#muse: simon

[gaylordsmansion]

blackbright golden/husky nuzzle emoji edit. do what u want with it if u like it i just wanted to do something cute with the otp

shout out to @pet-cemetery-emotes for the original

[adventure-goth]

Can’t get the thought of tattoo artist Ghost. . . big and gruff, barely talks during session. But wonderfully talented, his dark brown eyes laser focused on the flesh canvas before him

But thennnnnnn. .. . you walk in. . . a sweet shy little thing. . . wanting a back piece. .. or maybe something over your clavicle. . . .

. . . . something something. . . ending up cock warming simon while he tattoos you. . .

His thick girth stretching you out as you whine, pussy weeping slick onto his trousers. . . as he feels your walls clench around him when he hits a particular spot with the tattoo gun. . . trying to resist the urge to move. . . knowing you need to stay still. . but it just feels so damn good. . .

“Uh uh uhhhh. . . . stay still sweetheart. . .thats it. . . good girl. . sitting so well for me.”

Any ways. . . . have a lovely evening. . . .

[scriptastra]

[st-el-la-luna]

"Ghost has a dog," the people cry. "It's a German Shepherd!"

"A Rottweiler!" Another argues.

"A Doberman!"

"Whatever the breed it's something big and tough like him!"

"No!" I shout. "No! He has a tiny dog! An ugly thing that looks like it's been through hell. Like a Gremlin that's been fed after midnight and put through the propeller of a jumbo jet! A dog like this!"

"Boo!" Everyone shouts even though I'm right.

[arylleth]

it is only necessary to know that love is a direction and not a state of the soul. if one is unaware of this, one falls into despair at the first onslaught of affection. simone weil, the love of god and affliction

[spurbleu]

i need a fic where the reader is a violent people pleaser. i mean bleeding knees from her position on the alters of people who do not share an ounce of empathy or gratitude for her goodwill.

and then simon, who picks her up by her hair and teaches her how to appreciate herself.

[musings-of-an-aesthete]

Simone Ashley as Kathani Sharma

BRIDGERTON | 02x05 An Unthinkable Fate

[lovebugmusings]

I’m glad you enjoyed ☺️

Hmm what do you think about Price being possessive over you when it comes to sharing you with his boys? Like, sure he’ll let them watch. He might even let them make you feel good. But letting them cum in you? Never. Because at the end of the day, you’re the Captain’s lover/partner (or whore if you want).

Which means Price’s cum will be the only cum filling up your cunt and dripping down your thighs 😌

- 🪤

AHHHH BARRACKS BUNNY BUT PRICE IS POSSESSIVE?!

when price first introduces you to his men, he doesn't miss the way they all look at you - with hunger, with desire. but he also sees the way you look at each of them. so he knows that you won't be entirely opposed to helping them destress.

so it becomes routine, to invite them over to the humble home you and price share after a mission. he is always the first to make you cum. has you against the sofa or the bed and worships you with his mouth. makes sure you know how much he loves and appreciates you and what you do for him and for his men before they're allowed to touch you.

i would say "cuck chair" but you've definitely ridden all of them on that chair, and there have definitely been occasions of two of the guys helping each other out while you were being eiffel towered by the other two

of course there are standard boundaries and rules in place, to keep everyone safe and comfortable - things like everyone has to be tested before they touch you, even though you're the only person other than each other that they fuck - but the biggest rule, one that price reminds them of often, is that they aren't allowed to cum in your pussy. ass? sure. mouth? absolutely. but pussy is for price and price alone. they're allowed to fuck you there, but they have to either pull out or wear a condom

(johnny always opts for pulling out because he'll be damned if he doesn't get to experience the feeling of your pussy walls against his bare cock)

and "might even let them make you feel good"? HA price gets some sick ego and power trip watching his pussy-drunk men eat you out. simon once came in his pants after you squirted on his face, but instead of embarrasment? bro was so proud that he was the first of him, johnny and gaz to make you squirt

@glossysoap

[thiscoldheart]

patrick jane once said (24/?)

[sweetfridays]

♡ ANTHONY & KATE BRIDGERTON bridgerton season 3

[gaylordsmansion]

i have an oc that is simon blackquill's chao

they are my grumpy lil crybaby

[idyllicmusings]

Yours/Mine

Captain John "Soap" Mactavish x Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley

aka 09ghostsoap

Summary: Mactavish helps an injured omega on the field, Riley has thoughts about it.

CW/TW: omegaverse

WC: 1.5k

A/n: This is inspired by and for @jonarart Specifcally this art but their entire 09 omegaverse ghostsoap is an absolute treat!

Read below or on ao3

There’s still blood drying under his nails when Mactavish makes it back to base. He needs a shower. Fifteen minutes under water as hot as it’ll go will hopefully get the crick out of his shoulder. Thankfully, the mission hadn’t been complicated — get in, retrieve whatever intel they’d been sent for, fight some light resistance, get out.

The only setback had been a downed private. A bullet had ripped through their thigh; painful but not lethal. Flesh wound. He hadn’t thought much of it when he’d pulled the young omega private up over his shoulder. He’d been more concerned about getting to the evac before it left.

He’s felt Riley’s eyes on him since they touched down. It’s funny — a gaze shouldn’t have weight. It’s just light hitting receptors in the eye, bouncing through the brain, all science and nothing tangible. But Riley pulls it off. His gaze lands heavy, and Mactavish feels it sear into him like a brand.

He ignores it as he makes his way to the armory. He has gear to hand in, a report to write up and a shower to take. Preferably, hopefully not in that order.

He feels Riley’s gaze drop before he makes it to the armory and thinks nothing of it. Riley’s never been shy, never been anything but a brat. Always pushing and prodding. He’ll come to Mactavish when he’s good and ready. Besides, he thinks as he signs in his gear, it’s not like he can hunt down a ghost.

Mactavish chuckles to himself as he walks to his room. Ghost hunting. He should make the rookies try and hunt down Ghost sometime, pass it off as a training exercise. Counter-infiltration training or some shite.

He’s barely got his door open before he’s being slammed into the wall next to it. The hands yanking him are familiar and it’s only that familiarity that stops him from fighting back. The impact against the wall makes his shoulder throb but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just lets Riley press his weight against him, hands balled in the front of his shirt, forehead resting against his collarbone.

“Evenin’,” Mactavish says mildly. “Take it you skipped medical?”

The only answer Riley deigns to give is to tilt his head up and bury it in Mactavish’s neck. He can feel Riley’s chest bumping into his own, rising and falling like he sprinted the length of the base.

“You carried that rookie.”

It’s muffled. By the mask and Mactavish’s neck. There’s a thread through his voice, one that stirs a deep, primal part of him. Makes all his instincts turn to high alert. Your omega is hurt. You hurt your omega.

Never mind that his claim on Riley is unofficial. A single night where he snapped after Riley, with purposeful button-pushing and snarky comments pushed him over the edge. His alpha has decided. Or rather, had decided. Mactavish can admit to himself it happened long before that night.

Mactavish wraps an arm around Riley’s waist, rubbing his thumb in little circles. Riley’s shoulders don’t loosen but he does rub his nose over Mactavish’s scent gland.

“Smell like him.”

“Aye, had to carry him over my shoulder. Wouldn’t stop bleating like a wee lamb the whole time.”

The snort Riley lets out is strangled, smothered against his neck. Despite Riley’s amusement, his scent is still muddy with a sharp bitter tinge.

Can’t have his omega smelling like that now, can he? Mactavish fits his unoccupied hand around Riley’s jaw, cradling his cheek and tugging him out into the open. The little sound Riley lets out at being dislodged is disgruntled and his eyes, blue like the loch Mactavish grew up visiting, are shuttered.

Riley stares at him a long moment, jaw ticking like he’s grinding the words down to powder. Then, quietly, with the same lethal calm he uses when a target’s in sight—

“If you even so much as look at another omega,” Ghost says, “I will end them.”

And it’s Ghost speaking, not Riley. Cold steel and deadly precision. The same tone of voice used to threaten targets and hardware that refuses to cooperate. Eyes glacial, jaw tight.

“I mean it,” Ghost says, close enough now that his breath curls under Mactavish’s jaw. “I don’t care if they’re bleeding out. I don’t care if they’re on fire. Don’t touch them.”

“Tryna get me court-martialed?” Mactavish asks.

Riley scowls. “Not joking.”

“I know yer not,” Mactavish reassures, soft and sure as his thumb strokes just under Riley’s right eye. The dark circles are back, he’ll have to make sure Riley gets some proper sleep.

Riley’s hand fists in the front of Mactavish’s shirt like he’s trying to hold him in place — like he’s afraid Mactavish might vanish if he doesn’t. His gaze has dropped down to Mactavish’s neck and if he were to draw a dotted line from Riley’s eyes to it, he’s pretty sure he’d end up at his scent gland.

“Saw me carry him off the field, didn’t ye?”

Riley doesn’t respond.

“I was doing my job,” Mactavish says, wrapping his other arm around Riley’s waist. “Getting a kid out of danger. That’s all.”

Riley stays silent. But his grip doesn’t loosen, fingers clenched so tightly in Mactavish’s shirt the knuckles are white.

“Simon,” Mactavish says, finally. “You know I’m not looking at anyone else.”

Riley makes a small, sharp noise and shoves away from him.

“Don’t patronize me,” Riley says as he stalks over to the bed and drops down to sit on it. Mactavish’s heart clenches as he watches Simon curl into himself, hands cradling his face.

Mactavish lets him go. Lets Simon retreat and have a moment.

“‘M not patronizing,” he says after a minute. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Simon’s quiet for a long time. Mactavish watches his alarm clock tick over to 22:45, to 22:46, to 22:47 before Riley drops his hands with a sigh.

“Shouldn’t smell like him. Smells wrong,” Riley mutters.

Mactavish should have addressed this earlier, should have made it clear to Riley. Clearly, he’s dropped the ball if Riley doesn’t realize he’s wanted, been claimed. Riley’s a brat, sure, and he drives Mactavish up the fucking wall half the time — but that’s just the surface. Underneath, he’s never been good at taking what’s his, let alone believing he deserves to keep it. Not when so little in his life was ever his.

Mactavish takes the few steps over to the bed. He may be a Captain and have quarters to match, but that doesn’t mean they’re big. He sits on the bed, thigh pressed up against Riley. Leaning in with one hand bracing on the bed behind Riley, the other he uses to tilt Riley’s chin up. Locks their gazes, so Riley can see the sincerity. Because talk has always been cheap to Simon. Actions are what matter.

“Then fix it,” he says quietly.

He can feel how Riley’s muscles tense, how his breath hitches.

Mactavish presses closer, ducking his head down to nuzzle into Riley’s neck. To scent him. “Go on. Make me smell like you again, sweetheart.”

Riley shoves him back into the bed. Jostling him up the bed so that Mactavish is propped up against the pillows near its head.

“You’re such a bastard,” Riley grits out, nuzzling furiously against his neck, trying to bury his scent there like it’s a claim and a punishment all at once.

Mactavish wraps him in a hug, pulling him in tight and hums, content. Rubs his neck against any part of Simon that he can reach with it and the scent glands in his wrists over the rest.

“Told you before,” he murmurs, “I’m yours, Simon.”

Riley slumps at that, resting his forehead against Mactavish’s collarbone. He’s trembling a little but his scent is clearing, bitterness receding under his usual metallic-petrichor scent.

“You’re mine, John,” he says, and it’s not a threat this time, but a need and a want and a truth all wrapped into one.

Mactavish strokes a hand down his back. “Yours, sweetheart.”

They lie in the quiet for a long while, Riley sprawled half on top of him, breathing heavy against Mactavish’s neck, still gripping at his shirt like someone might come and pry them apart.

Mactavish keeps his hands moving, petting lazily up and down his back, just touching. Soothing.

Then, calm and low so as to not disturb this little bit of peace they’ve carved out for themselves:

“Could make it official, y’know,” Mactavish offers.

That gets a reaction.

Riley stiffens—not much, but enough for Mactavish to feel it. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t speak, but his scent flares, filling the room with the scent of an omega staking a claim.

Mactavish doesn’t push it. Just keeps petting him.

“You’d like that,” Ghost mutters eventually, voice muffled and sulky.

Mactavish snorts. “You’re the one actin’ like we’re bonded already.”

Ghost huffs but doesn’t deny it.

Mactavish shifts, just enough to press a long kiss to the side of his head.

“You’re mine, too, y’know. Have been for a long time.”

Ghost makes a small, pleased noise.

“No looking at other alphas?” Mactavish teases, voice warm with laughter.

Ghost grumbles something unintelligible, face burrowed deeper into Mactavish’s chest.

Mactavish grins, all teeth and affection.

“That’s what I thought.”

[scriptastra]

[pure-oddity]

Odd occurances around your home that should have been questioned, but weren't- until now.

(141! Doll au) pt2. (Pt.1)

Like the dish rack being less full than you remember. Not as many dirty dishes left in the sink.

("Im no bum love, gotta do my share. 'Sides if youre gonna be the one cookin i can take care of the dishes.")

Or your clothes being set out in the morning! While no, they weren't laid out on the bed or anything. but getting dressed for work in the morning was so much easier when all you needed was positioned closer together.

("If ya got dressed quicker means you had more time for breakfast. Was getting worried watching you skip it all the time. Aint it easier having everything in one spot?")

Or how sometimes the shower would be damp, not dripping, but not dry. You blamed the broken dehumidifier, something you had to empty every day - now something that never seems to get full

("Not broken love , I just can't stand the fuckin things beeping. Easier to just empty it out whenever I take a shower ")

Little things all added up made it more obvious that you were living with another human being.

("Little labors of love, not supposed to be noticed necessarily. Just something I wanted to do for ya")

You're too confused to stay scared. You're almost giddy with how fucking absurd this whole situation is. You literally bought a boyfriend , a hot boyfriend who likes you. 'How did you meet?' They'll ask 'standard shipping!' You'll reply.

So when he kisses you, slow and full of passion, you reciprocate. Pull him in by his shirt, let him wrap you in his arms - enveloped in his warmth. This weird dreams gonna end soon. You'll wake up to your figurine sat innocently on your desk - unmoving behind glass.

Till then, you're going to enjoy the smile he presses into each kiss.

[eiraeths]

soap who has a sketchbook full of pages only filled with ghost’s portrait. there’s a timeline visible with each sketch. the first time saw ghost’s face is the first page. crystal clear clarity with dark crisp lines, sure with every stroke. the picture gets less clear as time goes on. once again, the picture is clear. this time, there’s beauty marks and scars in perfect detail. soap and ghost are an item now, and ghost is for sure soap’s muse. for a while, all the portraits are as close as one can get to picture perfect. the pages start to get smudged. harsh, angry lines. stains just like tear drops. steadily, the face that once filled the pages from an adoring view becomes murky and shaky. soap never gets to finish the sketchbook.

[safi-pdf]

PLEASE HELP

does anyone know what performance this was??? asking for a friend...