lucien_of_the_lakes

Lucy - 20s - she/them

[writing-prompt-s]

"What did you do to them?" "Nothing. They were the ones that went into my head uninvited, psychics really need to learn boundaries. I tried to keep the away from dangerous memories, but you know how they are with privacy." "What did they find?" "I don't know, I forgot it for a reason."

[aggressionbread]

It sucks that the only way to begin is by beginning

[em-the-mushroom815]

it's even worse that the only way to learn is by playing and the only way to win is by learning

[thats-what-sidhe-said]

But the only way to begin is by beginning. So let's begin.

[gamechangershow]

[russianblush]

no ai usage over here. you’re gonna get my shitty authentic writing whether you like it or not

[nonulli]

done before? probably. do i still love the idea of Johnny meddling in Simon's love life? absolutely.

Something something… you and Simon had been childhood best friends turned high school sweethearts. Of course, he leaves for the military, cutting out everything from his past life, you included. It was really for the best, he reasoned, he was a broken man from the start and you deserved someone better, someone whole.

But then, years later, there’s suddenly this nice guy that always seems to come around when you least expect it. At first, it was just an incidental meeting at a coffee shop where you had embarrassingly walked straight into him and spilled your $7 drink all over the front of his shirt. Luckily, the man was kind enough to give you some grace, laughing it off and buying you a new beverage before you even really had a chance to argue that really, you were the one that caused the mess, shouldn’t it be you that owed him a favor?

It was easy to forget all about it.

Until it happened again at the bar. Not the drink spilling part, but the strangely coincidental circumstance of bumping into him, thankfully not literally this time.

He sat down right next to you on the empty stool, giving you a grin that you swore was a little fake in its surprise to have seen you again. Small world, huh?

But then it happened again. And again. And again.

Over the course of a few weeks, you swear you had a tracker on you with how often the friendly Scot seemed to be in your orbit. It didn’t bother you all that much, he was kind, maybe a little flirtatious, which you tried to shut down with one of your usual lines, I’m not really open to dating right now. but the man just brushed it off like it was a silly idea.

I ain’t courtin’ ye, bonnie.

But then why was he always around? Why did he help you bring in your groceries and invite you out to get drinks or coffee at least once a week? Maybe you were just being cynical, expecting that every nice man had some ulterior motive.

Yeah, that was probably it.

At some point you would have to admit that you two were friends. You would talk his ear off about all the stress at work and he would chime in occasionally with stories about his buddies.

Got a mate we call ‘Ghost’, A think you’d get along, bonnie.

Was he trying to set you up with his best friend? So weird.

But it all made sense when he invited you out to get a drink with his ‘friends’ and it turned out that they were more like teammates, brothers-in-arms. He never did mention what he did for work, actually.

And now that you took a closer look at this masked ‘Ghost’, his eyes looked rather familiar, not to mention the way they widened when he spotted you walking closer, Johnny yapping in your ear about ‘fate’ or something.

Yes, Soap did notice Ghost sulking over an old picture of you and had to do his own investigation. What luck that the woman nearly rammed into him the first time he went to scope her out? It was fate, really.

[siriuslysmutty]

I love the idea that Simon's just feral when I comes to dating.

He doesnt even date. He just adopts you as his partner. There's no 'flirting'. No 'wanna go out?'

He sees you around base. You have fleeting conversation that he's filing away as dates. Your first date is him running a background check on you. You get listed on his emergency contact list above Price as your 'second date'. Your third is when he sees you getting ready to leave base via walking and he just pulls up beside you in his truck and tells you to get in.

"Where we 'eadin'?" Gets a chirp of a grocery store (confused but welcomed that he's not murdering you or your not in trouble). But after the grocer where he's shaming you for the lack of marbling in your meat you picked out (and replacing it with a better cut) you get dropped off at your flat only for him to follow you in and assist with groceries being put away.

You just kinda expect him to go home after that but he never does, the sex isnt bad but where the fuck did he come from and who the hell does he think he is?

The type of guy to waltz in on you using the bathroom to brush his teeth, unphased. Nothing he ain't seen before. Smoking in the apartment, eating straight out of the fridge, caveman style hauling you out of the bar and back home when he's decided he's been patient enough.

He smirks when he overheard you telling your best friend about how, *he'll get sick of sleeping in the queen sized bed that's too small for him eventually and move on*.

Cut to the delivery of a California King, dont worry, you get to pick out the sheets and cover for the blanket. Hes a stray cat that's decided he lives there now, the rents paid, there's food in the fridge... what more do you want, he'll get it for you.

(The weirdest thing is when all your paperwork starts to appear with the last name Riley...)

[d3m0nt0s0m3]

I blame my father because this is exactly 1 of my favorite kinds of unhinged.

[siriuslysmutty]

Same. Daddy issues unite.

[siriuslysmutty]

How do you think the 141 men would act about meeting the family? I have ideas but I wanna know what you think.

In order from best to bring home to worst...

I think Kyle would be the best behaved. Very polite, very charming, overall no red flags and hes calling your mother by her first name and shaking you dad's hand.

Soap, he's age appropriate, maybe a little heard to understand at times but he's charming and smart and mostly polite. Over all good to bring home, if you can wrangle him that way. Might run his mouth when he's drunk though or smack your ass without thinking.

Price, is a good man, well behaved but certainly doesn't meet what your folks were expecting when you say your bringing a man home. A little too old for your folks to be comfortable but he's got security and gentlemanly qualities, so if you plead your case, your folks might be cool.

Ghost.... yikes. His best behavior is staying completely silent. He's got the worst manners, he's not trying to be someone he's not. Expect inappropriate jokes. Will seat you in his lap watching T.V. (the type to be like she calls me daddy too.)

But do go on, I'd like to smell what your cookin...

[readwritealldayallnight]

The men working on his crew today are too loud, too boisterous, too young, too content to stand around blabbering, taking the piss instead of doing their actual jobs

Getting into construction work following retirement from the SAS wasn’t exactly the idyllic image of sipping a daiquiri on the beach that his thick stack of discharge papers had painted in his head

But it kept his hands occupied and his mind busy, his daily stressors having shifted from cleaning blood out of his gear and patching broken bones every other day, to instead complaining about the rising price of lumber and pulling splinters out on occasion

Trading in his AR for a nail gun, swapping his tac vest for a tool belt, even turning in his skull mask for a hard hat, was surprisingly an easier adjustment than he’d predicted, the long hours and physical work meant he was too exhausted by the time he got home to spend much time doing anything other than preparing for the next day, a never ending cycle that kept him from being still for too long

It might have been some time since Simon Riley was on a battlefield, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still play the hero every once in a while

He’s stood at the top of a ladder, wiping the sweat off his brow as his other hand pats agains this tool belt, searching for the one tool he’s certain he forgot to bring up with him

“Pass me the claw head hammer will y-” Simon cuts himself off from asking the lad stood below him, when he notices he’s only talking to himself. Squinting through the glare of the afternoon sun shining in his eyes, he glances around the job site until he spots most of his crew gathered near the front gates

He rolls his eyes to himself as he begins making his way back down to solid ground, having spotted what had the men so distracted : a pretty bird stood on the other side of the fence

Simon can admit to himself, even he likes to partake in the occasional bird watching, he is just a man at the end of the day, but not when there’s work to be done, and they’re already more than a week behind on this job

“Alright you tossers, back to it!” He shouts to be heard over the group of men, a chorus of groans and grumbles echoing out before they’re slowly dispersing

“Ach, we were jus’ helpin ‘er out, sir!” A man who sounds like he’s been smoking all his life croaks out as he walks by

“Here, miss. He’s the one that might be able to give you an answer.” One of the younger men on the crew says, pointing a gloved hand in Simon’s direction

He follows the younger man’s gaze, expecting to find another curious bystander peeking at the work, perhaps a nosy neighbour who wants to know why such a mess is being made, hell maybe even one of the hens from the nearby college stopping by for a quick flirt

He’s prepared to offer a professional nod, maybe even a begrudging ‘Alright?’ if it appeases them, before he’ll be excusing himself back to the job, uninterested in getting home any later tonight than he already has to just to entertain some stranger

But of course, he doesn’t end up doing so, does he? Not when his hand comes up to block out the sun, his gaze peering through the chain link fence, and it’s you that his eyes land on

You, with your wide eyes fighting to appear confident, though the controlled panic running through them is clear to see from where Simon stands a few feet away from you

Your body tense as you push a small pram in place back and forth, back and forth, your attention jumping between the men and whoever must be tucked up under a pile of blankets in the stroller, presumably also the reason for your enticingly large cleavage, he allows himself think for a split second before averting his gaze

Simon sends the younger man away with a quick jut of his chin, before he’s taking a careful step towards you

“Wha’ can I help you with?” He tries in vain to mask the usual harshness in his tone, but with such a quick switch in his emotions it doesn’t come out sounding quite how he’d hoped, yet you don’t flinch away from him either

“I know-” you let out a frustrated breath, readjusting your grip on the pram’s handle as you steady yourself, locking eyes with his once again with a new vigour behind them this time around. “I know this is so silly of me, and I’m sure you’ve had lots of people botherin’ you, so uh, sorry for bein’ one of ‘em, but here I am.”

You let out a small chuckle to yourself, more self deprecating than anything else, but Simon finds himself offering the slightest bit of a smile in return, if only to ease your nerves

“Anyways, I can imagine you’re probably not allowed to tell but, uh, people have been saying this might be a daycare you’re building here.”

He knew what your question was going to be long before you’d opened your pretty mouth- everyone and their mother had been asking about the project

Limited childcare in the area meant that as soon as the first whispers of a new daycare being built had started to spread, parents and even parents to be had been poking their noses before shovels had even hit the ground

Opening his mouth to give you the same answer he’d given everyone before you, Simon finds the words dying on his tongue as the unmistakable sound of an upset baby comes from the pram, and a very small baby at that

“Shh, shh darling. It’s okay, baby. You’re alright, shh.” He can’t find it in himself not to step closer until he’s practically got his nose poking through the fence to get nearer to you both, eyes glued to the way your lips formed the sweet soothing words, peering towards the increasingly squirming bundle tucked away in the pram

“Tha’s a tiny one.” Simon practically whispers to himself, though he knows you’ve heard him when your eyes glance up to meet his. “Can’t be very old.” He remembers how small his nephew had been when he’d been born, and recognized that distinct newborn cry instantly.

“Just turned eight weeks.” You answer with a ghost of a proud smile dancing across your lips quickly as you gaze at your bundle of joy, a tidbit of information you would expect a new parent would be all too happy to talk about, though the elation quickly disappears from your face. “Unfortunately my job is uh, I have to go back to work soon, I’ve just really been needing to find a spot for her somewhere.”

“Have you told your boss to sod off?” He asks, biceps bulging as he crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the fence. He doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like the idea of a pretty little bird being all worked up and stressed about finding her new little baby bird somewhere to stay because her job is trying to force her to come back so soon

He also recognizes the fact that he doesn’t know you, that you’ve been a stranger to him up until about 60 seconds ago, and that he shouldn’t go involving himself in things that don’t regard him, but there’s something about this, something about you, that has him asking more questions that he should

Simon hardly realizes the corners of his mouth trying to smile along when you let out a small chuckle at his question, before your answer has him set back into his usual scowl. “No, I wish it were that simple.” you try to laugh again, though the sound doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you push some hair out of your eyes, Simon’s fingers twitching at his side

“No, they’re not forcing me to come back, it’s more of a- I need to work again. Money doesn’t exactly make itself, and it’s just me and her so…” you trail off, offering a meek shrug before you avert your gaze from his and go to fiddle with the baby blankets. “There- there just aren’t any daycare spots anywhere, and the waiting lists are months if not years long. And she and I just don’t pass through this neighbourhood often, so I’m worried that once that sign goes up announcing this is a daycare, that the spots are going to be taken up before I even have a chance to-”

“S’alrigh, s’alright.” Simon interrupts your rambling, a hand raised slightly in the air as though you were a spooked animal he hoped to calm. having heard everything he needed to hear. You look up at him with such sincerity in your eyes, he can tell you would do anything for that baby, that you likely aren’t above begging and pleading at this point, alone with a baby and short on options, he knows what he’ll do. Had pretty much made up his mind soon as he saw you, but now he’s decided.

“Just you and her, you said?” He asks quietly, absentmindedly nodding along with you when you confirm his question. “Well, I mean, I can tell ye that yes, this is meant to be a daycare ‘ere.” He speaks hesitantly, watching as the hope builds in your eyes at his words. He brings a sweaty palm up to rub the back of his neck as he breaks the news to you.

“But I couldn’t tell ye anythin’ about who we’re buildin’ for, love.” He continues, the term of endearment slipping past his lips unconsciously. “They just give us the blueprints and we do our part. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout what or who’s takin ownership.” He watches that same sliver of hope that had started to grow quickly be snuffed out as you take in what he means.

“Oh. Well, I guess it makes sense.” You reply, evidently disappointed but too kind to push, too used to the recent defeats to expect anything else. “Thank you anyways, really. I appreciate you-”

“I’ll find out.” Simon says quickly, preventing you from bidding him whatever goodbye you were about to give him, keeping you here just a little longer.

“W-what?”

“I’ll find out. Who we’re building for. I’ll find you a name.”

“I- I- I don’t even- you really don’t have to do that!”

“Doesn’t matter what I have to do. I want to. So I will.”

He watches your face carefully now, seeing how you glance up at him with a different sort of apprehension in your gaze, almost like you’re truly taking him in for the first time, discovering something you weren’t expecting to find in him.

“Well, thank you. Truly.” You tell him, a smile so genuine gracing your lips that Simon finds himself choosing to smile back at you. The moment doesn’t last long however, when the baby starts to fuss again, your attention being drawn back to her. “I know baby, I know. I’ve got to feed you soon.”

Simon can’t help the deep blush that creeps up his neck and across his cheeks, unsure if it’s the way he enjoyed hearing you say ‘I know baby, I know’ a little too much or the idea of his own lips helping to ease that heavy ache in your swollen breasts that has him momentarily flustered.

“Maybe I could-” he clears his throat, pointedly avoiding looking at your chest and maintaining eye contact instead. “Maybe I could get your number or email or somethin’, to get back to you that is.”

“Oh! Yes of course! Here,” you say, digging through your pockets until you fish out a wadded up receipt. Simon pulls the pencil that’d been resting over his ear down and gently slips it through the fence over to you, watching with rapt attention as you bring the tip to the paper and write down what might be the most important numbers Simon ever learns. “There’s my number.”

He takes the pencil back from you and carefully accepts the paper you hand him, looking down at the name and smiley face you’ve left as well, whispering your name to himself before meeting your eyes once more. Before he can change his mind, Simon is tearing off the end of the receipt that’s still blank, and begins writing down his own name and number on it.

“If I don’t get back to you by the end of the week, you use tha’ to knock some sense into me, alrigh’?” He asks, slipping you the paper. He knows there isn’t a chance in hell he would forget about reaching out to you, about following through on this, but again, there’s something about you he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Thank you, Simon.” You answer, reading the name off the note he’s just given you, a small chill running down his spine at the sound of his name leaving your lips, the way you say it like it’s a name worth knowing. “Seriously, I can’t even tell you wha-”

The both of you can’t help but chuckle together when the baby’s cries cut you off again, you offering a sheepish smile in apology along with a small shrug of ‘what can you do?’.

“I’ll let you go, someone needs you more.”

“Well, we’re both very grateful to you, Simon.”

He stands there longer than he really should, watching the two of you walk off until you’re out of sight. The note you slipped him though? Well, that he holds onto until he’s clocking out, and maybe on the drive home as well, and maybe it’s the first thing to ever be hung up on his fridge in his flat, that little smiley face reminding him why a little bird watching isn’t so bad after all

I dunno ladies is this something???

[beebymoonlight]

[dogpuppy]

[sandersstudies]

Every time you go in a public place and something ISN’T disgusting it’s because somebody cleaned it. Every time you feel comfortable using a public bathroom or sitting at a restaurant table or setting something on a gas station counter or playing on a playground it’s because somebody cleaned it.

Thank you to everyone who cleans the world, especially those who are underpaid and under appreciated.

[ghostslollipop]

simon accidentally cracking your back in the place you haven’t been able to get a good angle on when he manhandles you during sex. he thinks that moan you just let out was because of his stroke game. you don’t have to heart to tell him he just gave you relief you’ve been looking for for two weeks. semantics.

[hatsbuckets]

The first time Graves used “all y’all” in front of the Brits, they had to physically restrain themselves from shaking him like a ragdoll.

...

“Now, all y’all just calm down a minute--”

A beat of silence.

Price blinked. Soap tilted his head like a confused retriever. Gaz mouthed ‘all y’all?’ like it was a slur.

“Beg your fuckin’ pardon?” Soap asked.

...

Graves, undeterred:

“Y’all’d’ve done better if you’d waited for backup.”

Gaz made a noise like a computer shutting down.

“I’m sorry... y’all would’ve what?”

Graves: “Would’ve done better.”

Price, flat: “That’s not what you said.”

“I was fixin’ to explain!”

“Fixing what now?”

...

While reviewing blueprints:

“Might coulda added another entry point here.”

Soap stood up. “This is an act o' terrorism."

[siriuslysmutty]

Impending Doom - (S.R.) Part 2

Summary: You're gonna die anyway, might as well smooch your lieutenant if they're aren't gonna be any consequences to worry about... right? Right?

Warnings: Angst... been awake since 2 am cause insomnia...

Other parts

Simon Riley looms above the team, a mountain of a man on your thermal vision. Eerily beautiful in that haunting way. Like an encroaching panther. You won't see it, but it knows your there. Your just desperate to hide from him most of time, to avoid his detection.

"Soap! Wha's the bloody problem?" Your lieutenant demands.

"I've got it down to two options but it could go either way." Soap replies.

Ghost's shouting direction to the recruits to find a way out, towering over you. Johnny's trying to, and failing to defuse a bomb in the room. It all leads to the dumbest thought: You're about to die, and your lieutenant... you've never even kissed him outside the wildest fantasies of your head.

Your body moves of its own accord dragging one of the ragged wooden chairs over, heart pounding, ears ringing.

In a world without consequences, one beautiful idea of kissing your commanding officer blooms.

A question of what deadly nightshade tastes like, does it really matter that you shouldn't eat it if your gonna die anyway? Just to satiate that hungry curiosity.

Ghost freezes as you stack the chair in front of him and climb it to reach his height. You tower over him a bit when you step up. "Sergeant, what the fuck are you doin'?" He demands and you have to steal yourself under his terrifying glare

"Uhhh," you offer and then figure words are *hard*. His eyes dart down in astounded confusion as you fist his vest with vigor he's never seen from you. And you jerking him over. The teeth of the mask stick to the edge of your lips as you press your mouth the the fabric that separates you. It'd be better if it wasn't there, but you can settle for knowing the ashy taste of that balaclava.

The room goes quiet.

A tiny *snip* has you drawing back and looking at Soap. Who blinks at you in shock. Along with the recruits... who blink at you in shock.

"Did that, um," you point at the demolition expert, "you know..." dread fills your belly as you release your lieutenant, afraid to meet his eyes.

"Defused..." he answers.

You nod silently. Relief does not find you. "Fuck."

"Yeah, you fucked up," comes a bassy rumble from beside you. From the mountain of man beside you, who smells like brimstone and gunpowder right now.

You take a deep breath before sparing a look and- yup, he's livid. "Dammit, I always have the worst luck," you sigh. His eyes flash with more rage, sparking in a terrifying way. Well, you've set his radar on fire, certainly.

"We're discussing this when we head back to base," he snarls. "Now everyone buckle down!" And the team (you included) scrambles.

You dreaded going back to base. You hadn't died, hadn't been blown to bits kissing your commanding officer. Now you had to face the consequences.

You tremble as you knock pitifully at his door. Walking in with blurry eyes from tears as he orders you to enter. When he sees you, those dark eyes narrow. "Close the damn door."

Upon compliance you drag your feet to front and center. "You think it's fucking funny to kiss your commanding officer?"

"No, sir." You murmur.

"Think its a joke to disobey and act like an idiot when we're in the middle of an op?"

"No, sir."

"Then what the fuck were you thinking?" He snarls.

"Well... I thought... before we blew up..." you manage out on a trembling voice.

His eyes spark and he rises out of his chair, prowling around his desk to hunch himself into your space. Staring down at you like a bird of prey ready to pry your organs out with talons and beak- "So you figured you'd wait until we were about to fuckin' die to kiss me?" He snarls.

"Yes, sir," you squeak.

Suddenly he's shucking the mask. Just grabs it at the top and yanks it from his head. Beneath is a curled, mangled lip, a crooked, nose, and short cropped hair, like he'd buzzed it himself. The grease paint smears around his eyes.

"You're telling me you were gonna hold out on me until we kicked the bucket?"

"Huh?" You squawk in shock at the question. "No, I mean... yeah?"

"Jesus, you little fucking coward," he shakes his head. His big hand snatches you by your shirt and hauls you in the same manner you'd done to him. You're getting mixed signals as he kisses you without much more ceremony. "Don't fucking wait 'til we're going to die next time," he snarls into your mouth.

(I'd be humping his leg in our final moments.)

[softaestluv]

cw: somnophilia, dubcon

They’re his favorite shorts.

Cotton. Gray. Plain.

Hug your ass perfectly.

Fabric resting just right above the curve of your cheeks, reveals just a little of the mouth-watering skin he wants to sink his teeth into.

He thinks he might’ve been able to control himself, climb into bed next to you, and pull you in his arms instead of defiling you. Sleep the urge away and take you in the morning when you’re proper awake. That would be the right thing to do, let his sweet girl get the rest you deserve.

It’s not his fault, really, not when you’re also wearing his shirt, makes something possessive curl in his chest at the ‘RILEY’ printed in bold on your back.

You’re too tempting for your own good; how is he supposed to let you sleep when you’ve gone and done such a thing?

He runs a calloused hand up your calf, spreading your pretty legs just a smidge more so he can crawl his way between them. The jostling doesn’t wake you, never does, but when his fingers brush against the backs of your thighs, spreading his touch wide over your skin you make a sleepy noise, not quite awake yet.

When his hands find claim to your ass, kneading the supple flesh, he has to physically stifle a groan as he watches the fat give away under his touch. Another noise comes from above him, his greedy hands pulling you closer and closer to clouded consciousness.

You feel it, he’s sure, a slight tickling on the backs of your thighs that doesn’t quite make sense yet, not when you’re still in the tight confines of sleep’s grasps, wound in a thick fog. Must be even more confusing when his thumb dips lower, smears against your cloth covered cunt.

That makes another noise slip past your lips, a little more coherent this time, leisured strokes waking you enough that you shift slightly, fingers tightening in the sheets under you.

“Simon?”

He doesn’t say anything, just presses his thumb a little firmer against your cunt. You buck into the touch, a small patch of the gray fabric staining darker, your arousal seeping through the shorts even through your sleep-fuddled mind. You rustle your cheek against your pillow, blinking bleary-eyed down at him, lids still heavy, drowsy and dazed.

You’re so docile, sleep still weighing your limbs down, that you let him slip your shorts and underwear down your legs without a fight. Your pretty cunt bare to him, drenched and clenching around nothing as he returns home between your thighs again. Eager to be stuffed even when sleep borders your irises.

When his fingers nudge along your wet folds, the noise you make is so pretty, that it makes his cock throb painfully in his boxers.

He finds his fingers in your half asleep cunt more times than not when he comes home late. He can’t help himself, not when you’re so pliant and soft, handing your obedience over to him, and letting him bend you as he pleases. Let him take his time without complaint, work you nice and stretched while you just lay there and take it. Lazily rutting your hips in the sheets, too tired to do anything, but enjoy the stretch.

“Simon?” You whimper again.

“Yeah, baby,” He finally hums, “Jus’ relax f’me, yeah? Jus’ wanna play with her for a bit.”

[siriuslysmutty]

[sigh-tofm]

reader at a bar being approached by johnny ‘my wife thinks you’re attractive’ mactavish but his wife is 6’4, 250lbs, wears a skull balaclava in public and is staring you down like you killed his mother

[siriuslysmutty]

Sharing a wall in the officer barracks with Simon is the fucking worst. His bed is up against the wall and you have to just cover your ears until this man finishes. You go bed down after a deployment only to wake at 0200 hours to another girl wailing on the otherside of the wall with the shitty squeaky frame of his bed pounding the wall by your head for a fucking hour. Where he gets the audacity and stamina you don't know but it happens constantly. So much so that you know he slows down when he's close. Draws it out.

It doesn't matter that he's pavloved you into flooding your panties whenever his bedframe squeals as he rolls over.

It's not until you fucking loose it on him at one of those midnight trysts, banging on his door until he drags it open and the woman scampers out a mess that you even think twice about readjng your commanding officer the riot act.

And then he's shirtless and his mask is pulled up, a cigarette dangling out of his mouth and an annoyed look as your too tired to care. "I am tired of listening to you fuck like a rhino every fucking night! Move your fucking bed!"

And he just grunts, looking you over.

"Wanna fuck me that bad, shoulda said."

"What I want is to sleep." You hiss.

"Tha' why you're bein' a bitch lately? Need a good fuck?"

"Like i want my pussy pulverized!?" You snap. (You do.) "Poor girls are breaking their fucking hips, dickhead!"

He just scoffs. It's how a weird fued starts.

It ends though with him finally climbing onto your bed with the frame shrieking under it's weight. Only he doesn't rhino fuck you. Instead he's letting out bleary groans and gasping for air like your sucking the oxygen from him. You're so fucking wet for him at the drop of a hat that the second he's in he's trying not to finish. He's pulling out to flip you into missionary so he can cover you and sink in as deep as he possibly can. He's clawing and gripping the sheets, swearing and whining because of how good you feel.

Anyway, that's how you bagged the Ghost.

[maskedbyghost]

i have a breeding kink but at the same time i have a terrible fear of getting pregnant to the point where ive had nightmares about it and anxiety attacks (especially now that abortions are no longer a constitutional right in the US). yeah, not a great combo when in bed lol

just thought maybe my woe would spark some kind of lil story for ya :)

thank you for the request anon, hope you like it :) cw: breeding kink, smut, +18 content below

You shouldn’t want it... Not like this.

You’re on your back, thighs spread and shaking, and Simon’s weight is pressing down over you, with his hands under your knees, pushing your legs open wide enough that you can feel it in your hips, that sweet ache where stretch meets surrender—but all you really notice is the way he’s looking at you.

A little wild. A little too pleased. Like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head.

"You’re fuckin’ dripping," he mutters against your throat, dragging the thick head of his cock through your folds, teasing you with it, slowly. “You want me to fill you up, yeah?”

Your body screams yes. It pulses with it. You tilt your hips, chasing the friction, heat curling sharp in your belly. That filthy little corner of your brain lights up like a match—the one that wants to hear him say it, again and again. That he’s going to put a baby into you. That your body’s his, made to take it.

But just behind that is the fear. Always is.

The kind that hits in the dead of night, heart racing, breath stuck in your throat. The kind that makes you double-check your pill pack and panic at a missed period. That terrible, breathless dread of being trapped in your own body. Waking up from a dream where you were pregnant and sobbing like it had already happened.

Your fingers grip the sheets, tension building under your skin, about to snap.

Simon feels it. Of course he does. He always knows.

He stills, just slightly. Doesn’t let go of your legs, doesn’t pull away—he just watches you, his brows pulling together. "Hey."

You blink, trying to smile, but it doesn’t work. “I’m fine. I want it. Just keep going.”

He doesn’t move. "You sure?"

“I am,” you say too fast, then softer, “I think I just… my head’s being weird again.”

That look he gives you—the one that feels like a fucking hand on your heart. He leans in, nose brushing yours, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists, and in that moment, it doesn't.

“Tell me,” he murmurs. “Whatever it is. We don’t play unless it’s good for you. Yeah?”

You swallow, heart hammering. You hate admitting it. Hate feeling like your brain’s betraying your body.

“I like it,” you say quietly. “The dirty talk. The whole—breeding thing. I need it sometimes. But I’m also terrified. Like, terrified of actually getting pregnant. It’s… bad. Nightmares, panic attacks...”

His jaw ticks. Just once. That barely contained fury that only shows up when he’s angry on your behalf.

“Fuck,” he says. “Alright. Come here.”

He pulls you in, lets your legs wrap around his waist, chest to chest now, holding you close, grounding you. One big hand slides up your back, the other gripping your thigh, his voice right at your ear.

“You trust me?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Then let me take care of you.”

You nod against his shoulder, and that’s all he needs.

“Good girl,” he breathes, then pulls his hips back, just enough to push his cock against you again. “Gonna give you everything you want, every filthy fuckin’ word. Gonna ruin you like I’m tryin’ to knock you up. But I won’t. I won’t do anything to you that you don’t want, yeah?”

You whimper. “Yes, Simon. Please.”

“God, you sound so sweet like this,” he groans, sliding in, inch by inch. “So needy. You like when I talk like that, don’t you? Gets you so wet, you don’t even care how wrong it sounds.”

He bottoms out with a growl, and your back arches off the bed. You’re already close, tension thrumming under your skin, clenching around him like your body’s begging to be used.

“Look at this little cunt,” he pants, pulling out halfway just to slam back in. “Taking all of me like it wants it. Like it’s fuckin’ desperate for it.”

You’re gasping now, fingers digging into his back, losing yourself to the rhythm, to the stretch, to the low, filthy sound of his voice.

“You want it, don’t you?” he whispers darkly, lips against your jaw. “Wanna be full of me. Wanna let me fuck you raw and finish inside, over and over until you’re leaking, stuffed, ruined.”

“Yes—Simon, yes—”

“But you don’t have to be scared,” he says, voice dropping lower, sweet and vicious. “You’re safe with me. I’ve got you. Always.”

And somehow that undoing feels different.

Like you can want it—really want it—and still be safe.

He fucks you through it, one hand on your belly, pressing down just a little, groaning when you flutter around him.

“Feel that?” he growls. “That’s me. Deep as I can go. Where I belong.”

Your eyes roll back. You're shaking under him, every nerve lit up, body raw with pleasure.

And then he’s coming too, face buried in your neck, groaning your name like it’s the only thing he knows how to say.

He pulls out slowly and carefully. Your thighs are trembling, slick between them, and he’s already wiping you down with a warm cloth before you can even blink. No words—just his soft hands.

Then he climbs back in behind you, draping a blanket over both of you, pulling you into his chest.

“You’re not wrong for wanting it,” he says against your temple. “Wantin’ that kind of surrender. You just need someone who knows how to give it to you right.”

You smile, slow and sleepy. “And you’re that someone?”

He huffs. “You fuckin’ know I am.”

And yeah, you really do.

--------------------------------------------

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