#ghost cod x you

[hopelesslonelyghost]

something something bodyguard! ghost tasked in keeping you safe from a stalker but turns out he’s the stalker >:)

and now you’re both alone in a secluded cabin, far far away from anyone. where no one can hear you beg and cry

keep screamin’ love, it only gets ‘im harder.

[mrshesh]

i saw on your rules that you don’t write hardcore nsfw, so im gonna try to stay tame LOL

how would ghost be in bed? i feel like im so conflicted about this topic

ghost in bed - simon "ghost" riley x reader

overview: how simon "ghost" riley would be like in bed

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gender neutral reader, romantic

genre: smut, fluff

a/n: i'm actually so passionate about this topic. he's very misrepresented in our fandom, so i'd like to give my two cents regarding this topic. thanks for the request, anon!

TW! mentions of SA, abuse, suicide, and torture. proceed with caution.

Contrary to popular belief, he is not the rough dom everyone makes him out to be. He wouldn’t slap or spit on you. He wouldn’t push your head into the mattress and call you the filthiest words that come to mind - no, he’d be gentle, careful, and loving. 

Simon has been through hell and back - he knows what it feels like to be hurt better than anyone. Physically, verbally, emotionally, and psychologically, you name it! He knows it all, so he doesn’t get off on it. 

His past is extremely gut-wrenching. He got betrayed by everyone, even his own team. He got tortured for months and months on end, to the point where he got severe PTSD and anxiety. He suffers from nightmares and panic attacks and has even tried to take his own life. We also know that he got SA’d in the past, in the months he got gravely tortured. (Reading the comic was seriously terrifying.)

The fact that his father was abusive isn’t helping his case, either. 

And on top of that, he dislikes exposing his body and face. 

So best believe he’s only sleeping with you when you fully trust each other.

And when he does have sex with you, my god, it’s gentle. 

He loves missionary and sitting cowgirl. Being able to hold you close, look you in the eyes, kiss your cheeks, and press his forehead against yours - those things he’d do during sex, not choke you till you pass out.

He has lost everything he has ever loved, so losing what he loves the most, you, is out of the question for him. And that results in him being extremely cautious while having sex. He’s terrified of scaring you away. 

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear constantly. “I love you so much.” “Takin’ me so well.” “You’re so beautiful.” 

His face is redder than a tomato. Having intimacy with someone he loves is a pretty new thing to him, so his cheeks are painted a light pink from the get-go. 

The aftercare consists of soft kisses, compassionate touches as he cleans you up, and praise, so much praise. 

The moral of the story - he's a gentle giant who's absolutely terrified to lose you, despite his hard rock exterior.

this turned dark really quick, but it had to be said.

[daisies-daydreams]

Ghost x shy reader? Would love a spicy scenario where he coaxes us into learning how to dirty talk with him

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Shy!F!Reader Category: Fluff/Smut (18+) Warnings: P in V Sex (you know the drill), Dirty Talk (obvs), Pet Names (baby, sweetheart/sweet girl, hon), Swearing Word Count: 1.2k+ A/N: Hello! Thank you for your sweet request! I love shy reader prompts so much.😭I hope you enjoy! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Simon murmured in his low, gruff voice. You held your hands over your eyes and burning cheeks, his cock pushed half-way inside your slick cunt. You shook your head and raised your shoulders. Your lover sighed. "Love, am I hurtin' you?" he asked. You peeked from between your fingers as you shook your head.

"N-No," you squeaked. Simon grunted as he gently grabbed one of your wrists.

"Then what's wrong?" he asked. You bit the inside of your cheek as your heart thrummed against your sternum. You took a deep breath.

"I-I just..." you huffed, cursing yourself for not being able to just spit it out. Simon rubbed up and down your arm, his dark eyes still as he patiently waited for your reply. You inhaled deeply again as you tried to relax beneath him.  

“Hey, look at me,” Simon said. Your lip quivered before you slowly peeled your hands away. Your love gazed down at you with such deep admiration, you thought your heart was going to explode. “Love, I need you to talk to me when we're like this, remember?” he said as he cupped your cheek. You glanced away. 

“I know. I'm just not good at it,” you sighed. Simon hummed as he stroked his thumb over your cheek. 

“Well, no time like the present,” he grunted. You blinked.

"What?" you asked. Simon gave you a wry grin before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I'm gonna teach you how to talk dirty," he said bluntly. Your jaw went slack.

"B-But I-I'm not good at it!" you flushed. Simon tilted his head.

"Do you want to learn how?" he asked.

"I mean...well...you know...yeah," you muttered. Simon chuckled.

"Alright, sweet girl," he said before kissing your cheek. “You comfortable?” Simon asked. You nodded and bit your lip. “Good,” he grunted. “Now, dirty talk doesn’t have to be a long, flowery poem,” Simon murmured as he brushed his cheek against yours. You gulped when he planted his lips on your neck, sucking on it lightly before letting go. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he purred. You swallowed thickly before parting your lips. “See? Simple. Let’s just start off with what we’re feelin’ and go from there, yeah?” Simon suggested. You licked your lips and nodded. 

“Okay,” you grinned. Simon beamed before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. 

“Such a sweet girl,” he groaned as he pushed his hips forward. You moaned as his dick sank further inside your tight pussy, the stretching sensation making your toes curl. 

“Mmm,” you moaned as you gripped his large shoulders. Simon continued to kiss along your neck as he gently rocked his hips, his cock sliding against your gummy walls. 

“What are you feelin’ right now, hon?” he whispered into your ear, his hot breath falling against your skin. You blinked away a few tears of pleasure as your chest heaved. 

“I-I feel your cock stretching me,” you swallowed. Simon grunted and raked his teeth over the shell of your ear. 

“Yeah? Does it feel good?” he asked. You nodded. 

“Y-Yes! Feels really good, Si,” you moaned. You cried out when he pulled back and pressed his thumb against your puffy clit. You scrunched your eyebrows together as he drew slow circles around your bundle of nerves. 

“And how does this feel, hm?” he asked as he continued to thrust into your squelching cunt. Your walls fluttered around his thick length as you gasped for air. 

“So good, fuck,” your eyes widened before you slapped a hand over your mouth. Simon chuckled as he switched between circling your clit and swiping up and down. 

“It’s okay, baby. Just say whatever comes to your mind,” he encouraged you as he continued to massage your engorged button. 

“I-It’s not that-oh!” you mewled as Simon began to pump his hips a little faster. Your breasts began to bounce with his thrusts as he moved around your clit in tighter circles. You arched your back as he rested a hand next to your side. 

“Feel so fuckin’ good wrapped around my cock,” Simon growled lowly. You whined as you dug your nails into his ivory skin. Your mouth pooled with saliva as you heard your flesh slap against his. 

“Ahh, Simon!” you moaned and ducked your head against your shoulder. You felt his warm lips against your temple as you wrapped your legs around his sharp waist. 

“You can do it, lovie. C’mon,” he urged you as he dragged his cock along your walls. Hot tears poured down your cheeks as you bit your lip. You wailed when he snapped his hips forward, the fat head of his cock sliding against your g-spot. 

“God! Right there!” you sobbed while clinging onto his muscular body for dear life. You felt him smile against your face before he started to thrust against your sensitive spot repeatedly. “Yes, yes just like that!” you whined while hooking your ankles together. Simon groaned into your ear as he continued to paint sloppy shapes around your clit, his cock throbbing deep inside you. 

“I-I love how much you stretch my pussy, Si!” you cried out. He puffed a hot breath of air against your ear as he thrusted even faster, his balls slapping against your wet skin. 

“Atta girl,” your lover praised. You moaned as he hungrily kissed your lips, his tongue swiping over yours before he pulled back. 

“Fuck, (Y/N). Look so pretty when you’re takin’ my cock,” Simon grunted. You whimpered as your walls pulsated around his shaft. He chuckled. “You look even better when you cum,” he grinned as he gently pinched your clit. You felt the cord inside you suddenly snap.

“S-Simon!” you moaned as your pussy clamped down on his dick. You sobbed as you rocked your hips against his as waves of pure bliss crashed over you. 

“Good girl, that’s it,” you heard Simon mutter as he let you ride the rest of your orgasm on his meaty cock. Your legs shook around his waist as you gasped and moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders. You blinked your eyes open just as Simon began to thrust again, his strokes becoming more sloppy as he flared his nostrils. 

“Hold on, sweetheart. Just a little bit longer,” your lover grunted. Your limbs felt like jelly as you basked in the afterglow, your body filled with a divine sense of warmth. Simon growled into your ear as his cock twitched inside your walls. “Fuck,” he hissed. You tilted your head, your lips close to his ear. 

“Cum inside me, Simon,” you whispered. Simon’s eyes widened before he released a deep, feral groan. You mewled as he stiffened above you, his cock snug against your cervix as he flooded your tight hole with his warm cum. 

“So, good, you’re so good to me,” he murmured repeatedly as he finished releasing inside you. You caught your breath as his body went slack, his chest heaving as he gazed down at you. 

“Sorry, I don’t know if I was good,” you blushed. Simon gave you a half-lidded grin before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get better. We’ll just have to try again next time,” he beamed. Your heart fluttered at the prospect of next time. Simon hummed before kissing along your jaw. Your pussy clenched around his softening cock. 

Next time might be sooner than you thought. 

----

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[undercoverpena]

home and the ghost mug

simon “ghost” riley x reader (cod)

this is unedited, and born from a random thought as I put away dishes and cleaned my kitchen at 1am. warnings: none. themes: fluff, cute mug moment, ghost and a non-military partner. just toothrotting 1am thoughts.

you don’t like to think you live alone, but you know you spend more time waiting, than you have with him.

this time it’s been months. the last contact weeks ago. it’s normal, but it doesn’t lessen the frustration you feel—or how it balls and clumps with worry.

you know you signed on to this. married yourself to the wondering and standing by when you bought the house with him. it’s why you’ve perfected the art of keeping busy, remaining distracted.

today, your mind slips. falls down on the job, scrapes the skin from your knees and bruises your heart. thoughts appearing, the faint sound of his gruff voice echoing in the walls. unable to unsee the shadow of his last time here—how broad he appears in your door frames.

it’s the slip up that means you unconsciously make a tea for yourself in his mug. a no-go, a thing you never do. the cup sacred, forever off limits unless he’s here. the one you’d bought as a joke, wrapped it in paper and watched him stare at it when he unveiled the skull on the side with the bone handle.

“this bought for me?”

“well, it’s not for next door, simon.”

suddenly, you don’t fancy tea. your heart aching, all heavy and downtrodden in your chest. so you pour it away, washing it out and putting it away quickly. because you know it’ll sting seeing it on the drainer in the morning. practically punch you in the gut—because your mind will trick itself into thinking he’s home. that he’s back. for whatever time he can spare.

by the time his car pulls onto the drive, the house is coated in darkness. the moon full, high in the sky. shimmering a luminescent glow on everything and anything it can touch.

you must be tired, shattered. no murmur of his name or quickened footsteps when he slides his key on the lock, when he takes his boots off. he does do it with precision, care—almost mouse like for a man that’s more mountain than man. shoving them away in the contraption you bought sometime between the two of you moving in and him coming back to you.

and because the house is quiet, silent. a pin being dropped sounding like a shout, he begins his routine. the one where he shoves the things away he doesn’t need to have. not needing reminders of what he does as ghost when he’s trying to focus on being simon.

his routine concludes with a shower in the downstairs guest bathroom, watching the places he’s just been slide down the plug hole, all out of sight, out of mind. you know this routine, keeping some of his casual clothes—sweats and tees in a drawer, for moments like this.

even if he should expect it by now, he still smiles as your genuineness. your kindness. the one that comes ti you with ease.

it’s why he craves being next to you, being able to hear your breaths—close his eyes and allow the evidence to bury the niggling worries he amasses when he’s not with you.

but, joining you isn’t possible. discovering you star-fished, snoring lightly—one of his t-shirts covering and concealing you. practically burying you. and so he closes the door, heads back downstairs. running a hand over the back of his head, feeling clumps of long and short hair from his bad diy cut you’ll undoubtedly have things to say about.

but it isn’t until he’s walking past the kitchen, does he notice the mug and glass cupboard ajar. a thought appearing, his hand retrieving his mug and placing it on the side. a sign, he hopes—a bold exclamation that he is home, in case you wake before him.

you don’t wake before him. simon and fucked up body clock, as usual, wakes at the first break of sunlight. only rising from the guest bed when he hears the floorboards above. your feet eventually coming down the staircase, all slow and heavy, his mind imagining you rubbing your eyes, softly sighing at another day.

he waits in the doorway—the one connecting the guest bedroom to the kitchen—watching you come to a standstill, eyes blinking as you stare at the mug.

simon doesn’t know the error you made yesterday, that you’re going through a crisis of whether you’d put it away or not. whether you’d lost your mind from missing him so much.

he just knows you’re not reacting. not whispering, never mind shouting his name. so he clears his throat, loud, purposeful.

and your head spins—he’s even pretty sure he hears it crack—and then the reaction he expected lands.

it erupts over your face. an explosion of confusion and joy, tear-filled eyes and a large smile, before you’re in his arms, face buried against his chest as he feels you shake with sobs he hopes are because you’re happy.

“take it you’re happy i’m home?”

“more than you think.”

his chin comes to rest on the top of your head, fingers stroking up and down your back.

the mug becomes a sign, a beacon.

it only ever used to indicate he was home—a trophy that remains on the side, until he gets the call that he has to go.

then he is the one to put it away, hating how he turns to always find your lips being chewed by your teeth.

“it’ll be back out before you know it.”

“it better be.”

simon doesn’t promise. because he knows—as do you—that there’s none he can keep in the games he plays. he comforts you without words, his mouth slanted over yours.

I’ll always fight to get home to you.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

snowfall

summary: when she’s young and in between foster families, she meets a scrawny kid named Simon. Simon sits to the side while the other kids play, and she gives him her sandwich. When he leaves, forced to go back to his dad, she feels bad for him.

Then, when she gets older, she realizes that Simon was the lucky one. He made it out.

notes: based on the song snowfall, bc I’ve been listening to it and thinking about this fic a lot lately

warnings: mentions of abuse, human trafficking and childhood trauma. Violence. Allusions to smut? Afab!reader

taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins (hmu to be added to any taglist!)

masterlist | requests are OPEN!

You’re back to square one, where you always end up when a foster family lets you go. A big, grey house that was built in the sixties and not once painted afterwards, that’s square one. Makeshift beds and damp rooms, showers that smell of piss and food that has the consistency of cardboard.

The house is so terrible on the inside that everyone flees into the parking lot, a barely better place to be. In the dirt-poor areas of Manchester, it’s all anyone can ask for. The younger kids play with chalk or run around, chasing each other, while the ones your age pass cigarettes and other stuff to each other.

None of you know each other’s names, but you’ve all seen each other in passing. Kids that were left on their own, that don’t trust easy won’t talk to each other either. Not really.

It’s rare to see a new face, so the teen sitting off to the side while the others talk catches you by surprise.

He’s massively tall already, but scrawny as hell, his hair in the awkward stage between short and being grown out. His eyes flit around, meeting no one else’s.

“Haven’t seen you before.” You greet, and he barely looks up. You offer him your name, and he pauses before he responds.

“Simon.” He says finally. There’s a short silence, broken by his rumbling stomach, and you hand him your sandwich without thinking twice. You’re not a big fan of tomatoes. He hesitates, inspecting it before he takes a bite. He barely nods as you tell him you don’t like tomatoes, and you doubt he even heard you.

“What are you doing here? Never seen you before.” You attempt, trying to make conversation. He shrugs in response, and you don’t pry further.

Simon sticks to you like glue in the days afterwards, a silent shadow that towers over you. Timmy, a kid that joined a gang after feeling overly confident, tries to approach you twice, but apparently, Simon’s glower is more intimidating than his stature.

After a week and a half, a social worker interrupts a game of Uno between you and Simon, pulling him away for a conversation. That usually means one of two things: going home, or going to a family of strangers.

You never get to find out which one it is, because Simon doesn’t say goodbye. You tell yourself that he made it home, or at least made it out. He seems like the type.

***

Against your hopes, and in line with all odds, you don’t make it out. Bouncing between foster families leaves you frustrated, angry and alone. A recipe for disaster, and you know it. Two years after Simon left the grey house that smelled like a germaphobe’s nightmare, you did as well.

Barely eighteen, with no one to back you up and not a single penny on your name, that went to shit quicker than you might have thought, and you found yourself exactly where you did not want to end up: the crime scene of Manchester.

It started off with little favors. Timmy convinced you. He said it wasn’t hard to sell drugs. That you’d only have to do it a few times, and then you’d have enough money to start yourself off with a real job. Something honest.

Something that would finally get you some real security. A sense of permanence.

Over the years, little favors turned into bigger favors.

Timmy, of course, didn’t know batshit about anything, and he certainly did not care to look into things more than he had to for you. And by the time your idiot, barely not-adolescent brain realized that, you were in too deep.

You’d done everything wrong, because selling drugs for a few days ‘wouldn’t hurt anyone’.

That was how you ended up as the cliché character of anti-everything prevention movies they showed you, back in the grey house. Abused, beaten-up, trafficked, sold, and not even out of your twenties.

Each time you thought about it, you wanted to laugh at yourself, to try and stop yourself from missing the gray house and the exhausted social workers that weren’t paid enough to care for any of you.

Just this time, you couldn’t go back to the gray house. You weren’t a child anymore. This time, people came for you to make sure that you’d pay them back what you owed them. Technically, what Timmy owed them.

They, whoever they were, took you away from Manchester, the only semblance of home you’d ever known. You found yourself in an abandoned cargo hall, freezing cold. From what you could see, it was snowing outside, the chill creeping inside. The girl next to you was out like a light, either from drugs, exhaustion, the cold, or a combination of all three.

You could make peace with the fact that you would never get out. You could just accept it, like you’d accepted everything else in your life. A voice in your head screamed that it wasn’t fair, and it felt like that scream was becoming more and more real. There was a ridiculous notion in the back of your mind, telling you to get up.

It bled into the screech from the gates of the cargo hall, protesting as they were opened. Your captors pointed their guns, but thick, white smoke filled the building, and you felt yourself become suddenly sleepy.

The last thing you saw were shadowy figures storming the hall, gunfire ringing out, smoke filling your nose and mouth.

***

When you came to, the smoke had dissipated, but you were still in the cargo hall. A group of men in camouflage walked around the hall, checking the men that were lying on the floor. One of them approached you and the others.

Almost automatically, you slinked backwards, out of his reach, but he gave you a soft smile.

He was young, too young to be in a place like this, with a sweet expression on his face that felt too saccharine to belong in the midst of this violence.

“I’m Gaz.” He said. “I’m with the British army, and we’re here to take you home. Are you hurt?”

Varying reactions came from the people around you, and you felt yourself numbly nodding. Home. Had a God heard your prayer and then decided to turn it into a joke?

The doctors arrived a while later, taking a look at everyone that had been with you. Some of the girls around you were drug addicts, and going into withdrawal was never pretty. The cargo hall quickly filled with the stench of vomit and cold sweat, but it meant that you got the time to look at the men that had stormed the hall. A gruff man with sideburns, a Scot with a mohawk that was chattering away with Gaz and-

He was hulking, a mountain that wore a skull instead of a face. You’d never met someone like him in your life, but he paused when he saw you, and you knew that he’d seen you before, this behemoth of a man.

***

It takes two more days before you’re back in England, but it doesn’t feel like a homecoming. Some of the girls have people waiting for them, parents, children, boyfriends, girlfriends to run into their arms and hold. Some are like you. No one comes, and they leave on their own.

You want to follow them. You can’t go back to Manchester. You’ll only return for your papers, if those still exist, and then you’ll leave.

You’re about to finally lift your feet from the cold, concrete floor when you feel a pair of eyes burning into your back.

Turning around, you see it’s the one they call Ghost. He’s standing off to the side, and it reminds you of something. You can’t figure out what it is, even though you try so so hard to just remember.

“Thank you for getting us out of there.” You blurt out, and he looks like he wants to say something, his jaw almost cramping together as he makes a tiny movement. You think it’s towards you.

“I owed you for the sandwich.” He says. The shrug looks forced, and you know that he can’t bring himself to say something more honest. “No tomatoes, of course.”

The seconds it takes you to understand seem to tick by outside of your brain, like a clock hammering with each moment passed. Then, your jaw falls slack.

“Simon?” you ask, too loudly, and the Scot named Soap snaps his head around to stare at you.

He doesn’t reply, and he doesn’t have to. You recognize his height, his eyes, the awkward standing off to the side so suddenly that it hits you like a fucking train. How couldn’t you see it before?

This is Simon. The kid that-

“You left without saying fucking anything!” you accuse, and you’re sure the others think you’re exes.

He just nods, and that almost infuriates you. But he made it out. He made something of himself, and you have to respect that. It’s all you want, always slipping away from your grasp, and Simon got it. Carved it out for himself, by the looks of it.

And finally, after an eternity, Simon steps forward and holds out a bag with the yellow-and-green subway logo on it.

“Hope you like it.” He mumbles, and it’s an almost adorable gesture. There’s no tomatoes, as he promised. Someone remembered something from your childhood.

You take the bag, and then you take the step separating you and hug him tightly. Are you overstepping a boundary? Is he going to push you off roughly?

He doesn’t hug you back, but he does allow you to wrap your arms around him (or, as much as you can do that with his new size).

His teammates stare, but you don’t let go. Not for a while.

“You got a place to stay?” he asks, when the others have gotten over the shock of your interaction. There’s genuine concern in his eyes, and a part of you hopes that you’re special in this, because you helped him too. Somehow.

“McDonalds is always open, and I’ve got…” you reach into your pocket, finding a crumpled note. “Enough for a large drink.”

He shakes his head. He offers his apartment, his home up to you and you should say no because he could traffic you, or rape you, or hurt you just enough to make you drag yourself back to Timmy.

You get into the car with him, and your mind screams danger. Your gut’s feeling alright though, so you ignore it.

The first change beyond the obvious of his massive frame that you notice is that he’s gotten even quieter. While you drag yourself up the dark staircase with some effort, he stays true to his name, not a single scrape coming from his combat boots.

In the apartment, he switches on the light, and you take in the spartan interior. A small kitchen, a sofa, a TV, a coffeetable with a mug still on it. No dinnertable, but three pictures on the refrigerator.

A young boy, a woman that reminds you of the younger Simon (maybe his mother?) and his teammates. Gaz, Soap, the older guy, two men that you don’t recognize, standing in scenery that looks almost tropical.

He lets you stare, before he quietly shows you the bathroom. You let the lock click behind you, even though you know that wouldn’t make much of an obstacle for the person he’s become.

You shower as quickly as you can, slipping back into your underwear. You hesitate for a moment, and then you grab the big, fluffy bathrobe hanging over the towel rack. Someone had vomited on your shirt, and you refused to put it on again.

The robe was too big for you, black with white skulls on it, and you highly doubted that Simon had bought it for himself. Maybe the Scot that cracked jokes with, or rather at him, had bought it for him and he’d caved to using it.

When you walked out, Simon was pulling clean sheets over the bed in his bedroom. He lifted his head when he heard you, and even through the balaclava, you knew he was lifting a brow at you.

“You’re wearing Soap’s bathrobe.” He commented.

“Someone vomited on my shirt.”

Simon did not reply, but he did turn around to rummage in his closet, throwing you one of his old shirts. You went back into the bathroom to put it on, and decided to not comment on the fact that it looked like a midi dress on you.

He closed the door behind him when he went to sleep, and the click of the lock felt a little insulting to you. Yet, you couldn’t expect him to trust you.

Sleep did not come easy to you, and when it did, you only had nightmares.

After a particularly bad one, you woke up with a start, only to find yourself face-to-face with one of your captors, face hid behind a balaclava, and you screamed.

Only after a few moments did you realize that it was Simon.

Between your panicked apologizing, and his nervous tea-making, it took a while for either of you to speak.

“I’m sorry for not telling you I was leaving.” He said finally, sitting across from you on the sofa, and still managing to take up three fourths of it.

“You didn’t have to. You didn’t know me.” You replied.

“I clung to you.” He said under his breath, as if it was an admittance of weakness.

“I liked it. Made me feel less alone.”

Your hands found each other in the dark, his fingers curling around yours and you swore that you could feel his heart hammer in his wrist.

“I don’t want to go to Manchester alone.” You whispered. It was an admittance of defeat.

“I’ll go with you.” Simon replied. He had no incentive to.

In the dark, it didn’t feel as preposterous or dangerous to move closer to him. He stilled when your knee bumped against his leg, and you held your breath, waiting for his rejection.

It didn’t come, only a shaky breath from Simon that gave the smallest of hints about how he was feeling. His hand was still holding yours, warm and a little rough, but it felt real. It made you move closer, to try and lean into his touch.

His hand slipped from yours, and for a moment, you thought that you’d done something wrong, but then you felt it on your waist, and Simon pulled you onto his lap. Your hands flew to his chest to steady yourself, and you could feel his hammering heart beating under his shirt.

Simon was so massive that he engulfed you, drowned out everything around you, and you loved it. There was nothing but him, and that didn’t scare you. It made you feel unfathomably safe.

He hugged you suddenly, a mirror gesture to what you’d done at the airport, his thick arms wrapping around you, pulling you even closer, until your lips were almost on his and he looked up at you with something in his eyes that you couldn’t place, because no one had ever looked at you like that.

You couldn’t help kissing him. Slowly, asking, almost begging, you peeled up the lower half of his balaclava, waiting for him to tell you to stop. Instead, even in the darkness, you knew that the stubble on his jaw was blonde, because it was impossible to forget someone like him. Your lips found his and it felt so right that your hands snaked up to his jaw, cradling his face in the hope that he’d know you cared for him.

Simon returned your kiss equally as hungry, demanding the air you breathed from you, his embrace swallowing you, and you wanted to give it all to him. Your hands shook as you reached to slip them over the band of his sweats, still unsure if he’d reject you, or let you do it.

Cautiously, your hands slipped under his t-shirt first, his skin feeling like it was burning in comparison to your cold fingers, warm to the touch, and safe.

“I thought about you a lot.” You admitted between kisses. “Wanted to know what happened to you.”

Simon stilled at that, his gaze shifting, warping from one unreadable expression to another.

“Nothin’ good.” He replied finally. You felt like an idiot. Like you’d just ruined the moment.

“I’m sorry.” You said, because you had no idea what else to say. His hand found yours, and you felt like whatever was going to happen to you, it was going to be okay.

[ghostlychief]

Scary Dog Privilege

Pairing: one shot; Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Wc: 1,100+

Warnings: none; just some guy being annoying; fluff

Summary: Ghost being protective when you go to a bar

A/N: Ok, this idea for this drabble came about when i had a scary incident happen to me on public transportation. In the moment, i was thinking how nice would it be to have a large scary looking dog with me bc men always find a way to make you feel uncomfortable and scared. It really sucks that we have to turn towards other men to "protect" us because men don't take no for an answer or simply will just not leave us alone. But this is fantasy land, so I'll allow it this time.

Anyways, here is a short drabble lmao. Hope you enjoy! <3

-Lee

--

To say that Ghost had a staring problem, was a little inaccurate. It’s not like he was on one of the most skilled, and covert teams in existence or anything. He was trained to have a good eye, and follow his target with precision. It just so happened that whenever you two went out, you became his target, and stole away all his attention.

One way you liked to rewind after a mission was to go out drinking with your friends, or occasionally, squad 141. This was how you coped, let loose, hell, forget about all the terrible shit you saw on a daily basis. And seeing that Ghost was your boyfriend, he usually (always) tagged along with you when you went out.

Why did he come with you every time?

One might say he also wanted to blow off some steam, and what better way than alcohol? And for you, what better way than dancing, and being carefree with your friends?

Others might say that he couldn’t let you out of his sight. He was very conscious of his surroundings, and also the surroundings of everyone around him. Whenever you were in the same room as him, he always had his eye on you, following you, and knew your position within his proximity.

When you were out, whether it be at a bar, restaurant, store, he always slightly blocked you from the view in any doorway, always standing closest to it. Somewhat shielding you with his body.

He would slightly walk in front of you, hand stretched behind him to grasp yours when you were walking on the sidewalk. And of course, he always walked on the side closest to the cars, you were always in the inside of the sidewalk.

If by some chance you weren’t, he would wrap an arm around your shoulder and gently move you over; so now he was on the outside. He kept his arm around you though.

In restaurants, he always sat in the seat where he could see the whole room, and the entrance. You didn’t notice this at first, but on one of your dates when you initially starting dating, he sat in the booth seat. You joked and said, “Oh, usually that’s my spot.”

He didn’t get your reference and simply stated, “What? This is the spot where I can analyze the whole room in case something happens.”

You let him have the booth.

It was no different when you went out. His brooding stare and massive height and size deterred any man who even had the thought to approach you. And on top of that he was always sporting his black, half skull balaclava, which added on to the intimidation he exuded. Great for you, you think. The last thing you wanted to deal with was a random man.

Needless to say, you hated dealing with men while out. Especially drunk, pushy men. And there was always at least one during these occasions.

Tonight, everything was going smoothly, and just as planned, like your usual nights out. You were dancing, and having a good time with your friends, Ghost was somewhere in the near distance, and you didn’t have to look at him to know that his eyes were already on you. You might have thrown in a couple extra moves while dancing.

You seemed so carefree in this moment. All your troubles wiped clean from your face, your body relieving any tension it held. You moved to the beat of the music, drink in your hand. You were drunk by now, the full effects of alcohol finally hitting you.

Suddenly, you felt a hand grasp your waist. At first you thought it was your boyfriend, and you turned around smiling, but only to be met with a much shorter man, with no skull balaclava covering his face.

Immediately your lips turned down, and eyebrows furrowed. Your body flinched at the unfamiliar contact. Leaning away from the man, you waited to see what he wanted.

“Wanna dance?” His lips upturned as he asked this, and his grimy hand was still grasping your waist, and even started to move downward.

Bold move, you think.

“No, I’m good.” At your response, his friendly (more so creepy) smile vanished form his face and his brows started to furrow, signaling to you he was offended, shocked that you would ever reject him.

He started badgering you, trying to get you to dance, and you grew more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

“C’mon, just one dance.”

“What’s the harm?”

He also kept trying to touch you. Something you didn’t appreciate at all, and he wasn’t listening to your no’s.

All of a sudden you feel your body being tugged backwards until you hit a firm chest. Recognizing the smell of your boyfriend, you immediately relaxed into his embrace and place your hand on Ghost’s forearm that was holding you.

“She’s with me, fuck off.” Ghost’s rough voice cuts through the air.

The man’s face pales as he fully takes in Ghost’s presence. He lifts up his arms as if surrendering, then swiftly left, tail in between his legs.

Once he was out of sight, Ghost turned you around and brought up a hand to gently cup your face, tilting it upwards so you could look at him. His thumb rubbed back and forth on your jaw, soothing you.

“Are you alright?” His voice much softer than when telling off that man.

You sigh, “Yeah. Thank you, baby.”

You grant him a sweet smile and then wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

--

On your walk home, you’re holding Ghost’s hand, swinging your conjoined hands back and forth. Absentmindedly, you say, “You know, you kind of give off scary dog privilege.”

Ghost knows that you’re drunk right now, and he looks down at you to already find you beaming up at him.

“And what do you mean by ‘scary dog privilege’, hm?”

You start gesticulating with your other hand, “You know, if you own a big scary dog like a German shepherd, Rottweiler, Akita, etc., men are less likely to approach you or harass you; i.e., scary dog privilege.”

You hear him hum in acknowledgement and he squeezes your hand.

You bring you other hand up and rest it on his bicep, and lay your head against his shoulder, basically leaning on him as you continue to walk down the street.

“So, what kind of dog am I then?”

“Hmm. Definitely a Cane Corso. They’re known for being noble, intelligent, loyal and strong. All the things you are; but they are also low key the sweetest on the inside. Also like you.”

You feel him let out a brief laugh and he squeezes your hand again.

“Mm, thank you sweetheart.”

You smile against his shoulder and continue walking with him all the way home, the creepy man from before long forgotten.

--

masterlist

[siriusleee]

always

You watch as he lifts his fingers up to lick the mixture of you and him off of them. The sight makes your stomach flip, and you dig your nails into the comforter. "I meant what I said," Ghost says, hand settling against your stomach - a reminder that even if you tried to leave, you'd still be tethered to him. "I know." triggers/tags: dubcon, non-con, blood, fighting, simon is a jealous bastard, squirting, (I never know what to put here). Read all my works here. Find my A03 here.

You can't remember the name of the soldier that presses you against the wall - you had barely paid attention to it when he told it to you. His lips, chapped and tasting of cheap beer, trail down your neck as his fingers inch towards the zipper on the back of your dress. His teeth nip at your flesh and you shiver beneath him the alcohol making both of your movements clumsy. 

You hadn't meant to find yourself here - you didn't even want to come to this stupid military ball, but Soap had managed to convince you to get dressed up. 

"He won' be there."

You didn't need to ask Soap to elaborate; getting dressed up and going out wasn't exactly Ghost's thing. He wouldn't be seen with you out in public unless someone held a gun to his head. You didn't ask Soap how he knew about the fallout between you and Ghost; you just let him drag you to the location with promises of free alcohol. 

 It had been a waste of time until you'd found someone who promised they'd fuck you right if you gave them half the chance. You weren't going to let him until you'd caught sight of Ghost. 

The two of you had been orbiting around each other for weeks, broken pieces who had found each other - and then broke apart again. He'd left you behind weeks ago, telling you that he didn't want you anymore, that he couldn't keep seeing you. It had killed you, and seeing him tonight, not even dressed for the occasion, had brought back all the sharp edges you'd cut yourself on when he left. You drank more than you were supposed to until you could get enough courage to say yes when this guy offered to bend you over and fuck you enough to make you feel better.

You had needed something - anything - to take your mind off of Ghost.  

His hands hike up your skirt, and two of his fingers loop in your panties. He kisses you at the base of your neck, sucking a bruise there. 

His warmth is jerked away from you; your eyes shoot open to find Ghost holding him by the back of his dress uniform. Ghost shakes the guy once, who tries to swing free. Ghost drops the guy to the ground, and follows him down. 

You watch in shock as Ghost slams his fist into the guy, his eyes are emotionless behind his mask. 

"Ghost stop! Stop!"

You wrap your hands around his wrist, trying to pull him away from the man crumpled below him on the floor. Ghost pulls his hand out of your grip, and shoves you away. You stumble back; he grabs the guy by his collar and lifts him up just enough so that the man is looking at Ghost beneath the blood streaming down his forehead. 

"If you ever even look at her again, I will kill you."

He drops the guy and stands, blood staining his knuckles. Ghost turns towards you, and for the first time, you see him like the men on the field must see him: a specter of fear. You take half a step back from him; he crosses the distance between the two of you in two strides. He grips you by the elbow and pulls you behind him and out of the back of the building. 

He doesn't speak to you as he drags you back to the hotel, past the night security guard who looks over his desk at the two of you in shock. 

Ghost shoves you into his hotel room; you stumble over the hem of your dress. Before you can do anything, Ghost is behind you, gripping your hair, pulling your head back so he can kiss you. He tries to force your lips apart, but you pull back, biting down on his lip until you taste blood. He jerks his hand, pulling your hair until you gasp, fingers clenched in his shirt as you try to push him away. His nose trails down your neck; you try to shove him off and away, try to extract yourself because you know you aren't strong enough to do this again, to go through all of this again. To hear him say he doesn't want you again.

He fights with you as he drags your dress up, the sequins scraping roughly against your skin. Your knees collide with the edge of the bed, knocking you off balance. Ghost lets you fall and he follows. He wraps his fingers around the front of your panties and drags them down. You kick and he catches your ankle, sliding your panties off of one leg. 

You know you aren't strong enough to fight back, to get him to stop. His fingers explore you - you realize with a pang that you had missed the feeling of him against your skin. 

You refuse to make a noise for him; you know as soon as you do - as soon as you show any bit of pleasure, of weakness, at his actions that you're going to be lost again; drown in him without sight of the shore. Ghost's nails dig into the soft skin behind your knees, hands wrapping around your thighs to pin you down beneath him. 

He bites down hard on your thigh, and your hand pushes against the top of his head, fingers digging into the fabric of his mask. You try to push him away as his tongue laps at the divots left by his teeth. 

"Ghost stop it - get off I-" 

You're cut off by your body betraying you, back arching against Ghost's mouth as he traces one tight circle with his tongue against your clit. You still don't make a sound. 

Ghost releases one of your knees, his fingers tracing up the inside of your thigh before scraping down, the sting stoking the fire inside of you. You try to reach down and push his hand, but Ghost shoves your hand away. 

He pulls his mouth away from you just long enough to tease you with his thumb before his fingers dip into you - it stings, he's never been this rough with you before you think as he pushes in slowly. He fucks his fingers into you; you can feel yourself dripping down his wrist and onto your thighs. Your grip on his mask weakens when his mouth joins his fingers. He slips another finger inside of you and you can't think, can't hardly breathe from how filled you are with him. You want him to move faster; you try to will him to speed up, and like how can always read you, his pace quickens.

It's disgusting: the sounds of the two of you in the quiet room; the wet sound of his fingers stretching you out, the sound of his breathing, ragged and broken against your skin.  

The knot inside you tightens, and before you can try to steel yourself, it loosens. You cum against his fingers, body shaking and teeth clenched to keep from giving him the satisfaction of hearing you. Ghost pulls away, tongue lapping at you, tracing your thighs. You realize - your chest starts to burn red - that you've squirted against his fingers and he's trying to lick it up. Your head is swimming, the alcohol in your system burning through you with the feeling of Ghost.  

"You think that fuck could have gotten you this wet? That he could fuck you like I can?"

You have to unclench your jaw to speak, your voice shaking. 

"Of course, he could."

It's a lie, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction of telling him he's right: that he's ruined you for anyone else. That you don't even think of anyone else. That when that guy was kissing you, you were imagining it was Ghost. You feel it - the restraint Ghost had been showing you snap. His fingers disappear from you, and on instinct you lift your hips, searching for him again. He shifts, the bed springs groaning beneath his weight. His warmth leaves you; you open your eyes, wondering what effect your words had on him.

You barely get a moment to push yourself up onto your elbows before he's jerking you up out of the bed, his hands wrapped tightly around your upper arms. He holds both of your hands in one of his as he shoves your panties all the way off of you. He jerks your dress down, you hear the expensive fabric tear. 

"Ghost -"

"Shut up."

He strips you, and your eyes refuse to leave him despite the vulnerability that clings to the both of you. He's seen you naked before but this moment, with the anger and want swirling between the two of you, is the most vulnerable you've ever felt near him. He turns to sit on the bed, pulling you down with him. You try weakly to break away, to pull away, but he tightens his grip. He settles onto the bed, pulling you down on top of him. He holds you captive with one arm, the other forcing your legs apart so he can put his thigh between the two of them. 

You bury your nose in his neck and smell the cigarette smoke and gunpowder, the metallic smell of blood that never seems to leave his skin, and the detergent you bought for him weeks ago. 

His hand comes down hard on your ass, the skin stinging beneath his rough palm. His hand lingers there, fingers teasing the edge of you. His hand connects again, and you try to jerk away, but the arm that's holding you down tightens pushing your chest harder onto the soft fabric of his shirt. 

His hand connects with the spot a third time, and this time you let out a whimper in his ear. His knee jerks upwards and you grind down, trying to find some sort of release, some way off of this ledge Ghost has led you to. You whimper again as he doesn't stop, your hips tilting against his knee to find the sweet spot. You're so sensitive, the rough fabric of his jeans against your swollen cunt enough to make you nearly shatter. 

You bite down on his shoulder; you feel him shudder beneath you as you bite down harder, moaning against his skin and trying uselessly not to let him hear. He doesn't stop until you finish, grinding down on his thigh wildly. The air stings against your raw skin, and you know tomorrow it'll hurt. 

Ghost drops you, shoving you off of him. You're too dazed from your orgasm and from his treatment to do anything. You watch weakly as he pulls his shirt off, a bloody mark on his shoulder where you bit down. You're glad the mark will be on him for a few days - a constant reminder of you. 

His hands work at his belt, fumbling over the buckle. You almost reach out to help him, but you remember how you found yourself here. Instead, you slide down and make yourself comfortable, but your eyes never leave him. He finally gets his belt off and shoves his jeans off. He palms himself as he crawls over you. You break your gaze away from him to stare at the wall. His fingers dip under your chin, trying to get you to look at him, but you resist. Annoyed, his hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him. 

He's pressed up against you, the tip of him barely brushing against you. You resist the urge to shift your hips, to slide him into you. 

"I should never have said what I did. Watching that fucker touch you - he should be glad I didn't kill him there. I would have if you would have asked, that's all it would have taken. I will always want you. You are mine, and I am yours. Do you understand?"

He lets go of your jaw, hand tracing up the tender and bruised flesh to tangle in your hair, to pull your jaw up enough to show the sensitive flesh of your neck.

"I understand, Ghost."

That's all it takes. His hand, gentle in your hair, fists and he slams into you, hard enough that you try to pull away, but he holds you down, holds you against himself as he fucks you in a way he'd never done before. 

You'd missed the feeling of him filling you up, of the way it felt like he completed you. You try to moan beneath him, but his body weight is pressing all the air out of your lungs. Your nails scratch at his back, hard enough that you're sure he will have bloody scratches tomorrow. 

He's whispering in your ear, low and quick. 

"No one is allowed to touch you ever, but me. I am-"

His voice cuts off as he jerks away from you, pulling out just long enough to flip you over. His hands are bruising on your hips as he jerks you back, one hand pushing down between your shoulder blades to make your back arch. 

You bite down on the sheets, trying to keep from unraveling. Another climax is building inside of you; Ghost grips your ass, slamming you back into him. Your walls grip him tighter as you finish again, a scream smothered into the mattress. Ghost folds down on top of you, one hand wrapping around your neck to give him leverage to fuck you harder until finally, he stills. 

He doesn't linger there - he pushes himself up and away from you. You try to roll over, but he pushes you back onto the bed. His fingers trace down your back before dipping down. You feel him drag his fingers up your thigh before pushing into you. Your face burns when you realize he's pushing his cum back into you, to fill you up with him. To remind him that you belong to him. 

Ghost shifts, collapsing on the bed beside you, his mask pulled up around his nose. 

You watch as he lifts his fingers up to lick the mixture of you and him off of them. The sight makes your stomach flip, and you dig your nails into the comforter.

"I meant what I said," Ghost says, hand settling against your stomach - a reminder that even if you tried to leave, you'd still be tethered to him.

"I know."

[vioxis]

Ring.

Masterlist's | Tiktok | AO3

Word Count: 973 Words

Pairing: Ghost x Reader

Summary: In a relationship plagued by lost gifts, a cherished ring slips down the drain, sparking panic. Through a burner phone, separated lovers find solace as omen looms.

T/W: Angst

I lost the ring, and it slipped away down the drain, a tiny glimmer swallowed by darkness. Panic gripped me as I reached futilely for it, my heart pounding in my chest. It wasn't just any ring; it was the solitary token Simon had ever given me, a fragile connection in a history of lost and shattered gifts that seemed to trail behind like a string of omens.

Through the years, a sense of unease had woven itself into my being, a deep-rooted paranoia that gnawed at me whenever I misplaced something dear from those I held close. The ring was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a promise, an emblem of our intertwined hearts. It symbolized his vow to return unscathed from his months-long absences, and mine to hold steadfast and not let worry consume me.

Inexplicably, today was the day it slipped through my grasp, escaping as I washed the dishes. With frantic urgency, I begged a plumber on the other end of the line, imploring them to come soon. As I awaited their arrival, I paced the kitchen restlessly, the walls closing in around me, echoing the turmoil within.

Why now, of all times? Not the promise ring, not when Simon was absent and miles away. Is he safe? Should I call him, burdening him with my anxiety? No, he would hate that, I reasoned, my thoughts a whirlwind. But then, a faint sound, a subtle ring, distinct from my usual ringtone, disrupted my racing mind. It was the tone of my burner phone, a lifeline that Simon and I maintained against all odds.

Simon had always been a stickler about rules, yet this was the one rule he willingly bent, allowing a connection that bound us across distances. A shiver of dread danced along my spine as the significance of this phone call overshadowed my loss of the ring. The ring seemed a distant concern as I lunged toward the living room, vaulting over the couch in my haste to retrieve the burner phone from its secretive spot.

"Hello? Simon?" My voice quivered as I answered, a mix of anticipation in my tone.

"I knew you'd worry when I call this line," his voice floated through the airwaves, a bittersweet comfort that painted a small smile on my lips.

"Love, you wouldn't believe what happened. I was washing the dishes and my ring—"

"I lost the ring," his voice was a soft whisper, a fragile admission that trembled with its weight.

My heart skipped a beat. "You lost your ring?" I whispered, collapsing to the floor as relief mingled with a new kind of sorrow. I could wait for the plumber, my love's voice was enough to soothe my anxious heart. "Yeah, figured you'd be worried. You dropped yours down the sink? Typical of you, darling. I always tell you to remove it when you need to," he groaned out.

A heavy silence settled between us, his normally vibrant voice dimmed. "Are you on a mission?" I asked, my hands trembling without reason.

"Yeah, I've been shot. Waiting for Evac. Five minutes, I'm in the corner of an abandoned classroom," his voice carried an odd calmness, punctuated by the faint rustle of his clothes.

His words hung in the air, leaving me breathless. "You've been shot?" Tears welled up in my eyes, emotions swirling like a storm within me. "Forget the ring, your safety comes first," I sobbed, as if the sheer force of my words could shield him from harm.

The line was quiet, an unsettling calmness that hinted at a temporary respite from danger. "I'll get us new rings, and we can make our vows at the base. Not legally, of course, but—" his chuckle pierced through the uncertainty.

Then, shots erupted in the background, piercing through the connection. Panic swelled within me, the safety of my home feeling suddenly fragile. "Simon? Simon? Are you there?" I screamed into the phone.

A sudden ring at the doorbell yanked my attention away, a jolt of surprise and annoyance. The plumber, perhaps? I opened the door, my thoughts still tethered to the call. "Y/N, I promise you I'll come home. After this mission, I'll come home. If you hear this phone ring again, it won't be me," his voice wavered, bullets ripping through the air in the background.

"Love? Simon?" I murmured, my fingers trembling as the phone slipped from my grasp. Is he alone? Where is his team? The barrage of questions and fears engulfed me, blurring my vision.

"I'll be home soon," his words were final, a declaration that hung in the air for a moment before the line crackled into white noise. Frustration surged within me as I cursed the phone, its limitations mocking my helplessness. I placed it gently on the living room table, wiping away my tears with a trembling hand.

I rose to my feet, robotically leading the plumber to the kitchen, my thoughts locked on the fragile thread of connection I clung to. Should I call him back? Should I demand answers?

The burner phone rang again, its urgency startling me. I snatched it up, my heart racing in my chest. "Hello? Hello, love?"

"Oh, you have a lover? This should be entertaining," a mocking German accent spilled from the other end. My breath caught in my throat, dread pooling like ice within me.

Simon's voice, laced with frustration, echoed through the line. "Idiot, I said don't answer it."

"Simon?" My voice was barely a whisper, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. The weight of the situation pressed down on me like a suffocating embrace.

A sharp gunshot cut through the line, the sound shattering the distance between us. Two shots, like a heart skipping beats. And then, silence. The line went dead.

I’ve been saying hello since then.

Don't want to end your reading with tears? Continue here.

Thank you for reading <3, I'll be dropping some art and a master list soon! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed the content!

[anotherrickinthewall]

So here's another shameless self re-blog because y'all... a new chapter is online.

@moistuhoh I'm working slowly but steady on it ✪ ω ✪ hope you have a brilliant weekend 💝

[cntloup]

18+ MDNI Simon fucking you in a headlock

You've been obsessed with his arms since day one.

And you finally asked him to do what you wanted for a while.

He made sure that you were comfortable, asking multiple times if you were ok.

And you breathed out 'yes' eagerly each time.

And now here you are as he fucks into your sopping pussy while having you in a headlock, thick veiny arm wrapped around your neck.

The burly mass of muscles puts enough pressure to make you dizzy, increasing the already intense pleasure of his fat cock splitting your weeping cunt open.

His other hand reaches around your body and lands on your sensitive puffy clit, rough fingers circling and pinching it while his wide hips slap against your rear with each ferocious plunge into you.

"You gonna be a good girl and cum f'me?" he grunts into your ear as he feels the ever increasing pressure of your pulsating pussy on his cock.

And you can only hum in response, the razing pleasure too much to bear, too much to let you form any coherent words.

You hold on to his strong arm wrapped around you, nails digging into his bicep and forearm, surely leaving crescent marks on his skin.

The delightful mix of sweet sensations, the aching drag of his thick cock along your sensitive walls repeatedly with the dizzying pleasure of his arm around your neck,

while his swollen red tip viciously attacks your gummy cervix and his calloused fingertips rub against your puffy clit send you to a state of pure engulfing euphoria.

And streams of your juices and cream gush out of you as you let out hiccupped moans, blended with his low growl of sheer pleasure as he fills up your welcoming womb with his seed.

[hopelesslonelyghost]

part 2 for simon and his emotional support medic (protective mode)

part 1 can be found here

tw for assault, choking (the unsexy kind), violence, medical inaccuracies probably

i promise there will comfort, but i just love the idea of simon going feral if anyone ever laid hands on his medic

as always, this isn’t beta read, sorry for any typos. enjoy!

in all honestly, the enemy getting the jump on you while you were crouched and hunched over an injured soldier, trying your best to keep them alive, was a bitch move.

simon was always drilling it into you—

“never turn your back for too long. it leaves you vulnerable, love.”

oh how you should’ve paid more attention then, instead of ogling his huge biceps.

a strangled yelp escapes your throat, but is subsequently cut short when an arm bears down. you instinctively go to grip your assailant’s forearm, digging your nails as deep as you can in hopes they’ll release their deathly grip.

they snarl and bark something in a language you can’t understand. whatever it is they said must have been them voicing their displeasure at your action, because their vice grip tightens around your neck, effectively cutting off your ability to breathe.

that’s when the panic really sets in and you earnestly start to struggle against them. you tried all the moves simon taught you when it came to this exact situation. you tuck your chin into the crook of their elbow, then place your right foot behind his. you can feel your eyes drooping from the lack of oxygen, so with all your might, you bite down onto his arm.

you make sure to dig your canines as far as they can go, the taste of blood floods your mouth. the man screams, gripping your hair as they release you, tugging as they try to free themselves from your unforgiving clamp of sharp teeth. in the process of pulling your head back, you bite down harder and then throw your head back the rest of the way, ripping off a chunk of his arm, spitting it out.

there’s no chance for you to continue your attack before a fist comes flying down, hitting your face dead center and roughly getting thrown onto the concrete ground of the abandoned building you’re in.

despite the attempt to break your fall, your forehead comes into contact with the floor, a splitting pain running from the front, that travels through the nape of your neck and down your shoulders.

“гребаная сука! (1)”

your ears are ringing, but you try to bring yourself to sit up—only to be kicked back down, steel-toe boot burying itself into your ribs.

a groan manages to slip through, a small oof! as well when you fall to your side. it’s your first time able to see your attacker’s face. an angry snarl etched on their face. you feel a little satisfaction build in your chest when you see them tightly clutching their right arm, a stream of blood trickling down their fingers and onto the floor, forming a puddle.

“тебе не следовало этого делать (2)” the man spoke again, letting go of his arm and reaching behind him, a tanto coming to view as he holds it up, twirling it, “я действительно получу удовольствие, разрезая твою прелестную шейку. (3)”

his boot shoves at your shoulder, forcing you onto your back. you scramble to get up, but he’s in much better fighting shape than you are, and he jumps on you, straddling your waist and shoving you back down. your head hits the ground with a loud ‘thud’ forcing a pained whine from your lips. your ribs throbbed, the weight pressing down on your probably broken ribs was unbearable.

you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the cold metal press against your neck. you did not want your attacker’s face to be the last thing you see before you died. your mind immediately flew to simon. simon and his pretty face. his pretty brown eyes and his pretty blonde hair.

it wasn’t fair. there were more things you wanted to do with simon. you had your whole life ahead of you, and you wanted your sweet lieutenant to be in it.

suddenly the awful weight on top of you was gone. snatched and dragged off. you heard a growl. something so primal and scary. you slowly opened your eyes and sat up, leaning on your elbows as you took in the scene before you.

simon—no—ghost—sat on top of the enemy, just like he had you, thighs around his waist and was viciously landing his fist with all the weight and strength he could muster over and over again. once satisfied the man wasn’t in any shape to get up, ghost stood, unholstered his handgun and fired 3 shots into the bastard’s skull.

you could see his shoulders heaving up and down. his back expanding and deflating with every breath he took. you wanted to so badly wrap your arms around him.

you rolled over on your right side, feet dragging broken glass as you dragged yourself up onto you knees. your hand immediately pressed down on your left side, where the enemy landed that nasty kick. you swore you could feel your ribs shift, breathing getting more and more painful each passing moment.

you hunched over, left arm supporting you up, preventing you from face planting. your pained wheezing must’ve caught ghost’s attention. quick footsteps made their way towards you. from your peripheral you made out a pair of black combat boots, and then he was kneeling by your side.

a gloved hand delicately cupped your chin, moving your head up and to the side to face him. he inhaled sharply.

“jesus fuckin’ christ.”

he dropped your head, going around and coming towards the side your uninjured ribs were.

“cmon love. we have to get up.”

he threw your arm around his shoulder, gently lifting you. you gasp as what you can only explain a lightning bolt ran down your left side.

ghost crooned, shushing you, “i know love, i know. i’m gettin’ us outta here.”

once on your feet, he left go and turned to look at you, “can you walk?”

you nodded, “i can— i can try.”

all you got was a hum of acknowledgment, “grab onto my vest, we’re leavin’.”

•••

ghost and you were the only survivors. the mission was a bust, according to laswell. the intel was false. it was an ambush.

ghost finished up talking to price and laswell through his radio. yours, as you would later find out, was ripped out and stepped on during your fight. shattered into tiny little pieces.

through his sniper’s scope he had seen the enemy make a break for you shortly after rushing inside the building to assist a fellow teammate. he’d raced down from where he was perched, and hauled ass towards you.

“found ya in the nick of time.” he had said. he didn’t see the way you silently winced, the thought that you were mere milliseconds away from certain death.

you two settled inside a safe house, where he stripped you of your gear (and unfortunately) your top.

“hafta see your ribs love.”

after wrapping them tightly, he’d moved on to cleaning up your face. butterfly stitches carefully applied after he’d wiped the dried blood from your face. then came the worst part.

“your nose, it’s broken. i need to set it.”

you think you passed out, because you woke up bundled up on the dusty leather couch. opening your eyes was hard, feeling the effects of your nose being broken as it swelled with broken blood vessels and blood.

sitting on the floor next to you was simon. skull mask long gone, and so was his balaclava. staring back at you was your sweet simon. his face bared for you.

you reached for him, trembling palm making itself home against his cheek. your thumb rubbed his cheekbone.

you swallowed the knot in your throat, “thank you.”

his brows furrowed, “wha’ for?”

“coming for me.”

simon reached up and gripped your wrist, pulling your hand away. his hand moved up and cupped yours, leaning in and kissing your palm. you shivered at the feeling of his lips.

“don’ ever thank me for something’ like tha’.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but he beat you to it, “i’ll always come for you. always.” he shook your hand, “got tha’?”

you felt tears well up. despite the ache in your neck, you nodded.

simon kissed your palm again, “need to hear ya say it, sweet thing.”

“you’ll always come for me.”

he leaned forward, dropping your hand and gently cupping the back of your head, careful not to move you too much, and kissed your forehead.

“‘m proud of ya, you know tha’?” he murmured against your skin. you hummed. “tore off a piece of his arm, could see the bloody tendons.”

you groaned, “i swallowed his blood, si. gonna have to get tested now.”

that pulled soft belly laugh from him, “i’ll be sure to let the medics on base know.” he pulled away from you, pushing your hair away from your face, “rest up. i’ll keep watch.”

you gripped his wrist, “but you’re tired too, si.”

he only shook his head, grabbing your hand and pulling it off his, before kissing the back of it. he stood up, “‘m not the one who’s got broken ribs. rest love, i’ll wake you when we’re headin’ out.”

•••

you were placed on mandatory medical leave for 3 weeks. simon requested leave as well. said someone had to watch after you. which is how you ended up now, laying on your bed on your good side, watching tv that was mounted on your wall with simon laying next to you. his hand was on your hip, drawing lazy circles into your skin.

“you’re gonna put me to sleep if you keep that up.”

“tha’s the point, love.”

you hummed, settling further into your pillow. simon pulled the strap of your top down, allowing him to place a chaste kiss in the junction where your neck met your shoulder.

“sleep, love. i’ll be here when you wake.”

and who are you to say no to that?

“promise?”

“promise.”

•••

translations (done by yandex translate, probably not accurate!

1. гребаная сука! —> you fucking bitch!

2. тебе не следовало этого делать —> you shouldn’t have done that

3. я действительно получу удовольствие, разрезая твою прелестную шейку —> i’m really going to enjoy slicing your pretty neck open.

[mrshesh]

thinking about "the distraught father adopting an orphan daughter" trope but with price and ghost :( like imagine, the reader is a younger girl in the task force, and she has kind of become like a daughter to them but they've never really disclosed it, and one day she just mutters "i love you, dad" to them (individually) :(( how do you think they'd react?

"i love you, dad." - simon "ghost" riley x reader

overview: calling simon "ghost" riley dad for the first time

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gender neutral reader, platonic

genre: fluff, angst

a/n: hi anon! i looooove this request :( i've actually been thinking of this exact scenario for sooo long! however, i couldn't really think of anything for price. so if someone can help me out by sending some ideas & headcanons to me privately, i will make a price version asap! and, as much as i love the father-daughter trope, i decided to keep this gender neutral, so everyone can feel included. i hope you love it.

TW! mentions of abuse and torture. proceed with caution.

Simon’s father was the devil personified. His dad is the epitome of evil to him, even more so than his captor, Roba. He cringes when he sees a dad and son being affectionate with each other in public - it pains him to think about what could’ve been, how he could’ve turned out. He knows most of his trauma stems from the abuse his father put him through, which has forever shattered the image of fatherhood in his mind. 

That is until you came along. 

Simon immediately felt drawn to you when you joined the Task Force. Being the youngest member had difficulties, yet you took it like a champ and kept toiling while still being so bright, colorful, and full of life. He admired that about you. 

He found himself worrying for you more than he liked. If you were reckless on a mission, he’d pull you aside and yell at you, scolding you for pulling such stupid stunts at the risk of your being. But after every talking-to, he’d give you a gentle pat on the head with shaky hands. “You need to be more careful, mate.” He’d mutter, feeling a pit in his stomach. Why does he care so much? And why does he feel the need to protect you? 

He would keep an eye on you at all times. He’d ensure nobody got too touchy with you and that everybody on base treats you with the respect you deserve. If he saw you getting mistreated, he would use his authority to punish the person hurting you. He would then turn to you, his eyes softening as he stares at you through his balaclava. “You tell me if anyone’s hurting you, alright?” 

The day Simon realizes he loves you like his own child is the day you open up about your past to him. At this point, you’ve known each other for a few years. 

He has always known that he has a special love for you, but he never came to terms with it until this day. 

When you tell him about all your painful experiences in life, he can feel his heart tear open and get shredded into millions of pieces. Regardless of what you’ve been through, his soul aches for you. That day was the first time Simon ever hugged you, and he vouched to care and be there for you as long as he was breathing. 

Today, you’ve had a difficult time falling asleep. Tossing and turning in bed can only get you so far, and the thought of drinking warm milk at this time makes you physically ill. You’re in the comfort of your room, but you don’t feel the amenity. You need someone to talk to. 

You know that Simon is usually up during this time - he who deserves sleep the most gets it the least. Insomnia’s a bitch. 

You decide to send him a text. 

You: “You up?” Read, 3:38 AM.  Simon: “Yeah. Why are you awake?” Read, 3:38 AM.  You: “Can’t sleep. Your sleeping habits have rubbed off on me.” Read, 3:39 AM.  Simon: “Welcome to my world.” Read, 3:39 AM.  Simon: “Is everything okay, though?” Read, 3:39 AM. You: “Yep. Just need someone to talk to, that’s all.” Read, 3:39 AM. Simon: “So you decide to text me?” Read, 3:40 AM. You: “I would’ve texted Johnny, but he fell asleep at midnight.” Read, 3:40 AM. Simon: “What’s so wrong with me?” Read, 3:40 AM. You: “You’re a grumpy, old man.” Read, 3:41 AM.  Simon: “Thanks, mate. 🐶” Read, 3:41 AM. You: “You’re welcome.” Read, 3:41 AM.  You: “Don’t worry, though. I like that about you.” Read, 3:42 AM.  Simon: “Not enough to be your first texting option.” Read, 3:42 AM.  You: “Don’t hyper-fixate on that, I’m begging.” Read, 3:42 AM.  Simon: “It’s funny.” Read, 3:42 AM. You: “It’s not. 🙄 It’s so boring I’m starting to feel sleepy, actually.” Read, 3:43 AM. Simon: “That’s good. Go to sleep, mate.” Read, 3:43 AM. You: “Yeah, might as well. You should sleep, too.” Read, 3:43 AM.  Simon: “I’ll try.” Read, 3:43 AM.  Simon: “Goodnight.” Read, 3:44 AM. You: “Night. I love you, Dad. ❤️” Read, 3:44 AM.  You: “Hold on, before you go! I have a question.” Read, 3:44 AM. You: “Hello?” Delivered, 3:50 AM.  You: “Simon?” Delivered, 3:55 AM.  You: “Did you fall asleep?” Delivered, 4:01 AM.

You sit in your bed anxiously, not knowing whether you fucked up. You know Simon had a rough past with this father, but you didn’t even think about that when you sent that text. You feel an instant regret wash over you, rereading your messages hundreds of times, hoping Simon will open them. 

Your spiral of uneasiness is interrupted by a hurried knock on the door of your room. You can hear breathing, almost panting, through the door - you immediately know it’s Simon. 

You walk to the door, hesitantly opening it, only to be met by Simon’s bare, tear-stained face, and the whites of his eyes have turned a bright red. You stare at him in shock, only stepping aside to let him in your room. 

You close the door behind you after he enters your accommodation, and you turn to look at him right away. Your eyes meet instantly, and you feel a cloud of shame pour down on you, coating you in an aura of grief. “I’m sorry.” You instantly whisper, and your own eyes sting. “I shouldn’t have… said that.” 

He doesn’t respond, only looking at you as if you’re the only matter in the universe. Everything else has become nonexistent - a vacuum. 

“No.” He sniffles, stepping closer toward you. He had a panic attack right after you called him dad - and you know it. “No.” He repeats, his tears spilling out of his eyes. “Don’t be sorry.” He whispers. He reaches out to you hesitantly, his trembling hands gently gripping your shoulders. He holds them there for a few seconds, getting used to the feeling. 

Before you know it, he pulls you into him, burying his face in the crook of your neck and weeping quietly into you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him cry. Ever. 

He’s stiff as he embraces you, his shaking body telling you everything you need to know. Your heart breaks for him, resulting in you biting back your tears - you’ve got to be strong for him. But you can’t.

You let your sobs fill the air, your arms wrapping around him to hold him close to you. 

You stay in each other’s embrace, pouring out your emotions for one another. You don’t even dare to speak until Simon has calmed down slightly, his breathing getting slower and softer. 

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, kid. More than you know.”

[daisies-daydreams]

….listen. Simon gets home after being MONTHS away from chubby reader. He comes home and the reader is excited to see him. Hugs him and all that stuff…then when Simon wants to get raunchy, reader shrugs away teasingly. Simon gets very needy and whiney. Out of character for him really. Reader then teases him/nicely degrades him for being so needy. Reader then worships the hell out of his cock and even rubs Simons stomach softly to soothe him. Then Simon manhandles reader to ride his face 🤭🤭 then Simon just takes over and pins reader down, ‘punishing’ them for being so bratty (in his terms cause he’s an impatient man), fucking reader into the bed..and just for comedic relief…it breaks.

C’mere (Simon Riley x Plus-Sized!Wife!Reader)

Pairing: Simon Riley x F!Plus-Sized!Reader Category: Smut (18+) Warnings: Choking, Oral Sex (M!/F!Receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Unprotected P in V Sex (Wrap Before You Tap), Dirty Talk, Pet Names (Sweet Pea, Sweetheart, Love/Lovie, Hon, Baby), Swearing, Reader Being a Tease 🤭 Bed Breaking Word Count: 3.9k+

A/N: Hello my dear! I love how descriptive your request is (especially whiny Simon, hehe). Also the bed breaking suggestion is hilarious (and 100% Simon's fault). I hope you enjoy!

You perked your head up when you heard keys jangle outside of your front door. You immediately closed the book in your lap before scrambling to your feet. Your eyes widened when you swung the door open, revealing your husband. Tears welled in your eyes.

“Simon!” you cried as you pulled him into an impossibly tight hug. Your love cracked an exhausted smile before wrapping his arms around you. You sniffed, hot tears falling down your cheeks as he returned your embrace. Simon's warm breath fell over your hair as he rubbed your lower back.

“Missed you so much, sweet pea,” he murmured, his voice deep and husky. A voice you haven't heard for months. You swallowed thickly as you buried his face in his chest. 

“I missed you, too, Si,” you sighed. Simon chuckled as he kissed the crown of your head. You smiled brightly when he trailed his lips down your forehead and over the bridge of your nose. Your heart stopped as his lips collided with yours, the warmth of his mouth sending tingles down your spine.

You gasped as his hands snaked down your sides before cupping your round ass.

"Simon, the door's still open!" you squealed as your cheeks burned. You watched his lips curve into a wry smirk as he squeezed your supple flesh. 

"Sorry, got a bit distracted," Simon winked. You giggled and stepped inside, your hand still wrapped around his as he closed the door with his boot. You had no time to react when he suddenly pinned you to the wall, his lips dancing over yours once more. He groaned softly before grabbing your love handles.

“Why don’t you join me for a shower, hm?” he suggested as he played with the waistband of your pants. You bit your lip just the way he liked before slipping away. Simon shot you a puzzled look.

“I already took one today,” you said with a low, sultry tone. He raised his dirty blonde brows as you swished your hips a little. Simon bit the inside of his cheek as he followed you back to the living room.

“Baby…I’ve been gone for four months. Could you please at least spare a ten minute shower?” he asked. You hummed and tapped your finger against your chin. Simon’s frown deepened as you shook your head.

“Nope!” you giggled before sinking down onto the couch. "I actually need to catch up on my book," you added as you reached over for your novel. You flinched when he placed his hand over yours, his wedding band shining beneath the lamp.

“Honey…you’re not gonna make me say it, are you?” he rumbled as he avoided eye contact.

“Hm? Say what?” you asked as you tilted your head. Your lover narrowed his eyes as he took a step forward, his knees brushing against the couch cushions.

“You know what I mean,” Simon said as he rubbed his palm across your knuckles. You shrugged, the corners of your lips curving up a little more.

“I’m afraid I don’t, Si,” you mused. Simon huffed before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Please?” he muttered. You smirked as you held your hand up to your ear. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” you said with a wide, Cheshire grin. You adored the way his bottom lip poked out a little more as he squeezed your hand.

“Sweetheart, please…I need you so fucking bad,” he swallowed. 

Your legs instantly turned to jelly at the sound of his low, raspy voice. You dared to glance into his dark eyes. Heat swelled inside your core as you lost yourself in his lustful gaze. You shivered as he rubbed his other palm over your waist, a prominent bulge twitching beneath his slacks as his chest heaved. You gave him a sultry, half-lidded gaze.

“Poor thing. You're probably so touch-starved after being away for so long, huh?” you cooed as you rubbed his shoulders. Simon groaned as his hips bucked forward a little, his hand gripping your waist. 

“You have no fuckin’ idea,” he growled. You flashed him a wry grin as you moved a hand down to cup his covered length. Simon released a shaky breath as you rubbed your palm against his strained erection. He bucked into your hand, his Adam's apple bobbing as you teased his cock.

“You’re such a needy thing, Simon,” you whispered. He grunted when you pulled away, his brows knitted together in pure annoyance.

“(Y/N),” he breathed, a half-warning, half-plea. You chuckled as you snatched his zipper. Simon sputtered as you unzipped his pants, his happy trail a bit thicker than usual and briefs barely containing his engorged length. Your love whined as you played with the band of his underwear. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), please,” Simon choked. You smiled before dipping your hand into his briefs. He sputtered as you wrapped your hand around his veiny shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze. Before you knew it, Simon crashed his lips against yours, his hands hastily plucking at the sides of your sweatpants. 

“You're such a tease,” he snarled. You made sure to slowly swipe your tongue across your lips as you slid down to the rug. You shuffled on your knees before playfully patting the cushion you were just sitting on.

"Are you sure about that?" you drawled before tugging down your tank top. Your husband groaned as your breasts spilled out. You hummed as he sat down, his eyes locked on the way your tits swayed as you shuffled forward. A deep rumble rose from his chest as you rubbed up and down his thighs.

“When are you-” 

His breath hitched as you quickly pulled down his pants and boxers, his bulky cock springing free from its confines. You smirked as you gently rubbed your thumb across his leaking tip. 

“Miss me much, Si?” you purred before gently lapping up his dribbling slit. Your husband audibly choked as you just barely wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, sucking on it tenderly before pulling back. You giggled as you pumped his shaft, squeezing and rubbing it as you littered the top of his burning sex with wet, sloppy kisses. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Simon shuddered as he slipped his fingers through your hair, his legs spreading a little wider. You pursed your lips over his flush tip before licking a bold stripe along the bottom of his shaft. You smiled as you planted your mouth over his balls, sucking on them tenderly as you let his throbbing cock rest over your face. You exhaled loudly as you let his testicles fall from your swollen lips. 

“You taste as good as I remember,” you grinned as a trail of spit dripped down your chin. Simon gripped your hair as you squeezed his shaft, your tongue swirling around his tip. He growled lowly as you shallowly bobbed your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks all the while.

You moaned around his length, the feeling of every vein and ridge making your pussy gush with arousal. Your eyes rolled back as you felt his cock twitch inside your mouth, a rush of precum slathering your tongue. He grunted when you pulled back, his cock completely red and begging for attention. 

“I forgot just how big you are, Si,” you cooed as you gently slid your hand beneath his shirt. He arched his back a little as you rubbed your warm hand over the divots of his taut stomach. His breath hitched when you quickly kissed the side of his cock before gazing into his dark, misty eyes.

“I missed how you stretched me, my dildos never do your cock justice,” you lilted. 

Simon’s eyes widened as he parted his lips. His jaw suddenly went slack as you sank down on his cock, your mouth pulling him in with a sweet suction before you pulled your head up again. Simon threw his head back as his hips began to thrust forward. Your eyes watered as you gagged, his cock nearly choking you as you bobbed your head even faster. Your breasts swayed with every harsh movement, your nipples grazing over the edge of the couch.

You slathered your spit across his meaty shaft as you gripped the inside of his thighs, nails digging into his pale flesh. Your pussy fluttered as he sank deeper and deeper with every piston of his hips. The wet squelches and pops that echoed through the room made your head spin.

“C’mon, be a good girl and make me cum,” he snarled. You gasped as he slammed your head down on his dick, his cock completely lodged down your warm, tight throat. You gurgled and choked as he spilled inside you, his hot, thick cum coating every inch of your esophagus.

You blinked away the tears that spilled down your face, your nostrils flaring as your lungs begged for air. His hips stuttered a few more times before he went limp. He breathed heavily as he swiped his thumb over your cheeks. Simon hummed as you pulled yourself off of his dick. You coughed and sputtered, your throat burning a little as you balanced your hand on his inner thigh.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” your love asked. You panted as you wiped a string of spit from the corner of your mouth.  

“A little,” you replied with a hoarse laugh. You squeaked when Simon suddenly pulled you onto his lap, his hands squeezing your hips. 

“Good, ‘cause that’s nothing compared to what I’m gonna do next,” he growled. You shivered, your clit aching against your panties as you bit your lip. You leaned in for a kiss, only for Simon to turn away and squeeze your ass.

“Simon!” you squealed as he kneaded your supple flesh. Your husband groaned as he turned back to you and dipped his head against your neck. You moaned as his lips lingered over your pulse. You felt your brain short-circuit as Simon didn't move, just remaining still holding you close. You whined as you rocked your hips forward, desperate for any kind of friction. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Simon hummed as he tenderly squeezed your thick, round bum. You moaned as he swiftly licked over your pulse. You gripped his shirt. 

“I-I want you to cum inside me, Si,” you whined as you ground your clothed cunt over his soft cock. Your husband chuckled. 

“Wrap your legs around my waist, hon,” he whispered. You dipped your face into the crook of his shoulder as you slid your legs around his body. Simon grunted as he picked you up, his fingers digging into your asscheeks as he carried you to the bedroom. The two of you burst through the door, his heavy boots stomping against the hardwood floor before he let you fall onto the bed. 

You gulped as he pressed his body against yours, his cock already growing hard again. You moaned as he rubbed his dick against your covered sex, your puffy folds soaked in your arousal as he crashed his lips against yours. 

“Mmm!” you keened as Simon grabbed one of your breasts and jiggled your mound in his large, rough palm. You panted for air before he dove back in, his teeth nearly against yours as he snaked his hand down to the hem of your pants. Both of your chests rose and fell rapidly as he pulled back, his pupils blown and wet lips parted hungrily. 

“Get on my face,” he bluntly groaned. You gaped. 

“Wh-What?” you stammered. You gasped when Simon suddenly pulled your pants and panties down in one swift motion. You shivered as the air hit your slick lower lips, your walls fluttering around nothing. You pouted as Simon leaned back and stripped off the rest of his clothes, tossing them aside. 

“I want you to ride my face,” he rumbled as he began to pump his heavy cock. You whined as you sat up on your forearms. You gasped as Simon quickly pulled off your shirt, his eyes raking down your naked form as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Look at you,” he murmured as his hands slid down your sides, his fingers tracing over every stretch mark and roll he could find. 

“Si,” you blushed as you glanced away. You gasped when he slipped his thumb over your swollen clit, capturing it in a dance of pleasure as he circled it slowly. Simon grinned as he pressed his lips to yours again, your eyes growing wide as he massaged your bundle of nerves. He parted for a moment before looking deeply in your eyes, his own holding an eager glint in them. 

“Want me to suck on that cute little clit of yours, hm?” he murmured as he flicked your nub. Your thighs shook as you arched your back. 

“Y-Yes!” you moaned, desperately rubbing your hips against his digit. Simon hummed before suddenly grabbing both of your hips. You yelped as he pulled you against his body, his back becoming flush with the mattress as you sat on top of him. Your cheeks burned as you looked down, your arousal dripping into the divots of his abs. A large lump swelled in your throat as a roaring heat burned through your core. 

"Been forever since I tasted this sweet cunt,” Simon murmured, his voice muffled by the fluff of your thighs. You grasped at the headboard of the bed as you inched forward, a bolt of electricity flying down your spine as you hovered your sex above his lips. You keened when he lashed his tongue against your clit, his hands grabbing hold of your tender love handles.

“C'mon, baby: fuck my face,” your husband growled. You gulped before you sank down. You moaned the instant his mouth met with your folds. Your legs tightened as you felt him lick a long, wet stripe up your juicy slit, parting your labia with a low growl. Pleasure shot through your body as you rolled your hips forward, his chin collecting your sweet nectar.

"Ugh, s-so good," you whined as you ground your slick sex against his mouth. Your trembled at every swipe and stroke of his wet muscle, the tip of his nose bumping against your bundle of nerves each time you thrusted forward. You didn’t mind the slight sting of his stubble as bliss overwhelmed every nerve in your body. You nearly fell forward as he suddenly puckered his lips around your puffy clit and moaned.

“Oh, God,” you keened. Simon suckled on your bundle of nerves, his lips expanding and contracting around your sensitive bud as you gulped.

“Ah, Simon!” you mewled as you rocked your hips a little faster. You threw your head back as you felt him suddenly flatten his tongue against your slit and lapped in broad, sloppy strokes. You gurgled incoherently as your heart pounded in your ears.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt him lazily write his name against your sex. S-I-M-O-N. You puffed as he marked you with his muscle. You glanced over your shoulder when you heard a different slick sound come from behind you. You whined as you watched Simon stroke his now erect cock at a furious pace. The thought of him getting off to eating you out only pushed you closer to the edge. Lighting shot down your spine as he swirled his tongue around your clit.

"Y-Yes! Right there!" you screamed as Simon licked around your sensitive bud. Your head pounded as you rubbed your pussy against his face even faster, your body bouncing over his as you gripped the headboard for dear life. Your head grew dizzier and dizzier as he swiped his tongue back and forth before puckering his mouth around your clit again. Your eyes widened.

“Fuck!” you sobbed as your thick thighs clenched around his head, your orgasm quickly rolling over you like a tidal wave. Simon guzzled down your sweet nectar, his head moving back and forth as he moaned beneath you. You shivered as you heard him smack his lips, your high fading away like clouds in the wind.

"That...that was-" you moaned when Simon suddenly grabbed your hips and shoved you down even closer so you were fully sitting on his face.

“S-Simon!” you screamed as he lapped at your weeping hole, quickly flicking his tongue up and down. You gasped as his chuckle reverberated against your core, ripples of pleasure trickling down your spine. He kissed your folds before pulling your hips up. 

“Sorry, lovie. Had to get one final taste before I fill you up,” he muttered, eyes lit up with pure desire as he gently pecked your clit. Your heart flipped as he suddenly pinned you to the end of the bed, his thick, heavy cock sliding against your drenched sex. “You still want that? Want me to stuff you with my cum?” Simon teased as he rubbed his head against your slick entrance. You whined and nodded.

“Yes!” you sniffed as you gripped the bedsheets. Your jaw went slack when he pushed his cock deep inside your walls in one fluid motion. You released a scream of ecstasy as his meaty shaft stretched your aching pussy. 

“Fuck, I forgot how tight you are,” Simon hissed as he spread your legs a little wider. You choked as his cock sank further inside, the tip kissing your cervix as your walls deliciously pulsed. “Where’d that cocky girl from earlier go, hm?” your husband drawled as he rolled his hips back before snapping forward. Your throat felt sore as you screamed and dug your nails into his shoulders. Simon grunted above you as he pistoned his dick at a hungry pace. You wailed as you felt his cock stretch you wide open, the pleasure nearly divine as you babbled. The bed creaked and groaned as he plowed into you, the headboard slapping against the wall so hard you were sure your neighbors could hear you. 

“I shouldn’t have let you cum before since you were bein’ such a brat…but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to taste you after being gone for too damn long,” he huffed before sucking on one of your fresh hickeys. 

You swore you saw stars as you felt him everywhere: his cock plunged deep inside your cunt, his hot breath against your neck, the heady smell of his sweat wafting up your nose. You tilted your head back as he rubbed his abs against your puffy belly, your thick legs lazily hooking around his waist as you quickly neared your second release. 

“C’mon angel, wanna see you slather my cock with your cum before I fill you up,” Simon panted. You swallowed thickly as you arched your back, your walls fluttering and gripping his dick with such fervor you were sure it was purple by now. 

“Simon, baby,” you slurred as your head fell back. The muscles in your lower belly twisted into a tight knot as your legs shivered. 

“Go on, sweet pea. Tell me who-“ 

A loud “crack!” echoed through the room as you felt yourself suddenly sink. You shrieked as you felt yourself nearly fold in half, Simon’s cock still lodged deep inside your slick walls. Both of you gasped and panted for air before you started snickering. Simon tilted his head as you burst into laughter. He chuckled quietly before joining in your laughter. Your sides began to hurt as your eyes watered. 

“I-I can’t believe we broke the bed!” you howled as you wiped at your eyes. Simon shook his head as his breathing steadied.

“Think I was thrusting a little too hard?” he sighed. You turned your head to the side as you coughed a little and giggled. 

“Just a tad,” you said as you pinched your fingers together. Your husband’s shoulders raised as he huffed a little, the corner’s of his lips tugging upwards as he thrusted his hips forward. You gasped and clutched his shoulders. 

“Simon!” you gaped. He grunted in response as he shallowly pumped his cock inside you. 

“Yeah, love?” he hummed as he dragged his dick against your gummy walls. You furrowed your brows. 

“Could you maybe not fuck me while I’m nearly bent in half over our broken bedframe?!” you asked. Your throat tightened when the head of his cock pulled against your sensitive, plush g-spot. 

“I thought you liked being bent in half?” he murmured teasingly. Your eyes rolled back when he shoved his cock all the way against your cervix, feeling every ridge and curve of his thick shaft massage your canal. Simon bared his teeth against your neck as he drove his cock inside you even faster. Your pussy squelched as you moaned. 

“S-Simon!” you yelled as your walls suddenly clamped down on his dick, beautiful cries spilling from your mouth as you rocked your hips forward. 

“Mmm that’s right. Good…girl…” he grunted before shoving his cock deep inside you. You cried out as you felt his hot, thick cum coat every inch of your needy cunt. You sputtered and shook beneath him, pleasure filling your body from head to toe. Simon took a deep breath above you as his cock twitched one final time. Both of you gazed into each other’s eyes, your bodies worn and shivering. 

“You alright?” Simon finally asked. You nodded as your breasts rose and fell against his chest. He hummed before kissing you deeply, his warm lips gently caressing yours. You groaned as a dull pain shot through your lower back. Simon quickly pulled away. 

“Could we maybe change to a position where my spine isn’t almost at a ninety degree angle?” you wheezed. Your husband rolled off of you before taking your hand and pulling you up. You stumbled forward and placed your hands on his broad pecs. Simon smirked. 

“Already feelin’ me up again?” he piqued. You rolled your eyes and let your hands fall back to your sides, drawing a deep chuckle from your love. Simon rubbed your lower back as his eyes softened. "So...think you want to take that shower with me now?" he asked. You blinked before snorting.

"Considering I'm now covered in sweat and cum, sure," you shrugged with a teasing smile. Simon chuckled as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

----

Thank you for reading! 💖

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[ghostly-whiskey]

simon riley who you "meet" through a program where you can send care packages to soldiers. you don't think much of it at first, just a simple package with a few necessities and treats. and along with that, a short, but genuine and handwritten letter thanking the unknown soldier to you for their service.

and when you go to retrieve your mail a few weeks later after getting home from work, brows furrowing together as you shuffle through the stack of envelopes.

bill. another bill. advertisement. paycheck. handwritten addressed envelope from 'ghost'.

your brain doesn't even connect the dots until you are inside, fingers gently picking at the envelope until your able to drag a finger through the seal to open it. a simple piece of what looks like notebook paper is pulled from inside. unfolding it, eyes quickly scan the letter to get an idea what it's about.

you've done plenty of care packages before. never did you get a personalized thank you letter back, so, this was a first. the letter starting off by thank you for the package and that he enjoyed the items, especially the "sweet treats". the two words put in quotations as he referred to what you referred to them as in your own letter. your own brain cringing slightly as you remember what you wrote.

again, thank you for all that you do and enjoy the sweet treats!

and while you expected the letter to end after thanking you, it didn't. additional lines asking about you. the sets of questions ranging from asking how long have you been doing the care packages to general questions about yourself. then, at the very end, after signing off as 'ghost', you couldn't help but notice the chicken scratch of handwriting that added:

p.s. you don't need to respond back if you don't want to, just figured it be nice to get something back in return. thanks again.

[ghostlychief]

Heyhey! I've been reading your Ghost fanfics recently and all I can say is dhehfvebihgfehbifehbferiubfrifferijfr,j, <33333, is it okay if you can write a drunk!Simon x gn reader?? It's okay if not! Have a nice day ^^

Thank you so much for reading my ghost fics!! I hope you enjoyed them <3 I love the concept of drunk!Simon, so I hope that you enjoy what i threw together. Also, I just wanted to say that your ask was so nice and sweet, and i hope that you're having a great day/night. Ok, i think that's all- enjoy!!! <3

--

Full of Surprises

Pairing: oneshot; Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn reader

warnings: alcohol drinking; drunk Simon and reader; fluff; ( i apologize for any typos or grammar mistakes lol)

wc: 1.1k+

Summary: You witness drunk Simon for the first time

--

It was not often that you saw Simon drunk, let alone, more drunk that you. Between the two of you, you were always more of a lightweight. It makes sense after all, he was a 6’4 250 (plus) pound man who had a penchant for whiskey. So, whenever you two went drinking, you rarely saw him inebriated.

However, tonight seemed to be the night of firsts. One, because he was teasing you, which he sometimes does, but not to this extent, and two, because Simon was drunker than you, already on his fourth glass of whiskey.

You didn’t really know what to expect a drunk Simon to look like. Maybe he would be quieter, more so than usual. Maybe he would become loud and boisterous. Maybe he would pick bar fights with people who crossed him, or who looked at you the wrong way. What you weren’t expecting was for Simon to become affectionate with you while drunk.

Like, really affectionate.

PDA was not his forte, nor was he super comfortable with it. He was quieter, reserved, and definitely enjoyed his privacy, especially when it came to romantic relationships. Sure, he would hold your hand, or toss his arm around your shoulder when you guys were out, but nothing more extreme than that. Every once in a while, a small kiss would be thrown into the mix. He left the thigh holding, rubbing your back, kissing your cheek, forehead, nose, for when you guys were in private.

You could already tell Simon was a little drunk tonight when he pulled your barstool closer to him, his strength almost making you topple over. When you regained your balance, you looked at him with your eyebrows raised, but a ghost of a smile crossed your lips.

He locked eyes with you, “What? I just wanted you to be closer to me.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that; you always wanted to be closer with him too. But you never wanted to push him too much.

You lean your head on your hand and coo, “Aw, is that it?”

“Mhm,” he pulls you in for a kiss.

You’re expecting the kiss to just be a peck, so when you start to pull away, you’re taken aback when Simon brings up a hand to gently cup your jaw, preventing you from detaching from him.

He deepens the kiss; you’ve never kissed him like this in public before.

When you finally pull away, you’re left breathless, and you’re a hair’s breath away from him. You can clearly make out his dilated pupils and the specks in his eyes; they always seemed to shine the brightest while gazing at you.

Before you know it, he’s leaning in again, but this time he leaves a kiss on your nose, and brushes his thumb across your cheek.

Once he pulls away, he places his large hand on your thigh, now easily accessible to him since he pulled your chair closer.

“You’re full of surprises tonight.” You place your hand on top of his that rests on your thigh and lightly rub your thumb across his knuckles.

He just laughs at your comment, something else that’s mainly reserved for just you, in the privacy of your home.

“What can I say, I’m a man full of surprises. You just haven’t seen them all.” He grants you with a wide grin, a grin that makes your cheeks warm and eyes sparkle.

“Oh? So, there’s more that I’m missing out on?”

“Maybe.” He grins at you again, then orders another glass of whiskey. His hand doesn’t leave your leg.

“You know what, give me what you’re having.” You tap the rim of his glass.

“You’re finally going to join the whiskey train, huh? I’ve been trying to get you to for so long now, what gives now?”

“You. I like seeing you like this.” You bring your hand up to gently rub his shoulder and you give him a sweet kiss on his cheek. You could have sworn that there was a light pink dusting his cheeks, making him glow.

“Say no more, my liege.” You laugh at his silly nickname for you, and you see the pink that’s coating his cheeks getting darker.

You both finally get your drinks. However, you’re not on your fifth glass like he is, only your second, so you’re a little buzzed, but not drunk, just yet.

Besides his teasing and being more touchy, you find that Simon also talks a lot more while drinking; something you come to love. You love his voice after all, it can put you to sleep (in a good way of course), but it also just soothes you. The deep rumble of it sounds like waves to your ears.

He’s telling you a story about the time when the team had to run four miles for training, and how he was never a runner, always more of a weights guy, so he was dreading the run for days leading up to it.

Well, it turns out he’s actually quite a good runner, despite his heavy muscle mass.

The whole time he’s telling his story, you’re nodding your head, listening intently, but while also trying to keep up. His words are starting to slur together, though he’s still mainly composed.

“You should have seen me, bean. I was flying. I beat all those fuckers with ease.”

Bean? He never calls me that outside of the house. Your feel the butterflies start to stir in your tummy, always loving it when he calls you sweet names.

You squeeze his shoulder, “That’s amazing, I’m so proud of you baby.”

“It was pretty amazing.” He sighs, which you find hilarious at that moment, so you burst into laughter, and Simon looks at you like you’re crazy, but then he starts laughing too.

You’re trying to talk but you’re still laughing, “Honest, that sounds really great, Simon. I really am proud of you.”

Your laughs finally die down, and he brings you in for another kiss. This time, you’re both smiling into it, and you feel the butterflies rise and rise, until they reach your heart and make it flutter.  

When he pulls away, he trails his hand down your side until it rests on your waist. He gives you a squeeze, “You know I love you, right?” He’s gazing at you fondly, and you’re finding it hard to look away from him.

“Of course I do.” You’re smiling at him like he hung the moon and the starts up in the sky just for you.

“Ok, I just had to make sure.”

You shake your head, showing your disbelief, “Come here.”

You pull him in for a long, warm hug, something that you know Simon secretly enjoys the most.

“What do you say we get out of here?” you murmur this, lips brushing over his ear.

“I would love nothing more.”

--

Hope you enjoyed! <3

masterlist

[simonrileysfavteacup]

You stir awake, sighing as you roll over to face your sleeping husband. You sit up, fixing your stretchy shirt over your very swollen belly. You pat Simon’s side. “Si? Si! Si!”

He groans as he wakes up, rolling over and shoving his head into his pillow. “Go back t’ sleep.”

“I want a big mac.”

He groans louder. 

“Please, Si? I’m super hungry. And bubby keeps kicking.”

He sighs, “Look ‘t the time, lovie.”

You almost tear up. 

When he notices the frown on your face, he sighs again, getting up. “Which one is the closest?”

You smile, almost jumping with joy as you lean up to press a million kisses to his cheek. “The one on 42nd.”

He leans down, kissing your belly and your lips before heading off to get dressed. 

He returns 20 minutes later, a bag and 2 drinks in hand. You practically moan at the smell as he hands you the bag. 

“I love you,” you moan as you take a bite of your burger. He chuckles, eating his own. “Bubby loves you too. He’s kicking every time I take a bite.”

“Bet ‘e does.” Simon kisses your belly as you stuff a few fries in your mouth. “Lovie?”

“Yeah?” you ask with a mouth full. 

“Do ya think he’ll like me?”

“For the millionth time, my love, you are nothing like your father. You’re far too kind and too amazing and too sweet. He’s going to love you. Just like I do.”

He chuckles, “Love you too.”

He leans down, kissing your belly. 

“Both of ya annoying little buggers. Always fuckin’ hungry.”