professional simp

Emily, 32 f USA writer, reader, simp, multi fandom this is an 18+ blog, requests and asks OPEN!

[midwesternwitchery]

Masterlist-

Requests and asks are open. I tend to write from a fem perspective rather than GN however I'm always willing to give it a try! Currently simping for the 141+ König/ Pedro pascal (everything all of it lol)/ frank castle/ Boba Fett/ Paz Vizla/ and of course Darth Maul. This new show of his has me in a chokehold and I am NOT okay lol

König

Die Sonne~ Series ongoing-

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8 - Coming soon

Part 9 - Coming soon

Part 10 - Coming soon

Drabbles-

König thought

Captain John Price

Coming soon

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Masks & kisses

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish

Coming soon

Paz Vizla

Coming soon

Oneshots-

Bad choices Michael Meyers 7.1k (I have no excuses for this)

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if you love ao3 exactly how it is and you don’t want it to “update” or change in any way♡

[roughlydustychronicle]

You felt him before you heard him. The mattress dipped down low, hesitant.

Simon.

He had come home mere minutes ago from deployment, and still smelled like gun powder. Much to your chagrin, you couldn’t deny the fact that you very much loved your husband’s scent.

His gloved hand floats above your head for a moment before removing the gloves entirely. Only then did you feel his warm hand caress your cheek. “Such a pretty bird, hm?” He murmurs to himself, letting his finger brush away hair strands from your face.

He stays there for a minute, watching your closed eyes flutter every now and then, before changing clothes. Changing into something safe.

When your eyes opened, the sun was peaking through the blinds. All you could feel was warmth from the body next to you, warmth you haven’t felt in weeks. You roll over, as much as you could in his tight grasp, and met his eyes.

“You’re back,” You said groggily, burrowing your face against the crook of his neck. “I thought you were supposed to come home next week. When’d you get in?”

“Few hours ago, love,” He pressed a kiss against the side of your head. “Price let me off easy.” Another kiss. And another. God, you missed it when he was this clingy.

“Good. I would’ve had a word with him if he didn’t.” You mumbled threateningly. Of course, he knew you had meant it. You took his job very seriously.

He made a small acknowledging sound in return. “Sure you would’ve, lovie,” His hand trailed up and down your spine in useless patterns. “Would’ve expected nothing less from my Sleeping Beauty.”

Ermmmm 100 followers? Thank you guys?? Holy cow 🥺🫶

[brav0-6]

GHOST IN “CARTEL PROTECTION” 🕶️ | MODERN WARFARE II

[cutiecusp]

Enough.

Simon Riley x wife.

Tw. Mentions of his father, baby showers, babies , feeling inadequate, mental health. Angst but a HEA.

.........

"Why won't you touch me, Si?" You ask, face down, staring at your shoes. You had made an effort today, and you thought it might break the spell your husband had been under.

"I- is there someone else?" You ask softly, afraid of the answer.

Simon looks at you with wide eyes, almost insulted you would ask. He steps forward, but pulls back at the last second.

"Is it me? Have I done something, am I not enough?" You plead, eyes meeting his, tears blurring your vision.

He gruffs out a scoff, folding his arms high over his broad chest.

"S'not you."

Your tears dry into your sleeve as you wipe them across your face.

"Well if it's not me-"

"Drop it, love." You hear him say, cool eyes burning into you.

"I just want to know why!" You say, a little loudly, wrapping your arms around yourself, mirroring his defensive mode.

"Just leave it. We are fine." He barks out, his eyebrows meeting his hairline in surprise at himself. He has never raised his voice to you before.

"Is it someone else? Who is she? Someone you work with?" You prod at the open wound between you.

"Is she pretty? Spread her legs for you on base?"

"Stop. It's not like that!" Came the harsh reply.

You found yourself rambling, tugging at the conversation, unable to let it go.

"Maybe I should join you, I'll give Kyle a call, or even your Captain, you know I like an older man." You goad, desperate for an answer as to why things weren't the same anymore.

An angry hiss leaves Simons body as he steps into your space, eyes dark, searching yours.

"You want to know what? Why I don't touch you? Why we don't fuck? Why I'm out all the time, even when I'm home?" He spits, his arms trapping you against the kitchen counter.

You nod, fire still in your belly.

"I'm not enough for you. That's why." He says softly, his voice laced with venom.

You stop in your tracks. You weren't expecting that to come out of your husbands mouth.

"What?" You ask incredulously.

"I saw you. At the baby shower." He grits out, his tone painful.

You think back to a few weeks ago, Johnny and his wife had their baby early, so they changed the baby shower to a welcome home party, you had helped cater it, providing cakes and snacks, and enjoyed holding their newborn.

"Did I do something?" You ask tentatively.

His voice caught in his throat, as if the words he was about to say stuck in his mouth like glass.

"It was torture, sweetheart. You holding that baby, helping Johnny and his bird through the party."

"My heart sank into my boots. I had so many questions in my mind. Would you want that? A baby on your hip? Why haven't you said anything? Has my past fucked things up and you don't want kids with me? Did you sacrifice that for me?"

"You know how cruel my father was to me, my mum, to Tommy-" he pauses, unable to finish the sentence.

"What if I'm like him?"

You lean into his frame, head on his chest.

"You could never, Si." You assure him.

"How do you know?" He questions, his voice low and quiet.

"Because you care enough that you could never." You say softly.

"I haven't brought up the baby situation because I didn't know if it fit what we were building. You are away a lot, and I wouldn't want you to miss anything."

His chest relaxes as he releases the breath he's been holding.

"Promise?"

"I promise, and if we need this conversation on the future, I'd be happy to have a baby with you, Si." You say softly, your arms wrapped around him.

You feel his arms wrap around you, his breathing deep and heavy on top of your head, as you both stand there in silence, grounding each other.

After a minute or two, he pulls his head back, his arms tightening around you.

"Older men, eh? Think the Cap couldn't handle you, my spitfire." He murmurs against your hair.

.......

@kaeyasfuturewife @gardenof-venus @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker @ghost-soaps-shadow @veryberry26

[cutiecusp]

Oh i love this still....

[cutiecusp]

Keegan Headcanons- Halloween

🦇🖤💀🦇🖤💀🦇🖤💀🦇🖤💀🦇🖤💀🦇

TW. Talk of CNC (chased and taken in the woods) mild horror, smut so MDNI! Fake knife play, mask play. ITS ALL FAKE!

Keegan! Who was unsure in the beginning when you told him you wanted him to gear up and chase you through the woods, after a cute little photoshoot.

Keegan! Who researched HEAVILY. His sweet girl wanted him to use a knife? Hair pulling? Ropes? But wanted to ACT like she didn't like it? Play pretend?

Keegan! Who admittedly got a little hard thinking about the chase, and fulfilling a fantasy of yours.

Keegan! Who had to take a minute extra in the bathroom, fisting himself over the image of you on your knees, your beautiful eyes covered by a blindfold as you put your trust in him.

Keegan! Who packed everything, and made sure to include an extra hoodie to wrap you up in after. (See, research ;))

Keegan! Who took all the photos for the socials you wanted, taking in the blush in your cheeks and the squeezing of your thighs as you know what's coming.

Keegan! Who gave you a headstart before chasing after you, proud that his girl made a good distance before he caught up with you.

Keegan! Who maintained a traffic system (And leg taps) throughout, making you feel safe and seen.

Keegan! Who lost his mind when he saw what you had on underneath...

Keegan! Who laughed at your pretence of escape, pulling your body closer to his, his mask hiding his expression.

Keegan! Who got incredibly hard listening to you gasp softly when he pressed the knife to your throat, before pushing you to your knees.

Keegan! Who nearly came undone at your mouth on his cock, your eyes covered in one of his bandanas.

Keegan! Who had you on all fours, ripping his mask off so he could feast on you.

Keegan! Who couldn't wait a minute longer, before sliding home. The only noise in the woods is the sound of your bodies and your moans.

Keegan! Who made you see stars several times, before filling you to the brim and kissing you, your taste still on his tongue.

Keegan! Who held you as he untied you, grabbing you the extra hoodie, and a bottle of water.

Keegan! Who bundles you back in the car, and removes the phone from it's hiding place.

Keegan! Who grabs you drive through, while you review the footage.

Keegan! Who runs you a bath at home, and takes care of you till you fall asleep in bed.

Keegan! Who saves a copy of tonight, zooming in on your face as you come, the other hand wrapped around his cock as he thinks of ideas for next time.

🦇💀🖤💀🦇💀🖤💀🦇

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

[cutiecusp]

Konig Headcanons... Halloween.

TW. CNC, aftercare mention. Everything is agreed on and very VERY consensual.

Remember this?

König! Who found your tumblr account.

König! Who was in shock, his sweet, soft darling wanted to be chased in the woods, tied down, made to take every inch of him?

König! Who couldnt look away as he scrolled, reading fics ranging from cute to borderline psycho.

König! Who saw all the things you reposted, with a link to your Pinterest account.

König! Who had to adjust his trousers when he saw a board named Fantasies.

König! Who almost died there and then when he saw it.

König! Who quickly logged out of your account, not before sending it to himself, to look over later.

König! Who went to a few stores to gather everything he needed.

König! Who waited until you were home, out of your work clothes and settled before he said anything.

"Do i make you happy, my heart?" He asks softly, gauging your reaction.

At your insistence, he slowly brings up his phone.

"Why wouldnt you tell me about this?" He asks, a soft, dangerous edge to his voice.

You barely hear what he says as blood rushes to your ears. Looking at your pinterest board, full of detailed masked fantasies about fucking in the woods was on full display.

"You wear a mask to work, i didn't-" You stutter, shame filling your cheeks.

Konig simply sets the phone down.

"Do you, want that?" He asks without judgement, his eyes meeting yours."

You nod slowly, cheeks pink, eyes wide as you admit what you have been wanting to for so long.

"You have ten minutes, our garden is big enough, the trees cover us, and we have no neighbours for miles. Go and hide, little lamb. I'll find you."

König! Who laughs as you squeak, tearing through the house trying to find shoes. Seeing your excited flush, knowing he is making you happy

König! Who watches with pride as you smile before you leave, blowing him a kiss as you venture out into the evening.

König! Who picks up his kit bag, filled with water, a hoodie, some soft rope and a bandana. Making sure to include the things for after you come down.

König! Who waits for ten minutes, and then steps out into the grassy area.

König! Who makes a promise to himself there and then that he will do whatever you need to make this fantasy come true.

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @soraya-daydreams @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker @ghost-soaps-shadow @veryberry26

[cutiecusp]

Playing Cupid.

Captain John Price x Blind date Reader.

Tw. Blind date, a kiss, fluff, HEA.

................................................................................................

"I'm too old for datin', Gaz." John admits, stretching on the sofa in the common room, his form almost swamping the furniture as his broad shoulders mirror the size of the back cushions.

"Not old, Cap. just haven't found the right woman." Gaz replies easily, not looking up from his phone.

"Anyway, its Valentines Day on Friday, and you gotta come with me." He persists.

John raises an eyebrow in jest, a small smile on his face.

"I know we are close, Gaz, but i think your wife might have something to say about me crashing your valentines dinner." He laughs, a deep rumble echoing around the room.

"Jess has a sister, she's single, you are single...." Gaz teases, a playful tilt to his voice as he shrugs, his eyes bright with mischief. He sits on the chair opposite the sofa, phone still in hand.

"Not liking that look, Gaz." John frowns, sitting up with a stifled groan.

"Cashing in that favour, Cap." Gaz smiles, and John curses under his breath.

"Fine, but we are square after."

Friday came, and you looked at yourself in the mirror, twisting your body to look at your outfit. You had found the dress at the back of the wardrobe, and was grateful for it. Black, stretchy and fitted in all the right places, you knew at least the dress wouldn't let you down.

Smoothing down the fabric, you give yourself a shaky smile. Jess had put you up to this as things hadn't gone so well with dating, and you were just thankful you weren't alone on Valentines.

Heading to the cab outside, you wrap your coat around you and get in, giving directions to the resturant.

Walking in, you held your head high, looking for your sister and her husband, Gaz. You got on well with him, and trusted them when they said they had a nice evening planned.

Waving over at them, your smile falters for a second.

You didn't expect a mountain.

A broad, tall, moutain with steel blue eyes and an easy smile, pulling out a chair for you.

"Hi." you introduce yourself shyly, thanking him for the seat, missing the way Jess and Gaz look at each other, like two people knowingly in on a secret.

"Hi, I'm John." he gruffs back, his tone deep and warm.

He sits next to you, his thigh brushing against yours at the sheer size of him, and you struggle to keep it cool.

Throwing your sister a look, to be met with a smug smile, you order.

The night goes on really well, the food was amazing, and your breath hitched in your throat every time his arm brushed yours, earning a little laugh from him every time.

"Shy little thing, aren't you?" He says quietly, taking the time to study you, his gaze flickers over your face, stopping at your necklace.

"I won't bite." He assures you, but you know he would if you allowed it, the man had a calm aura, but dominant through and through.

"I didn't expect a mountain of a man." You retort softly, barely louder than the room, but he heard it, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he laughs, a deep, rich laugh that snagged your attention like a spell.

"A little fire, i like it, love." he notes, taking in the way you look at him, eyes soft as you laugh back, his spine tingling as your laugh wraps around him, commiting it to memory.

Gaz and Jess head to the bar, leaving you two alone, the room seemingly smaller now its the two of you.

" Didn't expect this tonight." You admit.

"No? I can say the same. You surprised me, gorgeous, funny, a little shy thing under all those layers."

You blush, a mixture of the warm room, wine and proximity to John. Something clicked between the two of you tonight and you are reluctant to let go from your grasp.

Minutes pass, and both your glasses empty as you carry idle conversation into the night. You two only stop when you see the wait staff cleaning up the tables for the night, your phone beeps.

'Had to leave, babysitter called. Have fun!'

You smile, knowing your sister, she probably grabbed Gaz and left early, the pair of them known for being matchmakers.

"Looks like its just us. And it's closing time, so can I walk you home?" John asks, noting the quiet room.

Nodding, you stand, allowing John to drape your coat over your shoulders.

"I feel like I've known you forever. Is that weird?" You ask, taking his arm as you step into the night.

Shaking his head, John looks down at you, smiling.

"I feel the same love."

You both walk in a comfortable silence, your heels clicking on the pavement as you keep up with his long stride before pausing at the path to your house, the streetlight illuminating you like a halo. You peer up at him through your lashes, pulling your coat around your body like a shield.

"I don't put out on first dates." You warn.

"Luckily I'm a gentleman." John retorts, his arm still linked with yours.

"But-" you pause, your gaze flicking to his lips and back up to his eyes.

"I suppose a kiss goodnight would be fine."

John smiles, leaning in close.

"Gonna call me tomorrow?" He asks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nod, breath caught in your throat as you lean in, your eyes full of promise.

His lips press softly against yours, his hand around your lower back, pulling you in close, his body warm and strong.

You melt into him, your hands carding through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your body flush with his for a few moments, the world around you ignored.

Reluctantly, John pulls away, leaving you glassy eyed and stunned.

"Call me tomorrow, sweetheart." He says, helping you to the door, keys in hand.

"Why tomorrow?" You enquire with a raised eyebrow, chin tilted up slightly.

"Because then it will be our second date, and there's only so long I can be a gentleman for." He winks, enjoying seeing your cheeks redden as you process what he's saying.

"Goodnight, John. As blind dates go, It was my favourite." You say, opening the door to your house.

"Likewise, sweetheart. Goodnight, sweet dreams." He says, stepping back onto the pavement.

Watching as you shut and bolt the front door, John takes out his phone to message Gaz.

'Only you could have me go on a blind date with your wife's sister as a favour settled, and find me my perfect woman.'

..........

A/N sorry its long and rambly. Ive had writers block for weeks and this is what came of it.

@kaeyasfuturewife @soraya-daydreams @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker @ghost-soaps-shadow @veryberry26 @nananadende

[cutiecusp]

John....

[cutiecusp]

The supermarket was the last place he expected to see you.

A summer fling a year ago, a single night of wild, intense sex, enough to leave nail marks and memories for life.

Your hair pinned away from your face as you reach for the ice cream, the perfect thing in this heat.

He spends so long staring at you, that he almost misses it, the way you adjust your hip, as if you were carrying something else.

As you turn, the breath is stolen from his lungs, a little baby is nestled in your arm, familiar eyes wide open...

part 2? and who do we want it to be?

Price

Ghost

Soap

Gaz

Voting ended on7h

@kaeyasfuturewife @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @soraya-daydreams @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker @ghost-soaps-shadow @veryberry26 @nananadende @lostintransist @bmtillerbabe

[midwesternwitchery]

Honestly I'd like to see scenarios with all the boys but my top pics are price and ghost

[strawberrym00nx]

⋆⛥ᢉ𐭩જ⁀➴ ♡ (SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x LOVERGIRL!READER)

tears threaten to spill from his eyes, and if he were a different, softer person, they would fall.

he's reading her diary because she left it open on her bed, and he was looking for a reason to dump her. he was ready to see all hate she feels toward him. all ways he hurts her. all the ways he's wrong and unlovable. and he was going to throw it in her face, and see the inevitable fate of this relationship happen right before his eyes.

but he's seeing something much more confusing. diary entry after diary entry about how much she loves him. how his blues mix so well with her reds. how she hungers for his soul and dreams of their wedding day. how she has no end of love to give him and just wants to put flowers in his hair and soothe his scarred mind.

with his fist tightened around the book, he storms into the bathroom and shoves open the shower curtain, making her squeak and blush. 'hey!'' she whines, grabbing it to cover herself as if he's never seen her naked before, her eyes narrowing at him.

his eyes are dark and hollow and messy with emotion all at once. she's looking at him and the book in his hand. 'that's private, Simon Riley,' she warns, heart thumping against her ribs. 'it's not -

he's grabbing her face and kissing her, stepping into the shower fully clothed after placing the book on the sink. 'you love me so much,' he husks, holding her face in his palms, body towering over her, yet she doesn't feel scared; she feels happy.

'm'naked,' she pouts, voice soft as her heart. 'shower naked feels different than sex naked.' she's peeking up at him. 'but yes. i do love you very much.'

he's smiling, gloved thumbs brushing over her cheeks, his heart full of something she's made him come to know as familiar - love.

[x-strwbrry]

pathetic little secrets

♡ simon ghost riley x virgin!female reader ♡ 18+

words count: 6k

You didn't mean to bring it up. Hell, you didn't even mean to think about it. It was just that the air in the safe house was too thick, the silence between you and Simon was too heavy, and the bottle of whiskey you'd been nursing had made your tongue loose and your filter non-existent.

You were perched on the edge of the rickety bed while he leaned against the wall, cleaning his rifle with the methodical focus of a saint polishing a relic. The only light was a single naked bulb, casting a jaundiced glow and carving his face into a landscape of harsh shadows.

The conversation had been about nothing. Mission fatigue, the shitty food, the way the rain sounded like nails on the tin roof. Then, you'd made a joke. A stupid, clumsy joke about a fellow soldier who couldn't keep it in his pants.

"Man's a walking liability," you slurred, a little too loudly. "Thinks with his dick, gets himself into all kinds of trouble."

Simon just grunted, his eyes never leaving the barrel of his gun. But you, feeling the warm, reckless burn of the whiskey, pushed on.

"At least he's getting some, I guess. Not like some of us are dying over here."

That got his attention. His head lifted, his dark eyes pinning you in place. "That what's on your mind, Sergeant? Dying for a shag?"

The way he said it, so casual, so dismissive, should have made you shut your mouth. Instead, it acted like gasoline on a fire. "Maybe," you retorted, trying for bravado and landing somewhere in the vicinity of pathetic. "What's it to you, anyway?"

He set the rifle down with deliberate slowness, the clatter of metal on wood sounding like a gunshot in the small room. He pushed off the wall and crossed the space in two long strides. He was a tower of muscle and barely contained violence, and you were suddenly aware of how small the bed was and how close he was.

"You sound like a bloody teenager," he rumbled, his voice low and dark. "It's just a fuck. It's not a holy grail."

And that's when it happened. The words tumbled out, a drunken, shameful confession that you couldn't claw back even if you tried. "Well, maybe I wouldn't know, would I?"

The air in the room changed, going from thick with tension to frozen solid. Simon stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you saw the flicker of surprise, the slow-dawning realization, and the subtle shift in his posture.

"Say that again," he commanded, his voice quiet, cutting through the whiskey haze.

You shook your head, a wave of intense heat rushing to your face, your stomach twisting with a mortification so acute you thought you might be sick. "Forget it," you mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him.

He crouched down in front of you, bringing his face level with yours. His gloved hand reached out, tipping your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those eyes were searching, dissecting you.

"You're a virgin." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with a kind of breathless awe that was somehow worse than mockery.

"Shut up," you hissed, trying to jerk your head away, but his grip was firm. The shame was a living thing inside you, clawing at your throat. You felt exposed and raw, like he'd peeled back your skin and found something soft underneath.

He let go of your chin, but he didn't move away. He just stared, his mind clearly working behind those dark eyes. You expected him to laugh, to call you a kid, or to tell you to get the fuck over it. Instead, he said something that shattered you completely.

"You want me to fuck you."

It wasn't a question either. It was the most terrifying, exhilarating statement you'd ever heard. Your denial was automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to the unbearable vulnerability. "No! I didn't say that. I just..." You trailed off, because what could you say? You did. You wanted it so badly it hurt. You wanted him. The terrifying, scarred, lethal man who now knew your most private secret.

His lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. It wasn't mocking; it was hungry. "You're a shit liar," he murmured. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made your skin pebble. "Is that why you've been lookin' at me like a lost puppy? Hoping I'd bend you over and show you the ropes?"

The crude, direct language sent a jolt straight to your core. You squeezed your thighs together, a pathetic attempt to relieve the sudden, throbbing ache. "Fuck you, Simon," you whispered, but it sounded weak and breathless.

"That's the idea, sweetheart."

So it had started as a joke, a stupid, whiskey-fueled slip-up that you'd both tried to bury under layers of snark and forced professionalism. For a few days, it was like a bizarre, unspoken truce. He didn't mention it, and you tried to pretend you hadn't basically offered up your virginity on a silver platter. You trained harder, kept your head down, and avoided his eyes like they were the abyss.

But the world had shifted on its axis, and you couldn't unsee it.

You started noticing things. The way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he reached for a high shelf, the fabric straining over the solid muscle of his shoulders. The way his tactical gloves creaked when he balled his fists. The scent of him that seemed to linger in the air long after he'd left a room.

His eyes were the worst. Before, his stares had been assessing and analytical. Now, they were heavy, weighted with a new kind of intent. You'd feel them on you during a briefing, a heated, lingering sweep from your boots to your face that made your breath catch and your cunt throb. He was looking at you like he was picturing you naked, and the constant, low-level humiliation of your secret acted as a toxic aphrodisiac.

He was harder on you, too. His critiques in the field were more cutting, his expectations higher. He'd push you during PT until your lungs burned and your muscles screamed, his voice a low, relentless bark in your ear. "Again, Sergeant. Is that all you've got?" It felt like a punishment, or maybe a test, and every time you pushed through it, you felt a flicker of pride, followed by the hot rush of imagining what he'd do to you if you really impressed him.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter, a wire vibrating at a frequency only you and he could feel. It was only a matter of time before it snapped.

It was a normal enough afternoon. The whole team was sprawled in the common room, the low hum of the TV and Price's cigar smoke filling the space. Johnny was recounting some wild story about a bar fight in Prague, his voice boisterous and animated. You were trying to laugh, trying to be normal, but all you could feel was Simon's presence on the other side of the room. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a beer bottle in his hand. He wasn't looking at you, he was looking at Johnny, but you could feel his attention like a physical touch.

Then Johnny, the glorious, oblivious bastard, said something that twisted the knife.

"Aye, but you know what it's like, Si," he said, grinning. "Sometimes you just gotta get in there, get the job done, no matter how tight the fit is. Am I right?"

A beat of silence. Your heart stopped. Simon's eyes, slow and deliberate, slid from Johnny to you. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, Johnny," he said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to be directed only at you. "Sometimes you just have to be patient. Make sure they're ready before you... make your move."

Johnny laughed, clapping Gaz on the back. "See? The man's a poet."

But you weren't hearing it. Your blood was roaring in your ears. He was going to tell them. The paranoia, the toxic cocktail of shame and fear, exploded in your chest. He was going to expose you, right here, in front of everyone. He'd tell them you were some pathetic virgin who'd begged for it, and they'd all laugh, and you'd have to leave the task force.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood up, your movements sharp and jerky. "I need some air," you mumbled, not meeting anyone's eyes.

You didn't make it two steps before Simon's voice stopped you. "Sergeant. A word."

Your stomach dropped. You turned to see him pushing off the wall, his expression unreadable. He mystic jerked his head towards the hallway. "Now."

The others were already back to their conversation, but you felt their curious glances as you followed him out of the room and down the hall, your boots feeling heavier with every step. He pushed open the door to his quarters and you followed him inside, the door clicking shut behind you with a terrifying finality.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you hissed, the words tearing out of you the second the door was closed. "Are you going to tell them? Just get it over with and humiliate me, you bastard!"

He turned to face you, his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "Tell them? What the hell are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb!" you shot back, your voice cracking. "You're going to tell them I'm a... that I'm... that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing!"

His face softened just a fraction. The anger bled out of him, replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like pity. "Jesus," he muttered, running a hand over his masked face. "I'm not going to tell them anything. That's your business, not mine."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?" you demanded, your breath catching in your throat. "Why are you always fucking looking at me?"

"Because you're driving me fucking insane," he ground out, taking a step towards you. "I'm trying to give you space, trying to be a fuckin' gentleman, and you're over here thinking I'm about to announce your sexual history to the whole squad?"

The sheer absurdity of it, the relief mixed with the lingering fear, was too much. The words you'd been holding back for weeks finally burst free. "Just fuck me and get it over with!" you blurted out, the words sounding pathetic even to your own ears. "Just do it so I can stop thinking about it!"

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with a deep, controlled breath. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, cold, and utterly commanding.

"No."

Your heart plummeted. "What?"

"I said no." He took another step closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.

You stammered, your brain short-circuiting. "I-I don't understand. You... you want to, don't you?"

His eyes flashed, a dark fire igniting in their depths. "Wanting to and fucking you are two different things, Sergeant. I'm not going to take your virginity because you're having a fuckin' panic attack. You'll wait."

"Wait?"

"You'll wait until you're sure. Until you can ask me properly." His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "And you'll ask me in my bed, after everyone's asleep. Then, and only then, I'll consider it."

The shift in power was dizzying. He wasn't rejecting you; he was setting the terms. And God help you, you wanted to agree to every single one.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, a gesture of both command and curiosity. "Okay, what?" His gaze was piercing, demanding.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The old shame was there, but it was being drowned out by a new, more powerful feeling: a desperate, clawing need to please him. You sank to your knees on the cold, hard floor of his room, the movement feeling both shameful and right. You looked up at him, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"Please, Simon," you whispered, the words barely audible. "Please... fuck me."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, visible even around the mask. He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a surprising tenderness.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Now get up and go back to the others. Act normal. I'll see you later."

You didn't remember much of the rest of the evening. You sat through the briefing, you ate dinner, you even managed a few stilted laughs at Johnny's jokes. But all of it was a blur, the background noise to the roaring in your head. You were going to Simon's room tonight. The thought was a live wire in your stomach, sparking terror and anticipation in equal measure.

Hours later, the base was quiet. The hallway was deserted, the only light coming from the red glow of the emergency exit signs. You moved like a ghost, your bare feet silent on the linoleum as you made your way to his door. You didn't knock. You just turned the handle and slipped inside.

He was waiting for you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his mask illuminated by the single lamp on his bedside table. He'd taken off his tac vest, leaving him in just a tight-fitting black t-shirt and his cargo pants. He looked human, and terrifyingly sexy.

"Lock the door," he said, his voice soft but firm.

You did, the click of the lock sounding like a gunshot. You turned back to him, your body thrumming with nervous energy. And then you noticed the room. It was different. The usually stark, military-neat space was softened. The bed had clean, crisp sheets on it. And there were candles, a few simple tea lights flickering on the windowsill and the dresser, casting a warm, gentle glow over the room.

"You... lit candles," you said, your voice small.

"I wanted you to be comfortable," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He patted the space on the bed next to him. "Come here."

You went, your legs feeling unsteady. You sat down, a careful distance between you, your hands twisting in your lap. He didn't rush you. He just watched you, his dark eyes patient.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "If you've changed your mind"

"I haven't," you said, a little too quickly. "I want this. I want... you."

He nodded slowly. "Good." He reached out and took one of your restless hands, his grip warm and steady. "We'll go slow. We'll go as slow as you need. And you tell me to stop if you want to stop. Understand?"

You nodded, your throat tight. "I understand."

He leaned in, and for the first time, you thought he was going to kiss you. But he just pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture so unexpectedly tender it made your eyes sting. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.

"Relax," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."

Then he did kiss you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was slow, soft, exploring. His lips were warm and firm against yours, and the fact that you could feel them, that the mask didn't cover them, made it incredibly intimate. You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to taste you. He tasted like mint and the faint, bitter hint of coffee, and it was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever experienced.

You kissed him back with a clumsy, desperate enthusiasm, your hands coming up to clutch at his t-shirt. He let you, his own hands moving to your waist, guiding you. He pulled you closer, until you were half in his lap, and you could feel the solid, hard plane of his chest against yours.

"Simon," you breathed against his lips, his name a prayer on your tongue.

"Shhh," he soothed, his hands sliding under your shirt. His fingers were calloused, rough against the soft skin of your back, and you shivered at the sensation. "Just feel."

He kissed his way down your jaw, to your neck, his lips and tongue tracing a path that made you arch into him. He pulled your shirt over your head, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in your simple cotton bra. He reached around and unhooked it with practiced ease, letting it fall away.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he groaned, his hands coming up to cover your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The praise, so sincere, so raw, sent a bolt of heat straight to you. You'd been so focused on your own inexperience, you hadn't considered that he might actually want this, want you, with the same desperate hunger.

He laid you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, and continued his exploration. He kissed every inch of your exposed skin, his touch reverent. He was taking his time, so much time, working you up with a maddening slowness that had you writhing beneath him.

He started kissing your tits, his mouth hot and wet as he closed his lips around one nipple, flicking it with his tongue. The sensation was electric. And in your head, the old, ugly thought surfaced: He's done this a hundred times. He knows exactly what he's doing, and you're just another body in his bed. The thought made you squirm, a mix of jealousy and insecurity twisting your gut.

He must have felt the change in you, because he pulled back, his eyes searching your face. "What is it?" he asked. "Talk to me."

"I just..." you couldn't say it. It was too embarrassing. But he just waited, his gaze patient and unwavering. "I just... I know you've done this before. With people who know what they're doing."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I have," he said, his voice a low, dark rumble. "And do you know what I've learned?" He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I've learned that nothing is hotter than watching someone fall apart for the first time. I've learned that I fucking love being the one to make it happen."

He moved down your body, his hands hooking into the waistband of your pants. "I'm going to eat your pussy now," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you're going to let me hear every single sound you make. No holding back. Understand?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow pants. He pulled your pants and underwear down in one go, leaving you completely bare to him. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them apart. He looked up at you, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly lowered his head.

The first touch of his tongue on your cunt was like a lightning strike. You cried out, your hands flying to his hair, your back arching off the bed. He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"Fuck, you're wet," he rasped, his tongue lapping at you with long, slow strokes. "So fuckin' wet for me."

He ate you out with a devastating skill, his tongue finding your clit with unerring accuracy, circling and sucking until you were a whimpering, moaning mess. You could feel his spit mixing with your own slickness, the obscene, wet sounds filling the room.

While he worked, his hands found yours, his fingers lacing through yours, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your hips. It was an anchor, a connection in the midst of the overwhelming pleasure. He held your gaze, letting you watch him, his eyes dark with lust as he showed you exactly what his tongue was doing to your swollen, aching clit.

"Tell me how it feels," he commanded, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Talk to me."

"It feels... so good," you gasped, your nails digging into the backs of his hands. "Your tongue... fuck, Simon, don't stop."

His grip on your hands tightened, a silent acknowledgment of your plea. Your pussy was burning, a deep, throbbing ache that demanded more. You felt a fullness in your belly, a tightening coil of pleasure that was wound so tight it was almost painful.

He slid a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right. The stretch was intense, a dull burn that quickly melted into pleasure. He was watching your face, reading your every reaction, ensuring you were with him every step of the way.

"You're taking my fingers so well," he praised, his voice thick with arousal. "Look at that. So fuckin' tight." He pumped his fingers in and out of his mouth, his tongue still working your clit.

The dirty talk, the sight of him between your legs, the feel of his fingers and tongue, it was too much. The coil in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. You came with a loud, broken moan, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it, drawing out every last shatter of pleasure.

He finally released you, crawling back up your body and kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You could feel his erection, a hard thick line pressing against your thigh, and you were suddenly desperate to feel it, to feel Ghost.

You reached down, your hand palming his cock through his pants. He hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily. You wanted to make him feel as good as he'd made you feel. You wanted to show him how desperate you really were.

You pushed at his shoulders, surprising him. He let you roll him over, until you were straddling his thighs. You quickly undid his belt and fly, freeing his cock. It was even more intimidating up close, long, thick, and flushed dark red at the tip. A bead of pre glistened there, and you leaned down, licking it off on a whim.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. "Show me," you whispered. "Show me how you like it."

His eyes snapped open, dark with lust. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly from base to tip. "Like this," he said, his voice strained. "Spit on it."

You did, your saliva glistening on the head. He used it as lube, his fist moving in a smooth, steady rhythm. You watched, utterly mesmerized, as he pleasured himself.

"Your turn," he grunted.

You replaced his hand with yours, your grip tentative at first. You mimicked his movements, and he let out a low, encouraging sound. "Yeah, just like that, love. Tighter. Squeeze the head when you get to the top."

You followed his instructions, your confidence growing with every groan you elicited from him. He was leaking steadily now, his pre-cum making your hand slick.

You leaned down and flicked your tongue over the head again, tasting the bitter saltiness of him. He twitched in your hand, a guttural sound escaping his lips. Emboldened, you took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, swirling your tongue around him. The taste, the feel of him on your tongue, the power of having this strong, dangerous man at your mercy, it was intoxicating.

"Jesus, fuck," he gasped, his hand flying to your hair, not to guide you, but just to hold on. "You're gonna make me come, you little minx."

You smiled around his cock, a surge of feminine pride washing over you. You cupped his balls, rolling them gently in your hand, marveling at the weight of them. You even ran your fingers through the coarse, dark hair at the base of his cock, finding the fact that he was unshaven, so naturally and undeniably male, incredibly hot.

"Christ, stop looking at me like that," he groaned. "You're gonna make me blow my load before I even get inside you."

You pulled off him with a wet pop, grinning. "Sorry."

"You're not," he said, sitting up and kissing you hard. He flipped you over again, pinning you beneath him.

He reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a condom and ripping it open. He rolled it on with practiced efficiency, his eyes never leaving yours. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you.

"Last chance," he said, his voice serious. "Tell me to stop."

"Don't you dare," you breathed, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer.

He pushed forward, slowly, so slowly, the stretch immense. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. It burned, but it was a good burn, a sign of the connection you were making. He paused, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

"You're doin' so good," he murmured, his voice strained. "So fuckin' good. Just breathe."

You did, and as you did, he slid in deeper, inch by incredible inch, until he was seated fully inside you. The feeling of fullness was absolute, overwhelming. He was so deep, so much a part of you, it brought tears to your eyes.

He kissed them away, his lips gentle. "You okay?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, unable to speak. He started to move, his thrusts shallow and slow. He held your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours, anchoring you as he began to fuck you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It wasn't frantic or rough. It was deep, intimate, and devastatingly slow. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, his lips worshipping your body as his cock worshipped your cunt.

You could tell he was holding back, his body trembling with the effort of not pounding into you. His thrusts were angled perfectly, stimulating a spot inside you that you didn't even know existed. The pressure built again, a slow, rising tide of pleasure that was even more intense than the first.

"That's it," he panted in your ear. "I can feel you gettin' tighter. Are you gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna come all over me?"

His words, combined with the relentless, perfect pressure, sent you over the edge again. You came with a silent cry, your inner walls clenching around him, your body shaking with the force of it.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his rhythm finally faltering. "I can feel you comin'. So fuckin' hot. So goddamn perfect." He slammed into you once, twice, three more times, and then he was coming with a hoarse shout, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled the condom.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight a welcome, heavy blanket. You lay there, tangled together, your breathing slowly syncing up as you came down from the high. After a long moment, he rolled off you, disposing of the condom before pulling you back into his chest.

You were silent, your mind reeling. You felt different. Changed. The shame, the insecurity, it was all gone, replaced by a deep, bone-deep satisfaction.

Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Stay," he murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

You didn't need to be asked twice. You cuddled closer, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In the morning, things would be different. But for tonight, in the warm, candlelit glow of his room, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The only thing more shocking than the fact that you'd just lost your virginity to Simon 'Ghost' Riley was the realization that you wanted to do it again. And again.

The first few days after were a weird, hazy blur. You moved through your training exercises on autopilot, your body aching in places you didn't know could ache. A deep, pleasant soreness that was a constant, throbbing reminder of the way he'd felt inside you, the way he'd held you, the sounds he'd made. Every time you caught sight of him across the compound, a dark, imposing figure against the grey concrete, a jolt of heat would shoot straight to your core.

You expected things to be awkward. You'd braced yourself for smirks from Johnny or a pointed, knowing look from Gaz. But there was nothing. Simon was the consummate professional on the field, his commands sharp, his demeanor as unreadable as ever. If anything, he was a little more distant, a little more controlled, as if he was holding himself back with a supreme effort. And Johnny just thought you were hungover.

That first night back in the safety of your own room, you'd slid your hand into your panties and touched yourself, trying to replicate the devastating pleasure he'd given you. It was useless. Your own fingers were a poor substitute for the thick, insistent stretch of his cock, the expert roll of his hips. You came, but it was a hollow, fleeting thing, and it only made you miss him more.

It took three days of this simmering tension before you snapped. You were in the gym, pounding away your frustration on the treadmill, when he walked in. He was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and sweatpants, his hair damp from a shower. He didn't look at you, just gave a curt nod and headed for the weights. But you saw the way his jaw ticked, the way his hands flexed at his sides.

You hit the stop button on the treadmill, the machine's whine cutting through the quiet hum of the room. "My room," you said, your voice sounding more confident than you felt. "Ten minutes."

He didn't even turn around. "I have a briefing."

"You'll be quick," you retorted, a sharp heat rising in your chest. You saw his shoulders shake with a silent, dark laugh before he gave you a single, sharp nod.

You were waiting for him, your heart pounding when your door creaked open. He slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him with the same quiet efficiency he did everything. He didn't say a word. He just crossed the room, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or slow this time. It was a kiss born of days of frustrated denial. His tongue was in your mouth immediately, claiming, possessing, and you met him with equal desperation. You clawed at his tank top, pulling it over his head, and he did the same to yours, his hands rough and impatient on your skin.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he growled against your lips, backing you towards the bed. "About this tight little body. About how you felt squeezing my cock."

His filthy words sent a rush of wetness between your thighs. You whimpered, your hands scrambling for the button of his pants. He shoved his trousers down, kicking them away, and then he was on you again, his naked, scarred chest pressing you into the mattress. He was already hard, his cock heavy against your stomach.

Si was tearing at your pants, and you lifted your hips to help him, kicking them away along with your panties. He was between your thighs in a second, his cock nudging at your entrance. You felt the tear of a condom packet and you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Don't," you said, your voice breathless.

He stilled, his eyes searching yours. "You sure?"

"I'm on the pill," you rushed out. "And I trust you. I just... I need to feel all of you. Please, Simon."

He stared at you for a long, tense moment, something raw and vulnerable flashing in his eyes. Then he crushed his mouth to yours, the condom forgotten. He pushed into you in one long, smooth stroke, and the sensation was overwhelming. No thin barrier, just the hot, silky feel of him, every vein, every ridge. He was so deep, so impossibly deep, you could feel him everywhere.

"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back. "You feel so good."

He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours, the bed creaking in protest. "You feel like fuckin' heaven," he gritted out, his face buried in your neck. "So wet, so bloody tight for me."

You wanted more. You needed to be in control, to set the pace, to take what you needed. You pushed against his chest, and he let you roll him over with surprising ease. You straddled his hips, his cock still buried deep inside you, and braced your hands on his chest.

The sight of him below you was breathtaking. His chest was heaving, his muscles tensed, his eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. And his mask, it had shifted slightly during the tussle, riding low on his nose, revealing more of his face than you'd ever seen. The sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the scar there. He looked wild, untamed.

You started to move, rising and falling on his cock, setting a rhythm that had you both moaning. His hands found your hips, then slid down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he guided you, helping you take him deeper.

"Simon," you panted, your head lolling back. "I can't... I can't stop thinking about you. You've done this to me. I'm obsessed."

His grip on your ass tightened, his eyes blazing. "Yeah?" he rasped, his voice strained. "Tell me what you're thinking about, sweetheart."

"Thinking about how full you make me," you whimpered, feeling another orgasm coil low in your belly. "How you stretch me so good. Si, please... please don't stop filling me up."

That was what broke him. With a groan, he sat up, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you to his chest. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting as he drove up into you, meeting your downward thrusts with powerful, desperate strokes of his own.

His mask was pushed down further, and you turned your head, your lips finding the corner of his mouth, kissing the scarred skin there. "You feel so good, LT," you whispered in his ear. "So fuckin' good inside me."

He came with a roar, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside you, the hot, thick flood of his cum triggering your own release. You came with a silent scream, your whole body clenching around him, milking him for every last drop. You collapsed against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, trembling with the aftershocks.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He was still inside you, softening but not gone, a warm, comforting presence. He reached up and gently adjusted his mask, pulling it back into place. The intimacy of the gesture, the quiet trust it implied, made your heart ache.

"Now you stay the night," you murmured into his neck, not a question, but a statement.

He didn't answer. He just held you tighter, and that was answer enough. You knew, with a certainty that this was no longer just about getting rid of your virginity. This was something else entirely.

And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you realized you were in way deeper than you'd ever planned to be.

[tomhardysluvr888]

the one left behind - frank castle

Summary: You find it hard to differentiate between love and anger as you stand face to face with the man you’ve been mourning for months

a/n: this is my first time ever writing one shots so apologies if it’s not the best!! Def not following the plot whatsoever (Maybe a part 2?) NOT PROOFREAD

Warnings: angst/no comfort?, prob ooc bc this is my first time ever writing for Frank. Frank just doesn’t believe he deserves to be loved

WC: 1.2k

part 1 | part 2

“HOMEGROWN TERRORISTS” you read the words over and over again. Though they weren’t what you were fixated on. Instead, your eyes were glued on the image of Fra—him. A couple of cuts littered his face in the picture showcased on the news but he was undoubtedly alive.

Every emotion on the spectrum slammed into you at once. Grief. Anger. Happiness. Hurt and confusion being the most prominent. He’d been alive this entire time. All the months and nights you’d cried yourself to sleep. Sobbing on Karen’s shoulder. There was no body. There was no funeral or headstone for you to talk to when the grief was a load you couldn’t carry alone.

You don’t remember picking up your phone and calling Karen. But her voice on the other end as she answered broke you out of your trance. “Hello?”

Your grip on your phone tightened, “Karen. He’s-he’s alive.” You couldn’t stop your voice from breaking.

The silence on the other end was defeating. “Karen?”

More silence. Suddenly it clicked. Why wasn’t she saying anything? A gasp? A voice of disbelief?

“Did you know?” The question accusatory. You braced for an answer you weren’t sure you were ready to hear.

“Yes.” Her voice firm for a second before it was covered in guilt. “Yes. I knew I’m sorry—“

Whatever words of reasoning she spoke were unbeknownst to you as a ringing sound began echoing in your ear. She knew. This entire time. She had the privilege of knowing. Not you. Karen. He had picked Karen.

Cutting her off with a tone so vicious, so broken, you said, “You tell Frank to meet me at our spot. You and him owe me that at the very least.”

Not waiting to hear her reply, you ended the call and headed out the door. Forgetting that it was a cold day in New York City as the anger made you boil from the inside.

The anger lost its battle to the chilly winds but you refused to go back home. You wouldn’t go back until you had your answers.

Thoughts began to intrude your mind, you being helpless to stop them.

Did he even want to see you?

Why didn’t he call?

Or knock and disappear before you opened the door?

Why did he rip himself from your life before you could tell him just how much you felt for him? How much you loved him.

Why did he tell her?

Your mind went quiet as you heard gravel crack under pressure. You froze. It was as if your body knew who was behind you before your mind could process it.

Your fingernails dug into the palms of your hand like you were bracing for impact. And maybe you were. Reality being a punch to the gut.

He was really here.

And so you finally turned, your eyes glued onto his large frame.

Frank was dressed in his usual all black attire. Beanie covering his hair while the hood of his jacket covered the rest of his face. He was here.

Neither of you spoke. In the time between your phone call with Karen and now, you had rehearsed over and over what you would say to him. Maybe even make him feel a fraction of what you felt when you thought he was dead.

“S’cold. You got no jacket on.”

“Are you serious?” You didn’t bother hiding your disbelief as you scoffed. “All this time and all you have to say is that I didn’t wear a jacket?”

Silence consumed you both. Everything you had practiced in your head was thrown out the window as you could no longer compose yourself.

“You died.”

You shoved him. He didn’t move an inch which made you angrier. “You died.”

Another shove.

“I thought lost you.” Your voice splintered. “Ive been stuck with words I thought I would never be able to say to you because you were gone.”

This time you pounded on his chest. He let you. His brown eyes filled with emotions you couldn’t decipher as he watched the tears pour out of your eyes. “You let me mourn you.”

“You let me think your body was just gone. Somewhere that I couldn’t go. There wasn’t even a damn grave I could visit and talk to you.”

Frank took every shove, every word you used as weapons. “I know.”

“No.” You countered. “No, you don’t know.”

You fisted the collar of his hoodie, gripping onto him like he was your vice. As if your hold was any looser, he would disappear in the wind.

“You don’t know how it was getting that phone call from Matt. You don’t know how it was waking up every day thinking for the briefest moment you were asleep right next to me. And the cold harsh reality slapping me when your side of the bed was empty.”

He said nothing.

You laughed humorlessly. “Karen knew.”

His jaw clenched so tightly you swore you could hear his teeth grind together.

“She knew and I didn’t.” Your voice barely a whisper now. “Why?”

You finally allowed your eyes to look up at his. But they didn’t meet yours. Instead, they were looking out to the view behind you.

The lack of an answer hurt more than any excuse he could give.

“I couldn’t.”

Frustrations as evident in your voice. “Couldn’t what? Call me? Come by my apartment to let me know you’re okay?”

“I couldn’t drag you back into it.”

As if being near him was suddenly unbearable, you flinched back. “That’s not your decision to make! You don’t get to decide that for me.”

His voice was rough with emotions. “I got you a way out. Away from me. Away from the possibility of getting killed because you know me.”

“I didn’t want a way out. I wanted you.” Why couldn’t he understand that? “You were alive and breathing. In the same city that I was walking around heartbroken, trying to figure out how to live without you. I never planned for that.”

Frank flinched. He had survived murder attempts. Stab wounds. Bombs. But the devastation and honesty in your voice nearly brought him to his knees.

You watched his Adam’s Apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard, eyes darting as if searching the perimeter but also for the right response.

“I watched Maria die.”

You were quiet. You had known this. He had shared with you every grueling detail about the day his whole life ended.

“My kids. My babygirl.”

Nothing could’ve braved you for his next words, “I wouldn’t survive if I lost you too.”

You were inches away from him. Yet, it was as though the two of you were worlds apart. “Why wasn’t I worth trusting?”

His mouth opened. And closed. There was no answer that could lessen the cruelty of his actions to you. “I do trust you.”

You shook your head rigorously. “No, you trusted Karen. You trust her now.”

Guilt was written all over his face. You dug the heels of your palm into your eyes, trying to force the tears to cease.

His hand twitched at his side, as if he was fighting the instinct to comfort you.

“You didn’t die. You didn’t disappear. You decided that you didn’t want me as a constant in your life anymore.”

[tomhardysluvr888]

less - frank castle

Summary: Time has passed since your not-so-happy reunion with Frank. You thought that you would find peace after that...so why does the wound still ache?

a/n: Still in disbelief that so many people found my account, read pt. 1 of this oneshot and enjoyed it. Here's part 2. I hope I do frank and this little idea justice...also listened to less by Olivia Rodrigo whilst writing this. NOT PROOFREAD

Warnings: angst, angsty but there is light at the end of the tunnel. prob ooc? (let me know how i can write him better)

WC: 2.4k

part 1 | part 2

If loving me means letting go And wishing me the best Well, then I guess I wish, I wish, I wish you loved me less

Frank was a man of little words. People usually chalked it up to the damages of war or his upbringing. The truth was, Frank found it unnecessary to speak more than needed to most people.

You weren't most people.

With you, Frank's reasoning for not speaking was because he was too busy hanging onto every word you said. He stored every one to memory as if it would be the last one you would ever give him.

Each conversation was permanently looped in his mind. The one that burned in particular was how softly you used to say his name. At any time. Any moment.

The way you would always want to be near him. Holding him. Basking in his presence like it was something safe. You just wanted to be around him but he couldn't let you.

He knew of all the red that bled from his past. The skeletons in his closet that only continue to pile up. Frank knew what that meant that meant for anyone who got too close. He'd seen it right in front of him. His whole family wiped. Slaughtered because of what he knew.

But God help him. His desire for you surmounted any desires of a rich man chasing more wealth. He wanted it—wanted you—with a hunger that caused fear to strike through every fiber of his being. The time you spent together gave him a glimpse of what life could be. What it would be if he wasn't him.

So Frank held onto every word. Every late night talks. Dances in the kitchen. The soft, delicate kisses shared after you both came down from your highs. He held onto your words and the few he gave back.

No, Frank wasn't a man of many words. He was someone who showed he cared through his actions. He held your hair as you threw up the morning after a night out with your friends. He fixed any appliances in your apartment. You never walked on the outside of the sidewalk closest to the cars. But you knew of these things that he did.

You didn't know that he walked with you every night on the way back to your apartment from work. From Karen's. From Josie's. You didn't know because you thought he was dead.

You didn't know because he was a ghost in the shadows, paced back far enough that you wouldn't notice but close enough that you were safe.

You didn't know that he always asked Karen for updates on you. How you were feeling. If you ate. If you were seeing someone new. He faced the brunt of Karen's anger at him being a coward for not reaching out. For making her keep this from you. But how could he? If he admitted the truth to you, you'd forever have a target on your back.

—

Frank sat in the dark of the safehouse, elbows on his knees, the whiskey in front of him untouched. He didn't drink much these days. Didn't trust himself not to go looking for you if he did.

Karen's words were still working through him like shrapnel finding new muscle to lodge in.

She knows that I knew, Frank. She sounded devastated.

He'd made Karen carry that. Made her lie as she comforted your sobbing frame because he didn't have the spine to do it himself. He told himself it was to protect you.

He replayed your conversation over and over. Your tear-streaked face looked crushed. And he swore his heart broke at the sight.

"You decided that you didn't want me as a constant in your life anymore." Your words couldn't be more untrue. He thought as he finally reached for the glass in front of him, drinking the whole thing in one go before pouring another one, ignoring Micro's warnings.

He should go to you. Say it to your face — I was protecting you. I was trying t'keep you alive.

But he knew how that sounded. Knew it wouldn't matter that his reasons were good if the result was the same: you mourning a man for months that was walking the same streets, looking through the same window from different sides.

Frank knew that he owed you the truth. He knew that you deserved it and more. But owing something and being able to pay it were two different debts, and Frank Castle had never been good at collecting on the ones that cost him something to give.

So he stayed in the safehouse and drank and waited and hoped that one day, you'd forgive him enough to let him try.

—

Two weeks. A short amount of time in hindsight but felt like eternity for you.

Two weeks of tossing and turning, unable to silence your mind enough to rest. The pain so raw, unadultered that it consumed your entire body.

You had tried to go through routines normally. You woke up, made breakfast, and did everything else in your daily routine. But you didn’t call Karen like you usually did. Or walk to hers on Fridays to eat Chinese takeout and drink one too many glasses of wine.

And you stopped reaching over to Frank’s side of the bed. You stopped because you no longer had a reason to. Frank was alive. You no longer needed to chase the ghost of him.

So why were you grieving still?

You stared at the potted plant that sat on an end table next to the window of your living room. Its leaves had begun to spill over the pot.

Closing your eyes as you recalled the day Frank walked in with it. Just the night before, you’d mention wanting to start making your living space livelier, to remind yourself Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t all dark and rugged.

Frank sheepish expression as he awaited your reaction flashed in your mind, a sharp pang in your heart at the memory from simpler times. You remembered how awkwardly he stood in the middle of your living room with the plant in his hand.

Y’mentioned you wanted more green around the place. Was all he said. Like it hadn't just melted your heart at how simple it was to him. You closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss of gratitude. For the plant. For listening. A kiss with so many understones.

Finally, you moved your head back, opening your eyes, noticing Frank's were still closed. His head moved to follow yours, chasing your lips for more. Giggling at the antics, you held his face in your hands which caused him to finally open his eyes.

The look in his eyes was filled with pure adoration.

Who could blame you for then pulling his face down slightly and peppering his face with kisses. And he let you. You were suddenly encased in his strong arms, him having placed the potted plant on the table beside you.

Your voice echoed in your head as you replayed the conversation. Thank you, Frankie. It's perfect.

It's nothin'. Was his only response as his hold on you tightened.

You shook in head in disagreement. No, it's everything. It means the world to me.

His eyes moved across your face and studied every feature that was uniquely yours. Put it in the window if you ever need me, yeah? He'd half joke but fully meant.

You remember laughing but promising him you would anyway.

Now, as you gripped the pot tighter, you lifted the plant from its place on the table. Your knuckles were white as you gripped onto the plant like it was your lifeline. Or maybe you knew that if you held onto with less pressure, it would slip right through your hands like he had.

You hadn't placed the plant at the windowsill in over a year. You hadn't had a reason to. He was always just around. There was no need to try and reach him in this way when the farthest he used to be was just down the hallway in the bedroom or another part of your apartment.

You stood in front of the window, the plant hovering millimeters above the sill. Your hand shook. Not from the weight of it — the pot was nothing, a couple pounds of ceramic and soil — but from the weight of everything it meant to finally let it go.

Put it in the window if you ever need me, yeah?

You needed him. That was the humiliating, infuriating truth of it. Two weeks of being angrier than you'd ever been at another human being, and still, underneath all of it, the need hadn't moved an inch. It just sat there, stubborn, the way it always had.

You set the plant down.

—

Three soft, careful knocks announced the very presence you weren't sure if you wanted to welcome.

You didn't move from your spot on the couch. Your eyes stayed fixated on the door. Every part of you was caught between two currents pulling in opposite directions.

If you opened it, you'd have to look at him. Really look at him. Not the fleeting glances you allowed yourself those weeks ago. You'd have to deal with whatever came after that, regardless of the fact that you hadn't even healed from everything that came before this.

If you didn't, if you let the knock go unanswered then the wound stayed exactly the shape it was now. Not healed. But familiar. Something you'd learned, however badly, to carry.

"Sweetheart?" was all you needed to hear through the door before you moved as if you were on autopilot. Your hand on the door knob deciding to twist it open before your mind had caught up to the decision.

Your grip on the door tightened at the sight of him, knees weakening. Because there he was. His face illuminated by the fluorescent lights hung in the hallway and lit by the warm light flooding from your apartment.

Then, you stepped back. Not an invitation but not deciding to completely shut him out.

Slowly, he stepped in to your apartment. The place he once called home because you were in it. He noticed nothing had changed except for a few key details he swore caused him to stop breathing entirely.

Over the course of some time, you had moved his things that once took permanent residency in respected areas of your apartment. Like the place he used to put his boots every night. The hangar his jacket would always be on.

It wasn't the fact that they weren't there anymore that pulled at his heart.

It was the fact that even though you thought he was dead, you still held space for him. In your apartment. In your life. In your heart.

Like there was always room for him.

You looked at him as he continued to analyze your space. Then, his eyes locked onto yours.

He hadn't changed much physically. You know it's Frank. His thick eyebrows, his full lips, his brown puppy eyes that used to always find you in any room.

But internally you struggled. Because if this was Frank—your Frank—the one who promised to never cause you harm then why had he twisted the knife?

"Well?" you began, crossing your arms across your chest like a shield of armor, "Are you going to say something?"

His jaw briefly clenched. His voice came out gruff, "'m not gonna say sorry."

You scoffed. But before you could reply he continued, "Let me finish."

So you waited.

"I'm not gonna say sorry. Not 'cause I'm not." His voice dipped. "'Cause sorry don't cover it."

"There wasn't a funeral." Your hands rubbing your arms in an attempt to bring comfort. "There wasn't even a body. Just a call. No place to go when I wanted to talk to you. Yell at you for leaving me. Not even a goodbye."

Frank's face did something you'd only seen for a brief moment a couple times in the past. It broke open, showing behind the emotionless mask he had placed the moment his family died and had never fully taken off til now.

"Thought maybe Matt or Curtis would put somethin' together. Thought maybe there'd at least be somethin' for you—"

You cut him off as your tears rolled down your cheeks. His hands twitched. "I didn't want a fucking headstone to talk to. Or a grave to get drunk and pass out laying on top of."

"I wanted you. I-". If you said it, there was no backtracking. The wound would be fully vulnerably from him to deliver the final blow.

You stared at him and noticed the tears filling up in his eyes. His entire body rigidly still.

"I love you." It was like all his self-control had snapped. The chains freeing him and he crossed the distance between you in three strides.

You folded into him, hands braced on his chest as one of his wrapped around your waist tightly, the other one cradling the back of your head tightly.

He was the only thing holding you upright as you completely shattered in his arms. His arm on your waist tightening with every sob.

Frank thought punishment was forcing himself to stay away from you. But hearing your cries in this moment. Knowing he's the cause of your pain.

It had him completely undone.

He said your name. Whispered it so gently in your ear you almost didn't hear it. But you did. And it caused another wave of tears to leave your eyes.

"I'm here, baby," Frank said. "I'm here. Not goin' nowhere unless y'want me to, you hear that?".

His hold barely loosened as you moved back so you could tilt your head up to meet his eyes.

Maybe you should have put up a bigger fight.

Maybe you should have demanded all the answers he owed.

Instead, you peered into his eyes as your hands slowly made their way to the back of his neck. One of them beginning to play with his hair. "Promise?"

He pressed a searing kiss on your forehead before pressing his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "I promise, sweetheart."

You knew you weren't ready to forgive him in this moment. And you wouldn't forgive him tomorrow.

There were too many questions. Too much hurt sitting between the two of you.

But they could wait.

He was alive.

And for the first time in what felt like a million years, you didn't have to wait for dreams to find you to be in his arms again.

[maulshornfile]

i need maul like i need oxygen to FUCKING BREATHE

i wanna bite his adam’s apple so bad please just one bite i’ll be good 🥹

[anneofgreengabagool]

i want food truck simon slinging some hot, shit food that tastes crazy good when you're hammered. smokes cigarettes and wears his big ass boots. sweating and grunting; terrible customer service.

fucks the cute health inspector when she rolls up with a disgusted face and bad attitude. makes fun of her cute clothes after he's rolled down the service window, got her propped up against a wedge of a wall, his nasty mouth up against her neck and his hard prick fat in her fancy cunt.

he fails the inspection, but gets her number. fucks her stupid and cooks in her kitchen instead. still smokes.

[needy007]

coworker!simon x cybersecurity!reader hcs (mdni, 18+)

coworker!simon who likes to pretend he’s going into the tech lounge for a cup of coffee (he prefers tea) when really he just wants to see if you’re in there taking a break.

“u techies ain’t doin anythin all day?” is what you hear as bootstraps come into your line of sight. you raise a brow and look up at him from where you’re brewing a fresh cup of coffee. “don’t you soldiers have your own break room to bother people in??” you uttered with barely hidden distaste. he was glad for his mask covering that small smirk-your attitude went straight to his dick. “this place ‘as got the good coffee” he looks down at you, his voice gravelly in your ears. “soap said u hate coffee.” you call him out with a slow sip from the mug. he mentally curses the scott. “must be confused.”

coworker!simon who enjoys teasing you even though the man barely utters more than 5 words per conversation most of the time. he just loooves being in your space, not even to make fun of you, but just to see what you’re up to.

“whaddya even do when there’s no missions on schedule aye?” he comes up behind you and asks in that low scratchy accent you only hear in the mornings..hot. but that doesn’t matter. “do you always bother people who are trying to work” you grumble out as your eyes focus on the code at hand, fingers typing rapidly. he lets out a gruff …laugh? you’re not entirely sure. “too pretty to be wasting your time behind that screen.” you freeze, he doesn’t compliment you usually, just the annoying comment here and there. “well i enjoy my job.” “yeah?” you could hear the smirk in his voice. “what if i convinced you to look away from that g’damn screen. this weekend. dinner?” you tilted your head, a smug look crossing your face as you look up at him. he raised a brow, waiting.he’d never let on, but fuck was he nervous. “sure.” one short word from you lit him up.

coworker!simon who loomed gravely outside your comparatively cute and dainty house as he waited for you to open the door. you did, in a number that did crazy shit to his heart ..and dick.

“knew you’d look even more beautiful when you’re not behind that desk.” his mask was off, wanted to be real with you-not ghost but simon. you smiled slightly and stepped out. “thank you simon.” his following grin should indicate how the date went. a fancy restaurant followed by a dinner full of laughs, longing looks, and simon trying his fucking best to hide how much he wanted you. safe to say it went well on both sides.

coworker!simon who really really liked you. and he may not be great with words and that sappy bullshit but his mouth did wonders on its own.

he currently had tremendous amounts of blood rushing south in this moment. why? cus you were sitting on his face currently gripping the headboard for dear life as he dug his tongue deeper in your pussy. “si-simon wait” you breathed rapidly, knot forming fast in your stomach. he shook his head, groaning as he bucked his hips up into the air desperate for his own release. but he was too focused on you. “cum for me pretty, i wanna taste it.” he slurred into your flesh as he ate like you both didn’t just have dinner. “soo sweet” he panted. your high reached its peak and u tried to get off but he didn’t let you, fingers plunging in as you came hard, shivering and whimpering his name.

“oh my god..” you covered your face as the high wore off and you looked at the mess on his face “simon im so-“ he cut you off immediately “nah none of that. fuckin loved it, yeah?” he grinned, handsome face covered in you “never knew nerds could squirt” “don’t ruin this for yourself.” you bite back, covering his mouth while he smirks. little did you know he came in his pants a moment ago, all because of you.

[twolegsandbleeds]

alpha!ghost takes a visit to the gloryhole and has issues with his self worth. hehe.

simon ‘ghost’ riley knew the signs too well. the burn under his skin, the way his jaw ached from clenching, the low thrum of aggression that made his fingers twitch toward a knife that wasn’t there.

rut.

fucking hell.

he’d ridden them out alone in shitty safehouses before, fist lubed with spit and spite, but this one was slamming into him fast. vicious. base was no place for it, so he slipped out under cover of night in silence, hood up, mask on, moving through the city until he found the place soap had once joked about - a brothel catering to alphas with nowhere else to go. a sterile, dark environment where cash was traded and names weren’t. where faces weren’t even seen.

perfect for a man like him.

he didn’t need a face or name or eye contact. didn’t deserve it. couldn't imagine his hands covered with invisible blood stains skating across someone's skin. he just needed a willing cunt to let him work out the next few days of frustration. 

the door of the stall clicks shut behind him with a soft thunk, the only other opening to the small room a padded hole around waist height. he can hear muffled grunts from the stalls either side, smell the thick scent of slick and rut mingling like smoke and air around him. simon’s hands shook as he freed his cock, already painfully hard and leaking pre cum in fat white drops from his tip. the thick scent of omega - sweet, willing, ready - drifted through the gloryhole, wrapping around his rut-addled brain like a vice. he presses forward,your soft, slick heat greeting him immediately. you moan, soft, low, audible even through the wall and push back, cunt already dripping, taking the blunt head of his cock with practiced ease. simon’s breath catches, and he snaps his hips forward in one sharp motions, burying himself to the hilt in your fluttering warmth.

tight. wet. fucking perfect.

you let out another low moan as he fills you, stretches your pussy in a way that you haven’t felt for a long time, clenching down around his girth like you were made for this - which… you were. 

“fuck,” simon hisses under his breath, vision darkening around the edges as he lets his instincts take over the drivers seat of his brain. his hips slam against the partition, the wet slap of skin echoing in the small space, every drag of his cock through the soft, welcoming heat of your cunt feeding the fire burning in his veins. his knot was already swelling, catching at the fluttering entrance of your cunt with every thrust.

you push back harder, half greed, half performance - but entirely wanting to take him deeper, to feel the head of his cock nudge against your cervix, to feel his knot bully its way inside you. 

simon’s mind blanks. all that exists is the tight clutch of omega cunt, the scent driving him mad, the instinct screaming to breed, to claim, to fill. his palms land flat against the wall, nails scraping at plaster like he can dig his way through to you, low broken groans tearing from his throat as he ruts into you like an animal. his knot pops inside your entrance, swells obscenely, the stretch so much you let out a broken cry; locking you both together through the wall. he lets out a wrecked groan, thick pulses of cum filling you, hips jerking with every spurt as he throbs. your cunt flutters around him, milking him for every drop like a good little hole.

simon stayed locked there, panting, forehead pressed to the cool wall. the rut haze dulled for a moment, shame creeping in at the edges. just a gloryhole. just a stranger’s cunt. It was all he deserved. no gentle hands, no whispered names, no soft omega to curl around after.

his knot slowly deflates and he pulls out with a wet pop, cum dripping from the used hole, from your used hole.

the sight of your puffy folds leaking with his release, combined with his hormones swirling has him instantly hard again.

[midwesternwitchery]

We need a part 2 I'm begging you