#i developed riley a little bit more than him

[suguann]

He has a feeling that the new girl running the front desk at the gym is going to be a problem—a distraction disguised in a gym uniform polo and khaki pants.

It starts with you smiling too brightly as he walks in one morning, all teeth and that little twinkle in your eye that feels like trouble when you scan his membership card.

“Good morning, Mr. Riley.” 

“It’s just Simon,” he tells you as he takes his card off the counter. 

The following day, it’s the same, except Johnny is there to make it worse.

He nudges Simon with his elbow. “She’s kinda pretty, huh?”

“Say it any louder, and she’ll hear you, mate,” he grumbles.

Simon’s not blind; of course, he knows you’re pretty, but he doesn’t have time to commit to anything outside of work—even if you smile at him like you’re happy to see him and how he’ll think about it later: on missions, at his desk, during morning runs. His head is nothing short of woven webs with thoughts of you stuck in the middle.

Honestly, it’s that you—

(You try to make small talk with him every morning, and Simon is starting to think it’s just for him because on the days he doesn’t come alone, you merely scan his card and go back to reading the open paperback book on the desk.)

It’s weird because it’s almost like you—

(He bumps into you at the supermarket and makes a dumb joke about carrots that makes you laugh. It makes him a little tongue-tied and awkward afterward because he realizes he hasn’t talked to a woman outside of only wanting a quick fuck in a really long time, but more importantly, he wants to hear it again. 

Instead, he tosses potatoes in his cart and walks away.)

He tells himself it means nothing, or not how Simon wants it to.

You’re just…he’s not even sure; acquaintances? Maybe more than that, but less than friends. Somewhere in that odd in-between phase where he only knows bits and pieces but not the whole picture.

Sometimes, he wishes—

(Simon doesn’t know what he’s doing the first time he invites you to meet the guys from work on a night out. He’s dated around a few times and had his fair share of hook-ups, but this isn’t like that. His palms are sweaty, more than usual, and no amount of wiping them on the thighs of his jeans keeps them dry.

Then you walk into the bar in a dress that’s probably too light for early spring in London—even though he stares appreciatively at the long expanse of your legs as you walk up to the table—and he wishes he wasn’t introducing you as his friend.)

But you—

(A new development happens after you slip him your phone number on one of the gym’s business cards—it’s weird that we don’t have each other’s numbers, so message me sometime or whatever—and he messages you ‘hey’ right before he leaves for a mission a few days later. 

It slowly shifts and changes over time.

You start sending him texts in the morning. Never an actual good morning text, but of the dogs you take on walks, the sunrise, the new flower box in your window. Somehow, it’s better.)

You really are—

(His house feels too hot, and he’s distracted from the movie by how close you are, how your leg drapes over his under the blanket, fingers fisting into his sweater at his stomach that clenches. An ache that grows, throbbing, spreading from his abdomen to his groin.

It feels monumental—something more than the gentle touch to the elbow to squeeze by each other in his entryway earlier or giving you his jacket that night at the bar—a tilt of the axis that makes the messy pieces fall neatly into place. 

He must be staring because you glance up at him, smiling, and the sound from the TV turns into white noise in the background.

“Can I…would you—fucking hell,” Simon runs a hand through his hair. “Can I kiss you?”

When your lips press against his, and his hands are pulling you onto his lap, where you settle hotly against his dick tenting in his jeans, he wonders why neither of you has done this before. Just kissing—him licking the seam of your mouth, and you panting his name.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you mumble, lips brushing his.

“Me too,” and he fists his hand into the hair at your nape and pulls you back to his mouth.)

“I knew you’d be trouble,” he tells you one day, glaring at the bloke further down the bar who tried making a swipe at your ass before Simon showed up, towering over his shoulder with your fruity cocktail in hand.

“Oh, yeah?” you giggle, leaning into his side.

“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth quirk, though he hides it when he presses a kiss against your temple. “A real pain in my ass, love.”

“But yours.”

This time, he does smile. “Yes, but mine.”

Masterlist

[forsworned]

It’s said canonically that simon riley has trauma around intimacy from torture 😔 If you feel comfortable writing it, can I please ask for a short fic of an Afab reader body worshipping/lovingly pleasuring Simon after they both work through his trauma and he’s getting all soft and emotional and babbling about how good reader is making him feel and how much he loves them and can’t believe someone cares about him this much? I always liked the idea of Simon being portrayed as vulnerable and soft and not this dom sex god a lot of people portray him to be. I really love your work and would love to see your take on this request :)

Soft ft. Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Author's Note: So I do recall someone making a post about this and I have to say I do not agree with everything. Men definitely process trauma, specifically sexual trauma a lot differently than women do. While women experience guilt, men experience anger. And maybe it's not all men who experience it that way, but after reading the comic and making my own assessment, I can say that Simon does have lingering anger. Of course, he is hell-bent on avenging his dead family, but all that pent-up energy could be going toward trying to even the score. He is pretty level-headed and able to compartmentalize. He has support from his comrades as well as undergoes mandatory rigorous mental health assessments because that's military protocol. He needs to be able to perform his duties on the field without putting himself or others at risk. He also most certainly gets mandatory counseling. Although he may be reluctant, his superiors are very much aware of the possible impact that it has on his mental health. So all that to say that Simon is not without help. He is not as "damaged" as people may perceive him to be. He's not a broken individual. As seen in the remastered MW's, albeit reluctant he can clearly put his trust in others. He develops relationships with the people who he works closely with meaning he is capable of change. SIGH. I just wish people would break this down a little more, but I do get what you're saying. His masculinity, trust issues, and the type of secret operations he goes on can lessen the effectiveness of the therapy. He's definitely a very complex character with layers to him, but I just don't think he's as weak as you may think he is. It's also important to note that it hasn't been confirmed that this current Simon went through the same thing. He could have a completely different background. Honestly, Activision is so fucking inconsistent but ANYWAYSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS I hope you enjoy this. Also if you read this all the way through, I applaud you. But thank you for enjoying my work, I didn't mean to critique you and your request, but I just couldn't let it slide LOL

Warnings: PnV sex, AFAB!Reader, Some Canon Simon Lore, Sexual Content, Mentions of Sexual Trauma

"Si—Simon..."

You sigh out in pleasure with every roll of your hips as you grind down on him. Your clit grazes against his lower abdomen, and his cock stretches you out pliant. Fingers dig into his shoulders, marking half crescents into his pale, scarred skin. But something feels off.

His hands loosen their grip on your hips, and upon opening your eyes you find him his half-lidded gaze distant in a familiar haze. He isn't present.

"Simon." You halt the rutting of your hips, cupping his stubbly cheeks. "Are you alright?"

His onyx hues fixate on you. He is clearly readjusting his withdrawn eyes to refocus on you. You didn't want to say it yet, but you had felt him go a little soft a few seconds prior. "We can stop."

"No, no." His fingers squeeze your middle as he sits up a bit. You shake your head, but he's not letting up. "Why stop?"

You firmly grasp his face and his blonde lashes flutter up at you with a seemingly unreadable expression, but you're no stranger to Simon's detachment. Although he loathes to admit it, it happens. The relearning of being intimate is tumultuous for him.

"Because you're not mentally here, my love."

He frowns. "But I want y'to finish."

You exhale sharply. He doesn't even deny it. "No, Simon. I'd feel disgusted with myself if I finished while you weren't here with me."

He struggles to reply. In all honesty, he doesn't know what to say. It's not exactly a common occurrence, but he's not too keen on having a conversation about it. You never pry though. His therapy sessions are his own, unless, of course, you join him if he so desires.

Couples counseling is mandatory. A rule you established when you first decided to tie the knot. If you had problems that were beyond just a sit-down talk, a professional would have to intervene. And Simon agreed. No fuss, no muss. To preserve the sacredness of your relationship, he'd do anything.

He sighs. "'m sorry, dovie." He caresses your sides, feeling the gooseberries on your skin rise. A small smile adorns his lips and you giggle at his smugness.

"Stop it." You begin to get off of him, but Simon holds you firmly. You feel his dick harden inside of you, now kissing your cervix. A little gasp escapes your chest as you readjust yourself.

"Y'like tha'?" Simon's grinning now. It's his confidence gleaming through the abysmal darkness of his mind. The life in his eyes feels revitalized, and you now feel his vigor—literally.

"Yes, but..."

"'m here, love." He reaffirms, squeezing your waist again. "'m here. Please, 'm achin' for you."

He groans a bit and bucks his hips when he feels you pulsate around him. You return your own moan, leaning forward but his fingers thread through your hair and he brings you into a sloppy, heated kiss. His hips thrust into you slowly and deeply, earning a guttural moan from him.

For a moment as you withdrew from the kiss, your gazes meet and Simon's eyes soften and become glossy with tears that brim over his oculars and spill over the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, baby." You coo, holding him close as you kiss his face. His sadness is silent, yet palpable. You're now babbling sweet, sweet words to him as you pepper him with kisses, and Simon holds you as if you're going to slip away. You gently guide him through the double inhale technique you learned from your therapist, and with the sweetness of your voice, the kindness in your eyes, and the tenderness of your touch, he feels at ease.

"I dunno how y'put up with me."

You grin, kissing the corner of his lip. "It ain't easy."

"Oh?" He flips you over on your back, pressing you firmly against the mattress and you giggle into the nape of his neck. "Wanna say that again, love?"

You thread your fingers through his sandy blonde hair and kiss the tip of his nose. "You're not hard to love, Simon."

His eyes soften once more and he kisses you deeply. Simon has never cherished anyone more in his life. You were always so patient and kind from the jump. You were truly the "greater woman" behind the "great man".

He rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes as you gently card your fingers in his hair.

"Thank you, lovie."

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Part 2 to Desperate Times Call for Filthy Fantasies

Daddy Dom!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Brat!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader

Summary: After a certain Lieutenant allowed his fantasies to run wild, there was only one thing left to do: make them a reality. Opportunity presents itself one day as your brattiness has reached new highs and he follows you into the communal bathroom and locks the door behind you both. You're all alone and now what? Seems you've bitten off more than you can chew, but you both know now that was your plan all along.

Word Count: 5.2 k

Warnings:

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ghost demanded as he stepped up to confront you, his voice sharp and harsh. You were in quite the mood today, deciding the night before that instead of pulling your usual bullshit you would be employing a new tactic to piss of your Lieutenant.

There was no way for you to have known how your superior had allowed his fantasies to run rampant through his mind, how he had been in a constant state of being turned on whenever he had to be near you now, how his cock was nearly raw from how many times he’d had to jerk it lately. No, you didn’t know any of that, but it definitely helped your newest little scheme.

“I’m not doing anything,” you said, not even bothering to look into the face of the man trying to reprimand you as you again moved away back to what you were doing.

You should have just been running drills before rifle practice, but instead of simply getting to it and doing it in silence, every time Ghost passed near you a suggestive noise slipped out of your mouth. Moaning, panting, humming; all those beautiful noises of what you would sound like as you climaxed just loud enough that he alone could hear.

It took every ounce of his strength to subdue the aching bulge consistently being made to grow in his pants, threatening to tent the fabric out and display his true feelings about the entire situation and every minute that passed it became almost impossible to quell. Goddamn him for indulging his imagination because now he had to deal with this shit and it made him furious that there was nothing he could do to fix it. Well, not yet.

Making another round to supervise his subordinates, he again passed by you and again was met with a closed-lipped moan as he got within earshot. You looked up as you finished your bit of vocal acting and locked eyes with him in an unmistakable act of defiance which he took the bate of.

“Dammit, I said stop,” he ordered, but again you brushed him off.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s it,” he growled, “I’m not playing games anymore private. You want to get reprimanded again?”

You shrugged. “Fine. What will it be this time, sir? Five hundred push ups or shall I run until the sun sets. Just make up your mind quick so I can get this started.”

Fucking bitch, he thought. “Push ups, now. And if I see your back not straight a board you are starting over. Got it?”

“Sure,” you said as you rolled your eyes and got on your hands and knees.

Not again, he could not take another second of this. Something had to be done or he was going to explode. What was your fixation with inducing his rage? Why could you simply not leave him be?

Ghost had already thought it before, but he had to wonder even more with this new development if the reason behind your actions was to get his attention, the type of attention that wasn’t so innocent. As his hand discreetly adjusted his cock inside his pants, it already throbbing against his touch, he knew he needed to find out.

It was the middle of the day when Ghost finally caught back up with you. At the far end of the base, near the Private barracks, he saw you chatting away with some of your fellow recruits. He watched silently, trying to concoct a plan to get you alone and finally nip this shit in the bud. There were plenty of things he could do: walk up and order you to his office, walk into the barracks and order everyone else out, but as he stood there brooding with what to do, you said your goodbyes and broke off from the small group.

His eyeline followed you as you walked your unsuspecting way to the communal bathrooms alone and stepped inside. This was his chance, at least it looked that way from the outside. Before he could stop himself or think of any possible ramifications of his actions, he stormed right in after you without hesitation. The moment he was inside his gaze scanned the room quick to locate you and found you standing in front of the sinks, peering at yourself in the mirror as you checked your face and hair, then moving on to readjust your breasts to sit up higher in your bra.

Your gaze shifted from the mirror once you felt that familiar pair of eyes on you and as you turned you saw the broad form of your superior officer blocking up the doorway with his impressive figure. He was silent, but then again wasn’t he always? Probably come to continue the earlier argument; good thing you were always ready to push him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you said nonchalantly with a hint of sarcasm as you finished preening without caring if he saw. “Came to powder your nose as well? Please, don’t let me stop you. I promise I won’t look if you pull off the mask.”

He was quiet, too quiet, as those brown eyes again looked thoroughly through the room. What the hell was he searching for you wondered. It took him less than a minute to finally turn his attention back to you and as he secured that intimidating gaze directly into your eyes, his hand slipped behind his back and you heard a click as the lock on the bathroom door was engaged.

Slowly you turned away from the sink, facing him as you crossed your arms just under your chest. “Care to tell me what this is about, sir?” you asked, not the least bit afraid. “Kind of suspicious the way you just locked us in here like that.”

“Don’t you fucking dare play coy with me, princess,” he growled, his voice deep and menacing as his glare drilled daggers into you through the eye holes of his mask. “We both know exactly what the fuck it is you are doing and if you think you’ll just get away with it anymore, you’re fucking wrong luv.”

The corner of your lip upturned into a smirk. “Care to actually explain what it is I am being accused of? Or would you rather I start making a scene so you get caught doing … whatever this is by keeping me trapped in here? Your choice Lieutenant.”

Christ, the way you made his body burn with an uncontrollable need to put you in your fucking place, to have you bending over backward to his whims, was both infuriating and intoxicating all at once until he did not know up from down. You were fiery and that’s exactly how liked them; the challenge of making the spicy ones come to heel was half the fun for him. And it had been quite a while since he had been able to put his skill to the test.

“Your lack of respect and piss poor attitude are getting fucking old, little girl,” he hissed, his lips curling into a snarl under the fabric of his mask. “And now you want to pull this, hmm? Can’t bitch your way out of it so you decide to make yourself look like a slag to, what? Distract me?”

“Is that what this is about?” you questioned, followed by a malicious chuckle, shaking your head; he didn’t know what he was getting himself into. “And so what if I am?”

“Excuse me?” he interjected.

“You heard me,” you stood firm. “You see, I checked and double checked, I’m still within dress code so I don’t see your fucking problem. Besides, maybe I like making you stare whenever I am around; that’s not a crime and, let’s be honest, there is nothing you can do about it.”

Was that more provocation? Because now that he had the upper hand, it would definitely come with a price. The more defiant you got the harder he became. “Oh,” he said as he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching as they crushed the debris stuck in the grooves along the bottom. “Is that so?”

You weren’t going to back down, not when you were ready to see what he was going to do about it. “If you have a personal problem with me distracting you, maybe you should look into stroking it more often instead of acting like it’s my fault.”

“That’s because it is, sweetheart, and I’m fucking sick of it.”

Large, heavy sounding steps that seemed magnified by the otherwise quiet room kept the beat as he stalked towards the object of his ire and his desire. You matched his pace only moving backwards until your shoulder blades hit the wall; there was nowhere else for you to go now.

This wasn’t like those times during trainging when others had been around to boost your confidence in your back talk, this was a new side to him that you had yet to see. No shouting, no barking orders, nothing but silent intimidation by his impressive physical form. He towered over you in an imposing fashion and shut you up real fucking quick. Looking up into his face, you noticed the look he now gave you had gone dark as the closeness had cast shadows over his eyes behind the mask, giving him a feral look that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Where’s that attitude of yours now, hmm?” Ghost questioned. “That’s what I thought. You see, I realized that I’ve been going about this all wrong, luv.”

Reaching out his arm, his hand found its target and with powerful fingers he wrapped them around your slender neck. He didn’t touch you with hesitation as if he was unsure about what his intentions were, he touched you like he fucking owned you and you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks and a throbbing between your thighs at that certainty. His grip was firm, but not painful; he wanted you to know that the control was no longer yours.

“Daddy never disciplined you when you got out of line, did he, princess? I bet he spoiled you fucking rotten and now you think you can just do whatever you want and there won’t be any fucking consequences, is that it?” He shook his head with a click of his tongue.

Through his palm, you could feel his heatbeat pounding furiously. This was the first time he had really touched you and there was a certain jolt there as his skin connected with yours. Those copper eyes sparked to life like a fire had been kindled inside him as he glared down at you.

“Too bad I am not one to let you get away with it anymore,” he stated, “no, you are about to be made to follow directions. I’ve tried and fucking tried to get through to you, but I was going about it all wrong, wasn’t I? You are challenging me because you secretly want me to put you in your fucking place, isn’t that right?”

Looking up at him through heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you didn’t need to say a word; your silence said volumes. “You want my attention,” he said, “and fuck, you are going to have it.”

On of his wide knees found your thighs and with a good bit of pressure applied he split them apart. His own thigh pushed against your sex and he found that it was warm against his leg. As he pushed in farther, his eyes caught you struggling not to let him notice the way you took your bottom lip into your mouth and bit down, clearly from something being stimulated.

“Poor little girl,” he degraded cockily in that deep, gruff voice of his, “now that I’m this close I can see how goddamn pathetic you’ve been this whole time. Pushing me to my limit just to see what I would do. What is it you need? Want a big, strong man with more experience to make you their bitch?”

Those big doe-eyes stared right back at him. “Yes,” you confirmed quietly.

Ghost nodded his head. “Fine, I’ll bite, but we do this my way. Go on then, get on your knees.”

Your eyebrows raised with the tilt of your head. “And what if I don’t?”

Something in the air changed in that moment; the tension became so thick between you both you couldn’t breathe without it filling your body to the brim as he grabbed the back collar of his shirt with both hands and slowly slipped it off his torso. That bare chest covered in a thin layer of light brown hair immediately drew your attention from his face.

You knew the man was thick, it was clear from the way his uniform hugged his curves, but you were not prepared for just how toned he was. His line of work obviously kept him supreme shape, each muscle scuplted as if he were carved from marble all the way down his torso in firm and tight ripples of skin until it reached that ‘V’ that led like an arrow down into his pants. God, you needed to know how big the appendage it was pointing to was.

Leaning his cloth-covered face in closer as if he were about to connect your mouths through the fabric, he stopped just shy of your lips, making your body squirm as the proximity of his own just out of reach felt was like a new form of torture. You may have gotten the jump-start on him long before now, made his body burn with your teasing, but he could tease even better when it came down to it. He’d have you bending over backwards to do as he said in no time.

Ghost exhaled quick and sharp through his nose, “When the fuck did I ask? I said on your knees, now.”

Taking a step back, you were given just enough space to move. He was impassible, like a wall made of stone, and there was nothing else for you to do other than lower yourself to the ground before his form. It was like standing at the base of a sycamore tree, gazing up the long thick trunk that seemed to go on forever.

Pointing a finger to the buckle on his belt, he growled. “Undo it.”

Fumbling a bit as you tripped over your unsteady fingers, you did as he said and with a tinkling of metal hitting metal it swung open to hang loosely from the belt loops.

His slacks hung about his waist and he grabbed your hand to shove it inside the confines of his pants, going until he placed it on cock pulsing inside his underwear. “Take it out.”

Good God, what your hand wrapped around made your eyes widen and as you moved his boxer briefs down and out of your way, you could see why. Now that it was free, his thick cock stood at full attention: the tip swollen and already beaded with precum, the veins running the length of it pulsing with his rapid heartbeat making it twitch towards you. It was huge, matching the bulk of the man before you.

Ghost pushed you back so that you were sitting on your heels as he stroked his hand along the shaft a few times just so the shock of it being touched wouldn’t send him over the edge too quickly as he put you to work. “Open your mouth, princess. Let’s give those lips something to do other than bitch.”

His free hand found the back of your head as you sat up on your knees with your mouth agape and he laced his stocky digits through your hair. With a solid push on your skull your head moved forward into him until you had no choice but to take the tip of his cock inside your lips. That beast of a man was easing you into what was to come and you knew it; no man as experienced as him was going to go easy on you for long. The moment you made contact with his cock’s head he grunted and you could feel his it throb into the roof of your mouth.

“Goddammit, babygirl,” he groaned, his grip on your hair getting stronger as he pushed you down further onto his shaft.

Fuck, that impressive girth was almost too much for your tiny orifice to take in all at once and you had to use your hand for compensation at the base or risk choking, but that did not stop you from doing your best to give him exactly what he wanted; you were consumed with the feeling as you were sure if you did a good enough job he would take care of you.

The saltiness of his precum filled the walls of your mouth as with each flick of your tongue around the head of his cock added more moisture to the inside of your lips. Tears stung your eyes as you breathed through your nose, trying your best not to gag from the sheer volume of cock being shoved into your mouth and down your throat, but you couldn’t stop.

“Look up at me,” he commanded as he caught sight of the beads of liquid slipping down the sides of your cheeks; he needed an unhindered view. “That’s it. I want those eyes on mine while I fuck that pretty mouth.”

The more you sucked, the more his hips began thrusting smoothly against your lips until he was fucking your mouth with his hand still on the back of your head to keep you from pulling away. “Ah my little whore, mouth taking cock like it’s your job. That’s all you’re good for isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

You moaned, the vibration from your vocal chords reaching his tip. He grunted as his hips bucked harder against your face, smashing his abdominals into your nose. “Such a dirt bitch, trying to talk with your mouth full.”

His thrusts into your throat became more desperate the more you sucked as that familiar warmth gathered itself in his belly, threatening to tear through him soon. You never let your gaze falter, no matter how hard he hit your gag reflex, even that teary look in your eye as you struggled to take him; all together it was not helping. He would need to cool down if he wanted to play with you more; no sense in coming yet when you had more holes for him to explore.

Putting his hands on your shoulders, he pushed you off him and pulled out of your mouth. A bit of spit and precum dribble out and down from the corner of your lips and you wiped it away with the back of your hand as he pulled you to your feet.

No one made looking a face-fucked wreck more beautiful.

Rough hands found your belt buckle and hooked it so that he could jerk you forward into him as his surprisingly nimble fingertips unclasped it and let it hand. The bottom hem of your t-shirt was still tucked neatly inside your pants and Ghost’s huge, veined hands yanked it out before he plunged up and under all the way, through the bottom of your bra as well, until he got to your breasts. That supple and warm flesh in his grasp made his whole body seize with pleasure.

Shit, you were so fucking warm and soft and pliable under his hard grip.

Ghost’s mitts cupped the bulk of your tits as his thumbs pinched the skin of your nipples against the side of his pointer fingers so that he could massage them. Your lips parted, steadily quickening breaths filled up the space between the both of you at the stimulation from his calloused palms mixed with the intensity of his gaze and it left you spiraling.

All at once your shirt was being ripped off over the top of your head before your back was slammed into the wall by the force of Ghost shoving himself into you. Even your form-fitting shirt did not prepare the Lieutenant for the glory of what was hidden underneath and with hungry eyes he flipped the bottom of his skull mask up to his nose to release his mouth quickly. Wet, feverish lips lock onto one of your breast as he leaned his head against your chest, while the other he toyed with still in his hand.

Goddammit it was even better than he imagined, the feeling of those perky tits between his lips. He was in heaven as he sucked and sucked, securing your nipple between the pad of his tongue and the roof of his mouth to get the best seal. Your hand cradled the sides of his head as he went to work, sucking and pulling as you writhed with your pussy against his thigh.

Once satisfied with his work on the first, he switched to the other; can’t leave that one out. The same amount of attention was given to that one as well, which only made your want to grind against him more overwhelming as the wetness between your legs soaked through your panties. He groaned into your chest at how much he enjoyed being smothered against those endowed assets and you nearly came from the beautiful sound alone.

Pleased with his handiwork, he released you only to move on to your neck. The way he bit and sucked, you knew he wanted to mark you and even though you’d have a fucking hell of a time hiding the hickies tomorrow, you didn’t care. Everywhere he went he sent electric shocks across your body and it was more than worth whatever trouble it would cause later.

“Take of your pants, now,” he ordered with a firm growl into the nape of your neck.

The authority in his thickly accented voice hit just right and as he backed off so you could move, you slipped your fingers into the waistband and pulled both your panties and those camo bottoms off your lower half. You were almost positive you heard your superior whimper as he caught sight of your pretty little cunt with its trimmed bit of hair just on top.

Waiting was not an option; he needed to be inside of you now. Where would he take you against? There were a few options, but as he quickly scanned the room a devilish idea struck him as perfect. With a tight grip on your arm he pulled you the few feet back over to the sinks, the large mirror perched just behind it. “Bend over right here, on your stomach,” he barked.

He didn’t wait for you to comply and pushed your upper body over so that your torso was pressed up against the cold countertop. Shoving his boot between your feet, he moved your legs apart, widening your hips and making you back arch so that he would be able to reach your entrance. The curve of your ass was accentuated by the position and he ran a heavy hand across the length of it before giving it a swift smack.

“Mmmm,” he hummed as it jiggled with the reverb from his hand.

That monstrous cock was throbbing against your backside as Ghost inclined over you back to clasp your jaw in his hand, pulling your head into place to face the mirror. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart. If you want me to let you come, then you are gonna fucking watch me fuck you silly. Your eyes move away from that mirror and I stop. You don’t want me to stop. Understand?”

“Yes,” you nodded into his palm.

His grip tightened. “Yes, what?”

You placed your gaze straight ahead. Just as much as he needed to shove all of his aching cock into you, you needed it just as bad. You had waited long enough for this: weeks and weeks of pushing him to his limit in an attempt to have him take you rough and without apology and now you were right at the brink; nothing was going to stop you now.

“Yes, sir.”

That was it, without another sound he stood back up and clenched his abdominal muscles while his strong fingers dug into the meat of your hips as he made sure he was aligned with your entrance. One strong thrust and his phallus ripped into you deep until he reached the base, bottoming out as you cried out.

Your fingertips dug into the hard surface of the countertop as you were filled out to the brim, your walls struggling to accommodate such an impressive object. Shit, you had never been this full before and it took you a minute to adjust.

“N-nh… ah…” Ghost groaned from behind and you watched him in the mirror as he staggered where he stood. “Fucking hell princess, your so tight…oh, f-fuck.”

A roll of your hips into him send shock waves of ecstasy through his pelvis and his head fell forward as he tried to calm himself enough that he didn’t blow his load right then and there just from that initial contact. All the fantasizing he did that night in the shower had nothing on this and he cursed himself for not trying to get in your pants sooner.

Getting himself under control, he began to thrust recklessly in and out of you with a force that shook made your breast sway. His fingers clawed into your flesh, leaving angry, red marks of where he had been that could would still be felt tomorrow. Those full lips twisted into a smirk as he bucked up against your hips, his testicles hitting your pulsing clit to make you twitch and your and your head fall forward.

“What the fuck did I say?” he grumbled as he removed his hand from your hip to grab a fistful of hair and wrench your head back up as he kept pace. “Eyes up.”

Your reflection stared back at the both of you, Ghost’s imposing figure with his chiseled abdominal muscles contracting and releasing with each thrust as his hips plowed you from behind. Ghost noticed how beautifully your cheeks flushed bright red as he continued to fill you up completely, each of his thrusts going completely in you down to the very base,. With the pressure of your orgasm building steadily your eyes took on a dreamy, dazed look as he hit that sensitive bundle of nerves within you time and again with a steady stream of moans that filled the air.

There was something so primal about watching himself fuck you into oblivion.

His amber eyes caught yours in the mirror and he smirked. “Fucking hell baby, you are a picture wrapped around my cock like this,” he groaned, his strokes becoming more sloppy, the slapping sounds of your overly wet cunt getting louder and louder.

The longer he went the more his sanity waned until there was not a single thought left except for the animalistic need to rut into you until he came. You could see the change wash over his face and through his eyes and it only thrilled you more as he became like a predator ready to catch his prey.

“Close,” you found yourself mewling.

One of his bulked arms secured itself around your middle as Ghost pulled you up until your back was flush against his sturdy chest, changing the angle of his thrusts inside you. He had to hold you up by your waist as you stood on the balls of your feet, but it was worth it as this new angle allowed him to reach a free hand down your abdomen to your clit where he could rub circles around that sensitive bundle.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he teased, desperately clinging to you as he too was about to spill and wanting you to go with him, “ do it then. Come for me little girl, I want you to coat my dick with your juices. Let me feel those fucking walls flutter.”

The way this beast of a man was wrapped around you, his arms laced across your body like an organic body harness that accentuated your curves as you wore him. You were completely at his mercy, his size was just so that he could do with you as he pleased and you would have no say whatsoever. And yet here was furiously pounding into you harder and harder as his fingers stroked your clit; he was doing his upmost to get you off and to be treated so well by someone who could break you was euphoric.

Reaching behind your head, you wrapped your arms around his neck to cling to the muscles in his back as your nails dug in. “Fuck… fuck…mm…mmmh…” you stuttered as that warmth in the base of your stomach was almost at its peak.

“That’s it, come on,” he coaxed, keeping his movements steady.

He pumped with everything in him and that was it; with a shudder your rocketed through you fiery hot, making your body writhe in his grasp. God, it wouldn’t stop, second after second it just kept coming just as strong. Ghost did not let up either and soon you were crying from the over-stimulation.

A few more thrusts and he was following right behind, a roar ripping through his chest as he compressed your torso with a strength that made it hard to breathe. “Goddammit, baby,” his muscles strained as he rode out his orgasm to its end as he painted your insides milky white.

“Is this what you fucking wanted, princess?” he groaned into your ear, your body twitching together as you could barely stand up anymore.

You swallowed hard. “Yes, sir,” you said quietly.

You could see him grinning from ear to ear as you peaked back into the glass. “Good girl,” he praised.

Turning your chin with a slight touch of his fingers, he met your lips with his own. Breathlessly he captured and recaptured your lips as he stayed locked inside you. He tasted like the smoke from his cigarettes, but the way his soft, full lips felt against your own made up for it entirely.

“And you know, if you decide to be good for me from now on I will keep fucking you nice and proper just like this,” he groaned against your mouth as he finally broke the kiss.

You gave him one last quick peck on his mouth. “What if I don’t?” you questioned mischievously.

“Then I’ll be sure that your fucked so thoroughly that you won’t have the energy to pull that shit for the rest of the week,” he said firmly as he released you from his grasp.

Well, that didn’t sound like a punishment at all. Perhaps you’d have to put that to the test later. Right now you had to figure how you were going to get through the rest of the day with your sanity while coated in the scent of your Lieutenant.

Tag list: @rilamon, @karagd13-blog , @crucifiedbitch, @m-carriaga2021 , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @morbidmary , @liv4thewin , @dazaiscum

[ghcstao3]

i don’t usually do high school aus but. an idea regardless

soap is popular. charming, sweet, athletic, smart—there isn’t any reason to hate a boy like him, and it’s no surprise that so many girls (and guys) fawn over him.

but try as they might to score a date with john mactavish—the feat is impossible, when soap himself only has eyes for someone else, someone who seldom looks his way.

ghost is nearly invisible to most of the student body, save for his few friends, teachers, and, of course, soap. he doesn’t mind this at all—the opposite, in fact. he just wants to be done with secondary and move on with his life afterwards, so he’s more than happy to blend into the background, both purposely and incidentally.

he has no idea about soap’s crush, even when it’s so blatantly obvious.

though, that could be a cause of soap’s failed attempts to make it known. like, for example, offering to do ghost’s homework for one of their science classes—which only ends up irritating ghost because it makes him think popular boy is trying to say i’m dumb, when soap had just offered because ghost seemed stressed with other courses.

it takes being assigned partners for a big project to finally get the point across. soap invites ghost over to work on it, and once they get over the initial speed bump of awkward conversation and splitting up work, they ease into a rhythm and find that they actually work really well together. they share humour, interests, dislikes; it’s no surprise a proper friendship blossoms out of it.

soap does his best to keep his crush in check, only because it’s a bit more time before ghost’s own develops, but it’s from there the natural progression from friends to boyfriends.

ghost is a little uncomfortable at first, of course, because soap is popular and that means people perceiving him—but when soap also stares at him with complete adoration in his eyes, and firmly deflects any flirting attempts with him when people butt past ghost like he doesn’t exist, it’s something he can get over.

and soap? well—he’s over the moon. he doesn’t think anything could be better than being able to say he’s with the simon riley.

[kechiwrites]

mirror image

toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader

part 7/8

synopsis: two weeks into your uneasy truce, simon gets introspective.

wc: 811

cw: afab!reader, angst, banter that becomes arguing, hurt and the tiniest bit of comfort, language, trust issues, simon's pov, no gendered language. no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: well, we back at it, the second last installment of this verse. i'll still take requests/thots for it of course, but soon we'll get closure for these two. for now, simon's thoughts on their situation.

new to baby blue? start here.

It’s disarming. 

And Simon Riley doesn’t like being disarmed. He doesn’t like being caught off guard, off kilter, unstable. 

It’s been happening more and more often though.

When you and Tommy look at him in perfect unison, he is struck stupid by your eyes, like you copy and pasted them onto your son. His son. His kid. His perfect, funny kid. Unmuddied by everything bad in the world. His life is pancakes and dinosaurs and that horrible fucking tv show that he’s sure rots his little mind. His life is you. Your smiles, your laugh, your cooking, your hugs. Things Simon cheated himself of when he walked out on you, choked with fear and bleeding misery.

Simon is disarmed, totally fucking helpless, a veritable babe in the woods when you let him hold you. When for the first time, in a long ass time, he gets to watch your lids flutter closed and slip into unconsciousness, in that quick, carefree way he’s always envied. 

He barely sleeps, even less so lately. 

After all, no sleeping meant no nightmares. No cloying, choking smoke-like fears reaching for the frayed edges of his subconscious. No sleeping meant he couldn’t play on your kindness, your goodness, and guilt you into holding him back when he woke up screaming, sweating, no matter how bad he wanted it.

It’s two weeks later. Two weeks after sleeping together but not sleeping together. After breakfast and an uneasy truce. Two weeks after kissing you and touching you and holding you like you both had all the time in the world. 

You’re not in a good mood. And he knows that. But he pushes you anyway, pokes and prods you even as you slam through your kitchen, noisily pulling out a pot and a huge bag of pasta shells.

“Let’s talk.” He approaches, arms crossed, full kit traded in for a skull emblazoned cloth mask, jeans and a threadbare black t-shirt, one he’d found in your bedroom days ago, stashed in the back your drawer, crumpled in a wrinkled ball, like you didn’t want to see it, but you didn’t want to trash it either. He’s been doing that lately, staying over for days and rifling through your shit, finding old relics and artifacts from a time neither of you can let go of. An old mask, a hat, t-shirts.

So many goddamn t-shirts.

“Talk?” you snort derisively, filling the pot with water. He watches you test the water with your fingertips and curse under your breath, mumbling something about shit pipes. When the pot is full, you turn to face him, lips curled, sneering. “I wasn’t aware you were capable of that. Thought you just communicated in grunts.”

“You’re funny. That's new.” He jabs, advancing in the conversation much faster than he should have, comforted in familiar territory, finding solace in what used to be commonplace for you, banter, barbs, teasing. The tense set of your shoulders should’ve warned him off it, should’ve told him you’d take it as well as a bullet in the back. But God help him, he’ll take whatever you give.

“Mm.” Your tone is casual but your answering nod is jerky, too fast, “Yeah, I developed a sense of humour when I realized our relationship had been a joke.” You slam the pot onto a burner, giving him your back. 

The air is suddenly devoid of mirth, utterly obliterated where it had been floating between you before. Now the living room and kitchen are a smoking crater, an oil rig on fire, a disaster site. 

He’s never been more grateful for his son’s propensity to nap like he’s dead.

Neither of you say anything. Simon is waiting for you to say something, to dress him down, but when you lower your head and sigh, heavy and deep with pain and exhaustion he planted within you, Simon withers. He slinks back to the living room and drops himself onto your couch. 

You wait, he’s not sure what for. He used to be so good at preempting your actions, your thoughts, your words, now he handles you like you’re a venomous reptile, looking for exposed, vulnerable flesh to strike, to bite.

You set down the glass you’d been drinking from hard. And he’s surprised you didn’t crack it.

“What do you want, Simon?” Question of the goddamn century, it is. And you’ve asked it of him plenty of times. But he never has an answer, can never really deduce just what the fuck he’s doing here, with you. With Tommy. Playing a game? Playing a role? Punishing you? Himself? All of it could be true, but none of it seems right. 

“I want to try.”

All he knows is that before this, four years seemed like a short time, nothing really. But now?

It’s an eternity. Reflected back to him in broken glass, in half full drawers, in his son’s eyes. 

In yours.

comments + tags + reblogs are so appreciated

oh simon...what do you want?

series masterlist here

[callsign-datura]

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

You and Ghost never quite started 'dating.' It was a slow slope that led to you both just accepting the fact that you were dating. First, it was light touches; mostly from you because he didn't know how to initiate it. He started feeling a little odd toward you after he noticed this development. Those little touches became something he wanted, something he anticipated when you were near him. He started seeing you in a different way and you noticed how his behavior changed. Sometimes you'd catch him looking at you, but when you looked back at him to make eye contact, he'd just... continue staring. He was smiling at you, but he forgets that you can't see it. He kind of thought he felt something towards you, but-- He only realized that he loved you after you'd both gotten back to base from the bar, slightly tipsy and definitely handsy. ------------- You grunted softly as your back hit the wall, your arms coming up to wrap around Ghost's neck as he pulled his balaclava up over his nose to kiss you on the lips, a soft groan escaping him as his hands quickly traveled up your sides. It'd been a long night of teasing. Chest touches from you, hip grabs from him, and horny whispers from both parties. The smell of alcohol on his breath made you groan as your lips moved needily against his, your tongue darting out of your mouth to lap over his bottom lip before you bit it. He groaned again but chuckled softly as he trailed his kisses down your chin and your jaw and neck, remnants of your lipstick that transferred to his mouth smearing off on your skin. A strong hand came to your back and unzipped your dress. He grunted in approval as you shrugged out of it, his lips moving quickly against your neck as he licked and nipped, searching for the spot that made you squeal. "Mm, missed having you like this," he grunted, his hands traveling to your hips as he pulled away to watch you take off your dress. "Like what?" You teased, smirking as you let your dress drop to the ground, slightly amused at how hungry his gaze was. "Naked." He answered simply, leaning forward to begin an assault on your sensitive flesh, leaving reddened, bruised marks on your shoulder and collarbone, his hands hungrily traveling up your body. His fingertips slid up the dip of your hips, the pudge of your belly, and the rivets of your ribs before coming to your breast, playing with it. A soft whine escaped your lips as your hands traveled up his arms to grip his shoulders. He laughed quietly at you as you pulled him closer. He brought his hands down to your thighs and you gasped as he hoisted you up, using his body to keep you against the wall. "You're cute when you're horny," he said, his words coming out sweeter than intended. He watched you as you bit your lip and he smirked. He pressed his hips into yours and took in the quiet little moan that escaped you. It didn't take long before he was undressed and pounding you into the wall. Your position had changed slightly now, with your chest pressed against the wall and your back arched. One of his hands was wrapped around your throat as his hips roughly rutted into yours, strangled moans escaping your throat as his other hand tightened its grip on your hip. You were so caught up in the pleasure that you barely even understood the words that were coming out of your mouth as you moaned for him. "God, I love you so much, you make me feel so good, I-- mh!" His thrusts halted as he took in your words. Needy whimpers escaped you as you asked him why he stopped. "You love me?" You blushed as you realized what you said. It was a second before you sheepishly nodded. You were caught off guard as he began pounding into you at an even rougher pace, one of his hands coming down your thigh and lifting your knee up and to the side, spreading you out further as his thick cock raked in and out of you. "I love you too," he groaned. "More than you'll ever fuckin know..." He hissed, the realization of how much he loved you overtaking him. He had one goal now-- to show you just how much he loved you.

[rogue--nation]

Uncommon Simon Ghost Riley (mostly for OG than Reboot) Headcanons that I find realistic.

1. Social Anxiety and Communication Issues. Simon finds it difficult to communicate with people outside his field of work, especially women. He doesn't have much experience with them and he is afraid to be perceived as a freak. However, women are usually afraid of him, sometimes curious, but keep away, feeling this sense of uneasiness, awkwardness around him. It is simply because he doesn't know how to be a so called normal person. Nothing about him is quite normal. Military has always been a significant part of his life, of him entirely. He doesn't know what to talk about or even finds civilian life boring. Every time he is on a shore leave he feels like an outsider among the locals. He keeps to himself to save himself from a conflict or an embarrassment. But if he gets comfortable enough around someone, he can be perceived as a very interesting and intelligent person. Simon usually gets rid of this anxiety by drinking. A little bit of alcohol percentage really makes him a normal person.

2. Soldier intuition and reflexes. It helps him a lot and sometimes... It causes trouble. Intuition sure saves his life in tricky situations and also this same intuition makes him read the signs wrong and cause a misunderstanding, a fight or a conflict, especially around civilians. Let's say, he casually activates his fight or flight response. Not always, of course, but there are some instances that make his life a lot harder than it has to be.

3. Adrenaline addiction. He is very paranoid. Always ready for a fight. Maybe even looking for it, looking for trouble. Civilian life indeed is boring for him for this lack of adrenaline release, so sometimes he intentionally escalates situation to let out some steam, despite being a very calm person by nature. (IDK maybe that's why he still lives in Manchester, there's always trouble).

4. PTSD. Yes, he suffers from it. Especially after Brazil and Rojas. He's been tortured psychologically, physically. Beaten up, raped, buried alive with a corpse. And he fucking survived. It didn't make him stronger, it broke him. It killed something that doesn't let him step away now. This very mission has branded him, cursed him to go on and never lay down his weapon. There's no way back from battlefield for him. He has nightmares, but tries to cope with them. Most of the time he is to tired to have a very emotional reaction to such dreams. And he wears himself down to have a dreamless sleep.

5. He knows a bit of Spanish and Portuguese. And he understands when locals speak these languages, he can read and easily communicate, but he prefers to not show off this skill too much, this is a tactical decision. The less enemy knows about you, the less they're expecting.

6. Detachment from him face. He almost forgot how he looks like in the mirror, he barely looks in it. When he thinks about his face, he mostly thinks about his mask. It's a part of him now, like an another layer of skin. The skull pattern on it is an echo from the masquerade paint he had on his face during Los Muertos. He metaphorically died back there in Brazil, died in the hands of his torturers. He is shell of a man he used to be. He is Ghost now. Phantasma.

When he has to take it off, especially in civilian environment, he feels naked, unsafe. Like if he is stripped of something that makes him who he is. It's almost an equivalent for a regular person to put on a mask and hide their face. The mask IS Simon's face.

7. Emotional spectre and control of them. He has a hard time processing and understanding his emotions sometimes. He reads anger well. Despair, too. They're common. But others, more complex states are a mystery to him. Cause-and-effect relationships of his own mind are troubling time to time. He well knows what can trigger him. And when Simon understands what's bothering him, he can develop means to control it.

The struggle to read himself, however, does not affect his ability to read others, especially the enemies. He can predict what they're about to do, how they're going to react.

On the outside, he tries not to show much, but his voice reveals his emotions in critical moments: the screams, the stutter, the growl.

8. Need for affection. Like any other human being he needs attention, care, words of affirmation. He lacks it in his life. Yeah, he is on a good terms with his team, he is stoic and self-contained, but deep inside he is needy. Physical touch, emotional connection, romantic love.. he aches for it. But his logical side clearly understands that he is impossible to love. He is a troubled man. Wrecked. No one would ever want him in their life. A burden. Loving someone like him is a death sentence. So, there's this emptiness within him.

His perfect match would be someone "normal", mature and understanding. By saying "understanding" I don't mean just being able to accept him as he is, but someone having a similar experience in life, someone, who knows how to cope with trauma. And this significant other shouldn't be a "crutch" for Simon, because in my opinion such relationship wouldn't last long. It's not about fixing him, but about showing him that things can be different if he finds other means to cope with his demons than just restlessly fighting. He has to make a choice: to keep himself in that vicious bloody cycle or finally step up and take another challenge. I don't think he can actually change, but he definitely can make it work if someone believes in him.

Yes, he can hire a prostitute and let out some tension, but he will feel terrible afterwards. If, of course, he will actually be able to get intimate at all, by setting aside all the anxiety, fear and hate he has for himself . It's easier to take care of himself on his own.

Talking about sexuality. As I mentioned, he is not very experienced and he gets intimate rarely, so at first he doesn't last long at all. He can be a bit awkward, but he is never rough, since he has enough violence in his life and for him the act of making love is about tenderness. He would never want to harm or hurt his partner in any way. He is usually quiet in bed, but can be very audible from time to time when he simply cannot control himself.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-sized Part 2/9 After Dark

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

A/N: Can be read as a Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!reader. Little to nil description, the OC has a name.

She didn't usually do this.

Bring guys to her apartment after a few giggles. She especially did not bring guys like Simon "I kill people" back home to fuck.

It was her night time self. Her show belonged into a different realm. And that was okay. Everybody had a dark side, and she just... worked with hers in this way.

When people asked about her job, she told them she was a dancer. If they asked more, she told them she taught pole dance lessons. Only a handful of her most trusted friends knew that she danced at a strip club. Danced: she was a dancer, not a stripper. Pole dancing required minimal amount of clothing so that tricks could be performed safely and efficiently. She viewed her job as an opportunity to hone her skills and have a workout after her studies. And it paid the bills. She called it a win-win situation.

Simon belonged to the nighttime world too.

And what happened after dark just had to happen at some point, she figured.

But it turned out that Simon wasn't just a tall, dark stranger who fucked women and killed people.

He was also a lover.

She supposed that he was good at fucking, too, but he seemed to hold back from that this night, with her, at least. She didn't really know what to think of it. She thought he had brought her here – to her apartment – to be fucked. Because that's how it was; he called the shots, not she.

Her clothes were gone as soon as they entered the darkness that was her bedroom. Not a single garment had left his body, other than those big, black shoes that were now in her hallway, somewhere amidst all the girl shoes. Huge hands ran down her back and cupped her ass before she could turn on the lights, they raised her to his lap as he carried her to the bed.

He was a good kisser, and he kissed her all over. She was left with her panties and an icy terror in her stomach as he continued to explore her body with his mouth. She was still not over the fact that he was a cocky stranger who had gotten her into this situation just by pouring honeyed rum in her ear.

In other words, she had fallen for bullshit.

"What's wrong, dove?"

He wasn't stupid, though. He noticed that she was a bit tense, a tad uncomfortable. As much as she wanted to let him do whatever he wanted with her, the prospect of seeing him leave after he was done was a turn-off. In horror, she realized that she wanted to get to know him, wanted to get to know Simon.

"You afraid of me?"

She supposed he would probably get kicks out of it if she said yes.

"Should I be?"

"No. Just here to make ya feel good."

He continued to kiss her, took her breast inside one of those huge palms. She wasn't a small woman, the muscles in her back, shoulders, forearms and stomach might've been a bit too much for some guys. But they weren't for Simon. She felt like a delicate, feminine flower with him, and it was scary: how her breast nearly disappeared inside that warm and calloused hand – of course it was calloused, so much so that the callouses scratched her skin – and when he licked her, she tried to hold on to her sanity for a little while longer.

"What's your last name?"

He huffed a short laugh on her stomach, and her muscles contracted at the hot air suddenly hitting her skin.

"Is that what you wanna know right now?"

When she wouldn't answer, he continued kissing her, went down, even further down…

"Riley."

The name was whispered, short and sweet, against her soaked panties.

"What do we have here…"

She could only swallow and let him take that last bit of shielding fabric away. She hadn't expected this at all: that he would come to her apartment to adore her. That he would go down on her. At this very moment, it felt too intimate, too much from a guy whose name she barely knew. She had come to know him for months and months through his stare only, but now he was here, in her bedroom, between her thighs… he was real.

"I…"

"Yes, love?"

Calling her love already… It was a bit too tacky. But then again, she guessed she did kind of like it because it made her even more wet.

"Could you take your clothes off too?"

This time, he laughed like someone who found the situation greatly entertaining, and her… adorable?

"You never cease to amuse me."

What will happen when I cease to amuse you?

"You always fuck with your clothes on?"

That did something to him. He almost froze, then proceeded to take those goddamn clothes off.

She had ruined the soft, sensual mood, but it was okay, or so she told herself. She wanted to tear down this setting, the scenes that only rubbed it in her face that this was a one time only occasion before Simon would find another girl to obsess about. If he didn't have a girl in every town already...

"No nonsense with you, is that it?" He commented - the mood had definitely changed. "I like it."

The silk gloves were off with the rest of his actual clothes, and this time, when he positioned himself between her legs, it was to guide his erection in.

It was dark in the room, but she could see enough — after all, there was never a complete darkness to be had in the city. The blue-colored light filled the night and showed her that Simon was big.

No, that's not gonna…

He pushed just the tip in, and a needy groan escaped her lips.

"Yeah… I think you like me too."

He was so fucking cocky… Even and especially when his actual cock was inside her, with more and more pushing in by the minute.

She brushed her fingers along the lines of all that muscle, first his shoulder, then the forearm… the skulls and bombs and death. And she was wet, alright. Didn't know if she had ever been this wet for anyone. It was fucking frightening.

"That's a good girl…"

No, not the good girl talk, Jesus…

But she couldn't deny it: it worked. Everything he did, worked like a charm.

His balls touched her as he slid fully in... and stayed there.

The intimacy was unbearable, the stranger was inside her, and she could feel every inch of him. He was hovering above her, looking at her like "Ya feel that? Ya feel it too?"

But she must only be imagining; this wasn't real — a man like him couldn't hold such a sea of emotion in him. He was… a what, a soldier? A killer? There was nothing romantic here. They had met at a strip club.

And what was she to a killer… an exotic dancer, a uni student who barely had her life together, who paid her bills days after the due date.

"Don't flee from it."

She raised her eyes back to his and found that he was examining her. Those eyes now revealed much more than just dark, melting chocolate; they looked like they had seen too much. She briefly thought about whether the man was skilled in torture; if he was skilled at breaking his enemies and if he could hear their thoughts as he broke them. Could hear her thoughts...

"Sarah.. Come back."

Her inner muscles tightened around him, and he reacted instantly. "That's it...- good girl."

No one had ever talked to her like that... And she didn't even want to slap him for it. She followed his voice and was courageous enough to wrap her legs around him, that narrow waist that still managed to be bulky and broad, like everything in him was. He finally started the rodeo, which turned out to be the most sensual fuck she had ever had the privilege to receive.

It was like he fucked her soul or something.

Her lips were quivering, the moans he pulled out from her could've made Nicki Minaj blush. He was thorough, precise, and attentive — traits of a good soldier, she presumed. And he must've been some kind of a leader, the way he cheered her on like a highly ranked officer, a widely respected superior.

"Looking gorgeous," the rough voice washed all over her as she was approaching her orgasm. No one had ever made her come with cock alone. She assumed it was just the months and months of tension that was at work here, but some part of her knew that it was just pure, undiluted Simon Riley who she had to blame for it.

"Eyes up here," he commanded when she was only seconds away from a breakdown. Eyes up here... He talked to her like she was a soldier about to die, and he wouldn't let it happen, not on his watch. But it was a small death and a coming back to life as well: she broke for him so hard that he hissed as she dug her nails into his arms. An invisible string lifted her from her sternum, made her arch her back as she came, screaming, and the eyes held her, beheld her: amused, pleased... He was performing an exorcism on her, waking her from a year-long coma, restarting her heart with electric shocks.

She half expected him to praise her with that sultry good girl stuff again when she was in that vulnerable state, but he bent towards her and went for her mouth. He drank the rest of the orgasm from her lips, almost suffocated her with his kiss as she convulsed beneath him, and he wouldn't stop… he made love to her as she moaned on his tongue, and the thickness continued to fill her slowly as she came down from that life-saving orgasm. By the time he left her mouth, she was panting and squeezing the grinding hips with her hands, sinking her nails in there as well.

"I knew you were a wild one," he whispered against her lips. "That was almost as good as that little slap..."

She couldn't speak, could only catch for air at what Simon had said before he dived for her mouth again. The bed was moaning too under the heavy weight of her mercenary lover, especially when he upped the pace.

"I'm close too," he broke another kiss, slightly panting. "Where do ya want me?"

"Don't pull out..."

He gathered her thighs, lifted them to his shoulders like they weighed nothing, drove deep, so deep that his pelvis touched her and his whole upper body rubbed against her, and all she could feel was muscle. All she could smell was tobacco and hints of scotch and something which she reluctantly labeled as primal. It was his sweat and pheromones and all the tension that came undone as he came inside her. She heard an abrupt grunt that turned into a hoarse, shaky moan... and that earlier, unemotional declaration "I kill people" still echoed in her head.

---

She saw the scars in the morning when he got up and went to the shower. She had thought he was a torturer, but it looked like he was the one who had been tortured sometime in the past.

The white protrusions on his skin were evenly inflicted and in places that were not supposed to end a man but simply give him pain. She didn't know why exactly had she refused to believe him, to believe that his work was something highly unusual. The scars finally rubbed it in her face: this was not a regular, normal dude she was dealing with. He did not work as a desk officer in the military or even as a pro fighter in the combat sports business.

She was both fascinated and disturbed at the thought that Simon likely had invisible injuries too, a collection of scars on his psyche.

"You want a towel?"

It somehow grieved her that he wanted to wash her scent – their scent – away so soon, even if it was a simple, natural thing to do… to shower in the morning. He didn't answer, but when she went to give it to him nevertheless, it suffered the same fate as those flowers as he pulled her under the descending water with him.

The second round was more of a sloppy, dazed fuck. He took her against the wall, and she briefly thought that she would get a huge water bill next month. But it was worth every cent. She didn't come, but enjoyed watching him, now in a fully lit room with half-lidded eyes and a slightly open mouth. He even had a scar on his jaw...

"You're… tight, did'ya know that?"

She was still not over the fact that he talked like this during sex. He was almost chatty when at the bar he had barely spoken full sentences. She never knew dirty talk could be so stimulating.

Or perhaps it was just the magic of Simon Riley again.

"Why so serious?"

She laughed a little — Simon made her laugh. If anything, it was he who could be called serious, even with that dry, dark sense of humour.

"Don't know what to make of you."

"You're not the most open book yourself," he muttered, and she barely detected the hint of sorrow – yearning, in his voice.

He eventually came with an agonized, tired grunt. He seemed to be in a hurry, and when he pulled out and reached his hand to satisfy her as well, she grabbed him by the wrist and gently pushed it away. Simon sighed, and dropped his head against hers while the bulky shoulders closed in on her like walls. The water was running, and he was clearly having a moment, even though it was just supposed to be a quick fuck.

Hesitating, she reached to give him a hug, then started to slowly caress his back as he leaned his head on the wall and against her. His breathing only deepened. He sounded like someone who was taking a cold bath while trying to maintain a controlled breath. At some point, it almost sounded like he was in pain.

"Am I your pet?" He asked rather gruffly, and her hand stopped midway down his back.

"You don't like being touched?"

He nuzzled closer to her neck, placed a kiss behind her ear.

"Perhaps a little too much."

He then surprised her by giving her a wash. Like she was his pet. Perhaps it was his reaction to having shown vulnerable parts of himself to someone, even if what they had shared was just simple human connection. She relaxed a little too much under his touch, which was again deliciously attentive.

"The things I'd do to you if we had more time.."

He was crouching and the soap on her legs eased his caresses, but when he stopped for a while to give her a kiss there, she recoiled from him. It was simply out of surprise, because his hands and the warm water had left her drowsy and melting, but he rose and gave her another look. Simon clearly wasn't used to women refusing him, not to talk of shrinking from his touch.

When they came from the shower, she went straight to the kitchen. While searching for something to offer him as breakfast, she noticed that Simon was examining the course material on her desk.

Art history major and a professional killer — what a hilarious pair.

But he seemed more than interested, almost intrigued. He skimmed through a certain book about studies on the influence of natural philosophy on the Renaissance. The man might surprise her yet, but still, she couldn't see them chatting about Erwin Panofsky over a cup of coffee.

"You want some?"

She was standing there with only a towel on, holding a coffee pan in her hand: far too domestic a setting, and far too soon.

"Nah, gotta go."

Heaven came down in just three words.

Yeah… of course you do.

She abandoned her mission with the coffee and went to get her clothes, to have some kind of protection against the cold Simon would leave her with.

"Will I be seeing you again?"

"If you want to."

Polite, reserved... A gentleman instead of a no-nonsense soldier who would say it like it was. She could see now that he was definitely in a hurry.

"Can I call you?" She tried to flesh out a future for them and not think about the fact that she would, very likely, only have a ghost of him as a memory.

"I'd rather call you."

Right. I'm not seeing this guy again.

"Sure, whatever."

She gave him her number and watched how he walked out of the door and out of her life.

---

You wanted to know what I do for a living.

Holy Mother of…

Not only did he contact her, he sent her a picture of himself looking like… like war. The tired eyes stared at her from inside what looked like the top of a human skull attached to a black balaclava. He wasn't a foot soldier, or a mercenary, he wasn't even working for the UK version of a SWAT team. He was something else. She didn't even have a name for all the gear he was loaded with.

Still want to see me?

Fucking d.e.f.i.n.i.t.e.l.y.

She hadn't expected to see him ever again. She was sure he had asked her number just out of common courtesy. The chemistry was there, but the eventual sex had been awkward — satisyfying, and life saving, but awkward. She didn't really do one night stands, and Simon had flown into that category as soon as he had shut that door.

But now it seemed that she had to find him a new category. Everybody always said to give the guy three days. That the guy would show up if he wanted to.

It had barely been two days since he had been inside her and checked out what it was that she was studying.

I don't know. Doesn't look like James Bond to me.

I can put on a suit if that's more to your liking.

Hah, yeah… She would masturbate on that picture of him wearing a fucking human skull to work at least a hundred times.

No need.

Are you going to return the favor?

She sent him a picture — a rather naughty one. It wasn't the same kind of naughty she did at the club, no. She was wearing barely a touch of makeup, she was a little sleepy, her walls were down... and the only thing she wore was an oversized t-shirt she lifted just enough for him to see a little bit of something.

A smile rose to her face when he answered immediately.

Shouldn't have asked.

Not Bond girl enough for you?

Just the right amount, Sarah. It's your fault if I get killed.

Part 3:

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Pine-ing For You

Father Paul has a little accident while trying to set up Christmas lights and you decide to get festive.

I got this idea while chatting with @aherdofbees​, and together we developed it to get our dear priest into quite the delicious situation. She made a 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 illustration that goes with this fic. Go on, click the linkie and like and reblog, because it truly is amazing. 

Thank you so much for the inspiration Allison, I loved writing this!

NSFT/18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN

Pine-ing For You - 5.3K

tw: explicit sexual themes, consensual unprotected sex, body worship, smut with a lot of feelings™, attmepts at humour

Crockett Island may have seemed dull most of the time to the untrained eye, but after more than a year of living there you knew better. The people, while many of them a bit subdued, all had their little joys in life, their passions, and though they were wary of strangers that came into their little town at first, they were among the most kind and hospitable folks you had the good fortune to have met.

However, when Christmas rolled around, even the untrained eye could perceive the shift in atmosphere. It was a jolly holiday after all and the people indeed were slightly jollier. Little by little, decorations began appearing around the island. Many of them were small and decent, maybe just a wreath on a door, or an electric candlestick set in a window. Some were larger, Christmas lights on the roof, perhaps a little reindeer in the front yard. Few decorated more.

Some of these more festive looking places were the schoolhouse, which had student-made snowflakes in the windows, garlands on the windowsills, lights hung from the roof and even a charming wooden nativity scene in front. The Flynn house and The Greene house also breathed a gentle Christmas atmosphere to everyone who walked by. And then, there was Saint Patrick’s. Apparently, Monsignor Pruitt adored Christmas more than anyone else on the island and it showed. Dozens and dozens of various decorations were found in one of the storage areas of the church by Father Paul, who literally begged you to help him put them up. Which you were more than happy to do.

So now there were artificial swags at every corner of the small church, boughs of holly, wreaths, candles and another nativity set, placed right in front of the altar. This one was more detailed and painted, obviously made to be inside rather than face the weather conditions. And it was quite obvious Monsignor Pruitt took great pride in his decor collection. All that was missing were some Christmas trees.

—

Many residents of Crockett Island used artificial trees for their Christmas festivities, but there were still those who couldn’t imagine celebrating their lord’s birthday without a fine fir or a pine. One day, about a week before Christmas, a group of volunteers would gather on one of the larger fishing ships and set off to the mainland to pick out live trees for everyone on the island who wanted one. Ordering worked through simple paper forms, delivered to mailboxes by Dolly Scarborough. One would write down their name, preferred kind of tree, and its size. Filled out forms were then dropped off in the little town hall, along with the money for it. Unlike everyone else (including you) who ordered only one tree, Father Paul ordered three - two larger to be placed inside the church, one smaller for his rectory. He was, of course, among the volunteers going to actually pick the trees up.

They returned around eleven o’clock in the morning. You stood on the dock, looking at the fishing boat full of tied trees with a smile. Paul would be hauling the trees for Saint Patrick’s and the rectory first, with the help from Ed and Riley Flynn, and you convinced Sturge to help you carry the large pine tree you asked for to your home.

“Thank you again,” you said, walking next to him. You genuinely tried to help him carry it, but after a few minutes of very awkward walking and a few broken off twigs, the handyman simply threw the big tree over his shoulder and hauled it the rest of the way by himself. “Do you accept payment in gingerbreads?” you asked with a grin and raised eyebrows. Sturge thought for a while: “Yeah. But it will cost you.” “Oh? How much?” you chuckled. “I want the entire sheet.” You gave a whistle and made an amused ‘tsk’ sound: “Inflation these days…”

—

Two hours later, you stood at your kitchen counter, decorating gingerbreads with white chocolate. The pine stood tall and proud in your living room. It truly was a beautiful tree, healthy and dense, its herby scent, having already filled the room it stood in, was seeping through the rest of your house. You heard the front door open and shut, followed by some shuffling from the hallway.

“Hmm, it smells nice in here,” came a dreamy voice, making you smile. When footsteps began approaching the kitchen, you turned around to greet the priest. But then: “What are you wearing?” you asked, laughing softly. Father Paul was dressed in his skinny jeans, like usual. What wasn’t usual however, was the 'ugly Christmas jumper' instead of the black clerical shirt, its colour reminding you of his gold chasuble. There was a white nordic pattern on front, consisting of snowflakes and reindeers. It didn’t look terrible, but since you never before saw Paul wearing something like this, it kind of took your breath away for a moment.

“Do you like it?” asked Paul with a smile, pulling at his sleeves which you noticed were rather tight at the wrists. “It’s hideous,” you replied snarkily, making the priest chuckle and walk closer to you. He noticed the half decorated gingerbreads right away and was just about to reach for one when you lightly slapped his hand away. “Ouch. What was that for?” asked Paul, fake hurt in his voice. You giggled and wrapped your arms around his torso: “These are for Sturge, for lending me a hand with that tree.” “Oh I see,” replied your lover, understanding on his face, “will you make some for us, too?” You rolled your eyes and couldn’t help but smile: “Of course I will, have I ever neglected you?”

Paul pulled you close to press a soft kiss against your lips, claiming your entire attention. Therefore, you didn’t notice his hand slowly creeping up and onto the counter until it was too late, and one of the gingerbreads was snatched and promptly bit into by the father. “You scoundrel!” you smacked his chest, while Paul only laughed with his mouth full, “you’re lucky I love you.”

He swallowed his bite and batted his eyelashes at you: “it must be the sweater.” You smirked and squinted your eyes. “The jumper is hideous,” you repeated and Paul shook his head: “You really think that?” You didn’t. Taking him in once more, you had to admit that it did look rather flattering on Paul’s tall lean frame. “I knew it,” he said smugly, “you can’t lie to me, you like it.” “I don’t like it,” you tried once more, the corners of your lips turning up inadvertently. Paul took another bite of the gingerbread: “Hm, you love it.”

A few moments later, during which you picked at the soft wool of your lover’s jumper while he hummed appreciatively at the taste of your baking, you gave him a kittenish smile: “Since you’ve got nothing better to do right now than be a menace,” he opened his mouth in mock-offence before smiling cheekily, “you could go and start with the Christmas tree, what do you say?” “Hm,” he thought, “I thought we’d do it together?” Your arms encircled his waist again, pulling him closer and lifting your head to meet his eyes: “We will, but you could at least start putting the lights on. It’s a beast of a tree and I wouldn’t be able to reach the top, unlike a certain tall priest.”

He gave you a soft smile and pecked the tip of your nose, before brushing his lips against yours: “Very well.” You watched in curiosity, as his hands came up to rest on your hips and his eyes bore into your own. And then, in less than a second, he was scrambling away, another gingerbread in his hand. You gasped and stared after him, mischievous dark eyes twinkling at you until he rounded a corner. “Unbelievable!” you called after him.

—

You were pretty happy with your work, before you on the counter lay a sheet of nicely decorated gingerbreads of various shapes. Save for the two Father Paul stole right under your nose, but you supposed Sturge wouldn’t really notice that. You were in the middle of moving them into a container, when a dull thud sounded from the living room. “Paul? Is everything alright?” you called. A deafening silence was your only answer for several seconds and you started getting worried, when Paul’s sheepish voice reached your ears: “Um… A little help here, (F/N)?” You finished storing the cookies away, wiped your hands on a kitchen towel and made your way to the living room.

You couldn’t see the priest at first, but when you did, you began giggling uncontrollably. Paul was lying on his stomach very nearly under the tree, the christmas lights cord in his outstretched hand. His torso was bare and you could see the yellow jumper and white undershirt tangled around Paul’s arms, caught on one of the tree’s strong branches. He was looking at you abashed, his cheeks a little rosy with embarrassment.

You learned fairly early on in your relationship that for all of Paul’s amazing qualities, his skill as a priest, his knack for cooking, and his knowledge of your body as a lover, he was sometimes quite clumsy and very accident prone. A week wouldn’t pass without him bashing his little toe on some piece of furniture and you’d often find small bruises on his arms and legs, prompting him to sheepishly explain the cause for them. It was usually doors.

“I’m so sorry,” you said after you caught your breath and walked closer to him, kneeling by his side, “but what happened?” Father Paul released a huff and an adorable pout formed on his lips. “I wanted to turn on the lights. I got under the tree, on my knees, and tried to plug the cord into the socket. I couldn’t reach it though, and wanted to get out, try a different angle. But, um,” he paused, wetting his lips with his tongue, “I caught my shirt on a branch. I tried to untangle it, but couldn’t. So I thought I’d just try to take the shirt off, free it from the branch and put it on again. This is as far as I got…” The priest looked angrily at his hands, “the sleeves are too tight at the wrists, I can’t get my hands out! I mean, I tried yanking away, but the tree swayed rather nastily and I was worried it would collapse on top of me.”

“Wait,” you said with an amused grin, “are you really actually trapped? You can’t get out of there?” Father Paul 'tsked: “Yes. I am trapped under a Christmas tree. Can you help me?” You smiled softly at him and pet his hair. You proceeded to move forward, crawling under the tree yourself (mindful of any mischievous branches) and snatching the cord from Paul’s hand. You plugged it in and the living room was suddenly illuminated by multicoloured Christmas lights. You crawled back and sat leisurely on the ground, close to the priest’s head. Paul looked at you expectantly for a while, but after seeing you showed no intention to free him, a look of shock came over his face: "Wha- You're really going to leave me here?”

You once more moved your hand to his head, fingers carding through his dark hair: “'Leaving you' is the last thing on my mind,” you moved until you were lying down next to him, hand now coming to stroke his cheek and jaw, “but right now, I think I like you exactly. Where. You. Are,” you exaggerated each word, thumb moving to stroke the edges of Paul’s lips. “You look like an early Christmas present,” you purred, leaning your head on your free hand. Paul closed his eyes at the feeling of your clever fingers once again combing through the soft curls on the back of his neck. “Are you-... are you really trying to seduce me while I’m trapped under a Christmas tree?”

You giggled airily, tugging at the soft hair gently and delighting in Paul’s tiny little gasps: “Hmm, maybe… Is it working?” Paul’s head fell down to lean on his arms, his cheeks got even darker and in a quiet voice he replied: “A little.” You slowly scratched at his scalp, smiling lovingly each time he leaned into your touch. "Hey," you said then, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you. Your thumb found his lips again and you gave him a look he could read perfectly by now. 'Tell me you're not ok with this and I'll stop.' it said. Warmth spread through Paul's chest, followed by a gentle tingle of anticipation.

He pressed his lips against your thumb further in a small kiss, before smiling slightly and blinking at you coquettishly, and he too attempted to speak to you with his eyes: ‘I want this’.

You gave him one more gentle smile, before leaning back and looking at him appreciatively: “My, my, I must have been so nice this year, what a lovely present.” The priest chuckled into his arms: “Are you going to tear the wrapping paper off?” Your head cocked to the side, a wolfish grin on your face. One fingertip stroked along Paul’s earlobe, descending down upon his pulsepoint and feeling his increasing heartbeat. “Nope, I don’t do that, it’s no fun” you shook your head, “I always unwrap presents slowly, peeling the tape off and trying not to damage the paper. Sometimes I even stop midway, because the anticipation makes it so much better.

“I think I’ll start with the parts that are unwrapped already,” you purred into his ear and moved closer, both of your hands coming to rest on his shoulders while you pressed small kisses into his hair, lips moving down to brush against the nape of his neck. “Hm,” you sighed contently, “such a pretty neck, long and elegant, like a swan, almost regal,” you bit lightly at the beginning of his spine, making your lover release a short gasp, “so sensitive.” You moved lower, hands sliding across shoulder blades: “Beautiful golden skin, like honey, soft, and warm, and very sweet.” Father Paul could feel more hotness entering his already red cheeks. Your whispered praises always had a profound effect on him. He hid his face in his arms.

“Strong shoulders and back, muscles defined perfectly but gently,” you continued and now dragged your fingernails across the entire length of the priest's back, making him quietly groan in pleasure. You’ve never met anyone who didn’t like their back scratched, but Paul seemed particularly enraptured by it. You made sure to lightly graze every inch of the golden skin, finding all the right spots, all the while pushing hot kisses onto every single freckle you could see and connecting them with your tongue.

Paul couldn’t help but chuckle when he felt your hands give his clothed bum a squeeze. “Girls love a guy with a lovely arse, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” you whispered cheekily and gave the lovely arse another squeeze, “alright, let me see the other side of this present before I start unwrapping it further.”

You helped Paul carefully roll over and onto his back, his wrists, still bound by his own clothes, now crossed over one another. Dark hair peeked at you from under the priest’s arms, and his pink nipples looked like little pearls screaming for attention. And they weren’t the only thing craving attention. Paul’s erection was tenting the dark grey skinny jeans and his eyes fluttered when you ran a finger over it. You gave him a grin: “Sorry, I’ve always been a little impatient, but I promise I’ll try to be good.” Paul shuddered out a laugh, his breathing a little shallow: “I wouldn’t be mad either way.”

Slowly you put a leg over his waist and straddled your lover: “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah,” you leaned forward and took his face into your hands, thumbs caressing his brow. “Thick, expressive eyebrows… Dark eyes, so, so large. Like a dolly,” you leaned forward to press your lips against Paul’s eyelids, then pulled away again, “cute, well defined nose, perfect for kissing,” once more you made your point by pecking the entire length of your lover’s nose, making him produce a fluttery chuckle.

“Though, of course, your entire face is perfect for kissing,” you smiled at him lovingly and then your fingers traced the edges of his lips, “but most of all it’s your mouth. That perfect cupid’s bow. I see it, and I want to trap it between my own lips. When you smile, when you pout, when you do that adorable little mouth shrug… When you talk, to me, to your congregation. When your mouth is slightly open and I can see your upper teeth just peeking through. I always want to kiss you.”

You crushed your lips against Paul’s, teeth clashing and tongues moulding against each other. He groaned into your hungry mouth and wanted to curl his arms around you, but soon remembered he was bound and released a desperate sound instead. You only parted from him when the lack of oxygen threatened to take your consciousness away. A tiny string of saliva followed you for a bit, before it snapped and landed on Paul's kiss bruised lips. You kissed the slight cleft in his chin and playfully dipped your tongue into it.

The emotion in your eyes as you pulled back could have made Paul cry, you were looking at him as if he was the rarest jewel, the most fantastical treasure in the world, as if he was your sun and moon and stars. “You have no idea just how beautiful you really are, do you? Inside and out,” you whispered, hands returning to stroke the side of the priest’s face, which was once more getting hot. This time however, he couldn’t hide it and as he lay there, absorbing each and every one of your words, Paul realised he didn’t even want to hide. You leaned closer again, whispering against his open mouth: “So beautiful, so very pretty.” An involuntary moan escaped him.

You smiled against his mouth, then ducked your head lower, nibbling softly around Paul's jawline before descending upon his throat, teeth scraping over his Adam's apple right as he swallowed heavily. You shifted until you sat directly on his hips and rolled your own, rubbing against his constricted erection and making his head fall back, those fine lips opening wordlessly. He took large gulps of air, hands involuntarily trying against his restraints once more. “Soon,” you promised, rolling your hips again, “but do try not to move your hands too much. I really don’t want the tree to actually fall down on our heads. Can you imagine explaining that to Sarah, when we show up all bruised and battered?”

The priest made an unhappy little sound, but tried to keep his hands as still as he could anyway. You made your way down his chest, nuzzling your face into his soft skin and delivering soft kisses and playful bites every time you felt like it. Paul sighed when your lips reached one of his nipples. You circled the nub with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth and pinching it with your teeth lightly. You used your fingers to stimulate the other nipple in perfect synchronisation with your mouth, trying various techniques and listening to Paul’s shallow gasps and quiet groans for feedback.

After alternating between the two, now red and swollen, buds for several minutes, you decided to carry on with your adventurous journey across Paul’s exquisite body, and ran the tips of your fingers against his ribs teasingly. You grinned widely when your lover made a little jump, trying to get away from your touch now: “N-no, don’t,” he gasped, but it was pointless. You again stroked over his ribs and under his arms, and was soon rewarded with choked laughter. “A-angel, please… please don’t tickle me right now,” he begged in between chuckles. You giggled, but took mercy on him, climbing up to steal a kiss: “I’m sorry, love, I couldn’t resist.”

You sat back onto his thighs and gave the priest a reassuring smile after you laid your hands on his sensitive ribs again, this time your entire palms, intent on caressing him and bringing him pleasure. You stroked down, soon finding an obstacle in your way. Father Paul’s jeans looked so, so tight around his hard shaft it must’ve been painful, and you licked your lips as you made eye contact with him and rubbed the heel of your hand over his length. He shuddered and his eyes fluttered closed on their own. You repeated the motion, making your lover groan with pleasure.

“I think it’s time for me to unwrap my present,” you whispered huskily and waited for him to look at you. When he did, you sat even further away, all the way above his knees, and began making a show of popping open the button and torturingly slowly pulling his zipper down. Your fingers curled below the waistline on each side of the trousers and you tugged them down, little by little, revealing one, then two edges of his hip bone, protruding under his skin enticingly. You left the jeans bunched in the middle of his thighs and observed the priest amorously.

His hands, still crossed at the wrists above his head were balled into fists, fingers white at the knuckles. Paul’s face was flushed dark pink, with sweat gathering in his hairline, one drop of it having already rolled down his cheek. His lips were swollen from kissing. Well, his upper lip anyway, the bottom one was currently trapped between Paul’s teeth, but you presumed it’d be in a similar condition. He was breathing hard, his eyes dark with lust, and there was a damp spot on the front of his grey boxer briefs. You bowed to press a wet kiss just below his sternum, then lower, then lower again, relishing the soft tender skin of the priest's tummy.

You drew a circle around Father Paul’s belly button with your tongue and started pinching the area underneath with your teeth, teasing at the happy trail going down into his underwear. You looked up after reaching the waistband, catching your lover’s intense gaze. He whimpered softly when instead of going where he needed you the most, you bit into that tempting hip bone. “Please…” he whispered, feeling like he was going to go insane if you were to tease him much longer. Paul didn’t even realise his eyes were closed until your soft hand touched his cheek and he opened them again. You were smiling at him warmly, a look filled with tenderness. He willingly opened his mouth for you when you moved your hand to the back of his neck and kissed him soundly.

At the same time you finally pushed your hand under the waistband of his briefs and took a hold of his aching member. Paul moaned into your mouth in relief, his eyes shutting closed and eyebrows turning upwards. You fondled his manhood steadily, massaging it slowly with your thumb drawing little circles into the heated skin. He breathed hard against your mouth once he had to part for breath, and you stuck your tongue out to trace his lips before pushing it back between them. You were slow in your movements, yet Paul soon found himself nearing his peak.

“Wait,” he managed to get out and you let go of him right away. He tried to convey what he wanted with his eyes and, thankfully, you seemed to understand.  You climbed off of him, lying down by his side instead so you could make out some more. From his position, Paul now had some access to your neck and he immediately used this fact to his advantage, pressing sloppy kisses and bites against your pulse point while you massaged his scalp with your fingers. He attempted to duck his head lower, but was held back by his restraints. He gave you another pleading look and you started removing articles of your own clothing, as well as ridding him of the jeans and boxers entirely.

Once you were as naked as he (save for the jumper and shirt tangled on his arms), You climbed back over him, bracing yourself on one hand above his head and pushing your bosom level with his face. Wasting no time, Paul began kissing the sensitive skin, tongue darting out to circle your nipples and flick over them. Meanwhile, your other hand was between your legs, two fingers slowly moving inside your heat in a scissoring motion, stretching yourself. You rested your head against Paul’s, your content sighs fanning over the priest’s black hair.

Suddenly, Paul produced an alarmed sound and turned his head away. You immediately lifted yourself off him. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” you asked, your arousal now mixed with worry. He screwed his eyes shut before releasing a sheepish chuckle: “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just-... um, there is a pine needle getting somewhere it definitely should not be getting.” You started laughing quietly, Paul joining you shortly after. After you fished out the pine needle from under the back of his thigh and made sure there were no more pointy things threatening anything vital, you wanted to lean forward again, but Paul stopped you. “I want to watch,” he said. You smiled down at him and made a show of fucking yourself with your own fingers.

Once you felt sufficiently ready, you pulled your digits out and moved down Paul’s body, pushing your hips together. You rolled your hips a few times, the underside of the priest’s cock sliding through your wet folds. Using your now free hand, you reached behind yourself and guided your lover inside. Paul bent one leg at the knee and pushed his hips up to meet you halfway. Both of you choked out a small gasp. Despite your preparation, you needed a few moments to get used to Paul’s width.

You experimentally raised your hips before sinking back, trying to find an angle that worked the best for you. A few thrusts later, you felt a bolt of pleasure shoot through your spine and into your core, and grinned. You lowered yourself until your body was flush with Paul’s and carefully slipped your arms under his, hands coming to tangle into his hair. You connected your foreheads and looked into his eyes deeply as you started thrusting against him in that brilliant angle.

Paul’s laboured breathing and delicate moans blew across your cheeks, warming them more than the blood gathered there. You tilted your head to the side and let your lips connect in an uncoordinated kiss, keeping your eyes open. Paul’s hands were shaking from how much he wanted to reach out for you, all the while keeping in mind that was the only thing he couldn’t do, so he instead tried to convey all the ways he wanted to touch you in through his mouth, sucking on your lower lip, biting your tongue gently, licking a wet strip along your jaw.

Your movements sped up and the fire within you started burning brighter, every single thrust like a spurt of gasoline into a flame. You hid your face into Paul’s heated neck, feeling his heart hammering away at a rapid speed, sensing his groans and whimpers before actually hearing them. You wrapped yourself around him completely, as if willing your bodies to mould into one. The priest bent his leg a bit more, gaining better leverage to pound up into you, feeling his upcoming release nearing as well.

Once Paul heard your moans becoming more urgent, felt your walls beginning to flutter around him and saw your thighs trembling, he started nudging your head with his own, wordlessly attempting to make you look at him, reveal your face. He loved watching you fall apart, your face showing nothing but pleasure, raw, almost unhinged. It was a sight only he was allowed to see, nearly sacred. You raised your head with some difficulty and rested it back against his, your pupils blown wide and constantly disappearing and reappearing behind fluttering eyelids.

You were on the very brink, moments before plummeting down into the abyss, and your hips lost all sense of rhythm. “Come for me, angel,” Paul groaned and delivered a sharp thrust upwards, effectively shoving you over the edge. Your fingers closed in his hair harshly and a wave of pleasure exploded in your core, shooting into your veins like a drug. You gasped violently, releasing a series of short high pitched whimpers as your heat began pulsing around Paul’s twitching shaft. He continued thrusting into you, hitting that little bundle of nerves and effectively prolonging your orgasm.

You were blushing everywhere, sweating, trembling through heaps of bliss, yet a drunken smile bloomed on your face. Your unfocused eyes connected with Paul’s, their gaze intense and almost desperate. “S-so, ah, you’re so b-beautiful, Paul,” you managed to stutter out, and then only watched the fireworks go off in those nearly black orbs. They widened for a millisecond and then, as if a rope snapped, you could see Paul fighting to keep them even open. You would have almost thought he was in pain, with his hands trembling violently, his mouth opening into an ‘o’ shape to release a long moan, and his head tilting back.

Your walls were painted white, spurt after spurt of hotness spreading through your core. Together you shook through the aftershocks, slowly coming down your highs. You collapsed against your lover, trying to get your breathing under control once more. Several minutes of lazy kisses and whispered words of love later, Paul tried tugging his arms free once more, causing some more pine needles to descend upon your cooling bodies. You groggily climbed up his body until you were able to reach the treacherous twig and untangle it from Father Paul’s shirt.

The priest stretched his arms and proceeded to pull both his jumper and shirt off of him, tossing them somewhere to your left. Finally, finally, he was able to hold you and immediately did just so. “You were right,” he said quietly, voice hoarse, “it is a horrible sweater.” You giggled and let yourself slide down and onto your side, lying next to him. “I don’t know,” you purred, your hand coming to caress his cheek, “I think it’s starting to grow on me.”

You shivered slightly, your body having already cooled down from your previous activities, and reached for a blanket which was draped over your sofa. You threw it over the two of you and got comfortable in the father’s arms. “If there was an advent calendar of making love during Christmas time, this would definitely be there. Under the tree,” you mused, your voice light and airy. “Wonder what would be hidden under ‘24’,” replied Paul in the same manner, “making love after the midnight Mass?” You grinned into his neck, one of your hands slowly massaging his shoulder: “A lovely suggestion.”

“Still want to decorate the tree?” he asked after a while, pressing small kisses into your hair. You murmured something unintelligible and hid your face again. Paul chuckled lowly: “Okay, shower and a movie then?” “Yeah,” you breathed into his skin, “we’ll do the tree first thing tomorrow.” Paul hummed in agreement. You lay cuddled beneath the Christmas tree, the colourful lights dancing on your bare limbs and the smell of pine lingering sweetly in the air. “We could decorate the one in the rectory after. And bake those gingerbreads only for us.”

A giggle started blooming in your chest, soon turning into a full on laughter. “You really are unbelievable!” you bit into your lower lip and pulled back to look into his large eyes. They reflected the big genuine smile on Paul’s face perfectly: “I’ll even wear the sweater.” You shook your head and quickly crushed your lips against his. Absolutely unbelievable.

Thank you for reading, I hope you had a good time c: As always, you can find this story and all of my other stories over on AO3. Please, be sure to check out @aherdofbees​ tumblr as well, she makes the most spectacular art!

the first tags are sentences I had to restrain myself from using in order not to look like the last bits of sanity finally packed their bags and kissed me goodbye

@everythingbutresolved @agirlinherhead​ @rothko-mirror​ @littleredwritingcat​ @vintageglassheart02​ @thexhostess​ @fatherpaulsimp​ @blackberries45​ @daughterofaries​ @exorcise-my-demons​ sending kisses ××

[iravaid]

🎮🩹🩸💯🎄---for Mr Tommy Riley (yes, I consider him your oc) (yes, I picked the Christmas tree on purpose mwah 🫰)

(from this meme)

Heehee hii womby!! Snatching Thomas E. Riley from Lapham's cold, dead hands after Szilvi's oviraptor attack squad is done with him. I'm so happy you asked heehee

(and oh, so you're evil? You're evil, now? you're sick and twisted and evil?)

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

Being a munch Although it was initially going to be his career (tattoo artist Tommy-truthers make some noise), I can see Tommy enjoying art as a hobby and way to relax/clear his head. He never used to draw a lot of people before, focusing instead on other popular subjects for tattoo designs such as ships and snakes and tigers. But his newer sketchbooks feature a lot more of Beth and Joseph, with a few of Simon and his mum interspersed between his studies of household items and appliances.

Tommy is a Man U fan, as is family tradition. I count football fanaticism as a hobby because have you seen these people. Do you understand the dedication to know so much about all those balls and points and such? Dear god. Tommy, Simon, and Beth on footie nights out were terrifying concepts, many Chelsea fans mauled. Sad!

It mightn't be strictly a hobby, but I can see Tommy redirecting any pent up energy towards making small renovations in his home/his mum's home, or even woodworking and making things like a jewellery box for Beth, or little carved nativity scene for Joseph's nursery class. Man works with his hands and his thoughts can get a bit much at times, so may as well redirect towards something productive, as he's been taught (even if this does encroach into dysfunction territor when he's working to exhaustion so he doesn't dream when he finally sleeps).

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

I can see Tommy having chronic pain from his back injury and the resultant muscle strain and poor healing that came of it. Nothing a couple heat pads and, uh, working a labour intensive job can't fix...

Between drug addiction and childhood trauma, it's not out of the picture for Tommy to also have developed PTSD/CPTSD from his experiences. For a myriad of reasons (potential access to counselling, access to familial support, not being autistic, not being in the military) it's not as extreme as Simon's, and so his emotional intelligence isn't as stunted, but he's still very much living with the effects of being physically and verbally abused as a child, as well as being addicted to opiates in the past, far into adulthood. Again, has better tools to cope with it, but Tommy isn't perfect, and I can see most of his symptoms manifesting in fawning responses than Simon's fight.

Tommy also has leanings towards depression, and there are times when his mental health declines to the point of it being disabling. I don't see him being diagnosed with depression, nor complex PTSD, as the NHS mental health services are in fucking shambles and some doctors mightn't even recognise the latter in his time.

🩸 DROP OF BLOOD — what is your oc's blood type?

So. I don't have a clear answer to this, because I need to know what Simon's blood type is, and it's not listed anywhere. I think there is a fun off-stage/underlying tragedy in Simon and Tommy having incompatible blood types, in that even if Simon had gotten to the flat in time, he wouldn't have been able to 'save' Tommy via donating blood. Something something, the nature of tragedy so deeply set in Ghost's being that it's biological.

Perhaps it's campy, perhaps it's too much, but whatever‼️my oc now.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

TOMMY IS THE YOUNGER BROTHER! The wiki is LYING the comics confirm so here:

Tommy is 6'2" and lanky as anything, and unless his brother is on leave, he tends to be the tallest person in the room, bless. Additionally, I can see Tommy having insane forearm and grip strength just from being a tradesman for the better guts of a decade.

Some people have noticed, but Tommy doesn't drink alcohol at all in 'I Wait For You', which is on purpose. He's chosen not to drink, in spite of Britain's heavy drinking culture, as a means of preventing any reliance/gateways, as well as the fact that he doesn't like getting drunk, anyways, primarily because of bad memories of his father after one too many drinks.

🎄 CHRISTMAS TREE — what is your oc's favorite holiday?

Of course it's christmghjgkfgwlisfhdn-

(jokes aside I can see Tommy not having a favourite holiday until he's an adult and meets Beth and falls in love with her, and they eventually have a family together. Then his favourite holiday becomes Mother's Day.)

Augh thank you for the ask :'D It reminded me i have very big feelings about Tommy Riley and his everything, and now my chest hurts heehee

[ruby-static]

After all this time- I finally have a good ref for my Fallout New Vegas Courier 6: Riley Redmont Haddock. (But friends just call him "Red") AKA the nerdy human embodiment of anxiety.

+ some doodles of him with various companions I plan for him to have in my playthrough.

Riley is my timid, easily annoyed, anxiety-ridden mess of a wasteland wanderer. Dude has an affinity for robots, tinkering, inventing, repairing and general science nerdery. Poor guy is wrapped up in an absolute bullshit chain of events and is quietly losing his shit.

If you wanna know a little more about the dude, I'll leave more info under the cut. (I'd also be more than happy to answer any asks about the dude.)

Name: Riley Redmont Haddock

Age: Mid-30s

Pronouns: He/Him (Transmasc)

Sexuality: Gay/Ace

(Current) Voice Claim: Lin Manuel Miranda. Mainly just because of his voice as Fenton Crackshell Cabrera/Sheriff Marshall Cabrera from Ducktales 2017. That is, unless I find a better voice.

Personality: Timid and overwhelmingly anxious, and a bit easily irritated in the face of his new travels. Due to his affinity with tech, he tends to be more comfortable around robots than people. (At first, at least.) A bit near-sighted and stuck inside his own head, while still fiercely looks after people close to him. Over time in his adventures, he slowly develops into a more confident, collected, yet reckless person.

Bio:

Riley grew up being the child of a Mojave legend known as "The Scarlet Rider", a woman (named Ellie) famed as a masked vigilante who fought to help the people of the Mojave wastes as the stories would tell. But people rarely knew abot "Scarlet's little girl". (Riley had obviously not "cracked the egg" yet for a good while.) Growing up with a traveller and masked hero for a mother, he learned a lot of what formed him into the person he is. Being a decent shot, a skilled mechanic, and more.

But when in a tragic incident his mother disappears, presumed dead, Riley was then sought after and brought in by his estranged father. This man, however, wasn't exactly as noble as his mother. Him being a notorious crime boss of the Vegas area. Having to spend his teenage years as a pawn to a crime lord, certain events would lead to him running off at the age of 16.

Now with his father's men after him, and almost no one to turn to, Riley would travel across the Mojave wastes and other surrounding areas to find safety.

Young Riley ends up finding a group of travelling performers, who he spends his time with for some years. But after a tragic death in the group, the remaining members break apart- leaving Riley on his own again.

Riley starts further developing his skills in robotics where he finds his love for tinkering and repairs. His endless tinkering ends up in the creation of his closest companion, Buddy. A tiny companion robot made completely from scrap, but somehow harboring an endless rabid thirst for violence and wanton destruction. But due to his size, he's effectively harmless. And for a while, he's Riley's one close friend.

So over the years, he's gotten around the wasteland by keeping his head down and taking various jobs and roles. Scavenger, singer, mechanic, and many more.

To Riley, his position as a courier is just a temporary gig "to get me from here to there". He's never really been too attached to it. But with his latest gig, he didn't really have any idea what this seemingly insignificant job would be getting him into.

Because that fateful night with the poker chip and the man in the checkered suit- Well, it just changed everything to say the least.

After the shock from taking a nasty shot to the head wears off, Riley isn't looking for any petty revenge- but answers. Because he can tell something is deeply wrong. And he's just too damn curious to let it go.

Random Info:

Riley tends to be a bit of a "robot whisperer". He seems to become friendly with bots a lot easier than he does with other people. This is typically due to his repair skills, but he generally seems to socialize easier with robots. (Prior to the NV story at least.) For example, he tends to get along pretty well with Victor early in his journey. And the first real 'companion' he meets is ED-E.

As mentioned- prior to the events of the game, Riley has a connection/history with one of the companion characters. Raul Tejada was a close friend of Riley's mother Ellie. So as a kid, Riley grew with Raul as a sort of uncle-figure. After his mother disappearing and him being turned over to his father, they lost contact. After running away from his father, he would come across Raul again, but it wouldn't last for long before he would have to run again with his father's men searching for him. Sadly, they wouldn't meet again for many years until Riley comes across him imprisoned in Black Mountain.

Riley has no idea just how in high hell this happened, but he manages to form a decent relationship with The Kings. He can't explain why he's friends with them, it just... happened. And he's incredibly confused about the whole thing. The King lets him hang out with his adorable robo-dog, though, so he's not complaining.

He also tends to hang around the Followers of the Apocolypse on occasion after bringing ED-E to them. He just tends to chat around with the members- (Arcade in particular.) But he likes to fix any broken tech around, so nobody really complains.

Riley has a texan accent! He tends to hide it around people, but it tends to slip out when he's emotional. (Extremely angry, extremely happy/excited, you get the idea.) Or when he's around certain people, like close friends. As the story goes along, he tends to hide it less and less.

Riley has an interest in various pre-war topics. Specifically, pre-war fashion, pop culture, and music. He believes that if he was born before the war (or if the war never happened) he would be working in fashion. Namely, working in a bridal parlor.

With his additional background in music/performing, he knows a few instruments! Namely guitar, violin, and a little piano.

[norah-posts]

'Thanks for the whiskey.'

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Mactavish!fem!reader

Summary: It's not the first time Simon has been invited to spend the holidays with your family. He's been best friends with Johnny, your brother, for a long time, and having him around now and then is something you've grown used to. It'd be a lie if he said he wasn't developed a thing for you over time. And you had a massive crush on him too, even if he was older than you and everybody sad about him that he was cold-hearted. Because he wasn't! He had a gentle side only just for you. And he willingly showed more of him on that cold night.

NSFW - mutual pinning, drinking alcohol, smut, pet names, light choking, squirting, p in v, fingering, flirting, kissing, praise kink

Wc: 4,6k

******

You couldn’t sleep when Simon was in the house. His room was next to yours and the walls were thin between them. You could hear every nose from his room through the walls. Every sigh, every cough and every move what he took on his bed, making the weak furniture creaking under him.

’’I know you’re there,” Simon murmured, his honey eyes following your silhouette in the dim moonlight as you joined him in the backyard. ’’Can’t sleep either?”

’’Just like you,” you smirked at him and sat down next to him.

’’It seems we always end up spending a few late night hours together for some strange reason,” Simon murmured, letting out a quiet chuckle, eyes wandering over the horizon. The stars were out tonight and they appeared brighter thanks to the fresh snow fall. ’’A drink?” he offered, reaching for a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses underneath the patio table beside his chair. The tablecloth having been used to protect it from the snow storm earlier.

’’It seems you were expecting me,” you smirked at him as you watched him pouring the whiskey into the two of them, passing one to you. You couldn’t help but your eyes wandered around his big and veiny hands, and thank God he handed the glass, keeping your face straight from your thoughts.

You took a sip from it. The whiskey was strong, it burned your throat and you needed to cough a little to not spit it out. ’’This is too strong.” You wiped your lips and looked up at him with a teasing smirk. ’’You want me to get drunk?”

’’The question is whether or not you can handle your drinks,” Simon teased, taking a slow sip of the whiskey in his glass before turning to regard you with his piercing brown eyes, one eyebrow raising. ’’I suppose I could teach you how to drink properly,” he continued after a short moment of silence.

He gave you a small smile and a wink of his eyes, the smile lingering on his lips for a few seconds before disappearing into a neutral expression as he took another sip of his whiskey.

’’Drink properly?” you scoffed and took another sip as you shook your head slightly. ’’I can drink, don’t worry. It’s just not good for my legs.”

’’Why?” Simon inquired curiously as his gaze wandered over your legs for a few seconds before meeting your eyes again, his expression shifting from curiosity to a slight smile. ’’Do your legs get shaky when you get drunk?”

’’No. They spread,” you replied and held his piercing gaze while you took another sip from your glass.

Simon seed a bit suprised, his eyes widening as a smirk formed on his lips and he let out a small chuckle. He turned to face you fully as his attention was completely focused on you, his eyes on your lips when you took another sip of the whiskey. ’’I was expecting a more innocent answer.”

’’Innocent,” you muttered under your breath with a small nod as you leaned back against your chair. ’’What about you? How does the alcohol affect you?”

Simon let out a deep breath before answering your question. ’’Alcohol doesn’t affect me at all. As a matter of fact, I could drink this whole bottle right now without feeling a damn thing.”

You shifted your weight on your chair, leaning closer to him. ’’If it hasn’t affect you,” you started as you glanced at the bottle on the patio table and back at Simon. ’’Then why do you drink?”

’’I suppose I just enjoy the taste,’’ he answered calmly as he took another sip from his glass, watching you as you leaned towards him. „Don’t get any ideas,” he teased, placing his glass down on the table and leaning forward to move your hair behind your ear. His fingers touched your cheek for a moment. It felt like electricity ran around underneath your skin, sending a shiver along your spine and you couldn’t help but bited down your lower lip as your eyes met with his gaze. ’’But you’re a little too close.”

His warning woke you up, keeping you sober from your thoughts. Even if you and him were friends, he was still distant sometimes. Just like right now.

’’Sorry,” you muttered as you leaned back against your chair, looking away from him and studying the snowy and dark backyard as you took another sip from the whiskey to calming down your nerves.

Simon let out a small, amused chuckle as he straightened his back once again. ’’No need to be sorry,” he replied, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his gaze wander over your exposed neck. ’’Just don’t get too comfortable,” he teased again, his eyes landing on you once again with that same smirk before. ’’Or I might do something stupid.”

’’I tought the alcohol doesn’t affect you,” you grinned teasingly as you glanced at him for a moment and then back at the dark landscape, watching the snowing. But you could feel his gaze on you, it burned your skin, making feel goosebumps underneath your coat.

’’It might not affect me as much as it does with normal people,” Simon chuckled lightly. ’’But it sure as hell makes me feel things,” he confessed, letting his eyes wander over you and your snow-capped hair. The snow made you almost look ethereal in the moon light. ’’Like wanting to take you right here, right now.”

You were preparing to take a sip from your glass, but you stopped. You were shocked. You sat there next to him at the backyard under the snowfall and you couldn’t say anything.

Not even take a breath.

Simon watched you as his words seemed to have left you completely speechles, with your eyes on your whiskey glass, your lips parted slightly as a soft breathing could be heard.

’’I suppose I need to repeat myself,” Simon began, taking a sip from his glass of whiskey and letting out a small smile as he watched you with his piercing eyes. ’’I want you.”

’’I understood it at first,” you nodded and took a sip from your own glass to get more courage for continuing this unbelievable conversation with him.

’’Then would you mind turning around and facing me?” Simon asked, his voice steady but filled with a nervous, excited rush from the whiskey.

You could feel his gaze on you, on your neck. A look of desire and yearning as Simon’s thoughts filled with images of your warm breath against his skin as sthe soft snow fell all around them. ’’I want to see your eyes,” he said.

Oh God. You sighed and turned to him. Your and his knees were pressed at each other, you could feel his warmth beneath his jeans. And even if it was winter, you were overheated. Your heart was pounding so fast in your chest, your lung was tight and it couldn’t let you breath normally.

You gasped for air slightly.

’’You alright?” Simon mutteres quietly, his gaze never leaving you, and he could see how you were shaking slightly while your eyes were glued to his. ’’Relax. Take a deep breath for me.” He leaned closer to you, placing a hand on your tight.

He let out a small chuckle in an attempt to ease you, his hand still resting on your thigh, thumb caressing the fabric of your clothing. ’’In and out,” he muttered quietly, demonstrating how he wanted you to breathe.

You nodded as you let out a sigh. Your eyes travelled down to his chest as it moved up and down with every in and exhale. You followed him, you were breathing with him slowly and carefully.

You could feel Simon pull your legs close to him to being touched more. His hand still resting on your thigh, the touch sending shivers up your spine.

’’Better?” Simon breathed softly. ’’In and out, breathe slowly, like that.”

’’Better,” you nodded as you kept breathing slowly with him.

His gaze remained fixed on your lips, eyes wandering from the shape of your mouth, down your neck to the snow-dusted collar of your clothing that covered the curves of your body.

Simon let out a quiet sigh as he watched you, taking a small, quiet sip of his whiskey and you followed his movements. You needed to lick your lips when you saw his adam’s apple as it moved slightly under his chin when he swallowed.

Your hands in your lap moved a little towards his hand on your thigh, not being sure about you should touch him or not, and Simon could feel it. After a few seconds of remaining in the same position, Simon leaned forward and placed his glass of whiskey on the table between you and him.

’’Take my hands,” he whispered, his gaze still on your lips. ’’I won’t hurt you.” He held one of his hands up, waiting for you to take it. He couldn’t keep from staring at the soft, smooth skin of your fingers.

You looked down at his palm, staring it for a few moments before you placed your hand on it. He wrapped his finger around your hand softly and made small circles on your skin with his thumb.

’’What the fuck is happening?” you spoke finally, your voice was filled with nervousness and excitement.

’’What we both want,” Simon murmured, holding your hand tightly. ’’I want to kiss you right now.” He was completely honest as he watched you, eyes focused on your lips as he let out a breath. ’’Tell me stop if you wish to,” he said with a small smile on his lips. ’’But I want your lips on mine.”

You looked up at him, your eyes widened at his words and you felt the heat around your cheeks. Simon was so confident and you couldn’t help but blushed more as you saw his eyes lingered on your lips. He really wanted it, so did you. You dreamed about this for a long time.

’’I won’t stop you,” you whispered.

’’Good.’’

Simon moved his head slowly towards you, his free hand on your shoulder as he watched you for any reaction or change to your behaviour. As his lips came closer, he could feel your breathe against his lips. He moved his hand from your shoulder to your hair, tucking it behind your ear as his lips brushed against yours, your breath mixing in the air.

A second later, Simon pulled you towards him with his lips still connected with yours. His lips was soft on yours, it didn’t match to his cold behaviour as he kissed you.

Simon’s lips parted slightly as he slid his tongue into your mouth, his eyes fluttering between lust and suprise as he felt the intensitiy increase. His arm wrapped around your back as he pressed you towards him. His lips carressed yours softly, and his hand went to the back of your head, gripping the hair behind your ear again as he kissed you deeper, his tongue gently prodding your mouth.

He couldn’t keep from wanting more, deeper, a primal need starting to take control of him.

As your knees were between his thighs close to his lap, you could feel something hard and throbbing beneath his jeans. You pulled away a little, gasping for air and it sounded like music to Simon’s ear.

’’Darling…’’ Simon sighed, his fingers moving along your jawline as his lips slowly parted from yours. ’’I can’t control it,” he muttered, eyes fixed on your lips. ’’You have to say the word and stop this…’’ he said with a soft smile, as his eyes flickered towards your neck.

He needed to taste you.

You saw as his face was flushed and somehow his eyes were darker than before. He was breathing heavily as you and you couldn’t think about anything else just the fact that you did this with him.

’’You… You want to stop?” you asked in a hoarse tone, your yes still lingered on his kissable lips.

’’No.’’ Simon whispered, his voice filled with a slight desperation what he couldn’t hide. ’’No, I can not stop, I’m sorry,’ he breathed, his voice filled with a quiet chuckle. ’’Not when it is like this.”

The tension in the air was almost palpable, his touch on you making his muschles move slightly under his clothing. And you chuckled too quietly and with a sigh you leaned back on your chair.

You reached out for your drink, takin a sip from it while you watched him. You were so dizzy. Your lips still burned because of his kiss, making you want more of him. So you glanced at the house behind you, where your parents and your brother, Johnny slept, not knowing what you were doing with Simon at the backyard.

’’Do you want to go inside?” Simon murmured softly, but his voice was lustful.

He looked at you, studying your lips and your body under your dark coat as he moved his hand onto your waist, gripping it tightly to get your attention back at him. ’’I can’t let this end now,” he breathed slightly. ’’I need you… I want to fuck you.’’

You nodded. That was all you could do. You needed him, you wanted him as much as he wanted you. You waited for this a long time and now you couldn’t resist even if your family was int he house. You needed to feel him.

’’Okay.’’ Simon let out a small sigh as he stood up from his chair. ’’Up on your feet, love.” His voice was low as he lifted you from your chair by your hand and started to move towards the house, his other hand was on your waist, holding your firmly and moving your body close to his. ’’I want you on your bed,” he whispered.

*******

You turned to Simon when he closed your door behind him and glanced at your bed.

’’I will be on my best behavior,” Simon promised, his deep voice filled with lust and amusement.

His eyes wandered over your body and he let out a small moan as he move towards you, his face flushing as he stood in front of your for a couple of second, looking at your lips, wanting to kiss you again badly. ’’I must restrain myself,” he whispered quietly, taking the last step that separated him from you and pressing you against the wall.

When his hand wrapped around your neck, you whimpered quietly. He didn’t choke you, but he held you enough to not move. You were forcing to look upt at him. And only at him in this moment.

The wall was cold against your back, but Simon’s body was hot against yours. A shiver ran down on your spine because of that two different feelings. ’’What is it like when you don’t restrain yourself?” you asked in a whisper.

’’We will find out.”

Simon sighed as his hand tightened around your neck slightly. ’’Look at me,” he hissed as he forced you to meet his gaze for a couple of seconds. ’’You don’t want me to stop this, do you?” he asked as he looked down at your lip, biting his own. His eyes filled with a hunger and he caressed your cheek with his free hand, what wasn’t around your neck.

He drove you crazy. He was rough and yet his fingers on your cheek was soft and gentle. ’’No, no,” you moaned as you clenched your thighs together to calming down the heat between them.

’’Good.’’

Simon let outh a slight moan as he slid his free hand between your legs and you moaned because of his touch through your jeans. His hand on your neck tightened a little, his fingers digging into your throat slightly, but not enough to hurt you. He leaned into your neck and breathed out, his breath was hot against your skin as he pulled you closer. ’’In the bed,’’ he hissed. ’’I can’t control myself anymore…” he admitted with a whisper as he took a step away from you, letting go your throat.

Simon let out a quiet chuckle as he watched your move away from the wall and towards the bed, sitting down on the edge of th ebed and you looked up athim when he stood in front of you.. ’’Lay down, darling,” he barked slightly, his tone still filled with lust.

He moved his hands to your shoulders down to your thighs and his fingers gripped the fabric that covered them tightly, moving your body to a reclined position against th ebed. ’’On your back,” Simon demanded.

You nodded and layed down, taking a few deep breaths as you stared the ceiling above you. The room was dark and quiet, only your fast breaths could be heard in the silence. His palm on your thigt was warm and soft as he caressed you through your jeans.

’’Looking away won’t help,” Simon growled. ’’Look me in the eyes. Look at me,” he spoke agains, his voice softer and filled with the same lust and amusement.

You sighed and looked up at him. His gaze didn’t help you to calm down, it made the whole situation worse. He made you gasping for air and you needed to close your eyes when you felt the fabric of your jeans were getting lose as Simon pushed it down from the top, his eyes were on your face the whole time during the process.He watched you, almost like if you were his prey and his eyes showed the hunger he felt towards you.

His fingers gripped your thigh, his fingerstips digging lightly into your soft skin as he slowly started to move his hands up to the area between your legs until he gripped the fabric of your underwear gently.

Your underwear was already soaked, and he could feel it between his fingers. ’’Fucking hell…” He mumbled. ’’Look at me. Don’t look away from me. I want to see your expressions when you enjoy the way I touch you.”

It was hard to focus on his word when he moved his hand, rubbing your sensitive spot through your underwear. But you could feel the commande in his tone and you needed to get yourself together to fulfill his order. So you looked up into his dark and piercing eyes and let out a soft moan when your gaze met with his. You couldn’t help but you moved your hips against his hand for more.

’’Mmhmmm…’’ Simon moaned, his breath getting more heavy as you rolled your hips against his hand in a slow rhythm. ’’Good girl,” he murmured, his touch turned into small and slow circles. His other hand grabbed your chin, keeping her face still towards his as your and his gaze were locked onto each other.

’’Simon,’’ you breathed out his name as you felt that familiar heat under your belly.

Simon responded with a moan as he felt your hips moving against his hand, your soft moans and whimpers filled the the air around him. His eyes glanced towards your face for a couple of second, his eyes filled with desire and lust when he saw that you bited down your lower lip for holding back your moans.

’’Ahh fuck…’’ Simon moaned, moving his hand from your chin to your mouth, keeping it shut. Your whole body was thrembling while his other hand was still between your legs, his fingers still moving back and forth over the fabric of your underwear, making you cum and whine his name. ’’You are too good to be true,” he breathed quietly and groaned, his eyes still fixed on your face while you were trembling under his touch.

You mumbled something into his palm over your mouth, your eyes shutted tightly while his hand was still rubbing you, but now he was gentle. ’’I’m not done with you yet, love,” he whispered. ’’You need to keep it quiet, understand me?’’

You nodded. You need him once again. You didn’t want to stop.

’’That’s my good girl,’’ he smilled, looking at your face with the satisfaction that he caused you this intense sensation that made you breathless.

He started to caress your cheeks as his other hand slid over your count once again, tracing it with a light touch over your thighs and moving up towards your hips, looking down at your body. ’’Turn on your stomach,” he demanded quietly before he started to move down the bed, his eyes locked on your face as he moved away from you. ’’You need to be quiet. Do understand me?” he growled, his tone filling with a different kinf of thirst now as he looked at your back after you rolled onto your stomach.

You nodded into the sheets. You felt as he spread away your legs to get more space for him. He knelt behind you and you could hear as he unbuckled his bend and you heard the sounds of the material of his clothes as he pulled them down to his knees.

You didn’t see him, you just waited for him to do something with you. To continue this. But you could hear his heavy breaths behind you.

He leaned down to you as he placed his hand on your hips. ’’I hope you are ready…’’ He licked his lips and moved his tongue across your neck. ’’Because I am so hungry for you.”

He moved behind you, his body were brushing against your own leg sas he prepared himself for you. ’’Lay still,” he let out a soft moan as he brushed the tip of his cock against the back of your thigh. ’’This is going to be a good time. You just need to be quiet, okay? Don’t wake up your brother,” he whispered.

Simon put aside your underwear from your entrance and he pressed himself into you. He moved slowly, inch by inch and he stopped when he was fully inside. He stayed still, holding your hips and letting you use his size like he knew that you need a few deep breath to not cry out in pain.

’’Take it. You can take it, love,” he spoke out these words gently but firmly. He held his breath, his eyes focused on your body as his body moved slowly back and forth behind you. ’’Good girl,” he whispered, his hands gripped your hips in a firm but gentle manner, his fingers digging into your soft skin. ’’Enjoy the pleasure, love,” he hissed quietly as he started to move his hips slowly and rhythmically.

’’Oh my God…’’ you breathed out and grabbed the sheets abouve your had for keeping you still against his thrusts. Your face was digged into the blanket, biting the material with your teeth to soothe your moans.

It was so forbidden and that’s why it was so good. You couldn’t believe you were under your brother’s best friend even if you dreamed about this moment a long time ago. But the reality of being with Simon ’Ghost’ Riley was better than your imaginity.

’’Such a good girl,” Simon growled quietly as his thrusts turned into a fast and passionate rhythm. ’’You are so damn good,” he moaned, his voice filled with pleasure. ’’And just for me. You are just mine, love. Mine all night. Mine forever.”

’’Oh, yes…’’ You moaned and turned your head to the side, pressing your cheeks against the sheets as you looked at him over your shoulder. ’’Fuck me, please,” you whimperred.

’’Fucking hell…”

Simon licked his lips, his eyes looking locked onto your beautiful face, still filled with hunger as he gripped your hips, his thrusts slowing down a little.

His moves was painfully slow and you couldn’t help but push yourself against him to making him move faster and deeper. You lost your mind. You’ve never been like this before, but Simon drove your crazy and he almost made you cry for that rough fuck what you wanted from him.

’’Oh darling…” His voice was soft and hushed, his breath quickening as he moved his hips slowly back and forth against you. ’’Take a breath, baby,’’ he whispered as if he had seen that you needed it. ’’Don’t lose yourself just yet.

His thrust were slow and gentle, moving his hip in a rhythm that felt like eternity. ’’I can’t,” you whined, gripping the sheets tightly under you as you arched your back to feeling him deeper. You could feel a small tear int he orner of your eye, and your throat was too tight, breaking your voice when you whispered, ’’Please.’’

’’Take a breath, darling. I don’t want to cum too quick.” Simon’s voice was still filled with a mixture of the same passion and desirve, but his tone was gentle and comforting right now.

But he moved his hips slightly faster now, feeling that your desire was growing as his breath quickened. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, but he wanted you to experience the orgasm with him. ’’Be patient, lovely.”

You turned your face back into the sheets and wimpered like you were in pain. It was so hard to hold back your own desire for him. Your whole body was trembling, eyes shutted tightly. ’’Simon…’’ You moaned his name, and you clenced your thighs together to control that almost hot and tight feelind under your stomach.

’’Look at me, beautiful.”

Simon’s breath became louder, he moved his hips even faster now after he heard your voice calling his name with so much desire and passion what was driving him wild with lust. ’’Don’t cum, darling.’’ he warned, his voice quieter than before. ’’I know it’s hard, but please, don’t. Not yet.” He knew this night was his only chance and he wanted to keep it last longer. But you shook your head.

You could feel it, and it was too late to hold back. Your thighs started to trembling and a shaky feeling ran around your body. You gritted your teeth around the sheets, when you felt the hot wetness between your thighs as you squirted on him.

’’Oh God.” Simon groaned, his cheeks flushing and his breath quickening even more as his face filled with a suprise and joy. He kept a firm grip on your hips, his thrust going at a slow but steady pace. ’’You are so damn good, darling…” he murmured. ’’So damn good. I’m so proud of you, love.”

’’Oh fuck…” you breathed out, still whimpering because of his slow and careful thrusts.

’’That was hot,” Simon chuckled. ’’You’re amazing.”

He moved his hips even faster with the passion and desire that he felt before growing into lust as it filled his entire body. ’’You are so good,’’ he moaned silently, his finger digging deep into your hips as he was now letting himself being driven by pleasure instead of being controlled by discipline and self-restraint.

His breath got quicker as his movements became faster and intense and with one thrust he sank inside you fully, letting out a growl as he filled you up with his own seed.

Both Simon and you were trying to catch your breath, your bodies still joined together tightly while you remained quiet for a moment, feeling the euphoria that you have shared together.

It was as if time stood still, but the reality of the moment was coming back to you the longer you remained toghether.

’’Ah…’’ Simon mumbled quietly. ’’My God.”

’’Thanks for the whiskey,” you giggled.

’’You’re welcome. It was my pleasure,” he chuckled, leaving a kiss on your shoulder before he moved away from you.

[katatty]

Recap: Strangetown Round 5 (Summer) - part 1

Strangetown has seen something of a housing boom lately, with new developments springing up all over town to provide places for new graduates to call home. Some would call Strangetown a “boring” place to live but the government-funded ShinyThings Lab makes it a hub for scientists across SimNation. And it’s the safest it’s been in some time - over 6 weeks since the last missing sim report!

The round starts with Nervous and his son Riley. They're quickly joined by Pascal (the baby's father) and Tycho! Pascal worries about Nervous, looking after a baby in this big house all alone...

Nervous ends up quitting his job in the criminal career, since he doesn't really need the money anymore. He's a little uneasy about it, though...

Tycho grows up into a knowledge sim! He’s an genius night owl with the science hobby who likes staying up late watching the stars. Good luck waking him when he sleeps in all morning the next day, he’s a heavy sleeper! He’s also kind of over-emotional, a trait he definitely didn’t pick up from his stoic father.

Constant visits from family and constant childcare have Nervous feeling overwhelmed and agravated - sometimes everything is just too much.

Tycho ages Riley up, and sets about teaching him to talk right away. It will be so nice having a little brother he can actually hold a conversation with!

Tycho gets some lunch with some friends from Pleasantview - Mia Broke and Oliver Goth. They talk all about their haunted houses with dark histories...

That's all - but they were really fun to play! More functional as a household than I was expecting. It’s nice seeing Nervous with a family, even if it’s a bit of an unconventional one.

Next up: the Lola-Curious family.

Ajay and Lola are one of those couples that got together “off screen”. I wasn’t explicitly trying to get them together, but once they were friends ACR took over and they autonomously went steady, so I just decided to merge their households since I felt like it made sense for them (and partially because I find Ajay’s family boring to play on their own, haha.)

School’s out for summer, but the kids have summer homework to catch up on before they can start enjoying their freedom! Ajay and Lola are very strict on this.

Then, quickly, Lola finds she's expecting! It's a bit of a suprise since she and Ajay hadn't really talked about kids, but he's on board.

Testee was initially worried she was going to be "replaced" by a new baby, but Lola is quick to reassure her.

The baby is born and named Esme! She’s got Ajay skintone but inherited her mother’s alien eyes - I think she’s the first sim with that look to be born in my game!

Then, it's Testee's birthday!

Testee grows up into a popularity sim in pretty pink dress. She loves nature, being outdoors, and dreams of someday seeing the ocean and maybe studying marine life, checking out hot sims in swimwear, perhaps even becoming the hand of poseidon? She’s a big fan of the supernatural, too, and very interested in her alien roots (perhaps one of the reasons she feels drawn to creatures of the sea, alien in their own way?)

She’s a little absent-minded and her difficult history can make her over-emotional at times. She likes unemployed sims and is turned off by hard-workers, I’m guessing she’d prefer not to have to compete with work for attention in a partner like she does with Ajay and Lola.

She heads to town for the customary teenage makeover and, when she gets home, has an important chat with Lola about her past.

Another pink-loving alien is next, Stella Terrano and her fiancee, Klara Vonderstien!

They want to open up a coffe shop/bakery together someday, but need more money first! So Stella takes a job in the medical field, while Klara picks up a job in journalism.

They also pick up a kitten named Saturn!

Klara, though, has worries. Not long ago, she had a spontanious drunken hookup with her longtime crush, Blossom Moonbeam. She knows she needs to be truthful about it if she wants their marriage to work...

But Stella takes it better than expected! She does request a "free pass" in future though, in the interests of fairness... we'll see how that works out for them.

They're mostly pretty chill and laid back tro play.

Before long it's wedding day! Aside from a jerk-ish waiter at the diner, it goes off without a hitch.

Stella and Klara are now the Terrano-Vondersteins, officially! Both of their names were far too cool not to keep. (Their tags will remain the same, though.)

Stella meets Testee, who has a few questions about their home planet...

and that’s Stella and Klara all done! I was half thinking I might break them up since Klara did cheat, but they seem so besotted with each other I didn’t have the heart. Hopefully that’s all in the past now, like Stella said.

aaaaaaaaand it looks like I've hit Tumblrs new "image limit", so stay tuned for recap parts 2, 3 & 4 🙄

[someheroescarryfloss]

Season 2, Episode 6

Well, we finally know what Kris's purpose was, other than comic relief. Santapolis's whole purpose was to be a stopping point for Mad Santa where he and Olga could show the audience that they really aren't that bad, and since they obviously weren't going to be killed off (not that kind of Disney franchise!) they (or, at least, Magnus) needed another place to go. Yeah, okay. I'll buy that. Kris's purpose was to provide Magnus Antas with a new purpose. What do I think about this? Mm...it's fine. If Jack Frost can be thawed by a hug, why not?

So, when Magnus Antas put himself in the doghouse (pun intended) and said he was 'Werewolfing himself', that had me wondering if they were going to drop one of those little throw-away nuggets, like "Oh yeah, by the way, Werewolves are real. Anyway, I was a bad person, lock me up." If they're gearing up for a Christmas/Halloween crossover in Season 3 and it looks too much like a watered down version of The Hollow, I'm gonna sue! XD

Okay, seriously though, I didn't mind this episode all that much. Lots of tying up loose ends, though very little character development, and Scott finally pulled his head out of his butt and decided to be a good dad. I liked that Magnus actually helped him see where he made his mistakes. Didn't much care for the final confrontation, but it was interesting that the cocoa mug was actually the amulet. Noel is finally showing that he can be as bada$$ as his wife, which I LOVED!

The Betty/Olga fight seemed a bit forced to me, mostly because what can a toy sword do against an actual battle axe! And them fighting over the toy like...well, children. I know they look like children, but it's pretty much been established that they're adults, they can marry, they have jobs. So to be like "I want it!!!" "No, it's mine!!!" just fell a little flat to me. I much preferred what came after!

So, is the Elf/Gnome grudge all because Gnomes can't make toys, and Elves can't make useful things (like, excuse you, toys are useful, they serve a purpose!), so it's all about jealousy? Hm...interesting. You know, they could probably team up to make some pretty nice back to school stuff! Sure, it's useful, but who says it can't be fun to look at, or maybe have bells or charms hanging off it? Kids would eat that UP! Just look at all the Lisa Frank stuff that was all over the place before.

EB is normal again, and possibly a potty mouth. Love that. XD

Riley is back, and suddenly all is forgiven. Hate it.

And apparently Scott is NOT in Dutch with the Council for breaking nearly every rule in the book? This man is a Karma Houdini!

I guess Disney accomplished their goal, at least...they got us to watch and talk about it. I just wish they were more character oriented, because they sure as Hades ain't concerned about continuity!

Oh yeah, and Curtis is alive! So, why'd they call it 'Curtis-itis'? Hmmmm...

[meiluu]

Let me protect you pt.2

Simon “Ghost” Riley / Reader(female, no descriptors used)

(Simon uses terms of endearment to refer to you.) (no y/n used)

Warnings: SMUT 18+: unprotected sex, praise, oral sex(f- receive), manhandling, overstimulation, little bit of dacryphilia, little bit of breeding, aftercare

 ghost is a soft dom that likes folding you into a pretzel for him, 

possessive/protective ghost(he’s a little obsessed with you ;) ), 

Word count: 2000+

pt. 1

MINORS DNI

~~~~~

Reader pov.

It had been a couple of weeks since me and Simon’ confession. And things couldn’t be better, I relished in his near constant presence. I had become addicted to his voice, his smell… just Him. With our feelings finally off both of our shoulders we were free to be ourselves around one another.

As every new day passed we would find out something new about each other, at first it had been me finding out that Simon adores his head and shoulders being scratched, especially after a long mission after coming out of the shower hair still damp. He had come over to my bunk/ dorm room wanting to relax and I had offered to scratch his head. Simon was hesitant at first but when my hands reached his head it was over.

He all but purred while I scratched his head, all the tension leaving his body and within minutes he had fallen asleep wrapped around me. Least to say I was very pleased about this discovery not just for the fact that Simon had become a puddle of contentment but mainly for the fact that he had felt so comfortable to fall asleep nearly instantaneously. It’s not a secret that many of us in 141 struggled for a sense of peace and a chance to truly sleep and rest. And I knew Simon had a rough time sleeping especially, with 3 years just being his teammate I remembered him always taking the night watch shifts if we were ever on a mission, or I’d catch him roaming the base at late hours.

Even with these new developments in our growing relationship, there was one drawback I hadn't anticipated. Simon was a tease, but not in the sense to where it was sexual but he was just enticing just being himself. And it has put a strain on my mentality. I can catch a quick glimpse of him training, or cleaning one of his many knives, or even just talking and I can feel myself wanting to turn into a puddle. This man was the human embodiment of sex appeal without meaning to be sexy. But we have yet to be intimate, something that needed a discussion…and I wasn’t sure on how to approach this subject to Simon without sounding like a depraved nymphomaniac.  

Yet as my luck would have it, Simon seemed to share the same sentiment as I did, and with this shared sentiment came many, many more discoveries.

——

(pov. Change *no longer 1st person*)

“Simon.” Breathless, she clung to his shoulders trying to pull him closer. Wanting to be engulfed by him. Tongues tied in a dance, little nips on her bottom lip to keep her close. His hands gripping onto her like she’d slip right through him.

“Get this off now.” His tone left no room for hesitation, quickly shimming out of her pants joining her shirt and shoes that were scattered across the room. Simon was following her lead abandoning the rest of his clothes, he had all but ripped off his mask earlier leaving behind the black paint surrounding his eyes and messy hair. His eyes were blown wide in lust, the scars that littered his face look like artwork and she could feel every bit of her body and soul become completely devoted to him, wholly under his control. Just how he was entirely hers to command to her every whim. 

Grabbing the sides of her pulling her back to his mouth, addicted to her taste and the feel of her. Moving down towards her neck leaving hickeys in his wake, a deep dark part of him relished in the marks. She was his after all and he wanted everyone to know it. He wanted nothing more than for her to always be his, the amount of time they had known each other to being in a relationship he knew that if she were to leave him, he wouldn’t survive it.

Maybe that was why he wanted to fuck her until she couldn’t walk anymore, where all she could think of would be him. 

Pushing her down onto the bed taking a moment to really look at her. Bare chested, hair spread out like a messy halo, cheeks flushed. He could feel his dick strain against his boxers, she was fucking gorgeous and he was going to ruin her.

Leaning over her, tongue rolled out to swirl around her hardened nipple. Little bites accompanied it, making sure to give the same treatment to the other, littering little marks across her chest along the way. Moving down towards her navel and stopping at the hem of her last bit of clothing. Pulling his eyes from her skin to her eyes, and shit. Simon could feel a bit of precum leak out of him, the look on her face was sinful. Her eyes were full of desperation, pleading, that look nearly broke his restraint.

“Love, look at me.”

“That’s it, good girl. Now don’t look away or I’ll stop.”

Nodding her head, a light chuckle left Simon at her eager response. Keeping his eyes on hers, he grabs the hem of her panties pulling them down her thighs, throwing them away to join the rest of their clothes. Looking away from her eyes, turning down to see oh fuck me. Simon was about to cum in his pants, her cunt was so wet, he could see the sublet quiver of her thighs in anticipation. Something primal clouded his brain, he lent down taking a long lick from bottom to top, his eyes rolled back. She smelt and tasted so good, it was her, Simon knew this was the best drug he could ever get hooked on. 

Hands coming up around her thighs to lock her in place, he didn’t need her fucking up his appetizer. Swirling his tongue around her clit dragging it down through her lips pushing it into her. Oh the sound she just let out, lapping up all of her, thrusting his tongue into her. Over and over getting lost in this feeling he noted how there was a hand tugging on his hair.

“Simon!” Locking his eyes back onto hers, her eyes shine with unshed tears, mouth opened as moans and whimpers rolled off her tongue. Unraveling one of his hands he moves it down to join his tongue, two fingers in, slowly building a rhythm until his hand makes a wet slap against her cunt. Pulling his head from her, “Come on be a good girl and keep lookin at me.” opening her eyes, quickly she finds his eyes again, she nearly cums at the intensity of his gaze on her. “There you go.” his tone is full of praise, and with her eyes back on him. Simon picks up the pace as he adds another finger, she's creating a symphony of pleasure and Simon is utterly hooked on it. Her body twitching in ecstasy, coming closer to that sweet bliss. Simon breaks their lock gaze headed back toward her clit, tongue twirling the bud, sucking and humming around it. Then Simon feels the familiar convulsing of her walls around his fingers, and her moan calling out his name as her thighs shiver in satisfaction. Quickly tearing off his boxers, ready to finally be in her.

“God look at you, you did so good for me.” His praise is nothing but sincere, unraveling his other hand crawling up towards her. Hovering over her, grabbing the backs of her thighs pushing them against her chest, spreading her out all for him. 

“You’re gonna take me like a good girl, right?”

“Yes-yes simon.” Her response is fast and needy, and Simon couldn't be happier. 

Sinking into her, he could feel a shiver go down his spine, fuck he never want to leave her. Her knees were hooked onto the tops of his shoulders, noses barely touching as Simon completely bottomed out.  A groaned fuck left his lips. Starting at a deep but slow pace, pulling all the way out and bottoming out. But this slowness was short lived, picking up the speed but still going oh so deep into her, he didn't want to stop until she was completely filled with him. 

Grunts left his lips accompanied by her cries, she latched onto his arms that were shielding  each side of her head, digging her nails into him, trying to ground herself from the overwhelming pleasure, her mind had since gone white with pleasure only filled with the thought of him. She was cumming before she even realized. Moaning out his name like a mantra, “Yes- just like that…fuck you take me so well, you’re such a good girl for me.” each thrust punctuation his words, continuing to thrust with a hard and fast pace overstimulating her. But even with the pleasurable bite of overstimulation she still couldn't get enough.

“Simon- please don’t stop!” tears had started to roll down her rosy cheeks. 

Fuck fuck fuck

God he would never be able to get enough of this, he could feel his balls starting to tighten, his dick subtly swelling with his impending orgasm. Pushing her legs more into her chest, pounding into her, feeling that white hot pleasure roll down him as he emptied into her. Oh but Simon was far from being down with her.

Pulling out her flipping her onto her stomach, grabbing her hips to pull her towards his still aching cock. Pushing right back into her, feeling his cum dribble out around him, He would just need to fill her back up until he was finished with her. Hovering completely over her, grabbing onto her wrist pinning them to each side of her head, his body completely covering hers. Simon picked back up the pace he had left on, he felt like a depraved animal that was in heat. But he always felt like that with her, a drug that he could never get enough of.

Her tears were soaking the sheets along with his cum and her own fluids. Simon leant his head down to her ear. “I know baby- you’re doing so well.” breath groans tumbled out of him, a moan abruptly falling from his lips at her tightening around him. “Yes-yes just like that, fuck let me fill you up again.” all she could do was dumbly nod her head yes, her mouth too occupied whimpering at another impending orgasm. 

Tighenting his hands around her wrists, filthy sounds of pleasure roll off his tongue as he fucked into her deeper, feeling the head of his cock kissing the end of her. Cock swelling as he got closer to that beautiful peak, it wasn’t until a nearly painful squeeze of her walls around him did make true on his words on filling her up again. It was like her walls were trying to suffocate him, trying to keep them locked together. Shouting her name as he came for a second time, slowing his pace down until he rested inside of her. Pulling one of his hands away from her wrist, wrapping it around her torso gently rolling her onto her side.

Kissing her on her mouth, forehead, cheek. Sweet little praises leaving his lips, telling her how good she did for him, letting her know that he was going to get a bath started and be right back. Returning just as quickly as he’d left, softly picking her up leading her towards the warm bath, telling her that he'd join her after fixing the bed. She closed her eyes, relishing in the warmth from the bath, and as she opened them again there he was. Sitting down behind her as she turned towards him, gently they cleaned each other up. Now that Simon was free from the black paint he always had on under the mask, she could fully see those magnificent eyes framed by the most beautiful blond lashes.

They were both quiet as they dried off, Simon carrying her back to their shared bed. Their little home that they shared when they were both off duty, it had been an impulsive buy but had now become their sanctuary. Wrapping each other under the covers, Simon pulled he to his chest hugging her to him, “I love you.'' His voice had the tiered timbre that filled her heart with nothing but adoration. “I love you too Simon.” 

[becomingpart2]

yeah it’s hard for me to say if cangel was the Tobin of angel, I feel like the writers were trying to write them as Tobin. i remember candy saying that a Ted can only have one robin, and if writers attempt to write him another robin the ship will fall flat and won’t work. I think the writers tried to push them as Tobin because they were the male and female lead of the show. so I feel like it was more like an attempted Tobin than a successful Tobin? idk? one thing I’ll say is it felt obvious to me that angel loved Buffy more than he loved cordelia, but that’s just imo. I remember candy’s reading of btvs/ats. she said angel was the ted, Buffy was the robin, spike, xander, and riley were barneys, and that Cordelia was the prop on btvs and the Tracy on ats. i think she also said faith and willow were “prop girls” too. i also remember candy saying cangel and spuffy propped bangel. but idk I think this is just a case of her trying to apply her theories with shows that don’t fit. like Buffy was absolutely the “Ted” of btvs until spike took over the show and Buffy was reduced to being his robin.

i remember candy saying that a Ted can only have one robin, and if writers attempt to write him another robin the ship will fall flat and won’t work.

See, that's the thing, it will fall flat/not work out to whom? Because to a significant number of people out there, cangel is The Ship. A number of people out there prefer it over bangel for multiple reasons. There are people who only watched ats and people who watched both and still prefer ats and who actually enjoy cangel, probably more than they ever did bangel.

I'm not trying to say that cangel is better or even equal to bangel, I think in my own biased opinion, that bangel is infinitely better written and more engaging. Cangel is a poor attempt at an "epic romance" when it didn't even have to be that, but they went and tried it anyway. And failed. But the thing is, for a lot of people it is The Ship of the show and the verse.

I do believe that angel never loved cordelia like he did buffy, I find the whole romance aspect of cangel and how he even developed feelings for cordelia poorly done. Not saying it's unbelieveble to me that he would love her, but the way it played out, as this big epic thing was not convincing, especially in s4 when they were really pushing that angle.

But my point is that, during that period of the show (s3 and s4), they really had angel acting like buffy didn't exist. With the exception of that one scene where he says her name in s4 while he was hallucinating cordelia, there was very little acknowledgement of buffy throughout the whole cangel bit.

Which to me is in itself a testament of how strong bangel is as a ship, that you have to pretend it doesn't exist, but I think it also explains why it was easier for some people to buy cangel and have it be their favourite ship. They didn't have to be reminded of bangel's existence every once in a while and as a consequence, why cangel might be inferior to it.

i also remember candy saying cangel and spuffy propped bangel. but idk I think this is just a case of her trying to apply her theories with shows that don’t fit.

Haha, yes! I'd very much like for her to see the state of the fandom today and explain how spuffy is the "prop" ship that everyone can so clearly see for how inferior it is to bangel when the majority of the fans is pro-spuffy.

Again I have to ask: it falls flat to whom? Because for the majority of the fandom it doesn't.

I do think bangel is superior to both of those ships, I do think it's written better but to say that it is irrevocaly perceived that way and that's why it is the tobin, because the other ships failed to be as convincing/engaging to fans it's a LIE!

like Buffy was absolutely the “Ted” of btvs until spike took over the show and Buffy was reduced to being his robin.

True!