as a (mainly) smut writer, every single time i get a notification that somebody liked one of my posts, i just think to myself "damn, another filthy porn enjoyer"
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader
Summary: Sometimes a slip of a hand is all the push you need.
Words: 1K
Warnings: Tons of swearing and some suggestiveness, but that’s about it.
Reader's gender not specified/no pronouns used.
A/N: Gods, it's been years since I've last posted my stories online, but I couldn't sleep after playing CoD and... well. Those who get it, get it. Feedback and requests are super welcome! ♡
Your feet pounded the cement as you ran through the cargo hold, finding security from the midst of the rusty metal containers.
All around you shouts and calls erupted from your friends' lips—some followed by warm laughs, others by deep curses, as the Task Force 141 submerged into the practice session.
"Gaz, do you copy?" The call passed your lips as a warm chuckle, as you crouched behind an oil container. "I've just gotten Soap's dog tags."
"Oh, I know." The reply was spoken with a laugh. "He's sent Ghost to come and find you. Fuckin' dumb on his part, considering that—"
"His tags are the last ones we need to win." You nodded your head. "Any visual on him? The last I've seen him was when he swiped poor fucking Roach off his—"
"I only needed his dog tags, didn't I?"
You grinned at the deep voice echoing from the other side of the container. You should have focused on listening to him approaching, but then, when did you ever really hear him coming?
"Funny," you chuckled back at the man, as you planted your feet steadier against the ground, careful to not make a sound. "You see, Lieutenant, your tags are exactly what I need. So why don't you just go ahead and toss them to me? We can take it real nice and easy."
"'Cause that's how you fuckin' like it, eh?"
You could hear the laughter in his voice, slightly breathless from the time spent dashing around under the scorching sun. Just moments before you had cursed the heat under your breath as you'd felt the pearls of sweat rolling down your forehead. Running in full gear tended to get to the fittest of the force, yet it did have its benefits, too.
Benefits, such as the sound of Ghost's vest brushing against the metal of the container. At your ear level, right around the corner to your right.
You wet your lips with your grin. "Want me to show you just how I like it, Lt.?"
"Darlin', you and I both know that I can read you like an open fuckin' book."
You could hear the brush of his vest against the metal again, as he moved closer to you. You knew he was out of paint-ammo: Gaz had gotten away with his tags from mere luck only moments prior, which meant that you had the higher ground. The moment he moved to lunge at you, could take him down with a single pull of the trigger, and grab his tags off his soon-to-be paint-covered vest.
Yet what was the fun in that?
With an arched brow, you laid your gun on the pavement. The screech of it against the ground, as you kicked it out of both your reaches, did not go unnoticed by Ghost.
”Sure you wanna do that, love?”
"Just to make it fair and square," you chuckled.
"You know I can't just kick off half my fucking body, yeah?"
"Wasn't it just this morning that I wiped the floors with your—"
A gasp and a curse were all you could manage, as your back collided with the hard cement of the ground. Handling the shock of the impact was one thing, but seeing him towering over you, fucking victorious, was another pill to swallow.
"Jesus fuck, Ghost." Despite your voice being a mere pained groan, you could not shake off the laughter from your features: the same laughter that glimmered in his eyes. "You know we're just fucking practicing, right?"
"I know. But you see, whatever the fuck it was that you said about takin' it nice and fuckin' easy—," he chuckled, as he crouched by you, "just doesn't do it for me. So what do you say I take these…"
His skeleton-patterned gloves reached for the chain around your neck, and just as you rolled your eyes at the certainty of your team having lost over you letting down your guard, the events began to unfold.
Whether it was from his finger slipping on your glistening skin, or from you turning your head at the exact wrong moment—perhaps it was from the combination of both—his hand did not wrap around the chain of your dog tags.
Instead, Ghost's fingers wrapped around your throat.
One moment he was sure of the victory of his team. Next, his brain could not function. For there you fucking were, on your back with your eyes slightly widened and lips parted, and his hand—his goddamn gloved hand around your throat from all the fucking places.
The worst of it all was not the wave of embarrassment that flushed through him. The worst of it was how fucking good you looked.
Yet he knew.
He knew.
No, he should have known better than to let his guard down: to allow himself to get distracted by the tug of the corners of your lips, as you tilted your head ever so slightly, chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths, your eyes fucking twinkling.
Yet as the fingers of your hand rested on his and the word passed your lips, fucking pretty, who could blame him?
"Harder."
To hell and fucking above. From your breathless request, his lips parted involuntarily under his mask. To say what, he did not know: plead, maybe, for the first time in his life.
No, it wasn't pleading and begging you wanted from him, was it? Quite the fucking opposite.
No. Focus.
Fucking focus, Lt.
Using the fleeing moment of his racing thoughts to your advantage, you pushed off the ground and brought your knife—sheathed—to his throat. The twinkle in your eyes was brighter than ever, and as you laughed, the sound was all but menacing.
"Really, Ghost?"
"Don't even fucking begin," he cursed, breathless, as your fingers wrapped around the chain around his neck, and tugged off the dog tags.
Yet as long as he had tried to deny it, it was not the slight touch of humiliation of having lost that made his head spin. You—he wet his lips, as he watched you twirling the tags around your finger—were going to be the goddamn death of him, and for one reason or another, he was ready to welcome it with open fucking arms.
“Ready for round two, sarge?” His chuckle was deep as you tossed his dog tags back to him, your eyes twinkling with challenge. “You know, I’m not gonna take it fuckin’ easy on you now.”
“Oh, that’s mutual, Lt.”
That—Ghost wet his lips with a chuckle—that he was fucking counting on.
i absolutely adore maple syrup to the point my partner lovingly / jokily deemed it unhealthy { can i be added to the tag list}
your writing style is amazing btw
as a request im curious to how simon would handle someone he likes who has a humor as dark as him { we all know hes a cocky b@stard with a dark humor and dad jokes}
"a man walks into a magic forest and tries to cut down a talking tree," you said. simon could feel his brows furrow, listening to you.
"is that so?" soap responded, and from where simon was set up to snipe he could see the smirk growing on his face. it was weird having someone else who would try and crack jokes over the comms.
"'you can't cut me down!' the tree complains. 'i'm a talking tree!'" soap snorted sharply into the comms and price made a little complaint about all the noise. "the man responds, you may be a talking tree, but you will dialogue," simon snorted sharply, not expecting that. of all things you could do, make dark little dad jokes was the one thing you did?
soap called out a few people walking alone and simon shot them down. "i just got my doctors test results and i'm really upset," simon retorted. you hummed into the comms and he could hear a few silenced gunshots come from your mic. "turns out, i'm not gonna be a doctor," he heard your snort followed by a few coughs.
"y'choking?" soap asked, somehow sounding genuinely worried even through his hand to hand combat. he heard a few louder shouts from your end, another couple of gunshots coming through.
"the lieutenant has jokes, now?" you asked. you were a newcomer, having joined recently to help out on stealth focused missions. this was the first one you had joined, and thus far it was going pretty well for a 141 mission.
he knew you looked good, he knew you were a sweetheart but now you had your own kind of personality coming out. he already was starting to like you more and more by the minute.
as you boarded the flight to return, all of the information you needed (and a few people needed to help 'inform' you on it) was on the flight. as you sat down, soap had sat beside you.
he leaned in close and whispered something and you snorted.
"you know if you give a man a match, he'll be warm for a few hours" you looked him dead in the eye. "set a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life," simon had to look away to keep from busting out laughing. if there was anything in this world simon appreciated, it was a good shit joke.
"the sergeant has jokes now?" he called out from across the way and you smirked, shooting him a little wink. simon could feel, ever so weirdly, his insides becoming just a little warm.
maybe he'd need to drown the butterflies, but for now? he'd accept what they were, and who they were caused by. pretty little, shit joke making you.
(p.s. it's a little shorter, but i really like how this came about. you are added to the taglist, btw!)
Ghost x reader but you never actually met him before. You joined a letters to soldiers program on a whim, figured there would be no harm in it since it got filtered through the charity service- your address would never be shared with the stranger.
You didn't know how to start the first letter really, so you didn't do much at all. You shared your name and a general description of your looks and your life. You asked plenty of questions, so your soldier wouldn't feel the same awkwardness you did. You were definitely projecting some image of a strong but smelly jock who joined the military to goof around instead of take things seriously, so you ended it with a pun.
"If you are near a boat, remember you'll always have a hat. Just flip the boat over-- it'll become capsized!"
Your heart sank as you read his rather curt response letter a few days later. Some asshole with the emo ass sounding callsign of Ghost decided he was too good for you. He made it very clear he wasn't likely to divulge much information about himself, mainly for his own safety. His entire letter was matter of fact and broadly negative, punctuated with a comment that he was only doing these letters because he had been mandated to by an "overbearing mother hen of a captain". He encouraged you to not put too much effort into your letters, in fact he suggested that if you were sincerely seeking conversation to pick up another solider to send letters to.
However, his post script admission that your joke was simultaneously terrible and hilarious, and that he told it to one of his soldiers and it made them groan- which he thanked you for- that made you giggle and start a new letter for him.
He tried to act like writing to you was the bane of his existence, the darkness of his week that loomed over his head like the sword of Damocles. After enough time, you learned to just roll your eyes at his dramatics and keep on writing. He continued to keep his private information away from you but seemed to prove time and time again that he did read (and remembered) what you wrote to him about yourself. Eventually, he began to ask you questions about yourself, showing genuine interest in your life.
It was him who broke the photo boundary- sent you a printed photo after months of letter exchanges. Of a man in a mask holding a rather large looking German Shepherd over his shoulder like a sack of flour. On the back, in the usual neat and pointed writing, "Myself and Riley, ××/××/××××." He didn't reference or acknowledge the photo in the actual letter, so you respectfully didn't comment on it. Despite having a million new questions about the Halloween-looking mask. How was that even tactical?
Speaking of Halloween- that was when you sent a photo in return. Well, two days after Halloween, when your photos were printed. Your friends had taken this one- it was you, asleep on the couch in your fairy costume after the party, wings bent and crooked under your weight. Your cat was cuddled up against your chest, and all in all you figured it'd possibly be an entertaining photo to share. After you sent it out to be mailed though, you started to mentally cringe.
'The first time the guy is seeing you, and you look like you probably passed out drinking! Or worse, did you look like a slut? Did you have a booger? You fucking hate not having digital copies of photos!!'
Your self-prescribed embarrassment was only swayed by the fact that Ghost passed the next boundary- he commented on the photo. Kinda.
"P.S.: That photo... cute."
You kept reading and rereading his words, tracing your fingers over the letters. He didn't seem like the guy to kiss ass, or compliment on reflex. From there, you both sent a photo with every letter.
It was nearing Christmas when you sent him a photo of you next to your Christmas tree, all dressed up with popcorn garlands and twinkling lights. You had an ugly holiday sweater on over sweats and fuzzy socks, a big smile on your face. It felt cute enough. Not that you were trying to impress him or anything.
And good thing you totally weren't, because he sent it back to you with his response letter.
"Can't stand the holidays. Bad times for me, bad memories. I don't want this, sorry." The photo looked like it had been wadded up, then upon second thought was spread back flat with a regretful hand.
You couldn't- didn't want to- imagine what he could be referencing. A man who sees the horrors of war and mankind who can't stand Christmas? Something must have really fucked him, then.
You don't send a photo with the next letter for the first time since you had began. What you wanted to say was too important.
"I'm sorry it's a hard time for you, I'll remember that and be more aware in the future. I don't do much for the holidays myself- if you need anyone to talk to... anyone who isn't some big bad killing machine, that is... call me. Seriously. This is my number. Block your number or something, I don't care. No one should have to deal with things alone. ×××-×××-××××."
Christmas Eve, middle of the night, you get a phone call from an unknown caller. You were dozing off on your couch, holiday specials on the TV before you. You take your time picking it up, your brain not making the possible connection. No greeting comes, and you say hello several times to still no response. Just breathing.
"This you?" Silence. "Ah. Okay, I can work with this." You tell him about your day, your week, the last book you read. You were talking for what felt like ages, the soft sound of breathing being your only feedback. Looking at your phone screen, the call showed at just under 45 minutes. You finally yawned, pausing in your ramblings. "I'm getting sleepy... This might sound dumb but... You mind staying on a while 'til I sleep?"
Still no response. You sigh and cuddle down deeper into the blankets covering you, eyes drooping at another movie rerun. You don't hear the call end, but when you wake up the next day, your phone records showed the call lasted about two hours.
thinking abt simon "ghost" "acts of service" riley
like in my head he isn't too fond of physical touch. he wont burst into tears and start crying and shaking if you hug him but its very much reserved for the very few people who are close to him. its not that he's scared of it or it makes him super uncomfortable, its just he has other ways of showing people he loves them!
he's the type of guy who when you're getting to know him, listens and remembers every detail you tell him, and makes mental notes of your dislikes and likes w/o you having to tell him.
he takes cold showers every day and when you ask him he just tells you "its better, wakes me up in the mornings" but its really because he knows you like taking hot showers from all the times he's walked into the washroom once you're done and noticed the mirror all fogged up from the steam. he just wants to make sure you dont run out of hot water
in a passing conversation you mention feeling a bit sick, maybe its the change in weather or your allergies acting up but you just really are hoping it isnt a cold. simon doesnt say much but later you find a small ziploc baggie of peeled orange slices with a sticky note with your name on on it
when you go out together and you're a little underdressed for the weather he notices the goosebumps on your arms and how you constantly are rubbing them with your hands, trying to subtly warm yourself from the friction. you dont do a good job however because he glances at you and lets out a small sigh
"what did i say before heading out"
"bring a jumper..." you mumble in response
"and what did you do?" he crosses his arms over his chest but he isn't mad or annoyed, not in the slightest
"not bring a jumper"
it feels like you're on the verge of being lectured but simon just rolls his eyes and gestures you to follow him. you're lead to his car and he opens the trunk, tossing you a black zip up sweater. he's scolding you somewhat, saying that "this is why you're getting sick" and other nonsense and you're lucky he "forgot" to take that sweater out of the trunk or boot because hes bri'ish. you happily take it and put it on because you're not about to turn down a sweater when you're freezing also its from simon and it just looks so comfy! it's definitely big on you because lets face it, simon is built like an industrial freezer, but the material is soft and cozy, with the added bonus of smelling like him. you thank him for the sweater and carry on with your day, not thinking much of it. truth is, however, he always has that extra sweater in his car for you. makes sure its there before you two go anywhere, neatly folded and tucked into the back. he would never admit it though he's such a pussy
when asked about his little favours he does for you he constantly pulls excuses from his ass, saying its just a coincidence that he had those things or literally anything to hide that he goes out of his way to do it for you. he cares about you, he actually cares a lot about you but he's just a tiny bit embarrassed to admit it. he loves you so much but he doesn't want you to think he's like kicking his legs and giggling over the thought of you even though he probably has at some point but you dont need to know that
he thinks he's sooooo subtle and sneaky about it but when you fall asleep and you wake up with a sweater over top of you like a blanket that a) you are 100% sure doesn't belong to you and b) has "S. Riley" written in sharpie on the tag (with a tiny skull doodle next to it), theres no way in hell you can be oblivious to how much he cares about you.
cw. könig notices you avoiding him. and it doesn’t take long for him to figure out that it’s all because of a little dream you had. fingering, pussy play, semi-public, slight age gap
you couldn’t meet könig’s gaze for the entire day. the one time you did get a glimpse of him, his arm reaching over to grab a gun or a vest or something that you weren’t really paying attention to, your mind started whirring. your little dream had come back to, despite your inner protest, the memory of könig’s hands sliding down between your thighs made your stomach clench. heat making your cheeks flushed, along with your nose.
könig had noticed this change in your expression, as he eyes you. this only seemed to make your mind run laps, remembering the way his thick fingers jammed into you, while his heavy bulge kept nudging against your widened legs. fuck. in that moment you spared him a small smile and quickly turned to take business elsewhere.
as the day got later, your pussy craved for something that you knew you’d never get. i mean how pathetic can you get? honestly. but what you hadn’t realized was how attentive könig was to you. having been your mentor and supervisor he had grown a keen eye to your habits. you had never minded making eye contact before, or at least as much. but now you actively avoided it. and when könig made the mistake of letting his gaze drop he saw the way your thighs clenched tightly together.
he wasn’t a stupid man, he knew what that meant. and though the clear age gap and status provided you both with a clear ‘forbidden zone’, könig couldn’t help but keep looking. you were a pretty girl. könig also wasn’t blind. he knew the random stares you got, the passing compliments. he hadn’t thought much of it, but as he soon became aware of your dire need to avoid him he grew curious.
“i need to speak to you.” könig says to you in his normal professional manner that has you thinking you’re in the clear. but the moment you two end up alone he draws in close, far too easily lifting you onto the nearby table. your eyes expand as his large hands holds your thighs apart, and around his hips. “why are you avoiding me?” his question is simple. but you’re too awestruck to come up with a lie as you just gulp.
he’s testing a theory. your avoidance of eye contact, flushed cheeks, and clenched thighs all lead to something that is making könig second guess himself in thinking his plan is all for research purposes. did he want you like this? did he like the fact that you looked so flustered?
“alright, answer me this then. what did you dream about the other night?” his straight to the point question is nothing like the könig you knew. in fact this whole ‘confrontation’ is anything but. he doesn’t waste his time conversing in deep detail, or asking any questions that lead to said conversations. his question is followed by your further silence. what were you supposed to say? ‘yeah, i dreamt of you fucking me until i could barely breathe’.
“it’s a simple question.” he speaks again, and this time you can feel your body come to life. but not in the way of action in more of a reaction to his hands now stroking your thighs. his hands can practically encompass them. that only seems to make your inability to speak more prominent. “if you aren’t going to say anything, i’m going to start assuming.”
yeah, maybe his ‘plan’ is turning into something more. he wanted to know what was bothering you. that if he touched you this close would you react with disgust or as you are now? but now his mind seems to wander. if he’s right about you fantasizing about him, and if you won’t talk, there’s only one way to understand more.
you can’t comprehend a thing as his hand slips down between your thighs and begins to rub right against your covered pussy. your mouth salivates as your hands grip on the material of his shirt. könig watches you closely as your gaze darts down in surprise, your lips parting. his fingers drag against your cunt as your hips instinctively shudder. yeah…he knows.
his other hand then moves over to the button and zip of your pants, skillfully unbuttoning and unzipping until his hand can completely slide past your panties and graze right over your weeping pussy. a small gasp leaves you as your hips move a fraction, your head now practically rested on his chest as he stands. his calloused fingers do wonders to your clit and more choked sounds leave you.
you’re embarrassed. but at this point nothing much is going on in your mind besides the repeat of ‘könig is touching me’ ‘könig is touching me’. he doesn’t say a word as he then slips two fingers into your hole, the stretch making a louder mewl leave you. könig’s free hand presses against your mouth to quieten you, as he begins to fuck you with his fingers, your clothes muffling the wet drag of your seeping pussy.
his hips keep your thighs from shaking too much as you press against them for support, your forehead against his chest drawing you closer to him. “do not make a sound.” he whispers to you, as he removes his hold on your mouth, his hand slipping to partially soothe and hold your head.
könig can feel you squeezing around his fingers, your breathing telling him how close you are as his thumb rubs soothing circles on your clit. your orgasm crashes over you as you mouth opens, panting against him. he keeps thrusting his cum covered fingers into you as your hips grind as much as they can. after a moment, your orgasm slowly decreasing, könig mutters something. “is that why you were avoiding me today?”
you can’t tell if he’s disappointed or not. and you’re still too scared to look him in the eye. even more now, that his fingers are spreading your arousal and cum all over your pussy lips, his hand still in your pants. “i’m…sorry.” you manage, your embarrassment catching up to you. he doesn’t reply a moment as he keeps playing with your pussy lips slowly. “is that a yes?” he hums.
“…yes.” you murmur back. the moment you say this, his fingers slide right back into your hole making you gasp, and grip onto his arms. you finally gaze up at him, as he begins to finger you again. “w-what—“ you choke out as your eyes threaten to roll, the heat in your core returning. you don’t know his reason for thrusting his fingers back into you. because all he knows is that he wants to watch you cum again.
mdni, tw smut. lord, have mercy because simon just can’t keep his hands to himself.
the sight of the hot shower water streaming upon your naked body made simon’s mind short circuit, unable to concentrate on rinsing himself off of the shampoo lingering in his hair. he had promised to keep his hands to himself, his thick cock throbbing and fists clenched at his sides as he watched you rinse off the last bits of soap on your body. and, just as you were about to exit the shower, his rough hand shoots out and grips onto your wrist.
“don’t leave yet, doll,” simon mumbled, switching places with you beneath the shower stream.
you quirked an eyebrow at his request, watching in both confusion and shameless delight as he tilted his head back into the water to rinse his hair of the shampoo. your eyes trailed down the length of his torso, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you watched his muscles flex under the cascading water. the water hitting against his skin made his muscles shine, accentuating his bulky physique.
he then tilted his head back forward, a smirk tugging at his lips.
and then, before you could register the situation, your back was pressed up against the cool tile panes of the shower, his lips pressed to yours in a sloppy, messy, rough kiss. teeth clashed against teeth, tongues swirling and shoving against one another until you ultimately gave up and allowed simon full possession of your body. you were holding onto him for dear life, legs wrapped around his waist with his hands gripping at the smooth flesh of your ass. within a blink of an eye, his cock was bullying its way into you, the ridges of his cock nudging against your g-spot.
your whimpers and moans were muffled in between the kisses, the ridge of his cock’s head rubbing against the gummy walls of your cunt in a manner that made your head grow light. his lips trailed down the length of your face, his tongue lapping at your jawline and down to your neck. his teeth sunk into the thin skin of your neck, eliciting a sharp hiss from your lips from the intensity of the bite. it was sure to leave a noticeable mark later.
“you look so pretty beneath me, love,” he’d murmur into the crook of your neck, his hips snapping up into you at a blinding pace. simon pressed a soft kiss to your neck, his nails digging into your plump ass cheeks. “g-gonna pump you full f’me— gonna b-breed this tight p-pussy out—” he’d rasp, his breath coming out in short pants.
you clung hard to him, legs tightening with how deep he was filling your pussy. your head spun from how many inches he was able to stuff you with, the angle allowing the very tip of his cock to bruise your cervix. his hips were relentless, snapping right against you and just thrusting into you at such an aggressive pace it was as if he had no regard for your safety. he was just so needy and desperate to feel every inch of you around his cock while he destroyed your walls.
“you feel so fuckin’ good, sweet girl,” he groaned, adjusting your weight against him so that your head and upper back were now just pressed against the cool wall. the edges of the tiles dug into your shoulder blades, back arching as you drew closer to your orgasm. the only support keeping you up was the grip he maintained on your hips and the sharp hit after hit he delivered to your sloppy cunt.
he was looking down at you with such an intense gaze, it made your pussy clamp down on him— thighs trembling around him as your vision grew white while he jackhammered his cock into you. simon let out a grunt above you— hips stilling for just a moment as you felt the familiar sensation of his thick ropes of cum spurting into you. he’d let you down slowly, your body slumped against him and your head resting against his chest.
he'd press a kiss to your wet hair, his large hands cradling your head and waist to prevent you from collapsing to the floor of the shower. after a second or two, he’d grab you by your chin, tilting your head back to look up at him. you could feel his cum drip out from within you, staining your inner thighs white with his release.
“sorry, baby,” he’d whisper, his hands now roaming the expanse of your back and down to your ass. “just can’t keep my hands to myself.”
unfortunately @yeehawhorsey - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
2087
ellievsbear
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
theartofmadeline
izzy806
