[ghostedink]

Ghostie/mad- 22, she/her, lover girl.

My favs: Simon Riley & Toji Fushiguro

🐈‍⬛ - COD. DBH. JJK. (Will eventually add more)

Follow my JJK blog here 🐈‍⬛

COD Masterlist

DBH Masterlist

JJK Masterlist

Dividers by @huraxy-dividers & @cursed-carmine

[ghostedink]

Old dogs, and new tricks. (18+ MDNI)

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Price had been hearing it for weeks.

“Old dog’s can’t learn new tricks, price” Soap would grin across the table. Ghost’s low chuckle followed like smoke. “Bet the missus is bored stiff, Captain.”

Price never rose to the clear ragebait in front of the boys, but the words..stuck. You were younger, gorgeous, and God— always eager for him… yet a small, ugly part of him wondered if they were right. He’d never exactly been the adventurous type in bed—solid, thorough, but not… inventive.

So he cornered Gaz one night after drills.

“Need a favor, Sergeant.”

Gaz raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

Price rubbed the back of his neck, face already red with what he could only pin as embarrassment. “You’re good with the ladies. I want lessons. Real ones.”

Gaz blinked, then a slow, wicked grin spread. “You want a demonstration, Captain?”

Price’s jaw flexed. “Please..”

That’s how you ended up here—naked on the bed, thighs spread over Price’s lap while Gaz knelt between your legs like he’d been invited to dinner.

Price’s big hands were firm on your waist, keeping you pinned back against his chest. “She’s sensitive.” he muttered, almost clinical, but you could feel how hard he was against your lower back. “On with it, sergeant.”

Gaz’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark and hungry. “You ready for this, love?”

You nodded, already wet and aching just from the sheer thrill of the situation.

Gaz didn’t waste time. Two thick fingers slid through your folds, spreading you open. “First thing—don’t rush. Get her nice and wet.” He rubbed slow circles over your clit until your hips jerked, then pushed two fingers inside, curling just right.

Price watched every movement like it was a briefing.

“There’s a spongy spot here…” Gaz pressed upward deliberately causing your whole body to jolt. “Right there. That’s your target.”

He started pumping—steady, focused strokes that dragged over that spot again and again while his thumb kept pressure on your clit.

Price’s voice was rough in your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart. Let him work.”

Your orgasm built fast—embarrassingly so.

“That’s it..” Gaz praised, voice low. “She’s swelling up. See how she’s pulsing?” He added a third finger and the pressure inside became unbearable. “When she starts trying to close her legs, don’t let her. Keep going.”

Price’s hands moved to your thighs, holding them open. You came with a broken cry, but Gaz didn’t stop. He kept fingering you through it, rough and relentless, and suddenly everything felt tighter, hotter, like something was about to—

“There..” Gaz growled. “Let it go, lovely...”

With a whine, a gush of wetness flooded out around his fingers, soaking the sheets and his wrist. Price made a low, filthy sound behind you as he watched you squirt for the first time in your life.

Gaz eased his fingers out slowly, letting you ride the aftershocks, then lifted his soaked hand to show Price. “That’s the spot. Consistent pressure, curved fingers, and you don’t stop when she comes.. you keep going until she gives it to you.”

Price’s breathing was ragged. His cock was nearly throbbing against your back.

Gaz wiped his fingers on your inner thigh, then met Price’s eyes. “Your turn, Captain.”

Price shifted you forward, laying you down properly. He kissed the inside of your knee, voice low with promise.

“Watch close, Sergeant. I’m a fast learner.”

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[ghostedink]

The room built for you.

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Simon Riley had never been good with women. He knew how to clear rooms, how to disappear, how to make threats stop breathing. But.. flirting, charming.. even talking to someone soft and smiling who brought him his lunch with a shy “here you go, love.” was another battlefield entirely.

Then there was you.

New café on the corner, stuck between a florist and a bookstore. The first time he saw you, you’d laughed at something a customer said and your eyes lit up. Simon’s chest did something strange.. he started going every morning just to watch the way your hands moved, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were thinking…

He learned your schedule. Learned your likes, learned your habits.. learned the name of the useless boy who sometimes would be waiting for you after your shift—the one who never held the door, who barely looked up from his phone.

Simon decided that boy didn’t deserve you. Didn’t treat you the way you deserved.

But Simon would.

He planned for three weeks. Watched the cameras he’d installed along your usual route home, waited until your boyfriend was out of town. The cloth over your mouth was quick, clinical—military training made it efficient. No screams, no mess, just the soft weight of you in his arms as he carried you out to the waiting vehicle.

You woke up in his basement, except.. It didn’t look like a basement.

The walls were painted a soft sage green you’d once mentioned was your favorite color. String lights hung in careful loops across the ceiling. A nice bed with the quilt he’d seen you admire in a shop window. Bookshelves he’d stocked with the authors and novels you’d sneak on your break to read. A small kitchenette with your favorite tea and snacks fully stocked. A locked door at the top of the stairs, of course, but the room itself smelled like vanilla and fresh paint.

Simon sat in the armchair across from the bed, mask off, watching you stir. His hands flexed on his knees—nervous, almost boyish.

“You’re safe..” he said quietly when he noticed the fear when your eyes first fluttered open. “No one’s gonna hurt you here. Not him. Not anyone.” His voice was rough, unused to softness. “I know this ain’t… normal. I ain’t good at asking. But I’ll give you everything he never could. The world you deserve. You just… you gotta stay a while. Let me show you.”

He stood slowly, making sure to not scare you as he set a tray on the bedside table—tea, the exact kind you liked, a blueberry muffin, and a small vase with a single daisy. His eyes were dark, hungry, but trying to be gentle.

“I’ll be back in the morning. Door’s locked, but there’s a bell if you need anything. I’m not a monster, love. I just… finally found something I want to keep.”

He turned the lights down, casting soft warmth across the room before pausing at the door.

“Rest. You’re home now.”

The lock clicked.

Upstairs, Simon leaned against the wall, heart hammering like it never had before.

Downstairs, the room waited—pretty, quiet, inescapable. And somewhere in the middle of it, you, still blinking awake, trying to understand how the man who used to order flat whites had decided you were his to save.

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[tojisteddy]

SIMON WITH A FULL SLEEVES, I KNEW IT I KNEW ITTT

[ghostedink]

YES GOD 🙌🙌🙌🙌

[ghostedink]

….I’ve been thinking about teen Simon today.

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Simon who learned young how to tell what kind of night it would be by the sound of his father’s footsteps. Heavy meant drunk. Fast meant angry. Quiet was the worst of all. Quiet meant pain…torture. Quiet meant things no child should’ve had to go through.

Simon who kept himself small after those nights especially—shoulders tucked in, voice swallowed down, bruises hidden beneath long sleeves and hoodies even in the summer. teachers called him a “quiet young man who’s well behaved.” But Simon had simply mastered the art of surviving without being noticed.

Simon who now—at the age of 38—late at night lies awake staring at the ceiling wondering what kind of man he could’ve been if home had ever been safe.

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a/n: I want to cry thinking about how scared he had to be the first time his father hit him…..

[ghostedink]

Small delivery.

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You had been terrified your entire pregnancy. Not of being a mother. Not of König. No— you were terrified of the size of the baby.

Because your husband was a mountain of a man.

Nearly seven feet tall, broad enough to block the entire doorway, hands so huge they made coffee mugs look childish. König looked like the kind of man built to father massive babies with bowling-ball heads and shoulders wide enough to ruin your life on delivery day.

The closer you got to your due date, the more emotional you became about it.

“König..” you whispered one night, staring at his chest while he held you against him, “what if your baby comes out built like a full-grown toddler?”

He nearly choked trying not to laugh.

“Our baby is not coming out with a beard, Schatz.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It is a little funny.”

You’d smacked his chest weakly while he kissed your forehead, though the poor man did try comforting you afterward. He promised he’d stay beside you the whole time, promised your body was made for this, promised doctors existed for a reason.

Still, you expected pain.

Expected terror.

Expected to hear nurses gasp in horror at the giant infant you’d somehow created with this massive Austrian soldier.

Instead—

Your baby arrived…..tiny.

Absolutely, unbelievably tiny.

A little thing wrapped in hospital blankets, blinking up at the world with huge blue shiny eyes and the faintest dusting of strawberry-blonde hair across their soft head.

The nurse placed the baby into König’s arms and the sight almost made you cry harder than labor itself.

Because König looked gigantic.

His enormous scarred hands cradled the baby so carefully, so delicately, like he was terrified even breathing too hard would hurt it. His shoulders shook beneath quiet laughter, stunned and disbelieving.

“So small..” he whispered.

Your baby’s hand curled around one of his fingers— and couldn’t even hold all of it. König stared like his heart had been ripped straight from his chest. Meanwhile you were still emotional for an entirely different reason.

“That’s it?” you croaked from the hospital bed. “That’s what I was scared of?!”

König outright laughed then, deep and breathless behind his mask before he leaned down to kiss your forehead repeatedly.

“You were very brave for surviving our terrifyingly tiny child.”

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[ghostedink]

I imagine Simon being..INCREDIBLY socially awkward.

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Simon Riley who was trained to read battlefields, not people. He catches the shift of a rifle barrel before anyone else notices, can hear danger in the quietest room— but put him in an ordinary conversation and suddenly he’s operating without a map.

He misses all the hints, someone flirting? They’re just being polite. Someone going quiet because they’re upset? He just simply thinks they want space. Someone trying to politely end conversations through body language? He keeps talking because he’s focused on the topic.

Simon who takes sarcasm literally, answers questions too bluntly, and never realizes when someone wants comfort instead of solutions.

It isn’t cruelty..it’s just that social rules feel like a language everyone else learned naturally while he had other things to survive. Around people he trusts, the cracks show most— long silences, awkward attempts at reassurance.. he’s trying his best to connect, he just doesn’t know how.

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a/n: I love this socially awkward and emotionally unavailable man.

[ghostedink]

Compared to you.

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You hated when people looked at you after they looked at Simon.

Because it always happened in that order.

Their eyes would land on him first— broad shoulders stuffed into dark clothes, that permanently tired stare, the kind of presence that made rooms quiet without him even trying — and then they’d shift to you.

And every single time, you swore you saw the same flicker of confusion.

Them?

It made your sick.

You knew Simon didn’t notice it. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care. But you noticed. God, you noticed.

Especially at the pub near base.

You worked there most evenings, weaving through crowded tables with cheap trays balanced on one hand, apron dusted with flour from the kitchen because the cook kept dragging you back there to help plate when things got busy. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t important.

You were just… you. A waitress.

And Simon Riley was him.

Lieutenant. Decorated soldier. Feared. Respected. The kind of man people whispered about before he even entered a room.

The kind of man who looked absurd sitting in your tiny apartment kitchen at two in the morning drinking tea from a chipped mug while your socks slid across the floor.

You still didn’t understand why he stayed.

“You’re staring again.” Simon muttered one night from your couch.

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “Sorry.”

He watched you from beneath heavy lashes. “What’s goin’ on in that head?”

“Nothin’.”

A lie. Simon always knew when you lied.

He sat forward slowly, elbows on his knees. “C’mere.”

You obeyed automatically, crossing the small apartment until he tugged you between his legs. His hands settled on your hips, warm and heavy even through your clothes.

“You’ve been distant all week..” he said quietly. “Talk.”

You tried to shrug it off. “I’m tired.”

“Try again.”

Your chest tightened.

You hated this part. Hated saying things out loud because they sounded even stupider once they existed in the air.

Simon waited patiently.

That made it worse.

“I just…” You laughed weakly, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“This.”

One of his brows twitched.

“You.” Your voice got quieter. “Us.”

Simon stared at you like he genuinely didn’t understand the question.

Which was insane.

“You could have anyone.” you murmured. “Anyone, Simon.”

His grip on your hips tightened slightly.

“And you’re with…” You gestured vaguely to yourself with a self-conscious smile that hurt more than it should’ve. “Me.”

Silence.

Not angry silence.

Not cold silence.

The dangerous kind — the kind where Simon got very, very still.

“You think I’m too good for you?” he asked finally.

Your face heated immediately. “When you say it like that it sounds—”

“Answer me.”

You swallowed.

“A little.”

Simon leaned back against the couch slowly, eyes never leaving yours. There was something awful in them suddenly. Something wounded.

Like you’d hurt him.

“You think I come here because I settled?”

“No—”

“You think I look at you and see someone lesser than me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you think it.”

You looked away.

That was answer enough.

Simon exhaled hard through his nose, jaw tightening beneath faint stubble.

“Christ.”

Your stomach dropped. “I’m sorry.”

That made his head snap up instantly.

“There you go again.”

“What?”

“Apologizin’ for existing.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

Simon’s hands slid from your hips up to your arms, gentler this time.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head.

“I see someone good.”

You almost laughed at that.

But Simon continued before you could.

“I see someone who remembers how I take my tea. Someone who works ten-hour shifts and still manages to smile at strangers.” His thumbs brushed absentmindedly against your sleeves. “Someone who treats people kindly even when they don’t deserve it.”

His eyes softened.

“You look at me and see the rank. The size. The scary reputation.” A humorless huff escaped him. “You don’t see what I see.”

“And what’s that?”

“A soldier.”

You frowned immediately. “Simon, I’m literally a waitress.”

“Aye.” He nodded once. “And every day you deal with rude customers, drunk men, shitty management, sore feet, exhaustion, bills…” His gaze locked onto yours. “And you keep goin’.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

“You think strength only looks like violence,” Simon murmured. “Like guns and combat and knowin’ how to kill.”

One hand came up to cradle your jaw carefully.

“But I’ve seen men in the military weaker than you.”

Your eyes burned.

“Simon…”

“I mean it.” His voice dropped lower now, rough around the edges. “You walk through life soft. Do you understand how bloody difficult that is?”

That finally broke you a little.

Because Simon said it like softness was something sacred.

Something rare.

You looked down quickly, embarrassed by the sudden sting behind your eyes.

“I’m not special.”

Simon’s expression twisted like the sentence physically hurt him.

He stood abruptly, forcing you to tilt your head back to keep looking at him. Big hands framed your face completely.

“Don’t do that.” he said sharply.

You startled.

“Don’t tear yourself apart in front of me.” His voice cracked slightly around the edges now. “Not when I love every part.”

The room went silent.

Simon wasn’t good at saying things like that. He showed love easier than he spoke it. Through quiet touches. Waiting outside your work after late shifts. Fixing things around your apartment without being asked. Standing between you and the world like a wall.

But this?

This was raw… and terrifyingly honest.

His forehead pressed against yours.

“I don’t need someone impressive.” he whispered. “I need you.”

Your chest ached so badly it almost hurt to breathe.

“You make my life quiet.”

One of his hands slid into your hair carefully.

“You make me feel human again.”

Your eyes finally spilled over.

Simon caught the tears immediately with his thumb, looking almost angry at them.

“Don’t cry.”

“You’re being too nice.” you whispered shakily.

A small, disbelieving laugh left him.

“Too nice..” he repeated. “That’s what did it?”

You laughed weakly through tears.

Simon stared at you for a long moment before pulling you against his chest so suddenly you nearly stumbled.

His arms wrapped around you tight. Protective. Certain. Like there had never been a question.

“You are not lucky to have me.” he murmured into your hair.

His grip tightened.

“We’re lucky to have each other.”

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Thank you @madddzshady for this request!

[ghostedink]

I absolutely love everything you've written for ghost, and I know you've got a lot of requests so please get to this whenever you can, do not feel rushed. Here to request reader who feels undeserving of simon, we've all read about simon who feels like he doesnt deserve reader and that hes not a good man, but how about we flip the tables. Maybe readers just a civilian but still feels this way and it just makes Simon's heart ache

About to post this lovie!…it’s been rotting in my notes for months..I’m so sorry-

[lesserthan-3]

Portal pussy with tf141 but it’s your job to figure out who has your pussy for the day.

You’re shaking and sweating, holding the base of the chair so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The circular sensation against your clit has been non stop and your brain is about to turn to mush because of it.

“You okay, love? You look tense.” You glare at price to which he gives you a knowing smirk. “Not too much now. I’m still your captain. Could send you to train the recruits if I wanted to.” There’s an intentional pause- as if to leave the mind to imagine. “although I doubt you’ll be able to demonstrate much in this state.”

You lift your hips off the chair in hopes to alleviate some of the friction but to no avail. A string of curses leaves your lips. “Fuck…I’m gonna cum.”

“Easy now.” Ghost chimes in. “Still in a briefing. Keep it professional, kid.”

“You could just take a guess- put an end to it.” Kyle so kindly suggests. There’s a few menacing chuckles in response. “Remember your forfeit though.”

And just like that- the sensation stops. It’s both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you no longer have to climax in front of your team at a mission briefing, while on the other, your thighs are now rubbing against one another for any amount of friction that could just give you that relief you need.

Later in the day, Soap finds you curled up on a couch, clutching your lower abdomen and eyes just a little bit glazed over. “You look like shite.”

And you felt like it. “One of you fuckers has been edging me all day,” you mumble, pressing your legs so tightly together as if that would do you any good.

“At least you know it’s not me, you know I like to give ya what you want.”

You shoot him a glare- because Soap will let you cum. The problem is, that’s all he does. You’re climaxing at least once an hour when he has your pussy, and he’s not shy to experimenting.

He’ll grind the toy against the corner of his desk, he’ll hold it under running water, he’ll even go so far as to tie it to a vibrator as he’s sleeping just to make sure you’re left satisfied.

And the day will always end the same- soap locked inside his room while you’re banging for him with cute glistening tears, begging and sobbing for him to stop which just isn’t enough for him until you’re sitting in a puddle of your own arousal outside his door.

“C’mon, lass. Just take a guess.” He steps closer, lifting your chin with a finger. His eyes glimmer with excitement when he sees the way you’re practically looking through him and not at him. “You get it right, you get your cute cunnie back. And if you get it wrong…” he leans closer to your ear, “I’ll take ya first and you know I’m good at making ya cum.”

The offer is tempting, and you almost mutter a name in his advice but suddenly you gasp when you feel a low vibration make contact with your sore clit.

You hunch over, gripping the back of the couch. “What’s going on?” You don’t even have the strength to look up but from voice alone, you know it’s Gaz.

“Looks like someone’s having fun.”

Gaz’s eyes trace from a smug soap to a pitiful you. “What d’they got going on?”

Your voice strains as you try to speak. “V-vibe.”

Gaz nods in understanding. “Sounds like ghost or price. Me? I’m a traditional man.”

Soap snorts. “Oh, we know.”

Gaz, cursed at him, rolling his eyes with no real heat behind it. But soap was right. Gaz always talking about how he wants to meet the love of his life “naturally” and properly court her, have a romantic wedding, have two kids (one boy, one girl), basically he was traditional in every sense.

This includes in the bedroom where he doesn’t believe in the need for toys. Instead, he’ll plunge his fingers in your pussy till it’s sopping and crying, and then he’ll drink it all up with the tip of his nose pushing against the hood of you clit- all to do it over and over and over again.

The pair continue to argue but you drown out their voices as you feel that sinking feeling deep in your gut again. The vibrations are so perfectly pressed against your clit that it has you seeing stars.

It has to be price, right? The fingers from earlier were rough with experience but the movements themselves were patient and experienced. They move in perfect circles up and down your folds, playing with them like pages on a book before teasingly flicking against your clit.

Or is it ghost? It’s more likely for ghost to be using a vibrator than price. He loves his toys, has a whole fancy collection that are “just for testin’” he says. But usually ghost is a little rougher, isn’t he? So maybe it’s-

The thought is cut off when you feel a blunt, large head of a vibrator forcefully being pushed against your opening. Your eyes widen, and whoever is toying with you isn’t in the room but you instinctively scream anyways which draws the attention of both Gaz and soap. “waitwaitwaitwait- It won’t fit!”

God- fuck- it had to be him. It had to be. Oh shit, just say a name. Or is it price? No- he wouldn’t. Or? Fuck- you could literally count down the seconds as the head stretches you wider and wider and - “Ghost! Stop it!”

And just like that…it stops. And for a moment, it feels like time stops.

“Oh? Looks like we have a name.”

You’re panting for dear life, vision blurry as you curl up in the couch, oblivious to the rest of the team flooding in the room.

Price kneels by your side, placing a warm hand on your forehead and using his thumb to brush away the hair that sticks to your forehead.

Once you catch your breath, you roll over slowly. Your vision is a blur, but it gradually comes to focus and you recognize price’s look of concern with the rest of them peering over his shoulder.

“Did I get it right?”

The men pause, none of them giving it away, until you notice a twitch of Price’s mustache followed my an upward turn of a crooked smile. “Oh, fuck.”

A deep and amused laugh confirms what you already know and Soap is already taking off his belt, “I’m going first, lads.”

“Why do you go first? Price did all of the work.” Gaz retorts, finger twitching in retaliation.

“Called dibs. Didn’t I, lassie?”

Gaz lets out a sputter of disbelief. “Oi, You can’t just call dibs on something like that!”

“Her mouth is still open if you want it.” Soap is already at your legs, grabbing them by the ankles and pulling them apart.

Gaz’s jaw clenches in annoyance…or is it jealousy? He looks at Price, who gives him a fatherly shrug. There’s a moment of hesitation before he’s also undoing his belt, mumbling underneath his breath. “Bloody dibs…an idiot really.”

[ghostedink]

This is so good my mouth is watering

[ghostedink]

Sul Sul, Lieutenant!

CW: suggestive

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Simon was used to your dramatics. He expected tears, or at least a dramatic tackle hug. That’s usually how it went after deployments — you’d practically launch yourself at him the second he stepped through the apartment door, cling to him like he’d vanish again if you let go for even a second. He’d gotten used to it. Quietly liked it more than he’d ever admit.

So when he unlocked the apartment door after three months away and heard—

“OH MY GOD, NO, YOU IDIOT, DON’T PUT HIM ON THE FLOOR—”

He stopped dead.

The flat smelled faintly of vanilla candles and instant ramen. The TV flickered brightly in the dark living room. And there you were. Curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, blue light glasses sliding down your nose, completely locked in on your laptop screen. You hadn’t even noticed him.

Simon blinked slowly.

“…Love?”

You gasped so violently he thought you’d finally seen him. Instead, you slapped your keyboard.

“NO, NO, NO— FEED HIM. FEED THE BABY YOU IDIOT!”

Simon stared. Then your head finally whipped around, your face lit up instantly.

“SIMON!”

There it was.

He barely had time to drop his duffel bag before you scrambled over the couch and threw yourself at him. He caught you automatically, arms wrapping around your waist as you buried your face into his chest.

“There’s my girl..” he rumbled quietly.

“I missed you.” you mumbled into his chest.

“Missed you too.”

You pulled back enough to look at him properly, hands immediately grabbing his face like you needed to make sure he was real.

Then—

“Okay wait, hold on, I need to pause my game.”

Simon actually laughed.

A real laugh.

“You serious?”

“Yes! The baby’s gonna starve!”

“The—”

You slipped from his arms and darted back toward the couch. Simon followed slowly, exhausted and amused all at once, shrugging off his jacket while watching you click furiously at the screen.

And then he saw it.

A Sim version of you.

And beside you—

A Sim version of him.

Blonde, military haircut.

Broad shoulders.

Black clothes.

Even..his mask.

Simon stared at the screen in disbelief.

“…Is that me?”

You looked entirely unapologetic.

“Yeah.”

“You made me in this game?”

“Well obviously.”

He watched little Sim Simon stand in a kitchen while Sim You yelled at him in gibberish over a burning stove.

“…Why am I setting the kitchen on fire?”

“Because your cooking skill is literally level one.”

“I can cook.”

“In real life, yes. Sim Simon? Absolutely not.”

He huffed quietly through his nose. Then his eyes narrowed at the screen. There was a little pink relationship bar nearly maxed out.

A house.

Photos.

A tiny virtual child waddling through the kitchen.

Simon leaned closer.

“…We’ve got a kid?”

“Oh, yeah. Two actually.”

“Two?”

“The first one was an accident.”

Simon barked out another laugh, shaking his head.

“You’ve lost your mind while I’ve been gone.”

“Probably.”

You grinned at him before returning to your game. And Simon just… watched for a second. Watched you ramble excitedly about expansion packs and building furniture and how long it took to make his tattoos accurate.

Watched the way your eyes lit up.

God.

He missed this, missed you.

Then Sim You walked up to Sim Him on-screen and kissed him dramatically while romantic music chimed from the speakers.

Simon raised an eyebrow.

“…Right.”

You froze.

Very slowly, you turned your laptop slightly away from him.

“No.”

“What?”

“Don’t look at that.”

Now he was interested.

Simon leaned over the back of the couch, large hand braced beside your head as he peered down at the screen despite your protests.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s embarrassing!”

“Mm.”

His eyes tracked the screen carefully.

Then—

His gaze landed on the bed.

Rose petals.

Flirty moodlets.

And the very obvious “WooHoo” interaction option.

Simon went silent.

You went rigid.

“…Don’t.”

He looked at you slowly.

Then back at the screen.

Then at you again.

A dangerous little glint appeared in his eyes.

“You makin’ us shag in a video game, sweetheart?”

Your face immediately burst into flames.

“It’s not like that!”

“Mmhm.”

“It’s gameplay!”

“You do this often?”

“SIMON.”

He was absolutely enjoying this now.

You tried hiding your face behind your hands while he leaned down closer, voice dropping low and teasing near your ear.

“So.”

A pause.

“Am I any good?”

You made the single most offended noise he’d ever heard.

“Oh my GOD.”

Simon laughed again — properly this time — watching you dissolve into mortified squeaking beside him.

Then he reached over, shut the laptop gently, and lifted you off the couch.

“C’mon.” he murmured against your hair. “Think you’ll prefer the real thing over the game anyway.”

Your face somehow got even hotter.

And Simon decided very quickly that maybe this new sims addiction wasn’t so bad after all.

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a/n: saw a tiktok about the sims and HAD to write this..(I have writers block so bad it isn’t funny, plus I think I’m getting strep wow!)

[ghostedink]

lol Simon has a one night stand and it turns out to be johnnys sister 🫣

I am SO far behind on doing requests because work has been so crazy for me…. But I think I’m gonna do this one ASAP LOL I love this idea so much-

[ghostedink]

Packed with love.

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Simon Riley was a terrifying man to most people.

Six foot somethin’, broad as a doorframe, tattooed arms, permanent frown carved into his face like stone. The kind of man who could walk into a room and make conversations die mid-sentence.

Which was exactly why the bright pink lunchbox sitting on the briefing table looked so absurd.

Soap stared at it.

Then at Simon.

Then back at the lunchbox covered in tiny white hearts.

“…That yours, LT?”

Simon didn’t even glance up from cleaning his sidearm. “Obviously.”

Gaz coughed into his fist to hide a laugh. Price suddenly found the paperwork in his hands very interesting. Soap, unfortunately, feared nothing.

“Christ alive.” he muttered, lifting the lunchbox by two fingers. “It’s got a bow on it.”

Simon’s eyes lifted slowly.

Dangerously.

Soap set it back down immediately. The room went quiet for all of three seconds before Gaz spotted the sticky note attached to the handle.

Pink ink. Curly handwriting.

Don’t forget to actually eat today. I mean it!— ♡

There was even a lipstick kiss pressed onto the corner. Soap made a strangled noise. “SHE LEFT YE A WEE KISS MARK.”

Simon took the note off carefully before Soap could touch it with his grubby hands. He folded it once and tucked it into the pocket of his vest with complete seriousness, like it was something precious.

Because it was.

“You keep those?” Gaz asked before he could stop himself. Simon gave him a look that practically said watch your mouth.

“Aye.”

The boys exchanged glances.

Not because Simon had a partner. They all knew that. And not because Simon was soft with you. They knew that too. It was the fact he never acted embarrassed about it.

Ever.

Didn’t hide the matching pink phone charger you bought him because he “always stole yours anyway.” Didn’t complain when you painted tiny strawberries on his phone case. Didn’t care that his keys now had fluffy pink pompoms hanging off them because you’d smiled so proudly while showing him. The man simply accepted every little piece of you with both hands.

Like loving you loudly was the easiest thing in the world.

Later that afternoon, Simon finally opened the lunchbox during break. Inside was organized chaos. Pink Tupperware containers stacked perfectly. Heart-shaped strawberries. A sandwich cut neatly in half. Little notes tucked everywhere.

One on the drink—

Hydrate or I’ll become evil.

One on the fruit—

You’re handsome. That’s unrelated, I just thought you should know.

And one folded beneath the sandwich.

Simon opened it quietly.

Miss you already. Come home safe so I can kiss you properly instead of leaving lipstick on paper.

His eyes softened instantly.

Not dramatic.

Not obvious.

Just enough that Price noticed from across the room and looked away to give the man some privacy. Soap, however, leaned over his shoulder with zero survival instinct.

“Awwww—”

Simon shoved him back without heat.

“Piss off.”

But there was no bite to it.

Soap grinned. “Ye love that shite.”

Simon took another bite of his sandwich.

“Aye.” he answered simply.

No hesitation.

No shame.

Just certainty.

Because you loved pink things. Cute things. Soft things.

And Simon loved you.

Which meant he loved those things too.

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

A/N: I love a man who isn’t embarrassed by the things you love.

[ghostedink]

Hello my lovies!

I have decided to make a blog dedicated specifically for JJK so I can focus on COD on this one, tagging it below so you can follow if you’d like <3

@tojiified

All my jjk works that I have already posted will most likely be moved over onto there! <3

[adelineriley999]

SENDING YOUR HUSBAND SIMON, A SPICY TAPE

The room felt too still.

You sat on the edge of the bed, phone in your hand, staring at your own reflection on the screen like it might suddenly offer better judgment. It didn’t, obviously.

Somewhere out there, Simon was doing what he always did. Dangerous missions, zero sleep, acting like he didn’t need anyone. Which was funny, considering how quiet everything felt without him.

You tilted your head, adjusting the angle, then hit record.

For a second, you just looked into the camera. Not saying anything. Letting the silence sit, like you knew he’d notice it.

“Hi,” you started softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Bet you weren’t expecting this.”

You shifted slightly, propping yourself on the bed , eyes still fixed on the lens like it was him.

“You’ve been gone a while,” you continued, voice lighter now, teasing creeping in. “Kinda rude, honestly.”

A pause. You let out a quiet breath, glancing away for a second before looking back. The black lace that you wore suddenly felt a lot heavier.

“I was thinking…” you said slowly, fiddling with the top strings, “maybe you forgot what I look like.”

Your lips curved, just a little more this time.

“So I thought I’d remind you.”

You leaned a bit closer to the camera, cleavage clearly visible, enough for anyone to get the idea.

"i really miss you....", you murmured as your breath heaved , "especially, right now.."

"but you know where i miss you the most..", your hand trailed towards your covered entrance, circling the clit, "rightt, here."

you turned your ass towards the camera , legs spread apart. "the house feels so empty without you...", you trailed on as you pulled the lacy thongs down.

The feeling of the cold air hitting your wet pussy was enough to make you shiver. you arched your back for a better view, hoping the slick was visible on camera.

You turn in front of the camera again , fingers finding your clit almost instantly.

"I love it when you do this...", you mutter as you play with your clit in swift motion, eliciting quiet moans.

"Look how wet she is, she misses you baby",you mumble, gesturing at the puffed lips.

You plunge two fingers in , tilting your head back , the other hand playing with your clothed breast.

"oh god...i really wish these were your fingers..", you whimper as you pump in swift motions.

you slap your clit with your palm, and just like that , fluid trickles down your slit, body convulsing.

you pant as you crawl near the camera to lick your fingers. "wish this was you ,huh?", you tease.

You laugh softly under your breath, shaking your head.

“Don’t get used to it,” you murmured, tone gentler now. “Just figured you might need something… normal. For once.”

Your expression softened.

“Come back in one piece, yeah?” you added quietly. “I’m not sending another one if you don’t.”

The teasing slipped back in at the last second.

“Actually, that’s a lie. I probably would.”

You reached forward, about to stop the recording, then hesitated.

“…miss you,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Then the video cut.

[ghostedink]

YUMMY YUMMY

[graywrenhart]

Three guard dogs might’ve been overkill. 

Simon Riley’s never thought that before—until they’re barreling down his driveway, barking up a storm at you. A pretty thing in the neighborhood, pushing a stroller. 

He follows after his stubborn German Shepherds, gruffly ordering them to heel. They won’t hurt you, of course, but you don’t know that. He braces himself for the screams when he rounds the mailbox. A terrified mother and her child, chased by three trained-to-kill dogs and a masked man—

Laughter stops him in his tracks. 

Cap, Kilo, and Mac are planted on their asses, tails wagging, tongues hanging out. Your toddler’s giggling so hard she’s nearly tippin’ out of her seat as she yanks on Mac’s ear, earning a face full of slobber for it. 

And you—you’re bent over, one hand holding Cap’s paw, the other scratching behind Kilo’s ears. 

“Cute pups,” you say. 

Cute...what? 

You look up at him, past his mask and into his eyes. He freezes. But you just smile. 

“You military?” 

He ends up not replying, because the setting sun catches in your eyes and his brain is temporarily short-circuited. You’re not deterred, however, your chin tilting to the gun holstered at his hip. 

“My husband was, too.” Your gaze drops to the paw in your hand. “He did an op down in Coal Ridge last year.”

You don’t have to say anything else. Everyone knows what went down in the ridge.

Ghost tries to find something—anything—to say. Condolences would be a start. But nothing he thinks of is good enough, or sounds right in his head. So he just stands there, looming over you, watching you pet his assassin dogs. 

And then—it hits him in the chest like a bullet. 

You’re all alone in that house at the end of the street with your little girl. 

Something rears its head under his ribs. A protective urge so strong it’s almost staggering.

“Well,” you sigh, straightening and offering him a playful, cute little salute. “Have a good one.” Your eyes flick to the insignia on his sleeve. “Lieutenant.”

As you stroll away into the setting sun, Simon watches you go, and the ‘cute pups’ whine at his feet as you leave.

And suddenly, three guard dogs don't seem like enough after all. 

He might just have to become one himself. 

[ghostedink]

Simon has a big appetite. (MDNI 18+)

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Simon was a big guy.. and he loved to eat.

Your thighs trembled under his iron grip, his hands splayed wide to hold you open so he could enjoy his “feast” without resistance.

The moment he buried his face between your legs, it was over—no mercy, no reprieve.

He ate like a starving dog. tongue plunging deep into your fluttering walls, lapping at your essence with a growl that vibrated straight to your core. "Fuckin' divine lovie.. " he muttered against your slick folds, voice muffled but rough, before diving back in without taking a single breath.

Real men don't need air when they've got heaven on their tongue.

Simon lived and breathed that motto.

You whined—hips bucking against his mouth, overstimulated already from the first orgasm ripping through you, but he didn't stop—couldn't, wouldn't.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking hard and relentless, tongue flicking in merciless circles until tears streamed down your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure. Your walls clenched around nothing now, desperate and fluttering as he thrust his tongue back inside, devouring every drop like it was his lifeline. "S-Si—please, too much!" you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, but he only hummed in response, eyes dark and feral peering up from between your legs.

He feasted until you were a sobbing, quivering mess, and even then, he licked you clean with slow, possessive strokes, savoring the way you shattered for him again and again.

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an: NEED THAT. NEEEEEED THAT.