#simon ghos

[bunnys-kisses]

Hey bunny please can I get some Belgian waffles with a mince pie and a lemon slice with a margarita and a espresso shot (with Ghost) Ps: you’re one of the best COD smut writers fr

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i accept for all kinds of fandoms, so please don't hesitate to check it out! thank you! as for this lovely anon, thank you for the submission!

belgian waffles ("i cum in that every night.") + mince pie ("i'm not jealous.") + lemon slice ("i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making.") + margarita (unprotected sex) + espresso shot (dirty talking) served by simon "ghost" riley (call of duty)!!

cw: smut/pwp, unprotected sex, jealousy, dirty talking, possessive!simon, creampies, wife!reader, (semi)dom!reader, cowgirl position. mentions of cheesecake

simon loved his missus. oh, there was no other woman quite like you. you and simon had be married for two years now and he still hadn't got tired of you. when you laughed, he smiled. something he thought he'd never do after the life of suffering he had. he believed his heart still beat because you loved the sound of it.

you were his wife, the lovely mrs. riley. and it took years of suffering for simon to realize that if he loved something. he had to hold is close. and with you, you were the closest to him.

which was why he was a little protective over you.

"simon james riley." you said with your arms crossed, "you are the most possessive man in all of this country. hell, maybe this entire continent! and don't think a cheesecake is going to make it all up to me."

simon slumped his shoulders a little, "love, please."

you crossed your arms tighter and eyed your husband, "simon. you told my male co-worker, quote, 'i cum in that every night'. you jealous fuck!" you threw your arms up.

simon attempted to defend himself by saying, "i'm not jealous.", he was a ghost on the battlefield. he handled more dangerous missions than the average special-ops soldier. he was battled bruised and scarred. but yet, under your stern gaze, he felt very human. where most assumed that the hulking size of mister riley meant he wore the pants in the relationship, it was quite the opposite, mrs. riley was the head of the house.

"simon. please. you know that i love you more than there are drops of water in the ocean." you dropped your arms, it was impossible for you to stay mad at him forever. he was your beloved husband. you got closer to him on the couch and dropped into his wide lap and took his square jaw in your delicate hands, "there's no need to get possessive of me."

he sighed and wrapped his strong arms around you. you held onto his face and guided it to yours. you kissed him on the lips and he eagerly kissed back. when he pulled him he cuddled you closer in his grasp and said, "it's not. it's them. i've seen every shade in a man. if somethin' happened to ya, love. i'd never be the same. i'd be a real ghost then."

"then don't make me send you to the afterlife because you keep telling people how much you finish in me." you said, shaking your fist at him. it wasn't totally serious, but it also wasn't totally joking. you knew simon worried, there was a reason you had your location on all the time when you went out.

you knew your husband had seen so much hurt in the world. the kind of pain that you couldn't wrap your head around. you had seen the scars from his father, caked into his skin. jagged and rough. even though they were buried under tattoos, you could still make them out. your husband's life had been rough, so you couldn't stay mad forever.

you placed your hands on his broad chest then gripped onto the front of his well loved navy blue shirt. you leaned towards him and gave him another kiss, "thank you though." you had to admit.

he raised an eyebrow and looked at you curiously. you were about to bite his head off and now you were thanking him?

"for wanting to protect me. i know it's only second nature for you." you patted his chest before you got up from his lap. you held out your hand to him, so small compared to his, "i know you love me, simon. even when you drive me up the wall with your... brash comments." you slumped your shoulders a little, "it feels nice to know that someone out there loves me."

he got up and took your hand. his hands were so rough and dry. they were like polar bear paws compared to yours. then again most things on him were bigger compared to you. he pulled you close to him and wrapped a strong arm around your waist. he looked down at you said said, "anythin' for you, lovie. you're my wife. i made that promise to ya, and i intend to keep it. don't like liars and men who don't look after their women." then let you out of his grasp to lead you to the bedroom.

you gave him a slight push onto the bed and he was already taking his shirt off. there was something about your husband being dominant that was a turn on. but, sometimes you wanted that control. and simon was more than happy to hand it over. like as he got undressed without you even having to ask. his strong body was exposed to you from his thick tattooed arms, to his dirty blond happy trail, to thighs that could crack someone's neck. he was so physically imposing compared to you. but you held his invisible chain.

you stood there with your hands at your hips, feeling simons' gaze along your body. you asked him, "are you going to be a good boy for me, si? be the boy i know you can be."

you watched that thick neck swallow and his cock stand a full mast. you giggled, the answered your question. you felt his gaze intensify on you as you undressed. exposing your curves to the man you married. you heard him shift on your squeaky bed.

once nude, you got into bed and straddled your husband's waist. he laid back onto the bed and watched you get on top of him. your pussy rubbed against his hard cock and you let out a soft noise. but when you sank down on his impressive length, he was the one making all the noises.

"shit, love. holy fuck. shit! shit!" he groaned as he buried his hands into your hips. not enough to harm you, but enough to feel closer to you. his words were silenced by your lips, tender and sweet against his.

"i'm sorry, what was that, si? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making." you giggled, lips close to his. he could feel the jump in his pulse. you took him in for another kiss and moved your hips against his. his cock hit in all the right areas and it made him pant heavily.

his eyes could've rolled back into his head, "nothin', love. i'm sorry. i'm sorry for scarin' off your co-worker. i just, i just want to make sure you keep bein' my woman. my life."

you took a hold of his face as you moved up and down on his cock. you peppered his face with kisses as you moved, going across every scar on the flesh.

you moved against him, the friction made him see stars. oh, you were perfect. even with your size difference, you still took him so well. he was honoured in all honesty. you worked so hard, he remembered having to give you the dimensions of his cock so you could find a toy close enough to its size to practice on. while that wasn't a story told at your wedding, it did get him through a lonely two weeks in austria. knowing you were back home riding silicone to make yourself better for him (as if you weren't perfect).

he held onto your hips and let you work against him. he could feel the pounding in his chest at the sight of you. and you were the same way. you placed your hands on either side of his wide chest and moved up and down his cock.

big scary man reduced to pathetic moans and soft words by his wife's body. it would be cute if it wasn't so pathetic.

"see what happens when you're a good boy, simon? you get all this and more. your wife's pretty cunt. i know you drool for it every day. kick off those boots, get out of your mask and starting hunting to get a taste of me." you purred in his ear. it made him feel fuzzy all over.

you felt your heartbeat in your throat as you kept moving. you clutched onto the covers and really put your back into it. his cock hit so perfectly, it made you see star behinds your eyelids.

it felt so, so good. it lit a fire in you to make you two reach your orgasms. he watched your body work with him, rutting against him. it left warmth in your belly, and pooled into your limbs.

"i love you." you said.

"i love you too. fuck i love ya." he groaned as he felt the shudder of pleasure through his body.

such a rough man that would fold so easily for you. you rose and dropped your hips at a quicker pace. simon's pants were heavy as he watched you climax. as you arched your back and gasped into the air. your body went tense and it made simon finish inside of you.

cumming in your pussy settled a beast in simon's blood. that he had marked his beloved from the inside. it made a little something rise him that was settled when you slowed to a stop and rested your head against his shoulder. his cock was semi-hard and still nestled inside of you. you sighed contently.

"you are the most possessive man in this country, si."

he wrapped his arms around you as you let your bodies cool down. both breathing heavily from the after shivers of pleasure. he said softly, "yeah, love. but, only because you're my whole world. only a fuckin' idiot would lose you."

you looked up at your husband and kissed him on the lips, "well then, mister riley. i think there is an apology cheesecake in the fridge waiting for us. or at least me, since you bought it for me." it had slipped your mind earlier, but now you craved something sweet.

simon cupped your ass for a moment before he kissed you. anything for his loving missus. the woman of his life <3

[cherryatombomb]

ghost who doesnt really know how to fix things when people are sad but hes very practical so when soap is sad he just whips out a mug and makes him tea. soap is upset over something? tea. soap is crying over a movie? tea. soap is sick? tea. it gets to the point where he has a specific Sad Mug for him (it's a mug in the shape of a ghost. soap bought it bc he thought it was funny. its now the designated sad mug)

soaps a little bewildered to begin with when hes a little irritated after training because of his shoulder acting up, or something, and ghost just. appears with tea. gives it to him. then backs off. hes just???

and then it simply continues. soap doesnt even know how ghost knows hes sad he just appears every time somehow. he begins to pavlov himself into feelin a little relief every time he sees the Sad Mug bc it reminds him of ghost... doesnt use it outside of sad time bc it just feels sacred

simply. ghost who doesnt really know how to help when sad, but hes so practical he does his best to fix it for soap anyway

[angstyfandomhappyending]

Soap, during one of the rare occasions when 141 are given a week off and he goes back to his empty apartment in Glasgow, is working on erasing a disturbing stain from the kitchen counter when there's two solid knocks on the front door.

Soap pauses, takes out the buds from his ears which wasn't playing any music any longer since he had finished arranging his misbegotten cupboards with an array of odd looking cereals - the battery on his phone died - and toyed with the idea of grabbing a recently cleaned knife from the counter.

But he had spent a god-awful amount of time cleaning the surface of the blades spotless as the remnants of the last conversation he had with a certain superior officer played louder than any music he was hearing.

His musings are again cut short by two perfect knocks, spaced out evenly and sounding somehow crisper.

How can anyone make knocks sound so confident?

One name pops up in his head like those half-burnt breads from the toaster that Soap had managed to finagle into working in the canteen. For others, the results would be less than favourable.

He wipes that name and the odd sensation in his chest away. He wraps his fingers around the scrubber more securely. He doesn't need sharp objects to maim anything walking.

He opens the door in a rush, not waiting to analyse why on earth he never thought before buying the room that there's no peephole at all.

He comes face to face with a chest covered in a soft cream - coloured sweater stretched fine over the shadows of collarbone ending in a high-neck collar and a non-descriptive face mask.

The hand of his lieutenant is still in the air, paused mid-way. His beautiful brown eyes are shadowed by those criminally ethereal blonde lashes, his ashen blonde hair hidden inside a coffee-brown patchwork of Beretta hat and - and Soap thinks he just lost touch with his brain.

Basic cognitive functions, do you copy?

Negative.

Ghost coughs, because it is actually him standing in his doorsteps and looking like the epitome of 'cozy adorable bear' results on Pinterest - not that he knows - in flesh. Is here, truly here in Scotland. In front of Soap - who is just in his worn down shorts and a dirty apron.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Soap. May I come in?"

That quirk of the eyebrow should not make Soap tremble for fuck's sake.

"LT. What are you doing here?"

Ghost looks at Soap, for a moment the silence stretches and Soap kicks himself to high heaven for his brain currently seizing inside his skull when the man in front of him holds up a bourbon in a paper bag and another paper bag which floods Soap's nostrils with a sickly sweet fragrant.

"I have Shortbread."

If Soap tugs the sickeningly sweet and adorably stiff superior officer inside his house and proceeds to ravish said superior officer on the partially cleaned kitchen counter - top, well. It was his dear LT's fault for taking him up on the offer he made for company before they set out for the leave.

[karlachismylife]

Hello again! I really really loved all your ideas, i might have been a bit expectant of what you will respond for my last ask so i might have check your profile from time to time mostly because i had read the posts that came after i asked that and i was worried that you were overworking yourself, and sorry if you didn't understand some parts of what i wrote, my first language isn't english (I actually have Spanish as my first language) and i tend to write fast and some words come without the proper grammar and about the merman themes i love both ideas, it even came to my mind the creature called leviathan! Which is said that it lurks in the deepest part of the oceans, I'm stay for the long run so, expect some messages from time to time! Take care of yourself and don't overdo it! With love and care

~🐰❄️

ghasp HELLOOOOO I'm so excited to see you again!! I was a bit worried I lost you because of how long it took me to reply last time 💔 you are so sweet, thank you for your concern, I am trying to keep myself balanced so I don't just burn out <3 and I understand you perfectly fine! That tritons thingy was just my brain going funny route on its own.

Damn I gotta learn Spanish finally.

Oooh Leviathan is a good one too! He has sooo many different depictions, one actually has several heads, so... Ghost Alone Skin Leviathan anyone? A creature of the depths, inexplainable, apocaliptic beast that would bow to no man or god, willingly going pliant and docile for you? God's spear couldn't stop its relentless rage, but your touch on the scaly skin soothes the tortured mind of a lonely, blind, creature, lurking aimlessly as it awaits the end of all times.

There's also a theme of saints and righteous people feasting on Leviathan's flesh after the beast is defeated. But what if we make it (you guessed it) a sex thing. A pure soul tasting the flesh of the beast and trailing on the border (oh how I love this often used duality) between gaining enlightment and getting corrupted. And yes, by that I mean sucking him off. Did I intertwine cannibalism and oral sex again? Well, whoopsie.

Honestly, I'm so glad you liked what ideas I threw out there. I love exchanging ideas with you. They just get me going, damn. And yupeeee I'm so glad you're staying!!! I hope I'll get to work on some of those ideas in the near future ehehehe.

Love you back three times more! You take care of yourself too <3

[konigsblog]

Im litteraly about to start bawling i just learned about Ghosts truama….how the fuck did he survive that and not loose his mind? Tw for the topics im about to talk about

Mans was SA’d by random people, witnessed people die and was forced to laugh at them, had his father and brother scare him all the time, his father would bring dangerous animals in the house (he made Simon kiss a snake), his brother would scare him at night by staring at him while wearing a ghost mask, his father took him to parties and at one party his father killed a hooker and made him laugh at her, his father was abusive, all as a child. And growing up this continued. He joins the military. At one point is captured and tortured for days on end but never cracks, he gets buried alive on top of the body of a rotting corpse for days but somehow escapes. he goes back home and finds out his father is still abusive and cheating on his mother and his brother is a drug addict. He helps his brother and beats the shit out of his dad and kicks him out. He goes back. Someone is sent to kill his family and succeeds. He finds the person and kills them and the man who tortured him. He blows up his house and leaves his dogtags behind to fake his death and then becomes “Ghost”. Link for a better explanation: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT88QcDrH/

i feel so bad for him. How did he not loose his mind? Im almost in tears i feel so bad. :(

-🩷

tw; simon's childhood description.

real, i remember looking up his background a few months ago (quite a while) and hearing about his past. it's traumatic, and it's the main reason i believe he wouldn't be rough during sex, due to the fact he'd faced that during his childhood in manchester and at his work, cleaning up enemies and leaving them bloodied.

he prefers softer sex, he goes fast but not aggressively fast, just enough to get the both of you finished and sticky.

and like i said a few weeks back, being locked in a coffin with a dead body, the decomposing smell. decomposition is a scent you will never forget, it's pungent and you'll forever remember it when you smell it. as well as the rotting of the corpse; blue bottles and flies creating maggots, don't forget about the ants. maggots eating away at the flesh and how he had to use the mans jawbone to crack through the coffin and dig his way up, he'd been so lost mentally. he wouldn't know what to think after seeing the light and sun again.

back to his childhood, dealing with his brother's addiction to drugs, helping him get a wife and have a kid (who became simon's nephew) only to find them deceased, just like the man he'd been buried beside. all that to find them dead, gone.

[punk-jester]

after soap and ghost get married all 141 buys them matching sweaters with "homiesexual" written on them

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c.10 preview.

simon riley x original character

abstract: hey this is Jude. you doing alright? you'd never guess who I saw! anyways, I'm almost happy in this chapter and then I'm angry again. I've been angry my whole life guys I swear. also, had a special someone with me that night, can you guess who my passenger princess was?

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Come a little closer, Cage the elephant.

Her eyes lingered on 'The Pilgrimage' which she kept as a souvenir from her Sherlock CIA experience with the Arash case. She fished out a lighter from her bag and opened the book in front of her. She liked reading it, she enjoyed it. She had never been much of a religious person, though she was raised catholic. She respected the idea of faith, how it guided people, how it made you feel less alone. She had a thought. A tiny one. A sneaky suspicion. The little urge to lurk. It was a little lightbulb moment, a cinematic sequence in which the music stopped and then violins started playing as she began to think.

'Hop in? I need to talk to you'. Her eyes were even a prettier colour in this light. They looked translucent. Her skin was shining and golden under the sunlight. 'Can it wait?' He tried to avoid getting in the car with her. Deeply unprofessional. Where did she want to take him anyway, couldn't they talk in his office? What was it she wanted to tell him. 'I'll take you back here when we're done, just a little ride’. She wasn't giving up. Am I being fucking kidnapped by you, Jude? Most guys wouldn't really complain to be honest, but still…

She turned towards him before he had a chance to open the door. 'I'm very sorry you had to witness that, I truly am.' She blinked a few times trying to hide her embarrassment. She messed up all her chances to get him to listen to what she had found now. 'It's fine', he said. His voice was soft. His hand was on the door handle but he wouldn't open the door yet. 'Okay… I'm sorry either way I shouldn't have… done all this.'

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

[annaphoenix1994]

Ch.91 - Antics

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

Kiera and Simon take a desired bath together, returning to the playful banter that made them fall in love with each other in the first place.

Once the end of the week came, Simon was anxious to have his much-needed - and well deserved - paid vacation. He had worked an additional ten hours of overtime to get things done, but it didn't come without being stressed and overwhelmed. He embraced his usual routine, walking into their home and greeting Jacob and Evie in their cribs before quietly walking into the living room to glance over at Baler, seeing him sleeping on the couch. Simon wouldn't admit it, but he was impressed by how much the teenager's behavior had improved over the last few days - how he managed to be first to the barn in the morning and catching on rather quickly with the barn routine and horse care routine, how polite he was when he met Kiera's parents for dinner his second night at the household, and how he had quickly earned his sanction back into staying in their home. 

Although it didn't mean he didn't slip beneath Simon's radar when it came to keeping a close eye on him.

"You're up early, love." Simon grinned, leaning against the doorframe of the nursery, his eyes fixated on Kiera as she clutched Jacob close to her chest, rocking him slowly back and forth in a last-minute attempt to soothe him from his fit. 

"I feel bad." She frowned. 

"Why?" 

"I was sleeping too hard or something," She explained, sighing. "I didn't hear him crying through the baby monitor and Baler actually woke me up to tell me one of them was crying." 

"He came into our bedroom?" 

"Yeah? It's not a federal crime, Simon. I know it's out of respect, but he had a reason to." 

"I guess," He shrugged. "But don't feel guilty about not hearing Jacob cry." 

"I can't help but feel guilty. I didn't wake up because I didn't hear him cry. I was sleeping too hard and I'm not sure how long he was crying for." 

"Kiera. That's not it. You haven't been sleeping decent since you came home from the hospital. It's not your fault that you were in a deep sleep. I think it's your body telling you that you need rest." 

"I shouldn't need rest, though. I barely do anything it feels like. I haven't been cleared to go back to work yet and I can barely do anything without getting winded. I feel so lazy-"

"Stop," He sighed, stepping close to her and kneeling next to the rocking chair. "You're not lazy. And just because you haven't been cleared to go back to work doesn't mean you haven't been productive. You're always doing something. This house is clean enough to where you can eat from the floor and taking care of these little loves and keeping your eye on a troubled teenager. Do you not believe me when I say you're mum of the year?"

She couldn't help but blush at his words, "I hear it every time you say it, babe. Every time you do, I have a sliver of hope that I could bring a pair of another set of twins." 

"Don't tempt me, love," He chuckled, leaning up to press a kiss to her temple. "If that's what you want, then I'll make it happen." 

"Although I wouldn't mind waiting a couple of years before trying again. I couldn't imagine being pregnant again when they're not even a year old yet." She hummed. 

"Whenever you're ready," He nodded, leaning up to press a kiss to her temple. "I'm going to go take a shower before I lay down. Care to join me?" 

"I will. Although I'm in the mood for a hot bath," She sighed. "My back has been killing me." 

"Then a bath it is. I'll meet you in there, yeah?" 

"When he calms down and goes back to sleep." She smiled up at him, seeing the excitement in his tired eyes. 

"Do you need help with anything?" 

"Not this time, babe. I have it all under control," She shook her head. "Their bottles are already made and I have Baler's lunch packed for him when he goes to the barn." 

Simon nodded, reaching out to tuck a piece of her stray hair behind her ear, taking note of how tucking her hair out of her face was last on her agenda when it came to tending to her child. He knew she was exhausted, but even with a flushed complexion, sore breasts, an aching back, and swollen feet, he couldn't resist obsessing and admiring how she seemed to make tending to their infants easy. Natural. 

Being a mum is the most beautiful thing about you, love. 

A thought that crossed his mind every single day.

With a last glance at her from over his shoulder, he began to remove his tactical vest and holsters from his waist, setting them on the chair in their bedroom that was tucked between the wall and the dresser, removing his weapons and putting them in the small safe that sat under the chair, concealed by a decorative blanket that Kiera would drape over the chair, the fabric smelling of softener and a hint of his cologne that he put on every day, knowing Kiera loved it when he would come home smelling of the fragrance she had gifted him for his birthday and Christmas. 

He sat his phone on his side of the bed, carelessly neglecting its need for a full charge as he took note of the time being a quarter past eight - way past his usual time he would usually lay down for bed. A bath with her is worth staying up for, he thought, pushing the thought of sleep from his mind to make time to spend with her, thankful that they both had the option to go to sleep whenever they desired instead of wondering when they'd get the chance for rest when they were on deployment together. And to think if I would've pushed her away instead of getting to know her, I'd probably be sitting in the desert somewhere by now...

As he waited on Kiera to finish up soothing Jacob from his early morning fit, he rid his body of the sweat and exhaustion with a quick and productive shower, desperately wanting to enjoy the bath with Kiera instead of worrying about riding his body of the night's work as well as the thin layer of sweat that caked his skin. With a towel around his waist while he let the water run for the bath, he searched in the closet for the basket of bath bombs Kiera obsessed over. He always wondered why she spent so much time in the bathtub, wondering what could be so fascinating or enjoyable about sitting in hot water, but he quickly found his answer when becoming a father fell into the mix, beginning to enjoy the peace and quiet in either the early morning or late evening as well as the entertainment of watching Kiera find it amusing how the bath bomb fizzed and dissolved away within a matter of minutes.

And their intimate moments in the bath was a plus, too. 

A few minutes later, her voice broke the low tone of the running water, causing Simon's gaze to look at her through the mirror as he brushed his teeth, ridding his mouth of the excess toothpaste before turning to her with a warm grin. "The water isn't three-hundred degrees like you prefer, but it's pretty hot." He exaggerated, winning a soft laugh from her lips. 

"For a man that's not afraid of anything, you sure are nervous when it comes to taking a hot bath." 

"I'd prefer to keep my skin from sticking to the tub when I go to get out." 

She arched her brow, "Uh huh. Remind me to bring a violin next time." 

"I didn't know you could play a violin." 

"I can't, but anything to drown out your complaints of hot water." She giggled. 

"Fair enough," He shrugged, chuckling before he approached her, the sight of her in a silk robe nearly driving him wild. "I'll tweak the water heater so it'll be four-hundred degrees for you." 

"Make it five. I still have extra burn cream." She smiled. 

He huffed at the memory, hating when she joked about it - or any of her traumatic memories for that matter - but somehow found himself curious as to how she seemed so comfortable to joke about things she had been through. Laughter is a coping mechanism, he would remember her saying, although the phrase never failed to make him frown at the thought. 

"I'd prefer you to not have to use that stuff again," He sighed, glancing at the puffy scar that snuck over her shoulder, lightly tracing the pad of his index finger against its edge. "Can I get my morning kiss?" 

She giggled, "You know I'd never turn it down." 

He smiled as she lifted herself onto her toes as she wrapped her arms around his neck, rewarding him with a warm kiss while his hands fell to her waist, his index and middle fingers clasping the excess fabric of her silk robe between his fingers and thumb. He watched as her tongue briefly appeared to lick her bottom lip before he kissed her forehead, leaning down to turn off the water as she got herself a towel. "Did you pick out a bath bomb?" 

"The bombs I pick turn into a weapon of mass destruction, not a ball of glitter," He poked. "Besides, I didn't know what season you were in the mood for." 

She couldn't help that she loved having seasonal decorations, especially little things around the house such as wax melts and bath bombs, but she could partially blame her mother for her seasonal decoration obsession. 

That, and it was comforting to her. 

Simon wasn't complaining - if he were to admit, he'd rather religiously rid his body of excess glitter from a stupid bath bomb if it meant she was happy. It's also better than ridding my body of blood and lead...

Never in a decade would I have thought I'd have a firecracker of a fiancé and two kids, he thought. And never would I have thought I'd be watching her figure out if she'd rather use a Halloween themed bath bomb or a simple pink bath bomb that smelled like honey. I'll never understand women, but I surely understand how she makes it so easy to make me happy. It really is the little things...

"Hm," She furrowed her brows as she rummaged through the basket. "Here's a cute Halloween-themed one that we didn't use-"

"By we, you mean you." He chuckled. 

"Yeah, right. I think you've been using my bath bombs when I'm not around..." 

"Love, I don't take a bath unless you're with me. I don't wait until my fingers look like raisins to get out of the shower." 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," She scoffed playfully. "Mister military pants always taking a two-minute shower." 

"I'll remember that when you're complaining about the water bill next month." He poked, smirking at the playful glare she shot at him from over her shoulder. 

"Fine. Guess we'll have to make this bath quick like our times in bed, huh?" 

He shot a playful glare back, knowing she was lying, but he always liked proving her wrong when it came to their romance, "How many times have I proven you wrong on that theory?" 

"I can't recall you ever proving me wrong." She giggled. 

"Keep that up and I'll make you count again." He threatened humorously, recalling their first night of intimacy together, smirking at the thought of her begging for her release after an hour into the session, knowing he could go much longer if he desired, but he knew her sexual stamina came nowhere near his. 

"Is that a threat, Chief?" 

He huffed a sexually frustrated breath, knowing she was beginning to tease him, especially by calling him out of his rank. "It's about to be an order, love." 

She turned her head away from him to hide the satisfied smirk on her face, hoping Simon didn't take notice. 

But he did. 

"Already this flustered before nine this morning, yeah? That's what I thought." 

"Just for that, I'm going to use this one," She said, revealing the bath bomb he hated so much every time they bathed together - the fucking neon pink one laced with glitter and left him smelling like vanilla. He huffed in defeat, sinking his shoulders and playfully rolling his eyes. "I think you're due to smell like me all day for making threats at me." She giggled. 

He couldn't help how his legs began moving towards her, his frame towering over hers as his hands found themselves resting on her hips and how his neck craned to nestle against the crown of her head, "It wasn't a threat, love." 

"Sounded like one," She shrugged. "Or a promise, I couldn't tell. But you're not going to snuggle and plea your way out of this one, babe. You're going to have glitter all over you and smell like me." She giggled, feeling the stubble on his chin scratch against her neck as he peppered innocent kisses against her flushed skin. 

"I mean, I don't mind smelling like you since I can't get enough of it, but there's a fine line between smelling good and having glitter all over me. That shite wouldn't come off of my leg hair for days." 

"Awe, then you can shave 'em." 

"That's a big negative." 

She turned around to face him, playfully pressing the bath bomb into his hand, "Then I guess you'll just have to deal with it," She giggled, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin, knowing the simple gesture had him heated within his core, a silent invitation to unlimited intimacy they both craved. I'm definitely fine with not sleeping today, he huffed to himself, his blood coursing with testosterone and desire for her. He gripped the bath bomb in his hand tighter as he watched her remove her robe from her shoulders, letting it gather at her ankles before stepping out of it, stepping to the side to turn on the LED strip light that lined the ceiling above the bathtub before turning off the primary lights, knowing it would help relax Simon as he had begun to grow prone to headaches early in the morning due to the bright sun as well as bright lights within their home:

He watched as she eased herself down into the tub, humming in satisfaction at the warm water hugging her aching back and legs, her eyes closing in bliss before bringing her knees up closer to her chest, her eyes opening to look at him as he stood next to the tub, contemplating on if he should hastily strategize how to switch the bath bombs to something that she wouldn't notice, but he didn't. Instead, his train of thought was broken by her soft voice, "I'll close my eyes and won't look at you when you take off your towel." She teased. 

He scoffed, "Not like you haven't seen it before." 

"Yeah, not like I haven't had it in my mouth before either." 

"Well, there's a difference between fun and cold, love." 

She giggled, "I know that. Can't you tell?" She arched her brow, referring to her erect nipples at the sensation of both arousal and being exposed to the cold air after removing her robe. 

"Oh, I can tell just fine with you." He huffed, removing the towel from his waist before entering the tub, sitting directly across from her as her ankles draped over the bend of his hip, his free arm loosely clutching the bath bomb as the other rested against her leg, his thumb rubbing circles against her smooth skin. 

"What're you waiting for, babe?" She giggled. "I want to watch it fizz!" 

She knew she was playfully frustrating him, knowing he was dreading when the bath bomb would leave a fucking layer of glitter over their skin as well as the tub, but he tolerated it only because of her. That, and he knew his teammates wouldn't let him live it down if they found out they bathed together with the appearance of a stupid fizzy ball that left silver glitter clinging to his leg hair and junk like a bad disease. Glitter Knob, as Soap would call it. 

He brought his arm up above his head, glaring at her before releasing the bath bomb from his fingers, letting it splash into the water as well as all over them, the pair smirking at the other at his antics. "Simon Riley!"

"Ooh, I must be in trouble if you use my full name." He chuckled, watching her smile at him as well as a satisfied gleam in her eye, unaware that his eyes held the same gleam when he looked at her. 

"You splashed water all over me after dropping it!" 

"Well, we are in the bath, you should expect a splash of water every now and then." 

She giggled before playfully pressing the ball of her foot against his stomach, watching as his hands disappeared under the water to grasp her foot, curling his finger against her arch and moving it back and forth, his grip tightening on her ankle when she tried to pull her foot away, shrieking as the sensation tickled not only her foot, but sending a jolt all the way up her spine. "No shit!" 

"So you agree? Then why are you complaining? Mad you got a splash of water over that pretty face?" He teased. 

She scoffed, using her free hand to shove the dissolving bath bomb towards him, pleased at how it left a cluster of glitter against his chest. "You need some glitter over that chest of yours." 

"I'll wear it if you get it off. I'm due for feeling those hands on my chest, love." 

"Mhm. You keep up those antics and I won't touch you for a while." 

"I know that's a lie." 

"Are you sure about that?" She glared. 

"Positive." 

"How so?"

"Because when you're lying, your lips curl into a grin that you can't hide. Looks like the C.I.A lass can't keep a straight face after all." He teased. 

"Yeah? And turns out Mister Ghost takes hot baths with glitter bombs." She retorted, arching her brow. 

His heart thudded against his chest at the sound of his callsign leaving her lips. How can she make my callsign sound so damn delightful?

"Since you seem to call me by my callsign, I might just go back to wearing a mask all the time." He smirked.

"Hey, I'll gladly take glitter baths with Simon or Ghost any day," She smirked. "The man I love can't hide behind a mask, babe." 

[pitzypitzy]

[shotmrmiller]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

[gloomwitchwrites]

His teammates call you because he isn't handling the break up well.

I'm gonna be honest, Anon. I went a more humorous route with this (but some angst in there too because why not!) I'm just imagining all of them being completely pathetic and the one calling is on the phone like "come get your man please." So, with that being said, I hope you enjoy this!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, some angst, established relationship, breakups. brief humor

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“You have two minutes,” you say immediately after answering your phone.

“You need to call him,” comes Simon’s gruff voice on the other end.

You’ve only met Simon a handful of times, but he’s always been your favorite of John’s team. He has consistently treated you with kindness and respect, and he never oversteps boundaries.

“Why?” you ask, glancing at your nails, pretending you don’t care.

“He fucking misses you.”

“That’s not enough of a reason,” you reply.

It isn’t. Not really. Even if your heart aches and your stomach flips from hearing it.

“Captain isn’t taking the breakup well.”

You want to say that you aren’t either, even though you’re the one who ended things. In reality, you miss John. It’s agonizing.

“And?” you ask, trying to hide the slight crack in your voice.

“He has us running laps around the fucking track, love. Haven’t done that since I was a grunt who couldn’t properly tie his boot laces.”

You sigh. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“Yes.” Simon’s response is immediate.

Rubbing your temple, you decide to take a leap. It wouldn’t hurt to talk. Not really. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank fuck,” he breathes.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“This is absurd,” you mutter, rubbing the middle of your brow, irritation building in the back of your head.

“Just give us a few minutes,” comes Captain Price’s voice. It’s Kyle’s boss, but he’s not the only one on the phone.

“Oh, aye. Hear us out.” Soap is there, too.

For all you know, Ghost is lingering on the call, a silent entity listening in but not saying anything.

“Why? Give me a reason?”

“Kyle misses you,” says Price.

“He loves you, lass.”

This isn’t new information. You’re aware of how Kyle feels but that doesn’t change things. The two of you are not together anymore. He needs to move on.

“He’s not handling the breakup well.” This time it’s Ghost. The silent man speaks.

“What do you want me to do,” you sigh.

“Talk to him,” says Price.

“No.”

Your phone buzzes and you hold it away from your ear. It’s a text from Price. You click on it, revealing a photo.

It’s Kyle. He’s curled up in his bed in the barracks, clutching a teddy bear he won you at a carnival on your first date.

“We can come get you,” says Price.

“Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“I’m sorry, John. But you shouldn’t have called. I don’t want to hear it.”

There is a deep sigh on the other end of the phone. You respect Captain John Price. The few times you’ve met him, he’d been pleasant, and he was always the first one to greet you whenever you visited Johnny on base.

“I understand that you broke it off with him.”

“John—”

“Listen. Please.”

He genuinely sounds concerned, and that gives you pause.

It’s not like you and Johnny ended things on bad terms. His life is busy. It’s dangerous. You just don’t fit in it, and the stress of never knowing when or if he’s going to come home is something far to difficult a thing to carry with you.

“He’s been struggling. Had to corner him in my office to get him to talk. He’s really hurting.”

You swallow. Lick your lips. “Why are you calling me, John?”

“I want you to talk to him.”

“John—”

“Soap is currently facedown in his bed in the barracks. Sulking.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to him.”

“In person,” says John. It sounds like a command. Not an ask.

“Fine, John,” you reply, grabbing your car keys.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You need to talk to him. Simon is a bloody mess.”

“He’s fine, Johnny. He’ll get over. There was no reason for you to call me.”

Johnny snorts on the other end. “You don’t think so? I thought he was going to crush a new recruit’s skull in this morning.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not interested in talking with Simon right now.”

Is it really a breakup? No. Not really. More like a separation. Simon has your whole heart, but he’s stubborn and cold. His shell is difficult to crack.

“That’s too bad. Because I’m here.”

“You’re—what?”

“Aye. Walking up to your front door right now.”

You blink. Aghast. “John MacTavish you better not—”

There is a sharp series of knocks at your front door. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter.

Growling, you storm to the front door, phone still pressed to your ear. You unlatch the deadbolt and yank the door open. Johnny is standing on the other side, his phone also held to his ear. He gives you his biggest grin.

You want to smack it right off his face.

“What are you doing?”

Johnny ends the call. “I’m taking you to Simon.”

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@whisperwispxx @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @arrozyfrijoles23

[bunnys-kisses]

simon riley custard tart sparkling water pretty please 🥺

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! there's tons of things avaliable! i love getting your suggestions, so please, keep 'em coming! as for this lovely anon, i see what you're cooking up there! a nice gentle smut fic but, i chose to make it inexperienced!simon who wants to make sure that his girl is taken care of! so thank you!

custard tart ('i've never done this before") + sparkling water (gentle sex) served by simon "ghost" riley (call of duty)!!

cw: smut/pwp, first time, virgin!simon, gentle sex, size kink, cowgirl position

simon knew he was a big man. an ugly, big man, who could easily crush you. if it was his hands around your throat or even press to hard of his weight onto your body.

he was a solid mass and the last thing he wanted was to harm the love of his life. so his hugs were loose and his kisses were soft. and even after six months of dating, you still haven't had sex together. you did everything else together,

it wasn't until you asked him simply, "si, why have you not fucked me yet?"

he swallowed and replied, "afraid of hurtin' ya... never been with someone before." he hunched his shoulders a little.

that was when you knew that you'd have to take control if you wanted to have sexual intimacy with simon. you promised him that you'd control the pace and that you'd make sure that you didn't get hurt.

when simon felt comfortable with the idea of having sex with you. he placed a large hand between your shoulder blades and said, "it hurts, you stop. i ain't tearin' up my woman."

and you kissed the scar on his chin, "si, i promise. and we'll have a lot of fun." then took him by the hand to lead him to the bedroom.

he sighed, "'i've never done this before, i'm sorry, love." he sat on the edge of the bed once you got into the bedroom. he watched you with those big brown eyes of his as you got out of your baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. he caught sight of your cute nude coloured bra and leaned a little forward, "i'm sorry i can't be more help, love."

you chuckled, "well i guess that means i can teach you everything. there's nothing to be ashamed about, si." you reached him and pulled him close, his head against your chest. you combed your fingers through his short hair, "thank you for trusting me enough to want to have sex with me."

he chuckled a little, "i'd trust ya to do my open heart surgery." he looked up at you, his chin dug into your chest. those beautiful brown eyes gazed at you with such love that you felt your stomach do a flip. oh, he was amazing.

you then pulled at the shoulders of his t-shirt before you took it off his back, exposing his broad, scarred chest to you. you admired him and smiled a little but, "painfully handsome."

he shook his head, "no way. you're the nice looking one. i got an ugly mug." he chuckled before he was laid on his back by you. he got fully onto the bed and started to work at his sweatpants. he felt an intense anticipation.

"are you okay?" you asked as you got naked and onto the bed. your hands trailed across his chest lovingly, "we can stop."

he shook his head, "nah, nah, love. i trust ya, i want to make ya feel good. i just don't want ya to over do it."

you replied, "don't worry, si. i'll be gentle, for both of us." then helped him get out of his underwear. you straddled his waist and with a little help from him, you sank down his cock.

you exhaled deeply, you knew it looked big. but to have it inside of you felt so different. it was a bit of a stretch but eventually you got yourself seated fully on him.

you asked softly as you splayed your hands across his chest, "is it okay that i had more sexual partners than you, si? i know some guys can be weird about it."

he replied, "i ain't a boy, love. i'm a man. a man can handle a woman who has slept with other men before. i wasn't expectin' ya to wait for me." he chuckled. he placed his hands on your hips softly and rolled his hips a little.

you moaned, "yeah, like that."

simon melted a little at your touch. he let you ride his cock with vigor as he felt the pleasure swarm in his gut. it was all so hot in his body. his heart raced in a good way as he let you take total control.

"you feel so good." you panted, "please, fuck. i love you, si."

"i love you too, doll." he said softly, "i love ya more than anything." his pants were heavy as he watched you control to ride him.

you worked his cock and felt it hot in your body. your pulse raced as you rode him. the feeling was so much for the both of you. you whined into the open air of the bedroom.

simon fell more in love with you as you moved. you were perfect.

you clutched onto his shoulders and really worked his cock. you panted heavily and moaned loudly when you climaxed around his cock. but, that didn't stop your pace as you rode him to his climax.

he hissed through his teeth and felt the warmth in his body as he spurted cum into your sweet cunt. he had to clutch onto the covers under him as to not bruise your hips under his grasp. his breathing was heavy as he felt the rush of pleasure through his body.

you both relaxed and your pace slowed down. you panted heavily as you rested your face against his chest. his cock still inside of you. you gave a few more soft thrusts and simon moaned a little.

"how was that?" you asked as you looked up at him. you smiled at him.

he then reached fro your face and pulled you in for a sweet kiss. he relaxed visibly and said, "perfect. thank you. are you hurt?"

you shook your head, "no, no. i'm a-okay. it all feels so good." you got off his cock and he tucked you into his side. he kissed the top of your head and you said, "i love you."

"i love you too, angel." he said softly and he placed soft kisses on your face. it was sweet, intimate. that if simon was going to trust anyone with such intimacy, it was going to be you. <3

[mockerycrow]

Frozen Fingertips [1/2] (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist - part two

Summary: You and Simon are in an extremely cold and snow covered area of Russia and manage to get separated from everyone else when a blizzard comes out of nowhere. Ghost helps keep you alive.

[WARNINGS: Light descriptions of developing hypothermia and frostbite, angst, hurt/comfort, ghost is actually worried.]

THE EXTREMELY COLD air bit at the little skin that’s exposed on your face and invades your lungs, nearly feeling like it’s sending frost to bite at the most inner corners of your esophagus. Dressed in snow boots, a snow suit as well as a snow jacket with a bullet proof vest, a thick scarf, two layers of gloves—a pair of thin gloves and then your snow gloves—as well as a beanie with your hood up. You tried to tie your scarf in such a way where it covers the lower portion of your face, but movement has made the fabric crumble down. The conditions of the snowy forest you’re trudging through are harsh; the snow is several feet deep, nearly up to your mid-thigh, causing you to have to quite literally pull your leg through dense snow, and of course you forgot your sunglasses for this trip. The bright sun is shining onto the snow surrounding you, successfully blinding you, causing you to squint until you give yourself a headache.

You have no idea what temperature it is, but all you know is that the fact that you’re moving through the snow is the only thing getting you through this. Your nose burns from the cold and so do your cheekbones, and any other skin that is exposed. You hold your rifle tighter to your chest in an attempt to maintain warmth, and despite all of your protective clothing, you don’t feel warm at all. You’re traveling with Ghost, while Soap, Price, and Gaz are infiltrating a nearby safehouse, owned by Makarov. You and Ghost are making your way to the exfil point after providing overwatch—the weather was beginning to pick up, blocking your line of sight. You shudder as some snow lands on the tip of your nose and melt, but nearly immediately freeze due to the temperature.

You keep dragging your feet through the snow, one foot after the other, trying to think warm thoughts to keep you going. Your radio crackles to life and Ghost’s muffled voice comes through; he’s only in front of you, but the snow can act as a sound muffler. “Doin’ alright?” His voice is like a wave of warmth washing over you, and you close your eyes for a moment as you walk. You open them and mumble, “Freezing my ass off, sir.” Ghost lets out a huff that almost sounds like a chuckle. “Keep moving, sergeant. You’ll keep your strength and warmth up.” You don’t bother to respond as you continue to trudge on. The wind begins to pick up as well as the falling snow slowly turns into a mini blizzard. “This is Price to Ghost and [Name], how copy?”

You don’t bother to respond as you’re focused on keeping yourself upright—when did you begin to feel so tired? “Loud and clear, Price. The weather’s pickin’ up.”

When did you begin to feel so.. warm? ..What?

You blink and suddenly you find yourself collapsed into the snow. You don’t question it, because you’re quite comfortable. The coldness of the snow feels good against your suddenly warm skin. You’re violently shivering, but you don’t mind. You’re warm. A pair of hands grab your coat, flipping you over so you’re no longer face down into the snow. You whine and weakly try to push whoever is touching you because their gloved hands are on your face, brushing snow off of your skin. “Stop,” You slur, your voice wobbling. Your hearing tappers out for a moment, and apparently so does your vision because the next thing you know—you find yourself in a cabin.

The first thing you feel is warmth—and then extreme coldness, and then numbness, and it’s a repeating cycle, causing you constantly shiver where you’re laying. Your limbs feel so heavy and you just want to stay laying down, but you’re hit with the thought of Ghost. Did he bring you here? Or did something happen, causing someone to take you? Your thoughts are in disarray, that much is clear. You can’t even form a coherent thought. You blink slowly as to focus your gaze, and you see a tall and bulky figure bent down by a fireplace, which you’re laying near. Huh. You’re somehow stuffed inside your sleeping bag. The figure’s back is turned to you, so whatever they’re doing, you’re unable to see. “C’mon,” The rough voice hisses. Oh, it’s Ghost.. Duh. You let out a choked noise as a weird pain of blistering pain radiates through your skull, and you’re vaguely aware of the feeling of your blood quickly rushing back into your fingertips, the humming sensation in your fingers nearing painful. They were lightly tingling before.

You blink again; time has passed. There’s a fire going now, a steady one, but it’s clearly not enough. Not with the way Ghost’s intense eyes are staring into yours, him saying something about you staying awake, something about how he knows you want to sleep—which he’s right about—but you can’t, and that you shouldn’t. You nearly wanna reach over and smack him about that, and you would have if you could move without the sluggish and heavy weighted feelings in your limbs. Who is he, to tell you, what you can and cannot do?? “I’m tired, Ghost.. Lemme sleep.” You croak out—your voice is trembling and you don’t understand why, but your body doesn’t give you enough energy to properly question it and you lay your head back down, trying to turn it away.

“Need you to keep those eyes open, [Name],” Ghost’s voice is suddenly.. very, very, very close to your ears. Your eyes flutter back open—you don’t even remember closing them—and you’re face to face to his mask. His brown eyes burrow into yours, nearing unreadable, but one thought pops up when your head allows it; he’s worried. Ghost is worried. “M’here,” You mutter, feeling yourself shake in your sleeping bag. “I’m here.” You watch as Ghost gets up from his position, which was looming over you, to add more fuel to the fireplace. The fire cracks and sparks alive once again, and you never noticed it died down. Must’ve been a while, of you being in and out. Your head is finally allowing you think more clearly. “How..” You lick your dry and cold lips before continuing. “How long has it been?”

Ghost looks over at you, pausing for a moment before poking at the burning wood with a fireplace poker. “You don’t know?” He questions, his voice tense. Bad sign. You not remembering how much time has passed is a very bad sign. You shake your head, tugging your sleeping bag closer to your body in a sluggish manner. Ghost’s quiet as he moves back over to you, grabbing his own sleeping bag which is tightly rolled up and attached to his backpack. Ghost begins to unravel the fabric and unzip it, in an attempt to make a blanket. “Well, a big blizzard started up as we were headin’ to the RV. Found you face down in the snow a bit behind me, and knew you..” He trails off as pulls the zippers down, hesitating in his movements. “..knew you needed to rest, needed help.”

You press your lips together because it’s so clear Ghost is avoiding what he wanted to say; what you both know what he meant. A harsh shiver rolls out through your body, harsh enough to make your vision spin, causing Ghost to huff. He drapes his unzipped sleeping bag over your body, tucking the extra fabric under your body. You groan quietly and you shut your eyes for a moment. Ghost is shifting stuff around and you his gloves fingers push your hat up ever so slightly and then you feel.. skin pressing against your forehead?? Your eyes open sleepily to the sight of Ghost’s mask pushed to above his nose, exposing his scarred lips and cheeks. You open your mouth to say something but a quiet whimper leaves you as your vision swims again—not giving you a moment to think about his kiss against your forehead. “Cold.” He mutters as he grabs the edge of his mask and pulls it back over the rest of his face, down to his neck. You watch as Ghost takes off his scarf and wraps it around your neck instead, and then he lays down next to you and wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. You try to question why he’s doing this, but Ghost is already three steps ahead of you. “You’re not of any help if you’re dead, love.” His voice is steady, but it’s on edge—like he’s scared.

You shut your eyes and you lean into his everlasting warmth, and you decide to not point out how his gloved fingers are stroking the exposed skin of your face in a soothing manner.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

GOODNESS. GRACIOUS. 🤣😭

The posing is straight up accurate though, Ghost's pose is just 🧍 while Jade's like 👯

If he sits down he's still gonna be taller than her prolly

@sleepyconfusedpotato

Spotted this Ghost & Jade coded image on Reddit. Opinion in the comments is that she is 163cm (5'5") and he is 210 cm (6'10").

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x FWB!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader

Summary: Nothing good ever comes from a text after dark... or does it? Guess it depends on who it is and what they need. If it's a certain Lieutenant, then it's bound to be something worth your while.

Word Count: 3.2 k

Warnings:

Part 2:

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

You up?

Need you. Now.

Can’t wait.

The repetitious vibrations from your phone pull your attention away from the open book resting against your thighs and over to where it lay on your mattress next to you. Grabbing it, you press the button on the side that turns on the screen and check the clock in the upper right hand corner. It’s later than you thought, but being the night owl you are meant that you were still up messing about even if you shouldn’t be.

He knew it.

Rolling over to your side as you read and reread the short messages, discarding your book to the other side of the bed, the sudden racing pulse through your veins makes your stomach cartwheel. It didn’t take much these days to get your body aching for a certain Lieutenant, not when he’s texting you shit like that at this hour.

As quickly as your fingers can type you text Ghost back, an instantaneous need swelling inside at the thought of being with him again.

And what if I am?

You need something?

Not even a minute passes before your phone buzzes to life again and quickly you read the bubble that pops up on screen.

Are you going to get that sweet arse over here or not, luv?

A flutter in your chest makes your breath hitch as you jump up from your bed and throw on whatever articles of clothing that are within reach; time is of the essence. Doesn’t matter what the hell it is when you know Ghost will be tearing them off you the moment you get to him anyway. Things usually get hot and heavy pretty fast when you two are together, so the only real rule that you stood by was less is best as that meant you could get to the deed that much quicker.

Both of you knew why you’d be there, no sense in beating around the bush when he could immediately be diving into one.

With slow, careful movements and silent steps, you leave your quarters and set out across the base towards your superiors room. Once you’re outside you keep to the shadows, trying to minimize any unwanted attention to the fact you are out far too late and that your destination just happens to be where the officers are housed; getting stopped now will not be ideal. The closer you get the more warm your cheeks become as sensitive nerve endings spark to life across your limbs and a familiar heat gathers between your thighs.

He’s already waiting for you when you arrive. Your knuckles barely touch the surface of the door before you hear the lock click and the door swings open to reveal a shirtless, brown-eyed Adonis staring straight back at you. It’s clear from his ruffled, unkempt locks and wrinkled sweatpants that he had not been successful in trying to get to sleep before his desire grew into a beast too difficult to handle alone.

"Fancy meeting you here," you pick at him as he reaches for your arm and pulls you into the confines of his dimly lit room, the door quickly closing behind you both with a quiet latch. “What’s that, like the third time this week alone?”

As he turns back to you Ghost’s sight locks to your body, slowly taking you all in as he eyes you up and down, hunger glistening through his gaze. "Is that complaining I hear?" he smirks. "I’m not apologizin’, luv. Do you know what you fucking do to me?"

"I have an idea," you breathe as that imposing figure of prime masculinity moves in closer, "but you know I’ve always been a bit of a visual learner, so why don't you show me again?"

A smile that could make Satan blush flashes across his lips and with a growl that sets you shivering with anticipation, Ghost closes the short distance between you and leans in, pulling you against his warm, tight chest as he meets your mouth greedily with his.

“mmm … mmh… !” he groans into you.

A series of frantic, heated kisses overwhelm your lips as if he is trying to devour every bit of that soft, full pout as he can; how can someone’s kiss feel like heaven? Your rapidly palpating heart makes your head buzz as he pours his desire into you and you respond in kind by meeting his intensity with your own.

Breaking away for only a moment, his hands now grasping at your shirt take hold and pull the scant article up over your head and off to remove any barrier between the both of you. He tosses it out of the way and moves back against you, nearly crushing you in between him and the door as he can’t stand being separated.

Warm breath is at the side of your head. "Need to feel you," he groans near your ear before taking the lobe in his teeth and giving it a bite. Your ears pick up the sound of his breath hitching as he comes apart at the sensation of your breasts plastered to his chest, hands surveying the rest of the skin available to him.

“Goddamn, I feel like I’m on fuckin’ fire. Don’t know what spell you fucking have me under sweetheart, but it’s becomin’ a problem.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” you say against his swollen lips, “to become your problem.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans before his mouth latches back on to your own.

You already are.

Fiery kisses assault your mouth in desperate fashion as if he hadn’t seen you in weeks. That insatiable appetite is something of a marvel as you both had been messing around for a couple of months and yet his texts seem to come at a more frequent rate now than when you started. Nothing is more euphoric than to be desired to the point of obsession, especially when it came to someone like the Lieutenant; there’s something primal in the way a big man possesses you.

Without warning his hands clasp securely around your waist as he picks you up so that you can wrap your thighs around his hips, your back slamming harshly against the door for leverage. The sound of your body bouncing off the surface echoes through the quiet room as that sculpted body of his presses firmly into you so the prominence of his arousal can be felt as he grinds it up into the crotch of your pants.

His face is still joined to yours and the sensation of his tongue pressing against your mouth brings you back to reality, impatiently knocking for entry, and you part your lips so that he can slip the thick muscle inside. He shoves it within the confines of that wet cavern so that it can do its exploring while it dances alongside your own tongue; he sure does enjoy keeping all your holes nice and stuffed full.

It’s not enough, though; he needs more.

You both are on the move now and you have to lock your arms around his shoulders to hang on as he makes the short distance to the bed not a few feet from where you are and sets you down. He kneels before you on the floor, pulls you to the edge, and in one swift motion his hands are on your pants before they are suddenly off you and next to him.

Even in the dim light of the small room, you can see how his eyes shimmer with lust and want, a predators gaze just before they go in for the kill. This man would be the death of you, but what a glorious death it would be.

“Lay back for me,” he demands and you follow.

A powerful grip is placed on each one of your inner thighs to spread them wide as Ghost moves them to sit on his shoulders where they will rest as he works. Leaning in towards your cunt he goes in face first with no hesitation like a starved man read to eat his first meal in days.

With shaky hands you cling to the sheets for dear life as the he nestles the tip of his tongue between your petals, gathering your sweet juices along his taste buds as he drags it across the length, teasing circles around your aching clit before thrusting up against it. There he begins to stroke with languid movements along that organ of pleasure, go in with all he has amidst the sound of your mewls at the pleasurable sensation.

Goddamn you taste good.

That face with its beautifully chiseled features is buried so deep in you Ghost can hardly breathe, but he has never felt more alive. The way you feel, the way you taste, the way your hips writhe against his movements all work together to fuel the passion for your cunt. On his knees between your legs is his favorite place to be, listening to the symphony you make, even with the threat that you’d lock your legs around his head; god, he hoped you would.

Your eyes clamp themselves shut as your head falls back while another back-arching vibration of pleasure hits your clit and you bite your bottom lip hard, trying to remember how to breathe when your brain had lost all its functions. Ghost’s intense pace never slows even as you writhe violently across his face, your sweet nectar coating itself across his cheeks. Oh no, it only fuels him more; he’d drown against you and still say thank you.

Ghost’s hands move up further on your hips suddenly, pulling you against his face until he is latched so securely that you can not buck him off. There is not anywhere for you to go at this point and the only thing you can do is ready yourself as that warmth in your stomach grows stronger and stronger, your toes curling with each thrust of his tongue.

Releasing your grip on the sheets, you bring your hand down and ruffle your fingers through his hair and he moans into you. “Sh-shit,” you stutter breathless. The pace is steady, sucking and stroking, but it’s intense as the minutes pass without any sign of him letting up. You know there will be no mercy found for you here; Ghost will stop when his job is done and not a second before.

Tiny beads of sweat speckle your body as you burn under his touch and he smirks against you, feeling how hard he is working you as the perspiration hits his fingertips. The pressure was overwhelming and your hips rock with him trying to get you there.

There is nothing more beautiful than the mess he is always making out of you lately and if he has his way he will keep you on your back almost constantly.

Pressure building, warmth gathering, the precipice within reach with each stroke. Relentless he feasts with fervor until your eyelids flutter shut.

Right there. It’s right fucking there. Just a few more licks of his tongue, a few more precise hits and that is going to be all.

It’s coming, the plunge. Ghost’s fingernails are piercing the skin of your hips as a few more deliberate strokes of his tongue on your clit cause your butt to lift up of the bed as your orgasm rips through you.

Your thighs clamp around his ears, blocking him in against you and yet he doesn’t stop. The entirety of your ecstasy you ride out with him licking and sucking until you sink into the mattress, breathing through the pleasure. After a moment you look down to see the demon emerge from you with a smirk strung across his mouth that sparkles with your slick.

Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he sighs and stands to his feet, fingers capturing the drawstrings to his pants and with a pull the tie untangles itself so that the slack fabric can hang low on his hips.

“What?” you play, knowing what he wants and even though you are still catching your breath, you are more than ready to give in to him.

“You know damn well what. Night’s still young, luv,” he says as he slips the waistband down even lower, “and now it’s my turn.”

He isn't finished with you yet, not even close.

His desire is beyond reason now, even more than before, and it fills his gaze as he stares back at you. No movement yet as Simon allows that bit of tension to linger in the air before he pounces.

Fuck anymore foreplay, this can’t hold off any longer.

Those legs of yours you have kept open, inviting him back, but this time with his cock instead of his tongue. He moves back in, dropping his pants off his legs and stepping out of them. A quick order he barks to move back further onto the bed has you scooting and he is following you, crawling across the surface with the power and grace of a lion before he goes in for the kill.

“You ready for me, princess?” he growls.

You stare back at him, big doe-eyed gaze watching him as he prepares to claim you again. “Give it to me,” you say and that is all the confirmation needed.

Sliding between your thighss as he parts them as easily as a knife through warm butter, he pushes one back where your knee is near your chest while the other is straight beneath him; he wants to get as deep as he fucking can. There is no hesitation as with a strong thrust he is fully inside of you down to the very base of his cock, his balls bouncing off your ass.

“Ahh…” you cry out as you stretch to capacity to accommodate all of him, your fingernails dig into the muscles along his shoulders as your body adjusts to his mighty girth.

Ghost bottoms out and needs a second to collect himself; he’s had you countless times at this point, but every single time the sensation your body gives him is enough to make the man see God.

“Goddamn sweetheart, the way you feel around my fucking cock,” he groans, “just want to keep it in you at all times. If I had my way, you’d stay on your back all day every day.”

Obsession is not quite the word, but you already have the man wrapped around your little finger. The things he'd do to have you at this point border on the diabolical.

There is no holding back once he starts thrusting in and out, desperate to find his rhythm, not with how wet and tight you are; it is paradise. Soon enough that pace is set and you are joining him in grinding your hips against his pelvis. Ghost rests his forehead against yours, rough, strong fingers finding your hands so that they can lace themselves in between the paces of your own as he holds them above your head. The building pressure causes him to start panting.

“O-OHH, FUCK…!!” he exclaims as you tighten yourself on his cock, putting those kegel practices to good use just to see him falter.

It is not expected and throws him off a moment; he’s the one that is suppose to be showing that pussy who’s boss, but you’ve taken the reins with that one move. Someone is bound to hear him and yet he can’t be bothered to quiet himself. If you want to make sure this stays a secret, you shouldn’t pull moves that can bring him to his proverbial knees.

Time after time he feels the need to remind you in breathless moans how you are his, but if Ghost is honest you have him fucking whipped; not that he is going to let you know that. Still, if you pay close enough attention you will be able to tell the signs, like the way he is utterly falling apart now. Fuck, he needs to come so bad now he can taste it.

Desperately he grinds harder and harder into you as if he cannot get deep enough, like he cannot fill you full enough. He needs to take over your entire being, possess every single last centimeter of you, steal away all your sanity until there is nothing left of you but him.

Releasing your hands, he moves back to sit taller on his knees so that he can put the most leverage behind his thrusts. He helps you to reposition so that both of your thighs are now secure high on his hips; you are going to need to hang on for this. Abdominals are straining along his torso, contracting down with each movement until they are coated in a thin, glistening layer of perspiration.

“Com’ on, pretty girl, you goin’ to give me another?” he grunts. The knot in your brows and the way your mouth hangs slack must say it all. He’s going to make you come again.

You nod furiously, focusing on that warm gathering in the pit of your stomach. “That’s it, sweetheart, com’ on. I deserve to feel you this time. Com' on my cock, slather it nice and proper.”

Hips rolling as if his life depends on it, he reaches down between your bodies to play with your clit. It’s working, your back is arching, and release is gaining on you. “Yes, y-yes,” you choke out.

The pressure is overwhelming and your hips buck, the pain of over-stimulation turning to pleasure as your body readies itself to shoot that hot electricity through your limbs. Ghost presses the pad of his finger harshly up against your clit and with his thrusts working inside you, that is finally enough to make you spill.

Your second orgasm rockets through you, causing you to clamp down on him with fluttering walls. The sensation is enough to cause that deep ache to finally find its remedy and his pulls out of you quickso that he can coat your torso with his cum. You quickly reach down and grab his cock, stroking out all his has to give until he is shuddering and please with you to stop.

He has to sit back on his heels and just breathe a moment before he can move to grab something to clean you off, but soon he’s able to go off and grab you a towel, handing it to you as he falls on the bed beside you while you finish wiping off the last of his cream.

“So, I guess that means we’re done here right?” you playfully tease him as you throw the towel aside and lay back down.

Strong arms enfold you and pull him to his chest as he smirks, the euphoria of his orgasm still coursing through his veins.

He catches your mouth with his to shut you up. “You should know fucking better than that, luv,” he says, nipping at your lips. “Price may own you when the sun is up, but that still a ways off. You and that sweet cunt of yours are mine until then.”

Hell, he cannot seem to ever get enough of you no matter how many times you frequent his bed. Those strong fingers draw lazy circles across your back, making you tingle as you come back down from your high

You chuckle sleepily, the consequences of you staying up so late mixing with the act you just performed. “I’ll be so tired, not gonna be able to run drills properly.”

“More complainin’?” he retorts. “I must not have finished the fucking job yet. You’ve been doin’ just fine with keeping up with your duties so far. Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’ll make sure your proper exhausted just as I always do.”

[forestshadow-wolf]

After soap's... mw3 incident he wakes up in the hospital with a masked man at his bedside. And the man is nice, kind, gentle. But a friend. He says his name is Ghost. And he, and Price and Gaz help soap recover. But there's something nagging at his mind. Like he's forgotten something. Which he has. He's forgotten a lot of somethings. But it feels more like... like a someone. Someone important. And through out his recover he continues asking about this Someone that he can feel in his mind, but he can't quite remember. But Ghost and Gaz and Price know who he's talking about. He can see it in their eyes when he speaks about him. When he says he has faceless memories of this not stranger. But they won't tell him. They say he'll remember on his own time. They deflect. And it gets on soap's nerves.

And then one day soap just... he doesn't give up. It's just that the likelihood of him remembering at this point... so he just... he asks for a name. That's it. And he'll never ask for after them again. And he's rambling. He knows he is. But his mouth wont stop. And he just wants a name. That's it. Nothing else. And he'll even stay away if it turns out that that's what he wants. It's Ghost who tells him.

Simon Riley.

His name is Simon Riley. The man that he's been looking for. But there's a million Simon Rileys in the world. And then

And then he says something. He does something.

Soap watches Ghost pull his mask off. He does it slowly. Luke he has to force himself to do it. And then- "I'm Simon Riley."

But- but that's- but Simon Riley is...

"Yeah, Johnny."

And his stomach drops. And it's like completing the boarder of a puzzle. Not solved, but a milestone.

He just- so he was here all this time and- and didn't... say anything?

"I didn't know if you'd even remember me. And- you didn't."

He's right. Johnny hadn't remembered him. Not really.

"And then you started to recover and you remembered Price and Gaz,"

Oh...

"and you got better and- you looked so... so- alive. Happy. And I thought-" Gho- Simon clears his throat, "... I thought 'he doesn't need me' and I'd only gotten you shot. So I thought it'd best to.. keep my distance. But" Simon's voice gets rough with emotion as he speaks, "I couldn't stay away. And I figured..." Simon looks down at the mask in his hands, breaks eye contact, "if.. if you never remembered, then... I- I could learn to be okay with that."

Johnny didn't know what to say. He was overjoyed to finally find who he was looking for. But at the same time- he'd forgotten him. And hadn't remembered. Even when he was there at every step and turn. Ghost had never left his side. Not once. And soap still hadn't remembered.

Simon cleared his throat, "Thank you. For- letting me be by your side. I'll.. I get it if you never wanna see me again after this. For hiding this. Im- sorry." And he was pulling on the mask as the door shut behind him before Johnny could respond.

Maybe it was for the best. If Johnny couldn't remember him after so long. Simon Riley should have to be woth someone who couldn't remember him. He deserved better. He should share the lovely quiet mornings, and the late night chats, and the soft weather watching with someone who deserved it. Someone who would remember him. Not- not someone like soap