idek what im doing here

the first time simon admits there might actually be something wrong with his house is the first time he brings someone home from the pub.

you watch from your perch on the hallway shelf, eyes narrowed, as he shoulders through the front door with a warm, tipsy body pressed against his side - a tipsy body that's somehow been convinced to go home with this scarred, mountain of a man.

your scarred mountain of a man. even if he doesn't know it yet.

clothes are lost on the way up the stairs; shirt on the bannister, jeans crumpled in the hall. by the time they tumble onto the bed - your bed, or it might as well be, since you sleep there every night - your fists are clenched so tight they tremble. you stand, incorporeal, in the bedroom door and watch as simon settles between their thighs, mouth on their neck, hand sliding down to stroke between their legs. they moan, arching into him, fingernails scraping down his back.

the lights flicker.

simon barely notices. the stranger does.

your anger only rises - hot, thick, ugly - as simon ignores your protests. the lights die for one, two, three seconds before surging back on with an angry crackle. the bedroom door slams shut with a harsh thud that makes both occupants of the bed jump.

“fuckin’ house." simon mutters, still grinding against them.

not enough, then.

the bedside light flares blindingly bright before exploding in sparks. you move onto the bed, cold form lingering over the guest; running a finger over their cheek.

the stranger yelps. “what the fuck - something just touched me!”

they scramble off the bed, snatching clothes in panic and bolting down the stairs, dressing in the downstairs hallway before the front door slams behind them.

silence returns.

simon sits on the edge of the mattress, shirtless and still half-hard in his boxers, dragging a hand down his face. the unnatural cold patch wraps around him once again, and for the first time in his life he starts to consider what the afterlife might entail.

“message received.” he mutters to the empty room. "message fuckin' received, loud an' fuckin' clear, whatever the fuck you are."

you brush invisible fingers along his jaw. he leans into the chill without thinking.

-having a job

-not having a job

-applying for jobs

-the job market

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.

The sleeve. (18+ MDNI)

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You’d been with the 141 long enough that the team felt like home—Price’s cigars, Soap’s endless jokes, Gaz’s easy laugh, and Ghost… well, Ghost was Ghost. Silent, broad-shouldered, always layered in black long sleeves and that damn mask. You’d never seen an inch of skin. Not once.

Well, until today.

You’d caught him in the gym, sleeves pushed up while he wiped down equipment. And oh God—Ink. A full sleeve on his left arm—dark, intricate, covered from wrist to bicep—maybe even higher— in sharp lines and shadows. Skulls, barbed wire, something that looked like a grim reaper. It suited him perfectly, and the sight hit you low in the gut.

You couldn’t stop staring. When he noticed, he tilted his head, that masked stare pinning you.

“Something wrong, love?”

You swallowed. “Your arm. I didn’t know you had any tattoos. They’re… really fucking cool.”

Ghost paused. “You want a closer look?” His voice dropped, low and rough, a warning but.. you didn’t catch it. “Might not be able to unsee it.”

You nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. I want to see.”

You not catching that warning was more blessing than curse— now you’re in his quarters, door locked, the only light a sad lamp casting shadows across the room. Your back is pressed to his chest, legs spread over his thighs as he fucks up into you from behind—slow, deep, relentless. The thick, tattooed arm hooked around you, and he’s got three fingers shoved deep in your mouth, stretching your lips, pressing down on your tongue, keeping you quiet.

You can see every inch of the ink.

The sleeve is even more detailed up close—black and gray, textured, the designs shifting with every flex of his forearm as he works his fingers in and out of your mouth in time with his cock. Saliva slicks his fingers, dripping down your chin, but you don’t care. You moan around them, eyes locked on the tattoos, on the way his muscles move, on how hot the contrast is between the deadly ink and the way he’s using that hand to keep you quiet and full.

“Fuckin’ asked if you were sure..” he growls against your ear, accent thick, breath hot through the mask he won’t remove. “Now look at you. Mouth stuffed with my fingers, cunt clenching every time you see somethin’ new. Dirty girl.”

He thrusts harder, hips snapping up, the wet sounds were obscene. His tattooed arm stays exactly where you can see it—fingers hooked in your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he makes you take them deeper. You gag softly and he chuckles, low and dark, never slowing.

“That’s it. Keep your eyes on it while I ruin you.”

Your hands grip his forearm, fingers tracing the lines of the tattoos as your orgasm builds fast and sharp. Ghost doesn’t let up—he fucks you through it, fingers muffling your cries, the full sleeve on display just for you like he promised.

When he finally pulls his fingers free, strings of spit connecting them to your lips, he drags the wet digits down your throat, over your chest, and presses the tattooed palm flat against your stomach so you can feel every inch of him still buried inside.

“Next time..” he murmurs, voice wrecked, “you’ll trace every line while I’m balls deep. Yeah?”

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"steamin', you got yerself a bird LT?" kyle peers over ghost. liquor burning his throat so vividly he images he might be seeing things. simon riley, with a woman of all things? the man who falls asleep to the sound of gunfire?

as if.

the man of the hour pauses, annoyed by his sergeants snooping. its expected from soap, yet kyle? hes typically the more reserved nosey type.

ghost flips his phone face down towards the oak finish table top. side eye burning with annoyance, wishing kyle had gone into the mime industry instead. soap and price pause with wicked reaction time, the former nearly choking on his bourbon.

"a lassie LT?" he perks up, head tilting like a dogs. "i knen ye 'ad it in ya," he claps simon on his back like a proud father. canines pearly as he smiles. he feels himself radiating with excitement, buzzing in his seat.

with everything ghost didnt share, it was exciting knowing this much about him. even if it was little to go off of. a man of more mystery than detail. and a hint of a woman? this, this was a biggg deal.

price downs his scotch, grimacing as it floods his taste buds in a sizzling warmth. "so," he tuts, ready to open the million dollar question. "whose the lucky girl?" simon rolls his shoudlers with a sigh that weighed as much as the world.

"fuckin' dammit garrick," fingers wrap around the neck of the beer bottle. phone still face down despite the text that comes through. "she works in accountin'," johnny pauses.

..didnt you work in accounting? he doesnt think so, doesnt sound like you. plus, theres a sure plethora of accountants in the area.

"civvie girl hm? a soft lady," kyle grins. sharing a look with his captain. knowing he had just won a twenty dollar bet despite all odds.

"and?" price ignores kyle. like hell hed give up his hard earned cash.

"an' she lives out in brooksland. 'appy?" wait, now johnny knows you lived in brooksland. his phone still auto-routed to your apartment when he landed back in the country.

less, its a large city that spand miles. universe had a weird way of lining coincidences. what were the odds? so excitment kept his heart alive. adrenaline rushing his viens.

"cmon LT, kyle saw the pretty thing. put a face tae the name fer yer boys?"

"fucks sake," he grumbles. "you lot gon' shut yer shite up?" nods move in rapid tandem.

reaching for his phone and scrolling past photos till he found one without his face, less he wants to embarrass himself to the lads. simon couldnt stop a vibrancy of red flares across his face when he was with you. trust, he had tried multiple ways to end that little quirk.

with a few scrolls he lands content on one, flipping his phone around. showing off his favorite photo of you smiling towards the camera. cheeks warmed and eyes bright as you hold simons big head close to your own. his balaclava brushes against your jaw, skull print faded.

silence falls over the boys, for a second ghost thinks the photo mightve clicked off.

"shit," kyle whistles. laughing to himself with a lazy shake of his head. his brown eyes scan your face, a little jealous he hadnt picked you up first.

prices eyes widened. in all honesty he assumed you were an AI chatbot or something. guess its still an option, but fuck. hed fall for it too.

he swirls his scotch, equally as jealous as kyle.

as quick as he presented the photo simon took it away. phone clicking off and soon shoved into his one of many pant pockets.

"good man simon,"

"real pretty. aint she johnny?" kyle muses, head flicking towards soap.

"..johnny?"

soap downs the rest of his drink, its familiar burn is numb. weak even. he prays the alcohol fuzzes his brain as quickly as it can, smash him with a headbanging hangover so he forgets this whole thing.

glass clinking as he sets it down. palms suddenly wet with sweat and sticky as he wipes them on his jeans. pale blues jumping across the bar, desperate in his search to say something normal.

not like he could tell simon; "i used to date— fuck. i mean fuck her, ended up forgetting about her and somewhat ditched. didnt even see her reaction." because what kinda chaos would that bring?

"shes uh, shes cute," his poor deflect is tossed into the air. tussling his mohawk as he shrugs lamely. they startle at the sudden shift, never seeing johnny so... nervous? disinterested? "yeah.. yeah shes nice lookin',"

the boys squint at him, simons eyes eerily cutting over johnnys rash behavior.

"nice?" price parrots. "shes a right fuckin' doll,"

"youd bang a wall soap. fucks wrong wit 'er?" kyles joke swirls around ghost and price. soap doesnt hear it, centeral focused on the problem part.

what was wrong?

maybe it was how you were so quick to accept? or how you didnt bat an eye when you threw his things to the donation boxes? couldve been how he sort of saw forever with you.

no, no those just annoyed him.

it was that he knew for a straight fucking fact simon treated you better.

And we're having Price vs Ghost...

THAT MEANS VALERIA VS JADE WOULD MAKE SENSE OH MY GOOOODDD

Price and Valeria vs Ghost and Jade

OMG OMG OMG I DID A SKETCH

soap, who won’t finish inside you but rather jerk himself off into your panties before sliding the slimy fabric back to its place, giving it a firm grope for good measure. he loves the idea of someone else pulling down your panties, just to find that he got there first.

price, who will always “accidentally” finish over your clothes so you’ll have to wear his training shirts out instead of walking around like a cum rag. but it doesn’t help the rumors around base when you’re walking around in the shirt that says “price” across the back.

gaz, who will take any chance to leave a blossoming bruise anywhere on your skin. even if it’s not sexual, he’ll find a way to get his lips on your neck, wrists, torso, thighs, anywhere. no matter how much you scold him, he always knows he can coax you into pulling down your shirt collar for him.