#simon “ghost” riley

[villainofmyownstory]

Day Zero

chapter 6: The one with half-truths

masterlist - taglist - AO3

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plus size fem!reader

summary: The constant mistrust of each other causes permanent tension and resentment. No one can admit what they are really hiding.

tags: AFAB reader, plus size reader, dog german shepherd, alcohol, weapon

author's note: Thank you for your replies. I love reading your comments, they make my day! Feel free to write to me here if you have any questions, complaints, concerns, whatever. <3

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Chapter 6: The one with half-truths

Day 737

Everything happens as if in slow motion. With every single heartbeat. Animation played frame by frame. Blink after blink of an eyelid.

And the constant audible banging of pipes, somewhere downstairs in the house.

If it wasn't for the fact that Ghost was holding Riley on a leash, the dog in a frenzy would probably have bumped into you at full speed and plunged its fangs into the thin skin of your neck, driving blades tearing through your aorta in seconds.

If it wasn't your dog, that's probably what would have happened. However, despite months of separation, you knew this dog very well. He had never behaved like that. And most importantly, he had never behaved so aggressively towards his owners.

Fury was written all over his face, his eyes reddened, bigger than usual. Loud stifled whimpers, interspersed with loud threatening barks. He acted as if he was facing a rival, not a familiar person. A deadly enemy.

Excess saliva ran down the dog's coat dripping and soiling the hallway floor.

The dog jerked, trying to reach you.

You involuntarily turn sideways towards the dog standing more confidently on slightly bent legs, raising your arms as if to hide behind them.

However, when Ghost's voice gives the dog simple and firm commands, the dog's attention turns to the man.

Although the tone of his voice is not pleasant, nor are the words he speaks. Somehow, they cause the frantic race of thoughts in your head to stop and the fact that the dog does not want to attack you reaches you. The truth is that it wants to attack that which is making itself known with loud bangs, hidden down in the basement.

The man speaks loud but calm commands to the dog, which, further enraged, slowly calms down and stands back on two paws, continuing to growl throatily.

However, he eventually obediently stands by the leg of the masked soldier and just looks in your direction with his head lowered.

"What the bloody ‘ell did you do?"

Ghost slowly walks in towards you. You notice that he wraps the leash around his hand so that it is even shorter.

"I’ve asked you a question, what ‘ave you done, kid?"

You stare at the man, trying to somehow logically explain the whole situation. But no clever words come to mind. You haven't really done anything, at least nothing deliberately.

He is the one who should explain himself. It wasn't you who had a big secret hidden in the basement. Clearly, a very alive mystery.

Finally you straighten up by lowering your arms along your body and look more confidently at the uniformed man in front of you.

"I- I didn't do anything.I was trying on shoes and suddenly there was a knock on the pipes. Ghost, what the hell…"

Another sound from downstairs sounds as if with redoubled force. Interrupting your words. This time the sounds are non-rhythmic, as if full of despair and hope that someone will finally hear it.

A cry for help.

The man looks towards the door then raises his gaze to your hand, around which the leash is tightly tied. Then his eyes return again in your direction - to the door. As if pondering, he is trying to resolve some inner personal battle that is going on in his mind at the moment.

"Get the dog and go to the bathroom, lock the door and don't open it till I come for you."

Ghost says quickly untangling the leash from his hand and quickly tying it around yours.

"No, no Ghost it's..."

"Bluddy 'ell there's no time for a chat. Just do what I tell you. Get Riley and go to the damn bathroom."

The man pulls lightly on the leash provoking the dog to move but the dog, like you, has no intention of moving from its spot.

"Fuck. Kid, cooperate..."

He hisses through clenched teeth the man reaches for the keys he had on a chain in his tactical vest.

"No, Ghost!"

You yell desperately. What if this man is not who he seemed. Although, he doesn't evoke positive feelings, he hasn't made you feel threatened or more afraid of him in the time you've been in his house. Apart from the incident on the day you met him, Ghost has behaved harshly towards you, but he hasn't tried to hurt you.

However, hearing those desperate noises from the basement, many thoughts popped into your head, many solutions to explain it all.

What if he was one of those lunatics who lost their minds during months of solitude. What if he was already some kind of madman before Day Zero or... maybe he was a soldier who enjoyed killing, a war criminal, a fucking murderer. Which is what... no. Nodding your head negatively you want to banish these messed up thoughts from your head. What if what you were eating, what was hidden in the icebox, that blood red meat wasn't what you thought it was all along.

Trying not to explode, holding back a sudden vomiting reflex, you stare at the man with horror.

"Well, spit it out. I can see you wan' to say something."

Ghost saying this goes to one of the closed doors and quickly opens it. His movements are swift and decisive, and despite the prevailing semi-darkness the man emerges from the room after a few seconds holding a gun in his hands. A freakin' shotgun.

"What the..., Ghost! Who are you holding in there? Why are you keeping someone locked in the basement? Who-who are you?"

In terror with your voice raised by several octaves you shout at the man waving your hands towards the door and the man.

"Go. To. Bathroom. Now."

Ghost loads the magazine and walks towards you. With his free hand he grabs your arm and, squeezing harder, pushes you deeper into the corridor. Towards that bathroom.

Riley now obediently standing by your leg again growls loudly and practically barks hysterically.

"No, damn it! I'm coming with you, there's someone alive in there and you're what? What's going on here?"

You try to say anything logical. But the stress, the adrenaline of this whole strange situation causes a torrent of words to pour out of your mouth, merging into one squeaky whole. The previously quiet place is now a cacophony of many sounds, voices. Chaos.

Ghost turns towards you leaning in your direction. A large and tall monument of a man who seems the only one composed in all this madness. When his gaze is at your eye level for a few seconds without blinking he looks into your frightened eyes as if he wants to reassure you, to look somewhere inside you and without words calm you down.

‘Please.’

This time his words are subdued as if calmer. Despite so many sounds that are now sweeping through the house, you stand as if in hypnosis focused only on the low voice of the man in front of you.

"Please, I'll explain everythin’ later. Go to the bathroom for God's sake."

Ghost leads you to the bathroom at the end of the corridor, the same one he let you take a bath in on your first day.

When he made sure you locked the door from inside only for a brief moment you heard his hurried footsteps towards the cellar door. Then the clink of keys and the creak of a steel door opening.

The slam of the door closing.

A few moments. Maybe two or three minutes.

And there came silence.

Nothing, no banging.

Curled up in the corner of the bathroom, you try to control your slightly accelerated breathing. The chase of thoughts comes up again.

As soon as the bathroom door closed and the sounds from the basement stopped, Riley momentarily calmed down. He lay down next to you gasping louder, but it would seem that the events of a moment ago and his sudden attack of aggression had not happened.

Counting your breaths, squeezing harder on the leash you still held, you try to put your thoughts in order. Still, the man, Ghost himself, is an unknown to you. Just when it seemed to you that you had somehow made a step forward in this strange and unusual acquaintance of yours. His sudden behaviour made you take two big steps backwards. It was as if he was tightly wrapped in a slippery cocoon, which you were trying to climb inside, slipping every now and then.Just a few hours ago, the memory of this sudden closeness is still vivid in your mind. The unexpected proximity breaking down the barrier between you, when last night you felt his mask on your cheek and his warm breath on your neck.

Maybe it was your delusion, that event at the table after a few sips of alcohol did not happen. Or it simply meant nothing.

Now, all in all, it didn't matter any more.

Even the fact that closeness, with another human being, was something you craved somewhere deep inside. And ironically, you didn't even realize how your body, mind and soul craved and longed for physical contact with another person.  Maybe it wasn't even about any intimacy between a man and a woman. But that kind of contact with the other person - ordinary human, friendly and comforting.

But now it all didn't really matter, the fact that he cooked such a good dinner, the fact that he prepared your clothes, shoes other useful things. Or that he even left that old-fashioned cd player.

Small gestures, but somewhere under your skin you felt a pleasant tingling, this gentle trembling releasing a pleasant feeling, somewhere buried deep in your body.

It was all shattered. Buried many feet underground, even covered in concrete. Perhaps no longer recoverable, through what had just happened.

Now a secret hidden a dozen steps down, under the floor, behind a steel door. It caused fear and uncertainty, as if you had gone back in time and, just as you had done for so many long and miserable weeks locked in your family home or in the strange houses you had lived in, you sat huddled in the darkest and most remote room huddled in a corner. Praying for the return of normality, begging anything, anyone to explain the chaos that was happening outside.

Now, huddled in the corner of the bathroom in Ghost's house, you try to explain in any way you can, or perhaps reassure yourself.

But no logical and sensible explanation came to mind.

There was someone down there. Someone. Alive. Just like you or Ghost. So what was he doing down there, how did he get down there and most importantly why did the man lock that person down there.

The man in the mask is like a fucking enigma to you. Questions and doubts constantly brewing.

What if you weren't the first person to get caught in this man's trap, what if this tower and the signal weren't meant to help, to save. But were some kind of lure for the lost, lonely and frightened last surviving travellers. What if it was all some kind of bullshit game of hunter and prey.

Were there more people in the basement, why hadn't you heard anything all those days. And how long had they been locked in there.

And most importantly, were you supposed to end up there too?

Every second a new thought pops into your mind, a new question, frightening and electrifying to the marrow of your bones.

You are finally pulled out of these chaotic and nervous musings by the sudden movement of a dog. Riley rises quickly and stands on four paws trying to approach the door. With no time to react you hear a knock.

"It's me, Ghost. Open up."

You slowly get up on your feet and with shaky legs, approach the door. Grabbing the handle and the door lock with your other hand, you sigh and quietly say

"I'm scared..."

"Christ, open it and let's talk."

To your surprise the words spoken by the man are not full of anger and hostility or the irritation you already know so well.

Once again, already countless times, his behaviour surprises you.

"What if, what if I end up in the basement too? How do I know you won't hurt me?"

You lean your forehead against the door praying that his words will reassure you, just like when he told you to go to the bathroom, when he bent down and in a calm tone told you what to do.

"You won't get there"

Riley standing next to you lightly tugged on the leash that you involuntarily still hold in your hand, he scratched the door with his paw as if he too wanted to convince you to leave.

‘Look there's Ghost, you've got nothing to be afraid of.'

"You won't end up in the basement..."

“You're staying here, I can promise you that. You don't belong there."

No no no. Impossible. Promises were not his habit.

This couldn't be true. After all, this house was, no, is a fucking fortress. A tightly secured place. Not prison for... anyone.

Shaking your head, you try to control yourself.

"I don't believe you. Someone is there and you..."

You say through gritted teeth.

“It's your home after all, Ghost. This is not some prison, this is not a place where…"

“Open the door and let's talk face to face, okay? I'll answer any question, just get out of this bathroom.”

His snarky, low timbre of voice penetrates the door with ease. Your shallow breathing slowly fills your lungs. For the last few days, no, for far too long you've been under constant tension. You feel like a ticking bomb whose fuse has slowly backfired and is getting closer to detonation with each passing day. An explosion.

The dog is impatient, hissing louder and louder every passing minute, scratching at the door and nudging your leg with its head as if to hurry you along.

As you finally turn the key in the lock with a quiet clatter and slowly open the door, Riley takes the opportunity to squeeze through a small gap and with a stifled bark comes to the man's feet sniffing him.

Like a shadow with your head lowered you slowly walk out of the dark room and follow the man and your dog.

When you reach the room, the same table where you allowed yourself a slight exaggeration in terms of the amount of alcohol last night. And the man has crossed that unwritten and invisible personal space. And ironically, everything looks like the day before. As if nothing had happened. Just another quiet day.

Ghost is still dressed in a heavy tactical gear, with that creepy skull attached to his balaclava.

When he finally sits down without waiting or saying anything to you he reaches for a bottle of some expensive drink again. Pouring himself a full one, he places the already half-empty bottle in your direction and takes a few large gulps.

Wiping his half-covered face with a glove, he finally turns towards you

"We don't have all evening. Hurry up."

This time you don't sit close to him, you sit across the table from him, placing your hands on the tabletop nervously plucking at the slightly tattered fabric of your gloves.

"I want to."

The lump in your throat tightens, preventing you from saying the sentence out loud properly and with an air of certainty.

"Come on kid."

He snaps, covering a gentle smile with his raised glass, slowly taking another and another sip of alcohol.

You want to say so much, to ask so many questions that have not only been swirling around in your head since that basement situation, but that have been clogging up every minute you've spent in his house.

But you are so afraid, somewhere deep inside you, underneath the feelings tightly buried underneath the fear, you are afraid that he will say what you don't want to hear.

Who he really is. No saviour, a rescue for your lost and lonely self. Or maybe someone completely different, evil.

Finally, clutching the fist of your left hand tighter, you lift your gaze and stare angrily at him.

"I-I want to know who's in the basement."

The corners of the man's mouth lift higher, upwards, and mockingly, nonchalantly he replies to you

"Nobody."

A clenched fist hits the table with heavy force. Riley concernedly rises from the doorstep and looks at you both.

"You think this is funny! You think... You're having fun, aren't you? What the hell is wrong with you, dude?"

The man leans back in his chair, getting more comfortable by relaxing his shoulders and straightening up he seems even more amused by your sudden attack.

"There's no one there. No more."

Answering he tilts his head lowering his gaze to your clenched hand which still rests in the same place on the wooden table.

"Why the gloves?"

"Why the mask?"

You reply fiercely and immediately, grimacing your face in anger.

Ghost lets out something resembling a monosyllabic laugh while tilting his head back while nodding disbelievingly.

"I'm the one making the rules here. No more questions."

With fury you stand up and pointing your finger at him hisses through your teeth.

"You don't want to answer my questions? Fine. Get the hell sober, then we'll talk like adults."

You turn on your heel and quickly leave the room. You want to be as far away from him as possible, even though you feel you've wasted your time and strained your already shattered nerves you're still glad it wasn't today that you heard his true motivations.

At least one more goddamn night in this warm house.

One more warm meal. And tomorrow...

"It was.... hell, I had one of them"

His words momentarily stop you in mid-step. It seems the man himself regrets these frankly spoken words, as if he has surprised himself with this sudden surge of truthfulness.

"I had everything under control. I don't know why it woke up."

When you turned to look at the man he was already hunched over the table nervously moving the empty glass in his hands without taking his eyes off it. It was as if he was afraid to look at you knowing that he would see no understanding, just another wave of sinister angry looks.

"‘Do you mean to say that all this time. When I was sitting in that damn house. Locked up in so many locks! For fuck's sake! I was locked in with one of them? I can't believe it, this is crazy. There's something wrong with you."

You shake your head. Even though a storm of emotions is sweeping through you inside. A raging hurricane, a tornado. You stand still, not moving in any direction.

"It's not like that. You were..still. You are, safe here. Safer than anywhere.Besides, it's more complicated than you think."

Ghost responds by speaking slowly, in a trembling and hoarse voice.

"This is classified. Confidential. I can't say anything more. But that one, it's not a problem anymore. I've dealt with it."

Finally, shaky legs lead you back towards the table.

"Are you demanding honesty from me? And now you say it's classified? And you won't provide any explanation? I think I deserve, any explanation. Unbelievable."

You snort angrily, turning on your heel and this time walking out of the room unstopped by Ghost's next spoken words.

The only audible oddities in the house are your quick footsteps and the clatter of Riley's paws who, seeing you disappear into the dark hallway, immediately ran after you.

Day 738

The sensation of a firm grip on your shoulder and a vigorous but slight shaking, gradually awakens you from the extremely peaceful and deep sleep you had fallen into after the emotional afternoon of the previous day.

A quiet and steady male voice, heard as if spoken from somewhere in the distance, slowly brings you back to a state of consciousness. From the pleasant images of your dreams, you are pulled out by a strangely familiar - and yet other than usual - voice. It sounded different. As if he was the opposite of the one you had already become used to during the last few days here, his voice was as if friendly, and perhaps a tad affectionate.

"Wake up, hey. Get up."

No, you must have thought so. Perhaps due to sleep, Ghost's words sounded like a favourite, oft-played melody. He had never spoken to you in such a tone.

Slowly opening your eyes, still glued together from a pleasant sleep, to your surprise the vision in front of you is invisible. Darkness continues to reign. It must be very early in the morning.

Grimacing and yawning involuntarily, you drag yourself up straightening your ossified limbs and your sore muscles, stiffened from the hard mattress.

"Good mornin’."

Mumbling uncomfortably, you notice that your pyjama shirt has pulled up tightly during the night, pulling your protruding belly away. Sitting up you grab the hem of the tee quickly pulling it down. And at the same moment as the soft material of the shirt covers your body, feeling the cotton weave under your fingers - you freeze.

You are not wearing gloves.

In a panic you clench the fist of your left hand, praying that Ghost, like you, can't see much at this hour. That, thanks to the tightly closed shutters, not even the smallest, first rays of the rising sun entered the room and prevented you from getting a good look.

You don't remember taking your gloves off before going to bed. You only took them off when you took a bath and quickly washed them. What is there to say, ever since you crossed the threshold of this house and made sure that your left hand was either clenched into a fist or hidden, so that a man wouldn't see what you wanted so badly to hide from him. Even while sleeping in this bizarre tiny room, or rather resembling a storage room. The gloves were still stuck on your hands, thoroughly covering every bit of skin on your hand.

You didn't want to let the man finally see what you were trying to hide from him.

And you had good reason to do so. Revealing the truth could have cost you a lot. Well, it could have cost you your life. Literally.

You are pulled from these feverish musings by the next words of a man who was now standing in the exit, almost in the corridor.

“Gather up, we're leaving in twenty minutes.”

Finishing his sentence, he turned his back and started down the corridor with a quiet chuckle, adding

“You don't like getting up in the morning, do you, birdy?'

When you finally look at yourself in the bathroom mirror after your morning toilet, you are surprised to find that your previously grey, heavily tired face with large bags under your eyes has slowly taken on more vibrant, cheery colour.

You correct the clothes you found a few days ago on one of the neatly stacked piles of clothes. Hoping they will be good on you and the man won't mind, considering that they were definitely not to his taste.

Stepping outside, Ghost is already standing in full gear with Riley on a leash, who merrily wagges his tail while standing evenly by the man's side. The weather promises to be sunny, the sky shrouded only by single, small clouds. Even in the distance you can hear birds singing.

One would think that it is a simple May morning, like any other for many years. The same, lazy and peaceful. The world slowly waking up to life.

Except that as you take your first steps on the stairs and Ghost hastily closes the locks, you don't hear the noise of passing cars or the chatter of neighbours in the yards of their houses at all. Apart from the birds and the light hum of the wind, there is that familiar, and unbearable, silence.

"Come on, get in."

The soldier's voice is again just as you remember it, harsh, commanding and unpleasant.

“Get behind the wheel, I'll take care of monitoring the area.”

It's been a while since you last sat behind the wheel and drove a car. However, it was probably nothing difficult, reckon it's like riding a bike. Once learnt it is never forgotten. You check the position of the side mirrors and wheel, and adjust the saddle so that your legs reach the pedals comfortably. You fasten your seat belt and, breathing deeply a few times, start the engine by turning the key in the ignition.

With little bouncing and whooshing the car finally starts. The drive is slow, the man instructing you which way to go.

Riley sits on the boot of the back as if copying Ghost's behaviour, stretches his neck out and looks carefully around.

The landscape outside the car's windows is typically urban, straight intersections, buildings standing tightly side by side. As the city has been uninhabited for a long time, greenery appears in the least expected places.

Between the sidewalk tiles or in the roofs, holes of buildings.

It's quiet in the car, only every now and then Ghost breaks the prevailing silence for a moment and gives short and quick commands, pointing you in the direction of drive.

You are still angry with him for yesterday afternoon. For the lack of any explanation and for his drunken ramblings about secrecy and confidentiality , about pratically everything you wanted to ask him about.

Clutching your hands tighter on the steering wheel, you stubbornly do not turn your head away from the windshield, focusing your gaze on the straight and smooth asphalt streets.

Finally, you open the window from your side to feel the brisk breeze of spring. You smile gently, feeling the warm wind brush your cheeks.

Eventually you drive quite far from home, Ghost tells you to stop at one of the buildings. The district seems to be more industrial than residential. Large buildings with broken windows stand by the street scaring its view, by casting extensive shadows on the street.

“One of the cameras has been activating every now and then for some time. Maybe it's broken, because it should only activate when it senses some movement.”

Ghost looks through the window on your side, pointing his finger at one of the walls of the tall, oblong building.

“Maybe it detects some kind of herd, wild boar or hares. It's getting warmer and warmer, everything is waking up after winter, maybe they're looking for food.”

“How does it all work?”

You interrupt him, looking in the same direction as the man.

“Why don't you finally say something more about all this, you are quite well organized. Why don't you say it's a confidential matter and I won't find out anything more?”

You turn your head in his direction, trying to read something from his posture, his movements in the passenger seat. Unfortunately, wearing a mask, it was difficult to understand what feelings were going through him at the moment.

“Yes, most things are classified, but.... I can tell you something,” he replies

The man gets out of the car and pulls the dog out of the trunk. You hastily get out and stand next to them.

“The cameras have motion sensors, so they don't run continuously. I have solar panels, aggregators, so when it comes to power, there is no problem. The house, as well as important points in the city, have been prepared for such an eventuality. So by taking care of it and having the knowledge, I can live here for many long years.”

Ghost looks at you crossing his arms over his chest. Riley, without waiting for you, walks down the street sniffing cars left on the side of the road.

“So you're saying that you knew... that you were prepared for all this?”

“Not exactly, but yes. I was trained to survive in difficult conditions. I also learned a lot during those two years.” - he said.

The man pulled the gun off his shoulder and looked at it carefully

“That means you have running water, electricity. You've got supplies, weapons.... It means that all the rumors that were repeated months before. They were true. That the government, the military, other services.... knew about it! You knew what was going to happen!”

Ghost lifts his gaze from the gun and looks back at you squinting his eyes and sighs loudly

“It's... complicated. No, we were not prepared for such a situation exactly. It's ... just there was information that something , close to it, might happen. But no one expected such chaos, annihilation. And what it is now.”

Maybe the man was telling the truth, maybe he wanted to convey something to you that would finally cut short this intrusive race of questions that was going on in your head. Or maybe the man answered evasively, lying in an attempt to simply reassure you in a twisted way.

“And the basement?” 

You finally ask this question hoping that the situation from last night will not repeat itself.

“It's classified.”

Ghost replies roughly

“Come on. After all, the law, the governments, all that stuff is gone. You can't hide behind continued professional secrecy or whatever you want to call it.”

Raising your voice, you nevertheless try to sound calm, not letting him know what emotions are gripping you.

You felt like throwing yourself at the man, beating him with your fists shouting for him to finally end this farce and tell you everything you want to know.

If you were to cooperate and live side by side you had to be honest with each other.

And in this case, unfortunately, you were afraid that you could not be completely honest with him, because the truth could cause more damage and problems than keeping silent or partially ignoring the issue. Maybe lying was not always the worst option, maybe it was the lesser evil. Less harm, and less pain.

“There was one of them in the basement. Unconscious. That much I can say. Come let's check that security camera.”

After checking the camera, which Ghost said was fully operational, the man decided to search one of the neighboring buildings.

Then you go in a steady rhythm to the tower, at noon, where for more than an hour Ghost waits for any signal or the arrival of anyone. However, no one responded this time either. Not a trace of anyone.

Returning, as the suburban landscape moved lazily past the window, you decided to ask a few things again.

“Are there more places like yours?”

Asking this question, you took your eyes off the road for a moment and looked hopefully at the man

“I don't know. There are several houses similar to mine planned in this town. They should also be in other strategic places. But... I don't know, I haven't heard from anyone since Day Zero.”

“So you think... you think it's the end of humanity, that this virus, bacteria, whatever it was and it's infecting people, it's so strong that.... eventually everyone will become one of them?”

“What exactly do you mean kid? The end of humanity?”

You roll your eyes hearing this nickname once again

“Why are you calling me ‘kid’?”

Your fingers nervously tap the steering wheel, and when you don't hear an answer from the man, you add

“I'm not as young as you think.”

Ghost visibly amused snorts  

“You're young enough for me.”

“Then what should I call you old man? Actually, I don't know what's under that mask. Maybe you wear it to somehow hold back the big wrinkles?”

Ghost snorts visibly amused

“Maybe you're right, maybe not.”

The man focuses his gaze behind the view outside the window and follows something on the sidewalk.

“Stop quickly.”

You press the brake pedal, causing the vehicle to jerk suddenly.

Ghost hastily gets out and heads a few steps behind the car.

You get out and run up to the man.

“What's going on Ghost?”

As you approach, you look to the spot over which the man is crouching

“Blood. But it's already dried up. Maybe some animal got hurt. It's not a large amount.”

You notice a small dark crimson stain on the sidewalk right next to the curb.

Ghost gets up and looks around.

“I'll let Riley out to check the area, but I'm sure it's the blood of some small animal hunted by some larger predator.”

As Riley searches the area you and Ghost stand next to the car in silence watching the dog's actions.

“Do you know how to shoot?”

Ghost is standing next to you with his hands folded over his chest his tone of voice is a little more pleasant this time, perhaps more sympathetic even.

“No, I've never shot,”

“I'll teach you.”

The man replies briefly and pulls one of the smaller gun from its holster.

Holding it in his open hand, he displays it so that you can see the item accurately.

“Are you left-handed or right-handed?”

“I don't know. When I was a kid I learned to write with one hand and the other... so.”

You answer and Ghost turns the weapon around so that you can freely grab the handle.

“See which hand you're more comfortable in.”

Catching the weapon uncertainly in your right hand, you are surprised by its heaviness. Despite its small size, the weapon is relatively heavy.

“Relax, the gun is locked.”

Ghost saying this corrects your hand on the gun so that you can grab it more comfortably and with a firmer grip.

After a while you release the grip and, hesitating to move the gun to your other hand, you remember that if you grab it with your left hand, the man may notice something you've been trying to hide from him all these days.

Nevertheless, the man speaks, as if reading your mind.

“Your left hand, you always hide it.”

The man slowly takes the weapon from your hand and puts it back in place.

Standing opposite each other, with the sun gently covering the clouds, you could finally take a calm and close look at the man. His dark eyes in the daylight were a warm brown, like two ambers in which were embedded flecks of glittering gold and reddish glitter. His eyes are unique, staring at you with full attention and concentration. You could swear that underneath that scary and menacing-looking skull mask, Ghost was smiling. The corners of his large eyes were crinkling and along with his long (for a man, he had bloody long and thick eyelashes - oh how you'd love to have those), forming a peculiar, lovely frame around his eyeballs.

Looking at him has your body warming, a fire igniting under your skin.

His hand has slowly moved towards your left arm. In a gentle grip, he grabs your wrist and just as slowly lifts it up so that it is stretched out in front of you.

You feel his hard slightly rough thumb slide with unusual tenderness over the top of your wrist gently hooking the skin that was already under the material of the glove.

You say nothing, your eyes remain in uninterrupted contact, and the man wordlessly tilts his head slightly to signal you not to worry. Interrupting the soothing finger movement, the man slips his index finger and thumb inside the glove, catching your hand in a slight squeeze and unhurriedly moving his hand so that the glove material began to slide away from your hand.

Riley suddenly breaks off on all fours running towards one of the deserted tall buildings. He falls into the same rage that he had fallen into the day before when those sounds were heard from the basement. Barking loudly and nervously, he sprints towards the dark, open entrance of the building.

Ghost lets go of your hand flexing his muscles and straightening up.

He looks towards the building the dog was running towards and then at you at the same moment pulling the gun off his shoulder.

"Get in the car. And close the door."

The man hastily checks the number of magazines he has on him and lights the torches he has attached to his tactical gear.

"Come on!"

He shouts urging you on.

"What's going on, why should I get in the car? Maybe someone is out there? they need our help or something?"

You ask nervously looking towards the building in front of which the dog was standing furiously and out barking noisily.

"Bloody hell, kid. Our help? Are you really that stupid? They don't need our help!"

"Them? What are you saying, maybe there's someone out there injured, but... but alive?"

You stammer, flustered.

“I don't believe it. You really think they need our help. They are dead. And damn dangerous in the herd.”

You nod in the negative and shout in chorus.

“How can you know if you're standing here? Hell, how do you know who's out there if you're here. Do you always assume the worst?”

“What the ... wait. Wait, kid.”

Ghost turns around and grabs your elbow in a strong and pain-inducing hug

“Do you want to say. No. Fuck. Impossible.”

Ghost's muffled words merge with the loud barking of the dog, which stands uninterruptedly furious in the same place.

“You're suggesting, no... Can't you hear them? Don't you hear that chorus of penetrating squeaks? That cursed sound you hear all night long, reaching the farthest recesses of your brain.”

The man jerks you harder, as if he wants to force an answer out of you.

And you stare at him with fear. Not because of the threat that most likely lurked in the dark recesses of the abandoned building.

But you fear that the truth, which you hide not only under the material of your gloves, will be something that will make the man decide to end your life, just like what he kept in the basement. You know perfectly well what he is capable of.

Because by revealing the truth, you may reveal something that you have been hiding even from yourself. Because when, after a failed suicide attempt and after many days of agony and suffering, you finally came to your senses, you noticed with horror and alarm that the penetrating squeals that accompanied you every night had quieted down.

You didn't hear them anymore.

taglist:

@leviathanleva @chocolate-noodles @vmaxis @poohkie90 @ghostlythots @nobodys-coffee @famouscattale @youdontneedtoknow1226 @pimpinsins @justguessfan @novasilvae @pausbirudanlumbalumba @ella2497 @lunamoonbby @sams-pineapples @tonylagsagne @lurkinwbreexy @azkza @mooseblooddd @mroman0111

[bravo4iscool]

simon riley is a chubby chaser. prove me tf wrong. man loves to feel plushy hips and big thighs and he gets so fucking full of himself when he carries his s/o around because he’s able to do it with fucking ease.

he would love to beat the shit outta anybody looking at them the wrong way. a single glare intimidating the person looking or whispering. no one, and i repeat, NO ONE messes with his s/o.

in public he gives them the prince(ss) treatment but at home he’s worshipping the shit outta that body. these thighs haunt him in his dreams and he loves teasing and planting kisses all over them. also the stomach of his s/o. this man is fucking obsessed with it, gently placing his head on it, showering it with affection and little kisses…

and i 100% believe he’s a goner for hugs with his s/o. he can‘t get enough of them, feeling the softness of his partners body against his rough chest and skin. he could hug for hours. matter of fact, he doesn’t want to let his s/o go.

he was falling for his s/o the second he saw them but bro was in fucking denial… thats why he treats them with such crazy affection now. he‘s tryna make up for the time he lost by trying to convince himself he wasn‘t in love with them like a stupid teenager.

(little side note: his favourite praise for them is „atta girl/boy“…)

brain rotting over this😗✌🏼anything i missed lmao?

i‘m thinking bout making a taglist, would you guys want/like that???

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

(masterlist)

[irl-simon-riley]

tw: sexual assault mention (not really explicit but just in case)

not enough people talk about Ghost being a victim of SA and it makes me so sad. IT'S LITERALLY SHOWN ON PAGE IN THE COMICS YOU CANNOT DENY THAT IT HAPPENED!!!!!!!!!

the comics were published 2009 when most media wouldn't even touch on male SA victims unless it was to make fun of them. we don't even get many empathetic portrayals of it in recent years!!! (whether the perpetrator is a man or woman). Ghost is quite literally the first good male ID'd SA victim rep I've seen in a piece of media that I enjoy.

it also shows disassociation (not dissociation) by having Ghost literally separate Simon Riley from himself. He tells his backstory by pretending it happened to someone else and calling Simon Riley an "old friend" of his that died.

he is so special and important to me

[eilidh-eternal]

Thinking about tattoo artist Ghost who notices you in the studio quite often. Who recognizes the signs of using tattoos as a thinly veiled coping mechanism and can’t help but think that there’s a… better… way for you to cope. Ways that he can help you with. Things he can teach you that don’t involve needles but would still leave his mark on your skin. 

You need him.

You’ve just finished up your session with Soap, finalizing the payment with him at the front desk, when you feel a looming presence at your back.

Ghost.

“Um… hi?” He’s the only one of them you haven’t sat for. Over the last few months you’d worked your way through nearly the entire staff at the studio, amassing a collection of new pieces like a kid collecting happy meal toys in the summer–often and to the detriment of your bank account.

“You're with me next week.” His tone brooks no argument. “Soap, what do I have open next Saturday?”

“I can’t, I–”

“Ye’re open from two to close.”

“Book her. The full day.”

“What?!”

“Got somethin’ special drawn up that I’ve been holdin’ onto. We can make adjustments when you come in. See ya next weekend.“ He saunters back to his station without another word.

Well.

Despite the odd nature of the encounter, you go. ‘Just to see what he’s drawn up,’ you tell yourself. In actuality, you’d had a hell of a week and were itching, chomping at the bit, for the bite of a needle by the time the appointment came around. And damn him it’s good. Really fucking good. Fits your aesthetic perfectly and his suggested placement isn’t far off from where you would have chosen yourself.

Fuck it.

You let him do it. Follow him down the hall to the private room, nod when he tells you to get comfortable and that he just needs to grab one more thing from his station and he’ll be right back.

You’re stripped down to your panties and the oversized hoodie you brought in, big enough to drape and maneuver out of his way while maintaining a bit of modesty, when he comes back.

“You bring water? Somethin’ to eat during breaks?” he asks as he sets a water bottle of his own on the counter. You nod and his head tilts ever so slightly. “Need words, sweetheart.”

“Yes. I did.” 

Not the first time an artist has asked the question, but his insistence on a verbal answer is a curious deviation from your typical experience here. Soap certainly didn’t wait for your answer before he had his arm slung over your ass to ‘steady himself’ while needling a trail of stars down your spine a few weeks ago.

“Alright, let’s get you settled then. Down.’ He presses on your shoulder, pushing you down onto the reclined chair. “We doin it on the left or right?” His hands linger on either side of you, bent at the waist to hover over your frame.

“Uh, you said right would look best… with the other pieces? So um… yeah. The right.”

There’s a flicker behind the richness of his eyes. Something dark and smoky the seeps into the irises.

“Lookit you. Listen real well, don’t ya?” 

What?

He leaves you with mere milliseconds to process. “On your side. Let’s get you stenciled.” His hand trails along your ribs, glides over the bulky fabric of the hoodie and tugs. Pulls at the pocket on the front to get you moving. “Good girl,” he purrs when you comply, shifting onto your left side and folding your arms close to your chest. “Up.” He helps you lift your head and slides a pillow under you. Does the same with your knees, pillow pressed between them to stabilize your hips.

“Thanks…” It comes out in a dazed mumble and he simply hums, as if all of this is… normal.

It isn’t. You know that. Nothing about him says normal.

The mask. His insistence—no, his demand—that you book a session with him. The way his tone brooks no argument or excuse. How some baser instinct tells you to heed his demands. Traitorous fluttering of nerves in your stomach and the heat pooling between your legs.

The black nitrile gloves clinging to his hands like a second skin are cold against your leg. Makes you twitch when long fingers push the hem of your hoodie over your hip and hook underneath the narrow waistband of your thong. “Just moving this up a bit,” he says and pulls it up to your waist, elastic pulling taught against the crease of your thigh and digging into the skin. Pressing against your pulsing core. 

The cleanser is even colder and comes with no warning, but the warmth of him has begun to bleed through his gloves. Melts into your skin as he cleans his canvas and runs a hand over your hip in appraisal.

“Got a little fuzz,” he says more to himself than you, thumb swiping over the fine dusting of hair. The muscles in your back tense in an effort to fight against the shudder threatening to snake down your spine, skin burning beneath the massive hand that lingers on your thigh.

He’s precise about it, removing the hair with slow and even passes of the razor and going back over the area with disinfectant. “Doin’ so good for me, layin’ nice an’ still while I shave ya. Bet ya sit like a champ.”

Your eyes go wide, lips falling open in a silent gasp, and you’re thankful he’s currently bent over your hip and can’t see the shock written plain as day on your face. You blink. Force your brows to lower and snap your mouth shut before you say something stupid like ‘thank you.’

The stencil goes on in silence but you can feel his eyes on you. More precisely, on your face. Curious and observant. You’re so focused on not looking at him that you don’t hear him rise from his stool. Don’t register that he’s moved until he’s leaning over you and curling a finger under your chin to turn your face up towards the ceiling. Towards him.

“There she is. Let’s have a look, yeah?”

Why does he want to look at—?

The stencil. He means the stencil. He wants you to look at the stencil.

“Okay…”

He drops your chin but makes no move to pull away from you as you sit up on your elbows, twisting to get a look at the purple carbon adorning your hip and thigh. You straighten out your leg, move it this way and that, looking for any odd stretching or scrunching.

“It looks good. I like it there. It um… You were right. About it being a good fit.” When you look up at him he’s already staring down at you, eyes trained on your face rather than the stencil with a dark, inky quality to them. Pupils expanding and swallowing up the light in the room.

“Course. Knew I’d be right about ya.”

You blink and it’s gone. No more wisps of smoke swirling in amber coals. The heat in them abated by whatever he sees in you.

You have no idea what he sees in you.

He does, however, give you a reprieve when he straightens and moves to the counter to begin mixing ink while the stencil dries. 

The air around you feels colder when you settle back on your side, sapped of your warmth by small touches and lingering glances. Like he’s purposely stoked a fire in you just to take from and warm himself with.

“Seen you ‘round here a lot. Got quite the collection.” 

It doesn’t sound like a question, and you’re not sure if he’s expecting an answer, but you give him one anyway. Feels… wrong, not to.

“I like the work you guys do.” You’ve sat for all of them. John. Gaz. Soap. And now Ghost. Have their marks inked all over your body.

“That the only thing you like?” The broad expanse of his back is the only thing you can see, but you have a feeling that if you could see the sliver of his face visible behind the mask he’d have that same even stare he always has on the studio floor. 

“Gaz is nice to look at,” you offer, and hear him huff behind you.

“That so?”

“Soap has steady hands. They wander a bit, but his lines are the best I’ve seen. Tit for tat I suppose.”

“And Cap?”

“Who? Oh, you mean John?” 

“The old man ‘imself.” He turns then, arranging the ink on the rolling tray between the two of you, and you catch the dart of his eyes in your direction before they shift back to his station. “He doesn’t normally do the kinda work pretty things like you come looking for.”

“I- um…” He keeps tripping you up. Making you stumble over the words in your head with compliments and praise and firm hands and–

“You like the pain.” Your gaze jerks towards him, tracks his movements as he lowers himself down onto the stool. “Cap’s got a heavy hand,” he clarifies, but it’s too late for excuses. Your reaction only confirms what he already knows.

“That– I don’t… I don’t like it. It just…” His eyes are locked on you, simmering with something in the molten depths of them that reels you in against your will. Compels you to spill secret truths to a stranger. “It makes everything else quiet, for a little while…” You sink your teeth into your lower lip with the admission, eyes slipping away from the intensity burning in his to settle on a fleck in the wood grain of the cabinet.

Silence stretches long and thick between the two of you, the only sound in the room coming from the speakers spilling music out of the ceiling and the little clicks and taps of him preparing the various tips and needles for his machine. The wheels on his chair whine as they roll forward, forcing him into your field of vision once more.

Warmth floods your cheeks, rushes up your neck to your ears in a simmering wave of vulnerability, and you can't look away when he leans down to peer into your face. “There's other ways to make it quiet, ya know.”

You toy with the drawstring of your hood, debating how pathetic you’d look if you pulled it over your face and hid from his probing gaze the rest of this session.

“Stop.” Your fingers freeze. The sternness of his tone has your eyes flicking cautiously back to his, apology ready on your tongue, expecting further reprimand. “You’re thinkin’ too much.” 

Yes.

“That what you need, hm? Someone to make that pretty head take a break for a little while?”

Yes please. You offer him a timid nod.

“What’d I say about that?” he chides, folding his arms over his knees.

Your mouth feels dry, stuffed with cotton, and tongue heavy on its floor. “Sorry.” It comes out scratchy and an octave too high. Too needy. 

“‘S okay, sweetheart. You’re still learning the rules, but we’ll get ya there,” he croons, hand coming up to chuck you under your chin.

“Rules?” 

“Yes sweetheart, rules. You only have two for today. When I ask you a question, I need a verbal answer. Can you do that for me?” His voice carries with authority and his eyes remain fixed on yours, awaiting your acknowledgement.

“Yes.” A touch smoother this time, despite the tightness lingering in your throat.

“Good girl,” he purrs, petting a hand over your hair as he straightens and shifts further down towards your hip, pulling his tray along with him. You hear the buzzing of the machine when he begins fine tuning, testing the speed and picking up ink. 

“Your second rule,” he says as he leans forward, big, gloved hand coming to rest on your waist and the other hovering over the stencil, needle poised just above your skin. “If ya need a break, tell me. And–” He gives your waist a firm squeeze. “—squeeze this arm if ya need more. Got it?”

It takes a moment for the full weight of what he’s offering to sink in, for neurons and synapses to catch up with the realization of it.

“Got it.” You watch the mask pull taught over his mouth. He’s smiling.

“So good for me already,” he murmurs, grip tightening on your waist a fraction. “Let’s get started on your ink then, yeah?” 

The first pass of the needle traces a line on the outside of your thigh, a long, curved section, and already you can feel the quiet creeping in amid the bite of broken skin and the buzz of his warm hands pressed against you.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[hyperactively-me]

high

He whips his head around when he hears his name, eyes half-lidded. He stumbles over towards Johnny, then leans on him, placing most of his body weight onto Johnny. You stare straight at him, slightly confused.  “Oi, who’s this li’l bird then?” he slurs. Johnny stills, eyes flicking towards yours, his mouth agape. In a flash, he slams his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. 

simon is high off his ass from anesthesia and you have to deal with him. (does this count as a sick trope?? idk)

(asks are open)

happy reading

warnings: none

You didn’t know your boyfriend was coming back home tonight until you heard a hard knock on the door. The sun had already set long ago, you were settled on the couch with a good book and a cup of your favorite drink. You were forced out of your focus by a hard knock at the door. Immediately, you perk up, a little confused on who’s knocking this late in the evening. Setting your book down, you make your way to the front door. For a moment, you hesitate, and decide to peek out the window before opening the door just in case. Imagine the surprise on your face when you see Simon and Johnny standing outside the door. In a flash you’re at the door and throw it open in one swift movement. 

“Johnny?” you say, bewildered. Johnny has, what you presume to be, Simon’s bag of belongings slung over his shoulder. Your eyes dart back and forth from Johnny to Simon, who’s standing a few feet behind him looking at some nonexistent thing out in the distance. 

Before you can say anything, Johnny strides up to you, leaning down to whisper to you. 

“Lassie, listen here, he jus’ had a medical procedure done an’–”

Your face immediately morphs into concern. 

“What?”

“He was stabbed durin’ the mission. But there was a medical procedure done, stitches n’ all. 

The color drained from your face. “W- what–,” you take a deep breath trying to steady your racing thoughts. 

“No, no, don’t worry, he’s fine now, he’s just high off the anesthesia…”.

You nod your head at Johnny, mentally preparing to deal with this high behemoth of a man. You look over Johnny’s shoulder and simply say, “Simon.”

He whips his head around when he hears his name, eyes half-lidded. He stumbles over towards Johnny, then leans on him, placing most of his body weight onto Johnny. You stare straight at him, slightly confused. 

“Oi, who’s this li’l bird then?” he slurs.

Johnny stills, eyes flicking towards yours, his mouth agape. In a flash, he slams his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. 

Confusion washes over you, your eyebrows raised as Simon wriggles his eyebrows at you. 

“I–” 

Before you could say anything, Simon gives you the most goofy, silly, suave-looking grin, like he’s trying to flirt with you. You immediately regret looking back at Johnny, as his face is now contorted into something that looks like pain from trying not to laugh. That sight itself nearly makes you laugh, so much so that you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep quiet. You try to put on your most serious face while Johnny is trying to compose himself by taking a deep breath. 

“A’right, Simon, here ya are,” Johnny squeaks out. You eye Simon wearily, worried about how severe his condition is just from seeing how completely out of it he looks. 

Johnny steps to the side, moving his arm to gently push Simon inside your shared apartment. Simon stumbles forward into you, nearly knocking you over because of his physique. You gasp, trying to find your footing as he leans his body weight on you. 

“Oh, sorry lovie,” Simon rasps, grabbing your shoulders tightly as he stands himself up straight. Well, he looks kinda lopsided. He dusts your shoulders off as if he dirtied them, then squeezes your arms gently before pulling away. Johnny is trying not to laugh, your face flustered even more.

Johnny had followed you inside, motioning to the bag he still had slung over his shoulder, an amused expression present on his face.

“I’mma leave this here. It’s all of Simon’s belongins’.” You watch as he sets it down on the kitchen counter. 

“Thank you, Johnny. I appreciate you looking out for him,” you smile warmly, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. 

“Ay, it's nothin’. I’ll be in contact with ya,” Johnny nods to you, smirking playfully at you for a moment, eyes darting between you and Simon. “Alrigh’, I’m leavin’ lassie. Good luck.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you one more time before pulling the door shut.

You move to lock the door behind him, sighing as the lock clicks. You turn back to look at Simon, leaning on the front door. 

“How are you feeling?” 

He looks you up and down, unmoving from where he is standing. Save for the slight swaying of his body. 

“‘M fine,” he grunts out quickly. “You’re very pretty, aren’t ya love?” his cheeks are flushed.

You push yourself off the door and move towards him, stopping a few feet away. You look straight into his eyes, and giggle out, “Thank you, Simon.”

He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing, but tries to act suave. You think it's just the cutest thing that he’s just flirting with you like you’ve never met. You smile to yourself, knowing you’re going to have so much fun teasing him about it when the anesthesia wears off. Taking Simon’s hand in yours, you tenderly usher him further inside towards the kitchen. Dropping his hand, you go to pull out a water bottle and some painkillers that he is definitely going to need when he wakes up in the morning. He shuffles behind you on his unsteady feet, following you like a shadow. You turn around with the items in your hand, using your free hand to grab Simon’s hand once more. He immediately tenses at your touch, but he doesn’t let go.

“C’mon, big guy,” you say, guiding him through the hallway slowly enough so he can walk in a straight line. He stumbles a few times, murmuring nonsense to himself, eyes trained on the floor in front of him as he shuffles his feet. 

He stumbles a few times, prompting you to resort to slinging his arm over your shoulder, carrying the brunt of his weight as you move down the hallway. He leans on you, breathy chuckling escaping, vibrating against your body. 

“Yer too short for your own good, bird,” he slurs, chuckling at the sight of you trying to maneuver him. 

“Ah, well, nothing I can do about it,” you giggle.

He doesn’t say anything, just lets out a small “Heh.” You assume he’s too gone to even respond properly. 

You kick open your shared bedroom door, much to his surprise. 

“Oi, take me out to dinner first lovie,” he looks down at you with a lopsided grin, hair tousled and wild.

“You’re a rascal, Si,” you huff, an amused smile creeping up on your face. “Let’s lay you on the bed, okay?” 

He nods quickly, pushing you off him in an attempt to walk by himself. You watch him take a few steps, eyeing him carefully as you set down the water bottle and medicine on the bedside table. You turn the bedside lamp on, casting a soft golden glow in the room. 

“Simon, hold on.” You turn to him, gently pushing him down to sit on the edge of your shared bed. He shifts his position until his back hits the headboard, eyes half-lidded and cloudy. 

“Eh, pushy aren’t ya? Y’know, really, a dinner would be nice, love.” 

You smile, shaking your head. Kneeling on the bed next to him, you take the water bottle and place it softly into his hands. “You should probably drink some of that. I’ll be right back.”

You push yourself off the bed, making your way into the bathroom to wet a warm towel to clean his face and body. 

You come back through the door frame only to see him trying to get off the bed, feet planted on the floor, unsteadily pushing himself to standing. He takes a few wobbly steps towards you, smirking with his eyebrows raised.

“No, no, lay back down,” you protest, gently trying to push him back towards the edge of the bed. 

“No, I just wanna say, bird, you and I, we should really go out sometime, y’know,” he looks at you with a serious expression on his face, placing his hands on his hips. 

You look up at him, mouth open, the corner of your lip perking up into a bewildered smile. 

“Oh my god, Si,” you laugh. “Okay, okay, but only if you sit down and drink some water,” you say firmly, crossing your arms over your chest, feigning frustration. 

His smile is huge. God, it makes your heart flutter seeing him smile like this, like there's nothing else in the world that matters. 

He sits back down on the bed, moving back to rest up against the headboard. He places his hands behind his head, an exaggeration of himself relaxing. 

“Simon, I need to take your shirt off…” you trail off, motioning to the wet towel in your hand, already having an inkling of what he’s going to say back to you.

“D’ you now,” settling back into the bed, the biggest smirk you’ve ever seen crosses his face. “Well, bird, you've certainly got a way with words. Can't say I've met someone as bold and direct as you before.”

You look at him, open mouthed. 

“If yer speechless now, wait ‘til you see what's under my shirt,” he says matter of factly, slurring the words.

You couldn't help but smile at his bold comment, finding his charm and mischievous confidence strangely attractive. His garbled statements just contributed to the situation's humor.

You try to compose yourself by raising an eyebrow and responding, “Oh, is that so? You've certainly sparked my interest now.”

“Mhmmm,” he draws out, hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt, trying his best to tug it off his frame. His smirk widens, and he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “Darlin’', you have no idea what you're in for.”

“Simon, now is not the time,” you giggle. You reach forward, pulling him from resting on the headboard so you can help maneuver his shirt off his body. His skin is burning hot under your touch. When it finally slips off his form, with much struggle, you huff, placing it on the bedside table. 

You kneel on the edge of the bed next to him, grasping the warm towel tight as you begin to rub off any grime or dirt from his rough skin. As your touch caresses his skin, he shivers at the sensation, a subtle but noticeable reaction to your careful ministrations. 

A soft smile dances across your lips as you notice his reaction. You lean in closer, your voice filled with tenderness and affection, “Ticklish, are we?”

He chuckles, a deep rumble resonating across the air. “Just a bit, love.”

As you examine his hands, you notice their calloused texture, a testament to his tough being. You treat them delicately, soothing weary muscles and offering brief tranquility.

He sighs blissfully, his gaze locked on you, an unconscious expression of thanks and appreciation traveling between you. Taking care of his needs becomes a subtle gesture of love and dedication.

Finally, as you finish wiping away the last traces of dirt, you lean back slightly and examine his cleansed face. It now has a new luster to it, emphasizing the attractive elements that drew you in all that time ago.

“Thank you, bird,” he says as his fingertips brush over your cheek. You swear he’s almost cognizant, the way his fingers touch you.

You respond to his touch with a delicate kiss on his hand, your heart fluttering. “Always, Si.”

A devious light twinkles in his eyes as he looks into yours. “You know, love, I must confess that being pampered by such lovely hands has me feelin' a l'il spoiled,” he adds with a teasing grin. 

You rub your hand over his shoulder, massaging it slightly as your other hand moves to stow the towel away. You turn to the lamp, hand hovering over the button before you click it off.

“Ok, it’s time to sleep now, ‘kay?” you murmur, gingerly laying him down on his pillow. “Close your eyes.”

“You don’t have t’ tell me twice,” he chuckles, dragging you down with him. You’re careful to stay away from his injury, shifting slightly in his grasp. As the fatigue sets in, his eyelids begin to droop, weighted down by the day's exhaustion. His breathing grows slower and more steady, creating a beautiful lullaby that permeates the room. 

You watch, affectionately, as his features soften and his face relaxes into a serene expression. You move closer, snuggling into his good side, your hand comes to rest on his chest. He automatically draws closer to you, seeking refuge in your embrace.

His body relaxes fully as he succumbs to sleep's embrace, feeling safe and comfortable in your arms. You hug him softly yet firmly, savoring this private moment of vulnerability and trust.

You take sanctuary in the solace with each passing moment, savoring the weight of his body against yours, the rise and fall of his chest, and the softness of his breath against your skin. You gently trace your fingers through his hair, lulling him deeper into a deep slumber.

You continue to hold him until sleep takes him entirely, your love and dedication wrapping him like a warm, safe blanket. In this quiet time, you take comfort in the mere act of being together, knowing that you both greatly savor the time you spend together.

And as you begin to nod off, you take comfort in the knowledge that tomorrow will bring new moments that you'll cherish together. But for the time being, you appreciate the tranquility of the night, cradling him in your arms and savoring the calm of this shared sleep.

[nananarc]

Stethoscope . 2023

More doctor!reader shits. Ghost is diagnosed with Big Tits Syndrome and Slutty Waist Disorder.

More of my Ghost fanart over here. Timelapse and no-doctor version on my Patreon.

Commission info over here.

[whiplashrogue]

Twitter art dump! A Big angy boy

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

thinking of mermaids AGAIN sooooooooooooooo

Merman!Ghost x Mermaid!Reader (for Mermay 2024)

cw: dubcon elements, rough sex, SELF-INDULGENT and therefore weird mermaid biology, (suspend disbelief idk and idc about mermaid biology, i just wanted to write ghost fucking a mermaid.), forced?-ish breeding (both parties were aware of the risks)

Merman!Ghost who's actually a selkie... of sorts.

Merman!Ghost who took the coat of a GREAT Greenland shark over three centuries ago and has lived as a shark ever since...

Merman!Ghost who's a deep dweller and has become quite the hunter, using the darkness of the depths to attract dumb prey so he can kill them.

Merman!Ghost who's not above mauling humans, in fact he despises them, especially when he finds them hurting animals. Sure, he kills them, but he's an animal himself.

Merman!Ghost who when he's bored causes issues on purpose, including scaring fish and other underwater life, and finds great humour in it.

Merman!Ghost who constantly gives trouble to fishing boats by trying to sink them, slamming his tail on the side of them to send them rocking side to side... and by ripping their nets with his teeth...

Merman!Ghost who has had horror stories and cautionary tales told of him by many navigators, pirate captains, sailor crews... who has become somewhat of a legend, a myth, and gets referred to as "The Creature".

Merman!Ghost who's not immune to mermaid song, surprisingly enough, but who can resist it plenty well.

Merman!Ghost who hears the lilting of your voice through the dark water but doesn't seek you out.

Merman!Ghost who succeeds in resisting... for days, weeks, months...

Merman!Ghost who awakes to the endless sound of your singing bubbling into his ears, and gets lulled to sleep by it as well.

Merman!Ghost who finds himself going insane by your voice, that follows him like a backdrop for every waking moment of his life, and cannot tune it out.

Merman!Ghost who eventually bites the bait and allows himself to rise from his domain.

Merman!Ghost follows your voice as it carries for miles upon miles.

Merman!Ghost who comes across a natural cave by the beach. Way too close to the beach. Close enough for him to know he'll end up washing up and getting stuck.

Merman!Ghost who checks both sides, making sure the beach is empty before he tentatively strips off his coat for the first time in years.

Merman!Ghost who stashes his coat between the rocks, covering it with algae before he dares venture into the cave.

Merman!Ghost who can't see as easily without the shark eyes, who can't swim as well without the shark fins, who can barely walk because all his human muscles are atrophied.

Merman!Ghost who wades in waist deep water into the darkness of the cave, looking around for you, his burly, calloused hands using the rocks as crutches to seek you out.

Merman!Ghost who only notices you when it's too late... when your song suddenly stops and the water splashes as you dive back in.

Merman!Ghost who watches you zoom past him in the water, a slippery fishtail propelling you in a zigzag amidst the rocks before you emerge out of the cave.

Merman!Ghost who watches you grab his shark coat and try to make off with it...

Merman!Ghost who takes his sweet time returning back to the mouth of the cave, watching you bob on the water with a mischievous smirk on your lips.

Merman!Ghost who demands "Give it back."

Merman!Ghost who scowls when you tell him "No." and "If you want it back, you have to marry me."

Merman!Ghost who crosses his arms and glares at you, shaking his head and refusing.

Merman!Ghost who scowls even more when you tell him "Then I guess it's bye bye to your skin.".

Merman!Ghost who despises being a human more than he despises the prank you're pulling on him.

Merman!Ghost who tries to negotiate and offers you something in exchange for his coat.

Merman!Ghost who pushes you against the rocks at the entrance of the cave as the cold water and seafoam wash over you both while he kisses you, pressing his tongue, the only warm part of his body, into your mouth, toying with yours.

Merman!Ghost who licks at the salty sea water glistening on your skin and the scales adorning your pretty neck, an arm wrapped around the small of your back.

Merman!Ghost whose human fingers, pale and wrinkled from the salt water, wrap around your exposed breast, softly tugging on the pert nipple while his mouth kisses and sucks at the patches of skin amidst your scales.

Merman!Ghost who tsk's at you for having been singing for so long to attract him, and scolds you for getting him so riled up for weeks on end with your song.

Merman!Ghost whose hands push you up onto the rocks so he can dip his head down your chest, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, sucking it slowly and watching you mewl and cry so beautifully.

Merman!Ghost who gets a reminder of the one positive side of being a human, as his human cock rises up suddenly and stiffly, large and thick, already oozing precum against your tail scales.

Merman!Ghost who carefully grinds his leaking cock against your slick cunt, right before the spot your thighs meet and blend into a tail.

Merman!Ghost who turns you over, bending you over the rocks, one hand on the back of your neck, the other steadying you around the bones of your hip...

Merman!Ghost who plunges his hooded cock deep into your cunt, causing you both to cry out in delight, eyes rolling and jaws going slack as he bottoms out.

Merman!Ghost who bullies his cock deep into your cunny, feeling how your warm, gummy walls contract and squeeze around him while he groans loudly.

Merman!Ghost who pounds away at you again and again, hearing your voice go high-pitched and squeaky with each snap of his hips, finally shattering the mind-numbing and intoxicating mermaid song he's had stuck in his head for weeks.

Merman!Ghost who watches you squirm and whine as you cum around his thick cock, nearly choking it with how tight you get, before he slams his hips against the back of your tail a few more times, and shoots his cum deep inside you.

Merman!Ghost who watches smugly how blissful, quiet and calm you are after he's done, breathing heavily and your body buzzing.

Merman!Ghost who snatches his shark coat from your hands as you're too fucked out to remember you're meant to keep it out of his reach.

Merman!Ghost who puts his shark coat back on and morphs back to the shape he's comfortable in, then wraps his maw around your tired body, beginning to drag you underwater with him.

Merman!Ghost whose body rumbles with a laugh when you try to get free and loosen his grip on you, demanding he let you go.

Merman!Ghost who tells you "I thought you wanted me to be your husband? Well, I made you my broodmare too... Now I have to take care of you."

[cult0fdionysus]

Comfortable

Ghost x Reader

Cw: overall fluff, my writing

Summary: you find out ghost can be quite comfortable

A/n: little drabble

Book open on your lap as you chew at your nails, eyes fluttering over the pages. It's late in the 141's common room, the only light being a small lap to the left of the couch you are seated on. Being on your own like this is peaceful, it's nice and quiet no thrum of people in the halls, or slamming doors. Just you and your book.

The couch dips and you jump a little. A familiar figure is sitting next to you, hes clad in his usual balaclava and sleepwear.

"Shit, you scared me." You say a little out of breath from the scare.

"You should be paying attention to your surroundings then sergeant." Ghost states in a gruff tone. Eyes softening a moment later as he looks you over, you're wearing a tank top, and sleep shorts. "You look comfy," he adds. Then pullin the blanket —you added to the back of the couch— and throwing it over your ahoulders.

"Thank you," you say in a whisper, your body leaning towards his. Taking that as an invitation he puts your book down—with the book mark in it— and pulls you to lay on top of him.

Hes done this before, usually at night when you spend time reading in the common room. You always notice how he seems to sleep more soundly with you in his arms.

You sigh into him, threading your arms around his waist and he pulls you impossibly closer.

"You're so comfortable." You say smooshed against his chest. He lets out a chuckle and starts rubbing your back, soon lulling you to sleep.

[bravo4iscool]

he’s in denial (simon “ghost” riley)

idc what y’all think about Ghost, but this is a crazy ass headcanon of mine LMAO

i’m definitely gonna add this to one of my future fics😗✌🏼

masterlist

okay, imagine: he’s in love with you—you can be civilian or military idgaf—but he’s in denial.

he doesn’t think you like him in that way, even if you’re obviously flirting with him, so one night he shows up at your door (omfg i’m gonna scream).

you open up and he looks down at you—no mask—and simply say “Tell me to leave.”

and you’re like ‘wtf? why is he showing up here, asking me to tell him to leave again?’, so you just stare at him, completely confused.

then he talks again, his voice lower this time, “Tell me to leave or I’ll do something stupid.” and you’re still totally confused, so he suddenly pulls you in—one hand on your waist, another on your cheek.

“Please tell me to leave, otherwise I won’t be able to control myself,” he almost whispers and you get goosebumps (hehe)…

he waits for your answer, his eyes almost piercing your soul, looking directly into you heart but you just look at him, eyes slightly hooded.

AND THAT’S HIS CALL PEOPLE:

he waits for a subtle nod—you’re more than happy to give him—and then he kisses the shit outta you, pulling you even closer, then pushing you inside and shutting the door with his foot (I’M GOING FUCKING CRAZY OVER THIS AHHHHHWVISJWBQJAHQHAUQBAUQ)

[babygirl-riley]

Hi can i please request something where simon and his wife find out one of their kid's friends has abusive parents so they decide to adopt them😢💔

Guardian Angels

You noticed it, the bruise, the way the little girl would ask things. So when you brought it up to Simon, immediate action came through

A/N: OH MY HELL, this hurts a lot. But I am so glad that the child will have a safe and loving home. My heart HURTS!

Hope this is something that was worth waiting for! 😌

Warnings: mentions of abuse, physical abuse, neglect abuse, childhood trauma, child abuse, angst, trauma, PURE FUCKING DEPRESSION, fluff, wife!reader, husband!simon, swearing

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family

You froze, your blood turning ice cold, your heart breaking. You noticed a small scratch on the child, when you lifted their shirt it was worse. “I got into the snacks. Daddy didn’t like it.” She whispered holding back the tears.

You inhaled deeply feeling the shake of it. You never would believe it. No way someone would hurt a 6 year old child. The puzzle pieces started to form together, the way that she would flinch whenever you would lift a finger. The way she would be shocked about handing her a snack. A small snack anything. It made your heart break even more knowing that there were signs.

“What about your mom? Where is she?” You asked softly putting her shirt down.

She looked away from you. “I don’t know.”

You looked into her beautiful blue eyes. God a child. You nodded and told her that she was spending the night, that you would talk to her dad. Luckily her dad approved acting like nothing was going on. You noted that you would drop her off the next day. You called Simon right after that.

“I’m almost done here sweethear.’ Do you need me to pick anything up for dinner?” He asked sweetly right when he picked up.

It was silent on your end. Making him perk up a bit. Until he heard the sob. A sob that he never heard before, he adjusted himself. “What’s wrong,” He asked softly but with concern. When you kept quietly sobbing he started to pack up. “I’m comin’ home.”

“Okay…I will tell you when you get here.” You choked out in more sobs. Trying to get yourself together, hearing little footsteps pattering outside your bedroom door.

“Mummy,” Your daughter said through the door. “Lilli and I want pizza! Can we get pizza!”

“Of course hun, one second mommy is in the phone. I will let daddy go grab some!” You said back in which you heard little cheers before the footsteps sprinted away. “Grab pizza.”

“‘lright then I will be home soon. I love ya.” He whispered feeling more concerned.

The girls were excited to see Simon coming in with pizza. Your daughter running to him squeezing his leg, giggling when he moved his leg up to walk forward as she clinged harder. You looked over at Lilli who stood in the corner waiting for him. She just watched as he placed the pizza down on the counter then looked up at you.

“Is it okay I can eat?” She mumbled. You nodded and knelt down.

“You can always eat here sweet girl.” You whispered as her face beamed running over to your daughter.

Simon looked over at you as he placed pizzas on plates. You still stood in the hallway, hugging yourself. He looked down at Lilli. “Here Lills use both hands, go sit with Millie. Y/n and I will join soon yeah?”

She cautiously and gently grabbed the plate from him. “Thank you.” She whispered before sprinting to sit next to Millie.

Simon came and kissed you softly. “Let’s go to the room.” He mumbled before you followed him in.

Right when the door shut the sob came out. Simon quickly grabbed you pulling you into a hug. “Love, what’s goin’ on?”

After a few quick breaths you spoke. Explaining everything, from the time he was out on his 3 month assignment and finding the bruises and cuts. Simon listened to every word, asking questions to make sure you knew what you saw. That it wasn’t just a kid being a kid.

Simon’s leg was bouncing hard up and down. You knew of his past, you knew saying these things would bring up memories of his that he tucks so far away from him, was coming to light. Simon stared at the wall for a moment, thinking. He knew the signs well, it was the same signs he gave when his father would beat him and his brother.

He thought about every scenario, the first one was to go to the bastards home and beat him until he saw god himself. Kill him and possibly have the team help cover it up. Make the man get the taste of his own medicine.

Simon thought about how tiny Lilli is, how quiet she would be when he would come around. It wasn’t for a couple months before she warmed up to Simon. Loved playing with him when his daughter would invite for a tea time. Would always sit on the other side of him when watching movies. It was like she was a Riley.

Simon thought of the time when he was her age. The things his father would do to him. “Do you think he ever…”

“Let’s not think that,” He said quickly shaking his head. You nodded and sighed he knew you were worried about him too. The way you waited and watched him. “We have to get her out.” He said darkly, trying to pull himself together. “Now. Not tomorrow now. We get pictures we get everything that we need to take it to the police.”

“How? I just don’t know what to do for tomorrow. These things take time what if…” You started to say before trailing off.

“Laswell,” Simon said standing up quickly. “I’m calling Laswell.”

Two years, it had been two years since that incident happened. It took months before having your daughter have her best friend become her sister. However, papers took longer than expected but court said that both of you can take her in, unless things changed. It made both you and Simon nervous. “We will keep goin’ day by day until we find out yeah?” Simon said comforting you as you shared your thoughts of how long it was taking.

But today was different, giggling and happy screaming echoing through the house. It was Lilli’s birthday, friends of her came and your family. Balloons and decorations plastered the home. Presents lined up neatly on a table as everyone talked to one another. The kids playing with each other.

You watched as Lilli and Millie played together with their cousins. You smiled as you placed some plates down to some guests. You felt a hand gently grab your shoulder. “Do ya have a second.’” Simon asked as you connected eye contact. When you nodded yes, he said he would meet in your shared room. You walked yourself up as you waited. When you heard the door open Lilli and Millie were with Simon.

“Daddy I was havin’ fun.” Millie groaned as she came next to you.

Simon smiled as he looked at both Lilli and Millie. You noticed his eyes were red. You frowned as you thought of the worst. “I wan’ to do this privately. Mum doesn’ even know,” He grabbed an envelope on his dresser looking at you and handing it. “Read it love.”

You curiously grabbed the envelope and grabbed the paper inside. You gasped as you clasp your hand on your mouth looking at Simon whose lips trembled. “What’s wrong?” Lilli’s voice said quietly. “They said no huh.” Looking away and Millie grabbed your leg about to cry.

Your heart broke but soon swelled when Simon knelt down to her. Gently placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, with tears in her eyes. Simon’s heart raced in excitement. Love. Relief. He heard his voice crack as he tried to say something. Then inhaled deeply. “No Lills you are now Lilli Riley. You are our babygirl now. Ya staying here forever.”

Lilli gasped as she looked up at you then at Simon. “Really! Thank youtha kyouthankyou!” She started crying as she wiped her eyes constantly.

Simon chuckled and nodded as he cried with her rubbing her shoulder. Millie yelled in joy and ran to her. “Lilli! Lilli! We can have forever sleepovers!”

Lilli giggled as she hugged Millie jumping up and down with her. You looked down at Lilli’s birth certificate and adoption papers. Stating that indeed Lilli is now yours. You looked at Simon as he wiped his eyes before looking at you smiling. Before he said anything he was tackled by the girls, the three of them laughing as they hugged.

“Mum come on!” Millie yelled as Lilli came to grab your hand to lead you to both Simon and Millie.

You went on the ground as both you and Simon hugged the girls. Your girls.

[eilidh-eternal]

Touch Up

Part of the Martyr in the Making series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| 18 + MDNI | TattooArtist!Ghost x f!reader | cw for dub con/non con themes and heavy implications of grooming |

There's an insatiable itch beneath your skin that has nothing to do with the fresh ink and plasma that seeps from punctured flesh, and everything to do with a smug bastard named Simon fucking Riley.

Five days earlier…

“How ya doin’ sweetheart?” He has no right to sound this way. No right to let honey and smoke mix in his throat and spill from his lips in dark, dulcet tones. You blame the buzzing in your head, ricocheting off of your skull with each searing stroke of the needle he wields.

“Fine,” you say in a whispery breath. The hum of the needle goes quiet. That’s okay. The trilling heart in your chest is doing a fine job of replacing it. 

Pools of liquid amber, dark and rich like brandy, slide from the nearly finished linework to your face, half hidden in your hoodie, and flood your gaze with an intoxicating warmth. There’s no running from it, from the fire he’s started. The flames he fans and tends to with each murmuration of praise licks up your spine in searing tendrils, smothers the remnants of a fragmented rationale in a blanket of smoldering cinders.

A pierced brow glides up towards the fraying hem of his black knit cap as he straightens from his hunched over position. “I’ll ask one more time, an’ I expect an honest answer—d’ya need a break?” Amber petrifies under his scrutiny, as if you’re some antediluvian creature, suspended in the thrall of his gaze. Something pretty to perch on a shelf and marvel at.

Your eyes dart away, searching the patterns in the woodgrain of the cabinets for answers, divining particle board like a tarot spread. As if any of them would sound less pathetic than the truth. 

His hand slides, branding weight upon your skin, away from your waist and you fight the whine clawing up your throat. Swallow it down with the rest of the bad ideas right behind it. Plastic wheels scuff across fading concrete floors and the frayed edges of distressed denim replaces wood. Black, like everything else he wears, down to the powdery gloves and surgical mask. Bet his boxers are black, too.

When your eyes dare to meet his again the flames licking up your spine splutter, send sparks dancing up your vertebrae in shivery, glittering plumes. “I’m okay. Could use some water,” you settle on. It’s a shaky truth, flimsy and liable to crumble, but a truth nonetheless. You’d rather suffer whatever consequence comes with lying to him than lay yourself bare.

As if you aren’t already half naked in front of the man. As if he hasn't been toying with the waistband of your thong the entire session.

Your admission seems to mollify him, but the black titanium bar curving through a dusting of blond twitches. Remains cocked as he rocks back, leans across the counter in a truly obscene display, long tee clinging to every dip and curve, and plucks your water bottle from your bag.

It looks silly and small in his hand, dented metal covered in a collage of overlapping stickers, no trace of the scratched black paint besides the exposed underside. The tendons in his forearms shift beneath fabric as he turns it over to study the sticker Gaz had given you, ‘141 collective’ printed in a gothic font. There’s a similar font inked across the sliver of skin peeking out at his wrist, black ink still richly pigmented even though it looks to be more than a few years old. Must not get a lot of sun.

“Open.” You blink, several times, and come to the hazy realization that while your eyes have been busy mapping every groove and plane, tracing the prominent veins on the back of the hand draped over his knee, he’s maneuvered the water bottle to your lips. 

They part at the subtle pressure of the spout, and he tips it forward, pressing plastic between chapped lips that close around it to take a hesitant sip.

“Another,” he demands, and you try not to notice the way his focus settles on your throat, tracking each contraction of delicate muscle as you drink. “Good girl.”

You nearly choke.

And he pays it no mind. Gives no pause to the widening of your eyes, pupils flared to the limbus, or the palpable heat radiating from your skin. He merely sets the bottle back on the counter and folds his arms over the bulk of his chest.

“Just water?” he questions, and you start to nod in answer, but quickly remember your—or rather, his—rules. 

“Just water,” you echo in confirmation, and it’s received with a critical grunt. Like he can see through the paper thin restraints you cling to, the only thing keeping your lips from speaking on behalf of those between your legs.

He shifts back to his tray of inks with a glint in his eye that makes you wonder if maybe you should have said something more. Feigned hunger or fatigue.

“Just this section here–” He taps at the remaining carbon stenciling over your hip. “–and we’ll move on to shading.”

“Okay,” you mumble, and a gloved thumb brushes over raw, freshly tattooed skin. Traces his work in a gesture akin to reverence, sweetened by the lingering sting left in its wake—and you fail to stifle the moan that’s been building in the back of your throat for several hours.

When he repeats the motion and receives an identical response, the mask stretches over his face, pulls taut over the prominent bridge of his nose, and he curls his fingers into your hip. His chest rumbles with muted laughter at the whine that punches out of you, thighs clenching around the pillow wedged between them. 

“Gonna need ya a bit closer,” he croons, and gives you no warning before he hooks his fingers through the elastic pulled taut over your waist, giving it a sharp tug. “C’mon, on your tummy for me…atta girl.” He takes to arranging your limbs how he wants them, left leg practically in his lap to keep the skin from creasing, ass on full display.

You bury your face in the pillow and crook of your own arm, vehemently ignoring the way he grips your backside to work on the remaining outline, and the surge of wanton arousal warming your neck and cheeks.

Present… 

Delicate, looping letters, woven seamlessly into the outline. Hardly noticeable if you aren’t looking for them. 

They glare at you in the mirror, the memory of strong hands a phantom touch against the surrounding tender skin.

S.R.

Simon fucking Riley.

It’s not enough that he’s under your skin, he has to be inked on it too.

“Well, angel, I know you come often, but I didn’t expect to see—”

“—Where’s Simon?” You cut John off, in no mood for his dilatory remarks, and he cants a quizzical brow.

“He’s finishing up a consult right now, is there—”

“—I need to speak with him. Now,” you demand, trembling fingers curling into fists at your side. 

You couldn’t care less what he’s doing presently. You’ll drag him off the studio floor by that stupid spiked bar in his damn brow. He’s going to—

“Hey, hunny bunny!” Kyle appears behind him, walking out of what you assume to be an office with a tablet in hand and his usual sunny disposition. Rhinestones and pointed canines catch in the studio lighting when he smiles and tucks his tablet under his arm, coming to stand beside John. His gaze dips to the healing skin of your thigh. “That the piece Si did?” It’s barely visible below the hemline of your skirt.

“Yeah,” you grit through your teeth, jaw tense with the effort to maintain a modicum of decorum. “It needs touching up in a few places.”

His eyes catch on something behind you, and you’re about to reiterate your demand, but you fall short when an all too familiar weight settles on your nape. 

“‘S all this fussing about?” Simon questions, and you jerk away from his grasp.

Your first mistake.

“You—” you hiss and lift the hem of your skirt, “—need to fix this.”

He tilts his head to study the healing tattoo. “What about it?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” You know he does because the smug bastard is smirking beneath his mask, fabric stretched tight over his jaw and eyes narrowed in amusement.

He motions towards the hallway, “Let’s have a look, then,” and doesn’t wait to see if you follow him. Knows that you’re on his heels as he leads you back to the same private room. You don’t sit on the chair, electing to stand beside it instead with your arms folded tight to your chest, and you scowl at where he leans against the counter, posture mirroring yours in a decidedly mocking manner. “What’s got ya all riled up sweetheart?”

Definitely mocking

“This isn’t the design I agreed to,” you huff indignantly.

“Sure it is.”

“No, it isn’t.” You take a step closer, the toes of your sneakers nearly touching his beat up combat boots. “I never fucking agreed to have your name tattooed on me. I’m not some tramp for you to—”

“—‘S not my name,” he corrects, and you don’t know what heats your blood more; the fact that he has the gall to correct you or that he isn’t even trying to deny what he’s done. “Jus’ my initials.”

“Same fucking thing,” you seethe, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.

Your second, and final, mistake.

Calloused fingers curl around your wrist and pull, yanking you further into his space until you’re standing chest to chest. He holds you there by your wrist and the firm grasp he has on your jaw, cheeks pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Someone needs a reminder about manners,” he tuts, and you whine against the pressure on your jaw. “A reminder about her rules.” His hand drops from your face to settle on your shoulder and the scathing retort coiled on your tongue withers to ash amid disbelief when he pushes down against your shoulder, forcing you onto the stool beside the chair. “Stay,” he warns when you shift forward, already halfway onto your feet again, and the undercurrent of a growl is warning enough.

“What are the rules I gave you last time?” He leans back against the counter again, arms folded loosely over his chest, and his fingers tap rhythmically against his bicep, staring down at you expectantly. 

You glare up at him, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt on top of your thighs, and he cocks that stupid pierced brow.

This is ridiculous. 

But if there’s any chance at getting him to erase the brand he’s inked into your skin…

“Give a verbal answer,” you bite out.

“And?”

“Tell you what I need.”

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He stalks forward to press a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his when you don’t deign to look at him. Amid the infuriating rush of warmth to your core, you briefly consider what would happen if you were to rear back and bite him.

“No,” you admit reluctantly, and he hums low in his chest, clearly pleased with your answer. 

“So tell me what you need.” His thumb sweeps over your chin, traces the contour of your bottom lip, and you press your legs further together. 

All the anger, hot and swirling in your chest, mixes with the smoky whorls of his words until you can't distinguish between the two. Can’t untangle the intrepid need to rebel from the desire to yield in supplication to the enigmatic man towering over you. 

“I- I want…” Your words get tangled up with it, coming out in a stuttering mess. “Fix it.”

“Fix what, sweetheart?” The way he stares into your eyes is nothing short of maddening. Fathomless pools of amber, beckoning you to bathe in their warmth, and like a moth to a flame you go willingly.

“Fix me,” you croak, and he shakes his head. “Please.” 

“Don’t need to fix ya, sweetheart. You’re mine–” He crouches down before you and slides a roughened palm over your knee, up your thigh to the tender skin beneath your skirt. “–Says so, right here.” He traces each letter of his initials inked onto your skin. “And what’s mine is perfect. Just the way it is. Understand?”

No. But you nod anyway.

“Words,” he insists. “Need to hear it.”

“I understand,” you murmur, still sifting through the haze in his eyes.

“Good girl,” he croons, sickeningly sweet, and pets a hand over your hair, thumb tracing the shell of your ear and sending a shiver skittering down your spine. “All soft and sweet for me, told ya we’d get ya there. Just need a little training, hm? Gonna let me train that pretty, empty head, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you respond absently, and his eyes flare with a molten, ravenous desire.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[hyperactively-me]

break in, break down

"You're stayin' with me tonight," he declares, voice firm and unwavering. You open your mouth, nearly telling him no, I'll find a hotel, but the look he shoots you suggests that you go with him. With a nod of agreement, Simon leads you away from the scene, his hand on your back firm and reassuring.

this has been sitting in my drafts for like, ever. it's not the best cause its super old, like months old and i lowkey forgot i even had it, but it'll do for now while i'm in this writing rut.

happy reading <3

warnings: home invasion, panic attack reaction (i think that's it? lmk if i missed anything please!)

A loud bang reverberates through your apartment, your peaceful sleep interrupted.

You open your eyes with a start, the volume of the sound causing your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

You're silent for another moment until the sound of glass shattering causes you to jump. You sit up now, dumbfounded for a brief moment before unshakable anxiety takes over.

There's no way this could be happening to you right now.

You immediately leap out of bed, grabbing a stray hoodie off the floor, slipping it over your thin pajamas. Next, you grab your phone with shaky hands, trembling from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through your veins. The sounds from outside your bedroom are starting to get louder. You swipe your car keys from your drawer, shoving them into the pocket of your hoodie.

In a frenzy, you grope under your bed for a baseball bat, struggling to steady your shaking hands as you grip it tightly. The rattling of your doorknob nearly makes you pass out in fear. Simon had told you multiple times to keep your door locked when you sleep, stressing to you that it wasn't safe to leave it unlocked, especially at night.

There was no way you could escape through the hallway. Lucky for you, your apartment is on the first floor of the building, meaning that you would be able to safely jump out of your bedroom window without injuring yourself.

You place all your things down quickly, unlatching your window from its locks. You heave it open with all your might, grunting as you hold it up to lock it into an open position. Grabbing your baseball bat first, you throw it out the window and onto the grass below you. Could never be too safe.

Suddenly, the person or people on the other side of your door start kicking at it, the flimsy wood shaking from the impacts. You bite back a scream, prompting you to jump out of your window, dropping onto the grass below you clumsily.

You don't bother looking back as you sprint to your car in the adjacent parking lot, throwing yourself into the drivers seat unceremoniously.

Without another thought, you dial 911. Running on pure adrenaline, you tell the operator your address and the urgency of the situation. The kind voice on the other end tells you that the police are on their way before you hang up.

You bite back a sob as your shaking hands type in Simon's phone number. You hold your phone up to your, chewing your finger as it rings once, twice, and the line picks up.

"Hullo?" a scratchy, sleep-ridden voice on the other end of the line rings out. His accent sounds particularly thick.

"Simon," your voice breaks, the adrenaline now worn off, leaving you a wreck.

"What's wrong?" he asks immediately, now sounding more awake. You hear shuffling on the other end.

"I- I think my apartment got broken into," you sob, fat tears now freely falling down your cheeks. "I'm so scared," you cry, bawling like a baby.

Simon's voice takes on a sharp urgency. "'M coming over right now. Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"I'm in my car, in the parking lot," you say tearfully, trying to wipe the tears from your face unsuccessfully.

"I've already called 911; they're on the way—" you add, clutching onto your phone.

The sound of a door opening and slamming shut crackles through the phone. "Be there in ten. Stay on the line, love."

"I'm scared," you cry again, your free hand trembling as you reach to make sure your car door is locked.

"I know, love, I know. Just hang in there. 'M on my way," Simon reassures you, his voice gentle. The ten-minute wait feels like an eternity as you sit in your car, sniffling every so often as you look out your car windows to make sure no one is coming towards you.

Sirens wail in the distance, the police clearly arriving on scene. Despite the growing fear gnawing at you, Simon's voice provides a source of comfort.

"The police are almost here," you breath into the phone, pulling your knees up to your chest.

"Good, I'm here," he grunts. You look up and see his truck hurtling through the parking lot, stopping abruptly right behind your car. He slides out of his car, rushing to the drivers side of your car.

The moment he reaches your car, you throw open the door and practically fall into his arms. Simon holds you tight as you fall into him, sobs wracking your body.

"Don't cry," he soothes, pulling you tighter against him. "'S alright, 's handled."

He cradles you in his grasp, running his hand over your hair as you sob into his t-shirt, fists bunching up the fabric. You cling to him as if he's your lifeline, the scent of his t-shirt grounding you ever so slightly.

"I've got you," he murmurs, rubbing your back.

Your sobs gradually subside into quiet sniffles, and you take a deep breath.

The distant wailing of sirens grows closer, indicating the police are here. Simon releases you just enough to glance over his shoulder at the approaching vehicles. "The police are here," you whisper, your voice shaky but relieved.

The flashing lights of police cars illuminate the surroundings as officers approach. Simon steps back, maintaining a protective stance beside you.

Two police officers approach you and Simon, asking for details about the break-in. You pull at the hem of your hoodie, trying to cover up your practically bare thighs from your tiny pajamas. Simon settles his hand on your lower back, encouraging you to speak to the officers. You recount the events timidly, telling them as much as you know. After providing your statement, the police assure you they'll investigate your apartment, but advise you that it's not the best to stay there tonight. For obvious reasons.

Upon their insistence of you spending the night somewhere else, before you could even open your mouth, Simon is insisting, no, demanding that you stay with him for the night.

"You're stayin' with me tonight," he declares, voice firm and unwavering.

You open your mouth, nearly telling him no, I'll find a hotel, but the look he shoots you suggests that you go with him.

With a nod of agreement, Simon leads you away from the scene, his hand on your back firm and reassuring.

As you approach his truck, Simon opens the door for you. He helps you up into the passenger seat, making sure you're settled before closing the door with a determined thud. Simon then strides around to the driver's side, the scent of him lingering in the air as he gets in. The engine roars to life, and you find comfort in the steady hum of the engine.

The drive to Simon's place is mostly quiet. He occasionally glances at you, concern etched into his features. You stare out of the window, the events of the night replaying in your mind. You shiver in your seat, thinking about what could have happened if you hadn't escaped through your window. Simon's hand finds yours, a silent gesture that makes your heart ache with gratitude.

As you pull into Simon's driveway, you're met with the warm glow of his porch light. The familiar sight brings a new sense of relief. It's not the first time you've been to his quaint home. Simon turns off the engine, and without a word, he's at your side, opening the door for you again.

He leads you inside, the click of the door shutting behind you echoing in the quiet house. Simon heads to the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets. Moments later, he appears with a mug of tea, a small but comforting gesture. He hands it to you, the warmth seeping into your cold hands.

"Drink this. It'll help calm your nerves," he says, his voice gentle.

You take a sip, the familiar taste of chamomile offering a small respite. Simon sits across from you, watching as you try to steady your trembling hands. The silence between you isn't uncomfortable; it's a shared understanding that words might not be enough to mend the damage that's been dealt.

After a while, Simon breaks the silence. "I'll make up the spare room for you. Take your time. We'll deal with everythin' in the morning."

He disappears down the hall, leaving you alone in the living room. You look around his living room, eyeing his front door for a brief moment. You finish the tea and set the mug on the coffee table, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

When you enter the spare room, you find it tidy and pretty bare. The scent of clean sheets and the comforting atmosphere of his home a stark difference from your own. You watch as he double checks the windows to make sure they're locked tight. He also shows you the lock on your own bedroom door.

"Everythin' is secure, 've triple checked it all," Simon states, turning from the window to look at you. His concern is evident in his eyes, and you nod in response.

"Thank you, Simon. I appreciate all of this," you say, your voice quiet.

He moves over to the wall, crouching down to plug a night light into the wall. He taps it a few times to make sure it works. When it flickers on, he grunts, satisfied. Pushing himself up to standing, he walks over to you.

He gives you a reassuring smile. "No need to thank me. 'S the least I can do. You get some rest. 'M right across the hall if you need anything."

With that, he leaves the room, gently closing the door behind him. You make sure to lock the door behind him as he leaves. You crawl into bed, pulling the covers over your weary body, exhaustion settling in.

You close your eyes, hoping that sleep will offer some reprieve. As you lay there, the events of the night replay in your mind. The fear, the vulnerability, and the violation of your home weigh heavily on you. Slight sounds make you jump in fear, and all of a sudden you start to breath heavily. You can't be in here, not alone.

You stumble out of the room, practically falling into the hallway. The dim glow of the nightlight casts long shadows, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. Determined, you make your way to Simon's door and knock softly.

The door opens, and Simon appears, concern etched on his face. "Everythin' alright, love?"

You can barely form the words, your voice barely a whisper. "Can't stay in there alone."

Without hesitation, Simon opens the door wider, gesturing for you to enter. His room is dark, all lights off. You step inside his room, tugging your hoodie tighter around your body. You settle onto the edge of his bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to ward off the residual fear.

Simon shuts and locks the door behind him, plunging you both into darkness, save for the slight shine of the moon pouring through between a crack in his curtains.

Simon stands in front of you, looking down with a mix of empathy and concern in his eyes. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need. I don't mind."

"Thank you," you manage to say, the vulnerability in your voice more pronounced in the darkness of the room.

Simon hesitates for a moment before flicking on a small bedside lamp. The soft light casts a warm glow across the room, revealing a space that's both lived-in and comforting. You feel a bit more at ease.

He pulls a chair from his desk and sits across from you, leaving a respectful distance. The silence between you is filled with unspoken words, the weight of the night's events hanging in the air. Simon's gaze is unwavering, and you find solace in the fact that he understands what you need without the need for words.

As the minutes tick by, the atmosphere in the room becomes less tense. Simon breaks the silence, his voice a gentle murmur. "I don't want you to go through this alone. You deserve to feel safe, love."

You manage a weak smile, touched by his sincerity. "Thank you, Simon. You really don't have to be doing all of this for me--"

"Don't say that, I want to," he cuts you off gruffly, offended as if you would even suggest that you weren't worthy enough of his care.

His response hangs in the air, and you notice a flicker of something in Simon's eyes—a hint of frustration or something deeper. The unspoken tension lingers, causing you to shift slightly.

"I just... I don't want you to feel unsafe," Simon adds, his voice softer this time. He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, his gaze fixed on yours. "Or alone. Fuckin' hell, if you hadn't been able to get out of there..."

He stops, jaw ticking as he thinks. He can't even say it.

The room feels charged with unspoken emotions, and you sense a vulnerability in Simon that mirrors your own.

"Simon," you say softly, your voice a gentle reassurance, "I feel safe with you."

"I've... 've cared about you for a long time, maybe more than I should," Simon admits, his words hanging in the air like a fragile confession.

The vulnerability in his admission tugs at your heart, and you find yourself pushing yourself up off the edge of the bed, cupping his face in your hands.

"I've cared about you too," you confess, the weight of the unspoken finally lifted.

He looks up, meeting your eyes with a mixture of relief and adoration. Simon's hand reaches up to grasp your wrist lightly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand, his eyes searching yours for confirmation.

"I never want you to feel unsafe or alone again. I can't stand the thought of somethin' happenin' t' you."

Your heart swells at the sincerity of his words, and you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

The conversation lulls, and for a moment, it's just the two of you in the sanctuary of Simon's bedroom. The emotional exhaustion begins to take its toll, and your eyes grow heavy.

He stands from his chair, grasping your upper arms gently, leading you towards his bed once again. Before he sits you down, he looks at you expectantly.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes," you nod, "I've never wanted anything more."

With your permission, he lays you down on his bed, following you into the bed with a contained eagerness. He drags you up until you're settled on a pillow. Simon slides into the mattress right next to you, pulling the covers up and over the both of you. You turn on your side to face him, eyes searching his face just before he turns off the lamp, plunging you both into darkness.

Simon's hand brushes against your forearm, seeking permission yet again. You scoot over until you're flush against him, cheeks heating up at the proximity. You feel Simon's warm presence beside you, his hand finding its place on your waist before he pulls you up against him, cuddling you. Simon's fingers trace patterns on your back, a soothing motion that pulls you deeper into relaxation.

"Get some rest. I'll be right here if you need anything, love," Simon whispers, playing with the ends of your hair.

"Thank you," you whisper into the darkness, your voice barely audible but carrying a depth of gratitude.

He tightens his grip on your waist, a silent affirmation that he's here for you, that you're not alone. The warmth of his touch and the gentle rise and fall of his breath provide a sense of security that eases the lingering tension in your body.

. . . 

The morning light begins to seep through the curtains, casting a soft glow in Simon's room. As you slowly awaken, the events of the previous night come back to you in fragments. You turn slightly to find Simon still asleep beside you, his features softened by the morning light. His arm is draped protectively over you, and a sense of peace settles in the room. For a moment, you simply revel in the quiet stillness, savoring the moment.

As Simon begins to stir, his eyes meet yours, and a sleepy smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you reply, a small smile playing on your lips. The air in the room feels different, more relaxed.

Simon props himself up on one elbow, his gaze searching yours. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I thought I would," you admit, a genuine warmth in your voice. "Still kinda freaked out that people broke in to my apartment, but better."

He nods thoughtfully. "We should probably get up, check in with the police," Simon suggests, but there's a reluctance in his eyes to let go of the warmth of the bed.

You cuddle against him once more, hugging him tightly. His arm comes to wrap around your back, hand splayed across your skin.

"Yeah, we should," you say, pulling away gently as you push yourself out of bed.

"We're goin' together," he tells you. "And I will be installing a new security system in your apartment."

You manage a small smile. "I don't think you understand how much I appreciate you for this."

He sighs as he leads you to his small kitchen. "You never have to thank me for anything, love."

Before you can retort, he turns to you. "Let's get some breakfast in ya. How do you like your eggs?"

[verdantcreek]

soaps journal 🧼

[whiplashrogue]

Twitter art dump: meme edition

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Mine. || Simon "Ghost" Riley

For @glitterypirateduck's “GhostChallenge” writing challenge! I used the following prompts:

9. Alternate universe 100. You're Price, Gaz, or Soap's sister/brother 12. Brothers best friend trope 71. Reader or Ghost rescues the other from a bad date (but 'bad' is used very loosely) 34. Ghost in gray sweatpants. Just. Gray. Sweatpants. 90. Thigh riding 13. Car sex (also loosely) 48. "Is that the best that you can do?" 99. "You're mine."

Rating: E Words: 3.2k~ CW: smutty, thigh riding, no piv, no kissing, mean!Simon, toxic!Simon, fuck buddy!Simon, jealous!Simon, stalker(ish?)!Simon, possessive behavior. Tags: afab!reader, you/your pronouns but no Y/N, rugby AU, friends with benefits/fuck buddies, unrequited feelings (or are they?), toxic-ish relationship?, lying, manipulation?, secret relationship, brother's best friend, creating/baiting jealousy. Summary: Ghost is a cocky, mean rugby player that you can't help but be pining over. But maybe it's not completely unrequited. OR Simon ruins your date with someone else because he's jealous. a/n: I had a plan. I executed said plan. Profit?

Having grown up in a rugby family, you were given little choice but to attend all of your brother's games, both as a wee lad, a young man, and, now.

You were there, with your remaining sisters and your mam, for every single one of Johnny's games, back from when he was a wee one that couldn't even do a proper tackle and would fall in the mud, to now, picked to join the national team.

This means, however, that you've spent your entire childhood, teen years and now young adulthood, surrounded by the lads from your brother's many teams, but, especially, the ones he met as a teen and made a lasting friendship with: John "Cap" Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, and Simon "Ghost" Riley, the bane of your existence.

Johnny's had them over for birthdays, holidays, sleepovers... Not to mention the times you've gone to pick him up from training and were allowed into the locker room, only to get an eyeful of too much bare skin on all those men as they paraded around half-dressed; in towels; in underwear, or even in less than that.

It became a matter of time until you gained someone's attention. No wonder, pretty lass like you, with your sweet smiles and playful quips... coming to pick up your bulky winger brother, of course you'd catch someone's eye.

Kyle Garrick is the team's Hooker... but he's also known as a manwhore, the town bicycle, or whatever you wanna call him. The lads all know that if they go out drinking, Kyle is not going home alone, and, worse, they know that Kyle could and would seduce their cousins, sisters, mothers, and girlfriends, if not kept in check.

That's part of the reason why Johnny nearly had a fucking aneurysm when he caught Kyle outside the locker room three days ago, with a hand pressed against the wall beside your head, looking down at you with a smug little smirk on those perfect lips of his.

He knew what was happening, the way Kyle was looking down at you, the way you were looking up at Kyle, smiling all cutely, backed up against the wall, while his own teammate put the moves on you and talked about taking you out, his free hand gently playing with the strap of the dress you were wearing.

Johnny, however, missed the way Simon, who was standing right behind him, stiffened up and bristled at the sight of Garrick flirting with you. You didn't though. You caught it as soon as Johnny cleared his throat next to you with a "Should I pull up a chair and wait fer ye to be done?". Simon's eyes were glued to you, his brow set, his jaw clenched...

That's what he gets.

Simon, whom you've had a massive crush on for years now, who you pine for, whose attention you crave... and who only ever comes to you for a quick lay...

Simon, who rolls over after sex and tosses you a towel while he's putting on his clothes, telling you to 'hurry up' so he can take you home.

Simon, who always stares at you like he's going to eat you whole every time he lays eyes on you.

Simon, who chugs half of the ice cold water bottles he's given during breaks in practice, and uses the rest to douse himself in water to keep himself cool.

Simon, who knows how your eyes always get drawn to his legs and his bulge in his uniform, and rolls up his shorts before doing lifts, just for you.

Simon, who comes to pick you up whenever you call him, tipsy, from some bar or club when going out with friends.

Simon, who sends you 'u up?' texts at 2 in the morning when he's drunk.

Simon, who scoffs and chuckles whenever you breach the 'us' topic.

Frankly, you're not even actually trying to get with Kyle, especially not with his reputation (nothing against him, it's just not for you), but you needed to do something.

You're tired of waiting around for SImon to get his head out of his arse. You're not a toy, you're not going to stick around and be 'friends with benefits' with him, except barely friends, and with little benefits.

He's getting what he fucking deserves.

You didn't anticipate, however, how upset Johnny would be at the idea of Kyle taking you out. In fact, it was poor planning on your end because from the moment Johnny saw you with Kyle, he attempted, multiple times, to convince you not to go out with him... And if the DMs Kyle sent you are any indication, he also tried to talk Kyle out of it.

On the other hand, Simon didn't once try to intervene. Despite the look he shot you on Tuesday, he did not in fact reach out to talk to you, even now, as Friday comes along and you stride into the restaurant, hanging off Kyle's arm...

There's nothing from him. No texts, no DMs, no calls, nothing... So you guess that it's done, over. He got the memo, finally...

Your phone starts buzzing inside your bag while you and Kyle are halfway through sharing your appetizers. Looking down at your phone, you narrow your eyes when you find Simon's number ringing.

Really? Now? You don't think so.

So, you hang up.

Only for it to start ringing again immediately after. Simon. Again.

Grunting, you end up picking up. "What?"

"I'm outside. Let's get out of here."

You're hyper aware, suddenly, that the host has sat you and Kyle by the windows overlooking the car park... And you can see a car with its headlights on pointing right at you.

"I don't think so."

"Then don't think. Just do what I'm telling you."

Bossy, as always, that's how Simon is. Everything is on his terms, never on yours.

"I'm having dinner." You fight him, as always. This push and pull of yours has been going on for three years now... And Simon always wins. It makes him cocky.

"Not with him you're not. So you better get out here before I go in there and embarrass you."

With a sigh, you nod. "Fine, I'll be right there."

Turning off the call, you turn to Kyle, explaining you have to leave. His brows knit together and he looks at you with puppy eyes, asking why, and, short of a proper explanation, you do the same thing you've been doing to Johnny for the past three years: you lie.

"Johnny said he got a bizarre text from our mam and he tried calling her and she isn't replying."

"She's on these new sleeping pills, so she might have just knocked out while watching telly..."

"But he's worried, and he's on the other side of town, so he asked if I could go home and check on her..."

And Kyle, as much of a manwhore he is, he's also a gentleman, and is one of your brother's best friends. If your mam might be feeling sick, he's, of course, driving you home and helping! He was raised right.

As you leave the car park on the passenger seat of Kyle's BMW, you're hyper aware of the familiar Range Rover trailing you down the road, always a couple of cars behind, but always there... always lurking.

You reach your childhood home in record time, and start fumbling for the keys inside your clutch while Kyle trails up behind you to the front door. "I think I've got this from here, Kyle."

"No way, I love your mum like she's my auntie, if she's not doing well, I'm here to help,"

"No, really, it's okay, I'm sure she's fine..."

"Love, really, I'm not leaving you like this, not before I make sure that she's alright-"

Suddenly, a large, pale hand comes to grip Kyle's shoulder from behind, Simon's eyes shining in the darkness of the night, barely illuminated by the light by the front door, before his full face reveals itself.

Like a Ghost. That's his nickname. Fast, stealthy, there when you least expect it. Both in the rugby pitch and out of it.

"Don't worry, mate, I've got this." Simon announces, causing Kyle (and you) to freeze.

"You're here too?" Kyle asks, seemingly surprised, just as the taller fullback player removes his hand from his shoulder.

"Johnny called me too. Was worried about her being alone if mam wasn't doing well," Simon says naturally, as if he isn't also lying through his teeth, though his eyes never leave yours, catching and not planning on letting it go.

"Okay... well..." Kyle says and looks back and forth between you and Simon, seemingly catching the weird vibe between you, before he nods. "I'll go home then. Text me?" He asks you. "We can have a rain check."

Gulping thickly, your gaze slowly moves back toward Kyle, and you nod with a soft smile. "Yeah, yeah. Of course." You say softly and move over to kiss his cheek, before watching Kyle go back to his car and pull off.

You're turning, keys now in hand, to unlock the door when one of Simon's large hands grabs yours, stopping you. "What are you doing?" He asks you.

"Going home?" You retort as you look up at him, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrapped around yours, clutching lightly. "Ye can go now. Congratulations, you ruined my date. Yer work is done."

Simon chuckles and takes a step closer to you, tilting his head at an angle and regarding you with those dark, deep brown eyes of his, the same ones that always make you feel like he's trying to burn you with his gaze.

"That's cute that there, sweetheart." The Mancunian tells you before he lets go of your hand and pushes you along with a hand on the small of your back, away from your front door. "Get in the fuckin' car." He orders and uses his eyebrows to point at his jeep, his voice carrying the same strong tone that he reserves only for bossing his teammates around during practice.

You know better than to defy him. So you tuck your metaphorical tail between your legs and you nod, moving over to his Rover. He opens the door for you and helps you up by gripping a hand around your forearm, the other bumps you up by the back of the legs.

"How'd ye know where we were?" You end up asking once Simon has driven away from your street, your eyes locked on his as he drives, finally daring to take a proper look at him under the orange light of the street lamps you pass by.

Black hoodie, grey sweatpants, and some kind of running shoes. Those stupid bloody sweatpants... The same ones he usually wears when he shows up at your door, or you at his, or when he goes to get you from work or nights out...

You know he did it on purpose... To pick the most slutty outfit he has as he comes to break up your date with Kyle. The annoying grey sweats that hang off his lip, that hug his thick, muscular thighs, the ones that he never wears boxers under, to make sure you can catch the dick print in the fabric...

And his stupid blonde hair all spiked up with hair gel... It used to be brown, matching his eyes, but he bleaches it now, the idiot... You want to be mad at him, you really do... But when he glances over at you while he's driving, you can't really.

"Garrick's predictable," Simon says, his tongue spitting vitriol as he utters his teammate's name. You'd think he hates the bloke... and right now he might as well do. "Takes birds to the same 5 or 6 places every time. Your brother and I split up to cover half of them each." He explains.

Scoffing, you cross your arms over your chest. "The two of ye have no right." You tell him, scolding him over interrupting your date. "I'm a grown woman."

"Right. That's what you told Johnny. Don't try to use that shite excuse on me." Simon tells you as he turns on the blinker and pulls over.

You haven't driven long. Less than 2 minutes. You could climb out of the jeep if you wanted to and walk home.

"It's not an excuse." You retort as you glare at him, keeping your arms tightly crossed over your chest.

"Right, because you want me to believe you really want to go out with Kyle? Or, let me guess, you 'can change him'?" Simon asks sardonically and laughs as he pulls off his seatbelt.

"I didn't say that." You retort. "I simply said that I can do whatever I want because I'm a grown woman.'

"No..." The blond says in a sarcastic tone. "You... did it because you wanted my attention... And you got it, sweetheart." He replies as he reaches over and unbuckles your seatbelt for you, his hands wrapping around your hip and back, tugging you over the gearshift onto his lap.

"I weren't trying to-" You reply, pushing back against his chest, but only half-heartedly, allowing yourself to be dragged onto him.

"Sure you were. But Gaz, really? Is that the best you can do when it comes to making me jealous?" Simon quips as he makes you straddle his left thigh, bringing you down to sit on it, the gusset of your panties pressed against the warm material of his sweatpants.

His stupid, muscular, hard thigh, the same one you can't help but drool over when you watch him in his tiny rugby shorts during practice and in the proper pitch...

You can feel the taut muscle, even through the fabric, the wait his leg flexes as you straddle it, the way he presses the weight of it against your core, and his fingers dig into your hip before dragging you back and forth.

You bite your lip hard to contain a moan, though he notices the way you're trembling, enjoying the look in your eyes, the way your body warms up, the way your back arches up. It puts a sick smile on his lips, one you wanna wipe off.

"It worked, didn't it?" You reply, trying your best to suppress the pleasure from showing on your face, and instead trying to seem smug. "You're here, right? Came to break up my date for a reason..." You say, clinging onto your little 'gotcha' moment...

Only for Simon to ruin it. "Oh that weren't jealousy, darling." He replies, his smirk beginning to grow into a proud, mocking grin, his dark brows rising and his cheeks puffing up with his smile. "I have no reason to be jealous."

Simon begins rocking you faster and harder against his hard thigh, causing you to whine and mewl, the pleasure building from the friction between your cunt and his thigh.

Your clit is slowly and steadily catching on the fabric, making you tremble and twitch atop him, feeling the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten as it always does whenever Simon starts playing with your clit like this.

"No, actually... Don't have a reason to be jealous about anyone." Simon replies as he leans toward you, pressing his nose against yours so he can properly look you in the eye. "Not Garrick... not Price... not any of those coworkers you're always talking about... nor your old uni mates..." He trails off.

"Simon..." You grumble, bucking your hips against him, wanting to chase your orgasm. How does he do this to you every time? Make you so horny, make you throw away all rationality, make you give in to him?

"I know, sweetheart, I know... Feels good, don't it?" The large man coos at you as he helps you rock against his thigh faster and faster, your hips stuttering and your legs beginning to tremble on either side of him as you steadily grow closer and closer to coming.

"You know what else I know?" Simon teases as he leans over and uses his teeth to nip at your neck and earlobe. "I know that I'll never have a bloody fucking reason to get jealous over you... because You're Mine." He tells you, his tone surprisingly authoritative.

There's something in that claim... the way he finally says the things you've wanted so badly to hear him say... Your climax crashes into you and you go limp against him, your head falling onto his chest and your jaw going slack as you moan incoherently.

"That's it..." Simon coos at you and gives you a couple of pats on your thigh, sliding his hand up over your ass, covered in a new dress you bought on purpose for your date with Kyle. Your cunt is throbbing inside your panties, your walls clenching around nothing and you know you've left a bit of a wet spot on Simon's sweatpants.

"You got off on that, huh?" He teases you in a mocking tone. "Been wanting to hear that for a while now, have you?" You can hear the smirk on his lips as you try to catch your breath and calm your racing heart. He's so fucking mean...

"Piss off, Simon." You retort and pull off him, pushing against his shoulders with both hands and moving pack to the passenger's seat. "Take me home." You say in a huff.

"Of course, sweetheart." Simon replies, his voice still smug and a large shit-eating grin on his lips as he bites his tongue, turning back onto the street.

After Simon pulls over in front of your house again, you hop out, fixing your dress and stomping back toward the house, displeased with his behavior. With him using your feelings for him against him. With him.

His phone rings, echoing through the speakers in the Rover. The small screen on the dash displays Johnny's contact name as Simon is watching you frustratedly fumble for the keys inside your clutch again.

"Been to all three spots. Did you find her?" The Scot's voice comes through the bluetooth speakers as the Mancunian watches you, running his fingers over his thigh where you left a wet stain on his sweats.

"Yeah, mate. Been keeping an eye on them. Kyle didn't try anything and he just dropped her off at home." He replies, watching you for a moment longer.

"Thanks for lookin' out, mate. 'm going for a pint right now..." Soap announces.

"Cheers," Ghost says in a nonchalant date, watching you finally find the keys and open the door, heading inside and turning on the hall light. "You owe me one, had a date planned but spent my evening going after your sister."

"Yeah... yeah... I owe ye." Soap retorts. "Come out me with me, then, 'm sure ye can find a bird at the pub." He offers.

"Nah, mate, 'm knackered. Going to get a good night's sleep." He says and watches you turn to glance at him (or more so his car) through the open door before you turn away again and visibly huff, closing the door behind yourself.

Simon shakes his head, snickering under his breath and saying goodbye to Soap before hanging up the call and grabbing his phone to shoot you a quick text.

"Ur brother is @ pub. Let me in."

Then, he stashes his phone back in his pocket, not even waiting for a reply.

His eyes return to the door and wait patiently, just a couple of seconds go by before you're opening the front door again. Simon smiles seeing that, turning off his car and hopping out.

His girl is so obedient.

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