simon riley/reader – 7.1k words
sale of a lifetime mini series !
tags: smut, childhood best friend!simon, virginity for sale trope, unrealized feelings, soft!simon, protective!simon, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader
cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet & messy, fingering, creampie, mid-sex love confession, a little arguing but nothing crazy tbh, petnames (love, lovie, sweetheart)
; he remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. he never thought he was deserving of such happiness. but now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.
or.
he may not have been the first man you picked to give your first time to. but looking back, you realized he was the only right choice in the end.
Meeting some unknown, shady guy out on the street outside of a seedy bar wasn’t the smartest decision you’ve ever made. Nor was it how you actually intended to spend your Friday evening. But it was the only option you had at the moment, so you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to stay put at the spot the guy had chosen despite the fact that being out on the street made you feel x10 more nervous and vulnerable.
You could hear the loud music and chatter inside the bar every time the door opened to let someone in or out. There was a chill in the air that had you contemplating actually going inside and just telling the guy to meet you in there – you were about to give the bastard your damn virginity, the least he could be was accommodating to your temperature struggles. Plus, you could really use a drink.
A car, expensive by the looks of it, pulling up to the curb had you pausing in that train of thought. You recognized him from his profile picture when he stepped out of the vehicle – Lucas, you recall being his name. Whether that was really his name or not didn’t matter; all that mattered was he brought what he promised.
“You have the money?” you asked when he approached you, giving him a tight-lipped smile as a greeting.
“Yeah, got it in the car. All cash, I hope that’s alright,” he grinned, a sight that made a shiver go down your spine. His tone didn’t match the smile, all transactional and dull despite the glimmer in his eyes.
He wasn’t necessarily unattractive but he certainly wasn’t your type. There was a look in his eyes, one that made your skin crawl because you felt like you were nothing but a piece of raw meat in front of a starving, salivating predator.
“We should get going,” he said, hurrying to open the backseat of his car for you.
You paused, “Aren’t we going to go inside or something?”
He looked confused, grip on the door tightening for a moment before he bursted out laughing. When he saw the shocked look on your face he sobered up, “Sorry, sorry, that was rude of me. Sweetheart, this isn’t a date. I’m just here to get what I paid for.”
“Oh…” you swallowed around the lump in your throat at the condescending tone, humiliation making your cheeks burn, “Right.”
Tears stung the back of your eyes and you quickly averted your gaze so he wouldn’t see how much that stung. Of course, you knew it wasn’t a date. This was a transaction. But you at least thought you’d get to know the guy who was about to take your virginity. You should have known better.
A man who was paying for your virginity wasn’t bound to be someone you could trust to feel comfortable around. You quietly sigh, resigning yourself to this all for the sake of some fucking money.
You settle into the car, heart jumping into your throat when the door slams. It feels as if you’ve just sealed your fate and you can’t deny that you’re scared.
But there’s an envelope next to you that you can see stuffed with bills and you clench your fists, trying to calm your racing heart by closing your eyes and breathing.
You just hope this decision doesn’t cost you your life or something. You’d hate to imagine what that would do to a certain someone.
Suddenly, the car jostles. Your eyes snap open and you see Lucas is jacked up against the side of the car, a very familiar form caging him in. His scarred hands grip the man’s shirt in tight fists. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you can see Lucas is chattering frantically, gesturing wildly with his hands in an attempt to quell the angry man in the skull balaclava.
You curse to yourself, a different kind of terror shocking through your system. Lucas is thrown to the side and you wince at how hard he hits the pavement before the car door is jerked open.
You can’t even say anything before a strong, rough hand wraps around your arm, yanking you out. You stumble once you’re on your feet, falling right into his chest.
You try to pull away but his arm clamps down around you.
Lucas is cursing and screaming his head off, words you don’t even bother to try and decipher because you’re too preoccupied with the masked figure that made his sudden appearance. Nerves make your knees shake and from the look of pure rage in his eyes, you know you’re in deep shit.
Lucas opens the car door and slams it before driving off, tires squealing against the pavement before he vanishes. Along with that wad of cash that was going to be yours in just a short time.
Suddenly you’re angry, shoving your hands against his chest to get him away from you.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Riley?!” you shriek, shooting him the fiercest glare you could muster.
“I should be askin’ you that,” he sneers, “The hell were you doin’ with that prick?”
“I–”
“Don’t answer that,” he snaps, cutting you off swiftly, “I know what you were doin’. If you needed money that badly you should have told me.”
“It’s not your concern, Simon!” you cry, resisting the urge to petulantly stomp your foot.
You’re so pissed.
Simon Riley and you went way back, childhood friends. The two of you had always been in each other's lives. Simon especially was always there when you needed him, a beacon of safety and protection. Your best friend and someone you loved to the ends of the Earth.
But right now, you’re so angry with him that you can’t seem to think straight.
How dare he show up now, when you’re about to do the most humiliating act of your entire life. How could he show his stupid, masked face here when you didn’t even ask for his help in the first place for a reason.
“You are always my concern,” he shoots back, scarred knuckles turning white from how hard he clenches his fists, “I have always taken care of you. You should have come to me for help instead of puttin’ yourself in danger like this. You didn’t know that guy, what the fuck were you thinking?”
Anger makes your skin hot, sweat beading on your forehead, blocking out the chill that once made goosebumps rise. You feel ashamed that you were caught in this situation – that the man you’ve known your entire life knew you were about to sleep with some random asshole for a fat wad of cash. You don’t like that he’s made you feel ashamed and confronted you with it.
“Just fuck off, Simon!” you shriek, the only thing you can think of before turning on your heel and stalking away from him.
You don’t glance over your shoulder to check if he’s following because you know he most likely is – from a safe distance to make sure you make it inside your apartment alright but far enough that you can’t get mad at him for it. Your jaw is clenched so tightly that you feel a headache radiating down your neck.
By the time you reach your apartment, the anger has simmered and all you’re left with is a festering shame that makes tears fill your eyes. You wrap your arms around yourself and quickly shuffle yourself inside, not bothering to check if Simon is out there or not. All you want is to get a hot shower and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend.
You do just that, letting the burning hot water scald your skin until you can’t feel any emotions except exhaustion. And then, you crawl into bed and let sleep overtake you without a second thought.
When you wake up, it’s clear that it’s late into the afternoon. The sun is high in the sky and shining painfully bright through the crack in your curtains. You groan and roll over, slapping the bed to find your phone.
You grab the device and unlock it, taking a moment to scroll through your notifications. There’s some angry messages from the guy from last night – cursing you out for setting him up to be jumped. It makes you roll your eyes before a particular notification catches your eye.
It’s from your bank – alerting you of a deposit.
You sit up straight in your bed, brows furrowed before your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see your bank statement. It’s more than you needed and you know exactly who was responsible.
You jump out of bed, not even bothering to dress out of your pajamas before you’re shoving some slides onto your feet and storming out of your apartment.
You’re so heated that you can’t even remember the walk to Simon’s place, your mind racing a million miles a second. You storm up to the door and slam your fist on it, the hard wood making your hand sting from how hard you pound.
The radiating tingle of pain is quickly forgotten when the door swings open.
Simon stands there, looking down at you expectantly. He leans against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears an army-issued t-shirt that’s a bit too tight. The sleeves stretch taunt around his biceps and you can make out the swell of his pecs. It’s not very often that you get to see his tattooed arms, littered with scars since he tends to wear long sleeves most of the time.
He doesn’t look at all surprised to see you, clearly having expected you. The apathetic look in his eyes just solidifies that you were right all along.
“What the hell is your problem?!” you cry without so much as a greeting.
He sighs, broad shoulders rising and falling with it before he opens the door wide and motions you inside. You duck underneath his outstretched arm, turning to watch as he closes the door and locks it.
He wanders into the kitchen and you realize you can smell bacon. He doesn’t seem at all surprised by your outburst nor does he seem interested in acknowledging your question.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, only solidifying how unperturbed he is by your display of anger.
“No!” you snap, “I want to know why you did that, Simon!”
He sighs again, much louder but doesn’t respond. You stand in the doorway to his kitchen, watching him plate his lunch – which is actually just breakfast food. He places the dish on the table and pauses, looking up at you.
“You needed the money, I had it,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I was handling it on my own,” you say, “I-It was my problem to solve.”
“By sellin’ yourself to some prick?” he snarls, the anger he was masking coming out in a flurry.
“I wasn’t selling myself–” you refute but he slams his palms down on the table. His cutlery clatters with the action and you jump.
“I read that post you made,” he hisses, teeth bared, “There’s no fuckin’ reason you should be selling your virginity for some cash when I was right here the whole time!”
Your cheeks burn when he brings up your virginity, crossing your arms over your chest protectively, “I-It’s mine to sell if I want to! I needed that money!”
“And now you have it,” he says with finality.
He takes a seat and you stand there, fuming. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding together as your mind races to find a rebuttal. He begins to eat, taking large, fast bites that just shows how he’s been conditioned to eat quickly by the military.
“That’s not the point, Simon,” you huff, growing less angry and more frustrated by this conversation. You were just going around in circles.
“Then what is the point?” he snaps, snatching his empty plate and angrily tossing it in the sink. He turns to you again, a frown evident on his face, “You got the money you needed safely. That’s all that matters.”
“It’s too much money, Simon!” you cry, “I was selling something in exchange for it!”
“I care about you,” he says, “That doesn’t matter to me. What’s mine is yours, you know that.”
You silently glare at him, wishing that the heated stare would get through to him. He stands unbothered, staring blankly at you with his fists clenched by his sides.
You hang your head, sighing, “I-I can’t take your money, Simon, alright? I’m already in debt and I’m not going to be in debt to you of all people.”
“You feel like you owe me, is that it?” he asks.
You nod your head, heart rate spiking when he stalks towards you. You’re close enough to smell his body wash and aftershave, a painfully familiar scent that you adore. He stares down his nose at you, brown eyes lidded and lazy.
He reaches out suddenly, rough hand gripping your cheeks, smushing them together until your lips pucker, “Then give me a kiss as payment.”
“H-Huh?” you whimper dumbly, eyes wide in shock as his face grows closer and closer.
“It can be payment for a kiss, lovie,” he coos, syrupy sweet and soft, “Will that make up for it, then?”
The air in your lungs suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. This is a man that you’ve known almost your entire life so you’ve obviously thought about him in a romantic sense at some point. Hell, when you were a teenager you even had a crush on him. But he never once looked at you any other way than as a friend so you quickly got over it – or maybe that’s just what you told yourself. Because as you stand there, staring into his eyes, you realize that kissing him would feel like a dream come true.
You find yourself nodding despite the inner turmoil going on in your head. Simon huffs through his nose before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours.
There’s a shock of electricity that goes through you at the contact. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into the kiss, letting him take over. He works his lips expertly against yours, eventually abandoning his hold on your face in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist. You gasp into the kiss when he suddenly yanks you closer, your body pressed close against his.
He’s warm and sturdy against you, a solid form of muscle that makes you feel safe and content – just as he always has. His hands are big and rough as they grip your hips, kneading the soft flesh there as he gets lost in kissing you.
“S-Si,” you find yourself muttering without realizing.
He hums in response, chuckling when you continue to mindlessly kiss him. He pulls back, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, thumbing at your jaw as your eyes slowly focus on him, “What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”
“I-I don’t…” you swallow thickly around the forming lump in your throat, “I don’t know. I just…”
“Show me,” he breathes, softer than you’ve ever heard his voice.
The sweet, tender look in his big, brown eyes is what gives you the courage to grab his wrist, leading it just under the hem of your shirt so he can touch your bare stomach. You give him a shy glance from under your lashes, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want more.
You want him.
Simon, in all his experienced wisdom, understands immediately what it is you’re aching for. His hand travels up further, pausing at your ribs, just under the swell of your breast. Your heart hammers in your chest when your gaze meets his. His eyes are lidded, long lashes obscuring his pupils but still burning into you.
He stares deep into your eyes, waiting for any sign of hesitation as his fingers creep higher and higher. You suck in a breath when he cups your breast in his palm, squeezing lightly to feel their weight.
A large, calloused thumb creeps up, passing ever so softly over your nipple until the bud peaks and hardens under the attention. You sigh at the feeling, new shocks washing over you that you’ve never experienced before.
Sure, you played with yourself plenty – you had a healthy masturbation life, you’d say. But you’d always just been focused on reaching an orgasm, never on the build up. You imagine, however, it would never feel as good by yourself as it does with him.
He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine, lips parting as the sound escapes. Simon takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Your hands grab his shoulders, desperately clinging to his shirt as you lose yourself in the sloppy kiss.
Drool drips down your chin – it's messy and hot between the two of you. His hand switches to your other breast to give it the same attention as the other. You tremble in his arms, overcome by the insatiable throbbing between your thighs.
You shift on your feet, the fabric of your panties stick uncomfortably to your core. You’re so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. By the time he pulls back, there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to his.
“You want more?” he asks, voice gravelly as he speaks, as if he’s drunk. You nod your head and he clicks his tongue, “You gotta tell me, sweetheart.”
“I-I want more, Si,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks burn as you admit it.
“Let’s go,” he hums, taking your hand in his as he leads you around the couch towards the hallway.
“Where?” you ask dumbly, hoping that making some kind of conversation would ease the nerves steadily building in your chest.
“The bedroom,” he responds, stroking his thumb over the top of your hand as if he can sense that you’re nervous, “Wouldn’t want to be stripped down in the middle of the living room, I imagine.”
“N-No,” you squeak, cheeks burning even hotter at those words.
You’re going to be naked. In front of another person for the first time. In front of him. Simon.
“There now, lovie,” he whispers as he shuts his bedroom door behind the both of you. He takes your waist in his hands, kneading the soft flesh there, “It’s alright.”
“I-I’m just–”
“Nervous,” he finishes for you, smiling softly when you nod, “I know. We can stop anytime you’d like.”
“I don’t want to,” you rush out, hands coming up to press against his firm chest, “Just…d-don’t be upset when I don’t know what I’m doing.”
The tender way he looks at you sets your heart pounding like a little rabbit. A ghost a smile appears on his lips, “I would never do somethin’ like that.”
“I-I know, I just…” you look down at your feet only for him to catch your chin in his fingers, pulling you to look up at him.
You swallow thickly around the lump in your throat, holding your breath as he descends down. His lips find yours all over again, as exhilarating and mind-melting as the first time.
Just the sweet, deep kiss he gives you has your nerves dissipating a bit – back to normal levels. You no longer feel the desire to flee, you just feel an intense longing and anticipation. You crave more from him.
As if sensing this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. He slowly starts to pull it up, agonizingly slow. But you’re grateful for it, it gives you time to prepare before you’re bared completely to him. You lift your arms for him, a sign that you’re still okay with this.
He pulls it up over your head and lets the fabric drop to the floor. But he doesn’t look down, he continues looking in your eyes, softly pecking your lips as his hands cup your breasts once more.
When you sigh and lean into his touch, he finally lets himself break the eye contact. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees how pretty your tits sit in his hands. He touches them softly, sweetly brushing over your nipples in admiration.
“Perfect tits, lovie,” he coos, chuckling when you whine in embarrassment.
His head descends, pink lips parting to take one of your nipples in his mouth. It’s hot but his tongue is soft when it circles and flicks at the bud. He sucks, popping off lewdly before switching to the other one.
The sensation makes you squeeze your thighs together, imaging what that would feel like around your clit. Your hole clenches around nothing, drooling messily into your panties. The fabric was so wet by now that it couldn’t soak it up anymore, leaving it to slick up your thighs instead.
Your core ached, a feeling only Simon would be able to soothe.
“Please, Si,” you finally break, whimpering pathetically.
He detaches from your breast, lips wet and swollen from the worship he had been giving your now sore nipples. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing brown and you were sure that yours looked the same.
He stands to his full height, nudging you backwards until your knees hit the bed. They buckled at that, leaving you to fall back against the bed. Simon’s bedding was soft, the scent of detergent and his own body wash filling your senses. You relax at the familiar, comforting scent, sinking into the blankets with a bashful smile on your face.
To Simon, you’re an ethereal beauty. You take the air right out of his lungs with the way you look at him.
He remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. He never thought he was deserving of such happiness. But now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.
He scooches you up the bed, crawling on after you until he’s on top of you. Though you’re still wearing your pants, you feel so vulnerable beneath his weight. He’s heavy and warm and he smells so good. You can’t focus on anything except for him – he’s all around you and it’s exhilarating.
Feeling bold, you reach up and tug at his shirt. He pulls it off with ease, revealing his toned, scarred upper body. You can’t help but trace over some of the ones you’re familiar with – there’s one from a time he fell out of a tree trying to rescue a cat that you had been crying about. He fell out of the tree on the way down, a jagged branch stabbing into his upper arm and slicing it open. There was another one from when you were teenagers, some other kids jumped him and he took a stab to his shoulder trying to protect you. You kiss that one and he softens, as if he’s remembering it too.
He’s always been there for you, an overwhelming presence that you simply couldn’t live without. The fact you’re here, in this bed, about to give him your virginity is something that you never would have expected.
And to think, you were planning to sell it off to some random loser.
“I’m glad you stopped me,” you find yourself whispering.
He looks confused for a second before he hums, nodding in understanding, “I am too.”
“I-I want it to be you, Si,” you whisper, the confession leaving you embarrassed. It’s true, all this time, you realize, he’s all you’ve ever really wanted. You had just buried it deep down so you no longer felt those sparks towards him.
“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers back, as if the two of you are sharing some secret little moment that no one else can hear about even though it’s just the two of you in this room.
“You always do,” you respond, the words making his dark eyes light up.
He kisses you deeply, moving his lips slowly against yours. When your hands come up to grip the back of his neck, he takes that as his cue to move down to your neck, then your collarbones, down the center of your chest between your breasts, the spot between your breasts, and finally your navel.
You lay back, head in his pillows with your hands on either side of your head. You watch him, breathing labored as you wait for his next move. He pauses in his path, looking up through his lashes at you before his fingers find the hem of your sweats. You swallow thickly, holding your breath when he slowly begins to pull the fabric down. You lift your hips to help him, pulling your legs free while being careful not to kick him by accident.
He keeps his gaze on you until you’re settled back down into the bed and the pants are forgotten on the floor to be collected later. Then, he looks down.
Even though you still have your panties on, you know that the white cotton is soaked through and hides absolutely nothing from his view.
You watch as he licks his lips, as if his mouth is suddenly bone dry. His hands are burning hot when he touches you again, sliding over your thighs to your hips. He leans down, pressing his lips against each of your thighs.
His thumb reaches down, stretches over your pubic bone to touch the sticky fabric. You nearly jump at the sensation – someone’s fingers other than your own touching you there for the first time. Simon’s fingers.
As if he can’t help himself anymore, he tugs the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs. You squeal when you’re jostled under the force.
He holds the material up and you’re mortified to see just how wet they are. He runs his thumbs over the crotch and you whine, drawing his attention from them. He drops them to the floor and returns his hands back to you, gripping underneath your knees, so he can spread you all the way open.
Your hands fly to your face, covering your eyes in embarrassment at how exposed you are. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss over the top of your hands before moving back down your body.
You peek through your fingers only to find him already staring at you with a sparkle in his eyes. He carefully spreads your slippery folds apart with his thumbs, the movement causing a wet, sticky sound to emanate from between your legs. The little bud of your clit is hard and twitching as it’s exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. When he’s sure you’re looking he leans down, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. You stop breathing as you watch a fat glob of spit roll down the surface of the smooth muscle and splatter right on your clit.
“Si-!” your squeal of his name is cut off when your eyes roll back in his head as that sinful tongue slides right over your bud.
Your whole body twitches at that, hands falling away from your face so you can reach down and grab his hair. It doesn’t even seem like he notices your grip, focused on slurping up that sensitive nub into his hot mouth.
You choke out a moan, tilting your head back into the pillows as your back arches. It feels just as good as you thought it would when he was giving the same, lewd treatment to your nipples.
He continues to suck and lick your clit until your mind is completely blank and all you can think is him. Then, all at once it stops and he pulls back, letting your bud slip from the heavenly clutch of his lips.
“You ever have somethin’ inside you, lovie?” he asks, bringing up one of his fingers to swipe through the folds of your entrance, as if to show you what he intends.
You swallow to moisten your throat before nodding, “J-Just my fingers.”
“How many?” he asks, growing more confident in prodding at the tight little hole.
“T-Two,” you breathe, any embarrassment you felt long dissipated in the face of true pleasure.
“Alright, lovie,” he hums, “Just lay back, I’ll take good care of you, yeah?”
You nod and do as he says, turning utterly boneless against the blankets. The sweat already slicking your skin despite the fact you’ve only just begun makes the fabric stick to you.
He prods at your entrance for only a second longer before finally, he pushes his thick middle digit inside you. Your cunt is so wet and pliant that it hungrily swallows it up to the very last knuckle. You clench around it intentionally, getting used to the feeling of the foreign finger inside of you for the first time.
It feels so different compared to your own, thicker and rougher. The sensation is so strange but you can’t say you don’t like it – in fact, it feels amazing. You already want another, feeling like one just isn’t enough to give you that unknown feeling you’re chasing. It’s like you have an itch that needs to be scratched and only Simon can do it for you.
As if sensing this, ever the reliable one, he carefully introduces a second finger. The stretch is unfamiliar, a burn around your entrance following as he reaches the last knuckle on that one too. His middle and ring finger stuffed snuggly inside your gooey little cunt as you whine and squirm from the feeling.
Once you’ve adjusted, he slowly begins working them in and out of you. You slick up his fingers easily, streaks of creamy white coating his skin and making his mouth water. When he crooks his fingers up suddenly, prodding at that tender little spot inside of you, your entire body twitches and the most beautiful moan rips from your chest.
He can’t resist leaning down and trapping your pulsing little clit under the flat of his tongue. He doesn’t slurp it into his mouth like before, instead, he just licks over it, pressing it down with the muscle. Your eyes are rolled up and your mouth hangs open as you moan and moan, tugging mindlessly at his hair as he works you towards your orgasm.
It grows and grows, the unrelenting pleasure of his fingers fucking deeply into you and his tongue lapping sloppily at your clit like a mutt driving that knot in your belly to tighten. Drool spills out around his tongue, slipping down to meet his fingers where he easily fucks it into you – the added lubrication not needed but so very welcome with how much wetter and messier it makes you.
“S-Simon…” you pant, gasping to catch your breath as the pleasure makes it hard for you to even think.
He glances up at you through his lashes but doesn’t offer any other acknowledgement. There’s a knowing look in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s going to wring this orgasm out of your little cunt whether you like it or not.
And fuck, do you love it.
The orgasms you brought yourself in the deep of the night, little hands stuffed down your panties as you played with your clit and stuffed yourself with your own fingers was nothing like what you were experiencing now. Simon’s thick fingers and hot tongue were torturing your little clit until your entire body started to lock up.
You looked at him desperately, unsure what was even going through your mind besides him and how fucking good you felt right now.
Just as you teetered on the edge of this orgasm, he suddenly changed up and swallowed your twitchy little clit into his mouth. He sucked, sending you flying over the edge with a shrill wail of his name. Your legs kicked and twitched, heels hitting him on the back as you trembled and shook through the orgasm that he eagerly fucked out of you onto his fingers.
He suckled your clit, swirling his tongue around it until it was too sensitive and you were tearily pushing him away. When he finally released you, slipping his fingers from your cunt, you were boneless and twitching on the bed. You didn’t even try to close your legs when he pulled away, giving him the perfect view to watch your cute little pussy clench and messily drool cum in the aftermath of your orgasm.
He popped his fingers in his mouth, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering at the taste of your cum tingling on his taste buds. As you came down, eyes closed and breathing heavy, he began pulling at his belt.
You could hear the metal clinking as he dropped it to the floor, peeking your heavy lids open to see him pull the button of his jeans open. As he slowly pulled them down, his underwear went with and suddenly you were more aware than ever.
His cock was something to behold. Thick and veiny, bobbing in the air where it hung – too heavy to actually stand upright. You’d seen dicks in porn before but none of them prepared you for Simon’s. Precum dribbled from the tip, creating a long, gooey string down towards the floor before it broke.
He wrapped a big hand around himself, giving a few good strokes as he reached down to cup his own heavy balls. The hair wasn’t wild or offensive, but neatly trimmed short.
“All good, lovie?” he asked, stepping out of the pool of his jeans and boxers so he could kneel on the bed again.
“All god-good!” you blushed as he laughed, leaning down over you to balance his weight on his elbows.
“You still want this?” he asks, hushed and sweet,
You glance between your bodies to see that intimidating cock, drooling messily over your skin. You realize, quickly, that you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.
When you voice such, he looks relieved, like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He sits back on his heels and spreads your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest.
“Hold them there,” he orders, which you follow immediately.
Your elbows circle around your knees, holding yourself open for him as he asked. He whistles low in appreciation when your cum-slicked cunt was spread and exposed for him to prod his cockhead against.
He swipes the tip up and down through your folds, humming appreciatively when your little hole tries to suck him in every time he grazes past it. He nudges your clit, the little bud still hard and sensitive from your orgasm but so eager for more. He couldn’t wait to grant your wish and make you cream on his cock.
You watch him with wide eyes as he starts to push into you. Your jaw drops as you feel that burning stretch, an ache settling between your legs as he continues to sink himself into you.
“F-Fuck, wait, Simon!” you squeal and he halts immediately.
He’s only reached just past the head of his cock but he reaches down to pet your clit. The pleasure shoots through you, making your toes curl and your walls relax around him. He keeps his eyes on your face for any sign that you want him to stop as he moves his hips again.
More and more of his cock sinks inside and his thumb keeps working little circles over your clit until his hips are flush with yours. Your voice breaks as you moan when you realize you’ve taken every single inch of him.
He’s heavy and throbbing inside of you and you clench around him intentionally, forcing a moan from his chest.
He leans down, arranging your knees over his shoulders, folding you up and pressing down on you. He’s heavy and it makes it hard to breathe but that makes it even better – the pleasure of being speared on that fat cock and being utterly helpless underneath this man is better than any fantasy you could have made for yourself.
“Fuck,” he snarls, rolling his hips back before rocking them forward again, heavy balls slapping against you as he does, “Can’t believe you were gonna give this little cunt away to some prick.”
“S-Si,” you whimper, biting your lip at the feeling of him slowly and carefully rocking his hips against yours, “‘M sorry, sh-shoulda been you all this time.”
“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hums, “No one else gets to love you but me, sweetheart.”
“O-Only you!” you agree, nails digging into his shoulders when he hits that spot just right.
He can feel you soaking his cock, drippy cum lathering him up to make every glide of his cock wetter than the last. He sits back up on his knees, adjusting his grip so he can pin your legs wide open, giving him the best view of your greedy cunt swallowing his length up.
He begins to fuck you in earnest, pulling out halfway before sliding home again - nothing like the little movements he gave you to prepare you. He was going to show you exactly why you should only think of giving him this precious pussy for the rest of your life. No one will ever be able to fuck you as good as he can, he’s going to learn your body like the back of your hand and you’re never going to be able to cum as hard as you can with him. You’ll never even want to use your own fingers again when he’s done with you.
You can’t do anything but lay there and take it, take the pleasure and take his cock. He hits so deep, prodding at your cervix in a way that aches but it only feels that much better when it’s mixed with mind-numbing pleasure.
Simon looms above you, panting and groaning as he fucks you like he was made to. He angles his hips just right, blunt nails biting into your thighs where he pins you open, neither of you caring if he happens to break skin while he does. You don’t even register the bite of pain underneath the way his cock prods you g-spot so perfectly.
Your own fingers would have been tired by now, no longer able to work that little spot like you need. Simon’s cock, however, is unrelenting. The pleasure builds and mounts uninterrupted, every stroke of his length sending you higher. His body moves fluidly, rolling his hips tirelessly so he can give you every ounce of pleasure your sweet little cunt needs.
You’re creaming around him, a frothy, milky ring forming around the base every time he sinks in and becoming visible when he pulls back. It’s filthy and messy and makes your cheeks burn but Simon seems to not mind in the slightest.
“So fuckin’ messy, love,” he coos, breathy and slurred, “Look at that, pretty cunt needed some cock, huh?”
“Y-Yours!” you manage to choke out.
“What’s that?” he asks, a crooked, teasing grin on his face.
“Y-Your cock! Only needed your cock, Simon,” you pant, reaching up to grope your own tits, pinching and rolling your nipples meanly. It hurts so good, making you clench around his cock. He moans at the sight, his pretty little virgin tormenting your own nipples.
“That’s right,” he hums, reaching a shaky hand down to thumb at your clit, “Keep pinchin’ those pretty tits, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”
You nod your head, unable to form a vocal response from the new sensation of your clit being played with while he fucks you. It feels so damn good that you could go drunk from it all. Everything in your brain is slow, thoughts of only him and how good you feel are all that’s there. Your entire world, right at this moment, revolves around Simon Riley.
He knows it too, a cocky grin on his face as he works you to your orgasm. You dangle, almost helplessly, staring unblinkingly at his handsome face as he works it out of you.
After what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, you cum. Hard.
Your head slams back against the pillows, back arching as you cunt clasps tight around him. You cry out in pure, unadulterated pleasure as he fucks you through it. His thumb keeps working your clit as it twitches and pulses under the digit, cumming nice and pretty for him just like he wanted. Just like you deserved.
You cream his cock messily, it drips down his balls and down your ass to the bedding below. So fucking sloppy and wet, a perfect little cunt made to take his cock.
His brows furrow, mouth falling open as his own orgasm mounts and builds. Now that your well-earned orgasm is out of the way, he can finally let go and allow himself to experience it as well.
“Where do you want it?” he grits out, teeth clenched from the ache of holding back.
His balls draw up, heavy and full. He feels ready to positively explode when you gasp, “I-Inside!”
His head falls back, the loudest, most drawn out moan you’d never expected to come from a stoic man like Simon falling from his lips. It’s deep and primal, full of nothing but euphoria as he spills into you. His load is hot and thick, drooling out of the sides of his cock as he slows his thrusts to milk the least bits of pleasure from the orgasm.
When he comes down, he collapses. Your legs lock around his waist and he draws you tightly into his arms, neither of you caring for the way his weight crushes you. All you care about is being wrapped up in his arms where you belong.
He pulls his neck from your chest and kisses your forehead. Then he kisses your nose. Then your lips.
“Pretty,” he breathes, still drunk on the endorphins of the sex so his lips are a little looser than they’d normally be, “Always thought you were pretty.”
“Really?” you prompt, cheeks heating at his confession.
He hums, “Glad you’re finally mine.”
You beam, “No one deserved me as much as you.”
He nods as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, rolling off of you with a sigh. His cock unplugs your cunt and a gush of your mixed cum comes out, making you whine. He laughs softly, drawing you back into your arms.
You’ve never felt safer and warmer in your life, knowing in that moment that you should have come to Simon all along. There’s no one in the world who would be there for you, more willing and able than he.
this work belongs to rowarn. do not repost to third party websites or use for character ai. reblogs welcome and appreciated!
Warnings: 18+, Smut, Desperate! Ghost, Touch-Starved! Ghost, Dominant! Ghost, Edging, Assisted Masturbation, Guided Masturbation, The Mask Stays On, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.
He loves the way you watch him so intently as his hand works the shaft of his aching cock, the tip red and angry as he staves off his orgasm just to let you watch for a little bit longer. You come closer, on hands and knees, and sit before him, just shy of the area between his legs. The danger zone.
The sound of squelching is obscene, as is the sight of his dick glistening with pre. If he pulled his hand away, strings of it would cling to his palm, beckoning – begging – him to return.
He can hardly refuse you when you ask him if you can touch it. Touch him.
He nods, pulls his hand away enough so that you can slip yours beneath his. His hand is sticky as it clamps down around yours. He guides you, starting out with light strokes, mindful of the euphoria building just below his stomach again. Raw. Fresh.
When you’re more confident in this rhythm, you grip him a little tighter. Look up into Ghost’s half-lidded eyes. He nods, but can’t find the energy to lift his head back up. He’s looking down at you, his mask concealing all but the lethargic lust in his eyes. And when you start to move faster, he thinks he can feel Heaven. His slick hand is tight – nigh crushing – over yours, making you squeeze him tighter, harder. God, harder.
And when your fingers graze the sensitive skin of his tip, his head almost rolls back, his eyes screwing shut. He gasps, and his breath shutters
He knows that this won’t be like all the other times when it was just him all alone in his room, or the barracks, or the showers. He can feel it in the rapid tightening of his balls, one hanging lower than the other, in the knotting in his stomach. He feels his vein twitch – the one you’d been so curiously eyeing earlier – when you gaze up at him from beneath your lashes, eyes soft. You come closer. Sat between his legs now. He’s oozing from the tip; an effect only you can have. He’d have been embarrassed were he not in the crosshairs of what he could tell would be one of the most excruciating orgasms he’s ever had.
He’s panting now, watching you as, with soft fingers, you work the tip, spreading his juices across it, down his shaft. When you come back up, clenching your fingers around his tip, he hisses. Jolts. When you try to retract, concern evident in the furrow of your brow, he snatches your hand back, gripping your wrist and enclosing your hand around him once more.
“Keep goin’,' he pants. His eyes glisten beneath the fluorescence of the dim bulb above you.
“Please.”
And you do. You squeeze and squelch and slide your hand along the length of him until your arm aches and his back is arching out of his chair, head lolling back as thick globs of cum spurt out from the tip. No warning. Just the explosion and its aftermath.
His grip around your hand tightens. You wince, but he doesn’t notice. He’s growling, guttural and animal, teeth gritted beneath his mask. He can feel his eyes strain with how far back into his skull they’ve rolled.
His stomach gradually becomes soaked in a viscous, milky spray. You’re sure you can see his shaft pulsating with every pump of his semen – like water through a pipe – emptying himself. Some of it gets caught in the hairs leading down from his belly button, thicker as they reach the pubic area.
His chest heaves. His hand is still around yours, looser now. But not by much. Keeping you there.
He musters the strength to look down at you again. Your eyes follow the beads of cum weeping from his tip as they cover his hand, staining the expanse of his scarred skin. He lets you go. Watches you watch the glossy beads of his release meet your hand. Warm and wet.
He’ll teach you how to take him with your mouth next time; teach you to work your tongue just how he likes it. He’ll watch you swallow all of him. He’ll forge the satisfaction of knowing that his cum will be swimming inside your stomach.
His. From the inside.
Heavy breathing; a hand tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his; a slim, crooked smile beneath his mask. He promises.
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist
Masterlist [Continued]
Masterpost
Modern Warfare AI Masterlist
>Simon has a neet weirdo as a best friend
Or
Simon Riley lets his best friend see his naked body for art references.
This wasn't the way Simon was expecting to spend his PTO; naked in his best friend's bed with his hand covering his soft cock, hoping not to make you uncomfortable as you took notes of his body's reactions.
“Can you like... get hard?” He was trying his best not to get hard, going as far as to think about gross things he's seen throughout the years to distract himself from the feeling of your nails raking up and down his bare stomach, defined muscles tensing and bulging beneath your palm.
“'S not how it works.” He grumbled out, tired brown eyes looking away from you. Simon isn't embarrassed— not at all, he's simply not used to someone inspecting him the way you are, curious eyes fully focused on his body, taking in every single tattoo and scar, living proof of how many times he's kicked death's ass.
“Well, just think about... I don't know, tits.” He lets out a dry chuckle at the awkwardness in your tone, trying your best to keep it professional in the name of art. He looks down at you with pure amusement the moment he sees your hand drifting up, tracing the outline of his defined, muscular pecs.
You take a second to fully admire the view in front of you, absent-mindedly starting to play with his erect nipple, not registering the way his breath hitches. Simon looks like a gladiator— lightly tanned skin making his rippling muscles stand out greatly, becoming the virtual image of ancient Greek fantasies, a plethora of scars showing how often he crosses the edge of death.
“Gettin' a bit touchy there.” His playful tone doesn't save the mild embarrassment, about to let go of his nipple before his rough, calloused hand grasps your wrist, encouraging you to keep touching him.
“'S working.” Simon's other hand moves out of the way slightly, just barely enough for you to see his hardening cock, veins starting to become more prominent along his long, meaty shaft. He doesn't protest when you move his hand out of the way, getting a perfect look at him.
“That's... oddly interesting.” The awkwardness coming from you never fails to amuse him, only making his ego inflate by the second, even when you look down at your notebook to keep taking notes of his body's reactions.
“Does it feel weird to get a boner?” He thinks about it for a few seconds before shaking his head, holding back a laugh at the blunt questions. In the name of art, she says.
“Not weird, just... I don't know, bird.” The expectant look that you give him distracts him for a second, trying to think of a better way to explain it.
“Feels good. Bit tingly most of the time, and you can feel it... y'know, grow.” Explaining what getting a boner feels like isn't the weirdest thing he's done for you, half-lidded brown eyes focused on the way you simply nod and keep taking notes, using his words as inspiration for the erotic novels he knows you write.
The room is almost quiet for a few minutes, Simon's breathing becoming harder being the only sound, feeling your soft hands caressing every single inch of his skin, feeling him up more than he can take... and ultimately edging him without even being aware, stopping to take notes every once in a while.
“I can show you how a man jacks off, too. For the sake of art, yeah?”
synopsis. simon comes home. he's too tired to fuck you right. eventually, he manages to find the energy.
warnings. 18+ this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy or use ai on my shit, i’ll find out. female receiving penetration, blonde simon lol, somnophilia, dry humping, pussy smacking, and crying during sex. i am not responsible for your media consumption.
an. :) life sucked so i found a new animated character to obsess over. please comment & reblog if u enjoyed !
When Simon comes back, he’s dog-tired.
As soon as his feet touch the welcome mat of your quaint little apartment, he feels all of his muscles relax – as if they’re unpinning themselves from his bones – and he has to give himself a pep talk to muster the energy to drag his hand up to ring the bell.
But he doesn’t have to, because you’re ripping the door open – shining like the sun – and pulling him into your body, rendering all 6,4 ft and 240 pounds of the super soldier to complete mush.
For five minutes, you don’t speak. Just hold him, as you gently rub the corner of his jaw, and brush your fingers through his dirty blonde hair. He clutches you to him.
His fat, paw-like hands hold your upper back, and you hold him with the same vigour. His body – wrapped in his black compression shirt and army pants – is rock solid.
It’s a weaving of muscles that have been tensed for the last two months. It’s going to take a minute for them all to soften, but like he always does when he’s been away, Simon lets out a deep and resolute sigh.
The breath warms your neck, causing it to tingle, and you grasp him tighter, your body waking up.
It’s been a long two months.
He manages to push your intertwined bodies through the doorway, using his boot to kick the door shut. His house smells like home -- funny how you can’t smell it until you’ve been gone a while.
Vanilla and a citrus fruit, mixed with the savoury scent of his favourite meal. He hums again, and you scratch the back of his head, sending shivers down his locked spine.
He knows the route to your bedroom like the back of his hand, and he maneuvers the pair of you inside.
The curtains are closed and the bed is made. You know him. You know him so well.
You let him push you back onto the bed – a blur of familiar limbs and hair – and he settles lower, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Immediately, you drag your legs up and cross them over the curve of his ass.
You’re all warm and soft and pliable. Dressed in a pair of simple cotton shorts and a vest top, he wants to grab fistfuls of you and remind himself of how you feel in his palms. Wants to drag his lips over your skin, bully his way between your legs and remind himself of how you taste.
Fuck, he wants you, in a carnal, almost primal sort of way, and you the same. He can smell it. A sweet but sweaty longing that melts from you and causes his senses to wake.
But he’s so God damn tired.
You know. Know this routine. Know that he has to settle back in.
In the meantime, you’ll just have to wait.
You fiddle with his hair. “There’s dinner if you want it,” you whisper into the dark bedroom, looping the strands between your fingers, committing the soft feel to memory.
Simon shuffles just an inch on top of you, but still, the slight movement of his clothes and hard, clenched body against yours makes you take your bottom lip between your teeth.
It’ll be chewed raw by the time he has enough energy to take you.
He grunts something into your skin, and after a second, you gather it’s, tired.
His scent clouds you.
When Simon comes back, he always smells the same.
The soap at the barracks is pine scented – shampoo a strict lemon.
But there’s always a leftover grit to him. A hidden layer the soap can’t clean off, and it makes you delirious. Makes you flex your ass up – just an inch, a sweet, gentle inch that has you feeling the hard lines of his thighs and the metal of his zipper, and Simon’s breathing hitches.
You freeze. With your hips pushed tight against his, you stare at the ceiling, hoping that your worn-out soldier hasn’t felt you move.
Simon stays quiet. His breathing settles. You go to apologise, but Simon doesn’t grumble or make a sly comment. Listening closer to his breathing, you gather that he’s asleep.
Jesus, you think, that’s a record. Barely in the door and he’s asleep, he must be burnt out. Figuring that you won’t be able to crawl from under his weight, you decide it’s your bedtime too.
Sleep comes fast.
Hours later, you blearily blink awake. Not much has changed – the room is still dark, Simon is still heavy on top of you, yet now, you’re sticking to him with sweat.
He’s usually a human furnace, but this is different.
Your skin prickles, vibrating at a frequency that has nothing to do with heat. No, this is…you feel a pulsating between your thighs, and wiggle, feeling your slick coating your underwear.
Fuck, why are you so wet? You clench, and the resulting ache forces you to hiss and push your head back against the pillows. What did you dream about? Thinking back, you come up short. Then why--
Simon shuffles on top of you. It’s a slight movement, but it continues, and all at once, your heart clenches.
Holy fuck, he’s—
“Simon?” you whisper, and your boyfriend whines into your neck.
“I’m sorry,” he wheezes, the words wet and desperate. The puzzle pieces lock into place.
He knocks his hips into your crotch once more, and you gasp, clenching, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Simon’s apology comes out again, except this time, it’s christened with a “s-shit – fuck.”
Blinking at the ceiling, you huff and try and glance down, and in the dark, you just about manage to see the outline of his burly body grinding into yours.
You take stock of the situation.
Feel his fat palm around your hip, and squinting, see that he’s got your shorts pulled down around your thighs, and has the band of your underwear looped around his fingers.
Jesus Christ. You fall back into the pillows. “How long have you?” you whisper.
“Five – fuck – minutes,” Simon grunts, continuing to roll his thick hips against you. His bulge knocks the edge of your throbbing clit, causing you to gasp again. There’s been no build-up to your want, it’s just there, humming electric, and spread tight over your thighs.
Simon meshes his wet mouth against your chest. He’s tugged your vest top down, too, and his lips close around the skin of your breast. Jesus. He was undressing you as you slept.
“Thought about fuckin’ you, but couldn’t get my pants down, so – shit -- tired. Jus’ woke up and you were just so fuckin’ soft. And wet, Christ, felt you through my trousers.”
Your whole body goes numb.
“You were gonna fuck me as I slept?” you whisper, belly flipping.
You’d told him – ages ago – that he could, but he hasn’t been here.
You’d forgotten.
The image of him pulling your underwear down as you slept streaks across your mind. Imagine waking up with him inside of you, so full and wet and just on the precipice of coming.
Simon grunts. He tugs at the band of your underwear, “I’ll fuck you right, at some point. Just –”
In your delirious state, you manage to finish his sentence, “Tired, I know – I know baby.”
You kiss the crown of his head and whimper into his hair. “Just use me until you’re ready.”
Simon groans out deep and loud. It rumbles against your chest. Echoes through your heart, and you’re so turned on that you begin fidgeting.
You try and squirm away from the stifling ache of your pussy, but Simon’s built like a brick shithouse, so you can’t run from it, just gotta take it and take it and take it, until you can’t anymore, and you break.
You’re so fucked that you don’t even announce that you’re coming, but Simon knows, shit, and as your pussy clenches up tight, he growls low and hard, mumbling, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, until his movements go sloppy, and his breathing goes laboured, and he’s coming into his pants and mewling your name.
When he finally does manage to get inside of you, he doesn’t last long. No, he pushes all the way to the hilt, and you tighten up.
“Stay” you gasp, clenching your pussy around his shaft, and Simon grunts deep and long into your throat.
“S-Stay there,” you moan, then, in case he didn’t hear you, “Stay,” you whisper, and push the ball of your palm into his thick, scarred shoulder.
You were teetering on a knives edge.
You’ve come once since Simon was home, and your second orgasm of his return was right there.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Simon groans into the shallow of your throat, “Did we do enough prep?”
“Yes,” you immediately whisper, not wanting him to pull out.
He’s thick and pulsing inside of you, hard and heavy on top, and God, he kisses at your throat — soft and gentle. You try to swallow down the ball that has swelled in your throat, but tears prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill.
No no no no, you think. Not now. Not now not now. You try to stifle the tears, but you unconsciously sniff, and despite Simon being perfectly still, he still manages to freeze.
“Sweetheart?”
You inhale, “Yeah?”
Simon looks up; and seeing tears on your cheeks, his face falls, “Did I hurt you?”
You furiously wipe the tears away, shaking your head.
“M’just overwhelmed,” you whisper, and he presses his forehead against yours, going to kiss you, but the movement causes his hips to flex against you, nudging his cock, and you whine, immediately gripping onto the back of his dirty blonde locks.
Simon drops his face into your chest and lets out a pained rasp, “Tightening around me, kid.”
You unclench, “m’sorry.”
“Gonna come quick.”
“S’okay.”
“I’ll fuck you right, just gotta…” he trails off and grabs fist fulls of your hips.
“Fuck,” he huffs wistfully, “This pussy. Missed this fucking pussy.”
You go dizzy with need. Shake your head, and bend to kiss him, tasting his wet and swollen lips.
Gently, you knock your hips up into his, and when he lets out a surprised grumble, you flex your hips higher, trying to stuff his cock deeper, further – till you can see it pressing into your belly.
Catching onto your plan, Simon grunts and pushes your hips with his fat palms, pinning your ass to the mattress.
“Stop,” he orders, and the demand goes straight to your cunt. Jesus. He hasn’t been very dominant since his return, and that little instruction has you chomping on the bit.
“Want you, Si.”
“One stroke and I’ll be fucked.”
“Just gotta practice.”
He chokes on a laugh, muttering, “Practice.”
You try another tactic. Clench around his cock and pout, “Want you to come inside me.”
“Fuck,” Simon cuts. You curl your legs back his back and push your foot into the dense muscle of his ass, at the same time rocking your hips up. Simon lets you. Let’s you try and fuck yourself on his cock.
With wet lips, you push your mouth into the shell of his ear, shakily uttering his name.
“Gonna fill me up, Si?”
“Fuckin’ filthy, you know that?”
Simon pulls back, and your heart stutters.
You think he’s going to pull out, until he uses your hips to pull you tight against his cock -- your ass nearly sitting on his thighs. His thick, scarred chest is puffed up.
Cheeks red, and he’s got that animal glint in his pretty eyes.
It knocks you for six.
“Where you want it?” he asks, and you’re confused, until he presses the heel of his palm into the middle of your tummy.
“Shoot my load here, huh?”
Your body goes numb. Eyes white out. It happens so suddenly that it scares you, and you’re a mixture of turned on and frightened, but the fear turns you on even more.
All you can do is blearily look up at him as he slides his paw to the other side of your tummy, “or shoot it here. Fuck it so deep that you can taste it.”
He pretends to think about it. Even hums, before he drags his palm up and stuffs his thumb into your mouth. “Or just directly here, huh?”
He snarls a smile, “know you like it when your mouth is full.”
You suck at his thumb, and tighten your cunt around his cock, causing his mouth to open, and eyes to flutter, and just like that, you’ve won.
He comes in record time.
But Simon keeps his promises.
A couple of days later – on the seventh day he’s back -- he fucks you so good, that when you wake up the next morning, you get shy just thinking about it.
Lay in bed, staring at the ceiling – your boyfriend fast asleep on your chest -- remembering the debauchery you’d gotten up to the night before.
The pair of you are a little tipsy, drunk on beer and wine, but all it’s done is heighten your senses, and made you fully aware of your desires, so much so, that they pulsate behind your eyelids like a migraine.
Simons got you face down, ass up, and as he pushes you face first into the mattress, he presses his thumb against the tight, fluttering hole of your pussy.
“Gonna let me inside, baby?”
You sink into your thighs and spread yourself wider for him, humming into your crossed arms. Simon watches your pussy spread further, and he can’t help himself, he has to slide his thumb deeper.
He presses, just barely pushing the tip of his thumb into your wet hole, and you gasp, trying to chase the feeling by inching back against his fat palm.
He laughs at you.
“Look at your pussy sucking my thumb in, baby. Wish you could see what I’m seeing. So fuckin’ sexy.”
You hum, the words making you wetter – dripping over his thumb.
“Been dreaming of fucking you right, gonna take you whenever I want.”
“Okay,” you whisper, so delirious that you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to. Simon raises a brow,
“Yeah?” he asks, tone breathless.
Thought he’d get some pushback on that one, but for a second, he forgot that you said the nastiest shit with his dick inside of you.
You nod into your crossed arms, and Simon laughs again, “Free use pussy,” he sounds, then lightly smacks your sodden folds, causing you to flinch, bucking forward.
“Oh fuck,” you choke, eyes rolling back. Heat ricochets through your crotch and swamps your belly, before settling back in your aching pussy. Once you manage to collect yourself – and it takes a second -- you huff.
“Bein’ mean.”
Simon snorts, grabs your hips, then rams the underside of his cock against your pussy, grinning so big that his scars stretch, “don’t know the half of it, babe.”
You sob, real tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Your desire is visceral, enough for you to taste it on your tongue. Simon pulls back, and your slick coats the length of his dick, earning yourself another light smack to your cunt.
“Soakin’ me,” he grunts, and you sob into the sheets.
“Please,” you whisper, then, please please please, and Simon hears your breathing hitch.
This time, instead of checking up on you, he chuckles, “Crying again, baby?”
You sniff and wipe your eyes on your wrist, face heating.
“No,” you mumble, and Simon sighs.
He reads you like a book. Always has. Always will.
“Lying to me,” he grumbles, then he steers the uncut head of his cock between your folds, whispering, “Lie to me again, and I’ll give you something to cry about,” before bottoming out in one thrust.
Sorry I know I'd post later after the first one! But the heat went out at my home and ya know... priorities.
Part 1
But enjoy!
No p in v, oral, some fingering, kissing, biting...jealousy- yada yada
scareactor!GhostxFem!reader
Y/N looked for the large man who had pinned her to the wall on her way out as she dropped off the SD card to Kate... She realized she never even knew his name. Walking to her car, she felt like she was being watched, but every glance over her shoulder, she was unable to locate the source.
This made her feel uneasy, but she had an assumption that she knew who it was. His large figure was just somehow so well hidden. Giving up, she put her car in gear and headed for home.
Slowly, she managed her night-time routine, the hour now late. Crawling into bed, she eventually found sleep after thinking of the interaction for what felt like hours.
It was around noon when she woke up again, checking her phone to multiple notifications and an email from her new employer.
"Thank you for the pictures. The success has gone wild on our social media. Our watermark has been placed on them along with her artist handle name for you social media. Please return tonight at 4 PM, same as last night." A link was then included in the email showing the album that had been shared on their multiple social media pages.
Opening it, she was in awe, not able to go through the pictures herself at the end of the night. She had no clue what she had caught. The main picture now at the top of their website is one of the nameless man she felt herself swooning for. Mid-scare, size hulking over a group, all of them cowering in fear. Her eyes traced over his muscles, the picture seized at the moment with the axe prop above his head before he was to bring it down.
Closing her eyes, she thought about being closed in by him once more. Stuck in the corner, his arms on either side of her, and his hot breath that was seeping through his mask creeping across her skin once more. The words he had spoke ringing through her head, hoping he would hold true on his promise. Unsure of how to make him follow through with it.
She ate and got ready, 4 PM not too far off from her shift start. Pulling into the lot, she found Kate outside of the briefing room.
"See my email?" she asked, her tone showing how impressed she was.
"I did!!"
"Let's have a repeat." Opening the door for her to enter. Y/N saw the room wasn't as full this time, but she was early. Yesterday, she had paperwork to go through and sign, but tonight, she had the pick of the room 6 she wanted to stand.
Choosing the back in the corner near a chair and table, she pulled out her equipment to get set up. The room eventually started to fill, workers filing in like an ant line. Her eyes would periodically look up where, at last, she locked on to the brown ones that had teased her last night. If his mask was off... she would be able to see his smirk. She would be able to tell he was happy to see her. But she didn't, and that lingering feeling of excitement and fear hit her all over again, factored from the unknown.
Watching his wide stride, her heart pounded, seeing him get closer. But nothing matched the feeling when she felt him stand behind her. She looked up at him, tilting her head back, trying to be inconspicus as she did so. However, his eyes were already down, looking at her.
"Evenin', sweetheart," he mumbled down to her in that deep voice of his. The embarrassment Y/N felt made her head quickly jolt down as she squeaked, now looking ahead. Chuckles could be heard from him, making her heart rate spike.
This briefing started out about the same, but instead of being in the main courtyard, she was on the other side of the park for the night. Learning the large man's name as Ghost finally, he would be on the main side of the park and in her area later at shift change.
"See ya' out there, kitten," was said lowly into her ear while he bent over and picked up his prop axe next to her bag.
"See you," was all she could manage to say, feeling dumb at the lack of words and her normal wit. Seems like this man just rendered her speechless.
Starting her trek to the back of the park before it opened, she was slightly sad she would not be able to see the droves of scariees come in like she did the night before... and maybe knowing that Ghost was there for the start of the night as well.
Setting up 2 cameras tonight, one on a tripod to catch groups of people going by, and another lose in her hands was her strategy for tonight. Always feeling like she did her job well, she was excited for tonight. The yelling from scarers, to the giggling fits as people ran away, allowing her to smile, distracting her from anything else. Conversations started to catch her ear, though, hearing whispers from young women and men about the large man at the front of the park. Him being the main person they had come to see. She knew instantly who they were talking about.
"The pictures looked great, but man he looks better in person."
"Did you see how close he was to us?"
"He's so hot."
Hating to admit it, but she felt so damn jealous. The attention he was giving to others, she wanted for herself. But having to remind herself this is what people pay for... and she was getting paid. Telling herself to pull her head out of her ass, she focused on her task at hand. Stopping people and asking if they wanted pictures with the actors helping time go by. Shift change finally came, and it seemed as though Ghost appeared. He brought a flood of people with him. People flocked to him, and he basked in it.
The jealousy flared up all over again, and she fought hard to reel in it's ugly green head. Grateful for the half mask she wore at least hiding her furrowed brow, but if anyone knew her well enough- they could tell by her tight lips how annoyed she was.
Glued to one spot, she stayed listening to people ask over and over again to take their picture with their "beloved hot" Ghost. Some even linking their arms around his waist or hands on his chest. Fuming. Absolutely fuming was the way to describe how Y/N felt.
It was a turn of events when Ghost pushed through the herd of people. Long strides once more to reach her. He towered down to look at her for a hot second before he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, making her let out multiple gasps. One leaving her mouth, and the dozens of others watching him carry her away.
"What are you doing!?" she asked.
"Look like you need a break," his tone coy.
"I'm getting paid for this!" Her whining was quickly silenced from a light bite that he placed on the plush of her thigh next to his head.
"I'll pay ya' for what I'm about to do if you're that worried then." He said, snagging her camera and exchanging an SD card for one that was in his pocket with the one that had her work on it.
Taking her to the back of the park, and into what looked like to be a shop on the outside but was storage for the park.
He set her down on what looked like to be an old Victorian couch, no doubt used at the park. Arms caging her head, leaning in while he lifted up the mask.
"These are mine. No one else will see them or have them." Understanding what he was implying she nodded, eyes locked with his autumn ones. Lips then locked with hers, kissing her slowly.
"Can't be getting jealous at work." The tone he was using now taunting her.
"Easy for you to say."
The thunder of his chuckle reverberated through his chest. Placing his hands on her jeans he slipped them down, she lifting herself to allow him, hand brushing against covered pussy. She gasped at his braziness, but arched with him as his hands rode up her core and grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt.
"You want to be mine then?" voice still rumbling in her ear.
"Yes." She blurted out, preparing to lift her shirt.
He smacked her hand away, laughing louder this time.
"I will take my time here, little one."
Groaning, she laid back down. Lifting the camera, he began to snap photos of her mask, t-shirt, and panties.
"Want to document everything." He said, moving her legs into the next position, angling them as he took photos lower and lower. "Ya alright with this?" He asked kindly, making sure she was comfortable.
"I am," Y/N said confidently.
Lifting her shirt, he started placing a trail of light kisses in his wake.
"What's yer name?"
This time, a light giggle left her, finding it ironic she was this far with a man who didn't even know who she was.
"Y/N."
His mouth rewarded her for her answer. He bit at her ribcage, grabbing the thin flesh, starting to suck to place a hickey. Gasping and squirming harder, he tightened his grip on her, refusing to let go.
"Well, Y/N. You're mine, and I'm yours." Fingers running across the marked flesh before snapping another photo of her bearing his mark. Leaning in, he kissed her once more, fingers running across her lips after.
"These are mine," kissing her lips deeply hands now running up her shirt.
"These are also mine," he said lightly, squeezing her breasts, removing her shirt up over head. Fingers now tracing down her tummy and to her back where he squeezed her ass.
"This is mine." Before flipping her over, a slight grunt from the shock of him being so quick about it. Large hands grabbed her hips and ran up her body. Lightly, he pushed in between her shoulder blades, pushing her into the couch. She felt his teeth once more on her skin before leaving another love mark on her left hip.
Next, he stood up beside her as he took a picture of her from the side before getting back inbetween her legs and pulled her panties down. Fingers rubbed against her flooded core.
"But this is especially mine." He near growled into her ear before slipping a finger in, making her moan. Smoothly, he used one hand to unclasp her bra, it sliding down her arms from gravity. Wiggling his fingers inside her, curling up as he did. It made her gasp uncontrollably, but his tongue pressed against her, making her squeak. Slipping another finger in as he did, his tongue lower pressing into her clit and nose angled against her ass cheek. It was a pattern he was doing frevently, moving quickly to make her cum. Promptly, she did, walls squeezing around his fingers, him slowing down. Nipping at her outer thigh once more, he flipped her over on to her back. Grabbing the camera, he took pictures of her body fully naked, but face still covered with the mask.
The peace of this position was quickly over as he yanked her legs up over the side of the couch, making her yelp. Head was now hanging off the side of the couch where her hair cascaded down to the floor, pooling at the ground.
"I got ya love," he said, calming her, fingers at the base of her jaw turning her head to the side, backing up and taking pictures of her body in this provacative position.
Y/N had never done anything like this before... let alone with someone she just met.
The intimacy from him only increased, watching him crawl to her. He tugged at the ties on her mask, it was now falling to the ground where he left it. The prop played into the art he was making. Sitting back on the ground in front of her, the camera continued to snap. She was muse completing his master piece.
"Look at me," his voice was low and seductive.
Instantly, she turns her head to look at him, completely bare before him. Watching the shutter close and open, the flash went off, and she stayed staring at where his eyes were behind the camera.
"Good girl," he crawled to her once more, quickly reaching her to kiss her long and slow. Tongues running together.
The bells ringing out to midnight, signifying the park was now closing. Everyone turning into pumpkins.
"Get dressed, get your gear." He said, popping the SD card of his into his pocket and putting hers back in.
"What??" Shocked he wasn't going further, disappointed a better term.
"Going to take ya' for dinner first 'fore I fuck ya' proper. Get dressed. I know of a 24 hour diner." Lightly tossing her clothes to her.
"Oh." The skin of her cheeks bright red, once again embarrassed from her needy behavior.
Once dressed, she flipped on her camera, making sure the images were not of her before she turned her SD card in.
"Told you, for my eyes only." He said, showing her the SD card.
Nodding once more, scurrying to drop the cards off with Kate, ready to go on this date with Ghost.
"What are you?" He asked, blocking the door smiling coyly.
reader goes out to the bar with TF141 after a successful mission with her boss Laswell. Receives some unwanted attention that angers ghost, but reader quickly shuts it down.
It was not the first mission that you had gone on with the Task Force, but this was by far the most dangerous one. So when Laswell called you and told you to be at the local bar at 1900 in casual clothes, you were all over it ready to let you lose.
Opting for plain black t shirt and jeans, gathering your things and out the hotel door. You knew already that you were going to be late. You just had things to finish first. Being all work and no play most times, but that was going to change tonight. The insistent vibrating of your phone in your back pocket telling Laswell was impatient for your arrival.
Omw, you sent trying to calm her down.
Finally, told you your report could wait till after
Yeah, yeah. Get to sleep my hangover off tomorrow now since its done
Man, I bet your real fun at parties, Laswell sent back making you snort a small laugh. You could hear the dead panning sarcasm in Laswell's tone
Bout to find out.
Entering the bar, the lot of them waiting at a table already. Soap choosing to wave at you to make sure you had seen them. Waving back at them to confirm you did, but going to the bar first to get your drink.
The bar was rather busy, and people lined up the entire length of it. Looks like it was game night, all the TVs on for it, probably causing the bar to be packed. Choosing a place to wedge yourself in, waiting to catch the attention of the bartender.
Doing so left you open at the mercy of the people around... A man closing in on you eyes you as an easy target and choosing a corny pick-up line.
"Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?" He leaned over into your ear. Instead of answering him, you flipped your hair over your shoulder, blocking the view and your now word raped ear from the guy doing it again. Hoping he would get the hint that you were not interested.
"Rum and coke," you said to the bartender, still not paying attention to the Douche Canoe trying to flirt with you.
Laswell and the Task Force noticed this unwanted attention... All seeming to turn their head and hands unconsciously placed on the table, readying themselves if needed. Laswell placed her hand on Price's arm, "Calm down, she's got this." Laswell's eyes drifting across to all of them. Ghost, on the other hand, was already half up, ready to intervene and send his fist to this unknown man's skull.
Ghost valued you, found your ability to learn and listen great on the field. But he was only starting to understand now what the issue was. He was jealous... he didn't like this man being so close to you. The idea of anyone sweeping you off your feet made his blood boil and skin burn.
The man only got closer to you, pushing your hair aside and leaning in once more to whisper in your ear. His hot breath now misting your skin- he rank of beer.
"Come on, baby, what's your name? Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine so you can use it later tonight."
"Don't fuckin' touch me," you snarled seeing the bartender approach with your drink in hand. Taking a large step to the side the man stood up, his voice louder.
"Bitch!" He said, trying to bully you for the comment to him... clearly this man was way too drunk.
Ghost for sure up now, side stepping the table already making large strides on is way to you.
The next move you made, though, as the man leaned in and said something that they all could not hear. You squared up to him, saying something in a rebuttal that made him put his hands up and back away. Ghost's head slightly turned to the side, wondering what you just said to scare him off.
The scowl was off your face, seeing that Ghost was standing in the middle of the bar. Your eyes brightened up seeing his large figure, and heart doing somersaults in your chest... or it was your stomach... you couldn't quite decide. He seemed to make you feel a lot of things.
"Sorry," you muttered meekly, walking next to him back to the table. Oh, how he wanted to put his arm around you, claim you as his own. Instead, he turned to look at the man with a look that could kill. The man's complexion is now pale and mouth still slightly open. Douche Canoe turned around and faced the bar that now seemed to have thinned down near him - no one wanted to be around him after his gross stunt.
"What happened?" Laswell asked, wanting to know how ypu put the guy in his place.
"Dude's drunk, needs to go."
"Well, we can see that. What did you do to make him stop?" Laswell asked. "It has to be a good one."
"He asked me if my scars and tattoos made me feel intimidating. Implying that he thought I couldn't do shit if he did what he wanted." You said sitting down, thinning out the other things the guy said to you, deeming them not appropriate. All eyes of the men on you, upset you had just been treated that way.
"And?" Gaz said wanting her to continue.
You sighed, settling down in the chair, Ghost sitting next to you.
"Told the fucker, 'No, but the 9mil in my waistband does'."
Gaz gives a wicked smile, while Soap snorted his beer up his nose that he was sipping on. Price sighed while giving a half assed smile - he wanted to portray that it wasn't a good thing to say in public, but honestly, he found it amusing.
"Told you she had it handled," Laswell said, giving a laugh as she did, scooting back up to the table.
But the only expression you cared about at that moment was Ghost's. You didn't have to look at him but knew his brown coals were burning into the side of your head. He was proud that you stood up for yourself, threating this man, but he would rather have gutted him for his disgusting behavior to such a sweet girl like you.
The night went on, finding that the drinks came easier, blurring what everyone was doing. Ghost's arm had snaked around the back of your chair, pulling you closer to him. No one seemed to notice but the two of you. You leaned into his shoulder and the crook of his neck, your hand resting on his upper thigh under the table. Everyone was listening to jokes and telling wild stories, the most fun you have had in a long time.
Finishing about what you thought was your 3rd or 4th drink, Ghost got up. Saying something about needing to go to the bathroom and would get everyone another round. Little did you know, he was waiting for Asshat Douche Canoe (ADC)- the name he had earned from his stunt earlier, given by the group.
You watched ADC put on his coat, refusing to turn and look in your direction, still shook up from what you had said... and Ghost is not too far out behind following him out the door.
You had an inkling in your head of what Ghost was going to do, but already had ideas running through your mind of how you were going to thank him for it.
hmm im thinking about it being the first night simon stays over, and you show him how to take off his makeup. (18+)
he looks tired. you stand in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher with the remnants from dinner. you don't want to spend time washing the full sink, you just want to sit next to him and soak up the warmth of him--you had missed him, and all you want to do is curl up next to him and nuzzle your face into his mask and finally get him into your bed, under your covers.
he's never slept over. he's always been adamant about that. always lacing up his boots after the movie, kissing you through the mask after a warm date, tucking you in when you get too tipsy and leaving water by the bedside table. he always goes, and even if he comes back in the morning, he always makes sure he does not stay over.
even when he fucked you the first time--he waited until you fell asleep, and then he left, and he came back in the morning with breakfast, but you knew he went home because he smelled fresh and he was wearing different clothes.
but tonight, he's staying. because you finally asked, and how could he say no to those pretty eyes? to that sweet little pout?
the distance, he was always trying to maintain it. but it was useless. you are not temporary. there is no end date. he can't keep letting you linger at arm's length.
you're soft and sweet, and your cunt is the same, and when he isn't thinking about being cock-deep in you, he's dreaming of your soft voice and your pretty smile and the tender way you kiss him and the way you hug. the all-encompassing, enveloping way you put him at ease. his rage builds, and one look at you, and it is gone.
as if it never mattered in the first place. as if it was never there at all.
so he agreed to stay. his bag sits heavy in your bedroom, clean clothes inside, and his toothbrush is in the same holder as yours in the bathroom. he lingered on it when he had put it there; two versus one. he never wants to see his toothbrush alone ever again.
he blinks awake when he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. he's still wearing his army fatigues, black cargo pants and his windbreaker, the skull balaclava tucked under his long sleeve to hide any skin. his holsters are still around his thighs, but they are empty, and his vest is on the floor by the door, where his boots are. he feels your warmth even through the layers, and he leans towards it without thinking.
you kiss the side of his head, cupping under his chin gently.
"tired, simon?" you coo softly. "'s alright. we should get you in bed. been a long day."
"mm...olright," he murmurs, and you look up at him as he stands, and he towers over you, making you feel small, but safe. he's a bear, and he's yours, and he's staying.
you take his hand gently, and he follows you. you stand side-by-side in the bathroom, and you smile at him in the mirror as he unzips his windbreaker, revealing the hoodie underneath. his eyes meet yours, and he winks, and you smile wider, especially when his hand falls, smacking your ass nice and firm.
"wot, luv? somethin' funny, yeah?"
you shake your head and laugh, and then you reach for the headband in the drawer, slipping it over you as you prepare to wash your face. you slip a few products out onto the counter, and your mouth goes dry when simon grips his mask from the back of his head and pulls it completely off.
he is so handsome. his nose is crooked; he's broken it a few times, that's for sure. there's a scar deep across his face, jagged over his lips, and you've felt it when you've kissed him before, but it's jarring to see it. there's a few more across his other cheek, along his forehead, and you break out into nervous giggles as you meet his dark eyes. the eye-black around his eyes has shifted with the fabric of the mask and with sweat, but he still looks hot.
really hot.
you swallow hard and turn the sink on, wetting your hands. simon reaches to do the same, and you watch as he brings his wet hands up and starts to wash his face. immediately, the eye-black just smears, and he has to move more over the sink as he continues to wash.
"simon?"
"'s olright. just takes a few minutes for it to come off."
you smile, "here, i...let me help."
he turns the water off, wiping his face on his sleeve, and you giggle when he looks into the mirror and realizes all he's done is smear the black across his cheeks. he laughs with you, deep and gravelly, and you reach into the drawer and pull out two bracelets made of absorbent fabric.
"give me your hands," you say softly, and he does, and you slip the bracelets over his wrists. "keeps the water from running down your arms."
"fuckin' annoyin' when it does that," he grumbles, and you smile. you reach across the counter, opening a small jar.
"it's called double cleansing. you take this balm--" you get a dime-sized amount onto your finger and you put it into his hand, "--and then you rub it into your hands until it becomes...kinda oily. it'll take off all of...that--" you motion to the black streaks along his face.
"oi, are y'on the piss?" he laughs, "it'll take it oll'off?"
you giggle and nod, "yeah. try it."
he rubs his hands together, warming up the balm, and then he reaches up and massages it into his face. you watch, biting back more laughs, when he realizes how much easier the eye-black moves, coming off onto his hands. when he washes it off, it's nearly gone, and then you give him a dollop of face wash to help rinse the rest away. he dries his face on a towel, grinning in the mirror, and you hug his arm gently as he takes the bracelets off.
your eyes meet again in the mirror, and he smooths his hands down your waist, moving you in front of him, leaning over your and putting his face into your neck. he warms the skin there with soft kisses, and you laugh, buzzing with delight.
"you're so beautiful, luv," he growls in your ear, and you close your eyes.
"you're...y-you're beautiful, too, simon."
"yeah? come off it."
never. you'll never come off whatever high you're on now. you reach up and hold onto him, as much as you can grab, and you close your eyes as you kiss, his lips on yours, something hot in your chest and something soft in your insides.
SCRATCH POST
➥ He claims the letter 'S' stands for a lot of things this weekend: Sun, sea, sand, Sex on the Beach... You're not about to admit that out loud, but you're secretly hoping he doesn't solely mean the cocktail.
Because damn he's bringing sexy back.
➥ Best friend!Chris x Reader (f) — 3.7k (so much for a drabble)
➥ Prompt(s) requested: 46 || There will be multiple versions of this prompt.
➥ The author chooses not to issue tags for everything that takes place in this work to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to proceed at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.
⚠ — Public sex, heavy thirst turning wholesome.
“I’ll go for a dip,” he placed his shades on the little side table between you, “Then let’s eat. I’m starving.”
The response on the tip of your tongue was way too X-rated for 2 in the afternoon, so you nodded with a warm smile instead and watched him disappear into the sea.
When Chris suggested balling out on a beach weekend to get over the thesis defense PTSD, you didn’t even think twice. Hell yeah to a much-deserved vacation with your best friend, daydrinking until you got shitfaced over pretty cocktails at the beach club.
If you claimed the prospect of seeing him half naked had nothing to do with how much you were looking forward to this trip, instant VIP space in hell for you.
For years, it was like there was this unspoken rule between you that prevented doing something utterly stupid, and you pretty much friendzoned each other as if it was government mandated. He was kind, not to mention so pleasing to look at—of course you would develop a stupid crush much like everyone who sighed after him when he walked by, but nothing to make a big deal out of. It was eventually going to go away. It had to. No crush lasted that long.
Growing up together has its cons. You can’t really notice what’s right in front of your nose because you’re not programmed to perceive it a certain way.
But something began to crack inside you when Chris started becoming a man. All of a sudden, he wasn’t the cute dork you knew anymore.
His features sharpened along with his jawline. His voice got deeper along with his gaze, and you realized the things you wanted to do with his sculpted body had long crossed the border of wholesome cuddling. He felt too firm under your touch to be a mere pillow anyway. Your banters turned into relentless flirting that always ended with smug grins, but it still didn’t go past that.
Growing up together has its cons. You can’t really notice what’s right in front of your nose because you’re not programmed to perceive it a certain way. As an object of desire, to be precise.
That afternoon on the beach, however, Chris was literally forcing his way into your tunnel vision. When he got out of the water, he somehow managed to bend time, and everything turned into slow motion.
Your brainrot got way out of hand.
His curls were still somewhat visible despite his wet hair, and his shorts sticking to his thick thighs were not leaving anything to the imagination. Your eyes were following each drop trickling down his chiseled torso, and you were a minor breeze away from jumping him to lick all the salt off his skin. When he raised his arms to wash his hair under the cold shower, the muscles on his back strained so hard that you were visibly dripping between your legs.
Good god, this fucking scratch post.
After all those years you’d known Chris, one thing was still a medical mystery. You had no idea how a person could look extremely hot doing the most benign things. Walking, drinking water, breathing…
“Are you still firm on sunbathing, or can we take shelter in a cabana?” he woke you up from your violent delusions while drying himself with a towel.
“I could use some shade,” you pressed your legs together and pretended his god-like figure had absolutely no effect on you, “Wanna hit the bar first?”
“I’d kill for a Sex on the Beach right now.”
Sure. Why suggest any other drink when the corniest fucking innuendo existed, right?!
You and me both, brother, you wanted to say but opted for biting your tongue, silently picking up your things and heading to the palm-decorated area behind you.
“Can we have two Sex on the Be—”
“Nuh uh, make it a pitcher please,” you hijacked his order, “The gentleman here doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Because it was firmly established that you weren’t going to be able to survive the day if you weren’t at least moderately buzzed around this menace. While waiting for your drinks, Chris looked you up and down for no reason at all and furrowed his brows when he took notice of something.
“You came to the beach wearing fucking lipgloss?”
“It’s called a balm, you peasant,” you corrected him, “To prevent my lips from getting chapped.”
“So not to make them look more kissable or anything,” he leaned against the counter with a shit-eating grin.
See, it was things like this that made your palms itch, making you feel like you were being put to some test. This motherfucker thought he was oh so irresistible, which he was to be frank, but he had no idea the kind of hell you could drag him through if you snapped. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to shoo the urges trying to override your sanity.
“You’re making fun of my skincare products, but you’re wearing fucking cologne,” you scoffed.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are! You smell like candy.”
“OR maybe my pheromones just smell sweet to you.”
You wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face so hard, but unfortunately for you, it was at moments like this that your lizard brain was telling you to get on your knees and suck him dry.
“Pheromones do not release themselves, you know?” you shrugged and placed your elbows on the bar counter, “Maybe something triggered it.”
He chuckled, very much entertained, but didn’t answer. As you were hyperfocused on the mixology show in front of you, you could feel Chris’ eyes practically parkouring all over your body, and it was tickling something inside you. When your order was fulfilled, he picked up the tray and headed to the nearest cabana. While you were busy pouring generous amounts of the orangy drink over ice, he took his sweet time fishing for something from his bag and eventually handed you a bottle of sunscreen.
“Cream me, will you?”
Okay, that’s enough!
Not if he creamed himself first. That word choice was fucking deliberate, and if he thought you weren’t going to retaliate anymore just because you were playing nice all this time…
You took a big sip from your drink staring at him, then snatched the bottle from his hand. He sat at the very edge of the mattress and downed his entire glass in one go as if he were merely drinking water. You weren’t sure what exactly was the cause of the excessive thirst—his earlier hardcore swimming session, or…
You positioned yourself right behind him comfortably, perfectly aligning your body against his, and let your legs dangle from either side of him. While the point was to fluster him, you were hit with a sudden realization.
You had never been this close to him before.
To make matters worse, Chris had just gotten out of the cool sea water and taken an even colder shower, but his body was on fire like he’d been sitting under the sun for hours, emitting all the heatwave back at you. In all senses of the word.
You knew you were too close, but so did he. When you didn’t do anything, he briefly looked to his left side, not turning around all the way back, but it was enough for you to see the playful smile on his lips. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of what your task was supposed to be, then sprayed several splashes of the coconutty liquid on his back.
He hissed loudly when you established that first skin-to-skin contact.
“Cold?”
“Yeah,” he uttered a little too breathily, “but I like it.”
Well, if he liked this, then…
You pressed your palms on his shoulders and started running your hands down his arms. Much more slowly than you should have. The sunscreen was almost like a massage oil substitute for the way you were moving. When the pressure of your touch increased, his eyes closed and his breathing slowed down, his body unintentionally leaning into you.
“Tanned skin suits you so much,” you confessed in a whisper with no ulterior motive for once, “I really like it.”
Chris always sucked at taking compliments, but you could tell how much he was enjoying it from the muffled chuckle he let out.
“A little bit down.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to give instructions when you’re getting creamed, Christopher.”
You removed your hands from his arms and placed two fingers on his nape, sliding it down his spine and watching how you were breaking goosebumps on his skin. And that was the moment your intrusive thoughts took complete control.
When you reached right between his shoulder blades, your feathery touches mutated into a scratch. You sized him up, waiting for a sign of discomfort, but all you saw was the way he bit his lips.
He loved this.
Your breathing on his back pleasantly tickling him, you kept drawing slow, random lines without a particular destination in mind, culminating into an accidental discovery. The dent right under his left shoulder blade. He sharply inhaled.
Very interesting.
“You’re sensitive here, huh?” you quietly observed.
“M-Maybe.”
“What happens if I kiss you there?”
“Don’t—!”
Before he could finish his warning, you kissed that spot, and he let slip a full on dragged out moan. The real heat of his skin was nothing short of hellfire. The shape of your moist lips started appearing all over his back, spiking an urge to go full territorial and cover him with kiss marks. His soft but still ecstatic whines were so cute, but you wanted to hear it louder. He shuddered when you pressed your breasts against his bare back.
You let your instincts take the wheel, wrapping one arm around his waist, then sliding your hand inside his still-damp shorts.
“W-What are you doing?”
“Helping myself,” you quietly responded while kissing his back.
Never in a million years would you be able to guess you would one day feel Chris under your palm. Throbbing. Leaking. For you. He was mouthwateringly hard, and with every lazy stroke, he was letting go a bit more. He threw his head back and rested his nape on your right shoulder. You kissed his fully exposed neck. You kissed his shoulders. He was melting into a puddle already, and if you kept this up, he wasn’t going to be able to recover from the embarrassment of the mess he was about to cause.
“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” you smiled against his neck.
“Enjoying?” he creased his brows, “Do you not realize how hard I am right now?”
“Very,” you observed in a serious tone, “Am I hurting you?”
“You’re going to if you don’t do something about it.”
All of a sudden, you pulled your hand back, and Chris crashed into reality headfirst. He let out such a disappointed groan, but it quickly turned into a much bigger anticipation when he watched you close the drapes and turn around again.
“Like what?” you asked while taking careful steps towards him.
He lost the ability to speak.
You gently pushed on his chest to signal him to move backwards. He wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you, just watching you crawl towards him like a crouching tiger until his back hit the wooden surface behind him.
“Like sitting on it maybe?” you straddled him with unrushed movements.
Feeling your heat on his cock even through those layers of fabric almost fried his brain. He was looking up at you with huge eyes and parted lips, incredulous that you were actually on his lap. As you were grinding on him torturously slowly, he was gawking at your breasts, not being able to figure out how he could touch you everywhere all at once.
“Wanna feel them?”
If he didn’t nod way too enthusiastically for his own good, maybe it wouldn’t occur to you to block his attempt to cop a feel at the last second.
“You didn’t say please,” you tsked in disapproval, “Not very gentlemanly of you.”
Chris closed his eyes and bit into his smile, fully aware how his go-to line to tease you had backfired on him. If only he knew for how long you were collecting things to throw back at his face…
“Please.”
“Please what?”
He was getting visibly embarrassed no matter how much he was trying to play it cool. You didn’t think this could get any more entertaining than it already was, but oh well…
“Can I please touch?”
“Touch where?”
When he attempted to touch you, you stopped him from his wrists. Or more like he let you stop him considering his inhumane strength. You lifted his arms, pushed them back, and leaned into his face.
“Touch where?”
“Your–Your tits.”
As a response, you placed his hands on your breasts and squeezed them on his behalf, causing him to gulp so thickly and twitch under you. You honestly weren’t expecting such strong reactions from him, making this moment all the more satisfying for you. When you threw your arms around his neck, he took that as an opening to free your breasts and immediately started sucking on the sensitive flesh.
If this was how he made out with your nipples, ain’t no telling what he would do on your clit.
He could feel how you were reacting to him now, softly moaning and clenching on top of him, but it wasn’t enough. How could it ever be enough? He looked up at you once again and pulled you close to kiss you, but…
“Be patient,” you stopped him. Again.
His face fell, but it wasn’t necessarily because you didn’t grant permission. It was a certain word you used that got him almost mad.
“Isn’t ten fucking years enough patience for you?”
The smug smile you were wearing all this time erased itself.
Growing up together has its cons. You can’t really notice what’s right in front of your nose because you’re not programmed to perceive it a certain way. As an object of desire, to be precise. And when you realize you do, you have to put a leash on it so as not to lose the one thing that matters the most to you.
Sometimes for ten years.
“I can finally touch you,” Chris kissed your collarbones, and the desperation in his voice was growing stronger, “I’m about to fucking lose it, please.”
It almost made you cave.
The smile that reappeared on your lips was simply diabolical. If only he could shut himself up, you wouldn’t be teasing him so much, but he was giving you weapon after weapon. It wasn’t your fault—he put it in your head.
“Sorry,” you kissed his nose and uttered regretfully, “I don’t remember cumming.”
It suddenly turned into a staredown. Without looking away, he slid your bikini to the side and pressed his fingers on your clit, immediately deliquescing whatever amount of stubbornness you still put up.
“You’re wet,” he spoke from between your breasts, still drawing delicious circles, “Admit it. This is because you watched me shower, right?”
“W-What shower?”
“Come on, baby girl. I saw you staring,” his grin made a comeback, “I think it’s only polite if I clean up after myself, don’t you reckon?”
The way he was beyond himself just pleasuring you, completely lost in ecstasy was one of the sexiest things you’d ever witnessed. Nevertheless, you were still wondering how much further you could push it without giving him what he was deeply craving.
“No.”
“Let me eat it.”
“But no.”
“Let me!”
His frustration had no business being this cute. Ever so merciful, you finally decided to do him a favor since he insisted.
“I should cream your face, too, right?” you brushed your thumbs on his cheeks, “For good measure.”
The maniacal glint in his eyes was almost dangerous. He slid down in his place to make you sit on his face, not even letting you strip, and he hooked his fingers in your bottoms to expose you. When he finally started dragging his tongue all over your cunt, it was with so much appetite that you almost let a scream slip for how intense the feeling was.
He was getting the sloppy kiss you denied him from your pussy.
His hands were all over your body, groping whatever piece of flesh he could reach, and every command he received, he fulfilled it to perfection. To tease faster. To suck harder. To moan louder. This much obedience was the last thing you expected from him.
“Chris, I’m g— Fuck, too much!”
He didn’t care. You promised to cream his face for good measure, so every drop he could get, he was going to, especially when you were cumming that hard in his mouth. He timed your contractions to decide when you were finally coming down, then climbed back up to pull you on his lap again.
You finally kissed him.
When your lips touched his after two forevers, he heaved a deep and content sigh in your mouth. You could taste the Sex on the Beach on his tongue. And the sea. And yourself.
And pure lust.
Growing up together has its cons. You can’t really notice what’s right in front of your nose because you’re not programmed to perceive it as an object of desire, but once you do, there is absolutely nothing you can do to take it back.
You dragged down the waist of his shorts to free him and were instantly hit with the fact that touching it and seeing it with your own eyes were entirely different experiences. He looked concerningly scrumptious, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine the type of pleasure he was capable of providing you. You aligned his girth with your entrance, and the groans he let out as he was sinking into you were alarming, to say the least.
“Holy shit, that’s… TIGHT!”
“Shh, people are going to hear you,” you covered his mouth, but couldn’t help laughing at his overenthusiasm either.
“Look at my forehead,” he removed your hand, “Does it say I give a fuck?”
“No?”
“It’s because I don’t,” he groped your sides once he bottomed out, “Now let’s fuck, baby.”
Yes, you had imagined this very moment in your most inappropriate thoughts, maybe even in excruciating detail when you were touching yourself, and the context was always more or less the same. Chris, the number one frequenter of your wet dreams, spewing profanities at your face while defiling you to his heart’s content.
That afternoon on that beach, however, it was your favorite person in the whole wide world, hugging your waist, looking deep into your eyes to keep track of exactly how he was making you feel so that he could move better for you. Every time he extracted a muffled moan out of you, every time he made you curse, every time you squeezed your eyes and sank your fingertips deeper into his skin for how good you were feeling, his own pleasure quadrupled.
Even though you were fucking as hard as you always thought you would, you had never pictured it to be this… visceral.
“Our first time,” he smiled against your neck and swelled your heart in your chest five times its size, “Finally.”
“Stop being so adorable!”
“Why?” he looked at you with his usual smug smile again, “Does it make you wanna fuck me harder?”
“It kinda does, yeah.”
He latched himself on your lips and kept kissing you for god knows how long. Feeling him this close and his refusal to be away from you simultaneously made you wetter and induced an intense desire to cry.
Out of happiness.
“Fuck me harder,” he spoke into your mouth, “Scratch me again.”
“OR,” you echoed his much earlier remark, “maybe I deny you until you snap.”
“You realize I fucking bench your weight, right?”
In the blink of an eye, you found yourself on your back. You instinctively started laughing for you were caught completely off guard, but it instantaneously disappeared when you realized how much his gaze had darkened.
“I said scratch,” he firmly commanded this time while placing one leg on his shoulder, “Like I said. Cream me.”
You were loving this shade on him.
His thrusts suddenly turned much sharper, and you couldn’t remember the last time you were fucked this good. Completely carnally with kisses turning into bites and touches shapeshifting into needy gropes all over. You were so wet with how aroused you were that you could feel yourself dripping down your ass, and when you finally started dragging your nails down Chris’ back, precisely when you reached that spot, his orgasm hit him so hard that he had to slam his lips on yours to silence himself.
You never realized how much more beautiful he could get with afterglow, resting his head on your chest.
“So I’m thinking having two separate rooms is not exactly frugal,” he finally looked up at you, “We can share mine.”
“Why yours?”
“It has a hot tub.”
“Isn’t sleeping on the couch gonna be uncomfortable for you?”
In all fairness, you had deserved to get tickled to death for that snark, and no amount of ‘I’m sorry’s were enough to save your ass.
“If you wanna play it that way, then we’re not leaving this cabana,” he trapped you under his frame.
“It’s gonna get cold,” you started playing with his hair, reciprocating his mischievous grin, “There are no blankets here.”
“I’m gonna give you three guesses for how we’ll keep warm all night,” he kissed your hand, “If you can’t get it right, I’m eating your pussy until you cry.”
“Hugging.”
“No.”
“Cuddling.”
“No.”
“Fucking?”
His eyes glinted the same way they did when you suggested creaming his face for good measure, and he started slithering down between your legs.
Summary: Simon has just returned home in the middle of the night from a mission in less than stellar condition. Understanding that he was in desperate need of some TLC, you put aside the ‘frenemy’ dynamic the two of you usually operate within to take care of him, instead. Your gentle ministrations elicit a reaction that neither of you expect, but perhaps have been yearning for all along.
Warnings: Language, explicit sexual content, touching of naughty bits - Simon gets a helping hand in the bath, fluff and feelings, no Y/N
(A/N: This is a thot connected to an idea I had for a series. Still not sure about the series, but what ev.
This is just me exploring the intimate relationship between the characters. It is minor smut compared to what I usually write, meant to be a vulnerable moment for Simon, and for reader as well. I dunno, I feel like a certain amount of trust needs to be established before Simon allows himself to be with someone in an intimate way.
For a little backstory, Reader is Simon’s housekeeper/roommate/frenemy. It’s been platonic up to this point, but there have been some charged moments leading up to this. This is the turning point in the relationship, the first time Simon allows himself to really indulge in reader’s attention and care. Reader and Simon have been living together for about a year by this point but have known each other for almost two. Simon’s pet name for reader is ‘Doll’; reader’s pet name for Simon is ‘Grumpy’.)
Simon makes the mistake of spending the night before one of the longest missions of his career in the arms of a woman he met at a pub, unaware of the consequences it would have on his life moving forward.
SUMMARY: All Simon wants is to explain his disappearance to you, but he can't really expect you to be willing to listen.
WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Mentions of NSFW, Angst, Pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications, Soft!Dad!Simon.
A/N: Second chapter!! Almost exactly a week after the first one LMAO. No smut in this one, I'm afraid, but some very fluffy moments between Simon and Tommy! <333 Once again, please reblog and comment if you enjoy this, it helps a lot!!!
WORD COUNT: 10k.
MASTERLIST.
Also on Ao3!
You were pretty sure your fingers were about to snap.
The grip you had on the door could rival that of a professional arm wrestler, your whole body stiff and frozen in place as your gaze locked onto Simon's.
Was it even Simon? His eyes didn't hold the same warmth it had the last time you'd seen him, his body wasn't as relaxed as it had felt beneath your touch, his whole frame covered in dark clothing that left his eyes as the only source of light that shone through that shadow of a man.
Well, you couldn't even consider them that, his blue orbs lacked that speck of light you'd grown accustomed to seeing in your son's; it left him looking like a ghost, a shell of a man. But maybe that was appropriate, he never did look like the kind of bloke you'd expect to be kind or sweet, he suited more the idea of a cold, ruthless man that had abandoned you and your son.
Even after having spent a night in his arms, felt the touch of his lips on your skin, memorised the feeling of his cock inside of you; he was still a stranger to you, a man you had idolised so much during the first days after your encounter that he had begun to form into someone completely different in your mind.
And now that he was in front of you, you knew. This wasn't the Simon from your dreams that held you in his arms, the Simon from your dreams that pressed kisses to your swollen belly whenever the baby would kick, the Simon from your dreams that hadn't left.
It was like a slap in the face.
One that brought you back to reality, that flushed away any daydream or idealised version you had of him from your mind, and forced you to focus on the man standing in front of you.
"You-"
"Did you keep it?"
As if you'd been sucker punched right in the gut, you felt the air leave your lungs, the words you had intended to speak sitting on the tip of your tongue like the bitter taste of black tea.
"It? Wh-"
"Him. Our son."
Our son.
It was funny, how he'd managed to say the two simple words that immediately made your blood boil in rage, tears forming at the corner of your eyes out of frustration as.
"Oh, so he's our son now?" You willed yourself to keep calm, but you couldn't help how your voice wavered when you spoke, this whole situation baring to be too much to handle along with your already declining mental state. "You didn't seem very interested before."
"I was gone."
"Oh, trust me, I know." You snarled, your harsh tone causing him to look away from you, whether it was in shock or fear, you didn't care. At least you couldn't feel small beneath his stare if he wasn't looking. "How long has it fucking been, Simon? A year. 9 months carrying your child and 3 months raising him. You have no fucking right to come knocking now and asking to see him."
"You don't understa-"
"I don't need to fucking understand, Simon!" You cried out, your voice ringing down the hall and in Ghost's ears, "I was alone! I am alone! I went through a terrifying pregnancy on my own because you couldn't bother to pick up the goddamn phone! Where were you when I needed you!? Where were you when the doctor told me that the birth might leave irreparable damage on my body!? Where were you when I almost lost him!?"
Silence filled the building, dull ringing in Ghost's ears from how loud you'd shouted, his gaze shifting up from the floor to you, his heart skipping a beat at your dishevelled state, your flushed face and tear stained cheeks, the hand that had been resting on the door now clenching your shirt right above your heart, as if the simple act of talking to him pained you to no end.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fucking cut it, Simon. Sorry doesn't make up for this past year, for all the fucking pain I went through while you were, what, ignoring me the whole time!? Waiting until an 'acceptable' time to show up and fucking demand to see him!?"
"I'm not demanding." You flinched as one of his hands came to slam onto the top of the door that separated the both of you, his hand clenching around the wood hard enough to break it, and you knew that if he wanted to, he could. "I'm asking. I'm asking to see him, for you to let me explain why I was gone."
Your lower lip quivered at the way he spoke, so calm and composed compared to you, who'd let your emotions take control of your words and had just
"I don't know what you went through. I don't think I'll ever be able to understand. And.. I'm, I'm sorry, that you were forced to go through it alone," The apology that slipped through his lips sounded almost forced, like it was his first time hearing and speaking the words out of his mouth. "I'm not here just to see him. I'm here because you deserve an explanation on why I wasn't here. And I know it won't take away the pain, but I ho-"
The door slammed shut.
Ghost was left outside of your apartment, hand still testing on the flimsy wood of your door, staring at the point where your eyes had been mere seconds ago.
You'd closed the door on him.
You'd ripped any chances he'd had of seeing his son and explaining himself to you in half.
He'd gone through his speech for hours in the car, making sure that he wouldn't come off as rude or mean to you, that everything was explained slowly and coherently, but you'd just… Closed the door on him.
It was a funny sight, really. A giant of a man standing in the corridor of a beat down building in the middle of Manchester, outwardly looking like a kicked puppy if it weren't for the fire that was burning inside of him, bubbling beneath his skin as he got the urge to rip the whole fucking door off just so would fucking listen to-
The door opened again, properly, this time. No little gap where he could barely see your full body, where you were able to hide from him in fear that he'd do something disastrous like he'd just been thinking of.
You were letting him in.
That much was obvious, by the way your shaking frame was glued to the wall of the small corridor, allowing him space to cross through into the apartment he'd spent the night in a year ago.
No words had to be spoken, the reluctant look on your face telling him more than enough.
The few steps he took to enter your apartment felt like crossing a border to another world, one that he couldn't recognise as much as he tried to think back to the last time he'd been there.
Everything had changed. The wallpaper with the flowers that reminded him of his grandma's old home had been striped, replaced with a more cool paint over; the dingy sofa where he'd ripped your tights open was replaced with a much more softer and plush looking model, one that could no doubt be pulled into a bed; the bookshelf he'd gotten the sticky notes from had been ridden of many of the books that had littered it, replaced with children's books and a few pictures, baby toys strewn across the floor in front of it.
It felt like a whole different place than what he remembered. He didn't know what he had expected, for you to have a child and for nothing to change? He was aware of the chaos that a child brought, remembering how annoyed he himself had been as everything started to change around him when his brother had been born, the need it brought to rearrange the whole house to accommodate the baby and not have any dangerous items lying around.
Ghost made a mental note to himself as he picked up one of the picture frames from next to the small telly to clean up his own house before bringing his son there (if he was even allowed to), recalling the dust and grime that covered the corners of his rooms, the glass shards from the last time he'd drunk and passed out on the sofa littering his floors.
You pushed the door closed behind you both, shaky hands pressing onto the cool wood in an attempt to ground yourself, trying not to focus on the silent yet imposing footsteps of your son's father.
You don't know what possessed you to open the door, to let him into your space, that he'd now taken over like a shadow. He looked so… out of place.
A demon along the angels, a ghost along the living.
His dark clothes contrasted heavily with the bright colours of your son's toys that laid strewn across the floor, with the soft colours your walls were painted in, with the colourful blankets that you'd tried spicing up the sofa with, despite no one being able to appreciate them other than you.
It didn't feel right.
It didn't feel right to have him here, walking around your home like he belonged there, like he'd been there all along. It was wrong.
You felt like you couldn't breathe, like your throat was closing off and preventing any air from reaching your lungs properly. Your nails dug into your own palms as you clenched your hands closed, trying your best to even out your breathing and focus on anything but the impending conversation you'd have to have with him.
You could hear him say something, but your brain was so caught up with trying to stop yourself from spiralling that it didn't even comprehend what he was saying. The balaclava over his face was moving, indicating that he was speaking, but not a single sound was reaching your ears.
Your body was trembling at this point, mouth gasping for air as your throat continued to constrict, your eyes going blurry with tears as you watched him come closer to you, mouth still moving.
"Breathe." Two hard hands grabbed onto your shoulders, shaking you out of your stupor bordering on what you could easily identify as a panic attack, ones that you'd been prone to ever since you gave birth. "Look at me. Breathe."
Simon immediately knew what was happening without even having to look at you.
The laboured breaths that were leaving you were enough to activate the alarms in his head, recognising them immediately. He'd heard them many times before coming from him, his teammates, the people whose heads were pressed against his gun. You were spiralling, falling into the harming grasp of your anxiety and letting it infect your body.
When he got a panic attack, Simon rode through it. The therapist that Price had assigned him a few years ago had advised him to consider doing breathing exercises whenever he showed signs of having one, but during the year he'd seen her and the years to come, not once had he considered doing them. Sometimes, he felt like he deserved to feel like that, like he was suffocating, like his heart was about to be ripped out; for all the pain and suffering he'd inflicted on others, he deserved to feel at least a sliver of it.
But the thought of letting you experience that same pain, the same panic, the same hopelessness he felt whenever he'd cave into his depression, it wasn't a good one.
So despite his initial lack of remembrance of the exercises his therapist had offered, he tried his best to talk you through it, hands grasping at your shoulders and squeezing every time he saw you start to slip away back into that pit of anxiety, keeping his eyes on yours through the whole thing, not letting you go until you'd stopped shaking and your breath had become even once again.
You'd been so focused on the anxiety coursing through your veins that you hadn't even realised who was helping you through it, blindlessly following orders and breathing along with him, your brain subconsciously recognising his voice as something to cling onto, to pull you out of your own plunging thoughts.
But as soon as you realised whose eyes you were gazing into, whose hands were holding you down, you panicked again. Your own hands came up to push him away, the action catching him off guard and making him take a few small steps back from you, eyes still fixed on yours.
"Are y-"
"Shut up." You breathed out, interrupting him for what seemed like the 100th time that night, mimicking him and taking a few steps away from him and wrapping your arms over your upper body. "Sit."
Ghost finally tore his stare away from you to look down at the sofa, hesitantly taking the first steps forward like a cat meeting its owner for the first time before finally taking a seat on the sofa, sinking into the plush pillows thanks to his weight and looking around from the new perspective.
"Do you normally have panic attacks?" He spoke up, thankful that you didn't interrupt him this time, voicing his concern.
You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down at your fuzzy socks as you thought back to all the times you'd had to go through them on your own sitting at the doctor's office, lying in bed after putting Tommy to sleep, looking at yourself in the mirror after your labour…
Your doctor had warned you about the rollercoaster of emotions your body would go through after giving birth, including the depression many women suffered that unfortunately had affected you too during the first few weeks; but you hadn't expected it to continue until this late.
"...sometimes." You mumbled, hands running up and down your arms as you squirmed beneath his glare. "It's normal. For a lot of women."
He didn't answer, nodding in response instead before turning his head to the side table, where a small picture of a very tiny Tommy sat, his hand itching towards it to take it in properly.
The silence that followed what you could barely call a conversation was unbearable. The tension that hung in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, the silence almost suffocating you as you tried to muster up the courage to speak up if he wasn't going to, despite him having almost broken down your door in order to talk.
"...so? Are you going to explain?"
Simon stayed quiet, the whole speech he'd rehearsed back in his car suddenly fizzing away from his mind like a shooting star in the night sky. He was left with barely an outline of what he wanted to say, a vague idea of everything he'd tried his best to put into words before seeing you.
But actually having you in front of him, sitting on the same sofa he'd once pressed you against, gazing into the eyes he'd once thought so much about before the start of that god awful mission, made every last thread of sanity that remained in him snapped.
He was sure that without the mask he'd look like a fool, mouth slightly open and half lidded slate blue eyes fluttering with every blink, transfixed by the vision that was you, in front of him.
"Look, if you're not even going to fucking talk, you can just go right back out the fu-"
"I can't tell you exactly what happened." You stopped mid-rant, cheeks burning in embarrassment after being the one who was interrupted this time. "My job doesn't allow it."
His job? Was he really blaming everything on his job? What kind of goddamn profession forced you to go radio silent for a whole year?
"What do you work in?"
"..." Simon regarded you with a poignant sheen in his eyes, clearly at odds with deciding what to say, the truth or what he had been taught to recite in a situation like this. "I protect."
Even if he didn't outright say what his vocation was, you could do more than assume.
Protection could mean many things, like working at one of those security alarm companies to working as a bodyguard for some fancy rich guy, but with one look at the man sitting in front of you, you could tell.
And it was terrifying.
You'd assumed he was some type of bodybuilder when you'd first saw him, but as you recalled his tactical steps as he walked you down the street, the way his hand flew to his belt when you'd pass some creepy looking guy, as if he was expecting something to be hanging from there, it all started to click.
You had two options before you. He was either a fucking mercenary or military. And although both options were terrifying on their own, you hoped to whatever god that was looking down on you that it was the latter. You wouldn't know what you'd do with yourself if the father of your sweet baby boy was some type of criminal.
"You protect?" You let out, careful with your words in case you said something that you shouldn't, terrified with the prospect of him getting annoyed or angry now that you had an idea of what he did for a living.
"I protect." He parroted, lifting his hand to shove it into one of the pockets that adorned his jacket, pulling out a slim laminated piece of paper, what you could only assume was some sort of identification. "Here."
You took it hesitantly, flipping it over to scan your eyes over the confusing words that lettered the ID, mostly all words you'd never heard before in your life, but you were smart enough to grasp the concept of it.
"You work in the army?" You question, finger running over his title, repeating his newly discovered last name in your head, cursing at yourself for even thinking of how normal it would sound led by your son's name.
"SAS. Lieutenant. Can't say more than that." His gloved hand came back up to hopefully grab his ID back, but you dodged him, taking a few steps back and flipping it back over so he could see what you were pointing at.
"There's no picture." You finally referred to the black space that filled what was supposed to be a headshot of whichever soldier's ID it was. "How… how do I know this is real?"
You watched the mask move as he furrowed his eyebrows, the hand that had fallen onto his knee now gripped at the cargo pants, his eyes showing the disbelief that shot through his body.
"Y'think I made a fuckin' fake ID?" He grunted out, lifting himself from his spot on the sofa and glowering down at you, who did your best to not stand down almost immediately out of fear of his massive frame. "I don't carry 'round a picture of my face, defeats the whole purpose of my fuckin' mask."
You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried coming up with some type of rebuttal that would shut him right up, but you ended up once again asking another desperate question.
"That doesn't explain why you were gone."
Silence.
The crickets that sang from downstairs, the sound of the creaking from upstairs with every step one of your neighbours took, the suddenly suffocating feeling of your tiny apartment, everything seemed to increase ten fold with every second that passed.
"I can't tell you much." He leaned his head back, twisting his neck to a side to reveal some of the hair that had grown down to below his chin after a year of not properly shaving, making you look away from what almost seemed like an invasion of privacy.
"Oh, fuck you." You let out an amused scoff, unbelieving that still after everything that had happened in the short amount of time he'd been back, he still refused to say anything. "Go to hell, Simon."
"I was on a fuckin' mission. A long one. I wasn't allowed any devices, like always, so I couldn't get back to you." He looked back at you with a glare that easily rivalled yours, voice rising in volume with each word he spoke, clearly pissed off at how you were acting with him despite having tried to explain himself, but deep down he knew that it was expected from you after what you'd gone through, yet he still couldn't help but feel disappointed deep down.
"Don't raise your fucking voice at me, I'm not the one who's at blame here, Simon!" You shoved a finger into his stiff chest, doing barely as much 'damage' as you pretended to, but you did your best to get your point across.
"I'm not raising my vo-"
A high pitched cry cut through both of your raising voices, Simon's hand immediately going to his belt out of instinct while you whipped your head in the direction of Tommy's room, wincing in both fatigue and shame for having forgotten about your poor, sensitive to noises baby boy.
You put a finger up before Simon could even get the idea of heading there first, an authoritative glare on your face as you grew 10 times braver now that it came to your son's mood and well-being.
"Stay." You hissed, almost like you were reprimanding a mutt instead of a grown man. "Don't fucking follow me."
Once you were sure you'd gotten the message across, you pulled yourself away from his gaze and quickly entered your son's nursery, cooing and shushing at him as you neared his crib.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, duck, I'm sorry." You whispered, carefully picking up his fidgeting body in your arms and pressing him to your chest, rocking him as gently as you could in your told. "Mommy's sorry, she didn't mean to scare you."
His crying didn't cease, only getting louder as you desperately tried to get him to quiet down, terrified of the racket he was no doubt making for the next door neighbours, who'd probably come by tomorrow with some not very nice words.
Your hands were shaking as he still didn't calm down, a shiver running up your spine while goosebumps racked your body as you saw the light that came from the living room be blocked by a large mass of what you could only assume was Simon.
"I told you not to follow." You kept your voice small as he took slow steps towards you, not wanting to agitate Tommy even more than he already was, knowing how enervated you'd be in the morning if that was the case.
"I want to see him."
You bit down on your tongue before you shot out a snappy response, realising that this was not the time nor the place for snarky comments, as much as you wanted Simon to finally get a hint and leave you both alone.
"You haven't even told me his name."
Screwing your eyes closed, you pressed Tommy to your chest a bit tighter, both to calm the two of you down and in an attempt of caging him away from the shadow of a man towering behind you.
"You never asked for it." You felt him stop behind you as you spoke, his eyes staring holes into the back of your head, as if that would finally get you to move so he could see his son.
He stayed silent once again, looking over every single detail in the nursery, from the row of knitted stuffed animals to the plastic fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling above the crib, eyes trailing over the bookcase that looked a bit too unstable for his liking, the screws too loose to be holding up all that weight properly.
"Did you build these yourself?" Simon watched you turn your head over your shoulder to see what he was referring to, glowering at him crossly as you looked over the furniture.
"Didn't have anyone else to do it, did I?" You snapped, going back to the crying baby in your arms as he continued to look around, gloved fingers running over some of the spines of the books that laid on the shelves, recognising some of them from his own childhood bookshelf.
"You still don't believe me, d'you?"
A beat.
The finalising sound of his footsteps exiting the room made a weight you hadn't realised was pressing on your chest dissipate out of relief, only to come back heavier than ever as he pushed the duffle bag he'd been carrying towards you with his foot.
You looked down at the spilling contents tentatively, almost worried that there was some type of danger in there that would force you to take cover or cower in a corner, but all you found were military pants and clothes, a gun hidden in its holster, and in the hand that slowly appeared in the corner of your vision, dog tags.
"Look." He brought them up closer to your face so you'd be able to see even in the dim lighting that came from the fluorescent stars stuck on the ceiling and the small nightlight, the name engraved in it identical to the one you'd found on the ID. And although most IDs were pretty easy to fake, you were pretty sure dog tags like these weren't. They had the SAS' inscription on them along with a few codes and numbers you were too ignorant about the army to understand; but for all you knew, they could be as fake as the ones some men wore as fashion.
Maybe that still wouldn't have been enough, if it weren't for the gun. England was very strict with gun laws, and the only people you'd ever seen handle one were the police and the military. So he'd either gotten one very illegally or was truly who he said he was.
And as much as you wanted it to all be fake, for him to be the random bloke you'd had sex with that had no connections to anything dangerous, you knew it wasn't. It was blatantly obvious now that he'd laid down everything in front of you like a puzzle, he was telling the truth.
And god, how much you hated it. You hated that the so-called excuse he'd used before was close to being set in stone by now, that everything was falling into place.
"They're real. I promise."
His promises meant nothing to you, and he knew that, but he had to try anything he could for you to finally believe him, to pull down the walls you'd built and let him in.
"..." You looked away from him and his outstretched hand, pulling your still weeping baby closer to you as you debated on what to do, mind torn between two headspaces.
A shaky sight left your lips as he finally started to tone down, his small pudgy hands grabbing at your sweater in an attempt to ground himself, to find a smell and feel he knew brought safety.
"...his name's Tommy."
You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse.
"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"
"Why?" It was your turn to repeat what he'd said, turning around fully and allowing him the first proper look at his infant son.
Any feeling of displeasure or uncomfort left Simon's body as his eyes landed on the small boy whose teary eyes were trained on his mother's, soft hands clinging onto her like all hell would break loose if he weren't, pudgy body wrapped up in soft blanket decorated with a tiny duck print, the animal something he'd heard you refer to him as before.
God, he wasn't even listening anymore, too enamoured with the small being that lied in your arms, his hands itching towards him in hopes of taking him in his own.
His stomach sank as you stepped back in tandem with him, shielding Tommy from him like he was a monster.
"I, uhm…" you looked up at him through glassy eyes, clearly having been taken aback by his sudden advance towards you both, ending with you pressed against the wooden crib's side. "I didn't really think about it. It just… felt right. It sounded nice. There isn't really any… meaning behind it, as far as I know."
And that was true, as far as you knew, Tommy was just one of the names you'd underlined in one of the many baby name books your mother had brought over with her. But for Simon, it was oh so much more than that. It brought back memories that he hadn't thought about in a very long time, including those rough times he'd spent cooped up in that godforsaken house trying his best to take care of the only family he had left.
And although he hadn't heard from his brother in a long while, he couldn't help but feel slightly hollow at the simple thought of him, who now unknowingly shared his name with his new nephew.
"...right." Despite everything that was whirling around in his brain, every single memory and doubt he wished he could share without destroying himself inside out, that single word of confirmation was the only thing he could get out.
Tommy let out a whine, small hand tugging at your shirt as he instantly pulled your attention back to him, small body fidgeting in your hold in a way that would make you drop him if you weren't used to his urge to not stay still.
"Yeah, I get it, duck." You said, balancing him carefully in the crook of one of your arms before picking up the half-empty bottle you'd placed next to the crib, knowing he'd wake up within the little time the milk could sit out and demand to be fed with his startling cries. "It's here, don't worry. You're not going to starve."
Simon watched from the shadows as your son immediately latched on to the bottle, acting like he'd been starved for over a week, when his last feeding session had been barely an hour ago.
"He's very greedy." You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but looked up at Simon as he let out a humoured exhale.
"Most babies are." He said, remembering how needy his own little brother was when it came to feeding, whining and screaming until everyone in the house had woken up.
Silence fell upon the room, the only conceivable sound in the house being the sound of Tommy drinking and the soft jingle of the crib mobile whenever a soft gust of wind came through the parted window.
For the first time in the hour Simon had been back in your life, you felt calm. Your heartbeat had come down to a normal rate, your body had stopped jolting and shaking every now and then, and there was a small smile tugging at your lips as you watched your son cling to the bottle in your hands.
Even Simon's presence had stopped putting you on edge, since now he was just silently gazing down at his son, who's eyes were fixed back on his father's, almost like they were both having a staring contest, and it was unclear who was about to win.
Tommy normally bursted into tears when he was near a stranger, too many new scents and sounds around him since he was used to the calmer and soother environment that was his nursery, so apart from the short strolls you'd take down the streets, he barely went out with you, and when he did, he didn't get to met many new people. You remember how embarrassed you'd been when one of your neighbours had come by to help with fixing a light and Tommy had started bawling at the mere sight of the unfamiliar man standing in the doorway.
So it was a bittersweet surprise when you realised he must've taken an instinctual liking to his father, despite not properly having the brain capacity to regard him as such, and although you'd have plenty of time to go over that later, for now, you were relieved that he hadn't turned to wailing as loud as he could and bursting all three of your eardrums (although if Simon did work in what he said he did, you were sure he'd be used to loud noises by now).
"How d'you pay for all this?"
"What?" You said, the calm expression that had graced your face quickly forming back into the pissed one he'd gotten so used to seeing in the past hour, the innocent yet aggravating question instantly spoiling your mood. "What do you fu- what do you mean?"
"The furniture, the clothes, the nappies." He nodded towards every single thing he listed, only adding onto your annoyance even more. "Where d'you work?"
You snapped your head down to Tommy in order to avoid his damaging questions, meeting the cute scene of your son fast asleep, probably having passed out after such a long staring contest with his dad and finally having a full belly. You ignored the weight of your impending answer as you placed him down carefully back into his crib, letting his chubby cling onto your fingers for a bit before slowly wrenching his grip off, turning back around to his father.
"I don't work. Not anymore." You kept your voice hushed, picking up the empty baby bottle along with a bag of dirty nappies, standing next to the doorway until he got the memo to walk out before you. "Got fired from the bar cause I was too distracted and I messed a lot of things up…. Had to use my savings to pay for everything during my pregnancy."
He watched you walk around the kitchen and put everything away like it was routine, like it was some sort of art that you'd perfected, while thinking over the information he'd just received from you.
He felt horrible. The mere thought of you, pregnant and alone with no job able to support you, working on the crib and nursery on your own was enough to tear his cold heart in two. And he didn't even want to think about how much money you had left, which by the sight of the very expensive-looking cot and all the toys that laid strewn across the bedroom floor, wasn't much.
He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back onto one of the walls and thought about the next words that were going to leave his mouth, the next words that would either end up with you both growing closer together or you continuing to push him away.
"Let me help you."
You stopped dead in your tracks while rearranging one of the cupboards, turning around with a look of disbelief painted on your face, beyond bewildered at what he was even starting to proffer.
"Help me?"
Simon had more money than he knew what to do with. Albeit, a small part of it was sent to his brother and his family at the end of every few months, he was still left with a huge amount of money he didn't really know what to spend it on apart from on the bottles of alcohol that littered the floor of his apartment.
But now that he'd learned about his own family, seen the state your flat was in despite you trying to save face by decorating it as much as you could, about as much information as you had given out about your financial situation, he finally knew what to do with all that money that was left over.
"Help you. Financially. Tommy's my son too." Simon raised a gloved hand up as he watched your mouth open, immediately shutting you up like a teacher would a student. "As much as you want to deny it, s'true. And I'm going to help you." His finger landed on the small island counter, accentuating his point with every word he spoke. "Whether you like it or not."
Now, you'd be bellow stupid to even refuse an offer like this (even though he'd made it quite clear it wasn't an offer, more like an insistence), especially since your bank account was quickly reaching negative numbers with every day that passed, not a lot of jobs being open to a new mother who'd either have to take her baby everywhere or leave between shifts to take care of him (and a nanny was of course out of the question, with what money would you pay them?); and pushing aside your still initial distrust towards him, you couldn't say no to him. Both, because he wouldn't let you and because you needed the help, as much as you didn't want to admit it.
Very deep down, you wanted to say no, to push him out of the flat like you should've done when he had first taken a step inside, that he'd had his chance with both Tommy and you and that his bloody stupid excuses weren't going to work… but god, would you have been a moron to even consider letting those words leave your mouth.
You closed the cabinet shut, turning around to face him properly despite the absolute nerves that were coursing through your body, looking out the window across from you instead of at the imposing figure of the man standing before you.
"Simon, I… Look, just…." You tried changing subject, grasping at straws in order to keep yourself from falling to your knees and thanking him for helping you, to break down again like you'd done within the first quarter hour of seeing him again. "...thank you."
He didn't reply, only nodding in response as he turned away from you, letting you stare at his back as he cocked his head to a side to subtly look into Tommy's room, your small baby boy still fast asleep with his clingy hands holding onto one of the many toys you'd placed in there for him to stay entertained with.
"It's, uhm… it's getting quite late." You pointed out as you looked back out the window, rain pattering against your window as another one of England's classic showers hit your city, your arms wrapping around your torso and running your hands up and down the exposed skin. "How about we just… call it a day and talk about it tomorrow?"
Simon grunted, shrugging his shoulders like he really didn't care, but before you had chance to comment on it, he spoke over his shoulder, his head tilted in a way that the shadows curved around the balaclava covering up his face, his blue eyes slightly brighter than when he'd first shown up.
"I've got some stuff to attend to tomorrow." He muttered, nodding towards the duffle bag that he'd brought out with him when you'd both left the nursery, indicating that he wasn't fully finished with work. "It'll be a while 'till I'm able to just sit down with you."
God, you hated how much fear that single sentence struck in you. Like almost the thought of him leaving for more than a day after finally showing up and explaining everything to you was enough to raise up the anxiety that wrapped around your chest and travelled across every single nerve in your system.
So fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself before looking over at the sofa, the new one you'd bough and arranged yourself a few months into your pregnancy, when you were barely showing and could still handle physical work like that; remembering how much the salesman had insisted on that the pullout was the best option for when you had guests over, it was moderately comfy and big enough to fit up to two people.
And Simon kind of… He kind of counted for two people, right? With that bloody stature of his and his darned accentuated muscles you'd been so in awe of that fateful night.
"You can just take the sofa for tonight. Then we can talk in the morning before you leave." Your mouth acted faster than your brain did, but this time, you didn't really feel embarrassed or disappointed in yourself, I mean, it was the logical solution to this sort of problem. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted to be in his son's life, so if that was true, you'd have to get used to him being around you, invading the safe space you'd worked so hard to create for you and your son, as much as it tore your body and mind apart thanks to your mixed feelings about him.
"You sure?" He pushed himself off the doorframe which he'd been leaning on, getting back to his full height so he could tower over you, glancing at the tiny sofa. "You think I'll fit?"
"It pulls out." Unlike you. "You'll fit."
Once again, it seemed that he couldn't even get the words out to thank you, nodding in response before turning back to look at his sleeping son in the nursery's background. You pushed past him to get to the cupboard that sat in the corner, rummaging through it for some relatively clean and warm blankets, keeping an ear out just in case decided to walk a bit too close to Tommy, still a bit on edge when it came to him spending time around your son.
"D'you have a balcony I can use?" He cut through the silence, dangling a packet of cigarettes in front of your face to make his advances clear.
Although you weren't a chronic smoker yourself, you had indulged in a cig once in a while, and you knew that it sometimes did help soothe your anxiety or stress, and by the looks of how Simon was fidgeting in his spot and his fingers were clearly itching towards the lighter in his pocket, it was quite clear he was in need of one.
"I don't. Use the window furthest from Tommy's room." You pointed out of the room towards the window you'd been staring out of before. You watched him stroll out, opening up the window and letting in a gust of cold wind in the process, making you speed up your work so you could close the door faster and Tommy wouldn't get a chill.
"You can't smoke around Tommy, you know that, right? If you're really going to be in his life, I'm going to need you to quit while you're here." You commented as you placed down the blankets onto an armchair before moving onto the sofa bed itself, removing some of the cushions before resuming.
"'lright." He muttered between a few inhales of the smoke, his voice much clearer now that he'd pulled his mask up to his nose, letting you gaze upon the beard that had grown over his lower face, something that hadn't been there before. But you assumed that a year-long mission wouldn't really allow you to take time to shave. "Jus' really needed this."
"I get it." You grunted as you grabbed onto the flimsy handle at the bottom and pulled out the second part of the sofa's mattress, almost landing on your behind if it weren't for one of Simon's hands on the small of your back, helping you regain your balance before he went back to taking puffs of his cigarette next to the window.
Soon enough, Simon's cigarette burnt down to a stub, flicking it out the window and down onto the concrete below, turning back around to where you were finishing up what would be his bed tonight, tucking in some of the ends of the sheets and stuffing pillows into covers.
"Here." He spoke, his voice back to being muffled as he pulled the mask back down, taking the pillow from your hands and pushing it into the cover without any effort.
"Pillows might be a bit stiff. These are really old." You didn't even bother thanking him, taking the pillows and fluffing them up to the best of your ability, before propping them up on the armrest. "Do you want to, uhm." You gestured towards the black smudged paint around his eyes. "Clean up?"
"It's fine. I've slept worse."
He started to pull off his jacket, his shirt going with it for a moment and exposing his midriff and happy trail, immediately snapping your head away from the sight.
That's how Simon ended lying on the pretty well made sofa, shoes and jacket discarded next to him with a thin blanket draped over his tired body, balaclava still resting over his face despite being plunged in the darkness that was broken whenever a car passed by outside or by the soft glow of his son's fluorescent stars that decorated his ceiling.
Simon was aware of how long he'd gone without having a good night's sleep, that he should at least try to catch a few minutes of sleep at best, but he couldn't find the energy to even close his eyes. He knew that after such a long and exciting mission his body had to come down from it slowly, taking a few days of getting used to the sudden serenity that enveloped him before he could fully relax and find some sleep.
And so he lied there, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and listening to the snores that came from his son's room and the shuffling and incoherent murmurs that came from yours, the constant affirmation that you both were fine enough of a substitute for the sleep he was missing.
And he was… content like that, for a while. Listening to the both of you sleep and tapping his fingers against his chest in an attempt to ground himself and to shove away any unwanted thoughts that would forcibly make their way into his already broken mind.
Until one of the cars outside backfired, a sound Simon had gotten used to after driving all those barely working cars they'd find in the way during missions, producing a sound that echoed throughout the living room, making Simon instinctively flinch, his fingers gripping down on the blanket hard enough to rip it, not having expected to hear a sound so akin to a bomb or a grenade while he was lying down calmly near his newfound family.
Fuck, he was pathetic. It was horrible how such an innocent sound made his instincts go haywire, his skin prickle with goosebumps and his heart skip a beat.
But clearly, as Tommy's cries rang out through the flat, he hadn't been the only one to be disturbed.
"Fuck." The blanket pooled down onto the floor next to his discarded clothes, pushing himself off the sofa and passing by your bedroom, where you were still presumably sleeping, your body wriggling beneath the covers as your brain attempted to keep you asleep.
You'd mentioned that Tommy had gone down easily this time, so it was relatively early for yourself to go to bed, and he'd heard you mutter to yourself as you climbed into bed that you were going to enjoy your rest, so staying on the sofa and waiting for you to wake up, was not going to happen, especially after all the trouble he'd gone through with convincing you to let him in Tommy's life.
This was part of being a father, a parent, waking up at ungodly hours of the night to take care of your fussing baby.
He carefully made his way towards Tommy's crib, removing his gloves in order to not scare him with an unknown touch, although he doubted that his calloused fingers would be any better substitute.
"S'alright." He murmured, a finger softly prodding at his chubby belly in order to catch his attention, the boy's wails only getting louder as he caught sight of his father's skulled balaclava. "Oh, fu- Look, hey, look at me."
Without any hesitation, Simon ripped off his mask, his hair getting messed up in the process but he couldn't care less, only focused on getting his son to recognise him as a human man and not the goddamn grim reaper who'd come for him.
Tommy sniffled as he toned down the fussing, blue eyes darting all over his father's face as if committing it to memory, chubby fingers leaning down to grab at the one Simon had woken him up with, and much like he did with any other thing he found lying around, shoved it right in his mouth, drooling around it.
A breathless chuckle escaped Simon's mouth as he watched him roll and fuss around his finger, resting his other arm on the crib and lying his head against it, transfixed with the sight of his small son.
A few tears were still running down his chubby cheeks, but he seemed to have calmed down now, Simon's finger acting like some sort of replacement for the pacifier that laid abandoned next to him.
"C'mon. Stop cryin'." He grumbled, pulling his finger out of his grasp and placing his large hands beneath Tommy's small body, carefully picking him up (making sure to support his little head like he'd seen you do) and propping him up in the crook of his arm, letting him squirm around for a bit until he found the perfect position. "You're a wriggly one aren't you?"
As expected, he didn't get any response apart from the thousand yard stare his son looked up at him with, similar to the one he occasionally gave Johnny to watch him freak out. Now that he did look at him closely, he could pinpoint how many features he'd inherited from his father's side, his shaggy hair, his blue eyes, his slightly crooked nose, even the chubby rolls and fingers he remembered seeing in his little brother.
"That's a boy." Tommy's eyes started to droop with every second he spent lying in his father's arms, his tears drying out and coos leaving his mouth instead of the agonising cries. "Feelin' better?"
He blindly walked over to the small chair he'd spotted in the corner of the room when he'd first walked in, grunting like his grandfather did as he sat down, careful to not squish or drop Tommy in the process, his hands tightening around him as the chair slightly reclined, the chair's feature catching him off guard and instantly activating the instinct to protect the small human in his arms that depended on him.
But Tommy didn't even flinch, giggling at the warmth that enveloped him and snuggling further into the blanket and his father's arms in the process, eyes still fixed on the dark paint that adorned his father's.
Finally, after their second staring match of the night, Tommy's eyelids finally closed, losing the battle and falling prey to sleep, something Simon silently wished he could too. Resting him in one arm, he pulled his balaclava back down, feeling a bit too exposed now that the need to have it off had ceased. He leaned his head back on the rest and stared up at the dim glowing stars, focusing on the steady breaths that racked his son's tiny body and the faint feeling of his heartbeat against his arm.
He could… he could really get used to this.
Having such a small thing in his arms, something he was responsible for, something he was supposed to love and care for, a purpose to continue the dangerous life he'd thrusted himself in. He was a father now. And although he knew barely nothing about being one, he'd learn. He hoped it wasn't a one time thing and that Tommy had truly taken a liking to him, that he was going to be able to take at least a bit off the load that you carried by helping in whatever way he could, whether it was bonding with his on or simply financially if that's all you wished of him.
He was a bit too lost in his thoughts as he reclined further in the plush chair, pressing Tommy to his chest so he was half lying on him, half still resting in his arms, a pretty comfortable position for the both of them.
"-mon."
"Simon!"
The blond was jolted awake by a pair of hands shaking him, his immediate instinct being to search around for the baby he remembered falling asleep with, blurry vision darting around to find him cooing and gurgling in your arms, hands latched onto your sleep shirt.
He turned to look out the window while cracking his neck, disoriented and confused about what time it was, the subtle sun rays that shone through the clouds and into the nursery telling him enough.
Had he fallen asleep? Like, actually slept for over an hour without waking up or any disturbances?
"'m sorry." His voice was deeper after a good night's rest, you noted as he rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palm in an attempt to clear the blurriness, choosing to ignore the click of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "Time?"
"'bout eight." You said, bouncing Tommy in your arms as you nodded towards the clock that hung up above him, eyes darting back down to see him hunched over, hands beneath his balaclava rubbing away the sleep in his eyes and no doubt spreading the face paint everywhere. "Tommy needs to have breakfast so I just assumed you'd want to be woken up as well. But, you're, uhm, welcome to sleep longer, I guess."
"No, I'm fine. I have to get up." Within a second, he was at his feet, Tommy staring up at him in awe as if he were gazing upon a giant, one of his chubby hands leaving your shirt to try and grab onto his, but Simon had left before he could even make first contact.
"You stayed here to talk, remember?" You said snappily at him as you followed, watching him pick up all his stuff. "We should talk."
His shoulders deflated mid tying his boot, a solemn nod in response like even talking to you was a chore, and after the night you'd had the day before, any little irritating thing like that was going to be enough to set you off.
"I want to be a part of Tommy's life. I've made that clear."
"I know. And that's… fine. But we're going to need boundaries."
He sighed, turning around with his other boot dangling from his hand, leaning his side on the wall opposite what had been supposed to be his bed for the night (the horror you'd felt when you saw him gone and your son's door open was unmeasurable), and nodding once again, eyes looking down at you expectantly.
Oh. Right. You were the one speaking.
"Well, for starters… if you really can't tell me more about your job than you already have, I want you to at least keep me updated whenever you leave for work. I.. I don't want any more surprises."
I don't want to feel the way I felt during that year again.
"Alright."
You nodded, pulling Tommy closer as he became enamoured with the necklace that dangled from your neck, trying his mighty best to pull the charm in his mouth as you talked. "And, if you stay over, you take the couch. And not taking Tommy out without me. Until… further notice." You feared you were being a bit too strict with him, but simply reminding yourself that this was in fact, basically a stranger who just happened to father your child, and you'd have to take preventive measures until you were sure that you could leave Tommy alone with him.
Simon ignored the slight pain that stabbed at his heart when you said that, but… it was understandable. You'd been with Tommy longer than him, hell, you'd carried him for a whole 9 months, you had a stronger bond with your son than he had. For both of your safety and his, he'd go along with anything you'd say.
After agreeing with a simple nod and finishing tying up his shoes, he walked up to you both, fingers brushing against your clavicle as he pulled your necklace out of Tommy's mouth, blue eyes fixated on yours. "Send me your bank details later. I'll deposit some money for you both. As much as you need."
He hesitated a few moments before pulling his fingers away, instead running them down Tommy's nose bridge before pulling away, pulling a giggle out of him.
"O-okay."
He nodded, leaning down to zip up his duffle bag before strapping it over his shoulder, jacket in his other arm since it was relatively warm outside for a morning in Manchester. "Text me if y'need anything. I'll answer this time… I promise."
You winced, the subject of his disappearance still a touchy matter despite everything you'd both discussed the night before, but by the way he hesitated before speaking, the way he was awkwardly standing in the main corridor, he was either very obviously lying or telling the truth.
You hoped it was the latter.
"...okay. Goodbye, Simon."
The moment the door opened, the doorbell rang out, making you and Tommy flinch at the loud sound and Simon grumble at being the main victim of the ringer.
Your neighbour was standing there, finger on the bell, furrowed eyebrows glaring up at the intimidating man.
"Good morning?" You poked your head around Simon's large frame, Tommy hiding his face in the crook of your neck as if able to sense the confrontation about to happen. "Is everything okay?"
"Uh, no. Sorry, just. I think I speak for everyone in this building that we'd appreciate it if you'd keep that baby o'yours quiet once in a while. Barely gotten any sleep these days 'cause of his bloody crying." He frowned, glaring down at the baby in question, as if he was truly to blame for something he was barely able to control. Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, having remembered that you'd already expected this last night when Tommy had burst into tears the first time, and then the second time when you were asleep.
"Right, I'm s-"
"Babies cry." Ghost interrupted, glare fixed on the man in front of you both, hand tightening around the doorframe much like when he'd been trying to convince you to let him in. "Y'can't really help it."
"Well you can shut him up-"
"And we did. Wondering if I'm going to need to do the same to you." He said gruffly, almost puffing his chest out of pride when he saw the man's colour drain from his face. It was a bit of a shitty rebuttal, in hindsight, but when it came from the beast of a man that he was, it was enough to make a grown man like the one in front of him piss his pants. "'m I?"
"N-no, sir."
"Sorted." He watched the neighbour scurry off back into his apartment like a bug of sorts, turning back to you with an amused glint in his normally inexpressive eyes. "Bother you often?"
"Yeah." You said breathlessly, actually impressed with how quickly he'd been able to get rid of him, like your own personal pest exterminator. "Thank you."
"He won't anymore." He stepped out into the hall, sparing you and your son one last glance before awkwardly lifting his hand up in an attempt to say goodbye, Tommy immediately trying to reach over to him with a plump hand, fingers flexing as if trying to use the force to pull his dad back.
"He'll be back, duck, don't worry… he's not leaving."
Ghost pressed the button to the elevator, willing himself enough strength to not turn around immediately at the sounds of his soon cooing and whining at him, the soft words you spoke plunging a spear into his cold heart.
He'd be back. He promised.
TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @warrior-of-justice @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker (if your name is in italics it means I couldn't tag you!)
A/N: Being bias and playing into my own size kink here.
"Are you sure you're ready for me beautiful?" SImon pushed himself between your legs, cock nudging over your pussy, "There's a lot of me to take."
There was a lot. The first time you saw him you were scared that you can't do it. But being the sweetheart that he was Simon spend hours lapping at your pussy, pushing one finger in, then two, then three, slowly getting you used to being filled with something bigger then your fingers or toys.
He was incredibly flattered that you'd want him to be your first, and because of that he made his mission to make this the most enjoyable experience possible for you.
"Simon, I'm ready. Ready for you." You smiled up at him, less shy then you were when you saw him dive between your legs.
"Good girl. Tell me if it hurts or if you hit your limit, I can take this slow for you." His wet cockhead pushed and prodded against your entrance. The prep he did before helped, your slick running over his bulbus, red tip. He flexed his fingers, squeezing the sheets and the bed, burning with the excitement and happiness that came with being your first, of being the first man to make you come from cock.
The push inside is slow but overwhelming on your tight pussyhole. Your eyes shut closed, trying to will the pain away, trying to will yourself into relaxing. The more he pushes the heavier your breaths become, until your breath stops fully as you feel him bottom out. It feels so good. Better then any fantasy or wet dream or masturbation session you've ever had.
"You're doing great. Taking me so well, feels nice when you tighten up on me."
You let out a shaky breath as he pulls out, rubbing your inner walls and then just as slowly pushes back in, "S-Simon." Your mind is foggy, you pulse around him, trying to keep yourself together but its too much, "Simon." You moan his name as your body feels the shocks of an orgasm, more powerful then any you've felt before. It was pure pleasure rushing through your body, ending in your pussy and rolling onto Simon.
He smiled at you when you managed to come back to your senses, face both soft and full of mirth. "Already beautiful? Don't worry, I'm very flattered by it." Your body grows hotter from his words, "We have all night. Lets start on round two and see how long your body can last with me."
simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k
summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.
cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.
ghost mlist | main mlist | taglist
"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house.
The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises.
The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether.
Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence.
"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde."
"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"
The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'.
"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.
"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."
"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"
"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.
"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes."
It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel.
✰
The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.
The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it.
Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that.
Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order.
Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it.
He says nothing.
Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt.
"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"
Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"
Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"
Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils.
"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk.
You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action.
When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much.
Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose.
"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock.
Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'.
Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head.
Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform.
By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast.
"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"
"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.
"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune.
You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed.
A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet.
"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission.
Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you.
The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up.
"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"
"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another."
"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins.
There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side.
"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention.
"I don't know what you m-"
"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."
Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes.
"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"
Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow.
"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth.
"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue.
"The mask stays on."
Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.
“Go.”
The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.
Oh. Oh!
Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.
The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand.
Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise.
Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.
“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”
“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”
Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body.
“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape.
He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave.
“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”
Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you.
“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged.
It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation.
“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”
“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”
When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair.
Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand.
“What was the prize?”
“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes.
“What. Was. The. Prize?”
You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information.
“H-Hassa-ahh!”
You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex.
“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily.
“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression.
“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–”
Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly.
Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress.
The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion.
You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.
He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips.
“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot.
“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing.
“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre.
“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?”
The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth.
“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”
“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?”
You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper.
“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–”
You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name.
“S-Simon! Fuck–”
Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration.
“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–”
✰
“He’s blonde.”
Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull.
The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust.
“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.
“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively.
The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.
okay HI IM SUCH A BIG FOR THE SOFT SPOT SERIES I LOVE READING IT SO MUCH.
Just wanted to pop in and request a little comfort with ghost? I'm mid-way my midterms right now and I haven't slept properly for nearly 4 days. I need that man to either fuck me to sleep or cuddle me.
Again, love your work. Love everything you write, really. You're an amazing author and thank you for sharing your skill to the world LIKE YOU SHOULD 💅💅💅
hi hun! thank you so much!!! i'm glad that you're enjoying it a;lsdkfj like i've said before soft spot is my babyyyyy and youch! sorry to hear about finals! that's such a pain, and i apologize that this has taken a moment to get back to you. but now that you mention it, i don't think i've ever written anything just... fluffy for Simon. so i think i'll write you a short and sweet fluff bit that will hopefully cheer you up! thank you so much you are such a sweetheart 😭
warnings: none! super fluffy! sleeping issues and Simon thinks cuddles is the best medicine (:
masterlist (:
Sleep wasn't coming easy for you. A majority of your nights had been spent getting minimal sleep before being startled awake by your own thoughts. It was difficult to pin down the exact reason. You weren't stressed, or at least you liked to pretend that you weren't, and there were no strange dreams or nightmares that ailed you. Just your own thoughts, the constant feeling that you had to be doing something, anything, otherwise you were wasting time.
You stood in the kitchen with a cup in hand as you ran the sink. Everything always seemed louder at night. Your footsteps, the water pouring from the spout, even your own heart beating in your chest. The very atoms buzzing in every object around you even seemed too loud.
"It's late."
Simon's voice was deep and groggy as he spoke from the doorway, and it was piercing enough so that it cut through the noise of everything else in existence. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and you could see a faint indented line across his cheek. He must have been sleeping pretty well, which was the whole reason you left the bed in the first place; to not wake him with your restless tossing and turning.
"Baby, go back to bed," you said softly. You eyed the pale green neon of the microwave clock that read 2:04 in the morning before taking a quick sip of water.
"You've got work in the mornin'," he said simply before stepping further into the kitchen.
You sighed before setting the cup next to the sink, and you leaned against the counter. There was little doubt in your mind that Simon was just as tired of your restlessness as you were. Constantly slipping out of bed, wandering around the flat in an attempt to get the buzzing in your mind to stop long enough to hopefully fall back asleep again.
Simon's hands brushed against your hips where he pulled you closer, and you nearly melted into him. Hands resting against his chest, you let him pull you close. You felt the warm breath from his nose tickle your hairline as he pressed a soft kiss against your forehead.
"Come back to bed," he mumbled into the crown of your head. It wasn't a request, but wasn't a demand, either. It was something that landed somewhere in the middle.
Either way, you listened. Even though you could feel the static of the world rattle your bones and shake your mind, you trotted off after Simon as he led you back into the bedroom. Your side of the bed was cold when you crawled back in, and you wondered just how long you had been standing in the kitchen for.
Simon liked his space when he slept. Something about you being too wiggly, but you didn't mind. You were used to laying your head on your pillow and holding the blankets tight under your chin to lull yourself to sleep. So when you felt Simon's hand on your shoulder, rolling you over to face him, you were a little surprised.
"Come here," he prompted in his sleepy daze.
And so you did. His arm snaked around your torso as he pulled you close, and instead of a pillow underneath your head it was his chest. His other arm rested on his torso so that he could reach and rub gentle circles along your back. One last time, he leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your head before laying down.
He didn't say anything else, and neither did you. The only thing you did was lay there, cheek pressed against his chest while your arm held him around his waist. Each beat of his heart reverberated brilliantly within his chest, and every breath he took sounded long and deliberate.
Instead of focusing on the noise of the universe around you, you found your mind enamored by Simon instead. How the subtle rise and fall of his chest rocked your body with his. How you could hear the blood gushing through his body, feel the fibers of his body creak with the weight. His warmth bled into you, coaxing your muscles to soften. You focused on trying to match your breathing with his, and you wondered if you did it long enough, if your hearts would start to sync; if your blood would pulse at the same speed; if your bodies would begin to meld.
Eventually his hand stilled, and his breathing slowed even more, and you continued to match his pace. Soon, you were nothing more than just two souls occupying the same space; atoms weaved together; lovers intertwined. Slumber settled over you before your mind even had the chance to process it, but even in your sleep your body knew you were right where you belonged.
sorry if this is too short! i'm trying to practice not writing 6k words for every single thing i put on this site a;lksdjf either way i hope it was enjoyable, and i hope you're able to get some good rest soon, anon <3
thinking about mafia!Simon wanting to help shy!fem!Reader with confidence in the bedroom again ):
you just don't see what he does! he's infatuated with you, and yet you look at yourself in the mirror and feel like you're still not fully grown into yourself yet. and when you and Simon have sex? god, your thoughts run too rampant with this expectation to perform, to look beautiful, to be desirable that half the time it's difficult for you to get in the mood.
Simon's fix for it? let him record him fucking you.
you didn't think he was serious until he's got you on your back with his cock buried so deep in your cunt you swear he takes the breath from your very lungs with each thrust. yet, if anything, it makes you feel more self conscious than before. are the sounds you make too annoying? is the expression on your face weird? you're not a porn star, you're just... you. nothing special.
and still, Simon talks you through it. he's holding his phone with as much precision as he can manage as he drills into you, and he grunts praises between each thrust. "just like that sweetheart... so goddamn beautiful fuck... gonna make you see what i see, yeah?"
he doesn't show you the video until the next day when he has you nestled between his legs, your back against his chest and his phone in front of both of you. the video starts playing and you really don't want to watch it but a part of you is still a little curious. so you view it with a careful eye, and you're speechless at what you see. you had never seen yourself from that angle before, eyes squeezed tight in a fucked out bliss, senses too overwhelmed to take in the sight of your boyfriend fucking you. what you had thought was an attempt to cover your chest with your arms had actually been you squeezing your tits together as if putting them on display, as proved by the recording.
then there was the view between your thighs. the way your legs spread to accommodate Simon's hips looked so obscene from his angle, but the star of the show was the way your cunt swallowed him whole. you watch your own pussy pulse as he buried himself in you. each time he pulled out you gripped onto him as if demanding that he come back. and his grunts. the sound of him groaning right into the microphone had your cunt fluttering along nothing.
"see?" he prompts, breath hot on the shell of your ear as his hand dips between your legs. a small squeak leaves you as he paws at you through the fabric of your clothes. you pray that he doesn't notice the growing heat there, but judging by the way he chuckles you know there was no chance in hell you could hide something like that from him. "yeah, you do see, don't you? got all worked up over watching me fuck you, huh? why don't we fix that?"
thinking about mafia!Simon wanting to help shy!Reader feel more comfortable and confident when it comes to being intimate so he buys you some high end lingerie ): if anything, all it does is make you more flustered because somehow it's worse than being bare naked.
still, he spent so much money on you (this stuff is expensive!) so you sneak off into the bathroom to try it on. wearing it makes you feel like an idiot. it took you nearly fifteen minutes to figure out how to get it on, and even then you still weren't sure if you were wearing it correctly or not. you stare at yourself in the mirror as you try and adjust the straps along your body before you eventually work up the courage to show Simon.
you had taken so long he was on his phone by the time you entered the bedroom, but the very moment he sees you he nearly tosses his phone to the side. you stand in the doorway with your arms crossed over your chest as if trying to hide yourself from him, and he can't help but grin. he stands up from the edge of the bed and his hands are quick to find your hips.
"hey there, gorgeous," he mumbles while pulling you closer.
"i feel like i look dumb," you whine while trying to avoid eye contact.
"dumb?" he repeats. his hands slowly slide along your hips to your lower back before dipping down and cupping your ass. he gives you a firm squeeze, which pulls a small squeak from your lips. "i know you just put it on, but sweetheart, i'm ready to tear the damn thing off of ya."
baratheonpilled
janainaart
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
