#Cod Ghost

[keeganrussmybeloved]

OMG I REMEMBER TAKING A PICTURE OF GHOST IN THIS SCENE WHEN I FIRST SAW THE TRAILER!!!

"Runnin' ovah these narco's arses" 😒☕️

Skills include: Off-road "driving"

[codnasties]

p!link collection 7 👻🚬🧢🧼🪦🗡🐺🦿🇷🇺🤠🕶⚔️ (🌽 links)

ghost 👻

ghost knows you are a nasty little bitch, so he ain't going to stop you from making a mess when sucking him off

ghost will be forcing you to say thank you for fucking you so good as he's balls deep inside

he will fuck you in a place where you know you csn't be loud, just becuse ghost is mean fucker -mlm-

ghost likes pulling your panties to the side as if your cunt were a present he's about to get a taste of

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

price 🚬

when you've been a brat, price doesn't even want to hear your moans, gagging you with your panties

price loves lace, specially when he has them around his cock while you hump it

price giving himself his biggest orgasm ever by experimenting with a pump

good thing price has you to jerk him off when he needs to release a bit of tension

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

gaz 🧢

some of gaz's military issued balaclavas end up getting used in bed for kinky scenarios

gaz eats messy, until his whole face is covered in spit, arousal and cum

gaz having hyperspermia means getting videos of him draining his balls every few hours

gaz will have you ride his cock until you become a creamy mess and your legs are shaking

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

soap 🧼

soap's favourite pastime is playing with your pussy and fingering you until you squirt

johnny is a dog but he sometimes needs to take things slow and fuck you passionately

oh to have soap turning into a whiny mess as you finger him

soap wants kids, so he makes sure to breed you nicely every time he fucks you

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

graves 🪦

graves gives immaculate backshots - and he gets a good view of your ass -

graves is not ove for begging but he will if it means having you sit on his face

graves also left the military because of fraternization rules aka he couldn't fuck your sweet ass -mlm-

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

konig 🗡

konig latching onto your tits as you play with his cock like the good boy he is

more hyperspermia konig, because he definitely loves covering your body with his cum

while konig ends up with his hand down your pants 'mistakenly' he every so often, he sometimes does it on purpose

konig is right where he wants to be: keeling at your feet and sucking on your bulbous tip -mlm-

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

makarov 🐺

makarov will find new ways to tease you, like using a brush on your poor sensitive clit

makaraov will bend you like a lawn chair and use you like fleshlight

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

alejandro🤠

alejandro will fuck you dumb if he gets into one of those silly horny moods

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

alex 🦿

alex may goof around in bed, but not when it comes to eating your pussy out

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

nikolai 🇷🇺

nikolai built little collection of homemade videos of him fucking you dumb

i would may good money just to watch nikolai's thick hairy ass jerking off

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

barrage 🕶

cuddle up to barrage as you jerk him off and he will be yours forever

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

valeria ⚔️

valeria got gifted one of those pearl things as a joke but they turn out to be amazing -wlw-

[cybervoid-art]

neck kissies for the boyfriend

[emmster]

It’s been a bit

[shushsuhshuh]

aw this is so cuteeee

Part 3 of fuck buddies with Simon

You didn’t wear anything fancy. Just jeans, a sweater you didn’t have to think too hard about, and your hair pulled back because you didn’t have the energy to fight with it.

You weren’t even sure why you texted him. It was impulsive, sort of. A moment of weakness, maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t weak at all—maybe it was brave, letting him back in even just a little. You told yourself it was just coffee. Just a talk. Just two people who used to mean something meeting up like civil adults.

But your hands were shaking a little on the steering wheel the whole way there.

You parked down the block from the coffee shop, needing the walk to settle your nerves. It didn’t help. Your stomach was twisting up like it always used to when he’d come over—when you didn’t know if he was going to be gentle or cold, if he’d stay the night or leave without a word. You hated that the nerves felt the same now, even after everything.

When you pushed open the door to the café, the little bell overhead jingled like something out of a movie. And there he was—already sitting at a table near the window, back straight, fingers wrapped around a cup. He looked up as soon as you walked in, like he’d been watching for you, like he hadn’t taken his eyes off the door since he sat down.

And he smiled.

But something about it made your chest tighten. Your legs felt suddenly heavy, and you paused just inside the door, your fingers curling in the sleeves of your sweater like you needed something to hold onto. You stood there for maybe three seconds—maybe four—and then you turned around.

You couldn’t do this. You thought you could, but you couldn’t. Not when your heart felt like it was ready to give itself away again, not when your head was screaming that he could still break you with a single word.

Your phone was already in your hand as you pushed back out into the street, your fingers moving fast.

I’m sorry. I can’t do this.

You hit send, and at the exact moment, it started to rain.

Of course it did.

It wasn’t even dramatic rain—just that soaking kind that gets into your clothes and hair and makes your shoes squish with every step. You didn’t have an umbrella, nor have the presence of mind to pull your hood up. You just walked fast. Like if you could get far enough away, none of this would feel so raw.

And then you felt it—arms wrapping around you from behind, firm but not forceful. Strong, familiar, and warm, even through the wet fabric of your jacket.

“Don’t go,” Simon said, his voice low and right against your ear. “Please, just… don’t walk away again. Not like this.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You couldn’t. Your whole body was tense, like you were stuck between wanting to lean back into him and wanting to shove him off.

“I get why you left,” he said, and his voice was a little shaky now. “I deserved it. I didn’t give you anything to hold onto. I made you feel like you were just... convenient. And I fucking hate that I did that to you.”

The rain kept coming, dripping down your face and clinging to your lashes, and still, he didn’t let go.

“I don’t want anything from you right now,” he said. “I’m not trying to push. I just wanted to see you. Talk to you. I miss hearing your voice. I miss the way you laugh when you’re annoyed and the way you go quiet when you're thinking too hard. I miss knowing that you were somewhere in the world thinking about me, even if I didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“I’m scared,” you said, finally, voice soft and small in the rain.

“I know, love,” he whispered, arms still around you. “I’m scared too. Scared I already lost the best thing I ever had. But I’d rather take a thousand chances to show you I’ve changed than go back to pretending I don’t care.”

You didn’t answer; you didn’t have the words. But you turned slowly in his arms, your hands resting lightly on his chest, and he looked down at you like you were something fragile, something he was terrified of breaking again.

“Come on,” you said after a long moment. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

You brought him back to your place, not because everything was fixed, not because you’d forgiven him, but because you wanted to be warm and dry and maybe not alone tonight. You gave him a towel and made coffee the way you always used to—strong, with just a little bit of sugar because he never took milk.

You didn’t sit on opposite ends of the couch. You sat beside him. Close, but not touching. You talked for a while. About small things. Big things. He told you he started seeing a therapist. You told him about work. You both avoided talking about what would happen next.

For the next few weeks, it was like that. Texts. Calls. The occasional late night spent watching old movies without touching. He didn’t try to kiss you. Didn’t push. He just... showed up. And stayed.

And then one night, you were both laughing about something—some dumb story from years ago—and you turned to him, and he was already looking at you. Not with hunger or desperation, but with a much softer look.

You leaned in first.

Just a little.

And he met you halfway.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t like before. It was slow, and warm, and full of everything he hadn’t said and everything you hadn’t asked for. Like a promise he didn’t know how to make out loud, but was trying to anyway.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself kiss him back.

He pulled back just a little, like he was giving you the space to change your mind, like he was scared you’d vanish if he touched you for too long. But you didn’t move. You just looked at him—really looked at him—and felt your heart beat so hard it hurt a little.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and rough around the edges.

You nodded, even though everything inside you felt scrambled and upside-down. “Yeah. I think I am.”

He smiled—barely—and brushed a thumb across your cheek like he was memorizing the feel of your skin. Then he sat back, but not far, not like he was pulling away completely. Just enough to give you space again. And you knew right then he wasn’t going to ruin this by rushing. He was trying, really trying, and you felt it in your chest like a weight slowly lifting.

You both stayed on the couch for a while after that, talking about nothing and everything, voices soft and close.

Eventually, it got late. You stood up to stretch, and he watched you, his gaze lingering on your face, not your body. Like he was trying to read your mood before he made a move.

“I should head out,” he said, standing slowly.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You don’t have to.”

He looked at you, eyes flickering with surprise. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… don’t make it weird.”

He let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

So he stayed.

You handed him an old T-shirt and a pair of sweats you forgot he left behind once, and he changed in the bathroom while you got into bed. And when he climbed in beside you, he didn’t touch you right away. He laid on his side, just close enough that you could feel the warmth of him under the covers.

“Do you want me to—” he started.

You reached for his hand under the blanket. “No talking now. Just stay.”

And he did.

You fell asleep to the sound of his breathing. Not tangled up like you used to be, not desperate for skin or heat. Just… close. Like two people learning how to be near each other again without breaking apart.

In the morning, you woke up before him.

For a moment, you just watched him sleep—his brow still furrowed a little, like even in rest he was carrying something heavy. You could see the edge of an old scar near his temple, one you never asked about, and you wondered how many more there were now. On his skin, in his mind.

You weren’t sure what would happen next. But for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He shifted a little, eyes fluttering open, and when he saw you, he smiled. That same small, quiet smile.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning.”

And when his lips found yours, it didn’t feel like a beginning or an ending—it just felt like finally coming home.

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

my girl @daydreamerwoah gave me an idea about the rain scene <33

@kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @hiraethvita @scaleniusrm @cosmic-sleep-demon @roastyyytoastyyy @salfetkablog

[differenteagletragedy]

When Simon sees you at the gym, he stares. More than usual, more than what would be considered polite. He stops what he's doing, forgets his routine -- he's focused, locked in entirely on your form as you start up a treadmill.

It's not because you're pretty, although you are. It's not even because, with little glances you seem to think are subtle, you're staring back.

It's because he knows you from somewhere. He's positive he does. He just can't place you.

And it's driving him absolutely mad.

He racks his brain as he stands near the weights, doing nothing but eyeballing you. If you were army too, he thinks he'd know, so that wouldn't be it. A neighbor, maybe? No, there's the old lady across the hall and that's about it as far as his interactions go there.

Maybe you work at the grocery store. Or the petrol station. Maybe you look like some actress.

He keeps coming up with ideas of how he might recognize you, but none of them fit. It's had to have been five solid minutes at this point of him standing still, just staring like a weirdo, and there are a couple of ladies by the front desk that seem to be growing concerned. Simon glances between them and back to you, trying to pull himself away, but he needs to figure this out, he thinks, or it'll bother him for far longer than it should.

Thankfully, you nip the issue in the bud when you stop the treadmill and walk over to him.

"Can I help you with something?" you ask, eyebrow cocked.

And all of a sudden, it's the summer sun and playground dirt, a metal slide so hot it burns, and he's still him, but small and scared, cowered beneath it.

It clicks. He knows exactly who you are.

You -- the current version of you -- take a step closer, cautious but concerned, as you ask, "Seriously, what is this?"

But all he can think about is a little girl who showed him a rare bit of kindness one day at the park.

You don't recognize him, he's almost sure of it. Still, you inch a little bit closer, waiting for a response.

He doesn't give you one.

Without a word, Simon leaves the conversation. He leaves the gym entirely, out the door and into his truck while he struggles to process it.

It's been years, decades since he last saw you. And it was just one day. One single day out of thousands, and he shouldn't remember you, but he does, in startling clarity, like he's looking at a photograph instead of through his memories. You touched something inside him that day, and he swears he can feel it, even now.

He just has no idea what to do about it.

[...]

Back in the gym, you watch the man leave without a word, like he didn't owe you an explanation for staring slack-jawed at you for so long. Your eyes stay trained on his body -- not like you're making sure he's leaving, but like you're trying to figure it out.

It was a bizarre encounter, and you're not sure what to make of it, so when you see the man step into a truck and close the door behind him, you let out a sigh and go to the locker room and pull out your phone.

"There's some weird guy at the gym," you text your husband.

A moment passes, and he responds with "Some creep bothering you?"

You're not sure why, but you feel a strange protective impulse when he calls the man a "creep." He was a little strange, sure, you said as much, but there was something in his eyes when you approached him ... he didn't seem dangerous. The label didn't seem fair.

Instead of responding, you put your phone away again and start to get your things together, content to cut your session short for the day.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself. You'll come back to the gym tomorrow -- you just moved to this new town, you can get in this routine.

Everything will be fine.

[...]

Simon was never small, but he wasn't always strong. He was born a gentle boy and molded into something else, and so his earliest memories are some of the hardest ones to remember. Glimpses of when he wasn't quite able to defend himself, and when that innate, shameful need to be loved and cared for still made itself known from time to time.

There was one day, he was five or six, when he just couldn't handle being at home anymore. It felt suffocating, being inside, in a way that had nothing to do with the heat, so he slipped away and went to the neighborhood park.

He liked the swings, but they were all taken. Some toddlers were in the sandbox, more kids by the slides, and everywhere he looked there were smiles. There were mothers and fathers and happy families and he was alone, and it hurt. But not enough to leave.

Instead, he tucked himself behind one of the slides, taking a seat in the dirt.

Time passed, but the feeling of being suffocated didn't. He held his hand to the underside of the slide, feeling the metal, still hot even in the shade, but it didn't ground him. There was a pressure situated firmly in his chest that he didn't understand, and it wasn't letting up.

"Need some help?"

He wasn't expecting anyone to notice him in his spot, but when he looked for the source of the voice, he saw a little girl, about his age, smiling at him. She had her hands on her knees, bent to see him better. Simon shook his head, but instead of leaving, the girl sat down next to him.

"What are you playing?" she asked. "Can I play too?"

Even at that age, talking to another person felt like a chore for Simon, but she asked so easily, like all she had to do to be his friend was be there. He still didn't say anything, but she didn't seem to mind.

He sat in silence with the girl for several minutes, watching as she drew shapes in the dirt then swept them away with her hand, until finally he started talking. He told her about his parents and why he was at the park alone, and he told her about the creek that runs behind his house and how sometimes he can find neat rocks in the water. He told her to be careful for the slide, because it gets too hot in the sun.

And she listened, to everything. She told him things too, about her family and her house, and it was easy, for once. Before he knew it, the weight on his chest lifted enough to that he could breathe.

Just as soon as it began, it was over. Someone called the girl's name, and she scrambled up, shouting a quick "See you later!" as she left. But he didn't see her later -- he never saw her again.

Until now.

Simon is sure you're that girl. He doesn't know how he knows or why he's so certain, but he feels it. And now, all these years later, he finally has seen you again.

He's thought about it since the moment you caught his eye at the gym, ran the old memories through his head over and over. Part of him is embarrassed for remembering it all so well and for that one afternoon to have meant so much to him, especially when he's sure you forgot it as soon as it was over.

But a bigger part of him wants to make sure that he doesn't lose you again.

[ghouljams]

So who’s a proper munch?

a proper munch? As in the old school definition of it?

Ghost. Ghost will eat you out for his own enjoyment, will jack off thinking about eating you out, will swipe the juice off his cock just to lick his fingers clean of you. The man will live and die by pussy, and he'll be happier for it. If this man never had to use his cock he'd be happier for it, but for some reason you keep whining and beggin' so he can't say no to fucking you.

Not that the others don't enjoy eating you out, but it's often a preview of the main event. Sure they're excited to get you off, but they're stroking their cock thinking about fucking you, not tasting you.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Sunshine

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Simon just can’t stop talking about his fiancé.

cw: mention of alcohol, anxiety, and pregnancy

The club is packed when Simon and his friends show up. If he’s being honest, he didn’t even want to come, being dragged out of the house because they all claimed that he spends too much time with you. He doesn’t think so, though. He spends the perfect amount with you in his mind. And he makes plenty of time for his friends so he doesn’t see what the problem is.

He feels eyes on him as he pushes through all the dancing bodies and it makes him feel gross being checked out like that. This always happens and even though he tells them that he has a fiancé, they don’t seem to get the hint. It’s gotten to the point where he got his own ring to get the point across-well, that and the fact that he just wanted one because he loves the idea of being connected to you in that way.

Simon gets to the bar and orders a beer, letting out a sigh as he resists the urge to text you. He knows something will be said and he doesn't want to be teased about it. He’s convinced that everyone is just jealous and doesn’t care that they roll their eyes whenever he mentions you. He’s just a man in love and he doesn’t see why that’s his fault.

Once his drink is set on the bar, he takes a sip before turning to his friends. His mind immediately goes back to the night he met you. You were working at the bar down the street from where he lived at the time and the second he laid eyes on you, he immediately had to know your name.

“You know, y/n is a bartender,” he speaks up, smiling down at his beer bottle.

“Here we go,” Soap replies with a roll of his eyes. He acts like he’s annoyed, but he’s actually secretly very happy for Simon and the fact that he was finally able to find someone he loved enough to settle down with.

“That’s what, ten mentions of her in the last hour?” Gaz laughs and Soap and Price join in, teasing Simon yet again. “The man is obsessed.”

“Oh, he’s just in love,” Price corrects, clapping Simon on the shoulder. He’s always been very supportive of your relationship and has even offered to officiate the wedding. “You’ll all feel the same way when you finally settle down.”

Simon can’t help but smile at the defense Price is making. They’ve gotten very close over the years, Price being someone that Simon looks up to. He’s the one Simon goes to for any problem he’s having, the one he talked to before he proposed to you.

He doesn’t care about his friends’ teasing, though. He knows they don’t really mean anything by it, they’re just messing around. He knows that they really are happy for him otherwise they wouldn’t have agreed to be his groomsmen. They just like to pick on him because they see him like a brother. It’s the way they show him love without actually saying the words.

He takes his phone out of the pocket of his jacket to check the time and smiles at his lockscreen-it’s a photo of the two of you, grinning at the screen as you hold up a sonogram, tears in your eyes.

He didn’t want to go tonight because he was worried about you and the baby but you forced him to go, insisting that you’d be okay and now that he’s here, he’s worried like he always is.

He misses you and his unborn daughter, wishes he was with you right now, his hand resting on your bump and you both snuggling up on the couch, watching that stupid reality show that he claims to hate but secretly loves.

Simon just worries and that’s why he feels like he needs to be around you 24/7. He’s read more parenting books than he can count and even though your daughter has been as healthy as can be at every scan, he knows that the knot in his stomach won’t go away until he’s holding her in his arms.

He sips on his beer, zoning in and out of the conversation with his friends, bringing you up any chance he gets even though he knows they’re all done with him, making him take a shot every time he mentions you. He’s already up to two in the last five minutes. That’s got to be a record of some sort.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he’s quick to answer it when he sees your name and photo flash on the screen. He moves to a spot that’s more quiet when he puts the phone up to his ear, plugging his other one with his finger so he can hear you better.

His heart is racing and he just knows something is wrong. It’s gotta be. Why else would you be calling? He knows it’s just his anxiety and waits for you to speak before he can panic.

“Hey sunshine,” he greets, grinning so widely just by hearing your voice on the other line. And when he hears the reason why you’ve called, he almost falls to his knees, letting out a sound of pure joy as the line goes dead.

He’s shoving his phone back into his pocket as he races back over to his friends, so excited to tell them the news. That he’s gotta go to the hospital and he’s gotta do it now.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” is all he says before they’re all making a beeline for the door, all looking forward to seeing the little nugget, just knowing that she’s going to be spoiled rotten between the four of them. Yeah, that little girl is going to be so lucky.

[gaysindistress]

Things Simon Riley says

Masterlist

Nothing.

This man is silent all of the time.

It’s unsettling.

You almost think he’s mute because of how eerily silent he is literally all of the time.

(You had also thought he was deaf so you attempted to sign really badly and John lost his shit laughing. “He can hear just fine love. He’s just an arsehole.”)

John is your personal translator for the first few months and can somehow read Simon’s expressions while you slowly figure it out.

Which leads to the first time he does speak around you.

Simon, his voice hoarse and low from no use, greeting you for the first time as he walks into John’s house, “good ta see ya.”

Simon shaking his head and chuckling at your wide and startled eyes.

Simon slowly saying more and more to you, sometimes it’s a simple, “how are ya today?” and other times it’s your name in that baritone gruff voice that heats up your face.

Simon grumbling at Johnny when he attempts to sit beside you at dinner one night, “no, move.”

Simon glaring at him and uttering the simple two words again.

Simon quietly saying, “food’s good,” to you as you all finish your meal and you nearly choke on your food thanking him.

Simon correctly the guys when they refer to you as ‘John’s neighbor’, “she’s got a name. Use it.”

Simon barking out, “10 more laps for that shit” when they’re all doing PT and Johnny pops off about how he might ask out “John’s cute little neighbor.”

Simon sending you a text one day that reads “dinner tonight? I’ll cook.”

Simon making causal conversation as he methodically prepares ramen for you two, the hulking man taking up your entire kitchen, “How long ‘ave ya lived here?”

Simon blocking you entering the kitchen when you try to clean up with a stern , “no sit down and eat. I cooked so I’ll clean up.”

Simon keeping your weekly dinners up for months until he has to go on a mission and before he leaves the last time, he places a kiss on the corner of your lips while whispering “I’ll be back. 6 months tops. Take pictures of everything you make and we’ll make together when I get back.”

[gothghostiie]

got my monthly ghost thought so here u go

cw: pussy slapping, implied dacryphilia, manhandling, reader is caught masturbating, afab!gn!reader

simon really didnt mean to walk in on you like that. he usually knocks when you have the bedroom door closed, especially if hes just come home and wasnt sure if youve heard him come in. this time he didn't, hes still not used to knocking in his own apartment. he had earphones in, not hearing what you had been doing behind the closed door - but the second he saw he froze in the doorframe.

he caught you getting off on his bed, underwear pulled aside and blanket kicked off of your sweaty body - apparently you'd been at it for a while - and fingers working your clit relentlessly. he chuckled quietly and opened his mouth under the black medical mask to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat when you raised your hand and landed a harsh smack on your own pussy, crying out in response. it took him a hot second to realise what you just did, his brain definitely took longer than his cock - he swears he's never been fully hard this fast.

he knew what he had to do, right then and there. stalked over to you, his steps quiet (as quiet as a man his size could be at least), breath held. you were so in your head that you didn't even realise he was there until it was too late, his big hand coming down on your already puffy cunt in a sharp smack. you yelped in pain and closed your legs, startled from him appearing out of nowhere, but before you could say anything he already had a big hand wrapped around your ankle, pulling you towards the edge where hes standing. out of reflex you try and pull away, your body in fight or flight due to adrenaline and your brain not able to process what's happening quick enough. it makes him chuckle.

"oh no, where do you think you're going sweetheart?" he coos, holding your leg up by your ankle, forcing you to lift your ass off the bed a bit, legs spread. he eyes you over, gives you a moment to process, to stop him if you want to, but once you realise what's happening you give a giggle.

"Simon!" you laugh, shyly pulling the blanket over yourself, much to his dismay. he grips it with his free hand and throws it on the ground, shaking his head.

"don't cover yourself up now, much too late for that." he huffs, shaking his head. "saw what you were doin' to the poor thing." he grumbles, fingers running over the damp flesh gently, spreading it apart - before bringing his hand down with a sudden smack. you shriek, hips bucking up before you laugh again, he raises an eyebrow in amusement. "you think that's funny, do you?" he asks in a mock-strict tone, smiling behind the mask he's still wearing from going to the store. "let's see how long you'll be laughing for."

"huh?" your laugh dies down a bit as you realise the weight of his words. he grins wider.

"you heard me." is all he says as he moves onto the bed behind you, dropping your ankle and instead lifting you under your armpits, pulling your back against his chest. you couldn't pull away if you wanted to, his hands too strong, too quick. before you even know it, your legs are draped over his, forced open, arms held against your own body as he wraps one arm around your torso tightly. "dont bother keeping quiet, I wanna hear when you start crying."

[lay-z]

Simon Riley, who discovers (and accepts) that he has a raging Mommy kink on a random Saturday, when he meets you in the supermarket around the corner of his flat, where you click your tongue at him in reprimand, ogling him shamelessly as he checks out the new flavours of Ramen noodle cups.

And his spine goes rigid, when you address him directly.

"Big lad like you needs a proper meal," you remark, pushing your grocery cart full of fresh meats, produce, and other healthy goodies past him. "In my humble opinion." You add, nearly cooing at him as he dares a side glance from behind his balaclava.

Within seconds, his eyes flicker to your left hand on the cart, checking for a wedding band, checking for anything that could help him figure out who you are, really.

His fingers dig into the plastic cup that looks comically tiny in his hands, fingers nearly denting the fabric as he tries to come up with a witty, dry remark to keep you from leaving, to start a bloody conversation for once, but then you hit him with a "Have a good day, love." and his breath catches in his throat like someone punched his solar plexus.

By the time you round the corner to the next aisle over, his cock is so painfully chubbed up in his jeans, Simon fears he might faint from the sudden rush of blood down south.

And he doesn't quite know what he's feeling in this moment, but he puts the Ramen back into the shelf, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor as he turns on his heels to give chase like an abandoned pup who might have just imprinted on his new mommy.

Oh, Simon's going to get that proper meal, one way or another—hoping you'll let him have your sweet cunt for dessert.

➥ READ MORE × | [ SUGAR PLUM PROMISES MASTERLIST ]

[ilostthewar]

Simon does not know what demisexual means (nor does he have any clue that he fulfills the criteria for an autism diagnosis).

If you ask his teammates why he acts the way he does you'll get a casual "that's just Ghost" for an answer. Simon sips his beer silently while Kyle and Johnny do the flirting, that's the way it works. It isn't that remarkable to them, if anything it would be hard imagining Ghost with a partner.

On his own Simon's managed to come to the conclusion that he's "fucked up" because of Roba, irrevocably broken. That's the reason he stares blankly at the pretty stranger trying to chat him up when he should be eagerly herding them into a cab, impatient to get them into bed. Reflecting on why he's felt this way since puberty is a waste of time.

(I just think it would be nice for Simon to know that there are words that reflect his experience and other people that share it. I also think he deserves an autistic s/o to do parallel play with. Someone who'll laugh at his jokes <3)

Hello Anon, you are correct. Ghost absolutely thought demisexual was an STD the first time he heard of it, and he thinks autism is when you’re really into trains.

He never thinks to look into the things that are different about him, like you said, he thinks there’s just something wrong with him. And he’s not having THAT conversation unless someone is gonna drag it out of him.

I have many headcanons relating to Ghost and his autism. But I think he doesn’t actually read up on it until he has a partner who is diagnosed and suddenly too many dots start connecting.

And I do think his sexuality is related to his autism, and a number of other things look at me projecting.

But anyway, no one can tear away autistic demisexual ghost from me. I’m too far in the trenches.

[bxllydxnnabxtch]

Unapologetic

Simon Riley x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: I wish there was one, but this is just smut. 

Explicit content ahead!

Warnings: swearing, manhandling, choking, edging, overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, bondage, sadism, spanking, pussy slapping, dirty talk, hair pulling, He throws you around frfr.

Your legs wrapped around his waist securely, pulling him into you harder, the want to have him on your body dragging you to run your hands through his hair hastily. He slammed you against the white penthouse wall, the pictures rattling with the force, mouths slotted together in a frenzied mess of tongue and staggered breaths. The fleeting pressure of his tongue left yours, the brief moment of vacancy being filled with the rustling of clothes before both of your shirts were off. The action barely being registered in your yearning state. His mouth was on yours again, hands roaming the expanse of your hips and up your sides, before rounding your back. He unclipped your bra, the material slipping down your arms before you tugged it off and let it fall to the floor. He let out an amused breath, his lips falling from yours, trailing down your jaw to your neck. His lips latching onto the skin, sucking hickeys onto your neck, painting it with an array of blues and reds.

A breathless moan escaped you, echoing across the empty penthouse under Ghost’s ministrations. His hips rolled against yours, steadily grinding against you and you twitched in his hold, the sudden pressure making you gasp. His lips dethatched from your neck, confusion momentarily replacing the lust clouding your mind before the fingers of his left hand wrapped around your throat, leaving you to be pinned between the wall and his body, thighs supporting your weight effortlessly. The hand around your throat constricted ever so slightly, the pressure making a whimper leave your lips as you begun to feel light headed. “You’re practically falling apart and I haven’t even done anything yet.” He teased, face dangerously close to where his hand met your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

You couldn’t respond even if you wanted to, the hand wrapped snuggly around your neck keeping you from doing so. Your hands wrapped around his wrist at his words, your thighs clenching around where they still rested around his waist, to which he smirked. You tried to grind your hips into his pathetically -key word tried- but his right hand tightened on your waist, other hand tightening around your neck dangerously, and his eyes narrowed- a warning. Your face knitted into a desperate expression, and the man in front of you laughed at the sight. Fuck. You needed something, anything.

Before you could even attempt to say anything more, his hand unravelled from around your throat, both hands picking you up again and carrying you across the penthouse. You were momentarily disoriented, the sudden blood rush to your head making you feel dizzy, and you felt your cheeks flush harder under the sudden high. His steps were fast, carrying him with purpose while you were still trying to get your barring’s. You felt your weight shift, and you were flung onto a soft surface, snapping out of your haze as Simon crawled over you. He straddled you, rest on his knees as he undid his belt over you.

“Your safeword is red.”

“Red?” You asked, slightly dazed.

“Yep.”

He undid his belt and pulled it from his belt loops with a quick tug, before he grabbed both your wrists, hiking them above your head and wrapping the leather around it. You got a view as he was over you, you looked down, eyes tracing over his toned stomach, leading down to a defined V-line. You nearly drooled at the sight, but chose to look back up to his face, your eyes caught on his arms and the way his muscles rippled under his skin as he tied you. You took in the sight, but the longer your eyes trailed over his body the more needy you became, but you decided against doing anything to relieve the pressure due to his earlier warning.

He pulled the belt tight, making sure it was secure, and you winced at the slight pain that jolted through your wrists.

“Don’t move around too much, the belt will leave burns.” He said coyly, before moving down to tug your pants off. You moved your hands to help him, you were still able to help him since you could move your-

You yelped when he pushed you back down, slamming your hands back down on the mattress as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

“Keep them right fucking there. Or I might have to tie them to the headboard.”

His previous words didn’t have that much of an effect on you. But this, this. You could feel the dominance radiating off him, silently daring you to try anything. A shiver ran down your spine, cold air hitting your legs and bare cunt as he pulled your pants off along with your panties.

He slipped his pants and boxers off as well; the pants having been undid with what was used for the bindings against your straining wrists. His hands gripped your thighs hard, the slight pinch making you wince yet again, the action only made Ghost’s smirk wider. “Fuck.” You hissed, the pain from his nails digging in to your skin shot through you. His smirk faded at that, replaced by a slight frown. “You might wanna tidy up that potty mouth. Act like a whore and you’ll get treated like one.” This time it was your turn to smirk. “Says the military man, who knows what kinda shit you spew on the daily.” You instantly regretted the words, the aura around him suddenly becoming suffocating. His eyes narrowed into slits, his demeanor becoming more threatening.

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that.

“You’re gonna pay for that.” Was all he said before his hand slipped between your thighs, running down your slit as you mewled lowly. His thumb came up to rub your clit in small, torturous circles as you whined and struggled against the belt. The sudden relief to your needy clit making you clench around nothing. The feeling of being so utterly empty made you squirm below him, your hands struggling against the belt. He pushed a finger inside you, a satisfied moan fell from your lips as he slowly pumped it in and out of your sloppy cunt. It felt so good, so fucking good, but it wasn’t enough, and he knew that all too well, watching you writhe in needy agony below him only fed his arousal. He hit a spot that made your breath hitch, and he quickly slipped another finger into you, pinpointing and abusing the spot deep inside you. Your moans stuttered, and you screwed your eyes shut, the slow drag of his fingers inside you was driving you crazy, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Simon!! I- ah!”

You squealed loudly when a harsh slap came down to meet your clit, the overwhelming sensation making you reel and squirm away from his touch, the pain entwined with the pleasure making your thighs shake slightly. You clenched hard on his fingers despite your attempts at fleeing, he only pulled you down back on his hand harder, making his fingers reach deeper inside you while he sped up his movements, meeting your unspoken request.

“Talkative little bitch, aren’t you? You’re so messy, creaming all over my fingers like this.”

A choked moan was ripped from your throat at his words, your back arching at the increased intensity of his fingers dragging along your walls. Your nails dug into your palms, your last attempt of gripping onto reality as your sanity started to slip, the coil in your abdomen getting impossibly tight at his words. Simon noticed your struggles, the smirk crawling onto his face once more at your pitiful attempt to stabilize yourself. “Aww, you having a hard time there hun?” He asked mockingly, pressing down on your bundle of nerves just as your eyes rolled back, causing your thighs to shake violently. You could feel yourself about to tip off the edge, focusing on nothing other than how he toyed with your soaked cunt.

Your pussy fluttered around his fingers, clenching hard around the digits as you teetered over the edge. He pulled his fingers out at the last second, making you cry out at the sudden loss and effectively ripping your release away from you. The pain of it flooding through your system for a fleeting moment before you felt your clit throb desperately. “No, no- why? Fuck!” You felt your orgasm fade away from you, becoming frustratingly out of reach for you, and you sobbed at your needy state. You cried out in frustration and sheer helplessness, looking up at Ghost as he stared down at you with a shit eating grin.

“Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

“The worst thing in this room is your ego.”

His eyebrows raised at that, the expression of shock painting over his features before it morphed into something more carnal. His eyes darkened, and he let out a laugh, but the laugh was different, no light hearted chuckle or a sadistic ring of sick pleasure, it was something malicious. “You want to cum then? Fine. I’ll fuck you until you’re a braindead little bitch. Fucking slut.” He grabbed your hips and roughly turned you over, lifting your hips up to position himself before bottoming out all at once. You grabbed the sheets below you and choked on a whine at the stretch, the burning sensation making small whimpers settle in your chest.

He pulled you back to meet his thrusts, his cock dragging along your sweet spots so effortlessly it made your head spin. The noises you made were unholy, your cries and wails echoing through the room along with the sound of skin on skin. His hand came down on your ass, the smack resounding through the room as you yelped, colours starting to bloom along the skin from the impact. Your whole body trembled, the proof of your arousal clinging to your thighs as you looked down to see the mess you made. You clenched around him when you saw how he was plunging into you, your tight pussy stretching to accommodate his size.

“You’re sucking me in like a bitch in heat, am I fucking you that good?” You couldn’t formulate an answer, so many thoughts running through your brain. You were full- so full. All you could do was watch as he fucked you into the mattress and listen as the lewd squelches echoed around the empty room. You could feel the coil in your gut wind up again, the pressure becoming intense as you moaned out.

You felt fingers interlace in your hair and pull you up, being lifted off the mattress as you were pressed into Simon’s chest. “You don’t know when to shut up do you? Noisy slut.” You could feel the vibration from when he spoke, the words only pushing you further towards your release. His pace never let up, fucking into you fast a hard from behind, hand still in your hair making you back arch almost painfully against his chest. Two of his fingers invaded your mouth, his palm holding your chin as he pressed down on your tongue with the digits, making you gag and saliva pool in your mouth. Your thighs shook violently, the exertion on your body causing your legs to feel almost numb. Before your legs could give out, Ghost released his grip on your hair and wrapped his arm around your waist as he supported your weight easily.

“Going dumb on my cock already? Can’t even hold yourself up.” He muttered into your ear, the arm around your waist dipping down lower to rub circles on your clit. The coil in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm hit you like a truck as you gushed around Simon’s cock. Your eyes rolled back as euphoric pleasure washed over you, the feeling overtaking you while you trembled violently. A string of moans rang out that were muffled by Simon’s fingers, and you could here him hiss behind you from how tight you were clamping down on him. Ghost made sure to fuck you through it, his fingers never letting up on your throbbing clit even when you started twitching from overstimulation. His thrust never slowing down even as your cunt clenched and fluttered around him.

His thrusts never let up even as you came down from your high, still fucking in to your messy pussy as overstimulation began to set in and you squirmed in his hold. Your senses heightened, every sensation becoming so much, your mind still clouded in post orgasmic bliss that you never had a chance to come down from. He took his fingers out of your mouth, ignoring how your drool dripped down his hand and down your chin.

“Simon! I- hnngh- S’ t-too much- please! - fuck”

“Do you remember your safeword?”

“Y-yes!”

“You can call it at any time.”

He wrapped his fingers around your neck again, squeezing lightly as he placed open mouthed kissed up your throat. You felt the arm around your waist tighten, pulling you closer to him, and you laid your head against his shoulder, sputtering as you tried to catch your breath. Simon groaned against your neck, his thrusts becoming uneven as he chased his high. He sped the movements up on your clit and you cried out, the oversensitivity sending you hurling towards another orgasm. You clenched your fists tighter, the coil in your stomach coming on much more intense due to your heightened sensitivity. He pressed down on your clit, the action being the last straw to make you come undone yet again, falling over the edge as you cried out his name. He moaned at the feeling of you clamping down on him, making him come undone as well, filling you up as his hips stuttered.

You both sat there for a minute, taking a moment to regulate your breathing before Ghost took his hands off your throat and clit. He pulled out, and a mixture of cum dripped out of you and down your thighs. You ached everywhere, your blissed out state covering up the soreness for now, but would be a refute to deal with later. Simon untied your hands, your wrists were rubbed raw from the struggle against the leather, leaving angry marks across your skin. He brought them up to his lips before kissing them both gently, rubbing them sweetly to hopefully get rid of some of the pain.

“You ok? Are you hurt anywhere besides your wrists?” He asked, looking you over. “I’m fine, and no, not that I know of now at least.” You answered, your eyelids feeling heavy with exhaustion. Ghost helped you lay down, guiding you to rest your head on the pillows. “Just give me a second and I’ll be back with a rag and some water.” He said, brushing your hair out of your face.

He left the room, only coming back a few minutes later now in sweats with some water and a rag in hand. He walked over to you and handed you the glass, watching you drink it down before taking the glass and setting it on the nightstand. You reached your hand out for the cloth, but he shook his head. “Nope, let me.” He said, already easing your legs apart so he could clean up his mess.

Once you were all cleaned up, he climbed into bed with you, climbing under the sheets and wrapping a hand around your waist. “Get some sleep, ok princess?” he asked while tracing patterns into your hip. You hummed in approval, your voice coming out weak from exhaustion, but he got the jest. He cuddled in beside you and you let your breathing even out before letting yourself drift off to sleep, nearing 6AM.

That was the most peaceful you felt in a long time.

[starsofang]

Simon didn’t like to hold you. He liked to be held.

At first, you didn’t understand why he’d turn his back to you in bed without saying anything. You thought you’d done something to him, or maybe he was in a bad mood. You couldn’t be any more wrong.

Simon Riley, an absolute brute of a soldier, was silently asking for you to be the big spoon. You nearly didn’t believe it when he finally brought it to your attention.

He was too embarrassed to ask you, so he’d resort to flipping on to his side and wait. And wait. Until he realized you didn’t catch the memo, even after many hopeless attempts.

In his mind, he thought being the big spoon would somehow convince you he wasn’t manly enough, as if his title in the service or his pure stature wasn’t proof enough of his masculinity.

To him, being held was a blanket of security. Where he’d always have to watch his back out on the field, both literally and metaphorically, he didn’t have to keep an eye out at all times with you. It was a chance for him to find solace in a person, and when he explained this to you, he was surprised to find you so willing.

And oh, when it happened, Simon nearly kicked himself for holding back on verbalizing it for so long.

The warmth of your arms when they wrapped around him from behind, your face buried between his shoulder blades, legs tangled in his, he thought that this was what inner peace felt like.

He was silly to think you’d ever be the one to judge him for what most deemed ‘unmasculine’. In all of his broad glory, he felt safe the moment you held him, like a child does when they feel a mother’s embrace except it was from someone he loved dearest to his heart.

And you? You found that being the big spoon was rather enjoyable when the man you’re holding was so damn comfortable to snuggle up to. It was a win-win for you both.

You just wished he wasn’t an idiot that left you wondering all those hopeless nights until the truth came out.

[oaksgrove]

hi!! i love your fics sm! thank u for taking the time to write them. im the same anon that sent the prince!simon x knight!reader and let me tell you, i love it tons. and so, i have come back with another request.... (too many, actually) what about a sunshine-recruit!reader x simon riley? where reader dies because i am in need of a bit of angst... you can make it fluffy if you wish! tysm :3

-🌊

A Light that Never Goes Out.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Sunshine!Recruit!Reader

Synopsis: When you joined the team, you brought sunlight to a world built on shadows. Simon Riley, guarded and scarred, never meant to fall for you — but he did, quietly, in the spaces between missions and the weight of war. After a mission goes wrong, Simon is left to grieve the future you dreamed of together. Years later, he fights to build the life you deserved, haunted and comforted by your memory, learning that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. 

Warnings: Major character death (reader), intense grief, mourning, emotional hurt/comfort, bittersweet healing, found family support, soft mentions of afterlife signs.

Word Count: 1748

When you joined the team, you were a burst of sunlight in a world made of steel and smoke.

Simon noticed it right away — the way you smiled easily, the way you laughed like you weren’t afraid of the dark things that followed men like him.

At first, he kept his distance.

You were bright.

Not loud or flashy.

Just… bright. Like warm sunlight through broken clouds.

You fought with laughter on your lips. 

You comforted with hands steady and sure.

You lived like every second mattered, like every moment was a gift you refused to waste.

But you had this way of staying, even when he tried to shove you away with silence and gruff remarks.

It undid Simon Riley in ways he couldn’t name.

You became his shadow. His better half.

A hand on his shoulder after a rough debrief.

A warm, unguarded grin across the firepit on cold nights.

A quick-witted remark that made him huff a rare, quiet laugh behind the skull mask.

And somewhere along the way, friendship blurred into something deeper.

Into touches that lingered.

Into glances that burned.

Into conversations in the dead of night, hushed and full of almosts.

Maybe it was the way you handed him coffee in the mornings, always just how he liked it, no words needed.

Maybe it was the way you sat close enough during briefings that your knee brushed his, grounding him without even trying.

Maybe it was how, when nightmares yanked him awake gasping, you were the only one he could stand near — the only one who could sit quietly beside him and make the dark a little less heavy.

He didn’t say it.

You didn’t either.

It lived in the in-between.

The almosts — delicate, unspoken.

One evening — in a rare pocket of peace between missions — you sat together near a low campfire, shoulders brushing in the quiet.

You tilted your head back, staring at the stars, the orange glow soft against your skin.

“You ever seen the English countryside, Ghost?” you asked, voice dreamy.

He grunted. “’Course I have.”

You smiled — soft, faraway.

“I want to see it someday,” you said. “Not just pass through on a mission. I want to live there. A little cottage, a garden, some chickens maybe.”

He snorted quietly. “You, a farmer?”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Shut up. I’d be amazing. I just… I don’t want to miss life, you know? I want peace. I want mornings where the biggest decision is tea or coffee.”

Simon looked at you then — really looked — and something deep inside his chest clenched tight.

You deserved it.

The countryside. The garden. The peace.

Every goddamn good thing this ugly world had to offer.

But lately, you’d changed.

It was small things at first.

You hugged Soap a little longer.

You laughed louder.

You stared up at the stars like you were trying to memorize them.

You lived like you were racing time.

Simon saw it.

He always noticed everything about you.

“Somethin’ you’re not telling me, sunshine?” he asked one night, voice low and rough.

You smiled — soft and sad.

“Just… want to make sure I don’t leave anything unsaid,” you said, gaze flickering over his face.

His chest ached.

Something old and wounded and terrified flared inside him.

But he didn’t push.

He should have.

Because your next mission went sideways.

Explosions. Gunfire. Screams through comms.

Simon fought like hell to reach you.

Bullets sliced the air.

Dust and smoke clawed at his vision.

He found you slumped behind a shattered wall — blood pooling, painting the dirt dark and ugly.

“No, no—” His voice cracked, shattering something inside him.

You blinked up at him, smile trembling.

“Hey, Ghost,” you rasped, teasing even now. “Took you long enough.”

“Don’t you bloody dare,” he growled, hands pressing desperately to the wound, trying to keep you here.

You lifted a weak hand, brushed it against his masked cheek.

“You’ve got to let me go,” you whispered.

He shook his head, fierce.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” you said gently. “You will.”

Your hand slid down, gripping his glove weakly.

“I’m not scared,” you murmured, voice slurring. “I had a good life and you made everything better, Simon.”

And with a final, shuddering breath — you were gone.

Simon didn’t sleep for three days.

He sat in the base office, soaked in grief, as higher-ups coldly discussed standard procedures — how you’d be flown back to London, buried in a cramped military cemetery like a number on a roster.

Simon stood up — slow, dangerous.

“No,” he said, voice low and shaking with rage.

“Lieutenant—”

“No.”

He slammed a hand on the table.

“She wanted the countryside. She gets the countryside.”

It was the first time anyone had seen Ghost lose it like that — not from fear, not from pain — but for you.

It wasn’t easy.

There were papers to sign, approvals to fight for.

There were arguments, threats, pulled favors.

But Simon fought for you the way he wished he could’ve fought that day on the battlefield — until, finally, finally, they relented.

You were laid to rest on a gentle green hill, overlooking golden fields that swayed in the breeze.

Wildflowers scattered the meadow.

The air smelled like rain and earth and the soft promise of spring.

He chose the spot himself.

And they buried you with full honors.

But for Simon, it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

He stood at your grave long after the others left, rain soaking through his jacket, dripping off his mask.

In his gloved hand, he clutched your dogtags, now dulled but still bright in his palm.

“You’re home, love.” he said hoarsely, voice breaking the silence. 

A gust of wind stirred the air, soft as a sigh.

He squeezed the charm tight.

-

The porch creaked under Simon’s weight as he settled into the old wooden chair, a cup of black tea cooling in his hands.

The cottage he lives in is small.

It sits just over the rise from where you’re buried, hidden behind a low, hand-built stone fence.

The wildflowers still scatter across the fields like a living quilt— you would have loved.

It took him a few years to get here.

He wasn’t ready at first.

But your memory pulled him like a tide, quiet and steady, until one day he realized —

This was what you would’ve wanted for him.

Life.

Peace.

Home.

So he bought it.

He planted the garden himself — clumsy at first, rough hands better suited to weapons than trowels.

But he learned. Tomatoes. Lavender. Some stubborn sunflowers that leaned drunkenly against the fence posts.

The chickens were Price’s idea.

“Be good for you,” the old man grunted, hauling a coop into the yard one weekend.

Simon pretended to hate them. But secretly he built them a little covered run and started naming them after famous authors. You would’ve laughed yourself silly.

The 141 came by every few weeks —

Johnny crashing through the door with bags of groceries, insisting he could cook (he couldn’t).

Gaz plopping down on the porch swing with a cold beer, tossing a ball for the dog Simon somehow ended up adopting.

Price bringing his cigar and sitting outside under the stars, talking quietly like the world wasn’t rushing past anymore.

It wasn’t perfect.

Grief still lived in his bones, heavy and old.

Some days hurt more than others.

But here — in this little pocket of the world you dreamed of — Simon healed.

Slowly.

Steadily.

The night was clear — stars scattered across the sky like shards of glass, the fields bathed in silver moonlight.

The chickens were quiet in their coop.

The house behind him glowed warm and steady, windows like golden eyes keeping watch.

He should’ve felt at peace.

Most nights, he did.

But tonight… it felt different, harder to be at ease.

The breeze was gentler than usual — almost tender — brushing across his scarred knuckles, tugging at the collar of his sweater.

And for one trembling second, he could almost swear he felt you.

Sitting beside him.

Swinging your legs, the way you did when you couldn’t quite sit still.

Warmth where there should’ve only been air.

Simon’s chest twisted, a deep, old ache that no amount of time could ever quite erase.

He set the cup down with a shaking hand.

Pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes — rough, embarrassed, furious at himself for still being this wrecked after all these years.

But it broke anyway.

A ragged, raw sound tore from him as he hunched over, shoulders shaking.

Grief clawed up from somewhere deep and buried — sharp, brutal, endless.

“Fuck—”

He bit down hard on the curse, on the pain, on the shame of it.

He barely heard the front door open.

Barely registered the heavy steps across the porch.

And then there was Price, he stayed for the night afraid to drive home, — solid as the stone wall out back, steady as the seasons.

Without a word, the old man sat down in the chair next to him, lit his cigar with practiced ease.

Exhaled smoke into the quiet air.

He didn’t ask what was wrong.

Didn’t offer false comforts.

Didn’t tell Simon to get over it or move on.

He just sat there.

Like a lighthouse in a storm.

After a long while, Simon scrubbed his face with his hands, voice wrecked and raw:

“I just— I could feel her.”

A rasp. A confession.

“Like she was right fuckin’ here.”

Price nodded, slow and grave.

Tipped his head back to look at the stars.

“Maybe she was, mate,” he said simply.

Another long stretch of silence.

Only the chirring of insects.

The whisper of the fields.

Price knocked the ashes from his cigar and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Grief’s just love that’s got nowhere to go,” he said gruffly “You loved her. Still do. Nothin’ wrong with feelin’ it.”

Simon swallowed hard.

Felt something inside him — tight and knotted and hurting — ease just a fraction.

He didn’t say thank you.

Didn’t need to.

Price just reached over, clapped a heavy, fatherly hand on his shoulder, squeezed once.

And for the first time in a long, long time —

Simon let himself lean into it.

Let himself be comforted.

Not just by your memory.

But by the living.

By the life you would have wanted him to keep holding onto.

That night, when he finally went inside, he left the porch light on.

Just in case.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes