dearest-dirt

[dearest-dirt]

SAY PLEASE (Ghost x F!Reader)

ghost masterlist

you and simon share another night tangled under bedsheets, but this time—he wants more.

cw: MDNI (18+), mildly dubcon, porn with a bit of plot, rivals with benefits, meanie!ghost, harddom!ghost, 141!reader (no ranks or callsigns are mentioned), maybe some military and medical inaccuracies, canon-typical swearing, brat and brat taming, oral sex (f and m receiving), degradation (ghost uses slut one (1) time), pussy pronouns, breathplay, pet names (pet, birdie, dove, dovie), unprotected p in v (wrap it up irl), mating press, breeding kink if you use a magnifying glass, creampie, bit of an abrupt ending.

a/n: hi. um. i have NO idea what i’m doing with this but it came to me in a vision (aka one line of dialogue spurred me). hope i delivered. 🙏

; 3.5k words.

Ghost was never your favorite colleague.

The asshole was always too cocky and full of himself, that it pissed you off every time he quipped at you through communications or stunted you in the middle of your work by getting under your skin. He’d always poke you where you were sore, shoulder past you like you were second-best, and chuckle in your face when he stole a kill over you, or when Price patted him on the back over you. It was insufferable. He was insufferable.

But of course, with his rank and the authority that came with it, he was respected—admired, even. A damn role model to some. You never saw him that way. So what if he could land headshots from hundreds of meters out? You could do the same if he weren’t constantly in your way, always finding some excuse to throw you off. He’s botched missions just like you have, but somehow, his mistakes are overlooked while his efforts get showered in praise. Must be nice, having that bloody rank to fall back on. It made a steam whistle through your ears every time he received an extra drink or two for his efforts, rather than you.

Of course, it came to you after a successful mission that you were trying to be like him to gain praise from your colleagues, and it only irritated you further. Why would you want to be like Ghost? He was an arrogant prick who smirked right at you when he pointed out a minor flaw in your stance or composure. Though still, you still worked extra hard to gain some semblance of recognition.

It made you avoid him whenever you could—only speaking when spoken to, sticking with Soap or Gaz instead of him, and brushing off his attempts to get under your skin. For the most part, it worked. He’d usually just grunt and get back to whatever he was doing, or shoot you a look like you’d personally insulted him before giving a proper order. It was almost like the bastard was finally realizing he was being a bloody prick.

Until a mission went sour.

Ghost was supposed to be covering you, perched atop a dilapidated building just a kilometer or two from your target. He’d been tasked to snipe from afar, keeping you and the rest of the Task Force safe by watching your six. Regardless of your thoughts of him, you knew he had to be deep in concentration to keep you and the others alive, so you didn’t push or snap at him to distract him as he’d done to you. Perhaps you could say you were being polite.

There was a struggle, a bogey attacking you from behind with only a knife. You could’ve sworn you’d shot him down. But from what you could tell by the blood seeping through his side, you’d just barely missed his lung. Separated from the others as they’d rounded a corner without a second glance, you took the man alone.

A shot rang out, though the bullet had barely missed your leg, when the man tackled you to the ground. The crack nearly made you jump right into your assailant’s knife. Sure, it was a tussle, but Ghost was the most skilled sniper you all knew. How the fuck did he miss a shot?

You were left with a gash to your dominant arm and a sloppy gauze wrap around your bleeding, stitched flesh. The second shot dropped your attacker, but the irritation still burned beneath your skin. Your frustration with him seemed to boil over the more your wound stung with every rewrap.

After midnight at the barracks, you barged into his quarters without a single knock or warning, eyes staring him down as he perked up from his desk.

“You could’ve gotten me killed!” you’d snapped, storming up to him and swiping off the papers he’d been scribbling on.

That was, if he hadn’t gripped your forearm to halt the action.

“Don’ be ridiculous,” he’d grumbled, tone annoyingly calm as he released your arm. You didn’t bother trying to mess up his paperwork again, balling your hands into fists instead. “You’re still alive, wasn’ that bad of a gash.”

“You were supposed to watch my six!”

“You’re not the only one I was supposed t'watch, genius.”

Oh, did he just make you angrier when his tone hardened. You could see the visible pinch of his balaclava, his eyebrows knitting together with frustration under the fabric. You went back and forth, arguing like a pair of angry teenagers over a failed class project—both refusing the blame for your diminishing grade.

When he got up to face you directly, his sheer height over you became clear. He towered over you, so much so that you had to crane your head up to keep yelling at him. He crossed his arms, and you mirrored the action. With one small shake of his head and a small snicker of arrogance, you felt your blood boil in your veins.

Your hands were suddenly on him, grasping the hem of his balaclava and shoving it up over the bridge of his nose. You didn’t know what got into you in that moment, the heat pulsating through your head only making you act, but your lips crashed into his.

To your surprise? He returned it, fought with tongue and teeth before tossing you onto his bunk. Stripped bare, condom wrapped regardless of the heat, you fucked each other senseless.

It became a trend after that night. If a mission went sour, you were blowing off steam with one another. You missed the target and got a firm scolding from your Captain? Ghost let you ride him until your anger subsided. As much as the man pissed you off, he was weirdly hot when he was just as angry as you.

Your fourth night together came after yet another mission where Ghost came out on top—snatching a kill you were sure had been yours. The moment Price’s lips twitched up in a smile of approval, you were dragging your rival straight to his quarters and stripping him bare with rushed indignation. He’d had you in a spoon, knee locked under his palm as your hips connected over and over again. “Fuck, Ghost, ngh—“

“Jesus, stop fuckin’ callin’ me that,” his movements stuttered, before he went right back to bucking into you.

“Wh-What—?”

“You call me Simon when I fuck you,” he growls, laving the nape of your neck with his tongue to elicit a shiver out of you. “Understand?”

“Okay, okay—fuck, yes, Si—oh—!”

He’d only fuck you harder the more you groaned his name.

And now, making out like you were both starved as you stumbled into your reserved hotel room was no different.

You’d been assigned on a mission to act as one another’s spouses. Fake wedding bands and all, which were stripped along with your disguises the moment the two of you shuffled through the threshold.

The asshole didn’t defend you the moment your target catcalled you, eyed you up and down before lingering on your chest. Ghost had only chuckled, agreeing that you were quite the looker, and slipping away with the intel you needed. Honestly, he’d likely done that just to piss you off. Though you hated to admit it—he did.

He manhandled you onto the bed, perfectly made duvet wrinkling as you bounced into place. Forcing your legs apart, he ate you out like a man starved—all while you gripped the locks of his tussled blond hair and whispered words of venom that broke into pathetic moans.

“Fuckin’ dress looked raunchy on you,” he purred, lips coated in your release after tonguing an orgasm out of you. “Was waitin’ t'get it off of you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you rasped, voice crisp with bliss as you thrummed with fresh aftershocks.

He chuckles lowly, pushing up and sitting on his heels as he licks his lips clean. His cock dipped low between his legs, the weight alone preventing it from bouncing against his navel. A pearl of pre-cum bloomed from his slit. “Always gotta be so fuckin’ rude. Should fix that.”

You roll your eyes, though the moment they look back to him, his cock is staring back at you, tip centimeters from your lips.

“Put that fuckin’ mouth to better use,” he grunts, grabbing a fistful of your hair as he straddles your upper body, knees pushing underneath your arms.

You don’t have any other option, since you know the prick would shove his way inside anyways, so you open up as he slides the underside of his cock against your tongue. He hisses at the friction, a broken groan following when your lips close.

“See how fuckin’ nice it sounds when you’re quiet?” he purrs, guiding your head along his shaft, slicking himself up with your saliva as he uses your head as a personal fleshlight. “Fuckin’ love this part of the night.”

You growl, throat vibrating along his length as you look to him with narrowed eyes. He responds with a groan, worrying his bottom lip under his top set of teeth. “Keep doin’ that. Feels heavenly.”

Hands finding his thighs, you squeeze the hardened muscle underneath, resorting to suckling his veiny cock, occationally flicking your tongue over his slit to collect every drop of pre-cum that’d bloom. He was quiet for the most part, head tipped back in bliss as you sucked him off.

One harsh suck to his dick had him hissing, yanking your head off of him with a lewd pop—a line of saliva connecting your lips to his mushroomed tip. “Fuck, not gonna cum in y’mouth tonight, pet. Had to lube up.”

He was lightning-fast, pushing himself off of you to slot between your legs, pelvis pressing up against your bottom. On instinct, you lock your calves around his lower back, finally ready to get the irritation fucked out of you until you feel his tip graze your clit, tapping once, twice—

Unwrapped.

“Wait—Si, f-fuck, can’t—”

He breaches, cock pushing through your folds and spearing you open with a single thrust. You squeak, head tipping back against the plush pillows as you hear a satisfied noise rumble through his throat. “Can’t wha’, dovie? Feels good, yeah?”

He pulls back, veins dragging along your gummy walls and eliciting a filthy moan from your lips, before bucking back inside—deeper than the first initial thrust. “Fuck, feels like fuckin’ heaven,” he groans, “Fuckin’ hated using those damn johnnies.”

You whimper, eyes fluttering as he thrusts deeper and deeper with each push and pull of his hips. You claw mindlessly at the bedsheets underneath you, toes curling as his raw cock claimed every crevace of your insides. It felt fucking incredible, especially with a thick wraith like him. “Mhh, fuck, fuck—ah, ah—”

“Yeah?” he coos, hands running up and down the length of your thighs, gaze flicking down to where you both connected as a ring of your needy juices painted the base of his cock. “What a fuckin’ sight. Bloody lovely.”

Every small noise you made caused him to stutter in rhythm before he became more forceful, as if your melodic pleas drove him to push further. You could have sworn you brought a condom, or perhaps Simon had simply refused to use one altogether. This was planned.

"What the—hahhh—fuck are you doing?” you keen, breaking into a moan mid-sentence as he finally bottomed out, balls pressing just against the globes of your buttocks with each rock of his hips. “We shouldn’t—ngh, do this—”

“Been waitin’ to cum inside o’ her,” he huffs, squeezing your thighs before running along them once more. “Claim what’s mine.”

You hiss between bared teeth. “Yours?” you bark, voice strained yet firm, “M’not fuckin’ yours to claim.”

He pistoned into you harder, another broken moan leaving your lips as he leaned down to meet your eyes. His own were deep, glazed with an animalistic glare that screamed Yes, I do. “Y’know you wan’ me to, birdie. Cunny’s huggin’ me like she missed me. Don’ lie. She wants me t’fill her up, don’t she?”

The thought was so nasty. So wrong. Yet the idea of being stuffed fuller than you’ve ever been was clouding your rationality.

Whatever, you could pop a morning-after pill tomorrow.

“You’d have to ask pretty fuckin’ nicely for that, Ghost,” you retort, gasping the moment his hands leave your thighs to hook into the undersides of your knees. He pushed your legs up, folding you in half, propping your heels onto his shoulders.

“Oh, yeah?” he sneers, gripping your hips until the flesh dimpled underneath his fingertips, hips rocking backwards to ease himself out to the tip. You whimper at the loss.

“Y’wanna play that fuckin’ game now, eh?” His form looms over you, breath fanning over your shoulders, leading them to hackle at the contact. “Fuckin’ fine. Pretty please, y’filthy dove.” Slamming back to the hilt, he forces a wail out of your drooling maw.

“With a goddamn cherry on top,” he adds, punctuating each syllable with a rough thrust that made your buttocks sting. His pelvis smacked so violently against your skin that an angry red mark had started to bloom.

Regret surged through you, sharp and sudden, even as pleasure threatened to drown it out. He was brutal—unkind in a way he’d never been before. You wanted to hate it, to recoil, to make him stop. But instead, you clung to it. You craved it.

Filthy dove was right.

Though it still hurt. Buck after buck of his hips marked your flesh with red, burning with every lewd plap that echoed throughout the hotel room. You should’ve never opened your damn mouth, because now, Simon wasn’t holding back one bit.

“Si—Si, shit—I-I can’t—“ you rasp, nails clawing at his biceps desperately, heels weakly digging into his shoulders in an attempt to get him to slow or enervate his thrusts. “M’sorry—M’sorry, please!”

Pathetic.

“Wha’ happened t’that fuckin’ bite in ya?” His lips curled into a wicked grin, his brown voids staring down into your flushed, fucked out face. “Poor lil’ pet, can’t even fake it anymore.”

One of his big, calloused hands reached up to pinch the sensitive dip of your neck, cupping it like a giant necklace. You hiccuped, eyes rolling shut as each pump knocked what little fight you had left in you.

He had you caged in, his form so wide you could hardly even take in the space around you. Even in your peripherals, his shoulders reached to block whatever you could possibly see behind him. Your legs were locked in place, only movable with his help, and he sure as hell wasn’t letting you go.

“Fuck. Can feel her tryin’ t’rip m’prick off. Cunny knows who she belongs to, don’t she?” he croons, his hand on your hip gliding to the space where you both connected. You gasp as he runs his thumb over your tight, neglected bundle of nerves. “C’mon, cum on m’fuckin’ cock. Be a good slut.”

You squeal, and his fingers press onto your throat harder to cut your voice short. Your lips curl into a pathetic whine, your sanity reduced to a puddle of sweat. “I—mhh, Si—“

“Y’got one more n’you, fuckin’ give it t’me.” Then he finally slows his pace, rocking his hips in tandem with the drag of his thumb. The knot in your stomach wrapped tighter and tighter, and then—

Another swipe, his fingerprint grazing over your clit methodically, and you’re fucking gone, whipping your head back to let out a strangled cry. He groans as your walls flutter, spilling your second orgasm onto his thick length. Your insides are tight, taut with pleasure—and his thrusts only get rougher as your space squeezes, making him really have to force his cock inside of you.

“Thaaa’s it,” he grunts, giving your swollen clit a light smack to force another gasp out of you, before he’s gripping your hips once more. “Gonna cum nice n’ deep in this girl. I asked nicely, didn’ I, pet?”

You mumble incoherently, legs going slack in his grip. Your scrapes have weakened into a feeble hold on his muscle, so overstimulated that you've lost your tongue. “Si—Si, ohGod—please—“

His hips stutter, and you can feel the tip of his cock twitching, hurdling towards release faster than you can stop him. "Don' worry, pet. You'll learn t'like me when it sets," he purrs, tipping your head to the side with his grip on your throat. Then he's leaning down, folding you further until your back nearly snapped, to suckle a deep hickey in your throat. You whimper, breathless and at a loss for words, as he bucks a final time to get as deep as possible inside of you.

Then you feel it—The hot trail of his seed spurting deep in your cavern, painting your walls in his salty mark. Even as he's finishing, he rocks his hips, keeping his nectar plugged nice and deep, heeding his own words. His lips pop off of your pulse point, tongue smoothing over the bruise as his hand slides to cup the side of your neck.

You're reduced to putty, boneless beyond any other time you've slept with this wraith of a man, heart thundering against your chest despite how fucked out and tired you were.

His arms wrap around you, firmly—maybe even possessively, as he breathes through bared teeth. His crooked nose nudged the underside of your jaw, and you willingly tipped your head at the action. You feel him kiss the line of your bone softly, a small noise that bordered between a sigh and a grunt, leaving his lips.

He sat there for what felt like hours, which were instead just a few beats, as he savored filling you up. Once his length softened, he slid out of you. Even after he came so deep inside, there was still a puny dribble that leaked out between your folds.

He sat up on his heels to marvel at the sight, your legs dropping onto the mattress, chest heaving as you struggled to regain the oxygen his pace had ripped from your throat. "Poor lil’ bird, look at ya," he hums, running a hand up your inner thigh, nudging your legs further apart once he gets to your apex.

You groan, body pliant to his touch as he pushed your thighs apart to get a better view of your leaking slit. "Look so fuckin' pretty fulla me. Shoulda let me do this sooner." With no reply on your tongue, you pant pitifully as you let him have his way with you.

Your eyes strain open, vision bleary as you search for him. Your gaze flicks down to his curious head between your legs, heart tight with anticipation. No, no more rounds, please. Instead, his fingers sweep up to your spent cunt, swiping the little bit of his cum that leaked out with his index and middle digits, before pushing it back inside of you. “Fu-uck—S-Simon, sensitive—” you squeaked, knees buckling, unable to close as his shoulders blocked their path.

His whiskey eyes meet yours from underneath his blond lashes, and you swear you can see the tiniest bit of something more shoved beyond the look of lust. You don’t quite question it, but the sight lingers in the corner of your mind.

Even though his cock had left its home, you still felt so full. And fuck, you can feel how much he’d pumped inside of you when he curled his fingers briefly, your thighs twitching with overstimulation. “Okay, okay—mhh, stop—” You groan weakly, walls squeezing feebly around his fingers before he slides them out of you, coated in your combined release.

"Can't waste a drop, can we?" he coos, sitting up and observing your slick over his fingers momentarily, pupils blown with fascination. His figure crawled back over you until you were face-to-face, a smirk plastered on his chapped lips as he brought his hand to your mouth.

You blink up at him, meeting his hungry eyes as he prods your lower lip. "C'mon, get a lil' taste of us, birdie," he murmurs, voice low and commanding.

He stares at you, insistent. You oblige, parting your lips without protest as he sticks his fingers inside, pressing them onto your tongue. You close your lips, groggily swiping your damp mouth over his digits to clean them. The tang of his juices mixed with yours coated your taste buds, fogging your mind with exhaustion as the reality of your act set in.

When he pulls his fingers out, he wipes your saliva over your cheek, a low snicker vibrating through his throat as he smears your flesh with your spittle. He brings his hand down to pat your upper thigh, making you tense and loosen just a second after.

"Next time, pet, you're not makin' me ask," he snarls, eyes casting back down to your sopping cunt, watching as his spend dribbled right back out of you.

© clancycatears 2025. do not copy, steal, translate, or feed my works to ai.

[dearest-dirt]

Headcanons: Hal Jordan as a dad

Warnings: Fluff

Gender Neutral Reader

Authors Note: Hi!! I'm trying to get through stuff I've already written in the past. But, I've lost interest in DC, so this is gonna be the last set of DC headcanons (unless I get back into it in the future). As with my other head canons, I tried to make these as inclusive as possible so if you catch any mistakes, please let me know. Bestie, please reblog. I hope you enjoy my work!

Masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chill dad™ 

Would definitely want a few kids, especially after the first one. 

Hands-on dad, tries to be super involved with his kid’s upbringing and life. He helped out as much as he physically could with the newborns. 

Knows all his kids likes and dislikes.

Would play dress up, have tea parties, play with Barbies and dolls, nerf gun fights, video games, superheroes and villains, cops and robbers, water balloon fights, etc. Basically anything his kids want to do he’s down.

Dad jokes galore

Constantly would show the Justice League and other Lanterns pictures and videos of his kids. 

“Hey, wanna see my kid do a black flip on the trampoline?” 

“Look at my kids, aren’t they just the cutest?”

“We took the kids to the zoo, look at them feeding the giraffes.”

Supportive af!

His kids would never feel like they can’t tell him or talk to him about something. 

When his kids are infants, he’ll fly them around the house to get them to settle down. 

Cute things you constantly witness: 

Hal passed out with a baby napping on his chest

airplane noises whenever he feeds them

reading books to them with funny voices and sound effects

pretending his kids are planes and “flying” them around the room

Him being wet from bath time because he got carried away playing with the ducks and other toys

kids climbing him every time he sits down

Super affectionate dad; tells them constantly that he loves them and is proud of them. 

Hal would be firm and strict with his kids if and when he needs to be.

He wants to be the best dad that he possibly could, so at times he can be super insecure about his parenting abilities. He always turns to you when he feels like that and you always reassure him and point out how great he is. He would do the same to you whenever you feel insecure about being a good parent. 

First time he was called away for superhero business, he would be a mess. Constantly calling to make sure the baby was okay. 

“Hal, you called 10 minutes ago! The baby is fine!”

“I know but I just want to make sure.” 

But overtime and with each kid he got better at dealing with being away.

You guys would decide not to tell your kids that he's a Green Lantern until they are old enough to keep secrets (because kids tell everyone everything). But once they find out, oh boy, they would always want him to fly them around and beg him to use the ring to play games. Hal would love it! Especially if he’s their favorite superhero. 

Hal would take you guys to OA and other different planets when the kids are old enough.

Would help with homework if he’s home. Wouldn’t always get things right though.

“Dad, the answer is 43. How did you get 186?” 

“I swear this was easier when I was in school!” 

Would beg you to let him take them out on plane rides. 

“They’ll be fine, babe! I’ll take care of them! They’ll love it!” 

“Hal, they are toddlers.”

Barry, Guy, and Kyle would be the best uncles! So would the other Lanterns/League members! 

“The Flash is my favorite superhero!” 

“Uncle Guy/Kyle's the best green lantern ever.” 

“Batman’s the coolest superhero ever.” 

“No, Superman's cooler because he can shoot lasers from his eyes.” 

Hal: -_-

Loves his kids more than anything!

[dearest-dirt]

OCT 29th - Sex Pollen

Pairing - Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Title - What Happens In The Safehouse...

Summary - During a mission, you come in contact with a strange substance and the only person around that can help you with the effects is Ghost.

Warnings - Sex Pollen, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Multiple Orgasms, Simultaneous Orgasm, Military Inaccuracies. (If I missed anything lmk!)

Word Count - 3.4k

You feel strange. Really strange. It’s not a good type of strange either. Not that you would have been expecting to feel any type of strange while on mission. Especially while on a mission with your Lieutenant. 

Captain Price had assigned both of you to this mission, and only you two, in an attempt to get you to learn to work together. After all, it was no secret that Ghost had not been happy about your assignment to the 141 taskforce. It had worked and hadn’t worked, at the same time. 

While you were working seamlessly with each other, quickly dispatching enemies side by side and wordlessly following his orders. Over comms, you were both still taking every opportunity you could to dig at each other. With that aside, it was a rather simple mission. Secure the illegal weapons shipment before it could trade enemy hands.

Securing it hadn’t been an issue. The group guarding it had been small and they had been easily taken out. The only issue was that the crates weren’t filled with guns. When Ghost had crowbarred one of them open, a cloud of white dust had puffed up into the air. 

Is that why you’re feeling so strange? Is whatever that powder was, affecting you? 

You can feel your heart beat slowly starting to thump hard and fast against your chest despite the fact that you’re currently sat down on a wooden crate. And it feels like it’s getting harder to breathe, but not in the panic attack type of way. It’s in the “I’m getting way too hot and there’s nothing I can really do about it underneath all of this gear” type of way. 

If this is that powder affecting you, then why isn’t it affecting Ghost? He was the closest to the dust cloud considering that he had opened the crate to begin with. Right now he’s pacing just ahead of you, talking to who you’re assuming is the Captain, on comms. You’re not tuned into whatever station they’re using so you don’t know what they’re saying. 

What you do know is that you are starting to desperately want to be out of your clothes because of how uncomfortable they’re starting to get. Which definitely isn’t normal. 

Before you can contemplate it, Ghost is roughly pulling you up onto your feet. The grip he has on your arm is bruising. 

“We’re headed back to the safehouse,” he states.

“What about–” 

“Captain Price is sendin’ Soap and Gaz to secure it. Both he and Laswell doubt that the Russians will be able to get any reinforcements here before they arrive. And we’ve been given orders to leave.”

You nod. If the orders are coming from the Captain… and if it’s to do with that powder. What the hell have you inhaled? 

When you move to follow him, you become aware of just how soaked your underwear is. And not because of how much you’re currently sweating. You take a deep breath and do your best to ignore it. When you’re back in the safehouse, you’ll have a chance to check yourself over and try and figure out what exactly is going on. Here, you can’t do a damn thing. Especially in front of your Lieutenant.

With the way the fabric moves as you walk, rubbing against your extremely sensitive clit, you have to bite your tongue, to the point you taste blood, to stop any sort of sound leaving you. And things only get worse once you get into the car.

Ghost has never been very good when it comes to driving, but somehow he seems to have got even worse. He manages to hit every bump and pothole, which is making it harder and harder for you to stay quiet as they go straight to your core. You almost think that he’s doing it on purpose, but considering that his driving isn’t all that straight either, you can’t help, but think that whatever the hell that stuff was, it must be affecting him as well. 

As soon as the car pulls up to the safehouse, you’re out of the car before he’s even stopped it fully. You don’t care how strange or weird it looks. You beeline for the bathroom as it’s the only place in this safehouse that will give you an semblance of privacy, as the rest of the place is open plan. 

You lock the door behind you and immediately start removing your gear, as fast as you possible again. In all honestly, you’ve never removed your gear so fast or efficiently before. Though, usually, you’re back on base, exhausted after a gruelling mission, which leaves you fumbling with the various straps and clips. Right now you’re super focused on the task at hand and before you know it your gear is hitting the bathroom floor with a thud. Your boots and clothing are quick to follow.

Your underwear is absolutely drenched in your slick. As are the insides of your thighs. Your clit is swollen, peaking out from your hood, shiny from your arousal and begging to be touched. 

Chucking the ruined clothing to the side, you bring two of your fingers to your clit. Your body jolts as you gasp as the lightest of touches almost has you cumming right then and there. You pull your hand away and grip the sides of the sink, taking a deep breath as you try to regain control over whatever the hell is going on with your body.

You catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Your hair’s a mess and your body is slick with sweat like you have just run a marathon. Not to mention how fucking horny you’re starting to feel. With nothing around to distract you, like trying to hide your condition from Ghost, you’re now fully aware of it. 

You’re growing desperate to touch yourself and fuck yourself with your own fingers. So much so that the longer you go without doing that, things are actually starting to grow painful for you. 

Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the fix. An orgasm. If you’re experimental touch is anything to go by it won’t take you long to reach it. You’re only problem will be trying to stay silent. On the other side of the bathroom’s door you can hear Ghost moving around. It sounds like he’s freeing himself from his own gear, which means he’ll be checking his guns not long afterwards. He won’t even be paying attention to what you’re doing in here. 

Taking another deep breath, you bring your fingers down to your clit once more. 

It’s a fight for you to keep silent as you touch yourself. Your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rub tight circles against your clit. You expect some sort of relief, but there is no relief. The more that you touch yourself the more that 

it seems to hurt. At the same time you can’t stop. You need to touch yourself. It’s the only thing that you’re capable of focusing on.

Soon enough touching just your clit isn’t enough anymore. Your cunt squeezes around nothing, begging to be filled. Your mind drifts to thought of Ghost and how the only thing between the two of you is a door. It’s no secret that he’s packing, at least that’s what the rumours across the base suggest. The thought of his cock and how good it would feel inside of you.

You know that you shouldn’t be thinking about your Lieutenant like this. He’s your CO. Not to mention how much you can’t stand him. Even if he wasn’t your CO, he’s not someone you would think about taking to bed because of how much he pisses you off.

You do your best to push any thoughts of him and his cock out of your head and push three of your fingers inside of your needy hole. For a brief moment you finally feel some form of relief. Which almost has you moaning loudly, but the sound of footsteps reminds you that you’re not alone and you keep your teeth in your bottom lip. The pain from before returns as you fuck yourself and you can only hope an orgasm gives you a more permament form of relief.

The squelch of your fingers in your pussy is loud in the enclosed space and you can only hope that the walls aren’t so thin that Ghost can hear what you’re doing.

With a combination of your fingers inside of you and your free hand rubbing your clit, it really doesn’t take you very long to reach your climax. Relief floods through you as your body clamps down onto your digits. You ride out the aftershocks before finally pulling your fingers out and grip the sides of the sink again, panting heavily.

Your body is shaking as you come down from your high. Is that it? Is it finally over with? 

Just as you begin thinking that you must be in the clear, the need and the pain that comes with that need comes back tenfold. You whimper. When will this stop?

Several hard knocks at the door catches your attention. Ghost.

His voice is as rough as ever as he calls out your callsign, but it also sounds extremely strained. The thoughts you had back in the car come back to you and you wonder if he’s being as affected by whatever the hell that stuff is as well. He must be, right? He was the one that had opened the crate and therefore had had that cloud of dust puff up right into his face. 

“It hurts, Ghost,” you call back. There’s no point in hiding it any longer. He’s definitely already heard what you’re doing in here and if he hasn’t, he’s still under the same influence that you are.

“I know it does,” he replies. “Got us both in a bit of bother, haven’t I?” 

Yeah, he has. At the same time it’s not entirely his fault. The intel said it was guns in those crates. There was nothing about any sort of drug being inside of them. If he hadn’t opened the crates, you would have.

“Laswell’s intel says we’ve got one of two ways of dealin' with it,” he continues.

“Which are?” You really hope that means that there’s some form of antidote and that Laswell not only knows where it is, but she’s sending someone to go and get it.

“We wait it out.” 

That one is definitely not a option. You feel like you might go mad if you have to wait it out. No, you’re still holding out for that antidote.  “Or?” 

“We shag.”

He’s so blunt about it that you almost want to laugh. As well as at the entire situation itself. Of course those are the only two ways to deal with this. You want to scream. 

“There’s no antidote?” you ask.

“As far as we know, no there's not. Guessing neither option takes your fancy?”

“No, but since I have to pick, at least option two won’t make me go crazy.”

“You sure? Don’t want you to feel forced.” 

“I’m not feeling forced to do anything,” you reply. And it’s the truth. Shagging Ghost, funnily enough, is the most appealing of the two options you both have. You have already been fingering yourself to the thought of him taking you and he’s clearly not against the idea. “But only if you’re as naked as I am.” Which you think is more than fair. Though you seriously doubt he’ll ever take the balaclava off. He never does. 

He huffs a laugh. “Give me a minute, yeah?” 

You hear the rustling of clothing, followed by the same thud of gear hitting the floor. Soon enough, he raps his knuckles against the door again, letting you know he’s finished undressing. Taking a shaky breath, you move away from the sink, unlock the door and step back. 

The door swings open and you’re met with the sight of Ghost’s naked body. He’s fit. As soon as that thought enters your head, you’re immediately telling yourself that it’s the drug. Especially as your eyes follow the dark hair that leads from his belly button down to where his cock stands proudly, the head purpling from the lack of attention. Your pussy throbs at the sight of it and all you can think about is how good it’s going to feel when he’s finally inside of you.

“Eyes are up here, Sergeant.” 

“Could say the same to you, L.T,” you reply as your eyes finally meet his. He’s also been blatantly checking you out as well, his eyes lingering on a knife scar on your hip.

“You sure you still want to do this?” he asks. 

“Yes.” Your reply comes out far faster than you meant for it to. He chuckles, stepping forward as he pulls the balaclava up just enough to reveal his lips.

His large hand comes up to cup your face and keep your head titled up to look at him. He surprises you with a kiss. It’s far more gentler than you thought it would be. Everything about Ghost screams rough and harsh so you certainly weren’t expecting this, but it’s very much welcomed. You surrender yourself entirely to him, letting him take control. 

Ghost directs you backwards until your back is pressed up against the cold tiled wall. Goosebumps radiate across your skin and your nipples pebble as you gasp at the sudden temperature change. He takes advantage of it and pushes his tongue into your mouth. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders as he presses his body against yours. You can feel his cock pressing against your skin and it has your body screaming for him to stop kissing you and fuck you already. You break the kiss, gasping for air.

“Please,” you whimper. As of right now you don’t care how needy and pathetic you’re starting to come off as. You expect him to tease you, but he must be as desperate and needy as you because he does nothing of the sort.

Instead he effortlessly lifts you up and enters you with a single thrust. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pussy squeezes his cock as you cum only from the feeling of him filling you up. Ghost groans deeply, the feeling of your cunt tightening around him almost having him blow his load. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his grip on you almost bruising. “You’re wound up really fuckin’ tight, huh?”

There’s no opportunity for you to answer, not that you could form words anyway, the feeling of his cock deep inside of you rendering your brain to mush. He doesn’t even give you time to recover from such a sudden orgasm as he begins to slowly pull out. Once again you expect him to be rough with you. To take you hard and fast as he gives into the need burning through his body. 

He pushes back in just as slowly, taking some time to build up his pace. Showing a level of restraint that both surprises you and doesn’t surprise you at the same time. He’s doing his best not to hurt you. Which you think is nice of him, but at the same time you’re not sure if it’s even going to be worth the effort. You are almost positive that once this is all over you’re likely not going to be able to walk straight for at least a week.

As he fucks you, Ghost starts kissing you again. He swallows your moans as your tongues invade each other’s mouths. You really don’t want him to ever stop.

With the position that he has you in, there’s not really much for you to do other than hold on and enjoy the ride. Which is absolutely fine by you. Already you can feel another orgasm quickly building up as his cock hits against a sweet spot deep inside of you that has your toes curling and nails digging into the meat of his shoulders and back each time he hits it.

“Fuck, Ghost,” you gasp. “Don’t stop!”

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he grunts. 

He’s no longer being gentle with you. Each thrust is rougher than the last and his grip is definitely going to leave marks on your skin, but you’re too far gone to care. Almost as soon as his thumb touches your clit you’re cumming again, your cry of his callsign is bouncing off of the walls of the bathroom, stars dancing behind your eyes. Ghost cums with you. His groan deep and guttural as he hits his climax, shooting his cum deep inside of you.

You expect him to stop, to take a breather before this stupid lust filling drug drives you both to do it again, but he doesn’t. He keeps rolling his hips, his cock remaining hard, as short gasps and groans leave him. He’s not wrong. He really can’t stop. Your cunt feels so good wrapped around him and he can’t stop himself from continuing to thrust into you despite how sensitive he’s starting to get. 

It’s a blur from there. Ghost takes you on every surface available to the two of you in the safehouse. Wringing orgasm after orgasm out of both of you, pleasure searing through your veins to the point that you’re almost sure it might drive you mad. That is if you don’t pass out from exhaustion first.

By the time that you hit the bed, that’s exactly how you feel. You think that the drug might have finally run its course. At least for you. Ghost adjusts your position so that your ass is up in the air and reenters you, making you whine. 

You’re really starting to feel how sore and used your body is. Your cunt is aching and dripping with the mixture of both yours and his fluids and you’re drenched in sweat.

He takes you much more gentler this time; a stark contrast to the rough fucking you’ve been subject too for however long you both have been going at it. He’s nearly at his end as well. There’s no longer a rhythm to his thrusts and he’s slowly growing more vocal again. 

Draping his body over yours, getting you to look at him so he can kiss you again. If this wasn’t Ghost fucking you, you might think the kiss is sweet and tender, but since it is Ghost you can only think it’s because he’s too tired. He grinds his cock inside of you, flooding your pussy one last time. 

He collapses against you, but you’re too tired to care. You just accept that this is your fate now as your eyelids drop shut and sleep claims you. 

When you wake up, the first thing that you’re aware of is how sore you are. Even shifting a little bit has you aching in places you didn’t know you could ache. The second and third things that you notice, one after the other, is that Ghost had taken the time to clean you up and cover your naked body with a blanket.

You groan as you sit up, holding the blanket against your chest to keep yourself covered up. You immediately spot your clothing and gear, all haphazardly folded and left on a table. 

“You alright, Sergeant?” Ghost is stretched out on the sofa, his arms folded behind his head. He’s already fully dressed in his gear again. 

“I don’t think boot camp hurt this much.

He huffs a laugh as he sits up. “Yeah? Well I’m not fuckin’ carrying ya, so get up, get dressed and let’s go. I’ll be waitin’ in the car.” He gets up from the sofa, grabs his gun and leaves the safehouse. At least he’s nice enough to give you some privacy. 

It takes you longer than it should to get dressed. Your body protesting every single move you make, but you push through it. By the time that you get into the car, Ghost is clearly getting impatient waiting, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

He looks over at you as you hiss as you sit down, slamming the door a little too hard, at the same time. You adjust your position so that you’re a little more comfortable.

“What happened in that safehouse, stays in that safehouse,” Ghost says.

“Agreed.”

[dearest-dirt]

Can you write Ghost only use reader for her body and she shows that but in love too deep with him. She always begs him to take their relationship seriously but Ghost always replies like "I know you love me, that's why I use you, lovie." That's so cruel but I love that, maybe I need a therapy right now!!!

(MDNI) +18

Ghost x F!Reader

“Just sex” he grumbled as he towers over you.

“Fine” you say with a smirk. Arrogantly thinking you could make him fall for you.

Unfortunately after every roll in the sheets it ended the same way. You offer him food, stay to watch a movie, rub his tired shoulders, but he always leaves right after.

Time after time you tell yourself he’s just putting up a front, and deep down he’s a soft gentle man like you think he is. Wrong again. He’s just a tall, arrogant, selfish jerk who only cares about his job.

Which lead to this conversation between you two in his room.

“You know what, I don’t get it” you fumble with your belt as you frustratedly put it back on. Ghost texted you asking if you wanted to stop by but right before you two were about to lay on the bed you asked him if he felt anything for you. Anything at all. To which he promptly said “talk about it later” which was his way of saying drop it. But of course you persisted as asked if he wanted to get dinner later. And it slowly spiraled into a half clothed argument.

“What” he asks with a slight annoyance in his tone “let me guess… you really did fall for me”.

“Yeah. And for some fucking awful reason I agree to this shitty sex deal thinking it would change things but fuck… you’re just shitty”you slip on your shoes and sigh “You know most people have the common courtesy to at least ask if they need some water or help clean them up”.

His props himself up by his elbows and sighs “we agreed, It’s just sex”.

“Oh fuck off. You knew what you were doing. And even if it’s just sex have some basic human decency. And you’re the one who approached me mother fucker don’t forget that, you desperate horn dog” you sneer at him.

Ghost laughs “Oh don’t call me the horn dog when you were practically chasing me around wanting some”.

“Fuck you, then why on earth did you decide to sleep with me if you knew I’d get attached” your hands rest on your hips as you await his answer.

“Simple, the other two women here have some arrangement with Gaz and Soap. I’m not particularly fond of sharing. And they’re really not my type, and you’re the prettier one of the three”.

You could feel your blood start to boil. A this time you had been trying to convince yourself he was everything you wanted… and he was just using you.

“So all that time I thought you just wanted to get to know me you were just trying to get into my pants” your expression turned ice cold.

“Was rather easy darling” he smirks.

“You’re telling me” you laughed trying to compose yourself “that I thought I was falling for you and put up with some mid grade dick because I was the prettiest”.

Ghost was slightly taken aback when you said mid grade dick. “The fuck does that mean” he asks.

You slowly reach for his door handle “Oh come on ghost… did you really think I was actually cumming from two ish minutes of missionary sex with no forplay”.

His sits up with confusion plaster on his face “you’re lying” he scoffs.

“I mean like you said it’s just sex. You never said you’d make me cum, and this little arrangement where one of us leaves works out pretty well so I can have some quality time with my vibrator” your open the door and walk out grinning. But once you reached your room every ounce of emotion released itself.

You gave yourself one night. One night to mourn the idea of what you wanted with him. One night to be upset over his attitude and behavior. One night to cry and let your heart break.

Ghost sits speechless on the bed. There was no way you would lie about faking an orgasm… right? He picked you because you’re pretty and gullible, but now he feels like the fool.

Ghost slides back into his boxers and slowly paces his room. “She’s a little lying minx” he grumbles to himself. But as much as he tries to reassure himself his mind goes back to every encounter.

He realizes he never did ask you if it was good for you. Did you actually cum? Granted he had to use lube a few times but that’s normal, right? Well maybe he did just kinda rush into the sex, never giving you any proper warm up. Was he actually giving mid grade dick?

It’s been about a month since that night. Yours and Ghosts work relationship remains unchanged. Professional. But of course now that Soap and Gaz noticed a change in Ghosts behavior towards hookups, and they have been dying to ask you what happened.

“Because you’re the prettiest” Gaz repeated your words.

“That’s so fucked up that he’d prey on you like that” Soap said with a disgusted expression.

You simply shrug “I know, but I think I might have given him a taste of his own medicine”.

“How” Soap asks taking note of your smirk.

You lean back in your seat trying to gather the right words “Well you see… he’s not exactly gifted in the skills department”.

“Oh please do elaborate” Gaz scoots in closer. He’s oh so deeply invested now.

“He’s as vanilla as a cake, can’t find the clit even with assistance, and let’s be honest a minute and a half isn’t getting most women anywhere when you just shove it in” you look between the two men and a greeted by the look of horror.

Soap was the first to speak “A minute and a half”.

“When you say just shove it in you mean he wouldn’t ya know…” Gaz tries to say politely unlike Soap who is now mumbling in Gaelic.

“As in quite literally just dropping pants and hitting it in missionary. No warm up”. You can’t help but speak bluntly.

“Fuck that sounds bloody awful” Soap chimes back in.

“It was but I thought I actually liked him and it was just something I figured I could deal with. thank goodness that’s over though”. You laugh at your own words because it’s the truth. A horrible honest truth.

Granted the actual damage Ghost caused to your confidence and self esteem is greater than you’re willing to admit. Knowing you were used just for your body and beauty was the most gut wrenching experience.

But at least Ghost looks miserable. The man hasn’t tried to hook up with anyone that you’ve noticed. His cocky arrogant attitude has been turned down. Life finally gave him the most humbling karma lesson.

1. Don’t manipulate people for your benefit when they truly care about you.

2. Don’t be a selfish lover.

[dearest-dirt]

part 1 of regency era!ghost x reader

noodled from this. warnings: angst, forced/arranged marriage, emotional neglect, Simon being an absolute dick.

you weren't an idiot. you knew better than to expect love from an arranged marriage. if watching your parents' has taught you anything, it's to not have such high hopes for something so impossible to achieve.

but at the very least, you hoped for some level of cooperation. a hint of companionship. a friendship, perhaps.

your husband has been so cold from the very beginning. he met you the day of the wedding. you both said your vows, kissed and briefly danced for the court to witness. after that, there was a few moments of the consummation of the marriage and you were sent on your way after that was over with.

it was difficult to adjust to his indifference, despite what you've been told. you thought that you would be the exception to it, that you would be treated with a hint of warmth, considering that you were going to spend the rest of your life with him.

but there was no such warmth nor care spared for you. you even doubt it was spared for his mistress too, but at least she seemed to be enjoying herself in his bed, which did break your heart even more. the thought of his infidelity did hurt, but it was to be expected. he is a king, after all. kings to whatever they want. and whatever needs you can't meet, he's surely finding them elsewhere.

yet you still tried. you tried your best to be a good queen, a good wife. despite what you've been told about his first love, about the woman he lost to another man, you attempted to be something he can look forward to at the end of the day.

you wore dresses that were in his favourite colour. sprayed all sorts of perfumes to make sure you smelled nice for him. kept your hair prim and proper so he might notice. wore jewellery that you thought he might find pretty on your skin.

left flowers in his study to brighten his day. sometimes sunflowers, sometimes roses, sometimes daisies. it was trial and constant error, just hoping that he might tell you his favourite ones so you can stick to those, but he never did.

the only reason you stopped doing so was because one of the maids heard him muttering complaints about how the flowers clutter his desk. alright. no flowers then. man needs to work hard and he needs all the space he can get.

but you were determined to brighten his study. so you painted the sunset for him. painted the sunrise, painted the night sky, painted the moon and stars for him, but he never even took the time to even look at one of those paintings. the canvases were left in the corner of the room and thrown away, per his request.

you even put all your violin lessons to use in trying to impress him, but it was all in vain.

read all his favourite books to try and open a fruitful conversation about them, only for him to shut you down when he lashes out and tells you "you will never be her".

a moment of silence passes as the tears we'll in your eyes before he commands you to leave the room because he can "barely hear his own thoughts with all that chattering".

yes, that one did sting. your shoulders dropped and your cheerful expression broke ever so slightly before you hid it with neutrality. you bowed and walked away, as per his demand request.

that was what stopped you from trying. if he found your presence that much of a hinderance to his peace, then you guess there's no point in trying to be friends with him at all.

from there on, you spoke less. in his presence and the presence of others. being a burden to anyone never sat right with you and his words aggriviated that train of thought, so you just tried not to ramble, tried not to fidget too much under the gaze of the lords and ladies and even the servants. kept your thoughts to yourself and only applied what was necessary and what was required of you. kept a blank stare at the ceiling and numbed your mind while you both performed in your monthly mandatory marital duties, waiting for him to jerk his hips and fill your womb with his spend then you'd be on your way.

at some point, you'd even given up those visits under the guise of faint illnesses and you hadn't heard a single word about it from the king. you figured it was because he most likely relished your absence, or didn't notice it at all.

either way, you were tired.

exhausted of giving one hundred percent of yourself and getting less than half in return. you've had to endure it with your parents, with your siblings and now your husband. if you could not be first or even second or third choice in anyone's heart, then you'd rather not be a choice at all.

unbeknownst to you, the moment you pulled away was when he started to notice you.

unbeknownst to you, Simon had gotten so used to your presence outside of his bed chambers that he felt somewhat pinched by the lack of it.

his desk didn't have a new boquet of flowers sitting in their vase anymore. the air lacked a particular sweetness in your absence. something about your scent and the sound of your voice telling him about the little details of your paintings that just... soothed the voices in his head.

Simon didn't want to admit that he found you charming. it felt like he was betraying the woman he loved. the woman who sailed out of the country once she'd gotten married and wished him well in life.

but the fact of the matter is that you were a stark reminder that even a king has responsibilities. you were the reason why he couldn't even have his freedom. yet somehow, after many moons, his freedom started to take shape in the form of your smile.

so much so that he tried to seek it out. eight months after he'd yelled at you and took a knife to you heart.

only to be met with a startled expression and a tense posture one breakfast morning.

he remembers the painful silence of that day in the gardens. the brief glance you cast to your handmaiden as if to say "what the fuck is he doing here???" not to mention the little shrug from your handmaiden telling you that she has absolutely no idea and she's just as shocked as you are before setting your wide eyes on him, a half-chewed biscuit stuck between your delicate fingers. the pure terror in your eyes because this has never happened before and you're unprepared for such an unprecedented event.

this being him coming to see you in the morning. or ever. this being him sitting down with you for breakfast before the painstaking day begins.

he wasn't prepared for the way your fear and confusion twisted something in his chest. even more so when he realized how quiet you suddenly were around him. never speaking more than ten words. never looking directly at his eyes anymore. sitting so stiffly in your chair with your hands on your lap that he couldn't reach out to attempt to comfort you.

you were polite to him, however. he thinks that might be the worst part. if you'd been angry or upset, he might have felt more comfortable to offer apologies and promises of reparation, but he's not sure how to proceed when he's faced with a wall of quiet fear.

he's not deterred, though. he's done being an ass to you and he should start making amends.

[part 2] banners by @saradika

No Taglist.

do not like, comment, reblog or follow— in fact, do not interact with this blog if you're a minor or if you have no age in your bio. read the [ground rules]. you have no excuses if you get blocked.

[dearest-dirt]

Inspired by this post by @rowarn

Virgin!Simon who is so used to fisting his calloused hand every night to release some of the pent-up tension winding up his muscled body; that when he first sinks his cock deep into your welcoming cunt, slick with arousal but still tight around his girth, he cannot help the way his cock immediately spasms and cums only half-way into you. He wasn't even a little bit embarrassed when he saw the questioning look on your face until he sunk more of his length into you until he hilted his full length inside, your face contorted into a pleasured "O" as he started pulling back out and bullying his way back in with a lewd squelch.

Over and over again, as Simon fucks into your tight cunt he can't help that within five minutes he's cumming again, coating the outer labia and your thighs sticky with his heavy seed as he had been pulling out, only to gather the cum up around the head of his cock with his fingers and push it back up into you as he continues his brutal assault on your tight hole.

Virgin!Simon who is shameless in the way you're both now covered in at least three loads of his cum and as you're on the verge of your fist orgasms, his fourth comes along and spurts hot against your cervix as your gummy walls clamp down and convulse around his cock.

Virgin!Simon who fucks you through his own over-stimulation because the velvety grip of your cunt is too good to stop, better than his hands, better than any silicone toy lubed up... he cannot get enough - and this night is turning into a marathon as he keeps flipping your body into various positions, finding ways to fuck you shallow, deeper, angling you this way and that to hit every erogenous spot in your hole that could draw out another orgasm from you, and draw them out he does.

By the end of the night, you're both sticky, covered in musky loads of slippery cum from you both as you lay against each other, not minding the mess one bit as Simon kisses your temple, before dragging you both up out of bed to go and get cleaned up in the shower (before making at least one more mess that is)...

[dearest-dirt]

[MDNI / 18+]

⋆ / a thought ; cw! spitting, d/s dynamics

keegan russ is the type of man to look you in the eyes while he spits in your mouth. god, it gets him feeling all fiery in his chest, all warm and big. he'll get you kneeling between his legs, leaning over you. he doesn't need to be smirking for you to understand how smug he feels, seeing you submit to him like that. then he'll cup your jaw, trace your lips with his thumb before pushing past them. he humors you for a moment, letting you suck, then presses down on your tongue and pulls your mouth open. "be good," he says, the sound all husky and low in his chest. then he spits in your mouth. takes a good look at it. traces your lips with his thumb again, smearing saliva over your face. lets you shut your mouth. holds your cheek as he watches you swallow. he lives for the rush of power the whole thing puts through his chest.

[dearest-dirt]

Alford Plea

PART 1 - Charges

PAIRING:  Chef! Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader 

WARNINGS: it’s nasty, it’s in the kitchen, it’s very smutty, Simon’s a dick, Reader’s a dick and this is some next level self-insertion. 18+ only.

4 part series + 1 "epilogue", all written, updates every Sat

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Epilogue

__

Alford Plea: A guilty plea containing a protestation of innocence.

or

Where you knew that fucking your boss could not possibly end well, but you did it anyway, because what else were you going to do?  Not fuck him?

__

NOW

Your back is sore.

But of course your back is sore—you’d had it pressed against the wall for a decent chunk of time the night before.  While your dick of a boss ate you out against it.

In hindsight, if you’d had the mental capacity to remember how he treated you at work, you wouldn’t have done it.  At least…that’s what you tell yourself.  It’s how you attempt to rationalise your enthusiastic participation in the events of the night before, and for the first few hours of your day, you repeat it to yourself so many times, you even catch yourself sort of believing it.   

But it’s just not true, and you know it.  

Simon Riley is mean to you, and that is the primary reason you cannot stand him.  Everything else about him is irritating, but tolerable—but it’s his tendency to be a bully that really grinds your gears.  He’s brash and crass and cruel—a bully through and through—but most of all, he’s mean.  He’ll laugh at you and not with you, insult your work, constantly undermine you and make a big scene of correcting any mistake you may dare to make in his kitchen.  

It doesn’t help his ego that he’s both good looking and extremely talented, and acutely aware of it.  He’s tall and broad and fucking cut and disciplined and thorough—if you didn’t know better, you would have guessed ex-military—and he carries himself with the infuriating brand of arrogance and ostentation that people like him do.  The kind of people who are 35 and rich,  outrageously successful and absolute scumbags about it.  The kind of people that you would never usually engage with.  Usually.

The day begins with you cringing at the entrance to the kitchen, waiting to hear him before you enter.  That’s how it usually went, you’d hear him first.  His obnoxious humming, or his knives being honed, or, if you were really lucky, the commis getting his ass chewed out.  But today?  Nothing.  Nothing but the usual chaos of the kitchen during pre-service prep and—seeing as you were earlier than usual—a watered down version of  that.

You allow yourself a very smug smile before you have to school your expression into neutrality, lest someone catch you.  If you couldn’t hear Simon, there was a good chance he wasn’t here yet, and that meant you had one up on him. 

Then again.  Who were you to talk, really.  Only the biggest hypocrite to ever live.

To your displeasure, the smug doesn’t last long.  

____

THEN

He’s holding you.  

Why the fuck is he still holding you?

The thought bounces around your brain like a ping pong ball—you imagine your face being just as blissed out as his, barring a tiny furrow in your brow from the aforementioned ping ponging of thoughts—and after moments spent just breathing deeply and being held in his arms you still can’t seem to figure it out.  He’s holding you like he gives a shit.

Now that you’ve both fucked the shit out of each other and been reduced to mere human puddles, you can think more clearly.  Except your thoughts start to spiral out of control, leading you to places you don’t want to go.  You try to gather them all up in your (mental) arms like they’re unruly kids, but they tumble out of control anyway.

First he fucked you.  Now he’s holding you in his arms.  You haven’t said a word to each other.  It’s…kind of nice, you decide.

“Shut up,” he groans.  “For once in y’life, shut the fuck up, please.”

The moment is instantly ruined, and he is the worst. 

“Not a word.  I haven’t said a word.”  

“And yet.  You just.  Don’t.  Shut up.”

He really is the worst.

 You make a move to disentangle yourself from him, but his grip on you just tightens.  “What now,” he rumbles.  “Just shut up and stop movin’.”

Your gasp at his audacity is loud, and you are literally rendered speechless at this man.  “Y-you..what are you…fuck.  You are such a dick, Simon!”

All you get in response is another grunt, and a pointed tightening of his arms around you.   And he really must have screwed the common sense out of you, but fuck, even you, in your haughtiness, can admit that it it does feel nice.  Despite his personality.  Despite his arrogance and his bullish nature.  (Or maybe because of it, you’re too fucked out to care).  

But Simon is warm and—despite the night’s activities—he smells so good and he’s kept you so close to him, that you can’t help but let your mind drift again.

You fucked your boss, tonight.  You feel like you’ve skipped through most of the stages of grief at the mental admission, hovering firmly over acceptance.  You fucked your boss tonight, and you let him fuck you—over and over and over—and now your life is over.

You can never work in this job you love, with the team you love working with, with a chef who you—grudgingly—admit is the objectively the best you’ve ever had the opportunity to learn from.  The man may be a nightmare to deal with, but he’s fantastic at what he does, and now you’ve ruined it.  

You’re all too aware of the connotations of being a woman trying to break into this industry— no one respects a woman who slept with her famous, obnoxiously talented, ludicrously good-looking boss, and you know it.  All because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.   

It’s such a shame too, because you were starting to—

Your thoughts are interrupted when Simon shifts slightly, his face finding the warm space in the crook of your neck and burrowing there.  You freeze, not exactly sure what comes next, but it would seem that you have no cause to worry.  Simon’s breathing is deep and slow and now you really have to bite your lip to keep yourself from screaming in frustration. 

The dick actually falls asleep. 

Unbelievable.

____

A/N:  This is the result of a very persistent brain-worm inspired by @callsignrhea’s amazing fanart and the perpetual need to fuck Ghost in a nasty kitchen.

[dearest-dirt]

Bedrotters

Keegan P. Russ x fem!Reader

Content Warnings: brief mention of weapons and killing.

A/N: everything I write just turns out the same??? Idk I use this to kinda clear out my own thoughts better. Was gonna write this longer but I just. Eh. Eughhhh.

Anyways if this is straight dogshit im blaming it on the fact that I should’ve fallen asleep hours ago, mmmmmmhm.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

He was dead asleep as soon as his arms were wrapped around you. His head resting in the crook of your neck, taking in the scent of that sugary perfume he loved, deafening the soft snores that fell from his lips.

There’s a bitterness to his return, edging at the feeling of relief that had soothed your soul when his car had pulled into the driveway. A numb feeling of sadness, a trace of the worry that gnawed at you for every day that had passed since he was supposed to be back.

He’s okay. He’s safe, here, with you. It’s comforting, having his body pressed up to yours, a physical confirmation of the words you keep repeating in your head.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Keegan’s still asleep by the time you’ve left the house, a quick run to the grocery store to grab your missing ingredients for tonight’s dinner. The man must’ve tired himself out to the bone, cause when you return and the house is still silent, no sound of his records playing some old song, no sound of metal scraping against metal while he worked on some repair in the kitchen, you find him sleeping in your bedroom.

His gear still in a pile on the floor, stained with dirt and blood. The digital clock on his nightstand tells you that you have more than enough time to get dinner ready. Enough time to have him in your arms for a little while longer.

The sound of one of your favourite CDs, a collection of slow, melancholic love ballads plays from your speakers on the dresser. The words sound from your lips, a lullaby sung softly for your lover.

You remain like that for a while, humming to the tune of whatever songs are playing. Your mind wanders on its own as you admire Keegan, looking so pretty even with his face still stained from his eyeblack. He’s lying comfortably in your heavy duvet with a soft expression on his face, a stark contrast to the hard image he splayed out for the rest of the world to see.

Your thoughts wander off on their own unmarked path, taking your watchfulness with them. Keegan stirs awake without you taking notice, pale blue eyes watching you as fingertips trace absentminded circles into his skin.

His voice brings you back to the main road, your eyes falling to him as he speaks. “Wish I could read your mind, know where your head goes when you zone out like that.” He sounds tired, voice scratchy from his slumber. His hand lifts to ruffle your hair, and just because you’ve missed him so much you let him, even though you’d otherwise flick his hand away in annoyance of him messing up your locks.

“Was just thinking about you.” You murmur, a genuine smile on your face as his hand moves to cup your cheek. He’s so gentle with you in these moments, when you’ve been yearning for each other for weeks and finally come back together. The roughness of which he handles his guns, the harsh grip he welds his knife with as it sinks into the flesh of an enemy soldier, is reformed so that he can touch you how he wishes. Smoothed down so that he can trace your skin and heal your scars instead of leaving you hurting from open wounds.

It’s difficult, leaving the rough environment of his work to come home to you, where he can be soft and gentle all he wants for a limited amount of time. It’s almost never sufficient, you want more, and you’re greedy for wanting more, but you know it batters him more than it does you.

Keegan’s body shifts upwards, his back slotting against the headboard as his arms hoist you up to hold your body to his. “Hey, stay with me.” He reinforces his words with a pinch to your side, causing you to yelp.

You glare at him, dramatically rolling your eyes at him before leaning into his chest and sticking your tongue out at him. “I am here. Haven’t gone anywhere, Keegs.” He scoffs, arms trapping you as they wrap around your body to pull you even closer, muscles tightening as if you would try to escape. “Y’know what I mean. Don’t like it when you slip away so easily.”

You could be falling asleep yourself nestled up to Keegan like this. A big hand slips underneath your shirt to squish the softness of your stomach, his head tipping forward to nibble at your shoulder. “S’long as you’re not getting stuck on stupid stuff, don’t put yourself in a bad mood, baby.” You hum in agreement. “Mm. Need to get dinner ready.”

He laughs silently, “Playing housewife?” He mutters against your skin, placing a loving kiss on your shoulder. You snort. “You need a shower. You stink.” You respond, feigning annoyance. You shriek as he turns your body to push your face close to him, “No, no! I’m not joking, I’m gonna need to change the bedsheets now, sweaty old man.” You giggle, glancing up at him and catching the sass of his eyeroll. “Mhm. Shut it.”

[dearest-dirt]

. . . jason todd and villain!reader !!

jason todd who opts to neutralize villain!reader himself rather than turning you in to the authorities because each time he does, you slip through the cracks of a crumbling justice system just to wreck havoc on the city the next night.

“you just don’t know how to stop, do you? can’t learn a lesson? fine. i’ll just have to teach you myself.”

jason todd who decides to back villain!reader to a corner, all of her gadgets and fancy tech smashed to hell in the dingy room of an abandoned building. he looks bigger than you’d imagine at this close of proximity, head tipped down to no doubt glare you down from behind that stoic, vermillion mask of his.

it’s pointless to even try fighting back. the red hood wasn’t someone you wanted to have up close and personal — and, unfortunately for you, he was close enough for the faint smell of his cologne to flood your senses.

“you’ve left me with no choice, really. it’s almost like you wanted to get caught by me. again. god, do you even sleep?”

jason todd who forces your front to the wall, face uncomfortably pressed into the aged brick wall. he has your arms twisted behind his back, wrists caught in one of his hands, while his knee slots between your leather-clad thighs. the smirk he wore was almost audible. the sound of your curses and empty-threats began to echo throughout the room, but that all came to a sudden halt when a rough hand grabbed at your hips and began to force you back and forth against his thigh. those venom-laced words transformed to quiet, breathy moans and feather-light gasps.

if you had your knife, you would have plunged it in him the second the faux coos started.

“that’s it. if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.”

jason todd who makes you work for a sweet release. why would he let gotham’s newest villainess off so easily, especially after the hell you’ve been putting him through? no, you have to work for it. he’ll deny release after release, whispering a plethora of filthy, degrading words into your ear until you finally give in.

“fuck, you’re soaked. dripping cunt’s got my suit all dirty,” jason almost laughs at the pitiful moan that rips through your chest, “we can do this all night, sweetheart.”

and when you finally give in, sobbing and hiccup because you just can’t take another denial in fear of losing your mind, he’ll allow you to use his thigh however you see fit. of course, all of that mindless grinding and high pitched moans of pure ecstasy are sure to be made fun of. you’re that desperate to get off on your supposed enemy’s thigh? really?

jason todd who grins when you slump to the ground, thighs pressed tightly together as you pant, body quivering. you’re an absolute mess, and he’s finally got you right where he wants you. pliant and obedient.

“c’mon, you don’t seriously think that’s all i had planned, right?”

[dearest-dirt]

Sweet Tooth [Simon "Ghost" Riley]

Summary: You're trapped between a rock and a hard place. Or rather, trapped between a door and your superior. He doesn't seem to mind, though.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Warnings: +18 Smut (MDNI!!!), oral (fem receiving), pussydrunk!Simon if you squint, angst, forbidden romance happening in the midst of a mission.

A/n: i know i said i was gonna take a couple of days off from writing anything but this Simon brain rot hasn't sunk in quite yet but it. is. brewing🥴 @sofasoap i don't know what happened😭 one minute I was vibing to my music, the next I was neck deep in smutville😭😭😭

You shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't be allowing this. He's your superior. He's your Lieutenant. He's... H—he's...

He's on his knees.

He's hiking your leg up his shoulder. The slit of your dress parted wide open for him to take you apart from the inside out. His arm curls over it, hand planted on your sternum to keep you pinned against the door and the other slid against the small of your back whilst—

"fuck." is all you hear from below. "you're dripping all over my mouth, sweetheart."

You can't look at him. You just can't.

Even though you know you won't see his whole face, you know his mask will be right above his nose. And you know you'll see his mouth, his tongue gliding tender strokes through your pussy.

Hell, you can hear the lewd sounds. The slurping, the sticky wet noises of his mouth playing with your folds. It's hard to do anything but squirm in his hold. He's much bigger than you, keeping you where you are with just a fraction of his strength. So you just stand there and take it.

"Ghost—" you moan breathlessly, eyes glassy and bleary when you open them to try and talk some sense into him but words are melting and flee from your head the more his tongue flattens against your pussy. "Ghost, th—they're— they're going to—"

Words. Fleeing. Faster than your mind can comprehend. A sudden squeal escapes you before you can slap a hand over your mouth when his tongue slides inside you. His chin is glistening. And his nose as it cards against your clit, and it nearly tears a scream from your throat.

Your fingers grip his arm, legs trembling when the heat pools and threatens to flare brightly. He continues to lap at your folds like it's his job. The way he looks at you, with dark eyes veiled with desire, makes you melt.

Those eyes usually are so cold and calculated. Razer sharp and focused on the task at hand.

He's still focused, of course. But there's no sharpness. Not an ounce of ice and malice. His eyes are hazy, all soft and sweet and desperate for the way your essence drips onto his tongue. Desperate for you. You don't know how to handle that.

You don't know how you're going to look the rest of the team in the eye once you get out of this tiny bathroom. The operation was almost over. The target was in the bag, Gaz and Soap are working on getting the damn bastard out of the building unnoticed. Laswell's probably with them. You and Ghost?

You can't help but recall how he was always close by. Especially when you had to lure the target away from prying eyes. He kept a good enough distance, but close enough that you could feel the darkness of his eyes piercing the back of your head.

Then, once the target was secured —bound, gagged and blinded with a cloth over his head— and ushered away by Gaz and Soap, Ghost wasted no time in cornering you. Ambushing you, more like.

A gasp leaves your throat. Your hand grabs the top of his head, still covered by his mask. You don't mean to and you immediately mutter broken apologies when he freezes. You try to pry yourself from his grasp, knowing that you crossed a line. The mask doesn't come off, it never does.

But it was an accident, he shouldn't be that good working his tongue inside your fluttering pussy. You hate yourself even more for even allowing things to get this far.

"D—didn't mean to, I swear—" you stutter as you try to slide your leg off his shoulder. "I—I'm really sorry, Lieutenant—"

But he won't let you. You yelp when he pushes you back against he door and you feel his mouth on you, licking into you again. Only, he's more adamant this time. More determined to ruin you.

"Gh—Ghost— Si— Simon!" your scream practically goes unheard as you squirm against his mouth. You want to try and reason with him. But it's impossible to see reason when your head is filled with pleasure.

His hands are firm against you, tongue eagerly sinking into your wet heat before his mouth sucks on your throbbing clit. You hiss sharply, head falling downwards to barely open your eyes and find his. You're careful to let your hand rest on his shoulder, gripping the expensive fabric of his dark blazer, your lips parted open as you panted heavily.

Something has long since strung and drawn tight. The high was far too perilous; if the drop doesn't kill you, it'll be a miracle. And he knows. You're sure he knows because the more you tremble in his arms, the tighter his hold becomes.

It happens all too fast. The thread snaps and you shatter violently against his hold, hand slapped over your mouth to trap the loud cry inside your throat. Your head lolls against the door as the ecstasy hits you like a truck and rolls over you in hot waves. You're writhing in his grasp, helpless to the onslaught of the electrifying high.

He doesn't stop lapping at you just yet. You're gushing and pulsing into his mouth, dripping all over his nose and chin, wetting the cloth of his mask. A few more licks until he finally pulls himself away from your swollen pussy like it's the last thing he wants. You breathe deeply as you watch him.

He's still looking at your folds whilst his tongue glides over his lips, breathing as heavily as you are while collecting the glistening fluids there. It was like observing at a predatory animal after a kill.

He leans in again. You shudder when he presses a kiss on your folds. Fingers spreading you open to gently press his lips against your swollen clit. Kissing you there like he's saying one last goodbye. His tongue makes another flick over the sensitive bud and another and you think he's going to wring another orgasm over you all over again and it terrifies you because you don't think you'd want to stop him.

Thankfully unfortunately, he draws away and finally lets you go. You faintly whimper at the last sight of his mouth before he draws the mask over his face.

Your legs were shaky as you made your way back. It was still hard to catch your breath. The alcohol in your blood has long since burned out by the time Lieutenant Riley was done with you. Regardless of that, you still stumbled on your feet.

Thankfully, Soap was right there to catch you. He was just as surprised as you were when he did. "You alright, lass?"

You smoothen over your dress as you quietly nod, not trusting your voice to speak for you. Another hand gently palms over the small of your back. In an instant, you're as stiff as a board when you feel him behind you.

"Exfil's here, love." he says. "Time to go."

The throbbing between your thighs returns with a vengeance. You barely manage to suppress a whimper.

You don't think you're going to catch a wink of sleep tonight. The worst part about it is that it'll have nothing to do with the mission.

Cod Masterlist

support my ko-fi I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with this. do i leave it as it is? do i turn it into a mini-series? what's happening, brain? idk.

my advice? don't ask for a part 2 :/

[dearest-dirt]

SWEET ELIXIR

Pairing: Vampire!Keegan Russ x Female!Reader

Prompt: After an unfortunate capture, Keegan is held hostage by the Federation. Unable to break his tough resolve, Rorke injects him with a new type of drug, something that makes him inhuman. Now a blood sucking monster, Keegan is turned loose with the objective to hunt his fellow teammates, including you.

Words: 5.2 k

Warnings: Keegan is a horny vampire, Biting, Blood Kink, Oral (f receiving), Fingering, Blood sucking, P in V sex, creampie, obsession with pulse points, typical COD violence, a lil bit of cock warming to balance it all out. And I feel as if whiny Keegan needs it’s own warning.

A/n: this took too long. Bite me! Get it?

“You’re a tough son of a bitch to find.” The familiar growl of a former teammate met his ringing ears rather roughly.

If he was able to lift his head, he may have considered spitting on Rorke’s face in angry retaliation. But Keegan felt numb, he could no longer feel his fingertips against the cold restraints of his prison cell. His bare torso was more black and blue than his actual skin tone, and blood dripped from his torso down to his pants.

He was dying, that much he knew.

Yet, the Ghost would rather take a stabbing blade one hundred times to the heart than let the federation capture you.

He’d do anything. Fight anyone. Bear any wound or torture just to know you were safe. And maybe that made him foolish, and for that he’d willingly be called a fool.

It was supposed to be a simple scout mission, to access the liveliness of a border camp that the Federation had set up just on the outskirts of San Francisco. It was you and him, the quiet ones of the Ghosts.

You were a lethal one, always quick and steady on your feet. It had gotten you in trouble before ODIN, often times you’d be reprimanded by your Drill Sergeants before you eventually fell under the command of Elias Walker. You were forever in his debt, because now, you found a family you’d never known.

You’d been trying to crack Keegan’s shell ever since Operation Sand Viper. You were both so young back then, fresh out of High School and foolishly trying to prove yourselves. You’d fought tooth and nail with him the first few years, always attempting to one up each other.

Now, you worked as a well oiled machine. You covered his back, he shielded yours.

He smiled through the pain as he recalled how he’d been captured. You’d been so excited to go with him on the mission, the two of you hadn’t had any alone time in months. Simply resolving in hidden affections of stolen kisses and longing caresses he’d wished were more.

He’d finished scouting the camp, taking notes and envisioning tactics to take on the tangos once Ajax, Merrick, and Kick joined in. You were next to him, crouched down and putting your binoculars away.

“I gotcha something.” You hummed as you silently continued to shuffle through your pack.

His eyes fell away from the camp in finality, stepping back into the cover of everglade and leaves. His gaze softened slightly as he took you in, a faint crinkle catching upon the corner of his eyes.

You held out the faded package to him with a giddy look, and although your nose and lips were covered by your mask, he could still see just how happy you were to gauge his reaction. He felt his own lips pull against the worn fabric of his mask, a twinkle in his eyes as he studied the package now in his palm.

A honeybun.

He chuckled silently at the offering. You’d been quick to catch onto Keegan’s undeniable sweet tooth. He was always one to raid safehouses and cars for any sweet he could get his hands on. Often times you’d find him sucking on peppermints to break his awful cigarette addiction, something you found slightly amusing.

You didn’t mind tasting mint on his lips.

“Where’d you find the time to snatch this?” His voice was rough from not speaking, but the soft edge was still heard. You simply shrugged, watching him tear open the package. “I have my ways.”

He split the stale cake into two pieces, offering one out to you, which you took graciously. It had been a long time since either of you had anything sweet, regardless of it being stale and expired.

You chewed upon the artificial pastry, grimacing at the taste that reminded you of sugary sawdust, yet Keegan seemed to be enjoying the treat regardless. He licked the crumbs from his fingers, his jaw ticking slightly from chewing, it had been a while since he shaved. Still the shadow growing on his cheeks definitely suited him.

“What’re you staring at, doll?”

You scoffed at his teasing tone, lightly giving him a shove. Just as you were about to retaliate a gunshot rang through the night air. On instinct, the two of you ducked, yet it was far easier for you to drop to the ground.

Keegan shouldered his rifle, eyes glinting as he clicked the safety off and turned into the direction he thought the shot came from.

“It came from East of us, about four o’clock.” His voice dropped into his usual ordering tone. But a slow sniffle made him drop his gaze to you. Your hand was clutched over your shoulder, red already leaking through your fingers and soaking your clothes.

“Fuck! Hang in there, beautiful,” he felt his heart drop, even though you were doing everything right—Putting pressure on the wound. His own hand covered yours, pushing down even harder. You whined in protest which had him cursing.

“I know, doll. I know it hurts, but keep that pressure.”

He pushed a hand to his comm, frantically shaking fingers nearly missing the open line. Your blood smeared across his face accidentally. He’d never been so sick by the thought.

“Merrick! Requesting immediate EVAC.” His voice was commanding, though it rang loosely like you were underwater. The bullet wound hurt like a toothache, a constant throb, that had your eyelids betraying you like an anchor to sea.

“Hey!” Keegan spoke above you, lightly patting upon your clothed cheek to keep you awake. “I told Merrick our exact coordinates. Stay put, I’ll draw them away.”

You hummed, before he grasped your chin between his fingers. “Tell me you understand.” He ordered, just as you weakly held up a thumbs up.

“I understand.”

With a nod, Keegan left the cover of the brush, and that was the last you saw before your eyes closed.

His head whipped to the side, a forceful smack hit the flesh so hard it had him spitting blood. His knuckles clenched bone white at his sides.

“I’ll give you one last chance, Soldier. Where are you Ghosts holed up?” Rorke’s voice sounded more distant than it was.

“Fuck… you.” Keegan grunted, a deranged smile painted against his lips as blood slicked upon his teeth. Rorke chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

“Damn you Ghosts! Always so hard to break. But trust me, everyone has a breaking point. Even that little bird you have sleeping in your nest.” Rorke alluded to you, and it was enough for Keegan’s eyes to flare in anger.

“I think I’ll kill her last, she was always so weak.”

Keegan’s jaw clenched tightly, despite his numb body, he found courage to jolt forward, slamming his forehead into Rorke. The sound cracked across the cement walls, and while it sealed his fate, at least he got to hit the bastard one more time.

“Shouldn’t have done that, Russ.” Rorke growled, body swaying slightly before moving to the table designed for Keegan’s torture.

The Ghost’s eyes dropped to his lap, finally letting numbness take over as his eyes fluttered shut. Rorke’s footsteps approached, just as his large palm gripped upon Keegan’s neck, his pulse thumping dully. He tilted his head upwards, just as Keegan caught sight of the metallic syringe held in his opposite hand.

The fluid incased was a vibrant red, almost as if it was glowing. Yet, he didn’t seem to care as he slumped again, barely feeling the prick against his carotid artery. He’d hoped whatever he was being injected with would kill him. At least then he’d know you’d be safe and he wouldn’t have to keep up such a tough resolve.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, but if you won’t tell me where the Ghosts are, you’ll kill them for me.” His words had Keegan’s brow furrowing, but before he could even let his mind run, a blade entered between his ribs, plunging into his heart and killing him instantly.

It had been two days since you woke up in the med bay. Two days since Keegan was officially marked as M.I.A.

You exhaled, as you settled your mask over your nose, looking forward and nodding towards Merrick, who appeared grim on the other side of the chopper. It was obvious he didn’t like the idea of you out in the field with a freshly healed bullet wound, but Ghosts looked after each other and you’d be damned if you left any quadrant unturned. You’d find Keegan, if it was the last thing you did.

Your shoulder ached against the weight of your pack, but it didn’t stop you from heaving extra med packs. Merrick chewed upon his lip again, eyeing you warily. You couldn’t help but narrow your eyes. Remembering his conversation earlier of how you weren’t on your game, stating this rescue was too personal. You’d argued that this was Keegan.

A gentle palm landed on your uninjured shoulder, causing you to glance up again to see the former Seal staring down at you with uncharacteristically soft eyes.

“We’ll find him, I promise you that.”

You found yourself nodding, determination flaring in your very soul as you listened to Merrick give the rundown.

“We don’t have leeway to fly out until tomorrow, so conserve ammo and don’t get caught. We’ll split into quadrants. I’ll take West, Ajax cover North, Kick go South.”

That left you to East. Where Keegan was last seen. This was the quadrant you needed to be at, it would be the one with the most tracks.

“Speak limitedly. Remember we are in hostile territory.” Merrick sounded just as your feet hit the mossy ground with a plunk.

You nodded, before falling back into the dark wasteland of the forest. Crickets chirped against the overgrown roots and owls hooted from the shared branches. If it wasn’t for your situation, you’d definitely enjoy sitting upon a stump and listening to the sounds nature gave.

Light from the moon floated against the swaying leaves, although it definitely wasn’t enough to illuminate the way. With a click and a beep, you pulled your night vision gear down over your eyes.

It was eerily quiet, especially for a camp being only a couple hundred yards from your location. With a clenched jaw you pushed onwards, head on a swivel as you suppressed the queasy feeling from your gut.

You crouched under some brush when your eyes leveled with the small hunting cabin that the Federation soldiers were camped out at. Tents fluttered in the balmy breeze. It was disturbing, to see a camp with life and light now had none.

No lanterns, no fire, no electricity. Nothing.

That was definitely not what it was like two days ago. If anything, the federation soldiers were too easy to find. Loud and obnoxious as they drank alcohol and burnt their fires too high so smoke flew over the trees lines.

Now you heard nothing. Only the hoot of the owls and chirping crickets. It had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up straight.

With a little exhale, you crept onwards. Slowly inching to the corners of camp, where you maneuvered around several empty tents, the entrance flaps open and flowing in the breeze.

Your eyes followed a patch of trampled moss, something that indicated struggle. Your heart leapt at the clue, at least now you had a lead. You crouched, leveling with the path. It lead to the old cabin. Maybe, just maybe Keegan was there and licking his wounds.

A loud crack sounded in front of you, just beyond the wooden cabin and out into the forest. You already had your assault rifle pointed towards the noise, just as you began to advance.

It sounded of a broken twig, as if someone was discreetly spying upon your stalking form. Your back finally hit the wall of the cabin, before you hesitantly peaked around the corner. Your jaw clenched at the sight of four bodies all face down upon the moss.

Your heart dropped when you saw the familiar mask of a certain ghost, the material lay against the ground, torn.

“No,”

You dropped the rifle to the side of the wall without a second thought, rushing to the bodies, relieved when you saw the tuffs of blonde hair and unfamiliar clothes upon the three bodies. Blood dried in puddles, almost like a cushion. The color was a dark brown, they’ve been dead for a while. Your heart pounded as you approached the last body, dark hair cropped so much like Keegan’s— dark tactical gear as well.

The body was a few yards away from the others, moss upturned like someone had grappled with him before they fell. With shaky fingers you flipped the body over. You let out a watered gasp, relief wrapping you like a blanket when the glassy eyes staring back at you weren’t Keegans.

You studied the Soldier, noticing the dirt under his fingernails, the claw marks in the soil next to him made it seem like he was trying to crawl away. Then you noticed how little injuries this guy had. The other three had visible gunshot wounds, and as you looked closer you saw the smoky black shells of Keegan’s signature bullets.

This body, had no wounds. No bullet to the lungs or heart. You crouched lower, turning his face to the side.

You clenched your jaw when you caught the laceration upon his neck.

Teeth marks.

You stood quickly, turning to the side to where your rifle was resting against the side of the cabin.

It wasn’t there.

Instead a loud click echoed through the night, your mag falling to the dirt as you looked to the man who held upon your rifle. A man that should have been Keegan, if it wasn’t for the bright red eyes and crusted blood over his chin.

“Keegan?” You couldn’t help but whisper, nearly cringing when your words got caught in your throat. The man in front of you nodded, setting your rifle back in its original spot.

“How’s your wound?” He asked. You took a step backwards, upon seeing him advance slowly towards you. His eyes never leaving your wounded shoulder, where bandages still rested upon the flesh.

“What? Why haven’t you tried to radio us? I’ve been eating myself alive.” You wailed, attempting to ignore just how much your brain was telling you to run. Maybe the red in his eyes was simply an illusion, perhaps he popped a blood vessel.

The creature, Keegan held up a radio he fished from his pocket. You faintly made out the broken material from a couple yards away.

“Have you been here this whole time? You must be hungry?”

Keegan’s eyes dropped to the body near your feet, just as his gaze trailed up your own until they landed on your shoulder again. You swore his eyes grew darker as he bit on his lip.

“Yes I’m hungry.” He murmured.

Cautiously you took a step forward, observing the way his body stiffened and how he seemed to be holding his breath. His head tilted to the moss below, refusing to look you in your eyes.

As you grew closer your heart plunged deeper. His eyes were red, this wasn’t some illusion.

“What happened to you?”

Keegan peered down at you, his eyelashes sticking to his cheeks.

“I-I don’t know. I was captured. Tortured.” He huffed, taking a step back as he inhaled too strongly. He brought his hand up to his temples, rubbing furiously.

You gaped at him, how he escaped was beyond you, how he was standing with no visible injuries— it concerned you more than if he would have came back bloodied and bruised.

“I need to sit down, you’re too loud,” he growled. Faster than a blink, a literal blink Keegan disappeared from your view, only a shadow inside the cabin indicating he was crouched over a worn out sofa.

It was inhuman to move that fast. Still, you needed answers. You figured this wasn’t the most horrific thing you’ve faced as a soldier.

You were silent when you approached next, the only indication you were near was when a floorboard creaked from under your boots and the door clicked shut behind you. “Let me check for wounds.” You whispered, now more aware.

“I already did. All of them healed, as if I wasn’t tortured at all.”

Your hand flew to his shoulder at his defeated whine, so uncharacteristically like Keegan it scared you. His nose bumped against your wrist. He let out a deep inhale.

“I blacked out, woke up to a soldier guarding me in this house. He tried to run, but I killed him.” He wheezed.

“How’d you kill them?” You whispered into the dark room, knowing the answer, but wanting him to confirm it. Maybe he’d deny it, and you’d wake up from this horrifying nightmare.

Monsters didn’t exist. Vampires weren’t real. Still…..

“I-I bit his neck, I could hear his pulse, smell the blood. I…. Drank it.”

Your breathing picked up, something that Keegan picked up on immediately. He was up from the couch in a flash, cool palms laying upon your cheeks as he pleaded.

“I couldn’t help it! Something happened to me, Rorke he injected me with this drug, made me like this. He said I would kill you. All of the Ghosts.”

Your hands wrapped upon his wrists, eyes wide as you listened to his begging. This thing, it sounded like your Keegan, maybe with proper help he could be saved. Maybe.

“Do you… want to kill me?” You asked, glancing upwards as you saw his throat bob. Immediately he shook his head, red eyes boring into you as his fingertips pushed against your pulse.

“No. I love you too much to consider.” He vowed, hands reaching ever so gently down your sides in an unconscious practice, something he did so frequently in the confines of your quarters.

“But God, you smell so good.” He whined again, nose falling ever so gently to your thrumming pulse point. You were ashamed at how quickly heat rushed to your core. He was some type of monster now, yet, still you felt the sudden need to be with him.

A monster in a cabin, how ironically cliche.

As if to make matters worse, you felt his intake of breath, just as his fingertips dug hard into your hips, like he was anchoring himself to you.

It was wrong, definitely not morally correct to lean closer towards him. To smell his scent of hickory smoke and twang of blood. Still, you couldn’t help but lose yourself in the feel of him. He was still your Keegan, and maybe you could make adjustments of his situation as you went.

A low hiss alerted you to just how uncomfortable he must be. Whatever he was, a lust for blood made him dangerous. And here you were baiting him like a worm on a hook, ready to be swallowed whole.

“I need you…” he growled against the nape of your neck again, heat swelled to your stomach. You weren’t sure if he needed your blood or you, maybe he wanted both.

Without so much as a second, you let your mouth speak before your brain could keep up. “Then take me.”

It happened in a whirl, so fast that you didn’t even register that your head was perched against the soft plush of the old sofa. His hands were on you, one attached to your hip while the other cradled the back of your neck.

You gasped at your new position, yet Keegan seemed to care less as he maneuvered your head to his, lips hungrily falling to your own in desperation. He was never one to act so brash, always taking time to kiss you and prep you. Now, he seemed to let those morals fly out the window.

His mouth was warm against your own, his lips slotting hard enough to leave your own swelling and full. Once out of your dazed position, you reached upwards, going to wrap your arms around his torso to pull him ever so tight.

Then you heard the rip.

A slow whimper left your mouth as Keegan hesitated to pull away. Your hand reached for your shoulder, your thumb brushed against the damp liquid of your own blood.

Instantly you grew rigid at the red color, your guilty gaze finding that Keegan was already glancing at the blood pooled on your thumb. His eyes screwed shut, even though his hands were working at the harness and buckles of your pants. Likely, he was trying to keep himself busy, away from the surely pungent tang of your blood.

“Breaking my heart, doll.” Keegan muttered through hesitant inhales, as if he was getting used to the scent. “I’m sorry, I pulled on the stitches.” You muttered, slightly unconscious of your opposite hand trailing upon his pleasantly cool chest.

His head shook, knowing it wasn’t your fault that you had obtained the gunshot wound. It was his, he was supposed to protect you, as he was right now. As he always would, regardless of the sweet and irresistible scent of your blood.

“It’s not your fault. But my senses are stronger. I see things I never saw, feel things more intricately, smell things more intoxicating.”

He brought your thumb to his lips, the heat of his tongue sucking upon the drop of blood on the fingertip, “taste things that’s never been so sweet.”

He dropped your hand with delicate care, strange for his new form that reeked of destruction. You peered up at him through your eyelashes, biting down upon your lip as he sniffed the air again.

“I can smell your arousal, ya know?” He teased, a toothy grin revealing slightly sharper teeth— fangs. Your face grew red with embarrassment, as you typically did with Keegan’s bold behavior in the bedroom.

“So are you just going to smell it, or are you going to help me?” You whined, your arousal only soaring as Keegan tugged upon the waistband of your pants and pulled them off your legs in one fluid motion.

“Oh, doll. I can’t wait to taste you.” His hunger radiated around him in waves, even with the balmy night air in the barely lit cabin, you found yourself shivering. Shivering as he lowered himself down further upon the couch, placing teasingly slow kisses upon each of your hip bones. His hands trailed down your bare legs, the callouses of his palms scraping pleasantly down to your knees.

Your thighs were lifted, now prettily perched upon his broad shoulders. He’d had the audacity to look at you through red hooded eyes, burning a hole into your very soul as his fingertips traced patterns on your warm flesh.

Your breath hitched when he tilted his chin down, his nose brushing teasingly against the swelling bud of your clit. Then, a curse flew from your mouth as he licked a stripe against your cunt.

He was purring, a happy hum leaving his throat as he kissed gently upon your opening. Your head flew back against the velvet cushion of the couch, hands gripping for anything that would anchor you back to the earth.

The floating feeling only increased as his lips suctioned around your clit, a lewd slurping noise filling the air.

A hand went to his hair, the soft midnight tuffs more outgrown than he usually liked. His palm pushed you down further against his lips, the feeling he brought you was much alike electricity— Alive, breathless, euphoric.

His other hand drifted down your thigh, the rough pads of his fingertips providing a beautiful contract that always drove you over the edge. So much blood on his hands, on his ledger, and yet he loved you so well.

The gentle push of his finger against your entrance had you moaning, the breach being enough to have the knot in your stomach pull taut. You wouldnt last long at the pace he was going, and judging by the smile printed against your inner thigh, Keegan knew it as well.

“You taste better than I remember, God.” He whined as if you were pleasuring him instead, his finger still worked in tangent, slick echoing against the skin in a dirty symphony. He added another, curling the digits against your walls just as he dove back in, flicking his tongue upon your overstimulated clit.

You clutched onto his head as you released against him, a slight growl falling from his lips as you echoed his name into the night. His fingers slipped from you with a pop, and just when you thought he would resurface, his lips parted again, falling to your opening. His tongue pushed into you, swirling heavenly as he lapped up all of your previous orgasm.

The sensation made you see stars, but he became ever so aware of what you wanted now. Your fingers clutched onto the collar of his ripped long sleeve, the material accenting his rippling biceps and chest nicely, yet you wanted nothing but to take it off. Keegan granted the silent command, pulling away from your weeping cunt and shimmying out of his pants and pulling his shirt over his head. You found yourself taking off your vest and shirt as well.

He leant over you like a sinner, praying to his God. His knees dropped to the far end of the sofa, just so his weight hovered over the top of you like a longing shadow, desperate to touch the object it always followed. His eyes were round and lusting as they took you in. You did the same.

He was beautiful. The moon overcasting his back and showcasing the upturnt scars and hardships in a milky glow. He was effortlessly strong, effortlessly comforting, and effortlessly eternal all in one. Your hand trailed down the soft curves of his chest, to his stomach. Goosebumps following after your fingers, as your nails scratched against the fine muscle of his abdomen.

Your hand flowed down his body like a gentle wave, when finally you reached his cock. He was painfully erect, the head of him leaking a fair amount of pre-cum. You chuckled silently into the night— as if you needed more slick, You’d swallow him whole, as you always did.

Your thumb brushed against his slit, massaging the cum down his shaft in a painfully slow motion that had him yelping desperately. His stubbled cheek once again found the slot between your shoulder, the tough hairs scratching pleasantly against your neck.

You pumped him, the sheer size of the ghost was always a surprise to you. His cock was lengthy and thick, no matter how much he attempted to warm you up, he still burrowed and stretched your walls to the maximum. Oh, how you loved it.

He held his breath as you lined him up to your entrance, not before brushing his head to gather the most of your slick.

“Ready?” He asked through a barely contained growl.

“Fuck me…” you murmured through a lustful stupor, finding yourself entrapped in his crimson stare as he angled his upper body above you. His arms caged by your head, meeting with your eyes he plunged into you, a slow hiss fell from his lips as he breached ever so slowly. Your own eyes fluttered at the sudden fullness he provided you with.

His head flew back as he whined, likely his unwavering control slipping inch by inch. Steadily you pulled his chin to your face and attached your lips again, providing a heavenly distraction as you tasted yourself upon his tongue.

He sheathed himself into you, biting upon your lip gently as he felt your walls flutter around him.

“So warm, doll.” He pulled away slightly to praise. Your stomach fluttered at his words, you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, nearly whimpering when he pulled halfway out of your cunt.

He was ruthless as he slammed back down, making the breath fall out of your lungs in a violent symphony. He set the pace roughly, making you release a series of moans and pleads of his name.

His hands were everywhere all at once. His palms hiked upward on your thighs, pushing you into him while you subconsciously wrapped them around his hips in a constricted and possessive grip. The other flew to your breasts, kneading the flesh in a harsh hold. His fingertips pinched upon the hardening bud of your nipple, making you release a satisfied gasp.

“Keegan…. Please.” You didn’t know why you were begging, he was giving you everything you needed. He rutted particularly deep at your plead, digging himself deeper into the warmth he so desperately craved. He wanted to be a part of you, to feel you so closely and to pleasure your every cell.

“Fuckin’ hell sweetheart.” He cursed, looking down upon your flustered cheeks and panting lips. You fluttered around him again, making him lose all since of control he had before.

“I don’t know how much more I can take of you, I need it.” His panicked whine was enough for you to fall over the edge, his hips slapping into you at such a frantic pace it had you seeing stars.

He wasn’t going to stop. And you didn’t want him to. You knew what he needed, and you’d give it to him. Willingly and with open arms.

“Then take it.” You whimpered into the night air, watching his pupils blow and his thrusts to go even deeper. His little whine of protest was put to an end as his lips kissed gently upon your pulse point. His looming body caging you from squirming.

He didn’t stop his sloppy thrusting, even when he placed torturous open-mouthed kisses all down the soft flesh of your neck, until his tongue lapped gently against the thrumming pulse of your artery.

It pinched when his sharp fang-like teeth bit into your skin, yet the cooling nature of his tongue and lips pulled you to ecstasy. You clenched around him, having no time to warn him of your rapid orgasm until your legs wrapped around him tighter, your walls clenching his cock so tight his body was soon to follow you.

He was definitely in a nirvana-like state, his lips still suckling gently upon the sweet taste of your blood, his throat bobbing gently as he drank upon your life. His eyes were clenched shut as he rutted impossibly deep, hitting the very cup of your womb as he stilled.

He pulled away from your neck with a tough resolve, wanting more but knowing he couldn’t have it. Instead he focused on his earth-shattering orgasm, how his cock twitched inside you and released ropes of hot seed. He’d never felt so euphoric.

You laid limp under him, eyes flooded in darkness as you lazily looked to the blood slowly trailing down his chin. Your own blood.

Keegan collapsed, not even daring to pull his softening cock out of you quite yet. His weight was comforting, and as your fingers trailed to his chin, you collected the blood there, pushing it gently against his lips until he sucked the nectar off your fingertip with a satisfied hum.

Laying on this old couch in an abandoned cabin wasn’t ideal. And neither was the monster above you.

But you’d love him until your last breath. Even if Keegan happened to cause it.

[dearest-dirt]

Sorry

Keegan Russ x F!reader

Warnings - minors DNI, 18+, explicit smut, angst

———

‘Are you FUCKING joking?’ You screamed as you threw your very expensive vase at the wall. Keegan ducked, his cat like reflexes once again barely managing to save him. ‘You’re such a fucking liar! Fuck you!’ You stormed over to him, pushing him in his broad chest. Pure unfiltered rage pumped through your veins as you stared at the man before you.

The man who told you he loved you.

The man who made you feel safe.

The man who you allowed yourself to love.

‘I’m sorry’ he whispered, eyes glazed, the steel blue of his irises contrasted with the blood shot white of his eyes. ‘You’re sorry?! You’re fucking sorry?! Keegan you lied to me for six months. I fucking fell for you and this whole time you were using me to spy on my father. I don’t think sorry quite cuts it. Do you?’ Your voice was venomous.

‘I didn’t mean for this to happen.’ You pushed him again. ‘What? Letting it get this far? Or falling for me in the first place?’ Every limb, every fibre of you was shaking. Your mouth was dry, your eyes hurt from crying, your heart shattered into jagged shards of glass.

‘I … uh’ he stuttered.

‘I … I …’ you mocked ‘fuck you Keegan. Get out.’ As you turned to walk away he grabbed your wrist, instantly you spun round, the palm of your hand making perfect contact with his cheek. ‘Don’t touch me. We’re done.’

‘No’ he muttered as he stood defiantly in your living room. ‘Fuck you mean no? Keegan, I don’t want to see you ever again. I never ever thought you’d hurt me. But here we are.’ Your voice was low, almost a whisper. Turning again he gripped your wrist, ‘please don’t make me go.’

Tears pricked your eyes, your tired swollen eyes. You sighed, still allowing him to keep a hold of you. Your lungs felt so tight, they strained to breathe. Your bottom lip quivered as you sighed into the empty living room. The living room where you had your first kiss, where you would play fight, where he held you when your father had a fall.

Yet it was all a lie.

‘Keegan … I can’t … please let me go’ murmured, voice straining from the emotion. ‘I can’t. I can’t let you go. You’re all I think about. You’re all I want. I’ve tasted you and I don’t want anyone else. I want this. I want you. I want us.’ There was a soft thud behind you. Turning round you saw him on his knees, brows furrowed, lips pressed together.

‘Get up Keegan’ you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. ‘I’ll beg if you want me to’ he said, eyes never faltering from yours.

‘I don’t want that. I want you to go.’ He slowly rose to his feet, still holding your wrist. He closed in on you, the warmth from his body permeated your tired bones. Even feeling so angry at him his presence still soothed you, still offered you safety. You hated your body for betraying you.

Looking up at him through tear stained lashes your heart ached, your stomach twisted and turned. An unwavering abyss of emotion coursed through your body. His face was contorted, twisted with pain. He raised a hand to your cheek, using his thumb to wipe away your tears. You leant into his touch, these hands had killed people, but to you they were your sanctuary.

‘Keegan’ you whispered, your rage now confusion. He lowered his lips to yours, hovering above them, ‘I’m sorry.’ Your lip quivered at his words, you believed him, reluctantly, but it didn’t absolve him from his lies. He gently pressed his lips to yours, now cradling your face with both hands. You sank into the kiss, your mind and heart fighting against one another.

Your hands found his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind screamed at you to stop, that you would regret it. But your heart told you to keep going, that you loved each other, that you needed to feel something other than rage.

That you need him.

Lifting his shirt slightly you grazed your hands along his skin, his soft, scar littered skin. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slowly worked with yours causing you to moan softly. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach, your head fuzzy.

Wrapping his arms around your waist he picked you up, walking you slowly to the sofa. His footsteps seemed to echo in the now silent apartment. Sitting down he kept you straddling his hips, his hands rubbing your back under your t-shirt. You placed your hands on his shoulders, his broad firm shoulders. Instinctively you rolled your hips, feeling his hard cock beneath his jeans.

He groaned into your lips, using his hands he pushed your hips down urging you to grind on him. Breaking the kiss you threw your head back as he kissed and nipped at your neck, ‘fuck I need you’ he whispered.

‘I fucking hate you’ you retorted, still grinding on him, your panties now soaking with arousal.

‘Liar. You want me.’

‘No, I wanna fuckin punch you.’

‘Stop lying’ he moaned as he pulled off your t-shirt and bra. He gently kissed your collar bone before holding your chin, forcing you to look at him. The silence between you was deafening, both trying to read each others faces.

Reigniting the kiss you pulled at his shirt, removing it he threw it behind him as he placed you on your back. He made fast work of your jeans before sliding a finger against your core. ‘Oh fuck’ he whimpered as he bit his lip. ‘Take em off’ you ordered arching your back.

Pulling them off he then made fast work of his own. You pulled him back into a kiss, this time it was desperate, sloppy. Lining himself up he pushed into you, ‘fuck’ you moaned breathlessly. As he began to move you wrapped your legs around him holding him against you. He buried his face in your neck, ‘feels so good baby’ he whispered.

Staining your skin with kisses your bodies moved together, each thrust of his cock filled you as his tip grazed that spot. You could feel his muscles tense with each movement, how each one rippled beneath his skin as he fucked you. Sweat began to gather between your bodies, your arousal dripping from your stretched out cunt.

‘Harder’ you panted, ‘harder … fuck.’ He upped his pace, slamming his cock into you, his pubic bone hitting your clit. He leant back onto his knees, holding you in place by your thighs. His fingers gripping onto you with a bruising force. You watched as he jaw fell slack, biting his lips as he hissed at the sight before him. You dropped a hand to your clit, your orgasm not coming fast enough.

‘That’s it’ he praised ‘look so good sweetheart, fuck.’ Burying your face in your arm you whimpered and moaned. ‘Don’t stop Keegan, oh god!’ Placing his forearms next to your head he dropped down, kissing your neck. ‘So fuckin beautiful’ he muttered, ‘you look so beautiful taking my cock.’ Eyes shut you smiled as you licked your lips, he always knew how to praise you.

‘M close’ you managed to say in between your moans. ‘Keep goin baby, lemme feel you.’ He cupped your jaw as he caressed his thumb over your bottom lip, urging you to lose your self. With one final strum against your clit you lost yourself. Your body seized as your cunt pulsated around him, his eyes glistened as he watched you. An expression of awe written over his features.

‘Eyes on me’ he ordered, doing as you were told you focused on him. Gripping your hips he upped his rhythm, chasing his own release. ‘Gonna fill you, gonna fill this pussy, fuuuck’ he moaned. Biting your lip you played with your breasts, tweaking your nipples, teasing him.

With a final thrust he threw his head back, releasing inside you. Hot ropes of cum lined your walls, his cock pulsated inside you as he rode out his high. He still slowly moved inside you, pushing and pulling, overstimulating you both. Torturing your aching bodies.

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, ‘can I stay?’ His voice hopeful. Cupping his face you kissed him deeply. ‘Yes. We’ll talk properly tomorrow.’

———

Taglist (y’all showed interest on my Keegan post) - @horsdutemps @lundenloves @sarcanti @averythang @tiredmetalenthusiast @kosmokenny

[dearest-dirt]

Keegan Russ is a biter.

Even if it's just the inside of his mask being caught between his teeth, when hes so cum-drunk and sex-dizzy that the world turns slow? He needs something to bite down on.

Loves going down on you, but the price you pay is the searing pain of his teeth clamping down on your thighs, leaving indents and red marks he will kiss better once you've cum. He'd bite every inch of your body if he could. The feeling of your lips caught between his teeth when you kiss is a narcotic to Keegan, and god is he an addict.

And when he's fucking you so deep you're seeing stars? He cums hard, and bites harder. Of course he tries not to break skin, but if you're left with a scar on your shoulder, you'll know it's a testament to just how desperate you turn him.

:) love good fuck good

[dearest-dirt]

Just Like You

pairing: SImon "Ghost" Riley x single mom reader word count: 1.6k summary: Ghost can't get used to the fact that he's your son's favorite person in the world, but damn- he's trying. ("You- You're me for Halloween??") a/n: this fic references the comics, so for those who didn't know: Joseph was Simon's nephew. Super angsty and fluffy. Simon bonding with your kid. beta read by @margowritesthings

masterlist

Leo loves Halloween. It’s your son’s favorite time of year. The five year old boy, with your help, worked incredibly hard on his costume, and he’s sure it's going to be the best costume on the block. You may be a little biased, but really, it’s very good. Leo has put extra effort into perfecting every detail of his costume, because this year is special.

It’s the first year that Simon will be accompanying Leo with trick or treat. Leo loves Simon to pieces– but Simon can’t figure out why. The soldier elicits fear from nearly everyone that he encounters, his mask makes children scream and run in the other direction. Hell, his mask makes adults piss themselves in the field. Many enemy soldiers have surrendered at the sight of Ghost running towards them. So Simon can’t wrap his head around the fact that his girlfriend’s little boy looks up at him like he’s the greatest person in the world. 

Simon is less than stellar with children. He tries, but he’s not entirely sure how to talk to them. He’s always a little awkward, generally avoiding children when he can, but this one seeks him out. Simon loves you more than anything, and he wants to form a relationship with Leo, he’s just not exactly sure how. He’s trying, for you and the boy. Leo’s biological dad is a piece of shit, which Simon has lived through, and he tries to shield the poor kid from that pain as much as possible. Maybe it’s because Leo reminds him so much of Tommy and Joseph, but your kid is special. 

–

“You ready, bud?” You ask, pulling a hoodie over your frame. It’s Simon’s and it’s oversized, stopping just above your knees. But it's comfortable, and late-October in Manchester is not. Immediately, you find yourself encompassed in its warmth and the smell of Simon’s cologne.

“Almost, mummy!” Leo yells from the bathroom. “Simon is gonna love this!”

You chuckle, “I know he will, baby.” You grab the fresh mug of tea from your nightstand and head down the carpeted stairs. Simon was to be here an hour before trick or treat. You check your watch. 18:00. As if on cue, the doorbell rings, sounding out loudly through your little home. Always punctual. Leo squeals out of excitement at the sound.

“Coming!” You holler, padding across the chilly living room towards the door. You jog lightly, causing a few drops of tea to spill over from the lip of your mug, dripping down to the floor and splashing against the hardwood floor. Ignoring the little mess, you pull the frosted glass door open. Simon is wearing his less civilian mask with the hard plastic skull face. You’d specifically requested that he wear it, though he wasn’t sure why.

“You can just come in, you know. You don’t have to ring the doorbell.” You chuckle, nodding for him to come in. He steps inside the door, hands softly gripping onto your waist as he kicks the door shut. 

“I told you to keep your door locked.” Simon raises an eyebrow, squeezing your waist. 

“Oh, right…” You hum, squinting your eyes as you recall that conversation, “I forgot.”

“Course you did, love.” Simon smirks, “Happy Halloween.” he says, and you chuckle, gripping his skull mask by the teeth and pushing it up over his face. His scarred lips are sporting a smile, and you kiss it away. It’s over all too quick as he pulls away, nodding towards the cup of tea in your hand. 

“The kettle’s still on, yeah?” He asks, pulling the mask back down over his face. 

“Yes, I’ll get you a cuppa.” You roll your eyes playfully. He’s cutting your kisses short for tea, something he’ll make up for later, you’re sure. Simon glances around the living room, noting the few abandoned truck toys that lie around the living room.

“Where’s Leo?” Simon asks, looking around the living room as you walk towards the kitchen. 

“He’s just finishing getting ready upstairs. Why don’t you go up? I'll bring your tea up.” You hum, grabbing a tea bag and Simon’s favorite mug. You hear heavy footsteps going up the stairs, and take that as his response. 

You shake your head, amused as you slowly pour the steaming water over the tea bag, watching it turn a rich brown. Once it’s properly mashed, you add his preferred amount of milk and sugar, and then carefully start up the stairs. Your footsteps are naturally much quieter than Simon’s, and with the added fact that you’re trying not to spill his tea, he doesn’t hear you coming up the steps. You reach the top, and stop dead in your tracks at the sight around the corner. Simon is walking towards Leo’s bedroom, but from the angle you’re at, you can see Leo hiding around the corner as if he's about to scare Simon. Leo is fully dressed in his Halloween costume, a little replica of the exact outfit Simon is currently wearing, skull mask and all.

“Boo!” Leo screams, rounding the corner that Simon was just about to go around.

Simon clutches his chest, jumping back a comical amount. Simon literally screams, attempting to sound terrified. Obviously Simon isn’t scared in the least, but Leo doesn’t know that. Simon lets the boy proudly think that his costume is scary enough to frighten the unshakeable. Leo’s smile is as bright as ever under his mask, and you grip the cup of tea a little tighter as a smile pulls at your own lips. Simon’s eyes are comically wide as he fakes terror for the young boy. Entirely satisfied with Simon’s reaction, Leo pulls his mask off, giggling madly. 

“It’s okay, Simon! It’s just me, don't be scared!” Leo giggles, jogging up towards Simon who is bent over at the waist, pretending to gasp for breath and holding his chest.

“Bloody hell, mate. You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Simon chuckles, scooping Leo up into his arms. Once settled on Simon’s hip, Leo holds the plastic mask up to Simon’s face. It’s an exact replica of the mask he’s currently wearing, just much smaller. 

“Look! I'm just like you for Halloween!” Leo smiles, showing Simon all the little details that he’d put into perfecting his mask. 

“You–” Simon’s brow furrows, “You’re me for Halloween?” He asks, piecing it all together. Leo holds the mask out to Simon, who takes it and looks over the smaller version of Ghost’s infamous skull mask. 

“Yep! Do you like it…?” Leo asks, sounding a bit worried. His little eyebrows pull together, and Simon is quick to reassure him. 

“I love it, mate. It’s perfect, looks just like mine.” Simon whispers. There is emotion in his voice, unusual for him, you note. Tears prick your eyes as Leo puts the mask back on, looking up at Simon. 

“I wanna be like you when I grow up.” Leo says, wrapping his little arms around Simon’s neck. 

“You’re gonna be better than me, Leo. Much better, yeah?” Simon whispers, looking the boy in the eyes. Leo nods, curling up against Simon’s chest. He rubs his hand up and down Leo’s back, comforting him. 

“You know, Leo, you remind me of a boy I used to know.” Simon mumbles in a rare show of emotional vulnerability, his eyes glazed over as he pats the boy’s back. 

“Who?” Leo asks, propping his chin on Simon’s chest to look up at him better. 

“Uh–” Simon hesitates. “His name was Joseph… He was my nephew.” Simon whispers, and your heart wrenches in your chest. 

“Maybe I could meet him someday and we could play.” Leo whispers, hopefully looking up. 

“Yeah. Maybe someday.” Is all Simon says, nodding lightly as old, ugly memories pull at his brain, ones he’d shoved out and burned long ago. 

“I love you, Simon.” Leo whispers, hugging his little arms as tightly around the man as he can manage. He pulls Simon out of every dark thought he was having, those three little words pulling at his heart strings. Simon hesitates, voice stuttering for a moment. 

“Yeah– I love you too, little mate.” Simon whispers, voice heavy with emotion.

“This is gonna be so much fun– Mummy even helped me with my costume!” Leo adds, unintentionally changing the subject. He creates a perfect time for you to announce your presence. 

You hastily wipe your eyes and walk up the last step, rounding the corner you were just hiding behind. You catch Simon off guard, and he turns to you, slowly placing the young boy back on the ground.

“I didn’t hear you come up.” Simon whispers, taking the mug from your outstretched hands. He’s far away, lost in thought. Leo runs down the hall to grab his treat bag as Simon wraps his arm around your waist. 

“Didn’t want to spill your cuppa.” You explain, resting your head on his chest for a moment. Leo comes back around the corner with his bag, excitedly waiting for trick or treat to begin.

You smile up at Simon, noticing a few little tear tracks running down through his eye black.

ghost taglist: @moths569

[dearest-dirt]

DRUNK READER x KEEGAN RUSS

Notes: i was bored so I wrote this, if y’all wanna request for Keegan or bbf!keegan (brothers bsf) i would have fun doing that, I’m really bored 😊

Warnings: drinking, nicknames/pet names idk, she/her pronouns

Summary: you are very loyal to your boyfriend Keegan, even when your drunk.

You had came into the bar just to loosen up a bit, Kick offered to buy you a drink and of course you wouldn’t turn it down, especially since you enjoyed having a drink with Kick, it always made for a good time.

Kick bought you a drink, you two sat there for a while, talking about how missions were going, how annoying reports would be, and training was a pain in the ass.

Soon one drunk turned into two, and two turned into three, and now you were finishing four. Like Kick offered, “a drink to loosen up”, you were most definitely loosened up right now. You both were.

Standing around, occasionally dancing swaying your hips to a song you liked, but it was simple things, you two were definitely not doing karaoke, or taking some shots of tequila to ease some more nerves, you two were definitely, definitely, relaxing and sitting at a booth.

By the time you two were totally tired from sitting around, and you two got up to walk around while another song began playing, more people and soldiers were in the bar, it was 8:05, and you were bored and lost Kick halfway through your walk around the place, so you went into the bathroom.

You almost forgot to lock the stall before doing your business, but you finished up and washed your hand and headed out the door, back to the now dimly colored lights, luckily you spotted kick again, he was a bit far away, but you didn’t pay attention and dragged your feet to him.

Your eyes dropped down slightly, you were beginning to think maybe you eased too many nerves, but you came up beside him before taking in the sight of three men in front of you.

Maybe kick wasn’t actually too drunk compared to you, considering he was having a completely normal conversation with the walker brothers and you could barely get a “hey, what’s up?” Out of your mouth.

Luckily someone could, “hey, I was wondering where you were” you heard a certain someone say, “hm?” you hummed as your eyes wandered, before Keegan lifted your chin with his finger. “you alright?” He asked as he tilted his head as he stared at you.

“uh, before you blame me for getting her too much to drink, I only ordered her one” Kick spoke up when you didn’t respond to Keegan’s question. Keegan’s eyes squinted for a moment before he looked back down at you.

Your brows were pinched together as you stared back at him, in your drunken state you didn’t recognize him, you wondered why he was saying what he said. “sweetheart? y’alright?” He asked again, his expression became a little more worried as he noticed your confused face.

“yyeah why?” You slurred, he chuckled at you, finding it very amusing how you looked, and what was even funnier to him was your speech. You’d always been very serious, quiet, cracking a joke here and there, but you sounded funny when you were drunk.

“maybe I should take her to her back to base” Keegan said glancing up at the three other men, suggesting would take you back to the barracks.

Kick laughed at you, while Logan snickered “yeah she looks like she’s had enough fun for the day” Hesh told him, suppressing a laugh, and Keegan chuckled as they stared at you, and your appearance.

Keegan nodded to them before wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you out the bar, you pushed him weakly, and he grew confused at your actions. “What sweetheart?” He asked, “leave me alone” you groaned, his brows perked up in surprise at your response, had you left something behind? He thought, why did you want him to leave you alone?

“what?” He smiled fondly at you, “I have a boyfriend!” you told him as you tried to push yourself out of his arm, the sentence made him laugh, as he pulled you closer, “what was that sweetheart?” He asked; smiling at you, “leave me alone, I have a boyfriend” you repeated, louder for him to hear over the music, though he could hear you very clearly.

“oh, really?” He asked knowingly, he was amused by your loyalty even in your state. You seemed to really not realize that he was your boyfriend, it made him love this even more as he thought it was so sweet that you were so loyal to him.

“really. he can beat you up so easily..” you trailed off as you blinked slowly, he smiled even more now, you seemed very confident in the fact that your boyfriend could beat him up.

“He can? I don’t see him right now, so why don’t you come with me sweetheart?” He said, playing along with whatever was going through your pretty head right now.

“He, he..” you said frowning a bit at the thought of Keegan not being with you. “He what sweetheart?” He asked, his smile dropped a little as he saw you frown.

“he could still beat you up easily” you looked back up at him, and his wide smile returned to his face. “Oo, he sounds very menacing” he nodded at you.

“Let’s go take a drive, then we can talk about your boyfriend” he offered and pulled you out of the building, and walked you over to his car, and opened the passenger door for you. You continued to be reluctant and pawing at him.

He picked you up and placed you in the seat himself, clicking the seatbelt in place, and you could barely even process anything he did other than put you in the car so you sat there pulling at the seatbelt.

“My boyfriends gonna be sooo mad at you” you slurred, as Keegan got in the car, and put they key in.

“Sure he will, I’ll deal with him, now relax princess, you don’t gotta worry about anything” he cooed as he put his seatbelt on and began driving back to base. You knocked out in the passenger seat in no time.

All of the team was gonna make fun of you for days and tell everyone they knew, you were so funny and pathetic when you were drunk.

—

(Bonussss😙)

The next morning you woke up on your bed with a massive headache but made your way to the washroom, you remembered yesterday in a blur, drinking, karaoke, but that was pretty much it.

When you walked out dressed and ready to head down and most likely get some pills to get rid of your migraine, Keegan came up beside you.

“So, whats that boyfriend of yours feeling right now?” He asked with a smile, you looked at him in confusion as you two walked down the halls, “what?” You asked readjusting your pants.

“Oh, sorry, I just remember you telling me that your boyfriend would be sooo mad at me for taking you for a drive” he reiterated, your brows furrowed before you recalled the conversation between you and Keegan last night.

“shut up Keegan” you told him and hurried through the doors to avoid Hesh’s teasing.

[dearest-dirt]

part-time psycho;

pairing: yandere!ghost x f!reader

wordcount: 1,921

warning: mentions of murder, implied cheating, jealousy, possessive behaviour

note: please understand this is fiction, i do not condone any of these behaviours irl (also on ao3)

summary: 

He’d be out drinking with his work friends, he said. Won’t drink too much because he had to drive home after, he said. You don’t have to pick him up because he doesn’t know what time he’ll be back, he said. Some of his friends might get super drunk and he might have to drive them home, he said.

Those were the things you remember him saying before he kissed you goodbye. 

You were roused from sleep by the sound of the front door slamming, and then people talking. There was an unfamiliar voice besides Simon’s, but you try not to listen too hard. But even your sleep-addled brain noted how odd that there were giggles and chuckles one moment and then… dead silence. Something felt wrong, the little voice in your head—the voice that kills people in horror movies, Simon would say—tells you to go check to see what it is. Groaning a little to shake the lethargy from your bones, you get out of bed and walk towards the stairs, but you only made it halfway down.

A woman was sitting on top of him, on the sofa. The woman Simon introduced you to months ago. His co-worker, his teammate, the person that has taken a bullet or two for him and vice versa. You can’t lie, she intimidated you from the very beginning. Their apparent closeness, their easy banter that you can never follow, the countless inside jokes, the way her hand always landed on him when she thought you weren’t looking, and her features. They were so similar to yours, and you don’t know which is worse, whether you came into his life first, or her.

Drowsiness left you as anxious dread seeps in. They spoke too quietly for you to hear, but you don’t care. Friends don’t sit on each other's laps like that, and certainly not facing one another. Feelings of inadequacy filled your mind as you walked briskly towards the front door and took off, grabbing whatever coat was on the hook. You just had to get out of there, far away from what you had just witnessed. Wiping the tears that blurred your vision, you notice your feet take you to the nearest pub, and you stand outside dumbly for a couple of seconds. 

That night was bitterly cold, and you wished you had taken a thicker coat. Putting your hands in your pocket, you realise you have no money. You didn’t take anything but the spare house keys, your phone, and the coat on your way out. The slippers you're wearing are the fuzzy kind meant for indoors. Digging in your pockets, you hoped past you left a couple of quid in there. You found two tenners in the inner pocket, and you shuffled inside to get a drink or two.

The pretty bartender with the large earrings noticed you immediately and asked whether you need help and if she should call the police. Glancing at the mirror behind the bar, you saw you were a complete and utter wreck and she was right to be worried. You made sure to convince her that you were just sad and not some victim of domestic abuse before ordering some shots. She gave you a worried look before grabbing the drinks.

You downed both drinks in quick succession as soon as they arrived. The first burn hadn’t even registered fully before you chased it with another one. Today’s not the day for sane choices and comfort, you need to dull the pain as quickly as you can.

It’s funny, being tipsy. Your brain doesn’t even know when it started, you suddenly are. It doesn’t matter much anymore that Simon had brought a woman that looks much like you home, you can live just fine without him. It’s not like he’s the best boyfriend anyway, he left so often and so long sometimes you don’t feel like lovers. Maybe he had already demoted you from that position long ago and you were too stupid and blind to notice.

It took you a while to realise someone was sitting next to you. Letting out a deep sigh that definitely lasted longer than you thought you could, you didn’t even have to look to know it was him.

“Will you be coming home tonight?”

You’ve heard this tone before. It’s the careful one he uses when he knows you’re upset. The voice that is laced with sympathy and understanding. But this time you don’t know if that question was borne out of malice or legitimate concern, so you ignored him. The glass of water that the pretty barkeep gave to you looks very interesting right now.

The silence stretched for a painful amount of time before it was Simon’s turn to sigh. “Would you believe me if I told you I was drunk and rejected her advances?”

You were bitterly reminded of how she was sitting on his lap earlier. How close her face had been to his. How her hands had been curling on his neck, and his hands probably sitting on her waist. You didn’t see or didn’t remember, but that’s where your mind placed it, the only logical place it could be.

He slid his car keys your way. “Wherever you’re going, at least take the car. Don’t take cabs this late at night.” And when you didn’t react, he left.

You left the pub after your fifth glass of water and a repeated play of Justin Bieber’s ‘Baby’—the staff were laughing while you heard one yell out profanities from the backroom—to check on the car. It suspiciously had your wallet, his hoodie, some cash haphazardly thrown on the front seat, and a large knife when you checked the glove box. You looked at your phone and mass texted your friends to see which one of them was awake and kind enough to let you crash at their place for the night.

One of your best friends replied, and you decided to go there immediately. They kindly offered their place for a week or two, but you ended up leaving on the second day. You had calmed down a little, and your friend suggested you talked this out instead of just making more and more assumptions in your head.

“The longer you’re not talking, the more your brain makes shit up.”

You joked that they just wanted you out asap and it ended up in a pillow fight that made you forget about your problems for a little while.

Driving home was the hardest. The scene keeps replaying in your head and your brain racks up the jealousy. How long have they been going behind your back? Is he just dating you because he can’t have her for some reason? Was whatever he was saying true, that he rejected her advances?

You found a parking spot not far from the house because for some reason you didn’t want him to see you coming.

As you opened the front door, you were met by two set of eyes looking bewildered at your direction. Simon’s arms were still on her waist while hers were draped over his shoulders.

Fuck these people.

Fuck him.

You threw Simon’s car keys on the floor and walked out, ignoring his pleas for you to wait and listen.

There was only one place to go now. Your parents. They welcomed you graciously, knowing you had a fight and wanting some space from your boyfriend even when you didn’t tell them at all about what happened. A week went by without any calls or texts from Simon, you decided it was time to go back and pack the fuck out of your stuff to live with your parents for a while. Why should you even think about being with him when he doesn’t even try to apologise. Living with your parents has reminded you what love could–should–be. Waking up next to each other every day, knowing they’re safe and within reach and not whatever it is you have with Simon where he goes missing for months at a time without contact. It was nice waking up to the sight of your parents chattering about, jokingly telling you to not burn the house down as they go to work, reminding you of your teenage years.

Thankfully Simon wasn’t home when you went to pack. It’s decided that you’ll only take your clothes for now and leave the paraphernalia for later. If you’re lucky, his job called while you were away and you can pack in peace.

But you weren’t so lucky.

“You’ve lost weight.” You jumped at the sound of his voice. Simon was a deathly quiet man when he needed to be. You didn’t hear the front door being open and shut or even his footsteps. He looked awful, his face unkempt with bloodshot eyes, his hair mussed, and his clothes dishevelled.

“I’m not wearing makeup so I look shit.” You retorted.

You had to look away as soon as you saw him bristle. He stayed silent for a while, his gaze focused on every facet of your face before going back to staring you down.

“Why are you lying?” His voice came as a quiet snarl, a low gruff that sounded like it hasn’t been used in days. 

“Because that’s also what you’re doing.” You threw the meanest look you could towards him, and you’d like to think that’s why he broke eye contact with you. Unable to help yourself, you continued, “Rejecting her advances my ass, Riley.”

Hearing his last name, he proceeded to cut across the room and reached for you, strong arms instantly curling around your waist as he turned you around to face the open armoire. You felt the need to run, to fight back, but what else could you do but submit? The man is 193 centimetres of pure trained muscles that can hold you full nelson for however long it takes him to fuck you in front of the mirror until he feels satisfied, while you run out of breath carrying the neighbour’s fat tabby for two minutes. You are a little rabbit at the mercy of a wolf.

Weak.

Pathetic.

“I'm truly sorry you had to see me when I tried to lure her into a false sense of security.” He pulled you even closer, your back gently bumping against his chest. “If I drove you to where her head is buried will you finally believe me?” 

Only half the words registered in your mind, “Simon this isn’t funny.”

Trying to wriggle away awarded you with a hiss and him nuzzling on the crook of your neck. 

“Wasn’t joking, love.”

“Simon.” You pleaded desperately. You felt sick. You knew he was a dangerous man, but he had told you, convinced you, that he would never hurt y–

Realisation hits in a revolting wave of nausea. He had never said he wouldn’t hurt others. “Simon?”

“Yes, dear?” He muttered, lips pressing intently against the sensitive parts of your ears.

His hold no longer felt safe, there’s desperation and a dangerous kind of hunger lingering underneath his touch. “D-did you keep a trophy? Of her, I mean.”

You think if he could just show you some sort of proof, you could somehow take it and just start running.

“Why the fuck,” Simon’s voice was suddenly laced with seething fury that you flinched in his arms. “Would I keep trophies of people that caused you pain?” His statement chilled you to your core and you stopped trembling for a moment. 

A choked, terrified whisper escaped you. “S-Simon?” Sickness curled your stomach, your knees buckled as you swayed. You don’t know when your Simon had left and replaced with this monster, or whether there was a Simon at all in the first place.

You felt his lips twitch and curl into a smile on the junction of your neck. "Yes, love?"

“Why was that plural?”