#Simon ghost Riley x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ceilidho · 21 hours

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prompt: construction worker ghost and his elementary school teacher neighbour who made the poor decision to start feeding him (nsfw, 2k) [based on this old ask] [on ao3 here]

They say not to feed wild animals.

It makes them grow soft, lazy. Alters their behaviour. Takes an animal previously capable of finding its own food dependent on humans for sustenance. Makes them lose their natural fear of humans and nearly always results in an increase in human-wildlife conflicts as they start to seek out people. It’s a known fact. You can’t go to a park without seeing it plastered on posters in the bathroom and on the sides of the vending machines under the gazebos where you purchase your post-hike iced tea and veggie roll to eat on a nearby bench.

You know this. So you really don’t know what possessed you to leave a cooler full of sandwiches on your neighbour’s doormat before turning in for the night.

He wakes up preternaturally early and leaves every morning around four-thirty or five o’clock on the dot. Sometimes in the fog of sleep, you wake to hear the door to the apartment beside yours crack open and slam shut, and then the sound of lumbering footsteps down the hall towards the staircase before that door opens and slams shut too.

He never comes home before four o’clock at the earliest. That’s around when you come home from work as well, meaning that you sometimes catch him at the door, him covered in grime and reeking of old sweat while you come flouncing down the hall in whatever colourful dress you’d donned that morning, inevitably paint-splattered by the end of the day. Always something appropriate to wear at an elementary school but colourful enough to keep the kids’ eyes and attention on you.

You’ve caught his name in half-whispered conversations with the property manager, but aside from that, all you know about Simon Riley is that he works in construction. He certainly looks the part: big, calloused hands with blunt, dirt-caked nails and cut up fingers, knuckles always swollen and thick. Body all strength and brawn. Hard hat tucked under his armpit and decorated with countless stickers from old job sites, the same way his forearm is covered in tattoos.

You’ve even passed by his current job site once or twice—some new condo complex going up by the canal that’s forced you and hundreds of other commuters to leave an extra thirty minutes early to account for the road closures. You pointedly don’t bring that up in conversation though. That would just be rude.

At least it would be something to talk about though.

It’s not like the two of you talk. You’re not close by any means. Though you moved in a few months ago, you haven’t had much luck mustering up the confidence to squeak out more than a hi to him in passing. When he grunts back something approximating a hello, it’s all you can do not to break your key in the lock when you hurry into your apartment and slam the door shut behind you, heart beating frantically in your chest.

It’s humiliating. You’re a grown woman and you’ve talked to plenty of men before. You’ve dated plenty of men before. Just because this one speaks in monosyllables and stares at you with an intensity that makes your stomach churn and your palms grow sweaty doesn’t change anything. Just because this one is built like a redwood with wrists thick enough that you’d need both hands to wrap around doesn’t make him any different than any other person.

And yet, when Simon asks you for your name on a rainy June afternoon after you’ve come in after him for a change only to find him sifting through letters at the mailbox, you garble out something that sounds nothing like your name before scurrying up the stairs to your flat.

It’s humiliating. It’s humid outside and your dress is sticking to all the wrong places (namely, your nipples and the inside of your thighs when the skirt swishes between your legs with each stride) and now you’ve made an ass of yourself in front of the only hot guy in your building. There are serial arsonists with more charm than you.

So maybe the sandwiches are an apology letter or an olive branch. Or maybe it just makes your heart race to think of Simon opening up the cooler and finding four wax paper-wrapped sandwiches tucked neatly over ice packs.

All you know is that when you step out of your apartment the next morning, the cooler is empty on your doormat, the lid propped open. He must have taken them with him.

You smile. A job well done. Apology served fresh, with cucumber slices in the middle.

The problem starts when you don’t leave him another cooler full of sandwiches on his doormat the next day.

You didn’t consider that he might think you’d make it a habit. Perhaps that’s partially on you for not leaving a note on the cooler the first time to explain that it was just a one-off; just a way to apologize for being less than chipper around him. But instead of shrugging it off, you come home after a long day to find him standing right outside your apartment, arms crossed over his chest, thick biceps straining against his sweat-stained shirt.

“Open the door,” Simon commands, nostrils flaring as he glares down at you. He jerks his head towards your door when you just frown, not following. “Been starving here waiting for you to show up.”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. You’re at a loss for words, never mind that your whole job involves talking. He leaves you speechless though.

Simon doesn’t move when you step close enough to unlock the door. You try to keep your body angled away so as not to brush up against him, but it’s inevitable. He doesn’t move when the door opens either, forcing you to squeeze by him.

He goes straight to the kitchen and drags a chair out, letting it scrape across the floor like men always do before taking a seat. You follow after him nervously, apprehensive at having a man in your space. Not just a man, but Simon Riley. It feels sacrilege—not like he has no right being in your space, but you can’t imagine him here, sitting at your tiny dining room table like he comes over for dinner every Sunday.

When he catches you standing under the archway to the kitchen just staring at him, he barks, “Well?”

That has you scurrying over to the fridge to pull out the cold cuts and pickled red onions. There’s a loaf of bread already on the counter, the bag twisted and tucked underneath because you had to leave in a rush this morning. You don’t know half of what you pile on the sandwiches, but whatever you serve him must satisfy him because Simon digs in with gusto, finishing the plate off in only a few bites while you wash the cutlery in the sink. You watch him out of the corner of your eye the whole while.

He leaves not too long after that, only a light warning for you to not miss tomorrow’s lunch before heading back over to his own apartment. You don’t even get a word in edgewise.

It becomes something of a routine after that and not one you have any control over. Every night before bed, you leave him a cooler full of sandwiches and other things like cut up fruit or slices of cheese on his doormat, and every afternoon you rock up to him waiting on your doorstep, demanding to be let in.

He takes to giving you a wet kiss before he leaves, all tongue and his fingers curled around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. When you try to cover his mouth with your hand, he nips at your fingers until you move them and let him slip you some tongue.

The day you make him a casserole for supper, he bends you over the back of your couch and eats you out. Simon eats like a man starving, glutting himself on the wetness between your legs, licking even over the furl of your asshole and chuckling under his breath when you squeal and flail, your toes just brushing against the floor.

In the aftermath, you sit panting in his lap while he eats. He gets up only briefly to get the bowl of strawberries and cream you left chilling in the fridge before lifting you up and putting you right back in his lap. You stare bleary-eyed when he holds a finger covered in cream up to your lips.

“Clean me up, pet,” he says, then watches you with half-lidded eyes while you lick his finger clean.

He makes you suck his fingers too, to keep things even. He does it when you’re angled half off the bed, thick digits stuffed down your throat until your eyes leak big, fat tears that he licks away, hungry for those too. The man is always hungry, always keen to fill his belly.

The arrangement continues on long enough to become normal, even routine. Simon shows up at your door every day after work waiting to be fed, and then makes you come a couple times before he leaves, a little thank you to repay you for the food. He never really says all that much when he comes around, not a conversationalist of a man. His preference is to eat, fuck, and leave, which you’re happy to accommodate, still too tongue-tied yourself to broach a real conversation.

That’s all before he starts helping himself to your bed for a quick nap after a big supper. Then for naps that turn into a full night’s sleep, snoring like a chainsaw under the covers with you tucked under his arm, naked breasts pressed against his side, keeping you awake most of the night until you pass out somewhere around one A.M.

Just as you suspected, Simon gets up at around four or five to be at the jobsite on time, but at your place, he gets up a bit earlier to help himself to breakfast. He doesn't even bother waking you up, just turns you over onto your tummy and spreads your legs before sinking his dick into where you're still stretched out from the night before. If you wake up or squirm, he just leans down and murmurs, “S'alright, pet…just need a pick me up before work. Go back to sleep, you’re okay,” and ruts between your thighs until he comes inside you and leaves you all wet in bed with one last messy kiss to your temple.

The door slams shut on his way out.

Because you feed him, he keeps coming back. The workday passes in a blur: attendance, a spelling test, recess, maths in the afternoon, and then you’re driving home in the same daze that has you slamming on the brakes before rear ending an old woman who stopped two cars behind the truck at the redlight ahead.

You’re home earlier than him for a change, so you unlock the door quickly while there’s still a chance to avoid him. No such luck. When Simon turns up, he pounds on the door until you let him in. And you do.

It’s a wonder you haven’t come apart at the seams, horny and pent up after this morning. You were too sleepy to come after all, rode hard and put away wet. Still, you flit nervously around the apartment, looking everywhere but at him.

He always smells rich after working all day in the sun, like sweat and dirt. It's not a particularly nice smell, but it still kind of gets you going. He goes for a shower and then collapses on the couch after, beckoning you over to you crawl into his lap and grind yourself on his thigh because he knows of course. Simon can probably smell it on you, the ache. He shushes you when you whine about it, big hands fitting around your hips and pressing you down until your clit rubs deliciously against the muscle of his thigh and your head goes cloudy, cheek mushed against the pillow of his chest.

When you come, Simon tips your chin up with his knuckle and murmurs, “Knickers off, love. Haven’t got my fill.”

He feeds you your own slick from his fingers when he kneels on the floor in front of the couch, your legs draped over his shoulders. Your fingers scratch helplessly over shorn blond hair, buzzed almost to the scalp. It’s prickly under your fingertips.

Simon’s a messy eater. Your slick dribbles down his lips and glistens on his chin. It makes the blood roar under your skin, feverishly hot.

“Please, Simon,” you whine, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “It hurts.”

You feel his lips quirk up against the folds of your pussy, the flat of his tongue running up the seam and flicking over your clit. He chuckles when your hips jerk. “Greedy aren’t you, pet? Didn’t even say thank you for getting on my knees.”

“You didn’t make me come!”

His voice borders on mocking when he coos, “Poor little thing. It’s gonna be a lot longer ‘til she gets to come if you don’t say thank you.”

Your brain goes staticy, fingers twitching on his scalp. His words echo back in your head. It’s rubbish, is what it is. All this time and he’s never said thank you once for the countless meals you’ve fed him. Indignation bubbles up in you, rising to the surface like fat on the cream, and you raise a hand to rub the tears from your eyes, a harsh rebuke on the tip of your tongue.

The protest dies on your lips when he meets your gaze. It’s hungrier than anything you’ve ever seen. Whatever animal lives under his skin stares back at you with black eyes, drool leaking from its jowls. It’s mindless, intent only on slaking its hunger. Filling its empty belly. And it is not afraid of you anymore. It knows you’ll feed it until it’s full. It knows you won’t let it go hungry anymore.

So, always leery of the bigger animal in the room, you mumble out a chest-thick, “Thank you,” and shiver when he grins.

There’s a reason they tell you not to feed strays. They often come back for more.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley/reader

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konigsblog · 2 days

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this reminds me of simon riley... (🌽 link)

simon riley has the tendency to bend you over any piece of furniture he sees, whether that's the couch in the living-room or the kitchen countertop, he isn't bothered, what's on his mind is easing into your slick, soft folds to plough into your aroused cunt for hours, until he's had his fill and is finally able to stop mercilessly thrusting into your drooling pussy, soothing that pulsating and throbbing ache between your supple, soft thighs.

you know a lot of simon's filthy secrets, from his deepest and darkest fantasies to his sickening kinks that most people would judge and shame him for. they're perverted, but not as perverted as him recording you without your knowledge. he feels excited and on edge while having sex with you knowing he'll have a memory of it saved onto his phone whenever he's on deployment, the camera recording between your glossy thighs and how simon ruts into your tight hole, his pace gentle and slow and his thick, calloused fingers kneading with the flesh and fat on your soft thighs and hips.

“take it deeper— that’s it, attagirl. you always know how to please me, yeah? so perfect and precious, ain’t‘cha, my gorgeous girl?” simon grumbles out through guttural growls, the pleased noises he lets out coming from deep within him. his voice and your loud and whiney moans are audible in the background of the video, with the sound of simon's balls slapping against your wet pussy increasing in volume and drowning out your cries for more the faster and deeper he thrusts.

he'll jerk off to these videos on deployment or when you're not around to soothe and fix the stiffness of his boner, his thick tip creamy and sticky and the sound of your euphoria and ecstasy visible, audible, and addictive, going straight to his aching cock.

#orla speaks #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x female reader #call of duty ghost #mw2 ghost #cod ghost

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tojisun · 2 days

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"won't you show me what's underneath that skirt, sweetheart?" simon rumbles as he noses along your jaw, breathing in that clean but sweet scent that you love so much; the one that he's so addicted to already.

the summer heat is stifling, but you don't want simon to pull away. his hand is warm as it grips the flesh of your thigh, thick fingers dimpling your skin. it makes something in you throb—pulsing with need, and you are unable to tamp down the yowling desire thrumming at your core.

his words wash over your like sticky, sweet honey—intoxicating and dizzying. overwhelming.

"okay," you whisper, your voice soft and saccharine. tender and soft.

all parts you, and simon's addicted. hooked.

you've bewitched him in ways he could not fully word out, but he finds that he does not care. that he likes it this way, in fact—needy and desperate for you.

you shrug off his hold, shy as you slide in front of him, staring at him with those alluring eyes of yours. you have your bottom lip trapped between pearly teeth. you fist your skirt, hands trembling in your own feverish desires, the cloth bunching up in your hold, before tugging the fabric up.

"god," simon croaks out, chubbing up underneath his slacks, the weight of his cock heavy on his thigh. "look at you, little bird."

you tremble at the weight of his own desires.

simon smiles, his lips wobbling in his captivation. "you are so beautiful, it's catastrophic."

#UNEDITED]#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #suns #guys :(((( i need him

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bi-writes · 3 days

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mmm. being the final girl in ghost's slasher movie (dark!ghost x curvy!fem!reader, 18+)

his laughter shakes you to your core. you're cornered, in the very back bedroom under the bed, staring at the dull gaze of your roommate as she bleeds out on the floor.

she's gurgling. she coughs up mouthfuls of blood, and they trail down her neck like a spider web until it pools underneath her head, making the strands of her hair red and sticky. the slit across her throat sputters, and you watch as the white painted bones on the back of his gloves drips with the pretty crimson color. if it wasn't so cruel, if it wasn't blood, it might be artistic.

he takes a thumb and smears the blood over her skin. he draws shapes into her forehead and then both of her cheeks, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to stop from crying as she gasps, reaching up with a shaky hand, halfheartedly trying to push him off, but she's too weak.

he hums when he finishes, and your eyes well up with tears when he knocks her head to the side so she's facing you. he's written three words on her face, one word on her forehead, and then the rest on her cheeks, in her own blood.

I SEE YOU

you scream when he shifts, grabbing onto your ankles and yanking. you claw at the hardwood floor, trying desperately to get away from him, but it's no use. he has you, he found you.

no matter where you go, you've never been able to hide. no matter how far away you think you've gone, it never matters. no matter how long you go without hearing from him, it isn't a comfort, because that usually means the inevitable is coming.

he will never leave you alone. you will never get away. he will find you, he will have you, and every time you escape, it is always just him giving you the illusion of freedom, when in reality, he can have you as easily as he did before.

"givin' me a right headache, luvvie," he murmurs, flipping you over with not so much as a grunt and sitting on your hips. you squirm under him, but this behemoth of a man isn't something you can just push off of you. he's big and heavy, and with all his gear on, he must be thirty pounds heavier. you eye the gun strapped to his chest, but even at this distance, you know it won't matter.

ghost cannot die. that's how he got his fucking name. you've sunk a knife into his stomach before, you've shot him once, you've pushed him off of cliffs and down elevator shafts and watched him sink to the bottom of the fucking ocean, but he cannot die, he won't die, he will never leave me.

"fuck you," you spit, and he chuckles, pulling one of his throwing knives out of his boot and using it to pop the first button off the front of your shirt. it clatters somewhere in the bedroom, and ghost snarls when he sees the lace of your bra.

"expectin' someone?" he growls. "oi! look at me."

you glare up at him, tears sliding down your cheeks, and he uses the sharp edge to pop the rest of the buttons off, your shirt in tatters as it lays loose around your arms. he grunts as he sneaks it under where the cups meet, pulling upwards until he cuts the lace in half. you mewl when your tits bounce, falling free, and his pupils dilate.

"mmmm..." he pushes his mask up, leaning down, and you arch your back when he wraps his lips around one nipple and suckles. you reach up without thinking, your hands finding the back of his head and cradling it as he practically feeds on the fat of your breasts. "know how much you like tha'..."

you whine, and he lets go, pushing the front of his mask into your cheek, licking the skin. you scrunch your face, dirty fucking animal, and he mouths at your jaw.

"'f y'were just a good girl, wouldn't hafta do this," he taunts. you squirm when he lowers himself again, paying attention to the other breast and sucking it into his mouth. "y'make me do it, swee'eart. make me hurt sorry muppets...they're keepin' y'from me. and y'know tha' isn't allowed."

you cry out when he flips you over under him. he shoves your face into the floor, tangling his hand into your hair and yanking on it so that you're looking at your dead roommate, her eyes dull and lifeless as she lays there turning cold.

"look wot y'did," he growls. "look wot y'made me do."

she looks sort of pretty. she did annoy the shit out of you, you won't lie. she looks happier this way. quiet, relaxed, still. it's cathartic, to know that maybe this is what she was meant for. to die, that was her purpose. it makes a little sense.

"'m sorry," you whisper, and ghost loosens his grip on your hair. "'m sorry..."

he kisses the side of your neck, laughing a little.

"now y'r sorry," he says, amused. "y'r mine. when are y'going to learn tha'?"

you put your palms onto the floor, trying to turn over. he eases his weight up to let you, leaning down and putting both hands on either side of your head as he looks down at you. you meet his eyes, sniffling, and you shake your head.

"w-was scared."

"scared?" he tilts his head to the side, licking over his teeth. "scared of wot? would do anythin' for ya."

"i-i know," you sniffle. "just...n-never had anyone that...that would. i-i...i've never had anyone s-so good to me."

he grins, and you shiver a little, but not from fear.

"awww," he shakes his head. "y'r a bad liar, luv."

"i'm not lying--!"

he leans down, licking over your bottom lip, and you whimper.

"prove it," ghost rasps, and you blink up at him, swallowing hard. you push on his chest a little so he eases off of you, and you hook your thumbs into your jeans and shimmy them off. ghost watches carefully, his eyes flickering when you lay bare underneath him, and you bring your knees up before letting them fall. he licks his lips, his grin widening, and he meets your eyes when he sees what he likes. "bloody hell, y'r soaking the fuckin' floor, swee'eart."

you bite your lip, a little shy, and he grips your throat firmly before tugging you up to meet him. he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, stroking your sweaty hair and humming low.

"y'r gonna run again, aren't ya, baby?"

you nod, closing your eyes, and you let a soft moan slip out when he settles between your spread legs, pressing his pelvis to yours. you feel that familiar hardness, digging into your sex, and you can't help the grind of your hips, wanting to get closer, needing to have more of him. he might be the craziest motherfucker you have ever known, and it's a shame he fucks like a pornstar.

you open your eyes, reaching down, and he smiles wickedly when you unzip his pants, shoving them low until his cock is free. like he knew this would happen, he's been leaking into his boxers, and when you pull him out, the tip is red and wet.

you squeeze your thighs around his waist when he sinks into you, grunting when his thighs press to yours, burying himself deep. you cry, your back bowing sharply, and he smooths his gloved hand down your bare stomach, licking his lips when he trails streaks of blood down your soft skin.

"'s olright," ghost mutters, "quite like chasin' ya. makes y'r cunny taste better. makes y'so fuckin' tight, too, fuck--"

"yeah--" you gasp, and he smiles again, disgusting, filthy, murderous, terrifying.

"say it. say it, and maybe i'll forgive this lil' stunt, and maybe i'll let y'cum." your eyes roll back, and he grips your face tight. "oi! say it!"

"i'm yours! fuck--yes! i'm yours..."

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scribbledghost · 2 days

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Give me Simon with a reader who's not codependent and submissive. who knows how to get shit done and does it accordingly instead of waiting around for him to do it. who goes toe-to-toe with him and will not stand for him treating you as anything other than his equal in this relationship.

Who tells him when he comes over one day to fix the leaky kitchen faucet that it's already done. And no, you didn't pay someone else to fix it, you just did it yourself because he was deployed and you didn't feel like waiting six weeks for it to get fixed. YouTube and a Can-Do Attitude are a helluva combination.

Who gives him a look of "I KNOW you did not just speak to me that way" after he tries to order you around like you're one of the recruits he trains. And he shrinks. All it takes is one look from you and he's awkwardly clearing his throat and mumbling "sorry, love".

Who lets him give you his credit card, but also lets that card sit and collect dust because you have your own funds from your own job, dammit. You worked hard for that money, and by god you're going to spend it yourself.

Who doesn't own any makeup, let alone wear any, because it takes up too much time and by god sometimes you need to blow your nose or rub your eyelid and you can't be bothered to worry about whether or not your face will come off if you do those things.

Who can (and will) bare your teeth just as well as Simon can. And you make it very clear very early on in your relationship: "Treat me like a dog and I'll bite you like one".

Give me a reader who knows your worth. And give me Simon who wouldn't have you any other way.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost scribbles

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celestialprincesse · 1 day

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Thinking about Simon going to his local animal shelter after retirement because his therapist recommended he get a pet in order to keep himself busy, have a reason to get up in the mornings and just overall have some company.

Not only does he end up going home with a dog, but also one of the cute shelter volunteers who tried desperately to get him to take home some (all) of the pets who've been in there the longest.

When they do inevitably move in together, she tries (and fails) to sneakily bring home as many of the scraggly little drop offs she can because they're so cute and sweet and no one else even passes them a second glance.

They turn into that one slightly odd couple with like ten dogs and six cats, and they're always up at weird hours to feed the latest fragile little foster baby they've somehow been put in charge of looking after.

He ends up loving all the animals, how rewarding it is to see them grow, and the bittersweet moments when they finally find their forever homes.

He loves it so much, in fact, that he decides to open a K9 rehabilitation program, combining his military expertise and her veterinary knowledge and, of course, their shared love of animals.

Together, they take former working animals, retraining them to be safely and comfortably reintegrated back into day-to-day life before pairing them with their forever families (who, unsurprisingly, tend to be veterans in a similar situation to Simon's).

All of the guys he served with visit his place, and very few of them leave without a leash in their hand and a new friend at their heels.

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simonrillleyyysss · 2 days

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Can you maybe write something with ghost holding reader down and eating her out until she can hardly move? Maybe make it dubcon? 🫣🤭

thanks for ur req, nonnie!!!

ghost, who is a man of many regulations, many rules and a strict ideology, his rules are rules; when you send him a video of you fingering yourself while moaning his name during a meeting? when they’re broken? HIS rules?? he’s angry, not enraged—but grumpy the rest of the day, walking around the house with a big head and tense body, jaw clenched and nose scrunched.

“what’s wrong now?”

“nufin’, go finish dinner.”

refuses to speak full sentences til you’re in bed together, why hasn’t he fucked you yet? you’re trying to curl up into his chest in search of comfort, looking up at him desperately.

“simon, speak to me.”

no response, leaving you sad and eager.

“simon—“

“shut the fuck up.”

blonde is quick to push you into the covers with his huge arm, applying pressure to your back in order to hold you down, growling into your neck.

“stay fuckin’ put. think yur’ funny sending me videos like that, at work n’all.. dirty slag y’are.”

so aggressive but so tame, gently kisses your tummy but also yanks your panties down with a sharp movement, listening to them nearly tear, a gasp leaving your pretty lips, legs immediately spreading for the individual, letting him kiss the inside of your thighs.

“oh. simon..”

you could only blubber out, hands making themselves comfortable in his short locks, nails digging crescents into the flesh of his scalp at the sudden feeling of his lips kissing your clit, index and thumb spreading your folds apart slowly and teasingly, making out with your cunt like it was your own lips.

“yeahhh, that’s it.. you asked for this; hm?”

you don’t even have to say yes, your moans say enough.

practically chokes himself, laps and fucks your cunt with his tongue till you’re crying out like you’ve just been shot, vision hazy after your 6th orgasm, tugging at his hair like it will do something.

“no—!nononononono..”

at the end of it, you’re covered in squirt and sweat, tears rolling down your warm cheeks, in pain and pleasure.

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 3 days

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[I almost killed your boss with my grilled cheese sandwich]- Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1

After the unexpected encounter with Soap and Ghost, your shop finally owns the vibes of peace.

The customers become so ‘normal’, almost feels like you aren’t in the same area as before – if you ignore the blood on their shirts or recall the memory of seeing them punching someone across the street. You assume the men must tell them to behave in your shop, but you must say the minions become a bit overreacting. They call you ma'am, chat as quietly as possible, and one of them even apologizes when he accidentally touches your finger as if you will chop off his pinky. You start doubting if they view you as a secret henchman of 141.

It’s morning now, the shop usually has more people at this time, but you haven’t had a single customer since you opened it 30 minutes ago, they just vanished without any hint, hence you start testing out new recipes for your bread.

Lilting the song that’s fully out of tune, you slice the bread you just baked into pieces, and throw one into your mouth. Perfectly crunchy outside, fluffy like clouds inside. Oh my, you’re such a genius.

You’re totally unaware of your visitor until he stirs the air with a cough and his voice.

“Pardon me?” He calls you again, but you’re left in a trance when you land your eyes on him.

Damn, he looks just like your imagination of the man in the Dilf next door fic you just read yesterday on co5. Your eyes travel from his well-trim beard, south to his belted waist. Why does a man with a toned body – which his khaki coat can’t even hide – have such a tiny waist? Your mouth's agape at the sight as you’re about to respond.

“mmsadjsmm” The man raises his eyebrow in confusion, and you hear your voice not forming a proper sentence too. Ah, you forgot the bread’s still stuffed in your mouth.

“ehemm, Sorry Sir, I mean what would you like to have?” Quickly swallow the bread and try to pretend you didn’t just dumbfounded in front of him, you speak again.

“English breakfast, please.” He croons with an infatuating smile as he saunters to take a seat.

His voice is quite soothing, you admit in your mind as you start brewing said man’s tea, just like you presumed the Dilf in the fic… okay, you really should clear those nasty brainrots during work.

The tea is nicely served in the tea cup and brought to the man shortly after.

You can’t help the smile crawling onto your face when you see him grin at you after a sip. You love watching your customer enjoy your tea, and he obviously relaxes with it have you bask in your achievements.

“Don’t finish your breakfast?”

“Just trying a new recipe. I want to add it to my menu.” you reply with a shake of your head, and after a brief halt, you add a question “ Have you eaten breakfast yet, Sir”

“Call me John, love.” The man – John sets his cup on the table before continuing “And no, I haven’t”

“Then… would you like to have a grilled cheese sandwich? I can’t finish the bread myself, it would be great if someone could help me with it... Of course, it isn’t a must!" You hurriedly complement when John widens his eyes slightly at your suggestion, but he meets your eyes with interest within.

”I would love to.”

You beam up as you get the affirmation, and walk behind your counter again.

Slices of bread are already prepared. The pro tip for a delicious grilled cheese sandwich is giving the bread some nice seasoning first, so you pick up your black pepper jar before inquiring about John’s preference.

“How much pepper would you like, John?”

“Would be great if it’s more.”

“Alright.”

You turn back to season the bread, but when you pick up the pepper jar and about to shake it, a question slips into your brain making you pause.

How much is “more”?

The man doesn't have time to sit here and wait for you to contemplate the philosophy of seasoning, so after biting your bottom lip and thinking for 30 seconds, you shake the jar. More is better, you recall what John told you as your hand keeps moving.

You shake it 10 times, since more is better.

Apart from the bread, you hold full confidence in your grilled cheese sandwich. Placing generous amounts of cheese in between, the coveted smell flooded your little shop as you plate the well-toasted sandwich.

“It surely smells great.” John praises before diving in.

You hang a big expecting grin until John takes a bite and starts coughing like you will put him into the ER with a sandwich.

“It’s– it’s okay…love…” He tries to comfort you when you apologize abundantly and rush back to your counter to fill him a cup of water. Holy, isn’t more pepper better? Now you're going to send the man to heaven with a grilled cheese sandwich.

“Here’s water!” You go back to John as fast as you can with the cold water in your hand, you’re busy checking out John, who stops coughing madly but cheeks pink with the spices, and you don’t see the leg of the chair sticking out of its usual place.

A pair of arms catch you from slamming onto the floor, but the cup isn’t that lucky as it flies with Newton’s help and clatters on the floor.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” You stabilize yourself in John’s support. But wow, now the man not only just recovered from a fatal attack to his throat, but also has a wet spot spreading along the chest part of his shirt.

“No worries, love. It’s just a shirt.”

Even though John attempts to calm you, you still can’t help the sheepishness creep to your cheeks and stain it with the same pink as John’s, or stop thinking about if the balance in your bank account is able to buy the man a new shirt. You remember you wanted to get some cash out of the cashpoint but it shoved an ‘insufficient funds :(‘ into your face.

You really don’t want any customers to come in right now, even if it means your little tea shop will close down because you only have one from the start of today, but fate always gifts you things you crave when you don’t need them.

“Sorry boss, I’m late.”

You look at the tan-skinned man standing like a model just escaped from his manager, staring at you shoving a towel on John’s chest and both of your cheeks smeared with suspicious red.

“What happened?”

I almost murdered your boss with my grilled cheese sandwich. Apparently, you can’t answer with this, so you face John for help.

and he’s looking at you too, with a sly smirk awaiting your explanation.

You wonder if you can just make two sandwiches to shut these men up, with one more for yourself to end this predicament now.

a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!

No John Price is harmed in this chapter.

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143

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ghouljams · 2 days

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Some Ghost!Ghost that I wrote in a blind panic at midnight last night before collapsing back asleep. Minors DNI (cw: dubcon, somno)

Your cunt stretches around his cock, clenches around him like you can't get enough. Your body trying to keep him locked in place even in your sleep. he can see the soft pink walls of your pussy, the translucent cock that spears you open also giving your ghostly top an clear view of your insides. Your hips shift at the pressure of being filled, your knee moving from where you lay on your side to try and get comfortable. Look at you, so cute drooling against the pillow, arms wrapped around another as your silly little brain keeps you under the throws of sleep. Poor thing. It's a good thing Ghost is around to keep you safe when you're such a sound sleeper.

The burn of being stretched around his cock makes you whimper, the soft sound breathes out of you as Ghost fucks your pliant body. You're getting better about sleeping through his visits. Must be getting used to him, used to being filled by him. He wonders what you're dreaming about, if you're dreaming at all. Your soft lips part around delicate moans, hardly anything worth waking up over. It has to be him doesn't it? Perverse thing that you are, so willing to take his cock in the daylight even when you can't see him, do you dream about him too?

Some sick part of him purrs, pleased to know you're so easily trained, that your body welcomes him so nicely. But the part that's still human twists. He knows he shouldn't take advantage of your kindness like this. If he was a better man...

Well, if he was a better man he wouldn't be stuck in this terrible limbo in the first place. He wouldn't still have blood spilling from his slit throat. He wouldn't be fucking the sweet thing that's trying so hard to accommodate him in a house that's no longer his own.

Still, he thinks, better than the men that you've brought into the house. He's protecting you, really, by chasing them off. He's keeping you safe from their lecherous hands, their perverse glances and impure thoughts. He's keeping you satisfied so you don't try to seek satisfaction elsewhere. It's just the two of you here, no one else. He won't allow anyone else to know you like he does, to enjoy your kindness, your understanding, your body.

"There you go baby, big stretch," He murmurs, speaks in a voice he knows you'll never hear, when your brows scrunch the tiniest bit as he draws his cock out of your tight hole and presses it back into you, "you can take it, know you can." The warm clutch of your body is too much to resist, even when your skin seems to lose its heat wherever he touches you. He can't stop touching you, passing through your clothes to grope at your chest during the day, ghosting his fingers over your hips when you lay tile, his lips against your neck when you reach for something off a high shelf, his cock fucking you over the kitchen counter like the little trespassing whore you are.

You take it all so eagerly. Leave offerings for him, take his opinion, do you even know the strength you give him, the power. He wouldn't have been able to do this months ago, wouldn't have been able to sink into your slick cunt and hold himself up with a hand on your hip. Fuck you look so good when he spreads you open, tugs your folds out of the way with his thumb to watch the way you swallow him.

There is, he supposes, one nice thing about being dead: when you wake up in the morning with your pussy aching and sticky, you assume it must be from the wet dream you had last night.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #ghost!ghost #ghost au #tw dubcon

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lovifie · 8 hours

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Soon, on Lovifie's blog...

Highschool sweetheart Simon Riley, that breaks your heart on prom night when he tells you that he is enlisting in a week. Never hearing back from him again until he knocks at your door in the middle of the night, 18 years later, asking if he can spend the night.

Only he is technically using your little home as a safe house for him and the 141; and later when he thinks everyone is asleep he sinks his thick hard cock deep into your soaking cunt to show his gratitude for opening your door for him.

Whispering apologies and promises of sticking around this time, as the tip of his leaking dick kisses your cervix making you roll your eyes.

Your feet sitting on top of his to have some leverage as he bends you over the kitchen counter, interlocking his fingers with you as he kisses your cheek.

His forehead resting on your temple as he confesses how he thought about you every single day of the last two decades, how he is going to come back and marry you, how good you feel wrapped around him, how he is so close to filling you up.

And the next morning when the team wakes up and sees you two sleeping in each other's arms, they don't comment; simply waking Simon up.

He says goodbye with a kiss in your lips and a promise to come back in his.

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konigsblog · 3 days

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this screams ghostsoap x reader and i won't accept any other opinions. (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

tw/cw: blowjob, gn!reader, sub!soap + sub!reader, dom!ghost. MDNI 18+

; making out with johnny between simon's cock.

it's pretty obvious that simon is a filthy whore for attention. he craves your relaxing and calming touch and johnny's raspy voice after being throat fucked, the softness of your hands in contrast to his rough, scarred skin. he turns to mush when receiving attention from his favourite, dumb pets.

simon finds himself desperate to be included all the time. when you're making out with johnny, he will slide the tip of his stiff cock between your lips and will watch as you try to make out over simon's thick head. beads of simon's thick creaminess oozes from the tip of his swollen, lengthy cock while you gaze into johnny's half-lidded eyes, moaning around simon's tip with moans flowing from your lips, your panties wet and soaked after grinding against johnny's bulge.

“fuck, that’s it, love. keep lickin’ my cum, baby.” he groans out through strained and guttural grunts, watching as his favourite toys roll their tongues over the head of his meaty cock, coating him in your spit and global of saliva, until his length is glistening with a glimmer and coat of your spit smeared across it.

the saltiness of his hot, creamy, and thick arousal lingers on your tongue. it's bitter, gross as it runs down the back of your throat and stains your tongue white. you can even taste it on each other's tongue and lips while making out. you both suckle on the tip of simon's hard and aching dick, giving him all the attention he deserves and yearns for.

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the-raindeer-king · 2 days

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(A/N: prt 3 of Mama Riley! One use of pronouns but it's nothing too gendered. Ignore any spelling error. I wrote part of this half asleep.)

Silence stretches out between you and Mama Riley. She's dropped an absolute bombshell of information so casually, as if it was like talking about the weather. And she's so confident in her statement, leaving no room for argument.

You're not entirely sure how to respond. But you manage to squeak out, “Is that so?” which is such a bad response. You can't help but cringe at yourself.

It makes Mama Riley laugh though. She really does like you. You're a firecracker, in her opinion, and she thinks you'd be good for Simon. But she promises that if you don't want to date him, that's okay. You two were friends before Simon caught feelings, and she won't let anything change that. She tells you to at least consider it.

You spend the next week considering it. Looking back over your interactions with Simon, knowing how he feels, it feels almost obvious. He's tense around you because he likes you. He keeps bringing you gifts and remembering your favorite drink because he likes you.

But where do your own feelings lie? You hated him in the beginning, and gradually warmed up to the mountain of a man. But do you have feelings for him? The thought process makes your head spin, and there's a weird feeling in your chest. The question is no closer to being answered.

Not until he returns from deployment. He's got a new scar on his ear, and there's a limp in his walk. Caught a knife in the side, just barely missed anything important, he informs you and his mum. And your heart clenches at the thought.

Before you can really think about it, you're scolding him for being so casual about being injured. He's got people who care about him, he can't be so flippant about these things. He has a reason to come home, so he needs to act like it. If not for his own sake, then for you and his mom.

Despite the fact that you're chewing him out, there's this tender look on his face, affection in his eyes. He quietly huffs out a ‘yes ma'am/sir’, and the warmth in his eyes is reflected by the warmth growing on your cheeks.

There's a pause, something heavy in the air. Simon opens his mouth, ready to say something, but the moment is broken when Mama Riley comes bustling into the living room, dinner plates in hand. Her eyes dart between the two of you for a moment, a knowing smile on her face. But she doesn't comment on anything, just passes out dinner and settles down on the loveseat.

Over the next few weeks, you and Simon have a lot of tense moments, ready to finally admit your feelings to each other. But each time is ruined by some interruption. Mama Riley interrupts, your phone rings. Once, the kids down the hall came running past, shrieking about the upcoming snowfall.

Poor Simon is trying not to totally lose it. This is the closest he's gotten to admitting his feelings, to have you finally, and every time something interrupts you. He doesn't want to mess this up. It needs to be perfect because, in his head, that's what you deserve, that's how he's going to win you over. Unbeknownst to Simon, he's already won your heart. He just needs to ask you out.

Once again, it's Mama Riley to the rescue. You three have a tradition: the days leading up to Simon's next deployment, you all spend the night at Mama Riley's flat together. Now, Simon's on leave for the next few weeks, but she can't bear to watch the two of you struggle like this.

So she invites you both over, insisting that it'll be nice to have you both over for something fun instead of sad. And then she conveniently remembers that she's got a book club tonight, and she leaves, telling you two to get comfy, watch a movie. She'll be back.

Now's a better time than never, especially since Mama Riley's practically given you the chance. She's gone all of two seconds, before you whip your attention onto Simon, blurting out, “Your mom told me you're in love with me. Is that true?”

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #listen his mom is lowkey fed up with y'all. get it together. she wants another grandchild.#my writing #mama riley au

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