#cockney accent right there

[moonchild-in-blue]

Random thought I had last night. Genuinely think they're both equally outlandish - which is just ridiculous in itself if you think about it.

[thesearchforbluejello]

Okay first of all it apparently rolled out months ago and even though my app is set for automatic downloads, I just got it, but THE DUOLINGO OWL MAKES A SOUND NOW?!?!?!

The sound immediately made me think of the Moopsy, which is SO on brand.

But this better not be a Geico gecko situation because as a millennial I am old enough to remember the gecko commercials from before he talked in all of them, and how much LESS ANNOYING they were. I am begging for Duo to never actually talk.

[overlyattachedto70s-sitcoms]

watched auto focus last night. why. did i do that to myself.

[morninkim]

Rise of the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers - Rito Revolto & Mordant

A mercenary for hire and his accountant who handles his space finances, meet Rito Revolto and Mordant!

Rito was hired by Count Dregon almost a year ago as an extra warrior. His ruthless fighting style, nonchalant attitude and willingness to do almost anything if it means he gets paid proved useful to the Count's cause. However, Rito defects from Dregon when it looks like the warlord will be defeated by the combined forces of the Power Rangers and the Masked Rider, meaning he wouldn't get paid anymore.

Mordant joined up with Rito a few years ago, seeing him as a steady contract that makes him money so he can maintain his cybernetics. He now makes more than enough, but sticks around because he knows Rito would make terrible financial decisions without him.

Shortly following the departure of Dex from Earth, the two are approached by Goldar as a representative of Lord Zedd and offered a deal. Destroy the Power Rangers and Zedd will give him the Power Coins as a reward. Though the Dark Specter would never, in fact, actually give up the Power Coins to a random mercenary, Rito accepts the bluff, despite Mordant's best advice.

Rito then joins up with the growing ranks of Lord Zedd (or "Edd" as he calls him), surprised to see Scorpina also among them. Once again, Mordant is stuck tagging along with his client, against his better judgement.

[frogplayingguitar]

“ion know n ion give a fuck imma let be what is”

[spiralsketchbook]

Wish someone had warned me about the number of semis Griffins voice acting was gonna give me before I started listening to TAZ.

[rosetta-j-stone]

Gonna tell the next generation this was Del Boy and Rodney in Only Fools and Horses

facebook, 2021

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Do you ever think about poor Nik, having learned English from textbooks and maybe some American media here and there and all that, suddenly being faced with Brits / specifically John Price, pronouncing things somewhat differeng and having all those British terms that Nik has never heard of. Why the fuck are Brits putting blankets on pigs and why is John asking him whether he's ever had that!!

The man knows eight (8) languages, so it's likely it's not even his second language, but his fourth or fifth. Mad intelligent, but yeah, you're so right.

I work with a few foreign nationals who have told me that, sometimes, speaking to me is like hearing English through a carnival mirror; the words are familiar, but what the hell do they mean in that order? It's usually when my brain has switched to Jack Mode out of professional mode, and I am absolutely not paying any attention.

I can imagine Price does the same. Same way that Johnny tones down his accent, I headcanon that Price toned down his Liverpudlian twang, but sometimes he'll absolutely slip up, and Nik'll hear him use "devoed", "clobber" and other weird phrases that he's pretty sure contain words that aren't in the Bible.

There's only one person who can understand Price when he goes Full Liverpool: Ghost, who goes Full Mancunian in response, and Nik's sitting there while they're...

P: Gonna jib this off, and go fer bevvy and scran on me bill, unless yer down, la?

G: Gaggin' fer a pint, but can't, 'm brassic, got reports to finish and that. Can I cadge a ciggy?

P: Naw, I've only got abar four bifters left, like.

G: Ah, yer dead snide, sir.

Nik, looking at Gaz for help, who is just smiling like the Cheshire Cat because he's packing cockney rhyming slang up his sleeve, so Nik better buckle the fuck up.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

An Amazing First Kiss - Hobie Brown X GN Reader

Title: An Amazing First Kiss

Hobie Brown X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's friend (Mentioned)

WC: 1,651

Warnings: Try at writing a Cockney accent, Reader's nervous, italics, Reader's nervous about first kiss, Hobie is the best boyfriend, hurt/comfort idk?, nicknames, teasing, banter, flirting, mini angst, very brief mentions of lying, and fluff

To cut right to the chase, you were dating the amazing, and super lovable, Hobie Brown. You met him when he was performing with his band at some pub with your friend, and you just couldn't look away from him. His charisma, how easily he seemed to draw people to him, his passion for music, and just the way he’d spot you in the crowd. It made you feel as if no one else existed in the world, except you and him.

His dark brown eyes - even though they were covered by his Spider-Punk mask - had found yours in the crowd. He, too, was unable to look away. The way you softly danced in spot, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Your friend's arm linked with yours, your friends jumping up and down with more enthusiasm, but you drew him in; entranced him. It wasn't long until the two of you started seeing each other, going out for dates and whatnot. And it wasn’t long until the both of you started dating, and he revealed his secret identity to you.

Everything was perfect, except that you were very nervous. You were worried that Hobie might want to kiss you soon. And it's not that you don't want to kiss him. You did… You really did. And you would, eventually. But, at the moment, you just weren't ready. But it seemed that Hobie was. Only last week, he tried ‘the lean in’. But you were quick to come up with some sort of excuse. But, it was coming to a point where you hated lying to him and not talking to him about it. You didn’t want him to think that he was doing something wrong or that you weren’t interested or attracted to him.

The first time he tried to lean in, you had been sitting on the couch together, in his loft, watching a movie. Well, you weren't really paying much attention to it, and neither was Hobie.

"'is movie's bit boring, innit?" He muttered, his arm resting over your shoulders, his fingers randomly drumming along your forearm to an irregular beat. 

"Not the best movie I've seen, no," You agreed, glancing at him, "But it's entertaining to a degree."

Looking down at you, he continued, "'is guy a bit of a git 'ough." Hobie randomly gestured towards the screen where the main character was fighting with his brother.

“I agree…” Looking up at him, your words began to trail off when you noticed how close your faces were to one another. Looking into his beautiful brown eyes, you felt your stomach flip flop. However, you began to inwardly panic as he began to lean in. Red, flashing lights blared inside your mind as you froze and jumped out of his arms and off the couch. Letting out an awkward chuckle, you gestured down at your watch. "I have to go... Uh... Feed my cat." You stumbled over your words, making your way to the front door. Opening the door, you turned to give him a nervous grin, "I'll see you tomorrow, love you!"

“Love you…” As the door shut, Hobie let out a deep sigh, falling back upon the couch. Raising his legs up, he propped his feet on the coffee table. Why did you leave like that? And when did you get a cat?

~~~

A couple of weeks later, you were back in Hobie's loft, baking cookies. You hummed along to the song that Hobie was playing on his guitar in the other room, your thoughts drifting elsewhere as you worked. You didn't know how much time passed, or when Hobie stopped practicing, but as his arms wrapped around your waist, you couldn't help but smile. 

"Wha’ are you makin' 'is time?" He asked, resting his chin on the top of your head as you pressed the heart-shaped cookie cutter into the dough.

"I think you know what I'm making, Hobie." You sputtered out a small laugh, "It's quite obvious." 

He let out a small chuckle, before asking, "Well, 'ow many are you makin’ 'en?" 

"About ten, I think? I won't know until I cut them all out." You patted his hand on your stomach briefly, “And you’re not eating them all like last time.”

Hobie hummed as he pulled away from you, his fingers brushing your waist as he did so, causing a shiver to run down your spine; heading to the stove, he grabbed the kettle, "You want some rosy?" He asked, setting the kettle on the burner, and turning it on. 

Glancing over at him, he was already looking at you, leaning against the counter beside the stove, arms crossed. His gaze was warm, and his grin was - as always - breathtaking. You returned his smile, "Sure, thanks. That would be nice. Do we still have Earl Grey?" You asked before going back to the cookies as Hobie went to fetch the milk and sugar, humming softly to himself.

“‘Ave no scooby-doo.” He answered, before searching around in the cupboards, pushing other boxes of tea around until he spotted the Earl Grey, grabbing the tea box.

Reaching over your shoulder, his chest pressed into your side, Hobie grabbed the sugar from the counter near you. Looking up at him, you were surprised to see him still looking at you. There was that look again, the one that made your insides just turn into mush. But, as if in slow motion, he began to lean in. Quickly, you turned to look back down at the cookies, his lips pressing a kiss into your warm cheek; the coolness of his lip ring sending goosebumps over your skin.

Hobie pulled back, titling his head at you, his eyebrows narrowing as you slid the cookies into the oven; pursing his lips. Hobie was beginning to really wonder now. You seemed reluctant to kiss him, which made Hobie wonder if he had done something wrong. Did he do something? Say something? Did you just not want to kiss him? Hobie snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of the screeching kettle.

Now, Hobie wasn't one to keep quiet about things bothering him. After pouring both him and you a cup of tea, he joined you on his couch. Setting both the cups on the coffee table, Hobie turned himself in his seat to face you, his arm resting on the back of the couch.

"Let's cut to 'e chase, yeah? 'Ave I done some'nin wrong?" He asked you, a slightly concerned expression crossing his features. 

Your shoulders slumped and a small, sad smile formed on your face as you looked down. "No. You haven't done anything wrong, H." You looked over at him, your sad smile turning into a frown upon meeting his eyes, "I... Uh, I don't think I'm ready to kiss yet." You knew Hobie wouldn’t break up with you because of this, but it was an irrational fear that your brain liked to tease you with.

Hobie, though, tilted his head, looking confused at this response. Noticing your frown, the unleashed tears in your eyes. Hobie moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. You melted into his embrace, relaxing in his grasp as you let out a sigh of relief. He gave you a reassuring squeeze. "I 'ough' you just didn't want to kiss me, or some'nin' like 'at." 

You shook your head at his words, nuzzling your face into his chest, "No, I... I just don't think I'm ready to kiss anyone right now... I think sometime in the future I will be ready, I don't want you to think that I just won't kiss you ever."

At this, Hobie chuckled, lightly squeezing your shoulder. "Ya silly, luv." He teased, "You should know 'at it's fine. We ain't rushin' into anythin'. You’re stuck with me. I’m not gonna jus’ up and leave ‘cause you ain’t ready to kiss me."

Nodding your head, you gently pulled yourself out of his embrace, looking up at him. "Thank you, Hobie."

"Anytime, luv." He said, moving to lie down on the couch, opening his arms to you. You gladly climbed on top of him, laying your head on his chest; cuddling with Hobie always felt like home. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm under your ear, a comforting sound that made the world outside seem distant and unimportant. 

Leaning up on your arms, you looked down at him, "You're amazing, you know that, right?" Grinning, he reached up and ruffled your hair, causing you to scrunch up your nose. "Oi, don't mess up my beautiful locks," You laughed, jokingly swatting his hand away.

"An' I'm always amazin’. ‘Ough’ you knew ‘at ‘bout me already." He said with a wink, causing you to giggle. 

Staring down at him, you silently admired him. His dark complexion, chocolate brown eyes, high cheekbones, the piercings on his eyebrow and lip. Suddenly, you had an idea. "Hobie, honey, I’ve got an idea." You stated, grinning.

The tall boy sat up with you, a slight tilt of his head and an intrigued look on his face, "What's 'at?" Shifting on his lap, you leaned forward and took his face into your hands, his cheeks soft under your gentle touch. Giving him a small smile, you leaned forward. You shut your eyes before the tip of your nose bumped into his. Softly, you shook your head, giggling, your nose rubbing against his in an nose kiss. As you opened your eyes again, you saw Hobie staring back at you, his eyes half-lidded. A smirk played across his features, "Wow, luv." He whispered.

"Pretty amazing first kiss, eh?" You joked, your hands dropping from his cheeks, and reaching for his hands; interlacing your fingers with his.

"Oh, very amazin’ indeed." He said, bringing your hands to his lips, and kissing each knuckle. “Maybe even more amazin’ ‘an me.”

~~~

Main Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[python333]

im in love with your content omg😭 your writing style is just chefs kiss

can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?

its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3

pardon? — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 2.6k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!

“—eah, and now we have to camp out here ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do it ‘imself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if they’re willing to leg it out of here with us,” An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.

You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent you’d been using for the past five minutes you’d been talking to this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” You agree, clearing your throat before asking, “You know where the others are stationed?”

“You don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

“Mate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,” You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, “I just know I’ve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.”

The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if we’re in the same platoon, don’t you—” 

You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of. 

You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you. 

“[c/n], how copy?” Price’s voice crackles through on your ear piece. 

You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, “Copy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.”

“You were there for five bloody minutes,” Gaz’s voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, “How’d he already catch onto you?” 

“The British are smarter than I thought,” You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like they’d snap if someone sneezed on them too hard—perfect for climbing up.

You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but don’t say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder. 

“Reminder that there’s three British people with you, currently,” Ghost’s deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell he’s whispering into his mic, “All of which are very smart.”

“I caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, don’t fuckin’ talk right now,” You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like it’s going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and you’ll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up. 

“They were circles,” Ghost says, exasperated, “I didn’t know if that made a difference.” 

“I thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,” You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder. 

“Yeah, L.t,” Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that he’s running, “Thought ye Brits were s’possed to ken everything ‘bout tea.” 

You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.

You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle you’d been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up. 

You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that it’s aiming directly at one of the soldier’s heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get into—but doing this didn’t change much.

Regardless of if you got in or not, he would’ve died, and the others would’ve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.

You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, “The guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot ‘im down.” 

“I don’t think we need to get in just yet,” Price hums, “But maybe in a minute.” “M’kay,” You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemy’s conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.

The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier you’d eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what they’ll do once they’re on leave—like they would be able to do that after you completed your assignment—and just some general team camaraderie.

The lackluster subjects of their conversations weren’t bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about. 

It was their stupid accents you hated. 

Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents aren’t stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents you’d heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.

They used slang words that you’re certain you’ve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didn’t even make sense—you heard one of them use the words, verbatim, ‘Don’t get stroppy’. Stroppy? Stroppy? 

You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation they’d just started up. 

“—eah, ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethin’ to happen,” One of the soldiers scoffs, “I’m telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runnin’ ‘round out here, I’m legging it from ‘im immediately.” 

You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isn’t that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?

“You’re legging it?” The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, “What happened to you chattin’ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?” “All that’s irrelevant when the fuckin’ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkin’ people like he’s been doing for the entirety we’ve been here, mate,” The first soldier laughs, “You think I wanna be here when he does that?” 

“Don’t act like a prat about it, man—fuckin’ talking’ like you can outrun him.” “A prat? I’m not—” You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.

A prat? Legging it? Can’t be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, “I need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.” Immediately, Price’s voice rings through, “What? What is it? What happened?” “The soldiers are British and I can’t tell what they’re saying,” You answer, ignoring Price’s relieved sigh on his end, “I need help.” “Jesus, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Alright, what do you need help with?” 

“Figuring out what they’re saying.” This time, you hear Gaz’s voice crackle through, “Well, you’ve got three British people here—tell us what he’s saying.” 

“One of the guys was talking about ‘legging it’ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost ‘murking’ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a ‘prat’ about it and he got all offended,” You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return. 

“They’re just saying they’re gonna run away if they see Ghost because he’s been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is like…” Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, “Someone who’s kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.” 

“They couldn’t just say that?” You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Price’s voice cuts through, “Go ahead and shoot the guy down. I’m ready to head in.”

“Got it,” You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, “Shooting him now.” 

You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.

You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers. 

They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, “Price, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.”

Wordlessly, they do as they’re told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gun’s aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing it’s functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open. 

“Thanks for that,” Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price. 

“Uh huh. Of course,” You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap. 

“Are they in?” Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. There’s no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk. 

“Yeah, they’re in,” You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, “Didn’t you hear the sirens?” 

You can see Soap’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well. 

“I did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,” He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, “It’s a surprise seeing you here.” 

“Imagine how I feel,” You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, “Ghost, you don’t wanna join us on the rooftops?” 

“Absolutely not,” He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soap’s grin grow, “I’m perfectly fine on the ground.” 

“Where are you?” You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, “I feel like I haven’t seen you this whole time.” 

“I’m just behind the facility,” Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, “I’m gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case there’s anyone left.” 

“You’ve been behind the facility this whole time?” Soap’s voice cuts through, surprised by the fact. 

“Mhm,” Ghost hums. 

“It’s a bit boring back there, innit?” Gaz’s voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, “You can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.” 

“Fucking faffing around?” You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle. 

As if he can read your mind, Price’s voice comes through, “Faffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].” 

You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, “You couldn’t just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?” 

“It’s not silly,” Gaz says, his frown audible, “They were faffing around.” 

“Jesus, fuck,” You breathe out, laughing lightly, “It’s totally silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s—” 

“I just want one day where you two don’t start up stupid arguments like this,” Price’s tired sigh comes through, “Just one day, I beg of you both.” 

“Aw, Captain, we were just faffing around,” You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic. 

“That is absolutely not how you use that,” Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voice—from your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought. 

“It sounded natural to me,” You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you. 

“You’re insufferable,” Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, “Never use British slang again, please.” 

“What if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?”

“Nothing can fix what you’ve said today, [c/n].”

“Well that’s dramatic,” You scoff, “I’ll learn British just for you guys.” 

“Holy shit, please stop talking,” Price’s exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, “You’re both insufferable. Drop it.” 

“… I don’t think I will,” You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, “I’ll use Duolingo or something to learn it.” 

“British isn’t a language you learn, you muppet,” Price grumbles, making you snort. 

“Muppet?” 

“It’s someone who’s dumb and clueless and can’t take a hint, like you,” Ghost defines, “And Soap, most of the time.” 

“Daen’t go draggin’ mae into this,” Soap’s voice quickly cuts through, “I haven’t said onything.” 

“Uh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?” Gaz argues, ignoring Price’s protests for him to stop arguing, “About Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?” 

“Oh, I’ll have you all know—” 

“Ghost, don’t start—” 

You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that they’d be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.

[fyodors--ushanka]

Simon riley x reader

Warnings: mating/breeding kink (??), choking, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap the willy, don't be silly.)

Synopsis: you make a joke but it doesn't go as planned.

Word count: 1086

You can't help but be utterly infatuated by the man you've come to love; Simon Ghost Riley. He's tough on the outside, often silent or cruel. And it's true.

Tall men have big dicks.

You made a joke about it.

“Hey Si, I heard about this rumor—tall men have big dicks. And you're tall—but sometimes I don't think it's true, at least with you.” It was just a short jab, harmless, right?

Right?

Not really.

He shoots a half-assed glare at you, that oh so familiar skull mask that typically covers his face nowhere to be seen. “You sure about that, doll?” He asks in that firm, cockney accent. Something about it sends your heart rate through the roof and makes heat pool between your legs. It was supposed to be a jab. A joke. Your throat dries, a fluttering feeling in your stomach. “I mean, you can find out. If you want to, of course.” You swallow, your heart feels like it's gonna explode, your breath quickening. You lick your lips, nodding meekly.

He stands, walking over to you. He nearly towers over you by a foot. He cups your face in his hands, slowly backing you up against the wall. Your legs nearly give out on you. “Words, doll. Yes, or no?” You suck in a sharp breath. “Yes.” You respond in a quiet tone. “Good.” Is all he responds with. His hand drifts down your body, his rough calluses brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. He leaves it there for a minute, squeezing just enough to restrict your airway slightly. You swallow, hands trembling slightly because it feels good. His other hand drifts down to your hips, squeezing slightly.

He rubs his hardening cock against your hip, just to say ‘look what you've done.’ The hand on your neck drifts down your thigh, coming up under your skirt. He rubs against the damp material of your panties, sending shock waves through your entire body. “Remember princess, you asked for this.” He withdraws his hands, resting them on your waist. He slowly guides you to your shared bedroom, the grey walls and black curtains a nostalgic sight. You take a moment to admire the fact that those pretty black silk sheets would be ruined.

Boneless and braindead, you allow him to set you down. He pushes you onto your back, crawling up the bed, hands placed on both sides of your head. His legs are between yours and yours wrap around his waist. He places a rough kiss onto your lips, filled with tongue, teeth clashing against each other. His cock rubs against your cunt, the friction sending delicious pleasure through your body. “That joke earlier—you wanted this, didn't you?” He asks through clenched teeth and ragged breaths.

He sits back on his knees, unzipping his pants and pulling his dick out. Your eyes widen—it's so big. You swear it's got to be 9 inches. It's thick and uncut. He moves your panties to the side, rubbing his tip through your slick. “Mh, fuck, Doll…you're gonna be so tight.” He mumbles. He begins to push in slowly, the mushroom tip stretching you near painfully. How is this man not a pornstar?

His touch is like fire dancing across your skin, a bruising force on your hips as he slowly bottoms out. He bites his lip to suppress a deep, guttural moan, eyes rolled back. Your cunt clenches and spasms at the intrusion, a choked moan escaping as your mind switches between breathing and not breathing. A shiver runs throughout your body at the pleasure coursing through your veins, red, hot damn lust clouding your mind, your judgement. How had it escalated so quickly?

He pulls his hips out, tip catching on your spasming and clenching walls. “Shh..easy baby.” He mumbles, rubbing your hip gently. “Remember, you asked for this. That joke was out of line. You deserve this.” His voice is like a grounding element in this intimate moment. He exhales a breath, pulling out so only his tip remains. He thrusts; hard and deep, hip bones meeting the plush of your ass.

His tip nudges your cervix, making a sweet, near pornographic moan leave your plump, pink lips. “Fuck—Si—baby—” you choke out, bearings lost in the haze of lust and greed. A joke. A joke caused this.

A hand that rested on your hip drifts up your body, wrapping around your throat, constricting your airway. “Mh..fuck—you're so tight—shouldn't have made that joke, doll.” He says between short grunts and deep thrusts. It's all too much and too little at the same time. The hand on your throat keeps you in place as his rough thrusts and assault on your cunt pushes you forwards. His balls slap against your ass, wet skin-on-skin sounding out across the room, the smell of sex filling the air. Your moans escape in between gasps and breaths, only egging him on further.

You've never been driven To the point of near orgasm so quickly before. His hand on your throat moves down to your stomach, where a faint bulge appears as he thrusts. He presses his hand down onto it, groaning lowly at the feeling. “Want me to fill you? Make you swell nice and round with my baby?” He asks as his hips falter, thrusts irregular. He won't lie, seeing you nice and plump, tit's swollen with milk, seems like a sexy sight. And, you've been talking about wanting a child recently. “Yes—goddamnit—” You gasp out between sharp breaths, back arching, toes curling. Your cunt spasms, the tight knot in your stomach unraveling to spread across your whole body. Your legs shake, thighs trying to clamp shut and hold Simon as close to you as you can. “fuuckkkkk..” He groans out, hips meeting your ass once again as his thick, hot seed pumps into you. The tight pulsing of your cunt sends him over the edge.

He pulls out, his cum coming along with him. His thick fingers scoops some up, shoving it back into your convulsing Cunt. Your legs tremble. The Stimulation is too much and you swear you black out for a second, because after you open your eyes from being screwed shut tightly, he's pushing your hair out of your face, fingers still plunged deep in your sopping cunt. “Ever gonna make a joke like that again, doll?” He asks. And you wanna say yes, but you shake your head.

Definitely making a joke like that again, you think to yourself.

[lildoodlenoodle]

Some random Hobie information from the comics! I’ve specified where the movies might come in and fanon stuff!

Hobie, despite having a British/cockney accent in the movie and in the comics, lives in NYC in the comics(movie might b different).

Hobie is a homeless teen(I’m pretty sure his parents died) radicalized by his dystopian world.

He’s been Spiderman for 3 years(movie so most of his comics have probably passed) and his world is a weird combination of 1970s-1990s.

Canonically bad at naming things.

His friends/band are tired of his shit and regularly make fun of him for saving the multiverse.

The cops in Hobie’s world all have the venom symbiote, he uses his guitar to play frequencies that disrupt the symbiotes.

He kills Norman Osborn twice.

Yes he kills cops.

Full name is Hobart.

Originally he hated being called Spider-Punk.

He works with his worlds Daredevil(Mattea Murdock), Captain America(Captain Anarchy), Hulk(Robbie Banner), Ironheart(RiotHeart), Ms. Marvel, etc.

Most people in his ‘band’ can’t actually play lol.

With facism one of his other greatest enemies is capitalism and being ‘marketable’.

Hobie’s design was originally meant to be Spider UK, who later became Billy Braddock.

He also got a symbiote dog called Spider-Mutt in his latest run.

Gwen Stacy was a famous rockstar who died in his world, Hobie was a fan!

He was originally recruited to what I affectionately call the ‘Interdimensional Spider Death Squad’ run by the Superior Spider with Spider Noir (and eventually Miles and Jessica joined right before the teams merged)rather than the other group of spiders.

He was the one that brought Miles back into the ‘spider society’ when the inheritors came back.

In the comics he lives in a Welfare center in Brooklyn he and his friends/band operate, in the movie he lives in a boat!

Hobie has an interdimensional band with Gwen(drums), Pavitr(keyboard), Noir(bass), Anya(1616 vocals), and Ham(air guitar)

I can’t remember Hobie having any romantic interests in his universe, but fanon wise he is often shipped with his canon gay friend, Captain Anarchy aka Karl Morningdew, but Karl does have a canon boyfriend. But outside of his universe there’s a whole host of possible ships and some do include: Hobiemiles / punkflower hobiepav/chaipunk hobiegwen / ghostpunk

[themalhambird]

Whiteman’s  lounging with a whisky, looking comfortably casual in a pair of chinos and a t-shirt—blazer combination. He might be taken for any young, up-and-coming London professional out for a drink to celebrate the long weekend. Hillinghead, by contrast, looks like he should be at a wedding- the man’s in a three piece suit and the most complexly knotted tie she’s ever seen.  Still, Shahara’s hardly going to judge him for feeling more comfortable completely covered up and the man is (she still can’t really wrap her head around this) a Victorian. He’s got a pint of beer in front of him, though it doesn’t look like he’s touched it. 

She takes the first of the two empty seats at their table, her coke sloshing over the side of the glass as she sits, and remarks: “You two found your way around alright then?”

Whiteman sniffs sharply and half shrugs. “Fine. Nice to see the place not bombed to bits and rationing over.”

“It’s so- loud,” Hillinghead murmurs. “And crowded, and it smells-”

“It’s always smelled,” Whiteman interjects. “What, was it all roses in your time? I don’t believe that.”

“No,” Hillinghead stresses. “But it is- more.” he rubs the bridge of his nose.  “Have you heard from-” He freezes, staring at something just over Whiteman’s shoulder. Shahara can read a shift in to flight-or-fight posture easily and from the way he’s suddenly more alert, Whiteman’s clocked that something’s got Hilinghead spooked as well.

“Problem?” he asks quietly, in his clipped, cockney accent; a half-strangled vowel slips from Hillinghead’s throat and Shahara turns to see what he’s looking at. There’s two men enjoying what’s clearly a date, holding hands and locking lips. Shahara sighs internally, bracing herself for a slew of Victorian attitudes- “Yeah,” she says, a little sarcastically- Hillinghead’s knuckles have gone white, he’s clenching his fist so hard. The gold of his wedding band stands stark against it. “That’s allowed, nowadays- we don’t care.” 

“Hm?” Whiteman glances around- there’s a moment where Shahara thinks she’s gonna have to deal with 1940s attitudes as well, but Whiteman turns back, uninterested. “Fair enough.” he starts patting himself down, like he’s looking for something in his pockets. 

“They can-” Hillinghead murmurs. “I could…” He swipes for the beer and downs a quarter of the pint in one. Now Whiteman looks interested, he pauses his search, leans right forward and says, smirking, “Detective Inspector Hillinghead. Do you have a fancy man?”

Hillinghead sputters and brings down the glass. “Are you twelve?” he demands, something of the outraged parent seeping into his tone as– he’s blushing, Shahara realises. He’s actually blushing. 

“Are you-?” She asks, leaning forward, and she knows it’s rude and none of her business, but still. “Are you gay?” The wedding ring. “Bi?”she suggests, as a follow up, and then: “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“I- what? I-” he looks back at the couple, then grabs his beer again. “I have- I have a- I have Henry,” he downs more of the beer. “It-it would be nice, to- to not…” he trails off, his eyes drifting away from both of them.

“See, I’ve always been a bachelor- a bachelor bachelor, not a confirmed bachelor, myself, but I - fuck, I left my cigars and my lighter in the other jacket-”

“Language,” Hilinghead reprimands at the same time as Shahara says: “You can’t smoke in here anyway.”

Whiteman drops his elbow to the table and points at her. “You what?”

“No smoking in public places, it’s banned.”

Whiteman flops back in his seat and grabs for his whisky. “The future is bollocks.” he drains the glass and slams it down. “Good whisky though. So. While we wait for Maplewood to join us….Hillinghead can kiss blokes, and I can’t smoke in a pub. What else should we know about this 2023, then…?”

[butchersboobs]

Playmates - Part Two

Now that the 'boobgate' incident has died down, it's time for your revenge...

Part One

NSFW under the cut - MDNI

---------

Billy was already on edge from the night before. You'd deliberately stayed out late and then been purposely vague when he'd demanded to know 'What the fuck you bin up to, out till this hour?' That had put him in a mood, and he'd been sniping at you all day, muttering on about 'bloody secrets' and 'pissin' about'.

Now, with your revenge plan fully in motion, you set your phone up on the kitchen counter, camouflaging it amongst the clutter, and hit record. You called out, keeping your tone serious.

'Billy?... Billy! We need to have a little chat.'

From the living room, you hear him chuntering 'Oh, 'ere we fuckin' go…'

He sauntered into the kitchen, his usual swagger dampened by suspicion. He leaned against the doorframe, glaring at you. 'What's this about, then? Spit it out.'

'Sit down.' You said firmly, gesturing to the chair.

Billy raised an eyebrow, but complied, dragging the chair out and flopping down, leaning back like he owned the place. He crossed his arms over his chest.  'Right, I'm listnin'. This abou' your be'aviour last night? Betta be good.'

You took a deep breath, trying to keep a straight face as you began. 'Billy, this isn't easy for me, so just hear me out,OK?'

His expression hardened. 'Christ. Whassa bloody matter now?'

'Well,' you said, pausing for effect, 'I've met this bloke I kind of like, and I… well, I was wondering how you'd feel about having an open relationship?'

Billy blinked, his brow furrowing as though he couldn't possibly have heard you properly. 'You fuckin' what?'

'You know,' you continued, keeping your voice as nonchalant as possible, 'an open relationship. So I could fuck this guy, but still be with you. At least some of the time, anyway. You know, when there's nobody else I'd rather be with.'

You think he's gonna clock your game right away when he just stares at you for a bit - but nope. He bites. Fucking hell, does he bite.

''Ave you lost your fuckin' mind?!' he bellows, slamming his hands on the table and standing up so fast the chair scraped across the floor and tipped backwards. 'You think I'm just gonna sit 'ere, while you go off gallivantin' wiv some other prick?'.

'Billy! It's not like th-'

'Don'chu fuckin' 'Billy' me, love. 'Oo is this cunt, then, ay? Some ponce in a suit from work? Some muscle'ead prick from down the gym? You fink 'es gonna be able t'fuck ya even 'alf as good as I do? Fuckin' unbelievable!'

He started pacing around, a hand stroking through his beard as he muttered to himself.  'An open fuckin' relationship, she says. Christ. May as well stick a sign on me bleedin' back that sez fuckin' 'doormat - walk all over me…''

You pressed your lips together, trying hard not to laugh - but it was getting harder by the minute. But fucking hell - did he look hot when he was angry, you thought to yourself.

'Wha's 'e got that I don't then, ay? Better hair? Bigger dick, is tha' it? Oh wait - don't tell me - it's 'is fuckin' 'sparklin' personality', ain'it?!' He made exaggerated air quotes.

Well, that did it. You burst out laughing, doubled over as tears filled your eyes.

Billy froze mid-rant, his eyes narrowing. 'The fuck you laughin' at?'

You couldn't even speak - you just pointed to the counter where your phone was perched with Its red recording light blinking away.

His eyes followed your gesture, and then it clicked. His jaw dropped. 'You're takin' the fuckin' piss,' he drawled, walking over to the phone and picking it up. He stared at the screen for a moment, then turned back to you, his expression caught somewhere between fury and reluctant amusement.

'You bin recordin' this?'

Still laughing, you nodded. 'One of me wank bank, innit love!' you said, in your best Cockney accent.

'You li'l shit!!' he growled, though a grin was already tugging at his lips.  He looked into the camera, 'Oi, future me - she's a fuckin' menace. Don' let'er get away wiv this.'

Straightening up, he turned to you, shaking his head. 'You fink yer so bloody clever, don'cha?'

'Pretty clever, yeah.' you said, grinning as you wiped the tears from your eyes.

Billy stared at you for a long moment, then burst into laughter, tossing your phone down on the counter. 'Alrigh', fair play love. You got me good 'n proper. But you betta sleep wiv one eye open for the rest'o ya life.'

'Oh, I'm terrified,' you teased, but the smugness in your tone only made him laugh harder.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was proud of you for giving as good as you got - and more than a little relieved it was all a joke. 

For now…

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Wary Sailor Pt. 1 | Matthew Joy x fem!reader

summary: While aboard the whaling ship Essex, Matthew Joy is startled awake. Leaving the safety of his hammock, he encounters a woman lost at sea. What will his decision to save her cost him in the end?

warnings: Brief nudity and mentions of potential sexual assault/violence. This part is mainly Matthew being a good guy. We have a slow burn for this series, guys.

word count: 1646k

It's Been a Long, Long Time - Kitty Kallen, Harry James 🎶

Sea, Swallow Me- Cocteau Twins, Harold Budd 🎵

Based on Cillian's character from In the Heart of the Sea (2015).

Sorry I've been so inconsistent and thank you for still readying and engaging. I really appreciate it 🖤

It is dark, the world is dark, and the sea is at war with itself. Matthew’s hammock swings hard right suddenly, lurching him awake. He tries to focus his eyes in the darkness of the hold, the familiarity of it still comforting after weeks onboard. He’d practically grown up on a whaling boat like the Essex. Living and sleeping on a boat had become second nature, which is why Matthew wondered what could have woken him up so suddenly. The boat always rocked, his hammock often swung from side to side, but this time he woke up. 

Looking around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Matthew watched his men sleep around him, their snores similar to those of a whale call. Matthew listened out for calls of distress or whatever else could have woken him up. Besides the scrambling of a rat or two, the Essex was quiet and still. Still feeling uneasy, Matthew climbed down from his hammock and pulled on his boots and heavy jacket. He could see his breath in front of him as he climbed the slanted steps to the top-deck. The cold Atlantic water surrounded him on all sides, only the walls of the ship separated him from them, and yet he felt secure. 

Matthew’s blue eyes glowed beneath the full-moon like colored diamonds, sparkling in the slants of moonlight. His shaggy brown hair shifted around his head in the strong gusts of wind. Matthew surveyed the deck, pulling his jacket closer and turning back. Everything looked as it should, waves lashed against the boat and the spray of salt water refreshed his face, everything was normal. As Matthew turned to return to his hammock, he heard a faint but distinct whispering behind him. Spinning around, Matthew expected to see someone standing there. When he turned, however, he was alone on the deck. 

“Hello?” He called out into the dark. 

“Hello.” A woman’s voice spoke quietly.

Matthew spun around, looking for the source of the woman’s voice. 

“Is someone out there?” Matthew asked, his eyes darting around in the darkness of the deck.   

“Yes,” the woman’s voice spoke again after a moment of eerie silence. Matthew froze, his eyes trained on the edge of the railing. He took a step closer, his brow furrowed in apprehension and bewilderment. 

“Who are you?” His voice pierced the noise of the waves and echoed over the rail. He put out his hands to feel for the rough edge and caught it as the boat rocked beneath him. There was no response. 

“Where are you?” He asked instead. His dark brown hair whipped around his face and his thin cotton blouse danced beneath his jacket. 

“Down here,” the woman’s voice finally reached him, “over the edge.” 

“What the fuck?” Matthew groveled and forced himself to look. Alone in the sea below, a woman was treading water breathlessly. Beautiful dark hair stuck to her face and ballooned around her shoulders in the water. Her skin was deathly pale and she looked sickly and weak. Matthew heard himself gasp softly and grabbed a band of rope without another thought. 

“Christ, hold on! I’m throwing down some rope!” He yelled down to her and lowered a length of it, tying the rest to a hook on the deck’s railing. “Tie it around yourself!” His cockney accent tinted the words he said but the girl nodded and managed to loop the cord around her waist. Matthew swiftly pulled the girl up to the railing where he could hook his arms around her. As he pulled her over the railing, they stumbled backwards onto the deck, both landing on their backs with sharp gasps.

Matthew sat up quickly and untied the rope from the girl’s waist. She was shivering beneath him and cold to the touch. 

“How the hell did you end up in the water?” Matthew asked her as he tossed the rope to the side and removed his heavy jacket. She started to sit up and allowed the man to wrap his jacket around her and prop her back up against the side of the railing. His heavy hands passed over her chest, wrapping the dry fabric around her. Her skin glowed white in the inky darkness around them. 

“I fell overboard and it was dark, no one could see me,” she whispered as she tried to catch her breath. 

“Which ship?” Matthew asked and looked out at the dark horizon as if he could spot a passing ship. The girl stared wordlessly up at him,

“You’re in shock,” Matthew consoled her and nodded. He was fully awake now and disturbed by the way his night had gone so far. Something felt wrong about this whole situation. 

“Thank you for helping me,” she met his eyes for the first time that evening and held his attention. Her voice was calm, strangely so, Matthew noticed. He nodded slowly. 

“Don’t thank me yet, miss. Do you know what kind of ship you’re on?” He lowered his voice and glanced around. 

“No,” she furrowed her brow and sniffed. 

“You’re on a whaling ship. The men aboard haven’t even seen a woman in about a year… this is a dangerous place for you to be, miss.” Matthew ran his hand over his mouth and tried to think quickly. “If someone were to see you… it may not be possible to keep you safe until we can find the boat you were on before you fell. We can speak to the Captain,” Matthew started to stand. 

“Wait, please.” The girl grabbed his forearm weakly. He lowered himself back to her level. 

“What is it?” Matthew asked her softly, feeling as though he were melting beneath her eyes. The girl reached out her other hand and gripped the neck of his blouse, her fingers intertwining with the tie on his lapel. 

“What is your name?” She asked softly and licked her chapped lips. Matthew raised his eyebrow and paused briefly to study her. Her chest rose and fell softly beneath his jacket, her breasts could be seen through the wet fabric of her dress. He tried to ignore the way her dress was hitched up at her knees, sticking to her legs and dripping water onto the deck between them. 

“Matthew Joy,” he answered her slowly and placed his hands on the sides of her shoulders. “Are you alright, love?” He furrowed his brow as she nodded. Her skin was freezing, so he rubbed his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her up. 

“How long were you in the water?” He asked. 

“All my life,” she gave him a small smile, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. 

“What?” Matthew narrowed his eyes and felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re still in shock, I better go get the captain. Stay right here, love. I’ll be back.” 

As Matthew started to stand the girl grabbed him again, this time by the hem of his shirt. The fabric was clutched in her pale fist. She looked up at him through her long eyelashes. He was standing above her as spoke. 

“Wait…” 

Matthew listened as she swallowed and started again. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my name is?” Her lips looked purple in the light of the moon and her wet hair was stuck around her in waves of glossy blackness. She looked like a goddess, a wave, a dream. 

“What’s your name?” He asked her slowly and she smiled, showing a line of straight white teeth. 

“Y/N.” 

Matthew nodded distractedly and cleared his throat. 

“Y/N, stay here while I get help, right?” He stepped away from her and she dropped the hem of his shirt. She watched Matthew as he turned and hurried to wake Owen and the Captain. He may be the best whaler on the ship but he deferred to Owen on anything administrative. The Captain was a uniform he had to respect. 

“Matthew Joy!” The girl called out before he made it to the stairs below deck. He turned, his hair blowing into his blue eyes. The girl was curled up in the further shadow of the railing. He waited for her to speak. 

“Do you believe in Sirens?” She asked strangely and he felt himself take a deep breath, confused. He noticed the sky in the distance begin to lighten as the sun was close to rising. The light made everything look greenish, almost aquamarine. 

“What…” he trailed off. His hair flew into his face again, blocking his sight. When the wind passed, he drew in a breath to respond. The girl was gone. Matthew scrambled back to the place where the girl had just been. He looked over the side and in the ocean below but there was no sign of her. A chill spread through his body as he straightened up. 

A bell sounded from the crow’s nest down the ship. The call for whale’s went up and noise erupted from below deck. 

“Pods! Pods of whales!” A sailor screamed. Matthew stood dumbly, staring over the edge of the boat, not looking for the whales but watching for the girl. 

“Y/N…” he whispered distractedly. 

He couldn’t have been dreaming. His jacket was gone and a puddle of cold water stood in her place. A hard clap on the back startled him and he released a nervous chuckle when he saw that it was just Owen. 

“Did you see ‘em?” Owen asked with a wide grin. 

“No, no,” Matthew shook his head and rested his elbows on the surface of the railing. As the sun rose, the blue in his eyes magnified against the ruddy orange in the sky. His thumbs pushed against his full lips and he exhaled slowly, trying to capture an image of her in his mind. What kind of creature was she?

...

End of Pt. 1

[lundenloves]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐈𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

olivia finally wrote smut, the crowd goes wild.

{✧} Summary: After relentless drunken encouragement from 141, Simon Riley decides to take a girl home whom he's caught eyes with a few too many times. What he doesn't expect however, are the unknown feelings in his chest after her simple acts of affection and pleasure he was always deprived of.

{✧} Pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC

{✧} Word count: 6.3k

{✧} TW: Smut! Oral both M and F receiving. Angst if you squint into his general storyline. A bit fucking devastating on that part. Blunt and true to his character with the issues he was given, although subtlety as he tends to bury everything. Sigh.

part two | masterlist | taglist

{✧} Ok. *Claps hands together* So, I wrote this in just over a week. I do not know how this happened or where the words came from but they certainly... worded. Basically, It's just a mass product of 2am writing. A stab in the dark as long as you act like Ghost has a more Northern voice. Which he fucking doesn't. This fucker grew up in Manchester and got given a Cockney accent. Anyway, I hope this alleviates at least some of the horniness in the cod fandom because fucking hell. Ignore how the pacing is fried. *Salutes* Happy reading, kids.

“Lt. You are a machine, sir.” Soap saluted his lieutenant with a half-drunken snort. “Got all them lassies eyeing you up.” He nodded toward a general direction, taking a short swig of the beer in his hand. 

“That’ll be right, Sergeant.” Ghost grumbled, leaning against the bar with no interest in the women behind him whatsoever. He never was made for women. Well, aside from the obvious things he knew were attractive. Being tall, having muscular thighs, broad shoulders, the voice. Not to mention the plethora of skills he harboured once he occasionally did bed someone, and the whole military idea. People seemed to get off on it. However.

“Naw. I’m serious.” He tried again, leaning on the bar to find Ghost’s eyes. “When’s the last time you got with someone, eh?” His brows wiggled in amusement of his own question. A question that was fucking painfully Johnny. Ghost only looked to him through a sideward glance, swirling the last of his whisky in the short glass his hand dwarfed. 

The thought of taking someone home was nothing but a task. One that made Ghost audibly sigh, tilting his chin up for the last mouthful of drink. “Treat yourself, Sergeant.” His eyes landed on Soap’s, slamming the glass back onto the bar and standing up straight. 

“Aw, come on Lt.” 

“Respectfully, I’m not–” His words were rarely broken, although the way this woman walked right between him and Johnny caused a pause. One he looked down at her for, his palm still splayed on the bartop. Long fingers tapping the surface. “Eighteen anymore.” He finished.

The look Soap gave Ghost behind her back was one easily mistaken for lust itself. His eyes pointed to her momentarily before flicking back to the lieutenant. “No. You’re not.” He nodded  slowly, taking steps backward and mimicking sexual acts with his fingers. Mouthing, “Her.” 

She was none the wiser of the acts behind her. Simply stepping between two men to reach the bar and leaning forward on her forearms, back naturally arched with the action. The broad man to her left shifted on his feet, and a subtle sigh left him with a flex of his square jaw. Johnny was on the other side of the bar, enticing Ghost to make a move. His smirk disappeared to take a swig of the fresh beer he had ordered, flicking his pointer and middle fingers together, gesturing Ghost talk to her. 

Instead, all Soap received was a scowl and two fingers his way. Fuck. Off.

He steeled himself and took a spacing step backward, dead eyes instantly catching the dark ones next to him when she had touched his skin upon her own movement. Had they not moved at the same time, he would have walked away without second thought. But now, her warm smile of apology felt obligatory and he returned it in his own way. A slight raise of his brows. 

“Sorry I’m dead in the way.” Her strong Mancunian accent almost caught Ghost off guard. London hadn’t given him many Northerners, and now, there was one standing in-front of him. Soap was leant forward on the bar opposite, watching their interactions intently. Even Price had joined in, a subtle smirk over his lips, raising his glass when Ghost had turned to them.

He cleared his throat, “Not at all.” The deep-voiced words were accompanied by a shake of his head, directed more to the men on the opposing end.

She turned to him, “Northern?” The smile that bit down on her bottom lip made the side of his own tilt upward ever so slightly with an amused nod. The strong arms that were crossed over his chest loosened, fingers outstretched momentarily in a way of agreement.

“Manchester.” He confirmed and she turned back to the bar, retrieving the multiple drinks for her group. Soap and Price had now recruited Gaz, the three of them all gawking at the scene ahead and sharing words. 

“Figured.” She looked up at him, the tray of drinks held by both her hands. Simon briefly wondered if she was likely to spill it, his eyes cast down toward the shots. “I should take these back.” The words came with another smile, a polite one. 

He absently nodded, eyes following her without turning his head. Soap, Gaz and Price were all grinning on their way over, Johnny failing to miss a flirtatious salute to the group of women. “Thought you were leaving, Lt.” He near-shouted, and Ghost held a finger out for the bartender, requesting the same drink as Price took the seat beside him. 

“What was the chat?” Gaz stood beside Soap, the four of them forming a conversational square shape. “Anything worth sharing?” He nudged Johnny who clapped his hands together and rubbed them enthusiastically like a child.

“Nothing.” He replied bluntly, eyes lazily shifting between the three men.

Price leant an elbow on the bar, looking back to the group of women. The girl from earlier caught his eye, laughing loudly and knocking back shots like there was no tomorrow. He nodded toward her, “She’s certainly one for you, Simon.”

There was zero subtlety between Soap and Gaz who instantly turned. Much to Simon’s joy. “Can you turn around any fuckin' faster?” He berated with a wounded sigh, Johnny’s shoulders bouncing in amusement. 

“Go talk to her.” Instead of replying, he shook his head turning back to the bar and Price stifled a laugh. “Might as well try, no?” The glass of whisky he had finished was pushed from hand-to-hand, looking back up to Ghost who pulled a face. “They’re interested.” His lips downturned in fairness, turning his palm upright and tilting his head in saying so.

Simon cleared his throat, taking a sharp swig of his drink. “Good for them.” 

She had looked toward the bar, locking eyes with Simon who had been caught staring. Much to his own dismay. Although, her smile returned and he found himself shifting his feet once again, unsure of how to react. Lifting his glass an inch or two in recognition of her efforts. “Aw c’mon, she’s so wanting to fuck you Lt.”

“Christ, Johnny.” Price scoffed, the wrinkles by his eyes emphasised with an afterthought laugh. Gaz turned to Simon with a shrug, one that spoke louder than anything else, ‘he’s not wrong’, it said. Not that they would know anything, only projecting their own desire for scoring tonight. Being away for weeks, months, at a time with near-zero female company was sometimes gruelling. For the more sexually active soldiers anyway. Ghost never seemed to care. Permanently focused on the mission at hand or anticipating the next.

Aside from a few late nights.

“I’m leaving.” He announced, sliding his now empty glass to the barhand.

“This guy isn’t real, man.” Soap pointed with his thumb, Price shrugging an amused smirk, arms crossed over his chest. The woman from earlier had caught onto his exit via her diligent staring, grabbing her bag and approaching the four men rather sheepishly. Something about a group of huge men wasn’t exactly inviting, although it was at the same time. 

“Alright?” Gaz was the only one to see her, turning the other three toward the direction. 

“Alright.” She returned with a smile, eyeing up Ghost. “You leaving?”

He nodded blankly, eyes hooded over upon looking down at her. The veins on his hands visible for the low bar light, emphasising each one that created a pulsing feeling between her legs. Ghost wasn’t stupid. He knew what was going on, standing straight and rubbing a hand across his brow and down to his jaw where it stayed. 

“I’m Thea.” She said to him, and him only. 

“Simon.” He dropped the hand from his face, holding it out for her to shake. 

Soap was practically fucking bouncing from behind her, drunkenly chuffed for his lieutenant when she had taken his hand for a little too long. “Mind if I leave with you?” Her question couldn’t have meant a whole lot more than the obvious. Simon forgot he hadn’t his mask on when the faintest smirk had tugged the corner of his lip upwards.

His eyes averted toward his unit, “Gents.” He gave them a short nod before gesturing she walked ahead of him with a leading hand, following behind her with one subtle look back. Price raising his glass high once again.

“You lot military or something?” She asked when he had held the door, dipping under his arm.

“Something like that.” 

The somewhat curt responses and deliberate movements were attractive to Thea. Everything was calculated, it was obvious he had a job as such. Not to mention the build. “You live far from here?” He took a deep breath with the question, digging into his pockets for a cigarette.

“A good way away.” She nodded, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Simon produced a carton from his jacket, further patting around his trousers for a lighter. “Mine then?” He mumbled for the cigarette he had stuck to his lip in the meantime, it moved with the words he spoke.

“Yours.” She nodded, watching as he lit it up. 

A cloud of smoke burst from the long exhale he had taken, his eyes dark in the dimly lit street, “You cold?” In question for the three buttons that were only a third done up on her vest top, pierced nipples easily visible through the fabric. “You want my jacket or somethin’?” His lips left parted from the draw, looking down at her. 

“I’m alright.” Her words were unconvincing and he nodded at the fact, holding the cigarette between his teeth while shrugging the thick shelled jacket off. It was heavy when she’d taken it from his arm, pulling it on only to drown in it. But oh, it smelled rich and exposed his arms again. Large muscles and inked forearms only now visible although not done any sense of justice by the loose t-shirt he wore. Her eyes involuntarily drifted lower to his hips, dark jeans clad over wide, seemingly muscular thighs.

“Come on then.” He nodded, killing the cigarette with a twist of his boot. 

Ghost hadn’t taken someone home in months. Fucking months. He dreaded seeing her reaction to his dull flat, expensive enough but sparsely decorated for A: he was never there and B: he didn’t exactly know how to decorate well. 

“You live round these parts?” 

“Mm-hm.” It was a flat response. 

“Expensive, no?” 

“Mh-hm.”

She laughed at that, looking up at him with a gleam in her eye. One he hadn’t seen in years, his own stolen from him years ago. Even still, he watched onward, overlooking training sessions, as new recruits began to slowly lose their shine for the forces on the hardship of war. Loading and unloading guns to save and simultaneously take lives. It was a lot. To someone who perhaps wasn’t as stiffly stuck in their ways.

His flat was just as you’d imagine. Dark colours, simple decoration without much personality involved. Thea handed his jacket back once they had stepped inside, watching as he tossed it to the sofa. “Drink?” 

“Please.” She followed him to the kitchen, leaning on the counter. “Just, whatever you have.” 

He looked over his shoulder, “I've only got whisky.” She pulled a face, pushing her forearms further on the counter. “Or shit beer.” 

“The whisky’ll do.” Thea tsked, looking up at him through her lashes when he’d turned around, sliding a glass across the counter toward her. She eyed his tattoos when both of his palms had been placed flat on the marble, standing opposite her. “Why stay in such a nice gaff if you’re never ‘round.” 

“I could be here everyday for all you know.” 

“Yeah,” She swirled the amber liquid around the glass, drawing her finger across the countertop to gather dust. “But you’re not.” 

He didn’t respond, eyes only reading between hers in a long stare. One that ultimately rushed a feeling in her stomach, and slowly created a wetness between her thighs. In his stare came the crude thoughts. The hunger that resides deep within his chest, only freed every few months with someone new each time. “That right?” 

“You tell me.” She competed his silence, taking a small sip of the whisky and Ghost rounded the counter with a grumble. Her eyes drifted to the walls, multiple certifications, photos and memorabilia framed and hung proudly. Just about the only things on show for the type of person he was. 

Lieutenant Simon Riley

“Lieutenant?” 

His chest lifted in a large inhale, followed by a hum of agreement. Eyes following hers to the multiple achievements on the wall. “How do you want this?”

The words came off a drawl, clearly avoiding the topic of his career. 

Thea instead walked closer to the photos littered within the frames. Messily pushed behind the glass, with multiple fold lines and frayed edges. “You’re not even in these.” She pointed, turning back to him with a puzzled expression. Ghost sighed longly, reaching an arm behind his head.

“I am.” His eyes narrowed habitually and she pointed toward his masked self, turning back to him with a quirked brow to which his jaw tightened in answer.

“That almost turns me on.” She snorted and Simon involuntarily relaxed his shoulders.

There was something about her. Maybe it was her boldness, the way she wasn’t daunted by him, or her overall confidence. It wasn’t even like he didn’t know confidence. Fuck, most people in the forces had too much of it. But outside of base, it was near nonexistent around him. Until her. 

“You got the whole getup huh?” She couldn’t help but tease and Ghost shook his head at her relenting smile, hiding his own behind a swig of his drink before discarding it to a side table.

“C’mere.” He said, rubbing his jaw momentarily before taking the glass from her hand, watching her eyes roam the broad expanse of his clothed chest. “I’ll ask again,” The taste of  whisky was hot on Thea’s tongue, looking up at Simon with a sudden lust. “How do you want this?” He reached an arm across her hip, pulling her toward him.

She crossed her arms over her chest in his grip. Her silence forced a growl from him, his hands squeezing at her sides. “However you want.” She purred, reaching upward for his hair and running her fingers through it. 

He grunted in response. An unknown emotion pooling in his chest, drifting down from the feeling of her fingers in his hair straight toward his heart, making it pump just a little faster. The gentle touch of a woman was something he was yet to experience in its full power, leaning forward to subconsciously chase her touch when her hand was taken back. 

Thea looked up at him, the softness in her eyes pushed a movement from him. “Come on.” He stood forward, walking to the bedroom where she followed him. A standard room, tall windows opposite a large bed. No wall decor, or decor at all for that matter save a mirror and a standard lamp on a bedside table that housed a set of dog tags. 

His hand smoothed across her arm, taking her attention back with a pointed stare. 

“Kiss me then.” She caught his solemn eyes, watching them harden as his hand traced upward to her chin, pointing it upward to face him and uncharacteristically planting a soft kiss to her jaw. His thumb swiped across her bottom lip and intruded her mouth, watching expectedly as her tongue welcomed his pointer and middle fingers, swirling around them with heavy eye contact. 

He pushed his impossibly long fingers even further down her throat, provoking a gag from her and a smirk teased his lip. “I know, sweetheart.” The coo was enough for her to moan, reaching a hand for his shoulder, kneading at the fabric of his shirt while surely bruising his tracks. Thea hadn’t ever been with a man this big, she too suspected his lower regions to be just as thick as the large hand he had wrapped around her torso upon taking his fingers back. 

His steps came backwards toward the bed, the backs of his knees hitting the plush mattress and forcing him to sit. Thick thighs at their broadest, his tattoos dark and full under the lack of light in the room. Thea manoeuvred onto his lap, her knees either side of his hips. 

Simon pulled her thighs toward him, shifting so she was flush with his lower abdomen. Her hands roamed his hair once again, caressing behind his ear and down past his jaw. “When was the last time?” She pressed a delicate kiss to his lip, pressing her forehead against his own. 

“A while ago.” He admitted flatly, returning her kiss and silently admiring the smoothness of her lips against his own. 

She hummed against his mouth, the inner corners of her eyebrows raising at his dark eyes. Eyes that were filled with death and fear, the same ones you could expect to find in a therapy waiting room or a likely battlefield. She watched the thoughts run through his head, dipping a glance toward her chest momentarily before averting back up to her swollen lips. 

“I can tell.” She whispered in close proximity and he pulled back, an instant crease in his brow at her words. “Relax.” 

Her hand reached for his, guiding it toward her chest and pushing his palm flat. The gentle thrum of her heartbeat was easily felt although Simon’s eyes remained stiff on hers, only softening when she had placed her palm over his. 

He kissed her in response, a definite difference in pace as his tongue circled her own and his hands guided her against his groin. She lit up at the pressure, fixing to pull her vest-top over her head and wincing at the sharp coldness across her exposed nipples. 

Simon wasn’t surprised by her lack of a bra, although his jaw did tighten at the sight of her. The sensitive beads of her nipples hardened and adorned by piercings that were near teased to him earlier. His hands travelled upward, kneading at the soft flesh and toying with the steel. 

He grunted at the way her lips had connected to his neck, gentle kisses soon turning rough and leaving angry marks. “Take this off.” She rocked on his hips, tugging at the hem of his shirt. 

He compiled without protest, pulling it over his head and holding back the fire within him at the way she hungrily eyed his form. The broad points of his shoulders, collarbones sharp and chest wide, his tattoos expanding upwards just as she had imagined. “You alright?” 

Thea only managed a nod. His hard rippled stomach was flush with her own, a sparse amount of dark hair trailing downward from his navel. She smoothed her hands out over his shoulders, running them softly down his arms. 

His mouth dipped from hers to accomodate her nipple, making lightwork of her perky tits and swirling his tongue around the steel in equal amounts. Thea squirmed at his expert touch, pushing his head back with a moan, dark eyes locking onto his without hesitation. 

Simon stood up with her in his grip. Hands underneath her thighs, creating a deepening need between her legs. A need so vast that she had crashed her lips onto his to forget about it, marvelling at the feeling of his warm skin against hers as he easily placed her down onto her back. 

“I’m taking these off.” His gravelly voice near-growled, kneeling wide between her legs and fidgeting with the fabric of her loose trousers. “That alright?”

“Mmhm.” She provided, leaning up on her arms and looking down at Simon. His hair was a mess from her hands, red marks on his neck deepening with every passing second and his long, thick fingers had succeeded in undressing her bottom half. 

He sat back on his haunches for a brief second, a firm hand pressing himself through his jeans while his other teased at her clit, thumb gathering her slick before rubbing circles into her. The room completely silent if not for her soft whimpers and the passing traffic outside.

His middle and ring finger lapped her pooling arousal, pushing into her with ease and curling immediately. “Fuck. Simon.” He felt his cock twitch at the use of his name, looking up to catch eyes with her. Face flushed beet red, her arms dropped to fall back onto the bed after his head had tilted, the speed of his fingers picking up. 

His thumb continued pressing on her clit, two fingers now three, completely stretching her out before she had been reduced to a whining mess. Hands outstretched to grip on his shoulder, moaning aloud at the sudden loss when he had pulled his hand back. 

Thea sat up immediately, her scorn met with his own look of assurance. Eyes seemingly natural in their advanced expressions, giving way more than words ever could. He pulled her thighs toward him, dipping so they rested over his shoulders and with one fatal lick of his lip she knew. 

Simon’s jeans felt impossibly tight, groaning to himself upon licking a line up her core. “Fuck.” He mumbled against her, and her delicate hand was already gripping on the bed-sheets, knuckles white with his warmth. He’d frankly never seen something so gorgeous in his life. 

A large palm pinned her to the bed. Calloused fingertips grazing just above her navel, fingertips that belonged to a hand strong enough to choke someone to death. “I’m close.” Thea moaned at the pressure, the feeling of his tongue darting in and out of her, sucking on her clit and building a fuzzy warmth in her lower stomach. Never had a man made such light work, reducing her to an embarrassingly short time.

He nodded into her, eyes darting upward when a gush of liquid had released from her cunt in a muffled scream. His chest heaved up and down at the wetness, fingers finishing off the job to create one more cry from her. “Cut the shit,” He spoke, taking the pillow from her grip and throwing it. “I want to fucking hear you.” 

Thea bit her lip, sitting up on shaky legs to push him backward so he was stood by the foot of the bed. “Only if I get to hear you.” She looked up at him with lazy eyes, tracing his v-line and pulling him forward by the belt loops. Face only inches away from his groin. 

Simon ran his thumb along her bottom lip once again, looking down at her with a ragged exhale. His cock hung heavy, twitching as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, allowing him to step out of them. “Shit.” She whined. 

“I know.” He began, releasing himself from his boxers and tilting her chin upward to meet his condescendingly empathetic gaze. “I know, love.”

The words rushed a warmth between her legs all over again.

His cock stood without constriction, too heavy to stand upright but not enough to ignore the twitches that came from his thoughts. A thick vein pulsed on the underside of his length, one Thea ran her tongue along eagerly to push a throaty groan from him. “Fuh-uck.” 

Her thumb ran over the slit of his tip, gathering precome for a few pumps of his girth before stretching her mouth over him. Slow at first. Deliberate. Simon’s hand pushed hair from her face, allowing her to look up at him through thick eyelashes.

It had been long. So, so long since he was allowed to make any noise. Being in confined spaces with upwards of ten men almost full time didn’t exactly allow for much, nevermind time to get worked up. His mind had somehow drifted to the barracks, only pulled back into reality when Thea had gagged against his thick length. Her spit joined them together when she had pulled away, using her hand to pump him multiple times. 

“Fuck—“ He groaned loudly, hand on the back of his neck while the other held her hair up. “Fucking hell.” The lone sounds were enough for him to shut his eyes. 

Thea’s jaw already ached. A heat between her bones at the lock, tongue edging around his girth as she took him the best she could. The course hair at the base of his length was addictive, her nose near touching it with every dive save a few centimetres. 

“You’re doing so good, darlin’.” Simon spoke through his teeth, swallowing thickly at the vibration of her moan against himself. “So good f’me.” Almost too good. Too good to the point where he had nudged her with his thigh, nodding to the bed when she had looked up at him. 

“You close or somethin’?” She teased, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and shifting backward on the bed. Her mascara had smeared over her eyes, cheeks tinted deep red and eyes glossy from his size. 

He ignored her, although the way his cock twitched was an agreement in itself. “I don’t have protec—“

“I’m on the pill.” 

The way his eyes darkened created a pit in her stomach. One that was soon filled when he had joined her on the bed, wandering hands squeezing on her hips in company with continuous kisses that were peppered all across her collarbones. 

His cock dragged against her stomach, thick arms holding himself up above her and exposing defined triceps in the mirror next to his bed. “I want you to watch.” His hand directed her gaze toward the reflection, lowering himself close. “Will you do that for me.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

She watched him in the mirror. The way his shoulder muscles flexed as he leaned forward, prominent veins in his arms only accentuated in the low light. “Mhhm.” 

“Good girl.” His eyes dipping down to where their bodies met, sliding his length up and down her folds before pressing the tip into her. A low groan followed, his eyes cast aside to the mirror where she somehow found solace in his stare. “You alright?”

She nodded tightly, letting go of a breath she wasn’t aware was held. Simon entered her inch by inch, his cock suffocated by her tight walls. “Shit, you’re—“ She swallowed, “Fucking big.” It came out a whine, hand held to her mouth once he had pushed himself flush with her core. 

“None of that.” He spoke curtly, taking her hand and pinning it to her side. Thea nodded slowly, looking between his eyes for the brief moment he had allowed. 

She couldn’t remember who was supposed to be in control anymore when she felt him, thick and warm, hips slowly rocking back and forth. The sound of her arousal against his skin filled the room, head thrown back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets. 

Simon’s mouth reconnected with her soft chest, teeth dragging across the sensitive skin, groaning and cursing in response to her hand in his hair. Touch. Starved. His eyes fell in a heavy-lidded blissful expression, the mirror supplying image of his momentum. Mouth slightly agape, the ends of his hair wet in sweat from the heat between them.

Thea let go entirely, surrendering to the pace Simon had set. Pulling her bare thighs tighter to his groin and craning his neck to see how effortlessly he slid in and out of her, white-hot pleasure streaking down and onto him. “Fuck.” His deep tone had drawn out in pleasure. “Look at you— fucking, dripping.” 

She pressed weak kisses to his throat, lapping up the perspiration that ran down in small beads. Words wouldn’t tumble from her mouth, thighs clenching around his hips when he had angled forward. “God, Simon—“ Her grin lazily bit into her lip, cockdrunk and exhausted from his earlier efforts. 

He let go a feral snarl of a sound, brows knitted together at the feeling of her walls convulsing against him and the flush of pressure against his cock. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades, certainly drawing blood and sharp breaths through his teeth. “Look at me.” He ordered, cupping her jaw and boring his eyes into her. 

Thea choked a moan, her mouth agape when her climax had rushed through both of them without warning. His headboard simultaneously slammed into the wall with her moans, gasping for air as her hands blindly reached to find him by her head, grabbing onto his forearms with desperation. 

Simon’s head hung low between his shoulders, sweat from his hair dripping down onto her chest. She could tell he was close, the way his jaw ticked and his chest heaved. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbed against her clit, sending her overstimulating pulses through his body and turning them into quiet groans by her ear. 

His rhythm had faltered, shaking his head as his jaw loosened. “Fucking hell,” He breathed out, eyes dazed and heavy, feverishly catching a glimpse of her own euphoria in the mirror. 

She reached for his hair, gripping at the roots tightly when his cock had twitched inside her and he stilled, eyes screwed shut at his release. A long breath left him as the muscles in his arms flexed, each one tightening before letting go and Thea whined. The ridiculous feeling of his pulsing cock deep inside her was new, pleasure breaking across his face as he painted her walls with his seed. 

The mirror reflected the loosening of his body, almost going limp above her for a short second when he had pulled out. Eyes locked onto the way his release spilled out of her and back onto his cock. “What a fucking mess.” He almost laughed, looking back up at her with a hint of a smile that she stared at in stunned awe. 

It had taken all of this to prod a single smile from him. Even at that, it wasn’t anything to shout about. Uneven dimples either side of his cheeks when he had stifled a laugh, his right side notably more prominent than the left.

“What time is it?” 

“Almost one.” His words came breathlessly after a long sigh. Large, bright red military digits by his bedside condensed into a small alarm, the only unnatural light in the room. 

She nodded, covering herself with the duvet as Simon found his discarded boxers. The low light against him created shadows of physical fitness. His rippled abdomen only accentuated much to visual delight. “D’you need anythin’?” His eyes had returned to their dead way, naturally darkened and almost offensive. 

“Maybe that drink from earlier.” 

He nodded, fighting the urge to sigh once out the room. Hands palm down on the kitchen counter, rolling out his shoulder muscles and cracking his neck. “I’ll get going after.” Her voice sounded quietly from behind him causing a sudden flinch. 

“Go back to bed.” He barked, tilting his head to shake away the fright. 

Although, he could hear her footsteps approaching, completely disregarding him and slowly padding across the cold flooring to where he was stood. Thea paused before speaking, “I’m going to touch your back, yeah?” 

Simon looked over his shoulder at her, dressed in only her underwear. Small hands inspecting the damage her nails had inflicted on him, scratch marks and a sparse amount of dried blood. “I got you a good’un.” Her tone was light, smoothing over his shoulders and down to his torso. “Sorry.” 

“S’fine.” He provided shortly. 

She nodded to herself, stepping back from him and taking the glass from earlier with her. Simon rubbed his jaw, turning to catch her shadow in the bedroom, watching as she sunk back onto his bed. 

He traipsed to the bathroom, finding himself in the mirror. His inked forearm leant on the sink, turning to assess the damage to his back. He’d had worse. That was easily determined, the dry blood only made him shrug although he made an effort to wash it off for her visual comfort. His skin adorned in scars and bruises from deployments. All holding their own individual stories, not ones Simon knew though. To him they were just signs of a war. Fighting, death, pain. He ran his fingers across them, locking eyes with his reflection. 

And with a sigh he left his mirror image, pacing back to the bedroom and downing his discarded glass of whisky on the way. 

Thea lay on her side, the dark room only lit by outside traffic and her phone screen. Simon felt a fatigued sigh leave him, rubbing his face before rounding the bed to join her. 

She smiled to herself at the way the mattress dipped significantly, an arm resting behind his head, the other hand on his stomach. Thea slid her phone underneath the pillow, turning to face him. “You alright?” She plucked courage to ask, taking in his side profile. 

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet before clearing his throat. “Are you?” Brow furrowed with the question, his head briefly turning to face her, eyes looking between hers for an answer before she could give one. 

“I’m good.” She replied through a simper. “Tired.” 

Simon nodded, turning back to the ceiling. “I’ve an awful sleep schedule.” The dark circles under his eyes said as much, ones Thea had been trying not to make a point of all night. “Never get much sleep when I’m deployed.” 

“You just got back?”

“Few days ago.” He let go of a long exhale.

Thea narrowed her eyes at him, feeling a sudden pang in her chest. “Maybe you’ll sleep tonight.” Her words weren’t intended to provoke a laugh, although that’s what they did. A genuine one too. 

“Maybe.” 

Morning came and sunlight beat through the room without manner. The curtains hadn’t been drawn last night, resulting in a stiff groan when Simon had woken first. The covers were a mess, his legs predictably tangled between Thea’s and it was only when he stretched that he realised she had ended up on his chest. 

He froze after she had hummed in protest of his movement. Her head nestled into the crook of his neck, small hands clasped together over his chest. 

It felt like his breathing had stopped so as to not interrupt her, craning his neck to check the time. 11:32am. A brief feeling of nausea surged through him at that, possibly the latest he had ever woken up since being a teenager. 

It became an itch to get up. 

Simon's eyes ticked between Thea and the floor beside him, figuring the best possible way to make the move. Years of stealth training would’ve come in handy if it wasn’t for her own stretch, eyes fluttering open momentarily before realising where she was. Who she was on. 

“Oh shit.” She lazily cursed, pulling herself away from him and leaving a confusingly bereft feeling in Simon. “Sorry. I must’ve done that in the night.” Her back now to him, curling herself to be smaller on the opposite side of the bed and he stared at the walls blankly. Fingers smoothing across the warmth she had left on his chest before sitting up, palms flat either side of himself. 

She felt his weight leave the mattress, closing her eyes in knowing. The night was done, it was time to go. Even if he wouldn’t directly say that. She turned to her back, watching as he sifted through the clothes on the floor, instinctively shoving everything of his into a corner while piling hers on a drawer unit. Thea wanted to believe he folded her stuff out of niceness, although she knew it was probably his military subconscious. 

She grounded her feet to the floor, feeling conscious of her half-naked body when standing up in-front of the grandiose window. The view wasn’t too impressive, his flat adjacent to other townhouses across the road, like a mirror image. Simon left the room after haphazardly dressing himself, only shorts and a t-shirt although it made Thea feel more exposed as she slowly slipped back into her vest. 

A family across the road had caught her eye. Seemingly a single mother and two boys, all laughing across their dining table. There was something poignant about it – a stoic man across the road, hosting a one night throw away against a loving home. She wondered if Simon had ever noticed them, rubbing a hand across her face at the thought. 

What she didn’t know was that he was behind her, looming by the door as she stared across the buildings. He cleared his throat, “I can give you money– for an uber or somethin’."

“No, you’re alright.” She buttoned her trousers, turning to him without an ounce of hesitation in her quiet voice. Simon stared bluntly, following her movements as she collected the rest of her stuff. “Thanks for the night, Simon.” Her smile however didn’t quite reach her eyes, taking her bag from the counter where the two whisky glasses from last night sat next to each other. Only one of them a real whisky one, the other a standard small glass. Thea sucked her lips inward at his lost nod, eyes darting down to his lips and then between his eyes.

She reached for the door handle, walking out without a look back for she feared it would ache. 

And Simon hung by the threshold until she was gone. His fingers absently reaching for the whisky, shutting his eyes at the lone glass after closing the door. The flat fell back to its usual silence, and he found a cigarette on his coffee table, sliding the glass to the wood and leaning back. The smoke felt futile, unfulfilling its job to satisfy.

This was why no one came home with Simon Riley. 

i have no idea how to feel about this. i feel lawst *rick grimes*

huge thank you to two people, @mistydeyes for entertaining my late night rambles and encouraging me to finish this, our british class will resume tonight. do not be late. and @fwibblefwobble for letting me break my vocal chords screaming over instagram voice notes, and watching all the ghost band tiktoks that infiltrated my fyp. ur the mvp.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @freakonfilm @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @abbugaduu @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara

if you aren’t tagged and have asked, that’s because i wasn’t able to tag your blog!