I Want You To Remember:

Sweet Tooth [Simon "Ghost" Riley]

Summary: You're trapped between a rock and a hard place. Or rather, trapped between a door and your superior. He doesn't seem to mind, though.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Warnings: +18 Smut (MDNI!!!), oral (fem receiving), pussydrunk!Simon if you squint, angst, forbidden romance happening in the midst of a mission.

A/n: i know i said i was gonna take a couple of days off from writing anything but this Simon brain rot hasn't sunk in quite yet but it. is. brewing🥴 @sofasoap i don't know what happened😭 one minute I was vibing to my music, the next I was neck deep in smutville😭😭😭

You shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't be allowing this. He's your superior. He's your Lieutenant. He's... H—he's...

He's on his knees.

He's hiking your leg up his shoulder. The slit of your dress parted wide open for him to take you apart from the inside out. His arm curls over it, hand planted on your sternum to keep you pinned against the door and the other slid against the small of your back whilst—

"fuck." is all you hear from below. "you're dripping all over my mouth, sweetheart."

You can't look at him. You just can't.

Even though you know you won't see his whole face, you know his mask will be right above his nose. And you know you'll see his mouth, his tongue gliding tender strokes through your pussy.

Hell, you can hear the lewd sounds. The slurping, the sticky wet noises of his mouth playing with your folds. It's hard to do anything but squirm in his hold. He's much bigger than you, keeping you where you are with just a fraction of his strength. So you just stand there and take it.

"Ghost—" you moan breathlessly, eyes glassy and bleary when you open them to try and talk some sense into him but words are melting and flee from your head the more his tongue flattens against your pussy. "Ghost, th—they're— they're going to—"

Words. Fleeing. Faster than your mind can comprehend. A sudden squeal escapes you before you can slap a hand over your mouth when his tongue slides inside you. His chin is glistening. And his nose as it cards against your clit, and it nearly tears a scream from your throat.

Your fingers grip his arm, legs trembling when the heat pools and threatens to flare brightly. He continues to lap at your folds like it's his job. The way he looks at you, with dark eyes veiled with desire, makes you melt.

Those eyes usually are so cold and calculated. Razer sharp and focused on the task at hand.

He's still focused, of course. But there's no sharpness. Not an ounce of ice and malice. His eyes are hazy, all soft and sweet and desperate for the way your essence drips onto his tongue. Desperate for you. You don't know how to handle that.

You don't know how you're going to look the rest of the team in the eye once you get out of this tiny bathroom. The operation was almost over. The target was in the bag, Gaz and Soap are working on getting the damn bastard out of the building unnoticed. Laswell's probably with them. You and Ghost?

You can't help but recall how he was always close by. Especially when you had to lure the target away from prying eyes. He kept a good enough distance, but close enough that you could feel the darkness of his eyes piercing the back of your head.

Then, once the target was secured —bound, gagged and blinded with a cloth over his head— and ushered away by Gaz and Soap, Ghost wasted no time in cornering you. Ambushing you, more like.

A gasp leaves your throat. Your hand grabs the top of his head, still covered by his mask. You don't mean to and you immediately mutter broken apologies when he freezes. You try to pry yourself from his grasp, knowing that you crossed a line. The mask doesn't come off, it never does.

But it was an accident, he shouldn't be that good working his tongue inside your fluttering pussy. You hate yourself even more for even allowing things to get this far.

"D—didn't mean to, I swear—" you stutter as you try to slide your leg off his shoulder. "I—I'm really sorry, Lieutenant—"

But he won't let you. You yelp when he pushes you back against he door and you feel his mouth on you, licking into you again. Only, he's more adamant this time. More determined to ruin you.

"Gh—Ghost— Si— Simon!" your scream practically goes unheard as you squirm against his mouth. You want to try and reason with him. But it's impossible to see reason when your head is filled with pleasure.

His hands are firm against you, tongue eagerly sinking into your wet heat before his mouth sucks on your throbbing clit. You hiss sharply, head falling downwards to barely open your eyes and find his. You're careful to let your hand rest on his shoulder, gripping the expensive fabric of his dark blazer, your lips parted open as you panted heavily.

Something has long since strung and drawn tight. The high was far too perilous; if the drop doesn't kill you, it'll be a miracle. And he knows. You're sure he knows because the more you tremble in his arms, the tighter his hold becomes.

It happens all too fast. The thread snaps and you shatter violently against his hold, hand slapped over your mouth to trap the loud cry inside your throat. Your head lolls against the door as the ecstasy hits you like a truck and rolls over you in hot waves. You're writhing in his grasp, helpless to the onslaught of the electrifying high.

He doesn't stop lapping at you just yet. You're gushing and pulsing into his mouth, dripping all over his nose and chin, wetting the cloth of his mask. A few more licks until he finally pulls himself away from your swollen pussy like it's the last thing he wants. You breathe deeply as you watch him.

He's still looking at your folds whilst his tongue glides over his lips, breathing as heavily as you are while collecting the glistening fluids there. It was like observing at a predatory animal after a kill.

He leans in again. You shudder when he presses a kiss on your folds. Fingers spreading you open to gently press his lips against your swollen clit. Kissing you there like he's saying one last goodbye. His tongue makes another flick over the sensitive bud and another and you think he's going to wring another orgasm over you all over again and it terrifies you because you don't think you'd want to stop him.

Thankfully unfortunately, he draws away and finally lets you go. You faintly whimper at the last sight of his mouth before he draws the mask over his face.

Your legs were shaky as you made your way back. It was still hard to catch your breath. The alcohol in your blood has long since burned out by the time Lieutenant Riley was done with you. Regardless of that, you still stumbled on your feet.

Thankfully, Soap was right there to catch you. He was just as surprised as you were when he did. "You alright, lass?"

You smoothen over your dress as you quietly nod, not trusting your voice to speak for you. Another hand gently palms over the small of your back. In an instant, you're as stiff as a board when you feel him behind you.

"Exfil's here, love." he says. "Time to go."

The throbbing between your thighs returns with a vengeance. You barely manage to suppress a whimper.

You don't think you're going to catch a wink of sleep tonight. The worst part about it is that it'll have nothing to do with the mission.

support my ko-fi I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with this. do i leave it as it is? do i turn it into a mini-series? what's happening, brain? idk.

[part 2] banners by @cafekitsune

Cod Masterlist

Sex Pollen — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

girl dinner since my König sex pollen has over 900 notes♡

"That's it, love..." Ghost growls out as he pushes your hips up and down slowly, your warm, wet cunt engulfing his thick dick as his hips thrust up to meet you halfway. Your womb is already full of his cum, yet Ghost is unable to stop, each orgasm seemed to just be making his cock harder and his balls tighter. Being all the way inside you felt too damn good.

"So pretty like this, sweet girl... like you were made to take my fuckin' cock all the way inside that tight little cunt." He muttered between clenched teeth, trying his best not to cum inside you yet. For the first time in his life, Ghost was willingly having sex, and oh God, he can't believe he has been missing out on this. His thrusts were slow and deep, making sure to put your pleasure before his, hitting all the right spots with his fat cock.

"Ghost...—" His name being moaned out by you felt like music to his ears, his eyes narrowing slightly as his grip on your hips got tighter, pushing you faster up and down his dick as your tight walls gripped him, a mix of your cream and his cum coating his length, making a ring on the base of it. Though his face was concealed by the balaclava, you can see his expressive eyes focused completely on your face, basking in the pretty faces you make when you're cock-drunk. You already forgot how many orgasms he's pulled out of you, yet it all feels too damn good to ask him to stop, even when your cunt is abused and fucked-out.

"Fuck— angel, let me cum in you." He pleads for your consent, just as he did the last four times he came inside. "Want to fill you up so good, baby, please." Ghost's eyes roll to the back of his head as you give him your approval, groaning and grunting as he begins to thrust harder and deeper into you, his gloved hands pulling your hips all the way down so his cock is completely inside you as his thick, warm cum fills your womb up.

i have a request that I’m not sure you’d want to do but, it’s a school a/u. How would the creeps be if they got high at school with their s/o 🐈

LOVE this idea!! Only using the mature creeps!

HIGH AT SCHOOL - CREEPS SCHOOL AU:

JEFF THE KILLER:

Doesn't smoke a whole bunch and certainly doesn't get that high

You have to remember he has a football career to think about!

If he got drug tested he'd be absolutely fuckkked

If/when he's high at school, he's a total fool. Cracking jokes, acting stupid, the works.

JANE THE KILLER:

Doesn't smoke since she's in choir

She thinks it damages your voice

Honestly effects her ability to think and focus so she doesn't like it

If she were to get high she'd be a mess. She'd have no clue what to do with herself. She needs to sit the fuck down and do nothing until it wears off

NINA THE KILLER:

Smokes socially!

Only at parties or with friends

Absolutely doesn't smoke when she has to cheer, she wants her head in the game

Doesn't change all that much when she's high at school. Just a bit more talkative!

KATE THE CHASER:

Stoner. She smokes all the time.

Like I said before she's rather reserved and quiet with her achievements and work. It's the same thing with this. You can probably tell by the way she dresses but she won't tell you unless you ask all the right questions

But! Since she's literally a track star, she makes sure to do breathing exercises and extra warmups so she's still in great shape

Exactly the same as always when she smokes at school. She's high a lot so she's gotten used to having to focus

CLOCKWORK:

Only smokes with the proxies (kate,toby,tim,brian)

Like Kate she does all the breathing and extra warmups before basketball games or even practice. She puts out her A game

But when she's in the art rooms? Oh girl is high as fuck.

If she smokes with the proxies before school, she'll make her way to the art room to be alone and let her creativity flow.

"TICCI" TOBY:

STONERRR. Just look at this man. He smokes for sure.

Probably smokes before games but it doesn't effect his performance at all

Loves smoking with the proxies, honestly loves sharing a joint with anyone if they ask! Super chill about it

Just like Nina, he just gets more social when he smokes! Also such a giggler when he's high

TIM/MASKY:

Not really a weed smoker but avid cigarette smoker. We already knew that though

But if he is smoking weed, it's in small doses and only around the ones he trusts

I feel like he freaks out when he smokes weed. Hallucinates and all that

It's almost like he's on crack when he's high at school. Probably scratching his arms a lot, looking around trying to catch the hallucination before it disappears

BRIAN/HOODIE:

Another stoner. Like he's up there with Kate in the level he smokes.

High all the time, even during the championship baseball game. He's still throwing strike after strike and being the ace player

Hosts parties after games too, you better bet there's joints for days there. Wax too.

Like I said, high all the time. So he's pretty normal, super chill and laid back. Doesn't effect his performance at all

EYELESS JACK:

Only smokes when Nina's around since she only smokes socially. He's pretty much the same

Also just a weekend smoker. He doesn't like how it clouds his head when he's trying to focus on schoolwork.

He's an honor student after all. He has to keep his mind in it

Struggles when he's high at school. All the words seem to morph together on the pages and his head is all cloudy. He just feels like he needs to take a nap and try the day all over again

THE PUPPETEER:

Probably the one who smokes the absolute most. Again, look at this man.

He says it helps his creativity flow, but I don't know how much I'd believe that

Doesn't share his stuff at all though.

Kinda like Toby he's a giggler, but more on the chuckle side? Cracks some jokes but he's not all that much different since this pretty much is normal for him

v.2

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Meow-sky

Hiiii congratulations in 1k you deserve it so much!

not sure if this is how to request a prompt for your 1k celebration but can I get "reader gets injured" with Simon please

1K Prompts

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Injury, Hospitals, Angst with Happy Ending, Indirect Mentions to Simon’s Abuse

Summary: He hasn't done it in a long while.

 Word Count: 1.8K (Not Edited)

There is nothing in the world.

It all disappears in a blur as his mind races. His mind, his thoughts, are faster than the car. He can’t make out anything zooming past his window, barely even recognizes the colors or the feel of the wheel under his hands. He’s jittery, highly agitated as he yells and slams on his horn. He doesn’t even process the words he’s saying, doesn’t even know if they’re even words. Maybe they’re just sounds, grunts and wordless screams. He doesn't know, doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter right now. Nothing matters right now. Nothing will matter until he makes it to the hospital. 

He needs a new car, he thinks. This one is too slow. It’s max isn’t fast enough. At this point, it’d be faster for him to get into a car accident and be driven in an ambulance to the hospital than this piece of junk truck. It makes him grit his teeth, swerving in and out of lanes and breaking traffic laws he doesn’t care to keep count of. He can vaguely make out Price’s car behind him, Johnny in the car behind Price’s. Don’t say that, he can hear Price say in his head, Don’t say that, Simon. Especially not now. 

Great, now his own fucking thoughts are making him feel guilty. 

He doesn’t really park, he runs over the curb actually. It causes everyone to jump back, throwing mean words at him that don’t land. The keys are still in the ignition, trusting Gaz will take care of it. Who gives a damn about that fucking car anyways, Simon thinks. He’s already made up his mind that he’s getting a new one. A sports car maybe, not for the looks but for the speed. He’ll have to do research on the fastest car money can buy when he’s home. When both of you are home. 

The cold air of the hospital makes him shiver once he runs inside. He looks lost for a second, eyes scanning the new environment for his goal. His eyes skip over the reception desk before rapidly darting back. Once his eyes lock on it, he walks with purpose. His eyes don’t stray, effectively maneuvering his body around the busy waiting room and lobby until he’s right in front of it. He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until he plants them on the desk. His fingers tremble and jerk, skin flinching with the feeling of absolute dread running through his body. 

“How ca-”

“Last name Riley. Car accident.” He cuts the receptionist off. His voice has the hard edge he uses with the recruits. It doesn’t faze the receptionist. 

He’s impatient as they tap away at the computer, their eyebrows furrowed and they ask Simon for more information like your first name and sex. Simon gives them irritably, almost blowing a fuse when they ask for his relationship with the patient. 

“Spouse.” 

He has never been annoyed to declare that to someone before. But he finds little reason to be prideful and happy right now. 

“Still in surgery, but you and your group can wait in the waiting room to the left. A surgical doctor should be out shortly with news.”

Simon turns around, not even noticing the rest of 141 standing patiently behind him. His eyes scan them, nodding before he turns and walks robotically to the waiting room. Price politely thanked the receptionist for him before following after Simon. Simon throws himself into an empty seat, leg bouncing against the floor. His eyes find the doors that lead to surgical suits. His arms wrap around his chest, attempting to keep his racing heart in his chest. A harsh breath is exhaled from his nose, getting caught under his balaclava. It gets a few stares from some of the families in the waiting room, some clutching their smaller children closer to them. Simon would usually take it off for the sole purpose of not drawing attention to himself, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Or, he doesn’t feel like he can. It feels like it's the only thing keeping him together right now. If he takes it off, he’ll come crumbling down. The fake composure will die away with the exposure and he’ll die before knowing if you’re alright. Depending on the answer, he might not make it through the night. 

A cup is placed in front of his face and Simon follows the hand up to the face of Johnny. Simon takes it, the warmth feeling strange against his skin. He doesn’t drink from it. Johnny and him don’t exchange words, turning to take the seat across from him and next to Gaz. Price is in the chair next to Simon, all four of them silent. Johnny stares at Simon, Simon stares at the floor, Price flips through outdated magazines from the coffee table beside him, and Gaz is surveying the space. All of them are still clad in their military gear, just gotten off the plane when Simon-- when Ghost-- got the call. Gaz cracks his knuckles and Simon has to bite his tongue to rest the urge to tell him to shut up. 

He resorts to counting the seconds that pass in his head. He loses count whenever the steel doors open and a doctor and nurse comes out. His head snaps up, the boys following his line of sight as the doctor peers over at the clipboard the nurse has. He prepares to shoot up when the doctor’s surgical mask shifts with jaw movement. He starts back from one when the name being called isn’t Riley. He thinks his heart shrinks with every name that passes. Price always pats his back with a ‘the next one, mate’. 

Sometimes between the seconds and names, Simon finds his forehead leaning against his folded hands. His eyes are shut tightly and he tries to do something he hasn’t done in a long time, something he has believed to not work for a long time. Simon sits and he prays. He prays. He doesn’t remember if there is a process he's supposed to follow. He only remembers all his past prayers had been rushed, hiccuped statements made after his father left his room or when he heard the yelling in the kitchen. They never got answered.

Is he supposed to start with something? Is he supposed to have a rosary or a bible or something in his hands? His hands are still covered with dirt from the battlefield, he reeks of smoke and gunfire. Is he clean enough to be praying? Does God or whatever up there care? He hopes they don’t, hopes they give him a free pass just this once. He hopes they do it for your sake. He hopes and prays and hopes some more. Is it enough? It doesn’t feel like enough. 

Is Simon supposed to sweet talk them? Butter them up until their egos are fed and find him worthy of listening to. He isn’t good at that. Or does he need to be direct? Demanding what he wants and not backing down until he gets it? He’s really good at that. You would probably know what to do. Even if you don’t, you’d probably have a solution that makes sense. Everything makes sense when it's you. You make everything make sense. Simon doesn’t know how he lived so long without it. He doesn’t want to be reminded. 

He debates getting up. Debates if he should go to the receptionist and ask them where the hospital’s chapel is. Maybe he’ll find whatever the fuck the religious connection guy is and ask them how to pray. Ask them to teach him. Or maybe he’ll ask them to pray for you. He’s sure they have a better chance of being answered then he does. But a fear glues him to his seat. What if he leaves and your name gets called? What if he isn’t there when it happens? What if he isn’t there for you again? He sits and he hopes and he prays. 

Please. Please, whoever, whatever can hear me, don’t take them from me. Stop taking people I care about away from me.

He hopes it is enough. He hopes they hear him and they remember the shit they put him through. He hopes they take pity on him. Simon hates when people feel sorry for him. He hopes they feel really bad and really sorry and really, really awful for what he had to go through. He hopes they find him to be the most pitiful human there ever was to exist. He hopes it's enough to save you. He hopes they decided to be nice to him today. 

And they are. Holy fuck they are. 

The doctor comes out, a nurse with clipboard following three times. Simon gets up the fourth time, before the name is even called. Price and Johnny and Gaz stand with him. 

“Riley.”

He flies. He flies across the room, ‘Here. I’m here. That’s me.’ He doesn’t know if he says those words aloud or in his head. The doctor watches him approach and Simon almost collapses to the ground when his surgical mask moves. He doesn’t catch everything, his mind being too slow to follow. Traumatic brain trauma. Bleeding. Successful. Lucky. Strong. Fighter. Okay. 

Okay, okay, okay. 

He thinks Price keeps him upright when he grabs his arm to pat him in the back. Simon grabs him back, pulling him close and his shoulders shake as he hides his face. He feels like a kid, crying into his captain’s shoulder as relief washes over him. Price squeezes him. The two of them say nothing, and Johnny and Gaz excuse themselves to get everyone food from the hospital cafeteria. 

Later, Simon finds himself in your hospital room. The chair is slightly more comfortable than the ones in the waiting room. The boys have gone home by now, promising to drop by and telling Simon to keep them updated. Usually, constant noise would irritate Simon. But he finds himself thankful every time the heart monitor beeps, praying the noise never stops. He must have dozed off because he’s confused when he feels the slight rubbing on his hand. The sound of the heart monitor is different, still consistent but a bit faster. 

He pulls his head from his arms, propping his chin on his forearm as his gaze drifts to your face. Your eyes are half-lidded and sleepy, face drenched in exhaustion. You are so absolutely beautiful that it's devastating. It punctures his lungs and deflates his body of any breath he will ever take. His heart beats rapidly, hand squeezing yours tightly as his spine straightens. He has to resist the urge to pull you to him and crush you against his frame. 

You give him a dopey smile, one stained with tiredness and the remains of the anesthetic. 

“Hi.”

Your voice is croaky and your speech is slurred. It’s beautiful and the most lovely sound to exist. 

Simon brings your knuckles to his chapped lips. He presses a firm kiss to them, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that a few drops of water drop onto your skin. 

“Hi.”

His voice is just as croaky and just as beautiful.

Got a little carried away with this one.

Reblog if your blog is boopable-safe so you can get all the (probably new) achievements. I don’t care about notes I just want boops

your heart isn't my only target!