#ghost riley

[iskinpeople]

LMAO

Girl Dad!Simon who had to get his newborn baby girl taken away from him because he was practically drowning them in his tears. (He denies that it ever happened now)

Girl Dad!Simon who went dead asleep after the delivery, it was unintentional of course, he wanted to help you as much as he could but his body just dropped on it's own. The worst part was is that he basically missed all of the baby's 'firsts' although he managed to wake up just in time for the first nappy change.

Girl Dad!Simon who spends a little bit too much of his free time staring at his daughter. It only worsened when you guys finally got dismissed from the hospital, you tend to find Simon crouching by the crib and watching the baby's every move pretty often. It's like bird watching, he says when you ask him.

Girl Dad!Simon who sobbed more than his daughter during her first day of school, was going to say the most melancholic goodbye but she just excitedly runs off to school and leaves her dad hanging.

Girl Dad!Simon who refuses to miss any important event in her life, no matter how small it is. Will literally call during a mission so he could see his daughter's piano recital.

"Simon? Why do I hear gunshots??"

"Don't mind 'em luv."

"How do you even have your phone right now??"

"Sneaked it."

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Ghost: I hate it when people ask me what I did yesterday.

Ghost: I don’t know. I breathed a lot. Probably got mad at something. Sighed heavily. The list goes on…

[punkkture]

simon cant help but spoil you rotten. every time he comes home from deployment you can ensure youre going to be met with an abundance of blooming flowers in a large bouquet. on occasion he would even bring home new perfumes from different countries he’d be deployed to.

but more often than not . . . the first gift would be his lips melting into yours as anything he had in his hands would be dropped. his fingers now groping at the plush material of your sweater, tugging it off as a groan left his mouth and was swallowed by yours. he was moving with fervor and a new sense of desire he would forget he had until he had you infront of him again. after months of being surrounded by metallic smells and gruff voices, all he wanted was to get you underneath him, get you looking up at him with that sense of yearning those pretty eyes always held. his palms now roaming to grip the fat on your thighs and ass. shoving you against him so harshly you thought he would never let go.

“oh god baby . . you don’t understand how bad i need this” he would plead with you. the way his hands were gripping at you, there was no doubt that you had no room to argue. your love had made it home safe, he deserved anything he wanted right now. and if that meant five rounds of his heavy cock slamming into you over and over again on the living room floor, you’d give it to him.

his hand grabbed your face, moving your head to look at him, you were all dazed and fucked out of it by the second round, “there she is . .” he would arrogantly say with a sense of breathlessness. “you ready for more? you gonna take it all for me?” simon’s cocky voice would ring through your ears like a mantra of prayer when he had you like this. pleads, mumbles, whines, whimpers, any incoherent noise you could make he would fuck out of you.

his thick and fatty cock stretching you out as you quivered around him six, seven, eight different times in the span of an hour. he would groan and praise you every time you came around him. you could tell he was close when he would lean down close to you and bite at your neck, his strong hands squeezing your hips.

“si- simon please” you would pant out as he fucked you against the living room floor. you didn’t know what you were begging for. begging and pleading for more is what simon took it for. so he had you underneath him until you were almost completely incoherent. you couldnt count how many times you had finished for him, it never felt like enough for him

soon enough however, simon would be holding you up off of the floor, bundling you up and laying you down on the couch with a sweet kiss. going back to the foyer where he had left the flowers and gifts. breathlessly grabbing them and coming back to you with them in his hands. “got these for you” he would smile.

[soleilapproves]

You dream about a nameless and faceless man making you see stars in the darkness of your room (Ghost x reader) NSFW

Notes: dubcon-ish, fem!reader

main masterlist

Droplets of rain hit your window with a velocity that would make one think that you were tapping your fingers at a fast pace against the glass. You sighed as you cleared out the books from your shelf and begrudgingly placed them on your desk for some routine dusting.

Chores were not your favorite spare time activity but what else could you do? Your plans to go on a picnic with your friends had been cancelled by the rain and sitting in your bed for hours on end made you feel agitated.

You had switched out your normal neon white lights for a warm yellow one. Your singular long floor lamp dimly brightened the whole room in contrast to the darkness outside. Your laptop played an old romance movie from the 1950s.

You didn’t even enjoy content from old Hollywood. You just liked the sound of the crisp trans-Atlantic accent with occasional jazz music in the background. Perfect ambience for a quiet night in.

Well, the night would’ve stayed quiet for longer if thunder hadn’t struck right when Audrey Hepburn began to belt out her high note in Show Me.

You yelp as you drop your duster, coughing as the dust particles float into the air and attack your nose. “Blasted lightening,” you mumbled to yourself as you leaned down to grab the duster from the ground.

You thought your vision was giving out on you again. You had passed from low blood sugar before and the symptoms often occurred when you bent down too quick. However, it was because your lamp began to flicker.

You looked towards your laptop and it suddenly became the only source of light in your room. You sighed as you reached towards the outlet. The light that indicated if it was on or not was dull. “Blasted lightening.” You muttered for the second time.

You got up to get your flashlight from the bed side table but as you were about to turn around, you felt two hands firmly grip your waist on either sides.

Your blood ran cold. You were the only person at home. Granted, that your abode wasn’t a fortress, but you always double locked your door and had a Doberman that was an ode of tyranny to anyone but you.

“Who are you?” His grip on your waist tightened at your question. He pulled you into his chest, ass pressed against his tented front. Something about him smelled familiar but you couldn’t point it out.

‘Anyone who’s been in love will tell you that this is no time for a chat!’

Audrey Hepburn’s voice sounded eerily excited. Almost like she was encouraging what was going in your room.

“What are you doing?” You asked again, fearful.

A large calloused hand grabbed your chin and stroked its rough fingers down your neck, to the center of your clothed chest, and finally stopped right where your diaphragm would be. “Shhh.” He leaned down and whispered in your ear.

You whimpered as slotted his knee between your legs and pushed your pelvis onto your table. “Please, leave me alone or I’ll call the police.” You weren’t sobbing but you sure were on the verge of it.

“You won’t need to once I’m inside you.” His voice felt like grainy and rough gravel after rain. His other hand that was situated on your waist began to bunch of up your flimsy night grown around your waist, however, the slinky material made it hard for it to stay in one place so he let out a growl of frustration before ripping it into pieces.

You gasped as he pressed his clothed centre to your almost bare ass once again. “Please, let me go.” You don’t hold back from crying this time so you could at least appeal to the mystery man’s humanity.

He turned you around, and you were grateful that you could finally try and put a face to your violator.

The dimness of the room didn’t do much but show you that he was wearing a balaclava and had blue eyes. Almost like they were glowing. Like he wanted you to only see them and nothing else. The sense of familiarity while gazed at them returned and you quit sobbing for a moment.

The masked man took that as consent and carried you to your bed, surprisingly being gentle while laying you down. You opened your mouth to plead once again but he was quick to pull up the bottom of his balaclava and slot his lips against yours.

‘Haven’t your lips longed for my touch. Don’t say how much. Show me, show me.’

You had never kissed such chapped lips before but the way your lips moved against his made you feel like you had done this a thousand times before. His hands began to explore your body, gently squeezing you in places where only you knew how sensitive you were.

Before you knew it, your tongue began to lick his bottom lip every time his lips met yours, teasing him. His breathing quickened and he snarled, pulling your chin down with his rough thumb and shoving his tongue in your mouth.

This was unlike you. You’re not someone who makes out with strange men!

But you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as his hands rubbed your slit through your wet panties. Between kisses, you huffed out a small “stop” but you both knew that you were saying the opposite of what you wanted.

His kisses began to become sloppier. His lips chaffed against the apples of your cheeks as you huffed and puffed with every stroke of his fingers, slowly pushing the gusset of your panties between your slit.

“At least take them off, you oaf.” You grunted pushing his hand out of the way and then placing them back in the same spot after removing the piece of clothing.

The man let out a sarcastic chuckle before plunging two fingers, knuckle deep, into you. Your neck stretched as your head leaned back, almost showing you the wall behind your head in your field of vision.

The still clothed man began to litter kisses on your neck, sucking on certain spots while nipping on others. He ended up biting one spot too hard and you let out a whine. This compelled him to rock himself against you.

It was filthy. Your fan was off because the electricity had gone out so the room was engulfed in a sweaty dew of sex. Your hair was a mess from all the rubbing against your pillow and you had a total stranger using your body as he pleased.

‘Sing me no song, read me no rhyme, don’t waste my time. Show me!’

Your moans grew louder as you were about to reach your climax but the man pulled his fingers out. You let out an angry groan. “You wanted this! Why’d you stop?” Your breathing was quite heavy as you grabbed on to his hand to plunge his wet fingers back into you again.

However, his arm was rigid. “Don’t tell me what to do.” He mumbled before flipping you over. “Ah!”

You heard the sound of clothes falling to the ground before you felt the entirety of your back being covered by the blanket of naked human warmth. He had managed to place his tip right in front of your entrance. “Any last words?” The man joked.

“You’re going to be speaking your last words if you don’t do as I- gosh!” You let out a loud moan as he thrust into you with no warning.

It was all too much. The constant thrusting, the music in the background that didn’t make the atmosphere the least bit sexual, his breath against your neck and your face rubbing against your silk pillow.

He pulled you onto your side and began rubbing your clit with every thrust. Your breathing grew fast with every stroke and thrust while he quit his nonchalant home invader act and began to moan louder and louder into your hair.

You closed your eyes tightly to brace yourself for your orgasm but it never came. Frustrated, you opened your eyes, to see your worried boyfriend, Simon, staring back at you.

“You alrigh’? You were breathin’ really hard and sweating. Thought you had a nightmare.” You were embarrassed over his concern.

Here he was, staring at you, all troubled and confused, while you had a dream about having sex with a faceless man. A home invader of all people too.

“It was just a disturbingly vivid dream.”

‘Haven’t your arms hungered for mine? Please don’t explain, show me!’

Your head turned towards the tv as Audrey continued to sing. You remembered playing one of her movies before accidentally falling asleep.

“You look out of it. Need me to help you with anything?” Simon said as he stared at your dazed expression.

You were about to tell your sweet boyfriend to not be too concerned but then you paused.

The man was wearing a balaclava. Your boyfriend owned a balaclava.

It was raining outside in your dream. It’s raining outside at the moment.

You were wet. And you’re still wet.

“Honey, could you go get your balaclava.” Your saccharine voice asked him.

“Why?” Your still confused lover asked, wondering how the piece of cloth could possibly be useful to you.

“I want to makeout with you while it’s on.”

“Ah, so it was that kind of dream.” The dirt blond said as he walked towards his side of the closet. You let out a hum in agreement.

By now, Audrey had begun singing against her costars face.

Your boyfriend returned with his classic skull balaclava on and you playfully gestured him to come closer with your fingers. Your man did as you asked and leaned over you in all his muscled glory.

But before you could pull him in for a kiss he went on to grab the remote to switch off the tv. You gently grasped his hand before he could do so.

“No, leave it on.”

—

I had a super vivid dream during my post-orgasm nap. It felt so realistic that it scared me.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

The absolutely awesome @temeyes made this for me T_T and I'm so happy I could cry, she even made my version of Simon (HOW THE FUCK DID YOU MAKE HIM THIS HOT, TIM?? EXPLAIN!!!!)

Oh and Riot (and her fat ass) looks amazing, I love them so much tim thank you thank you <3

[italktoomuchxd]

“C’mon, Si! Please, please, it’s the first snow of the year!” you urged, your eyes gleaming with excitement as you peered at him.

Simon sighed deeply, a frown creasing his forehead. “No,” he grunted, shaking his head resolutely. He had never been fond of the cold—no, in truth, he abhorred it. “And why the hell is it snowing in November? I’m not going out in that!”

His stubbornness held firm until he caught sight of you preparing to leave. You stood by the door, your cheeks rosy with anticipation, and he watched as you wrapped a vibrant, knitted scarf around your neck (he made it) and tugged a cozy beanie down snugly over your ears, the little ear muffins peeking out adorably. The sight of you, bundled up and brimming with joy, softened something in him.

“Fine—wait for me,” he relented, the corners of his lips twitching upward despite his earlier protests.

He hurriedly grabbed his own layers, pulling on a thick jacket and a pair of gloves, and together you stepped out into the wintry wonderland that awaited just beyond your little flat. The world around you had transformed into a picturesque scene, the streets blanketed in a thick layer of pristine white, and flakes drifted lazily from the sky like the softest of feathers.

You pranced ahead, bounding through the snowdrifts with gleeful abandon, your laughter ringing in the crisp, cold air. Simon couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched you, watching your every move as you twirled and jumped, your joy infectious.

But just as he was starting to enjoy the moment, everything changed in an instant. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you stealthily scooped up a handful of snow, crafting it into a perfectly round snowball. Before he even knew what was happening, you slid the icy projectile down the back of his jacket, a cold shock that sent a jolt through him.

The magical, romantic moment was instantly dashed as Simon’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he spun around, a laugh escaping his lips despite his initial annoyance. “You’ve started a war,” he threatened playfully, a smile breaking across his face as he prepared his counterattack.

[ryuzakemo128]

I want to add that the Scottish! Female Reader would have a Sutherland based accent, as my personal headcanon. That's where she's from.

Think about it. Ghost between two differing scottish accents.

May he never gain peace between the two-

Ghost stuck in between Soap and Scottish! Female reader must be hell for him.

Think about it.

Ghost smooshed in between two scots.

Ghost feeling cold bare feet of either one at night in bed.

[leafavleo]

GHOST uses to workout quite frequently, because of his job in military. He never admits it loud, but he likes to be in good shape. He likes the glances that you’re sending him when he’s taking off his shirt on purpose to present you his muscular back, covered in black ink tattoos.

There’s only one thing that he hates during his daily routine — push ups. He doesn’t know why he dislikes to do that workout, it’s just happen. He prefers other exercises, but while he’s at home, without the gym equipment, it’s just what’s left for him to stretch those arms muscles more.

But fortunately, recently you’ve got an idea of how to make this workout more pleasant for him. You find yourself on the floor, underneath Ghost while he’s grunting and sweating. It’s not what you think it is, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t making you feel in a certain way.

You like the view from down there. He’s shirtless and the only piece of clothing that he wears are the grey sweatpants. The way he’s looking and sounding makes you want to wrap your legs around his waist and just keep him down.

“Don’t try to give up, because you’ll squish me.” You giggle once Ghost makes another push up, giving you a quick kiss in meantime.

“Not gonna, doll.” He says back in breathy tone, pushing himself back up. He grunts again and lower himself down, giving you another kiss.

You make this exercise quite enjoyable for him.

[skyrigel]

Simon's the guy who is nonchalant and a no-nonsense attitude, he's the man who doesn't care and absolute zero fucks and that's until missus comes along.

Now Simon's running around the house, bickering how you shouldn't skip breakfast and he's absolutely frowning when you side your greenies before he's holding your jaw and spooning them in, “Now be a good girl for me, won't ya' cupcake.” is all he says, tapping twice under your chin.

He's fussing over you, tucking you in scarves and caps and buttoning your coat because it's cold outside, “Can't see my pretty girl sick.” is all he says, bumping your nose.

John practically snorted when Simon pulled out your sneakers from your purse that he has been carrying, because he knew you're gonna whine about your pointy heels later, “Dance all you like babygirl” is all he says, bending down and removing those evil heels, then massaging your red ankle before he's sliding in your sneakers.

Oh, and yes he's gonna burn the whole fucking world if it meant to keep you warm, because he fucking cares only about missus.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

[certifiedyapperx]

imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Overheard at exfil.

Soap: Crazy how through all of this I’m still horny.

Soap: The human spirit is truly unbreakable.

Soap, winks at Ghost.

Price: Johnny...

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....

This is a continuation of part one.

warning: mention domestic abuse

💀

Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.

When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"

You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes? 

You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left. 

"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.

"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."

You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.

What if you wanted more?

He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"

Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.

"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."

When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."

Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."

"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.

"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."

"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.

Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."

You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.

"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."

He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.

💀

Part three

[amaranthinespirit]

blue collar or cowboy!simon riley who would fuck you in the bed of his truck

simon was always out working so hard all day, coming home with dirt caked on his clothes. you'd have to scold him when he would track mud through the house—that you had just cleaned from whenever he came in yesterday.

he'd grovel, pressing kisses to the bare skin of your shoulder, the well-worn, holed shirt you stole from him slipping off your frame. muttering promises between each press of his lips further up your neck, along your jaw.

who are you to resist?

and who is he to either?

your pants pooled at your ankles, shirt hiked up your back and drooping off one shoulder. your inner thighs are slick and glistening with arousal and saliva.

a rough hand pushes down on your back, further squishing your chest into the hard metal of his truck bed, another grasping firmly at the fat of your backside where simon's face is lapping at your dripping cunt.

soft mewls cry from your lips, hands reaching back to grasp as his head, fingers tangling through the short locks of dirty blond. he only grunts in response—sorry, luvie, he's in heaven.

your legs are trembling, knees threatening to buckle under you with three orgasms already coaxed out of you on his tongue alone, milking you of your sweet, slick nectar.

your quiet, strained cries do nothing, but aid the tightness in his dirtied jeans, his cock oozing arousal in his boxers, dampening the fabric beyond his zipper. every involuntary shift of his hips causes more friction and tension with the denim, sending a groan throughout your pussy.

his noises vibrate against your pussy, shocking your overstimulated, and oversensitive, clit. all you can do is cry out as he pushes himself deeper, closer. his tongue is merciless, selfish as he threatens to swallow you whole.

at this point, you're begging for relent, repeated pleas of his name falling from your lips as the familiar heat builds in your tummy, and you writhe under his hands. the cold metal turning warm under you as it digs into your skin.

everything becoming overstimulating as the world begins to spin, jaw going slack, saliva pooling in your mouth as it threatens to spill over your swollen lips.

tears are streaming down your flushed face, your hair is frizzy and eyes are practically rolling to the back of your head as yet another release washes over you, sending a shudder through your body.

simon finally pulls his face away from the heaven between your thighs, not without flattening his tongue over your cunt for a last taste.

the lower half of his face glistening, coated in your juices, he desperately licks his lips to savor it. as he stands up from his position, his hand on your back pushes you back down onto the bed of his truck.

"n't done, luvie, be'a gud girl 'nd stay still," he kneaded the flesh of your backside, groaning at the sight in front of him.

his hands meet your hips, pulling you back on his clothed erection. a small yelped wince escapes your lips at the friction against your sensitive cunt. your frayed nerves against the harsh material that soaks up your arousal and previous releases.

you whine as he rocks his hips slowly, grunting as he watches the material dampen so easily before he pulls away from your hips.

his movements are hasty, not wasting any more time as he barely undoes his belt and zipper, freeing his heavy cock from the constraints of his jeans.

he whines softly at the warmth of your puffy, swollen folds as he rubs his cockhead up and down your pussy before catching your slit.

he groans at the tightness that welcomes him, the slick, clamping, spongy walls that pulse around his dick almost milks him of every last drop of sperm that fills his heavy balls.

your voice is hoarse, almost gone by the time his cock is sheathed in you, his cockhead brushing your cervix as you feel the precum oozing from his slit. you can feel every prominent vein of his cock against your spongy walls, they're practically ingrained in you, your pussy molded to take his dick.

a creamy, white circle forms at the base of his cock as he forces his entire length inside, his girthy dick stretching your weeping pussy with loud, lewd squelches.

he doesn't give you time—he's selfish tonight, unapologetically so because luvie, he didn't track any dirt through the house! this is him rewarding himself for being so good! you can't discourage that, can you?

it isn't long until your backside is red, his hips pistioning into your sopping cunt, the sight of your slick pussy swallowing his red, angry cock so needily, sucking him in so desperately and clamping around him was addicting, and the feel even more so. his pace isn't nice, it's mean, and relentless, and bruising.

"fuck, lovie, couldn' wait t'hav ya," he whined in your ear, his cock drilling into your tight hole as he nipped at your earlobe. calloused, rough and dirty hands kneading the fat of your ass, a sharp slap to your skin causing it to turn even more flushed and red as he fucked himself stupid.

he was pussy-drunk, drool dripping from his cracked, dry lips onto the expanse of your shoulder. he'd press lewd, wet kisses against your supple skin, adding to the trails of saliva that pooled from his lips.

you'd have bruises the shape of his fingers on your ass for days, maybe even a week after, because of how hard his hands grasp your backside, pulling you back onto his cock as he milks himself dry.

"need t'fill y'r pussy, baby," his voice comes out a low, rough whine, despite the heavy grasp and force he exerts, "fuck, 's all f'me, ain't it?"

he'd always make sure to put dirt on the floors if it meant making it up to you by stuffing his face between your thighs.

or, making sure to kick off his boots outside the door if it meant rewarding himself like this, again, and again, and again.

[devil-in-hiding]

loser!Simon who the guys tease into approaching you at the pub, snickering amongst themselves as they watch the way Simon stiffly makes his way towards where you sit alone in your little booth

only to stare, gobsmacked 15 minutes later as they watch a very shocked, wide eyed Simon be dragged out of the booth, looking back at them with awe in his eyes as you lead him towards the exit

all he had done was ramble about the latest tea he had tried, asking if you’d like to try it with him sometimes

[ebodebo]

Ghost Garage

—mechanic!simon riley fucking you in his car garage because you couldn’t afford to pay for his services:(( MDNI ofc

“You’re lookin’ at six thousand for a new engine,” Simon says thoughtfully, scribbling a collection of messy additions in his notebook. “And if you’re lookin’ to do just one set of brake pads and rotors,” he says, scribbling some more, “lookin’ at six hundred even for those.”

Your eyes widen at his words because how the fuck were you ever going to be able to afford this? You swallow hard, pondering your following words. “Do you do discounts or something?” You’re sure you sound like an idiot, but you’re desperate.

The corner of his lip quirks at your question as his eyes stay glued to the notebook paper, still scribbling. “No. Still no discounts ere’,” he says, capping his pen, finally looking at you.

You fidget with your hands, eyes on his. “I—um…there’s no way I can…” you begin, turning your gaze away from him, feeling bashful, “…afford that.” Even though you had come to Simon’s garage before, this was just the first time you outwardly told him you couldn’t afford his services.

He leans back in his chair, the base squeaking a little. “Do ya’know how dangerous it is to drive with worn-out brake pads?” he states, placing the pen in his mouth, awaiting your response.

“Yes. I’m aware, but—” you begin, only for him to interrupt.

“But nothin’,” he calmly says, shifty in the chair, eyes shamelessly dragging down your body. You pretend not to notice even though it invokes an immeasurable amount of wetness to gather in your panties.

He can tell you’re nervous—your body language says it all. Clammy hands you wipe off on your jeans every so often, you’re avoiding direct eye contact with him, and the fact he can hear your heartbeat from where he sits.

He shouldn’t even have unholy thoughts of you come across his mind. But, shocker, he did. Every night from the time you first went to the shop all of those four months ago, he would fist himself in the shower thinking about you.

You, who always had that doe-eyed, glossed-over expression. You, who always had to bring Simon a sweet treat when you came, whether it be candy or some fresh-baked cookies you prepared. Oh, and you, who would hug him after he did your car inspections. Ya, he thought about that one a lot.

He considers your predicament. He has a solution, but it’s risky—perhaps too risky?

Eh, Fuck it. What’s he got to lose?

“Tell ya what,” he starts, standing up from his chair and grabbing the notebook paper with the numbers. “I’ll throw this ere’ piece of paper in the trash—hell, I’ll burn it,” he cocks a brow, “If you do somethin’ for me.” He hovers the small, intimidating piece of paper over a small trash can.

“Anything,” you say, desperation coating your voice. He hums, ducking his head to stare at the trashcan.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says, followed by a gravelly laugh. You gulp, waiting for him to explain.

“I want somethin’ from ya,” he finally looks up at you, wiping his mask-less jaw with his hand. “Somethin’ that isn’t…money.”

You slightly confound your head. “Like I said…anything,” you amend.

He sticks his tongue in his cheek, drops the tainted paper into the trash, and then takes slow, deliberate steps towards you.

You inhale as he stands before you, unsure of his intentions. Exhaling sharply only when he brings his thumb up, dragging it delicately across your jaw, tilting it up so you are looking at him.

“I think we could figure out a way for you to get that work paid in full,” he rumbles, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip. “And a way I could feel that pretty pussy around me.”

Your eyes widen at his words, dumbfounded by his sheer bluntness and vulgarity. Though you admit, you feel a knot start to form in your lower stomach and more wetness pool between your thighs.

“Unless you don’t want to?” His tone his monotone, no signs of resentment as he drops his hand from your face.

“No—I do,” you affirm, even grabbing his hand and then dropping it from embarrassment. “I just didn’t think…you, uh, liked me like that,” you mutter, shifting on your feet and shifting your gaze to the concrete floor you both stand on.

“Oh, trust me. I like you like that,” he laughs lowly, stepping closer to you, bringing his hand back to the same spot to brush his finger against your pouty lip. “Can I?” He questions his gaze on your lips. You nod, standing on your tiptoes, gripping his neck, and bringing his lips to yours. You could taste remnants of cigarette smoke and the icy tang of Nicorette mint gum.

The kiss quickly became full of fervent urgency. Sloppy lips sucking your own, hands aimlessly gripping any piece of flesh it could, and teeth frantically clashing with your own.

“You do this with all your clientele?” you tease as Simon grips the bottom of your shirt and quickly pulls it off your head.

“Nah,” he coolly says, hands palming your breasts over your bra. “Just the ones I jerk off to.” You gasp at not only his hands on such a sensitive part of you but also his confession.

“You jerk off to me?” you tentatively ask, bringing your hands to grip the hem of his shirt, slipping it off his head. His lips instantly connect with your neck.

“What about it?” he murmurs against your skin, dragging his tongue from the side of your neck to your lips.

“I just…I finger myself thinking about you,” you admit in between his feverish kisses, which are apparently taking away your sense of shame. He pulls back only a little.

“You’re tellin’ me…” he reaches down to bring your hand up, grazing your fingers with his own. “You plunge these in your pussy, thinkin’ about me?” he stares at your fingers, unable to comprehend what he’s hearing. He darts his eyes to yours. “I get you off?”

“Of course you do,” you attest, dragging your hand so it rests on his cock that is tucked away in his greased stained jeans. He groans at your touch.

“Now let me see what I’ve been imagining.”

He wastes no time stripping you bare, throwing your bra and panties off to the side, before he unlatches his belt, roughly yanking his jeans and boxers down just below his thighs.

He grips the back of your thighs before hauling you over to a wood table that currently holds some pens and a toolbox. His lips connect with your collarbone, then to the fat of your breast, as you lazily stroke his cock.

“Little smaller than I imagined,” you cheekily say before Simon lightly nips at your nipple with his teeth, making you moan. He laughs against your skin, sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

“And yet it still makes you fuckin’ wet,” he cockily says as his hand slips to graze your glistening cunt. You don’t even talk; you have no breath left to speak. So, you let out a pathetic noise instead—somewhere between a moan and whine.

“Let me play with ya for a minute,” he murmurs into your ribs, pointer finger brushing against your labia. You squirm at his touch.

“Simon. I just…I need you in me,” you beg, pulling him by the hair so his ear is by your mouth, rocking your hips against his finger in you.

“I’m gonna come as soon as I’m in you, Sweetheart,” he says honestly, pointer plunging into your cunt, gently touching your clit.

“I don’t care…just…just,” you rasp, unable to speak with his hand plunging into you.

“Fine, fine,” he says. He gives his cock a tug before he pokes your entrance with the head, gripping your hips before he pushes inside you a little. He grits his teeth at the sensation, and you whine at the slight pain.

“Open up for me. Come on,” he hisses, throwing his head back as he sinks deeper into you. “There she goes,” he praises, gripping one of your legs and positioning it so it lies straight up against his body. You both groan at the deeper contact.

“Shit,” you curse as Simon starts up a good pace. His cock managed to graze you in all of the right spots—reaching places you didn’t even know was possible.

You knew you both wouldn’t last long at this pace—you’re honestly not so sure he would have lasted at any pace. He was painfully hard when you hadn’t even whipped your tits out.

Though you thought the jokes were on him, as soon as he brought his thumb to stimulate your clit, you were skewing curses, tightening around his cock.

“Fuck. That’s it…that’s—” he panted out as he felt you clamp around him, hearing you yell, ‘Coming,” before he followed with his orgasm.

Once both of your orgasms have subsided, he helps you off the table to grab your clothing. You gently tug on your lip before you speak.

“Also…about the payment?” You shyly question as he pulls his jeans up.

“Consider it handled,” he says with a smirk as he zips up his jeans.

a/n: bye once again i abused the italicized button

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[angel5ofp0rn]

Price’s children would be pretty well-behaved. Listen to him well, respect their elders, etc.

Gaz’s children would be a bit snobby, really into sports, a bit more hardheaded.

Soap’s kids are little menaces, but have hearts of gold. Would do anything for their family and friends, love their parents more than anything in the world.

Ghost’s children- and they’re all girls- are the most spoiled little divas any of the other guys have ever met. The minute he sees one of their little lips quiver, he’s offering snacks, lollies, money, the shirt off of his back- hell, the shirt off of Soap’s back. Poor guy can’t stand to see his little girls upset.