#hyperactivelyme

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 8, finale) warnings: allusions to smut, reminder: 18+ please

The morning of your wedding dawned clear and bright, the early light casting a soft, golden glow over the estate. You woke with a flutter of nerves and excitement, the reality of the day finally settling in. It was the day you would marry Simon, the Duke who had once been your adversary and had now become your greatest love.

The bridal suite buzzed with activity and last minute arrangements as maids flitted about. Your dress, an exquisite creation, hung waiting for you. As you step into it, the fabric cool and smooth against your skin, you feel a rush of anticipation. The dress fit perfectly, accentuating your figure and making you feel like a princess in a fairy tale dream come true. 

Your friends and mother gathered around, offering their congratulations and sharing in your joy. Girlish laughter and chatter filled the room, your heart overflowing with joy at the shared happiness permeating the room. Your mother adjusts your veil, her eyes misty with tears of happiness. “You look beautiful,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. “The Duke is a very lucky man.”

In the meantime, Simon stood in his study, trying to calm his nerves. He was dress immaculately in a tailored suit, his usually stoic demeanor softened by the nerves of the day. A butler, who had helped him get dressed and ready, took on an affectionate, familial tone with him. 

“Nervous?”

Simon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “More than I ever thought possible,” he admits. “But also incredibly happy.” 

As the hour approaches, the guests begin to gather in the grand hall of the estate, the space transforming into a vision of elegance and celebration. Flowers adorn every surface, their fragrance filling the air. The sunlight streams through tall, wide windows, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the hall.

It was time for the bride to make her way down the aisle.

As you made your way to the entrance of the hall, your heart pounded in your chest. Your father was waiting for you behind the doors to the entrance, giving you a teary smile as you took his arm.

As the doors opened, a hush fell over the crowd, all eyes turning to you. You took a deep breath and stepped forward, your gaze immediately finding Simon at the end of the aisle. His eyes widened as he saw you, a look of pure love and awe on his face. You smile broadly in response, keeping eye contact with him the whole time.

With each step you took, your nerves began to settle, replaced by a sense of rightness and peace. This was where you were meant to be, with Simon, your husband and true love. When you reach him, your father gives you one last squeeze before Simon takes your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. You could see the pure emotion in his eyes.

The ceremony began, the words from the officiant flowing over you like a beautiful dream.

Simon never once let go of your gloved hands the whole time the officiant was speaking, and he never once tore his gaze from you. You were beautiful. Actually, beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe you; you were perfect. 

You never once let go of Simon’s hands, staring up at him with nothing but pure, unbridled joy. He was so handsome, so beautiful standing in front of you, your heart nearly burst. You squeeze his hands a few times, eliciting small smiles from him. 

You exchange your vows, your voices steady and clear, each promise spoken made with unwavering certainty. “I promise to love you, honor you, and stand by you,” Simon says, his voice echoing and proud. “For as long as we both shall live.”

“And I promise to love you, support you, and share in all your joys and sorrows,” you reply, your heart full. “For as long as we both shall live.”

When the words are spoken, and the officiant declares you husband and wife, Simon turns to you, his movements slow and deliberate. His hands are gentle as they lift to your face, his fingertips brushing over your jawline before finding the edge of your veil. The fabric trembles slightly in his hands, and you realize he’s just as overwhelmed as you are.

He raises the veil, lifting it over your head with the utmost care, as if the act itself were sacred. The delicate lace catches the light for a brief moment before it settles behind you, leaving you bare before him.

His breath catches, and for a moment, he simply looks at you. His eyes search your face, his gaze drinking in every detail—the curve of your lips, the softness of your cheeks, the glimmer of your eyes.

Then, with a tenderness that melted every last wall around your heart, he cupped your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed lightly over your cheeks, his touch reverent and steady. He leaned in slowly, his eyes locked with yours until the very last second.

The kiss was everything you had dreamed of—soft and warm, a perfect melding of your two souls who had journeyed through storms to find their calm. His lips moved against yours with gentle certainty, lingering as if to imprint the memory into his soul.

Applause and cheers erupted from the guests, but all you could hear was the beating of your heart and the softness of Simon’s lips against your own. It’s like firecrackers go off in your chest, the feeling purely and utterly indescribable as he kisses you. The kiss was filled with love, promise, and a sense of belonging that you had never felt so profoundly. 

When you finally pull back, both of you breathless and dazed, Simon rests his forehead against yours, a smile growing on his face. 

“Look at you,” he heaves, chuckling. 

Heat creeps up your cheeks, your own smile widening. “Look at us,” you whisper back, the joy in your voice undeniable.

The guests began to cheer and clap louder, their excitement only spurring you on. Simon keeps hold of your hand as you both turn to face the crowd, the final words blessing your union as husband and wife ringing in your ears. Together, you walk down the aisle, surrounded by friends and family, their congratulations and well-wishes filling your senses.

As you step outside the grand hall, you’re greeted by a cascade of flower petals raining down from above. The warm sunlight bathes you both, casting a golden glow on this perfect day. The carriage, adorned with flowers and ribbons, waits to take you to the reception. Simon helps you inside, your hands never parting.

The reception is a spectacular affair, held in the gardens of the estate. The tables are set with fine china and crystal, the air filled with the scent of flowers, and the sound of laughter. You and Simon are seated at the head table, overlooking the sea of guests who have come to celebrate your union. There were heartfelt toasts from loved ones, joyous laughter, and endless dancing. 

You shared your first dance as newlywed to a soft, melodic waltz. Simon took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. He led you to the center of the floor, his gaze never leaving yours. Simon’s other hand found its place on the small of your back, pulling you closer. Your free hand rested on his shoulder, and for a moment, you both stood there, savoring the significance of the moment. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, bathed in the soft glow of the lights and the warmth of each other’s presence.

With a slight nod, Simon guided you into the dance. You moved together with a natural grace, your steps perfectly synchronized. Each movement across the floor was fluid and elegant. Simon’s eyes never left yours, his expression a mixture of love, awe, and contentment. He held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, and in that moment, you felt like you truly were. Every twirl and dip was executed with perfect timing, and you still wondered how he got so good at dancing. 

You could feel the gentle rise and fall of Simon’s chest with each breath he took. His scent, a mixture of sandalwood and something uniquely him, enveloped you, grounding you in the moment. His touch was firm yet tender, a constant reminder of his strength and his love.

As the night went on, you and Simon stole moments alone, savoring the newfound intimacy that came with being married. In a quiet corner of the garden, under a canopy of twinkling candlelight, Simon pulled you into his arms again. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive,” he said, his voice low and tender. 

You reached up, brushing stray strands of hair from his forehead. “You’ve made all my dreams come true, Simon,” you replied, your heart brimming with love. 

He leaned down, kissing you gently, the promise of a beautiful future shining in his eyes. The night air was cool, the stars bright above you, and in that moment, everything felt perfect.

Eventually, the festivities began to wind down, and it was time for you and Simon to depart. Guests bid you good luck and farewell as you were led to the carriage waiting to take you both away. 

You climbed into the carriage, Simon’s arm securely around you. As it pulled away, you looked back at the estate, feeling a mixture of nostalgia and excitement for the future. Simon kissed your temple, drawing you close. You snuggle into his side, embracing the warmth radiating from his body. 

Suddenly, he lifts your gloved hand up to his face. He twists it in his grip, inspecting your hand as though it was something he could not understand and was desperately trying to figure out. Then, without a word, he brings his own hand up, his fingers splaying outwards as he carefully aligns them with yours. He studies the juxtaposition of your hands, his expression unreadable yet filled with a sense of wonder and amusement. His fingers are thick, large, calloused… you wonder how they would feel in— 

“Wh- what are you do—?” you start. 

“Shh.”

You shut your mouth and swallow thickly as his eyes come up to meet yours once again. You feel as though they pierce through your very soul. He returns his attention back to your hand, now flipping your hand so your palm faces his face.

Then, with the gentlest pressure, he starts to press his thumb into the palm of your hand. As his thumb massages your skin, a tingling sensation spreads through your hand, causing a rush of warmth to flood into your cheeks. You feel a flutter in your chest as his touch sends shivers down your spine. Each deliberate movement of his thumb against your skin feels both electrifying and intimate, causing your head to spin. Lost in the moment, you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his intense eyes, their depths drawing you in like a magnet.

Then, just when you think you couldn't be more captivated by his touch, he surprises you once again. With a swift, unexpected motion, he guides your fingers up to his lips. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch, mesmerized, as his teeth catch the fabric of the fingertips of your glove.

You think you’re about to faint. 

A strangled gasp falls past your lips as he bites down ever so gently and pulls the satin off with his teeth. He lets it dangle from his mouth for a moment, his gaze never leaving yours, as if challenging you to keep eye contact with him.

You’re breathing hard now, soft pants slipping from your lips that makes Simon’s heart pound and his cock throb in his pants. 

With a flicker of a smile playing at the corners of his lips, he finally releases the glove from his teeth, allowing it to fall to the ground in a soft whisper of fabric.

Then, without hesitation, he brings your bare hand back to his lips, his touch gentle yet firm as he presses a barely perceptible kiss to the palm of your hand. The feather-light sensation sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume all reason.

He then folds your hand, displaying your knuckles. He runs his lips over the ridges of your knuckles, letting his tongue slip out to trace the contours with tantalizing precision. Each delicate touch sends a jolt through you, left breathless and wanting, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to make sense of the primal desire that burns hotter with every passing second. 

Without warning, Simon slips his hand around your wrist and yanks you forward, causing you to fall on top of his chest. You squeak as you land on top of him, your body perfectly molding against his. His arms fasten around you in a protective embrace, holding you close as if you were the most precious thing in the world. 

With a gentle touch, he lifts your chin, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw with feather-light precision. His touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume all reason.

“Si- Simon—" you whisper weakly, trying your best to keep yourself together. “We— this… in the carriage?” 

“Mhm,” is all he says, seemingly amused at how riled up you’re getting from his touch. If you’re this flustered just from that, he can’t wait to see how much further unraveled you’ll be when��

“Kiss me again.” 

Your voice trembles with both desire and anticipation, and Simon's eyes darken gleefully. Without wasting a second, he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that is both tender and searingly intense.

The carriage rocks gently as it moves along the path, but you barely notice. All that matters is the feel of Simon's lips on yours, the way his tongue shoves its way inside your mouth, the feeling of his hands all over you. 

Simon's hands roam up and down your back, pulling you even closer, as if trying to merge your bodies into one. You can feel the hard surface of his chiseled chest against your own, his heart beating wildly in sync with yours. Your fingers find their way into his hair, gripping tightly as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent. He starts to slide his hands up your thigh, squeezing the plump flesh, and you're positively aching for him.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, thoroughly whipped from the intensity of your kiss. 

Simon’s eyes bore into yours, filled with a love so profound it makes your heart thump wildly. 

"Tonight," he says, his voice a solemn whisper, "I will make you mine in every way."

Your breath catches at the promise in Simon’s words. The weight of his vow settles between you, thick and heavy with anticipation. He smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips that sends another shiver through you.

The carriage ride to his— your— estate is both torturously slow and blissfully short. Every moment stretched and savored, yet filled with an urgency that made you ache for what was to come. As you approached the estate, your heart pounded in your chest with the same fervor as the night you first realized you loved Simon.

He sat beside you, his fingers intertwined with yours, the heat of his palm grounding you. His thumb traced idle patterns over your knuckles—a silent conversation, a quiet assurance that he was as impatient as you, though he bore it with a composure that made you flush. He caught your gaze more than once, his lips twitching into that maddening smile that promised a thousand things he wasn’t saying aloud.

When the estate came into view, its tall spires and ivy-covered walls lit with the golden glow of twilight, your breath hitched. The grandeur of the place was breathtaking, but it wasn’t the imposing beauty of the building that stole your breath—it was the thought of it being your home. Your sanctuary. Your beginning with Simon.

The carriage came to a halt, and before the footman could move, Simon was already out, turning to help you down. His hands were steady and warm, wrapping around your waist as he guided you with the kind of care that made your chest ache. He lingered a second too long, his hands firm but gentle, before setting you on the ground.

"You’re home," he said softly, his voice low and rich, sending a thrill right through you.

- - -

The two of you lounged in the gardens behind the estate, the sun beginning its slow descent toward the horizon. It painted the sky in hues of amber and blush, the soft light catching in Simon’s hair as he leaned back against the trunk of a sprawling oak tree. He looked utterly at ease, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his boots discarded in the grass.

You sat between his legs, your back against his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around you. The scent of jasmine and freshly cut grass filled the air, mingling with the faint saltiness of the breeze rolling in from the distant river. Simon’s chin rested on the crown of your head, and you felt his chest rise and fall steadily against your back.

"Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?" you asked, your voice soft, almost a whisper, as if speaking louder would shatter the peace of the moment.

"All the time," he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair. "Especially when I have you like this. Reminds me how lucky I am."

You turned your head slightly to look up at him, arching a brow. "You? Lucky? I think it’s the other way around."

Simon chuckled, the deep, rich sound vibrating through you. He tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer. "No, it’s definitely me. You could have had anyone."

You laughed, the sound light and carefree. "No. It was just...you. The way you see the world. The way you see me," you teased, tilting your head back to meet his gaze fully.

Simon’s smile softened, his eyes searching yours as if he were trying to memorize you all over again. He reached up, brushing his knuckles along your cheek, his touch as gentle as ever. You leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss to his palm before lacing your fingers with his.

The two of you sat in silence for a while after that, watching as the sun dipped lower, the sky transitioning to shades of lavender and indigo. The first stars began to appear, faint but steady, twinkling above like tiny promises.

Simon’s fingers played idly with yours, his voice breaking the quiet. "Do you think we’ll ever grow tired of this? Just…being together like this?"

You shook your head, a soft smile curving your lips. "Never," you said firmly. "This is everything. You are everything."

Simon’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your temple. "Good," he said, his voice low and content. "Because I don’t ever plan on letting go."

He shifted slightly, his arms loosening before he leaned forward, scooping you effortlessly into his lap. The movement drew a squeal of surprise from you, quickly followed by laughter.

“Simon!” you exclaimed, swatting lightly at his chest. “You could warn a person before manhandling them like that.”

He chuckled, his hands resting securely on your hips to keep you steady. “I could,” he replied with an easy grin, “but where’s the fun in that?”

You twisted to look up at him, an exaggerated glare on your face. “One of these days, I’m going to get you back for all your mischief, you know.”

Simon’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement as he tilted his head, pretending to consider your words. “Hmm, I suppose I’ll just have to remain on high alert at all times then. Though I have to say, I’m not terribly afraid of your vengeance.”

“Not afraid?” you scoffed, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “You should be!”

“Hm, i’s hard to be intimidated when you’re sitting in my lap like this," Simon teased, leaning in until his nose brushed against yours.

Your cheeks flushed, and you pushed at his chest with a laugh. “You’re impossible!”

“And yet, here you are, willingly sitting in my lap,” he said, his voice smug as he leaned back, pulling you with him.

You rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement.

Simon’s grin softened into something more tender as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his hands sliding to hold yours.

As the two of you fell into an easy rhythm of teasing and quiet moments, the garden around you seemed to hold its breath, basking in the warmth of your shared laughter and affection.

part 7 <

[hyperactively-me]

high

He whips his head around when he hears his name, eyes half-lidded. He stumbles over towards Johnny, then leans on him, placing most of his body weight onto Johnny. You stare straight at him, slightly confused.  “Oi, who’s this li’l bird then?” he slurs. Johnny stills, eyes flicking towards yours, his mouth agape. In a flash, he slams his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. 

simon is high off his ass from anesthesia and you have to deal with him. (does this count as a sick trope?? idk)

(asks are open)

happy reading

warnings: none

You didn’t know your boyfriend was coming back home tonight until you heard a hard knock on the door. The sun had already set long ago, you were settled on the couch with a good book and a cup of your favorite drink. You were forced out of your focus by a hard knock at the door. Immediately, you perk up, a little confused on who’s knocking this late in the evening. Setting your book down, you make your way to the front door. For a moment, you hesitate, and decide to peek out the window before opening the door just in case. Imagine the surprise on your face when you see Simon and Johnny standing outside the door. In a flash you’re at the door and throw it open in one swift movement. 

“Johnny?” you say, bewildered. Johnny has, what you presume to be, Simon’s bag of belongings slung over his shoulder. Your eyes dart back and forth from Johnny to Simon, who’s standing a few feet behind him looking at some nonexistent thing out in the distance. 

Before you can say anything, Johnny strides up to you, leaning down to whisper to you. 

“Lassie, listen here, he jus’ had a medical procedure done an’–”

Your face immediately morphs into concern. 

“What?”

“He was stabbed durin’ the mission. But there was a medical procedure done, stitches n’ all. 

The color drained from your face. “W- what–,” you take a deep breath trying to steady your racing thoughts. 

“No, no, don’t worry, he’s fine now, he’s just high off the anesthesia…”.

You nod your head at Johnny, mentally preparing to deal with this high behemoth of a man. You look over Johnny’s shoulder and simply say, “Simon.”

He whips his head around when he hears his name, eyes half-lidded. He stumbles over towards Johnny, then leans on him, placing most of his body weight onto Johnny. You stare straight at him, slightly confused. 

“Oi, who’s this li’l bird then?” he slurs.

Johnny stills, eyes flicking towards yours, his mouth agape. In a flash, he slams his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. 

Confusion washes over you, your eyebrows raised as Simon wriggles his eyebrows at you. 

“I–” 

Before you could say anything, Simon gives you the most goofy, silly, suave-looking grin, like he’s trying to flirt with you. You immediately regret looking back at Johnny, as his face is now contorted into something that looks like pain from trying not to laugh. That sight itself nearly makes you laugh, so much so that you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep quiet. You try to put on your most serious face while Johnny is trying to compose himself by taking a deep breath. 

“A’right, Simon, here ya are,” Johnny squeaks out. You eye Simon wearily, worried about how severe his condition is just from seeing how completely out of it he looks. 

Johnny steps to the side, moving his arm to gently push Simon inside your shared apartment. Simon stumbles forward into you, nearly knocking you over because of his physique. You gasp, trying to find your footing as he leans his body weight on you. 

“Oh, sorry lovie,” Simon rasps, grabbing your shoulders tightly as he stands himself up straight. Well, he looks kinda lopsided. He dusts your shoulders off as if he dirtied them, then squeezes your arms gently before pulling away. Johnny is trying not to laugh, your face flustered even more.

Johnny had followed you inside, motioning to the bag he still had slung over his shoulder, an amused expression present on his face.

“I’mma leave this here. It’s all of Simon’s belongins’.” You watch as he sets it down on the kitchen counter. 

“Thank you, Johnny. I appreciate you looking out for him,” you smile warmly, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. 

“Ay, it's nothin’. I’ll be in contact with ya,” Johnny nods to you, smirking playfully at you for a moment, eyes darting between you and Simon. “Alrigh’, I’m leavin’ lassie. Good luck.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you one more time before pulling the door shut.

You move to lock the door behind him, sighing as the lock clicks. You turn back to look at Simon, leaning on the front door. 

“How are you feeling?” 

He looks you up and down, unmoving from where he is standing. Save for the slight swaying of his body. 

“‘M fine,” he grunts out quickly. “You’re very pretty, aren’t ya love?” his cheeks are flushed.

You push yourself off the door and move towards him, stopping a few feet away. You look straight into his eyes, and giggle out, “Thank you, Simon.”

He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing, but tries to act suave. You think it's just the cutest thing that he’s just flirting with you like you’ve never met. You smile to yourself, knowing you’re going to have so much fun teasing him about it when the anesthesia wears off. Taking Simon’s hand in yours, you tenderly usher him further inside towards the kitchen. Dropping his hand, you go to pull out a water bottle and some painkillers that he is definitely going to need when he wakes up in the morning. He shuffles behind you on his unsteady feet, following you like a shadow. You turn around with the items in your hand, using your free hand to grab Simon’s hand once more. He immediately tenses at your touch, but he doesn’t let go.

“C’mon, big guy,” you say, guiding him through the hallway slowly enough so he can walk in a straight line. He stumbles a few times, murmuring nonsense to himself, eyes trained on the floor in front of him as he shuffles his feet. 

He stumbles a few times, prompting you to resort to slinging his arm over your shoulder, carrying the brunt of his weight as you move down the hallway. He leans on you, breathy chuckling escaping, vibrating against your body. 

“Yer too short for your own good, bird,” he slurs, chuckling at the sight of you trying to maneuver him. 

“Ah, well, nothing I can do about it,” you giggle.

He doesn’t say anything, just lets out a small “Heh.” You assume he’s too gone to even respond properly. 

You kick open your shared bedroom door, much to his surprise. 

“Oi, take me out to dinner first lovie,” he looks down at you with a lopsided grin, hair tousled and wild.

“You’re a rascal, Si,” you huff, an amused smile creeping up on your face. “Let’s lay you on the bed, okay?” 

He nods quickly, pushing you off him in an attempt to walk by himself. You watch him take a few steps, eyeing him carefully as you set down the water bottle and medicine on the bedside table. You turn the bedside lamp on, casting a soft golden glow in the room. 

“Simon, hold on.” You turn to him, gently pushing him down to sit on the edge of your shared bed. He shifts his position until his back hits the headboard, eyes half-lidded and cloudy. 

“Eh, pushy aren’t ya? Y’know, really, a dinner would be nice, love.” 

You smile, shaking your head. Kneeling on the bed next to him, you take the water bottle and place it softly into his hands. “You should probably drink some of that. I’ll be right back.”

You push yourself off the bed, making your way into the bathroom to wet a warm towel to clean his face and body. 

You come back through the door frame only to see him trying to get off the bed, feet planted on the floor, unsteadily pushing himself to standing. He takes a few wobbly steps towards you, smirking with his eyebrows raised.

“No, no, lay back down,” you protest, gently trying to push him back towards the edge of the bed. 

“No, I just wanna say, bird, you and I, we should really go out sometime, y’know,” he looks at you with a serious expression on his face, placing his hands on his hips. 

You look up at him, mouth open, the corner of your lip perking up into a bewildered smile. 

“Oh my god, Si,” you laugh. “Okay, okay, but only if you sit down and drink some water,” you say firmly, crossing your arms over your chest, feigning frustration. 

His smile is huge. God, it makes your heart flutter seeing him smile like this, like there's nothing else in the world that matters. 

He sits back down on the bed, moving back to rest up against the headboard. He places his hands behind his head, an exaggeration of himself relaxing. 

“Simon, I need to take your shirt off…” you trail off, motioning to the wet towel in your hand, already having an inkling of what he’s going to say back to you.

“D’ you now,” settling back into the bed, the biggest smirk you’ve ever seen crosses his face. “Well, bird, you've certainly got a way with words. Can't say I've met someone as bold and direct as you before.”

You look at him, open mouthed. 

“If yer speechless now, wait ‘til you see what's under my shirt,” he says matter of factly, slurring the words.

You couldn't help but smile at his bold comment, finding his charm and mischievous confidence strangely attractive. His garbled statements just contributed to the situation's humor.

You try to compose yourself by raising an eyebrow and responding, “Oh, is that so? You've certainly sparked my interest now.”

“Mhmmm,” he draws out, hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt, trying his best to tug it off his frame. His smirk widens, and he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “Darlin’', you have no idea what you're in for.”

“Simon, now is not the time,” you giggle. You reach forward, pulling him from resting on the headboard so you can help maneuver his shirt off his body. His skin is burning hot under your touch. When it finally slips off his form, with much struggle, you huff, placing it on the bedside table. 

You kneel on the edge of the bed next to him, grasping the warm towel tight as you begin to rub off any grime or dirt from his rough skin. As your touch caresses his skin, he shivers at the sensation, a subtle but noticeable reaction to your careful ministrations. 

A soft smile dances across your lips as you notice his reaction. You lean in closer, your voice filled with tenderness and affection, “Ticklish, are we?”

He chuckles, a deep rumble resonating across the air. “Just a bit, love.”

As you examine his hands, you notice their calloused texture, a testament to his tough being. You treat them delicately, soothing weary muscles and offering brief tranquility.

He sighs blissfully, his gaze locked on you, an unconscious expression of thanks and appreciation traveling between you. Taking care of his needs becomes a subtle gesture of love and dedication.

Finally, as you finish wiping away the last traces of dirt, you lean back slightly and examine his cleansed face. It now has a new luster to it, emphasizing the attractive elements that drew you in all that time ago.

“Thank you, bird,” he says as his fingertips brush over your cheek. You swear he’s almost cognizant, the way his fingers touch you.

You respond to his touch with a delicate kiss on his hand, your heart fluttering. “Always, Si.”

A devious light twinkles in his eyes as he looks into yours. “You know, love, I must confess that being pampered by such lovely hands has me feelin' a l'il spoiled,” he adds with a teasing grin. 

You rub your hand over his shoulder, massaging it slightly as your other hand moves to stow the towel away. You turn to the lamp, hand hovering over the button before you click it off.

“Ok, it’s time to sleep now, ‘kay?” you murmur, gingerly laying him down on his pillow. “Close your eyes.”

“You don’t have t’ tell me twice,” he chuckles, dragging you down with him. You’re careful to stay away from his injury, shifting slightly in his grasp. As the fatigue sets in, his eyelids begin to droop, weighted down by the day's exhaustion. His breathing grows slower and more steady, creating a beautiful lullaby that permeates the room. 

You watch, affectionately, as his features soften and his face relaxes into a serene expression. You move closer, snuggling into his good side, your hand comes to rest on his chest. He automatically draws closer to you, seeking refuge in your embrace.

His body relaxes fully as he succumbs to sleep's embrace, feeling safe and comfortable in your arms. You hug him softly yet firmly, savoring this private moment of vulnerability and trust.

You take sanctuary in the solace with each passing moment, savoring the weight of his body against yours, the rise and fall of his chest, and the softness of his breath against your skin. You gently trace your fingers through his hair, lulling him deeper into a deep slumber.

You continue to hold him until sleep takes him entirely, your love and dedication wrapping him like a warm, safe blanket. In this quiet time, you take comfort in the mere act of being together, knowing that you both greatly savor the time you spend together.

And as you begin to nod off, you take comfort in the knowledge that tomorrow will bring new moments that you'll cherish together. But for the time being, you appreciate the tranquility of the night, cradling him in your arms and savoring the calm of this shared sleep.

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x princess!reader au

this brainrot has taken over my head the past few days. i'm not sure if i want to keep it to blurbs or if it will turn into a full-fledged fic......i'll see what i feel like doing soon. anyway, this post will be the masterlist for this au of mine cause i already have a few blurbs and headcanons in the drafts tee hee. i appreciate any interaction / feedback

A/N: so originally i was going to keep this to blurbs, but the whole thing gained quite a bit of popularity! so therefore, laid before you, is about 100k+ words written! have fun reading!

(BEST READ IN ORDER)

one two meeting proposal knife journey questions massage harsh contact introductions three the wedding the reception bedtime four names sword fighting slip up lessons sick knight!soap boat almost learning, growing exploratory go again distracted suspicious hand to hand, man to woman watching punch wishes hair jealousy, jealousy general vows reading anger more jealousy attack ball nightmare jousting knife explained archery forest's edge war separation duties taken home (pt 1) home (pt 2) taken (simon's pov) safety measures it's always dinner uncle and aunt

you decide (basically, you can choose if you view this as canon or not lol) tbd

extras (these occur at no particular point in time unlike the works above ^^, so these can be read as standalone. they are also canon.) puppy love upside down poison eavesdropping staring problem oddball beach episode

non-canon alternate ending to 'anger' what if you never learned to love him like you've seen a ghost

fun little extra: meme for 'taken'

[hyperactively-me]

break in, break down

"You're stayin' with me tonight," he declares, voice firm and unwavering. You open your mouth, nearly telling him no, I'll find a hotel, but the look he shoots you suggests that you go with him. With a nod of agreement, Simon leads you away from the scene, his hand on your back firm and reassuring.

this has been sitting in my drafts for like, ever. it's not the best cause its super old, like months old and i lowkey forgot i even had it, but it'll do for now while i'm in this writing rut.

happy reading <3

warnings: home invasion, panic attack reaction (i think that's it? lmk if i missed anything please!)

A loud bang reverberates through your apartment, your peaceful sleep interrupted.

You open your eyes with a start, the volume of the sound causing your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

You're silent for another moment until the sound of glass shattering causes you to jump. You sit up now, dumbfounded for a brief moment before unshakable anxiety takes over.

There's no way this could be happening to you right now.

You immediately leap out of bed, grabbing a stray hoodie off the floor, slipping it over your thin pajamas. Next, you grab your phone with shaky hands, trembling from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through your veins. The sounds from outside your bedroom are starting to get louder. You swipe your car keys from your drawer, shoving them into the pocket of your hoodie.

In a frenzy, you grope under your bed for a baseball bat, struggling to steady your shaking hands as you grip it tightly. The rattling of your doorknob nearly makes you pass out in fear. Simon had told you multiple times to keep your door locked when you sleep, stressing to you that it wasn't safe to leave it unlocked, especially at night.

There was no way you could escape through the hallway. Lucky for you, your apartment is on the first floor of the building, meaning that you would be able to safely jump out of your bedroom window without injuring yourself.

You place all your things down quickly, unlatching your window from its locks. You heave it open with all your might, grunting as you hold it up to lock it into an open position. Grabbing your baseball bat first, you throw it out the window and onto the grass below you. Could never be too safe.

Suddenly, the person or people on the other side of your door start kicking at it, the flimsy wood shaking from the impacts. You bite back a scream, prompting you to jump out of your window, dropping onto the grass below you clumsily.

You don't bother looking back as you sprint to your car in the adjacent parking lot, throwing yourself into the drivers seat unceremoniously.

Without another thought, you dial 911. Running on pure adrenaline, you tell the operator your address and the urgency of the situation. The kind voice on the other end tells you that the police are on their way before you hang up.

You bite back a sob as your shaking hands type in Simon's phone number. You hold your phone up to your, chewing your finger as it rings once, twice, and the line picks up.

"Hullo?" a scratchy, sleep-ridden voice on the other end of the line rings out. His accent sounds particularly thick.

"Simon," your voice breaks, the adrenaline now worn off, leaving you a wreck.

"What's wrong?" he asks immediately, now sounding more awake. You hear shuffling on the other end.

"I- I think my apartment got broken into," you sob, fat tears now freely falling down your cheeks. "I'm so scared," you cry, bawling like a baby.

Simon's voice takes on a sharp urgency. "'M coming over right now. Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"I'm in my car, in the parking lot," you say tearfully, trying to wipe the tears from your face unsuccessfully.

"I've already called 911; they're on the way—" you add, clutching onto your phone.

The sound of a door opening and slamming shut crackles through the phone. "Be there in ten. Stay on the line, love."

"I'm scared," you cry again, your free hand trembling as you reach to make sure your car door is locked.

"I know, love, I know. Just hang in there. 'M on my way," Simon reassures you, his voice gentle. The ten-minute wait feels like an eternity as you sit in your car, sniffling every so often as you look out your car windows to make sure no one is coming towards you.

Sirens wail in the distance, the police clearly arriving on scene. Despite the growing fear gnawing at you, Simon's voice provides a source of comfort.

"The police are almost here," you breath into the phone, pulling your knees up to your chest.

"Good, I'm here," he grunts. You look up and see his truck hurtling through the parking lot, stopping abruptly right behind your car. He slides out of his car, rushing to the drivers side of your car.

The moment he reaches your car, you throw open the door and practically fall into his arms. Simon holds you tight as you fall into him, sobs wracking your body.

"Don't cry," he soothes, pulling you tighter against him. "'S alright, 's handled."

He cradles you in his grasp, running his hand over your hair as you sob into his t-shirt, fists bunching up the fabric. You cling to him as if he's your lifeline, the scent of his t-shirt grounding you ever so slightly.

"I've got you," he murmurs, rubbing your back.

Your sobs gradually subside into quiet sniffles, and you take a deep breath.

The distant wailing of sirens grows closer, indicating the police are here. Simon releases you just enough to glance over his shoulder at the approaching vehicles. "The police are here," you whisper, your voice shaky but relieved.

The flashing lights of police cars illuminate the surroundings as officers approach. Simon steps back, maintaining a protective stance beside you.

Two police officers approach you and Simon, asking for details about the break-in. You pull at the hem of your hoodie, trying to cover up your practically bare thighs from your tiny pajamas. Simon settles his hand on your lower back, encouraging you to speak to the officers. You recount the events timidly, telling them as much as you know. After providing your statement, the police assure you they'll investigate your apartment, but advise you that it's not the best to stay there tonight. For obvious reasons.

Upon their insistence of you spending the night somewhere else, before you could even open your mouth, Simon is insisting, no, demanding that you stay with him for the night.

"You're stayin' with me tonight," he declares, voice firm and unwavering.

You open your mouth, nearly telling him no, I'll find a hotel, but the look he shoots you suggests that you go with him.

With a nod of agreement, Simon leads you away from the scene, his hand on your back firm and reassuring.

As you approach his truck, Simon opens the door for you. He helps you up into the passenger seat, making sure you're settled before closing the door with a determined thud. Simon then strides around to the driver's side, the scent of him lingering in the air as he gets in. The engine roars to life, and you find comfort in the steady hum of the engine.

The drive to Simon's place is mostly quiet. He occasionally glances at you, concern etched into his features. You stare out of the window, the events of the night replaying in your mind. You shiver in your seat, thinking about what could have happened if you hadn't escaped through your window. Simon's hand finds yours, a silent gesture that makes your heart ache with gratitude.

As you pull into Simon's driveway, you're met with the warm glow of his porch light. The familiar sight brings a new sense of relief. It's not the first time you've been to his quaint home. Simon turns off the engine, and without a word, he's at your side, opening the door for you again.

He leads you inside, the click of the door shutting behind you echoing in the quiet house. Simon heads to the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets. Moments later, he appears with a mug of tea, a small but comforting gesture. He hands it to you, the warmth seeping into your cold hands.

"Drink this. It'll help calm your nerves," he says, his voice gentle.

You take a sip, the familiar taste of chamomile offering a small respite. Simon sits across from you, watching as you try to steady your trembling hands. The silence between you isn't uncomfortable; it's a shared understanding that words might not be enough to mend the damage that's been dealt.

After a while, Simon breaks the silence. "I'll make up the spare room for you. Take your time. We'll deal with everythin' in the morning."

He disappears down the hall, leaving you alone in the living room. You look around his living room, eyeing his front door for a brief moment. You finish the tea and set the mug on the coffee table, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

When you enter the spare room, you find it tidy and pretty bare. The scent of clean sheets and the comforting atmosphere of his home a stark difference from your own. You watch as he double checks the windows to make sure they're locked tight. He also shows you the lock on your own bedroom door.

"Everythin' is secure, 've triple checked it all," Simon states, turning from the window to look at you. His concern is evident in his eyes, and you nod in response.

"Thank you, Simon. I appreciate all of this," you say, your voice quiet.

He moves over to the wall, crouching down to plug a night light into the wall. He taps it a few times to make sure it works. When it flickers on, he grunts, satisfied. Pushing himself up to standing, he walks over to you.

He gives you a reassuring smile. "No need to thank me. 'S the least I can do. You get some rest. 'M right across the hall if you need anything."

With that, he leaves the room, gently closing the door behind him. You make sure to lock the door behind him as he leaves. You crawl into bed, pulling the covers over your weary body, exhaustion settling in.

You close your eyes, hoping that sleep will offer some reprieve. As you lay there, the events of the night replay in your mind. The fear, the vulnerability, and the violation of your home weigh heavily on you. Slight sounds make you jump in fear, and all of a sudden you start to breath heavily. You can't be in here, not alone.

You stumble out of the room, practically falling into the hallway. The dim glow of the nightlight casts long shadows, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. Determined, you make your way to Simon's door and knock softly.

The door opens, and Simon appears, concern etched on his face. "Everythin' alright, love?"

You can barely form the words, your voice barely a whisper. "Can't stay in there alone."

Without hesitation, Simon opens the door wider, gesturing for you to enter. His room is dark, all lights off. You step inside his room, tugging your hoodie tighter around your body. You settle onto the edge of his bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to ward off the residual fear.

Simon shuts and locks the door behind him, plunging you both into darkness, save for the slight shine of the moon pouring through between a crack in his curtains.

Simon stands in front of you, looking down with a mix of empathy and concern in his eyes. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need. I don't mind."

"Thank you," you manage to say, the vulnerability in your voice more pronounced in the darkness of the room.

Simon hesitates for a moment before flicking on a small bedside lamp. The soft light casts a warm glow across the room, revealing a space that's both lived-in and comforting. You feel a bit more at ease.

He pulls a chair from his desk and sits across from you, leaving a respectful distance. The silence between you is filled with unspoken words, the weight of the night's events hanging in the air. Simon's gaze is unwavering, and you find solace in the fact that he understands what you need without the need for words.

As the minutes tick by, the atmosphere in the room becomes less tense. Simon breaks the silence, his voice a gentle murmur. "I don't want you to go through this alone. You deserve to feel safe, love."

You manage a weak smile, touched by his sincerity. "Thank you, Simon. You really don't have to be doing all of this for me--"

"Don't say that, I want to," he cuts you off gruffly, offended as if you would even suggest that you weren't worthy enough of his care.

His response hangs in the air, and you notice a flicker of something in Simon's eyes—a hint of frustration or something deeper. The unspoken tension lingers, causing you to shift slightly.

"I just... I don't want you to feel unsafe," Simon adds, his voice softer this time. He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, his gaze fixed on yours. "Or alone. Fuckin' hell, if you hadn't been able to get out of there..."

He stops, jaw ticking as he thinks. He can't even say it.

The room feels charged with unspoken emotions, and you sense a vulnerability in Simon that mirrors your own.

"Simon," you say softly, your voice a gentle reassurance, "I feel safe with you."

"I've... 've cared about you for a long time, maybe more than I should," Simon admits, his words hanging in the air like a fragile confession.

The vulnerability in his admission tugs at your heart, and you find yourself pushing yourself up off the edge of the bed, cupping his face in your hands.

"I've cared about you too," you confess, the weight of the unspoken finally lifted.

He looks up, meeting your eyes with a mixture of relief and adoration. Simon's hand reaches up to grasp your wrist lightly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand, his eyes searching yours for confirmation.

"I never want you to feel unsafe or alone again. I can't stand the thought of somethin' happenin' t' you."

Your heart swells at the sincerity of his words, and you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

The conversation lulls, and for a moment, it's just the two of you in the sanctuary of Simon's bedroom. The emotional exhaustion begins to take its toll, and your eyes grow heavy.

He stands from his chair, grasping your upper arms gently, leading you towards his bed once again. Before he sits you down, he looks at you expectantly.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes," you nod, "I've never wanted anything more."

With your permission, he lays you down on his bed, following you into the bed with a contained eagerness. He drags you up until you're settled on a pillow. Simon slides into the mattress right next to you, pulling the covers up and over the both of you. You turn on your side to face him, eyes searching his face just before he turns off the lamp, plunging you both into darkness.

Simon's hand brushes against your forearm, seeking permission yet again. You scoot over until you're flush against him, cheeks heating up at the proximity. You feel Simon's warm presence beside you, his hand finding its place on your waist before he pulls you up against him, cuddling you. Simon's fingers trace patterns on your back, a soothing motion that pulls you deeper into relaxation.

"Get some rest. I'll be right here if you need anything, love," Simon whispers, playing with the ends of your hair.

"Thank you," you whisper into the darkness, your voice barely audible but carrying a depth of gratitude.

He tightens his grip on your waist, a silent affirmation that he's here for you, that you're not alone. The warmth of his touch and the gentle rise and fall of his breath provide a sense of security that eases the lingering tension in your body.

. . . 

The morning light begins to seep through the curtains, casting a soft glow in Simon's room. As you slowly awaken, the events of the previous night come back to you in fragments. You turn slightly to find Simon still asleep beside you, his features softened by the morning light. His arm is draped protectively over you, and a sense of peace settles in the room. For a moment, you simply revel in the quiet stillness, savoring the moment.

As Simon begins to stir, his eyes meet yours, and a sleepy smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you reply, a small smile playing on your lips. The air in the room feels different, more relaxed.

Simon props himself up on one elbow, his gaze searching yours. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I thought I would," you admit, a genuine warmth in your voice. "Still kinda freaked out that people broke in to my apartment, but better."

He nods thoughtfully. "We should probably get up, check in with the police," Simon suggests, but there's a reluctance in his eyes to let go of the warmth of the bed.

You cuddle against him once more, hugging him tightly. His arm comes to wrap around your back, hand splayed across your skin.

"Yeah, we should," you say, pulling away gently as you push yourself out of bed.

"We're goin' together," he tells you. "And I will be installing a new security system in your apartment."

You manage a small smile. "I don't think you understand how much I appreciate you for this."

He sighs as he leads you to his small kitchen. "You never have to thank me for anything, love."

Before you can retort, he turns to you. "Let's get some breakfast in ya. How do you like your eggs?"

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 1)

oops my fingers slipped oh nooo. I just watched Pride and Prejudice (2005 of course) and finished the first half of Bridgerton season 3, and this just fell out of my head sooo here ya go

In the heart of debutante season, the grand halls of the manor glittered with an optimistic opulence. Crystal chandeliers hung in every room, and the laughter of the ton mingled with the notes of lively waltzes and invigorating English country dances. Simon Riley, the newly titled Duke, stood at the edge of the ballroom, a stern figure amidst the merrymaking. His eyes scanned the room, but they held no warmth; they were as cold and unyielding as the battles he had once fought in wars. 

Duke Simon Riley had gained his title through his distinguished military service, a feat that made him both revered and feared. His demeanor was hardened, his interactions brusque, and he regarded social gathering and balls with a thinly veiled disdain. He considered balls and galas a different kind of battle, one he navigated with nearly the same stoic resolve as he had the warfront.

Across the room, you move with effortless grace, the hem of your gown bustling around your feet. You are the embodiment of elegance and propriety, your every movement reflecting your strict upbringing. You were popular amongst the ton, your dance card nearly always full. You didn’t really mind, to a certain extent; yet, you’ve never had a dance partner who went past superficial conversation. It was something that irked you, but you had resigned yourself to it a long time ago.

Your father, a Lord, had made it a point earlier in the night to introduce you to the Duke. You glide through the sea of silk and satin, approaching your father’s proud smile in the corner of the ballroom. Next to him was the Duke; a tall, broad man. Quite handsome, you thought to yourself.

“Ah, here she is,” your father said warmly, taking your hand and leading you towards the Duke. “Allow me to introduce Duke Simon Riley. Your Grace, may I present my daughter.” 

You curtsy deeply as your father announces your title and name, your eyes fluttering open to meet the Duke as you offer a polite smile. 

Simon turns his steely gaze upon you, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgement. “My lady,” he said, his voice as cold and formal as his expression.  

“Your Grace, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have heard much about your service.”

“Indeed,” Simon replies, his tone clipped. “I hope the reality does not disappoint.” 

You tilt your head slightly, maintaining your composure at his bluntness. “On the contrary, Your Grace, I find the tales of your exploits quite fascinating. It must have required immense strength and courage.” 

“It required duty,” he said forthrightly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And an ability to see through distractions.” 

Something in his tone struck you, a subtle but clear implication that left you momentarily speechless. You clear your throat, smoothing out of the front of your dress. “Well, we are all very fortunate that you were not distracted, Your Grace. Otherwise, who knows where we might be?”

Simon’s lips twitched, standing straighter than ever, but his eyes remained hard. “Yes, distractions can be dangerous. Such as a ballroom, where idle chatter and trivial pursuits often mask the true nature of one’s character.”

He eyed you up and down as he spoke, and you feel as though the wind has been knocked out of your lungs. You feel your cheeks heat up with anger at his veiled insult. 

“Your Grace, I must respectfully disagree. A ballroom is where one’s true character is often revealed; most often through grace, kindness, and the ability to navigate society with dignity.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, his expression unmoved. “It is easy to speak of ‘grace and kindness’ when one has never faced true adversity, my Lady. Perhaps your perspective would be different if you had seen the world as it truly is.”

Your temper flares at his condescension, your grip tightening on the skirts of your dress as you step closer. “And perhaps, Your Grace,” you hiss, “if you had ever taken the time to understand the world beyond the battlefield, you might see that strength and bravery comes in many forms. It doesn’t give you the right to belittle the lives and joys of others.” 

Your father steps forward, sensing the need to intervene. “Now, now,” he says, his tone conciliator. “Let not a misunderstanding spoil the evening.”

But the damage had already been done. Simon’s eyes remained fixed on you, eyebrows pinched and eyes cold. He had offended you greatly, swiping at your character even though he knows nothing of you. 

With a final cursory glance at him, you excuse yourself with as much dignity as you could muster, your heart pounding with anger and hurt.

As you walk away, you could feel Simon’s gaze boring into your back. You do your best to shake off your emotions, trying to regain your composure. An evening that had started with hope and lightness had turned bitter. And while the Duke might have won many wars, he would find that you were not one to back down easily. You were determined to show him that in the realm of society, you were just as formidable an opponent as he was in war.

> part 2

[hyperactively-me]

gentle hands

Simon opens his eyes, turning his head slightly to look at you. Your eyes meet his. You lean down to kiss him slowly, softly.  When you pull away, Simon speaks, his voice softer now, “I missed this. Just bein’ home, with you.” You smile, a mixture of understanding and love in your eyes. “I missed you too,” you whisper, your fingers tracing patterns on his shoulder.

Simon arrives home after a particularly tough mission

warnings: none

Ghost found himself recovering from a tough mission, his body weary and spirit longing for a moment of solace. He was on his way home, allowed a short-term leave after the mission went successfully. It was by no means an easy mission, it took a toll on him. He felt more exhausted, more drained, than normal. He just wanted a moment of peace, a moment of quiet, where he could just relax.

When he arrived at the front door of your shared apartment, he took a breath. He fumbled with hands for a moment, pulling his keys out and unlocking the door. He calls out your name as he kicks the door shut, setting his things down on the kitchen counter.

You were in the living room, sitting on the couch in your pajamas, engrossed in a book, the soft hum of music playing in the background. Hearing Simon’s voice, you looked up from the pages and a smile bloomed on your face. You spring up from the couch as he walks into the living room. The sight of him, battle-worn but alive, brought a sense of relief. 

“Hey there, big man,” you said, your voice a comforting melody. Simon turns towards you, a half-smile forming on his lips. His fatigue seemed to momentarily lift as he looked at the smile on your face.

“Hey,” he replied, the weariness evident in his voice. You closed the distance between you, and he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the residue of whatever he was doing on mission slowly melting away in the comfort of your presence.

“Rough one, huh?” you ask, pulling back slightly to look at him. He nods, his eyes revealing a layer of exhaustion.

“Yeah, tougher than usual,” Ghost admitted. “But we got the job done.”

You led him to the couch, and he sank into it with a sigh, his body appreciating the respite. You disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a glass of water for him. As he took a sip, you studied his features, noting the subtle scars and bruises that adorned his face.

“Anything I can do?” you asked, genuine concern in your voice. Simon shook his head, appreciating the simple offer.

“Just bein’ here ‘s enough,” he replied, setting the glass aside. You sat down beside him, your presence a soothing balm to his aching body. You begin to run your hands down his arms, feeling the tension of his muscles under his clothes.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” you question softly, running your hands down his arm and to his hand, squeezing it in your grip.

He tilts his head over towards you, eyes drooping slightly.

“Sounds lovely,” he grunts, nodding his head.

You rose gracefully from the couch, giving Simon’s hand a reassuring squeeze before disappearing into the bathroom. You turned the tap, adjusting the water temperature to perfection, adding a hint of soothing helichrysum oil.

Simon, in the meantime, made his way to the bedroom, peeling off his tactical gear and clothes, revealing a body marked by the trials of combat. He finally slips his mask off, folding it neatly on top of his pile of clothes. He took a deep breath as he heard the water cascading into the tub. The scent of helichrysum wafted through the air, a fragrant promise of relaxation.

When everything was ready, you returned to him, gently guiding him towards the bathroom. The steam from the bath enveloped him as he sank into the warm water, the tension in his muscles slowly dissipating. You perch on the edge of the tub, watching him with tenderness and slight concern. 

As Simon closed his eyes, surrendering to the comforting embrace of the bath, you dipped a washcloth into the water and began to delicately clean the black paint from around his eyes. The touch of your hands was gentle, a welcome contrast from roughing it on base. 

“I appreciate this,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. 

A warm smile appears on your face as you carefully pour warm water over his head, letting it cascade down his hair and down his neck. Simon closes his eyes, feeling the comforting touch of the water against his scalp.

As you began to work shampoo through Simon’s hair, your fingers massaging his scalp, Simon let out a contented sigh. The stress and exhaustion of the mission slowly melted away, replaced by a sense of peace. Your gentle hands made him feel cared for, safe. 

“You deserve this,” you replied softly. “Let me take care of you for a change.”

The bathroom was filled with a soothing silence, broken only by the sound of water trickling and your quiet breaths. Your touch is tender, each stroke of your hands carrying a touch of affection. Simon relished in the simplicity of the moment, the way you were so gentle with him.

Simon opens his eyes, turning his head slightly to look at you. Your eyes meet his. You lean down to kiss him slowly, softly. 

When you pull away, Simon speaks, his voice softer now, “I missed this. Just bein’ home, with you.”

You smile, a mixture of understanding and love in your eyes. “I missed you too,” you whisper, your fingers tracing patterns on his shoulder.

Once the bath has worked its magic, you help Simon to his feet, helping him wrap a plush towel around his waist. The scent of the bath oil lingered on his skin, a comforting reminder of the care you’d provided for him. The two of you returned to the bedroom, where a set of fresh clothes awaited him.

Simon changed into sweats and a soft t-shirt, a welcome change from his heavy tactical gear. He settles onto the bed, groaning with relief as his back hits the mattress. You giggle as he lays silently in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Just as you’re about to grab a cup of tea, Simon is grabbing your wrist tightly, pulling you back towards the bed. 

“‘M sleepy,” he complains. “Can’t sleep very well without you.”

You lean down to kiss him on the cheek, gently pulling your wrist from his grip. 

“I’m just going to get you a cup of tea—”

“No, ‘ve already gotten enough princess treatment from you—” he grunts, sitting up from his position to manhandle you into bed with him. 

You sigh in defeat, arms coming to wrap around his neck as he pulls you on top of him. His hands travel up from your thighs to your waist, pulling you tight against him. He only removes his hands from you for a quick second to pull the covers up on the bed. 

The warmth of the bed enveloped both of you as you settled into the cozy cocoon of blankets. Simon’s weariness was evident, yet his grip on you was firm, as if afraid that if he let go, the world would pull him back into its relentless demands.

You chuckled at his antics, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You're stubborn, you know that?”

“Only to you,” he replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes, his hands still holding you close.

You snuggled against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the ambient sounds of the night outside. Simon’s exhaustion seemed to ebb away as he held you, finding solace in the simple act of being close.

You traced circles on his chest, your fingers moving rhythmically as if to lull him into a peaceful slumber. Simon’s gaze softened as he looked down at you.

“Y’know,” he began, his voice a gentle murmur, “coming home to you is the best part of any mission.”

Your heart swelled with pride at his words. “And having you here is the best part of my day.”

He smiled, a genuine, tired smile. Simon’s hands traced gentle patterns on your back. The lines of fatigue on his face were replaced by an expression of peacefulness, a quiet acknowledgment that, for now, the battles were outside and the peace was within.

“Tea can wait,” Simon mumbled, his eyes heavy with sleep.

You nodded, snuggling even closer. “Go to sleep, my big sleepy man.”

And with that, the two of you drifted into a peaceful slumber, finding refuge in the sanctuary of your bedroom, happy to be reunited once more.

[hyperactively-me]

Okay But this scenario:

(Y/N) and King! Ghost: *making out behind a bookcase in the royal library*

Soap, walking in the library: Your Majesty?

(Y/N): *shoves Simon off of her* it’s soap!

Simon, still holding onto her hips: Ow :(

(Y/N): *whispering* what’s soap going to think if he finds the king like this with me?

Simon: hmmm…lucky king?

(Y/N): *starts slapping his arm with one hand while she uses the other to readjust her dress.* SIMON!

teehee, this is a good one!! thank you for the idea 🙏

You were supposed to be studying right now, but Simon had other plans in mind. The plans in mind included being pressed up against the side of a bookshelf in the far corner of the royal library. A few books had fallen off the shelf when he walked you backwards until you hit the wooden obstacle, and he took the liberty of basically placing his whole body weight up against you as he pawed at you. 

You had tried to protest at first, saying how inappropriate this was, but as soon as he put his lips on yours, you were a goner.

"Si- Simon, not now," you scold as you grip your book tighter, his fingers caressing your cheeks gently.

You had gotten up to go find another book, searching through the bookshelves methodically. Simon was trailing behind you like a lost puppy, fingers grazing your waist every time you stopped.

"Really, I'm busy," you say, not as firm this time as he starts to squeeze your flesh. You try so hard to ignore it, but you're slowly giving in.

"Are you?"

He grasps your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, pulling your gaze away from the spines of books.

"Y- yes?" you squeak, your focus being pulled solely towards Simon.

Before you know it, he's kissing you, pulling your body flush against his. He had rucked your dress up, palming and squeezing your ass as he swallowed your kisses with his tongue. You groan lightly as you push yourself on him, his large hand grabbing your hips, trying to yank you against his thigh. 

A small moan escapes your throat as he kneads your skin, tongue shoved deep inside your velvety mouth. 

"Your majesty?" a voice calls out. Soap's voice. Oh fuck.

Immediately you start to shove Simon off you, pushing him back with all the strength you could muster up. He tilts his body in an instant, shielding you from view from the direction of the voice, just in case. You try to push him off again, but he refuses to let go, hands still firmly fastened on your hips. 

"What is Soap gonna think if he finds us like this?" you whisper yell, gripping onto his arm.

"Hmm...lucky king?" he responds quietly as he licks his lips, the lilt in his voice borderline cocky. 

Your mouth falls open at his response, and with feigned anger, you slap his bicep to let go of you.

"Simon! Now is not the time for jokes," you reprimand, your face growing warm, swatting his arm like an angered cat. 

"'S not a joke, but okay," he smirks at you, giving your ass a final squeeze before backing off. 

You smooth out your dress and hair as fast as you can, making sure you look presentable enough. Simon, the lucky bastard, looked perfectly normal. Clothes all in place, save for his slightly messy hair. He could write it off so easily as just forgetting to comb his hair, though. Why does he look so fucking perfect all the time, you think to yourself. 

"How do I look?" you whisper, patting your dress down a final time.

"Fuckable."

You just stand there. Horny fucking bastard. If your cheeks weren't warm before, they were on fire now. And his words definitely don't stop you from feeling a certain wetness between your thighs. You clear your throat loudly as you turn to move towards Soap's voice. 

"Goodbye, Simon," you say brushing past him, clutching onto your dress so you can speed walk away to Soap. 

Eh, she'll get used to that, he thinks to himself with a smirk, following behind you.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[hyperactively-me]

i never reblog things on this blog, but i love this post 🩵

it's actually wonderful and a gift and 100% okay that we all have our own interpretation/understanding of a character

we can think about them at different points in their timeline/arc. we can put them in new situations and extrapolate. we can tweak their setting. or their motivations or their needs or their personality or or or

these are fictional characters. they are gray and multifaceted and not at all static. we can continue to fictionalize them to our heart's content

there is no one singular "correct" characterization. we don't have to decide on a "right" one. we interpret characters differently because we are different. we all have our own version--maybe even many versions!--and that's good and fun and the whole entire point of creativity

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- exploratory

it’s giving anakin and padme in the fields in that one scene from attack of the clones except add in smut 💐

warnings: smut, virgin!reader, loss of virginity, missionary (also yes i am aware that this is fantasy and theres no protection here, she's not gonna get pregnant from this time because i say so lol i make the rules!)

Under the vast expanse of the open sky, the gentle clip-clop of hooves resonated through the serene countryside. You and Ghost rode side by side on your horses, the wind playing with your hair as you explored the winding trails and rolling hills of Kastron. You were rarely let out of the castle, so this little day trip with Ghost was meaningful to you. You were excited to see the natural beauty of Kastron. There was an air of freedom around you, the two of you escaping your responsibilities just for today, finding solace in the beauty of nature. 

As you rounded a bend, the landscape before you transformed into a breathtaking sea of color. A ginormous flower field stretched out like a living painting, petals swaying in the breeze like waves on a tranquil sea. Your eyes widened in awe, a delighted gasp escaping your lips. You reined in your horse, a large grin forming on your face. 

“Simon, look at this!” you exclaimed, your voice tinged with excitement. 

Ghost pulled his horse to a stop beside you, his gaze following your pointing finger. The corner of his lips quirked up as he studied your reaction, his normally stoic expression softening in the presence of your sheer delight. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice warm.

You turned to him, your eyes sparkling. “I've never seen anything like it! I’m going to see it up close.” You slide off the saddle, patting your mare before turning to face the fields. 

"Of course," Ghost replied, his tone holding a hint of amusement. He sits high atop his horse, studying your form. 

The scent of flowers filled the air, wrapping around your body as you entered the field. The world was a carousel of colors ��� vibrant reds, delicate pinks, and radiant yellows, – all coming together to create a rainbow. 

Unable to contain your enthusiasm, you let out a joyful whoop, throwing your arms up in the arm. You spin around, your arms outstretched, face upturned to the warm sun. Your laughter blended with the rustling of greenery in the breeze. Turning your gaze to Simon, you found him watching you with an affectionate glint in his eyes. Your elation mirrored his expression, and a comfortable silence settled between you.

With a mischievous grin, you whip around and take off running through the field, your feet sinking into the soft earth with each step you take. Simon’s gasps for a moment, watching you take off. He jumps off his horse, following you as you twirl and skip amidst the flowers. His heart swells in his chest at your joy, in your simple infatuation with the fields of flowers. You’re dozens of feet ahead of him, your dress whipping in the wind as you frolick. 

Yet, as you looked back to see where Simon was, you stumbled over your own feet, your laughter mixing with a surprised yelp as you fell to the ground. Simon’s heart lurches, and he breaks out into a sprint towards you, his concern immediate. 

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he asks, chest heaving, falling to his knees beside you on the ground. 

You roll over onto your back, your hands hiding your face. He can’t tell if you’re laughing or crying. 

“D- don’t cry,” he says gently, hands hovering over your form. 

You bring your hands down over your mouth, and he sees your eyes are filled with mischief. 

You burst into laughter, unable to contain the amusement bubbling within you. As your eyes meet his concerned gaze, you can’t help but laugh even harder, your mirth contagious. 

“I- I’m not crying, Simon!” you manage to get out between fits of laughter.

Simon blinks at you, clearly confused by your reaction. Relief starts to mingle with his confusion as he watches you laugh, and then his lips slowly curl into a reluctant smile. 

“You scared me for a moment,” he says, letting out an exhale. He looks at you, your smile, your beautiful face, and it suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. He rips his balaclava off his face unexpectedly, catching you off guard. You look up at him, mouth slightly agape as your laughter dies down. 

Suddenly, he straddles you, swinging his legs on each side of your body. He presses his hands into your shoulders, fingers gently squeezing your soft skin. You gasp at the feeling of his body on top of yours, and you bring your hands up to hold his wrists. You grin up at him, your eyes dancing with amusement. The flowers you’re laying in surround you like a colorful crown. The sight of you laying amongst them makes Simon’s heart pound. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just clumsy…” you murmur, brushing his tousled hair with your fingers.

He just looks at you. Your eyes flit to his mouth, his lips slightly parted. He hovers over you, unspoken desires hanging in the balance of the moment.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all day,” you whisper, trailing one of your hands up his chest. 

Before he could respond, you closed your grip on his tunic and gently tugged, pulling him down towards you. The surprise in his eyes turned to a mixture of warmth and anticipation as your lips met in a soft, tender kiss. 

He groans quietly into your mouth, his hands drag up from your shoulders to cup your face. 

As you pulled away, Simon’s lips curved into a genuine smile. "That was worth tripping for."

You chuckled, your fingers tracing patterns on the fabric of his tunic. "Definitely worth it."

He kisses you again, pressing his hulking body on top of you. He slides his tongue into your mouth, his hands cupping your cheeks to deepen the kiss. You gasp into the kiss, eyes instinctively screwing shut because you’re so full of anticipation and your body has gone to jelly because Simon is engulfing your senses, so big and strong, so perfect, as he kisses you. 

The warmth of his body against yours ignites a fire within you, the moment intensifying as he gives you more, more, more. Every touch, every caress means something more than it ever has before.

He breaks away from the kiss, panting with his face flushed. He licks his lips, pupils blown as he stares at you with nothing but adoration. 

“Si, please.” 

That nickname, the breathy please that fell from your lips. 

It was over for him. 

In an instant, he’s latched onto your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along your skin, hands running down the sides of your body. He presses his hands into your sides, squeezing your soft curves. He lifts his head up from your neck when you let out the quietest, breathy moan. He looks down at you, your mouth slightly agape, his eyes search your face. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You lick your lips, nodding your head.

“No, no, darling, I need to hear you. Use your words.”

You shudder at his words, at his implications. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Good girl.”

He delves back into your neck, sliding his hand behind your head to push you closer to him. 

“Wanna make y’feel good,” he mumbles into your neck between kisses, nipping at the sensitive skin. Warmth floods your face as he speaks, your core growing wet with arousal. You press your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the growing pressure in your core, your clit throbbing as he kisses you. 

Your hands brush over his broad shoulders, swallowing as he works on your neck. Suddenly, he starts sucking hard at your skin, putting pressure into the curve. He kisses a trail from your neck, up to your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You gasp quietly, and he pulls away, admiring his work. The feeling of his feather light breath on your skin makes you shiver ever so slightly, arching your body up into him. He lets out an amused huff, running his fingers through your hair. 

“What do you want, lovie?” he coos, twirling your hair in his fingers. 

“Everything,” you moan lightly, your fingers finding their way into his hair, pulling him close to you as your heart races. 

He nods once, then tilts his head to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. He’s so gentle with you, methodical and patient in a way you’ve never experienced or expected from someone like him. 

“‘M gonna take my time with you,” he says gently, searching your eyes. “Tell me, please, tell me if it’s ever too much at any point.” 

You cup his face with your hands. He flicks away a stray flower petal that fell into your hair. 

“I trust you,” you smile at him, stroking a thumb along his cheek. 

With that, he slowly makes his way down to your legs, hands pressing into your ankles as he starts to lift your legs over his shoulders. He starts to bunch up the skirt of your dress, pulling it up ever so slightly to give him access to your dripping core. 

“Wait, won’t someone—”

“No one will see, I promise,” he says firmly, giving you a reassuring squeeze before delving under the skirt of your dress. “Besides, there's no one around here for miles,” he chuckles under your skirt. 

The anticipation nearly kills you as you feel his hot breath on the insides of your thighs, your pussy throbbing for pleasure. He peppers light kisses on the insides of your thighs, calloused hands gripping onto your supple skin with purpose. One of his hands cups your clothed sex, a finger tracing the thin cotton of your panties. You’re so wet already, and he had only kissed you.

“S’ wet already,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.” 

You gasp, hands reaching out to your sides in the earth as he slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulls your panties down your legs and around your ankles. 

And then, as soon as he fully pulls your panties off, his mouth is on your core, licking a single stripe up your wet pussy. A light moan slips from your lips as this newfound sensation, grasping the grass and flowers around you, pulling at the flimsy stems for support. Simon starts to run his tongue in circular motions around your clit, applying pressure into it as he expertly explores your pussy. You moan louder now, more freely, as he applies pressure, thighs quivering as he sucks on you, lapping your wetness like a man starved.

You can’t take it anymore, you pull your dress off his head, raking your hands through his hair as he laps at your sweet cunt. You watch as he delves in and out, watch as his nose presses against your clit just right, his tongue pressing into your hole ever so slightly. Your back arches as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, tugging his hair as you moan. Simon flits his eyes to you, still lapping at your pussy with an eagerness as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. That cheeky bastard. 

“Si,” you whimper, a plea for a moment to take in what you were feeling. You make another sound, a mix between his name and a moan, all high pitched and breathless, and he groans, his pants feeling extra tight and restricting. He exchanges a groan into your core as he holds you tighter.

“Taste s’ good f’me,” he grunts against you, “such a beautiful girl."

His groans are muted but dripping with desire against your wet cunt, pulling and sucking your clit into his mouth. You writhe under him, moans freely slipping from your lips, pressing your core up against his face as you arch your back into him. You can feel him salivating against you, worshiping you like a man starved, like you were the most precious thing in the world. You are to him, though. You’re everything and more to him.

The coil deep within you starts to build towards a climax, your muscles tightening as he works on relaxing you, on helping you reach the pleasure that you so highly deserved.

“Let go,” he says against your clit, squeezing your thighs in encouragement. The huskiness of his voice, the way his tongue expertly explores your core is enough for the coil in your abdomen to unravel, and you cum on his tongue. You moan breathlessly, muttering his name, chest heaving as you let go. 

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he breathes as he pulls away, licking your dripping wetness from his lips. “Perfect, beautiful girl.”

You keen at his praises, tugging at his hair harder as he lifts up from your core. His cheeks are flushed, lips swollen. You’re panting, heart racing, staring up into the sky, blissed out from your first orgasm. You whimper as you watch him lick his lips, and you reach your hands out for him to come to you. He immediately obeys, and as he hovers over you, you can see how his cock is straining against his pants. You push yourself up onto your elbows, eyeing his bulge for a moment before he kisses you, hard and deep. He shoves his tongue in your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

“So good,” you say in between kisses. Your hands dragging up to the collar of his shirt. You start to paw on it, wanting him to take it off. 

“Take this off, please,” you beg, fingers sloppily moving to the buttons of his shirt. 

The way you say please so prettily, he’ll do anything for you. Anything.

He doesn’t wait to unbutton each of the buttons of his shirt, so he rips the shirt off, popping the buttons off as he rips the shirt off. 

“Ohhh-kay,” you whisper, taking in his bare chest. This wasn’t like when he fell into the lake, no, no, this was better. You run your hands over scars littered across his coarse skin, feeling him shudder under the touch of your soft hands. He lets you just, touch him, feel him. It’s quite nice, honestly, he thinks. He studies your face, your eyes growing wide as you run your hands across his chest and up to his broad shoulders, and squeeze them tightly. 

Absent-mindedly, Simon reaches up by the side of your head, plucking a rather large wildflower from the ground. Slowly, he slips the flower behind your ear, pushing away stray strands of hair from your face. 

“So beautiful, darling,” he sighs contentedly, his voice confident and full of pure affection. 

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade away. A warm blush creeps onto your cheeks as you smile at Simon, your heart fluttering in your chest. His touch is gentle, and his actions speak of a tenderness that leaves you breathless. You find yourself lost in his deep, brown eyes. 

“I’m yours, Si,” you murmur, as you start to slip the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders. “All yours.”

He watches, entranced, as you pull your sleeves down lower and lower, and immediately he reaches up to help you. He takes the fabric of your gown into his hands, and he shimmies it up and off your frame, casting it to the side. 

His breath is caught in his throat as he takes in your naked form, eyes unabashedly raking down your body. You swallow the lump in your throat, the nervousness once taking a hold of you dissipating as he looks at you with nothing but adoration and devotion. His hands trace down your shoulders to your breasts, an animalistic desire to take you then and there strong. But no, no, he was going to take his time, be gentle, focus solely on you. 

“You really don’t understand what you do to me,” he says, kneading the pillowy flesh of your breasts in his hands, tweaking your nipple, pulling a string of light moans from you. 

He lowers his head down, latching onto your nipple with a contended hum. His hand grazes from your side, past your thigh, and down to your dripping core. His fingers tease your clit, and you gasp with a jolt. He chuckles against your breast, mouth moving to your other. His finger traces down from your clit to your entrance, and just before he pushes a finger in, you gasp out. 

“I– I’ve never—”

He raises his head immediately, looking at your flushed face. You bite your lip, eyes looking away with embarrassment. Simon’s face morphs into a gentle, reassuring smile. 

“Shh, shh, I understand. Let me take care of you, darling,” he coos, stroking your skin. “Relax f’me.”

With a breath, you nod your head, and try your best to relax your muscles, breathing in and out steadily. You stare up into the sky for a moment, grounding yourself, watching passing clouds casting shadows all around. 

He agonizingly slowly plunges a single finger inside you, stilling for a moment as he feels you adjust. You shudder for a moment, your mouth open slightly as you take in his thick digit.

“Good, good girl,” he encourages, slowly pumping his finger inside you. Your back arches involuntarily, your hand sweeping in the flowers, plucking some out of the ground from your grip.

Simon grabs your hand with his free hand, allowing you to squeeze it as he works his way into you with a second finger. He starts curling his fingers inside you, reaching places you never knew existed. You let out breathy moans, gripping his hand as he picks up the pace, fucking you with his fingers. 

“So perfect,” he mutters, pressing his thumb into the thumb of your hand, massaging it slightly. 

“Simon, feels good,” you manage to spit out, your eyes fluttering closed as you just feel. Your wetness is gushing around his fingers.

“That’s it, lovie,” he encourages, voice sickeningly sweet. “Just one more.”

He plunges a third finger in, and you have to hold yourself back from screaming. 

“My perfect girl,” he praises as you take in his third finger, now reaching deep inside you. A deep set moan releases from your throat as you take in three of his fingers, wincing just a bit from the large adjustment, but feeling pleasure nonetheless.  Simon remains the embodiment of thoughtfulness and care, taking you in as you are, knowing that he has the privilege of being intimate with you. The way he stares at you in amazement, in awe, in affection has something growing even deeper within him. He loves the way he can make you come undone, the way he’s the only one who is allowed to see this side of you, the way he’s the only you trust fully and completely like this.

And with that, he can’t hold back anymore. He kisses you deeply, his fingers working in you slowly, methodically. 

“Simon, please,” you beg, panting between kisses, your core aching for more than just his fingers, “need you.” Your clit is throbbing as he presses into it, building up another orgasm. The way your fingers flutter around his fingers makes his cock jump, suddenly painfully aware of how badly he wants to be inside you right now. 

“I know, darling,” he soothes, yanking his pants down, his aching cock springing free from the confines of the fabric. You start to feel your muscles pulling, your wetness building up as his fingers hit a spot inside you, beckoning you to cum.

“Cum on my fingers,” he grunts, the pressure of your velvety cunt around his fingers making him move faster, reach deeper. You swallow heavily, your hips bucking into his hand a few times before cumming, soaking his fingers. 

“I need you, Si,” you’re practically crying, pawing at his chest for more. Your clit is throbbing, cunt aching for his cock. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he says again, sucking your slick off his fingers with a satisfied hum. You watch him, mouth agape. 

“Please,” you groan again, wrapping your legs around his waist, beckoning him towards you. 

In a rush, he’s checking you over, making sure you’re comfortable in the plush grass before lining the tip of his cock up with your entrance.

Slowly, he pushes the tip inside you, letting you adjust to the size of his cock for a moment. Your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head as he barely pushes his way inside you, but this feels better than his fingers. Much better. The stretch wasn’t without some pain, but you bear with it, gripping onto him as he starts to push himself inside you further.

“I know, I know, you’re nearly there, sweetheart,” he coos into your ear, his deep voice rattling your eardrums.

He lets out his own moan, feeling the way your pussy squeezes him just right. Your back arches at the sensation, a gargled moan slipping from your lips, encouraging him to slide the full length of his cock into you.

“F– fuck, lovie,” he moans, his voice high-pitched and husky. “So perfect—”

He finally bottoms out, hips meeting yours as you both pant, the stretch feeling so fucking good. He stills for a moment, relishing the way you squeeze and flutter around him, relishing the way your face is contorted into nothing but pleasure. 

“Fuck me,” you plead, hands reaching to his shoulders as he hovers over you.

He grunts and thrusts himself into you as deep as he can. And it’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. You can barely breathe as he sets a pace, slow yet not teasing. He works his way into you with a reigned fervor, his hands gripping onto you like you could break into a million pieces. You feel like you’re floating on air, your back arching, pressing into him as he pumps inside of you. Your eyes are half-lidded, your vision being taken up entirely by Simon. His eyes meet yours and for a moment, you swear he falters. He’s taken with you entirely, your eyes on him is all he needs to be happy in this world, he decides. 

He hisses as you drag your fingernails down his back, holding onto him as he starts to move faster, harder. 

“My beautiful, perfect wife,” he grunts, rocking into you. He beckons you to wrap your legs around his waist, yanking you closer to him. 

“So soft, so soft,” he groans, lips meeting your neck in an open mouthed, sloppy kiss. “S’ happy you’re my wife.” 

Your face flushes at his words, too flattered by his words to say anything. Pure bliss courses through you as he praises you, fucking into you like a man starved. He hits a region deep inside you, and you moan abruptly. 

“That’s it,” he groans, his own eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head as he watches you intently. A coil builds faster by the second, your stomach muscles clenching.

“Si—” you manage to moan, your hands moving up from his back to cup his face.

Tears blur your vision as you stroke his cheek, and he almost stops thrusting in you at the sweet action. In a flash, he’s moving faster, the colors of the flowers around your body becoming a blur as his vision narrows in on you, you, you. 

His hands slide down to grip your waist, his hold on you tightening. Your hands move to clasp around his neck, pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck, your movements sloppy as he fucks you so nicely, so perfectly. He has to will himself to stay upright on top of you, wanting to pass out from how fucking beautiful you look, how fucking perfect you are to him. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, my perfect wife,” he moans, trying to express just how much he fucking loves this, how much he holds you in high regard. 

“I love you,” you blurt out, yanking him down on you. And then he’s pulling all the way out, just to slam into you again, and he can’t even find the proper words to respond, just absolutely fucking you into the flowers. 

“I love you,” he strangles out, bucking his hips helplessly into yours, and you press a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you, I love you,” he groans, letting you pull his face towards yours as you give him a deep, sloppy kiss. 

“I’ve loved you–” you try to say, your mind foggy as you leave open mouthed kisses along his face and neck, going down to his collarbone as he ruts into you. Simon mewls, his head dropping to your neck as you work on his skin. The coil within you is about to snap, your wetness coating his cock perfectly.

“Let go,” he says, pumping into you deeply, hitting a point that his fingers couldn’t even reach. “Let go, sweetheart.”

With that, you let out a garbled moan as you cum on his cock, clenching your eyes shut as you ride out your orgasm, the world fading away as if it's just you and him. His cock twitches inside of you as your walls flutter around him, his cock pulsating and throbbing, pent up from fucking into you. He breathes heavily, cumming into you with no remorse. God, you think you see stars as you feel him fill you up, moaning lightly as he slows to a stop. Simon is hovering over you, his hands planted on both sides of your face. 

“I love you,” you say again, wrapping your arms around his neck, prompting him to lay on top of you. He stares at you, mouth agape, blinking slowly.

“I thought I dreamt you saying that,” Simon says quietly, before letting himself drop on top of you. You grunt as he lets his full body weight rest on top of you, but you didn’t mind. It felt good. Felt so good having your husband laying on you like this, after the most intimate moment you’ve ever shared with him up until this point. 

He turns his face to press a kiss to your cheek. He picks more flowers from the side, stuffing them behind your ear, pushing stray hair out of your face so he can see you clearly. 

“I meant what I said,” you whisper, voice hoarse. You brush some stray grass out of Simon’s hair as he goes to lay his head down in your neck. 

“I know you did,” he whispers back, inhaling your scent.

“I love you, too,” he says, leaving a gentle kiss on your pulse. 

. . . 

After laying together for a little longer, he begrudgingly gets up to slide his pants back on. He goes over to your dress and undergarments, again, begrudgingly helping you get dressed again. You blush as he slides your panties back on your legs, breath seizing in his throat. When he finally pulls up the sleeves of your dress, you take his hand in yours. 

“Si, I honestly don’t think I can ride my horse back home,” you blush, securing the flowers behind your ear. 

“Ah,” he nods, looking down at you with a small smirk. “Of course.”

Suddenly, he scoops you into his arms, carrying you as though you weigh nothing. You let out a small yelp, fastening your arms around his neck securely as he makes his way over to the horses, both grazing on some grass a while away. 

As he approaches his horse, he sets you down for just a moment, reigning in your mare. With a lead, he attaches your mare to his horse. You watch him for a moment before he’s back on you, lifting you up so you can sit side saddle on his horse. With a grunt, he swings on behind you, gripping your waist so you can sit steady. 

“Thank you,” you smile, leaning your cheek on his chest. 

“Anything for you,” he says, motioning the horses to go home. 

You didn’t notice the bouquet of flowers he had shoved in his back pocket.

A souvenir to remember this day by. 

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- names

i'm actually pretty proud of this.

It’s late in the morning, the day after your wedding. 

“How did you sleep last night, Ghost?” you ask quietly, both of you sitting together at the breakfast table. 

His head shoots up. Until now, you had exclusively addressed him as “your majesty.” He hates the way the name “Ghost” slips from your lips, a name associated with violence, bloodshed, and death – a stark mismatch for the softness of your voice. 

He recognizes the weight of his own choices and the persona he wears, a mantle that has garnered him a reputation both feared and respected. And yet, hearing it from you, spoken with a blend of familiarity and concern, stirs a strange vulnerability he's unaccustomed to.

A fleeting vulnerability passes through his eyes before being replaced by a mask of practiced stoicism. He ponders the paradox of his identity, the dichotomy between the name that echoes with shadows of his deeds and the person he aspires to be in your presence. The furrow on his brow speaks volumes of the internal struggle, the desire for understanding conflicting with the self-imposed isolation he's maintained for years. 

“Fuckin’ hell, don’t call me that.”

“What do you mean? That’s your name—”

“It’s not my name.”

You pause for a moment.

“Okay then…” you clasp your hands together, pushing yourself up from your seat. You start to make your way towards the door when his voice rings out into the silence. 

“It’s Simon.” 

You spin around. Simon, not Ghost, a name that cuts through the layers of notoriety, revealing a part of him few have seen. The name holds a vulnerability that carries with it a promise of authenticity and connection beyond what you two have had together. He watches you, unsure of how you'll respond, the lines of his face softening slightly as he waits for your reaction. He stands from his seat, making his way towards you. The clash between the formidable reputation he's built and the genuine person he wants to reveal to you lies bare before you.

You take a step closer, and your voice carries a warmth laced with understanding. 

“Simon,” you say softly, testing the syllables as if acknowledging a secret shared. In your eyes, there's a spark of acceptance, a recognition of the trust he's extended. 

His heart jumps at the way his name, Simon, effortlessly rolls off your tongue, silk smooth. 

Simon meets your gaze, a flicker of hope mingling with the residual shadow of uncertainty. It's a small step, yet one that signifies the possibility of change, of a connection that transcends the boundaries of titles and facades. As he stands there in the dimly lit breakfast room, he's aware that there’s no turning back now. He wants you to see his true self, he just doesn’t know where to begin.

“Simon.” You blink.

“...Yes?” 

“Hm. It suits you.” You pat his chest with a gentle touch, give him the smallest of smiles, and turn to freshen up for the day. 

He stands there, mouth agape, a furious blush creeping up his face. 

Fuck. He’s screwed.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[hyperactively-me]

King!Ghost, who is dark, brooding, and deadly. Has taken other kingdoms to war and decimated them. He is ruthless, cold, and unstoppable in battles. Tales of his prowess coursed through far off lands, making even the most evil of men shiver. 

King!Ghost, who donned heavy iron armor. A simple, stiff helmet covered his features. He had only taken the helmet off once in front of you, when he had proposed. Even then, he had a black balaclava under the helmet. You could only see his cold eyes as he kneeled in front of you, eyes trained at you for a moment before he bowed his head, extending the engagement ring towards you from his grasp. 

King!Ghost, who whisks you away from your kingdom, dragging you to his own after your parents married you off to him. You, their daughter, seventh out of ten in line for the throne. As if you would ever be in the position to rule the kingdom you were born into. They sold you off to him without a second glance, just happy that you kept your bloodline pure with another royal.

King!Ghost, who saw you as a bratty, spoiled, naive little girl. He was half right, though. You were born into aristocracy, royalty, it’s all you’ve ever known. You had never seen a day of hardship like those in the villages have. You so desperately wanted to prove to him that you weren’t afraid of him, but it only made him see through you more. 

King!Ghost, who helped you onto your horse as you were being taken from your home. You hadn’t turned back to face your parents, who stood at the foot of the door, watching the King take you to his own kingdom. He grasped onto you as you swung onto your horse. His hand lingered for a moment, then he retracted it like he had been burned. 

You were off to your new life.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[hyperactively-me]

imma cry 😭😭🫶🫶

After reading “Taken” from @hyperactively-me ‘s king! Ghost x reader au, I threw this together for my prediction for the next part lmao

(Also you guys should really check it out it is SO GOOD. King! Ghost has me on a choke hold fr fr)

[hyperactively-me]

black tie affair

He slowly comes up behind you, hands stretched out in front of him, wordless. He grasps your waist firmly, holding you in place as his other hand brushes up against your lower back. You shiver under his touch, body still, unmoving. He was so close. So close.

"oh nooooo the zipper on my dress is stuck, what ever will i do? who would ever help meee?"

zipper is stuck trope. with ghost. lol bye.

also, don’t mind me making stuff up for this fic. don't think too hard about it. let's just pretend!

(asks are open)

happy reading

EDIT: PART 2 OUT NOW

warnings: none

Tonight was the Special Forces Military Ball. It was a once-a-year event that everyone on the task force looked forward to as an opportunity to unwind from work. A night of speeches, dancing, and drinking was highly awaited. 

You were in a hotel room, finishing applying your makeup in the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. The lighting was horrendous, but you persevered. You gently brush on the last touches of your eyeshadow, blinking a few times at your reflection in the mirror. You tilt your face side to side, inspecting every inch of your makeup before pulling back, smiling contentedly at your work. It’s been a while since you last wore this much makeup. A quick sigh escapes your lips as you turn out of the bathroom and into the main room. 

A long, black dress lays across the hotel bed. The dress swishes gently across the floor as you pick it up from the bed and hold it up in front of you in front of the floor length mirror. The sweetheart neckline swoops gracefully, the thick straps of the dress adorned with small silver gems. The skirt of the dress hugs all of your curves in the right places, accentuating your features. 

You start to slip on the dress, pulling it up and around your body, then pulling the sleeves over to rest on your shoulders. Reaching around your back, your hands come up as you fumble around with the zipper, only pulling it up an inch before it stops.

You try pulling it as hard as you can to no avail. Messing with the zipper a few more times does absolutely nothing, the continuous motion of pulling it up and down useless in aiding you. The zipper rests, stuck, on your lower back. 

“Fuck” you groan, annoyed with the stubborn zipper.

You angle your back towards the mirror and stare at it, mostly bare, with a frown. Someone was going to have to help you with this. 

Everyone, with the exception of one person, was busy preparing for the event as you racked your brain about who you could call. 

Simon “Ghost” Riley.

The big guy. 

You grab your phone and scroll through your contacts before your finger lands on his name. You hesitate for a moment, almost already regretting this. Next thing you know, you bring the phone up to your ear, biting your lip as it rings. The phone rings once, twice, then you hear the line pick up. 

“Hello?” the low timbre of his voice echoes from the phone. 

You inhale dramatically, and turn to look at yourself in the mirror. 

“Hi,” you sigh. 

The silence from the other end is overbearing. You grimace a little. 

You speak quickly, “So uh, I need some help.” You hold your breath as you wait for a response, any response from him. 

You hear some shuffling around, and a small cough. You roll your eyes once more. 

“Please,” you strain. 

He hesitates for a moment. “What’s wrong?” 

“This is awkward, but uh, the zipper on my dress is stuck, and you’re the only person I could think of to call and I totally get it if you can’t help me–”

“Which room is yours?” he cuts you off briskly. The shuffling in the background abruptly stopped. 

Your mouth opens and closes for a moment, shaking your head as you try to answer.

“Oh, yeah, it’s room 456, fourth floor…” you trail off. 

He hangs up without a word. You bring the phone away from your ear slowly and stare at yourself in the mirror once more. 

He really is a man of few words. 

You pace the room a few times, waiting for him when a single, brief knock raps your door. You stop in your tracks and turn to the door, then run to the mirror to make sure you look presentable enough. You look through the peekhole just to make sure its Ghost before you pull open the door swiftly. 

You’re met with his chest in your face, and you drag your eyes upward to his face. His covered face. In that skull mask he always wears. He’s wearing a black tuxedo along with a crooked black tie. 

“Hi” he says simply, raking his eyes down your form. 

You immediately grab his bicep and pull him into the room and shut the door behind you, pressing your exposed back to the door. He chuckles quietly at you, raising his eyebrows in amusement under his mask. 

“Thank you so much for coming” you breathe out, wringing your hands together. 

He just stares at you for a moment longer, taking in your appearance unabashedly. He shoves his hands in his pocket and clears his throat. 

“Wow. You look amazing” he whistles. 

Your cheeks heat up, your mouth slightly agape as the air leaves your lungs.

“Thank you.”

Your dress swishes around your feet as you push yourself off the door, brushing past him. “I could say the same for you, Simon.” 

Turning around, you brush a piece of stray hair behind your ear, taking a deep breath. He takes a few heavy steps towards you, his silence overbearing. 

“If you could zip me up, that would be great” you smile gently at him, biting your bottom lip awkwardly. You turn around, your exposed back facing Ghost, and you pull your hair over your shoulder. His breath wavers, eyes roaming the expanse of your back, then finally coming to rest on the small of your back. He slowly comes up behind you, hands stretched out in front of him, wordless. He grasps your waist firmly, holding you in place as his other hand brushes up against your lower back. You shiver under his touch, body still, unmoving. He was so close. So close. His free hand closes around the zipper, hesitant to free it. 

“Ghost–”

“It’s Simon. Simon, when we’re not on job,” he corrects. You stand up straight. 

“Simon. Are you going to zip me up?” 

He grunts quietly, then pulls at the zipper once, twice, before it's finally freed. You can feel heat radiating from his fingers as he pulls the zipper up agonizingly slow. As he pulls it up your back, his fingers brush against your skin, the small touches making your knees weak. Your cheeks feel hot from his languid movements. You let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding when he zipped it up to the top.  

The trance you were in abruptly stops as you hear the small click of the zipper hitting the top. You swiftly turn around, the skirt of your dress bustling around as you take a step back, his hand falling from your hip. 

“Well, thank you Gh– Simon” you say, pushing your hair back to its original place. You rock back on your heels as you inspect his covered face.

His eyes look blown wide, his hands now pulling at the bottom of his tux jacket.

“‘s not a problem” he murmurs, eyes still not looking away from you. His hands wander up to his loosened tie, fidgeting with it.

You notice his tie isn’t properly tied, and you take a few steps close to him, your eyes staring straight at his chest.

“Let me help you with that” you point to his tie. You take his hands in yours and gently pull them to his sides. His hands dwarf your own, and you drop them. His breath hitches. 

You wrestle with the tie, your hands brushing up against his chest and collarbone as you twist it into perfection. You keep your eyes trained on the tie, biting your lip as you concentrate. Simon’s eyes remain locked on you, following your every movement. 

The silence permeates the air, save for the rustling of fabric against fabric. 

You finish tying the knot, and pull it up tight to rest against the base of his throat. He stretches his neck upwards as your hands come to fasten the tie in place. You smooth your hands on the edge of his jacket, straightening out any remaining wrinkles. Your head tilts upwards, smiling softly at him. 

“There” you sigh contentedly, patting his cheek gently before pulling away. 

Before you could fully remove yourself, his hand snakes down to your waist, pulling you up against his body. A small squeak slips out of you as his hands rigidly hold your waist.

“Simon–”

“Stop talking.” 

Before you could even process his movements, he yanks his mask over his nose. Your breath catches in your lungs as your eyes trail the features of his lower face. His breath is hot on your face as he leans down, closer and closer. “Can I kiss you?” he murmurs, eyelashes fluttering as he stares at your lips, noses bumping into each other. He’s only an inch or two away from your face, and you can see every lineament of his skin, his cheekbones, the tip of his pointed nose, his lips. He smells like sandalwood and vetiver, the scent peppery and strong. 

You nod your head fervently, heart racing in your chest. 

“Please.”

That’s all he had to hear you say. 

Simon leans in, closing the miniscule gap between you two. He leans down to press a firm kiss on your lips, inhaling sharply at the contact, eliciting a soft sound from you. Your hands wrap around his neck, tugging him down to your height as his hands roam up and down your back. Simon draws your body against his, pulling you flush against him. He begins to nip your bottom lip, tongue swiping over your lip as if to ask permission. You let him take charge, his hand gliding up your body, your breath growing ragged. 

He bites your lip, slowly pulling away as he breaks contact. You gulp in the cool air of the room, studying his face as he slowly pulls his mask down in place. Your ears are red, face flushed. 

“You’re beautiful,” his voice comes out hoarse as he takes your hand in his. He rubs his thumb in circles around your palm, outlining your face. 

“Thank you” you whisper, taking his hand into your own. 

You gingerly pull him out of your room, and don’t let go of his hand for the rest of the night. 

PART 2

[hyperactively-me]

tension

You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again. His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact. "Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"

massaging din’s sore, aching muscles ... leads to ... yeah. I'M SORRY (not sorry at all) PUT ME IN HORNY JAIL FOR THIS IDC. it started off so innocent but then the horny monster came out and took over.

tags: smut, OILED UP DIN DJARIN, I REPEAT, OILED UP DIN DJARIN. established relationship

Din has no issue praising and worshipping you with nothing but love and adoration. In fact, it feels like second nature to him.

When he's the object of your praises, though, he doesn't know how to act. He's caught off guard by your doting attention, your quiet praises, your gentle touches.

The gruff exterior that comes so naturally to him becomes a bit more pronounced when faced with compliments and affection.

His usual response was to deflect and downplay, wanting to be the one in control, the one doing the praising rather than receiving it. It's not that he didn't appreciate your words; it's just that the vulnerability of accepting them was difficult for him.

In those moments, you read his body language like the back of your hand. You could see the conflict in his eyes, a mixture of gratitude and discomfort. He had been alone for most of his time in this cruel galaxy, had spent so long being self-reliant, not needing validation from others, that being on the receiving end of such genuine affection challenged his identity of being the stoic, impenetrable Mandalorian.

So, when he finally comes back to the Razor Crest after catching an elusive bounty, you know exactly what to do to put him at ease, to show him how much you love him, your riduur.

You catch his hand before he can take any of his armor off.

"Don't. Let me do it," you say gently, tugging his hand away.

He stares at you with that ever stoic expression you know he has on his face right now beneath the helmet. A few beats pass, and he relents, letting his wrist fall limp in your grip.

"Thank you," you whisper quietly, now running your hands up his shoulders.

You start with his baldric and belt, catching it in your grip as you unfasten the clasps. It's surprisingly heavy in your hands, and you're already a bit weary to take off the beskar.

Next, you slip his worn brown cape off his shoulders, the rough material scraping across your fingers. You can still feel traces of warmth around the part that was settled around his neck and shoulders.

Din stands before you, now with his baldric, belt, and cape out of the way, the beskar armor still encases his form. You take a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship of the beskar, tracing the shiny metal with your fingertips. The material is cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body you can barely feel radiating off his form. Din still stands rigid, hands flexing at his side.

His gaze remains steady, a silent acknowledgment of your request. You take charge again, delicately unfastening the clasps of his shoulder pads and removing the plates, and you can feel just how tense even just his shoulders are.

You set them gently to the side and start to work on his chest plate, easing it away from his torso with careful precision. The beskar plates release with a loud clinking sound, revealing the fabric of his flight suit beneath. You can clearly see Din's chest rise and fall with a steadiness that betrays the controlled exterior he presents to the world. With a small grunt, you ease the heavy beskar chestplate to the side, shooting Din a look when he tries to take it from your grasp.

"You said you would let me do it," you whisper, a playful yet stern glint in your eyes.

He sighs through the voice transmitter, yet allows you to continue your process of taking his armor off.

His shoulders sag forward ever so slightly as the weight of the chest plate is removed from his body, grunting with relief as he rolls his shoulders back a few times.

Next, you move on to his vambraces, unlocking the beskar from his arms. As you work on removing the vambraces, the sleeves of his flight suit ride up and you notice the subtle scars and markings on Din's forearms. You're careful to not drop the one loaded with bullets and other small weaponry.

Your hands move with a practiced gentleness, and you can sense Din's quiet appreciation for the care you're taking.

As the small pieces of armor joins the growing collection of beskar beside you, the room is filled with a sense of intimacy, a shared vulnerability palpable between you two.

Din stands before you now, the upper half of his body free from the encasement of armor. The warmth of his skin is more perceptible, and you can see a slight relaxation in his demeanor.

You move lower now, unfastening the straps securing the beskar that adorns his thighs. Your hands brush against his skin, and that's when he starts to shift side to side. You smile to yourself as you set the pieces to the side, letting your hands drag from the back his knees down to his shins to remove the final pieces.

Beskar greaves protect his shins, and you get on your knees to remove them. You don't miss the way his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you on your knees before him, but he refuses to move a muscle.

Carefully, you unfasten the straps securing the beskar greaves, allowing them to slide down his shins. Your hands move with a deliberate gentleness as you catch them, setting them on top of the stack of armor. Now that all of his armor is removed, you can clearly tell Din is now more relaxed, not as rigid.

His head his angled directly at you, the black t-visor of his helmet piercing through you. You smile softly up at him, pushing yourself to standing but not without him grabbing your hand to help you up.

You know what he's thinking. You know what he wants. He'll just never say it.

You press up onto your toes, placing your hands on his shoulders. His hands finally move, coming to rest on your waist as you lean into where you think his ear would be.

"Later," you whisper seductively, and he firmly squeezes your waist in his grip.

You take a step back, now turning your focus back to his leather gloves. Taking his left hand in yours, you spread his fingers out so you're able to slip his glove off his easier. The leather glove comes off smoothly, revealing his calloused yet gentle hand beneath. You set the glove aside, repeating the action on his other hand.

Din watches you with that unyielding gaze, his helmeted face betraying no emotions, and the tension in the air does anything but subside.

As you remove the second glove, you can't help but admire his hands; how large they, how strong they are. They're the tools of a warrior: skilled and precise, calloused and graceful. With his hands now bare, you step closer to him, your fingers tracing the lineaments of his palm. The warmth of his skin contrasts with the coolness of the beskar that once covered him. His hands are strong, yet there's a gentleness in the way he allows you to explore them.

You finally look up to his helmet, clicking your tongue with disapproval. You couldn't really get his shirt off without stretching out the neck over his helmet, and we can't have that, can we? Poor shirt, all stretched out. Oh well! Looks like we have to see your beautiful riduur's face!

You run your hands on the underside of his helmet, tracing the hard edges with the pads of your fingers. Suddenly, you latch onto the edges and slowly start to pull it up and off his head. Din's breath catches as the helmet is lifted, his nose twitching ever so slightly.

The helmet comes clean off, revealing his face, his dark hair tousled from the snug fit. You're met with his intense gaze, and for a moment, your own breath catches in your throat.

You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again.

His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact.

"Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"

His lips twitch in a hint of a smile, eyebrows quirking at your playful comment.

"Are you going to finish, cyar'ika? Or are you going to finish undressing me with just your eyes?"

You roll your eyes at his remark, fighting back a laugh at his nonchalant comment.

"I guess I do have some unfinished business," you reply, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

You guide his shirt up and over his head, pulling it off his form and letting it fall to the floor. You're met with his tanned, toned chest, marked with scars, the silent stories of the battles he's fought.

You run your fingers lightly over the contours of his chest, savoring the feeling of his tight muscles and soft stomach. He shivers under your touch at the way your nails drag across his skin, pressing into it ever so slightly. Din watches you closely, his gaze never leaving your hands. With a soft smile, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin between his shoulder and upper chest.

Din's fingers find their way to your hair, but you pull back, now grabbing the waistband of his pants. You tug them down quickly, helping him step out of the pant legs, but leaving him in his loose boxers.

You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and guide him to the bed. There's no rush, no urgency. For both of you, it's a moment to savor, to appreciate each other in a quiet, peaceful moment. Before he lies down, you pull him down for a chaste kiss, savoring the way his lips taste, the way his patchy mustache tickles your face. As he finally moves to lay down, you wordlessly motion for him to lie on his stomach, and he complies. He settles onto the bed, propping himself up with his forearms.

You retrieve a bottle of oil from a nearby table, and the gentle scent of lavender fills the air as you warm the liquid between your palms. You straddle his lower back, and immediately Din is biting his tongue to withhold any premature sounds.

The moment your hands come into contact with his broad shoulders, he's a goner. Your touch is firm yet tender, your fingers finding all of his knots and tension, coaxing them to release.

The room is quiet, save for the occasional satisfied hum or grunt from Din. As your hands move down his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, you slowly feel the tension in his body dissipating.

Your fingers trace the faint lines of his scars, and you can't help but marvel at the beauty of the man beneath you. He finds solace in your touch, a promise that in this moment, he can let go and just relax.

Din's body responds to your touch, his tension gradually melting away. Your hands move with a soothing rhythm, exploring every inch of his back and shoulders. The oil makes his skin glisten in the soft light of the room, and you revel in the way his body looks as though it was carved by the Maker himself.

As your hands work their way down his spine, you occasionally lean down to press soft kisses on his back. The combination of your mouth and hands on him causes Din to shudder, the sensations pulling him into a deep state of tranquility. The rise and fall of his breath shifts into something more rapid, yet you don't catch on quite yet. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, and he responds with a soft hum of contentment

Shifting off his back, you move down to his thighs and calves, continuing to massage his muscles with the same deliberate care. His fingers twist into the thin sheets of his bed, groaning as you knead into his thighs. The tension in Din's muscles seems to subside even more as you move farther down his legs, the oil dripping from your hands creating a smooth glide as you knead his skin.

As your hands move down his legs towards his feet, you notice the subtle tremor in his muscles, a sign that your touch might be affecting him more than he's letting on. You can't see that he's biting the inside of his cheek, stifling every pathetic groan he wants to let out.

You reach the soles of his feet, and he reflexively curls his toes at the sensation. A small chuckle escapes your lips, and you gently press your thumbs into the arches of his feet, eliciting a low, appreciative groan from him.

With a soft smile, you decide to shift the massage to his upper back and shoulders again, allowing your hands to linger in the areas that are the most tense from his heavy beskar. As your fingers work their magic, you lean in close to whisper in his ear.

"Almost done," you murmur, your warm breath sending shivers down his spine. "Does it feel good?"

Din responds with a throaty, affirmative noise, and you can't help but smile at the effect you're having on your typically stoic Mandalorian.

Your hands trace patterns over his skin, kneading, massaging, and occasionally trailing higher than expected. His breathing becomes more uneven, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

The atmosphere in the room drastically changes from innocent and relaxed to something more sultry, the air thick with repressed tension. You can sense Din's arousal, the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his muscles tense beneath your every little touch. A playful smile crosses your lips, realizing the effect you're having on the usually composed man.

The occasional brush of your fingers against more sensitive areas elicits involuntary reactions from Din, his groans growing more audible.

"Enjoying this, aren't you?" you tease, your voice a sultry whisper as you lean down to place soft kisses along his shoulder blades.

"Teasing me, aren't you?" he growls back, looking back at you with a heated expression.

"Maybe a little." You smile innocently. "But the best things are worth the wait, aren't they?"

Din responds with a low, husky chuckle, a sound that reverberates through the room.

"Yes," he states simply, his voice catching in his throat when you slide off his back.

You beckon him to turn over onto his back, and he complies. Once again, you straddle him, now sitting directly on his hips, over his crotch. Taking more lavender scented oil, you lather it onto your hands and start to knead into his chest. His hands reach up to grip your ass, squeezing your flesh.

You feel Din's chest rise and fall faster as your hands start to work over his toned muscles. The oil slicks up his chest, and your fingers glide smoothly over his skin. You can practically feel his desire for you that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. Din's gaze is intense, and you meet it with a playful yet innocent smile.

"Fuck, cyare," he groans as his hands trail up your sides, the touch possessive yet gentle.

As your hands continue their ministrations on his chest, you lean down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. The taste of his mouth is intoxicating, and Din responds with a hunger that surpasses your own. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you to grind you down over his crotch, and you can feel the pressure of his cock against your core.

"Easy there, Din," you murmur as you pull away from his lips. "We've got plenty of time."

The sound of his name rolling off your lips never gets old to him, and he shudders at the sound.

You sit back, your hands now trailing down his abdomen as you move to sit in between his thighs. Grabbing his hands, you knead into his palms with your thumbs, maintaining an eye contact that you know drives him absolutely crazy. Din's eyes are dark with arousal, and he watches you with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

Eventually, you finish the massage after you feel the tension fully dissipate from Din's body. He lies there, relaxed and content, basking in the afterglow of your touch.

Without waiting any longer, you finally give the man what he wants. You bring his hand up to your mouth, and without hesitation, you stick two of his fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his thick digits as you maintain eye contact with him, eliciting a low growl to escape from the depths of Din's throat.

"You- you fuckin' tease, mesh'la," he growls as he starts to sit up. You take your free hand and push him back down, not letting him sit up.

You push his fingers deeper into your mouth, sucking them harder as your tongue runs over the pads of his fingers. Your other hand comes up to his thigh, resting dangerously close to his now fully erect yet still clothed cock.

After a moment, you release his fingers with a wet pop, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Din's breathing has become more ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly with anticipation and arousal.

"Feeling better?" you ask innocently, sliding your hands up and down his thighs.

Din nods, swallowing thickly as he locks his eyes onto yours. Without breaking eye contact, you start to slide off your shirt, slowly revealing your skin beneath. Din's gaze intensifies as you slowly lift it up and off your form. Once your shirt is fully off, you let Din rove over your form, and you revel in the way he looks at you with a thirst that mirrors your own.

He tries to reach out for you again, but you stop him.

"I'm still not done. Be patient," you say gently, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

"Mesh'la, how can I be? I have to reward you; you've been so good to me, too good for me—"

You press a finger up to his lips, silencing him.

"Please, let me make you feel good. Please. You always take care of me. Let me take care of you. 'M gonna make you feel so good."

He takes a beat, studying your face with his mouth slightly agape.

Finally, he nods in agreement, his eyes on fire. You remove your finger from his lips, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile.

Your hands trail over his shiny, slick chest, down to the waistband of his boxers. Din's fingers twist in his bedsheets, a silent reaction for what he wants: more.

With deliberate intent, you dip your fingers beneath the waistband, teasingly close to his cock. His arousal is quite evident, straining against the fabric, and your fingers brush over his length; a feather light, teasing touch. He watches you with a hunger that's impossible to ignore, and you can't help but feel giddy at the way you make him feel so good, so appreciated, so loved.

Din inhales sharply, his knuckles going white at the grip he has on his sheets. You move your hands back up and delicately hook your fingers into the waistband, pulling it down slowly. The boxers slide down his legs, revealing his cock, and you discard the fabric on the floor.

You take a moment to appreciate your Mandalorian naked in front of you, vulnerable, and yet as powerful as ever in his raw masculinity. What a sight for sore eyes. Every square inch of his skin is coated in the lavender oil, his skin shining under the dim lighting of the Razor Crest. His body is sculpted perfectly, strong and lean, the power of his muscles evident from one look. The scars that span his skin, small and large, have their own story. You reach out, tracing the lines of a particularly prominent scar on the side of his abdomen with gentle fingertips.

Din studies you with a soft intensity, his eyes holding a warmth that he reserves for you, and only for you.

Your eyes trail up to his face, studying every lineament and pore, every little hair and freckle. He's so extremely handsome you could pass out.

How he chose you, you're not sure. All you know is that this man who has promised to be your protector, stay by your side, and be your partner loves you, and you love him.

"You're beautiful," you murmur, pure admiration coursing through your veins as your fingers now trace the curve of his jaw and the contour of his lips. "Absolutely perfect, in every single way. My big, strong, handsome riduur."

Din's mind goes blank, face and ears heating up as his mouth falls agape. He just studies your eyes, your lips, your nose, every little unique feature you have. Swallowing thickly, Din nods his head just a fraction of an inch, but you catch it; he's acknowledging your words, accepting them in his own way.

Your fingers finally find their way down the shaft of his cock, shifting your attention to his member. His breath hitches as your hand wraps around the base, and you begin to move in a slow, teasing rhythm. His eyes flicker to the sight of your hand wrapped around his cock, staring at the way you pump your fist up and down. Your thumb brushes over the sensitive tip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Din.

You lean in, pressing a tender kiss to the base of his neck, then to his chest. You start to kiss down further, from the top of his chest to his happy trail.

"Kriff..." he mutters, his hands loosely grabbing at your face.

You keep moving, now pressing kisses on the length of his member. His grip becomes sloppier as your lips trail down his cock towards the tip, pressing a feather light kiss on his leaking slit. He grunts as the sensation, sensitive and aching for your pretty lips to be wrapped around his cock. You give a swirl of your tongue around the tip, earning a sharp, deep moan from Din.

"Kriffing- perfect," he groans, his hips bucking a few times at your touch, begging you for more. His fingers weave through your hair, a silent encouragement.

With that, you finally lower your mouth over his cock, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from the man. You rest your hands on the base of his cock, pumping the bottom half of his length while your mouth takes the top half. Din absolutely revels in the way your mouth feels against his cock; hot, wet, and velvety soft. His head rolls back against his pillow as your hands squeeze tight around the base, stimulating every inch of his length. You take him in your mouth inch by inch, sucking his cock gently at first, but providing more pressure the farther down you go.

"Fuck— fuck- ing perfect, pretty girl," he groans breathlessly, making you hum in satisfaction. His hips involuntarily buck up as he feels the vibrations from your hum, causing the tip of his cock to poke the back of your throat. You choke on it, but you steady your breath enough to keep going down.

Din fights the urge to fuck your mouth, gripping onto his sheets tightly with one hand as his other hand tugs at your hair. You release a quiet moan of your own when he pulls your hair, encouraging you to take him deeper.

Din's eyes are half-lidded now, a primal need burning within them. He watches you with an intensity that makes your own desire flare. His sounds of pleasure, the way his hands feel on you has yourself throbbing with need, your core painfully clenching around nothing. Your panties are surely soaked through by now, your arousal having built up just by making him feel good. You press your thighs together, alleviating the throbbing pressure in your pussy.

You continue to move with purpose, lowering your hands to knead his oily thighs as you take his entire length in your mouth, the tip of cock hitting the back of your throat with each bob of your head. You suck your cheeks in, running your tongue along a prominent vein with each stroke.

His ragged breaths and the soft squelch of your saliva and mouth on his cock fill the room, and suddenly, Din is pawing at you. The need for more becomes undeniable, and Din, unable to restrain himself any longer, pulls you up with a sense of urgency.

"Wanna- come in you—" he gasps, pulling at your neck.

You press your thighs tighter together at his admission, moaning on his cock.

"Kriff, cyar'ika, j- just, please," he grunts, and you lift your head off his cock, saliva dripping down your chin.

When you finally look up at him, his eyes are blown wide with need, and he's fully sitting up now. You feel the sudden shift as he drags you onto his lap, his still erect cock pressing into your stomach. You push up onto your knees as Din's hand desperately claws at the hem of your pants, yanking both your pants and panties off at the same time as he mouths the tops of your still covered breasts. Once your bottoms are off, he unclasps your bra expertly, letting it fall to the side.

Once you're bare in front of him, he laps his tongue over your breast, sucking at your nipple as his other hand squeezes and massages your other. The sensation send an electric jolt through your body, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Din's touch is both possessive and tender, his free hand coming to knead the flesh of your ass.

In one solid motion, Din is lifting you up high by your hips, positioning you over his cock. Utterly desperate and aching for your cunt around his cock, he slams your hips down, splitting you open on his cock inside your dripping cunt. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, a warbled scream and moan slipping from the both of you as he plunges deep inside of you, filling you up perfectly. You give yourself a moment to breath, steadying your breath. When he rolls his hips once, you whimper.

"Maker, y- you feel so good," you moan, biting your bottom lip in pleasure.

You squeeze his cock tightly, back arching as you feel every ridge of his cock inside you. His hands squeeze your hips tightly as your hands run down to his chest, and you start placing open mouthed, messy kisses on his jawline and neck. He lets you adjust around him, giving you some time to feel his cock molded perfectly inside you.

"Take me so good...s- so kriffing p- perfect, my beautiful riduur," he growls, fondling your breasts as you sit on his cock. Your thighs press against his as you try to clench your thighs at his words, darting your tongue out to give his skin kitten licks.

Ever so slowly, you start to roll your hips against his, moaning at the sensation. Din hisses, forehead falling on your sternum, his hot breath fanning against your breasts.

"Riduur," he groans again, darting his tongue out over the tops of your breasts again. "Ride me."

Your hands find their way into his dark curls, tugging at them lightly as you start to lift yourself up his cock. The drag of your pussy against Din's cock makes him shudder in pure ecstasy, moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

"You- you're the best thing that's e- ever happened to me," you whisper in his ear, then you sink all the way back down on his cock.

He moans, sucking bruises onto the junction between your shoulder and neck. Din's face is flushed from your words and the way you feel on top of him. You lift yourself up a few inches and drop back down, relishing in the way he feels underneath you.

"Never thought I'd find s- someone like you, cyare," he admits in his gravelly voice, tightening his grip on you. "Someone I- I could c- come back to."

"You're m- my home, Din," you reply, your voice a breathy whisper.

You start to set a steady pace, rocking and grinding on his cock. Din grunts at the sudden change in pace, helping you up and off his cock as his broad hands help lift you up and down by your hips. With each bounce, his cock stretches you out deliciously, dragging along your slick walls with ease.

You move your hand down to your catch your clit, circling the bud slowly, building up the pressure bubbling in your core. Your back arches as you start to tease yourself, pussy clenching harder around his cock. Din's head is thrown back in pleasure, hands firmly on your hips as you keep bouncing, reveling in the way you squeeze slightly tighter around him.

Your walls start to flutter around him at the stimulation of your clit, picking up the pace as you chase your orgasm. You lock eyes with his, the rhythm of your hips against his causing him to paw at every square inch of your body.

With your free hand, you guide his strong jaw towards your face, capturing his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. You don't stop moving on top of his cock as you slip your tongue into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip with each kiss. His lips are warm and demanding against yours, responding with a fervor that has you leaning back.

The taste of Din is intoxicating, yet something you can never quite put your finger on. His low growls mix with your soft moans, your hands threading in his curls.

Din breaks the kiss, but rests his forehead on yours. His pants mingle with yours, warm breath tickling your nose.

"Can't believe I'm so lucky," Din grits, and without hesitation, he deftly maneuvers you until you're lying on your back.

You admire the way his chest heaves with a controlled intensity as he hovers over you, his cock still fully sheathed inside you to the hilt. Moving his hands, he presses your legs up against your chest, angling them in such a way to allow for a deeper penetration. The newfound angle sends waves of pleasure coursing through each of you, each movement building up the pressure in your lower muscles.

"Maker, Din," is all you can say as his cock reaches deeper inside you. You're utterly engrossed in everything about him; how perfectly he fucks you, how he protects you, how he always puts others before himself, how he never backs down from a challenge.

You watch as his mouth drops open when he starts to move again, pounding into you with a slow, measured pace. Every motion has your hot, soaking walls sucking him in greedily.

"Fuck me so perfectly, you're perfect," you murmur as Din pulls your legs up onto his hips, effectively spreading you wide open. His whole chest presses flush against yours, kissing your words away when he leans in.

Your hands fly down to grip his forearms that cage you under his body, nails pressing into his skin as he fucks you slowly. Each thrust is met with a soft whimper into Din's mouth as he takes his time, relishing the way your chest feels against his own. The measured pace of his movements builds a heavy tension in your core, drawing out the pleasure and anticipation with each deliberate stroke.

Din's hand finds your clit again, pressing his thick digits against your swollen bud. The added pressure sends electric pulses through your body, and your back arches involuntarily as the pleasure intensifies. Your pussy clenches around his cock, drawing a throaty groan from Din, who revels in the tight embrace of your walls.

"So strong, s- so good," you gasp, your words punctuated by your unrestrained sounds of pleasure.

"S' perfect, cyare," he murmurs against your lips breathlessly, pressing a kiss on your lips once again. He nips and bites at your bottom lip relentlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face closer to you as you mewl into his mouth. Your fingers find their way back into his soft hair, scratching your fingernails on the base of his scalp.

With each enthusiastic response from you, he quickens his pace, the unforgiving rhythm pushing you both closer to the edge.

The feeling of his cock moving inside you faster and harder elicits a cascade of moans and whimpers from your lips, your clit being stimulated nearly to the point of your impending release. He's fucking you hard into the mattress, unrelenting in the way he wants to feel every part of you.

Din, ever the attentive man, knows you're about to cum just from the way your face contorts, from the way your body reacts to the slightest touch.

You can also feel him nearing the edge, the tension in his body reaching its peak with each stroke. His skin is warm and still slick with the lavender-scented oil, intoxicating your senses and making your mind go blank.

"Please, come in me," you beg, wrapping your legs around Din's waist to pull him closer to you. "Please, please, Din."

His skin glides against yours, your hands travel across the expanse of his back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moves with unrestrained strength.

Din's eyebrows are pinched in pleasure, mouth parted open as he pants. His fingers find the sweet spot of your clit, causing you to nearly scream in pleasure.

"That's it," Din encourages, coaxing your orgasm out of you as he maintains the pressure around your sweet spot.

Before you know it, you're cumming around Din's cock. The first contraction of your cunt around his cock has Din shuddering from his own orgasm, the feelings of your muscles spasming around him pushing him over the edge. His breathing is erratic, hot against your skin.

You writhe underneath Din, whimpering his name as you ride out your orgasm. Din pulls you in for a messy kiss as he cums inside of you, cupping your jaw with one hand as he guides your lips to his in a searing kiss.

Settling down from his orgasm, Din falls on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Your hands run up and down his back, soothing him with the light scratching of your nails against his skin.

The gentle scratching of your nails against Din's back seems to lull him into a state of relaxation, his body going lax on top of yours. His breath and mustache tickles the sensitive flesh of your neck.

Both of you are still panting, trying to catch your breaths from your shared climax. Din's weight atop of you feels grounding, a comforting, welcoming presence that reminds you once again that he is yours.

"Feel better?" you inquire softly, your hands coming to rest around his neck.

Din lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness he reserves only for you.

Din mumbles in agreement, his body completely pliant in your hands. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the remnants of his panting gradually subsiding.

"Thank you," he murmurs, eyes studying your face intently. "Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum."

Your fingers move from his neck to gently trace lines over Din's flushed cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I love you."

Din's eyes soften even more. His hands, calloused and strong, come up to gently cradle your face. Thumbs brush over your cheeks in a tender caress, as if he's committing the feeling to memory.

He pulls you in for another kiss, a sweet, tender meeting of your lips in the aftermath of your care for him.

A thank you, if you will.

As Din's lips part from yours, he rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

You snuggle close to him, the scent of lavender surrounding you both. In the quiet aftermath, the only sound that remains is the beating of your hearts.

. . .

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 7)

One evening, as you and Simon glided across the dance floor, lost in each other’s eyes, you couldn’t help but notice the envious glances and hushed whispers that followed in your wake. 

“How on earth did those two end up together?”  “By the look of it, the Duke should be proposing any day now.” “I think I deserve to be Duchess more than she does.”

“You know,” you say slowly as you twirl gracefully, “you’re making quite the spectacle of yourself, Simon. People are starting to talk.”

He chuckles, his grip tightening around your waist. “Let them talk.”

He has to bite his tongue to restrain himself from continuing with, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m yours, you’re mine, and I’m not about to let anyone forget it. 

You smile, feeling a rush of affection and amusement. “You really don’t care, do you?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. 

He shakes his head, a serious expression on his face. “Not in the slightest. As long as I have you, nothing else matters.” 

You laugh softly, leaning into him. “You’re incorrigible, Simon.” 

God, the way you make his name sound so pretty. He might faint. 

After the dance, Simon pulls you away from the crowd and onto a balcony, the soft hum of the party fading into the background. With the way his hands feel on you, you can’t seem to care that you’re unsupervised and alone with a man.

The cool night air is a welcome respite from the warmth of the ballroom. You shiver slightly, hugging yourself to keep warm. Immediately, Simon shrugs off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders to ward off the chill. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

He nods, his eyes lingering on your face. He loves the way your makeup highlights your features, the way you style your hair. He loves the way you stand up for yourself, the way you speak your mind without a care in the world. He loves the way you look so small compared to him, the way your dress accentuates your frame perfectly. He loves how passionate you are about the things you love, the way you make him feel. And— 

"You know," he begins, his voice low and intimate, "there was a time when I thought I would never be capable of feeling this way about anyone, let alone you."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "Oh? And what way might that be, Simon?”

He smiles, a genuine, tender expression that warms you to your very core. "In love," he admits softly. "Completely and utterly in love."

For a moment, you're stunned into silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability in his voice—it's everything you had hoped for, yet never dared to believe.

"You— you love me?" you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He nods solemnly, taking your hand in his. 

"With all my heart, every fiber of my being,” he replies, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "I know I've hurt you in the past, and I can never truly erase those mistakes. But I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you'll let me."

Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them away, squeezing his hand tightly. "Oh, Simon," you breathe, "I never thought I'd hear you say those words. But now that I have, I love you too. Despite everything, I love you."

A radiant smile you’ve never seen from Simon spreads across his face, and he leans closer, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. Finding none, he whispers lowly, "May I kiss you?"

Your breath catches, heart racing at the proximity of his face to yours. You can see every lineament, every tiny wrinkle, every light freckle that dots his face. You notice the details of his scars, the way his nose is slightly crooked. He squeezes your hand, bringing you back. 

“You... you mustn’t,” you stammer, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s highly improper.”

Who are you kidding? You want this as much as he wants it. 

Simon doesn’t immediately release your hand. Instead, he turns it over and places a soft kiss on the inside of your covered wrist.

“You might cause a scandal,” you say weakly, your resolve thinning with each passing second. 

Simon chuckles, low and quiet. “A scandal, you say? Perhaps it’s time I gave the ton something truly scandalous to talk about.”

You swallow thickly, heat rushing up your neck. “And what, pray tell, do you have in mind?”

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Marry me.”

The world seems to stop as his words sink in. You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, searching for any hint of jest, but all you find is sincerity and love.

“Simon,” you breathe, your heart pounding. “Are you serious?”

“As serious as I’ve ever been,” he replies, his gaze unwavering. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you every single day. So, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

A whirlwind of emotions sweeps through you—joy, love, and a hint of disbelief. You’ve always known that your relationship with Simon was special, but to hear him propose, to see the depth of his feelings laid bare, is almost overwhelming.

“Yes,” you say, your voice filled with emotion. “Yes, I will marry you.”

The words have barely left your lips before Simon's expression transforms, an unrestrained joy lighting up his face. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you entirely.

“May I kiss you?” 

You finally nod slightly, your eyes fluttering closed as anticipation builds. Simon cups your face gently with both of his rough, calloused hands, his touch hot and reassuring. He hesitates for just a heartbeat, savoring the moment, before he closes the distance between you. His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, then more assured as he feels you respond.

The kiss is tender at first, tentative, as if he's savoring every moment. You can feel the depth of his feelings in the way he kisses you, the way his hands cradle your face as if you are something precious and irreplaceable. It’s filled with the promise of all the unspoken words and emotions that have been building between you. It’s a kiss that feels like redemption, second chances, and the beginning of a future that you both long for.

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss. He groans ever so quietly as you pull at him. You can feel his heart beating against your chest, a quickened rhythm that mirrors your own. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation, every worry and doubt melting away.

When you finally pull back, both of you breathless and slightly dazed, Simon rests his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. "I've dreamed of this moment," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “For so long.”

You smile, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. 

"You're mine," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with wonder and certainty. "And I'm yours."

"Always," you reply, your heart swelling with happiness.

As you stand there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that whatever the future holds, you’ll face it together. And that is more than enough.

part 6 < > part 8 (finale)

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- home (part 1)

continuation from 'taken', there will be a home (part 2) word count: 5k

warnings: descriptions of injuries/blood/bruises, heavy angst, mentions of torture/torture tactics

Your eyes fly open, head lifting up just a bit to see Ghost standing at the entrance of your cell, his figure outlined by the flickering torchlight. His face is covered with his signature skull balaclava, but you could recognize those brown eyes anywhere. You notice Gaz standing watch beside him, a sword at his hip.

You blink once, twice. It’s a hallucination. You’ve lost a lot of blood.

Then, Simon’s muttering to himself, picking at the lock of the door to your cell.  

You squint, convinced that this is some cruel trick your mind is playing on you. But as the door creaks open, and Simon’s concerned eyes meet yours, you realize it’s not a hallucination.

No, he’s real, he’s standing here in front of you, now touching you. 

He’s real.

Simon’s voice breaks through your haze of pain, grounding you through your despair. He moves swiftly, crouching beside you. His strong hands gently reach for your face, cupping it with a mixture of worry and relief.

“Dove, it’s me,” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition. He taps your cheeks gently, trying to stir you. 

Taking one good look at him, your fingers reach up to press into his covered cheek, and a shudder ripples through your chest. You start sobbing uncontrollably when you finally register that he’s here, kneeling next to you.

He sees red. 

Sobs wrack through your body as he takes out a lock picker from a stray pouch in his gear. Simon’s heart races as he fumbles with the manacles that bound you, movements deliberate and rushed, desperation clawing at his heart. The metallic clinks of the manacles seem deafening against the sounds of your anguish. He can feel your pain, your fear, echoing through every sob that tears through you. His hands shake as he works to free you. To free you from this disgusting, dirty, cold cell that someone like you never belonged in.

“Easy now,” he murmurs, trying to make his voice sound as soothing as possible. “You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

You’re trying to speak, say anything, but all that comes out are gut wrenching sobs, tears, and mangled words. Your hands shake uncontrollably as you paw at his chest, still making sure that he was there, he was real. 

Simon feels his blood run cold. He has never seen you look so small before. 

It hurt him in ways he’s never felt before. 

He’d failed you. 

He’d let you get taken.

This was his fault.

“‘M gonna get you out of here.”

You manage a weak nod, unable to find the strength to speak. It’s as if the mere presence of your husband has breathed life back into you. He glances around, taking in the grim surroundings, the aftermath of the torment you’ve endured. He clearly sees how exhausted you are, how beat up you are. He takes in every inch of your battered body, the sight fueling his anger by the millisecond. Simon’s jaw ticks, and his gaze narrows at the sight of bruises along your body, fists involuntarily clench at his sides. It takes all his self-control to suppress the rage building within him.

He helps you sit up, hands steadying your shoulders as your head lolls slightly. You shake your head slowly, trying to rid yourself of your spinning vision. 

“Simon?” you whisper, your voice hoarse. Simon glances down to the bruises on your neck. “You’re here.” 

“I’m here, darling. You’re safe now. ‘M gonna take you home.”

Your cries are softer now, tears streaming down your face, a mix of pain and relief. Simon pulls you into a gentle embrace, holding you close, his touch offering a lifeline in the darkness. You sniffle quietly as your hands brush over his balaclava, the soft sensation grounding you further. The sensation of freedom, however fleeting, begins to wash over you. His eyes dart from your bruised face, silently vowing retribution.

“Who did this to you?” 

He already knows exactly who, he just wants confirmation from you. Simon’s voice carries a controlled anger, his eyes narrowing as he surveys the extent of your injuries. He brushes stray tears off your cheeks with the pad of his thumb as gently as he can. You wince at the pain but manage to muster a faint smile through swollen lips. 

“Shepherd, amongst others,” you rasp, your voice barely audible. The mention of your captors sends a shiver down your spine.

Simon’s jaw clenches, his eyes flashing with a mixture of concern and fury. He glances at Gaz, who remains vigilant by the cell entrance. 

“We'll deal with them,” Simon vows, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “But first, let's get you out of here.”

It took a moment for the reality of the situation to sink in.

“How did you...?” you began, your voice barely a whisper. You want to ask him so many questions. How did you get here? Where is everyone? Is the war over? Is Kastron safe? Have you heard from Johnny?

Simon grabs your shoulders tightly. “I had my ways. We don’t have much time. Can you stand?” he asks, his voice low and urgent.

“I– I don’t know,” you sniffle, already feeling unsteady sitting upright. 

“Let’s try, yeah?” Simon encourages softly, wrapping one arm under your own. Your battered limbs protest as you attempt to stand, but Simon supports you, his strong arms providing the stability you desperately need. “Easy now, I’ve got you.” 

Gaz, who had been silently keeping watch outside the cell, speaks up. “We need to move quickly. The guards may notice she’s gone soon,” he advises, his tone stern but concerned.

Simon quickly drapes the cloak he was wearing around your shoulders, providing a modicum of warmth and comfort. Once he’s satisfied, he tries taking a few steps with you. A pained whimper escapes your lips the moment your knees buckle, and immediately he’s sweeping you into his arms.

“Can’t risk you falling. I’ve got you,” Simon assures, his voice soothing your nerves. 

You clutch onto him tightly, willing yourself not to pass out. Gaz takes the lead, guiding the way through the corridors, avoiding any signs of patrols or guards. Leaning your head against his shoulder, your tears stain his shoulder as you try with everything in you to not lose consciousness.

As you all make your way through the dimly lit passages, Simon glances down at you every few seconds. You know him well enough to read his eyes, and the pain they hold with every glance at your form. When you let out a quiet fit of coughs, his arms settle around your figure even more protectively, his presence a shield against the haunting memories that still linger. The pain in your wrist and body persists, but with each step toward freedom, your resilience grows more prominent. 

Finally, you reach a concealed exit that had been hidden in the cobble walls. Simon lowers you gently to the ground, his eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of worry and determination. Gaz, ever vigilant, stands guard as Simon pushes the door open and peeks outside.

“The coast is clear,” Simon whispers, lifting you once again. You all step out into the cool night, and the door to the dungeon closes behind you. 

Gaz sweeps the perimeter once more, motioning that it’s safe to move on towards the forest a few hundred feet away from the bunker you were being held in. 

The forest stands ahead like a sanctuary, the dark shadows offering concealment for your escape. As your small group trudges through the forest, the group’s vigilance is unwavering. Simon scouts ahead, and Gaz constantly checks behind, ensuring there’s no pursuit.

“We should pick up the pace,” Gaz whispers, urging Simon to move faster through the woods.

Simon nods in agreement, his focus solely on getting you to safety. Staring at nothing in particular, you decide to keep your mouth shut, not wanting to have to worry about the escape plan on top of your other rampant emotions. You clutch onto Simon’s tunic, fingers twisting in the fabric as you try again to focus on your breathing. A few missteps from him causes you to groan quietly, every sudden movement shooting pains through your limbs. 

“The horses are just a few meters away.” 

That piques your interest, and you’re immediately met with apprehension arising in your bones. 

“I can’t—” you begin, clutching tighter onto Simon. 

“We need to get you on a horse,” Simon says, his voice low and urgent. Gaz unties one of the horses, a large stallion with a calm demeanor, and leads it toward you two.

“It’s gonna hurt,” you whine, trying your best to fight the tears trickling into your waterline. The bounces from the horse are surely going to not help your already weakened state. 

Simon's expression softens, and he brushes a gentle hand across your cheek. “I know, love. I’m sorry, but it's the only way out of here. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Simon carefully lowers you to the ground, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. He knows you're in pain, but the urgency of the situation demands speed and agility.

God, the mere sight of the blood coating your body, the bruises littered on your skin, makes Simon want to tear every single person who touched you limb from fucking limb. Simon has to take his own calming breaths to calm the rage brewing within him, knowing full well that he’ll be settling that little detail at a later date. Right now, what really mattered, was getting you to safety and medical attention. 

Simon quickly mounts the horse, settling far back into the saddle to accommodate space for you to sit in front. 

With a grunt, Gaz picks you up and carefully positions you on the horse, securing you in front of Simon. Despite the pain that shoots through your body with every movement, Simon’s steady arms hold you up, allowing you to lean your full body weight against his chest. 

“Thank you, Kyle,” you whisper, squeezing his hand gently. 

Gaz looks up at you, flashing you a reassuring smile before mounting his own horse. 

“There’s a rendezvous point a few miles ahead. It’s a safe place, guaranteed,” Gaz tells you, pulling his horse in front of you. 

You nod weakly, grateful for any semblance of safety. Simon adjusts his grip on you, ensuring you’re as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. The horse beneath you shifts, sensing the added weight. Simon leans down, whispering comforting words in your ear as Gaz takes the lead.

“It’s not going to be a short ride, but we’ll make it before sunrise,” Gaz says, starting to pull his horse into a steady trot. 

You whimper at his words, not knowing if your strength would give out on the journey to the rendezvous. 

“Where are we going?” you whisper hoarsely.

“Johnny’s home. Childhood home,” he grunts, his eyes locked on the path ahead.

“Where is he?” you ask, fighting back a cough, knowing it would make your bruised ribs hurt even more than they already do. 

“Took my place, don’t worry. He’s doin’ jus’ fine out there.”

All you can do is nod your head, grateful that Johnny would give up his old home for you, Simon, and Gaz.

The journey through the forest is grueling, each stride of the horse sending jolts of pain through your body. Simon’s arms, though, remain a sturdy anchor, and his whispered assurances and praises in your ear help numb the pain, if only temporarily. Gaz leads the way with a steady determination, navigating the twists and turns of the forest path with practiced ease. Every so often, Simon’s gaze periodically shifted to you, checking for any signs of distress or discomfort. 

The forest starts to thin, and moonlight spills through the branches, illuminating the path ahead. Simon’s grip tightens around you, offering both reassurance and stability. The night air is cool against your face, and for the first time since your captivity, a flicker of relief kindles within you. 

As the forest gives way to an open field, the silhouette of a small village emerges in the distance. It mainly consists of some cabins and shops, a humble town. Gaz turns around, signaling Simon to follow his direction through the streets. You can tell Gaz is cautious, his brows furrowed as he scans the streets and houses. Your body positively aches after the long journey, tremors erupting with each breath you take.

The village seems quiet, shrouded in the peacefulness of the night. Gaz leads the way to a secluded cabin, hidden amidst the trees. Simon carefully dismounts with you in his arms, and you can’t help but groan as you’re jostled around. Simon hisses at your response, swiping stray hairs out of your face. Gaz secures the horses before joining you both, leading you towards the cabin door. 

With a firm succession of staccato knocks from Gaz, an older woman cracks the door open.

“Good evening,” she says, voice calm yet reserved.

“Nightingale,” Gaz shoots back, and you assume it to be a code word. 

Without hesitation, the woman throws open the door, ushering you three inside her cozy cabin.

The softly lit cabin warms you up the moment you cross the threshold. You clutch onto Simon tighter, cuddling into him as he carries you inside. You notice another younger woman in the small kitchen, preparing what seems to be a soup of some sort.

“This is Johnny’s mum and sister,” Gaz says quickly, introducing you to the two women. 

“No time to waste with introductions, set her down in here,” the elder woman says urgently, motioning to a bed in a room off to the side. Simon follows her into the bedroom, gently placing you on the plush mattress.

Soap’s mother is gathering a large assortment of medical supplies after giving you a short once over. Gaz remains vigilant in the main room, occasionally peering out to ensure the cabin remains secure. Soap’s sister quietly brings in fresh bandages and supplies, assisting her mother in her efforts.

Simon drops into the chair beside the bed, quickly throwing off his balaclava before his hands tenderly brush hair away from your face. You turn to look at him, now drinking in the sight of his bare face. A face you haven’t seen in five arduous months. In return, he openly stares at the blood on your forehead and arms, shivering at the mere thought of what you’ve endured the past few days. He notices the faint remnants of dried blood from under your nostrils and the faint handprints on your cheeks, heart twisting inside his chest. Soon, he’s trailing down to study each individual bruise blossoming on your skin, his fingers ghosting over the evidence of your suffering. Insurmountable guilt and anger settles in his chest, a burden that he can’t shake off. Every mark on your skin is a reminder of his believed failure, a reminder that he couldn’t protect you from the horrors you faced in the hands of Shepherd.

“We’ll take care of you,” he murmurs. 

He snakes his hand down to hold your own, but you whimper in pain when he squeezes your injured hand. Simon draws his hand back, studying your hand with confusion, afraid that he hurt you.

“I think it’s sprained, or broken,” you manage to say.

Simon inhales sharply, “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” he asks gently, only angry at himself for not noticing sooner. 

You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. You notice a lantern settled on a chest of drawers across the room, and you decide to focus on the flickering flame, trying to tune out the pain radiating from your aching body. 

Soap’s mother moves closer, her eyes narrowing as she examines the injury.

“We’ll need to set that properly,” she declares, her tone steady. “It might hurt a bit, but I’ll make sure it’s done right.”

She eyes the injuries that mar your body, her face reflecting a motherly instinct you haven’t seen in a long time.

“Rest here, dearie,” she says, fluffing the pillows behind you. “I’ll patch you up in no time.” 

Simon sits close, his eyes never leaving you as the woman begins to examine your injuries more in depth. 

“Let’s start with the wrist,” she states matter of factly, pulling out materials to make a splint. 

As she works on setting the bones, you grit your teeth against the pain. Tears pool in the corners of your eyes, and Simon remains by your side, offering words of comfort and gentle touches to distract you from the pain. 

Once she finishes, she secures the splint in place, ensuring your wrist is stabilized. She offers you a reassuring smile. “Take it easy on that hand for a while, dear. It’ll need time to heal.”

You nod, biting your tongue to prevent a pained sob from escaping. Soap’s sister enters the room and sets a bowl of steaming soup in Simon’s hands, offering you a comforting smile. As Soap’s mother tends to the rest of your injuries, the exhaustion of the night catches up with you. Simon starts to hand feed you the soup, blowing on the steam before slipping the spoon into your mouth. The soft light and caring hands patching up your injuries are a welcomed contrast to the harshness you endured.

As Soap’s mother finishes her work, her gaze assesses the overall state of your well-being. “Rest is the best remedy for now,” she advises, her motherly tone making your heart ache. You’re covered nearly head to toe in bandages, gauze, salves, and creams. 

Simon helps you settle into a more comfortable position, adjusting the blankets around you. 

Her gaze shifts to Simon. “You should get some rest too.” 

Simon hesitates, torn between the need to stay awake by your side to make sure you’re okay and the exhaustion that permeates his bones. Her firm gaze leaves no room for argument.

“I’ll keep watch,” Gaz interjects, stepping into the room. “You both need to rest. I’ve got this covered.”

“You’re a saint, Gaz,” you whisper.

He smiles sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. 

“You’ve been through hell. If you need anything, just say the word.”

“Thank you,” you smile genuinely, eyes watery.  

Gaz dips in a shallow bow, then leaves the room alongside Soap’s mother. She shuts the door quietly behind her, leaving you and Simon alone in the tiny bedroom. 

A beat of silence hovers in the room, threatening to swallow you whole. Simon’s eyes remain fixed on you, his knee bouncing in quiet contemplation. You don’t meet his gaze, still fixated on the flame in the lantern. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He folds his hands awkwardly in his lap, pressing his nails into the back of his hands, creating crescents in his rough skin. 

“I didn’t give in,” you barely whisper.

Simon’s gaze intensifies, his brows twisting into a pained expression. He reaches out, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes.

“I know.”

“I fought back. Managed to almost escape once.”

“Yeah? Smart girl.”

You manage a faint smile, your eyes searching his. You study the few specks of gold buried in the dark brown of his eyes. 

“Stabbed someone with a fork, too.”

He raises his eyebrows, a mix of surprise and pride flashing in his eyes. 

“That’s my girl.”

A small chuckle escapes you, the sound carrying relief and weariness. Simon’s thumb gently strokes your cheek, careful not to press into your skin. 

“The— bruises. Your neck…” Simon chokes out, his voice catching with emotion.

How could anyone do such a cruel thing to you?

Your eyes flit down to his nose, avoiding his gaze. You don’t really acknowledge what he’s talking about, shutting the thoughts down immediately. It was painful, uncomfortable. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice strained with remorse.

You shake your head gently, your fingers reaching up to trace a comforting pattern on his hand.

He stands up with a sigh, quickly circling around the bed to lay down next to you. He’s extremely agile climbing into the bed, ensuring that you don’t move an inch from your current position. Simon finally settles beside you, his mere presence a source of comfort. How you’ve craved being close to him during the past few months. You relish in the warmth emanating from his body as he carefully wraps an arm around you.

“I thought I lost you,” Simon finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking it out loud would make it come true. 

You reach out, your uninjured hand finding his. “But you found me. I knew you were coming to get me,” you say softly, offering a reassuring squeeze. “And now we’re here. Together.”

“I should’ve never left you in the first place,” Simon says, his words heavy with self-blame. His eyes start to fill with guilt and anger. 

Your heart aches seeing him like this. You bring his hand to your lips, placing a soft kiss on his knuckles. “Si, you did what you had to do. This is not your fault, none of it is.” 

He looks at you, searching your eyes for absolution. “I should’ve protected you.”

You manage a weak smile, your fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek. “But you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. He focuses on your breathing under his touch, a quiet reassurance that you’re alive. 

As he opens his eyes, there’s a vulnerability in them that you’ve only seen a few times. “I need you to know,” he begins, voice raw, “‘M gonna spend the rest of my life making up for not being there when you needed me.”

Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw, noting the stubble that doesn’t really grow around a scar on his chin. “Simon, you’ve done enough by finding me and bringing me back. All I want is for you to hold me.”

Simon’s grip on you tightens, craving the feeling of your soft skin against his, allowing you to settle against him. His anger simmers beneath the surface, a quiet but palpable intensity. You recognize the fire in his eyes, a determination that has fueled him. His jaw clenches, brows narrowing in anger. 

“I swear,” he says, his voice low and filled with a seething resolve, “I’ll find Shepherd, and I'll make him pay for what he did to you.”

You can feel the weight of his vow, the promise of retribution. You understand his constant need for justice, yet you’ve seen how stubborn he is when he’s set on what he wants. You’ve seen it in his eyes before, that unwavering determination to protect those he loves. 

“Kiss me,” you breathe, pulling at him desperately. “Just, kiss me, please.” 

Simon doesn’t hesitate. Leaning down, he presses his lips to yours passionately, a kiss that speaks of relief, of longing, of unwavering commitment. You melt into his touch, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as he swipes his tongue into your mouth, kissing you deeply. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that contradicts the wrath within him. It’s as though he’s trying to drown out any lingering remnants of pain, a gentle urgency laced with each movement against your lips. As his mouth moves against yours, you acutely feel the tenderness in the way he holds you, as if trying to heal every hurt with his touch. His arms tighten around you, an unspoken resolve to shield you from any harm that might try to come after you again, as if trying to bridge the time and distance of the months you were apart.

And oh God, how you’ve missed him. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, a desperate need for closeness, a reassurance that the nightmare is over. Simon responds with a fervor that matches your own, the taste of salt from your tears mingling with the sweetness of the kiss. Simon’s hands move with purpose. They explore the contours of your back, tracing the path of bandages, as if saying “I can take your pain away.”

When the kiss finally breaks, you’re left breathless, bottom lip swollen. Simon rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours and his eyes searching yours with an intensity that reflects the depth of his emotions. You notice the pinkness in his cheeks, still charmed by his boyish tendencies. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you again,” Simon vows, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“I know,” you whisper, your fingers tracing soothing patterns on his back.

“But, how can you believe me? I’ve said it time and time again, and have failed miserably every single time.”

“No, don’t you dare say that, Simon Riley. You’ve never failed me. Never, not once.” 

Simon pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours hesitantly. You meet his gaze with unwavering sincerity.

“You’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted and more, tenfold,” you say, your voice filled with gratitude. “You’re my hero, Simon, and nothing will ever say otherwise.”

He swallows hard, a mixture of emotions playing across his features. The weight of the past few months, the fear of losing you, and the guilt for not being there sooner still linger in his eyes.

“I love you,” he breathes, lips brushing against yours softly. He presses a tender kiss on your lips, relishing the way you feel so soft against him. 

“I love you, Simon Riley. I love you so much, it hurts,” you whisper gingerly.

The room falls into a quiet stillness, save for your soft breaths. Simon continues to hold you, and as exhaustion begins to tug at both of you, he arranges the blankets and helps you settle into a more comfortable position.

“You need to rest, dove,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"You need to rest too," you urge, concern evident in your eyes. Of course you would tell him to rest even though you’ve just been through hell and back. 

"I just need to make sure you're okay," he insists reluctantly.

I’m not okay, is what you want to say, but you bite your tongue. 

“Gaz is keeping watch,” you assure him. 

He hesitates for a moment longer before nodding, conceding to his exhaustion. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Sleep,” he murmurs tenderly.

In the quiet moments that follow, you feel Simon's fingers tracing soothing patterns on your arm, a silent promise to chase away the nightmares that might try to haunt you. His breath tickles the top of your head as he presses a gentle kiss there, sealing his vow to be your protector.

As you drift into sleep, Simon remains vigilant, his gaze fixed on the door, his thoughts consumed by his promise of retribution against those who hurt you.

You’re woken up when you feel Simon slip out of bed after an indiscernible amount of time, but you keep your eyes closed. He exits the room silent as a mouse, piquing your curiosity. You hear low voices through the thin wooden door, straining slightly to hear better. Simon takes a moment to speak with Gaz, their conversation hushed but intense. You catch phrases like “plan,” “safety,” and “Shepherd” being exchanged. The urgency in their voices makes you tremble. 

You really don’t want to think about that right now.

All you want is for Simon to come back to bed.

You carefully shift onto your side and squeeze your eyes shut, quickly falling back asleep.

Little do you know, Simon is angrily pacing outside the door, conversing with Gaz fiercely. Smoldering rage courses through his veins; he doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry in his whole entire life. His fists clench and unclench, the tension in his shoulders evident as he and Gaz exchange urgent words. 

“Shepherd won’t get away with this,” Simon seethes, his voice low but filled with a burning intensity. “They’ll pay for what they’ve done. Every last one of ‘em.”

Gaz, though equally determined, attempts to inject a note of logic. “I understand, but we need a solid plan. Recklessness won’t help anyone, especially not your wife. It has to be clean cut, y’know.”

Simon pauses, his jaw tight, his gaze piercing through the darkness. “I won’t let them hurt her again, Gaz. I will not let them roam free while she suffers. Did you see her face when we first found her? The marks on her?”

Gaz meets Simon’s gaze with a steady, understanding look. “I saw it. And they will answer for it. But we need to be strategic. We gather intel, infiltrate, and then we bring them down.”

Simon, still pulsating with anger, nods reluctantly. “Fine. But we move fast, Gaz. I can’t stand the thought of them out there.” 

Gaz places a hand on Simon's shoulder, attempting to ground him. “I’m with you, your majesty. We’ll get them, but we need to be smart about it.”

Simon exhales heavily, a visible struggle between his desire for swift justice and the need to protect you. “I can’t lose her, Gaz. I can’t bear it. And I came too damn close.”

The promise he made to you—the vow to be your protector—rushes through his mind. 

“You won’t lose her,” Gaz assures, his tone firm. “We’ll do it right. For her.”

Simon nods, the fire in his eyes undiminished. He glances back at the closed door, the image of your sleeping figure fueling his determination. With a final exchange of determined looks, Simon makes his way back into the bedroom. 

As the door creaks open, Simon enters the room and his expression softens when he sees you still asleep. He moves silently, slipping back into bed slowly and carefully, as if afraid you would shatter into a million pieces if you so much as moved under his added weight on the mattress. 

His fingers resume their soothing patterns on your arm, a stark contrast to the fiery storm still raging within him. His gaze lingers on your face, the tenderness in his eyes disguising the ferocity of his resolve. You stir slightly at his return, the warmth of his body heat comforting. Simon’s touch becomes even more delicate, as if he fears his anger might seep into your dreams. 

All he wants is to shield you from the horrors that have befallen you, to offer you a haven of peace within the storm.

In the morning, you were all going to head back to the castle.

Silently, Simon vows to avenge you in due time. But for now, he’ll stay with you.

(home part 2 coming soon)

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(masterlist)