#and simon needs to be in everything I write somehow

[jaesblogstuff]

Compliments to the chef (nah I wanna fuck the chef) study draft#1

The jazz bar is tucked on a corner most people forget — the kind of place you only end up if someone brings you there, or if you're looking for something quiet, warm, and a little strange.

Tonight, it’s the former. Your friend knew the place. Said the food was good, the wine was better, and the music? Magic.

You hadn’t expected much, just a night out, a little wine, something slow and indulgent. But from the moment you walked in, it felt like stepping out of your life and into something else entirely. Something slower. Richer. Dim lights and velvet shadows, laughter tucked into corners, the slow spill of trumpet and upright bass curling like smoke through the air.

You’re dressed in something soft, something that moves when you do. The lighting catches you just right — golden on your skin, your collarbones, the sweep of your mouth when you smile.

You don’t know it, but someone notices.

Behind the half-swinging kitchen door, where the heat rolls thick and the clatter of pans never really stops, Simon Riley catches sight of you through the narrow gap in the wood.

He shouldn't be looking. He never does. Faces blur together, most nights. But not yours. Not tonight.

You don’t know who he is , not yet, just that the food, when it comes, is unreal. Rich and decadent and somehow exactly what you needed. You sink into it, melting into the booth as you sip your wine and laugh with your friend, everything blurring around the edges.

Simon watches you in fragments. Between dishes, through the haze. He sees the way you laugh with your whole body, how your fingers linger around the rim of your glass. He watches you hum to the rhythm of the band, lean in close to your friend to share something only she’s meant to hear.

But he hears it too.

You’re full. A little buzzed. Languid with satisfaction. And then you say it, half-whispered, grinning like a secret:

"Forget compliments to the chef," you murmur, voice thick with wine. "I wanna fuck the chef."

Your friend gasps, nearly chokes on her drink, laughing too loud.

You laugh too, oblivious. The world is warm and fuzzy. No one heard you. Right?

Wrong.

Simon stands frozen just behind the kitchen line, arms crossed, heat licking across his jaw from more than just the grill. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches you, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

He should go back to work.

Instead, when your table’s bill is printed and slipped into the leather folder, he takes it. Flips it open. Finds a clean corner of receipt paper. And writes something just for you.

The music plays on. Another song. Another glass of wine. You’re floating, but eventually, the bill comes.

You open it absentmindedly, card in hand, But something stops you.

A note, tucked neatly into the fold.

You blink. Your name isn’t on it, but you know it’s for you.

Simon.

Compliments to the chef.

xxx-xxx-xxxx.

You stare. Read it twice. Three times.

And then, as if pulled by something invisible, you lift your eyes toward the kitchen.

He's there.

Just a glimpse — framed in the glow of a backlight, one hand braced on the doorframe, apron smudged with the kind of mess only a good meal leaves behind. He’s watching you.

The music swells behind him. He doesn't wave. He doesn't speak.

Just offers a small, quiet smile. One that feels private, meant. And then turns away.

Gone.

You leave with the note pressed tight between your fingers, heart thudding in your chest like it knows something you don’t. Your friend is still laughing about what you said earlier, teasing you gently. But her voice feels far away now.

Outside, the air is cool. Crisp against your skin.

You think of the way he looked at you. The curve of his mouth. The fact that he heard you. The fact that he wrote back.

You don’t text him.

Not yet.

You hold onto it instead — the heat, the thrill, the maybe.

Later, you might. When your lipstick's faded and your heels are off. When you're in bed with the city buzzing faintly through your window, and you're still tasting the night on your lips.

You’ll find his name in your purse. And you’ll know, This isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

[quarterlifekitty]

The guys with a girlfriend who honestly.. kind of scares them

In different ways of course, but there’s still the underlying theme of her being rather unsettling

- @murderkittyz

I want you to know that this has been living in my mind. I love writing reader characters that are weird af and quite honestly unsettling

To be honest, writing Nikolai was really hard for this one, and I’m still not totally satisfied by it. I think he’s too willing to match your freak.

cw: some graphic descriptions of violence (not enacted, just threats/movie scenes etc)

Gaz is freaked out by how much you like the dark. You scare the shit out of him all the time because he’ll come home, thinking you’re not home because no lights are on in the house, and you’re so quiet— he is not proud to admit how many times he’s screamed when you suddenly said hi from a spot in the dark. And how whenever you get up in the middle of the night, you don’t turn the lights on. He asks you why, and you just say you don’t need them. Freaky.

There have been a handful of times where you were truly, extremely angry at Soap. And he almost pissed himself every single time because of how scary you get. Not because you scream or shake or slap his chest or anything, but because you don’t do any of it. Outside, you’re calm, you’re smiling. But it’s how you talk to him like he’s a child. “It’s okay. I’m just very, very angry at you right now”. It puts him on fucking edge. It creates this tension like you’re about to do something, that you’re gonna get back at him somehow in some way he’ll never see coming, but you don’t do anything. Absolutely fries his nerves.

Ghost is scared by how easily you tone switch, partially because he’s not really able to do so. The way you can be talking about someone from the base and say “he’s such a fucking prick bastard. I wanna rip off his balls and shove them down his throat far enough that he chokes”. And then the next day, you’ll greet the same guy like he’s an old friend. Extremely polite, pleasant, happy. It reminds Simon that he only sees the real you because you allow him that privilege.

Price is scared by your good memory. He’s used to being the one who remembers, the one who’s completely on top of things, the one who knows everything needed to know about everyone. But he’ll mention a colleague that you met once, for 10 minutes, years ago and you’ll ask “Is he still with Martha? She wanted to adopt a dog with him, a Siberian husky, and he seemed so scared of the commitment”. That’s scary. Makes him feel like he has a blind spot. Makes him wonder what you remember about him that even he doesn’t recall.

König is a difficult man to disgust and to scare. He’s seen a lot of things, and he himself is rather unsettling. But he’s scared and disgusted by some of your taste in movies. Things with long, painful torture scenes. All of the blood, flaying of skin, needles, ripping bones from flesh. It’s not so much that you enjoy these movies, but how you enjoy them. You lean against him, but not because you’re scared. You laugh in a way that you never do outside of watching a gorey scene, of someone crying on the floor with broken limbs. He shudders to imagine what you’d be like if you had his job.

Nikolai is unsettled by some of the fantasies you share with him, and how you convey them. Not things that you could really enact, just fantasies. “The other day I thought about being a mermaid— and you being a pirate that captured me to cut me up and sell my parts. But when you were about to cut me open you saw my cunt and decided to keep me as a fuckdoll instead, and fingered me right there with the butcher knife still on the table”. And you say it pretty nonchalantly. He’s honored that you trust him with these inner thoughts, and usually they turn him on completely, but it does creep him out just a little.

[callmecoke]

Thinking of the first time the 141 discover you on a website for Sugar Babies...

TW: Sex work, specifically being a sugar baby. Mention of insanity, but it's mostly exaggeration; this one's pretty SFW, but I would proceed with caution because the subject matter is adult. Not Proofread!!

This is the first instalment of something I’ll continue writing about!!! And also my first post!!!! Yipeeee😆😆😆

I’m thinking about one tired, slow, dull day with our favourite 141 boys as they sit around waiting to receive orders and go-tos from higher-ups. They’ve done everything they could to pass the time: Polished and prepared the weaponry, sorted and stored old files, and Simon even got desperate enough to fold, wash and tuck in bedding for the second time. But eventually, they ran out of little distractions and were left waiting for orders that might never come. Bit by bit, it was driving them mad. The first to snap was Gaz, who was already pacing up and down the base like a madman. Out of desperation, he grabbed his laptop that he hid under his bed and opened it. He knew he wasn’t allowed to access electronic devices while at base; frankly, he wasn’t even supposed to have them at all. But Price couldn’t be bothered to chastise his sergeant, as he was equally starting to get desperate for some action too. 

Gaz just started opening tabs, looking for anything to pass the time. He wasn’t sure what his goal was other than to find something that might quell his building insanity. That’s when he saw it. Some sort of…dating website? No, not entirely that. It was filled with livestreams, gorgeous younger men and women just talking. He looked further and found it was some kind of sugar baby service where people could come on and interact with lonely rich fellas with cash to spend. Interesting, but not his thing. He was about to exit the page when he spotted your livestream. You were attractive, no doubt about that, but you also seemed a lot more nervous than the other ‘sugar babies’ on this website acted. Like you were new to all this. Your live stream was just you sitting on your bed with the laptop in front of you, only having a dozen or so viewers at most. Curiosity struck him, and his finger moved to click on your livestream. 

The audio of you talking played out of the speakers on the laptop, making the other three men's heads turn in Gaz’s direction. You spoke softly, careful with your words as you talked about yourself and your day, answering questions now and again. It was intriguing. You had each of their attention with the way you spoke. None of them had spoken to a civilian for months. Outside of the 141, they barely even saw another human being with the way they were stuck there. So hearing your voice felt like singing angels to them, one that came to pull them out of the darkness of their minds. Soap and Simon silently shuffled to where Gaz was and leered behind him, watching you talk over his shoulder. Price continued to sit on his side of the room, but he was still entranced by your voice. Even ordering Gaz to turn up the volume if it got too quiet.

Gaz soon realised that the livestream was nearing its end. You hadn’t earned a lot of money, and you were slowly losing steam. But Gaz was desperate. He needed to hear your voice again. To talk to you, speak to you, interact with you somehow. His fingers moved before his brain did, and he input his card details into the website faster than the speed of sound. You had to pay in order to leave a comment and interact on this kind of website, so he tipped you a healthy sum of cash before typing out the quickest sentence he could to get your attention.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

[munsonsmixtapes]

What about ghost who is secretly in love with his roommate and he’s returning home after being away on deployment? A lot of tension and a big messy love confession after he can’t hold back how he feels about her anymore and some smut ???

Ugh this one was so fun to write!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) mask kink, nipple play

Ghost unlocks the door to his apartment after months of not being there. He lets out a sigh of relief as he takes in the decorations and furniture the exact same as he left them six months before. He smells that candle he knows you like to light and suddenly, he feels at home. He looks around the place for you, but he doesn’t see you but he hears you.

“Simon!” You exclaim his name and he really did miss hearing that.

All he sees is a blur racing towards him and he stumbles backwards as arms wrap around his neck. He gets a whiff of your perfume and his luggage is dropped to the floor as his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you from the floor and spinning you around, giggles pouring from both of your mouths as he does so.

Simon sets you on the floor and he takes a moment to get a good look at you. All the feelings for you that he’s been holding in are surging forward and he’s trying so hard to prevent from kissing you. You’re all he’s been thinking about for months. He’s read your letters over and over again, so close to writing everything he’s been feeling for you, but he couldn’t. He feels like he owes you the truth in person. That is, if he can stop being a fucking pussy about it.

You take your time looking at him too. He’s got so much more muscle than you remember, the photos he’s sent you not doing him justice. His biceps are huge and you hate how your thoughts are immediately getting dirty.

You snap out of it and pull him into another hug, pressing your cheek into his chest as you give him a squeeze, your arms wrapping around his waist. You realize that you haven’t hugged before, this being the first. You didn’t really talk that much before he left but when he was gone, you somehow got closer and you actually became pretty good friends-even though you want to be more. Even though you’d never actually admit that.

“Can I help you unpack?” You ask, needing something to distract yourself from how badly you want him.

“I’d like that,” he smiles and picks up both of his duffel bags as he carries them to his room with following closely behind. You open the door for him and it’s exactly the way he left it-well, sort of. It looks cleaner and he can’t figure out why.

“I wiped down the furniture and washed your bedding yesterday so it would be all nice and clean when you got here.” He’d normally find this as an invasion of his privacy, but he just can’t find it in himself to be mad at you. The gesture is so sweet and he feels his heart melt just that much more.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, setting his bags on the bed. “But it’s very appreciated.”

“I wanted to,” you reply, taking some of the clothes and putting them away in the correct drawers. Simon can’t believe how easy it is to imagine you in his life romantically. If you’re helping him unpack his luggage as his roommate, what would you be doing as his girlfriend?

He unzips the other duffel and almost jumps at the mask sitting on top. He forgot that was in there and it catches him off guard.

“I missed you,” you tell him and god did he miss you too. He thought about you the entire way home, imagining your reunion, though in his mind, there was a lot more kissing.

“I missed you too,” he replies. Simon isn’t really one to share his feelings so this already feels odd to him. But you’re the one person he feels like he can tell anything to. Well, anything besides how madly in love with you he is.

You both stand there for a beat, staring at each other, both of you trying to figure out what to say. You step closer, standing on your toes and reaching up to push back the strands of hair that have fallen onto his forehead.

His eyes flutter shut at the feeling of your fingers in his hair and when you give his scalp a little scratch, he’s putty in your hands. He leans down, his face only inches from yours and you let your hand fall from his hair, your finger trips tracing over the scars on his face. He’s so close that you could just-

Simon seems to be thinking the same thing because he’s leaning even closer, his lips pressing against yours in a brief kiss. It’s so quick that your brain barely registers what’s happening.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly, his eyes widening in panic, afraid that he’s just offended you.

“I’m not,” you shake your head. “Come back here. I wasn’t done.” He obeys, a little smirk kicking up at the corner of his mouth as he leans down, meeting you as you push up on your toes.

Your arms wrap around his waist as his are around your waist. Your lips meet again, slotting between each other and this is even better than he was imagining. Your lips are soft and they fit so perfectly between his, like they’re puzzle pieces meant to fit together.

“I’ve been wanting this for so long,” he whispers against your mouth. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I do,” you whisper back and now he’s got to have you, feeling his cock harden ever so slightly.

“Jump,” he says and you do, Simon easily catching you as he catches you, your legs wrapping around his waist as your tongue slides into his mouth. He carries you over to the bed and gently sets you down on it, sinking to his knees between your spread legs, your lips still attached.

You pull away to catch your breath and don’t miss the mask that’s in your line of sight. You do a double take and can’t help but let out a laugh as you reach for it, holding it up so Simon can see it.

“It seems like you have some explaining to do, Mr. Riley,” you tell him as you let the mask swing back and forth between your fingers. “Is this some sort of kinky thing I’m unaware of?”

“No,” he says, his cheeks turning pink as he reaches for the mask, holding it out of his reach. “It’s a military thing.”

“Uh uh uh,” you shake your head. “You have to at least let me try it on.” He just lets out a sigh as you put it on and can’t help but laugh as you put it on, the thing looking so silly on you. “How do I look?”

“Ridiculous.”

“You’re right. It definitely looks better on you.” You take the mask on and he bends over, each hand landing on either side of you. You put it on his head and immediately feel yourself getting wet at the sight.

“How do I look?” He asks, his voice much lower than you’ve ever heard. He’s inching closer, his eyes boring into yours and you can see them clouding over with lust.

“I think it’s concerning how turned on I am right now.”

“I don’t,” he shakes his head. “Now are you gonna stare or are you going to kiss me?” You respond by pressing your lips to his and it’s awkward as you both try your best to pick back up where you left off despite the mask.

He leans you back onto the bed, pushing his duffel onto the floor as he does so. His hands slide up your shirt and he pulls it off to reveal your bare chest, nipples hard beyond belief. God, you’re perfect.

“Fucking amazing,” he breathes, his accent more prominent now and you take the mask off just long enough to get his shirt off and then it immediately goes back on his head. You take in his toned body and this is such a different sight. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

You make an effort to pull him down onto the bed next to you and he falls, not making you work for it. As soon as his back hits the mattress, your straddling him, peppering kisses across the expanse of his chest. You bring one of his nipples into your mouth and he lets out a whine in response, his hand grasping at the bedding underneath him.

You lick and suck on him and his brain is melting, hoping that you leave marks on him, physical proof of what you’ve done tonight so he can be sure that it’s not all in his head.

“Fuck,” he whines. “I've been waiting months for this and you have not disappointed.” He doesn’t feel your lips anymore and he sits up to see you staring back at him, your mouth falling open.

“You’ve been waiting for this for months? I’ve been waiting for months.“ You can’t see it, but Simon is grinning underneath the mask. He takes it off, wanting to say his next words with it not on his head.

“I love you,�� he says, his voice sounding whiny, desperate.

“I love you too, Simon. And you being away made me realize how much.” You’re both grinning like idiots now and he pulls you in for another kiss, his hands sliding down your sweatpants, pushing them off along with your underwear and once you’re completely naked, you unbutton his pants and as soon as your both naked, his eyes widen as if he’s realized something.

“I-I don’t have a condom.” He totally would have if he knew this was going to happen.

“I have one,” you tell him. “Wait here.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” he smirks and watches you race out of the room. You’re back in record speed and he watches you tear it open and roll it onto his cock.

You’re on him in an instant and he barely has any time to react before you’re riding him. Your fingers are digging into his shoulders as you’re riding him, your tits bouncing up and down because of how fast you’re going.

Simon’s hips buck against yours, pushing his cock as fast he goes. His pace matches yours, neither of you able to hold back anymore and you only slow down to press a kiss to his lips then put the mask back on him.

“I didn’t think you’d find this so hot,” he says through a chuckle.

“Well, I do.” You pick up your pace even more and he’s trying his best to keep up, pushing inside of you inch by inch until he’s fully seated. “Fuck,” you whine. Your eyes are watering at how full you feel, but there’s no way you can stop. “Feels so good. Harder.”

Simon listens, somehow going even harder and faster, feeling winded but he’s not going to stop until either of you come. He’s sure that he’s close which would make sense since he hasn’t gotten any action for months.

There were women at the bars he and the guys went to but his mind was always on you. Even though he wasn’t sure of your feelings at the time, he still wasn’t looking at anyone else. You were and still are the one person he has eyes for.

“Fuck, baby, just like that.” His orgasm is rapidly approaching and when it does, a string of curse words followed by the word “sweetheart” which makes you melt.

Your legs feel like jello as you climb off of him and he’s quick to race to the bathroom. He comes back with a wet washcloth and spreads your legs, sinking to his knees as he wipes up your mess.

Once he’s done, he disposes of the cloth and helps you get dressed in one of his many t-shirts, him doing the same and the two of you tell each other that you love each other as you fall asleep, looking forward to waking up to each other for every day for the rest of your lives.

[slut-for-slutty-fictional-men]

Another one for Harry would be him and the reader being at a shoot (maybe a holiday video or something like that) and the reader notices Harry‘s social battery is drained and she takes him away to be alone with him and comforts him. Would be really nice if she also relates to his situation :) I was thinking mostly fluff and a little angsty for this one x

Recharging

Pairing: Harry Lewis x Reader Warnings: Fluff, angst, drained and overwhelmed Harry Word Count: 630

Masterlist

A/N: YALL IM COOKED i have math aa sl paper 1 tomorrow and I haven't started studying. might as well write to make myself feel better :)

The chalet was chaos.

Fake snow drifted from a too-powerful machine in the corner, giant boxes wrapped in glittery red paper were scattered across the floor, and someone — probably Tobi — had just spilled hot chocolate all over the set Santa throne. The camera crew was frantically trying to reset a shot while Ethan and Simon debated about who looked better in an elf costume.

You sat off to the side, watching the mess unfold with a bemused smile.

And then you noticed Harry.

He was standing by the fireplace prop, stiff and unfocused. His laugh was a second too delayed when someone cracked a joke. He was twisting his fingers together — not out of nerves, but out of habit. The one he always did when he was overwhelmed but didn’t want anyone to know.

Your heart tugged.

It wasn’t loud in the normal sense — no blaring music, no screaming fans — but it was too much. Too many lights. Too much fake cheer. Too many people in too small a space. You knew the feeling well. Your own social battery had dipped an hour ago, but you’d been trying to tough it out for the team.

You stood up and made your way over to him quietly.

"Hey," you murmured, gently touching his elbow.

He turned his head slightly, and the second your eyes met, his shoulders dropped. He didn’t even say anything — just gave you the smallest nod, like thank God you noticed.

“Come with me?” you asked softly, already steering him away.

You led him through the back hallway of the rented cabin until you found a small sitting room — unused, dimly lit, and blissfully quiet. You pulled him in and shut the door.

Harry sank onto the old couch with a heavy sigh and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands raking through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not looking at you. “I’m trying. I just... I feel like I’m gonna explode.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said, sitting beside him. “You don’t need to explain.”

“I didn’t sleep much,” he added, voice smaller now. “And it’s just been non-stop people all week. And I hate feeling like the one who can’t hack it.”

You reached out and gently tugged his sleeve until he let you take his hand.

“I get like this too,” you said quietly. “Everyone thinks I’m fine because I smile and keep talking. But sometimes I go home and sit in the dark and don’t answer my phone for a day because I’m just... drained.”

He looked over at you, eyes soft and a little glassy.

“There’s nothing wrong with needing a second to breathe. Or needing someone to pull you out for a bit.”

He laced his fingers through yours, squeezing gently.

“You’re really good at this,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion. “At knowing when I need it.”

You smiled. “It’s not a superpower. I just... care. A lot.”

A beat of silence passed between you. Then Harry leaned back on the couch and tugged you with him until your head was resting on his chest, his arms loosely wrapped around you.

“Can we just stay here for a while?” he whispered.

“Of course,” you said. “As long as you need.”

The world outside was still spinning — fake snow, bad jokes, and Christmas chaos. But in that little room, the two of you existed in a soft kind of silence. No pressure to be “on.” Just warmth, quiet, and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

And somehow, even with the chaos still waiting outside, everything felt just a little bit lighter.

[cheesit-notes]

PERVY TASK FORCE 141

pervy task force 141 who just can't help but take a peak at their newest recruit, you! (and the things they do.)

tags: mdni!, task force 141 being pervs, touchy johnny, intrusive staring w. simon, power abuse w. captain price, implied coercion for sex in all of them, sort of implied guilt tripping and blame on reader,

a/n: this is a repost from my old account! I wanna change sm of this 'cause I wrote this a while ago but oh well, old memories' sake. never done tags like this so im not quite sure what to write :'>

dirty gaz who’s morals get debauch the moment you enter the picture. he can’t help but imagine you in various positions taking him, all of him. he knows he shouldn’t but god, the way you look, the way you walk, everything you do… its your fault, you made him this way. so how will you take responsibility when you find him all hot and bothered?

touchy soap who can’t help himself when he’s next to you. whether it’s an arm around your shoulder or a hand that’s a little higher on your thigh than it should be; there’s nothing he can’t and won’t do. if you ever do voice your opinion on this, he dismisses it, “it’s just a habit, lass, do it to everyone”. so don’t bother, just let him get away with this, after-all it’s because you look so pretty, yeah?

lieutenant ghost who glares at you shamelessly. he says its ‘cause you tell a lot about someone’s character just by looking at them. but over time, his gaze seems to fall less on your face and more on your body. can you really blame him though? the clothes you wear reveal wonders and yet still leave so much to the imagination, it’s honestly like you’re purposely trying to seduce him! eventually he’ll want to confirm his imagination with the real thing. he needs the confirmation, it’s making him all agitated down there every second you deny him. so you’ll give in and help him, right? take responsibility.

price who gets off of the power rush from the authority he holds over you. he’ll give you some extra tasks, twist it somehow so it’ll make sense why you’re sitting on his lap all obediently. abuses his power over you to get you to do things that he wants you to do. oh, he should feel guilty about the power abuse but look at you! you’re so pretty, he can’t help but get high off ordering you around.

[moongreenlight]

“Realistic Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley headcanons” and then it’s just the fun police.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

- It makes me want to scoop my fucking brain out with a spoon when people say that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is some shy, anxious soft boy. I really do not believe he’d need to be coddled after a nightmare or babied when he’s feeling angsty. He is fine, y’all. Please don’t call paw patrol.

He is a soldier. He’s a war criminal. He is traumatized to the point of numbness. He is fucked up and weird and insane and honestly I think that we should all let everybody have their thing.

I cannot fix him. I do not want to fix him. I can only make him worse.

- Sorry but I just cannot write him having any kind of romantic feelings toward Soap. I like writing their dynamic more brotherly.

Furthest they’ve gone is ‘locker room gay.’

Like Johnny sends him dick pics on occasion because he thinks it’s funny and it pisses Ghost off.

That being said, I do read the occasional Ghoap fic. I’m not a perfect person. Sometimes it’s just yummy delicious.

- Feel like he’s the kind of freak to intentionally go to the gym without headphones. Something about discipline. Opting to just stare at the wall in front of him while he’s doing cardio or counting repetitions of exercises.

But on the rare occasion that he does indulge himself, he has a playlist of like 5-6 songs he likes and when it ends he just goes back to silence. Divorced dad rock. Chorded headphones only.

- Doesn’t have the debilitating commitment issues as people paint him out to have. Just commitment-phobic. Obviously stems from his past. He’s got that sexy deep rooted fear of abandonment or something horrible happening to people he actually lets close to him. But he’s not completely turned off by the idea of romantic attachments or close friends, just a little hesitant to open himself up to that kind of opportunity.

Probably very cagey about romantic partners. Doesn’t want the guys to know about you. Doesn’t keep pictures of you around his bunk or anything like that. He’s worried it’ll somehow compromise your safety. Worried about you getting swept up in his work.

- Women’s rights? Or Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley? I really do think he’d love to have a partner who lets him provide *everything* for them. He just wants to serve and protect. Wants his bird to be in a gilded cage all nice and safe and reliant on him for survival.

Doesn’t even really like the idea of you going to the grocery store by yourself. Would prefer if you just stayed put and tended his home and cooked him meals and let him dote on you and provide everything you could ever need.

- Has a really strange understanding of technology. He’s fine with the newer military stuff. That’s his element. He can do electrical wiring, set up a TV, install security cameras. That’s all whatever. But a cell phone? He doesn’t give a shit enough to keep up with the new updates and all the new things you have to learn when you get a smartphone. Wishes he would have kept a flip phone.

Texts like this: [OK. See youtonight.]

MAYBE has a private Facebook with no profile picture where the only things on his wall are Price wishing him a happy birthday every year.

His camera roll is like; 97 accidental screenshots of his Lock Screen, a few pictures of him and the task force boys, the inside of his pocket (another accident), a sunrise, a few cool things he found on missions, 34 pictures of Soap and Gaz when they took his phone.

- Insufferable in the early stages of trying to date him. Little to no communication other than basically demanding you meet him somewhere. Texting or talking on the phone? Like pulling fucking teeth. You think he’d rather be dead.

It was a headache getting him to go out in the first place. Maybe you worked at a bar where the guys would come to have a drink after a long day. He’s a little stand-offish but he’s handsome and he knows how to banter well enough for you to be persuaded by a coworker to slip him your number after you complained one too many times about a shit hookup or yet another terrible first date. It takes him nearly two weeks to phone you.

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“Didn’t think I would either.”

He takes you out once, you think he seems sort-of interested, then he doesn’t phone or text you back for three days. You get over it. A few more dates in. You can tell he’s a bit more relaxed. A bit more open. You’re less worried that you’re a terrible conversationalist. Then he goes on a month long deployment without saying anything in advance. Radio fucking silent yet again. You want to tear your hair out. When he finally gets back, he’ll text you something like [Atthat pub you like. Drinks ?] completely out of the blue. You think you may actually go insane.

- Once he’s gotten used to you, it’s like the sole purpose of his life is to be your protector even if you’ve only recently convinced yourself he may want something casual. You’re small and grab-able. He knows how nasty people can be and what think when they see you. He needs to know that you’re taken care of, kept safe from such a scary world.

So he’ll just linger around you. All the time. Standing behind you when you’re at the till at the store, staring down the cashier who was only trying to be friendly when they asked if you had any fun plans for the rest of the day. Big arms folded over his chest. Looming so largely he threatens to eclipse you without taking a single step forward. Eyes burning a hole into the poor person who hastily finishes the transaction without another word.

Walking silently next to you in the evenings after you’re both off work; close enough to brush shoulders, but that’s about it. Listening to you chirp on about your day. Occasionally offering a small grunt of acknowledgement or a few words of interjection. Always walks on the side of the path that he thinks could pose you the most immediate danger. Shielding you from what may lurk in a darkened alley or a hedge or a small thicket of trees.

Scary dog privilege, but like… for when you go to fill your car up with gas in broad daylight in a good part of town and he insists on standing out there with you. ‘Just in case’ If he even lets you out of the car in the first place.

- AND OFF THAT POINT. I think once he’s decided that he’s actually fond of you, it goes from zero to a hundred so fast it makes your head spin.

Like the last time you spoke, it was still unclear on if you were keeping things casual or not and now you’re at dinner and the waiter just asked him if the two of you wanted dessert and Simon just grunts “dunno. Ask the missus.” ??? He sucks so bad I NEED him.

- As much as I love an overly possessive and jealous Simon, I saw this tweet that said “My girlfriend can wear what she wants because she’s a hoe and I knew that before we started dating” and it changed my life.

He’s secure enough not to need to cause a scene if someone makes a pass on you in public. He understands that you’re attractive and that other people are bound to find you attractive too. (Not that he doesn’t still want to pull their fingernails out one by one, threatening them and everything they love for daring to exist near you. He’s just got better control over himself than that. King.)

He knows he’s better than any of your other options. Nobody else could keep you as safe as he could. They don’t know the world like he does. They don’t know how breakable you are. How sweet and naive you can be.

Not to say he isn’t overly jealous and possessive, he just won’t pitch a fit in public.

LIKE dragging him to the bar with your friends and he sits at the table with all of your drinks. Him watching you dancing out of the corner of his eye, seeing some prat come up and grab your ass in passing. Or a group of guys dancing with your friends getting a little *too* close to you for his liking. He doesn’t do anything while the two of you are out- not wanting to ruin your fun. But that night after you’ve gotten back to his flat (He insisted. Closer to the bar. Uber was cheaper.) and he’s tearing your miniskirt off like it’s personally offended him. He’ll be a little rougher. A little more liberal with the marks his mouth leaves on your collarbones and inner thighs. His strong hands will grab at the fat of your hips a little harder than he should- leaving bruises where his fingers dug in. He’ll lean over you while you’re split open with his length, snarling down at you. “Had everyone’s attention tonight, didn’t you, pet?“ “You like havin’ eyes on you?” “Greedy fuckin’ slag.” “Can’t appreciate what you have.” “Need a reminder of who you’ve got to impress.” Maybe he’ll take you in front of a mirror, massive hand fixed on your jaw. Jerking your face up so you have to look at yourself being ruined by him. How pretty and slutty you look when your makeup is ruined by the tears he’s fucking out of you.

- He calls you ‘bird’ or ‘pet’ more often than anything else. A little on the nose for how he treats you. Like you’re some small, frail thing that can’t go a day without him. Stripped of your natural survival instincts and instead leaning on him for support and comfort and food and shelter. Just how he likes it.

GOD he’s a fucking freak. Gross and mean and fucked in the head. Makes my stomach hurt. I hate him. I wish I was schizophrenic so I could vividly hallucinate him.

[differenteagletragedy]

Heyyy !!

So i had an idea.

Since Simon doesn’t celebrate birthdays at all, let’s imagine a world where reader’s birthday comes before his.

How would he react?

I thought that maybe he would ignore it just like anyone else’s birthday which would sadden reader A HELL LOT.

I absolutely live for angst so I believe that Simon would be crushed once he realizes his mistake and try to fix it.

Anyway, I hope that was understandable! Your writing is so good, I’m a 100% sure you’ll turn this into a masterpiece !

THANK YOU!??!!?! I live for the angst too, big big time, I hope you like it!!!

Simon keeps a watchful eye on you as you get ready for a night out with friends. He watches you do your hair and makeup, slide into a tight little dress, and it's a pleasant sight to see, but something's off. There's a tenseness in your shoulders, and he can't figure out the source.

"Everything all right?" he asks from his spot on the bed while you move to the closet to find a pair of shoes.

"Yep," you answer in a tone that tells him that everything is not, in fact, all right.

He stands, making his way to you, and you still when he puts his hands on your hips, pulling you so that your back rests against his chest.

"Can't fix the problem if I don't know what it is, love."

"The problem," you tell him, sliding around to face him, "is that I'm going to be late if you keep being handsy."

He lets you slip away from him.

Later that night, when you come home, you're buzzed enough to be honest but not enough to be belligerent about it. He meets you at the door, kneels to take your shoes off for you, and you begin.

"I'm sad."

He sets the shoes down and stands, taking your hands in his, and says, "Well, we can't have that, now can we?"

"It's my birthday," you tell him.

"As of midnight, yes."

"... You knew?"

There's hurt in your eyes, and Simon understands immediately that he's played this all wrong, but he's still trying to work out where exactly he failed.

"'Course I knew," he answers truthfully. "I know everything about you."

"Then why didn't you say anything? My friends took me out for my birthday, and you ... you didn't even say anything. You didn't want to come. Why not?"

"Because I knew you'd have more fun with your friends than you'd have with me."

It's another truth, but it's just the tip of the iceberg.

You sigh, then drop one of his hands, taking the other and leading him to the couch. You've been together long enough that he knows what this is -- you've just realized you've uncovered another piece of Simon Riley that is a little bit peculiar, and you want to talk it out.

"So here's the thing," you begin, sitting next to him. "I love you. I love being around you. And I want to be around you on my birthday."

He fights against the din that begins immediately in his mind -- the too-loud thoughts about how he doesn't deserve this understanding, doesn't deserve your kindness, doesn't deserve you, and he tries to speak.

Nothing comes out.

It's too many things, too many mistakes. It's the deep-seated feeling that plagued him at the beginning of the relationship, that quietened over time but is now back in full force, screaming through the silence in the room and making the patience in your stare painful: he's not cut out for this.

Finally, in a small, defeated voice, he says, "I was going to tell you happy birthday."

You pull him into a hug, then push him down until he's half-laying on the couch, his head in your lap and your fingers running through his hair. He closes his eyes, part of him waiting for this to be the final straw for you and part of him knowing, somehow, that you love him too much to let him go.

"Listen," you say softly, "I know sometimes you feel like you're not enough. But I need you to know that you are, ok? You're more than enough for me, Simon, you're everything. And that means spending birthdays with me and holidays and good times and bad times and everything else that makes up a life, because I want to share my life with you. Is that what you want?"

He can't say it in words, he doesn't know any that would suffice. He tries to say it in actions, in the way he gives you the first cup of tea, how he scrapes the ice off your windshield when it frosts and how he stops the radio in the car on your favorite songs, even when he can't stand them. He tries to press it into you too, through his hands and his mouth when he holds you.

Now, in the moment, he nods, his head still resting in your lap, and he hopes you can feel everything else. How hard he tries.

Your touch turns softer, and you pause to lean down and press a soft kiss on his temple.

"So tell me."

He hesitates, then turns to lay on his back so that he can look up at you. He feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards into a smile, small but genuine. It still feels strange, even after all these months, like a muscle that's never quite developed. It aches a little less every time.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he says.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Home is Where the Mouse is

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Summary: Ghost and Mouse begin their big city adventures!

Warnings: Language, Fluff, minor angst, smut (oral, M receiving), nudity, kissin, lovin, all that good stuff

Word Count:3K

A/n: now that the fuckin 8 months of darkness are finally over i've got more motivation and i really hope the creativity starts flowin cause mama wants to write. BUT ANYWAY here they are your fav pairing ghost and mouse, in the beginning of their big city adventures (im gonna update masterlists soon i suh-wear!) anyway thats all, love ya hope ya enjoy!!!

The Story of Ghost and Mouse

~*~

The concept of 'home' doesn't really exist to you.

Home.

You'd looked it up once, during one of those endlessly long days when your Ghost was away.

Home.

Noun.

the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.

Home.

Something that hasn't existed to you, at least not in a positive way, for your entire life.

But now, somehow, you're discovering this 'home'.

Creating it, even.

You've landed, exited the helo, and are now standing just inside the doors leading home.

Simon's fingers tugging on your sleeve pull you from your thoughts, your dreams, and back to the present moment.

"Here." He hands you a box wrapped haphazardly in brown wrapping paper.

You eye it warily, looking up at Simon for some sort of explanation.

"S'not much," Price chimes in, "just a little going away gift me an' the boys put together for you."

You go to hand it back to Simon, but Price stops you with a gentle hand on your forearm.

"We put it together for you, Mouse. Not for him."

You frown, looking between the box and the Captain.

It takes you a few moments to process this, but eventually, you pull the box in toward yourself.

"Thank you," you finally murmur, unease settling heavily on your chest.

The older man gives you a gentle smile, then takes a half-step back.

"Well, you two stay safe. Stay outta trouble, Mouse." Soap gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder in farewell, and Gaz gives you a wave, and then you're standing there alone with your Ghost.

Slowly, you turn to face him, eyes wide and full of wonder and fear and excitement.

His gaze is locked on yours, face covered by a black medical mask, but his eyes. His eyes are there, they always are.

Brown and soft when they rake over you, full of softness he's kept hidden for years, decades even.

And now it's all yours, spilling through the cracks in his cold hard exterior. A pot of love and light and all the good things he can muster, boiling over on the stove of his heart.

And you're the one who lit the fire.

"C'mon, Mouse. Let's go home."

The entire drive through the city, your eyes are trained out the window. Looking at anything, everything. The gloomy clouds that spit a few tears every now and then, the stragglers walking wherever they need to go

A fire truck races past in the opposite direction and you swivel around in your seat, craning your neck to try and follow it as much as you can. 

And Ghost says nothing. 

He’s silent the entire drive, as he usually is, but this time it’s different. So different. This time he’s not going home alone. 

No, now he has you, his sweet little mouse. And the last thing he wants to do is pull you from the window where you sit and stare in awe. 

“Look!” You exclaim suddenly, a smile spreading widely across your face.

He follows your finger, brows drawing together as the car slows to a stop at a red light. 

“Look look look!” You point harder, pressing your finger firmly against the glass. 

“What is it, love?” Simon asks curiously, rolling down your window. 

You gasp, looking at him with pure bewilderment written across your face as if he’s just performed witchcraft before your very eyes. 

“There! That one!” 

Finally, he sees what you’re pointing at, and he can’t help the sad smile that tugs at his lips. 

“That’s a school bus. Kids get on that and it drives them to school. S’where they go to learn how to read and write… do math. That sor’a thing.”

The more you learn about that world, the more you realize you’ve missed out on. 

All of this, every single thing, is brand new to you. The giant glowing signs in the sky, the vehicles - some different shapes and colours, the supermarkets, banks, hotels, train tracks. 

The reminder of your bleak upbringing tugs on Simon’s heartstrings, and he reaches across to rest a hand on your thigh, giving it a loving squeeze. 

Your eyes drop down to where his hand meets your leg, and then you lift your gaze up to his face. 

The car starts moving again, but Simon glances over at you every now and then. 

“What’s goin’ through that head a’ yours?” He asks after a few moments of silence. Moments spent, mostly, staring at him. 

“What do we do now?” You finally ask, voice small. 

He gives your thigh another squeeze then gently rubs his thumb back and forth against you. 

“Now we do whatever we want. For a bit, at least.”

He’s got three weeks off. Three whole weeks to spend with you doing whatever the two of you please. 

“What does Simon want?” 

A number of things happen in the few heartbeats that pass between your question and his answer. The first being him falling even deeper in love with you. 

The second thing that happens is a deep contemplation of your words. 

What does Simon want? 

You. That’s what. 

He doesn’t care if you spend the next three weeks in his bed too fucked-out to move. 

He doesn’t care if you want to go to Saskatoon, Paris, or the moon, for that matter. Whatever you want is what he wants. 

Whatever makes you happy he’s sure will make him happy. 

And so he answers as honestly as he can. 

“I want you, sweet Mouse. S’long as ‘ve got that ’m a happy man.”

The smile that stretches your cheeks is the same smile that melts his heart. 

His hand moves from your thigh to your hand and then he’s lacing his thick calloused fingers through your small, fragile ones.

He tugs your hand over toward his face, chapped lips kissing your skin for a long moment before lowering your hands. 

“How ‘bout we go home, spend a few days there, and take it from there. How’s that sound?”

You give his hand a squeeze and settle into your seat a bit more.

“We go home,” you agree, sighing softly and turning to look out the window again, this time with a lovesick smile on your pretty pretty face. 

~*~

‘Home’ turns out to be a small one-bedroom apartment in what Simon describes as an ‘affordable’ area of a rainy city that you wouldn’t be able to point out on a map. 

The people here sound similar to your Simon, but none quite have the same accent. 

It’s a short trek up three flights of stairs and down a damp hallway, but then he’s unlocking the door and motioning for you to enter first.

You hesitate just in front of the threshold, unsure eyes darting up to his and waiting for his confirmation before you take another step. 

He watches you for a moment, then gives you a gentle but definite nod.

You step inside, breathe your first breath of home, and it’s nothing but Simon. 

His scent clings to the cold air in his apartment, wrapping around you when you take another step further inside. 

“Sorry for the cold. No point havin’ the heat goin’ when m’ not home.”

You don’t answer him, far too amazed by all that surrounds you. 

Now, Simon makes good money. Far more than he really needs, but that doesn’t mean he splurges. 

He’s away from the apartment more often than not, so why buy expensive furniture, or soft area rugs, or more than one chair for his kitchen table? 

His apartment, though impeccably clean, could compare to the shit-holes he’d often find you living in. 

But to you? This is luxury. 

Simon sets his bags down and locks the door, leaning against it and watching as you slowly and carefully explore your new home. 

You drag your fingers over every surface you can reach, tears prickling your eyes at the beauty surrounding you. 

The walls are intact and don’t have a single bullet hole. None of the windows are broken, and the couch might be the softest thing you’ve ever touched. 

Simon follows you as you venture over to the balcony, peering outside curiously. 

The view catches you off guard and you quickly look over at Simon, as if confirming that this is real, you’re not dreaming.

He only gives you a soft smile and a gentle nod.

Taking a shaky breath, you continue exploring. 

You dust your fingers over the bookshelf, across the spines of well-loved books about who-knows-what.

And then you’re venturing into the kitchen, curiously opening cupboards and then peering into the fridge. 

“We’ll go grocery shopping together. Get you some real nice snacks.”

You nod absentmindedly, leaving the kitchen and heading toward the other two rooms, opening up every single closet on your way. 

Simon can’t help but chuckle when he hears you turn the water on and off and on and off and on and back off in the bathroom. 

When you make your way into the bedroom, he follows, moving silently and watching as you trace your fingers over his bed.

Your bed, now. 

Besides that, there's a single nightstand with a lamp on it serving as the only other piece of furniture in the room. Another thing he plans on changing now that you’re here. 

“So? What do you think?” He asks after a moment, watching the way you stare at the bed, topped with an old duvet and one single pillow. 

Another thing he needs to change. 

“Home,” you murmur, pressing your hand flat against the bed and then looking over at him. 

He nods and makes his way over to you. Two strong, deadly hands push your hair away from your face, and then they’re gently holding you, tilting your head back. 

Your lips part and your lids flutter closed, and Simon marvels at how easily you let him touch you, handle you. 

“S’right, Mouse. We’re home. Jus you ’n me.”

He catches the falling drops as you melt into him, cradles you against him and presses kiss after tender kiss to your head. 

The two of you stand there for a long while, long enough for him to groan when you finally pull back to look up at him. 

“‘M’gonna shower. Care to join?”

You nod up at him eagerly, slipping your fingers under the back of his shirt and humming when you feel his warm skin. 

A chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“‘F I didn’t know any better I’d think you just want me naked,” he muses, slowly walking the two of you backward. 

You follow his lead effortlessly, your eyes focused up on his as a mischievous smile spreads across those lips that he wants to kiss. 

Your wish is promptly granted. 

Soon enough, the two of you are bare beneath the spray of the water. Water that will get warm and stay warm, unlike what the two of you are used to. 

Simon washes your hair for you, massages the three-in-one into your scalp then rinses it while trying to remember the last time he bought shampoo. 

Another thing he’ll need to change. 

The list grows with each room he sees you in. 

A toothbrush for you, a new tube of toothpaste because his is not looking the best. 

Another mug, because maybe one really isn't enough. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts by those soft hands of yours, wandering down his belly, following the happy trail. 

He sucks in a sharp breath when your little fingers wrap around the base of his semi, quickly chubbing beneath your delicate touch. 

You look up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, and he sways a little on his feet with how quickly the blood rushes south. 

Curiosity cocks your head to the side and pulls your hand upward, then slowly pushes it back down. 

Simon pushes a heavy breath through his nose and drops his head back as one hand grabs your wrist while the other braces against the wall. 

The water rains against your back as you slowly stroke his shaft, bottom lip tucked securely between your teeth as you watch the big man before you slowly come apart.

The hand on your wrist tightens but doesn't stop you nor does it push you to pump him faster. 

No, he’s more than happy to take things at your pace, to let you have your way with him, do what you want to him. 

And that’s exactly what you do.

Slowly, you sink to your knees in front of him, a position he’s only ever imagined you in, and one he’s not sure you knew about. 

One day you’ll tell him about the website you stumbled upon that someone must’ve left open on the tablet, but today is not that day. 

Instead, you push your hair back and stroke his length a bit faster, leaning forward to place a gentle kitten lick on the tip.

His hips stutter forward and his knees buckle the tiniest bit and you can’t help but giggle.

“Fuckin’ hell. You tryna kill me?”

You grin up at him and lick your lips and fuck if that isn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever seen in his life. 

He has half a mind to stop you so he can grab his phone and take a photo of you and make it his lock screen. 

Wet hair clinging to your face in some spots, eyes wide, back arched, chest up, pretty hand around his cock and prettier lips pressing against the tip. 

The thought leaves his head though when you wrap your mouth around the mushroom tip, tongue swirling around experimentally while your hand continues stroking him. 

His abs flex, shoulders hunch forward and his breathing becomes laboured. 

Water runs down the strong bridge of his nose, falling over his lips only to be blown away with each pant of air. 

The hand on your wrist moves to your head, not pushing you down but certainly stopping you from pulling back (not that you had any plan on doing that).

Encouraged by his reaction, you flatten your tongue against the underside and slide down his length as far as you can go, stopping only when you feel like you may gag. And then you pull back and do it again. And again. And again. Each pass brings you further and further down his heavy cock until your nose is nestling in the blond batch of hair at the base. 

Your eyes water as you fight your gag reflex again, but the look on his face is so worth it. 

His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s flushed pink from his chest to the tips of his ears. 

You hum around a mouthful of him, coughing when he snaps his hips forward the tiniest bit, forcing more down your throat. 

You pull away, gasping for air, and he opens his mouth to apologize but all that comes out is a choked moan when you immediately drop your mouth back onto him.

“Fuck!”

You don’t stop, mimicking what you saw in the video, and it seems to work because in no time Simon is gripping your head with both hands and trying his hardest not to fuck his cum down your throat and into your belly. 

It surprises you a bit, the thick warm salty ropes that spurt in your mouth and down your throat, but it’s not unwelcome.

It tastes salty and so distinctly Simon that you can’t help but moan and greedily suck it out of him. 

This time he can’t control it - his hips stutter forward when you continue sucking and licking at his oversensitive cock, not stopping until he physically pries you off, and even then you whine up at him like he ruined your meal. 

You stay on your knees, warm water raining down on you, lips covered in spit and cum and fuck you’ve never looked better. 

Simon leans his shoulder against the wall, panting heavily as one hand reaches out to stroke your cheek lovingly. You lean into his touch, humming softly, and he feels himself wrap around your finger a little bit tighter. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, reaching for your hand and tugging you up to your feet. 

Your legs ache a bit, but that disappears the moment he presses his lips to yours.

He kisses you with such fever you squeak in surprise, the sound quickly silenced and devoured by his hungry mouth.

His hands, big and warm and so made just to touch you, to feel you, find your waist and pull you flush against him.

You melt against him as the warm water beats against your back, rivalling the intense heat radiating from his chest.

Finally, when your lungs are aching, he lets you break away from him.

Your heavy breaths mingle in the damp shower air, and you can't help but giggle softly up at him.

Blond hairs dangle close to his eyes, water dripping from them as the corners of his scarred lips tug upward.

"What?" He asks, "Somethin' funny?"

You shake your head and tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, then gaze up at him with wide eyes full of admiration and adoration.

And in his eyes, you find an exact mirror of your own.

Home.

[patrickispinky]

Simon Elroy x Afab! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral (receiving) Overstimulation, Dacrophilia.

(Fuck I did it again. It was just supposed to be headcanons I swear 🥲 whelp to late now. Enjoy the mini one-shot)

I'm the wise words of @whoopsyeahokay he's a ✨giver✨ (thx for the input by the way. I was struggling to find out how to write this)

I feel like he's the type to be nervous at first. Not wanting to make the wrong move in fear of scaring you off. He's also like this in non-sexual aspects of your relationship but that's for another time.

You have to take things slow with him, let him know that you're not going anywhere. Poor boy has slight abandonment issues.

Sweet little makeout sessions behind the bleachers or in the locker rooms while skipping gym that leave him going to his next class with an obvious tint in his pants that he knows his friends are gonna tease him about.

Cherry hot kisses in your car when you were just supposed to be giving him a ride home from school that somehow moved from your lips to your neck, red marks forming that will soon turn purple.

Innocent young romance that keeps teetering on the edge of what you both so desperately want but don't know how to start. Until you do.

It was late, you were dropping Simon off after a football game Clair had dragged you to when he asked if you wanted to come in and re-watch terrifier with him. Nothing out of the ordinary just you, your boyfriend, and a small late night movie date.

So how the hell did you get here? Simon between your thighs, tears rolling down your cheeks after cumming for the upteenth time. Blame Simon for having wandering hands.

It wasn't entirely his fault, you walked out in that incredibly low cut shirt that he couldn't take his eyes off the entire game. Sometimes he wondered if you did shit like that on purpose.

It drove him insane watching you flant around like nothing was wrong. Jumping up and down, cheering when The Split River Bandits scored, tits bouncing with every move. He needed you, he needed you more than anything. More so he needed to make you feel the same kind of mind melting grip you had on him.

And oh boy did he do that. With something as simple as his tongue. Delicate slow movements around your sensitive overstimulated clit, lapping over and over and over again. Not giving you a single second to think about anything other than him and the way he's making your eyes roll back.

Nothing but pure bliss. The sound of your broken half whimper half sobs drowning out the tv playing in the background. In that moment it was just the two of you in the world, your brain turning to mush, forgetting everything you've ever known outside of Simons living room.

You danced in the line of insanity, not knowing if you could handle another orgasm but the thought of pushing him away made you want to scream. It was all too much. You felt your mind blanking, that perfect place of ecstasy so close, taunting you.

You were broken. This sweet precious boy that was always so gentle, broke you and it was the most amazing thing you've ever felt.

Hips grinding up into his face, hands gripping the soft cushion around you, mind absolutely destroyed and in one foul movement you felt absolute heaven crash over you. A deadly mix of pleasure and pain that left you breathless.

You laid there, shaking, tears streaming down your face as you tried to regain your composer. After a few beats of silence you felt Simon pull away, body creeping up to lay next to yours as he propped himself up on his elbow.

You took a few deep breaths before looking at him, seeing the lower half of his face drenched and the biggest ear to ear smile. "How'd I do?"

(I fear I ate and so did Simon apparently... Im so not funny 😭)

[queenofmorningstar]

Caught Between the Vees

The Vees x f! Intern Reader

Summary: You're assigned to Valentino's studio... Will you be able to achieve your goal or get lost?

CW: MDNI, Canon typical violence, blood, etc. (I've tried not to be descriptive). Val's saliva has lube-like quality (spit play??), Anal play, p in v, oral sex, fingerfucking, pearl lingerie, light stalking?

Notes: The chap title is taken from Super Psycho Love by Simon Curtis (i recommend listening to it while reading)

The pearl lingerie I was inspired by.

Word Count: 3.9K

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5

CHAPTER THREE: Take My Heart & Slowly Bleed Me

“You look like hell,” Your intern program manager said the first thing to you in the morning. “Had a rough night?”

You coughed. “Something like that.”

Velvette had not messaged you since yesterday, which made you feel relieved and anxious at the same time somehow?! You didn’t know if to feel glad that there would be no awkward conversation but at the back of your head other thoughts nagged you. Was it only a one-night stand? Not that you were in love or anything! But at least she could say something…

Your manager squinted at his screen. “Today your duties are in the porn studios with Mr. Valentino.”

You froze. Oh, fuck no. You already knew what happened to his employees there, thanks to Angel Dust. And if Angel was there, he would definitely try to get you out…but you needed more proof of their doings. You had no chance of going to Vel’s office today since it was far away from Val's studio.

“Um, but I’ve no expertise in helping around the studio. Maybe I can help somewhere else? What about that meeting Mr. Vox asked me to attend?”

“It’s scheduled for tomorrow.” Your manager went back to play Candy Crush.

Your phone lit up with messages; it was from Velvette on your Voxstagram.

You were tagged in one of the pictures of yesterday’s show. It was followed by her message.

Vel: every1 is asking me if I’m gonna make u the next face for my magazines

You: Hell no

Vel: Ofc, darlin, ur for my eyes only

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks, but you put your phone away as you made your way towards the porn studios.

The lighting was low, but intentional. Crimson bulbs lined the upper edges of the walls, casting a sensual glow that softened edges.

The walls were dressed in a rich patchwork of soundproof foam, deep burgundy and matte black. Thick plum drapes hung heavy along the back wall. You saw a group of actors prepping for a scene to your left, their bodies slick with oil as they stretched and posed for various shoots.

The air is thick with the scent of sex. The current set looks like an high-end bedroom, currently occupied by two moaning actors.

You decided to stay back, with the cameramen and being less noticeable. You would not say anything and everything will go smoothly and you will emerge out of this bullshit alive. You decided to observe, write some notes, handle some minor lights and go home…or maybe you could snoop around.

You didn’t think Valentino had any special info, your bet being strongest on Vel and Vox. But still, there must be some correspondence…emails, maybe?

Finding private offices of these guys was not hard – Val had his name gold-plated on a door. You slowly moved towards it–

“WHAT THE FUCK is this script?!” Val gripped a sinner by his collar. “Do you think you can submit whatever TRASH to me, puta madre?!”

He takes out his gun to shoot the sinner, and somehow that makes you come forward, your feet moving on their own. “I’d say that there are a lot of “daddy”s thrown around that it just gets annoying.”

Everyone froze. Yeah, you just made yourself look like an idiot.

Val just stared at you in a gawking manner, as if he never heard that sentence before.

You chuckled nervously, as you moved a step ahead. “And I would suggest keeping light…more diffused than low.”

Val considers your points and gestures to his employee to do as told, which improves the mood greatly. He gestures for you to come closer.

“Fuck my life.” You muttered as you approached right in front, everyone looking at you as if you’re an upstart.

“Now querida, tell me more.” Valentino’s sharp cerise smirk directed at you. You tried to calmly explain your points. He made you sit beside him to correct and help him direct the show.

He was surprisingly entranced and charmed by your professional manner, even when the most filthiest scenes were played out in the flesh in front of you. Oh, you’re a keeper.

One leg draped lazily over the other, his crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, fixed on you.

You flipped through the stapled script pages with the cool detachment of a surgeon, a red pen clenched between your fingers like a scalpel. Your pen danced across the page again. Slash. Rewrite. Condense.

“This scene’s garbage,” you said flatly, without even pausing to soften it.

Valentino raised an eyebrow, his grin slow and toothy. “Careful, sweetheart. That ‘garbage’ earns me a stack of cash taller than you every week.”

You shrugged. “And it could earn you double if the dialogue didn’t sound like it was written by a drunk frat boy.”

He laughed—a short, surprised sound. Like he hadn’t expected you to clap back.

You flipped another page and tapped a finger against a line. “Listen to this—‘Yeah baby, let me pollinate your forbidden flower’? That’s not sexy. That’s a pesticide ad. Even though the plot is regency era, no one talked like that.”

Now he was really looking at you.

He hated that. Hated how good your edits were. Hated the way the actors came alive under your version. Hated how the set felt electric when you were around—like even the cameras leaned in closer to catch a piece of your spark. (Maybe Vox was watching…)

He should shut it down. Fired you. Crushed your pride just to prove he could.

But he didn’t want you gone.

No—he wanted you closer.

Valentino watched you throughout the work day, as if he didn’t have anything else to watch. It’s not like he had a shortage of whores. No, he treated you like he did the other Vees – with familiarity. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, to have you beside him always, while he made money off these degenerate losers.

Since he was watching you, his eyes fell on another one of his employees, something was wrong about that fucker…

Vox called for his emergency meeting, where his sharks swam in the background. A screen played the security footage of you being followed by that creep. Vox slammed his fist on the table, his left eye wide with spirals, the static coming to life in his voice. “We need to DESTROY him. That filthy son of bitch, I will TEAR HIM FROM LIMB TO LIMB.”

Velvette watched in silence, no outward reaction. But she clenched her fingers so hard the screen of her phone cracked, and her nails chipped (she never lets that happen.) “We should first make sure to end the threat and make sure she is safe.”

Val was glad to make Vox look into his cameras around the city. He loaded his bedazzled gun. “I will tear his soul apart.”

___________________________________

You had lured in the sinner perfectly. He was the closest to work with Val, and fortunately from his usual style of scripts and acting, he has a stalking kink. So you played a little bit into it. You acted vulnerable during coffee break, helped him during his screen time personally with the setting…

The door to your apartment clicked shut behind you with a sigh of relief. It had been a long day—rewrites, shoots, and more moaning than you ever thought you’d tolerate without going mad. All you wanted now was to rip off your clothes, get into comfortable pajamas, and watch some romcom.

As you entered your modest home, you kept the curtains slightly open.

Your eyes fell on a package on your sofa. You weren’t expecting any order…

Then you saw the note on it: To more fun times together, amorcito ♡

You smiled despite yourself. It felt good to be appreciated.

You opened the package…and some bejeweled strings came out. You were confused for a second, then you untangled it.

You lifted the delicate thing from the box with a slow, deliberate motion, letting the pearls pool across your fingers. A pearl lingerie.

The bra had no fabric, no padding, not even sheer lace to pretend at modesty. Just a filigree of golden clasps that held together strands of pearls, draped in such a way that the breasts would be adorned, not hidden.

The panties…or what passed for them, were nothing more than a suggestion.

A thin V-shaped arrangement of pearls descended from two gold hip chains, draping low over where silk or lace might have once gone. The pearls tapered between the thighs, threaded to form a teasing little drop of coverage in front and a scandalous, whisper-thin tail behind.

Your instinct was to slam the lid shut.

This wasn’t just a gift. It was a dare.

You should throw it away, which would be a logical thing to do.

And yet.

Your fingers hovered above the pearls. They were real. Smooth, iridescent. Expensive as hell. You could sell it…but you loved it.

You just appreciate finer things in life.

And anyways, according to your calculations, the creepy bastard won’t be here for another ten minutes. You could try it…

___________________________________

After some time, you finally figured out which string went where.

Then the gunshots shattered the quiet.

Crack—crack—BANG.

Your whole body tensed. The silence that followed was too loud, too thick.

Then—

“You think you can watch her?!”

Something—or someone—hit a wall hard.

You yanked your robe off the hook. You barely got one arm through before another crash sounded.

You darted towards the nearest window. Violence wasn’t uncommon in hell, obviously, but you had managed to get an apartment in one of the quieter areas.

You were about to yell to those sinners to take their bullshit elsewhere, but you gasped as you saw the Vees’ limousine outside. You could see Velvette and Vox inside…and Valentino, snarling and furious. “You slimy little FUCK! You thought I wouldn’t see you?!”

Val’s pink smoke swirled around the sinner you had managed to lure, and pulled out a document. The pink smoke carried and put the papers in Vox’s hands, as he opened the door slightly. He crushed it in between his fingers. “Carrying our top secret docs? So, he is a traitor too.”

Vel chuckled, the sound sweet like poison. “Don’t worry, peasant. I will find everything on you and make your life more miserable.” She had done it before. Her word was believed easily on all social media.

Vox waved dismissively, as if such filth was beneath him. “He is yours, Val. I will join you later, so keep him alive. I need to erase cctv files around this area, and install alarms around her house, so we know anything that comes CRAWLING here.”

Val laughed maniacally. “Of course, amorcito. I will take good care of this hijo de puta.”

As the limousine drove off, the real nightmare for that guy started.

Ugh, you didn’t care about that useless fucker, he could die, but not before that information!

“You rat bastard. Do you know who she belongs to?”

Another punch. A scream, choked and ugly.

“I should put a bullet in your dick for even thinking about her. She’s ours.”

You sighed and stepped outside. The air was too cold.

You only looked at him, his back to you. His moth wings were spread wide behind him, blood splattered on his clothes.

“Val.” You said softly.

He froze, slowly turning towards you, but did not say anything as if waiting for what kind of response you were going to give.

You leaned against the doorframe. “I can’t sleep with all that noise.”

Val was silent for a while, as if shocked. Then his deep chuckle reverberated in the night. “Sorry about that, querida. I will take my business elsewhere.”

You huffed. “No way are you walking around like that, redecorating the sidewalk with someone’s spleen.” Though that was everyday in Hell, but Valentino didn’t object and as you opened your door and followed you inside.

You silently gave him wet towels to clean himself up, because in no way in hell you’re letting him in your bathroom to wash. He was too tall.

You flopped onto the couch, crossing your legs lazily. One leg peeked from beneath the robe, pearl glinting along the curve of your thigh. You were lost in thought, your source of information lost. Fuck, this was way harder than you thought.

Val tossed his bloodied jacket onto the armchair, then flopped down with less grace. “You don’t have any questions?”

Fuck, yes, this looked suspicious. Should you have acted surprised?

You shrugged. “I didn’t think you were going to tell me.”

You only left curtains open in your rooms except the bedroom, where you had changed, so you know you were fine.

Val was not keen to tell you, because he couldn’t understand it himself. He was the fucking Overlord of Lust, his studios made various content for these stalker fuckers. And particularly, he didn’t care as long as he made money. So why did anyone looking at you, other than himself, made him want to set these motherfuckers on fire?

He needed to be distracted, and he got the perfect opportunity. The couch creaked slightly as you shifted, tucking one leg beneath the other. The robe slipped, just a little.

Valentino stopped mid-sentence.

He’d been pacing the carpet with some half-baked rant about rats, disrespect, territory, typical post-homicide venting…but now he stopped like someone had yanked a cord in his spine.

His gaze dropped. Just a flicker—a flash of ivory beads hugging your collarbone, dipping under the curve of your breast. Just enough to make a man’s brain short-circuit.

You noticed his gaze, but somehow his gaze was different from how he looked at his whores, and it made you…feel safe and desired.

Not hunger. Need laced with awe.

He closed the distance between you, rough silk rustled as he pushed the robe the rest of the way off your shoulders. It slipped down your arms like water, pooling at your elbows, forgotten. His four hands were everywhere— dragging up your thighs, fingertips skating over pearl-strung hips.

His mouth followed, pressing hot kisses up the inside of your thigh, over the delicate loop of beads that barely covered your heat.

Suddenly, he pulls you down on his lap, your back to his chest. Val nuzzled his face in your neck, while one pair of his hands slid down to grip your thighs.

With a smirk, he tugged on a string at your belly, causing the strings around your pussy to press against your clit. He pulled and released, causing delicious friction, making the pearls rolling and pressing against your sensitive nub. You gasped in surprise.

“I had this made for you specifically, baby.” He chuckled darkly in your ear. He spreads your thighs wider apart. “Let me enjoy the show, cariño. Te ves tan hermosa.”

His other pair of arms moved to cup your chest, squeezing and kneading your soft breasts in such an expert manner that the pearls flicked across your nipples. He rolls the tightened buds between his fingers, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Val continues to manipulate the pearl strings against your swollen bud, while playing with your nipples between his fingers.

Your thighs trembled, barely able to stay open, a sharp moan escaping from your lips. “Fuck—Val…”

His name spilled out in a breathless rasp. Your head dropped back against his chest, eyes squeezing shut as heat bloomed low and hard in your belly.

As he watches, Valentino experiences a high like never before by the sight of those glistening pearls, now soaked with your arousal.

In one swift motion, he turns you around and bends you over, your ass pointing up in the air. He ripped the flimsy strings away, exposing you completely. You gasped. “Hey! I liked this one!”

He chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll gift you to that entire store if you want.”

All he wanted was to be inside of you. He runs his fingers through your soaked folds, spreading your wetness around. He loved to watch your fluttering pussy, but he gasped softly as your other hole quivers too. “So cute.”

He was surprised at every turn with you. He had never said anything was ‘cute’ while fucking anyone.

Val leaned down, his voice low and husky in your ear. “Baby, can I touch this cute little ass of yours?” He gently rubs a finger against your hole, not pushing inside yet.

You bit your lip, hesitating. “I don’t think…I’ve any lube left.”

Val froze, just for a second, before a slow, wicked grin cut across his face.

“Baby,” he rasped, voice thick and amused, “I will not need that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, brows arching. “There is no way I’m letting you in there without that.”

The bulge in his pants pressed right against you, hard and pulsing. You could feel him grin as he kissed your jaw, your cheek, the hollow beneath your ear.

“Hmm. I’m not taking you there today on my cock. My saliva,” he murmured between kisses, “has some very useful properties. Like…natural lubrication.”

You had noticed his pink saliva dripped down from one side of his lips.

He leaned over, arm reaching toward the side of the couch to his discarded coat—and pulled something small and sleek.

You blinked. Your eyes locked on the object in his hand. “Seriously? Do you carry that around for whoever you get to fuck in the way?!”

It was a jet black plug, with a base shaped like a heart.

“Oh no, cariño, this is all for you.”

“There’s no way you’d planned all that ahead–”

His hands spread your cheeks gently but firmly, and his mouth followed—tongue lapping lower, teasing circles just around where you knew he was headed.

Your breath stuttered, fingers gripping the cushions hard.

“Mmm, I’d planned to fuck you in front of that bastard, but no, that didn’t sit right with me. You are for our eyes only, aren’t you, baby?”

Our? Before you could think about what he meant, he pushed his tongue inside. His fingers joined in. He pushed one finger gently inside, slowly easing it inside as you moaned. “Holy fuck, Val…warn a girl—”

He added a second finger, stretching you carefully. He could feel your body tensing and then relaxing as he worked his fingers in and out. Once he was satisfied that you could take it, he slicked the plug with his own spit.

“Deep breath, baby.” he said, pressing the tip in.

The first push was barely more than pressure, enough to make your breath hitch and your fingers curl tighter into the cushions. Your heart pounded in your throat, and you could feel the smugness radiating off of him as he traced a hand down the arch of your back.

“That’s it,” he purred, voice low and heady as you moaned. “Fuck, look at you. You’re so good for me.”

Your thighs instinctively started to close, but his hands were already there, hands pressing into your skin to hold you open. But oh-so-gentle in that way that made you clench around nothing.

“Relax,” he murmured, lips brushing the back of your neck. “Let me in, baby.”

He dipped his head, tongue flicking over your shoulder blade as the plug pushed deeper…slow, stretching, the shape unfamiliar but not unbearable.

You gasped when the widest part slipped past the tight ring of muscle, your hips twitching. “Val—”

“Shhh,” he cooed, kissing the top of your spine. “Almost there. You’re taking it so well, baby. Like you were meant for this.”

The base slid into place with a quiet pop, and you whimpered in half-shock, half need. Your body clenched around it, and you could feel every shift, every movement.

“God,” You whispered, cheek pressed to the cushion. “That feels…so full—”

Val’s hand slipped between your thighs again, two fingers sliding into your soaked heat with ease. You moaned, head tossing to the side, and he groaned at the feel of you.

Just as you were beginning to adjust, to breathe through it, he leaned over you, cock hard and hot against your thigh and whispered, “Wanna know how good you’ll feel with both?”

You gasped in shock.

He laughed, the sound low and delighted.

You could feel the steady pulse of the plug, snug and deep. And then there were his fingers, still working you, coaxing slick sounds from between your thighs.

“So fucking wet,” Val murmured behind you. “Tell me what you want. I can only give you when you ask for, querida.”

“I want you in me. I want—fuck, Val…fill me.” You managed to gasp. That was so embarrassing to say out loud.

That broke something in him. You heard the sharp rip of fabric—his belt, maybe?—then the hiss of a zipper. Then he was pressing against your entrance, hot and throbbing, the head of his cock notched right where your body begged for it.

Slowly and steadily, he began to push in.

Your lips parted in a soundless moan, eyes wide, fingers fisting the cushion beneath you as the first inches slid in. The pressure was like nothing else…intense, nearly overwhelming. The plug in your ass pressed forward with every thrust, amplifying every inch of him as he filled you. You could feel everything. Every goddamn thing.

“Val—fuck—too much—”

“You can take it,” he gritted out, voice half-feral. “You were made to take it.”

He pushed in slowly, almost painfully careful, letting your body stretch around the thick intrusion. His hands stayed locked on your hips, steadying you, grounding you as you trembled beneath him.

Your body clenched around both him and the plug, every nerve lit up, and you couldn't think. “Oh my God—” You choked.

He started to move—shallow at first, testing your limits. Each thrust pressed the plug deeper, nudging nerves you didn’t even know existed.

Maddening. Every glide of him inside you made the plug shift, and every clench of your body around it made him groan like he was losing his goddamn mind.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he growled. “So good—you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

Your nails scraped the couch. Your breath came in short, strangled gasps. Every thrust dragged you closer to the edge, hips rolling back into him like instinct.

“You love this,” he snarled, driving into you harder. “You love being ruined like this.”

And when he reached down and slid his hand between your thighs again, finding that swollen bud and rubbing tight, wicked circles, you broke. “Val! Oh my God…Valentino—”

You came hard, your body clenching down around both intrusions, shivering and twitching.

He followed you into that fall, his thrusts losing rhythm, stuttering, becoming ragged and wild until he buried himself one last time with a snarl and a growl that sounded more demonic than usual.

His release pulsed inside you, warm and satisfying.

When he finally slumped over you, chest heaving against your back, he kissed your shoulder softly.

___________________________________

Meanwhile…

Vox wiped the blood from his screen.

The bastard was half-dead, but still screaming. An annoying fly. “Please, Mr. Vox! I’m not a traitor. That bitch was asking me–”

Vox dragged his sharp claws across his neck. “You still have a tongue to insult her. My mistake.”

After silencing him forever, he intended to look into you thoroughly.

Next>>>

[imshymorph]

Okay so, after a few months, i’m back with something that was supposed to be a blurb and ended up being almost 2.9k words (added a full 100 words when editing, oh well).

It’s Situationship!Ghost, specifically angsty situationship ghost. (i have a full bullet point list with headcanons for this ghost and i’ll probably write more at some point) . Anyway, enjoy!

- - - - -

You had seen him quite a few times before, although you barely knew him. He lived across from you, the door on the other side of the hallway. Hardly had known anything about him, that his name was Simon –something you only had discovered when his mail had been left in your mailbox by accident– and he was military.

However, somehow since that day, the fateful day that you had taken what seemed to be a letter from the bank, the two of you had started to talk more often. It didn’t start as anything crazy, but at least now he would say “hello” when you both were in the hallway, coincidentally leaving or going back to your respective flats at the same time.

It had slowly evolved over time, happening over the expanse of full months with how little he seemed to be home. From just a greeting to some small talk, be it a comment about the weather when the mancunian skies delivered nothing but rain day after day here; or perhaps a remark on how expensive everything seemed to be lately when you walked back home with a bag of groceries there.

What really made all of it change though, was when Simon got sent home for a medical leave after a close call in a mission, a bullet almost lodged in his lungs. He didn’t know why, but having to stay out of the field was much harder than any other time, he was much more restless. The feeling was only made more obvious when he started to go in and out much more, busying himself with little tasks or just taking walks. It meant that your meetings in the hallway happened more and more often.

When you had discovered why he seemed to be home for so much longer than usual you had insisted on helping him out, getting things from the store for him, bringing him home cooked meals and mainly keeping him company. By the time he had gone back to the field, you spent more nights a week on his side of the hallway than your own.

That’s when he realised, when he really noticed the way a smile would pull at his lips when he noticed something you had left back at his place. The way his heart would flutter when you’d smile at him and offer some biscuits you had just baked. Or the way he’d stare a hole through the helicopter wall while the whole task force was on their way to a mission, earning himself some teasing from Johnny and Gaz and a discreet knowing look from Price.

He realised that he had started to count the days until his next leave and that he didn’t think of going to his own place, but going back to you. That’s when he decided this was needed.

He opened the door as you were walking out of your place, carrying dinner to his place like you did every Friday when he was on leave, a smile pulling at your lips as you greeted him with a kiss to the corner of his lips before walking in. He had been home for a while now, chastising himself every day that went by, letting you come into his space again and again when he knew what he really had to do.

He closed the door, taking the container from your hands and taking it to the kitchen. You were about to follow him, meaning to keep him company and have a chat –although most of the time it was you talking and telling him stuff about your day while he hummed and grunted in acknowledgement, happy to get lost in your soft voice–. Instead he guided you back to the living room, signalling for you to take a seat on the couch. “Simon…?” you began to say, confusion evident in your voice and the slight furrow of your brows.

“We need to talk,” he said before you could finish your question. His voice gruff and low, eyes cold and distant. He sat across from you, all the way on the other corner of the couch, his expression unreadable.

And that’s when you knew, when those four little words left his lips. You weren’t stupid, you had definitely noticed. They way he’d be more distant, more short with you. How the small conversations in the hallway had got shorter until they had gone back to just greetings, or just a nod of the head. The way he had stopped lingering when he was at yours until you offered for him to stay, instead rushing through dinner before leaving with whatever excuse came to mind. Or how he seemed to find excuses to make you leave his place sooner and sooner each day.

What you hadn’t noticed but were definitely seeing now was the difference in his eyes. The warm glow that had been there for the last bunch of months completely gone. Instead there was a cold and distant look, a wall that you hadn't seen since you had first moved into the building, now placed between you once more.

Silence sits between the two of you and it only breaks when he says the words you had been bracing yourself for, “we can’t do this anymore.” You barely give a light nod, your eyes lowering to the coffee table that sat not too far away.

You didn’t know what else to do but to give in, deep down you knew you had been waiting for this, doing everything you could to push the moment back even if it was for a little longer. But if you were honest with yourself, you had known this would happen all along, this whatever it was meant to be, was bound to end sooner or later.

His eyes boring into you didn’t make any of this easier. But he couldn’t help himself, because a part of him had hoped that you’d get angry and finally say what he had known all along. That you would get up and call him out for thinking he ever deserved to be with you, for even daring to think he deserved any of your tenderness and care, or your attention.

Instead of anger, all he saw in your eyes was defeat and hurt, and it only made his chest feel more tight and heavy with guilt. He couldn’t deal with it, with how much it hurt to be the one to make you look so hurt and defeated. So he just doubled down. A light huff leaves him and he runs a hand over his face, his tone a little more gruff and demanding when he talks again, “why aren’t you saying anything?”, his eyes boring into you once more as he waits for your answer.

It takes a moment, but you finally push out the words that are constantly cycling through your head, “because I knew this was going to happen,” you admit quietly. “Noticed the distance”, you add as your eyes lower to the coffee table once more and your fingers start to play with a loose thread on your clothes, “guessed you’d get tired of me, sooner or later.”

Simon was used to handling pain, he thought he could manage any kind after all the suffering he had gone through already. But something about the light crack on your voice, the defeated tone and self-deprecating words. The way you were convinced he could ever grow tired of you when he was the one undeserving of your time. It made his heart break and a hatred for no one but himself filled him.

He clenched his fists on his sides, having to hold back. Hold back from the way he wanted to grab you in his arms and hold you close. Hold back from pulling you into his lap and kiss you time and time again until you forgot his stupid words. He wanted to hold you all night long, worship you and prove that he could never get tired of you, that he would never leave you, that he didn’t mean any of it. That he loved you.

But instead, once more, he doubled down. “I think it’s for the best…” he barely makes the effort to justify. Your only answer is another small nod, your eyes that had braved enough to look up at him, lowering back to your lap. You focus on the way your fingers fidget with the loose thread and swallow thickly, doing your best to keep at bay the knot that closed up your throat, fighting back the tears that so badly wanted to form.

If his heart hadn’t shattered before, it definitely had now. The sight of you across from him, the distance on the couch between you both as you refused to look at him. He hated this, hated to see you in this state and hated even more that he was the one to cause all of this. He wanted to take all of it back, to apologise and beg for you to forget all of this and just have dinner with him like you did every friday. But he couldn’t.

“I guess I'll pack my things then,” you say, barely audible with how the tears strain your voice. You don’t wait for an answer, getting up from the couch and moving through the quiet flat. You get the toothbrush you had left in his bathroom, the few staple skincare items he had insisted would be easier to have a duplicate off.

His eyes followed you, the hollow on his chest only growing with every item you plucked up and added to the totebag you had forgotten on his couch just a couple days ago. He wanted to go to you, to hold your hands and get on his knees. To beg you to stay and spare his sinful soul from having to live another day without you.

Still, he stayed seated on the couch. His soul bleeding and body numb as he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but follow your movements with his eyes. He saw all of it, how you kept yourself from crying, taking the few sleep shorts and extra shirts you had left behind. How the tears had been too much to hold back when you’d come back from the kitchen, a pile of empty food containers in your hands.

When you got all of it and went to the door he finally managed to get up, just taking a couple steps closer but still staying far, distant. He had to, he had to keep the distance. Because he knew that he got closer his selfishness would win, and he’d pull you into his arms and never let you go.

You take in a deep, shaky breath. Your hand reaches out for the knob, but before you twist it open you look at him. Your cheeks and nose are rosy and the teartracks are more than evident. “Can I ask you something?” you risk, even if you know that whatever the answer maybe would only make it worse.

He gives a light nod almost instantly, taking a deep breath as he prepares himself. He probably was as fragile and unready as you were for the answer, but he owed you this –this and much more, because he had just taken and taken this whole time–. So his tone is honest when he answers with a gruff “anything.”

You take a moment, needing to take in another shaky breath, trying to find his eyes through the tears that blur out the vision of yours. And before you could regret even thinking about it, you talk again. “...Did I do something wrong?”

If Simon thought he knew what guilt and pain felt like, he had been proven wrong right this instance. His stomach churning and his chest feeling tight and hollow as he hears the way you blame yourself, the way you sound so uncertain and fragile. “No.” he states, firm.

You barely nod, lips trembling as you press them together to hold back a sob. Silence sits between the both of you once more, you try to blink the tears away but it only makes them fall faster. “T-then what happened?” you muttered, barely able to get the words out, swallowing thickly when your voice cracks.

He feels like he’s drowning, his chest burning with guilt as he sees the way you’re trying to stay strong and hold the tears back yet failing. He’s about to say it, about to tell you the whole truth. About to say how he’s fallen for you, how your soft smiles and soft touches make him feel like a new man. How your care and attention make him feel like he’s alive, how he’s Simon and not Ghost. He’s about to confess how much he loves you.

He’s so close to saying that what happened was him. That he was a bastard and a murderer, that he wasn’t who you thought he was –who he had tricked you into thinking he was– and he didn’t deserve anything from you. That he had been selfish this whole time and had been taking advantage of you. What happened was that you deserve much better than the ghost of a man he really was.

Instead he doesn’t say any of it, only the vaguest excuse starting to leave his lips, “it’s not you…” His words cut off when he sees your eyes close, your lips closing tightly and your shoulders shaking with a silent sob. Your head lowering to uselessly trying to hide it, the way his words sound –and are– a shit excuse, the way it just makes you feel that much more heartbroken.

He doesn’t dare try to come up with more excuses, instead ripping his eyes away from you, not able to handle the way you’re falling apart in front of him. He instead busies himself with looking around the room, checking if there’s anything you may be forgetting behind. “You have everything?” he asks, forcing himself to look at you again.

And you take a shaky breath, ignoring the way your chest tightens and your heart bleeds at the softer and more caring tone in his voice. You force yourself to ignore the way he sounds just like he did barely a few weeks ago, holding back the plea for him to rethink all of this that burns the back of your throat. Instead, “Should be… And if there’s something else, you can just throw it out.”

You don’t even look at him, eyes instead focused on the blurry sight of his black combat boots and the hardwood floors beneath you. And he hates it, he hates how quiet and weak your voice is, hates that you can’t hold his gaze. But most of all hates that he’s the one to cause all of this. In what he was trying to convince himself was an effort to spare the both of you, he delivers the last blow, “you should go.”

You don’t say anything, biting down on your lip probably hard enough to break the skin in a last ditch effort to hold back the sob that so desperately wants to leave you. You turn around, adjusting the pile of things you had retrieved from all around the flat in your arms to be able to reach for the handle.

Despite knowing it will break you, you look over your shoulder, red-rimmed and tear-filled eyes meeting his for the first time since the conversation started –and for what Simon knows will probably be the last time ever–. “Take care,” you murmur quietly, adjusting all the stuff crowding your hands once more. Without another word or another look back you pull the door open, closing it behind you just a moment later, leaving him alone in the silent flat.

Simon stays frozen for a moment, he feels like he’s outside of his own body when he sees all of it play out, eyes boring into the dark wood of his door once it’s closed. Your words seem to echo in his head, the way you still talk to him with so much softness and care after he had stomped your heart. He only manages to move when he hears the quiet click from across the hallway that signifies that you’re back in your place, away from him like you should’ve always been.

He takes his phone out, sending a message to one of the few numbers saved there, telling Price he needs to be back in the field. After, he goes to the kitchen, desperate for a glass of whiskey that could never be as bitter as he feels right now. His phone pings with Price’s reply, but he doesn’t look at it, nor does he get a glass or the bottle of whiskey.

Because instead, he stands frozen, seeing the dinner you had brought over, still sitting on his counter. And that’s when it really dawns on him, this is it, it’s over. You were out of his life, and all because he had been too much of a coward to admit the truth. Too much of a coward to admit that he loves you.

[w2soneshots]

The best -W2S

words: 0.5k+

warnings: none just a load of fluff.

summary: headcanons of Harry being the best dad.

notes: hi my babies! I’m super busy at the moment so instead of a full fic I thought I’d just write some quick headcanons for you all🫶🏼. Enjoy!!🧸💘

Harry was a nervous wreck when you gave birth to your little girl. But as soon as he held her in his arms all of his worries disappeared, and all he could focus on was your baby.

The first week of being parents was… stressful. Nether you nor Harry knew what you were doing; you just kind of made it up as you went along (which is what most first time parents do).

Harry was a natural though. He took care of you postpartum while making sure the baby was fed, changed and peacefully asleep. Making you somehow love him even more than you already did.

Once you hit the one month mark everything seemed to fall into place. You now had a proper routine, you were fully recovered and the baby was perfectly happy and healthy.

One night after a sidemen shoot Harry returned home with a massive costco teddy bear in his arms. It was almost twice the size of you and could barely fit through the door. He’d taken it after they filmed a ‘mystery box challenge’ since he thought the baby would like it. You burst into tears at the sentiment (hormones). Immediately Harry began to stress. "I’m sorry babe, I can take it back! Don’t cry!" You replied quickly. "No, I love it Haz. That was really sweet.”

Faith made sure to keep in touch with you and she told you on multiple occasions that she was always there if you had a question (since she’s already done the whole newborn thing) or just needed to chat.

You and Harry would regularly sit on your couch and admire the bundle of joy that smiled her cute little gummy smile at you. Both of you completely content with the family you’d created.

Though at times it was difficult, like when the baby just wouldn’t stop crying or the both of you were exhausted and didn’t feel like holding a conversation, you had only gotten closer over the past few weeks. It was like you’d unlocked a new appreciation for each other.

Harry thought you were incredible. You’d gone through nine months of pregnancy, given birth and taken amazing care of a newborn baby all while not complaining once. Ethan had told him that women were literally superheroes but he’d never experienced it first hand until now.

At three months you went on your first family holiday. It felt incredible to lay in the warm sun since it’d been so miserable in London. Harry made sure that your baby was always in the shade and he loved getting her dressed in all the cute summery clothes.

You’d always laugh slightly at how excited he became when she finally woke up from her nap and he could cuddle her again.

When the boys and girls met your baby it was lovely. JJ held her so carefully; like she was a piece of glass that could shatter at any given moment.

Talia had spoken to you about wanting kids in the near future but seeing Simon with your daughter made her feel ready which you were very happy and excited about.

All in all Harry is the best dad, loves his girls very much and would do anything for them.

[lvlyghost]

Hello do you take requests cause I had this idea in my mind but I suck in writing

how bout a ghost x reader where he had a bad day and takes it out on his beloved reader who he's been in a really long relationship with, by starting an argument and maybe saying some really mean and bad things that break the reader. Like the reader is only a shell of herself and completely ruined by ghosts words and just crying or sitting completely still staring off the wall or just staring at nothing just being numb.

What would be interesting is Simons reaction when he realizes the damage that he's done, maybe he would cry/break down idk when he sees the usually happy reader being so dull and almost lifeless yk

But Pleasee don't do this to our hearts and write some comfort and a happy ending please I couldn't handle too much angst❤️😭

The Weight of the World

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SUMMARY: You promised to always lean on each other but sometimes love isn't enough.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

TW: heavy angst, literally got some mid anxiety writing this🥴 swearing, self-doubt, hurt-comfort and slight fluff towards the end. lmk if i missed any.

A/N: finished this in one sitting lol, also not proofread and poorly edited, i've been having a shitty week so expect more angst lol. meet me in therapy. Enjoy anon!🤍🌟🫶🏻💕

Masterlist✨

You hesitate right outside Simon's studio, the place where he secludes himself from everything and everyone. Ever since he came from his last mission he seemed to be on the edge constantly. The usual softness that he reserved specifically for you was... absent.

Still you wouldn't let that stop you from approaching; having dating him for a few years now let you know so much of that. You knew when he was hurting. When he was sad, angry, jealous or even happy. Little to no people could say that.

Somehow this was different. He wasn't even letting you in, constantly keeping you at arms length and that hurt. How were you supposed to get to him this time? Get him to talk to you?

To look at you again with that same glint in his eyes, the spark that you ignited in him and that won't fade away even years after.

The sound of a chair creaking startles you, the same time the timer in the kitchen goes off. You walk back, turning the oven off, and sticking out the apple pie you so happily baked for both with hopes that you'll get him loosen a bit that dark cloud that's been looming over Simon these past few days.

The door of his studio is yanked open the heavy stomp of his boots resonating across the small apartment you two share, then his bulky frame appears just to grab the keys to his black motorcycle.

"Simon!" You call him, burning your hand in the process. He stills halfway through the living room, waiting for you to say something else. Wetting a cloth hurriedly and wrapping it around the burnt skin.

"I made something for us... maybe," standing behind him you leave a reasonable space between the two. You swallow down hard. "Thought we could have it together and just, you know spend...-"

"I don't have time for that now." His voice is cold and monotone. "Don't wait for me."

"But Si-" he turns on his heels, eyes hard and unyielding. He approaches slowly, making you gulp. "What's gotten into you, Simon?" You fight back the tears, this was the man you loved so dearly, the man you knew loved you back; there was a reason for the golden engagement ring on your left hand. "I..-"

"Fucking hell would you stop that? Please just..." he notices the wetness in your eyes. "I can't do this. Not anymore."

"Whatever it is I promise we can work it out together!" your lips quivered. "Just talk to me!"

"I don't need to talk about anything girl!" He seethes, one finger pointing at you. "Think some cheap counseling with you will make things right? Bloody hell no. Neither some homemade bread, this isn't fucking working and it won't until you learn how the bloody world works."

It breaks your heart into a tiny million pieces, breathing becomes a challenge and the injury in your hand can no longer be felt. Simon's words were worse than any physical pain. Where was the man you loved? The man who used to lift you up and kiss you on the forehead? The man whose hands couldn't stop roaming your body late at night? The man who'd helped you reach out for things he probably put away in the highest shelf so you'd ask for help. That same man that had proposed to you no long ago, right before he was deployed to a special op God knows where. The fabric of his mask moves when he keeps talking but you don't listen. You can't. Just like you can't stop the tears dribbling down your cheeks and the tremble of your hands. Simon's jaw clenched, brows furrowed as he takes a step back and leaves.

You walk sluggishly to where the dessert awaits. It's when your knees buckle that you finally let out a loud cry.

-

Simon knows he isn't a good man. He's done quite questionable things that he could never say out loud. He knows he's fucked in so many ways. But he also knows that there's one thing that kept him from spiraling further down into an abyss of death and self-loathing.

You.

The woman he decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The girl that didn't care about his past, the bad moments and his complicated persona. You who would selflessly love him without asking for something in return. What had you seen in him in first place? Even now after three years he can't wrap his head around the fact that he has someone who waits for him.

Simon knows how much he loves you, but what he doesn't know is how—or in what earth—he deserves every part of you.

You've been avoiding him ever since that horrible night. Words he can't take back. Looks that haunt him every time he closed his eyes. He hears you cry when you go to sleep or when you're taking a shower. Muffled sobs and wails that will come for him until the day he dies.

You avoid him like a plague, when he walks in. After all he's the one to blame. He wanted to ask you to tear him apart maybe that'd feel less painful.

The last remaining of sanity that was left in him came crashing down when he began to notice how you stared off in a haze, numbly looking at the window. He was losing you. Destroyed the one good thing he had. So, a few days later, despite his own demons. Despite the things that broke him all irreparably during the last mission in Moscow, he comes to find you. Sucking in a sharp breath as his eyes set on your left hand.

The engagement ring was gone, forgotten someplace unknown. Simon felt the panic wrenching his guts.

It's all on him.

He whispers your name, calls you softly. Slowly sitting in front of you, the coffee table creaks under his weight. Words get caught in his throat.

"May I take your hand?" He pleads, not getting an answer. Simon sighs, lowering his head as silent reigns yet again. "I don't deserve you." He murmurs, eyes bored into the floor. "I... I ruin everything I touch. Just never thought I'd ruin my girl."

Your eyes flutter shut, wet tears clinging to your eyelashes. Simon watches as you stand and leave without a word, he follows close behind to your shared room.

"Love..."

"Don't call me that!" the hurt in your voice... the resentment in your eyes, he's earned it.

Simon reaches out for your arm, grabbing you firmly but gently, mindful not to harm you.

"Right I deserve that." If there's one thing Simon regrets it's being the reason that your eyes no longer shine. "What I said... what happened I...-"

Shaking your head and biting down your lip.

"You never gave me the chance, I thought we said we'd always find a way."

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry baby." in an instant he's pulling you close, although you want to push him away, scream at him, slap him for the calvary he made you go through. "I'm not good with words, and I'm no good person." You feel his body shaking with anxiety as your eyes widen in shock. "I tried... I can't forgive myself for my mistakes."

"Simon..." he hushed you, cradling your head with his big hand. "I can't sleep knowing I can't protect you from what's out there, couldn't bloody protect that kid in Moscow, or my family."

You guide him to the bed, sitting down side by side and holding onto each other.

"Said I would always be with you Simon, why the hell did you push me away?! Have I not given my everything to you? We promised to always make it work!" He grabs your face staring intently into your eyes. "What happened there?"

He blinks, deciding how much to say. There was no need for you to know the entirety of it. He wanted to shield you from the horrors of this world, and he would as long as he lived.

"A young lad whose life's was cut short because I wasn't there on time. How can I come back to you, be happy when someone else just lost their kid..."

"That wasn't on you! Simon Riley you stop that now." He inhales, cinnamon and vanilla flooding his senses. It's you all of you. "Stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. We do that together, yeah?" Your chest hurts from how hard it's beating. "You've done far so much. You won't lose me."

A rumble in the sky and cars passing by outside your home is all you hear. Brown eyes like honey stare back into your soul.

"You took it off..."

"I burnt my hand, it wasn't healing properly. And you know what?" He quirks a brow. "It wasn't homemade bread. It was an apple pie, you silly."

"You'll never forgive me for that one won't you?" He doesn't chuckle but the air feels lighter.

"No. Probably won't." Simon takes your burnt hand bringing it to his lips, they're soft against the marred skin.

"But we're still getting married, yeah?" He asks.

You smile fondly, humming when he kisses your forehead, tears have now dried.

"Yeah. We're still getting married."

[lunarw0rks]

Simon would have a rough time trusting another person enough to have sex.

can you write something about his first time with the reader where he asks about consent for almost every move he makes?

I'd love a gender neutral reader but afab is good too❤️❤️

♡ PART TWO ♡ PART THREE ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ first-time with simon ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ // warning(s): nsfw, gn!reader

it took long for him to admit his feelings for you. took even longer to do anything resembling intimacy. it's the deepest connection for him, though he doesn't look the type.

it's everything to him, and nothing simultaneously. he could have a healthy relationship that lacked sexual intimacy entirely, and wouldn't lose a wink of sleep.

but here he was — ready to test the waters.

it had to be an act of one hundred percent certainty with Simon. no regrets, no hard feelings, no uncomfortable moments. pure pleasure with someone he trusted.

none of it was planned, which both terrified and intrigued him.

you had arrived home like normal, shared a meal like normal. and then... somehow ended up all over each other — not normal for you two. but it wasn't rushed, it wasn't hot and heavy, it was natural. you were leaning into him heavier than before, kissing him even deeper.

it was as if your bodies had all the conversation up until this point — a silent decision that tonight was the night. "you sure about this, love?" Simon murmured, a thumb caressing your cheek as he looked for any inkling of doubt in your eyes. however, there wasn't any, not even a smidge.

whether you supplied a nod or a verbal cue, he continued to ask for them. he needed them, otherwise it didn't feel right. each layer of clothing, he asked. every new inch of flesh, he asked. Simon needed to know you were all there; not blinded by lust, not purely following his lead for the sake of a hasty release.

"can I take these off?" his fingers hovered over your undergarments, waiting until you nodded for him to roll them down your thighs. even when exposed in front of him, his mind was running a mile a minute. Simon relied on his hands first, since he kept his mouth busy looking for reassurance. "does that feel alright? you want 'em faster?" his need for consent oozed enough sex-appeal to begin with — but now you were greeted with a whole new him. still considerate, still frazzled, but even more attractive than you'd ever seen him.

you were sure his eyes never left you, because they didn't. whether he was making eye contact or watching his hands prepare you, they were always cemented.

sometimes the other hand would stay at his side until you were deeper in pleasure. then it would move to your chest, slithering up until he could caress your heated cheeks. his touch, even the innocent one, only heightened his ability to make you feel good.

he didn't know when to stop. what if you weren't really ready? what if he hurt you somehow? you physically had to snap him out of it. either by begging, or giving him a look of desperation — and it spoke volumes, indeed. you needed him, yearned for the part of Simon still unknown.

"say the words and i'll stop, love." once again, his gaze searched for discomfort, but found none. after a few moments of shuffling, he found a position that required little exertion — spooning you. his arms could remain tight around your waist, where he could hit all the right angles, and both parties could remain relaxed on the mattress.

and so it began; the slowest ease, the utmost restraint when he finally rid himself of his clothes. though you hadn't touched an inch of him, his arousal was evident. inch by inch, he guided himself into you, "we'll take it slow— just like this." he stuck to his words, halting if you ever needed a moment. he was still as a statue until you gave him the go-ahead to go all in. "does that feel good? you want more, hm? fuck, you feel good around me."

Simon finally started to enjoy it, too, though he remained calculated and observant. your own sounds and praises are what mattered most, always would to him. he could physically feel his trust building with you, as did he mentally.

whether common or uncommon, there were more nights like this to come in the future.

the night wasn't perfect by any means, but his forbearance was not something easily forgotten.

[killsbil]

His Muse

Pairing : Ghost x Secretary Reader

Warnings: angst, smut, choking, ghost jacking off in his car. Ghost driving for some damn reason

18+ ONLY MDNI

( YES, HETEROCHROMIA GHOST. CRY)

Now, you were a secretary for a special operations force called Task Force 141. While being the secretary, they had strict rules, of course, it wasn't JUST for you, but they weren't anything hard to follow honestly. It's not like you were some damn horny teenager, you were just trying to get by with this job. You wanted some job that could help you real good...and somehow you landed with this one, being the secretary, you only had to organize nearly everything, write reports, and emails, keep up with data, and do whatever Captain Pierce asks of you.

None of the members spoke to you as they never really saw you, well they did, but you didn't pay attention. Your face was always focused on the computer, typing away, but hey? What's a girl gotta do to get by yeah? One task force menber caught your eye, Simon Riley, he was quiet, and when he spoke his voice was cold, a little too serious. But when he looked at you, you wouldn't look back. He was honestly scary looking, honestly, he looked like he could just snap you in half if you said something wrong. You never spoke to him, he's always busy, you're Always busy... and either way, what would you say to him? The only thing you could think about saying was something about his eyes, they were pretty, one eye was brown, the other grayish blue. You had never seen heterochromia in person before, it was beautiful. It wouldn't hurt to tell him that... Right? Y/n had thought, it was not like he would kill her for that.

Noticing the time, and one of the recent emails from Captain Pierce, she had to bring a folder of mission data to the meeting...in that room ..with all those people. That wasn't scary...at all, y/n unlocked her cabinet, reached in the middle for a file, and closed it back, locking it.

She'd walk down the hallway and then turn to her right, knocking on a door, the sign next to the door would read "conference room". Through the window she saw a black male, with short curly hair, he was leaning back in his chair, he turned to her and smiled for a split second. his eyes went back to somebody who was talking, Shortly after the talk was done, y/n was allowed into the room, she walked over to Captain Pierce, placing the folder down as she turned around, she saw an empty chair next to a task force member named soap, he was nice, but all discussions y/n had with him were short. Was that Ghost's chair? Noticing y/n's stare, soap smiled, his other hand which rested behind a chair pointed down the hall.

Usually, he didn't do this, he would ignore her if she came in during meetings because she wasn't supposed to hear a thing about the meetings, y/n snapped out of it as she left, closing the door behind her. Now, she didn't like him like a crush, nor was she a fan of him, she just wanted to tell him her lil compliment.

Y/n went down the hall and turned, seeing a man pour him some coffee, it was a ghost, and he needed a breather. Y/n leaned on the wall as she watched him. Honestly ..he was so.. it was unexplainable but ...the girls that get it, get it. "You just gonna stand there and look stupid?" He said, not even turning around "Oh! Sorry I-'' she was about to explain before he finished her sentence" Didn't mean to," he said..pouring coffee into his coffee cup.

"How did you know what I was gonna say?" She asked him, as she walked closer, leaning on the counter "Cause that's what every secretary before you said " he said, his voice was cold, it was like he was just...tired of playing this game, over and over. "Every secretary before me? What happened to them?" Y/n asked, now...she was curious! She had forgotten all about her compliment. Ghost would let out a sigh as he turned around. "they all got terminated, fired. Breaking rules.. or they were spies" he said, he had some skull balaclava on, not the full mask, ghost would place his cup down leaning on the counter.

"you're gonna end up just like them, you're gonna take a bribe and spy, or break that rule." He added on, he read her like a book, y/n though, she scrunched up her face in confusion, somehow feeling a little disrespectful "Okay mr mysterious" she said with a slight eye roll. "Ghost." He corrected her, his voice firm "Lieutenant ghost." He said. Y/n's eyes widened when she realized his rank, now she felt a little demotion coming for that eye roll. Ghost's face was blank, with no expression, just those eyes staring at her as if he was reading her like a book. " What rule did they break" Y/n was a little interested in the lore now.. she was glad she was on break, otherwise Captain Pierce would have her head.

"Someone lacks critical thinking skills.." he mumbled, who invited him to the bitch fest? "No dating rule. They come up to me just like you did ...no ill intent, ask questions...then there's that compliment, and it starts something" he said, each word he got close to her, y/n leaned back against the counter as his hands rested on the counter, trapping her, his eyes stared down at her as if he was disappointed. "I'm gonna say this once... Don't treat this like it's some game like you can just sway a coworker with this innocent act, be professional" he said, he was tired. But was he tired of those girls just .. treating him like he was an award, an object for pleasure, or just....the betrayal, tired of having hope, letting someone close, and then...boom.

Well, the answer was he was just... Tired of the unprofessionalism "Huh -" y/n noticed how close he was, her heart beat so damn fast, hell! She wasn't trying to seduce him, she just wanted to give him that compliment." I...I just wanted to say your eyes are pretty. I never saw them up close. I'm sorry if you thought I was trying to pursue you Lieutenant" she said, and ghost was wrong, well, half wrong. He shook his head "You don't know what you're getting yourself into. Run along." He said turning his back to her and going back to his coffee...

Y/n was so confused...what the hell? She was NOT trying to seduce this man," um...right." she said walking back to her desk, part of her kind of liked that. But the other part was so damn confusing. Now, for the rest of her break, she was on the phone with her best friend until...she felt her phone vibrate, from a text message.. sent an unknown number. "Girl hold on...some number just texted me..." She said, putting her on speaker, "bitch don't you have it where unsaved numbers can't contact you??" She said, "Girl yes I do, that's why I'm confused."

She looked at the text message reading You're Loud. we can hear you down here. Now she knew it wasn't Captain Pierce because she had his number saved. "Is it your boss?" She asked "No? I have his number saved, remember he gave us that ride back to my house?" Y/n said "Oh shit...right Anyway, when is he gonna let me climb that tree-" she said "Bye Audrey, you are not getting me fired because you're sexually attracted to my boss- WHO COULD BE YOUR DAD," y/n said "call me a panther. I'm ready to take it..." Audrey said. "Bye ...get off my phone.. you're distracting me, I'll see you later." Y/n hung up on her sighing

She was a hot mess, Audrey was the friend with no filter, but anyway. She would look at the message rolling her eyes a little, y/n texted the number back saying Sorry about that, but who is this and how did you get my number? only for it to be left on read for about 50 minutes. She just rolled her eyes going back to organizing meetings and events. She hummed, and of course..responding to emails, she kind of neglected them.

Shortly after that, her phone lit up as she got a text message that said Lieutenant Ghost. with that she saved the contact. She wanted to mess with him a little, to ease the weird tension between them Responding 56 minutes later? now nice of you. She would text him. Yes, she thought she ate that. This time she got a quick response It's disrespectful to be on your phones during meetings, and you're counting the minutes Ms L/n? Y/n saw that, was she just eaten up respectfully? And Ms? SHE'S NOT EVEN MARRIED? Oh.. you could just call me Y/n, and I'm not married Lieutenant.. it would be Miss.. she would respond to his text Yeah YEAH she ate him up. noted. Would be the last text message he even sent.

soon came the end of the day, when everyone left, y/n was the only one left she had to stay back and respond to some emails, once she was done she'd lock her computer and would put any paperwork she left out, back in the respective drawers, when she went to the door she had seen the rain attacking the streets, this caused a loud annoyed groan from y/n, she didn't bring a damn umbrella cause she swore it wouldn't rain today. She suddenly felt someone behind her... who was left here? Was she not alone? As soon as she turned, she saw that it was Lieutenant Ghost, holding an umbrella at her "How far is your car..." He said. Now he didn't want her getting drenched in the rain, that's the nicest he could be at least "Oh no- my friends picking me up..." She said, smiling. That smile unthawed that heart of his, just a little. " It's 11:00 pm L/n, normal people are asleep by now," he said.

"So...you're not normal?" She asked, her smile getting wider, ghost just raised an eyebrow.."let me take you home." He said opening the door for her, he didn't exactly answer that question of hers ``You can drive? Gaz said ...you can't drive, you shouldn't be allowed behind the wheel" She said, if you saw the look on y/n's face, she looked horrified. "Do you want a ride home or do you want a sneak peek at the next little mermaid." He was getting drenched waiting for her, y/n laughed at his comment, and she stepped under the umbrella and followed him to his car, which was an eight-seater, and she mumbled sorry since she felt bad for him getting drenched. Ghost just got in behind the wheel, y/n turned to him asking him a question "Hey... Lieutenant... How come you're staying back?? Wouldn't you be sleeping about this time?" She asked "I could ask you the same, but I was getting training in.. that's all," he said, but the look on his face said differently.

Now ghost? He took care of his body, he had...muscle, a lot of it.. it was even visible when he wasn't flexing. Y/n would stare at his arms and hands as he drove, then slowly, her eyes moved back to his very own beautiful eyes. "Are you sure? You have this look on your face... Like you're not here mentally.." She said, Ghost stopped at a light, turning to her "You know, some questions aren't supposed to be asked," he said. "Well- I'm here for" "No you're not." He corrected her, internally, Ghost felt like he couldn't speak to anyone, it was a waste of time. "you can't handle anything I would tell you. that's if I did." He said, shaking his head, "How come? I'm helpful- I can handle it." She said " No." He repeated. "Please - I promise I can lift a weight off your shoulders" she begged, she wanted to help him, she felt like he could use a friend honestly "No. I'm not gonna say it again." Ghost said, sounding annoyed.

"Everyone does- "Y/n tried to speak, but she got cut off " Y/N. For the last time no, don't waste your time. You'd only hurt yourself..you'd be useless in this situation" He said, his voice like a stab directly into the heart, after that, y/n got quiet..then she furrowed her eyebrows turning to him "You don't need to be rude." She said Ghost looked confused, he didn't expect her to talk back "And I'm not useless... I'm a great listener! I don't know why but, ever since I've talked to you, you've done nothing but assume the worst about me. I just want to be your friend!" She said, Ghost started driving again, going silent before he deeply sighed "Colleagues, especially us, can't be friends. You're gonna be just like-" "I'm not like them- I don't wanna use you like a boy toy! I just think you're cool for fucks sake !" Y/n was starting to get so damn tired of his mindset.

"I understand you have this...wound but you can't just make it seem like I'm some weirdo... I'm not gonna befriend you, sleep with you, then leave! I think you're cool! " She said, "Besides, friends don't do any of that!" She added nodding. "If I say yes, are you gonna stop asking to be my friend?" He said, annoyed, he did feel a little better about her now that he knew she wasn't gonna try anything. "Yes!" Said smiling. "Does this mean I get to know your name?" She said, her smile all big.. ghost would let out a large...long dramatic sigh "Simon." He said, "That's a cute name !" She said, going to his contact, and changing his name, Ghost watched her shaking his head "But don't call me that at work. At least keep some professionalism" he said "Does that mean you'll call me by my first name?" She ignored what he said

"Did you hear what I said?" He stopped the car, turning to her with a serious look" Yes...." She said, looking away. The whole ride she didn't look him in the eyes, Ghost noticed that "look at me ." He asked, instead y/n would turning to look at a tree, Ghost would park between two cars as he gripped the girl's jaw, making her look at him. "What did I say?" He asked her, y/n stared in his eyes, fuck. She got nervous, butterflies filled her stomach as she bit her lips "Umm.. call you Lieutenant something. During work ...professional stuff..yeah." she said. Suddenly the tension between them got hot..

Ghost sighed, looking at her pretty lips a little too long.. "fuck.." he said"what... Do I have something on my face?" She said furrowing her eyebrows, confused "Nah..." He said just ..staring, was he gonna kiss her? "Hey- I mean...if you wanna kiss me .. do it, yolo?" She said, honestly she thought 3 things were gonna happen, he headbutts the fuck out of her, kisses her, or or or. Well, scratch those two things.

"That'd be unprofessional.." he said, his eyes never leaving her lips. "Oh for fucks sake then fire me for this." She lifted his mask to his lips, kissing him, and she held his face. The next thing you knew she was on his lap making out with the masked man, it got hot...he gripped her waist as her kiss got serious. A moan came from y/n as Ghost's hand slowly unbuttoned her shirt. Suddenly y/n heard her name being called, she snapped out of it looking at ghosts.

"Bloody hell. You look like you just saw a ghost." He said, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion "I'm sorry Lieutenant, what were you saying..?" Y/n said blinking a couple of times "I said did you hear what I said?" He said "Oh yeah ..professionalism." she said, sighing "No, I asked you for your address?" Now Ghost was confused "What's with you? You were just staring off?" He said, looking her up and down. "Nothing...I could've just sworn... Something had happened. But it didn't? I was just imagining it." Y/n said, "But I live...." She told him his address, she only lived a couple blocks down from him.

Eventually, y/n and ghost pulled up to her pretty house, she watched the rain fall with a smile, and then she turned to Ghost "Hey.. I have a question lieutenant.." she said "Simon, we are out of work.." he said, this girl fought to be his friend and get the privilege of knowing and calling him by his name... Now she's not? "But lieutenant sounds better," she said, aggravating Simon, and she knew she was. "God, you're annoying..what is it? What's your question" he said, sighing.. he was getting used to y/n honestly.. She was cute in a sense.

"Can we take a photo ? I wanna put it in your contact.. " she said, Ghost sighed "..." He looked at her, and the look he gave told her no, but ... She wanted a yes, she pleaded, doing the little look and all "fine." Ghost, a dog trained to kill mercilessly, cracked to a secretary pleading for a photo "but don't show anyone it. Got it?" He said

"Thank you, Simon!" She giggled and hugged him, this caught Him off guard, he wasn't.. the type of person who did physical affection, but his arms wrapped around her, hugging her back as a part of him wanted to cry, she felt so nice and warm. Something so comforting, he had the urge to protect her, the urge to lock her in a cage and keep her all to himself. "Ghost..?" She said as he spaced out, his head resting on her shoulder, his grip was firm but allowed her to move

she pulled back slightly reaching for his face, and that's when his eyes snapped to her, he released her looking away.. suddenly y/ns giggle was heard "You're a hugger." She said, "I'm a soldier." He replied she shook her head "No no, deep down that hug, you cherished it..that moment was something you're gonna remember" she said, he rolled his eyes turning his head to him"What are you- some psychologist?" He squinted.

"Oh no - I went to college for ( insert major of your choice) I could never do psychology! But my friend Audrey is a psychologist so I know a couple of things." She said proudly, Ghost nodded, he knew to remember Audrey "Come on and take this picture..you got some sleep to get." He said, "Aww you care!" She said messing with him. "Y/n." He said, "Okay okay!" She laughed, his care filled with her joy and giggles... Something for a change ... Maybe she wasn't like the others, well he hoped so.

She leaned in, getting him in the frame, but he barely was in it "Oh let me readjust!" She said she moved a little, and it didn't fix. This process went on for 6 minutes. "Note to self.. don't let y/n take pictures ." He sighed "Just... Sit on my lap for the picture." He said. Y/n grew flustered, "but I could crush you-" she said trying to find a better alternative, Ghost looked offended " ' I can lift you easy, you'll find out someday..But hurry up." She said,

she sighed, climbing into his lap hovering, getting ready to take the picture, ghost glared, putting his hands onto her waist as he forced her down with ease as if she was some kind of lightweight to him." see. not that hard to sit down and listen. Atta girl, now take the picture." He said, atta girl? Sit down and listen. Y/n was flustered by his words... Whew lord she needed to act right .. She felt his arms wrap around her, and she took the picture smiling. She didn't know what Ghost did, but she took it.

Y/n had accidentally dropped her phone, she moved back against Ghost as she bent down while sitting on him "What are you doing-" he said, his heart dropping as he felt her right above something she shouldn't be on. "Well I dropped my phone, so he still!" She said she was the only one moving around, god, she didn't mean to grind but she was doing it! Ghost bit down on his lips as he resisted the urge to just.. thrust up, suddenly he felt her warmth...that didn't help. "Y/n... Please just ...look normally.." he said, his voice cracking

"Shut up I almost got it!" She said, her lower body hovering above the said area before roughly sitting down, this made Ghost tilt his head up as he roughly gripped her waist forcing her to sit up. "Have you got that damn phone yet?" He said, his chest heaving up and down. "Yeah! I got it as soon as you pulled me up, thanks again for the ride Simon, I'll pay you back I promise...are you gonna watch me go in my house?" She asked, Simon just nodded as he watched her get up, and out of the car leaving to go inside her house

GHOST POV

fuck... I know she didn't mean to do that but... Shit. Why am I so riled up over something like that? Get it together lieutenant. He thought, he looked down at his boner as he sighed...she's in her house ...and it's not like y/n could see through his windows. He sighed, unbuckling his pants, and pulling down his boxers just to see his erect cock spring out, pre cum nearly leaking out, he removed his gloves sighed, closed them strokes his shaft. You're probably wondering what he imagined, of course, it was y/n, he tilted his head back only to see y/n bouncing on his cock, a moaning and teary mess.

He bucked his hips up into his hand as he visualized how pretty her boobs would look bouncing every time she did, looking down just to see a  bulge , he was the one causing it. Her whines and moans, her pleading for him to go faster, rougher, to choke her.  And he did just that,  then...a word came out. "love you so much!" she said, instead of shocking ghost, in this scenario he took his mask off begining to mark her up with bite marks and hickeys. Y/n gripped his short blonde shaggy hair.  His thrusts became passionate as he Whined "so good..so good .. nice and warm for me" he said in a shakey  voice... Finally, he came A little too much, the little scenario ended as he opened his eyes to him being in his car parked out  by y/ns house, he cleaned himself up. Simon has a moment of clarity... He just sighed, before speaking to himself "I'm setting myself up again..." He said before fixing himself, driving off.