fake-marriage!simon who treats it like a mission because simon doesn’t know how to do anything halfway. if he’s committing to something, even something fake, then he’s going to do it properly. thoroughly. completely.
fake-marriage!simon who sits you down at the beginning like he’s briefing you before an op. boundaries. expectations. contingency plans. “we keep it consistent,” he says evenly, arms crossed over his chest. “no contradictions. no mistakes. people ask questions, we already know the answers.”
fake-marriage!simon who memorizes everything about you with terrifying precision. your coffee order. how you answer personal questions. the stories you tell often enough to become useful details later. he files it all away automatically, treating information about you like something important to safeguard.
fake-marriage!simon who slips into the role so naturally it catches you off guard. his hand steady against your lower back in public. his body shifting instinctively closer in crowded rooms. the calm way he says “my spouse” like he’s been calling you that for years already.
fake-marriage!simon who never overdoes the affection. that would make it look fake. instead, he’s subtle in ways that feel far more convincing. quiet touches. small adjustments. constant awareness of where you are in relation to him.
fake-marriage!simon who keeps acting like your husband even when nobody’s watching. opening doors for you without thinking. guiding you through spaces with a hand hovering near your waist. positioning himself between you and strangers automatically. instinct more than performance.
fake-marriage!simon who genuinely doesn’t understand why you think there should be a difference between “pretending” and private moments. to him, consistency matters. “i’m not playin’ a character,” he says one night when you point it out. “just doin’ it properly.” and somehow that answer feels more intimate than if he’d admitted it was real.
fake-marriage!simon who gets under your skin because he treats this arrangement with the same seriousness he treats everything he refuses to lose. controlled. focused. unwavering. there’s nothing careless about the way he handles you.
fake-marriage!simon who starts lingering just a little too long in the quieter moments. thumb shifting softly against your back when nobody else would notice. voice lowering around you in ways reserved only for you. standing closer than necessary because somewhere along the line, distance stopped feeling natural to him.
fake-marriage!simon who hears people comment on how real the marriage looks and doesn’t correct them immediately. just keeps his hand resting against you while he says, quieter than expected, “that’s because it is.” not emotionally, maybe. not officially. but real enough that the line between pretending and wanting has started disappearing for him.
fake-marriage!simon who eventually admits, in the calmest voice imaginable, “everything i care about becomes a mission.” and the terrifying part is realizing he means protection when he says it. responsibility. permanence.
fake-marriage!simon who never intended to get attached. this was supposed to be practical. temporary. controlled. but somewhere between memorizing your routines and instinctively reaching for you in crowds, he stopped treating this like an assignment and started treating it like something he couldn’t afford to fail.
Summary: your big boyfie Ghost appreciating your tummy; aka the one where Simon aka “Ghost” shows you how much he appreciates you
Pairing: Simon “ghost” Riley x fem!reader
warnings: it’s a little spicy, but not full on smut; minors DNI; you’re naked in bed as your boyfriend cherishes you
wc: ~480+
A/N: this is for all my girlies who have a tummy. big or small, just know i love you all. and guess what, Ghost would love you and your tummy too
-Lee<3
—
You’re glancing up at the ceiling as Simon kisses down your torso.
His kisses start off slow, almost gentle in nature as he maps out your soft skin with his lips. He starts just under your breasts, tracing the outline of your ribs as you hold your breath at his agonizing touch. As his lips move across your rib cage, his hands have a mind of their own.
His warm hands cup your breasts, although not too rough. You find that Simon is always gentle with you; he takes extra care in touching you.
His thumbs roll over your nipples as his lips make their way down your torso, his hands following the same path.
Slowly, slowly he makes his way down to above your belly button; you’re more ticklish here, so your hips move at the ghost of his lips.
You used to be self conscious of your stomach, that was, until Simon.
He notices you writhe under him, so he places his big hands on either side of your waist, somewhat holding you in place so he can continue his decent down. But he pacifies you by the touch of his thumbs that slowly rub circles into your plush side.
He pays extra attention here, taking his time to adore you and your tummy before he goes any further.
You squirm again, as his lips tickle your skin, and goosebumps form, leaving a trail wherever Simon goes.
You love him, you’re certain.
He loves you, you’re certain.
As he maps out your tummy with his lips, he confesses to you that this is his favorite thing about you.
Then, he continues his way down, down, down.
“Stay still for me, alright?”
He voice is gruff and has a deep rumble to it that makes your heart race. You can feel the puffs of his breath against your sensitive skin.
Your brain is foggy, it’s just too full of the sensations that Simon leaves on your skin to properly respond to him.
So, you let out a whine.
That’s good enough for him.
You’re trying your best, you really are.
Really, your only response to his request is to ground yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, and every once I awhile, you give them a squeeze, letting him know how good he feels.
Finally, finally, he reaches your center, and it feels like it took him a lifetime to get there.
You’re already glancing down at him when he looks up to you. It’s a sight to remember, to cherish.
His hair is tousled from your grip, his eyes are wide, taking in every feature of your being, and he looks so in love. So in love with you.
“Ready, sweetheart?”
You grant him a small smile, one that he returns, and you nod. Then he touches you where you need him most, and your brain goes back to mush.
Drabble that takes place after The Masks We Wear and In the Bleak Midwinter
Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) x Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish
Chapters: 1/1
Notes: EXPLICIT SMUTTY CONTENT 18+, I was driving with the windows down, wind in my hair, sun baking me face, so obv I had to write a fic inspired by it, and the song Texas Sun, takes place after The Masks We Wear but also works as a stand alone, all u need to know is Soap overheard Ghost and Jag banging in Italy a while back, u knew Johnny was gonna make a love triangle appearance at some point, I churned this out today and don't have a beta reader so enjoy
In the Bleak Midwinter | The Masks We Wear| AO3 | MASTERLIST
Ghost watched you from the back seat of the GMV; his signature skull mask snug across his face and sharp eyes on you. The vehicle kicked up red dust as you drove. Off-road and hot and somewhere in the desert. Warm wind whipped through the truck—a respite as it rushed against your sweat-stained tank top. Soap was in the passenger seat, chatting away.
“Ahhh good shite. Nothin’ like a job well done, ey L.T.?”
Simon grunted in agreement.
“Not too bad yourself there, bonnie. Glad I finally got to see you in action on the field—now I see why Simon’s obsessed with you,” the Scot laughed as he looked at you with something of a twinkle in his eye.
“Nice to see I’ve converted you to the Domination of Jaguar,” you joked back.
“Didn’t have ta convert me. I’d have come willingly.”
“That’ll do.” Simon’s voice was a bit too loud, a bit too terse.
You glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. The orange sun glinted off your aviators.
He’d been acting short with you the whole day, which was surprising since the mission was executed perfectly. And jealous Simon was new. The Brit was usually great at keeping his emotions in line—especially on missions. But you’d be lying if you said this newfound possessiveness didn’t do things for you. Each bump along the rocky terrain made the hulking man shift in his seat behind you.
“Ack. C’mon, Ghost. Shouldn’t have kept the mic on if you’re the jealous type,” Johnny replied, all humor void from his voice. His mohawk ruffled in the wind.
Neither of you had brought up the fact that Simon left the coms on that fateful night in Venice.
His large hands spread you, sliding his fingers inside while he ate you from behind.
Thassit. Need you to come for me, doll.
It had become some unspoken thing between the three of you. It had changed the dynamic.
You’d always liked Soap. He was an easy guy to get along with and he placated Simon, which earned your respect. And besides, there was some kind of chemistry between the two as well, but you never pried. During your first stint with the 141, you were hardly close with Soap. There wasn’t the time to know him that well.
Then after the comms incident, the three of you became closer. Some triangle of tacit intimacy. Sometimes testing its boundaries—like Soap was doing today.
Simon shifted again in the back seat. His large frame took up most of the space.
“Safe-house’s just up ahead,” you broke the growing silence.
_____
The sun was dipping to the horizon when you pulled in.
“Hope this place has running water,” Johnny said as he hopped out of the vehicle, slinging his rifle into his hands. Everyone smelled of dust and grit and sweat.
He did a quick sweep of the shack while you and Simon grabbed the gear from the back of the GMV.
“Everything okay?” you asked, leaning against the metal beam of the truck.
His eyes raked you in. “You tell me.” It came out gruff as he grabbed a duffle and made his way to the house. Well. Guess that’s where the line was drawn.
Ragged curtains filtered in the golden hour lighting, bathing the inside of the shack in a sepia tone. You set the bags down on the floor next to the worn couch, sporing a little cloud of dust, and looked around. At least there were no bugs… that you could see.
Simon had stalked off to investigate the bedroom. Johnny greeted you again.
“Lassies first,” he said, gesturing to the bathroom.
You smiled, but looked back to find Simon.
“S’alright. I’ll go an’ talk to him,” he rested his hand on your shoulder. It was so warm.
Once inside, you turned on the shower and undressed; your skin was still hot from the sun. As you stepped under the tepid water, you couldn’t help but wonder what was bothering Simon. Obviously Soap’s comment didn’t help, but even before that he’d been in some kind of mood. The water ran over your face as the dirt dripped down your body and spiraled into the drain.
An unnecessary bang interrupted your thoughts as Simon swung the door open. He stepped in and began to strip off his clothes. You watched the beautiful man from under the spray of the shower. Watched the rippling of his muscles as he lifted his shirt—the scars that littered his pale skin shifting as he moved to undress, until he was left with only his mask. You got wet just looking at him; it never got old.
He was already half hard when he stepped into the shower, taking up most of the small space.
“Hi,” you breathed as his hands stroked down your body. He pressed his erection against your stomach. “Is this why you’ve been acting like an ass toward me all day?”
“Y’ave no idea, doll. Watchin’ you work in that outfit… does things to me, Jag.” He rutted up against you, needing the friction. So he was just horny.
You reached to raise the bottom of his mask, exposing his perfect lips. “Gonna waterboard yourself in this, baby.” But he towered above the spray of the showerhead.
It had become second nature now, wrapping your arms around his huge frame for leverage and kissing him. You tasted the salt from his lips as you laved your tongue against his. Simon’s hands reached down and squeezed your ass, then started stroking your clit and folds, pulling a moan from you.
“Johnny’s gonna join,” he said as he slid a finger into you.
“I—What?” but he slid a second in and started undulating and curling his fingers so sweetly inside that your mind went blank. You reached for his cock to regain some control of the situation. He was rock solid now. “T-thought you were jealous back in the car,” you managed.
Simon groaned into your mouth as you worked him just the way he liked. “Just wanted ‘im to shut up before I made you pull over and fucked you in the back seat.”
So he was really horny.
“Saying I should wear tank tops more oft—” but he silenced the tease as he quickened the pace of his fingers inside you, making your knees weak and brining a heat straight to your core.
At that moment, Johnny walked in, taking in the scene of you getting finger fucked by a very hard Simon.
“Steamin’ Jesus…” he exhaled, frozen in place. You turned toward him, looking him up and down with half lidded eyes and a slack jaw while Simon sucked at your neck and continued to work you. Johnny started stripping.
But Simon already had you pressed up against the shower wall and your orgasm on the brink. You watched as Johnny walked to you, planting soft kisses up your arm as he reached for your breasts.
“Christ, look at you. So pretty as you take him," he breathed. "This ok?” You nodded.
His calloused hands squeezed, thumbing over your pebbled nipples. This was really fucking happening. Seeing Soap naked and having his warm hands play with your tits while Simon worked your now soaked pussy so perfectly was all too much. Your eyes flicked back to Simon’s as he sped up the tempo, knowing you were about to break. An orgasm pulsed through you and you dug your nails into his tattooed arm and Soap’s back.
“Fffuck, Simon!!” you ground out, clenching against his fingers.
He stifled your cry with his mouth while you rode out your orgasm. It was a sloppy kiss; when he pulled back, saliva strung between both your lips.
“Take ‘er, Johnny,” he said hoarsely, as he turned you around. You barely had time to recover.
With Simon, you, and Soap inside, the shower was severely cramped. Soap was under the spray of the water now, while you rested your weight on him. Your legs felt weak after the orgasm, but his hands smoothed down your waist to steady you. Behind you, Simon patted his heavy cock on your ass.
“So pretty when you cum, Jaguar.”
You followed the stream of water that traced down the Scotsman’s body. He was stockier than Simon, with less scars and more hair. You reached for his bronzed cock—a stark contrast from Simon’s perfectly pink one. He was already throbbing.
“Ahhh Jesus,” he breathed as you started to pump him.
“Did you get this hard when you heard us fucking through the comms?” you slurred, placing kisses along his neck. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you bit softly into his meaty shoulder. He let out a sharp exhale and bucked into your hands.
“She asked you a question, Sergeant,” Ghost reached over you, thumbing Soap’s lips with his tattooed hand before sliding it into his mouth. You watched Soap suck as you squeezed the head of his cock—his precum dripped over your fingers.
Simon’s thumb made an audible pop as Soap pulled away and shook his head.
“Harder,” was all he said before taking Ghost’s thumb against the flat of his tongue again.
“You’re sick,” Simon breathed, but it was low and unravelled. And it clearly had an effect on your beast of a man because the next thing you felt was his cock pushing through into you, stretching you out so perfectly as it always did. You moaned and you pressed your forehead against Johnny’s chest.
The Scotsman reached for your hair, grabbing a fistful in one hand and pressing you firmer against him, while the other gripped Simon’s wrist. Your moans grew louder against Johnny’s chest while Simon fucked you hard, pushing deeper with each thrust. His right hand was leaving bruises on your hips with how tightly he was squeezing you.
You fisted Johnny cock with one hand while the other circled your clit.
“Jesus, Jaguar.” “Take me so fuckin’ good, luv.” The men said at the same time.
You couldn’t help but laugh before Simon picked up the pace and fucked the noise out of you; the sounds of your ass slapping against his massive thighs filled the small room. You weren’t going to last long.
Pumping harder, you used both hands on Soap’s cock now, trying your best to keep a steady rhythm while Simon pounded into you from behind. You burrowed into the crook of his neck, stifling your moans while sucking and biting at him. His hips were stuttering as he thrust into your hands. The water pulled your hair down.
“Jaguar I’m—feck,” Johnny thunked the back of his head against the shower’s tile. He let go of Simon’s arm and grabbed your face with both hands, crushing his lips against yours. His tongue vied for yours, kissing you open mouthed and messily, as his hot cum shot across your stomach. Johnny moaned against your lips as you pumped every last drop from him. You clenched around your lover.
Groaning, Simon took the opportunity to snake his free hand around and punish your clit, while sinking his entire length into you. It was his dirty little trick to always bring you over the edge immediately. Your legs buckled as another orgasm overtook you, but the men held you upright as Simon forced you deeper onto his cock. It felt like your organs were pushed into your throat. You cried in euphoria but no sound escaped as you rode out your orgasm on his punishing thrusts. With how tightly your pussy clamped around him, he finally released inside of you—biting into your shoulder as he filled you so full that he leaked out.
By the time everyone came down from their orgasms, the water had gone cold. It was a small miracle any of you were upright by the end of it. Johnny leaned against the wall, holding you to him as Simon slowly pulled out. Hot cum dripped down you leg and was washed away by the water.
“Jesus, Ghost, you made her bleed.”
Simon brushed the small beads of blood from the bite mark on your shoulder and placed his mouth over it, sucking softly. You moaned breathlessly into Soap’s neck.
“Sorry, luv."
Turning around, you rested your back flush against Johnny. Could feel his cock twitch as he reached around to caress your breasts. Simon closed the distance and kissed you, smoothing over the points of your hip bones with his thumbs. His mask was soaked under the water. Black streaks ran down his face from his eye makeup. And yet he still looked like the most perfect thing in the world.
“That’s okay, baby,” you sighed into his kiss. “Know how you can make it up to me.”
thinking about forcing simon to sleep on the couch after an argument.
he doesn't argue when you point toward the couch. that's what throws you off. just mutters a quiet "right" and stalks away. an hour later, guilt gets the better of you and you go looking for him, only to find a six-foot-something soldier curled awkwardly onto a couch clearly built for normal-sized people. his feet are hanging off the end, his neck is bent at an angle that can't be comfortable, and he's got that wounded look in his eyes when he notices you standing there. he won't ask to come back to bed—that would require admitting he misses you—but the way he shifts to make room for a body that physically cannot fit is pathetic enough. by the time you tell him to get up and stop sulking, he's already halfway to the bedroom.
he wordlessly slides you the last chocolate from the box, even though it’s clearly his favorite.
taglist
he pretends he doesn’t care for sweets. calls them unnecessary, too sugary, a distraction. if anyone asks, he’ll shrug it off like he only ever eats them because they’re there. never because he wants them.
but you’ve noticed.
the way his gaze lingers half a second too long on the dessert menu.
how the chocolate rations disappear from his kit faster than anything else.
how he always claims the dark chocolate is “practical” because it lasts longer.
it’s a quiet secret, the kind he never bothers to explain — and you never push.
so when there’s a box of chocolates between you, it feels ordinary at first. shared space, shared snacks, the comfortable silence he prefers over small talk. you pick one, then another, chatting about nothing in particular while he listens in that low, attentive way of his.
you see it in the slight tilt of his head, the almost-reach of his hand before he stops himself. a tiny pause. a decision.
eventually only one is left.
the good one.
the one he’s been picking around the entire time.
then, without a word, he slides the box toward you.
no comment. no dramatic gesture. just a small nudge across the table like it means nothing at all. like he isn’t giving up the piece he wanted most.
if you look at him, really look, you’ll catch the tell — the way he leans back, pretending disinterest, eyes flicking to make sure you take it. a quiet confirmation.
because simon isn’t the type to say he cares in obvious ways.
he won’t dress it up in soft words or grand confessions.
