ghost-is-my-bbg

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

Okay… I hope this isn’t weird but I really do love cannibal kinks and the symbolism of giving oneself to the other for them to live but also… I like it when they’re deranged as hell.

I remember you talking about Ghost and how he’d definitely survive the apocalypse by going to cannibalism when food runs out and you’re so, so right.

I want to say he doesn't even wait for food to run out but that would be a lie, the man is utilitarian to his core. He stockpiles dry food, canned goods, he butchers the cow and deer he buys from farmers outside the city, stores them in his deep freeze (the one with its own generator). He has meat for months, rations for years, and yet as soon as shit hits the fan his shitty apartment in the city doesn't cut it the way he thought it would. There are too many people, too much noise, too much chaos. Not the sort he relishes in, the kind that crashes into buildings like a wave, attempting to shake their foundations like the horns of Jericho. It's a chaos he knows, the kind that always follows political upheaval, the kind that makes leaving the city feel less risky than sticking around.

So he packs what he can into his car, and to be fair he can pack quite a bit in there, and he gets the fuck out of the city. Takes the back roads, avoids highways and the city center. He pats himself on the back for getting something suited to rough terrain, remembers Soap complaining that he was bringing the military home with him. He finds a cabin out in the middle of the woods, remembers seeing a listing for it on some bnb website while the internet was still up, and hopes no one else had the same idea.

He avoids opening the freezer he managed to stuff in the back seat, digs a cup into a sack of beans, eats them just barely cooked while he checks the ropes on the generator strapped to the top of his car. He chews on jerky while he drives, tries to remember the farms in the area, reasons over whether or not he could nab a cow even just for the milk. Considers setting rabbit traps, nearly grabs a duck from a pond he drives past for the eggs, thinks better of it when he has the poor creature by the neck and isn't sure where he's supposed to put it in his crammed car.

All this to say he's fucking exhausted by the time he reaches the dark little cabin. Somehow all that sleep deprived insanity reaches a peak spotting your little sedan sitting between the trees, the flutter of someone peeking through the curtains... he hardly waits to unload his own vehicle before breaking the door down to see what a suddenly merciful God has granted him. Toys, he thinks to himself as you spit and kick and scream for someone to help, knew I forgot something.

The skin around his eye is starting to darken by the time he gets dinner on the table. Most of the fight went out of you at the promise of food, and you'd even been kind enough to help him get the freezer inside once he'd gotten the generator running. He'd have to get some of the trees around the place limbed up so the solar can keep it running, but he'll worry about that tomorrow.

"What's this," You sniff at the meat sitting nicely charred on your plate.

"Don't remember 'is name." Ghost smiles, the scars around his lips tugging the skin twisted. You grimace and push the plate away, your lip starting to wobble for a second time. "Eat," He tell you, "or it'll be you next."

You give him a long searching look, likely trying to see if he's serious. You must not like what you find, because you drag the plate close and start to pick at the meat. You do your best to hide the gag that nearly slips past your lips, choking down distinctly inhuman meat. Oh well, Ghost thinks, be easier to get you to eat it later.

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

“No.”

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

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

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

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

“It totally is.”

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

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

“Your face is wonderful, Johnny.”

“…But?”

“You in a mask is sexy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t serious, right?

He was incredibly serious, unfortunately.

“Happy Halloween, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

KISS THE MASK

౨ৎ — beware of mask kink, sensory overload, light breathplay, and unprotected sex.

you’re a fucking mess beneath him, legs spread wide, his thick cock splitting you open so good you can’t even think straight. simon’s got you pinned to the bed, one hand wrapped tight around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to make you dizzy with want—while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.

“fuck, look at you,” he growls, voice rough, muffled behind that damn mask. the one that drives you insane. the one you’re desperate to kiss, even though you can’t.

you whine, arching into him, nails scraping down his back as he fucks into you with deep, punishing strokes. “simon—please—”

“please what?” he taunts, grinding his hips in slow circles just to watch you squirm. “use your words, sweetheart.”

but you can’t. not when he’s hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, not when all you can focus on is the way his mask stretches over his lips, the faint hint of warmth beneath the fabric. you’re fucking obsessed.

so you reach up, fingers trembling, and grab the sides of his mask, pulling him down until your mouth is pressed sloppily against where his lips would be. you kiss him like a starving thing, open-mouthed and desperate, tongue dragging over the rough material like you could taste him through it.

he groans, low and filthy, his hips stuttering. “fuckin’ greedy, aren’t you?”

you nod, whining into the mask, sucking at the fabric like it’s his bottom lip. you can’t help it—you need more, need him closer, even if it’s just this.

he curses, snapping his hips harder, fucking you through the mattress. “that’s it, keep kissin’ me like that,” he rasps. “like you can’t fuckin’ get enough.”

you can’t. you really fucking can’t.

your moans are muffled against his mask, spit soaking the fabric as you cling to him, your cunt fluttering around his cock. you’re so close, so fucking close—

“gonna come?” he murmurs, voice dark with promise. “do it. come all over my cock, sweetheart. let me feel it.”

that’s all it takes. you shatter with a broken cry, body trembling as he fucks you through it, his own release following soon after with a rough groan.

when he finally pulls out, you’re still panting, lips swollen from kissing his mask like a slut. he chuckles, thumb brushing over your cheek. “fuckin’ insatiable.”

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

johnny can’t seem to make you cum. (18+ part2?)

you don’t know what it is, why it’s become so difficult, but nothing he does can change it.

sure, when he eats you out it feels good, kind of. i mean, he never touches your clit but his tongue is warm- sometimes.

and yeah his fingers are thick and he curls them every so often. but if he’d just, yeah, right th- fuck. he moves them again.

his dick matches johnny vibes, and it should feel heavenly, but you’re a little too dry when he slides in, and his pace is uneven, annoyingly sloppy in a way that feels weird. and he’s grunting a lot, like he’s low key in pain himself but won’t say anything.

by the end of each night you both go stiff and quiet. well, he does at least. you haven’t opened your mouth in the past hour and there’s a weird ache developing between your shoulder blades.

the air is tense, not even the sound of breathing noticeable. finally, you close your eyes, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “well, i think i’m gonna go back to my room. um, thanks for-“ you bite your lip. “yeah.”now your tongue is dryer than your cunt and you find yourself rolling over off of the bed and onto your feet. it’s cold in here, unnervingly so, and so you try to pretend the shiver in your bones is due to the thermostat.

johnny watches you awkwardly slip on your shirt and jeans, slipping an arm behind his head as he scratches his neck. you can see something in his eyes. it’s either awkward defeat or awkward satisfaction. almost impossible to tell.

“see ye tomorrow?”

you freeze, not even bothering to put your shoes and socks on. they just fumble into your fingers as you nod. “uh we can-we’ll see, i’ve got a busy schedule and i’m feeling kind of tired tonight.”

he laughs, it’s scratchy and weird, makes your stomach clench. “ach, it’s just cause i wore ye out bonnie, ye’ll change yer mind.” he’s gotta be joking. that smile on his face is just a cover up, he’s simply trying to stroke his own ego to keep from feeling like a shitty asshole. right? right??

the smile you give back is closed lipped, tight, and filled with another nights worth of regret.

“goodnight MacTavish.” you slip out the door with a touch of anger pooling in your gut, the cool hardwood curling around your toes and crawling up your spine. it makes you jerk, makes you run a hand over the top of your head, blinking away any sense of reality as you contemplate.

“fuck,” it’s a whisper into a darkened hallway that you hope swallows up the shame in your throat.

a drink. you need a drink.

the thoughts swarm before you even take a step, and by the time you reach the kitchen you’ve never been more grateful for beer.

because maybe, maybe it really is your fault.

you’ve never really been good with intimacy in the first place. inexperienced and timid, and matching that up with shitty ex partners, well, ding ding ding there’s an obvious winner in the ring because you fucking suck.

the beer is ice cold and goes down a little too smoothly, making you close your eyes.

the alcohol should help soon, but for now, you’re forcing breaths out of your nose, frustrated tears building in your waterline.

the foam swirls in your empty stomach, clarity reaching the confused glaze you’ve been covering yourself in. yeah, it’s you. always been you. every partner you’ve ever been with has done their best to please you. it never felt good because you were too picky (that’s what the last one told you at least) but really maybe he was right.

johnny has a big reputation for being the best fuck buddy there is. and the fact that you, specifically, can’t even seem to be remotely aroused, has to say something.

the beer feels too warm now despite the condensation trickling down your fingers, so you push it aside, running a trembling hand over your head yet again as you spin around.

the shoes in your hand go tumbling to the floor immediately, a yelp escaping your lips when you catch a glimpse of the shadow standing behind the counter.

tall and abnormally large. dressed in black from head to toe. the mere amount of space it takes up says enough, and it -he- reeks of dominance. if it wasn’t for the mask, you’d have pissed your pants probably.

“holy shit simon,” a hand falls to your chest, feeling the constant and erratic thump thump thump of your pulse. “you scared me.”

he cocks his head, fists clenching in and out in a rhythmic pattern, “sorry love,” his voice is like gravel, sending a weird pulse between your legs.

odd.

you force a small smile, picking as discreetly at your fingernails as you can. “what are you doing up this late?”

he glances down, clocks the action immediately and makes you drop your hands. “could ask you the same question, yeah?”

he steps into the dim light of the little oven lamp, eyes scrutinizing and stern. his gaze is sharp, demanding. you can’t help but swallow thickly, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on your shirt,

“oh- i was just, i woke up and my throat was dry so i thought i’d grab a drink.”

he blinks, slow, one more step toward the counter, closer to you yet separated by a mile of granite.

“and you thought a,” he tilts his head, looking around your shoulder. “that a Heineken, horrid choice, would uh-would satisfy that thirst you’ve got?”

you wring your hands together, something akin to anxiety fluttering in your belly. “well i-” you make out the raising of his eyebrows.

“spit it out.”

the words you don’t even have completely dissolve between your teeth, making you huff out a breath as your shoulders deflate. “just had a rough night, thought it might take the edge off a bit.”

he’s around the corner of the countertop now, still a few good few feet away but you can make the entirety of his physique out now. the way his black t-shirt stretches taut around disgustingly big biceps- like the fabric might snap if he even shifts wrong. the thick middle he holds, that leads down to even thicker thighs. his pecs are on display better than your tits in a good bra, and his hands, his neck, so thick and chewable. it makes your mouth water, makes something inside of you tingle. especially when you wander down to where his cock sits, the way his sweats make it painfully obvious that he’s totally not wearing-

“oi! eyes up ‘ere love.”

you snap back to reality with a burning feeling in your cheeks, one that makes you stick the backs of your hands against them to cool the warmth. “sorry! i wasn’t-i promise i’m not-” fuck, what happened to being able to fucking speak.

“quite olright, just wanted to talk t’ ya first before gettin’ to such formalities.” you think he’s smiling beneath the mask as he takes a few more steps forward.

“what do you want to talk about?”

he breathes, heavily, fist tapping on the counter. “said you had a rough night? how come?”

exactly that reason buddy boy, that stupid fucking word. cum.

“oh i-”

“and don’t, do not, lie to me.”

another flurry of something you don’t think you’ve ever felt before, it makes you swallow, barely able to meet his eyes but completely incapable of looking away either. eventually, you find some form of courage, and step forward to meet him, rest your elbows on the cool granite beside him.

“me and johnny, we’re, well not really him, mostly just me, anyway, there’s just been some issues. recently.”

fucccckk this is stupid.

“go on.”

you huff in annoyance, turning your head away from him before looking back ahead. “we’re not really a thing, just kind of, i guess supposed to be friends with benefits if you may, but the benefits part isn’t really- i don’t know what the problem is but i’m having a hard time feeling-” you struggle to find words that are eloquent enough to explain. this isn’t something normal to talk about right? there probably aren’t even words to describe what’s happening to you other than malfunctioning. “ah, i guess the only way to describe it would be to say everytime we get together to fuck nothing feels good. not the build up or the foreplay or the actual act itself. i’m just, i dunno, cold and kind of have a headache the whole time.”

you cringe at yourself, clenching your eyes shut as you rub them with the heels of your hand. “so i’m just, i don’t fucking know man. i’m-”

he cuts you off, voice nothing short of comforting. “frustrated.”

“yes! fuck, i’m so frustrated. i don’t know what’s wrong with me. it doesn’t matter who it is or what we do it’s always the same.” there’s the waterworks again, making you feel like someone entirely to young to be the age you are. “i can’t seem to ever make it feel right.”

all he does in response is grunt. caveman like in a way that makes you sigh. the sound draws you back though and makes you realize just exactly where you are, who you’re with, and what the hell you’re doing. “i know, I’m sorry. this is stupid.” you wipe your eyes, standing up straight and forcing even inhales. “i think it’s time for me to go to bed.” when you look at him, he’s impossible to read, which makes you even more anxious. “thank you for listening, i really appreciate it. goodnight.”

you turn to walk away, ready to feel the humiliation in the comfort of your own bunk, when you feel your wrist being engulfed and suddenly you’re being jerked around, dragged along behind simon as he starts walking.

“um simon what the-“

“hush y’r mouth and just walk.”

your heartbeat quickens in your chest, pulse throbbing in your neck. this was a mistake, you knew this was a mistake, you should’ve-

he moved quickly and stopped just as fast, the daze in your brain clearing when you see familiar numbers on the door beside you.

“uhhhhh, why are we at johnny’s room?”

he’s silent, hand still gripping your wrist, but he pulls the plain black balaclava he’s wearing above his nose, leaning down and brushing his lips against yours softer than you even knew was possible.

it stirs up something deep inside you, a cave you thought was hollow, but it arches you into him anyway, makes you take your free hand and put it against his neck. he does the same, finally letting go of your wrist to grab your hip.

fire lights your insides, makes your mouth move on primal instinct. this is a kiss much kinder than you deserve, and speaks to a level of simon you never thought you’d reach.

it’s an impassable wall he’s choosing to chisel down and make the perfect size hole in it to fit you through. and only you.

you make a noise, try to go in deeper, but he shortens it with a bite to your bottom lip, gently squeezes the flesh on your side in tandem with the hand on your neck.

“c’mon baby, can’t get you too worked up now.”

you widen your eyes, curiosity creeping throughout your veins. “and why not?”

he puts his hand on johnny’s door handle, cracks open the door before giving you one last kiss. he then moves his face to the corner of your mouth, nuzzling your cheek and putting warm, plump lips on the shell of your ear.

a shiver goes down the curve of your spine, sends you glazed over and pliant.

“somebody ‘ere needs to learn a lesson on pleasin’ a woman, and me, i’m gonna fix it.”

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

cotton candy clouds | masterlist

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samoyed (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts/personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; body dysmorphic disorder; dom/sub elements; slow-burnish; past trauma; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff/domesticity; humour; (forced) breeding; pregnancy trope; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Please mind the warnings for each chapter!)

☁ part 1; surprise

☁ part 2; pity

☁ part 3; no take-backsies

☁ part 4; medium rare

☁ part 5; wretched urges

☁ part 6; progress

☁ part 7; how to be a good handler

☁ part 8; in progress

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

How your men experience their first Father’s Day after you’ve given birth to the twins.  

The only ones who remember are Kyle and Johnny, because they’re still in contact with their families and actually care about their fathers—yet they’re oblivious to their own situation. 

They’re all fathers now, all four. It’s been decided since they made you theirs three years ago. 

Still, it’s surreal to them, the fact that they’re considered dads now, so they’re just as baffled as John and Simon when you suddenly go out of your way to make their day special despite your own exhaustion. 

John, who’s usually the first one up while the rest of the house is either eerily silent or filled with a snoring concert given by three other men, saunters into the kitchen after finding your spot in the martial bed empty and the nursery, too.  

His expression turns the slightest bit sour, not knowing where you and the babes have gone this early without telling anyone, though as soon as the smell of freshly brewed coffee and waffles hits his nostrils along with his favorite sounds reaches his ears—your gentle cooing and the adorable babbles of his babies—John Price is an absolute goner. 

Your eyes light up with glee as soon as you see his reaction. “Good morning, papa,” you greet him, standing behind the two highchairs of your babies, their chubby cheeks and mouths covered in waffle crumbs and mushed strawberry pieces. “Sleep well?” 

“I–” John’s chest feels terribly tight at the sight in front of him, how your eyes shine so brightly, and how his children smile their gummy smiles, babbling happily as soon as they notice him, too.  

“Your chipmunks are saying Happy first Father’s Day, daddy!”  

His throat clicks as he swallows hard trying to keep himself from tearing up. Words fail him as he stands there, love and gratitude blossoming fiercely in his chest and warming him up from the inside out until it burns in his fingertips and he can’t keep himself from approaching you and his babies, pulling you into a bear hug and kissing you slow and deep before smooching both his chipmunks’ chubby, sticky cheeks until they squeal. 

While John has breakfast and watches over the twins, you go upstairs after hearing the toilet flush. 

The ensuite bathroom door is cracked open; light spills into the bedroom, illuminating the silhouettes of Simon and Johnny still sleeping soundly in bed. 

It’s not easy to sneak up on a Special Forces operator, but somehow you manage while Kyle is bending over the sink, rinsing out his mouth after brushing his teeth, and his soul nearly leaves his body as he jumps and barks a high-pitched yelp. 

There’s some movement and rustling of bedsheets coming from behind, but your focus is on Kyle as you grin at him. 

“Bloody Christ, baby,” he curses under his breath, clutching his beating heart. “Nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

You chuckle, stepping up to him until your chests nearly touch. “Skittish, are we?” 

Droplets of water drip off his chin, nostrils flaring as he glares at you for a few seconds—until his lips split into a bedazzling smile and his hazel eyes light up like fireworks in the night sky. 

“Cheeky minx,” he chuckles whilst slinging an arm around your waist to pull you flush against his solid frame. “G’mornin’.” 

You’re swift to reciprocate the embrace, wrapping your arms around his midriff before nuzzling against his sternum while warmth and the smell of sleep and comfort are still clinging to him. 

“Good morning, baby.” You mumble into his shirt. “Happy Father’s Day. I already made a special breakfast for my sweet, sexy hubbies.” 

But Kyle’s brain has already short-circuited as he realizes what day today is, and his fingers flex around your waist, needing to ground himself as his heart flutters rapidly in his chest, full of love and awe for the extraordinary little family he’s claimed for himself.  

And he embraces you tighter, burying his nose into the crown of your hair with a sigh. 

“Thank you, my love.” 

When Kyle parts from you, though not without another lingering smooch to your lips after absolutely railing your mouth with his swift tongue, to go downstairs to see his precious babies, you pad into the still semi-dark bedroom instead, crawling onto the custom-built bed toward the source of gravelly snoring. 

Simon must have snuck out while you were busy with Kyle, because now it’s only Johnny in bed, still splayed out on his stomach and with his head buried under his pillow. 

“Johnny,” you croon against his neck before playfully biting into the delicious thickness of his nape, eliciting a soft hum that dissolves into a whine when his body begins to stir. “Wakey, wakey, Johnny.” 

“Mhmmmpf–uuuck.” He burrows deeper under the pillow but pads his burly hand across the mattress uncoordinatedly, trying to snatch you up blindly. “Jus’ c’mere, hen.” 

A shriek escapes you when he does manage to catch your wrist only to roll onto his side and pull you in with ease, murmuring into your hair: “Thought ye could escape me, hm?” He chuckles darkly. “Nae.” His voice is even more attractive like this, rough and rich, hot gun oil dripping over gravel. It causes your thighs to squeeze together, and your breath hitch when arousal pools into the gusset of your panties while his limbs coil around you like a bloody snake. 

You tap out against his forearm that is now tucked under your chin. “I yield, J-Johnny!” He laughs again, a little louder when you bite into his arm, tugging on coarse body hairs.  

“S’tha’ how ye alway gonna wake me up on ma special day, duckie?” he coos, tightening his hold as you try to squirm only to end up mewling pathetically—which you’re aware is already a dangerous sound to make around Johnny. “Gonna make me a da again, hm? Want me ta fuck ye while our boys are havin’ a cuppa?” You can’t bite your lip hard enough to keep in your moan as he grinds the swelling bulge inside his boxers against your rear. “Have ye waddle ‘round the house while ye carryin’ our babe again?” 

Once you mew out a pathetic little ‘yes, daddy’, it’s over for you.  

By the time you’re able to walk and somewhat presentable again, Johnny is whistling a merry tune under the shower while you clutch the stair-rail as you make your way downstairs once more. 

John is reading the newspaper at the head of the kitchen table, still sipping on a coffee, Kyle is seated across from him, scrolling on his phone while nibbling on a buttered toast, and the twins are nowhere to be seen. 

“Had fun, baby?” Kyle asks cheekily while you blink away the post-orgasm daze. “Where are our children?” 

“Hm?” The newspaper crinkles when John peeks over the edge at you, the crunch of Kyle biting into his toast filling the tense silence before you gesture at the empty highchairs. “Our babies? They can barely walk, so I feel stupid to ask where did they go.” 

“Ah,” Kyle chimes in, wiping crumbs from his mouth. “Simon,” he swallows thickly, “said he’ll put ‘em down f’nap time.” 

“By himself?” you ask incredulously, brows furrowing. “They’re blessed with three daddies and–” 

“Darlin’,” John cuts you off before you can go on a rant, and your lips shut as you meet his stern, steel blue gaze. “Simon needs a moment alone with them. Okay?” 

Now that really shuts you up, and you nod after a moment, feeling utterly stupid for not even considering that today could mean even more to Simon than it does to your other husbands. 

The kitchen becomes livelier when Johnny joins the bunch; mohawk still damp, rocking sweats and a muscle shirt along with a shit-eating grin. He places a wet peck on your cheek before cupping your jaw and turning your face for a proper kiss. 

“Woah, woah, haven’t ya had enough yet, Tav?” Kyle complains, coming up behind you two while John watches in amusement. “Never,” Johnny retorts with a snort before grabbing Kyle by the back of his neck and crashing their mouth together in a bruising kiss—all while you can merely squeak at John for help, sandwiched between their bulky bodies. 

When you manage to escape the usual kitchen chaos, you make your way upstairs, coming to a soft stop in front of the door to the nursery. As you press your ear to the wooden door, you can hear the low murmur of Simon’s voice, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. 

The door creaks the slightest bit as you open it carefully to slip inside, and the sight that greets you nearly takes your breath away by the way your heart clenches so tightly. 

Simon is standing by the twins' cribs with his back turned towards you, his massive frame barely illuminated by the soft glow of the teddy bear night lamp on the nearby commode. 

He’s simply been talking to his babies. 

Slowly, you approach him on socked feet, your steps nearly silent on the plush carpet except for the trademark crack of one of your knees. As soon as you’re close enough, you embrace him from behind and rest your cheek against his shoulder blade while he slowly starts melting against you. 

“You deserve it just as much, Si,” you whisper, tightening your arms as best as you can. “Happy Father’s Day.” 

And you can feel how he inhales sharply, how his body tenses for a few seconds, before he relaxes again. The click of his throat loud in the otherwise quiet room as he swallows thickly, cupping his larger hands over yours and intertwining your fingers. 

“Thank–Thank you, lovie,” he sniffles quietly. 

And you both end up watching your beautiful babies sleep peacefully. 

I know it's too early, but Father's Day was last week here in Germany, so—Happy Father's Day! ❤️

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

happy pride to tom ”i’m an actor, of course i’ve had gay sex” hardy

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

Simon fucking you in the heat of the moment type deal and you not realizing how big he is but you take it anyways despite it being kinda uncomfy and not finishing but pretending to. And cuz it's all heat of the moment he doesn't realize bc he's kissing you and everything.

Bear with me,

Then for like two days you don't really sit down and when anyone notices you blame it on sleeping funny and that sitting would put you in the position you were in when you "slept funny" and its convincing enough that no one questions it much.

Then like a week later you're all out drinking and somehow smth about moments of sex you'd rather not experience again or smth idfk, and so you end up mentioning it, but not saying it was with him and maybe Johnny asks if you finished and you just silently take a drink, feeling the Lieutenant staring at you and you think he's mad bc you just admitted to faking.

But no, when he gets you alone he takes you into the bathroom and eats you out to make up for it and scolds you for not telling him and, "Next time I'll 'ave you begging f'me not to pull out."

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

Johnathan Price fucking you while he makes you recite your wedding vows all over again because you were being a brat and telling him how you hate him.

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

18+ mdni | cw: transman!Simon Riley x fem!Reader; hybrid/handler dynamics; established relationship; heats

Your sweet cat hybrid Simon, who goes into heat while you, his handler, are running errands all day. As soon as you finally return home, you're greeted with a needy meowing—and a sight to behold once you step into the bedroom, his scent already thick in the air.

There he is, squirming and writhing on the drenched bedsheets, pale skin flushed and sweaty, tawny eyes hooded with lust, black tail curling and bristling with excitement as he spreads his thick thighs for you, presenting his pink, puffy pussy, his engorged clit twitching in anticipation.

"Oh, lookit that," you coo, dropping your bag on the floor while his ears twitch with another mewl. "My pretty, pretty boy, all wet and desperate for me, hm? I'm so sorry for being so late."

Simon purrs hoarsely, strong chest rumbling with the sound, hoping his little presentation is enough to coax you into fucking him stupid with your strap.

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

fire fighter! simon riley x single mom! reader

simon being completely enamoured by the pretty single mom that volunteered at the fire station with free lunch every friday.

pure fluff, mentions of burns and scars - might do a part 2 and not proof read teehee

he was a man of discipline - of routine, and hard work and yet he was currently staring at you moving around swiftly as she handed out cookies like a love sick boy. his eyes seemed to follow your every move, how you seamlessly interacted with his coworkers and even the other parents and children.

of course, his interest didn’t go unnoticed by his captain, price who gave him a sly smile before nudging him slightly.

“she’s single for if you want to make a move and stop ogling her.”

if looks could kill price would be six feet underground.

he couldn’t make a move, not when you were the complete opposite of him. you were the like sun, beaming no matter what as you platted each meal, you were always so positive, so selfless no matter what.

simon was convinced that someone as dark and troubled as him would dim your light, scars and burns on his body that were so ugly and gruesome it almost felt blasphemous to touch you.

“si? want some lunch?” your soft melodic voice breaking him out of his trance, you always had a way of making him spell bound, like a siren.

he shook his head with a small attempted smile. “‘m not that hungry.”

but he was really fucking hungry. though he was convinced that if he ate your food he would be addicted, begging for more.

“but fire fighters need energy!” a small high pitch voice spoke up, your daughter. “mama makes good food, try it pretty please?” her eyes wide and pleading, her small lips jutted out in a determined pout.

simon cleared his throat, “i guess a little bit won’t hurt.”

oh it wasn’t just a little bit. he came back for seconds, thirds, fourth.

simon ate like a man starved, his fork scraping against the plate as he finished it again. “told you mama’s food is the best!” your daughter beamed as she perched herself up on the step next to him, her feet swinging in the air whilst simon’s were extended out. the size difference was comical.

her gaze drifted over his uniform, her eyes wide and curious. “what’s this?” her small chubby finger pointing to his scarred hand. instinctively, he pulled his sleeves over them, shielding something so dark and ugly from her innocent eyes. “‘s nothing, kid.”

“does it hurt?” she asked, completely oblivious to simon’s insecurity. he shook his head “doesn’t hurt anymore

white lie. god, it hurts so bad not physically but emotionally. sometimes he couldn’t even stand staring at his hands, purposely trying to cover them up with gloves but it irritated the uneven skin which made it even worse.

“hey, you shouldn’t be asking questions like that missy,” you playfully narrowing your eyes at your daughter who smiled sheepishly. “thought i’d taught you better than to pry into peoples personal lives.” you raised a brow at the smaller girl whose eyes were crinkling due to her cheesy smile. “gotta go get food!” she giggled as she ran, well stumbled away.

“sorry about that, she’s a curious little thing,” your eyes glued to her as she asked another volunteer for more food. simon chuckled lowly, “‘s alright, got good intentions.”

simon’s heart felt like it was going to explode, it was never heated this fast, not even during the missions where he thought he was going to die. he felt so aware of everything, secretly hoping you didn’t notice how he was hiding his scars.

you cleared your throat, pulling something out of your pockets. “i got you something,” your tone soft and shy, completely different to what simon was used to.

gloves.

“i heard cotton is good for sensitive skin, so i thought it would be appropriate for you.”

god, what did he do to deserve you?

“if you don’t want it it’s fine, i don’t want to cross any boundaries-“

but before you could even finish he took them from your hands, putting them on. “they’re amazing,” his hands flexing under the material as he tried them on. he felt like a school boy who was talking to a girl the first time, his mind completely blank.

“do yer wanna grab sum coffee with me?”

tag list:

@happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty @tessakate @kayden666 @ghostsd8s @ama-eve @webmvie @your-internet-tenshi @novthewolf @1ilo @simpingreader @angeldoll1e @avgdestitute @anonymouse1807 @chaieanne @i-live-in-spite

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

better than home (kidnapper!simon) - you had seen enough horror movies to know that being kidnapped meant being on the news, being butchered, and being a cold case. but simon wasn't like that. except for the bruises he left when he took you, his touch had gentle. kind in a way that someone would brush their cat.

you flinched under his touch, but he just simply shushed you. "not gonna break a thing on ya, angel." that was his name for you. angel. he said that it was like you were given to him fro heaven, "if i do, i give ya the right to put a knife between my ribs."

it was unnerving to say the least. in the tiny home you both shared, locks on the windows, you had never seen a front door that needed a key to unlock from the outside. you tried getting out, but simon was simply so much bigger and stronger, that he didn't need to hurt you herd you back into a safer place.

"don't need to think about much anymore. safer here." he said in his gruff voice. you didn't know what kind of life this man had lived, but with the hunting knife on the coffee table, the well-used rifle over the fireplace and the old army formals in his closet. you knew that there was a story.

it didn't sink in till the first week, but you didn't have to worry about anything. you moved through the house on your own, when you scurried into rooms simon sometimes didn't follow. it was like he was bird-watching. keeping a close eye and admiring you. except you weren't exactly a free bird, rather a delicate beauty in a shiny cage.

you were surprised that simon had your favourite snacks in the pantry, even the same brand of plant-based milk you enjoyed. it was like he knew everything about you, and yet he was a total mystery.

"scary world out there." simon said, kept his distance from you in the recliner while you were curled up in the couch. you had taken a liking to a black and white checkered flannel blanket. it reminded you of the one back home, that you wondered if he just broke in a took it. he eyed you, which made it hard to read one of your many books, "pretty things like you need to be protected... bad men out there." as if this massive mountain of a man wasn't one of those so-called bad men.

you were in no place to argue. you still felt like you were in a spring locked trap and one wrong move would have it clamped down on you. that this was just some sick game before simon buried your body in the field behind the house.

"when can i go home?" you asked, finding your voice.

"this is better than home."

"are you going to kill me?" you asked before you swallowed the lump in your throat.

he shook his head, "no, ma'am. never." sounded like wedding vows rather than an answer. your curiosity only grew with each day. when you finished the books he brought you, he simply put them back in a bag and returned them from where they came from and came back with new ones.

"saw them on the shelf at the library, thought a woman like you would like them." he gave a curt nod as he dropped the canvas bag by your little nest of blankets on the floor by the television. you hadn't been able to watch television yet. primarily busied with sleeping, books, puzzles and notebooks where you had been writing.

and while it started a journal in the event the police found you. it had become more about fictional stories. for your personal pleasure. you thought about being a writer as a child, but the grind of corporate work in your adulthood seemed to dash that dream.

"next time." you said, feeling a little bold, "can you get some science fiction books too...." it felt uneasy to make any demands. he was your captor.

"well then, angel. be good for me then." he said, smiled under that mask. you looked over and made a face at him. you scampered off back into your nest of books and puzzles. maybe he was right, this was better than home. <3

a/n: this is unwell, i hope you enjoyed it. thank you!!

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

۶ৎ . . . 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬.

it’s like 3 AM when you randomly wake up. simon’s passed out next to you, doing that soft snoring thing he swears he doesn’t do. the room’s kinda bright from the moon, and you can see all his scars—the gnarly one on his ribs, that weird circle on his shoulder, the line across his collarbone.

you just lie there thinking about all the shit he’s been through.

so you lean over and kiss his shoulder scar. super gentle, not like when you’re both worked up and going at it. this is different. soft. real.

you keep going, giving each scar a little peck. it’s your way of saying i see you, all of you, and i’m not going anywhere.

simon shifts and opens his eyes—does that thing where he goes from dead asleep to alert in like half a second. but then he sees it’s you and his whole face changes. goes all soft in that way that would probably shock the hell out of anyone who knows him.

“what’re you doing?” he mumbles, voice all gravelly.

“loving on you,” you whisper.

and this tough-as-nails guy who literally faces death for a living? he fucking melts. his hand comes up to touch your face, and he looks at you like you hung the damn moon.

this is the side of him nobody else gets. just you.

when he’s off doing whatever classified shit he does, when he can’s tell you where he is or when he’ll be back—this is what keeps him going. knowing you’re here, loving every busted-up piece of him. his sweet thing. his everything.

his whole reason for making it home.

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

some self indulgent angst lol

looking back, he’d shown interest in you. flirted with you, spent his free time with you, inside jokes between the pair of you. even everyone on base said he fancied you, but you just assumed he wanted a quick fuck and then the friendship you’d grown way to fond of would disappear

but then simon moved base, his 15 deployment with your team was over and now he’s with a whole new squad of people. such is military life

but now you’ve been replaced. by her.

you’d stop hearing from him. his usual texts have become monthly and on the chance you respond, you’re left on delivered for days. so you’ve just given up trying to maintain this long distance ‘friendship’

then you began to hear reports from people on your base returning from mission with his new team

‘ghosts new girl looks just like you’

it’s not hard for you to find her. whilst ghost doesn’t use social media, she apparently does. you’re ashamed to admit it, but you spend hours obsessing over what slivers of content you can find on her

and they’re right. she does look like you, but better. clearer skin, fuller figure, prettier smile. and it soon begins to make sense to you why you stopped hearing from him. he’s getting what he wanted from you somewhere else

and it’s too late

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

more blunt!simon because he’s hot

he doesn’t even look up from his phone when he says it.

just sprawled across the couch, one arm behind his head, legs spread like he’s on a throne instead of a beat-up cushion that still smells like smoke and sweat.

“ya know, if you’re gonna walk around like that, you oughta be ready to get fucked.”

you freeze. halfway across the living room, wearing nothing but a big t-shirt and the tiniest pair of shorts you forgot you even owned.

“like what?” you ask, already feeling the heat crawl up your throat.

he finally lifts his gaze.

smirks.

“like a mouth-watering little tease,” he says. “jesus. i can see the crease of your pussy from here.”

you make a shocked sound—half gasp, half laugh—and wrap your arms around yourself like that’ll help.

he scoffs.

“don’t act shy. you bent over the fridge earlier like you wanted me to notice. ass all high, thighs squeezin’ together like you were tryna get off on the cold air.”

you open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, lazy and cruel.

“if i pulled your shorts down right now, you’d be wet already. bet your fuckin’ panties are stickin’ to you.”

you stare. breath caught in your chest.

he grins wider.

“c’mon. lemme see. won’t even touch. just wanna take a look. see if i’m right.”

his eyes drop, heavy-lidded and hungry.

“you do like it when i talk like this, huh? your nipples are hard.”

you cross your arms tighter, turn to walk away, but his voice chases after you—

low and amused and absolutely depraved.

“run off if you want. just know the second i hear that shower start, i’m gonna be sittin’ here jerkin’ off with the door open. loud. so you know what you did to me.”

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

Survival Of The Fittest// Part 1

Summary: Civil wars broke out after birth rates continued to drop. Fewer and fewer alphas being born and even fewer omegas. Governments around the world argued over how to handle the situation, as well as over the rights omegas should be allowed over their own bodies. Reader is now left trying to survive the fallout. No more scent suppressants, no more heat delay meds or birth control. Without laws and consequences, what stops people from being the worst versions of themselves? From holding themselves back from temptation?

Warnings: omegaverse, (first time attempting to write it) eventual smut, injuries, blood, gore, killing/death. Poorly edited. Let me know if I missed anything:)

No one wants to be alone, not truly. Not when you’re required to be on guard 24/7, never able to let yourself rest peacefully. Not when the snap of a twig or the sound of gravel crunching is the equivalent to alarm bells blaring. A siren of death approaching if you’re not careful. Always having to be aware of your surroundings and noting exit points in case of emergency. Always planning ten steps ahead, but knowing that at any time those strategic plans could be disrupted and made useless.

There is nothing more dangerous than a man fueled by anger and hate, with the audacity to claim superiority over others.

Being a female omega in a world that came to ruin by men who burned down buildings and piled bodies in the streets to establish power and control over women is the horrifying reality you now live. No government remains. The world is now left with armed groups of individuals with one track minds and beliefs fighting amongst themselves for what scraps and livable land remains.

Belonging to a group reinforced with the weapons and tools to protect themselves, behind walls to rest behind as safely as anyone can be granted nowadays, would be glorious. But as an omega that’s not a luxury you can afford to take a chance on. With no way to hide your designation you might as well just run through the streets advertising to be used and abused.

No, the only person left you can trust is yourself. Even other omegas who’ve already been captured are used as bait to lure in lone omegas to wanting groups with false promises of safety, food and shelter.

That doesn't mean your inner omega doesn’t yearn for a pack of her own, for alphas to provide and protect her. Tampering down that burning need is hell.

The one silver lining to all the stress you’ve been under during the last year since the collapse of civilization is your hormones being all out of whack. Your body naturally suppressed its basic needs in order to survive. You can feel it though. That bone deep need crawling beneath your skin scratching to be released.

You feel it now as you stand at the back entrance of some mini gas station you found near the end of the town you’d been passing through. Methodically you scan the graffitied walls with near empty shelves and the few narrow aisles. Declaring the space clear of any threats, you venture farther inside checking out what little items haven’t been grabbed already, glass crunching underfoot.

There’s a handful of individually wrapped pepperoni sticks, a pack of cheese ritz crackers, and a small bag of salt and vinegar chips up by the cash register that you immediately grab and toss into your backpack. You find a couple bottles of flavoured vitamin water in a box by the drink refrigerator, they must've been there to restock the ones inside before the store was abandoned. Quickly and quietly you finish sweeping the remainder of the store and throw what other useful items found into your bag.

This should help tie me over for a week at best. You think to yourself.

You’ve gotten good at living off a very little amount of food a day to ration out what you have. There’s no promise of replacing what you use quickly or by the time you run out. So if going a day without eating and pushing your body as far it can before eating again means food lasts a little longer, so be it.

In the ideal scenario you’d find enough supplies to last you for a longer period of time. You’d like to go deep into the woods and build a shelter to settle down for a bit. Maybe plant a garden to sustain yourself while also hunting small animals. Build a nest to lay in at night. But that’d take time you don’t currently have to spare.

You continue down the road you’d been travelling on previously for what feels like hours. Long enough that you begin to lose light as the sun sets. Originally you’d planned to go deeper into the woods before darkness took over to hide from the monsters that come out at night. Men hunting for prey such as yourself. But before you decide to turn left towards the thick coat of trees, you spot just a little farther ahead in the distance— the peak of a tall tower.

You huff out a breath and mutter; Why the hell not?

Taking long, fast strides you’re able to make to the bottom of what you now realize is a watch tower just before the sky turns dark. What you guess is about 50 feet from the tower, is a run down and empty looking military base fenced in by a tall barbed wire fence.

You’re not naive enough to go wandering inside. Even if the military technically isn’t a functioning force anymore, that doesn’t mean surviving soldiers or even regular people aren’t taking refuge inside those sturdy and defensive walls.

With it being almost pitch black out, you stick with the safer choice of climbing up the watchtower for the night. At least this way you’ll have an easier time keeping an eye out for any possible threats and hopefully with being so high up, any of your scent that the wind blows won’t be picked up by them either. You’ll only stay long enough to rest your body for a bit. Just long enough to give your throbbing feet a much needed break after walking so much today. If there is anyone in that base, you should be long gone before they even notice you were here.