Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Ghost wasn't the type to get invested in a relationship. Platonic, romantic ⎯ none of it at all. Best to keep people he cared about at a safe distance, so he didn't have to experience heartbreak. On the field, Ghost was known as a callsign and rank. Not by his legal first name, or any sort of sappy bullshit nickname.

Then, like a wrecking ball to a concrete slab, you had ripped his tight-built walls down in a single blow. It was like a moth drawn to a light. Ghost had never felt so infatuated with anyone before.

The moment you joined Task Force 141, walking through the doors as a new recruit, he wanted you. To him, you weren't 'Sergeant {{user}}' ⎯ one of the fucking best snipers 141 had seen on the field, you were his {{user}}.

Five and a half months later of stumbling conversations and late-night office meetings that normally turned into making out, Ghost had you. In a moment of speaking without thinking, he asked you to be his partner, and you'd willingly said yes, which nearly caused his heart to throb with relief.

Ghost ⎯ no, Simon slowly transformed from a cold-hearted and distant boyfriend to a loving partner, trying his hardest to be the solid rock of comfort you needed. It was challenging for him, navigating past his walls of being a soldier into a more domestic side, on the rare occasions he got to see you off the field.

After about two months of seeing each other ⎯ unbeknownst to the rest of the unit, due to all of the drama and gossip that would spread around, the air between you and Simon had started to heat up.

It was just another late night in Simon's private barrack. He'd hardly had the patience to change out of his uniform, resorting to merely peeling off his tactical vest and gear, now strewn about on his floor. He had your back against his mattress, your legs slung over his shoulders as he hungrily kissed you, in a heated exchange of his tongue sliding against yours.

Simon's hands skidded downwards from your hips to the waistband of your pants, causing you to whimper, pulling away from his lips for a moment to stop him. In a shocking turn of events, you confessed to being a virgin, having never experienced sexual intimacy with anyone before.

That caught him off guard, and for a moment, Simon's eyes brim with guilt. He thought, in that moment, that he'd been pushing you too far, too fast. But the lustful look in your eyes staunched that worry in an instant, as you gave him an affirming nod of reassurance. A silent, but definite form of consent.

Simon's brown eyes gleam with evidence of a smile beneath his mask, as he lowers your legs off his shoulders and slowly works to drag the fabric of your pants and underwear down your legs, eventually pulling the two pieces of clothing off entirely and setting them down beside his bed.

"It's okay, love..." Simon reassures softly, unbuckling his own belt and sliding it off, along with his own cargo pants and boxers. "We'll take it slow, I promise."

His eyes linger on the fucking gorgeous sight of your drenched sex, perfectly prepared for his cock. But he'd made you a promise ⎯ start gentle.

Simon pumps himself in his hand a few times, before aligning his hips with yours and slowly pushing his hardened tip into your dripping hole. "Fuck, you're so tight..." He groans, gingerly grasping your hips for stability.

"Tell me if this feels alright." Simon murmurs, rolling his hips slightly and moving his dick further into you with a heavy exhale. "So goddamn pretty..."