel dirty.

[ragingbookdragon]

Veils of Gold

Royal AU! Knight!Simon Ghost Riley x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Knight Simon being completely down to his knees for his Queen is something I hold dear in my heart

**********************************************************************

It was piss poor luck on his part that the archer had spectacularly good aim and got to him before John or Kyle could. The arrow hit the soft part of his armor in the back of his knee, sinking through and out the side, hitting against the inside of his steel armor. Instantly, he felt the coursing of some type of poison as he went to his good knee, cursing and reaching back for his bad knee. He watched through the corner of his visor as John’s claymore bit into the archer’s shoulder and cleaved halfway through his torso before he dropped.

John ran to him, dropping his sword down as he knelt. “How bad is it?” he asked, prodding the wound and watching as crimson stained through the brown leather of his glove.

“Bad,” Simon said. “Poisoned.”

“Shite. Captain!”

Jonathan sprinted over, sheathing his own sword as he lifted two fingers to his mouth and whistled for his horse. “John, help him onto the horse and lead him back to the castle. Kyle, you and I will continue to scout out the rest of the enemies.”

“Yes sir,” he replied, pulling another arrow, and nocking it.

“I can still fight,” Simon griped, pushing himself up to his feet; he reached behind and yanked the arrow out, only letting out a very nasty grunt of pain. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine and you’ll do as I command,” Jonathan replied, pointing to the horse. “You’re in no condition to fight. You’ll either get yourself or all of us killed.”

“Cap—”

“That’s an order, Knight Lieutenant.”

Jonathan voice booked no room for an argument and Simon acquiesced as he hobbled over to the horse, though he knocked John’s hands away as he pulled himself up on the horse.

“I’ll scout ahead,” John muttered, pulling out his bow. “Will you be okay until we—”

“I’ll be fine,” Simon griped, pulling the reins of the horse. “Let’s go.”

***

Effectively, the last thing Simon remembered was crossing the bridge into town, panting like a dog before he toppled sideways into the freezing water below. All he could think was how nice it felt seeping under his armor and flooding over his heated skin.

***

Dripping echoed in his ears, a throbbing settled between them as pain pulsed through his skull and shot down to his leg. He grimaced, cracking an eye open, expecting to see the wooden ceiling of the Knight’s lodging but instead was greeted with a gilded golden mosaic encrusted with gemstones and marble. It took him a moment before he realized where and whose room he was in—the Queen’s.

Another drip sounded and he turned his head along the silk pillow, watching as a veiled figure dipped their hands into the water basin in the corner of the room; a woman, by the shape of their figure and it was only until they turned with a wet rag that he realized it was her.

She wore a white and gold, sleeveless gown that dipped lower in the front than he liked it too, but she looked the portrait of heraldry, especially with the golden veil that circled her hair like a halo and down her back. Slits in the side of her white dress showed her legs as she walked, and he watched her gold sandal, adorned feet with each step until she sat down on the bed beside him. Gently, she laid the rag on his forehead and touched his cheek.

“Your servants will talk,” he whispered, practically delirious and unable to tear his eyes from the sight of the gold sewn into the bodice of her dress and up where it collared by her neck and shoulders. “They will know.”

Her hum was heaven’s music as she pulled the sheet away from his leg and gently went about cleaning his wound again.

His stomach dropped when he saw crimson on her hands and his shot out, grasping her wrists. “Stop. Stop touching me.”

“Simon?” she appeared shocked, not that he had grabbed her so tightly but that his voice seemed on the verge of hysterics.

“My blood,” he breathed. “I am not worthy enough to have bled onto your clean hands.”

“Then you are also not worthy to have my white gown wipe away the sweat and grime too,” she said, all the while, rubbing the end of her dress along his knee, slicking it with dirt, sweat, and blood.

“My Queen,” he begged. “Please, I am unclean. I am too stained for your purity. I—”

“You will lie as your Queen commands and be healed under her hands,” she interrupted, giving him a stare that would have withered a lesser man.

Simon swallowed his words, a tightness in his chest as he watched her dip her dress into the jug of water next to the nightstand and begin anew, wiping his wound.

“I am unworthy of such pure grace,” he whispered, and she smiled, her eyes soft and gentle.

“You are a foolish man,” she murmured, pouring a thick looking greenish liquid into the wound before she wrapped it. “A man I admire greatly, but a foolish one all the same.”

He felt his breathing stutter in his lungs when her hands drifted up his wrapped knee to the inside of his thigh, then to his hip, where she caressed the sharp bone beneath his skin before she bent down and kissed it. “My Queen,” he groaned, feeling her lips turn upwards against his pale skin; he felt his chest flush with a pale redness at the intimacy. If anyone saw—“Please, have mercy upon me…” he pleaded. “Should anyone see you in such a compromised position…”

“You are such a worrier,” she sighed, sitting up; her hand rested upon his cheek before it gently threaded into the hair at the side of his head. “The door to my quarters is locked. No one can come in.”

Simon gazed at her, lovesick and feverish. “I do not wish for your reputation to be tainted as mine has been. You are too good for it.”

She ignored him and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. “You are loved by the most powerful woman this side of the land. You hold more power over me and my resolve than any law ever will.”

He whimpered into her and reached up, touching the veil she wore. “I yet still believe that one touch from your hallowed form will free me from all I have done.”

“Should it not, you know I would walk beside you in hell until we have.”

“I am not worthy,” he murmured, and she quieted him.

“Hush, you are the most.”

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Headcanon that everyone in the Ministry from Siblings to ghouls and even Papas wear a lot of Ghost merch as like, loungewear, sleepwear, to clean without dirtying their own clothes etc...since all the merch that either don't get sold or have manufacture/printing errors get handed pretty much freely to them.

Just picture a ghoul walking around at the ass crack of dawn, still half asleep, in a wrinkled shirt that reads "Gohst", or a Sibling helping cleaning the windows wearing a sweatshirt on which the design was printed sideway.

Idk I thought it'd be pretty funny.

[rorylovesangst]

A Burning Hill

construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x waitress

mood board

song of the chapter is Exit Music (For a Film) by Radiohead

tws: sexual harassment (kissing), workplace abuse, ableism, emotional manipulation, self-harm ideation

previous chapter -> chapter 2 -> next chapter

word count: ~1.3k

The diner was quiet—it always was past midnight. The dishwasher's hum filled the silence like static, aside from the clink and clatter of dishes as Tony piled them on the shelves.

Tony had given you a sideways glance as you pleaded behind him to take the check, food searing on the grill before him. Please, Tony. Please give them their check. I had a tic, and I—I made this weird fuckin’ noise in their face— Your voice cracked, juddering as you streaked your sweaty palms down your leggings, the words tumbling out too fast and too busted to sound like anything but desperation.

He sighed, deep and heavy, like you were asking him to carry the weight of the world instead of a receipt. Without a word, he thrust the spatula into your damp palms, the handle tepid from his grip. Don’t burn my shit, kid.

Johnny and Riley had lingered in their booth until a little after eleven-thirty. Johnny’s guffaw had rung out a few times, raspy and booming, cutting through the stillness. Riley, on the other hand, had been quieter, his voice hardly audible whenever he spoke.

When they left, Johnny waved his hard hat at you with a smirk. “See ya ‘round, bonnie,” he’d called, his Scottish brogue thick as honey. You nodded, pushing a small smile to your mouth, already halfway through wiping down the counter.

Riley spared you a glace as he ducked his head through the doorway. His gaze caught you mid-motion, eyes biting but tempered with something you couldn’t quite place. Pity, maybe. Guilt. He dipped his head slightly and trailed behind Johnny out into the night.

The ever-present scent of lard and coffee clung to the air as you finished stacking menus at the counter. The day had dragged, each moment sticking like syrup, but now it was over. You were so close to slipping out the door unnoticed when you heard it.

“Blue!” Ronny’s voice hit you like a slap.

You froze, your fingers clutching the last menu, your breath seizing in your throat. You did not turn around fast enough for him, and his voice came again, sharper this time. “You deaf? Get in here!”

Your body moved before your brain could protest, legs carrying you toward his office like they had a mind of their own. You kept your head low, peering over as Tony glided out the back door. Just you and Ronny now.

As soon as you crossed the threshold, his hand clamped around the back of your neck. The thick, meaty grip sent a jolt through your body as he hauled you fully into his office, your feet scuffling on the linoleum. The motion tugged at your shoulders, your chest tightening like a Venus Fly Trap snapping shut.

“Wh-what did I do?” you stammered, your words uneven and small as he thrust the door closed.

Ronny didn’t answer right away. He clasped the scruff of your neck, the heat of his palm bleeding through your skin. Bent close, his whiskey-sodden breath fans your cheek, his eyes narrowing.

“The fuck is wrong wit’ you, eh?” His voice was low, the anger coiled tight, shaking your neck. “Burning yourself like some damn rookie and making a scene? You think I’m running a charity here?”

“It—it was an accident,” Your words are catching on the hot lump in your throat.

“An accident,” he mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. His fingers tightened briefly before easing up, a mockery of comfort. “How many of those do you think you get, huh? You’re lucky I’m the only person in this town willing to hire someone like you. No ID, no papers, no nothing. A ghost.”

Your head twitched sharply to the side and a lamentable groan tumbled through your wire-tight lips. You gulped down the shame, keeping your eyes on the floor.

Ronny groaned like he was dealing with a disobedient child. “Jesus fucking Christ, Blue. That little head thing of yours? Y’know it freaks people out. Makes it look like I hire the freakshow.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Sorry doesn’t fix it.” You're squeezing your eyes shut, hoping he will set you free, to stop holding you out to the flame like a moth he wants to watch burn. But his grip stays firm, and you can feel the heat licking closer. It’s almost poetic, the thought—how he might be the one to end you. A mercy, maybe, sparing you the trouble of doing it yourself. “How could such a sweet peach come to rot on the branch? Hm?”

Then, like it always does, his tone softened. Not with kindness, but with a twisted familiarity, like the sickly sweetness of fruit hiding a bitter pit. You knew what came next. You pushed yourself to stay still, fixing your eyes on the water-stained ceiling. The constant drip of a faucet teased you from the kitchen, syncing with the rhythm of your throbbing heart. Tears obscured your vision, but you refused to let them escape.

The hold on your neck eased as he angled your head slightly, his free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. He wasn’t even looking at you, just the side of your neck, hunting—predator, prey.

“Don’t make me regret hiring you,” he muttered before pressing a wet, hard kiss to the column of your neck. His stubble prickled around your skin. You held your breath, your fingers curving into fists at your sides. It didn’t matter how many times he did it—it never got easier. But you didn’t recoil, didn’t pull away. You just let it happen, waiting for it to be over.

When he finally let go, the shove forward was almost a relief, even as it sent you stumbling toward the door.

“Get out of here,” he said, already turning back toward his desk. “And don’t screw up again. I’m not running a soup kitchen.”

You nodded, the burn of tears threatening your eyes as you shoved the door open and stepped into the pouring rain.

The cold rain hit you like a slap, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the feel of his lips, the weight of his words.

The rain soaked through your sneakers almost immediately, squelching with each step, your chest burning, your throat tightening around a sob you refused to let out. Your jacket was no use either, your clothes clinging to your frame You kept your head down, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, praying the rain would wash away the grease and Ronny’s slobber and the feel of too many eyes on you.

It didn’t.

By the time your little ranch came into view, your legs were aching, fingers numb. The house stood in the shadows, its paint peeling and wood splintering, but it was yours. Or as close to yours as you could get. The wooden boards creaked under your weight as you trudged into the small space, kicking off your wet shoes, peeling off your jacket, and tossing it onto the nearest chair. The bandages on your chest itched. You winced as you pulled your shirt over your head.

The opaque mirror in the bathroom reflected a version of yourself you barely recognized. Tired eyes, pale skin, hair plastered to your face in damp strands. You looked away quickly, rummaging through drawers for your toothbrush.

By the time you crawled into bed, the rain had lessened to a soft drizzle, tapping gently against the windowpane. You pulled the thin blanket up to your chin, trying to block out the cold seeping through the walls and cracks.

The memory of Riley’s glance lingered as your eyes closed, a susurrate of something you couldn’t quite name.

thanks for all the love on the previous chapter! im trying to get them out pretty quick so hopefully I don’t lose the spark for this. oh, and there will be a sick trope soon…hehe

[rememberwren]

Thinking about this piece with single mom!reader/single dad!ghost that was based off a drabble I did but never went anywhere. Simon as a girl dad is special to me. 😩

-

Sunlight beating down, baking you and the ground. The heat’s even affecting Louie who sags against your side, the weight of his bookbag dragging him sideways, jam packed as it is with school supplies. Last night you cried while you packed it, wept while arranging the watercolor paints and wet wipes, the off-brand crayons and the tissues. Reaching down, you sweep his hair off his sweaty forehead and try not to think about his first day away from you since the day he was born.

The front doors open, first year teachers flanking it on either side. They begin welcoming in students, some of whom take it better than others. One girl begins to sob, clinging to her mother’s shirt, and your heart sinks. God, let that not be Louie. If Louie sheds a single tear, it will break you, crack you wide open upon the sidewalk.

A car door shuts behind you, and you glance over your shoulder lazily—and see Simon Riley for the first time. The man is huge: tall and wide. He’s dressed to cook in the summer heat, a black muscle t-shirt and black jeans enfolding his long legs. You see him just as he adjusts a black surgical mask in place over his mouth and nose. Blond hair clings to his forehead, a subtle undercut. Tattoos ripple along the corded muscles of his forearm. You have just enough time to wonder what a man like him is doing in a place like this when he opens the rear driver’s seat door and out hops the little girl.

She is tall for her age, like her father. Blond hair tumbles down to her shoulders, held back by a sparkling headband. Her ensemble is a mismatch of patterns and colors, the eclectic choices only a four year old could endorse. On her feet are tiny black combat boots, clashing heavily with the whimsy of the rest of her outfit.

“Hold my hand,” he tells her, his deep voice carrying across the sidewalk to you.

He slings over his shoulder her backpack: white with a glittering unicorn horn.

You’re not the only one staring at this point. The line moving forward into the building has slowed and ceased; even the primary teachers have stopped their happy chirping and are watching the impressive display. As he approaches, some of the children grow frightened at the sheer size of him, hiding behind their mothers’ legs. Louie’s grip tightens on your hand as you both watch him go by, bypassing the line altogether to see his little girl off at the front door.

“Buh-bye daddy!” she calls, waving.

He waves.

“Wait!” she gasps. “Kisses!”

He kisses her cheek, the mask still in place. She seems used to it and quite pleased nevertheless.

[lululandd]

Hey 🍄 (ow and sorry for the bad english) Can you write what you think Simon would be like asking you, in the middle of the night, if you still love him?

like when you have those dreams where someone cheats on you and now you can only look sideways at the person yk ... can you do? pleasee (I imagine Simon like "do you still love me?😑😑"

solace;

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

wordcount: 574

warnings: fluff (´-ω-`) 

note: scrolling through fucking spotify looking for a title took longer than writing the goddamn fic

summary: simon had always made you feel safe, his touches gentle, his tone of voice playful, his kind eyes always telling you without words that you’re protected and adored.

It began with your bleary eyes cracking open; seeing the fabric of Simon’s shirt up close, moving up and down in tandem with the harsh breath you feel on the top of your head. You had moved closer together in your sleep, his hand draped over your shoulder while your legs tangle in between his. The whole bed oozes comfort, the knitted blanket–one he longingly looked at the farmers market–wraps over you both in a warm cocoon. 

Snuggling yourself deeper into the blankets and into him, you tried going back to sleep but Simon had started talking in his sleep and you intended to listen.

“Fuck off..” There was silence for a prolonged amount of time before he mumbled, loud and clear, “I’ll kill you.”

“Simon..” You whispered. Remembering how gently he wakes you up when you have nightmares, you try to do the same to him. Placing your hand tenderly on his side, you murmured into his chest, “Please wake up.”

A violent shift came over him and as soon as his hand was off you, instinct took over and you backed away from him. He was a little hard to see in the darkness of the room and you scrambled for the bedside lamp to at least have some light to assess the situation.

Simon had always made you feel safe, his touches gentle, his tone of voice playful, his kind eyes always telling you without words that you’re protected and adored. So when for the first time he stared daggers at you, it made your blood run cold and you didn’t know what to think or do. Sleep has left you completely at this point.

He called your name, his voice quiet but you can hear the cutting bite underneath. “Do you still love me?” He asked suddenly, tensing at the sight of one of your legs hanging off the bed, as if to run away.

Unmoving, you searched his face, trying to read his emotions. “Simon, did you have a weird dream?”

The only response you get is a grunt and him extending his hand slowly, hovering between you like a silent offering. Looking up into his eyes, the hardened edge that he displayed earlier had dissipated so you ignored his hand completely; opting to roll into the bed towards him with your half of the blanket. His arms enveloped you completely even before you reached him.

“You didn’t answer.” He spoke into your hair, his hands hugging you even tighter.

“As if the answer could be no, Simon.” wriggling yourself free from his hold and the blanket, you turn around and bury yourself into his chest as best you could. “You also didn’t answer.”

“Dreamt you ran away with your ex.” 

“Ew.” you frowned. Above, you hear him blow air out of his nose. “Wanna get some tea?” You offered.

His hand came up to rub soothing circles onto your cheek before moving his palm to cover your eyes. “Sleep.”

Your breathing eventually evened out, and he was about to let you go and roll onto his side of the bed when he heard you exhale his name softly, the exhaustion and lethargy apparent in your voice. 

“I’m too busy being yours to love anyone else.”

Somewhere during your descent towards unconsciousness, you can feel him holding your hand, twiddling with your ring finger. The affection and sentiment is familiar, but sleep took over before any thought registers.

[lunarmothim]

devotion - simon riley x reader

in that brief second of startling clarity, staring wide-eyed in the frozen silence, you realize just how deep your love for him goes. you realize the things you would do, the lines you would cross, to save him. or, something something you and ghost get captured on a mission

word count: 1.7k tags/warnings: injury, canon typical violence, captivity, russian roulette, betrayal, angst, hurt no comfort, a 2 second mention of off screen smut. i wrote it lower case in notepad and can't be assed to fix it i'm sorry

it wasn't supposed to come to this.

the operation was meant to be a relatively simple one- in and out, collect the intel and the target and be on your merry little way. on paper it was flawless, wrapped up nice and tidy with a little bow and everything. perfect.

too perfect.

the team's boots were barely on the ground five minutes before things went totally fucking sideways.

ghost barely had the chance to shout out rpg before the helicopter that had dropped you off exploded, sending the team running in different directions in search of cover. you'd stuck close to ghost- not a hard feat with the death grip he had on your arm- keeping low to the ground as you stumbled after him, but the thick smoke made it impossible to see where the others had ended up.

you had no idea if they were even still alive- it was a miracle you were still alive. if ghost hadn't pulled you with him, throwing you to the ground before diving down next to you, you'd be in a lot worse shape than a piece of shrapnel buried just above your elbow and a high-pitched whistling in your ears.

and ghost… ghost was glaring down at you, the twitching of his balaclava showing you that he was saying something you couldn't hear, staring dumbly back at him, stunned. his gloved hand disappeared from your field of vision, and when he pulled it back the tips of his fingers were wet. you'd just registered that it was blood when the second rpg struck nearby, all the air rushing out of you as ghost threw his body over yours.

the ground had shaken, dirt and rocks and blackened tufts of grass raining over the two of you, and before you could regain your bearings someone was there, ripping ghost away from you. he'd fought, combat knife in hand, until you'd felt the cold metal of a gun against your head and he'd gone unnaturally still.

the stock of a rifle cracking against the back of his head had been the last thing you saw before a bag was yanked over yours.

which brought you here.

you're not entirely sure where here is, or how long you'd been here. you'd lost track of time in this cold, dark, windowless room with nothing but the sound of your own ragged breathing to keep you company, coated in grime and dried blood and surrounded by the putrid stench of a festering wound.

you can still feel the metal in your arm with even the most miniscule of movements, the pain a steady ache that pulsates with every beat of your heart. you try not to focus on it too much, or the pangs of hunger clawing at your belly, the dry ache in your throat. you do what you'd been trained to do in this situation- to focus on what you know. to use that to form a plan, to implement that plan to escape.

you know that if you're still alive, it's for a reason. they need something from you, something that makes you more valuable alive than dead. you know that they'd taken ghost too- you'd heard him yelling when they first brought you here, fighting against your captors as they'd separated the two of you. you haven't heard or seen him since, but it's likely he's also alive for that very same reason you are.

the question here, the glaring unknown, is why . why the two of you? the rational, logical answer is a smaller group, two where the other group, if they hadn't gotten separated, had three. you'd been the easier target. the irrational answer is that somehow they know .

they'd known the team was coming, had planned the ambush with the goal of separating the five of you. if they know that much about your movements, it's not entirely implausible that they know the things your lieutenant whispers to you in the dark. the things he does to you in the dark.

it's not implausible that they might think that they've finally found a crack in the infamous ghost's impenetrable armor.

it's almost laughable, the idea that someone like ghost could have a weakness, even more so that it could ever be you . your own feelings aside, you know what you are to ghost. he'd been clear from the beginning, had remained clear throughout. your feelings didn't change his.

"don't go gettin' any ideas," he grunted into your ear as he tucked you into his side after fucking you into the mattress for the third time that night. but how could you not when every look he gave you when you were beneath him was both devastating and reverent, when the way he touched you felt like worship? "s'just stress relief."

just stress relief had turned into months of never falling asleep without the weight of him next to you, wordless glances on ops and during meetings that said more to you than his mouth ever did, a hand on your shoulder or a clap on the back that lingered just a moment too long. still, he never changed his mind. he kept you at arms length and made no move to catch you as you fell.

the irrational thought feels less and less likely the more you reflect on it.

the door slamming open gives you no more time to think at all.

you're shoved to your knees on a dirty warehouse floor next to ghost, unmasked and looking worse for wear, covered in dirt and bruises and dried blood. you're sure you don't look much better, but neither of you say anything about it. not that you're given the chance- one of your captors pulls a revolver, makes a show of spinning the empty cylinder before holding up a singular bullet.

"the game is simple," he says in a thick russian accent, clicking the cylinder back into place. you whimper when he cocks the hammer, stepping forward to press the muzzle to your forehead. "answer my questions, or take a chance the chamber is empty. tell me what i want to know, you get to live."

russian roulette . it's disgustingly simple. it's terrifying . each empty click of the trigger makes your entire body jolt with fear, moving between you and ghost with each new shot, each new question. a one in six chance, and the odds are on your side today.

until they aren't. until your captor turns to ghost, down to the last chamber, and puts the gun to ghost's skull.

time seems to grind to a halt in that singular instance, as the muzzle of the revolver presses to ghost's bare forehead. six shots, five empty. the final chamber loaded, your interrogator caressing the trigger guard almost reverently, ready to pull the trigger when ghost refuses to answer- and he will refuse to answer. you know him too well to even think he'd do anything but stay silent, even to save himself. even to save you .

you wish you could say the same. you wish you could look at him with that gun to his head and have even a fraction of his resolve, that any tiny, fractured piece of you would willingly let him go to protect the mission. to protect the team. but you don't.

because in that brief second of startling clarity, staring wide-eyed in the frozen silence, you realize just how deep your love for him goes. you realize the things you would do, the lines you would cross, to save him. you realize that if it means he lives, you'll betray everything you've ever held dear- your team, your family, your country.

you'll betray simon himself, if it means he lives.

because at the end of the day, isn't that what your devotion to him is? a form of betrayal so intimate, so devastating, that you know neither of you will ever recover from it.

time comes back to you as quickly as it had left, a ragged sob clawing its way up your throat as ghost stays silent under questioning, lips pressed into a tight line, brow furrowed in angry determination. his dark eyes are ebonized steel as they meet yours, edges soft with apology.

you wonder what you look like to him in that moment as you squeeze your own eyes closed in response, fighting back the tears burning along your lashline. bracing yourself against the gravity of what you're about to do.

if it means he lives.

"don't!" it comes out hoarse and cracked and desperate . your body is tense, every muscle drawn taut, straining as you move without thinking, trying to put yourself between your captor and ghost as if it would make any difference. the hand fisted in your hair doesn't let you move an inch. your eyes open, those hot tears spilling over, and your voice breaks on the words when you see the realization dawn on ghost's face. simon's face. " don't. i'll- i'll talk! i'll talk . i'll tell you whatever you want to know, just don't hurt him. please -"

it's enough. it gets your captor to lower the gun, giving you his full attention as he takes the few short steps to where you kneel, looming over you.

"then talk."

your head is jerked back to force you to look up at him, to meet his eyes as you betray everything you've ever known, the only family you've ever had, for the man who taught you what it felt like to be loved. you weep, tears spilling freely down your cheeks, as you tell him everything - the details of the 141's movements, how much they know about his operations, involved allies, every last detail of the plan to take him down.

you try to convince yourself that it'll all be okay as spill your guts to save the man you love even when he's screaming at you to stop, to just shut the fuck up .

the man who you know, even if you both make it out of here alive, is never going to look you in the eyes again.

you'll make your peace with that eventually. if he lives, it's worth it.

your breath catches in a broken sob when you're done, slumping forward as the hand in your hair disappears. that sob morphs into a strangled plea when your captor presses the revolver to simon's forehead again anyway, the hammer clicking back under his thumb and his index finger sliding over the trigger guard. you choke on a scream when his finger presses to the trigger and squeezes .

the empty click of the gun firing dry echoes in the silent room long after the door has shut behind him.

dividers by: @/gildui

please like/reblog if you enjoyed! and if you want a part 2 let me know! :)

[rileyslibrary]

“Say that one more time, and I swear to God, I’ll-”

“You should get out more.”

He looks at you with his arms crossed. You’re both in the office today sorting files, and the past week has been truly hectic. For this reason, you and the team have planned an outing for tonight, and everyone is joining; everyone apart from Ghost who has bailed once again.

“Why are you so obsessed with me going out with you?” He asks, obviously annoyed by your constant nagging.

“I just think it’d be fun,” you explain, “having the whole team together.”

He picks a pile of files from the ground and begins to sort them alphabetically.

“I don’t think I have much to contribute in the ‘fun’ department,” he mutters under his breath.

You gasp, and he turns to looks at you, startled.

“You’re not serious,” you protest with raised eyebrows, “you’re lots of fun!”

He pretends he’s sorting out the files, but you can tell he’s faking it.

“Am I?” He asks hesitantly, “How?”

“Okay, first of all, your jokes, man! They’re awesome!” You shout, “The two-legged dog thing? I peed a little!”

“That was an original, by the way,” he humblebrags, “most of my jokes are my creations.”

“And that little banter you’ve got going on with Soap and Gaz cracks me up!” You add.

“They’re good men, these two,” he comments, “and Price has been my brother since the beginning.”

You sit on a pile of boxes filled with files.

“And what about me?” You ask with a grin.

“Well, you,” he says, “are not sorting fast enough to get us out of here.”

Your smile widens. “Are you eager to get out of here and into the bar with us?” You ask with a wink.

He makes a sound with his tongue and dismisses you. But you won’t give up so easily. You almost have him.

“Come on, Lt.,” you cry, “where’s the ‘no man left behind’?”

“You’re not leaving me behind,” he replies, “I’m willingly leaving myself behind.”

You shake your head. “Nope, the entire essence of our team is this!” you oppose him, “it even says it in our name!”

“What do you mean?”

“Task Force 141,” you say and gesture with your hands in the air, “it’s not one FOUR one; it’s one FOR one.”

He lets out a long sigh and slaps one of the files.

“Is that a yes?” You ask.

“It depends on how soon we’ll finish this,” he replies.

You clap your hands and hop off the boxes. “Let’s pick up the pace, Lt!” You cheer, “we have some shots to do!”

His eyes narrow—indicating that he’s smiling under that mask of his—and he puts the files on the bookshelf. You pick up the knife to cut open the box you were sitting on.

“Y/N?” He asks, and you turn sideways to give him your attention.

“You’re not too bad either.”

[fireya-x]

they say don't open old wounds

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

The mask hides more than just a face; it hides a shared past, a love lost, a ghost you thought long buried.

[3,7k words]

cw: angst, smut, piv sex

they say don't open old wounds

but this is still brand new

and I've got nothing left to lose besides you

and I've already lost you once

what more could you do?

they say don't open old wounds

but I want to

PVRIS - old wounds

It had been months since you joined the 141, months of missions that pushed you to the edge, missions that forged an unexpected bond with your team. A sense of mutual respect and care for each other, a blend of professionalism and camaraderie that softened the harsh realities of the work you did. Soap was always ready with a joke, Gaz offered tactical insights and support, Price kept a watchful eye on your well-being — but Ghost… Ghost remained an enigma. Shrouded in mystery. He rarely spoke more than a grunt or a clipped command, the complete opposite to the warmth of the others.

He was the same hidden figure, strict and cold, like he had been a few years ago when you had the honour of being trained by him and Captain Price. He was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a cipher you hadn't even intended to attempt to crack, yet the easy familiarity with which the others interacted with him, offering their vulnerabilities to someone who resembled Death himself without a second thought, left you constantly bewildered. You needed to know more. How could they trust someone implicitly who was hidden behind a mask, someone whose past remained a blank slate?

He could be anyone, a traitor in their midst, and no one would know. You shook your head, catching yourself staring yet again, your gaze tracing the lines of the thick skull sewn to his balaclava, desperately trying to find a flicker of the man beneath.

Missions blurred into weeks, then months, and the uneasy feeling just didn’t let go. You had an eye of him always, your gut telling you to, but you found something different than you were hoping for.

It began with small, almost imperceptible observations that chipped away at the carefully constructed wall of Ghost’s persona. Subtle movements, like the precise, almost ritualistic way he adjusted his gloves like he had always done; a subtle tilt of his head as he listened, mirroring his thoughtful pose from years ago. The way he favoured the knife in the strap on his left, like he had always shown off his favourite weapon to you, shown you how to use it to defend yourself if you ever had to grab it from him. The subtle shift in his breathing when under stress, something he tried to conceal but you recognized it with an unnerving familiarity.

You’d catch yourself staring, again and again, searching for something, anything, beneath that mask to prove your mind wrong — or right.

You scoffed at yourself, pushing the thoughts away. Wishful thinking. Ridiculous. Simon was gone. He is and always will be.

It was your mind playing tricks on you, you reasoned, grasping for closure. You were back in the field, surrounded by danger, by ghosts of your past. Of course, you’d see him in every shadow, hear his voice in every whisper of the wind. Your heart, starved for the his presence, filled the void with illusions.

But you couldn’t help it. The mask. A blank canvas that taunted you, allowed your mind to paint his face onto it a million times over, feeding your impossible, unrealistic hopes with the absurdity of ever seeing him again.

Then, a mission had gone sideways. A sudden ambush, a chaotic scramble for cover. Shots were exchanged, but the target was hit, the job done. But in the chaos, you’d gotten separated from the team, wandering some endless fields, unsuccessfully trying to contact anyone through the deafening static of your radio.

Suddenly, you saw him — Ghost, slumped against the rough-hewn timbers of an abandoned barn, a gash bleeding freely on his forearm beneath the torn fabric of his jacket.

Adrenaline surging, you raced towards him, your medic instincts taking over. 

Inside the barn, the air was thick with the scent of dust and hay. Ghost leaned against the bales and exhaled loudly, avoiding looking at you.

You carefully set down your rifle in the hay. “We have to wait here and hope we can contact the others. Comms are down.”

No response.

“Let me look at the wound, Lieutenant.” Not a question, but a command, softened by the implicit understanding that he couldn’t afford to ignore the wound, not now, not while still being out in the field.

You knelt beside him, your hands already moving to assess the damage. “Fuck,” he swore, the word muffled by the mask. You assumed it was the pain, but later you would understand the true reason behind the swearing.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, your focus narrowing to the task at hand. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” You pressed an alcohol-soaked cotton against the wound, retrieved form your medkit, your touch surprisingly steady despite the frantic beating of your heart. Even through the layers of his tactical gear, you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Something about the feel of him, the solid weight of his body against yours as you leaned in to examine the wound, sparked a disconcerting sense of déjà vu. Stop it, you berated yourself. This is not the time.

All those times he'd been around you, he’d kept his distance, interactions brief, clipped, professional. But now, trapped with you in the suffocating silence of the barn, with nowhere to run, no excuses to offer, no escape from your touch, his carefully constructed walls seemed to crumble, inch by agonizing inch. With your hands on him, gentle and caring as they had been countless times before —

You heard the thud of his helmet hitting the ground, followed by the soft rustle of fabric as he shifted, loosening your hold on his arm. “You need to hold still, sir.”

And then you heard it. Your name. Not your call sign, not the impersonal formality of military protocol, but your name. Whispered with the same cadence like it had been in your dreams, and you were sure fatigue had finally driven you beyond sanity. 

Your blood ran cold. No. It couldn't be. He’s gone. It was impossible. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to wake up from this nightmare. He is not here.

But when you turned, you froze. You looked at a ghost. Not the Ghost, but that ghost from your past that had haunted your every single waking moment, your dreams, your nightmares. It had been stalking you, mocking you, reminding you of a love lost and irrevocably buried. The ghost with its dirty blond hair and scarred face and hazel brown eyes.

Simon.

The man who had stolen your heart, then shattered it with his sudden, unexplained disappearance. 

A strangled sob tore through you, the sound raw with disbelief, with years of suppressed grief.

A torrent of emotions washed over you – shock, denial, a resurgence of a love you thought long buried, a burning anger at his deception, at the years of silence, of unanswered questions. “Why?” you choked out, the word laced with accusation. “Why, Simon? All this time… we were here. Together. You knew.”

He winced, his gaze dropping to his injured arm, unable to meet the intensity of your gaze.  “I… I couldn't risk it,” he murmured, the words a strained whisper. “Risk you.” 

A wave of nausea washed over you. He knew. All those stolen glances, the way you always gravitated towards him—he'd known. The realization struck you, and fury warred with the irrational surge of joy. Alive. But he chose this. Chose to hide, to let you grieve.

“The things I've done…” His voice cracked, the weight of his secrets heavy in the air. “…The things I had to do…” He met your gaze, bracing himself for the storm of your anger. “I couldn't risk you getting hurt.” A weak excuse, a pathetic justification, but the only truth he could offer. 

Shame burned in his gaze, and for a terrifying moment, he thought he’d lost you, before you even had the chance to find each other again. The anger, the hurt, the unanswered questions — he saw it all swirling within you.

“Hurt?” The word was hollow, edged with bitterness. “You left me to rot in hell for seven years, wondering if you were even alive, and you talk about hurt? You were here, Simon. You even trained me!” He flinched at the pain in your voice, a pain he inflicted. Something he deserved, not you.

You felt a flash of anger towards Price, who had kept this from you, knowing how much Simon’s disappearance wrecked you. But you also knew that Price, above all else, was loyal to his men. 

“I know what you're thinking,” he whispered. “I asked them to keep it from you. I asked them not to say my name around you… I thought… it would be easier.” He knew now how wrong he'd been. How could he not know? How selfish and misguided this attempt at keeping you safe had been. He was supposed to protect you, not hurt you. “If you’re angry, be angry at me.” He was the only one to blame. It was never up to his comrades to take this weight off his shoulders. 

Then suddenly, he closed the distance between you, and his hand, trembling, cupped your cheek. A jolt, a spark, in the desolate wasteland of his guilt. Your skin, soft and warm beneath his fingertips. A reminder of everything he’d lost. Everything he risked losing again by revealing himself.

No. Your mind screamed in protest, wanting to pull away from the unwelcome tenderness. Don't you dare forgive him. But the words remained unspoken. His thumb gently stroked your skin, a familiar caress, and a sob escaped your lips. This is wrong. He hurt you. But the voice of reason was a faint whisper against the roaring tide of longing. Your hands trembled, wanting to push him away, to distance yourself, anything but this aching tenderness. But at the same time, you wanted nothing more to feel him.

“I don’t want to be angry,” your hand found its place above his on your cheek. “Just… tell me why, Simon? Why?”

He didn't answer. He couldn't. Instead, his lips found yours, a kiss that was both a question and an answer, a desperate, hungry reconnection of two souls separated by time and circumstance. 

He knew you’d push him away, he expected it, he deserved it. But he needed this, this moment of contact, the fleeting taste of a past he had thought was lost forever. He had been dreaming of this moment for too long, torturing himself with imagined reunions, each encounter an agonizing exercise in self-control. Every time you were near, he’d shackled himself mentally, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach for you, to touch you, to scream at you that he is alive and yours, and to beg for your forgiveness.

Your lips on his were like watering a withered flower that his heart had turned into, dry and shrivelled, unable to let love close if it wasn’t yours. He’d sworn never to love again when he left, believing it was that easy, believing it was the only way to protect you.

He had hoped that each mission and kill helped to bury his heart and his emotions until there was nothing left but death. Bury the part of himself that yearned for you, that ached for your touch, and leave only the Ghost behind.

But then you were there. On his team. You stood before him, more beautiful than he remembered, your long hair braided back, your uniform hugging your curves, a vision that made his breath catch in his throat. He could have died then and there, content to simply exist in the same space as you, to breathe the same air.

And with your return, so was he, whether he wanted to or not. He was powerless against you. Simon Riley, the man who loved you, resurfaced from beneath the mask, shattering the carefully constructed illusion he'd built around himself. 

The moment he dreaded haunted his work now, and he considered running, again. Leave the team, like a dog with its tail between its legs, give up and run from his past.

But Price had promised him that he wouldn’t tell you, if he stayed. He had almost begged him not to run again, knowing his past and his pain, and somewhere, he knew Price was right. He needed them. And he realized he needed you.

From then, he cherished every moment with you together, and it pained him to be so harsh to you. But he had to be, afraid the mask would slip, literally. Conversations cut short, orders barked, the subtle flinch in your eyes when his voice cut through the air — each interaction was a battle, a constant war against the overwhelming urge to reach out, to soothe the hurt he knew he was inflicting, to pull you close and beg you to forgive him.

And now, with your hands on him, so gentle and caring, the dam had finally broken. He couldn’t bear it any longer, this agonizing distance from you.

And your lips, so sweet and so soft, like no time had passed at all, they were his salvation, his damnation, his only hope of redemption.

A sigh left your body, distorted from the sobs, and he pressed your face closer to him. He never wanted to let go anymore. Never again.

He still expected you to push him away, to be angry, to unleash your wrath upon him for abandoning you — but you didn’t. Your hands touched every single inch of skin that was exposed, and he didn’t stop you.

He was ashamed of the relief that flooded through him, ashamed of the way his body responded to your touch, ashamed that he dared to enjoy this moment, a moment that should never have existed, a moment born of his lies and his carefully constructed deceptions. Then your hands cupped his length through his jeans, and an unexpected groan escaped his lips. 

He should stop you. You should be furious. You shouldn’t be rewarding him for the years of silence, for the agonizing absence that had left a gaping wound in your life. But the moment your hand touched him through the fabric, every carefully constructed defense crumbled to dust. He was lost.

“Show me you’re real, Si,” you whispered against his jaw, your lips leaving a hot, wet trail along his stubble, your hips pressing against his thighs, the friction igniting a fire in his blood. “Show me… I need… I need to know this is real.”

How could he deny you? How could he deny himself this one moment of reckless abandon, this one chance to reclaim a piece of the past he had so carelessly thrown away?

“Are you sure?” 

He felt the zip of his jeans slide down, heard the quiet clink of his discarded weapons against the hay. He felt you nudging his thighs open, a sense of anticipation coursing through his blood like pure, electric adrenaline.

“I don’t know.” You whispered, looking up at him. Your sight was blurry from the tears, but you saw real concern in his eyes. Mixed with confusion. He had expected you to react differently, you were sure of that. 

If this was just a fever dream, a hallucination conjured by a mind desperate for solace, then so be it. You would savor every moment, every touch, every stolen kiss, before the inevitable awakening, before the cruel return to reality.

You kissed him again, your hand now firmly stroking him, the familiar texture of his skin, the throb of his arousal beneath your palm, sending a wave of heat through you. His hands found their way beneath your uniform, slowly pushing your pants down as far as your position allowed, and the catch in your breath when his touch found your centre was his undoing. The small, shuddering breath that passed through your body, an unconscious reaction to his finger as it played against your sweet spot. And he felt the blood rush to his cock, hardening it, causing it to ache with a need he hadn't felt in years.

You crawled closer onto his thighs and slowly eased yourself onto his waiting length, and that puzzle that was Ghost, the unsolvable mystery, finally clicked into place, a puzzle piece finding its perfect fit, making you both whole.

The world around you ceased to exist. It was just you and him and nothing else. The wound and blood were long forgotten. If there were enemies outside, you didn’t care. You could die right then and there, if it meant you were in your lovers arms for all eternity and beyond.

The stretch of his cock inside your sensetive walls was pure bliss, and you sighed into his neck. “There hasn’t been anyone else. Just you. Always you.” You whispered in confession, and you earned a groan in return.

“I swore to never love again,” he murmured against your hair, as he began to move inside you, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. “And then,” a hard thrust, a gasp escaping your lips, “you were right there again. Fuck.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into the worn fabric of his uniform as he moved within you. The rhythm was both familiar and achingly new, years of longing poured into every thrust. The feel of him, solid and real, chased away the ghosts of the past, the years of wondering, of imagining, of hoping. This was real. He was here.

You sobbed, a mixture of relief and the lingering sting of betrayal, and he responded with a guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His breath, hot and ragged against your skin, mingled with incoherent apologies whispered against your ear.

“Si…” you breathed, his name a prayer, a plea, a reaffirmation of a love that had endured despite the years of silence and pain.

His hands tightened on your hips, guiding your rhythm to match his, the friction building and building. It wasn't just the physical pleasure, though it was like a white-hot fire spreading through you; it was the reconnection, the desperate need to erase the years of separation, to meld back into the person you were before he disappeared. 

“I missed you,” he groaned. “So fucking much.”

“Me too,” you whispered back, the tears you thought you'd cried out returning.

The world narrowed, shrinking down to the feel of his clothed body against yours, the heat of his breath, the relentless rhythm that was driving you both toward the edge. 

There was no pretense, no holding back. Just the raw need to be close, to reconnect, to find solace in each other's arms after so long apart, even with the limitations imposed by the circumstances.

You arched into him, the friction of clothing against skin a delicious torment, and a wave of pleasure ripped through you. His grip tightened, and his name tore from your throat as wave after wave of sensation crashed over you, shattered you, dragging you under.

He followed close behind, his release a shuddering groan against your ear, his length pulsing inside you. For a long moment, you just held each other, hearts pounding, breaths ragged, the silence broken only by the occasional shuddering sigh. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t poetic. It was messy, desperate, and utterly perfect.

Even as the aftershocks subsided, you kept your eyes closed, clinging to the warmth of his embrace, afraid to break the spell, terrified that opening them would erase him again, that this precious moment would dissolve into the cruel, cold reality of his absence. You felt a kiss on your forehead, a tender gesture that sent a pang of fear through you. Was he going to leave again? 

But he didn't move.

“I’m so sorry, love” he whispered, his voice ragged, breath warm against your skin. “Please… look at me.”

You opened your eyes, your gaze locking with his. Scarred skin, hazel eyes filled with remorse, but also with an unmistakable love.

He was still there.

He hadn’t disappeared.

He didn’t walk away.

“I promise,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “I won't ever leave you again.”

You clung to his words, your heart swelling with a cautious hope. “Will you tell me what happened?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but his eyes held yours. Watching you these past months, your strength, your resilience in the face of unimaginable danger, revealed a simple truth that would strip him of any excuses not to tell you. You were stronger than he’d given you credit for, stronger than even he had believed. You deserved the truth, no matter how dark, no matter how painful. And he would give it to you. He swore it to himself.

 “I will.”

“Bravo Six… in the blind… you… copy?” The radio crackled, a jarring intrusion into the fragile intimacy of the moment. He reached for it immediately. 

“Bravo Six, this is Ghost. We're in the blind. What's your status?” 

His voice, when he responded to Price, was still tinged with the softness you’d heard only moments before, a subtle reassurance that despite the return of the impersonal detachment, despite the mask he wore for the world, for his team, he was still there, somewhere beneath the surface.

“When we go back,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the static of the radio, laced with a vulnerability you hadn’t intended to reveal, “…when Ghost comes back,” you corrected yourself, the words catching in your throat, “will I still have… Simon?” 

He paused, his hand hovering over the radio, his gaze locking with yours. “You, always,” he said, without any hesitation. “And I promise,” he added, his voice softening, the warmth of him breaking through, “I'll help you understand… Ghost.”

He would reveal the darkness, the secrets, the pain that had driven him to become the masked soldier. He would trust you with the broken pieces of himself, the fragments he’d kept hidden for so long. He owed you that much, if not more. 

He’d give you every little piece of him he could offer.