#defiant Simon

[raincitygirl76]

Holy shit, read this!!!!!

Okay but the scene where Wille sees Simon for the first time is cinematic excellence and in this essay I will discuss why

My cousin pointed this out to me that when Wilhelm arrives at the church, all our attention is taken up by the arrival of Felice, as she and Wilhelm greet each other.

We barely notice Simon entering the scene as it is Wilhelm's POV, and he doesn't notice Simon, so neither do we. Plus, they purposely placed him behing Felice so he never stands out.

Simon starts singing but he isn't giving his best. Wilhelm's attention is everywhere but not on Simon. In this scene, Simon is continuously going in and out of the camera's focus, sometimes even blurred. The lightening doesn't help either, Simon is clearly not the main subject.

But when the bloke interrupts the choir, that's when Simon starts giving his best and sings out loud in defiance. And that's when magic happens.

Wilhelm notices him properly for the very first time- he's the main subject of the camera and the lightening, he's the main lead now. Wilhelm actually ✨SEES✨ him, and so do we.

And for him Simon is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen at that moment, because just look at this- the angle, the light, his smile- everything just makes him look ethereal.

At that moment, he's the most beautiful thing we've seen too, all because Wille finds him to be. Combined with Omar's otherworldly singing, it's just *chef's kiss*

The cinematography of that whole montage is out of the world, it's so well thought out.

Stuck in my brain, it kept me sane ~

[bi-writes]

Would you ever do like mob and Simon’s first date night together or something like that ( love your writing )

mail-order bride (18+)

the wine sits idle in the middle of the table. simon leans back against his chair, sighing deeply as he runs a big palm over his lower stomach, all pudgy and full from the meal you had placed on the table.

you had surprised him. candles on the table, his favorite red wine decanted into a crisp glass, beef short ribs falling apart over a plate of mashed potatoes. he had no time to scold you for cooking because you had been finished by the time he stepped through the door.

immaculate, sweet girl. the first bite of the food had him sucking on his teeth, biting back a moan. such a good meal, perfection in a pot, with creamy potatoes that had him licking the prongs of the fork as he watched you from across the table, eyes glazed over with love for feeding him better than he ever had been in his whole life. he had seconds, thirds, pawing at your skirt when you asked if he wanted more, his tongue sliding over the knife that he didn't even need to get any piece of sauce off the plate.

and then dessert. perfect little chocolate cakes in pretty little tins, with a cracked top. and when he broke the surface with his spoon, it was flooded with hot ganache, a gooey molten lava cake that he gave you heart eyes for as he ate it up with dramatic slurps.

fuck, he cannot stop looking at you. maybe you put poison in the food because you've never looked more beautiful than you do right now. you're sitting there, hair off your face, spoon in your mouth as you lick off the warm chocolate from it. that pretty pink tongue sliding over the edge of it, gathering that sweet center and swallowing, the bob of your throat making his breath catch as he follows it all the way to the low neckline of your dress. that sweetheart neckline makes your tits look so perky, so bouncy, and he can tell you aren't wearing a bra because he can see your nipples between the polka dot pattern.

"come 'ere," simon says lowly, dropping the spoon with a defiant clatter onto his plate. you smile, standing from your seat, and you bounce over to where he's sitting. simon sits you down on the table in front of him, shoving his plate far back to give you room. he picks up his glass of wine and chugs it practically, licking the last drop before setting down the glass and flipping you over with practiced ease.

you gasp as your hips hit the wood. you bend, barely having enough time to catch yourself with your hands before you hear his chair scrape against the floor. you can feel his size as he stands up and towers over you, and your toes curl when you hear the buckle of his belt.

"w-what--"

"'m not gonna fuck ya, baby," simon sighs, smoothing his hands up the back of your thighs before flipping your skirt up. he snorts when he sees you're wearing polka dot panties to match your little dress, and you squeak when he grips the flimsy fabric with one big hand and shreds it with ease, tossing it aside. "first time 's gonna be so nice, i promise..." he clicks his tongue, "but fuck, ya gotta let me, luvvie..."

"please," you gasp, sliding back a little, pressing your ass against the front of his jeans. you can feel the open zipper scratch against your cunt, and he sighs shakily. you hear the rustle of fabric, and you sob with relief when you feel the warmth of his cock slap against your ass. "oh, god--simon!"

"i know, luv," he groans, "i know...not ready for it, not yet..." he licks his lips, sliding your dress up further, exposing your lower back and the sweat that's gathered there. he grips himself at the base, swiping over his wet tip before using it to give himself a languid stroke. at the first sound of a squelch, you whine, and he squeezes your hip gently. "agggh--fuck--"

your back bows when he slides his cock between your thighs. he's so big. thick and wide, not as lengthy as you might have expected but god, he's got the girth of your fucking arm. he keeps your back arched as he grips your wrists and tugs, drawing you up until your neck leans back against his chest. he gives you a slow thrust, the tip of his cock catching on your clit as he rolls his hips just right.

"oh--simon--"

"can't wait," he mumbles, sliding a thick palm over your throat, mouthing against your ear. "fuck, i can't wait to 'ave ya...can't wait to devour this fuckin' pussy--"

"simon--" you cry, reaching up and gripping his hand around your throat, and you sob again when you feel the cold band of his wedding ring. mine, mine, mine, mine--

"wot's y'r fuckin' name, baby?" simon asks, rocking his hips. you shake every time he hits your clit, and with his tight grip, all you can do is stand there and take it as he fucks your thighs. his cock is moving so nice between your folds, stimulating every little part of you, and you aren't coherent enough to be ashamed of how wet you are, starting to soak his cock and contribute to the intense wet shlick that sounds from between your legs. "huh? tell me--"

"'m mrs. riley," you babble, sucking his fingers into your mouth as they move up your throat. your eyes flutter shut, your entire body going slack as he lets go of your wrist with his free hand and pulls your hips back against his.

"tha's right," simon grunts, "my pretty girl. my perfect little wife, cookin' so fucking good for me, takin' such good care o' me, fuck--" simon groans, "rock fuckin' hard ever since i walked through tha' fuckin' door, baby."

"mmm--!" you squeal, bracing yourself against the edge of the table as he cups your pussy with one hand and cums between your folds the next. with just a few warm strokes, you're spilling into his palm, jelly in his arms as he collapses into the seat behind him and cradles you in his lap. "mrs...mrs. riley..." you're babbling again, giggling all warm and lucid, and simon chuckles as he cups the back of your head, feeding you his wet fingers and cursing under his breath as he watches you lick the slick off his hand.

you pay special attention to his ring finger, tongue swirling around the gold band. when you let his finger go with a pop, your eyes flutter open, and they meet his.

yeah, he thinks. she's ready.

[charliemwrites]

I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again:

Brat Enthusiast 141

They love love LOVE a disobedient little brat with a sweet streak, too clever for their own good. There’s a bit of discipline, but there’s also just watching their little toy spin themselves up, stupidly charmed by all that audacity.

Gaz mentally tallying orgasms (or denials) every time you say one of those bratty catchphrases. “Don’t tell me what to do!” That’s two. “But I don’t wanna!” That’s three. All the while chuckling and negotiating you into doing what he asked. He’s a master of trading this for that, softening you up with kisses and touches until he’s got you right where he wants you. You’ll disagree with him out of spite and he adores it.

Price letting you mouth off because you’re obeying his orders anyway. “You’re so bossy and what for? A please wouldn’t kill you!” Even as you’re getting on your knees just like he told you. In ten minutes, you’ll be saying “please” enough for the both of you. You don’t even have to call him sir, you do it on your own. (Granted you say it with the Most ironic tone and usually scrunching up your nose to provoke him)

Simon with the giggliest little thing, who smiles and makes it a game to get him to break from his Dom Persona. Grinning and laughing, voice high pitched when he pins you, eyes smoldering. “Oh! Oh yes, this is very serious, of course Mister Lieutenant Riley Sir!” Loves when you cut yourself off from some light hearted remark with a moan, squirming while he rubs his cock against your wet cunt.

Johnny whose sweetie has a snippy streak. Sweet as pie but plays hard to get just to get him salivating. “No! No kisses for you!” You say, actively sitting in his lap while he tries to catch you lips - until he grabs your jaw in one big hand and takes advantage of the pleased squeak that parts those pretty, pouty lips. You nip just to get him growling, get his fingers against your molars, daring you to bite again.

Just… uagh!!! Brat enthusiast doms!!! Spoiled little subs that know their doms are ridiculously charmed by those defiant little head tilts and faux-innocent blinks.

[devil-in-hiding]

puppy play but it’s johnny whining at your feet after simon fucked him open on his cock, johnnys drool and cum dribbled across the hardwood floors where a pouting simon sits, defiant.

“Clean it up. Now.”

He just cocks his head, staring at you with big brown eyes, but you see the mirth dancing in them.

“Either clean up your mess or you’re going in the cage Simon. You already were to rough with Johnny, wasn’t he sweet boy?” You coo, running your fingers through his mohawk, comforting as he whimpers, pressing his face deeper into your stomach.

Simon crawls over, eyes locked on the trickle of his cum dripping from johnny’s winking hole, but you push him away with your foot, scowling.

“Nu uh. Only good dogs get rewards. That,” You point at the puddle of cum next to his knee, “Is your treat.”

[stargirlrchive]

ROOMMATE!SIMON

cw: simon riley x fem!reader, toxic simon, cunnilingus, fingering, he’s an ass :((( (i want him), jealous simon

one - two - three - four

it had been a few weeks since simon had made you come on his fingers, and he had neglected you. purposely avoiding to touch you, knowing that it would cause your desperation for him to grow.

and it was working.

the way your eyes would light up when he finally got home, or the way your hands greedily trailed over his skin when you’d get close enough to touch him.

he went as far as getting home later than normal, just to grunt out that he was going out again, “just back home for a shower, don’t wait up.”

but you did, or tried to anyway. he always found you curled up on the couch, wearing his hoodie and deep asleep by the time he got home.

however, his resolve almost broke last night. you were sitting up on the couch, barely awake but you perked up at the sound of the door swinging open. wearing your brightest smile for him.

but it was instantly wiped away as your eyes met his, his fingers digging into a strangers hips as he held your gaze while he kissed her.

he kicked the front door closed with his foot as he guided her towards his bedroom. and the look of utter devastation in your eyes as he shut his bedroom door behind him made him shudder. guilt webbing into his heart as he heard your hurried footsteps rush to your bedroom and close the door.

he wasn’t being fair to you, and he knew it. but simon was in this for the long haul. and if he needed to pull away for a bit to show you what you’d be missing, then so be it. it would be worth in the end.

that’s what he kept telling himself at least. he’s doing this for you, after all.

that plan came crashing down the very next day. when he pushed open his front door, ready to finally indulge you in affection, but he heard the sound of your laugh.

whispered words mixed with your soft giggles coming from the kitchen and his brows pinched together. who the hell were you talking to?

he kept his steps light, purposely being careful to keep quiet. but white hot rage blinded him for a second as he found you caged between the kitchen island and some man.

“who’s this?”

a soft yelp left your mouth at the boom of simon’s voice, jumping softly as you turned to look at him.

simon’s eyes narrowed into a nasty glare as your companion tightened his arms around you as if trying to protect you from him. he could’ve ripped his jugular out that very second.

your face grew flustered as you blinked up at him, and gently pushed the man away from you, “you’re home early.”

his eyes finally flicked up at yours and you shivered at the icy rage behind them. “tell him to leave.”

“simon-”

he growled out, “now.”

your fingers wrapped around the man’s wrist and you guided him out of the kitchen. he could hear you apologizing softly and then the soft click of the front door.

you shuffled over nervously to stand in front of him, squirming under his gaze, “i thought you were going to get home late again.”

“and that makes it okay for you to have strangers over?”

“he’s not a stranger, simon. he’s my coworker.”

“he’s a stranger to me.”

you frowned up at him, crossing your arms over your chest defensively and simon’s cock stirred. you had never been so defiant with him and he could feel his cock hardening.

“you brought over that girl last night, why can’t i have someone over too?”

“that’s different.”

“how so?”

“because it is.”

he could see your frustration bubbling and everything in him was screaming to soothe you. this was not part of the plan.

he was supposed to find you waiting on the couch, wearing his hoodie and happy to see him. and he’d apologize for neglecting you with his face between your thighs.

“you’re being mean to me.”

the sniffle you let out had his knees buckling, moving towards you before he wrapped you up in his arms.

your face tucking into his neck as he pulled you closer, petting your hair as he apologized quietly.

“just don’t know what i did to make you be mad at me and ignore me-”

your tears were hot as they ran down your face, wetting the fabric of his shirt. guilt consumed him as he pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling you closer.

“m’not mad at you, baby-”

“yes you are! been wanting you to look at me, and touch me-and ever since that night you’ve been avoiding me.”

and simon would’ve been angry with himself for making you so upset if those words hadn’t tumbled out of your mouth.

you wanted him to touch you, you wanted him.

it had worked.

“you’ve been missing me, sweet girl?”

you sniffled again, fingers fisting at his shirt as you nodded, “so much.”

simon’s fingers tangled into your hair, gently tugging as he pulled your face from his neck. your tears falling freely had his heart thumping wildly, leaning forward to press a kiss to your mouth.

you sucked in a breath and kissed him back instantly, gripping his shirt tighter as you leaned in even closer.

his tongue swiped against your bottom lip before prying its way into your mouth. his tongue rolling against yours as his fingers dug gently into your hips.

and the desire began to pool between your thighs, a soft whine falling from your lips when he pulled away.

“i’m gonna take care of you, love. gonna make up for leaving you lonely.”

and simon doesn’t miss the way your thighs clench, scooping you up and placing you on the island. letting his hand slip into the waistband of your pants to press his fingers against your clit.

a broken moan left your mouth as you gripped onto the counter, your thighs trying to close but being unable to because simon had placed himself between your legs.

“poor baby. barely started touching you and you’re already soaked.”

you could feel your skin prickle with heat out of pure embarrassment, “s’your fault. left me all alone.”

and he laughed, one that had his shoulders shake before he slipped his hand out. pinching the side of your bottom and then tugging down your pants.

your hips rose to aid him, letting him shimmy you out of the material that separated you two.

“i know, princess. i’m sorry, needed you to realize just how much you needed me.”

your brows pinched as if you were confused, but simon was laying you down against the cold surface, his mouth licking at your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and that thought flew out the window.

“course i need you, si’.”

and he moaned, sucking on your puffy clit as if to reward you. your legs trembled as you tangled your fingers through his short hair, crying out softly when he rolled his tongue against the swollen nub.

you jumped lightly at the snap of fabric, your panties ripped off of you, “simon-”

his nose pushed against your clit as his tongue lapped around your folds, grunting softly as he pushed your legs up towards your chest.

his tongue circled back up towards your clit before he sucked, your body tensed as your hips bucked upwards.

“fuck-”

and when he pulled away, you whined in protest. his mouth kissing and nipping at your thighs, “were you going to let him fuck you?”

“what?”

he bit down onto your skin, your body jolting.

“you heard me.”

you had, you just couldn’t believe he was asking that with his face between your thighs.

you hesitated, frowning softly before you shook your head ‘no.’

“good girl.”

his mouth was on you once again, circling your entrance with the tip of his tongue before pushing in. delivering shallow thrust into you.

your body thrashed under his, groaning out in frustration. you wanted more, needed more.

“need more, si’. please.”

he replaced his tongue with his finger, only giving you a few seconds to adjust before slipping in a second. his eyes fixated on how easily they slipped in.

“this what you wanted?”

you whined, shaking your head, “no, want your cock.”

a grunt left his mouth, pumping his fingers in and out of you quickly as you squealed in pleasure.

“not yet, baby. gotta work you up to it.”

his lips sealed around your clit, sucking harshly as he fucked his fingers deep inside of you. your back arched off the counter, hips undulating against his mouth as a sob ripped from your mouth.

he was too good. consuming every part of you and you both knew it.

he lapped at your clit; sucking and rolling his tongue once more before his fingers curled. rutting against the spot inside of you that had your bones turning into liquid pleasure.

“simon, gonna come!”

his name tumbling out of your mouth like a prayer as you came. his fingers relaxing in speed, but still pumping into you, providing gentle sucks to your swollen clit as he aided you through your orgasm.

“good fuckin’ girl.”

your mind was in a daze. body lax and plaint against the counter as you buzzed with excitement over his praise.

you sat up, trembling softly from the aftermath of your release. with shaky fingers you went to undo his belt. simon’s cock was hard, and your mouth watered in anticipation.

but your excitement was short lived, he caught your wrist and pulled them away, stopping you from undressing him.

“but-”

he cut you off with a kiss, a lazy smirk on his face as he gripped onto your hips to pull you closer.

“not yet, sweet girl.”

and you would’ve whined in protest had his fingers not slipped between your thighs once more.

[ghostlysoaps]

A Minor Annoyance

They’re back at base again and Ghost has been holed up in his office for the majority of the week in an attempt to get back on track with his ever-increasing backlog of paperwork. The knock on his door is therefore welcome, though surprising. He sits up straighter, wincing when several joints pop in protest, calling for them to come in.

Gaz leans himself against the doorframe. He, too, looks exhausted. Exhausted and irritated.

“I need your help wrangling Soap,” he says without preamble or an arduous attempt at small talk.

Ghost blinks at him.

“What?”

“He’s a stubborn bastard who won’t listen to reason,” Gaz shrugs. “And if it comes down to knocking him out in order to get him to rest, I’d rather have help carrying his leaden arse back to his room.”

Ghost blames sleep deprivation for the way he snorts.

“Alright,” he acquiesces, following behind the sergeant with amused wariness dogging his steps.

-

They find Soap outside surrounded by the scent of petrichor and bleary-eyed recruits. A gust of wind weaves around them, its chilling bite unmistakable where it tugs upon their hair and clothes, rustling through the pine-ridden area like an unexpected whisper. Ghost waits for Soap to send the group out on the track before he approaches, brow furrowed in response to the thickness layered over his voice. He'd sounded as if he spoke from deep in his throat, and with an air of a man pretending as if it didn’t pain him to do so. As he draws closer, Ghost allows the gravel beneath his feet to shift deliberately.

Soap jerks, swings his head around when Ghost comes to stand at his side, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. The tip of his nose is red too, his cheeks a tad puffy, though he carries himself admirably regardless. Straight-backed and refusing to huddle into the oversized jacket he's wearing.

"Lt.? What're y'doing ‘ere?”

“I'm relieving you of your duties. Garrick can take it from here,” he replies, throwing Gaz a look that is met with surreptitious thumbs-up. He'll ask Price to look into leave for him. Soap's not the only one itching to work himself into an early grave by the looks of it.

It must be a cold day in hell, he muses, if I'm the one with the healthiest work-life balance at the moment.

“What?! Get tae and dinnae talk pish! I'm fine. I can work, Sir, I dinnae need–”

“That was an order, Sergeant. You can either leave on your own two feet or slung over my shoulder. Choice is yours.”

Soap's eyes narrow, his shoulders drawing up defensively, lips pulled back in a sneer. “You wouldn't dare.”

Which is about the worst thing he could've possibly said.

All at once Simon is twelve years old again with a defiant Tommy glaring daggers at him from across the stained rug, those fateful words a hiss through clenched teeth. Even the keen knowledge of their mother’s impending disappointment, how she'd give him a hushed dressing down in the aftermath of their scuffle, hadn't curbed his need to lunge for him. It's like the flip of a switch. Three simple words and suddenly Ghost is vibrating with the desire to prove Soap wrong. Some previously dormant code ingrained deep in his DNA flaring to life with all the speed of an oxygen fire.

Those memories carry him forward and the sudden shift in Johnny’s expression, the moment he realises he’s sealed his fate proper, sends a thrill skittering down his spine.

“Wait, Ghost, I–” is about as far as he comes before the words change into an unintelligible blend of Scottish nonsense, voice strained from having his diaphragm compressed. “Put me doon ye clarty bastard! Gaz!”

“Dream come true for you, huh?” Gaz says with a jaunty wave at their retreating backs, mirth etched into the crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I'll fuckin’ kill ye, ye clipe wopper! Lemme doon so ah can wring ‘is bleedin’ neck!” Soap barks, squirming in Ghost's grasp like a recalcitrant eel. It's a blessing that Soap's already running on fumes since, true to his callsign, it's damn near impossible to keep him securely slung over his shoulder.

By his third attempt to claw Ghost's back to shreds, Ghost sighs and pats him firmly on the rump. Soap instantly stills. Flushed to high-heavens if Ghost were to hazard a guess – not that he can see him from this angle. “Settle down, Sergeant, and I might be convinced to let you walk on your own.”

“Hate you,” Johnny wheezes.

Ghost grunts and maneuvers the door open, settling Johnny back on his feet again when it swings shut with a resounding thud. He steadies him when he wobbles on his feet and Johnny lets him with little fuss. Resigned to his fate he shuffles along after Ghost, who detours briefly to score each of them a cuppa. He ladles honey into Johnny’s mug and presses it into his freezing hands. Gets a muttered, unenthusiastic and intentionally mocking “cheers,” for it.

“You're a right cunt when you're sick.”

“Yer a right cunt all o’ the time,” Soap fires back. He's glaring mutinously into his least preferred beverage, cradled close to his chest while he watches Ghost tidy up after them. “Jus’ hate bein’ sick ‘s all. Feel proper boggin’ no matter how many times ah shower an’ my nose is both runny and stuffed as if th’ physics of tha is s'pose to make sense. Could'a powered through it.”

“That's how you end up forcefully strapped to a bed in medical suffering from pneumonia and severe dehydration.”

Johnny pauses. A small smile graces his face and Ghost hastily turns back to wiping down the counters to keep himself from being blinded.

One shouldn't stare directly into the sun after all.

“Speakin’ from experience, sir?”

Ghost doesn't answer, as if that isn't a reply in-and-of-itself, merely nudges Johnny back into moving. He gets him all the way to his door before Soap's brow creases in confusion. His mouth opens, closes, opens again while Ghost trudges inside with little fanfare, door left gaping in silent invitation. Johnny seizes it with both hands after dithering at his threshold a second longer.

He examines the impersonal space with keen interest, slurping obnoxiously at his tea as if to detract from how his hands flutter over scuffed paint and barren walls, his gaze catching over the miniscule signs someone is living there at all.

“Why'ahm I ‘ere, Ghost?” Soap asks when he's done, pinning him in place with the intensity of his stare. It's the same focus he dedicates to a particularly difficult math equation or sketching up blueprints with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. It's a heady feeling to be on the receiving end of it. Heady and terrifying.

“Figured you'd appreciate the en-suite,” Ghost says, violently stamping down on the truth until it comes out in a statement easier to digest. “And someone needs to make sure you stay in place. Bloody flight risk that you are.”

You'd look good in my clothes, in my bed, as a permanent fixture here. This is as much for me as it is for you. A taste of what I can't have.

He hopes Soap doesn't read between the lines this time – always too perceptive for Ghost's questionable sanity.

“An’ where d'ye plan on sleeping?” Johnny smiles, a mote amused and as sweet as the honey lingering on his lips.

“Floor. Or Gaz's room if he doesn't delete those pictures he took.”

Johnny’s eyes go dark as sin.

“Oh, that'll be th’ least of his worries.”

“Sleep, MacTavish. You can come up with your convoluted revenge plot later.”

“Yes sir.” He gives a lazy salute and flops down on Ghost's bed with a grunt – boots and all, the absolute heathen. Ghost watches him rearrange himself into a position more befitting a person who's suffered a recent spinal fracture when Johnny peers up at him again from under thick lashes. “Dinnae think you're exempt from those, Lt. Ah know where ye live now.”

Ghost sighs and tosses the hoodie folded over his chair at Johnny’s face, taking great pleasure in closing the bathroom door in the face of Johnny's indignant name-calling.

-

Prompts via @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

[kymerawrites]

"You're such a bloody drama queen," Simon grumbled under his breath, smoking a cigarette as he watched her pace back and forth. He didn't move an inch from his spot on the couch, arms crossed over his chest. It was always like this with her; they argue, they make up, they argue again. It was a vicious cycle they couldn't seem to break free from. He took a drag of his cigarette before blowing out a stream of smoke, eyes still locked on her

"Can't you just sit still for a bloody second?" Simon snapped, his irritation getting the better of him. "You're giving me a damn headache with all that walking around." He tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest, his gaze following her every movement. He couldn't help but feel frustrated by her constant need for motion, like a caged animal.

"I could if you'd stop being such a controlling arsehole," she shot back, stopping in her tracks to glare at him. "Sorry if my pacing bothers you, but I have the right to move around in my own home." She crossed her arms, her defiant stance mirroring his.

"Your home?" Simon echoed, a mocking edge to his voice. He snorted, extinguishing his cigarette in the ash tray. "Last I checked, we share this apartment. And believe me, I didn't ask for a fidgety partner who can't sit still for two seconds."

“God for fuck sakes Simon, you make me pace this way. Can’t you see that?!” I said irritated

He rolled his eyes, clearly unperturbed by her retort. "Oh, and it's all my fault that you're pacing around like a maniac?" He leaned back on the couch, his gaze sharpening. "Maybe, just maybe, you should try taking some responsibility for your own actions instead of blaming everything on me. Ever thought of that?"

I huffed in annoyance, not backing down from his gaze. "And maybe you should stop making me so bloody irritated that I can't stand still! You're always bossing me around, like I'm some sort of property and not a person with my own thoughts and feelings."

He stood up abruptly, his tall frame towering over her. "You know damn well that's not true," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't treat you like a bloody object. I care about you, even if you can't see it. And if I come off as controlling sometimes, it's because I want to bloody protect you."

“Oh no, it’s you and your fucking lieutenant, commander whatever the fuck you are act in my space.” I scoffed

His eyes narrowed at her sarcastic remark. "Watch your bloody tongue," he warned, his tone more menacing than before. "You know damn well what I do for a living, and I don't appreciate your tone. But while we're on the subject, you could learn a thing or two about respecting your partner. Maybe if you weren't such a bloody pain in the arse all the time, I wouldn't have to step in and take charge."

That comment hit me, just a little to make me shift from mad to confused “so, if I’m such a pain to you, such a..liability why not leave me?”

He gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting. "Because goddamn it, I care about you," he snapped. "Despite all your attitude and stubbornness, I can't just walk away. Believe me, I've bloody tried. But deep down, I know I can't let you go. Even if you drive me mad with all your whining and dramatics."

I turned around not to face him “you can also just say you love me.”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. He walked closer to her, his movements slow and deliberate. "I do love you, alright? But love doesn't make this any easier. It complicates everything. Because even though I love you, you still piss me off like no one else can, and it drives me bloody insane."

He grabbed my waist and hugged me from behind I just smirked “and yet I think you love all the sass and drama I give you don’t you?”

He let out a scoff, his fingers digging into her waist. "Bloody hell, you know me too well," he muttered. "Yes, there's something infuriatingly addicting about your damn attitude and all the drama you bring into my life." He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent.

He chuckled softly against her skin, his breath warm and tickling. "Bloody hell, you drive me wild with it. Part of me wants to strangle you, and the other part..." He trailed off, his hand roaming higher up her body, tracing her curves.

“Finish that sentence si..” I whispered

He nipped at her earlobe, his voice low and gravelly. "And the other part wants to do things that I can't even say in public." He spun her around to face him, his gaze dark and intense. "You have no idea the effect you have on me, how you make me feel. It's maddening, it's intoxicating and it's all your damn fault."

He pushed her against the wall, his body pressing against hers. His hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head. "You know what else is maddening?" he growled, his face mere inches away from hers. "How bloody irresistible you are when you're all defiant and stubborn like this. It's like you're begging for me to put you in your place."

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against her neck, leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses. "And the worse part is, you know damn well you have me wrapped around your little finger. Even when you're infuriating me, I can't get you out of my head." He nipped at her skin, his teeth grazing her sensitive spots.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against her neck, leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses. "And the worse part is, you know damn well you have me wrapped around your little finger. Even when you're infuriating me, I can't get you out of my head." He nipped at her skin, his teeth grazing her sensitive spots.

He shifted his body, pressing his thigh between her legs. "You push my buttons on purpose, just so you can get a reaction out of me. And bloody hell, you always get the reaction you want." He pinned her even tighter against the wall, trapping her in his embrace.

His lips found hers in a hard, possessive kiss. He dominated the kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, claiming her in a way that was both rough and passionate. He pushed his body flush against hers, his hands roaming down to grip her thighs, lifting her up against the wall.

“You’re too good for me si..” I laughed as he lifted my legs on the wall forcing me to embrace them around his waist

He grunted with the effort, his muscles straining as he pressed her against the wall. "Bloody hell, you're a menace," he growled, his lips finding her neck again, sucking and nibbling on her sensitive skin. "Bloody menace with your damn legs wrapped around me like this. Drives me wild to have you like this, all vulnerable and pliable in my arms."

He ground his hips into hers, his arousal evident against her core. "And you're damn wrong about that. I'm not too good for you. I'm just bloody addicted to the way you make me feel, like you're a poison I can't get enough of."

I rolled my eyes “just kiss me already lovebird.” I smiled

He chuckled at her cheeky remark, his eyes dark and intense. "Bloody smartass," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another fierce kiss. He devoured her, his tongue delving into her mouth and dominating the kiss. The kiss was rough and passionate, full of pent-up desire and frustration.

And ofcourse they kissed and made up just for the cycle to continue

[maskedbyghost]

hii, smut scene for this ? yes? I'm doing it anyways :) MDNI, SMUTSMUTSMUT

As Simon’s mouth crashed against yours for the second time, your anger melted away, replaced by an intense heat that spread through every nerve. His tongue tangled with yours in a messy, desperate kiss, each touch of his lips igniting a spark of need that radiated through your body.

His hands moved from your arms to your hips, pulling you closer. You let out a soft moan, your fingers tugging at his hair as you gave in to the moment, forgetting everything but the feel of him against you.

You gasped as Simon’s hands gripped your waist tighter, lifting you effortlessly onto the edge of the desk, scattering the papers that had been the cause of so many arguments between you. The cool surface beneath you was a sharp contrast to the heat building between your bodies, but you didn’t care—your focus was entirely on him.

His lips trailed down to your jaw, nipping lightly as he worked his way to your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You tilted your head, giving him more access, your pulse quickening with every kiss. "Simon" you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, but he heard it. He paused, pulling back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as his intense gaze locked onto yours.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with tension once again, but this time, it wasn’t anger—it was desire.

Simon's eyes darkened, a flicker of heat in their depths that mirrored the fire burning within you. "You've got no idea what you've been doing to me, have you?" he murmured, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins.

His hand moved up to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes making your breath hitch.

"You've been driving me crazy, with your confidence and your stubbornness and your damn smirk every time you think you think you've won an argument."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you opened your mouth to respond, but he didn't give you the chance. His lips crashed against yours with a ferocity that made your head spin.

His hands moved to your thighs, spreading your legs wider, and he stepped into the space he'd created, his body pressing against yours. The desk groaned in protest as he pushed you back, his weight bearing down on you, his mouth mapping a trail of kisses down your neck.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Simon’s hands roamed over your body, his lips hot against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Every touch, every kiss was more intense than the last, unraveling you completely. You could feel the raw hunger in him, a desperate need that matched your own.

Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, pulling him closer, refusing to let him go even as your mind swam with the weight of it all. You knew this was dangerous, knew there was no turning back from the way his body pressed against yours.

His teeth grazed your collarbone, and you gasped, your back arching against the desk as a wave of electricity surged through you.

Simon chuckled darkly against your skin, the sound low and rough, sending another shiver down your spine. "You’re not so smug now, are you?" he muttered, his voice thick with amusement as his lips hovered near your ear.

Your breath came in short, ragged bursts, but you managed to meet his gaze, eyes burning with a challenge. "You think you’ve won this?" you shot back, your voice breathless, but defiant.

"Oh, we’re just getting started."

Simon's hands moved lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt, his palms gliding over the bare skin of your stomach.

He pulled back to look at you, his eyes dark and hooded, taking in the sight of you, flushed and panting against the desk. His thumbs traced lazy circles on your hip bones, the gesture both possessive and maddening.

"I always knew you looked good all riled up," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You bit your lip, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at his cocky remark, but the way his hands gripped your hips had you forgetting everything. Instead, you leaned into his touch, every nerve in your body responding to the roughness of his fingertips.

“And I always knew you liked pushing my buttons,” you managed to say, your voice coming out low and teasing, though your heart hammered wildly in your chest.

Simon’s smirk deepened as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ve got no idea just how much.”

His hands slid higher, fingers skimming up your sides, making you gasp at the sensation. Without breaking his gaze, Simon’s hands gripped the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring every second of watching you unravel beneath him.

As he removed your shirt, discarding it somewhere behind him, his eyes devoured you, taking in every inch of exposed skin.

He ran his hands over your bare torso, his palms grazed over your stomach, the pads of his fingers gliding over your ribs before coming to rest just below your breast.

Simon's thumbs brushed over the edge of the lace on your bra, his touch sending sparks through your veins. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he teased the sensitive flesh, his hands squeezing your flesh.

"God, look at you," he muttered, his voice rough and thick with desire. "So stubborn, so damn mouthy" —his grip tightened slightly— "but you're like this for me. Just me."

The heat in his eyes was undeniable, making you feel both vulnerable and powerful all at once. You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a response, as his hands roamed over you, each touch making your skin burn with need.

His lips found yours again, but this time, the kiss was slower. You could feel the tension coiling tighter inside you with every second, your body arching into him, craving more. "You think you're in control, don't you?" you managed to breathe between kisses, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to earn a grunt from him.

Simon's lips curved into a smirk against your skin. "Always," he muttered, voice thick with confidence, his hand sliding up your back, fingers skillfully working at the clasp of your bra.

Before he could fully remove your bra, you surprised him by pushing him back with a firm hand on his chest. His eyes flickered with curiosity, but he didn't resist as you guided him toward the chair in the corner of the room. Simon sat down heavily, watching with a mix of amusement and raw desire as you straddled him, settling into his lap.

With a deliberate slowness, you slid your hands up his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt, your fingers teasing the hem before tugging it up and over his head. His shirt joined yours on the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his neck, feeling the way his breath hitched in response.

Your mouth trailed soft, lingering kisses along his throat, working your way to the sensitive spot just below his ear. Simon let out a low groan, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you even closer as his head tilted back, giving you full access to him.

"You think you're the only one who can take control?" you whispered, your lips brushing against his skin.

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest. "Guess I don't mind it when it's you."

Simon's hands continued their exploration, his palms roaming over the curves of your hips and thighs. He pulled you closer, his grip firm but gentle as he shifted you in his lap, angling your body so that you were pressed flush against him.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his breath warm on your skin as his lips found your neck, his kisses trailing down to the sensitive spot below your ear. His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver through you. "You're so goddamn beautiful."

His words sent a rush of warmth through you, making your pulse quicken as you leaned into him, savoring the feel of his lips on your skin.

With a soft gasp, you tilted your head back, giving him more access as his hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements against him. The friction between your bodies was electrifying, and you couldn't help the way your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer.

You lowered your lips to his neck, nipping at his skin in response to the way his breath hitched. "You're not too bad yourself," you murmured, enjoying the way his body tensed beneath you.

Simon's hands slid up your back again, this time pulling you even tighter against him as his lips met yours in a heated kiss. The slow, deliberate passion from earlier was replaced by an urgency that neither of you could ignore any longer.

Simon groaned, his head falling back against the chair as you kissed your way lower, savoring the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Your lips curled into a smile against his skin, feeling the effect you were having on him. You loved seeing this side of Simon—his usual composure slipping as he gave in to his desires.

Simon's hands slid around to your back, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. The material loosened, and he pulled the bra off your arms, tossing it onto the growing pile of discarded clothing. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, undressed atop his lap, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

Simon's hands were on you the moment you were bare, his touch like electric fire on your skin. His palms skimmed over your sides, mapping your curves, his touch firm and hungry as his fingers explored every inch of you.

His lips found yours again, his kisses deep and rough, as if he was trying to devour you. His body pressed against yours, the heat between you almost unbearable.

"God, you're perfect," he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His hands continued to roam, caressing and squeezing, each touch eliciting small gasps and moans from you.

You broke the kiss, leaning back slightly, your hands finding the front of Simon's pants. You could feel the heat radiating from him even through the fabric, and your fingers trembled a little in anticipation.

You undid his belt, your movements deliberately slow. Once the belt was loosened, you unbuttoned his pants and began to push them down his hips, your eyes never leaving his face.

He raised an eyebrow in amused surprise, watching you as you slid off his lap and onto your knees in front of him.

You felt a rush of power as you knelt before him, the weight of his gaze burning into you. There was something intoxicating about being in control, knowing that you had him right where you wanted him.

You could see the mix of anticipation and desire flickering in his eyes, a perfect reflection of your own.

The sight of him made your breath hitch, a wave of heat flooding your body. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, a smirk playing on your lips.

Then, you leaned forward, letting your lips hover just above him, teasing him with every breath. His hands tightened around the arms of the chair, a low groan escaping his throat as he struggled to maintain his composure.

The sound of his groans sent a thrill through you, fueling the desire that bubbled within you. You loved seeing him like this, coming undone under your touch, completely at your mercy.

Your hands began to trail up his bare thighs, your nails lightly scraping against his skin. You heard him bite back a curse, but his eyes remained locked on you, watching your every move with a look of raw hunger.

Your mouth ghosted over him, your tongue darting out to taste the saltiness of his skin, and another noise escaped him.

With every soft touch and lingering kiss, you relished the power you held, the way he was completely captivated by you.

“God, just like that,” he urged, his voice barely a whisper. You smiled against him, pleased with the effect you had on him, and continued your exploration, trailing kisses along his length, alternating between soft flicks of your tongue and gentle suction.

Simon’s hands found their way to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he tried to guide you, but you loved the challenge. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “You wanted me to take control, remember?” you teased, and before he could respond, you returned to your task, taking him deeper, your mouth moving with a rhythm that made his breathing hitch.

Each gasp and moan that escaped his lips fueled your confidence, igniting a fire within you. You felt empowered, every flick of your tongue and every gentle pull of your lips coaxing him closer to the edge. The world outside faded away, leaving only the intoxicating connection between you two, charged with heat and desire.

Your name escaped his lips, a prayer and a curse all at once, his fingers tangling in your hair even tighter.

"You're killing me," he managed to gasp, his voice rough and thick with desire. "You know that, don't you?"

You hummed against him, relishing the way he trembled beneath your touch. "I do," you agreed, your voice low and sultry. "But I seem to recall, you like it."

He let out a low chuckle, a sound filled with both pleasure and frustration. “Yeah, I definitely like it,” he replied, his gaze intense and hungry. “But I also like it when you’re the one completely undone.”

With a sudden movement, he pulled you up from your knees, capturing your lips in a heated kiss that left you breathless. His hands roamed over your body, pulling you flush against him as he stood.

In one swift motion, Simon turned you around, bending you over the desk with a possessive grip. The cool surface pressed against your stomach, sending a rush of exhilaration through you. You could feel his warmth at your back, his body a solid presence that ignited a fire within you.

“Hold on tight,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips. There was an undeniable urgency in his movements, as if he couldn’t wait another moment to claim you.

Your heart raced as you braced yourself against the desk, the anticipation of what was to come sending shivers down your spine. You felt his fingers dig into your skin, a reminder of just how much he wanted you.

"Simon," you breathed, urging him to take that final step.

His fingers dipped lower, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped your lips.

"So responsive," he murmured, his voice low and rough. His mouth continued to trail kisses along your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just hard enough to send a shiver through you.

"You're addictive," he mumbled against your skin, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. "I'm not gonna let you go. I'm gonna make sure you remember this, that you'll crave it, need it, and nothing else will compare."

You shivered in anticipation, a low moan escaping your lips.

“Not gonna stop until you are completely mine. Only mine.” His fingers continued to tease, tracing patterns on your hips and thighs.

"Only mine," he repeated, his voice a low growl. "You're mine, understand?"

"Say it," Simon ordered, his voice rough and commanding as his fingers dug into your hip. "Say you're mine."

Your breathing was ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to find the words. "I'm yours," you gasped hoarsely.

He hummed, his mouth trailing down your spine, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "Good girl," he praised, his words like a caress.

He took a deep breath, trying to regulate his own excitement, and you could sense his anticipation in the air. "You ready for me, darling?" he asked, his voice a low murmur in your ear.

His breath was hot against your skin, the air charged with tension as he waited for your response. You could feel the restraint in his body, the way he held himself back, but you knew he wouldn't last long.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice filled with a mix of excitement and need. "I want you, Simon, please, fuck me."

He surged forward, one hand gripping your hip, the other wrapping around your waist, anchoring you to him as he pressed himself against your back. The sudden motion sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, and you gasped aloud, your hands gripping the edge of the desk, your knuckles white from the force.

His breath was hot against your skin as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "God, you feel so good," he groaned, the words rumbling deep in his chest.

The room was filled with the sounds of his ragged breathing and your own low moans.

He lifted one hand to your chin, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. "Look at me," he said, his voice rough. "I want to see your face when I take you."

He nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and you let out a gasp, your body arching against his. "Mineminemine" he repeated, the words a low possessive growl that sent shivers over your skin.

Suddenly, he flipped you around, lifting you easily to rest on the edge of the desk, your legs dangling over the edge.

He stepped between your spread legs, his body flush against you as he used his arms to cage you in. One hand came up to cup your face, forcing you to meet his gaze, and his eyes were dark and hungry.

This time, Simon's voice was little more than a growl as he entered you, and it was enough to make your heart skip a beat. "God, you drive me crazy," his voice ragged. "The way you look at me, the way you feel. I can't get enough of you."

"Simon, please," you begged, your voice breathy and needy. "I need more, I need you. Please don't stop."

Simon chuckled slightly at your plea, clearly enjoying the effect he had over you. He moved faster, his lips finding their way to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses on your skin.

"So needy," he teased, his words a low rumble against your skin. "You want more, sweetheart? I'll give you more."

Simon continued to move against you, his pace growing more urgent, more primal. His hands roamed over your body, touching everywhere he could reach, as if he was desperate to claim every inch of you.

"Is this what you needed?" he asked, his own breathing heavy now. "You needed me, needed to feel me. Needed to feel how badly I want you."

"I'm so close, sweetheart," he said, his breath hot against your skin. "I want you to come with me. Let go for me.”

Simon's words sent a shiver through you, and you gasped, your words barely a whisper, eyes rolling back. "I'm so close."

His lips found their way to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "That's it," he encouraged. "Just let go, sweetheart. Let go and let me take you there."

As the tension between you built to an almost unbearable level, you were pushed over the edge, the world around you fading away as pleasure consumed you.

The pleasure was overwhelming, your body shuddering in Simon's grasp as you rode out the waves of ecstasy that coursed through you.

You could feel him against you, his own release hitting him just as hard, his breathing ragged. And as you both came crashing down from the high, Simon's arms tightened around you, pulling you against his chest.

He buried his head in the crook of your neck. "God," he panted, his voice rough. "You are fucking amazing."

Simon was still holding you, his breathing slowly steadying as he pressed kisses against the nape of your neck. His touch was tender now, a stark contrast to the fire that had burned moments before.

As you both began to come back to reality, the weight of what had just happened settled around you, filling the room with an electric tension.

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, searching for the truth behind the heat that still simmered there. The intensity of his gaze made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but wonder how this would change everything between you.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, needing to break the silence.

Simon’s lips curled into a playful smirk, but there was a sincerity behind it. “More than okay,” he replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Good,” you whispered, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. But beneath the sweetness of the moment laid a realization that things would never be the same again.

“Do you think we just crossed a line?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe we did,” he admitted. “But honestly? I don’t care.” His thumb brushed over your cheek, sending another wave of warmth through you. “I want you. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His honesty hit you like a breath of fresh air, and the tension between you shifted, morphing into something deeper, more vulnerable. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, and for a moment, it felt as though the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in your own bubble.

“Then what does this mean for us?” you asked, your heart pounding as you searched his gaze for answers.

Simon took a deep breath, his eyes locked onto yours. “It means I want to figure this out together,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. Not after this.”

You felt a smile tug at your lips. “I think I’d like that,” you replied, a warmth blooming in your chest.

He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours, creating a bubble of intimacy that felt almost sacred. “Then let’s take it one step at a time,” he murmured, his breath mingling with yours. “Together.” He said before he pressed his lips against yours once again.

---------------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @valentineofoctobers

[shadow-riley]

﹒⪩⪨﹒Alright Puppy...﹒⪩⪨﹒

MDNI!!!!!

Smvt!, f!reader, NSFW, angst!Simon, SLIGHT masochist( b1te k!nk), mention of b!t!ng, or@l (f receiving). degrading.

Task force 141 just came back from a mission. It didn't go well and the fact that you almost got hurt irritated Ghost even more. Finally, he grabbed your arm and dragged you into his room, Soap watching, before pushing you into his desk chair and pulled a chain slip necklace out of his pocket that fit perfectly around your neck.

"Alright, Puppy, new game...the rules are simple" he gently lo ks the end of the chain into place around your neck

"Sit down, shut the fuck up, and do as you're told. got it? good."

You look up at him with defiant eyes, silently challenging him.

Ghost chuckled, finding your glare adorable. he gently grabbed your chin, tilting your head up "don't look at me like that, you're not the dominant one here."

"Are you?", you test him, voice dripping in a low, sultry tone with a grin on your lips.

Ghost chuckled, seeing your grin, he moved to press his body against yours, pinning your body between himself and the desk, his arms on either side of you. He places a knee against your sex, painfully light. "You think you're funny, don't you, puppy?"

Your smile drops, a shiver sending through your spine.

Simon chuckled, enjoying himself as he watched your expression change. he gently gripped your wrists in one hand as he leaned in closer. his breaths becoming heavier, his voice lowered with a commanding tone "i'm in charge here… don't you forget that. puppy"

you nod submissively, feeling heat grow in your stomach, cursing the slickness forming between your legs.

Ghost smirked, satisfied with your obedience. "Good, puppy." he said before leaning in even close, his breaths against your neck. he began to leave a soft and teasing trail of kisses against your neck, his teeth grazing gently against your skin.

he felt you squirm beneath him. "sensitive, aren't you?" his teeth lightly grazed against your skin. he was trying to find your weak spots. he knew it was wrong to get you this riled up like this, but he loved the rush he got from teasing you.

Simon smirks against your skin. "found it." he continued to tease that spot with his teeth, gently biting and sucking on the skin. his hands move around your wrists, keeping your arms pinned down.

"fuck, Si..." your voice comes out in a breathy, almost panting tone.

Simon removes himself from your neck, going to your mouth as ke kisses you.

His tongue continues to explore your mouth as you whimper, his hands began to wander, trailing down your waist. he pulls away from the kiss, his breaths heavy, his eyes filled with desire "you're mine"

"Am i?", you challenge.

Simon grins, his eyes darken with lust and possession. "Absolutely. You're mine. You belong to me… no one else." he says as he leans in as close to your ear as possible, a breathless whisper.

"I'm the only one who can touch you, kiss you… make you squirm like this. only me, puppy. understand?"

"hm" You respond, testing his patience.

Simon tightens his hold on you, his voice lowering to a stern tone.

"Answer me. Now."

he gently bites your earlobe, his fingers slowly tracing along your arms, sending shivers down your spine and making you squirm.

"Yes, Si" Your head goes back, the feeling of his teeth on you unlocking something feral.

Simon notices and grin, taking in the power he now has and placing his teeth on your shoulder.

"You like that puppy? hm? answer me" He presses his teeth harder into your flush skin.

You whimper, "yes, Simon"

"good girl...." his voice is low and husky.

without warning he drops to his knees, his hands running up and down your bare thighs.

"tch...you've been such a good girl, puppy" his voice is gravelly against your thigh as he sucks on the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh, leaving hickies and bite marks in his wake, littering your skin with the evidence of his love where only you will be able to find them.

Simon notices your squirm, a silent plea.

"impatient, are we? don't worry, darlin' i wont make you beg"

he does not hesitate to pull on the waistband of your boyshorts.

"need these off. now" he demands

you remove them, eager and needy.

"good puppy" he opens your legs, a hand on your thigh, the other wrapped around your neck, making you whimper.

"now, puppy...eyes on me, stay quiet, got it?" Simon ties your hands behind you with his belt.

You nod.

"perfect" his single word is huskier than usual.

he gives you no warning as he attaches his mouth to your cunt, sucking and licking like s man starved.

"FUCK, Si!" you gasp and pant.

"so fuckin' wet, so ready for me...such a good girl" His words send a vibration onto your sex that makes you tremble.

He continues thrusting his tongue inside you before sucking your clit. he inserts a finger to your dripping entrence, curling his finger up, knowing EXACTLY what hes doing. You're a moaning, whimpering mess before him and he loves it.

"what is it baby? use your words...you dont want me to stop, do you?..." He puls his hand back, licking it. "no, i think you can handle another finger, darlin'" he returns his fingers to your cunt, inserting another.

"cmon, baby, you're doin so good"

REQUESTS OPEN!

PART 2???

[gloomwitchwrites]

Don't Move (1 of 4)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, hand necklace, semi-public sex, oral sex (male receiving), dom!Simon, clit play, orgasm denial, established relationship, face fucking, choking / gagging, cum swallowing, praise

Word Count: 1k

A/N: part of the Imagines & What If series

When you step out of Simon’s touch, he deals out a bit of punishment.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // don't move masterlist

In public spaces, Simon loves to mark his territory.

It is always a hand on the back of your neck. A possessive hold that keeps you close to him. When you move, he moves. There is no PDA. No kisses or soft caresses when others are nearby. Just this one simple touch that conveys everything Simon wants to say about your relationship.

Simon’s hand on the back of your neck is a comfort. He is always gone. He is always elsewhere. Knowing that he’s here—feeling his constant touch—keeps you grounded.

But right now, it’s a bit of a hinderance. You want to move. You want to talk. But with Simon’s hand on the back of your neck, you’re unable to go far. Rolling your shoulders, you try to move out of his grasp. His fingers fall away briefly, but they return almost as quickly.

He’s not wearing gloves, and his fingers press into your skin, reaffirming his hold. The sounds of the bar become distant, and all you can focus on is Simon’s warm breath as it filters through the balaclava to brush against your cheek.

“Move my hand again and find out what I’ll do to you.”

Simon speaks softly enough that only you will hear. For a moment, your body heats at the idea of Simon punishing you. But it’s not enough to quell the rising irritation. There are people here you want to speak with, people you have yet to see. Parties are not your thing but these are all people you know.

Whatever. A punishment from Simon is always done at home. In private.

Using your body weight as leverage, you twist out of his grasp entirely, spinning around to face him. You’re defiant, snarky, and you confront him with hands on your hips.

Simon is silent. Hovering.

It zaps your resolve. Sucks it out of you like liquid through a broken straw.

His head tilts to the side a bit and you know you’re done. It’s over. With effortless grace, Simon turns you around, and begins herding you to the back of the bar. You don’t even protest. It’s better not to, but where is Simon taking you?

He guides you down a back hallway, shoving open a door that reads “Employees Only.” An overhead light comes on, and Simon kicks the door shut, engaging the lock.

Simon doesn’t let go of your neck. “Hands on the wall.”

“Simon—”

“I told you what would happen. Put your hands on the wall.”

Obediently, you do so. Still, Simon keeps a firm hold on you.

His free hand slides over your hip and slides underneath your sundress, finding the edge of your underwear. “Spread your legs,” he murmurs against your ear.

They start to part, and Simon pushes your underwear to the side, his fingers sliding over your sex, parting your wetness. He circles your entrance with one finger and then works back to your clit. Once there, he gently flicks over it. Again, he repeats, before retreating to catch some of the new slickness forming.

He uses it to circle your clit in slow sweeps that are achingly gentle. You know what Simon’s doing. You know what he’s up to. He’s going to bring you right to the edge and then pull away. It’s his favorite form of punishment.

You try to resist the tug, but it’s too much. The orgasm growing under your skin is a viper. It wants to lash out. To break free. You whimper, pussy squeezing around nothing as Simon finds that rhythm that always seems to break you open.

Simon brings you right to the edge, the viper teeth poised to sink into flesh, but at the very last second, Simon removes his hand from between your legs only to bring is palm down on your ass.

The sting is sharp, and your body jerks with nowhere to go expect to bump into Simon’s front.

“We’re not done.” His balaclava covered face presses against your temple. You hear him inhale. “On your knees.”

You sink, and Simon’s grip on your neck is a brand. You know what you have to do without Simon having to say anything.

Reaching out, you start to undo the buckle on his belt. Once gone, you work the button and then the zipper, shifting his jeans open until his hard cock is revealed to you. With the obedience he requires, you open your mouth, presenting yourself to him.

Using his hold on your neck, Simon drags you forward and up to the very tops of your knees. Your thighs burn from the position. The head of his cock drags over your tongue. His other hand goes to the top of your head, and you are no longer in control.

Even though this is a punishment, it feels fucking good. And knowing he’s too impatient to wait until you get home is almost a victory. Really, you’re winning, breaking Simon’s resolve a bit.

The head of his cock slides over your tongue again, and then it’s not. It’s down your throat, and Simon is holding there, watching as you gag around him. It’s momentary, a brief flash, and then he uses your mouth as his own personal toy, moving you up and down his cock at whatever speed he picks.

It is rough and brings tears to your eyes, likely messing up your mascara. Your hands grab onto the front of his thighs, but it doesn’t do much other than keep you steady. Simon has all control here.

He hits deep, makes you gag loudly before drawing back. Saliva drips off your chin but you hardly care. You’re a goddamn mess, but you’re loving this, loving the way Simon uses you for his own pleasure.

Simon shivers, and his grip tightens. It’s his sign, the signal you know as his end. You relax your throat as Simon holds you completely flush against him, your lips suctioning around the base as he spills down your throat.

Without prompting, you swallow. And when Simon drags his cock out of your mouth, you keep it open, showing him how good you are. Slowly, his hand on the top of your head falls away, and he’s helping you off your knees.

He kisses you through the balaclava. “Are you going to move my hand again the rest of the night?” he rasps.

You shake your head.

“Good girl.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @josephquinnschesthair @saoirse06 @therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk

[cod-fishing]

Thinking about Price being possessive over his boys. Not romantically or sexually (he likes to tell himself), but any time Soap starts chatting about some bear he met in a bar during leave, or Gaz mentions a girl who gave him her number, he can feel himself bristle. He tries to bury it, but it only gets worse after Las Almas, their bonds forged in far too much blood, and he struggles to bite down discouragement for any connection outside their little family.

When soap and ghost finally get together, he can’t figure out which of them he wants to throttle, but the sensation is intense nonetheless. Enough that he can’t stop himself from ordering them to his office and dressing them down so meticulously his old drill Sargent would be proud. They both look defiant. At perfect attention, military perfect in their stance, but fire in both of their eyes. It’s only when Soap, jaw clenched, demands if Price is going to transfer them that the Captain falters.

He sits heavy into his chair, and orders his boys at ease.

“I could never let go of either of you,” he finds himself gritting out through cigar smoke and choking emotions, far too unfiltered, “I just don’t want you boys to get hurt.”

He sees them soften, understanding. Not expecting a real answer, Price asks them their intentions with one another. He doesn’t want either of them to hurt the other, and while he knows they both have hearts of gold, they’ve got a lot of thorns as well. But they talk, and Soap is his usual genuine self and Ghost- Simon, really - is more honest and open than Price has seen him be ever, so…

He says okay. But keep me updated, he says. The good and the bad. They nod, and he assumes he’ll have to pry information out of them, and they move on.

Miraculously, they do keep him updated. Soap comes knocking one day, and Price asks about those reports he sent him off with and Soap says, aye, captain, got those for you, but ah…can I tell you something sweet Ghost did for me today? He’s bursting with joy when Price looks at him properly, and how can he say no to that?

Ghost, too, comes in one day, and asks to speak with the captain. Need some advice, sir. Johnny wants to take me home to his family for the holidays and I’m feeling real conflicted, he says. And they talk it out, fingers playing with the rims of their whiskey glasses. Price gets this feeling in his chest, likes he wants to reach out and trace his fingers somewhere else, but he ignores it.

It keeps happening that way, Price getting deeper and deeper in their relationship. He knows everything about the two together - almost everything. Ghost is on a solo mission one day and soap is moping, and so price pulls him into his office with the intention of getting him plastered and making him go to bed.

Instead, Johnny gets talkative. He should have known.

“God, Price, you wouldn’t believe the things he can do with his mouth. His fingers, too, lord knows where he learned it, but it’s like he took a fucking class on making me cum just from the teasing alone.”

“You’ve heard his voice captain, I mean no wonder I was creaming my pants to be with him so bad, and boy was I right. Downright evil how good it sounds during and early morning shag.”

And, even worse than all that, somehow…

“Well you know me, I like to be the best. So I told him we should start training my throat, so I can actually take his monster cock, the bastard. Did pass out the first time but we’ve been taking it slowly but surely ever since.”

And Price just…he should shut him up, but instead, he just takes it. Just lets the lad ramble about his love, like some lass back at home pinning for her deployed soldier. He hates it, he hates it, he tells himself. But he takes it for Johnny, and for Simon, and for the trust they have put in him.

And when he fists his cock in his quarters later that night, aching from being hard for so long, he can’t help but picture all those filthy things Soap told him.

Maybe, all this time, he was just jealous.

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 3, Episode 1

Season 3 picks up a short while after the jubilee speech by Wilhelm. Both Wilhelm and Sara have been absent from school for a noticeable amount of time, so maybe a week or two later? The show isn't very diligent in ensuring a perfect timeline, but this would put us in early March perhaps? Anyway, we're off to the castle for a meeting to deal with the fallout of Wilhelm's speech and Sara reporting the video to the police.

Subtext: The Queen is so pissed she's not even looking at her son, a reversal from the opening to season 2, when Wilhelm was pretty pissed at his mom.

Subtext: This is probably the first time that Wilhelm gets a hint that the Queen is seriously ill.

Cinematography: Same procedure as last season! Every season opens with a fourth wall break where Wilhelm stares in to the camera during the opening titles, defiant as ever.

Culture: For practical reasons the end of season 2 was filmed in April 2022, while the beginning of season 3 was filmed in February 2023. That said, the spring in Sweden can be pretty fickle, and it's not uncommon to have surprise snowfall as late as April. If you want a cinematographic interpretation of this scene, it's supposed to show how cold and unwelcome Simon feels arriving at the royal palace.

Cinematography: In reality, the monarch would be the last one entering a meeting after everyone else has arrived, but having Simon arrive like this makes it look more like he's entering a court of justice or some kind of disciplinary meeting. It's of course not a coincidence that the royal family represented by Jan-Olof is all on one side of the table, while everyone who has been causing them problems is on the other side.

Subtext: Jan-Olof is trying to minimize the video, by using "so-called", and by calling it an intimate video and not a porn video. However, for something to fall under the definition of "revenge porn", it's enough to depict people in an intimate situation, it doesn't have to meet the much higher threshold for when it's considered actual pornography, so he's at least admitting that it was an illegal video.

Culture: Nordiska Motståndsrörelsen is unfortunately a real organization of actual neo-nazi white supremacists in Sweden, with offshoots in neighbouring countries.

Lost in translation: The subtitles are struggling here, it's "piss person" in one, and "shitty person" in the other. The former is literally what they're saying in Swedish, but the latter is probably the better expression in English.

Also, we've been told that August's stepdad, Rickard, is one of Sweden's best lawyers. What that means is that he is probably a well-known criminal defence lawyer, and has probably been handling the defence in high-profile cases, and if you're defending obviously guilty criminals, you tend to get a lot of shit from the media and people in general, even though what you're doing is necessary for a fair justice system. This sounds like his way of dealing with that.

Culture: It's a pet peeve of mine that no-one seems to know that the name of the Swedish currency in English is kronor, not crowns. Simon is getting 1.2 million kronor, which amounts to about 105,000€ or $115,000.

Subtext: Linda isn't wrong, they're being strong-armed here. They have some sort of legal counsel, and they wouldn't have to pay any trial costs even if they don't win, but they can't afford to match the resources that August's stepdad can bring, and might get nothing in the end.

Culture: We don't know what Årnäs looks like or how large the estate is, but a quick check shows that you can buy a typical manor house and some farmland in Sweden for tens of millions of kronor. However, the amount of land that some of the other guys were boasting about at the Society party in season 1 would be worth several hundreds of millions of kronor, so it's unlikely that Årnäs is as large as that, because August would have a lot more options if his total net worth was in that ballpark.

Culture: Realistically, Simon isn't wrong. Even if August was convicted on all points, he wouldn't be sentenced harshly because of his age, because he's a first-time offender, and because it's a non-violent crime. He would most likely just be fined a large amount of money and ordered to pay damages, so settling isn't that bad.

Cinematography: The low winter sun creates some lovely golden light, so we know we're in for some sweet love between the boys. Another detail is the difference in how they're dressed and how they're carrying themselves. Wilhelm is tall and proud, he's at home, he's in a suit, he's sure of himself, while Simon is the guest, the intruder, and is almost shrinking away in his oversized purple shirt and jeans. Yes, yes, colour theory, I know.

Subtext: A nice little flashback to season 1 when Wilhelm said the same thing when he visited Simon's place.

Lost in translation: Simon is actually saying "Var det såhär i din dröm?" - "Was it like this in your dream?", which is a reference to the rather steamy dream Wilhelm had at the start of season 2, when he was lying in this exact bed.

Subtext: Absolutely no-one is fooled, everyone knows our two idiot boys were sucking each other's face a minute ago.

Subtext: Both Linda and the Queen are hearing about their sons' awful behaviour for the first time at this meeting. Linda had no idea Simon had been dealing drugs, and Kristina had no idea Wilhelm threatened August with a gun.

Culture: I have no idea here. There's no real-world example for this in Sweden, you can't put someone into the line of succession by giving them a title. The show is just hand-waving this. Alright. Ok. Fine.

Culture: All adults in the line of succession can be called upon to be acting Head of State, if the monarch is indisposed or on vacation or something. This means that once Wilhelm is 18, he would occasionally have to step in and do the job, even though he's not king yet. If there are no royals available for this, the duty falls to the speaker of the house, Riksdagens Talman.

Cinematography: We're returning to Hillerska after the episode intro at the royal palace, so we're treated to a little montage of what those gosh darn rich kids have been up to in the meanwhile, so here's a horse to remind us that some of them are still riding! This is the only horse we'll be seeing this season, because the show really isn't about Rousseau after all.

Subtext: Madison is doing Tarot, and she's got Three of Wands reversed and Four of Wands reversed. The first one represents obstacles and lack of progress, and the second one represents home conflict, instability, and lack of support. A bit on the nose, don't you think?

Subtext: It's true, but the show is also calling out itself for the somewhat inconsistent weather we've been seeing due to actual shooting schedules.

Culture: Graduating gymnasiet in Sweden has a bunch of elements that are the same pretty much across the country, and then there are regional differences and individual school differences. I recognize only a few of the things Fredrika rattles off, but it makes sense that a place like Hillerska has a ton of traditions.

Subtext: All the girls have noticed that Felice isn't doing too great, but Madison appears to be the only one that actually cares. Fredrika still hasn't stopped talking about all the crap the third-years are gonna do, because that's apparently more exciting. However, the trucks she's talking about are pretty common, this is what we in Sweden call a Studentflak.

@hanna-kin wrote a long post on Swedish graduation traditions, and I reblogged and added some stuff here: https://www.tumblr.com/skamenglishsubs/684659770007961600/its-that-time-of-the-year-again-and-if-season-2

Culture: It seems Minou isn't the head of PR for the royal court anymore, this is Farima, and we've actually seen her all the way back in season 1 when she was instructing Wilhelm to smile more in the photographs. Either way, it seems like she's got a promotion, and she's probably not wrong in her assessment. A bunch of old farts would balk at the idea of the monarch being in a same-sex relationship, but a lot of others would see it is proof that the monarchy can change with the times. There were quite a lot of fans in Team Monarchy after all. 👑🌈

Lost in translation: Linda actually says "Du har utegångsförbud", which means curfew. Grounding kids isn't really a thing in Sweden, to us it's some kind of weird thing that only happens in American teen shows, along with detention. What the fuck even is that?

Subtext: Unlike in season 1, Simon now consistently speaks Swedish at home to his mom, further showing us how distant he is from her, and from himself to some extent.

Lost in translation: Linda actually calls Sara a "hemmasittare", which is a Swedish term used for kids who simply refuse to attend school, typically for mental health reasons. What to do about the problem is a hotly debated political issue, and let's leave it at that.

Subtext: This is how the culture of secrecy and solidarity against outsiders work at schools like this. Everyone is abused, everyone participates in abusing younger students, and everyone is told to shut up about it. Every house guards their "secret" initiations to outsiders, to foster loyalty to each other, to your house, and to the school. It's cult behaviour 101.

Cinematography: The show does it's usual trick with the sound design where all outside noise disappears as Simon and Wilhelm retreat into their little bubble, but there are still people in the frame this time, even though we can't hear them, because this time they're snogging in public. Oh, and everyone needs to update their colour theory, new colours dropped, pink and orange, what does it all mean??!?

Blink and you miss it: The list of activities for the point hunt includes:

Tattoo "Hillerska 4-life" on your arm.

Take a selfie at the back of a police car.

Give someone a buzz cut.

Dance the balloon dance in public.

Sext a teacher.

Get a piercing somewhere.

Blink and you miss it: I love Vincent so much, he's just the worst. Oh, and it looks like he's wearing a $2000 Valentino sweater, but I'm not 100% certain.

Subtext: Neither Ayub nor Rosh agrees with Simon when he says he's gonna reply to idiots online, but unfortunately they're not telling him off, because that would lead to less drama in the season.

Blink and you miss it: Ayub and Rosh are talking about going on a hike to Talludden with their school, Marieberg, which is why we're gonna encounter them out in the woods in the next episode. Spoiler alert!

Subtext: Wilhelm puts up the first stanza of a poem by Karin Boye called The Shield Maiden. In English, the poem goes: I dreamed about swords last night. I dreamed about battle last night. I dreamed I fought by your side armoured and strong, last night.

Blink and you miss it: Wilhelm's desk has a ton of stuff, but he's also kept the broken frog prince snowglobe, and he's still got Erik's lighter and cigarette case from season 2.

Lost in translation: The comment in Swedish uses the word "bögar", which isn't quite as offensive as "fags". However, it's more offensive than "gays", so I understand why the subtitles went with this choice. It's one of those words that is offensive or not depending on context, and it's certainly offensive in this one.

Subtext: The soundtrack is on point as usual, highlighting the animosity between Wilhelm and August.

Blink and you miss it: Someone ordered a Horse Girl Desk™ from the props department, and they sure delivered all the horsey things! The book is the Swedish edition of Not on a White Horse by Nancy Springer:

From the day twelve-year-old Rhiannon spots a lost white Arabian gelding in the woods near her small Pennsylvania mining town, her life finds a focus as she learns to deal with family problems and decides the direction her life will take.

As you do.

Subtext: As a throwback to season 1, this time it's Sara's turn to make a surprise visit at their dad's. He is surprised and starts cleaning up his place, but he seems to be in better shape than when Simon originally turned up. His place is just messy, there are no signs of drinking and smoking unlike last time we saw him.

Culture: Who goes to New York to suntan? No-one sane, but sun-starved Scandinavians get a bit of cabin fever after a long dark winter.

Culture: Fake IDs aren't really a thing in Sweden, you're allowed to legally drink at 18, and underage kids are much more likely to have an older friend or sibling or alcoholic parent buy them some booze for a private party instead. Sure, they exist, but equipping your friend group with a bunch of fake IDs to go clubbing is not how it's done.

Subtext: Simon drew a heart on Wilhelm's hand and suggested he get that as a tattoo. Wilhelm objected because he's "not allowed to" as a royal, but here he is, redrawing it on himself, almost as if he's toying with the thought, defying the rules.

Subtext: Simon doesn't know anything about the initiations since he's a lowly external student, and even though they're boyfriends, Wilhelm automatically tries to play it down. He knows it's true though, he doesn't question that, he just doesn't want Simon to know about it because it's humiliating to talk about it.

Cinematography: A++ Main Villain Entry Walk.

Culture: The Swedish Schools Inspectorate is a very real government agency that has the very real power to shut down schools that are mismanaged in any way, either academically, or socially.

Culture: Just a quick reminder that every single third-year student is 18 or 19 years old at this point in time, and therefore they are legal adults, which means the school has less authority over them. However, since it's a boarding school, they can enact and enforce regulations for boarders, and kick them out from their houses if they disobey the rules, which effectively kicks them out of the school while technically not doing that.

Cinematography: I love the camera angle here where we just about see Vincent giving Wilhelm the evil eye for indirectly causing this.

As a closing note, this season felt a lot less subtexty to me, compared to previous seasons. On the other hand, a recurring theme now is the airing of secrets, of exposing the systems that create toxic environments like this, so in line with the theme, a lot of characters are voicing things that were left unsaid in previous seasons.

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 2)

oops my fingers slipped again. now all of a sudden i gotta see this little au through.

The early morning sun cast a golden hue across the park, the rays dancing on the surface of the nearby lake. The park was unusually  empty this morning, a tranquil atmosphere sweeping over the rolling green hills. 

Multiple days have passed since your rather unfortunate encounter with the Duke Simon Riley, the tension lingering like a storm cloud over the horizon. It left you seething, yet most of all, you still felt hurt over his attack on your character, even though he knows nothing about you. That’s what bothered you the most. 

But, today, you were determined not to let his condescension overshadow your day, and so you sought solace in the park. As you wandered, you allowed yourself to relax, breathing in the fresh scent of dewy grass and listening to the cheerful chirping of birds. The empty park allowed you to sink further into relaxation, trying your best to let go of the lingering tension. 

You had nearly succeeded in calming yourself down when, rounding a bend in the path, you came face to face with the very last person you wanted to. 

Duke Simon Riley was sitting high atop of a giant horse, his imposing figure cutting a striking silhouette against the misty park. His expression was inscrutable as his gaze met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved, locked in a silent standoff. 

You felt a surge of frustration and anger rise within in you at the mere sight of him, the memory of your initial meeting flooding back with startling clarity. Just as you were trying to forget the whole thing. But, beneath the anger, there was something else simmering; a nagging curiosity, perhaps, or a stubborn refusal to let him dictate your emotions. 

The Duke’s expression remained unreadable, his eyes betraying nothing of his thoughts or feelings. He sat atop his horse with the ease of a man accustomed to command, his posture rigid and imposing. 

The silence stretched on between you, tension crackling in the air like lightning about to strike. His gaze upon you was heavy and unyielding, and for a moment, you felt as though you were drowning in it. 

But then, with a defiant tilt of your chin, you square your shoulders and met his gaze head-on. If he thought to intimidate you with his stoic demeanor, he had another thing coming.

“Your Grace,” you say coolly, your voice carrying across the distance that separates you. “What a surprise to see you here.” 

Simon’s lips twitched ever so slightly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “I could say the same for you, my lady,” he replies, his voice low and measured. “What brings you to the park in these early hours?”

You wanted to laugh in his face right then and there. You barely were able to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes in front of him, choosing instead to maintain your steady composure. 

“I find solace in nature,” you say simply, folding your hands together in front of you. “Unlike some, I rather enjoy the company of birds and trees to that of ‘idle chatter and trivial pursuits.’”

The jab was not lost on Simon, and you could see a flicker of annoyance cross his gestures. But to his credit, he remains outwardly composed, his expression still a mask of impassivity. 

No longer wanting to be the object of his hard gaze, you pivot on your heel. The moment you do, and of course, this could only happen to you, your foot catches on a hidden root, causing you to stumble forward with a gasp of surprise. 

With a strangled cry, you tumble to the ground less than graceful, the skirts of your dress now mangled by the dirt. Pain shot through your ankle as you hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from your lungs by the impact. For a moment, you lay there, dazed and disoriented, the world spinning around you. 

To your surprise, a shadow fell over you, blocking out the sun. You turn, looking up to see the Duke reigning in his horse, his expression unreadable.

Without a word, he dismounts the steed in one fluid motion, landing beside you with a grace that belied his imposing stature. Strong arms wrapped around you, lifting you effortlessly to your feet as if you weighed nothing at all.

“Are you hurt, my lady?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly with the smallest hint of concern. 

You shook your head mutely, too stunned by his sudden appearance to form coherent words. His proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and the way his large arms feel around you sends heat straight to your face.

You meekly look up into his brown eyes, and any hint of anger and frustration now evaporates with every passing moment. You find yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze, his eyes holding you captive. There was something magnetic about them, something that drew you in despite your best efforts to resist. His hand lingers on yours, his thick fingers pressing into the palm of your gloved hand. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Simon’s expression softens ever so slightly, the shift barely perceptible. You could’ve sworn his eyes flicker down to your partly open lips. All he does is nod in return. 

Finally, you quickly step back, straightening your dress and trying to regain your composure. “Well, I- I must go home and change,” you say stiffly, mortified by your clumsiness and the fact that he had been the one to help you. 

Simon does a once over of the skirts of your dress, now covered in dirt. “It appears so,” he states gruffly. 

“Try to watch where you're going next time, my lady,” he states plainly. 

You freeze in your tracks, his words like a slap in the face. How dare he speak to you in such a manner after just helping you up?

Swallowing your pride, you turn back to face him, your jaw clenched with barely contained frustration. “Thank you for your concern, Your Grace,” you reply through gritted teeth, your voice laced with icy politeness.

With that, you pivot on your heel and march away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words had affected you. As you walk, your ankle throbbing with each step, you can't help but seethe with anger at the Duke's insufferable attitude.

But amidst the anger, there's a small flicker of something else. A stubborn determination, perhaps, or a newfound resolve to show the Duke that you were not someone to be trifled with. Whatever it was, you were determined to prove him wrong, no matter the cost.

part 1 < > part 3

[thegnomelord]

I've seen puppy Soap / Owner Ghost and Puppy Ghost / Owner Soap and I raise you Puppies Ghost AND Soap with an owner reader.

CW: Kinda dub-con, puppy play rough and quick

Soap's such a good puppy for you from the start, tail happily wagging when he brings you toys in his teeth, pawing at your thigh and asking for cuddles and pets. He'll eagerly eat from his bowl and snuggle up in his cage without a single note of complaint.

It's Ghost you need to break in. Ghost's a defiant one, it's what happens when a pup's allowed to play owner for too long, but you're good at imposing authority. At first you start with the usual spanking and time out in the corner, but when he continues to misbehave and be harsh and violent with you, you end up getting a shock cock ring. Now that ends up getting him to behave, a few little shocks whenever he tries to mount you and he's back on his knees like a proper dog. For a little while.

During Ghost's training you strap him to a bitch table and let Soap mount him. The poor pup is so hesitant at first, almost hiding behind your legs while Ghost thrashes and snarls uselessly in an attempt to get out. You ease Soap's nerves and ruffle his hair, before a strict order has him climbing on top of Ghost.

"Now, now, this is your punishment." You growl when Ghost tries to push him off, a hand firmly in his hair making him pay attention on you while Soap pounds into Ghost in a way he hadn't been allowed when Simon was playing owner, rutting into him while Ghost can do nothing but growl and leak endless pre from his tip with no way to cum.

Of course, it's nothing compared to the fucking Johnny receives when you finally train Ghost to be an obedient puppy. After he learns to listen to you, you have no problem letting them sort their hierarchy and Johnny quickly becomes the bottom bitch again...not that he minds.

Idk dudes it's late and I'm high off my ass on meds and this came into my head after rereading auspicioustidings trick or treat fic :/

[lesbyers]

young royals is definitely gonna end with wille leaving the crown behind for simon. “love shouldn’t be this hard” doesn’t contradict or push away wille/simon endgame at all. it’s an admission of love and an acknowledgment of how much their situation needs to change. wille is going to choose love over his situation, that’s the point. a large part of this series has been about wille trying and failing at learning who he is and what he stands for (often through his relationship with simon) with the monarchy always tripping him up every time and holding him back. the main song associated with the show is literally called revolution, a love song with “let’s start a revolution” as the chorus. i think if anything erik represented the future of tradition in the modern age, his death was the beginning of the death of tradition and the modern monarchy , wille has been defiant and opposed to every tradition thrown at him as soon as he arrives at hillerska, even the little things in the first episode like wanting to carry his own bags, wanting to sit the wrong end of the table etc. simon is part of this rejection of tradition, it’s a large part of why wille likes him so much, his first conversation with simon is him agreeing with his anti-monarchal opinions after class. all of this combined with wille’s growing intolerance for the way his family treats him and his loss of faith in erik, arguably the main driving point for him trying to uphold his role, all demonstrates just how much wille does not belong there. (even the imagery of the cracking of the snow globe with the frog prince inside is foreshadowing for this). his only real connections at this point are simon and felice. felice is going to be part of the beginning of hillerska’s downfall, we have seen her express wanting to be truthful and moral with the school investigation and we have seen how she is shown to be relatively outcast or used by the school because of her race and how this puts cracks in her faith in it’s system (simon too). not to mention felice has been strongly on wille and simon’s side since the beginning with the video leak (this plot line being the beginning of of showing wille’s two choices). wille i think will be the deciding factor for the shutting down of hillerska and fall of the monarchy, with simon and felice respectively being a large part of his motivations for both. this ending has been building from the start, simon and wille’s love story is the catalyst for this end of tradition and embracing of change.

[blingblong55]

Silent allies- Simon "Ghost" Riley

Based on a request: Hiii I hope you're doing well Could you write a fic where the task force gets to know about a lab where makarov is making a huge weapon, they believe it's a nuclear weapon or something like that but when they reach the lab they see a huge metal room and inside, a woman. Probably in her 20s, bruised and chained and shock collar around her neck and all. They rescued her, brought her for questioning and found out she's the experiment and she has powers like enhanced strength durability stamina and energy production and manipulation telekinesis telepathy and blood manipulation. They recruit her thinking she'll be a useful addition to the team and she's very powerful, as they see her on the field. Then simon and her form a connection and they find solace in each other's trauma. ---- F!Reader, superhuman!au, romance?, fluff?(lets not trust these two tags) ----

A/N: I think I got carried away...so...yeah

The helicopter blades cut through the thick night air as Task Force 141 approached their target: a remote lab deep in the Ural Mountains. The mission brief had been grim—Intel suggested Makarov was developing a catastrophic weapon. Nuclear, perhaps. They couldn't let that stand. With Captain Price's gruff voice crackling over the comms, the team moved with the precision and lethality they were known for. "Approaching LZ," Soap announced, his voice thick with anticipation.

This was Soap's opportunity to finally end the name Vladimir Makarov.

"Remember, lads," Price said, "we're in and out. Neutralize the target, get the intel, and get out. Simple." Ghost exchanged glances with his teammates. His skull-patterned balaclava barely concealed the cold determination in his eyes. Ghost was a man of few words, but his presence was a comforting constant in the chaos of war. The lab loomed ahead, a dark, angular shadow against the snowy landscape. As the helicopter landed, the team disembarked, weapons at the ready.

The night was silent save for the crunch of their boots on the snow and the distant howl of the wind. "Alright, let's move," Price ordered, and the team advanced. They breached the lab's perimeter with practised ease.

Inside, the corridors were sterile and dimly lit, the air thick with the hum of machinery. Moving swiftly and silently, they cleared room after room, encountering minimal resistance. It was almost too easy. "Something's not right," Gaz muttered, voicing the unease they all felt. At the end of a long hallway, they found it—a massive metal door, more secure than any they’d encountered so far. Price signalled for a breach. With a deafening blast, they forced their way in, weapons raised. What they found inside made them freeze. The room was vast and industrial, filled with complex machinery and computer banks. But their eyes were drawn to the centre of the room, where a large glass chamber stood.

Inside was you—bruised and battered, chained to the floor with a shock collar around your neck. “Bloody hell,” Soap whispered, horror and anger lacing his voice. Ghost moved forward, his eyes locked on you. You looked up, and despite your condition, your eyes were defiant. This was no ordinary prisoner. “Price, we need to get her out of here,” Ghost said, urgency in his voice. Price nodded. "Ghost, Gaz, cover us. Soap, see if you can disable that collar." Gaz worked quickly, and with a few deft movements, the collar fell away.

Ghost gently lifted you, your body light and frail in his arms. You flinched at the contact but didn't resist. As he carried you out, the rest of the team provided cover, their weapons barking in the darkness as more of Makarov's men converged on your position. You made it back to the helicopter under a hail of gunfire. Once inside, you collapsed onto a stretcher, your breathing shallow but steady.

They secured you, minds racing with questions. Who were you? What had Makarov done to you? Back at the safehouse, the atmosphere was tense. You had been stabilized and were resting, but they all knew the real work was just beginning. As they gathered in the briefing room, Price addressed the team. Laswell had given Price your file. A subject stolen from a testing lab was easy to find the name of because of the serial number on your neck. “We need answers,” he said. “Y/N is our best lead. We’ve seen what Makarov is capable of, and we can’t afford any surprises.” Ghost had been quiet since the rescue, his eyes never straying far from where you were being held.

There was a connection there, a silent understanding that went beyond words. The interrogation room was cold and clinical, a stark contrast to the warmth they tried to project. You sat across from Ghost, your eyes wary but no longer filled with fear. “Y/N,” Ghost began softly, “we’re here to help. Can you tell us what Makarov was doing to you?” You hesitated, your eyes flicking to the door where Ghost stood guard. Finally, you spoke, your voice a whisper. “I was… an experiment. He wanted to create a weapon. Not a bomb, but a person.”

The room went silent. Ghost leaned forward. “What kind of weapon?” Your eyes met his, and he saw the pain and power within them. “Me. I have… abilities. Enhanced strength, durability, and stamina. I can manipulate energy, and use telekinesis, and telepathy. Even control blood.” The gravity of your words sank in. Makarov hadn’t been building a weapon; he’d been creating one. And now you were sitting in front of them, a living testament to his twisted ambitions.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” Ghost’s voice cut through the silence, gentle but firm. You looked at him, a flicker of something passing between you. “I did. But he had ways of controlling me. The collar… it wasn’t just to shock me. It suppressed my abilities.” Ghost exchanged a glance with Price. This changed everything. “Y/N,” Price said, “we want to help you. We could use someone with your skills. But we need to know if you’re willing to fight with us.” You looked around the room, your eyes lingering on each of them before settling on Ghost. “I’ll fight. Not just for me, but for everyone Makarov has hurt. He needs to be stopped.” From that day on, you became part of Task Force 141.

Training with them was intense—your abilities were unlike anything they’d ever encountered. You could lift vehicles with your mind, and heal wounds with a touch, and your combat skills were unparalleled. On the battlefield, you were a force of nature, your powers turning the tide of many engagements. But it was your connection with Ghost that truly stood out. You spent hours together, often in silence, yet there was an unspoken bond between you. Both of you carried scars from your pasts, both had seen and endured more than anyone should.

You found solace in each other’s presence, a quiet understanding that needed no words. One night, after a particularly brutal mission, you found yourselves on the rooftop of the safe house. The night was clear, stars scattered across the sky. You were sitting on the edge, your legs dangling over the side, while Ghost stood beside you, his mask pulled up just enough to reveal his mouth. Ghost approached quietly, not wanting to intrude. But you noticed him and gave a small smile.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Hey,” he replied, leaning against the railing. “You alright?” You nodded, “Just needed some fresh air.” Ghost’s eyes were distant, his mind clearly on something else. “I never thought I’d be here,” you said after a moment. “Fighting alongside people who care.” Ghost placed a hand on your shoulder. “You’re part of the team now. We’ve got your back.” You looked at him, gratitude shining in your eyes. “Thank you. All of you.” Ghost’s hand found yours, a rare gesture of comfort.

The two of you stood there, the night wrapping around you like a cloak. At that moment, despite the darkness and the war raging around you, there was a sense of peace. You weren’t just soldiers; you were a family…a messed up, military, full of badass soldiers with dark backgrounds kind of family.

Over the following months, your integration into the team was seamless. Missions that seemed impossible were now within reach thanks to your abilities. Whether it was breaching heavily fortified compounds or extracting high-value targets, your skills made the difference. During one mission deep in enemy territory, you found yourselves pinned down by heavy fire. The situation was dire, and retreat seemed like the only option. But you had other plans.

“Stay behind me,” you ordered, your voice steady despite the chaos. With a wave of your hand, an invisible force field sprung up, deflecting bullets and giving the team the cover they needed to advance. You moved with purpose, your powers creating a path through the enemy's defences. It was awe-inspiring and terrifying all at once. Ghost stayed close to you, his skills complementing yours. You worked in perfect harmony, a deadly duo that left the enemy scrambling.

By the end of the mission, the objective was secured, and you all made it back in one piece. Back at the base, as the adrenaline wore off, you noticed Ghost watching you. He had a soft spot for you, and it was clear you drew strength from each other. One evening, as you sat around a campfire, Ghost finally opened up about his past. His voice was low, the crackling fire casting shadows across his face.

“I lost everyone I cared about,” he said, his eyes fixed on the flames. “My family…friends. All gone. I thought I’d never find that kind of connection again.” You reached out, your hand covering his. “You have us now,” you said softly. “You have me.” He looked at you, the pain in his eyes softening. “I know. And I’m grateful for that every day.” In the quiet moments between missions, you found yourselves together often. You found solace in each other’s company, healing the wounds that ran deep. It was a slow process, but with each passing day, the scars seemed a little less painful.

Then came the day of the final assault on Makarov’s stronghold. The mission was clear—take him down and end his reign of terror. The stakes had never been higher. As you prepared, you approached Ghost, determination etched on your face. “This ends today,” you said. He nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce intensity. “Together.” The final assault was brutal. The stronghold was heavily defended, and every step forward was hard-fought.

In the end, it was a combination of your powers and Ghost’s precision that brought Makarov to his knees. As the dust settled, you stood over him, the weight of your journey crashing down on you. It was over. Back at the safehouse, there was a sense of relief but also a lingering sadness. You and Ghost stood together, looking out over the horizon. “We did it,” you said softly. “Yeah,” Ghost replied. “We did.” You turned to him, your eyes reflecting the shared pain and hope. “Thank you, Simon. For everything.” He pulled you into a gentle embrace, his touch a balm for your wounded soul. “Thank you, Y/N. For giving me something to fight for.” In each other’s arms, you found the peace you had long sought. Together, you were stronger. Together, you were home.

It's a funny feeling to have found a home in the arms that once rescued from a cage.

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