Simon "Ghost" Riley X Fem!Reader

yearbook photo 📷

2:25 AM

Simon 'Ghost' Riley / Reader

Summary:  Simon returns home a little earlier than expected, and all he wants is a good night's sleep and the warm body of a person he loves.

Content:  coming-home-from-deployment, curvy! civilian girlfriend, domestic fluff, shared shower, jetlag, unprotected sex, lazy middle-of-the-night sex, fingering, hickeys, missionary, cum eating, oral

Word Count:  2.3k

Notes: Did I type this in one go (frenzied, horny and slightly tipsy), but still need to get up at 5:20 AM for work tomorrow? Yes. Was this stuck in my brain and demanded to be let out? Double yes. NOT FOR MINORS.

The key scraping against the door had her turning around in alarm, spatula clutched in her right hand as the other fumbled for something sharper, pointier.

Simon wasn't supposed to be home for another two weeks, and all she had on her was a fluffy towel and sheet mask - not exactly the proper attire to face a burglar. But Ghost, the Lieutenant not her boyfriend, had taught her how to defend herself. How to make an opponent bleed enough for them to back off or die as the consequence of assaulting her. 

Call me, if you ever have to kill someone, he'd said and stroked her cheek. I'll take care of the mess.

She'd laughed then, and teased him about being too far away to fix anything but now that the adrenaline was pumping through her veins, she started receiting his work number by heart over and over again.

Then the logical part of her brain kicked in, and wondered why on Earth a burglar or serial killer would bother with picking a lock in the first place. Wouldn't they just come smashing through the window-

The door swung open silently, a large gloved hand groped for the light switch in the entrance way and then suddenly he was there, bathed in the soft light of the lamp they'd bought together when they first moved into their shared flat.

Simon still wore a dark mask that covered his mouth and nose, and she stared, flabbergasted, as he methodically removed his gloves and black beanie, dumping his heavy backpack next to the umbrella stand.

"Si?" She whispered, and he flinched, chocolate brown eyes swivelling up to hers as he made an aborted motion, like he was reaching for a holster that wasn't there.

"Focken hell, luv," he slurred, words distorted from lack of sleep. The dark purple rings under his eyes spoke of the long journey he'd taken, and she'd lost track of where in the world he was fighting against evil at this point. "Ye look like a damn axe murderer with that."

He gestured vaguely towards her face, and with a laugh that turned into a sob halfway, she dropped everything she'd been holding, ripped off the overpriced skincare and flung herself into his arms. Simon swayed a bit, and he still smelled of desert dust and faraway places but she didn't care. Nothing else mattered in that moment but him, the feel of his strong arms around her as he lifted her up like she weighed nothing, and pressed his warm cheek against hers.

She quickly pulled his face mask down, and Simon sighed as she kissed him, smiling as she peppered kisses all over his face.

"You didn't tell me you'd be back so early!" She complained, pulling him back into a bone-crushing hug. "I haven't been shopping for all your favourite treats yet!"

"'S fine," he mumbled, then buried his face into her shoulder, sagging a little as he put her back down. "Jus' wanted to be home with you."

Tears threatened to constrict her throat, and she swallowed against it, massaging the back of his head and short curly hair the way he liked.

"Let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed, hm?" Her voice was only a whisper, but Simon nodded and let her guide him down the short corridor and into the darkness of the bathroom. They left the door open, allowing the light to pour in that way and she helped him strip out of the black joggers and long sleeve he'd been wearing, crouching down to untie his shoelaces. 

Under normal circumstances, the heated look he was giving her from above would have been enough for her to stay on her knees for him, but she knew that Simon was running on fumes. As flattering as the bulge in his tight briefs was, it was more of a reaction to be reunited after so long, than actual desire.

She pulled the soft cotton down his muscular thighs, grinning at the relieved hiss he let out when he was completely bare. Pushing him into the shower was easy, and when she stripped off her towel, it was only so she could join him and wash his skin thoroughly. 

Simon's hands wandered over her hips and breasts, and he pulled her in for a deep kiss but let her do whatever she pleased after that. She massaged his shoulders and back with soapy hands, ran her hands down his solid but thick abdomen, and even gripped his half-hard cock for a moment. 

He groaned and leaned his head against her shoulder, but then she moved her hands up and over into his hair and neck and Simon practically purred.

Blissed out and half asleep, he barely registered her removing the shower head from its mount and running it all over him, washing the suds down the drain and warming his chilled skin.

"Gonna put on your bathrobe for me, babe?" She asked softly, and Simon grunted as she turned off the water. They fumbled out of the shower and struggled a bit until he was wrapped up in black fluffy cotton. Storm trooper, she'd called him many times before whenever he wore this particular monstrosity. 

He let her lead him into their shared bedroom, thankfully tidy and clean, and belly-flopped onto the soft mattress. Simon was out within moments, breathing in the scent of fresh linen and her, mind at ease for the first time in forever.

With a smile, she quickly fetched a glass of water for them both, brushed her teeth and then marvelled at the sight of her boyfriend sprawled out on the bed.

Simon was early by almost two weeks, and her heart made a double-flip as she thought of the fact that it was the weekend now and she'd have two uninterrupted days with him before she had to go back to work. 

Her eyes wandered over the exposed calves and feet, the long fingers that clutched into her comforter, the translucent brows and lashes.

She changed into her pyjama bottoms and top, snuggling up next to the mountain of black robes and pale skin. Simon's deep breathing never changed as she wrapped one arm and leg around him, burying her face into his damp neck as she fell asleep, completely forgetting about her plan to stay awake all night to prepare for her night shifts.

The next time she awoke, it was still dark outside. Disoriented, she tried to place the warmth on top of her, the mouth that sucked into her skin with enough pressure to leave light pink bruises and made her pussy wet from the suction alone. Broad hands and long fingers were gripping her waist, and Simon's thigh was gently pressed between her legs, rubbing up and down.

She moaned and groped for him in the darkness as he sucked at her skin harder, moving on to her collarbones and breasts, then nipples as he went. He was still wearing the bathrobe, but it was sliding off his shoulders, revealing scarred skin and rippling muscles to her greedy fingers as she roamed over him.

"Si?" She panted and he hummed, fingers pulling her top down until both of her boobs were framed by the fabric, exposed to his hungry mouth. 

"I could eat you alive," he mumbled against her skin, then his calloused fingertips ran lower, exposing her stomach as he kneaded the soft skin there and slipped beyond, into her loose shorts.

The breath was knocked out of her as sure fingers rubbed over her embarrassingly slick folds, pushed deeper, and then withdrew only to circle her clit lazily. 

"You- you should rest," she stammered but pushed her chest against his mouth and clenched around nothing when he dipped two of his fingers into her and pulled out in the same motion.

"Can't sleep right now," he growled, then plunged his fingers back in, stretching her needy core a bit more. "D'you want me to stop, sweetheart?"

She'd rather die.

"N-no."

"Good," he growled, then captured her mouth in a sloppy kiss that involved a lot of tongues and hitched breaths as his fingers worked away at her. A third soon joined the others, and she whimpered, throwing her head back as he diligently prepared her for his cock. Her hips jerked whenever the ball of his hand brushed against her clit, and her fingers drew painful welts against Simon's shoulders and back, finally disrobing him fully and pulling him on top of her.

"Please Si," she whined, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer until her wet core was pressed against the hardness between his thighs. "Waited so long for you to come home."

He groaned and steadied himself with one arm next to her head, gripping his heavy cock with one hand and brushing the weeping head over her clit and opening several times. The darkness made it hard to see him, but the feel and taste of his skin were enough that night. 

She knew that Simon's eyes were a dark pool of molten chocolate right now, that his forehead would be creased in concentration. 

At the first breach, she clutched the soft sheets underneath her, pushing her hips into him, impatient. They both hissed, her from the slight discomfort of his girth and him from her tightness, but then she hooked her ankles behind his lower back and pulled him in.

Simon came to rest inside of her with a groan, sleep-warm skin pressed against her cheek as he started to move slowly, savouring it.

There was no rush, only the underlying currents of sleep and weariness that were soaked deep into both their bones as they moved against each other. Skin against skin, the slight sheen of sweat on his back, the trembling of her core and thighs whenever he hit a little too deeply from this angle.

Simon caged her face with his arms, hands in her hair as they kissed.

"I love you," he murmured, over and over again as her eyes rolled back into her head, mouth open as he buried himself inside her. "Missed you so much."

"Missed you, too," she panted, clutching onto him, chest constricting as his hips rutted harshly and strong hands lifted her hips and ass onto him.

Neither of them reached between their bodies to stimulate her clit any more, because they both knew that it would be the end of it. As soon as Simon felt her contract around him, he usually followed and they both weren't ready, needed more from this. Craved that prolonged connection.

His orgasm wasn't a grand spectacle of growls and lovebites like it sometimes was. Instead, Simon huffed into her neck as his movements stuttered, and she felt his lashes flutter against her sweaty skin.

There was a sticky warmth that filled her, overflowed as he kept moving a little while longer.

She'd been happy like that, content not to come in all honesty, because the fact that her lover was back in her arms was more climactic than anything her body could produce.

But Simon had always been a greedy man, eager to please and obsessed with making her soul sing out to him through pleasure. 

He withdrew, and they both hissed. Then a warm, wet mouth left a trail down her body, latching onto her thighs. Teeth and tongue worked into her soft skin, sucking harshly and then massaging the sore spot with thick fingers before moving higher and lapping at her slit that was slowly oozing his own release.

"Oh my fucking god," she moaned, clutching at his soft hair as her hips jerked into his face and suddenly he was on her, gripping her hips roughly and eating her pussy out like it was his last meal.

His tongue lapped at her clit, then her sensitive, still stretched-out entrance. Simon slid one finger into her, curled it just right and pumped it in and out rapidly, tongue fluttering.

He rumbled something between her thighs, but if it had been praise or a command, she didn't know and didn't care. Back arching, she clutched her sensitive breasts and pinched her nipples as he sucked and sucked. Stars exploded behind her closed eyelids, and if their neighbours didn't know that Simon had returned by now, they probably knew now.

Unable to hold in the high-pitched whine, she shuddered against his slick face over and over again, trying to get away from the immediate overstimulation as her orgasm crashed through her and eager for more.

Simon continued to suckle and lap at her clit for a while, the sounds obscene and so damn satisfying that she was glad for the darkness that obscured her crimson blush.

"Missed the sounds you make," he growled softly, voice faraway and sleepy as he slotted his entire weight and body against hers, crushing her into the mattress. "Missed your sweet taste."

"Simon!" She complained, embarrassed as she hid into his neck and he dragged his soft cock between their messy bodies for a few seconds, obviously just enjoying the moment.

"Sleep now, love," he sighed, flopping onto his side and pulling her head onto the thick pillow of his bicep, naked body intertwined with hers. "I'll keep watch over you."

I have no words. Just wanted soft, jetlagged and horny Ghost. That's all.

You can find my other COD works here! 🤍

Reclining Nude by Luis Ricardo Falero (1879)

vessel be like "you got me in a chokehold". yeah, no shit bro. you got the most prettiest throat ever

just some bloke…

AAAAAA I LOVE YOU??? the konig going down on insecure reader, I’ve been looking for something just like that forever but I’ve been to shy to request it to anyone in fear of it sounding wierd😭you’re an angel!! Could you maybe write something with the same trope but with another character, Ghost maybe?🫶🏼

aww, anon🥺 I love you too❤️ you're not weird for requesting something like that, i'm sure a lot of us deal with it and it helps to live vicariously through fiction😂 feel free to request stuff✨✨

Ghost is a little quieter and less demanding about it because he's afraid of pushing your boundaries. he, of all people, know what it's like to have people crossing a line he's not comfortable with and he doesn't want to do that to you.

but he does ask at one point and he hates the way you freeze and shy away from the request. there was a lot of reassuring on his part that he really wants to do this for you more for himself but he doesn't tell you that. it took a lot to get your consent and even then, even when he had your panties on the floor and he was kneeling between your legs, you looked like you were ready to bolt out of the room at any given moment.

he decided, for now, he's not going to tease you and just go for it in case you were going to back out. and it's not because he's selfish and wants to hurt you, no. he wanted to show you how good it can feel and that there's nothing to be afraid or ashamed of.

he locks his arms under your thighs so you can't escape his mouth as he cards his tongue through your folds. but get this: he doesn't know just how much he's been waiting to taste you until that very moment and he doesn't anticipate the need to fucking eat until your clit rests against his tongue.

and he doesn't want to overwhelm you. after all this is your first time receiving oral, but his control is slipping. fast. and the knowledge that he's got you right where he wants you, that he's made sure you can't escape his grasp, it doesn't help at all.

he groans into your cunt before he can restrain himself and fuck, every ounce of control leaves his body and he's licking through your drooling pussy before he can even think to stop. he's not as feral, not as wild, but just as incessant. like he wants you to enjoy it, he does, but he can't stop the want to taste you more for his own pleasure than yours.

and it's so good, it's so so good that you melt into the bed and your legs are shaking with the way he swirls his tongue around your swollen bud. your thighs become his new pair of earmuffs and his hands slide under your back to bring you back and keep you still when you squirm too much.

it doesn't take too long for the high to splinter you from within. you're grabbing his hair before you even think about it and arching your fluttering pussy when you gush into his mouth. and when his grip on your thighs eases as he soothes you back down to earth with gentle strokes and you think he'll stop then.

but no. no, far from it.

his grip tightens again and you whine, trying and failing to move your hips away from his eager mouth, but he doesn't let you. he holds you down, the vigour in his tongue returning with a vengeance. you think the next orgasm is going to kill you because the only time he gives you a break is when he breaks his mouth away from your cunt to say; "just one more, luv."

with the dazed look in his eyes, you doubt he even knows he's lying. but you let him have you anyway.

Oh to be Stevie Nicks twirling onstage in 1977 (Rosebud Film 1977) ☽ [stevie gifs] ☽

Simon Riley masterlist

Main masterlist - AO3

18+ Minors DNI

Sassy - series - complete He didn't know your name. You never saw his face. Simon x female reader

Dead Disco - chaptered fic - ongoing You should have gotten out. Ghost x Soap x female reader Simple Math - chaptered fic - ongoing You had a plan, but never could have anticipated… this. Ghost x Soap x female reader It Will Come Back There is a darkness that creeps and crawls from all of us. Simon x female reader Mermaids- one shot- 8.2k words “And with your mermaid hair and your teeth so sharp, you crawled from the sea to break that sailor’s heart” - F+TM Simon x mermaid!reader Happy Hunting - one shot - 4.1k words “Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance." - Mark Z. Danielewski Simon x female reader Black Sun - 5.3k words Simon never wanted a divorce Simon x female reader Blurb Light on - series Simon has a new neighbor. His neighbor has a baby. The Maze - tba "Somebody said it's unspeakable love." - Manchester Orchestra Simon Riley x female reader

Duality - TBD Simon loves you. Ghost does not. Simon/Ghost x female reader Blurb

Musings: Ex boyfriend Reaper Silver tongue and scythe Sugar Daddy AU Alternate universe rambling

give peace a chance

I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep.

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 3.4k summary: you’re always there, waiting on him warnings: size kink, blowjobs, facefucking, thigh riding, masturbation, squirting, angst, brief mentions of death, canon typical violence, mild mild gore, fluff notes: had 'Yes to Heaven' by lana del rey on loop while writing this one. out of body experience fr. anyway, i finally gave in and wrote for the boogey man. he's been occupying too much headspace for me to not.

You don’t hear him come in. 

Crisp, white sheets gather in a knot at your midsection – previously pristine, wrinkles pull at its surface now. You can’t sleep, but that’s most nights.

Your curtains dance with an incoming drift, lazy gauze, sheer in the cresting moonlight. If you weren’t so absorbed in the white noise of your whirring fan, you could catch the quiet click of your backdoor. You always leave it open, just in case; people know not to dare take advantage of the liberties you exhibit. There’s the invisible threat, protection, of a shadowed mercenary over your toytown home. 

His missions are incalculable. That’s the one thing he cannot promise you. Come back soon, you beg, but he leaves you with a silent kiss and nothing else. 

There were once days where you’d tag along. Your chest twinges at the uncomfortable reminder. Cracked bone, spilt ichor; the bullet had barely missed your heart, lodged between the throbbing organ and a major vessel. He’d raged to get you decommissioned, incensed demands – they’d never seen him as angry. 

Carpet flattens under your bare feet as you crawl out of bed, soft, like all things here. You hadn’t the luxury of comfort before, when Simon was Ghost and you were a rookie under him, but he’d granted you a life you sought only in your dreams. The first few days in paradise, you were torn over appreciation and resentment at the act, bandages wrapped around your chest – but you’d healed and found the irreversible damage etched into the hard plate of your clavicle – a rounded, discoloured scar. 

You’re glad you’d left that life behind. 

Padding out to the kitchen, you pour yourself a drink. The cupboard underneath your sink contains only bourbon – blended, straight, kentucky – so you fish out juice from your fridge. It’s sickly sweet, all natural sugars, your ass. 

“Shouldn’t drink that stuff.” A voice cuts the tranquillity, rugged and choppy on harsh consonants – a cockney accent. You soothe the alarmed surprise racing in your gut, a gentle smile turning your cheeks. 

His eyes pierce back at you, a smudge of white against an otherwise charcoal canvas. He’s sitting at the dining table, just across your kitchen island, his massive form illuminated by the warm light you’d turned on. You don’t know how you missed him, but then again, the man lives up to his name. Ghost; creeping up like the dead. 

“We’re all out of milk.” You respond, your tease lilting to an affectionate whisper when it hits your tongue. Simon scoffs. “Not like whiskey’s any better.” 

You pour him a glass regardless. 

He’s still equipped in his tactical gear, his gun set on the chair next to him. It adds unnecessary bulk, layers on layers of insulation, conservation – impossibly, he looks bigger like this. Larger than life. Your hands run along the coarse material of his bullet proof vest; you think you can feel his muscles tense, despite the surfaces separating you. But he takes the bourbon with little fuss, wrapping a strong arm around your legs so your knees knock the side of his thigh. 

“Hi,” You giggle, beaming down at him. 

“Hey.” He mocks, setting the drink down. 

His hard-shell mask conceals any tells you may glean. In just the balaclava, you can catch the shape of his lips, the curve of his nose, when he smiles – the painted fabric pulls taut over his features. But a skull stares back at you, and all you have are his eyes, framed with ashen lashes. They’re only enough to tell you one thing; he’s happy to be home. 

You love the way they catch the light, a subtle glimmer in them. 

For a while, the two of you just stand there, revelling in the weighted company of one another. His gloved hand presses circles into your flesh, just under the hem of your sleeping shorts, while yours find every bit of exposed skin you can. There’s not much – just the small stretch of neck you can reach, tucked behind his collar before the rest of him disappears. But you find it with reverence, smoothing over it, his heated body slowly easing by the minute under your ministrations. Some part of you realises the desperation you observe him with, the hurried glances at his back, his stomach, his legs. You look for darkened, sticky fabric. You look for blood. 

You don’t have the courage to speak your fears into fruition. 

Simon slowly begins to pull the heavier parts of his armour off. The night vision goggles on his head, the packets of ammo stuffed into available pockets. You move to help him, humming, shifting as you unbuckle the back of his plate carrier. His groans are wicked, deep waves of relief stemming from somewhere in his chest, and you hide the blush that arises at the sound, throwing the layer into an unknown corner. You remember the soreness, the knotted shoulders from days in the same kit, your spine in aching need of a good long stretch. You make a mental note to rub his back later.

You take off his gloves. There’s little give – they’re crusted in dried gore and gunpowder, the bones on their front almost entirely camouflaged. A sharp tug is what it takes to peel them off his hands. But then his skin is bared to you. You survey the grit that dusts the contours of his veins. Dirt has sunk through the fibres. 

When he’s left in just his mask and underclothes, he finally slumps, posture altering from that of a soldier’s to one of a tired man. His legs spread, thick thighs filling his pants, and he reaches for his drink again, lifting the bottom of his mask and balaclava to take a large gulp. His newly revealed Adam's apple bobs with the motion.

I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep. 

“How many men?” You speak into the space. He pauses, his pink lips pursing at the brim of his glass. You have half a mind to regret asking, but you do this for your own solace. 

“Jus’ three.” Just. To anyone else, he may sound indifferent, his tone etched in that low timbre, unwavering with the grief over lost comrades. To you, you know that his pain is cavernous, a bottomless chasm he’ll undoubtedly return to. Indicatively, he pulls his mask back down over his face. It isn’t just three men. It’s three too many – but it’s on the lower end of the casualties the 141 usually faces. 

You wait for him to say the words you’re looking for. 

“They’re alright.” 

You nod. Al Bravo team was not amongst the fatalities. Gaz. Price. Soap. You cling onto the reassurance of your friends’ continued survival, a buoy until the next raging storm. 

Simon’s hand returns to its place on your leg, tracing long lines along the back of it. You shiver, suppressing the heat that spreads up your tummy like wildfire. His steel gaze is indecipherable as he looks up at you; your emotions flit across your face erratically. You wish he’d take the mask off, get on even footing with you, but it takes a while for him to come down from his missions. For as long as he’s racked with enduring adrenaline, he’ll keep his guard up. 

He’s surrounded by the safe walls of your – his – home, but he’s in over his head. 

You bow down, placing a gentle kiss on the curve of his jaw. The arm wrapped around you draws you closer. 

He smells like saltpetre, guncotton, hints of kerosene floating in the air between you. You push your face nearer to his, and you’re able to catch a faint whiff of his aftershave, traces of the cleanliness and cologne he leaves behind here, with you. You open your mouth to comment on it; he beats you to your cause: 

“Lovely girl.” He squeezes the flesh on your upper thigh – not quite your ass, but almost. 

“Mmm, Simon.” You start, capturing his eyes. They bear down on you with an intensity that makes your core ache. “Y’Can’t keep doing this to me.”

You imagine he’s smirking when he retaliates. “Can say the same for you, expectin’ me to focus out there when you look this good.” Like a giddy schoolgirl, you bite your lip at his compliment. 

Stirring to kiss his jaw again, you slowly start to unzip his windbreaker. Your fingers span the front of the black hoodie underneath, tracing the hard plane of his chest, feeling it rumble with a noiseless groan. His legs spread wider. You catch a telling bulge in your peripheral. 

“Need help?” You murmur, purring when he slips underneath your shorts to give your rear a feel. His callouses dig into you.

“Need you.” He says. 

The hand that was on his chest inches downward now, your nails raking along. You give a half-suppressed laugh as his abdomen tightens, bracing against your ticklish assault. You want to feel it bare – to extricate the exhaustion from an uncovered torso and watch as his muscles roll, solid brawn unravelling with the slightest touch. But you’ll settle on this, you know he needs it. His mask does unspeakable things to you, anyway. 

“Relax.” You encourage with a breath. Simon doesn’t listen; he still kneads your flesh with an unforgiving grip. His thumb brushes close to the soaked patch on your panties – with the appreciative grunt he gives, you know he senses the arousal emanating from you. 

His cock strains his pants, taking up all the space it can. You coo, poor thing, as you cup the underside of it. He gives you a reproaching spank, and your hips buck in tandem to his. As you do, you realise now how uncomfortable of a position you’re in – your neck cramps in this angle. Really, it’s a silly thing to be hung up about, but Simon must read the subtle cringe you give, for he urges you to kneel, guiding you by your head to crawl in between his open legs. 

You’re halfway under the table when you look up at him again, cheek pressed adoringly against his knee. He’s seemingly content like this, petting round your forehead to the ridge of your chin. His palm is large, dry, warm. You quickly lose trajectory as he caresses you, all droopy eyes and small smiles. 

He catches when you rub your legs together, chasing a friction that will never amount to him. You can never escape his scrutiny; Simon captures everything. 

He pats your cheek and pinches it before his touch leaves you. Newly awake, you perk up, perching on your haunches to lean further into him. You’re always eager, but his chuckle at your barely concealed anticipation beckons a stone to lodge itself in your throat. It’s a ball of desire, denser than most things, snowballing with every passing moment in his presence. You’re tuned in on him, rapt to every subtle thing – the deep exhales, the anchoring of his boots to hardwood floors. It’s take, take, take, an absorption of anything he’s willing to give. It tends to be like this after he comes back –  was like this back on the base, when you’d known nothing but his moniker and callsign. 

You recall rubbing one out to the staticky crackle of his voice over the channel, your headset pressed tight to your ears. You’d never told him that; you figure now’s a good time as any. 

“Used to fantasise about you, y’know.” You sigh, ironing over his calves. You move your brushes to his hulking thighs when he begins to undo his pants, wetting your lips. 

His next exhale is torn, steadiness ripped to shreds by your less-than seductive words. “Oh yeah?” He remarks, scooping into his boxers to pull his heavy cock out. “What about?” 

It springs free just then, angry head flushed a deep red, blood supplied by pulsing veins that branch to the top. You keen at the precum that beads at the top, rushing to catch it with your index to slip it onto your tongue. He says nothing, merely contemplating as you wriggle with the heady taste of him. 

“This,” You add after a long moment, before licking a long, wet stripe up the base of his dick. His whole body jerks unexpectedly, and he grabs onto your head to steady your impatient efforts. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

“Gone soft on me? I see.” Chortling, you play with his tip, batting it back and forth to tap your lips. He is anything but soft – regrettably, though, the rise you get from teasing him is too great to pass up. 

“Shut it, pet, before I turn your insides over.” He urges you forward once he’s settled. You don’t tell him how much you’d really like him to. In due time. 

Your lips wrap around the bulbous head, sides stretching to accommodate his girth. You’re familiar with the drill by now; hollow your cheeks, keep your jaw nice and loose. Use some teeth, he chokes at the pain. 

His skin moves with you as you sink down , rolling your tongue over the ridges that cross your path. Your breath is hot, your mouth even hotter – sweltering, you suck him in and coat his rock-hard with a film of saliva, which aids you when you bob back up. You can’t reach the root of him, not yet – he’s way too big – so your hand wraps around the length not in your mouth. 

“That’s it.” Simon rasps, now pushing you down in support. Your hum is lost in the lewd slurps, but he twitches with the vibrations it produces. A glob of drool leaks from you, seeping down to gather in his scruffy curls – you use it as slick to twist your wrist around his base. 

He’s ripe with the salty taste of sweat and precum, a dizzying combination – you hope you’re subtle as you slip your free hand down your pants, pressing up into the plush of your cunt. You find where you’re most sensitive, a tight bundle of nerves, and touch yourself, all the while savouring the masculinity that engulfs you – his muscled thighs by your ears, his giant hands pressing down on your head. 

A particularly loud groan sounds from above. You triple your efforts, delighted at your part in helping him unwind. At one point, his added pressure pushes you down all the way. You gag, blubbering with choked gasps, but your lips stay sealed around him, an unforgiving vacuum. His happy trail scratches your nose,

“Gonna cum, you lovely thing. Righ’ down your throat. Take it all, understand?” He asks. You’re able to discern the wobble in his abrasive voice – his balls spasm at your lips, ready to erupt at any moment. You nod, gaping at him earnestly, with wide, watery eyes. His own soften, downturning at the corners. “‘Atta girl.”

With the hazy memory of his face before he’d left, you can draw an abstraction of what he might look like right now. You trick yourself into thinking he’s smiling down at you. Gentle, caring. 

You don’t have to try as hard to believe it. 

Your fingers work fervently over your sopping cunt, slipping between velvet folds. Your exertion, combined with his pure fucking magnetism, is almost enough to tip you over the edge. A cluster in your gut stiffens, grows, upends. You stroke yourself impossibly faster. 

Simon curls inward, his mask now directly above you. A bit of his cock drags from your mouth – your bottom teeth scrape a vein in consequence. He jolts. Then, rich, long ropes of cum shoot into your awaiting mouth, painting you with musky white. You keep jerking him as he does, urging more, more, more, milking him to spill his all into you. 

A tap of your shoulder is all the evidence you need to pull off him with a pop. You didn’t cum, it doesn’t matter, you hardly feel the mounting desperation amidst the grand scheme of things. Simon’s back hits the chair, his head tilting as he takes you in. 

“C’mere,” He grunts, pushing backwards to allow you space to stand. You oblige, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand – it only serves to smear the mess across your cheek. Your back brushes the table – he beckons you closer – until your bruised knees hit the edge of the chair. 

When he’s satisfied, his hands run up your sides, starting at your arms, then downward, so they can hook into the waistband of your shorts. You lock onto his all-consuming stare, dark with an unspoken question, his pupils blown wide with lingering lust. 

“Go ahead.” You coax. 

He nods and pulls your shorts off with one, swift movement. 

Cold air meets soaked cotton – you tremble, whether with goosebumps or the weight of his study, you don’t know. You’re the farthest thing from a blushing virgin, but Simon manages to propel you back into that bashful headspace. Every time with him is ruthless – stifling broken sobs while adjusting to his width, utter pleasure and the smallest bit of pain. 

Perhaps you’ll forgo that this time around. He’s quickly softening against his pelvis. You understand – stamina tends to dissipate after holding out for so long. Though he’s anything but a selfish lover.

He guides you to straddle his thigh. 

You squirm, hip flexors burning with the strain of splitting over the breadth of him. He keeps you steady with his hands on your waist – you clutch onto his wrists. His sleeves have rucked up to reveal his tattooed forearm. You trace the ink, reverent, requiring as much skin-to-skin as possible. It flees the fastest, that sensation, running up behind him when he exits the door. The bruises, the bites, the cramp from hitting your cervix one too many times, on the other hand – they all endure, keeping you sated long enough so that you aren’t compelled to rejoin him. He might do that on purpose, in fact. 

Your clit folds as it meets his leg – a new surge of slick spills from you. 

“A-Ah! Simon, y–” 

“I know, pet. Jus’ ride me, yeah, like that.” 

Your bottom half ruts into him, finding purchase on the solid surface of his thigh. Your panties slide, preventing the potential for divine friction, so you push them to the side, wedging it in the crevice of a lip and your pubic bone. You stutter apologies to Simon for the mess – your natural lubricant smears onto his cargo pants, sullying the fabric. He assures that he’ll wear it proudly. You’re a prouder medal than blood. 

You’re whimpering now, wailing about everything and nothing all at once with your face tucked into his neck. He embraces you – sturdiness forcing you to stunt your movements to short, hurried grinds – and says nothing. 

Something terrifying begins to burn in you; promising a cataclysm. It’s him. His scent, his strength, his size, his presence. I missed you. I missed you. Your impending orgasm crawls up the tendons in your pelvis, seeping into bone and flooding like a high tide. Your pants grow shallower. Your lungs feel cramped. Something about this, here, with him, lights every synapse in you, flashing bright with colours and promises and safety. I miss you. 

“I miss you,” You finally gasp, broken as you peer up at him. He stills – you keep your pace. Sweat beads at your temple. 

He slowly removes the mask. 

The balaclava follows soon after. 

Simon then bows down, pressing his lips to your furrowed brow. 

And then, everything in you compresses, fierce and tight. You wind your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back to bite the column of his neck. You do it to muffle the sob that bubbles when you erupt in searing agony atop him, back arching, toes curling. Your body goes completely rigid. 

He groans with the cut of your teeth, and your cunt pulsates again, spilling down on him, your fluids draining to double your mark on the man. 

“Missed you too.” Simon rustles in response. You seize his mouth with yours, uncaring for how messy it is. It’s what you need; to feel your teeth knock, to bind yourself to him. 

You kiss in him the intent to never let you go. You know it won’t last, but for now, it’s enough.

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon absolutely worshiping your body

Lights low, soft, breathy sounds filling the air that is already already thick with the unspoken words of a man consumed, you lay sprawled out naked across the sheets.

This is like his little slice of heaven.

Adoration is what Simon is after tonight, needing to caress every single solitary inch of you until you are left in a puddle of pure bliss in the middle of his bed.

"Let me turn your brain off for ya, let me take care of ya," he breathes against your mouth as he kisses you, lightly nipping at your bottom lip lazily.

You are the best goddamn thing to grace his life and he desperate need to show it constantly by having all his undivided attention focused solely on you is something he struggles with dailyq.

Moments ago Simon had traced over all the subtle imperfections of your body with his calloused fingers as if every flaw were actually incredibly precious to him, lips following not far behind as he whispers delicious praises into your flesh.

Those gentle things that are only for your ears alone to hear. Can't have people think he's going soft...even though he very much is.

He nuzzles into you as he catches your scent: that natural musk mixed with the clean smell of your body wash. It makes his head fuzzy and his body tingle in a way he cannot accurately describe.

"Christ, you look so fuckin' beautiful, luv," he purrs against your warm skin as his lips caress down over the swell of your breasts with their nipples already stiff and along the length of your stomach towards your thighs. "I can't get enough of ya. Fuck, your perfect."

It is as if he is performing a sacred act by giving every bit of you the full breadth of his desire, from your lips all the way down to your legs. Extra time he spends on your thighs as he embraces those voluptuous curves with his mouth until you are whining and writhing beneath him before he has even gotten to your throbbing clit.

Simon spreads you open to lean into that mossy bank and delicately peppers kisses to your petals with such care, until you are breathlessly begging him for more, "please baby, please", before he carefully divides them easily with his tongue as he slips it inside. You are already wet, stimulated from his doting on your body alone and shit you are sweet. Like eating a peach accept this own doesn't run out before he's had his fill.

That masterful tongue draws short, cncise circles along your clit, lips locking around it intermittently as he sucks, using the two techniques in tandem until you are bucking against his face. He takes his time, caressing your thighs up and down with his hands, dragging his nails lightly to make you shiver.

By the time he is inside of you, you are a glorious mess or cum and mewls and sweat.

Slow, even thrusts he pounds into you from behind, making the curve of your ass jiggle against his hips with each plunge of his cock between your silky petals and into your tight cunt.

Your elbows and knees prod into the mattress leaving indents on the surface as he has you ass up and face down now. One of those wide hands with the long, thick fingers runs up the length of your back to your head where he laces all five digits through your hair before his grip holds it firmly in his grasp while the other glides across your spine.

His clasp on your hair is firm, but not painful; there is nothing but pleasure for you tonight.

Looking down, he watches with hungry amber eyes as your juicy cunt sucks him in right down to the base of his shaft before he pulls his cock back out nearly to the tip to thrist it back in all over again.

"That's it, sweetheart," he groans as his hips snap against your backside. "Ya feel so goddamn good tonight, just wanna stay buried in ya."

Goddamn what a beautiful sight to watch your body strain to take all of his girth in at once, his size almost too much to handle, but he has prepped you well as he always does starting with his fingers and then his tongue; making sure you are nice and wet and relaxed enough to take him.

Fuck, in this position he's so deep in you, you swear you can feel him in your stomach. To be so full of him, where you can't tell where he ends and you begin, sends tingling shivers coursing through your veins.

You are completely claimed by him body and soul.

Simon was never a religious man, most of the time as far from it as possible, but the closest he would ever come was the moment he got that first taste of the absolute glory of what lay between your legs as you wrapoed yourselves in one another and then it was as if your body became his church...and fuck was he ready to give his life to worshiping at your alter with his fingers, his tongue, his cock; all his instruments at your disposal to show his unwavering devotion.

That man had been starved for far longer than he'd like to admit, but the first time he buried himself in you that was all it took to fill him. It was you he craved: your softness and warmth and sweetness, everything he did not have in his life before.

And so every chance Simon gets to have you naked and at his mercy, he takes greedily and without remorse. No matter how many times, how many different ways, he always wants more... Needs more...

How can he not overindulge after being deprived for so long?

...when all this beauty just willingly let him have all she has.