#cod ghost smut

[konigslilcumslut]

Simon and his cruel patience in bed.

~(Hint of Dacryphilia)~

——————————————-

Simon’s patience has many levels to it. Different amounts for different things.

Sometimes he has absolutely none.

Other times he could be as patient as a saint.

And there is the cruel level of it which is when you are in any form of intimate moment with him.

At first, he wasn’t very patient with it. Desperate to have every single inch of you however and whenever he pleased. But the longer your relationship with him goes on…the more deliberately slow he becomes.

It starts out small, denying you orgasm a couple of times even though he’s on the brink himself.

But as time passes, the more he’d wait.

———————

You’d beg, plead with him repeatedly to the point of tears welling in frustration as he does nothing more than watch the way his cock glides over your clit again and again with every lazy roll of his hips.

“You can wait a little longer luv, be patient.”

Is the only response you’d get out of him.

Even when you start digging your nails into his skin when he deliberately only thrusts the tip into your weeping cunt for the 8th time.

Even when you’re desperately clenching around him when he finally does decide to sink his cock into your aching heat. He’ll still wait. Sitting nice and buried deep in your cunt until he feels like moving.

It’s only when any frustrated tears actually spill that he’ll give in. Relentlessly slamming his thick cock into you, bullying your tight hole and relishing in the way you go completely dumb under him when he finally gives you what you want.

“See? That wasn’t so hard now was it?”

“All you had to do was wait.”

He’d mock your frustration, not in a serious sense but more so in amusement that you can’t find the patience in you to wait for it. Too needy for his cock and it’s something he loves.

————————————————

Aftercare is a must, knowing he tends to put you through a lot when he’s fucking you. So he’ll channel that patience into it. Something you appreciate a whole lot more.

Gentle kisses, a warm bath. Hell even the biggest nap. Anything you want is yours once you’ve let him have his fun.

[sebastianlynx]

@darksouline

[damnibreathealot]

simon 'ghost' riley who fucks the attitude outta ya!

✎ | cw: female genitals, no genders mentioned!

it's easy for simon to tame your bratty attitude. all he has to do is fuck you fuck dumb, so dumb, to the point that all you can is moan his name through choked sobs. dumb enough to the point all you can think about is his cock and him, only him.

you wanna talk back to him? fine. he'll keep your mouth occupied with either his cock or his fingers while he fucks you in doggy.

you wanna be moody after a fight and give him silent treatment? sure. he'll make you speak again by making you scream his name for hours straight.

you wanna be a tease? sure, he can handle a joke! he'll make sure to add onto the joke by fucking you into overstimualtion.

you want to fuck about while he's tryna work on something for work? alright. he'll bend you over his desk, cock slamming into your soaked, velvety folds until you're crying out to let him cum and he does let you. again. and again. and again.

short post for today!!

[ink-n-shadow]

I have a little thought, virgin!reader getting her first hickey from Simon?👀 🫶

PRETTY BRUISES

𝜗𝜚 the one where simon gives you your first ever hickey

𝜗𝜚 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x virgin!gn!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: soft smut (minors—DNI), slight!dom!simon, biting, hickeys, slight dumbification? (if you squint hard enough)

the thought of being spread out across simon’s lap, one of his massive hands gripping at your hip and the other tilting your head up and to the side for him.

“still doin’ okay?” simon purrs softly as he trails his aquiline nose down the side of your throat, eyes fluttering closed at the way your scent hits him. the urge to rock his hips up, to grind his fattening cock up against your barely clothed cunt is maddening, near driving simon up the wall.

but he knows to take things slow. he doesn’t wanna scare you off, doesn’t want you fleeing too quickly—at least not until he sinks his canines into you.

you offer him a broken whine in response, fingers fisting at the fabric of the black henley hanging off of his muscled torso as a shuddered breath leaves your lungs. you’re sure you’ve never been this on edge, never felt like one sudden movement and you’d melt through the floorboards like ice cream in the sun, never felt so hot, so desperate.

“jus’ relax fer me, baby,” simon breathes softly against your throat before pressing soft kisses down its column, fingers trailing up your sides and dragging your body closer. “promise it won’t hurt—might leave a little bruise, but s’okay, yeah?”

and you find yourself nodding dumbly, nails scratching and pawing uselessly at the base of simon’s neck in an attempt to make him move faster, to make his teeth dig into your flesh quicker, to somehow will his cock out of his boxers and make him fit it all inside of you in one go. but all it does is make his jaw unhinge the slightest amount to suck part of your neck between his teeth slightly, groaning softly as he nibbled at the sucked flesh.

simon doesn’t expect the lewd noise that falls brokenly from your mouth, doesn’t expect the way your body is already nearly boneless in his lap, but it makes him chuckle softly against your throat nonetheless. his thumbs press gentle circles against your hips as he pulls his lips away with an audible and wet pop.

“see? wasn’t bad, was it? ‘nd you already have a pretty little red mark showin’ up. y’gonna let me add some more? yeah, ‘course you are. come ‘ere, then—i’ll even let ya grind against my fingers while i do it.”

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[peppermint-toads]

simon riley knowing tea, soup, hot chocolate, etc. (anything warm) makes you super sleepy and pliant.

simon riley purposely feeding you soup in the late evening so you’re soft and agreeable and tired in his arms.

he sees how drowsy you are from your eyelids looking so heavy and droopy. he pulls you onto his lap and grinds your hips over his semi.

you mumble something into his shoulder, a satisfied sound humming in your throat.

he just wants to feel your warm cunt wrapped around him for a little while, he knows it relaxes the both of you.

you fall asleep with him inside of you after he slowly coaxed himself to orgasm.

simon just loves when you’re so sweet and soft like that.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

thinking of mermaids AGAIN sooooooooooooooo

Merman!Ghost x Mermaid!Reader (for Mermay 2024)

cw: dubcon elements, rough sex, SELF-INDULGENT and therefore weird mermaid biology, (suspend disbelief idk and idc about mermaid biology, i just wanted to write ghost fucking a mermaid.), forced?-ish breeding (both parties were aware of the risks)

Merman!Ghost who's actually a selkie... of sorts.

Merman!Ghost who took the coat of a GREAT Greenland shark over three centuries ago and has lived as a shark ever since...

Merman!Ghost who's a deep dweller and has become quite the hunter, using the darkness of the depths to attract dumb prey so he can kill them.

Merman!Ghost who's not above mauling humans, in fact he despises them, especially when he finds them hurting animals. Sure, he kills them, but he's an animal himself.

Merman!Ghost who when he's bored causes issues on purpose, including scaring fish and other underwater life, and finds great humour in it.

Merman!Ghost who constantly gives trouble to fishing boats by trying to sink them, slamming his tail on the side of them to send them rocking side to side... and by ripping their nets with his teeth...

Merman!Ghost who has had horror stories and cautionary tales told of him by many navigators, pirate captains, sailor crews... who has become somewhat of a legend, a myth, and gets referred to as "The Creature".

Merman!Ghost who's not immune to mermaid song, surprisingly enough, but who can resist it plenty well.

Merman!Ghost who hears the lilting of your voice through the dark water but doesn't seek you out.

Merman!Ghost who succeeds in resisting... for days, weeks, months...

Merman!Ghost who awakes to the endless sound of your singing bubbling into his ears, and gets lulled to sleep by it as well.

Merman!Ghost who finds himself going insane by your voice, that follows him like a backdrop for every waking moment of his life, and cannot tune it out.

Merman!Ghost who eventually bites the bait and allows himself to rise from his domain.

Merman!Ghost follows your voice as it carries for miles upon miles.

Merman!Ghost who comes across a natural cave by the beach. Way too close to the beach. Close enough for him to know he'll end up washing up and getting stuck.

Merman!Ghost who checks both sides, making sure the beach is empty before he tentatively strips off his coat for the first time in years.

Merman!Ghost who stashes his coat between the rocks, covering it with algae before he dares venture into the cave.

Merman!Ghost who can't see as easily without the shark eyes, who can't swim as well without the shark fins, who can barely walk because all his human muscles are atrophied.

Merman!Ghost who wades in waist deep water into the darkness of the cave, looking around for you, his burly, calloused hands using the rocks as crutches to seek you out.

Merman!Ghost who only notices you when it's too late... when your song suddenly stops and the water splashes as you dive back in.

Merman!Ghost who watches you zoom past him in the water, a slippery fishtail propelling you in a zigzag amidst the rocks before you emerge out of the cave.

Merman!Ghost who watches you grab his shark coat and try to make off with it...

Merman!Ghost who takes his sweet time returning back to the mouth of the cave, watching you bob on the water with a mischievous smirk on your lips.

Merman!Ghost who demands "Give it back."

Merman!Ghost who scowls when you tell him "No." and "If you want it back, you have to marry me."

Merman!Ghost who crosses his arms and glares at you, shaking his head and refusing.

Merman!Ghost who scowls even more when you tell him "Then I guess it's bye bye to your skin.".

Merman!Ghost who despises being a human more than he despises the prank you're pulling on him.

Merman!Ghost who tries to negotiate and offers you something in exchange for his coat.

Merman!Ghost who pushes you against the rocks at the entrance of the cave as the cold water and seafoam wash over you both while he kisses you, pressing his tongue, the only warm part of his body, into your mouth, toying with yours.

Merman!Ghost who licks at the salty sea water glistening on your skin and the scales adorning your pretty neck, an arm wrapped around the small of your back.

Merman!Ghost whose human fingers, pale and wrinkled from the salt water, wrap around your exposed breast, softly tugging on the pert nipple while his mouth kisses and sucks at the patches of skin amidst your scales.

Merman!Ghost who tsk's at you for having been singing for so long to attract him, and scolds you for getting him so riled up for weeks on end with your song.

Merman!Ghost whose hands push you up onto the rocks so he can dip his head down your chest, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, sucking it slowly and watching you mewl and cry so beautifully.

Merman!Ghost who gets a reminder of the one positive side of being a human, as his human cock rises up suddenly and stiffly, large and thick, already oozing precum against your tail scales.

Merman!Ghost who carefully grinds his leaking cock against your slick cunt, right before the spot your thighs meet and blend into a tail.

Merman!Ghost who turns you over, bending you over the rocks, one hand on the back of your neck, the other steadying you around the bones of your hip...

Merman!Ghost who plunges his hooded cock deep into your cunt, causing you both to cry out in delight, eyes rolling and jaws going slack as he bottoms out.

Merman!Ghost who bullies his cock deep into your cunny, feeling how your warm, gummy walls contract and squeeze around him while he groans loudly.

Merman!Ghost who pounds away at you again and again, hearing your voice go high-pitched and squeaky with each snap of his hips, finally shattering the mind-numbing and intoxicating mermaid song he's had stuck in his head for weeks.

Merman!Ghost who watches you squirm and whine as you cum around his thick cock, nearly choking it with how tight you get, before he slams his hips against the back of your tail a few more times, and shoots his cum deep inside you.

Merman!Ghost who watches smugly how blissful, quiet and calm you are after he's done, breathing heavily and your body buzzing.

Merman!Ghost who snatches his shark coat from your hands as you're too fucked out to remember you're meant to keep it out of his reach.

Merman!Ghost who puts his shark coat back on and morphs back to the shape he's comfortable in, then wraps his maw around your tired body, beginning to drag you underwater with him.

Merman!Ghost whose body rumbles with a laugh when you try to get free and loosen his grip on you, demanding he let you go.

Merman!Ghost who tells you "I thought you wanted me to be your husband? Well, I made you my broodmare too... Now I have to take care of you."

[poisonedprose]

I humbly request trying on Ghost’s shirts and realizing that they’re too big- and then he comes home and fucks you in one ig, idk my brain is scrambled egg for this man

-⚕️

₊˚✧ XXL — in which ghost's shirts are good for sleeping and getting fucked in

simon 'ghost' riley x afab!reader

warnings: 0.7k words, smut, with help from my pookie @dizzyntrr, pet names (little doll), curse words, p in v, pwp, size kink, mirror sex, nipple play, clit play, light choking

masterlists

You looked in the full-length mirror, admiring how oversized Simon's shirt looked on you. You couldn't even see the white cotton of your underwear. It stopped just a little above your mid-thigh. Your clit throbbed at the mere sight of the large t-shirt, it was laughable how needy you were. 

You bunch the shirt around your waist, admiring your underwear and running your fingers gently over your covered cunt. It was a bad habit to tease yourself, you'd picked it up from Simon. You shuffled the underwear down your legs, stepping out of them gracefully. You looked at your naked bottom half in the mirror, arousal gushing out of your tight hole, wetting your thighs for proof.

Just as you were about to rub your aching clit, the door opened behind you, Simon walked in. You quickly unbunch the shirt, letting it fall back to your mid-thigh and kicking your underwear away from Simon's view. He starts grumbling about something before pausing when he realizes you are in his shirt. "Is that my shirt?" He asks almost with no detectable tone in his voice. If you didn't know any better, you'd think you were in trouble.

"Yeah, y'like?" You were still looking in the mirror. He walks up behind you, cupping your pussy. He chuckles as you gasp, your arousal coating his hand. "No underwear? Thought you knew better than this, lovie." You can't see it, but you know he's smirking under his skull mask. He pulls the shirt up above your tits. He takes one of your nipples in his pointer finger and thumb, rubbing gently. With his other hand, he rubs your clit, slow as slow can be.

You immediately melt into his touch. It was borderline terrifying how much power this man had over you. You wrap your hand around the wrist of the hand playing with your clit, trying to make him go faster. But all that does is make him go slower. You watch in the mirror, the teasing combined with the mirror was making you needier than ever before. 

Before you knew it, you were whining out a string of pleas and begs. "Please, Simon. I'll do anythin'. Need your pretty cock in me s'bad.." You pout, tears brimming your eyes as you beg. He was already growing hard just from the sight of you in his shirt but hearing you say that his cock was pretty. He was done for. 

He sits back on the bed, sitting you on his lap. Your clit brushes against the fabric of his pants causing you to whimper. "Be patient, yah?" He groans as he hurriedly pulls his cock out, not even bothering to pull his pants down. He puts his hand in front of your mouth and you don't need to be told what to do. You spit on his hand and he happily accepts it, bringing his hand to his stiff cock and jerking himself softly. He groans, eyes rolling back just a bit.

Once he feels like he lubricated himself enough, he's lining himself up with your entrance, poking you with his leaky tip. He ruts into you, you cry out with a whimper. "Keep your pretty mouth shut and watch." He grips your chin and forces you to look at yourself in the mirror. You clench around him at the sight, making him groan. "Of course you like this." He chuckles condescendingly, but you can't bring yourself to mind.

He holds the shirt up to your waist, keeping it from covering your cunt. You can't wait any longer. You start squirming in his lap, trying to get him to start fucking into you and of course, he gives his sweet angel what you want. He snaps his hips into the backside of your ass, thrusting into you. The pace is brutal and each thrust hit so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach. 

"Such a small thing in my shirt, aren't ya? Makes ya look like my little doll." Simon groans in your ear, watching your dazed look as he pounds into you. His hand slides up your body, stopping at your neck. His grip was tight but he was careful not to hurt you. "Gonna fuck you in all my shirts from now on."

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎┊ㅤㅤ💋 ㅤㅤ ﾟㅤㅤ ┊‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

[serialkilluh1996]

Gaz the typa guy to get really quiet when he hears something strange. He halts all noise, asks no questions, and simply listens, staying quiet until he hears another. And soaps the guy to ruin the whole thing by going, "Who's there?" Very loudly, insisting that they go check it out (with no weapons whatsoever, might I add).

The result? They end up in a quarrel where soap gets scolded for his unnecessary statement. "Like the killer was gonna say something back," Gaz fusses. In the end, it was only Ghost sneaking into the kitchen for a snack, trying not to disturb the two as he didn't care to speak at the time, but he couldn't deny he found it funny when they bickered.

[random-thot-generator]

Try a Little Tenderness

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem Reader

Summary: Simon has just returned home in the middle of the night from a mission in less than stellar condition. Understanding that he was in desperate need of some TLC, you put aside the ‘frenemy’ dynamic the two of you usually operate within to take care of him, instead. Your gentle ministrations elicit a reaction that neither of you expect, but perhaps have been yearning for all along.

Warnings: Language, explicit sexual content, touching of naughty bits - Simon gets a helping hand in the bath, fluff and feelings, no Y/N

(A/N: This is a thot connected to an idea I had for a series. Still not sure about the series, but what ev. 

This is just me exploring the intimate relationship between the characters. It is minor smut compared to what I usually write, meant to be a vulnerable moment for Simon, and for reader as well. I dunno, I feel like a certain amount of trust needs to be established before Simon allows himself to be with someone in an intimate way. 

For a little backstory, Reader is Simon’s housekeeper/roommate/frenemy. It’s been platonic up to this point, but there have been some charged moments leading up to this. This is the turning point in the relationship, the first time Simon allows himself to really indulge in reader’s attention and care. Reader and Simon have been living together for about a year by this point but have known each other for almost two. Simon’s pet name for reader is ‘Doll’; reader’s pet name for Simon is ‘Grumpy’.)

Word Count: 2777

It was almost midnight by the time Simon shuffled through his front door. He was dead on his feet, still wearing the same clothes he put on three days ago, covered in filth and stinking to high hell. He would normally have stayed on base, cleaned up, ate and retired to his quarters to rest, but for some reason, he’d texted you mid-flight to tell you he was on his way back. He hadn’t been expecting an immediate answer, but he got one.

[DOLL]: What’s ur ETA? I’ll wait up 4 u. Have u eaten? 

Simon had hovered over his phone, glancing about the plane, not sure how to respond. He supposed he didn’t have to stay on base. He’d just never had a reason to return home before. He knew he should tell you not to wait up, to go to bed, that he would see you tomorrow, but instead he found himself tapping out a different message.

[GRUMPY]: Landing in twenty. Be home approx 2hrs.

[DOLL]: I’ll be waiting. C u soon.

He re-read the message several times. ‘I’ll be waiting.’ This was new for him, having someone to go home to, having someone there expecting him, waiting up to see him. Sure, he had come home to you before, but not like this. This was... premeditated.

As he closed the door behind him and locked it, he heard your feet padding through the sitting room and turned. He couldn’t help the smile that spread under the balaclava when he saw you. You were dressed in one of his old T-shirts, a pair of flannel sleep shorts peeking out beneath the hem, and a pair of those ugly fuzzy socks on your feet. Your hair was loose and hanging down your back, not quite dry yet from an earlier shower, and your face was free of makeup. He liked seeing you like this better than any other way.

You were looking at him in that direct way that always got to him, assessing him, checking him over. He waited for one of your customary snarky greetings, but instead your brows furrowed.

“You look exhausted, Si. C’mere. Sit down,” you instructed, pointing at the entryway bench. Simon didn’t even hesitate, just did as he was told. He watched you kneel before him and start unlacing his boots.

“Ya don’t got t’do that, Doll. I can―“

“Si, hush,” you murmured, your voice soft and gentle. “I got this, okay? You’re home. Relax.”

He didn’t have it in him to argue, so let you have your way. You removed his boots and stuck them under the bench by his trainers, then stood and held your hand out. “C’mon. You need a bath.”

He let you lead him up the stairs, but instead of taking him to his ensuite bathroom, you led him down the hallway to the bathroom that you used. You motioned for him to sit down on the toilet while you stoppered the tub and turned on the taps. He watched with curiosity as you opened the cabinet below the sink, taking out a glass jar filled with some sort of pinkish granules, sprinkling a generous portion of it into the filling tub.

“Wha’s that?”

“Epsom salts with lavender and eucalyptus. It’ll help ease your sore muscles,” you told him, replacing the jar in the cabinet. You turned to look him over again. “Let’s get you out of those dirty clothes. I’ll get you some clean ones once you’re in the bath. C’mon. Arms up.”

Simon thought about objecting. He was a grown man, he could undress himself, but as soon as he felt your hands on him, all complaints went right out the window. He held his arms out so you could pull the tail of his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans, shivering when he felt your fingers graze his lats as you peeled it up and over his head.

“I smell like shite,” he grumbled, embarrassed for you to be this close to him when he was in such a disgusting state.

You huffed, the sound low and amused. “You smell like a soldier who just got back from deployment. Believe me, I’ve smelled worse.” You motioned for him to stand again. Once he regained his feet, your hands went to his waist, undoing the belt and pulling it free, then you undid the button and fly of his jeans. You pushed them down until they bunched around his knees, then instructed him to lean on you while you tugged them off his legs.

And he just... let you. He had not had anyone care for him like this since his last stint in the medical bay, and that had been a male nurse with hands rougher than his own. He’d not had a woman care for him like this since he was a small boy, when his mother would get him ready for his bath. He felt his chest constrict, almost told you to stop, but your hand on the back of his calf silenced him.

“Foot up,” you said, letting him lean on you again as you stripped off first one sock and then the other. Once you straightened, you placed a hand at the small of his back and gave him a gentle push towards the tub. “I’ll go get you some clean clothes while you get in,” you said, then stooped to gather up his dirty things. “Be back in a minute.”

You left him staring after you, disappearing down the hallway. He turned back to the tub, eyeing the hot water lapping at the sides. Aromatic steam rose from its surface, too tempting to ignore. Pushing his underwear off his hips, he let them drop on the floor and stepped out of them, then climbed into the tub.

He groaned long and low as the hot water enveloped him, certain he had never felt anything better in his whole life. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back on the edge, only then realizing that he still had on his balaclava. He hesitated for a moment, then reached up and pulled it off as well, dropping the dirty hood on top of his underwear. Fuck it. You’d seen his face before and hadn’t made a big deal out of it, didn’t even comment on it, really, just took it in stride like you did everything else.

He cracked an eye open when you re-entered the room, watching as you placed his clean clothes on the counter next to the sink. You opened another cabinet and removed some towels and a washcloth, glanced over at him, then opened a drawer and took out what looked like a pack of wipes and a squat, plastic jar with a pink lid. You brought it all to the tub with you and knelt by the side, near his head. You held up the pack of wipes and pointed at the black paint around his eyes.

“Figured these would help take that gunk off. I’ve got some cold cream, too. Can I...”

You wanted to touch his face. His mouth dropped open to say no, but then he closed it and swallowed. You were looking right at him, a normal expression on your face, not flinching away or averting your eyes. If it didn’t bother you, then he would allow it. For now. He gave a slow nod of assent.

You opened the pack of wipes and set them beside you, then opened the cold cream. “Lean your head back and close your eyes for me.”

Simon did as he was told, though his brain was sounding a klaxon alarm in his head. He was exposing his throat to someone, was closing his eyes and leaving himself vulnerable to your mercy. Did you see how tense he was? Could you see the muscles spasming as he fought not to move, to push you away, to fend you off like an enemy? Did you understand what this was doing to him right now?

Apparently, you did, at least to some extent. 

“Okay, Si. I’m going to put this cream around your eyes. It will feel cold, so don’t freak out. If you need to stop, just say the word. Alright?”

“Yeah,” he croaked out, waiting, steeling himself for the contact.

The first touch had him flinching, but he forced himself to remain still as you spread the cream around his eyes, working it in with your fingers in small circular motions. When you finished, you set the jar down and picked up the wipes. “I’m gonna clean all this off with these wipes. They’ll feel cold, too.”

This time, he only nodded, more relaxed now. Your touch had been soothing once he’d gotten used to it. It was... nice. He didn’t even twitch an eyelash when he felt the cool pressure of your fingers against his jaw, letting you tilt his head towards you. Your other hand began wiping gently at his face with one of the wipes. They smelled slightly floral, similar to the cold cream; he liked it.

It took several minutes to clean his face, neither of you saying anything. You were patient and methodical, cleaning away all the paint until none of it remained.

“Okay. Done with that,” you murmured, fingers moving from his face to his hair. “I’m going to wash your hair next, okay?”

“Hm,” he hummed in consent, not even bothering to open his eyes.

You wet his hair and then poured shampoo into your palm, working your hands together before placing them on his head. As your fingers curled and began to work his hair into a lather, Simon couldn’t help the low groan that rumbled out. It felt like heaven, the way your fingers massaged his scalp and neck. He could have whined when you stopped, but his breath hitched when he felt your fingertips under his chin, tilting his head back.

“Just need to rinse your hair, Grumpy. Keep your eyes closed.”

Again, he did as you instructed, not offering so much as a grunt of complaint when you rinsed his hair and then used the washcloth to dry his face. You raked your fingers through his hair, noting how choppy and uneven it was. Maybe he’d let you cut it some time, but for now, you would stick to what you knew he would allow.

“How ‘bout I wash your back for you and then I’ll go downstairs and make you something to eat while you finish your bath?”

He blinked his eyes open and stared at you. The steam and trapped heat from the bath were making you sweat, a light sheen making your skin gleam in the warm light. He had the sudden urge to run his thumb up your throat, collect the moisture beading there and taste it. He felt his cock give a twitch of interest below the water and brought his bent knees closer together. Grasping the edges of the tub, he pulled himself in to a sitting position, back bowed towards you.

Pleased to see him so cooperative, you dunked the washcloth in the water and grabbed your body wash, squirting out a couple of dollops. Working the cloth in your hands until you had a good lather, you rested one hand on his shoulder and used the other to slowly scrub the cloth over his back in large circles. You could feel the tension easing out of his shoulders, watched his head tip forward until he finally crossed his forearms on his knees and rested his forehead against them.

When you were done with his back, you didn’t stop, moving up to his shoulders and then down his arm. He leaned back, studying the way you washed each finger, working the cloth between them. You glanced up at him. “Other arm?”

He twisted around and held his arm out to you, resting his wrist on the edge of the tub. You washed it with as much care as you had the other, leaning over the tub to reach his underarm. When you went to slide the cloth away, he caught your wrist and pulled it to the center of his chest. He then closed his eyes and leaned back, letting his head rest against the edge again.

Slow circles worked the lathered cloth over his broad chest and collarbones, and you smiled when he tipped his chin up to let you wash his neck. A soft breath hissed between his lips as your hand dipped below the water’s surface to wash his sides and stomach, his brows ticking together when you brought the cloth back up. He shifted, his knees going wide to lean against the sides of the tub.

You were beginning to feel heat simmering in your lower belly that sent a blush creeping up your neck. “Do, uh... I can wash your legs next. If you like.”

He caught your hand in his, eyes still closed, and pushed it beneath the water again. “Wash here,” he replied, his voice like gravel in his throat.

You held your breath as he guided your hand down to his cock, let him wrap your fingers around its swollen girth and hold them there. His chest was rising and falling, chin tipping forward to rest on it when he felt you grip him tighter. Your lips parted as you gave him a tentative stroke, your breath puffing out in little pants as you watched him let out a shuddering breath, his eyes rolling open to reveal a lust-dazed expression before sliding closed again.

Your hand slid up and down his shaft in slow, even strokes, working him gradually, wanting him to enjoy what you were doing to him. His pleasure incited your own, and you could feel your panties grow damp with your arousal as you watched him slowly fall apart. He was panting now, head lolling back once more, hooded, hazy eyes staring up at the ceiling, his knuckles going white as they gripped the edge of the tub.

Your thighs squeezed together when a wrecked moan tore from his lips as you worked at him beneath the cloudy water, wishing it was clear enough for you to see him as well as feel him. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, the feel of his hot length pulsing in your hand almost too much to bear.

“Ah, fuck...” he huffed out, his back beginning to curl forward. He lifted his eyes to yours, mouth open and panting, a look of near desperation on his face. His hand came up to grip the nape of your neck, drawing you close until his forehead rested against yours, holding your gaze. His nose brushed against yours in an intimate caress, lips almost touching, the two of you sharing the same air. “Don’t stop,” he husked out.

The speed of your strokes increased, your hand slipping up to focus on the head, making his knees draw up as he tensed. You could feel him swelling in your hand, growing bigger and harder as he neared his release. His eyes grew wide, mouth falling open as his jaw went slack.

“It’s okay, Simon,” you whispered to him, “I got you,” and that was all the prompting he needed.

His grip turned into a vice on the nape of your neck as he erupted beneath the surface of the water, and he growled against your mouth, teeth gritting into a snarl as he pulsed in your hand. You didn’t stop stroking him until his eyes closed and grip loosened on your neck, his breaths puffing out in exerted gasps over your lips.

You let him rest against you, not bothering to move or say anything, wanting him to have this quiet moment, to just relax in the knowledge that he was home and safe, that you were here for him. You closed your eyes and let yourself enjoy the moment as well, relishing the quiet, the peace.

Simon’s eyes flickered open, not sure what to expect, only to find your eyes closed, lashes shadowing your cheeks, a gentle smile on your face. You looked so calm, so at peace. You looked... content.

You blinked your eyes open, startled, when you felt the hesitant press of his lips against yours, but you didn’t shy away, instead letting him feel you smile against his lips before you tenderly kissed him back.

[ghostlychief]

*riding ghost*

NSFW: MINORS DNI

warnings: riding; smut🥴 is that enough warning lol pls don’t read if you’re a minor 😭

this honestly just popped up into my head and I frantically started typing on my phone (bear with me bc I haven’t written anything smutty in so long and never have been good at it lol) anyways happy Friday!

--

You legs start to shake as you continuously lift yourself up then effortlessly slide back down on Ghost’s dick. The stretch is immaculate and you find yourself with your head tilted back with your eyes closed, soaking in his size and the euphoric current flowing through you right now.

In order to ground yourself, your hands move to hold onto Ghost’s that are grasping your waist. Although his grip is firm, it’s not too much for you and you love the pressure. As you move up and down, your breasts graze his sweaty chest, making your already overly sensitive nipples tingle.

You’re getting tired, and you’re about to reach your max. This will be your fourth climax and your poor body is reaching its limit. You let out a whimper and move one hand so it’s resting on his shoulder now. Ghost can tell you’re almost there.

“C’mon, baby. Just one more for me.” His grip tightens just a little so that he can help you move up and down, alleviating some of the stress on your legs. The slickness between your legs is getting more and more out of control as you get closer and closer to your demise.

With a shaky breath and a hint of a whine, you confess, “I don’t know if I can.” Your legs are exhausted, heart is pounding, but he just feels so good that even in your tired state, you still feel such a sense of blissfulness; you can’t stop.

“Yes you can.” His hands continue to help you move, which makes it easier to go at a faster pace.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.” You let out a whine at his praise.

His hand moves where your two bodies meet and moves his fingers in slow agonizing circles. You’re at the precipice, ready to drop any moment. When you finally do, you feel a bright warmness spread through your entire body, and you can also feel Ghost shudder under you.

You collapse against his chest and wrap your arms around his neck. His hand gingerly comes up to stroke your spine and you’re trying your best not to fall asleep.

“See, I knew you could do it.” He has a teasing lilt to his tone, and even though you can’t see his face, you know a smirk is coating his lips. If your body wasn’t drained of energy, you would have slapped his shoulder.

You let out a grunt against his shoulder, “You owe me a massage.”

You feel him shrug under you, “Fair enough.”

—

IDK WHAT THIS IS BUT HOPE YOU ENJOYED <3 I haven’t written anything smutty in so long so this is probably trash 😶

[lady-boketto]

10.Slasher! Simon "Ghost" Riley (Call of Duty NSFW)

Summary: Ghost is a serial killer and during one of his sprees, he comes across an unsuspecting couple who are having fun in the woods.

A/n: For an easter egg I wanted this to be the unofficial part two of the Gaz one I wrote yesterday where you and Gaz are the couple in this one lol. But anyway enjoy!

The dark woods felt like home. The way the thick tree trunks groaned under the weight of the breeze. The rush of air cutting right down to the bone with its icy bite. This was where he belonged, stalking through the darkness, weaving through the forest like a shadow. With only the moon to bare witness to the sin of bloodlust.

Leaves crunched under his heavy boots, the soft plinks of blood flowing from the sickle he held tightly in hand, creating an eerie trail as he shifted through the woods aimlessly. Tonight was unlike any other, and he relished in the way the cold night embraced his masked face. He was still feeling the rush of adrenaline when he heard something unusual, in the distance he could make out a tent but that wasn't the part that caught his attention. It was the noises that could be heard coming from the tent.

Ghost made little to no sound as he stalked towards a large tree that was nearby, the roughness of the bark hitting the back of his jacket as he leaned against the oak tree. His breathing was calm as he made up his mind already to attack the unsuspecting couple in their most intimate moment, he was about to strike when was caught off guard by your voice.

“Just like that!~….M-more!”

Your voice cried out as your lover hit that special spot inside you that made your eyes roll to the back of your head. You couldn’t hold your voice back as it only spurred on your lover to grip your hips harder as they fucked you from behind. The sound of skin slapping against each other as Ghost was frozen in his place outside in the cold, he was enchanted by your moans. You sounded so desperate to be fucked, all the blood in his body rushed to his groin as something in him awoken upon hearing your pleas.

Ghost leaned his head back against the wood, letting out a deep sigh as he gently tossed his weapon to the side, letting it hit the ground with a soft thud before he started to fiddle with the zipper of his jeans. Sighing heavily as one his hands starts to rub his growing erection, while he continues to listen in on the sinful noises that were coming from a few feet away from him. His thoughts get the better of him as can’t help but fantasize that he’s the one fucking your brains out.

Instead Ghost is pushing his pants down just enough to free his cock from his boxers, shivering at the cold air that immediately hits his pale skin as he grips the base of his cock. He eagerly begins to stroke his cock to the sounds of your moans, biting his bottom lip under his mask as he uses his other hand to cup and gently squeeze his balls. His mind teases him as he pictures how you would look underneath him as he pounds into you or how good your lips would look wrapped around his cock.

“You feel so good! I-I’m close!”

His torture continues as he hears you beg for your release.

‘That’s it, take it’

His voice echoes in his mind, his movements becoming sloppier as he felt his body heat up from arousal. With a couple of final strokes Ghost cums with a groan, staining the ground with his seed. His chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath, taking a moment to recover and cleaning himself up the best he can before fixing his pants.

Just as Ghost leans down to pick up his weapon, he hears you cry out one last time as he figures that you’ve reached your climax. A smirk pulls at his lips under his mask, this was perfect timing as he feels his bloodlust from earlier return.

‘This is going to be fun.’

[konigslilcumslut]

Ghost and sexual tension. (Fem version)

It started off as just one night together in that stupid safe house, both in need of something to take their minds away from the mass amount of shit going on.

But then came the passing glances.

The hitches of breath whenever they stood too close together.

The heat in the air whenever their gazes met for longer than necessary.

It was only a week or so before he had you in his office, pinned against the desk with his hands on either side of the wood around you as the heat between you grew just too hot for him to handle, staring you down with those dark eyes as his chest would rise shakily with each breath, holding himself back from just taking what he wanted

“You’re becoming a problem soldier.” His rough voice would ring out as his grip on the desk grew tighter in frustration.

“I can’t fucking think. Can’t breathe around you.” He growls out as his masked face would inch closer to yours, eyes narrowing and pupils dilating with a very obvious lust.

“All I can fucking think about is having your legs around me and ruining this pussy all over again.” His words would come out with a venom, almost angry at the fact he could barely concentrate on his job.

His hand would inch closer to your hips, his arms tense with a heavy level of self restraint.

“God I just wanna bend you over this desk and fuck you till you can’t walk.” He sighs, one hand reaching for his mask, pulling it over his nose just to let his mouth be visible.

There’d be a beat of heated silence, air thick with want and his gaze so dark his eyes were bordering on black.

And then he wouldn’t be able to hold back anymore, so overwhelmed with lust for you that he’s kissing you like a wild animal, all teeth and tongue as his hands tear at your clothes.

He’d have you bent over, one hand in your hair to keep your face buried amongst the pile of paperwork he’d been too distracted to complete as he roughly snaps his hips into yours, a low growl of pleasure escaping him.

And trust when I say it was going to become a regular occurrence.

He’s addicted to you and he’s not afraid to show you just how much.

[shadow-riley]

What if, hypothetically, Simon got to hunt the reader down through the woods behind their cabin. (Consentually of course.) And once he caught them he takes them back to the house and fucks them like he's trying to get them pregnant.

TYSM for the idea Anon!!!!

RUN, LITTLE MOUSE SimonRiley x reader

MDNI

tw: consensual pr3y/pr3dat0r, r0ugh s3x, cussing, unpr0tect3d p in v, d3gr@ding, slight pr@ise, cre@mp!e, 0ral (f recieve)

f!reader x Simon Riley

You and Simon had taken a break from 141, to really form a life with him. One night, you decided to be a brat, then ran outside, Simon chasing you. Hunting you. This was consensual of coarse. something about the thrill of being hunted sent an exhilarating chill through you as you ran through the woods of your 5 acres.

"C'mere, ye brat" His voice is thick with his British accent

Simon soon catches you, slinging you over his shoulder and carrying you inside. The second the door is shut and locked, he's fucking you like he wants to be a father.

"SIMON!" you gasp.

He slams you down onto the kitchen floor, your back hitting it with a hard thud, Simon leaning down and kissing you hard.

"You don't get to run from me. Brat."

He flips you over into your stomach, bringing your hips up, and uses his knees to bring yours further apart.

You gasp, the change in position giving you a moments break to breath, but that was short lived until Simon rammed himself into you mercilessly, his dick hard and hitting your g spot everytime.

"Holy fuck simon!"

"Love, you will listen to me. You are mine. I will not stop until you understand that you are mine. I will not stop being possessive over you, and I will not stop making you submit to me"

You soon become a trembling mess, gripping at anything, hell, the kitchen tiles.

"Shh...my pretty little slut...."

He brings his hand around you, rubbing tight circles on your clit, his other hand on your neck, keeping your head up, forcing you to watch yourself in a full length mirror not far from where you lay on the cool tiles.

"that's my girl....fuck..."

He continued to fuck your brains out, only pulling out to see his white slick dripping out of you. The sight makes him feral, his tongue finding its way to your dripping hole.

You can't do anything but whimper and moan, an overstimulated mess.

He buries his face in your sex, not coming up for air.

"you're MINE....i own you...." He grunted.

After he cleaned you up he pick you up off the floor and carries you to your room, where he lay with you, marking your body.

Not too much softer, just less on edge after that.

XOXO tysm for reading!! not proof read!

[damnibreathealot]

simon 'ghost' riley who fucks his cum back into you.

✎ | cw: female genitals but no genders mentioned!

simon simply folds you until you can't physically fold anymore. arms hooked around your legs while his cock slams in and out of you – bound to give you a bruised cervix later.

he's fucked out of his mind. completely pussy drunk. he can't help it though, your cunt is so tight and warm and wet. it drives him insane. he continues to pound into you, and his hand slips to rub lazy circles against your clit adding onto your pleasure. you suddenly feel the knot in your stomach come undone.

the way you look while cumming and the way your cunt tightens around his cock, causes him to cum inside you. he rests against you for a bit before pulling his soft cunt out of your cunt with a slight squelch.

he spreads your folds to see his cum flood out of your quivering hole. he scoops the cum that's managed to escape your hole and slips in back into you. you whine from the overstimulation, but he isn't paying attention to that. he's paying more attention to how your pretty cunt swallow his fingers until he's knuckles deep in your pussy.

he moves his fingers in and out of you. nice and slow. he uses his other hand to rub your sensitive nub. you're a panting and whimpering mess, "simon, i just came!"

"and you can do it again." he says without a tad bit of sympathy. he rubs your clit faster, wanting more moans out of you. he knows your close from how hard your cunt clamps around his fingers. he curls his fingers to press against your g-spot and finger fucks that spot until you end up cumming.

"made a mess. lemme clean that up for you." he grins and gets on his knees

it's like a never-ending cycle with simon...

[ink-n-shadow]

i’m back on my owner!ghost bullshit!!

𝜗𝜚 cw: slight smut (minors—DNI), pet play, owner!ghost, aftercare, collar/collaring, subspace, unedited

but instead of rough and tough owner!ghost, it’s after a particularly draining scene for you, and owner!ghost is all soft touches and gentle hands. he’s letting your tear-stained and red cheek rest against his sweat-slick thigh as his fingers begin gently undoing the tethers of your metal play collar.

“shh, shh—s’alright, pup. gonna put the soft one back on,” ghost murmurs soothingly when you start squirming in his hold, a slurred whine leaving your mouth as you try and prevent him from taking the play collar off. because in your still delirious and staticky brain, you see it as a sign of him untethering you from him forever.

his calloused fingertips are soothing the reddened skin beneath the metal before tying the soft silk collar you always wear back around your throat, making sure the small metal tag simply etched with a cursive ‘g’ isn’t resting on your irritated skin.

owner!ghost after a scene is lathering your sore body in shea butter, letting you remain a boneless, floaty mess in the ruined sheets as he tries to ease the aches before you come back down to earth.

it isn’t until your entire body is smooth as silk and the stars behind your eyelashes have dimmed to mere glimmers that he’s pulling you to sit up in his lap, head slumped into the curve of his muscled chest and his fingers carding through your tangled hair.

“where’s my baby, hm?” he hums affectionately under his breath as his crooked nose prods against your sticky temple, scarred lips trailing feathery kisses along your hairline amidst your slow decent from your submissive headspace. when he notices you peeking up at him from beneath your lashes still frosted with unshed tears (from the umpteenth orgasm he’d given you for the night), his lips curve into his typical crooked grin.

“there you are—there’s my good pup.”

[jolalibrary]

post-mission

simon ghost riley x f!reader | cod: ghost masterlist

summary: what do you need? three letters, one word: you. aka the time you fuck ghost after a bad mission.

wordcount: 2k warnings: smut. like post-mission fucking, kind of smut. an: look, i blame replaying the mw2 (2022) campaign. but this has been rotting me and it could have died in the drafts or i could post it. the latter won.

It takes a bad mission for things to move from stares and almost touches into something else.

You're fucked up. Your skin aching from how you’ve tried to scrub yourself in the shower until the water cooled and your skin turned goose-pimpled. At least your brain feels empty. A blessing; a gift.

Exiting steam and dressing in fresher clothes as a shell of a person, dragging yourself for food, feigning normalcy, routine. Tiredness plays a part, on more sleep the outcome of the mission wouldn't eat away at you.

You still choose to not let it win, the what ifs and buts. Even if they're scraping out whatever sense you’d usually have. Leaving behind autopilot, allowing existing but with little purpose—feeling drained, yet wired.

Fork scratching at your plate, you shift the veggies and protein around as the dull grumble of conversation happens around you. Hearing your callsign, offering a smile. It's muted, but present.

You remind yourself present is at least good.

It's not until you leave your tray do you wonder if you've taken a bite, even if half of the food is gone and you can taste peppers on your tongue. A thing you mull over. Turn. Feet moving, shifting like an aimless figure down corridors until you’re stopped, halted. A gloved hand on your shoulder, turning you until you face the hulking figure you’d already suspected, but find confirmed.

He says your call sign before he whispers your name. Like it's a dirty secret. It makes you smirk.

You good? It's a simple question, one whispered in the quiet corridor. He follows up with another as though understanding. One all but offered, provided, a granted opportunity:

What do you need?

Ghost, or Simon, won’t share that he’s worried. But it’s there, hanging like fairy lights in his eyes. Just like he doesn’t say that he’s followed you, because the evidence is already stacked on that. But he burns the same question into you as he did when you disembarked from evac, as though you’d unspool all your answers. You didn’t then, wouldn’t now.

You’re not sure what you want, what you need.

But your chest is tight and your bones feel heavy. He reads you, must do, because his frame begins to cage, a hand on the wall making you nurse your lower lip between your teeth. On other days, you’d wish for this, for a moment alone, to push his buttons and watch his eyes shift in the slits of the fabric that shields his face.

“Jus’ tell me.”

Thoughts—thick and hurrying—flood. A reply, words that could, and maybe would string into a sentence bubble on your tongue, ones like: to have looked over the plan again, to have used a second of critical thinking—

But thick fingers take your chin, lift eyes to one’s shrouded in darkness—beacons of something, safety, a chance.

“Read your report.” You make a noise, before swallowing—feeling his gloved fingers skate further along your jaw. “Y’did good.”

It’s easier to snort, to try and dip your chin and fight his hold. Blink back tears and not appear weak and slide down the wall in front of him.

You know what you wrote, and you know what you thought. That it was an out-of-your-hands situation that you watched burn to the ground on your elbows and back. Shitty information, bad intel, it lucky that those who went in somehow came back alive, with limbs and stories. Pen scratching at the paper, anger infused between the nub and the words you cut into it.

“What do you need?”

Three letters, one word. It croaks out, important, weighted.

Unbeknown what corridor you are on, until he opens a door and you find yourself willingly shoved inside of it. Dark, eyes adjusting to outlines of things and furniture, but knowing it’s his. You can smell it.

Gunsmoke, tea leaves and earthiness.

Things which have clung when the two of you have stolen moments next to one another. When idle chatter became tinged flirting, when your eyes dragged themselves south of his face, lingered, fuelled by adrenaline, I think I could take it, Ghost. It was a crossed line, but his frame hadn’t moved from leaning against yours, stars twinkling above, the bellowing of the others inside. Knowing you, you’d die trying.

He wasn’t wrong, never is.

Always seeing, spotting—forever seeing you.

A thing that has made your hand dip between your underwear in the middle of the night, fingers not even close to the thickness of him as you sought pleasure, gratification. The scent of him having nestled into your nose months ago, in some bar in the middle of fuck knows, his elbows close to yours—a glass in your palm, one in his. The answer to his question acidic on your tongue: what makes you think I like you? The ice had clanged against the glass, staring, bolder than you’d been prior. Don’t see you undressing Gaz, Lt.

He’s undressing you now.

Removing every basic item on your skin until you’re naked and aiding him in the removal of his belt, of his issued trousers and the rest. The final is the balaclava, the thin one he wears on base. A thing you don’t motion for, but his hands guide you to, silent permission given. An offering of trust. A different kind of exchange—him needing secrecy from you, you needing this from him.

The terms are agreed upon as you slide it up past his chin, his mouth; you sign it non-verbally as you lift it up over his nose, before it’s over his forehead and in some corner.

A pause, a chance to back out—waiting, and waiting for him to tell you to get the fuck out.

It never comes. So you snake a hand around the back of his sweat-tacked neck and pull his mouth to yours.

You find that kissing him is like fighting a fire. Unpredictable, warm. Skin is licked and burning as he forces you flush against him, groaning, almost moaning into his mouth as he deepens it. As his tongue slides past your teeth and he takes as you give, and you take as he gives.

It’s not an exchange for pleasure, but control. A means to an end, a way to sign away your rights to him for exchange for gluttony.

“Wanna ruin you—“

“Fuckin’ do it then, Ghost.”

It’s a grunt, somewhere from the back of his throat. Deep, desperate, carnal and ravenous. He looms more until the back of your thighs connect with the bed, it creaking and protesting as the two of you fall down onto it, thighs spreading on instinct, cool air brushing over your already wet, slick wanting cunt.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.”

You almost shy from it, his compliment. A thing you’d convinced he didn’t think, never mind feel. The only reason you don’t is due to the slither of light from between the curtains—off-white, dewy, likely from the moon. It slides in a line across his face, illuminating his eyes and the bridge of his nose, proving honesty, truthfulness and factualness.

No bullshit.

No more of him exposed, on show. As though the night is doing him a favour, granting him another semblance of privacy as your hand slides between your bodies, as you tease yourself, dip two fingers into your heat and whimper when his eyes follow where you’re touching. Your eyes are growing used to it, the surroundings, making out his outline and limbs moving, like his own arm moving for his hand to wrap around his cock. The slither of light slipping to his collarbone, to his broad chest—seeing the muscles ripple under his movements, the scars that tell a thousand stories.

“Thought you were—” Your slick-soaked fingers glide to swirl circles on your bundle of nerves. “—gonna ruin me, I‘ve not got all day.”

He emits a growl, low, almost inhuman and ruthless as he plants a palm down by your head, hinging back over you, hulking, dwarfed entirely by him.

As soon as his tip notches at your entrance, you feel you should gasp. Hold your breath. Still.

Instead, you nip at his jaw, push—all but insistently—until your lips part around a soundless moan. Each inch stretches you, forcing everything out of your skull except his name, the feel of him, how you want to claw at him to both bury himself to the hilt and go slower.

“Knew you could take me.”

You’re not sure if you curse in your head or out loud, air punched from your lungs. Distantly aware of the sheets under you, his arms caged on either side of you now, warm breath fanning over your neck and chin. But you just feel stretched, an ache blooming under it as you adjust, as you begin to will and want and crave for him to move.

“You thought about it, then?”

Your voice high-pitched, the question wrapped in a pant.

“Yeah, I have.”

And he moves without you even murmuring for him to do so—and each drag is bliss, luscious. Keeping your thighs spread, increasing the pace, making your skin ripple with each thrust as you arch against his sheets—as you grasp at his thick waist, as you grab for stability.

“This what you wanted?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

He snorts, loud, punchy. Hooking your knee over his hip as he leans over you, lips close to your own as he finds a new angle, discovers a new place that has you whining and pressing your palm to his cheek.

He fucks you as though his life depends on it, his body anchoring you. Thrusting in a rhythm as his fingers, press at your lower lip. You know, without him asking. Your tongue swipes against them, sliding over the two he’s presented before he’s pulling them back, slipping his hand between your bodies and pressing them to your clit. He draws shapes, letters, and lines. Likely fucking patterns of the next mission right against your bundle of nerves until he’s making you gasp, good girl, he grunts.

Your brain just struggles with forming his name as his cock repeatedly kisses that spot inside of you.

Thank you, you almost say. But you can’t, don’t.

Muscles both taut and loose all at once, clenching around him as you near coming and he groans, murmurs something akin to fucking hell, but it’s bitten back, mostly restrained.

“Touch yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

It’s then you open your eyes, expecting a glare, but find his chin dipped, eyes focused on where the two of you meet, watching you swallow his cock, taking him, transfixed as though not able to believe the sight. And he moans. Guttural, deplored.

It’s the final push you need, the sight of him in awe of you that makes you snap.

Pleasure rips, rippling throughout you, all white-hot, rushing. It darts and courses as though trying to find a place to dig and bury itself. Your back arched, whines thick and plentiful escaping until his hand muffles your mouth. Then you bury his name against his skin, mark it in desperate breaths as you shatter as his cock continues, thrusting, fucking into you as though its new mission is to push you to come again—hearing him, praising, more talkative than you’ve known him outside of barking orders.

And it’s overwhelming, and makes your body tingle even more than it did a few moments ago. Fingers scratching at his shoulders and neck before you slide his mouth to yours. Write gratitude against his lips, slide your thankfulness against his tongue as he croaks your name.

Not your title, not your nickname, your name.

Before he’s filling you, hips twitching, releasing his own pleasure before you’re both left panting, sweaty.

It’s a few breaths more before he collapses next to you, the slither of light sliding over his arm over his face, the thick vein in his forearm throbbing as his chest rises and falls heavily.

You don’t speak as you dress, as you fix yourself in case you see anyone between here and your room. He says nothing when you crack open his door, glancing back to find him watching—lifted up, glistening in that slither of light that cuts across the tip of his nose and chest.

Silence is easier, better.

At least till morning, when you have to see him for briefing.