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#simon ghost riley fanfiction
bunnys-kisses · 2 days
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simple woman
simon "ghost" riley
cw: mask kink, dub-con, breeding, bimbo-ish!reader, size difference/kink, choking, finger-fucking, degradation (misogyny), impregnation/pregnancy, minor praise kink, there's a lot happening a word from bunny: like the fic! suggest your own! comments are always welcomed <3
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simon just thought you were the sweetest thing to come out the army. he must've thought they were getting desperate by letting a scaredy cat like you in. look at you, you could've even hold a gun steady with your arms shaking! tsk, tsk, tsk. someone like you shouldn't be in a place like this, with all these scary men.
they'd eat you alive and then chew on your bones. they'd lick you in and out like the inside of a crisp package. stay with simon, he'd keep you safe. but safety came with a price. and that price landed you with an extra eight inches inside of you.
he had you alone for the night, away from your barracks and into the single room he had. the privileges of what he did. but a good girl like you had to behave. be good for him.
strong fingers were thrusted in and out of your sweet cunt as he kept another hand of his around your neck to keep you quiet. he wore his mask to conceal his face. even after all this time you saw was his lips and the nasty scar on one side.
"that's a good girl." he said quietly, "i like how you act when i'm three fingers inside of ya. you take me so well."
you whimpered and clutched onto his shoulders. he was just so big compared to you, in every sense of the word. he at least had a head over you and broad enough shoulders that he easily blocked out the sun when he loomed over you. he was strong and domineering.
"that's my girl. you know no one else can have you, right? because if the wrong fucker tried to take you from me. they'd simply end up in pieces in the river."
your nailed dug into the meat of one of his shoulders as you tried to support yourself. you whimpered as he held you still by your throat as he moved his fingers faster in and out of you. you kicked your legs out but he curled around you to keep you close to him.
"stop that, love. i'd hate to have to tie you up and gag you." he squeezed a little and you wheezed. he knew he was in control, he loved the control he had over his little doll.
you squeezed onto him tighter as you tried to take as much air as you could between the moments he relaxed his grip. he dipped his face into your neck as inhaled your sweaty scent, to him it smelt amazing.
"simon." you croaked.
"no, no, girlie. it's lieutenant. and not lt like soap says." he reminded you as he pulled his hand away from your throat and tapped his finger against your nose. he watched you take a deep breath after being deprived of (most) air for some time.
you sputtered and coughed and he continued to fuck you with his calloused fingers. he admired the mark around your neck that he was certain was going to go purple within a few days. he wrapped an arm around around shoulders and pulled you into him as he continued to brutalize your cunt with his fingers.
you panted and moaned into his skin and your nails dug into his shoulders as you tried to leverage yourself. you felt on the knife's edge of pleasure even if it was rough and messy. your toes curled as you panted heavily. the room felt hot and your head felt like a mess.
simon was the only anchor you had to reality. you moaned softly into his strong neck, you could feel the sweat drip down it and onto your nose. it must got hot under the mask.
when you climaxed, your cunt tightened around his fingers. he knew and clamped a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. he watched your tense as he finger-fucked you, then when you relaxed and collapsed onto the bed with you nude body on display for him.
he pulled out his fingers and slipped them under the back to get a taste of your wetness. he groaned to himself before he got your legs off his lap. he got up from the bed and started to undress. you looked at him, your mind was drawn to a blank as you saw the muscle on his body.
he wasn't simply built the way men in superhero movies were. he was like a classic strongman you once saw in a book. you could tell there was heavy muscle, but a layer of thickness over top. it kept him warm in the cold months on base. if he were an animal, it would be like a bear. bulky, intimidating, ready to tear apart whatever victim got in its jaws.
he was scary, you were in love with him.
simon didn't love, he obsessed. his entire life had been stalking, almost hunting for the 'bad guys'. when he worked it was an obsession to track down the likes of terrorists, so it would only make sense that he loved the same way.
he got undressed, but still opted to keep the mask on. you could see his stern dark eyes staring at you as you laid on your stomach on his bed. he could tell you were still out of it, your mind a blur.
"that's a good girl. nice and dumb for me." he chuckled quietly to himself as he approached the bed once more, "no need to think about a damn thing, just how good i make you feel."
"simon, please." you whimpered.
he chuckled as he came over and ruffled your hair, "i know, i know. you're always trying to prove yourself to captain price. but i know what you're capable of. meant to be a good doll for me, maybe instead of being a Sargent, you can become my wife. a better fittin' title for you." he rarely spoke much, but when he was with you and your brain was splatted to the back of your skull, the words came out.
his tongue was filthy, but he saw how you reacted to them. he knew you were a dirty whore, he was just lucky to find you first and keep you all to himself.
he sat down on the edge of the bed and groped your ass. his touches were rough and you tried to back away from him on the bed. but you could never truly escape simon. he was a ghost, he'd find you. so don't go running away, as he always warned you. he wagged his finger at you like you were some kind of child.
but now he was kissing at your neck and gripping your ass with his broad hand. he loved how you felt under him, how he pressed into you. he could crush you so easily, that was why he never understood how you even got into the army. you bruised like a fruit, there were many times he grabbed you and were left purple within a few days.
simon loved the bruises. but only when he did them. he wasn't going to beat you down, you were his doll. but he did enjoy the sight of the splotches of purple and blue on your hips when you undressed for him. he wondered if your fellow soldiers ever gossiped about them.
but that wasn't anything to worry about. soon simon would have his way and you wouldn't even be in the forces. as he moved your hips to be at level with his hard cock, he thought about the nice house he'll get for the both of you.
somewhere he can keep you safe, his hidden treasure. he did want children, he wanted many of them. and you'd give them all to him, he wondered if your folks would be okay if he got you knocked up before the wedding.
the thought made him smile under his mask as he sank down into your pussy, all eight inches slammed into the back of your pussy. you let out a loud moan but he clamped a hand around you mouth to keep you quiet.
"i'm pretty sure." he said, "you don't want the base to know how much of a fuckin' slag you are." he kissed your cheek through the mask harshly, "that's for me to know." then started to thrust in and out of you with on hand around your mouth and the other on your shoulder to guide your body up and down his cock.
the mask up against your hot cheek was overstimulating, the fabric of the balaclava was rough against your skin. your cheeks stung as he thrusted up into you.
the bed squeaked under you two as the headboard hit against the wall gently. simon was lucky that he didn't have any neighbours in that direction.
he was domineering over top of you, he had you under his weight as his cock bullied against your cervix. you gasped and moaned into his hand as you saw stars in your vision. you were such a treat.
he was obsessed with you, he only wanted you. you were everything to him. now he just needed a piece of land and enough security to make sure that no one was going to hurt a single hair on your head. after all it was his duty as the man to make sure his wife was alright.
"you're perfect like this. this is how a woman should be." he remarked, "under me, letting me fuck that sweet cunt. you're a good girl for me. you'll make a good role model for our girls."
you squeaked and your eyes went wide for a moment. but then he slammed against your womb and your eyes rolled back from the intense pleasure. you held onto the bed under you and your back was arched as he fucked your harder.
he was practically fucking you up against the headboard, with your body contorted so he could thrust into you without much abandon. your wet pussy made the most delicious sounds as he used you. it felt so good. it was like you were made for him.
he groaned against you and continued his harsh thrusts. he kept you pinned to him, where you belonged. "pretty girl like you was probably told her entire life that you could be whatever you wanted. but, i know better. meant to be a wife and mother to a good englishman." he chuckled in your ear, "make the queen proud by havin' a few brats with me." he felt your cunt tighten around him which made him groan, "my doll likes that, huh? puttin' a man on top for once. don't worry i ain't no deadbeat. happy wife, happy life." he pulled up his mack a little so he could get the feeling of your heated skin against his lips.
you hated how he talked down to you because you were a woman. you had enough of it in the military. but it stirred something in you that you had little words for. maybe the idea of having a few kids with simon wasn't a bad idea. no more trainings, no more missions. just you and him. even as you tried to shake the thought off, your body responded by clenching around his cock. As to ensure that he stayed right in your pussy.
he dropped your face onto the pillow and held you by the neck. then with his other hand he raised your hips further. he was holding you up as he bruised your pussy with his cock.
"nice little place out in the country. five kids should be enough to keep ya busy. five under four years if we're lucky." he chuckled darkly, "kept woman, that's what you'll be. my lovely wife in her place, as she should be." he chuckled. you couldn't even look behind you to see the face he was making with his mask pulled up every so slightly.
"simon." you whimpered.
"what did i say, doll? you're a lower rank among other things. don't make me punish ya."
"sorry, lieutenant." you squeaked.
"good girl." he continued his harsh thrusts that left the bed moving. your brain felt like mush once more, his words rang in your head like church bells. you were too far gone with him, he was obsessed with you. his claws were in you long before this and there was no escaping it now.
it almost brought a cold fear in you at the idea of taking another lover. if he found out someone touched what was his. you could only imagine the damage he'd do, not only to the man you were with but also you, yourself.
his movements started to stagger, he had less focus and was relying on instinct as he rammed his cock into you. he was getting close to his own climax. your pussy was such a delight around him, you accommodated his large size perfectly. you were a dream.
he gave a few more heavy thrusts before he finished inside of you, "good girl, take me all. that's it. make sure not to spill a drop or i'll have to get find ways to keep in ya next time."
"yes, lieutenant." you moaned into the pillows. you tensed when he started to play with your clit. his fingers were fat but nimble. they rubbed against your sweet spot as you clenched around his still hardened cock.
"i ain't done with you yet, love." he said in your ear as you climaxed around him, "got a couple more loads before i think i've seeded ya enough. you just lie there like a good girl and let me take care of everything."
there was no option to say 'no', you were pinned under him with his cock buried inside of you. you meekly nodded. he chuckled and you shuddered.
you knew it was going to be a long night.
-
the last name riley wasn't the worst one to have. simon often joked that it could be long like mactavish. it had been three years since you left the military to be his bride.
now you were on your fourth kid, about six months pregnant. you hard a girl and two twin boys. you wanted to keep the gender of baby number four a secret.
he had your legs open, he held onto your thighs as he sank his cock into you. he groaned out loud. the kids were asleep which meant it was time for mama and papa to play.
he placed your legs up against his chest, closed to one side. he then leaned forward and bent your knees as much as the belly would allow. he had you in a press as he bullied his cock into your pussy.
he groaned as he felt the tight heat around his cock. you looked perfect in his eyes, you gave him everything he wanted. you were a fine mama, a good wife to him. he gave a few gentle thrusts as he looked into your eyes.
the mask was long gone, but the look in his eye remained back when you first started to have sex. he was obsessed with you still and every little thing you did.
there was no place you could ever hide from him. he had claimed you inside and out. but it was alright, he intended on keeping you for a long time.
"good girl." he grumbled.
"thank you, lieutenant." <3
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blingblong55 · 24 hours
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Landslide -Simon "Ghost" Riley
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Based on a request: I was talking about military father-daughter balls with a coworker and as a fluff request to also cleanse your asks: How about Simon walking into his daughters room wearing his suit, going to ask his wife to do his bow tie because he's never been one for formal occasions and sees R/N is getting their daughter ready into her dress and doing her hair.
---- F!Reader, fluff, dad!Ghost, father-daughter moment ----
It's an old tradition that dads did with their daughters, something he never expected to attend and here he is, getting in his dress uniform. His ribbons, medals and the tight berret all decored him. As he was about to put his last medal on, he remembered the stupid tie. He was good at tying ropes but stupid ties that made him forget everything he learned were just…ugh where is his darling wife when he needs him?
"Bloody thing-" he gets cut off by a giggle from his daughter. Oh, that sweet sound that made him retire years ago. As his daughter giggles, he finds himself smiling and forgetting about the tie and the one woman who knows how to tie one is his sweet wife. Slowly, he finds himself walking to the bedroom, looking down as he tries to figure out how to tie this without looking and feeling dumb.
"And then daddy will dance with me?" your sweet daughter says and you nod. "He will and you best be on your best behaviour, okay?" You say as you fix zip her dress up and smile. Simon leans on the doorway and smiles. This is the life any soldier like him ever dreamed of.
He doesn't want to interrupt, this is a special moment after all and he hopes that this becomes a tradition. One that he can continue even with the little one in your soft belly.
Your daughter with a small pout asks if she will always be as pretty as she is tonight and before you can answer, Simon does it for you. "Your daddy's little princess, of course, you'll always be as pretty– no, you'll always be as beautiful and elegant as tonight, just like your mum," he smiles and winks your way.
He always has a way with words and always knows when to compliment you and your princess.
"Now sit still, I have to finish this braid," you softly say and smile. Your little girl is as eager as ever to go out with her dad tonight. And as you do her hair, Simons sits on the edge of the bed, watching you both.
He went from guns, infiltrations and bombs to having pink stickers, toys, dolls and bows all over his home and he will never complain about it. It's beautiful really. He knows that the change is so different but it's so good, he likes the car rides to and from school where he has to play two certain songs over and over. And Soap may laugh at him anytime he gets in the car after a night out and the radio station is on a kid's station but he is a dad and fuck does he love being a dad.
Once you place the last bow and apply the glitter to her hair, Simon is next. Here he was, standing like a little kid to have his mother help him with something. "I just don't get it, love," he says as he lets you tie the tie. You smile, tightening and adjusting his shirt, "Just takes time, Si," you kiss his cheek and chuckle a little as you have to clean his cheek from the lipstick stain. He smiles like a lovesick fool.
A cheeky smile appears on him as your daughter takes his hand, "We'll be late daddy." she reminds him and he smiles. He taught her well, that time management was always important and if he had to arrive at an event at a certain time, he was always there 10 minutes earlier and now so will his daughter.
"Alright, c'mon," he picks her up and kisses your cheek. "We'll be home at 10:30, alright love?" he brushes your cheek and kisses your forehead. "You and the little lad stay warm," he says as he closes the front door.
The whole night was amazing for them both. She received flowers when she got to the car because gentlemen should always give flowers on special nights and she always danced with him all night.
It is a night for the years to come, a new tradition that will heal the old wounds of an old soldier.
Tags: @liyanahelena @uniquecroissant @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @iruzias @frazie99 @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @@konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @kaoyamamegami @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @@foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @@sleepyycatt @believeinthefireflies95
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gloomwitchwrites · 18 hours
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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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synthe4u · 2 days
Text
Part two to this
Requested by @hani-amerta
-
Now you've been seeing him wherever you go. His bloodied mask haunting your dreams.
You had to take an early retirement because of your 'hallucinations'. But even still, no matter what, he follows you.
He would sometimes be behind your shopping cart when you go to grab something. Only turning back to the cart when you're ready to put the item in.
Sometimes you can see his face on other people. You once scared a man after staring at him too long. The stranger had come up to ask if you were okay, but you could only do nothing as you muttered Ghost's name. It really freaked the man out.
Your psychologist said it was a normal reaction after the loss of a comrade, but they've put you on medication. You don't bother to check what kind of medication because you decided it would be best to be crazy and see him instead of being lonely and cold.
He was your friend and hope. He helped you stay in lane and not quit after the third mission you had together. You've been through thick and thin. So it doesn't matter if he's just a hallucination or an actual ghost. You only care that he's with you.
You told your psychologist once, which they proceeded to give you heavier medication. You still didn't take them. After that, you've started to lie.
Lying to both your psychologist and others, but most importantly, you've started lying to yourself.
You started staying indoors more. Making two cups of tea instead of one. Setting two plates out, but only cleaning one. Ghost usually cleans his own dishes.
When your old captain came to visit, it was only then that you realized the stack of moldy plates are a problem. The cups left sitting on the table, taking up to much space is a problem.
"The medicine given to you is supposed to help."
The captain was silent for a moment before continuing, "Have you been taking them?"
You didn't answer him, nor did you divert your eyes away from the couch. Ghost was right there. How could your captain not see him?
Maybe you really were going crazy. Maybe you should start to take your medicine.
But you didn't want to be alone.
Your captain left, once again reminding you to take your medicine.
You didn't feel like swallowing pills any time soon so you decided to just make some tea. Tea was his favorite. Now it was yours.
You couldn't leave him alone. He needed you. You needed Ghost. You wouldn't take your medicine, but you wouldn't go crazy. Though, you were already crazy and couldn't go crazy any more.
Closing your eyes to take a rest, you awoke to find yourself in a hospital.
(Also not edited or proofread)
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yawnderu · 2 days
Note
Do you think ghost would like someone similar to ada ( the mommiest)
I think in general and due to mommy issues, Simon would absolutely adore an older woman who knows what she's doing. Perhaps she's a superior, a colonel for some SAS soldiers or a Captain, having Simon under her command temporarily, yet just enough to make him interested.
Maybe she's even working with different special forces and is an ally to the 141, coming to save their asses and leaving the moment the tasks are completed, likely to not be seen again for months or even years, until the next time they're in trouble. 👀
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sadiem777-blog · 2 days
Text
I'm going insane, I have been SEARCHING for this one Ghost x Reader fic where the reader and Ghost are fwb ans she always gets herself off before they meet up and he catches her in the middle of doing so one time and punishes her for it. PLEASE, can somebody find it?? I've been looking on Ao3 and here for like all of my free time today 💋💋
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rileyslibrary · 2 months
Text
After suffering a gunshot wound, you wake up in a hospital bed with Ghost sitting by your side. Unfortunately, the effects of anaesthesia leave you unable to recognise him and, worse, confuse him with someone else.
A/N: Fluff. Based on a request I received a while ago. Hope you like it, anon!
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A machine on your left beeps rhythmically. The taste of something metallic lingers in your mouth, and the iodine smell stinks your nostrils. Your eyes open slowly, but the bright ceiling light forces them shut again. You lick your lips and attempt to swallow a couple of times. Dry. Your mouth is dry. You need water. Your hand moves towards your face, but a low, raspy voice advises you against it.
“Careful now,” it says, and a hand gently grabs your wrist. “Don’t pull the IV off.”
You turn your head towards the figure beside you and squint. It’s a man, but your blurry vision doesn’t help you identify him. Your eyes travel to your wrist and focus on the closest part of him: a skeleton’s hand.
You try to shake your hand off his grip, but it turns out futile. Frustrated, you give up and raise your middle finger at him.
“Not my time yet,” you declare. “Fuck off.”
“Pardon?” he asks.
“Not ready to go yet,” you reply, tucking your middle finger in your palm and lifting it back up again. “And also, fuck off.”
The man releases your wrist, placing your hand gently beside you. He clears his throat and leans forward. Though your vision remains blurry, you spot what looks like a human skull with a hood over it.
“How are you feeling, love?” he asks, his tone softer.
“How am I feeling, love?” you repeat. “Did Hell improve their customer service?”
“I’m not-” The man begins but pauses. He sighs, shakes his head and rests his elbows on his thighs. “Never mind.”
“Where am I?” You ask.
“Hospital.” He replies. “You took a bullet.”
Directing your attention to your body, you feel a dull throb in your chest. You wince as your fingers brush against the bandages.
“You are joking.” You reply and slap your hand on the bed. “Why? How?”
“Well,” He says and tilts his head to the side. “You exchanged a few shots with the enemy, your gun ran out of bullets, his didn’t, and here we are.”
“My gun?” You ask, shocked. “I have a gun?”
“Several.” He nods.
“SEVERAL?” You shout. “Why would I possibly need several guns?”
“It’s your job, love.” He replies.
“My job is to have several guns?” you ask. “And shooting at people?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he explains, “but it’s mainly for defence.”
“Well,” you shrug and wince at the pain. “Doesn’t look like I’m that good at defence—especially for having several guns.”
“I was really worr—”
“Water,” you interrupt and gesture at your mouth. “I need water.”
“Doctor said it’s not the time for water yet,” he replies.
“Why?” you ask, pretending to check a non-existent wristwatch. “What time is it?”
“No, love,” he replies and muffles a chuckle. “Doctor said you need to wait until you have some water.”
“You throw the ‘love’ thing a little too freely,” you mumble, licking your lips and lifting your index finger. “I’d be really careful if I were you.”
“Really?” he asks, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Why?”
“I,” you say and point at yourself, “got a boyfriend, thank you very much.”
“Oh,” he exclaims and tilts his head. “Is that so.”
“Yup,” you nod. “And he can kill you.”
“Can he?”
“Can?” You say, and a smug smile forms on your dry lips. “He will absolutely, one hundred and a thousand per cent kill you.”
“Is he that good?” He asks.
“I mean,” you shrug, motioning at the bandages on your chest. “He’s much better than I am.”
“Oh wow,” he exclaims and leans forward. “Is he as good of a boyfriend as he is a shooter?”
“Far from it,” you reply, letting your hand fall to your side.
The man doesn’t speak. He doesn’t seem that comfortable all of a sudden. He shuffles in his chair, trying to find a better position, and when he does, he clasps his hands together.
“Go on,” he finally says. “Spill it.”
“Ok, so,” you begin, “first things first, he doesn’t listen to me when I want to vent, and whenever he does, all he says is nonsense.”
“The lad gives you solutions,” he snaps, “and you call them nonsense?”
“I don’t want solutions, man,” you reply, shaking your head. “I want him to just listen to me.”
“Even if the solutions he provides are literally the answers to your suffering?”
“Even then.” You confirm.
“Gotcha,” he nods. “What else?”
“Oof,” you sigh, “how much time do you have?”
“I’m immortal,” he reminds you, “plus the next reaping is in five hours.”
“Oh boy,” you reply. “Business not going that well lately, huh?”
“Not many deaths to take care of,” he spits. “I guess some people could use some serious training when it comes to their aim.”
“Speaking of training,” you say, “he’s always at work and never spends much time with me.”
“The guy’s trying to spend as much time with you as he can, for fucks sake!” he shouts, throwing his hands up. “He even lied to get you on his team!”
“How do you know he put me on his team?” You ask.
“I keep a close eye on him.” He replies.
“What did he lie about?”
“Your precision in aiming,” he jokes and motions for you to continue. “Next one.”
“I can’t think of anything else,” you reply. “Other than he doesn’t say how much he loves me.”
“You’re having a laugh now, aren’t you?” He says, and his tone feels almost threatening. “He’s showing it to you daily; offering advice, keeping you close to him, even risking the possibility of being accused of nepotism for crying out loud! He doesn’t need to say it as well for you to know it!”
“It’s just nice to hear it sometimes,” you sigh and twist a thread from the bed sheet. You turn your head slightly toward him, and he lowers his head to the ground.
“How about you?” You ask. “You have a girlfriend?”
“I do,” he confirms.
“Shut up!” You shout, widening your eyes and immediately closing them back again. “Where did you guys meet?”
“Hell,” he replies. “Right in the pits of it.”
“How is she?” You ask.
“Perfect.” He states.
“Bullshit,” you murmur. “No one’s perfect.”
“She is to me.” He says, shrugging.
“Do you love her?” You ask.
“Absolutely,” he replies, nodding slowly. “One hundred and a thousand per cent I do.”
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Simon Riley whose insomnia is so bad that when you first start sharing a bed together, he gets a wink of sleep. Not that he gets more than that any other night but still…
You’d be lying next to him, fast asleep, curled up in his arms. He’s almost there. Almost asleep. So close…
And then you shift. And he’s wide awake again. 
Staring down at your sleeping body that shifted an inch closer to him. That took him out of his beauty sleep. 
Almost. 
He could be asleep and you’d shift around a little, he’d still wake up and look over at you. Eyes narrowed to see if you were awake. 
When he’s asleep and you get up to grab something, he jolts awake as if on the battlefield, ready to rip a head off. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Gonna go get a glass of water…and maybe some sleeping pills for you,” you tease, heading to the kitchen. 
But when he finally does get used to sharing a bed and his insomnia lessens, be ready for his loud loud loud ass snores.
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secretlovezz · 2 months
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Simon Riley who just needs to stare at his girl for a while after coming home from a four and a half month deployment.
His gaze is stuck on you, darting around looking to see if anything changed. He needs to memorize everything. He's watching the way your eyes meet his every once in a while to make sure he is still listening to what you got up to while he was gone -you smile every time you look at him-, he's watching the way your lips move as you speak, lips opening and closing while you talk, tongue touching the tip of your teeth when you say certain words. You have him absolutely mesmerized with every one of your movements.
God, he missed this.
He missed watching and listening to his girl.
His girl.
His one and only.
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diejager · 4 months
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Hiii,I really like your story about Ghost x bunny!reader.Can you please do moreee🥺🥺🥺💖🐰
Needy Bunny Cw: heat/mating cycle, breeding kink, rough sex, mating press, doggy style, unprotected sex, PinV, tell me if I missed any.
You clawed at the sheets, hips bucking back, rutting against the heated palm of his scarred and calloused hand, fingers filling you so well. Your bed smelled like him, something familiar you associated with comfort and safety, gorging on his rich and powerful scent. He smelled like blood and gunpowder, itching you sensitive nose, and the soft tone of something woody —an addictive bourbon and calm sandalwood.
You crooned softly, burying your face deeper into his many shirts, mask and blanket, all infused with his aged scent and sweat, masking you in his scent, drowning in the delicious smell of him. You were clouded by a primal need, to be bred and nurse little kits in your stomach, you didn’t have any sensible thought inside your head, all you wanted was to smell like Ghost and bear his kits by becoming his.
When thrown into the throes of your heat - vicious and unforgiving - you became dumb and needy, wandering the halls of the base for Ghost and pawing at him until he brought you to his room. The moment he closed and locked the door, you were naked and kneeling on his bed, face down on his pillow, drooling over the musky cloth and ass up, showing him how wet and needy you were, cunt winking and clit throbbing from the cool air in his room —it helped with the warmth you exhumed from your heat, body burning so much calories to sustain you during it.
You were deaf to Ghost’s degrading words, uncaring by how mean his words were or how rough he was, all that mattered was that he was using you, his fingers straight as they drove in, hitting your g-spot. Slick dripped from his wrist, your sweet cunt oozing it, transparent and salty fluid tasting sugary on his tongue, his mask rolled up his nose to press the flat of his tongue against your twitching nub, swirling around it wile he pumped you with three, thick fingers.
You whined when he pulled out his fingers, tongue pushing into your hole and slurping down your slick, swallowing your sweet cum in gulps. He drank up your little mewls, sound more like a cat than a bunny, his hand roved over your thighs and around the swell of your ass, spanked red from acting like a little whore in front of other men, and grabbed your snowball-like tail, harshly pulling on it to get a reaction out of you. You yipped loudly, back arching and trying to get out of his tight hold on your sensitive tail, the twitching ball stuck between his fingers even as he pressed the round head of his cock against your clenching hole, tip nudging your entrance —teasing you.
“Please-” you wailed, sobbing for relief you knew that only he could give you, something to fill you up and keep you full until this heat passed. “Ghost, please-”
He kept you still, one hand on your hip and the other still tugging at your tail, he drove in with a sharp snap, thrusting his whole length in one, rough go that had you keening, loud, whorish sounds slipping from your tongue as your eyes rolled back, walls squeezing him as you came. He was warm, cock snugly sitting inside of you, he was as heavy as he was thick, the girth covered in veins and the base in trimmed, musky hair.
He took a few experimental thrusts, rough and unsteady, before he bottomed out completely, heavy balls slapping your engorged clit. Ghost set deep and hard pace, his sculpted hips snapping against your sensitive ass, using his grip on you to hold the pace, plunging in, the leaky tip of his uncut cock slamming into your spongy cervix, veins scratching at your clenching walls, frenum piercings, three starting from the base up rubbing you deliciously.
With how high stung you were, body shuddering and cunt spamming with another upcoming climax, it didn’t take you long before you came a second time. Bursting with a cry, legs kicking and trembling beneath you, you bucked your hips against him, pushing him deeper into you. You were squirming so much so that he had to turn you over, manhandling you from your presented position to a mating press, bent in half with your legs hanging from his broad shoulders, taking him again and again - even as you came twice or thrice, coating him in your juice, his navel and balls wet down to his thighs - until he had his fill.
“You want a kit, is that it?” He growled, forearm pressing down on your throat without putting any lethal force, simply to hold you down, to keep you restrained to your nest, “Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll knock you up, yeah? Put a little rabbit in that cunt of yours, breed you nice and deep.”
Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan
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groguspicklejar · 6 months
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Simon adores you so much that he even doesn't realize how soft he is when he's around you.
he could go from raging quietly in the corner because of something an annoying rookie to melting in your touch in an instant. the others have seen it when all five of you went out from drinks at a pub.
Simon didn't like this rookie. he was brash, spoke too loud and utterly disrespectful at times. being around this individual was a nightmare.
honestly, Simon didn't realize he was scowling at the prick until he heard your quiet voice call his name. when he glances at your worried expression, his eyes immediately soften. like every last violent thought in his brain just disappears and there is only you.
something about this makes me melt like ice cream on tarred road
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greatstormcat · 5 months
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Stalker!Ghost left a couple of security cameras in your house during the last time he visited and saw your note. This meant he got to see your reaction the next morning when you saw what he had written. It gave him an intense rush to see you stop dead in your tracks when you saw the single written syllable. He could imagine how your heart would pound in your chest as you picked up the pad and stared.
Stalker!Ghost watched as you’d look around in confusion, trying to piece together what was happening. From that moment on he saw that you watched your surroundings carefully when you were out and about, obviously looking to see if someone was stalking you. Of course you didn’t have a stalker, you had him to keep weirdos like that away.
The last time Price had come to visit he had suggested Ghost get a hobby like the therapist had suggested at his discharge. Looking after you was proving to be an ideal use of his time.
Stalker!Ghost watched you go into work and then went back to his flat. The simple two bedroom place was starting to feel a bit more homely now after he’d put pictures up which added colour to the otherwise bare walls.
It was nice that they were all of you. Every single one of them.
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imperihoe-writes · 4 months
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Over His Shoulder
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Simon 'Ghost' Riley / fem!Reader
Summary:  Simon decides that his girl needs a Christmas tree (how on Earth is she going to properly celebrate otherwise?).
Content:   pure fluff, flirting, pining, first-dates-stage, kissing, Simon showing off all that military muscle
Word Count:  2.2k
Part: 1/2
Notes: I saw that @glitterypirateduck is hosting a 2023 COD holiday special and couldn’t resist putting in my own two cents. ✨ Inspired by the song Christmas Tree Farm by Taylor Swift, I had been wanting to write this exact thing for ages! Enjoy my dears. 🤍🎄
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Holding his large hand in hers, she closed her eyes as rare snowflakes drifted past, the sharp and icy wind stinging her cheeks and carrying the unmistakable scent of sap and green and Christmas.
"The fuck you mean you don‘t have a tree?"
Cracking one eye open again, she turned to stare up at Simon where they stood, hot mulled wines and ciders still clutched in their hands. 
He looked handsome, white-blonde curls partially hidden beneath a bright blue beanie, the new scar bisecting his lower lip and running down to his chin a darker shade of pink due to the cold. Stormy eyes watched her, way more intense than she would have anticipated given their light-hearted conversation only moments before.
She popped another cinnamon roasted almond into her mouth, letting go of him, before replying. 
"Well, none of my flatmates are home for the holidays."
Simon stared at her.
"And?"
With a huff and fond eye-roll, she peered up at him, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially.
"Don‘t tell anyone, Si. But I draw my feminism and equality line at carrying a Christmas tree through three neighborhoods by myself."
Amusement replaced the strangely endearing outrage over something as simple as a missing tree.
"I see. But it‘s your first Christmas away from your family, don‘t y’want to make it special?"
The question was uncharacteristically gentle. Simon brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face, fingertips lingering on her cheekbone for a moment.
The cider in her bloodstream made her want to do reckless things, like pull him in closer and kiss him stupid for everybody to see. 
But although they‘d gone on multiple dates ever since he‘d come home from deployment, and even shyly kissed goodbye after the last two, she still felt awkward.
He was turning out to be everything she‘d ever wanted in a man: kind, funny, handsome as hell. Interested in her beyond her body. Attentive.
She hadn‘t wanted to fuck it up by being too forward, didn‘t want him to think that she was easy, even though she knew that this was a ridiculous and outdated thought (they weren‘t exclusive, but she wasn‘t above pretending that she hadn’t fretted about what he might be up to once he inevitably went back). And really, would it not almost be… equal to lying if she toned herself down? 
"We do have a mistletoe you know," she smirked a little, preening under his attention when a smile spread across his face as well, and he leaned in a little closer to her.
"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes dropping to her mouth for a moment. Just as she thought he might close the distance between them, a cackling group of middle-aged women bumped into her from behind. They were clearly sloshed, and one shouted an apology, but the moment was gone. 
Simon had reflexively curled a hand around her waist, and she could have sworn that she felt his searing presence even through the thick layers of a winter coat and jumper. He glared daggers over her shoulder, and she grabbed his chin gently to get his attention back.
Deep chocolate eyes immediately zeroed back in on her, making her smile. 
"It‘s getting kind of late, mind walking me to the train station?" 
Simon gave her a disbelieving look.
"You think I‘d let you drive all the way home by yourself? It‘s not safe." 
She hadn‘t really felt unsafe in Manchester so far, but if he wanted to come along she sure as hell wouldn‘t say no. 
They wandered the snowy streets, most of it melted into dirty slush already where cars continued to drive by. Someone somewhere sang an awfully off-key version of Last Christmas, just as Simon slid his hand into hers again. He kept looking straight ahead and sometimes across the street, clearly watching out for trouble. 
The Christmas market had been in one of the more family friendly neighborhoods, so his constant vigilance felt a little over the top, but she didn‘t complain. Instead, she started another steady stream of conversation about his time in the military, while he wanted to know all about her exchange program. 
Simon seemed as fascinated by her degree as she was about his job, which was a welcome change. Most guys she‘d been introduced to or had met here never really seemed to care all that much - but with him, she always felt like she came back more enriched within her understanding of the world whenever another date ended.
Lost in that thought, she noticed too late that Simon had stopped walking, only another street corner away from the train station.
"Si?" She asked softly, then followed his gaze. Tucked between two older houses and a small community park, there was a fenced-in area full of-
"Found you a tree," Simon grinned, then broke every single traffic law her mother had ever drilled into her and tugged her across the slippery street. 
"You can‘t be serious," she laughed, but went along, still clutching his hand. "It‘s just for one person, not even worth it!"
He shot her an unreadable look, something clearly on the tip of his tongue. But then he turned towards the elderly man running the little shop instead. His nose was ruddy from the cold, and the closer she looked, the more ancient he appeared. The man shot them a toothy smile, his little tree netting machine getting loaded by a younger guy she hadn’t noticed, as they wrapped a tree for a family.
"Welcome, welcome!" He called cheerily, and she smiled back. 
Simon dragged her around the whole thing, inspecting different trees of varying shapes and sizes. Most of them were too big or too expensive, but then they both spotted it: a medium-sized tree with the most perfect shape and color. 
"That one?" He glanced at her, smiling at the excitement on her face. When she nodded, despite being hesitant about the whole endeavor, Simon waved over the old gentleman so they could wrap it up. 
He shot her a look when she protested about him handing over a few pound bills, cringing because of the amount. She didn’t have much as a student, so him doing this for her was incredibly kind - but that was boyfriend behavior, wasn‘t it? Getting each other things just because you cared? 
The thought made her ache with want, and she wanted to kiss him as a thank you, but then Simon already heaved the entire bloody tree over his shoulder like it was nothing. 
"Oh my god, no!" She protested, trying to help him by at least holding one side of it. He was going to ruin his back and shoulders-
Simon smirked.
"Just put your feminism aside for me, doll," he mumbled, then turned towards the not far-off train station. "Think we‘ll catch the next?"
She huffed out a breath somewhere between amusement and exasperation, and then they carefully made their way back through the sludge and up some stairs, garnering a few curious looks due to their unusual cargo. Simon seemed unbothered as he gently placed the big tree down inside the train wagon, leaning it against a seat and standing watch over it like some protective father.
She brushed her hand over the coarse netting holding it all together, glancing up at him as they stood squished together.
"Thank you," she whispered, genuinely happy about the prospect that she actually would have a tree now. "You didn‘t need to." Buy me a tree, carry it home for me. Be this kind.
Simon tucked another strand of hair back in place, straightening her wooly hat over her ears and forehead before leaning in and pressing one quick, chaste kiss to her lips. 
"But I wanted you to have it," he whispered back in the same low tone, then kissed her again, just as briefly. "I like to see you smile like that."
"Like what?" She couldn’t help but giggle, cheeks burning. He held her flushed skin in his palm for a moment, still smiling as well.
"Like that." 
Like I‘m a little bit in love with you, you mean? Because yeah, I can admit the obvious to myself. 
"That‘s just me being a little tipsy," she teased him, but he shook his head.
"No," he rumbled, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose before releasing her, yanking the tree towards him when a good chunk of people got ready to exit with them. "That‘s you being happy around me."
Getting the tree up to the third floor looked easy when Simon did it, but she already dreaded having to take it back down once he was back on deployment. 
He looked barely winded, patiently waiting for her as she hastily rummaged through the endless depths of her purse for the house key. 
Simon looked around with interest as she let him in, and she send up a silent prayer of thanks that she had picked up all her dirty underwear from the sofa and bedroom floor last night. 
They decided that the only thing large and sturdy enough for the tree was her flatmates umbrella stand, that thankfully only housed one at the moment. Simon positioned her new tree just right, and then she had the honor of cutting off the protective netting again. 
Seeing it standing there, in the otherwise bare living room made her heart feel fuzzy. 
Turning back towards him, she beamed up at him. "It‘s so cute!"
He smiled back. "It sure is."
Deciding that the most important matter of business was done, she shrugged out of her coat and wooly jumper, the heater turned up to max already because she was that kind of person. Always cold, and always complaining about it, too.
Simon watched her with interest, but when he also reached up to undo the zipper of his jacket, she suddenly felt an onslaught of nerves.
Simon was in her flat. Her Simon, taking off the thickest layer between them, the one that would reveal his extremely lickable torso and arms and-
"Do you want a tea?" She asked quickly, voice an octave higher than usual from the sizzling electricity running down her spine at the thought. She‘d seen him in a compression shirt before, on their first date, back in autumn. But that had been inside a café, with a table safely tucked between them and a pair of grannies watching them like hawks. 
No temptation to jump across the table and climb him like a tree - at least none that she couldn’t reign in with an iron fist.
Simon looked surprised for a moment, then nodded with a shrug. "Sure, thanks."
He slowly followed her into the kitchen as she busied herself with the kettle, dumping two random bags of tea into mugs. Simon was in her flat. They were alone. Alone.
He stepped closer, curling his hands around the edge of her kitchen counter, still just looking at her. Something was burning in those dark eyes, bright and clear and greedy and she was going to combust into flames soon if he didn‘t stop. 
"Hey," he murmured eventually, voice gravelly as he leaned further into her space, but still leaving the option open to retreat if she wanted to. She didn‘t. 
The smell of sap clung to him, mixing with the unmistakable scent of honey-roasted almonds. God, he looked so sexy with his curls damp and even curlier than usual, pale skin flushed from the cold. 
"I was wondering…"
"Yes?" Her voice was barely a breath, stuck somewhere in her throat. When Simon smiled in that wickedly tempting way he did sometimes, her heart skipped several beats, mouth going impossibly dry.
"You mentioned something about a mistletoe? Just wondering if we already walked underneath it by any chance."
She immediately grabbed for his shoulders, sliding her hands into the nape of his neck. His eyes widened in surprise, but then she pressed her mouth to his, standing on tiptoes to reach him.
To his credit, he almost immediately recovered from the shock of her sudden assault, sliding one hand down her back and the other into her hair as he kissed her back. It was a little clumsy, with both of them pressing their lips hard against the other‘s - as though the pressure was the only thing able to communicate their need.
She whined a little, and Simon took that opportunity to open his mouth and gently slide his tongue along her lower lip. Like he thought she was fragile, like he didn‘t know how much she had craved him for weeks, maybe even months now. How he starred in her most depraved fantasies, how this sweet Christmas tree carrying side of him made him look only hotter in her eyes. 
So she sucked his tongue into her mouth, and Simon groaned in surprise as they stumbled a little under her enthusiasm, his thick body caging her against the kitchen counter top. Their tea mugs made a little clanking sound as they got pushed against each other, from her butt being lifted there or Simon‘s hands brushing against them - it was impossible to tell. 
But it still broke them out of their kiss, breathing heavily as they stared at each other in the dim light streaming in from the living room. His eyes were dark, and he looked happy and pleased and damn, the knitted sweater did things for his waist and shoulder ratio that had her swallowing.
Then, just as he leaned in for another kiss, she smacked her forehead. Hard. 
"Si, I don‘t even have baubles for my tree!“
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My general COD writing masterlist with all my stories including this one, a COD headcanons masterlist + the COD Halloween Monster Special. It‘s all linked separately in my pinned blog post for easy navigation as well!
next (nsfw) part -> read here!
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festive dividers by @cafekitsune ✨
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blingblong55 · 2 months
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His pretty little girlfriend- Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon with a girlfriend who is way out of his league, like seriously insanely beautiful.
R/N: last night I dreamed you were a pickle and I was the jar
R/N doing a face mask on him with his hair held back by a fuzzy and pink headband
Simon:...
R/N: which is odd because you're usually a cute little bug in my dreams, why do you suppose that is?
Simon: you call me cuddle bug
R/N: that makes more sense now *smiles* anyway, next up, I'm going to pluck your brows
Simon: Again?
R/N: every month at least *boops his nose*
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multific · 1 month
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Taskforce 141 When You Use Your Safe Word - Preferences 
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Warnings: SMUT, Minors DO NOT interact
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It was all beginning to be a little too much.
You knew you should stop him, but you didn't want to disappoint him. You wanted to last as long as he needed you to, you were his good girl after all.
As he said many many times.
But he also said to stop him if it gets too much, he just how much he can get lost in your pussy and how rough he can get.
So, you agreed on a simple safe word, "Red". 
It was for you to use at any given moment. No questions asked he would stop immediately.
You never imagined using it, but as he was mercilessly pounding into you, it became all too much.
You wanted it to end, you needed it to end.
"Red! Please! RED!" you said when you finally caught your breath...
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John Price
He stops immediately.
Pulling out as he turns you around, checking your face.
"Sweetgirl, are you okay? Talk to me."
"Too much." is all you could muster. And John immediately felt guilt running down his spine.
He knew the day would come when he went too far. When he would overstimulate you to the point of no return.
"Okay, let's get you into the bath, eh? A nice warm bath." he said as he ran to the bathroom and ran you a nice bath, he then ran back and got you.
Soon, he was sitting next to you on the floor, one of his arms inside the bath, in the water, making sure the temperature was perfect.
"I'm so sorry, Darling. I should have known. You started to move away from me, but I just kept going..."
"It is not your fault John, I should have stopped sooner."
"I should have known."
"It is not your fault." you moved your hand and placed it on his cheek, he turned and kissed your palm. "Make it up to me by cuddling me."
"I will never let you go. I'm truly sorry."
"This is why I have a safe word, John."
"And you were a good girl and used it." he placed a kiss on your head, and he would make sure to cuddle you until the next morning and beyond.
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Simon Riley
He would be ashamed but it would take him a second to realize what you just said, but when he does, he moves away from you immediately.
His hands would be shaking as he watched you sit up against the headboard.
"I'm so sorry." he would turn to leave, but you stopped him.
"Simon," your sweet sweet voice. So kind and innocent, he would turn to look at you. "Come back please, I'm cold." how could he ever say no to that?
He grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt, handing it to you as he put on the pants.
He moved close to you, leaning against the headboard, holding you, running his hand up and down your back.
"I'm too sore, it's why I made you stop, I think I'm just too tired."
"I'm glad you spoke up and said something." you moved and kissed his cheek.
"I love you, Simon." you tried your best to reassure him, letting him know you were okay.
"I love you too."
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Kyle Garrick
In one movement he stopped and looked at you, your back was to him but he heard you clear as day.
"It's too much, Kyle, please."
"I'm sorry, does it hurt?" he watched as you nodded and he moved back, turning you around and sitting you up in bed. "How about a shower?"
You nodded again as you slowly calmed down and your breathing evened out.
Kyle watched you closely, making sure you were okay, he even washed you up.
He then carried you to bed, laying you down.
"I'm so sorry."
"It is all good. I'm glad you stopped."
"Of course, I did! It is why I came up with a safe word for you. I'm glad you used it when it became too much." you smiled at him as he leaned down and kissed your lips. "Does it still hurt?"
"I'm more sore than hurt now." you said and he held you close. "It really is okay, Kyle."
He knew it was, and he knew it will be, he was just glad he had the presence to stop when he did.
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Johnny MacTavish
It took him a moment to realize what you just said.
"Red?" he asked with a confused tone. "Shit." he moved away from you, but still stayed close. "What is it?" he asked and if you wouldn't be so out of it, you would have realized the worry in his voice.
"It hurts, too much." you managed to say.
"How can I help?" he asked, watching your face closely.
"Just hold me, let me sleep."
"Sleep, okay got it."
He pulled you close, turning the lights off as he soon heard your soft snores.
He felt so guilty for hurting you, but he was proud you spoke up.
He spent hours in the dark, thinking and overthinking.
He thought he should have noticed, that he should have realized, but he could recall that he was too focused on the feeling, he got lost in it, and he wouldn't have seen the discomfort because he had his head in the crook of your neck.
But one thing was sure, after this, Johnny would pay extra attention to keep his control and his cool and make sure you are comfortable and you enjoy sex as much as he does.
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Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
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the-whispers-of-death · 2 months
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Closed off!Reader stumbling through the dark hallways of the base at night, you having woken up from a nightmare. You're desperate for some type of reprieve from your racing thoughts, some type of solace.
So you find yourself at the door of Ghost's barracks and with shaky hands, you knock on the door. He opens it and sees you, usually so composed and detached but now you're shaking like a leaf, your eyes wide with fear.
"Come here," he says gruffly and without hesitation, gently pulling you into the barracks. He leads you towards the bed, knowing that you're not going to be able to go to sleep without him beside you.
"I'm sorry," you murmur, trying so hard to try and pretend you're fine. "It was nothing."
Ghost shakes his head, cradling the back of your head. "No, nothing to be sorry for. We all get nightmares." He lays down on the bed first before gently pulling you down onto the bed with him. He gets you nice and comfy beside him, both of you now underneath the covers. "Close your eyes, I'm here. I won't let anything or anyone hurt you."
So you do. You close your eyes and listen to the sound of his heartbeat, letting it lull you into a deep sleep. And it's the best sleep you've had in months, side by side with Ghost.
Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated!
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