I Squealed Out Loud At This Notification

I squealed out loud at this notification

Garden of Secrets [1] - Thorns

A.N: Let’s start my loves!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤ And thanks to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the story! ❤

Summary: First impressions can go either way.

Warnings: Mentions of unhappy family life and fighting, Regency era society and social rules.

Word Count: 3400

You had never been to a circus before, but as much as you’d heard, you were quite certain it was similar to being introduced to the high society of London.

Extravagant clothes, announcements and performing tricks with a dash of danger.

If endless chatter and gossip and constant criticism fell under the category of danger, at least.

“Oh how I’m glad it’s over,” you murmured as the carriage slowed down, then came to a stop in front of your house. “It’s almost a blessing one only debuts once if you ask me.”

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Hey babe….Just putting this out into the charniverse. That lil side descriptor you put in the ghost fic about him licking reader to tears. If you ever wanna uh….give us a clearer picture of that —I’m sure the class would have absolutely No complaints 👉👈

A/N: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader. Hurt/Comfort. Soap is nosy. This became something else.

When they find Red, Ghost's back goes rigid. Soap has never seen his Lieutenant freeze when they’re in the field. It’s mid-mission. Time is ticking. 

But shit’s gone south. 

Even without seeing Ghost’s face, it’s apparent that her distress has rocked him with the same force as a bullet. He appears momentarily stunned as he stares down at Red. She's in shock, clamping her hands over her belly where blood has drenched the stiff fabric of her suit. Sweat beads her hairline. Utter agony carved into her features. They’d heard her over the coms. She’d been attacked by a leftover hostile. She’d screamed, and Ghost hadn’t hesitated. He'd run.

“Simon,” she whimpers, and he jerks before bolting forward. His giant black boots reverberate over the cement as he swings his gun behind him so he can tend to her. The enormous man crouches low, knees popping. 

“You’re alright,” Ghost says in a low coaxing voice. He gently pulls her wrist away from the growing dark stain. She whines, wrenching her hand back to her belly, desperate to stem the blood flow. “Duchess,” he murmurs. “Let me see it.”

“It’s bad,” she whispers. “Ghost - it’s-it’s not good.”

“Let me look at it,” he urges. “I can’t help you if I don’t know.”

Red grimaces, and Soap understands. She doesn’t want to see it because then the pain becomes real, the direness of her situation. Finally, Ghost manages to move her hand, but he doesn’t release it. He clutches it possessively in his huge fist, thumb stroking her skin at a slow, even pace.

What. That’s slightly intimate. A touch tender.

Soap sees his shoulders subtly tense once the wound is revealed to him. “We’ll have to deal with it at the safehouse while we wait for Medevac.” Ghost’s voice is perfectly calm, a little strained. He’s trying not to frighten her even though the floor is tacky with her blood. Soap isn’t sure if he should help or retreat, he feels like his participation may pop some bubble that’s holding Red together. She seems comforted by Ghost’s presence.

The masked man brushes his thumb over her cheek, and she leans into it. 

“I killed the guy.”

“I know you did, kid,” he says softly, a hint of amusement under his tongue. 

Soap blinks. It falls into place. All of it. Ghost and Red Fox. Something is rooting them together, blossoming bright in front of him. Ghost is handling her with a gentleness that Soap didn’t know he possessed. It’s not because she’s a woman, it’s because she’s important.

This isn't new. He's seen this before.

He recounts the numerous times he’s noticed his superior act differently regarding her. It’s nothing blatant, but it’s there. Well hidden because of his mask. You can only hear it in the inflection Ghost’s uses when he calls her name, the way he inhales sharply when she stumbles or goes silent over the coms.

Hiding in plain sight.

Soap clears his throat, and Ghost flinches as if he’d forgotten anyone else was in the room. He lurches forward, hand on his gun, and secures Red behind him before he realizes it’s Soap. “The target, L.T.?”

Ghost curses and then shakes his head. “Gaz,” he barks into the coms. “What’s your position? You got eyes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Finish it.”

“I feel weird,” Red Fox slurs, and she looks terrible. Sunken-in. There’s a grayness sticking to her complexion. She reaches for Ghost, fingers trembling as she wraps them around the straps of his vest. “Ss’cold.”

Soap isn’t sure what to do. Everything is hanging in the air. Pulsing. Alive. There’s the distinct pop of a gunshot through the coms. Mission Accomplished. 

“Alright, Red,” Ghost says, sliding his arms under her as he slowly lifts. “Up.”

Her mouth drops open, her brows knitted together from the pain. Soap offers her an empathetic look and awkwardly pats her knee from where she lies in Ghost’s hold. “You’re good, Foxy,” he smiles. “Just a scratch, yeah?”

Ghost grunts before cradling her to his chest, his mask blank. A stain of white in the dark aside from a splatter of red across the teeth. 

Soap reads him quite well. Don’t get in my way.  

***

“You gotta stay still,” Ghost demands in a low voice. “You’ve got this. You’re strong as all hell.”

“JESUS. FUCK.” 

“I need to clean it, kid,” he says, frustration building. “That was a dirty fucking knife.”

There’s another painful groan from the bed where Ghost is frantically hovering over Red like a nursemaid. The wound is gruesome. She’d been stabbed, and then the blade wrenched upward. Even Vargas had blanched at the sight of it. The flesh torn and bruised from the force used by her attacker. 

Soap waits outside the door to offer assistance if Ghost needs it. The Luitenant has remained strangely protective, not wanting too many in the room.

“Ow!” Ghost hisses. “That was my bloody eye.”

Red whimpers again before Ghost, seemingly forgetting that she’s just struck him, immediately begins to comfort her. Soap can hear it in her voice. The suffering is palpable. Her breath hitches before a sob breaks free. 

“Ah, shit,” Ghost says. “C’mon, no tears.”

“It fucking hurts,” she practically screams as something hard crashes to the floor. Soap thinks it may have been the lamp at her bedside. 

“I know,” he replies, and Soap discerns the distress in his tone. Ghost is scared, miserable that she’s miserable. “I know, darling.”

Darling. 

It seems to work like a balm. She hiccups, throat thick and wet before she says something Soap can’t make out. Ghost responds in an equally quiet voice. A soft murmur before he chuckles. 

Chuckles! 

Ghost is saying something again. The chair creaks on the floor, the man’s massive weight shifting forward. Curiosity gets the better of him, and Soap peeks through the doorway. 

He can only see Ghost from behind. He’s hunched over her, blanketing her with his body. He’s got a knee between her legs, one hand braced on the mattress. He’s doing something to her face. Soap can’t help himself, he takes a step to the left until he’s able to catch that Ghost has lifted his mask a few inches, forehead shoved against her own. He cradles her jaw and kisses Red like he’s lost the plot. She stiffens before her fingers curl around his neck and sighs like he’s doused her in cool water. 

Ghost retreats, cocking his head to appraise her before claiming her lips again and then dragging his tongue up her cheek, licking her tears in a way that borders on erotic. She groans and pushes at his massive chest. 

“Oh God, Simon.”

Ghost snatches one of her hands to slide his mouth over it. She shudders and then flinches, expression screwed up in pain, but her eyes are clearer. Her lashes clumped with tears. “You’re so weird,” she accuses in a tiny voice.

“Distracted you, though, didn’t I?” He draws away, pulling his mask back over his chin. “You enjoyed it a little.”

“I’m dying of blood loss.”

“You aren’t.” Ghost grabs the saline solution and cotton pads. “You gonna be a big girl and stop wriggling?”

“Get Soap,” she says. “He can hold me down.”

Soap shoots backward, soundlessly jamming himself against the hallway wall. 

“You’re just askin’ for it now,” Ghost growls before the chair squeaks as his enormous weight drops into the seat. There’s another moment of silence, aside from him unwrapping the gauze and unscrewing the cap on the solution. 

Soap should retreat. He should leave right now, but then Ghost speaks again.

“You can’t do that to me,” he says in a low voice. 

“I stayed alive, right?” she replies. “It’s the job, Simon.”

“Stay alive harder next time.”

There’s a beat of silence before Red answers.

Her voice is full of tenderness, and the words get lost in it. Indiscernible. Soap tiptoes away, suddenly mindful that he’s eavesdropping on something not meant for him.

Twisted 28 - Sunlight [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, hospitals, medicine.

Word Count: 4400

Summary: Survival makes people stronger.

Everyone’s voices were so muffled that for a moment it felt as if you were under water. It came and went just like the warmth, just like the comfort—

One moment there, the other moment far away, and anytime you tried to reach through that haze, you were pushed back into the numbness.

You could swear at some point your father was there too. You were still at the cabin, in that dress, sitting across from him by the chessboard, and then back at the weekend house where your sister was chasing you around the piano, your mother calling out for you to stop running, then someone pushing you into the lake by the cabin before it changed again and your father handed you a knife.

If this is hell, I’d like to talk to the manager.

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nine facts, one lie

summary: It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways.

Never mind that he seems terribly kind now, compliments here and there, or even that he’ll pick you up from a date gone horribly wrong… [16.5k]

[one sided enemies to lovers — you hate steve and by god, does he want to change that] dedicated to my dearest kenny

Fact #1: You did not, under any circumstance, like Steve Harrington. 

It doesn’t matter what Dustin says nor the smug roll of Robin’s eyes, you knew it yourself even if no one else believed it; you did not like Steve Harrington. 

From everything you’ve ever heard about the guy, it was a surprise that he still had any friends — especially with the likes of your friends, a fact that makes you gag when Robin brings it up.

Robin, lovely best friend Robin, who completely betrayed you by associating herself willingly with Steve.

Since the beginning of high school, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Gossip was spilled between the two of you frequently, juicy enough to make even Carol Perkins’ head spin — you talked often enough that it got you split up during class time constantly, giggles too loud to be contained. 

Being at the bottom of the social food-chain —or maybe worse, completely unseen to your peers— there was nothing like sharing snarky remarks between you and Robin about the dunderheads who ‘ruled’ the school through idiotic popularity. 

Robin had a particular dislike for Tina Burgess ever since she’d started the rumour that girls in band were freaks in the sheets and would put out to anyone who would ask. You weren’t sure what had been worse: the obvious dig that Robin wasn’t getting any or the slimy guys who believed it and had the guts to ask. 

You, however, distinctly despised the likes of King Steve.

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Ghost adjusting Red's parachute straps. Giving them a good, but unnecessary, tug, making her jolt forward into him slightly and her breath hitch. He loves the reactions he can pull from her and his voice is smug af as he tells her he's just checking, that he's being a good LT and keeping an eye on her safety. Red flipping him off because she knows he's full of shit and that he's absolutely smirking under that mask.

A/N: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader (Red Fox). Smut. Size difference.

She’s still incredibly sore between her legs. It pulses like a bruise and, fuck, it’s extremely uncomfortable because everything Ghost filled her with is now drying on her inner thighs. The straps of her parachute aren’t helping. They’re wedging her legs apart, too tight and shoved up against too many areas that don’t need to be chafed.

Don't you dare shower me off.

What do I get if I don't?

You'll have to be patient.

I need incentive.

You're bloody impossible, you know that?

Ghost steps into her line of vision, cocking his head as those dark eyes study her. He looms like a monolith - a fucking tower of glass and metal and he’s too big, way too fucking big, so big that he may have ripped something inside her.

She flips him off just because she can. 

He steps forward so that his chest bumps into hers and when she stumbles backward, his hand shoots out and grasps the straps of her parachute. He drags her back to him and she trips again. 

“Unsteady, are we?” he remarks in a low voice. 

She jabs him in the side, which does nothing because it’s all flesh and muscle. “I think you punctured an organ.”

He chuckles and it tastes rich. He smells like moss and shower gel and she can’t forget how he felt on top of her, the perfume of sweat in his hair and on his skin and how they slipped over eachother because they’d been fucking for hours. His grip under her knee, his immense strength shoving her legs back against her tits and folding her in half as he stared down between them, focusing right on where they were joined -

“Fuck...fuck...look at that...look at that pretty cunt stretch for me.”

He grasps the buckle to readjust them before pulling the strap too hard. She yelps, screwing her eyes shut as she breathes through the ache in her cunt. It throbs and pulses like a spasming heart in an open chest - thwap thwap thwap - and still she’s beginning to get wet, slick up at the sound of Ghost’s voice. 

“Sore?” he offers and the arrogance is audible. He gets off on making her so unsteady. “C’mon soldier, you were in perfect form earlier.”

“Hands on the headboard, Red,” he demanded as his hips snapped against her ass. The tip of his cock was punching up against the soft curve of her womb. He was hitting the center of her - deliberately on target. The mattress squeaked and the metal springs screeched something fierce and he’s had her on all fours for hour - hours - 

He slipped his hand between her legs and circled her clit with three of fingers. They were too thick, rubbing through her folds until her flesh becomes raw and swollen. That was all he had to do - stroke and slide his fingers into her as his cock drove forward repeatedly. He slapped her pussy, he fisted the fleshy cheek of her ass, spreading her open and spitting on his length already soaked in her juices. 

“Don’t push it,” she growls as she tries to breathe through the pain. It’s not unwanted. It’s just annoying now that they actually have to do drills. “I think you broke something inside me.”

He inhales sharply, one gloved knuckle rasping against her stomach. She can feel him through her clothes. “Is it bad?”

He sounds calm, but she still catches the inflection of concern beneath his gruffness. 

“It’s fine.” She leans into him so that her breasts brush his chest. “I’ll live. I’m a big girl, right?” She lowers her voice to something velvet. A seduction.

“You’re a big girl, Red,” Ghost growls into her hair as he fucks her. “You can handle it. I know you can.” He pins her wrist to the mattress before his hand slithers up and threads their fingers together.

He tips his head, pupils expanding. “You are,” he agrees a little hoarsely as he tightens her other strap. “Just lookin’ out for your safety, duchess.”

Bastard.

She pretends to stumble, and he instantly catches her by the waist like she knew he would. She lifts herself on tiptoes, her mouth grazing his jaw.

“Make it up to me later,” she whispers. Ghost swallows, his grip on her tightening. “Maybe, I can sit on your face again.”

Ghost squeezes her hips, pushes himself closer until they’re momentarily stuck together, intertwined. “If that’s what you need,” he replies tenderly. “Just trying to be a good lieutenant for my favorite-”

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Price barks and Ghost smoothly steps away from her. She’s so unsteady that she has to catch the wall to keep herself from falling. 

Truth be told, she feels as if she’s already jumped. She’s tumbling to earth and everything in her belly flips and it’s all butterflies. The throbbing between her legs is the only reminder that Ghost had been inside her to begin with. She stares at his blank mask, black eyes like a shark. Unbothered. Unmoved. 

It’s unfair. 

“Just checkin’ her chute,” Ghost explains.

“Just coppin’ a feel,” Soap interjects and Gaz muffles a laugh with the back of his hand. 

Ghost slowly turns his head to stare at the Scotsman who suddenly blanches. She can only imagine the iciness of Simon’s expression. He’s done it to her when she’s managed to royally piss him off. 

After a moment, she places the flat of her palm against Ghost’s massive shoulder blade and he relaxes, sighs. The tension is stripped to hot air. It’s too easy. She didn't expect him to react just the way she had intended.

She realizes that maybe Simon isn’t so unaffected by her presence. 

tranquility - simon “ghost” riley x medic!reader

summary: simon finds comfort with you, and he’s finally decided to show it. fluff/hint of angst

No matter what anyone who knew either of you would say, your relationship with the lieutenant was one not for the faint of heart. That is purely in the sense that it is incomprehensible, and no one would ever dare have the courage to question it with either one of you. Especially not with Ghost, he was stubborn enough as it was without the endless insights on his private life.

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