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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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Man-sized Part 1/9 Dance For You

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC Tags: Explicit content, only for +18 audiences. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics). CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters. Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

He was always there, every night for a week, and then disappeared for months.

He was there a few moments before she began her show, and left right after it ended. He never watched the other girls, the ones who she only warmed up for, the ones who actually stripped and were professionals. He never had a lap dance, a private show, nothing. He just ordered one scotch, watched her little pole dance show, and left.

She used to pick someone from the audience, just one single guy who looked more or less harmless. She was performing to that one guy only — it was more comfortable that way. She could concentrate better, and it was easier to try and be seductive. To be in control.

But he wasn't harmless. And she wasn't in control.

But ever since he started to visit the place, she always picked him, and it required no effort whatsoever to appear seductive. She was wet after every show she performed for him.

When she danced for him, she could feel his gaze on her, as goosebumps and flames that licked her skin. He didn't look at her like she was a goddess. Or a whore. He looked at her like she was a woman, like she was his woman, and they were the only ones in that club. She knew she was being nonsensical — after all, he was just another guy who came to watch an exotic dancer.

But she wasn't one of the stars, she didn't even strip.

At some point, she realized she started to do choreographies just for him. She started to check the calendar, count the days, because he was usually gone only a month, maybe one and a half. Then he came back, every night, for a week or so. She could see that he liked it when she did inversions and shoulder mounts on the pole. Perhaps he could tell that it demanded a huge amount of strength. She liked it that someone admired that — her strength and agility, not her outfit, not even the way she arched her back or threw her hair around.

He was looking at her like she was an artist and an athlete.

She could tell he was an athlete too, but what kind, remained a mystery. He was a big fellow, a muscled fellow, and she always tried to catch what it was that he had tattooed on his forearm.

In the darkness, his eyes were like burning coals, even if the rest of him was pale and blonde, almost like a color that was worn and washed out. He was the most tired, exhausted man she had ever seen, especially on the first nights of his week in town. But that didn't take away an ounce of his power. The whole club could've been full of big, dangerous-looking men, and he would've still been the most intriguing person in her eyes.

At some point, the heated gazes and the tension built up to such heights that she walked to the bar after her show. She rarely did that — she was here to dance and that was all. Get some money so she could study. Some of the girls liked to hustle, but she only wanted to go home after her show, which was draining, especially when he wasn't there to watch her.

She knew he was going to leave again soon. This was one of the last nights if she had her calculations right, if not the last. She already knew she would miss him and copy-paste his image to the audience every night until he would finally materialize on one of those chairs again.

She saw he saw her approaching him. He raised his chin, drew his shoulders back, and turned slightly on the chair, angled his body towards her. She slowed her walk as she reached him, enjoying the way he was forced to look up at her from where he was sitting.

"Are you gonna buy me a drink?"

A smile rose to his face, just a tiny one, one that didn't even bare teeth. It was simply an acknowledgment.

He rose from the chair, took his coat, and left.

---

The next time she saw him was only half a month later.

She climbed the pole, and he watched, had that tiny smile playing in the corner of his lips through the whole show. Her choreography had started to resemble something she would've chosen to perform in a pole dance competition rather than in this kind of place. She had ditched the heels, and danced like she was both Tarzan and Jane; flexible, strong as fuck, showing off what she could do with just one stiff vertical object. He didn't look as tired as before, and when she came to the bar like a bitch in heat, sniffing around a strong, virile male, she saw he had two drinks in front of him.

Perhaps she was making a fool of herself… But she walked toward him again, almost walked past him, then got stopped by an outstretched hand that held a Long Island iced tea.

"Took your time," she said as she grabbed the offered drink.

The man didn't answer. Her heart was thumping faster than when she was exerting herself up on that pole, now occupied by the first true star of the evening.

"May I sit?"

He nodded, and she could feel her palms get sweaty. She didn't usually do this kind of stuff... but when she did, it certainly did not go like this. Like she was the one trying to woo the man.

"So, what do you do?"

He still didn't say a word, and she was beginning to think that the man was actually a mute.

"Are you a professional boxer?"

Finally, a chuckle came. Dark, and husky...

"No."

He had a hoarse, gravelly voice, a voice she could listen to for forever if he only would speak.

"MMA?"

A shake of the head. She peeked at the forearm placed on the table between their drinks, and she saw the inked skull, a helmet, some kind of a bomb…

"You in the army?"

"Somethin' like that."

She barely caught the Manchester accent. Shit… This man was just… He was sexy as hell. Probably picked up ladies like berries wherever he went. She took a sip of that Long Island — why would he buy her a drink with so much hard alcohol in it? It was a bit suspicious. She hadn't seen him buy it, hadn't seen if he had put something in it…

"Oh, I get it. You're James Bond."

He was amused, but something in his eyes told her that she had hit a bit too close to home this time.

"What's your name?"

She was starting to get tired of listening to her own voice, tired of prying for information. But her heart rate spiked as she saw how his interest seemed to die immediately after her latest question. He looked away, his eyes swept the club, and she had a feeling that she had just played poker against an actual Bond and lost it all. Had been a good player until she blew it by asking his name.

"Simon." He rose, reached for his coat, and was leaving again…

"Are you gonna ask my name?"

Fuck, stop speaking.

"It was a nice talk, Sarah."

---

He came back the next day. This for sure was the last time she would see him before he vanished again. But it was impossible for her to go to the bar because she suddenly felt like she had to put on a whole other show after the pole dance performance.

A show of playing hard to get.

So after the lights on the stage died, she went straight to the backstage and got herself ready for a walk home.

"Sarah… there's some guy out there asking for you."

But the show worked. She took her stuff, glanced at the mirror to see that everything was like it should be, then went to get her shoes.

"You got a fan?"

She didn't answer, because it was suddenly hard to pay attention to anything else than the guy named Simon, the guy who had watched her dance for months and was now waiting for her at the back door, the one used by the staff.

A fucking spy, indeed..

"Just be careful, ok?"

"Yeah."

As if she needed a reminder that the brooding James Bond looked like death and danger.

"Hi."

He looked her up and down, didn't say hi back, but gave her a few dark red carnations.

"Oh. Thanks."

The fact that a guy like him was giving her flowers at the back door of a strip club shouldn't have affected her the way it did. Should definitely not make her weak in the knees like he was a high school crush asking her out. Well, he was good at what he did, she had to give him that. Perhaps not the most original move, but still… to her, original enough. She had never received flowers from anyone.

"How long are you stayin' here?" His voice was both smooth and rough, and she wondered if he was as stoic off his feet as he was on them.

"Actually, I was just leaving."

"I can walk you home."

Yet again, it shouldn't have been this way. She was accustomed to pulling the strings, calling out the shots. It wasn't that she didn't feel safe with him… It was just that she didn't feel in control. At all.

They had walked only a few blocks when he lit a cigarette. So much for not hooking up with smokers… And somehow that cancer stick managed to make this man even sexier. Manly.

It was stupid — he had all the traits of a modern cowboy, and she should feel repulsed, not hooked.

"So, how's the James Bond thing going?"

"It's tiring."

"Yeah, you look like you could use a good night's sleep."

Not what I had in mind for you tonight, but still…

He really was a man of few words, but she had a hunch that he wasn't shy. Perhaps Simon only spoke when he had something groundbreaking to say.

"Why do you watch my shows?"

He inhaled the smoke deep and long before giving his answer.

"You move well. Strong 'n' sharp, trained… Could be a fighter."

His compliments made her blush in the cool night air, but she wasn't surprised. He admired and respected toughness, just like she had suspected.

By the time they reached her apartment, she was almost shaking with excitement, and he had filled himself with that smoke.

What the hell… It couldn't taste that bad.

"You wanna come inside?"

The amber eyes looked at her with a flash of amusement instead of hunger.

"Sure."

He suddenly seized her, pinned her against her front door with his body, and kissed her. The flowers dropped to the ground as her hands shot out to clasp his neck; to feel the raw muscle there.

He didn't taste bad at all.

He could've taken her right then and there, in the middle of that sleepy, quiet, dark street, and she wouldn't have said no. Her last time with a man had been everything but mysterious and exciting, months and months ago, and Simon felt like a perfect match right now, a perfect, tall, dark stranger. He was just the kind of man she had always found nothing short of disgusting: an overconfident heartbreaker who couldn't commit.

But this evening was different. Her morals were deep asleep, and she was ovulating, and, well, it was a first time for everything…

He broke the kiss only to pant a question, his second ever, in her mouth.

"You accept credit or cash?"

The slap was way harder than she had meant it to be. Her palm lashed out in pure, hot rage; for having thought that a man like him was nothing but another chauvinistic jerk.

But what he'd implied wasn't even the worst thing. It was the laugh that followed her.

She heard it even after she had shut the door, brushed her teeth; after she climbed into her lonely bed to get some sleep. The tears that emerged were born of shame, not disappointment.

---

He came back after a month.

She knew she shouldn't go down there, to roam among the filth and give him the satisfaction and the mercy.

But those eyes drew her to him like a snare, beckoned her to have another round in the ring with him.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Come on, dove. Don't back away when it just got interesting."

He gave her a full smile this time. She had a feeling that this man didn't smile often, and that flash of pure, bold contentment charmed her right off her feet. Simon wasn't a mystery or a puzzle, he was a whole Rubik's cube.

"I could show you how to do a proper right hook instead of that bitch slap you gave me."

"Wasn't painful enough for you?"

He laughed, darkly, and it went straight between her legs.

"Slept on my right side for a week."

She found herself smiling against her will.

He had thought of her for an entire week when going to bed and was now back for more.

Fuck… The way he just spun her around his finger in mere minutes was despicable. She turned around to leave so that she would win at least one round, but that gruff, dark voice stopped her.

"It was a test. Apologies."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned.

"A test?"

"Yeah. A test." He downed his scotch, and she found herself thinking whether Simon had an addiction to the taste of smoke instead of tobacco per se.

"You got more tests for me?" She tried to appear mocking but only ended up sounding like she was asking for it, asking for more tests and humiliation and… whatever they called it these days. Toxic relationships.

"I was thinking about asking you out."

"We are out."

"Suit yourself."

That fucking accent… It was responsible for this, at least for the most part — that Manchester gruffness was why she was so wet and weak for him. As was the tattoo and his ominous strength, his height and that lone wolf mentality… But why the hell was he harassing her when he could get some pussy even more easily? Why stalk her for months and months and deliberately insult her just when he was about to get laid?

"You know... You're not the first guy who's tried this tactic. And I'm telling you now that it won't work."

The smile turned into a slight smirk. "I doubt you've ever met a guy like me."

Jesus Christ, this man was annoying.

"Wow, you really are a Bond…"

"Dangerous and good-looking?"

"A womanizer who's full of himself."

That fucking laugh. She should leave now when she still had the chance.

But she didn't.

She didn't sit down… But she didn't leave either. He looked at her with those infuriating dark eyes, slightly bloodshot, like he was not only having a rough week at work but a whole rough life as well.

"And you got all the characteristics of a Bond girl."

She didn't take the bait of asking what exactly did he mean by that.

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Bond?"

He licked his lips, narrowed his eyes, and all in all, looked like he was estimating whether she could handle what he was about to tell her.

"I kill people."

Well fuck me…

Ok. Fuck.

"Oh, okay. So you're in Hells Angels or something?"

He smiled and shook his head slowly.

"You're a merc?"

He gave him a vague nod of the head, a shrug of the shoulder, a gesture that said: "Kind of".

"Why would you want to take me on a date?"

Why don't you just say it how it is, that you only want to fuck me?

"'Cause there's something here. You feel it, I feel it."

"You're looking for a relationship in a titty bar?"

He laughed again, and even she had to smile. He matched her boldness, her unapologetic straightforwardness. It couldn't kill her to live a little. Even if it meant tumbling into bed with a cowboy. Even if it meant living a little with a killer.

"You never know," he offered.

"You're a bit too cocky for my taste."

"You've barely even tasted me yet."

Fuck, this man would soon make her drip all over the floor. The tall, dark stranger tilted his head and left her with no choice.

"Shouldn't you at least give it a try before you say no?"

PART 2:

#ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x original character #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #cod fanfic #ghost smut #simon riley smut

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gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot · 1 month

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Because I love them and they deserve happiness after everything they've gone through (and everything I put them through lmao)

(@vasyandii my love, this was your influence)

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cloudofbutterflies92 · 1 month

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Eden and Ghost wedding HCs

The ceremony took place after the 141 managed to end Makarov's reign of terror on April 29

It was a very intimate ceremony, officiated by Kate Laswell in the English countryside and with only friends present.

Eden's dress and ring belonged to her great-grandmother, passed on to all the women of the Park family

The ring bearers were Diana, Joseph and Mr Orange (our beloved orange cat is never missing, he was then entrusted to a cat sitter for the rest of the day)

Gaz helped give Simon some ideas about vowing for Eden, not that Simon wasn't capable but he had so much to say that it would probably get late into the night.

Simon and Eden had already to retire from military and espionage careers, to be able to be next to Diana and Joseph.

After the ceremony, the couple with their two children wanted to organize a trip around the world for a month, going to four destinations: Tibet, Japan, Italy and Greece.

After they returned home Simon began his career as a self-defense instructor and wrote a book while Eden opened her own bookshop and started teaching at university (languages), just like her father

Here is the link to the template by @heyneon

Taglist: @chloekistune @graveyard-party666 @alypink @kaitaiga @statichvm @onehornedbeast @themotherofhorses @carlosoliveiraa @cassietrn @socially-awkward-skeleton @thewanderer-000 @thedeadthree @priceseyes @sinclxirx @illmetbymoonlight @alicedarkmair @strangefable @captastra @aceghosts @kikiharinezumi @katsigian @justasmolbard @dickytwister @theelderhazelnut @elderglocks @moosch @yourluckyoswald @caelums-fate @chewbokachoi @decayhearts @dani-the-goblin

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maryangelex · 8 months

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To Be Alone With You

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f! Original Character

A/N: Hello!! This is my first time writing fanfiction ever and I'm so obsessed with Ghost I thought I'd give it a shot. This is written with an OC in mind, but I'm writing it with nothing descriptive so it can be read as reader-insert, only mentions callsign "Angel" and some character background for plot purposes. Unless y’all would like to read about my OC! Anyways, enjoy, and let me know what ya think!!!!

Summary: A new member gets added to task force 141, and Ghost can’t keep himself together for long.

Warnings: NSFW! MDNI! Third-person POV, Smut, p in v sex (fantasy), masturbation, strong language, horny ass pining, descriptive language, combat injury, blood, military inaccuracy, game inaccuracy, OOC Ghost (?), not proofread, first fic

The 141 Task Force was a well-established team, led by Captain Price, Lieutenant "Ghost" Riley, and Sergeants "Soap" MacTavish and "Gaz" Garrick. As a team, they dove head-first into danger, every risk necessary to be taken, and they did a damn fine job every time. Regardless, Laswell thought this new mission in Las Almas called for new additions to the force.

"She goes by 'Angel'", Laswell states, sliding a file across the table to Price.

"Right," he responds, opening the manila folder with extensive records and information on the new member. "I can see why with a face like that. Looks like a sweetheart," he scoffed.

"She was top of her class in the Naval Academy and a Navy SEAL, one of the handful of women on the job," she started, "She's just as skilled as your boys Garrick and MacTavish, maybe better. She's taken down guys the size of your Lieutenant"

Laswell would've only noticed someone with actual talent, and Price knew this, he trusted her well enough to know she was a no-bullshit kind of woman. And given the information in the file in his hands, Angel sure was an ironic callsign.

"I trust you, Kate, so I know this dove's not gonna disappoint", he said glancing up at Laswell.

A lot of hope and expectations laid on her shoulders on Price’s behalf. Ghost had been notified about the new member upon his arrival with Soap in Las Almas. The two of them emerged from the evac and touched down on their new base. Friendly introductions were made between their other two new members for their time being in Las Almas, Rudy and Alejandro; then she came along, introduced by Price to the task force.

Soap looked like a kid on Christmas morning, fawning over her all giddy and jovial. It was like he’d never seen a girl before, she thought. He made multiple charming and flirtatious remarks at their first introduction, no shame in that one that’s for sure. But she liked the amicable dialogue, she knew they’d get along with him bringing some light to being in the suck.

Meanwhile there was Ghost, stoic and rigid. He shook her hand and gave her a cold yet approving handshake and introduced himself. Of course she already knew all about him, or at least what the gossip and folktales about him said he was; a direct, quiet, intimidating bloke that could kill with a glare and had an arsenal of skills, absolute killing machine with only his whit and sick dry humor saving him from being nonhuman. All she did was gawk at all 6’4 feet of him and get sucked into his expressive yet mysterious eyes. She’d never been so starstruck by a man before yet she kept her composure in front of him. Yet her mind couldn’t help but wander like a high school girl catching the first glimpse of her crush.

Ghost was a man of few words in general, but especially with people he’d just met or started working with. He kept it professional and distant, mainly because he never knew how long they’d last in a mission, so he kept his expectations low for everyone. Angel was an exception though, she piqued his interest. He had read her file handed over to him by Price prior to meeting her, and they both shared the same interest in her and her skills on the field: sharp sniper, close quarter combat expert, trained medic, the list went on with what she was capable of. The difference was how much more intensely Ghost had looked at her file. He would never admit it, but in reality he was captivated. In a professional level of course, nothing else.

Missions together went smoothly. She proved her skills and more time and time again. She made a good pair with Soap since they were out to work together the most often. Same as her with Gaz, they were a match made in heaven when it came to recon and agility missions. The three of them were insufferable, though, pestering and bickering with each other like triplets both in the field and off duty. Ghost was being driven mad, he already had enough with MacTavish annoying him through the radio, now he had to deal with Angel adding fuel to the fire. She did make him smile, though, sometimes even made him hold back laughs but God forbid anyone in the team knew he was a bit keen on her. Thank God for his mask hiding that away from everyone.

The team was cohesive with her as a new member for the months to come. Ghost didn’t think much of anything, not much of her besides quiet admiration and camaraderie, especially since she mainly worked with Soap. No big deal.

Except, after a mission gone awry and things getting sticky making the team struggle to get out alive, and Price having to chew out Angel and Soap for being careless, he decided it was best to change partnerships. Now, Soap was assigned to work with Price, and Angel with the Lieutenant, to teach her a thing or two and keep both of them in check under better supervision.

This is when shit hit the fan for Ghost, when he first stepped into the murky waters that were his feelings, the ones he didn’t even know he had.

Working with Angel was odd to him. He expected for it to be like how he worked with Soap, coordinated with the occasional friendly and comical banter they shared over radio. And it was like that with Angel in the beginning, the two made an amazing pair given their similarities in skill, traits, and resourcefulness.

It was too good of a match, though. Things were starting to get heavy for Ghost. He was starting to care too much about her, to get too protective of her in the field, the distance was getting shorter between them each mission.

On a supposedly easy intel mission, shit had gotten ugly really fast and really badly for them.

“Fuck, L.T.,” she panted, the two of them hiding behind a column of the building they were trapped in, getting shot at from all directions. “I’m hit, get my med pack will ya?”

“Fuckin’ hell, kid, you’re the medic, not me” he growled, rummaging through her gear for the first aid kit.

“No worries L.T. it’s not even that bad” she said with a breathy chuckle. The wound was oozing and spurting blood from her abdomen, her hand pressed against it keeping the pressure as best she could. She looked up at Ghost, who was fumbling with the kit finding a bandage to replace her hand on the wound with. He returned the gaze but his was colder and reprimanding, as if saying this is not the time to fuck around.

He pressed his much larger hand on her abdomen and although not visible he was concerned, a bit scared even. What the fuck was this? He’s never been this scared about a partner. He’s lost enough to not care as much anymore, to be used to it by now. So why was he so breathless and shaken by this girl’s injury?

“I’ll guide you, Ghost. The bullet went through. It looks real ugly with all this gushing but it hit my flank. See? Nothin’ important got hit” she said to him reassuringly, lifting herself up from the floor and lightly twisting to show him the hole the bullet went through on the right side of her waist. The two meet their gaze, his softened by her reassurance.

The two made it out of the building and back to the evac. Angel had guided Simon to tend to the wound and patch her up, and in return he basically carried her out of there.

That night back in HQ had Simon stressing, not because of the mission, not because of Angel’s injury, but because he was so god damn confused about what was clouding his mind so much. This new feeling he had. He felt restless and dazed by it. He felt like he failed that mission entirely by allowing Angel to get hurt, a new instinct to protect awoke in him. That night he couldn’t sleep, no amount of cigarettes out the window of his dorm calmed him down or made him make sense of these newfound feelings and fears.

From then on he was her shadow, and their distance became shorter as a result. Cheeky remarks, overly friendly banter sometimes escalating to flirty insults and jokes. Then came the light touches between the two, accidental of course. And his symptoms got worse each day.

His sleepless nights went from worries and memories of the battlefield to that of what a teenage boy would worry about.

He wanted her, and it was so hard for him to admit that to himself. He wanted her closer to him, he wanted the light touches between the two to become more comfortable, heavier, needier. He wanted her carnally. He thought about the times she was paired up with Johnny, how the two of them clicked and it sent him into a spiral. What if she laid awake at night the same way as him, but thinking about Soap? Or Gaz? Hell, even Price? Or none at all, and he was just horny and pining for her like a creep.

He thought of the softness of her skin when they touched, when she tended to his wounds how feathery her fingers felt in comparison to his calloused ones or the cold ones of any other nurse back at the base. How he hair swung in a braid when he was watching her back during missions. How she smelled when she was close to him, she smelled womanly with the salty tinge of her sweat from busting her ass on the field. It made him feral to think of her at the hands of another man, but he felt so stupid for it because it was the most plausible thing to happen, more so than for her to reciprocate his feelings, or at least for her to let him fuck her, at least once to get it out of his system.

Simon’s new nightly routine was of pacing around HQ finding something to busy himself with like paperwork or a smoke outside. He made his way back to his dorm after enough busywork and attempts to tire himself out. When he went to open the door to his room, she was there, leaning against the arch, and standing there as if waiting for him, with a sly smile plastered on her face.

“Can’t sleep?” She questioned.

“I could ask you the same thing”, he said, standing parallel to her.

She moved from the door as if inviting him to open it, which he complied with.

“Maybe we can help tire each other out”

Next thing he knows she’s sitting naked on his bed, baring herself to him. He’s standing at the foot of the bed looking down at her, admiring the sight in front of him. She’s putting on a show for him, caressing her breasts, down to her stomach and the space between her legs.

“Open your legs, sweetheart,” he says huskily “I know you want me to see.”

She spreads her knees, exposing her soaked cunt that she tenderly and slowly strokes. He’s salivating at the sight, as she slides her fingers through her folds, teasing herself, with her other hand massing her breast, taking a nipple between her index and middle finger. He watches her moan and throw her head back as she circles her clit, slowly, applying the right amount of pressure that sets her body alight.

She goes at it for some time before dipping her fingers in her hole, saturating them in her slick before reaching out to his unmasked mouth which he takes in with a low hum at the taste of it.

Except none of that actually happened, which is proven by Simon waking up alone in the darkness of his room in a cold sweat. He’s in pure terror, his face hot and red under his mask. Fuck, did he just dream that? He’s even more mortified by the tent his rock hard dick is pitching under his sheets.

Fuck, this can’t be fucking happening.

He gets up from his bed immediately, beelining for his en-suite. There’s no fucking way he’s caving into dreams like that, he feels like that’s disrespectful to his teammate, like his body’s betraying him. He removes his mask, turns on the cold shower and steps in, ice cold water hitting his scalding skin. His head sinks between his shoulders, hands placed against the wall in front of him as he lets the water hit from above, as he looks down at his erection.

It’s not helping, it’s not going down.

All he thinks about is the image of Angel sat pretty and baring herself to him in his bed. Of her hands traveling over her body. He brings two fingers to his lips, imagining hers, imagining how sweet she must taste. He closes his eyes and he’s taken back to his dream.

Fuckkk, he thinks. Now it’s not just his body that’s betraying him it’s his whole damn self, he’s giving in completely as he wonders what’s next. As he wonders what would happen if he took those dainty tender hands with those pretty painted nails and wrapped them around his thick throbbing cock. What would happen if he let her stroke him slowly with a mix of her slick and his spit.

Simon brings his own hand in the shower down to his cock and he strokes himself with that scenario playing in his mind behind his closed eyelids. He relishes in the feeling of his hand stroking himself, slowly at first like he pictures Angel would, then increasing the speed.

He thinks about what it would be like to have her mouth on it instead. Oh her full juicy lips, red and smooth, how they’d stretch around his girth, inching down from tip to base.

“That’s it, pretty girl”, he whispers with his eyes still shut and his hand still relieving his cock in the shower.

He thinks about her gagging on his length as he’s encouraging her to take more and more in until the hilt, until it’s encapsulated by her throat. He squeezes his dick thinking about it as he strokes it some more, picturing her bobbing her head at the same rhythm and speed as he’s using on himself. He’d put his hand on that braid she’s always got and grasp it firmly as he commands her head and dictates how deep and fast she can suck him off.

He’s a mess in the shower, moaning lowly and groaning to himself. He lets his head rest on his forearm against the wall, the water running down his back and his hand squeezing and pulling at his cock. His mind wanders some more and now he’s picturing his spit-covered cock lining himself with her pussy, slowly spreading her open, loosening up the tightness of it, molding her to his length. She’d make the cutest noises, they’d drive him insane. Her moans and mewls shooting straight to his cock, making him twitch inside of her. She’d feel so warm, wrapping his dick in her sopping cavern, making him feel whole like she’s a missing piece to his puzzle.

Simon’s stroking himself faster now, panting under the water, cupping his balls with his other hand as he imagines pounding into Angel, imagines the sounds he can pull from her and thinking of the sight of her splayed out under him as his dick is buried deep inside of her, then pulled out and rammed back in, keeping up the speed of his hand.

He’s at it for a few moments more, moving his hips and thrusting himself into his own hands as if he was fucking her. Until he starts to feel that burning pressure at the pit of his stomach, as his balls feel tighter with his release about to happen. And then he snaps. White hot ropes of cum shoot out of his cock, dripping into his hands and out onto the tile of the shower, flowing down the drain. He’s gasping and groaning, cursing at himself as his thighs vibrate from his orgasm. His mind a haze but fuck, he feels good. Like a moment of catharsis.

Now the struggle is gonna be looking at Angel without thinking of his late night activities. Now he’s given into his desires and carries more of the burden of wanting her without being able to have her.

A/N: WELP… Please leave some thoughts if you got this far, thanks for reading <3 divider credit to @cafekitsune

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allemantheias · 2 months

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Baby cowboy.

Alejandro and reader's 1,5-year-old vaquero leads even the biggest horses out of the stable to the fenced-off pasture, like he's been doing this since the day he was born. Both parents proudly watch their little creation.

Pictures from pinterest.

#alejandro vargas x original female character #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x you #alejandro vargas #vaquero #ranch owner alejandro #modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare

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thebutterflyofthemojave · 2 days

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Diana and her Big Dada HC

(moodboard made by me)

Ghost in the Fallout AU with baby Diana. The stress about to stay away for weeks, the return at home where Laswell and her wife takes care of her after the death of his wife after the birth(its the wasteland unfortunately).

She is the only thing good in that world of death and pain, I imagine her first word “Dada”. Because she loves her big Dada so much.

When she says the first word he was returned after a request to assassinate some Gunners in a nearby factory, all covered in blood and sand, him tired, and sees his daughter of one year who tries to walk helped by Kate's wife and who keeps saying "Dada”

His eyes full of tears, the constant feeling of guilt in having to raise his little tangerine in such a world that are dissipated in that sweet "Dada" while he promised himself "to protect you little tangerine from this disgusting world”

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ghosty-writes-23 · 1 year

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Incorrect COD Quotes Part. 1

WARNING: Suggestive (Slightly spicy) & dark humored content.

A/N: some of these might be a little suggestive, so you have been warned, Also V is my own female OC but can be read as x reader if you prefer that.

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

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Ghost: *see’s Soap and V do something extremely dangerous and sighs* “God give me patience for these two.”

V: *overhears him* “don’t you mean strength there sir.”

Ghost: “if god gave me strength you both would be dead.”

Both Soap and V: *gulp*

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König: *gives V a beaded friendship bracelet he made* “so you can have a part of me, when your on your mission”

V: *is on the verge of ugly crying under her mask as he placed the bracelet on her wrist* “I will protect this with my life.”

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Alejandro: *pats Graves on the shoulder giving him a knowing look* “I hate seeing you like this.”

Graves *has a confused look on his face* “Like what? I'm not upset.”

Alejandro: “no in person, I hate seeing you in person.”

*Dead silence*

V: *covers her mouth to hide the fact she is laughing under her mask and fails terribly*

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V: *does something idiotic and stupid that Ghost warned her not to do.*

Ghost: *sees V get hurt* “I don’t care, I warned her that if she hurt herself I wasn’t going to help her.”

Voice over: “but ghost did really care as later that night he made sure her injuries were too serious and lightly scolded her before giving her one of his hoodies to wear and played with her hair until she fell asleep*

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Ghost: *takes off his mask revealing his face in front of everybody*

Price: “It's good to see you again, Simon.”

Soap: *lowkey checking ghost out*

Gaz: “not what I expected.”

V: “Why is everybody in this group so goddamn pretty, it makes me feel like a trash gremlin.”

Ghost: *puts his mask back on*

Soap: “don’t worry V, you will always be our trash gremlin.”

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Price: *walks into the briefing room looking for V* "can I have my sweater back"

V: *looks at him innocently* "only if I can have my virginity back"

*Cue whole briefing room goes silent*

V: *laughs before sliding his hoodie off and hands it to him* "here you go sir"

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Soap and V are at the pet store, looking for collars for the new squad dog teddy.

Soap: “Okay we got everything, let's go already, wait where is V?”

V *is in the collar section, looking for a choker chain*

Soap: “why are you looking at choker chains, you don’t have a pet?”

V: “how do you know that sergeant” *smirks slightly under her mask and grabs the one she is looking for and places it around Soaps neck before giving it a slight tug*

Soap: *grunts and stumbles forward* “What kind of dog is it?”

V: *giggles soft before taking it off and grabs another in the same size* “ones that need to be house trained, now let's get out of here before Price rings us and asks why we are taking so long”

*Bonus*

*later that week in training Soap see’s both König and Ghost sporting what looked like dog choker chains around their necks*

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*The 141 men + V are in the common room, relaxing after training.

V: Spread me apart, lick me with your tongue, grab my sides, and eat my cream and that is how you eat an Oreo cookie.”

Soap: *chokes on his drink* “bloody hell woman.”

Gaz: *is laughing at soap’s reaction*

Price: *gives her the disappointed dad look* “Really V.”

V: Oh come on captain it was funny.

Ghost: *is cleaning his gun but does chuckle at her joke*

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Gaz: “does anybody else notice that people that liked to be choked, hate being tickled.”

V: *feels slightly called out and starts sweating and nervously laughing* “haha, that's oddly specific there Gaz.”

Gaz: “It's like they are completely fine with you cutting off their oxygen supply, but as soon as you try to tickle them, they will kill you.”

V: *looks at him dead serious* “Maybe some people hate being tickled.”

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❌Please don't repost, translate or copy any of my work without permission.❌

#tw: dark humor #tw: suggestive #cod x original female character #cod #task force 141 x original female character #task force 141 #cod headcanons #incorect quote #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #mw2 #Original female character #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod incorrect quotes #cod mw2

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yawnderu · 2 days

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Since you love the big man so much so imagine after he has fucked you full of his cum he eats you out then kisses you so you can taste yourself and him while also giving you his cum to swallow while droplets roll down your lips and chin before he gets the run-off on his fingers so you can suck it off

Sorry if this makes no sense but I have thoughts after you kept encouraging me

Your hands go down to grip a fistful of his curly red hair, his low groan vibrating all over your fucked-out cunt, way too sensitive to stand the way his long tongue laps at your cunt like the greedy dog of a man he is, not a single ounce of care on the way he's licking his own cum, his large hands gripping your inner thighs to stop you from squirming so much despite your whining.

“Please...” You're not even sure what you're begging for, knowing fully well that he could eat you out for hours, his stamina matching his behemoth height, yet relief is painted all over your face the moment his hungry lips let go of your sensitive cunt, his large body resting comfortably on top of yours, his half-chub resting against your thigh.

Your breath hitches the moment his lips meet yours, a thick mix of his cum and yours taking over your senses as his tongue wraps around yours, his hands desperate to grasp every single inch of your body no matter how sensitive it is after he fucked you.

Your greediness matches his, the grip on his hair tightening only to hear a whimper come out of the 7’11” beast of a man, his size a sheer contrast to how needy he can be. He's a messy kisser— too much tongue and not enough self-control, pushing himself to break away just to admire you. The thin layer of sweat covering your face, your lips glossy with the mix of body fluids, and the droplets of cum that managed to escape your parted lips, slowly rolling down your warm cheek.

His index and middle finger come together to gather the hot, thick fluid just to bring it back to the place it escaped from, the corners of his lips tilting up into a cocky smirk the moment your lips wrap around his thick fingers, sucking them clean with no hesitation. He can feel the blood rushing down to his large cock, your legs parting out of pure muscle memory in a quiet display of acceptance, ready for another round despite the growing ache between your thighs and what you're sure is a bruised cervix.

>I'm so obsessed with Ozzie's OC Jack-Pot so I had to. Thank you for listening to my daily rambles about wanting to get him pregnant even when I have a pussy. HBJEFJHBEFJHB 💗💗💗

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iamcautiouslyoptimistic · 1 month

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100-Word Challenge

Posting something for @deadbranch's 100-word challenge cuz I can't stop thinking about Black Ops Cold War and my Bell lol🫣 and I love my man Adler but he was definitely SUS during the Cold War campaign when it came to Bell🫢

~ ~ ~

Mason set his hands on Bell’s hips, causing her to tense beneath his palms.

“Like this,” he corrected gently, angling her form to better mimic the stance he had demonstrated earlier. "Keep your limbs loose. You'll hurt yourself if you're too stiff."

In reality, Bell didn't need any guidance with this sort of thing. They both knew it and yet neither fought it. They both sensed that spark between them and were unable to resist its pull.

Adler's shades glinted in the shadows, smoke curling from his lips as he observed the pair in silence. He'd let them enjoy this little tryst of theirs... for now.

#Ren's writing #mine mine mine #my oc: helina bell soldatova #my oc #original character #oc #call of duty oc #cod oc #alex mason x oc #alex mason x bell #alex mason x female bell #alex mason x helina bell soldatova #alex mason #russell adler #call of duty black ops cold war #cod bocw #call of duty #cod

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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Man-Sized

7/9 Shadowplay

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

Christmas came and went, and all she knew was that Simon wasn't working. She still didn't know where he lived – whether he had a home in Manchester or if he resided elsewhere. He could live in London for all she knew. He could live down the street, and she wouldn't have a clue about it.

She sent him pictures of her family and the Christmas tree, of the cute pajamas her parents had got her – they still got her cozy sleepwear as a gift, like she was a child. She sent her a photo of herself later with that thing on. Or most of it on, anyway. She even added a few hearts to her texts, knowing he wouldn't return them. Simon was born at a time before emojis were even invented.

She didn't know if he spent the holidays with his family. It was odd to even imagine Simon in a happy, domestic setting, sipping grog or decorating a tree. His father was dead, and he rarely talked about his brother or mother. All the details he had given her of his life were from a pre-military time.

True to his habits, he only sent a short reply on Boxing Day that said: "See you soon."

And she waited. She went back home the next day and sat in her lonely apartment watching historical dramas and eating chocolate until she felt sick, and he never came. She stayed there the day after, didn't leave the house even for the store. On the third day, she started to get anxious, on the fourth, rather angry. No one turned that extra key on the lock of her front door, and she felt like an idiot.

On New Year's Eve, she decided she would get the fuck out. She would not stay at home like a whimpering, lovesick puppy, waiting for its master to come home.

The long-distance relationship was getting on her nerves, and his occasional unavailability didn't feel exciting anymore. It was just vexing. Sometimes it felt like a paranoid exaggeration that he couldn't tell her when they would meet again. She didn't need much: just a fixed date would have sufficed. Her other life was stupidly on hold because she was always on high alert for him. This had been going on for months, and it was high time she did something else. Just for the shits and giggles. To hell with his soon.

So she went to see her friends and drank herself into an impressive stupor.

It wasn't her usual approach to dealing with anxiety and frustration and a yearning heart, and it didn't work as well as she had hoped. But at least she got out of that stupid flat and saw some people who actually had time for her. She had been invited to a party before the holidays with the knowledge that she would not attend – just like she never attended any student shenanigans and was rather curious as to why people kept inviting her.

But right now, an evening full of alcohol and uni people who had normal problems, problems she should've been thinking about too instead of her supersoldier, sounded better than binge-watching Outlander for the fifth day in a row.

And it was actually loads of fun. She decided right then and there, while having her fifth or sixth drink, that she should leave the house more often. Connect a little, get acquainted with new people who did normal shit. Even if they were a bit boring compared to a certain brooding giant who made love to her like she was a goddess.

She laughed so much that night that her stomach hurt, and a few boys from school were really after her at the party, quenching her need for validation and attention just a tiny bit. The whole crew went to see the fireworks to the city, and they all shared some bubbly in the frigid night, and even if she wanted Simon to somehow teleport himself behind her at the turn of the year, to grab her from behind and raise her in the air and whisper something naughty in her ear, the longing wasn't enough to rob all the fun from that night.

When she walked home, feeling a bit wobbly and more than a bit guilty for having flirted with not one but two guys, she reached for the pocket that held the push dagger Simon had given her. It received loving attention every time she walked to school or to the club, the excitement of doing something forbidden soon having turned to a feeling of security and a promise of prowess, all granted by Simon. It was almost like a comfort object, the way it instantly carried her thoughts to him.

Home felt dark and shabby and even more lonely after having a few good laughs with cheerful people her age, who studied the same subject and had big plans for the future. Her plans for the near future were another day alone, but this time, with a hideous hangover. That future felt so dreary that she didn't quite catch the familiar dark shoes in the hallway as she barged in and fought herself out of her heels all but suavely.

She went straight to the bathroom for a late-night shower, and the men's shower gel bottle – the one Simon had brought to her apartment because he didn't want to smell of "girl shampoo" – stared at her like a reminder of what she couldn't have. She then brushed her teeth and went to get a glass of water before crashing into bed.

Even in the dark, she could see a man sitting on her couch as she stepped into the living room that extended to an open kitchen.

She didn't panic this time. Her reaction was a simple, annoyed sigh upon seeing that he was yet again trying to gauge a reaction out of her.

"You really need to stop doing that."

She could see him tilt his head a little at her bitter tone. They had never fought, but right now, feeling emboldened by the booze, she had a feeling that an explosion was about to happen. Returning to a dark home filled with a dark man was such a contrast to the spirited, youthful gang she had spent her evening with that all the laughter left her for a moment.

How long had he even been here? It was nearly 3 AM. She had gone to the party as early as she deemed acceptable, wanting to get some fresh air and fresh vibes as soon as possible. If Simon had come to surprise her in the evening, he had had a long night.

"Where were you?"

The raspy voice was demanding, and she fought back a jolt of irritation just from hearing that dominant tone. It was just a simple question, but it felt like an interrogation.

And she wanted to scream.

Where were you?

How many times have I waited for you to bless me with your presence?

She had been away just this once, and he hadn't called, hadn't sent a text, had chosen to wait here for her to return from her all nighter, and then accused her of not being home.

"At a friend," she said.

"Which one?"

"Marc."

She heard him draw air upon hearing that she had been to some other guy's apartment.

"A new friend," he noted.

"He had a party," she explained, then tested her luck like an idiot. "It was fun. I made lots of new friends."

She turned to get that glass of water and noticed Simon had done her dishes while she was away. There were flowers in a vase on the counter, too. He had wanted to surprise her on New Year's Eve, probably hoped to spend another peaceful evening at home together.

A tiny needle pushed into her heart at the sight of the pink tulips. Simon didn't know it, but they were her favourite flowers. She wondered whether he had been to the club to see if she was there, only to come back when he noticed she wasn't up tonight. If he had sat on that couch as hours passed by, with dread sinking in from the thought that she might be out somewhere, cheating him with another guy. The needle inside her heart burst into flames.

"Where were you?" She whispered. He finally rose and walked to her, much in the same way he had done when she had been upset in this exact same spot when morning light had filled the room.

"Covering my tracks."

She already knew that "covering tracks" meant he took extra precautions before coming to see her, whether there was a real, heightened risk or not. Christmas time might be a heightened risk: those who wanted him harm would probably want to know where he spent his holidays. Who his loved ones were.

It meant that he was devoted to her, an actual sign of care and deep affection. Simon had just made sure he wouldn't set her in danger.

She could feel his warmth behind her, could smell him, and felt distress spike in her chest when he wouldn't proceed to touch her but just stood there. She turned to face him with a quivering lip and wasn't sure whether she was about to burst into tears or a manic giggle.

He was wearing a black hoodie this time, but it didn't quite manage to make him look any more youthful or boyish. But it was snug, almost cute. The size of it probably double or triple XL to accommodate those shoulders and that chest. That hoodie told her he had definitely planned to stay home, cuddling and making love while the tulips slowly opened their blossoms in that vase.

She knew he came here for her softness. He would never admit it, but he craved the softness of her bed, her couch, her body, even the food she made for him with love. He had just wanted to spend the evening filled with some color, laughter, and affection, certainly not go and watch exploding fireworks that would only remind him of war and death and darkness.

Suddenly she felt guilty about getting so worked up. She felt shame for her condition: she was still drunk, like a sailor, wearing nothing but flushed cheeks and a towel.

"Are you angry?" She searched for judgment in his eyes. He watched her sternly, didn't betray any emotion other than that of guardedness.

"Why would I be angry?" He said in a Should I be? kind of way.

"Because I'm drunk?"

She must smell of booze, of a whole pubful of drunkards. Not ladylike at all. He had heard the state in which she had barged in — she had even sung a dirty song in the shower.

She felt like a child compared to him, felt like every guy she had talked to at that party tonight was like a child compared to him. The shyness never quite left her, even if they had known each other for months now.

What if he was angry? Or disappointed?

Or worse yet, disgusted?

"You said you didn't like women who drink."

She certainly wasn't a drinker, even if this night had been a bit rowdy. But trying to explain to a man who disapproved of drinking that she wasn't an alcoholic while smelling of booze was somehow too funny in her sleepy, partied, lovelorn state.

She couldn't hold it in any longer, and a stupid little chortle pushed through her lips. This time, he raised a hand and took hold of her shoulder, as if to ensure she was okay.

"I never said that," he said gently. The brown of his eyes was blown dark, and she vaguely remembered that dilated pupils meant drugs or darkness or love.

"One of the guys wanted to walk me home," she blurted out of nowhere. The alcohol in her system had apparently decided it was quite alright to tease him a bit for taking so long. His head pulled back, a subtle indication that he didn't like what he was hearing.

"Or actually, two. It was funny when they both came to give me my coat when I was leaving."

He was silent, the feeling of being reduced to a flustered child – or a drunken moron – in his presence only increasing by the minute. Either he was genuinely astounded by her behaviour, or then she was really pushing her luck with her drunken babble.

And fuck, she would never get over his eyes. Perfectly almond-shaped and so big that supermodels would kill for them. But it wasn't the warm, dark chocolate or the eternal exhaustion of hooded lids that made them so enticing. It was the look of having walked through hellfire… and having emerged undefeated, with scars and a sardonic, knowing smile. He was like Lucifer cast out from heaven, a fallen dark angel who had been thrown to Hell, who merely shrugged at his fate and then started to rule the whole goddamn place.

She opened the towel and let it drop to the floor, then took a step and wrapped her arms around his neck. He went rigid as she pressed her body flush against him, the amber eyes roaming her face while the rest of him was stiff. It was a new situation, her meeting his solemn stare with bold teasing while making it clear that she wanted him to rut her — on that counter if need be. Or better yet, she wanted to climb onto his lap and ride him, run her nails down his chest and sink them in, perhaps to the point of drawing blood.

It was usually he who ravished her…

"I've been a bad girl," she tried to imitate a seductive voice but it turned into another giggle.

Good God… She wished someone would come and put some duct tape on her mouth.

But then a hand was placed possessively on her hip, a thumb brushed over the side of her stomach. Those eyes were now looking at her much in the same way they always did when she was dancing for him. Hungry and dark. Proud… Pleased.

He had looked at her like that for months and months now. Like he owned her. In a stupefied recognition, she realized he had looked at her that way before they had even shared a word with each other.

He moved in a sharp flash, scooped her in his arms and started to walk toward the bedroom.

"Are you gonna punish me?" She whispered without even bothering to cover the heavy anticipation in her voice. He wouldn't say anything, but when they reached her bed, she was thrown on it. Gently and with care – but it was still more of a flung than setting down.

"It's not really a punishment if I enjoy it, right?" She laughed with excitement, all the remnants of her anger dissolving into a soft buzz that gave a nice edge to the upcoming retribution. "I guess the joke's on you."

He still wouldn't budge, still wouldn't speak…

"Are you sure you're not angry?"

She rose to lean on her elbows and watched him undress with a soldierly sharpness. Under the black hoodie was a black t-shirt — of course. But only now did she notice that he was wearing grey sweatpants. Fucking sweatpants.

Why did he have to be such a kissable, huggable cuddle muffin on this night of all nights? Those sweats were so far from the glitter and glamour she had surrounded herself this evening that she felt another burning sting beneath her sternum. The ample bulge against that soft, grey cotton was visible even in the darkness.

The muscles bunched as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. She would probably never tire of seeing those shoulders, not to talk of his divine forearms that were so different from the skinny little things she usually saw at school or even at the club she danced in. Even she had more muscle in her forearms due to pole dancing than some men – but Simon… God, he was an absolute specimen. And with that tattoo slapped on that bulky, veined muscle, she could verily fall on her knees and pray to this man.

Her earlier teasing felt stupid as hell. She wasn't interested in anyone else than him walking her home. That ship had long since sailed.

And how could anyone compare to him? Those boys she had talked to would shit themselves if they saw Simon, even without his gear. Would turn tail and run seeing him in those cozy sweats, even. She wanted to explain herself even if the cleverest thing would be to just shut up.

"Marc's just a friend from school. He was in this group project and then we started to talk about our plans for the New Year, and then I figured I should go to this party because I never go anywhere, you know, and -...mh."

His pants were off, all of them, and she could see his cock spring free, already hard, like he always was when she was lying down like this and he was about to descend upon her. The night swallowed most of him, but it wasn't enough to hide those forearms, that hungry, slightly amused glint in his eyes – or that heavy, obscenely thick erection that was jutting from between his equally massive thighs. It was veined like his forearms, surrounded by the palest, faint hair, similar to the almost invisible ones that coated his chest and back here and there. Everything in him was heavy and thick, except that pale breath of hair…

Her mouth shot full of water, and rich heat pooled between her thighs, which instinctively clamped together as if knowing that this man was too big for her, even if evidence already proved otherwise. He always told her how tight she was, but she felt like it was more the cause of his size than any asset of hers.

"I thought it would be good to connect with people because you never know, right?" Her mouth kept yapping on while her eyes were glued to his massiveness. All of it.

He crawled to the bed between her legs, which opened by themselves for him as if this man was a whole VIP pass that granted access to the exclusive area of her.

"If you wanted to know where I am, you could've just called me. You never tell me where you are or when you come back. You know, "soon" could mean anything."

She expected him to insert himself to her opening, to push in with a full-blown ego because he must already know she was wet from just seeing him, the bastard. But instead, he dove face first to her folds while sweeping her thighs over his shoulders like they weighed nothing.

"But I get it, you need to–"

A pair of hot lips surrounded by a peak stubble hit her skin, and her head fell back with a moan. Her thighs drifted even further apart as his tongue traveled up her slit, parting the swollen lips with so much love that she knew he definitely wasn't angry with her.

Oh no.

She had only managed to amuse him again.

And of course she had. Her intoxicated state and desperate attempts to make him jealous must've told him that she was a bit of a mess because of him. He wasn't petty, even if he was possessive. It was crystal clear to everyone in this room that she had just tried to distract herself, and she was featherbrained if she thought she could fool him.

"I was mad at you," she confessed with a sigh. "I still am…"

She peeked a look down. The sight of a brawny, wide man on his knees between her legs made her more heady than all the punch she had had that night. The bulk of muscle on his back made her legs look sleek and slender and weak, the coarse stubble against her delicate, swollen folds made her head spin even when she was lying on her back. The faint scent of tobacco and his musk were like incense to her; she inhaled it like it was her only way to heaven, that haze of blazing masculinity, of fire and smoke that was thoroughly him enveloping her as she fell back on the mattress.

Her hand found his hair; it was cut shorter from the sides, but the top had generous amounts to grab hold of, and she curled her fingers there while pushing her cunt against him. She was tired of pretending that it didn't feel fucking best when he gave her head.

An exceptionally hungry kiss echoed through her body, making her spine arch and her legs slide up and down his back. How could it feel like he was kissing her instead of fucking her with his mouth? She had taken Simon as a man who didn't worship women like this, but like always, she had been wrong. Even the very thought of a commanding officer of some super special tactical unit having his face buried between her legs was enough to send her to the verge of orgasm. Not to talk of seeing and feeling him actually there.

She sighed as his hands drew her against his face by the thighs, then gasped as a firm, thick tongue – thick like the rest of him – thrust inside her.

"God… yes, just like that…"

If she was pulling his hair a little too hard, he didn't mind. Or at least he didn't say or do anything about it. At first, she had thought that perhaps he tried to make her shut her mouth this way. Speak with moans and sighs instead of words. But now she felt like she was his prisoner, about to make the confession of a lifetime.

"It drives me crazy, the waiting… I'm always waiting for you." It was a miserable sob, and she was arriving at the center, the numb, veiled core of this whole conundrum.

"You drive me crazy, Simon."

He let her monologue go on. If anything, he encouraged it with his tongue, with his lips that nibbed her swollen bud and sucked.

"You're so annoying." She felt him huff a brief chuckle against her, inside her even, as she was open and dripping and hurting, wholly at his mercy. "Like, no one comes even close. And, and, I…"

The darkness made it seem that she could spill any secret in such a lightless, safe cavity where there was suddenly no time, no past and no future to make her pay for what came out of her mouth next.

"...I love you."

But the laws of cause and effect still applied to this world, and Simon stopped, breathing into her pussy like a long-distance runner.

"What?"

His first words since forever hit her folds with a husky, tentative roughness. That voice was better than any dark rum or gooey chocolate cake or even a hot tub bubbling with maple sugar bath bomb. The heated knot in her stomach coiled and twisted, her eyes were brimming with tears.

"...Nothing."

He breathed into her tender folds, she could feel his lips draw into a smile. He kissed her right at the center, at the core of her, and she jerked a little, bit her lip, and waited.

"You sure?" The gruff, murky voice still talked to her pussy, like it was there where the confession of his prisoner was to be found.

"Yes..?"

A devastatingly languid lick stroked her folds, and the starved sigh was that of a happy, happy man. He had a winning hand, and he knew it.

"Are you absolutely positive?"

She swallowed, her lips trembled, and her heart rammed against her chest as her drunkard's brain thought of the terrible fate that awaited her if she yielded to him. What if they were still playing? She hated poker, especially when she was playing against Simon who always had a royal flush in his hand. She wanted to play together, not against each other.

"For fuck's sake, why do you always have to…" she started, then bit her lip again as he plunged his tongue inside, so deep that it made her chin shoot up toward the ceiling and her hips grind against his face.

"You always have to win," she sighed strenuously, on the brink of tears.

"Love you too," he rumbled against her, and her walls clenched around nothing, more moisture leaked to coat his chin.

"Wh-...What?"

He picked up where he had left, proceeding to kiss and lick and suck like it was just some small talk they had briefly shared while he was eating her out.

"Simon…"

"Shh."

She pursed her lips from happiness and allowed him to finish the job, which didn't take long in her state of bliss and drunken overstimulation. She came with a cry, leaked love in the air – leaked literally, on his lips.

He rose to sit after he was done, panting like it had been a while since he had tortured anyone like that.

"What took you so long?" She asked when he threw himself to lie on his back next to her.

"What took you so long?" He huffed, and she wasn't sure if they were talking about their mutual absence or the late confession. She turned to press against him, thrumming with love. He shifted too and took her in his arms, and her head was shoved against the plates of muscle that made his chest. He was still hard, and she wanted to take him in her mouth, to return the favor tenfold.

"You're so annoying," she chirped with a broad smile while crushed against the world's safest chest.

"Copy that."

"I love you."

His cock twitched between them when she said those words. It was his only reaction to her repeating that long-kept secret.

"You're drunk," he commented with sleepy, honeyed amusement.

"I'm drunk, and I love you."

He sighed and pulled her into an even heavier hug. "Come 'ere."

They cuddled sometimes, mostly after sex, but it was never this ardent. She ran a hand up and down his back while the other was squeezed somewhere between them. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and powerful underneath her cheek.

"Don't send me pictures of your family," he grumbled through half-sleep. "It's an unnecessary risk."

He had rigged her phone with schizophrenic detail so that their calls and messages couldn't be traced. He had even built a sort of a Faraday's cage out of a shoebox, wired mesh, aluminum foil and whatnot, where he put his phone when he came to her place. She didn't even know all the things he did to ensure no one knew about their relationship. Safety measures weren't doubled, they were tripled with Simon.

She gathered the photos she sent of herself were a weakness for him since he never forbade her from sending them. She didn't know if they got destroyed right after, though, or what kind of a headache it was for him to get rid of all the metadata.

"Whatever you say," she murmured while pressed flush against him. His erection wouldn't die, and in her opinion it was unfair, downright sinful, to leave him in such a state after he had given her so much love. She raised her leg and swept it up the side of his thigh until it came to rest on his hip so she could rub against him.

"You need to sleep," he said, but didn't stop her. He even allowed her some space to snake a hand between them to grab him and guide the tip to her folds, still soaked from his treatment. The notion that he prioritized her rest over his own pleasure only made her more wet. He responded with a shallow, hoarse exhale as she helped his cock against her slickness, coating it with moisture.

"You love me?" She was a lovesick puppy now, and he grunted at her neediness.

"How many times do I have to say it?"

"You only said it once."

"Once is enough."

She glided along his length with slick, moist sounds filling the darkness pulsating with love.

"No it's not."

"Insatiable woman," he muttered, slightly out of breath from what she was doing to him. And as if he had only now noticed that she was handling him and not the other way around, he switched their roles and rolled partially on top of her.

"Could you just say it?" She watched him with what must've looked like the most desperate, needy stare she had ever worn. He simply seized his cock and adjusted it to her entrance.

"Pretty please?" She whispered while he pushed in, only halfway, knowing she was more than ready to take him fully. She even grabbed his ass to force him, but he refused her.

He always had to win… Always.

"I love it when you beg."

The voice was harsh, rugged, but his eyes were soft, even softer than the double bed under her.

"I love your cunt," he continued, and a moan slipped from her as he teased her with a few shallow, unhurried thrusts. "Love the sounds you make when I fuck you hard."

"Mh-..."

"...or gentle. Fuck you real slow and deep. I know you like that."

He finally went completely in, finally gave her that sweet satisfaction that came from being filled. It felt so snug, so gratifying that it could only be compared to having a piece of your favourite cake after a shitty day or taking the first sip of coffee in the morning or easing into a hot jacuzzi when you were cold.

"I love it when you say you're a bad girl when you're the swee'est girl there is."

That one ended in a short, mocking laughter. As if she was absolutely shitty at trying to deceive him in anything.

He continued to tell her everything except the thing she wanted to hear. He told her he loved her bedhead, her cooking, the look of concentration when she was curled somewhere to read a book. He told her he loved her laugh, her sharp tongue, and how adorable she was when she was mad at him. The list went on and on, it even had the time when she had slapped him, on it. She was just about to plead again, beg for it if she must, when he finally relented.

"Yeah, sweetheart… I love you," he whispered in her neck with a burnt voice, burnt from tobacco or barking commands. "Should be bloody fuckin' obvious by now."

She dug her nails into his back, not worrying about the consequences, which were only delightful. The coarse stubble chafed her neck as he kissed and sucked her skin, surely leaving marks.

She was so wet for him that she was creaming around his shaft. Big as he was, he glided inside her with no effort at all, even when she felt herself tighten around him with another upcoming release. She was going to come a second time, a rarity, even with Simon.

He pressed her against the mattress with every thrust, the feeling of being crushed between the plush, soft bed and a bruisingly hard body absolutely glorious. Feeling weightless and completely open, she came while clinging to him, knowing it would send him on another ego trip for having worked her to a climax twice already.

The sound that left her, more like a helpless wail than a satisfied moan, meant she had lost all her chips in a bet against someone who had invented the whole game. Her cries painted the darkness as she throbbed and clenched around his cock like it was the sweetest thing in the world.

"Now what did I say? Insatiable." His voice turned into a wined and dined tone when he was pleased, almost braggingly so, and she wanted to dig her nails in his back again and make him grunt instead. But that voice also caressed her, much like his hips that gently rocked her through the waves of the orgasm.

He came shortly after, through gritted teeth and a feral edge to his peak. Her neck was burning from all the love it was getting, but the last roll of his hips was almost lazy, and he collapsed on top of her, trapping her under a blazing hot chest. A palm slid along the dip and swell of her waist, caressed the side of her thigh, and pulled her leg to rest on his back while he remained buried deep inside her. He turned from a savage, heated man into an affectionate lover so quickly that she could only hang onto him as best she could.

His back had broken into a sweat, but when he eventually pulled out, he didn't roll to the side like he usually did. Instead, he shifted to lay his head on her chest, and clutched her in a sideways hug, slack against the bed and partly on her. The ragged breathing was interrupted by an uneasy swallow.

"Life was easy before you came along. Didn't have to worry about gettin' killed."

More confessions were spoken in the fading night, and she raised a hand to stroke his hair. The light had slightly changed, the wintry night was easing into a break of dawn while they were finally about to get some sleep.

"Guess I have to stay alive now."

Only Simon could make something like that sound romantic, but his tone was somber, as if he was letting an essential part of himself go when he chose life and her. She wondered if she had brought Simon back to life like he had brought her. It wasn't what they had planned for themselves, but here they were: spent and alive, meshed together at the dawn of a new year.

"You're spooking me to death as it is. I don't want to know how you would be like as an actual ghost." She tried to lighten the mood that was slipping into something darker, something she didn't wish to think about after a night like this. But Simon had chosen to make her cry.

"Would haunt you still."

She couldn't say anything from the bittersweet pain that spread through her heart. It was hard to breathe when a choked sigh clawed at her throat and tears threatened to cause a whole flood.

"Did you like the flowers I got you?"

…And just like that, he changed the subject. She blinked back tears and tightened her hold of him, so snugly settled there over her heart.

"I love tulips. Thank you," she whispered in the crown of his head.

"Hm."

He was already on the verge of slipping into sleep, like men used to after a good fuck, especially when already exhausted from work. Or from loneliness. She hugged him so tight she could feel the flare of his ribs as his breath slowly evened out. She caressed his hair, the back of his neck, stroked his back and felt him rumble softly against her.

"Not your pet..."

His last note was more of a weary sigh that turned into soft snoring as he fell asleep on her chest. She was not far behind, drifting off to sleep too while cradling him — precisely like a pet, or a child, her last thought being how oddly beautiful it was that he finally allowed her to hold him like this.

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