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qtboni · 9 months

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cowboy simon x f!reader???

I don't know what else to add, it would be nice if it was smut yk??

I just saw a video where a masked man dressed like a cowboy aslo he still has a naked torso and he is so tall and in very good shape and when I saw this video for some reason it reminded me of Simon

(sorry, english is not my native language, sorry if there are any mistakes!!)

HAI ANONNIE !! OMIGEE COWBOY SIMON IS SO HOT !? like he can yeehaw me every damn time wtf ☝️😍

╰﹒ 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐎𝐘 !

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: Simon indulges you in your pretty lil fantasies <33

C/W: MDNI. smut w/ fluff + dom!simon riley, sub!f.reader, petnames (love, baby, pretty girl), lotsa teasing, neck kissing, lil manhandling, lil belittling, lotsa praises, thigh riding, humping, clit stimulation, aftercare

W/C: 1.9k

"You're so easy to please, love," Simon chuckles as he had you in a state where you were unable to move, or speak, or even think rationally. Not after when he had obliged to indulge in your naughty little fantasies of being fucked by a cowboy in the late night hours. You could only let out a whimper for him.

You claimed you were joking. But you weren't, really. You had been dropping little hints about those fantasies all the time, asking if he would be up for a cowboy roleplay in the bedroom. He had grumbled a "sort of" agreement when you asked if he was down for it, but you hadn't realized he was really on board for it.

That is, until now, when you found yourself sprawled on your back on the bed, completely weak under his touch.

Simon was dressed with a black cowboy hat atop his head, a sexy red bandana encircling his neck, a thick cowboy belt wrapped around his hips, and dark jeans hugging every curve of his delicious thighs. And to top it all of was his famous skull mask, hiding his face. No shirt. No top. He was beyond shirtless. And my gods, were your pussy right now is dripping with need when you looked over at his abs.

You find your heart racing and your hands trembling as Simon leans in, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Do I make you nervous?"

You feel a shiver run down your spine at the thought of him being so close, his warmth and presence filling you with a sense of exhilaration that's hard to contain.

"...Yes," you whisper breathlessly in response, your voice dripping with need. Your heart is pounding with excitement, and your body feels on fire with desire as you look into his eyes.

You watch as Simon moves closer, his lips ghosting gently over your throat as he kisses your neck. Your mouth parts and you moan softly, your body tensing and shivering with arousal as he lightly nibbles on your sensitive skin. Your breath quickens and your heart beats faster, overwhelmed by the thrill of it all.

With your arms wrapped around his shoulders, you pulled him close to you, desperate for more of his touching. Your body responded to his kisses, jolting with pleasure as his lips nibbled down your neck. Your hips writhed and squirmed under him as he suckled on your sweet spot.

The heat was building up inside you as Simon's kiss roamed down to your shoulders, and your entire body was buzzing with sensuality. You were lost in pleasure with each sensation of his touch, and the world around you seemed to fade away that you fail to notice Simon pinning your hands above your head.

Simon whispered softly to your ear, "Always so obedient for me, hm?" while he suckled on the skin under your ear. You couldn't help but to squirm and whine with need, your needy whimpers begging him to make you feel good. It made his cock painfully throbbing with need.

Simon's raspy chuckle drove you mad with arousal, as he licked a long striped line from your neck to the base of your ear, leaving a wet trail. You moaned and tried to move your hips to relieve your aching pussy, but Simon firmly gripped your hips and held you still, his touch driving you mad with lust and desire.

"Behave."

Your mind was swimming with pleasure as you looked into his half-lidded eyes through the skull mask.

"Please..." You tugged on the red bandana wrapped around his neck and pulled him down to you, intending to kiss him. But Simon's hold on you was strong, and he pulled you back, his teeth digging into your ear.

You cried out, but the sound was quieted when Simon's mouth covered yours in a hungry and rough kiss. His tongue plunged deep into your mouth, exploring in a demanding and passionate way. He broke the kiss only to move his lips back down your neck to suck and bite your skin, his touch driving you wild with lust.

Your hands tangled in his hair as he continued exploring your mouth with his skilled tongue. You sighed softly as his passionate and rough kisses sent waves of pleasure through your body. But the sensation was not enough, and you wanted more.

You pressed your body against Simon's, your hands roaming along his chest and thighs as you yearned for satisfaction. But Simon had other plans, and rolled you over so that you were now on top of him.

"Ride me, pretty girl," Simon mumbled against your ear, his voice raspy with desire and need. He was looking up at you, his eyes blazing with passion as his hands gripped your hips. You felt your body shiver with arousal, as you moved your hips to hover just above him.

With your naked pussy pressed on top of his bulge, you started to grind down on him, your hands planted on his pecks. You let out a soft moan as the friction made you feel wetter.

"No, baby, ride my thigh," Simon purred with a low chuckle, as he stopped your hips from moving, gripping at it hard. His voice was filled with heat and lust, his eyes dark with desire. He pulled you closer to him, his touch gentle but firm as he guided your hips to glide along his thigh. You let out a moan of pleasure as this felt even better than before.

"Good girl," Simon growled as he continued to guide you in grinding down on his thigh using his arms. His voice was raspy with lust, and his words were an encouraging challenge as his touch grew more intimate. You let out a moan of pleasure as you felt your legs trembling with excitement. Your hips slid along the curves of his thigh, and his touch sent electrifying shivers down your spine.

He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he whispered in your ear, "You like that, don't you, baby?"

You mewled when his fingers trailed up your back, sending warm tingles all over your skin. Your breathing grew heavier as you felt yourself becoming lost in his touch. You couldn't resist grinding against him harder, craving the pleasure he was providing. With each movement, you felt your desire building stronger and stronger.

"Simon.."

His lips curl into a smirk as he hears your plea, the desperation in your voice fueling his own desires. He moves his hands from your back, letting them trail over the sides of your body, his touch light but lingering. He can feel how your cunt was completely drenched with your precum, seeping through his jeans, leaving a wet spot in its wake.

"You're doing good, baby," Simon groaned as he grabbed your waist tighter, his voice thick with desire. "Keep going," he whispered eagerly, his grip firm and his touch thrilling as you continued grinding down on his thigh. The sound of his encouraging words, and the feel of his presence made your body squirm with enjoyment.

"I'm trying, Si'.. Please." You breathed heavily and moaned softly, as Simon coaxed you into grinding down harder and faster into his hard thigh. His hands gripped the sides of your waist firmly as he made you move even more quickly.

"Better," he breathed softly in between pants, his words filled with praise and encouragement. The sensation of his firm thighs in contrast to your weeping cunt made your eyes roll back in pleasure.

Groaning, Simon grabbed his black cowboy hat from his head and placed it on to yours, smiling seductively.

"You're so hot like this, baby," he said in a low, raspy voice. He looked into your eyes with a knowing smirk, and his touch made your skin tingle and the heat build up inside you.

Wanting to indulge into his fantasies too, you placed your hand on top of the hat and smirked at him as you grinded your hips harder. You watch as Simon's grip falters and tosses his head back to the feel of your cunt rubbing on his now stained jeans.

With every frantic thrust you did, your eyes fluttered with pleasure as the trail of fire reached your lower stomach, the familiar sensation making your thighs tremble. You sobbed out on to his shoulder, lazily nuzzling into his neck, seeking comfort and support.

Simon bit back a moan as he heard your sounds, his cock already twitching with desire. He wanted this moment to be special for you, but the sight of your pleasure was enough to overwhelm his senses and stir his primal urges. He had to have you.

As you breathe heavily into his neck, you feel his hand gently caressing your back, feeling the tension and tightness in your muscles as you collapsed onto him.

Your body was still trembling from the pleasure, and you felt a wave of tiredness wash over you. Your breath was shaky as you were in a state of pure bliss and satisfaction, and Simon's gentle caresses felt like a comforting hug.

"Shh, it's okay, baby," he whispered gently as he lifted you from his lap and laid you on the bed. His caresses continued as his breath brushed over your neck, sending a tingle of pleasure down your spine.

Your muscles felt relaxed and loose, and your body was breathless from the wave of pleasure you just experienced. You felt languid, and in a state of contentment and bliss. His gentle caresses felt wonderful against your skin.

Simon softly kissed your forehead and smiled gently at you, his touch still sending chills down your spine. You were breathless and content, and every moment with him felt like a dream. So it was a blur when Simon cleaned you up with a wet towel, your body still trembling from passion. He wiped away the cum, as well as the rest of the arousal on your thighs.

He had also tenderly rubbed out the sweat and the redness on your face and neck with gentle caresses as helped you feel clean and fresh again. When he was done, he lay down beside you on the bed, and pulled you close to him, putting the cowboy hat on the bedside table.

"Did so good for me, hm?" Simon said gently as he cupped both your cheeks and looked into your eyes, making you smile. The love and warmth in his gaze made you feel comforted and safe, and you could feel your heart beating faster with excitement at the thought of being with him.

You hummed in agreement as your eyes fluttered in slumber. Your body was still trembling from the pleasure, but a small giggle came out from your mouth as you mumbled out, "You'd be a great cowboy.." With your body completely relaxed and content, you let yourself go and slipped into a deep sleep in his arms.

Simon laughed softly at your sleepy statement, and bent to kiss you on the lips, carressing your cheek.

"Sure am, love, with the prettiest cowgirl in my side."

navi / masterlist !

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simonrileyyyy · 3 months

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ꨄCherry Chapstickꨄ

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Warnings: none, just some fluff 💕

You rummaged through the different products in your makeup bag, searching for your favorite cherry chapstick.

All of a sudden, you hear Simon enter the house after going out to run errands. So you called out to him, hoping he’d know where it is.

“𝐒𝐢! 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭?”

Footsteps echoed through the hallway, and soon you heard Simon enter, him taking off his jacket and placing it back into the closet.

He then walked up behind you, grabbing your chin and turning it to face him.

To your confusion, Simon didn’t answer your question but instead pressed his lips to yours gently put firmly. Then you knew why.

As he kissed you, you could taste your cherry chapstick on his lips.

He pulled away, a smirk on his face at your bewildered expression.

“𝐘' 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞?”

You raised an eyebrow, placing your hands on your hips.

“𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤?”

He pulled you close, picking you up, your legs now straddling his waist.

“'𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

You huffed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥! 𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚-“

Simon cut you off by kissing you again, the taste of the cherry chapstick on his lips.

Note: AHHH YALL I NEED A CHERRY CHAPSTICK SIMON IN MY LIFE ☹️

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mentoskova · 7 months

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💀🪽 Ghost/Val his medic girlfriend

oc belongs to @alia-turin

#simon ghost riley #my art #illustration #digital art #drawing #fan art #call of duty #simon ghost riley x female oc #ghost x oc female

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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Man-Sized

9/9 Peace in a Lifetime of War

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

He didn't call, didn't text, didn't explain himself.

She wrote dozens of texts, mostly with one sentence, Where'd you go?, Could we talk this through?, I'm sorry, would you please come back, but never sent them.

But she was also being ripped apart by the feeling that this simply couldn't be happening. It couldn't end like this. There was something real here. There had to be.

Pride got in the way. He didn't deserve her begging after leaving her like that without even an explanation as to why. He cared about his job more than her, and she would no longer beg for leftovers. She would not be the girl he could come and fuck in the dark when he had the time for it.

Let's make this work.

That's the sentence she wrote the most, to reverse the last words she had said. A nervous voice inside her told her that she had driven him away. That Simon was somewhere out there thinking she didn't want him in her life. After all, she had shouted that he should go and do his job… Practically, get out of her life.

But how could a few words spoken in anger drive him away? How could he just cut her off after everything? Player or not, she had thought him a better man than this.

He still had the key. He hadn't left it on the table or mailed it to her. He might still walk through that door when she least expected it.

But days turned into weeks, and somewhere in her heart, she knew a decision had been made. Simon never half-assed anything. If he had left, he had left. End of fucking story.

After three weeks, she threw away the shower gel. It reminded her of the time she had come from the shower to a dark room filled with him. When she had teased him, and he had sent her to heaven, when they had confessed their love to each other. It stared at her from the bin until she went and took out the trash with not much else but that single men's shower gel bottle in it.

He had left one of his hoodies in her apartment, and she almost threw it into the bin too. Then she crawled inside it like a child who had lost her parents.

It smelled of him, and it was so big that half of her disappeared inside it, and she felt warm, and safe, and devastated. That hoodie and her bedroom walls twisted the knife by whispering the words Marry me, laced with an echo of his laughter. Every day she decided to throw it away and start a new life, and every night she curled inside it to cry herself to sleep.

Bolognese was ruined for her. Motörhead was ruined, bourbon was ruined; the smell of tobacco brought tears to her eyes. She walked past springtime tulips like they carried the plague itself. Even Dürer was ruined.

How could a heartless, cocky 21st-century soldier ruin the genius of a Renaissance master?

Luckily, she hadn't told anyone who she had been dating for months now. She had never asked Simon to meet her parents. She hadn't even told them she was seeing someone… Her mother had made a remark on how nice it was to see her happy when she was visiting on holidays, and she had told her she had gotten good grades this semester. In her heart, she had perhaps always known that things with Simon wouldn't last. It all seemed like a dream. A beautiful, heated, fucked up pipe dream.

It was like the very oxygen from her life was gone. She didn't have the will to masturbate; the toy she had only reminded her of the embarrassing incident where she had forgotten it on the bedside table, and he had seen it and made her blush with a laugh and a comment; "That's the competition?" Such a small, pink thing compared to Simon, and even that reminded her of him.

Her workplace was a smoking rubble after a war. The pole choreographies had the atmosphere of Swan Lake rather than anything sultry and sexy — she flicked the pole to spin mode more often, started to do leg hangs and suicide spins and unicorn splits and chose music with lyrics about betrayal and other heartbroken, forlorn wailing.

Her gaze swept the audience before she grabbed the pole. Just in case. There were hungry eyes, but none belonged to the man with a winter-over stare, sleeve tattoo, and voice burnt from scotch, smoking, and sleepless nights.

The room spun, and her heart hurt, and she wondered if Simon had found another sweet girl or if he was bleeding in the blur too. Perhaps he was taking his pleasure with the women on his team, no strings attached. Fucking those tough army girls who were everything she was not. Making them moan with slow, heavy torture.

She wanted him to hurt. And then again, she did not. She wanted him to be safe, and for the first time in her life, she prayed even though she had never believed in God.

That forgotten oversized hoodie was her temple, and she wasn't sure who she was even praying to before falling asleep inside that black cotton. But she asked for Simon to stay safe, to not do anything stupid. She even prayed for his happiness, but then the prayers turned more selfish, and she asked that he would come back to her.

Just come back to her.

Her prayers were answered sooner than she would've thought. It was a frightening invocation, because when she finally caught him as a black, massive shadow against the darkness of the club, it was clear that he was in an even worse shape than she was.

He was still big, still menacing, a powerhouse of a man, but she saw that he had lost weight, the shade under his eyes was even darker than when they had first met. He was looking at her dance like he was attending a funeral: there was no smile, no hunger, only suffering in his eyes that followed her from inside a black hood.

She wanted to jump from the stage in the middle of her show, climb onto his lap, cry all the tears still uncried, although she had done nothing but bawled every night since he had left. Sweat made the pole slick, and she closed her eyes as she spun, hoping to be somewhere else entirely so he wouldn't see the hurt in her eyes. But the lights were pointing at the stage, and her face must've been a pale mask of fear and longing, and the dance turned into the ending act of her own personal Swan Lake.

It had been almost a month, and he barged back into her life like he would barge through a door into a room full of prisoners. The game was on again, and he was the fucking worst, and the relief and longing turned into red, blazing rage.

How dare he show up here? Still without warning, without a single message, when he knew how much it meant to her. Especially after what had gone down.

When she was done, she didn't go to him; she left the stage before the applause had even died, rushed to get her things, and stormed out the back door, half fearing that she would bump into him. He wasn't there, but when she walked past the entrance to get home, there was a man smoking outside. She wouldn't shed a look his way but knew from the aura of darkness and hellfire and silent leadership that it was him. There was no sound of footsteps, but she knew he was walking behind her, could almost smell the smoke, could feel his stare on her back as she rushed down the street like she was being hunted by a ravager.

And hadn't he, in a way, promised to haunt her, dead or alive?

She cried the whole way home while being followed by his ghost – silent tears of anger and relief and sorrow, jaw trembling and hiccups tickling her throat.

When she reached her apartment, she opened the door as quickly as possible, then slammed it shut behind her.

Would he use the key and force himself in? Would he take the closed door as a sign not to trespass? She almost went to open it to let him know that this area was actually a No Man's Land, not a threshold to her personal space, much less a fortress he needed to conquer.

But he had decided to pursue her, and a clear-cut knock sent her heart up her throat.

She had a choice not to open that door. Return to her old life without this fuckery. He wouldn't use the key she had given him, he was gentleman enough not to. Or perhaps not a gentleman: he simply knew when he was not welcome and would be too proud to force a connection.

But the decision had really been made a long time ago. It was made when she asked for that drink, when she accepted his flowers, when he pushed inside her the first time. Perhaps even on the moment she first laid eyes on him.

So, without having a grain of rational thought behind it, her heart walked her to that door and opened it.

He was leaning on the frame with one hand, and the hooded head rose from a heavy hang. He looked defeated for a moment, and she realized she had taken a while to come to the door… But then he squared his shoulders and raised his chin, bounced away from the frame, and the tiniest little smile played on his lips.

A look of I win.

It was something so Simon that it burned her heart, and the love returned – as if it had ever gone anywhere – and she was so angry that she slapped him to wipe off that stupid look that told her he could drop her like a toy and then come back and pick her up again.

Her palm met his chin, and it hurt her too: to hear that slap and know he allowed it to happen.

He allowed her to slap him. Again.

He reduced her to someone who hit people, like this was some trailer park romance where physical abuse was ok.

It was his fault, not hers.

It was his fault. It was.

His head was turned to the side from the force of her palm, the eyebrows rose in muted surprise. Then he slowly turned to look at her, and couldn't hide his smile anymore. He fucking got off on this.

Which was why she slapped him again – only, this time he caught her hand and finally forced himself inside, like it was an invitation that she tried to hit him. Her other hand shot out, rather impassively, and he caught that, too.

"That's quite enough."

That gruff, dark voice was probably what she had missed the most. Or those big, brown eyes full of promise. Or all that muscle wrapping around her in a crushing hug, those lips that smashed against hers in a starved kiss.

The door slammed shut behind him as he devoured her. The moment his hands let go of hers and enveloped her into that secure embrace, she dissolved and let him crush her mouth, her ribs, her everything — her hands reached for the hood and tore it down, clutched his back, his jacket, threatening to tear the clothes apart from how much she had missed him.

Tears gathered up her throat, and her eyes burned and squeezed shut, she held the black fabric in her fists and pulled, trying to get closer even when there was not a breath of air between them. His scent brought back so many memories that she threatened to drown in the flood.

The kiss left them both breathless and huffing when he drew her against him. She felt like a hostage when he closed one heavy palm around her head and simply forced her cheek to meet his chest. He had never closed her in a hug quite like this — like he was afraid that she would disappear into thin air if he didn't hold on tightly enough.

"Sweetheart." It was a rumble in her hair, a deep vibration in the solid wall she was smashed against.

"Don't you dare," she whispered through tears, but her hands told a different story as she clung to him like a drowning person.

"Sarah…" He only squeezed her harder, so hard that she feared he would soon break bones. "Love. I'm sorry that it took so long."

Her fingers flexed, then wrapped around that jet-black cotton again. The tears disappeared in his shirt, and she was glad he always wore black; otherwise, the mascara would've made a visible mess.

He smelled so good. She inhaled him like a drug — even after the desertion, his scent meant safety and home to her.

"What the fuck happened?" She sniffed, trying not to wail like a child against that firm wall of chest. "I thought you only went for a smoke."

He stroked her hair so gently that the shirt was soon soaked from her tears.

"I thought it would be best if I left you in peace," he muttered, sounding almost guilty. Her hand twitched in the folds of the hood from the utter folly of it all. She thanked the heavens that he hadn't. She had never exactly found peace with him, but being without him was even worse.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she retorted.

"Yeah. I used to be a better man. But if ya think I'm cocky… Hah, you should've seen me back then. Feared nothing."

She had expected him to share a reason for leaving her like that, but she hadn't envisioned it to start with those words. The world was quaking again in her hallway, lit by a single, lone lamp.

"It didn't work. It got people killed. Even my brother's little kid." He was still talking to the crown of her head as if exposing the darkest of secrets, fearing that the walls were wired.

"I'm not really… alive, you know? Died with them about ten years ago."

From any other man's mouth, that trace of information, an explanation for his handicaps, would've felt melodramatic. When it came from Simon, it felt like a void was yawning before her.

"Swore that day I would never let it happen again."

How could she always forget that her judgment concerning Simon was flawed – no – distorted as hell? She knew he had lost everybody but didn't know how exactly. Of course there had been violence. She had never really understood just how important it was for him to protect people from getting too close.

I didn't mean for things to go this far suddenly stood for something completely different.

He wasn't playing or toying with her. He was being absolutely, vehemently, utterly serious.

Even… intimidated.

She felt even worse about not being there for him when he had been thin with his skin. She had made it all about her when he tried to share a deep fear.

"I tried to keep my hands off you as long as I could." He hummed, a sound of a distant, pleasant memory. "You were so… fuckin' graceful. Felt like you were dancing just for me."

The tears kept flowing, the world kept quaking.

"I was," she whispered. "Even when you weren't there."

"Thought you was just teasin' me. Seemed such a tough girl." He gave her one of those short laughs, a cynical scoff that said he wasn't easily caught off balance. "'N then you turned out to be sweet as a pie. So bloody sweet. Swept me right off my feet."

She pulled back a little and saw that his eyes were liquid too, the pale lashes fluttered over bloodshot, melted chocolate, but no tears came out. It was like he didn't quite know how to cry, like that skill had been tortured out of him, never to return.

"Nothing lasts. Especially if it's something good and pure." He ran a thumb over her cheek, catching a tear, like he was soothed by seeing someone crying the tears he could not. "Really wanted this to last."

Her lower lip trembled at that, and she had to fight back a whole bawl that threatened to erupt. He was stupidly eloquent when he wanted to. But he was also blind if he couldn't see that no one else but him had tried to end things this time. How could a man so mature and smart be so stupid?

"You're the one who walked out the door, Simon."

He blinked a few times. Yeah… He was that stupid, even if he was sharp and trained and brave. But it was also stupid of her to think there wouldn't be problems. He had built a wall, five-foot thick, since childhood. She had tried to penetrate it with a needle and had had a fit when it wouldn't budge.

"Look... You can't just come into my life and fuck around and fuck with my head — and fuck me… and then leave and say Darling, it's dangerous."

He huffed a laugh at her imitation of him. "You make me sound like a jerk."

"That's because you are."

A sigh. "Right."

She had expected him to return the quip, make some clever comeback, but their love had been on ice for weeks and weeks. Even if the warmth was there, and he was close, so close… Something was still wrong.

She pulled herself back to the solace of his chest. There were broken things inside, and she was a brittle vase herself, barely able to hold all the sorrow in.

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"

"Comes with the job."

"I hate your job," she mumbled in his shirt, and he chuckled humourlessly.

"Me too."

"No you don't. You love it." She sent another accusation in the air, and the penalty was an open prison, a slackening muscle around her.

"Guilty as charged."

"Why are you here, Simon?"

There was a pause, one, two breaths…

"Can't fuckin' live without you."

He had no doubt tried, tried to veritably leave her from fear of setting her in danger. Only Simon could leave a woman for fear of losing them…

"Even if I only get scraps and slaps. Phone's full of look at me's but you never call."

Her eyes flared wide open, her lungs ceased working for a second. Five months flashed backward, then forward, their shared moments twisting and turning, words finding new meanings.

Scraps…

You never call.

Jesus Christ.

It was bitter, and it was true. She had guarded her heart like a prisoner of war during a time of peace. Sent him thirsty selfies like they were the only thing he wanted from her, refused to call in fear of losing some game.

He wasn't the only one who was proud and dramatic. She had had a whole month in her hands. She could've called him, sent him those texts. She could've made it known that she hadn't meant her last words as a command for him to get out. But she had done none of those things. Instead, she slammed the door in his face and slapped him when he finally came back with his tail between his legs.

It was never about his job. She could deal with that. It was about the game.

They were both boneheaded, proud little creatures, and she realized she was the one who had been playing, playing for far too long…

"You said you'd rather call me," she whimpered, voice barely even a whisper.

He pulled her away by the shoulders and took a quick scan. There was patronization and pity, and she wondered whether he would take the blame for her failings too. But the pain was more profound than that.

"Sarah. Do ya even like me?"

Of all the things said that night, said ever, that was probably what hurt her the most.

"Yes," was all she managed to say to the man who was, in truth, the love of her life.

"Alright. Then I don't see what the problem is."

He was being reasonable, but there seemed to be a whole other problem she had never acknowledged. Had never even known existed.

And it was a rare, rare thing, that he chose to break first.

"Sarah, bloody fucking-... It kills me to imagine you with someone else."

All in.

As if she could ever find a man like him. As if she could even see other men. They had ceased to exist five months ago.

Just say it.

"I don't want someone else," she said, knowing that games like these should be illegal. But she was not playing anymore. "I only want you. Remember?"

The wall cracked, crumbled a little, exposed some softness in those chocolate eyes.

"Now that's what I like to hear."

Annoying, lovable, cocky bastard. This time, it was her turn to pull him in for a kiss.

He let her take some of his clothes off but then seized the reins from her again by hauling her to the bedroom like a doll. Everything happened right according to a script: she was undressed, tossed on the bed, and he was climbing on top of her before she could even say his name.

He just wouldn't allow her to touch him. She had given him one and a half blowjobs, one handjob, and slapped him two times. They cuddled every now and then. That was basically it.

He was always on top, had fucked her against this and that wall, fucked her with his clothes on half the time. He initiated everything, made her feel good, and so, so subtly prevented her from touching him. Did he even know he was doing it, or was it subconscious?

This would have to change.

Past torture or not, it would change now.

"Simon," she placed a hand on his chest when he was already inserting himself inside her.

"Hm?"

"Can I be on top?"

Something akin to worry flickered in his eyes, but it was only a brief glitch that soon changed into an intrigued look.

"Why not," he tried to hide the remnants of his bafflement, then crashed to the bed beside her. She flicked the table light on as if making it clear that this was the dawn of a new era. He gave it a hasty side eye, then turned his attention back to her.

"Have you ever heard of Adam's first wife?" She asked when she climbed on top of him. God, but he was wide, even though men were supposed to have narrower hips. Simon was a man in his prime, threatening, even when lying under her in a seemingly vulnerable position.

"You givin' me a history lesson too?"

"She was banished from Eden because she wanted to be on top during sex." She tried to seek support from his chest, knowing it would be of minimal help. If he would get too enthusiastic, she might be bucked off.

"I won't be so cruel," he said with a soft smile as he ran hands over her thighs, then up to her waist, hesitantly. Simon never hesitated.

From what she understood, he was far from a footsoldier. The people he killed never even heard he was coming for them with a thick, ugly blade. Perhaps he preferred to fuck like that, too: stealthy and intimate, in the darkness, keep his victim in a sturdy embrace so he could feel how they bled to death.

That light was a threat. Her stare was piercing awareness: also, a threat.

And it was only now, from this position, that she finally caught the wounds. Fresh, ugly holes that should've probably been under bandage still.

"What's this?"

There were not one, but two cavities surrounded by discolored skin, bruised dark purple, virtually black — gunshot wounds that had barely missed his liver. Had the bullets reached the internals, they would've likely been the end of him.

"That's the reason why it took so long."

Shallow breathing was a stupid response from a body already feeling faint. But the next few breaths were just that: an attempt to sustain the flow of oxygen and allow reality to sink in.

The last time Simon had gotten hit was years and years ago: a bullet to the arm, not nearly as severe as an abdominal wound. She thought they used bullet vests at work. Unless he had chosen not to wear it. Her brain was a horrid thing, pushing a clinical sentence out of a psychology journal to her mind.

"The root cause of self-destructive behavior can stem from a mental health condition such as depression: overwhelming sadness and loss of interest."

She had drowned herself in self-pity in her cozy little apartment and taken revenge on a shower gel bottle while Simon had gotten himself wounded, nearly killed. Probably spent the last few weeks in a hospital after the operation in whatever medical facility he had been brought to from the field. Without telling her, stubborn and proud as he was. Lying there, with no visitors, thinking it was better to leave her alone…

She knew he had a death wish, but this… This crushed her soul.

"Soap said I should ask you to marry me instead of trying to prove something by killin' myself."

Shit…

More edgy, dark humour — but her insides shuddered.

The axis of melancholia turned and turned. She hadn't told anyone about them, but Simon had. So that someone could deliver the message if need be. Even the thought of a Scottish jarhead appearing at her door and telling her how Lieutenant Simon Riley had been killed in action made her eyes sting.

Soap was a clever man. Much more intelligent than the one between her thighs.

"What am I to do with you," she whispered while placing the lightest, faintest touch on the stretched skin around the injury. The muscles rippled underneath her fingertips, and a soft hiss drew her attention back to his face, but the discomfort was hidden from view before she could decide whether it was caused by her words or her touch.

"A few ideas come to mind," he spoke with his everlasting cheek, even when healing from both gunshot wounds and a broken heart. "Wanna hear?"

"How about you shut your mouth for a change," she offered, gently enough to make it clear that some things should be fixed with another kind of communication.

When she reached to guide him inside her, he was uncommonly solemn. The dry spell had ended at the door already, but that drowsy, flaming rust of a stare caused the cup to overflow. She was slippery as hell, but he was patient, mostly having a ball watching how she went through trial and error to get him in. The intimacy made her flustered, and that stern expression soon turned into a smug one as she fucked up guiding him in smoothly and with finesse.

And it was wishful thinking that Simon would keep his mouth shut.

"Ya need help with that?"

"Shush," she said, knowing it was futile, a laugh bubbling in her chest as she tried to sound convincing with the command. As if she could order someone like Simon around.

He broke again when the thick of him finally pushed in, slow and steady like a reverie.

"Always so fuckin' tight 'n wet for me…"

"You can't just shut it for one minute, can you," she breathed while gliding down the cock that spread her wide — and God, she had longed for that familiar invasion.

"Not with you, sweetheart."

She had barely even started when she saw how his throat worked, then felt him tighten the grip on her waist.

"Did ya have others while I was away?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

The muscles on his jaw tensed, then unwound with a sigh, the heavy-lidded eyes making him look like a man about to pass out.

"Neither did I. Seat's already taken."

The jesting, his laugh, their togetherness — she had missed it so much that it physically hurt.

But at the same time, it felt like they were meeting for the first time. This time with more than just their clothes off. Everything was…amplified, and not just because the lights were on. This was not a lazy Sunday morning fuck under the sheets.

She had been squashed against his chest, but she had never traced the muscles with the tips of her fingers, watched how his nipples grew hard at the contact. She had never quite seen how his jaw clenched, how his abs pulled taut just from a slow roll of her hips. Her hands looked tiny, dainty, when they swept over him – a man made weapon – all corded muscle and uneven skin, tone changing with the map of old and new scars, fresh scratches here and there, ill-healed burn marks and whatnot coating a skin that had seen more than just rough weather. He didn't treat his body like a living, breathing thing; it was simply a tool.

Her past boyfriends had been just that. Boys compared to him. It wasn't just his size, that he was older than her. It wasn't even the map of scars spread over muscles built to withstand and wage war. It was just something so inherently him, a maturity, ripe survival, toughness that came from another age entirely.

She tried to be worthy of him, make love to him in return for all the favors he had so generously given her.

He appeared to enjoy it with the most laid-back attitude she had yet seen on him. She had prepared for intensity, as always, a bit of devilry, but not for that daydreamy stare. That absorbed, blissful look could only be compared to someone easing down on a divan, waiting to be served wine and grapes like they were some Roman deity. Or, in his case, on a lush sofa, waiting for his girl to bring him a scotch after a long day. Maybe take his boots off, and his pants too, kneel and take him in a warm, wet mouth…

God, she was fantasizing about blowing Simon while riding him. But she'd be damned if she didn't serve him that back rub with a happy ending as soon as she had ridden him to the finish line.

"Should do this more often," he noted evenly, echoing her thoughts – and trying to grasp some sliver of control by telling her he liked this. Liked being served.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Can't complain."

And she realized now that she wasn't the one in charge, no. He was looking at her much in the same way as he did when she was up on that stage. Only, he was now both the stage and the pole… and the audience.

Fuck.

Every time she tried to get in control, he did that rear choke on her. Even this turned out to be another counter technique. He was simply enjoying her take her pleasure.

The notion didn't cause fires anymore, other than a flare of licking heat down to where they were joined. Her inner walls had decided that he was a keeper too, gripping him so violently that the tendons on his neck became visible. The callous of his hands traveled upwards to her ribs, and she caught a thought of how he could easily crush her if he wanted to — but he only proceeded to hug her waist with an iron grip to join in the show.

"Keep doin' that and there's gonna be a real mess," he said, voice thick, sending more heat trickle down her spine.

"Isn't that always the case with you?" She was on the brink of laughter now, because it felt stupid that it had taken her so long to enjoy this man to the full.

"Yeah… But you love it. Admit it." He wasn't bulldozing now. Just enticing, eyes glimmering from seeing her so evidently happy.

And she did admit it. She didn't hold back at all. She allowed him to see exactly how much she wanted and admired him, how good he made her feel.

The account started as a steaming, almost pissed-off checklist, a confession rather than a declaration of love. It contained pent-up love and hate, from how he fucked her in the dark to how he drove knives to a wall she didn't even own. But then it turned into a hymn. Nevermind ego; she wanted to stroke his heart and soul. He fucking deserved it.

She told him he was a good man, the best man she had ever known. How she had never loved anyone like this. How she was his, had been from the moment he came to that club. She even told him how big he was and how she had trouble concentrating in class because of it. That she had trouble focusing pretty much anywhere.

How she had cried herself to sleep in his sweatshirt every night after he had left… How she wanted him to never leave again — how she wanted to solve every argument they would have from now on with a hatefuck instead.

At first, he looked at her curiously, probably thinking she was joking. Then his expression turned to a choked-up stun.

“Sarah– Fuckin’ hell…"

Every secret thought from the past five months was laid out before them; every little thing she admired about him from body to soul.

It seemed to be a shock treatment, a little too much all at once, but he was true to his word and didn't complain.

"You're gonna make a grown man cry 'ere."

He didn't cry, but if there was still some invisible wall between them, every last brick was blown apart at this point.

The poker game was finally over, the whole table was cleared of cards and chips and bets.

"Do you even like me… Unbelievable, Simon," she said as a final notion. There was a soft smile, but it wasn't arrogant or vain in her eyes anymore. Just proud, pleased.

God, had she been stupid.

She descended to celebrate, to seal it all with a kiss. He welcomed her with fast allegiance: arms went around her as soon as her breasts pressed against his chest. It was all hunger, but ten times more tender than the starvation at the door. Slow, deliberate, and it went straight to her cunt, gripping him — and of course he responded with a groan, straight into her mouth.

His hips jerked up to meet her, and had she not been in the safe custody of freakishly strong arms, she would've fallen off her ride. And it was high time to investigate whether he had a vulnerable spot in his neck as well.

A sluggish, flat-tongued lick up the column of his throat and some open-mouthed, sloppy kisses sent him contracting from the middle, pushing in, balls deep. She risked a nib, even a soft bite, and eventually, went a bit feral on that neck. It was another jackpot for the both of them.

"I need-.. need you on your back," he had never stuttered like that, out of breath, trying to be polite with a raspy throat. But he wasn't really asking, and it wasn't really mannerly. It was actually a demand.

"Wanna fuck you hard," his voice was so low that it was almost a growl.

Yes.

Yes. Yes, please.

And she knew just the trick that would ensure that he did.

"Hmh. Denied," she said to his neck, and waited for the punishment that was brief and thorough.

"The hell it is."

He rolled over and switched their roles without even pulling out, and just like that, her feeble attempts to be the rebellious first woman turned to dust. But she didn't really mourn the loss. Her Eden resided right here.

"You're such an asshole," she was laughing from mirth and love and the joy of being pressed under that safe weight again.

"Would like to fuck that too someday."

Oh my God..-

She wasn't a blushing lady from Victorian times, but this was a little unexpected, even from him.

"Bet you're even tighter down there… I might just pass out."

Her jaw must've fallen an inch or two, her eyes no doubt shot full of shimmering glee because nothing, absolutely nothing escaped him, and her face was now more than that of a stupefied goldfish.

"I suggest you close that pretty mouth before I-"

She cut him short by sinking nails in his skin — more precisely, his ass. He arched his back with the following thrust, even exposed his throat with a satisfied grunt.

"Lil' wildcat… I could do this all night." It was a pleased chuckle, and her heart hurt — she was constantly calling him annoying, an asshole, a jerk, and he told her she was beautiful, sweet, his girl, or a little wildcat in return…

"Would ya like that?"

She could only nod, time and again, and the sex turned messy, noisy and unhinged, weeks and weeks of frustration and longing dissipating with fucking that spread her thighs wide and made the whole bed wail. Her head hit the frame once or twice before he moved her with an annoyed grunt while she was having a laugh about it, but then she remembered he was injured and that this was a bad idea.

"Your wounds-" she tried to stutter amidst a pounding that had certainly been held back for longer than five months, not to talk of a few weeks.

"I'll live."

She was close, but so was he, and it seemed it was the most difficult decision he had ever made: to choose whether to slow down and grit his teeth or just give into the temptation and spill. A split second, and he chose the latter, and she must've been gawking: all that muscle towering over her went tense, the halved slant between his pecs sheened with sweat.

He came with a long groan and a head rolled back, the tension leaving him in shivers before his head fell back down, chin to the chest. The stare behind those heavy lids was unfocused, heady, drugged.

"Fuck, you're a glorious sight," he said while sweeping a hand over her sternum and closing the giant palm around her throat — nothing brutal or rough, just a little bit of fun that probably shouldn't have made her tighten around him as furiously as it did. It felt like she was one of his victims, held in place by one hand only, as his gaze dropped down to marvel at how his cock disappeared in her and came out all wet. The thrusts were erratic and desperate, the ending throes of ecstasy — must've been a glorious sight indeed.

He wouldn't even pause to enjoy the trip back to earth to the full. He left her, eyes both determined and drunk, cock still half hard, so abruptly that a sad little whimper fled her. But he wasn't gone for long, just settled next to her and gathered her in his arms, wracked with purpose.

She gasped when not one, but two fingers dipped inside, then drove deep to the knuckle.

"Fuck…"

"Will do."

It was a scant substitute for his cock, even with two thick fingers. But he was good, so damn good that it didn't matter.

He did everything right, perfect, precise. Made a mess of the cum that joined the wreckage, played with it, slathered it all over her until she was sticky and wet and the noise was well-nigh filthy.

But even more unbearable was the intimacy, the way her hand found him, the bunching muscles on the forearm, the thumb brushing her clit, his fingers curling in a loose fist while two of them curled inside her…

She wanted to participate, feel the fierce connection that had gained a whole new level. There was a sense of belonging, merging — did he feel it too?

Yeah, he definitely did.

Their gazes were locked, but the depth in his eyes wasn't hunger or will to dominate or even meant for fishing cues, it was pure surrender, actually, it was… love.

"Please," she whispered while he made love to her with both his hand and those eyes, not knowing why she even said that. But he had told her he loved it when she begged, so that's what she did. She would give him every fucking thing he wanted.

The sweltering bronze of his eyes broke a little, his brow gave a minimal tug.

"Simon - Please," the words were a mouthed prayer rather than an audible whisper, and she knew her own gaze was fractured because the warmth in his eyes only spread.

"I got ya," he crushed her in a devout hug while spreading her open, breathed into her ear, all joking gone. It was a solemn pledge, a guarantee.

"Promise I got ya."

This wasn't affection anymore; it was bonding.

She came with a strained whimper in his neck, curled into the hug with thighs trembling and hands grabbing whatever she could: a sheet, a tight muscle. He was an absolute genius for not moving, just stayed inside as her muscles sucked him in with a long, hungry pull that turned into a shudder that went through her whole body.

"Uh, fuh-…" She was cursing, sobbing, coming apart by the seams, and he took it all in, breathing high and wide from witnessing what he was doing to her.

It was a slow and tense shattering but turned messier after: into sloppy writhing and moaning, and he moved gracefully to ride it out with her. An absolute ace at what he did.

He might've said something, cheering her on with That's it or Fuckin' beautiful or something like that. She couldn't hear it, and it didn't really matter anyway. The looting was sweet, and he was the perfect fit, so fulfilling, still inside her after the waves had passed. They were breathing into each other, holding the space, sustaining the present moment just by being entangled together, all limbs and breath and sweat on sweat. When he ultimately pulled out, the hand joined the one wrapped around her, holding her like the most precious thing in the universe.

Her depression was gone, the man supporting her being a better cure for her condition than any kind of antidepressant ever invented by Western medical professionals could ever be. There was no fear, only a terrible will to live, a hunger for love and life.

It felt too lame a thing to say: I love you, in that kind of a moment. But something needed to be said. It wanted to come out like a wild thing from a cage.

"You brought me back to life," she whispered to the pulse on his neck, tasting both their salt, feeling like crying again, but this time for a different reason. "When we met. And every day after."

He was calm and still, frozen in time, but she could feel his heart thundering underneath that chest. Fast and overwhelmed.

"You're good at so much more than just killing people. I hope you know that."

The world could use another flood, but he chose to be the floodgate, chose to fight back mass destruction and death and darkness while looking like it. A hero, if there ever was one.

Simon didn't just take lives. He saved them.

"You saved my life, Simon." She stirred a little to look at him, wholly stripped of all his masks.

"There.. Finally shut you up."

He swallowed, and a steady hand brushed the nape of her neck, dissolving the tension if there still was any left.

"Yeah."

The soft silence covered them like a blanket until he bore even deeper.

"I'm glad you could finally join us."

And she realized he was talking about the Game. Their game. The poker game.

She had been a player while he had been here all along with palms facing upwards, with no cards at all. Just waiting for her to catch on.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"'Atta girl."

The kiss was gentle and slow. He grunted in her mouth, and when she withdrew to look at what was wrong, he opened and closed his jaw, then rubbed the side of his chin that had begun to swell a little.

"You hit hard for a historian."

Oh God.

She felt bad, but not bad enough to suppress a chortle.

"Remarkably hard for a woman. Almost dislocated a jaw," he continued when he saw she was laughing at the whole situation.

"I hope it swells real bad," she chuckled. He cast her a look that said So much for sweetness.

"You're ruthless."

"Do you need ice?"

"A kiss'll do."

She didn't deny him that kiss. She wasn't that ruthless. But after that soft peck, she turned to whisper in his ear.

"You deserved it."

He scoffed lightly, gave her a squeeze. It was the middle of the night, but it felt like the midsummer sun was shining.

"You deserve the best."

"And you're the best?" She asked, while they both already knew he was.

"I try to be."

That was probably the most humble thing she had ever heard him say, but then again, when had his arrogance ever been ego? He had always delivered. He was a soldier, but he was not a killer. He was a protector.

But if he would protect her by leaving her in peace, she would start a war of her own.

"Then don't leave me."

"Never."

Her heart skipped a beat, then fluttered flush against her ribs like an overjoyed bird.

"Is that a promise?"

She caught a smile, cocky, but only because he knew he was the best man for the job. He was best at what he did, and it had nothing to do with games.

"It's a vow."

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #mw2 smut #man sized #simon ghost riley x female oc #ghost x female oc #simon riley x female oc #soft simon riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #simon ghost riley fic

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icarustypicalfall · 6 months

Text

Dangerously yours

Simon Ghost Riley

summary: "In the depths of his being, he eluded your grip. For the first time in an eternity, he allowed himself to pursue it, to chase after its essence, and to surrender his very core to its consuming power."

warnings: poetic?, sfw, simon is a mysterious man

notes: happy two months to this account!! tysm for everyone who helped me make it this far, ily <3

don't judge this fic, first time writing about our silly ghost, hope it matched his character.. I'd appreciate any advices about him <3

✧･ﾟ: *. ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･.°•･ﾟﾟ・゜゜・．•

..We lay here for years or for hours,

So long we become the flowers..

The sky was dark, lightning struck through the clouds, and rainfall ensued. Simon nudged your side, urging you to move closer. There was no place where you and he felt more vulnerable and free than this hill, nestled deep in the forest, where the sky and ocean meet. You swung your legs lazily, gazing at the rocks and trees below in the piedmont. A sense of peace washed over you as you let your gaze roam amidst the tempestuous nature.

The ground felt harsh beneath your palms and tender flesh, yet you paid it little attention. It still offered more softness in some ways than the harsh reality that enveloped you and your teammates each day.

Droplets of rain began to pour, and neither Simon nor you moved an inch.

His face remained still, as it always did, concealing a raging war within his soul that only you had caught a glimpse of.

Even after all these years, you still managed to recognize the face beneath that mask. Countless times, you had brushed your fingertips against the tender skin of his face.

No words were needed; you had made a promise before unveiling the true nature hidden within his soul and heart.

Before joining the task force, you never realized the depth of silence's language. It was only after warming up to your cold lieutenant that you truly grasped this reality.

At first, Simon completely ignored you, pushing away that tightening feeling in his chest. He didn't want to form attachments. He yearned for your love more than his next breath, yet he was not prepared for the consequences that came with a relationship. It wasn't death he was afraid of; no, it was the thought of losing you.

He refused to acknowledge his feelings, choosing instead to watch over you from afar like the ghost he was. He observed you, maintaining a distance for his own sake. The mask on his face was a source of gratitude, concealing the chuckles that would arise when you acted smart with the captain or teased Johnny about his accent during dinner. Not to mention the countless pranks you and Gaz had shared, along the desk duty afterwards.

There was something special about you that he couldn't quite grasp. And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to pursue it, to chase after it, and to let it consume his very being.

Just like when he trained rookies every Tuesday morning with you. You were always ahead, never once late. He admired that about you, along with the many other qualities that made you irresistible in the eyes of the stoic lieutenant.

He barked orders at the rookies, firm and precise, waiting for them to shoot and miss. It happened more than once, and he swore he would lose his mind over these thick-skulled soldiers who couldn't hit, for gid sake, a single unmoving target. You, on the other hand, gracefully moved between the rookies, like a poised zephyr, gently instructing and assisting the nervous ones and helping them avoid the angry man.

You and Simon were different, yet somehow the same mud, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

You were calm; an ocean of tranquility that concealed a past that nothing could erase.

Simon was calm; a dark sky that promised a raging storm to follow.

Simon was the shifting sands, always changing. You, on the other hand, remained constant. A loyal sergeant, "a collected lassie" as Johnny affirmed, "with a witty sense of humor", as Gaz added. Captain Price simply nodded, his gaze shifting from your figure training away from them to the Ghost standing nearby, who murmured softly, finally releasing something he didn't realize he would ever say. "And great eyes."

The captain understood. Years of serving alongside the Ghost had given him some insight into the man, not entirely, mind you, but enough to comprehend what troubled him.

Love, Attraction, Affection...

Words with which Simon was well-acquainted, he comprehended the concept of love, had experienced it, and had been loved in return.

However, it was not until that fateful day in Mexico, when you tended to his wounded abdomen in a safe house, disregarding your own injuries and focusing solely on his, that he truly grasped the profound meaning of the word. As your fingertips skillfully treated his scarred skin, he felt an indescribable sensation, causing goosebumps to rise.

Assuming his hand was on his heart due to a chill, you were unaware that his heartbeats were overpowering him, igniting an intense fire within his body. Embarrassed by this overwhelming surge of emotions, he made every effort to regain his composure, even as his mind raced with thoughts. After you finished patching his stomach, aware that the lieutenant would not say much, you stood up. But a firm grip on your wrist halted your departure, causing you to sit back down as instructed. "wait," he ordered firmly, yet you still felt a certain uncertainty and a faint plea in the word.

He removed his mask, discarding it carelessly. You were already familiar with his face, so it came as no surprise when his fatigued grey eyes met yours. A trickle of blood across his temple caught your attention, prompting a frown to appear on your face. "Are you injured?" you asked, scanning his head for any signs of damage, but finding none. Your hand instinctively reached out to cup his temple, wiping away the trace of blood from a tiny cut. "Here?"

He blinked, releasing a long sigh before taking hold of your hand. Anticipating that he would push it away, you were surprised when he instead brought it to his chest, allowing it to rest gently on the tattered remains of his black shirt, directly above his heart. In a husky whisper, his eyes locked with yours, he uttered, "Here..."

Simon Riley was a mysterious man, but you understood that there were limits to what you needed to know. You did not delve into his past, and he was immensely grateful for your discretion. Through your affection and care, you enveloped him in a love that made him truly comprehend its profound essence. His previous notions of love as a curse, afflicting unfortunate individuals and functioning as a poison that consumed their thoughts before leading them to their demise, were now replaced with a newfound understanding. You made him experience a love unlike any he had encountered before.

Simon's gentle nudge, firmer this time, brought you back to the present. He offered a weary smile, his once dark grey eyes now lighter since the time you began your relationship, meeting your gaze. Sensing his touch on your face, not forceful but enough to capture your attention, you felt his calloused fingers, marked by their service, trace across your cold, rain-kissed cheek. "You are beautiful," he murmured.

You had heard this phrase countless times before, whether from colleagues, friends, or past lovers. Yet, when it rolled off his tongue, it felt different. You nodded, acknowledging the sentiment and allowing it to infuse your soul with peace and affection.

He coughed, fidgeting with his free hand in his pocket. Resting your head on his shoulder, you basked in the warmth that radiated from him, embracing you tightly. Your hand trailed along his knee, lightly patting his wet, dark jeans. Taking a deep breath, you felt the rain wash away your sorrows.

Simon cupped your free hand, delicately sliding a familiar metallic band onto your finger. Your eyes widened in shock as you stared at the man beside you and the exquisite ring adorning your hand. The black diamond shimmered, and you would have wagered it cost more than your monthly paycheck. He smirked, whispering softly as he pressed his lips against your hand, now adorned with the piece of jewelry

"Yes?"

A cry escaped your lips as you tightly embraced him. You knew he smiled, his hand resting gently on your back, providing a comforting pat.

In choosing to spend another chapter of his life with you, he desired nothing more than to be with you for the remainder of this lifetime.

Every part of him felt incomplete, yet he willingly entrusted you with the fragment that he still possessed. He believed that you would vanquish the darkness that plagued his heart, allowing the radiance of love to fill his chest.

Like a gentle butterfly, you landed upon him, kissing his heart and soul, declaring it your eternal abode.

He did not require a metallic band to prove your connection, for you had known it long ago and had been living it ever since.

Nevertheless, he felt an irresistible urge to offer you something, a grateful whisper, a constant reminder, in case he did not return one day, or in case you needed to fend off unwanted attention. He wished to claim you as his own because he was dangerously yours.

MASTERPOST

𓆩♡𓆪 kindly like and rebelog 𓆩♡𓆪

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mushrubes · 7 months

Text

Tension

Masterlist | Call of duty masterlist |

Requested : no

Based on character ai { Simon Ghost Riley by @/ScarletEmpress}

Pairing : best friend!Simon ghost Riley x reader

Pronouns : you/yours

Type : fluff + suggestive

Word count : 2.3k

Content: best friends, mutual pinning, slightly ooc + non canonical <3

Have a great day !! <3

————

"Let me take a look." he sighed softly. Although subdued, his words sound commanding. Your eyes are heavy and weary, the mission having weighed you down. You've experienced enough bloodshed to know that the silence is only a temporary reprieve from the horrors of war. But for now, it will do. Ghost is facing you, inspecting your injuries. The movements of his hands are steady and firm, but you notice the slight tremble of his fingers. He's trying really hard to push back the dread and misery he's feeling. "I'm sorry." you whispered, looking at the ground, not wanting to meet his gaze. He looked up from your wound for a second, his expression softening as he heard the apology.

"You have nothing to apologise for." His voice had lost the usual commanding tone, now sounding softer and more gentle. "You did your best." he comforted, making it clear he valued your effort and was proud of you. "But-" you started before he cut you off with a firm tone. "No buts." His expression darkened, but still gentle as his hands began to work on your injuries. "You fought bravely. You have no reason to feel ashamed or apologise." It was no secret he believed in you, wanting you to be confident in yourself and your skills. You fished around in your pocket, pulling the USB out. He took the USB from you, turning it over in his gloved hand. "What's this?" he looked up, awaiting your response. As you stare at Ghost, you notice the faint scars on his face. There's that familiar twinge in your chest, something deep within you wanting to know more, and it's only growing more intense.

"Intel. I got it from their base." you admitted, recalling hearing him and Price talk about it before the mission. "You snuck into an enemy base and got out alive?" His grey eyes widened as he looked up at you. The corners of his mouth lifted upwards, showing off his teeth. His face softened, impressed by your feat. "That was...quite impressive, I have to admit." he nodded approvingly at you. "Good job." he added. "Thank you." you responded softly, a tinge of pink appearing on Ghost's cheeks, his head tilting slightly as he stared at you. "Anytime." his voice is husky, it's subtle but there's a hint of vulnerability. "Now, hand me that antiseptic and let's get you patched up." he let out a hum as you passed it over to him.

Your eyes met his again as you handed it over. lingering longer than expected. Something about those intense grey eyes and crooked smile is hypnotic, and you couldn't pull away. As he began cleaning your wounds, the tension between the pair of you was palpable, you being hyperaware of him being so close to you and his gentle touch. "Okay, there, I think that should about do it." Ghost pulled away, double-checking your bandage. He reached up, adjusting his balaclava, expression solemn. "It's going to scar, but nothing you have to worry about." his grey eyes held yours again, the moment intense. "Now come on, we should get back to base." he said. You pushed yourself off the stack of boxes, nodding. He put his supplies away and stepped back. "Let's go." he turned around, walking down the path back towards the base. "You coming, or what?" his tone was light but you noticed the slight edge of urgency to his words. It didn't sound like a request.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, making it clear from his expression that this was no time to be dawdling. "Get a move on." he huffed, a small smile on his face. "Yeah, yeah." You brushed off, following behind him. You hurried to catch up, his legs much longer, causing you to increase your pace and take longer strides. His balaclava made it impossible to read his expression, but he seemed to sense your unease. Even under his mask, he gave you a subtle wink. A warm feeling spreads through your body, but the tension surrounding the air is far from dissipating. "We've been gone too long. Move it." his voice having slightly more urgency to it. "Alright. It's not my fault you've got longer legs." You argued, earning a quiet laugh from him, muffled by his balaclava. There was a certain twinkle in his eyes when he looked back at you. "You're not complaining, are you?" he teased, his tone light and playful as if he didn't sense the tension.

"Just means you'll have to keep up." he chuckled, turning back around and walking again. "You're so annoying." you laughed, running to catch up and intertwining your hands so he wouldn't get too far. His fingers curled around yours, creating a strong and secure hold on your hand. Their rough texture tinges with soft warmth. Your heart raced as a surge of adrenaline flooded your system. You can feel his gaze on you, but you can't see his expression. "Is it working?" his voice quiet but a sense of playful sass. "Am I getting to you?" he teased smugly. "Oh, shut it." You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat up which didn't go unnoticed by Ghost. "Now, now, where's that cool, composed agent that took down a whole base of armed opponents?" his voice shifted, now sounding more teasing but still affectionate. "You wouldn't be...nervous, would you?" he turned to face you, winking as he continued to hold your hand, enjoying himself immensely.

"Me? Nervous? Never." You laughed, shaking your head at his antics. "Sure, sure, that's fine." Ghsot's tone was still light and playful as he walked beside you. His grey eyes glanced over every now and then, although it was impossible to read the expression on his face. You startled slightly as you felt the warmth of his fingers running up your arm. "You good?" he stared back at you for a moment before looking straight ahead. "Mhm. You?" you asked, hoping he couldn't hear the nervousness in your voice. "I'm good." Ghost's response is curt, but there's a warmth to his voice. Now that you're closer, he looks even more intriguing and attractive than before. The subtle smile, the hint of vulnerability, and that mischievous twinkle in his grey eyes are doing no favours for your nerves. The silence between the two of you stretches out, but he doesn't seem to mind, walking in silence and holding your hand in the moonlight as you get back to the base.

He lets go of your hand as you walk through the entrance, the sound of weapons and radio chatter filling the air, as it would in any army base. Ghost removes his balaclava, his face exposed for the first time today. He looks down at you, expression softer. "I'm glad you're alright." His voice was almost as soft as a whisper, but there was relief in it. "I'm glad you are too." you returned, a gentle smile plastered on your face as you gently ran a hand through his hair. His eyes flickered as he watched you, lips upturning into an endearing smile. "Thank you." he shifted slightly, the movement causing the tattoos on his arm to become ever so visible. A tinge of pink returns to his cheeks again, eyes glancing away before returning. "Now, I'm gonna need that USB from you." he reminded as you quickly handed it over.

He tucked it away into a pocket, shifting again. "There's...something I want to say." his words hung in the air for a moment before he spoke again, his voice husky. "You know...I always say you should expect the unexpected." He turned to you, his face slightly closer. "But one thing I never expect is how beautiful you look. Especially right now." he confessed. "And I never expect how handsome you are every time you take that mask off." you responded, gently cupping his cheek. His gaze shifted away, a slight embarrassment in his face and in his voice, albeit endearing. "Oh, me? Well, you don't have to get all flustered-" he started before being cut off by a voice behind you. "Hey Ghost! Price needs you over there right away." Soap called, Ghost looking over your shoulder before glancing back at you. His expression was soft and affectionate.

"Looks like duty calls." he sighed, a slight groan escaping him as he looked at Soap behind you. "Right, yeah." you nodded, letting out a similar disappointed sigh. His eyes fixed on you, almost as though he didn't want to leave your side just yet. Your heart sunk slightly with his sudden departure. Despite being in a military base, an air of intimacy lingered between the pair of you. It's unclear if this is just for now or if the connection you feel goes deeper. "Duty calls, but...I'll make it up to you, one way or another." he assured, giving you a knowing smile. You risked it, kissing his cheek. "I'll see you later." you assured him, his eyes widening as you kissed his cheek, his cheeks immediately flushing pink. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, his voice a hoarse murmur in his throat. He looked away to collect his thoughts before returning to you. "I'll be back." his fingers hovered on the kiss mark on his cheek which made him flustered again. As he walked away, you could've sworn you saw him smiling.

----

As you practised in the training room, you couldn't help but notice a hint of distraction in your actions, not giving your usual hundred percent. You kept an eye on the door, hoping to see Ghost walk in with his signature swagger anytime soon. You can't help but wonder why he hasn't appeared yet. Maybe he was doing something important. As the minutes ticked by, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were waiting for him to arrive, despite telling yourself otherwise. You'd finished training, muscles aching and head foggy. You'd taken your headphones off, allowing your mind to wander as you wiped yourself down with your towel. Your head swivelled towards the door as a familiar pair of combat boots stepped into the room. His eyes are sharp as he looks at you, scanning your figure with his keen agent gaze. There's something different about him.

His balaclava is still off, exposing his face. It bears hints of today's mission, but the lines of exhaustion are much less pronounced than before. "There you are." his voice cool and steady, with a hint of something else underneath. Something you hadn't heard before. "Hey you." You smiled gently, placing your towel down and taking a drink from your water bottle. "Hey." he smiled back, the tension in the air back once again, feeling electric. He looked over, gazing at your face. "How are you?" the question is simple, even casual, but it has an underlying meaning. The way his eyes lingered on your lips as he said it spoke volumes. "I'm alright. Everything okay? What'd they need you for?" you questioned, moving slightly closer.

"Nothing important." he assured, his voice casual and relaxed. "Just the..usual." he paused, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint half-smirk. "I got distracted talking to you." There's no mistaking the affection in his voice now. You feel a thrill run down your spine, Ghost no longer hiding his feelings. "Oh yeah?" you grinned as he approached. "Yeah." he stepped a little closer, his tone shifting to a low murmur. "You know, I'm sure I can find a way to...make it up to you." He glanced into your eyes, the hint of playfulness evident again. He leaned closer, close enough for you to feel his breath on your face. Your arms wrapped around Ghost's neck, pulling him even closer, your touch filled with both affection and desire. His eyebrows raised in surprise but the touch of your hands sends jolts of excitement rushing through him. He can't deny the feeling that stirs within him and neither can you.

He gently pulls you close, his own arms wrapping around your waist. A hint of passion suffuses the air, the tension between you building with every moment. His touch sends shivers up your spine, your heart racing with excitement and anticipation. He pulled you closer, one hand threading through your hair as the other travelled down your body. The heat between the two of you builds, each beat of your heart adding to the rising tide of emotion. You pulled him closer yet, your breath grew shorter and your vision hazy with excitement. Your lips meet, your bodies pressing as tightly together as they could. It's just you and Ghost, the tension turning to passion. The moment is slow and sweet, every sensation of his touch vivid and intoxicating. It felt as if time had slowed down as the two of you got lost in each other. Everything else falls away, only the kiss mattering.

After a moment, the kiss ends, the pair breathless. He leans back against the wall, his hands still on your waist. His lips are curled slightly, a grin plastered on his face. "I told you I'd make it up to you." He looked you up and down, a new fire behind his eyes. "But you really couldn't wait, could you?" he teased, his words playful but with intent. "As if you're any different!" you teased back playfully, laughing at him. "Maybe not." Ghost's voice is a husky growl, your teasing only making him want you more. "But I bet you still want more." His eyes travelled down your body with an intensity that sent thrills running through you. The heat builds yet again. "And I'm not complaining." he whispered, glancing at your lips once more, his own parted in subtle yearning.

"My room or yours?"

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savemefromanepicoftimewasted · 6 months

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You Cannot Run From Your Past Finale

Mobster!Simon Ghost Riley X F!Reader

Price didn’t want to think about what could possibly go wrong, knowing that any worst case scenario could happen no matter how prepared they were. Simon hadn’t bothered to take off the ring you’d slipped onto his finger, it felt wrong to take it off. The two of you could worry about what happened next in a few days, as long as he survived. a/:here it is! the big ending! if you did read and enjoy I thank you a ton and hope it met everyone's expectations, i spent a while working on it and it mans a lot warnings:violence, blood, gore, death, character death

You slept for nearly the entire flight, body resting against Simon’s as he did all he could to comfort and keep you warm. Price didn’t want to think about what could possibly go wrong, knowing that any worst case scenario could happen no matter how prepared they were. Simon hadn’t bothered to take off the ring you’d slipped onto his finger, it felt wrong to take it off. The two of you could worry about what happened next in a few days, as long as he survived.

“We’re going to be landing soon, might want to wake her.” Price gestured to where you’d made yourself comfortable against him.

Simon nodded, gently shaking your shoulder. You huffed into his chest, burrowing closer as your hand slid beneath his sweater.

“Doll, you need to get up, we’re gonna be landing soon.” Simon didn’t want to disturb you at all, but he knew the landing wouldn’t be gentle.

“Mmm, fine.” You pushed yourself up slowly, confused for a brief moment before reality sunk back in.

You were almost in New York to meet with Steve, and possibly Tony if he was willing to make the time. Everyone else seemed tense, nerves starting to set in as the plane began its slow descent to the ground. Everything was going to work out for you, even if you had to resort to going with plan b and putting yourself into danger.

Plan A was getting Tony on board to kill James himself as a way to exact his revenge and live a happier life knowing his parents' murderer was dead. Plan B..well you didn’t want to acknowledge plan b unless you ultimately had to. You hadn’t informed Simon of it at all, the less he knew about your suicide mission the better.

Price sighed softly as the plane came to its final stop, you were officially in New York and now it was time to call Steve and Tony. Simon allowed you to get changed as everyone else grabbed their bags and headed off the plane, keeping an eye to make sure no one tried to sneak a peek. Sending out a quick text you let Steve know you were in town and able to meet up, at least until James was confirmed to be back in town. His only reply was an address, perfect.

“Steve’s ready to meet, let’s go before he changes his mind.” You grabbed Simon’s hands, lacing your fingers together and heading over to the car with everyone else.

Price wasn’t uncomfortable driving to the mysterious address, but given that none of you were really sure if Steve wasn’t about to completely fuck you over? Well it was a valid concern for everyone at the moment. You refused to let your mind wander to any negative place, hoping for all intents and purposes that things would be perfectly fine and you would all go home happy at the end of the day.

“We’re here, better let him know just in case.” Soap stepped out of the car first, heading over to the door while you and Simon did the same.

Gaz and Price were going to keep watch outside until you confirmed it was definitely Steve inside and that it wasn’t a total setup. Simon reached around for the gun slipped into the back of his trousers, watching the door closely as you walked inside.

Steve looked so different from the last time you’d seen him, standing before you was a man that was nearly as tall as your husband, shoulders just as broad. Where had little scrawny Steve Rogers gone? Jesus he could give a model a run for their money, and yet he wanted to live a normal and happy life.

“It’s really you.” You ran over, hugging him tightly as tears slipped down your cheeks.

“Yeah, it’s me hun.” Steve’s hands rubbed along your back slowly, doing his best to help comfort you.

He’d heard about what James had planned to do, how you’d been betrothed to his once best friend before he’d managed to destroy it all. Steve had always seen you as the sister he’d always wanted but never had, and when you were able to flee the country he was glad. James didn’t deserve someone like you, someone to give him the heirs he so desperately wanted. And here you were, a man watching Steve like a hawk ready to strike if needed.

“God, what the hell happened, you got so big.” You laughed as you pulled from his embrace, wiping away your tears as you took in the thick navy sweater he wore.

“Growth spurt hit pretty late to be honest, but James doesn’t even know what I look like anymore so I’m thankful for it.” His hair was longer, a dark beard covering his once smooth cheeks.

“I’m glad you’ve been able to live a good life, if any of us deserved it, it was definitely you.” Steve had done everything he could to make sure his friends were happy, after losing his mother he’d been so lost.

Steve shook his head, chuckling as he pulled you back in once more into a tight embrace. It didn’t matter that you being here meant someone wouldn’t come out alive, but he was thankful. You were clearly in a much better place, the ring on your finger catching his attention for a brief moment, he’d talk to you about that later.

“I was able to get in touch with Tony, and while he said the idea’s batshit crazy, he’s willing to help.” That helped ease your mind, if Tony was willing this would go a lot smoother.

“Good, so we need to wait until James lands back in New York before we can go ahead with the plan.” You glanced over to Simon, emotions were swirling in his eyes, reminding you exactly why you were risking everything.

Price and Gaz walked into the building, shutting the door to keep any wandering eyes from catching on to what was going on. You walked everyone over to the table that was closest, laying down the blueprints of James’ building, going over the plan with your group, and Steve. It would be a no brainer as long as James didn’t become suspicious, if he suspected anything you’d all lose.

“Do you mind if I send these to Tony? He’s better with building layouts than I am, he’ll know where the guards should be if needed.” You didn’t hesitate to let Steve take the reins, it was in your best interest to let the pros handle everything.

Simon kept a hand on your back, wanting to be close to you at all times, the need to protect you tripling from the moment you’d landed. Price could see the way Simon was infatuated with you, knew that one of his best men had found his soulmate. He prayed to a god that had given up on him long ago that he wouldn’t lose any of his men, that they would win this horrific battle. If Tony could do what he was claiming, you wouldn’t be put into any danger at all, but if he couldn’t. Price refused to think about that option, this would work and that was final.

“Tony’s got everything set up, you’ll go to his estate tomorrow claiming you had to flee your husband and make sure that he believes you.” Simon hated the idea of you running into James’ arms, claiming that you’d loved him and only him.

“I know, I’ll have to leave my rings at the hotel before I go, if he sees them he’ll know right away.” You didn’t want to take them off, afraid if you did you’d never see Simon again.

“Let’s head to my house, James hasn’t landed yet so we have a little more time to prepare before he’s back home.” Steve was more nervous having your new group of friends in his home than anything else.

You agreed, reaching back to hold onto Simon’s arm as you all headed out of the building to a place where James wouldn’t find you. You and Simon were stuck together like glue, refusing to leave the other’s side until you were safely inside the Brooklyn brownstone. His house had a warmth that you hadn’t felt in years, enveloping you like a warm hug. The sound of feet pattering towards you suddenly caught your attention.

“Daddy!” A little girl, no older than four, threw herself into Steve’s arms.

Your jaw dropped open, not only did Steve grow into the man before you, he was also a parent! Her crystal blue eyes were nearly identical to Steve’s, her hair a soft corn husk yellow that hung down her shoulders in ringlets.

“Sorry, this is my daughter Sophia, Sophia this is your auntie Y/N.” You couldn’t stop the way your breath caught in your throat, he’d been calling you her auntie?

“Hi!” Sophia wiggled in her fathers hold, a bright smile showing off her teeth.

“Hi sweetheart, it’s nice to finally meet you, this is my husband Simon, he’s your uncle.” You gestured to Simon behind you, the words slipping off your tongue easily.

“Hello!” Sophia was excited by all the sudden new people in her house, there were so many new friends to play with.

Steve was glad she didn’t seem scared of anyone, even if you were all dressed down to look like regular civilians. Would their accents give them away almost right away? Perhaps, but that was a problem for when the big issue was taken care of. He made coffee and tea for everyone, giving Sophia a cup of juice to help keep her busy while everyone talked. You would meet up with Tony in the morning and head over to pay James a visit.

Surely this would all work out and you wouldn’t be in danger for longer than was needed…right?

~~~~~~~

You were terrified, heart racing as you stood outside the ridiculously large skyscraper. James was clearly overcompensating when it came to his business. You’d left your ring with Simon, promising to come back to him safely and put this nightmare behind you. Now, taking a deep breath, you pushed open the glass double doors and headed inside. The receptionist stopped you immediately, refusing to let you onto the elevator until you announced who you were.

“I’m an old friend of James, my names Y/N, he’ll know.” You watched her as she called him, mumbling your name, her eyes suddenly widening in what seemed like horror.

“Yes sir, I’ll send her up right now.” She didn’t say a word as she weakly pointed towards a completely different elevator.

Shit, this wasn’t going how you’d planned, had he had a specific elevator that went directly to his office. You nodded towards the young woman before stepping into the enclosed space, waiting with baited breath as you watched the numbers tick by. You continued to go over the script in your head, it had to be perfect. As the doors ‘dinged’ loudly you stepped off quickly, heading down to where James’ office was. The tears were already running down your cheeks, perfect.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” James feigned concern, you knew he didn’t truly care about how you were feeling at that moment.

“Oh, James, I’m so sorry I ever left, Simon was horrible, he wanted to lock me in that house and force me to become nothing more than a slave. I had to escape before it was too late.” You knew your makeup was ruined, an idea that Steve had brought up.

He pulled you into his embrace, hands stiff as he did what he could to try and comfort you in that moment. You felt sick to your stomach, letting this man put his hands on you after everything he’d said and done. You couldn’t complain though, this was your only chance to finally do what you deemed right.

“I’m so glad you came back home darling, we’ll live a much happier life together, you’ll never go without.” James’ hands slid up your back, calloused hands cradling your jaw.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him, hoping like hell it reached your eyes and didn’t give away your entire plan.

James seemed to believe your words, a small smile pulling up his lips as he leant his forehead gently against yours. You cupped your hands overtop of his own, breathing in the scent of his expensive cologne. The sound of the safety on a gun turning off caught your attention, you had mere seconds to move before Tony would rush into the room. James’ hands tightened as you tried to duck down, eyes filled with rage as Tony stood in the doorway.

You watched in horror, afraid you would be used as a human shield by the man standing before you. As he opened his mouth to argue, blood splattered across your face and chest, James’ eyes rolling back as his body fell to the floor. Tony stood shocked in the doorway, arm resting by his side as he waited to see who the hell had taken James out. Your eyes glanced at the window, a miniscule hole giving you all the information you needed. Simon couldn’t risk Tony freezing up and letting James cause any harm to you, so he took matters into his own hands.

“Shit, hey why don’t you get away from him.” Tony grabbed your arm gently, pulling you away from James’ corpse.

Blood was soaking into the hardwood floor, staining the once light wood a deep crimson. Simon didn’t mind giving Tony all of the credit, as long as he knew you were safe, that was all that mattered. You ran down to the bathroom, desperate to get the blood off your skin and wash away the memories that would surely haunt you for a long time. Tony stood outside the bathroom door, giving you the privacy you so desperately needed.

On the opposite building Simon had deconstructed his sniper, setting the pieces back into their case so he could make his way over to you. Soap could handle dealing with the weapons, it was one of his favorite things to do anyway, you were now his priority. Price tried to stop him, to see if things had worked out but failed as Simon ran by him. For someone of his size Simon was nearly silent as he made his way down the elevator, ignoring the two elderly women that were fawning over his arms. He wondered if you would still love him when he was no longer young and fit, unable to protect his boss anymore.

He wouldn’t admit he had to threaten the receptionist at the front desk, pointing a gun at her head before she called the elevator. Tony was pacing outside, hands shaking as reality sunk in that James was truly dead, he would never hold his parents’ death over his head anymore. Steve would finally be safe to live his life without worry that James would kill his daughter.

“She’s in there, probably waiting to see you anyway.” Tony waved him off, walking towards one of the offices nearby.

You’d managed to get all of the blood off of your skin, unfortunately your clothes were done for and would be stained no matter what. As Simon opened the door and locked eyes with you your heart rate increased tenfold, he was here. You were still alive, eyes shining with unshed tears as you turned to face him. Simon didn’t spare a single second, running over and pulling you into his arms, lips crashing with yours harshly.

You gripped his hair, pulling him tighter to your body to confirm that he truly was in your arms and not a nightmare. His hands slid beneath your shirt, pulling the offending fabric from your body and leaving you bare, save for your bra. Simon pulled from your embrace, pulling off his coat and laying it overtop of your shoulders. You basked in the warmth, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne and body wash.

“I was so afraid I’d lost you.” Simon rubbed your arms gently, helping warm you up as the adrenaline wore off.

“I’m still here, I promise.” Your eyes met his, promising him a million and one different things.

Outside in the hallway Price met up with Tony, a favor weighing on his mind now that they were finally in the clear.

“Since your man took him out, I believe I owe you?” Tony wasn’t an idiot, knowing that Simon had done what he couldn’t, he owed them his life.

“Could you help one of my men get eloped, today?” It was a tight ask, considering that most marriage licenses’ took a few days to be notarized.

“I..I might have already had it started, I saw the way he looked at her last night. They can go down today and get married if they really wanted to.” Price was floored, he had only been in Tony’s presence for less than a day and was already doing more than most.

He thanked the other man, pushing the bathroom door open slowly to give the two of you time to break apart if needed. What he hadn’t been expecting to see was the way Simon cradled you so delicately, as if you would shatter into a million pieces with one wrong move.

“If you’d like, Tony’s offered to allow you to get married today.” Simon was shocked, after everything he hadn’t expected to hear that of all things.

“You know what? Let’s do it, we already have the rings, and I can’t picture my life with anyone else by my side.” You wanted to put your rings back on right away, but if it meant truly being Simon’s wife, you could wait a little longer.

“Alright, let’s go you two.” Price couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

Maybe it was a whirlwind of emotions, maybe you were rushing into something that could ultimately crash and burn, but there was no one else you’d want to spend the rest of your life with.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanart #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #steve rogers #james barnes #bucky barnes

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simonzmama · 12 days

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‘magin sweet virgin simon finally hittin it.

your legs sit hiked up on the thick muscles sittin’ atop his hipbones, his fingers digging deep into the sheets, practically twisting em off the mattress as he breathes out lowly.

his hips press forward further, his cock burning n stomach rolling into taut knots that have his nails digging holes into your pretty pink sheets.

you drag your hands up his chest slowly watching as the muscles pull tight n his hips stutter. his eyes flicker up to yours, skin breakin out in a mess of tender of goosebumps. “breathe, baby. you’re goin’ red on me, si.”

he laughs lowly, throat thick as he bottoms out. his thighs press against the back of yours, neck rolling as he tries his absolute best to contain the way his orgasm shivers down his spine.

“oh my… fuck,” he groans, teeth takin ahold of his tongue to silence the multitude of noises rising up his throat. his eyes flutter to a shut slowly as he tries to get the image of your sweet body outta his mind, or the fact that your cunt is suckin’ n holdin’ him there so tightly.

his head drops into the crook of your neck as he slowly pulls back, teeth nippin at your soft skin as your head arches back. his teeth bare in a soft hiss, jaw ticking against your chin. you drag your nails down his back gently, a pretty moan spilling free off your lips at the soft drag of his thick cock against your warm, silky walls.

n that’s what does it for him, the sound of that melodic whine. it plays n plays in his mind on repeat until he’s suddenly forcing himself back into you, hips a shaky stuttery mess.

n the groan, the drawn out whimper that tumbles off his lips is cruel. his teeth sink down into your skin as his hips ground forward, desperately attempting to fuck his seed into you. his eyes roll and his fingers grasp at the soft hair lining the nape of your neck.

“simon?” you murmur softly feeling his thick, hot release fill you full. “lemme look at you, wanna see that pretty face.”

zamnnnn. dis sounded better in my head 🤦‍♀️✌️

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emmster · 8 days

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Can these cats just let the man sleep?

#Simon ghost Riley #Simon Riley and cats #cats #he comes home from that last mission in mw3 and your cat just won’t leave him alone #because cats just know #they know #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley x reader #my art #procreate #simon riley #cod simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n

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gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot · 6 months

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Teaser

#cod oc #cod original character #call of duty original character #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #riot vega #christine riot vega #simon ghost riley x christine riot vega #simon ghost riley #ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x female oc #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #mw2 ghost

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simonrileyyyy · 3 months

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A Chaptsick Game 💄💕

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Warning: None! Just fluff 💕

You saw a trend on tiktok with couples where one partner put on chapstick, and the other partner would be blindfolded and kiss the other partner to guess the flavor.

You looked across to see Simon watching tv, sitting next to you, his thumb lazily tracing patterns on your thigh.

“𝐒𝐢, 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐤?”

Simon then turned his attention from the tv to you and raised his eyebrow.

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝 '𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞?”

You handed Simon the phone with the video, and a smirk grew on his face.

“ ‘𝐘 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭"

You beamed, and instantly went to the whole hoard of different chapsticks you had in your makeup bag since you had a bad habit of collecting them.

You returned to Simon with the makeup bag with chapsticks in it, and Simon’s eyebrows raised slightly as he saw you dump all your chapsticks in an empty bowl.

“𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐝'𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞?”

You shrugged, a grin plastered on your face.

“𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤.”

———————————-🧸———————————

The blindfold was on Simon, and the camera was rolling. You picked a vanilla flavored chapstick, and applied some to your lips and kissed Simon.

When you pulled away, Simon cupped the back of your head and pulled you back into a kiss again and again until you were dizzy.

“𝐒𝐢!”

You laughed and smacked his arm, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

Later, you would find out he wouldn’t.

Time after time, you recorded the video and kissed him, but Simon would always pull you right back into a passionate kiss and break the kiss when you became dizzy.

After the 9th try, you were getting exhausted and your lips were softer now from the chapstick and all the kissing. As Simon watched the clip, a proud smirk was plastered on his face.

He was about to post it, but you protested.

“𝐒𝐢! 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐭! 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝!”

Simon chuckled, the deep sound rumbling in his chest.

“𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐝𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 '𝐭 𝐦𝐞.”

As you tried to reach, he raised his arm up in the air and posted it, his tall ass figure preventing you from doing anything.

“𝐒𝐢𝐢𝐢𝐢!”

You pouted, and Simon was grinning from ear to ear with that smug ass smirk.

He picked you up and placed you on the couch, ticking you until you surrendered.

“𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭! 𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭! 𝐈 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩!"

Simon was pinning you to the couch and stopped tickling you, and instead placed a kiss on your lips again, tasting the flavor of vanilla on your lips, now on his. He licked his lips, causing you to blush crimson red.

God, this man was annoying. But that’s only one of the thousand things you loved about him.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

💕~

Note: I saw a comment on my other post, and it gave me this idea. WHOEVER IT WAS, TYYY‼️‼️‼️💕

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vixenemesis · 6 months

Text

💀☄️ Decided to draw Ghost with my future OC Sage ☄️💀

#cod OC #future oc #cod mw2 #call of duty #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod fanart #my art #call of duty 2022 #Ghost x Sage #cod oc #yasmine sage lincoln #artwork #cod mwiii #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x female oc

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Man-sized Part 1/9 Dance For You

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC Tags: Explicit content, only for +18 audiences. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics). CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters. Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

He was always there, every night for a week, and then disappeared for months.

He was there a few moments before she began her show, and left right after it ended. He never watched the other girls, the ones who she only warmed up for, the ones who actually stripped and were professionals. He never had a lap dance, a private show, nothing. He just ordered one scotch, watched her little pole dance show, and left.

She used to pick someone from the audience, just one single guy who looked more or less harmless. She was performing to that one guy only — it was more comfortable that way. She could concentrate better, and it was easier to try and be seductive. To be in control.

But he wasn't harmless. And she wasn't in control.

But ever since he started to visit the place, she always picked him, and it required no effort whatsoever to appear seductive. She was wet after every show she performed for him.

When she danced for him, she could feel his gaze on her, as goosebumps and flames that licked her skin. He didn't look at her like she was a goddess. Or a whore. He looked at her like she was a woman, like she was his woman, and they were the only ones in that club. She knew she was being nonsensical — after all, he was just another guy who came to watch an exotic dancer.

But she wasn't one of the stars, she didn't even strip.

At some point, she realized she started to do choreographies just for him. She started to check the calendar, count the days, because he was usually gone only a month, maybe one and a half. Then he came back, every night, for a week or so. She could see that he liked it when she did inversions and shoulder mounts on the pole. Perhaps he could tell that it demanded a huge amount of strength. She liked it that someone admired that — her strength and agility, not her outfit, not even the way she arched her back or threw her hair around.

He was looking at her like she was an artist and an athlete.

She could tell he was an athlete too, but what kind, remained a mystery. He was a big fellow, a muscled fellow, and she always tried to catch what it was that he had tattooed on his forearm.

In the darkness, his eyes were like burning coals, even if the rest of him was pale and blonde, almost like a color that was worn and washed out. He was the most tired, exhausted man she had ever seen, especially on the first nights of his week in town. But that didn't take away an ounce of his power. The whole club could've been full of big, dangerous-looking men, and he would've still been the most intriguing person in her eyes.

At some point, the heated gazes and the tension built up to such heights that she walked to the bar after her show. She rarely did that — she was here to dance and that was all. Get some money so she could study. Some of the girls liked to hustle, but she only wanted to go home after her show, which was draining, especially when he wasn't there to watch her.

She knew he was going to leave again soon. This was one of the last nights if she had her calculations right, if not the last. She already knew she would miss him and copy-paste his image to the audience every night until he would finally materialize on one of those chairs again.

She saw he saw her approaching him. He raised his chin, drew his shoulders back, and turned slightly on the chair, angled his body towards her. She slowed her walk as she reached him, enjoying the way he was forced to look up at her from where he was sitting.

"Are you gonna buy me a drink?"

A smile rose to his face, just a tiny one, one that didn't even bare teeth. It was simply an acknowledgment.

He rose from the chair, took his coat, and left.

---

The next time she saw him was only half a month later.

She climbed the pole, and he watched, had that tiny smile playing in the corner of his lips through the whole show. Her choreography had started to resemble something she would've chosen to perform in a pole dance competition rather than in this kind of place. She had ditched the heels, and danced like she was both Tarzan and Jane; flexible, strong as fuck, showing off what she could do with just one stiff vertical object. He didn't look as tired as before, and when she came to the bar like a bitch in heat, sniffing around a strong, virile male, she saw he had two drinks in front of him.

Perhaps she was making a fool of herself… But she walked toward him again, almost walked past him, then got stopped by an outstretched hand that held a Long Island iced tea.

"Took your time," she said as she grabbed the offered drink.

The man didn't answer. Her heart was thumping faster than when she was exerting herself up on that pole, now occupied by the first true star of the evening.

"May I sit?"

He nodded, and she could feel her palms get sweaty. She didn't usually do this kind of stuff... but when she did, it certainly did not go like this. Like she was the one trying to woo the man.

"So, what do you do?"

He still didn't say a word, and she was beginning to think that the man was actually a mute.

"Are you a professional boxer?"

Finally, a chuckle came. Dark, and husky...

"No."

He had a hoarse, gravelly voice, a voice she could listen to for forever if he only would speak.

"MMA?"

A shake of the head. She peeked at the forearm placed on the table between their drinks, and she saw the inked skull, a helmet, some kind of a bomb…

"You in the army?"

"Somethin' like that."

She barely caught the Manchester accent. Shit… This man was just… He was sexy as hell. Probably picked up ladies like berries wherever he went. She took a sip of that Long Island — why would he buy her a drink with so much hard alcohol in it? It was a bit suspicious. She hadn't seen him buy it, hadn't seen if he had put something in it…

"Oh, I get it. You're James Bond."

He was amused, but something in his eyes told her that she had hit a bit too close to home this time.

"What's your name?"

She was starting to get tired of listening to her own voice, tired of prying for information. But her heart rate spiked as she saw how his interest seemed to die immediately after her latest question. He looked away, his eyes swept the club, and she had a feeling that she had just played poker against an actual Bond and lost it all. Had been a good player until she blew it by asking his name.

"Simon." He rose, reached for his coat, and was leaving again…

"Are you gonna ask my name?"

Fuck, stop speaking.

"It was a nice talk, Sarah."

---

He came back the next day. This for sure was the last time she would see him before he vanished again. But it was impossible for her to go to the bar because she suddenly felt like she had to put on a whole other show after the pole dance performance.

A show of playing hard to get.

So after the lights on the stage died, she went straight to the backstage and got herself ready for a walk home.

"Sarah… there's some guy out there asking for you."

But the show worked. She took her stuff, glanced at the mirror to see that everything was like it should be, then went to get her shoes.

"You got a fan?"

She didn't answer, because it was suddenly hard to pay attention to anything else than the guy named Simon, the guy who had watched her dance for months and was now waiting for her at the back door, the one used by the staff.

A fucking spy, indeed..

"Just be careful, ok?"

"Yeah."

As if she needed a reminder that the brooding James Bond looked like death and danger.

"Hi."

He looked her up and down, didn't say hi back, but gave her a few dark red carnations.

"Oh. Thanks."

The fact that a guy like him was giving her flowers at the back door of a strip club shouldn't have affected her the way it did. Should definitely not make her weak in the knees like he was a high school crush asking her out. Well, he was good at what he did, she had to give him that. Perhaps not the most original move, but still… to her, original enough. She had never received flowers from anyone.

"How long are you stayin' here?" His voice was both smooth and rough, and she wondered if he was as stoic off his feet as he was on them.

"Actually, I was just leaving."

"I can walk you home."

Yet again, it shouldn't have been this way. She was accustomed to pulling the strings, calling out the shots. It wasn't that she didn't feel safe with him… It was just that she didn't feel in control. At all.

They had walked only a few blocks when he lit a cigarette. So much for not hooking up with smokers… And somehow that cancer stick managed to make this man even sexier. Manly.

It was stupid — he had all the traits of a modern cowboy, and she should feel repulsed, not hooked.

"So, how's the James Bond thing going?"

"It's tiring."

"Yeah, you look like you could use a good night's sleep."

Not what I had in mind for you tonight, but still…

He really was a man of few words, but she had a hunch that he wasn't shy. Perhaps Simon only spoke when he had something groundbreaking to say.

"Why do you watch my shows?"

He inhaled the smoke deep and long before giving his answer.

"You move well. Strong 'n' sharp, trained… Could be a fighter."

His compliments made her blush in the cool night air, but she wasn't surprised. He admired and respected toughness, just like she had suspected.

By the time they reached her apartment, she was almost shaking with excitement, and he had filled himself with that smoke.

What the hell… It couldn't taste that bad.

"You wanna come inside?"

The amber eyes looked at her with a flash of amusement instead of hunger.

"Sure."

He suddenly seized her, pinned her against her front door with his body, and kissed her. The flowers dropped to the ground as her hands shot out to clasp his neck; to feel the raw muscle there.

He didn't taste bad at all.

He could've taken her right then and there, in the middle of that sleepy, quiet, dark street, and she wouldn't have said no. Her last time with a man had been everything but mysterious and exciting, months and months ago, and Simon felt like a perfect match right now, a perfect, tall, dark stranger. He was just the kind of man she had always found nothing short of disgusting: an overconfident heartbreaker who couldn't commit.

But this evening was different. Her morals were deep asleep, and she was ovulating, and, well, it was a first time for everything…

He broke the kiss only to pant a question, his second ever, in her mouth.

"You accept credit or cash?"

The slap was way harder than she had meant it to be. Her palm lashed out in pure, hot rage; for having thought that a man like him was nothing but another chauvinistic jerk.

But what he'd implied wasn't even the worst thing. It was the laugh that followed her.

She heard it even after she had shut the door, brushed her teeth; after she climbed into her lonely bed to get some sleep. The tears that emerged were born of shame, not disappointment.

---

He came back after a month.

She knew she shouldn't go down there, to roam among the filth and give him the satisfaction and the mercy.

But those eyes drew her to him like a snare, beckoned her to have another round in the ring with him.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Come on, dove. Don't back away when it just got interesting."

He gave her a full smile this time. She had a feeling that this man didn't smile often, and that flash of pure, bold contentment charmed her right off her feet. Simon wasn't a mystery or a puzzle, he was a whole Rubik's cube.

"I could show you how to do a proper right hook instead of that bitch slap you gave me."

"Wasn't painful enough for you?"

He laughed, darkly, and it went straight between her legs.

"Slept on my right side for a week."

She found herself smiling against her will.

He had thought of her for an entire week when going to bed and was now back for more.

Fuck… The way he just spun her around his finger in mere minutes was despicable. She turned around to leave so that she would win at least one round, but that gruff, dark voice stopped her.

"It was a test. Apologies."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned.

"A test?"

"Yeah. A test." He downed his scotch, and she found herself thinking whether Simon had an addiction to the taste of smoke instead of tobacco per se.

"You got more tests for me?" She tried to appear mocking but only ended up sounding like she was asking for it, asking for more tests and humiliation and… whatever they called it these days. Toxic relationships.

"I was thinking about asking you out."

"We are out."

"Suit yourself."

That fucking accent… It was responsible for this, at least for the most part — that Manchester gruffness was why she was so wet and weak for him. As was the tattoo and his ominous strength, his height and that lone wolf mentality… But why the hell was he harassing her when he could get some pussy even more easily? Why stalk her for months and months and deliberately insult her just when he was about to get laid?

"You know... You're not the first guy who's tried this tactic. And I'm telling you now that it won't work."

The smile turned into a slight smirk. "I doubt you've ever met a guy like me."

Jesus Christ, this man was annoying.

"Wow, you really are a Bond…"

"Dangerous and good-looking?"

"A womanizer who's full of himself."

That fucking laugh. She should leave now when she still had the chance.

But she didn't.

She didn't sit down… But she didn't leave either. He looked at her with those infuriating dark eyes, slightly bloodshot, like he was not only having a rough week at work but a whole rough life as well.

"And you got all the characteristics of a Bond girl."

She didn't take the bait of asking what exactly did he mean by that.

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Bond?"

He licked his lips, narrowed his eyes, and all in all, looked like he was estimating whether she could handle what he was about to tell her.

"I kill people."

Well fuck me…

Ok. Fuck.

"Oh, okay. So you're in Hells Angels or something?"

He smiled and shook his head slowly.

"You're a merc?"

He gave him a vague nod of the head, a shrug of the shoulder, a gesture that said: "Kind of".

"Why would you want to take me on a date?"

Why don't you just say it how it is, that you only want to fuck me?

"'Cause there's something here. You feel it, I feel it."

"You're looking for a relationship in a titty bar?"

He laughed again, and even she had to smile. He matched her boldness, her unapologetic straightforwardness. It couldn't kill her to live a little. Even if it meant tumbling into bed with a cowboy. Even if it meant living a little with a killer.

"You never know," he offered.

"You're a bit too cocky for my taste."

"You've barely even tasted me yet."

Fuck, this man would soon make her drip all over the floor. The tall, dark stranger tilted his head and left her with no choice.

"Shouldn't you at least give it a try before you say no?"

PART 2:

#ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x original character #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #cod fanfic #ghost smut #simon riley smut

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skinnyazn · 9 months

Text

Contact

Takes place before: In the Bleak Midwinter

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 1/4 Notes: Someone had requested Ghost and Jag fighting, I'm sorry I can't find who requested it, but this is their first time meeting, takes place directly before In the Bleak Midwinter

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | AO3 | MASTERLIST

The flight from America was uncomfortably long as it always is when crossing the Atlantic. Laswell was kind enough to put the taxpayer’s money to use and charter you a direct flight from D.C.. Didn’t make the eight hour flight any more comfortable though. When you hopped off the plane with your heavy duffle slung over your shoulder, you were greeted in the distance by an older man with a strong beard and a floppy hat. Price, then. He squinted in the blue haze of the pre-dawn.

“Captain John Price, I presume?” You shouted over the cooling engines of the plane as you walked toward the man.

“You presume correctly. Laswell’s told me good things about you.” He extended his hand. You took it and gave a firm shake.

“She has solid judgment.”

“That she does. Kate and I go way back.” His eyes gave you a once over before he turned and started toward the base. You strode beside him. “Appreciate you making the trip.”

“Laswell’s a persuasive woman.” Price glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You smirked. “Flight wasn’t too bad either.”

The Captain only grunted in response.

Once inside the complex, it was straight to business. Price had already gathered his team in the meeting room. Their chatter stopped when he opened the door, necks craning to get a good look at their special guest. It was a small team, but there was a sharpness in their eyes that gave you the feeling they knew what the fuck they were doing. You nodded at them as you made your way to the front of the room. You shucked your heavy duffle onto the floor, rolling your shoulders back.

“This is Gaz, Soap, and Ghost,” the older man gestured at each teammate respectively.

Glancing at each member, you paired the names with faces. Gaz looked young, with kind eyes and an even kinder smile to match. You couldn’t help but return it. Soap had a air of mischief about him as he looked you up and down; his fluffed mohawk didn’t help his case. And Ghost loomed in the corner.

You were used to men staring at you your whole life—some lecherously, others with curiosity or shyness. But the man with the skull mask looked at you behind half-lidded eyes. His stare was impassive. Bored. An intimidation tactic, you were sure. You let your own gaze trail the length of him before turning back to the center.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet the 141 in the flesh. I’m sure your captain has already told you all there is to know about me, so let’s get straight into it.”

Price nodded.

The meeting was long as the team briefed you on all they knew about their illusive target. They had been tracking his movements across various countries for months, until two weeks ago when all traces of him disappeared. The task force narrowed it down to somewhere in Kazakstan. Which was all fine and dandy, except the country was over a million square miles large. Your tracking skills would certainly be put to the test. You started making mental notes of all the people you wanted to contact and press for information.

“Right,” Price finally said when the clock hit one. “I’m sure our guest would love a break. We’ll pick up again tomorrow at seven. Gaz, give ‘er a tour of the place. Dismissed.”

Though you had dozed a bit on the plane, the fatigue of traveling and the six hour briefing was catching up. Plus you wanted to process all the details discussed in the meeting. You grabbed your duffle and nodded as you left the room. Gaz walked you through the building.

“You can call me Kyle if you’d like,” he smiled sweetly. “This is the rec room, kitchen…”

“Look a bit young to be a part of a task force, Kyle.”

His smile broadened as he continued to walk. “Thank you ma’am, but I assure you I’m more than capable.”

You looked at him. “Didn’t doubt it for a second.”

The facilities weren’t large, but there were other soldiers around the premise too. Kyle pointed out the ones he knew.

“What about the other two?” you asked after he showed you the training room.

“Harmless mostly. Johnny—Soap—is a sound lad. Will chat your ear off though if you let him. And Simon… ah well,” he shrugged, “he’s Simon.”

Simon…

He stopped in front of a door which you assumed was your room. “Talented though. And stealthy as fuck.”

“Noted,” you replied.

“Well, this is you. Hopefully you’ve gotten a lay of the place—it’s a bit of a maze.”

You smiled at the man. “Thank you, Kyle. You give an excellent tour.”

“Of course, ma’am. Think we just missed lunch but I’m more than happy to make you something… Johnny says I make a mean sandwich.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. What a sweet kid. “A tempting offer, Kyle. But I need a few to decompress. Rain check it for tomorrow?”

He grinned. “Sure thing.” He saluted, “Ma’am.”

It was a small room: a simple bed in the corner, a tiny desk, a nightstand with a single drawer, and a sad light on the ceiling that emitted a slight hum. You let the duffle fall from your shoulder as you flopped on the bed. What a respite. Folding your hands over your stomach, you closed your eyes for a moment.

When you opened them again, there was a kink in your neck and your stomach was grumbling. The watch on your wrist read 15:48. You let out a groan. So much for a power nap.

You shoved a protein bar in your mouth as you unpacked your duffle. Surprisingly, you managed to fit most of its contents into the nightstand’s single drawer, zipping up the remains of the duffel and sliding it under the bed.

You headed toward the rec room.

“Ayyy, the woman of the hour!” Soap exclaimed from the couch, putting down his phone.

“Hello Soap,” you rubbed the meat of your shoulder.

“Flight’s the worst, huh?”

“Mmm no offense, but I think this was from the bed here.”

He let out a loud laugh. “Aye, I can believe it.”

You sat down next to him on the couch, relaxed. “So what your story?”

“Mine?” he straightened. “I make things go ka-boom.” His Scottish accent accentuated the vowels.

“Demo-expert, huh?” You gave a dramatic whistle.

“That’s right,” he puffed his chest a bit. “I’m also an excellent marksman. Graduated top of me class.”

“You came second to me, MacTavish,” Kyle had entered the room, grabbing a pool cue from the wall. The loud clack of the break filtered through the room.

“Ah come off it. Only by a few seconds.”

“Seconds still count.”

Soap ran his hands through his mohawk. “Still beat ya on being the youngest to join SAS though.”

“Got me there,” Gaz took another shot.

“Learning all about your personal grievances today, huh?” you smirked on your side of the couch, crossing your arms across your chest.

“What about you? Captain says you can hit a target from two clicks away,” Soap asked.

“Two and a half,” you corrected.

The boys let out a low whistle.

“Damn. Should have her face off Ghost,” Kyle spoke.

You shifted on the couch. “He that good?”

Soap just shook his head. “I dinnae want to be on the receiving end, let’s just say.”

You hummed. “What about sparring, anyone up for some? Could use a stretch of the muscles after the flight.”

Soap gave a wide grin. “You’re on.”

You got up from the couch and stretched your torso. “Perfect.”

Soap hopped to his feet as well, while Gaz put his pool cue back on the rack.

“Gotta see this…”

Soap lead the way as you followed, noticing the broad of his back under his fitted T-shirt. You studied the way he moved, strong strides with a straight posture. Gaz trailed quietly behind you. This was going to be fun.

There were a few other soldiers in the gym at this time, lifting weights, running the treadmill. And then there was Ghost, who was landing heavy hits on a punching bag. Each loud thwack of fist meeting bag permeated through the room. You wondered if he always trained like that or if he was particularly pissed off today.

Ever intuitive, Gaz spoke softly behind you. “He’s always like that.”

You smiled.

“These aren’t the right pants for sparring, but we’ll make due,” Soap spoke on the mats in the center of the gym.

“Always gotta be combat ready, isn’t that what they train you for?” You stretched your arm across your chest.

“Cheeky.”

In the background you heard the pummeling of the bag slow.

You danced around Soap, light on your feet. The Scot was crouched slightly, lowering his center of gravity.

“You have military training, darlin'?”

You watched his footwork; heavy and solid. “Nope.”

“Where’d you learn then?” Gaz chimed in from the side.

You glanced at him for a second. Soap took the opportunity to grapple your leg but you easily sidestepped him. “Various places,” you replied.

“Woman of mystery,” Soap retorted.

He hopped around you but you played the defensive; you had patience. His right fist reached out to land a blow but you blocked with your forearms. Your heart rate was increasing now with the warmup.

Getting more into it, Soap lunged forward to grab your torso, but you lowered your body and slipped out of his hold, pushing him forward on his hands and knees as you deftly maneuvered on top of him. You wrapped a leg over his arm, locking your foot behind his back, and leaned back to pin him.

“Christ,” he breathed as he tapped your leg.

Gaz let out a whistle. “Damn Soap, that was quick.”

You hopped off the stocky man. Soap bounced back to his feet.

“Just warming up,” he huffed. You grinned.

It occurred to you that there was no punching bag sound. You glanced around and saw Ghost leaning against some equipment with his arms crossed against his massive chest, watching; his gaze still as impassive as before. It brought out a wider smirk from you.

“Alright Soap, don’t hold back this time,” you said.

“Your asking for it,” he bounced on his feet.

This round, his blows came quicker and faster. Finally, he was showing himself. You blocked and dodged, playing defensive again.

“C’mon, land a few hits back!” he huffed. You kicked his side. Hard. He stumbled. “That’s more like it.”

A little crowd was accumulating now, with the other soldiers’ exercises long abandoned. You could feel their eyes on the both of you.

Striking a few kicks, Soap did his best to dodge and block. He swept his foot behind your leg to break your stance, but you took the opportunity to grab his arm and twist him.

“You’re not half bad,” he panted as he broke free. “Should apply to a position here.”

Sweat was beading at your skin now. “Thanks, but I like my freedom a bit more.” You aimed your kick for his head, but Soap grabbed your leg and slammed you to the mat. Ouch.

The Scotsman took the moment to move behind you, wrapping his elbow around your neck, pinning you close to his sweaty chest. His legs tried to wrap around yours, but you writhed away, brining them to your center. The man was strong as hell as you felt the uncomfortable pain in your neck. If this was on the field you’d be in serious trouble. Your eyes scanned the enthused crowd that had gathered. Ghost watched with sharp eyes.

“Tap,” Soap huffed in your ear.

But you were much more slippery than he. Pushing off with your right leg, you canted your weight onto him, feeling him tense under you at the instability. Taking the opportunity, you elbowed him hard in the ribs and rolled backward, breaking free of his hold. You wrapped your muscular thighs around his neck this time, locking your left foot under your right knee. He punched up at you but you held. Those were going to leave bruises in the morning. You tightened your legs. The soldiers watching were loud now.

“Fuuuuuck! Ok!” he tapped your thigh. You released, panting as you laid flat on your back. Soap’s head relaxed in the crook of your thigh as he gasped for air.

Your chest heaved as your tried to reclaim your breath. The crowd around you was clapping and all smiles, with Gaz’s beaming the brightest. But when you looked around for Simon, you found the man gone. Just like his namesake.

Soap looked up at you from your lap. You grinned down with amusement.

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