#simon ghost fluff

[euno11a]

when you first started your relationship with Simon, I honestly believe that he will wait until you’re asleep to link your pinkies together. This man cannot fall asleep without you touching him. And then as the relationship grows, he can fall asleep before you because he feels safe, but he has to be squeezing your pudge.

another total side note, if he ever gets uncomfortable in gathering areas, he will move straight to your side and almost like a child pull on the end of your sleeve and look away. The smallest amount of touch is comforting to him. He needs his love.

[towelenjoyer]

Ghost who comes back home from deployment hours before you come back from work, neatly placing his shoes in the shoe rack before unlocking the door with the spare key he has hidden in between the bricks of the house he made with you.

Ghost who takes his time unwinding and packing away his things as he texts you a simple "how are you doing love?", while he tries to find where in the world you put his shaving kit.

Ghost who listens to the numerous voice notes you sent in the short time he was deployed while he shaves his face clean with the large mirror you demanded he buy, feeling his skin under his rough fingertips, smooth and perfect for you to kiss as he starts to feel like himself again now that he looks less raggedy.

Simon who ties up his much too pastel and soft looking apron that you picked out for him years ago, finding the strings and tying them around the back of his neck in a large bow that he knows you like.

Simon who wants to surprise you by cooking you a large dinner while he waits for you to get back home only to be surprised because you just woke up at four pm. Taking a day off work just to sleep in. Still in your pyjamas as you mutter out a soft "welcome home" against his shoulder.

A smile creeping on Simon's face as he feels your hands wrapping around his waist, right where he belongs, with his sweet and sleepy wife, silently shooing you away as he feels you play with the strings of his apron.

[narcoticv3nus]

tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, fluff, cunnilingus, praise, body worship

currently daydreaming about being in an arranged marriage with duke!simon riley. and after an extended celebration, it’s time to consummate the marriage.

simon senses your nervousness and tries his best to soothe you, gently letting you know he will never touch you without your permission. little did he know, since you saw him waiting at the altar, gruff yet dignified in his handsome glory, you instantly knew you had to be the luckiest woman alive. listening to his soft affirmations makes your heart beat even faster.

you remind him that, unfortunately, if you did not do your marital duties, it wouldn't go unnoticed. "the bedsheets," you remind him. "the handmaidens will know once they see that they’re clean." you giggle as you listen to your new husband grumble underneath his breath about the 'daft fockin' traditions'.

"it’s okay," you take his larger hands in yours, squeezing his fingers softly. his face takes on a look of surprise, not expecting to be held so gently. "i trust you." you smile, gazing up at him shyly.

simon swallows, nodding his head slowly as he finally lets his eyes stray from your face and down your body. you guide his hands towards your waist as you shuffle closer to him, having to strain your neck to look up at him. he rubs his thumb over your satin nightgown, appreciating its silky texture.

he lets out a breath as he fiddles with the straps against your shoulders, his gaze never leaving yours. you nod your head shakily, your breath coming in slightly uneven once it finally sets in on what you're about to do.

"words," he demands, his voice taking on a more assertive tone.

"please, simon," you whine, your face and body growing warm in embarrassment. he grins proudly as he slowly slides the straps down your shoulders, gently running his fingertips across the soft flesh unveiled before him.

once your gown turns into a puddle around your feet, he doesn't waste time roaming his curious hands up and down your newly exposed body, cupping your breasts, massaging your hips, and dragging his palm up and down the arch of your spine.

after he lets out a long, pleased sigh, he walks you backward towards the bed. and you do so, even sitting obediently down at the edge of the bed, all without him touching you.

he smiles down at you, his gaze dark yet soft, and his eyes flitter all over your body.

"god, yer beautiful, luv, y’know tha'?" he groans as he begins undressing before you. he chuckles at your meek 'thank you' in response, eyeing the way your thighs squeeze together as you watch him intently.

he withholds from teasing you any further as he kicks away his pants.

"lie up against the pillow for me, luv," he commands again, nodding his head upward. you quickly do as he says, scooting yourself upwards and biting back a gasp as he slides off the rest of his undergarments. you're not quite sure where that's supposed to go. not inside you, surely?

"it's alright, sweetheart," he says to comfort you, though a hint of amusement underlies his soft tone of voice. "it ain't gonna bite ya'." he huffs as he follows you, pinning you against the bed.

you open your mouth to speak, but the words stay trapped inside your throat as your eyes lock on against his twitching cock.

"will it hurt?" you ask, your voice thin as you gaze back up at his face for reassurance. he grins toothily, his eyes crinkling as he shakes his head.

"nah, little bird," he grunts, his voice thick and husky. "i won't let it hurt ya'."

you moan softly as his lips connect with yours in a tender kiss, your eyes fluttering closed as his calloused hand cups your cheek, his thumb rubbing gently across your cheekbone. you blush deeply as his lips continue to smack against your own, even more so as they descend to your neck and naked chest.

you grasp at his short, light brown strands of hair; a tiny squeak leaves your mouth as he licks over your areole before nibbling at the soft, hardening bud.

“simon,” you whisper as he gropes at your unattended breast. you arch your chest closer towards his greedy mouth and gentle caresses.

he hums huskily at the sound of his name leaving your lips in such a lewd way. “feelin’ good, luvie? yeah?” he asks but frames it more as a statement as he kisses down the expanse of your body, his hands parting your thighs wide as he settles himself in between them.

“wait - what’re you—” you’re cut off by a trembling moan escaping from deep inside your chest, watching in bewilderment as his lips attach themselves to your pussy and keening further as he sucks hard.

"it's-it's dirty!" you protest, your fingers weakly tugging at his hair in an attempt to pull him away, yet this seems only to excite him further. he groans deeply, shaking his head from side to side, his eyes clenched shut in concentration.

he softly chuckles against your mound, tracing his tongue up and down your labia. "dunno' whatcha' mean, luv." he mumbles, nudging his nose against your clit as his tongue pokes against the rim of your dripping hole.

"tastes good t'me."

you find you don't exactly have the words to respond to him, only bringing your hand up to your mouth to conceal your growing noises of pleasure. you arch your back deeply, lifting your hips to chase the feeling of his sinful mouth.

"don't stop," you whimper from behind your hand, your brows deeply furrowed, and your eyes glaze over as you peer down at him.

"lemme' hear ya'," he growls, shooting you a warning look from between your legs.

"but-"

his glare deepens, causing you to remove your hand from your face with a submissive whimper, grasping at the soft linen beneath you.

"good girl."

your thighs clench tight around his face at the sudden praise, feeling embarrassed as he huffs out a laugh.

"dun't get too excited now, luv." he drawls, his fingers dipping in between your legs to rub slow circles against your clit.

"y've gotta long night."

main masterlist, rules

[blingblong55]

Jokes and all -Simon "Ghost" Riley

Based on a request: Also, I was wondering if you could make a story where R/n’s past is like Ghost’s and R/n just makes jokes about the past🤔🤔🤔 ---- GN!Reader, platonic!relationship (no clue if this is even fluff) ----

War has always been a part of your life, much like Ghost's. It’s the constant hum in the background of your existence, the familiar rhythm you’ve grown up with. Your name? It’s R/n. But most people just call you Grim. It fits. Like Ghost, you’re a product of your past, a shadow of memories that echo through your actions.

You grew up in a rough neighbourhood in Manchester. Your father was a brute, a man who believed that fear was the best way to control a family. He’d come home drunk, looking for any excuse to use his fists. Your brother tried to shield you, but he was just a kid himself. Eventually, you learned to fend for yourself, to take the hits and keep going. The scars you carry are not just physical but etched deep into your soul. But you don’t let them define you; instead, you joke about them. It’s your way of coping, your shield against the pain.

Joining the military was your way out. The SAS became your new family, a place where you could channel your anger and your skills. You were good—no, you were damn good. It wasn’t long before you caught the attention of Lieutenant General Shepherd, and before you knew it, you were recruited into Task Force 141.

That’s where you met Ghost.

You were kindred spirits, though. Both of you had clawed your way out of hell, and in some twisted way, that formed a bond. He didn’t talk much about his past, but you saw it in his eyes, in the way he moved, always calculating, always prepared for the next fight.

One day, during a particularly gruelling mission in a remote part of Eastern Europe, you and Ghost find yourselves huddled behind an abandoned building, bullets flying overhead.

“Reminds me of home,” you quip, peeking out to return fire. “Except less screaming and more bullets.”

Ghost glances at you, his eyes crinkling slightly behind the mask. “You had bullets at home?”

“Nah, just the screaming. My old man loved to yell. Thought it would toughen us up. Guess he was right.”

He nods, understanding in his gaze. “Toughness isn’t just physical, Grim. Sometimes, it’s about surviving up here.” He taps the side of his head.

You chuckle, though there’s no humour in it. “Yeah, well, my old man did a great job then. Mental scars and all.”

You share a brief, heavy silence before Ghost gives the signal to move. You slip through the shadows, your training kicking in seamlessly. You’re a perfect team, your movements synchronized like a deadly dance. It’s in these moments of chaos that you feel most alive, and you know Ghost feels the same.

After the mission, you sit around a makeshift campfire, the rest of the team spread out, securing the area. Soap is tending to his gear, Price is on the radio, and Gaz is…well, Gaz is being Gaz.

You poke at the fire with a stick, lost in thought. Ghost sits next to you, his mask pushed up just enough to take a sip of water. “You ever think about going back?” he asks suddenly.

You snort. “To Manchester? Hell no. Nothing there for me but bad memories and a graveyard full of regrets.”

“Family?”

“Just my brother. Haven’t seen him in years. He got out before I did. Good for him, though. He deserves a better life.”

Ghost nods, understanding without prying. That’s the thing about Ghost—he never pushes, never demands more than you’re willing to give. It’s a silent respect you have for each other’s boundaries.

Days turn into weeks, and your missions grow more dangerous. Each time, you and Ghost fight side by side, your trust in each other is unspoken but absolute. You share dark humour to lighten the mood, your pasts becoming fodder for your twisted jokes.

One evening, after a particularly brutal mission, you find yourself staring at the stars, the weight of the world pressing down on you. Ghost joins you, his presence a comforting shadow.

“Do you ever wonder if we’ll make it out of this alive?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ghost is silent for a moment before replying, “Sometimes. But then I remember we’ve already survived the worst. This…” He gestures to the desolate landscape. “This is just another fight.”

You smile, a real one this time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We’re survivors, you and I.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you. “We’re more than that, Grim. We’re warriors. And we fight for those who can’t.”

You smirk, wanting to lighten the mood. “Look at us, all noble and heroic. Think we can get capes with our uniforms?”

Ghost chuckles softly, a rare sound. “Only if they come with matching tights.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’d look good in tights. You, though? Not so sure.”

He tilts his head. “I make anything look good, Grim. Even tights.”

The banter, light and easy, wraps around you like a shield, deflecting the darkness of your pasts. In moments like this, you feel the weight lift, if only slightly, and you’re reminded why you fight.

The next day, you’re deep in enemy territory again, the tension high. As you navigate through a maze of crumbling buildings, you crack another joke. “You know, if we survive this, I’m buying you a drink. Or ten. You look like you could use it.”

Ghost smirks behind his mask. “You’re assuming I drink.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, Ghost. Everyone drinks. Especially after dealing with this kind of crap.”

“Well, in that case,” he replies, “make mine a double.”

The mission is brutal, but you and Ghost emerge victorious, your bond stronger than ever. Later, as you sit around another fire, you share a flask, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through you.

“To surviving,” you toast.

“To more than surviving,” Ghost corrects, clinking his flask against yours. “To living.”

As you lie under the stars that night, the past feels a little less heavy, the future a little less daunting. With Ghost by your side, you know you can face whatever comes next. In the end, you’re more than your scars, more than your memories.

Tags: @nyx129 @liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @iruzias @frazie99 @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @honestlyhiswife @ikohniik @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @believeinthefireflies95 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @mychemichalimalance @noodlezz-bedo

[yawnderu]

''You're doing the thing!'' Your excited expression causes a small smile to tug at his lips, his warm hand pressing on the back of your head as he settles you down on his chest again.

''Don't know what you're talking about.'' He forces you to keep your head on his chest to stop you from seeing the way he's trying not to laugh, playing dumb.

''Go back to sleep, love. 'S making you delusional.'' You roll your eyes yet still decide to listen to him, letting your body relax and take in the warmth that comes from his bare body. You're about to drift off to sleep before you feel it against your cheek— his chest flexing, pecs tensing up and becoming more defined under his skin a few times until he releases the tension with a stifled chuckle as he feels you trying to look at him.

''You did it again!''

[cumikering]

Ghost x plus-sized reader

2.1k | fluff, drink spiking Did you just call Simon weak? The rest of the 141 didn’t like that

“Can I carry you?”

At the pub table, you almost spat the last gulp of your drink at the question. You turned to the source of the gruff voice, meeting the man’s chest before craning your neck up to his eyes. He had to be over 6 ft tall.

You set your glass down. “I’m sorry?”

“My mates are betting I can’t get anyone to piggyback.”

“And you picked me?”

He nodded at your top. “Skulls are sort of my lucky charm.”

You scoffed, looking past him at the other ladies in the room. “Are you serious? There are plenty who weigh far less.”

His brow rose. “Are you calling me weak?”

You took in the width of his shoulders, how his loose black shirt couldn’t hide the thickness of his biceps – the left one inked. He was handsome, rugged with the scar across his cheek, his short blond hair and light scruff, but his stare and bluntness made him beyond intimidating.

How could you get out of this situation with the least fuss?

“N- no.”

His eyes softened a touch. “May I? Please?”

Playing along and getting it over with should be the safest bet. “Okay... But-”

He turned his back and squatted slightly. “Hop on.”

“Wait- are you sure you can?”

“Hop on,” he repeated.

At that point, it was not your fault anymore if he ended up embarrassing himself. So you gripped his hard shoulders and did as told before he swiftly hooked his large hands under your jean-clad thighs. He didn’t grunt or strain when he bounced you to position and straightened up. As if you weighed nothing, which was a feeling you never thought you’d experience.

You had to give it to him - his strength was impressive. You chuckled to yourself, seeing the top of everyone’s head amused you. Across the pub, the table of three men grinned at the massive stranger. The one with the mohawk was very much entertained as he gave him thumbs up.

It was then that Simon groaned, because his team was embarrassing the hell out of him. That, and he finally got to feel how soft and warm you were pressed up against him. A little creepy, but a man was allowed to fantasise about a birdie he’d been eyeing, right?

“That’s all, yeah? You just have to carry-”

He stepped towards the bar, making you latch onto him.

“Oh! Where are you going?

“I’m getting you a drink.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Please, I insist.” When he flagged the barman down, you held on tighter. “It’s the least I can offer for getting you involved.”

You laughed, your breath warm against his ear. “Are you going to set me down or am I having my drink on your back?”

“Don’t give me ideas.” He chuckled as he lowered you to your feet.

He leaned against the bar, arm folded as he stared at you on the stool, downing your shot before looking at yourself on your selfie cam.

“Would you… like something as well?” you asked after you tucked your phone back in your pocket.

He shook his head.

“Okay. Well, thanks for he drink. You could get back to your mates if you want.”

“I’m Simon,” he mustered instead.

“Hi.” You shifted in your seat. “Is something the matter?”

“No.” He frowned. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s just you’ve been staring, and there’s nothing on my face. I checked.”

Bloody hell, could he be any more awkward? He just wanted to ask why you were alone without being weird about it.

He looked away. “I didn’t mean to.” You make me stupid. It didn’t help that your previous drink had tinted your lips, looking even more kissable up close.

“I think your mates want you back though.” You chuckled, nodding at his table.

When he turned to them, they immediately busied themselves with their drinks, averting their gazes.

“They’re a nosy bunch, they are.” He inched closer to you. “The one in the beanie, that’s our captain. The other two are my sergeants.”

“You’re the lieutenant?”

He hummed. “The one with the mohawk is the prankster. He’s a bad influence. He’ll talk you into doing anything.”

“He put you up to this then?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips.

As if on cue, Soap looked up with an uncontained grin, only to look back down when he realised eyes were on him.

”Seems like he can’t wait to say hi.” He swiftly picked you up off your seat, bridal-style. “Is this enough to show you weigh nothin’?” he asked, fighting the urge to grab a handful of your soft thigh and waist.

“Oh- oh dear!” You laughed, arm wrapping around his neck, pretty fingers grasping his bicep. “Wait, wait, put me down!”

When you were back on your feet, you pulled your phone out of your pocket. “Sorry, I’m actually meeting someone. He’s almost here.”

So that was why you were alone. You were waiting for someone. Disappointment anchored at the bottom of his chest.

“Right. Okay.”

You smiled. “Thanks for the drink, Simon. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He grunted and you headed to the end of the bar. He stood umoving for another second before retreating to his table like a kicked puppy.

“L.T., wha’ happened? She was havin’ so much fun!” Soap shot as soon as Simon took his seat next to him.

“She’s meetin’ someone,” he said quietly.

“Aww… Sorry, Ghost,” Gaz said. “But hey, she let you carry her!”

With your back to him, you looked at your phone whenever a man walked in.

Huh, first date?

You flagged down some other blond man who walked over to you with a smile. The barman took your order before you chatted with him with a polite smile, keeping a respectable distance between the two of you.

Simon was in no place to watch and invade your privacy – he really should look away. But what was it that simmered in him when the bloke scooted closer, his arm along the back of your chair?

He laughed, pointing at something on the TV. You looked up, and your hand deftly covered your drink, like an instinct.

He smirked. Smart girl.

“I know she’s with someone, but I can tell she likes you more,” Price said, and Simon finally tore his gaze away from you.

“Ye should fight ‘im, L.T. He dinnae stand a fuckin’ chance.”

“You can knock him out with a slap,” Gaz quipped.

He chuckled, blatantly looking over Price to you again. “Rather just look.” While it wasn’t for him, at least he could watch your pretty smile from here and quench his thirst a bit.

With the bloke’s drink in hand, he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, his other hand inching to your covered drink now. He tipped his glass over you, causing you to jump and grab serviettes to dab yourself with. Just as fast, his fisted hand opened over your drink before helping you.

“No fucking way,” Simon said out loud.

“What?” Gaz followed his line of sight.

He marched over, yanking the man around by the shoulder. “What the bloody hell did you just do?”

He stumbled off his seat from the force, making the lieutenant tower over him even more. “What? Who- Do you know him?” He turned to you.

His finger jabbed the man’s chest. “What. The. Fuck. Did you put in her drink?”

“Nothing! What are you accusing me of?”

Simon didn’t miss the crack in the man’s voice. He raised your drink to the man’s face, a tiny white tablet swaying at the bottom of the glass. “Empty your pockets.”

“Simon, what’s…”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

The man fished out his phone, wallet and keys with trembling hands.

“That’s not all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing else, mate!” he said exasperatedly.

Simon’s patience ran dry. He patted his front pocket, hand bumping over something. “You need to see this,” he said quietly to you.

You hesitantly stuck your hand in the man’s left pocket, coming up with a bag of white tablets.

The man smacked the bag out of your hand. “You planted that, you slag!”

“If you didn’t do anything, drink it.” He spat, holding out your drink to him, now cloudy and fizzing.

He stared at the glass. “Fuck you,” he said, pushing it onto Simon’s chest before dashing out of the pub.

“Did he…”

“The fuck was that, Simon?�� Price questioned from behind him.

“Fucking piece of shit spiked her drink.”

Price turned to you, a hand on your shoulder. “You got his name and number, love?”

“Yes.” You blinked. ”Yes, his number and dating profile.”

“I’m sending the coppas his way.” He picked up the evidence on the ground with a serviette. “Simon, get the details and make sure she gets home safe,” he said before approaching the barman.

You dried his ruined shirt with a wad of serviette. “I can’t even begin to thank you for your help, Simon. Really, thank you so much. I wouldn’t have-”

“You did good.” He squeezed your hand over his chest. “You covered your glass when you weren’t looking, but spilling his drink on you was something else.”

When you looked up at him with wide eyes, he dropped your hand.

“Would you like me to send you home?”

“I don’t want to trouble you. I don’t even live nearby.”

“Would you let me, if I want to?”

There was a pause before you smiled. “I think I’d like that, actually.”

When he grabbed his jacket from the table, Soap patted him on the back.

“Good catch, L.T. What a fuckin’ disgrace, the lad.”

“Have fun, Ghost,” Gaz teased.

Outside the pub where the streets were quieter, you forwarded the profile and chat screenshots of the man from your group chat to Simon.

“Can’t be too cautious. I’m not surprised if that’s not even his name honestly.” You shrugged, stuffing your phone back in your pocket. “I knew it was dodgy he insisted on meeting here when I said I’d rather somewhere in the middle, in broad daylight. That, and he was half an hour late too!”

It was disheartening to know this was the reality of dating, that all sorts of people lurked online, sometimes not with the best intentions. He’d show you his ID just to prove he wasn’t a creep, just someone smitten with a staring problem if any.

“If it was me, I’d have taken you anywhere you wanted.”

You chuckled.

“On my back too, if you prefer. I think you quite enjoyed that.”

“I did, actually,” you teased. “Is it a bad time to tell you I’m starving?”

“Yeah? That’s good news, because I’m always hungry. A kebab sounds about right at this hour.”

“Extra chips?”

“Extra chips,” he affirmed.

“You know what, I think this is my sign.” You pulled out your phone again, deleting an app. “Don’t think online dating was ever my thing.”

Is a stranger at a pub who shamelessly stares at you more your thing?

“Going out with someone who offers to carry me around is more like it.”

He bit back a smile. “So? Another ride on my back?”

You chuckled. “Next time,” you said, taking his arm instead.

As much as he enjoyed your touch, he couldn’t do with your fingers over his jacket. He needed to feel you. When he held your hand in his, you smiled up at him.

Simon had to thank his team for painstakingly convincing the stubborn lieutenant to approach the lady he’d been staring at. You didn’t have to know there was no bet, that asking to carry you was his own idea, an outrageous excuse to talk to you. But he wouldn’t complain if he ended up helping you, taking you for a little supper and even got to send you home.

“When’s next time?” he asked at your door, squeezing your hand.

You really shouldn’t have said it, because he was going to make sure there would be one. It had become a goal to show you how you deserved to be treated on a date.

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“Right now isn’t even too soon.”

You laughed, pulling him down by the shoulder to meet your lips.

Neighbour Ghost AU if he still had his family Masterlist

For @glitterypirateduck ‘s Ghost Challenge :D check out her page for fic recs!

[chaosandmarigolds]

newbornDad! Simon Riley

Simon! Who insists on carrying the baby carrier through the threshold of the house when you get home from the hospital

Simon! who spent nine months training Riley to be gentle with the baby

Simon! Who carries the baby around showing them the house with little whispers, 'annnn this is your brothers room, he's had your grandads right now but don't worry sweetpea, you'll meet him soon'

Simon! Who strongly believes the baby needs skin to skin, so...are you complaining about him walking around shirtless with a baby held to chest, not at all

Simon! Who is so worried when Ollie holds the baby for the first time because yeah Ollie is six years old at that point but anxiety??

Simon! Who hates that he has to go on a mission, even if for two weeks because they are sooo so vital and he doesn't want to leave you alone and-

Simon! Who tells Oliver to take care of his little sibling and to look after you

Simon! Who hates his job sometimes

[simonzmama]

creds: @plutism

‘magining simon helpin his pretty girl shave after he’s knocked you tf up

he’s heard you callin from the bathroom, panic settling into his chest like a heavy weight as he bursts through the door. yet, you’re sitting on the edge of the tub, rob thrown over your bare body messily as you stare up at him with sweet lil sad eyes.

which is how he got to where he was now, kneeling on the tub floor with his head between your wide thighs. his left hand digs into the soft, healthy meat on your thigh as his right gently drags the razor over the patch of pretty hair resting on your pubic bone.

he’s so gentle it makes your heart swoon, stomach fillin with nausea n heart pumpin with nothing but love for this sweet man.

his left hand slides down your thigh to peel your lips apart, his hand steady as he shaves you clean. he’d be murmuring soft praises n leaves light kisses to your knee trying to get you as comfy as he can. (def has a smile on his face the whole mf time too)

“want me to get your legs for you too, hon?” ‪‪❤︎‬

pls cuz he’d be so sweet, no embarrassment wich your mannnn!!

[mrsparrasblog]

POLY 141 when you get your period

Kyle: He tracks your period and reminds you of it days before so you're not surprised. He checks if everything is okay when you go outside—you know what I mean. He is very attentive and spoils you with whatever you want. Just please don't make fun of him again by sending him to the store to search for tampons with a glow-in-the-dark string. Pookie didn’t have it and might have argued with the sales associate.

Simon: He doesn't mind blood, seeing it enough at work. For him, it's just extra lube. He has sex with you everywhere to relieve your cramps. He buys you ice cream since he read on Google that it helps. He called you moody once. Big mistake—he was so happy that Price could distract you with his mouth. :)

John: He is a munch and stays a munch even during your period. He doesn’t mind it at all. He is seriously hurt that Johnny and Kyle call him clueless about the female anatomy. He isn’t; he gets everything. The boys should stop acting like he is an old man. He is only 38 and your big Teddy. You don't need a heating pad with him. Normally, you have an arranged cuddle puddle with all of them, but during your period, your whole body lays on John's, and the boys are jealous.

Johnny: He is the most normal out of all of them. He even scolded Price at the beginning of your relationship for asking if you had your period after you screamed at him and then cried because he ate your chocolate chip ice cream. He has lots of sisters, so he gets it. He knows the best ways to overcome period pain, better than Simon’s Google attempts. He gives stomach and back massages to ease the cramps and makes ginger tea. He is the one who buys the pads and tampons for you since the others failed.

[secretlovezz]

----------♡

Simon "Ghost" Riley is not an affectionate person by any means... or at least that's what he wants people to believe.

When Simon comes home to you he's almost always immediately suffocated by love, a love so intense it's almost overwhelming to someone like him. You hug- more like squeeze- him and let your lips kiss every part of his face. He melts every time, his hands fall to your lower back and pull you close, his head falls and his nose presses against your scalp breathing in the smell of your shampoo- something he didn't know he could miss about someone.

A handful of minutes pass with you pressed up against Simon and though you try to free yourself he's far too strong for you to truly believe you can escape his snake-like hold. He kisses the top of your head, then your temple, and bends a little to kiss your cheek- you giggle at that one.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is an affectionate person by every means... but that's something only you know. <3

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[soapycheeks]

— take care of you

1k words you sat there wrapped up in each other's presence, a gentle breeze brushed through the room, caressing your faces and stirring your hair. in the distance, the faint sound of gunfire echoed, serving as a sobering reminder of the world beyond that room. he cradled your face in his hands. “love…” he mumbled. “i should take you back to base…” he began, only to pause as his fingers gently traced a small cut on your cheek.

“let me treat this first…” he took your wrist and led you to a nearby table, carefully making sure you were seated. he returned moments later with a medkit, then took a seat next to you. carefully, he cleaned the wound on your cheek, his touch as gentle as a whisper. the silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by a few muttered curses under his breath as he saw just how deep the cut was.

after he had cleaned up your face, he gently cupped your face in his large hands once more. his thumb gently traced over the cut, a tender look in his eyes as he leaned forward and chastely kissed the corner of your mouth, then your chin, before returning once more to your mouth. his touch was as warm as the heat of the sun, a stark contrast to the cold metal of his dog tags and watch.

his thumb slowly glided down your chin, tracing a path towards the valley between your collarbones. his touch was gentle, almost ghostly, yet it sent tingles coursing through your entire body. his eyes met yours once more, the depths of his irises as dark as moonless skies. the intensity of his gaze almost made you feel vulnerable, yet there was a sense of safety intertwined within the tumultuous storm.

he leaned in further, capturing your lips with his own. the kiss was tender and slow, like the unfolding of a morning blossom greeting the dawn. it spoke of unspoken promises, whispered words, and a devotion that ran deeper than any river or ocean. his lips molded against yours, seeking the taste of your flesh as if it were the essence of life. his tongue gliding over your lower lip in a silent plea for you to let him in. as you relented, his tongue gently parted your lips and met yours in a gentle dance with delicate care. his touch was unhurried as he explored the sweetness of your mouth, and he tasted you with a fervor that was matched only by the fire kindling between you.

his fingers gently traced along your spine, drawing shapeless patterns that sent shivers of pleasure radiating through your body. each touch was like a tender kiss, the warmth of his fingers igniting a fiery path of pleasure. it was as if your body had become a canvas, and his fingers were the brush, painting a masterpiece of ecstasy upon your flesh.

“simon…” his name rolled off your tongue like a gentle caress, and it was as if his entire being melted with each syllable. the way you said his name, with such affection and reverence, it was like you had spoken the most beautiful words to him, each one more precious than the last. he couldn't recall a time when his name had sounded as sweet, and it made his heart ache with contentment.

his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck, gently pressing his lips to the pulse point of your flesh. the subtle scent of his musk mingled with the fragrance of your skin, creating an intoxicating blend that stirred a primal hunger within him. he kissed the hollow of your collarbone, then along the curve of your throat. inaudible whisper escaped his lips. “let me carry you to your room.”

“but i can walk by myself.” you assert, he gave you a loving yet slightly exasperated look. there was no way in hell he would let you walk after all that.

“not happening,” he murmured firmly, his hands gently gripping around your legs. “you’re injured and tired. besides, i’m carrying you.” he lifted you up effortlessly, scooped you up into his arms, cradling you as if you were the most precious treasure he'd ever laid his eyes upon. he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, before turning and walking toward your room. he navigated the halls as you leaned against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat providing a soothing backdrop to the silence that cloaked the base. the rhythmic beat of his footsteps and the gentle rise and fall of his chest lulled you into a sense of tranquility, while the smell of gunpowder and sweat clung to his shirt.

he carried you through the dim, shadowed corridors of the base, and soon reached your room. unlocking the door, he gently carried you inside and then closed the door behind him, before setting you carefully down on the edge of the bed. as he stood over you, he gently cupped your face in his hand, studying you for any signs of pain. he knew that you were strong, but he also saw how tired you looked and wanted to take care of you. he bent down and gently removed your shoes, his touch soft and caressing. once your shoes were off, he lifted your feet up onto the bed and gently tucked you under the covers, trying to make sure you were as comfortable as possible.

he kissed your forehead once more, before moving to the other side of the bed. carefully, he slipped in beside you, and then wrapped his strong arms around your thin frame and pulled you close. “rest, love.” you nestled against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat provided a soothing lullaby. it was as if the beat of your own heart were synchronizing with his, creating a symphony of two souls coming together. he gently ran his fingers through your hair, trailed up and down your back, tracing slow patterns to soothe you and help you fall asleep.

it wasn’t long before he heard your breathing slow and knew that you had drifted off to sleep. his eyes tracing the gentle contours of your face, your lips were soft and supple, and they look faintly glossy of the cheery lip balm you'd applied, your eyelashes fluttered as you drifted in and out of sleep — you looked ethereal.

i'm a sucker for kisses

[iloveghostfromcod]

I’m imagining you doing something dumb and ghost is like “what the fuck was that for?” Kinda scolding you, and because you’re already in a bad mood you just start crying. And then ghost starts profusely apologizing like “no no no wait I didn’t mean it” and then you kiss and everything is fine

[towelenjoyer]

Simon who helps you wash the dishes because somewhere along the line of his childhood his mother told him that all a woman wants after dinner is help cleaning up the dishes and he took it to the grave and beyond

[dmitriene]

and i can't move on, babydoll

simon is stuck in a dead center, like the bermuda triangle, disappearing from your radars every time you two get a little closer than the last time — where his kisses linger, the touch of his calloused hands remain on your body longer, and he stays until late in the morning.

every time he allows himself a little more, and then tries to pretend that nothing happened, disappearing into the shadows into which you have no way, hurting himself in the process, and breaking you by each fragile piece.

but no matter how far he goes, no matter how persistently he ignores your desperate messages, the ones that soaked in sincere worry, drowning himself in someone else's body, which is not soft enough, warm, loved enough — he still returns to you, his precious babydoll.

like a wet dog that has bitten and now begging for forgiveness, licking your wounds with his warm, chapped lips on yours and your naked body — presented to him once again without any doubt or regret, while simon's hands pick up all the cracked, fragile pieces of you back into a whole.

and he'll stay longer again, maybe until lunchtime this time, and maybe simon won't disappear at all this time, but will take you with him.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[forsworned]

Author's note: for my sweet, sweet, @dmitriene , because you listened to me and went to bed instead of staying up like a maniac <3

The thing about Simon is, that he's always observing you. Whether you're stretching out on the couch in the commons because you've been sitting there for hours translating Russian military documents or the way you poke your tongue out in concentration as you hone your sights on any enemy through your sniper scope. Or even the smaller details like, when he's reading written reports and he doesn't even need to see your name signed at the bottom to know that it's your handwriting.

So it shouldn't come as a surprise when he's stripping off his black compression tee when you both get home from a long recon mission and he's pulling you to his side, pressing his bicep to your shoulder and your eyes are reaming. The dainty flower tattoo that you have etched below your clavicle is seemingly connected to his bicep that is a continuation of the stem with delicate little blossoms. It's still fresh, a raw red like he just got it a few days ago and you're literally in awe. The gesture was so small and yet so grandiose.

"So, I can hav' a piece o' ya anywhere I go." He murmurs, tracing the patterns of the leaves and stems of your tattoo.

Your eyes are welling up and he quickly thumbs them away, tilting your chin upward to place a chaste kiss to your lips and then to your forehead. "Don' get all emotional on me, dovie."

"Can't help it." You croak out, grinning from ear-to-ear as you touch the fresh black ink. He doesn't even wince a bit at your touch.

A piece of you.

Safe to say Simon is indeed a romantic.

[yawnderu]

Beacon — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Art by the amazing @ave661

"She's kicking." Simon whispers, head delicately laying on your pregnant tummy, feeling the tiny kicks with his face and hands. His eyes are closed, fully focusing on the sensation he has been infatuated with for months.

"It tickles like hell." You comment with a laugh, hand running through his short hair, holding him closer to your body as a content sigh escapes your lips. He chuckles softly at your words, his hand delicately tracing patterns on your stomach while he talks to the baby, whispers you can't even make out.

"Someone's chatty today." You tease and he playfully rolls his eyes, gaze drifting up towards you, ignoring the way his cheeks hurt from smiling ever since he came back to his pregnant wife.

"What're we naming her?" He asks softly, looking completely relaxed as he lays there with you, feeling the baby kick away like the troublemaker you're both sure she'll be.

"I was thinking about giving her your mum's name, if that's okay with you." You tread carefully, tone gentle and soft, knowing fully well just how delicate this topic is. He looks away, expression hardening slightly as he thinks about it. If anyone else saw his face, they'd think he's angry, but you know that face too well— eyebrows furrowed, lips pulled into a straight line, and unblinking eyes looking at a random place in the room. He's deep in thought for what seems like hours, yet it was only seconds before he looked back up at you, gaze immediately softening.

"That'd be nice." Is all he can manage to say at first, heart beating so fast in his chest it feels like it's going to burst out, the memories of his mum are a wound in his soul that never closed.

"Thank you." He speaks softly, eyes closing as he leans the side of his face on your stomach, the baby's tiny feet kicking at his cheek gently. "Thank you for letting me have a piece of her back." Simon Riley thought he cried all his tears away as a child, yet no one can deny the wetness making his eyes sting, dotting his long eyelashes.