Demisexual~ late 20's~ she/her/they~ ADHD~ if you're following me, I'm so sorry for my hyperfixations~ I am a chubby gamer who's in a platonic relationship with @darth-mauls-ass icon by @smash-pride-icons
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ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
“This for me?” John saunters over to the bed, absently rubbing his hairy chest. “And above the sheets?”
“No,” you warn, because you know that look. You know what John is up to. “Don’t think about it. Not tonight.”
He cocks an eyebrow, all flirty mischievousness. “Have I done something?”
“No,” you repeat. “It’s hot. And you’re a furnace. You’ll get me sweaty.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
John dives at the bed, crushing you beneath him. “Doesn’t have to be a cuddle, love. Could do something rigorous.”
You twist, evading a kiss. “Stop poking me with your dick.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
You and Kyle lay on your backs, staring at the ceiling. Overhead, the ceiling fan whips up a breeze but offers little to alleviate the heat. Worst heat wave in the last decade. That’s what they’re saying.
“I know,” you reply. “I hate it, too.”
The pillows are gone, bed stripped down to the fitted sheet. Both of you are freshly showered and naked, and still you’re sweating. Kyle’s arm shifts, the side of his hand brushing against yours. Your index fingers connect, hook around each other. Sweat immediately accompanies it.
Kyle reaches for his phone. “I’m ordering another fan.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
“Johnny,” you grumble, half-asleep.
His hand pauses on your bare hip. “Can’t touch you?”
“Too hot,” you mumble. “How are you not hot?”
The bedding is tossed aside, pushed to the edges of the bed. It’s the middle of the night but feels like the middle of the day. Has been for weeks. A goddamn heatwave.
Beside you, the bed shifts. “Not even a hand?”
“No.”
“What about a finger?”
“No.”
Johnny sits up onto his elbow. “A tit?” You open one eye and glare. “A quick squeeze?”
“Fine,” you mutter, relenting. “But only one tit. And only one squeeze.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Sleeping naked under the covers isn’t an option. It’s disgustingly hot out. If you just lay here, on your stomach and above the covers, naked, unmoving, you’ll cool off. You just can’t move. You can’t—
A hand comes down on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap.
You bolt up, startled. “What the fuck, Simon? I’m trying to sleep.”
Your husband stands next to the bed, hand still raised like he’s aiming for another. He shrugs. “Couldn’t help myself.”
You roll your eyes but Simon is settling beside you anyway, handsy as always.
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Painfully shy reader getting absolutely obliterated drunk at the pub, losing all sense of timidity, and telling Gaz and Soap "I bet the reason Ghost actually hides his face is 'cause he knows everybody'd wanna sit on it".
Ghost overhearing, leaning over your shoulder, and letting you know "I'm just keeping your seat clean until you're ready to sit on it, love".
Obviously Simon fucks the embarrassment out of you the next day, but only after making sure you get your reserved seat nice and wet.
OK i did not mean to work on this before the last page of "The Reveal" but like sometimes things just doesnt go they way you think! XD
ANYWAYS.... Heres Ghosts first meeting with Graves, and i can tell you there will only be one more meeting after this >:3
ALSO, ive suffered so having to draw Graves so much! and i hope theres not any serious mistakes in this cause man am i tired now. And the dialouge is very much cringe but i just wanted Graves to be a huge asshole ok XD
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You tried it exactly once, fake moaning for simon, head tossed back and all breathy. A real convincing act in your opinion.
"....what the fock was tha'?" Ghost freezes above you mid-thrust. Forearm braced above your head, breath hot against the curve of your neck.
Ghost is the space between a pulled trigger and the target it hits, the breathe of every soldier on a battle field. You should know nothing gets past him. You whine, low and needy and intentional, squeeze around his cock and push at his chest "c'mon si...why did you stop?"
Ghost narrows his eyes, fully sits up until he's resting on his heels, arms crossed and thighs keeping your legs spread open. "Stop that. Fuckin– stop it."
You twist in the sheets like a trapped animal, try to entice him to keep moving. Using all those tricks because you know he likes it from the way his cock twitches—
"I. Said. Stop." Two large hands pin you down, and when you finally meet ghost's eyes he looks furious "thought I wouldn't notice that fake shit? Fuckin' mocking me?"
Your stomach twists when he thrusts in, slow and deep, studying your every expression. "You think i can't make you scream? Can't please you?"
"You do! Si– you do please me–" you try to plead, clenching tight at the next thrust. "It's not because of that! You feel good, I promise–"
"Then what? Huh?" Another, deeper thrust that has your mind nearly shutting off from pleasure. His whole body rolls into it, more consciously putting on a performance for you now.
"It's...I...I don't make noise, si. I'm not loud." You whisper, face pinched. "I didn't want you to think I'm not enjoying it..."
For a moment, ghost just stares at you.
He lowers himself down, muscles moving under skin like a predator stalking prey. Full of potential to ruin you. His arms cage you in until all you can focus on is ghost.
"I want to hear you. Got it? Don't care what it sounds like so long as 's you." He grumbles, really settles his weight back into you.
Tentatively, you nod.
"Good. See? Wasn't so hard, now was it?" He pulls nearly all the way out, tucks back into your neck, and fucks you like he's trying to prove a point.
Quiet gasps, small whimpers and nothing more falls from your lips. Your orgasm is silent only in voice when you rake your hands along his back hard enough to break skin. When you have to bite into his shoulder after the second.
Later, ghost will wear the wounds like a badge of honor. He does need fake moans when he's got all the proof of your pleasure burned into his skin.
no thoughts just simon riley and your new back tattoo.
his first thought is fuck - because it's big and intricate and must have fucking hurt.
his next thought is also, still, fuck - because all he can picture now is digging his fingers into the meat of your hips and fucking you from behind with this addition to his already perfect view.
that night he's uncharacteristically gentle; carefully helping you peel the wrapping off, rinsing blood and plasma and excess ink from your back in the shower. and for the next two weeks? he's there, helping spread cocoa butter over every inch of your new tattoo with careful touches; learning the shape of it with his fingertips.
and when it's healed? yeah, he's getting a cumshot video to cherish forever. something to take with him when he's away next to remind him of you. the perfect video of thick white ropes of his cum running down your tattooed back; gathering in the dimples either side of the base of your spine.
Simon didn't want to have a big, beautiful wedding. His ideal celebration would be to go to the courthouse and sign the papers, maybe go to the pub or party with your friends in your backyard.
You, on the other hand, already had a whole day planned out. From the colors of the napkins to the floral arrangement, you handled it all carefully. You never got mad, just quietly adjusted anything that didn't fit into your vision. You'd politely decline a bakery when they didn't have the exact decoration you wanted for your cake and found another one as quickly as possible.
One night while you and Simon were sitting in bed, you gasped, sitting upright. You shoved your phone into Simon's face.
"Look!" you exclaimed.
"I can't see if you hold the phone so close to my face," Simon grumbled.
When you held it further away, he saw the page you were on. A wedding painter.
Simon thought it was annoying. A random woman who didn't even know you trying to capture not only your physical appearance but also your energy. It was silly, the person lingering in the background and studying, watching, listening, painting, spying.
When Simon saw the painting though, he nearly cried. The colors were as vibrant as he remembered them and the painter was in love with you too, apparently. It looked like you, so much was obvious, but it also felt like you in a way he thought only he could see. Smile on your face, warm and kind, and your face glowing.
Still riding high after a biker at a stoplight kept trying to get my attention, and when we parted ways he looked back at me not once, but three times…
…and now I can’t stop thinking about Simon Riley pulling up to next reader at a red light, leaning forward and revving his bike while you try to act cool and aloof. And when the light changes, and you make a left turn but Simon goes straight, he can’t help looking back at you for a final glimpse (nearly crashing in the process.)
He makes it one more light before doing an illegal u-turn to follow your car. Only, he can’t find you. So, he notes the time and place, the make and model of your vehicle, and a few digits on your license plate, circling back to that intersection every day around the same time in the hopes that he’ll see you again.
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Biker!Ghost who bends you over his bike and eats you out when you’re being bratty, even in front of his biker friends. And if you’re still running your mouth, well…he has three mates (Price, Kyle, Johnny) who can find a use for it.
The bike is not drawn, its a cut in photo cause it was easier ok? Also its not really that visible in this idea so I felt it was ok. But just so you know!
I've gone back and forth between the pages so much I can't see if I've missed something that need fixin anymore 🤣
Is this even cute or is it just cringe? 🫣
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