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ghostaholics · 8 months

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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod fic #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw 2

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savemefromanepicoftimewasted · 7 months

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Secret Lovers

Simon "Ghost" Riley X F!Reader

Simon wasn’t someone who very willingly opened up to anyone, his teammates were no exception either, save for Price. It was always better to keep things quiet and let people assume what they pleased instead of trying to answer their questions. Better to remain mysterious than show your cards to the wrong person. a/n:this was originally started because of a snippet @thebeesatemyknees had written, thank you so much for letting me turn this into a full fic! I hope I was able to do it proper justice warnings:none, just tons of fluff Part 2

Simon wasn’t someone who very willingly opened up to anyone, his teammates were no exception either, save for Price. It was always better to keep things quiet and let people assume what they pleased instead of trying to answer their questions. Better to remain mysterious than show your cards to the wrong person. Johnny had badgered him from day one if he had a partner, going on and on about how much he loved his girlfriend. SImon wasn’t going to tell him anything, no matter what he’d keep his lips sealed.

Kyle was the next one to ask, though it was more in passing rather than a true and genuine question when he cornered the older man. They had been discussing mission details when the topic arose, did he have a next of kin? And if so, who would be the one to inform them if Ghost were to be KIA’d? He never asked Simon after that day, instead going on to different topics whether they had to do with the mission or what they wanted to eat. Kyle treated him like a friend, it was nice.

And John, well he knew all about Simon’s personal and very private life.

~~~

You were a new addition to the team, a medic that could stitch up a wound within a minute and get you back on the field within five. They were thankful to have you come around with them, helping stitch up a wound on Johnny’s arm, or cleaning up a gash on Kyle’s head. The only person who seemed to be a little wary around you was Simon, which both Johnny and Kyle felt odd. You fit in their group like the puzzle piece that was missing, and yet Simon acted as if he wanted nothing to do with you. Surely he’d warm up to you a little more, they were all sure of it.

“Thank you all for meeting me on such short notice. We’ve got word that an arms dealer is hosting a gala and we need to get more intel before we can swoop in.” Kate was a woman who took no shit and left no prisoners, she wasn’t going to risk this.

“Who do we want to send?” John was nervous, his men were trained for this, but putting them into a situation where they’d have to become someone else entirely? Nerve wracking.

“I was discussing it with Shepherd last night, and we’ve decided that Simon and Y/N will be going on this mission while the rest of you stake out the building.” All eyes suddenly shifted to Simon who looked calm as ever.

He’d forgone the mask for this mission briefing, knowing that only his teammates and Kate would be in the room with him. Knowing that you were going to be there made things a little more tense, could he handle something that dire?

“If you think that’s what’s best, I fully support the decision.” John wasn’t going to argue, Simon could be suave and charm the pants off of anyone if needed.

“Thank you, we’ll be heading out tomorrow and meeting up at the hotel. Promise me you’ll behave so no one suspects you, please.” Kate knew how much of a troublemaker that Johnny and Kyle could be, given the opportunity of course.

“I’ll make sure of it myself if need be, don’t you worry.” John smiled up at her, leaving Kate to wonder how much trouble there would be.

They would need to debrief you on the plane ride over, given that you weren’t even in the room with everyone. Having something like that just dumped on you with no time to prepare was the worst, how could they manage? Simon would just have John give you the rundown so he could worry about more important things, like how he’d have to act like the two of you were so desperately in love.

You would have an entire day to get comfortable in the hotel room, there would be a few people lingering so you’d get used to being stared at. Simon knew they’d mainly be staring at you, you were downright gorgeous. And with the clothes that had been picked out? A deep navy blue tux, with a pitch black button up and black silk tie. It perfectly matched the dress they’d picked out for you, a deep V down the front that left just enough to the imagination. The color matched his tux almost identically, the only difference was your dress was silk.

“They’ve packed everything for you to do your own hair and makeup, we don’t want you to stand out too much, better to blend in.” It was the smartest idea, if you or Simon were to attract too much attention things would end badly.

“Yeah, Kate told me as much as she could, I made sure to pack my best heels.” You were nervous, it’d been so long since you’d been able to go out to something fancy.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” John knew you were smart and quick witted, but something about this mission unnerved him.

“I’m positive, Simon and I will get the intel and get out before anyone even notices we’re missing.” You were confident everything would go smoothly, Simon could be silent if needed.

John nodded at you, settling back into his seat as the plan began to descend down onto the tarmac below. Simon was staring at you from across the way, palms sweating slightly as the time drew closer to getting inside the hotel. Johnny was going to see how nervous he was and make comments, he was sure of it. The sound of tires squealing brought everyone’s attention to high alert. It was time to grab your things and head to the cars, you were driving over with Simon, leaving the other three to their own car.

It was mainly to not raise any suspicion, if you were seen driving with any man that wasn’t your husband word would spread before you managed to make it to the party. You were absentmindedly playing with your ring, twirling the obnoxiously large diamond with your other fingers. It was a habit you picked up whenever you tended to wear jewelry, though it was much better than picking at your cuticles.

“You feeling alright hun?” Simon glanced over at you, though his own nerves were shot, he wanted you to feel comfortable.

“A little nervous, but that’s to be expected considering the circumstances.” You kept twirling the ring, glancing between Simon and the road ahead of you.

Simon took a quick breath and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together without skipping a beat or taking his eyes off the road. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, you had been waiting to see how long it took before he finally felt comfortable around you. You’d need to practice around everyone else if you were going to look natural around a bunch of strangers. Everything was going to be just fine, you were sure of it.

John had set up everything in the hotel room, along with hanging up your dress and Simon’s tux to help steam out any wrinkles if needed. So far there was nothing to worry about, save for Soap acting like a little shit and pranking Simon and Kyle for the most part. You’d all settled in, changing into comfortable clothes and ordering food so that you wouldn’t have to leave. Simon was cleaning up the kitchen so he could sit down and enjoy dinner with you.

“Do you need any help?” You walked over to him, pressing your hand against his lower back.

“Nah, just need to finish cleaning this plate and we can eat.” Simon smiled at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Whatever you say.” You patted his back gently, heading over to the small kitchen table.

Johnny raised a brow at how you and Simon seemed to naturally work with one another, he didn’t want to raise any suspicion. Kyle on the other hand was ignoring him entirely, digging into his own meal and scrolling through his phone. Simon had finally finished, grabbing his plate of food and heading over to sit with you. He could faintly hear that you were both discussing the mission and going over your alias’ one last time.

“Simon, you need to wear your ring.” You’d gotten on his case the entire day, he kept taking it off complaining that it felt weird to wear it.

“I’ll wear it during the mission tomorrow.” Simon brough the fork to his mouth, focusing on his plate rather than your raised brow.

“You say that now, but when we end up leaving you’re going to forget it and then we’re going to have to drive all the way back because you won’t wear your ring.” You had put yours on right away, mainly because you were forgetful and didn’t want to end up forgetting it.

“Are you really going to make me wear the ring all night?” Simon’s expression would normally terrify a recruit, but you’d gotten used to it.

“If I want to make sure you have your ring on? Yes, I’m going to make you wear your ring until we get back on that plane and go back home.” You’d glue it on if need be, but Simon knew better than to disobey orders.

John chuckled to himself watching the two of you, it was a dynamic he hadn’t seen in quite a while and it was pretty funny to witness. Johnny on the other hand was now even more flabbergasted at the way you worked together. Why did you seem so comfortable arguing with a man who’d killed for less? This was something sinister and it unnerved him to no end, he’d get to the bottom of this.

You’d offered to clean up everyone’s dinner dishes, carefully cleaning any knives before laying them on a towel to be dried by Simon. He walked over to where you were, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull your bodies flush together. Johnny’s jaw dropped open as he slapped Kyle’s arm to get his attention. The playful bickering was one thing, but watching Simon the Ghost Riley be so affectionate?

“Damn, he’s a good actor.” Kyle watched the way you and Simon began to sway gently, giggling at something he’d whispered into your ear.

“Scarily good, didn’t think he had it in ‘em.” Johnny shook his head, turning back towards the computer in front of him.

It wasn’t until the sound of someone kissing caught their attention once more. Simon had dipped you, lips pressed against yours as his arms wrapped around your waist. Johnny’s jaw dropped wide open, well if you weren’t together already that was surely going to change. You pressed your hands against Simon’s chest, laughing happily as you stared up at him.

“Cap, do ya think Lt and the medic are gonna get together after all this?” Johnny had high hopes, no one gets kissed the way Simon kissed you and simply part ways.

“What’re you talking about?” John barely lifted his gaze from the screen, typing up the pre mission notes to help catch up on them before.

“Simon’s practically tonguing the medic! He’s gonna woo her.” He waggled his brows at the older man, cackling when John rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah that’s not gonna happen.” John’s attention focused back on the task at hand.

Johnny’s laughing abruptly halted, what the hell had he meant that Simon wasn’t going to woo the medic, it was obvious! Clearly John had no idea what he was talking about, Johnny could see the little twinkle in your eye from across the room.

“Gaz, am I wrong or do ye think Ghost and medic are gonna end up together?” He was determined to get someone to agree with him.

“Oh, if they don’t I’m asking for her number for him.” Kyle may have had a slight crush on you, not that he’d ever admit it.

John sat upright in his chair, focusing on Johnny and Kyle who thought they were being more subtle than they actually were.

“Have you ever looked at their name tag by chance?” John wanted to see if the other two would finally catch on.

Both Johnny and Kyle shook their heads, neither of them had a reason to over analyze your name tag when they had injuries to be taken care of. He sighed softly to himself before glancing over to you and Simon. You were laughing at some bad joke Simon had whispered to you, a bright smile on his face.

“Her last name is Riley.” John watched as realization dawned on their faces.

You’d been married this entire time and no one, besides Price, was none the wiser. How the hell had you managed to keep it hidden from everyone? Then again Simon wasn’t the most overly friendly or affectionate when it came to anyone. You were his wife though, that was different! Surely you could bring out a different side of him, something that no one usually got to…of course.

“Would’ve been nice to know at least.” Johnny shrugged off his disappointment, this was a big thing to keep hidden away.

“It wasn’t my place to tell, just remember that.” John wanted to respect your privacy, it was the least he could do considering your line of work.

Johnny and Kyle understood why Price hadn’t admitted to questions about your relationship, but knowing the truth? It felt good. They watched the way you and Simon danced to the music playing from your phone. Simon’s arms were wrapped around your waist, pressing kisses all over your face as you tried to squirm away. It was a side of their teammate they’d never thought to see, and no one outside of this hotel room would ever get to see it.

At least, not until after the mission of course.

tagging: @gaylemonshark

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #simon riley fanfic #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell

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seresinhangmanjake · 15 days

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Soap's Sister!reader

Summary: Because Johnny found him sleeping with his sister, Simon had to live the last three months without you, but he's about to get his girl back.

warnings/notes: a little smut 18+, cursing, drinking. That's probably it. Oh, typos, im sure, as well.

words: 1830

Part 1

He drinks at the same bar. The one his team practically lived in when they were all together for an evening, but that doesn’t happen anymore, not with the entire group. Johnny stays home if he knows Simon will be attending the night out, and Simon, if informed Johnny wants to be with the team, elects to remove himself from the situation for everyone’s comfort. He figures it’s the least he can do. He’d slept with his best mate’s sister, he’d fallen in love with his best mate’s sister, and so he has taken on the consequences, no matter how infuriating and unreasonable and unfair.

“You want another, Honey?” the bartender asks. She grins. Her eyes shine with desire, as they have all night, and it might be a pleasant sight if Simon had never met you. He might’ve taken her home, fucked her like a toy until he was spent and she was happily ruined by his cock before he kicked her out. But she isn’t you. No woman is you.

“Keep ‘em comin’,” Simon replies, downing the amber liquid in his glass.

Suddenly, the stool beside him slides across the hardwood floor, now occupied by a newcomer he wouldn’t hesitate to shove to their ass if he could do so without causing a scene. What kind of rude bastard risks sitting next to someone when ten other seats are open?

“Actually lass, do me a favor and cut ‘im off. I need ‘im in his right mind.”

Simon almost chokes at Johnny's voice but he doesn’t turn his head as he slowly sets the glass back down on the counter, his fingers tightening around it. Anger, confusion, pain, anxiety. It all crashes over him in a hefty wave, because rolled into this one man is both the friend Simon has missed for months and the asshole who has forced him to be apart from the love of his life. And it’s almost too much to handle at once.

“I’ll take his drink,” Johnny tells the bartender, who has lost all hope now that the man she’s been attempting to charm is no longer lonely enough to be convinced to take her home. When she places the glass in front of him, he takes a sip. “You look like shit, Ghost.”

“What do you want?”

“We got a problem,” Johnny says, getting right to it. “A bit of a disaster, really, and I gave it my best shot, but I can’t fix it.” Simon blinks. His brows pinch. Johnny drains the remainder of the alcohol and wipes his mouth with the back of his forearm. “She’s miserable. And considerin’ the timeline, I’d wager it’s because she’s without you.”

Simon’s heart—though had fallen from his chest months ago—sinks lower into his gut.

“Look, I didn' believe it was that deep,” Johnny continues. “Figured you were jus’ messin’ around. Being stupid and disrespectful with my baby sister. But I cannot have her miserable, Ghost. It won’t do.” He looks at Simon and releases a long sigh. “She loves you. I don’ like it but she does, and you need to make it better.”

“What exactly are you askin’ of me?”

Johnny’s eyes land back on the empty glass. He plants his elbows on the counter and rubs his fingers across his forehead, kneading the wrinkles. “Just…go to her, alright?”

That snaps Simon out of his grumbly attitude. “You serious?”

“Unfortunately,” Johnny says.

Simon practically leaps out of his seat, nearly knocking the stool to the floor as he shrugs on his jacket. He’s almost at the door, but then he stops. Taking a breath, he turns back to his old friend. “Will you be able to handle this?” Simon asks. “Me and her? Because you can't ask me to let her go, Johnny. Not twice.”

Johnny takes a second, then he gives a brief nod. “I’ll adjust. Somehow. With time; lots of time.”

It isn't much reassurance, but it's enough for Simon to be on his way. He rushes out the door, jumps into his truck, and races down the road. He forgets the seatbelt. Ignores the speed limit signs. You don’t live far, and you’re worth the risk if it means getting to you faster.

He knows the elevator in your building is much too slow because he’s been in it a hundred times. He has made out with you in it; fucked you in it, slamming the emergency button so no one could interrupt on the nights you couldn’t wait to get to your bedroom. So he takes the stairs. Two at a time, up eight flights, and down the hall. With a heaving chest, he bangs on your door.

“Love, open up!” He knocks harder. Loud enough to make your neighbor pop her head into the hall to understand the ruckus.

“Oh, wonderful. You've returned,” the old woman huffs. “And just when I was starting to believe I’d never again have to endure listening to that moaning and groaning at all hours.”

“We talked ‘bout this back in June, Mrs. Brimsby. Get yourself some earplugs,” Simon retorts before calling for you again. “Baby, please, it‘s me!”

“I’ll report the two of you for the noise.”

“You probably should. You’re in for a long night.” He hears a scoff but doesn’t bother to glance in the direction it comes from.

“Still so disrespectful,” she spits before slamming the door to her apartment.

Simon has held a low level of hatred for the old bat since the morning after the first time you’d slept together. It was an early Sunday full of soft touches and kisses and tea to nurse the mild hangovers you’d both had because of a couple of drinks the night before—the drinks that allowed the two of you to finally surrender to the sexual tension. After kissing you goodbye, he’d stepped out of your apartment with a smile he hadn't donned in quite some time, only to have it wiped away from the unexpected grandma in a collared nightgown tapping her foot as she stroked the fur of the cat in her arms.

“You kept us up all night,” she had scolded. “We need our sleep.” The cat then hissed for emphasis.

Now, Simon has never been so happy to have that woman blathering in his ear. She reminds him of home, because home is with you and this is where you are. Getting yelled at shoots him into the memories of the time you spent together all those months ago. The stupidly high levels of bliss that, based on the trajectory of his life at the time, he’d assumed was more of a myth than anything. But you had made it real. You had soothed the pain. You were the patch on his wounds; the brightest spot in his life which dimmed the trauma and horrors.

He’s so lost in those thoughts that he doesn’t immediately notice when his banging fist plummets through the air.

“Si?”

At your voice, Simon’s mind instantly clears. His eyes meet yours.

“Fucking finally,” he mutters, not letting a beat go by before he’s bending at the knees, wrapping his arms around your waist, and lifting you up. Instinctually, your arms snake around his neck, your legs circle his hips, and he feels his cock begin to swell from the reminder of how natural that action is for you. How right it is that you fit together like lock and key.

Many questions are brewing in your eyes, but you don’t ask them. You kiss him instead, hard and thoroughly as he carries you into your apartment and kicks the door closed behind him. When he sits you atop your kitchen counter and settles himself between your spread legs, his hands go everywhere; under your sleep shirt, up the curves of your body to squeeze your breasts then back down to your hips. His palms slide around to your ass and jerk you closer so the center of those thin little shorts is pressed against the mound protruding from his jeans.

Buttons scatter across the tile from his impatience, unwilling to delicately undo each tiny closure of your shirt. Your fingers trickle lower on his body to the belt buckle you quickly undo and the zipper you harshly yank down. He’s about to tell you to lift your hips, but you do so without his command, shimmying out of your shorts, and Simon takes the chance to do the same, pushing his pants just below his ass. He springs free, the heavy column of flesh landing at your navel.

Leaning back, you guide his cock through the slickness of puffy lips into your tight, clenching walls. It sucks the air from his lungs. His head falls to your shoulder as you both try to breathe at a steady pace. His hands brace on the counter on either side of your body, nails digging into the granite. Home.

“Simon…baby, you have to move,” you pant. “I c-can’t take it.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispers in your ear before lifting his head and placing a quick peck on your mouth. Shifting his hips, he pulls out and then slowly eases himself back inside of you. His groan drowns out the sweet song of your moan. “I’ve got you, love.”

—

“Your neighbor still hates us, jus’ so you know,” Simon says as he slides under the sheets. Were he not so exhausted, he’d chuckle at the idea of being beside you in your bed and not immediately trying to fuck you, but after the kitchen counter, then the couch, then the living room floor, you’re both worn out and in need of a good night's sleep. “Probably more now than she did before.”

Normally, you would have found his words amusing, but you remain silent on your back, staring straight up at the ceiling. Simon raises a brow and flips onto his side. Then he sees the tear slip from the corner of your eye down to your ear.

“What're you thinkin' about, love?” he asks as he places his hand on your cheek and turns your face toward his.

“I'm scared,” you tell him. “I've missed you so much, but the second you leave, everything will go back to how it was without you. That broke me the first time, Si. How do I go through it all over again?”

His eyes pinch tight and he sighs in shame. He should have told you. It should have been the first thing out of his mouth, but then he saw you and he needed you and that was all that mattered in the moment. “Baby,” he begins, brushing the hair back from your face. “I'm not leaving you, and we are not goin’ back to that, ok?”

“But Johnny—”

“We don't need to worry about Johnny.”

Your eyes widen. “What? Why not?”

“Because, love,” Simon says, his hand finding the middle of your back and snuggling you into his chest, “Johnny sent me.”

@universitypenguin @ghostslittlegf

#simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley fic #cod ghost #cod fic #mw2

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dmitriene · 1 month

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THOUGHTS ABOUT GUNSLINGER SIMON MEETING YOU AS HE PASS BY.

cw: fluff, comfort, sugesstive, kind of established relationship, groping, teasing, playful banters, kissing, dirty talk, marking, lot of intimacy, boner, pet names, brief mentions of female and male anatomy, could be posessive behavior, hints on sex, simon is filthy. pairing: cowboy simon ghost riley x fem reader

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

thinking about gunslinger!simon — he meets you at the store, riding through town on a powerful black stallion to cross the road, and maybe buy a few things, if the sharp gaze of his dark bottomless eyes hadn't caught on your silhouette in a small grocery store, well, seems like he would definitely linger a little longer there, spent a night, even.

you've gone out to buy some small grocery shopping and maybe treat yourself to some pastries, but all your plans go down the drain when the wooden door of the store opens with a bell ringing above it and a cunning, smug bright red skull shaped mask walks in, carrying the identity of its owner, Ghost, whom you know as Simon.

— «ah, see who the horse has brought — eek!» you're in a hurry to notice sharply, but you don't have time to anticipate how quickly he'll cross the line from the door to you, letting you only feel the hurried touch of rough leather gloves over the curve of your waist, clad in the fabric of your dress, before he reaches out and squeezes your rounded ass, ripping out a high squeak out between your lips which he swallows hastily.

he turns you around to pin your back against the shelves of canned food and other goods, blocking the view of surprised eyes of another folks towards both of you, as he casually lifts his mask to his nose to slot his dry, tobacco scented lips to yours, licking inside your warm mouth with fervor of hungry mutt, intertwining his warm tongue with yours for just a fleeting moment before letting go of you.

simon pulls away from your lips just slightly, letting your breath blend together and his teeth pass against your lower lip in a playful bite, as you curl your dainty hand against his dark vest, shooting him a glare as your another hand grip a shopping basket stronger, your tongue slips between puffy lips to lick them, while your gaze focus on simon's sly squint of eyes and his wide grin that he hides behind his mask, and you spat stricktly — “and what this was about? that's how you say hello now?„

simon is amused by your play of the strict, spoiled girl, cause he sees how your eyes flutter shyly during a kiss before closing, and how you sigh into his mouth very quietly, only for him to hear, so he allows you to behave in this way, and in return he demands nothing more than a submission, even when he hoists you by the waist and carries to the exit, forcing you to hurriedly put the basket on the wooden shelf of the store and grab his biceps, pulling, demanding to designate his actions with at least a word, and he chuckles hoarsely — “jus' taking what's mine, can'' i, dovie?„

that makes you huff, «taking what's his» he says, in the meantime preventing you from shopping and doing whatever he pleases to you in public, you have long since lost all shame in his company, so that the words and looks of the townspeople do not mean much to you, but you allow yourself to let him know how displeased you are with his actions, frowning and pouting your lips, adding meekly — “and don't let me shop properly so i'll have what to eat, huh? very kind of you, Sir Ghost„

he visibly rolls his eyes, resembling boiled caramel in the sunset light, before glancing at your frowning brows and the way you pout your swollen from his kiss lips, before his leather covered gloved fingers wrap around your chin and turn your face a little more in his direction, so that simon can press the fabric of his mask into your ear.

— “we can pretty stay here, darling, if you won' me to bend you agains' shop's woll and fuck you for everyone to see?„

of course, the question is nothing more than rhetorical, because you won't agree to this, but it's worth it to see how your eyes widen and round like beads, and your skin definitely flushes, you can't utter a word, your lips parting silly like one of a fish, while simon takes advantage of this moment to put you on his horse before untie it from the rope, and climb in after you, sitting comfortably behind your back.

a position that allows him to grab your hips to pull you closer to him, making the softness of your ass brush against tenting hardness in his trousers, which pokes in the swell of your ass that is definitely not his revolver.

pleased, simon grabs the reins and tugs them, lightly tapping the sides of his black stallion with his feet, as his chin suddenly touches the curve of your shoulder, sending shivers down your spine.

— “i think i need to leave another one in more visible place, wha' do you think, dove?„ drawls his smoky voice, when he pulls the sleeve of your dress slightly with his chin, looking at the devil's mark, his bite, on your shoulders skin for anyone to see, if it weren't for the clothes behind which it can be hidden, not that he likes it, simon himself would have liked if you had worn it openly.

— “s — shush it„ you mutter, looking at him out of the corner of your vision with a little seriousness, adjusting the sleeve of your dress with slightly trembling fingers before continuing to stare ahead, while his broad muscular chest behind you quiver in a hoarse laugh, as he quietly, meant just for you, adds — “course, darling, i'll save this for later, yeah? sure you would be more talkative in bed, hun„

and he may be right, but it will be for his ears only.

— “when i would be balls deep in this little cunt of yours, birdy„

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jackactuallywrites · 2 months

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Hidden Paradise

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (detailed shagging)

Warnings: Unprotected sex and also shower sex which we all know is unsafe

Summary: You walk in on a man in the shower, it takes you seeing him in the skull mask a week later to realise it was Ghost, and he is very intrigued by your reaction

Notes: This absolutely wouldn’t be possible without @xxven my muse and pookie and beta reader who gave me the plot 🤍❤️ (also raven on TikTok for making a hot thirst trap that inspired a whole scene)

Word Count: 4,195 (I am very horny for ghost)

ao3 link

There was very little luxury to be found on a military base; your military fatigues were never soft, your boots were the cheapest given by the contractors, your bed squeaked every time you so much as moved an inch, and there wasn’t so much as a tealight allowed in the barracks.

However, you’d found a quiet sanctuary. Far from the rest of the buildings on the base, there was a small shower block, disused and forgotten about in favour of the newer, more convenient showers. The water pressure wasn’t all that great, and the tiles would probably never return to whatever shade of white they’d started out as, but all that mattered was that it was so wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

Silence was one of the hardest commodities to come across on a military base; there was always something going on, whether it be a training exercise with a hard-edged sergeant screaming at recruits or the grunts trying out whatever shiny new piece of equipment the government had seen fit to waste money on, but out there in the shower block, muffled by a copse of trees, there was nothing. Beautiful, precious, nothing.

Today had been yet another long lesson in tedium, worsened by the fact that your most beloved friends were out in the field, busy repairing the vehicles with whatever they could scavenge from the base. You already felt exhausted at the idea of how much paperwork you’d have to do after they’d torn through the place, and the day proved you right, with you having to go to every single place in the garages to check what stock had been taken as mechanics had an annoying habit of forgetting to write down what they’d used. It was long into the evening by the time you’d finally finished putting in the orders to replace every strange bit of junk the mechanics had used, and all you could think about was the long shower you were going to take.

The route through the forest was one of the only places you could get away with wearing your headphones and listening to music without getting scolded by the sergeant on patrol, and you took advantage of this privilege every time, blasting some classic disco music in your ears as you approached the shower block, blissfully unaware of the world outside. If not, you might have noticed the sound of the shower running.

As such, you walked into the block thinking of nothing but how your new eucalyptus shower steamer would smell, having got fairly good reviews online. You already had a favourite shower at this point, the one on the very end, with the best water pressure that the rusted old pipes could provide, though it had no door to speak of. You walked along the yellowed tile floor, passing by the empty showers until you finally reached your favourite one, only to find that it was very much not empty.

Standing under the sputtering stream of water was a tall, well-built man, his tan back glistening under the hundreds of droplets of water, highlighting the various white scars on his back, some of them small, some of them intimidatingly large. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down, admiring the muscles in his back and perfectly toned legs, as well as a surprisingly sculpted ass. Whoever he was, he was statuesque in his beauty, as though he had been carved out of marble, and as he turned around to face you, showcasing the golden hair that trailed down from his abs, you caught a glimpse of his shaft, thick and long, yet quickly covered by a large hand.

It was that movement that broke the lustful spell you were under, and your eyes finally stopped ogling his body and flicked up to his face. You didn’t recognise him, not his pale green eyes or his crooked nose, but you could absolutely recognise the outrage on his face, and you yanked down your headphones, keeping your eyes firmly above his waist, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.” His voice was little more than a snarl, “Get out.” You had absolutely no desire to argue with a man built like that, so you gave a quick nod and hurried back out of the shower block, not willing to spend a single second more in his presence.

Since your encounter in the showers, not a single night had gone past where you hadn’t dreamed about the man, his body, his hands, the dark blond hair that led down his navel, and the thick veins on his forearms. It lurked in the back of your mind, eternally present as a lustful little memory to entertain you during the more boring moments of your day.

Yet again, you were in another meeting writing down what items had been used over the week and what needed to be ordered for the next month's exercise. It was made slightly more interesting by the fact that this time, you were working with the SAS, and not just that, but with some of the most feared soldiers there were, including the worst of the worst, Ghost .

You swore you could almost feel the insidious aura coming from the man in the skull mask, as though it was radiating off him in dark waves. When he spoke, his words were sharp and to the point, never expending more energy than was strictly necessary, and rarely directing his attention to you, sitting in silence and taking notes, not that you were complaining. Every time the man spoke, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as though your body was trying to warn you that he was dangerous. It was only toward the end of the meeting that you finally spoke up, standing and reciting everything that you’d written down in your notebook.

It was times like that where you’d have to put on a brave face as if you feared the room of men no more than a pack of kittens, making sure your voice was loud and firm, forcing them to listen to you. None of them seemed particularly interested; after all, you were a perfect, albeit boring professional, yet you remained undeterred, making eye contact with each of them. Even Ghost was looking at you; you could see those pale green eyes watching you from underneath his skull mask with a strange intensity. You remained undeterred, staring back at the man as you read out the various things that were in stock and what would have to be ordered, yet there was something niggling at the back of your head. Those eyes were strangely familiar.

It took you a second to remember, and then the barely buried memory came back: the beautiful man in the shower, his body glistening, his toned muscles, and the dark blond hair that covered his navel. The words in your mouth died on your tongue, and you saw Ghost’s eyebrow raise underneath his mask as if he was intrigued by your reaction to him. You cleared your throat, hoping that the heat you felt in your cheeks wouldn’t show up on your skin as you dropped your eyes back down to your notebook, pointedly ignoring him as you focused back on your task, ensuring that you hadn’t missed anything.

Inexplicably, Ghost spoke up, interrupting your admittedly dull recital of your list, “How soon can we get a restock of the M16 mags?” His question forced you to look over at him, and his pale green eyes seemed as though they were trying to drill right through your head. You refused to back down this time, meeting his gaze no matter how prevalent the image of his naked body was in your mind, even if you did stumble over your words as you flipped through the pages, “Those mags, uh, the ammo for the M16 that is, we ordered those last Tues-Wednesday , so they’ll be in by the end of this week.”

You couldn’t see his expression under his mask, but you could have sworn that it tugged in a way that suggested he was smirking underneath the black fabric, a touch of smugness in his eyes. Was he flirting with you? There was no possible way for you to find out in the middle of a full room, so you decided to put that tantalising idea to the side, wrapping up the last few items on your list and then glancing around the room, “If there’s anything else, please send me an itemised list by the end of the day.”

With that, the meeting was over, every soldier packing up their files, undoubtedly each one as bored as you, and you had little desire to spend any more time with them, especially with the suspiciously intense look Ghost was giving you, so you gave your farewells and left the room as quickly as you could, doing your best to rid your mind of the confusing thoughts whirling around in your mind. Ghost, the supposed ‘psycho’ killer, was flirting with you. Or perhaps threatening you. You weren’t entirely sure which. And yet, you had a strange desire to find out, that small part of you that longed to step into dangerous territory. But how could you? That meeting had been the only time you’d ever interacted with the man; other than your brief encounter in the shower, it didn’t seem like there would ever be another opportunity to be alone with him.

Unless.

Regardless of how outraged he’d been previously, he’d seemed entirely intrigued by you in the meeting, almost amused. You’d seen the direction he was headed; if your mind wasn’t already overtaken with delusional optimism, you could have sworn that he was striding in the direction of the old shower block with what seemed like great determination.

This was one of those deciding moments, a fork in the path where you got to choose what the outcome would be: adherence to your usual routine or something far more thrilling. You could almost feel the clock ticking in your head, your time running short, and for once, you decided to be brave and at least a little bit stupid, heading to your barracks to pick up your things before heading out toward the shower block, adrenaline pounding in your veins as you made your way through the small woods to the brick building.

Even from the outside, you could hear the shuddering of the pipes as they desperately pumped water, your heart beginning to pick up the pace as you pushed open the heavy wooden door, closing it softly behind you, now able to hear the pattering of water on the tile floor and see the black clothing draped over the bench that ran the length of the wall. You walked down the centre of the block, approaching the last stall on the end, and yet, you couldn’t take that final step. Everything below the waist was screaming at you to leap into the shower with the man, yet your brain conjured images of the humiliating HR meeting you’d be in if you had, in fact, entirely misinterpreted what were admittedly very subtle hints. You didn’t dare push over that line with a man so far above you in rank, but you weren’t prepared to entirely give up, so you merely slunk into the stall next to his, stripping off your uniform and hanging it on the backside of the door, pulling it to and surrendering yourself to an unsatisfying shower.

The shower head shuddered as you twisted the knob for water, a few spats of water dripping out, yet nothing more. There was a good reason you stuck to that end stall; almost every other shower there had been neglected to the point of failure. You took this as a sign to give up, turning around to get your things, only to find Ghost standing in the now open doorway.

There was nothing but a towel lazily wrapped around his hips to cover him up, his blond hair already soaked, water leaving little trails down his body, pulling your eyes down. You quickly snapped your attention back to his face, your hands already going to cover your chest and between your legs instinctually. Ghost’s eyes lingered on your body before finally flicking to the broken shower head, then back to your face. You could see that intrigued twinkle in his eyes as he gave you a slightly smug smirk, gesturing toward the other shower stall with his head, “Mine works. We should share.”

You almost couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. The exact situation had been playing out in your mind ever since you’d seen him naked, yet never once had you made the connection between your shower Adonis and Lieutenant Ghost. The two couldn’t be reconciled in your head, but you quickly decided that this was a problem to be solved later, if at all. You turned your non-functioning shower off, though slightly reluctant to use the hand covering your chest to do so, and then walked out of the stall, ducking under Ghost’s arm holding the door open for you, and rounding the corner into the warm stream of the only functional shower, allowing the water to wash away all the important questions that should have been asked, only focusing on the present moment.

Though you’d chosen to face away from him, you could still hear the noise of his towel hitting the wall as he tossed it aside, your entire body tensing up as you felt his presence behind you, the nerves nipping at the back of your mind. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, trying to find something else to focus on to quiet your frenzied brain, your eyes flicking to the one bottle of his on the floor in the shower, trying to figure out what scent ‘original’ was supposed to be, and whether one liquid really could be shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Your thoughts on his toiletries were brought to an instant halt at the first touch of his hand on your hip, a questioning touch as though he was gauging your interest before moving any further. He might have been feared special forces, yet here, you retained a level of control, of security. You relaxed into his touch, leaning back until you bumped up against his chest, and his arm snaked around your stomach, wrapping tightly around your waist as he stepped forward into the stream from the shower, his head dipping down to rest in the crook of your neck. You could feel his other hand trail a path up your thigh before it, too, wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him in a tight embrace, like a man starved for any sort of touch.

For a moment, the two of you remained in that simple intimacy, your arms resting on top of his, enjoying the sheer pleasure of his embrace. Your hands were the first to move, your fingertips gently trailing over the muscles in his forearms, admiring the strength in them, unable to hold back a smile as you saw the not-so-subtle way he flexed them for you. His hand moved then, and you followed them with your own, one trailing down over your hipbone to the top of your thigh, gently stroking the skin there, the other one shifting up until it was just underneath your breast, pausing right before he touched anywhere interesting.

Clearly, he wasn’t about to touch anywhere without your explicit permission, and you decided to test him, pulling his left hand up until it was settled over your breast. His fingers paused, and you felt the tenseness in his arms, yet after a beat, he stretched out his fingers, tracing a little pattern over the swell of your breast, circling your nipple before his hand covered your boob entirely, gently squeezing it in his hand. You could feel his breathing growing heavier, every exhale blowing air over the skin of your neck, but you had no intention of stopping, relaxing into his touch, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes closed. The hand on your thigh had grown tight, fingers digging into your flesh, and you began to move his hand further in to where you could feel a growing need for his touch.

The further you moved his hand, the tighter his grip on your chest got, pulling you closer against him until you could finally feel his hardness pressed against the small of your back. His clear excitement emboldened you further, and you pushed his hand firmly between your legs, letting his fingers slightly part your labia to rest on your clit. That action earned you a low growl from him, and he buried his face into your shoulder as he pushed his fingers further down, touching the slick wetness beginning to leak out of your needy pussy. The second he felt your wetness, he drew his fingers back from you, digging them into your hip and pulling you firmly against him, rubbing the bridge of his nose against your neck as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

You had no problem allowing him to take his time, focusing on the simple pleasure of the warm water on your skin and the heat emanating from his chest to your back. His hand moved back to your pussy, more determined than before, as he slid his fingers down your slit, gently probing your slick hole with his fingers. As he slowly slid one in, he let out a strangled groan, shifting his face so he could bite down on the flesh of your neck, his other hand massaging your breast as his finger began to easily slip inside you. He stretched his thumb up to rest on your clit as he gently began to pump his finger in and out of you, rubbing in little circles, and you couldn’t help but let out a little moan.

The slightest of noises from you seemed to spur him on, and he pushed another finger inside you, beginning to kiss and suck at your neck as he did so, your body easily accepting his two fingers, and so he followed it with a third, his dick twitching with excitement against your back as all three of his fingers sank inside you without resistance.

Whatever good sense you had left was beginning to dissipate in the haze of your lust, and you reached your hand behind you to wrap around his cock, slowly beginning to stroke him as he gently fucked you with his fingers. He rewarded you with a soft groan in your ear, and so you quickened your pace, beginning to pump his dick in earnest, wanting him to receive the same pleasure as you. Your body was eagerly opening up around him, and the last bit of your intelligence vanished as your desperation for him overpowered you, and you begged for stupidity in two words.

“Fuck me.”

There was no hesitance in Ghost’s touch now as he pulled his fingers out of you, turning you to face him and then bending down to grab your thighs and lift you up, pinning you to the cool, damp wall of the shower stall. You could see the lust in his eyes as he shifted to hold you with only one hand, the other quickly moving to his dick, positioning it at your slick entrance and then slowly beginning to lower you down onto him. There was no comparison to the pleasure you felt, not only from feeling him slide into you, but to watch his face as he did so, his open lips, the desperate look in his eyes, his gaze entirely focused on you as though you were Aphrodite herself. You sunk your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud as you felt him stretch out your insides, yet you let your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails raking his skin as you felt every inch of him.

When you finally sunk down to the base of his cock, he leant forwards to rest his head on the wall beside you, clearly struggling to contain his composure, his hand digging into the flesh of your thigh, the other splayed out on the cool tile wall. He took a second to breathe before he began to slowly thrust up into you, his hand shifting from your thigh to your hip to pin you in place. Even in your wetness, you could feel how big he was, filling you up so perfectly, and you arched your back against him, desperate to feel every inch of him inside you. His eyes were on you now, and he moved his hands from the wall to your lips, tugging your bottom lip out from between your teeth and issuing you a singular command, his gaze intense.

“I want to hear you.”

Even in your pleasure, you couldn’t stop yourself from obeying a command from your superior officer, and you let out the moans you’d been holding back, tightening your legs around his waist to pull him into you as much as possible, your fingers raking against his back as he fucked you, his hips beginning to move more forcefully against you. His fingers now moved to your hair, brushing the errant strands out of your face and then shifting down to cup your cheek, lifting your face, his voice soft, “Look at me.”

There was no mistaking the utter lust in his gaze when you looked up at him, yet you could also see quite a great deal of tenderness, of genuine care, which only served to heighten your pleasure, your hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his neck as you clung to him, desperately grinding your hips against him. He picked up his pace further yet still restrained himself from fully slamming into you, his grip like a vice on your thigh. His voice grew hoarser as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, clearly strained, “Touch yourself.”

In another situation, you might have felt insecure, yet you were entirely awash in lustful pleasure, and so you obeyed, reaching down with one hand to begin rubbing circles around your increasingly sensitive clit, feeling that same build of pleasure in your core as Ghost fucked you faster still, his expression growing more desperate by the second. He leant forward to whisper his final command against your lips.

“Come for me.”

Your body seemed honour-bound to obey him as your pussy clenched around his dick, your pleasure building until it finally crescendoed, with Ghost’s lips crashing onto yours as you finished, his hips moving frantically as he desperately fucked you, his thrusts stuttering as he finally shot his load deep inside you, his body crushing yours into the wall in a tight embrace. Your kisses became softer as the both of you came down from your frenzied high, his grip on your body loosening slightly, your death grip around his neck becoming less deadly.

With a satisfied groan, Ghost let himself sink to the floor, pulling you down along with him into his lap, letting his dick remain inside you as you settled more comfortably on top of him, resting against his chest as he lazily wrapped his arms around your lower back, cradling you against him. After such bodily heat, the comparatively cool water of the shower felt heavenly on your skin, washing away your intermingled sweat.

You probably could have slept there, with Ghost still buried inside you, yet he was not so spellbound. With a gentle movement, he pulled his softening length out of you, reaching over to grab the bottle of soapy liquid he’d left on the floor. Then, he repositioned you so you were now sitting in between his legs, his thick thighs boxing you in as he opened the bottle behind you. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, nor did you care, still awash in a pleasant afterglow. The touch of his fingers gently massaging the liquid into your hair was a heavenly surprise, and you practically melted into his hands, a human-sized pile of putty perfectly manipulated by him. He ran his fingers through the length of your hair, thoroughly soaping up every strand before he let the cool water wash away the suds.

Then, he got to work on your body. Never had you been so grateful for three-in-one soap as it meant you didn’t have to miss a second of his warm chest against your back as he began to soap up your body, his fingers incredibly gentle against your skin, paying attention to every single part of you, and then letting you lean back against his chest as the water washed everything away, his arms coming to rest around your waist. Every single care of yours seemed to follow the soap down the train as you relaxed into him, enjoying the way he rested his chin on your head as you closed your eyes, finally entirely at ease.

#jack writes #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod fic #cod ghost #ghost smut #cod smut #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley fic #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x female reader

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sketchyfandomgirl · 3 months

Text

Thinking about Simon who is too quiet for his own good. I’m talking Michael Myers level of stealth. Despite being 240 pounds of pure muscle and badassery, Simon is ridiculously quiet with his footsteps. Even his breath is soft and controlled whether or not he realizes it.

He doesn’t always mean to pop out of the shadows, maybe you should learn to be more observant!

Simon always scares the daylights out of you when he seems to suddenly appear right behind you to ask a question, or looming around the corner like Michael Myers and his stupid hedge.

The only way he can reveal himself is when the traitorous floorboards creak under his weight, or the rustling of clothes if you listen carefully enough.

He sometimes uses it for evil, and gets a kick out of stalking right behind you like a lion on the prowl, spooking you when he’s basically on top of you. A simple “boo” is all he ever whispers, but he might as well be screaming in your ear with how high you jump in surprise.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod ghost #simon ghost x reader #simon riley fanfic #cod fanfic #simon riley fic #my writing

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gloomwitchwrites · 3 months

Text

What Are We (1 of 4)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, possessive!Simon, touching (lots of it), kissing, romantic tension

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Simon wants an answer. And if you're going to reject him, you better look him in the eye when you say that you don't want him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // what are we masterlist

You’re not looking in front of you. You’re not even glancing at your feet.

Your gaze is attached to the precarious stack of files in your hands, too focused on keeping them balanced and together to notice anything or anyone else around you.

Which is why you don’t see Simon until it’s too late.

His hand on your upper arm is a vice, and there is no escape from him. With a quick jerk, you’re rudely pulled in the opposite direction, and promptly shoved into a coat closet of an office. Some of the papers in your arms go flying, and you desperately reach for them, irritation burning in the back of your throat.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, after snagging the last wayward piece of paper.

Simon stands quiet in front of the closed door, arms crossed over his chest. Even now, when you’re annoyed with him, you can’t help but to rake your gaze over his muscled form, taking in every morsal. It’s a crime not to do so.

“What’s wrong with me?” mocks Simon slowly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Your eyebrows immediately rise toward your hairline in surprise. Then, just as quickly, your mind catches up to the situation. You know exactly what Simon is up to. He’s done this before, cornered you in a such a way as this as a means to break you, to make you bend until you completely break for him.

“No,” you state, shaking your head. “We’re not doing this. I know what you’re up to, Simon.” You press the stack of papers against your chest, crossing your arms over them protectively, one finger pointed in his direction in accusation.

Simon takes one unhurried step away from the door, and that singular move is entirely too close for comfort. “You don’t have the right to pull me aside whenever you want,” you continue. “To be domineering and push—” Simon takes another step and you nearly drop the stack of papers.

“Back off,” you bite, not entirely believing your own strength in the delivery.

“I deserve an answer.” Simon’s voice is not exactly a growl, but his timbre roots you to the spot.

“About what?” you stammer, already confused and unsure of where Simon is taking this.

“About what we are.”

“What?” Your voice breaks on the end, going a bit high.

“We’ve been on each other the last few months. Or did you forget?”

No. You haven’t. How could you? Just yesterday, you were a submissive puddle beneath him, allowing him everything.

Simon arches a single eyebrow and you immediately comply without thought. “Why would you ask me that?”

Your question is a cop-out. You know this. Simon knows it.

When Simon closes in, you do not move or reprimand him for doing so. He takes another step, this time into your space, and you are blocked from leaving this cramped enclosure.

“Did you think I’d forget, love?” croons Simon, and the sweetness of it is enough to flame the slumbering heat within you into a small fire. “That I didn’t hear you.” Simon leans in. “That I missed what you murmured while I was buried deep inside you?”

You swallow, salvia sticking in your throat as you clearly recall the sighed words of pleasure that dripped almost inaudibly from your lips.

I love you.

It was a mistake. A slip up.

Your voice is strained. Defeated. You’re not escaping from this. There is nowhere for you to run. “What do you want?”

“I want you to admit it.”

You glance away from Simon, hugging the papers close to your chest. “You’re mistaken.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his chest heave and his shoulders straighten. You turn toward the nearby desk, wanting to unburden the load in your arms. The moment the papers hit the desk, Simon grabs the lower half of your face, forcing your gaze back to him.

“Simon!”

He pins you against the desk, hands braced on the edge, his balaclava covered face inches away from yours.

“If you’re going to lie to me. If you’re going to reject me. You better look me in the eye when you do it.” You stare him down. Unmoving. “Don’t deny yourself,” he murmurs, one hand lightly squeezing your upper thigh.

Simon’s mouth, though covered by the balaclava, is dangerously close to yours. You feel his warm breath against your face as it filters through the fabric. It’s light, almost imperceptible. But it is there, and it makes you wanton, to close the distance.

“Why do you care so much?” you reply softly. “I thought you didn’t want more.”

Simon closes the distance even more, resting his forehead against your own. “Do you want me to recount all the ways that isn’t true?”

“Don’t be cruel.”

Simon presses his hips against you, showing you just how cruel he can be. “Then don’t play games.” From your face, Simon relocates his hand to the back of your neck. “Give me an answer. What are we?”

What are we?

As if you know. As if you’ve given the idea any life. But you have, haven’t you? You’ve imagined more than just simple meetings. And it isn’t like you and Simon get what you need out of your system and move on. There is always after. There is always before. There is always the comfort and the gentleness between all the rough, sharp edges.

What are we?

You give him the answer he’s seeking because maybe—just maybe—it’s what he desires too.

“I’m yours,” you breathe, and Simon’s sigh of relief is like a blooming flower. “I’m yours.”

“You’re mine,” repeats Simon, his mouth coming down on yours through the balaclava.

You don’t even care. This closeness is a balm to your soul. The teether you’re seeking.

Simon’s hands drop to your hips, lift you from the ground, and place you firmly on the edge of the desk. He slides between your legs, and your arms drape around his neck in anticipation of what comes next.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @josephquinnschesthair @saoirse06 @therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21

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sweetsreverie · 1 year

Note

I absolutely love the Ghost x Pink!Reader fic you wrote! Could you write a sequel? Maybe a breakfast next morning + cute and fluffy waking up with Simon. Those two were apart from each other for a while I assume so being a bit clingy is understandable.

summary: pt. 2 of this opposites attract fic. you and simon spend the morning together before he leaves once more.

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x female reader

wc: 1,147

Simon and the rest of 141 slept soundly that night. Simon was glad to be at home with you, in his own bed, and the others were glad to not be sleeping on the ground and in a proper house. You’d also given Soap a sherpa-lined blanket to sleep under, and he definitely enjoyed that.

As happy as you were to have Simon home for the night, you knew it was going to be just that: for the night. He would probably be leaving as soon as the sun came up, and it wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary for you to wake up to his side of the bed empty and cold.

But when you woke up the next morning and opened your eyes, he was still beside you. He wasn’t asleep, but rather just resting beside you as you did.

“You guys haven’t left yet?” You ask him softly, and you stretch your arms out towards him, which he welcomes. You lean over and put your head on his chest, with your arm around his waist. Simon isn’t always one for cuddling, but he always lets you rest against him.

“We should probably be gone by now. But I don’t hear Price making a fuss so we must be fine.” Simon says softly in his gravelly morning voice that you’d come to love so much. His hair is tousled and his eyes are droopy, and it just makes you want to tuck him in once more.

“Let him make a fuss in my house. He’ll see.” You mumble against him, and you feel the small chuckle that leaves Simon.

“Yeah. you’ll give him hell, won’t you.”

“That’s right.”

Simon gives the top of your head a little tap of his fingertips, and he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and brushes some hair away from your face once you turn and look up at him.

His touch is featherlight as always.

“We should get up though. Don’t want those bums to think they can stay here forever.” Simon murmurs, and when he moves to try and sit up, your grip around his middle tightens.

“Five more minutes?” You ask him hopefully, and he settles back down in his spot on the bed.

You and Simon spend a few more minutes in the bed before you get up, and you make your way to the kitchen after freshening up in the bathroom, and Simon stays behind to brush his teeth.

The three other men are awake by the time you enter the room, and Price was already working on folding the blankets and cleaning up the pillows and things.

“Are you guys hungry? I can make some tea or coffee- I think we have some biscuits too?” You offer them, and honestly you don’t have a ton in the kitchen, considering you weren’t expecting to be feeding guests any time soon.

“That would be wonderful, thank you very much Y/N. We’ll be out of your hair shortly. Thank you for letting us stay the night here.” Price says while he takes a seat on the couch, and Soap sits down at the kitchen table while you start warming up a kettle of water.

“You know, I think Ghost is real lucky to have a woman like you in his life.” Soap says, and not even a second later, Simon steps in, clad in his gear and some clean clothes.

“And why is that?” He asks, and while you could barely contain the giggle that left you, Soap was quick to shut up. Simon’s hand brushes against your waist while he passes by you in the kitchen, and that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by the others.

The five of you sip on tea and munch on biscuits, and you know that shortly after, Simon is going to pack up his things and head out again.

Simon hates having to leave you. He hates not being able to tell you where he is, or when he’ll be home. That is.. if he comes home.

So while Price, Soap, and Gaz start to pack their things into the truck they came here in, Simon takes you back to the bedroom and sits on the bed with you. He sits with you on his lap, and one of your arms is around his neck while you lean against him.

“You know I’ll be back soon, love. I always come back to you, don’t I?” Simon asks you, and he reaches up to tuck some hair behind your ear. You nod, though you still always fear the worst while he’s away.

“You do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you while you’re gone.” You tell him softly, and he puts his hand on your knee and gives it an assuring squeeze.

“I don’t want you to worry yourself sick over me, Y/N. You know that.” Simon says while he rests his chin on top of your head. Simon doesn’t want to imagine you worrying about him while he’s away. He wants you to just take care of yourself, and he’ll return in due time.

“Meeting your team makes me feel better, you know.” You tell him, and Simon lets out a quiet chuckle while he shifts on the bed, and gives you a gentle nudge so you stand up, and he stands up also.

“C’mon. I gotta get going” Simon says while he leads you out of the bedroom, and he slips his mask over his head during the short walk outside. You take his hand as you walk, and as the two of you exit the house, Soap grins at the sight of Ghost holding hands with someone.

“Alright, you guys be safe, okay? And you take care of my Simon.” You tell them, and Gaz lets out a quiet chuckle while Price gets in the truck.

“We all look out for each other, so don’t you worry. He’s in good hands. Mostly.” Gaz says while he looks over at Soap, who narrows his eyes at the man briefly.

“Alright, you two say your goodbyes then.” Soap says, and he glances at Gaz before the two of them climb in the truck.

Simon turns to you then, and he brushes a gloved finger over your cheek carefully.

“I love you. I’ll see you soon, yeah?” He says in a hushed voice, as if the guys in the truck could hear him.

“I love you too. Take care of yourself and them. Come back home to me, Simon.” You return, and you stand up on your toes slightly to kiss his cheek over the mask before he gives you a wave, and he climbs in the car with the rest of 141.

You watch as they pull away from the house, and you and Simon share a glance before the truck disappears over the hill.

tag list: @ho3forghost @juggernaunt @shellfishb34ch @redpool

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty reader insert #female reader #pink!reader #simon riley fic

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ghostlychief · 1 year

Text

Pockets of Peace

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (goes by code name ‘Swan’)

Summary: More often than not, you find yourself in the presence of Simon Riley, aka “Ghost.” You find that your blooming friendship with the aloof Lieutenant provides you with a blanket of comfort, offering you a place of solace within his company. It’s no different when you’re injured during your next mission.

Warnings: mentions of bullet wound, blood, nothing too graphic; fluff; hurt/comfort

Wc: 3.3k+

A/n: This is purely an indulgent fic, as I’ve become obsessed with the mw2 character ghost lmao. If you stumble across it, i hope you enjoy!! I really had a fun time writing this, so i hope you have as much enjoyment while reading. <3 (sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes, i’ve read this over and over and bound to miss a few)

ALSO: I’ve deemed Peace by Taylor swift this couples’ song so have a listen when you’re reading 🫶🏻

Part 2 found here: Weighted Blanket

When you first joined task force 141, it took you some time to feel fully a part of the team and comfortable. You were more on the quiet side, and chose your friends carefully; comes with the line of work, you figure. What you didn’t expect was to become closest to the man that goes by the name of “Ghost.” He was tall, quiet, and the only thing you could see of his face were his eyes, but for some odd reason, you two clicked. You frequently got paired up during missions, working well along side one another. You guys got the job done swiftly and with little difficulty and your skill sets complimented each other as well. While Ghost used brute force and took the enemy straight on, you used your size to hide and take down the enemy by surprise, from a far distance. You were the best sniper on the team.

You and Ghost completed mission after mission with flying colors, only the occasional scratch or two indicated you were ever in combat. Did he still intimidate the hell out of you? Well, of course. His intimidation and brooding atmosphere only made you want to be friends with him more.

Your acquaintanceship with Ghost started to bloom 6 months after you joined the team. After one particularly long and exhausting mission, you and Ghost ended up drinking a 12 pack in his room. It became a regular occurrence after that, with you quickly realizing that winding down with Ghost was the best way to recover from a mission. The conversation always started off with work talk but after a couple of beers, the conversation would steer towards other topics. During these nights, Ghost became more talkative, slowly opening up to you, and you the same. One evening, after Ghost had a couple beers in him, he gave you a nickname, “Little Swan.” That was the first time he ever made your heart race.

During these late-night chats, you learned that he likes his coffee sweet with flavored creamer, but he likes his tea black. You also learned that he only wears black socks and has a whole drawer filled with skull balaclavas. One night, you may or may not have stolen one after he passed out. It was all worth it though when you showed up to the team meeting the next morning sporting it.

As you entered the meeting room the next morning for the debrief, you came up to stand beside Ghost, who had his back turned toward you. The other members in the room raised their eyebrows but tried to hide their shock, as to not to give away Ghost’s surprise.

Smiling, you bumped shoulders with Ghost and said, “Damn, I really pull off your look, huh?” You grinned up at him, eyes bright, then turned back to the table to see all the other team members with their mouths slightly agape. Ghost glanced over at you, and his eyes widened slightly before going back to normal. He shook his head, “Fucking hell,” but not without you noticing the amusing glint in his eyes.

One morning you were eating breakfast in the dining hall, looking down at your book, when someone sat across from you. Usually, you ate alone, so it was a surprise to see Ghost sitting opposite of you with a steaming mug of coffee and a banana. You just smiled at him and went back to reading, and he ate his breakfast. No words were said, but every morning after that, you and the Lieutenant ate breakfast together. There was the occasional banter, but most times, you both enjoyed the quiet morning in each other’s company.

When you weren’t on a mission, you spent your time training and hanging out with the other team members on the base.

You typically trained with Soap, whether it be shooting or hand-to-hand combat. One day while you were on the mats sparing with Soap, he suddenly stopped, smirked at you and said, “I think you’ve got yourself an admirer, Swan.” With your brows furrowed, you looked up to see none other than Ghost leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you and Soap train.

You grinned and waved at him, and much to Soap’s surprise, Ghost waved back. Turning back to Soap, you shrugged and said, “He’s been helping me with my form.” Needless to say, you won the next round, and you didn’t need Ghost to remove his balaclava to know that he was smiling.

You and Ghost were experts at your jobs, that’s how you’re on task force 141 in the first place. That doesn’t mean every mission goes smoothly- as you soon found out on your next one.

You and Ghost finally reached the safe house. The only downside was that it was in the middle of nowhere and at the base of a snowy mountain, which did not help your worrying thoughts of making it through the night. Ghost unlocked the door and you both did a quick scan of the place to make sure it was all clear. Once you guys cleared the space, you groaned and plopped down onto the couch, finally finding respite for your injured leg. Although the mission was a success, you guys got banged up pretty bad, nothing fatal, but just worse enough for you to immediately collapse on the couch. Ghost seemed to be faring much better than you, he didn’t get shot after all.

You don’t want to glance down at your thigh, because you know you will be met with a mess of a wound and blood. So much blood. It’s a wonder how you managed to escape and make the trek to the safe house.

You have Ghost to thank for that; he covered your ass and helped you along the way. You guys had spent the last few hours switching between a walk and jog to get to the safe house, and away from enemy lines.

The first time you guys slowed to a walk, Ghost wrapped your arm around his neck to support most of your weight. However, this turned out to make it harder to walk because of the height difference between the two of you. He was a mountain of a man, and as much as you appreciated his attempt to help, it would have been quicker if you just limped along. “I’m going to need you to make it to the safe house, Swan. I can’t have you dying on my watch.”

“Copy that, Lt.” You grimaced, now feeling the full effects of being shot in the thigh. Just your fucking luck, you think.

“Riley, call me Riley.”

That was new. You never referred to him as anything other than Ghost or Lieutenant. Despite the immense amount of pain you’re in, you can’t miss the feeling of small sparks igniting in your tummy.

Now seated on the couch and breathing heavily, you watch as Ghost removes most of his tactical gear, the skull mask included. Although, you conclude that he probably has at least two concealed weapons somewhere on his body. You try not to think to much about where they could be placed.

You finally bite the bullet and look down at your leg. “Fuck me.”

“How’s it looking?” You glance up to see Ghost towering over you. His hands are on his hips as he assesses your leg, but the fabric of your pants is making it hard to properly see the damage, even though your cargo pants are torn and bloodied where the bullet made contact with your body.

“Well, seeing that a bullet teared through the side of my thigh, my leg has seen better days.”

Ghost lets out a low chuckle, which you think you must have imagined. You must have lost too much blood; did he just laugh? That was also new. You’ve been on this task force for a little over two years, and despite what everyone would call you and Ghost’s acquaintanceship, borderline friendship, you’ve never heard the man chuckle, at least not at something you said. This mission is breaching all new kinds of territories for you both.

“Right. We need to get it cleaned, stitched and bandaged before it gets infected.” Ghost had already set down his pack by the fire place, so he goes back over there to retrieve the first aid kit.

“You’re not expecting me to take my pants off, are you?” Your question comes out breathy, the pain in your leg getting worse and you let out a low groan when you shift.

You think you hear a scoff fall from Ghost’s lips. “I can either cut your pants, so you’re left with only one pant leg, or, you can remove them and salvage what’s left.” When you hesitate to answer, he adds, “Don’t worry Swan, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff. Typical man answer.

You cross your arms and think about your choices, well, lack of choices. Ghost is still turned from you, which allows the warmness that bloomed on your cheeks to reside. Now all that’s left is a scowl on your pretty face. Whether you’re scowling because of the effect Ghost’s words had on you, or the sucky situation you’re in, you don’t know.

Quite frankly, you don’t want to know. You can’t let yourself spiral into the abyss that harbors feelings for a certain 6’4 man; feelings that live at the bottom, just waiting to be unleashed. What you have going between the two of you is good, fine. Your quiet routine is the perfect balance between colleagues and friends, you can’t fuck it up now.

He turns around and makes his way over to you, his heavy boots rattle the floor and his tall stature intimidates you. You find that the small sparks start to ignite again and you hate yourself for it.

Damn you, Riley.

“So, what’s the verdict?” He’s back to looming over you, and you can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose or not. His hands are back on his hips, as he awaits your answer.

Arms still crossed over your chest, you huff out, “Looks like I’m taking my pants off, Riley. Don’t enjoy it too much.”

He slightly shakes his head, but you can’t tell if he’s smiling or not because of the skull balaclava covering half his face. A part of you, buried deep down in that abyss, hopes that he is. But you’re only privy to his eyes. Which you’ve come to find hold all the weight of his emotions. You sometimes can’t help but get lost in them, trying to figure out all of the mysteries Ghost holds within him.

He turns around to give you some privacy, and takes off his jacket. You’re quick to remove your pants, wincing when the fabric brushes over your wound.

“You can turn around now.” Your quiet voice fills the room, and Ghost turns around slowly, and his jacket is clasped in his left hand. His eyes roam from your feet to your face, and you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you. He’s probably just assessing you to figure out how badly you’re actually hurt, but your heart can’t tell the difference, and it beats erratically in your chest.

You’ve haphazardly put your pants over your lower half, trying to cover yourself up, but it barely covers you. Ghost can still make out the top of your legs and the beginning of your underwear.

How embarrassing. The first time he see’s me in my underwear is in a grungy safehouse and I’m covered in dirt and blood.

He doesn’t say anything, and stretches his left hand out, his jacket swings towards you. You look up at him, brows furrowed and your mouth forms a slight pout. You don’t even have to ask before he’s muttering, “To cover up, your pants aren’t doing a great job and I’m sure you’re already cold.”

He locks eyes with you and you take the jacket from him, and your fingers briefly graze his, sparks getting brighter and brighter.

“Thank you, Riley.” He’s crouched down in front of you now, and you smile at him. You situate the jacket so it’s covering you up more, but leave the bullet wound uncovered so he can take care of it.

He looks massive even though he’s crouched on the floor in front of you. You’re still not taller than him even though you’re perched up on the couch. Your hands slightly twitch as you fight the urge to run them along his massive shoulders that are at the perfect height and distance for you to do so.

He takes his gloves off, and gets to work. When his hands first make contact with your skin, you slightly flinch. He glances up at you, and you smile sheepishly at him. “Cold hands.”

He lets out a grunt of understanding and gets back to cleaning the wound. Luckily the bullet wasn’t lodged in your skin so he didn’t have to go fishing for it, which would have hurt like a bitch.

You let out a hiss when the antiseptic touches your flesh, it stings so fucking bad and you’re trying not to cry. The last thing you want to do is cry in front of him, with no pants on.

Even though your leg is sizzling from the antiseptic, Ghost’s hands are gentle. One is holding your thigh, lightly grasping the inner part, as the other softly wipes the wound and blood surrounding it. You watch him as he continues and in no time, the wound is clean.

“You’re doing great little Swan, but here comes the hard part.”

You sigh and brace yourself for the stitching. You find yourself not caring if you cry anymore, you just want this to be over with. You’re cold, hungry and in pain and figure, there are worse things than to cry in front of him.

You don’t understand how someone with such big hands is so nimble and gentle, but Ghost sews you up quickly. There are tears in your waterline, on the precipice of trailing down your cheeks. One or two tears may have fallen, but you can’t recall because of the searing pain that courses through your outer thigh. The only evidence is the wetness that now coats your cheeks. If Ghost noticed, he didn’t say anything, which you’re grateful for.

He gives your leg a small pat, signaling that he’s done, then grabs the bandage. He wraps you up, and voices that you’re all set.

“Fuck, that was painful.” You sigh and rest your head back against the couch, forgetting that you’re pant-less, Ghost’s jacket doing wonders to keep your legs warm and cover your lower region.

Ghost stands, but before he walks away, you reach out a hand and lightly touch is wrist. Your small voice fills the room again, “Thank you, Riley.” The sincerity from you evident in your tired eyes.

Once again, his eyes lock on yours and he gives you a small nod, before heading to the bathroom to wash up. You take this as his way of giving you privacy to put your pants back on, which you do carefully, trying not to upset your wound.

Once you’re dressed you lay back on the couch. You close your eyes, his jacket draped over you. You remind yourself to return it to him, he must feel cold in his short sleeve shirt. I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute.

*~*~*~*

The next thing you feel are your shoulders shaking. Then screaming. Who’s screaming? The shaking and screaming don’t stop and you feel yourself start to cry, worried about what’s going on.

“Y/n? Y/n, wake up!”

Huh?

You jolt awake, and only then do you realize it was you screaming bloody murder, and Ghost was shaking your shoulders to wake you from your night terror.

When you sat up, the blanket that was on top of you fell halfway off the couch. Wait, blanket? Since when did I have a blanket over me?

You’re breathing heavy and place your head in your hands, trying to hide the tears streaming down your face. Ghost is beside you, crouched on the floor and his hand rubs your back. Up down, up down. The feeling relaxes you momentarily, but you still feel on edge, your nightmare still prevalent in your mind.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Your voice croaks, and you wearily glance at Ghost, who’s eyes are already on you. One might say they hold concern in them.

“You did, but don’t worry about it, seriously. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” His hand continues to stroke your back, and he reaches his other to softly push back the hairs that cover your face, tucking the strands behind your ear.

You groan, and wipe your eyes, feeling embarrassed yet again. You’re still trembling from your dream, not able to shake the feeling. The nightmares only started a few months ago but they don’t come every night. They’re sporadic, which makes them feel scarier because you never know when you’re going to be hit with one.

Ghost lets you calm down, your breathing is back to normal now, but you’re still sniffling and avoiding his eye.

He stands up, and before you can voice out another apology, he softly says, “Come here.” And before you can fully process what he said, you feel his warm hands grasp you under your armpits and he lifts you up, pulling you against him. He shifts his hand so its resting under your thigh and signals with his other to wrap your legs around his waist. You lay your arms around his neck and rest your head on his shoulder. Much to your chagrin, you’re still sniffling like a fool, and you let out a sigh. His embrace pulls you down like an anchor and you no longer feel like you’re treading through a flood of murky water. It calms and clears, and feels alleviating.

“You’re breaking my heart, little Swan.” Your only reply is tightening your arms around his neck.

He carries you to the bedroom, where he must have been before you woke him and lays you down in the spot where he was previously. You only know because it’s still warm and smells like him.

He climbs in after you and lays on his side to face you. You still look distressed, but much better than before.

It’s only when you drift your eyes up to his that you notice his mask is off. You notice a small cut near his eye. Reaching your hand out, you cup his face and your thumb glides back and forth over the cut. “You should have told me you got this.”

You feel the bed shift when he shrugs, “Didn’t want you to worry.” His deep voice pierces through you, poking the embers that rest at the bottom of your stomach.

Typical. “I always worry about you.” Your eyes flit to his as you confess this.

“Not as much as I worry about you.”

You bring your hand down to glide over his shoulder, then his down his bicep, then forearm. When you reach his hand, he intertwines your hand with his. His large hand almost completely swallows yours.

He pulls you closer to him, now there’s little to no space between you.

“It’s not a competition, Riley.”

“Simon, call me Simon.” He cups your face, then closes the distance between you and captures your lips with his.

#simon riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost fanfic #ghost fic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley fic #hurt/comfort #ghost fluff #mw2 ghost #hurt/comfort au #ghost cod #cod fanfic #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod fanfic

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angelltheninth · 4 months

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Simon Riley Fingers You Through Your Panties

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, fingering, teasing, clit stimulation, semi-public, pervy Simon

A/N: Horny hours are upon us.

Isn't as patient as his military training would make one think cause when he's horny he won't hesitate to let you know

Tries to make it look like nothing's happening as Simon pulls you onto his big lap and pushes his big hand beneath your skirt

Rubs his finger against your clit, feeling your hips twitching forward until his cock gets hard from the grinding

Can only push his finger in a tiny bit over your underwear but, not enough to make you come, you can't even feel him properly but its enough to make a big stain on his pants from your arousal

Kisses you every time you can't hold back a moan so the two of you don't get caught

Comments on how wet your panties are, practically useless, completely soaked through

Tells you not to throw them away when this is done, he'll use them to jack off later, smelling your sweet horny scent before shooting a big, creamy load of cum over them

Simon feels your pussy clenching, or trying to clench around his finger, only catching the bit of the tip

You managed to stay quiet he agrees to you edging him next time you have sex

But first, he's gonna need those pretty panties for later

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wakatshi · 1 year

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UNTOUCHABLE

𖥾 ゚ ࣭ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY | &. — fem! reader, you’re angry with simon, teasing, smoking, clitoral stimulation, thigh riding, dry humping | wc 1.3k words | masterlist

simon riley is a stranger — it’s a thought you can’t ignore anymore.

he doesn’t laugh. he doesn’t smile. not enough. now that you think of it, you’ve never heard simon riley laugh. it’s not his thing. it feels impossible, utterly unrealistic. the idea itself is laughable. it’s always a smirk and it’s almost invisible. too sardonic. too sarcastic and not sincere enough.

you ache for a reaction, a crumb of the real him, but he doesn’t give it you. his caustic attitude is so maddening. exasperation grows inside of you, you’re frustrated and somehow feeling closer and closer to an imminent defeat.

simon riley is too much of a stranger. but ghost isn’t. you’ve seen his face before, but it feels like he constantly hides something; himself, away from you. he’s always on guard. his skin, his deep, visible scars, his every pore, his mouth, his nose, you’ve felt them all under the touch of your very own fingers. he didn’t run away, he stayed, but touching ghost like that simply doesn’t do it anymore.

and how can that be enough when simon is not far from being a complete stranger? his humanity itself is buried somewhere deep inside, it’s a secret hidden behind a annoyingly high wall. simon is there, but is he, really?

this evening is unusually silent, the air is crisp and cold, you wonder where soap went, he swore to defeat you in a poker game yesterday. he wouldn’t have, but still, enthusiasm got ahead of you. captain price isn’t here either. in fact, it’s just you and simon.

you find yourself lazying on a timeworn couch next to him, but he’s too busy. he’s thinking, smoking. acting like you’re not there. you wonder what could go through the mind of a man of his caliber.

“want a cig?” with the pack in his hand, simon breaks the silence, he waits for you to make up your mind.

“no, thanks. why don’t you put that away anyways? that’s your third cig.”

“why?”

“fuck off, simon.”

his gaze shifts away from you for quite some time, the cigar rests between his lips and he inhales the burnt tobacco, smoke drifts away and dissipates in the air. the smell persists and you’re used to it, ghost carries the scent of heavy smoking with him. it’s a constant thing.

“why?”

“i said fuck off. if you don’t wanna, just don’t.”

how stupid. it’s not the cigar, nor this situation in particular. maybe you’re too clingy — you worry. he’s not into that lovey-dovey shit. naturally, he’s ghost after all.

“fucking hell, why are you so angry over a cig? tell me.”

“you don’t… touch me. this… this shit we’re doing isn’t enough. you’re not even talking to me.”

“i don’t touch you?”

simon’s beginning to become self aware. he throws the lit cigar on the ground and crushes it with his boot. “come here,” he meant his lap.

as soon as you make yourself comfortable, his muscular arms begin to move, big, gloved hands linger on the fabric of your shirt and fall on your hips. they stay there, firmly, the lieutenant pulls your body towards him, as close as possible. “relax.”

he’s too attractive.

his body is strong, that of a man who’s seen and fought it all, built for survival and warfare. his mental wounds are yet to be unveiled, but you know simon hides them and it’s beyond you. his forearms thick and veiny, his left arm tattooed, his thighs sturdy, big.

but the man known as ghost treats you like you’re a piece of glass threatening to be broken. he doesn’t think you’re weak— how could he? that’s insanity. how could he think you’re fragile and unskilled when you carry out the missions so well. ghost fears he’s the one who might push you away, and he dreads the flaws of his own being.

“gloves off, simon.”

“gloves off...” he repeats. or rather whispers to himself mindlessly as if you’re giving him instructions. he follows them immediately.

“you’re not funny.”

you grind against his thighs, but there’s some sort of hesitation in your act. he looks untouchable. he’s ghost, not simon, with his mask still on and covering most of his face, except for his mouth and eyes — he follows your movements closely, his eyes wander all over you body, the exposed crook of your neck, your shirt, the waist his hands are holding too tightly. but you don’t complain.

you could’ve made it less obvious that you’re trying to get off on his pants at least. it’s experimental, you’ve never done this before and not with simon. you’re testing the waters. your heart beats annoyingly fast, your chest is heavy and breathing gets harder - it’s almost impossible to resist simon when he touches you like this, even if you tried to hide it, your body would betray any attempt to conceal how much be turns you on. from his body to his voice, everything about him arouses you.

he’d fuck you right here and right now. just tell him and he will. he’d unzip his pants, fill your pussy up to the brim with his cock and make you orgasm in every corner of this room. but for now, he won’t. simon gets some sort of pleasure out of watching you make a mess out of yourself.

it takes a huge amount of self-restraint to oppose whatever is happening right now. he’s well aware and he’s more than used to it.

“come on, i know you wanna do it. i thought we got past that stage.”

“what stage, simon?”

“you shying away from me. i’ve been inside your pussy too many fuckin’ times and you’re still doing this.”

“i hate you.”

“i’m sure you do. now focus, love.”

the feeling of elation comes almost instantly with the friction. you grind your clothed pussy against his pants like you’ve never felt the touch of a man before and you don’t know how to behave. or what to do with yourself. it’s truly embarrassing, a mix between arousal and curiosity.

you’re soaking wet, so, so impatient and you’re filled with a primal urge — to use his body to reach climax.

“say my name, love. louder, don’t be shy.”

“simon!”

it doesn’t take him too long to find his way to your jeans. he unbuckles them and slides his index and middle finger inside, “so wet.”

you feel heavy, your body grows tired and your head falls on his shoulder as your arms wrap around his neck. he pulls you quickly, a prompt don’t escapes his mouth.

“i can’t do this! i’m getting tired.”

“you can. look at me.”

that’s such an easy thing to say coming from a man who’s been sitting and doing nothing but watching you humping his thigh. ghost doesn’t give you a break. he’s merciless, he rubs your clit just fast enough to get a sudden moan out of you. it’s like his fingers were made to play with you pussy and not for what he does out there. they’ve been resting too much under those gloves — they’re warm, but you’re burning.

“feels good? you’re so fuckin’ pretty when you moan my name. say it again.”

“simon…”

“fuck, i could cum in my pants only by looking at you. such a brave girl.” there’s a sarcastic note in his voice, but you ignore it.

simon looks at you the entire time. his gaze pierces through every layer, it’s worse when he wears the mask. your body temperature goes up, you’re close, too close, it’s an explosion, a firework show you’re obsessively craving like nothing else. and it’s here, finally, you’re thankful he stopped you from dry humping his thigh. warm juices drip on his fingers and inside your panties when you orgasm.

“you said i don’t touch you.”

“i wasn’t talking about sex.”

“i know.”

likes, reblogs & feedback are very appreciated! 🤍

𖥾 ゚ ࣭ &. — TAGGING : @touyyes @suget @itachislut @boyfrwenz @xiiaoww @stoner-with-a-boner @pinheadswhore @cherryppick @qrtmin @cosmicfairygirl @introloves @acc-cal

𖥾 ゚ ࣭ &. — NOTE : this i was supposed to be shorter, but i got sooo distracted </3 i plan to write a second part… maybe !!

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod

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