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witch-oftheflowers · 3 days

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Does it hurt?

Ximena Riley x 141 Task Force

AN: OH get ready. Here comes some angst. This will get dark and emotional. So get ready ~

Masterlist This leads to events

Dim lights filled the space. A small confined room. A single chair in the middle. And a single person. A woman.

Her curls swept forward as she leaned in. Her hands bind behind her, and she softly was breathing. Trying to keep herself awake. Her deep brown eyes scanning around as she gave a small tug on the rope. She almost got it off.

But the door spilled open, letting the hallway lights flutter in. Her eyes linger to the door and the large pair of boots coming in. Gentle even, which the past few weeks it hasn't been like that.

"Ximena... Come on Lass just give us what we want." The voice was stern but trying to be gentle. A soft scoff left her lips as she shut her eyes.

"I told you what I know John... And I'll keep repeating what I know is true. I didn't betray you lots." Ximena stated as she scoot back in her seat. Her curls cascading down her shoulders and down the back of the chair. Her feet were tied apart. Knowing she can get out most holdings.

Price had a force thin smile. Rubbing a hand through his beard as he walked around her

"Anything. Give me anything Ximena. We have a faithful resource that said otherwise" he stopped behind her for a second. Softly yanking her curls back.

Snapping her head back as she winced in the pain. Her eyes snapped to him as she growled

"let go-"

"You need to give us something. We don't wanna hurt you anymore Ximena!" He shoved her head away as she groaned a bit.

"Then hurt me! I don't care!" Her voice was a bit hoarse. She felt the pain internally but as a trained soldier she never needed to show it.

She couldn't, it was a liability. It could risk her life, even now with those she loves. Her eyes stuck to the floor as she frown. A deep sadness in her eyes as she shut them.

Don't give in. Don't give in. Don't do it-

The door opened again and shut. Price went quiet as he stared at the larger man. A man he was hoping to not see.

"Ghost-"

"Let me at 'er Capt. I need a go...." His gravely voice was a bit softer. But the edge was clear. Even Ximena felt it as she sat back in her seat. Her posture corrected as she glanced to the man she loves.

Worse part was during all of this. She wasn't mad. She was just saddened by the leading events that lead to this.

Some damn bastard...

Her thoughts trailed as she didn't noticed Price left them be. Her eyes softly shook as she gazed down to the floor. No. No. Don't leave me with him...

His steps were calm. Walking towards her as he yanked her head up. Her eyes tried to stay stuck below her, but his warm hands forced to her look up. Softly he squished her cheeks as he forced her lips to pout.

"Speak up. That's all you havta do..."

"Never. Because there's nothing to say!" She spat at him as she yanked her face away. Glancing to the side as she noticed the torture tools in the room. All littered with her blood by now.

Her breathing became a bit shallow as she sighs. Trying to keep her emotions in line-

Ghost yanked a fist full of her curls as he knealt to her height. His brown eyes bore into hers. The mass wave of sadness and frustration painted his eyes.

"I need ya to say something. Anything. I do not wanna hurt you Ximena-"

"If you don't get the right thing you want. It'll lead to getting hurt more... So no." She told him with determination in her face.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After viscous hours of pain and torment. Ximena's face was bruised and beat up. Blood was dripping down her face. Feeling her cheeks swell and her eye sight blur.

Cuts litter her exposed body. Her blood was splatter on the floor.

Ghost himself was litter with it even.

The door burst open. And a rookie coming in huffing, spoke up. Ghost was close to ringing him out till the words echoed in the quiet room.

"She's... Not the traitor..." He said as he stared at the two.

"There was no traitor..." He said as he noticed the pair stiff.

Ximena's eyes shook as she processed this. Her head rolled back as the blood loss caught up to her. She stayed stump in the chair as her body lost consciousness

Ghost stared at the rookie with blinded rage

"You're fucken kidding?! You ot to be fucken kidding me right now!" He roared the words as the rookie left the room. His breathing became labor, harsh and brittle even.

"you're ...fucken..." He let a sigh out as he ran his gloves hands over his face. Starting to feel terrible. He glanced to his wife with concern.

He did this

Did

This

The realization hit him like bricks. He was a terrible soldier. He tortured an innocent person.

He harmed his wife.

His other half. And worse he didn't believe her for a second. Not a second through the months of this rigours process.

Doubted

Her

For

Months

The words swirled in his head as he shut his eyes tight.

How could he fix this. Them. Their relationship. Their family. Their everything-

The door opened again as his thoughts were going a million miles a minute. And Laswell stared at the two. Her eyes shook a bit as she got the medics in to take Ximena away for treatment. Once it was just Ghost and her she walked over to the younger man as she touched his arm.

He flinched as he stared to the short woman. His eyes glazed as he wanted to cry. But he was forcing himself to keep it together.

"Laswell..." He whispered her name as the older woman gave him a soft smile

"You couldn't have known.. none of us did.. well besides her.." she said as she noticed Ghost flinch at the last bit.

"She was right... She's 'ways right ya know.."

"Usually she yes. But we didn't see it.. come on.." she escorted him out as she lead him to Price's office.

The trio sat and spoke. Even Ghost yanked the mask off as it felt constricting in the moment.

His blonde hair was buzzed short. As he processed the findings. His brown eyes bore to his boots as he felt stiff.

Yet his chest was pounding. Feeling his heart spike as he was still flooded with the pain and memories of her face. Of what he did to her.

Price was calm as he tried to pull the man out of it.

"Simon look at me-" he said as he got around his desk. On his knees as he stared to the already broken man.

"We couldn't have known..."

"But she did John." He said as he didn't look up. Besides he shut his eyes. Feeling uneased

"The person that gave us these details is being detained. They won't be out till we know why they picked her." Kate said as she stared at the two men

John sighs as he pat Simon on his knees

"Look at me."

Simon blinked a bit as he finally met eye to eye to his captain. His friend.

"She'll be fine.. have a speedy recovery. She's a tough girl- she's gone through a lot worse physically..."

"But we hurt her John. We. Her team. Her family. We broke her 'rust, we broke her. I BROKE HER." He roared the last bit as he didn't realize the hot tears drip down his cheeks.

But Price did. And Laswell. The pair felt sympathy in the moment. They didn't wanna ignore the mental damage this could cause

"Of course we did.. physically and mentally.. that was us. Mentally she might take longer. She'll need longer Simon. But we'll be here with you both every damn step of the way if we must. Because you two are family.." John said firm but clear. Making his and Laswells, along with the Task Force intentions clear.

They'll be there every step of the way.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Ximena woke up. Her curls were pulled into braids. Tucked over her chest.

Her eyes stung a bit. Realizing she was out for a while then -

Glancing around she was alone. It was also dark outside. Middle of the night more likely. Her hands squeezed a bit as she was checking her body.

Hands still moving. Her legs felt like sandbags, more likely from the pain medication they had to give her. Her feet sore even as she knew the needles she had in them for a few hours did some damage-

The room door open as a nurse came in. She blinked a bit as she spoke up.

"Mrs Riley... I'll inform the doctor you're awake. We have a bit to discuss with you ma'am..." She said as she slipped out a bit surprised the woman was up so early

Ximena groaned a bit as she laid there. Her body aching as she finally felt the pain her body had to endure.

She had cuts in so many places. She knew she looked like a tiger now, the bruises would go away slowly. Her nails would come back eventually- her eyes soften as she sighs. Remembering that they more likely seen her bare thigh at some point. The small carving she had on her thigh from Simon-

Where was Simon? Her kids? A bit of panic filled her chest as she tried to sit up. A groan left her dry lips as she whined. Forcing herself up from the stiff mattress. Her eyes hazed a bit as she heard the doctor gasp as they tried to get her back down. She waved her hands around as she didn't wanna lay anymore. She has sores all over her body from being in that stupid chair for three months-

Three months...

And her babies had to be three months old now. Her family-

Her eyes snapped open a bit later. Light beaming in, looking around she didn't realize she blacked out last night. A huff as she got up again. Sitting in the bed, but her eyes shifted to the sight besides her. Seeing Ghost in the chair. His brown eyes piercing into her as they finally made eye contact.

"Sim-"

"Please don't talk..." Ghost leaned forward as he was pondering how to speak. How to try and fix his mistakes. He didn't know if she'll forgive him or the team

"I'm.. not mad." She said as she got a chance before he spilled his guts. She knew what their job detailed. She knew that at any given moment it all could be swept away from them. Like the rug tugged out from underneath them. And when she was dragged into the interrogation room, it just made sense. Sadly she knew since Soap had been injured, the team didn't trust just anyone. And she was just someone that helped from time to time. Even if they've all broke bread together in her home.

Ghost stared at her for a second as he took in her words. He felt his mind spiral as he pressed his face into his palms. Leaning forward into the bed as he stared through the mask holes

"But we.. Ximena we did so much to you. Three months." He said as he felt his breathing quicken and panic rise

"But I get it.... We just.. Simon we could of lost Johnny. Anything or anyone can betray us.. and I get at the time you all believed I did something..." She said as she leaned forward. A groan left her lips as she felt the stitches on her stomach ache from the pressure

"I'm not mad... I'm not mad at any of you..." She repeated the words as she sighs. Bringing her hands over his as she knew he was close to a panic attack.

"I'm right here... Hey I'm right here. Simon miede.. look at me.." she whispered to him as he finally. Finally lifted his head up a tad, looking up to his wife. And she broke in that moment.

"I 'hought I lost ya... I 'hought I wasted years.. I believed you betrayed us. Our family. Our promise..." His voice shakes, the hot tears streaming down. Soaking his mask as he pressed his face into her palms. Taking in her warm dainty hands.

"I'm sorry mamas... 'm so sorry.. I should of believed ya...I should of known you wouldn't..." He said as the pain raked over him. His shoulders slumped as he felt the weight slowly fading off his back.

Her eyes creased as she leaned in. Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as she softly shook in his touch.

"I would never .. and I mean it, would never hurt you. Or this team.. we're a family.. we're all we have left." She whispered as she softly hums. Her eyes flicker to his. Trying to range his emotional state and well being.

"How are you?" She asked as she waited for him to response.

His eyes soften as he peer into hers. Softly his brain swirled with so many thoughts. Their family had to endure these past months. Their new born twins, their elder children. How her family was left out of the situation. How the team had to handle and deal with the consequences now.

He ran a hand over his mask as he sighs.

"Not well... 'he kids miss ya. 'm not gonna lie, I missed you. I don't know it's been a storm without mamas 'm not gonna lie... I lost myself a bit..." He whispered as if it was a sin. A sinister act that he had done, and knowing he was here now. Hand in hand with hers as he gave her scar hands a rub.

" 'M sorry love..." He whispered as he pressed a kiss through his mask. Softly giving her a few as he wanted to make up for his sins towards her.

She softly watched him, her brown eyes soften. A small flicker of light in them as she listened to his words.

"I'm probably crazy... I know most would be outraged or upset. Probably never talk to you lot every again...But don't blame ya... I can't, if something similar happened I would of done the same. More likely would have to either way..."

Her voice was soft as she looked down, she tapped her foot as she felt an odd normalcy

"Did they say when I can go home?"

"Mmm no.. John wanted speak to ya..." He said looking at her. He never let her hand go, not wishing to make another mistake again.

"Ok... That's fine then... I hope soon. I wanna see the kids..." She softly smiled to him as she beamed with joy. A soft light.

Ghost felt like his wife was an actual angel, and him the sinner in church that didn't deserve the attention.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When she returned home. The kids surrounded her.

Her four tots were thrilled mommy was home. But she did look different.

Her leg had a wrap around it, on her thighs. Her curls were a bit shorter, mid back now no longer the hip length she worked for.

Her scar hands linger as she rubbed them over her sweet children's heads. Her body aches even as her eldest surrounded the thirty something woman.

Simon sighs as he swayed his kids off

" 'Lright tots, let mum breath. Go sit, 'M gonna help mum over."

The kids sigh and agree as they waddle into the living.

Ximena gripped his hand as he eased her into the house.

He knew she came back differently. Mentally and physically, she sighs a bit as they settled on the couch. The kids and her snuggles up as she softly felt peace creep inside her.

Simon sighs a bit as he was content with her finally being home. Feeling their home be full again, the light that was missing was brought back in.

And he knew that, along with his kids. He noticed the infants in their playpen as they were kicking and giggling. The little girls were excited as they heard their mums voice.

He went over and picked up the three months old twins. Bringing them over as he tucked them into his wife's arms.

"They missed you too..." He whispered as he knealt besides them. He glanced to his wife as he thought of her

She was his stars, the moon, and the sun all in one being. He sighs as he rest his head against her thigh.

The family felt complete now.

But sadly who knew how long it would take for them to heal. Or how this would effect the family structure they created.

Ximena knew one thing for sure. She missed three months of her children's lives.

Especially the twins she gave birth to. But only time could tell.

Months would pass since. And the family wasn't the same. Ximena softly spiral. Even had to go therapy since she was released.

She noticed she didn't have a bond with her twins. The girls seeking their father more often.

She felt terrible, like she was failing in life since she was released. Her curls framed her face as she sat on her bed. Softly sobbing as she didn't feel like herself anymore.

On the other side of the bedroom door. Simon leaned on it. Knowing it was his and his men's fault. They destroyed a very able woman. One that was once feared by many.

And turned her into a crumble of a woman. Now a shell of who she once was

And he knew. He softly created a monster of a woman. But not one to fear. One that feared others.

He saw the way she stared at him. Or the lads when they came over.

Soap was the only one she was close to now. Since he was injured during the time. He wasn't given the okay till she was released.

Both bonding over their trauma. Sadly for different reasons.

Simon slid down the door as he prayed

Prayed this wasn't the end of his beloved marriage. Along with his precious wife he had devoted all his time to. He prayed to whoever would listen.

He didn't want it to end like this-

Nor did she.

Both truly distraught over the relationship they had once. Where laughter was all the house was once filled with. Love and smiles was painted on the walls of the built home.

This home was created from scratch. Their relationship was crafted from time together. So much time together.

And tots that filled its halls. Because they had an undying love for the other. An undying devotion to each other.

But the strain on each other began.

Arguments were a bit frequent. Soft fights about the children and them going out on dates. And him being gone often for deployment.

It started to take a small toll. But they seemed normal on the outside.

But as the sobs filled their home. Thankfully no kids home. Just them in a broken house. A broken relationship. A broken home.

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ghouljams · 3 months

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The first time it happens wasn't on purpose, but Ghost spills over your pumping fist with a low desperate groan that makes you pulse between your legs. "Good boy." You file it away, make a mental note that he came without his usual warning.

The second time it happens is on purpose. You're riding him, grinding your hips down against his lap, feeling the rough curls of his hair against your clit. You press your hands against his chest, stare at him with a smile as he hits all the sweetest parts of you and coo out, "Such a good boy for me." Ghost swallows thickly, tips his head back with a shaky breath, and groans out a swear. He doesn't come, but you can feel his cock twitch, can see the way blush blooms down his neck and over his chest. "Does my good boy want to come?" You ask, succor sweet. The hitch in his breath is the only warning you get before he fills you, spills his warm come into you with a low groan and a mumbled apology. You've never heard Ghost mumble before.

You ask him about it, apologize quietly in the morning when he's got an arm slung over his eyes to shield them from the sun streaming in through the windows. "S'fine," He'd grumbled, still half asleep, "liked it. Got my tail waggin'."

The next time you say it is when you wrap his leash tighter around your hand, just to tug the thick leather around his neck as he fucks you like a dog. "Fuck," you drool against the bed, "my good boy." He fucks you so deliriously hard, too hard for the desperation in his voice when he leans over and tells you, "I am. 'M yours."

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley x oc #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #this is about Goose lol #oc: goose #sub!ghost #goose should clicker train this man

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sprout-fics · 2 months

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Ghost's favorite vision of Fix is her in his bed, desperate and breathless as she's split on his cock, hair a mess and chest heaving with stolen air. Her lips are swollen, eyes glassy and almost shiny with tears of burgeoning overstimulation. Her nipples pebbled, love bites trailing from her waist to her neck, hands fisting the pillows around her head. Her thighs are still trembling from her orgasm, brow scrunched with pleasure as she struggling to form words.

Something about it does unspeakable things to Ghost's brain, the sight of this strong, fierce woman under his hands, dwarfed by his larger frame, sated in his bed and completely utterly his. It makes him insane with want, wanting nothing more than to tear orgasm after orgasm from her and listen to her whimper and moan his name with punched out little gasps and pleas as he fucks her into the mattress.

Electricity zips down his spine, itches under his skin and settles in the place where he's buried in her fluttering cunt. Her hands is so much smaller than his as he tangles his fingers with hers, gut coiling with an pleasure so full, so consuming it bleeds his veins dry. The deep, rumbling growl that vibrates his chest sounds almost deafening as Fix arches beautifully under him, groaning and shivering as he rolls a soft breast under his calloused palm.

There's this overwhelming snarl, thunderous inside Ghost's thoughts that just roars 'Mine, mine, mine, all fucking mine-' that would scare anyone else with how utterly possessed, how dangerously obsessed it is. Not Fix. If anything it isn't enough. Even if she spent the rest of her days here, in this exact moment, it wouldn't be enough.

Yet she knows when she draws Ghost in close, kisses him and lets him lick sloppy and desperate into her panting mouth, she can undo him with a single word.

"Simon."

#Simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x reader #simon riley x oc #oc: fix

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 7 months

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I Don't Mind

💞doodle and a drabble💞

Ghost x Reader

Ghost didn't think you'd like his scars...

SFW, Fluff, light Hurt & Comfort, First Kiss, Soft!Ghost, Drabble, Intimacy, Tooth-rotting sweetness, just a stupid little thing :v

Scarcely Proofread 😏

Masterlist

He thought the scars would bother you. He wouldn't blame you if they had. They were ugly and jagged and numerous in all its unwanted glory, telling tales which taste more bitter on the Brit's tongue each time he retold them. The few times he has.

For awhile he hadn't wanted you to see them. Simon's never been a self-concious man, though your opinion had been held so highly that the slightest look of disdain could truly ruin his day. He hadn't been ashamed to say he feared your reaction. How your eyes would move or what your lips would tell him after. If it would turn you loose or change your view of him entirely, twisting into something fragile or ugly.

If he could avoid the entire thing altogether he would; Simon's always been content with the little gestures as is, having lived off them for so long. He knew not to push his luck and beg for more than his life seemed fit for.

All the small things had been enough. That faint sensation of you against his arm when you sat beside him during briefings. The smile you'd give him at the end of a long day. Your hands which delicately took his in your lap the first chance you ever could gather the courage to do it. He enjoyed every bit of you in every way. But your lips have been the furthest thing from him for too long now, and he knew once this step was made, the rest would be easier.

He just needed to take that step.

You stood before him, hands rested gently at the corners of his masks, as his tentative grasp clasped over your wrist as though to safeguard you. Keeping you just out of reach.

"Don't want to spook ya, love," he jests, often finding small comforts in his humor. It helped to soften the blow. "Just felt I should warn you first... about the scars I mean..."

He looks away from you, his brown eyes more fixated on his shoes than your gaze. You merely smiled, letting your body step closer to his, until the man had no choice but to bring his back to you.

Rather than answer him, you pinch the ends of his mask and slowly lift the fabric, letting it pass the stubble on his chin, and then his lips as well, before the tip of his nose has revealed itself to you, your fingers letting the mask rest there for now. Baby steps.

Simon watches you observe him, your eyes noticing the scars he figured you would first. The big ones. The ugly ones. He kept his expression still and his eyes focused the entire time, as to not reveal to you how nerve-wracking your final verdict had been to him.

A smirk then curves on your lips. "I like them."

Simon can't help but huff out a little chuckle at that. "You like them?"

You nod. "It gives character. And I think they make you look hot."

Now you've gone and made the man laugh entirely. No doubt there had been more truth to your statement than on the surface; it had been immediately relieving to hear, all the same.

"Now your just takin' the piss," he said.

You pout and begin to protest. "Am not."

You feel Simon's hands slowly wrap over your waist, his thumb resting comfortably at the grooves of your hips like handles. He uses them to pull you closer, until he's felt your body brush up against his and your breath tickle the skin against his neck. With his blond lashes looking down at you sultry like, he's already thought of all the different ways to take your mouth with his and truly make it his own. He hadn't realized how long he'd been waiting for this.

"You truly don't mind?" he asked.

"I don't mind at all."

Simon smiles. And, no longer able to keep himself back, the man leans in, until he's felt the tip of his nose brush your own. Your lashes feather his cheeks lightly, your soft lips only a breath away. With his tone low, rumbling through the air to you in a husky way, he says, "Lucky me."

He kisses you slowly, making sure that each second meant something more to him every time it's passed. As his lips familiarize the shape of yours, tasting you and growing used to his own mouth being used so delicately, Simon felt like a fool for waiting so long to do so in the first place.

💞💕💞

#aayyy my kissing drawings are improving 😈#soon I'll be unstoppable :3 #call of duty #modern warfare ii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mwii #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanart #simon ghost riley x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #mw2 ghost #mw2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

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about.

vic | she/her | 20s

southwestern native american and hispanic

gemini | bi-demi

ao3 | spotify

All Content 18+ | minors DNI

all my fanfics can be read below in my masterlist or found under my "vic writers 🧸" tag.

my inbox is always open. my main focus right now is centered on my "his handmaid's tales" and my relatively new "paloma" series. however, i am open to requests for simon riley (cod).

happy readings <333

Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty)

“There he is …. Simon Riley.”

multi-chapter series:

paloma (masterlist)

a multi-chapter series exploring the love story between a british sas lieutenant and his indigenous woman.

one-shots:

(to be added)

drabbles:

love at first sight w simon

Aemond Targaryen (House of the Dragon)

"...Prince Aemond, despite the loss of his eye, had become a proficient and dangerous swordsman under the tutelage of Ser Criston Cole, but remained a willful child, hot-tempered and unforgiving..."

multi-chapter series:

last of her house no more (masterlist)

aemond targaryen with the daughter of daenerys stormborn and khal drogo.

just like animals (masterlist)

a dark & obsessive!aemond targaryen hunting down his sweet modern!wife (and also she’s preggos).

his handmaid's tales (masterlist)

the love story between prince aemond and his handmaid.

one-shots:

blood is thicker than water (but betrayal stains the most)

requests:

even the whales fall prey to men

what was mine is still mine, regardless of time

follow me now, and you will not regret (leaving the life you led before we met)

bodyguard!aemond x president’s daughter!reader

drabbles:

foolish men dream foolish lives

you are the moon, i am the sun (i will not allow you to forget)

obsessive!aemond targaryen with niece!reader

an eye for an eye (1) — a son for a son (2)

Alys Rivers (House of the Dragon)

"...Was she, in truth, a witch who lay with demons, bringing forth dead children as payment for the knowledge they gave her?"

one-shots:

mother's day special (part of "his handmaid's tales")

bewitched

drabbles:

you are the moon, i am the sun (i will not allow you to forget)

#masterlist #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfiction #alys rivers #alys rivers x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x oc #call of duty fanfiction

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babygirl-riley · 6 months

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Simon x Reader Guide

Here is revamp of the Simon x Reader List. It is growing and instead of having the list become super long, imma shorten it into small categories 💅🏼🖤 Each one does have warnings of the same, just more focused on what type deal. Also, MNDI will be enforced better, so if I don’t see an age on the bio, unfortunately you will be missed. 🙃 I do go through once a month through each like to see who is and not.

Here is a taglist for all of you as well 🖤🫶🏻

Simon x Reader Smut Edition

Simon x Reader Fluff/Angst Edition

Simon x Reader Family Edition

Ghostly Ruins Series

OC Series

I am open to suggestions! I usually put them on top of the list when writing, so send your ideas and I will have them jot down!

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harveywritings92 · 5 months

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[Ghost does something stupid and gets himself hurt]

Rocky: Just a heads, After I lovingly nurse you back to health, We're going to kill you.~

König, pissed off: *Nods in agreement*

Ghost: *Gulps*

#call of duty modern warfare incorrect quotes #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x oc #cod oc: Natalie 'Rocky' Rockwell #call of duty: band-aids au #call of duty incorrect quotes #call of duty x oc #medic oc #könig x oc x Ghost #könig x oc #könig cod #konig

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bressynonym · 21 hours

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I know you like it sweet So you can have your cake

#made this for my birthday earlier this month :3 #aguas frescas au #this au is always on my mind LMAO #gomz knows how insane i am over this #ghostgreeds #[oc] avarice #cod oc #call of duty oc #cod oc art #my oc #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x oc #simon riley x oc #ghost x oc #there will be more of them eventually!!#bressymbols

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gomzdrawfr · 4 months

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✋🏻

another vers of the last panel

#my tall friends also does this to me #RUDE /j #the way Raven and Ghost are literally just sibling coded #they hate and love each other #gummmyart #doodle #simon ghost riley #my oc #my oc art #cod oc #cod oc art #[oc]Raven #Raven[oc]#simon ghost riley x oc

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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Man-Sized

9/9 Peace in a Lifetime of War

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

He didn't call, didn't text, didn't explain himself.

She wrote dozens of texts, mostly with one sentence, Where'd you go?, Could we talk this through?, I'm sorry, would you please come back, but never sent them.

But she was also being ripped apart by the feeling that this simply couldn't be happening. It couldn't end like this. There was something real here. There had to be.

Pride got in the way. He didn't deserve her begging after leaving her like that without even an explanation as to why. He cared about his job more than her, and she would no longer beg for leftovers. She would not be the girl he could come and fuck in the dark when he had the time for it.

Let's make this work.

That's the sentence she wrote the most, to reverse the last words she had said. A nervous voice inside her told her that she had driven him away. That Simon was somewhere out there thinking she didn't want him in her life. After all, she had shouted that he should go and do his job… Practically, get out of her life.

But how could a few words spoken in anger drive him away? How could he just cut her off after everything? Player or not, she had thought him a better man than this.

He still had the key. He hadn't left it on the table or mailed it to her. He might still walk through that door when she least expected it.

But days turned into weeks, and somewhere in her heart, she knew a decision had been made. Simon never half-assed anything. If he had left, he had left. End of fucking story.

After three weeks, she threw away the shower gel. It reminded her of the time she had come from the shower to a dark room filled with him. When she had teased him, and he had sent her to heaven, when they had confessed their love to each other. It stared at her from the bin until she went and took out the trash with not much else but that single men's shower gel bottle in it.

He had left one of his hoodies in her apartment, and she almost threw it into the bin too. Then she crawled inside it like a child who had lost her parents.

It smelled of him, and it was so big that half of her disappeared inside it, and she felt warm, and safe, and devastated. That hoodie and her bedroom walls twisted the knife by whispering the words Marry me, laced with an echo of his laughter. Every day she decided to throw it away and start a new life, and every night she curled inside it to cry herself to sleep.

Bolognese was ruined for her. Motörhead was ruined, bourbon was ruined; the smell of tobacco brought tears to her eyes. She walked past springtime tulips like they carried the plague itself. Even Dürer was ruined.

How could a heartless, cocky 21st-century soldier ruin the genius of a Renaissance master?

Luckily, she hadn't told anyone who she had been dating for months now. She had never asked Simon to meet her parents. She hadn't even told them she was seeing someone… Her mother had made a remark on how nice it was to see her happy when she was visiting on holidays, and she had told her she had gotten good grades this semester. In her heart, she had perhaps always known that things with Simon wouldn't last. It all seemed like a dream. A beautiful, heated, fucked up pipe dream.

It was like the very oxygen from her life was gone. She didn't have the will to masturbate; the toy she had only reminded her of the embarrassing incident where she had forgotten it on the bedside table, and he had seen it and made her blush with a laugh and a comment; "That's the competition?" Such a small, pink thing compared to Simon, and even that reminded her of him.

Her workplace was a smoking rubble after a war. The pole choreographies had the atmosphere of Swan Lake rather than anything sultry and sexy — she flicked the pole to spin mode more often, started to do leg hangs and suicide spins and unicorn splits and chose music with lyrics about betrayal and other heartbroken, forlorn wailing.

Her gaze swept the audience before she grabbed the pole. Just in case. There were hungry eyes, but none belonged to the man with a winter-over stare, sleeve tattoo, and voice burnt from scotch, smoking, and sleepless nights.

The room spun, and her heart hurt, and she wondered if Simon had found another sweet girl or if he was bleeding in the blur too. Perhaps he was taking his pleasure with the women on his team, no strings attached. Fucking those tough army girls who were everything she was not. Making them moan with slow, heavy torture.

She wanted him to hurt. And then again, she did not. She wanted him to be safe, and for the first time in her life, she prayed even though she had never believed in God.

That forgotten oversized hoodie was her temple, and she wasn't sure who she was even praying to before falling asleep inside that black cotton. But she asked for Simon to stay safe, to not do anything stupid. She even prayed for his happiness, but then the prayers turned more selfish, and she asked that he would come back to her.

Just come back to her.

Her prayers were answered sooner than she would've thought. It was a frightening invocation, because when she finally caught him as a black, massive shadow against the darkness of the club, it was clear that he was in an even worse shape than she was.

He was still big, still menacing, a powerhouse of a man, but she saw that he had lost weight, the shade under his eyes was even darker than when they had first met. He was looking at her dance like he was attending a funeral: there was no smile, no hunger, only suffering in his eyes that followed her from inside a black hood.

She wanted to jump from the stage in the middle of her show, climb onto his lap, cry all the tears still uncried, although she had done nothing but bawled every night since he had left. Sweat made the pole slick, and she closed her eyes as she spun, hoping to be somewhere else entirely so he wouldn't see the hurt in her eyes. But the lights were pointing at the stage, and her face must've been a pale mask of fear and longing, and the dance turned into the ending act of her own personal Swan Lake.

It had been almost a month, and he barged back into her life like he would barge through a door into a room full of prisoners. The game was on again, and he was the fucking worst, and the relief and longing turned into red, blazing rage.

How dare he show up here? Still without warning, without a single message, when he knew how much it meant to her. Especially after what had gone down.

When she was done, she didn't go to him; she left the stage before the applause had even died, rushed to get her things, and stormed out the back door, half fearing that she would bump into him. He wasn't there, but when she walked past the entrance to get home, there was a man smoking outside. She wouldn't shed a look his way but knew from the aura of darkness and hellfire and silent leadership that it was him. There was no sound of footsteps, but she knew he was walking behind her, could almost smell the smoke, could feel his stare on her back as she rushed down the street like she was being hunted by a ravager.

And hadn't he, in a way, promised to haunt her, dead or alive?

She cried the whole way home while being followed by his ghost – silent tears of anger and relief and sorrow, jaw trembling and hiccups tickling her throat.

When she reached her apartment, she opened the door as quickly as possible, then slammed it shut behind her.

Would he use the key and force himself in? Would he take the closed door as a sign not to trespass? She almost went to open it to let him know that this area was actually a No Man's Land, not a threshold to her personal space, much less a fortress he needed to conquer.

But he had decided to pursue her, and a clear-cut knock sent her heart up her throat.

She had a choice not to open that door. Return to her old life without this fuckery. He wouldn't use the key she had given him, he was gentleman enough not to. Or perhaps not a gentleman: he simply knew when he was not welcome and would be too proud to force a connection.

But the decision had really been made a long time ago. It was made when she asked for that drink, when she accepted his flowers, when he pushed inside her the first time. Perhaps even on the moment she first laid eyes on him.

So, without having a grain of rational thought behind it, her heart walked her to that door and opened it.

He was leaning on the frame with one hand, and the hooded head rose from a heavy hang. He looked defeated for a moment, and she realized she had taken a while to come to the door… But then he squared his shoulders and raised his chin, bounced away from the frame, and the tiniest little smile played on his lips.

A look of I win.

It was something so Simon that it burned her heart, and the love returned – as if it had ever gone anywhere – and she was so angry that she slapped him to wipe off that stupid look that told her he could drop her like a toy and then come back and pick her up again.

Her palm met his chin, and it hurt her too: to hear that slap and know he allowed it to happen.

He allowed her to slap him. Again.

He reduced her to someone who hit people, like this was some trailer park romance where physical abuse was ok.

It was his fault, not hers.

It was his fault. It was.

His head was turned to the side from the force of her palm, the eyebrows rose in muted surprise. Then he slowly turned to look at her, and couldn't hide his smile anymore. He fucking got off on this.

Which was why she slapped him again – only, this time he caught her hand and finally forced himself inside, like it was an invitation that she tried to hit him. Her other hand shot out, rather impassively, and he caught that, too.

"That's quite enough."

That gruff, dark voice was probably what she had missed the most. Or those big, brown eyes full of promise. Or all that muscle wrapping around her in a crushing hug, those lips that smashed against hers in a starved kiss.

The door slammed shut behind him as he devoured her. The moment his hands let go of hers and enveloped her into that secure embrace, she dissolved and let him crush her mouth, her ribs, her everything — her hands reached for the hood and tore it down, clutched his back, his jacket, threatening to tear the clothes apart from how much she had missed him.

Tears gathered up her throat, and her eyes burned and squeezed shut, she held the black fabric in her fists and pulled, trying to get closer even when there was not a breath of air between them. His scent brought back so many memories that she threatened to drown in the flood.

The kiss left them both breathless and huffing when he drew her against him. She felt like a hostage when he closed one heavy palm around her head and simply forced her cheek to meet his chest. He had never closed her in a hug quite like this — like he was afraid that she would disappear into thin air if he didn't hold on tightly enough.

"Sweetheart." It was a rumble in her hair, a deep vibration in the solid wall she was smashed against.

"Don't you dare," she whispered through tears, but her hands told a different story as she clung to him like a drowning person.

"Sarah…" He only squeezed her harder, so hard that she feared he would soon break bones. "Love. I'm sorry that it took so long."

Her fingers flexed, then wrapped around that jet-black cotton again. The tears disappeared in his shirt, and she was glad he always wore black; otherwise, the mascara would've made a visible mess.

He smelled so good. She inhaled him like a drug — even after the desertion, his scent meant safety and home to her.

"What the fuck happened?" She sniffed, trying not to wail like a child against that firm wall of chest. "I thought you only went for a smoke."

He stroked her hair so gently that the shirt was soon soaked from her tears.

"I thought it would be best if I left you in peace," he muttered, sounding almost guilty. Her hand twitched in the folds of the hood from the utter folly of it all. She thanked the heavens that he hadn't. She had never exactly found peace with him, but being without him was even worse.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she retorted.

"Yeah. I used to be a better man. But if ya think I'm cocky… Hah, you should've seen me back then. Feared nothing."

She had expected him to share a reason for leaving her like that, but she hadn't envisioned it to start with those words. The world was quaking again in her hallway, lit by a single, lone lamp.

"It didn't work. It got people killed. Even my brother's little kid." He was still talking to the crown of her head as if exposing the darkest of secrets, fearing that the walls were wired.

"I'm not really… alive, you know? Died with them about ten years ago."

From any other man's mouth, that trace of information, an explanation for his handicaps, would've felt melodramatic. When it came from Simon, it felt like a void was yawning before her.

"Swore that day I would never let it happen again."

How could she always forget that her judgment concerning Simon was flawed – no – distorted as hell? She knew he had lost everybody but didn't know how exactly. Of course there had been violence. She had never really understood just how important it was for him to protect people from getting too close.

I didn't mean for things to go this far suddenly stood for something completely different.

He wasn't playing or toying with her. He was being absolutely, vehemently, utterly serious.

Even… intimidated.

She felt even worse about not being there for him when he had been thin with his skin. She had made it all about her when he tried to share a deep fear.

"I tried to keep my hands off you as long as I could." He hummed, a sound of a distant, pleasant memory. "You were so… fuckin' graceful. Felt like you were dancing just for me."

The tears kept flowing, the world kept quaking.

"I was," she whispered. "Even when you weren't there."

"Thought you was just teasin' me. Seemed such a tough girl." He gave her one of those short laughs, a cynical scoff that said he wasn't easily caught off balance. "'N then you turned out to be sweet as a pie. So bloody sweet. Swept me right off my feet."

She pulled back a little and saw that his eyes were liquid too, the pale lashes fluttered over bloodshot, melted chocolate, but no tears came out. It was like he didn't quite know how to cry, like that skill had been tortured out of him, never to return.

"Nothing lasts. Especially if it's something good and pure." He ran a thumb over her cheek, catching a tear, like he was soothed by seeing someone crying the tears he could not. "Really wanted this to last."

Her lower lip trembled at that, and she had to fight back a whole bawl that threatened to erupt. He was stupidly eloquent when he wanted to. But he was also blind if he couldn't see that no one else but him had tried to end things this time. How could a man so mature and smart be so stupid?

"You're the one who walked out the door, Simon."

He blinked a few times. Yeah… He was that stupid, even if he was sharp and trained and brave. But it was also stupid of her to think there wouldn't be problems. He had built a wall, five-foot thick, since childhood. She had tried to penetrate it with a needle and had had a fit when it wouldn't budge.

"Look... You can't just come into my life and fuck around and fuck with my head — and fuck me… and then leave and say Darling, it's dangerous."

He huffed a laugh at her imitation of him. "You make me sound like a jerk."

"That's because you are."

A sigh. "Right."

She had expected him to return the quip, make some clever comeback, but their love had been on ice for weeks and weeks. Even if the warmth was there, and he was close, so close… Something was still wrong.

She pulled herself back to the solace of his chest. There were broken things inside, and she was a brittle vase herself, barely able to hold all the sorrow in.

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"

"Comes with the job."

"I hate your job," she mumbled in his shirt, and he chuckled humourlessly.

"Me too."

"No you don't. You love it." She sent another accusation in the air, and the penalty was an open prison, a slackening muscle around her.

"Guilty as charged."

"Why are you here, Simon?"

There was a pause, one, two breaths…

"Can't fuckin' live without you."

He had no doubt tried, tried to veritably leave her from fear of setting her in danger. Only Simon could leave a woman for fear of losing them…

"Even if I only get scraps and slaps. Phone's full of look at me's but you never call."

Her eyes flared wide open, her lungs ceased working for a second. Five months flashed backward, then forward, their shared moments twisting and turning, words finding new meanings.

Scraps…

You never call.

Jesus Christ.

It was bitter, and it was true. She had guarded her heart like a prisoner of war during a time of peace. Sent him thirsty selfies like they were the only thing he wanted from her, refused to call in fear of losing some game.

He wasn't the only one who was proud and dramatic. She had had a whole month in her hands. She could've called him, sent him those texts. She could've made it known that she hadn't meant her last words as a command for him to get out. But she had done none of those things. Instead, she slammed the door in his face and slapped him when he finally came back with his tail between his legs.

It was never about his job. She could deal with that. It was about the game.

They were both boneheaded, proud little creatures, and she realized she was the one who had been playing, playing for far too long…

"You said you'd rather call me," she whimpered, voice barely even a whisper.

He pulled her away by the shoulders and took a quick scan. There was patronization and pity, and she wondered whether he would take the blame for her failings too. But the pain was more profound than that.

"Sarah. Do ya even like me?"

Of all the things said that night, said ever, that was probably what hurt her the most.

"Yes," was all she managed to say to the man who was, in truth, the love of her life.

"Alright. Then I don't see what the problem is."

He was being reasonable, but there seemed to be a whole other problem she had never acknowledged. Had never even known existed.

And it was a rare, rare thing, that he chose to break first.

"Sarah, bloody fucking-... It kills me to imagine you with someone else."

All in.

As if she could ever find a man like him. As if she could even see other men. They had ceased to exist five months ago.

Just say it.

"I don't want someone else," she said, knowing that games like these should be illegal. But she was not playing anymore. "I only want you. Remember?"

The wall cracked, crumbled a little, exposed some softness in those chocolate eyes.

"Now that's what I like to hear."

Annoying, lovable, cocky bastard. This time, it was her turn to pull him in for a kiss.

He let her take some of his clothes off but then seized the reins from her again by hauling her to the bedroom like a doll. Everything happened right according to a script: she was undressed, tossed on the bed, and he was climbing on top of her before she could even say his name.

He just wouldn't allow her to touch him. She had given him one and a half blowjobs, one handjob, and slapped him two times. They cuddled every now and then. That was basically it.

He was always on top, had fucked her against this and that wall, fucked her with his clothes on half the time. He initiated everything, made her feel good, and so, so subtly prevented her from touching him. Did he even know he was doing it, or was it subconscious?

This would have to change.

Past torture or not, it would change now.

"Simon," she placed a hand on his chest when he was already inserting himself inside her.

"Hm?"

"Can I be on top?"

Something akin to worry flickered in his eyes, but it was only a brief glitch that soon changed into an intrigued look.

"Why not," he tried to hide the remnants of his bafflement, then crashed to the bed beside her. She flicked the table light on as if making it clear that this was the dawn of a new era. He gave it a hasty side eye, then turned his attention back to her.

"Have you ever heard of Adam's first wife?" She asked when she climbed on top of him. God, but he was wide, even though men were supposed to have narrower hips. Simon was a man in his prime, threatening, even when lying under her in a seemingly vulnerable position.

"You givin' me a history lesson too?"

"She was banished from Eden because she wanted to be on top during sex." She tried to seek support from his chest, knowing it would be of minimal help. If he would get too enthusiastic, she might be bucked off.

"I won't be so cruel," he said with a soft smile as he ran hands over her thighs, then up to her waist, hesitantly. Simon never hesitated.

From what she understood, he was far from a footsoldier. The people he killed never even heard he was coming for them with a thick, ugly blade. Perhaps he preferred to fuck like that, too: stealthy and intimate, in the darkness, keep his victim in a sturdy embrace so he could feel how they bled to death.

That light was a threat. Her stare was piercing awareness: also, a threat.

And it was only now, from this position, that she finally caught the wounds. Fresh, ugly holes that should've probably been under bandage still.

"What's this?"

There were not one, but two cavities surrounded by discolored skin, bruised dark purple, virtually black — gunshot wounds that had barely missed his liver. Had the bullets reached the internals, they would've likely been the end of him.

"That's the reason why it took so long."

Shallow breathing was a stupid response from a body already feeling faint. But the next few breaths were just that: an attempt to sustain the flow of oxygen and allow reality to sink in.

The last time Simon had gotten hit was years and years ago: a bullet to the arm, not nearly as severe as an abdominal wound. She thought they used bullet vests at work. Unless he had chosen not to wear it. Her brain was a horrid thing, pushing a clinical sentence out of a psychology journal to her mind.

"The root cause of self-destructive behavior can stem from a mental health condition such as depression: overwhelming sadness and loss of interest."

She had drowned herself in self-pity in her cozy little apartment and taken revenge on a shower gel bottle while Simon had gotten himself wounded, nearly killed. Probably spent the last few weeks in a hospital after the operation in whatever medical facility he had been brought to from the field. Without telling her, stubborn and proud as he was. Lying there, with no visitors, thinking it was better to leave her alone…

She knew he had a death wish, but this… This crushed her soul.

"Soap said I should ask you to marry me instead of trying to prove something by killin' myself."

Shit…

More edgy, dark humour — but her insides shuddered.

The axis of melancholia turned and turned. She hadn't told anyone about them, but Simon had. So that someone could deliver the message if need be. Even the thought of a Scottish jarhead appearing at her door and telling her how Lieutenant Simon Riley had been killed in action made her eyes sting.

Soap was a clever man. Much more intelligent than the one between her thighs.

"What am I to do with you," she whispered while placing the lightest, faintest touch on the stretched skin around the injury. The muscles rippled underneath her fingertips, and a soft hiss drew her attention back to his face, but the discomfort was hidden from view before she could decide whether it was caused by her words or her touch.

"A few ideas come to mind," he spoke with his everlasting cheek, even when healing from both gunshot wounds and a broken heart. "Wanna hear?"

"How about you shut your mouth for a change," she offered, gently enough to make it clear that some things should be fixed with another kind of communication.

When she reached to guide him inside her, he was uncommonly solemn. The dry spell had ended at the door already, but that drowsy, flaming rust of a stare caused the cup to overflow. She was slippery as hell, but he was patient, mostly having a ball watching how she went through trial and error to get him in. The intimacy made her flustered, and that stern expression soon turned into a smug one as she fucked up guiding him in smoothly and with finesse.

And it was wishful thinking that Simon would keep his mouth shut.

"Ya need help with that?"

"Shush," she said, knowing it was futile, a laugh bubbling in her chest as she tried to sound convincing with the command. As if she could order someone like Simon around.

He broke again when the thick of him finally pushed in, slow and steady like a reverie.

"Always so fuckin' tight 'n wet for me…"

"You can't just shut it for one minute, can you," she breathed while gliding down the cock that spread her wide — and God, she had longed for that familiar invasion.

"Not with you, sweetheart."

She had barely even started when she saw how his throat worked, then felt him tighten the grip on her waist.

"Did ya have others while I was away?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

The muscles on his jaw tensed, then unwound with a sigh, the heavy-lidded eyes making him look like a man about to pass out.

"Neither did I. Seat's already taken."

The jesting, his laugh, their togetherness — she had missed it so much that it physically hurt.

But at the same time, it felt like they were meeting for the first time. This time with more than just their clothes off. Everything was…amplified, and not just because the lights were on. This was not a lazy Sunday morning fuck under the sheets.

She had been squashed against his chest, but she had never traced the muscles with the tips of her fingers, watched how his nipples grew hard at the contact. She had never quite seen how his jaw clenched, how his abs pulled taut just from a slow roll of her hips. Her hands looked tiny, dainty, when they swept over him – a man made weapon – all corded muscle and uneven skin, tone changing with the map of old and new scars, fresh scratches here and there, ill-healed burn marks and whatnot coating a skin that had seen more than just rough weather. He didn't treat his body like a living, breathing thing; it was simply a tool.

Her past boyfriends had been just that. Boys compared to him. It wasn't just his size, that he was older than her. It wasn't even the map of scars spread over muscles built to withstand and wage war. It was just something so inherently him, a maturity, ripe survival, toughness that came from another age entirely.

She tried to be worthy of him, make love to him in return for all the favors he had so generously given her.

He appeared to enjoy it with the most laid-back attitude she had yet seen on him. She had prepared for intensity, as always, a bit of devilry, but not for that daydreamy stare. That absorbed, blissful look could only be compared to someone easing down on a divan, waiting to be served wine and grapes like they were some Roman deity. Or, in his case, on a lush sofa, waiting for his girl to bring him a scotch after a long day. Maybe take his boots off, and his pants too, kneel and take him in a warm, wet mouth…

God, she was fantasizing about blowing Simon while riding him. But she'd be damned if she didn't serve him that back rub with a happy ending as soon as she had ridden him to the finish line.

"Should do this more often," he noted evenly, echoing her thoughts – and trying to grasp some sliver of control by telling her he liked this. Liked being served.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Can't complain."

And she realized now that she wasn't the one in charge, no. He was looking at her much in the same way as he did when she was up on that stage. Only, he was now both the stage and the pole… and the audience.

Fuck.

Every time she tried to get in control, he did that rear choke on her. Even this turned out to be another counter technique. He was simply enjoying her take her pleasure.

The notion didn't cause fires anymore, other than a flare of licking heat down to where they were joined. Her inner walls had decided that he was a keeper too, gripping him so violently that the tendons on his neck became visible. The callous of his hands traveled upwards to her ribs, and she caught a thought of how he could easily crush her if he wanted to — but he only proceeded to hug her waist with an iron grip to join in the show.

"Keep doin' that and there's gonna be a real mess," he said, voice thick, sending more heat trickle down her spine.

"Isn't that always the case with you?" She was on the brink of laughter now, because it felt stupid that it had taken her so long to enjoy this man to the full.

"Yeah… But you love it. Admit it." He wasn't bulldozing now. Just enticing, eyes glimmering from seeing her so evidently happy.

And she did admit it. She didn't hold back at all. She allowed him to see exactly how much she wanted and admired him, how good he made her feel.

The account started as a steaming, almost pissed-off checklist, a confession rather than a declaration of love. It contained pent-up love and hate, from how he fucked her in the dark to how he drove knives to a wall she didn't even own. But then it turned into a hymn. Nevermind ego; she wanted to stroke his heart and soul. He fucking deserved it.

She told him he was a good man, the best man she had ever known. How she had never loved anyone like this. How she was his, had been from the moment he came to that club. She even told him how big he was and how she had trouble concentrating in class because of it. That she had trouble focusing pretty much anywhere.

How she had cried herself to sleep in his sweatshirt every night after he had left… How she wanted him to never leave again — how she wanted to solve every argument they would have from now on with a hatefuck instead.

At first, he looked at her curiously, probably thinking she was joking. Then his expression turned to a choked-up stun.

“Sarah– Fuckin’ hell…"

Every secret thought from the past five months was laid out before them; every little thing she admired about him from body to soul.

It seemed to be a shock treatment, a little too much all at once, but he was true to his word and didn't complain.

"You're gonna make a grown man cry 'ere."

He didn't cry, but if there was still some invisible wall between them, every last brick was blown apart at this point.

The poker game was finally over, the whole table was cleared of cards and chips and bets.

"Do you even like me… Unbelievable, Simon," she said as a final notion. There was a soft smile, but it wasn't arrogant or vain in her eyes anymore. Just proud, pleased.

God, had she been stupid.

She descended to celebrate, to seal it all with a kiss. He welcomed her with fast allegiance: arms went around her as soon as her breasts pressed against his chest. It was all hunger, but ten times more tender than the starvation at the door. Slow, deliberate, and it went straight to her cunt, gripping him — and of course he responded with a groan, straight into her mouth.

His hips jerked up to meet her, and had she not been in the safe custody of freakishly strong arms, she would've fallen off her ride. And it was high time to investigate whether he had a vulnerable spot in his neck as well.

A sluggish, flat-tongued lick up the column of his throat and some open-mouthed, sloppy kisses sent him contracting from the middle, pushing in, balls deep. She risked a nib, even a soft bite, and eventually, went a bit feral on that neck. It was another jackpot for the both of them.

"I need-.. need you on your back," he had never stuttered like that, out of breath, trying to be polite with a raspy throat. But he wasn't really asking, and it wasn't really mannerly. It was actually a demand.

"Wanna fuck you hard," his voice was so low that it was almost a growl.

Yes.

Yes. Yes, please.

And she knew just the trick that would ensure that he did.

"Hmh. Denied," she said to his neck, and waited for the punishment that was brief and thorough.

"The hell it is."

He rolled over and switched their roles without even pulling out, and just like that, her feeble attempts to be the rebellious first woman turned to dust. But she didn't really mourn the loss. Her Eden resided right here.

"You're such an asshole," she was laughing from mirth and love and the joy of being pressed under that safe weight again.

"Would like to fuck that too someday."

Oh my God..-

She wasn't a blushing lady from Victorian times, but this was a little unexpected, even from him.

"Bet you're even tighter down there… I might just pass out."

Her jaw must've fallen an inch or two, her eyes no doubt shot full of shimmering glee because nothing, absolutely nothing escaped him, and her face was now more than that of a stupefied goldfish.

"I suggest you close that pretty mouth before I-"

She cut him short by sinking nails in his skin — more precisely, his ass. He arched his back with the following thrust, even exposed his throat with a satisfied grunt.

"Lil' wildcat… I could do this all night." It was a pleased chuckle, and her heart hurt — she was constantly calling him annoying, an asshole, a jerk, and he told her she was beautiful, sweet, his girl, or a little wildcat in return…

"Would ya like that?"

She could only nod, time and again, and the sex turned messy, noisy and unhinged, weeks and weeks of frustration and longing dissipating with fucking that spread her thighs wide and made the whole bed wail. Her head hit the frame once or twice before he moved her with an annoyed grunt while she was having a laugh about it, but then she remembered he was injured and that this was a bad idea.

"Your wounds-" she tried to stutter amidst a pounding that had certainly been held back for longer than five months, not to talk of a few weeks.

"I'll live."

She was close, but so was he, and it seemed it was the most difficult decision he had ever made: to choose whether to slow down and grit his teeth or just give into the temptation and spill. A split second, and he chose the latter, and she must've been gawking: all that muscle towering over her went tense, the halved slant between his pecs sheened with sweat.

He came with a long groan and a head rolled back, the tension leaving him in shivers before his head fell back down, chin to the chest. The stare behind those heavy lids was unfocused, heady, drugged.

"Fuck, you're a glorious sight," he said while sweeping a hand over her sternum and closing the giant palm around her throat — nothing brutal or rough, just a little bit of fun that probably shouldn't have made her tighten around him as furiously as it did. It felt like she was one of his victims, held in place by one hand only, as his gaze dropped down to marvel at how his cock disappeared in her and came out all wet. The thrusts were erratic and desperate, the ending throes of ecstasy — must've been a glorious sight indeed.

He wouldn't even pause to enjoy the trip back to earth to the full. He left her, eyes both determined and drunk, cock still half hard, so abruptly that a sad little whimper fled her. But he wasn't gone for long, just settled next to her and gathered her in his arms, wracked with purpose.

She gasped when not one, but two fingers dipped inside, then drove deep to the knuckle.

"Fuck…"

"Will do."

It was a scant substitute for his cock, even with two thick fingers. But he was good, so damn good that it didn't matter.

He did everything right, perfect, precise. Made a mess of the cum that joined the wreckage, played with it, slathered it all over her until she was sticky and wet and the noise was well-nigh filthy.

But even more unbearable was the intimacy, the way her hand found him, the bunching muscles on the forearm, the thumb brushing her clit, his fingers curling in a loose fist while two of them curled inside her…

She wanted to participate, feel the fierce connection that had gained a whole new level. There was a sense of belonging, merging — did he feel it too?

Yeah, he definitely did.

Their gazes were locked, but the depth in his eyes wasn't hunger or will to dominate or even meant for fishing cues, it was pure surrender, actually, it was… love.

"Please," she whispered while he made love to her with both his hand and those eyes, not knowing why she even said that. But he had told her he loved it when she begged, so that's what she did. She would give him every fucking thing he wanted.

The sweltering bronze of his eyes broke a little, his brow gave a minimal tug.

"Simon - Please," the words were a mouthed prayer rather than an audible whisper, and she knew her own gaze was fractured because the warmth in his eyes only spread.

"I got ya," he crushed her in a devout hug while spreading her open, breathed into her ear, all joking gone. It was a solemn pledge, a guarantee.

"Promise I got ya."

This wasn't affection anymore; it was bonding.

She came with a strained whimper in his neck, curled into the hug with thighs trembling and hands grabbing whatever she could: a sheet, a tight muscle. He was an absolute genius for not moving, just stayed inside as her muscles sucked him in with a long, hungry pull that turned into a shudder that went through her whole body.

"Uh, fuh-…" She was cursing, sobbing, coming apart by the seams, and he took it all in, breathing high and wide from witnessing what he was doing to her.

It was a slow and tense shattering but turned messier after: into sloppy writhing and moaning, and he moved gracefully to ride it out with her. An absolute ace at what he did.

He might've said something, cheering her on with That's it or Fuckin' beautiful or something like that. She couldn't hear it, and it didn't really matter anyway. The looting was sweet, and he was the perfect fit, so fulfilling, still inside her after the waves had passed. They were breathing into each other, holding the space, sustaining the present moment just by being entangled together, all limbs and breath and sweat on sweat. When he ultimately pulled out, the hand joined the one wrapped around her, holding her like the most precious thing in the universe.

Her depression was gone, the man supporting her being a better cure for her condition than any kind of antidepressant ever invented by Western medical professionals could ever be. There was no fear, only a terrible will to live, a hunger for love and life.

It felt too lame a thing to say: I love you, in that kind of a moment. But something needed to be said. It wanted to come out like a wild thing from a cage.

"You brought me back to life," she whispered to the pulse on his neck, tasting both their salt, feeling like crying again, but this time for a different reason. "When we met. And every day after."

He was calm and still, frozen in time, but she could feel his heart thundering underneath that chest. Fast and overwhelmed.

"You're good at so much more than just killing people. I hope you know that."

The world could use another flood, but he chose to be the floodgate, chose to fight back mass destruction and death and darkness while looking like it. A hero, if there ever was one.

Simon didn't just take lives. He saved them.

"You saved my life, Simon." She stirred a little to look at him, wholly stripped of all his masks.

"There.. Finally shut you up."

He swallowed, and a steady hand brushed the nape of her neck, dissolving the tension if there still was any left.

"Yeah."

The soft silence covered them like a blanket until he bore even deeper.

"I'm glad you could finally join us."

And she realized he was talking about the Game. Their game. The poker game.

She had been a player while he had been here all along with palms facing upwards, with no cards at all. Just waiting for her to catch on.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"'Atta girl."

The kiss was gentle and slow. He grunted in her mouth, and when she withdrew to look at what was wrong, he opened and closed his jaw, then rubbed the side of his chin that had begun to swell a little.

"You hit hard for a historian."

Oh God.

She felt bad, but not bad enough to suppress a chortle.

"Remarkably hard for a woman. Almost dislocated a jaw," he continued when he saw she was laughing at the whole situation.

"I hope it swells real bad," she chuckled. He cast her a look that said So much for sweetness.

"You're ruthless."

"Do you need ice?"

"A kiss'll do."

She didn't deny him that kiss. She wasn't that ruthless. But after that soft peck, she turned to whisper in his ear.

"You deserved it."

He scoffed lightly, gave her a squeeze. It was the middle of the night, but it felt like the midsummer sun was shining.

"You deserve the best."

"And you're the best?" She asked, while they both already knew he was.

"I try to be."

That was probably the most humble thing she had ever heard him say, but then again, when had his arrogance ever been ego? He had always delivered. He was a soldier, but he was not a killer. He was a protector.

But if he would protect her by leaving her in peace, she would start a war of her own.

"Then don't leave me."

"Never."

Her heart skipped a beat, then fluttered flush against her ribs like an overjoyed bird.

"Is that a promise?"

She caught a smile, cocky, but only because he knew he was the best man for the job. He was best at what he did, and it had nothing to do with games.

"It's a vow."

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #mw2 smut #man sized #simon ghost riley x female oc #ghost x female oc #simon riley x female oc #soft simon riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #simon ghost riley fic

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ghouljams · 8 months

Text

Fuck me. Dilf!fae!Ghost.

You watch Simon bounce your daughter in his arms, humming to her quietly as he tries to settle her down for her nap. You're busy transferring his t-shirt to the drier after some hefty spitup earlier, and you can't say you're disappointed he hasn't grabbed a new one. He looks good with a baby and some stubble, very parental. Oh my god.

Oh my god he's a fucking dilf. A dilf that you get to f on the regular.

"I'm gonna put 'er down," Simon tells you, his voice low enough not to wake the sleeping infant in his arms. Coincidentally also low enough to make you shiver. You don't know if he notices but you don't care. You have bigger problems, like how did you not notice such a major milestone in your man's life? You have to make him and award, you have to give him a reward.

He kisses your cheek as he brushes past you to the nursery and you can't not fuck him.

When Simon comes out of your daughter's room you are on your knees faster than he can get the door closed. Your fingers are already working to get his fly open as he scrambles to get a hand in your hair. You push his jeans and boxers down in one well practiced motion. He's not hard, but you still sigh at the sight of him. Perfect as always, fuck you love his cock.

You press your lips to his stomach, lick the coarse curly hair that trails from his belly button to his cock, and stroke his length with your hand. Simon, to his credit, tips his head back to tap against the door with a sigh. You pull back to spit in your hand, watching him as you work his cock. He's so fucking pretty. Scars, fucked up nose, the softness around his middle, all of him is just gorgeous.

You duck your head to give his balls some attention, rolling your tongue over them before pressing sucking kisses to the sensitive skin. He groans low in his throat, his fingers tight in your hair, almost insistent as he keeps you held close. His balls feel so heavy on your tongue, you wonder when the last time you fucked was. It hasn't been more than a week you don't think but with the baby everything has been so busy. This is well fucking needed then.

You drag your tongue up from his balls to his cock, working around your hand to slick his length. You lap at the head collecting his precum on your tongue before wrapping your lips around him and sucking. Pretty fucking boy, you think watching Simon watch you, his long lashes fluttering as you stroke his cock with the bob of your head. You move your hand to grip his thich as you slide your lips down to the base, moaning around the thick cock down your throat. He stretches you out so nicely. You wiggle your head a little to feel his girth shift, to feel your nose drag through his public hair, to feel the suppressed gag that makes your eyes roll back. God you are made for him.

Made to purr around his cock until he tugs on your hair to remind you what you're supposed to be doing. You ignore the throbbing between your legs in favor of bobbing your head up and down his length. Only pulling off to breathe and spit on his cock, more slick to help the slide of your lips. You roll his balls in your spit slick hand, squeezing them gently as you suck his cock until you feel them pull tight. Then Simon presses you back down to take his cock whole as he bucks down your throat.

"Fuck baby, tha's a good girl, take it all," he groans, spilling down your throat. You swallow, try to keep your eyes on him when you'd really love to be staring at your brain, and let him use your mouth to finish. A few shallow thrusts as he catches his breath and he's pulling out.

You stay on the ground, stick your tongue out to make sure he sees you've swallowed everything. Simon gives you a pleased hum, fucking two fingers into your mouth. In and out over your tongue before he thinks better of it.

"What's this about?" He asks, his voice thick. Oh, you love his sex voice, he could still go another few rounds.

"Congrats on your new status as a DILF," you tell him without missing a beat.

"Mm," he hums, "you want me to call you mommy now?"

"Maybe," you hadn't considered that, this does make you a MILF, huh.

"Alright," Simon crouches and grabs your arm, hauling you up over his shoulder as he stands, "Let's go make another baby momma."

That is a very promising statement.

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sprout-fics · 7 months

Note

I think abt this all the time so I need to ask you. // whumpy ask ahead

Do you think simon’s ever afraid to sleep with/near his partner bc he gets violent night terrors and he’s terrified he’ll hurt them trying to ‘defend’ himself during a ptsd episode? I don’t think he’d ever be intentionally violent or scary, but I mean the man has been through a metric fucktonne of shit and clearly has survival instincts that rival a grizzly bear, what if he had a night terror and that self-protection instinct kicked in before he could register that he’s safe, he’s not in danger, that someone he loves is on the other end of his self defence? What if he hurt them on accident? What if he’s really as rotten on the inside as he pretends not to be? What if he shatters their trust? The trust he never deserved anyway? What if he’s a monster?

Anyway this thought consumes most of my waking moments. I love him. Put that man in a Shituation

Dark Vision

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OFC 'Fix')

(Of Shadows and Bones Masterlist)

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 1.5k Tags: Established Relationship, Sleeping Together, Angst, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Second Person POV Warnings: PTSD nightmares A/N: Anon I literally could not resist not only putting that man in a shituation, I will put that man in a shituation with my beloved Fix

He’s talking in his sleep again.

Strange half-mumblings, words with no meaning that you can hear from behind you, curled as you are on your makeshift bedroll. The abandoned cabin on the rise overlooking your RV point does little to insulate against the chill that comes just before dawn. Both your forms are swallowed in darkness as Soap sits outside on third watch, vigilant for any approaching trespassers who may have followed you from the village the three of you had cased for traces of Makarov. Simon had taken the first watch, and you second. By the time you’d come inside to lay down he’d been curled on his side, solidly asleep and clutching one of his blades in a steadfast grip.

Almost as if he was protecting himself not from his pursuers, but from dreams.

“Tommy-”

Your worried frown deepens as the garbled, cracking call from the soldier behind you. You’d situated yourself not far from him, hardly touching except when you’d stretched out your legs. He’d twitched when your boots had grazed against him, and you thought for a moment he’d wake, levy a snarking remark at you. Instead he sucked in a deep breath, released it, and once more fell still. Now, you can feel him twitching in his sleep- little jolts and shudders as he bodily tries to fight off whatever shadows haunt his mind.

You shouldn’t wake him. You know better than that. Simon isn’t one to appreciate coddling, would merely buck you off and be sour for the next day until he forgot about it. Really, you should just go sit outside with Johnny, feign an excuse of sleeplessness and leave Simon to his restless dreams.

“F-Fix-”

You nearly startle at that, eyes blinking as you’re suddenly wide awake. You sit up, twist to look at Simon’s shuddering form, curled around the knife in his hands with a death grip. He arches, groans at some unseen entity, the sound dragging low in his chest. Again, he calls your name, and whatever phantom clutches at him feels as if it bleeds into your own marrow, whispering fear and ruin.

You shouldn’t wake him.

You really shouldn’t.

You feel your heart race as you gently lay a hand on him anyways, a soothing touch to his shoulder that he doesn’t notice.

“Simon.” You whisper softly, gently scooting closer to him. “Simon, love, it’s just a dream.”

The shiver in his limbs seems to abate a bit at that, and you watch as the grip loosens around the blade. You breathe in relief, feeling him grow lax as you continue to whisper to him in reassuring murmurs, trying to ward off his demons that haunt him even in sleep.

“It’s alright, Simon. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

You lean over him more fully now, hesitantly arranging yourself closer to the curl of his spine. Perhaps the proximity is what he needs, the comfort of another’s touch that he’s always so hesitant to ask of you. Nevermind that Soap is outside. Johnny understands to some degree the relationship between you and Simon, and you pray he’ll ignore any murmurs he hears at least until he can needle you about them later.

You’re careful as you quietly press in behind him, your hand on his shoulder hesitant, and then firm as you adjust your weight-

You feel him stiffen a moment too late.

Simon awakes with a snarl, a wild, feral beast in his fear as he twists towards you, rolls you under him in one swift, powerful motion.

You bring your hands up automatically, years of close combat roaring to life as you try to protect yourself from his violent reaction. Fortunately his movements are weighted with sleep, sluggish to some degree, allowing you to block the hand that moves for your windpipe, seize the wrist holding his knife and drag it well to the side.

It’s still sheathed.

Simon struggles for a moment, and you watch as he sucks in air, chest rising and eyes bright as he tries to make out the figure below him in the darkness. His instincts are on overdrive, adrenaline fully fueling his blood before he was even awake. You know he doesn’t see you, he sees a threat, something that tried to rouse him for ill-intent. For all he knows you could be an enemy, an ambusher, someone trying to kill him in his sleep.

You could be Roba, one of his men.

He grapples with you, twists your hands with a little grunt even as you try to shove him off. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, but there’s a part of you that knows that this is Simon. Simon, who has slept near to you a dozen times, who has been in your bed, who has saved your life, who knows your real name, who once smeared blood from your cheek with a fondness that had stolen the air from your lungs.

“Si-” You try as he hauls your hands above you, forcing yourself to go into limp surrender so as to show you aren’t a threat. “Simon, it’s me. It’s Fix.”

His shoulders are heaving as he finally stills, the blade planted on the floor next to your head. You can see his eyes glinting in the darkness, wild and unfocused, slowly dawning with realization at the sound of your voice.

You force yourself to swallow the rush of startled surprise in your throat, trying to even your breathing and show him you’re alright. He tenses as you speak.

“It’s alright, Simon. It was just a dream.”

Simon stares down at you in the darkness, past his mask, eyes wide with shock. There’s a flash of something you can’t name, one that passes over his eyes quickly as it too fades behind the facade of something forced.

“Fix.” He rumbles, voice hoarse.

You summon a shaky smile. “Yes, love. It’s me.”

“You’re-” He starts, before biting off his words, unwilling to finish whatever sentence has poisoned his mouth.

He releases you then, his adamantium grip slowly sliding off your wrists as he braces above you, staring.

“You were having a nightmare.” You tell him in the silence that follows, and it doesn’t truly touch the words you want to say.

You called my name in your sleep. You were afraid. What did you see? Tell me, please, so I can make it better.

He rolls away from you so his back is once again to you, and you want to chase him, press yourself to his spine as if you’re a shield for his peaceful slumber.

“Go to sleep, Fix.” He tries, and he sounds so tired, weary in a way you want to aid. You observe him, the way moonlight catches on his shoulders from the open window, the hunch of himself as he tries to shake the remnants of his forbidden vision.

“Not tired.” You tell him in return, and he sighs- with annoyance or with resignation, you aren’t sure.

You reach a hand for him. He tenses.

“You shouldn’t have woken me up.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He’s silent at that, and even with his back turned you know he’s fidgeting with his gloves, a sign of distress.

“I could have hurt you.” He says, and it’s almost angry. Not at you, but at himself.

You observe him silently, seeing the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his demons chase him into wakefulness.

“You’d never hurt me.” You tell him, and you watch him sink at that, head bowing forward. “Would you?”

“No.” His answer comes quick, and to anyone else it sounds only prompt. To you, it sounds almost desperate.

“Simon.” You murmur, and stretch forward to touch him again. You lay a hand on his shoulder, and he sucks in a breath, pauses, before he gently lays a gloved palm against your fingers.

“It was just a dream.” You tell him again. He doesn’t nod, but he understands, this you can tell.

“You should sleep.” He replies, softer now, tired and tender.

“Only if you try to sleep too.” You offer, and scoot forward so your cheek now rests on his shoulder, feeling him fully relax against your touch. “Just lay down with me. You can stay awake if you want.”

Simon is silent for a moment, and you hold your breath in anticipation. At last, he turns towards you, arranges you in his arms with his back towards the window, his head tucked at the crown of your head.

You rub gentle circles into his hip as he lays your head on his arm as a pillow, curling around you protectively, almost possessively, as if daring his nightmares to touch you.

You don’t speak. There’s little else to say. You know someday he’ll tell you the thing he saw, the vision of you that had him cry out your name from his nightmares. You trust him to carry it until he’s ready, to keep you in his trust until then, and far after. You curl closer to him with a soft sigh, let your eyelashes flutter into a soft doze.

The knife remains in its sheath, beyond his reach.

(Attaching my usual masterlist for this series because why not)

Tag List: (Reblog this post to be added to future fics from this series! If you'd like to be removed please DM me!)

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @alicesfracturedmirror @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @soapskneebrace @nightingale-ghost-writer @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001 @alittlefansthings @allaboutirem0 @keiva1000 @makariaspresence @achelois-is-here @nightingale-ghost-writer @altered-delta @thetimidsarcasticcat @nestaarcheronss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ghxstyops @whotfislynn @gazs-blue-hat @obi-wansorrow

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #mw2 #cod mw22 #Simon ghost riley x oc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix

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