#ghostxreader

[novalityy]

No going back.

⋆·˚ ༘*🔭 In which a call is way more concerning than it seemed.⋆·˚ *🔭

Warnings *ੈ✩‧₊˚ - Blood, fighting, arguments, framing, crying, torture, taskforce 141 being mean, angst, comfort later.

Call of duty taskforce 141 x reader.

Hi, lol i'm back. Sorry I deleted my blog all of a sudden. I had to go for a long time, it's been a year? I'm going to rewrite the original story since i kindaa... deleted them..IM SORRY.

Blood trickled from your forehead, warm and sticky, as the dull ache in your skull pulsed with your racing heartbeat. The throbbing in your head was intense, but it paled in comparison to the crushing weight of betrayal in your chest. You groaned, instinctively trying to lift a hand to your temple, only to find your wrists bound tightly together. The rough bite of the restraints against your skin pulled you fully into the present. Forcing your eyes open, you took in your surroundings. The room was unmistakable—your base’s interrogation chamber.

Empty, save for you.

Your mind raced, piecing together the fragmented memories of how you ended up here. When you answered Price’s call this morning, this was the last place you expected to find yourself.

The morning had started innocuously enough. Your phone buzzed insistently, dragging you from the haze of sleep. Grumbling, you fumbled for it under your pillow, blindly swiping to answer.

“Hello?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

Silence.

You pulled the phone away to glance at the screen. Price. His name stared back at you, ominous and foreboding.

“Price?” you tried again, sitting up now.

His voice, when it came, was clipped and cold. “I expect you at the base in 30 minutes.”

Before you could respond, the line went dead. You stared at the phone, unease curling in your stomach. Price was rarely one for pleasantries, but the venom in his tone was unmistakable.

Shaking off the lingering fog of sleep, you swung your legs out of bed and padded to the bathroom. The mirror reflected the toll of your last mission—dark circles under your eyes, a faint bruise along your jaw. You sighed, splashing cold water on your face before pulling on a pair of blue jeans and a plain white shirt.

Breakfast could wait. The urgency in Price’s voice left little room for delay. Grabbing your keys, you locked up and drove to base, the gnawing anxiety in your gut growing stronger with every mile.

As you arrived, the atmosphere was palpably different. Conversations hushed as you walked past, and familiar faces turned away, avoiding your gaze. The unease in your stomach churned into something darker.

By the time you reached Price’s office, your nerves were frayed. Knocking on the door, you pushed it open and froze. Four men were inside, their expressions grim. Gaz wouldn’t meet your eyes, staring down at his feet. Soap’s usual easygoing demeanor was absent, his jaw set tightly. Ghost loomed in the corner, his unreadable mask doing little to hide the tension radiating from him. And Price… Price’s eyes burned with something you couldn’t quite name but feared all the same.

“So?” you asked, your voice wavering despite your efforts to keep it steady. “You called me here. What’s going on?”

Price exhaled a cloud of smoke, his cigar nearly crushed in his grip. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “Drop the act. Tell me everything. Now.”

Confusion twisted your features. “What are you talking about?”

Price’s response was immediate and explosive.

He slammed his hand down on the desk, the force rattling the items atop it.

“I AM NOT IN THE MOOD FOR GAMES, OPERATOR! CONFESS, AND I MIGHT SPARE YOU HALF OF WHAT’S COMING!”

The words hit you like a physical blow. Operator. Not your name. Whatever this was, it was serious.

You glanced at the others, searching for an ally, but found none. Even Soap looked away when your eyes met his.

“Please,” Soap said softly, his voice almost pleading. “Just tell him. It’ll be worse if you don’t, bonnie.”

Your throat tightened. “Tell him what?” you demanded, anger starting to edge into your voice. “If this is some sick joke, it’s not funny. I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but—”

The door creaked open, cutting you off. A young cadet stepped inside, tall and blonde, his sharp blue eyes locking onto you with cold calculation. Recognition flickered—you’d seen him around the base, but you’d never exchanged more than a few words.

Price gestured to him. ���Tell her.”

The cadet’s voice was steady, rehearsed. “I have proof that you’ve been leaking critical intel to Makarov.”

The room spun. You stared at him, then at the others, waiting for someone to laugh, to call this out for the absurdity it was. But no one did. Instead, Ghost’s voice cut through the silence, cold and sharp.

“We believe him.”

Your gaze snapped to him, disbelief written across your face. “Simon…”

“Don’t call me that,” he growled. “We’re not that familiar anymore.”

The words were a knife to the chest. You turned to Price, desperation creeping into your tone. “Show me the proof.”

He slammed a file onto the desk. You snatched it up, flipping through the pages. The evidence was damning—emails, login records, reports. It painted a picture so convincing you almost doubted yourself. Almost.

But the dates didn’t line up. The locations didn’t match. It was sloppy work, something you’d never do if you were guilty.

You threw the file back onto the desk. “You seriously think I did this?”

“Yes,” came the unanimous response.

Anger and heartbreak warred within you. “You’ve known me for years! You’re taking the word of some cadet over me?”

Gaz and Soap stepped forward, gripping your arms as you surged toward Price.

“Let me go!” you shouted, struggling against them. “You can’t seriously believe this!”

Price’s voice was ice. “Take her to the room.”

Panic clawed at you as they dragged you down the hall. “No! This is a mistake! I didn’t do it!”

They shoved you into the interrogation chamber. Before you could regain your footing, a fist connected with your face, sending you sprawling. You looked up to see Ghost towering over you, his eyes like flint.

“Couldn’t even wait to strap me down?” you spat, blood dripping from your lip.

“You’re a traitor,” he said flatly. “If it were up to me, you’d already be dead.”

The words shattered something inside you. He hauled you up by your hair, ignoring your struggles, and strapped you into the chair.

Price entered, knife glinting in his hand. “Last chance,” he growled.

“I didn’t do it,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face.

The blade plunged into your thigh, and you screamed.

The betrayal, more than the pain, was unbearable.

＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

MAN I STRUGGLED, i hope i did well....ty ly

[magneto-was-fucking-right]

Envy (Part 1)

Summary: Simon Riley's sleep is rudely interrupted by the commotion coming from next door, and this time, curiosity (and horniness) gets the best of him. Pairing: König x Reader (x Ghost) Word Count: 2.5k

Content Warnings: Unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it!); Perv! behaviour (voyeurism); degrading vocabulary.

Read part 2 here

It was three in the morning.

He knew that because he had checked his digital watch every two minutes during his agitated “rest” in the musty sleeping bag, spread across the filthy floor. He couldn’t sleep. The heat of the middle eastern countries didn’t quite affect him anymore, years of experience on the field forcing his body to grow accustomed to the ridiculous temperatures he had never experienced in England before. The mosquitoes couldn’t bother him either, since he seldom exposed his skin, his face covered with a light-material skull balaclava. His stiff shoulders and hardened back sometimes felt damaged beyond repair from the numerous nights spent on hardwood or concrete floors, a soft patch of dirt and grass if he was lucky, but his aching muscles weren’t the reason for his troubled sleep.

The continuous bang of the bed’s headboard against the wall was. And so were her moans. Simon Riley felt as he if was quickly spiraling into insanity as he shut his eyes tightly and feverishly tried to ignore the mattress’ springs, the slap of skin against skin, and the worst part of it, his desperate moans. He always felt a deep, sickening rage towards the Austrian soldier, as his pathetic little whines and obedient pleas echoed through the walls, begging her for more. More kisses, more skin, more wandering hands through her naked flesh and supple breasts. More pressure on her hand as she palmed him through his fatigues, or as she jerked off his length coated in her spit. Nasty slut, he thought bitterly every time he heard her dirty words, commanding him to comply to her fantasies “like a good boy”. He was angry when he heard her seduce him in the safehouse once more. He was furious because he knew she must do it on purpose. She had to. There was no way she didn’t when she knew Simon would be sleeping right next door, that she was a loud fuck and so was he, because who wouldn’t be loud when she was riding it that good and that deep. She wanted him to hear it. She wanted him to think and dream about it. Simon was sure of it.

And therefore, when he had gotten in his sleeping bag to prepare for a few hours of rest, he hadn’t even tried to fall asleep because he knew it would happen again. She always used the same tactics with König: she went for a shower in the old house’s low pressure tepid water and a bar of Dove soap that Simon definitely hadn’t sneaked a whiff from before, making it clear that he was to watch her six. But he always got to watch more than that, as she usually left the door open. Simon knew this because he had once heard the naïve colonel warn her that she had forgotten to lock it, to which she had responded only with an amused giggle. How stupid can he be, Simon had grinded his teeth throughout the whole interaction. Then, as the door to the room was closed in a very clear failed attempt at some sort of privacy, the smothered laughter began, followed by unclear mumblings in German, and soon enough, sighs and whimpers. He folded so easily, Simon thought. He tried to convince himself that he wouldn’t have, that he would’ve given her a harder time trying to get him laid. That he would make her beg him to fuck her before he even took her clothes off.

But the truth was, every time one of her delicious moans travelled through the walls, or a slightly opened door, he was immediately fighting back a raging boner that ached to be relieved through her touch. It was once again the case. He palmed himself through his pants in the sleeping bag, cursing them out as he wondered how long they would take this time. Usually, König came rather quickly. Loudly too. Sometimes inside, sometimes on her tits and her open mouth (he knew this was her favorite because it made her moan like a whore the entire time), and sometimes on himself, as she forced him to run his fingers over his soiled abdomen and suck them clean. What a pathetic fuck, he thought.

He knew she was riding him this time because she always set a frantic pace, that despite her best efforts didn’t match the speed to which the Austrian could plow into her from bellow if he wished to. Bang, bang, bang, bang – the poor wall kept being beaten over and over again, and he heard his usual plea.

“Please Schatz, I can’t hold it for much longer.”

“Of course you can König, you’re such a good boy.” She grunted in between panting, the wet slaps slowing down to a passionate grind.

Simon gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to peek, because maybe, just maybe…he had carved a hole with his knife in the weak cement wall that morning in preparation, just small enough to provide him with a little tease if the two lovers decided to get down and dirty once again. It’s so wrong, he fought himself mentally. Fucking hell, what’s wrong with me?

But all he could think about were the sounds of humanity’s most primal, animalistic instincts that flooded from next door and clouded his mind in a sex-drunken haze of languid desire. I need to see. Just once, just out of curiosity, and then I’ll be able to sleep, he tried to convince himself as he roughly got up from the sleeping bag and carefully moved to the area of the wall where he had shaped the peephole. He felt his cock twitch in his briefs, painfully hard.

There she was, sat on top of him in full glory, her round breasts on his face as he suckled on both of her nipples at the same time, his large hands pushing the fat of her tits together. Simon didn’t know where to look at first. His mind couldn’t quite process the wholeness of her fully naked body, at last obtaining answers to the curious questions of his lustful mind: as he had so often wondered about, her body was deliciously curvy and supple, her pubis covered in soft curls trimmed to perfection and her wet cunt sunk halfway König’s large cock. He could see scars in her abdomen and right shoulder, most likely old combat wounds that she had luckily gotten away with. Her hair was messy from the Austrian’s passionate touches, giving her a natural erotic aura that seemed to linger all around her and the way she moved so confidently on top of him. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin gleaming with sweat from the physical effort of both riding König and taking the slightly painful stretch of his thick shaft. Simon had to give it to him, the man was built like a fucking Greek god, with firm muscles all the way down to his navel. Her hands roamed his body freely and it seemed to make her feral: once she reached his perfectly built abdomen she bit her lip, pushing him away from her breasts and forcing him to lay flat on his back once again, before returning to her killer pace.

“Break is over big guy. Your face looks too good to be hiding in my tits.” He whimpered at her comment, blushing profusely as her breasts bounced on top of him once again, now covered in his own saliva.

“I-I won’t last, Schatz.” He warned, breathing heavily and holding on to her hips for dear life.

Ghost couldn’t take his eyes off her, dipping his hand on his briefs and slowly pumping himself to the view.

A mischievous smirk spread across her angelic features as she rode him faster, bringing him to the brink of a bed shattering orgasm, “Yes you will, my sweet.” She observed his face attentively, looking for the little nose scrunch he did every time he was about to cum. It was much easier to know now that he was comfortable enough to leave the hood that usually covered his face right next to the pile of his clothes. Once she saw it, she halted her actions completely, pulling herself off him, disconnecting their bodies and making him grunt in frustration. “Sei ein guter Junge, König” (Be a good boy, König), she commanded, making his cock twitch as he heard his native tongue.

Simon’s insides were burning with envy, wishing he would be given the chance to correct her bratty attitude, dominating her into submission. How he longed to sink into her slowly, feeling the warmth and wetness of her cunt, stretching her open inch by inch until she was a moaning and begging mess. His hand moved faster on his cock, but for now, all he could do was watch as she kissed the Austrian passionately on the lips, before moving down his body slowly, a trail of wet kisses all the way from his neck, which she had filled with hickeys and love bites, to his groin, his cock twitching against her cheek.

“If I put you in my mouth, will you behave and not cum until I tell you to?” She teased, holding his fat cock in one hand and gently cradling his heavy balls with the other. Simon gritted his teeth once again, fighting the urge to reply “Yes” himself.

“Ja Schatz. I promise, I do, I promise.” König’s eyes were shut, most likely trying to think of unerotic things that would help him hold on for a little longer, but once her tongue gave a wet lick from his balls all the way to the tip of the head he was done for, whimpering in pleasure as she worked the best sloppy blowjob of his life.

Simon pumped himself so much harder now at the sight of her head bobbing up and down as she progressively took more and more of the man’s cock, that he was fighting his own orgasm, bound to happen at any moment. He watched as she languidly sucked on König’s pink tip like a lollipop, saliva running down his veiny shaft and coating her chin and lips, as she hummed with her eyes closed.

“You taste like me” She moaned, since he had been inside of her only a few minutes ago. König moaned as she deepthroated him expertly, chocking slightly on his girth, tears in her eyes as she went all the way to the base, before coming back up and coughing. He fisted the sheets roughly and mumbled gibberish in German as she repeated the process over and over again, interrupting it only to suck on his balls once and again, making sure they weren’t neglected.

“I-I’m gonna…” He interjected, forcefully holding her hand away from his shaft as he almost came without permission. She removed her mouth from his cock, smirking.

“I won’t torture you any longer, baby. You’ve been so good to me today. I’ll let you cum, but inside of me.” She whispered softly and Simon’s body shuddered involuntarily as he watched, trying to hold off his climax. He felt as flustered and horny as when he watched his first porno, almost completely overwhelmed by his instincts that wouldn’t allow him to think properly.

And then something unexpected happened. She looked right at him through the hole in the wall. Simon held his breath, his heart racing as he halted his movements, his hand still inside his briefs. She can’t possibly see me. He reasoned with himself. They had the small light on the nightstand on, but the room in which Simon “slept” in was in total darkness. He had positioned the peephole very carefully, in a part of the wall with several other smaller holes that the safehouse had sustained from its abandonment. How had she noticed?

He was frozen in place, and she smiled innocently, before laying belly down on the bed, faced turned to him and her round ass perked up in the air. She sucked on her fingers softly, with her eyes closed, before spitting on them and moving her hand back, coating her folds generously to make sure she was well lubricated once again. Simon couldn’t breathe as König moved behind her, sinking back into her with the weak whimper of a man desperate for release. Simon restarted his movements on his cock, staring back at her eagerly, as if in a trance. He could see every change of her expression, every scrunch of her nose and tremble of her lips as the Austrian rammed her from behind roughly (still not roughly enough for his taste, but he couldn’t exactly go on giving him instructions from behind the wall). She moaned and whimpered and screamed, the depraved sounds of wet skin slapping as König’s heavy balls hit her clit with every slam of their hips.

Ghost let out a shaky breath as he was close too, and strangely enough, seeing her face contort in pleasure was getting him off much harder than seeing the way her ass recoiled with the power of König’s strokes, his large hands tightly secured against her hips. Her eyes still looked so innocent, even as she arched her back like a slut and drool fell from open mouth as she rode her cock-drunken haze.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” She cried out, her eyes tightly shut as her hand moved to rub her clit quickly as König pulled on her hair softly “Don’t stop!” she whimpered in a broken voice as she felt him hit that sweet spot inside of her. Simon felt sweat dribble on his forehead under the balaclava, his wrist aching from his continuous ministrations. König let out a deep guttural moan as he felt her clench around him, her body shuddering uncontrollably as she orgasmed, her cunt squeezing his cock and milking him for all he got. She let out a muffled scream as she buried her face on her bed sheets. Simon couldn’t contain a low moan as he felt himself soil his pants, a ridiculous amount of white, sticky fluid pooling in his briefs and soaking though his pants. König had come at the same time, his pace faltering as his hips slammed against her two more times before he buried himself as deep as possible and moaned loudly, feeling his warm seed fill her to the brim. He lay his body on top of hers momentarily, kissing the top of her head tenderly and then her back.

When she finally opened her eyes, still panting and recovering from the high, she looked at the hole again, smiling mischievously. She got on her knees, turning to König, behind her, and kissing him softly, purposefully arching her back slightly and allowing Simon the perfect view of her spent pussy, still swollen and dripping cum onto her thighs. His hand pressed harshly against the wall. How he wished he could’ve been the one making that mess. How he wished he could be the one to ruin her.

As it turned out; he wouldn’t have to wait very long…

A/N: you guys wouldn't believe how many imagines I have on my laptop that I'm either too lazy to finish or don't consider good enough to post :'). I'm trying to get my work out there more often so you guys get to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. Do reblog if you can and let me know if you'd like to be tagged for the two upcoming parts, which will include smut with Ghost x reader and finally Ghost x reader x Konig!

[blobbyblogsdraws]

@writersdrug here it is! Simon might be a bit twinkish, I have a style that uses longer hair, so I struggle to draw his buzz cut style, so I just headcanoned he has longer hair n stuff. Most of it are just doodles based off the chapters, but I hope you enjoy the drawings, I don’t draw with references so that’s why the anatomy is off by a bit. By the way, I hope it’s fine if in the future I’ll post some more art of this au as time goes on, your call.

[minihotdog]

Locked Out On Valentine's (Ending: You took the tea)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

C/W: Smut, unprotected P in V, sexist-type humor, size kink

Word Count: 3k

Previous part

“You want some tea, love?”

***

You’re now sitting at the small round dinner table watching as he tilts the kettle into the mugs. He walks the mugs over to the table and sits across from you.

“Didn’t have anyone to stay with, did you?” He asks before taking a sip.

“I sure didn’t. Everyone is still avoiding me like the plague.” You stare down at the mug. 

“It’ll end soon.” He wipes his bottom lip with his thumb. The action catches your attention and he doesn’t miss the sparkle in your eyes. For a stone-cold man, he sure was catching himself smirking a lot tonight. 

“When I showed up to my first unit I got the same, and the unit after that.” The two of you drink simultaneously.

“What? They ignored you?”

“No,” He chuckles softly. “My first unit, they held me down and branded me with a shite-looking coat of arms made from a wire clothes hanger.”

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand.

“What?! Where?!”

“My bum.”

You snort, “I’m sorry, that’s not funny.” You cover your face with your hands. His shoulders rise and fall with soft laughter.

“It is a little.”

“Did they ever get in trouble? Reprimanded?”

“Never told anyone, ran into them at my next unit and pummeled them into the ground.”

“Bravo!” You celebrate with your hands in the air. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Then I was disciplined for the beatin’ they got but it was worth it.”

“I agree, they had it coming.”

You take another gulp of your tea enjoying the spread of warmth inside of you.

“You’re quite fond of trouble.” He states flatly. You still, squinting at him in suspicion.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your files,” He raises his eyebrows at you. “Lengthy history of discipline, being reprimanded.”

You hum in response. “Is that the word on the street?”

He grins, his hand coming up to stroke his stubble before he sits back with his arms crossed looking at you. You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I’ve gotten in trouble a couple of times in my career, what about it?”

“How long have you been in?”

“Five years.”

“You’re tellin’ me that you’ve been reprimanded nearly every single year you’ve been in?” He now leans on the table looking over at you with a dumbfounded look.

“Shit happens, I have no problem taking responsibility for it.”

“I didn’t take you for the type to cause trouble.”

“I’m not, I just don’t have the grace other people do. I do something stupid and get caught immediately.”

“You’re right about that. You’re a naughty one, for sure.” He says before downing the remaining liquid in his mug.

He smirks to himself letting his eyes roam over your shoulders.

"I heard that boyfriend of yours was a calvary bum." He pokes, changing the subject. 

You "tsk" at him. Once everyone found out about your now ex-boyfriend they never let you live it down.

"What's his job got to do with anything?"

Simon shrugs, feigning ignorance, “Assumed a woman like you preferred men, that’s all.”

“Oh, hush!” You bite back a laugh refusing to meet his eyes. 

“I bet he cried like a child at the thought of going to the field.”

“That’s enough out of you!” You reach over the table to cover his mouth. He fights you off taking your wrists in his hands. He stands and walks to your side of the table gently pulling up by the wrists. His massive frame takes most of your view, you can’t help but feel anxiety pool in your stomach having him tower over you.

“Poor bird, spendin’ her nights with half a man. Bet he didn’t have a clue what he was doin’.”

The warmth you felt from the tea was traveling up to your cheeks. He was so close you could smell the rich cologne in his skin. His hands were so rough but warm on your pulse. 

Your eyes focus on his lips.

“Did he?” The gravel of his voice makes a shiver run through your spine. You gulp before responding.

”He was… enthusiastic.”

Simon laughs hoarsely, “Enthusiastic?” He enunciates with a shit-eating grin.

”Why is my sex life a topic of conversation to my Lt.?” You suddenly get some courage.

”You think I haven’t noticed you droolin’ over me, love. Peakin’ at me from afar. Now you show up to my flat with your tits fallin’ out of your top, your bare ass out, and a broken heart from some lad not worth the air he breathes.” He drops his head forcing you to meet his eyes. “Quite the coincidence, innit?”

”I think it’s more of a happy coincid-“ He breaks your sentence off catching your lips with his. Your brain pushes you out of your frozen state and the two of you begin moving in unison. He slowly releases your wrists and moves his hands to your waist. Your hands run down his chest.

He deepens the kiss, forcing his tongue past your lips. You moan softly as his tongue plays with yours. He pulls you against him, one hand over yours on his chest the other at the small of your back. You feel lightheaded, not in a bad way, quite the opposite. You’d fantasized about your Lt. plenty of times, his touch, the scars he hid beneath his army green top, the way his lips felt - come to find out they were soft, unlike the rest of him. His hands keep setting you ablaze when they touch your skin, the callouses nearly make your eyes roll back.

He growls into the kiss, tearing himself away from you. His arms wrap around the back of your thighs and you grab onto his shoulders. He lifts and places you on the table, forcing himself between your legs. He bites at your neck, pulling you into him. You grip the table feeling as if you could slide off at any second. 

He eats up every single gasp he gets out of you. His teeth graze your collar bone and he sucks on the sensitive skin. Your nails run over his scalp down to the back of his neck drawing a groan from him.

He stops for a moment to let you catch your breath.

”You want this, love?” He leans his forehead against yours looking into your eyes.

“God, yes!” You exasperate. 

He chuckles, still looking into your eyes.

”Hold on.”

”What do you-“ 

You squeal as he lifts you off the table and rushes to wrap your arms around his neck. You rest your head on his neck relishing in the feeling of his body against yours. Warmth radiated off of him like a furnace, the feel of his skin so addictive.

He carries you to the couch placing his knee on the cushions before gently placing you on your back. He follows you down and your hands run down his bare back.

He supports himself with one arm, the other trails down to your aching core, cupping the mound. He lets out a ragged breath once he feels the heat burning through you. He moves to pull your shorts off, dragging them up your legs and tossing them off to the side.

”Fuckin’ hell,” He groans at the sight of your bare pussy. “Such a bad girl walking around without knickers.”

He gives you one last hypnotizing kiss before brushing his lips in between your breasts. He kisses each one and carries on down your stomach and lands right above your clit.

You panic inside, you prop yourself up on your elbows, “Lt.”

”Fuck’s sake, love. As much as I love hearin’ you call me that, say my name, will you?” He laughs light-heartedly. You smile behind your hand trying not to break out in giggles. 

“What is it?” His eyebrows pull together.

”You don’t have to do that if you don’t want.”

”Eat you out?” He looks at you confused.

You nod slowly, embarrassed at the question.

He “Tsks” at you lowering himself once again while muttering something along the lines of, “Calvary muppet took the fun out of pussy, didn’t he?”

”I’m serious! You don’t have to!” You spit out frantically.

“Shut up, doll.”

He licks a stripe up your cunt and moans softly to himself. Your lips part in disbelief. He slowly laps at your clit and you lower yourself onto your back. He decides not to work you too fast yet, scared you’d pass out after being neglected by that dumb bloke for so long. 

You whine softly, legs already shaking. He wraps his arms around your thighs and presses them against his head.

He gently sucks on your clit and your hand shoots down to his head. The feeling of you tugging one his short locs encourages him to speed up. His lips wrap around your clit and toys with it as he pleases. The pace causes you to clamp your thighs around his head on your own.

Moans pour from your lips as your back arches. His hands stroke your thighs as you restrain yourself from pushing his head down further.

”Simon! Oh god!” Your mouth hangs open. You look down at him and nearly orgasm seeing him between your legs. His eyes are blown out, his thumb caresses your skin.

He lets go of one thigh and his fingers tap at your entrance gathering your wetness. He pushes two of his fingers inside you and your head falls back. Your vision goes fuzzy and you clamp your eyes shut. His fingers pump into you hitting your g-spot each time.

Your hand flies to your mouth and you let out a high-pitched moan. You chant his name tightening around his fingers. He feels your walls clamp down and continues pumping letting you ride it out. Your hips twitch, your thighs trap him where he is. 

He waits until you go limp to pull away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

”Fuck, you made a mess.” He groans. He climbs above you and peppers your face with kisses. “Was that alright, love?” 

You open your eyes to meet his, all you can do is nod unable to trust yourself to talk. He smirks at you, proud of himself for leaving you in such a state.

”You think you can take me, love, or do you need some time?”

”Want you so bad,” You whine out.

He lowers his head for a chaste kiss and pulls himself up onto his feet. He drops his sweats revealing the thick muscle of his thighs. His cock slaps his thigh as he throws his sweats onto the floor, the weight of it keeping it down. Your eyes meet his member and a wave of nervousness comes over you. His length was impressive but the thickness was your biggest concern. 

“Hey! You weren’t wearing underwear either, hypocrite!”

He rolls his eyes at you with a smile. A sight so beautiful you can’t help but smile back.

He takes his earlier position above you and aligns himself with your entrance. He looks up at you and you feel his tip poking into you already.

”Ready, doll?”

You nod at him.

”Say it.” He whispers.

”I-I’m ready.”

”Alright then.” He nudges your forehead with his before the two of you look down to watch the sinful show of him slowly sliding into you. You gasp, hands going to his back. He moves at a snail’s pace letting you adjust as he goes. He cradles your head, forehead against yours trying to keep his breathing steady.

”Ah, tight little thing.” He rasps out.

Your mouth hangs open, your nails digging into his skin, legs hugging his waist once he fills you to the hilt. He waits a moment before slowly sliding out halfway and bringing himself back to the same depth. Your whines draw out. His tip hits the deepest parts of you so well that you nearly begin drooling.

He examines your face for any sign of discomfort before nudging your neck with his nose. He begins with a moderate pace as he kisses along your jaw. You wrap your arms around him, fingers running over the buzzed hair at the back of his head. 

The stretch from his cock stings slightly, the overwhelming pleasure sending tingles through your bones making it hard to notice. He continues rocking his hips into yours letting you enjoy the feel of him without anything too overwhelming. You mewl into his ear as he stretches you over and over.

”Fuck, so good,” You whine.

His hand comes down to grip your breast, his thumb playing with your nipple, circling it gently. He slides his legs up kneeling with you in between his thighs. He stops, letting you catch your breath and he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He suckles the nub, playing with it with his warm tongue. He thumbs your clit as he treats the nub like a candy. He grabs you by the waist and pulls you down onto his cock, dragging you down the cushions fucking you onto him for a while. 

He angles his hips to hit all the right places, your cunt throbs around him when he hits your g-spot head on causing you to gasp.

”Oh fuck! Right there!” Your hands cling onto his forearms for dear life as he goes on to hit the spot repeatedly until it nearly hurts. His pubic bone rubs against your clit with every thrust. He picks up his pace, throttling that poor little sensitive spot. Your back arches painfully. He takes advantage of it and throws his hand under your waist keeping you in the position swinging you down to meet his thrusts.

He stuffs you with his cock relentlessly. You become a mess beneath him struggling to get words out, just high-pitched moans filling the room.

”God! Oh god!” 

“He’s not here, love. Be a good girl and cum on my cock.” He orders.

The feeling grows inside you pulling the air from your lungs. He nips the skin below your breasts and licks a stripe between them to your neck. Your pussy flutters around him before you fall deep into euphoria, his name pours from you. Your ears ring and eyes wire themselves shut as you clamp down around him. Tears pour from your eyes involuntarily. 

The sequence of flutters pulls him back into you making it too difficult to pull out too far. He buries his head in your chest as he’s pulled over the edge. He moans into your skin as your body sucks him back in, milking him so hard he blinks trying to rid himself of the fog. He begins spilling into you, his white hot streams shooting out at high velocity. He paints your walls so thoroughly that you feel his cock twitching with every spasm. 

His cum spills out of you not having any more room to fill. You gush around him and he quietly gasps. 

The two of you stay like this for what could’ve been an eternity. The post-orgasmic haze engulfs the both of you. He keeps himself inside and lowers himself onto his side, dragging you with him, throwing your leg over his hip. He pulls you into his sweaty heaving chest and kisses your forehead. 

He feels a wetness on his thumb and pulls back, wiping away your tears.

”What’s happened, Y/n?” He asks, concerned. “Did I hurt you?” He moves to pull himself out of you and you grab him, bringing him to a stop. “You’re crying, love.”

”That was amazing.” You mumble, eyes struggling to open.

”You cryin’ because it was good?” He laughs, a big goofy smile plasters itself on his face. You force your eyes open to peek at him. 

“You smile so pretty.”

He pulls you back to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you.

”Thank you, love.” You could still hear the smile in his voice. “Let’s get you cleaned up and put to bed, yeah?”

”Too sleepy.” You complain.

”It’s alright, I’ll take care of you.” Against your protests, he lifts himself slowly and positions himself to pull out of you. He gives you a single nudge with his cock still sheathed and you nearly purr. 

He pulls out slowly.

”Jesus, I’m gonna need a new couch.” He mutters. His cum spills from you, his eyes glued to your core watching it slowly pour out. His cock twitches and he has to look away. There was no way you were in shape for another round. Thankfully the memory was burned into his mind - the best thing he’d ever seen, next to you of course. 

He lets you know he’ll be back and you hear water rushing down the hall. He returns moments later and slides his hands under you.

”Bath time,” He says in a sing-song-y voice. You giggle, lacing your fingers behind his neck. He lifts you in his arms and looks into your eyes. “You were wonderful.” He pecks your lips and carries you off to his bathroom placing you in the bathtub before sliding in behind you.

”I don’t have a hair tie but I’ll try with some string,” He says mostly to himself. The warm water only reaches your belly button, once he slides behind you it rises a few inches. He wraps your hair into a funny-looking bun and ties it with the piece of string he found.

” Ta-da.” 

“Thank you, Simon.” You say sweetly leaning back against him. He holds you against him and you feel something poke into your back.

”Sorry, love. It’ll go down, I don’t expect you to stay awake long enough for another one.”

You moan in response and sigh letting the water nearly lull you to sleep. 

“Wait,” you breathe out. “Does me saying your name turn you on?”

He doesn’t respond. You try to look up at him but he tightens his hold not wanting you to see the red spawning over his face.

”Siiiiimon”

”Oh, hush.” He imitates your voice.

”Hey!”

He grabs his loofa and begins lathering you in bubbles.

”C’mon, I wanna get you in bed before you fall asleep.”

He cleans every bit of you, focusing on your breasts because no matter how much he denied it at that moment, he was still a dog. He hands you a bath bomb that he saved in case he ever had a special someone stay over and let you watch it fizz up as he cleans himself.

He dries you off and plops you down on his massive bed wearing his t-shirt. By the time he throws on his boxers you’re fast asleep under the covers, engulfed in his scent.

He slides next to you pulling you into his arms. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and whispers into your hair, “You’re mine now, doll. All mine.”

[stanfordswifey]

Ghost as your boyfriend

HEHAHHDHA (help me my crippling insomnia) This is all fluff btw mwamwa

Would deny everything when he first found out he had feelings for you, but you both knew. You just noticed his stare lingering on you longer than usual.

Would take MONTHS to ask you out, probably brings you your favorite flowers too.

When you accept he is in UTTER disbelief.

"I'll protect you forever."

He'd get closer and closer to you every day, to the point where he'd be comfortable without his mask when around you.

When he sees someone staring at you mans would pull you closer by your waist and give that man a stare.

Lowkey relationship but not private, like people know you two are dating but you're not all lovey dovey in public.

Loves when you shower him with kisses, especially when you hug him by his neck while you sit on his lap, man goes FERAL.

Hugs you tightly when you guys sleep, he doesnt mean to but he just really doesnt wanna let you go.

When he sleeps with you it's like his nightmares almost vanish and all his dreams are of you two retiring and living in a comfy house.

Man would be your personal shield in fights. Would always keep you near him at all times.

Drives extra carefully when you're around and the others notice, but they don't DARE to say anything. (Lmao pussies)

You would catch him staring at you most of the time, he just wants to memorize everything about you, incase something bad happens.

He would give you his hoodies and t-shirts to wear, just so that people know you guys are together.

Hella protective, he's always in the same room with you in the base.

Would watch you sleep, mostly because he cant sleep or isnt sleepy so he just watches you, sometimes caressing your hair and cheeks and watching you unconsciously smile just warms his heart.

Uses you as a weighted blanket fr, loves how warm it is when you're on him.

He would go with you during holiday breaks, not having a family to go back home to.

He cant help but feel warm inside and happy when your family accepts him into the fam, he'll promise to keep you safe forever.

[glitterhammies]

Getting dressed with copia

- this man has so many clothes, like he has an entire wardrobe of just the most obnoxious extravagant outfits. 

- you wanted to go on a cute picnic date and asked him to dress in something smart and comfy. he comes out in his white stage costume.

- trousers skin tight, essentially a corset jacket and a large rimmed hat. 

- you looked at him fighting laughter. " my love, you know you don't have to get that dressed up just  for a date" 

- you absolutely adored his outfits especially this one, but surely it cant be comfortable while sitting down and having a picnic. 

- "this is one of my nicest outfits, i wanted to make a effort for you amore mio" he replied striking a pose 

- you decided if he was going all out then you were going all out as well

- you wore one of your skin tight black dresses with long sleeves, a corset belt, pentagram necklace and a crow skull necklace. finishing it off with a regal black rose crown headpiece. 

_ you looked at the two of you in the mirror. contrasting but looking just as elegant as each other.

- copia held out his hand to you "ready to go" 

- "lets go" you responded

sorry this was only short, i had a idea but didnt know how to write it as a story. if you want to see more of this let me know and i might add to it!!

[dracobrooklyn]

Assassin!Ghost x Princess!Reader

|| MDNI || 18+

CW: A bit of age gap, seduction, a lot of sexual intercourse.

After watching this video I was like… this is Ghost coded. The way he was hired to kill the princess and found a way to get close as your body guard. He has a name but he gives it as only ghost. How he stays close to you, finds perfect routes maybe to get you alone to strike you down and get his earn gold for the reward.

But why is he hesitating on killing you? Is it because he feels bad for the naive princess that is always kind to him, how you greet him every morning. Says thank you when he carrys you across a nasty mud puddle so your dress does not get dirty, how you acknowledges his presence to everyone, talking highly of him. God damn this, he had to kill you… or else he might be going soft.

And to the point where he was gonna do it that night, where he was gonna stab you and be done with it, but you weren’t in your room. He looked for you everywhere… to find you dancing alone by yourself in the grand hall. You captured his breath… he… was in love with you?

Of course he can’t be… no he is, he Willy deny it. But he didn’t kill you that night… or the next night… or the next night. Making excuses to himself that it wasn’t the right moment. Someone could hear her scream, there’s too many people here… they find her body soon.

Of course… Ghost finds out the princess… you were into him. You wanted him, like he wants you. Fuck it, he’s no longer your assassin, he’s your body guard, and lover.

And you both definitely hide in an area to kiss… make love… and kiss again. He knew the right spots to make you come, to please you, to hear your sweet whimpers and moans… you are his now. His sweet little princess.

[bigfathoe4you]

Just a small drabble about Capt. Price grappling with the UK gov. and their role in different conflicts

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“What?” you turn over your shoulder, “John, years of your life have been dedicated to this' ' John continued to scrub the dishes as if commenting on the weather, and not leaving a career he’s been in for over 20 years.

“It’s all going to be alright, I’ve got savings, Love” He said crossing the kitchen to hold your hands, “we’ll be alright.”

“You love your job” you urge squeezing his hands, “I don’t understand”

He dropped his hold on you, wringing his hands ``I- I’ve done a lot of things. Unforgivable things. But the bullshit orders they’ve been passing out lately, I just can’t justify it.” He steps forward again, slipping his hands into the soft plushes of your hips, your hands trail up his arms finding his neck, “I just rationalise the orders”

You shift your hands to cup his face, leaning back allowing him to curve himself over you, leaning in you ask “can you tell me?” He slowly shakes his head, “okay” you stand back up, clapping your hands together “Now, what about our boys?”

Leaning back with an appreciative chuckle tightening his grip on you, “My lads will follow me wherever I go”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[bloodycassian]

Just another body - Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Reader's callsign is 'Leto'

18+ NSFW

Reader admits her feelings for Ghost on a mission, sex happens. PinV, oral, fingering, dirty talk. 

“You bring ‘em in like stray dogs. Leave it this time.” Ghost’s order is borderline amused when you eye the contraband sitting atop the server racks. He’d rolled up his sleeved coat after an hour of sweating in the server room,  revealing thick muscled forearms that sent your eyes darting for more than just weapons to loot. The man was distracting, with either the voice, the body or the way he commanded a room. He was turning into a liability, but you weren’t sure how to dismiss yourself from the team any sooner. You’d already asked Price for an out, which he guaranteed would happen as soon as they could manage without you.

Getting shot because you were busy staring at the lieutenant was not an ideal way to expedite the process.

“We’re going to have to find something to do here. I couldn’t even play Snake if I wanted to.” You mutter, toeing one of the eighteen massive steel beams just in the tech room alone. With the amount of tech they supplied, you’d been amazed at the lack of personnel guarding the damn things. Further stunned at the little time it’d taken to find the massive fans and cooling systems and shut them down. 

It’d taken only minutes for the basement to become uncomfortably warm. Half an hour in, and you’d stripped free of your coat and shoved it into your already full backpack. Simon had offered to carry it in his back on your behalf, but you declined. Going through his things, being at his back but not watching it was too intimate for some reason. Sure, he was your teammate, and sure, you’d swiped more than a few mags of ammo from the exact backpack, but the soft way he’d said it, how he’d eyed you a moment after taking it off felt like toeing a border that you were more than aware of.

“We’ve got two hours before our bird arrives, you’ll be fine.” He dismisses your complaint, shrugging his shoulders and shifting the pack around. You step towards him, forgetting your own rules and boundaries around him for a moment, and raise your arms to unbuckle the chest strap of the pack. His hands catch yours and his brows narrow behind the mask. You suddenly are distinctly aware of how easily he could break your hand in a hundred different ways, but the warmth and gentleness of his gloved touch is the most distracting part of it.

“You should take a break, let me carry it for a while.” You fuss, hoping that it comes off as helpful and not nagging. You’d already insisted he buy a balm for his shoulder and knees at the shop closest to the safehouse. Was your concern for him too obvious? “So I don’t have to hear you complain about how sore you are later?” You press, noting how his eyes dart from your eyes to your lips, then to where your hands meet. 

Your stomach rolls, and you fear for nausea with the intensity of it. With the way his dark eyes somehow see through you and into what your words really intend. “Let me take care of you. Let me touch you.”

And it’s a miracle he doesn’t see the way you watch his every movement, that or incredible stupidity. But you know he isn’t stupid. You know he reads others like the damned menu he’d stolen from your hands once you’d arrived here. The Intel Target had reserved a time with a particularly well known black market dealer and their joint decision to dine out had resulted in one of the best meals of your life.

He knew you couldn’t read the language, and had taken it upon himself to just know you. To know exactly what you wanted and how you’d wanted it cooked.  He’d ordered your meal as fluently as he held a gun, and you’d nearly forgotten about your mission in the bliss of the taste of it all.

He nods once, a slow movement before he’s slinging his rifle strap over his head and removing the pack with lethal efficiency. 

“What’s that look about? What’re you thinkin’?” He asks, eyeing you as you push the memory away. 

“How good that damned dinner was.” You answer truthfully, wondering if losing him isn’t worth the safety it would ensure. The pack weighs heavy on your shoulders, along with the guilt.

He rolls his neck and sigs as you adjust the straps to your body, clicking the chest buckle into place and tugging it tight. “Maybe I’ll convince Price to keep you ‘round.” He said, and you can hear the mocking in his tone. 

Your words come automatically. “I’m needed with second squad.” You lie. It’s what you’d been telling Soap for the last three weeks, no more detail, no more emotion than that. But Simon… he knows something is wrong with the quipped words and selective tone. But it’s the only thing you’re able to tell him, really. His brows twitch together for a moment at your short explanation, and he turns to you fully, taking his eyes off the exits. Your heart thunders, blood pounding in your ears as loud as the servers begin to whine around you. 

“Second squad-” He practically spits the name. “doesn't deal in your expertise, Leto.” His voice rumbles and your mouth falls open as he steps closer, towering over you. For a moment you can only marvel at the brutality of his build. A tank of a killing machine he is, tall and built and ready for you to climb. A True, full blooded warrior, to the very core. 

And behind that mask, and those eyes that pierce through to your very being - He knows. Oh God, he knows you’re lying. Your eyes go wide, and like a fool you forgo all your interrogation training. “What isn’t Price telling me?” He growls, his hands going to the radio at his hip. 

You stammer, trying your damnedest to put on a show of innocence. “Nothing, he wouldn’t-” God now he’s thinking Price is going to betray him, you’ll tear the team to pieces if he thinks-

“Guess I can ask for myself-” He pulls the radio free, his eyes still boring into yours.

He raises it slowly, giving you time to lie more, to come up with a shitty excuse for why you’d been avoiding missions with him for the last few months. Why you’d had to beg Second Squadron to open a spot for you and your expertise as he’d called it.

“Stop-” You gasp, hands catching his before he can make the comms live. His finger brings the small screen to life, the green glow reflecting in his eyes. “Fuck Simon, christ. Okay, Okay stop.” You breathe, and surprisingly he allows you to take the radio from him.

“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. With you-” The words feel like poison as you release them, it aches deep in your chest to know how real they are. His eyes flash wide, then his features harden, his mask adjusting to what you’d imagine to be a flexed jaw and thin lipped grimace.

“I asked to be switched. You’re… distracting. I- get distracted around you, I mean.” You sigh, and your sweaty hands leave your weapon, a dull reminder of the real reason you’re in the sweltering basement beneath miles of concrete. 

He stills, body going taut and flexed in that way he does when he’s listening for enemy footsteps.”Go on.” He insists. In this moment it wouldn’t be so bad if enemies found you. It’d save you from having to explain further. 

“Goddammit Ghost-” You push a hand through your hair, tugging slightly. “I’ve had it a rule for myself for my entire career to never get involved. And here you are, ruining it.” You spit it out, like your feelings are somehow his fault. At least he knows now. At least you don't have to go on lying to him when he can tell your words are false. 

There’s a long pause, the only sound the whirring struggle of the tech around you. His eyes don't leave yours, and you duck your head in shame.

“‘M’not Ghost to you, though, am I?” He steps closer, closing in around you, making it so you’re forced to stare up at him and arch backwards against one of the boxes behind you. 

“What-” You shake your head, confused at his question. 

He leans down close, and you tense, ready to fight him if needed. But his words had no intent of violence in them, not even a hint of it. Still, your muscles bunched, ready to attack if he so much as raised his voice. Ready to fight. Ready.. For what? He’d been the guarding your back for the last four years, since you’d been assigned to 141. He’d never hurt you, physically anyway. Was your body preparing for his rejection? Was it truly ready to try to fend off the man twice your size that had bested you in every sparring competition you’d ever had with him?

His mouth is on the cusp of your ear when he speaks. “I’ve heard you whinin’, moaning my name.” He says slowly, and your heart stops for a moment. Heat surges from your neck to your ears. Your eyes prick with embarrassed tears. “Oh Simon, ooh fuck.” He mimics, rolling his hips forward, his thigh brushing the inside of your own.

“Ghost-” Your words are choked, and you’re relieved when he interrupts you.

“We’ve not shared a room in some time, but I still hear you.” He pulls back,only enough to look you in the eyes and he smiles, his eyes crinkling when he stares you down. “I still..listen for you.” He nods slightly, his eyes flicking from yours to your lips.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you're on him before he can say anything else. His mask is warm and wet with sweat, but he lifts it up enough to expose his mouth and the stubbled chin and jaw. His lips are magnetic, pulling you in and keeping you there as he palms your ass. He flicks the front strap of the backpack off and in a moment you’re shedding layers and layers of gear and armor plates that suddenly seem ridiculous to be carrying in the first place. 

If he’s the one getting you killed, dying may not seem so harsh. 

He’s tender and giving until you nip at his lower lip and scratch down his back once he’s removed his vest, then he’s teeth and demanding hands that you knew could do exactly this. What you’ve dreamed about, apparently. 

He picks you up with ease, bringing you back to a windowless room where you’d downloaded the server information. He sets you stop a cold desk and swipes an arm across the surface, sending office supplies and monitors crashing to the ground before he’s on you once again. His tongue traces yours slowly, rhythmically as his hands search and pull and bite into your skin. Calloused, strong fingers brush over your breasts and grip every part of you’d been imagining since you’d joined 141.

He’s feral and somehow controlled at the same time, a balance of will and want. Only you’ve been waiting for this for years. You’ve been dreaming about him, and the want for him outweighs your will and control. “I need you.” You gasp when he lifts your shirt over your head. You pull his up as well, marveling at how solid he is, how built and perfect every feature is. 

You want to taste it all. 

But he’s controlling the pace, and you have no problem with it. His tongue traces masterfully over your skin, along the column of your neck, sending a new surge of fire to your core. Maybe you would retract your request to move to Second Squad, if it meant you’d get to be with Simon. 

He rips your pants down, dragging your panties with them, exposing your swollen cunt to the air. “Fuck me-” He breathes, working his own pants to the floor around his boots. He kneels before you and spreads you apart, his eyes dragging over the most sensitive parts of you.

“Intend to.” You gasp as his bare hand circles your clit. He pulls his other glove off with his teeth and lets it fall to the floor, never looking away from either your pussy or your face as he learns you in a whole new way. 

“Filthy fucking girl.” He growls approvingly, before burying himself in your pussy. The first stroke of his tongue from your center to your clit has you gasping, rolling your hips forward for more, and his eyes flash to yours, his pupils are enormous, his brows lowered in a look you’d previously describe as deadly. Now, you understood in those moments he was looking at you with desire. Your thighs clamp together, but he only groans and pushes harder on to you, his tongue lapping and flicking over your clit wildly. 

He pulls away only to lap at his middle finger, making sure you watch as he coats it in his own saliva. Your hips rock upwards, keening for his touch again. His other hand is pulling slowly at his cock, now freed from the black pants that are only held on by his thigh holster. “Ghost-” You whine, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him better.

“Patience.” He warns, then finally lowers his finger to your entrance, his eyes devouring the way your body reacts to his warm digit. Your head lolls back, the burning ache for him relieved slightly while he works you open. He swears and adjusts his positioning. Then His tongue begins a slow pattern on your clit again, and he swears he’s never been so close to coming just from the feel of someone. 

“Fuckin’ perfect for me-” He hisses when he slides deeper inside of you, reveling in the warm wetness there, his cock surges and he swears under his breath. He curls his finger and thrusts it forth, prodding your insides and searching for the things that’d make you tick.

“Ghost- Simon-” Your breathy moans have him coming undone too quickly, so he removes himself from you, damning every god he’s ever heard of for the horrid timing of your confession. Shit, if he’d just asked before the mission - when he’d first heard price talking about you moving teams… No, not now. His frustration is put into a box to be used later. 

He grips the base of your neck and hauls you upward, smashing his lips into yours in a bruising kiss that he hopes leaves a mark on himself. At least then he’d have the proof for himself to know that this was real, and not another of his fantasies. He pulls back, and smiles at your confused, pouting expression. Then, before you can talk back like he knows you want to, he laps at the finger covered in your wetness, wishing he could have the taste permanently ingrained to his mind. 

He hadn’t been keeping an eye on your hands, and your touch to the base of his cock has him stiffening in surprise. He stumbles forward when you pull him, hissing when you rub the head of his cock against your needy cunt. He can’t help but lean into it, his breathing only coming out in short puffs while he regains his self control. “Slow.” You say, relaxing as much as you can while he slides forward. You lay back and embrace the sweet stretch his thick cock brings. His thumb finds your clit and he circles it slowly while he fills you.

 His eyes flick to yours for assurance with every inch, but all he can see is the red marks along your throat and collarbone from where he’d bitten at you. More, he wanted more. The thirst for your skin on his tongue is insatiable. He gazed upon you, reveling in the feel and sight of you around him. The swollen, red lips that he wish were on his own throat, but he cant bring himself to request that of you when your body was laid out before him like this. With every inch he pushed into you, he finds something new to marvel over. The scars, the freckles and stretch marks, the callouses and tan lines - every part of you that seemed like a secret before now. He silently vows to himself to memorize them all, to take stock of every one of those scars so he could be sure he wouldn’t miss any new ones.

He bows over you, planting wet, sloppy kisses across every feature he could reach once he’s fully buried inside of you. Your walls squeezed around him, and his cock twitches again. He bites into his lip, the pain distracting him from the pleasure for a moment. He pulls back slightly, and slides back in. Your moans are synchronized. You chant his name like a goddamn prayer, and he could swear he bit a hole in the side of his cheek. 

“How d’ya want me?” He asks, leaning down, hoisting your leg up over his muscled and forcing you to take him even deeper. You cry out, but with the movement his cock brushes over the spot inside of you, hiking your need to a new level. Close. So close with such few movements. This man was a god. Or a demon. Most would likely say a demon of some sort. 

“Tell me sweetheart, how’ve you dreamed this?” He asks, sliding out fully and spearing himself back in. Your eyes roll back and an animalist sound claws its way from your throat. Your insides clench around his length, pulling him in, in in, and somehow you still need more. You need all of him. The demanding heat inside you requires it. You fumble for his chest, where his tac vest usually would allow you to haul him forward, but his hand catches yours, and pins it back beside your head. 

You arch and preen for him, rolling forward though he’d bottomed out. He’s swearing and practically purring with satisfaction of watching you. God you’ve never felt so desperate for something, never felt like you needed another person this badly before. A demon, definitely a demon.

“Such a pretty fucking show for me.” He rolls his hips back, then thoroughly back into place. A sound you don’t recognize leaves your throat in response. “In my head, I’ve taken you on top ‘a every inch of that safehouse.” He pulls out, and snaps his hips forward again, leaving you quivering with need. “I’ve had you comin’ on my face,  my hands,  my cock, on whatever toy you want…” He hisses, pulling back slightly to watch his glistening member re enter your wetness. “Is this all you want - my cock buried in your pretty pussy?” His hand squeezes your thigh, then goes to your clit, and for a moment you can’t believe you’ve held on this long. Your body trembles beneath him and your knees pull together, but it doesn’t stop him. 

“Yes Simon, yes god, yes-” You pant, then pull your joined hands to your face, he’s still playing over your clit when you suck his pointer finger into your mouth and his eyes fly to yours. You can’t imagine the sight of yourself, but something changes for him in that moment. He moves, leaning over you fully, one hand cupping the back of your neck and forcing you to look into his eyes, the other on your hip, holding you firmly in place. His forearms barricading you while his hips snap forward at a brutal pace, forcing the tip of his cock into that sweet spot that makes you come nearly instantly. 

Your eyes go wide, mouth open while obscene sounds spill from you. His breathing, the way he bites his lip, all of it is too much. 

You’re coming, and coming and screaming but everything has gone quiet in your head. Only his darkened eyes matter, the way the paint black has started melting away, the way his brows pull together and how his eyes graze over every one of your features admiringly as you gasp his name over and over again, his cock forcing your orgasm like he’d fucked you a million times and knew exactly what to do.

Only the waves of ecstasy exist to you, that and the smell, the weight of his body over yours, the heat of him. Your legs shake, hooking around his backside and pulling him deep into you. Within a few more strokes he’s gasping, his body shuddering and your stomach is suddenly covered. He brushes hair back from your face, and a wry smile forms on his lips. He pulls the mask back down, over his reddened lips and pecks your cheek before shakily pushing himself up. He grabs the backpack, pulls a sweater from it and begins wiping you clean. 

[iheartchv]

Hi there! I don't know if you're taking matchup requests right now but if you are, I'd love to request one for Call of Duty!

appearance: Im 5'8 and more on the curvy side. I have shoulder length dark curly hair and brown eyes. I wear glasses but opt to wear contacts for the most part. Style wise I would say I have a very vintage coastal look I tend to go for. I wear a ton of jewelry on my day to day basis... I have a ton of piercings and I wear earings in all of them - I wear rings on almost every finger, layer necklaces, bracelets and watches - the whole shebang. I love wearing makeup and playing around with that - I mainly tend to go for the more natural "clean girl look though - the most I usually do is a dark lip color. I like to have my nails done and when able to, I like to do fun colors and nail art. I also have a few tattoos scattered around.

personality: I'm very headstrong and stubborn, I know what I want most of the time and once I get an idea in my head it's hard to talk me down from it. I'm super ambitious and have a lot of goals and expectations that I put on myself. Not so surprisingly, I'm in law school, so I think I definitely have a career to match my personality. I'm not really solely an extrovert or introvert, I'm kinda in the middle of the two, and it definitely depends on the environment I'm in as well. Contrary to what I said about knowing what I want in life - I actually tend to be pretty indecisive when it comes to the smaller day to day decisions ouside of school and work. I can be a bit clumsy sometimes and when i get excited about something there is a 90% chance I will stumble over my words. I love to surround myself with people and go out and do things. I'm a pretty nurturing person and would love to settle down and have a few kids after I graduate and get some more experience in my field. I have pretty bad anxiety and have a tendency to work myself up if I let my thoughts spiral.

Fun facts about me: I speak English, Portuguese, Spanish, and I'm learning French. My dad is from England and my mom is from the US, where I was also brought up. I'm not super close to her or that side of the family but I am to my dad and his side and try to go over and visit whenever I can. My favorite holiday is Christmas but my favorite season is Summer. My hobbies include - snowboarding, drums, guitar, cooking/baking, boxing, camping, hiking, and reading. My favorite color is blue. I'm a Sagittarius Sun and Rising, and a Libra moon. My personality type is Enfp.

Thank you so much!I🤍

Hi, I hope you'll like your match~ 😊 (I'm sorry if it's short/not detailed, I've been mentally exhausted for a long while)

🤔I pair you with...

Simon "Ghost" Riley 💀

I think Ghost would end up falling for you

He met you while you were visiting your family in England

It was brief though

There was something about you that drew his attention

You both are opposite sides of the same coin

He loved the way you carried yourself

He also loves your style

That's probably what caught his eye

He especially loves your dark lipstick

It makes him want to kiss you anytime he's around you

He will fall for you unknowingly, and act "weird" or more quiet

But know that he likes you very much

He will have thoughts about you while he is away on duty

Even though he doesn't have much in life to treasure, you are one he is definitely going to protect

[mesu-senshi]

Sweetheart in Combat Boots

Fandom: Call of Duty

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Genre: Action, Romance, Comedy

Trope: Badass with a Soft Side, Protective Lover, Slow-Burn to Spicy Payoff

Rating: Mature (for spice and adult themes)

Summary:

When a mission goes wrong, the soft-spoken, affectionate member of Task Force 141 reveals her deadly skills, saving the team and revealing her past as “Black Widow” on her past team. Now, Ghost finds himself completely undone by her, torn between fierce attraction and the intensity of his feelings. As their relationship heats up, Ghost learns that being with her makes everything feel 10x stronger—and he’s not sure he can hold back any longer.

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The mission had gone spectacularly wrong.

Soap, Ghost, Price, and Gaz sat chained to a grimy brick wall in an abandoned warehouse deep in enemy territory. Their gear had been stripped, leaving them vulnerable and frustrated. The flickering light above cast sharp shadows, reflecting the dismal situation.

And then there was you. Sweet, affectionate, sunshine-you. The one everyone on base adored for your kind words, easy smiles, and penchant for baking cookies when morale was low. You were also the one currently tied to a chair across the room, a cut on your cheek and a split lip standing out against your otherwise calm expression.

“Damn it,” Soap muttered under his breath. “They shouldn’t have gotten their hands on her.”

“Keep your voice down, Johnny,” Ghost hissed, eyes locked on you. You were unnervingly quiet, your head tilted as if listening for something none of them could hear.

Price’s gruff voice cut through their tense whispers. “Focus, lads. We’ll get out of this. She’s tougher than she looks.”

Gaz chuckled humorlessly. “That’s an understatement.”

One of the captors, a stocky man with a knife strapped to his thigh, approached you. He leaned close, clearly mocking your supposed helplessness. “What’s a girl like you doing with these military dogs, huh? Bet you’ve never seen a real fight.”

The team stiffened. They’d seen you train—fluid movements and unnerving accuracy with a knife—but you’d always been modest about your skills. Too modest. Now, they wondered if you’d been holding back.

“Don’t,” Price started, but Ghost’s sharp look silenced him.

Then you smiled. It wasn’t your usual sweet smile but something sharper, darker. “You’ve made a mistake,” you said softly, your voice carrying a chill that made the team shiver.

The man laughed, but it died in his throat when you surged forward, chair and all. The move was so fast it caught him off guard as you rammed the chair leg into his foot. With a curse, he stumbled closer, and that was all you needed.

The warehouse erupted into chaos.

You twisted your wrists, a flick of movement revealing you’d already been working on your restraints. With a sudden lunge, you snatched the knife from the man’s thigh, cutting yourself free in one fluid motion. Before anyone could react, you flipped the chair backward into another enemy rushing at you, sending him sprawling.

Soap’s jaw dropped. “Bloody hell—”

“She’s showing off,” Ghost muttered, but there was a note of awe in his voice.

The knife in your hand blurred as you spun, ducking low and driving it into the gut of the first captor. You used his body as a shield to block a shot fired in panic before vaulting over him with an agility that seemed almost supernatural.

One by one, the captors fell, your movements precise, deadly, and terrifyingly efficient. You weren’t just fighting—you were dismantling them. The team watched, stunned, as you rolled across the floor to grab another knife, sending it spinning through the air to hit a target across the room with unerring accuracy.

When the last enemy crumpled to the ground, you stood in the middle of the chaos, blood dripping from your lip and a knife clenched in your hand. Your chest heaved as you turned to face the team, and for a moment, silence reigned.

Soap was the first to speak. “What the hell was that?”

You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, your usual cheery demeanor returning like a switch had been flipped. “What? Didn’t think I could handle myself?”

Gaz sputtered. “Handle yourself? You just took out a dozen guys like it was nothing!”

Ghost leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Care to explain, Black Widow?”

You froze, the nickname catching you off guard. “Where’d you hear that?”

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “We have our ways. Didn’t think we’d find out about your old unit, did you?”

You gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s not something I advertise.”

“Clearly,” Gaz muttered, his voice tinged with admiration.

Soap’s grin spread across his face. “Sunshine by day, Black Widow by night. I think I’m in love.”

You rolled your eyes, moving to free them from their restraints. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get out of here before reinforcements arrive.”

As you worked, Ghost’s low voice cut through the air. “You’ve been hiding things.”

“Maybe.” You glanced at him with a playful smile. “But you can’t say I didn’t save your arse.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he simply stared at you, his mind reeling with everything he’d just witnessed. The team was definitely looking at you differently now, and you knew you’d have a lot of questions to answer back at base.

But for now, you allowed yourself a small, satisfied grin. They’d finally seen what you were capable of.

And you had a feeling they’d never underestimate you again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The med bay buzzed with the soft hum of machinery and muffled voices. Everyone was busy cleaning up cuts and bruises, but the energy was lighter than usual, a mix of relief and the lingering adrenaline from surviving the mission. You sat on the edge of a cot, dabbing a disinfectant-soaked cloth against your cheek, pretending not to notice the heavy stares from the rest of Task Force 141.

Soap broke the silence first, as expected. “Alright, lass,” he drawled, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “You’re gonna have to spill. Black Widow? Seriously?”

You gave him a sheepish grin, shrugging. “It was just a nickname from my old unit. Not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Gaz scoffed, throwing up his hands. “You took out a dozen armed men while tied to a bloody chair. That’s not ‘not a big deal.’ That’s action movie-level insanity.”

Price chuckled as he adjusted the bandage on his arm. “Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting it. You’ve been keeping secrets from us.”

“Didn’t think it mattered,” you admitted, your voice soft. “I just… didn’t want to be that person here. I like being… well, me.”

“Sunshine with a bite,” Soap teased, nudging Gaz. “You lot remember the cookies she made last week? This is the same person.”

“Terrifyingly wholesome,” Gaz said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You’re a walking contradiction.”

Across the room, Ghost stood leaning against a table, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable as always. “You’re wasted on cookies and small talk,��� he said, his voice low and rough. “You should’ve told us.”

You met his gaze, your expression softening. “I like being part of the team this way. I didn’t want to be… her again unless I had to.”

Soap, ever the playful one, made a mock swooning motion. “And she’s humble, too. God help me, I’m falling for her.”

“Pipe down, Johnny,” Price said, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his tone. “Let her breathe.”

Ghost’s dark eyes flicked to Soap, and though his face was hidden, his body language screamed annoyance. “Show some respect.”

“Relax, Ghost. I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” Soap retorted, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Gaz joined in, laughing. “Speak for yourself. I’m not ‘falling,’ but I’ll admit, I’m impressed. Never thought someone could be so sweet and so dangerous. You’re like a cupcake with a grenade inside.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s… an interesting way to put it.”

Ghost, however, stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you. While Soap and Gaz bantered, he watched you tend to your wounds, the way your hands moved with practiced precision. He was used to efficiency and strength, but seeing that raw skill paired with your usual warmth stirred something he hadn’t felt in years.

Price interrupted his thoughts. “Enough chatter. She saved our arses out there. That’s what matters.”

“Damn right,” Soap said, throwing you a wink. “You ever decide to switch from sunshine back to Black Widow full-time, I’ll be your number one fan.”

You rolled your eyes, a small blush creeping up your neck. “I think I’ll stick to sunshine for now.”

“Good,” Ghost said abruptly, his voice cutting through the lightheartedness. Everyone turned to him, surprised. “You’re fine as you are.”

It wasn’t much, but coming from Ghost, it felt like the highest of compliments. Your heart gave an unexpected flutter as you met his steady gaze, warmth spreading through you.

Soap whistled. “Careful, Ghost. You’re gonna make her blush.”

“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost growled, though he didn’t look away from you.

Gaz smirked. “Looks like someone’s smitten.”

“Enough,” Price ordered, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “We’ve had a long day. Get cleaned up and get some rest.”

The team dispersed, but not before Soap gave you a dramatic bow. “Seriously, lass. You’re a bloody legend.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as they filed out, leaving you alone with Ghost. He stayed by the table, silent and still, until you looked at him.

“Ghost?” you prompted, tilting your head.

He pushed off the table and approached, stopping just a foot away. His voice was softer now, almost gentle. “You’re not just Black Widow or sunshine. You’re you. That’s what makes you dangerous. And special.”

Your breath caught at the unexpected words, and before you could respond, he turned and walked out, leaving you with a pounding heart and a small, secret smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Who’s in awe? Gaz. He can’t stop replaying the fight in his mind, marveling at how you went from cheerful to deadly in an instant. He’s full of admiration and will probably start calling you Captain Marvel or Wonder Woman just to mess with you.

Who’s crushing hard? Soap. His playful teasing ramps up tenfold, and he’s suddenly finding every excuse to be around you. Whether he’s asking you to teach him your knife tricks or just cracking jokes to make you laugh, his crush is painfully obvious.

Who’s completely in love? Ghost. He doesn’t say much, but the way he watches you and the rare moments of vulnerability in his voice speak volumes. He’s drawn to your balance of strength and warmth, though he’d probably take his feelings to his grave before admitting them outright.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Dance of Danger and Desire

Life at base became… different after the mission.

Price treated you with a newfound respect, often calling on you for input during mission briefings or consulting you on strategy. He even let slip a rare compliment here and there, though his usual stoicism kept them brief. “You’ve earned your place,” he said one day, nodding approvingly after you dissected an enemy’s potential weak points in record time.

Gaz? He couldn’t stop talking about you. “I mean, did you see her?” he’d say, gesturing wildly during downtime. “Black Widow, flipping off chairs and throwing knives like it’s second nature. She’s insane—in the best way!” He wasn’t crushing, but he made sure everyone knew you were someone to respect (and not piss off).

Soap? Well, Soap had it bad. He hovered more, cracking jokes to make you laugh, conveniently showing up whenever you were in the gym. He even bought a new knife, claiming he wanted you to teach him your tricks. “Come on, lass,” he’d say, grinning ear to ear. “You can’t keep all the secrets to yourself. Show me how to be deadly and adorable, aye?”

But Ghost? Ghost was different.

He didn’t hover, joke, or brag like the others. Instead, he watched. His eyes followed you during drills, caught every subtle movement during sparring sessions. He lingered longer during conversations, his quiet presence always looming, always intense. He asked questions about you—not directly, but through Price or Gaz. “Where’d she learn to fight like that?” “What’s her deal with the knives?” “She always this sweet?”

The longer he watched, the more conflicted he became. He wanted you—desperately—but he didn’t know how to approach you. You were too… you. Sweet, deadly, and affectionate. Every smile you gave him, every kind word, every brush of your hand against his when you passed gear—it all drove him mad. He couldn’t get enough.

But he was terrified.

What if you saw him as just a cold, broken soldier? What if he made a move and you rejected him? Or worse—what if you laughed at him? He spent weeks trying to bury his feelings, only for them to bubble over with every soft glance and gentle word you gave him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Breaking Point

It happened during a late-night briefing. You and Ghost were alone in the dimly lit command room, reviewing intel on an upcoming mission. You leaned over the table, pointing out weak spots on a map, your voice soft and thoughtful as you explained your plan.

Ghost wasn’t listening.

He couldn’t. The light caught the curve of your face, the way your lips moved as you spoke. His chest tightened painfully, his pulse pounding in his ears. You turned to look at him, brows furrowing slightly. “Ghost? You okay?”

He snapped.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out, his gloved hand brushing your cheek. Your eyes widened, but you didn’t pull away. His voice, rough and low, trembled slightly. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” you whispered, breathless.

“This.” He stepped closer, his hands moving to your shoulders. His gaze burned into yours, desperate and full of conflict. “You—you're driving me mad. Every time you smile, every time you speak, every damn time you look at me—I can’t take it.”

You blinked, stunned. “Ghost—”

“Simon,” he interrupted, his voice softer now. “My name is Simon.”

Then, before he could lose his nerve, he pressed you against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss so full of fire and longing it left you gasping. His hands framed your face, as if he was afraid you’d disappear, his body trembling with the force of his emotions.

For a terrifying moment, he thought he’d made a mistake. He started to pull away, mumbling, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

But your hands reached up, tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. “Don’t you dare stop,” you whispered against his lips, your voice soft but firm.

He froze, and then his resolve shattered completely. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly as he deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of his pent-up desire and emotion into you. You responded with equal fervor, your touch gentle and grounding, a perfect contrast to his intensity.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, your breath mingling in the quiet room. Ghost stared at you, vulnerability etched into his every feature. “I thought you’d push me away,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

You smiled, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along the back of his neck. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m… me,” he said simply, his usual confidence stripped away.

You shook your head, your expression tender. “And I’m me. Apparently very bad at hiding my feelings for you.”

His lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile. “Feelings, huh?”

“Shut up, Simon.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he was enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From that day forward, everything changed. Ghost was still Ghost—silent, brooding, and intimidating—but there was a softness in his gaze whenever he looked at you. The team noticed, of course.

Soap was the first to call him out. “So, Ghost, any chance I’ll get lessons on how to woo the Black Widow?”

Ghost’s glare was enough to make Soap back off—temporarily. Gaz smirked knowingly, while Price simply shook his head with a small smile.

You, however, had no complaints. For all his stoicism and gruffness, Simon Riley loved with the same intensity he fought with. Fiercely, protectively, and with everything he had. And you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vulnerability and Desire

The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp on the desk. Ghost—Simon—had just returned from a long day of training and debriefings, and he wanted nothing more than to be near you. You didn’t disappoint, slipping into his quarters with your usual grace, flashing him that soft, affectionate smile that made his chest ache in the best way.

Now, you found yourself pressed against the wall, your hands buried in the fabric of his shirt as his lips devoured yours. His kisses were rough, demanding, but there was a tenderness beneath them—a quiet desperation that only made your heart race faster. His hands rested on your waist, fingers tightening whenever you tugged him closer.

“Simon…” you murmured between kisses, your voice soft but insistent.

That single word sent a shiver down his spine. Hearing you call him by his name, the one so few people knew, made him weak. You didn’t call him Ghost, didn’t treat him like some untouchable figure. To you, he was just Simon—a man who wanted, needed, craved you.

He growled low in his throat, pressing you tighter against him. “You drive me insane, you know that?” he muttered, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck.

“Good,” you teased breathlessly, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly.

He bit back a groan, his composure unraveling with every touch, every sound you made. When you moaned his name—Simon—right into his ear, so sweetly, so reverently, it was over.

A guttural sound escaped his lips as his body betrayed him completely, his hips jerking involuntarily. He stiffened, his breathing ragged as the heat of embarrassment flooded his face. He tried to pull back, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a shaky breath. “Shit… I—”

You blinked up at him, a mixture of confusion and realization dawning on your face. “Oh,” you said softly, your cheeks tinting pink.

Simon’s hands moved to your shoulders, as if bracing himself for rejection. “I didn’t mean for—”

“Simon,” you interrupted gently, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay.”

He froze, his wide, vulnerable eyes meeting yours. “It’s not—I should’ve—”

“Hey.” Your voice was soft but firm, grounding him. “It’s fine. Really.”

When he didn’t respond, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your fingers brushing through his hair soothingly. His tense frame began to relax, though he still looked uncertain, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” you said, your voice filled with sincerity. “It just means you… felt something, right?”

He huffed out a weak laugh, shaking his head. “Felt something? I felt everything, love. And now I’ve made a mess of myself.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slow and deliberate. “It happens. And I don’t mind helping.”

His brows furrowed as you stepped back, heading toward his small dresser to grab him a clean pair of boxers. He watched in stunned silence as you moved with ease, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

You handed the clothes to him, your smile warm and teasing. “Go clean up. I’ll wait.”

Simon hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you. You weren’t disgusted or uncomfortable. If anything, you were… amused, maybe even endeared. He felt his chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of affection.

“(Y/N),” he said quietly, his voice filled with gratitude.

“Go,” you urged gently, shooing him toward the bathroom with a loving smile.

When he returned a few minutes later, freshly changed and still slightly pink-faced, you were sitting on his bed, waiting for him. You patted the spot beside you, and he hesitated before joining you.

You immediately wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, placing soft little kisses on his shoulder. “Better?”

He let out a deep sigh, leaning into your touch, your affection. “Better.”

For a while, you sat there in comfortable silence, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his back. He closed his eyes, letting the tension melt away under your care.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So are you, Simon.”

He tightened his hold on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. In that moment, he let himself feel it all—the love, the comfort, the safety he found in your arms.

And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe he deserved it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Love That Disarms

Simon Riley had always been a man of control. In combat, his precision was unmatched. On missions, his focus was unshakeable. Even in the chaos of battle, he maintained a tight grip on his emotions and actions.

But with you? Control was a thing of the past.

He didn’t understand it—couldn’t, really. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word from you sent his carefully built walls crumbling to the ground. You were his undoing in the best way, and it terrified him just as much as it thrilled him.

Tonight was no different.

The two of you were tangled in the sheets of his bunk, the dim light of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows on your skin. Your hands moved over him with a mix of tenderness and confidence, as if you knew every scar, every inch of him, and loved it all the same. Your lips followed suit, trailing kisses along his jaw, his neck, his chest, leaving him breathless and aching for more.

“(Y/N)…” His voice was low and strained, his hands gripping your waist as if to ground himself.

You smiled against his skin, your touch never faltering. “I’m here, Simon. I’ve got you.”

And that was the problem. You always had him. In ways no one ever had before.

The warmth of your body against his, the soft sounds you made as he held you closer—it all overwhelmed him. He tried to pace himself, tried to focus on you the way you deserved, but every time he gave in to you, it was like a dam breaking. The sensation of your lips, your hands, the way you whispered his name—it was too much, too perfect.

He didn’t stand a chance.

When he finally let himself go, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his body trembled with release, he felt equal parts blissful and embarrassed. His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding as he tightened his grip on you, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin.

You stroked his back gently, your fingers threading through his hair. “What’s wrong?” you asked softly, concern lacing your tone.

“Too fast,” he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. “It’s always too fast with you.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. His mask was off, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way few ever saw. Your heart ached at the sight.

“Simon,” you said gently, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he argued, his brows furrowing. “You deserve better than this—better than me falling apart like a bloody idiot every time.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. “You’re not an idiot. You’re human. And if I make you feel this way, it just means you trust me enough to let go.”

He stared at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of insincerity. But all he found was love. Pure, unfiltered love.

“You’re not disappointed?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Disappointed?” you repeated, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Simon, you make me feel loved and wanted every single time we’re together. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His throat tightened, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, your arms wrapping around him. “I could say the same about you.”

For a while, you just held each other, the room filled with the quiet hum of your breathing. Simon’s hands traced lazy patterns on your back, his earlier frustration melting away under your soothing touch.

Eventually, you pulled back, your lips quirking into a playful smile. “Now, come on. Let me clean you up.”

Simon groaned, his face heating up again. “You don’t have to—”

“Hush,” you interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. “Let me take care of you for once.”

He sighed, reluctantly letting you slip out of bed to grab a warm cloth. When you returned, you knelt beside him, your touch gentle as you cleaned him up. He watched you in silence, his heart swelling with affection at the care in your every movement.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said softly, his voice laced with awe.

You glanced up at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “Good unbelievable or bad unbelievable?”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “The best kind.”

When you were done, you climbed back into bed, curling up against his side. He held you close, his fingers tangled in your hair as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

You smiled, your eyes drifting shut as you nuzzled into his chest. “Yes, you do. Every bit of me, Simon.”

And for the first time in years, Simon Riley believed it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Lover’s Devotion

Simon Riley lay beside you, his mask discarded, his dark eyes soft in the low light of the room. It had been a long day, filled with briefings, sparring matches, and stolen moments together. Now, with the rest of the base quiet, it was just the two of you—no missions, no danger, just the space to breathe and be together.

You turned your head on the pillow to look at him, your smile sweet and genuine. “What’re you thinking about?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes. You had a way of undoing him without even trying—a smile, a laugh, the way you touched him with such care, as if he wasn’t made of sharp edges and shadows. And when you were together, intimately? It was more than he could handle sometimes. You made him feel everything, breaking through his carefully guarded walls like no one else ever had.

But tonight, Simon had a plan—a way to show you exactly how much you meant to him.

“I’m thinking…” He shifted closer, his voice low and deliberate, “that maybe I’ve been a bit selfish.”

You raised a brow, confused. “Selfish? How?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You always put me first,” he murmured. “Always comforting me, taking care of me. I don’t give you half as much as you deserve.”

“Simon,” you began, but he silenced you with a kiss.

It was slow, tender, and deliberate, leaving you breathless by the time he pulled away. His hand slid down your body, tracing over your waist and hip as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Your eyes widened slightly, your heart skipping a beat as his meaning became clear. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, his lips trailing down your jaw. “Let me.”

The intensity in his eyes left no room for argument, and you nodded, your breath hitching as he shifted lower on the bed.

Simon took his time, his hands moving with a mix of reverence and purpose as he pulled your clothes away, exposing your skin to his gaze. He pressed kisses to your thighs, his stubble scraping lightly against your sensitive skin, drawing a shiver from you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. “You know that, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you let out a soft laugh. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirked, the rare expression making your heart flutter, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he lowered himself further, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your laughter dissolved into a quiet gasp as he kissed his way closer, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady.

When his mouth finally found you, it was as if the world stopped. Simon was slow and deliberate, his tongue and lips working with a skill that left you breathless. He paid attention to every sound you made, every shiver and twitch, adjusting his movements to bring you closer to the edge.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps as he pulled you apart piece by piece. “Simon,” you moaned, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

He groaned against you at the sound, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you steady as he pushed you higher and higher until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your release hit you like a tidal wave, your back arching as a strangled cry escaped your lips. Simon didn’t stop, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure before finally pulling back.

When he looked up at you, his lips glistening, his dark eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection, you couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly. “You’re… something else, Simon Riley.”

He smirked, crawling back up to lay beside you, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close. “Just making sure my girl knows how much she means to me.”

You cupped his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you kissed him softly. “I already know. But I wouldn’t mind you reminding me like that every now and then.”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your lips. “Anything for you, love. Anything.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest as his arms tightened around you. In his embrace, you felt safe, cherished, and utterly loved—a feeling you knew Simon would always give you, in his own quiet, devoted way.

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The Aftermath

It had been a long day.

The 141 Task Force had been in the gym for hours, pushing through rounds of training, building up their stamina for the missions ahead. The usual banter was going on in the background, but Simon couldn’t focus on any of it. His mind kept drifting back to last night—the taste of you, the way you had come undone beneath his touch.

He was trying to keep it together, but the image of you trembling, your fingers tangled in his hair, and your moans echoing in his ears were all-consuming. God, you had felt so good. Every inch of you had sent him spiraling deeper, and he couldn’t shake the memory of it. Your scent, your taste—it had haunted him all morning, and now, in the middle of a training session, it was driving him crazy.

His muscles were tight from the sparring, but the real tension was elsewhere. His pants were uncomfortably tight, his body betraying him as he tried to force himself to focus on the drills.

Focus, Riley. Focus…

But it was no use. His mind kept wandering back to you, to the way you had felt in his arms, to the way you had called his name. The sound of your breath, the feel of your body against his—it was all he could think about.

"Oi, Ghost, you good?" Soap's voice cut through his thoughts.

Simon gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening as he turned toward Soap. "Fine. Just tired," he lied, his voice thick with tension.

Soap eyed him suspiciously but didn't press it, continuing with his exercises. But Simon's mind was elsewhere. He needed relief.

His breathing became shallow as his thoughts spiraled again. Focus on the mission. Focus on the team. But nothing was working.

His gaze flickered over to where you were sparring with Gaz, your movements graceful and precise. You looked so damn good, and it only made his situation worse. The thought of you, of last night, had him hot and bothered in a way that was beyond his control.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed a break. A cold one.

Without a word, Simon stalked off toward the locker room, his pace quickening as he got closer to the showers. He couldn’t think straight anymore. His body was betraying him, and he knew there was only one thing that could cool him off.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of the cold water hitting his skin was a relief as Simon stepped under the stream, closing his eyes for a moment to let the chill settle into his muscles. But even the cold water couldn’t help him shake the image of you.

You.

His hand gripped the shower wall, his teeth gritting as the memories flooded back—your taste, the way your body had shuddered against his. How had he never felt anything so intense before?

He growled, pressing his forehead against the cool tiles. This is ridiculous.

The water ran over him, but he could still feel the heat from his thoughts, and it was making him insane. He had never felt this way about anyone, never so consumed by desire. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

And yet… when he thought about you, when he thought about being with you, about the way you made him feel… he couldn’t help but want more.

The sound of your laugh echoed in his mind, the way your hands had held him close, the way you had whispered his name with such sweetness and trust.

Focus, Riley. Get your shit together.

But the truth was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get it together anymore.

He leaned his head back, letting the cold water hit his face. All he could think about was you. And right now, that was all he needed.

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A Promise in the Shadows

You noticed Simon’s absence the moment the sparring session ended. While the others laughed and exchanged quips, his brooding presence was nowhere to be found. Soap had mentioned Simon “seemed off,” but no one else seemed concerned.

Except you.

The thought of him slipping away in that quiet, stoic way of his tugged at you. You knew him better than anyone here—better than he probably wanted you to. He wasn’t just blowing off steam; something was bothering him.

“Hey, guys, I’ll catch up later,” you said with a casual wave, earning a curious look from Price but no protests.

The locker room was quiet when you stepped in, the sound of a running shower guiding you toward him. You paused outside, listening, your heart aching slightly at the low groan that slipped through the noise.

You didn’t need to see him to know what was going on. Simon had been different all morning—distracted, tense. And you could hazard a guess as to why.

Slipping inside, you moved quietly toward the shower stalls. Steam clouded the room, and the closer you got, the more your chest tightened. You peeked around the corner, and there he was—Simon, his broad shoulders hunched under the icy spray, one hand braced against the tile wall. His head was bowed, his body taut with tension.

“Simon,” you called softly, stepping closer.

He froze, his head whipping around. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the heat lingering there, barely contained.

“What are you doing here?” he rasped, his voice strained.

You took another step forward, your hands clasped in front of you, your gaze soft. “I noticed you were gone,” you said simply. “Wanted to check on you.”

His jaw clenched, his gaze flickering away. “I’m fine.”

You tilted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Are you, though?”

The faint pink coloring his ears told you everything you needed to know. He was embarrassed, vulnerable in a way he hated, and it broke your heart just a little.

“You don’t have to deal with this alone,” you said gently, stepping closer.

“(Y/N),” he warned, his voice low and gravelly.

But you didn’t stop. You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm, and he flinched slightly before relaxing under your touch.

“You’re my man,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “Whatever you’re going through, I’m here for you. Always.”

His eyes met yours, conflicted and raw. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the water.

“I do,” you countered, your other hand moving to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch despite himself, his eyes closing for a moment.

You pressed a kiss to his chest, your lips brushing against the scarred skin. “Let me take care of you, Simon.”

His breath hitched, and when he opened his eyes, they were filled with something between desperation and adoration. He didn’t say a word as you gently nudged him back against the wall, the water cascading over both of you.

Lowering yourself to your knees, you held his gaze, your hands trailing down his sides. He was already hard, straining against the fabric of his wet boxers that he hadn't taken off on purpose... fighting his desires, and you could see the way his breath quickened as you touched him.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted, your voice firm yet full of affection.

Sliding his boxers down, you freed him, your hands moving with care and reverence. He was already trembling slightly, and the vulnerability in his eyes only made you more determined to show him how much you loved him.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his tip, and he let out a ragged gasp, his hand moving to tangle in your hair. His restraint was admirable, but you didn’t want him to hold back.

As you took him into your mouth, his low groan echoed through the shower, his fingers tightening in your hair. You moved slowly, savoring the way he responded to you, the way his body trembled under your touch.

“God, (Y/N),” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes soft. “You don’t have to hold back with me, Simon. I’m yours. Always.”

His chest heaved, his hand moving to cup your cheek as his other stayed buried in your hair. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a growl.

You smiled, your lips brushing against him before you continued, your pace steady and deliberate. He was unraveling, his breaths coming in short gasps as he tried to hold himself together.

When he finally came undone, his release was accompanied by a deep, guttural moan, his body trembling as he braced himself against the wall. You stayed with him through it, your hands steadying him, your touch full of love and care.

As he sank to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of gratitude.

“I wanted to,” you replied, your fingers brushing through his damp hair. “You’re everything to me, Simon. I’ll always take care of you.”

He kissed you then, his lips slow and tender against yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

“You deserve everything,” you said firmly, your hands cradling his face.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as the water poured over both of you. In that moment, there were no shadows, no walls—just the two of you, completely and utterly in love.

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Completely Yours

Simon held you tightly, his head buried in the crook of your neck as the steam from the shower enveloped you both. His breathing was still uneven, his body trembling slightly as he came down from the high you had just given him. You ran your fingers gently through his damp hair, placing soft kisses along his temple, whispering reassurances that only made his chest tighten further with emotion.

He didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky to have you, and yet, every time he thought about it, he couldn’t stop the overwhelming need to show you how much you meant to him.

Especially now.

Because even as the warmth of your love settled in his chest, his mind was betraying him—images of last night flooding back with vivid clarity. The way you had writhed beneath him, the taste of you on his tongue, the way your body had arched as you fell apart under his relentless attention. God, he could still feel the way your thighs had quivered around his head, the sweet sounds you’d made as you begged him for more.

And now, you were here. Warm, soft, and all his.

His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your neck as his voice came out rough and low. “(Y/N)…”

You hummed softly, tilting your head to press a kiss to his cheek. “Yes, Simon?”

His lips found your skin again, pressing lingering kisses along your jawline, each one filled with an intensity that made your heart race. “Need you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your fingers stilled in his hair as you pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes searching his. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze filled with both vulnerability and a raw, unrelenting desire.

“Simon…” you started, your voice soft and full of affection.

But he didn’t let you finish. His lips captured yours in a deep, searing kiss that left you breathless, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. The water cascading over you both only added to the heat building between you, and when his lips left yours to trail down your neck, you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with possession.

“Always,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders as he shifted you against the tiled wall, his large frame towering over you.

His lips found your collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before his mouth moved lower. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he knelt before you, his dark eyes looking up at you with an intensity that sent a shiver through you.

“Simon, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, echoing your words from earlier. “You’re mine, and I need to taste you again. Now.”

Your breath hitched as his hands gently guided your legs over his shoulders, his lips pressing kisses along the inside of your thighs that had you trembling. His eyes never left yours, even as his mouth descended on you, drawing a gasp from your lips that quickly turned into a moan.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against you, his voice muffled but no less reverent.

The moment his tongue flicked against you, all coherent thoughts left your mind. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping it tightly as he worked you over with a skill and fervor that left you breathless. He was relentless, his lips and tongue worshiping you, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as you writhed beneath his touch.

“Simon—” you gasped, your voice trembling as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

Your cries echoed off the tiled walls, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra as he took you apart piece by piece. And when you finally came undone, your body shaking with the force of it, he held you through it, his tongue and lips coaxing every last wave of pleasure from you.

When you finally opened your eyes, your breathing ragged, you found him staring up at you, his lips glistening and a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“You taste like heaven,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with adoration.

Your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly, pulling him up to kiss him deeply. The taste of yourself on his lips only fueled the fire between you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, your fingers brushing through his damp hair.

His arms tightened around you, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you too,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re mine, (Y/N). Always.”

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your lips curling into a soft smile. “Whenever you want me, Simon, I’m yours. Always.”

The look in his eyes was pure devotion, and as he kissed you again, you knew there was no place you’d rather be than in the arms of the man who loved you so fiercely.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Addictive Perfection

Simon Riley, the Ghost, had faced countless enemies, weathered impossible missions, and endured more than most men could fathom. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the way you utterly unraveled him.

It wasn’t just the way you looked at him with those eyes that saw right through his walls, or the soft smiles you reserved just for him. It wasn’t even the way your body felt against his, or how you melted under his touch. No, it was everything.

You were his perfect storm.

And the addiction? That was a whole other beast.

It had started as a way to focus on you, to make you feel as worshiped as he believed you deserved. But somewhere along the line, Simon had realized he was the one who couldn’t get enough. The taste of you lingered on his tongue like a haunting melody, the way you trembled under his hands etched into his memory like scripture. He’d think about the breathless way you said his name, the way your thighs squeezed him, the soft pleas falling from your lips, and he’d lose himself.

Even now, as you sat curled up on his lap in the common area, innocently running your fingers over his chest and chatting with Soap, Simon was struggling.

Your scent was still faintly on him—evidence of the indulgence that had happened not even two hours ago. He’d dragged you into the locker room after training under the pretense of “needing a word,” only to fall to his knees before you, murmuring praises against your skin as he drove you wild.

And here you were, like nothing had happened, laughing softly at Soap’s antics, while Simon could only think about taking you back to his room and doing it all over again.

Soap’s voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.

“Ghost, you’ve been quiet. Everything alright, mate?”

Simon cleared his throat, his arm tightening subtly around your waist as he gave Soap a curt nod. “Fine. Just listening.”

Soap grinned, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Must be you. You’ve tamed the big bad Ghost, lass. Never seen him this relaxed.”

You giggled, the sound like music to Simon’s ears, and leaned back into him. “I’m just lucky, I guess.”

Simon ducked his head to hide the smirk tugging at his lips, his fingers trailing along your side possessively. Lucky didn’t even begin to cover it.

Later that evening, when the base was quiet and the team had retired for the night, Simon finally had you to himself.

You were in his room, wearing one of his shirts, the hem brushing your thighs as you moved around. His eyes followed your every step, the way the fabric clung to your curves, the teasing glimpse of skin that sent his thoughts spiraling.

“Simon?”

Your voice broke through his haze, and he realized you were standing in front of him, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“You alright?” you asked softly, your hand coming up to rest on his cheek.

He didn’t answer right away, instead leaning into your touch, his eyes closing as he took a steadying breath.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, though the hoarseness of his voice betrayed him.

“Are you sure?”

His eyes opened, meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. Slowly, he stood, towering over you as his hands settled on your hips.

“I need you,” he said, his voice low and raw. “Now.”

Your lips parted, a soft blush creeping across your cheeks, but you didn’t hesitate. Your hands slid up his chest, curling around his neck as you pressed yourself against him.

“I’m yours, Simon,” you whispered, your voice trembling with affection. “Always.”

By the time he had you on the bed, spread out beneath him, Simon was entirely undone. His lips trailed down your body, his hands worshiping every inch of you as he worked his way lower.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire.

You giggled softly, your hands tangling in his hair. “Good.”

His breath hitched at your teasing tone, and he looked up at you with a smirk that sent shivers down your spine. “Careful, love. You might regret that.”

But the only thing you regretted was the loss of your breath as his lips and tongue made contact, his hands gripping your thighs as he devoured you with a hunger that left you trembling.

Simon wasn’t just passionate—he was thorough, determined, and utterly dedicated to making you feel as perfect as he believed you were. Every sound you made, every arch of your body, only spurred him on, and by the time he finally pulled away, you were a trembling, breathless mess.

As he kissed his way back up your body, his eyes met yours, filled with a raw intensity that made your heart race.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped his face, pulling him down into a soft, lingering kiss. “You don’t have to. I’m yours, Simon. Always.”

His lips curved into a rare smile, and as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close, he knew without a doubt that you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

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Love Through the Night

The moment Simon joined with you, it was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist. There were no missions, no burdens of the past, no shadows creeping at the edges of his mind—only you. You, who met him with such tenderness and love, grounding him in a way he never thought possible.

His movements were slow, deliberate, savoring every second. The way your body molded to his, the way your soft gasps and whispered praises filled the room, sent him spiraling faster than he wanted to admit.

“God, love…” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. “You… you’re too much.”

“Then don’t hold back, Simon,” you whispered, cupping his face as you kissed him deeply. “I love you. All of you.”

Those words undid him completely.

Simon didn’t last long—he rarely did when it came to you. The intensity of his feelings, combined with the sheer perfection of being with you, overwhelmed him every time. But even as he came undone, his mind was already racing, determined to make up for it.

And he did.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was moving, his lips trailing kisses across your skin, his hands exploring your body with reverence.

“Again,” he rasped, his voice laced with desperation as he looked up at you, his dark eyes filled with adoration. “Need you again.”

You giggled softly, your fingers threading through his hair as you nodded. “I’m yours, Simon. Always.”

What followed was a night neither of you would forget.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered declaration of love was etched into your souls. Simon couldn’t get enough of you—your taste, your scent, the way you responded to him like he was the only thing that mattered.

And you… you were more than happy to meet his fervor.

There was no rush, no urgency—just the two of you, lost in each other. Simon made love to you like a man starved, each round more intense and passionate than the last. His stamina surprised even him, driven by the overwhelming need to worship every inch of you, to show you just how much you meant to him.

By the time the early hours of the morning crept in, both of you were exhausted, tangled together in the sheets. Your head rested on his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his skin as his arm held you close, his hand stroking your hair.

“You’re going to ruin me,” Simon muttered, his voice thick with affection as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He chuckled softly, his rare smile lighting up his face. “Never. You’re everything to me.”

“And you’re everything to me,” you replied, leaning up to kiss him gently.

As the two of you drifted off to sleep, still wrapped up in each other, Simon couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was. You were his anchor, his light in the darkness, and he would spend every day of his life proving just how much he loved you.

[novalityy]

No going back, Part two.

⋆·˚ ༘*🔭 In which a call is way more concerning than it seemed.⋆·˚ *🔭

Warnings *ੈ✩‧₊˚ - Blood, fighting, arguments, framing, crying, torture, taskforce 141 being mean, angst, some comfort? Tell me if I forgot some!

Call of duty taskforce 141 x reader.

HI Everyone! How are y'all? I have finished part two, please give me some ideas on how this story should end! I hope y'all enjoyed thisssssss :)

For the past twenty-four hours, all you had felt was pure, unrelenting agony. The pain was a maddening blend of physical and mental torment, twisting and gnawing at every last shred of your will. That you’d managed to stay awake for the last day surprised even you.

It was a cruel sort of perseverance, one that left you teetering on the edge of reason. Blinking with the only eye that wasn’t swollen shut, you cast your gaze downward, focusing on your lap, on the wreckage of yourself.

Blood. It was everywhere.

The white shirt you had pulled on that morning—clean and bright—was now drenched in crimson. No trace of its original color remained. Your jeans, once a comfortable faded blue, had turned so dark with blood they now looked black. The sticky warmth clung to you, soaking your skin, seeping into every fiber, until it felt like even your soul might be bleeding out.

The sheer amount of blood you’d lost was staggering, and yet here you were, somehow still breathing. Not for much longer, though.

A bitter laugh—if it could even be called that—escaped your lips, gurgling through the blood pooling in your throat. So this was how it would end, not in some grand act of heroism, not even in a blaze of reckless glory, but here, like this. Alone, bleeding out.

No, not alone.

Your gaze shifted upwards, slow and heavy, and there he was. Jho—no, Soap.

You refused to call them by their real names anymore. It made it easier that way. At least, you told yourself it did. Calling him “Soap” put distance between you, a barrier against the raw, aching betrayal that carved deeper wounds than any knife ever could.

He stood a few feet away, his posture tense, shoulders hunched like a man carrying the weight of the world. Or maybe the weight of what he’d done. Of what they had all done.

Out of all of them, Soap had come the farthest while trying to avoid hurting you. His blows landed softer, his hands hesitated. But it wasn’t mercy—not really. Even now, he looked like he was barely holding himself together, struggling against the very actions he had chosen to take. And yet, despite his visible anguish, he had still done it.

He had crossed a line that no amount of guilt could erase.

Soap had always been an open book. Honest to a fault, with a heart that wore its emotions like a badge. You used to admire that about him, the way he seemed to carry a soul so full of light and warmth, even in the darkest places. But now? Now you hated him for it. Because it made this worse. It made him harder to hate in the way you needed to, and yet you hated him all the same.

You never thought you’d feel that way about him. The Scott who could make anyone laugh, who could turn the worst of days into something almost bearable. But he wasn’t that person anymore—not to you. He had become something else, someone who had carved pain into your body and left you drowning in it.

And yet, there was no mistaking the anguish on his face now. His brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. The faint tremor in his hands was just visible, even as he tried to hide it by clenching them into fists. He looked at you as though he might shatter under the weight of it all, but you refused to let it move you. Refused to let that flicker of humanity sway you.

Because no matter how much it hurt him to do this, it had hurt you more.

“I hope it was worth it,” you croaked, your voice barely more than a wet rasp. The words sliced through the heavy silence between you, and for the first time, Soap flinched.

Good, you thought. Let him feel it. Let him carry this.

And yet, even as the hatred burned brightly within you, a part of you—the part you hated most—couldn’t help but mourn the loss of who he used to be. Of who you both used to be.

The door creaked open, and you flinched, your entire body tensing. Gaz entered the room, his presence suffocating, his footsteps heavy with purpose. A shiver of dread rippled through you.

Soap had guilt written all over his face, but Gaz wore his emotions differently—his anger burned hot and wild. And his anger was strong. He had done almost as much damage as Ghost, and it showed in the way he looked at you now.

"Stop trying to guilt him," Gaz spat, his tone sharp and biting. "You’re the one who decided to be Makarov’s bitch."

The words stung, sharp as a knife, but you forced yourself to look at him, even as your chest tightened.

"You’re still stuck on that," you rasped, your voice weak and uneven.

The effort of speaking tore at your throat, and a coughing fit escaped you, bringing blood up with it. You turned your head, spitting it onto the floor, crimson droplets against the cold, gray cement. When you continued, your voice was quieter but steady.

"I am not the one who did it—"

Before you could finish, his fist connected with your face. The impact was brutal, sending you and the chair toppling to the ground. Your head slammed into the floor, pain radiating through your skull. The chair beneath you cracked, its jagged edges pressing painfully into your side.

You groaned, the sound barely escaping your lips. Your vision blurred as tears and blood mixed together, and for a moment, all you could do was lie there, breathing heavily.

Panic clawed at your throat, threatening to take over, but you forced it down. You can’t panic. Not now. Not here.

Gaz crouched beside you, his light eyes blazing with fury. His jaw was tight, his breathing harsh. He slapped your cheek hard enough to sting, forcing your eye open.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice low and venomous.

You did. Slowly, your one good eye fluttered open, your gaze locking with his.

For a moment, something shifted. His expression froze, the rage faltering. Your eye—your only remaining window to the world—looked dead.

The spark, the fight, the defiance that used to burn so brightly was gone. Completely. Utterly. Gone.

You were gone.

That single moment of eye contact hit him like a punch to the gut.

His anger didn’t vanish, but it cracked, if only slightly.

You could see it in the way his jaw slackened for a split second, the way his breath hitched.

He rose abruptly, towering over you as his fists clenched at his sides. His anger returned, shielding him from whatever emotions had started to surface. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out, Soap following him, the door slamming shut behind them.

You lay there for a long moment, your body broken, blood pooling beneath you. Every breath was a struggle, every second dragged like an eternity.

But it wasn’t the physical pain that consumed you. It was the mental.

Closing your eye, you let the pain and exhaustion consume you.

＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

The sudden yelling jolted you awake, pulling you from the edge of unconsciousness. A female voice cut through the haze, sharp and desperate, and it was getting closer to where your body lay in a pool of your own blood on the cold, unforgiving floor.

You felt hands on you, hurried and frantic, as the restraints holding you down were pulled away. A firm grip steadied your limp form, propping you up against a warm body.

“Sweetheart! Wake up! C’mon! CALL THE FUCKING MEDICS!”

The voice was familiar, laced with authority and a kind of raw emotion you weren’t used to hearing from her. Laswell. It was Laswell.

Creaking your eye open, you caught sight of her blonde hair, disheveled and wild.

Her face was a mixture of fury and something else—fear, maybe? You couldn’t tell.

A faint smile pulled at your cracked lips, though it didn’t reach your eyes. It was all you could manage, a fleeting gesture that likely did nothing to ease her panic.

“HOW COULD YOU? UNDER WHAT PROOF?”

Laswell’s voice rose again, trembling with rage as she turned her fury elsewhere.

“I AM THE ONE WHO MAKES THESE DECISIONS. YOU HAVE NO INTEL, NO RIGHT, NO FUCKING SKILL TO DETERMINE WHO THE TRAITOR IS! AND IF YOU DO YOU REPORT TO ME!”

You blinked sluggishly, your mind struggling to keep up.

It took you a moment to figure out who she was yelling at, but then you heard the sound of boots scuffing against the floor. More feet entering the room.

A few sharp gasps followed as they took in the sight of you, and you could imagine why. You probably looked as close to death as anyone could without actually crossing over.

Laswell’s grip on you loosened, her touch lingering for a moment before she let go.

You felt other hands now—gentler, quicker. The medics.

The cool sting of antiseptic, the pinch of needles, and muffled voices surrounded you as they worked.

You couldn’t hold on anymore.

The weight of it all—pain, exhaustion, betrayal—dragged you down. Your good eye fluttered closed, the world fading into darkness once more.

And this time, you didn’t fight it. You went limp.

＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

holy shit, I loved this, I hope u too?????? Ily all thank y'all so much for the kind comments y'all deserve the world!

Tag list＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚ -> @gaiagurl05 @msjaeger @notsochillnerd @cocklivers @sensiblesomething

[magneto-was-fucking-right]

The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 1

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter summary: Ghost returns home to find he has a new noisy neighbor: a socially awkward veterinarian with questionable cooking skills. Word Count: 1.5k

When Simon Riley limply walked in on his flat after four months of deployment, he could barely breathe. The stale air from the lack of proper ventilation had trapped in the humidity of the past rainy days, the walls poorly insulated, and therefore, moldy. As per usual, the place looked terribly dull, the scarce decorative elements inadequately arranged, but certainly well-fitting to the dingy apartment complex in Manchester.

Dropping his duffel bag by the door dismissively, instead of opening the curtains and letting in the evening light, he first headed to the fridge, analyzing its usual contents: two beers, a carton of milk (most likely spoiled by now), a jar of marmite and an old noodles container from the Chinese restaurant he liked, stinking up the place.

“Forgot ya little fucker” he made sure to remember to throw it out later, before grabbing a beer and plopping himself on the couch, careful enough to not hurt his wounded leg any further. But as soon as he grabbed the remote from under his thigh, ready to turn on the news and resituate himself with the current ongoings of the British populace, he finally paid attention to the commotion next door.

“Bloody fucking hell” He groaned “What’s all this racket?”

He heard thumping, scratching, something breaking, quick footsteps and what seemed to be a gentle voice cooing “oh no, please, not again”. Just as he was processing the fact that he didn’t remember having any horizontal neighbors since he first signed the lease (one of the main reasons why he even signed in the first place), an aggressive knock on his door made him instantly rise to his feet, grabbing a black facemask from his bag and moving silently to peek through the peephole.

“Mr. Riley!” The old woman on the other side called out, still knocking, and Simon sighed deeply in annoyance. “I know you’re in there, I saw you come in earlier.”

“Fucking cunt” He muttered under his breath, weighting whether ignoring her would make her leave at once (it wouldn’t, and they both knew it).

He took a deep breath before unlocking the door, regretting it immediately.

“There ya are” She started, shoving a couple papers on his chest, and forcing a pen between his calloused fingers “I need you to sign this immediately.”

“What are you on about?” He tried his best to keep it polite and cordial, but the woman’s presence and constant complaints always filled him with inevitable rage.

“Your neighbor” She pointed to the door next to his, where a great deal of noise still stemmed from the walls “She cannot and will not stay here. She is insufferable.”

Well that makes two, innit? He thought to himself, biting down his tongue.

Faced with his menacing silence, she carried on with her melodramatic monologue:

“It’s a petition to kick her out, I’m getting everyone to sign, even the new tenants, then I’ll arrange a meeting with the landlady for a formal hearing.”

“What the fuck did she do?” Simon inquired, clearly irritated, reading the five signatures on the first page. He was pretty sure three of them were in the same handwriting.

She looked at him indignantly, extending her arms at the door once again, indicating the ongoing clatter.

“She has a bloody jungle in there! Cats, dogs, birds, and God forbid, rats if you can believe it!”

“Mrs. Parsons, I think we all had rats in our apartments at some point this year.”

“Not as pets! It’s disgusting, and everyone’s been complaining about the noise!”

He glared at her indifferently, eager to return to the comfort of his privacy and wallow in his frustration, giving his leg some much needed rest. She stepped back, seemingly realizing that Mr. Riley was in one of his moods, not keen on indulging in useless chatter or gossip.

“Right, well, not interested.” He tried to return the signatures, to which she vehemently refused, pushing them back to his chest.

“At least consider it Mr. Riley. She lives right next to you and the walls are thin. Your signature’s the most important one.”

“Will do.” He shut the door on her face, mindlessly throwing the papers and the facemask on the coffee table as he limped back to the couch and turned on the tv. He hissed after realizing he had ripped his stitches as he sat down aggressively, a splotch of blood soaking the fresh bandage he had been arranged on base.

“Fuckin’ hell” he sighed tiredly, deciding he would deal with it first thing in the morning.

***

As the pandemonium progressively decreased throughout the night, Simon had fallen deep asleep on the sofa, tv still on and feet kicked up on the table. But when there was a new knock on the door, this time softer, he felt like he could have only been sleeping for five minutes, exhaustion and grumpiness still ingrained in his bones.

“What now?” He groaned to himself, massaging his sore neck, and finally remembering to kick off his boots. He was so used to sleeping fully clothed, often even geared up and ready to go, that he always took some time to remember how to act like a civilian again once he was back home.

Just as he readjusted himself to go back to sleep, his lids semi closed and arms crossed over his chest, one more knock arose anger in his belly at his newly interrupted rest. Frustrated, he sighed before getting up, easing up the pressure on his wound as the sharp pain reminded him of the ruptured sutures from the previous evening.

Facemask on once again, Simon opened the door aggressively, expecting Mrs. Parsons to come collect her newfound project in ruining other people’s lives, and therefore halfway of saying “What the fuck do you-”

“I-I’m so sorry! I know it’s early and I was probably a huge bother all night, but I wanted to apologize before leaving for work and-”

“Slow down.” He commanded, stopping the young woman’s panicked rant. He had barely rubbed sleep from his eyes and his mind wasn’t yet ready to take in another dreadful monologue. He observed her intently, as he often did to potential threats (usually concealed by the shadows), but as the circumstances proved different, she observed him right back. He always felt strange and vulnerable without the skull mask, regardless of the black facemask covering half of his visage anyway.

She couldn’t possibly be over 25 years old, her bright and cheerful complexion not carrying the weight of the tired lines that came at 30. She was considerably shorter than him, but still quite tall for a woman, her frame concealed under oversized scrubs that seemed ridiculously out of place; her hair messily tied in a long braid. She held up a tray with what seemed to be freshly baked cookies, but about half of them were burnt.

As she smiled nervously, he noticed one of her canines was slightly chipped, and the small white scar across her right eyebrow almost distracted him from the dimples. If she had noticed him stare at the small imperfections, she didn’t seem bothered at all, continuing her anxious speech as if she had practiced in front of the mirror beforehand.

“Right, I’m sorry, I really hoped we could meet in better circumstances.”

“What time is it?” Simon groaned, looking at his wrist to check his watch. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s 6 in the bloody morning.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I was gonna bake you a cake and offer you tea, but I was called in unexpectedly yesterday an-”

“That’s lovely and all, but why are you knocking on my door at six in the morning with half-burnt cookies?” He interrupted moodily and almost regretted it once he saw her smile falter and her cheeks redden in shame.

“Oh…” She lowered the tray, her eyebrows scrunched as she analyzed the overcooked treats and tried hard to recover. “Well, I just wanted to apologize for all the noise from last night before I left for work. I feel terrible about it and-”

“Apology accepted.” He stepped back, ready to shut the door.

“Wait!” She held it with her foot, nervously trembling under his cold gaze. She took a deep breath, and he sighed, his head slightly tilted to the right, as if deciding what to think of the socially awkward woman meddling in his business. “I just…”

“Go on.” He encouraged, trying to speed up the end of the uncomfortable encounter.

“I’m new here.” she blurted out “I moved in about a month and a half ago and people don’t seem to like me very much already” she sighed, and he noticed the dark bags under her tired eyes.

“So I’ve heard.”

“I work at the Vet clinic a few streets nearby-”

“I didn’t sign it.” He interrupted once again, and she would certainly be frustrated if she wasn’t so happy about what he said.

“The petition?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Her face gleamed with relief “Because I-”

“I’m due to consider it.” He added, her expression quickly dropping to disappointment.

“Why?” Her soft, defeated tone could almost pull on his heartstrings. If he had one.

“I don’t know if you’ll bother me yet.” Now he was just messing with her.

“I won’t!” She argued, defensively.

“Alright. I’ll think about it over that cake.” He closed the door, leaving her open mouthed in shock, the tray of cookies still in hand.

He heard her softly press her forehead to the door after a thoughtful moment, and then yell out:

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“People.”

A/N: I'm back! I wrote this months ago but only just decided to start posting these series :) I LOVE writing porn but when it comes with a cute backstory attached it's just *chef's kiss*. I plan on keeping the chapters simple and comforting - writing has been really helping me cope with seasonal depression, and the boredom of routine in general. New chapter coming soon... Enjoy!

[masked-menace]

I put this in my Fanfiction but LOOK ITS SO GOOD I NEED IT HERE TOO!!!!

SIMON FUCKING RILEY OKAY? LISTEN.

He is so scared of you getting hurt. Of anything happening to the love of his fucking life. Even if you can protect yourself well. Even if you are a better fighter than he is. He makes it his mission to teach you at least more thing for self defense. In the case that you need them you know what to do.

He wouldn't be super rude or mean about it. I really see him doing it softly, intimately. In bed still, under the covers with your back pressed against the front of his body. His rough hands trailing light lines across your skin. Starting at your hand he would lightly circle the flesh between your thumb and index finger.

"This is a pressure point. It'll hurt if you squeeze it. A lot. Stuns whoever you use it on." He would tell you. Then that hand would trail to your wrist, where he would circle another spot.

"This one will make them release what they are holding. Even if it's you." He tells you softly kissing your cheek. He plants those featherlight kisses against your hairline and jaw and his hand travels further up your arm. Stopping at the bend of your elbow.

"This one will make them bend their elbow. It will hurt like a bitch so good for getting them on the ground or restraining them" He tells you the kisses would travel down to your neck and then your shoulder. His hand moving to your hips to hold you as open mouth kisses on one spot send shivers down your spine.

"This one" He kisses the spot again "Will get them on their knees. Hurts their entire body for a second" His hand moves again to your hips, though lower as he presses in the middle which makes you move, bending your hips slightly. He chuckles gruffly

"This one makes the hips bend. Not so useful during a fight but, if you need it. Use it" He would tell you. Because he just wants you safe. He knows as well as anyone that each skill can save your life in a fight. And he wants you to have every single one of the ones he has. He wants to not have to worry about you but even with all of his lessons. He always will. He will always worry.

[minihotdog]

Locked Out On Valentine's (Choose Your Ending)

(Photo Cred: @chatskaja on twitter) <3

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: You get locked out on Valentine's Day and have to sleep over at a certain Lt.'s flat.

C/W: Reader is dressed a little inappropriately

A/N: Never tried something like this before so I hope it buffs out. Also, super late Valentine's fic whoops

Word Count: 1k

“What do you mean he’s not available?!” You stand with your forehead against your door.

“Barrack’s manager is out on leave, he’ll be back tomorrow. Recommend you stay with a friend for now.”

“Wait! Where’s the emergency ma-” *click*

What the fuck!

You huff, banging your head against the outside of your door. Today was one of the worst days of your life. You planned a date with your boyfriend of one year only to be dumped right before you were supposed to meet up. And after bawling your eyes out decide to run out to the fountain to get back the hydration you lost.

The redness around your eyes finally went away but they were so puffy you couldn’t even see your keychain still hanging on the wall.

You’re now stuck in the middle of the hall on Valentine’s Day in a short tank top and your bedtime booty shorts hoping a soul doesn’t appear and see you with all your goods hanging out.

The barracks manager - or whoever that was - told you to find a friend. You didn’t have any here. You’d been in the unit for all of five months and they weren’t all that accepting of new people. They oozed the “prove yourself worthy of our clan” mentality. You roll your eyes just at the thought.

Ughhh. I really don’t want to.

You whine internally as you pull up Cpt. Price’s contact on your phone hoping you’re not interrupting anything.

“Sergeant y/n, what’s the purpose of your call?” He sounds annoyed. You hear a feminine voice in the background and him softly shooshing it.

“Sir! I’ve been locked out of my room and the primary barracks manager won’t be in till tomorrow. I don’t have anywhere to stay.”

“That’s unfortunate, isn’t it?” His voice strains lightly. He’s quiet for a moment and you’re unsure if you’re supposed to say something or…

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll message you soon.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’d contact the emergency manager and they’ll come unlock your door.

You stand with your arms crossed, back against the cold wall for what feels like forever until your phone finally buzzes.

Cpt. Price: Bld 920 Room 1208. Stay there tonight.

You’re about to flood him with questions, like: Where’s the key? Is there someone already there? Who’s room is this? But before you’re done typing he sends one last message.

Cpt. Price: I’m busy tonight with work so no need to thank me. Or call me again.

Work…? Yeah right!

The room was at least in the same building as you. Beats trekking in the snow in slippers and the ungodly attire you have on at the moment.

You make your way up the stairs cursing the base for not putting an elevator in your building. You peer at each door while wandering further down the hall.

1206… 1207… 1208!

You take a deep breath before knocking quietly.

God, I hope it’s at least a woman.

A few seconds go by before the door swings open. You stand wide-eyed. If you had less control your jaw would be on the floor too.

You stare back at your Lt. in all his glory. He stares back at you in nothing but low-hanging sweatpants. His blond hair is disheveled, the color matching the patch of hair on his bare sculpted chest. You’d seen him maskless before but from afar. He’s someone many avoided, his demeanor wasn’t exactly inviting and his wrath, from the rumors, was even worse.

The light flooding through the door frame illuminates his face enough to show the fine features up close. The scars running through his lips and cheeks only add to the stirring inside you that’s leaving you speechless. 

As you try to stop yourself from ogling him right here and now he notices your eyes popping out of your skull and softly blows air out of his nose.

Is he laughing at me?

He decides to finally break the staring contest.

“What d’you want, pet?”

You stutter a bit before getting the words out,

“I got locked out, the captain told me to come here. He didn’t tell me it was your place.”

It was his turn to let his eyes wander. His eyes rake over your tank top, your arm over your chest to conceal the fact you’re braless, your exposed stomach and shorts that barely did their job as clothes. You stand there waving your water bottle around as you speak, completely unaware of the look on his face.

A smirk pulls at one of his lips as he listens to you ramble about the barracks managers not doing their jobs. Your voice gradually gets higher the angrier you get.

“What the hell are you wearin’?” He interrupts.

“Why are you answering the door half-naked?” You shoot back.

He sneers, “You show up at my door wantin’ a place to stay and you have an attitude?” He pulls his phone from his pocket seeing a barely coherent message from Price.

“Fine. No point in arguin’, Price is probably with the missus, doesn’t want to be bothered.” He steps to the side allowing you to come in. You cautiously accept and step into the space.

His place was neat, and well-kept, more like an apartment rather than the prison they kept you in. You turn back to look at him and notice the tattoos covering the skin of his arm. He pretends not to notice you checking him out as he walks to the hallway closet and pulls out a pillow and blanket.

He hands them to you, “Is that enough or d’you need a bedtime story too?”

“Little Red Riding Hood’s my favorite, please.” You snark, as you drop the pillow and lean over to throw the blanket over the cushions. You swear you hear his breath catch in his throat but get quickly covered up by him clearing his throat.

“So… What are you up to on Valentine’s Day?” You prod hoping to learn something about the most feared individual of the unit.

“Just another day, means nothin’.” He leans against the wall behind him. You sit with your legs crossed on the almost comically large couch, probably custom-made for his giant ass. You lean on your hand and look up at him.

“Is that so?”

“What happened to that muppet you’re always moanin’ bout? Should be with him.” He tilts his head to the side.

“Nah, he’s no good. Decided he liked by friend better.” You laugh sadly. “Can’t seem to keep them this time of year. I’m too cool for it.” You try to joke but end up cringing on the inside. His chest rises with a soft chuckle.

“That right?”

“You know it.” You wink at him.

The two of you go quiet for a moment. 

He decides to break the silence.

”You want some tea, love?

*** Decision Time ***

Why not? I'm already here and he's being nice. Sure, I'll have some tea.

Or...

I don't wanna be a bother. He's already having to let me stay over. I'm gonna pass on tea.

[stanfordswifey]

Ghost Headcanons

Artwork not mine!! @/seviida on twt!

So uh.. got a lil bored, enjoy!!

Angsty

Man is very flinchy when you touch him literally anywhere, would sometimes even get into a defensive position automatically.

Takes his job seriously, he won't admit it but he actually doesn't want anyone to die in battle.

If anyone does die he blames it on himself and gets angry at himself to the point where he would probably start throwing stuff around.

He probably shot his teammate once before because they startled him, thise memories will forever haunt him. And he'll never forgive himself for that.

He doesn't take off his mask, it's like a safety net for him. Doesn't like to look at his face either since all he sees is the bad memories he's been thru (because of his scars).

Because of him not wanting to take off his mask, if he takes a bath and he really has to, he'll keep his eyes shut. He doesn't feel like his body is his own after being repeatedly raped.

Would always turn people down when they confess to him. He doesn't believe that people would actually love him.

Barely trusts people, since he was betrayed more than once in his past he'll never actually fully trust someone.

Would sleep with his gun beside him for safety precautions.

Barely sleeps, he says its to 'train his body' but in reality he doesn't like the nightmares.

Fluff

Has a HUGEE soft spot for dogs, he would probably just babble about it for hours on end.

LOVES tea and biscuits in the morning, gets him in a good mood.

Would slightly hesitate if someone offered him a hug, but would eventually hug them (depending on who the person is , ofc)

Probably bites on his mask at times.

Mans mask probably smells HORRIBLE, he'd be the type to barely clean it.. yuck. (Buts its alr we still love him)