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#ghost fanfic
gloomwitchwrites · 2 days
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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader
Chapter Specific Warnings: swearing, brief mentions of terror, domestic!Simon, intimacy in the shower, hand job, vaginal fingering, brief oral sex (female receiving), non-penetrative sex, the mask comes off
Word Count: 5.8k
A/N: Part Fourteen of Ink & Needle
Simon doesn't see you again for two weeks. Amelia intervenes. Simon removes his mask in front of you.
Chapter Thirteen
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist
Repetition.
Fingers counting bottles. Counting colors. Counting labels.
White paper. Blank spaces. Pencil. Graphite tip.
Breaking. Breaking. Over. Over. Over, again.
Blue ink. Red ink. Black.
Simon counts the little rows, falling deeper into distraction. It’s a way to quiet his mind, to turn off the fucking noise that’s buzzing there in the back like an annoyingly curious bee. But all this inventory counting isn’t working. Nothing is keeping his thoughts at bay.
A week has passed. An entire fucking week and your absence is a festering wound. Simon isn’t taking it personally. Really. He isn’t. But fuck he misses you. Part of him blames himself, insisting that your distance has to do with something he did. It’s not entirely far from the truth. While Simon hasn’t exactly lied to you, he has omitted crucial information.
British Intelligence may very well be coming to call, but Simon doesn’t know that information explicitly. The situation is precarious. Delicate. The information Simon shifted through with Price, Kyle, and Johnny unnerved him.
Kit Walsh is not your local nationalist prick who spouts shit off in chatrooms or on social media for influencers to stitch. Kit Walsh moved beyond that. Beyond walking in to corner stores or a school or a church for innocent people to understand his lead-drenched wrath. Beyond a week or two of media frenzy. Beyond mugshots and a jury sentence.
This man moves between. One minute he’s supplying arms to opposing sides in another country to destabilize a region, and then turns around to whisper in some politician’s ear to convince them to “intercede” on the behalf of “global peace.”
He pushes weapons, pushes people, pushes drugs.
But he’s not a businessman. That’s just a front for his true intentions. Kit Walsh thinks on global levels and how he intends to make the world into his image. He takes his time. He observes and then moves.
It makes the man more dangerous because he also understands that acts at the local level are just as or even more powerful than the global ones. Nothing is more terrifying than when your own neighbor turns their words of hate into hateful actions.
Kit Walsh knows this.
Which is why Simon didn’t give a fuck when he received all those injuries. He thought he took the fucker out for good. That Walsh was a burnt-up corpse. Simon rarely considers any of his scars to be marks of pride. Yet the ones he received when he shoved his knife into Walsh’s chest were ones he didn’t mind having.
But none of that matters now.
Walsh is alive. And he might have fucking blown the back of Lord Archibald Williams’ head off. For what? Simon doesn’t fucking know. Price didn’t know either which means that British Intelligence likely doesn’t.
And you don’t need to know any of that. Why burden you? Why put any of these worries and issues on your plate when they might not land there at all? Why exhaust you further?
When you brought up Archie, Simon panicked, knowing you were already tired—already stressed. It’s not right that this happened to your friend, but Simon truly believes there isn’t anything to particularly worry about at the moment. That is reason enough not to dump this on you.
Simon’s fingers hover above the lid of an ink bottle. He pauses there, thinking, forgetting the number he just uttered.
Lost count. Starts over.
Blue ink. Red ink. Black.
“Fuck!” shouts Simon, his tatted knuckles turning white as the pencil clenched in his fist snaps in half.
Simon stares at the broken pencil. At the fractured graphite.
Sighing heavily, Simon drops the clipboard and steps away from the storage cabinets. He’s fucking distracted, and it’s not only because of the shit he read in Price’s file. Simon hasn’t seen you—hasn’t touched you in almost a week. Somehow, the separation is difficult, more frustrating than Simon previously thought.
He went three years without knowing your touch. But a week is now too much?
Simon clenches his fists. Releases them. Inhales deeply through his nostrils and exhales slowly through his mouth. He repeats until there isn’t any tension in his limbs and his mind quiets. Using the silence, Simon takes notes of the aches and pains. The leg that always gives him trouble isn’t hurting much today, but that might be a different story tomorrow. Everything else is dull and fine, better than it has been.
Checking his scheduling book, Simon pulls up the name of the next client, retrieving the sketches and preparing the stencil. This is work he knows. This is work that’s natural to him. Safe and secure. When the client arrives, Simon shifts into work mode, slipping into his professional mask, dipping into his creativity.
For these few hours, Simon doesn’t think about you at all and he certainly doesn’t think about Walsh. He’s only thinking about the tattoo and the client and the goddamn inventory sheet that looks ready to slip right off the desk.
But when Simon’s client leaves, and he is left in an empty shop with a snoozing Bravo, thoughts of you come roaring back to the forefront of his mind. There really is no reason to worry. It’s not like Simon is only receiving radio silence from you. You just haven’t been with him. That’s all.
The two of you have talked. Well—not extensively. It’s only been flashes of conversation, brief texts and even shorter phone calls. It is the tiredness and exhaustion that Simon hears in your voice every time he speaks with you that worries him. He knows why you’re staying away, and it’s not because of him. At least, that is what you tell him.
Yet Simon cannot help but linger in those spaces, questioning whether or not he somehow messed up. That he didn’t do enough. Worse, it’s not fair to you to think this way. You have been clear about why you’re not around, but it still chews at him. Simon stills wants to see you, to hold you close even if it’s for a fleeting moment.
He knows there is a baby. He knows you have responsibilities to your friend. He knows and yet Simon is fucking selfish because he wants—no. Needs to breathe you in even if it is just the sweet scent of your skin.
But evening comes as Simon closes up shop for the night, and there is not a text or call from you.
There are none the next day or the day after that.
By Sunday morning, Simon is boiling from the inside out, gripping his phone like a goddamn lunatic.
He hasn’t heard from you, and the few calls and texts he’s sent have gone unanswered. If he were his old self, he’d have already gone to your place demanding to see you. But things have changed for him in some respects. Simon is trying hard not to fall into old habits and behaviors when it comes to you.
Simon has failed on several occasions, but he’s trying to be better. He’s trying to be better for you.
The decision he makes is like pulled teeth. Necessary sometimes but fucking painful without the proper numbing. Simon does not go to your place. Every step he takes in the opposite direction of Amelia’s home are dull razors against the skin. He forces himself to leash Bravo, to go to Dancing Faun, to sit down on his usual fucking stool and pretend that everything is fine.
Routine is good. Routine is comfortable.
Simon is going to leave it—leave you—and give you some needed space. There is a newborn in Amelia’s house, and the last thing Simon needs to do is to barge in and step all over that dynamic just because he hasn’t seen you in a few days.
“Look who it is,” chuckles Ben, the owner of Dancing Faun. He sets down a newly polished pint glass. “Thought you forgot about me.”
Simon grins behind the balaclava, the familiar face a much-needed welcome. “You’re forgettable. But your wife?” Simon whistles and settles on his usual stool.
Ben guffaws and wags a finger in Simon’s direction. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’d leave me in an instant if you asked.”
“Better ask her then,” replies Simon, pretending to get up.
“Oi. Sit down,” mumbles Ben, shaking his polishing rag in Simon’s direction. “Cheeky bastard.”
Ben leaves and returns with Simon’s usual full English and tea. The two of them chat, Ben forgetting not to talk politics on Sunday while Simon listens and shakes his head, knowing the big guy does it on purpose to mess with him. After breakfast, Simon starts with a pint of dark amber ale, moving on to a second as the first customers begin to trickle in.
For a few hours, Simon forgets about the outside world. He watches a rugby match. Drinks a third beer. Considers whether he should switch over to whiskey. It’s just like all his other Sundays since retirement.
Routine is good. Routine is comfortable.
Simon lifts the pint glass to his mouth, downing the last of his third drink. He sets it down on the bar top, unsuspecting of the coming intrusion.
Reality is such a fickle thing. Sometimes it is a clawing, creeping blob that lurks in the corner of a dark room. Sometimes, it is an abrupt shaking, as if hands are on you, imploring you to look.
“Amelia!”
Simon’s stomach flips at the sound of Ben’s voice calling out to the older woman. Glancing away from the television, Simon turns, seeking you. Hope expands in his chest like an inflating balloon. Sparks pop off in his head with the belief that you will enter in behind Amelia. That you will walk through the door and Simon can finally see you again.
But you’re not here.
You’re not with her.
It’s just Amelia.
Her cheeks are rosy from the November cold, and her coat swallows her up.
“I have photos of the grandbaby,” she says, voice cheery as she removes her leather gloves and stuffs them in her coat pockets.
Ben’s smile widens. “Congratulations.”
Several patrons around the pub hold up their drinks in salute, echoing Ben’s initial statement. Without taking off her coat, Amelia travels from person to person, her wire rimmed glasses hanging on the tip of her nose as she scrolls through photos on her phone. She lingers with each person, telling the same story, showing the same pictures.
Simon patiently waits because that’s all he can do. Inside, he’s boiling in an agonizing twisting of alertness that pulls every muscle in his body taut with tension.
Is she doing this on purpose to mess with him? Did he really fuck up and this is her version of punishment?
When Amelia finally approaches Simon, some of that tension evaporates. Her smile is genuine. Soothing. She’s not upset with him. If anything, Amelia is relieved to see him.
“Morning, Simon,” she sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly.
“Morning,” he replies, not recognizing the gruffness in his voice. Simon swallows, tapping the side of his empty glass with a single finger.
Amelia holds up her phone. “Interested in seeing pictures of my grandbaby?”
Fucking hell, he can’t say no to her.
Simon only nods because he cannot trust his voice. Is he fracturing? What the bloody hell is wrong with him? Is it this distance? Does Simon truly miss you so much that it’s causing him to slip?
Amelia settles herself on the stool next to Simon. Bravo’s head doesn’t even lift in greeting. The German Shepard is out, completely relaxed and dozing on the floor. With phone clutched in one hand, Amelia begins to scroll through multiple pictures. Most of them are just of the baby asleep or cradled in someone’s arms.
“Her name is Lillian,” says Amelia, smiling fondly. “Named after Archie’s younger sister. Poor thing didn’t even get to see the age of three.”
The mention of Archie’s name twists Simon’s stomach. The file, its contents, and the conversation he had with Price, Johnny, and Kyle comes creeping back, wanting to sink its claws in.
“This,” and Amelia brings her phone a bit closer. “Is the day we brought her back.” Amelia hums softly. “So rosy cheeked.”
Simon grunts in agreement. It’s not the kindest response but it’s not because he doesn’t agree. Lillian is cute. She is rosy cheeked. Simon is good with kids and he likes them. But he just wants to know what is happening with you.
Amelia slides her finger across the phone’s screen only to reveal a glimpse of a possible answer to all of his questions.
This picture is one of you. In your arms, you are holding Lillian. This wasn’t taken at the hospital. This is at Amelia’s home on the sofa. Simon recognizes the fucking fabric. You’re smiling down at the girl as if she’s the most perfect thing you’ve ever seen.
At first, Simon’s mind is steady. Resolute.
But then, it drifts. Keeps floating. Floating further away until Simon is imagining that you are not holding Amelia’s grandchild at all. You are holding your child. The one you might have with him.
The thought—this image of you—is sudden and fierce. Simon cannot shake it. His mind fixates on this future as if it’s a completely plausible thing. It sticks to him like honey. Like tar. No fingers can dig in and scrape it away. No cleaning solution could scrub it off. There is no box or hole or wasteland that Simon can hurdle this idea into in the hope that he might forget it.
It has bloomed. Flowered. Roots sinking between the soft folds of his brain.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
“She needs a break,” says Amelia, her tone drifting to a far-off place, pulling Simon from his wayward dreaming.
She is looking down at her phone. She is looking at the photo of you. Amelia glances up at Simon, her features softening into gentle sadness. “That’s really why I came. Hoped you’d be here.” She shrugs.
“Here I am,” replies Simon.
Amelia nods. “Here you are,” she echoes.
Locking her phone, Amelia exchanges it for the gloves in her pockets. Simon glances over at Ben and lightly moves his empty glass in the man’s direction. He comes over and retrieves the glass.
“She’s working herself to the bone. Doing everything for Evie and I when it’s not necessary.” Amelia taps her gloves against her open palm. “And she’s too stubborn to hand the reigns over to me. The woman needs a break. Away from all of us.”
Simon understands. You’re too selfless to step aside. You need to be forced or prompted. Amelia knows this too which is why she came searching for him. Hearing that you’re overworking yourself displeases him, but he’s also bloody fucking happy that he can have you to himself for a bit.
“For how long?” asks Simon, smothering the hopefulness that wants to burst forth.
Amelia frowns in thought. “A few days. Maybe a week. If she accepts that.”
Oh, you’ll accept. Simon will see to it.
“Another drink?” Ben meanders over from the other side of the bar.
Simon shakes his head. “Paying out, Ben.”
Amelia smirks and slips on her gloves as Simon hands off what’s owed. The tension and confusion from earlier are now raw energy, pumping through his loins like electricity. The entire walk to Amelia’s is easy, all the aches and pains in his body suddenly silent as if they too are excited to see you.
When Simon enters Amelia’s home, he finds you sitting on the floor in the living room. You’re surrounded by piles of laundry. Closest to Simon are small stacks of papers. They’re scattered off to the side in some sort of organized chaos that he can’t figure out. Your laptop is open in front of you resting on an ottoman. You’re reading emails while folding laundry.
Bravo stands to the right of Simon but doesn’t move in. He’s waiting for Simon’s command but even he can feel the dog’s excitement to greet you.
You haven’t noticed Simon yet but he certainly notices you. While he’d love to stop and just bask in your beauty, there are so many other things catching his attention that give life to what Amelia was telling him.
Tiredness covers you like a weighted blanket. You’re slouched forward, each movement accompanied by a sigh and a delay that Simon doesn’t like. His gaze focuses and it is then that he sees the slight tremble in your hands as you smooth the top of a folded towel.
Behind Simon, Amelia shuts the front door. The sound of it closing jostles you. Your head snaps in his direction.
“Simon.”
It is a relief. A surprise.
The exhaustion in your voice is cold and palpable like butter right out of the fridge. You’re ready to fall over. Simon doesn’t need to guess because when you attempt to stand, you wobble a bit, reaching out to steady yourself on the sofa.
Amelia is right. You are overworking yourself.
It takes Simon three strides to get to you. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he lightly presses, indicating that you should sit back down. Without protest, you follow his silent command, and Simon sinks to your level.
“What is all this?” he asks, keeping his tone calm.
Beneath the mask, Simon is furious. Not with you but with himself. He should have listened to his instinct. He should have given in to those old impulses. If he had, he could be helping you right now and perhaps you wouldn’t be so goddamn tired.
The sigh you release if heavy like a boulder. It presses on Simon’s chest. His hand on your shoulder shifts, cradling the side of your throat, his thumb brushing against your jawline. You don’t say anything. You’re too defeated—too exhausted.
Bravo cannot reach you with Simon in the way. The German Shepard opts for the ottoman, resting his head on it, ears drooping slightly.
“Simon is going to take you for a bit.” Amelia’s voice drifts over Simon’s shoulder and your eyes widen as you glance at the woman.
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” snaps Amelia. “You’re doing far too much. Let us help.”
That’s a fucking understatement.
Simon presents his other hand and you take it. His hand on your neck slips away to reach behind you to help you guide you to your feet.
 “Go pack a bag,” murmurs Simon, his palm splaying wide across your lower back. “You’re staying with me.”
Your lips part as if to form a protest but Simon isn’t having that. He arches a single eyebrow, daring you to question what he’s told you to do.
Your mouth snaps shut.
Simon leans in. “Good girl,” he whispers.
This time when your lips part, it is with surprise. You blink, a bit stunned, and then a flood of warmth rushes up your neck and cheeks, your gaze dropping to the floor, face turning away in embarrassment.
Your reaction is something. It is something other than tiredness. Other than exhaustion and weakness. This is a piece of you he’s seen before and wants to see again. You shouldn’t be shoving it away to take care of others.
Against his chest is your flattened palm. Your fingers curl inward as your embarrassed demeanor turns into observance. You’re staring at the laundry, upper body twisting back and forth as you look for something.
“What is it?” prompts Simon, following your movements as if he can read your mind and know what it is you’re searching for.
Reaching down, you toss a few unfolded pieces of laundry aside to reveal your phone. Retrieving it, you glance down at the screen.
“Shit,” you mutter. It doesn’t light up. Your phone is dead. No wonder you haven’t been answering him.
“We’ll worry about that later.” Simon nods toward the stairs. “Go.”
Back at his flat, Simon takes your packed bag and drops it off in the bedroom. You stand in the space between the living room and kitchen, lingering with your hands clasped in front of you.
“Sit. I’ll make us something.” Simon gestures toward the couch and you slowly unfurl, nearly falling into the sofa once you get there.
Simon rummages around in his pantry and fridge, knowing that it’s best to find a snack for you to munch on while he cooks dinner. When is the last time you ate a real meal or fucking slept? Would you even admit the truth to him?
He eventually brings you tea and a variety of crisps. Your “thank you” is slightly slurred like you’re close to falling into the lands of Morpheus. Bravo curls up next to you, one paw touching your thigh while the rest of his body reclines away.
Simon stays in the kitchen. When he emerges to bring you food, he finds you asleep, grasping one of the bags of crisps against your chest. The opened end is facing Bravo and the poor dog is having an existential crisis on whether or not he should stick his face in or leave the bag be.
He should let you sleep, but Simon also knows you need to fucking eat something.
Gently, Simon places your plates on the coffee table. He removes the bag of crisps from your arms before rousing you. The meal is devoured. Tea is had. Simon throws on a movie, and you snuggle up to him, sinking into his warmth.
 This is how it should be. With you in his arms.
Twenty minutes in and you’re asleep again. Simon doesn’t care at all. You are here. You are close. You are safe. Like this, Simon can protect you. He can take care of you. Simon finishes the movie by himself, deciding that only after he’ll carry you to bed.
As he shifts to lift you, you awaken slightly, arms sliding around his neck to snuggle closer. Simon turns his face into you, breathes you in, allowing your scent to fill his lungs. You’re drifting off again as he adjusts his grip and stands. His bad leg wants to give out but Simon bites back the quick flare of pain.
Fuck that. Simon is stronger than that.
In the bedroom, Simon bends at the knees, thighs straining as he tosses back the covers on one side of the bed. Sliding you underneath, he tucks you in. You turn over to face the opposite direction, arms curling around his pillow like it’s him. He watches as you bring it closer, nostrils flaring as if you’re inhaling him too.
Simon changes into more comfortable clothing before sliding in next to you.
For him, his sleep is absent of dreams.
There are no shadows or fire. No memory. Just blankness. Nothing.
He wakes early, well before the time he actually needs to open up the shop for customers. Simon doesn’t want to. He’d like to stay in bed all day with you, but he also knows that trying to rearrange today’s schedule just for a bit of personal gratification is a fucking rude thing to do.
Simon stretches, all the joints in his body popping as Bravo’s head appears above the end of the bed. The dog tilts his head and Simon gestures toward the door. Bravo takes off, heading outside to go guard the place from squirrels.
Shifting to the edge of the bed, Simon rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. More popping but the stiffness quickly recedes.  Glancing behind him, Simon finds you still asleep. Things have changed though. The bedding is twisted around your body and you’ve removed some clothes in the night.
He cannot help himself. Simon’s gaze glides over all the exposed skin. The itch to reach out and run just his fingertips across the curve of your hip is unbearable. Simon has to clench his hands into fists just to stop himself from touching you.
Pushing off from the bed, Simon enters the bathroom, seeking a hot shower. All his clothes including his mask go on the floor. He is aching between his legs, all the blood in his body rushing happily to his quickly swelling cock.
“Fuck,” he mutters, stepping under the water.
Wrapping his hand around the base, Simon begins to stroke. The small bit of underwear he kept as a token is still tucked away in his dresser, but he doesn’t need it. Not anymore. He now has the memory of you, and the fact that you are currently in his bed. It’s enough to drive that pulsing desire higher.
Simon rests his forearm against the shower wall. He leans forward, his forehead coming into contact with that arm. He’s so fucking busy stroking his cock, that he doesn’t hear the opening of the bathroom door.
He doesn’t hear it close.
Nor does he hear the shower door.
It isn’t until your hand slides over his that Simon realizes what’s happening.
Your other hand rests against his back, splaying wide, moving up and down in gentle passes.
“Let me,” you murmur and Simon releases himself, only for you take his place, stroking him perfectly in utter pleasure.
A shiver rattles up his spine. You’re not looking at his face. You stand off to his right, face lightly pressed against the right side of his upper back near his shoulder. Lips move against skin, leaving kisses behind. You give Simon these small gifts with each stroke of your hand along his shaft.
Do you know that your mouth and hand on his back are caressing his scars? Do you know? Because Simon does, and it make him feel unworthy. Those are no longer earned marks but ones of failure.
But it’s not like you know that.
Over the scars is ink. Black ink. Perhaps you feel their lines and ridges under the tattoos. Perhaps you don’t. Yet Simon knows, and he doesn’t hate the touch. Other people he’s fucked have touched them, commented on them, tried to even sexualize them.
You’re not touching the scars. You are but you aren’t. You’re touching him. Touching Simon.
With a gentle twist of your wrist, you glide down his cock and circle the head with your thumb. Simon groans, leaning into your hold. He imagines you sinking to your knees and taking him into your mouth. He imagines you spreading your legs wide in open invitation. Of him sliding into you, watching himself disappear into your welcoming body.
Your pace increases slightly, just enough to drag Simon toward his end.
He bursts, his release marking the wall, but Simon is already grabbing your wrist, twisting around to face you.
You’re fast. Already, you have one hand thrown over your eyes, a playful smile plastered on your face.
Simon doesn’t care. Not really. The mask is just habit.
Gently, Simon guides your hand away from your face and yet you still keep your eyes closed.
“Don’t want to look at me?” he asks teasingly.
You giggle. “Feels a bit wrong.”
Simon smirks and then grabs your shoulders, turning you around to face the shower wall. He leans down, pressing his lips to your ear. “Your turn.”
Your hands go out to steady yourself as Simon slides his hand between your legs. He moans softly at the contact. You’re already wet for him, and it’s not because of the water. You’re fucking aroused. Needy. All Simon can think about is fucking you with his fingers before he fucks you with his tongue.
Simon wants to give you more but that has to wait. When he takes you like that, he needs to have all of you. Without interruptions. Without distractions. That’s how he wanted it to be three years ago at Riot Room. He wanted to take you home and fuck you on and over every surface in his flat. He wanted to make you scream his name until your voice went hoarse.
He circles your clit with his thumb a few times before testing with a finger. It slides right in and Simon feels the gentle flutter of your pussy adjusting to him. With his other hand, Simon slides it up your body to grab the front of your throat, holding you still. He presses his lips to the top of your head, not caring that the water is close to running into his eyes.
Simon begins to thrust and swirl, inserting a second finger quickly, wanting to feel how you’ll stretch for him. You whimper when his thumb makes another pass over your clit. It is sweet and Simon grins against your scalp, drinking in your little sounds.
But you are also reaching for him, left hand dropping from the wall to move behind you, palming his cock back to hardness even as Simon’s fingers fuck your pussy. You rock back, indicating what you want.
Simon nearly loses it right then.
He nearly snaps.
All he has to do is arch your hips a bit, maybe bend slightly at the knee. He’d fucking slide right in. He could fuck you right here against the shower wall, watch you whimper and beg, pinned between two hard surfaces.
You arch your back. Rub against him. His cock slides against the spot where your cunt and his fingers meet.
A vision of you clawing at the shower wall as he fucks you senseless clouds his mind. It infiltrates. Digs its feet in.
Simon nearly gives in right then as you orgasm, squeezing around his fingers. He nearly breaks the promise to himself.
But he somehow controls himself. Instead of giving in, Simon removes his hand from between your legs and twists his fingers in your hair, tugging to arch your back and bend you enough so he can reach that gorgeous fucking mouth.
His lips come down on yours and you moan against him. Simon’s hand at your throat eases, slips away, trailing over breast and waist and hip before stabilizing on your lower stomach. With this support, Simon slides his cock between your legs.
He does not penetrate, just rocks back and forth. With your thighs pressed together, and the slickness of your orgasm freshly coating your sex, he can pretend he’s inside you. Simon knows it isn’t enough but it’ll have to do for now.
The hand on your stomach sinks lower, shifting to your pelvis. His fingers find your clit. You’re already so sensitive from the previous orgasm that the second takes moments to come to life. Simon savors it, allows it to feed his own movements until he cannot contain his own. Pressing on your pelvis, Simon keeps you in place as finishes, his cock soaking in your juices.
The water is growing cold and Simon is fucking smug.
Slowly, he eases his cock from between your thighs, perfectly content with what just transpired. But his cum is fucking everywhere. It’s literally dripping from your sex.
“Fuck,” murmurs Simon, gently wiping some of that away with water.
That’s something the two of you need to fucking discuss. The first time the two of you had sex, there was a condom. This time, Simon doesn’t want there to be any barriers, but that cannot fucking happen without birth control. You might not be on it, and if that’s the case, the two of you will have to figure something else out.
You press into him. “Simon,” you groan, lips parting in wanton need.
A growl leaves his throat as he gives you what he wants. He nips and sucks on your bottom lip before drawing away, leaving you to face the shower wall. Simon shuts off the water and lightly tugs on your hand.
“Come on.”
He tugs on your hand again but you don’t move. Frowning, Simon grabs your shoulders and forces you to turn.
He blinks and then bursts out laughing. “What are you doing?” Your eyes are closed and your mouth is a thin line. “You can look at me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Simon chuckles, releasing your shoulders. He places one hand flat against the shower wall. Leaning in, Simon drops his voice to low purr. “Think I’m monstrous?”
With his words come the pebbling of your skin. He watches in real time as it fans out across your body. He grins in triumph.
“The very worst,” you reply softly.
Pushing off from the wall, Simon stands tall, shoulders squared, chest forward. “Look at me,” he says, and this time it’s a command.
You suck in a breath before one eye opens. It’s more of a squint but then you open the other, blinking a few times.
For some stupid fucking reason, Simon is a bit nervous. He’s never been nervous like this. Not when it comes to his face.
At first, your eyes widen, and Simon’s chest clenches tight as if a ribbon is twisted around his ribcage. Then, your brow softens, and your mouth forms the most gorgeous smile he’s ever seen. Your hands instantly reach toward his face in eagerness only to pause just before making contact.
The retreat is shallow. You’re asking permission.
“It’s okay,” murmurs Simon, because it is.
You close this distance and Simon turns his face into your soft hands. Your thumbs stroke over his cheeks. Your fingers trace his brow and nose. Every touch is exploratory and gentle, but fucking bliss.
“Hiding all this from me?” you tease. “You’ve been holding out on me, Simon.”
He chuckles, happiness vibrating in his chest. Clasping your hands with his own, Simon brings them down to his chest. In one motion, the two of you are coming together, lips meeting. This is all softness. All tenderness.
Simon draws back, licks his lips. “Will you go away with me?”
“On a trip?”
He nods, stealing one more kiss before continuing. “Next weekend? I can move a few things around.”
“I’m not sure,” you say slowly.
“If you say no I’m telling Amelia.”
You laugh, almost snort, and shake your head. “Fine. Where to?”
“It’s a surprise,” whispers Simon.
You pull back slightly, an amused expression on your face. Simon grins and steps out of the shower, bringing you with him. With towel in hand, Simon soaks up the droplets on his skin. He never takes his eyes off you as you dry yourself. The moment you’re done, Simon snags the towel from you and tosses it to the side.
“Come here,” he growls, needing you all over again.
You playfully bat at his hands but it’s all for show. You easily give in to him, allowing Simon to drag you onto the bed. He sighs as he pushes your legs wide, settling between them to drape one over each of his shoulders.
Dragging you to his mouth, Simon forgoes all teasing and closes the distance. Your back arches off the bed, hands flying to his head as his tongue penetrates your pussy.
It is morning.
He’s simply enjoying his breakfast.
And Simon won’t leave the table until he’s finished his meal.
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ghostchems · 2 days
Text
infernal - terzo x f!reader - part four
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art by the amazing @piaart!!
author’s note: HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY @angellayercake!! GO TELL HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
so sorry for the delay on this haha. i've been wrestling with this for a while but i'm pretty happy with it now! it is about 4.4k words. part one/two/three. ao3 linky.
Terzo’s house is different at night. The lights are dim and the shadows are long, every long, creaking corridor seemingly ending in a black void. You’ve never been here this late. In fact, you can’t remember what you were just doing… why are you working late? The hardwood floor rasps beneath your shoes as you turn a corner and see him inside the room at the end of the hallway, sprawled out across a plush purple couch. Terzo immediately perks up at the sight of you, propping himself on his elbows, the usual lop-sided grin sitting handsomely on his face. You feel like you float to him and you’re suddenly standing next to the couch, hovering over him. One of his hands crawls up your waist and then loops his arm around you to pull you down on top of him. It’s much more forward than the careful dance the two of you have been doing since the couch incident. You struggle to breathe in his lap, his hands firmly planted on your waist as he leans up to level his eyes with yours.
“This is what you want, si?” He purrs, his hands snaking up your back to hold you close to him, his face an inch away from you. His paint is sharp, more sharp than usual, and he feels hot to the touch, his fingers nearly burning through your shirt. Your heart flutters and you gasp, your mouth dropping open as his stuttered breath hits your lips. “You like me. You want me. You’ve wanted me from the start, haven’t you, puffetta?” You’ve heard him growl before but not like this, not in a low hum that sends a shiver down your spine. Words fail you but you manage to nod. And nod. And nod again before his large hand grabs the back of your head, his fingers knotting in your hair. You nearly moan in anticipation, wanting and needing this so badly, his lips just about to touch yours — so close to finally tasting him.
Instead, you wake up in a cold sweat, your fingers dug into the sheets and drool on your pillow. Your panting and your cheeks are flushed but you slowly start to cool off once you rip the comforter off of you, throwing it to the ground in frustration. Mostly frustration at yourself for continuing to watch videos of your boss performing. You can’t help it. Terzo let you in. He invited you to sit beside him and take a peak into his world. The memorabilia makes sense now, the posters, the photographs, the everything.
And you want to know more.
“Ah, it is really… coming along, eh?” Terzo sounds so sleepy, brushing the hair out of his eyes and gazing out of the kitchen window while his hip rests against the counter. You take a moment to look up from your laptop and out the window as well, silently taking in the improvements that have been made under your care. The grass is a lush green, a hammock underneath the only tree in the yard, now trimmed and shaped to actually resemble one. A patio with a stylish dark grey conversation set beneath a hardtop gazebo is just to the left of the window, nestled in a corner of the yard. The garden still needs some work but there are two small raised beds in the back corner, where the sun shines the most, and a few spots already reserved for jalapeno peppers at Terzo’s insistence. You turn back to look at him, unable to fight off the blush that rises to your cheeks.
“Do you like it?” There’s a lilt in your voice, lips pulling into a small smile. It makes him melt a little bit.
“Si, yes. It is much nicer than it was before…” He trails off as he slinks closer to you only to keep his gaze settled on the yard. “We must have spritz’s outside one of these nights.”
“Spritz?”
“Ehhh, it’s like rosso arancio — orangey **drink with ice cubes and, uhhhh, ah! Served in a wine glass.” His mannerisms make you smile even more. You feel like a fool and you’re sure you look like one but you can’t help it. Your dream intensified your feelings, making it nearly impossible to hide them at this point. Is it so bad? To have a crush on your weird, retired-rockstar boss?
“Oh, like in White Lotus?” You rest your chin on your hands and flutter your eyes at him. Terzo flashes a bright smile but you can see in his eyes that he has no idea what you’re talking about. Silence lingers with him hovering just above you, your eyes locked. The moment is interrupted by the buzzing of your phone. “Oh shit, the landscaper!” You grab your phone and hurry out of the kitchen and toward the backyard.
Terzo keeps his eyes on the yard, slipping his hands in his robe pockets as he waits for you to appear. You caught him off guard this morning, your dreamlike gaze and easy smile making it impossible for him to be anything other than endeared to you. He’s almost relieved for the interruption because of how close he was to breaking the tension, wanting nothing more than to shove his fingers down your throat and watch those bright eyes widen with shock. You come into view with the landscaper trailing behind you, looking over your shoulder with a smile as you use your hand to sweep across the landscape with your finger ending up pointing to some brush that needs to be cleared. Terzo has spent so much time just watching you operate and he hasn’t tired of it, which is a feat due to his relatively short attention span. In fact, he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.
You’re a natural with people. You always have a cheery smile, a nice greeting and some banter to lighten things up. He’s been so shut-in, his only company either you or his own voice, that watching genuine human interaction makes him swoon hard for you. His mind drifts to the times when he used to be social and how it used to fuel him, how it used to keep him going even after his Papacy fell apart.
What fuels him now? His gaze falls to where you had been sitting and his attention is immediately captured. You left you laptop open.
Terzo has always been nosy, even during his days at the Abbey. He can’t help but allow his eyes to focus on your email inbox that you foolishly left open. How many secrets could be in your inbox? What could he find out about you through what’s there? Terzo resists. He truly does for a split second. But he just cannot help himself. He slinks into the wooden kitchen chair you are set up at and pulls his glasses out from his robe pocket. He clicks on the first thing he sees: Banana Republic and is disappointed that it is only clothes. One of the male models catches his attention, though.
His outfit, specifically. A henley and a cardigan, matched tastefully with a pair of sweatpants. Terzo wonders if this is the kind of style you like. He pulls out his phone and opens the Banana Republic website but freezes when he hears faint footsteps. Terzo scrambles out of your chair, only to settle close by, leaning against a nearby wall and pretending to be hopelessly distracted by his phone (aka, staring at cardigans).
You enter the kitchen and can’t help by eye him suspiciously, the look on his face perhaps just a bit too aloof. He keeps scrolling lazily and starts to lean backward, all too aware of your gaze. It lingers for a moment before you sit back down, knitting your brows together at the email open on your screen. Then, you see that it’s up to 50% off all items which could be combined with clearance items and you’re clicking the link, getting lost in the undeniable pull of online shopping. Terzo gives a dramatic huff and leaves the room, desperately trying to hide how tickled he is.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, unable to hide a grimace. This is silly. Today is date day. You ended up texting Dylan. How could you not? Something you’ve longed for since you were a girl was offered up to you on a silver platter. So — why aren’t you more excited? Instead, Terzo is on the mind. It feels like he’s consumed your whole life as of late, spending your days in his home working for him and now he’s seeped into your home time. You haven’t allowed yourself to fully go down the rabbit hole, sticking only with the videos he had shown you in his home despite your YouTube recommendations now being full of him but also… other videos of different singers and musicians under the same band name. Of course, you couldn’t ask despite your curiosity — it’s obviously something of a sore subject and he’s only just started opening up to you more about that time of his life. The last thing you want to do is press him on something so personal and painful to him.
But now you have to live with this knowledge.
You try to push the thought from the forefront of you mind, instead focusing on yourself in the mirror again. A black shift dress hugs your figure and you have your red scarf, your favorite scarf, loose around your neck. How are you supposed to dress for this occasion? A date after work? It’s impossible to put together an appropriate outfit for both. But also — who are you kidding? The idea of Terzo seeing you in a dress has you anxious in more ways than one. No one needs an excuse to wear a dress but for some reason you feel guilty. Guilty that this dress isn’t for him. Maybe… a little bit disappointed, too. But you should give Dylan a shot, right?
“Right?” Oh, you are anxious.
Something catches your eye in your mirror, your gaze slowly trailing toward it. Your red scarf. You hum in thought for a moment and then turn to snatch it off your dresser, quickly looping it around your neck. Immediate relief washes over you, something about the scarf soothing your nerves. Could be because it makes you think of the way warm knuckles brushed along your cool neck. A shiver runs down your spine and your cheeks flush from the thought. Fuck. You have to pull yourself together. Time to focus on work, on getting shit done to distract yourself from… well everything.
Meanwhile, Terzo is having a similar time looking at himself in disbelief. It’s the most put together he’s tried to be since his days as Papa. He sits on the edge of his bed, one hand on each knee, his toes tapping on the ground in front of him. The amount of thought that has gone into this outfit is silly, even though he basically bought exactly what the model was wearing. Now his thoughts have turned to how should he be sitting when you arrive? See? It’s silly*.* He almost ashamed of how **you’ve wormed your way into his cold, broken heart **when **that was not his plan. You’re supposed to be obsessed with him, waiting on him hand and foot while kissing the ground he walks on. Instead he’s fallen for you. How embarrassing. But how could it have been avoided?
Terzo rests his palms on either side of his bed as he leans back and spreads his legs, sharp eyes examining his position for a beat. Too forward? An amused grin flickers across his face at the thought of you reacting to him like this. Definitely too forward. He tilts his head and adjusts himself with care, back straightening out and he crosses his legs. Closer but not quite. Terzo stares at his own reflection, admiring his paint for the day. Every time he sees himself he wonders why he still applies it everyday. Perhaps it’s a comfort thing, makes him feel like he’s important again. Like he’s Papa.
He wonders if he’ll ever hear you call him that.
Terzo takes a deep breath and exhales with a rumble, his eyes falling shut. You would do anything he asked, wouldn’t you? His mouth splits into a grin as he runs his slender fingers through his hair. Eyes open slowly, gaze focusing on his reflection. Strands of hair had fallen into his face and his head overall looking stylishly unkempt. More giggles.
Perfect.
Some mornings it’s like you blink and you’re at Terzo’s home. Not this morning. You are hyper aware of every stoplight, every Dunkin Donuts as your commute drags out to the second. Too much alone time with your overactive brain plotting out kind of every situation where something could go wrong with the date or work today and coming up with attack plan after attack plan to fix the issue. Not fun. After what feels like an eternity, you pull through the eerie wrought iron gate and travel down the long, tree lined driveway. Tension fills your chest as you come to a slow stop. It’s just one weird day that you have to get through.
You got this.
Terzo is already in the foyer by the time you walk through the door which is unlike him, usually spending most mornings in bed or somewhere else dark and comfy until he can no longer tolerate his caffeine withdrawal headache. He’s balancing his coffee cup on his thigh, one hand resting behind his head while the other scrolls through his phone. Your feet come to a stop, blinking a few times to ensure what you’re seeing is real, having never seen him this clothed before*.* He’s still in sweatpants but they taper down to his ankles and he’s wearing a pair of moccasins, his hair expertly tousled and reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a white henley that is artfully unbuttoned to expose his thick chest hair and a cozy navy blue cardigan draped over his slinky shoulders. Only his eyes are painted — giving you the chance to finally see his bare face, smooth olive skin wrinkled with age. You stare at him silently. He looks like he’s come directly out of a magazine. Terzo head tilts to face you, his eyes still focused on his phone until they unhurriedly drag away from the screen to settle on you.
“Ammazza…” The word is an impassioned whisper. He’s stunned, eyes wide as he looks over your figure with such a deliberate slowness it makes your cheeks burn. Dark eyes settle on your scarf, a smirk tugging on his lips, then his gaze flickers to meet yours. He rises from his seat, one hand clumsily snatching his coffee from his lap to stop himself from spilling, trying to hide his clumsiness with a cough. “Buongiorno mio toppolino… eh, you are wearing a dress?”
“I am. You’re wearing a cardigan.”
“I am.” Terzo purrs and slinks closer to you as he slips his phone into his cardigan pocket. His clumsiness is now replaced by that irresistible lazy swagger you are so familiar with. He lets his eyes wander again, tilting his head while regarding you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest but it’s impossible to hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks. “I do not think I can let you start work without a dance, not when you are wearing such a beautiful dress, puffetta.” There’s an undeniable heat in his words. It’s too early for this.
“It’s too early for this, Terzo.” You huff as you avert his eyes, a desperate attempt to not fall under his spell.
“Come now… I don’t want to pull the “boss” card but, eh…?” He sets his coffee down on the table as his other arm brazenly snakes around your waist. Your face is fully red now and your brain is in a deep state of fart but you manage to move with him. This is the exact opposite of what you wanted for today but you find your stress slipping away to focus on the warmth of his fingers from having held his mug of coffee. He guides your hand to his chest then slips his bare hand along your other arm until he laces his fingers in yours and raises them to lead the way. Terzo is taller than you, not by much but he still looms over you, those piercing eyes never leaving yours. He starts to slowly sway to imaginary music as your cheeks burn, your chest impossibly warm but you start to loosen up, especially as his movements grow more fluid. “There is always time for a little dance, eh?” Terzo leans in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your lips then rests his cheek against your temple with a hum.
And you thought cuddling on the couch was intimate. You feel every inhale and exhale, his humming gradually growing stronger in your ear. His cool lips and warm breath giving you goosebumps. Cirice. You recognize it from your be various videos you’ve watched but bite your tongue and enjoy him. This may not be a stage in front of thousands of people but it definitely feels like a demonstration of some kind. Or he could just be pushing the boundary like the creeper he is and you’re eating. it. up. The last time you slow danced was at your senior prom with your date who was on probation — unbeknownst to you at the time he asked you. Somehow this is far less awkward than that. His arm around your waist starts to shift upward, his large hand pressing up your back. He lifts his head but is still only a breath away, his smile lines deep as his gaze meets yours. Your heart stirs in your chest, air caught in your lungs but before you get swept up in the moment he changes the tone.
Terzo starts singing, more energetic and loud as he leads you from the foyer into the den. You nearly trip over yourself when he twirls you, picking up the pace to be more jaunty, more goofy. But even with the fun movements you are extremely aware of his hand on the small of your back, fingertips pressing against you every so often. He’s smiling so wide that it makes it hard for you to hold it together. All of your worries about the day are gone, though — replaced by being completely entranced by him. You know just how special this song is to him, the moments he had on stage with fans, holding their hands and kissing their knuckles. And now he has you in his arms.
“I am going to dip you now.”
“You’re going to wha--?!” You squeal as he dips you, your hand frantically gripping onto his shoulder. He doesn’t drop you though, instead pulling you back to your feet with his toned arms curling around your back. You stop breathing, your chests touching and a strand of his hair brushing against your forehead from how close the two of you are.
“Mm… you are a good dance partner, you know? Easy to lead.” Is he trying to kill you today? Terzo gives you some space but still sways with you, the dance feeling more like… more like standing very close to one another waiting for something to happen. “You spoiled me today with wearing this dress.”
And a punch to your gut. Extreme guilt builds inside you and you can’t stop the distress from being all over your face.
“Oh…oh, puffetta, I am sorry, am I making you uncomfortable or—?” You cut him off with a sigh and take a step away from him, your eyes closing to give yourself time to collect your feelings while his arms fall from around you.
“No, I’m sorry. Ugh, this is so weird. I’m… I have a date after work today. So that’s what the dress is for.” There is no air in your lungs. Everything is so strained. “But you… this…” A flutter in your chest. “I like it. I’m… sorry this dress isn’t for you.” Do you even need to be apologizing? The answer would be no if it was anyone else other than him.
His face is stone cold, so different than the joy that had radiated from him just moments ago. The smile is gone and his brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. You think you’re going to, ummm, die? All you can do is stare back at him, eyes incredibly wide and worry etched across your face. What is he thinking? Why is he taking so long?
One of Terzo’s hands lunges forward and grabs you by the back of your neck, his thumb pressed hard right below your ear. A surprised yelp, grasping for his sleeve and his shirt as his grip on you only tightens. His lips crush against your mouth, tongue forcing it’s way inside. He tastes like spiced coffee. The kiss is ferocious, you feel like you’re disappearing into it, mind blank but fingers digging into the fabric of his cardigan. Terzo’s teeth graze your bottom lip as he pulls away, a fiery look in his eyes.
“Do not forget who you belong too.” A low, vicious growl with bared teeth, pointed fangs glistening in the morning light. He uses his strength to push you down to your knees by your neck, your legs now trembling beneath. Speechless, you can’t look away from him now. Silence stretches between you. And then… he leaves and doesn’t spare you another glance.
You think you are broken. There’s an ache, a primal ache between your legs that burns hotter than you’ve ever felt before. Your skin is on fire, your cheeks burning and numb. What the fuck? He kissed you. Your boss kissed you and then spoke to you as if you are his possession. And it makes you want him more than ever before.
How are you going to be able to think about anything else?
Lucky for you, Terzo is MIA for the rest of the day.
You work as if he is standing over you, watching your every move. You don’t want to disappoint him, not now. Not after he kissed you. But the date. Dylan. Oh, Dylan. Caught in the middle of something there is no way he will ever understand. You hover in your text chat with him a few times with intent to cancel on him… but you can’t. He’s the one who got away, the one who you pined for like an idiot throughout half your life. This date could close that book. Or it could be the prologue. You won’t know unless you follow through.
The end of the day rolls around and you can’t help but pause in the foyer on your way out. Your chest tightens. Such a pleasant start to the day only to spiral out of control. You’re almost happy he kissed you before you were able to tell him that your date was picking you up from his house. The front porch creaks beneath your feet, the rotting wood the focus of your work today. Dylan is already there, leaning against his car and he gives you a big wave. You smile and wave back, light on your feet as you head toward him.
“Ma che cazzo…?” Terzo stares in disbelief, watching from his bedroom window as your date opens the passenger side door for you. Rage boils up within him, his hands clutching at the hem of his cardigan. A ceiling light POPS! behind him, green electricity illuminates the room but only for a second. Flames light up the bottom of the curtains, slowly eating away at them until they are completely engulfed. He’s too angry to care. The shy smile you gave your date eats him up inside, churning his stomach and making his nerves spark. The car fades from view and he unleashes an anguished scream as his hands seemingly grow claws, tearing and ripping the cardigan he had so carefully styled that morning. He doesn’t stop until he’s shirtless and surrounded by shreds of fabric. A sloppy wave of his hand somehow extinguishes the flames, leaving him in his room in the dark.
The nerve of you. To flirt, to giggle, to flutter your beautiful, delicate eyelashes at him while entertaining the idea of another man in your mind. A whore for attention, aren’t you? Pain in his chest. He shouldn’t call you a whore. You don’t deserve that. But it hurts, puffetta. Is it because he slacked off? Or that he had gone soft on you? Terzo groans as he sits on his bed, lasting less than a second before he flops onto the mattress and sinks into the mess of covers. He has been too soft, fucking twirling you around the foyer like a lovesick puppy. A romantic at heart always, eh? It was worth it — seeing you smile and blush gives him life, a reason to wake up the next morning because he has nothing else to do. You’ve made this shithole the Ministry saddled him with into a place that actually makes him feel at home. So… maybe he could be somewhat lenient with your punishment.
Electricity crackles in his bones. He is going to spend the rest of the night here, he thinks, casting a glance at his ancient alarm clock. 5:30pm. What else could possibly get him out of bed at this point? Terzo huffs and swings one of his legs over his body to lazily roll over, dragging the covers along with him to successfully burrito himself with a scoff. Another instance in which someone stole the spotlight from him. At least this time it isn’t his decrepit father. He breaks into a wild chuckle.
That would be fucked.
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empresskylo · 4 months
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simon ‘ghost’ riley is a light sleeper. he’s so well trained to be on high alert that even when he’s not on duty he wakes at the smallest sound.
sometimes you’ll get up in the middle of the night and he immediately sits up. “you alright?” he slurs.
you make a small sound of discomfort or wiggle a little too much and his head is turning on the pillow, his eyes on you. and he always asks if you’re okay. you’ve told him he’s being silly and sometimes you just have to get up to go to the bathroom, but you gave up on telling him that—he’s adamant on checking on you.
and anytime he wakes up, no matter where the disturbance comes from, he’s looking over to your side of the bed to make sure you’re okay first.
and if you ever do need him in the middle of the night, all you have to do is whisper his name. he opens his eyes almost immediately and instinctively tightens his arm around you. “everythin’ alright?”
and one time you couldn’t sleep. your face was buried in his chest as he clung to you, the soft rumble of his snores letting you know he was knocked out. you didn’t want to wake him, but you were crying. you barely even moved as you teared up into his chest. suddenly, his hands squeezed you tighter. “whats’a matter?” he coos softly.
you tilt your head up to him teary eyed. “i didn’t mean to wake you.”
he clicks his tongue. “tell me what’s wrong, baby.” his hand gently caressing your face, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear.
and he’s so protective. if you roll over and out of his hands he’s quick to pull you back into his grip. he likes having his hands on you while he’s sleeping. it makes him feel more secure knowing you’re okay.
when you fall asleep together on the sofa, your body pressed to his, his arms are wrapped around your waist, clutching you closely against him. it doesn’t even matter if he’s too warm, he wants you touching him at all times whenever he’s asleep.
it’s gotten to the point where he can barely sleep when he’s not with you. without you safely in his arms, without being able to physically feel you under his fingertips, it continuously wakes him up. he’s lucky to get two hours in a row without waking.
post that inspired this | my cod masterlist
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alwaysshallow · 2 months
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Hello!! This is my first ever req, and I was just wondering how Ghost would react to the reader wearing pheromone perfume. Like she just gets bored and decides to wear some, and it gets him all riled up.
oh, he'd be absolutely feral.
see, the thing is: simon isn't home much. he's needed in the task force 141 more often than not, and that's okay—you were aware of his job before the two of you got together. but, when he comes back, he's the clingiest man possible.
of course, clingy his way. he's a terrible cook, but he observes how you do it; from distance, or he has his hands under your shirt, kneading your skin.
mornings in bed? more like days in bed, only getting up to eat something, work out or fuck you in other place. if you have a job, you needed to call in sick a few times, but it feels like a small price for spending it with simon.
considering all of the above, how he loves to be around you after being deployed, you can't really be surprised how the pheromone perfume works on him. first, he's more confused than anything, when you talk to him—completely forgetting that you put it on.
the realization hits you the moment he starts biting your earlobe, several times. too handsy, he doesn't even want to shower first, like he always does. before you know it, he tosses you over his shoulder and goes to the bedroom.
"simon, dinner is burning—"
"—i don't care," he practically growls.
your suggestion for him to hop into the shower ends up in biting your ass (you pray that it won't make a bruise) and a bathroom fuck in a tub. long one, edging both of you.
simon is way more talkative than usual. he tells you what he's gonna do in the future, how he's gonna wife you up and that maybe you two should think of the kids since he's gonna be around more. how he could buy a house for the two of you.
apparently, a pheromone perfume has interesting effect on him.
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yawnderu · 3 months
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teehee
cw: masturbation, fingering, somnophilia.
Still thinking about Pervert!Roommate!Simon, all desperate to have you yet battling with his morals. It's wrong, he can't do it, he can't risk losing the most important person in his life— yet here he is, one hand stroking his throbbing cock while the other one is playing with your pussy. Your sleeping expression is so peaceful and pretty, lips parted slightly and small, soft snores escaping your lips.
His hips thrust forward slightly as he continues to jerk off, hand moving up and down his length faster as he explores your pussy, daring to put one finger inside after making sure it was lubricated enough. He almost cums at the feeling, tight warmness enveloping his finger as he tries his best to muffle his moans, biting his lips to prevent them from slipping out.
''Fuckin' hell...'' He mutters softly, accent giving his words a rough edge, voice filled with desperation as he feels his body tensing up. His hand moves faster up and down his cock, finger going deeper into your wet cunt as his body trembles, waves of pleasure washing over him as he pants heavily, heart pounding in his chest. Unable to hold back any longer, he pathetically shoots ropes of thick cum onto his hand. His breath is ragged as he pulls his finger out of you, easing your sleeping body into your panties again.
He looks down at you with furrowed eyebrows, expression a mix of guilt and longing as he rests his head on your stomach, feeling his eyes sting.
''I'm so sorry, love. I'm fuckin' sorry.''
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xcixmoon · 1 year
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"you're mine and only mine, understood?" ࿐ ˊˎ-
simon 'ghost' riley x reader
reminder, most of my stories are 18+ - keep in mind when reading.
note: im utterly in love with this man and down terribly for him.
simon 'ghost' riley x reader ; simon riley x reader ; simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader ; jealous!ghost x reader ; ghost x reader ; possesive!ghost x reader.
characters mentioned: simon 'ghost riley, john 'soap' mactavish, kyle 'gaz' garrick
warnings: smut, smut, smut, strong language and alcohol consumption.
THIS A 18+ BLOG, IF I SOMEHOW FIND OUT UR A MINOR INTERACTING W MY PAGE - I WILL BLOCK.
masterlist
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after a long day of planning, the group agreed to out for drinks in order to let loose before wheels up in a couple of days. soap and gaz were excited as they kept saying drinks were on them and to not worry about paying.
you were in your room before the night began, trying to plan your outfit for the night. you heard a light knock on your door, "come in!" you told them.
you looked over to see ghost walking, "Simon," a smile appeared on your face.
"hey, love," he responded.
love.
you loved the nickname coming from him.
you were never the girl to care about nicknames in fact your sort of preferred to not have them in a relationship but my god does his accent make everything better.
you noticed he wasn't dressed in civvy clothes, "why aren't you dressed for tonight?" you asked him.
ghost was sitting on the edge of your bed, "I rather not go out tonight, just going to stay in with price to talk about what's upcomin'."
you rolled your eyes at him, "come on... come out with soap, gaz and I. it'll be fun." you looked at him.
"you know I prefer to stay in if I could." he responded. you walked over to ghost and sat on his lap.
"you don't wanna have fun with me?" you jokingly asked. ghosts hands slid down to rest at your hips, "I know other ways we could have fun, love." he told you.
butterflies fluttered within you, you began to slowly grind against him. a little moan escaped your lips when you began to speak, "we can have some fun right now," you lightly pushed simon down to lay on your bed, "but only if you agree to go out with me tonight."
"you really goin' to do this?" he asked you.
you nodded as you bit down on your lip whistle still moving your hips against ghosts lap. "please?" you asked nicely.
"fuckin' hell, how could I ever say no to that?" ghost grunted.
you giggled with excitement when he agreed, you began to take off your shirt to reveal your breast.
"did you plan this out?" ghost asked you as he sat up to start kissing you all over.
another thing to add to the list of things you love is that ghost practically worshipped your body. he was never the type to just dive into sex without showing you how much he loved all of you.
he wanted all of you to show how much he loves every bit.
you couldnt respond as he started kissing you and slowly moved to your neck. you loved having your neck kissed especially when he had one hand playing with one of your nipples. "fuck," you breathed out.
ghost took that as que to work his way down to your breast, his tongue working your nipple as he cupped it and began sucking. he nibbled on it slightly because he knew you loved it.
"simon..." you moaned in his ear.
"I love when you say my name like that love, do you like what I'm doing to you?" he asked cockily. of course he knew that you loved it but he also loved hearing you struggle with your words.
you nodded eagerly, "mhmm," was all you managed to get out.
ghost stopped kissing your body, "use your words, baby." he said.
you were upset that he stopped kissing you all over, "yes, I do. please, don't stop." you begged him.
a cocky, smug smile appeared on his face once you begged for me. ghost began again working his way from top to bottom, "for a second, I thought you were the one in charge tonight."
"shut up." you told him.
you wanted to be in charge but every time you easily melted under his touch.
it was rare that you were able to have full control. every once in a while ghost would encourage you to try to take the reigns for the night but you loved being worshipped by the man you love most that you just want him to do it.
ghost never complained.
he liked seeing you try to be the boss and found it cute when you would ask him to praise you instead.
“take your shirt off,” you told him. ghost did as you told to reveal his body. hes well in shape, you found his body beautiful with his scars that spread across his body. each time you traced your fingers on the scars, not to make ghost more aware of them but show him how much you loved him and them.
you began kissing each scar - his breath hitching with each kiss, getting lower to reach the top of his pants. You started unbuttoning his pants as ghost sat back and watched you.
You can see how hard he is under his briefs, “I wanna make you cum in my mouth first.”
Ghost threw his head back at your words, “first?” he asked you.
“Mhm,” you hummed, “We’ll be a little late, it’s okay.” you laughed.
you began removing his briefs and to reveal his hard cock. simon was above average in length, it wasn’t really surprising with how he was built and how he carried himself.
“Fuckin’ hell love, just suck it already.” simon pleaded. he was impatient and it amused you, instead of sucking him like he asked, you began stroking him.
simons hips bucked as your hands made contact, you looked up at him and seen him staring at you - watching every move. you flicked your tongue on the tip, the most sensitive part. “do you like when I do this?” you asked him as you began sucking him off.
“I love it, you look so beautiful taking me.” simon let out a moan as he felt the back of your throat. he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. his beautiful girl was able to take all of him and he loved the sight of it, “that’s my girl.” he praised you.
“how am I already so fuckin close already? You just started.” simon cursed at himself, “I want to feel you, love.”
you stopped yourself, “you wanna fuck me?” You teasingly asked him.
simon grabbed you and laid you down on the bed. He removed your pants, “I want all of you.” He reminded you.
a smile spread on your face at his words, his head disappeared to between your thighs. he started kissing each leg slowly as he made his way to your wet clit.
“youre so fucking wet from just sucking me off,” he told you. ghosts fingers found their way to your clit, he began rubbing it slowly.
a slightly loud moan left your lips.
“that’s a good girl,” he said, “you’re so fucking pretty when you’re under me.” simon watched you for a bit as you squirmed under his touch before his tongue eventually replaced his fingers.
“dont stop,” you moaned as you grabbed a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer so he knew to keep going.
“you taste as good as always sweetheart, you want to taste yourself?” he asked as he brought his fingers up.
you didn’t answer before you began sucking on his fingers, “that’s my pretty girl… you taste good, don’t you?”
you nodded at his words, “please make me cum.” you asked.
simon returned to rubbing your clit, “im gonna put it in, alright?” he let you know ahead of time. you’ve been with simon for a while and knew how he felt every single time but needed to prepared yourself as he was bigger than average.
simon grabbed one of your hands and rubbed his thumb softly across before letting his other hand guide the way into you.
“ah!” you lightly yelped, “fuck.”
simon stopped and looked at you, “let me know when to stop baby.” he reassured you.
“keep going, it feels good.” you told him, you loved the way you felt around him no matter if there was a slight bit of pain in the start.
he always let you know if you needed to speak up or if he was hurting you then to let him know. he had no problem taking his time with making you feel good. he was the best lover you ever had.
simon slowly slid all the way in, “you’re so fucking tight sweetheart, holy shit.” he cursed.
all you could do was moan in response as he started fucking you and rubbing your clit at the same time. this man knew you so well that it always blew your mind.
“fuck, simon. that feels-“ you tried to speak but couldn’t finish as a moan escape your mouth instead of words.
“can’t finish your words?” he asked amused.
you nodded your head no at him and focused on the pleasure he was giving you. simon began kissing you while still fucking you and rubbing your clit.
yours and simons body both glistened with sweat as you both move in sync with each other. your moans filled the room, the sound he loves most coming out of you.
“I’m so close baby, fuckin’ hell.” simon breathed into your ear. he was never the type to moan, he was more of a grunting type but a few moans were able to escape his lips once in a while.
you grabbed simons face, “cum in me,” you told him. both faces filled with sweat as he kept fucking you and looking into your eyes.
“are you sure?” he finally asked, “don’t play with me.” you continued to look at your lover in the eyes and repeated your words, “cum in me baby. I want all of you.”
You let out a loud moan as simon listened to your words, he kept looking in your eyes before finally closing them tightly as he did the final hip buck as he pumped you full of his thick cum.
you came all over his cock just as he came in you.
“christ,” simon panted. “how does it get better every time?”
you kissed Simon on the lips and both agreed to freshen to to meet with gaz and soap seeing as how you were both late.
“I’ll wait out your door,” he told you before kissing you once more. “I love you.”
you kiss him a little longer, “I love you more.” you told him.
you quickly dress up in something simple, you knew if you took too long Simon would try to use that as an excuse to stay in.
you threw on a few jewelry pieces before throwing on a leather jacket that simon gifted you awhile back. you took a quick look in the mirror and notice someone left a gift on your collarbone.
you shook your head with a smile and met with simon outside.
“do you think people will notice this?” you asked him, showing your new mark.
simon smiled, “no.” He cleared his throat. “soap keeps callin’ so let’s hurry up.”
simons hand found it’s way to the small of your back to lead you to the car. you felt your face grow slightly red at the gesture.
ghost was never the one to show pda and this one of his simple ways of showing it when you both were out. He was a total different person out in public compared to when it’s just you both in a room.
it was never a bad thing and it never bothered you because he never ever neglected you just because he preferred to keep you both private. He had little gestures to let you know he loves you when you’re with others.
it could be the small glances, your secret signal when others were around or when he would take the time to whisper something in your ear so others couldn’t hear.
ghosts hand rested on your thigh as he drove you both to where gaz and soap were last at. you noticed that the bar was quite busy as there was a line outside forming to get in.
“let me call soap,” ghost told you.
“yeah, im here but there’s a line outside. I don’t feel like waitin’ Johnny.” He told mactavish that was on the line.
“yeah,” he looked over to you, “y/n is with me.”
you could hear the already drunk Scottish yell in the phone as ghost slightly pulled it away from his ear. “hurry up or we’re leavin’.”
ghost got out of the car and opened the door for you, “thank you baby,” you stole a quick kiss from him. you noticed he started to blush at the gesture and couldn’t help but find amusement in it.
“riley’s!!!” soap joked as he yelled towards you both as you were walking up, “shut up.” you punched him softly in the stomach.
“uncalled for.” ghost to soap said as he followed.
you went over to greet gaz as you spotted him at a table filled with glasses. “Is this all mactavishs’ doing?” you asked gaz.
“of course.” he chuckled - you gave him a hug before noticing some other friends behind. you looked at Simon, “im gonna go say hi.” as you gestured towards the girls. you tugged at the hem of his sweatshirt and he nodded.
“i’ll be here.” as he took a seat with gaz and soap.
ghost noticed the other men looking at you. he knew you never paid attention to any of them but couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy hit him.
soap snapped him out of his thoughts when he came back with drinks, “im not drinkin’ tonight.” ghost told them.
Soap looked at him in disappointment, “sorry johnny, got y/n with me.”
The drunk Scottish rolled his eyes, “more for gaz and I.” he laughed.
ghost kept an eye on you every once in a while. He just wanted to make sure you were safe and no one attempted to touch you while you were talking with your friends.
he knew you sure as hell could take care of yourself but he wanted you to enjoy your night as you were chatting with friends. you would often catch him looking at you and give him your signal for ‘I love you’.
he would return the signal and let you get back to your conversation.
as you continued your conversations, you noticed the time, it was getting late and didn’t want to keep simon out later than what he wanted. he isn't an extrovert and you knew he was possibly running out of his social battery.
you had a few drinks and felt a bit tipsy but also felt ready to go back to base. “It was great catching up with you guys, think ima head back to base.” you told your friends.
you walked over to the table where simon, gaz, and soap still sat. soap was slurring his words worse than before and gaz was having a laugh out of it. you walked over to Simon and could tell he was ready, “Im gonna go to the bathroom then we could head back?”
“whenever you’re ready.” he said as he rubbed your thigh under the table, a simple gesture to let you know to take your time.
“you boys better call it a night too,” you laughed at gaz and soap. “it’s past your bedtime.”
you heard mactavish talk loudly as you made your way to the bathroom, “did she just mom us???” he asked.
“she did mate and she’s not wrong.” gaz told him.
you freshened up in the bathroom quickly to hopefully to try to get rid of the tipsy in you but only with slight luck of doing so. as you walked out the door you walked into a tall figure, “sorry!” You asked.
the tall man turned around with a smile on his face, “no worries.” before you could make your way around him he walked in front of you again.
“oops, sorry again…” you told him.
The man didn’t move.
you rolled your eyes at him, as you made the attempt leave again, he spoke, “hey, aren’t you y/n l/n?” he asked.
you shook your head no, “sorry, wrong person.” you quickly told him. "i'm headed out for the night so if you dont mind..." you tried to push him to the side.
"no, you're definitely her. ive seen you on base before." the man said.
a fake smile spread across your face, "well nice to meet you and goodnight." you finally made your way passed him but he grabbed you by the wrist - pulling you back towards him.
you were unreasonably close to him, your back against his chest. he reeked of alcohol.
oh god.
"let go of me," you said.
"im just trying to ge-"
before the man can continue to finish his sentence, you dug the back of your shoe into his and elbowed him in the nose when he bent down in pain.
"don't touch a woman when shes not interested." you warned him.
"you bitch!" he yelled as blood came out of his nose.
the whole bar was looking at your direction, you felt a presence behind you soon after. "the hell is goin' on here?" ghost asked.
"this prick wouldn't let me leave the door way." you told him.
you noticed ghost tense up, his hand formed a fist - you quickly turned around to make ghost bring his attention towards you. your hands rested on his face and you lowered his gaze towards you and he softened his look on you, "lets just leave." you told him.
you heard the man yell more as he was being thrown out but you were hand in hand with simon to try to quickly leave. gaz and soap were too wasted to drive themselves so they hitched a ride.
the tension in the car was suffocating.
"you guys held hands in public." soap spoke.
"shut it johnny." ghost warned.
you looked in the rear view mirror as soap threw his hands in defeat, "i was just sayin'..."
you couldn't help but smile at his silliness.
once you reached base gaz took soap immediately to the bathroom as he was on the verge of throwing up. you looked at ghost and could see he was still tense.
"come on," you took his hand and you both walked into his room.
you closed the door and turned around to meet ghosts lips once more.
"i love you," he said - "you're mine and only mine, understood?" he asked.
"are you mad?" you asked him.
ghost stopped kissing you to look at you, "im mad but not at you. im mad that people think they have the right to touch you when they're not me."
you pulled him in again for more kisses as those words left his lips, "i always feel jealous when people look at you." he spoke as he trailed down your neck - "i dont blame them but you're mine."
"im only yours, simon." you reassured him.
"does it bother you that i dont kiss you in public?" he finally asked, ghost stepped away from you and moved to the other side of the room. "im not exactly prince charming..." he trailed off.
you walked over to him, "no, because i know you love me and the little gestures we do make it even better. its like we have our language." you laughed as you hugged him from behind.
you felt his hands touch yours, "you are the love of my life, simon riley." you reminded him.
he turned to face you again, he picked you up - you wrapped your legs around him as you were finally eye level with him. "im a lucky man to have you." he said before kissing you.
he kissed you eagerly, with each kiss it was a step towards his bed.
you felt your back meet the bed as simon was still kissing you, "i want all of you again."
"i want you forever and always." you told him.
simon took off your jacket and shirt to reveal your lace bra, "is this new?" he asked as he was raising a brow.
you smiled, "just for you."
"matching?" he asked another.
"possibly, i guess you gotta reach the final destination to find out." you teased him.
simon returned to kissing you once more, taking his time as he reached to your breasts. your nipples harden as his tongue played with them over the lace.
he was teasing you.
"take it off..." you whined.
simon smiled as you did so, "was this expensive?"
"yes but i just want it off, please." you begged him.
simon pulled a pocket knife from his pants and put the blade on the center of the lace bra. your breasts spilling out of the newly cut bra. "so fuckin' perfect." he said before continuing his focus on your nipples.
you and simon have done knife play in the bedroom before but hes never used it to cut your bra off and its been a while since you've included it in the bedroom.
you felt more aroused at his actions, you tried to remove your pants along with simons but he stopped you, "are you the boss tonight?" he asked.
you didnt respond as you positioned yourself on top of simon, straddling him.
"im the boss because im desperate for you right now." you told him, an amused look spread across his face as he watched you remove the remaining of your clothing and his.
he looked at you with such awe as he watched you please yourself on him, slowly grinding against him to get your pussy more wet before beginning to ride him. his tip perfectly rubbed against your clit and you moved your hips against him.
"oh fuck," simon cursed.
you were a pretty sight to see as you threw your head back and your perfect moans filled his ears, you put some spit on the tip of his cock before slowly entering it within you.
"be careful, love." he told you, his hands rested at your hips to help you ease on him. you were unbelievably wet from teasing yourself on him and he knew that. "shit, shit, shit..." simon cursed.
you were able to finally sit perfectly on him and began riding at a steady pace.
simon had one arm resting behind his head with the other on your thigh as he just watched you please yourself on him, "you're doing so fucking good, my pretty girl." he praised.
this drove you wild as you began to quicken the pace, "dont rush it baby, im here all night for you." he reminded you. your pussy was throbbing from the pleasure you were giving yourself from simons cock, "tell me how much you love it."
all the words just evaporated from your brain to even try to explain how much you loved feeling him within you. you were fucking yourself dumb on his cock while he just watched in pleasure.
"mh- i dont ever want to stop." you managed to finally say.
"then dont stop baby, keep going until you cant." he said. his thumb found it way to your clit. you positioned yourself slightly back to let him play with it more as you continued to fuck yourself on him.
simon moved his thumb slowly and would randomly quicken the pace, he did the opposite of how you were moving. you've never experienced this amount of pleasure as you never often rode simon.
"fuck," you moaned loudly, "dont stop. im so fucking close simon!" you yelled.
simon moved positions to allow himself to finish the work of your doing to also give you a break. he didnt stop the pace you were moving at. your back pressed against the bed as simon was now towering over you.
"you did so good fuckin' yourself on me, love" he praised you, "im so proud of you." he kissed you.
the sound of your two bodies connecting filled the room, you both were so lucky that there were no other rooms near you. that luckily no one care hear you.
"am i cummin' in you?" simon asked.
you nodded eagerly as he continued to pound into you, "fuck, yes simon." you yelled. you felt him slow his pace, his thick cum spilling out of you.
there was so much of it.
"fuckin' love you" simon said as he finished.
you felt lightheaded from the high you both rode out. "i love you more."
simon grabbed a towel and some clothes for you, "let me clean you up, love."
you smiled at him as he did so, "lets get some rest?" he kissed your lips.
your eyes felt heavy, you felt him cover you up with his bed sheets before you fell asleep to leave simon smiling at you.
10K notes · View notes
poquiii · 1 year
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König x reader  /  Ghost x reader  Headcanons
You have terrible memory.
Ghost
● He has tremendous patience. Especially with you. ● He can wait for hours for you to remember something important. ● He won't rush you. ● He always listens to you carefully. ● Not only because he's interested in what you have to say, but also because he wants to be ready at any moment to remind you what you were talking about a minute ago. ● Of course, only if you don't mind. ● If he sees anyone daring to mock you about it, he's ready to tear them apart with his bare hands. ● His intentions are clearly reflected in his eyes and your abuser quickly retreats, hastily apologizes to you and hurries away.
König
● He himself often forgets something important. ● His anxiety causes him to have too many thoughts in his head at once, crowding each other out. ● So he understands you very well. ● Sometimes you have a dialogue about something and at the same time you forget what you both wanted to say to each other. ● Well, you run your fists into each other and laugh. You call your duo the "Forgetting Gang." ● You find it very comforting, but you suspect he's exaggerating his forgetfulness a bit just to appease you. ● You appreciate it, and he's happy that you're not letting your peculiarities become your complex.
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ghostlychief · 1 year
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Scary Dog Privilege
Pairing: one shot; Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader
Wc: 1,100+
Warnings: none; just some guy being annoying; fluff
Summary: Ghost being protective when you go to a bar
A/N: Ok, this idea for this drabble came about when i had a scary incident happen to me on public transportation. In the moment, i was thinking how nice would it be to have a large scary looking dog with me bc men always find a way to make you feel uncomfortable and scared. It really sucks that we have to turn towards other men to "protect" us because men don't take no for an answer or simply will just not leave us alone. But this is fantasy land, so I'll allow it this time.
Anyways, here is a short drabble lmao. Hope you enjoy! <3
-Lee
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--
To say that Ghost had a staring problem, was a little inaccurate. It’s not like he was on one of the most skilled, and covert teams in existence or anything. He was trained to have a good eye, and follow his target with precision. It just so happened that whenever you two went out, you became his target, and stole away all his attention.
One way you liked to rewind after a mission was to go out drinking with your friends, or occasionally, squad 141. This was how you coped, let loose, hell, forget about all the terrible shit you saw on a daily basis. And seeing that Ghost was your boyfriend, he usually (always) tagged along with you when you went out.
Why did he come with you every time?
One might say he also wanted to blow off some steam, and what better way than alcohol? And for you, what better way than dancing, and being carefree with your friends?
Others might say that he couldn’t let you out of his sight. He was very conscious of his surroundings, and also the surroundings of everyone around him. Whenever you were in the same room as him, he always had his eye on you, following you, and knew your position within his proximity.
When you were out, whether it be at a bar, restaurant, store, he always slightly blocked you from the view in any doorway, always standing closest to it. Somewhat shielding you with his body.
He would slightly walk in front of you, hand stretched behind him to grasp yours when you were walking on the sidewalk. And of course, he always walked on the side closest to the cars, you were always in the inside of the sidewalk.
If by some chance you weren’t, he would wrap an arm around your shoulder and gently move you over; so now he was on the outside. He kept his arm around you though.
In restaurants, he always sat in the seat where he could see the whole room, and the entrance. You didn’t notice this at first, but on one of your dates when you initially starting dating, he sat in the booth seat. You joked and said, “Oh, usually that’s my spot.”
He didn’t get your reference and simply stated, “What? This is the spot where I can analyze the whole room in case something happens.”
You let him have the booth.
It was no different when you went out. His brooding stare and massive height and size deterred any man who even had the thought to approach you. And on top of that he was always sporting his black, half skull balaclava, which added on to the intimidation he exuded. Great for you, you think. The last thing you wanted to deal with was a random man.
Needless to say, you hated dealing with men while out. Especially drunk, pushy men. And there was always at least one during these occasions.
Tonight, everything was going smoothly, and just as planned, like your usual nights out. You were dancing, and having a good time with your friends, Ghost was somewhere in the near distance, and you didn’t have to look at him to know that his eyes were already on you. You might have thrown in a couple extra moves while dancing.
You seemed so carefree in this moment. All your troubles wiped clean from your face, your body relieving any tension it held. You moved to the beat of the music, drink in your hand. You were drunk by now, the full effects of alcohol finally hitting you.
Suddenly, you felt a hand grasp your waist. At first you thought it was your boyfriend, and you turned around smiling, but only to be met with a much shorter man, with no skull balaclava covering his face.
Immediately your lips turned down, and eyebrows furrowed. Your body flinched at the unfamiliar contact. Leaning away from the man, you waited to see what he wanted.
“Wanna dance?” His lips upturned as he asked this, and his grimy hand was still grasping your waist, and even started to move downward.
Bold move, you think.
“No, I’m good.” At your response, his friendly (more so creepy) smile vanished form his face and his brows started to furrow, signaling to you he was offended, shocked that you would ever reject him.
He started badgering you, trying to get you to dance, and you grew more and more uncomfortable by the minute.
“C’mon, just one dance.”
“What’s the harm?”
He also kept trying to touch you. Something you didn’t appreciate at all, and he wasn’t listening to your no’s.
All of a sudden you feel your body being tugged backwards until you hit a firm chest. Recognizing the smell of your boyfriend, you immediately relaxed into his embrace and place your hand on Ghost’s forearm that was holding you.
“She’s with me, fuck off.” Ghost’s rough voice cuts through the air.
The man’s face pales as he fully takes in Ghost’s presence. He lifts up his arms as if surrendering, then swiftly left, tail in between his legs.
Once he was out of sight, Ghost turned you around and brought up a hand to gently cup your face, tilting it upwards so you could look at him. His thumb rubbed back and forth on your jaw, soothing you.
“Are you alright?” His voice much softer than when telling off that man.
You sigh, “Yeah. Thank you, baby.”
You grant him a sweet smile and then wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
--
On your walk home, you’re holding Ghost’s hand, swinging your conjoined hands back and forth. Absentmindedly, you say, “You know, you kind of give off scary dog privilege.”
Ghost knows that you’re drunk right now, and he looks down at you to already find you beaming up at him.
“And what do you mean by ‘scary dog privilege’, hm?”
You start gesticulating with your other hand, “You know, if you own a big scary dog like a German shepherd, Rottweiler, Akita, etc., men are less likely to approach you or harass you; i.e., scary dog privilege.”
You hear him hum in acknowledgement and he squeezes your hand.
You bring you other hand up and rest it on his bicep, and lay your head against his shoulder, basically leaning on him as you continue to walk down the street.
“So, what kind of dog am I then?”
“Hmm. Definitely a Cane Corso. They’re known for being noble, intelligent, loyal and strong. All the things you are; but they are also low key the sweetest on the inside. Also like you.”
You feel him let out a brief laugh and he squeezes your hand again.
“Mm, thank you sweetheart.”
You smile against his shoulder and continue walking with him all the way home, the creepy man from before long forgotten.
--
masterlist
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sexy-sea-basss · 4 months
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here’s the thing I admire about the ghouls: they love every body, no matter shape, size, color. they love imperfections and they always love on those imperfections.
thank you writers and artists for using different bodies in scenes, because it makes me feel like someday, i too will be loved for who i am, imperfections and all
I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH. like yall don’t even understand.
i love seeing those stretch marks, lil fatty rolls, dad-bod copia, glasses, freckles, small titties, big titties, no titties, scars, top surgery scars, description of thighs jiggling when getting into position, happy trails, body hair, etc.
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harpsinfinity · 4 months
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Simon Riley fucking you
Simon Riley X fem!reader
Warnings: piv, spanking (like once), light aftercare
I listened to chase atlantic on repeat while making this. My fav band if you couldn't tell 💀
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Simon couldn't get enough of times like this, your trembling body underneath him, leaving a creamy ring of arousal around the base of his cock as he ploughed into you roughly from behind, setting a brutal pace. The side of your face is smushed against the pillows as one of his big, warm hands are wrapped around one of your hips as the other one smacks your ass, hard. Kneading the sensitive flesh and groaning as you tighten like a little vice around him.
"Simon !" You wail out his name "slow- mph- slow down!" Your jaw goes slack as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, your legs shake as the head of his thick cock slams into the right places inside of your sopping pussy so deliciously. "Doesn't look like y' wan' me t'slow down love" Simon rasps, his accent thicker with his head is clouded with the need to fuck you being the only thing in his head, your moans and pants making his cock throb inside of you as he smacks his hips harder against you, trying to work an orgasm out of you quicker. You grip the sheets beneath you, knuckles turning white a your drooling pussy pulses as you gush messily around Simon's girthy cock, your vision going white as you scream his name with tears of absolute bliss staining your cheeks, driving him to his own high as he throws his head back with a throaty groan, the grip on your hips soon to leave bruises.
You whine as you feeling his thick load fill you up to the brim, his cum seeping out of your hole and pooling around the sheets after he pulls out of you. Your legs are like jelly as he pulls your trembling form into his powerful arms, you indulge in his musky scent, a mix of colonge and cigarettes as you place your head in the crook of his neck. One of his warm hands move to caress your head, stroking your hair as your eyes flutter close. "I'll go run a bath fr'us dove" you nod in response as he lays you back down in the sheets, getting up to prepare a bath, your eyes linger on his hulking form as he walks into the bathroom. The rest of the night is spent in Simon's warm embrace, his hands gently washing away worries and massaging sore muscles. Being swept away into sleep as he has you in his hold in the nest of a bed you share, relaxing in the arms of your lover.
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Harpsinfinity 2023©
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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months
Text
What Are We (1 of 4)
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, possessive!Simon, touching (lots of it), kissing, romantic tension
Word Count: 1k
A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series
Simon wants an answer. And if you're going to reject him, you better look him in the eye when you say that you don't want him.
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // what are we masterlist
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You’re not looking in front of you. You’re not even glancing at your feet.
Your gaze is attached to the precarious stack of files in your hands, too focused on keeping them balanced and together to notice anything or anyone else around you.
Which is why you don’t see Simon until it’s too late.
His hand on your upper arm is a vice, and there is no escape from him. With a quick jerk, you’re rudely pulled in the opposite direction, and promptly shoved into a coat closet of an office. Some of the papers in your arms go flying, and you desperately reach for them, irritation burning in the back of your throat.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, after snagging the last wayward piece of paper.
Simon stands quiet in front of the closed door, arms crossed over his chest. Even now, when you’re annoyed with him, you can’t help but to rake your gaze over his muscled form, taking in every morsal. It’s a crime not to do so.
“What’s wrong with me?” mocks Simon slowly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Your eyebrows immediately rise toward your hairline in surprise. Then, just as quickly, your mind catches up to the situation. You know exactly what Simon is up to. He’s done this before, cornered you in a such a way as this as a means to break you, to make you bend until you completely break for him.
“No,” you state, shaking your head. “We’re not doing this. I know what you’re up to, Simon.” You press the stack of papers against your chest, crossing your arms over them protectively, one finger pointed in his direction in accusation.
Simon takes one unhurried step away from the door, and that singular move is entirely too close for comfort. “You don’t have the right to pull me aside whenever you want,” you continue. “To be domineering and push—” Simon takes another step and you nearly drop the stack of papers.
“Back off,” you bite, not entirely believing your own strength in the delivery.
“I deserve an answer.” Simon’s voice is not exactly a growl, but his timbre roots you to the spot.
“About what?” you stammer, already confused and unsure of where Simon is taking this.
“About what we are.”
“What?” Your voice breaks on the end, going a bit high.
“We’ve been on each other the last few months. Or did you forget?”
No. You haven’t. How could you? Just yesterday, you were a submissive puddle beneath him, allowing him everything.
Simon arches a single eyebrow and you immediately comply without thought. “Why would you ask me that?”
Your question is a cop-out. You know this. Simon knows it.
When Simon closes in, you do not move or reprimand him for doing so. He takes another step, this time into your space, and you are blocked from leaving this cramped enclosure.
“Did you think I’d forget, love?” croons Simon, and the sweetness of it is enough to flame the slumbering heat within you into a small fire. “That I didn’t hear you.” Simon leans in. “That I missed what you murmured while I was buried deep inside you?”
You swallow, salvia sticking in your throat as you clearly recall the sighed words of pleasure that dripped almost inaudibly from your lips.
I love you.
It was a mistake. A slip up.
Your voice is strained. Defeated. You’re not escaping from this. There is nowhere for you to run. “What do you want?”
“I want you to admit it.”
You glance away from Simon, hugging the papers close to your chest. “You’re mistaken.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his chest heave and his shoulders straighten. You turn toward the nearby desk, wanting to unburden the load in your arms. The moment the papers hit the desk, Simon grabs the lower half of your face, forcing your gaze back to him.
“Simon!”
He pins you against the desk, hands braced on the edge, his balaclava covered face inches away from yours.
“If you’re going to lie to me. If you’re going to reject me. You better look me in the eye when you do it.” You stare him down. Unmoving. “Don’t deny yourself,” he murmurs, one hand lightly squeezing your upper thigh.
Simon’s mouth, though covered by the balaclava, is dangerously close to yours. You feel his warm breath against your face as it filters through the fabric. It’s light, almost imperceptible. But it is there, and it makes you wanton, to close the distance.
“Why do you care so much?” you reply softly. “I thought you didn’t want more.”
Simon closes the distance even more, resting his forehead against your own. “Do you want me to recount all the ways that isn’t true?”
“Don’t be cruel.”
Simon presses his hips against you, showing you just how cruel he can be. “Then don’t play games.” From your face, Simon relocates his hand to the back of your neck. “Give me an answer. What are we?”
What are we?
As if you know. As if you’ve given the idea any life. But you have, haven’t you? You’ve imagined more than just simple meetings. And it isn’t like you and Simon get what you need out of your system and move on. There is always after. There is always before. There is always the comfort and the gentleness between all the rough, sharp edges.
What are we?
You give him the answer he’s seeking because maybe—just maybe—it’s what he desires too.
“I’m yours,” you breathe, and Simon’s sigh of relief is like a blooming flower. “I’m yours.”
“You’re mine,” repeats Simon, his mouth coming down on yours through the balaclava.
You don’t even care. This closeness is a balm to your soul. The teether you’re seeking.
Simon’s hands drop to your hips, lift you from the ground, and place you firmly on the edge of the desk. He slides between your legs, and your arms drape around his neck in anticipation of what comes next.
taglist:
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ransprang · 4 months
Text
yes YES i have ghost brainrot without even playing the game...go ahead... laugh..
ghost x fem! reader - random hcs
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SFW
huge doberman bf energy.
gives you his credit card bc he doesn’t really spend on much, and he’d like to provide for you and spoil you
makes his silly little girliepop jokes in public just to see you laugh eventhough they may get weird looks from strangers
he secretly enjoys chick flicks and dramas. they’re just easy to watch distracting him from his grueling work
if you guilt him enough you could get him to make a build-a-bear of him with his voice. it’s pretty easy, just mention how often he gets deployed and he’ll give in. he does find it cute when he sees you snuggling it
ghost makes sure that you live share your location with him at all times. mostly for your protection, since he gets worried that his personal life may get compromise one day
he enjoys it when you sit on his lap and smear black eyeshadow on his eyes. he holds onto your waist while your fingers dab your eyeshadow palette. sometimes you can get away with putting black glitter on him hehe
N/SFW
uncut, 7-8 inches and girthy. since you know.. he's a big fella it's all gotta be proportionate
absolutely loves sticking his fingers in your mouth and watching all the spit that's connected to them when he takes them out
yes, he will spit in your mouth. no, you don’t have to ask for it
bends you over his desk in his office with no fear of anyone walking in. and if they do he'll stare them down
being a possessive man he marks his territory, you, with hickies on your neck and tells you to remove high neck clothing from your wardrobe
he likes taking off his shirt and watching you stare at his muscles, drooling over them like a slut
as much as he may say he doesn’t like brats, he does love being a brat tamer. he’ll spank the obedience into you
gets you a collar with "ghost" or "S.R." on it just so people know who you belong to
due to being deployed often he appreciates you entertaining his sexting and teasing him with intimate pictures
yours ghostly,
admin sar
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moongumi · 2 years
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⁀➷ ∵  ❝ nice warm bed you've got there, ghost¹ ❞
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⟶ simon 'ghost' riley x reader
⟶ cw. sleepy!ghost, fem!reader, flirting, established flirtationship, kissing, lots of kissing, grinding, ghost calls you kid + more (nothing too sexy yet only a tiny bit of smut but more like descriptions nothing that isn't listed)
⟶ note. not edited, written out of pure thirst
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drained and sore from the mission you had jumped in the shower quickly before anyone could take the chance. the other guys rested in the rv waiting for their turn. they pretty much start to stink up the entire place with the smell of masculine musk and spoiled mud.
right when you're done, vargas decides it was his turn before anyone else could utter a word. he nudges your shoulder in the small space as you tried to dry your wet hair with towel, its freakin' dark so you assume he was just being clumsy. he mutters a quick, "sorry", before slipping away in the tiny cubicle.
your arms raised in your tank top and shorts you rub the towel into your head as you walk towards the front of the rv.
soap clears his throat, sitting on the dining table set. across him is ghost, they take up the entire space with their large width so you'd have to get past them towers the bench-like couch to have a place to sit.
soap notices you right away and kicks his feet ahead. ghost snaps his head but notices soap's head nudging behind him. "do yourself a favour, try not to look."
ghost's eyes dart to the right behind his textured mask, seeing your shadow before yourself. "yea, i'm tryin', mate."
you make your way past a very stiff-necked ghost and soap who gives you a sheepish grin. you notice their files of documents and photographs littered all over the worktop. even after hours they can't seem to stop working. soap gives ghost a smack on the shoulder and leaves.
ghost relaxes slightly when his head down form notices you've left as there were no lingering shadows covering up the reflection of the moonlight from that side.
that is until he feels hands on his shoulder and a heavy weight pushes them downwards. "you still trying?" your soft voice pierces his ears and he jumps.
he rolls his eyes, throwing his head into his palm. "shut up kid."
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
"alright, pick bunks." soap sees you already on a top bunk over the top of a queen bed that sits at the end of the rv. "i see you've already chosen."
"yep." you pop your lips and continue to click on your nintendo switch, cooling off. completely ignoring the rest as they pick bunks.
soap and ghost end up under you whilst the others have opted to either stay awake, drive or sleep on those bench-couches that turned into beds.
you decide to sleep for a while. comfortably until.
ghost feels a weight on his bed, it definitely wasn't soap. his eyes open to see you climbing down off your bunk and dropping into his, your tank rolling up as you did. your entire weight drops on his bed and crinkle the duvet, his eyes half open looking at you. "what you doin'?"
"what do you think?"
ghost groans groggily, waving you off, "you can't do that. not right now."
"soaps not here." ghost looks to his side, you're right. "the others are out, we stopped at a station. they're getting food and water." your straddle the lower part of his leg slightly, dropping your weight slowly on him–he feels the heat off your bare legs on his sweats.
ghosts eyes barely open and he sits up to look at the window seeing the shop and station as you say. somehow he didn't even wake up whilst the others made their move. he rubs his eyes through his balaclava. you wondered if he even showered as the black paint kind of still lingered around his eyelids, the only part you really get to see of his face.
"you still wear your mask when you sleep, hm?"
ghost groans, pointing at you with a jut of his chin. "you do too."
you click your tongue pointing at yours, "mines different." you did wear a mask on duty like him just not as artistic. but you wear a medical mask otherwise, it was easier to breathe and covered you up, hiding your identity well enough.
ghost leans his weight on his hands. he sat up slightly. you make your way onto his lap, he didn't even resist only cocking his head at your every move. he sees the way you're looking at him. eyes half open, lashes heavy, maybe because you also just woke up but hell, you were giving him some sort of intentional look.
"let me kiss you," you whispered, words slathered with lust. it was one of the last things he expected, but who was he kidding the others are out and the tension between you two was strong enough at other times–alone, was different.
he shakes his head, trying to be the better person. "no, come on. they'll be back before you know it."
"they just left." you're fingers are tickling at the base of his neck, peeling his mask slightly. he only eyes you back, half-lidded too–his pretty eyes make the core of your ache warm up. "ghost, please."
your fingers are slip under his mask, feeling his warm skin, lifting it up more. it reaches his chin, and you feel the roughness of his recently shaven beard. he swallows hard, breathing heavily at your touch.
his head straightens and his fingers reach yours to stop you. "hey."
"what?" you groan, "don't pretend you don't want it."
he doesn't pretend. he can't. you're sat on his lap with your tiny shorts rolled up your ass, your shirt exposing your waist and everything. it's rare to see you so exposed, just your fucking arms and legs made him horny, fucks sake. he'd been so deprived.
his eyes flicker between your eyes and where your lips would be behind that mask. his fingers left yours alone and he reaches for the loops around your ears, his rough fingers yet soft touch pulls them off. even in the dark, it's hard to see your face, maybe that was a good thing, neither of you really knew what each other looked like. it seemed a lot more exciting this way.
you take that as a green light. dragging his mask over his nose and pressing your lips against his quickly, so he couldn't stop you anymore–he can't just draw it out longer, the chase. you angled your head, molding into his bottom lip. his lips part and he deepens the kiss, a low grovel ringing from his throat. his tongue slips past your swollen lips with ease, with no resistance. he explores it, pressing his tongue and curling it to the roof of your mouth, tasting all of you.
you moan, whimpering into his mouth. rolling your hips naturally into his lap that allows you to feel his growing bulge. he thrusts his hips as well. who knows the last time the man got action and fuck, he wanted it now.
his eyes are shut under his halfed-mask, you keep switching angles as if it could get you any closer to the extremely attractive older man. you felt like you saw something in the corner of your eyes for a split second, and when you open your eyes fully you can see the other men through the sheer curtained window returning with bags of snacks, drinks, and food and you pull away with a gasp. "fuck."
ghost returns to his senses and looks in that direction. "fuck." he watches as you jumbled as you jumped off him. only watching in amusement. "good night." pressing your bare feet against the covers by him and getting back into your bunk above him.
ghost's deep chuckle makes the pits of your belly warm, "good night, kid."
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end note: i miss ghost daddy ok? im thirsting and FROTHING FOR THIS MAN. i really wanna write a full fic like oc and all but i literally dunno shit about military n america LOL. but i will be writing more, but THE MASK STAYS ON. hopefully no fanboys run into this n get all pissy &lt;3 idk how people feel about being called kid by a guy you're tryna fuck but : ) soz
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empresskylo · 4 months
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you can't convince me that simon doesn't swoon when you first start calling him by his first name.
like he's so used to being ghost to everyone. even back home, he doesn't have many people there anymore, no one to know him as simon. at most, it's the man at the local convenience store or his one nice neighbor in the apartment across from his who knows him as that. and on that rare occasion price says his real name, he feels human again.
but when he finally tells you his name, you instantly start using it instead of calling him ghost. the first time he hears it over comms, he gets this weird butterfly feeling in his stomach. he becomes so infatuated with the way you say his name.
he likes that you're the only one to call him that, just like he's the only one to call soap johnny. when someone else teases him, asking if they can call him simon too, he definitely grunts out a ‘i wouldn’t if i were you’
and whenever you call him si, he is reminded how much he fucking loves you. he gets so soft when you call him that. it's like reminding him he's not just a killer or a weapon of mass destruction. he's a person. he's your person. he's more than the mask.
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alwaysshallow · 2 months
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ghost x reader regency au, where he’s pretty much obsessed with the idea of being the one for you.
He's one of your suitors. Rich, big, respected in the community. a man that practically owns the town nearby and makes it his whole personality.
Would be a good suitor, if he wasn’t that controversial. He's being known for “tricking” people, but no one could catch him on that, so he was clean; in theory. Most of the people just feared him and stayed out of his business, for their own good.
Well, at least that was before. before he got interested in you in one of the balls where he spotted you. a gentleman, truly—a little bit stiff, but a gentleman with manners. Quick chit-chat with your mom, dad, even you, asking what you are interested in.
No one asked you this question ever so maybe that’s why it hit you.
Despite that, you ignored the pleas to meet with him, your father even helped you in that. Staying out of trouble, you thought, as you brushed your hair, staring at the sealed envelope with your name.
From Simon Riley.
Little did you know, he wasn’t having any of it. Not your ignorance, not your father’s awkward smile, when he met him in town and asked about you, how have you been. Simon wasn’t an impatient man, but sometimes he needed to take action that might seem risky.
Not like he cared.
Maybe that’s why the next day after this interaction, you see a package, carefully delivered by your maid to your room. It’s big enough, with an enormous ribbon around it—doesn’t take you long to open it, but the shock afterwards is longer.
A dress. Big, violet dress. Exactly your size, a lot of fancy lace there and there. 
You’re stunned for a hot second, feeling the hot splaying on your cheeks; then, you pay attention to the note on the bottom of the box.
“Hoping to see you in this,S.”
Carefully written, and in the back there’s an invitation to the ball. Organized by no one but him.
You think you might faint.
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yawnderu · 3 months
Note
ramp up the angst by reader suddenly agreeing that ‘yes, it is the last time’ coz she’s tired of all the sneaking, feeling empty after dbf!simon leaves, and wanting to feel loved and to love freely in return.
let’s force simon to make the move and to choose between love and friendship. 😈
ANON. UR MIND.
Loving Simon is tiring. You can give and give, and he'll do is take, never giving back even when you're empty. Kept a secret, he only dares to show you affection when he wants something out of you. Cuddles come with groping, and while sex is nice... it's difficult not to want more when you've been in love with him for years.
He was right, it was the last time. The last time until he learns how to grow a pair and decide what's best for both of you. Any cuddles he wants to give you finish as soon as he starts to grope you, pushing him away and telling him you're not in the mood. He's a patient man, way too patient and understanding, yet being rejected by you every single time he tries to initiate things is new.
''Gonna tell me what's your problem?'' He ambushes you once your father leaves to go to the store, arms crossed across his chest and blocking your way out of the room. Simon never uses his body to intimidate you on purpose or get in your way, but he knows you'll avoid conversation unless he does so.
''I don't have a problem.'' You bite the inside of your cheek, crossing your arms as well as you look up at him. The sight is nothing short of adorable, the urge to pinch your cheeks and shake you around passing through his mind, though it's cut short pretty fast.
''That's bollocks.'' He points out, walking closer to you and forcing you to crane your neck just to keep eye contact. You let out a frustrated sigh, eyebrows furrowed as you look up at him.
''Fine. Want to know what my fucking problem is?'' He stays quiet, simply nodding once in acknowledgement.
''You are my problem, Simon. You just... came into my life and ruined it.'' If he's affected by your words, his stoic expression is doing a great job at hiding it.
''You ruined me for everyone else. Can't date, can't flirt, can't even think about hooking up with someone to forget about you because they're not worth it— they're not you.'' There's tears rimming your eyes as you speak, trying to keep them in until you look away and a choked sob escapes your lips, the dam finally breaking as you sit down in bed, pathetically making yourself smaller for him even when it's not necessary.
''No one will ever be like you and I— I don't know what to do, Simon. I fucking love you, but you treat me like I'm... like I'm just a toy.'' Your hands go up to cover your face, not allowing him the pleasure of seeing the tears roll down your cheeks and the pained expression on your face.
Silence.
It's quiet for what feels like forever until he crouches down in front of you, hands grasping your wrists and moving them away from your face. He cups your cheeks as soon as he sees the trail of tears staining your pretty skin, soft kisses planted all over your face while all you can do is let him.
'''M sorry.'' He mutters once he's done kissing you all over, face hiding on the crook of your neck as he lets out a soft sigh, preparing himself to make a decision once and for all.
''Your old man means the world to me. You know that, yeah?'' He keeps going once you nod your head, one hand holding yours while the other runs up and down your back soothingly.
''And you mean the world to him. Hell, you mean the world to me. I know it's fuckin' stupid, but I'm scared he'll keep you away from me.'' Your small scoff earns you a chuckle coming out of his lips, looking up just to see the pretty frown on your lips.
''Like hell he will. He'll be happy if... if we date, you know? No one treats me the way you do.'' You manage to speak despite the tears, drying your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie— his hoodie.
''I know.'' He whispers softly, brown eyes shining with understanding. He's so vulnerable and so fucking scared he almost feels pathetic.
''I know.'' He repeats, sitting down next to you and holding you on his lap, as close to him as possible while your face is buried on his chest.
''... I'll tell him.'' He promises, planting a small kiss on your forehead, unaware of the man listening to the conversation with a small smile on his lips. He knows, of course he knows.
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