#ghost drabble

[getoslamb]

⋆ ｡⋆ any pov (petnames 'sweetheart/love') ୨୧˚ wc: 500 contains: nsfw (mdni)

P★rnstar!Simon who was ready to leave the industry until Johnny showed him a video of yours one night.

Maybe one more video wouldn’t hurt.

P★rnstar!Simon who’s on the phone the next morning telling his manager to get something booked. He doesn’t listen when Price rambles on about how you have completely different audiences so it might not work.

“All due respect, I don’t care. Either way if I’m in a video, people will click regardless and by the looks of it the same goes for them and their viewers.”

P★rnstar!Simon who insists the two of you get to know one another before filming because if you want an intimate shoot, he’ll give you exactly that. What better way than to become familiar with each other? You know, just to double check the chemistry will be convincing. And who are you to turn down a free lunch date with an attractive man?

“No no, don’t worry about the bill, it’s on me.”

P★rnstar!Simon who brings you your favourite tea on the day of filming and thoroughly listens to you over everyone else on how you want it to be carried out. His usual onscreen genre hasn't been so tame but he finds himself looking forward to this scene with you more than anything he’s ever done in his career.

P★rnstar!Simon whose touch is so gentle and caring whilst filming. He takes his time, making sure everything he does is the way you want it. He keeps an eye on your every reaction, every sound he brings out of you. The scene is raw, natural and he forgets for a moment that the cameras are on the two of you. Has to stop himself from getting carried away, reminding himself that it’s all fake, even when it feels truly genuine.

“God, you feel so good wrapped around my cock, love.”

P★rnstar!Simon who has tons of videos published, and not a single one of them has him kissing his scene partner. Yet he just can’t stop his lips from connecting with yours as he shoots his cum deep inside you, hands intertwined.

P★rnstar!Simon who checks on you as soon as the cameras are off, making sure that you’re alright and everything's good.

“Y’alright sweetheart? Can I get you anything?”

P★rnstar!Simon who manages to get your number but is too scared to contact you after that day in case he screws up and says something that comes across as weird. It takes a lot of convincing from Johnny before he finally calls you one night.

P★rnstar!Simon who smiles to himself when you pick up. The two of you talking on the phone for hours about the most random things in the world until you both fall soundly asleep, phones still in hand.

Maybe next time you the two of you could have your own personal scene off camera...

[bumpen-underbeds]

You were cursed, clearly there was no other way to explain the constant slipping of your pants, skirts being flipped up, and underwear getting pulled on or tugged to the side whenever you are out in public.

Cursed.

Your friend had given you this shiny new bracelet for your birthday, and ever since, you have been fighting invisible demons of misfortune with your clothes, all kinds just keep slipping down or are messed with, even when you are alone at home, they end up out of place 100% of the time.

You had brought it up with a friend, and they brushed it off, laughing and telling you curses aren't real and to just buy a belt or something, offering to show you the bracelet isn't cursed by wearing it for a day.

They didn't have a single malfunction the whole day, but the moment you slip the bracelet back around your wrist, your pants fell, belt and all, still firmly closed, your friend giggled and joked that you must be cursed after all.

Going home and tossing the godforsaken bracelet into your junk drawer, you enjoy a little bit of comfort and relaxation as you lounge in your bed, blessedly dressed in your comfy clothes, as you drift off in your bed.

Only to wake to the cursed bracelet back on your wrist, a little note tied to it reading 'don't take me off again :((' in scribbled handwriting. Trying to remove the awful thing is met with no luck, tugging, unlatching, trying to cut it off, nothing is making the horrid bangle budge or move; the thing is on your wrist, and it's seemingly not coming off at all.

The incidents with your clothes in public slowly decreased to small tugs and shifts of the waistbands that could be seen as normal happenings, but at home in your little one-bedroom, it was a different situation. Anytime you didn't need to leave the house? Pants missing, skirts pushed to the back of drawers, nothing that was meant to cover your lower half was even available or findable.

You had begrudgingly begun to accept the curse you had been dealt.

But the moment you had grown comfortable with it, whatever entity was tied to the unremovable bracelet began to step it all up again, stealing underwear and tugging them down when you stood still or lay down, soon there were feelings of fingers gripping your thighs and digging into your ass that came with every shift of fabric.

Being teased and groped by an unseen entity wasn't on the cards for the year, but here you are, a cursed bracelet bound to your wrist and being actively bent over your small dining room table as a spectre has made it's ghostly home between your legs, fingers kneading and groping at your ass as the feeling of a mouth working along your sex has you making filth sounds into your empty apartment.

[beloveds-embrace]

Telling Ghost/König you are too heavy for him to pick up or sit on his face, and he doesn’t say anything at first so you think he just accepted it even if your heart kinda twinged a little in pain because you know you are just not skinny enough-

Only for him to send you a video the next day: in the gym, looking mighty hot in a compression shirt and sweatpants just a touch low on his hips, and lifting a bar with ease. On a closer look? The weighs attached to the bar weigh far more than you do. And he so easily maneuvers and controls and manhandles it…

Between the heat curling in your stomach, face pink and thighs clenched shut, you almost miss the incoming text.

Never too heavy for me, doll.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Just thinking about how simon would definitely be the type of man to start cooking ribs, I mean like marinating those things and letting them slow cook for hours, only for him to slip out of the bed at nearly 3am.

You only noticed because his side of the bed got colder and then you woke up to your precious simon riley with a plate of ribs in his big hands, piled high for both of you as he sat down. you wouldn’t care about getting food on the bed this late, and he knew it. He liked cooking for you when on leave, liked providing.

“ribs.”

He mumbled, and you gave a sleepy nod before leaning against him, idly taking a rib and obliging him with a bite of the food. As it turns out, it was pretty damn good, and for another hour or so you both just sat there, silently eating ribs in bed.

Anyways, I’m marrying him. He’s mine.

[starsofang]

Simon didn’t like to hold you. He liked to be held.

At first, you didn’t understand why he’d turn his back to you in bed without saying anything. You thought you’d done something to him, or maybe he was in a bad mood. You couldn’t be any more wrong.

Simon Riley, an absolute brute of a soldier, was silently asking for you to be the big spoon. You nearly didn’t believe it when he finally brought it to your attention.

He was too embarrassed to ask you, so he’d resort to flipping on to his side and wait. And wait. Until he realized you didn’t catch the memo, even after many hopeless attempts.

In his mind, he thought being the big spoon would somehow convince you he wasn’t manly enough, as if his title in the service or his pure stature wasn’t proof enough of his masculinity.

To him, being held was a blanket of security. Where he’d always have to watch his back out on the field, both literally and metaphorically, he didn’t have to keep an eye out at all times with you. It was a chance for him to find solace in a person, and when he explained this to you, he was surprised to find you so willing.

And oh, when it happened, Simon nearly kicked himself for holding back on verbalizing it for so long.

The warmth of your arms when they wrapped around him from behind, your face buried between his shoulder blades, legs tangled in his, he thought that this was what inner peace felt like.

He was silly to think you’d ever be the one to judge him for what most deemed ‘unmasculine’. In all of his broad glory, he felt safe the moment you held him, like a child does when they feel a mother’s embrace except it was from someone he loved dearest to his heart.

And you? You found that being the big spoon was rather enjoyable when the man you’re holding was so damn comfortable to snuggle up to. It was a win-win for you both.

You just wished he wasn’t an idiot that left you wondering all those hopeless nights until the truth came out.

[dixonsgirl93]

You take out your little tin of Vaseline, taking a small amount on your finger and bringing it to your lips. You feel Simon Riley’s large presence walk up to you. He leans one hand against the wall. He’s standing so close you could almost see his pupils expand a little when you looked up into them.

Your heart racing, you hold his gaze and rub your finger over your lips. Dip into the tin, back onto your lips. You rub your lips together.

“Can I have some?” Ghost’s gruff voice rumbles from beneath his mask.

“You want lip balm?” You ask, somewhat incredulous. He didn’t seem like the type.

He merely nods, never talking his eyes off yours.

“Okay.” You say, the word sounding more like a question. He lifts his mask just above his mouth. You go to hand over the tin. His hand comes out but instead of taking the tin, they find your chin, gently gripping you and pulling you closer. His lips land on yours, firm but a lot gentler than you were expecting.

He pulls back, rubbing his lips together. You blush furiously.

“Thanks, love.” He mumbles, pulling his mask back down. He walks away then as if nothing just happened.

[kaadaaan]

MDNI

not developed idea at all but thinking about Ghost torturing some crime lord or other and he’s using the man’s wife as leverage. Gun to her head as she cries and shakes, tied up on the floor of the concrete room, begging her husband to help her.

Ghost gives the man a choice; his life, or hers. His lip curls beneath the mask when the man chooses his own life.

“Shouldn’t treat y’wife that way.” He says coldly. “Bad for you, yeah? Happy wife, and all that.”

The bullet lands exactly where he means it to go; between the bloke’s eyes. Blood trickles down his forehead, body slackens in the restraints holding him. The pretty thing on the floor screams. Thrashes and thumps her tied wrists off his legs while she curses him out.

“Thank you wouldn’t hurt,” he rumbles dryly. “Would’ve been you if your man had his way. Up you get, c’mon.”

He pulls her to her feet, brushes her down with lingering hands. Smooths over her hair and thumbs away the tears. The mask shifts, like he’s frowning.

“Calm down, y’fine. Not going to shoot you.” He doesn’t trust her to walk alongside him nicely, so he lifts her over his shoulder with a pat to her arse. “Alright, ‘bout time we get you home. Spare rooms a tip so we’ll be sharing the bed, mind.”

[springtyme]

Simon Riley x f!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

drabble ♡ implied ptsd

You wake up to the bed feeling way too empty. You reach out on instinct, but your hand meets only the cold sheet where Simon’s warm body should be.

You find him in the kitchen, standing barefoot by the counter in a worn t-shirt and sweatpants. The dim light catches the sharp line of his jaw, the shadows setting under his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask.

He doesn’t look up right away. Just keeps his hands braced on the counter, shoulders tight as if they’ve forgotten how to let go. When he finally answers, his voice comes out rough, yet quiet, like gravel dragged over stone.

“No…” His eyes stay fixed on some invisible point on the countertop, fingers flexing, whitening at the knuckles. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

For a moment, it feels like something else lingers in the room, heavy and unspoken. But when he exhales, slow and shaky, the feeling goes away, all there is left in its place is the soft pull towards him.

The coldness of the kitchen tiles is nipping at your bare feet, but you move closer anyway, until your fingers brush against his.

His hand twitches—just once, small and quick—before he lets you lace your fingers through his. Warm, calloused and human.

“Si, I don’t mind. You can always wake me up if you need to,” you whisper.

And though he doesn’t say anything back, his hand tightens around yours like a thank you, letting the words he can’t quite get out be known through his touch.

“Come back to bed?” you murmur after a little while, tilting your head so he has to feel the softness in your voice.

For a long moment, he just stands there, the silence stretching between you. Then his fingers tighten around yours again. It’s wordless and weary, but willing, and you know he’ll follow you back. He lets you tug him gently away from the counter. Back down the hall, back beneath the blankets, back where the night is warmer with the two of you pressed close.

Sleep doesn’t come quickly, far from it, in fact, but with your hand still in his, he doesn’t fight it quite as hard.