#ghost blurb

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[simonrileysfavteacup]

Tommy.

He came out looking exactly like his father. He acted exactly like him. He didn’t sleep, he had nightmares too often, he loved watching telly, he wouldn’t sleep without you near him, and so much more. 

While you make lunch, Simon sits on the couch with Tommy, watching a football game. The little boy was in his own jersey, babbling everytime his father yelled at the tv. The sight was adorable to anyone who had eyes. He copies his father, bottle in hand, drinking every time his daddy takes a sip of his rootbeer. Tommy’s eyes light up as his daddy turns to him. “Team sucks, don’t they, bubby?”

Tommy didn’t understand, obviously, but he babbles away anyways, like a fan meeting their favourite celeb. Simon was tommy’s favourite person. You always said that they were twins. Tommy always wanted to do everything his daddy was doing. 

“Should we just eat on the couch?” You ask, carrying two plates in hand. Simon nods, patting the spot next to Tommy. You hand Simon his sandwich before turning to Tommy and sitting next to him. You pull the bowl of soft rice off your plate, feeding Tommy little bites off the plastic spoon, He continues watching the game with his dad, chewing with his little gums. 

He’s halfway done the rice before Manchester scores. 

Simon stands up, cheering as loudly as he can. Tommy tries to copy him, knocking over the bowl of rice.

Luckily, it doesn’t spill too much. 

A few grains land on your lap. Simon chuckles, sitting back down. 

Bastard finds this funny.

You throw a spoonful of rice onto him. Tommy laughs, reaching his hand into the bowl and picking up a handful of rice. He shoves his whole fist into his mouth, giggling. 

Simon gasps. “What did ya throw that at me fo’?” 

“It’s funny,” you giggle. 

Simon pulls Tommy’s fist out of his mouth. “Bubby, say ‘bad mommy’.”

“Hey!” You pout. Tommy giggles.

Simon leans over his son, kissing you softly, Tommy’s fist hitting at his chin. He kisses the baby boy’s cheek, smiling. “Love you too, bubby. And you, lovie.”

“I know.”

[sagi-tori-ous]

Simon sighs, his left hand coming up to press against his anguish ridden face. He had just gotten off the phone with work and it was expressed that they needed him there earlier than his allotted time.

He knew you wouldn't take the news well, early mornings were your favorite time to spend with him. Simon wasn't an early bird like you even though his profession called for punctuality. He loved the bed you'd share, snuggling up to you till his alarm shrieked through the master bedroom, every so often tempting him to throw it afar without care. Nevertheless, he knew what mornings meant to you. There was always a reason why he dragged himself out of bed an hour, almost two before he had to leave the house. There was an obligation, one where he had to sit at the round oak table with you perched on his lap, your surroundings smothered in the scent of the steaming cooked breakfast and freshly brewed tea you prepared, faithfully.

"fuck me," he groans, dragging himself around the spacious bedroom, begrudgingly getting ready for the day, "s'gonna be so mad."

Simon could hear the faint pitter-patter of your feet as you danced around the kitchen, fretting over what you should cook today for the both of you.

"Baby!" You call out, looking through the ingredients, "Pancakes and bacon? How bout it?" The thought was a bit mouthwatering, there weren't many things at the moment better to you than some syrup-covered buttermilk pancakes and crispy bacon.

"y'know I'm fine with it." Simon calls back, fastening his attire promptly, "Everything you make is delicious." His attempt to butter you up.

Which doesn't fall flat— you soak it up as if you were just like the pancakes you were preparing, dubious as ever to what was in store for your morning. You noted that the tone of his voice was preppier, more awake than usual. You briefly questioned why he even was fully awake, seeing as you were usually the one to drag him out of bed in the morning. Literally.

Simon, still dwelling in the bedroom, shakes his head, stumped on how to go about this, in a way wanting to just slide out of the front door and ultimately deal with the consequences later but that'd be too rude. Too disrespectful.

"Love," Simon calls out to you, the combat boots strapped to his feet sounding thunderous as he finally rounds the corner into the quaint ivory plastered kitchen.

"yes," you sing, your mouth upturns into a small smile, "I'm actually almost done. I had already made the dry mix, remember before that recipe I found, I just had to add the eggs and but-" Your sentence falters as you gaze up at Simon, eyes going up and down taking in his wear, you weren't a fool and picked up on the circumstances quickly.

The pout that pulled your lips down was instantaneous. "No."

Simon steps towards you, "I know love, they just called me. There s'nothing I could do. I'm sorry."

"mornings are for us." You whine— you didn't want him to go. You wanted to finish cooking and take your rightful seat in his lap while you fed both of you breakfast. You wanted his heavy head to lay on your shoulder, leaning up occasionally to nibble on the bites of food that you pressed to his lips. You wanted his muscular arms to wrap around you, holding you tight against his broad frame as you babbled about any and everything. You wanted that every morning and wouldn't be subjected to change.

"I know," Simon repeats, attempting to move closer to you but the attempt was futile. You blew air into your cheeks, slightly puffing them as you turned back to the stove. "the food." you grumble.

Yes, you knew what Simon's job consisted of, you knew that it required of him to be available at times, even if they were inconvenient. Were you being unreasonable? Slightly. Could you see through your heedlessness? Not at the moment. You couldn't help but feel wronged like this was to spite you.

The silence lingered for some time until you broke it, "when do you have to leave?" you reluctantly ask, absentmindedly tapping the fluffy pancakes with your spatula.

"got'to be there by 6," Simon glances down at his wristwatch, "I should be out the door in the next 15 minutes." His gaze was swift to shift back to you, perturbed by your behavior.

Your shoulders hump, movements becoming a tad more aggressive, "Well guess I have to hurry." The comment is not as endearing as it seemed, there was a snarky nuance to it.

Simon wasn't oblivious to your attitude, he knew the little backhand comment was supposed to be a jab at him but the animosity didn't resonate. He found the slightest of amusement with your current demeanor. The almost undetectable smirk was amiss from your view since your back was to him. He found your displeasure the least bit adorable. Anger wasn't a reoccurring emotion for you, there was no familiarity but when you did encounter it, it could be misplaced at times.

You were upset and it showed easily; it was evident in your expressions, fluid in your movements. Regardless of how you felt, you still packed the heaping breakfast in his sack, and bottled up his piping hot tea, momentarily wishing for him to burn his tongue later on, before pushing his belongings into his hardened chest.

Your hands momentarily brushed against his pecs, recoiling from the touch as if he'd burnt you, dramatics in full effect until your wrists were clasped in one of his large worn hands, reeling you back into him.

"I'll be back," he reassures, looking down at you even though you refused to look up at him, " y'know this." His declaration falls on deaf ears, yet still, he pushes forward, inching his lips closer to your forehead to leave his standard kiss, "I always come back to you." He whispers, lips almost flush with your skin.

Before he can, you pull away, an action that shocks you both. It was unfamiliar to you both, upsetting in many ways but no more than the other.

"stop being a brat," Simon says, his eyes now hard, glaring "You've been playing this little game for too long. Enough." His gaze is unwavering as he once again inclines towards you, his pace treacherous, but to his displeasure you still deny his affection, pulling away from him, prompting him to snag your chin between his fingers, now forcing the eye contact.

"Keep on, y'know this is a game I can play really well."

Later that day...

"feels s'good," your voice whines, breath hitching ever so often from the stimulation Simon gave you. Your head is fuzzy from his calculated touches, eyes unfocused from the momentous pleasure, "m'gonna cum."

"like hell you are," he reproves, "keep those legs up."

Simon's right hand latches on to your thigh, applying a bit of pressure as he nestles between them. He fists his angry cock in his other hand, purposefully nudging your clothed cunt in the process. His movements were harsh, self seeking, paying no mind to your throbbing pussy as it drooled through the thin fabric of cloth that separated your bare flesh from his.

"brats like you don't get to cum." He condemns, his voice laced in the disappointment he felt, "don't deserve t'cum."

Your thighs trembled under his hold, "I do, I do." you cry, chest rapidly rising as the knot in the pit of your stomach grows, begging to be undone. He was ruining you, he was showing you why certain games were too dangerous to play.

"but you don't," he grunts, he fucks his palm faster, crowning your aching clit. The hand that was on your thigh plants you, knowing as you try to roll your hips and meet the thrusts of his cock.

"please! please! Si!" You beg, tears threatening to fall, "mmm fuck-" His bottom lip slips between his teeth, he blatantly ignores your pleading, instead he focuses on his orgasm as his hot cum paints your cunt through the skimpy cloth. His touch is gone as soon as he's sated, leaving you high and dry.

"like I said, brats like you don't get to cum."

Press this 💨❄️❄️

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited)¹ retired simon has nowhere to go, so you offer. [ one, two, three]

this was a stupid idea, a dangerous idea; one that could potentially get you hurt— you knew that, but the temperature was below freezing and you couldn't bear the thought of letting him walk to god knows where. you wouldn't allow that, not when you could offer help.

you came to a slow halt beside the man, rolling down the passenger side window and smiling softly, awkwardly. “hi! mind if i ask where you're headed?" he's taller than you assumed, standing at least a foot or two taller than you, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his all-black tee.

the fitted clothing accentuates his large frame, hinting at the strength that lies beneath. a mask covers his face, a skull painted onto the fabric, and a large military duffle bag is slung over his shoulder, weathered and worn.

he stops abruptly and gradually swivels his head to face you. his eyes are a striking shade of brown when they meet your gaze— they look……hollow, devoid of emotion. you smile once more and tilt your head, your palms slick with sweat against the steering wheel. “s’just, the temps gonna drop a bit more later in the night and i thought i’d give you a ride, so you don't freeze to death on your way.”

your attempt at a joke with the man falls short and you clear your throat and drum your thumbs softly, feeling a tad bit embarrassed. you jump when he finally speaks. his voice is like velvet dipped in honey. it's deep, rough, gravelly, and accented. you can't help but be taken aback for a moment, as a delightful warmth spreads through your body at the mere sound of it.

“y’r parents ever taugh’ you not ta talk t’strangers?”

you purse your lips and cluck your teeth, trailing behind him as he resumes his stride. sure, you should have driven off, gone back to your cozy apartment to indulge in a couple of movies, and drink yourself into a stupor but, you simply couldn't bring yourself to do so.

“my name’s _____, what’s yours?” he stops briefly and cranes his neck to the sky for a moment with a hint of irritation, before breathing out a heavy sigh; he seems hesitant, confused— and doubtful. then he turns to face you and your small fiat. “simon," he says softly. smiling you pull to a stop, “well, we’re not strangers anymore, simon.”

simon scoffs in slight amusement but slowly makes his way to you, when he reaches the passenger side window, you can clearly see a hint of distrust lingering in his eyes. it’s clear that he’s not accustomed to kindness from strangers. but you remain undeterred, your grin unwavering, as you lean over to open the door for him.

with a stiff nod of appreciation, he settles into the passenger seat, his worn-out bag settling between his thighs as he sinks into the comfort of the cushioned upholstery.

as you pull away from the curb, the man's eyes wander out the window, lost in thought. "so, where are you headed?" you ask gently, voice laced with genuine curiosity as you try to break the tension, your voice trembling slightly.

however, his response is nothing more than a cold, detached stare out the window. it’s as if he's not really there, as if his mind is lost in some distant place, far away from the reality of this moment. and yet, there's something captivating about his emptiness, something that draws you in despite the warning signs flashing in your mind.

“could be a killer.” simon voices, head slanting towards you; he looks comically large for your small fiat car and you can't help but smile. “are you?” he grunts but doesn't respond. the car speeds through the night, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thumping of your heart. he's like a puzzle waiting to be solved, a mystery begging to be unraveled; and you were curious.

“the nearest shelter,” he finally utters. “thats where i’m headed.” you hum softly and swallow thickly; this was a stupid idea, a dangerous idea; one that could potentially get you hurt, you knew that, but—

“stay with me tonight.”

[monstersholygrail]

Hello there, can I request a dub-con ghost (like an entity) smut? 🥹

(It's absolutely okay if you can't or don't want to 🫶🏽)

This ended up being dub-con for them both and I think that’s hilarious.

When you bought this genie lamp off of that shady vendor, you were sure there had to be something inside of it. He was extremely adamant about you not touching it until after purchase. You were always curious before but now it was downright suspicious. There had to be an actual genie inside.

The minute you got home you were practically tears apart the protective wrapper around the lamp. Inhaling shakily with anticipation you begin to rub at the lamp, brows furrowing when nothing happens. So you keep going, create a tight friction between your hands and the lamp. As the metal grows hotter you figure it’s just your furious rubbing. But moments later when steam shoots out from the spout, you cry out loudly, dropping the lamp and stumbling back onto the ground.

For a second you wait, expecting a genie to appear. But when a translucent Spector removes itself from the belly of the lamp instead of its tip, your brows furrow. The ghost groans loudly, a shiver running through its… body. He rolls his neck and although it makes no sound you see his form grow looser.

A chill spreads through the air, or at least that’s what you tell yourself as the moment your eyes meet his heated ones, a full-body shiver runs through you. His eyes ignite with lust as he looks over your body all splayed out on the ground and ready for him.

“Thanks for helping me rub one out. Let me give you something in return.”

Before you can scramble away in fear or say a word the ghost is on you and your clothes are flying off of you as if whisked away by the wind. You cry out as you can feel the sensation of his touch, his fingers sinking deep inside your wet fat cunt. You have no idea when or how you got so soaked but it makes the ghost grin wickedly, looking beyond satisfied.

“You get turned on from rubbing a lamp, sweetheart? Or was it that you were really jerking my cock that’s got you all drenched for me?” He asks, condescension dripping from his tone as your slick makes a mess of his fingers. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, forcing you to acknowledge who’s going this to you.

You wanna scream, you wanna refuse his words and make him stop. This isn’t what you were expecting out of this lamp. But fuck if it doesn’t feel good. The sensation of his thick fingers fucking into with abandon, curling inside you at just the right spot, and making you see stars.

A part of you knows you should stop this. Stop him. But it’s almost like you can’t as your body sags all the way onto the floor. You feel yourself getting lost in the pleasure, the pressure in your belly growing the more he pumps his way inside you, far deeper than any human fingers could ever reach.

Your back arches off the ground unnaturally, body warping as if possessed when your orgasm crashes into you. A fierce shriek forcefully rips its way out of your throat as the pleasure courses through you like a tidal wave, breaking eye-contact as you throw your head back. The sensation continues to build, growing so overwhelming that for a moment your vision flashes white and you reach a plane you’ve never gone to before.

When your climax slowly begins to ebb, you can feel your release pooling beneath you and you know you’ve just cum harder than you ever have in your life. The ghost’s dark chuckles have your attention snapping back to him and your eyes widen to see him sucking your essence off his fingers.

“That was fun, kitten. Jerk me off again if you ever wanna go another round,” he says, so casually and nonchalantly you can’t help but gape at him.

Then without waiting for a response you watch as he moves back into the lamp. The silence that follows stretches on painfully. Your limp body still quivering with aftershocks and your labored breath the only sound in the room.

When you feel like you can finally stand on your own trembling legs, you slowly make your way over to the lamp. Hesitantly picking it up. Not sure what might trigger him to come out again. You think about returning it or maybe throwing it away so he can be trapped in the lamp forever.

But the more you think about what to do with it, the more your pussy starts to tingle again. Your body remembering what just happened much more pleasantly than your brain.

Perhaps you need to keep it for a little while longer. Just to figure out what to do with him, of course. Who knows, he may still have some use…

[mockerycrow]

ghost x gn!reader — “sharper teeth” (blurb)

After Las Almas, everyone changed. That much is obvious. Probably more so Ghost, Soap, and you—you always thought Ghost and Soap got the most shit from the situation. Ghost, being hunted down and hiding in a Church in the city. Soap earned a bullet, luckily nonfatal, and you? That’s something you’re not very keen on sharing with, well.. Anyone, really. The boys call it lying when you insist nothing happened, you call it keeping your business close to yourself.

Over the next few following months, however, it became increasingly obvious something is wrong with you. If it wasn’t evident in your bark, it was evident in your bite. After Las Almas, your scores suddenly shot up to excellent, top of the scoreboard when you’ve consistently earned “great” scores. Your scores topping some of the folks who’ve nearly always scored higher than you, so of course the sudden improvement would catch some eyes. Eyes that you never wanted on you in the first place.

It started out with compliments from everyone, especially the Captain. Price slapping down a hand on your shoulder, holding a piece of paper with your weapon’s qualifications. A grin and a congratulations that burns. You accept his words with grace despite how undeserving it feels. You should’ve been doing this well a long time ago. Ghost offered you impressed nods, elbow bumps. His touch feels acidic and wrong, despite his positive undertones. Gaz’s handshakes and hugs, his words make your ears feel like they’re going to bleed. Soap’s money spent on celebratory drinks feels like wasted currency.

It went from compliments from your team and your other peers to harsh words, fists, and fights; to blood smeared on the sparring mat. 

Something is wrong and you’re not going to get away with hiding it away forever, Ghost thinks.

[karenssupplystore]

sex with ghost this. sex with ghost that. i don’t think he’d be the most sexual guy at all.

he’s much prefer just relaxing with his girl. lingering touches and long kisses. cuddles and hugs. naps and smiles. he likes being able to let himself relax, no longer being the large tough military lieutenant he is when he is ghost but rather let himself just be him. let himself be simon. your simon.

who doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable and let’s you initiate contact whether that be a brush or a finger or a lean of your head. who always leans in and holds you tight when you need it but won’t push for the touch without your okay.

who’s okay with taking it slow, and understands not wanting to be rushed into doing anything. who’s more than happy just being in your presence, not even necessarily talking to one another, just having you by his side. having you cooped up on the couch in his office with a cozy blanket you brought from home and a book that’s been sitting on your nightstand for months that you’re finally getting to. simon finishing his paperwork, glancing over at you periodically to ease his mind that you’re safe.

who notices immediately as soon as you begin to nod your head against the back of the couch, your eyes no longer following the words across the pages of your book. who sets his work aside and pads over to scoop you up into his lap, marking the page in your book as he moves it to the side table and brushes a strange of hair from your face.

who’d settle into the couch, tuck you into his side and rest the blanket over you, whispering how it’s okay to be sleepy and how it’s time for a nap. who’s arms wrap around you, one large palm around your waist and the other cradling your head as you two both slip into a sleep, dreaming of each other and the years you’ll spend together growing old.

who’s just simon when he’s around you. your simon.

(this is so rushed and written on my phone so if the format sucks im so sorry)

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

alright sleep token and 141 type collab because brain rot (tldr: 141 are a masked man rock band)

soap always wanted to be in a band. gaz thought it was something cool to try. price played drums in highschool. and ghost of course introduced the aire of mystic that made them really take off.

def have a good fanbase of punks and their girlfriends. they get a lot of interest because of the unique sound and also. hot guys in masks brain go brrrrrrrrr...

totally see gaz and soap interacting with the crowd and the pretty girls that catch their eyes. totally singing something like "show me those pretty white jaws" and caressing someones throat in the crowd (actual sleep token lyric... this was a dream to think about). def have people trying to figure out their identities so they can try to call them up.

gaz for sure finds a girl at a little bar showing in the beginning that he tracks down in daylight to ask her on a little date. ends up being surprised by her with tickets to his own bands concert. needs to show him the appeal of her favorite member. ends up having soap and ghost beat the shit out of him after the concert to have a good excuse for flaking. def puts tidbits in one of the songs about her that she totally freaks about because "shes exactly his type!" yeah baby you are.

ghost probably writes a lot of the lyrics for their songs. def is thinking of some birdie that he thinks is "the one that got away" when he writes shit like "i'm still full of the love you want / i reach for you on faith alone." happens to see her at one of their concerts and obviously she doesnt know its him, mask in all, but he still gets her vip tickets or ones in the nosebleeds. takes more of a part in crowd pleasing, confusing the fuck out of soap and gaz.

price is more of the stressed punk dad. keeping gaz and soap contained while helping ghost with lyrics and keeping up with everything else with the band is a lot but he loves his boys. def got a few piercings when he was younger that he will not share with the class no matter how much soap begs (eyebrow and three cartilage.... but also be creative). def still has a septum piercing he pretends is a fake (only ghost knows).

price convinces ghost to give it a go with this bird he writes about. just let him come with ghost to scope her out again. scare off any new boyfriend looming around the corner. needs to be sure his boy is well taken care of.

sleep token songs mentioned: jaws and the love you want

def writing about this again sleep token type 141.... shewwww. def didnt get their vibe completely right but no one can do sleep token like sleep token yk (masked british men have me in a 'chokehold' :) )

[ghostandsoap]

⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡

One time Price saw Ghost leave Gecko's room late one night...without his mask on. Price was used to seeing Ghost lingering around her space, especially late at night like this.

Ghost, at the realization of being seen maskless, had only stared at his captain with a "deer-in-headlights" look.

Price had seen Ghost's face a couple of times before, but every single one of those times had been intentional on Ghost's part. This was a complete accident.

"Captain." Ghost had said, noting to himself that his expression was giving himself away.

"Simon." He gave a nod of understanding, as he watched Ghost slip his balaclava back over his head and face.

Neither of them said anything else as Ghost walked away, hands jammed in his pockets and cheeks burning.

Price didn't think much of it at all. The knowledge of Ghost and Gecko was nothing new to him. He only chuckled to himself at that encounter as he carried on with the rest of his night.

[tadhgsstuff]

hi ugh i hate how i thought of this so not close to christmas time.

but like husband simon will not let you be an empty stocking wife or mother or anything like he will NOT let you fill your own stocking or wrap your own gifts hes so against it

i will in fact write more on this closer to the holidays.

[heavenbarnes]

hmm thinking about older bf!simon who hasn’t really got his head around the whole sexting thing- the man had a flip phone before he met you.

he had, however, reluctantly gone out and got an android after a harmless conversation between the two of you.

“how am i meant to send you videos while you’re away if you have a flip phone, si?”

“videos of what?”

“guess.”

he virtually only uses the thing to get texts, calls, and videos of you fucking yourself in your shared bed whilst he’s deployed. he saves every video, which is a risky manoeuvre considering you haven’t taught him how to set a passcode yet (johnny catches a not-unwelcome eyeful when he goes looking for the directions he sent simon earlier)

older bf!simon is also a fantastic listener, when you tell him you want him to send pics but not ones that make his cock look like a dead fish. you give him strict instructions:

put your phone on self-timer, sit back, thighs spread, one hand around your cock, the other behind your head, you choose if your face is in it xox

man loves an order.

so whilst he’s away, you’re in the kitchen cooking up dinner-for-one and your phone buzzes on the counter- you drop the fucking pasta strainer straight on the floor when you unlock your phone.

simon’s face wasn’t necessarily in the photo, more so his mask. he was fully dressed, tactical gear (down to the vest) still on with a rifle leaning against his thigh. he was in the exact position you’d request, gloved fingers wrapped around the base of him with his other bicep firm behind his head.

you’re so busy saving the photo and staring back at it 100,000 times that you forget to respond. honestly, you forget how to function as your mouth goes dry and your eyes are unable to look at anything else.

simon hesitates on the other end, wondering if he’d fucked up- if he hadn’t followed the brief, if he’d embarrassed himself. thankfully, he knows he only has to ask.

“that what you were after, pet?”

the trepidation in his chest is replaced with a rapidly inflating ego.

“jesus christ, that’s exactly what i needed”

swapped out with slight confusion, but the ever present willingness to learn.

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

pt2

[titlemewickedwonderland]

Ghost series blurb idea

Auth. Note: An idea blurb for a maybe series. Tell me in the comments below if I should make this an actual series. Don't just like this post...comment and talk to me - this is a project man so put in your two cents!

~ Blurb #1

"My father's the fucking antipope?!"

Sister Imperator's tight-lipped smile made her face look plastic so Marina looked away from her instead to stare at the red-clad 'Papa' with her firey green eyes ablaze with accusation.

"Tesoro, listen-" Copia began wringing his hands but he was quick to dodge the flying book that soared his way; the sound of it smashing into the wall behind him almost deafening in the suddenly too-tight space of his office

"No! You fucking listen! My father is Jackson Floyd, he's a technical engineer with a brilliant mind and my mother is Samantha Marie Floyde who's a resident nurse at the local hospital! You are not my father!" Marina searched for something else to throw but instead, she was met with the unblinking stares of the masked figures surrounding her - guarding her and Copia with watchful gazes as if she was about to fling herself like some feral animal at their Papa; shit she felt like it right now.

"Ms, Floyde the papers do not lie." Sister Imperator replied cooly but did not flinch when those furious green eyes landed on her.

The brunette slowly stalked towards the tall imposing blonde woman before yanking the folder from her hands and slamming it harshly with a vicious crack against the smooth and polished surface of Copia's desk.

"No, you listen to me. He's not my father. He knocked up my mom and then abandoned her to raise a child he didn't fucking want like fucking trash" Marina replied jabbing a finger at Copia whose face flushed a bit with emotion the teen couldn't quite tell if it was embarrassment or guilt. Not like she cared.

"He abandoned me. A father doesn't fucking do that, lady. Jackson Floyd is my father. End of story. Now take me back home before I call the fucking cops and press charges for kidnapping." she demanded

"Marina, Amore mio...la mia luce..." Copia stepped forward feeling his eyes begin to sting unbidden with emotion he was not used to feeling as he reached for the enraged teenager.

The girl yanked herself away from him as if he was on fire and his touch alone would scourge her to death; her movements made her fall back into a figure standing at her back but she was forced to reach back to grab a hold of the black-clad arm to steady herself before she tripped over her feet.

"No. You don't get to call me your love or your light, Copia. Fuck you for all the years you've missed and fuck you for abandoning me. I don't need this shit! I was perfectly fine on my own without you in it! You can go to hell!" Marina snapped angrily but her lip trembled slightly when she met his eyes; mismatched and wet with tears he did not want to shed.

"I can't let you leave...Marina...I'm sorry, but I will not risk losing you again." Copia swallowed the lump in his throat and raised his chin defensively as he stared the teenager down.

"You had no problem losing me before I was even born Copia. So fuck you." she whispered shaking her head before she was turning and rushed from the room before anyone could stop her.

~Blurb #2

She gaped at the figure standing in front of her at the doorway and made her yank the towel back up to cover herself. It didn't matter that she was in a pair of panties and a tank top; her hair was wet and fresh out of a shower. This ghoul had some guts to stand there while she was half-naked.

"Jesus Christ can you knock!? What am I under house arrest now?! Leave!" she yelled feeling anger as much as embarrassment coat red on her pale cheeks.

The stoic ghoul she had come to know as Sodo or Dewdrop as some called him stood in the open doorway of the bathroom in his usual black attire and silver mask that was cocked to the side as he studied her behind the eyes that unnerved her.

"Don't curse in Satan's house." his voice was lilted and light even behind the mask as if he was enjoying her circumstance.

"Oh screw off!" Marina huffed as she yanked on a pair of sweatpants and grabbed her dirty clothes and towel; shoving past the small figure who was just an inch taller than herself to march into the common room and place her things into her overnight bag.

"You have unholy creatures after you, baby pope. After you and your unholy blood...Papa wants you watched at all times so you are protected while we find whatever is after you and take it down. I suggest you follow my rules if you're to stay here."

"Follow your rules?" Marina's head snapped up as she hissed slowly at him repeating his words.

"First off, I'm not a fucking lamb that is going to the slaughter. I don't need protecting from....whatever the hell you are! I don't need this satanic church and the....devil on my side. I am capable of protecting myself!"

"With what? Your cute little Evil eye bracelet and your little bags of herbs to ward off evil spirits?" Sodo grabbed her wrist and lifted it to show off the blue beaded bracelet she wore.

"For someone who isn't religious you sure do like your witchcraft, sweet cheeks." a sharp-toothed smile flashed at her beneath the silver mask and Marina yanked her wrist out harshly from his grasp but his hold did not give and she struggled against his singular grip on her slender wrist.

"Let go goddamnit!" she snarled but when Sodo did not she lifted a knee and hit him straight in his no-no square.

"See! How do you like them apples huh bitch!" she turned to run from the room as the ghoul doubled over with his hands cupping his now bruised dick but before she could go far he snarled and his tail flicked out to wrap around her ankle tripping her flat on her face.

Marina screamed bloody murder as she clawed the floor while being dragged backward and she kicked and struggled as she was flipped over and dragged beneath Sodo's flight frame. For a man no taller than her and just slenderly built he sure knew how to command attention as his clawed hands gripped her wrists and slammed them on either side of her head to the floor.

His once greenish blue eyes were now a bright flame of orange and red behind the mask reminding the teenager just how not human he really was as a warning growl rumbled in his chest.

"You listen to me you little brat." he shoved at her wrists again to gain her attention. "Papa assigned me as your protector and that fucking means you don't go anywhere without my say-so. You follow my rules, you got me, sweet cheeks?"

"And if I fucking don't?" Marina lifted her head off the ground to leer up at him as if either goading or challenging him.

Sodo's head slowly leaned down towards her until the cold metal of his mask was touching her forehead and she involuntarily rested her head back down at the insistent press of his forehead against hers.

"Fuck around and see what happens, princess. Because if you do I swear on the unholy dark lord himself....those things who are after you have nothing on what I will do to you."

Marina sucked in a breath and stared wide-eyed up at the ghoul. Sodo stared down at her with barred fangs a moment longer before he was suddenly up and out of the room leaving the girl limp and frozen on the ground staring at the ceiling; the only sound being her frantic breaths of terror.

Alright! Tell me if you'd be interested in reading this as a story?! Just an idea of a scene or two I had in my head for a story blurb and here it is. What do you guys think? Tell me in the comments below; don't like the post...just speak!

Taglist: @darklylucid

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited)² retired simon has nowhere to go, so you offer. [ one, two, three]

it took a lot of convincing to get him to your little apartment, like trying to move a massive brick wall with a feather. however, in the end, he gave in— not that he had much of a say in the matter, considering the fact that the two of you were already at your home amidst arguing (which, to be fair, was predominantly one-sided as he persistently uttered 'no' in response to all your counterarguments).

in all honesty, you couldn't quite figure out why you were so insistent on having a stranger, especially a strange man, stay with you in your much too tiny apartment. perhaps it was your festive december spirit, the idea of someone being alone during this time of year just didn't sit right with you. besides it was just for the night, then you could take him to the shelter.

he’d been quiet as you set up everything for him, he was imposing, tall, and somewhat scary (primarily due to his skull mask and his overall silent demeanor). but strangely enough, you didn't feel unsafe with him, despite the fact that you probably should have. after all, he was a man, and he undoubtedly outweighed you by at least 100 pounds. killing you and getting away with it would be easy for him. and, why the hell were you contemplating this now, instead of when you first picked him up from the side of the street?

perhaps it was the way he carried himself, with a sense of calm and control that was almost hypnotic. or maybe it was the way his eyes seemed to pierce through you, yet held a hint of sadness that made you feel a strange sense of empathy toward him. whatever the reason, you found yourself drawn to him.

as you finished setting up the couch, you couldn't help but steal glances at him, trying to decipher his thoughts and emotions. but his expression remained unreadable, his mask hiding any hint of vulnerability or emotion. it was both frustrating and intriguing, making you wonder what secrets lay hidden behind that skull mask.

“um, so the shower is just down the hall, oh! feel free to look through the fridge for something,” you smile awkwardly at the tall man and gesture to your room door, “if you need anything just let me know.” his gaze remains fixated upon the makeshift bed you have prepared, adorned with a spare comforter of a soft, faded hue resembling baby blue, adorned with delicate flowers which sprawls across the expanse of your pull-out sofa.

simon, ever the brooding man, says a small, stiff thank you; ready for you to leave him alone you're sure. wiping your sweaty palms on your denim-clad thighs, you gently press your lips together and affirmatively bob your head. “alright, well, goodnight simon.” without waiting for a response, that you were sure you weren't going to get, you scuttle off to your bedroom, swiftly closing the door and attempting to lock it as quietly as possible. however, the resounding click makes you think he’s heard it.

letting out a weary sigh you slide down your door, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your phone. with a gentle motion, you begin to skim through your contacts and find your best friend. it rings once, twice before she picks up with a tired hello.

“if i die tonight, i love you.”

you catch the faint sound of her perplexed murmur, followed by the gentle click of her bedside lamp over the phone. it was late, far too late for you to have disturbed her with a call, you knew that— should’ve called your sister or something.

“have you been drinking?”

you give a slight eye roll before curling your legs up to your chest. “no, not yet. anyways, i think i might've done something very dumb," you admit, trailing off as you nervously nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the soft flesh give way under your teeth. your friend lets out a quiet grunt. “well? spit it out.”

“so, i picked up a homeless guy on the side of the road and offered him a ride to the shelter but instead i brought him to my apartment and now he’s in my living room, about to sleep on my couch,” you utter quickly— and she's silent for a moment, it's a loud silence, one that makes your heart beat quickly in your chest. you run a hand down your face and take a deep breath, sighing heavily. “say something.” your voice is filled with a mix of impatience and anxiety.

“what the hell is wrong with you?”

[monstersholygrail]

Ghost Bf

Blurbs/Imagines:

Mixing Your Cum

Through the Curtain

[mockerycrow]

thinking about ghost who wants to hold your hand, but he keeps feeling nervous about it. he’s so fucking bold and cocky with you, but he can’t get himself to just.. reach out and intertwine your fingers.

he thinks about taking off his gloves, he thinks about how your skin would feel against his—are your hands soft, or rough and callused like his? either way, he knows his skin would burn; but it’s a sensation he would welcome.

ghost settles for grabbing your pinky with his, and you send him a side glance that he returns, speaking volumes without actual words.

[khioneee]

simon’s first instinct was always to protect you—before himself, before anyone or anything else. whether in dangerous situations or small, everyday moments, his reflexes kicked in without hesitation. every action was a subtle yet undeniable promise: i’ll always keep you safe.

sidewalk rule? it was non-negotiable. he always made sure he was between you and the street, shielding you from traffic. if you drifted too close to the curb, his hand would find the small of your back, guiding you firmly to his side.

“stay here,” he would murmur, his tone gentle yet resolute, as if daring the world to try anything.

whenever the car came to a sudden halt, simon’s arm instinctively shot out in front of you, bracing against your chest. the seatbelt should’ve been enough, but he never trusted anything more than his own reflexes.

“you alright?” he’d ask, his hand lingering just a little longer, scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

in a crowded space, simon always led the way, carving a path with his broad frame. his hand would stay on yours or at your back, making sure you stayed close. and on a full train, he caged you in without hesitation, using his size to shield you from the press of strangers. his arms rested casually against the poles, but his stance was clear—no one would get too close.

whether you were climbing into the car or walking through a door, simon’s hand would always reach out to guide your head, ensuring you didn’t bump it. in the kitchen, he’d gently tilt your head away from open cabinets, all without thinking. it was pure instinct—small actions that spoke louder than words.

one night at 3 a.m., a car backfired down the street, the sound tearing through the stillness. before you could even react, simon had you pinned beneath him, his body shielding yours entirely. his heart raced, convinced it was a bomb. even after realizing it wasn’t, he didn’t let go, whispering against your ear, “i’ve got you, lovie.”

you could wear whatever you wanted—simon never cared. he wasn’t possessive, but confident. no one would dare glance too long in your direction, not with him at your side. and if anyone was foolish enough to try, one sharp look from simon was enough to make them think twice.

with simon, protection wasn’t just instinct—it was devotion. in every gesture, every glance, every step, he ensured you knew: your safety will always come first. because to simon, loving you meant keeping you safe—always, no matter the cost.