#it's as they say.... i can be your angle.... or your devile 😌

[aclowntiny]

Hi!!! Could you do a reaction of ATEEZ's S/O kissing their cheeks just to prove the other member that they can make the member blush in less than minute?

I LOVE THIS!!! Yes I can & will it shall be my honor & pleasure 😌😆 hopefully you enjoy me running away with the scenario in a few of them hehe~ (The way I was listening to SOAD while writing this 😂)

Ateez + Kisses to Prove You Can Make Them Blush (Gender Neutral Reader)

Hongjoong

The moment you lean in, he’s leaning back a bit. Not that he doesn’t want you to kiss him, it’s just, well…

“Not in front of the guys!”

Stifling a chuckle, you just pull him in, cupping his face and pressing a kiss to his cheek, then one more to the other side. You pull back, admiring his gorgeous features for a moment with a smile before starting a full retreat. You know Hongjoong. If he isn’t already flushed by the initial embarrassment, this’ll get him. Sure enough, contrary to his reaction, the moment you start to leave, fingers sliding gently back down his cheeks and under his chin, he catches them in his.

“Oh?” You feign surprise.

“At least give me a real kiss,” Hongjoong chides, but you know he’s not truly annoyed by the amusement in his eyes and smirk on his lips.

“Alright,” you reply with a shrug, fingers returning to their moments-old grip as you yanked him into your lips.

The kiss is short but forceful, and you can feel Hongjoong restraining from getting any messier because, well, the guys. As you finally let go of him, you smile at the angelic look he gives you, running a hand through your hair quickly.

“Thank you.”

“No,” he chuckles, “thank you.”

“No,” you say back, holding out your hand to Wooyoung, who is beside himself yelling and mock-retching about having to watch that whole display even as he places the cash in your hand, “thank you for paying for our date tonight.”

Hongjoong just shakes his head. “You little devil.”

Seonghwa

The moment your lips hit his cheek, his eyelashes flutter shut in contentment. Time to hold this little bet? Perfect. Seonghwa was already in an extra good mood. You kiss his other cheek, traveling down from your boyfriend’s lovely cheekbone to smooch adjacent to his lips.

He giggles lightly, tilting his head to receive your kisses before he pulls away, angling himself to give you a few of his own. This time, you smile as his lips attack your face, familiar warmth gracing the gentle curve of your skin.

“I have to return the favor, you know,” he whispers before turning his affection to the other side.

“I do know,” you giggle, delivering the killing blow, “you’re so cute. The cutest.”

“Ah, hehe, I-” Seonghwa stammers a bit as you flutter your eyelashes innocently, cheek still angled his way, and with that, his cheeks begin to darken.

"See? That had to have been, like, thirty seconds!"

"Thirty-seven," Mingi corrected, holding his phone out, screen displaying the paused timer facing you.

"That's still under a minute! Now you have to do Seonghwa's laundry!"

"Wait," Seonghwa pouted, "this was just for some sort of bet?"

"Don't be sad," you attempted to soothe him, rubbing your cheek against his as your arms wrapped around Seonghwa's middle, "I enjoyed it and you've won a week's free laundry service."

Chuckling, Seonghwa cocked an eyebrow. "You could have bet anything and you told him to do my laundry?"

"M-hm," you hummed in agreement, "you deserve a break, and I don't think he does enough of that stuff."

He kissed the top of your head. "We really are perfect for each other."

Yunho

"Yunho!" With a running start, you leapt into your boyfriend's arms; he reached out at the last minute to catch you, dropping down a bit with the sudden weight than rising immediately back to a standing position. You wrapped your legs around his torso, leaving him reaching out to hold underneath your thighs.

"What's this about, hm?" He was smiling affectionately at you, giving you that 'I've won the jackpot' look, but no blush.

Dang, you thought the legs bit would get him. Very well. "My big strong man," you cooed, trying to embarrass him.

He chuckled at your words, then tensed as you suddenly planted a big, dramatic kiss on his cheek. He turned his head in response and you obliged, loosening your grip on his back a bit to run your hand up and down the line of his spine. You turn to press your lips to the other side, this time toning down the silliness and taking your sweet time. Finally as you pulled away, he held his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes. You reached up to caress his cheek, smiling surely as wide as he was.

"Alright, alright, you're both blushing. Sheesh."

"What's he talking about?" Yunho asked quietly, gaze not leaving yours despite Jongho's voice behind him.

"You didn't tell him about the bet?" Jongho snickered.

"Didn't need to," you replied, finally tearing your eyes from Yunho's long enough to give Jongho a smug look, patting your boyfriend's warm cheek.

"Ugh, fine, tell me what you guys want next time I'm out."

"What's going on?" Yunho inquired once again.

"I bet him I could make you blush in less than a minute so now we get free coffee!" You replied brightly.

"Well, even if we lost, I'd have felt rewarded."

You giggled both at Yunho's words and Jongho's amused, yet exasperated scoff.

Yeosang

Was working up to it the best strategy? Well, you'd find out, you supposed, your hand reaching up to the table's surface to rest atop Yeosang's. He paused long enough to give a little eye smile, unsuspecting, then returned to getting your afternoon tea poured. When he slid your cup toward you, you tightened your grip on his hand.

"Thank you, Yeosang," you peered at him through your eyelashes before rapidly pecking his cheek. Once again, he smiled, but nothing else, and you hadn't counted the passing time, so escalation seemed necessary. You kissed his cheek again and again.

"Are you trying to distract me?" He asked, tone half cheeky, half legitimately questioning, his eyes narrowing slightly at your little smile.

"I dunno, is it working?" You asked innocently, fingers of the hand that lie on top of his intertwining with his.

He held your hand up, palms pressed together as he played lightly with your fingers, this time taking his turn to lean closer to you. "What are you trying to distract me from, hm-"

You cut him off with a kiss to his lips, which he immediately responded to, hand tightening around yours. As your lips moved in conjunction, you felt warmth pooling against your cheeks, which weren't so cold either. Pulling away, you rubbed your nose against his, taking in his wide, stunning smile.

"Dang, fifty seconds." San and Wooyoung peered down at their phones, the screens of which both displayed variations of fifty seconds and some-odd miliseconds.

"That," you jerked your head toward your duo of friends, belatedly answering Yeosang's question.

Your boyfriend pulled away, a faraway look in his eyes that slowly drifted into faint disgust. "Why were you making them time our kiss?"

"No," you giggle, "they weren't, just seeing if I could make you blush in a minute. Now they have to wear something stupid in the airport next time."

"Well, that more than makes up for it, then," Yeosang says, eyes drifting mischievously toward his besties.

San

"He blushes so easily," Seonghwa whines, "can't we make it thirty seconds?"

"No take backs!" You singsong, waving a dismissive hand at your friend. "You said make Sannie blush in a minute or less and I get to test out my manicure kit on you!"

"Well, at least it wasn't face paint," Seonghwa shrugs in resignation, "nails aren't so bad. As long as you don't do any weird colors."

"No promises," you tease just to get a rise out of him before sneaking into the kitchen where San was standing.

There the object of your affections stood, completely oblivious to the metaphorical target on his back, just filling a glass of water at the sink without a care in the world. Bingo.

You went up behind him, arms sliding around his waist and reaching up so your hands moved toward his chest. Both of you love back hugs, so you felt San melt into the embrace as you hummed contentedly, lips fluttering over his cheek lightly. Lowering his head, he rested it protectively over yours as you kissed him, muttering a "What's this?" and an "I love you" in practically the same breath.

"I love you too, Sannie," you cooed, smiling at his sweet words and the heat you could feel rising to greet your touch.

"Alright, yeah, I'm done for, I can see his ears are all red. What color do you want to do?" Seonghwa interrupted your moment.

"What's he talking about?" San asked as his arms rested over yours.

"Nothing that's important right now," you answered as you settled into him.

Mingi

“Why did we make this bet? We’re going to lose.” Yeosang’s very blunt observation rang through your ears as his head turned away from you and back toward Yunho, arms crossed matter-of-factly.

“In under a minute, though?” Yunho shot back.

“A minute is a long time,” you shot back with a grin.

“See?” Yeosang lamented as you sauntered over to Mingi, who had conveniently just entered the room just as the bet was sealed.

“What’s a minute a long time f- oh. Oh!” Before he could say any more you were on him, attacking his face with kisses. Your hands reached up to caress his cheeks and turn his head to give you access as you made your travels, which your beloved rapper never made a single objection to. In fact, you dared say he encouraged it if the way his one hand snaked onto you to draw circles on your back said anything.

Whether it was your own body heat against his or something of Mingi’s own, you could already feel warmth brewing beneath your lips as he giggled. The sound spurred you on as you kissed his nose, then made your way back down, heading for his lips...

“Ok, pass! Pass, (y/n), he’s already red, jeez!” Yeosang held up his hands, waving in defeat. "I told you this was a stupid bet, Yunho."

The other tall man just shrugged. "At least it's not that much money."

You turned and looked at him with a victorious smirk. “Ok, cool. Glad you think so. Pay up.” Holding out your free hand, you gripped Mingi’s chin with the other, continuing to kiss your boyfriend.

Wooyoung

Honestly, you were a bit uncertain about the whole bet- surely Yeosang had a reason to feel so confident? And Wooyoung was pretty bold, would he blush easily? Maybe not.

No matter what the outcome, you'd signed up to test it, and you couldn't totally complain about that if it meant trying some stuff that might work on Wooyoung. Even in loss you'd have some fun, you reminded yourself.

You found your boyfriend in his room, organizing some stuff on his shelf, and as you said his name his head snapped up instantly. "Darling! Need anything?"

"You," you replied, knowing corny stuff worked pretty well on him. With that, you crossed the room, pulling him into an embrace from the side.

"Well, alright then, good afternoon to you, too," he replied with a grin.

You started kissing down his cheek, which had yet to redden when he turned his head, tapping a finger on the other side in silent request for you to even him out. Chuckling, you leaned in and obliged, covering his whole face in kisses. When you finished, he pointed to his neck, taking full advantage of your purported affectionate mood. Sighing, you kissed down his neck, too, peering upward to see if his ears or cheeks looked red. He just smiled, trailing a finger down his chest.

"Don't push it," you teased, giving him a playful shove. You accidentally caught him off-guard, though, sending him off balance and scrambling, ultimately tumbling back onto his bed.

He looked down as if he didn't know what was beneath him, then back up at you in surprise, eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline. "Oh?" Now his cheeks were getting red. Why was he like this?

"I- I-" You stuttered, voice failing you in favor of a sigh as your face fell into your hand.

"Ok, that was fifty seconds. I'm sorry for both of us," Yeosang muttered, showing you his timer, handing you some cash, and turning on his heels to leave. "Have fun explaining this one."

Jongho

You slid next to your boyfriend on the couch, bringing a smile to his face at your presence.

"Bored?" He asked as you snuggled closer into his side.

"Hm, a little, but I think I know how we can fix that," you reply, posing with a finger to your chin in mock-thought.

"Oh yeah?" Jongho lifted one arm too give you greater access, draping it casually across your shoulders when you got settled. "How?"

"This is how," you wasted no time in replying, eyes briefly scanning Jongho's lovely, handsome face before closing the remaining space between you two.

You could tell by the way he leaned he expected you to kiss his lips, which you knew he preferred, but your initial goal was a bit different. You kissed his cheek, suppressing laughter as he leaned away slightly, one eyebrow raised in confusion. With just a faint chuckle, you kissed the other cheek.

"What's gotten into you?" That's all he says as you pull away, sure he'd red by now. Not quite, it seems, and you're sure you are from trying not to laugh.

"Where's mine?" You ask, pouting slightly.

"Wh- what are you talking about?" His eyes widened ever-so-slightly, a faint blush finally dusting his cheeks.

"One second," you told him, placing a finger across his lips in a 'shush' gesture as you rose from the couch, leaving him with a furrowed look of confusion as you sat up and peered over the back cushions, "what's my time?"

"I started kinda early."

"Hey!" You complained, grabbing a pillow to threaten Hongjoong with.

Ateez's captain immediately put his hands, one of which held his phone, up in surrender. "But it still came out to fourty-three seconds! You win!"

You lowered the pillow, tucking it back into the corner a few inches from your feet. "Good. Then pay up."

"Alright," Hongjoong reluctantly agreed, his classic impish smile decorating his face, "but only because you two are so cute."

That time, he did get hit with a pillow square in the shoulder, but it was Jongho who threw it.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #gender neutral reader #fluff #requested #hope this is to your liking sweetie 🥺💕

[yeyinde]

okay wait now we need a second version where the reader does leave with ghost and he walks her home and he's all shitty about the drunk flirting and she's like "bruh it was just flirting, if you would make a move i wouldn't need to make you jealous" 😌

ask and you shall (eventually) receive~ 🖤

i hope you enjoy this!!

"What? He's been keekin' you all night." There is a divot between his brow. When he turns his head, the fairy lights behind make his stubble look darker. "Yer aff yer heid!" Soap’s Version

It's all words. 

Thin, hollow: they're empty ones bereft of meaning. They roll over you—a gale rocking you from side to side until you're dizzy with that awful little thing that clings to your pericardium, refusing to relent.

Hope. 

Yearning (in English this time, if only just for him).

It clots there, taking root until you're a little queasy. A little unwell. The alcohol, perhaps, or—

He sits by Laswell, head angled down to murmur low in her ear about things that shouldn't matter right now when everyone is alive, and safe, and back together. But of course they do. They always do. 

You wonder if they ever rest. If they ever take a moment's reprieve from the endless death and carnage that bulldozes your life until it's in shambles. Until the only thing that remains is broken chunks that reek of smoke and petrol. 

It feels impossible. 

He hasn't looked up once, despite whatever nonsense Soap might be on about. Untouchable. A chasm. 

Ghost is a shoreless island in the distance. Rocky and steep. 

Sometimes, if you stand on the furthest point of the beach, you can almost see the land peeking out from under the sea. Hazy. Shrouded. It sits amid the crashing waves, out of reach from everyone. 

Soap pulls you back in, a few clipped words shared back and forth, and everything else melts away. This is easy. 

This, being: drunk on expensive scotch (thank you, Captain Price; and oh no, thank you, I don't don't want a cigar) as you share snapped banter in a small pub. Vacant, of course, save for the six of you, and the barkeep. A man who offers little more than a nod at you when you mutter about the washroom, and swats at Price when he comes for peanuts and pretzels. 

It's easy to pretend, you think, that the honeycomb eyes, a bashful grin, and hands that feel like the sun are what you want. 

Easy, and yet—

You wonder if he's had anything to drink. 

(You wonder if he'd keep his gloves on while he held you—)

You snap something at Soap, something you hope is witty and charming, and maybe if you play your cards right, you won't end up alone in a foreign land tonight. That, maybe, he'll let you close your eyes, and pretend—

It's ground out, raked through coals. "Soldier."

He makes you dizzy. Makes you want, yearn, makes you—

It falls into nothing, until your head is full of him: blood hell, Christ—

Never said I wasn't. 

It feels like more of a reprimand than anything else he'd tossed your way thus far. A warning, maybe. Don't get too close. You know what you're in for. 

Don't make him into the fairytale he isn't.

"And you, soldier?"

You're drunk. Too drunk. Head gummy and full of sin. 

"Should leave," you say, casting a glance toward the mosaic window. A cross hangs in the distance. An augury. "Maybe go to church." 

"Aye, lass. Think someone ought to get you home. Lt?"

You pull the last swallows in your cup before Soap has the chance to take it away from you. Liquid courage, you think, wilting under a black stare. A looming, uncharted island in the distance. 

"C'mon," he says, words a shade away from being a command. "Haven't got all night." 

You don't point out that it's nearly three in the morning—devil's hour in the company of a ghost—and wisely hold your tongue when Soap leans down, whispering: you can spend the night with me, hen.

"We're leaving." A growl, now.

It jars you. His voice is unlike anything else you've ever heard: gravel and ash; gunfire booming in the distance. It sits low, like the words are dragged up from the depths of his chest, and sounds like smouldering embers. 

Your hands shake around the glass. It knocks against the wooden counter when you set it down, a hair too hard. You're crumbling. Slipping into waters that have no bottom. Rough, frothing. The white foam clogs your throat, drenches in you until you're weighed down, and sinking fast. 

In over your head. No way out. The island is too far away.

His eyes are sharper than you've ever seen them. A yawning abyss. You wonder if something would snap at the tips of your fingers if you got too close. 

Soap brows sit arched on his forehead, mouth thinning into a small line. "Alright, bonnie?"

"Gonna go home," you smile, tired. Wobbly. "Gotta get some sleep. Maybe next time, though." 

Ghost's stare has never felt so heavy. 

You stumble out of the pub behind him, pointedly ignoring the glance Gaz sends in your direction—the phone in your pocket already buzzing with texts that will make you whimper in the morning (saw you with Lt, mate. What the fuck? I mean what the bloody fuck?). This is normal, you think. Everyday. Mundane. Saturated in the ordinary. 

Except—

Sometimes, your life doesn't make any sense. How you can go from coldly planning a man's—mens—murder to walking down the wet streets of Glasgow, head full of your Lieutenant.

The church peaks in the distance. The light spills, bathes it in yellow. The tolling bells call you an idiot. 

Your head drops, eyes skirting toward the indomitable man beside you. Idiot, indeed. You can't help yourself, though. He's a magnet. A beacon. 

A current sweeping you out to sea. 

He says nothing. Hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, hood pulled down low. Those haunting eyes roam the corners, surveying the alcoves: always ready, always on-guard. 

It's a stifling thing, this silence. Oppressive. Crushing. 

Your throat itches with the urge to shatter it, to break it down until there is nothing left of it. Where it can't echo inside your chest like the brutal burn of rejection, and doesn't make your mind reel, an endless spiral of why and how and—

What can you do differently to make it a reality? 

No man is untouchable. Not really. There had to be others in his life. A man like Ghost—

It's just impossible, isn't it?

Does he go to a brothel when the urge wells? A pub? Does he have dalliances with other agents he'd met in the field? Ones with battle scars, the taste of gunfire on their breath, and firm hands on their rifle? Is there someone already waiting at home for him, tucked inside a place no one else can reach them? The only inhabitant on an island in the middle of the sea.

What is his type?

And how can it be you?

Queries. Questions. They burn through you. 

What if you just went for it? Is that what he likes? Someone who looks him in the eye, and says take me, I'm yours. 

You open your mouth to ask, but are stopped in your tracks by the stare fixed on you. Breath caught in your throat. Lungs bereft of air. You splinter. 

"S—sir…?"

"What?" It's harsh when it's ground out of his teeth. A snap. 

"Are you angry?"

His eyes slide down to you, lidded and heavy. "Negative." 

You huff. "Lying to me, now?" 

"I've been called many things, Rookie, but a liar isn't one of them."

The grit in his voice makes you tremble. Makes a heat spume inside of you, not unlike the scotch from earlier. 

Or—

Maybe it is the scotch. Your head is a slurry; a mess. The world around is shrouded in a sheen, a gloss, that makes the lights smear, and the cobblestone below quake under your feet. 

"Are you—" jealous feels too strange in conjunction with Ghost. To the man who, as close as he is beside you, has never felt further away. Stupid Soap and his stupid words. 

"Am I what?"

You mull it over. Let the word sit between your incisors to gauge the fit of it. It doesn't quite fit when you roll it around. Doesn't belong together.

(Like him, you.)

You stifle it.

He makes a noise, impatience, perhaps, and the word leaks into their terse air between you before you snap your jowls shut. 

"Jealous?"

His eyes slide to you again. The whites glow under the street lamps. "Jealous?" 

You feel a little silly. A little stupid. You blame it on the scotch. On Soap, and his keekin' you—

But—

You feel the words pool on your tongue, but you can't stop them from trembling out. 

"I could have went home with Soap—"

"Why didn't you?" 

It stings. The rejection hurts something fierce, but it's swallowed down. 

(In for a penny…)

"You pulled me away. I could have been fucking him right now, and instead I'm wandering around Glasgow—"

Tonight feels as good as any to get your heart wrecked. Loose lips sink ships, after all. 

"You might be fucking him, pet," his voice is a snarl, a feathered growl. "But you'd be thinking of me."

It punches into you, and makes you gasp, aloud; the sound echoing over the wet brick surrounding you. Your feet stutter when it's ground out, left to rot in the air. You jerk your head up to look at him, eyes wide. Heart-hammering in your chest. 

He stops, too, hands now hanging by his sides, curled into loose fists. His chin is tipped down, liquid eyes boring into you. 

You—

You've never seen a sight more damning. One more ready-made for ruin. 

He makes you feel a low grade fever burning in your veins. Stupid, intoxicated. 

You don't know where to go from here. Thinking of me. He's right. Of course, he is. It feels like a fractured mess when it tugs on the corner of your lip, a slowly unease smile. Distance, you think. You're an island far away from hurt. 

Rejection. The brutality of his words—they can't reach your shores. 

"And you'd be at home, getting thought of but not fucked." It's shakier than you'd wanted it to be, words a slow tremble. Then, a whisper: "You wouldn't even know."

"I would." He takes a step, another. His stare never wavers. "Just like I knew the first time you touched your little cunt to the thought of me. Couldn't look me in the eye for a week, pet."

"That's—"

It's true. You remember the time—all of them—and the realisation that he knows (he knows, he knows, he knows) burns into you. A knot of discomfort pools in your core. 

There is embarrassment, of course there is. Shame, too. 

But you're too drunk, too blootered, to think straight. Too raw, and cracked. You're a vanishing island. Water lapping at your inlands. 

More hollow, thin words: "why did you take me out?" 

"I gave you the option," he corrects, his voice is flat. It carries at the end, and leaves no room for any argument or protests. 

It's true, after all. 

You drop your chin, hands shaking. It's a bludgeon to your gut. 

(How can it be you—?)

Stupid. 

The false bravado quivers under his stare. A step backward flattens your spine to the wall of some long-closed Tandoori shop. The bricks are still wet from the rainshower that fell earlier. The cold dampness bleeds into your flesh. Goosebumps prickle. 

More liquid courage, you think, hands balling into quivering fists by your side. 

You lift your head. In for a penny, right? 

No island is truly unreachable. No man, either. 

All of this— something —with Ghost is drawn together into this single moment. The distance. The uneasy feeling on the nape of your neck when he's behind you. The want. He's been keekin' you all night. You look over and catch his stare. Feel it on your skin like a brand. 

(Ready-made, always.)

It all has to mean something. It has to. 

"Is that why you stare at me?" 

His eyes are embers. The glow from the streetlights make him look like smouldering ash. Demonic. It thrills you. 

"No, pet." 

He leans in close, his body a shadow over yours. A tower. You can't see anything except the fill of him spreading out around you. Black. Endlessly so. Your perpetual night. The embers spark, blazing, when he bores into you. A wildfire in the distance. Atavistic fear brims. 

Stay away from the fire and the being that can hurt.

His hand presses into the concrete beside your head. There is nowhere to run. 

"I stare at you because I keep thinkin' about those little fingers trying to fuck yourself silly, and how desperate you must be knowin' it isn't enough." 

You shiver—a whole body chill that has your teeth chattering together at the punctured words that drip, tainted with your demise, from his mouth.

The air in your lungs is noxious. It spumes inside until your knees quake, threatening to drop down into that unfathomable abyss that gapes below. The yawning maw of a man who wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you until nothing remains. Rucked into the currents, it sends you careening out to sea until your fingers cling to the side of that untouchable island, begging for respite. Salvation.

It's a plea, a whimper: "you should have asked to take me home."

He offers none of it. His hand stretches out, and in the cup of his palm, he promises only ruin.

You shouldn't take it. Don't make him out to be the fairytale he isn't.

But the look he levels you with, ravenous hunger tucked inside the tenebrose of those spiralling depths, has you reaching out. A moth to a flame. The roar of the Styx in your head. You can't resist.

(You wouldn't even try.)

"I already am."

—Gaz regrets sending the text when he wakes up the next morning to a detailed commentary on all the ways his Lt absolutely ruined you

— he refuses to look either of you in the eye for weeks after

—this is completely irrelevant and feel free to roast me for it, but! my hc of a jealous!Ghost depends on where he's at in the relationship

—in the beginning: he doesn't trust, he does his job, and he's distant; but if he feels it, he'll close down. total distance. silence. he's mean about it, too. waspish. he'll try to push you away. cold hearted bastard to a T.

—but later?? oh, boy. that's when the Looming™️ starts. the, oh hey lemme go talk to that cutie over there - oh, wait. what the fuck that is that thing behind them and why does it look like it wants to eat me alive?! he's still mean, of course, but now he has a reason to snap. a reason to stand as close you as physically possible so everyone knows just who you belong to. and if he catches you flirting, i mean. rip, b. 🥹

#simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x you #requests #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #simon riley cod #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #lord its me again #they caught me simpin