SHOW US SQUIRT!!! (pls quench pornstar!simon’s thirst)
cw: 18+ mdni, pornstar!simon, water!sports go sports!.
The man will have your legs shaking, forcing your hips back and forth against your face, your pulsing clit rubbing against his hooked nose.
Your eyes are squeezed shut, hands piling through his blonde locks as trying to pull away but he’s eating your pussy so sloppy, tongue flat and slurping up your juices. “Simon, I can’t- mmhck- can’t-“ you sob out, overstimulated and words mushing together. But you’re so gorgeous, tear stained on your face, all sweaty and hot over top of him, plush thighs around his head and gushy heat on his mouth. “No-“ he mumbles, taking a heavy breath in and out, “Can take it f’me. ‘S okay.” He coos. He gives it a filthy kiss that has your squirming, big and rough hands gripping your hips back and forth against his face. You can feel the vibrations of every filthy groan and main Simon is letting out against your pussy, you gobble forward into the pillows, keening ever so loudly the neighbors might hear you.
“Fuck- anngh! So- fuck!” Stars are in your eyes, shaking uncontrollably and water fucking streaming out of your pussy and into his mouth.
Simon grunts, gulping and sucking down whatever you’re giving him, cleaning you dry, “There you go gorgeous, bloody perfect.”
It takes you a minute to come to, flipped on your back and a stain in the sheets. Tears well up in your eyes, small adorable hiccups filling Simons ears that make him perk up. Immediately going to hold you.
“Why did you do that?” You sniffle, wiping your eyes, “‘S gross hck- ‘s bad.”
The man is all delirious, pouting at your own words, “not gross if ‘s yours.” And he plants a supple kiss against your puffy cunt, your thighs that’s all damp, lapping up whatever wetness is there. “Don’t talk about ‘er like tha dovie.”
Retired!Price buying his younger!missus a pool for the summer
All in hopes of seeing her drifting in the water on top of a floaty, tanning in her sexy bikini. Already fantasizing about what colors he'll buy her, and the tan likes on her tits.
Just for him to get dragged into the pool to play "mermaids"
And he's the villain.
He's constantly getting a wave on water right in the nose while she calls it "protecting the sea."
While it's not what he imagined, he buys her those expensive mermaid tails and watches her swim around.
Sure, she gets the job done, but she's complaining the whole time. Your feet hurt, the ground is too soft, your socks are wet, your shoulders ache. Your pack is too heavy, you're tired.. it goes on and on.
The others are.. annoyed. They like a competent soilder, not a bitchy princess.
Price, however, sees potential.
Especially when you whine about how you "aren't meant for this life" and how you "should be at home baking" you practically look right at him when you say how good of a wife you'd make.
He knows you don't truly mean that, it's just the stress and discomfort talking, but he's happy to take his chances.
He just knows you'd look damn pretty in an apron, on his bed, in his home.. He'll make your wishes come true... even if you kick and bite the entire way to his trunk.
Imagine joining an online chatroom because you struggle meeting people in real life, but god do you want to lose your virginity, right?
Most of the men you meet aren't all that interesting, but there's this one guy...fucking hilarious, witty, a bit dry. His chat name might be "deadmeat" but by the pictures he sends it's anything but.
Deadmeat: thought of you again, bloody mess. Can't wait to have you.
The picture attached is his usual, hard cock covered in at least two previous loads, tip flushed pink and wanting. The calloused, tattooed hand it's cradled in is what drew you in initially. Most folk in the chat room were...well...gifted in size, and as fun as it is to imagine you can hardly manage two fingers on a good long day.
But this man? Perfect fit. About the width of his palm, fingers easily wrapping around. Not small by any means, but definitely not heart-stopping in a bad way.
You: just a few more days. Got the motel booked?
You make sure it's safe, of course you do. Swapping photos together in anticipation for the day.
Deadmeat, or ghost as he requested you call him now, is...a little different than you expected. Tall, for one, nearly brushing his head on the top of the doorframe when you nervously unlock the motel room.
You don't quite realize the breath of your mistake until you and ghost are half undressed in bed and you slip a hand under his waistband. You slide you hand along the soft hair at his base, wrap your hand over it and—
...no. no way.
The amusement on ghosts face as you frantically shove his pants down and pull out his dick is palpable. Holy shit, he's massive. You're a few centimeters shy of wrapping your hand around him, not to mention the length.
You swallow thickly, glance up at him.
The fucker has the audacity to chuckle, reaching down to wrap his impossibly large hands around his dick, give himself a few pumps "well? Everything you were expecting? Don't worry, i can make it fit."
A part two of [this] post where reader met ghost in a chatroom and didn't expect him to have such a massive dick...
"It won't fit!!" You hiss, trying to squirm but unable to with the weight of ghosts hand pinning your hip to the bed.
"C'mon, lovie, look at it. Not that bad." Ghost coos, pressing his cock to lie against your pelvis, fhe tip practically at your belly button. Oh shit. "Bit o' work, but..."
Ghost slips his other hand down to your entrance, three fingers easily pop inside and you still know it isn't enough. Not when his cock jerks lazily and drools precum over your skin.
Some deeper part of you really wants to know what it feels like, wants to feel him in your mouth, between your hands, on your skin, inside you.
"Mh. Good choice." Ghost hums in delight when you allow your thighs to fall open that last bit, nervous but determined. He rubs his tip in circles around your entrance just to make you nervous, laughs to himself as the embarrassed whine you let out before pressing in—
"Fuckin' hell—!" Ghost groans, doubles over and only catches himself from falling on you by bracing a forearm next to your head. You can feel the huff through the fabric of his balaclava "christ— fuckin' tight—"
"Holy shit– ghost, ghost— fuck—" you toss your head back with a high keen, whole body burning from the sudden fullness. You've never used anything but your fingers before and nothing could have prepared you for this.
You grind into him as best as you can both overstimulated and still asking for more, completely lost in just how good it is—
"Fuck– you're so big—" you feel your core tighten and are unable to do anything, back arching off the bed, pulling ghost into a kiss as your orgasm crashes over you.
Only after you've caught your breath you notice ghost shaking, and slowly realize that asshole is silently laughing at you–
"Not even halfway." He snorts, presses a kiss to your jaw then sits up, still inside you, to show his still-hard cock, only a third of the way in.
You just came and ghost is only a third in.
Somehow, this makes you equally excited and terrified for the rest of the night.
Warnings/tags: implied sa (but not mentioning), fluff, minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship,
You were always careful with touching when it came to Simon.
You'd known each other for years, and your relationship had naturally evolved from coworkers to friends, and then into something more. He knew every detail about you, and you knew everything about him. The most important detail, which you learned painfully quickly, was how thoughtful you had to be with physical contact.
He didn't like to talk about it, and yet you knew enough that it brought tears to your eyes just thinking about everything this man had been through. You saw his flinch when the contact was unannounced, felt him tense when he didn't know how to respond. Through trial and error, you both learned to live with this shared knowledge, having seen more than one therapist together. Simon convinced himself he knew how to accept physical contact: you were regularly intimate, and he considered himself above it, normal. But sometimes, it was as if you saw more than he did.
That late evening, you were on the floor of your room, your feet tucked under the bed to keep from slipping during your abs workout, you were feeling the pleasant heat in your core from exercising. There was a laptop on your bed with your favorite streamer on the screen, making you giggle occasionally: "What do you mean "bro is built like a 1x1 lego piece"?! What even is a 1x1 lego piece?? Yep, you're banned. Have a good night."
The door opened without knocking.
"Hey," you smiled, breathing heavily from doing crunches.
Ghost didn't respond, nodded silently, and headed straight for your bathroom. You frowned, watching his tense back.
Faucet started running, and you stared at the bathroom door, still sitting on the floor. The lights in the room were dim, only a table lamp casting a warm orange hue on the walls. For a moment, you listened to the steady whisper of the water.
Knock-knock. But there was no answer.
"Si... can I come in?" You called, waiting for confirmation. Instead, Simon pushed the door open softly.
He stood bent over the sink, his head down, mask forgotten on the edge of the tub. His hair and face were wet from the cool water, large droplets trickling from the ends of his wheat-colored hair, rolling down his sharp cheekbones, and falling from his chin.
"Had a long day?" You asked softly, almost whispered.
"Fucking hate newbies, it's the same as training a kindergarten group," he mumbled without lifting his head.
"Since when do you train newb—"
"Garrick convinced me to replace him today."
"Oh," you breathed. Your hand hovered hesitantly over the hollow between his shoulder blades. "I'd like to see their reaction when you came in instead of Kyle."
"How flattering," Ghost said with a weak chuckle. He choked on the sound when your warm palm finally settled on his back. Slowly, carefully, at first just your fingertips. And now you were gently massaging his tense muscles. You stood there for a few minutes in complete silence, watching his ragged breathing even out.
"Stay over at mine for tonight, hmm?" You coaxed, approaching him from the side. He finally opened his eyes and looked up at you. Simon looked tired and sleepy, his eyes bloodshot, a frown etched between his brows. Slowly, giving him a chance to stop you, you planted a small kiss on his cheekbone. Then on his brow, under his eye...
There was no need for further persuasion. You barely had time to help Simon pull off his work clothes before he collapsed onto your bed, pinning you beneath him.
He lay half-sideways so as not to crush you, his head on your chest, big arms tightly gripping your waist. So warm, soft, cozy... He was afraid he'd involuntarily purr with pleasure when your fingers buried themselves in his hair, gently scratching his scalp.
"Is that alright?" You whispered, placing a tender kiss on top of his head. He groaned something incoherent, cuddling himself closer into your body.
"You always know how to make it alright," Simon sighed, thankfully kissing the nape of your neck.
The bedside lamp flickered a few times before you turned it off, tackling Simon's head to your chest. "Well, i know for sure that you need a nap right now. Huh?"
Although instead of an answer you heard a quiet, peaceful snoring.
When you were a child, you learned there were many ways to say thank you. In every corner of the world, people had their own methods. Or there was the way handsome mafia men in movies thanked people by blowing heads apart with a revolver.
But Ghost's way of saying thank you was something you would never forget. You writhed beneath the palm pressing against your tailbone as though he were trying to overpower an enemy. He had said he would take it slow, yet now he was claiming you like there was no tomorrow.
Your back arched even further under his thrusts. The two of you needed each other so badly. Especially after you had done something insane and run straight into the middle of gunfire just to save your lieutenant lying wounded on the ground.
Without caring who might walk into the room, he had dragged you against him and started devouring your mouth shamelessly on the hospital bed. But kisses weren't enough for Ghost to express his gratitude toward his foolish rookie.
He took a sharp breath as pain stabbed through the wound on his left side. That alone made you instinctively try to pull away for a moment as you melted beneath him. Catching your hip with his right hand, he harshly dragged you back against himself.
"Fuck the pain. Don't stop."
Knowing he wouldn't let you slip from his arms, you returned to the rhythmic movement of your bodies. His thrusts licked at you like a pulse beating inside your hole, while the fingers sliding down your thighs kept squeezing your flesh, occasionally tracing faint circles against your skin.
"Li-lieutenant..." with your sweet voice crushed beneath his weight, he buried his face into the back of your neck with a groan. He breathed in the sweaty scent there as though it were the last moment either of you would ever have alive. It was a smell he never wanted to forget. One hand braced itself by roughly gripping your hips despite the pain shooting through him.
To avoid tearing the wound open further or bursting the stitches completely, he tried to keep his hips level and avoid sudden jolts. That restraint only drove his desire into something even wilder. While the lower half of his body numbed with pain, he threw his head back, the tendons in his neck drawn tight.
"That's it..." he muttered, groaning with deep pleasure tangled together with pain. "Don't pull away from me."
The hand resting on your thigh slid between your legs and as he stroked the aching spot there, he pulled you into a suffocating kiss.
His tongue felt like it was burning, touching yours as though you were the only thing capable of soothing it. Your breath hitched, and when he pressed you impossibly closer against himself, you let out a shaky exhale. His cock throbbed desperately inside the welcoming heat of your hole, almost as if it were pleading your name.
You had already come long ago, but now he was already forming filthy plans to pull another one from you. While those sly fingers moved slowly between your thighs, he kept devouring your lips like a man out of his mind. With every touch, you felt yourself catching fire, felt yourself nearing the point of bursting apart beneath him. Your body had become a blazing inferno.
And he knew it.
Even if you couldn't fully see his gaze, you could feel it sinking into your skin. As your muffled noises finally broke free into helpless moans, the two of you lost yourselves beneath each other's desire. The pleased rumbles slipping from Ghost mixed with your own sounds like a song belonging only to the two of you, you were so close to falling apart.
So close to dragging him over the edge with you and letting him shatter you exactly the way you wanted…
Suddenly with a light slicing through the dark room like a knife, you jerked your head up from beneath the covers. Soap stood frozen in the doorway like he had just spotted two predators in the dark. Shame spread through your body like poison while Ghost was still fucking you. Meanwhile his gaze, rested on Soap with clear displeasure. "They told me you were preparing the reports."
"We are. Now get out." Your body shivered at Ghost's deep voice rumbling from behind you. But Soap didn't seem to care about his dark stare or the way you shrank into the darkness in humiliation. "Looks more like you're doing quality control but—"
Ghost immediately snatched the pillow beside your head and hurled it at him, forcing Soap to slam the door shut as the pillow smacked against it.
"I—" he didn't let you finish. The two of you both knew you were about to suggest stopping this, and your lieutenant reminded you once again just how much he hated disobedience. "No more talking now, alright?" You yelped beneath him when he pinched the sensitive skin between your thighs. Grabbing your hips, he rolled you onto your back. Now your body was being caressed beneath your lieutenant's scorching gaze. "I wasn't even finished thanking you yet."
A.n: Omgg it's the first time I'm writing for him. Dammit the last Ghost fanfic I read was from last year, I've been away from call of duty for sooo long..I hope I did a good job, ughh not to mention I'm terrible at writing smut.
𐔌 cw: kidnapping, wounds and blood, you're getting saved by a man not much better, mildly explicit .ᐟ
the garage smelled exactly as it had for months, a heavy mix of rust and rot that bled into the sharp, metallic tang of blood, whether from your own wounds that had crusted over in recent days or from the dark puddles that had soaked into the cold floor. your only mirror was the water gathering in the corner from the dripping ceiling.
there were no windows, no sounds, leaving you entirely unable to see if the trees outside had begun to fade from their lush, vibrant green, if the snow had already gathered, or remained far behind the current season. you could only thumb at the lingering cuts on your exposed legs, watching the blood bead in the gloom and smear across your skin, eyes blinking sluggish, lagging behind.
door had opened with a grating, scraping noise. you heard the lock first, metal striking metal, and then the agonizing screech of hinges until it parted, letting a stark, white flashlight beam through the dusty dimness. your body had long since forgotten how to flinch, there was no terror left in you, no burning tears pooling at your lash line.
you merely scooted closer toward the deep recess of the corner, where the air was damp and reeked with mold. the man who stepped inside looked nothing like the one you remembered dragging you there and rarely visiting, this one was far more muscular. chest broad, heavy with bulging sinew, sleeves rolled high to accent bunched biceps and reveal corded forearms splattered with blood.
crimson that shimmered even as your eyes blurred from the agonizing brightness of the light, as simon descended the steps with a measured, thudding stride, letting out a low grunt. and though you did not flinch at the sound, he still chose to let out a low coo.
“easy, no' going to hur' you” such words meant little, especially when they were typically the prelude to a bruising strike, yet you remained perfectly still. his umber eyes scanning the room, meeting only empty floor and shadows wrapped around the corners. there was no one else, you sat untied, slumping even as he crept closer.
only now did you notice the weapon held tightly in his nerve tense, paling fingers, as he finally lowered the flashlight. the beam spilling upward, painting the peeling ceiling in blinding illumination. in that shifting light, you caught gold speckled in his eyes, lush eyelashes with their fairness appearing tawny at the roots, and smelled the sweat and spice that effortlessly overrode the rot of the room, clinging to his vest collar.
whatever psychological response you had left for pain and terror evaporated in an instant, strings cut off. tipping forward, melting completely to his broad chest as his gloved hands, impossibly gentle for such size, cradled you close.
he was warm, from the broad chest against which your head lolled to the large hands cradling your frail weight as he carried you out, stepping over the cluttered floor and the body sprawled there, dead and pooling a deep carmine. you did not look down, nor did you look at the rusty walls, your gaze fixed entirely on the trees awaiting beyond the open threshold, the yellowed green timber circling the cabin.
the sky was a bleak, overcast gray, sun completely choked out by a low fog, but the raw daylight still burned your hollowed out eyes. sensing your distress, his gloved hand rose, palm curving to hover over your eyes and shield them from the light, but you simply leaned into the gesture. nudging your nose into his palm until you were nuzzling rough glove fully, slotting your face against the unfamiliarly caring touch.
his fingers flexed once, calloused tips sweeping softly across your temple, before he chose to cup your jaw, cradling the bone with a profound tenderness as his thumb traced soothing circles against your grimy skin.
“where would i go?” you croaked, voice rough from disuse, sounding as though you were chewing on a thread. the question hung between you, but he was too occupied to answer straight away as he carefully settled your weight onto the leather passenger seat. droopy eyes tracing his features, lingering from time to time on the balaclava stretched across his jaw, its skull print mimicking death itself.
his thick fingers clicked the seat belt securely across your body, loosening the strap a fraction afterward as if terrified it might bite into your skin. he reached into the back, grabbing an old jacket from the adjacent seat, one that had barely been washed in days, reeking with trail. yet it was heavy and warm, and you instinctively tucked your face into the lining the moment it settled over your slumping shoulders.
simon stared for a fraction of a second, tracking the raw damage, your legs and hands mapped with cuts and deep bruises, dressed in nothing more than a tattered rag. it was the same ruined shirt you had worn since your first day in captivity, no trousers, no sleeves, no modesty left to protect you. he had felt the cotton of your underwear against his calloused fingers only moments before, when he hauled your deadweight frame up to carry you out, and his touch had drifted.
“somewhere safe, jus' woi' here” he husked out and you nodded obediently, snuggling deeper into the leather seat as he closed the door and stepped a few paces away from the truck. he lingered within your line of sight through the window, his roughened fingers adjusting the comms mic that hovered near his mouth.
the door clicked open minutes later, the sound sharp enough to pull you from a light, fragile sleep. your eyes fluttered open groggily, head shifting just enough to look at him as he started the engine with a quiet huff. simon met your gaze from across the cab, and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes deepened, crinkling with what undoubtedly was a smile hidden beneath the fabric shrouding his face.
he reached out to touch you, heavy hand moving slowly until his gloved palm pressed gently against your hair in a fleeting caress. your eyelashes quivered, eyelids slipping shut once more as the overwhelming exhaustion reclaimed its grip.
the engine’s hum lulled you deeper into sleep, and you curled tightly on the leather seat, hands wrapped around knees and your head angled just so to avoid hitting the window glass. simon was supposed to drop you at the police station, tell them exactly where he had found you, and leave the rest of the work to them, that had been his initial orders.
instead, he turned the wheel and changed roads, navigating toward the temporary apartments where he had been staying, his gaze repeatedly snapping back to your slumbering form. your features had softened in sleep, lips slightly parted and innocently pouty against the backdrop of your bruised, exposed skin.
with your body angled toward his seat, his eyes tracked the your thighs bare length and the worn panties, outlining your cunt puffy folds. he turned back to the road with a heavy, forced swallow, jaw leaping as his hand drifted down to palm his groin, cock already hardening beneath grimy cargos.
“you know what this skirt does to me, luv,” simon growls lowly in your ear, his front pressed firmly against your back as his hands roam down your thighs, bunching the material up as it reveals your ass and the cute little panties you had on underneath.
“don’t know what you’re talking about” you smirk, playing coy. you knew exactly what you were doing.
“maybe i should remind you then, huh?” he gives you no time to answer as he pushes you down against the kitchen counter, the marble cold against your skin. a stark contrast to the heat coming from simon behind you.
his large hands reach for your panties, pulling them down with ease and exposing your glistening cunt. a groan falls from his lips as he sees this, immediately fighting off the urge to just delve head first into your sweetness.
“so fuckin’ pretty,” he says more to himself than to you.
the sound of him unbuckling his pants fills you with excitement, your core throbbing and waiting to be reunited with his cock. it was all you could think about while he had been away, and you practically go weak in the knees the second he runs himself along your entrance.
“such a needy little thing” he smirks. you can’t see his face but you know, you can tell by the small lip in his tone, that he’s enjoying this - enjoying having you exposed like this - and even more when he hikes up one of your legs.
“god, si. please.” you practically whimper, brows all upturned and eyes half-lidded with desire. you needed him now.
hearing the desperation in your voice is all he needs before pressing his length inside you, both of you letting out a breathy moan as he stretches out your walls and fills you to the brim. he gives you a moment to adjust, to accommodate his girth, as his hand gently runs over your hip as though to give you moral support for the satiable feeling flowing through you.
“that’s my girl,” he leans down, his head pressed against the back of your shoulder. “taking me so well.”
all you can do is nod, your breathing growing heavier as he begins to slowly move. his movements are gentle at first before he finds that perfect rhythm that he knows drives you crazy. the kitchen is all breathy moans and the sound of his hips slapping your ass with each thrust.
“ffuck, si,” you cry out. you could feel his tip rubbing against your insides, pushing you closer and closer to that sweet release.
his nickname falling from your lips is all the motivation he needs to go faster. the sound of his skin hitting yours is almost diabolical, something that only the two of you will ever hear. his mind is fuzzy, nothing but the need to please you filling it.
he can feel you starting to clench around him, your warmth squeezing him as you near your orgasms edge. he can tell by the uneven moans and pants falling from your lips that you’re on the brink of it.
“let go, sweet girl. i’ve got ya.” he encourages, pushing you to your wits end as your orgasm crashes down over you in waves. your body goes stiff, tightening around him and pushing him to his own release inside you, pumping you full of him. “such a good girl. maybe now you’ll think twice before wearin’ that skirt o’yours.”
you simply shake your head, “only gonna make me wear it more.”
𝓵𝐨𝐨𝐤𝓲𝐧𝐠 𝓯𝐨𝐫 𝓶𝐨𝐫𝐞 .ᐣ library taglist form guidelines
I think about Naive!Reader and Fresh Out of Prison!Simon on the subway.
cw: 18+ mdni, nsfw.
And how he’d make naive!reader sit in his lap when he notices and older woman standing in subway isle.
“Thank you, both of you.” The older woman giggles as she takes the empty seat.
“‘S no problem ma’am.” Simon nods, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “She’s so cute isnt she love?”
You can’t even focus, his hardened erection pressing into your ass, in those jeans that Simon loves so much. Couldnt stop staring at the way your thighs spread as you sat down, every curve on you, that charm you have in your brown eyes. You wiggle in his lap but he only presses you down harder, he tsks in your ear, “Don’t move baby, or everyone ‘ere will see just what you do t’me.”
You feel him grow with every shake of the train against you, only smirking as he sees the way you can’t look anyone near you in the eye, heat rising under your skin with that slightly tense look on your face. You try your best to give a smile and wave to the old woman but Simons hands roll down your skin, down your your thighs that makes chills run down your spine, “Bloody hell, can’t wait t’ get off of ‘ere, fuck you right against the wall in the alley across the street from our stop, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”
Your lips purse out, breath hitching, “Simon!”
“ ‘F Course you would doll,” he draws out, calloused hands going to your hips, giving them a nice squeeze, humping up into you, “Or should I have you keep keep my cock warm right here, sliding it in your hole so eeeeveryone can see that pretty face you only make with me-“
You can’t help the little mewl you let out, his covered manhood pressing against your cunt, “Simon-“
“—I know, I know swee’art,” he coos, kissing your cheek, “Won’t do tha’ to ya.”
The subway rattles again and you bite the inside of your lips, nervous eyes flickering down into the mahogany brown eyes staring back at you. Glint shimmering in them.
“Not here, anyway.”
Simon lets his hand caress the apple of your cheeks from behind, squeeze them together that makes him chuckle, “Would you let me take you to the bathroom though? Hm love?”
You play with your fingers, checking the time on your phone, before muttering so quietly, “For j-just a little bit, I don’t wanna miss my show tonight.”
And the older man underneath you groans happily, eyes crinkling, rubbing his hand up and down your back, you’ve made the man go red in the face, “M just jokin baby, god, you’re so fuckin loveable.”
Simon gets dosed with a truth serum, and Johnny is absolutely taking the piss.
Pairing: Simon×Fem!Y/N | Mild Sexual Content | Truth Serum
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"Would you fuck y/n?" Soap asked Ghost, grinning ferally.
Ghost's head snapped toward him with a speed that would have been intimidating if his throat wasn't darkening to a vibrant maroon at the hem of his balaclava. For a single, long moment, the room held its breath—Gaz frozen with his coffee halfway to his lips, Price watching from the doorway with the resignation of a man who had seen too much warfare to be surprised by interpersonal chaos.
Then, the serum kicked in.
"Yes," Ghost said, and the word came out so fast and so forcefully that it actually made Soap jump.
"Absolutely. Without hesitation. In a—" He stopped. Swallowed. The serum pushed. "—in a heartbeat. In less than a heartbeat. In a negative amount of time. I would go back in time an' do it yesterday if that was an option. S'not an option—time travel doesn't exist—but if it did, I'd—"
"Christ alive," Soap breathed, almost awed.
"—I'd do it so fast," Ghost continued helplessly, the words pouring out of him like water through a breached dam. "I'd do it so—y'don't even understand, Johnny. Y'don't understan' what y've just asked me. Y've opened a door that can't be closed now. M'gonna be thinkin' about that question for weeks. Months. Forever. M'gonna be on my deathbed thinkin' about that question because yes. Yes, I bloody would. Have y'seen her?"
"We've all seen her, Lt.," Gaz wheezed, practically crying with laughter now. "She's standin' right there."
"Right there," Ghost agreed, gesturing at y/n with his cuffed hands as if Soap had just made an excellent point. "Right there. Bein' pretty. Bein' the prettiest person I've ever—I already said that, didn't I? I already said that twice. S'still true. S'more true now. S'been—" He glanced at the clock on the wall. "—four minutes. S'been four minutes an' s'even more true than it was when I first said it. How is that possible? How is she gettin' prettier?"
simon’s voice is flat, final. he’s staring down at you like you’ve lost your mind, arms crossed over his broad chest while you sit on the edge of the bed, clutching his skull balaclava like it’s contraband.
you pout, dragging out his name. “but siiii…”
he crouches in front of you so you’re eye-level, forearms resting on his thighs. the hardness in his eyes softens, just a fraction.
“i’m not wearin’ that around you.” he says, quieter now. “don’t want ‘im around you. i get to be simon with you. i don’t want ghost touchin’ you. yer mine. and yer precious. an’ you deserve more than ‘im.”
your eyes widen with realisation - it’s not the idea of wearing a mask to fuck you. it’s that mask. the one he wears when he’s put his humanity in a metal box wrapped in chains at the back of his brain.
“oh.” you whisper, small and understanding. a beat passes. then, “…what about a different mask?”
simon stares at you for a long second, then lets out a low, defeated groan and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“fuckin’ hell. fine.”
three weeks later, a suspiciously large cardboard box is sitting on his side of the bed like a landmine.
he sees it the second he gets home from the gym, mutters “fuckin’ hell, bird.” and goes to shower.
but once he’s clean with a towel wrapped around his waist and he can hear you pottering about in the kitchen downstairs? he opens it.
his eyebrows raise immediately.
“what th’ fuck, dove?” he murmurs, confused. “thought you were gettin’ me a fuckin’ mask.”
you’re putting the last clean mug from the dishwasher away in the kitchen when you hear him clear his throat behind you.
you turn.
and nearly drop the mug.
simon ‘ghost’ riley - all 6’3 and 100kg of him - is standing in your kitchen dressed like the world’s most obscene nurse. the white dress is ridiculously tight across his chest and shoulders, the hem barely covering the top of his thick thighs. a little white nurse’s hat with a red cross sits crooked on his cropped blond hair.
he looks equal parts ridiculous and devastatingly, overwhelmingly hot.
your mouth falls open.
simon raises one unimpressed eyebrow, voice dry when he speaks.
“did someone order a sexy nurse house call?”
a slow grin spreads across your face as you lean back against the counter, heat already pooling low in your stomach.
“apparently someone did. although i was expecting ghostface.” you grin back, before tilting your head to the side, playing along. “nurse… i’ve been having terrible problems lately.”
simon smirks, crosses the room slowly towards you, “le’ me guess, love…” his hand slides up your thigh, “problems with that greedy little cunt of yers?”
you bite your lip, fighting a massive smile as you look up at him through your lashes.
“oh, nurse riley,” you smirk back, “how did you know?”
