b---s

[amaranthinespirit]

boyfriend!simon riley and american!bimbo(ish)!reader

simon loves his ditzy, american girlfriend. how you make him repeat his words, sounding out the syllables because his accent's so thick, and voice so deep. though he thinks it's just an excuse for him to talk right into your ear, his voice several octaves deep, a rumbling sound low in his chest.

he loves your little american terms, the differences in your cultured upbringings in terms of slang, and lingo.

"'s futball, lov'," he'd murmur, a beer in the hand of the arm slung around the back of the old leather couch as you watched the game. his other arm would be across your shoulders, fingers creeping up your neck as he caressed your soft skin and lengthy collarbone subconsciously.

he'd huff a chuckle if he heard you mumble 'soccer' in return.

but it wouldn't be too long until he heard his own words integrated into the vocabulary, but only when you weren't laid on your back, legs thrown over his shoulders as he plowed his hips into your slick cunt.

your sweet, american accent just mewling his name so nicely from your lips, harsh contrast to the stinging pain your claws left in his scarred back.

it only earned you grunts in return, followed by a particularly harsh thrust, lewd, flithy sounds of flesh on flesh.

but pretty, pretty music to his ears after you'd been fucked stupid, a cock-drunk babbling mess. pretty american girl.

he'd call you a good girl for calling it 'football' instead of 'soccer,' and eat you out too.

[codnasties]

This just screams Ghost!!!

https://x.com/dollyfri1l/status/1846293296332857780?t=Bc-cdTydgEuwTGv7ta0H-g&s=19

Something something Ghost doesn't really do Halloween, he doesn't see the point of it but when he (not controlling) checks through his lovies phone (He left his phone downstairs and wanted to check the weather or something) to see the messages she sent to her friends about wanting to be chased and fucked by Ghost face. Well, maybe Halloween isn't such a bad thing after all

ghost!ghost 👻 (🌽 link)

ghost knew you had, to some extent into some kind of mask kink, because there is no way you approached him and started dating his intimidating ass clad in a balaclava. but when he saw the texts between you and your friends, what he suspected knew got confirmed.

he isn't much of a halloween person, but using your phone to order some takeout and reading by accident those messages of you and your friends talking about the hottest spooky costumes and saying that you found ghost face extemely sexy and that you wanted to be chased and fucked by it, he instantly realized that he had to give you a little spooky surprise.

one day, he just appears in your front door with the mask, and it instantly clicks in your head: he had read those messages. so you make a run for it, trying to escape his enormous muscular frame - to no avail, the man is faster than you and within a few meters, he already caught you.

he roughly throws you over one of his powerful shoulders and takes you to the bedroom. he tears your shirt off your body and uses a tactical knife to rip your jeans and panties so he can get easy acces to your already soaking wet cunt. face pressed against the bed by one of his strong hands and ass up in the air he starts fucking into you, making you loudly moan and fucking you like the good little slut that you are.

he immediately asks you what other masked characters you like, just to get himself ready for any future activities ;)

[starsofang]

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon, Johnny. Please? Halloween only comes once a year.”

Johnny eyed you suspiciously, taking in the request you’d laid out on him, which in retrospect, was something he wouldn’t normally deny—he was a kinky guy. But wearing a mask to fuck you, when you could just look at him the whole time instead? Nuh-uh.

“Is this one of yer book things?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

You frowned at him, darting your eyes away. “No.”

“It totally is.”

“Okay, yes, it is, but I think it’d be hot! You don’t?” you tried once more, pleading.

Johnny snorted, shaking his head. “What’s not to enjoy about my face?”

“Your face is wonderful, Johnny.”

“…But?”

“You in a mask is sexy.”

Johnny groaned, throwing his head back and blinking up at the ceiling.

Really, the idea was growing on him. A mask, yeah, he could do that for you—might even find it hotter than he thought—but the deep rooted thought of a familiar mask popped up in the midst of it, tainting his mind.

He rolled his head lazily to look at you, narrowing in on the pout on your lips. It was always hard for him to deny you, especially anything sex-related you wanted to try. Hell, he was practically like a dog being thrown a bone at the opportunity.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he murmured, a sadistic grin curling on his face.

It was your turn to stare suspiciously, slowly deflating from your previous excitement and dying down to a curious hesitation. “That’s never good,” you muttered.

“Mm. I think ye might like it,” he replied cheekily, taking a step closer to you. His arm slipped easily around your waist to rest on your back, tugging you into his warmth. “Ye remember Ghost, don’t ye?”

“Ghost?” you breathed, shivering when you felt his lips tickle your ear and drift down to your neck. He hummed against your skin.

He wasn’t serious, right?

He was incredibly serious, unfortunately.

“Happy Halloween, love.”

You could barely peel your eyes open to look at Ghost, only humming a noise of acknowledgment as he got up to leave, Johnny walking him out.

As for you, you were suffering the severe consequences of their bound agreement, body limp and sedated in the comfort of your blankets that Johnny gifted you to boost the ‘Halloween spirit.’

Johnny gave you what you asked for with little struggle, granting you the sweet taste of fucking with a mask on. Ghost was there for encouragement, pulling out his old, trusty mask and sliding it on just for you.

Fucking into you until you were a weeping, blabbering mess to a masked Johnny wasn’t what you pictured when you initially asked the Scot about your fantasy, but all hesitation was quickly snipped from your mind the moment you got a sample of both of them, their eyes peering down at you like you were prey from the narrow slits of the holes cut out for their vision leaving you begging for more.

“Maybe for Christmas, we could be Santa and ye could be our li’l elf,” Johnny teased when he returned, sliding into bed. “‘Tis the gift of givin’ soon, aye?”

He only snickered loudly when that earned a sharp kick from you, hunkering down into bed on Hallow’s night, murmuring about how he wasn’t kiddin’. They definitely could, if ye want.

[blingblong55]

Sex is on fire- Simon "Ghost" Riley NSFW

Kinktober Day 14

Based on a request: I recently saw my husband in the yard working and fuck did he look so sexy. So now I can't help but imagine Ghost as my husband, working in the yard and there's a spontaneous fuck. He's hot and so is this idea ---- F!Reader, MDNI, 18+, smut, P-in-V, oral!sex, unprotected!sex, husband!ghost, wife!reader, exhibition? ----

A/N: we won't talk about the first time I posted this, got it? great, thanks <3

The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the overgrown garden, highlighting the faded stones of the path winding through it. He looks at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Hot, huh? Well, I aim to please," he says with a playful wink, trying to match your lighthearted tone.

He spots the sledgehammer leaning against the shed and picks it up, testing its weight in his hands. Then, with a growl of effort, he swings it at the nearest stone, cracking it neatly in half. Simon grunts with satisfaction, sweat already beading on his brow as he continues down the path, methodically demolishing each stone. His muscles flex with each swing, rippling beneath his shirt.

He pauses after a few minutes, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "This is actually... kind of fun," he admits with a grin. "Cathartic, like you said. Feels good to just let loose and destroy something." He looks at you, his eyes brighter than they were earlier. "Thanks for this. For knowing exactly what I needed, even when I didn't."

He steps closer, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before returning to the path, ready to continue his destructive work. You bite your lip as you keep your eyes on him, “Mm, fucking sexy… wow,” you smile and lean back, god, does he look so sexy. “You keep going until you’ve had enough, handsome face.”

Simon pauses mid-swing, glancing over at you with a raised eyebrow. A slow, heated grin spreads across his face at your words.

"Oh? Is that so?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave as he sets the sledgehammer aside and stalks towards you."Watching me work up a sweat gets you all hot and bothered, does it?"

He reaches you and leans close, his breath ghosting over your ear. "Maybe I should take a break and give you something else to bite those pretty lips of yours," he murmurs, nipping lightly at your earlobe. His hands come to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of his skin through his clothes, the hard planes of his body.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice a low rumble. "You want to join me? Help me work off some steam?" He rocks his hips against yours, letting you feel his growing arousal.

"I could put that tongue of yours to good use," he suggests with a wicked grin. "Keep me company while I finish tearing up this path." He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "What do you say, beautiful? Want to get your hands dirty with me?"

“I’m not picking up a sledgehammer, but I’ll happily get my mouth dirty." you wink. Simon's eyes darken with lust at your suggestive words. He grins wolfishly, his hands tightening on your hips.

"Mmm, now that's an offer I can't refuse," he purrs, his voice low and rough with desire. "Get on your knees for me, baby. Let's see how well you can use that pretty mouth of yours."

He guides you down to the ground, his strong hands supporting your back. Once you're kneeling before him, he steps back and starts to unbuckle his belt, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Remember, no biting unless I tell you to," he teases, his eyes locked with yours as he unzips his pants. "Unless you want to earn yourself a punishment later."

He tugs his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, his hard cock springing free. It juts out from his body, thick and throbbing, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. "Fuck, look at you," he groans, wrapping a hand around himself and giving a slow stroke. "On your knees for me, so eager to please. Such a good girl." He steps closer, his cock bobbing mere inches from your face. "Open wide, baby. Show me what that mouth can do."

“Fuck, you see… this is why I enjoy watching you,” you say before taking his cock into your mouth. You take his hand and place it on the back of your head. You look up and begin to bob your head, your eyes rolling back a bit, gagging but enjoying the thickness of his size.

Simon groans deeply as you take him into your mouth, his head falling back in pleasure. His hand comes to rest gently on the back of your head, holding you in place as you work. "Fuck, Y/N," he grunts, his hips rocking slightly to meet your bobbing motions. "Just like that, baby. Take it deep."

His cock pulses against your tongue, the taste of him filling your mouth. He's thick and hard, stretching your lips obscenely around his girth. You gag slightly as you force yourself down further, taking him into your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you don't pull away, determined to please him.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained with arousal. "Choke on it. Fuck, you look so good with your lips wrapped around me." He tightens his grip on your hair, guiding your movements. You relax your throat, letting him fuck your face, using your mouth for his pleasure. "Gonna... fuck... I'm gonna cum," he warns, his thrusts becoming erratic."Swallow it all, baby. Every fucking drop."

With a final, guttural moan, he releases, flooding your mouth with his hot seed. You swallow reflexively, milking him for all he's worth. "Fuck yes," he gasps, riding out the waves of his orgasm. "Such a good girl, taking it so well."

Finally, he pulls away, letting you catch your breath. You sit back on your heels, looking up at him with a satisfied smile, his cum glistening on your lips. Simon smirks down at you, his eyes hooded with satisfaction. He tucks himself back into his pants and zips up, then reaches down to pull you to your feet.

"Mmm, you're insatiable today," he chuckles, brushing a thumb over your cum-slicked lips. "Not that I'm complaining. I love seeing you like this - so hungry for me." He leans in and captures your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss, licking the taste of himself from your tongue. You moan into the kiss, your body pressing eagerly against his.

"Fuck, I need to finish this path," he pants when he finally breaks away. "But first, I think I need a little more motivation." His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly.

"How about you strip down and bend over one of these garden benches for me?" he suggests, his eyes glinting with wicked promise. "Let me fuck you right here in the yard, where anyone could see what a dirty slut you are for your husband." He punctuates his words with a sharp smack to your rear, making you yelp.

"What do you say, baby? Want me to split you open on my cock while you watch me work? I bet you'd love that, wouldn't you?" You nod eagerly, "Oh... fuck yes, I want that, I want that so bad," you say with need. What more can a wife say? No? Her husband looks so fucking sexy when he does manual labour and asks to fuck her in their backyard and she is meant to say no? Fuck that shit.

Simon grins wickedly at your eager response. He gives your ass another hard smack before stepping back.

"Strip," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And bend over that bench. I want to see that pretty pussy on display for me."

You waste no time obeying. Hastily shedding your clothes, you position yourself over the garden bench, your legs spread wide. The cool wood against your bare skin makes you shiver with anticipation.

Simon takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, his eyes roaming over your exposed body appreciatively. "Fuck, look at you," he groans, palming himself through his pants. "So perfect, so ready for me. I'm gonna ruin you, Y/N. Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your name."

He moves behind you, running his hands over your curves possessively. Then, without warning, he drives his cock into you with one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

"Yes!" he hisses, gripping your hips tightly. "Take it, baby. Take every fucking inch." He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you relentlessly. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo through the yard, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"That's it, fucking take it," he growls, one hand coming up to fist in your hair, pulling your head back. "You love this, don't you? Love being used like a cheap whore by your husband." He angles his hips, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Gonna fill this cunt up, pump you full of my cum. Everyone's gonna know who you belong to after this."

You moan, your back arches, “Oh… fuck… ah… ngh~” It's too fucking much but it is so fucking good.

Simon pounds into you harder, spurred on by your desperate moans. His fingers dig into your hips, leaving bruises in their wake. "That's it, baby," he pants, his voice strained with impending release. "Cum for me. Cum on my cock like the dirty little slut you are." He reaches around to rub your clit in rough circles, sending you careening over the edge. Your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock as you come undone.

"Fuck, Y/N!" he roars, slamming into you one last time before stilling, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his seed. "Take it, fucking take it all." He collapses against your back, both of you panting heavily in the aftermath. After a moment, he pulls out, watching with satisfaction as his cum drips down your thighs. "Look at the mess I made," he chuckles, swiping some on his fingers and bringing it to your lips. "Clean up your mess, baby. Taste what I gave you."

As you lick his fingers clean, he tucks himself away and zips up. Then he turns back to the broken path, picking up the sledgehammer once more. "Why don't you go inside and get cleaned up?" he suggests his voice already back to its usual gruff tone. "I'll finish up here and join you in a bit. Maybe we can go for round two in the shower, hm?"

He winks at you over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the debris, swinging the hammer with renewed vigour, his earlier tension seemingly melted away.

Tags:

@liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @idklols @katybaby00 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @lovelyvqer @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @mychemichalimbalance @marshiely @iruzias @sleepyycat @noodlezz-bedo @trinthealternate @azkza @VampyTheGoth

[nrdmssgs]

Masterlist

He will only count to ten, so I suggest you start running right now

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 2

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

Context Warning: NSFW! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dub-con/ Non-con, Fingering, Murder, Author's Poor Attempt in Dark Fic, Monsterfucking, Mentions of Slavery

John Mactavish had you sitting on his lap as soon as you were brought into a limousine, his big hands gripping your ass, forcing you to grind yourself on the throbbing cock inside his boxers. Whereas the dragon—whom they called Price had his hand wrapped around your throat as he guided your hand to his monstrous dick. His horns, wings, and tail were nowhere to be seen.

You grumbled at his kiss, eyes open and brows knitting to let them know that you were repulsed. But they did not bother to acknowledge that, nor did you have the power to force them to talk about it.

Price forced your hands to stroke his cock at the pace he desired, already slick from the precum leaking from his tip, which felt . . . strange on your hand, the ends of your fingers not even meeting the slightest.

This was like molesting an oversized hotdog or a sausage.

God, now you hate hotdogs and sausages.

“Yeah, yeah,” Price groaned into your mouth, “that's it, dove.”

“I said,” you growled on his lips, taking a deep breath when Mactavish thrust upward, “fucking stop.” You bit down on Price’s lip, which made him tighten his grip around your neck and slowly pull away. He let your hand go and you pulled back from his dick, frowning at the sudden lack of air.

“Now, little one, let's not be rough,” he mumbled under his breath, his eyes trailing down to your exposed cunt, wetting a spot on his friend's boxers. “Although, you seemed to be enjoying it.”

“I don't—” your breath hitched up when Mactavish planted his calloused fingers on your clit and made maddening circles, that caused you to hold onto the dragon-shifter’s arm. Your eyes threatened to close and you pursed your lips to hold back the moan, but still, you couldn't help but let out stifled noises.

Price smirked at John which the other returned, and turned to the other two who just watched the scene unfold.

“Are you two not going to join?” He questioned, pulling your arm to wrap it around his neck and planting a kiss on your arm. He grinned at the sight of your slightly parted lips and gave the corner of your lips a peck, which seemed to have brought you back as you pursed them closed.

You clawed on his shirt as Mactavish slowly inserted a digit into you, pumping in and out, till he tightened his grip on your ass, guiding you up and down on his finger. You put your hand over your mouth, gnawed on your lower lip, and let your eyes close as your pussy clamped down on Mactavish’s finger, not wanting to give them the noise or reaction they wanted to see from you. But someone pulled your hand away and you flattered your eyes open. Price ran his thumb over your lip, smudging the blood on the fragile skin which made it redder and swollen.

“Graves just caught her a week before, Price,” Kyle reasoned out and crossed his arms. “Give her some break.”

“I agree with him,” Simon claimed and gazed down at your bouncing ass, skin already marked red by Mactavish’s harsh grip. The sight of them being stretched out was enough to make him hard.

Price raised his brows, glancing at the hardened tents on their pants, and huffed, moving away from you and soap. “Suit yourselves,” he declared, and pulled up his pants, before buckling his belt back in place.

You breathed a sigh of relief, making Price chuckle. “That's enough, Soap. We don't want her breaking before we get back home.” Then, he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a broad chest littered with dark hair that ran down to his stomach and under his pants.

He jerked the shirt off and handed it to the incubus underneath you.

John grumbled in retaliation, but he snatched the shirt from the dragon-shifter's hand and drew it over your naked flesh. “Come on, we don't want you getting cold.”

As soon as you were at least clothed, you jumped away from his grasp, scooting to the cornermost seat of the limousine, eyes scanning all of them. You tugged on the hem of the shirt in an attempt to hide your exposed, slick folds.

An unusual group, you thought. Very, very unusual.

Dragons were territorial, they do not share, but this Jonathan Price almost had you in front of three others, who very much didn't seem to be dragons as well.

“Strange, aren't we?” Price spoke as he saw your questioning gaze. “I'm sure you've never heard of dragons letting others mate with their woman. But they are more than just others—they are my friends, my brothers, my family. What I get, they get.”

“Birds of a feather, fuck together, huh,” you mumbled, frowning at them.

“Oh, ooh, she's funny,” John commented, a grin appearing on his face, “I like that on females.”

You kept a frown on your face as he said that, and asked, “What. . . what are you?”

“An incubus.” He smiled and motioned at the other two,  who fortunately still hadn’t touched an inch of you. “Kyle is a Siren, and Simon’s a Wraith.”

You felt like thrashing at his words, maybe hitting your head against the windows of their goddamn limousine which God knows how many people have they had fucked over these nasty seats. A territorial dragon, a demon who feeds on lust, a siren who was known to hypnotize people, and a wraith who was considered the killing machine of monsters—a reaper.

What kind of group is this? Fucking Weirdos.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you. A castle? That would seem to be an understatement. This place was more of a fortress, now your version of hell—a labyrinth in which you were soon to be imprisoned, till the day you rot in their hands. Honestly speaking, only four monsters were far better than having a dozen of them buying you from the auction. You had heard of stories where a woman was taken by eleven orcs, and her story was never heard of again.

You couldn’t imagine yourself being in that poor woman’s situation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be thankful, despite you being fortunate enough.

A hand wrapped around your waist as you stepped out of the car, your bare feet leaving the rough and cold concrete as you were lifted in the air. Price heaved you up in his arms, guiding your arms to wrap around his neck. You met his once-golden eyes, now the color of the sky. You wondered, at the back of your mind, how would a dragon’s eye feel at the palm of your hands. 

“From now on, this will be your home,” he motioned at the enormous skyscrapers as he started to saunter forward the vast courtyard, his brothers-in-arms following just a step behind.

“Home?” You echoed, your warm breath fanning his lips. “Is this not just a cage for me till you toss me aside?”

“Toss you aside?” He let out a small laugh. “Why would we do that?” he leaned forward, his lips brushing slightly at the corner of yours, inhaling your scent mixed with his and the incubus. Then, he lifted his gaze at yours, awaiting your reaction.

You gave him none and remained silent as your response and in return, he merely smiled until you all arrived before the enormous, double mahogany door, carved with intricate designs. None of them bothered to land a knock on the door, yet it still opened, revealing a grand entryway.

The ceilings were high with chandeliers heaved up. The walls were tall and adorned with paintings and torches, and a series of lofty windows were encased with crimson drapes that matched the carpet beneath you. And as soon as they stepped inside, several people with black veils hiding their faces appeared and lined up, their heads all lowered.

“They are our servants—now yours, too, but pay them no mind,” Mactavish remarked, humming as the five of you continued on your way and climbed up a staircase.

It didn’t take long till you were brought to a wide and seemingly endless corridor, and yet Price still hadn’t let you down to walk on your own. He was perhaps enjoying the plumpness of your butt or the way your arms were wrapped around his shoulders or the feel of your thighs against his rough hands. Either one, you enjoyed none of it.

Nonetheless, you found yourself intrigued by how exquisite their place was. In your deepest imaginations, you had always thought that if ever you were captured and sold, your new shelter would be next to sewers and you would sleep next to roaches and rats.

But their fortress was a delight to the eyes.

You all took a halt before a double door, much smaller than the ones at the entrance, but you found the design similar. Kyle, the siren, fished out a golden key from his pocket, which he plunged into the knob. With a crisp click, he pushed the doors open and a spacious chamber greeted you.

Windows outspread across an entire wall, providing a view you knew would be gorgeous in the daylight and night. Before one of the glasses was a swing seat made of vines and crimson roses, cushioned with an equally red pillow.

A sizeable bed sat toward the center of the room, a white canopy falling from the ceiling to each of the four posts, and a magnificent display of flowers topped them and decorated the tulle at the top.

The far corner of the room showcased a series of bookcases, each filled with books. A lavish reading chair encased with gold sat before them, a table beside to hold mugs of hot chocolate or treats. A gorgeous desk sat under the window nearby. String lights lined the walls, casting the entire room in an ethereal glow.

“Welcome home, love,” Price whispered to your ear and you slowly turned your head to face him, eyes wide to his narrowing blue ones as he flashed a smile.

When men give gifts to women, it is expected that the women shall paint a smile on their lovely faces and thank their men. In this case, men will think they have women wrapped around their fingers, just like a pet would stay obedient to its owner for food.

You glanced back at the room and shifted your gaze to the floor, before bringing your attention back at him. “Should I say thank you?” you asked him in a small voice.

“Isn’t that the customs?” He questioned, raising a brow. “When someone gives you a gift, you ought to show your appreciation. But we want you to do it in action, not words.”

You pursed your lips and frowned, contemplating your next words. This was a fucking deal with the devil. No, you were literally sold to four devil incarnates, posing to be good by giving you goddamned needs.

You knew in the back of your mind that this was manipulation, but were you in any position to refuse them? Was there ever a choice, when all there were behind the answers were consequences?

“How?” you mumbled, not daring to meet their eyes. “How am I supposed to show my appreciation?”

You slowly closed your eyes and let the warm water from the shower wash the sweat and . . . the disgusting feeling of the dragon and the incubus’ salivas from your skin. You lowered your head, making your tresses fall, framing your face, but they soon got swiped out of the way as Kyle took your chin and lifted it.

Your lashes flattered open and you gazed up at his caramel eyes.

He painted a small smile on his face.

Under the shower, you both stood soaked when he offered (forced) to wash you himself. You couldn’t help but gulp at the sight of his flexing abs through your lashes and thank whoever stood above all, he wore shorts, sparing you a look of his dick, which luckily didn’t look hard under the fabric at the moment.

“Are you done?” you asked.

You didn’t want him to look at your naked body—as if you hadn’t already flashed everyone (no thanks to Graves, that leech) — and get ideas. You knew wasn’t anything you could do to him if he wanted to take what he desired from your body, but there was hope in the thought that you could have control over their desires and lust for you.

You were already quite thankful when the dragon and the incubus had to go somewhere earlier and let the siren and the wraith look after you instead, for whatever reason. You couldn’t imagine what would they make you do in the pretense of showing them that you value whatever they give to you.

“No, not quite,” he hummed, cooing you as if you were some poor animal they brought home from an animal shelter, which wasn’t so far from your situation. He seemed soft, appeared soft, even his gaze was. But there was a hint of superiority and a condescending tone in his voice, which was well hidden, as in the meanings of the lyrics in a song.

“Come closer,” he commanded.

He was a siren, you reminded yourself. They were known to drive people to madness with the sound of their voices, and you might be going insane now, as you inched to his touch.

His thumb ran over your lower lip and slowly, forced it in your mouth, letting you soak the sliver of his skin with your own. His hand took your waist and pushed you to the freezing, tiled wall. Then, he removed his finger and shoved his mouth onto you.

Your eyes narrowed at the gentleness of his kiss, compared to the dragon and demon, and slowly you closed your eyes. His hand caressed your hip and leisurely hoisted one of your legs to his side, whereas his other hand cupped your cheek.

You found yourself growling in his mouth when his hand made its way to your clit, giving the sensitive bud painfully slow circles.

“Kyle . . .” You moaned into the kiss as he slowly put in a digit.

“Yes, love?” He pulled away, making you open your eyes, as he started to pump in and out, his palm hitting your clit each time.

“Fuck me,” you begged, watching his supposedly brown eyes were now flashing green. “Fuck me, Kyle.”

A smirk appeared on his face and he quickly pulled his finger out of you, eliciting a whine from you. He put a finger on your lips, hushing you and you threw your arms around his neck as he shook off his shorts, before he aligned his cock to your entrance. At an agonizingly slow pace, he dragged the tip up and down, coating himself with your fluids, and in a low voice, he uttered, “It’ll be fine, just listen to me.”

You nodded, drowned in the sound of his . . . voice.

His voice?

Fuck. Fuck!

No, no, no, no!

You quickly pushed yourself away from him, but with the slickness of his skin and yours, and that he was more formidable than he looked, he didn’t move an inch.

He laughed and flipped you around, slamming you to the wall. Your cheek planted on the cold surface as he snatched your hands and pinned them above your head with his hand. With one hand, he pulled your hips towards him, groaning at the feeling of your ass on his hardened dick and he began to grind on you.

“Didn’t think you’d catch on that,” he mumbled in your ear as his hand left your hip and wrapped around your mouth, muffling your protests. “That’s a first.”

You struggled—tried to slip out of his grip, but as you moved, he groaned. “Is this how you thank me?”

“You won’t appreciate it if I shove this down your throat, Gaz.”

Kyle looked over his shoulder and found Simon leaning on the bathroom door with a tray of food in hand. “Hey, Ghost.”

“So much for giving her a break,” Simon huffed, which the siren called with a not-so-uncanny nickname considering he was a Wraith, and turned away from the scene. “Enough of that and let her have a good dinner.”

Kyle, and for whatever reason the Wraith called him Gaz, heaved a sigh, and unhanded you.

You immediately jumped to the corner of the shower compartment, eyes wide to watch his movements, and found a mocking smile on his lips.

“How unfortunate.” He picked up his clothes from the floor. “We were just getting onto it.”

“I don't give a fuck,” Simon replied in a loud voice.

“You should give a fuck, she's our wife!” Kyle shouted back and walked towards the bathrobes and towels neatly folded in woven baskets, taking two from both.

You grimaced at his words.

A wife to a man was supposedly the other half of their soul, a person to whom they pledged an oath to uphold until their last breath.

But in this land, at this time and age, those words no longer exist. To women, they were nothing but a story now.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own

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[sicutpuella]

Sweet Like Honey | Simon Riley x Reader

A honey trap—such a sterile phrase his superiors used, as if it could sanitize the rot festering in his conscience. Unethical? Yes; but that single syllable barely scratched the surface of his transgression. They needed information, they said, and Simon—God help him—had orchestrated every tender moment, every breathless laugh, every trembling touch with surgical precision. His superiors, those faceless men in their stark offices, had pushed the proposal forward; they wanted him closer to her father, that suspected architect of labyrinthine offshore accounts.

He remembers that exact moment. Her eyes had sparkled with tears of joy when he dropped to one knee—tears that now haunted his dreams, crystalline drops of his betrayal. In quiet moments, when she lay sleeping beside him, her trust radiating like warmth against his skin, the question would claw at his throat: When she discovers the truth—not if, but when—will those same tears fall in rivers of rage? Will her love calcify into hatred, sharp enough to pierce the armor he'd built around his guilt?

"Three years of marriage." Her words floated like seafoam in the Mykonos twilight; wine-hazed eyes drinking in the pastel sky as if it were a gift he'd arranged specially for their anniversary.

Simon's jaw tightened—a muscle working beneath the skin—as waves lapped at their bare feet with metronome precision. The word 'marriage' sat like bile in his throat; every anniversary a fresh reminder of his calculated lies. He fixed his gaze on the bleeding horizon—anywhere but at her—letting the salt wind strip away the taste of guilt that had become his constant companion.

"Yeah... three bloody years." The words scraped past his lips, his British accent thick and coarse as Mediterranean sand. A bitter laugh threatened to escape—three years of this charade, three years of her soft touches that felt like brands against his skin. "Can't believe it's been that long."

She reached for his hand; he let her take it.

"I'm so happy you married me..." Her words hung in the salt air—fragile as soap bubbles, painful in their innocence. Those eyes, sparkling with a love he could never return, cut deeper than any interrogation he'd endured in the field.

Simon's muscles coiled beneath his skin; her declaration struck like a precisely aimed blade. His jaw worked silently—grinding truth to dust—as guilt wrapped its familiar fingers around his throat. The sensation lasted only moments before training kicked in; sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford. He had a job to do—always the job.

"Yeah..." The word emerged like gravel. His expression hardened into the mask he'd worn for three years. "Me too."

A heartbeat of hesitation—then, striving for conviction: "It was the right thing to do..."

She wound herself around his arm like morning glory seeking sunlight. "Do you love me?" The question dripped with need for reassurance; every syllable another weight added to the anchor of his deception.

A muscle betrayed him—twitching in his jaw like Morse code airing out his lies.

"Course I do..." The words tasted of ashes as he forced himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes—God, those trusting eyes—gleamed up at him like searchlights through his carefully constructed shadows, sending fresh waves of guilt crashing against his ribs.

Mission parameters flashed through his mind like a lifeline: just a mission, a means to an end—nothing more. Clinical words that did nothing to dull the edge of her next question.

"Have I made you happy?"

The question hung between them like a loaded gun; he wondered which of them it would wound more deeply.

Simon's jaw ticked—a mechanical tell he couldn't control—as her voice spilled sweetness and light into the darkening air. His fists clenched; knuckles white with the effort of containing truths that would shatter her world.

"Yeah... you have." The words scraped past gritted teeth; his tone harsh enough to wound—though whether himself or her, he wasn't certain.

He forced himself to look at her—God help him—and found trust swimming in those eyes; love so pure it sent guilt cascading through his veins like ice water. Training kicked in like muscle memory: compartmentalize, distance, remember the mission parameters. This was all theater—a carefully orchestrated performance where he played the doting husband.

"If I make you uncomfortable or unhappy—" her voice trembled with an eagerness that flayed him alive—"tell me what to do and I'll change whatever it is you don't like about me."

Simon's shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her devotion; each word of self-doubt another stone added to the cairn of his shame. Her willingness to reshape herself for a man who didn't exist—it was obscene in its innocence.

"You don't need to change anything." His voice emerged gruff, carefully modulated to hide the storm beneath. "You're perfect the way you are." Perfect—and that made it infinitely worse.

As they walked further along the shore, his boss's voice slithered through his memory like an oil slick: "Give her a baby, Riley. Solidify that you're a family man to her and her family... that'll make them trust you more..."

The waves crashed against the shore; Simon wondered if they could wash away the taste of bile rising in his throat. A baby—the ultimate collateral damage in this game of shadows and lies. His handler's words echoed like bullets in an empty chamber; each one designed to kill whatever conscience he had left.

Simon's gut twisted into knots as his handler's words burrowed deeper—parasitic thoughts breeding shame. Using her love, her body, their marriage had been one thing; but this—creating life as a prop in their charade—made bile rise bitter in his throat.

He swallowed against the acid guilt. "Baby..." The endearment scraped past his lips like broken glass; his voice rough with self-loathing. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah, baby?" Her response came wrapped in a smile—always that damned smile on her gorgeous face; each curve of her lips another twist of the knife he'd planted in his own conscience.

Simon guided her toward a secluded stretch of beach—away from witnesses to his latest betrayal. His muscles coiled tight as she called him 'baby'; the war in his mind reached fever pitch—duty and disgust grappling in the shadows of his skull. Professional distance crumbled beneath the weight of what he was about to propose.

He drew in a breath that tasted of salt and lies; tried to fortify himself against the magnitude of this new deception. Speaking had never been his strong suit—now words felt like weapons turned inward.

"...I've been thinking about something." His voice dropped low; serious—as if gravity itself could lend legitimacy to this fresh hell.

"I've been thinking..." Another breath—sharp enough to cut—"that maybe we should start trying for a baby..."

The words fell like stones into the space between them; he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. Instead, his gaze fixed on the sand—watching darkness creep across it like the stain he felt spreading through his soul. This was more than a mission parameter now; this was crossing a line he hadn't known existed until he stood at its edge—about to take a step that could never be untaken.

Her eyes widened—galaxies of hope expanding in those innocent depths.

The squeal that erupted from her lips pierced the evening air: "Yes! Yes!"

Simon's face contracted like a wound being stitched; her unbridled joy a fresh kind of torture. The guilt gnawed at his bones—a familiar parasite he'd learned to live with—but he buried it beneath layers of practiced indifference. Just the job, just the bloody job.

"Yeah... yeah..." The words tasted of ash in his mouth as he attempted enthusiasm—a poor actor playing at happiness. "I thought it was time." Time for what? Another layer of betrayal; another innocent drawn into his lies?

Her face glowed with such pure delight—Christ, if she only knew the truth behind his proposal, would that radiance transform into something that could burn him alive?

"I'm so happy... I'm so happy..." She bounced on her toes like an excited child; her eyes swimming with naked affection as she gazed up at him. "Can we try tonight?"

The question hit him like a body blow—air evacuating his lungs in a silent gasp. His jaw clenched; muscle memory of contained revulsion. "Tonight?" His voice emerged rough as sandpaper. "Uhh... tonight?"

The speed of her agreement caught him off-guard; reality crashed over him like a cold wave. The physical act loomed before him—another performance in his repertoire of deception. But sex is sex—a mantra he'd repeated through three years of marriage; a thin comfort that grew thinner with each repetition.

"Sure baby... sure." The agreement slipped past his defenses before he could stop it.

Sex is still sex—the lie tasted bitter this time.

"Yeah... alright... tonight." Each word dragged like shrapnel from a wound.

Simon forced the syllables past the knot of self-loathing in his gut. Conflict churned inside him—desire warring with disgust, duty grappling with decency. But there was no extraction plan for this mission; no way to abort without destroying everything.

He drew in a breath that felt sharp as glass. "We'll head back to the room then, yeah?"

His extended hand seemed to belong to someone else—a stranger playing at being a loving husband. His mind raced through a labyrinth of regrets; each thought a new dead end. The fraud of it all pressed against his chest—this performance of love, this pantomime of family planning.

"Come on." The words scraped past his lips, gruff with barely contained turmoil. "Let's go."

Each step toward their room felt like moving through quicksand—every movement drawing him deeper into a lie he might never escape.

That evening, as she lay beneath him—trusting, eager, loving—his guilt manifested in the most primal betrayal of all. The little blue pill dissolved on his tongue earlier was his shameful secret; another lie to add to his collection. His body rebelled against his deception—even chemistry couldn't fully overcome the weight of his conscience.

It should have been paradise, shouldn't it? Being buried in the warm sanctuary of her body—her beauty undeniable, her desire genuine. But paradise, he'd learned, couldn't be built on foundations of sand and shadows. Each tender touch felt like judgment; each passionate kiss a sentence passed. His pleasure came tainted with self-loathing—mechanical responses to artificial stimulation.

The truth burned in his throat like acid: he couldn't maintain arousal—not with guilt wrapped around his throat like a garrote; not with his handler's voice echoing in his mind. This secret he'd take to his grave—another shard of shame embedded too deep to ever extract. The warmth of her body only emphasized the cold calculation of it all; heaven transformed into a special kind of hell, designed just for him.

She lay beneath him—all warmth and trust and love—while his heart turned to ice in his chest. The dim light caught the gold of her wedding ring; it flickered like an accusation with every movement. His own ring felt like a brand against his skin, burning with each tender touch she offered.

The chemistry coursed through his veins—artificial desire fighting against the tide of his guilt. Her fingers traced patterns of affection across his shoulders; each caress felt like judgment carved into his flesh. Paradise turned to purgatory; pleasure transformed into punishment.

"I love you," she whispered against his neck—words that should have been salvation became damnation instead.

His body responded while his mind recoiled; training and tablets working in tandem to maintain this cruelest deception. She arched beneath him—so trusting, so eager to create life with a man who was more shadow than substance. Her skin flushed with genuine desire; his grew cold with calculated performance.

The sounds she made—soft sighs of pleasure, whispered endearments—echoed in his skull like accusations. Each thrust felt mechanical; each kiss a fresh betrayal. His handler's voice mingled with her moans: "family man... make them trust you more..." Until he couldn't tell where the mission ended and the madness began.

Her hands cupped his face—so gentle, so loving—and he wanted to weep at the cruel irony. Here she was, trying to create life with a man who died a little more with each tender touch. The heat of her body only emphasized the cold calculation of it all; intimacy perverted into intelligence gathering.

He buried his face in her neck—not from passion, but to hide the war raging behind his eyes. She mistook his shuddering for pleasure; it was revulsion at himself. Even as his body chased its chemical conclusion, his mind splintered into fragments of guilt and duty and shame—pieces too sharp to ever fit back together.

Mediterranean sunlight crept through the curtains like liquid gold.

"Did you have fun?" Her question floated up from the tangled sheets; innocent as morning dew.

Guilt lanced through him—sharp and familiar now. Her eagerness to please him felt like needles under his skin; every effort she made to earn love he couldn't give was another weight added to his conscience.

He forced out a grunt—another performance in his endless repertoire. "Yeah... yeah I did. You've gotten better." The words tasted of copper and shame.

"Why do you ask?" He aimed for casual; missed by miles—tension threading through his voice like steel wire.

"I just want to make sure I'm making you happy," she murmured against his chest, fingers tracing abstract patterns on his skin. "I read some articles about... you know... trying for a baby. Making it more likely to happen." A soft laugh escaped her—pure, unguarded. "I want to do everything right."

Her head rested on his shoulder—soft hair brushing his skin like whispered accusations. Any other man would thank whatever god they believed in for a woman like her; Simon could only hate himself more with each gentle breath she took.

He wrapped an arm around her—another act in this elaborate charade—pulling her closer even as his soul recoiled. The weight of her trust pressed against him harder than her body ever could. She felt like silk against his skin; he felt like sandpaper against hers—rough with deception, coarse with lies.

The urge to push her away clawed at his chest—to end this facade, to confess every sin he'd committed in the name of duty. But the mission bound him like chains forged from his own choices. His mind waged its endless war: duty versus decency, mission versus morality. An innocent woman lay in the crossfire, and he'd loaded every bullet himself.

Her warmth seeped into his side; he wondered if it would ever wash away the cold calculation that had become his core.

Simon slouched in the corner, half-hidden by a wall of pastel balloons and garlands, the sound of laughter and soft coos grating against him like nails on glass. She was radiant, glowing in that way all the books and articles had promised, a woman basking in the warmth of her impending motherhood. Friends and family surrounded her, hands touching her belly as though it held some sacred truth he could never understand. She laughed—a sweet, unguarded sound that should have brought him joy. Instead, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He couldn’t bring himself to join the celebration; every time he looked at her, every time she glanced over and smiled at him, something twisted deep in his gut—a sharp, relentless reminder that he was a fraud. She deserved a man who’d be a father in more than name alone, someone who’d be wrapped up in this new life with her, but all he could feel was the weight of his shame and pathetic self pressing down on him.

That evening, Simon spun a quick excuse for her—something about a problem at the office, a sudden emergency requiring his immediate attention. She barely questioned him, simply nodded with that gentle trust he’d come to dread. But his destination wasn’t the office; it was a dimly lit bar, a familiar back corner where his superior waited, nursing a drink and an expression Simon could only describe as smug satisfaction.

“So… successfully knocked an heiress up, eh?” The words rolled off his boss’s tongue as if they were discussing the weather.

Simon ground his teeth, feeling a spike of anger flare in his chest. “Yeah.” The response was clipped, his jaw clenched so tight he could barely force the words out. “I did what you asked.”

“Head over heels for you, is she?” His boss laughed, a low, contemptuous sound. “God, the poor thing.”

Each word felt like a blade twisting deeper. Yes, she loved him; she loved him with a sincerity he’d never known he could inspire. But the way his boss spoke of it—as if her affection was some cheap victory, as if her trust was a trophy to be tossed aside—made his blood run cold.

He balled his fists beneath the table, his knuckles turning white. “I know,” he said through gritted teeth, barely able to keep his voice steady.

“We didn’t think you’d pull it off this well.” The amusement in his boss’s voice was unmistakable. “We knew you could manipulate—use people; that’s what you do best, after all. But to get her so… blindly devoted? Impressive, even for you.”

Simon bit down hard, jaw aching as he fought to keep the bile from rising. He didn’t want to hear it; he didn’t want to hear about how flawlessly he’d betrayed her, how thoroughly he’d convinced her of a love that was nothing but smoke and mirrors.

“She trusts me,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel, hoping to deflect, to shut down this sickening praise.

His boss let out a chuckle, cold and mocking. “Just trust, is it? Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. But come on—no credit for yourself? I think you deserve a bonus for this one, Riley. You’ve put in the work, pulled all the strings. Hell, even I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Simon felt himself go still, every muscle in his body wound tight, like a coiled spring about to snap. The monster his boss saw in him—was that all he’d ever be? He forced himself to nod, his voice barely a murmur. “Yeah… sure. Send some extra cash my way if it makes you feel better.”

“Good,” his boss replied, that smug satisfaction radiating from him like poison. “I’m proud of you, Riley. You’ve secured an influential family, locked down the daughter. And soon enough, there’ll be a little Riley running around, further cementing our foothold.”

A wave of nausea rolled through him at that. His boss spoke as though this were just another operation, another mission ticked off the list. Not a woman’s life, not a child’s future—just another step in their endless game of leverage and control.

Simon gave a curt nod, jaw so tight it felt like it might shatter. He kept his silence, swallowing the urge to spit some scathing retort, to lash out and tear down every vile word his boss had spoken.

“Good,” his boss said again, with a finality that felt like chains tightening around Simon’s throat. “Keep it up… and, of course, gather all the intel you can on her father.”

Simon didn’t respond. He simply sat there, silent and still, the weight of his choices pressing down like iron shackles. The mission bound him—bound him tighter than any oath he’d ever sworn—and he couldn’t escape the feeling that, somewhere along the line, he’d traded his soul for it.

All photos sourced through Pinterest

Headers made by @rookthornesartistry

[cutiecusp]

Matchmaker. Finale.

This series changed my life. Thank you x

BRB. Sobbing.

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

[kruegerslov3r]

simon riley as your bf/husband

[gojoidyll]

it's ok, i'm ok

(implied) simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader x johnny "soap" mactavish

cw | insecurities, depictions of facial scars (reader), mentions of being interrogated/tortured, open ended, may continue (?), etc.

sum | a mask protects you, and you're determined to keep it that way.

When you look in the mirror, you immediately feel a tinge of disgust. Your eyes racked over the scars that littered your face. There was one long nasty one, on the right side. It marred the skin terribly. It reached from the top of your eyebrow and down all the way to your chin and the scar was not straight at all. It was jagged, cut with haste. You could still feel the pain lingering there before your eyes lingered on the other scars. One was a horizontal line slashed across the middle of your nose, another perfectly symmetrical with your jawline on the left side of your face, and finally the last one. The one that was smaller than the others and cut across the left side of your temple.

The scars were given to you a year or two ago. You can’t exactly remember the date as the memories start to blur, but what happened to you Is as clear as day. It was an interrogation, the squad you were apart of had been captured and slowly the enemy began cycling through every single one of you until you were the last. But you gave them nothing, even as they slashed your face up.

You could still feel your nails being pulled out, your nose being broken, your-

You shook your head and reached for your mask, the black fabric covered both your mouth and nose before you reached for your favorite baseball cap and fixed it over your head. It wasn’t a perfect covering, but it did its job. The job being to hide most if not all of your face from your comrades in arms. You learned all too well, that the men would much rather have a pretty face to look at then a scarred one (as you came to realize with the women in the squadron who … were not scarred as you were).

And as you got ready for the day and to head out to base, you wondered if you would find someone who wouldn’t care about your scarred appearance, but … you found it highly unlikely.

“L/n, meet taskforce 141, you’ll be joining them from here on out.”

The moment you get on base and being handed a new team assignment wasn’t on your bucket list, but you had no complaints. Your original team was already disbanding to begin with. Most of them retiring after they were rescued from being captured, but you decided to stay. If only to keep your mind occupied.

And even as you introduced yourself and met the tf 141 guys, you still had that ache in your heart. It wouldn’t be the same, but at least you will be doing something.

“So, L/n, do they call you anything else?”

Its when you are left alone with tf 141 to “better get to know them” when you finally come back to reality.

“I don’t have a nickname if that’s what your wondering.”

“Really,” asked the man with a mohawk, you already guessed he was the one called Soap, “they just call you l/n?”

You merely nodded, the words seeming to have left you. Which was another thing you noticed. A change that just didn’t sit right. You used to talk a lot, you always filled the silence, made things louder, brighter, happier almost. But now, you just meander with the silence in hopes that someone else starts talking so you don’t have to.

Soap merely grinned at you before reaching out and clapping you on the back, “well, then No Name, guess we’ll just have ta figure somethin out.”

At the mention of the words “No Name” you had a feeling that that was what your nickname was going to be. And as it turns out, you would be right.

“No Name! Come check this out!”

Fixing your baseball cap and adjusting your mask a bit, you trotted over to Soap, eyes seeming to bore into what he was looking at on his phone.

“Really?”

“What? Oh come on, you can’t possibly say this isn’t funny.”

You rolled your eyes, the action going unnoticed due to the bill of your cap, “whatever you say, Soap.”

And that was how the weeks followed. You trained silently with them. Soap being the only one who seemed to try and tear away at your walls, but nothing seemed to work as you were as silent if not even more silent than Ghost was.

Speaking of the man, he was probably the one you liked being around most.

He didn’t look at you when he talked, nor does he try to acknowledge you. Something that you found being grateful for. And when he did have to communicate something to you, his eyes never seemed to pry nor did his actions seem like he wanted to know more either. You found that you liked the little to no attention you got, and luckily when you are near the man no one else tries to get to you as well. And Soap? He tends to pay attention to his friend more too. Another thing you were grateful for.

Though, the brief simplicity you had gained and the happiness of blissful silence all seemed to come crashing down when a small group of women that shared the barracks with you stole both your mask and hat.

“So that’s what you look like…”

You were not amused when the women who you fought alongside with more than a couple of times started to crowd around you to get a good look at your face. It had caused your usual straight look to turn more down, the obvious hint of displeasure and anger clear on your features.

“Where’s my mask,” you managed to ask as you swatted a girl’s hand away.

One of them giggled, “we sort of hid it from you.”

You glowered, “where?”

You knew the question was fruitless as the girls scattered immediately the moment you started to get out of bed. And before you could make the move to look for both of the items, you chanced a look at the clock and almost let out a groan before holding in.

You had no time to waste on looking for either of your belongings, nor did you have any extras in your locker.

Today was going to be a shit day.

“What.”

The single word that left your mouth was more of a statement than a question as you stood next to Ghost and Soap, both who seemed to openly stare at you as the three of you waited for your Captain and Gaz to show up at the meeting point.

“It’s nothing,” Soap answered a bit too quickly for your liking, and when you shifted your gaze towards Ghost you immediately hated that fact that his eyes were directed right at your face. You instantly started to miss when he didn’t look at you at all.

“Girls in the barracks hid my mask is all,” the little information you relented was hopefully enough to get them to stop staring.

However, it wasn’t enough.

“Didn’t have a spare,” you managed again. But the stares they gave you was all you could feel, “know my face isn’t great to look at, once I get a new one or find my old mask, you won’t have to stare so damn much.”

And when Ghost finally talks to you, not at you or near you, like he really talks to you and sees you for the first time, your brain just short circuits.

“Why? You’re pretty to look at as you are now. Soap and I just don’t know how to act around a pretty lady.”

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about how much you would miss Simon while he's gone....

This is a continuation of part one and part two.

warning: adult language

💀

You were dreading going to work. Your arms felt heavy as you applied your makeup with a pout on your lips. No matter how hard you worked at it, your eyeliner looked a little smudged and your lipgloss was dull.

Simon was leaving tonight. 

He'd never been inside your apartment. He'd never seen you in anything but your work clothes. He only interacted with you on nights when you had a shift at the pub. But you thought about him so much, it was like he had seeped into every aspect of your life. But he was leaving, and you knew he wouldn't give you any details. But it had to be for work. A new military assignment. All you knew for sure was the gnawing feeling in your gut that he would be risking his life.

Most of your shift has passed before he squeezed his shoulders through the doorway and found a stool at the bar. There was a smile plastered on your face all night, but it wasn't until you saw him that it was genuine. 

"Simon," you sighed, already reaching for a pint glass to keep your fingers busy when pure happiness bubbled up inside you.

"Hi, love."

Everytime he called you that, his soft eyes lingered on your face. You didn't know when anyone would look at you that way again. His drink was set down, and his money was pushed away. You wouldn't take it. He drank his pint slowly, glaring at any other man whose gaze lingered your way for more than the barest few seconds. Than you let him know it was time for your shift to end. 

Tonight both of you were silent. When you reached for his hand, he wrapped his fingers gently around yours. When you stood on your front step, shivering in the damp night air, he wrapped you up in his grasp.

"Ya' be good, love. Take care of yourself." His voice was so deep and warm, you shivered even more. "Tell Soap if ya' need something. He knows to take care of ya'."

There were so many questions brimming in your mind, but they were all silenced when his lips skimmed along your temple. You whimpered before Simon put a foot of space between your bodies, an intensity in his eyes you'd never seen before. Maybe he already knew what he meant to you by this point, but you couldn't say the words as tears stung your eyes.

"Please stay safe," you whispered, and he nodded toward your door.

"Get inside, love. I won't be gone long."

But he was.

At first, you smiled when Soap or Gaz showed up at the bar at the end of your shifts. They weren't anywhere near as imposing looking as Simon, but you knew your ex boyfriend wouldn't be lining up to mess with either of them. They seemed to rotate who walked you home. Conversation was easy with both of them, and they never touched you. When you asked them about Simon, they assured you he knew how to handle himself. 

But one week turned into two and then three. You were starting to worry. "Have you heard anything from Simon?" you asked Soap one particularly cold night.

"Nah. He'll be back when he gets back. Try not to worry too much."

You paused before you asked him, "What did he say when he asked you and Gaz to make sure I got home safely from work?"

Soap's face split into a grin in the glow from a streetlight. "Hey, now that's between friends, ain't it?"

You weren't exactly sure what he meant, but you could feel your brow pucker with concern. "You really think he's okay?"

Soap laughed heartily. "That feckin' arsehole ain't gonna to miss the chance to keep walking you home from work. Trust in that much."

You nodded and unlocked your door, bidding him a good night before closing and locking it as tears burned your eyes.

Next thing you knew, Simon had been gone for six weeks. It was hard to keep up the chitchat with Gaz and Soap when each time you saw them, it was a reminder of who was missing. What if he never returned? Who would even inform you if something happened to him? Were you supposed to fret like this and curl into a tight ball alone as you fell asleep for weeks longer?

You daydreamed about what it would feel like to kiss Simon. You imagined his warmth snug against you in bed, heavy arm wrapped around your body. You thought about his voice, rough but sweet, telling you that he felt the same way you did.

But two months was a long time to go without his meticulous attention. And while it made you ache to see him again, perhaps it was having the opposite effect on him. Maybe he hasn't thought about you much, if at all. He was probably busy working around the clock, dedicated to the task at hand. His mind wouldn't be on the silly bartender back home who could barely handle herself around him.

It was hard to smile at work tonight. It wasn't very busy now that winter had fully arrived. Everyone seemed to prefer to huddle up at home this late when the wind was blowing. You'd prefer to be there right now too, instead of pouring a double whiskey and a glass of wine. 

You were getting really close to the end of your shift, and there was still no sign of Soap or Gaz. Occasionally they arrived just in time to walk you home, but usually they got here early enough to plop down on a stool for a drink or two. You were longing for your bed, and the idea of having to hang out and wait for the escort you probably no longer needed felt daunting.

Your hands were tired from polishing the glassware, stacking it up below the bar top to help you pass the time. When the door opened, the brief rush of cold air made you shiver as you turned to greet the newcomer. But he was familiar in a way that made a smile break out on your face as a shot glass landed a little hard on the shelf when it slipped from your fingers.

"Hi, love."

He was back. He looked terrible. Bruised cheeks and a black eye decorated his face, but seeing him in person was still better than your best daydream. All you wanted to do was touch him.

"Simon!"You rushed through the opening in the bar, launching yourself into his arms. "I missed you." Without thinking, you ran your hands gently along his face. Without another word, you pressed your lips against his.

💀

[xyras-maze]

I hope a big, scary looking masked man will break into my house tonight.

Maybe I'll leave the door open as an invitation? 🖤

[codnasties]

kinktober ₊˚ · ♡ ·˚₊ ghost & soap ₊˚ · ♡ ·˚₊ road trip

when you proposed a roadtrip to ghost and soap to the other end of the county, it seemed like fun. driving around, stopping at gas stations and restaurants, sharing songs on aux and having some deep conversations about everything and anything. well, yeah, no. it wasn't so fun for you.

because you were ovulating and now you were trapped for hours on end in a car, with two hot as fuck musuclar men. and that's straight up criminal. sittting in the back seat, getting a perfect view of their strong spread thighs right through the space left by the front seats. soap driving, one hand on the wheel and the other lazily draped on the gearstick. simon with one of his arms draped over the centre console.

all that powerful muscle, strong forearms and protuding veins making your already warm situation turn into an extreme hornyness one. thighs squeezing unvoluntaraly trying to get some release and a bit of friction on your weeping cunt.

you thought you were being sneaky, but there isn't anything that scapes ghost's keen eye, instantly catching you and making eye contact with you through the rear view mirror. he understands, he truly does. that's why he tells you that you might as well fully pleasure yourself.

those small encouraging words were all it took for you to start getting rid of your pants and panties and start fingering yourself, making a mess on the backseat. but simon, still watching you from the mirror, saw how desperate you were and how your small fingers weren't enough. that's why he decided to jump in the back with you, manouvering his big body over the cosole onto the backseat. he came to your aid, giving you a helping hand.

and what a helping hand! stocky fingers sliding into your already soaking wet cunt. he started with one and worked up more in all the way to three, fingering your pretty pussy until you came around his digits.

once he pulled them out and saw how dirty they were, he knew that you had to give him a little payback, helping clean them once he put them in our mouth. happily sucking your own juices off his fingers, wishing it were something else.

your blissed out but still needy face was all it took for simon to know that wasn't enough. so he seats himself properly before pulling his rock hard cock out of his shorts, standing tall as ghost grabbed your hips to move you and strat to slowly lower you until he's sitting snuggly inside your spongy walls.

but when you saw the vile smile plastered on his face through the driving mirror you knew your thighs were going to be burning because he wasn't going to any of the work. he was just lending you his cock so you could enjoy yourself.

you were trying, you really were, riding him eagerly and trying to get off, but sadly to no avail :'( so at your desperate attempts, ghost finally decides to give it a more hands on aproach. manhandling you into a diferent position so he could start fucking you in doggy. fully drilling into you.

your moans, the way you were getting fucked like a slut and the view from the rear view mirror making soap's cock impossibly hard. he was trying his best to keep his eyes on the road but it was becoming unbearable knowing he was missing all the fun.

so he stops the car in the first place he can manage and quickly jumps in the back with the two of you. ghost, seeing the desire in his mate's eyes, gives him the place plunging into your sweet cunt. johnny fucking his rock hard cock, hitting depply insie of you and making sure that you would be sore the next day. meanwhile, simon's prick sitting in your ass, having your ass cockwarm him.

let's say it doesn't end ther, both of them switching possitions and holes until the three of you are mess and have had your fill of fun on the cramped back of that car.

[remiebear]

Happy Halloween 🎃 🎃 👻 🎃

[incinerated-vestiges]

The Phantom - Ghost

@mrsrileywrites hope I did him justice

Without curtains bc I couldn’t decide which one I liked better

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

To the Fallen, Who Found Himself a Paradise

CONTENT: FLUFF, Period Drama AU, Implied Sexual Content

Masterlist / Archive of Our Own

Simon Riley, a well-known knight of the kingdom, who gained many achievements during the war, now living in a secluded town on his own, found himself getting married to a duke’s daughter as a “reward” from the king for his good deeds

You, who were supposed to marry the crown prince, found yourself getting married to a lowly soldier, who couldn’t even wear proper attire on his wedding and instead wore his old military clothes and a mask and now sent away to live in a secluded town with your new husband

Unused to the ways of commoners, you found it troublesome how they lived without any help from servants, irritating your husband Simon with your constant whines and complaints

Simon having enough of your unnecessary cries of how poor he was every single minute, left you all alone in the house to go to the town to buy you some more decent food to feed you and somehow shut you up

You having enough of his nags, ran away the night he decided to go to the town, only to get lost in the woods near your husband’s house, where he had told you were full of dangerous animals

Simon who got back from shopping downtown, only to find his wife missing and rushed to the forest with an unknown feeling in his stomach. Worry? Fear? No, he called it pity and a shame if you were eaten by a wolf or a bear

Simon who found you by the river bank, crying over your dirty clothes after you had slipped down the hill and surrounded by a pack of wolves, and immediately came in rescue, telling you not to look as he drew out his sword like a knight-in-shining-armor you had seen in books.

You, who couldn’t look away as he slashed open the wolves’ throat, despite getting sick of all the gore, somehow had this flipping feeling in your stomach. Fear? Anxiety? Yeah, that was it.

Your husband, Simon, kneeling before you from a couple of meters away, not wanting to scare you after what you had seen him do and not wanting you to get blood from his clothes, then being surprised when you jumped into his arms crying

Your husband, Simon scooped you up in his arms like you weighed nothing, and carried you all the way back to his house with one arm as he held his sword with his other hand

Your husband, Simon, who aided your bruises and cuts which you got from the twigs during your pathetic escape and from fending off the wolves, helping you get clean and dressed as well, trying his best not to blush under his mask, only to fail as he saw your naked flesh in the tub

You, who never had any help from a man during baths, now burning red as he scrubbed all the dirt from your skin, helping you get dry and dressed your in his clothes right after

You, who never had worn any commoner’s clothes, now finding it the most comfortable garments you’ve had your entire life.

You, who had thanked you husband, Simon with a kiss on his cheek before hiding yourself under the sheets of the bed

Simon, who stood frozen in place, when his wife suddenly kissed him as a thanks, now thinking he could kill all the bears and wolves in the forest

You who had begun to learn more about him and the way of his living, realizing that this kind of life was more wonderful than the way nobles live

You who had begun to help him start a garden and a small farm, getting all dirty, yet still had the brightest smile on your face when you showed him how you got a bigger carrot than him and challenged him who would get the most by the end of the day

Simon, who found himself smiling under the mask as he heaved up the basket of cabbages you and he harvested, watching your hum as you picked out flowers on the side of the road to put on the vase back home

You, who had begun to worry as you stood before a mirror, realizing you were getting fat over time, because of how much you ate every day, and thinking back on how little you ate back in the dukedom

Your husband, Simon, telling you that you have always been beautiful even if you were thin or fat, then telling you that he had always found you lovely ever since he met you

You who immediately pulled the best husband in the world into a tight hug and planted a kiss on him, only this time, it was on his lips

Simon, who had forgotten to cook dinner when he brought you to your room, removed his mask and pulled you into a kiss so gentle and warm you melted into his embrace, all the thoughts of going back to your old life thrown into the drain

You, who had peppered his scars kisses as he slowly unfastened the ribbons of your dress under the soft glow of the moon and got heaved up to the bed, letting him crawl over you

Simon, who found himself shedding tears as he took his wife, your beautiful voice ringing like music in his ears, watching you under him make an expression that burned him like the sun

You, who kissed his tears away and wrapped your arms around his neck, whispering sweet things to his ears as a poet would to the subject of their story

Simon, who painted a smile on his face, murmuring words to your lips like an oath a knight would make to a queen, like a believer would pray to their goddess, as gentle as the radiance of the moon that broke through the leaves of the trees

You, who had told him that you weren’t a queen nor a goddess, but his one and only wife meant for him, till the end of time