Just Want To Have A Brown-eyed, Broad Man Pull The Covers Over The Two Of Us In Bed, And Say, “hi,”

you know what keeps me up at night? that Gaz only has 3-4 skins (i think) while Ghost and König have like a million...

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ mdni - sappy smut

“Wow.”

Simon sets both bags on the floor, forgetting them in favor of sealing himself around you, arms around your waist. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been here before. Didn’t realize it was so pretty.” The ocean is turquoise, a sparkling blue green reflecting the sun’s midday peak. His lips graze your cheek, and you giggle. “I still can’t believe we’re on holiday.”

“You deserve it.” You turn in his arms, nose to his neck.

“You think Orion is okay?” He rubs your back, trying to soothe your worries. You’d been a little apprehensive when he originally mentioned going on a quick getaway, nervous about leaving the baby, but Gaz and Cami insisted they were up to the task, and he finally coaxed you out the door.

It was much needed. You were bone weary, and with the team set to leave again in another week or two, he was desperate to get some quality, alone time.

Logistically, it took a lot. You’d need to pump this entire time to keep your supply up, not to mention you’re still adjusting to your new medication for POTS. Simon had to do extensive work to ensure the security of this town, evaluating each rental and placing endless phone calls, painstakingly combing through each one until he found something perfect.

“Orion is fine. Gaz and Cami have it all under control, you know that. We’ll FaceTime with him tonight, okay?” You nod, still burrowed against him. When you finally pull away, it’s with a coy smile.

“Can we go to the beach?”

Simon leads your past Porthcurno beach with a promise of something better, a secluded craggy cove he knows will have almost no one on it. You gasp when it comes into view, more brilliantly blue water meeting white sand, framed with dark cliffs. As he suspected, only a few other people dot the beach. It requires some effort, a steep descent on uneven ground, but he holds you steady, keeping your hand on his shoulder as he leads. If you slip, you’ll only fall right into him, cushioned at his back instead of the sharp rocks.

“Oh my god…” you trail off, dropping your backpack in the sand. “Simon this is… it's perfect.” He laughs. It’s so easy with you. To laugh. To smile. He’s never felt lighter, staring at you in the sun, honeyed heat in your eyes as you peek up at him through lush lashes. You slide your shorts down, cheeky purple bikini bottoms barely covering your ass, and then shuck your t shirt, revealing the matching top. It's skimpy, to say the least, velvet skin and curves on full display, full breasts and hips, soft belly all accentuated by the lilac hue of your bathing suit. Your cheeks swallow the stretchy fabric, and he thinks about hooking his fingers between them and digging it out. His cock hardens, nearly solid and aching for you. He's already in heaven, could believe he's died and reached some sort of twisted afterlife where he doesn't end up in purgatory, and he searches for the side of your bathing suit, tugging on the strap.

"C'mere mama." You read the husk in his voice, the heavy weight of his lids, and shake your head.

"I wanna swim," you're coy with your smile, fingers tucking into the waistband of his trunks, "take me swimming daddy."

The water is warm. He's almost resentful to it, wishing it was a little cooler, enough that you would cling to him more, searching for heat.

Still, he's not complaining. Watching you wade into the water and float with the rhythm of the sea, it's enrapturing. Intoxicating. Better than bourbon. You frolic in it, beaming, carefree and weightless, heaviness of motherhood left behind for a moment, a moment where you're just you... and he's just some poor sod who's never deserved you in the first place. You've piled your hair on top of your head, wet tendrils sticking to your neck, framing your face, shrieking and giggling each time your lifted from your feet with the crest of a wave.

Finally, you come to him. Wrap your legs around his waist and heave your arms onto his shoulder, smiling in the sun. Your skin is brine soaked and glistening, wet and slick in his hold, and as the ocean rolls the two of you together in its sway, he goes with it, using the motion to press himself against you. Everything about you is his undoing, every breath you draw filling him with life, the widening of your eyes as you feel the heft of his cock pulsing between your legs, the nervous glance you give the shore at the few people bathing in the sun. His fingers trace your belly and dip into the side of your suit, swirling down your slit and then pressing your clit. You gasp into his mouth, but the water washes away your natural desire, and he pulls away.

"Si..."

"There's a nook over there," he sucks a mark into your neck, licking at the taste of your skin, the droplets splashed across your shoulder, "it's sandy, and sheltered."

"Oh." Your eyes widen. "B-but there are people... on the beach."

"They won't see. Or hear. The ocean will drown it all out." You gnaw on your lip until he places his thumb there instead. "Y'trust me?"

"Yeah."

He lays you on your back in the sand. The rock arches up like a cathedral, hallowed ground, and he takes his time pulling your bathing suit away, tugging the bottoms down to your knees, tits falling free once he unstrings your top. They're too tempting, round and full, your head tipping back when his mouth closes over your nipple, warmth spilling across his tongue.

"Feel this?" He unfolds your hand and presses it against where he's hard in his trunks. "Feel how bad I want to be inside you, honey?"

"Fuck, y-yeah."

"You're gonna take it all for me mama. Jus' like last time." You nod frantically, and he takes a quick moment to strip, palming your thighs and then spreading them open.

You seize when he burns his face in your pussy, tongue circling around your clit, one finger, then two, working themselves inside, stretching, scissoring, trying to get you ready. You thrash and moan, shuddering when the orgasm rushes through your blood, legs closing around his head until he pulls away, still holding you wide.

His entry is gentle and slow. Fingers laced together above your, a holy crown like you deserve, kissing away the crinkles of discomfort around your eyes and even the tears trailing down your cheeks.

"Jesus." You moan, and he glances down, breaking out in a full body shiver when he sees he's barely halfway there. He remembers how it was the first time, in your bed, in the moonlight, the way you strangled him, shoved him into his orgasm far before he was ready, and though your body has changed from having his baby, you've never been more beautiful, and never felt so good. "Big, Si," your brow creases, and you whimper, "you're too big-"

"Y'can take it. You were made for me." He presses against your belly as he sinks to the hilt and you mewl like the kitten you are, sweet in his arms, fingers clawed into his shoulders. His nose drags down your cheek, thrusting slowly, easy pressure stretching you out on his cock. "How's that feel?"

"F-fuck, it's... good, so good." Your lashes feather closed, and he shakes his head.

"Keep your eyes open, mama. Keep them on me." He has to see every refraction of light, every kaleidoscope of emotion and pleasure in your gaze, the overload between the two of you as he fucks you deep and fills you with come.

He wants to give you another baby so badly it burns, mark you, fill you, watch you grow heavy with his child, be there for it all this time-

But that’s not for tonight. Tonight is not about the claim. It’s about love. Showing, telling, promising. Branding vows into your skin, burying himself so deep your body never fits another, giving you his last name, keeping and loving you forever. More than a claim, even more than a promise. Something he’ll never walk away from. Someone he’d burn the world for, walk to hell and back, pulling you behind him, eyes fixed on the horizon.

His life, his past, drops like a stone to the bottom of the sea through his mind, every trial, every loss, all now serving a greater purpose, teaching a grander lesson, though no less painful. Love. Something that used to be so distant he hardly knew its name, and now it’s everywhere. The torture, the loss of his identity, his existence, even his name, all of it once lost, only to be found by you.

He’d rip his heart out and lay it at your feet if he could.

It’s slow. He’s never been particularly patient outside of work, but for you, he tries to make it last forever. Tastes each syllable of your moans and cries, paints your body with his sweat and spit. You yield for him, bloom for him, learn him the way he learns you, and as the two of you chase the end together, his face hovers just above yours, gentle fingers as a necklace under your neck.

“I love you.” He murmurs it, and your eyes shine. “I love you mama. You’re mine. Til death.”

At the precipice, the moment before the two of you shatter, your forehead meets his, you share his breath, his words, his life. It’s now yours too, intertwined like the dna stitched with yours, and when you come, the only words on your lips are a vow of your own.

“I love you too.”

"Do you hunt with the mask on?" "Naturally. The camo version."

Oh he makes me SICK

Redraw

old drawings of ghost

Ghost Lets You Help (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Oral (m-receiving), nutting onto partner’s body, she/her Reader, Reader’s hair is long enough to be gripped in someone’s hand Word Count: 3.4k

Service Dog Johnny Part 17 (full part list here)

“How often do you jerk off?”

Your boyfriend’s fingers halt their up and down movement across your lower back, and you quickly tack on, “You don’t have to answer that, I’m just nosy, and I like you a lot.”

Simon huffs in amusement. “At home, or when I’m working?”

“At home, I guess.”

“Ehh… Just about every day.”

Your mouth pops open in surprise, because you don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. He’s with you nearly every minute when you’re both home, and he’s certainly never given any indication of needing to sneak off to take care of something. 

But really, is it that surprising? You know first hand that he’s quite functional.

“Hmm,” you reply finally. “You’re a really interesting person.”

“It’s not that interesting.”

“Mmm… disagree. I have way more questions now.”

He turns his head to get a look at you, resting in bed with your cheek smushed into the crook of his shoulder. “Like what?”

“Like… have you jerked off today?”

“No.” His hand begins to move again, steadily smoothing against the worn fabric of your sleep shirt. 

“Would you ever want… help?” You ask casually, smiling at him. “Just like, for fun. Like a quick, wham bam… here’s my hand.”

You expect him to laugh at your little joke, but instead Simon makes that grumble in his throat that means he’s uncomfortable, and stares up at the shadowy ceiling. “It’s… ahh. It’s not easy… well, it’s a problem, having things done, sort of, to me.”

“Gotcha, okay.” Your reassurance is automatic, but you still lay there against his side for a minute with your heart clenching, wishing the worst things the world has to offer on whoever caused this. 

You know you should probably end the conversation there and not push him, but you can’t help asking, “What about if you were controlling it? No pressure of course, I’m just troubleshooting. Do you think it would be easier if you were the one just like… fucking my mouth?”

 He takes a deep breath and slides his free hand down his face, like he’s really considering it. “Maybe.”

You contain your smile to a mere tenth of what it wants to be, and add, “Well, if you ever feel like experimenting, I would really, really like to do that. And you know we could stop whenever you need.”

“You’d want to do that?” He finally glances at you, frowning slightly like he thinks you’re lying. 

“Yes! Oh my god.” You sit up in your excitement, beaming down at him. “That would be so fun.”

He assesses you like this is all new information to him. Like he never even imagined that you’d be practically creaming yourself at the chance to get him in your mouth, no matter how it happens. You’d absolutely give him that control, you’d let him fuck your face for as long as he wants if it means you get a taste of his pleasure.

“You’d like that,” he muses finally. 

Please, please, god, PLEASE.  

“Mhmm,” you reply with a heavy dose of faux nonchalance, so he’ll feel like he’s allowed to say no. 

His eyes flick to the clock on the nightstand. There’s still some time left before you usually go to bed. 

“Would you do it with the lights off?”

“Of course,” you beam. “I’m up for anything.”

“All the lights,” he reinforces sternly, as if that could possibly matter.

“Baby. You’re gonna get me excited.”

He throws his legs over the side of the bed and stays there for a minute stretching his neck out, while you remain where you are, vibrating with anticipation. Finally he sighs and glances over his shoulder at you. “Suppose you’re allowed to get excited.”

Just like that, it’s settled. 

Gleefully you spring into action to do the necessary bedtime things, scrubbing over your teeth and washing your face. When you meet him back in the bedroom, he’s for some reason staring down at a pillow that’s lying on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Err… you’ll be on your knees, yeah? Would a pillow be wobbly, or?…”

This is really happening. 

“Carpet’s fine,” you assure him, scooping up the pillow and tossing it back on the bed. “It’s plenty soft, and also I don’t care.”

“Hmm.”

Ignoring you entirely, he starts stalking around the room, running his fingers over the locks on the windows and unplugging anything with a little glowing light. 

You do the only thing that’s really your job, and strip your clothes off, because surely he’ll want to look a little before the lights go out. And since he’s still meticulously getting the blackout curtains to stay as closed as they can go, you begin to plan the scene.

If he’s going to be the one fucking your mouth, if you aren’t allowed to move at all, you’re going to want something for support. The obvious thing is the bed, so you test it by getting to the floor and slipping your feet into the space under the bed frame. This could work. You have the soft edge of the mattress to lean your back against now, and it’ll be relatively comfy to give a blowjob like this. 

Your mind only focuses back to the present when Simon comes to a stop some paces away, tracing your body with his eyes. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. 

“Mhmm.” His hand comes to rest on the doorknob as his gaze floats up to your face. 

“You locked the front door, I saw.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t move though, and you can practically see him second guessing it through his unfocused expression. He won’t be able to relax unless he knows for sure.

“Go ahead and check,” you concede, “we have time.”

Instantly he’s out the door. You let your head fall back on the bed, smiling to yourself as you rest there for a moment. You stroke your hands down your stomach just to feel the softness of your own skin, and then squeeze your breasts. 

The last person who touched you was Johnny. He’s gone tonight, had to do a nighttime shooting qualification at work, so you won’t see him until hopefully tomorrow. 

What would he think, if he knew this was about to happen? Would he worry about Simon? Maybe feel like you’re pushing him too fast? It was just a couple of days ago that you were biting Johnny’s head off about feeling unwanted, and now you’re experimenting without him again. 

Your hands drop off your body as soon as the door opens. You blink up at your boyfriend who’s now towering over you, a completely different person than he was a few minutes ago.

He must have satisfied every bug in his brain, because the curtains are now the farthest thing from his mind. His eyes are liquid darkness, roving over your bare skin as he reaches behind his neck to strip his shirt over his head. He doesn’t even fold it, just wads it up and tosses it on the bed without a glance.

“You ready?” you ask innocently, shivering a little. 

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Your gaze wanders down to the situation in his pants, and you realize your mistake. “You’re more like, here, aren’t you?” You readjust, getting to your full height on your knees instead of sitting. 

“I think so.”

You put your elbows behind you to prop you up on the bed, and surreptitiously watch him cross the room to turn off the lamp

Click.

And then it’s real.

The first thing you notice is that he did an excellent job of killing every light. There’s fucking nothing, not even the clock display to orient you to your surroundings. Granted, your eyes haven’t adjusted yet, but it’s basically pitch black, which means he has a good chance of going through with this. 

Which means—

He’s quiet, as he usually is. It’s only his unavoidable weight, and the creak of old floorboards that allows you to sense that he’s come back to you. Your body awakens with the awareness of proximity, excitement and arousal, and for some reason a little bit of fear, which doesn’t seem to diminish the other two. 

Your name comes out of his chest, slow and deep, and right in front of you.

“Yeah, baby,” you whisper, feeling more vulnerable in the darkness, because you can’t anticipate the first place he’ll touch you. 

It’s your chin. His familiar hand finds your face, and then you’ve got a palm holding each of your cheeks. Thumbs you can’t see brush across your temples, careful fingers tuck your hair behind your ears. His hands are steady as they repeat the motion, stroking the edges of your face to pet your hair out of the way. Again. Again. Gentle fingers of a patient man. 

You keep your eyes lifted as if you can see him, relaxing your body and allowing him to tilt your head back a little. Your hair gets methodically gathered into one of his hands, and then held firmly like that, in a way that makes you anticipate your mouth getting soon filled. 

But he releases it, as if he was just testing the option. His hands slip back around to your face, cupping the underside of your jaw and curling around your nape. 

“You're safe,” he tells you, for some reason.

“I know.”

His methodical breathing is all you hear as his thumb sweeps the length of your cheekbone, slowly, like he’s touching something valuable. And his other thumb finds the seam of your lips, coaxing them open with a little pressure. 

You stay soft for him while he pushes that digit past your teeth, keeping your mouth relaxed as he lets it rest on your tongue. You wait like that, letting him feel how warm and pliant your mouth is, just breathing through your nose as he caresses your face in the darkness. What a good girl you are, his thumb seems to say, skimming the tips of your lashes when you blink. So well behaved for me.

He never loses contact, even when his hand retreats from your mouth. He keeps the back of your skull resting in the cradle of his wide palm while he gets himself ready. That soft rustle of fabric shoots a thrill down your spine, has you lifting your chin a little to straighten out your throat. 

Then something warm and a little sticky kisses up against your lips, and the man you love breathes a quiet, “Open.”

Against the blanket, your fingers curl in pleasure while he eases himself into your mouth. He presses just the tip in, and then pulls back out a little, repeating the motion. It’s like he’s sampling the way it feels sliding across your tongue, so you stick it out for him to play with, just past your lower lip. He feels you do that, you can tell by the appreciative breath he lets out. He likes it. He likes picturing you here, patiently waiting with your tongue out, letting him rub his leaking tip up and down it. 

It’s so good. Your eyes drift closed on their own, mentally slipping into the skin of someone who deserves this kind of attention. You take an ungodly amount of pleasure in being toyed with like this — the slow, systematic breaking down of your psyche until all you are is a craving. A bone deep, unending ripple of want that registers your mouth as the natural place for his cock. He gets to come home now, pushing inside you and finding relief in the same act that’s getting you slick between your legs. 

You’re not sure if he does it like this on purpose to get you worked up. You’re not sure that it matters. 

“Show me how deep I can go so it’s still comfortable.” His thumb presses down on your jaw, guiding you to open wider. “This is important to me.”

Oh. Okay. Obediently you reach out and find his thigh with your hand, relaxing your mouth as he begins to push himself inside it. A happy, breathy noise leaves you when you finally feel it the way you’re meant to, finally get your mouth full of that fundamental piece of him. 

He doesn’t pause, just carefully pushes inside until he reaches the line of your gag reflex, and you offer some resistance on his leg to let him know. 

“Fuck, alright. Yeah, alright.” His  breathing is ragged between words. “Christ, you sound so pretty.”

Yeah, you’re too aroused to really hold back at this point. As he begins to slowly thrust into your mouth, you thank him for it with soft, needy throat noises. He keeps one hand around your jaw and feeds you his cock to exactly where you showed him, and it feels divine. 

You're not sure if it’s intentional, but he never fully pulls out. He never gives you a chance to collect yourself or swallow, just keeps filling your mouth until you’re no longer anxious about it ending before you’re ready. You’re dazed and content, drooling around him and communicating exactly how much you’re enjoying yourself, through every soft moan and whimper. Your lips are wet from the mess of spit and precum gathering in your mouth, and you’re getting so turned on that you swear there’s a faint sensation of something dripping down the inner crease of your thigh. 

Maybe you like this a lot. Maybe you enjoy the way your jaw aches with how thick he is. Maybe you’re glad this is lasting a lot longer than the other time, because there’s nothing that compares to getting on your knees for someone who loves you the way he does.  

“Don’t want to— Can I cum on you?”

Like he’s just remembered that you can’t talk with your mouth full, Simon quickly pulls out and stays there, holding your face and catching his breath. 

“Yeah, of course,” you say after a quick swallow. “Maybe don’t get it in my hair if you can help it.”

“I won’t.” 

He gathers your hair again in his shaking hand, and this time he uses it to hold your head steady while he sinks himself all the way to your throat. 

It has you grabbing onto the blanket while you fight back the urge to gag. You just weren’t prepared for that, hadn’t given yourself time to relax into it after he was so insistent earlier about not going too deep. One more thrust and you can’t help the way your throat constricts, the wet sputter you do when you can’t quite accommodate him. 

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, nearly scraping himself on your front teeth in his haste to pull out. “M’sorry. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You lift your hand to his wrist, finding his fingers with yours and wrapping around them to make sure he doesn’t let go of your hair. “You’re alright.”

His voice still has a frantic edge. “Didn’t mean to. That wasn’t on purpose.”

“I know, baby,” you assure him, slow and calm. “Take a breath, we’re okay.”

You’re rewarded with a deep inhale and exhale from somewhere above you. Then a steady, “You’re alright?”

“Yep, I’m doing great.” You sink down the side of the bed, letting your ass rest on your feet, and draping your head back on the edge of the mattress. “And you know what?”

“What?” His fingers shift in your hair, but he doesn’t let go, so you stroke your fingers down to his wrist.

“My tits are really soft,” you tell him, letting your smile warm the words.

There’s only a beat of silence, and then a little amused huff for you. “Are they, now?”

“Mhmm. You can see for yourself, if you want.”

There’s barely a second of hesitation before you hear his knees pop, and then feel that familiar hand tracing down your collarbone to find your breast. “Mmm. You’re right.”

Your evil plan is working. “Check the other one too, just to be sure.”

Simon only stops long enough to do another deep breath, then wraps his hand around your other breast, squeezing it gently. “Yeah. Fuckin’ nice.”

Time to get him what he needs. 

“So I have these nice soft titties right here for you, right? I think you should cum on them.”

His next breath is choppy and delicious, as he runs his fingertips down the swell of your breast and fiddles with your nipple. 

“I think they would look extra pretty,” you purr at him, “with a little decoration.”

His hand leaves your skin then, and the air is so quiet that you can hear him stroking himself with your spit remaining on him. You sigh happily, letting him hold your head out of the way by your hair, so your face won’t get dirty in a minute when he cums. 

“I love your voice,” he whispers. “That little high note you do at the end of a breath, when you’re… like this.”

“Wet?” You playfully whisper back.

“Are you wet, darling?”

Your thighs seem to flex together on their own accord. “Uh huh.” 

The slick sounds pause for a beat, and then he says, “Can I feel?”

Oh, fuck. You’re definitely going to have to get your toy out after this. “Yeah, baby.”

He doesn’t let go of your hair, just reaches down with his free hand to find your thighs. You spread your knees apart on the carpet and marvel at the lack of hesitation, as he runs his fingertips up and down the outside of your pussy. 

“Jesus bloody fucking Christ.”

“I’m having a great time,” you laugh, keeping your hips as still as possible so he remains in control of the contact. 

“You are, aren’t you?” 

“Mmm, yeah.” His fingers are still stroking your soaked pussy, so you turn your head a little to kiss his wrist. “I like this, baby.”

He’s collecting your wetness, you finally realize. He gets his palm nice and slick with it, and then gets back to his feet, and starts jerking off with your arousal. 

You close your eyes and let yourself picture it, how he’s standing now with your knees between his legs. You do your best to push your tits out so they’ll get the bulk of the exterior decorating, and just relax there and let him hear your happy, horny breaths. 

His choked curse is the only warning you get before something warm and sticky hits your chest. You smile to yourself while he works himself through that orgasm, painting you with his pleasure because for some reason he’d rather do this than shoot it down your throat. 

You don’t mind, not really. You’re pretty sure it’s not a humiliation thing for him, and it’s easy enough to get cleaned up afterwards. Once his breathing has started to level out and his grip in your hair loosens, you reach up and swipe a little bit of cum off your breast. In the pitch black, he doesn’t see you suck it off your finger.

His recovery is much better this time. Maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t actually fuck, or maybe it’s because he’s processed the initial hurdle already, but he never goes nonverbal. He ends up wiping you down with his own shirt so the lights can stay off, and then he holds you in his arms while you make yourself cum with your vibrator. 

Simon reaches down to your wrist and encourages you to keep your toy on your clit while you whine and gasp through the overstimulation after your orgasm. He makes you promise not to stop before he releases your hand to play with your nipple. 

“Just a little longer,” he whispers, stroking his thumb over the sensitive point. “I know you can do it.”

He’s right. It only takes a few more minutes before you’re shaking, jerking the toy away and squeezing your thighs together through the rushing in your ears. 

You’re limp after that, merely a jellyfish washed up on the beach. Simon thinks it’s funny, keeps lifting your wrist in the air and then letting it flop to the mattress. He can’t even see it, but finds it entertaining all the same. 

“Simon?” You whisper after a few sleepy kisses.

“Hmm?”

“What do you think about clearing out the guest bedroom, and putting a bed in there for Johnny when he spends the night?”

Your boyfriend tugs affectionately at a lock of your hair. “I think that’s a bloody good idea.”

Next Part coming soon

Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop

writer’s block (dry) = no desire to write, no ability to write (bearable)

writer’s block (wet) = HUGE desire to write, no ability to write (very evil)

simon doesn't indulge much in pet names. he would call you love often, you know like every other British person.

you don't mind because you love using pet names on him. babe is what you use most of the time. calling him baby and sweetheart works too. he'll appreciate any name you used on him. though you used pookie on him one time when you were feeling mischievous and in return he just gave you a nasty side-eye with a raised eyebrow, silently asking what the fuck did you just called me?

but in the rare times when you are cocooned by the blankets and simon's arms wrapped around you, when you are feeling a tad bit emotional you would say his name in a whispered voice like it's the most sacred thing. it's a reminder that he trusts you enough to tell his name. a proof of your hard work peeling off layer after layer of him.

Thinking about professor!Ghost and his stupid motorcycle, abs how he definitely isn't stalking the hot Anthropology professor but he does notice she hasn't left the parking lot at her usual time so he goes to check what's up with that. And when he finds out someone let the air out of not one but two of her tires, thus rendering her one spare useless, he offers her a ride home. Something he never does, because he doesn't like carting people around he likes going fast and not worrying about cargo, but he settles next to Love's car and offers her a ride home. He does tell her to stay put while he runs to his office for his extra helmet and when she finally gets it in her hands she tells him,

"Its pink," with a sort of soft smile that melts his heart, he just grunts and responds,

"I thought you liked pink."

Which is immediately met with laughter like bells and a smile that feels a lot more genuine as she pulls the full face helmet over her head. She steps close to the bike and Ghost stops her to check that the helmet is on right, his gloved fingers skirting under her chin to make sure the strap is on tight. He offers her a hand, holding the bike steady as she climbs on behind him, and he's maybe a little too eager when her arms wrap around his middle and squeeze.

Ghost's never liked feeling a helmet against his shoulder, but somehow when it's her it's tolerable. Somehow he doesn't want to go as fast, meandering down the streets until she taps his thigh and Ghost feels all his blood rush south. He stops in front of her flat and helps her climb off, staring a little too much at the way she swings her leg over his bike until she's fiddling with the helmet and again he reaches out to help.

She shakes her hair out with a smile as soon as it's off and offers the helmet back. Ghost doesn't have a good reason to tell her he got it for her, so he takes it back and watches her make her way inside. He can still feel the squeeze of her arms around him. Maybe he should make a move.