laduenadelswing

[laduenadelswing]

New favourite

Simon Riley x reader

Fluff

You did not just invite your fucking lieutenant to Christmas, didn’t you? Fucking imbecile!

How could you not? It was after a long exhausting mission, Soap was talking to Gaz, Price smoked a cigar and Ghost just sat in a corner, polishing his weapon, absentmindedly, but he radiated loneliness. Since your the newest addition to the task force, you tried to warm up with everyone, your warm nature usually made it easy for you to connect with people. So, you could not decipher why Ghost seemed to hate it after all? Your small body fell next to him, he gave you an disinterested look, so you rummaged your backpack, pulling out a chocolate bar.

Naturally, you offered Ghost some. He looked at you like he could read your mind, so tall, so intimidating. A blush crept across your cheek, as he took your peace offering, inspected it, pulled up his mask and ate the little sweet. "It's good." A low, deep growl blessed your ears. You could get used to him praising you.

"Thank you, it’s from Christmas, family stuff. You should also come." You stammered, as all eyes landed on you. It slipped out a polite phrase, nothing more, nothing less. He could not have seen the silent longing in your eyes, couldn't he?

A surprised gasp escaped Soap, as Simon nodded. "I will come." He grumbled, a hint of annoyance in his voice. You felt that Ghost was not in the mood to banter with you at that moment, so you stood up and retreated back into your barrack. You invited the Grim Reaper to your home, to celebrate Christmas, he agreed, doesn't he have family? How would that look, a behemoth of a man sitting at your families table? Silent? Disassociating? Commanding? How would a man like him be with your troublesome, loud, colourful family?

You were about to find out.

"Darling? Your back? You look so skinny." Your mum pulled you into a tight hug. "You smell like a battlefield, too." She added as her eyes fell onto the man behind you. Before your noisy mum could ask, Ghost extended his hand.

"Simon Riley, it’s a pleasure. I brought something." His deep voice, usually so commanding and harsh, was pleasant and soft laced with some heartfelt curiosity. He gave your mother beautiful flowers. "

Also some Bourbon for your husband, your daughter told me he'd love that." Simon stated, he has exchanged his tactical mask with a black medical one. You had never told him about that, but Simon read your files beforehand. Your mother pulled him into a tight hug, Simon shrugged. It's been a while since his last motherly hug.

Your mother who was busy with Christmas preparations dictated you, as well as your lieutenant into the shower, as well as the guest shower. He was a guest in your families house. Suddenly Simon was not in full gear any more, he was in a wool black hoody, black jeans and the typical ugly Christmas-socks. Your family invited him in with open arms, delightful, extrovert and loving. Everything your lieutenant did not seem to be, everything he seemed to hate about you. Your father inspected Simon sceptical. What did this mountain of a man do so that his little daughter had invited him to family Christmas? He warmed up to him, as Simon handed over his favourite Bourbon. Man.

Your brother and sister, took a little longer to warm up. Your brother was convinced after they found out that they both love Manchester United and hate Arsenal. "Cunts" Your brother sighed. "Fuck Arsenal." Simon added. Both grunted happily and sipped at their beer. The beginning of a livelong friendship.

Your sister was convinced by the way Simon treated your niece and nephew. Played football and PlayStation, picked up your niece to decorate the Christmas tree.

Simon was very cordial, not talkative but very cordial, human, less commanding, more socially acceptable.

He saw how you helped out everywhere you could, run errands, picking up the niece and nephew, cooking with your mum, bantering with your father, making the best of the family time you had. Your family time in which you kindly invited him. Simon could never show you how grateful he was, he had no family any more, no warmth, no love, it was just him and the 141 until now. Now there was you and your family. After Christmas Eve, Simon was happy, satiated, tired. He sat on the couch. You insisted on cleaning alone, you never spend time alone, just wanted some piece and quite after the troublesome Christmas-days. " Simon, please go to sleep, you're our guest." Your mother tried to convince your lieutenant to rest. He chuckled. "I will, just want to help your daughter a little longer." His reply was humble, polite. Your mother nodded and went up to bed.

It was interesting to see you like this, the always sunny good sport, a little stressed, a little stiff, a little unease written across your facial features. Simon cleaned up the table, handed you dishes, you threw them into the dishwasher.

"You are just like your family." Simon stated, the warmth in his voice clearly audible.

"Annoying?" You questioned, since all of them were a stark contract towards Simon.

"Loving." Simon tilted his head, turned you around, pulling you into a tight hug. Simon; Ghost who never touched anyone, hated to be touched, flinched as your mother has pulled him into a hug. What you weren't aware of is that you were just what Ghost needed. He wanted to distant himself from your warmth, but you got under his skin.

Maybe it was the Christmas spirit, maybe it was the eggnog but suddenly you felt Simons chapped, rough lips on yours. He kissed you softly, passionately. Your glossy lips moved on their on, reciprocating the kiss. You've invited him into your family, he invited you into his heart.

"How was playing house? Had a decent Christmas?" Soap teased his L.t a couple of days later, after a long day on base, over a couple of beers. He grunted dismissively, stood up and left the common room.

Gaz nudged Soap, after Ghost left them. "See, he has a new favourite." Soap handed Gaz 50 bucks, Simon headed towards the dark corridors only to check on you.

Likes, comments and criticism would help me a lot

Thank you so much 🫶

[laduenadelswing]

Price: so, tell me a bit about yourself

Ghost: I'd rather not, I really like this team

[laduenadelswing]

141 is back on base after a mission, so Soap and Ghost decided to scare you.

As you tidied up your barrack room, they opened the door, Ghost sneaked in, while Soap watched everything from your door. Ghost crept up behind you. "What are we doing here, love?" He could not finish the sentence as you turned around, instinctively punched your intruder, your lieutenant, into his face and pinned him down to the floor. Soap winced, he saw how brutally you've reacted to their prank, how the lieutenant laid on the floor, as something dark flickered in his eyes. What Soap did not expect, was to hear him groan, a prominent bulge forming in Ghost's pants as you pinned him down. "I think I love you." Ghost moaned as you pressed his head against the floor.

[laduenadelswing]

I need more of this

Soap is getting rowdy with you and the boys as he normally does, when u jokingly grab the back of his collar and say "settle down pup." And he outright groans. Sits down instantly, shuts the fuck up and doesn't even register the baffled laughter coming from the rest of the table bc all he can think abt is being a good dog for u.

[laduenadelswing]

Soap: *slack jawed eyes wide* yeah nope.. not going.. fuck that

Gaz: *who’s seen this Scottish fucker bare hand wrestle a gator because it pissed him off* everyone is gangster until the guy whose brain cells are trying to commit sudoku hard no’s something.

*the rest of 141 taking chaos incarnate Soap’s lead*

[laduenadelswing]

[laduenadelswing]

[laduenadelswing]

„Sober“ Ghost x reader

It was a rare night off for the 141, and the pub was already buzzing with the kind of boisterous energy that only a group of highly-trained, perpetually-stressed soldiers could generate. You were perched on a stool, nursing a pint, and thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of Soap trying (and failing) to flirt with the bartender.

"C'mon, Johnny, you're losing your touch," you ribbed, taking a swig. "Thought you were supposed to be the charmer of the outfit."

Soap turned, a wide grin splitting his face. "Ach, what do you know? You're just jealous of my undeniable appeal." He leaned closer, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "Speaking of appeal, how long are you gonna pretend you don't see the way our dear Lieutenant looks at you?"

You choked on your drink, sputtering. "What?! Are you insane? Ghost? Please. He probably just tolerates my existence."

"Oh, he tolerates it alright," Soap chuckled, taking a swig of his own. "Tolerates it right into a full-blown crush, if you ask me."

Your eyes darted to where Ghost was predictably sitting in a shadowy corner, nursing a drink and observing the chaos with his usual stoic silence. Even from across the room, you could feel the intensity of his gaze, though you’d always attributed it to his general air of watchful command.

"Don't be ridiculous," you scoffed, though a faint blush was creeping up your neck. "He’s probably just judging my drinking form."

Soap just winked. "Nah, he's judging how long it'll take for you to notice him properly." He leaned back, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. "Seriously, though, how many shots would it take you for one round with the lieutenant?"

„Sober…“

You took another long swig of your beer, the playful challenge lingering in the air. "It would take me exactly zero shots."

Soap's eyes widened, a slow, delighted grin spreading across his face. He looked from you to Ghost, who remained impassive in his corner, though you could have sworn his head tilted ever so slightly in your direction.

"Well now," Soap said, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "That's certainly a bold statement." He raised his glass. "To your boldness, then!"

You clink your glass against his, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through you, mixing with the unexpected heat in your cheeks. The thought of it, of Ghost, of a "round" with the lieutenant, suddenly felt less like a joke and more like a daring, exhilarating possibility.

„All jokes aside, he is my commanding officer. I am just fresh meat.“

You leaned back on the stool, the bravado of your previous statement fading a little under the weight of reality. But Soap knew you were intrigued by the lieutenant.

Soap's grin softened, understanding flickering in his eyes. He knew the unspoken rules, the line between friendly banter and the rigid hierarchy of their unit. "Aye, I get it, " he said, his voice unusually gentle. "Rank's rank, and all that." He took a long swig of his beer, then set the glass down with a thud. "But even commanding officers are still just men, in the end. And 'fresh meat' or not, you're one of the best we've got. Don't forget that."

He nudged your arm playfully. "Besides," he added, a mischievous glint returning to his eye, "doesn't mean a man can't look, eh? Or a woman, for that matter. I assure you, Ghost does." He gestured vaguely in Ghost's direction, then chuckled. "Just sayin'."

Soap continues, “I think he loves to be in command. Or maybe when you call him a good old boy. Soap grinned as he yapped and you spit out your drink, „Imagine you sitting on his lap, red underwear. Looking down his abs under your soft legs: oh, Simon, you're such a good boy.“

You spluttered, nearly choking on your drink as Soap's words hit you. "Oh my god, Soap! You're deranged!" You wiped your mouth, still coughing slightly between laughs. The image he painted was so ludicrous, so wildly out of place with the stoic, terrifying Ghost, that it was impossible not to react.

Soap, however, was delighted by your reaction, a wide, unholy grin plastered across his face. "Imagine it, though, eh? You, on his lap, maybe in some wee bit of red underwear," he continued, completely unfazed by your protests. He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. "Looking down at those abs of his, all hard under your soft legs, and you just whispering, 'Oh, Si-mon, you're such a good boy. He would die for you after that.'

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. "I'm going to die of embarrassment," you mumbled, peeking through your fingers at the silent figure in the corner. He hadn't moved a muscle, but you could practically feel the silent judgment emanating from him. Or was it something else? You couldn't tell. The thought of even imagining that scene with Ghost was enough to make your ears burn.

"You're a menace, Johnny," you finally managed, shaking your head. "A complete and utter menace."

You finally managed to straighten up, still shaking your head, a residual giggle bubbling up. "You're lucky Ghost has the emotional range of a brick wall, Soap, or he'd have you doing push-ups 'til Christmas for that little fantasy of yours."

Soap just shrugged, taking a leisurely sip of his beer. "Ach, he just needs a good laugh, our Simon does. Too serious, that one." He leaned forward again, eyes twinkling. "But seriously, if you weren't terrified of getting court-martialed, you'd admit there's something there, wouldn't you? The way he watches you during training, or how he always seems to be just... there when you need a hand with something heavy."

You scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant. "He watches everyone during training, Johnny, it's called being a good l.t, and helping with heavy gear? That's just common courtesy. He's not exactly queuing up to carry my shopping bags, is he?"

"Maybe he would," Soap mused, stroking his chin in mock contemplation. "If they were filled with, say, a brand new set of red lingerie."

You threw a coaster at him, which he deftly caught with a laugh. "You are incorrigible! I can't believe I hang out with you."

"And yet, here you are," he retorted, a smug smirk on his face. "Besides, you're the only one who can make him twitch an eyebrow. It's subtle, mind, but it happens. And the way his shoulders go is just a tad less rigid when you're around? He's a softie for you, mark my words."

You rolled your eyes, but a tiny, traitorous part of you couldn't help but wonder. Ghost, a softie?

"Okay, okay, you're officially certifiable," you said, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "But fine, let's entertain your wild theories. If Ghost were a 'softie' for me, what would that even look like?" You leaned in, playing along. "Would he knit me a balaclava? Bring me tactical tea and biscuits in the field?"

Soap's eyes lit up, clearly thrilled you were biting. "See? I knew you had a secret soft spot for him, too! Nah, not balaclavas, too obvious. And tea and biscuits? Please, that's just basic human decency, even from Ghost." He paused dramatically, lowering his voice. "No, for you, he'd probably... let you pick the mission's codenames. Or, even better, he'd let you wear his skull mask for a selfie."

You snorted. "Now that's truly delusional. The man probably sleeps in that thing."

"Exactly!" Soap countered, snapping his fingers. "Which is why it'd be the ultimate sign of affection! Imagine the trust! The intimacy!" He then squinted, his gaze drifting over to Ghost's corner, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know what? I'm gonna go test this theory."

Before you could stop him, Soap slid off his stool and, with a swagger born of several pints, made a beeline for Ghost. You watched in a mixture of horror and morbid fascination as he approached the silent lieutenant.

Soap clapped a hand on Ghost's armored shoulder, leaning in close. You couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but you saw Soap gesture wildly in your direction, then saw him nudge Ghost with his elbow, a broad, knowing smirk on his face. Ghost, for his part, remained a statue, a silent, imposing figure. But then, as Soap continued to jabber, Ghost slowly turned his head, his masked gaze settling on you across the room.

A shiver went down your spine. You suddenly felt very, very exposed. You tried to pretend you weren't watching, taking a huge gulp of your beer, but your eyes kept darting back. Was that... amusement in his eyes? Or just his usual, unnerving intensity?

You watched in a growing mixture of mortification and a strange thrill as Soap continued his one-man show in front of Ghost. The way Ghost's masked gaze seemed to bore into you across the room made your skin prickle. This was it. Soap was going to get them both into trouble and probably an awkward conversation.

"Alright, that's enough of your drunken missions," you hissed, practically slamming Soap back towards your original spot. He stumbled, laughing, clearly oblivious to the serious internal panic you were experiencing.

"Woah there, easy does it, lass!" Soap chuckled, regaining his balance. "Just havin' a friendly chat with the Lieutenant!"

You ignored him, your eyes darting back to Ghost. He was still in the same position, but you could almost feel the phantom weight of his gaze on you as you dragged Soap away. Was that a flicker of something in his eyes? A hint of a smile behind the skull mask? Or was it just the dim pub lighting playing tricks on your increasingly alcohol-addled mind?

You hauled Soap back to the bar, practically dragging him by his collar. He stumbled good-naturedly, a boozy grin still plastered on his face. You, on the other hand, were acutely aware of Ghost's unwavering stare from across the room.

"Honestly, Johnny, you're going to get us both on latrine duty for a month," you muttered, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

Soap, however, was undeterred. He leaned against the bar, turning to face you with a theatrical flourish, as if you were suddenly his captive audience. "So" he began, his voice dropping to a gravelly, overly dramatic purr. "Tell me, if you were, hypothetically, to find yourself in a situation where a certain, very handsome, very Scottish sergeant were to, say, accidentally fall into your bed..." He punctuated this with an exaggerated wink.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "And what, pray tell, would be the accidental part, Soap?"

He leaned closer, his voice practically a stage whisper, clearly aiming to be heard across the room. "The accidental part would be how quickly I'd make you forget all about rules and regulations, pet. Because if you wanted to throw me into that bed like this," he demonstrated with a very suggestive hip thrust that nearly sent him toppling off his feet, "I am down, honey."

You stared at him, then burst out laughing, a genuine, slightly hysterical peal of mirth. It was so utterly ridiculous, so quintessentially Soap, that you couldn't help it. h.

Soap, oblivious, was still puffing out his chest, clearly pleased with his performance. "What do you say, then, eh? Fancy a little… slamming?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

You pushed him gently away, still trying to suppress a giggle. "You're lucky I have enough self-preservation not to take you up on that, Johnny. Someone might have the wrong idea." Your gaze flickered back to Ghost, who now seemed to be staring directly at you, his head tilted just so, as if he were listening intently. The air suddenly felt thick with unspoken things.

"Oh really now?" Soap's voice, thick with amusement and several pints, cut through your thoughts. He reached out, his thumb gently tilting your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes twinkled with a playful challenge. "So, you're saying if there were no 'wrong idea' to be had...?" His very drunk self flirted with you, just to push the boundaries of his lieutenant.

You felt a flush creep up your neck, caught between Soap's persistent teasing and the undeniable, silent weight of Ghost's gaze. The idea of "no wrong idea" hung in the air, making your stomach do a flip. You were about to stammer out some sarcastic retort, your flustered mind scrambling for a witty comeback, when it happened.

From across the room, Ghost, who had been a statue of silent observation, moved. It was subtle, but undeniable. He shifted in his seat, his masked face turning more directly towards you and Soap. The very air around him seemed to thicken, a palpable sense of warning radiating off him. You saw Soap's eyes flicker past you to Ghost, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He leaned in conspiratorially, winking at you. "Thank me later."

Then, with a final, mischievous pat on your arm, he stood up, straightened his shirt, and sauntered off towards the bar, resuming his valiant (and likely futile) attempts to charm the bartender.

You let out a shaky breath you hadn't realized you were holding, your gaze instinctively flicking back to Ghost. He was still watching you, but the intensity in his posture seemed to have softened, replaced by... what? Curiosity? Relief? You couldn't tell, and the ambiguity only heightened the strange knot in your stomach, a foreign warmth creeping up your insides.

Deciding you needed a moment to collect yourself and escape the lingering tension, you mumbled something about needing the loo. Pushing off the stool, you headed towards the back of the pub, your legs feeling a little wobbly from the drinks and the unexpected adrenaline.

As you rounded a corner, just past a cluster of laughing squaddies, your foot caught on something – maybe a loose floorboard, perhaps your clumsiness. You swayed precariously, arms flailing, certain you were about to meet the grimy pub floor face-first.

Suddenly, a strong, firm hand clamped around your upper arm, steadying you. A second hand found your elbow, balancing you with surprising gentleness. You gasped, looking up, and found yourself staring directly into the shadowed eye-holes of Ghost's skull mask. He was close, closer than he'd ever been outside of a mission, and the sudden proximity sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with nearly falling. His grip was steady, reassuring, and strangely warm through your sleeve. You smiled nervously, not knowing what to do when your lieutenant was so close, holding you like a fragile piece of artwork. “ Thank you. Pardon my inability to stand.”

“It´s fine.” He stated, devoid of any suspicious emotions. “I needed some help with heavy lifting.” You winked at him, brave because of the alcohol. “You, heavy? I don´t think so.” He answered. You smiled at Ghost, scanning his dark brown eyes, which seemed even more prominent because of his covered face. You seemed helpless in his arms, and the heat inside your body became almost unbearable. He took you back to the base, and the cold wind of the early morning hours hit your sensitive skin like a whiplash. You stared at the floor, before you could even begin to shiver, Ghost´s voice cut it off. “ Take this.” He mumbled, and your eyes scanned his hand, holding a dark grey hoodie in his hands. “I accept that, Lieutenant.”

His eyes bored into your sweet soul. “Take it, kid.” His voice a little softer than usual, maybe Soap has been correct, what if Simon was a softie for you? Suddenly, he helped you put on his hoodie as his scent hit you like a bullet. Instantly, your nose was greeted by a mixture of musk, whiskey, vanilla, and fire. This wasn´t some fancy fragrance; it was the scent of Simon. The heat and warmth inside your body were visible on your plump cheeks. The smile stayed on your lips, a desperate attempt at masking confidence. It must have been a nice picture for an outsider, you in a short black dress, now in a grey hoody which fell over your knees, next to you a mountain of a man in black jeans with a black belt, a black tanktop, the skull mask as well as a baseball cap. He looked like a grim reaper with a smile underneath his mask. Ghost loved how she stumbled, trying to keep up. He called them a cab, opened her door, and as she stumbled, he supported her until they stood in front of his door.

Before Ghost could shut you out of his world, becoming silent and observing, your small arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him. “Thanks, Ghost. You know, you're incredibly sexy when you care for me.” A drunk confession slipped out of your lips as you undressed in front of his door, only to give him his hoodie back, of course. Now you stood there in the short dress, which hugged your body so well, Ghost wanted to pray just to thank the Gods for sculpting you. “You can keep it if you want.” Ghost grunted, not knowing what to say to the beautiful woman in front of him. You, who was a little more confident than he could have anticipated, came a step closer and kissed him on his cheek. Smiling. Any other soldier would be in serious trouble after getting so close to Ghost, but you are different. Naive, bold, and intoxicating. Ghost never wanted anything more than to touch you right now, but given his past, he would never hit on a drunk girl first.

“Look, kid, I can bring you to your dorm. You should rest.” Your eyes met his, and a pang of sadness was clearly visible. “You think I am ugly?” you blurted out, the copious amount of alcohol made you honest, vulnerable. The embarrassment followed instantly. The soft skin on your face was turning warm, your head turning towards the direction of your room, avoiding Ghost´s gaze. “Ugly? Don´t fool yourself.” He replied, still flat, unsure whether he should give in to his devilish desires or leave you alone. You're drunk, vulnerable, and honest.

Drunk people always tell the truth.

As he scanned you, your soft body, he heard a noise, probably a patrol soldier. Before you could have registered what was going on, there was a click, a pull, and a heavy steel door closing in front of your face. Ghost pulled you closer towards his chest, the soft fabric of his black shirt covered his hard abs. Your body felt like a sauna; the heat was practically crawling out of your skin.

He turned you around, forced you to face him directly, his huge hand gently tilted your chin up, as his brown eyes stared directly into yours, trying to spot a lie, find the hook, the flaw between the connection you shared. But you just stood there, and he could see nothing, no flaw, no hook, no lie. Simon wasn´t mistaken; you had a soft spot for your lieutenant, always had. Could he be angry at you for that? Ghost is silent, protective, firm, mysterious, tall, handsome, even with his mask. How could you not fall for him? Since Soap put the image into your head, the desire to sit on his lap and let him make you his only grew stronger.

“Ghost, you're so close. I think you should kiss me, don´t worry, I am not gonna tell Price.” It flew off your drunk lips. Ghost chukled, your boldness and simultaneous embarrassment were adorable. Your boldness was overshadowed by the blush on your face, which made Ghost weak.

As Ghost pulled down the fabric of his mask, you almost fainted. Before you could have taken a proper look, his lips met yours. They were soft, gentle, careful, almost shy.

You didn´t know what to expect from the first kiss with Ghost. If you were honest with yourself, you would have admitted that you never thought you would get so far. Certainly, you did not expect that Ghost would smile into the kiss. “Isn´t that what you want, love?” He questioned, and you nodded.

Your heartbeat increased as his lips met yours again. “ Don´t be shy. I want this.” He mumbled. Surprise was written over your face, he smirked. As you continued exploring each other's lips, he pulled you into his room. His hands lead you with ease, whilst exploring your curves. First, his free hand slowly stroked over the side of your body, as your hands locked behind his neck, his hands rested on your hips. He seemed reserved at first, hesitant to let himself go.

You were the one who fell on his soft mattress, smelling his fresh sheets. The smell of vanilla stroked your senses. “I am glad you like it.” Ghost led you lightly. You sat up, looked into his face, which was mesmerizing. A sharp jawline, a scar on the left side of his bottom lip, a clean face, and his eyes were just as dark and mysterious as his voice. The logical part in your brain was long gone, your heart stumbled when as he looked down.

Ghost pulled off his shirt, not only showing off his biceps as well as tattoos, showing you his sculpted abdominal abs, his scar tissue. You could see his wounds and scars, which showed you that even Ghost was just a human being after all. You swallowed, and your gaze landed on his black jeans. A devious Idea crossed your mind, your hands found the waistband of his pants, and gently pulled him towards you, the bed, and your lips. He bowed down to your level, kissed you, less hesitant, more dominant. Ghost began to give in. There was no going back now.

“You're a little devil, aren´t you?” He rumbled; his voice alone was enough to hypnotize you. Ghost, who is usually silent, was talking you trough now. Giving you safety, leading you. His hands found your dress, he opened it up, and took it off. Ghost´s firm hands roamed your half-naked body, mesmerizing every part. His lips found yours again; he couldn´t get enough of you. First, he could not keep his eyes off you, now his hands are all over you. Roaming over the soft flesh of yours, kneading your hips, breast, thighs.

Your hand tried to unbuckle his jeans, getting rid of the fabric separating the two of you. Ghost broke off your gentle, yet increasingly heated session. “Unbuckle it.” He commanded.

Your focus was on your task, but your hands shivered as you unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down. In the beginning, the alcohol made you more confident, but now, you were shy, overwhelmed by the tension between you. Was it more than sexual tension? You thought.

Without a warning, his prominent bulge was in your field of vision. “So what do you wanna do, little one?” Ghost questioned, his voice usually devoid of emotions, dripped with desire. You decided that this was your chance, as you pulled his boxers down, taking a look, then a lick at his huge length, looking up, challenging him. He moaned quietly, so you kept on playing with his length, licking it with more love than Ghost had felt in a long time. His moans became louder, still controlled, but louder. His hand found its way towards your hair to lead you. His hips began to move, roughly inside your throat. It was a stark contrast to his prior tenderness; you loved both. “Fuck I,” He moaned, stopped his movement, picked you up and layed you onto his bed. Ghost was operating with surprising tenderness, yet efficiency.

“Love, call me Simon.” He granted you his name as his mouth began sucking on your breast, his free hand playing with the other. No one had told you his name before; you were new to the team, missed out on previous missions, and bonding experiences. But Simon would make up for that. You wanted to respond with emotional depth, but just as you wanted to be empathetic towards Simon, his free hand moved deeper, pulling an unrestrained moan out of you. His laugh was barely audible, still the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. “Simon, what are you doing to me?” You half-questioned half half-moaned.

“I will make you happy, just relax.” He purred. His mouth kissed you downwards. Simon took his time with you, body worshipping you so much, you almost crumbled beneath his first movements. Simon made you weak. He was in control; he would never hurt you. He just wanted to see you like this: vulnerable, bare, happy. Much to your liking, his mouth was his best weapon, combined with his skilled hands working on your breast, he took your breath faster than you would admit. This feeling inside you was foreign, new. He made you shiver at first, afterwards you walked over the cliff and became stiff, it was a long, pleasurable fall. You could not move for a while, your mind clouded with pleasure, eyes closed, a mindless smile across your lips. Your soul left your body for a while, and pure bliss took over.

Simons' lips, now wet, met yours; he loved kissing you in that state. While your soul was absent and you could barely register what was happening and how, with every passing second, Simon's feelings for you grew stronger. He continuously explored you, he wanted to worship you, take his time, and dominate you slowly. He could have been extremely dominant, predatory, but Simon decided to take his time and slowly show you how special you are. He gave you his name, so you could moan it inside his ear. When you almost cried out his name, it was the second time he found out how his name should sound. From your mouth, his name was alluring and beautiful, just like you were.

“Fuck me. “Simon mumbled at the sight of your state. You looked up, Simon could see the clouds of bliss in your mind, he could see that your sexuality took over your logic. “Simon, I will help you with that. Please lie down.” Simon lay down next to you, began cuddling you, his tattooed arms wrapped around you. “No.” You stated softly. Sat up, onto his lips, as he kissed you. You were the one who smiled into the kiss. Simons' arms rest on your hips, securing the position that made him see stars.

The night grew into a symphony of moans, wet sounds, and secret confessions. Simon and you entered a state of clouded minds, absent bliss, and pure relaxation. Simons' lap became your new favourite place to sit, his bulge bullying deep into your mid. Just as he continuously began to hit the magic spot inside your spongy flesh, it escaped your mouth. “Please, Simon, you're such a good boy.” His huge hand went towards your neck and gently pulled you towards him, kissing you more eagerly than he ever had.

[laduenadelswing]

Size kink with Simon Riley (nsfw)

There is little Simon likes more than being bigger than you. (Regardless of your size babes).

He's a ginormous man. Extremely tall, extremely broad, muscled, strong. And God, he loves having you know it.

He fucks you from behind, groaning at how your pussy has to stretch so much to fit his thick cock.

Huge hand wrapped around your neck while he fucks you, his other hand on your hip as he thrusts hard and deep. “Oh, baby. Look at you, struggling to take me, hm?”

You whimper, trembling. He's so big, so so big. You can feel his strength, the sheer size of him driving you crazy.

Without breaking a sweat, Simon pulls out, flips you over and slips his cock back into your cunt. He loves manhandling you, loves the way you have no time to react as he just puts you in the position he wants.

“You love it when I just toss you around, don't you? Such a dirty girl,” he says,laughing lowly, as one of his huge hands moves to press down on your lower stomach, making you feel even fuller. His thumb moves to play with your clit, making your pussy clench him tighter.

“Fuck. Fuck, pussy's too tight, baby. Oh, God. You gotta let up, or I'm gonna come in this pretty cunt. If you make me come, I'm gonna make you suck my cock, and I know your pretty little mouth struggles with that, hm? Wouldn't wanna make your gorgeous lips struggle to fit my cock, baby.”

But you just can't help it. He's just so much bigger, and you just can't fit him. No matter how much you try.

And he knows it. And he'll take advantage of it.

---

Taglist

@booboobear-12 @lilychristine01 @smzyyx @mxsatorisimp @akkahelenaa @crypticlxrsh @m-0-ssy-m-3-ss @actualpoppy @dawnnightshade666 @dethspllz @massivecandycrusade @mentally-unstable-hottie13 @shushyoudontknowme @readinggeeklmao @despairingrat @h0lydrag0ns @poseidonsbichild @Iiidiaaag @sillylittlereader @vanillarosekiss @jangles-the-clown @lem-hhn @doubledizzy22 @http-bell @readingthingy @velvetdimond @thegaywitchofwhimsy @weaniebeaniebaby @havoc973 @lucienofthelakes @keiminds @8pmismybedtime @i-wanabe-yours

*if you wanna be added to my Ghost taglist, lmk ❤️

---

Blog masterlist

[laduenadelswing]

Fucking hell so hot

h/c that soap insinuates ghost is ugly for months, because it's the only thing he can think of for someone so skilled and too elusive to have any visible flaws, and he can't be nice even to his favorite superior. and ghost is amused by it, mostly because it's the least mean thing he's heard about him.

up until it's price who gets a little too loose lipped during a visit to the pub that, as usual, is missing ghost. he lets a nickname slip from way back before simon was ghost of pretty boy riley and soap's stupid, pining brains latches onto it.

and of course, his usual taunts reflect this change.

instead of saying ghost is doing them all a favor by covering up his ugly mug, he finds himself saying that ghost has done them all a favor because he'd be too much of a sight for sore eyes for them all to aim right. instead of saying that he should take off the mask to really scare hostiles, he finds himself saying ghost should take it off to stun them.

ghost reacts just the same, with some quip or a huff of a laugh. but that little bit of attention is always enough to feed soap.

he really learns how this change makes ghost feel when he's covering him while soap's setting up charges in the basement of a building, left completely unguarded. he doesn't even think when he tells ghost "just sit there and look pretty for me. a little bit o' eye candy while i work never hurts."

and ghost just had to pick that day, of all days, to ditch the grease paint that would hide his red face well enough for sunglasses.

[laduenadelswing]

Ex Boyfriend Simon x Reader

Part II The Interrogation

Part one

The ride back was silent, punctuated only by the rumble of the vehicle. You were cuffed, but gently, your wrists aching more from the emotional strain than the restraints themselves. The 141 team, your former family, sat in grim silence, their gazes occasionally flicking to you. Ghost, predictably, sat opposite, his presence a heavy, suffocating weight.

You were taken to a secure, nondescript facility. The room they led you to was sparse: a single metal table, two chairs. This wasn't an interrogation; it was a reckoning.

Soap was first. He walked in, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a weary solemnity. He didn't sit, just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you.

"Why?" he finally asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper. "After everything... after we thought you were gone for good. What happened?"

You met his eyes, seeing the genuine hurt there. He’d always been the most open, the most emotionally honest. You could see the confusion, the betrayal. But you couldn’t give him the answers he sought. You couldn't tell him how deep you’d fallen, how tangled you’d become, what made you leave.

You swallowed, your throat tight. "I... I can't," you managed, your voice hoarse.

Soap pushed off the wall, took a step closer. "Can't? Or won't? We risked everything to get you out of there! You were with him!" He gestured vaguely in the direction of Russia, his voice rising in frustration. "You smiled at him! You told him you'd marry him!"

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and damning. You shook your head, unable to articulate the nuances of your deception, the cold calculation beneath the polite smiles. To explain would be to expose yourself, to break down the walls you’d built to survive.

Soap sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of defeat. He ran a hand through his mohawk, then shook his head. "Alright," he mumbled, turning to leave. "Alright, then." The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your silence.

Gaz entered next. His approach was different. He didn't ask questions initially. He just sat, opposite you, his expression unreadable. He tapped his fingers on the table, a steady, rhythmic sound in the quiet room.

"We missed you, you know," he said finally, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Ghost... he never stopped looking. He thought you are dead."

You flinched. The mention of Ghost, of his relentless search, was a fresh wound.

"We all thought you were dead," Gaz continued, his gaze unwavering. "We mourned you. And then we find you... like that."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. "Tell me, was it worth it? Everything we put ourselves through, everything he went through, for you to be lying in some Russian's bed, playing house?"

His words were like daggers, each one hitting its mark. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the shame burning. But still, you stayed silent. There was no easy answer, no simple explanation that wouldn't implicate you further, wouldn't expose the true depths of your predicament.

Gaz watched you for a long moment, then slowly rose. "Fine," he said, his voice laced with disappointment. "Have it your way." He left, the click of the lock feeling like the final nail in a coffin.

The door opened again, and this time, Captain Price stood in the doorway. His presence filled the room, not with anger, but with a profound weariness that made your heart ache. He looked older, the lines on his face deeper, his eyes holding a sadness that cut you to the core. He didn't sit. He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, observing you.

"John," he said, his voice soft, almost a sigh. "I'm not going to ask you what happened. Not yet, anyway."

You stared at him, tears pricking at your eyes. He'd always been a father figure, a constant in a life that had often felt chaotic. His disappointment was a more potent weapon than any interrogation technique.

"What I want to know," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "is if you're going to make this harder than it has to be. Are you going to cooperate? Are you going to tell us what we need to know?"

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken questions and unvoiced answers. You knew what he was asking. He was offering you a lifeline, a chance to come clean, to explain. But the truth was too dangerous, too complicated. It wasn’t just about you anymore.

You looked at him, your eyes welling up, a choked sob catching in your throat. The weight of your deception, the impossibility of your situation, pressed down on you.

"I'm so sorry, John," you whispered, the words tearing from your soul. "You are like a father to me."

Price closed his eyes for a brief moment, a pained expression crossing his face. When he opened them again, the disappointment was etched deeper. He nodded slowly, a single, decisive nod.

"I understand, (Y/N)," he said, his voice quiet, devoid of anger, but filled with a quiet finality. "I truly do." He turned, his silhouette framed in the doorway for a moment, before he stepped out, and the door clicked shut. You were left alone, the quiet of the room now deafening. The interrogations were over. But the true confrontation, the one you dreaded most, was yet to come.

The comms in the adjacent observation room had been silent since Price left. Ghost stood rigid, his back to Soap and Gaz, who remained quiet, exchanging worried glances. He’d heard it all. Every soft, heartbroken question from Soap, every biting accusation from Gaz, and finally, the quiet, paternal disappointment from Price. And her response. "I'm so sorry, John. You are like a father to me."

He had seen the tears in her eyes, the genuine pain. But he hadn't seen the truth. Not his truth.

When Price's footsteps faded, Ghost finally moved. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. He didn't speak to Soap or Gaz. He simply walked to the door of the interrogation room, his every step radiating a silent, lethal purpose.

Soap started forward, a hand reaching out. "Ghost, wait—"

But Ghost was already pushing the door open, the quiet click echoing in the tense silence of the observation room. He stepped inside, and the door hissed shut behind him, cutting off the view, the sound.

The air in the interrogation room crackled with a chilling intensity. You looked up, your breath catching in your throat as Ghost entered. He didn't sit. He didn't approach the table. He simply stood by the closed door, a dark, imposing silhouette, his skull mask an unreadable void.

The silence stretched, heavier than any of the previous interrogations. It wasn't the silence of waiting, but the silence of an apex predator assessing its prey. You could feel his eyes on you, burning holes through the mask, dissecting every inch of your being.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sent shivers down your spine. It wasn't loud, but it resonated with a controlled fury that made the hair on your arms stand on end.

"They asked you why," he began, his voice devoid of any warmth, any recognition of the shared past. "They asked you what happened." He paused, taking a slow step forward, then another. "And you said nothing."

He was closer now, close enough for you to feel the cold aura radiating from him. "You looked at Soap, your friend, and said nothing. You looked at Gaz, the man who hunted for you, and said nothing. You looked at Price, your father figure, and you gave him some pathetic excuse about being sorry."

He stopped directly in front of the table, leaning forward slightly, his masked face inches from yours. You could feel the heat of his anger, a palpable force.

"You had no words for them," he snarled, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "But you had words for Arek." He spat the name like a curse. "You smiled for him. You told him you'd love to marry him."

The words hung in the air, a raw, brutal accusation. He slammed his gloved hand down on the metal table, the sudden clang making you jump.

"You vanished, I tore the world apart looking for you. I thought you were dead. I thought you were forced. I made excuses. And all this time..." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a chilling murmur that was more threat than question. "...all this time, you were just lying in a Russian's bed, playing house? Whispering sweet nothings, just like you used to whisper to me?"

His hand, the one that had just slammed the table, slowly reached out. Not to comfort, not to touch. But to grasp your chin, his fingers rough through your skin, forcing you to meet his unseeing gaze.

"You told me you couldn't wait to be Mrs. Simon Riley," he hissed, his voice laced with a pain so profound it twisted your gut. "Look at me, tell me you meant it. Tell me everything was a lie. Tell me you didn't love me. Tell me you really loved him."

His grip tightened, not painful, but insistent. He wasn't asking for an explanation. He was demanding a confession. He wanted to break you, to shatter the carefully constructed facade, to find the truth, no matter how ugly. And the chilling part was, you knew, deep down, he wouldn't stop until he found it.

Likes, comments and critism are appreciated 🥰

Special Thanks to @lolplatzhalter @aceywaycy for the comments 🫶🌸your the best

[laduenadelswing]

Ex Boyfriend Simon x Reader

Part one

Part two

"One day I will marry you," the informant, Arek, slurred, his voice oozing through the comms. Simon's blood ran cold. The words, the exact same words he'd whispered to her, laced with every ounce of his truth, his hope. He remembered the feeling of her soft hair against his cheek, the quiet sigh of contentment as she’d murmured, “I can’t wait to become Mrs. Simon Riley. Fuck I love you Simon.“ That memory was a knife twisting in the wound of her absence.

He waited, every muscle in his body rigid, for her reaction. For the flinch, the subtle sign of discomfort, the tell-tale hesitation that would betray her true feelings. He needed it. Needed to know this was a charade, a means to an end, anything but genuine.

Then she smiled. A soft, almost tender smile. And the words, light as a feather, yet heavier than any blow, drifted through the comms. "I would love to."

The world tilted. The air in the observation van grew thick, suffocating. Price swore under his breath, Soap let out a strangled sound, and even Gaz looked away, unable to meet Simon's eyes. But Ghost saw none of it. He only saw her smile, heard her words, and the carefully constructed wall around his heart crumbled, leaving him exposed and bleeding.

No. It was impossible. It had to be. He’d searched for her, relentless, a ghost haunting his own life, convinced she’d been taken, forced, anything but willing. He’d replayed their last moments a thousand times, searching for a sign, a reason why she’d just… vanished. Ghosted him. And now, this.

His gloved hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white. The initial target, the informant, was irrelevant. Secondary. Because lying in that bed, next to that piece of trash, was his. And Ghost would burn the world down to get her back. Not just to extract her, but to fix her. To strip away whatever lies had been woven around her, to tear down the walls she'd built, and to mend the broken pieces of the woman he loved. Even if she didn't want to be fixed. Even if she no longer remembered the woman who'd once longed to be Mrs. Simon Riley. He would make her remember. He would make her his again.

The radio burst to life, cutting through the stunned silence in the van. "Price, Soap, Gaz, hold your positions. Do not engage the primary target." Ghost's voice, usually a low growl, was sharp, almost feral. "New objective: extraction. Minimal casualties to the building, maximum care for—" He paused, a flicker of something raw in his voice before he regained his composure. "—for the... collateral."

No one on the team needed it spelled out. They knew who the "collateral" was. The sudden shift in orders, the thinly veiled ferocity in Ghost’s tone, it spoke volumes. The informant, Arek, was no longer just an enemy. He was a pawn, and a dead man walking if he harmed a single hair on her head.

Soap, ever the empath, risked a glance at Ghost. The skull mask was an impenetrable barrier, but the set of his shoulders, the white-knuckle grip on his rifle, told a story of controlled, explosive fury. "Understood, Lieutenant," Soap replied, his own voice tight. He exchanged a knowing look with Gaz. This wasn't just a mission anymore. It was personal.

Inside the building, you felt the shift. The atmosphere, already tense with the knowledge of the 141's presence, crackled with a new, terrifying energy. Arek, oblivious to the change in command, tightened his arm around you, pulling you closer. "What's wrong, moy milyy?" he murmured, a confused frown on his face as he sensed the subtle shift in the air.

You didn't answer. Your gaze was fixed on the window, on the shadow that detached itself from the opposite building, moving with a silent, deadly purpose. It was Ghost. He wasn't waiting for orders to breach. He was coming for you.

A new voice, cold and precise, cut through the comms. "Breaching in 30 seconds. Soap, Gaz, provide covering fire. Price, secure the perimeter." This wasn't just a mission anymore. It was an execution. And you knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that the man behind that mask would stop at nothing. Not until you were out of Arek’s grasp, and back in his. Even if it meant dragging you kicking and screaming from the life you’d chosen, or been forced into. The silence that had once defined your absence was about to be shattered by the thunder of his return.

The breach was instantaneous. A concussive blast ripped through the apartment door, splintering wood and sending a cloud of dust billowing into the room. Arek, startled, shoved you roughly, scrambling for the pistol on his bedside table.

But Ghost was faster.

He was a blur of tactical gear and contained fury, already across the threshold before the dust could settle. His movements were honed, brutal, a predator scenting its prey. Arek barely had time to register the towering figure before a gloved hand gripped his wrist, twisting, and the pistol clattered to the floor. A swift, brutal strike to the solar plexus doubled the Russian over, a wheezing gasp escaping him.

You scrambled back, pressing yourself against the cold wall, eyes wide with a mixture of terror and a strange, morbid fascination. This wasn't the Simon you remembered, the man who’d held you close and whispered sweet nothings. This was Ghost, unleashed.

He didn't spare Arek a second glance once the man was incapacitated. His head snapped towards you, those shadowed eyes behind the mask burning with an intensity that made you tremble. There was no warmth, no recognition of the past. Only a chilling, singular focus.

"On your feet," he barked, his voice devoid of emotion, yet radiating an undeniable command. He didn't offer a hand, didn't soften his posture. He simply stood there, a formidable, unyielding presence.

Before you could fully process his words, Soap and Gaz were in the room, their weapons up, surveying the scene. Price's voice, calm and steady, came over the comms. "Room clear. Perimeter secure. Package acquired." The word "package" hung in the air, cold and impersonal, and you felt a fresh wave of despair. You weren't a person, not to them. Just an asset, a complication in their mission.

Ghost never took his eyes off you. "Move," he ordered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. He gestured with his rifle towards the shattered doorway. You pushed yourself away from the wall, your legs feeling weak, and stumbled forward.

As you passed Arek, slumped and groaning on the floor, Ghost nudged him with the toe of his boot. "Heard you had plans," he said, his voice laced with venom. "Guess those are off the table."

He didn't wait for a response, pushing you gently, but firmly, out of the room. The cold night air hit you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a strange sense of relief. You were out. But as Ghost’s imposing figure moved to flank you, you knew this was only the beginning. The silent hunt was over. The extraction had begun. And the real reckoning, with the ghost you had tried to escape, was only just beginning.

Ghost looked at you, his eyes scanning you, looking for imperfections. „Mrs Riley….“

[laduenadelswing]

🐙

[laduenadelswing]

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

As he stepped closer, Ace realized she had gone too far. She had underestimated Ghost, and now she was trapped in a game of her own making. But before she could back down, Ghost had already made his move.

Ace, realizing the dangerous territory she had entered, tried to backtrack. "I was just joking," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. But it was too late. Ghost, intrigued by her boldness, was determined to see this through. He closed the distance between them, his eyes burning with intensity.

"Were you?" he questioned, his voice low and menacing. "Or were you trying to provoke me?"

Ace, caught off guard by Ghost's sudden intensity, struggled to regain her composure. She tried to step back, but Ghost was too quick. He moved to block her path, his gaze fixed on hers.

The intensity of the moment was electrifying. Ghost relished the power dynamic, the thrill of the chase. He loved the way Ace was reacting, the fear and desire within her eyes. This was exactly what he wanted.

Ghost leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "You know, I like a woman who knows what she wants," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous promise. Ace, frozen in place, could only stare at him, her heart pounding in her chest.

At that moment, she realized she had made a grave mistake. She had underestimated Ghost, and now she was paying the price. As he pulled her closer, she could feel the heat radiating from his body. She was trapped, a captive in her own way.

Just as Ghost was about to deepen the moment, a voice interrupted them. "Ghost, there's a situation in sector four. We need your expertise."

It was Roach, his voice urgent. Ghost cursed under his breath, but he knew he had to go. He turned to Ace, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "We'll finish this later," he promised, before disappearing into the night.

Ace, relieved yet frustrated, was left alone with her thoughts. She had pushed the boundaries, tested the limits, and now she was paying the price. But as she walked away, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was far from over.

Ace, still reeling from her encounter with Ghost, turns a corner and nearly bumps into König. She quickly recovers and offers a stiff salute.

König: "Ace. What brings you out so late?" His voice is deep and steady, his eyes piercing through the darkness.

Ace: (hesitates) "Just... getting some air." Her gaze flickers away from his.

König: "Is something wrong?" He steps closer, his presence imposing.

Ace: (evasively) "No, everything's fine." She tries to move past him, but König blocks her path.

König: "Ace. I've known you long enough to know when something is bothering you. Talk to me."

Ace is torn. She wants to confide in König, but she's also wary of revealing her feelings for Ghost. She takes a deep breath.

Ace: "It's just... complicated."

König: (nodding understandingly) "I know that feeling. Sometimes, life is more complicated than we'd like it to be."

He pauses, his eyes softening.

König: "You can always talk to me, you know that."

Ace looks up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude. At that moment, she feels a sense of comfort and security. Perhaps, she thinks, König is the friend she needs right now.

She turned around and hugs König, König wanted to shrug, he couldn´t  remember the last time someone hugged him. "Your so soft." He mutters the first thing which came to his autistic mind. König was majorly confused as to why Ace is so soft compared to the comrades.

Ace, feeling a surge of emotion, turned around and hugged König tightly. The unexpected gesture caught him off guard. He could barely remember the last time someone had initiated physical contact with him, let alone a hug.

"You're so soft," he muttered, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. The comment was a simple observation, a reflection of his autistic mind, but it hung in the air, heavy with unintended meaning.

König was baffled by Ace's sudden affection. He had always been an outsider, a solitary figure. But with Ace, he felt a connection, a sense of understanding that he had never experienced before. As he stood there, holding her, he couldn't help but wonder what was happening to him. 

König, surprised by his own actions, hesitated for a moment. But then, he pulled Ace closer, his hands gently resting on her back. He held her there, savouring the warmth of her body, the softness of her hair. It was a simple gesture, a quiet moment of intimacy, but it meant the world to him.

For the first time in a long time, he felt a connection, a sense of belonging. Ace, in her own way, had broken through his defences, reaching a part of him that he had long thought unreachable.

[laduenadelswing]

[laduenadelswing]

cw: money kink? Simon is obsessed, Simon loves you spending his money and giving you money, strangers online, mentions of male masturbation, mentions of oral sex, reader streams and goes live a lot, mentions of poor financial situation, Simon yearns, controlling, reader starts an OnlyFans, jealous Simon Riley, mentions of the name 'Daddy'

Simon Riley who barley uses social media and doesn't understand it well. He supposes he never really had a proper reason. Sometimes he would checking up on his teammates private lives, see how they are doing when they are away and off duty; sometimes he could be caught watching the odd dog meme video that pops up- earning a small, slither of a smile from the scarred stoic man.

He never had a reason to bother, no account profile picture or bio and a randomly generated username he wouldn't know how to change if he even wanted to. Most of the time he would have two or three followers and always one of them was someone he had no idea of.

He never has a reason to give a shit about the online word, not until he saw you.

Sat at your desk, eyes sparkling under your warm ceiling light. Eagerly reading the chat-box at the bottom of your stream as you answered peoples questions with genuine interest. Your smile made his chest burn hot and his eyes caught notice of you fingers fidgeting with your hair. You were stunning, absolutely fucking breath taking and Simon couldn't get enough; he needed you.

He would join every single live, not messaging or saying anything to you but just watching and suffocating in silence. He wouldn't miss the way you licked your lips bet and chewed on your lower lip as you waited for more people to join. If it wasn't for his expertise in self control he would've been fisting his cock to the sight of you.

He would have you full blast on his phone as he pottered around his house, your angelic voice singing out words of ecstasy through the cold empty walls like you were there with him. His precious little sweetheart, living with him in his head and in his home. Who would've thought a stranger like you could mess someone like Simon up this fucking badly?

He learnt things about you, jotting them down in the notebook of his brain. Learnt the places you wanted to travel to and experiences you wanted to live- and found himself wanting to be beside you: witnessing it first hand. He found himself for the first time in years wanting to live and not just survive.

Despite his toll of silence, you didn't miss the way he was always there. Checking the viewer count to see his account right at the top as per usual. Time didn't seem to matter either, when you had woken up at early in the morning and decided to go live out of boredom- he was there. In the middle of the day when you were on your lunch break, ragged looking earphones trailing out your ear as you whispered into the microphone at the back of the café, he was there watching. He was always there and it felt strange.

In honesty, his consistency petrified you. You knew it was all in your head but the nagging feeling that it was one of your fucked up, clingy exes still keeping tabs on you despite going your separate ways, made you sick. Hoping was all you could ever do because you wouldn't dream of confronting the mysterious account that was watching, lingering and following you every second your phone was powered on. It was highly unlikely to be anyone you knew and you weren't entirely sure if that was better or worse.

When your first couple on donations rolled in, you didn't know what to say. Smiling and thanking the donators by name as your cheeks heated up.

You never asked for money or pleaded for donations; the option was always there if people wanted to. You certainly weren't going to beg or come across as a 'money hungry' but some extra cash on the side was definitely not a bad idea. The fact that people were so generous and kind to donating pennies and pieces to help reach the goal of buying your own place. It wasn't much people were sending in but every little help strangers would accompany you with made you realise the world wasn't so selfish after all: and when Simon noticed this. He reached for his card.

Hundreds, multiple hundred and it was just ridiculous amount of money that piled in from his account. It was the first time you had seen him interact with you aside from liking your content or watching your streams- what the fuck were you supposed to say? Your eyes would lock onto the screen, mouth slightly agape revealing your wet tongue as you tried to find the words. Simon fucking groaned.

The blank, grey profile picture looked back at you with numbers you couldn't comprehend attached to it. Simon was helping you tremendously and despite your gratefulness you couldn't help but end your stream- guilt surfacing in your throat because that was a lot of money to be handing away to a stranger. It felt rude taking it, you were scared to take it- it felt like borrowed money not gifted money because who sends someone that amount of cash. Who in their right fucking mind?

The worst part was he didn't stop there- in honesty, watching how fogged your mind got and watching the way you struggled for words- he couldn't find himself able to stop. It was a high for him, he wanted to give you everything you wanted.

He would crack his neck, a moan falling from his lips as he clicked on your live with a grin. Adrenaline fuelling his body as he sent more, and more, and more until he heard the shake in your voice. 'Stop' falling from your lips between nervous giggles and he knew you meant it, feeling his heart ricochet in his chest but still, he continued.

The mental aspect of the situation had led you to taking a short break off of streaming, you were sure he wasn't some crazy ex from the amount of money he had given you and the realisation it was some random stranger always being there instead, didn't make you as uncomfortable as you thought it would've. He was probably some old man with a fetish for seeing some girl like you everyday and spoiling you. The worst case scenario was that he could be a stalker or a murderer who had taken a liking into you- but even then you were highly careful of what you let slip online and who could be out there.

It was difficult, you wanted him to leave as much as you wanted him to stay- you couldn't block him after he had spent all that money on you and you wished it wasn't the case but it was very helpful. A good few weeks had past since you had uploaded and you figured that he would be onto some other girl by now. Splashing the cash for some supermodel look alike as he whispers into her microphone things that drive men wild. But of course that wasn't the case.

Simon was going fucking haywire. He couldn't sleep without hearing your muffled little voice in his dreams, your sleeping little face and messed up hair with your tantalisingly lowcut pyjamas, where were you? Where had you disappeared to? He would check your account religiously, just in case you posted and his notification didn't go off. He had googled ways to tell if he had been blocked- but the reality of the situation was that you had just became inactive.

It made his lungs ache and knees weak without hearing your voice daily- just old videos he had re-watched over and over again. Your absence worried him and it worried himself with how badly he was getting attached to you. His days felt like months, his strong demeanour replaced by one that was moping and mourning. Jesus- you weren't fucking dead. If you were fucking dead he would ruin whatever stole you from him. Was this stalker like behaviour? Was he being a fucking loser for worrying about you?

Upon your return you had decided to create a dreaded OnlyFans account. It was just to raise money and you weren't expecting to blow up into some massive porn star earing millions from sex work- you kept it pretty downlow. It was as much humiliating as it was necessary- without Simon there to send you hundreds of pounds, you needed the extra pay for groceries and rent money. Plus- it seemed everyone your age was doing it so what was the harm? You uploaded a quick video to promote your new account, posted it and sat down at your one seat table.

The cold of the wooden chair hitting your thighs and the dim lights of your kitchen made you realise how tiny your apartment was. Even for one person you felt like you were suffocating- stuck in a prison cell but you couldn't afford to leave yet. The sound of your swallow echoing into the silence as you finished up your instant ramen- humming in satisfaction as your phone hummed to. You picked it up, your stomach turning cold as a message request came through.

How much to delete your OnlyFans Account?

Simon was fucking seething. Posting your tits- your body, that little mouth of yours sucking on objects that weren't his cock for other men to see? For other men to pay for? He almost cracked his phone when he opened your notification to that and he would've if it wasn't for his urgency to get you to delete your account. He had heard of OnlyFans, he wasn't daft and you were coming off there whether you liked it or not.

Your heart stuttered seeing the familiar account and a scoff of shock fell from your lips. He hadn't forgotten you after all. The mysterious account had finally broke his silence and your stomach fluttered with feeling you couldn't make sense of. He hadn't moved on from you, he couldn't move on from you- should you be weirded out by this?

Sorry?

How much to delete your OnlyFans Account. Now?

The pulse in your vein throbbed as you finally made sense of his question. The giddy feeling from earlier at the realisation he was waiting for you, subsided into thick strings of anxiety. Hypothetically, if you had run your account on there for a good few months, posting regularly and having a handful of subscribers- you would bring home a good portion of money to save up. You couldn't ask him for a lot of money- especially after all the money he had already gave but you couldn't delete your account for little to nothing. So, you took the time to nicely write back to him and explain your financial situation to him. Explaining how you need to money to help save for a future house- that you need food and necessities and that your shitty job doesn't pay you enough.

The chat fell silent, Simon began to type and then stopped- disappearing and you shut your phone off worried you had either overshared and accidently unloaded everything onto him or upset him.

I mean- you didn't owe him anything- he donated all that money to you on his behalf but you couldn't help the niggling feeling or regret and shame that you had offended someone so nice that had done so much for you. You told yourself that he was still probably some creep, some fucked up pervert that probably only watched for one thing. But if that was the case, why would he be against your OnlyFans? Maybe you read him wrong- or maybe he wanted you all for himself.

You felt your phone ping again, opening the chat to a payment of multiple thousands.

This your spending money for food and whatever else you want. And I can buy you a house darling, don't you worry.

The high numbers full your screen and you blinked. Your head unable to comprehend if this was real or not. A whole house? Spending money? Was this guy fucking rich? He obviously had money to give away willingly so there was no doubt he was rich. But still though, did he not have a family to spend this money on- or anything better to do with it? Without properly thinking you typed back your response, sitting back on your chair as your eyes darted around your small apartment. Was he deadly serious about buying you a house?- Who were you kidding, of course he was serious.

Are you a sugar daddy or something?

Simons concrete façade broke as he snorted, reading your message. Imagining your sweet, pretty, intoxicating voice reading it out to him while he melts and loses himself in you. He should just send you his card and bank details- he should just send you all of his fucking money and spoil you absolutely rotten. He would give you anything you wanted- he would let you walk all over him and drain his fucking account. The thought of you all dolled up, new shoes, new clothes, new perfume. The thought of you comfortable, clean and fed- fuck he had never felt this horny and desperate before. He fisted his cock through his jeans as he sat up on his couch, stretching and adjusting a little before looking back down at the message. Fingers typing back a reply before plopping his phone down beside him.

Not a sugar daddy, I just like your smile, Sunshine.

But if you really wanted to call me daddy, I wouldn't be opposed to the idea.

[laduenadelswing]

Brat

König x Reader

“Hurt? Oh no, it’s not hurtful.” He stammered. What you weren't aware of is that König demanded to have you as his medic, around you, he never let his anxiety take over. He was in his professional, cocky, confident mode. It made your young and naive spirit grow fond of the colonel. He would always protect you, from actual dangerous on the battlefield and minor problems like the rumours that you guys had an affair.

König loved the idea to make you his, but he would never act on it without certainty that you at least like his company more than the of your usual comrades.

One day after you came back to base from a night out with the young comrades and met König on the floor. Of course, he wasn't waiting for you, checking if you made it back to base safely. König looked you up and down, smiling underneath the fabric which concealed his face. “I think you are a bottom. “ You giggled, your cheeks tinted in a pink shade and your spirit, which was so light you could keep your mouth shut.

“You think so?” He digged deeper, as he towered in front of you. Schatz, you have no sense of danger, don't you.

“You just give of that energy. Big guy.” König never thought that there was a brat inside you, but he loved it. He would catch a grenade for you, but he would gladly become your personal brat tamer as well.

“Would you like to test out that theory?” König looked you down, he could swear that your checks were berry pink at that moment. As soon as his proposal left his mouth, you broke your eye contact shyly. God your perfect.

“You wouldn’t.” You teased König.

He folded you, your legs next to your ears. Your little frame was bend to his will, you could not complain, you couldn't even think straight.

“You're just a little girl . I know exactly what to do with a woman like you. “