#being a military lieutenant and working out and all that
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This but reader had been put on a different teamâŠhttps://www.tumblr.com/justkitkatthings/768357089618903040/i-know-this-isnt-possible-but-just-hear-me-out-a
have a great day or night! đ
I have several thoughtsâŠ
Thank you for being my first anon and ilysm
Youâre a genius
Iâm so so so so very sorry I took so long to answer this! I really wanted to get this done sooner but Iâve had serious writers block (or laziness idk) and just a bunch of personal shit going on, so getting this done is like a belated Christmas/new yearâs/birthday present to myself
I canât promise thisâll be as good as this was, I feel like I used all my good writing abilities up on that haha
Have a great day or night to you too đ©·
âââ
After losing your leg, you never thought youâd work for anything military affiliated again. Okay, well, maybe as a civilian admin person, but never in the field. But, with a LOT of physical therapy⊠and mental therapy⊠and retail therapy⊠it was like you were as good as new!
So, when Laswell called, you answered. There was an opening in a new Task Force, and they wanted you. You havenât felt this way since⊠well, since John, Kyle, and Johnny. But now, they dint have to consume your every living thought. You can begin again.
It wasnât long before you were on a new base, in a new country, with a new team.
They were all extremely welcoming, albeit different. You had to get used to the change in personalities and strategies, but it was refreshing to get new perspectives on things.
Months of training and bonding with your new team go by, and less contact with the 141. Youâve by no means forgot about them, but you donât think about them as much anymore. Youâre happy, and they need to respect that.
But when have those boys ever been good at leaving you alone? Never. Which is how you end up here, staring them down as your new Captain greets John, the Captain of the team youâll be working alongside for the next however long.
You canât stand this. Why couldnât they just let you have one thing for yourself for ONCE?
The best way to handle this, you decided, was to not. Avoiding them was simple and easy, so you did it.
On the occasions you couldnât avoid them, like missions, all your interactions were short and professional. There was no hint of the connection you had all shared.
The lieutenant who replaced you was big and stoic, but his was also a dumbass. Sure, it was an improvement in physical strength (which you were definitely NOT jealous of), but it was a loss in stealth and just common fucking sense.
Like, how can this man look you in the eyes and not realize you were his predecessor that the team still talked about? You hate him and his big muscles. Those very same muscles that eventually saved you from losing your other leg.
At first, you were pissed when he pinned you. But then the explosion happened.
There was a loud, obnoxious ringing in your ears, but at least you werenât passed out, unlike the big oaf on top of you.
John helped pull him off of you and waited with you both until medevac came. Every protest from you was countered by your old Captain. He just wants you to be alright, luvie, relax.
Reluctantly, you did, enough to fall asleep. The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was the blinding white lights of the hospital. When that faded, you saw John and your new Captain whispering to each other in the corner of the room, sending worried glances⊠past you? You weakly turned your head to look, and it was Simon, covered in bandages.
#Iâm scared of dialogue#I promise thereâll be some next time#sorry for the cliffhanger#posting this before I get on a plane so I donât have to watch my failure đ#simon ghost riley x reader#john price x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#cod#tf 141 x reader#poly 141 x reader
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More of the German philosophy blorbos... Ik the reason Demian calls Sinclair "little Sinclair" is probably that he is in fact a little taller than him, but I have a hc that he started calling him that while being taller as a child, but then Sinclair actually grows taller as an adult. Yet, Demian still continues to call him that and Sinclair just never says anything to correct him. It tickles my brain.
#Demian 1919#Emil Sinclair#Max Demian#i have SO much fun drawing them as a historical fashion nerd#need to read more classic lit just so i can draw more historical fashion#also i need to let you all know that I sent this to my friend and her only reply was calling Demian a smug twink in all caps#im CTFUSDJKJS#I draw him pretty because he's canonically very androgynous!!#though i actually think he'd more of a twunk#being a military lieutenant and working out and all that#tall twiggy Sinclair and shorter buff Demian...#DO YOU SEE THE VISION#i am gnawing the bars of my cage and shaking anyone who will listen#anyways#Hesseblr#Demian#Demclair#Hermann Hesse#classic literature
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(part of the Wife at First Sight series)
In Ghostâs eyes, the first time you smiled up at him was the moment you became his and his alone.
So what if everyone apart from you knew it?
Didnât make it any less of a fact, as far as he was concerned.
Still though, he wanted to learn more about just who his pretty little wife was, including anything that might make letting you know about your marriage a little easier. And so like the good soldier he is, he goes about it as though it were a reconnaissance mission.
He asks you how you take your coffees and teas, holding his breath as he watches you take the first sip of whichever drink heâs made you that day, pride swelling in his chest when you tell him itâs perfect, even better than when you make it.
The first time heâd done so, your eyes widened in surprise when he put his large, gloved hands over yours where they were wrapped around the mug, leaning forward and bringing the rim to his lips where he took a sip for himself, eyes locked with yours. You were unsure of what to think or say, but he apparently decided for you that this was okay, returning the warm drink to your mouth where he encouraged you to take another sip.
You figured that it was alright, he did make the tea for you after all, right?
You even laughed when he started only serving you in a mug with âMrs.â printed across the side, certain that it hadnât been in any of the common roomâs cupboards before.
He eyes the book peeking out of your bag one morning as you tuck it away, purchasing his own copy the very same day, curious to know what you like reading. Youâre pleasantly surprised, if not a tad confused, when you find the next two books in the trilogy sat atop your desk soon after, a small note written in chicken scratch lain on top reads âTo : Wifeâ. Heâll make a point of commenting on the novel if he sees you holding it, slipping in tid bits of information to impress you show heâs read it as well, likes the same things you like.
Heâll joke about how the food on the dining hall is always subpar, trying to casually find out what you like eating, subtly pulling out his phone and typing anything new into his notes app where heâs been keeping track of all your likes and dislikes. He just wants to get things right with you, be good for you, prove he can be the husband you need. Youâre already perfect in his eyes, his sweet little soulmate who just doesnât know it yet.
Though this was the first military base youâd ever worked on, you couldnât recall anyone having ever warned you about the way Lieutenants apparently like to haze the new hires, never mind the fact that everyone else was apparently in on it.
No one bats an eye when you go to take the empty seat next to him in a briefing, and he wraps his strong arms around you to instead plop you down onto his muscular thighs, carrying on with the task at hand as though this is perfectly normal and professional. Even the Captain hardly glances at the interaction, so you figure itâs okay, some strange form of team bonding?
Not a soul comments on the way the Lieutenant insists on being the one to cut up your food and feed you bites during meals in the dining hall, pretending as though they donât hear him telling you about how âmy wife works hard enough, donât need to be liftinâ a finger witâ me around, love.â
They know to move out of the way if youâre approaching a closed door, knowing if the Lieutenant is anywhere near, heâll be rushing to open the door for you before you can even attempt to do it yourself.
Even Soap has stopped complaining aloud and only rolls his eyes when Ghost drops anything and everything heâs doing- whether itâs spotting the Sergeant in the gym, being out on a morning run, hell even being in the middle of a shower- to send you a good morning text at six o clock on the dot. Every. Single. Morning.
No, you never exactly anticipated this sort of a running gag from a hardened military base, but youâre not exactly complaining either.
Not when you find your heart fluttering every time your fake work husband dotes on you like he really would marry you at the drop of a hat.
Besides, itâs all just playful, innocent fun, right?
Especially when everyone begins to apparently forget your name and instead refers to you only as Mrs Riley.
And when the Captain tells you that your requested time off for a honeymoon has been approved, something which you definitely donât remember requesting, well thatâs all just fun too, right?
#call of duty#call of duty fanfic#call of duty fic#simon riley#simon ghost riley#cod fanfic#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#cod simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon fluff#ghost x you#cod simon ghost riley#ghost fanfic#you guys are all so nice to me#call of duty ghost#ghost cod#simon ghost riley x you#readwritealldayallnight#wife at first sight#wife at first sight series
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Simon Riley x Reader
Can You Ride?
Summary: Simon canât wait to get home
CW (MDNI): Established relationship, car sex, riding, unprotected PIV, messy, fingering, squirting, praise, lovey dovey sex, semi-public sex?
Word Count: 1,477
Masterlist
Your fingers interlocked with Simonâs, smile adorned across your face as he led you back to the car. âYâ enjoy lunch?â He said, voice naturally gruff as he squeezed your hand.
âMhm, was good. Did you?â
He mumbled a âyeahâ as he opened the door for you, the hem of your dress riding up slightly, his gaze fixated on the exposure of your plush thigh. He coughed as he walked to the driverâs side.
It was a decent drive, around 45 minutes as Simonâs fingers fumbled with the CarPlay before you shushed him away and jabbed in your address.
âI had it,â he said, eyes darting to you as you laughed.
âIâm sure you did, baby.â
His hand fell on your thigh, thumb rubbing it soothingly as you stroked up his exposed arm, gently scratching with your nails. He liked that.
You were both quiet, but it was never awkward. You knew that Simon wasnât a massive talker, and you were both secure and comfortable enough to know that you didnât need to talk 24/7, even if you were together.
You pulled down a long road, trees aligned on both sides, minimal cars zapping across the other way as Simonâs eyes occasionally darted down to your exposed skin. He felt himself chub up slightly.
Did you wear a sundress on purpose? You know how he felt about them.
His fingers itched for more, trailing up your leg slightly, and if you realised, you didnât show it. His touch got more wanting, burning up your thigh as it slipped under your dress. You looked at him, eyebrow cocked as he shrugged, yet didnât hesitate to spread your thighs, an appreciative hum passing his lips.
Being around your boyfriend was difficult. Everything about him turned you on. His height, his build, his muscles, his tattoos, when he wore his mask, when he didnât, him being in the military and a Lieutenant and that. It was all too much, so it wasnât a surprise to him when he finally reached your panty-clad pussy, that there was a damp spot.
He let out a huff off a laugh, his eyes not leaving the road as another hand pushed your undies to the side, pussy now exposed as you lifted your legs up, spreading them. It was taboo, if a truck drove past you they would know what was going on but you think Simon liked that, knowing someone was watching how he was making you feel and only him.
You gasped, clutching his hand as you felt a rough finger pinch your clit before teasingly rubbing it in slow, small circles. Long middle finger dipped into your slit, running through your folds as he turned to you, cocky smile on his face as he felt your wetness.
You rolled your eyes at him before stuttering out a moan as a finger plunged in, massaging the gooey walls of your sex as soft pants fell from your lips.
His strokes were painfully slow, almost like he wanted you to break and tell him to hurry the fuck up. You gasped at the fullness when another finger breached your entrance, slowly pushing in as he somehow managed to focus on the tangling depths of the tar.
âS-stop teasing me,â you gasped out, breath jammed in your throat as he let out a laugh before his fingers began to work up their speed, hitting your spots deliciously as you moaned.
Your own finger came down to toy with your clit as you noticed his eyes flicker down to it, a groan leaving his lips.
âEyes on the road,â you teased as he shot you a dirty look.
Your breathing sped up, his fingers pumping in and out of you at the perfect pace, your walls contracting to the thick digits and squelching appreciatively at the sensation that was building.
It never took Simon long to make you cum but every time still took you by surprise. You could feel the slow build up beginning as you stuttered out a moan, your own finger rubbing desperately against your hardened bud as you dug your nails into his arm, hard enough to leave crescent shaped marks but not hard enough to draw blood.
You were a moaning mess as you gushed around his fingers, juices spluttering across his hand and onto the leather seat in-front of you as you whined at the sensation.
âJesus Christ,â Simon practically growled before he was pulling down a dodgy side road, dirt grumbling against the tires.
You looked at him as he lowered his seat down, veiny hands instantly tugging off his belt as he shoved his pants down to his ankles, cock leaking precum as it slapped against his stomach, a soft trail of hair leading down to his heavy set of balls.
âGet on,â he grunted as you looked at him, before you were ducking down to avoid hitting the ceiling. Car sex was difficult with Simon, his massive thighs barely giving you any room but somehow you managed, wedging your own next to his as he held the base of his cock upwards.
No matter how many times you guys had sex, it always took you a minute to grow accustomed to his cock, the sheer girth and length stretching you to the max.
You straddled his lap, tits flush against his face as he pulled the straps of your dress down, tongue flicking out to wrap his laps around a puckered nipple whilst you lowered yourself down his length slowly, hands reaching out to grab at his massive shoulders.
He watched your face scrunch up, both in pleasure and pain as you slid slowly down him.
âThatâs it baby, you can take it,â he encouraged, rubbing a small circle on your back as you whined at the fullness, his cock still not all the way in.
He pushed up slightly, bottoming out in side you as you let out a pornographic moan, his hands reaching out to grope at your tits while you sat there, growing comfortable with the staggering girth inside you.
You began to move, hips raising slightly before lowering, growing your confidence as he continued rubbing your back, mouth sucking at your chest like he was starving.
âGood girl, hm? Taking me so well.â
His words were like a fire inside you, taking over your entire body and setting it alight as your hips began to move faster, his cock disappearing and reappearing as your pussy swallowed it with each thrust.
The squelches and the slaps of your sex were obscene, the windows beginning to fog as Simon began to meet your thrusts, hitting against your g-spot as you cried out, wobbly legs barely able to take him as you tried to keep up with his demanding jabs inside you.
âFuck,â you swore, âI love you, Simon.â Your hands planted on his cheeks, foreheads merged together as you matched each otherâs pace.
âI love you,â he grunted, his hand pulling on the back of your neck into him as you kissed. There was no tongue, just gentle touches between your lips, savouring every breath you both shared, your bodies becoming one, being as close as you could possibly ever be to another person.
Your thrusts became more lazy, your stomach spiralling again into a bundle of blistering nerves ready to pop.
âIâm gonna- gonna cum, Si.â
âMe too, angel,â he panted, voice thick with both lust and love as you held onto him, your skin slapping against each other, his hands grabbing at every part of you before you staggered your movements, a loud moan passing your lips as your pussy convulsed, squeezing and throbbing around his length as you orgasmed, the muscles in your legs throbbing as they vibrated against his owns.
His pace became sloppy before he let out a guttural groan, hot pumps of semen seeping into your exhausted cunt, the remainder of your orgasm milking his length as you both moaned in unison.
You slumped against him, body sweaty as he kissed your forehead, whispering praises in your ear as he rubbed your back. Your legs wobbled as you tried to sit up, his hands reaching out to grope your tits once more before pulling your straps back up.
He placed a gentle kiss on your lips as you craned your neck to the side, laughing at the fogged up windows before his index finger reached out, drawing half a heart before you copied him, connecting the two.
He gave you a pat on the ass as he helped adjust you back to your seat, digging in the compartment for some wet wipes before gently wiping you and the seat down and placing it in the tiny bin he kept on the side of the door.
âYou okay?â He whispered, holding your hand.
âIâm perfect baby. Letâs go home.â
#evilgwrl#141 x reader#call of duty x reader#ghost#ghost smut#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley x you#cod mw2#cod modern warfare
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⥠soap's little plan âĄ
abo!141 x omega!reader
⥠masterlist ⥠request more! âĄ
summary: despite having a pack of his own, soap finds himself wanting more. he's grown tired of being the only Omega with 2 unruly Alphas. good thing you showed up, now he can flush those pesky little suppressants and make you theirs.
â ïž suggestive themes, soap being a little obsessed, invasions of privacy
a/n: series??? idk where this came from but enjoy
Soap wasnât an unhappy man. He was talented, knew just how dangerous he was in the field, how many brushes with death heâd skillfully skirted with a big âfuck youâ and a bloody smile. He had the respect of his peers and fear of the new recruits. Most importantly, he had a pack he loved. Never went to bed wanting or alone. His inner Omega should be satisfied, all things considering, and yet, he still yearns.Â
He feels guilty sometimes. When heâs laid out on one of his mateâs beds, sweaty and thrumming with release. He rolls over, pressing wet kisses to damp skin and trying to focus on fingers that ghost over his head. Tries to push out the gnawing subconscious thought of more. He wants to scoff at himself. 3 mates and somehow he still couldnât help but be greedy.Â
Itâs like Price says in the field (and in the bedroom, funnily enough): âYou're a goddamn restless dog ainât âya? Restless and a dog, indeed.Â
His words run through Soapâs mind as he stares at you. His dirty little one-sided secret. Heâs watched you for months. Smelled you immediately when his eyes first landed on you, an unforgettable mix of vanilla licorice, fruit, and a tang of something earthy, like grass or rain. So unbelievably feminine and soft, he was intoxicated. Couldnât help but watch as you walked down the hall. You had glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly; he remembered the chill that ran through him when you locked eyes.Â
° đȘđ ⥠đȘđ â đȘđ ⥠đȘđ °
He had immediately sweet talked the Beta receptionist into handing over your file. He had tucked it under his arm and taken it to his room, locking the door and glancing around like he was a teen with a raunchy magazine. Read it front to back. You were smart, specialized in cybersecurity before you joined the military. Now you drifted from team to team, going where you were needed. Helping run covert hops here, a little hacking there. He felt a grin take over his face when he saw that in your last assignment, you acted as a demolition expert. An impressive resume, he faintly wondered why you hadnât been pinned down by a team yet. Clearly, you were an asset.Â
He got to your current contract papers, seeing you were brought on to be a floater. Youâd help with missions in the unit how they saw fit. He could only pray that heâd be working with you eventually. He closes the file, thumbing the small file photo of you. You were beautiful no doubt, not smiling but still holding a hint of softness.Â
He pauses when he realizes he didnât see a presentation in your file. He flips through the pages again, skimming through your medical report. The boxes next to âOmegaâ, âAlphaâ, and âBetaâ are all unmarked. It clicks then, your sweet smell and the lack of presentation in your files. You were an Omega.Â
Soap wasnât really supposed to be where he was as an Omega. While there were no rules against it, there were hardly any Omegas here for a reason. It was hard, both physically and mentally. Soap had taken twice the recommended amount of suppressants and nearly went broke buying scent blockers. Put his body through hell and back to prove he was worthy. It was only when he became Lieutenant and had the protection of a pack that he felt comfortable enough to stop hiding his presentation . By then, no one could really say anything about it.Â
His heart raced. You were an Omega. He had no proof other than being one himself, but he was almost sure of it. It did nothing to curb his growing curiosity.Â
He should have pushed you out of his mind, but heâs Soap. Heâs insistent and can be downright stubborn when it comes down to it. It was just his nature. He formulated a whole plan, get close to you, slowly ease you into meeting his pack, then make you theirs. Plain and simple.Â
It was not plain and simple.Â
First of all, the guilt started eating at him. He had everything heâd ever hoped for, a family, a successful career, and here he was. The worst part is that Soap couldnât help it, he loved his mates, their masculine presence and smell that filled a room. But he secretly canât help but wish there was another Omega around, someone who could help him ground his Alphas. Gaz did a great job, but he was a beta, and Soap often received the brunt end of Ghost and Pricesâ more baser instincts. Not just an Omega, but a woman. Someone with that femininity and power that balances and soothes an entire pack into submission.Â
Second of all, you didnât want to give him the time of day.Â
The first time he approaches you is in the dining hall, your face stoic and focused as you grab an apple and place it on your tray. He takes a few breaths, your muted and yet somehow still overwhelming scent filling his senses.Â
âNew around here bonnie?â He finally gets the courage up to speak. âNames Johnny, but people call me Soap.â He reaches a hand out.Â
You take it hesitantly, and he revels in the softness. He tries not to get distracted by the way his hand almost completely covers your own.Â
âY/n.â you respond curtly, releasing his hand and grabbing your tray. âTransferred a week ago.â You donât wait for his response, making your way over to one of the many tables littered with people chatting. Soap hastily grabs a banana and his tray, taking long strides to catch up with you.Â
âSo uh, how you likinâ it so far?â He flinches at his own stutter. God, heâs out of practice.Â
You give him a pointed look.Â
âSâfine.â You sit, hastily picking up your spoon and taking a bite of oatmeal. It doesnât deter Soap.Â
He spends the next 30 minutes talking your ear off, receiving the occasional nod or âmhmâ from you. You give up very little about yourself, answering shortly and precisely. It drives him mad.Â
You cut off his rant on the latest recruits, standing abruptly. âIt was nice talking with you Lieutenant MacTavish, but I have to get going.âÂ
He watches as you leave, stunned and frankly a little turned on at how easily you brushed him off. Soap was a sucker for a chase.Â
He faintly realizes that you knew his rank and last name, and has a feeling that youâre a careful and intelligent woman. It only fuels his growing suspicion of your presentation.Â
° đȘđ ⥠đȘđ â đȘđ ⥠đȘđ °
Soap keeps trying after that, despite the gnawing feeling of guilt and greediness. The less you give him, the more enraptured he becomes. With every eye roll and silent stretch you give him, he falls deeper and deeper into the need to make you his.Â
It only takes a couple months for it all to come to a head. Soap finds you in a hallway late at night, most people tucked away in their quarters. Your scent is slightly off, soured and citrusy. He loves it.Â
âWhere are you storminâ off to?âÂ
You donât answer, which is not unusual, but the way you push past him without so much of a glance, is. âAye, câmon love, whatâs got you so worked up?âÂ
You turn on your heel, almost crashing into Soap. You didnât hate him, sometimes you even welcomed the company, even though his jokes were shit. Not that youâd let him know you even remotely liked his presence. You stare him down for a second, teeth gritted.Â
You had just overheard some particularly nasty and sexist comments about you, not the first time- hell not even the fiftieth time. But it never stung less, that people refused to see your experience and rank simply because you had the misfortune of being born a woman. You regret the words almost as soon as you say them.Â
âLeave me the fuck alone, MacTavish. Iâm not interested in your company, and I sure as shit didnât ask for it. Go bother your pack, and leave me alone.â You spit the word at him, and youâre not sure why. Maybe itâs a reflection of your own loneliness deep down. You canât stand the shock on his face, so you turn around and sulk to the kitchen to find a sweet treat to placate you.Â
Soap watches as you leave, and heâs hurt. How can you not see how perfect youâd be for the pack? Granted, heâs the only one that knows, he still has no idea how to broach the topic with his pack. Would they hate him? Call him selfish, wonder why they werenât enough for him? His fists clench at his sides as your scent completely fades.Â
Then it clicks. He doesnât know why he hadnât thought of it before. He smiles to himself, no longer upset at your blatant rejection. He almost skips back to his room.Â
He has it all figured out.Â
° đȘđ ⥠đȘđ â đȘđ ⥠đȘđ °
The next morning he flirts with some nurses, brings them donuts from the place off base. While theyâre all distracted and giggling amongst each other, he quietly slips into the record room and grabs your files. His heart beats out of his chest at the little checkmark next to âOmegaâ.Â
He knew it. He flips through the files quickly, finding a detailed page tracking your heat cycles. You havenât had a heat in years, seeing a note that says you denied a doctor's request to go into heat at least once every 3 years. He knew that pain, he couldnât imagine you putting yourself through that. You shouldn't be putting yourself through that. Heâll make sure that you donât have to anymore.Â
He flips a few more pages, going back to when you did have your heats. He finds an entry that notes that you had unusually long and painful heats, along with a prescription of sedatives. The next line states that you usually have them every 3 months, February, May, August and sometimes December. He hears his heartbeat in his ears when he realizes his luck of it being the beginning of December. It was meant to be.Â
He closes the file quietly, closing his eyes in relief. Youâd be his, and his packâs, soon.Â
That night, while youâre showering in the gym, Soap is breaking into your room. It doesnât take much effort, heâs in within minutes, stepping into your sacred space. Thereâs a half assed nest in the corner of your room, your instincts must be strong if youâre still nesting while taking suppressants. He wants to go over and fluff it for you, add his scent covered shirt to the pitiful pile. He shakes his head. He needs to focus on why heâs here.Â
He rifles through your cabinets, desperately searching. He knows you like long showers, but heâs still on edge. If he gets caught, itâs all over. He tries to be quick without disturbing the placement of your items, but he begins to panic when he canât find those familiar little pills. He rushes to your bed, looking underneath. Heâs about to lose hope when he moves from underneath your bed, cursing when he knocks his head on the frame.Â
He almost doesnât hear it. The soft thud of something falling. He looks back under the bed, eyes falling on a tiny box meant for jewelry. He grabs it, slowly opening it and removing the piece of foam on top.Â
Bingo.Â
He stares at the tiny pills, the familiar pale blue a contrast against the black of the box. He spills a few in his hand. There were enough for months. You were like he was, handing your health over in exchange for surviving here. His fist closes over pills as he makes his way out of your room. He locks your door behind him, trying not to run to his room. When he makes it there, heâs buzzing with excitement. He goes to his bathroom, opening the toilet lid and fishing the box from his pocket. He doesnât hesitate in throwing them all into the bowl, and watching as the water swirls when he flushes. The water settles, and your pills are gone.Â
Omegaâs are the most sensitive of the three presentations. Senses more in tune than even the best Alpha. It was in their very biology to be strong in ways Alphaâs were not, to hold a pack together. Your biology would work quickly, work through the artificial hormones youâd been poisoning yourself with in haste. It happened to him, after so long of suppressing his Omega, it came back with a vengeance. You would be no different.Â
And with Priceâs rut- and Ghostâs, coming up soon, they wonât stand a chance against the strong smell of an Omega in heat. Heâll make sure that they find you, that they take care of you.Â
It was all part of his plan, after all.
#soap x reader#john price x reader#ghost x reader#gaz x reader#141 x reader#poly!141#tf 141 x reader#abo!141#alpha!ghost#alpha!price#omega!reader#smut#x reader#simon riley smut#ghost smut
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đđđđđđđ-đđđđ
đđđ
âž PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) âž SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). âž WORD COUNT: 2k
đđđđ đđđđ đđđđđđ: don't poke the bear.
Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). Youâve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG â and really, the list goes on.
It's been childâs play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament youâve found yourself in.
Jesus-fucking-Christ. Whyâd Ghost have to fall asleep on you?
đ đđđđ đđ
đđđđđđđ: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.
And the kicker is that this whole thing couldâve been avoided; it didnât have to be your problem. You couldâve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that youâre not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful â a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.
But no.
Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. Whatâs the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.
Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.
Law of the jungle, plain and simple.
To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; youâll need to take a trip to the chiropractorâs after this â several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this â heâs man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.
Incredible.
Youâd still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.
All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.
From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest â never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.
Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. Itâs too loud, too unsteady â the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and heâs not the type to let his guard down so easily.
But somehow he did it with you beside him.
You try not to think about the implications of that.
đđ đđđđ đđđđđ, đđ
đđđđđđ.
Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so heâs got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?
The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."
Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.
Alright the manâs a demolitions expert, but thatâs semantics.
He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why heâs got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.
For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.
But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.
More witnesses.
Great.
Because thatâs just what you need, isnât it?
Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why heâs been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap whoâs inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.
Much like Soapâs original reaction, Gaz canât help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.
Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it â a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.
"Say cheese."
An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much asâ
"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: itâs a big thumbs down from the Brit. Heâs not endorsing this type of behavior. âGone mad now, have you?â he asks in admonishment.
You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out ofâ
"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.
"Aye, thanks mate.â
Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.
Fucking traitor.
"Knobheadsâ"
Theyâd risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity â public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.
"Rude,â Soap comments pointedly.
"Bite me, MacTavish."
"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.
"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"
"'Course, not," he snorts. "I donât have a death wish.â
âWell, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.
And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, âAw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.
"I'll send this to the Cap. Heâll get a kick outta it."
"Sod off."
"He'll appreciate bein' included."
Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. âHey, and the L.t. he looksââ
ââcute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.
What.
There are many words that youâd use to describe Ghost.
Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side â someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The manâs been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.
So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.
Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."
Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"
There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.
But somebody else beats you to it.
âWipe that picture, or Iâll wring your bloody necks.â
Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.
There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.
And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.
But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options â as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command â yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"
"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."
đđđđđ đđđđđ:
"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"
"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"
"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."
"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."
He's smiling in response â like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."
Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. âI suppose you can be,â you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. âWhen youâre not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.â
#i got lazy again#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#cod fic#cod mw x reader#cod mw 2#cod modern warfare#call of duty fic#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley fluff
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Your lips | Pt. 1
(A/N) I don't think this will be along series, but there will be at least on more part! Also, I'm no doctor, or nurse, that's why I mostly skipped over the exam part!
Pairing: Simon x fem!pregnant!Reader
Warning: mutual pining, medical stuff (nothing graphic), mention of scars, pregancy
Synopsis: Almost done with your day (and your pregnancy), you get a last minute patient. The usual stoic and guarded Ghost is immediately charmed by you.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue
âThere is a lot I can spare you from Simon, but the medical checkups are mandatory. There is nothing I can do about that.â
Price had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyebrows were pulled together in a slight frown as he regarded his Lieutenant. Simon on the other hand just looked annoyed. There were many reasons as to why he joined the military, but being fussed over by grown people was not one of them. He opened his mouth to, surely, whip out a smart remark, but Price held up his hand before he had the chance.
âYou have until tomorrow six p.m. to go to the clinic yourself, or Iâll drag you by your scruff, you hear me?â
With a defeated sigh, he nodded, before he left Priceâs office. Might as well get it over with, right?
One look at your computer told you that it was almost time to go home. Your to-do list for the day was all ticked off and your list of patients had no name remaining. With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself out of your chair and onto your feet, your hand instinctively cradling your swollen belly. Your lips pulled into a smile as you felt a kick right against your hand.
With slow, even steps you made your way to the door of your office and leaned outside until you caught the secretaryâs eyes. She smiled at you. But not a bright, sunny smile, no, it was a sad, apologetic smile. Your own smile faded, but you nodded before waddling back to your desk. By the time you sat down, a new patient file was displayed on your screen.
His entire name was redacted, only his callsign was displayed. Ghost. You quickly read through his file, noting that he obviously hated all medical personnel, since he barely showed his face here. By the time you were almost done, a sharp knock rang out from your door.
âEnter!â
From the heavy steps, you could discern that it was the soldier who had been added to your day last minute. Still, you kept your eyes on the screen, trying to get all the information into your head.
âTake off your shirt and sit down on the bed. Iâll be with you in a second.â
Your tone might have sounded harsh, but you quickly learned to use an authoritative tone with soldiers. Otherwise, they might not listen. Your eyes were still fixed on the screen as rustling sounded through the room, followed by the creak of the bed. Now that he was done, you slowly rose to your feet again and squeezed some sanitizer into your hand, grabbing your clipboard before waddling over to the man.
âJust a regular checkup, right?â
Your eyes finally landed on the manâs back when he grunted in response. And good lord, he had one hell of a back. Covered in scars and a few tattoos, his shoulders were broad and strong. You felt yourself blush as some not-so-innocent thoughts entered your mind and it took you a second to switch back to work mode and to stop admiring him. You dealt with soldiers all day, every day, and yet none have had that effect on you. Until now.
To distract yourself, you quickly started with the exam. Looking for any injuries, listening to his lungs and heart. Within a few minutes, you were done with his back and slowly moved to his front. You were ready to just continue the exam when your baby landed an especially firm kick against your womb. You came to a quick stop, placing your hand against the place the baby had kicked.
âWoah, you okay there, love?â
Ghost jumped to his feet, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, but you just waved him off, by now being used to it.
âIâm fineâŠjustâŠpregnant with a very active baby.â
An amused huff left his lips before Ghost sat back down. And even though he looked the same as before, you noticed how his eyes were more focused now, looking for any sign of trouble. He almost seemedâŠprotective.
After a few moments, you recovered and let out a sigh, closing the distance between you and Ghost. But you hesitated for a moment. How would you reach his chest? As if reading your thoughts, Simon spread his legs, allowing you to step between them and reach his chest. A smile tugged on your lips.
âThanks.â
He nodded in response, keeping still while you continued your exam, only moving when you asked him to. You instinctively reached to your right, ready to take his blood pressure, but your hand came back empty, you had forgotten to bring it with you from the table. A tired sigh escaped your lips and you took a few steps in the direction of the table when Ghost placed a hand on your arm and stopped you.
âIâll get it.â
Before you could answer, he was on his feet and already at the table, picking up the device. Something that always seemed so large in your hands was easily dwarfed in his and you couldnât help but admire his hands. Hands which he used to kill people. Hands which surely could do unholy things to your body. Hands whichâŠ
Your thoughts were interrupted by the clearing of a throat and you finally noticed that you had been staring at his hands.
âOh, uh, sorry.â
With flaming cheeks, you grabbed the device and swiftly pulled the sleeve up Ghostâs arm. Pressing two buttons, you watched as the sleeve slowly began to fill with air. This part was always kind of awkward since all you could do was wait. You expected it to be the same way with him, but instead, he suddenly spoke up.
âHow far along are you?â
You looked up, surprise clear on your face.
âUh, thirty-three weeks.â
A small smile pulled at your lips as you gazed at your belly, your hands softly gliding over it.
âHmâŠhusband must be excited.â
You chuckled dryly and shook your head as the device finally displayed the value you had been waiting for.
âNo husband. No father at all, to be honest. Left as soon as he found out I was pregnant.â
If you werenât so focused on filling out the form on your clipboard, you would have noticed Ghostâs entire body tensing up and his eyes darkening. His gaze swept over you, following your curves, as his mouth watered. How could someone abandon someone who looked this delicious?
But before his thoughts could continue, you looked up from your clipboard and smiled at him.
âAll thatâs left is drawing some blood. But since itâs already late, I assume youâre not sober, so could you come in tomorrow morning before breakfast? That way we can get the most accurate values.â
Ghost found himself nodding, a smile hidden behind his medical mask at the thought of seeing you again tomorrow.
âYes, Maâam.â
You grinned before waddling back to your desk and sinking down on your chair. As soon as you were out of sight, Ghost quickly pulled his shirt on and got to his feet. He turned to look at you and for a split second, caught you staring before you quickly averted your eyes.
With a grin under his mask, he started to walk to the door, before he got an idea.
âAre you done for the day?â
You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with confusion.
âYes, why?â
Ghost nodded and walked back into the office.
âI could accompany you to your car if youâd like. Carry your bag, you know.â
Your eyes widened, a smile tugging at your lips.
âIâd like that, but I took the bus to get here. I donât exactly fit behind the steering wheel anymore.â
âOh, in that case, let me drive you home. You shouldnât be on your feet that much.â
You shook your head, about to protest, but Ghost insisted and finally, you accepted. He watched you finish up your paperwork and pack up before he grabbed your bag and offered you his arm to hold onto.
With slow steps, he led you through the clinic to the doors and towards one of the base cars. One that could be used by all soldiers. On the way you gave him your address, not noticing the smile once he noted that you lived on base yourself.
After he helped you get settled and made sure you were buckled in, he got in and started the car, carefully taking off in the direction of your house. The car ride was spent in comfortable silence, and with you almost falling asleep in the passenger seat. But all too soon, the car pulled up in front of the army-issued house and Ghost quickly rounded to your side to help you get out.
He insisted on helping you get inside, only being satisfied once you sat on your couch with a glass of cold water in front of you.
âThank you, Ghost. I really appreciated you bringing me home.â
He nodded, his mask hiding a sheepish smile and red cheeks.
âWhen do you start tomorrow?â
With a slight frown, you told him that you usually started at seven a.m. and he nodded, before saying goodbye and walking towards the door. But at the last second, he stopped and turned to look at you again.
âItâs SimonâŠmy name.â
A grin spread on your lips as you nodded and slowly repeated the name, almost to yourself. But Simon heard it and he couldnât deny that he loved how his name sounded coming from your lips.
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Handle It
Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader WC: 5.1k Summary: Reader is taking a shower and someone decides to crash the party. Warnings: 18+ Exhibitionism (risk of getting caught), shower sex (kinda), SUB SIMON, teasing, begging, sub to dom toâŠsub, finger sucking, oral, fingering, penetration, overstimulation, spit, creampie
Hot water beads down your back. Well, maybe thatâs a bit too generous. Itâs hardly trickling out of the showerhead above you, and the waterâs lukewarm at best. But it feels great, your eyes are closing, your muscles are relaxing, and you almost forget that itâs a communal shower. That anyone could walk in and join you at another showerhead, thereâs several in here, meant to get a group of people clean to save time. Timeâs important in the military, you know this. So does everyone else, but thereâs an unspoken rule. If someoneâs in the showers, you donât join unless absolutely necessary.
Which is why youâre allowing yourself this moment. Youâd announced to the group that you were hitting the showers after the operation. And true to your word, as soon as youâd stepped out of the vehicle, you beelined it to the building. Soap joked about joining you, earning a punch from someone in result. You hadnât cared to look behind you to confirm who it was, instead youâd waved a hand over your shoulder, acknowledging that youâd heard him, but wasnât threatened by his constant yet harmless flirts. It was how you two communicated. It was a nice break in the violence and mayhem Task Force 141 found yourselves in. Even if Ghost and Price rolled their eyes at the banter, you could tell it eased their nerves at times. Itâs hard to hold onto humanity when you see the worst of it day end and day out.
Getting the bar of soap into your hands, you rub it against your skin, ridding yourself of the dirt and grime from todayâs work. Itâs normal to get dirty doing what you do, and yet no matter how you wash yourself, it feels as though youâre never clean. Youâd scrubbed your skin raw once, after a mission, coming out of the showers with irritated skin. Still. You were never clean. Today didnât feel like that. The operation went well. There was no killing, no torture, and for once, it was an easy day. You want to savor this feeling, knowing that today went right, how relaxing the water is, feeling somewhat clean despite the past.
A knock rings through the showers, bouncing off the walls. The soap slips through your fingers as you jump with sound, the relaxing feeling you had now long gone. The knock has authority to it. It has impatience. Gritting your teeth, you rinse off quickly before turning the knob to shut the water off. You leave the poor soap on the ground, moving to the cement wall separating the showers from the door of the building.
âWhat?â You call out, a little irritated. Sure, youâd been in here for a bit longer than normal. But it was the one time youâd actually feltâŠnice.
A deep voice from behind the closed door comes to you. You resist an urge to roll your eyes. Ghost.
âBeen in there a bit. Other people would like to clean themselves before heading in for the night.â
This, you do roll your eyes at. Heâs right. Youâre hogging the shower, but thereâs an unspokenâŠthing you have against Ghost. Heâs stoic and a bit miserable to be around if youâre being honest. Heâs too serious, all the time, he never likes to have fun, and if you and Soap are going back and forth, heâs got to voice his displeasure. You secretly think heâs jealous. You think that he either is jealous of the relationship you have with Soap, or heâs jealous of Soap. Probably the former since you two can hardly stand each other.
Sighing out, you cross your arms over your naked chest. Right, youâd almost forgotten where you were.
âWell,â you start out, a bit snarky, âthereâs always room, Lt.â
Youâre joking, obviously, already moving to wrap a towel around your body. Without waiting for whatever response your lieutenant is trying to muster up, you cross the space from the cement wall to the door, hand gripping the handle to wrench it open.
There he is, in all his glory, towering over you. Heâs ditched the mask he wears in operations or important meetings, donning his comfortable skulled balaclava. In fact, heâs changed out of most of his gear. Bare hands, black Henley shirt rolled up to his elbows. Of course, his lower half is clothed in his usual black pants, and he still has his boots on. Yet he looks more naked and vulnerable than you do in your little white towel. He looks at a loss of words.
A playful look crosses your features, a smirk teasing your lips as you prop a hand on your hip. Before you can get a word out, Ghost shifts forward quickly with a grumble tumbling out of his chest, pushing you back into the building with his presence alone. You frown a bit as you move backwards to accommodate his size as the door behind him closes you both in, confused as he glares down at you.
âChrist, could you not waltz around in nothing but bloody a towel?â
Another attempt to not roll your eyes comes over you. âWhatâre you, shy? Itâs not like Iâm completely naked.â You gesture at yourself; itâd be as if you were wearing a strapless dress. Granted, the towel is tiny, youâre wet from the shower, and youâre definitely not wearing any panties. Still, you had no idea Ghost was such a prude.
âReally?â Ghostâs gaze trails hotly down the front of your body. Suddenly your face feels hot. Heâs never once looked at you like this. Like heâdâŠ
A shaky breath escapes you before you laugh it off, âIf you canât handle me in a towel after shower, I doubt youâd be able to handle being around me in the actual showers.â You jerk a thumb over your shoulder as you watch his gaze follow it behind you. He can see the room of showers over the wall. You think you see his jaw clench under his mask.
This is bad. Youâre jokingly teasing him the way you and Soap talk. This is uncharted territory, and youâre not sure you can keep the act up. With Soap, itâs harmless fun. You both know youâre not interested in each other. Itâs easy to try to get a reaction out of each other, to see who says the most ridiculous shit first. Itâs a stupid game. With Ghost, itâs dangerous. Itâs nerve wrecking. Itâs serious because heâs serious.
Suddenly heâs looking back down at you. You try not to fidget as you stare back at him. You canât read him. Youâre about to talk to break whatever this tension is, about to tell him the showers are his.
âNo, I probably canât.â
Did his voice drop an octave? Why was it making your skin heat? What was going on right now? You feel like your brain is malfunctioning. Your gaze drops down to the broad slope of his shoulders, and down his frame, distracted a bit. Of course, heâs attractive. Youâd be insane to not think so. Even if youâve never seen his face. Itâs the way he holds himself, itâs the way heâs built, itâs his damned voice, and his eyes and everything else. But heâs your lieutenant for Christâs sake. Heâs mean sometimes. Heâs ruthless, a brute, a â
âLet me see. I want to try. To⊠handle it.â
You freeze, eyes shooting back up to his. âYou -?â
His chin dips to your towel, âTake it off.â
For a moment, youâre both watching each other. Ghostâs got his eyes on yours, unwavering. Heâs really serious about this, you realize. Your thighs are clenching together now, trying to relieve the ache. You were joking, you think, about him not handling it in the showers. Now youâre thinking maybe youâre the one who canât.
Shakenly, your hands raise to the knot tied at your breast. Your actions stop for a moment, silently waiting for him to tell you to stop. The command never comes. You canât believe youâre doing this, bearing yourself for your broody and moody higher up. For him. All because you donât want to back out on what you started. Suddenly, you want to prove him wrong. That he canât handle it. That youâre not affected at all by his words or actions, or more importantly his inactions. The towel drops.
Itâs loud with how silent it is in the room. Who knew a damp towel could be so loud? Your gaze doesnât leave his, holding it, even as you stand bare in front of him. A smirk quirks your lips. Heâs avoiding looking at you. Thatâs how he thinks he can move around the situation at hand.
Testing him, your hand brushes against your own collarbone, trailing slowly -- tantalizingly slow. Still, his eyes never wander from your own. So, this is how you could play games with Ghost. Itâll be fun to see him break.
âYouâre not looking,â you start, stating the obvious.
âNever said I had to. Only said that I could handle being around you.â He shrugs, like itâs the easiest thing in the world. Like he won the game.
You laugh a little at that, and watch his eyes ever so slightly dip to your lips before coming back up to your eyes. Your own hands are wandering your body now, groping a bit at your chest. His hands clench at his sides.
âAre you going to take a shower, Lt?â A breathless noise leaves you as you ask, your fingers pinching one of your nipples. Fuck him. Youâre so turned on right now itâs ridiculous. He doesnât have to look. Just the thought of being here in front of him while heâs fully clothed doing this, while the two of you are alone and anyone could walk in â
âNo. And quit that.â He growls out, knocking your hand away from your breast. He still hasnât looked, but youâre guessing heâs getting a view from his peripherals.
âQuit what?â You feign innocence, your hand thatâd been knocked away now dips in between your thighs eliciting a soft moan from your lips. âYou said youâd try. If youâre not going to take a shower, you can watch.â
Ghost has no words for you now, his pupils dilating before your very eyes. Spreading your legs a bit wider to get a better reach on yourself, you continue. Slow pressing circles on your clit, your arousal slicking loudly in the air. Your free hand goes back up to your tits, to continue groping, pinching, pulling.
Finally, he breaks. He breaks when your pussy squelches around your own fingers, his burning gaze trailing down your body to the hand thatâs pulling such noises out of you. A groan sets loose from him, and you shudder from the mere sound.
âKneel.â
Ghostâs eyes shoot back up to yours in question.
âKneel, I said. You can get a better look.â Your tone is set in stone. Despite the burning ache youâve got, the need for him to touch you, you feel in control.
He hesitates for a moment before lowering himself down to the ground, knees pressing against the cement. His eyes have yet to leave yours.
âYou can look but donât touch.â Your breath hitches, arousal seeping into your very being seeing him like this. Listening to your commands. You watch his hands clench on his thighs, his attention going back to your pussy. Your breath hitches at his stare, feeling the heat of it. He doesnât have to touch for you to feel his attention. Itâs making you sloppy, messy, and wet. You keen, a brief thought of asking him to touch you, but you donât want to give him the satisfaction.
Staring down at him as your fingers continue to tease yourself, you watch him just as intently as heâs watching you. He seems fixated. You wonder if heâs drooling in his own mask. The front of his pants looks tight. His hands are clenching and unclenching on his thighs, his shoulders shuddering when you make a noise in the back of your throat. You watch him tense as you ease a finger in yourself. Your clit is throbbing, aching, begging for attention, youâre teasing yourself just as much as youâre teasing him. Slowly pumping the one finger in yourself, you press another one in, mewling out as your hips buck a little upward.
âLet me taste you.â He rushes out suddenly. Ghostâs voice is gravel, scrapping across your body. Your head nearly tips back at the sound of it, another pitiful noise leaving your mouth.
 Stay strong. Stay strong. You shake your head, unable to give him an actual answer as your fingers create a devastatingly slow pace, slick coating your fingers and thighs.
âFuck. Whatâll take? Let me taste you.â Heâs demanding now, knuckles white with how hard heâs gripping the material over his thighs.
You pant, trying not to stammer. âBeg.â It comes out stronger than you feel right now. Core burning with the need to come.
âPlease.â He grits out through his teeth, angry eyes coming up to your glassy ones.
âYou donât sound sincere.â You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head again. Your fingers pause, coming out to press softly against your clit. If you press any harder, you have no doubt youâll come. You donât want to give it to him yet. Ghost watches the action, a growl coming from him.
âPlease,â he tries again, looking back up at you to see if it was good enough. Itâs not and you tsk at him. âPlease, let me taste your pussy. Let me put my mouth on you. Please.â
The last plead is strained, almost a whine. Your fingers dip back in, curling as you pump them again. Your head falls forward a bit with a whine of your own and you try to gather your bearings. âHow are you going to taste me with your mask on?â
Quickly, he tugs it upward, only exposing his mouth. Christ. His mouth. Heâs got a scar running down his lips. His jaw is clenched, and you curse whoever created him. Heâs handsome, even if youâre only seeing the bottom half of his face. You watch his tongue tease his full bottom lip, his mouth opening into a soft pant. Heâs eager. You catch another whine in your throat, fingers leaving your pussy to press against his mouth, covered in your own wetness. He opens his mouth, latching onto them, sucking and licking, taking anything you have to offer.
You watch with a newfound feeling. Here you have your lieutenant on the ground, kneeling and begging, sucking your fingers like itâs his God given right. Like he has something to prove. That heâs desperate enough to be debased to nothing. Heâs moaning at the taste of you, following your fingers as they leave his mouth, like heâs not ready to stop cleaning yourself from them. Heâs tilting closer as he watches them disappear back to your throbbing sex.
âNo,â you tell him, stopping him from following your fingers all the way, âthatâs all you get.â You moan out, your fingers wet with his spit now circling your clit. You need to come like this, having him at his knees in front of you.
âW-wait. Please. Iâll do anything. Fuck, please. Let me give you what you want, I can make you cum. With my mouth please ââ
His begging sends you over the edge, not stopping as you cry out loudly, pussy clenching on nothing as your fingers circle and circle. Itâs long and crippling, and you almost feel your knees buckle, your free hand gripping the cement wall behind you. Fuck, heâs not shutting up. It drags it out, hearing him whine and beg, a man who you thought could never be like this. You rip your hand away from yourself, panting, thankful for the wall behind you holding you up. Your thighs are quivering and wet from the orgasm, breath trying to catch up to your pounding heart.
Ghost is quiet now, looking up at you, waiting for your next move. His mouth parts, like heâs going to start up again and you hush him.
âClean me up.â
You barely have the sentence out before heâs shooting forwards, hands gripping your thighs to make room for himself. He pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, tongue latching onto your already overstimulated clit. You cry out, hands shooting up to his masked head, trying to pull him away as he laps at your cream.
âA-ah, wait, Simon ââ You start, squirming, trying to get away from his mouth and tongue. You feel him smile, the bastard.
âThink you can tease me like that? Huh?â He growls as he laps at you, tongue not missing an inch of your pussy. His words vibrate through you, not bothering to really pull away to talk. Heâs violent in the way his mouth attacks you. âThink you can just do what you want to me?â
You stutter, about to apologize until he starts to add his fingers to the mix. Two thick fingers of his slam into you, pumping up as his tongue flicks your clit. You cry out, tears in your eyes as you take it. Heâs going to make you come again, this fast. Too fast. You feel dizzy, vision fuzzy.
âMaking me sit in front of this pretty pussy and not letting me touch or taste it.â He groans, and then chuckles as you bare down on his fingers, clenching hard. âOh, you gonna come again pretty baby? Come on then.â
Heâs mean. Meaner than you were to him. Youâre panting, quivering, and aching, your pussy making obscene noises as he assaults all of your senses. You know youâre coming before you feel it. Like a delayed reaction. Gasping and bucking, heâs saying something again that you canât register because your hearing leaves you, your sight leaves you, every sensation and thought is gone as you cry out, coming and coming again. Somehow in the midst of it, his fingers and mouth leave as you come back down to your body, and heâs holding you up, thank God. You doubt the wall behind you wouldâve helped at all. Your fingers are clenched on the material of his mask, and as you blink down at him, chest heaving, you see his wet mouth smirk.
A flash of fear goes through you. This was the Ghost you know. The ruthless, cold, domineering, Simon Ghost Riley. Not the man thatâd been on his knees begging. Not the man whoâd let you command and tease him. He sets down the leg thatâd been over his shoulder. Youâre not sure if youâre still completely all together. He stands to his full height, and you shiver, trying to sink yourself back into the wall behind you as much as you can. His hand comes up to your jaw, gripping it gently as he tilts your head back.
âOpen.â
You obey, lips parting, mouth opening. Nothing could prepare you for what he does next. He leans into you, pressing up hard against you, lips barely hovering your own. He spits. Fluid enters your mouth, and you moan, swallowing it up. Itâs your own arousal, sweet and warm and oh. Your wet lashes flutter shut as Ghost licks the seam of your closed mouth, lapping at you before he nips and bites and kisses you. The kiss heâs giving you isnât gentle. Itâs consuming and you cry into it as your hands find purchase on his shoulders, sliding up to his neck to haul him closer to you. He answers your cry with a groan of his own, his hands cupping your ass to lift you up. Your legs come around him, locking your ankles behind his back to keep him close. Your sensitive pussy is pressed and rubbing against pants, the feeling abrasive and raw but you canât stop from grinding against him.
 âTell me what you want. Tell me and Iâll give it to you.â Simon mutters against your lips, licking and biting still. Youâre breathless and whimpering against him, his words going straight to your core as you move against him. Heâs helping you, moving with your hips, matching you move for move. Youâre distracted, unable to give him an answer as you kiss him back, your trembling fingers sliding a bit under his mask to grasp the back of his neck. He hisses out in pain when your nails dig in. âIâll give you anything baby, please. Just say the words.â
âI â I wantâŠâ you gasp, your clit pressing against the seam of his pants. You can feel his length hard and heavy against you.
âFuck, please. Please tell me.â Heâs begging again, rutting his hips up against you, hands keeping you still as he continues.
âI want you.â Is all you can muster; all you can think about saying. You swear your brain isnât working correctly. Even before this started. You mustâve hit your head during the mission.
"Want me? Want me to what?â He stops moving.
You groan out in frustration, head tipping back a bit before you look up at him. âPlease, Simon. Youâre teasing me now.â Youâre not sure you like how quickly the tables have turned.
Ghost laughs a bit, breathless himself. You think heâs going to drag it out further until he sees the pout furrowing your brow. âAlright. I am. Iâll give it to you.â He still keeps you wrapped up against him, one hand holding you, the other going in between the two of you. His knuckles brush against your bare sex and you moan lowly, watching him unbuckle his pants, pulling his hard cock out. Precum is dripping down the length of it and your throat dries at the sight of him.
Concern must be showing on your face with how big he is. Another chuckle from him, âYou can take it pretty baby.â Your concern dies out as he slides the length against your wet pussy and you bite down on lip, trying to contain your noises. You want him in you, size be damned. He runs the tip up and down once more before pressing against your entrance, pushing in slowly. This time, you canât contain the low moan you have. He gives it to you slowly, pumping his hips up into you, letting you adjust to his size. Itâs stretching you open, and you feel like heâs splitting you in half. Itâs heavy and deep and throbbing â
âOh.â You let out, almost surprised it feels so good. Addicting. You feel drunk.
A sadistic laugh comes from the man in you, his cock slowly pumping into you. Heâs being nice, giving it to you this softly. His hands are pulling you back onto his cock, pinning you against the wall and his hard body. Your legs tighten around him as your nails dig into his shoulders.
âThatâs it. Itâs all yours, isnât it?â Ghost dips down to nip your lips as you whimper. âBeen wanting this pussy wrapped around me for so long, baby. Fuck.â He moans lowly as you keen at his words, clenching around his girth. âTeasing me when you have no idea what Iâd do to you. For you.â
Heâs going slow, dragging this out as long as possible. Heâs pressing in deep, rolling his hips before pulling slowly back, letting you feel every inch of him before starting all over again. Itâs driving you insane. It feels like itâs going on forever, his slow thrusting. He rocks into your soaking cunt, easing his throbbing cock in you smoothly and repeatedly. Ecstasy has taken hold of every fiber of your being. You hardly feel conscious, as his words lull you into lust, his cock pacifying you into drunken state. He wonât shut up again as you cry against his lips.
âPussy feels so good. So good. Fuck. You can have this dick whenever you want baby, just say the word and itâs yours.â He moans lowly, the sloppy sounds of your pussy and his hips thumping into you with languid strokes are overpowering your thoughts. His words make your pussy clamp down on him and he moans again, not afraid to let you hear how good youâre making him feel.
âSiââ you gasp, mouth falling open against his, trying to pull him up closer to you.
âTell me. Tell me, sweetheart. Fuck.â He rasps against you, his hips stuttering slightly at the sound of your broken moans.
âF-fuck me. Please fuck me. Simon, please.â You beg, not afraid to be pulled down to your knees like he had been. To be debased to nothing just as you had done to him.
Heâs not just pliant, heâs willing. Eager again to please you. You know he couldâve done what you had to him, teased you, made you beg more, made you want and want and need. But he gives it to you, just like he promised he would. Your pussy flares as his thrusts get heavier, deeper, faster, rougher. Itâs destroying you as much as itâs freeing you and your eyes roll back a bit. God, youâre going to cum again.
A knock sounds. Not unlike the one Ghost pounded on the door earlier. You gasp, trying to stop running to the hurdle youâre launching towards. Your body doesnât get the memo, or doesnât care, and it certainly seems Ghost couldnât care less that someone is right outside the door. The man makes a frustrated noise, at you or the knock, youâre not sure. He clamps his hand down over your mouth as you try to contain the noises youâre currently making. You want to tell him to stop, someoneâs right there, but he keeps fucking you. God, heâs so mean and cruel and â
âLt?â
Your heart shudders in fear. Soap. No, God, no one can see this. Ghost fucking you against the wall, completely clothed, unrushed. Despite the fear of being caught, you feel a whine catch in your throat as you thrash again Simonâs relentless fucking. He hushes you quietly, slamming roughly into you now. You stop a squeal, but just barely, a loud yet pathetic squeak leaving you as euphoria bursts through you, pussy convulsing around his cock.
âJust a sec, Johnny.â Ghost throws over his shoulder, a smile playing on his handsome face. He hardly sounds phased even when just moments ago he was the one loudly moaning into your mouth. He hardly sounds winded even with the rough thrusts heâs delivering into you, fucking you through your orgasm. You claw weakly at his chest, angry at him, still coming down from the heaven he just gave to you.
You think Soap leaves, youâre not sure, but Ghost moves his hand from your mouth, back to your ass to bring down onto his cock. Heâs using you now, making you meet him thrust for thrust, drilling your G-spot with such precision that your vision fades for a second.
âNo, look at me. Thatâs it. Good girl. Youâre so pretty baby. Such a good girl. You gonna let me fill you up now? Havenât I been good enough for you? Huh?â Heâs mocking a bit, but serious. His own form of a joke that you have no power or brain to call him out on. All youâre feeling, all youâre thinking about is his cock ravaging you from the inside, still, overstimulated. Your body hardly cares. Itâs right there, right at the edge, ready to jump and to give him your all. Youâre too dumb, blinded with pleasure, staring up at him as he growls down at you, throbbing cock ready to give it to you when you say the words. Maybe he really is under your command after all.
A whine comes from you, frantically nodding to him, hands scrambling on him to try to find solid ground while youâre in a different time and space with the fucking heâs giving you.
âNo, you have to tell me baby. Fuck, tell me Iâm good baby. Tell me I was good, and I can fill you up.â Simonâs begging, whining lowly in the back of his throat, his hips getting sloppier and shorter, pounding into you.
âYouâre good. Youâre good. Simon, youâre good. Itâs so good. Please, pleasepleaseplease come in me.â Youâre begging, sobbing, actually, tears streaming down your face as you try to catch up with your body. It hurts, it hurts so fucking good, you make a long and agonized noise against his mouth, heâs kissing you again, sucking your tongue, running his against your teeth, pulling sucking overstimulating â
Simon makes his own devastated noise, a low and shattering groan of pleasure and you feel it just as youâre coming, milking him into you. His cock is surging into you, pumping hot cum with each deep thrust. Heâs grinding into you, fucking you both through your orgasms, making you see stars as you cry into his mouth, fingers tearing into his back through his shirt. His hips finally still after what seems to be eternity, your pussy still clenched around him. He keeps himself deep in you as you both try to gather your bearings as well as your breath. Youâre staring at each other, panting, chests heaving. He brings a shaky hand up to your cheek, cupping it as he runs his thumb over your tears. The tenderness makes your heart clench. All heâs done tonight surprised you. He leans down to place a kiss against your lips as tenderly as the thumb that stroked you. You kiss him back gently, a little worried where this was going to leave the two of you.
He pulls back, eyes bouncing in between your own. He seems to sense your worry and he sighs, pulling out slowly. You almost want to cry at the loss of him. Ghost sets you down steadily, keeping his hands on you as you wobble, legs weak. You hold onto him and look back up, ready to question what the hell this meant. He shakes his head a bit and nods towards the showers.
âI think I can handle taking a shower with you. But itâs gotta be quick baby.â
Shocked, you stare at him incredulously before you burst out into a terrible laughing fit. Youâd almost forgotten how you got here in the first place. You watch his mouth quirk up into his own smile before he starts to laugh a little too. You grab his hand, tugging him with you towards the showers.
âCâmon then big boy. Show me how you handle it.â
#guys. i'm sorry for my absence#i had to get out of this man's chokehold i'm not kidding#and then you know what happened?#THIS came to me in a dream#A DREAM#CALLING SIMON âGHOSTâ BECAUSE HE'S FCKIN HAUNTING ME!!!!#hope you enjoyed kiss kiss love love#simon ghost riley#cod mwii#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you
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Hormones
When you suddenly find yourself thirsting over your LT!Simon that on any normal day you have to restrain yourself from throwing a chair at.
Enemies to lovers | Fluff | smut | 895 words Next Part
It's been a couple of months since you started working with the Task Force 141, an awesome force of men that save the world while the world sleeps.
The same way Soap and Gaz are, you are a sergeant. Not yet included in the task force officially, but still being asked to tag along to some missions.
It's been great! The sergeant's quickly become like childhood friends, the captain took you under his wing like one more of the team, Laswell is euphoric there is another woman and the lieutenant⊠Well, he's there.
It's not that you would expect him to give you special treatment, THE Ghost from Task Force 141. You are not a nosy person, but câmon, it's Ghost! Who hasn't heard of him?
In the military world, it was the closest to meeting a celebrity. You were not expecting him to fall head over heels for you, but you were still a bit taken back when the first thing he said to you was:
âThe fuck you looking at? Want a pat on the back for making it here without shitting yourself in the process? Get the fuck out of my face, go bother somebody else.â
You were not expecting a kiss on the forehead, but shit, a âGood morningâ would have been enough.
Still, as time went on, the interactions between the LT and you remained just as bad. At the end, you stopped trying to talk to him, and just asked the sergeants or the Captain.
Except that bothered him too, like a stubborn toddler.
âNow you are too great to speak to your immediate superior? Need to go cry to the Captain like a brat? Make sure not to wet your nappies, soldier.â
And honestly, what's his fucking problem?
As a sergeant, you are proud to admit you have a wide range of skills and abilities, one of them being your patience to not absolutely destroy all the idiots that you have come across in your life. But honestly, you can feel it run thin as time goes by.
Even the captain had to jump to your rescue on more than one occasion, when Simon attack was completely uncalled for or he got a bit too hurtful.
But unlike your lieutenant, you remain professional. Listening to your captain, getting along with your sargeants and completely ignoring your lieutenant.
Until today.
The summer weather, great when sunbathing, not great when the AC is broken and you get stuffed in a room without windows for a debriefing with the team.
It's Ghost's turn to talk, standing to his full heights, when he finally takes off his jacket. And your eyes follow the movement, and then they just⊠stay there.
The tablet he is using looks like a smartphone on his hand, digits so thick you wonder how he manages to get them on the weapons triggers. The tendons of his hands moved under the skin as he adjusts his hold of the electronic.
And you follow the line, taking in the tattoo sleeve on his left arm, trying to decipher what they are supposed to be, some damaged with scars, others seems so old the ink got blurry, but still you can tell the way his muscles move under them.
Such a big arm, you know he could lift you with ease. Shit, he could lift everyone in the room. His biceps must be the size of your head, and he seems so unbothered by it, like it is not incredible the way he is built.
He switched his weight from one leg to the other, and your eyes traveled to his hips and waist. A waist that looks small, not that it is, there is nothing small about this man, but the sheer size of his shoulders in contrast makes his waist look small. His shoulders and his back, wide enough that it makes you wonder how he can enter through the door at base. He must enter sideways, there is no other way.
His hips called you again, making your eyes travel down your body, until they set between his legs. The bulge in there makes you feel offended, of course the idiot would be packing even when soft. How dare he?
Would he be a grower or a shower? Cause if he is a grower and this is the soft stage, you wonder how he doesn't get tangled.
You wouldn't mind getting tangled, you think, biting your lip.
Wait.
WAIT.
WHY ARE YOU THIRSTING FOR HIM?!
You look at the front, standing straight, and come face to face with Soap; who is perfectly aware of hour hatred towards hour LT is now looking at you like you just grew a second head on your shoulder. For a moment you don't know who looks more confused with your actions.
A silly thought goes through your head, and you pull your phone out, opening your period track app. And as you guessed, you were right. You show your screen to Soap and as he read: âPrediction: Ovulation. High risk of getting pregnant.â He burst out laughing making you chuckle as well as you shake your head.
Maybe, if you wouldn't have been so engrossed in your imagination, you could have noticed the way Ghost was stuttering while speaking, in ecstasy he finally managed to get a reaction out of you.
#call of duty#ghostsoap#cod x reader#cod#cod smut#task force 141#call of duty x reader#cod modern warfare#ghost#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost cod#simon riley#ghost smut#john soap mactavish#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#lovi writes đ©·
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au where Johnny never joined the military (his knee got fucked up before he could and they wouldnât let him enlist) but itâs okay because that means he got to go to college and study engineering, which is the closest he could get to being a civilian demolitions expert
Anyway, the city his college is in has an army base nearby, which means that every dating app he opens is flooded with army boys looking to marry the first person who so much as looks at them the right way. Johnnyâs never been relationship-oriented; he likes hookups too much to settle down like that, but he loves scrolling through to drool over all of the gym pictures
And then one catches his eye. Simon. He doesnât show his face on his profile, but his muscles more than make up for it. His appearance, though, isnât what Johnny is most interested in, because his bio saysâŠ
Anyone interested in committing marriage fraud?
And thatâs⊠something.
So of course Johnny swipes. He doesnât expect to match, because Simon looks like a Greek God, and he almost throws his phone across the room when the little heart appears, telling him that he and Simon have both swiped on each other. Which means that Simon swiped on him first. Itâs a heady feeling, but heâs not really sure why.
John: marriage fraud?
Itâs not his strongest first message, but sue him, heâs curious.
Simon: Iâm not interested in a relationship or even sex, but I have a very vested interest in being able to move off base
John: so, what? we get married and then�
Simon: we donât have to live together or even like each other. You can finish your studies, get the tax benefits, and live your life as you choose while I get to move off base and maintain my privacy
Honestly, it sounds like a win/win to Johnny. Heâs not struggling financially per se, but being able to live exactly as he is while also gleaning tax benefits is⊠an attractive choice.
John: and if I meet someone else that Iâm serious about?
Simon: I have no qualms about an uncontested divorce
John: letâs meet up for lunch and discuss the details
âââ
Lunch is a simple affair, just a local restaurant, frequented by students and soldiers alike, so they both fit in well. Simon is unfairly attractive, even if he only reveals the bottom half of his face to eat or drink. Heâs massive and blond and his eyes do something to Johnnyâs insides that he canât bring himself to dissect further. They chat over their food, sharing details about themselves. Johnny shares more than Simon, and he has a hunch that thatâs on purpose, but he doesnât mind. They click instantly, and Johnny can tell that Simon is taken aback by that. Itâs sweet, almost, the way that such a large military man is floundering in the face of genuine human connection. After theyâve finished, they turn to business.
With a quiet, deep voice, Simon lays out his entire plan, and Johnny is fully on board. Heâs ready to sign the papers today, but they legally have to wait a month.
Itâs the longest month of Johnnyâs life.
They text constantly, or as constantly as they can. Sometimes Johnny feels inordinately young and sometimes very inferior; while heâs talking Simonâs ear off about some explosive compound used in building demolitions, Simon is off⊠doing god knows what, god knows where, serving the country. But Simon always listens, always sounds engaged over the phone when they call, always has follow-up questions that show heâs actually interested. And while Simon canât talk much about his work, he can talk about details. Small stuff; the awful food, the hot dust where heâs stationed, the day-to-day activities that donât give away too much. Johnny learns that heâs a lieutenant, a sniper (though thatâs more through context clues than anything else), that he wears a mask all the time to protect himself, that he doesnât like scrambled eggs (or at least, not military scrambled eggs), that he has a very complex skincare routine, that he respects the hell out of his captain. That heâs a good man, or tries to be. That heâs a sweetheart, deep down, despite trying to hide it.
They eventually get married, down at the courthouse, with Simonâs captain, Price, and Johnnyâs best mate, Kyle, as witnesses.
And then life goes on. Johnny continues his studies, continues going to parties and hooking up with people every weekend, continues living his life. He assumes that Simon does the same. They keep in contact, for the most part, except when Simonâs in the field and he canât have his phone, but he always brings back little inconsequential stories when he returns. Itâs nice, in a way. Theyâd never exchanged rings, but sometimes Johnny wishes they had, just so he had something tangible to tie him to his husband.
Iâm not sure how it would end, thoughâŠ
Maybe it would be Sweet Home Alabama style, where Johnny finds someone that he thinks he loves and has to get Simon to sign the divorce papers, only to realize at the last minute that he really doesnât want to, that heâs been in love with Simon all along
Maybe Simon gets medically discharged and ends up moving in with Johnny, where they both dance around their feelings for each other, despite already being married
Maybe they just⊠realize one day, that theyâve slowly but surely fallen in love with each other over the years and suddenly, nothing else matters because theyâve got a lot of lost time to make up for
#idk choose your own ending#talking to military boys on tinder has me thinking some thoughts#call of duty#cod#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghoap#ghostsoap#soapghost#tombstone's epitaphs#tombstone's ficlets#tombstone's skeleton fics
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Honorifics
A/N: Yeah... I don't know about this. I'll probably take it down since I'm unsure if it's got enough of a consistent vibe. Let me know if it's actually something you enjoy since I don't write angst or hurt/comfort often. I ALWAYS WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS THO. That's a damn promise. Summary: You've given Ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. The situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. Reader is nicknamed "Brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper. T/W: angst, cursing, Ghost being an emotionally unstable human, yelling, the reader having a breakdown, smidge of not eating, smidge of not drinking anything, comfort, feelings, female reader, not proofread.
When you joined the task force, things didnât exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would. Training sessions usually ended up with you either getting your ass beat or nearly surviving a full-on embarrassment by the skin of your teeth just to be told that you still werenât in good enough shape to keep up with them in the field. Surely being a woman didnât excuse you from being in shape for the kind of work Laswell and Price had brought you in for, but damn if it wasnât difficult to try and have a one-on-one fight with someone like Soap or Ghost without the benefit you would typically have in a real-world battle situation. The reality that all of the men in the squad were literally the best of the best aside, there could be just barely enough room for you to compete on the same level when it came to sheer physical strength. While that wasnât your specialty anyway, the Captain made it clear you needed to prove you could handle your own against serious physical fights without assistance. After nearly five weeks of having one of your squad mates slam you on your ass one too many times in the training hall, you finally were able to prove to Price that you could go out in the field and he didnât have to extend any extra worries for your ability to survive.
Logistically as a sniper, it meant you frequently held a much more distant role in missions. By watching from a scope you could ensure that infiltrations, covert ops, and other hush-hush kinds of operations that typically the 141 wouldnât have the luxury of. Being the skilled marksman you were, it made sense to take advantage of your talents and also extend you a job that progressed past what youâd experienced in your âstandardâ military career and multiple tours overseas. However, that meant communications were essentially the backbone of your usefulness aside from your rifle. Next to nothing else, your daily and mission-based work almost exclusively went through Lieutenant Ghost. Which⊠often proved to be the largest obstacle that you faced aside from making sure that your scope didnât get bumped off sight the -often- rough flights and drives to insertion points.
The Lieutenant was particularly mean⊠he certainly didnât give a single thought to if anyone thought that he was a little too harsh of a personality to swallow. That went for everything you came to learn about Ghost. From his lack of willingness to speak unless required of him, to his unique ability of appearing and disappearing from anywhere without the slightest sound or hint of where heâd come from or gone to. Trained as a distance marksman, even you were impressed that such a massive man could move around like smoke on water. That and his physical appearance; good god above. Surely a man like Ghost had never graced the face of the Earth before, else heâd have been just as mythical in his legendary life and wouldâve been known by thousands of people. He stood towering over just about everyone, in whatever room he was in, and compared to your own height it was downright laughable the difference between the two of you as operators.
The one thing that made the biggest impression on you after meeting the Lieutenant was his voice and how he spoke. That thick accent always sounded rough and a little gritty. His deep timbre gave such a commanding authority that if given the choice between getting yelled at by Captain Price or Ghost⊠there was no choice youâd sit for hours listening to Price threaten you over Ghost. He just sounded so scary and attractive all at the same time. Unsurprisingly, it developed into a subconscious dynamic where you saw Ghost as such a superior officer -and human- that no matter how much you liked to daydream about Ghost in less-than-professional situations⊠You gave him the utmost respect at all times. Easiest of all to recognize was that from day one, you had never addressed Ghost to his face as anything other than âsirâ. Not even his rank gave enough nuance to his character and presence, so for you, Ghost was inextricably attached to the name.
Ghost however⊠didnât like it.
Such a simple address actually made Ghost grit his teeth beneath the shield of his mask. When he heard you call him that, he automatically related it to how he had called General Shepherd âsirâ as a subtle sign of mockery and defiance. Thinking about that made him more than necessarily angry and confused, but he couldnât really accuse you of having ever been given much of a reason to detest him. Therefore, he had to come to the conclusion that you were doing it out of some kind of respect that a drill sergeant or boot camp instructor had bashed into your brain so hard that it stuck permanently. Not surprising since you were much different from the rest of the task force. Yet he had to revise that after the first six months of you being with them permanently. You had gotten settled in. Enough so that you called the Captain, âCapâ⊠Soap, âJohnnyâ⊠and Garrick, âGazâ like everyone else did. Exceptionalities only appeared when it came time for you to be around him or have any sort of interaction that wasnât the occasional silent nod of acknowledgment when walking past each other in the hallways.
He honestly tried to ignore it and you altogether for that matter in an attempt to keep his bitter anger at a minimum. Seeing such a small and fucking happy woman always lingering around somewhere in the corners of his sight couldnât be anything but a distraction waiting to happen. A bad habit that he didnât have the mental capacity or emotional willingness to take on. Fuck⊠he already had to worry about the 141 as a whole, to begin with. Now you on top of that? It was more responsibility than heâd signed up for initially. Hearing you call him âsirâ day in and day out began to take its toll on his self-control. Ghost needed to either find out why you were hellbent on calling him that, or at least be enough of a bastard to you to be reassured that you did it because you wanted a polite way to tell him to shove it up his ass sideways.
The Lieutenant had been being nothing short of a prick in the last few months.
He was making paperwork back at HQ a nightmare that couldnât be solved alternatively through someone like Gaz or Soap who often didnât mind playing the part of the unbiased third party. Refusing to sign things when you stopped by his office, outright ignoring your necessary questions, and stonewalling you at every single stop along the way just to yield at the last moment and do everything youâd been asking for so the both of you wouldnât face heat from any higher-ups. That alone was enough for you to consider talking to Soap privately since he knew Ghost the best⊠but youâd kept putting it off hoping that it was just a passing phase of shitty attitude.
Your patience and emotional strength fell through the floor after attempting for the third time in a week after something so fucking simple as trying to get his approval and official signature on a post-mission report Price had delegated to you after being called to Washington D.C. for a meeting. It wasnât a major task, but knowing that the Captain had given you the responsibility first over anyone else made you want to impress him and take care of business without incident. God forbid you do something as simple as ask Ghost to pick up a pen and scribble his name at the bottom of a page so that you could send it on through the higher-up channels. It resulted in the Lieutenant straight-up yelling at you in the middle of the hallway outside his office when heâd found you standing there patiently waiting for him to show up. He wasnât threatening physically, but it cut much deeper into your pride and feelings than it should have.
With every word that dripped venomously out of his masked mouth, you lost a little extra peace of mind on having such an untouchable and unshakably good opinion of Ghost for so long. This moment of undeserved verbal punishment was enough to make the corners of your eyes burn with inner disgrace, self-doubt, and plain old sadness which motivated you to get the hell out of there before the Lieutenant saw you cry. When you turned your back and walked away right in the middle of his berating for you being âtoo fucking annoying to tolerateâ, your only destination was your personal quarters on the other end of the building where a lock on the door could shut out the entire base for as long as you saw fit. Upon the first estimation, it would be after Captain Price returned so that you could have at least one single chance at not getting a second punishment or dismissal from the squad. The sound of your door slamming shut and your back sliding down against it on your way down to the floor silenced the entire room around you, leaving just enough room for the papers clenched to your chest to flutter onto the ground and your weak cries to sounds amplified.
It was hours before you could drag yourself off the floor and into bed, too tired and wanting to fall back on the trained and instinctual desire to hide away somewhere isolated and not move for hours on end. Being a long-distance marksman gave you the talent of patience insurmountable to the average person, allowing days to pass by without you needing to do more than go to the bathroom before coming right back to a motionless position. Thatâs what you wanted tonight. You needed to focus all of your energy into your brain alone and use it to sort through the hurt burning through your eyes and throat, and the questioning that gave such a sickening feeling a chance root in your stomach. Questions of if it had been foolish to trust Ghost as much as you did the others, knowing how youâd been warned that he would be difficult to work with. Hoping you hadnât been truly so ignorant of judging behavior to think that the Lieutenant was something much greater than his behavior had been not only today but for the past months.
The next two days were spent laying near motionless⊠not hungry or thirsty.
Just thinking, sleeping, and staring at the wall across from your bed.
A solid knock on your door was the first human sound that hadnât been made by you in over forty-eight hours. Youâd not looked at your phone or any communications since locking yourself inside, and there was a good chance someone from the squad had come searching for you after such a long period without seeing or hearing from you. When you refused to answer right away, another harder knock banged on the door twice and rattled the steel in its doorframe. Impatient. Testy. Quite familiar with everything youâve been through lately. Recognizing the Lieutenant was the one outside made your gut churn all over again. Questioning whether to get up or not wasnât hard. Laying perfectly still in bed, you waited. If you were being honest though, itâd been a long time since youâd spent so long restricting yourself from basic needs for the purpose of acting like a living phantom. Close to three years since any sniper position had left you utterly abandoned without resources. Only this time it was self-induced and nothing short of a trauma response you wanted to hide away from. Truthfully you couldnât tell if walking to the door was an easy feat or not. After not drinking anything, using the bathroom wasnât necessary and the last time youâd stood up didnât cross your memory clearly.
Ghost slammed his fist against the door again one last time. But he didnât wait long enough for you to answer before rattling the handle to the door with a heavy sigh that was audible through the cracks separating you. Metal on metal gritted softly and moved the door handle a bit further. Recognizing that as nothing short of Ghost picking the lock to your quarters without the slightest care of how heâd be breaking multiple stipulations laid out for them living in HQ. Either your physical or mental state kept you from giving a damn when the handle gave way fully, leaving a bright fluorescence light flooding in from the hallway into your pitch-black room. It made your eyes water and the urge to turn your head away was strong enough to budge your head into the blankets and pillow surrounding. Heavy boots made the paperwork scattered on the floor crunch softly and the sound of his deep breaths gave away his current state of frustration. Clearly not appreciating being locked out of a room that he had no fucking business being in. A long pause led to shuffling around, and the sound of your desk chair creaking under his weight.
âGonna say somethinâ?â He sounded no less irritated than the last time youâd spoken.
It made your throat burn to even think youâd allowed his to get in your head so deeply just to utterly rip every last bit of security and respect away from you for no damn reason. Your silence made quite the statement, even if the actual task of speaking hadnât been a totally voluntary one. Youâd not moved your jaw in days at this point.
âYouâve missed five drill sessions, two mandatory meetings, and one phone from General Shepherd.â
Listing off your offenses hardly bothered you. The consequences of this had been fully accepted days ago, and Ghost would have to do a lot more to get you up from this bed. Youâd trained for hell, and no matter how badly Ghost had ruined your almost loving and patient view of him there werenât enough men on the planet to make you get up voluntarily. Drastic⊠yes. Satisfying to your own pride⊠undoubtedly. When you didnât even let out a single breath loud enough for Ghost to hear instead of that instant apology or willingness to appease himâŠÂ please him even, with that little quip of âsirâ ready on your tongue, the Lieutenant was up out of that chair so quickly you heard it roll into the wall behind him hard enough to thud against the drywall.
âGoddamn it Brass, I demand a fuckinâ answer!â His loud bark caught your attention, but the feeling of your blankets being ripped off your body was a far more startling sensation.
Baring you to the cold air of the room, all your body managed was to raise chills on your skin in a feeble attempt to keep you warm or alert you to seek out that heat again. Tension exploded into shocked silence when Ghost didnât utter more than a sharp inhale after getting one, shadowed glimpse of your body totally frozen on your stomach. You knew it couldnât look great. Snipers could come back looking like skeletons sometimes after a long mission if they were given the orders to stay put. Youâd not been laying nearly long enough for that to be the case, but dehydration was certainly a symptom you were ignoring quite easily, as well as the possibility of some minor pressure ulcers that would linger for a few weeks if you didnât move soon. Ghost wasnât as familiar with the sight of how you felt internally. Snipers werenât commonly used or in collaboration with Task Force 141. Youâd been their first real look at how the inner workings moved or didnât, and much of your personal way of doing things had dispelled or blown away any misguided assumptions theyâd made about your skills early on. Viewing a sniper after days of doing literally nothing, of her own free willâŠ? That wasnât healthy or accepted in general military companies. Lucky Ghost got the front-row seat though.
When you heard his movement next to you, weight pressed down the mattress at your side in the shape of his hands, and a low sigh registered.
âBrassâŠâ Failing to even say something, you wondered if your own assessment of yourself wasnât accurate. âItâs been five days.â His faltered tone was truthful, and it destroyed your semblance of time that had been misled by the absence of sunlight coming in through your room.
You thought about trying to say something, resolve falling flat when swallowing felt difficult. A gloved hand rested against your thigh and Ghost almost growled again, sounding a lot more like he was resisting the urge to squeeze you hard. Only his fingers traced along your hip and over the curve in your waist with a tense and heavy swallow. He was being gentle beyond your concept of his depth of emotion and understanding. Nearly loving as he paused over your ribcage with another pinched sort of sound. Staying like that for what felt like hours, you struggled to keep yourself awake. It had been a struggle to move your tongue in your mouth, testing what mobility youâd lost in the short term. Only Ghost wasnât leaving like you expected, and suddenly his voice returned it its normal stature.
âThisâs Ghost. Get a bay ready now, Iâm bringinâ someone in.â The reverb of his voice crackled in a radio you knew hooked to his vest. A backup short-range alternative in the case that SAT couldnât be established or wasnât clear enough to rely on in the field. Apparently, he used it to keep in contact with someone on base. Or multiple people for all you knew.
âCopy Ghost.â A static voice could be heard and quickly the room was pitched back into a silence you wanted to remain in, but Ghost was adamant to keep infracting alone with a whole list of other rules that, for whatever reason, just didnât fucking matter or apply to him.
His other hand searched around the dark until he found your face resting amongst the fabric of your bed, curling his hand around your head and meticulously lifting you so very slowly away from the bed with his other arm steadying your legs that had also been taken up off the mattress. Youâd never touched Ghost once in all the time youâd known him. Understanding that with his sour attitude, there couldnât be a single chance in Hell that touching him was an acceptable action. Whereas with Soap, Gaz, and even on occasion Price: hugs, handshakes, shoves, and other physical touches were common, Ghost totally ignored all human contact. Maybe Hell had frozen over outside of your quarters for your weak and still motionless body to be lifted up against the Lieutenantâs chest and carried preciously outside of your room into the burning light of HQ. His chest heaved deep and quickly against you. Both hands curled around you and flexed tighter each time you were able to hear another set of shoes approaching closer to you. Possessive like a soldier. Silent like a Ghost. Determined.
He takes you straight to the medical hall where three nurses and two of the on-shift doctors are fast to respond to your condition. Only Ghost refuses to let them take you away from him for any reason. Stoically stonewalling them just like he habitually did to you as they begged him to lay you down on a transport bed so they could take you back to a room for assessment. The Lieutenant took you there himself, with the group of nurses and doctors hot on his heels and surrounding your bed once Ghost had you settled down inside a private room.
The whole place smells sterile and like alcohol. Itâs not the first time youâve been here, but these are far different circumstances. Youâre still too sensitive to open your eyes, but hands are all over your body, gloves fingers touching around the sore places on weight-bearing points on your body, pricks in your fingertips, and a needle poke to the back of your hand. Itâs overstimulating, to say the least, and youâre worried theyâre going to think youâve tried to starve yourself to death or decided that living altogether wasnât worth it and simply wasting away into your bed was the solution. Right away, one of the voices of the medical professionals breaks that worry in your mind by calling for some of the tests to be staggered, needing time between them for nothing other than your own benefit.
âTreat this no differently than prolonged active reconnaissance,â The female voice states softly. âBeing on-the-gun for this long is detrimental to all senses, and sheâs going to need a while to wake up in a meaningful way.â She added, voice coming clearer the closer she got to your head.
âYouâve been working very hard, I suspect. Maybe not in the field⊠but youâre one tough lady.â She commented to you quite personally, her hand falling to your shoulders. âWeâre going to get you plenty of fluids and start you on a vitamin drip to get everything running as it should again. Youâve also got some slight bedsores, but as long as we take care of them now, youâll be right as rain soon, sniper.â
Tests were run, treatments began, and nurse after nurse was brought in with both doctors running rotations in and out of your room for the rest of the night. All of them were under the hard watch of Ghost whoâd not moved from his position sitting in the corner of your room where he could see not only you but anyone approaching the door. Heâd been very quiet throughout the process, watching and waiting for someone to give him some news about your condition with actual certainty. Stewing over the guilt he felt knowing damn well he was the reason youâd shut down so far and were still unable -or unwilling- to come out of it yet. Youâd been nothing but the perfect little woman, doing her job with skill and grace, making everyone around you happier just with one glance in your direction. But fuck, he couldnât stand seeing someone do the callous profession of killing people with one single squeeze of her finger and still have so much innocent and emotional humanity inside such a small body. Ghost couldnât wrap his mind around it. So instead of trying to do the right thing and figure it out, he did what a man so out of touch with empathy did: Try to snuff it out.
You threatened him whether you or he realized it in the beginning.
But now he could see it with that crystal fucking clear hindsight. How monstrous he was for punishing you with no foundation other than his own selfish fear of seeing a dynamic he didnât know was possibly wrapped up inside of you. Sweet and little you, never saying anything to him other than a âyes sirâ or âno sirâ. Goddamnit Ghost knew heâd nearly killed you in a way. Seeing days of neglect in your sallow expression, darkened under eyes, and weakened body was more than even his cold heart could take all at one time. Wasting away for someone as useless as himself, all because heâd never given you enough credit for finding something worth liking in him where no one else had. Screaming at you. Cursing your existence. Right in your face, while heâd been too big of a pussy to even take off his own mask he hid behind every day as he utterly destroyed your meaningful position and life working alongside of his and his squad. Owing you his life wouldnât nearly cover his offenses. Laughably, Ghost admitted his own life or death couldnât measure up to yours. So instead of saying any kind of bullshit apology, he sat in the corner of your room and denied himself sleep, food, and water because there wasnât anything else he could do until youâd been considered healthy and strong again.
Almost one week to the day you had been signed off for return to duty with zero restrictions. Your physical and mental evaluations came back clean, and with both Price and Ghost signing off on the doctorâs orders, you returned to your quarters where you expected to see your room exactly as youâd left it before Ghost brought you into the medical wing. Only nothing was as youâd left it. All the paperwork left on the floor was gone, as well as the other documents that had been left on your desk that still needed finishing. All of it was gone. Your bed and all of the bedclothes youâd been taken from were also missing. Replaced with totally brand new bedding in dark hues of dark green and navy blue with a decidedly feminine pattern on the quilt. Items you didnât own. Or have any idea where they came from. Even the smell of stale air was traded for a woody, and familiar smell that wasnât of a candle, or room spray; It was from a person. The person who sat in the corner of your room in your desk chair with his massive arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes staring at you through the painted visage of a skull gracing a black compression mask.
âSir,â You greet hoarsely, still working through some of the non-significant parts of your recovery that lingered. Ghost stood from his seat and met you halfway across your room with a silent nod, his hand reaching out and motioning for you to step closer to him. Warily but complicit, you make the few steps forward and watch his hand turn to slide against your jaw and stay there firmly. âI expected you to be at drill.â You say with a tinge of surprise at the touch of his bare hand resting against your cheek.
âShould be,â He replied flatly. âBut Iâm not.â You nod a little, biting your tongue when his fingertip rubs over the curve of your ear. His eyes were soft and his unarmored physique was highlighted by the shadows made by the lamp on your side table. Heâs inspecting you, you know as much. Clear by his thumb pressing over your pulse point and the minute exactly that he waits before speaking again.
âDo you like the color green?â His question knocks you off guard and his eyes slide over the quilt laying neatly over your bed. You were quick to answer honestly out of mere habit.
âYes, sir.â
His hand stiffens against your cheek, and Ghost takes another step closer. His boots graze the tips of yours and his chin is nearly tucked against his chest to look down at you properly. Youâre breathing a little harder, anticipating another break of his patience and an onslaught of screaming all directed at your apparent mistakes made right in front of his face. Judgments youâd still be unable to solve no matter how much you thought about it or what you did to try and find a solution of healthy -or not- motives. Ghost doesnât yell though. He actually lowers his face down to yours, eyes locked right on you and an intensity burning there.
âWhy do you call me that?â His low growl made you shiver, especially when his hand dropped lower to your throat. Now squeezing, but holding your gaze steady on him, reminding you of his strength. The power over you heâd always held, and given you the instant to call him âsirâ in the first place. Everything about Ghost was overwhelming, and youâd always been one wave away from drowning under him.
âYou deserve the honorâŠâ You answer, certain. Even if heâd broken your spirit and came back in the aftermath with questions you still believed to be much too complex for a single-sentence answer. Hopefully, he understood a little bit better but the way you leaned against his hand, letting him actually feel the pressure of your throat pressing into his palm. Literally offering your trust in him over again, testing the Lieutenant and watching as his eyes widened. His other hand came up to your face, counteracting the pressure youâd applied to keep your breath and blood flow uninterrupted. His face is still only inches away from yours but unflinching at the close contact.
âBrass,â He murmured, masked face teasing closer with his own lack of control. âIâm not what you think I am.â Your chest tightens with his words, soaked in desperation that heats your lips and cheeks.
âWhatâs that, sir?â You question, earning another flinch of his fingers against your skin.
âSafe⊠Trustworthy⊠Honorable.â He replies, getting even closer. The smooth material ghosted over your lips, and his breathing fanning over you wetly through the damp material. You sigh, feeling lightheaded. Weak in his hands, confused yet happy to have your life held in the palms of his hands. Confused about where his mistrust comes from, but gaining perspective every time he flinches when you address him in the way you always believed heâd feel the most revered andâŠÂ loved.
âYouâre wrong,â You challenge, hands moving from your sides to run up the thin shirt covering his chest. âYouâre a man of fear. One that death shakes at the mention of. Even looking at you through my scope a mile away is enough to remind me youâre capable of inhuman thingsâŠâ Your voice lowers, hearing thoughts straight from your soul escaping without filter from your brain. âYet youâre human. So much more than anyone sees. Because itâs not evil that keeps you going. Itâs the fear and hatred of losing anything that means something to you.â Your hand rests over his chest, hearing his heart thundering against his ribs.
âYouâre not a monster, you are terrified of losing everything. That is why I call you âsirâ, is because youâre a man unlike any other, Ghost.â
Hearing your own voice say his name like that feels so foreign. Coming off your tongue with the letters not fitting together in a way that youâd experienced. But Ghost⊠he reacts differently. His hands tightened around you and he hugged you against his chest tightly. His chest heaves up and down and the thunder of his heartbeat impossibly quickens until your left ear canât hear anything but the repetitive thrum of blood coursing through his body. Heavy arms snake around you, one around your head to secure it to him and the other clinging to your waist with his hand fisting into your shirt until itâs skin-tight on your stomach. The Lieutenant practically shakes against you, using your much smaller frame to steady himself.
Yet heâs dropping to one knee on the ground, bringing you down with him until heâs nearly cradling you and softly rocking your weight back and forth. Soothing himself in much the same way a child would after scraping their knee on the sidewalk and the tears have begun to dry up. God, it made the massive man feel so weak; much like you did after heâd yelled at you a week ago. Both of you kneeled on the floor now with all of your wounds opened up to each other and had silently found a calm within the eye of a destructive storm that had been raging against the pair of you while everyone on the outside had been simply looking on with bated breath to see how the ending would play out.
âBrass - IâŠâ Ghostâs voice choked up again, his arms tightening around you. âGod, I canât do this anymore. I canât ignore you anymore⊠Iâm losing my mind.â
You lean into his chest harder, arms struggling to reach all the way around his wide back in an attempt to support him a little bit. You understood through the way he was grabbing at anything on you he could desperately. So you did all you could and rubbed your hand up and down his back quietly allowing him the time to work through his thoughts. Both of you had been hurt by this, and while the Lieutenantâs form of apology came in the way heâd ushered you for help when you needed it most and unquestionably been the reason behind the way your quarters looked. Now it was you, cradling a man whoâd never shown a single crack in his armor, feeling the weight of so many emotional wounds that he was practically bleeding out with pain and palpable regret.
âYou donât have toâŠâ You whisper, resting your forehead against his.
Ghost just nods his head, panting heavily and giving a low sort of whine. âIâm so sorryâŠâ
You smile sadly. âIâm sorry too.â
His eyes soften more, blinking away at wetness brimming at his waterline. âSay it again⊠please. I need to hear it. God, please.â
âItâs okayâŠâ Your hands cradle his cheeks, feeling the sharp lines and hard muscles. âIâm right here, Ghost. Weâre going to do this over again⊠Together, Ghost.â
Nodding weakly, he meets your gaze as you say his name again. Reveling in it. âTogether⊠together, with you.â
#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#cod#cod mwii#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#velvetures writes#velvetures#hurt/comfort#angst with a happy ending
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(Based on a true story) I'm imagining being a military contracted funeral director (from this post) that is surprised when the giant Lieutenant of the man you just cremated is waiting in your office.
"Oh! Um...h-hello Lieutenant Riley." You huff, completely caught off guard. "How long have you been waiting here?"
He doesn't respond. Just looks up at you with tired, distraught eyes. You've seen men bigger than him sobbing in the funeral home's lobby. He's no different despite the soft ski mask he wears to hide his face.
"I take it you're here for Mr. MacTavish?" You asked him, setting down your purse and keys on your desk. He doesn't nod or anything but he doesn't have to. You offer him a soft smile and place a hand on his shoulder. "Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?"
"Tea..." His voice is rougher than before from disuse.
You nod and gesture for him to follow you. You lead him down the hall and into a small family room. On the side of the room there's a table with a few beverage heaters and pastries. You pour him a cup of steaming water, then thumb over the organized packets of tea.
"Black? Green?"
"Black."
You rip open the packet and place it in the cup. You offer him sugar and milk but he refuses with a shake of his head. He doesn't touch the pastries either so instead you usher him to follow you once more.
You bring him into the selection room. Caskets and urns line the walls. You can feel Mr. Riley's eyes wander from squarely between your shoulders. You take the opportunity to use your key and unlock the mahogany cabinet at the back of the room.
Inside the cabinet are a handful of different sized velvet bags. You reach for the largest one in the middle of the main shelf. With careful, gentle fingers, you pull down the velvet drawstring bag to reveal a simple urn. It's round, smooth and silver in color. Before you can pick it up, you hear something with significant weight hit the carpeted floor behind you.
You whirl around to find the Lieutenant on his knees. You stop what you're doing and immediately tend to him. You grab at his shoulder and try to keep him upright. If he passes out you'll at least be able to keep him from falling directly on his face.
"Mr. Riley?"
At first it's just sniffles. He covers his entire face with one of his large, broad hands. After a few moments though, he starts to sob. His breath hitches and his voice quavers.
"Mr. Riley?" You ask again, this time softer.
He continues to cry. His body starts to shake and he almost begins to wail. You press a comforting hand between his shoulder blades. All you can really do is comfort him until he's done.
Riley pulls his hand away from his face. He tries to rub the tears off of his lower lashes but it doesn't work. His sobbing slows down but doesn't stop. He seems tired, defeated. His entire body sags with an invisible weight.
"Mr. Riley?" You whisper, patting his back.
He finally breaks from his stupor. He looks up at you with a sort of fear you've only seen a few times in men's eyes. He's being vulnerable and so he believes he's being weak. You're not supposed to see this of him. No one should. You don't agree with that sentiment and never will, so you offer him another soft smile.
Riley shifts on his knees. You think he's going to move to stand. He leans over to you, pressing the side of his face against the meat of your hip. One of his arms wraps around your thighs. He squeezes you tight, like a son would his mother. He doesn't pull away either. He just holds you.
Once again, you're caught off guard. Now this, this is something you've never experienced before. You're unsure. You don't know if you should pry out of his grip or let him continue. He's a large man. You wouldn't want to offend him. He's grieving. He lost his best friend.
You lean over again, patting at his shoulders but moving up towards his head. You cup at his jaw to get his attention.
"I never met Mr. MacTavish, but something tells me he would hate to see you like this." You swallow hard. Sometimes, to support, you realized you need to have a little bite.
"Please, get up Mr. Riley."
Something about your command seems to stir something within him. His eyes grow pointed, his brow lines deepen. He immediately lets go of you like your body heat burns. And with that, hd staggers up off his knees. He refuses to look you in the eye.
Now free, you walk over to the cabinet. You replace the velvet bag around Mr. MacTavish's urn. You glance back at Riley and sigh.
"I know this is hard. Are you sure you want to pick up Mr. MacTavish today?" You hum. "I can call Captain Price to come instead. I'm sure he'd understand."
Riley stands there on shaky ankles still sniffling. He won't meet your eyes. He seems to be thinking hard about your words. He nods once.
You close and lock up the cabinet before escorting Mr. Riley to the lobby. The midday sun casts beautiful shadows across the white walls. The receptionist must've taken her lunch break as it was just the two of you.
"Here's my card. I'm sure you don't need it but um...if you need anything. Need someone to talk to? You can call me anytime." You smiled earnestly, placing the small card in his palm.
"Don't be ashamed, Mr. Riley. It's nor-"
"Simon."
You raised a brow but realized what he meant. You nodded. "Mr. Simon."
"No. Just Simon."
You give him a sheepish smile. "Simon."
He nods back at you, his regular demeanor having seemed to return. He tucks your card away.
"I'll be back for you."
You open your mouth to question him. You can't tell if his words are a threat or simply an odd promise. He's already turned to leave. You watch him walk out of the facilities' glass double doors. He dissappears into the sunlight a moment later.
You feel nervous but you feel...fulfilled? Mr. Rile-er Simon...is a peculiar man. You didn't want for him to break down and cling to you, but the fact he did make your heart swell. You'd always heard comments that you were just that type of person, the kind that even the most closed off people could open up to. For a moment you sat there lost in that thought. You enjoyed the feeling.
Then you had to get back to work.
You picked up the receptionist's phone, pulled a card out of your pocket, and then dialed the number of the Captain scrawled on the back.
#call of duty#cod imagines#mw2#mw2 headcanons#cod mwii#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#captain price#simon riley x reader
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Reader joining 141 for a mission and Simon is not having it and is pissed at price for calling them and all of the other guys are confused about why ghost is so upset till they find out reader is his wife after the mission
Maybe reader got hurt and ghost goes off on price
The Price Of A Secret
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
"People get injured on the job, Ghost." Gaz tries to defuse the situation. "She's alive-"
"This is different." He grits out.
"And why's that?"
"Because that's my wife!" He hisses, slamming his fist onto the table. It strikes them harder than if he were to have yelled it at them.
A/N: It's 2:45am and I have no energy to proofread caution advised-
Masterlist
The moment the picture of the intelligence officer joining them flashes on the screen, Ghost puts his foot down.
"She's not coming."
Everyone in the room pauses, Price staring at Ghost mid sentence. It's the usual 141, and then it's her. Sitting there with a mildly frustrated look, refusing to look at him because she should have known he'd try to pull some shit like this.
"Why not?" Price folds his arm, narrowing his eyes. "Is there an issue, Lieutenant?"
She was supposed to work from the inside, drawing out data and cracking through defences that they then passed on to people like the 141. An integral part of the process of running the whole task force, but not once was she involved in hands-on field work.
It's not that she's incompetent. No, not at all. Ghost would have his head bit off if he even remotely implied that because it simply isn't true. She got the top scores in almost every part of her training exercises, and yet she chose the intelligence part of the military to serve in. His wife was as competent as they got.
His wife.
"This is a covert operation, the fewer people the better." That's what he goes with. Not because his heart picks up at the thought of her being anywhere near what they deal with every day.
"I won't have the range I need to retrieve the data from their servers if I'm not close to them." She speaks up, and their eyes meet from across the room.
His determined, hers resolute.
Sometimes he really hated that she was so fucking stubborn. It had been the same stubbornness that cracked down the iron grip he'd had on the walls in his mind and around his heart, but if that stubbornness was what got her killed Simon would give up this joy in a heartbeat.
He'd do it for her if it meant she kept on living.
"This isn't up for discussion, Ghost." Price states, "She's part of this operation on my authority."
"Price-"
"End of discussion. You settle whatever you have going on outside this room." And fuck, he can't refute a direct order like that, can he?
Ghost sees her release a long exhale, and he knows he won't share such a relief until this damn operation was over and done with.
                 · · âââââââ ·đ„žÂ· âââââââ · ·
Her body is so limp it scares the ever-loving shit out of him.
Ghost grips her so tight it's as if he himself is the only thing tethering her soul to her body, boots thumping hard against the muddy ground as they retreat back to their extraction point, data successfully retrieved.
Successfully, not smoothly.
The plan was simple. They'd flank the building while she camped out near the edge of the woods, retrieving the intel they needed. A couple of fuckers slipped out of the building and went straight for her.
Ghost's stomach turns when he remembers how he found the scene. She wasn't answering through her comms, but he knew he wasn't able to leave his position until the building was secure.
Waiting felt like an eternity, he could feel Soap send troubled glances in his direction at the way Ghost was unusually silent and more brutal than.
When the building was finally secure, they'd gone to reunite with her position and found three men dead, bloody seeping into the ground in a crimson mess. The last one standing hovered over her unconscious form, over his wife with a knife raised ready to slit her thought.
The only thought Ghost had as he ripped the man away with his hands was that he was going to take the one good thing in his life away, and he would not let that happen. Not her. Not like this.
"Bleeding wound to the head, unconscious but still breathing!" Gaz called out while Ghost shoved the man's own knife into his throat. Tossing the gurgling body aside like a ragdoll, he's immediately by her side, assessing before carefully lifting her up in his arms.
It's the most emotion Ghost has ever expressed in front of the others, but he couldn't give a fuck about the looks or the questions right now. Her heartbeat against him settled him the slightest bit with the reassurance that she was alive.
Angry does not begin to describe what itches under Ghost's skin as they scramble into their exfil airship.
"Medic!" He barks the second they lift off. Setting her down, he brushes the bloody strands of her hair away from her face.
Despite the urge to stay by her side, the medic gingerly requests for him to take a step back so he could work. Ghost obliges but his eyes never leave her face.
He's painfully aware of his wedding ring pressing against his chest, strung onto a chain long enough to be tucked under his uniform. A matching one to her own.
Nobody speaks.
Perhaps they recognise the anger washing off of Ghost in waves, because if they'd just bloody listened to him, she wouldn't be laying there with a head wound.
The atmosphere is heavy and sombre. Even Soap keeps his mouth shut, too confused by the outward, uncharacteristic way Ghost was acting to make fun of it.
It's only when the medic announces she's stable that the suffocating knot in Ghost's chest loosens. There's audible relief from everyone in the place.
"Bloody hell." Price breathes, and something in Ghost snaps.
"I told you to dismiss her from the op." He says coldly, turning to the man.
"We got what we needed, son." He sighs, deep and tired, and part of Ghost understands that this was their life. But he's too worked up to care.
"At a fucking cost."
"People get injured on the job, Ghost." Gaz tries to defuse the situation. "She's alive, that's all that matters. Nothing permanent, yeah?" He glances at the medic, who confirms with a nod before slipping away.
"This is different." Ghost grits out.
"Why's that?"
"Because that's my wife!" He hisses, slamming his fist onto the metallic walls. It strikes them harder than if he were to have yelled it at them.
How long had it taken for Ghost-...no, for Simon to let someone crack open his defences until he was coaxed out and allowed himself to love again? Four years they've been married, and four years he's kept it a secret.
It's not that he doesn't trust his team. He trusts them with his life, would lay his own down for Johnny, Gaz, and Price any day.
But this? This was bigger than him, she was the most precious thing that had ever happened to him, and the safest way to preserve that was the keep it on a need-to-know basis.
She'd agreed with him, of course. In that soft, patient way she always has with him. She'd seen the paranoia in him, recognised that he needed this one thing for himself, and she'd been more than happy to oblige.
What was outside validation about her relationship worth when she got to crawl into his arms at the end of the day? Be granted the pleasure that comes with being loved by someone as protective, intelligent, and sharp as Simon Riley? She adores all of him, even the jagged pieces that cut into her from time to time, because he's always there to take care of her afterwards.
"She's my wife." He repeats quieter, sitting back down. Exhaustion lines the slope of his shoulder's dark circles well present under his mask.
"You're married." Soap is the first to speak, incredulously. "You? Ghost? You're married?" His eyes flicker down to Ghost's left hand, and then to Gaz and Price who look equally as surprised. "I mean, congratulations?" He trails off, knowing it's not really the situation to celebrate.
"Thanks." A tired, small voice has everyone's attention back onto the figure on the bed. Ghost is on his feet in moments, by her bedside. "It'll be five years in...what, a month?" She cracks an eye open, giving Simon a tired, smile.
"Two months." He corrects with a mutter, and Johnny looks like he might just collapse. "Sitrep?"
"We're not on the field anymore." She groans, pushing herself to sit up. Ghost's hands fly to her immediately, helping her sit up. At his blank, insistent stare, she relents with a deep sigh. "My head's killing me but other than that just a few scrapes and bruises." Her hand travels down to grab his at her shoulder, squeezing briefly.
"I'm alright." Her voice turns into something soft and reassuring, and it's only then that a quiet, shuddering breath comes out of Simon's lungs. "I think I'll sit to working from the inside though." She jokes weakly. "Leave the dirtier work to you brutes."
It lightens the mood as intended, eliciting a snort from Gaz. "Yes, ma'am."
He'd make sure she got checked out properly when they landed, but for now he takes his place sitting beside her. The others fall into a hushed conversation after a while, but he makes no move to join them.
A warm hand intertwines with his, hidden beneath the bulk of their combined gear.
"I'm alright, Simon." She mumbles, just loud enough for him to hear.
Simon squeezes her hand in response. "Fucking hell, love." He breathes.
And it's enough to convey everything he's thinking. Humming, she tips her head against his shoulder and lets her eyes slip shut. The warmth of his body, even through the tang of copper is enough of a familiar comfort to drain the tension from her body.
She's fast asleep against his shoulder a minute later, and the devil himself couldn't make Simon move lest he wake her now.
He wasn't a publicly affectionate person by any means...but he trusted his team enough for this right now.
Letting his own head press against the metal wall behind them, his eyes shift to meet Price's. A softer, knowing look from the Captain is all he needs to hook his chin over her head and turn his attention outside the small window.
And if he counts her breathing while she sleeps for his own peace of mind? Well, that's no one's business but his.
Reblog, Like and Comment!
(10/09/2023)
#ghost cod#cod mw ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost modern warfare#ghost mw2#ghost simon riley#ghost x reader#cod ghost#mw2 ghost#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#call of duty modern warfare 2#modern warfare x reader#angst#x reader#x y/n#fluff#simon riley#simon riley fluff#simon riley imagine#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare ii#modern warfare#cod modern warfare#modern warfare 2#modern warfare ii
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as a thank you for hitting 1k followers, and an apology for my absence, I would like to share my take on poly!141.
poly141! x recruit!reader. 1.5k words. mentions of sex, although no smut. yet.
you're a sweet little thing. smart as a whip, nerdy, and confident. having spent most of your post highschool graduate years studying, youve acquired numerous impressive qualifications. while most people your age in university were out partying, getting blind drunk, hooking up, you were studying.
a tech genius. that's what laswell had sold you as to price. he had been hesitant to allow any new members at all, especially ones so young. and yet, taskforce 141 sees two new additions. the newest little tech genius who's climbing quickly through the ranks, and another soldier. someone by the name of roach.
at first, you weren't amused. as a woman in the military, your life was already difficult enough. being assigned to an all male taskforce felt like your worst nightmare. but after some convincing from laswell, and realizing this would be the fastest way to make a name for yourself, you sign the papers.
your first week is smooth, albeit awkward. you and the other new recruit, roach, get along fairly well. he's funny, a little dorky, but obviously skilled. he isn't as intimidating as the others, being almost as young as you. you find yourself gravitating to him often, often staying up late together, eating meals together, and even training together. you make quick friends.
and so, it's only natural that you both end up becoming⊠closer. late night talks turn into makeouts, and makeouts turn into grinding. it's somewhat clumsy however⊠as if the two of you can quite place the power dynamics.
the others, however, are much more of a challenge to get along with. you're cautious, aware these men have been in this business much longer than you. the four of them- price, ghost, gaz, and soap- are a power unit. it takes weeks for you to find your place within the team.
price tries to be welcoming, although it doesn't quite work. there's this sense of authority and power around him that makes you feel small, almost submissive. his gruff voice sends shivers down your spine each time he speaks over comms, panties growing wet each time he gives you a direct order.
it's almost as if he knows, whispering your name rather than your military nickname. his voice sounds almost seductive. it makes you feel like a pervert, imagining him growling in your ear each time you get off.
price has a way of always remaining in control and not just with you. the power dynamics within the task force are subtle yet well established. there seems to be a chain of command that follows their ranks. price on top, then ghost, then gaz and soap. you notice how they all drop casual innuendos, their affection for each other, corssing over the boundary of just friendliness.
ghost barely looks, let alone, speaks to you for the first month. you're unsure if he even likes you. on the field, he's sharp and alert. you occasionally hear him share banter with the others, but never feel brave enough to join in. the man is intimidating, almost three times your size, a quiet sort of confidence and dominance that follows him around. he's the one you train with most often.
ghost is ruthless. he slams you into the matt, somehow always ending up between your thighs, his big hands holding them apart and pinning you down. you can't help but memorise the sight. your Lieutenant, panting, slightly sweat as he holding you in such a lewd position, glaring down at you.
it's your favourite fantasy to think about late at night as you touch yourself, unaware that the walls are so thin that ghost himself hears you whimper his name. he strokes himself in time with the slick noises of your cunt, imagining how desperate you must look.
gaz isn't intimidating, per say. he isn't distant like ghost or unapproachable like price. the man has such a casual confidence and arrogance around him. he's the first to speak to you, ask you about yourself. throughout your career, you've met many military soldiers. most the men fit into two categories, misogynistic dicks who don't believe you have a place within the ranks, or disgusting perverts who want a quick fuck (most of them have wives, even kids.) but gaz is refreshing. he fits into neither.
he often starts conversations with you. asking questions and truly listening as you speak. little do you know he records each one, saving them for when he's alone late at night. something about the way you speak, your tone, the quiet rasp or accent, it makes him stupidly hard. he's not above recording you while you workout, standing just close enough to capture each huff and grunt as you lift. it's those recordings that get him off the quickest, wondering how whiny youd sound if he held a vibrator to your clit, didnt let up until you were crying and covered in slick.
and soap. the man is difficult for you to read. your first impression is that he's one of those men who fit into the âmisogynistic assholeâ category. apart from your initial meeting, he practically ignores you.
you can tell its not deliberate. he just seems more immersed in the natural, pre-established dynamic of the taskforce. the one that doesn't include you. it takes a while, but after a month or two, your interactions become more common.
he turns out to be very respectful- even helpful. due to your background in tech, you skipped a few ranks when you joined. soap helps you in the shooting range. standing behind you, body pressing into yours from behind, correcting your posture before you fire.
you even create games with each other. he gives you little quizzes. theyre normally about gun components, military jargon, or even field upgrades. with each quiz he promises a âreward.â
its embarrassing whenever you blush and grow wet when he says it. the rough growl of his voice, combined with the accent he has, all makes you dizzy. you don't even notice how he plays it up, practically purring out the word, smirking as you squirm, making sure to graze his fingertips over your hot skin.
it's obvious that after a month or two, that roach is significantly more acclimated than you. it feels unfair. your relationship with each member is steadily growing, yet something about how roach interacts with them is so different. it's like you're missing a puzzle piece.
it isn't until one night when you're venting your frustration that roach reveals the reason he's clicked with them so quickly.
âIt's like an initiation,â he smirks, eyes flicking away from you, âthink of it kind of likeâŠ. hazing.â his eyes are almost predatory as he meets yours again, so unlike the goofy persona he usually has, âif you like, I could speak to price. they have started to discuss inviting you in.â
it's as if everything made sense now. it wasn't your fault. it was another case of discrimination, you being left out because you didn't fit into their stupid boys club.
ever since that conversation with roach, you have become frustrated, irritable, and short with them all. you fulfilled all your required tasks but refused to engage with them any further. denying invites to the pub, ignoring gaz when he tried to speak, training alone, no longer asking soap for help.
after about a week of this, price calls you to his office.
a sick sense of unease and anxiety settles in your gut. the man is so intimidating, and this surely wasn't a positive meeting. you've never been in a position like this. all throughout school, you were a grade A student, and within your years in the military, you've always maintained basic respect and politeness. you've never been in trouble with a CO.
when you step into his office, however, all your expectations are subverted. price sits at his desk, smoking a cigar. roach leans against it next to him. the two of them are speaking lowly.
price notices you first. his eyes carry an emotion you haven't seen before. lust. he's staring at you as if you're some sort of prey. with a smirk, he blows out a large puff of smoke. it curls around him, only making him more intimidating.
âif you were feeling excluded, sweetheart, you should've made me aware.â he leans back in his chair. suddenly, the room feels so small, your body getting hot, âid be more than happy to include you.â
roach walks towards you, guiding you further into the office. he doesn't let you sit, however, instead standing behind you, hands groping your hips. his fingertips slip under your shirt, brushing the sensitive skin of your stomach.
he kisses your neck, âprice wants to see how pretty you are,â his hands slide further up, taking your shirt off, âlet's give him a show, yeah?â
cont.
#i apologise if this is kinda shit#im really tired HAHAHAH#i jus wanted to post something for 1k#i appreciate each and every one of you#thank you đ«¶đŒđ«¶đŒđ«¶đŒ#mw2 x reader#mw2 smut#price x reader#price x reader smut#price smut#gaz x reader#gaz smut#gaz x reader smut#johnny x reader#johnny x reader smut#soap x reader#soap x reader smut#soap smut#ghost x reader#ghost x reader smut#ghost smut#141 x reader#141 x reader smut#poly 141#roach x reader#roach x reader smut#mw smut#mw3 smut
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Older!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Bartender!reader
Fandom: Call of Duty
Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader
Summary: A military lieutenant closing in on retirement, a younger, beautiful bartender, when you and Lt. Riley meet there is an instant chemistry, though it doesn't really go anywhere as he thinks himself a little too mature for you... until one night he stays at the bar later than he ever has and gets caught in a storm. What will happen after closing time?
Word Count: 9.4 k
Warnings:
The night that Lt. Simon Riley walked into the local bar for the first time started off as any ordinary night would. A man of quiet and solitude, spending nights alone in his room were more of his style, but the older that the introverted military officer got the more a stiff drink at the end of a long week seemed to hit better and since there was usually no liquor to be found on base, the next best thing was the bar not a ten minute drive awayâŠwell, seven if he took his motorcycle.Â
Accompanied by a few of his long time colleagues he stepped into the establishment with nothing else on his mind other than wanting a bit of liquor to ease the ache in his sore limbs and to take the stress of daily life off his mind. The place was small, the locals that seemed to fill the space were nothing noteworthy, but as soon as he settled in at the table the group had chosen and he caught sight of the beauty behind the counter pouring the drinks with a gentle smile on her lips his mind went blank as his heart leapt in his chest.
The lieutenant had done much in his long career and he found it odd how he couldnât get himself to even walk up to the bar to order from you as a cold sweat broke out across his body. Was he really going soft the older he got? It took him several minutes of self coaxing to get him to actually get out of his seat. Thank fuck for his customary mask otherwise the product of his racing heart would be plastered all over his face for everyone to see.Â
As he stepped up to order and your attention landed on him, all the military training in the world didnât prepare him for how to keep himself composed in that moment. Even that first conversation you had that night left him reeling. You asked about his mask in the most casual way and something inside him decided to play things up. He told you how he needed it to fend off stares whenever he was in public.Â
Trying not to chuckle at that curious furrow in your brow as if skeptical about how a 6â4â man wearing a painted balaclava wouldnât draw attention, he continued by saying how he was just too good looking to go out without it. The laugh that followed, that genuine wide smiled laugh that you desperately needed after the awful night you had had was already working its magic on him.
He was addicted to your company from that moment on. A strange occurrence for someone who had previously been completely to spend time with no one but himself.
Seeing soldiers around wasnât strange being near a military installation, youâd gotten used to it rather quickly, but the lieutenant was no ordinary serviceman. Skull masked and huge he was hard to miss, yet what surprised you more than any of that was how his personality was much more gentle than what his appearance would lead you to believe. He was a man of few words, but the ones he gave you were always kind and even sometimes funny and in time you have come to enjoy him being around.
Time has passed, but not much about that has changed. It is always a toss up whether youâll see him that week or if his presence wonât be around for some time, but you swear that whenever he reappears with his war buddies in tow and those dark eyes find you standing in your customary place behind the bar, the tension in his shoulders eases and the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly through the visible gap in his mask as if his mouth has suddenly upturned. You convince yourself that itâs just for the commodities you supplyâŠand yet⊠that doesnât stop the way your heart thumps a little harder every time you see him.
Itâs dumb, a stupid crush that wonât lead to anything anyway. Heâs older, more mature and a bit intimidating, what would he want with someone like you? A man whoâs seen the world would surely find a local bartender boring. Still, you canât help the excitement that fills you up when he returns and immediately seeks out your company for a bit of chitchat and jokes.Â
You try to hide away your infatuation as best as you can and soon you feel comfortable enough to call him an acquaintance, maybe even a friend. Just a friend, right? Just a friend.
Donât mind the fact that you canât stop yourself from sneaking glances over at him whenever he lifts the lip of that black mask up off the lower half of his face to take a drink. It doesnât distract you, you havenât accidentally spilled liquor all over the bar because of it. Itâs the only part of him you have ever seen besides his eyes, the only part of him that you truly know, and yet it is more than enough to fuel a certain overwhelming yearning for him. Â
Wishful thinking, you constantly remind yourself because nothing is ever going to come of it.
You almost trick yourself into believing thatâs true until you notice that the usual routine begins to change. The last couple of weeks heâs been sitting solely at your bar rather than with his friends, lingering until the last minute where they have to shout his name before he decides to leave. It causes your mind to swirl with the possibilities of what this might mean.
Especially tonight.
There is something about tonight that seems different. Itâs a fleeting tension in the air, a feeling that permeates the atmosphere inside the bar until you canât seem to shake it from your mind no matter how you try to distract yourself from it. Is it exhaustion? You try to convince yourself that youâve just worked a long, busy shift without a break and thatâs what got you feeling off, but still something about it wonât quit playing through your thoughts. Â
Last call, last rounds, and the bar is slowly emptied out of its patrons one by one until only a few straggling regulars remain inside while they finish up their drinks along with their conversations. Your eyes flit down to the end of the bar and notice that heâs still there. At the counter perched on a barstool, a nearly empty tumbler of whiskey still resting in his large hand, sits the masked military official.Â
As you wipe down the glasses youâve just washed and put them up, you canât help the quickening in your chest as you keep stealing sneaky glances down towards him. Heâs never stuck around this long; you watched as his crew left him behind and yet he doesnât look too concerned or eager to follow them. Not that youâre complaining, far from it, but you canât help being curious about how long heâs going to stick around. Could he still be here when the rest leave? Â
âŠpleaseâŠ
You need a plan, something you can put together quickly to make him stay. Every second that passes that he doesnât move gives you more time to think, even with your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Deep rumbles off in the distance can be heard over the music idly playing through the speakers, the first signs of an early storm about to roll in at any moment and that sparks an idea. If he can just stay past closing time, you know how to tempt him into sticking around. You just hope the weather will cooperate with what you need it to do.
From within the shadow around his eyes created by his mask, that autumn-colored gaze follows you carefully as you move about tidying the bar while he pretends to nurse his drink that he hasnât taken a real sip from in almost half an hour. An empty glass wonât give him an excuse to stay; he just has to wait a little longer and heâll be the only one left.Â
Then what? The lieutenant hasnât thought that far ahead. All he knows is that he doesnât want to leave.
He brings the cup up to his mouth and holds it there, watching discreetly over the rim as you finish up the tasks you can while patrons still inhabit the space. Setting the glass back down as if heâs taking a sip, Lt. Riley pulls out his phone and the screen blooms alive. The light illuminates his eyes as he immediately draws them to the clock at the top left hand corner. Itâs less than ten minutes till close and then itâll just be you and him.
He continues to follow you with his eyes as you leave your spot to persuade the few drunkards still dawdling about the place to head on home to sleep off their hangovers before they get caught in the rain, but you never once make the same request of him even as you pass him to lead the stragglers out into the night. Just as the last patron leaves out the door you are holding open the tinkling sound of rain hits his ears, followed by the distinct click of the doorâs lock engaging, and he takes the last swig of brown, biting liquid to finish off the glass before setting it back down on the counter just as you reappear at his side.Â
Coffee eyes dart up to yours only to get locked in their gaze as he carefully lowers his mask back over that chiseled, stubble-covered chin and a subtle change in your expression catches his attention. It is fleeting, but for a second the way you look at him with those wide, doe eyes he swears there is a hint of worry in their depths.Â
Is he planning on leaving now? No, you need to put your half-baked plan into action fast or you might lose the moment and you donât know if you will get an opportunity like this again. The rain outside is picking up heavier now, which gives you courage to follow through with this.Â
There is a noticeable flush in your cheeks now and he likes the color it adds to your face. He wonders whatâs got you all worked up and secretly hopes that it is in fact him, even if he quickly dismisses the idea before it can take hold of him.
âGuess youâll be wantinâ me gone so ya can finish up,â he says from behind the fabric, though he makes no attempts to stand.
âWho said anything about leaving?â you reply with a smile as you step up to the counter beside him and reach over the cool, sealed wooden surface of the bar to grab you a fresh glass and the bottle of bourbon heâs been drinking that youâve purposely kept close by.Â
Your items procured, you move to the seat next to him and sit down. âJoin me for a drink while we wait out the storm. I know you drove your bike here, you donât want to go out in this. Unless you have somewhere to be, that is.â
He doesnât say a word, just stares at you as you tip the lip of the bottle into your glass before reaching for his, pulling it to you, and doing the same. He watches the amber liquid pour and swirl into the bottom of his cup and still makes no attempts to exit his seat. You take it as a good sign. âOn the house,â you nod towards the vessel of liquid as you hand it back.
Well, no sense in wasting good bourbon; he might as well stay for a bit. Only for the bourbon, he tells himself, only for the bourbon and to wait out the rain and nothing else.Â
The sound system continues to cycle slowly through random songs as you raise your glass to him before downing the first swig with gusto, only a slight wince on your face as the alcohol burns its way down your throat. The lieutenant re-situates his mask above his lips and follows your lead. The moment the glass is back on the bar you quickly take it from him and set up another round between your cups before he can object.
âLike a woman who can hold her liquor,â he chuckles quietly and you match his energy with a giggle.Â
âThen youâd really like me cause I can handle a lot more than that,â you pick as you place his glass back in front of him. Your heart pounds hard against your ribs as you surprise yourself at how easily the words flew from your lips.
He brings the glass up and keeps it pressed to his mouth for a moment without taking a sip so that he wonât choke from the unexpected innuendo he thinks heâs detected in your comment. Wonât do to look the fool if it actually isnât there and heâs reading too much into things.Â
Heavier still the rain pounds on the roof as it pours down outside, making the small space feel entirely secluded from the outside world. Here within the walls of the bar itâs like you two are the only people left in the world as everything else is cut off by a blanket of precipitation. You turn your attention to the doors to watch the droplets hit against the glass as you breathe deeply through your nose in a vain attempt to slow the racing in your chest. Â
âItâs really takinâ a poundinâ out there,â the lieutenant comments as he follows your gaze and you have to clamp your mouth shut as the way he says the sentence has you dangerously close to accidentally admitting that the weather doesnât have to be the only thing that could be taking a pounding right now.
You swallow hard as you turn back to him and again grab the bottle of liquor. âGuess weâll be here a while,â you nervously chuckle, waiting for him to finish his second round so you can set up another before tending to your own glass. Â
âYa keep pourinâ free drinks and tha timeâll pass just fine,â he returns as he reaches for the drink and the back of his fingers accidentally brush over the skin of your knuckles before you can pull your hand fully away from the glass.
That stoic military man plays it off as if the minimal contact doesnât feel like the magnitude from the collision of two universes and it hasnât just made his heart forcefully restart. You notice his subtle readjustment in his seat and you pretend you arenât struggling to even pick up your own glass as your limbs turn to jelly and your breath catches in your throat. An uncommon silence falls over the two of you as you both sit facing forward, staring at your drinks and yet you are sure that Lt. Riley is somehow closer to you than he had just been moments ago.
Three shots in and the alcohol is starting to play its deadly tricks. You really shouldnât be doing this on an empty stomach, but you donât want him to leave, not yet. The quiet tension that fills the short space between your bodies is thick enough to cut with a knife and the impulsive thoughts that are starting to swirl around in your head are becoming harder and harder to tune out.
Just watch what you say and donât let the liquor get to your head, you coax yourself internally. If you can just hold it all in, you wonât risk making a fool of yourself. You need to say something, strike up some nonchalant conversation like you usually do; that should help with that ache starting to form inside.Â
But as you turn to face him, your eyes get caught in following the line of his strong jaw up to the curvature of his mouth. You begin committing all the subtle details of the lower half of his face to memory now that you are at his side and can notice the beautiful imperfections of those visible features without the distraction of customers to take your attention away: the hints of gray peeking through the hair in his stubble, the mature lines around his mouth, the scars that are aged and faded. He raises his glass to his mouth and you watch the plump flesh of his full lips wrap around the rim in such a sensuous way that your mind instantaneously is overwhelmed with the need to become an inanimate object.Â
Squeezing your thighs together a little tighter, you scramble to find an ounce of sanity to cling to while you fight off the desperate thoughts at the back of your mind as Lt. Riley sets his glass back down on the bar top. He feels your gaze boring into him and something about that tonight is sending him into a tailspin that causes him to take a moment to steady his voice from being influenced by the quickening in his pulse before he can ask what it is thatâs causing you to stare. Â
âYa alright there?â he poses the question as he turns to face you and he canât help but get caught up in the look in your eyes, curious about that shine in your dilated pupils as they focus on the bottom of his face.
Thatâs when it happens; a momentary lapse of judgment, thatâs all it takes, one split second where you let your resolve slip and suddenly it isnât just your eyes that are on his lips anymore. Leaning up into him, you meet his warm mouth in a hazy, quick embrace that makes your mind swim in ecstasy until you arenât sure how much time has passed. Then all at once you are jolted back into reality as the heat from his breath makes the skin on your lips tingle and the horrid realization of what it is youâve done slams into your chest with the force of a freight train.
In a flash you break away with an awkward chuckle at the ready to disguise your true feelings by being humorous. âShit,â you say through your laugh as you place a hand to your temple, âlooks like Iâm a bit more tired than I thought. Liquor has gone straight to my head.â
Your mind is frantic to come up with something to get you away until you can calm down, but the lingering feeling of the friction of his lips against yours still permeates your every thought. Still it seems your feet know what to do without even thinking as you are now standing. âLet me go clean myself up while you finish your drink, yeah?â you suggest as the man beside you sits silent. âLike I said, itâs on the house, so feel free to leave even if Iâm not back once youâre done.â
Those full lips you had just been pressed against stay closed and you donât give him any chance to respond as you immediately turn tail to head straight for the restrooms at the other side of the bar without a single look back, that euphoric feeling slipping away as anxiety settles itself in your heart. It is probably just a bit of paranoia, but you swear you can feel his eyes staring holes into your back as you finally reach the door and quickly pop inside. Â
The hinges on the bathroom door screech through the rust that covers them as you rush to step inside and head straight for the solitary sink near the back wall of the tiny, confined space. âWhat the fuck was that?â you question yourself as if you have any idea of why you would do such a thing.Â
You turn on the taps and cup your hands under the cool water to gather enough in your palms to splash into your face. Fuck, you need to calm down and get a hold of yourself. Blindly reaching for the paper towel dispenser to your right, you grab a fistfull of those coarse bits of paper and pat the liquid off your cheeks before your eyes clock your reflection in the mirror in front of you. Those glistening irises stare back at you as your hands grip onto the sink as if it will help you in taking deep breaths. The blush in your cheeks has blossomed quite bright, bright enough that there is no hiding it even after the few minutes youâve stood there just inhaling and exhaling.Â
Great, youâve probably run off the one person you actually enjoyed seeing around this shithole by losing yourself in the moment. Is it going to be worth it when he decides to avoid you from now on? Thatâs the only logical response you can imagine from the events that just took place. Closing your eyes tight, you hang your head with an exasperated sigh as you let the negative self-talk run its course, hoping that at least by the time you finish he will be gone and you can let yourself wallow in shame alone.Â
Back outside the bathroom, the lieutenantâs silent gaze follows you all the way until you disappear behind the barrier clearly marked for the toilets. He grips back on and holds tight to the nearly empty glass as he finally turns his attention back around to the rest of the room before him and licks the length of his bottom lip heavily with the end of his tongue to catch the fleeting taste of your kiss as he sits in stunned silence, scrambling to take in all that has just transpired.Â
With a few deep breaths inhaled, he throws back the rest of his drink and sets the glass down on the bar with a muted clink for a final time and turning his head back towards the restroom, he pulls his mask down over his face and gets to his feet to slowly head for the door.
It isnât clear how much time passes before your ears pick up a sound that you do not expect.
Out of your thoughts you hear the familiar squeak of the door hinges and your eyes shoot open to instantly drift towards the source as that can only mean one thing now that the bar is shut down. There, standing noiselessly on the inside of the closed door and taking up most of the frame, is the imposing figure of the one and only Lt. Riley.Â
The faint bit of sultry music filtering into the bathroom from the speakers outside the door fills the otherwise quiet of the space as you and that hulking military man simply stare at one another waiting to see who will be the first one to speak. After a few seconds though, the lieutenant makes the first move and slowly crosses the short length of the room with a calm and calculated precision.Â
He comes to stop within a few feet of you and finally you find your voice. Those striking eyes never leave yours as he looks down at you through the space in his concealing balaclava and try as you might you canât read whatâs being expressed in his gaze. Is it anger, is it disgust, is itâŠsomething else? You donât know, but you expect the worst and God do you hope you can fix this.Â
âListen, I am so sorry about what I did back there. Iâm sure youâre uncomfortable,â you instantly stammer out another apology, only this time with more sincerity. âI genuinely donât know what came over me to do that to you; weâve only ever been friendly and I know Iâve overstepped. I wonât make excuses for my behavior, but I promise it wonât happen again. I would just hate to know that I made you feel too awkward to come back.â
There is a pause as his sight stays locked onto your face for what feels like an eternity as he silently tries to discern something within your eyes, a spark that he saw back at the bar, until he finally speaks for the first time since the incident.Â
âDid ya not wanna do it?â he asks in a murmur, almost as if he is uneasy to learn the answer.Â
The question catches you off-guard, being the only thing that your mind had not anxiously thought could be asked. What are you supposed to say? Under his tender stare you scramble mentally for a believable fib that you can pull off in your distracted state, but the only thing you have is the truth. GoddammitâŠwhy canât you lie to him?
âI- I did, I do, butâŠâ you say in an attempt to explain yourself, but his action causes the words to get lost on your tongue.Â
This is not something that Lt. Riley is used to doing, he feels a bit too old and out of place for this sort of thing, but if there is one lesson that the seasoned military man in him always remembers, itâs that when you see an opportunity, you take it and so he moves in until his boots are nearly touching the tip of your shoes. Raising his hand to your head, he brushes his rough fingers through a few loose strands of hair hanging down around your face to tuck them delicately back behind your ear. More of your warm cheek is revealed to his touch and he wastes no time in placing his coarse hand to rest up against it.Â
The sound of his voice hits your ears, but your mind is too numb to make out the words as you continue to stare up into his face while his thumb risks a few gentle strokes along the contour along your jaw. You desperately try to speak up, wanting to ask what he said, but your breath gets caught somewhere in your throat as that tender bit of intimacy disrupts all the involuntary processes that normally conduct themselves to keep you functional.Â
Being here with him in the soft flickering fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, crammed into this tight space between him and the wall as the natural heat of his body makes the subtle scent of his spicy cologne bloom on his skin, it fills your head with disastrous thoughts that leave you in a haze of intoxication. You swallow hard to gain control.Â
âW-what?â you ask.  Â
Lt. Rileyâs strong jaw shifts beneath his mask, preparing himself to restart an admission that could be disastrous, but youâve already played your hand and now he feels like he should too. âI said Iâm done keepinâ this all in,â he reiterates as the softness of your skin under his rugged hand makes his fingertips ache to feel more, âsittinâ in here countless nights pretendinâ like itâs all fine, tryinâ to keep certain thoughts from gettinâ out. Told myself over and over I was too old for ya, that yaâd never go for a bloke like me, and it worked for a time. Then ya kiss me and suddenly I donât fuckinâ care anymore. Ya say weâre friends, but, ya see, Iâve got enough mates, sweetâart.â
Drifting his thumb over from your cheek to the corner of your mouth he begins to slowly pull the pad of it across the silky skin of your bottom lip. Your mouth parts open with a faint inaudible gasp as he runs the length of all that tender, yearning flesh that is driving him to the brink of insanity. One kiss, that is all it took and now he is sure that there is nothing else that will satisfy him except for you.Â
âI wanna be so much more,â he says without breaking eye contact.  Â
The fingers of his opposite hand find themselves at your side and glide eagerly around the band of your jeans they rest right against your hip. As his exploring touch makes contact with the balmy flesh of your pelvis up under your shirt, sparks of electricity feel like they web out over your skin and your breathing quickens with the increasing beat of your aching heart.Â
âBeen thinkinâ a lot âbout what Iâd do if I ever got a chance wit ya like this.â His voice is heavily accented and husky with the magnitude of his need. âThinkinâ âbout all the fuckinâ desperate things I wanna do to ya, but I never thought Iâd get an opportunity like this. And now that weâre both âere, I canât stop the way Iâm thinkinâ âbout those things again.â
As Lt. Riley traces burning lines over your skin, goosebumps forming wherever he goes, itâs hard to think of anything outside of how heâs never felt more alive than he does right now against you. His experienced fingers flit across your heated flesh the higher they go up your hip and your body trembles under the contact. Is this wrong? Is this right? He isnât sure of the answer; shit, heâs getting closer and closer to retirement every goddamn day, but all he knows is that he needs you now more than he has ever needed another being before.Â
And you need him just as badly.
His inhale is what brings you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. Itâs a sharp intake of air and as you focus your sight back onto his eyes, he pauses the movement of his hand before it can get any further up the side of your torso. Heâs getting ahead of himself and he needs to hear you to confirm that you need this too.Â
âSo, thatâs why I gotta ask again,â he breathes the words into your face. âDid ya wanna fuckinâ kiss me? Or was it really a mistake?â
You canât help letting out a wavering breath. Had you been holding it in this entire time? âI did want to do it,â you confirm quietly, struggling to get the words out through the dryness in your mouth.Â
In your thoughts you silently beg the universe to not let this be some alcohol induced dream, even though you can feel his hand playing along your skin, sense the proximity of your bodies and the heat that flows off him to let you know that he is real, still you worry. What if this is all wishful thinking? The product of desperation in wanting something you donât think you deserve to have? You stare back at him with bright eyes, begging for him to prove to you that this is so much more than delusion.
âI swear from the moment I first saw ya behind the bar, every fuckinâ time ya look at me with those pretty eyes ya nearly make me lose myself,â he says, his body so close that you are being physically swallowed up in his massive presence. âI need ya so fuckinâ bad.â
You look into the covered silhouette of his face and up into those dark eyes, the eyes you have adored from afar for so long, and fuck is it intoxicating to finally be the sole object of their unwavering admiration. It is impossible to not feel the want in his gaze, that same want that is overwhelming you too. And suddenly you realize that neither of you is leaving this bathroomâŠat least not for a while. Â
âY-you don't have to run from it anymore,â you say back softly, âCause fuck, do I need you just as bad.âÂ
The desperate way you say it makes his whole body shudder and he struggles to control the ache flooding his limbs as the sound conjures to mind images of him pinning you to the wall and taking you with everything he has, capturing your lips himself this time in an embrace that will leave you faint as that insatiable hunger overtakes him.
Fuck, if he gets any harder he is gonna rip through the zipper of his jeans.
Your gaze pleads with him before it shifts down to the area of his face with the one thing you crave in that moment: his lips, his kiss. You need to have those full bits of flesh against your own again, itâs the only thing you can comprehend the feeling of in the haze that the overwhelming nature of his presence is currently producing to cloud your mind. You have to test that what you felt back at the bar wasnât just the result of exhaustion and liquor, but that all that chemistry you felt in that moment was real.
And as if in answer to the question you havenât asked, Lt. Riley slips his fingers into the neckline of his black t-shirt to find the hem of his mask and deliberately he pulls the fabric up to reveal his mouth and stubble-covered jaw to you once again, letting the excess cloth rest across the bridge of his prominent nose in the way he usually does it.
He parts his lips open somewhat to let in a little more oxygen as the space inside the bathroom suddenly feels far too small and the air much too stifling as he succumbs to the anticipation of meeting your lips with his again. This time it is deliberate; what if it doesnât feel like that first time? It would kill him to know that after all the pining and aching for your touch that he has done that the spark he had just felt was all a farce caused by the liquor and unexpected timing.Â
Yet without even thinking suddenly the lieutenant realizes that his hand is cupping the back of your head, his long fingers tangling into the strands of your hair to hold your head in place and you inhale sharply at the rougher contact. A smile forms on his mouth at your reaction, followed by a low groan that emanates out from deep within his chest.Â
âYouâre so fuckinâ beautiful, ya know that? Pretty girl.â
Those full lips of his ghost themselves over your own until the proximity makes you tremble from their seduction and your eyes flutter shut a moment as you let yourself succumb to the anticipation of when exactly he will break the distance. He waits on baited breath until your eyes slowly flit back open and your gaze meets his before he finishes his thought. âI wanna make ya mine so fuckinâ bad, luv.â
A smile crosses over your mouth as you hold his longing stare. You know heâs giving you an out, a way to step away if this isnât really what you want, but from the moment your lips met back at the bar, there was no turning from this. âThen what are you waiting for?â you ask in the softest whisper as you can almost taste his breath from the proximity of his mouth. âKiss me. Make me yours.â
You hear the deep breath he intakes before all at once he leans into you in a frenzy, not able to hold back that overwhelming tension for another second. The grip from his large hand palming through your hair is strong and keeps your head safe as he shoves you both into the wall, his firm torso pressing tightly into your curves as the brunt of his need and months of pent up longing is forced upon your lips with a feverish intensity that makes you instantly lose yourself as explosions like fireworks light up inside your mind.
Over and over he captures your mouth with hot aggression until your lips start to burn from the friction the harder he presses into them. You try to draw in air, but his heated advances on your mouth make it almost impossible to breathe; still, you wonât let him pull away even if he tries. The sparse dusting of stumble along his jaw pricks your cheeks and the skin around your mouth as the taste of the whiskey that he had just downed for courage floods the inside of your mouth from his breath and it hits your tongue with its sharp bite.
Your own hands decide they need to explore the man currently devouring your lips and you run up the back of his muscular neck to the bottom of his mask only for your fingertips to be met with cropped hair at the back of his head. The feeling of your fingers brushing over the short strands near the nape of his neck makes him shiver as the pleasure of the act snakes down his spine and you sigh into his mouth.
Lt. Riley is completely and utterly captivated by youâŠand he needs more.  Â
The hand he has wrapped around you he draws in towards himself so that you are pressed to him even tighter until your bodies are molded together as if you are one being, your curves meeting the firm muscles along his abdomen, and fuck if there isnât something hard and throbbing piercing against your inner thigh that he starts to grind into you.Â
âThatâs it lieutenant,â you coax him as you match his movements in that desperate back and forth, scrambling to get as much friction as possible between your aching bodies.Â
There is a deep grunt as he shakes his head. âSimon,â he growls into your open mouth as he readjusts his hips more squarely against you, âI need ya ta call me Simon. Say my name.â
Christ, his first name tastes like honey on your tongue and you feel feverishly excited to repeat it aloud now that you finally know it. His name. âSimon,â you groan through a break in his mouthâs connection.Â
Those lips of his that dominate your own are frantic to embrace you until your mouth is on fire from the pressure. Itâs like a spell the way you say it and suddenly there is nothing else he wants to hear more. âThatâs it,â he breathes into you, âSay it again.â
âSimon.âÂ
He had always been lieutenant or Lt. Riley, but now he is Simon. Just Simon. And even though this has just started, it already feels like he is your Simon.
There is a heat in the middle of his chest, a burning, gnawing desire that has gripped his heart instantly in a desperate chokehold as his essence leaves your soft lips. âFuck⊠again, sweetâart,â he begs; never has his name ever sounded so beautiful before and now that he has a taste of it off your tongue, he realizes just how starved he is for it.  Â
You say his name again, this time like a plea for more and it leaves him in a tailspin. His body cries out to feel you, all of you, without any barriers between your skin meeting his. He needs to experience every detail, explore every curve, relish every soft bit of flesh he can get his hands on; heâs waited long enough to have you. First he has to start with his mask. Itâs in the way and he has no need to hide from you, not anymore, not ever again.
âScrew this damned thing,â Simon groans with agitation at the fabric still sticking to his heated features; he doesnât want a single restriction between you both and with a quick pull starting from the back of his head, he rips the mask up and off his face, throwing it away without even caring where it lands.Â
Cupping your face in between his large palms, he pauses only a moment to take you in as a new man, one entirely free of his anonymity, and allow you to truly see who it is that you crave. There is a vulnerability in his brown eyes that he cannot hold back as if he is waiting for you to change your mind now that you know the face beneath the disguise, but that could not be farther from what you are thinking. The desperate need he has for you shines in the depths of his gaze and it makes your already shallow breathing hitch in your chest.Â
A gorgeous mess of dirty blonde hair is accentuated with silvery whisps at his temples, making him look distinguished and experienced. His eyes are even more intense now that they are not hidden in darkness and those solid, distinct features are highlighted with a little spackling of hair along his jaw. You canât help but stare while you scramble to memorize every beautifully mature detail of the man you desire. He is everything and more than you could ever have imagined and all of it only for you.Â
Reaching up, you trace the contours of his visage with the tips of your fingers as if sight isnât enough and you can feel him tremble under your gentle touch. You outline old scars and just forming creases around his eyes as if they are precious and something about the tender way you take him in is enough to stop his heart.
The way your eyes linger on his face has his blood racing violently through his veins and in a haze of lust and euphoria he grabs you by the biceps to spin you round before he slides his hands up under your arms to pick you up, setting your ass on the edge of the small, one person sink. Expertly he slides himself between your open legs while pushing them open wider with his hands to accommodate his broad hips. Â
âFuck, Iâve wanted ta do this for so long now,â he says as his eyeline locks directly onto your full, juicy pout before he immediately has his hand catch the back of your head again to pull your face back to meet his. He connects your mouths back together with another moist, sticky embrace.Â
Simon cannot get enough of you, not when it feels like you are meant to take every single ounce of his desire from the moment your lips met each other back at the bar. Unintentionally you roll your hips into him and fuck does it feel good for you to grind against that stiff peak strainging his jeans to capacity. Â
He tilts your head back, his hands cradling your neck as his thumb brushes down the side of your throat closest to him. So soft, so silky, his lips ache to get a chance to caress such beauty. The longer he stares the more the idea blossoms in his mind that all that free space would look perfect with a little reminder of where he has been.
Never has he had something so gorgeous at his disposal. Itâs enough to make a man lose himself.
âYa know what I really been thinkinâ âbout? Wanna markup this pretty neck âa yours,â he groans the desperate request into the skin of your lips. âLeave my signature on whatâs mine now.â
His.Â
Fuck, why does that sound so good? Now you canât think of anything else other than that one word being said in his voice: mine. Nothing has ever made you so instantly needy than the sentiment behind his statement. To be claimed by him is all you want.
âPlease,â you beg enthusiastically, âI want you to mark me.âÂ
Youâve barely finished your sentence before your words are quickly followed by an open-mouthed moan as Simon doesnât waste a single second in moving his lips straight to your throat, using the pad of his thick tongue to lick up to the spot heâs aiming for before latching onto that thunderously pounding vein right beneath your jaw. The sound of your moan pulls a tight knot deep in his belly so that his cock twitches at the tone.
âGonna leave ya wit somethinâ beautiful,â he grunts the passionate words without lifting his lips off of you. He has to be sure that the pressure takes and leaves the area nice and visible with his signature.Â
His mouth latches onto the side of your throat just below your ear before you feel the sharp sting as his teeth dig hard into the soft, supple flesh. The pressure is so intense from the suction of his lips you can almost feel the skin bubble up further into his mouth; there is no question that there will be a big, angry, purple blotch by tomorrow.
âOpen. Your. Legs.âÂ
With shut eyes you hear his demand through the fullness in his mouth and widen the gap between your thighs just as a broad hand slithers its way inside the top of your jeans and into your panties right up until Simon cups it over your pussy. Your lips are already puffy and slick with your need, the heat filling his palm with your desperation for more as his thick fingers part them like a hot knife through butter.
Gently he uses the pad of his middle finger to circle around the tiny nub at the top of your pussy, that sweet little button full of nerve endings that immediately make you whimper as he plays around it, teasing the sensitive tissue with a light, steady touch without making any contact with it yet. Heâs waiting to feel a tremble shake its way through you, your bodyâs way of begging for more stimulation, before he gives in to the gnawing ache heâs desperately trying to create in you.  Â
âPlease,â the whispered plea falls from your raw lips as agony sets in, but he stays the course.Â
You groan deeply, your body straining to hold on as your clit throbs, and just as your head falls back and your eyes close there is a quiver that ripples through your inner thighs. There is no way for you to know, but you swear that his lips upturn against your neck and suddenly he is stroking the tip of his finger over that pulsing node.
Raising your hands to his shoulders, you dig the tips of your fingers in hard to the muscles in shoulders through his t-shirt to hold on as your entire body is enchanted by his stimulation. The pressure from your touch causes him to grunt excitedly into your neck, aroused by the desperate roughness of the contact, and you can feel the vibration in the back of your throat.Â
The fluorescent lights overhead flicker with a metallic click and his eyes flutter open just as a bead of sweat catches the light as it rolls down your chest and into the valley between your breasts. Simon watches its entire path as it descends into your cleavage before another grabs his attention. Before this one can get away he licks it up with the tip of his tongue, capturing your salt in his mouth. There is nothing on you that he wants to go to waste, not when he has waited this long to finally have a taste of you.
âGod, youâre so fuckinâ perfect,â he moans deeply into your skin as if he is trying to fuse his words with the flesh so that you will carry them with you. âIâm one lucky bastard ta even get the chance ta touch ya.âÂ
âIâm the lucky one,â you breathe. âIâve wanted you for so long Simon. Just didnât want to risk looking the fool and driving you away if you didnât feel the same. I couldnât stand you not being around.â
Simon pulls from your throat and his face drifts back up to look into yours, his fingers still working their magic. You meet his gaze with an open mouth as the ecstasy builds, the eye contact intensifying the already intimate act.Â
âIâm not fuckinâ goinâ anywhere,â he says with conviction that it turns your already desperate need for him completely feral.Â
You tug at his belt, your fingers clumsily fidgeting with the buckle until it finally comes loose and falls away, hitting his hips with a jingle as metal clanks against metal. A swift nip at your bottom lip is his response to being undressed as you grab onto the pull of his zipper and rip it all the way down to reach the seam. His pants are barely hanging onto his body now, clinging ever so carelessly at his hip bones and ready to slip off them at any second with the slightest amount of movement.Â
âI need you inside me,â you breathe into his mouth as your hands gripped onto his hips push the fabric down, making him lightheaded at your neediness.Â
Of course youâre curious about the protuberance prodding into you and as the last of his clothing falls away, your eyes drift down. âFuckâŠâ you whimper in a whisper as you release his cock and it springs to life as itâs no longer confined.Â
âItâs all yours, sweetâart,â he says as he runs the edge of his teeth across your lip while his hands paw at the waistband of your pants. âBeen fuckinâ gnawinâ at the bit to bury it in ya. Goddammit, ya get me so fuckinâ hard I can barely handle myself sometimes. Have to rub one out the moment I get back to base.â
Itâs your turn now and he helps to keep you steady while you raise your hips off the sink enough that he can pull down your pants and drag them off your legs, taking your skimpy panties with them so that thereâs nothing left to remove. âFuckinâ hell,â he says, his breathing shaky as he takes you all in. All that glorious, soft, supple skin could not be more beautiful.
You cup his cheek and he comes back into himself, back into the moment with you. âSimon, please.âÂ
Thatâs all he needs to hear before he moves to align himself at your pulsing and dripping core. âNeed ya ta breathe for me,â he reassures, âjust breathe.â
Your head is held upright as he peers deep into your eyes while you struggle to take him in, his girth stretching out your tight hole the deeper he goes until your body contours to his specific shape. He tries to speak, but only incoherent, slurred words trip off his tongue at the feeling of his cock being throttled with how tight and wet you are. How can a being so exquisite want someone like him?
âYouâre perfect, luv,â he groans as he scrambles to settle himself so that this doesnât end prematurely by digging his fingers into your hip. âYa drive me insane, pretty girl.âÂ
God, his honeyed words act as an aphrodisiac and the pleasure is almost too much. âIâve wanted you for so long Simon, thought I was gonna break everytime you came in for a drink. I need you to fuck me good. Iâve waited so long for this.â
He chuckles as he lifts your chin. âBaby, I only want to make you come,â he says while staring deep into your eyes, clenching so that his cock twitches within you to make you gasp with a surprised smile.
To be inside you is mind-numbing, but that doesnât stop the need he has to thrust, to shove his cock further and further up into you. Even within the first few minutes he is already pussydrunk so that he is slamming into you with a feral roughness that leaves his rhythm scattered for a bit as his brain only has one objective and that is to make you both fall apart.
One hand, fingers spread wide, braces against the wall aside the mirror, the other rests around the back of your neck as his hips snap up into you with a consistent fluidity. The sink beneath you groans and squeaks in time with each of his thrusts, the unfamiliar strain putting pressure where it connects to the wall.Â
Having him pounding inside you has you so wet that the sound of slapping skin against skin fills the bathroom and Simon pulls back just enough to watch himself pump in and out of that beautiful opening. A sight like this is deadly and he prays that it is burned into his mind cause he wants this on replay in his thoughts. Nothing could ever look better than this.
Taking two fingers he brings them straight in towards your clit, wasting no time in drawing circles over that overwhelmingly sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips buck hard against him at the extra stimulation until you are pushing down onto his hand, your eyes rolling back as the ecstasy flows through your veins and that recognizable warmth starts to gather in the pit of your stomach.
âDonât stop,â you beg, each second bringing you ever closer to your release. âGonna cum soon.â
Those three lethal words he has longed to hear for months and months now only fuel those strong thrusts and quick flicks of your clit. âThatâs it, darlinâ, fuckinâ come for me,â Simon growls so desperately it makes your head spin. âI need to feel ya.â
The pace never falters even though Simon is hanging on by a thread and his body is burning from the constant movement. He canât be stopped, not with his goal so close. And all that hard work pays off as with a few more minutes your head finally flicks back and your thighs clamped down around his hips, a cry exploding out of you as you come violently that you nearly fall off the sink, but he isnât going to let you go anywhere.
âGood girl,â he praises breathlessly. âRide it out, all the way for me.â
Your core is fluttering around him, squeezing around his cock as he takes you all the way through your ecstasy until itâs too much to handle. His fingers scramble to rip up your shirt off your torso to secure it above your bra; he wonât be able to hold on much longer. A few heavy breaths get panted out in time with his thrusts and that is it, like flicking on a lightswitch he cannot hold off the pressure any longer as it reaches its peak.Â
His raw mouth latches onto the crook of your neck just as he rips his cock out of you and into his hand to stroke out his orgasm and cover your stomach in his warm cum. Simonâs body shudders as he releases a loud groan with a bass that vibrates through your shoulder as he desperately tries to keep quiet as the intensity of his pleasure rips through him like a tidal wave with each stroke of his hand over his sensitive cock.Â
âChrist,â he grunts into you as he milks the last bit of cum out and releases his grip on himself.Â
Simonâs head hangs limp a moment as he breathes, exhaustion flooding his limbs so that they feel weighted, before he leans down and catches your mouth in a much more tender embrace than the ferocious ones he had been placing on it just moments ago. Your fingers run through his sideburns and he canât help sighing contentedly with a smile meeting your lips. Â
This has been more than worth the wait. âYouâre amazinâ sweetheart,â he murmurs sweetly. âThe best thing ta ever happen ta me.â
Simon keeps you in his arms even after heâs gotten you cleaned up and back onto your feet, holding you close to his body as he drags his rough, hardened fingers down over the palm of your hand with a light touch, bringing them down to the tips of your own until goosebumps begin to form along your forearm.Â
âItâs late; youâll probably want ta be headinâ home now,â he mutters quietly as his sizable fingers part through the spaces between your own until they latch your hands together.Â
âYouâre right,â you agree with a nod of your head, both of you still reeling in the ecstasy of your copulation as your eyes linger on the tender connection of your hands.
Simon looks up from your conjoined limbs to meet your bright eyes and the smile he greets with his sight leaves him desperate to feel it on his lips. You grip into his hand tighter as you move to step towards the door. âYou coming with me? Gotta lock up before we can head to mine.âÂ
He smirks to himself with a shake of his head as he lets you lead him by the hand back out into the bar, ready to head to yours for the night to get lost in you all over again. Fate gave him this opportunity and he is going to take full advantage of enjoying the one thing heâs craved for too long now.
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things from the 2001 television programme band of brothers that haunt me to this day:
- weâre paratroopers lieutenant, weâre supposed to be surrounded. not to be your 60 year old military obsessed uncle about it but that line goes hard
- nixâs little giggle he does sometimes
- Iâll never forgive them for leaving geneâs medic training out of their training montage. in fact you know what? go back in time, film a parallel sequel of the other 9 eps from geneâs pov
- popeyeâs âthey called you guys too?â and the way his accent specifically scratches my brain
- they gave me moose heyliger and his massachusetts accent for like 20 minutes then the narrative snatched him away from me and i still miss him
- the way meehan looks at winters after he tells him to close the flap, in fact letâs talk about how every single one of wintersâ commanders are obsessed with him in one way or another he truly is the it girl
- the chaos and fear that precedes gene and the calm and comfort that follows him
- I know everyone thinks âweâll go to chicago, Iâll take you thereâ is the insane line but the one that actually makes me lose sleep is âwhat, and give up all this?â THAT MAN SAID I WOULD RATHER LIVE THROUGH THE HORRORS OF WAR THAN HAVE LIVED MY LIFE WITHOUT YOU
- alley is So Beautiful and I donât think we collectively talk about it enough
- babe being some rando replacement in episode three and whilst his other replacement friends are being absolutely roasted he is immediately adopted by bill and then gets gene fucking roe of all people to connect to him?? heâs too powerful I need to study him
- speirs being this ghoulish terrifying boogeyman until lip is anywhere near him then heâs suddenly dimples and kicking his feet and giggling
- speaking of lip and speirs their little sarcastic in jokes, lip finishing speirsâ sentences fml itâs giving married
- you been working out? IN FRONT OF EVERYONE?? LIEB YOU SLUT?? THEN YOURE GONNA LAY IN HIS BED WAITING FOR HIM??? insane behaviour
- the unexplored but high potential friendships and the way I wanted like 16 more episodes for shifty and lip, nix and luz, nix and web, sisk and perconte, winters and gene, grant and tab, lieb and alley, speirs and harry, etc
- the more haggard and bitchy nix gets the hotter he gets. he also must be studied.
- âyou should pack up those ears and go homeâ ok sobel kinda ate with that one ngl
- speaking of sobel the little confused/bewildered/piss-pants faces he makes david schwimmer the actor you are
- the silly little wide stance pennywise ass run hall does before he gets murked RIP king
- klepto speirs ilysm
- joe toye and his brass knuckles are v sexy
- sink letting nix give winters his oak leaves was very shipper girl of him
- lip harry nix speirs winters in the eagleâs nest dream blunt rotation
- the unsustainable amount of cunt served by nix, frank, babe, and luz at all times is truly a marvel
- tab really checked lipâs dick and balls mid battle and honestly thatâs friendship
- bit parts for simon pegg, tom hardy, andrew scott, james mcavoy, michael fassbender, jimmy fallon ?? bob casting director you will always be famous
- peacock is so fine if he was even a little good at his job Iâd be obsessed with him (special shout out to the scene of him getting sent home on furlough)
- I could list out every one of their meaningful little moments together but really itâs babe and gene just tethering and grounding each other and how they seem to gravitate to each other out of blind instinct? thatâs some BrontĂ« whatever our souls are made of bullshit Iâm afraid
- ok I know I said I wasnât talking about little meaningful moments but gene staring across the convent at where babe is sitting, lost in the peace
-bull in replacements getting imprinted on by a bunch of baby ducks and being SO PLEASED ABOUT IT heâs not the stepfather, heâs the father that stepped up
- speaking of, the underutilization of bull in the back half is such an out of character bad call
- you are officers, you are grown ups, you oughta know. HEâS RIGHT AND HE SHOULD SAY IT AND THATâS ON GENE BEING THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO TELL OFF WINTERS
- I know nix and winters are married and whatever but the real married couple behaviour is luz constantly pissing off joe and joe immediately letting it go
- lip and speirs and their mutual competency kink
- IâM REAL SORRY FRANK skinny ilysm
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