#Riley Poole x Reader

[dmitriene]

im not sure if your requests are open. im so sorry if not!

have you ever thought about the

"please slow down" reader

x

"no." simon riley

trope?

cw: no hurt or angst, pure sex and overstimulation.

simon ghost riley has you strung, tight and without a way to wiggle out, flee, from where you're splayed beneath the shadows that dance upon rumpled, furling sheets, tangling in between your twitching limbs, pooling all around your frame, bowed up towards every brushing touch, and you look at the way the shadows crawl up the walls and your body to obscure the honey warmth of his eyes, now appearing as if poised to pounce, ravage.

this is his trait, to have control, to wrap the strings of your most secret desires around his scarred fingers and tug, get you down to your lowest, as deep as possible, to see the glaze that clouds your judgment and mind, reflecting upon your watery eyes, blown wide with almost manic revere, to know that you've had fallen under his desire to subdue, trembling under the biting of his hands and mouth, with your hands pinned in surrender.

there's a hiccup of a plea tearing through your clattering teeth's, tumbling from your slack, spit soaked lips, flesh bitten raw, swelling under each devouring, licking kiss, you beg him to slow down, his rapid, strenuous movements of muscular hips are stretching your cunt out, leaving you numb all the way from your pussy to your toes, gushing around the intruding, pistoning weight of his engorged cock and kicking your feet, useless, ineffective gurgles spilling from your drooling mouth.

a desperate prayer, jumbled litany, met with a low, gravelly growl of refusal, thrust turning more choppy, as he forces himself even deeper into you, where the battering ram of his cock could be seen moving beneath your tender skin, each followed by a squelch, lewd sound of your pooling, dripping wetness, viscous and clinging to every veiny inch of him, throbbing when you writhe, squeeze, clamp with a shudder wracking your fragile spine, your hands wound tight around his neck, scrabbling over anything your nails could sink into.

you are stripped bare, unraveled, littered with bruises, blooms of tingling hickeysand sharp indentations from his teeth, scattered in chaos all over, the timbre of his voice are animalistic, clawed up deep within his rumbling, heavy sculpted chest, pinning you down, swallowing down your keens and beading saltiness of rolling tears, and there's nothing you can do, not until he's sated, having you where he dreamed of every single day, cumming all over his cock and pubes.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | riley poole x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - having a girlfriend who can decode secret messages comes in handy when you're a treasure hunter; and having a clingy, needy treasure hunter boyfriend can be annoying when you're trying to decode something, but you find a way to compromise.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 4.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - SMUT (18+ only, and honestly who under 18 is watching this 20 year old movie about the declaration of independence? regardless, minors go away), established relationship, free use kink, touch of dumbification kink, FLIP PHONES (oh the noughties nostalgia), a totally unnecessary plot because everyone deserves a dose of colonial american history with their filth, riley and reader being nerdlove goals

(honestly can't believe I actually wrote this but now that I did I'm like hold up... is this my new obsession??)

When Ben answered the door obviously not ready, and obviously surprised by Riley’s presence, it didn’t take a genius to put together that he’d forgotten about tonight— which Riley had sort of seen coming, with how many times this one thing had been put off or rescheduled at the last minute.  One of the downsides of being a treasure hunter?  Your coworkers tend to be somewhat… unreliable.

“Riley— what are you doing here?” Ben wondered.

“Warm greeting as always…” Riley sighed before answering the question: “I'm here to pick you up.”

Ben gave Riley an even more confused look.

“For dinner,” Riley added flatly.  “At Talerico’s.  To meet my—”

“To meet your new girlfriend, oh god,” Ben realized, “was that tonight?”

“No, it's tomorrow, I'm just picking you up twenty-four hours in advance,” Riley replied snarkily.

“I'm sorry, Riley,” Ben sighed, “I really— I do wanna meet her, Abigail did too— but I completely forgot— can we move this to another night?”

“Ben, we've moved this so many times that she's not even a new girlfriend anymore,” Riley sighed.

“I know, I know, but we can't tonight— Abigail just went out,” Ben justified.

“Where'd the missus go?”

“The library, she's trying to help me with something.”

“A clue?  It's another clue, isn't it,” Riley realized, not trying very hard to hide his excitement.

“I was going to call you tomorrow,” Ben explained.  “Come in, I’ll show you.”

After walking into Ben’s house and upstairs to the study, Riley wrinkled his brow when Ben handed him the coded message.  “Well, that’s just a whole bunch of letters,” Riley noticed.

“Astute as always, Riley,” Ben frowned.  “We found them in a journal that belonged to James Madison.”

“Why would James Madison write down a bunch of random letters in his journal?”

“No— each letter was underlined in a different entry.  And, at the back, we found this,” Ben continued, showing Riley a scanned parchment.

“GABE FADECCE,” Riley read aloud, changing his mind a few times about the pronunciation.  “It’s a name, right?”

“It must be,” Ben shrugged, “but we’ve been searching online for any evidence of a Fadecce family or a Gabriel that worked for or with Madison, and we haven’t found anyone.  That’s what Abigail went to the library for.”

“It sounds Italian, could he be Italian?” Riley wondered as Ben set down the images with a sigh.

“I don’t know— possibly, but we’re at a dead end at this point,” Ben replied.  “I’m sure we’d have a lot more to work with if we could decipher those letters from the journal entries, but we were up all night trying to figure it out—”

“Not what I’d be up all night doing with my girlfriend, but okay,” Riley interjected.

“And I haven’t gotten anywhere with it,” Ben concluded.

“Wait— you can't solve it?” Riley challenged with a smug grin.  “The Ben Gates can't solve a clue?”

“It's not that I can't, it's just that a code like this requires a lot of time,” Ben explained.  “I'm a historian, not a cryptographer.”

“We need a codebreaker,” Riley nodded thoughtfully, “somebody who can decode something this complex, and knows enough about the Founding Fathers to have some context for the message...”  He tapped on his chin like he was really thinking about it, before proudly smiling and tilting his head in faux-realization.  “Hey, how about a former intelligence agent who specialized in decryption, with a master's in world history and beautiful eyes that you can get lost in for hours?”

Ben raised an eyebrow at Riley.  “Yes, that would be great— give or take the eyes thing— but where are you gonna find one of those?”

“At Talerico’s,” Riley announced, “waiting at a table for four.”

“Your girlfriend is a cryptographer?” Ben realized with wide eyes.

“I told you you'd like her,” Riley beamed.

~

Riley was engrossed in his game, furiously clicking the mouse and clacking at the keyboard before mumbling a curse of defeat and pulling the headset off; sighing, he turned around and looked over the back of the couch at you.

He'd only started playing the game because you weren't giving him attention, so it made sense that as soon as he died, he'd go back to bugging you.  “Hey,” he greeted plainly, smiling yet clearly fighting the urge to pout.

You were laying on your stomach on the bed, half-dressed, looking at the pages Ben had given you and scribbling notes on a pad.  “Hey,” you returned flatly after a pause, adjusting your reading glasses before taking a few more notes.

“You look cute doing that,” he hummed.

“Doing what?”

“Thinking.”

You frowned a little in concentration but didn't look away from your papers.  “I like to think I'm always thinking…”

“No wonder you're so cute all the time then,” he cooed, leaning in closer and resting his chin in his hands.

He waited for a moment for you to keep the conversation going, but sighed when you simply continued working on the cipher without paying him any mind.

Getting off the couch with a sigh, he hopped onto the bed and laid beside you, making the mattress bounce a few times.  He kept looking at you for a little while, eventually reaching out and rubbing your back for a moment, before sliding himself even closer to you and planting a kiss on your shoulder.

Even with ninety-five percent of your attention on the puzzle in front of you, you could still tell what sort of mood Riley was getting himself into.  “Well, there is one thing that makes you stop thinking…” he recalled in a purr, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and giving you a teasing trail of kisses there.

You sighed a little and shrugged him away.  “Riley, I need to focus.”

“Baaabe,” he pouted.  “I can't help it, you're just so— how am I supposed to resist you like this?”

“I'm literally just laying here,” you noticed.

“You know what you do to me in those bifocals, sweetheart.”

You snorted and finally looked back at him, admiring the puppy dog eyes he was giving you— they almost always worked on you, and he knew it.  Sighing in relent, you looked back at the pages in front of you.  “I need to get this done, I promised your friend I would finish it in twenty-four hours,” you explained, “but you can go ahead.”

“Go ahead?” he repeated, confused.

“You can just use me, while I work,” you offered flippantly, hardly noticing the way his face turned red.

“R-right… I can just, um… use you.  That's— okay, sure,” he coughed nervously.

“Just be quick,” you insisted.

“Yeah, that's a challenge,” he scoffed, shuffling on the bed to straddle your legs and run his hands over your back.  “I, uh, like when you wear my shirts,” he informed you, as if feeling his erection press against your ass wasn’t enough of a clue.

“Just get on with it, please?” you groaned.

“Yeah, yeah— sorry…” he mumbled, moving his hands down to your panties which he traced slowly.  “These are cute,” he noticed aloud anyways, and you sighed a bit to yourself as you realized how futile it was to try to keep him from talking.  You were just going to have to tune him out to get this done.

His fingers shakily hooked into the elastic and pulled your panties down, a low hum echoing in his chest as he looked at you.  Grabbing handfuls of your ass and kneading them gently, he mumbled something to himself that you weren’t really paying attention to— until he got your attention suddenly with a quick slap.  “Hey!” you yelped, jumping slightly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed through a grin, “couldn’t help myself.  I-I won’t distract you anymore, okay?  Just, you know, keep working…”

You did just that, of course, re-ordering the papers in your hand to look at the scanned back page again.

He went on mumbling to himself as he shoved his sweatpants down to his thighs to free his cock: “juuuust keep working,” he breathed.

He spit into his hand quickly and smeared it on himself, before nudging in between your legs and pressing himself to your opening.

Admittedly, you did react slightly when he pushed inside you— a wince from the stretch of it, especially without much preparation— but you managed to keep quiet and focus on your work again.  “God, so tight,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your hips slightly as he slid deeper.  “You're too good to me, baby…”

He pushed as deep as he could go, which was honestly a bit further than you expected at this angle, and leaned over you slightly as he started to move.

“You feel so good,” he praised through a heavy breath, not taking very long to savor the moment before picking up speed.  You knew if you reacted too strongly to what he was doing, he'd notice instantly and start trying to pull you away from your work; so, you did your best to focus on the problem, even if you found yourself gripping the pages a bit tighter.

Even if your attention was straight ahead, you almost wished you could see him now— but then again, you had a pretty good idea of what you would see if you looked back: his mouth parted slightly with sighs of pleasure, a subtle pink flush across his face, his eyes going a little glassy as they drifted over you.  In fact, you could sometimes feel his gaze on you, especially at those times that his fingers traced your back and hips.

Realizing something suddenly about the cipher in front of you, you put your pen between your teeth and pulled the cap off, biting down on it slightly to hold it in place so you could keep writing on the paper your other hand held.  “Fuck, you're so hot,” Riley groaned, starting to thrust a bit more urgently.  Resisting the urge to smile to yourself too much, you kept taking your notes and didn't especially pay attention to him behind you, even when his occasional whimpers started to grow louder.

For the most part, you were able to keep your focus.  It wasn’t that Riley was especially easy to ignore— certainly not with him going just a bit faster with every thrust— but you were finally on a roll with this puzzle; maybe you would’ve already solved it if it weren’t for your boyfriend, even if he was a welcome distraction.

He panted with each movement, holding on tighter to your hips.  “Fuck,” he whispered, leaning down after a moment to rest his forehead on your shoulder.  Normally, you would have to stop yourself from reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, but you were too engrossed in your work; and it was a good thing, too, because if you’d done that he almost certainly would’ve grabbed the papers and tossed them away, impatiently demanding for you finish that later and let him finish now.

Instead, it seemed like the pace and intensity of both your decryption and his movements grew together: your writing was hurried while his thrusts were faster and harder suddenly, until you could hear skin hitting skin, his groans muffled slightly as they came out through his teeth.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, taking your pen away from the paper abruptly and looking at your work.

“Yeah, you like that?” he encouraged in a rough voice.

“Oh my god, I solved it,” you announced, hardly noticing how he'd misunderstood your exclamation.

That seemed to break him out of his focus for a moment, and he stopped moving as he leaned down over you, resting his chin on your shoulder to read the page you were holding.  “At the place of eighty-five pleas, remove the Crucifiction keys,” he read aloud from the paper— once he managed to navigate your disorganized notes.

“It's a polyalphabetic substitution cipher,” you explained excitedly.  “Once I realized the key word was his wife’s name it was relatively simple— aside from having to reverse engineer some Vignere tables—”

“But what does it mean?” he wondered.  “What even is a Crucifiction key?  Please don’t tell me Ben’s gonna rob some nuns.”

“This was Madison’s journal,” you recalled, “and he co-wrote the Federalist papers with Alexander Hamilton and John Jay— eighty-five pleas— but Hamilton wrote the majority in his home.  I think we need to go to his estate, and see if they still have any of the instruments he owned.”

“Instruments?” 

“The Crucifiction keys, that threw me off too,” you admitted, “but Hamilton was a pretty accomplished pianist— but he would’ve played the colonial precursor to the piano, the fortepiano, which was created by an Italian inventor named Cristofori.  Cristo as in Christ, obviously, and fori meaning ‘holes’.  The Crucifiction!  The keys are piano keys!”

“But who’s Gabe Fadecce?” he pressed.

“It’s not a name,” you answered, “it’s a song.  G, A, B, E, F…” you hummed each note as best you could recall.  “If we start at the first key in the bass and take out the first G, A, and so on up the scales, I’m guessing there will be another clue beneath them, or on the back or something.”

“You're amazing,” he smiled, kissing you on the cheek proudly.

“I'll call Ben,” you decided, reaching to pick up your phone from nearby on the bed and flip it open; you hadn't even opened your contacts yet before Riley wrapped his hand around yours and— gently— pulled it away and closed it.

“I'll call Ben,” he offered, “later.”

You turned to look at him, and he smiled at you, though there was something softer and darker about his gaze as it fell slowly to your lips.

“You and I have unfinished business first,” he continued softly before kissing you with more patience than you expected from him after all that…

When he pulled away, you reached up to take off your glasses, but he clicked his tongue as he stopped your hand from moving any further.

“No no no, leave those on,” he encouraged.  You grinned before he kissed you again, his weight sinking into your back as he slipped an arm around your shoulders.  You moaned softly into the kiss when he started moving again; it was a relaxed pace, but with him draped over you like this, he seemed to go so much deeper.

When he pulled away, you found yourself leaning towards him for more— but he just smirked at you and propped himself upright again, starting to move faster behind you.

“Look back at me,” he requested in a softer voice, and when you turned to look over your shoulder at him behind you, you found him biting his lip at the sight.  “Oh god,” he choked on a groan, meeting your gaze before shutting his eyes and tilting his head back.  “Fuck, is it weird that you ignoring me kinda turned me on?”

You laughed a little, and shook your head.  “No, that's fine… I can go back to it, if you want—”

“No, please— I still like you better like this,” he insisted.  “I like how responsive you are.”

He ran his hand up your back and you shivered, rocking your hips up slightly as he ran his fingers over your hair before taking a hold of your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathed, something beautifully dark to his voice, “like that.”

He began to fuck you hard— not fast, but intense and deep and just the right amount of impatient— and you didn't even try to hold back the loud whine of pleasure that jumped from your chest.  “Fuck,” you gasped, “oh my god, yes…”

“Uh huh?” he encouraged, watching with half-lidded eyes at the way you moved under him, your body naturally starting to rock back towards his.  “Tell me how that feels.”

“Good,” you panted.

“But not good enough to distract you from your work, huh?” he challenged.

“Well, to be fair, nothing feels better than cracking a code,” you giggled.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, putting his hands on either side of you on the bed so he could lean down and kiss your neck, only to bite it a second later— not too hard, but a little harder than just playful.  You felt him smile when you yelped softly.  “You’re trying to piss me off, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged a little bit.

He sat back up and pulled out of you unexpectedly, but thankfully explained himself before you would’ve likely let out a pathetic whine that he would’ve held against you.  “Turn over,” he instructed, “and take that shirt off.”

You flipped onto your back with a smile; “I thought you liked how I look in your shirts,” you reminded him as he helped you pull it over your head and toss it aside.

“Yeah, but I like how you look without them even more,” he explained, running his hands along your sides before surprising you as he suddenly bent down to swirl his tongue around a hardening nipple.

“Fuck,” you gasped, grabbing onto his hair as he moved to the other, first with his eyes shut and then opening them to look up at you as your back arched.

“You’re so pretty,” he praised as his lips traveled to your neck; he yanked you closer by your hips, making you laugh slightly with surprise as you slid across the bed, though it turned into a moan when he thrust into you again in one go.

This time, he didn’t hold back at all: rough, needy, hungry.  You moaned louder than you planned to, grabbing onto his shoulders through his t-shirt.

“Sorry,” he panted out through a thin laugh, “but I can’t slow down now— not after you drove me crazy like that.  God, baby, you’re so fucking wet—”

You choked on the back of your own throat; you couldn’t help it, you just loved the way he said that.

“— this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, 

“You like when I use you, huh?” he taunted, and you bit your lip before nodding.  “That’s pretty kinky, you know.  Is that all you wanna be?  A fucktoy?”

“Oh god,” you groaned, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulder, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“Want me to just fuck you whenever I feel like it, whatever you’re doing?” he continued.

“Yes,” you admitted in a hiss, head dropping back onto the bed.

“You're really trying to spoil me,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss your neck in between words.  “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart— I might end up fucking you five times a day.  At least.”

You moaned lowly, feeling your muscles seize up on him briefly, making him laugh in the most condescending-yet-sexy way.

“Oh, fuck— you want that!” he realized, and his voice dropped to a low growl again as he thrusted even faster, teeth teasing your pulse.  “You can never get enough, can you?”

Not that you ever really thought your response to that was going to be especially coherent… but the way you cried out totally gave yourself away; how had he made you so desperate so fast?!

“Oh, poor baby,” he offered pityingly, only to fuck you even faster until you whined pathetically.  “You don’t wanna think, huh?  Just wanna be my hole.”

“Y-yeah,” you gasped, “fuck…”

“You’re too fucking perfect, you know that?” he praised.  “The only thing sexier than fucking you while you use that gorgeous brain of yours, is fucking you until you can’t.”

Your moan was sort of trapped in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it down; you wished you had the wherewithal to hold it back better, but you weren’t really used to him talking like this.  Normally he would just go on tangents of praise and begging (as needed), and even though it wasn’t your first glimpse of his more dominant side, this all felt a bit different.  Even the way he was looking at you seemed different— a sort of pride in his eyes, pride in his own ability to turn you into a wet and whimpering mess.

“So fucking good,” he cooed, “you’re so good, baby— my good, dumb little fucktoy.”

“G-god,” you choked, holding on tighter to the sheets under you, trying to hold yourself together.

“You’d better come fast, ‘cause I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he warned with a sigh— which would be a much more credible threat if he’d ever left you hanging.  But no, those times Riley’s stamina hadn’t taken you all the way, he was more than happy to put his mouth on you and let it do the rest of the work.

This time, though, all he needed was a thumb drawing rough circles on your clit to help you along.  You hadn’t even noticed how sensitive it had become, not until your back arched and a needy whine jumped from your chest.  “Oh fuck, Riley, I’m close,” you yelped.

“Yeah?” he whined— actually, he repeated it a few times as he watched you get closer to your peak, but it was all falling on deaf ears as your moans got louder and louder.

“Yes!” you cried out, shaking under him; even with his weight pressing you down into the bed, it began to feel like you were floating somehow.  It was one of those orgasms that left you a little numb, with little jolts of raw pleasure that were almost too much— but your only defense was holding tighter onto him, inside and out.

“O-oh god,” he choked weakly, the movement of his thumb slowing but his hips going faster than ever.  “Fuck, fuck!”

He stopped all at once, burying himself in one last stroke as deep as he could reach, moaning lowly against the crook of your neck as he went mostly limp atop you.

After catching your breath for a few moments, you hummed softly in contentment and he carefully lifted himself up just to fall back down beside you on the bed.  He looked at you with heavy eyes but a huge smile; “You wear me out, you know that?” he breathed, reaching up to move some hair stuck to your face.

“You distract me from my work, you know that?” you countered.

“Hey, you got it done,” he defended.  “We’ll let Ben know as soon as I… you know, remember how to exist.  And use cell phones.”

“And maybe after a shower…” you suggested.  As soon as you saw the sparkle in Riley’s eye you added: “Separately.  I’ll pass out before we can make it to dinner tonight if we just end up fucking again.”

“I mean, they’ve been putting off dinner for months— why can’t we blow them off for once?” he suggested with a smirk, moving closer to you on the bed.

“I thought I’d worn you out,” you remembered with a breathless laugh, and he wrapped an arm around you to pull you into him.

“You did,” he sighed against your neck, “I’m just… easily re-inspired.”

~

It was a good thing this place was mostly empty, since this was technically somewhat sensitive information, but you figured anyone who overheard wouldn’t know enough about the conversation to glean anything too significant.  You found yourself rubbing your hands together under the table anxious as you watched Ben across from you, holding your work, and waited for his response.

“This is incredible,” Ben smiled as he read your decryption, making both you and Riley smile back with pride.  “A polyalphabetic substitution cipher, I should’ve known.”

“Yeah, any idiot would’ve known that,” Riley joked flatly.

“Where’d you find this girl?” Ben asked him, and you glanced at your boyfriend to find a little flush on his cheeks.

“You know, the technical answer is that we met at a panel lecture proposing that certain ‘random’—” he accentuated the word with a sarcastic tone and air-quotes— “radio frequencies detected by military technology might be messages from extraterrestrials—”

Ben rolled his eyes even at the passing mention of one of Riley’s more absurd conspiracy theories.

“But,” Riley continued, “I have a theory that she was actually created in a lab, specifically for me, by a team of scientists with the inexplicable goal of making me happy.”

“Oh, come on,” you giggled nervously, shoving Riley on the shoulder but failing to stop him from giving you a kiss on your heated cheek.

“That line working on you really is a testament to the fact that you’re made for each other,” Ben offered, and you decided to ignore the backhanded element of the compliment because of your sense that there was something very genuine about it.

“Look who’s here,” Riley pointed towards the front door of the restaurant, over Ben’s shoulder, causing the latter to turn in his seat and look back.  “Abigail, over here!”

She waved when she saw you, quickly approaching the table and taking her seat as she apologized for being tardy; “This is Dr. Abigail Chase,” Ben introduced her with a proud smile.

“Oh, don’t be so formal,” she gently scolded him (maybe everything she said sounded that nice with her accent, though), but she beamed as she grabbed your extended hand to shake it.  “It’s so nice to meet you, finally— I’ve heard so much from Riley.  He’s been bragging about you so much these past few months, I feel like I already know you!”

“Apparently he met her attending some panel about secret alien messages from space,” Ben told her with a smile and a yeah, I know, it’s crazy look in his eyes.

“Attending?” Riley repeated with a scoff.  “We were both speakers!”

Abigail was a little better at hiding any judgmental instinct; “How perfect,” she announced sweetly.

“She’s a real whiz with decryption though— look at this,” Ben instructed, handing the (condensed) page of your notes over to Abigail, who took it and tilted her head as she read to herself.  

“Wow,” she sighed, “you made quick work of it: Hamilton’s fortepiano?  That must be in a museum somewhere.”

“It’s still in his home in New York,” you replied quickly, “we already looked into it.”

“Did you help her at all with the solve?” Ben asked Riley suddenly, who turned to you with a slightly mischievous look in his eyes.  

“Uh,” he stalled before clearing his throat nervously, but never looking away from you— “y-yeah, I helped… in my own way.”

[where-dreamers-go]

"Future Treasure Seekers" Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: And we’re back with the third/last prequel to the Riley Poole series. This one happens after “Lunch Rescue” and before Part One “Charlotte”. Here we have what happens when Ben talks with Reader about their feelings for Riley and Ben’s theory about the treasure’s first clue.

I tagged the same people from the series, I hope that’s okay. Some have changed though..

Also: HAPPY 2,000 FOLLOWERS!!! <3

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst in beginning. Fluff. Mutual pining. Use of (Y/N) for your name. Two different point of views.

Word Count: 3,491 words)

~~~

Adult life could be anything if given the specific circumstances. The good, the bad, and the neutral.

Living next door to your best friend tended to be an enlightening addition to living in an apartment complex. It not only saved you two on phone bills, but also a quick travel distance when wanting to catch up with the other’s life.

“Better than the frozen meal you had yesterday?” You quipped from the other end of the small table.

“Yeah.” Ben admitted, “The edges were burnt.”

“I hate when that happens. Or when I randomly find a piece of corn in something.”

“That brownie?”

“It was weird. Never having that again. I’ll make my own.”

Chuckling, Ben took a sip of his drink. “At least you know what you like now.”

“True.”

“And you’ve learned a lot. Learned about yourself.”

You nodded before frowning slightly.

Where’s he going with this? You wondered suspiciously, hesitant to take another bite of dinner.

“There’s still a lot out there you haven’t experienced.”

“Why do I feel like you’re going to give me a big brother talk of life advice?” You asked, fully suspicious of your friend.

“Because I am.” Ben stated firmly. “You clearly like Riley.”

“Ben.” You set down the utensil.

“I like to see my friends happy.” He continued.

“Me too, but—”

“What are you afraid of?”

You sighed, slouching back into the chair. Time to be honest. “I don’t want to ruin anything. As it is, I’m having to learn that getting older means drifting away from friends I’ve made in school. I don’t want to push him away or make things awkward times a million. I can’t—,” you swallowed. “I don’t want to risk losing Riley because of . . . me.”

Quiet filled the space at the small dining table. You could see the twinge of sadness in Ben’s eyes.

“You’re a good friend, (Y/N). Maybe too good?” Ben inquired.

Staring down at your unfinished dinner, you grumbled somberly.

Maybe if I was brave enough, I’d do something.

. . .

Attempting to put on a light jacket while simultaneously slipping on your shoes tended to take longer in the mornings. As early as it was, you still tried. One elbow bracing by the front door, one shoe refusing to cooperate, and growing determination was how your morning began.

It only became odd with an urgent series of familiar knocks from the other side of the front door.

What the—?

Peering through the peephole, your confusion remained steady at the sight of Ben Gates.

It’s not even eight o’ clock yet, you thought as you unlocked and opened the door.

“Ben?”

“(Y/N),” he greeted brightly. “I think I figured it out.”

You opened your mouth to response, but he was just getting started.

“The Charlotte. It’s not a place and it’s certainly not just a thing. The Charlotte is a ship. A ship that was sailing through the Atlantic years ago.”

“It’s a ship?”

“Yeah. I’ve been researching to know where it was built, what it was supposedly carrying, and it’s destination.”

You shoved your foot into your shoe. “So, where’d it port?”

Ben stuck up his finger and announced, “That’s just it. The Charlotte never did.”

“Well, dang. Okay, um…”

“We just need to figure out where she landed.”

“Ben,” you said firmly. “I have to go in to work today.”

His eyes widened in realization. “Right. Of course.” Ben nodded, thoughts no doubt rushing through his mind. “I’ll call Riley. He’ll work it out on the computer and we’ll let you know everything when you’re off work.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You smiled. “Hopefully my workday goes by fast.”

Ben returned your smile and said with every ounce of determination and hope, “We’re going to find the Charlotte.”

. . .

The afternoon had been full of excited chatter and theories flying around.

Too bad I couldn’t have been here sooner, Riley thought.

Sitting at the small dining table in Ben’s apartment, Riley Poole waited for the results on his laptop. Tracking models took time, but Riley’s was up-to-date. He pushed up his glasses on his nose and waited patiently.

Much more patiently than his friend, Ben, who stood looking over his shoulder in anticipation. His gaze glued onto the tracking model as it moved North into the Arctic Circle.

Looming with crossed arms and no commentary, stood Ian by the kitchen counter.

I’m not sure if it’s comforting or alarming that he’s quiet. Maybe both, if possible.

Half a minute more and the tracking model stopped and delivered its results.

Breaths were held.

Riley blinked.

“There she is,” Ben announced in awe.

“And no one even knows its there?” Riley inquired, squinting at the screen.

“Let’s hope not.” Ian said.

“We have to go.” Ben urged. “All of us.”

“Certainly.”

“Okay, but how are we going to afford proper equipment? For the arctic?” Riley asked.

“I’ll take care of the costs,” Ian announced confidently and shared a smile with Ben. Although each smile was vastly different, one seemingly smug and the other grateful.

“Thank you.” Ben said genuinely.

How much money does he have? The ticket prices alone could be questionable. Then again, I don’t know how much equipment we’ll need. Or if we can get it there. Riley sat back in the chair.

“Okay.” Ben exhaled. Taking quick steps over to a less cluttered part of the table, Ben picked up his cell phone and started dialing.

“Who are you calling?” Ian raised an eyebrow as he took a closer look at Riley’s computer.

“(Y/N).” Ben revealed simply.

“Ben, (Y/N)’s at work.” Riley reminded his excited friend. “The exhibition is still new.”

“I know,” he waved off his friend gently. “It’s close enough.”

(Y/N)’s going to flip when they find out we tracked down a ship, Riley thought with a growing smile. Or run around.

Phone at his ear, Ben waited for a response while moving about the space.

Glancing at his laptop again, Riley checked the time.

They don’t work late today, do they?

“(Y/N).” Ben’s voice filled the apartment with his enthusiasm. Yet that did not stop the man’s feet as he crossed from one side the room to the next. “It’s about Charlotte.”

Riley smirked, fully knowing that there was no way you wouldn’t know what the phone call was all about.

“Okay. I won’t.”

Riley spoke loudly towards Ben, “How fast can you come home? Ben is pacing.”

Ben stopped abruptly and gave Riley a complex expression that made him suddenly self-conscious of his question.

Was that weird to ask? Riley wondered as he awaited your reply.

“They’ll be back soon,” Ben confirmed with a grin that soon dropped, “and . . . I wasn’t pacing the whole floor. No.”

Riley chuckled just as Ian covered his mouth to suppress a laugh.

Treasure, he thought.��It could be anything.

Riley looked over to his laptop screen feeling more free and like himself than he ever had. For, he had helped and contributed.

Ben’s theory has to be right.

. . .

Everything’s going to be all right. You got this.

Being rushed usually involved tardiness and unwanted appointments. Strict deadlines as well.

Shouldering open your apartment door, you had a building excitement. One you knew would likely be tiny in comparison to your best friend’s next door.

After practically throwing your things onto the coffee table, you pocketed your keys and cell phone before heading right back out into the hall.

Stepping up to Ben’s door with a raised hand, it opened before you could knock.

“We know where the Charlotte could be,” Ben announced holding the door wide open.

You hadn’t seen him that happy before, practically about to giggle in glee. If Ben was one to giggle that was.

“Hi to you too.” You chuckled as you walked inside.

Ben’s apartment had a buzz of activity even with only two other people present. Ian stood off to the side, seemingly waiting, and Riley sat on the couch with a bright smile.

“Hi, Ian,” you greeted. “Has Ben filled your ears with enough history today?”

“Almost,” the man smirked. His expression could be read as both amused and confident with everything that had transpired that day.

“We’re one step closer.” Ben said after he closed the door and walked towards Ian. “I just know it.”

“Who would be silly enough to doubt you.” You added. “Certainly not me.” You made your way towards the small dining table where Riley sat with his laptop.

“Not me,” Riley raised his hand.

“And I’m guessing you helped?”

“With the computer. Yeah.”

“Yeah. Big deal,” you said and went in for a hug that Riley almost stood up for. “That’s awesome.”

“Not as big as when we actually find treasure.” Riley stated with a smile as you pulled out of the hug and sat in a chair beside him. “It could be worth millions.”

“If it’s a ship, it could have historical artifacts. Not just including the ship itself.” You said with a grin. “And you managed to find it on the computer?”

“I have a tracking model,” Riley gestured to his laptop.

“Oh dang.”

“We’ll be going to the Arctic Circle.” Ben revealed to you. “An area without much activity.”

“Or any at all,” Riley murmured.

“With who knows how many layers of snow and ice,” you added.

“Which is why we need a team.” Ian announced.

Right, you thought and mentally figured the four of you were not enough.

“I have people in mind.”

That’s convenient, you thought as you looked between the confident Ian and the ever-grinning Ben. And makes this a lot easier. Hopefully.

“But…uh. This is happening soon?” You asked, unsure of the chances of your participation. “Or do we not know yet?”

Ben turned to you with a firm point of a finger. “You’re coming too.”

“I have work. The exhibit has barely been up for over a week. Wouldn’t it be weird if I just took off?”

“You’re great at what you do. They have to let you have time off. The exhibit is perfect. They can handle a few days without you. Hopefully.” Riley added, “They can email someone else.”

Overwhelmed with his compliments, you bumped his knee with yours.

“Thank you.”

Turning at the sound of Ben’s chuckle, you caught Ian rolling his eyes. It only made you overtly aware of your knee still touching Riley’s.

You tore your gaze away from everyone and grumbled in thought, If I’m going to do this… I’m going to have to juggle some things around or something. Without letting people know specifics.

“But, you can make it work?” Ben asked, fully attentive.

Feeling yourself internally caving to the idea of discovering history, you said, “If anything, I haven’t called out sick in months. I could use sick days. I’ll talk with them tomorrow or…when we know for sure when we’re going.”

“Excellent,” Ian said with a determined nod. “I’ll make some calls.”

. . . 

Things were moving fast. Tickets were bought and plans were made. Phone calls were more common and expected between friends.

Check list in hand, you sat on your bed thoughtfully. Curtains closed to conceal the city lights of the city. Luggage sitting on the floor as other items were strategically scattered in your room.

Less than a week stood between you and the possibility of discovering treasure. That left you with much to settle and organize.

Thank goodness you weren’t doing it alone.

“You have a good hat, right? To keep you warm?” You asked into the phone.

“Yeah. Found it in the pocket of my coat.” Riley replied.

“Good place to find it.”

“Speaking of finding things. You have extra batteries, right? Extra film?”

“I have some somewhere,” you muttered, hopping off the bed to venture out of your bedroom and into a makeshift office. Shuffling through a set of drawers took a few moments. “Yup. There’s the right kind too.”

“Nice. Are those from your storm prep stash?”

“Yeah. I’ll get more when we come back.”

“From the Arctic Circle.”

You walked back into your bedroom and placed the pack of batteries by your camera bag.

“So much for traveling extra light. Snow…lots of layers and just-in-case items.”

“Like a bag for all of my chargers.”

“Extra long socks and snacks.”

“Mittens and gloves.”

“And we’ll be wearing most of it. I don’t know what we’ll be carrying.”

“Whatever Ian supplies, I guess,” Riley muttered. “He acted as if getting everything was easy.”

“For him it might.”

“How much money does he have?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think we’ll ever find out.” You stated while marking over a checkmark on your list again. “Equipment alone is a lot.”

“In the thousands, probably. Ben said something about us not having to worry about walking. What’s with that? Did Ian hire dog sled teams too?”

“I have no idea, but Ben’s happy.”

“I’m happy.”

“I know.” You smiled and set your list aside. “And it’s really cool that you found it with the tracking model.”

“Well, uh, if it’s right then we’ll all be shoving snow to get to whatever’s in the ship.”

“It’ll be a lot of work.”

“Hopefully not too much.” Riley added, “We’re looking for treasure not doing hard labor. Then we can spend it however we want.”

However we want, you mused over his words. You had no idea what you would buy first if rewarded with money for your treasure seeking efforts.

“Speaking of spending. Do you think Ian will treat everyone to food?” You asked, glancing at your secret savings in an old notebook.

“Uh. Let’s not push our luck. No matter how nice that’d be.”

“I’ll bring snacks then.”

. . .

Late afternoon light filled corners of your apartment. Time was ticking down to when you would all leave to search for the Charlotte. An air of change circled through the air.

Even your day at work had felt different. The feeling continued inside your apartment where Riley had left his bags in your spare room.

Definitely different, you thought as you made sure you had your basic essentials. Keys, check. Phone and IDs, got them.

“Why do you have to go back?” Riley asked, standing behind your couch.

You tilted your head.

“I mean—you just got off work.” He clarified quickly.

“I just need to give them a few things from my office. I would have done that earlier, but I didn’t know they needed that too. Museum stuff…no big deal, but I’ll be back in no time.” You twisted your keyring between your fingers. “Make yourself at home. The money for the pizza is on the counter if they beat me here.”

Riley nodded. Blue eyes following your movements to the front door.

And it’ll give me time to wrap my mind around Riley staying in my apartment tonight.

. . . 

Looking over his electronics, all were either plugged in to charge or packed away. Riley was thankful that the outlet by the spare bed was visible and connected to a surge protector.

They really know how to use their space, Riley thought as he looked about the spare room. An office, bedroom, and probably storage area. He eyed the closet beside a desk. Not wanting to intrude in your space, Riley kept his distance. Yet he could clearly see the setup around the desk with a calendar stuck to the wall with important dates marked in various colors. This is definitely theirs.

Out of the many times Riley had visited your apartment, he had never been inside alone. Being surrounded by everything that had your specific touch to it was intriguing. Then again, Riley had never been hours away from starting a search for treasure and he certainly had never been in the spare room knowing full well that was where he would sleep for the night.

Sleeping over. Riley thought as he wiped his palms over his jeans and exhaled slowly. It’s just Ben’s place has no room. And he’ll probably be on the phone with Ian every other hour. It’s fine. It’s just us then we leave in the morning. Riley swallowed. And I’ve never had breakfast here either. It’s fine.

Quiet hadn’t fully settled in your apartment. The television was set to an animal documentary. Riley hadn’t thought of changing it even as he sat down to watch.

He had to keep his mind busy, for the moment, away from the treasure and you. Waiting was all he really could do and not just because you called an order for pizza.

Blinking, Riley refocused on the show.

“ . . . now grown, he will do his best to attract a mate.”

Riley threw his head back into the couch cushion and uttered, “You and me both, buddy.”

Ben better not give me that talk again after this, he thought as he bounced his leg anxiously. Who am I kidding? He probably has one prepared.

A knock on the door startled Riley off of the couch.

The pizza had arrived.

. . .

A jingle of keys and a shove, you walked back into your apartment. The smell of pizza clinging to the air.

“Hey,” Riley stood from the couch, “did you get everything done?”

“Uh. Yeah. Everything’s good.” You answered and closed the door. Words left you oddly from feeling a little warm at the sight of Riley in your home and comfortable. You could get used to that image. “So…where are you hiding the pizza? I can smell it.”

“Oven. Keeping all the heat from escaping.” He headed straight for the small kitchen area.

“Thank you.” Setting your keys and such down on the kitchen counter, you watched Riley retrieve the pizza box.

“You’re thanking me?” Riley lifted the cardboard lid. “I’d be bunking with a sleep-deprived Ben if it weren’t for you.”

“Who says I’m not sleep-deprived?”

“I can tell.”

Smiling to yourself, you grabbed two plates from an overhead cabinet.

“For one,” Riley continued, “you’re talking coherently.”

“We’re about to eat pizza. So I don’t know how long that’ll last.”

With a quick smile, Riley distributed a couple of slices for the both of you and headed to the small dining table nearby. “But seriously, thank you.”

“It’s not a problem. You’re always welcome here.” You said and quickly added, “Treasure or no treasure.”

“Hopefully we find something.” Riley said after a bite of pizza.

You nodded, thoughtful.

“Even a small fortune.”

Laughing in agreement, you stated, “It’d be a great addition to my vacation.”

Blue eyes peered up. “You used your vacation days?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great! The exhibition will be up for a few months anyway.” Riley exclaimed. “Maybe we’ll find something you could add to a new exhibition.”

“That would be really cool and a bonus considering I don’t exactly have a substitute for my position, but it’ll be fine.”

Both agreeing, you returned to eating. Thankfully the pizza hadn’t gone to room temperature while you were on route back.

The general silence was comforting. Perhaps it was the busy day or the adventure planned ahead of you, but you liked sitting down with Riley without needing to fill in the space with words.

Don’t go off on imagination overdrive while he’s here. Just eat your pizza. You thought to yourself, glad Ben wasn’t there to add commentary for just once. At least Riley’s comfortable here. I just gotta go over my list again after cleaning up. Set out a pair of socks for the flight.

“Hey.” Riley’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

You glanced up.

“You have everything packed except your phone. You haven’t forgotten anything.”

You sat up straighter. “Did I say something out loud?”

“No.” A smile curved his lips. “You had that overthinking look.”

. . .

Nighttime was a particular thing. It gave freedom to how one used their time away from work and offered a more suitable atmosphere for sleep.

Walking out of the bathroom and ready for sleep, you found Riley asleep on the couch. The television was still on and hushed forest sounds emitted from it.

I guess he didn’t head to bed after all. You mused, or I took that long in the bathroom.

Quietly, you knelt down by the couch. “Riley?” You touched his shoulder gently.

“Hmm?” Drowsy eyes glanced your way.

“Time for bed.”

Nodding and closing his eyes again, Riley pushed himself up. Then, with shuffling feet, he headed away from you and the couch.

You watched on.

“Left, Riley,” you instructed as he had been walking towards your room. You covered your own chuckle while Riley redirected himself to the spare room. “Sweet dreams.”

And don’t think too much about where he was heading, you thought to yourself and knowing full well that would be an extremely difficult task to follow through. Riley being adorable and finding treasure among friends, this could be fun. I might be too excited to sleep. Anything can happen.

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Riley Poole Tags: @darkenwolfy @wesleeporstudy @yearning-warmth @thecaptaingingersnap @nervousfandom

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[nyx22-blogs]

Imagine Doing Karaoke With Riley Poole 🎤

Credit to @captainannamerica for the fic idea and for making such a fantastic moodboard!

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Alright I'll see you guys there! See you soon!" You said, in possibly the happiest mood you've been in all week.

Riley watched you from the doorway, his laptop in hand and an amused smile on his face. He'd just come downstairs to tell you something but seeing that beautiful smile on your face made him forget what it was.

"Hey honey, whatcha doing?" He asked as he set his laptop down on the coffee table and joined you on the couch.

"Ben and Abby want to invite us for a double date out. Doesn't that sound fun?" You said happily, almost as if you were trying to convince him to go with you..

He kept this in mind, and carefully chose his next sentence.

"Where do they want to invite us to?" He said with a raised eyebrow. You've been excited for lots of things in your life, but you'd never been this chipper.. unless you were trying to convince him about something.

"It's uhm- it's a surprise!" You quickly covered up your hesitation with a bright smile, one you knew made his knees go week.

"Aaaand... It'd be really fun.." You drawled out your words as you slid your hands from his chest down to his torso. Suggestiveness evident in your voice.

Double suspicious.. you hated public affection unless it was simply handholding, cuddling into his side, or "I love yous." Anything vulgar was simply not done in front of anyone else's eyes.

"We're going out to a bar aren't we?" He sighed dramatically. Riley had a bad history with bars, he got drunk very easily.. and well he didn't make the best choices when under the influence. He never did anything extreme but he was one to say very silly things to make him look like an idiot.

Like that time he tried to convince a cute girl that he had discovered a life changing treasure, and while that wasn't exactly a lie, she didn't find "invisible words on an old document" anything interesting.

Everyone in the area had heard about it the next day. And since then Riley Poole had never gone to another bar.

"Riley c'mon I promise it's gonna be fine, we aren't doing aren't extreme just some hanging out. Ok?" You gave him your biggest most sweetest doe eyes you could muster, the ones who could ever refuse.

"Fine. But I'm not drinking!" He said as he went to your shared room to find something to wear.

You two had this conversation about a half hour ago, and right now Ben was off the rails drunk dancing with Abigail and you were giggling at the two of them. Riley was with you trying to make sure you didn't wander off anywhere.

Abby ran over to you and pulled your hand, an indicator she wanted to dance with you. Giggling, you went with her and the both of you were laughing even harder when Ben walked into a door.

"Wait- Abby look there's karaoke here!" You said tugging her arm.

"You should ask Riley to go with you, I don't think Ben's gonna make it." She said grinning as she walked over to the man himself.

You giggled as you observed Abigail trying to convince Ben to sit down, which quickly turned into him twirling her around and kissing her. You looked over at Riley and made a hand motion signaling for him to come here. He raised an eyebrow at you but quickly obliged.

“Everything alright y/n?” He said, resting his hand on the small of your back. You took a moment to just admire the concern he felt for you. “Oh everything’s fine, I just wanted to ask you something…” You trailed off, giving him one of your cutest smiles.

He blushed back a bit, you loved that even though the two of you were married you could still do that.

“What’d you wanna ask?”

“Maybe sing some karaoke with me..?”

“Y/n..no.”

“Pleaseeeeeeeee it’ll be fun, just one song and then we can go. I promise!”

“What song-”

You cut him off by giving him a kiss on the lips before bringing him near the karaoke bar.

As you told the guy what song you and Riley wanted to sing you saw him ordering a small drink, he quickly downed it and payed, thanking the guy.

Suddenly you felt a bit guilty, as you walked over to tell him he didn’t have to do this he came walking towards you. A big goofy grin was evident on his face.

He sure got drunk fast..

“C’mon y/n let’s go.” He said as he hooked his arm around yours and walked over to the stage.

“Our next singers are Y/n Y/l/n and Riley Poole who will be singing Bitch by Meredith Brooks.”

You picked up the mic and started bopping your head to the music. The lyrics showed up on the screen and you started to sing, pretty well if you said so yourself.

I hate the world today You're so good to me, I know, but I can't change Tried to tell you but you look at me like maybe I'm an angel underneath Innocent and sweet

Riley looked at you, your voice sounded so angelic and you were so lost in the song, he decided he couldn’t let you down. When the next verse would come he’d be the best damn singer you’d heard in this bar.

You smiled at him and gave him the mic when the second verse came on, and when he took it you were so shocked. In your entire time knowing Riley Poole you would’ve never guessed he would’ve sounded so good.

Yesterday I cried You must have been relieved to see the softer side I can understand how you'd be so confused I don't envy you I'm a little bit of everything all rolled into one

You felt like you were falling in love with him all over again. He looked at you, all happy and smiling, and continued singing. Sure some notes were a bit awkward but he sounded beautiful to you.

You two looked at each other knowingly when the third verse came on. Sharing the mic you both started singing into it.

I'm a bitch, I'm a lover I'm a child, I'm a mother I'm a sinner, I'm a saint I do not feel ashamed I'm your Hell, I'm your dream I'm nothing in between You know you wouldn't want it any other way…

The night ended beautifully, Ben and Abby cheering you guys on, your husband holding you close to his side and you both sang.

You guys should do bar nights more often.

[holeforzenin]

❝​REPAYMENT​❝

Synopsis - Oh no! What happens when the big, massive strong man that saved you during a very dangerous war, wants something from you in return for his bravery?

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!reader

Warnings - Dub-con, mentions of killing people, creampie, ass play, size kink, he stuffs his gloves in your mouth, he's possessive, mentions about keeping you with him. Dark content. this was kinda rushed so sorry for any errors!!

Art credits @umkochannart on twitter!

A/n - I NEED HIM, SOMEONE PLEASE

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Oh my— fuck! Sir, please we shouldn't be doing this, someone might see!” you stammered, legs trembling as your panties lazily pooled around your ankles. You mewled at the feeling of his hard, cold gear slapping against the mound of your ass, making the flesh ripple against his clothed pelvis. You keened as the wooden table dug into your stomach as you held onto the edge for dear life.

His cock was so thick and long—perfectly curved as it stretches open your tight, compressed walls to alter his girth. He grunts, feeling your tight little pussy eagerly fluttering around his invasive dick as you blabber on and on about your little worries about getting caught. Of course, you minded that a stranger man was destroying your pussy, but that was the least of your worries right now. The thought of getting caught and someone seeing your vulnerable self—almost naked, being pounded against a small table in the supply room by a big solider that's fully clothed, except for the crotch of his pants that's zipped down to free his aching cock, that's currently having your cunt drooling—making a mess all over his thick combat pants, made your mind hazy and your cunt throbbing in both excitement and frustration.

“Aww don't worry bout' that darling—I’ll just kill them for you so they won't say anything, will that be better?” he chuckles, his gloved hands digging into your hips as he deeply thrusts himself inside your dripping pussy relentlessly, fucking every single brain cell out of you. For someone who is “scared”, your pussy sure as hell was soaked and aroused.

He smirked under his skull mask at the feeling of your sweet pussy throbbing in tight circles around his cock to his words. “Oh? What a dirty little slut, does my talking about killing people make you horny? Such a sick little bitch, this pussy is clenching around me like it's fucking addicted to my cock, you a virgin, darling?”

Your eyebrows furred together at his sick wordings, you felt on the verge of losing your mind as the feeling of pure pleasure clouded your mind. “No, M’not!” you whimpered out, your tits grazing against the wooden table as your gushy pussy leaked all over his veiny shaft, every thrust had your pussy coating his cock even more with your filthy juices—as if you were enjoying it, or maybe you were?

“Oh yeah? Well, your cunt sure is fucking tight and warm—squeezing me so hard for someone that's a whore, whaddya say I keep you here and split open this little pussy whenever I feel like it?” he chuckles darkly, a huge palm slapping your bouncing ass as it jiggles against him, you moaned, tears prickling at your tear line as his thick, filled balls slaps against your poor clit, creating even more friction that had you seeing stars.

“No! Sir—can't, you promised you'll let me go after this!” you muttered, feeling so stuffed by the big man’s cock. “Shh, shhh I'm just joking with you doll” he laughs wickedly, perverted eyes moving down to where the two of you were lewdly connected. His eyes fixated on your other little neglected hole, which's already coated with some slick from your pussy. He eagerly pulled off one of his gloves and placed it on the table. You jolted unexpectedly when he stuffed a thumb deep into your mouth, he pressed his weighted chest onto your smaller back—getting closer to you as he whispered, “Get it all wet and lubed up, it's for your own good, darling”, you were confused and oblivious to what he'd be needing his thumb for but obeyed him anyways, not wanting to make the big man angry.

You whirled your tongue around his finger, making sure to get as much spit on it as possible. After, you hummed, letting him know that you were done. He pulled his finger out, sticky drips of spit coating him. Your eyes widen with fear when you felt his fat thumb circling your virgin asshole, he spreads the spit all over the shy, fluttering hole before sinking it in little by little. “Fuck! Sir—please be gentle, never had anything in there!” You yelled as you cried out in pain of your untouched hole getting stretched out. He quickly picked up his glove and shoved it into your mouth when there were footsteps heard thumping outside the room. “For heaven's sake, please shut the fuck up or I’ll really kill someone. I'm not joking darling. You’re mine now and I won't let other eyes see what's mine” he said in a stern tone. He hissed lowly at the feeling of your asshole swallowing his whole thumb in, all the way to the hilt.

“Such a tight little asshole, M’honored I’ll be the first one to break open this pretty ass”. Your muffled cries got louder as he pounded his hefty cock harder into your pussy, making it gushing all over him as he fucked out more and more juices out of your body. Soon the pain turned into pleasure as he started wiggling his thumb inside of you, feeling it exploring your tight walls. Your moan grew sweeter and more fucked out as you felt your orgasm washing over you—his huge cock tip nudging against your G-spot bullyingly, making your mind hazy. He felt it—felt the way your pussy grew more wetter and tighter around his length, taking him in all the way in as he pants. “Fuck darling are you gonna cum? Go on baby, you can cum, cum all over my cock, you slut”. He ordered, letting his thumb hooked into your butthole as he uses three other fingers to rub wet circles around your clit.

You moaned out, standing on your tippy toes as you clenched both holes tighter around him, making him hiss as you squirted all over him—your filthy mess splattering all over his uniform and gear as he fucks more and more juices out of your dirty pussy. He groaned loudly as you made a mess all over him—he never had someone squirting on him before, so it drove him fucking crazy. He lands slap after slap on your ass cheeks—making the flesh red as you whimpered. “Such a messy little whore, you really squirted on a random man you don't even know? You really are a little slut, I'm definitely keeping you darling” he laughs out, feeling his orgasm following him. “I’m gonna stuff this cute little pussy so full of my seed, gonna drain it so deep inside you baby, it'll come out your mouth” The whole room reeked of sex as he towered over you, his massive cock snugly engulfed by your little pussy, so tight and warm for him. He moans louder, splitting out a few curses as he pulled out his thumb out of your ass, making your little hole wink at him at the loss of his finger. He used both hands to grip your hips, holding you steady as he used your body as a little fuckdoll, manhandling your little body to meet his cock halfway as you felt his cock twitching inside of you.

“No please! Sir not insi-” Too late, hot ropes of warm sticky cum spurted into your poor hole, filling it up as your eyes roll back. “Fuckkk, ohh fuckk yesss, such a good little cumslut for me” he moaned out with ecstasy as he emptied into your warm pussy—after so long.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as he stilled himself into you. He bent over once again, his chest and gear touching your back as he whispered to you. “Don't worry sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you, will fucking kill anyone if they dare look in your direction. You'll be mine forever, pretty”.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSWEET GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : COD Men x Fem Reader Part 1

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Do They Eat That Kitty?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Simon "Ghost" Riley, König, Keegan P. Russ, Hiro "Oni" Watanabe, Sebastian Krueger.

☆⁠ NOTES : Minors DNI. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— SIMON RILEY ⋆

Simon eats pussy like he’s got all the time in the world and nowhere else to be. He’s deliberate, slow, methodical—he enjoys watching you squirm under his control. His hands are strong, keeping your thighs spread, fingers digging into your skin as he drinks you in like you’re his last meal. His tongue starts off slow, long and languid strokes that tease more than satisfy, building your anticipation until you’re whining, grinding against his face for more.

And then, when he’s good and ready? He wrecks you. Ghost zeroes in on your clit, his tongue flicking and circling in precise movements that have your stomach tightening in seconds. He groans into you, the deep vibration making your toes curl. His fingers join in, sliding inside you with an agonizing slowness before curling just right, his other hand keeping you pinned so you can’t escape the pleasure. When you cum, he doesn’t let up, working you through every last aftershock until you’re whimpering, overstimulated, and completely spent.

“Good girl,” he rasps, lips slick and eyes burning with hunger. “You’re not done yet.”

— KÖNIG ⋆

König is eager, hungry, and absolutely obsessed with you. He eats pussy like a starving man, diving in the second you spread your legs, his large hands gripping your thighs as he drags you against his mouth. His moans are loud, vibrating against your core as he sucks on your clit like he’s trying to ruin you. He’s messy about it, his face soaked, tongue moving wildly as he devours you without shame.

He doesn’t just use his tongue—he nuzzles into you, his nose pressing against your clit when his tongue dips inside, rubbing against you just right. He’s strong, too—if you try to close your legs, he growls and spreads them wider, keeping you completely at his mercy. His fingers? Thick, long, and relentless, pumping into you with desperate intensity. He murmurs praise between breaths, telling you how good you taste, how perfect you are, his words sending heat straight to your core.

König doesn’t stop after one orgasm. Or two. Or three. He keeps going until you’re trembling, tears pooling in your eyes from overstimulation. He finally pulls back with a breathless chuckle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at you like he’s ready for another round.

“Ach, Schatz… I think I might be addicted.”

— KEEGAN P. RUSS ⋆

Keegan is absolutely focused on wrecking you. He goes straight for it, tongue pressing flat against your clit, dragging up in slow, firm strokes that make your whole body tense. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you open as he groans into you, his breath warm, his movements precise.

But when he really gets into it? He’s a fucking menace. His tongue flicks in rapid circles, lips sucking just enough to have you gasping. His fingers slide inside, deep and firm, thrusting in sync with his mouth, hitting every perfect spot until you’re falling apart. And he watches you—he watches every reaction, every twitch, his dark eyes locked onto your face, making sure he doesn’t miss a second of your pleasure.

Keegan doesn’t stop when you cum. He pushes you through it, dragging you into another, his grip tightening when you try to squirm away. “Stay still,” he growls, voice muffled against your skin. “I’m not done.”

And he isn’t. Not until you’re shaking, whimpering, completely and utterly wrecked. When he finally pulls back, his lips are wet, his smirk satisfied.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, dragging a hand up your thigh. “You’re mine now.”

— HIRO WATANABE ⋆

Oni is patient, deliberate. He treats your pleasure like a ritual, starting slow, hands gliding over your thighs, his breath warm against your skin. He doesn’t rush—he takes his time, pressing gentle kisses along your inner thighs before his tongue finally makes contact. His licks are slow, deep, savoring every moment, making sure you feel everything.

But once he’s sure you’re ready, he shifts. His tongue works you over with practiced precision, circling your clit with firm, controlled strokes, never breaking rhythm. His fingers slide inside, slow at first, then curling just right, hitting that perfect spot over and over until your legs start to shake.

Oni doesn’t just make you cum—he drags it out, pushing you to the brink before easing back, prolonging the pleasure until you’re practically begging him to let you finish. And when he finally lets you go, he doesn’t stop there. He keeps his mouth on you, working you through the aftershocks, drinking in every gasp, every shudder, until you’re completely spent, body boneless beneath him.

He finally pulls away, gaze unreadable, but there’s the slightest hint of a smirk as he murmurs, “Again.”

— SEBASTIAN KRUEGER ⋆

Krueger doesn’t talk.

The moment you’re spread out for him, he’s already there, pressing his mouth against you with a hunger that’s borderline animalistic. His breathing is heavy, his hands gripping your thighs like he’s anchoring himself. He doesn’t bother with slow build-ups—his tongue moves with a firm, unrelenting pace, dragging sharp pleasure through your core with every flick and suck.

He’s rough in the way he holds you down, fingers digging into your skin as if daring you to move. If you try to pull away, if you get too sensitive, Krueger only growls low in his throat and presses his face in deeper, making sure you take everything he gives.

He eats like a man who’s been starving. His fingers fuck into you at a pace that borders on brutal, finding that perfect spot that has you seeing white behind your eyes.

He doesn’t stop when you cum. He doesn’t slow. He just keeps going, dragging you into overstimulation with a focus so intense it’s almost unnerving. And when he finally pulls back, his mouth is slick with you, his eyes burning with something dark and possessive as he tilts his head—silent, unreadable, already planning the next round.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | masterlist

sow

tw: drugging, non/dub-con, somno, implied breeding

He comes to you in dreams with heady breath that bleeds through black cloth to brush against your face like a lover's kiss.

But he is no lover, nor man.

Only monster—you call him Ghost.

Ghost arrives when you're in the slick, airy stage between slumber and consciousness, where everything shines too bright and yet is shrouded in a numbra so thick you swear it will choke you. Nothing but tendrils to morph and dance in your vision as you look up at the wide mass before you.

Each time he visits, he wears a mask. Black, with a chalky skull outline along his nose and where his mouth should be—only his eyes are visible. Pools of water darker than the lowest depths of the ocean, ready to drown you. Ready to feel the way your pulse quickens when held beneath the waves that have consumed him long ago.

He never speaks. Not to you—only to himself in deep growls that your fuzzy brain can scarcely make sense of. When he first came to you all those months ago, he stood at the edge of your bed—foreboding, looming taller than any beast you've ever seen or have yet to see since. You were only able to keep your brain awake long enough to make out the way his jaw dances beneath his mask to murmur the word perfect.

You think nothing of it until you start to wake up sore. It's more than odd bruises along your hips that sting when you poke them—it's the pounding in your head when you rouse, and the swelling of your cunt. Your lip is torn; split down the center. A curious tongue pokes at the blood that oozes from the crack, and it tastes suspiciously like love.

The next time he appears, he is on top of you. Hips pinning yours to the bed, hands on either side of your head, your body jostles. Every shockwave ripples through your body, shaking the fatty tissue along your thighs and stomach—you feel each thrust in your throat.

You groan, and he shushes you.

"Soon," he hisses. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, darkness consuming your vision, but not your hearing. "It'll take soon."

Countless nights pass like this. He comes to you, body joining with yours, murmuring things that aren't meant for human ears—that aren't meant for anyone corporeal. Each time you attempt to speak, you find your vocal cords painfully paralyzed. They die in your throat. Shrivel into useless tissue. All your questions bleed through your tongue to fester, leaving you with a sour taste in your mouth when you wake.

He's not real—your little Ghost. Only the most concerning reoccurring dream you've ever been plagued with.

You tell your friends about this dream. About this strange man who haunts your psyche when you can't quite get your bearings. You speak of his mask, and how he pins you with his gaze alone; how real his hands feel on you. Embarrassment forces you to omit the sensation of his cock and how it pummels you, but share the odd wounds you wake up with. Bitten lips, raw skin.

Their gazes shame you, and you do not speak of it again.

Some childish part of you had hoped that these dreams would cease the moment you spoke them out loud, but Ghost is persistent. He comes again, and again, and again. Hot breath wheezing. Tight throat growling. Firm hands squeezing.

Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon.

There is one night when your dream verges on the edge of reality, finally granting you the opportunity to talk to him.

Your Ghost.

Body rocking, legs bent and hips widened, your chest heaves as you force your eyes open as your question expels from your throat:

"Real?"

Ghost freezes. He stares down at you with the same, dark eyes he always does, and you try your best to keep your gaze locked on him. A shaky hand rises off of the bed, fingertips kissing his clothed cheek as you groan.

"Are you... real...?"

Ghost shrugs your hand off of him. "Sleep."

Unable to keep your eyes open any longer, you follow his order. Eyes fluttering shut, breath sighing from your nose, you allow slumber to capture you in her fickle grasp.

Though, you swear you feel clothed lips on yours and dull teeth piercing into your mouth before she can fully pull you under.

When Simon is finished with you, he stands at the edge of your bed like he usually does. Everything is tight. The knots that dot his back, the tension at the base of his skull—but everything feels quiet when he looks at you. There, in bed, ruined by him. Sleeping soundly, unaware of the apparition who's been taking you as his own for all these months.

Before he leaves, Simon pats the pocket of his jumper, and reminds himself to add more Benadryl powder to your sleepy-time tea mix before he leaves.

He can't have you asking questions like that again—not when he's too busy trying to make you his.

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

--

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

[gloomwitchwrites]

What about the whole 141 ships it or tries to play wingman, but the couple are idiots in love and denial? Lol

The way I SMILED while writing this prompt. I had so much fun with this. Thank you so much for sending it in! This whole thing is just humor, hijinks, and shenanigans. And lots and lots of denial. Enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief alcohol, denial of feelings, shenanigans, humor, fluff, suggestive themes

Word Count: 1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“That,” emphasizes Kyle by pointing in Price’s direction, “is a man in love.”

“It’s like watching your old man attempt to flirt,” mutters Simon.

“You’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Lt?” smiles Johnny.

“Fuck off, Soap.”

Kyle frowns. “Think we should do something?”

Simon side-eyes him. “Like what?”

“Step in?” shrugs Kyle.

“Look at him. I think the captain can handle himself,” replies Johnny, leaning against the doorframe as Price talks with you across the room.

As Price talks, he reaches for his mug. He shoots wide, knocking it over, and spilling the contents everywhere.

“Well…I take that back,” sighs Johnny.

Kyle shakes his head. “I can’t watch this.”

“We should help,” Johnny says over his shoulder. “These two lovebirds need a push.”

Simon snorts. “They’ll figure it out.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they don’t.”

Johnny guffaws. “Hate to be dating you, Lt.”

Simon leans toward Johnny, voice low. “Want to have a go?”

Kyle reaches between the two men, snapping his fingers to get their attention. “Pay attention.” He shakes his head. “Fucking weirdos,” he mutters.

“Fine,” says Simon. “I’ll step in.”

“And do what?” counters Johnny.

“Tell them to kiss already.”

“No,” says Kyle. “No!”

“Too late,” whispers Simon as he walks into the room, heading for you and Price.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Look at those idiots,” sighs Kyle, leaning an elbow on the high-top table behind him.

Price and Simon stand on either side of him, watching as you and Johnny attempt to play pool. Johnny uses the cue stick as a support, both hands clasped over the top of it, chin resting on his hands. There’s a massive smile on his face, eyelids a bit soft as he gazes at you. You are not serene. With hands waving in the air, you appear slightly irritated but also amused.

“He won’t go for it,” replies Simon, crossing his arms over his chest.

“See how close they’re standing?” observes Kyle.

You and Johnny are almost on top of each other. Only one of you needs to lean in to erase all separation.

“Leave them be,” mumbles Price. “They’ll figure it out.”

Kyle addresses Price. “They’re both in love. Look at them. Their seconds away from having it off on the pool table.”

“If they start making out, I’m leaving,” grumbles Simon.

Price cracks a smile. “It’s denial,” he sighs, reaching for the ash tray to move it closer. “Lovebirds don’t want to admit it.”

Kyle shakes his head, turning back to you and Johnny. Johnny is teasing you now, cracking jokes, making you all flustered.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon. “Just fuck already. Give us all some bloody peace.”

Soap tilts his head slightly, whispering something to you that as you smacking his arm and laughing hysterically.

Price knocks back his whiskey. “We need a plan.”

“Agree, Captain,” replies Kyle. He turns to Simon. “You in?”

“You know it.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You look upset, Lt.”

“I’m fine,” growls Simon.

Johnny and Kyle both glance at Simon’s whiskey glass at the exact same time. Simon’s hand is clutching it tightly, knuckles white from the effort.

“Sure about that?” asks Johnny.

“Yes,” snarls Simon.

Johnny’s lips purse, his gaze shifting to a place across the bar. “Wouldn’t be that a certain someone—”

“I told you,” says Simon slowly. “I’m not angry.”

Kyle leans in, lowering his voice. “Johnny and I could chase them off. Give you an opening.”

Simon’s grip on his glass relaxes a bit. The intensity between his brow softens.

Johnny chimes in. “What do you say, Lt?”

Simon rolls his shoulders, straightening his back, the grip on his whiskey class easing completely. “Looks like they need saving.”

Johnny is nodding enthusiastically, already standing, pushing back his chair. He clasps Simon’s shoulder and nods at Kyle.

“I’ll go shepherd them off,” says Kyle, winking at Johnny as he heads in your direction.

“There’s nothing going on between us, Soap,” says Simon.

“Course, Lt,” nods Johnny as Simon gets up from his chair, aiming for you. When you notice Simon, the corners of your mouth upturn into a huge smile. “Nothing at all.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“What?” asks Kyle around his toothbrush.

Johnny and Simon have him cornered in the communal locker room. It’s late, the three of them just in from a quick mission. Simon looms, his stare intense as Johnny crosses his arms over his chest, leaning forward slightly like he knows a secret Kyle doesn’t.

The two men remain silent.

“This is fucking weird,” continues Kyle, his gaze darting between the two of them.

Johnny’s knowing grin widens. “You’ve got a thing for one of the team.”

Kyle blinks. “Price?” he splutters, little droplets of toothpaste shooting in various directions.

Simon chuckles. “The other one, smartass.”

Kyle spits into the sink and rinses the toothbrush under the faucet. “Don’t know what you’re on about,” he mutters.

Johnny steps around to Kyle’s right side, he and Simon boxing him in. “Do you think we didn’t hear the two of you over comms?”

Kyle takes a step back, hands raised. “Just a bit of banter.”

“Banter?” counters Simon. “That was banter?”

Kyle shrugs. “What else would you call it?”

“Flirting,” deadpans Simon

“Verbal fucking,” replies Johnny, just as monotone.

Kyle shakes his head, hands still raised like he’s about to ward off evil. “You have it all wrong.”

“Do we?” asks Simon. “Then explain what happened after we got off the plane.”

Kyle swallows. “Nothing.” Johnny’s knowing grin returns. He scoots closer and Kyle groans, running his hand over his face with annoyance. “Don’t go there, Soap.”

“Are tongues down each other’s throats nothing?”

Kyle places his hand over Johnny’s face and gives him a light shove. “Nothing happened.”

Johnny swats at Kyle’s hand. “Admit it!”

“Should go for it, mate,” says Simon.

“Nothing is going on!” Kyle tosses his towel onto the bench and slides on a pair of joggers. “Leave it.”

Johnny and Simon exchange a look.

“What?” prompts Kyle, shirt in hand.

Johnny leans in, lowering his voice. “Want us to have a chat with them?”

“Fuck off. The both of you.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 2

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samojede (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts and personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

“Fuckin’ hell…” Simon mutters under his breath, face twisting into a deeper frown as both exhaustion and annoyance settle in; etching into his features behind the itchy, damp cloth still covering his face. 

Another giggle bubbles up in your throat, resounds freely around the room as you keep beaming at him from your spot on his couch, though no matter how melodic it sounds, Simon can merely feel his stomach churn and his skin crawl. “Wowee, you sure do cuss a lot, Simon!” 

“Stop calling me that.” Simon deadpans. 

And the curses keep burning and festering on the tip of his tongue, some directed at himself self-deprecatingly, as he simply decides to ignore the stray currently taking up residence in his sacred space. He swallows those insults down. His wet boots squeak on the floor as he turns on his heels and marches towards his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it with finality like some pouty teenager. 

The mask comes off swiftly; uncaring of the sharp pain as he tugs at his own hair harshly, pulling out a few damp, dirty blonde hairs by the roots from his scalp before he tosses the mask onto his neatly made bed, and Simon takes a deep breath. 

He discards his BDU’s methodically, throws his dirty clothes into the old laundry hamper in the corner of the manageable bathroom, and takes a quick shower despite his aching muscles and bones screaming at him for more warmth from the hot water. And even after his quick wash, Simon cannot find it in himself to relax, not when he’s all too aware of the strange intruder currently occupying his living room. 

In spite of the hole in his stomach, the angry grumbling vibrating from its empty pit all up to his chest, Simon goes to bed hungry, though it’s nothing he’s unfamiliar with from his past; he simply refuses to deal with you and he’ll try his damn best to keep the contact to the barest minimum until he’s forced to face you again in the morning to take you back to Price’s office–to let the old geezer sort this messy situation. 

Now Simon lies on his knackered mattress at barely 0830 p.m., stiff as a board, staring at the ceiling in utter darkness; ears strained to pick up every little sound you might be making. For a moment, he wonders if you’re snooping around through his stuff, even though he doesn’t really own many personal belongings or sentimental keepsakes. You certainly don’t give off any of those threatening vibes he can easily pick up on with new people; he simply thinks you too daft to be deceiving. 

As thick as two short planks, Simon muses to himself, snorting softly with a straight face. With your bloody tail and stupid dog ears; way too soft and defenceless, dependant on some stranger to be your bloody handler as if you’re not a grown, capable woman yourself– 

His thoughts get disturbed by a sound he hasn’t heard in a long, a very long time. It’s almost too subtle at first, but it still makes him jerk up in his creaky single bed, causing the prickly military-issued blanket to slip off his bare chest and pool around his hips. Simon hates how his heartrate increases slowly and despises the myriads of emotions crashing over him like a tsunami wave. 

And then he hears it again–a steady, high-pitched yet soft noise; alternating between pathetic whinging and gut-wrenching squeaks. 

Simon tries to ignore it for another moment, closing his eyes to will himself to sleep when it seems you’ve given up, until you pick up right where you’ve left off. 

Heaving his massive body out of his bed nearly silently despite the creaking bedframe and the soft groan escaping his throat, he puts on a pair of tattered sweatpants, its waistband hanging baggy and low on his hips from years of wear, and pairs it with an old Army shirt before leaving the safety of his bedroom begrudgingly to sneak back into the living room. 

There is no need to hide his face from someone who has no common sense to even care about his identity, so he doesn't bother to put his mask back on. 

As Simon walks down the short hallway from his bedroom to the open living room, he notices the change of scent as he keeps approaching with caution. It’s sweet, but not too overwhelming. Flowery and fresh, like chamomile and daisies drenched in honeydew, and it gets stuck on the back of his tongue as he can’t stop himself from inhaling deeply.  

The whining stops as soon as he switches the light back on, tawny brown eyes zeroing in on the spot on his couch where you’d arranged the few cushions into a meagre nest, and when your head pops up from within your little den, blinking at him with twitchy ears and wide eyes, Simon gets triggered and thrown back in time in a way that has his breath stutter momentarily and his chest ache as if hit with a sledgehammer. 

A memory of his late mother flashes in front of his inner eyes; lithe body curled up in a makeshift nest to keep her own cubs safe inside a cold apartment in one of the worse corners of Manchester. But it’s gone in a blink and slips back into the dark, rotten corners of his mind before he can begin to process it properly. 

He hasn't thought about her in too long, and the realization makes the shame even worse as it lodges itself in his throat, choking him slowly but surely. 

“Hello,” you chirp suddenly, pulling him back to here and now, and Simon notices the huskiness to your voice from crying out so much. “Oh! Your mask is gone,” you remark with fluttering lashes and a soft chuckle. “You’re so handsome, Simon–” 

Simon huffs. “O’right, stop,” he grumbles before rubbing a calloused hand over his face, scratching his stubble as he feels an unfamiliar heat rise in his pale cheeks. “Whaddaya doin’? Why are you whinging like some bloody puppy?” 

Your ears flatten, nearly disappear under your hair as you avert your eyes from him, and Simon catches himself wondering briefly how you make those cotton balls hide so easily before he hears you answer ruefully: “I'm scared. I don't like sleeping alone in the dark.” 

Ah, shite.  

Simon stares at you for a moment, unblinking and unmoving; shoulders barely rising with shallow breath.  

“Then sleep with the bloody lights on,” he counters eventually. “I don’t give a shite. I'm no' the one payin' for the fuckin' power bill.” 

The pout on your face makes his nose wrinkle in anger, and he hates that he didn't put on his mask, that he's giving you the privilege to judge his facial expression. He tries to reign them back in, keep his ugly mug more neutral. 

“Can I... sleep with you in your bed?” 

You actually manage to throw him off balance with that. His heart skips a violent beat at your innocent question and casual tone, like you're some damn child scared of the dark, but you're not. You're a grown woman asking to share a bed with a stranger, with Ghost of all people! Don't you know who he is? Did nobody bother tell you or are you really that foolish to care? 

“No.” Simon nearly growls at you, trembling hands balling into fists at his sides to keep himself from ripping his own hair out in frustration. He wants to say more, wants to lecture you, get some sense into your idiot hybrid-brain, but he only manages a curt answer. No.  

Your face drops even more, a soft keening whine reaching his trained ears before you swallow it down with great effort as Simon notices the way your delicate throat bobs. The sound brings back more memories of his mother, and pity along with it. For you, for him, for her. He doesn't quite understand the sentiment and he adds it to the list of things he hates, because he can't control anything he’s feeling right now, because you keep confronting him with it unwittingly. 

What Simon does remember is the way his mother had always found comfort in his father's scent. No matter how much of an abusive prick he was towards her, or her children. The memory makes bile rise in his throat and he swallows it quickly. 

“Here,” he gruffs eventually, reaching for the hem of his worn shirt and pulling it off in one smooth motion; uncaring of the way it leaves his broad, scarred torso bare in front of you. “You can have this, but no more whinging, lass.”  

Pity. It’s pity making him do this, he assures himself; something else he hasn’t felt in a bloody long time. A feeling right up there with mercy. It’s what makes him do it, despite knowing that you shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t need this from him. He isn't your handler, definitely not your friend. Simon is a stranger to you as much as you are to him, and yet– 

The fabric is thrown at your head with unmatched precision, hanging in front of your face for a moment, surprisingly soft and drenched in his heavenly, musky scent, before you slowly pull it off, tail finally wagging and thumping dully against the couch. But when your eyes uncover and you blink to clear your vision, the spot where Simon was standing previously is empty; leaving you lonely, sad and cold once more. 

As Simon slips back into his own bedroom, silent as ever, his jaw clenches tightly when he hears how the soft thudding of your tail stops at once before his door clicks shut behind him, and one thing becomes even more clear to him– 

He needs you gone. 

@lucienofthelakes @kakashiislut @jggykhug09090 @edgarapoecolouredglasses

[swordsandholly]

Double Date - Double Down

NSFW | MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.

A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.

“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.

Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“

“How do you know I’m free?”

“You just said you were!”

You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.

“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“

“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Johnny’s friend will probably-“

“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”

“He won’t-“

“We got a deal?”

She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”

At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.

The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.

“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.

You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…

Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.

“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.

You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.

“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.

You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.

All in all, wayyyy out of your league.

He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”

You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.

Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.

He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.

“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.

“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”

Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.

You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.

“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.

She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”

In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.

“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”

“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”

His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”

You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”

“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”

You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”

He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”

Oh.

*Oh*.

You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”

Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.

“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”

“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?

“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”

You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.

“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”

“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.

He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.

“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.

“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.

Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.

“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.

He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”

“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.

The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?

“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.

“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”

Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”

“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”

“Apparently.”

His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.

Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.

“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.

“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.

You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.

His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.

“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”

He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”

“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”

“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.

“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”

“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”

“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”

“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.

“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.

How convenient.

“Okay.” You whisper.

After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.

At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.

It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”

“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.

Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.

“Simon!”

“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.

“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.

“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.

You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Say it back, doll.”

“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.

You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.

His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”

Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.

Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.

“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.

“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.

He freezes, looking up at you.

“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“

Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”

All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”

The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.

“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.

Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”

“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.

You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.

“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.

“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.

Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-

“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.

Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”

“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.

For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.

“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.

You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.

“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.

You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.

“Good.”

It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.

You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.

Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.

When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.

“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.

Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”

“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.

He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.

It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.

By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.

Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”

“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.

You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”

“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.

“Are you a psycho?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Simon just scoffs at you.

You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”

“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.

You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”

Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.

“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”

[springtyme]

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖! ♡ 𝟏𝟖+ ♡ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

You are being pushed deeper into the soft mattress with each of Simon’s frantic thrusts. The squeaking of the bed echoes through the room, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin, a frantic symphony of urgency and desire.

It is hot and raw, if not downright primal.

The angle at which he’s drilling into you is just right, each powerful thrust connecting perfectly with that sensitive spot inside you that always makes your eyes well up with tears of pleasure and drawing the softest whines of pleasure from your lips.

You are dripping wet, and the adrenaline that is pounding through your body is making everything feel a thousand times more intense.

He is so big, his immense girth stretching you in ways that make your breath hitch. Your hands grasp at the sheets, fingers tangling in the fabric as you fight to find purchase, to ground yourself amidst the waves of sensation crashing over you. The heat radiating between you both intensifies, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. You can feel the pleasure coiling within you, tightening like a spring, each movement driving it deeper.

Simon’s breath is ragged, his focus entirely on you, and the intensity in his gaze only heightens your need, his brown eyes piercing through the haze of pleasure. You arch your back, inviting him to delve deeper, urging him on with soft cries that slip through your lips effortlessly. You’re so close to the edge, and every instinct within you craves release. Simon responds to your signals, quickening his pace, the sound of the bed creaking in time with the rhythm of your bodies becoming a cadence of shared ecstasy.

The way he holds you down, powerful and possessive, sends electric jolts through your system. Your breaths come faster now, mingling with the heat of his body pressing down on you as he digs deeper into you, splitting you open for him. The air in the room feels charged, pulsating with the energy of the moment and the urgency of your intertwined desires.

With every thrust, the pleasure builds, winding tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. You can feel the exquisite tension pooling low in your belly, ready to surge forward like a dam breaking. Each thrust hits your sensitive g-spot, eliciting sharper gasps from you, each note a testament to how good he makes you feel, how he knows exactly how to push you to the brink.

If he can’t give you his love, he can give you this. You will always be greedy when it comes to him. You will always long for more from him, but you know he won’t give it. So you will take what you can get, drawing every ounce of pleasure from this moment, every fleeting second he’s willing to share. As he drives into you with unrelenting vigour, the world outside fades away, leaving nothing but the two of you, lost in this intimate moment of passion.

As he leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, you feel the last tether of control slip away. You know that he is only kissing you because he’s caught up in the intensity of the moment, but you let yourself drown in it, allowing the sensation of his tongue against yours to fuel the undeniable heat pooling within you. It’s reckless and intoxicating, igniting every nerve ending as you respond hungrily to him, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

With a cry muffled by his mouth, you arch your back, feeling the wave of pleasure wash over you, pulling him with you into bliss. Your cunt is clamping down around him, your body quaking as you ride the crest of the exquisite tide crashing through you. Every ounce of tension that has built up explodes outward, sending ripples of sensation across your skin, igniting every nerve ending in a glorious conflagration of pleasure. Simon groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating through you, intensifying the pleasure that grips your body. You can feel the pulsing rhythm of him as you milk every last drop of his release.

As the aftershocks of your climax begin to settle, you feel his movements slow, yet he doesn’t pull away completely. He remains buried deep inside you, as if he’s savouring the warmth of the moment, absorbing the intimacy that envelops you both. His breathing is heavy, an erratic mirror of your own, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, wrapping you in his strong arms, like he is anchoring himself to the moment and to you. A short, silent refuge. A place where time stands still and the world outside fades away.

You will lay here for a while, you always do, but you won’t be saying anything. A part of you is happy that you don’t. It would be too much for you, you think. It would feel too real, and it would hurt all the more in the end. The rhythm of his heartbeat against your bare skin vibrates through you as you fight the sleep that is slowly but steady creeping up on you, because you know that when you wake again he will be gone. He always is.

But you will let the sleep come, if only to savour one last heartbeat before waking to a world that feels a little emptier without him.

[mypoisonedvine]

sub! riley? Sub! Riley? sub! Riley? Sub! riley? sub! riley? Idk, like, maybe, possibly, a sub! riley fic? ya know, please😭

idk is it just me or does it kinda seem like anon wants a sub riley fic? (no it's cool though cause i want it too lmao)

WARNINGS: smut (obviously??? 18+ only), d/s dynamics with femdom, bondage, impact play, ruined orgasm, overstimulation

Your brows furrowed a bit when you looked at him, tied to the bed by his wrists and ankles, and noticed the massive grin on his face. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"You look hot," he announced proudly, and you glanced down at your outfit-- a somewhat uncoordinated assortment of shiny pleather and fishnet-- before looking at him again.

"Of course I do-- you picked all this out," you reminded him.

"But you look even better than I imagined," he sighed. "I can't believe you thought you wouldn't be able to pull it off."

You frowned slightly, wishing he hadn't brought up your first reactions to this Idea: how were you supposed to act stern and dominant when he obviously remembered how shy and nervous you'd been the first time he suggested that you dominate him?

Clearing your throat and crossing your arms, you looked him up and down. He looked good, too-- you liked how vulnerable he was, the way he was visibly overwhelmed with anticipation-- but you decided not to tell him that. "So, um, w-what are you gonna do to me?" he asked.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out, dear," you replied sharply, picking up the riding crop as his eyes sparkled. You decided then that he was having a little too much fun, taking this all not quite seriously enough (because of course he wasn't, it's Riley, when had he ever taken anything seriously?). You decided you needed to get some control back.

You tried not to let your hand shake as you brushed the end of the crop over him, dragging it down his torso, as his eyes quickly darted back and forth from you to the crop. As per usual, he became impatient quickly, and as you teased him with the end of it, he blurted out: "You know you're supposed to--"

You snapped him with it quickly, not too hard, on his stomach; he hissed and jumped slightly. "Of course I know what it's for, dumbass," you frowned, "you think I'm that stupid?"

"N-no, ma'am-- I'm sorry," he sighed.

"Sorry, huh? Then why's your cock so hard?"

"Um, well... can't you be sorry and horny at the same time?"

You laughed a little, but you could tell he knew it wasn't a fun laugh-- it was condescending, meant to make him a little concerned about what you were going to do to him next. "You're gonna find out how sorry you can really be, sweetie," you promised.

The expression on his face after that was just perfect: obviously concerned, yet undeniably desperate. You would've probably agreed to this sooner if you'd known how cute he would look all flustered like that.

You delicately drew the end of the crop up his thigh, noticing the way he tensed up more and more as it moved higher. You brushed the end over his balls, smirking when he bit his lip. "You're... not really gonna hit me there, right?"

You just shrugged, watching him squirm a bit as you moved the crop to ghost over his cock. You pulled it back suddenly, making him wince, but never brought it down; he eventually noticed that you hadn't hit him, and he opened one eye hesitantly to look at you before letting out a sigh.

"You scared me for a second," he mumbled, laughing slightly.

"I think you like being scared," you noticed, dragging the crop through the small puddle of precum he'd made-- then bringing the end up to his face. "Lick that up."

He had to stick his neck out a bit, unintentionally tugging on the restraints around his wrist, but he captured the crop in his lips and carefully licked off the slick fluid.

"You're pretty obedient," you observed as you pulled it away. "You're my good boy, hm?"

"Y-yes," he answered quickly; those puppy-dog eyes of his really sold his answer.

You set the crop down and got onto the bed with him, making him shift slightly as he tried to move closer to you before you'd even settled in your place: that is, between his legs, which wriggled a bit beside you. "Do you think good boys deserve a treat?"

He blinked quickly-- finally, he seemed a bit flustered, and you felt properly in control for once. Then again, it's hard not to feel in control when you've got someone's cock in your hand.

You spit on it first, before wrapping your fingers around his length and-- gently at first-- stroking it from the base to the tip and back. You knew starting slow was the secret to driving him crazy by the end of this... but even you were surprised by how quickly he started to fall apart.

Whenever he seemed to get more desperate, whenever he begged for you or bit his lip subconsciously, you slowed down again-- each time building up speed a bit faster until your hand was a blur... right before starting all over. It was probably only a few minutes of that treatment before he was visibly teetering over the edge.

His moans were different than usual: higher-pitched and needier, it seemed, and he never stopped blushing. And the more you touched him-- especially when you focused on swirling your hand around his tip or gave him some condescending praise like good boy-- the more he squirmed under you, panting and whimpering and tugging on the ropes around his wrists.

"Struggle all you want, baby, you're not going anywhere," you reminded him proudly.

"Can I come?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh, you're so sweet asking for permission," you praised. "Pathetic, but sweet."

He choked a little, shutting his eyes tighter as you kept stroking.

"You're close, huh?" you noticed, making him nod quickly, and you felt his cock flex in your hand-- so you started moving even faster. "You wanna come?"

"Please-- please," he hissed, hips starting to buck into your grasp, and you smiled. As much as you wanted to see him come, you wanted to watch him beg even more.

"Okay," you decided, "then come. Come for me."

Of course, it wasn't so simple. You immediately let go of his cock, watching as he helplessly rocked under you, whining for you to touch him again. "N-no, please," he began to beg, but it was too late: he was already coming anyway, his cock flexing as he shot ropes up over his chest. He wasn't actually crying, but his heartbroken moans almost made it seem like it. "Fuck," he panted in frustration as the high passed-- quickly, of course, with no other stimulation to keep him going.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" you teased with a grin. "I thought you wanted to come."

"I-I wanted you to touch me," he whimpered.

"Oh-- like this?" you offered, grabbing his swollen, leaking cock and beginning to stroke it again-- making his eyes shoot wide open and his body jerk under you.

"N-no, please, fuck, I just--" he gasped, but he cut himself off with a whine through his teeth as you went back to your pace from just a few moments before. "Fuck!"

"Are you too sensitive now?" you cooed sarcastically, squeezing him even tighter in your hand for a moment. He couldn't even answer, he was too busy tugging harder than ever on his restraints-- and you knew he couldn't get away with just ignoring your question like that.

You quickly bent your head down and captured his tip in your mouth, making him moan in a way you'd never quite heard before, equal parts pain and pleasure. "Oh, oh god," he choked out. "P-please, I--"

You suctioned your lips harder until he stopped talking, still stroking his length but letting your tongue swirl and tease his slit. A few more drops of come leaked into your mouth, and you hummed at the taste.

"Please, it's-- it's too much," he begged, but you kept going for another few moments before pulling away with a grin.

Your gaze met his; he was basically red all over now, his fists clenched tight, his lips open and panting, his eyes wet and glassy and desperate-- and a little terrified. Not to mention he was covered in come and helplessly tied to the bed. "Oh, baby," you cooed encouragingly, "you've got a long night ahead of you. But you want more, don't you?"

He swallowed thickly, but nodded: "Yes, ma'am."

[where-dreamers-go]

Quick question regarding the prequels to the Riley Poole insert reader series that goes through the first movie.

[tojisun]

simon riley x f!reader - smut; hinted d/s dynamics; oral but like—

messy.

so, so messy, but simon’s cowed by his admiration that he bypasses the way your drool slips past your mouth, staining your chin and mussing up your white button up, making the thin fabric go sheer as it sticks onto your skin in something that is truly so hypnotic.

it’s hot — this is hot.

the way you can barely give a proper head, all lips and spit, is hot. and simon knows that you are not used to being the giver; that you’ve been with a lot of partners who have spoiled you — simon still remembers the first time, and how there is something experienced in the way you gripped his hair and tugged him into your core, whining as his breath tickled your sensitive folds. you were never expected to give back and simon is fine with that. simon is perfectly fine to keep the tradition; to overwrite your past experiences with his tongue, but you begged.

you had asked so nicely, so politely, if he could fuck your throat. you were hesitant, not shy about it though, and asked as you batted your eyelashes if simon could pretty please teach you. use you. ruin you. and who is simon to deny that?

the drive to his flat was a blur but here you are now, slobbering all over his cock, not knowing when to swallow in more of him without grazing your teeth along the sensitive underside of his length, not knowing when to suck without choking.

but oh how your efforts endear him.

you’re so desperate for it, cheeks all splotchy as you cry because of course. a spoiled brat like you would fall into subspace just at the act of being put on your knees. it had been too easy, too quick — all it took were crooned words and simon’s hand cupping your cheek before you trembled and succumbed into the calling.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he murmurs, feeling feverishly warm. the windows are all fogged up, the heater is blasted high, and sweat pools from his temple but simon doesn’t dare stop you. it’s not the nicest head he’s ever received but damn if it isn’t the hottest. if it isn’t the best.

it’s intoxicating — seeing you try so hard like simon would ever love you less for not knowing how to suck a dick.

there is… power in this. and simon is drunk on it. and simon is heady because of it.

and simon, cock painfully hard, wants to cum.

“s’good f’r me, love. so beautiful. so perfect.” his voice curls, rumbling into a pleasured moan. he pinches your chin, drawing you to look up. the action pulls out his cock from where the head was nestled in the back of your throat, leaving it to rest on the top of your tongue.

“m’gonna cum,” simon utters, and he sounds awed and broken. “an’ you’ll swallow it all f’r me, won’t you, pretty?”

a hum pulses around his cock in reply and simon hisses, eyes squeezing close for a heartbeat as it almost catapults him into his release.

jesus.

love really does make everything feel good.

“fuck, baby,” he rasps out, chest heaving, his sweaty hair all matted into his skin. “god. y’ready f’r it?”

you nod, a desperate little thing, before sniffling as tears continue to pour from your pretty eyes. simon can’t help it and he croons, something that is almost a little mean, but please don’t blame him? he’s at the precipice of his ecstasy, so close that it is bloating in the underside of his belly, ready for the fever to break.

he pulls out even more, his cock all shiny from your spit, and leaves just the head resting on the inside of your lips. you curl them readily around him, anyway, before sucking lazily. the soft curl of your tongue teases his slit, and your eyes, unwavering as they gaze upon him, crinkle in delight, and this.

this is what makes him cum.

he goes with a hissed cuss, his hands gripping the sides of your head as he tips his own back in the explosion of his pleasure. it’s like a punch in his gut, a sort of ripping that is resonating through him in cataclysmic waves.

god. fuck. damn it.

this is.

too good.

just—

the storm surge dies and simon dances into his consciousness again. he feels so heavy, so relaxed, and when he turns to meet your gaze again, he can’t really blame himself for the startled twitch in his dick because you’ve dropped his cock, leaving your mouth open to show him how full it is of his spunk.

then, you close your maw and swallow with a delighted hum.

simon shouldn’t really be surprised because you’ve always begged for his cum, but seeing it gulped this way instead of being pumped in your pussy makes his already-parched throat dry up even more.

“c’mere,” he grunts out, before desperately pulling you to his lap to kiss you. he devours your quiet laughter, tongue meeting tongue, and tastes himself with every swipe.

“s’your turn,” you gasp out on his lips. “wanna cum now, please.”

“yeah,” simon rumbles, his big hands moving from your hips to your ass, one dipping even lower to press at the wet spot of your bare pussy.

“i’ve got you,” simon whispers amidst your impatient mewls. “i’ve got you now.”

[evilgwrl]

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (Eight)

CW: Oral sex (f receiving), PIV sex (no protection), creampies, praise, hickies, spit swallowing, Simon leaves without verbally saying anything

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

You were sickly warm, sweat pooling at your pores as he laid you on the plushness of his sheets, the drive home was cut minutes short by his erratic driving, his fingers gripping leather, burning it into the print of his hand.

You could feel him everywhere, the musk from his skin seeping into your veins as Simon kissed you, teeth nibbling against your bottom lip with aggravation. Aggravation that he wasn’t inside you, feeling you wrapped around him.

Your clothes were littered around the room, discarded into messy piles, lace panties being the only thing between the two of you. His teeth were at your neck next, grazing before he bit down gently, a delicate moan pulled from your mouth as your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Simon please- I need you.”

He laughed quietly, “I gotta get you ready first, okay? Gotta make sure you can take it.”

Nimble fingers were tugging down your undergarments, drenched in both your slick and the dampness from your skin. Simon was filthy, bringing it up to his face as he breathed in your scent before he was diving between your thighs, tugging them apart with ease as he licked up your vulva, the tanginess of your wetness collecting on his tongue as he moaned, muffling his mouth into your cunt.

You stuttered out his name in your sex-drunk state, already fuelled by your demand for him. His tongue was rapid, slurping up your juices with vehemence, nose budging against your sensitive clit before he was dipping it into his mouth, warmth engulfing your pussy as he swirled the muscle around it.

The room was filled with the wet gush of your cunt, his pants against you sending you into overdrive as you gripped onto his hair, grinding against him with a demand to come.

“Fuck- fuck Simon, too much-“

You were so sensitive, so overworked as you felt two fingers nudge at your entrance, pushing into the wet canal with ease as he felt around your pillowy walls, enjoying how constricted and tight you were. He found your sweet spot quickly, rubbing against it as you writhed on the bed, your legs thrown around buff shoulders.

You could feel yourself coming undone, your pussy spasming as he filled every sense with himself, his tongue trailing between your folds and nub as he wrecked you on his long digits. You felt stuffed, pussy filled with his scissoring fingers as you choked on the air, your head thrown back into a pillow.

“That’s it, taste so fucking good, prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen,” your neighbour slurred, tipsy on the pure taste of you. His words were enough, spiralling you into an orgasm as your back arched, spine bent with pleasure as your thighs shook, drenching his mouth with your slick as he continued his movements, fucking you through your orgasm until you were screaming in overstimulation.

He was quick to pull you into a kiss, working his mouth against yours, the tang of you diving into your tastebuds as you whined against him. Simon’s cock was hard, resting proudly in his boxers, a large, wet stain next to the bulging tip.

“Please fuck me,” you swallowed, looking into his eyes with intensity as he nodded, pulling your neck back to mark. Your fingers were strained, pulling down his briefs as his cock sprung out, length slapping against his stomach. He was intimidating, barely being able to fit him in your mouth.

Your eyes were wide, lashes flickering as you stared at his cock, drool collecting in the pool of your mouth.

“You can take it,” he cooed, lifting your head up to look at him before pushing you back, your back flush against the bed as he climbed over the top of you, a hand on his member, the other beside your head. Simon was painfully hard, his dick flushed a deeper colour, veins throbbing with release as he teased your cunt, pushing the tip between sloppy folds, collecting the slick that coated your hooded clit.

Your body tensed as he nudged against your hole, the burn sizzling through you as you whined. His eyes were dark, treasuring the way your face scrunched, your teeth trapped in your bottom lip.

“Relax for me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against your forehead as you gripped onto his shoulders, pulling him flush against you in an attempt for comfort. You nodded against his chest, feeling the stretch as he pushed into your gummy walls, pussy squeezing him like a vice as he groaned.

His hips stuttered, bottoming out inside of you as your breath hicked, airy groan leaving your lips as you scratched at the tender skin on his back. Simon was like a madman, the feeling indescribable as he pulled out before slamming back in, relishing in the way you gripped around him.

“Fuck – you’re so fucking tight-“

Your mouth was jutted open as he worked up a quickening pace, the squelch of your pussy merged into the sound of your breathy moans, hot whines settling in your chest as he grunted. A coil of pleasure wracked through you as he nudged against the exact spot that led you to lose control.

“Right there – right there, Si, please,” you cried, digging into his muscles, freckles of blood pooling under your nails.

You didn’t have to tell him twice, his pace feverish as he worked into you, collecting your anticipation along his length as you shuddered underneath him. You were fucked out, coming completely undone as he pleasured you, enjoying the way you clenched against him. Your mouth was wide open as he spat, holding your cheeks in place as he commanded you to swallow, your mouth instantly closing as you obeyed.

His hips began to falter as the coil in your belly heated up again, spiralling your muscles as you babbled incoherently. “Si- gonna come,” you whined as he clutched onto your neck, the restriction only adding to your need for release as you choked, spluttering out a sob as you orgasmed, milking his cock as he groaned.

“Jesus – fuck-“ he swore, his tip kissing your cervix as you writhed beneath him, tits jiggling with intensity before he stopped deep inside you, hot spurts of come leaking into your messy cunt as he groaned, resting his forehead against yours in a sweaty heap.

Your chests heaved in unison, a giggle leaving your lips as he pulled out, collapsing next to you. His spend leaked from your achy cunt, clit throbbing as you radiated heat. Simon was quick to get up, his naked body glistening with perspiration as he walked to the bathroom, wetting a towelette for you.

Your body sunk into the sheets, a quick euphoria of slumber overtaking you as he wiped you down, your eyes moulding into darkness as you turned, hugging a pillow that was quickly replaced with his body. Simon felt complete, for once. The comfort of someone surrounding him allowing him to relax. He felt fine.

He was fine.

Until his phone rang, the familiar name listed under Price sending a deep shiver through him.  

“Hello?” He grumbled, voice slick with annoyance as he rested a hand against your ear to muffle any noise.

“Got an urgent mission come up, need you at base in 45 minutes.”

“Ok. See you in 45.”

The encounter was short as Ghost rubbed his face, contemplating whether or not he should wake you or let you sleep. His duffle bag settled at the door, the heap of his job weighing on him as he took in your sleeping figure, your mouth nestled open with slight snores.

His handwriting was messy, a quick note reading, ‘Been called on deployment. Not sure when I’ll be back. Didn’t want to wake you. You can use the spare key I left on the side to lock up. – S’.

And like that, he was gone. The house was empty, eerily quiet. Like he was never there.

A Ghost.