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summermoonshine · 8 months

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Our last dance ;

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader.

Click HERE for the TikTok version.

Synopsis: will this really be our last dance, Simon? Content: angst; romantic; hurt/comfort; slice of life; body shaming; self-confidence; GhostxReader; Note: credits to @661ave for both renders.

Our last dance ;

What a weird feeling of serenity there is in accepting sadness.

Feeling it approaching and without haste occupying every corner of us, feeling our body being filled up; mouthful of water after mouthful of water up until you burst, and suddenly be aware of how much you weigh; of occupying a space, of not being just an incorporeal, empty idea; of feeling full, heavy, cumbersome.

Out of place, inadequate, self-conscious: ashamed.

Being covered in a reproach that not even a blanket of warm water can narrow down.

Flowing water mixed with the darkness of a room way too cold, water moved imperceptibly by the fresh wind which has managed to cross the edges of a curtain equally surrendered to the unhappiness of this evening. The window ajar is the silent guardian of a private painting, too intimate to be shared even with oneself, which is why every light has been turned off, the door locked, the mirror fogged up by the white mist of water vapour and the body has been crouched down, secured under gallons of heavy water in a tub happy to have chosen silence out of participation and mercy.

Even the distant glow of a moon hidden somewhere behind the mysterious clouds seems to apologise for its own reflection: against the white tiles, against the rare mirror corners that – as onlookers – refuse to cover their eyes, and again against door handles, furniture and an unknown white skin. Its echo bounces apologetically against every surface, just enough to make that woman remember that she’s not been swallowed up entirely by the darkness; not yet, at least.

Loose hair, wet locks, cold shoulders.

Insecure hands caress and embrace a curled up body that desperately tries to hide every curve, every roundness, every abundance of it although never requested, but no matter how hard her eyes try to remain firmly closed so not to look, her heart feels everything.

And it weighs, too.

Nothing floats deep inside her anymore.

There is no longer a smile crossing her round face, there are no more colours in her wardrobe; everything has been turned off, extinguished like the flame of that last candle lit until just now at the edge of the bathtub.

Its gentle column of smoke now rises upwards effortlessly and everything tells her once again that she’s the only ballast still anchored to gravity in that room, in that house, in that corner of the universe.

The sweet milk and roses fragrance soon spreads throughout the bathroom and embraces the spaces of a soul too wounded to be content with being what it is.

Long fingers and a red nail polish, which matches the shadow of a few cuts on her frightened hands, interrupt for a moment the flatness of that miniature sea she is in. They move in disgust along the outline of her small feet up to her calves, too prominent for a woman of her stature, and then those thighs: big.

Too, too big – ‘did you have to eat that huge plate of pasta for lunch?’

Her fingertips pause on her hips, too wide to fit into a nice pair of jeans – "you're my Venus Callipigia", he would say.

But how much truth and how much solace is there in this?

Little fat rolls of a belly that has never been toned remind her of a pile of wool blankets forsaken after a cold winter night – ‘this evening I'm fasting’, that's what she’s been saying for too long now.

The ripples of the surface shatter and enlarge the figures beneath that watery blanket:

enormous, massive, heavy.

Everything is huge.

That she is, and so is the pain that’s dragging her down, towards the abyss.

But how to tell him? How to make him understand?

How to explain that, that wine glass, didn't slip out of her hand due to distraction?

That behind that red fluid carelessly spilled on the floor there was hidden the discomfort of having accidentally caught her reflection in the French door while the two of them were dancing?

The self-consciousness of seeing herself so small, so awkward, so chubby – unsuitable, next to and for him?

And no matter how dim the lights in the living room were while waiting for dinner to finish cooking, how wide and long the white, clean shirt – soaked in his perfume – was while she seemed to have gained back a pinch of her usual joy through an improvised slow dance, nor how her loosely tied back hair fell around her face, giving her a kissable doll-like purity for which he would have killed without any ifs or buts: his hand had touched her generous breast, hips, abdomen – he had experienced the fat, the excess, the error;

the imperfection of being carnal and unfortunately not ideal, not right, not beautiful enough.

How disgusting.

And thus she had done what she was best at: cut and run.

She knew that setting things straight would be easy, that he would understand – because, deep down, he knew all along; he had always been the first one to figure things out, even before she could do it herself – but she also knew that this would not only be a clarification, a search for help, a last resort, but rather an explosion which would blow up the castle they had both worked so hard for, revealing a hidden truth behind their relationship.

The royal fortress in which both of them had secured their last trace of tenderness was, in reality, nothing more than a hypocritical house of cards built on mutual insecurities and doomed to fall.

The first wind had scratched their silhouettes; the cold was now pervading them from the inside.

How much fear, how much heaviness, how much injustice in being wrong for someone you love: Simon would have dumped her if she had let off steam, right?

A shattered sob precedes a barely acknowledged slap across her wet face – how long had those tears been falling down?

One right after the other they run towards her chin, outline her round, rosy cheeks and plump lips only to dive downwards, finally free to be and add more weight on her. And so does the faucet, as if to share the same pain or perhaps increase it.

Everything, in this room, cries because of her; even the moon seems to melt in a breath, by now defeated.

But what about her?

What is she besides the hideous reflection of a mirror?

Beyond the size of a trouser, acquaintances laughing at her expanse or men giving her longing and indelicate glances, eager for her abundance… what is she beyond all this?

These and many other questions push her downwards.

Just a tiny bit, towards those shadows that have been waiting for her for so long: it's finally time.

And so her body likewise slides down, towards the bottom of the quiet bathtub. Only in this way are her tears finally hidden, zeroed by the weight of mistakes. And how light does it feel to have your lungs filling up with water and hear muffled sounds, to let the darkness take over and leave everything behind, finally running away from pain, from yourself; set those you love free because they deserve better, much better than you will ever be able to give them…

Yes, what a blessing: lightness.

‘But, please: just 5 minutes.’

5 more minutes to recall Simon's smile the first time he stole her a kiss in the park, the yellowish autumn leaves on his coat, the delicious smell of chestnuts roasted on an open fire, the warmth of his hand, the fear of the storm, the scent of his skin after making love with him...

Just 5 more minutes to feel happy.

Happy with a happiness that makes her heart burst, filled with a last, silent cry for help, with the desperate request to meet him again, because she was sure she could only exist in the same universe shared with Simon.

They would therefore have found themselves in another life; perhaps older, fairer, just…

lighter.

Thus, with a sardonic smile, the Never-Enough Girl feels her heartbeats slow down, nearly savouring the smell of the uneaten dinner, the liqueur taste of red wine, the slow romantic melody filling her ears together with a whistle in the background; some bubbles rush to the surface immediately after being born from her lips, and with a pain almost as sharp as the glass cuts on her fingers, everything becomes extremely distant.

It hurts a little, it's true, but how beautiful it is to no longer be able to feel, to no longer be able to listen to any sound, to finally float...

Oh, how long she had waited. Made for this right moment to come; tailor-made, even.

Is this actually the case, though?

A knock on the door, light as a final heartbeat.

She: too elsewhere to hear it.

“Doll? You there?”

Another knock, as clear as the collapse of their house of cards.

The handle goes around in circles: the door is locked from the inside.

“Simon…”

@samanthamarkle92 I can finally tag you back <3

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brandnewhuman · 2 years

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SIMP FOR HIM, I COMMAND YOU TO SIMP FOR MASKLESS GHOST IN THIS EXACT MOMENT.

#simon ghost riley cod #samuel roukin #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley edit #codmw2 #ghost cod #cod #call of duty md2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty

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nat-the-sleepyeth · 2 years

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i watched a vid of someone play and I can't stop myself

#simon ghost riley #ghost edit #simon ghost riley edit #call of duty #modern warfare ii #cod mwii #cod mw22 #ghost cod #cod meme #ghost fanart #ghost mwii

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tar-dar · 7 months

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youtube

09 Ghost edit

#ghost #cod #cod edit #cod mw2 #fan edit #video edit #simon ghost riley edit #video editing #tardar art #Youtube

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zyvel-writez · 11 months

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Prettiest men I've ever seen😘

I might do a polynomial relationship with task force 141 and y/n story so stay updated!!! Muawwhh

#cod modern warfare #pretty boy #fictional men #simon ghost riley edit #captain john price #alejandro vargas #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish

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guardkeywolf · 1 year

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Ghost editssss

#cod modren warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #modern warfare ghost #ghost mw2 #simon ‘ghost’ riley #cod ghost #simon riley edit #simon ghost riley edit #gyat #my edit #capcut

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tojisun · 6 months

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!! smut - minors dni; this is fuckin nastyy so look away or smthn; breeding kink :’3

mmm but simon not realizing he has breeding kink until someone brings it up

they’re out in a bar, chatting quietly even amidst the sheer volume of the weekend crowd, before johnny snorts and bumps his shoulders to simon’s in a teasing manner.

“especially LT,” johnny says, scottish accent even thicker now that he’s intoxicated. “he probably can’t wait to see his bonnie lass swollen with his kids. would probably retire jus’ for the very reason of makin’ her a momma.”

john snorts at johnny’s slurred words while kyle chokes on his drink, coughing quietly, almost politely, until john takes pity on the kid and smacks his back with measured thumps. johnny laughs, loud guffaws blending well with the buzz in the bar, but it’s not like simon noticed.

how could he focus when his mind’s feeding him images of the way you’d look heavy with a babe? or how he’d make it so that you are?

the way he’d fuck you until it takes; your pussy leaking and gaping and full of his cum. the way he’d keep you on his bed for hours, make a routine out of it until he’s repeating it for many days because he wouldn’t risk the chances. then, he can’t stop thinking about the way your body would change, building fat to cushion your belly, your sharp edges turning into soft and pudgy corners. the way you’d be so sensitive, so dependent on him.

fuck.

simon gets yanked back into the reality when he hears john chuckle, low rumbles of disbelief spilling from the puffs of his laughter. simon’s eyes flick up towards his captain and all john does is give him a pointed stare, his eyes crinkled in a surprised delight, before the older man tips his drink into his lips and finishes his bourbon.

simon’s fist closes around his glass of whiskey, and he tries his best to ignore the growing tightness of his jeans.

he can’t wait to file for a vacation leave.

#edited #suns.hc #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley #female reader #yk that prev post when i said i was ovulating and i said i want his kids? …yea #suns

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wintersongstress · 7 months

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Simon "Ghost" Riley | Modern Warfare III (2023)

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yumethefrostypanda · 24 days

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Simon “Tank♡” Riley

#i need him (in focus and in 4k) thanks #simon ghost riley #simon riley #lieutenant #ghost #call of duty #cod mw2 #mwii #love it when yous find my older edits *-*#felt like re-doing this one kinda #ok byee

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casiia · 6 months

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༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; smile for the camera.

warnings .: x reader, smut, mdni 18+, very slight exhibition (i think?), v! penetration, choking, size kink, female reader, unedited.

.: masterlist.

simon has STACKS of polaroids of you for when he’s next deployed. you had bought the polaroid camera, all excited to pick up a new hobby; photography. he thought it was stupid, but doesn’t stop you and your aspiring career. you’re taking pictures of everything for the next few weeks. capturing every memory the two of you shared, and piles of pictures were scattered around each room in the house — random ones, blurred ones, blank ones that didn’t develop right.

when you suggest taking pictures for him one night, he doesn’t seem to catch the hint. why’d he have to waste his precious time and take pictures of you when you’re right here?

he still doesn’t understand. he huffs when you climb off of his lap and scurry into your shared bedroom, the soft mutters of the christmas movie you put on for background noise the only thing that catches his attention — and it annoys him. you come back, your shirt hiked up over your bra and the bulky coral-colored camera in hand.

you sit back onto his lap, shoving the polaroid into his hand and guiding his finger onto the button. he accidentally clicks it, a flash blinding you momentarily and you laugh.

“eager are we?”

he sucked on his teeth, his eyes rolling at your poor attempt to tease him. his free hand moves to your waist and dips his fingers below the hem of your shorts. you swat his hand away with a pout, mumbling something about patience but he’s too horny to hear – or care.

simon lowers the camera as you begin to pull your shirt over your head, you whine and tell him to hold it right. but he snaps back and complains that it’s blocking his view.

it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you pout and tell him just to listen to you. he begrudgingly listens, muttering a retort under his breath that makes you smack his arm and shift off of his lap. but he’s quick to tug you back, saying he’s sorry and you’re just teasing him too much.

you shake your head, your finger hovering his, over the shutter button. you reach back with the other and undo your bra, letting it slip from your shoulder and into his lap. it’s then when you press down and simon takes a picture, your bare breast developing on the film as it slides out the exit slot. now he understands.

he watches with tight lips, waiting for the picture to develop and practically watching it turn into gold in front of his eyes. simon laughs in disbelief and looks at you, he wonders if this was your plan all along. play with it for a little before using it to make souvenirs for him, what a good girlfriend you were.

the hours blend and he has you bent and folded in every position he knows. it’s so embarrassing, and you find yourself covering your face or squeezing your thighs together, now trying to sheepishly hide from the lens.

but he tuts, reminding you that it was your idea. you can’t hide from him and if you try, he’ll keep you up all night — until he’s filled his album with enough pictures to relive any memory of you in bed.

he’s leaned back onto the sofa, one hand in your hair and one hand holding up the camera. he’s groaning loudly as you gag around his cock, your wide eyes fluttering up to meet his. he’s drooling at the sight, tears staining your blushed cheeks and dripping down your chin.

simon spreads his legs and angles the camera down to catch a glimpse of the way you have a hand wrapped around the base of his cock — too big for you to fit it all in your mouth. he snaps a picture, the flash making little dots cloud your vision.

you giggle, pulling your lips off of him to which he annoyingly grunts, trying to push back into your mouth.

“how many more of these are y’gonna take?”

you ask, pressing your cheek into the inside of his thigh. you’re not even looking at him anymore, so focused on his cock and the way your saliva makes his foreskin glisten.

he can’t resist, simon takes another picture and pulls the developing film from the dispenser, tossing it into the pile with the other pictures he’s taken. your face just looks so small aligned with his cock, the angle making him so much larger than he was.

“m’takin as many as i want. what am i gonna do when i miss you when i’m away and need to release some stress?”

simon tugs at your hair, nodding over to the cushions next to him. his hands immediately find your waist when you stand and he pushes you down into the couch. your hair sprawling over the pillows as you look up at him with wide eyes.

another giggle escapes you, your hand covers your mouth to suppress the laughter. it wasn’t that you were surprised about him being so needy, it’s the way he had a mountain of pictures lazily tossed into a pile. film wrappers crumpled lazily and strewn across the coffee table, the packages once holding refills for the film.

“what’s funny, bun?”

simon’s voice is hoarse, he’s spreading your legs and another picture is added to his collection. the way your cunt is glistening with the flash, your juices smeared on your inner thighs. he swears he’s going to cherish these forever, keep them around til’ they are all tattered and barely visible.

your breath is knocked from your lungs, and you can’t form words no matter how hard you try. he’s sliding his cock in between your folds, nudging your clit with his angry red tip. you whine, your hips bucking up to meet his, needing more friction to ease your arousal; and he takes another picture, how he wishes these images could capture sounds.

he’s pressing his fat, heavy cock against your stomach, a groan spilling from his lips when his tip is leaking just below your belly button. simon smears his precum against your skin, translucent globs dribbling from his slit.

“look at that, gonna be in your fuckin’ stomach.”

simon grins at the sight, but before he gives you the pleasure of filling you up, he’s leaning over you and pressing his lips to your neck. your fingernails dig into his shoulders, crescents forming under your touch, and a slew of apologies is mumbled under your shaky breath.

he hums into the crook of your neck, nipping harshly at your skin before dragging his rough tongue over the spot — soothing the bite. simon trails down to your breast, leaving a path of love bites and covering you in his mark.

while he has you distracted, he shifts his hips and pushes himself into you slowly sinking in inch by inch before he’s balls deep. he leans back and he groans at the sight, you are completely exposed for him with his bitemarks sloppily etched into your skin, a bulge forming in your belly. he slides his calloused hand up in between the valley of your breast and he wraps his hand around your neck, he squeezes lightly, and when you moan quietly as if flustered like it’s the first time he has you filled with his cock — he snaps another picture. afraid that this moment will vanish.

that was the last of the film that he has. but god, it’s worth it. he promises he’ll buy you more in the morning, but he’s dropped the camera and holding you close. his throbbing cock plunging in and out of your squelching cunt, your juices painting his abdomen, shining his muscles under the dim light.

when he has to leave, he gathers EVERY SINGLE ONE and hides it in between the pages of an old magazine. no one would be caught dead snooping through his things, but it was a precaution he took because he didn’t want you exposed for all of his teammates to see. you were his, and he was never one of share.

AN: guys...i don't even have words tbh. just simon and like he WOULD take so many pics i'm just sooo :((( urgh. i hate him. if i missed any warnings lmk!

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sunsetsimon · 6 months

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simon finally back home after being away for nearly a month. his body is sore, aching with each movement as he unloads his duffle bag. it's silent throughout the house, his throbbing headache thankfully easing up now that he's home.

the shower in your attached bathroom turns on, your signal to simon that you're ready for him to join you. he takes off his hoodie, throwing it on the bed before walking to the door. he pushes it open, revealing your clothes on the floor and you leaning against the counter naked. a pair of tweezers plucks at the space between your brows. "that was irritating me," you say as he observes you.

he huffs in amusement, shaking his head while he starts to undress. simon watches as you walk into the shower, hips swaying beautifully. your subtle sexiness drives him insane, never able to comprehend just how attracted he is to you.

cold hands wrap around your waist as he joins you, his bare body flush against yours. his lips on your neck send shivers down your spine, goosebumps erupting on your skin. "feels s'good to be home," simon mumbles on your skin, his huge hands softly rubbing your tummy.

"missed you a lot," you sigh, melting into his touch. "i don't want you to leave again."

his hands move along you, massaging your chest as he covers you in his kisses. he loves the way you twitch and gasp when he pinches your nipples, knees buckling at the sudden sensation.

"wanna wash you, dove," simon says, one hand reaching for the bottle of soap on the shelf next to you.

he switches places with you, the hot water quickly easing the tense muscles in his shoulders as it pounds against his back. lathering it onto a fresh cloth, he starts to wash your back, foamy soap covering your skin.

"are you actually going to wash me or just tease me?"

"maybe both. we have time."

"the water will get cold."

"i'll keep you warm, just relax," he chuckles, "no rush."

simon takes his time washing every part of your body. he builds you up until your legs are trembling, a silent beg for him to stop teasing you. but he takes such good care of you the entire night, fully satisfied and clinging to his side in bed until you drift off to sleep.

#edit tomorrow #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #.wbm #cod x reader

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