#Simon

[victoryverse]

simon can't get over the feel of how tight your cunt gets everytime he comes back from a mission. it's not been stretched in a while, your little fingers or toys are nothing in comparison to his fucking thick length.

"shit" he curses with every thrust, "how do you get so fucking tight every time? jesus christ. just squeezing me, aren't you?"

your mouth would be dropped open, pleasure and pain mixing together, your tight pussy opening up to take him in.

again and again, rough, full thrusts that make you run your nails down his back. he doesn't even react to the pain of that, too focused on opening you up for him.

"shit. gonna have to fuck this pretty cunt every day"

he smirks as he sees you gasp and writhe beneath him, too fucked out to reply.

"multiple times a day too, yeah?"

[dayque]

Omg imagine this but Izzy is the Knight and Simon the damsel

The Legend of Saint George: The Rescue by Maximilian Liebenwein

[simonz-angel]

can we just imagine painter simon… who loves his accuracy

“open your legs up, love.”

it’s a soft command, one that rolls off his tongue coated in a sugary, sweet accent. a soft whisper, eyes scanning the area of your bare legs, flickering to the slack of your breasts.

“i- you know what i look like, si,” you breathe low, a soft flush peppering your cheeks till it slips down your neck. you’d been together years now, yet you couldn’t help to shy away from his wandering eyes. they trace, map and memorize. he was dragging, tittering you up into embarrassment.

“nice ‘n’ wide fr’me, honey, it’s a portrait of you, it has to show perfection.” n his blonde lashes flutter, the candied soft brown of his eyes meet yours. you can’t help the hesitation, a sticky mess coats your inner thighs. he’d been staring so deep into his precision, it had your self esteem rolling, had your pussy drooling.

your head rolls slowly, heart skittering nervously as your doughy thighs part themselves slowly. you can’t help the burn of your cheeks, stomach sucking in a deep breath as fresh air hits you cold.

n there’s a soft chuckle, simon was in awe. staring at the pretty mess of your pussy, you’d been embarrassed and he’d been obsessed, suddenly parched and in need of a slick hydration. “don’t be so shy now, baby, you seem pretty excited to be here.”

and he’d be more than sure to add the white highlights to the canvas, accentuating that sparkling, glossy mess covering your soft thighs, dripping down into the crease beneath the sweet opening of your cunnie.

like like is it just me or like…. like…

[tobeholyistobeempty]

obsessed with the thought of simon’s version of punishment being orgasm denial.

like i’m actually kicking my feet and giggling thinking about the parallels that are him and price. price will overstim you until you’re sobbing and begging and babbling your apologizes - clit in full blown agony from the amount of back to back orgasms before he finally, finally fucks you.

simon on the other hand, he won’t wait.

he’ll fuck you. he’ll fuck you hard and deep and so goddamn good you’re seeing gods you don’t believe in. he’ll get you soaked and pliable and dumbed out, right to the fuckin edge - but he ain’t gonna let you cum.

oh, no. not until you’re cryin.

something about simon when he’s fuckin to prove a point - different beast altogether. he’ll have you bent over the counter, cock in your guts and he’ll be babbling in your ear about how tight you are and how good you feel - he’ll know just how close youre getting, he’ll know just the right things to say and do to get you there - then he’ll pull out.

and you can’t protest it either because you’ll be on your back in seconds and then he’s inside you again, dragging you right down to that dangerous edge. buries himself deeper, pins your wrists tighter, talks even filthier. he’ll tell you to beg and you will, because you’d do anything just to fucking cum, but he still won’t be satisfied.

he’ll flip you again, make you call him all sorts of names. daddy, sir, master, fuckin hell - whatever he’s in the mood for. he’ll drag slow at your walls, tease your clit, taunt you with the tip. he’ll coax you closer and closer, tell you only good girls get t’cum. you, sweet’eart, are a goddamn devil.

and when you’re finally sobbing with it, finally delirious and dumbed out from every position possible - he’ll let you have it. let you take that orgasm while thanking him over and over and over for it.

he’ll love on you, when it’s over. because he knows you’ve learned something. tha’s my girl. don’t y’ever forget it.

[r66dusthewriter]

The forbidden fruit

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I had to close my legs while writing this.

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Little to no plot. Explicit sexual content (18+), voyeuristic themes, masked man, dry humping, (sort of?) paid sex, strip club setting.

Word count: 1.3k

You’d been a night dancer for four years, moving from uneasy to owning it, with a found family of women nearly as close as sisters. The job paid well, the security was tight and after a while, you realized you liked the power, the control of where eyes landed, who got close and when. With that power in mind, you chose to only dance and maybe talk. Ironically, that restraint, that refusal to be available on demand, only made you more desirable. 

For the last six months, everything about your nightly stage felt different because of him.

He always sat at the back and the same table. Massive, masked and imposing, the kind of man who drew stares even in a club built for spectacle. He never drank, never accepted a dance or even a chat then. 

But two months in, after seeing a creepy customer cross a line with you, he stepped in with just enough force to make the message clear. From that moment on, everyone started calling him “your guy” and he acted like it, tipping hundreds just to sit there two hours and say nothing at all to anyone but you.

“Y/n… your guy’s back,” Ani grinned as she strolled into the changing room, her voice sing-song with mischief. Around her, a chorus of teasing sighs and shoulder shimmies erupted from the other girls. You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.

“He’s not my guy.”

“Oh, but he is,” Ani shot back, stepping closer with a raised brow. “He doesn’t pay for a single service, won’t even take a drink! Just sits at your stage like some brooding statue. Won’t look at anyone, won’t talk to anyone except you.”

She leaned in, voice dropping playfully. “Right now, he’s out there looking like a lost puppy because you’re not on yet.”

Laughter rippled through the room as a few of the girls chimed in their agreement.

“That’s your guy,” Ani said, winking.

You shook your head, brushing the last bit of powder from your face and rising from the makeup chair. You couldn’t suppress the warmth curling in your chest, though you kept your tone neutral. 

“Same table?”

“Same table,” she confirmed, still smiling.

When you arrived, he offered quietly and for the first time ever, a seat beside him. His raspy voice and thick accent sent a shiver up your spine.

“Nice to see you again,” he simply said.

You flirted, you bantered and let the tease slip into your eyes but every time another customer tried to pull you away, you saw the way his gloved hands tensed on his thighs and how his shoulders squared. And when you stood up to go chat with another client, he dropped five grand onto the table, flat and easy. “What does that get me?”

You arched your brow, heat coiling in your belly. “What do you want?”

His eyes glittered behind the skull mask. “To talk.”

Except the game changed when you suggested the massage room. Inside, he stripped off his shirt and your breath caught. His body was scarred yet beautiful with tattooed muscle on pale skin even under harsh light. You took a deep breath and let your hands roam, learning every inch as you straddled his lap.

You massaged his chest with slow, lazy circles, feeling his heartbeat thumping strong under your palms. His gaze burned into you, unmoving.

“I don’t usually do this,” you whispered, voice shaky, suggesting to get one of your coworkers to give him a proper massage.

“It’s good,” he rumbled, voice thick with want.

You grew bolder then. His hands found your thighs, strong and warm on your skin, thumbs pressing just enough to make you gasp and accommodate over him. That’s when you felt his cock, hard and hot under you, causing a sharp ache to throb between your legs, making it hard to ignore how you’d been starved and untouched for so long it almost hurt.

His fingers tightened, pupils blown out as he met your eyes. “Want to get off?” he asked, low and serious.

You shook your head, breath trembling, but not with fear.

His gaze lowered to your parted lips, ears straining to hear how you softly sighed. “Or move?”

Your hips answered for you. Slowly at first, you rolled against him, feeling every contour of him through your thin panties and his jeans. Even like this you could tell his cock was hard, thick and impossibly big. The friction quickly sent a bolt of pleasure straight through you, causing you to tilt your head back and moan aloud.

He groaned at the sight, a raw and needy sound while his hands gripped your ass under your ridden up dress, guiding your movements. It was obscene, the slide of your slick center over his clothed cock, the drag of denim against silk and the unmoving eye contact, all while every grinding thrust sent waves of heat through you.

The air soon filled with desperate sounds, your soft whimpers and sighs mixed with his deep grunts and the harsh rasp of his breath behind the mask. You pressed closer, grinding down harder and his cock twitched against you, leaking through his jeans and making a delicious wet spot that matched your own. 

Your hands rested on his firm, toned abdomen, the heat of his skin grounding you as you moved. You took your time, savoring the moment, every rise and fall of your hips a slow climb, every subtle shift drawing you closer to the edge. His muscles tensed beneath your palms, each breath he took syncing with yours, heavy and hungry. You rocked against him with growing urgency, letting the minutes stretch, letting the pleasure build until your body trembled with the promise of release.

He tilted his hips up to meet your rhythm, his grip strong but worshipful. You could feel yourself getting wetter, soaking through your panties with every pass.

“Fuck—” he growled.

“Uhhh!—” You moaned, walls contracting around nothing. Being an absolute slut for vocal men didn’t help your case, you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Sparks shot through your core, pleasure mounting higher and higher while your clit ground perfectly against the ridge of his cock. “Fuck, I’m—”

“Let go,” he ordered roughly. “Want to watch you come for me.”

Your orgasm hit hard, knees shaking and body shuddering while a strangled moan tore from your throat as you ground down and rode the wave out on his lap. You felt yourself gush even more, soaking him and your panties, the heat between your bodies almost unbearable.

He cursed again, grabbing your hips and rocking you harder against him, forcing you to match the pace burning in his blood. His cock throbbed against your soaked panties as he did, keeping a sinful rhythm until he went rigid under you. With a deep, muffled groan, he came hard. His body tensed beneath you, cock straining as his orgasm surged through him. The heat of it soaked his jeans, messy and uncontrolled but he didn’t care. His head fell back with a heavy exhale, fingers still gripping your hips like he couldn’t quite let go, like he didn’t want to.

You slumped down against his massive chest, catching your breath while his hands stayed on you, fingers denting your flesh.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breaths and the steady thump of his heart against your cheek. You’d never been this undone without a single piece of clothing truly removed, never felt so wanted or so fucking satisfied.

“Simon,” he panted, the name falling from his lips like a confession, knowing you’d never ask due to the rules of the club.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you murmured against his skin, voice threaded with something dangerously close to comfort.

“Likewise.”

If anyone had heard the sounds coming from behind that closed door, they’d know whose girl you really were now.

[pastelcosm]

Attack me on Artfight! 💫

[larissel]

Lune and Sciel looking at Canvas Clea then at Simon then back at Canvas Clea and just goes "Really? Him?".

[lustjunkiie]

i have baby fever so…

Single Dad!Simon Riley whose daughter is so sweet.

You, a sweet and humble hairdresser in your salon which you’ve bought and built from the ground yourself, having a walk-in appointment with a 6’4” hulking man, and his most precious angel. A black surgical mask covering his jaw, mouth and nose.

His little angel, who you learn to be Amelia, climbs into your chair with the cutest grunts of struggle and eventually a triumphant sigh. Her dad, in his effortlessly silky, gruff voice, explains that her hair is now down to her knees practically and he needs help. Her mother left when she was young and he’s only ever had one brother.

You chuckle softly and nod, and his daughter looks up at you after you explain that you’ll be trimming her gorgeous hair and demonstrating some simple braiding techniques to her father, and in the tiniest, cutest little Londoner accent:

“Thank you for helping my Daddy.” You nearly burst into tears at her shining hazel eyes and her big, toothy smile. You nod and begin sectioning her hair after placing a pink apron over her front. She beams to her Dad, “Look! She gave me pink!” He laughs and his eyes shine with pride. She’s so good at communicating, even though she barely looks five. She’s so adorably tiny, too.

At the end of the appointment, Simon has learned three different braid styles. He’s a natural, you assure him. You curl his daughter’s hair just before she leaves, and she does a little dance around the place in her princess dress. Her dad picks her up, and he smiles at you. Thanking you in that knee-weakening voice of his. He promises he’ll be back with any hair concerns, and he even tips you extra.

Before he leaves, his daughter points at you and asks if he can take you home. He responds, without missing a damn beat:

“Mm, only if she wants to come home with us.” He winks at you for good measure.

You think that maybe that idea isn’t so bad.

[sidollie]

┈─★ Simon Riley ruining reader cw// ᴍᴅɴɪ, simon riley being a big meanie, choking, rough sex, creampies, throat fucking, nipple play, mentions of breeding, simon being a bit disgusting

ᯓ★ Simon Riley knew that he was big, big in every possible sense. a huge mass of a man that wore a skull mask to hide his rugged scarred face from the world and it was only natural for people to get intimidated by him. And being in the military on top of it he wasn't exactly shaped to be a gentle soul but he always tried to be very gentle with especially you, to his pretty little dove.

But here he was, pounding mercilessly into your swollen little cunt. His thrusts made the wooden bed frame slam into the wall and he was certain that it will only take a couple more thrusts for it to break completely.

He tore his gaze away from the frame and looked down at his dumbed out girlfriend. His thick tatted arm choking your pretty neck while his hips maintained their ruthless rhythm to let his thick mushroom tip graze on your cervix,

"look at ya lovie, takin' my cock so well"

his other hand moves down to pinch and twist your sensitive nipples while he continues to pound you, your mouth hangs open in a silent scream of pleasure. your eyes blur with tears as you struggled to breathe from his large tatted hand that is clasped around your throat like a collar.

"s-simon c-can't! 's t-too much"

"c'mon swee'heart, ya can take it now be good f'me"

His rugged face broke into a smug smirk as he sped up, his hand abandon your abused nipples and travel down to your swollen puffy nub, pulling on it playfully as your hips buck into him. Your walls clamp down on his fat cock, gripping it like a vice as your orgasm rips through you.He grunts loudly, his jaw tightening as he bottoms out, his fat tip pushing against your womb as he releases a huge load in you

He grunts loudly, his jaw tightening as he bottoms out, his fat tip pushing against your womb as he releases a huge load in you.Still fucking you through your intense orgasm, he collapses onto your chest, breathing heavily. Simon licks the trail of sweat that was running down your neck slowly, whispering into your ear,

"feel my cum inside you, dovie? Hm?"

He slowly releases your throat, feeling your sensitive walls flutter around his still hard cock. He pulls out of you and watches as his hot load leaks through your spent cunt, feeling immensely proud. You watch in confusion as he repositions himself on top of your face,

"s-si? wha-?"

"Shh lovie, jus' be a good girl and open yer mouth"

He puts his knees on either side of your face and lightly settles on your chest making sure not to crush his precious girl. You obeyed, nails digging in his thick trunk like thighs as he grips the base of his cock and lightly slaps it on your lips

Without a warning he forces his thick length down your throat making you gag and choke as he fucks your mouth harder, not slowing down even as you cough and sputter around his thickness. Saliva slobbering everywhere as you take every inch of his fat cock.

"that's it babygirl take it all, yer doing so good"

You sucked hard on him, lips parting wide because of his dick as he groans, bottoming out feeling your throat while holding you down by your hair as he releases and insanely huge amount of his hot load down your throat.

"fuckk, good girl swee'heart! being such a good lil slut f'me"

You gulped down his cum while some dripped down from inbetween your lips, he chuckled and leaned down licking his cum from your pretty face. He let out a breathless chuckle, watching your teary eyes and tired expression.

"we're jus' gettin' started dovie"

@sidollie

ᯓ★ masterlist

[bunny-jpeg]

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ i like my men older - simon riley♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

you knew that your friends from school raised an eyebrow when you told them that you were dating a man almost double your age. you were in your twenties, while this 'simon' guy was close to fifty. you told them that he was an army man who had a gooey center for you.

your friends could see the upgrade in your laptop and the new knapsack with a logo that proclaimed it was expensive. the small chain around your neck with a 's' on it that you toyed with when they asked questions about him.

you looked happy, healthier even! you weren't eating minute meals and surviving off of black coffee. there was a little roundness to your cheeks now and you looked more alive. a glow to you that wasn't that while you trudged through your graduate program. so honestly, how could they complain?

if you had a glow to you, it was because you were often fucked out. most women your age through that dating an older man would mean having to go slow. be patient about technical difficulties regarding their cocks. that was what you expected from a man that old. especially one with aches and pains like simon. your poor si, he had been in the military his entire life. barely had the touch of a woman during that time! poor guy! of course you'll teach him all the ways a woman should please a man. the first time you ran your tongue on the underside of his cock he cam all over your head, and while you whined. it made you crazy hot. fucking simon was like fucking a live wire. he hadn't slowed down with age. he fucked like a stallion in breeding season. and he loved when he pulled his heavy cock into you. you once told him that he could be a cervix breaker. and he simply said, "well, if i break it... i can't breed it." which made you go slack jaw for a moment before he continued to rut up against you. you didn't expect a man of his age to have a breeding kink.

you practically begged your doctor to give you birth control, because he was not buying condoms. "don't fit in 'em, lovie." he said as he patted his clothed cock when you started dating. you knew that was impossible, condoms could fit a lot of things and while simon was fairly big. he could fit in a condom. but, no. when you tried to put them on yourself, he simply took it off, tossed it to the side and pinned you under his heavy weight. legs in the air as he rutted against you like a hungry animal.

he was so much bigger than you. wide shoulders, strong thighs and a bit of a gut to keep you folded under him. there was a masculine heft to him. he was strong, picking you up was easy to him even when you tried to tell him your weight. one time he gripped you by the waist with one arm and moved you out of the way. you kicked and squeaked as you were moved. but to simon it was easy as lifting heavy equipment. but that softness to some of his muscles really got you hot all over. it didn't help that part of your role as his girlfriend was to make sure that your man was fed. you cooked him meals and he over devoured in your sweet dessert. he loved you in an apron. all domestic and sweet for him. you were real wifey material. could easily be cooking meals for him and the kids in a few years. you can have a graduate degree and a few riley babies. "look good cookin' for me, darlin'. know how to make a proper meal for your man." you wouldn't admit but his words excited you.

simon can be a little... chauvinistic. it was just his age. while he respected female colleagues in the military and was beyond happy that you were getting your degree. he'd do things for you that you could clearly do on your own. like when you tried to fix the leaky tap in your flat. or when you try to carry all the groceries inside. yes, darling, you're a strong woman. but let him take over. take care of you. that was what a man did right? he'll cut the onions for you and try to fix your buggy wi-fi connection. he's pay for dinner every time and even get you dessert after. he'd wipe your face clear of the sweet treat you'd have. "don't ask her anything too difficult, johnny. she doesn't need to be thinkin' too hard." he once said with his hands over your ears and glared at his teammate. which only made the scotsman laugh. simon didn't mind if he had to take over. he'd never pull the rug out from under you, even when you were under him. you looked prettier under him, letting him take charge of your fucking. he took care of his girl, even when you whined and told him you were capable. there was no need to whine. simon needed to take care of his much smaller, much weaker baby girl. no need to break a nail trying to do stuff that simon could easily do for you.

even with the grey in his blond hair, he still kept up to you. there were times that you were too exhausted from day-to-day that you let simon rut between your thighs until he covered your round ass with his hot cum. you'd whimper which would turn into a yelp when he easily slipped his heavy cock into your sweet pussy. where it belonged. he fucked you heavily as his cum coated your behind, even trailing down your sloped back as you had your head in the covers.

"don't spill a drop off that pretty ass, baby girl. or else i'd might have to mark you again." thank god you liked your men older. <3

[followthebluebell]

This guy is such a sweetheart. He follows people around all day. He's not entirely sure how to play with other cats just yet, but Pookie has some high hopes and keeps trying to get him to chase her.

[zetrystan]

I was waiting for this scene at the end of Fionna and Cake.

[simonz-angel]

simon with a staring problem for his pretty plushie roommate 🍆

his pupils shrink tight, before blowing wide, irises flicking over you. n his head pumps full of vile, lewd thoughts. you’re all of just sitting across from him, relaxed back onto the plush couch cushions. but your skin looks so soft, so mailable, and the way your tits droop apart, falling down near your sides… fuck.

his trying to reel his way back in, rope in his building thoughts, painting such descriptive pictures in the fuzzy, warm mush of his brain. but then your thick, doughy thighs part.

and he watches in hunger, eyes darkening as they slip down over the gooey folds of your pretty stomach. and it’s cruel, the way your thin little shorts bunch.

bunch tight up between the warmth of your cunt, giving him a fuckin view of your puffy, pudgy pussy. and his mouth salivates, teeth grinding before he’s blowing a deep breath out wide nostrils.

and he’s suddenly tense, desperate to rise up off the couch, balls aching in a need to have your pussy molded around him, to have his tongue playing with you as you drip down his chin like a sugary syrup.

but your foot stops him, and he takes note of your pretty, painted toes. his whole body burns, head spinning and stomach rolling in something of nausea?

“where’re you going, si?” and his eyes fall to your face, feigning a sweet innocence that has his cock leaking. your lips fall flat into a soft pout, head tilted to the side quizzically, and the soft apples of your fatty cheeks dimple with your deepening pout. he wants to dig his fingers in tight, separate the tissue and open your mouth up wide, let you choke… no. god.

but when his body falls flat against the couch, sweat already building at his fuckin hairline is when your toes slip higher, your ankle rolls, and he watches red-faced when you press between the v of his pelvis.

i’ll be getting to your guys asks soon i promise i promise please don’t hate me my angels

[simonrileysfavteacup]

You stir awake, sighing as you roll over to face your sleeping husband. You sit up, fixing your stretchy shirt over your very swollen belly. You pat Simon’s side. “Si? Si! Si!”

He groans as he wakes up, rolling over and shoving his head into his pillow. “Go back t’ sleep.”

“I want a big mac.”

He groans louder. 

“Please, Si? I’m super hungry. And bubby keeps kicking.”

He sighs, “Look ‘t the time, lovie.”

You almost tear up. 

When he notices the frown on your face, he sighs again, getting up. “Which one is the closest?”

You smile, almost jumping with joy as you lean up to press a million kisses to his cheek. “The one on 42nd.”

He leans down, kissing your belly and your lips before heading off to get dressed. 

He returns 20 minutes later, a bag and 2 drinks in hand. You practically moan at the smell as he hands you the bag. 

“I love you,” you moan as you take a bite of your burger. He chuckles, eating his own. “Bubby loves you too. He’s kicking every time I take a bite.”

“Bet ‘e does.” Simon kisses your belly as you stuff a few fries in your mouth. “Lovie?”

“Yeah?” you ask with a mouth full. 

“Do ya think he’ll like me?”

“For the millionth time, my love, you are nothing like your father. You’re far too kind and too amazing and too sweet. He’s going to love you. Just like I do.”

He chuckles, “Love you too.”

He leans down, kissing your belly. 

“Both of ya annoying little buggers. Always fuckin’ hungry.”

[certifiedyapperx]

imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”