#simon riley x female oc
Text
Man-Sized
9/9 Peace in a Lifetime of War
Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC
Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).
CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.
Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.
He didn't call, didn't text, didn't explain himself.
She wrote dozens of texts, mostly with one sentence, Where'd you go?, Could we talk this through?, I'm sorry, would you please come back, but never sent them.
But she was also being ripped apart by the feeling that this simply couldn't be happening. It couldn't end like this. There was something real here. There had to be.
Pride got in the way. He didn't deserve her begging after leaving her like that without even an explanation as to why. He cared about his job more than her, and she would no longer beg for leftovers. She would not be the girl he could come and fuck in the dark when he had the time for it.
Let's make this work.
That's the sentence she wrote the most, to reverse the last words she had said. A nervous voice inside her told her that she had driven him away. That Simon was somewhere out there thinking she didn't want him in her life. After all, she had shouted that he should go and do his job… Practically, get out of her life.
But how could a few words spoken in anger drive him away? How could he just cut her off after everything? Player or not, she had thought him a better man than this.
He still had the key. He hadn't left it on the table or mailed it to her. He might still walk through that door when she least expected it.
But days turned into weeks, and somewhere in her heart, she knew a decision had been made. Simon never half-assed anything. If he had left, he had left. End of fucking story.
After three weeks, she threw away the shower gel. It reminded her of the time she had come from the shower to a dark room filled with him. When she had teased him, and he had sent her to heaven, when they had confessed their love to each other. It stared at her from the bin until she went and took out the trash with not much else but that single men's shower gel bottle in it.
He had left one of his hoodies in her apartment, and she almost threw it into the bin too. Then she crawled inside it like a child who had lost her parents.
It smelled of him, and it was so big that half of her disappeared inside it, and she felt warm, and safe, and devastated. That hoodie and her bedroom walls twisted the knife by whispering the words Marry me, laced with an echo of his laughter. Every day she decided to throw it away and start a new life, and every night she curled inside it to cry herself to sleep.
Bolognese was ruined for her. Motörhead was ruined, bourbon was ruined; the smell of tobacco brought tears to her eyes. She walked past springtime tulips like they carried the plague itself. Even Dürer was ruined.
How could a heartless, cocky 21st-century soldier ruin the genius of a Renaissance master?
Luckily, she hadn't told anyone who she had been dating for months now. She had never asked Simon to meet her parents. She hadn't even told them she was seeing someone… Her mother had made a remark on how nice it was to see her happy when she was visiting on holidays, and she had told her she had gotten good grades this semester. In her heart, she had perhaps always known that things with Simon wouldn't last. It all seemed like a dream. A beautiful, heated, fucked up pipe dream.
It was like the very oxygen from her life was gone. She didn't have the will to masturbate; the toy she had only reminded her of the embarrassing incident where she had forgotten it on the bedside table, and he had seen it and made her blush with a laugh and a comment; "That's the competition?" Such a small, pink thing compared to Simon, and even that reminded her of him.
Her workplace was a smoking rubble after a war. The pole choreographies had the atmosphere of Swan Lake rather than anything sultry and sexy — she flicked the pole to spin mode more often, started to do leg hangs and suicide spins and unicorn splits and chose music with lyrics about betrayal and other heartbroken, forlorn wailing.
Her gaze swept the audience before she grabbed the pole. Just in case. There were hungry eyes, but none belonged to the man with a winter-over stare, sleeve tattoo, and voice burnt from scotch, smoking, and sleepless nights.
The room spun, and her heart hurt, and she wondered if Simon had found another sweet girl or if he was bleeding in the blur too. Perhaps he was taking his pleasure with the women on his team, no strings attached. Fucking those tough army girls who were everything she was not. Making them moan with slow, heavy torture.
She wanted him to hurt. And then again, she did not. She wanted him to be safe, and for the first time in her life, she prayed even though she had never believed in God.
That forgotten oversized hoodie was her temple, and she wasn't sure who she was even praying to before falling asleep inside that black cotton. But she asked for Simon to stay safe, to not do anything stupid. She even prayed for his happiness, but then the prayers turned more selfish, and she asked that he would come back to her.
Just come back to her.
Her prayers were answered sooner than she would've thought. It was a frightening invocation, because when she finally caught him as a black, massive shadow against the darkness of the club, it was clear that he was in an even worse shape than she was.
He was still big, still menacing, a powerhouse of a man, but she saw that he had lost weight, the shade under his eyes was even darker than when they had first met. He was looking at her dance like he was attending a funeral: there was no smile, no hunger, only suffering in his eyes that followed her from inside a black hood.
She wanted to jump from the stage in the middle of her show, climb onto his lap, cry all the tears still uncried, although she had done nothing but bawled every night since he had left. Sweat made the pole slick, and she closed her eyes as she spun, hoping to be somewhere else entirely so he wouldn't see the hurt in her eyes. But the lights were pointing at the stage, and her face must've been a pale mask of fear and longing, and the dance turned into the ending act of her own personal Swan Lake.
It had been almost a month, and he barged back into her life like he would barge through a door into a room full of prisoners. The game was on again, and he was the fucking worst, and the relief and longing turned into red, blazing rage.
How dare he show up here? Still without warning, without a single message, when he knew how much it meant to her. Especially after what had gone down.
When she was done, she didn't go to him; she left the stage before the applause had even died, rushed to get her things, and stormed out the back door, half fearing that she would bump into him. He wasn't there, but when she walked past the entrance to get home, there was a man smoking outside. She wouldn't shed a look his way but knew from the aura of darkness and hellfire and silent leadership that it was him. There was no sound of footsteps, but she knew he was walking behind her, could almost smell the smoke, could feel his stare on her back as she rushed down the street like she was being hunted by a ravager.
And hadn't he, in a way, promised to haunt her, dead or alive?
She cried the whole way home while being followed by his ghost – silent tears of anger and relief and sorrow, jaw trembling and hiccups tickling her throat.
When she reached her apartment, she opened the door as quickly as possible, then slammed it shut behind her.
Would he use the key and force himself in? Would he take the closed door as a sign not to trespass? She almost went to open it to let him know that this area was actually a No Man's Land, not a threshold to her personal space, much less a fortress he needed to conquer.
But he had decided to pursue her, and a clear-cut knock sent her heart up her throat.
She had a choice not to open that door. Return to her old life without this fuckery. He wouldn't use the key she had given him, he was gentleman enough not to. Or perhaps not a gentleman: he simply knew when he was not welcome and would be too proud to force a connection.
But the decision had really been made a long time ago. It was made when she asked for that drink, when she accepted his flowers, when he pushed inside her the first time. Perhaps even on the moment she first laid eyes on him.
So, without having a grain of rational thought behind it, her heart walked her to that door and opened it.
He was leaning on the frame with one hand, and the hooded head rose from a heavy hang. He looked defeated for a moment, and she realized she had taken a while to come to the door… But then he squared his shoulders and raised his chin, bounced away from the frame, and the tiniest little smile played on his lips.
A look of I win.
It was something so Simon that it burned her heart, and the love returned – as if it had ever gone anywhere – and she was so angry that she slapped him to wipe off that stupid look that told her he could drop her like a toy and then come back and pick her up again.
Her palm met his chin, and it hurt her too: to hear that slap and know he allowed it to happen.
He allowed her to slap him. Again.
He reduced her to someone who hit people, like this was some trailer park romance where physical abuse was ok.
It was his fault, not hers.
It was his fault. It was.
His head was turned to the side from the force of her palm, the eyebrows rose in muted surprise. Then he slowly turned to look at her, and couldn't hide his smile anymore. He fucking got off on this.
Which was why she slapped him again – only, this time he caught her hand and finally forced himself inside, like it was an invitation that she tried to hit him. Her other hand shot out, rather impassively, and he caught that, too.
"That's quite enough."
That gruff, dark voice was probably what she had missed the most. Or those big, brown eyes full of promise. Or all that muscle wrapping around her in a crushing hug, those lips that smashed against hers in a starved kiss.
The door slammed shut behind him as he devoured her. The moment his hands let go of hers and enveloped her into that secure embrace, she dissolved and let him crush her mouth, her ribs, her everything — her hands reached for the hood and tore it down, clutched his back, his jacket, threatening to tear the clothes apart from how much she had missed him.
Tears gathered up her throat, and her eyes burned and squeezed shut, she held the black fabric in her fists and pulled, trying to get closer even when there was not a breath of air between them. His scent brought back so many memories that she threatened to drown in the flood.
The kiss left them both breathless and huffing when he drew her against him. She felt like a hostage when he closed one heavy palm around her head and simply forced her cheek to meet his chest. He had never closed her in a hug quite like this — like he was afraid that she would disappear into thin air if he didn't hold on tightly enough.
"Sweetheart." It was a rumble in her hair, a deep vibration in the solid wall she was smashed against.
"Don't you dare," she whispered through tears, but her hands told a different story as she clung to him like a drowning person.
"Sarah…" He only squeezed her harder, so hard that she feared he would soon break bones. "Love. I'm sorry that it took so long."
Her fingers flexed, then wrapped around that jet-black cotton again. The tears disappeared in his shirt, and she was glad he always wore black; otherwise, the mascara would've made a visible mess.
He smelled so good. She inhaled him like a drug — even after the desertion, his scent meant safety and home to her.
"What the fuck happened?" She sniffed, trying not to wail like a child against that firm wall of chest. "I thought you only went for a smoke."
He stroked her hair so gently that the shirt was soon soaked from her tears.
"I thought it would be best if I left you in peace," he muttered, sounding almost guilty. Her hand twitched in the folds of the hood from the utter folly of it all. She thanked the heavens that he hadn't. She had never exactly found peace with him, but being without him was even worse.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she retorted.
"Yeah. I used to be a better man. But if ya think I'm cocky… Hah, you should've seen me back then. Feared nothing."
She had expected him to share a reason for leaving her like that, but she hadn't envisioned it to start with those words. The world was quaking again in her hallway, lit by a single, lone lamp.
"It didn't work. It got people killed. Even my brother's little kid." He was still talking to the crown of her head as if exposing the darkest of secrets, fearing that the walls were wired.
"I'm not really… alive, you know? Died with them about ten years ago."
From any other man's mouth, that trace of information, an explanation for his handicaps, would've felt melodramatic. When it came from Simon, it felt like a void was yawning before her.
"Swore that day I would never let it happen again."
How could she always forget that her judgment concerning Simon was flawed – no – distorted as hell? She knew he had lost everybody but didn't know how exactly. Of course there had been violence. She had never really understood just how important it was for him to protect people from getting too close.
I didn't mean for things to go this far suddenly stood for something completely different.
He wasn't playing or toying with her. He was being absolutely, vehemently, utterly serious.
Even… intimidated.
She felt even worse about not being there for him when he had been thin with his skin. She had made it all about her when he tried to share a deep fear.
"I tried to keep my hands off you as long as I could." He hummed, a sound of a distant, pleasant memory. "You were so… fuckin' graceful. Felt like you were dancing just for me."
The tears kept flowing, the world kept quaking.
"I was," she whispered. "Even when you weren't there."
"Thought you was just teasin' me. Seemed such a tough girl." He gave her one of those short laughs, a cynical scoff that said he wasn't easily caught off balance. "'N then you turned out to be sweet as a pie. So bloody sweet. Swept me right off my feet."
She pulled back a little and saw that his eyes were liquid too, the pale lashes fluttered over bloodshot, melted chocolate, but no tears came out. It was like he didn't quite know how to cry, like that skill had been tortured out of him, never to return.
"Nothing lasts. Especially if it's something good and pure." He ran a thumb over her cheek, catching a tear, like he was soothed by seeing someone crying the tears he could not. "Really wanted this to last."
Her lower lip trembled at that, and she had to fight back a whole bawl that threatened to erupt. He was stupidly eloquent when he wanted to. But he was also blind if he couldn't see that no one else but him had tried to end things this time. How could a man so mature and smart be so stupid?
"You're the one who walked out the door, Simon."
He blinked a few times. Yeah… He was that stupid, even if he was sharp and trained and brave. But it was also stupid of her to think there wouldn't be problems. He had built a wall, five-foot thick, since childhood. She had tried to penetrate it with a needle and had had a fit when it wouldn't budge.
"Look... You can't just come into my life and fuck around and fuck with my head — and fuck me… and then leave and say Darling, it's dangerous."
He huffed a laugh at her imitation of him. "You make me sound like a jerk."
"That's because you are."
A sigh. "Right."
She had expected him to return the quip, make some clever comeback, but their love had been on ice for weeks and weeks. Even if the warmth was there, and he was close, so close… Something was still wrong.
She pulled herself back to the solace of his chest. There were broken things inside, and she was a brittle vase herself, barely able to hold all the sorrow in.
"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"
"Comes with the job."
"I hate your job," she mumbled in his shirt, and he chuckled humourlessly.
"Me too."
"No you don't. You love it." She sent another accusation in the air, and the penalty was an open prison, a slackening muscle around her.
"Guilty as charged."
"Why are you here, Simon?"
There was a pause, one, two breaths…
"Can't fuckin' live without you."
He had no doubt tried, tried to veritably leave her from fear of setting her in danger. Only Simon could leave a woman for fear of losing them…
"Even if I only get scraps and slaps. Phone's full of look at me's but you never call."
Her eyes flared wide open, her lungs ceased working for a second. Five months flashed backward, then forward, their shared moments twisting and turning, words finding new meanings.
Scraps…
You never call.
Jesus Christ.
It was bitter, and it was true. She had guarded her heart like a prisoner of war during a time of peace. Sent him thirsty selfies like they were the only thing he wanted from her, refused to call in fear of losing some game.
He wasn't the only one who was proud and dramatic. She had had a whole month in her hands. She could've called him, sent him those texts. She could've made it known that she hadn't meant her last words as a command for him to get out. But she had done none of those things. Instead, she slammed the door in his face and slapped him when he finally came back with his tail between his legs.
It was never about his job. She could deal with that. It was about the game.
They were both boneheaded, proud little creatures, and she realized she was the one who had been playing, playing for far too long…
"You said you'd rather call me," she whimpered, voice barely even a whisper.
He pulled her away by the shoulders and took a quick scan. There was patronization and pity, and she wondered whether he would take the blame for her failings too. But the pain was more profound than that.
"Sarah. Do ya even like me?"
Of all the things said that night, said ever, that was probably what hurt her the most.
"Yes," was all she managed to say to the man who was, in truth, the love of her life.
"Alright. Then I don't see what the problem is."
He was being reasonable, but there seemed to be a whole other problem she had never acknowledged. Had never even known existed.
And it was a rare, rare thing, that he chose to break first.
"Sarah, bloody fucking-... It kills me to imagine you with someone else."
All in.
As if she could ever find a man like him. As if she could even see other men. They had ceased to exist five months ago.
Just say it.
"I don't want someone else," she said, knowing that games like these should be illegal. But she was not playing anymore. "I only want you. Remember?"
The wall cracked, crumbled a little, exposed some softness in those chocolate eyes.
"Now that's what I like to hear."
Annoying, lovable, cocky bastard. This time, it was her turn to pull him in for a kiss.
He let her take some of his clothes off but then seized the reins from her again by hauling her to the bedroom like a doll. Everything happened right according to a script: she was undressed, tossed on the bed, and he was climbing on top of her before she could even say his name.
He just wouldn't allow her to touch him. She had given him one and a half blowjobs, one handjob, and slapped him two times. They cuddled every now and then. That was basically it.
He was always on top, had fucked her against this and that wall, fucked her with his clothes on half the time. He initiated everything, made her feel good, and so, so subtly prevented her from touching him. Did he even know he was doing it, or was it subconscious?
This would have to change.
Past torture or not, it would change now.
"Simon," she placed a hand on his chest when he was already inserting himself inside her.
"Hm?"
"Can I be on top?"
Something akin to worry flickered in his eyes, but it was only a brief glitch that soon changed into an intrigued look.
"Why not," he tried to hide the remnants of his bafflement, then crashed to the bed beside her. She flicked the table light on as if making it clear that this was the dawn of a new era. He gave it a hasty side eye, then turned his attention back to her.
"Have you ever heard of Adam's first wife?" She asked when she climbed on top of him. God, but he was wide, even though men were supposed to have narrower hips. Simon was a man in his prime, threatening, even when lying under her in a seemingly vulnerable position.
"You givin' me a history lesson too?"
"She was banished from Eden because she wanted to be on top during sex." She tried to seek support from his chest, knowing it would be of minimal help. If he would get too enthusiastic, she might be bucked off.
"I won't be so cruel," he said with a soft smile as he ran hands over her thighs, then up to her waist, hesitantly. Simon never hesitated.
From what she understood, he was far from a footsoldier. The people he killed never even heard he was coming for them with a thick, ugly blade. Perhaps he preferred to fuck like that, too: stealthy and intimate, in the darkness, keep his victim in a sturdy embrace so he could feel how they bled to death.
That light was a threat. Her stare was piercing awareness: also, a threat.
And it was only now, from this position, that she finally caught the wounds. Fresh, ugly holes that should've probably been under bandage still.
"What's this?"
There were not one, but two cavities surrounded by discolored skin, bruised dark purple, virtually black — gunshot wounds that had barely missed his liver. Had the bullets reached the internals, they would've likely been the end of him.
"That's the reason why it took so long."
Shallow breathing was a stupid response from a body already feeling faint. But the next few breaths were just that: an attempt to sustain the flow of oxygen and allow reality to sink in.
The last time Simon had gotten hit was years and years ago: a bullet to the arm, not nearly as severe as an abdominal wound. She thought they used bullet vests at work. Unless he had chosen not to wear it. Her brain was a horrid thing, pushing a clinical sentence out of a psychology journal to her mind.
"The root cause of self-destructive behavior can stem from a mental health condition such as depression: overwhelming sadness and loss of interest."
She had drowned herself in self-pity in her cozy little apartment and taken revenge on a shower gel bottle while Simon had gotten himself wounded, nearly killed. Probably spent the last few weeks in a hospital after the operation in whatever medical facility he had been brought to from the field. Without telling her, stubborn and proud as he was. Lying there, with no visitors, thinking it was better to leave her alone…
She knew he had a death wish, but this… This crushed her soul.
"Soap said I should ask you to marry me instead of trying to prove something by killin' myself."
Shit…
More edgy, dark humour — but her insides shuddered.
The axis of melancholia turned and turned. She hadn't told anyone about them, but Simon had. So that someone could deliver the message if need be. Even the thought of a Scottish jarhead appearing at her door and telling her how Lieutenant Simon Riley had been killed in action made her eyes sting.
Soap was a clever man. Much more intelligent than the one between her thighs.
"What am I to do with you," she whispered while placing the lightest, faintest touch on the stretched skin around the injury. The muscles rippled underneath her fingertips, and a soft hiss drew her attention back to his face, but the discomfort was hidden from view before she could decide whether it was caused by her words or her touch.
"A few ideas come to mind," he spoke with his everlasting cheek, even when healing from both gunshot wounds and a broken heart. "Wanna hear?"
"How about you shut your mouth for a change," she offered, gently enough to make it clear that some things should be fixed with another kind of communication.
When she reached to guide him inside her, he was uncommonly solemn. The dry spell had ended at the door already, but that drowsy, flaming rust of a stare caused the cup to overflow. She was slippery as hell, but he was patient, mostly having a ball watching how she went through trial and error to get him in. The intimacy made her flustered, and that stern expression soon turned into a smug one as she fucked up guiding him in smoothly and with finesse.
And it was wishful thinking that Simon would keep his mouth shut.
"Ya need help with that?"
"Shush," she said, knowing it was futile, a laugh bubbling in her chest as she tried to sound convincing with the command. As if she could order someone like Simon around.
He broke again when the thick of him finally pushed in, slow and steady like a reverie.
"Always so fuckin' tight 'n wet for me…"
"You can't just shut it for one minute, can you," she breathed while gliding down the cock that spread her wide — and God, she had longed for that familiar invasion.
"Not with you, sweetheart."
She had barely even started when she saw how his throat worked, then felt him tighten the grip on her waist.
"Did ya have others while I was away?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
The muscles on his jaw tensed, then unwound with a sigh, the heavy-lidded eyes making him look like a man about to pass out.
"Neither did I. Seat's already taken."
The jesting, his laugh, their togetherness — she had missed it so much that it physically hurt.
But at the same time, it felt like they were meeting for the first time. This time with more than just their clothes off. Everything was…amplified, and not just because the lights were on. This was not a lazy Sunday morning fuck under the sheets.
She had been squashed against his chest, but she had never traced the muscles with the tips of her fingers, watched how his nipples grew hard at the contact. She had never quite seen how his jaw clenched, how his abs pulled taut just from a slow roll of her hips. Her hands looked tiny, dainty, when they swept over him – a man made weapon – all corded muscle and uneven skin, tone changing with the map of old and new scars, fresh scratches here and there, ill-healed burn marks and whatnot coating a skin that had seen more than just rough weather. He didn't treat his body like a living, breathing thing; it was simply a tool.
Her past boyfriends had been just that. Boys compared to him. It wasn't just his size, that he was older than her. It wasn't even the map of scars spread over muscles built to withstand and wage war. It was just something so inherently him, a maturity, ripe survival, toughness that came from another age entirely.
She tried to be worthy of him, make love to him in return for all the favors he had so generously given her.
He appeared to enjoy it with the most laid-back attitude she had yet seen on him. She had prepared for intensity, as always, a bit of devilry, but not for that daydreamy stare. That absorbed, blissful look could only be compared to someone easing down on a divan, waiting to be served wine and grapes like they were some Roman deity. Or, in his case, on a lush sofa, waiting for his girl to bring him a scotch after a long day. Maybe take his boots off, and his pants too, kneel and take him in a warm, wet mouth…
God, she was fantasizing about blowing Simon while riding him. But she'd be damned if she didn't serve him that back rub with a happy ending as soon as she had ridden him to the finish line.
"Should do this more often," he noted evenly, echoing her thoughts – and trying to grasp some sliver of control by telling her he liked this. Liked being served.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"Can't complain."
And she realized now that she wasn't the one in charge, no. He was looking at her much in the same way as he did when she was up on that stage. Only, he was now both the stage and the pole… and the audience.
Fuck.
Every time she tried to get in control, he did that rear choke on her. Even this turned out to be another counter technique. He was simply enjoying her take her pleasure.
The notion didn't cause fires anymore, other than a flare of licking heat down to where they were joined. Her inner walls had decided that he was a keeper too, gripping him so violently that the tendons on his neck became visible. The callous of his hands traveled upwards to her ribs, and she caught a thought of how he could easily crush her if he wanted to — but he only proceeded to hug her waist with an iron grip to join in the show.
"Keep doin' that and there's gonna be a real mess," he said, voice thick, sending more heat trickle down her spine.
"Isn't that always the case with you?" She was on the brink of laughter now, because it felt stupid that it had taken her so long to enjoy this man to the full.
"Yeah… But you love it. Admit it." He wasn't bulldozing now. Just enticing, eyes glimmering from seeing her so evidently happy.
And she did admit it. She didn't hold back at all. She allowed him to see exactly how much she wanted and admired him, how good he made her feel.
The account started as a steaming, almost pissed-off checklist, a confession rather than a declaration of love. It contained pent-up love and hate, from how he fucked her in the dark to how he drove knives to a wall she didn't even own. But then it turned into a hymn. Nevermind ego; she wanted to stroke his heart and soul. He fucking deserved it.
She told him he was a good man, the best man she had ever known. How she had never loved anyone like this. How she was his, had been from the moment he came to that club. She even told him how big he was and how she had trouble concentrating in class because of it. That she had trouble focusing pretty much anywhere.
How she had cried herself to sleep in his sweatshirt every night after he had left… How she wanted him to never leave again — how she wanted to solve every argument they would have from now on with a hatefuck instead.
At first, he looked at her curiously, probably thinking she was joking. Then his expression turned to a choked-up stun.
“Sarah– Fuckin’ hell…"
Every secret thought from the past five months was laid out before them; every little thing she admired about him from body to soul.
It seemed to be a shock treatment, a little too much all at once, but he was true to his word and didn't complain.
"You're gonna make a grown man cry 'ere."
He didn't cry, but if there was still some invisible wall between them, every last brick was blown apart at this point.
The poker game was finally over, the whole table was cleared of cards and chips and bets.
"Do you even like me… Unbelievable, Simon," she said as a final notion. There was a soft smile, but it wasn't arrogant or vain in her eyes anymore. Just proud, pleased.
God, had she been stupid.
She descended to celebrate, to seal it all with a kiss. He welcomed her with fast allegiance: arms went around her as soon as her breasts pressed against his chest. It was all hunger, but ten times more tender than the starvation at the door. Slow, deliberate, and it went straight to her cunt, gripping him — and of course he responded with a groan, straight into her mouth.
His hips jerked up to meet her, and had she not been in the safe custody of freakishly strong arms, she would've fallen off her ride. And it was high time to investigate whether he had a vulnerable spot in his neck as well.
A sluggish, flat-tongued lick up the column of his throat and some open-mouthed, sloppy kisses sent him contracting from the middle, pushing in, balls deep. She risked a nib, even a soft bite, and eventually, went a bit feral on that neck. It was another jackpot for the both of them.
"I need-.. need you on your back," he had never stuttered like that, out of breath, trying to be polite with a raspy throat. But he wasn't really asking, and it wasn't really mannerly. It was actually a demand.
"Wanna fuck you hard," his voice was so low that it was almost a growl.
Yes.
Yes. Yes, please.
And she knew just the trick that would ensure that he did.
"Hmh. Denied," she said to his neck, and waited for the punishment that was brief and thorough.
"The hell it is."
He rolled over and switched their roles without even pulling out, and just like that, her feeble attempts to be the rebellious first woman turned to dust. But she didn't really mourn the loss. Her Eden resided right here.
"You're such an asshole," she was laughing from mirth and love and the joy of being pressed under that safe weight again.
"Would like to fuck that too someday."
Oh my God..-
She wasn't a blushing lady from Victorian times, but this was a little unexpected, even from him.
"Bet you're even tighter down there… I might just pass out."
Her jaw must've fallen an inch or two, her eyes no doubt shot full of shimmering glee because nothing, absolutely nothing escaped him, and her face was now more than that of a stupefied goldfish.
"I suggest you close that pretty mouth before I-"
She cut him short by sinking nails in his skin — more precisely, his ass. He arched his back with the following thrust, even exposed his throat with a satisfied grunt.
"Lil' wildcat… I could do this all night." It was a pleased chuckle, and her heart hurt — she was constantly calling him annoying, an asshole, a jerk, and he told her she was beautiful, sweet, his girl, or a little wildcat in return…
"Would ya like that?"
She could only nod, time and again, and the sex turned messy, noisy and unhinged, weeks and weeks of frustration and longing dissipating with fucking that spread her thighs wide and made the whole bed wail. Her head hit the frame once or twice before he moved her with an annoyed grunt while she was having a laugh about it, but then she remembered he was injured and that this was a bad idea.
"Your wounds-" she tried to stutter amidst a pounding that had certainly been held back for longer than five months, not to talk of a few weeks.
"I'll live."
She was close, but so was he, and it seemed it was the most difficult decision he had ever made: to choose whether to slow down and grit his teeth or just give into the temptation and spill. A split second, and he chose the latter, and she must've been gawking: all that muscle towering over her went tense, the halved slant between his pecs sheened with sweat.
He came with a long groan and a head rolled back, the tension leaving him in shivers before his head fell back down, chin to the chest. The stare behind those heavy lids was unfocused, heady, drugged.
"Fuck, you're a glorious sight," he said while sweeping a hand over her sternum and closing the giant palm around her throat — nothing brutal or rough, just a little bit of fun that probably shouldn't have made her tighten around him as furiously as it did. It felt like she was one of his victims, held in place by one hand only, as his gaze dropped down to marvel at how his cock disappeared in her and came out all wet. The thrusts were erratic and desperate, the ending throes of ecstasy — must've been a glorious sight indeed.
He wouldn't even pause to enjoy the trip back to earth to the full. He left her, eyes both determined and drunk, cock still half hard, so abruptly that a sad little whimper fled her. But he wasn't gone for long, just settled next to her and gathered her in his arms, wracked with purpose.
She gasped when not one, but two fingers dipped inside, then drove deep to the knuckle.
"Fuck…"
"Will do."
It was a scant substitute for his cock, even with two thick fingers. But he was good, so damn good that it didn't matter.
He did everything right, perfect, precise. Made a mess of the cum that joined the wreckage, played with it, slathered it all over her until she was sticky and wet and the noise was well-nigh filthy.
But even more unbearable was the intimacy, the way her hand found him, the bunching muscles on the forearm, the thumb brushing her clit, his fingers curling in a loose fist while two of them curled inside her…
She wanted to participate, feel the fierce connection that had gained a whole new level. There was a sense of belonging, merging — did he feel it too?
Yeah, he definitely did.
Their gazes were locked, but the depth in his eyes wasn't hunger or will to dominate or even meant for fishing cues, it was pure surrender, actually, it was… love.
"Please," she whispered while he made love to her with both his hand and those eyes, not knowing why she even said that. But he had told her he loved it when she begged, so that's what she did. She would give him every fucking thing he wanted.
The sweltering bronze of his eyes broke a little, his brow gave a minimal tug.
"Simon - Please," the words were a mouthed prayer rather than an audible whisper, and she knew her own gaze was fractured because the warmth in his eyes only spread.
"I got ya," he crushed her in a devout hug while spreading her open, breathed into her ear, all joking gone. It was a solemn pledge, a guarantee.
"Promise I got ya."
This wasn't affection anymore; it was bonding.
She came with a strained whimper in his neck, curled into the hug with thighs trembling and hands grabbing whatever she could: a sheet, a tight muscle. He was an absolute genius for not moving, just stayed inside as her muscles sucked him in with a long, hungry pull that turned into a shudder that went through her whole body.
"Uh, fuh-…" She was cursing, sobbing, coming apart by the seams, and he took it all in, breathing high and wide from witnessing what he was doing to her.
It was a slow and tense shattering but turned messier after: into sloppy writhing and moaning, and he moved gracefully to ride it out with her. An absolute ace at what he did.
He might've said something, cheering her on with That's it or Fuckin' beautiful or something like that. She couldn't hear it, and it didn't really matter anyway. The looting was sweet, and he was the perfect fit, so fulfilling, still inside her after the waves had passed. They were breathing into each other, holding the space, sustaining the present moment just by being entangled together, all limbs and breath and sweat on sweat. When he ultimately pulled out, the hand joined the one wrapped around her, holding her like the most precious thing in the universe.
Her depression was gone, the man supporting her being a better cure for her condition than any kind of antidepressant ever invented by Western medical professionals could ever be. There was no fear, only a terrible will to live, a hunger for love and life.
It felt too lame a thing to say: I love you, in that kind of a moment. But something needed to be said. It wanted to come out like a wild thing from a cage.
"You brought me back to life," she whispered to the pulse on his neck, tasting both their salt, feeling like crying again, but this time for a different reason. "When we met. And every day after."
He was calm and still, frozen in time, but she could feel his heart thundering underneath that chest. Fast and overwhelmed.
"You're good at so much more than just killing people. I hope you know that."
The world could use another flood, but he chose to be the floodgate, chose to fight back mass destruction and death and darkness while looking like it. A hero, if there ever was one.
Simon didn't just take lives. He saved them.
"You saved my life, Simon." She stirred a little to look at him, wholly stripped of all his masks.
"There.. Finally shut you up."
He swallowed, and a steady hand brushed the nape of her neck, dissolving the tension if there still was any left.
"Yeah."
The soft silence covered them like a blanket until he bore even deeper.
"I'm glad you could finally join us."
And she realized he was talking about the Game. Their game. The poker game.
She had been a player while he had been here all along with palms facing upwards, with no cards at all. Just waiting for her to catch on.
"Yeah. I'm here."
"'Atta girl."
The kiss was gentle and slow. He grunted in her mouth, and when she withdrew to look at what was wrong, he opened and closed his jaw, then rubbed the side of his chin that had begun to swell a little.
"You hit hard for a historian."
Oh God.
She felt bad, but not bad enough to suppress a chortle.
"Remarkably hard for a woman. Almost dislocated a jaw," he continued when he saw she was laughing at the whole situation.
"I hope it swells real bad," she chuckled. He cast her a look that said So much for sweetness.
"You're ruthless."
"Do you need ice?"
"A kiss'll do."
She didn't deny him that kiss. She wasn't that ruthless. But after that soft peck, she turned to whisper in his ear.
"You deserved it."
He scoffed lightly, gave her a squeeze. It was the middle of the night, but it felt like the midsummer sun was shining.
"You deserve the best."
"And you're the best?" She asked, while they both already knew he was.
"I try to be."
That was probably the most humble thing she had ever heard him say, but then again, when had his arrogance ever been ego? He had always delivered. He was a soldier, but he was not a killer. He was a protector.
But if he would protect her by leaving her in peace, she would start a war of her own.
"Then don't leave me."
"Never."
Her heart skipped a beat, then fluttered flush against her ribs like an overjoyed bird.
"Is that a promise?"
She caught a smile, cocky, but only because he knew he was the best man for the job. He was best at what he did, and it had nothing to do with games.
"It's a vow."
#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x oc#ghost x oc#ghost smut#simon riley smut#cod fanfic#mw2 smut#man sized#simon ghost riley x female oc#ghost x female oc#simon riley x female oc#soft simon riley#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley fluff#ghost fluff#simon ghost riley fic
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Don’t fear the Reaper part 1
I got excited and wrote part one haha. Female character, swearing and COD typical violence throughout this series. Female x oc
A night at the pub goes awry, Ghost offers a helping hand, though that’s not the only thing you notice that night.
Don’t fear the Reaper, a popular saying about the inevitability of death. However, you were feared amongst many. You’d been with 141 for a while now and earnt your call sign ‘Reaper’, due to your extremely violent tendencies. There was nothing you loved more than watching the life drain from a persons eyes. The warmth of their blood on your skin. In fact you revelled in it.
On base those who didn’t know you, but knew of you gave you a wide berth. They felt uneasy. And honestly? You loved it. You loved making people feel uneasy, on edge. You kept to yourself mostly, preferring to observe and listen to your surroundings. You’d often be found either at the gun range, or on the mats sparring with some sucker who clearly had a death wish.
Tonight, however you were sat on the roof, dangling your feet over the edge like a child. You watched as you exhaled smoke, the sweet high of nicotine coating your lungs. The night was clear, stars peering down over you like silent protectors. It was peaceful, just how you liked it. That was until your phone vibrated next to you, a little soap emoji popped up. Smirking you rolled your eyes, wee Johnny, your closet friend here. His text was simple. Pub. Not a question but a command.
Jumping down you stubbed out the cigarette under your black boots and made your way down the stairs. Sending a kissy face emoji back to him. You swung by your room to freshen up, change of top, a swipe of red lip balm and a squirt of Baccarat Rouge 540. You slid your phone back in your pocket and gave yourself a once over in the mirror.
‘Reaper!’ He shouted excitedly down the hall, his accent thick and gravelly. God you loved his accent, any Scottish accent to be honest. ‘Hey Johnny!’ You smiled back, bounding towards him full speed. You hopped on his back as he made his way off base, you two were thick as thieves. But purely platonic, he had a girl back home he was planning on asking to marry him. You kept annoying him by asking to be his best man, constantly.
The pub wasn’t too far away from the base, a small country side pub which was normally filled with locals. Locals you had a love hate relationship with. Gaz, Price and Ghost were already there waiting for the two of you. They were all squished in a tiny booth, which looked ludicrous. Two chairs were placed outside the booth, at the end of the table ready for you.
The pub was warm and cosy, a stone floor and wooden beams adorned the ceiling. Pale white walls and a huge open fire in the centre, crackling in the background. Perfection. Two pints were already waiting for you by the time you arrived. ‘There they are! Take your fuckin time, Christ!’ Gaz greeted with a roll of his eyes. ‘Who put 20p in you this evening?’ Soap retorted, taking his seat. You followed suit, pulling your chair into the table and taking a sip of the amber liquid of the Gods.
‘Looks like you needed that’ Price laughed from behind his beard. You nodded ‘thirsty work making men submit all day.’
‘Not making em quit already I hope?’ Price asked taking a swig of his drink. Smirking, you shrugged, ‘not yet anyway.’ It was a well known fact you put new recruits through their paces during drills, especially sparring and close combat training. So much so that a few had quit mere weeks after joining, something you were quite proud of in fact.
Conversation and drinks flowed well into the evening. You stumbled back from the jukebox and eagerly awaited your song choice. ‘Better not be shit, I know what you’re like’ Ghost quipped. You feigned offence, ‘now sir, since when have I ever played shit. I am a woman of good taste I’ll have you know.’ He rolled his eyes before a small crease became visible in the outer corner. Fucker was smiling under that mask. You often wondered what his mouth looked like.
True Faith by New Order came on over the speakers, you flashed a grin to Ghost who met your gaze with some surprise. ‘Well?’
‘Hmm, not bad, I’ll let you off.’
‘Not bad?!’ You shrieked laughing, ‘this is a staple, an absolute classic. Pffft. Not bad. I’m offended.’ You swigged the dregs of your pint before standing, ‘my round lads, same as before?’ They finished off their drinks and a flurry of please and thank yous rang out among them.
The pub was busy, but wasn’t overcrowded, it was a nice atmosphere, relaxed. Putting the tray of drinks on the table you handed them out one by one. Handing Ghost his short of Bourbon his fingertips grazed yours as you passed him the glass. Normally this wouldn’t have bothered you, except he seemed to flinch. Looking up his eyes were already on you, burning through your mere presence. As you caught his gaze he looked away, desperately looking else where. Weird.
Evening turned into night, round two turned into three, turned into five. You were all starting to feel the affects of the alcohol, feeling merry and buzzed. You stood outside smoking a cigarette, taking a few minutes for yourself. Enjoying your own company until a group of men walked past, one deciding to try his chances with you. ‘Alright love? Nice arse you got there.’ You eyed him up and down, ‘thanks. Bit out of your league though a ain’t I?’ He approached your further. ‘She got a mouth on her this one. I like em feisty. Come back with me I’ll show you a good time.’
‘It’s a no from me. Keep walking, there’s a good lad.’ You pointed to the direction of the village. ‘Wasn’t asking, was tellin yah. Seems that mouth of yours needs putting to work.’ He came closer still, rage now rising in your blood. ‘I wouldn’t’ you warned, anger coating the tip of your tongue. ‘Or what?’ He squared up to you, pushing your buttons for a reaction, mashing them all together. ‘Or I’ll punch you so hard you’ll be shitting teeth for a week. Now. Fuck off.’ You stepped up to him, face to face, seeing the rage overflow from him. Clearly he doesn’t know what no means.
With him not backing down you offered one final warning. ‘Last chance. Fuck off.’ Scoffing he spat in your face, ‘bitch.’ And that was that, you saw red. Reeling back you planted a very hard Glasgow kiss on his forehead. As he stumbled backwards you pushed him, he fell to the floor with a thud. His friends then started shouting obscenities at you. ‘Oh fuck off. I’ll floor you n all if you want?’ You knew Price would have you for this, again. But you didn’t care, why should they keep getting away with it.
Due to the commotion the boys appeared at the door, seeing the larger men come to your aid the others ran off. Hoisting their confused friend off the floor and throwing him over their shoulders. ‘Think you’ve have enough love. We all have, back to base’ Price ordered. ‘He fuckin started it!’
‘And I’m finishing it. Ghost have a word, Soaps in the loo. Gaz grab her purse please mate.’
Feeling like a child you marched ahead to the base, furious at being shut down like that. With only a few short strides Ghost caught up to you and placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you. ‘You alright?’ Whipping round you looked up at him, seething, ‘do I look alright? I get harassed and yet I’m the bad guy? Fuckin Price. He can be a real arse sometimes.’
‘I know, but…’
‘But nothing. Do you know how exhausting it is to be harassed and still be made out to be the bad guy. That it feels like I should just sit back and take it? Fuck no. And fuck you if you think that.’
‘I don’t think that. None of us do.’
‘He fucking spat at me. Pity I couldn’t cave his fucking head in.’
‘He spat at you?! Lemme see.’
In your heightened state you’d completely forgot to even wipe it off your face. A string of saliva hung from your hairline to your cheek. Ghost cupped your jaw with one had and wiped away the offensive substance with the other. He’s patched you up before, but never touched you, like this. Gentle. Caring. You felt the flutter of a butterfly’s wing in your stomach, a pin prick of heat rose to your cheeks. ‘Thanks, sir’ you murmured softly.
‘Oi!’ A familiar voice boomed. Soap came running up to you, hands fumbling over you making sure you were ok. ‘Price told me what happened. Heard you head-butted the wanker. Gutted i didnae see it.’ You ruffled his hair, ‘well I can head-butt you? Then you’d know what it felt like.’
‘Fuck off Reaper. Come on’ he motioned for you to jump up for a piggyback, ‘let’s get you back before you assault anyone else.’
You jumped up onto his back and secured you legs round his waist. Turning back you saw Ghost was still watching you, nodding you offered a silent thank you. His touch still biting at your face.
____________
A/N hit me up if you wanna be on the tag list chief.
@sashadiurnal @iamnotyourmusebitch (thank you for fuelling me with reaper inspiration)
#call of duty#simon ghost riley#cod mw22#ghost x you#simon riley#modern warefare 2#ghost#call of duty ghost simon riley#cod ghost#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#slow build#Simon Riley x female oc#female oc#ghost x oc#Simon Riley x oc
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‘magin sweet virgin simon finally hittin it.
your legs sit hiked up on the thick muscles sittin’ atop his hipbones, his fingers digging deep into the sheets, practically twisting em off the mattress as he breathes out lowly.
his hips press forward further, his cock burning n stomach rolling into taut knots that have his nails digging holes into your pretty pink sheets.
you drag your hands up his chest slowly watching as the muscles pull tight n his hips stutter. his eyes flicker up to yours, skin breakin out in a mess of tender of goosebumps. “breathe, baby. you’re goin’ red on me, si.”
he laughs lowly, throat thick as he bottoms out. his thighs press against the back of yours, neck rolling as he tries his absolute best to contain the way his orgasm shivers down his spine.
“oh my… fuck,” he groans, teeth takin ahold of his tongue to silence the multitude of noises rising up his throat. his eyes flutter to a shut slowly as he tries to get the image of your sweet body outta his mind, or the fact that your cunt is suckin’ n holdin’ him there so tightly.
his head drops into the crook of your neck as he slowly pulls back, teeth nippin at your soft skin as your head arches back. his teeth bare in a soft hiss, jaw ticking against your chin. you drag your nails down his back gently, a pretty moan spilling free off your lips at the soft drag of his thick cock against your warm, silky walls.
n that’s what does it for him, the sound of that melodic whine. it plays n plays in his mind on repeat until he’s suddenly forcing himself back into you, hips a shaky stuttery mess.
n the groan, the drawn out whimper that tumbles off his lips is cruel. his teeth sink down into your skin as his hips ground forward, desperately attempting to fuck his seed into you. his eyes roll and his fingers grasp at the soft hair lining the nape of your neck.
“simon?” you murmur softly feeling his thick, hot release fill you full. “lemme look at you, wanna see that pretty face.”
zamnnnn. dis sounded better in my head 🤦♀️✌️
#simon riley#simon riley smut#cod mw2#ghost call of duty#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#cod#call of duty#cod mwii#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley imagine#simon riley cod#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x f reader#simon ghost x you#simon ghost smut#simon ghost riley x female oc#cod smut#cod x reader#ghost cod#cod modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty mw2#call of duty mwii#modern warfare#ghost#ghost x reader
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since yall loved königs so much, heres some simon “ghost” riley nsfw headcannons!!
WARNINGS: MDNI!! this is just completely nsfw :))
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* okay- simon 100% is a thigh lover and i mean ANYTHING to do with your thighs. especially if he fucks your thighs ugh, especially with your back to his chest and your sitting on his lap 🧍♂️
* riding. he looooves the way your body is pressed up against him, and the way you move your hips. it’s so intoxicating to him, he’s obsessed. he loves feeling you bite into his neck and shoulder, or your kisses against his jaw. he also loves the way he can grab ur thighs, and thats why he also loves the mating press or your legs on his waist, but like,, pressed to ur chest
* i don’t think simon has a lot of kinks. like not ones that physically harm you. it honestly depends on your preference :) but like idk. for me he’d have some kinks, but nothing with sadism or masochism like at all. but he loooooves to make you feel overwhelmed. i think he’d be into light bondage sometimes but not a lot. he likes to make sure you know you’re safe.
* playing off that, simon is someone BIG on hearing you verbally consent. a nod or a kiss won’t do. he needs to verbally hear you say what you need, or want. that ties into the fact he does absolutely love to hear you beg for him.
* simon is a stone top. at least imo, only bc of his SA. which that can happen, and he feels the need to have some kind of control over the situation and not you entirely. but sometimes he’ll let you praise him, and he’ll beg for you. he lets his guard down and submits to you in a sense.
* SAFEWORD. EVEN THO ITS NOT BDSM HE HAS A SAFEWORD. for him. not just for you-
* simon adore cockwarming. he loves feeling your little cunt on his shaft, where he just has you against him. he lets you grind into him barely, just getting enough friction to have soft, almost inaudible whimpers. especially when he’s doing paperwork.
* simon doesn’t ask you to give him head a lot bc he feels like it’s a task bc of his size. but you always insist and he swears its the best thing because your mouth was made for him. (sometimes he’ll fuck your mouth if he’s feelin silly n goofy :p)
* MARKINGGGG!!! he loves leaving sweet hickeys all over your neck, softly massaging your clit while sucking soft bruises onto your skin <333
* he takes his time a lot. and i mean a lot of time. he doesn’t like quickies (i agree) sessions can last sometimes 3-5 hours because he has so much stamina. like good lord.
* but he also takes his time bc he wants to show you how well knows your body. good lord does he know it. he knows exactly how to make you sing, and he’s hit spots you couldn’t have imagined.
* yes, simon is BIG but he knows how to use it. people who don’t know how to use their dick and its big, it hurts. but simon knows his angles, how deep he can go, etc.
* simon has a huge breeding kink, and i mean it’s horrid. he fills you up every single time. multiple times. he loves the thought of fucking a kid into you, and loving a kid into you. but he knows your both not ready for it yet, but it still drives the both of you crazy, the thought of you plump w his kid
#ghost cod#simon riley#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#ghost mw2#ghost#ghost smut#ghost x female reader#ghost x reader#ghost x oc#konig cod#cod mw2#cod modern warfare#cod x reader#cod mwii#call of duty#cod ghost#cod simon ghost riley#cod simon riley#cod mw ghost#mw2 2022
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Happy Valentine's!
Ghost/Val
(oc medic Ghost's girlfriend) belongs to AliaTurin
All the artworks I did so far of them. ^^
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Can these cats just let the man sleep?
#Simon ghost Riley#Simon Riley and cats#cats#he comes home from that last mission in mw3 and your cat just won’t leave him alone#because cats just know#they know#simon ghost riley x female oc#simon riley x reader#my art#procreate#simon riley#cod simon riley#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n
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Wild Horses
Part 1
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Doctor!Reader
Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4
A/N: Just a little idea I had after seeing all the TikToks and now I am yanked onto the Ghost train. I used to watch my brother play the game but that was a while ago so bear with me here. (advice or little pointers are much appreciated). I also might make this into a short story or add another part to it, let me know y’all. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!
Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.
Warnings: language, fluff, angst
You were assigned to the team as their personal physician, as requested by the higher ups in order to make sure the soldiers stayed in best health, both physically and mentally. You used to work at your local hospital before you were offered the position.
You knew the dangers and the risks involved, but you were in debt and had student loans that needed to paid. So after much hesitation, you accepted the offer, eventually being convinced by the fat paycheck.
You remembered the day you were first introduced to the team, the way everyone's eyes glued to you like a hawk, their large forms towering over your small frame in the room while you picked at the skin around your nails in nervous habit.
They were curious to say the least, wondering what the hell someone like you was doing in a place like this. And since when did they get the chance to have a full on doctor to treat them, usually they were offered combat medics. You had guts, that's for sure.
You on the other hand were nervous, frightened even, with the thought of living in the same quarters of men wrapped up within the tumults and afflictions of war without a single clue as to their current psychological state. You had seen the worst of men and humanity growing up and you no idea who these soldiers were, what they were capable of, or what their intentions might be. Maybe you should have requested that briefing before you hopped on that plane.
Amongst all of their gazes, you had failed to notice a certain masked individual in the far back of the room, his form shrouded amongst the others as he studied you. His eyes, hidden underneath the grooves of his mask that only seemed to be darkened by where he stood blocked by the only source of light, watched your every movement, from every gesture of your perfectly manicured fingers to every smoothing of the lint-free fabric of your sweater to the way you kept shifting your weight from one foot to another.
One thing was apparent; during the entire length the high ranking officer next to you introduced you and debriefed the men on what was expected and such, you had not uttered a single word, minus the small polite and somewhat strained smile on your face while your eyes told another story. Why the military truly hired you, he may never know.
After being shown your little office and workspace including your room, you were quick to settle in, decorating the area to the best of your abilities with what you had taken with you from back home in order to bring some life into the dull and two-dimensional area. If anyone questioned you on it you would just say that your own sanity is extremely vital in order to ensure quality treatment for your patients.
Once everything in your office was set up, you threw on your white coat and retreated yourself to your office space, sitting at your desk and hastily going over the files that you had completely forgotten about that were given to you regarding the soldiers' previous health before they come pouring in reporting symptoms of god knows what. Best be prepared. Jesus how many bullet wounds can a single individual have.
The soldiers were advised to do their routine physical examinations with you so the first one to come waltzing in through your office door was none other than Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, a cheeky grin plastered on his face and much too excited for his own good. That boy's got a crush on you I swear. To be honest I'd be lying if I said the whole team didn't have a schoolboy crush on you.
The men were quick to warm up to you, relieved to have a gentle soul in their midst after all the shit that goes down outside, you were like breath of fresh air. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to bring a doctor on board, as quiet and reserved as you were. They speculated you were just shy, the reason why you never spoke much, not knowing that you just couldn't hold a conversation if your life depended on it, especially around those you weren't close with. At first they couldn't tell because of your major rbf.
During their routine check-ups or whatever issue they had going on, they would do most of the talking, which was a good thing on your end because it helped you to piece together their temperaments. Thank the lord no one is a psycho murderer. Oh wait.
Soap is the most chattiest of them all. Boy wouldn't shut his mouth when he sat in your office. He's super flirty. But not as flirty as Alejandro.
Ghost on the other hand was reluctant to step into your office for his check-ups. After all he was usually the one to tend to his own wounds or just push through whatever it is that is going on, so he did not know what all the fuss was about in having to get his health checked. So when you call out his last name more than once might I add, clipboard in hand and scanning the area for whoever looks to be headed in your direction, he can't help but heave out a sigh, trudging over to where you stood, your clean white coat a stark contrast to the rest of the environment as you leaned against your door to hold it open.
You muttered out a small hello to which he let out a small huff as you moved aside to let the man enter, watching him walk into your office and seat himself down. That man intimidated you a bit not gonna lie. Not only could you not see his face but he had also not said a single word to you. And not to mention he was absolutely huge as compared to you, even more so in person. You also had heard a lot of stories from the other guys.
"How is your day?" You ask, shutting the door behind you as you briefly read over his previous but extremely short records on your clipboard. There's barely anything on this man. Does he not get ill?
Ghost is quiet at first, watching your eyes scan over the clipboard and curious to know just what is on those papers before your eyes flit up to meet his and catch him off guard, which causes him to answer abruptly. "Fine."
"Okey dokes." You give a quick smile.
Did you just say okey dokes.
Clearing your throat, you go over to where he sat and set the clipboard down on the table next to you beside your laptop. You didn’t have to read his body language to know he did not want to be here at all. So you were going to do him a favor and make the appointment as quick as possible.
"So do you have any allergies to any medications, any allergies I need to know of?" Your fingers hover over the keyboard of your laptop as you turn to face him, only to be met with an expressionless skull of a mask and the expressionless eyes beneath. Oh boy this session was going to be something. You had heard of how he had never shown his face, so you made sure not to question on it.
"No ma'am."
"Are you currently taking any medication?" You ask the same standard set of questions you have asked every single patient of yours, typing as you go.
"No ma'am."
Any previous illness? Disease?"
"No."
The more you ask him questions, the more he strangely finds it easier to answer. Your voice is surprisingly soft, warm even, like the start of autumn, and he finds it comforting to listen to. Or maybe it's just some technique doctors learn during training in order to relax their patients.
"Do you have any history of smoking, alcohol, or illicit drug use?"
".......sometimes I'll have a smoke, and a glass of bourbon." He's almost waiting for you to hand him a pamphlet about the dangers of smoking.
"How many times would you say?" You ask for details, your eyes still glued to the screen of your laptop as you await his answer.
Ghost is a bit confused by the amount of questions you ask, but he also has not been to the doctor's so how would he know. "Um I don't know."
"A rough estimate is fine."
"Not much, maybe 2-3 times a week or so when I'm not on duty."
"How many times a week do you exercise?" You feel silly for asking this question to a man like him but it's all part of the procedure and you almost pray he doesn't hate you for it.
"Every day." So no pamphlet?
Jesus this man has more discipline than you. You can barely get up in the morning.
"Okayyy." You mutter out, more to yourself as you enter in his responses.
Ghost finds himself watching you from his seat on the chair, his eyes tracing over and studying your features as you type away on your laptop. He thinks you're really pretty but either doesn't want to admit it or just flat out does not know that he finds you attractive.
There are certain details about you that he can't help but find himself intrigued by, like the small black outline flower tattoo on your hand that was located near the area of your thumb, running along the curve to meet the knuckle of your forefinger. He's curious as to the meaning behind it, if there was one. He wanted to ask what type of flower it was, perhaps it was your favorite? It would give him an idea as to what flowers to get you.
"Have you ever been hospitalized, had any surgical procedures done or been treated for any chronic conditions?"
"No." Ghost shakes his head before remembering his wounds from combat, wondering if that is something you should know. "Just the bullet and knife wounds from combat. Nothing too serious."
Jesus fucking christ. You were willing to bet he treated those wounds himself.
Ghost is not a fan of hospitals. Pretty sure this dude just looks up YouTube tutorials on how to fix himself instead of just going to the doctor like a normal human being.
"When was the last time you visited your general practitioner.......or just any doctor in general?" You ask the last question, willing to bet it never.
There was silence on his end as you looked towards him waiting for an answer, the clicking of your keyboard coming to a stop and only loudening the silence. Ghost could not remember the last time he had been to a hospital or even scheduled a visit. And as you looked at him, your eyes almost staring into his soul, still waiting for a response, he could not help but feel a tad bit embarrassed, as if you were judging him for not being a responsible adult. Also it didn't help that you were goddamn pretty.
"I'm gonna take that as a very long time, the last time being the prehistoric ages, correct?" There's the slightest hint of a tease in your voice.
"Uh.......yes ma'am." Ghost squints his eyes at you as you go back to typing on your keyboard. Did you just.............did you just call him…..He does not know how to feel about that. Did you just try to crack a joke? He always thought doctors were the serious type.
"Okay then." You straighten up, grabbing your sphygmomanometer off the table and turning yourself to face him. "Is it okay if I check your blood pressure?"
The man is stunned. No one has ever asked his permission for anything before. He's so used to either taking orders or giving orders that he doesn't know how to respond and stares at you for a moment, forcing his brain to process what to do next before eventually giving a nod.
"Is it okay if you take your jacket off so I can get a clearer reading?"
He nods again, still in shock as he takes off his jacket, leaving him in his black long sleeve thermal. He's almost thankful he wasn't in his full tactical gear, having to imagine you standing there waiting for him as he removes every single piece of equipment off his torso.
"Thank you." You give him a short smile, placing your hand under his tricep and gently lifting his arm in order to wrap the inflatable cuff around his bicep. You almost blush at the mere size of this man's arms. "Now you're just going to feel a slight pressure okay."
Ghost can't help but feel a slight warmth spread to his cheeks at the way you handle him with such care, as if he were the small delicate thing and not you. Now he knows why the others were so giddy after leaving your office.
As you place your stethoscope on his forearm near his elbow to listen to his blood pumping through the artery, your other hand pumping air into the cuff using the inflation bulb with your eyes glued to the numbers on the gauge, he can't help but to notice the old Donald Duck watch that sat at your wrist, the ones with the moving arms and the vintage style black leather straps.
And as he further investigated your attire, he noticed a few other details, like the colorful glittery badge reel in the shape of a pill container with the words "licensed drug dealer" printed on it that was attached to your scrub top, the glitter sticker with the words "I'm nicer than my face looks" as well a few Disney character stickers and the little frog looking keychain that hung off of your badge. He was wondering what the hell that thing was. Your accessories were awfully colorful for a general doctor. Something was telling him you either used to work with families or children. Whatever the hell managed to bring you to such a drastic change.
You brought him out of his thoughts as you shifted from your position, unwrapping the inflatable cuff from around his bicep and placing it back on the table before typing the results into your laptop. "Okay," You adjust the ear pieces of your stethoscope back into your ears as you turn back to him, "I'm going to perform some auscultations, which is just listening to the sounds of your heart and your lungs so if you could just sit up straight and relax that would be wonderful."
Simon straightens up his posture as you place your free hand on his shoulder, at this point you're not sure if you're steadying him or yourself, your fingertips just barely grazing across the bottom of his neck. He doesn't know why but, it's as if your fingers are directly touching the skin underneath, despite the fabric of his mask that separated your fingers from his skin. Your hands feels hot, like really hot and he has no clue why.
The soldier only feels his cheeks warm up even more so now as you inch closer to carefully place the diaphragm of your stethoscope on his chest, your head tilted and your eyes lowered to the floor as you listen for his heart beat. He gets a whiff of your perfume and he finds himself drawn to it. You smell like something along the lines of jasmine petals, geranium, myrrh, frankincense, and a hint of sandalwood. Now he definitely knows why the others are fawning over you. Poor Simon is praying you don't hear how his heart is nearly racing. He does not know why he is feeling this way and it slightly bothers him in the way that he has no clue what it is he is feeling.
He catches how your brows slightly furrow at the center and his heart skips a beat. Now he's fucking embarrassed and this man rarely ever is embarrassed. Maybe he's even starting to panic. Can you tell? Do you know? You open your mouth to say something but he quickly interrupts he just got back from a run so you dismiss it with a shrug, placing the diaphragm on his back now and asking him to give you a couple of deep breaths.
"Okay. Take a deep breathe in, breathe it out. Breathe in, and out."
He complies with your instructions, breathing in slow and deep breaths as you go from one side of his back to another.
"Good job." You remove the earpieces and let your stethoscope hang around your neck as you go back to your table, recording in more info. Hang on did you just, did you just tell a grown 6'4" man good job.
Even Simon is confused. Like bitch.
"Okay, so we're all done with that." You inform him, before going over to one of the drawers and sliding it open. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to have some blood work done on you, just to make sure there are no underlying issues that need to be taken care of."
Simon is silent so you turn to him. "Is that okay, Ghost, is that what the others call you? Would you like me to call you Ghost?"
Goddamn you're too polite. "That's fine by me ma'am."
"Perfect. Now is it okay if I take your blood sample?"
Ghost nods, so you grab the tools necessary and place them on the table next to you.
"Could you please roll your sleeve up and make a fist for me? Thank you." You ask him once you sanitize your hands and throw on a pair of fresh gloves. You grab the tourniquet and catch sight of the tattoos that cover his forearm as you tie the tourniquet around his arm above the elbow. You're curious to know the story behind them but you have a feeling he's not one for storytelling or just talking in general so you remain silent. You tear open the small packet of the alcohol wipe and apply it to the area. The chemical is cool against his skin as you sanitize the area before letting it air dry. Simon can't help but notice how small your hands are.
Simon watches you intently as you work, the way you are so focused and so precise with each step, and yet so gentle. It's almost cute.
"You're just going to feel a little pinch." You tell him in a soft tone, a tone you were used to using on all your little patients before inserting the needle into his vein. As if the man hasn't been shot or stabbed and god knows what multiple times before.
At this point Simon doesn't even notice the needle in his arm, he's too focused on the details of your face. He can sense that you're nervous around him and he feels bad. Even though he's just met you, the last thing he wants is for you to feel scared or unsafe around him. And even though this whole situation is awkward for him since he never was a fan of visiting the hospital, you're their physician, and at the end of the day you're there to patch them up. So he comments on your dark circles, thinking you haven't gotten any rest since you arrived here. "You look tired."
"............that's just my face." You give him that distinct smile, the same smile you have given anyone who ever commented on them as you connect the vacutainers to the needle to draw his blood, your eyes glued to the dark red liquid seeping through the thin clear tube before pouring into the sample tube.
If you thought it was quiet before, well you are most definitely wrong because the silence is absolutely deafening now.
Simon nearly punches himself for his stupidity. Why in the bloody hell did he say that of all things. He wanted to tell you he liked your dark circles but decided to bite his tongue instead. Now he's definitely not going to say another word. Better yet, once he leaves your office, he's not coming back. He's just going to avoid you at all costs in order to save both you and himself the embarrassment. He's willing to bet the others handled this way better than him.
"But I suppose I am a bit jet-lagged though. Haven't really gotten any rest since I got on that plane." You add. "I appreciate your concern."
You most definitely said that to make him feel better about himself, Simon thinks to himself as he stares at the wall and avoids your face. There was no other reason.
Once your done drawing his blood you ask him to hold the piece of cotton pad down onto where the needle was punctured as you open up the drawer where the gauze is located. "Do you have a favorite color?"
Did you just ask him his favorite color? Simon stares at you blankly. Were all doctors this odd?
"I'm guessing you like black?" You pull out the roll of black gauze, displaying it in front of you with the most deadpanned expression possible.
You've got jokes. Simon thinks to himself. If he had looked a little closer he would have noticed the ghost of a smirk on your lips.
"You should see the colors the others picked." You tease as you wrap the gauze around his arm at the elbow, making sure it isn't too tight but also not loose enough to the point where the cotton pad underneath slips out.
Simon narrows his eyes at you. Bloody fucking hell. The others picked a color?
You're pretty sure Gaz requested you get an Elmo print one he saw online once somewhere. Soap asked if there a print of the Scotland flag available. The look of hurt on his face when you said there wasn't so you improvised and gave him both the blue and white gauze. You gave him a Dum-Dum lollipop to make him feel better. The others may have also gotten a lollipop as they left your office, especially after seeing the special treatment that Soap received. Were they jealous? Maybe.
Once you tell the man he is all good to go and that you will call him once you're done getting the results from his blood sample, he nearly jumps out of the chair and bolts out of your office. He prays some unknown miracle happens and that his blood sample magically disappears so that he doesn't have to face you, firmly believing he insulted you and that you thought he called you ugly when that is not what he intended. I am telling you this man does not know how to compliment. They should make a guidebook for dummies specialized just for him.
You watch him disappear out your door with a quirked brow. Well that was fucking weird.
When Simon leaves the area he finds Soap lounging about on a chair with a sucker in his mouth.
"The hell is that?" Simon squints at the sergeant.
"Mph mph." Soap's voice comes out muffled.
"What?"
Soap pauses and turns to see Ghost looming over him. "It's a Dum-Dum."
"A fuckin what?"
"Y/n said they're called Dum-Dums." Soap pulls it out of his mouth, twisting the stick of the lollipop around in his fingers as if he were inspecting it. "This one's a cotton candy flavor."
"She gave you a fuckin lollie?"
"It's pure dead brilliant I tell ya. Why, did she not give ya one?"
More silence. Simon would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a tad bit butthurt.
"Maybe you scared her." Soap jokes.
Simon lets out a grumbled incoherent huff and walks away.
Soap just shrugs and pops the lollipop back in his mouth.
Simon has a feeling he is going to go to bed thinking about his actions.
Part 2
#cod#simon ghost riley#ghost#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost headcanons#ghost x y/n#ghost x you#ghost x oc#ghost x female reader#ghost x reader#ghost x f!reader#simon riley#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x reader#simon riley x oc#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost imagine#simon ghost riley imagine#soap x reader#soap cod#soap x oc#soap x you#john soap mactavish#john mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#cod headcanons#cod mw2
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141 Sweetheart, looking at her hand: Damn, I need to fix my nails again.
Ghost: Here.
141 Sweetheart: Ghost what the hell--
Ghost, with a wad of cash in his hand: For your nails.
141 Sweetheart, touched: Oh sweetheart no, I don't need--
Ghost, shoves the money in her face: Nails.
141 Sweetheart, taking the money and sighing: Thank you.
Ghost: B)
--
Lil Bonus!
141 Sweetheart: Ghost this is really sweet, but I don't need this! I do my own nails.
Ghost: That's really cool an' impressive, but still keep the money.
141 Sweetheart: Oh my fucking god--
#HELP THESE ARE SO MUCH FUN TO DO#black reader#cod imagine#cod oc#cod x y/n#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#ghost call of duty#cod incorrect quotes#modern warfare#modern warfare imagine#modern warefare 2 x reader#modern warfare ii#x female reader#black fem reader#black!reader#x reader#ghost incorrect quotes#simon x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x black reader#141 sweetheart
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Man-Sized
8/9 God's Away on Business
Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC
Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).
CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.
Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.
I'm 20 minutes away. You home?
Sure! You're always welcome.
Simon never told her if he was a minute away. Something was different here.
The key turned on the lock of her front door sharply 20 minutes after he had sent that text, and she went to greet him.
Their hug lasted longer than usual, and she could feel the relief and sadness just pour from him. He embraced her like a 200-pound shadow, then kissed her gently on the cheek, not mouth — that kiss spoke of companionship rather than lust, and her heart melted against his chest.
He looked like hell. Not only drained but like he had been through hell. Something awful must've happened if a man like Simon couldn't conceal the emotional maelstrom he was evidently in.
"You just got back?"
"Yeah."
"How was it?"
She didn't usually ask How was work. It wasn't really work. It was something else.
Simon didn't answer, he just took off his jacket and shoes like he was sleepwalking. He continued that sleepwalk to her couch. It had become some sort of a safe place he had carved out from the world to curl in, even if he never curled in anywhere, simply sat down with a manspread that usually made her mouth water. But seeing him stare off into space like he had just seen a mushroom cloud in the distant horizons didn't make her want to jump his bones. It made her want to close him in a hug and shelter him from all the pain in the world.
"I lost people yesterday."
"Oh. Oh shit."
Something like this was bound to happen at some point. Her first feeling was relief from knowing that Simon had survived unscathed from whatever horror he and his team had been through.
"That's… I don't know what to say."
Now that he had poured some of that exhaustion on the floor of her hallway, she noticed that he was enclosed in a shroud of latent need for revenge. The air seemed to thicken around him: of course he would deal with heartbreak by silent wrath. His eyes reminded her of the Antarctic stare; they just kept staring off into the void while also appearing sharp and aware, like he might burst into action from the slightest little threat such as a sudden sharp sound. Her tiny little home, soft lights, and messy book piles seemed childish and nonsensical compared to the ominous man who had seen too much.
"23."
"What..?"
"23. The number of people I have lost in total."
Shit… Fuck. She tried to remember something useful from the psychology books she had gobbled up not too long ago. But she couldn't turn into a therapist and offer him treatment. He might only laugh at such tries, anyway. Surely they offered counseling services or trauma therapy in his workplace for these kind of situations… But Simon probably steered clear of those, too.
"Is Soap alive?"
"Yeah. Wounded."
Compassion took over, and she finally walked to him, sat down, and reached to place a hand over his.
"Sometimes I wonder if thousands of people are worth one good man," he said with a deepening, impending fury, a tempest barely held in confinement. "Not to talk about three."
Thousands of people…
That meant… Wow. Okay.
He was definitely working on preventing missiles or some shit. Saving the world.
Sweet Jesus… And she had just joked about it.
"This world could use another flood."
The shroud turned into a whole cage that prevented her from comforting him. The hand underneath her palm seemed to tingle and burn as if it was coated with tiny spikes.
He was always so dramatic, but it didn't make him sound whiny or childish. It was actually scary. He was the weapon of mass destruction, an atom bomb in one man, about to detonate and level a whole city with a blast and nuclear winds.
"Have you ever thought about… quitting, you know? Doing something else?" She offered him a choice like someone would offer a doughnut to a murder victim, hoping it would make the pain go away.
"I was an apprentice to a butcher before I enlisted."
"Well, that's… a bit different from what you're doing now."
"Is it?"
Another sliver of information about his past, and she wasn't necessarily surprised. The worlds they lived in were like night and day. She had a safety net, friends who didn't kill or fear being killed, she had a degree, access to education, a promising career in the culture field ahead of her. Simon had a rough childhood and a dark past; he had chopped corpses of dead animals for money and then pursued a career in killing humans. He had lost 23 and killed God knows how many people.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"You got any food?"
"Sure. Um, no. But I'll order something."
She moved to rise from the couch, but he turned his hand and seized her by the palm. The warm fingers closed around hers and gave her a soft squeeze.
"I like that pasta sauce you make."
"The Bolognese?"
"Yeah."
"Then that's what you shall have."
There wasn't much else she could do. He wouldn't, or couldn't talk about it, so she ran to the nearest market to grab minced meat and some fresh herbs because dried ones simply wouldn't do right now. She made him food and seasoned it with as much love as she could while he put up a floating shelf she had gotten for books that didn't fit in her bookshelf anymore.
The scene was domestic, almost traditionally so. She had never thought of herself as a woman who would happily cook for a man. A man who put up her furniture for her. But then again, she had never thought she would date a man like Simon in the first place.
She suggested they watch a few episodes of a new tv show she was binging while they ate. Then he went to the shower, and she soon stood at the door, asking if he wanted to be alone. There was no answer, which in Simon's case meant it was safe to proceed. He was facing the cascading water as she stepped in to hug him from behind.
Perhaps it was the simple things. Even when the world was burning or war was raging or families were being torn apart, it was the simple things even then: some good, homemade food, some distraction, no matter how brainless and meaningless, some skin-on-skin connection and a good night's sleep.
It wasn't much; it wasn't a therapy session or a resurrection or anything life-changing. It wasn't much… But on the other hand, perhaps it was perfectly enough.
She gathered he might not be in the mood right now, but when he grew hard just from her embracing him, she slithered a hand down and stroked him shyly. He didn't stop her from pumping him to a release filled with weary sighs while he merely leaned on the tiles as she tried her best to alleviate his pain. He grabbed her hand after and laced their fingers together, used her hand to hug himself while a single, almost inaudible sniff pierced the sound of running water. It immediately turned into him clearing his throat — Simon didn't know how to cry.
He usually slept with boxers, perhaps a shirt on too, but this time he wore a whole set of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt into bed.
"You got that Glock here somewhere?"
He checked the mag and gave the gun a routine inspection, which seemed more like a comforting procedure than having anything to do with actual necessity. He had left it to her fully operational and with a weighted note to remember to rack the slide before firing.
It dawned on her that his gift served a whole other purpose too. It had been planted in her apartment, and not just for her protection.
A bleak thought passed through her mind about whether she would die that night in the hands of a traumatized, paranoid soldier, but she crawled into his arms nevertheless. He fell asleep right away — a sign of deep exhaustion. She wanted to caress him, hold him, but he rarely let her. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was the one who spooned her as they drifted off into sleep while there was a knife tucked under his pillow and a gun sitting on the headboard of the bed.
But instead of a possible homicide victim, she felt like a sleep toy when he tightened his grip on her through sleep with a sharp, irritated rumble when she tried to change position only slightly. It was then that she cried the tears he could not.
***
The darkness woke her up with a nightmare. Not a cold sweat one, but the kind where you were free falling and woke with a jolt just before the impact.
It was a familiar dream where she tried to hide from her abuser, the one who was supposed to love her but had turned out to be a grooming hunter. The most nightmarish thing wasn't that she was being chased again. No: the most aggravating thing was that she still felt weak. She was a grown-up now, she had more grit, she should've been perfectly capable of fighting back with words and fists. She wanted to voice her will, shout at him to leave her alone, even hurt that man, find some weapon to stab him with, just fight back somehow — but her muscles never worked, and time was running out: he was getting inside the building she was hiding in.
This time, it was different. With ecstatic thrill, she realized she could call for help. This time, she had a weapon called Simon. But the rotten thing was that he didn't answer the phone. He didn't come to her aid even when she sent distressed texts, and she was alone, weak, nothing but trash to the man about to come and bend her under his will again.
It was just a dream, but waking up was always a relief. She was breathing like she had just been saved from drowning. To her surprise, Simon was fast asleep, probably too spent to stay vigil, which was both unsettling and heartbreaking. He was hard against her, and she realized it must've bled into her dream, adding to its menacing nature.
Still, the relief was immeasurably sweet as she noticed Simon was physically here, holding her. Trauma was a bitch, but it didn't get to her this time. Nothing could hurt her. No one could come and take her away from the heavy, safe cage of his arms. The ripples of the nightmare slowly turned into something entirely different. How she could get wet just from feeling him thick and pulsing against her back after such a night terror was… well, it was new.
What had happened in the shower before they retreated to bed was fucking hot. Despite the evening full of grief and loss, that simple, urgent, shiver-ridden handjob in the shower was so beautiful that she could've cried from that alone. He was so done in that she finally got past the wall that seemed to prevent her from touching him. The connection was so pure that she didn’t quite know where she ended and he began.
She had never felt this kind of bond with another human being before. She hadn't even known that there were men like Simon, and perhaps there weren't. He was one of a kind.
Curling up together amidst a burning world, a selfish world, a world sinking like a ship, was so utterly beautiful that it was breaking her heart into pieces.
She shifted, sure of Simon waking from her turning around, but he only stirred a little and fell back asleep. Her hand seemed to have a will of its own as it found its way under his pants and caressed him. The thick flesh pulled against her palm, calling her to give him more of that stress relief, to drown him in love. Surely he would only be pleasantly surprised if she woke him up with her mouth.
She didn't get far before a hand shot out. Fingers scraped against her scalp and grabbed, yanked her by the hair, then raised her from between his legs.
Fuck… Of course.
How could she be so stupid?
"That's not a good idea, sweetheart," he said with a sleepy, slightly alarmed grunt. "Even though I appreciate the gesture."
He gentled his grip on her as if it had only been something naughty that had accidentally, in the spur of the moment, turned into too rough a treatment. Her scalp was burning, but what shocked her more was witnessing how quick his reflexes could be.
She was dealing with someone who had gotten used to being touched only with violence, with pure intention to cause harm. The darkness was the time for phantoms; they appeared in her bedroom as if she had called them forth with her mouth. The nightmare was still fresh on her mind, giving ground to having another talk about things neither of them wanted to discuss… But she had wanted to ask a certain question from the moment she had seen all those scars.
"Have you ever been tortured?"
The hand caressed her hair now, and she cursed that they almost always made love in the darkness. She wanted to see him, needed to see him, to make sure that that hand belonged to Simon instead of a ghost.
"Just ask how many days."
"How many days?"
"98."
She had expected the answer to be something like two or three days. That Simon had survived full-on torture without breaking for a week, at the very maximum.
98 days covered over 3 months.
He took her hand and brought it to his ribs, on a protruding scar she had seen many times. It wasn't the most prominent, but it was, apparently, one with the meanest memory.
Shouldn't have asked… Shouldn't have asked…
"Got slapped up on a meat hook like those pigs back there in the butchery. You believe in karma?"
"Simon.. Jesus Christ."
"Nah, the hook was the nice part. It's the brainwashing that really gets to ya." He rubbed himself with her hand as if to relieve a long-forgotten pain.
"If the mind breaks, you're done."
Simon wasn't living in the same world as her. He lived in the same realm as Roman slaves who were slaughtered for entertainment in the Colosseum, as soldiers freezing to death on the Eastern Front of World War 2, as political prisoners tortured in North Korean internment camps.
"This is horrible."
"What's horrible is you wakin' me up like this and not finishing the job."
Shivers of ice seeped down her spine. He was so unfazed… and it wasn't just denial or a defense mechanism. He was simply in terms with what had happened to him — what had been done to him. He didn’t turn his gaze away from the abyss. She wouldn't call it healthy or normal, but it was mature as hell, something so profoundly self-sufficient and fearless that she knew she would never meet a man like Simon.
Feeling both scared and aroused, she granted his wish and took him back in her mouth. They had just talked about meat hooks and psychological torture, but he was hard as a rock. The moan that left him as she went deep and flattened her tongue against him was an exhausted and deprived sigh, and she felt tears welling up.
He was broken and perfect and beautiful, he simply wouldn't yield. Not in any storm, not before a hurricane, not amidst a fallout, not in the thick of whatever apocalypse would come and rain upon this world. The least she could do to honor such a man was to make him sigh like that.
The moans that left him were different from when he was fucking her. They sounded fragile, arduous, and brought pain to mind. His enemies had tried to break him for nearly 100 days and failed. She couldn't stop thinking about where all those scars had come from — mutilation, beating, cutting, flagellation, not to mention being suspended on a meat hook…
Had it ended in him being buried alive? Or was that a whole other story? And who had been in the coffin with him? An enemy or a friend?
He said the physical torture wasn't even the worst of it…
She thought about how he always looked so incredibly tired, was so paranoid about someone coming to get him. He had most likely been subjected to sleep deprivation and constant interrogation, other slow methods meant to break someone psychologically. Methods that escaped her imagination.
Tears ran down her cheeks, and she sobbed against him, like a pathetic woman who knew nothing of the world’s darkness. A killer's hand found its way in her hair again, this time with the gentlest caress.
"Dove… C'mere."
Whatever test this was, she felt like a total failure when releasing him and letting him pull her into another staunch embrace.
"I'm sorry," he said softly while petting her hair like she was a child who had had a nightmare.
He shouldn't be sorry for anything. He shouldn't be consoling her for his own torture. Her own past seemed like a walk in the park compared to this, her depression was laughable. Even when she knew these kinds of things shouldn't be compared.
"Sometimes forget that you're a civilian."
How on earth he could forget that was beyond her. What Simon had forgotten, though, was what civilian life was like. What ordinary, day to day life looked and felt like. Why would he want to continue his job after everything he had been through?
Unless he didn't care if he got killed.
Unless he wanted to get away. Had been wanting to get away for years now, just like her…
The tears were running in streams now, and her nose was stuffed, broken sighs passed through her mouth as he kept her in one piece with a simple hug.
"Gotta say it gets me fuckin' hard when you shed tears for me,” he said, amused, while she was crumbling under the weight of their darkness.
"You're always so cocky," she sighed, trying to get air through her mouth because her nose was clogged from the tears.
"Isn't that what you like about me?"
When she wouldn’t speak, he turned her around to lie on her stomach and started to caress her back. Slow and steady, purposeful. He cherished her from neck to waist, rubbed the knots between her shoulder blades, soothed tension in places she didn't even know she had any. It was the gentlest touch she had felt since childhood, a caress of her entire being.
How poetic, that a butcher was the only one to have touched her with such mercy.
She should be the one doing the comforting, but here they were again. All those psychology journals, all those books, all that education, and he was the one who knew what to do, how to handle his shit. And her shit too.
"C'mon... Tell me you like it."
The callous hand cupped her ass, slid down her thigh, beckoned it to lift to gain access to her. It was just an inspection due to her not having said a word, and he must've taken it as a sign of her being proud and stubborn... And then the night laughed at her with a gratified haze as his fingers met her wetness.
"Alright, have it your way. But you're always drippin' for me… That's how I know ya like it."
He relished in what he found, spread the moisture all over her folds, causing her hips to rise up to present her pussy to him — like it was normal that she was soaked after such a sad evening and a fright of a night.
But Simon didn't seem to regard it as perverse at all. To him, it was quite natural, mostly an endearment, as he climbed on top of her like a god of war about to get a taste of bliss after a hard day on the battlefield.
The bulged tip found her entrance with a familiarity that was only sublime. He was such a tease when he wanted to be, coating himself with her before going straight in.
"Got your eyes and your cunt wet for me. If that ain't love, don't know what is."
Words escaped her again as he stretched her wide, and she could feel his hunger, both their hunger. He simply had more patience than she did to not act upon it right away. He set a pace that was sweet and slow, so greedy that it made her grab the sheet in a tight fist.
"You're hopeless," she sighed while her back arched to meet him in perfect sync, the rhythm they had established long ago was the most divine for both of them. Perhaps he wanted to feel alive too, especially on a night like this. His hand found hers, the one grabbing the sheet, and she opened for him, interlaced her fingers with his, and squeezed. The sadness turned into a lazy, warm pool of love and arousal, even euphoria.
"That's it sweetheart… what else? Tell me how much you like me."
It was never straight-shooting with him. She couldn't just say that he was driving her insane. It had been embarrassing enough to spill all that love in the air when she had been drunk, with him between her legs like a bloodhound that had caught scent.
So she told her what he disliked about him. Those things happened to be the ones she absolutely loved about him as well.
"You talk too much," she offered, already out of breath.
"Never hear that at work."
"Probably because you don't fuck your co-workers."
He laughed at that, so uncharacteristic and unbridled that it made tiny bubbles brim all over in her, too.
"Know a few dolls who wouldn't mind if I did."
Jealousy bled instantly. No — it clawed at her insides. Simon had women on his team? He had discreetly left them unmentioned up until this point.
It crossed her mind that maybe he was the lovesick one now. But that couldn't be true… He was just being arrogant, as always.
"Don't worry darling. I'm all yours."
That husky purr drove her only more nuts. He even sent his hands down to her waist and held her steady while making it known to whom she belonged.
"Think you can handle me?"
The next thrust was punctuated, his balls pressed against her clit, rewarding him with a tight moan she simply couldn't hold back. The appeased rumble above her told her that he only got a kick out of this childish boasting.
"I don’t know. Your ego is too big for me," she tried to sound dry during yet another delicious fucking.
"Got somethin' else that's big," he bragged, voice covered in molten gold. "Right? Just for you."
On that, she refused to entertain him. He knew perfectly well just how big he was. Simon didn't do relationships but had surely had his fair share of women who had run into his arms more than gladly. Far more eagerly than her, or at least, with far less dignity. It was despicable, but she was jealous of his past too and envied every single one of them, whether the women he'd had amounted to dozens or hundreds.
"You like big men?" He brushed her hair aside from her cheek as if wanting to see her face to read the answer from her expression, even if it was too dark to see anything.
"I like men who know when to shut up," she blurted.
A laugh, rough but hearty, echoed in the bedroom.
"Marry me."
Her eyes went wide, her jaw opened, a quick gasp passed through…
"Or don't. 'S not worth the pension."
A joke… He was joking.
Her eyes fluttered closed, but her mouth was left hanging open; then it slowly but surely curved into a quivering little smile. This goddamn man would be the end of her.
He caressed her again, then brushed a thumb over her lip in a soft, yearning gesture that told her he wanted to kiss her but couldn't from this position. The gentle lovemaking in the dark thick of night was sweeter than any pain, and she did something rebellious: she reached for that thumb, captured it in her mouth, and sucked.
"Fuck…"
It was a surprised huff. Completely taken aback.
She swirled her tongue around it, gripped it tight, mouthed it like it was his cock — and could feel his hips buck unexpectedly.
"Not gonna last long if ya..-"
The hurried explanation ended in a lengthy groan, and the body above her went rigid, then shuddered. He came without warning, the thumb was pushed even further into her mouth, and he was buried in her to the hilt, hissing and moaning like it caused him pain.
He was always a gentleman when it came to her pleasure, never chased his own before she had gotten hers first. It must drive him a bit mad to spill so soon — especially when it wasn't even the first time today.
It was the softest cataclysm she had ever seen, another stealthy peek behind those high brick walls. His body crushed her, the massive arms closed in around her, he rubbed his face somewhere in her neck… and he was trembling. Perhaps it was his way of weeping since he couldn't cry actual tears.
He was finally speechless, gathering himself after an unusually weak moment. He swallowed, panted, then swallowed again. Struggled to regain control, snatched it back like an injured soldier. But he wasn’t angry, nor was he ashamed, he was pretty damn delighted.
"Now look at what you did," he scolded, but the tone was playful. He slipped out of her mouth, the heavy chest was throbbing against her back, and she mourned the fact that her skin only met cotton.
"You had it coming."
Arousal made her voice thicker than usual, and he buried his face further in her hair.
"Really…"
And again, he wouldn't pull out. She was just gathered in his arms and dragged to lie on her side. Her back met a solid chest, and the hand traveled up her throat, making her expose her neck for him to wolf from behind. It was probably her weakest spot – and as soon as he noticed it, he took advantage of the knowledge. He even used teeth on her, made love bites like they were some horny teenagers. She would have to wear high collars for classes next week…
"Does that feel nice?" The attentiveness was nearing unbearable proportions, his voice so close to her ear that her eyes rolled back. He was big, even when soft, and continued to rub against her after slipping out. Another hand dove down to assist her reach her own peak.
"Judging by how wet you are, it does."
He was right, as always. The tears were dry, but her pussy was not; she was so wet that it was a miracle how he was able to be as precise as he was.
How the hell could one man be so good at everything…
"You're too sweet for your own good," he whispered when she shattered against that chest and those fingers, her own flexing against his arm as she came. She let him carry her to the shore, break on it like a wave. The broken cries were such a signature, the music of them such a tell, that it really didn't matter that she didn't, couldn't use words with him.
This was the best therapy either of them could get, no matter what any book or professional said. They were wildly alive, they had found each other through horrors and blood and tears. Somehow, he had found his way to her orbit, collided with her in that dark, grimy, degraded place where she danced for money for a tortured killer like him. Her job was a good workout, and it paid the bills, but it had also brought Simon to her, and she had never been more grateful for deciding to go on those pole dance classes years ago.
"I have to wear high necks to school again," she said afterward in his arms, all snug and prepared to glide back to sleep.
"Serves you right."
He was hard again while she was feeling sore and puffy and content — and slathered, with both of their juices, which he used to lazily guide himself through her folds.
"Ready for another round if you are," he offered.
That would be his third one already… The ungodly amount of stamina on this man was frightening.
"I- I don't think I can."
It was mostly an acknowledgment of his size, and they both knew it. Simon just tightened his hold on her, appearing quite pleased with this outcome. Won another round, the gloating, lovable bastard.
"Alright, dove. Let's get you some sleep."
***
The next morning, when she was making him an omelette he suddenly began to speak.
"I usually fuck everything up when shit hits the fan, no matter the cost."
She turned off the stove and moved the pan away to stop the hissing sound threatening to drown his voice.
"This time, I just wanted to get back."
It was a confession of another kind… A compliment. Might even be the highest compliment she had ever received from this man. Simon wanted to stay alive and return to her rather than avenge his fallen ones.
Still, there was bound to be recoil, some survivor's guilt — or a bitter self-reflection moment of a superior.
"Are you blaming yourself?"
"I don't know. No, that's not what I meant."
"I realized…" His brows drew together in an attempt to search for the right words. "I realized there that… You might be the only person I can trust."
She was moved, ripe for walking to him right then and there and relieve that tension in his shoulders. Freaking finally give him that massage he had yearned for since autumn. There was something profoundly wrong with her that she hadn't done it yet.
He always attended to her. It was supposed to be a display of authority, but she knew that the best leaders didn't lead with fear; they served. It was high time someone served him.
"It's not a good sign," he muttered.
"I would see it as a great sign," she said with a shy smile, but it died on her lips as she saw how he only appeared to fall deeper into misery.
"Right? Simon?"
"I thought I already dealt with this shit 10 years ago."
That sentence sent ice down her back. Her skin broke into goosebumps, they seemed to travel all the way up to her head. Her palms were already sweating by the time he spoke again.
"You see, everyone I trust either dies or…" Simon was staring inwards into some distant memory she knew nothing about. She went to sit on the small piece of furniture that could almost be called a dinner table. Not necessarily because she wanted to get closer to him, but because her stomach was churning and she feared she might faint in her little kitchen.
"Everyone I love, dies."
She forced a hand reach out to grab his as she tried to call him back to the present moment and back to her.
"That can't be true. I mean, that can't be set in stone kinda true."
"Who knows."
The walls were suddenly so high that she couldn't get to him even when they were holding hands like this.
But this was the most precious thing in her life. She would fight for it if she must.
"I'm willing to take that risk," she said without fear.
"I admire your courage."
He didn't say he was willing to take that risk too. She hadn't quite prepared for that, nor for what came after.
"I can't do my job if I'm…"
"If you love someone?" She offered when he wouldn't continue.
She fucking hated his job at this point. She hated his dead father, and she hated the Manchester slums, she hated everyone who had hurt him and betrayed his trust. But it was like peeling an onion when it came to Simon: there was always a new layer underneath the one that was shed away. Who knew what was hidden at the core, or if she would ever even reach it?
"Well, what about… your mom?"
"Dead."
"You have siblings?"
"Dead."
Holy shit. Things were even worse than she had thought.
"What about friends? Like, off work?"
"Not anymore."
Terror began to swell and roll inside her like a tidal wave. A menacing calm before the storm, an eerie silence a split second before the explosion.
"You have nobody?"
He stared off into space, telling her with that look alone that he had no one. He released her hands, or rather, forced her to release him. Then he dropped the atom bomb.
"I didn't mean for things to go this far."
All her fears, long since lulled to sleep, crawled through the earth to suffocate her.
It was true after all: she had been just a bit of fun, a one-night stand that had turned into a plaything. A plaything who had latched itself onto a man who didn't want extra baggage.
"What a nice thing to hear." Her voice was metal, and Simon wouldn't say anything, proving her worst nightmares true.
He had had enough of her and now wanted to end things. The beautiful dusk had rolled into a knifelike dawn, and it was time to finish the show.
"Then why are you still here?" She finally dared to look up at him, and he looked confused, like he didn't know the answer to that question.
Things spun out of control so fast that she felt faint in the head. It was hard to think rationally when all their shared memories were suddenly covered in a wicked haze of shallow fucking, noncommitment, and her being an absolute fool for having believed that Simon would want her for the rest of his life.
"I get it that you're a super secret soldier spy, that you have to sneak around and give me a heart attack every other week. I get that we can't be together as much as I would like. But if you don't even want this, then what the hell are you doing here?"
His eyes were wide, his throat worked an arduous swallow. He looked more hurt than ever, more in pain than he had been last night due to the death of his teammates.
But to her, it was the look of a poker player who had got caught red-handed in cheating.
How dare he joke about marriage and elaborate on how sweet she was during the night, only to set everything on fire the next morning?
She was just a sweet little stray cat he liked to pet and pamper and fuck when he had the time, a nice little vacation from work filled with excitement. Everything needed to be exciting to him, he needed a dose of adrenaline and knife play and showering bullets to make him hard so he could fly back to grey London to get a go with his pole dancing little school girl.
Putting up shelves, seeing pictures of her spending Christmas with the family, tea and omelette in the morning were too mundane, too boring. She had been another kind of adrenaline shot.. But now she was only a dry syringe with the words I love you spoken in the air.
She got up and took a few steps back, tried to cut off a love that she already knew wouldn’t die, would never, ever die.
"This is so fucked up. If I'm just some momentary lapse in your life, then…" she shook her head at a loss for words. He had been silent for the whole outburst, but at her last suggestion, he cut in.
"No. Never. You're–"
She was so riled that she couldn't even hear his words. "You know what? Go do your job then. I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to come home to me, only to hear something like that. God…"
He snapped his mouth shut after she cut him off and simply raged on, all the longing and confusion of whole months streaming out of her mouth with an annoying high-pitched account. If she hated her voice right now, she could only imagine how it must sound to him. Her irritating hysteria only worsened the situation, especially when Simon remained so fucking calm.
"This is just…" She laughed through tears she didn't want him to see. With sheer willpower, she fought those tears back to the abyss. He would probably just get off on seeing her cry.
After all, she was the sweetest girl there was. Too sweet for her own good. The most gullible, naive piece of shit.
"I don't know how this is gonna work."
He stared at her with chest heaving, then his breath settled into a calm, ordered roll, his expression turned to stone. The rage was directed inwards before it could lash out at her. The man called Simon turned into Ghost, a professional killing machine, so quickly amidst a raging storm that she could hear the eye of it reach them, the whole world around her go silent. Or perhaps she was momentarily deafened by that cold-hearted stare that turned away from her with a final, lingering tinge of sadness. Even that was gone by the time he rose from the table and walked to the hallway.
Her heart was struck with a blade; she bled dry before she could even take a step to follow him. She saw him put his shoes on, then reach for his jacket, which he flung on with heavy shoulders and a broad back turned to her like a shield.
Simon was resigning.
He was fucking leaving.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He reached for his pocket and drew out a cigarette and a lighter, the flash of cold steel stinging her eyes although there was little sunlight because the day was grey. The Zippo was something she had found for him from a thrift store, and it had the tusked Snaggletooth logo of Motörhead on it. It felt like the perfect gift after noticing Simon had played the band's music from some old, burned cd when he had taken her on that shooting trip. He had ruffled her hair when receiving it, evidently pleased. "Knew you were a keeper," he had said when she told him she loved Motörhead too.
Her eyes were brimming with tears, the cigarette was sent between his lips, and he wouldn't look back, only marched to the door with heavy steps.
The fear wouldn't die even when she tried to tell herself that he was only going for a smoke to calm his nerves from her sudden fit. They would talk things through when he got back.
Which was why she never said anything, didn't follow him.
The door slammed shut, and she swallowed and turned to get a sip of her coffee. Her hands were shaking, the coffee was cold, and she realized she had just basically told him to get out. That cold-blooded stare still haunted her, and she wanted to go check if Simon was truly there, smoking on those steps and being a wall, her wall, against the cold, uncaring world.
She played the conversation over and over in her head, what was spoken, and the frost of horror turned her senses sharp, her ears started to ring from the silence. Simon had told her he trusted her and she had just freaked out — hadn't even let him finish what he had tried to say.
She wanted, needed to tell him right this second that she was sorry for being such a lunatic. She turned for the door, then walked back, forced herself to remain calm.
He needed space, and she didn't want to upset him more than she already had. He was older than her, used to nuclear seasons and warheads and blunt trauma, he was sharp as a whip. He wouldn't get rattled so easily. He would come back, smelling of fresh smoke, he would tell her what to do. That they would make it work no matter what. Flesh out a plan.
Because that’s all she wanted to hear. That he was serious and wanted this to work as much as she did. That it was just some miscommunication.
But her instinct told her that something was terribly, horribly wrong.
Minutes passed, and she finally went to open the door, and there was no one there. The streets were silent, the grey clouds even darker still, hanging over her like doom. She was feeling nauseous, a shudder went through her whole body, then her teeth started to rattle.
She closed the door and turned and tried to take a step, but her knees gave in and she slumped somewhere on the floor of her hallway filled with shoes and dirt and emptiness.
#simon riley x oc#ghost x oc#ghost smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x oc#mw2 smut#ghost fanfiction#simon riley fanfic#cod fanfic#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x female oc#simon riley x female reader#ghost x female reader
#simon riley x oc#ghost x oc#ghost smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x oc#mw2 smut#ghost fanfiction#simon riley fanfic#simon ghost riley x female oc#ghost x female oc#simon riley x female oc#simon ghost riley fic
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- SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY FIC RECS -
a lot of dad!simon fics here. i am not sorry. i want to bear this man's child(ren) | note: this is COD so there are some trigger warnings like: blood, guns, injuries, military stuff, death so please beware of them. there also also 18+ content so minors DNI. don't forget to read the authors' warnings | more will be added!
main masterlist
SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS
haunted | part 2 • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @babygirl-riley (heavy angst, tw: depression, drugs, addiction suicide, toxic relationship, please read the warnings!)
too old for you | part 2 • simon 'ghost' riley x medic!fem!reader
↳ by @lunarw0rks (smut, hurt/comfort, age-gap)
soft spot • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @cordeliawhohung
the red means, i love you • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader x john 'soap' mactavish
↳ by @thewriterg
smashing pumpkins • simon 'ghost' riley x civilian!fem!reader
↳ by @qwimchii
last kiss | part 2 • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @milf-murdock (angst, unestablished relationship, smut, fluff)
secret lovers | part 2 • husband!simon 'ghost' riley x wife!reader
↳ by @savemefromanepicoftimewasted
my baby swingin' • biker!simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @tojisun (very sexy biker!simon, smut, fluff)
happiness • simon 'ghost' riley x wife!fem!reader
↳ by @lethalchiralium (i feel so fuzzy when i read this series, fluff, sometimes angst, some tw be aware)
i'm with you | keep you close • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @undercoverpena (angst, feelings, explicit)
being yelled at by ghost | part 2 • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @hxltic (angst! simon is an asshole)
northern attitude | part 2 • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @bubbles-for-all-of-us (enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst)
lights on • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @peachesofteal (single mom!reader, fluff, slight angst, protective!simon)
one night stand | part 2 | part 3 • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @cmncisspnandmore
ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC'S
break in, break down • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @hyperactively-me (home invasion, comfort, fluff)
his girls • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @babygirl-riley (so so so fluffy, dad!simon)
one fucking mistake • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @codfanficedits (very angsty, hurt but no comfort for a whilez grieving, tw:depression)
book boyfriend • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @stargirlrchive (fluff)
lime-sized • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @imperihoe-writes (pregnant!reader, very fluffy)
bloodied bullets, soft confessions • simon 'ghost' riley x gn!reader
↳ by @ghosts-cyphera (a little mean!simon, hurt/comfort, injuries, fluffy end)
monster • neighbor!simon 'ghost' riley x afab!reader
↳ by @rowarn (smut, protective!simon, zombie au)
unmasked love • simon 'ghost' riley x afab!reader
↳ by @springtyme (so so so cute! dad!simon)
adoration • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @yawnderu (dad!simon, fluff)
simon 'ghost' riley x sensitive!gn!reader
↳ by @cherryredstars (fluff and nswf content)
this chapter is over • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @colonelarr0w (character death, angst, injuries, some fluff)
simon says • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @unreliablesnake (smut)
salt in an old wound • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!oc!reader
↳ by @ghouljams (hurt/comfort, explicit content, fae au)
blood on my shirt, rose in my hand • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @alwaysshallow (friends to lovers, the continuation is on ao3!)
antique soldiers • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @mangowafflesss
why? • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @riverbutghost (asshole!simon, injuries, slightly explicit at the end)
cold but warm • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @riverbutghost (asshole!simon, injuries, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)
pretty pink flowers and bloody cherry blossom tree • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @underscorewriting (really really angsty, ugly cried)
for the last time • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @wttcsms (pregnant!reader, mentions of death, angst but fluff)
welcome home • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @nastybuckybarnes (home invasion, arguing, fluff)
medical leave • simon 'ghost' riley x gn!reader
↳ by @kib-ble (mentions of injuries, hurt/comfort, fluff)
no more stars left to count • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @lvlyghost (angst, hurt/comfort)
protective • simon 'ghost' riley x reader
↳ by @ponyosmom35 (medic!reader, protective!simon, tw: sexual harassement)
return • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
↳ by @bruhrobs (fluff, colleagues to lovers, single mom!reader)
#simon ghost riley#call of duty#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x fem!reader#simon ghost riley x gn!reader#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x oc#simon riley x female reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader angst#simon ghost riley x reader fluff#simon ghost riley x reader smut#call of duty mw2#fic recommendation#fic rec
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cowboy simon x f!reader???
I don't know what else to add, it would be nice if it was smut yk??
I just saw a video where a masked man dressed like a cowboy aslo he still has a naked torso and he is so tall and in very good shape and when I saw this video for some reason it reminded me of Simon
(sorry, english is not my native language, sorry if there are any mistakes!!)
HAI ANONNIE !! OMIGEE COWBOY SIMON IS SO HOT !? like he can yeehaw me every damn time wtf ☝️😍
╰﹒ 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐎𝐘 !
PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader
OVERVIEW: Simon indulges you in your pretty lil fantasies <33
C/W: MDNI. smut w/ fluff + dom!simon riley, sub!f.reader, petnames (love, baby, pretty girl), lotsa teasing, neck kissing, lil manhandling, lil belittling, lotsa praises, thigh riding, humping, clit stimulation, aftercare
W/C: 1.9k
"You're so easy to please, love," Simon chuckles as he had you in a state where you were unable to move, or speak, or even think rationally. Not after when he had obliged to indulge in your naughty little fantasies of being fucked by a cowboy in the late night hours. You could only let out a whimper for him.
You claimed you were joking. But you weren't, really. You had been dropping little hints about those fantasies all the time, asking if he would be up for a cowboy roleplay in the bedroom. He had grumbled a "sort of" agreement when you asked if he was down for it, but you hadn't realized he was really on board for it.
That is, until now, when you found yourself sprawled on your back on the bed, completely weak under his touch.
Simon was dressed with a black cowboy hat atop his head, a sexy red bandana encircling his neck, a thick cowboy belt wrapped around his hips, and dark jeans hugging every curve of his delicious thighs. And to top it all of was his famous skull mask, hiding his face. No shirt. No top. He was beyond shirtless. And my gods, were your pussy right now is dripping with need when you looked over at his abs.
You find your heart racing and your hands trembling as Simon leans in, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Do I make you nervous?"
You feel a shiver run down your spine at the thought of him being so close, his warmth and presence filling you with a sense of exhilaration that's hard to contain.
"...Yes," you whisper breathlessly in response, your voice dripping with need. Your heart is pounding with excitement, and your body feels on fire with desire as you look into his eyes.
You watch as Simon moves closer, his lips ghosting gently over your throat as he kisses your neck. Your mouth parts and you moan softly, your body tensing and shivering with arousal as he lightly nibbles on your sensitive skin. Your breath quickens and your heart beats faster, overwhelmed by the thrill of it all.
With your arms wrapped around his shoulders, you pulled him close to you, desperate for more of his touching. Your body responded to his kisses, jolting with pleasure as his lips nibbled down your neck. Your hips writhed and squirmed under him as he suckled on your sweet spot.
The heat was building up inside you as Simon's kiss roamed down to your shoulders, and your entire body was buzzing with sensuality. You were lost in pleasure with each sensation of his touch, and the world around you seemed to fade away that you fail to notice Simon pinning your hands above your head.
Simon whispered softly to your ear, "Always so obedient for me, hm?" while he suckled on the skin under your ear. You couldn't help but to squirm and whine with need, your needy whimpers begging him to make you feel good. It made his cock painfully throbbing with need.
Simon's raspy chuckle drove you mad with arousal, as he licked a long striped line from your neck to the base of your ear, leaving a wet trail. You moaned and tried to move your hips to relieve your aching pussy, but Simon firmly gripped your hips and held you still, his touch driving you mad with lust and desire.
"Behave."
Your mind was swimming with pleasure as you looked into his half-lidded eyes through the skull mask.
"Please..." You tugged on the red bandana wrapped around his neck and pulled him down to you, intending to kiss him. But Simon's hold on you was strong, and he pulled you back, his teeth digging into your ear.
You cried out, but the sound was quieted when Simon's mouth covered yours in a hungry and rough kiss. His tongue plunged deep into your mouth, exploring in a demanding and passionate way. He broke the kiss only to move his lips back down your neck to suck and bite your skin, his touch driving you wild with lust.
Your hands tangled in his hair as he continued exploring your mouth with his skilled tongue. You sighed softly as his passionate and rough kisses sent waves of pleasure through your body. But the sensation was not enough, and you wanted more.
You pressed your body against Simon's, your hands roaming along his chest and thighs as you yearned for satisfaction. But Simon had other plans, and rolled you over so that you were now on top of him.
"Ride me, pretty girl," Simon mumbled against your ear, his voice raspy with desire and need. He was looking up at you, his eyes blazing with passion as his hands gripped your hips. You felt your body shiver with arousal, as you moved your hips to hover just above him.
With your naked pussy pressed on top of his bulge, you started to grind down on him, your hands planted on his pecks. You let out a soft moan as the friction made you feel wetter.
"No, baby, ride my thigh," Simon purred with a low chuckle, as he stopped your hips from moving, gripping at it hard. His voice was filled with heat and lust, his eyes dark with desire. He pulled you closer to him, his touch gentle but firm as he guided your hips to glide along his thigh. You let out a moan of pleasure as this felt even better than before.
"Good girl," Simon growled as he continued to guide you in grinding down on his thigh using his arms. His voice was raspy with lust, and his words were an encouraging challenge as his touch grew more intimate. You let out a moan of pleasure as you felt your legs trembling with excitement. Your hips slid along the curves of his thigh, and his touch sent electrifying shivers down your spine.
He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he whispered in your ear, "You like that, don't you, baby?"
You mewled when his fingers trailed up your back, sending warm tingles all over your skin. Your breathing grew heavier as you felt yourself becoming lost in his touch. You couldn't resist grinding against him harder, craving the pleasure he was providing. With each movement, you felt your desire building stronger and stronger.
"Simon.."
His lips curl into a smirk as he hears your plea, the desperation in your voice fueling his own desires. He moves his hands from your back, letting them trail over the sides of your body, his touch light but lingering. He can feel how your cunt was completely drenched with your precum, seeping through his jeans, leaving a wet spot in its wake.
"You're doing good, baby," Simon groaned as he grabbed your waist tighter, his voice thick with desire. "Keep going," he whispered eagerly, his grip firm and his touch thrilling as you continued grinding down on his thigh. The sound of his encouraging words, and the feel of his presence made your body squirm with enjoyment.
"I'm trying, Si'.. Please." You breathed heavily and moaned softly, as Simon coaxed you into grinding down harder and faster into his hard thigh. His hands gripped the sides of your waist firmly as he made you move even more quickly.
"Better," he breathed softly in between pants, his words filled with praise and encouragement. The sensation of his firm thighs in contrast to your weeping cunt made your eyes roll back in pleasure.
Groaning, Simon grabbed his black cowboy hat from his head and placed it on to yours, smiling seductively.
"You're so hot like this, baby," he said in a low, raspy voice. He looked into your eyes with a knowing smirk, and his touch made your skin tingle and the heat build up inside you.
Wanting to indulge into his fantasies too, you placed your hand on top of the hat and smirked at him as you grinded your hips harder. You watch as Simon's grip falters and tosses his head back to the feel of your cunt rubbing on his now stained jeans.
With every frantic thrust you did, your eyes fluttered with pleasure as the trail of fire reached your lower stomach, the familiar sensation making your thighs tremble. You sobbed out on to his shoulder, lazily nuzzling into his neck, seeking comfort and support.
Simon bit back a moan as he heard your sounds, his cock already twitching with desire. He wanted this moment to be special for you, but the sight of your pleasure was enough to overwhelm his senses and stir his primal urges. He had to have you.
As you breathe heavily into his neck, you feel his hand gently caressing your back, feeling the tension and tightness in your muscles as you collapsed onto him.
Your body was still trembling from the pleasure, and you felt a wave of tiredness wash over you. Your breath was shaky as you were in a state of pure bliss and satisfaction, and Simon's gentle caresses felt like a comforting hug.
"Shh, it's okay, baby," he whispered gently as he lifted you from his lap and laid you on the bed. His caresses continued as his breath brushed over your neck, sending a tingle of pleasure down your spine.
Your muscles felt relaxed and loose, and your body was breathless from the wave of pleasure you just experienced. You felt languid, and in a state of contentment and bliss. His gentle caresses felt wonderful against your skin.
Simon softly kissed your forehead and smiled gently at you, his touch still sending chills down your spine. You were breathless and content, and every moment with him felt like a dream. So it was a blur when Simon cleaned you up with a wet towel, your body still trembling from passion. He wiped away the cum, as well as the rest of the arousal on your thighs.
He had also tenderly rubbed out the sweat and the redness on your face and neck with gentle caresses as helped you feel clean and fresh again. When he was done, he lay down beside you on the bed, and pulled you close to him, putting the cowboy hat on the bedside table.
"Did so good for me, hm?" Simon said gently as he cupped both your cheeks and looked into your eyes, making you smile. The love and warmth in his gaze made you feel comforted and safe, and you could feel your heart beating faster with excitement at the thought of being with him.
You hummed in agreement as your eyes fluttered in slumber. Your body was still trembling from the pleasure, but a small giggle came out from your mouth as you mumbled out, "You'd be a great cowboy.." With your body completely relaxed and content, you let yourself go and slipped into a deep sleep in his arms.
Simon laughed softly at your sleepy statement, and bent to kiss you on the lips, carressing your cheek.
"Sure am, love, with the prettiest cowgirl in my side."
navi / masterlist !
#oh my lawd#gah damn#simon bro cowboy ⁉️😧#👾 — [bonnie’s wk]#simon riley smut#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x y/n#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley x female oc#cod fanfic#cod x reader#cod x you#cod modern warfare#ghost cod#ghost x reader#ghost smut#ghost x you#cod smut#call of duty#call of duty mw2#tf 141 x reader#tf 141 smut#cod mw2
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daddy bod simon anyone? 🙏
your face presses deep into the soft, feathery pillows, simon’s breath hot against your cheek as he lays the side of his head against yours till your temples kiss.
your hands lay above your head, simon’s thick, hands laid flat against your knuckles till the nerves in your fingertips zap as he digs his nails deep into the flesh of your palm.
his body mushes against yours, his plush belly pressed flat against the pretty arch of your back as he presses his cock to the absolute hilt in you.
n you can feel it, every vein, every twitch that has your toes curling n body reeling away from him when the tip lays a kiss against your cervix.
“si-simon, oh my god, baby, mhpm,” the pretty noises leaving your parted lips only fuel simon further, his warm body fucking into you deeper if even possible at this point.
your hands tangle away from his, nails dragging deep into the back of his soft thighs. the toned muscle now fatty with age, drinking n the damn way you feed the man like he ain’t ever ate.
he hisses, teeth baring against the edge of your cheek n he presses his hips extra deep, sure that there’s lines of blood pouring from his thighs n ass with the way you scratched his skin off the bone.
“be nice, baby,” he huffs in a puff of breathless rasp, fingers settling against the arch in your waist. “tryna make ya’ feel good, don’t make me leave ya’ high n dry, bunny.”
my lil mutual feedin a mffff sorry to disappoint wit this shi, bout ready to fall df to sleep over here. probs gon rewrite this
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#cod mw2#simon riley smut#simon riley x reader#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#simon ghost riley x reader#call of duty#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x oc#simon riley imagine#simon riley cod#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x female oc#simon ghost riley x f reader#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost smut#simon ghost x you#cod smut#cod mw#cod x reader#cod mwii#cod modern warfare#cod#ghost x female reader#ghost smut#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty mw2
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Afraid - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader
I cried the entire time I was writing this and had to take breaks to sob, enjoy
content: angst with a happy ending, mentions of death and injuries, hurt/comfort
''Stray.'' Simon's voice is stern as you walk past him, ignoring the way he calls out to you, moving away from the gloved hand that tries to reach out to you.
''Stray.'' He calls again and this time you look at him, his behemoth frame blocking the doorway with his arms crossed, the bloodied skull balaclava making him even scarier, if that's even possible. You hang by the window, trying your best not to glance at the imposing figure.
You can tell he's staring at you like usual, yet you don't glance back. Your hand pockets the box of cigarettes he never got to finish, digging deeper into your pocket until you feel the familiar metal of his dog tags. Ghost became his namesake— his spirit haunting you every single day, acting like he's still there, yet you both know the truth.
Memories of his last moments flash through your mind every single day, the sunrises that he never got to see make your days even more miserable. You think about what happened yet again— the painful memory of Ghost pushing you out of the way, a sniper bullet piercing what he used to call a cold heart.
You hold him in his dying moments, promises and love confessions escaping both of your lips like prayers. He tells you to look away and when you do, he closes his eyes so you don't see the life slipping out of him, but you know. Oh, how you wish you didn't know, but you still do, his body going limp on you and instantly feeling lighter— you'd like to believe his soul was freed.
''I can't move on, Si.'' You finally speak, voice cracking as the tears escape your eyes, like they have every single day. How can you move on from something like that? You've had your brothers in arms die in your hands and it never gets easier, yet Simon was an entirely different thing. He was a part of your soul, a man who sneaked his way into your heart with the same stealth he used during missions.
It doesn't take much until you're sobbing, knees feeling weak as they finally give up on you, his cold dog tags clutched between your hands as if holding onto his memory. Ghost crouches down next to you, one of his gloved hands attempting to touch you, yet he takes it back after slight hesitancy.
''It's been three months.'' His face is etched with concern, tone serious yet holding the same gentleness and care he always used to talk to you in after realizing his feelings. ''I'll always live within you, sweetheart. It breaks my heart to see you like this.'' He confesses, his heart breaking further knowing he can't comfort you physically, yet he's secretly glad he's good with words.
''I can't carry on, Si— not if it means I'll stop seeing you.'' You were always as stubborn as a mule, yet nothing is more heartbreaking for Ghost than to see the woman he loves crumble down daily because of him, because of a stupid mistake in intel.
''As long as you keep on fighting... As long as you remember me, Stray, I'm not dying.'' He reassures and you finally look up, mesmerized by the raw love and comfort his brown eyes hold. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and that's an expression you became familiar with throughout the years. He's smiling.
''I'll be with you for this mission, the next, the one after that... I'm always here, love.'' He reassures, eyes softening even more once you nod your head, trying to wipe the tears away from your cheeks as you manage to give him a pained smile.
''Don't forget.'' He whispers, getting up from his crouched position as he waited for you to get up as well. ''Let's finish this mission.'' He gave you a small nod, walking with you as he saw you put on your gear, his dog tags safely secured around your neck alongside your own. You glance back at him before doing your eye black, hair secured in a braid before you put on his old balaclava, closing your eyes for a second as you bask in on the smell.
''Ready, sir.'' Life is better if you're delusional and pretend Simon is still alive. He nods his head, walking alongside you as you both get to the helipad, the rest of the team waiting.
''Saved ya a seat, bonnie.'' Soap wraps an arm around your shoulders and escorts you into the helicopter, trying to pretend like everything was fine, yet you can see the pain in his eyes. You lost a partner, and he lost a brother, yet he always tried to be strong for your sake. The ride to the site is quiet, feet dangling off the landing rail as you close your eyes, the loud vehicle silencing your mind for at least a few hours until you finally make it down.
''Recover the intel and get out— let's unfuck this.'' Price speaks through the comms as you all scatter around the building, checking corners with your finger ready on the trigger.
Recover the intel and get out. Easy enough, right? Right. The human body is an interesting thing, capable of surviving falls from hundreds and even thousands of feet, able to survive hundreds of kilograms crushing it, able to generate antibodies to protect you from sickness, yet nothing can ever protect you from an enemy sneaking behind you, blade cutting through your throat before you even realize what's going on. By the time you realize what's going on, it's too late.
''C'mon, stay with me, kid.'' You can vaguely make out Price's deep, raspy voice as he holds you in his arms, the enemy dealt with the moment he was spotted— you're leaving too early, and the enemy left too late.
''I'm sorry.'' Is all he can manage to whisper out, trying his best to put pressure on your wound, but it's too late. Nothing can ever save you from a cut to the arteries in charge of keeping your brain working. Your hand manages to reach out to hold his wrist, eyes closing as a small smile sets on your lips. I'm almost there, sir. You don't hear his screams of anguish the moment you stop breathing in his arms, instead you hear... nothing.
For a short while, it's nothing. Everything is black.
''Welcome home, love.'' The familiar voice whispers out. The first thing you can feel is his large, ungloved hand running down the length of your hair, gently resting on your hairline and spreading his warmth all around your head. Your eyes open, looking into the brown eyes of the man of your dreams.
''Si?'' You whisper out, hand reaching out towards him, waiting to wake up from a bad dream, yet your hand makes contact with his actual body. Your eyes open wide and you immediately jump up to hug him. He'd never admit it, but... it startled the shit out of him.
''Keep it tactical, Sergeant.'' He reprimanded with mock sternness before his arms wrapped around your waist, holding your head close to his chest while you both embraced each other. Your hearts were filled with pure bliss and love, unable to feel the pain of war anymore. Whatever this was, you'd gladly spend it together.
''I missed you, sweet girl.'' In the cosmos, our energies sit beside one another.
#cod mwii#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley fluff#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x you#ghost mw2#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#ghost#ghost x reader#ghost angst#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#ghost x female reader#ghost x female oc#ghost x f!reader#mw2 angst#hurt/comfort#angst with a happy ending
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A medic girlfriend
Ghost/Val (OC female)
inspired by story from @alia-turin
#simon ghost riley#call of duty#ghost x oc female#fan art#drawing#illustration#cod mw2#modern warfare 2
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ꨄCherry Chapstickꨄ
Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader
Warnings: none, just some fluff 💕
You rummaged through the different products in your makeup bag, searching for your favorite cherry chapstick.
All of a sudden, you hear Simon enter the house after going out to run errands. So you called out to him, hoping he’d know where it is.
“𝐒𝐢! 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭?”
Footsteps echoed through the hallway, and soon you heard Simon enter, him taking off his jacket and placing it back into the closet.
He then walked up behind you, grabbing your chin and turning it to face him.
To your confusion, Simon didn’t answer your question but instead pressed his lips to yours gently put firmly. Then you knew why.
As he kissed you, you could taste your cherry chapstick on his lips.
He pulled away, a smirk on his face at your bewildered expression.
“𝐘' 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞?”
You raised an eyebrow, placing your hands on your hips.
“𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤?”
He pulled you close, picking you up, your legs now straddling his waist.
“'𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”
You huffed, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥! 𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚-“
Simon cut you off by kissing you again, the taste of the cherry chapstick on his lips.
~
Note: AHHH YALL I NEED A CHERRY CHAPSTICK SIMON IN MY LIFE ☹️
#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#call of duty#ghost mw2#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost riley x female oc#Simon ghost Riley x y/n imagine#simon riley imagine#aster writesss (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)#cod mwiii#cod imagine#call of duty reader insert#call of duty x reader#ghost call of duty#call of duty x you#cod mw2 x reader
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