simon 'ghost' riley x f! reader
You said you'd never date a soldier-meant to deflect, not to lie. But Ghost heard it. And Ghost doesn't let things slide. Not when you're fucking him behind closed doors.
first scene based on that one tiktok from @/rxvengxrl been on my mind since foreverrrrr. rewrote this 3 times, I should be studying for finals 😣🙏. Enjoy this 1.7k mess.
It had started small—just another rare moment of downtime in the common room. Price nursed his tea in the corner, Ghost and Gaz were half-watching the footie, Gaz more focused on his phone. You and Soap were sprawled on the couch, swinging from one easy conversation to another.
He told you about his sisters, growing up in Glasgow, some nonsense about uniform regulations—and then later sometime he asked, “What d’you think about dating military men?”
You laughed. Easy. Dismissive. “Oh, no. I’d never.”
Not because it was true. But because it was safer that way. Safer than saying yes. Safer than inviting Soap’s curiosity. Ghost had been clear—keep it quiet, don’t give anyone a reason to start looking too closely.
But then you heard the shift. A faint rustle from the other side of the room.
You glanced—just for a moment—and caught his eyes. Ghost. Watching.
Only briefly. Then he turned away, smooth as ever, like it didn’t mean anything.
But your stomach dropped.
Were you… not supposed to say that?
°.•°`..°•`~.
Later that night, after dinner, there’s a knock at your door.
You already know who it is.Your stomach tightens—heavy, uncertain—and your fingers are still damp from the shower when you open it.
There he is. No gear, no mask. Just the black standard-issue tee stretched across broad shoulders, dark pants hanging loose at the hips. Short hair a little tousled. Face unreadable.
“Can I come in?” he asks, voice low.
You step aside without a word, letting him in.
He walks in like he always does—calm, quiet. You close the door behind him.
“Eat well?” he asks, tone almost casual.
It throws you off. Makes you hesitate. Because he never asks things like that. Not like that.
But he’s here. He’s calm. He looks fine. Maybe what you thought earlier was just you spiraling. Maybe the look in the common room wasn’t anything at all.
You nod. Try to maqtch his ease. “Yeah. I did.”
He just hums, like that’s all he needed to know. Settles into your bed.
You’re still standing by the door, hair a little damp against your skin. Ghost is on your bed, legs spread slightly, hands braced behind him, shoulders relaxed like he owns the space.
Then, without looking at you—like it’s just habit—he says, “Lock the door.”
Your hand moves before your brain catches up. The click of the lock sounds louder than it should.
A pause.
Then “Come here.”
You hesitate. Just for a second. Then step forward.
“Faster, love.”
It’s not sharp—more amused. But it punches right through your chest anyway. You move a little quicker, though the few feet between you feel like a stretch of no-man’s land.
You stand in front of him, heart thudding. He looks up at you with that unreadable expression, one brow arched just slightly.
Then, a low and deliberate “Sit down.”
You move to sit beside him on the bed, unsure, already lowering yourself when—
“Tsk.” A sharp littlpe sound of disapproval. He shifts, tilting his head just a bit. “On the ground, darling.”
Your breath catches. Just a beat. Then—p
You obey.
Knees brushing the floor. Looking up at him now.
And he looks down at you. Doesn’t say anything at first.
Just lifts a hand, rough fingers brushing along your cheek. The calluses catch on your skin, slow and deliberate. His touch is gentle in a way that makes it worse—like you don’t deserve the softness.
His thumb grazes one of the faint, healed scars near your jaw—leftovers from past missions. He sees them as something earned. Little victories.
You’re still looking up at him when his thumb shifts, presses against your bottom lip—just enough to part it. You stay still, breathing uneven.
Then he slips it in.
Slow. Purposwful. Thumb brushing against your tongue, tracing your gumline.
“Open,”
Your mouth parts a little more, and he presses down, pad of his thumb resting heavy on your tongue. A breath. A hum from him, low and knowing.
“Baby’s getting brave, yeah?”
You blink. Make a muffled little noise—questioning. Confused.
“Hm?” he says, thumb still in your mouth. “The common room, love. What was all that about?”
Your eyes go wide.
So it was about the common room.
Fuck.
His thumb rubs slow against your tongue, teasing more than anything. You don’t mean to react—but you do. Reflexive. Natural.
You suck, just a little.
His eyes darken. Not with surprise—he knew you’d do that. A flicker of a smirk. Barely there. “You’d never date a soldier, huh? That what you said, love?”
Your heart stutters. You shake your head, just slightly—like maybe that’ll undo it somehow.
But he doesn’t pull away.
He just watches you.
Waiting.
“You were gonna say more,” he says, voice soft but edged with steel. “They’re so what?”
His thumb slips out, slow and wet, dragging across your lip, wiping against your cheek, as he pulls back.
He tilts his head. Still calm. Still watching.
“Fucked up?” he murmurs. “Disposable? Not your type, eh?”
Then he moves. Subtle but sure. One booted foot lifts—presses between your thighs. Not hard. Just there. Crowding into your space.
“Say it again.”
“Simon—” you start, breath catching.
“No.”
“Say it again. Tell me you wouldn’t. Look me in the eyes this time.”
You try.
Your mouth opens, but the words don’t come. They’ve dissolved—ash on your tongue. Because you can’t say it.
His hand comes up, fingers curling around your throat—not squeezing, not hurting. Just enough pressure to ground you. To make sure you feel it.
His thumb settles over your pulse, dragging a slow circle. You know he can feel how fast your heart is beating
“Thought so,” he mutters.
Then he moves.
Bends low—not fast, not rushed—and his grip on your throat tightens just a touch, enough to pull you upward as he meets you halfway.
The kiss is firm. Heavy. A little messy. The angle’s off and it hurts—just slightly—pulling at your neck, your spine.
When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Just enough to look at you.
He grabs your arm, pulls you up off your knees with ease, and turns you—pressing your back against the bed. The mattress dips beneath you, your breath catching as he leans over, eyes dark, mouth still slick from your kiss.
“C’mon then,” he murmurs, fingers sliding under your shirt, slow and deliberate, “show me how you really feel about soldiers.”
You moan—quiet and breathy—without meaning to. And his eyes flash at that.
Shirt’s up and over before you can even think. He tosses it somewhere behind him.
His follows, and the moment it hits the floor, his dog tags swing down—glinting in the low light, dangling above your face.
You don’t even hesitate.
You lean up and bite it. Teeth against the cool metal, tugging gently.
He huffs a laugh—half smirk, half growl. “Ah, yeah?” he mutters, voice rough with want.
And then his hands are at your waistband, tugging down your pants like it’s his right. Like you’re his. Which, maybe, is half true.
His fingers find your cunt easily, slick and wanting, and he hums like he already knew what he’d find.
“Don’t date soldiers, huh?” he murmurs, fingers slipping between your folds, slow and deliberate. “But you let me do this to you?”
You gasp—sharp, desperate—as he slides two fingers in without warning. The stretch burns in the best way, and your hips buck before you can stop yourself.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Mouth says no. Body’s fuckin’ beggin’, love.”
Your reply’s a choked moan, head falling back against the bed, hands fisting in the sheets
But then he’s over you, lined up and steady, and when he finally pushes in—thick and deep—your back arches with a sob.
“Let me hear it again,” he growls, hips pressing flush to yours. “Go on. Say it.”
You try—but it’s all noise, no words, your mouth open and panting, brain slipping somewhere hazy and hot.
“Say it when I’m inside you.”
He shifts just slightly, angling his hips—and it hits dead-on.
“Fuck—!” you scream, the sound torn raw from your throat as he pounds into that spot over and over, unrelenting.
It’s too much. It’s everything.
Your body’s trembling, your vision blurring, and all you can do is hold on as he fucks you.
He's got one hand braced on the bed beside your head, holding himself steady as he drives into you, each thrust making the frame creak under the weight of him. His other hand moves up-gentle, almost reverent-pushing sweaty strands of hair out of your face so he can see you.
Really see you.
"That's it, love," he murmurs, voice thick with heat. "Scream for me."
Another thrust. Harder. Deeper.
"Let everyone fuckin' hear ya."
You sob, high-pitched and wrecked.
"Let them know whose cock you're takin'.
You'd like that, wouldn't ya?”
You nod-whimper-and he gives you another sharp thrust for it, making your whole body jerk.
Your climax crashes over you like a wave, sharp and devastating, your cry echoing off the walls. You clench around him, tight and shaking, and he groans—loud, deep in his chest—before burying himself to the hilt.
His hips stutter. One. Two. And then he’s gone with a growl, spilling inside you, pressing so deep it’s like he’s trying to leave part of himself behind.
For a long second, it’s just panting. Heat. Sweat. The smell of sex thick in the air.
Then he collapses forward with a grunt, his full weight settling on you like a goddamn boulder.
You squirm under him, breathless, still trembling. “Agh—fuck,” you groan, voice hoarse. “You’re heavy, y’know that?”
He huffs a laugh against your shoulder, not moving an inch. “You’re warm.”
“Simon.”
“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing your skin lazily, like he didn’t just ruin you completely. “Just a minute."
And even though you're still trying to catch your breath, you let him.
Because it’s Simon.
A minute he asks, you'll give him 5. (yes a 5, not a forever because you'll suffocate and die after 5 minutes)
Could u guys tell I get my bad humour from my Wattpad days (i can't seem to evolve)
