#☆simon riley

[serialkilluh1996]

☠︎︎𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄☠︎︎

Possessive-Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female-Reader

Request (summarized): Possessive!Boyfriend!Ghost

Requested anonymously

Themes: fluff

୨୧ Stay in for the night. Ghost doesn't want you to go out alone. Besides, he'll spoil you rotten anyway. ୨୧

CW: use of '☆☆☆' in place of reader's name, implied age gap (it's up to you how big it is) possessive behavior (obviously),Ghost is a little rough with you, mentions of drugging, Contact me if I need to add more.

Ghost had issues. Mommy issues, daddy issues, anger issues; you name it, he's struggling with it. But, God, did my guy have trust issues. He had a habit of checking both your phones for the time just in case one of your devices were off by a minute or so. He initially couldn't help being this way. He's just so anxious. And it makes him...possessive.

Ghost sits leaned back on the couch, legs spread like warm butter on a pancake, still in uniform as he was too lazy tired to take it off. His hands are clasped together as he stares blankly at the TV, not even fully focused on whatever bullshit 90s romcom rerun was playing. He couldn't think about that right now. Not knowing you were in the other room, doing God knows what.

Simon had a heavy urge to burst in to see what you were doing, wondering if he'd find you sexting some random guy on tumblr (or whatever other social media platforms you had), but he knows even the slight implication that he thinks you're cheating will piss you off, so he stays in place, brown eyes hazed with thought.

His head whips instantly, his mind processing as you walk past him in some skimpy cheetah print (favorite color) dress, some chunky black heels, and your favorite necklace. He gruffs lowly, standing to his feet as you reach for the door.

He grabs your hand, turning you around.

"Where're you goin'?" His voice is low, yet animated, pointing out his frustration at your lack of even acknowledging your own boyfriend's presence. "Out." You answer flatly.

Ooh, he did NOT like your attitude. His grip on your wrist tightens. "Aren't you a smartass? Out where, love?" His tone is more sarcastic. "My friend's house. She's throwing a party." You respind, now frowning at his grasp on you.

Oh. Hell. No.

"Tell her you can't make it." "What?" "Ya heard me, love. Cancel. You're not going." He looks down at you, his towering stature adding a certain predatory feel to his serious gaze. "You can't decide if I go. You're not my dad." You pouted.

His brows loosen at that, eyes widening a bit. "You always do this, Simon. I'm not your little girl, I'm a grown damn woman. You think you can just boss me around cause I'm younger and shorter than you but you cannot keep doing this to me. You keep me locked in this house like a pet. You don't trust me." You snatch your hand away, folding your arms.

"...☆☆☆... baby. I do trust you. You're the only one I trust. It's everyone else I'm worried about. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I let you go out and something bad happens when I can prevent it." He explains, his hands easing into his pockets with guilt. He knows your right. He's always like this. Keeping you on such a tight leash.

You sigh, your gaze flickering between his eyes, seeing the shame. He was like a puppy being scolded for chewing to shoes. "...fine. I'll stay." You give in, walking past him and back up the stairs. He sighs, turning to watch you leave.

You lay in bed, arms folded as Ghost rests his head on your tummy. He looks up at you, pretty brown eyes filled with love as his thumbs caresses your hips. He's finally in something more comfortable, the fabric of his shirt between your thighs feeling oh so warm and cozy.

Neither of you spoke a weird, unsure if you were even able to talk to eachother. You were still a little cranky about his attitude, and he was still trying to suppress the guilt of pressuring you to stay.

"I'll make it up to you, love." "I'm sure you will." You respond flatly. "Don't be so uptight. I'll take you to your favorite restaurant tomorrow and we can get you a new band shirt from Spencer's." He rubs a hand across your stomach. "Bribery doesn't work on me, Simon." You turn away.

"I'll add on a new handbag and a little sweet treat too." He offers in a singsong voice. "Well,...I do want a little sweet treat." You run a hand through his dusty blonde hair. "Good." He squeezes your hips. "I'll buy you anything you want as long as you let me keep you safe." He smirks. You couldn't be mad at him forever. Not when he was so cunning.

୨୧ You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself.

[mcntsee]

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

[l0velysmut]

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

[robinthisbank]

TikTokers are such pussies when it comes to ships. “B-but they’re not canon 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😖😖” honey back in my day we shipped characters from entirely different medias uphill both ways in the snow

[hidingwhere]

Husband Simon Riley who has scared the shit out of you so many times and so badly that on certain occasions you’ve almost cried.

He doesn’t do it on purpose; he swears. He’s just so silent when he moves that you don’t even realise he’s right behind you until you turn around and let out a loud scream.

One night, you’d gotten up in the middle of the night to go to the toilet. You couldn’t be bothered to turn the light on in your on-suite but as you were washing your hands, your saw a massive figure in the doorway. You let out a blood-curdling scream, only realising it was Simon when he switched on the light and looked at you as if he were crazy.

However, when he saw you tip your head into your hands and saw your shoulders shake, heavy with emotion from fear and shock, he knew he had messed up. He gently pulled you into his arms, carrying you back to bed and apologising profusely.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you that bad.”

“Should’ve spoken so you knew I was there, yeah?”

He makes it up to you eventually and promises to start speaking whenever he walks behind you in the future.

[mellounir]

just needed to map out his scars for science reasons, I promise...

[readwritealldayallnight]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who from the moment he laid eyes on you, has only ever referred to you as his wife

You, this sweet little thing, running through the halls on base one day when you turn a corner and nearly run headfirst into the Lieutenant, who’s walking alongside Soap

“Oh! Sorry about that, sir.” You told him, never slowing down in your hurried pace as you snuck around his large frame and continued down towards whatever you were evidently late for

The only reason his gaze had followed your retreating form, was that unlike everyone else, you had met in his eyes when you spoke, even smiled warmly up at him

That one smile and he was done for

“Who was tha’?” The sergeant had questioned, seeing Ghost’s attention still fixated on you.

“Think that was my wife.”

“Yer what?!”

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who makes it a point to let everyone know that you are in fact his wife

Well, everyone apart from you apparently

He would certainly never abuse his position as a Lieutenant, but some new recruit had the audacity to whistle at you as you walked by? Well 100 laps around the base don’t exactly run themselves

Another soldier saved you a seat next to him in a briefing? He can enjoy scrubbing toilet seats for the next week in that case

Someone actually had the bollocks to ask you for your phone number? Perfect, he needed a volunteer for demonstrating hand to hand combat to the recruits, medics on standby of course

By the time he properly introduces himself to you for the first time, it’s understood by everyone else around that you are, for all intents and purposes, Mrs Riley

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who listens to you tell him your name in a voice that resembles music to his ears, hardly bothering to remember your last name, seeing as it’ll be changing soon enough anyway

“You can call me anythin’ you want, love.” His deep, gravelly voice had sent shivers down your spine, cheeky smirk widening beneath his mask. “So long as you call me, that is.”

By the end of your first date, (you were sitting alone in the dining hall and he wordlessly joined you what do you mean this isn’t a date) he’s wondering if you’ll insist on a ceremony or if he can sweep you away to the nearest courthouse and make this official, slipping a ring onto you finger and his cock into you

You had laughed when he put his number into your phone and named himself ‘Husband’, certain that the man was only messing with you, some kind of hazing that you apparently weren’t aware Lieutenants played on the new communications hire, but it was only fair seeing as he’d saved your contact under ‘Wife’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who is over the moon every time you play along, even if he knows you believe you’re only playing

“Ach, thanks Lt. Just what I needed.” Soap said, seeing Ghost’s approaching form enter the common room, holding a steaming cup of tea in each hand

“S’for my wife. Get your own.” The older man gruffly replied, sliding the mug onto the side table next to where you’re curled up on the couch, reading a book

“Aw, thank you honey.” You giggled, smiling up as him with an expression he thinks would taste even sweeter than honey if he were to run his tongue across your upturned lips

“Happy wife, happy life, sergeant.” Ghost shrugged, ignoring the other man’s pout, landing next to you and reaching an arm behind you across the back of the couch

“God, maybe I really should keep you.” You’d laughed, reaching a leg out to dig your socked toes into his muscled thigh, teasing him

Grasping your foot into his large, strong hands, he began massaging it, uncaring that you were only two of the many people in the common room, not when you looked at him like that, smiling together as though you truly were nothing more than a married couple

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who surprised you one day, insisting he needed your help with something crucial off base, and drove you to a local shopping outlet to look at none other than dresses

“Is there some sort of party happening?” You’d questioned, confused out of your mind

“Suppose you could consider it a party.” He’d answered, leading you through the many racks of dresses, you noticed were all, very conveniently, white

“Now while you’re lookin’ through dress sizes,” he’d added, taking your left hand in both of his. “You know your ring size? Got my own shoppin’ to do ‘round here.”

Series masterlist

[khioneee]

simon’s first instinct was always to protect you—before himself, before anyone or anything else. whether in dangerous situations or small, everyday moments, his reflexes kicked in without hesitation. every action was a subtle yet undeniable promise: i’ll always keep you safe.

sidewalk rule? it was non-negotiable. he always made sure he was between you and the street, shielding you from traffic. if you drifted too close to the curb, his hand would find the small of your back, guiding you firmly to his side.

“stay here,” he would murmur, his tone gentle yet resolute, as if daring the world to try anything.

whenever the car came to a sudden halt, simon’s arm instinctively shot out in front of you, bracing against your chest. the seatbelt should’ve been enough, but he never trusted anything more than his own reflexes.

“you alright?” he’d ask, his hand lingering just a little longer, scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

in a crowded space, simon always led the way, carving a path with his broad frame. his hand would stay on yours or at your back, making sure you stayed close. and on a full train, he caged you in without hesitation, using his size to shield you from the press of strangers. his arms rested casually against the poles, but his stance was clear—no one would get too close.

whether you were climbing into the car or walking through a door, simon’s hand would always reach out to guide your head, ensuring you didn’t bump it. in the kitchen, he’d gently tilt your head away from open cabinets, all without thinking. it was pure instinct—small actions that spoke louder than words.

one night at 3 a.m., a car backfired down the street, the sound tearing through the stillness. before you could even react, simon had you pinned beneath him, his body shielding yours entirely. his heart raced, convinced it was a bomb. even after realizing it wasn’t, he didn’t let go, whispering against your ear, “i’ve got you, lovie.”

you could wear whatever you wanted—simon never cared. he wasn’t possessive, but confident. no one would dare glance too long in your direction, not with him at your side. and if anyone was foolish enough to try, one sharp look from simon was enough to make them think twice.

with simon, protection wasn’t just instinct—it was devotion. in every gesture, every glance, every step, he ensured you knew: your safety will always come first. because to simon, loving you meant keeping you safe—always, no matter the cost.

[beloveds-embrace]

Telling Ghost/König you are too heavy for him to pick up or sit on his face, and he doesn’t say anything at first so you think he just accepted it even if your heart kinda twinged a little in pain because you know you are just not skinny enough-

Only for him to send you a video the next day: in the gym, looking mighty hot in a compression shirt and sweatpants just a touch low on his hips, and lifting a bar with ease. On a closer look? The weighs attached to the bar weigh far more than you do. And he so easily maneuvers and controls and manhandles it…

Between the heat curling in your stomach, face pink and thighs clenched shut, you almost miss the incoming text.

Never too heavy for me, doll.

[majinbangus]

You're sprawled on the couch when he comes in the room, eyes zeroing in on you instantly. He doesn't give you the chance to greet him, stalking up to you as if you're his prey. Which, in this moment, you probably are.

It's not hard to tell he's still in that soldier headspace he gets stuck in sometimes. He looks tired. Stressed.

You're about to get up and ask him what he wants, what he needs, once he's looming over you, but the words die out when his hands shoot out and start squeezing your breasts.

You don't stop him, but you do laugh a little, incredulous. "What are you doing?"

"Fluffin' your tits." He's gruff, both in tone and groping. "What's it look like?"

"That's not how- nevermind." You chuckle and fondly roll your eyes. "Why?"

"Cuz they're mine," he says as if that's reason enough, and you suppose it is.

He let's go to get on the couch with you, batting your legs open to settle between them. The man practically flops on top of you with enough force to push an oof out of your lungs, but you can tell he's careful not to crush you entirely. His arms shove underneath your body, squeezing tight as he nuzzles his face against your newly fluffed breasts. You bring a hand up to scratch the back of his scalp the way you know he likes, and he sighs, melting into your body.

"Just like a big baby." Your chest bounces with silent laughter, and he gives a little sleepy warning nip to your clothed breast.

"Stop gigglin'. Tryna nap."

You almost laugh harder. He's not dispproving your point, but if this is what he needs, who are you to deny him?

"Alright, alright, I'll let my soldier rest." You calm yourself, softening your voice. "And I'll be here when you wake, too."

You know you're forgiven when he grunts and presses a kiss to where he bit.

[tojisun]

sugar daddy simon but he doesn’t know how this arrangement actually works so sometimes, in the middle of the night, you get a wire transfer.

you would always send simon a message regarding the recent activity on your account; what once started as, “hi mr. riley, it seems like you have made an incorrect deposit into my account,” turned into, “????” because of how frequent it got.

sometimes, simon has legitimate reasons — “i want to see you tomorrow,” or “i’m taking you to the bahamas this weekend.”

but often, his reason is just — “i’m thinking about you.”

this one makes your heart churn the most, and you insist on returning the money back to him because thinking about you isn’t worth five-thousand pounds directly transferred into your account. but simon insists; says you’re too good for him so you deserve more than he could offer.

(“but i’m a jealous man,” he grunted in your ear when he had you bent over his island. “so yer mine, aren’t y’kid? all mine?”

you moaned out your yes’s, nodding and crying out that no one does it better than him. that no one could ever compare; no one could come close.)

he is… an odd man. you love him, in spite of.

you still remember the first time this whole wiring money happened, and after his comfort and placations, you had at least offered to meet up with him to make his deposit worth more than his thoughts about you, but simon had just…

> Oh. I’m out of the country.

yeah. he’s your strange dork. your beloved daddy.

(you’d kill for him.)

[maskedbyghost]

when simon wakes up in a hospital, the last thing you expect is for him to grab your hand, pull you close, and say, “hey, there you are, love.” his voice is so soft, so sure, it leaves you speechless. you stare at him, half in shock, because this is ghost—simon riley, the one person who’s kept every feeling locked up.

“simon, do you… do you remember anything?” you ask, testing the waters.

he blinks, looking at you with confidence. “of course, i remember. you’re my wife.”

you freeze. his wife? this is new, and you’re not sure where he got the idea, but before you can correct him, johnny walks in, taking one look at the two of you and biting back a grin. he leans in, whispering to you, “maybe just… go with it for now, eh?” he’s got that teasing glint in his eye, and something tells you there’s no harm in humoring simon for a bit, if it can be helpful for his recovery.

so, you go along with it. and to your surprise, simon doesn’t act confused—in fact, he’s more open with you than he’s ever been. suddenly, he’s holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, always looking for you, keeping you close, calling you “love” or “darlin’” in front of everyone. he’s even got that soft smile every time you catch his eye, one that makes it hard to remember this isn’t real.

the team’s amused but supportive, playing along with the whole story. simon keeps asking you little things, like what your favorite meal is, or how you usually spend your days when he’s away, as if filling in gaps in a life he believes you share. you find yourself answering with things that feel so genuine, and the way he listens—focused, attentive—feels more intimate than anything you’ve shared before.

one day, you’re patching up a minor scrape on his hand, and he just watches you, eyes soft, like he’s memorizing every detail. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. it’s so genuine, so open, that for a second, you forget it’s all just part of his memory loss.

then, one night, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, eyes serious. “do you ever think about us?” he asks softly, like he’s trying to get at something just out of reach. “how we’d be if things were… different?”

you’re not sure how to answer because there’s no script for this. “sometimes,” you admit, feeling a pang of something deep and unspoken. and for the first time, you’re almost grateful he can’t remember—because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only reason he’s letting himself be this vulnerable with you.

as the days pass, you start catching little glimpses, small things that make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. he catches you watching him once, and instead of asking why, he just gives you this little smile, one that feels like he’s in on the secret. and just when you’re starting to think this is all some kind of twisted dream, he pulls you aside.

“i know i’m supposed to remember,” he whispers, “but i don’t want this to end. not yet.”

it’s in that moment you realize the truth. he’s been aware all along—he’s been pretending just as much as you, holding on to this fragile, temporary illusion because, maybe, he needs it just as much as you do.

--------------------------------------------

hii!! i'm backkk!! send some requests plsss, byee <333

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[mcntsee]

me when I reach the angst part of the angsty fic that I specifically chose for the angst

[deargaz]

i do usually stick with the idea that simon’s got some insane stamina and can go for multiple rounds but something about simon being spent after one round is just so hilarious to me.

in his defense, your tight cunt’s, well, too greedy — sucking his poor cock into her until he’s all drained out and just laying limp on the bed, trying to catch his breath, fearing for his life too maybe.

“you’re tired?” you asked, the genuine innocence in your voice making him grumble, his hand gesturing you on top of him. not your fault, anyone would assume this big guy’s got more in his store.

“not really been doin’ all this before meetin’ you, love. don’t have the time in my job.” he panted softly, calloused hands gripping your hips as you settled on top of him.

“but you have time for me?” you smiled. his heart skipped a beat, and in that moment, he had decided that if he’d die like this, this was the best way.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

[lxvvie]

Simon who married your family when he married you.

He wasn't used to it, the open affection your relatives showered him with. He would die before he admitted it, but he was nervous as shit when he first met them. First impressions sometimes created lasting impressions and he didn't want you to feel torn if shit went left.

And then he met them and "Welcome to the family!" That's the first thing that your mother said when meeting him. Okay.

"Well sit down, baby. We don't bite none," is what your grandmother greeted him with. Sure, why not.

And then it snowballed from there.

He'd never been one for pet names. Didn't really care for 'em until you came along, but every time your grandmother calls him Baby he melts. He bloody fuckin' melts. A huge puddle of goo. Simon realizes why you're so protective of her and he becomes the same way, too. He's her Baby and she's his Girl. He doesn't make the rules, he only enforces them. You can only roll your eyes and shake your head as your grandmother gleefully continues to indulge his sweet tooth.

Your parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings weren't any better, calling him Son, Brother, Nephew, Cousin and similar, clapping his back, including him in things, inquiring about his wellbeing, and bloody fuckin' hell Simon realizes he actually has a family now whether he likes it or not.

It didn't truly hit him until you two wed and your parents, your mom with tears in her eyes and your father beaming with pride, declared that they had a new son to love.

A new son. A new brother. A new nephew. A new cousin. A new baby.

A new family all his own.

And fuck if Simon didn't feel the lump forming in his throat.

[leafavleo]

GHOST uses to workout quite frequently, because of his job in military. He never admits it loud, but he likes to be in good shape. He likes the glances that you’re sending him when he’s taking off his shirt on purpose to present you his muscular back, covered in black ink tattoos.

There’s only one thing that he hates during his daily routine — push ups. He doesn’t know why he dislikes to do that workout, it’s just happen. He prefers other exercises, but while he’s at home, without the gym equipment, it’s just what’s left for him to stretch those arms muscles more.

But fortunately, recently you’ve got an idea of how to make this workout more pleasant for him. You find yourself on the floor, underneath Ghost while he’s grunting and sweating. It’s not what you think it is, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t making you feel in a certain way.

You like the view from down there. He’s shirtless and the only piece of clothing that he wears are the grey sweatpants. The way he’s looking and sounding makes you want to wrap your legs around his waist and just keep him down.

“Don’t try to give up, because you’ll squish me.” You giggle once Ghost makes another push up, giving you a quick kiss in meantime.

“Not gonna, doll.” He says back in breathy tone, pushing himself back up. He grunts again and lower himself down, giving you another kiss.

You make this exercise quite enjoyable for him.