Warning - 18+ and clarification over what I’m comfortable and not comfortable to write about 🩵
Hi! Call me Shark (it’s a weird nickname I know).
I love the Call of Duty Modern Warfare franchise and obviously the characters. Have an obsession for Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley but I don’t mind writing for the others in Task Force 141.
I DON’T write about;
- Konig or any other force as I don’t know them well and don’t want to offend anyone with getting them wrong.
- Humiliation kinks, harassment or roleplaying around sexual assault or rape - it’s not my cup of tea and I don’t feel educated enough to write about something as serious as that.
- Hybrids or the omega verse, again, not educated enough and not something I’m personally interested to write about.
I will write fluff, smut, angst and I will take requests!! (There will be warnings of what it is) Please be respectful when sending requests, obviously just so no one is offended!!
Finally - when I describe Simon Riley, I envision him how @shkret_art and @umikochannart (both on Instagram) have drawn him so if you’re curious or want to see him similarly, check their artwork out. (I’ve not posted there work here because obviously it’s their work and they don’t want their work reposted)
Warnings; suggestive but no actual smut (I’m sorry! If people are down for that lmk!)
After Simon called it a ‘date’ you have been excited. Maybe he didn’t mean to call it a date but for you it meant everything. Even before looking after his hair, you knew he was a fine man, with big muscles and a confident aura surrounding him. Seeing his face just concluded the fact that you liked him. And liked him a lot. Not just because of his physical attributes but his easy-going flirting, the smirking when you stuttered over your words all flustered.
It’s been a couple of days since you last saw Simon fully, probably busy doing work in his office and you busy training rookies and yourself. You knew he’d need to control his curls again soon but maybe he got the hang of it already?
As the evening creeped up, you slowly made your way down to the cafe that became apart of your daily routine, grabbing a coffee and pulling out your laptop to continue with repetitive tasks of training, any injuries, who’s progressing the fastest and more. The cafe was quiet and calming compared to the concrete walls of the barracks, it tucked away in a corner with wooden panelling on the walls, hanging light bulbs and the faint smell of coffee.
The door behind you opened gently, creaking slightly. You peer over your shoulder to find Price making his way to the coffee machine, like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.
‘Y’alright, cap?’ You called out noticing the bags under his eyes.
‘Yeah, yeah’ he sighs ‘just so much fuckin’ work at the minute’
‘Still working on the same case?’
He nods slightly, settling his laptop down across from yours beginning to type. He changed out of his usual uniform, replaced with jeans and a hoodie but still looking ready to head into a war if necessary with his thigh strap holding a gun. You were similar, always having a knife round you, just in case. Comfort, maybe. Trauma, probably.
After an hour, Price reluctantly stands up with a slap of his knees and a ‘right’ as he stands up (the British will get that).
‘You off, Price?’
‘Yea’, got to meet Laswell at 05:00 tomorrow.’
‘Fuckin’ Hell, I’ll see you soon then sir.’ You laugh and meet his eye. A faint grin is hidden under his mutton chops as he starts to walk off.
‘I’ll be back before y’know it.’ He calls out from behind you with a faint chuckle. It felt like you and Price had a very easy-going relationship. He was much closer to the team than you, as you’re the newest but you expected that. What you appreciated was the effort to make you feel welcome, treating you like a friend more than someone beneath him. You still ranked high, coming from a previous task force and having plenty of experience, you were a Lieutenant before you moved, now being a Sergeant again needing to prove your worth before your promotion again.
As you continue your last paragraph, wanting to finish for the day. The door clicks open behind you. Price must of forgotten something-
Oh…
‘Simon? You okay?’ You whispered as you stared at the mammoth of a man in the doorway, blocking 90% of the light.
Standing in the doorway, Simon has his usual cargo trousers on and boots, nothing unusual but as your eyes scan up past the waist. Well…
He’s shirtless for a start. He must of just come out the shower, water droplets scattered across his scarred chest. Chest rising up and down heavily like he’s ran to find you which makes your heart flutter ever so slightly. He has his balaclava on but it’s slightly twisted and not adjusted.
‘I need y’help…it’s me ‘air again.’
You can’t help but chuckle softly at this man in front of you. He’s killed enemies with his bare hands and captured terrorists yet he’s so concerned over his hair, wanting to impress you with his curls much like you caught his attention with yours. He doesn’t know, he already captured your attention with his eyes that dragged you in every time he stared.
‘Oh God’ you said between giggles ‘let me get ma shit together’
‘This ain’t a laughin’ matter’ he mutters
You giggle again following after him as he paces down to his room like a man on a mission, watching his back muscles contract and relax as he walks in front of you.
Simon’s room is very clean, pristine even. But as you follow him towards the bathroom you notice the clutter of hair products scattered around the sink. Mousse with a cap off, tub of curl cream open with cream on the side, the spray bottle betrayed and forgotten in sink. You look up at him with horror on your face as he removes his balaclava and a puff of frizzy bounces out the mask.
You stare for a while before you burst out laughing.
‘Y’can’t laugh… tha’s not fair, I tried. Harde’ than’t looks.’ he mumbles as he looks at you like a lost puppy.
‘Oh darlin’, I don’know how ya managed that’ you manage to say between laughter and a bit of wheezing.
‘Just…help meh…please.’
‘Considering you asked so nicely…’ you pulled up a stool hidden in the corner of his bathroom, much like every bathroom in the barracks. Why they have them is unsure but they’ve proven helpful tackling Simon’s locks, or frizzy mess.
‘I think I’ll be ‘ere a while’ you mutter laying a towel across his broad shoulders before completely wetting his hair.
‘Such a bad thing, luv?’
‘Well, you still owe me tha’ date’
Simon peers up at the mirror, staring into your eyes through it, trying to figure out whether you’re joking or you actually want that date. Simon would love to, pick you up with roses, drive you somewhere secluded and show you a calmer part of him but being in the military that doesn’t always work.
‘The best I can do is serve up dinner in that shitty kitchen-but you… you deserve more tha’ that’
You slowly walk to his front, steps pausing for a minute from what he said.
‘It could be the best date I’ve been on, y’never know’
‘You shoul’ get higher standards, sweet’eart’
The new nickname caused your heart to flutter and new found confidence in yourself. Purposefully leaning over towards Simon, his face getting closer to being smothered by your chest, his breath quickens and his hands gently hold onto the sides of your hips. He gently utters your name in a whisper, looking up at you, faces inches apart. A hand in his hair slowly migrates towards his cheek, holding his face as he gently leans into it.
You couldn’t take it any longer with his breath fanning over your face so you leaned down and kissed him. It wasn’t hungry or lustful, it was caring and gentle. Your thumb strokes his cheekbones casting over a slight scar, your other hand in his hair massaging his temple.
His hands on your waist give a gentle tug for you to straddle his lap.
‘Take me to dinner first’ you mumble through the kiss.
‘I did ask, luv’ he shuts you up as his lips find yours again.
The kiss remains gentle, but there’s controlled restraint in Simon’s firm touch on your waist, wanting to travel… to feel what he’s been staring at for months.
Your hand on his cheek moves to grab his hand and lets it slide down to your ass. A guttural groan rumbles in Simon’s throat. The kiss becomes needier, more confident as you explore each other’s bodies and feelings for one another. After a few minutes, the kissing stops and both of you panting for breath.
‘Th-that was nice… weren’t ‘t’ you said between puffed panting.
Simon chuckled quietly leaning his forehead on yours, hands still on your ass giving it a light squeeze ‘I’ve been wantin’ to do tha’ for a while’
‘You should’ve said sommet’
‘I was nervous’
‘Nervous? Simon ‘ghost’ Riley nervous?’
He shuts you up with another kiss, feeling his smile through it before standing up and gently placing you on the ground.
‘So… about that date…’
‘Yes Simon, I would like tha’’
The date
It’s a couple days later and Simon kept his word after you found some flowers and a note that said;
‘Meet me in the kitchen at 21:00 - S’
The bouquet of flowers already got you excited, him managing to get them from god knows where and the fact that he was truly doing it made butterflies appear in your stomach.
You stood staring at your wardrobe. Most of it consisted of black clothing and to be honest, you wanted to look like you were on a date not going to a funeral. The only piece of clothing that wasn’t black was a red top with a squared neck and long sleeves. It hugged your waist and gently pushed your chest to just show a little bit of cleavage. Knowing how he reacted earlier, you grinned to yourself while putting it on. Matching that with black jeans that hung low but showed off the strength of your quads and glutes. Your makeup remained minimal, highlighting your features beautifully and keeping your curly hair as the centre piece. It was tied up messily in a high bun with strands of curls falling out and bouncing with every step, a few coming out to frame your face.
Your heart hammered stronger and stronger as you made your way to the little kitchen. You understood the late time, other soldiers probably there in the evening for snacks before they headed to their barracks.
Finally, gently knocking on the door, ruffling and clinking of plates was heard before the gentle click of the door and opening it to reveal Simon himself. As he opened the door fully, your jaw gently dropped in awe.
Face revealed without its balaclava, seemingly more intimate and a small smile curving its way on his lips. Hair styled perfectly with curls wishing the back of his neck. He wore a navy blue button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoo and veins that made your mouth salivate. His shoulders seemed to be strained under the cotton as they shifted, the seams wanting to burst (and you wouldn’t be too upset if they did). Plain, black dress trousers draped around his huge thighs and calves and his regular boots were matched with it.
He stared too, a slight bulge in his trousers that he was desperately wanting to ignore, as he looked at your neck out in open, not surrounded by your curls as they balanced on your head. Dog tags dangling straight towards your chest that made his breathing quicken and head go funny. Jeans digging in at your waist making your hips and quads look breathtaking, creating a natural hourglass figure. You were stunning. He thought himself as a respectful man but right now he felt like a feral dog as his eyes scanned you up and down, his nose sniffed at your perfume that clouded his mind.
‘Fuckin’ Hell’ Simon mutters, stating your name like he was praying to a goddess ‘you… you look incredible’
Your head drops with a smile playing at your lips as your cheeks heat up to a rose colour. A finger lifts your head back up, letting yourself look at Simon fully, his thumb caressing your jaw.
‘Thank you, Simon… I- you- sorry… you look very handsome’ you stutter as you stare into his deep brown eyes twinkling with amusement as you try to compliment him.
‘Thank you, my luv. Come in.’
The slight change of pet name was noticed but you didn’t comment as you found yourself breathless at what Simon had managed with a few hours and measly kitchen on military ground.
Fairy lights hung from the ceiling, little pieces of black duct tape holding them up. The smell of a creamy sauce filled your nose as you could hear the crisping of bacon. Two fold up chairs and a fold up table sat in the middle with a black cloth draped over it. It wasn’t perfect but it was everything you could’ve asked for.
‘Simon…this-I- wow’
‘I know it’s no’ a lot, best I can get with this shi’hole’
‘No Simon, it’s amazing. Thank you’
You gleam up at him. Simon feels his heart stop for a moment, your eyes glinting up at him with appreciation and care. He slowly takes your hand, pulling out the chair for you, allowing you to sit before he slides you in with ease.
‘Such a gentleman’ you giggle
‘Anything for you, darlin’’ he answers amused, smirk subtly gracing his lips.
His back muscles contort as he finishes up the last of dinner before dishing it up with complimentary French bread. It was carbonara, one of your favourites. It smelt divine and looked exquisite.
‘How did you know I like carbonara?’
‘I have me ways… just try it, could be shi’’
‘I doubt tha’’
You take a bite and it tastes divine. You moan slightly from the taste as it hits your tongue. A bit of the cream sauce decorates the side of your mouth as you continue to relish in the dish. Simon leans forward slightly and brushes the sauce into your mouth, your tongue darting out to lick his thumb. His breath holts and lips part slightly.
‘Don’t do tha’ luv, I need to finish this dinner before i take you t’ bed’
You look up to expect amusement but your met with his earthy, brown eyes staring back full of earnest and want. You knew Simon was blunt but that comment caused your stomach to flutter and a pool to form in your lower stomach.
You both continue to fester in your lustful gazes and tentative touches of hands and legs as you eat. Of course, the sex would be great but this wasn’t just a date and a shag… there’s more. Both of you cared for each other and that was seen through you taking care of his hair, giving him products to make himself feel and look better. He bought you flowers and cooked you dinner, asking around everyone who ever spoke to you to figure out a dish you enjoyed. You both tried for each other, cared for each other, looked out for each other.
As the date comes to an end, you pester him to let you help wash the dishes… it was only fair, he cooked dinner. It wasn’t just to spend more time with him.
‘Don’t be stupid lovie, I’ll do it’
‘Simon, seriously- let me help at least.’
Towards the end of washing dishes, Simon found himself with his hands on your waist from behind, gently squeezing past you to put dried plates away. Your hips tilt backwards causing friction in his groin. A groan escapes his lips with your name faintly escaping.
After everything was cleaned and a few more teases from each other, you start walking with him to your room, hands brushing past with slight touches. You bite the bullet and wrap your hand around his as you continue to walk down the hall.
‘Well, this is my room… thank you for tonight, I-i really appreciate it.’
‘Pretty women like you deserve a bette’ date tha’ that, my luv’
‘It’s the gesture, Simon- that’s what matters to me darlin’’
Your hand lifts up to caress his cheek before you lean up and land a kiss on his lips.
‘Thank you… thank you for the flowers too’
‘You can get more if you le’ me take you on anothe’ date’ he says as he leans a hand on the doorframe. You giggle at his bluntness.
‘So you’re askin’ me on another date?’
‘I-I guess- yes I am’
‘I’d love to.’
You lean up, giving him one last kiss before he straightens and kisses your forehead before leaving to his room. As you close your door you stare at the flowers realising you’ll need a vase for them… and probably another vase for the second date.
WELL!! Finally- sorry it took so long and it’s such a long chapter haha, didn’t want to starve you lot. Thinking of keeping these two around, they’re very cute. Are we interested in a part 3 of the 2nd date or maybe how they make their relationship official?? (Maybe some smut if I’m confident enough haha)
Simon, while having a solid amount of sexual experience, has just never really done the whole relationship thing. He knows what he's like at work, he knows what he's like with friends, he knows what he's like in bed, but Boyfriend Simon? No clue who that guy is.
So when he falls hard enough for you to actually be convinced to give it a try, he just assumes he'll wear the pants in the relationship. He always wears the pants, so why would it be any different in this context? Not like a Whole Thing, like he's not picturing a lifestyle in which he's the big dominant man and you're submissive, obedient ... it's more like he just pictures himself taking care of things.
You picture it differently. And he is shocked by how much he loves your take on things.
"Simon, go wash your face and I'll put some moisturizer on you, you're getting a little dry." "We're having what you want for dinner tonight and I don't want to hear another word about it." "Just sit down and rest for a minute, I can handle it."
There are all these little things that you say and do -- little ways that show that you care, and that you think about him -- that all add up to something much bigger. It all makes him realize that maybe Boyfriend Simon is someone who can rest. Perhaps he doesn't need to be constantly, relentlessly in charge and on alert. Maybe this way, he can be cared for.
Of course, the feeling translates to the bedroom too. With his previous hookups, he'd always taken the lead. Strong hands putting his partner where he wanted them to go. Never too rough, never too demanding, but focused on his own pleasure, just like he always assumed the other person was focused on theirs.
Not on your watch.
He felt like he was being torn in two the first time you knelt before him and put your hands on his belt buckle, intention clear. It was like he was being split between the Simon he knew better, the one who might have greedily pulled down his jeans, tipped open your lips with a thumb on your chin and slid deep inside your hot mouth until tears rolled down your cheeks, and the Simon you'd somehow pulled out of him. The one who was too in love to imagine using you like that.
He told you as much that night. He stilled your hand over his belt with his own, his voice sounding strangled as he murmured, "Don't have to do that, love."
"Of course I don't have to," you'd told him. "I want to."
And you did. You unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans then put your soft, warm hands on his hips, just under his shirt, and pushed his pants down, along with his boxers. You took his cock in your hand first, using slow, languid strokes, then gazed up at him.
“Is this ok?”
He began realizing, when you took him into your mouth only after he said yes, that this wasn’t him using you. It was clear in the little muffled whimpers you made as you pulled him close enough for his tip to hit the back of your throat and in the way your free hand gripped his thigh, like you were the one who needed grounding — you were enjoying this too. This was just another way for you to care for him.
Now, after days and weeks and months have passed of breaking down and rebuilding, learning and growing with you into something he never knew he could be, he trusts you. He values your judgment, he believes you what you tell him. If you think he needs to rest, he will. If you lead him, he'll follow.
Whatever you want, whatever you need, whether you let it be known with words or glances or your hands on him, guiding him, steady and sure ... now, Simon listens.
I love this! I don’t mind a sub reader but I feel like Ghost really deserves someone to ground him after all the trauma he’s been through. A reader who is confident and isn’t only noticeable in male validation but also female validation and within themselves if that makes sense. Love it!! 💙
You’ve been apart of Task Force 141 for a few months now. Some missions here and there and you gradually got more comfortable with the team. Started sitting with Soap in the morning, talking about food because that’s all Soap can think about while shovelling cereal down his mouth. Gaz joined you in the gym, silently following you, doing sets with you, spotting you and overall being a gentleman. And Price, checking in on you like a good captain and sitting with you in the local cafe to get some work done over a tea or coffee (sometimes hot chocolate) during the evenings.
But Ghost… he was silent.
Everyone knew ghost was a quiet man but he was basically mute around you. You saw him talking to Johnny and Kyle fine, speak to Price when necessary about paperwork but you assumed he wasn’t ready to accept you as part of the team just yet.
‘He’ll warm up t’ ya lass, promise.’
‘He’s very loyal, he just needs to trust you first.’
Both Johnny and Kyle reassured you that it’s not your character, he simply needs time but you caught him glimpsing at you, staring even.
What you didn’t know was Ghost was completely infatuated with you.
Not just you… your hair. It was gorgeous.
Bouncy curls that were tamed but still twisted in wild directions. Your (h/c) bright and matching your features beautifully. Matched your bubbly but determined personality and he loved it.
Ghost has short, curly hair but being trapped in a balaclava almost everyday - it became a frizz mess. So when you and your curls came round the corner he was ready to get on his knees and just beg for your routine and for your soft hands touching his hair.
He NEEDED that curly hair routine. But that meant talking to you and well… with his little crush he wasn’t sure how many words he could say before he faints.
Fresh out the shower, you put your usual cargos and long black tee on, heading to the shared kitchen for a measly pot noodle that will fill you for about 10 minutes until you’re hungry again. Wet curls fall against your back, a few strands still dripping, coiled up. With your back turned, Simon walks into the kitchen and stops, dead in his tracks.
Your breath-taking locks bouncing with every movement, slightly darker than usual bringing out the highlights within your hair. Your figure that is hugged by the cloth, strong shoulders and wide hips and that ass… oh my god, Simon thought he could see stars. He knew he’d have to talk to you at some point.
‘Oh- Hi Simon! You ok?’ You turned and asked feeling his looming presence.
‘Mhm’ he mumbled.
You weren’t shocked with his lack of response, going back to your pot noodle knowing he wasn’t much to talk but the slight nod at your existence to make you smile.
That smile made Simon’s heart flutter rapidly.
‘Uhm- sorry, luv- uhm I mean, sorry- do you have a routine’
Stunned, you turned around. Ghost is talking to you? Huh?
‘I’m sorry darlin’ what do you mean routine?’ You asked politely, completely unaware of what he was asking for.
The pet name alone threw Simon into another world, staring at your eyes and slightly scarred skin as you smiled up at him.
‘Fuck- sorry I mean your ‘air. How do you look after it?’
‘You have curly hair, Simon?’
Of course you didn’t know, you’ve never seen it. He didn’t purposefully hide it - Johnny, Kyle and Price have seen his face, but it just felt natural for him to wear his balaclava around base unless he was in his room. Kept his reputation up to scratch.
‘I- yea’ I do, I don’t know how to look after ‘t’
‘Why didn’t you say? Of course I can help you, here- come with me, I’ll give you my products’
So now here Simon was stood in your room, more importantly your bathroom staring at what seemed, a million different products. Leave-in conditioner, curl spray, curl cream, mousse, hair oil and the list goes on. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has watched the world burn but this list of creams to go in his hair felt close to WW3. So confused and so concerned.
‘Simon? You listening over there?’
‘Sorry luv, I’m no’ gonna lie, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue what you just said.’
You giggled and stared at him for a moment. You could always appreciate a good looking man when you see one. Simon stood, leaning against the doorframe in between your bedroom and private bathroom (as the only female 141 member) and his arms folded against his chest. His biceps bulged out and begging to be touched in anyway, the tattoo poking out of his long sleeve tee that you’d never noticed before now.
He notices you staring a barely chuckles, letting out a quiet hmph.
‘Sorry- uhm ha- well I can help you if you want?’ You suggest, trying to hide your embarrassment.
‘How you gonna help me, luv?’
‘I’ll show you how to do it on your hair.’ You said it without second thought but then suddenly you realised one, he’d have to take his balaclava off, two, he’d have to let you touch him and his hair, three, his hair needs to be wet which usually is done by a shower. So what you’ve basically suggested is a naked Simon Riley in your bathroom while you fondle with his hair.
‘Shit- sorry, that’s invasive, innit? Sorry darling, I-i didn’t think- here just have the creams-‘
‘I never said no.’
That puts your rambling to a holt. You look up at him. His gaze looks sure and almost… trusting? Even though all you said was you’d fix his hair, his gaze is telling you he feels safe enough round you to put his guard down. You didn’t know the guy fully considering he hasn’t spoken to you until now yet it feels like you’ve been friends, maybe even closer than friends for years.
‘Oh- well yeah, I can do that for ya’.’
‘Cheers luv, let me go get a shower then-‘
He leans off the door, ready to leave your room and go to his but…
‘Wait- Simon? Why don’t you shower i’ here? Makes life easier, dun’t it?’
If Simon had to do a lie detector test and say he wasn’t hard, his nose would grow to the size of the Eiffel Tower. That turned him on, the woman who makes his stomach flutter when she smiles and pants tent up when she bends over, how could he say no?
‘Well- that would be easier, lovie’
As he walks slowly into the bathroom, you notice the small size of the bathroom compared to the shear size of the man. Both of you slowly squeeze past each other to swap sides and as you do Simon gently grabs your waist and brushes himself against you, muttering a quick sorry, darlin’ to get past. You suck in breath slightly looking up into the mirror as you see him tower over you. Your cheeks blush up to a nice crimson.
‘I-I sorry, let me- do you know how to use the shower?- well obviously- I’ll just be out here’ and with that you shut the bathroom door with Simon in it. You couldn’t handle the look of amusement on Simon’s face as you got more and more flustered, imagining what his face (and the rest of his body) looked like. Excitement was an understatement.
After 15 minutes, you hear the water cut off and shuffling of towels and hair.
‘Don’t touch your hair, Simon! Leave that to me’
You hear an amused chuckle from the other side.
‘Okay, luv.’
‘Can I come in then? Y’kno’- to do your ‘air?’
‘Uh- yeah, yea’ come in’
As you slowly breached open the door, you saw muscle before anything else and well… you stared. You knew you were staring, long and hard but what got your insides going funny was, he was staring too.
You’d changed into comfier clothes, just a tank top and some basketball shorts, finishing any duties for the day. You were buff (you killed people for fuck sake) shoulders broad and defined, a waist tight and defined. Legs that even underneath the baggy shorts you could tell were strong.
Simon not only notice this but your chest (he is slightly sex deprived (very sex deprived)). They sat perky and confident. You opted for no bra, slightly regretting it but Simon was grateful as he noticed the nipples gently poking through the thin fabric.
You weren’t any better. You stared too.
He stood there, just a simple, white towel wrapped around his waist that contained a beautiful six pack and a prominent v-line that was like an arrow to an anaconda - it’s probably that big anyway. One arm with a tattoo sleeve littered up it held the towel in place, veins popping out as he slightly shifted.
The best part wasn’t that, though…
His mask was off. Completely off. Not half curled up like you’ve seen in the mess hall, or slightly messed up with a few sparring sessions.
Completely off.
He was stunning. Not conventionally attractive, but just beautiful. The type of face you’ve got to look back at if you walked past him on the street. A jaw strong enough to cut glass, smooth shaven but jagged scars littered across his jaw. Cheekbones high and sharp. A nose crooked but still fit his face perfectly. Lips thin but red and plump enough to kiss comfortably. His eyes- brown and deep, staring back with lust and admiration.
You cough realising you’d both been staring longer than necessary. Looking up, Simon is watching and smirking, waiting for your instructions.
‘W-well sit down-wait you need- give me a minute’ you sputter out realising how ill-prepared you really are, not even having a stool for him to sit on while you style his hair. Simon watches, amused as he realised what his body and face did to you.
‘Right- I’m back… here, sit down’ he does as you say, looking at you through the mirror.
His eyes were distracting but his dirty blonde hair was just as pretty as him, ringlets of curls formed through his short mullet. He wasn’t super curly but it definitely needed some taming and you could tell with how it dripped wet in every direction.
As you started scrunching his hair and applying product you notice a slight hum and droop of eyes from Simon. He was enjoying it, not just the sensation but the fact a pretty woman was doing it too. A pretty woman he’d been crushing on since you joined.
You slowly make your way around him with different products, coming to the front of him and checking his hair. His hands ghost over your waist for stability as you’re too concentrated on his hair to fully notice. It just felt right. Your chest was in-front of his eyes. He tried to be respectful, he really did. But they were there and they couldn’t be ignored.
Finishing the last touches, you notice him staring and giggle slightly.
His eyes shoot up to you.
‘I-I’m sorry luv, i-‘
You giggled again ‘it’s okay… did you enjoy the show?’
‘Y-yeah… yeah I did’ he smirks up at you, shaking his head.
‘Well, I think I’m done, here- these are the products I used.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I can get more, hun.’
You notice the slight blush that flutters across his cheeks before he stands, his height towering over you. His hands gently flutter to your waist to hold you again before he reluctantly brings them back to his side.
‘Thank you- for this- I mean, I’appreciate ‘t’
‘It’s okay Simon, I’m glad to ‘ave a curly haired friend anyway.’
‘You’ve touched my hair once and now you think we’re friends?’ He teases with a grin plastered on his face.
‘Wowww! Ouch, Simon, was it not good enough?’ You say as you clutch your heart for dramatic effect.
‘…it- it wa’ perfect, luv’ not wanting the moment to end, Simon then asks ‘would you do it again? I mean- I din’t quite fully catch everythin’’
‘I think you just wan’ me to play with your ‘air again’ you giggle looking up at him. He leans down gently before the corner of his mouth catches your ear. Your breath hitches in your throat.
‘Would that be so bad, luv?’
‘I-i- uhm no, no, I can do- do that…yeah’ you stutter slightly, still having him leaning down into you.
He tilts back up, staring down at you, a sly smirk painting itself on his face.
‘It’s a date then’
Would people want a part 2?? I’m sorry to leave you on a cliff hanger but it was already quite long haha! Don’t fully know what it’d be if there was a part 2 but I love the banter already. Think I’ve made myself have a bit of a crush on y/n but worth it.
You and 141 are all peacefully enjoying dinner when this ear-shattering, earth quaking sneeze destroys everyone’s ear canal.
Ghost, Soap and Gaz give you looks of shock and horror, all muttering ‘what the fuck’ but…
Price is staring,
Not in fear but…
in awe?
Price stares like he’s found his soulmate, your foul bodily functions making his heart warm up and that big grin to latch onto his face. You, 5 foot something and a little thing compared to the beasts that make 141 but god that sneeze could wipe out the whole Mexican cartel.
At that point, Price knew he always had a soft spot for you but now employee of the month is going to you… every month.
Don’t even get him started when he found out your snoring makes a hurricane look minute. Sprawled across the cot on a mission, all having to share a room.
Snoring is usual with 141 (they all snore, GUARANTEED) and they’re all used to it by now with Price snoring his mouth off but you… fucking hell you were a beast.
It just didn’t make sense, how could you, the smallest 141 member, make the most ear shattering snorting noises in your sleep?
Since you joined and Price found out about your incredible abilities and he’s now infatuated with you. He wouldn’t admit it but he always had a little crush, you were good looking but the cherry on top is your ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude when people called you out.
‘Y’ know, you snore like an absolute pig?’ Soap said
‘And what about it?’
You just didn’t care, you kill people for a living so sleeping peacefully is deserved and that means loud, disgraceful snoring (maybe with a bit of drool). And when you first joined 141, you never expected to find your soulmate or the love of your life but when you realised your captain also had some hearty lungs that made souls shatter, maybe you’d get more out of this group then you thought.
‘Cap, you’ve got a pair o’ lungs on ya, don’t ya?’ You said while walking over to the bathroom, watching Price wake up.
‘Oh y’know it luv.’
You laughed and walked in the bathroom and Price how fucking screwed he was. He has a crush on the loudest snorer on camp.
When you two finally admitted you liked the ungodly noises that came out eachothers mouths (get your mind out the gutter), everything just fell into place.
Being Price’s partner and Price being your partner, well… it all made sense. When you two told the rest of 141, they just laughed and nodded knowing one of you would say something at some point, the lovestruck stares being beyond noticeable after a while.
Sure, you two fell in love because your body wants the world to burn while performing normal body activities but you couldn’t be happier.
At night curled up next to each other, lips parted creating ungodly noises, drool falling out your mouth. It was perfect. Of course Gaz and Soap decided to take pictures and humiliate you the next morning but all you had to say was
Heyyy! I’ve been doom scrolling card tricks on TikTok and I feel like every ghost simp has some sort of love for hands 😭😭 just thinking if y/n and 141 went to the pub and ghost pulls out a deck of cards and starts shuffling them and doing these crazy tricks. Just gets your heart going a bit
Now that's a fine concept.
Sorry it took me so long to respond. I was supposed to be writin’, but TikTok had other plans. And now? Don’t even ask me the color of a single thing I saw, my brain done short-circuited the moment those hands showed up. 😌
I hope you like this one.💚
Contact
Simon Riley X Reader
It was supposed to be a chill night.
A couple pints. Some darts. Maybe watch Soap try (and fail) to charm a bartender for the fifth time in a row.
Instead, the pub had become a slow burn of rising tension Y/N couldn’t quite name.
The pub wasn’t glamorous. Chipped wooden tables, stools that creaked under pressure, walls cluttered with old football scarves and signed beer mugs. But it was familiar. Safe in that lived-in, local kind of way. And tonight, it was full of laughter, sharp banter, and warm bodies thawing from the late Manchester rain.
Task Force 141 occupied their usual corner booth, the wood sticky from a thousand spilled ales and the cushion sagging from too many tired soldiers. Y/N sat wedged between Simon and Gaz, half-listening to Soap monologue about Scottish candy supremacy.
And then Simon. Quiet, calculating, dangerous Simon, pulled out a deck of cards.
Y/N almost missed it. One second, he was just sitting there, fingers wrapped around a pint. The next? A deck of red-backed cards appeared in his gloved hands like he’d summoned it out of thin air.
Y/N blinked. “…You carry cards?”
Simon didn’t look up. Just peeled the gloves off, finger by finger, exposing scarred knuckles and calloused palms. His hands were big, long-fingered. Strong. Every movement was deliberate.
And then he started shuffling.
Not the lazy kind of shuffle most blokes do after a few drinks. No, this was art. Fluid. Controlled. The deck rippled like silk between his fingers. He flicked them into a perfect bridge, collapsed them, then fanned them out into a circle with one hand.
Y/N stared.
Soap actually paused his candy rant. “What the…okay, when were you planning on telling us you were part-time magician, Ghost?”
Gaz leaned in, clearly impressed. “You always been able to do that?”
Simon smirked under his mask, just barely. “You lot never asked.”
He started spinning a card between two fingers, faster than the eye could follow. The motion was hypnotic.
But Y/N wasn’t watching the card.
They were watching his hands.
Those hands.
His hands were everything expected from a man like Simon Riley: rough, veined, a roadmap of faded scars and hardened skin. Soldier’s hands. But they moved like an artist’s. With care. With intention. The contrast, calloused knuckles guiding delicate cards like they weighed nothing, made their throat dry.
God, Y/N thought, how the hell are hands that brutal… that… graceful?
The veins on his forearms shifted subtly with every motion. Muscles coiled under the skin, taut and lean from years of use. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and in the dim pub light, his skin looked warm. Even with the mask on, there was something intimate about it.
Something dangerously magnetic.
He flicked a card, caught it behind his back, and turned to Y/N.
“You’re quiet.”
“I’m watching,” they said, tone carefully neutral. “Don’t get cocky.”
Simon leaned just a little closer, voice dropping. “You like what you see?”
They exhaled through their nose. “It’s a decent party trick.”
He kept flipping, eyes never leaving theirs. “You’ve been staring at my hands since I took off my gloves, Y/N.”
Y/N flushed.
Simon chuckled low in his chest, then slid the deck back into a smooth bridge. Cards clicking together like breath catching in a tight space.
Soap narrowed his eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m witnessing foreplay?”
Gaz laughed. “Because you probably are.”
Simon pulled a card from the top of the deck and flicked it with his thumb, it arced across the table, landing face-up in front of Y/N.
Ace of Hearts.
They didn’t react outwardly, but their stomach flipped.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t wink. Just sat there, hand resting near hers on the sticky tabletop. Close enough to touch, but not quite.
“I’m gonna kill both of you if this turns into some dramatic card-themed love story,” Soap muttered.
“You wish you had this game,” Y/N shot back, still staring at the Ace of Hearts.
Simon leaned in again, speaking just for Y/N. “You never answered my question.”
“What question?”
He tapped the card once with his finger. “You like the way my hands look?”
Y/N hesitated. Their lips curved into a slow, amused smirk, one that only made them look more dangerous, more effortlessly beautiful.
Then, almost too softly to catch:
“You should try using them.”
Simon’s mask tilted. “That a challenge?”
They held his gaze, heart thudding behind their ribs like a war drum. “More of a promise.”
Soap groaned into his glass. “I’m begging you both to get a room.”
~
The pub had begun to settle into that warm, hazy lull between last rounds and reluctant departures. The crowd thinned, the music mellowed, and the team had fanned out across the space. Soap arguing with the bartender about Scottish football, Gaz playing darts with strangers, and Price watching it all with a pint and that unmistakable air of parental exhaustion.
Simon and Y/N, however, hadn’t moved from their booth.
The Ace of Hearts still sat between them like an unspoken challenge.
Y/N tilted their head, reaching for the deck. “Alright, Ghost. Show me.”
He raised a brow. “Show you what?”
“How to shuffle like that.”
Simon hesitated.
Teaching someone a card trick was a bit like letting them see behind the curtain. Revealing the mechanics, the muscle memory, the patience it took to make something look like magic. And he didn’t… usually do that.
But then he looked at Y/N again. The way their fingers traced the card without really touching it, the quiet confidence in their stare, and the spark of curiosity they tried to mask with bravado.
He slid the deck over to them.
“Alright,” he said, voice low and calm. “Start with the bridge.”
Y/N held the cards like they might combust. “If I break your precious deck, you’re never gonna let me live it down.”
“Probably not.”
They smirked and tried.
It was… not elegant.
The cards fumbled out of their hands and scattered like tiny regrets across the table. One landed in their lap. One hit Simon in the shoulder.
Simon just stared at them. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m used to knives, not paper.”
“Clearly.”
He gathered the cards, his movements precise again, then scooted closer. Close enough that his thigh brushed theirs beneath the table.
“Here.” He held out the deck again. “I’ll guide you.”
Y/N blinked. “You’re gonna ghost-hand me through it?”
He gave a quiet, rare laugh, just the ghost of a grin behind his mask. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Simon reached out, his bare hand wrapping around theirs, fingers splaying over their knuckles to adjust their grip. The contact sent a jolt up their arm, not sharp, but warm. Familiar. Safe.
“You’re tense,” he murmured, adjusting their wrist gently. “Loosen up.”
“I’m being judged.”
“You are.”
They rolled their eyes, but didn’t pull away.
His hand stayed over theirs, steady and warm as he guided the shuffle. His touch was firm, not forceful, just deliberate, like everything else he did. One of his fingers brushed the inside of their wrist, and their breath caught. They hoped he didn’t notice.
He noticed.
“Try again,” he said, quieter now.
This time, they nailed it. Almost. The bridge collapsed a little too soon, but the deck didn’t explode.
Simon nodded once. “Better.”
“See? I’m teachable.”
He didn’t let go of their hand. “You always were.”
Their gaze flicked to him. “Backhanded compliment?”
“Observation.”
Their eyes locked. Y/N with a playful spark, him unreadable behind the mask but present, sharper somehow.
They leaned in, chin tilted. “Your hands are a distraction.”
“Yours aren’t bad either.”
Y/N laughed, Soft and unguarded. Simon swore it did something to his chest. They looked down at their hands again, at the way his thumb still rested lightly on theirs.
“…One more time?” Y/N asked, quieter.
He nodded.
And this time, he didn’t correct their grip.
He just watched Y/N’s fingers. Their focus, the way their bottom lip tucked between their teeth when they concentrated, and thought about how the simplest things suddenly became his favorite when they were shared with them.
Especially when it meant getting to hold their hand for no reason at all.
I have no idea if you take requests but I’ll go for it (I have no idea what I’m doing) but I was thinking about how you could do like a story where you’re at the gym with ghost and he notices because you’re in the military/forces, you can lift and pretty heavy as well and he’s in awe of it. Sometimes when people write about being in the gym with ghost they forget y/n if they’re apart of the forces, especially SAS, they’re gonna be STRONG!! Anyway I love all your work I keep binge reading it! Hopefully that made sense as well, all my love ❤️
Well hey there, I surely appreciate you reachin’ out. I’d be more than happy to write somethin’ along those lines. Just hopin’ I can do the idea some real justice. You just let me know what you think, alright?💚
Not Just Strong
Simon Riley X Reader
Simon Riley didn’t come to the gym for conversation.
He came for quiet. Solitude. Routine. And weight, heavy enough to silence whatever kept clawing at the inside of his skull.
His over-the-ear black mask was in place. Not tactical enough to get side-eyes, but strange enough to keep people out of his orbit. That was the point.
He was on his last bench set when he noticed movement.
Small frame. Hood up. Water bottle tucked under one arm like they were avoiding attention. Nothing about them screamed “threat.” If anything, they looked like they’d get winded chasing a bus.
So why the hell were they walking straight toward the squat rack?
Simon narrowed his eyes.
He watched in the mirror as they casually loaded two plates like they’d done it in their sleep. No warmup, no banded stretches, no phone set up for form checks or thirst traps. Just a quiet breath, a loose shake of the arms, and down they went, ass to grass. Back up.
Clean.
Efficient.
Controlled.
Simon sat up, slowly wiping sweat off the back of his neck.
They weren’t showing off.
They were hiding.
And failing.
He watched as they slid on a third plate with the same casual disinterest someone might pour coffee. They looked bored. Like they’d lifted heavier before breakfast.
That’s when they caught him.
“You okay over there?” they called, not looking over. “You’ve been watching me like I just stole your PR.”
Simon stood, rolling out his neck. “Nah. Just tryin’ to figure out how someone built like a library fine is repping my warm-up weight.”
That earned him a glance, sharp, curious.
“Maybe I’m just freakishly dense.”
“Maybe,” he muttered. “You local?”
They shrugged. “Visiting.”
Lie. He filed it away.
“Same,” he lied right back.
They grabbed a sip from their bottle, then eyed his mask. “So… what’s the deal? Skin condition? Secret identity?”
“Comfort,” he said simply. “And mirrors make shit weird.”
“Huh. Bold choice for someone with great shoulders.”
Simon arched a brow. “That your way of flirting or just observational humor?”
They grinned. “Bit of both.”
The banter lapsed into something heavier.
They deadlifted four plates next, form like they were being graded by a drill Sergeant.
Simon didn’t miss the stance. The bracing. The internal count before lift.
He’d seen that before.
“You train somewhere?” he asked, nonchalant.
“Here and there,” they replied, too fast. “You?”
“Same.”
Another pause.
“You military?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
They chuckled. “What gave it away?”
“You squat like someone yelled at you every time your knee drifted in.”
They gave a mock wince. “Wow. Called out.”
Simon took a slow step forward, folding his arms. “You got a name?”
They wiped chalk from their fingers. “Sure. You first.”
He didn’t answer.
“Didn’t think so,” they smirked, walking past him to the dumbbell rack.
He watched them go.
No name. No rank. No backstory. But a gait like they’d worn combat boots most of their life.
