mayahah

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[mayahah]

[mayahah]

simon "ghost" riley as a caregiver <3

requested by @vampire-bat-baby!

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the ‘boyfriend soft launch’ with simon riley 🖤

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Follow me on Twitter link in bio!

Art request? message me on Twitter!

Reblogs are appreciated!!

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(rest on AO3)

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Tang-"It's-illegal-to-look-this-good"-erine ⤷ Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Bullet Train, 2022 | dir. David Leitch

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call of duty jokes

What's the difference between my porn stash and Call of Duty?

One is full of screaming 10 year old boys and the other is Call of Duty.

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My friends call me 007 when i play call of duty with them.

0 Kills

0 Assist

7 Deaths

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The corporate job brings MISERY with it...😢😓

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I am begging on hands and knees please write something about knight Ghost being sick and princess reader taking care of him.

PLEASE

OOOOOH ok maybe not sick, but how about injured?

Ghost hisses as you pull your thread tight, your needle held between deft, if shaking, fingers. You've read about wound treatment, even seen Ghost stitch himself up, but you've never had to deal with it yourself. He hardly looks at you, eyes glued to the pull of your needle through the skin on his side. His arm raised out of your way gives you a clear canvas to stitch, even as the wide expanse of his ribs expands and contracts with every loop. Your fingers are coated in his blood.

He's so firm under your hands. Well built and maintained muscle covers every inch of him. It's a shame to count the scars that litter his torso, or it should be. You have to keep yourself from running your fingers over the soft white scars that cover him like constellations of a life lived dangerously. It's too bad that this is your only moment of pleasure(small as it is) in this whole excursion, and it's coming at Ghost's expense.

"I'm sorry," You tell him for the hundredth time. This whole trip has been a nightmare. Diplomatic your ass, the next time someone needed to visit a warring neighbor you weren't volunteering. And now Ghost is hurt because you were wearing what was supposed to protect him.

"Don't be," He tells you, also for the hundredth time, "it was a lucky shot, won't happen again." You nod and tie off the last stitch. Ghost grunts, letting out a pained breath as you snip the thread, and tries to lower his arm. You stop him.

"I need to bandage it," You remind him.

"Beggars can't be choosers Princess, we gotta get moving." He pushes himself up onto his knees, and you wince watching his skin tug at your stitching, his wound oozing between the looped thread. You're quick to grab the hem of your dress as he stands, finding one of the seams and ripping it. Ghost freezes at the noise, looking down at you from his half stance.

He sits heavily back on the ground to watch you tear a length of cloth off your skirt. Almost curious, his eye heavy on you. He raises his arm again when you reach to loop the expensive fabric around his middle. The blood on your fingers hardly seems to make a dent in it when you see the way it clings to his wound, already soaking dark with his blood. You wrap a few more layers of it and tie off the makeshift bandage.

You stand when you've finished, Ghost's arm dropping back to his side as you enjoy the sway of your much shorter skirt as you do. This is nice, more ladies should wear their skirts at their knees. Ghost keeps his eyes on yours as you stand, unwilling to look at your immodesty. His hand however... His hand grips the back of your calf, slides up behind your knee, rough calloused fingers just grazing the back of your thigh so improperly far up your skirt. Well, up your usual skirt, here it seems he's just dipped above the ripped hem.

"I'm sorry," He rasps. His hand squeezes your soft flesh, enjoying the give of your skin the same way you enjoy the heated drag of his fingers.

"Don't be," You breathe. You keep your hands to yourself, though you ache to touch him. You don't want to sully your precious knight with any more blood than has already been shed. Ghost's hand moves from your leg to hold the tattered hem of your dress. He bows his head to kiss it, his eyes hot on yours. You feel a pang go through your heart, he looks good on his knees like this.

You do your best to control your breathing, school the heat on your cheeks, as he pushes himself to stand again. He leans carefully to grab his undershirt from the ground, and you watch the interlocked planes of muscle over his chest work as he pulls it over his head. His pain is quieter now, short breaths when he moves too quickly. Beautiful, you think as you watch him move.

"There's a stream nearby," He grunts, pulling his bloodied longsword from where he'd thrust it into the earth, "let's see if we can't get you cleaned up."

"I'm alright," You insist, your heart clenching tight at his care. How can he think of you when he's the one that's hurt?

"Got more of my blood on you than I do," He chuckles, holding out a hand for you. You hesitate to take it and his expression softens. "Come on sweetheart," He entreats, "A little blood won't scare me off."

He must be delirious, you tell yourself taking his hand. To call you something so affectionate so casually, as if he's called you that his whole life. You tuck it away in your heart to touch later when you're feeling especially masochistic. For now you let him lead you through the forest towards running water, so you can wash your hands of him before continuing your journey.

[mayahah]

[mayahah]

There's a little librarian in all of us. 📚