That's just not cool man

Simon should really look away. 

But he can’t. Because the way your lips close around that grenade pin, teeth gripping the metal as you jerk your head back and pull it free? Well, it has him thinking dangerous things.

He can’t tear his eyes away from you as you throw it right into the enemy’s pile of ammo and it explodes with a deafening boom. And when you turn to him, framed in fire, a triumphant smile on that pretty mouth? 

He’s done for. 

Back on base, it’s pure coincidence that he walks past the gym and sees you inside, giving the punching bag hell. His boots falter as you whip around, focused and mean, and strike the bag with your glove hard. The impact rattles the chain and stirs hot, wicked embers deep in his gut. 

Suddenly, you turn, eyes snapping to his through the window. But Simon can’t bring himself to move. Slowly, you raise your hand and rip the velcro strap of your glove back with your teeth, pulling it tighter around your wrist.

The tension finally comes to a head late one night at the range. You’re there with your newly issued Glock, putting a few rounds through it before the op the next day when he silently chooses the lane next to yours, despite all the rest being empty. 

You don’t say anything, but your eyes flick to his under his mask as you bring a bullet to your lips. You tuck the blunt end between your canines, cock the chamber back, and then proceed to drop the bullet into the gun.

Simon watches you, his gaze catching on the purse of your lips, your lashes brushing your cheeks as you grab another and place it into the slot with your mouth, the way your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip to taste the gunpowder—

Suddenly, he’s moving, shoving his way into your lane and plucking the bullet from your lips with two gloved fingers. 

“Want somethin’  in your mouth so bad?” he grunts. “All you have’ta do is ask.”

“That’s ittt, baby. Be a good girl and take my balls in your mouth,” he says. You pull off with a pop and get lower while you steadily pump his length, tucking your head right below his dick. You take one of them into your mouth, sucking and licking. You take the other and do the same. He shudders above you, and his abs tense at the sensation. He loves how little your manicured hand looks wrapped around him tight, wet as you spread your spit over him. “S-shit, yeah. Jus’ like that. Mm, my nasty girl,” he growls. “Where’d you learn to suck cock like this, honey?” You drop his sack out of your mouth to answer.

“Porn…mostly,” you say, lips ghosting against him. His brows pull together and his eyes sharpen defensively.

“‘Mostly???’” he repeats irritably. “The fuck you mean, ‘mostly’?” You smile up at him, a mischievous sparkle in your eye. His brows jump up, and his eyes narrow. But then he smirks, almost likes he’s entertained. You’re fucking with him. His girl’s fucking with him. “Oh you wanna be naughty? You wanna be a fuckin’ brat, baby? Get back up here,” he orders. He tangles his hand in your hair again and guides you back into his cock. He adds pressure when he pushes your head down, burying his dick in your sweet mouth as he bucks his hips up, gagging you. “Yeah, not so funny now, huh? Not with daddy fuckin’ your throat like this?”

A single tear slides down your cheek as you try to open your throat as much as you can, taking the ‘punishment’ he’s giving you. In fact, the ‘punishment’ is only spurring you on. Your other hand slides down your smooth tummy, and into your baby blue thong to rub steady circles on your clit. Your eyes flutter closed and you hollow your rosy cheeks to take all of him. Spit is rolling down your chin, and there’s clusters of teardrops clinging to your long, pretty lashes. And it’s your ‘punishment’ that makes Frankie shoot his load between those glossed, now slobbery lips. His head falls back and a low, guttural groan slips from his parted, plush ones.

His eyes screw shut in ecstasy as he pushes your head down - his dark, coarse pubes tickle against your nose.

Because how the hell were you supposed to know his work buddy regularly breaks into his apartment?!

"Fuckin' hell, good swing, kid." Simon slumps over your kitchen sink, nose steadily leaking blood into the basin. Simon, Kyle's friend whom you've met once. "Next time, don't hesitate on a second swing."

"What the hell!" You hiss, shock draining way to pure indignation. You grab his jaw and forcefully lift the balaclava up properly to assess the broken nose "what the fuck were you even doing in here?!"

"Needed a snack." This giant of a man grunts, shrugs his shoulders as if breaking into his friends apartments for a snack is a reasonable course of action.

"Yeah, well now you need the hospital, dumbass." You frown, fishing your phone out of your pocket and shoving ghost to lean back over the seat. You miss the blush that spreads across his face from the rough handling.

You're sure ghost only stayed in the car so he could hear you tear gaz a new one for not warning you about his insane friends. He does try to escape once you actually park, which simply leaves you dragging him in by the ear.

Afterwards, you give ghost a set of keys "if you need something, you text me or kyle in advance and you use the damn door."

pairing: husband!simon “ghost” riley x wife!reader

summary: as much as you like it rough, gentle sex with your husband is just as good

masterlist!

a/n: requests are open!!!

“sweet’eart, yer so lovely,” your husband softy grunts into your ear, “so, so lovely,” his groans deepen with each thrust.

you were laid on your back, arms and legs securely binded around simon’s muscular body, the larger man rested on top of you, completely swallowing your form with his. his beefy biceps sat on either side of your head, blocking your peripheral vision. you were totally consumed by simon.

it’s been a while since the two of you had sex in missionary— even longer for such gentle sex, your husband’s pace slow and sensual.

his thick, girthy cock was reaching deep places in your pussy while brushing against your g-spot. drawn out, “love you so much,” departed both of you, your cunt tightening around the brit when you’d make eye contact.

“mmfph, si— oh!” when your husband hit just the right spot. “please! k-keep going,” you quietly begged, your eyes never leaving his, “right there— unngh” you interrupted yourself with your lewd moaning.

he moved a gruff hand to grasp your face, squishing your cheeks together, creating a pout, “‘s tha so?” he kissed your pouted lips, pulling all the way out of your cunt, “righ’ ‘ere?” he questioned, slamming back in.

this emits a yelp from you, simon shoving his cock in balls deep. “love hearin’ ya scream, baby,” he somehow rams further, strangled “ow’s” rumbling from the back of your throat.

still clenching your cheeks, he grabs your left hand with his, the clink of the metal from your matching wedding bands ringing in the air. “hon, fuck— can feel yer pussy clenchin m’,” your husband falls back on top of you, strong abs rested on your plush tits, his hips slowly humping you, “takin’ m’ so well.”

finally adjusting to your husband’s giant size, like you had to everytime you fucked, you took matters into your own hands. using your arms and legs, you tightened your grip, rolling your hips against simon’s.

the brute instantly responded, dropping both his hands to clutch your hips, “unngh, y/n—” now it was his turn to uncontrollably moan, “m’ g-gonna cum if ya do tha, luvie’,” he stuttered out, surprise washing over your features.

you’d never heard simon stutter before, the military lieutenant always in full control of every situation, even when he was head over heels in euphoria. oh, you were relishing in this moment.

“i don’t care, si. i want to make you feel good,” you answered, speeding the movement of your hips, “i’m gonna cum too.”

hearing his sweet wife admit that— the man lost his mind, only focused on sending you over the edge.

witnessing the hunger in his eyes, you prepared yourself, sensing your husband’s strong arms encircling your torso. simon sat up on his knees when he made sure you were secured in his hold, lifting your torso off the bed to fuck you.

your husband was so fucking strong, using his strength to slide you forward and backwards, syncing it with the timing of his thrusts. guess m’ don’ needa go to tha gym today, he joked to himself.

you couldn’t hold back any longer, your intoxicating moaning turned into borderline screaming. you wouldn’t be surprised if the police arrived for a welfare check.

“yes. yes. yes—” you repeated, sounding like a prayer to the brit, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. “g-god, si, i-i’m gonna cum—” “give it to m’,” he slapped a tit, “be a good girl and cum.”

you didn’t need to be told twice, your orgasm washing over you, satisfied whines softly exiting your chest. your legs quivered around simon’s waist while you tried to catch your breath, the man coming soon after, shooting his hot sperm into your womb.

cw: blood duh, violence duh, daddy kink duh not proofread im just brain dumping

you walk into your apartment in your mini skirt and kitten heels already chattering away at frank with a bunch of shopping bags on one hand and an sickeningly sweet iced coffee in the other only to find a man tied to a chair in the middle of your living room. you barely get a second to process the blood splattered on the new persian rug you just last week convinced your boyfriend to let you buy when said boyf slams a hammer on the man's kneecap. your iced coffee hits the ground just as you start screaming.

frank turns at the blood curling scream, but he relaxes when he takes you in. "sweethea—"

the man takes his chance and screams through the blood filling his mouth, "help me," the blood is thick and goopy as it drips down his chin. your tummy turns at the sight and your hands start to shake. "please, you gotta help m—hmph" frank's fist lands against the man's face with a sickening crunch and a tooth comes flying out of his mouth.

"didn't say you could talk to her, did I?"

ever since you and your husband, simon, decided to have children, you've been on each other nonstop, fucking on every surface in the house and knocking over several expensive items while lost in the heat of the moment. doesn't matter. he'll replace them with the ungodly amount of money he has in his account.

he'd bend you over the counter every time he finds you in the kitchen cooking, a thin sundress hugging all your delicious curves just right, images of your swollen belly flooding his mind, full and round with his seed. the food is forgotten every single time. only you and putting a baby in you on his mind.

he'd fold you in half when you're in bed reading, wearing only a tank top that gives him easy access to your tits and leaves your belly exposed and a pair of shorts that accentuates your perky ass. he'd tear them off you and put your legs over his shoulders as he splits you wide open for him.

he finds you absolutely irresistible in every state. you know it as a fact. it bleeds over in his every word and action. yet it doesn't make your worries go away. still, your mind wanders. would he ever get tired?

you push the thoughts away. a feral need bubbling inside you as you think about your husband, his scarred lips on your hot skin, bulky weight pressing you into the mattress as his burly arms cage your body beneath him, broad shoulders holding your legs beside your ears, a large rough hand wrapped around your throat while he's buried to the hilt inside you.

you're ovulating. and you need him right now. so you call him. "si, i need you." and he's on his way. doesn't matter that he's on base in an important meeting. he's leaving right away, ignoring price's shouts of protest. he'll understand when simon tells him later. his wife needs him. and there's nothing more important than that.

you're pouncing on him as soon as he walks through the door. he catches you with ease as you wrap your legs around his waist, kissing him with an untamed desperation.

"sorry, si. i know it was important—"

"doesn't matter, love."

"by the way, i'm ovulating."

"bloody hell, woman. lead with that next time."

immediately, your mouths are on each other, lips and tongues latching onto one another, kissing, nipping, biting every part of skin you can find, covering in saliva and marking each other, hot and heavy, your hands moving desperately across the other's body to grab every piece of flesh.

you're discarding each other's clothes when you mention it. breathing shakily as your movements subside, looking away from his intense eyes, you finally tell him.

"si, i'm worried that it becomes a chore."

he stops.

looking you over, an expression of utter disbelief takes over his face.

"a chore?" he finally speaks, voice laced with subtle mockery.

you look into his eyes for a moment, only to shy away again and look down.

he guides you to lay back on the bed as he hovers above you.

leaning in, dangerously close, his lips graze yours. he grabs your jaw to make you look at him, eyes darkened as he speaks in a deep voice.

"you think fuckin my wife is a chore for me?"

you don't dare to respond.

his lips capture yours briefly, only to slide down to your jaw, then your neck, coating your skin in a string of saliva as he glides down to your collarbone, tracing its line with his lips as his hands find your breasts, squeezing as if it's a warning to your previous words, his calloused skin a delicious contrast on your silky smooth one that makes you go wild. his lips wrap around your hard nipples, sucking and licking as you moan softly for him. he chuckles at your reaction, causing heat to spread across your cheeks.

he grabs your hips, kissing your exposed belly and covering the expanse of it with his hand, gently touching as he thinks about filling you up, all soft and swollen with his seed growing inside you. his hard cock throbs at the mere thought of it, dripping precum onto the sheets as his hips jerk forward involuntarily and he humps the mattress.

his lips reach your mound and he stops just above your slit, lifting himself up on his hands. his adoring eyes marvel at your beauty, drinking in the literal work of art splayed out before him. his pupils are blown out, eyes completely black as he looks at you and leans in, rough fingertips sliding up and down your wet slit, spreading your arousal along your folds.

"you think i'd ever get tired of this pussy?"

you gulp audibly. his hot breath fanning against your lips, he cups your pussy with one large hand, his middle finger sliding through your folds and teasing your entrance.

you gasp. "please, si..."

you grasp his shoulders in a desperate hold as he goes on teasing you.

"please what, darling?"

a sly smirk spreads across his face, only adding to your frustration.

"please. i need you inside me, si." you beg, "please, si. need your cock so bad."

in that moment, he thinks you're the most beautiful you've ever been, pleading so sweetly for him, sprawled out beneath him like an offering, all for him to take.

his lips are on yours in an instant, spreading your legs further apart and pushing your knees to your chest before propping them over his shoulders.

he slides into you so easily, your soaking wet pussy ready to take him in, thick throbbing cock splitting your needy cunt open. his lips never leave yours as he lets out a groan into your mouth, mixing with your whiny moans as you're all stretched out by his fat cock.

"fuck! look at this greedy pussy," he breathes in between kisses, bottoming out inside you, "so fuckin wet and desperate for me."

giving you no time to adjust, he starts thrusting in and out ferociously, yet with the meticulous precision of a man on a mission.

"fuckin swallowing me whole, baby." he grunts, "like you were made for me."

his relentless assault on your needy cunt leaves no room for you to breathe, only choked out moans slipping through your lips.

"fuuuck, siiii.... ahhh—"

"fuckin pussy was made for me." he groans in your ear, "made for me to fuck. all mine. forever."

his strong hips slam into you, heavy balls slapping your ass repeatedly as your wet pussy squelches to accommodate his hefty size. the obscene sound echoing through the room.

"gonna breed this pretty pussy, love." he hisses, "so fuckin tight f’me. so, so lovely. "

your hands run across his muscular back and biceps, nails raking over his skin as you lose your mind entirely in an overwhelming state of bliss.

you're a fucked out mess, your hair splayed all over the pillows, skin dampened with beads of sweat, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and mouth falling agape with broken moans as your husband ruins you.

"fuckin look at you, love." he says, " you're so fuckin beautiful."

"siii, please— ahh..."

"i know, baby. i know. let it out. let me hear you."

of course you obey, letting him hear your desperate moans as you beg him to fill you up.

"you think i'd ever get tired of this?" he says, delivering a particularly sharp thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs, "think again, sweetheart."

he reaches over, large hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding in a secure grip. his eyes are fixated on yours, darkened with lust, yet filled with an unspoken sincerity.

"tell me what you want, love. want me to breed you? huh?"

"yes— yesss plsss sii ahh— fill me up... breed me"

a familiar sensation starts approaching, a tightness coiling inside your belly, your moans and whimpers turning higher, walls growing tighter around him, signaling him that you're close.

"let go for me, baby. cum on my cock."

he's fucking you so vigorously your head spins wildly, fat tip reaching far deep inside you and slapping against your spongy cervix over and over again.

in less than a moment, you're flooded with an all-consuming sense of pure ecstasy, screaming his name as your muscles convulse and shake beneath him, your soaked cunt clamping down on him and creaming around his shaft.

"that's it, love. give it to me. good girl." he groans, "so fuckin tight, baby... ahh— gonna milk me dry."

Yesssssss this is like my guilty pleasure trope!! Just imagine being ghosts partner who the team only sees occasionally, right?

The first time they met you, it wasn't obvious. The dim lighting outside the bar when you came to pick simon up made it almost too easy to miss the bulk of bandages wrapped around your arm under your sleeve. Easy enough to brush off the bruise on your jaw the second time around, people get hurt after all.

But it keeps happening, one after the other. No one wants to accuse ghost of anything, but then you greet them for dinner with a necklace of deep bruises.

Which leads to you fighting for your life to assure three overprotective military men that no, they don't need to kill their best mate, and yes you are completely safe. Only after multiple reassurances and a promise to call them if that ever changes do they drop the subject.

maybe it was how cool and collected he always was. that hot, quiet confidence.

if only you knew when you’d finally got him into bed. ready for him to be rough, to be a little mean, not that you’d mind.

in reality, he was whining into your neck as he pumped into you at a primal speed. whispering and mumbling half words into your throat as he groped you anywhere he could. his eyes were rolled and he was drooling on your collarbone.

“o-oh.. oh, fuck- nghhhuhh… yyeah?.. awww… my baby.. gonna fill y-you… mhm…”

sweet little brain-numb nothings falling of the tongue of the smartest, coldest man you know.

you kick off your boots and walk in your shared home, dropping your bag in the hallway with a loud thud. that's what lets him know you're back.

finally, simon emerges from the shadows, walking down the hallway to greet you.

"hey, love."

he takes your face in his hands. looking you over, he can see how utterly exhausted you are.

you wrap your arms around his neck, droopy eyes locked onto his as he leans in, stealing a kiss from your lips.

"i was just making your favorite."

you can't help but smile. simon had always been the type to show his love with small actions. no big gestures. no loud words. just loving you in his quiet way. and that's what made you fall in love with him in the first place. and every day from then.

"thank you. hope it wasn't too much work." you respond, resting your head on his chest as he wraps his strong arms around you in a much-needed warm hug.

"not at all, love. i just hope it's edible enough."

you chuckle, looking up at him, only to be met by his loving eyes. you can never get over his eyes. the deep brown, laced with the emotions he keeps locked away, the profound pain that courses through his veins, and the burning devotion he harbors for you in his heart. all on display right before your eyes.

"it will get cold, love."

his deep voice pulls you out of your trance, his tone slightly teasing. and you notice the knowing smirk plastered on his face. "right." you look away quickly, suddenly feeling shy.

simon leads you to the table, placing the delicious looking meal he prepared in front of you.

despite his calm demeanor, his heart is doing flips in his chest, hoping that it's all to your liking.

you quickly dig in, taking in the mouth-watering aroma before taking a spoonful of the food and bringing it to your lips, tasting the delectable flavor that you love.

you close your eyes and let out a delighted moan, making him chuckle and sigh in relief. "that good, huh?"

"hmm. fucking amazing!" you reply, filling your mouth with more of the delicious food.

you don't see the way he smiles at you. as if he's falling in love all over again.

when you're done, simon tags along as you do your nightly routine, sitting on the bed while you organize your stuff for tomorrow, following your every move with adoring eyes.

you stop for a moment, looking his way and smiling for the umpteenth time that night, before going to brush your teeth and do your skincare.

he walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and slowly leaning in, lips finding your neck, kissing softly, tenderly.

"it tickles." you giggle with your mouth full of foam. he chuckles into your neck, making you coil into yourself as it tickles even more.

simon watches you in awe while you do your work. and when you're done, he carries you to bed, gently placing you on the newly washed sheets and getting in after you.

he takes you in his arms, pressing your back onto his chest, legs tangled as he holds you tightly. safe and secure. you nuzzle closer into him, smiling to yourself.

"goodnight, love."

"night, si."

It started off with Johnny noticing how Simon’s gaze often lingered on you, the newest truck loader.

Then he blabbered it off to the entire team. So yeah— Simon may have banged his head against the wall in his quarters and slept that night thinking about choking Johnny.

But here he was, after a long day of being convinced to talk to you.

You had just finished unloading the last truck of the day and what better time to talk to you than now?

“You gotta be confident and bold with your words, L.T.” Kyle’s words.

“No, you have t’ be funny. Make ‘em laugh.” Johnny’s words.

“If all things fail, just ask ‘em for coffee.” John’s words.

Simon took in a deep breath and smiled (the best he could. He doesn’t smile often). You didn’t even catch it either; he was wearing his damn balaclava. “You just started working, yeah?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his vest. Confident, check.

You took off your gloves and patted your sweaty forehead with your arm, “mhm! About two-ish months ago,” you tell the older man, giving him a polite smile.

A quiet hum fell from Simon’s lips as he rocks on his heels a bit, “Once saw y’ trippin’ over a box,” Simon says bluntly. Funny, check.

You stared at him, blinking twice and half expecting him to finish his sentence.

He didn’t.

Instead, the two of you had a staring contest while Simon’s face burned behind the balaclava.

“You can trip on me,” Simon suddenly adds. Funny and bold… check?

Your brows knitted a bit, “what…?” you ask with an awkward laugh.

Fuck.

This wasn’t going how he imagined it to go. He imagined him coolly leaning against a wall or something while complimenting you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Do you have coffee?” Simon changes the topic, his entire face blowing up with steam.

Off to the side, John stared at his teammate with a heavy sigh and rubbed his temple. “Bloody idiot asked for coffee,” he mumbles.

Kyle shrugs a bit, “T’ be fair, you did say to ask for coffee,” he says, defending his lieutenant.

being a medic meant having to see the same gruffy man come into your office multiple times per week, or even per day. that man was simon "ghost" riley.

you've come to the thought that he might be doin' it on purpose just so he can see you, and this day was particularly different— which did not help his case whatsoever. you were doing your job as per usual, bandaging his wounds up so it wouldn't get infected and whatnot but another problem arised... quite literally.

a hard one in the crotch of his pants, strained and painful. it was begging for some action the more time passed. you tried to ignore it at first, but he didn't seem so well and you know wounds hurt him much less than the specific problem he's facing currently.

"simon? you okay?" you ask, hand carefully and firmly pressing the bandage on his arm.

he lets out a groan. "yeah, i'm fine."

"you don't look like it," you reply, giving him a knowing gaze.

"then why'd ya' even ask?" he glares at you. "just fix it already."

you giggle, quickly finishing your medical work on his arm before diving between his manspread legs and pulling on the zipper to reveal his underwear, cock becoming more prominent against the thin fabric.

but you know you had no time to waste, since there were others waiting for the both of you, so you pulled them down just enough for his cock to spring out in desperation.

there's a cheeky smirk that tugs on the corner of your lips, but you open up anyway, gently putting his hard cock in your mouth. you start bobbing your head back-and-forth, tongue scraping on the underside, pleasure coursing through his veins.

he lets out a groan of relief, trying to keep his sounds low so everyone outside won't hear it, while you're going ham— sucking and licking him all over. the taste of his cock floods your mind, only able to think about servicing him into climax. after all, your job is to maintain his health, no?

his breathing grows ragged, and you feel him getting closer and closer to release. quickening your pace, his body twitches before a generous load makes its way into your mouth.

gladly, you swallow the whole portion, wiping the sides of your mouth before jumping up to clean your tools and take in the next patient. "get out of my room, riley," you say condescendingly.

but he doesn't move quickly, only sitting there for a while, contemplating if his life had come to this type of humiliation.

"fine, fine," he says. "thanks for today, doll."

the nickname rings in your mind for a little far too long. then the thought comes soon enough.

what the fuck is wrong with him?

He is the kind of man to get a red line tattooed, though.

"And what's this one?" You point to a circle-shaped serpent eating its own tail. "What does it mean?"

Simon closes his eyes for a moment, relishing on the feeling of having your hands on him. Your fingertips trace the black ink on his bicep, touch soft, touch too soft for him. Too tender. He shivers.

"Ouroboros," he grunts out, voice thick, as though that should clarify everything. The arm he has wrapped around your middle is pushed away as you sit up on the bed and glare down at him. He holds your glare for a moment, not because he’s returning it, but because your eyes are so beautiful and expressive that he bet he could tell what you're feeling just by the looks you give him.

Right now, you’re feeling mildly annoyed; he's confident in that.

His arm snakes around you, lightly pulling you back to lay beside him again, squeezing your waist as an apology. You relent, allowing him to pull you, resting your head just under his chin. "Means cycle," he murmurs against your hair. "Means..." he sighs heavily, not really into this whole pillow talk thing you’re doing, but indulging you still. Anything for you. "Means eternal cycle. Bein' stuck in it. Never breakin' free; eatin' you away."

That's the meaning he'd attributed to it, when he got that tattoo. Corny in hindsight, but true, nonetheless. Accurately reflects his life; born to a druggie father who'd beat him up, and his brother, and his mother. Grew up to be an angry teen and even angrier adult, so full of rage it scared him. Burdened to a shitty life as a butcher, and stubbornly rejecting it and choosing his own destiny by joining the military didn't help much. More suffering there, more violence, more blood. Different, but at its core, the same. Certainly didn’t stop things from crashing down right in front of him; didn’t stop his brother from following his father's footsteps and shooting junk up his veins. Didn’t stop his family from being killed. Over and over and over again; past, present and future, always been like that for him, full of grief and anger and violence, no matter how hard he tried to break free.

Until you. Until he met you.

You went quiet for a while in his arms, a frown on your face, looking pensive. Simon takes it all in while he can; he takes in the weight of your body against his, the smell of your hair, of your skin, of sex. The feeling of your body rising and falling with your breathing against his ribs, of your warmth, of the little hairs on your forearm that stand up as he traces an aimless finger there. Then you shoot up again, disrupting his quiet relaxation once more.

"Well," you start, turning away from him and rummaging inside one of the drawers on the bedside table. He feels your absence like he’s got a collapsed lung and someone has ripped away the oxygen mask from his face. "You're just perpetuating it, then. With that tattoo."

Simon lifts a skeptical brow. "Meanin'?"

"Meaning," you triumphantly hold up for him a red sharpie, "you're doing it wrong. If you want to break free, you gotta kill the snake."

He watches, immobile, as you uncap the pen and draw a single, thick line across the serpent's neck, like you’re effectively cutting its head off. The red ink contrasts nicely with the black, almost making it look real. Final.

"There," you smile amusedly, though behind your eyes Simon can see the seriousness there. The sternness of you, like you have his shoulders pinned with an iron grip, nails digging into his skin so he can’t tear himself away, an angry frown on your face, teeth bared. Like you’re shaking him, shaking the suffering off him, shaking all of the blood off, the death, the rage, the sadness and the violence. Forcefully cleansing him of the guilt that sticks to his skin like tar. "You've been freed."

Simple as that. Like he has no choice but to accept it. Accept your kindness, your understanding, your mercy. Let it make him into a better man; into a better person. Let you help him to forgive himself.

He'd spent almost a week bent awkwardly over the shower so the water wouldn't wash away your red line.

Maybe it's the fact violence nurtured every moment of his life, maybe he's just a little twisted. Doesn't matter the reason when he looks your outfit up and down and grunts "you'd look good tied up in my basement in that, lovie."

Gaz and soap pause their conversation mid-flirt to cast equally judgemental looks at ghost. Price, who's met you plenty of times before, doesn't react when ghost hooks a finger into your belt-loops and tugs "blood stains wouldn't come out, either."

To the sergeants horror, you just smile at ghost and rest your arms over his shoulders like a love-sick fool. Gaz is about ready to ask if you've drank anything when you hum "yeah? Would you chase me through the woods?"

"For you, dove? I'd have a snare set up already. Herd you right to it." Ghost's arms around your waist, eyes soft when he pulls you closer. "You'd make a perfect, adorable victim."

break it up guys keep it civil

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thoughts under the cut

F1Driver!Simon never talking about anything private with anyone so no one on grid knows about you.

F1Driver!Simon who won his first race he ever drove in formula 1 and has been known as the devil on track ever since.

F1Driver!Simon also has the name of ungrateful winner because he never celebrates not even drinking champaign.

F1Driver!Simon being one of the favourites for the media because he seems so mysterious and the crowd loves him for it.

F1Driver!Simon winning his first championship in his second year but he only wants to see you.

F1Driver!Simon trying to get to you, pushing through the crowds to get to you. Cameras and micros pushing into Simon while reporters try to talk to him.

F1Driver!Simon gets to you and picks you up to kiss you in front of everyone. Flashes explode around you while Simon leans his forehead against yours.

Johnnys got them Frog Privileges