#ghost call of duty

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Ghost: Luv, hurry up, we're gonna be late Y/N, coming out of the dressing room: How do I look? Ghost: Ghost, unbuttoning his shirt: Oh we're definitely going to be late

[lanialania00]

✌️💀

[skyrigel]

Really giddy about Simon and reader having a fling just before he's sent on deployment.

It wasn't so much than a one night stand which extended to five night stand before Simon left, and especially putting a stone over his heart at the last sight of you sleeping peacefully in the warmth left by him, because you were far too good for him, deserved so, so much better than him.

But it so happened during downtime on base a week or so later when an unknown contact notif popped with a 'hey' and too many exclamation marks.

More than Simon had used in his whole life.

Something about it felt you, it was you. Like a feeling which surfaced, not quite settled within — physically heavy as a touch, blind or deaf or mute, he knew it was you.

“Hi,” Simon typed, then with a smile which he tugged back because Soap looked at him with a very sly knowing grin, he added —“:)”

Then turned over his head towards the wall with his phone secured between calloused hands; heart drumming at the three dots that came alive; like the way his heart quickened when you smiled between the first kiss.

And that was how it all begin.

Masterlist

[tojisteddy]

smut | 18+ mdni.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley definitely thinks he’s a soft dom.

Wholeheartedly.

He has a lot of patience, he’s cool headed most of the time and knows how to stay that way even if he’s in a sticky situation. Barking out almost everything he says, giving you a good pat to the ass as praise. He’s still getting the hang of understanding all of you, eyebrow cocking up your stupid mistakes. But he’s calm, taking your jaw in his hand to look at him, making sure you don’t get ahead of yourself, takes time to correct you so you can get better at what you need help with.

It’s not like you were bad, no, you just had your off days. ‘Everyone does honey’ Simon reminded you constantly. You were well mannered, politely asking or declining when you needed to.

But my GOD, that brute, he gave you hell.

He’s manhandling you every which way imaginable, folding you like a lawn chair. When you trying to get the rest of his swelling cock inside, whining and clenching around a quarter of him— he’s pinning your hands down with one of his calloused hands, turning you slightly on your side so both of your legs are over his right shoulder and harshly yanking you to look at him by the chin.

“What did daddy say ‘bout bein a greedy bitch mama? You know better.”

Loved putting you in a full nelson so you had to stay there and take every veiny inch of him. He’s calling you everything but a child of god.

“Such a slut, makin a mess all over me. Look at this shit.”

“Squirtin like a fuckin fountain, what a messy fuckin pup. Pretty bitch on my dick, yeah?”

And when you’d refute being his puppy, he’s putting you in doggy style. Pressing his hand on your small of your back to create the meanest arch imaginable, drilling into your gummy walls while pulling at your curls.

“Pantin like a fuckin bitch in heat, ‘nd you say you’re not my pup. Fuckin lie, that is.”

He makes it his mission to fuck you till all you can think about is ‘Simon, simon, simon, daddy, daddy, daddy—‘

And he’s stuffed you completely full, your mixed cum spilling out and forming white rings around his dick. You’re drooling, eyes seeing stars, tears down you beautiful skin and he’s snapping his fingers in your face.

“Hellooooo? earth to [+]? Is that thing on?”

Simon’s laughing at the state of you in the crevice of your neck. He adored to see you absolutely wrecked for him. Overstimulated from cumming too much or edging you till you were babbling, whimpering mess. He scuff, pushing your pretty curls out of your face to properly look at you, relentlessly ramming every inch he could into your sweet spot, you slapped at his shoulder and swore it was all ‘too much’ and how ‘you couldn’t cum anymore.’ But there you were, still a moaning mess, cunt still clinging onto his manhood for dear life and dripping down his thighs.

With a ‘thwack’ to your tender clit, and a tight grip on you’re throat,

“Fucks sake, just shut up and cum already.”

You don’t even know what the fuck is happening to you when you cum. Legs shaking, stomach turning into knots, mouth agape because the moan won’t let itself out. And then you feel it, warm fluid hitting your cervix while Simon’s tip pulses inside you. You pass out for God knows how long, but Simon is yanking you out of the darkness by playfully flicking your temple. You’re still subbed out, immediately going to cling to him like you always do. He’d hum at the action, loved his needy baby. That’s when the soft comes out.

“Did good for me princess. Always been my good girl.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, long day tomorrow, yeah?”

a/n: Simon’s an aggressive lover, it’s true. It’s science.

[empresskylo]

simon riley who comes across as all big and scary, but once you get to know him, he’s a big softie. he’s always telling stupid jokes. he’s extremely loyal to his teammates. always makes sure you’re okay. he will tease you but always super playfully. so you assume this is going to crossover into the bedroom. well, it doesn’t. when simon first kisses you, its slow and sensual, and he’s pushing you against the wall, his hands greedily exploring your body, groping your chest. you almost lose your breath, caught completely off guard, not expecting how hasty and lustful he is. he’s kissing your neck and pulling at your shirt, rolling his hips against yours. you’re not opposed, but you never thought the first kiss you shared with him would lead to hooking up. but it does… your face buried in the mattress, one of his hands pulling at your hair, the other tightly on your hip, slamming into you, “already fucked out, love?” he teases. you can barely respond, resorting to groans and grunts. “fuckin’ hell, s’goddamn tight. gonna let me fill ya up?” and ofc you do. you let him do whatever he wants. let him call you names and say the filthiest things to you. you’ll be littered in bruises the next day. your lips are swollen, your body sore. but afterwords, when it’s all done, he’s so sweet, a completely different man, holding you close, stroking your hair. <3

[pythonmoth]

cw: violence. heavy torture. stress incontinence (brief). hurt/no comfort.

simon riley x reader. soap x reader if you squint.

part one | part two | next

It's calm.

The sea breeze brushes against your cheeks, your skin warm under the sun, and your toes squirming in the sand. You've been begging your parents to take you to the beach for months since middle school started, and now you're here.

Family. Your cousins, your siblings, your aunties and uncles. Nothing can ruin it! It's perfect.

A bucket of sea water hits you from the back, making you gasp. In an instant, you're up. "You guys are dead!" you scream, laughing as you chase after them.

It's so, so nice.

Then, a weird smell makes you pause as you're chasing your favorite older cousin, knee deep in the ocean.

It brings you back to when you were a toddler, picking up one of your grandfather's old rags, forgotten in a corner. It'd seen too many raining days, all crumpled up. It was sour. Foul.

Almost like poison.

But why did you remember such thing right now?

Your cousin's dark eyes glint, but you can't focus. No, you can't move as she gently makes you lay down in the water, claiming it's a game, and sits on top of you, the sea water filling your lungs.

You scream and fight, your little strength leaving you, until you're finally breaking through the surface.

Another splash of salty water, much colder, wakes you up with a gasp.

"Up" Price's voice says.

You bite back a whimper of pain when Soap roughly grips your hair and drags you up along with the chair from the floor, since Price kicked you the night before. Soap doesn't look at you even once.

"Since you won't open your mouth, let's continue" the captain hums, looking mildly entertained.

"Price, I genuinely don't know anything. I'm not a traitor. You have to believe me, please—"

Smack.

"Save it. It all points to you, so you either speak now, or we start having fun".

Everything hurts, it's all fuzzy and every single inch of your body is burning, yet you still look up at Price, then at Soap. Again, he won't even look at you.

"Where's Simon?" you mumble, trembling. There's silence, but you don't let it stretch. "Please, I really have nothing to do with any of this. Be reasonable. There's nothing in it for me. Why would I sell us out?!"

The door springs open, and your head snaps up. Your world crumbles down as Simon comes in with a little box.

The tools.

At once, you reach another level of panic.

Pure, unadulterated dread.

"Stop! No. No, please. I'm innocent. Simon. Please, stop this!" you wail loudly, your hands clenching hard on the armrests of the chair, uselessly trying to keep them from getting to your fingers.

It doesn't matter how hard you cry out for them to listen. It doesn't matter how badly you fight, leaning forward to push your head against Simon's chest, pleading with him.

There's no coming back from this.

Please. I love you. Please.

When the first nail is ripped off from your fingertip, the intensity of your screams makes Price look away for the first time.

It takes three fingernails and a handful of questions you can't focus on for Soap to turn away from you.

Five.

Away.

Please.

Eight.

It all feels so far away.

Distantly, you feel warmth, right on the chair. For a happy moment you melt into it, too tired to think much of it. Simon's eye twitches at the sight, the white in his eyes bloodshot, and he has to physically stop himself from saying anything.

"I want to die" you croak out, your chin pressed to your chest.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, in your raw fingertips. Your voice doesn't feel yours anymore.

"No. Give me their names".

"I don't know, goddammit!" you scream, your face contorted with pain and anger. So much anger. "Fuck you! I don't know shit. I'm sick and tired of this. I didn't do anything!"

It doesn't matter when Simon rips off another fingernail.

Nine.

It doesn't matter when Soap presses the same disgusting rag against your face, the cold salty water filling your lungs again.

You don't fight.

What for? They want information you can't provide. And you're angry.

Ten.

"I'm breaking up with you" you say, your voice firm, despite the intense shaking in your body.

The pain must have cleared your mind because you just look straight forward, not meeting Ghost's eyes as you speak.

You don't want to look at him.

"I don't want your regret" you continue, your heart slowing down. There's an old bloody spot on the door. You focus on it. "The three of you are dead to me when this is all over".

"Enough chatting. Go on!" Price snaps. You don't hear the trembling in his voice.

The salty water just keeps on coming.

Maybe you hear it. You don't care.

You're not sure for long it goes. Half of your toes are throbbing by the time Price storms out of the room, Soap and Ghost gathering their things to leave.

There are deep cuts in the arch of your feet, several of your toenails scattered on the floor, and the foul smell of urine and blood. Your throat is sore and raw from screaming, and sobbing.

You must've passed out, because you wake up to Ghost's hands untying you quickly, words of apology leaving his lips, curses and promises. You can hear Soap rushing in, the two of them arguing and then running.

Gasps and curses are heard all around the base as Ghost takes you to the medics, demanding them to tend to you now.

It's an order.

[luvvictoria]

I've seen so many ghost x reader fics where the reader is younger than him, almost significantly so here an older!f!reader x our dear ghost <3

You're a few ranks above him, and he respects that—begrudgingly. Ghost isn’t the type to blindly follow authority, but you? You’ve earned it. You were in the field when he was still finding his footing, and that experience shows. He might not admit it, but there’s a weight in your voice that makes him listen.

The squad finds your dynamic hilarious. Price is used to being the eldest, but now there's you—someone who’s been through just as much, if not more, and yet just a few years younger than Price. Soap teases Ghost about it relentlessly.

“Damn, Lt., you’re really getting bossed around twice, huh?” “She’s my superior, Johnny.” “Aye, and she’s superior in general, yeah?”

You’ve seen more death than him—and you make sure he knows it. You carry your past like a badge of honor, not as a burden. It’s why, during a mission debrief, when someone asks how you managed to survive something that should’ve killed you, you just smirk and say:

“I’ve experienced death many times… but never my own.” And Ghost just stares. That’s his thing. The man who walks between life and death, the legend. But you? You say it like it’s a flex. He doesn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned. Probably both.

He hates how much you get under his skin. You know exactly what you’re doing. A little smirk here, a passing comment there. He’s not used to being the one thrown off-balance. It’s maddening. You call him “Simon” just to watch his reaction, because you know no one else does.

Fights between you two are rare but intense. Not in an aggressive way, but the tension? Palpable. Arguments usually happen when he thinks you’re taking unnecessary risks, and you remind him—

“I’ve been doing this longer than you, Ghost. Don’t forget that.” And that should shut him up. But instead, he grits his teeth and mutters, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He hates seeing you hurt. He knows you can handle yourself, knows you’ve seen worse, but it doesn’t stop the tight feeling in his chest when you get injured. The first time he sees you push through a wound like it’s nothing, he’s both impressed and furious.

“Christ, woman, you’re bleedin’.” “And?” “And I’d rather not watch you experience death again today, yeah?”

He falls for you without meaning to. It starts with admiration—your skill, your leadership, your confidence. Then it turns into something deeper. The way you can match his intensity, challenge him, command respect without asking for it. He never saw himself as the type to be into older women, but it’s not about the age—it’s about you.

When he does confess, it’s not smooth at all. It’s after a mission, maybe after you’ve both been through hell, and he just—

“Y’know, if you died, I’d be pissed.” “Good thing I won’t, then.” “…Noticed that.” And then, after a beat, he mutters, almost grudgingly: “Think I like you too much for my own good.” You just grin. “Took you long enough, Ghost.”

[simons-missus]

Why does having fingers shoved down my throat sound appealing?😋

simon is genuinely so obsessed with how dumb you get over his cock. whether you're being drilled by it, having it in your hand, sucking it, hell even by looking at it has you all shy.

don't get him wrong. it's cute and everything, but when he's having to fuck you with his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, while fucking you in a supply closet literally twenty minutes before a meeting. it gets kinda annoying, not that he is complaining. well, he is, but it's worth it in the end when he sees your dumb, cock-drunk face.

his dick pounds in and out of your warm, wet cunt, it pushing him away before dragging him back in for all his worth. it drives him insane. he barely has to do much. your cunt is so greedy it just sucks his cock in and then spits him back out.

one of your legs around his waist while his fingers are pushed deep down your throat to shut you up. you're too dumb to even think right now – spit slobbering all over his thick digits. he doesn't mind it though. he finds it verrryyy cute and verrryyy arousing.

"shhh, doll, wouldn't want the others to hear us, hm? what would they think if they say their lieutenant fuckin' his co-worker like this, hm?"

he smirks. he knows damn well what he said went in your ear and came right out of the other. he knows you can't process anything right now but pleasure.

your cunt clamps down onto him, "c-cumming! shitshitshit!"

though it was all muffled with his fingers in your mouth. he could tell what was about to happen anyway.

the way your eyes roll back and your cunt began to flutter around him while more of your delicious juices leak onto his cock, even more than before. yeah, he joined you soon after. his cock spurting warm cum deep into your quivering pussy before he pulls out of you with a groan.

five more minutes.

well shit, you're going to be late to that meeting. i guess it was worth it for a quickie though...

[ebodebo]

minors beware!

shameless smut w simon in... (age-gap shit also)

three…

two…

one…

“Too old for you,” Simon remarks as you approach him, mask hiked above his nose. He takes a swig of his bourbon, his disinterest evident.

"So you’ve said," you reply, rolling your eyes slightly before grinning and settling into the stool next to him at the empty bar.

He stares intently at the television in front of him, locked onto a local news channel.

But it’s clear he’s not watching to catch the latest on the new pizza place opening this Sunday or to hear the heartwarming story of the little boy who saved his dog from choking.

It was to avoid you.

"I know you're avoiding me, Simon," you simply say, eyes glazing over his hands that twitch slightly around his cold glass.

"What gave it away?" His tone is dry.

It would have made you run with your tail between your legs at his apparent disinterest if you didn’t know he was interested in you.

Even if he's pretending not to be.

You remember how hard he had gotten when you'd barely even touched him, manicured nails running across his shirt to get a piece of fuzz off, about had him bursting through his cargo pants.

Or when he practically whimpered your name to get him to come.

His issue lies more within himself.

More specifically, his age.

Thinks you should be with someone more your age and not some 'old brute' such as himself.

He basically lectured you all while he was on the verge of release while you were bouncing on his cock.

You laughed in his face.

He came hard.

After that, he left, leaving a note about how he thought it'd be best for you two to stop seeing each other so you could find someone more...what did he say?

"Age-appropriate."

You rolled your eyes at the note because you couldn't care less about how old he was.

You just wanted him.

And so, by God, you'll have him.

"Funny," you remark with a sarcastic tone, narrowing your eyes at his avoidance of eye contact.

He takes another swig of his drink, eyes still laser focused on the news station.

“Why won’t you look at me?” You ask, your frustration growing with each passing moment.

“Afraid you’ll claw my eyes out,” he says in a casual tone.

“I wouldn’t claw your eyes out,” you say matter-of-factly, resting your chin in your palm. “I’d do something more practical like…” You let your eyes scan the bar before lighting up as you spot a metal shaker.

Your eyes move to face him. “…hit the side of your head with that metal shaker,” you tip your head to the shaker behind the bar.

You’re sure you see his eyes crinkle from laughter.

"Ah, very practical," he says with a hint of humor.  

"I told you so," you reply with a smile, chuckling at the sheer absurdity of it all.  

Simon lets out a gravelly laugh, clearly amused by your delight.  

This entire situation is utterly ridiculous, and you both know it.  

Yet, instead of feeling uncomfortable, you find it all downright hilarious.  

"Simon," you manage to say between fits of laughter, your fingers reaching up to wipe a tear of joy from your cheek.  

"Mhm," he responds, briefly glancing at you before returning his attention to the television. 

"I want you to fuck me," you say earnestly, shifting from playful to serious in an instant.

Your expression remains straight-faced.

Simon's head snaps around to meet your gaze, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"What?" He replies, his tone straddling the line between astonishment and intrigue.

You narrow your eyes. "You heard me."

His eyes stay fixed on yours, his lip quipping a bit.

"You want me to fuck you?" His voice is low and grumbly, almost arrogant.

"Wouldn't be the first time," you remark, teeth coming out to chew on your bottom lip.

He carefully assesses you for a moment, eyes lazily moving to watch your teeth chew on your lip. "I'm old," he lazily says.

As if that was supposed to deter you.

"And?" You prompt, hand coming to skim his knee over his cargo pants.

He lets out a ragged breath, fingers tightening around his glass of bourbon. 

"Better be careful, sweetheart," he mutters through his tight throat.

Your hand moves up to brush against his thigh. "Why's that?"

"You're gonna start somethin' you can't finish," his eyes lock onto yours, dark and desperate.

You lean in closer, your tongue flicking out to moisten your lips, leaving a glistening sheen behind.

"Who says I can’t finish?" You tease, your hand inching nearer where Simon aches.

His breath is unsteady, and his pupils are dilated.

"You should know," you begin, wet lips hovering only inches away from his ear. "I always finish."

And that was it.

The straw that broke the camel's back.

Simon’s undoing, if you will.

His hands moved faster than you could speak as he grasped your wrist, throwing a twenty on the counter before leading you out of the bar and into the parking lot toward his truck waiting nearby.

He opened the passenger door, urging you to get in while he hurried to the driver’s side. With an impatient tug, he yanked the door open and slid into the seat.

“Take your pants off,” he mumbles as he throws the truck into gear to peel out of the parking lot.

“Where are we going?” You ask, your voice brimming with excitement rather than nervousness, as you eagerly slide your pants down and let them drop to the mat on the floor.

“You want me to fuck you,” his voice is gruff as he white knuckles the steering wheel seeing you in your pretty lace panties, easing towards a nearby empty lot. “I’ll fuck you.”

Oh, shit.  

Your eyes widen at his straightforwardness, but it’s not from fear; it’s pure desire.  

A flutter spreads in your stomach, and heat washes over your body.  

“Come here,” he murmurs, shifting his seat back slightly to make room for you.  

Without a word, you swing your legs over the middle console to straddle him as your hands reach his shoulders.

"You wear these for me?" He mutters as he snaps the elastic band of your panties back onto your sensitive skin, lips coming to skim against your shoulder blade.

You release a small moan at the sensation, fingers gliding through his hair with ease, a sense of familiarity within the touch. "Yeah," your voice is breathy as your eyes bore into his, awaiting his approval.

"Still so good for me," he breathes against your skin, scooting himself impossibly closer to you.

You can feel him straining through his cargo pants.

Your fingers fumbled from his hair to delicately unzip his zipper, slipping his pants and boxers down to reveal his, as you expected, very erect cock, already leaking pre-come.

"So wet, sweetheart," he gruffs as his finger trails to gently push aside your soaked panties.

Your body jerks forward at the feeling of his rough, cold finger spreading you to accommodate his cock.

"Grab my shoulders," he advises, as he brushes the head against your aching clit before pushing himself into you, your cunt swallowing him whole.

You let out a deep moan at the feeling of him in you while he rips his mask off before leaning forward and capturing your lips in a rough, deep kiss.

His fingers find your waist, digging deep into the fat as he helps you find a good pace.

You're losing your mind, already feeling euphoric.

His grunts merge with your whines, slipping out of both your mouths, sloppily swapping spit and nips from your teeth.

You grip his shoulders tighter as you speed up your pace, grinding and bouncing on him with intention, trying to get the knot in your stomach to finally unravel. 

He can't even think straight; all his words are reduced to guttural grunts or quiet curses spilling for his tongue and into your mouth.

"I could be your father," he hisses, a hint of disgust creeping into his voice just as he's about to come.

You don't even focus on what he's saying as you feel yourself edging closer and closer to release, just a little more.

"Please, please," he chokes out, voice shaky.

He's begging, no pleading for you to squeeze him dry.

Drain him for every last drop he has to offer.

And so you do.

You wail as you come, as he throws his head back on the headrest, shaking with relief. 

You're still coming down from your highs before Simon mutters a strained, 'Should we go again?'

You let out a breathy laugh, hissing as his cock moves against you. "You sure do have a high libido for an old man," you tease, voice hoarse.

His eyes meet yours instantly, a lazy smirk growing on his lips. 

"You have no fuckin' idea."

author’s note: been having sm fun writing these little drabbles...i have SO many more thoughts. just you wait! also, feel free to send me cute little asks on more scenerios you would like to see hehe

wanna join my taglist?

divider by @/saradika-graphics

[iixch]

☆ iixch production

Simon’s dog doesn’t know bros before hoes

synopsis: his dog simply knows your superior and it pisses him off

warning: cursing

<blurb>

He was about to throw the mutt on the grill.

He couldn’t believe his great dane was puppy dog eyeing you for scratches. The dog was half your damn size.

Simon was worried at first, despite your excitement, when he told you he owned a dog. His great dane, Titan, was intimidating to most and he had a bad temper. He had spent weeks trying to slowly get you and Titan acquainted, he worried that the giant dog would growl or bark at you and scare you off.

He worried for nothing.

The minute you visit his house for the first time with a pup cone, Titan loved you. Since that first meeting, Titan has yearned and earned your affection, and attention. Which you have never denied him.

It has gotten to the point that Simon feels he’s third wheeling in his own relationship- when it comes to you and his dog!

And god forbid he and you disagree.

Simon wasn’t even yelling, he was just passionately explaining his reasoning. You huffed and rolled your eyes- at what to you, sounded like excuses. Crossing your arms in annoyance. To which Simon’s takes a step forward and grabs your arm (to uncross them) before Titan comes and pushes Simon behind his knees and barks.

Flabbergasted and furious, Simon quickly turns glaring at his dog.

“The fuck you looking at, mate? Were just talking.”

To which in counter argument, Titan just continues his barking- and Simon has to retort to putting him in his cage in the laundry room, where the barks were (more or less) muffled.

“When did you become someone’s bitch?” Simon mumbles to Titan as he watches as you sit on the floor so the overly large dog can lay across your lap.

“Don’t be jealous, Si.” You tell him chuckling as you scratch Titan behind his ear, his tail wagging nonstop.

“I’m not jealous of a damn dog.” He huffs, arms crossed.

Titan looks up from your lap to meet Simon’s eyes, before- and he swears he does- grinning. Simon’s dog isn’t his anymore and is under your spell, and now he has a proper hellion on his hands, and you are none the wiser.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: Awww baby you look tired, why don't you head to bed, hmm? Ghost: No, I'm fine thanks Y/N: Oh um yeah ok Gaz, whispering to Y/N: You were talking to the dog, weren't you? Y/N, whispering back: Totally Riley: 😇😛

[thatoneghostcosplayer]

DarkFox: He freakyyy 👁👅👁

Inspired by this one Samuel Roukin pic I saw on Pinterest Good LORD 😮‍💨

[skyrigel]

Johnny slept on the couch, in your one bhk apartment you shared with Simon after he was ousted out from his five night stands with some bird which Simon detested, and well so had you too.

“can't see em' lika dat.” Simon muttered to you one morning, looking every bit like a puppy like his mate seemed who was drooling over the couch.

So it was decided he would sleep in bedroom, and since Simon wouldn't let his love sleep with another man in the bed ( alone ) and you were too stubborn to leave your groove. Hence, there were three people in a king sized bed, thanks to Simon's big broad shoulders who needed that much space.

Johnny had proposed he could sleep on the floor too, say some mattress and sheets, but there wasn't enough space after the bed.

And then you had another problem, over the whole night where Simon slept in middle spooning you on his right, you could feel those hand sensation on your back and woke up in the middle of the night to find Johnny groping Simon's abs, that too, from under his shirt, leg thrown over him and one arm which was under Simon's head.

“Si, we need to talk.” You eyed him up in the morning, Johnny who was making tea for all looked up with attention.

“Is it bout' meh ?” Johnny smiled at you. That bloody smile, and Simon smacked the back of his head before coming over to you and asking what was it.

You only asked for the most sensible thing any partner would.

“I am sleeping in the middle.”

[darklordofthesimp]

Belle of the Ball (Simon Riley x Reader)

Summary: You and Simon are paired to be each other's date to the Battalion Ball, a mandatory 141 social event.

Category: Mutual Pining || Tension 

Warnings: Graphic Language 

Like the characters? Birdy Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

“Job’s on, boys and girls,” Price announced as he entered the room. You lifted your head up slightly from the couch, interest piqued. You’d hoped that this adventure required a recon sniper, it’d be the change of pace you were craving. 

Soap slapped his hands on his thighs, “hit us, boss.” 

It’d been too quiet for the 141’s liking. Jobs were few and far in between and you found it foul that even shit people seemed to take a break over Christmas. 

The team was bored- everyone aside from Birdy and König, that is. Those two looked like they were constantly tweaking out, you could smell the stench of anxiety rolling off of them. You’d elected to ignore them for the time being, your thoughts had been preoccupied with a different team member as of late. 

That team member was leaning against the kitchen bench, patiently waiting for his tea to finish steeping. Simon looked tired, like he’d spent the night working. You knew he’d been wandering down to the garage every night, tinkering to fill his time, but you’d suspected that he was hoping to catch you down there. It was why you’d been avoiding it. 

His gaze flicked over to you and your heart leapt into your throat. You turned your attention swiftly back to Price. 

The Captain smacked your foot from the couch cushion you were sprawled across. You groaned as you forced yourself to sit upright, moving just in time before Price’s ass crushed your legs. 

“Jesus,” you muttered, stretching your arms over your head. “Well, what is it then? You’re leaving us high and dry here.” 

“So, standard operating procedure for you then, Sunshine?” Gaz quipped, earning a snicker from Soap. Heat crawled up the length of your neck, kissing your cheeks with embarrassment. 

“Well not everyone took, ‘use Soap in the shower’ as literally as you did, Gaz,” you drawled with false nonchalance. 

Birdy snorted loudly and you copped an elbow in the side from Price. 

“Alright, everyone shut up,” the Captain rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand across his face tiredy. “I dont have the bandwidth for your shit today.” 

You ignored Gaz’s glare burning into the side of your head. 

“Sorry to say this isn’t the job youse were hoping for,” he sighed, “it’s about that time of year again.”

Your brows pinched together in confusion. You cast a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else was as lost as you but the collective groans told you otherwise. Before you could ask, Price flicked his hand at the others. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know- shut it. Best to remember that the Battalion Ball is mandatory, it’s free drinks this year so that should change your tune a bit.” 

Soap cheered, though everyone else only offered begrudging agreements. 

“Sunny, König,” Price addressed both the newcomers, “formal dress attire, mandatory event, I’ll send youse the brief but I suggest you start dress shopping, it’s this weekend.” 

König all but turned green. 

You internally followed in suit. 

A fucking ball? 

“Welcome to the big leagues, kiddos.” Price clapped a hand on your shoulder with a snicker. “König, you better start now. It’s gonna be hard finding someone with a kilometre of fabric to tailor your fuckin’ suit.”

You couldn’t even laugh. 

Price stood to his feet with a clap of his hands, groaning the whole way up. 

“Remember to bring a date, I know you’re all single so bring each other like last year if you have to.” 

“A date?” You laughed, “surely not.” 

“Surely yes,” Price raise a brow. “Plus ones are mandatory, you’ll get the gist in a couple of years, kid.” 

Your mouth went dry and you forced yourself not to look in Simon’s direction. You could feel his gaze burning into your skin, heat licking up the length of your spine. Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest, you knew where this was going.

The conversation defected to other topics soon after the announcement. The longer you stayed in the room, the more constricted your chest felt. You didn’t plan on asking anyone to be your partner, whoever was left behind would have the displeasure of being your pair. 

Birdy was an obvious point of contention and you refused to run the risk of rejection. 

You slipped out of the room at the earliest opportunity, somewhere in the midst of Soap prying into Price’s love life. You’d waited until Simon had turned his back on the room to wash his mug, hoping to fade away unnoticed. 

But as you wandered towards the gym, you realised that even when Simon wasn’t watching he could still see. 

“Where are you running off to, then?” Simon’s voice was distinct, rough and soft at the same time. The man was a walking paradox. 

You spun to face him as calmly as you could manage. He was sauntering toward you, closer than you’d expected. Simon was dressed as casually as you’d seen him, clad in dark straight-legged jeans and a fitted grey long-sleeve. He wore no mask in the barracks hallways, exposing a sharp jaw and that coy smirk he reserved specially for you. 

“The gym,” you shrugged. “Maybe the range after. Just trying to fill time, really.” 

“Shouldn’t you be shopping for an outfit for the ball?” Simon asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What makes you think I don’t have an outfit already?” You bluffed. 

“Do you?” 

“No.” 

Simon scoffed as you mimicked his stance, crossing your own arms and setting your jaw stubbornly. You didn’t know why you were being so difficult but you couldn’t stop yourself. You suspected that it was because you were nervous or you just didn’t want him to ask who your date was. Maybe, it was that you didn’t want hear about who he was taking. 

Nevertheless, Simon didn’t seem to mind. His face was carefully schooled to be blank as he stepped closer. 

“So, buttercup. Who’s your date for this shit-show?” The man tilted his head, swan-diving straight into the deep end of your insecurities. You swallowed thickly and forced your expression to stay straight. 

“Not sure yet.” You said. Short and simple and everything that Simon wanted to hear by the way his lips curled upward- as smug as the fucking Cheshire Cat. 

“What a shock,” he drawled monotonously, dark eyes dancing with mirth. “With you being such a ray of sunshine and all, you’d think men would be lining up at your door.” 

Indignance spread from your chest to your cheeks, as red as blood. You fought the urge to sneer at the Lieutenant, instead feigning nonchalance. 

“Actually, I think Phil’s at fault for that,” you hummed. 

Simon’s face drew blank again. “Phil?” 

“Sorry,” you laughed coyly. “I meant Graves. He likes it when I call him, Phil.” 

“Oh, does he now?”

His expression changed, reminiscent of the Ghost that you’d been locked in a terse battle with for months. Those dark eyes of his grew stormy, jaw set like stone. You knew you had him on the line, just like he knew that you were beating him at his own game. But, like history, you both loved the endless cycle.

“He’s been wanting to take me out for a while,” you lied. “I texted him earlier and told him if I didn’t have date for this thing I’d let him take me.” 

Simon blinked slowly. 

“Take me to the ball, I mean.” You elaborated with a coquettish smile. 

You waited for him to bite- you wanted him to. Instead, Simon Riley was silent for a long moment, his gaze slowly raking over the expanse of your face. From your lips, to your cheeks, to your eyes, he drank in your visage. 

His eyes followed the movement of your throat as you swallowed thickly, squirming internally under his gaze. All traces of the Ghost that hardened the lines of his face had disappeared. 

“I’ll pick you up from your room at 7,” he finally spoke. 

You sucked in a sharp breath as Simon leaned in, stroking your flushed cheek softly with his knuckles. His hands were icy on your skin and the embarrassment of being seen so flustered made the situation worse. 

“I’ll be with Graves,” the lie fell from your lips in a whisper. 

“I thought it was Phil to you,” Simon feigned confusion. It was only when he took a step backward did you remember to breathe. “Seven o’clock, Sunshine. I’ll pick you and Phil up.” 

His dark chuckle followed him down the hallway and you could only watch, stunned, as he left. 

_____

6:58 PM. 

You shook your hands out as you read the clock for the 5th time in the last 10 minutes. Maybe, Simon was bluffing. You were lying straight to his face and he knew it, maybe he thought he was playing your game by pretending to be your date. What if you were the idiot for believing him? 

The door knocked at 7pm sharp. 

You froze where you stood, your heels glued to the ground. If you answered the door right away you’d look like you were waiting for him. You wanted to be cool, calm and collected- everything that you weren’t at the time. 

You waited a beat before responding. 

“Coming!” You thanked God that your voice didn’t crack. 

Forcing yourself to move, you steeled yourself and opened the door. 

Simon Riley filled the space of your doorway, his visage forcing the air from your lungs in one fell swoop.

He was fitted in a dark navy suit and tie and you swallowed thickly at the sheer size of him. You’d never really understood how wide his shoulders were until now, how impossibly daunting he was. Tall, dark, and imposing, like the Grim Reaper himself. 

Though, above all, you never realised how truly handsome Simon Riley was. 

Tousled dirty blonde hair, deep chocolate eyes, full lips, and angular features rested atop a god-like physique. 

All the grime, violence, and darkness of your jobs had stolen your attention from the physical. The chemistry between you both had been built from tension and magnetism, and now this new element had crippled you. 

Your only comfort was that Simon was staring at you with the same sense of awe. 

“You’re…” You cleared your throat, nails digging deep into your palms. Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip-

“You clean up good,” Simon released a long held breath, clenching his fists tightly before relaxing them. “You look good.” 

You let loose a started laugh, “yeah. Was about to say the same for you.” 

Silence settled between the both of you once more. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in, what was that cologne? He smelt divine, his natural scent a subtle undertone that had you clenching your jaw. 

He cleared his throat, making a show of looking over your shoulder.

"So, where's Phil?" Simon drawled.

Your heart squeezed in your chest as he offered you his hand. 

"He's inside. He's not feeling well," the words felt distant, your attention held hostage by the man before you.

With a smirk, he closed the door behind you.

"Sounds like a delicate bloke."

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Not after such a torrential history between you both, not after the way you had fought in the beginning. You were sure that he hated you, maybe the unhealthy attraction was purely circumstantial. 

You felt like you were floating as he led you down the hallway, his gaze burning into your skin. His palm was rough in all the right ways and your thoughts were poisoned by his touch. You could almost feel them travelling along the length of your thighs, slow and purposeful. 

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. 

What the hell was wrong with you? 

Your hands were sweaty and you cringed internally. Simon graciously said nothing, his gaze locked forward after you’d caught him looking at you twice. The journey to the function area felt like a silent three day trek. The quiet between you was anything but awkward, full of electricity and unsaid intentions. 

Finally arriving, you set to scanning the area for any familiar faces. Though, they found you first. 

“Oh ho, look at this sexy couple!” Soap laughed, clapping Simon’s shoulder firmly. The young sergeant was clad in a blue suit, a loose red tie, and rosy cheeks indicating that he was buzzed. Gaz stood behind him, equipped with a smug grin and a burgundy suit. 

“Good to see you’ve already run up the tab,” Simon chuckled. 

You offered a smile to both men before you, terse but genuine. You were out of your element and you felt wildly vulnerable dressed like this. 

Gaz looked you up and down appreciatively but his gaze froze at where your hands were interlocked with Simon’s. He loosed a low whistle, smug smile turning wolfish. 

“You two finally shacking it up or what?” Gaz gestured to your hands, drawing the attention of the other two men. “Soap and I have running bets on how long before you two finally got together.” 

You pulled your hand from Simon’s, cheeks flush with embarrassment. You didn’t want to hear Simon’s response to that. You couldn’t handle the inevitable flustered rejection, his snapping tone rebuking your involvement together. Not tonight. 

“Shut up, Gaz.” You hissed, brushing past him roughly. “I’m getting a drink.” 

You knew that you’d exposed yourself more with the reaction you had, you just couldn’t help it. You tipped your chin up proudly as you moved past the dancefloor and to the bar. 

“A water, please.” 

You sipped your drink, scanning the room from over the rim of your glass. The bar counter was a cool reprieve against the heated skin on your back. 

Your partner was where you’d left him with those two buffoons. Not dwelling, you moved on to the dance floor. Water caught in your throat, forcing a strangled cough. 

Was that…

König and Birdy were… dancing?

Swaying gently to the music, the couple made the vast height difference look easy. While Birdy shyly kept their eyes downwards, König watched their dance partner with a disgusting tenderness to his gaze. 

You scoffed. He was so unbelievably soft and the pair of them were on their way to becoming such a fucked up match. You could see it happening from a mile away, whether they’d admit that to themselves yet or not. 

Pain shot across your jaw and you forced yourself to unclench your teeth. You needed a cigarette- anything to provide some relief that didn’t result in you getting shit-faced at a work function. 

Price and the 141’s doctor had just come back inside, all smile lines and glittering eyes. You turned your face at the last moment to avoid chancing an interaction with the Captain. It seemed everybody but you was having a good time with their partners. 

The fresh air hit you like a miracle, cool and soothing. You raised a brow as you observed the outside patio. They had done a beautiful job with the decorations, twinkling fairy lights and a romantic atmosphere. 

With a deep sigh you trawled toward the railing, pulling a cigarette from the packet. 

Where the hell was your lighter? 

You patted yourself down, dug through your bag, and checked the packet again. A long suffering groan escaped past the cigarette between your lips. 

Fuck. 

A lighter flicked on beside you, the small glow of the flame in your peripheral. You flinched, startled at how quietly Simon had managed to approach you.  

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” your words were breathy, chest heaving as you tried to slow your heart rate down. You lit your smoke from his lighter, ignoring how close his hands were to your face. 

“Why?” Simon chuckled, his own cigarette between his lips,  “gonna take me on?” 

You shot him a withering glare, blowing the smoke sideways through pursed lips. 

“I’ve handled men like you hundreds of times,” you said archly. 

Simon snorted softly, dropping his gaze briefly. When he looked back up at you, it was through his lashes. 

“Trust me, Sunshine,” he drawled, leaning in to rest against the railing. “You’ve never handled a man like me.” 

You jammed your tongue between your teeth. 

Those chocolate eyes bore deeply into your own, drawing the heat from your skin. You took in a sharp breath and flicked your cigarette butt over the railing. The Lieutenant followed in suit, angling his body to be square with yours. You forced yourself not to look at him but you could feel him outright watching you. 

“What?” You asked roughly.

“I can’t look at ya?” Simon replied. 

“Not like that.” 

“Not like what, Sunshine?” 

You turned to face him, standing chest to chest. Your nose brushed against his as he lowered his chin. Your heart burned beneath your ribs, thrashing wildly in its cage. His air was yours, his energy electrifying. 

You hated the way you craved Simon Riley. 

“Don’t look at me like you wanna kiss me,” you whispered. 

“I’ve kissed you before,” the words were a murmur, skittering across your lips. 

“That was different,” you shook your head. “We were angry.” 

Simon hummed his deliberation. It was entirely different in a way that you couldn’t truly explain. You were both so enraged and that translated into the kiss, it was hard and unforgiving. Two stubborn forces fighting for dominance. 

But this? This was intimate, it was sober. You were vulnerable. Your need for Simon Riley was all consuming, devouring your every thought. This kiss would mean something to you and you knew that you’d only be hurt. 

“You’re worried that I don’t feel the way you do,” he said softly, those large hands settling gently on your waist. 

You stayed silent, every muscle in your body under tension. You wanted to deny those feelings outright but he had overloaded all of your senses. Smell, touch, sound, sight- all that was left was to taste. 

His forehead rested against yours, heat radiating from his skin like the sun. 

“You’re driving me insane. You and that smart mouth of yours,” he admitted roughly. 

Disappointment sunk your stomach like a rock. 

“That’s not-” 

“I need you.”  

His words were a desperate whisper. 

“I need you, Sunshine.” He rasped the same words. “Could die at any fuckin’ moment in this job but to not even try is just…”

He swallowed thickly, his grip tightening on your waist. Simon didn’t finish but you knew what he wanted to say. You’d rather have him and lose him than not have had him at all-  a conclusion that the man before you had also come to. 

“I need you too.” 

The words fell from your mouth to his tongue. 

Every nerve ending in your body was alight as his lips met yours in a delicate dance. You were in his enthrallment, trapped in the web of Simon Riley, with no intention of leaving. His hands seared your skin with every touch and you felt like you’d finally ascended. 

Every part of him overwhelmed your senses- smell, touch, taste, you felt drunk. Your fingers ran through his hair as he pressed you against the railing. You needed more. More of his touch, more skin, more, more, more. 

Simon Riley had finally laid his soul bare to you. He needed you the way you needed him, all of you. Your mind, body, and soul. 

All that was left was the exchange. 

And you knew that tonight, in the safety of your bedroom and under the protection of the darkness, you would give it all to him. 

[thaleraq]

Это так забавно)) Соуп такой милашка в таком виде, вхвхвхв. Гоуст же как обычно бэд бой, хаха. 😄

according to my beloved cat-wife's idea 🎄