#Simon Ghost Riley x female reader

[dmitriene]

simon ghost riley comforting you during sex, hoarse, throat gravelly words that come rumbling through his chest, syrupy in your ringing ears, the sweet praises of how good you are, the provocative, purred questions of if you want to be taken care of, while you already are, with your back against his chest, shaking legs spread wide, showing where you split open raw and tender on his cock.

so proud of how you take him, arching your back sweetly as he bounces you up and down, slow, languid, fucking your soppy, warm cunt along his veiny, fat girth, calloused fingers pressing from beneath your doughy thighs, holding your legs up properly, as he nuzzles the side of your face, feverishly warm from pleasure, with the tip of his crooked nose.

moaning in response to his words, questions, hiccuping when the engorged tip of his cock ruts against your little gummy spot, making you gush, viscous slick seeping out of your stretched hole down, glistening against your smooth skin and his cock, pounding shallowly inside of you, making you cling to his fingers, clawing, twisting.

he never leaves your head, carving in there with his mellow words and gentle handling, teasing, then stroking, making you cry out on the lengthy cock that batters in your sensitive pussy, his hands enwrapping yours steadily, cloaking, making you hold onto your legs with him, while his pudgy stomach rubs and rolls against your back, your every softness pressed against his.

the sweet talk keeping clogging your ears, dripping from his chapped lips, pressed right against your ear, down the hinge of your jaw, nudging against your open in gasping keens mouth, silencing you by swallowing them with kisses, with inflamed, raspy whispers of your name and small petnames that keep going, enveloping you while you yield under his words.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[arcadia-smith]

Part 1 // Part 2

Part 3

Thirteen months ago.

The night had fallen quietly over the base, a rare moment of calm after weeks of relentless missions. The air was thick with the scent of rain and warm earth, the kind of night that seemed to hold its breath.

You had found him on the rooftop, perched on the edge with his mask off, the balaclava folded beside him like a discarded second skin. His face was a secret few were ever trusted with, yet tonight, he had let you see him without hesitation.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked softly, approaching with cautious steps.

Simon didn’t answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, the city lights a dull glow beneath the low-hanging clouds.

“Didn’t try,” he admitted, voice rough and quiet.

You didn’t press for more. Instead, you sank down beside him, shoulder brushing his, the warmth of him grounding you. Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that spoke of trust, of something unspoken but deeply felt.

“I used to come up here when I first got stationed,” you murmured after a while. “Felt like the only place I could breathe.”

He glanced at you, the faintest curve of curiosity in his expression. “Why?”

You hesitated, then exhaled, a soft, almost rueful smile touching your lips. “Didn’t trust anyone back then. Always felt like I had to be on guard. Up here, it was just... quiet.”

Simon seemed to understand without you needing to explain further. His eyes softened, just a little, and he shifted slightly closer.

“You trust me?” he asked, the question low and serious.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, searching for something in those unreadable eyes.

“I do,” you whispered.

Something shifted then—not sudden, not jarring, but inevitable. His hand, rough and calloused, found yours, fingers brushing, then lacing together with a quiet certainty.

“I shouldn’t let anyone close,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Neither should I,” you replied, your voice just as quiet.

And yet, there you were, two people who had seen too much, carried too many ghosts, finding something like solace in each other.

The space between you disappeared slowly, like the tide rising, gentle but unstoppable. His forehead pressed to yours, a fragile connection that felt like a lifeline.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You didn’t. Couldn’t.

Your lips brushed his, a tentative, searching kiss that quickly deepened, as though you both realized, at the same moment, how much you needed this—needed each other.

That night, you didn’t talk about the war, the missions, or the inevitable goodbyes that haunted soldiers like you. You spoke in touches, in shared warmth, in the way his arms wrapped around you as though he could shield you from the world, and in the way you let him, for once, be something other than a weapon.

When dawn crept in, soft and golden, you woke to find him still there, watching you with an expression that made your chest ache.

“You stayed,” you whispered.

His hand brushed your cheek, a touch so tender it unraveled you.

“Didn’t want to leave,” he admitted, and for once, Simon Riley wasn’t Ghost—just a man who had, against all odds, let himself care.

Neither of you knew back then how fleeting that peace would be, how betrayal and regret would one day replace what you found that night.

Present.

Ghost watches you, his gaze unreadable. He has always been good at hiding his emotions, but you know him too well.

You can see the moment the realization hits him. The way his fingers curl slightly at his sides. The way his shoulders tense, like a wire pulled too tight.

“You could’ve told me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And what would you have done, Simon? Huh? You would’ve called it treason. You would’ve tried to stop me.”

His jaw tightens. “Damn right I would’ve.”

You nod, as if that confirms everything. “That’s why I couldn’t tell you.”

Silence.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Then, finally, Ghost speaks. His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges.

“Did you find him? Or get him back?”

Your breath catches.

And Ghost sees it—the flicker of something broken in your expression before you mask it.

Slowly, you shake your head. “No.”

Ghost exhales through his nose, staring at you like you're something he doesn’t quite recognize. And maybe, in a way, you aren't the woman he knew anymore.

His fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t.

“Was it worth it?” he asks, voice tight.

“I don’t know.”

Ghost studies you for a long moment, then, without another word, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving you alone with the weight of your choices.

Seven months ago.

The phone call came at midnight. You had been back from deployment for two days, body still aching, mind fogged with exhaustion. When your burner phone buzzed, you almost ignored it.

But something made you answer the call.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was cold. Mechanical. “We have him.”

You sat up, instantly awake. “Who is this?” you glanced at Simon who seemed to be sound asleep. You kicked the sheets off as you got out of the bed.

A pause. Then: “if you want him you’ll do exactly as we say.”

The room closed in around you, the air thick and unbreathable. “Who is this?”

“He’s alive for now, your brother. But that could change. You know how these things work.”

Your mind raced, trying to catch up with the impossibility of it all. Just a month ago you discovered your brother was still alive, but you couldn't find any trace of him. And now this?

“What do you want?” you whispered.

“Information. Access. Your task force has resources we need. And you—you’re going to give it to us.”

Your stomach twisted violently. “I can’t. They’ll know.”

“Then he dies.”

The line went dead.

Weeks Ago.

It started small.

A classified report here. A mission route there. Nothing major. Nothing that would raise alarm bells. You justified it by telling yourself no one was getting hurt. That you could control this.

That you could protect them all.

But the demands grew. The faceless voices on the other end of the line didn’t care about your moral boundaries. They pushed, and you gave, and soon there was no way out.

The night before it all fell apart, Simon had found you on the rooftop of their base, the spot you two came to share on quiet nights, cigarette smoke curling around you like a veil.

“You’ve been different,” he said, leaning beside you.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. “Long missions will do that to you.”

“No. It’s more than that.”

You felt the weight of his gaze, heavy, piercing. “You can talk to me,” he added softly.

And for a split second, you almost did. Almost told him everything. The betrayal. The blackmail. The impossible choice strangling you every waking hour.

But you couldn't. Not until the mission was done, not until they've released your brother.

So you took a step closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder "I'm okay, Simon.."

Note: I promise, the next part will make more sense. This is more of flashbacks to give off the betrayal Simon truly feels.

Taglist: @carolinevoight @dvmbk1tty @niazurzolo

[the-palelady]

when cowboy!ghost is leaving the clinic after his usual visit to his favorite nurse he always makes sure to let her know he loves her. his job is dangerous. last thing he wants is for him to go out without her knowing how much she means to him.

so one day he gives your lower back a pat, whispering a “love ya, sweetheart,” before turning to leave.

however, you don’t say it back.

simon stops dead in his tracks while you continue on about your business. for a moment he waits it out, maybe you didn’t hear him? maybe something else caught your attention and you had to take care of it before responding?

but your response never comes.

so he turns to face you, his expression nothing short of annoyed, eyes narrowed, lips pulled tight under the bandana that obscures the lower half of his face.

your back is turned to him when he stomps over towards you. he minds your hands of course, making sure you aren’t holding any of the doctor’s instruments before he turns you around, jolting you from your work.

your eyes meet a raging fire, his pupils almost dilated. your cheeks are pinched between his thumb and fingers, lips pursed.

“si-“

his voice is a deep rumble, thunder clapping in the distance.

“i said…i love ya, honey. now i know that pretty mouth of yours hasn’t forgotten how to say it, or do i need to give it a reminder?”

[rileyslibrary]

After suffering a gunshot wound, you wake up in a hospital bed with Ghost sitting by your side. Unfortunately, the effects of anaesthesia leave you unable to recognise him and, worse, confuse him with someone else.

A/N: Fluff. Based on a request I received a while ago. Hope you like it, anon!

———————————————————————

A machine on your left beeps rhythmically. The taste of something metallic lingers in your mouth, and the iodine smell stinks your nostrils. Your eyes open slowly, but the bright ceiling light forces them shut again. You lick your lips and attempt to swallow a couple of times. Dry. Your mouth is dry. You need water. Your hand moves towards your face, but a low, raspy voice advises you against it.

“Careful now,” it says, and a hand gently grabs your wrist. “Don’t pull the IV off.”

You turn your head towards the figure beside you and squint. It’s a man, but your blurry vision doesn’t help you identify him. Your eyes travel to your wrist and focus on the closest part of him: a skeleton’s hand.

You try to shake your hand off his grip, but it turns out futile. Frustrated, you give up and raise your middle finger at him.

“Not my time yet,” you declare. “Fuck off.”

“Pardon?” he asks.

“Not ready to go yet,” you reply, tucking your middle finger in your palm and lifting it back up again. “And also, fuck off.”

The man releases your wrist, placing your hand gently beside you. He clears his throat and leans forward. Though your vision remains blurry, you spot what looks like a human skull with a hood over it.

“How are you feeling, love?” he asks, his tone softer.

“How am I feeling, love?” you repeat. “Did Hell improve their customer service?”

“I’m not-” The man begins but pauses. He sighs, shakes his head and rests his elbows on his thighs. “Never mind.”

“Where am I?” You ask.

“Hospital.” He replies. “You took a bullet.”

Directing your attention to your body, you feel a dull throb in your chest. You wince as your fingers brush against the bandages.

“You are joking.” You reply and slap your hand on the bed. “Why? How?”

“Well,” He says and tilts his head to the side. “You exchanged a few shots with the enemy, your gun ran out of bullets, his didn’t, and here we are.”

“My gun?” You ask, shocked. “I have a gun?”

“Several.” He nods.

“SEVERAL?” You shout. “Why would I possibly need several guns?”

“It’s your job, love.” He replies.

“My job is to have several guns?” you ask. “And shooting at people?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he explains, “but it’s mainly for defence.”

“Well,” you shrug and wince at the pain. “Doesn’t look like I’m that good at defence—especially for having several guns.”

“I was really worr—”

“Water,” you interrupt and gesture at your mouth. “I need water.”

“Doctor said it’s not the time for water yet,” he replies.

“Why?” you ask, pretending to check a non-existent wristwatch. “What time is it?”

“No, love,” he replies and muffles a chuckle. “Doctor said you need to wait until you have some water.”

“You throw the ‘love’ thing a little too freely,” you mumble, licking your lips and lifting your index finger. “I’d be really careful if I were you.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Why?”

“I,” you say and point at yourself, “got a boyfriend, thank you very much.”

“Oh,” he exclaims and tilts his head. “Is that so.”

“Yup,” you nod. “And he can kill you.”

“Can he?”

“Can?” You say, and a smug smile forms on your dry lips. “He will absolutely, one hundred and a thousand per cent kill you.”

“Is he that good?” He asks.

“I mean,” you shrug, motioning at the bandages on your chest. “He’s much better than I am.”

“Oh wow,” he exclaims and leans forward. “Is he as good of a boyfriend as he is a shooter?”

“Far from it,” you reply, letting your hand fall to your side.

The man doesn’t speak. He doesn’t seem that comfortable all of a sudden. He shuffles in his chair, trying to find a better position, and when he does, he clasps his hands together.

“Go on,” he finally says. “Spill it.”

“Ok, so,” you begin, “first things first, he doesn’t listen to me when I want to vent, and whenever he does, all he says is nonsense.”

“The lad gives you solutions,” he snaps, “and you call them nonsense?”

“I don’t want solutions, man,” you reply, shaking your head. “I want him to just listen to me.”

“Even if the solutions he provides are literally the answers to your suffering?”

“Even then.” You confirm.

“Gotcha,” he nods. “What else?”

“Oof,” you sigh, “how much time do you have?”

“I’m immortal,” he reminds you, “plus the next reaping is in five hours.”

“Oh boy,” you reply. “Business not going that well lately, huh?”

“Not many deaths to take care of,” he spits. “I guess some people could use some serious training when it comes to their aim.”

“Speaking of training,” you say, “he’s always at work and never spends much time with me.”

“The guy’s trying to spend as much time with you as he can, for fucks sake!” he shouts, throwing his hands up. “He even lied to get you on his team!”

“How do you know he put me on his team?” You ask.

“I keep a close eye on him.” He replies.

“What did he lie about?”

“Your precision in aiming,” he jokes and motions for you to continue. “Next one.”

“I can’t think of anything else,” you reply. “Other than he doesn’t say how much he loves me.”

“You’re having a laugh now, aren’t you?” He says, and his tone feels almost threatening. “He’s showing it to you daily; offering advice, keeping you close to him, even risking the possibility of being accused of nepotism for crying out loud! He doesn’t need to say it as well for you to know it!”

“It’s just nice to hear it sometimes,” you sigh and twist a thread from the bed sheet. You turn your head slightly toward him, and he lowers his head to the ground.

“How about you?” You ask. “You have a girlfriend?”

“I do,” he confirms.

“Shut up!” You shout, widening your eyes and immediately closing them back again. “Where did you guys meet?”

“Hell,” he replies. “Right in the pits of it.”

“How is she?” You ask.

“Perfect.” He states.

“Bullshit,” you murmur. “No one’s perfect.”

“She is to me.” He says, shrugging.

“Do you love her?” You ask.

“Absolutely,” he replies, nodding slowly. “One hundred and a thousand per cent I do.”

———————————————————————

[amaranthinespirit]

cowboy!simon riley and city girl!reader when your car breaks down on the side of the road in the countryside

you weren't from around here, it was obvious in the way you dressed, and acted. hell, even the car you drove just screamed that you were from the city.

though if that didn't give it away, maybe it was the fact that your tiny little car was now parked—broken down—on the side of the road. a hand on your hip and the other wiping the sweat from your forehead as the blistering sun beat down on you.

you were convinced you were royally fucked—that you would be stuck to a night in your car. there wasn't any service, and there sure as hell wasn't anyone around.

at least that's what you thought until a massive, dirtied truck pulled off the road in front of your car. you swallowed a knot in the back of your throat that only travelled down to your stomach as you watched a tall, intimidating guy step out from the battered vehicle. his boots kicked against the road, scraping the tiny, loose rocks on the asphalt.

a cowboy hat hung low on his head, a fully black bandana tied around his face that covered his nose and lips, leaving only his dark, daunting eyes to sear into yours. his thumb hooked through the denim belt loop of his jeans, his other arm swaying by his side as he walked to the front of your car, which looked pathetically small next to his.

a quick look under the hood told him all he needed to know—with you and the car. he saw the way your eyes seemed to linger on his exposed arms after he had rolled up his sleeves. the dirt smudges along his skin, the dark ink of his tattoo and the veins that strained as he tinkered through the different parts of your car.

he claimed that he could fix it tomorrow—he didn't have the tools with him! he claimed, but really, they were lying in the bed of his truck, but he didn't want to let such a pretty little thing like you go so quickly. he wanted to have a bit of fun first!

so he offered you a nice stay at his little farmhouse, with the promise of warm food and a comfortable bed to sleep on, and who were you to resist? it was either that, or sleep in the backseat of your car—and you knew which one you would've preferred.

"fuck, such a pretty little thing, ain't ya?" he praises with a beer in one hand, the other veined hand wrapped up in your silky hair, helping your body in pulling back into his cock. the couch creaked and rocked under the consistent shifting weight as he pistoned his hips forward.

the rocking of his hips was restrained in order to not spill his beer—otherwise he would've loved to completely wreck you on his meaty cock.

"gon' hafta keep ya around, ain't tha' right?" he grunted before taking a swift sip from the bottle.

when the beer got to the end of the bottle and he set the glass down, you were in trouble. with a swift movement, he had pulled out enough so only the angry tip of his cock teased your hole, slick with your arousal before driving his bulbous dick back into your sensitive pussy.

his hips pounded against your ass, turning your flesh red as the sound of skin slapping together carried through the house. his balls slapping against your glistening pussy with every slamming thrust, the sensation making your eyes roll back. he was determined to make a mess of you—more so than he already did.

his fist clenched harder around your hair as the other went to your shoulder, a bruising grip against your flesh. he growled at the mindless moans spilling from your lips, only making him even more driven to fuck you brainless.

and don't worry, he will.

[the-whispers-of-death]

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who stares longingly when you're not looking. He looks at you like you hung his moon and stars, like you're his entire universe. And to him, you are his entire universe.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who memorizes your drink order whether you're in a café or a bar. He has you find a table for the two of you and comes back with the exact drink you've been having the entire he has known you. His eyes sparkle when you tell him that he puts more effort in remembering your order than any of your exes.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who takes you out to a shooting range so you can work out all of the rage you have when a now-ex of yours cheats on you. If you don't know how to shoot a gun, he stands behind you and helps you, making his heart race at how close you two are. He grumpily mutters something about how you deserve better than the people you've been dating.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who nods so easily when you rant and rave about how you two should just stay away from relationships after you both break up with someone. He listens to you say how the only love worth having is platonic and familial love and while his heart breaks a little bit, he's just happy to have you loving him platonically.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who offers to kiss you when the clock strikes 12 on New Years because you've been jokingly complaining about having no one to kiss when the ball drops. He's so pleased with himself when you agree to his offer and he doesn't hesitate to make good on the offer when the ball drops. He cradles you in his arms and kisses you like it's his last night on Earth.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who doesn't forget about the kiss after you've probably have and he starts doing subtle romantic things with you to show you that he's serious about you. He's determined to make you know that he'll be better than everyone else.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who relishes when you finally admit your feelings for him and ask him out on a date. He takes you out to a fancy restraint and treats you like the royalty you are. And when he drops you back home and walks you to the door, he promises that he'll always treat you the way you deserve to and that you'll never have to wonder if he's loyal to you. He kisses you before you go inside.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Locker Room

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, enemies-ish to lovers, sexual tension, arguments, suggestive themes, intimate touching, teasing, dirty thoughts

A/N: For @glitterypirateduck 's Ghost Writing Challenge. I used prompts 43, 97, & 99. (I had so much fun challenging myself to do this all in one go. I set a timer and everything.)

After finding an infuriating note on your desk, you confront Simon in the communal locker room.

Part Two // Simon's POV

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

Beneath your skin is an inferno.

It’s not the kind that blazes for another, or burns in tandem with a deep yearning. This is just seething anger and blunt frustration.

You’re ready to knock out some fucking teeth.

How dare he? Who the fuck does Lieutenant Riley think he is?

When you return reports to Captain Price, you point out all the inconsistences and errors. The lack of accountability and absolute carelessness has been scratching at you for ages, and this time you had enough. Usually Price shrugs, fixes whatever you’ve marked—to a degree—and then returns them without argument.

This time? Price took one look at them and told you to talk to Simon.

Not a problem. No issue at all. You and Lieutenant Riley have always been on good terms. Sometimes, it’s been more than good. You’ve caught him staring for far too long, or he stands a bit too close as if the two of you are a couple and not coworkers. And while you’ve internalized the fantasy, it’s not like you’ve ever acted on it.

But now you’re just irritated.

You handed over the files yesterday evening, and this morning you found them back on your desk. It’s not the turnaround but Lieutenant Riley’s audacity of placing those files back on your desk with a singular sticky note.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

Sweetheart. Sweetheart?

The other day you imagined what it might be like to have the burly, masked man call you a pet name, but this is just fucking condescending.

Your heels clack sharply against the linoleum floor. Perhaps it’s the rage in your face, because every person you meet on your rampage steps out of your way, their gaze averted. Rounding a corner, you exit through a side door and into one of the hangars. A few people glance up, frowning, but return to their job.

Sighing heavily, you approach the nearest person. “Where’s Lieutenant Riley?”

The young man—who looks right out recruitment—glances up. He swallows and peers over his shoulder as if he’s not sure he’s supposed to say. “Locker room, ma’am?”

“Thank you,” you reply sharply, turning on your heel and heading for another door leading to the communal gym.

“But—” he begins, stumbling to his feet as you charge on. “Ma’am! You can’t—”

The door slams shut behind you and you don’t look back.

This is one of several communal spaces. There are the usual training areas on base but there are also a few gyms for those that want to get a bit of extra work in. Every head turns toward you and many don’t look away. This one is just for the men, and you’re the odd duck.

And fuck it. You don’t care. You’re too fucking mad right now to think of anything else but giving Lieutenant Riley a piece of your goddamn mind.

With everything pumping in your veins, the reality of you storming toward the locker rooms hasn’t even dawned. Hasn’t clicked. Fury laces your every step, and even here, where you’re not supposed to be, the men in your path move as if they sense the rage.

When you burst through the door and meet a wall of steam, all the heat suddenly extinguishes. Glancing around, you’re met with wide-eyed stares and surprised expressions.

Keeping your gaze as upward as you can, you clear your throat. “Where is Lieutenant Riley?”

There is only silence. Maybe if you stare at the top of the lockers for long enough, you’ll somehow gather your courage again.

“I asked where Lieutenant—”

“I’m right here.”

You turn abruptly and freeze.

Lieutenant Simon Riley stands before you in nothing but a towel. It hangs low on his hips. Other than that, the bottom-half of his face is covered up by a black mask and his dog tags dangle from his neck. His hair is a wet, tussled mess, and his chest glistens with water like he just stepped out from the shower.

Simon simply stares at you for a moment as you stand in utter silence. His gaze, which is piercing and fierce, slides away to scan the room. He doesn’t have to say anything. The rest of the men in the room grab bags and clothes, rushing to exit through the door you just entered from.

When the last man leaves, Simon rolls his shoulders, straightening his spine. It makes him appear larger, more intimidating, and that one movement draws forth a heat in your belly. This isn’t anger. This is need.

“I know what you came here for,” he says, and it’s so casual a tone that the earlier rage comes rising up.

“I’m sure you do,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

Simon says nothing. His dark eyes remain on you, unmoving and cold, yet pinning you to the spot as if you’ve been impaled by a spear.

“Are you going to apologize?”

“Why?” he asks automatically.

You scoff. “Are you fucking serious?”

“You didn’t come here for an apology.”

You uncross your arms and hold them out in front of you, bent at the elbows. “The reports—”

“The reports are fine.”

You roll your eyes and throw your hands up in the air. “There are inconsistencies everywhere. I can’t submit them as they are.”

Simon rolls his neck and then strides forward. Instinct has you stepping back, moving away, but you bump into a row of lockers. He doesn’t stop until he’s leaning over you, one large hand pressing into the metal to the side of your head.

“You’re nitpicking,” he replies.

“About lazy writing?”

“Oh, love. I assure you. I’m thorough.” At that, Simon leans in, and your hands rise instinctually, pressing against his firm chest.

Simon’s gaze doesn’t drop from your face. His entire attention is on you and that heat is back, twisting in your stomach, stirring up a slickness between your legs.

“Lieutenant,” you breathe, wanting the need between your legs to leave but also loving how close he is.

Sure, you’re pissed off but my god. The fresh scent of him is intoxicating, and you’re doing everything in your power not to lean in and lick up the droplet of water running along the side of his throat.

“Why did you come here?” He waits a beat, and when you don’t reply, Simon continues. “To argue?” He lightly pinches your bottom chin, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip, dragging it down a bit. You open your mouth involuntarily and Simon makes at sound in his throat that makes your legs weak. “To see me?” He leans in like he’s about to kiss you. “To be alone?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whisper.

Simon has you caged in. Pinned. The only thing separating your body and his is that towel.

“Why do you think everyone left when they did?” Simon’s thumb drops away from your lips only to press at the hollow of your throat. “It’s not because you walked in.”

“Why?” you ask, as Simon’s thumb drags lowers over your top to the space between your breasts.

“Because you’re mine. And they know it.”

“You—what?” Without anywhere to go, you can’t escape his intense stare.

“I’m staking a claim.”

“Lieutenant—”

“Simon,” he growls. “Call me Simon.”

“Simon,” you say, and he groans.

His dog tags brush against your fingers. The metal is slightly cool and damp. You curl on finger around the chain, and tug, bringing Simon’s face down to yours. If he can tease and touch, you’re going to do the same. He can’t have all the power.

Your lips brush against his through the mask, and Simon’s eyelids begin to close, revealing his gentle submission in this moment. Deepening the movement, you kiss him as if there were no barrier. This time, he truly groans, and you’d give anything to remove the barriers between you and find out what it’s like to feel him deep inside.

Fisting his dog tags in your hand, you shove him away, but only enough that there is a fraction of distance.

“Fix the fucking reports, Simon.”

Instead of kissing him again, or even touching him, you unclench your fist, releasing the dog tags. Slipping under his arm, you exit through the door and out into the gym, leaving a trail of steam in your wake.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth

@miaraei @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666

@unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @enfppuff

@cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @josephquinnschesthair @saoirse06

@therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf

@lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien

@xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project

@burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605

@contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic

@suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior

[ltash]

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Credits:

@yumethefrostypanda

Roxana Silva- Pinterest

I know last pic is Ai but I found it hot so I posted.

[dmitriene]

cw: nasty simon.

accompanying your bluecollar mechanic boyfriend simon riley to his work, you do it more often than not, dragged with him to just sit prettily in the corner of the room while he works, staining himself in machine oil while changing it to some poor bloke that barely knows how things work, getting his shirt all soiled with black, absorbing stains, his gloved hands greasy, sinewy muscles pumped with the strain of working day and webbed over with swelling veins, as you glance curiously over every inch of him.

all these things make him messy, checking the fluid levels, rotating tires, repairing or replacing some obsolete parts in people's cars, doing a lot of long talk by explaining some of the curious ones what exactly he did right now, leaving simon's short hair damp with sweat that drips down his forehead, trailing over his angled neck and dipping below his exposed collarbones, shirt outstretched and worn, hanging low enough to expose his chest, right where it's dappled with darkening hairs and layer of softness.

flushed cheeks decorated with patchy stubble and smudges of soot that often mixes with oil simon gets on his gloves, leaving fat smears on his skin as he tries to wipe off the annoying sweat, and it's less for his own comfort than yours, because he leaves his working place here and there to indulge in your uninterrupted attention, walking in closer with his mouth clashing over yours, sloppy with sharp bites and insistent licking of his tongue inside, filthy with loud, lewd sucks that escape from between you, and he moans unabashedly, cock already strained hard.

simon get's you drunk off the taste and smell of him, smoky, sweaty and leaving a tang of metal in it's wake, something to savor when he gets back to work, hearing the distant rumble of another approaching car, leaving you yet again to watch and nibble down at your kiss swollen, spit moisten lips, bothered by the slick that now oozes out of your pulsing pussy to soak in your panties, and he sees it in the way your thighs cross together, lip tucked beneath your teeth, eyes getting that dazed, sweet look he loves to see.

he get's a handful of your perky ass after asking you to give him a screwdriver from a box laying on the floor, making you all but bent down and present your ass in the air for him to smack, small, stinging slap ringing out along with a squeaky shriek you get out, batting his groping, roughened hands away, but the guy simon talked with walked away for a short smoke, so you lean into the teasing touch, whimpering when his fingers catch at your clothed mound, circling, purring at you to wait just a bit more till his shift ends.

folding your body at the back seat of his truck should he close the service shop, your legs dangling in the cramped space, spread open wide and held tight with simon's calloused, digging fingers coiling beneath your bent knees, his body bowed forward, trapping you against the leathery seat and a closed door as his engorged cock rams into the hot, gripping clutch of your drippy cunt, shaking the vehicle from the force of his thrusts, your delightful sobs and mewls answering his molten groans of your name, splitting your hole beyond repair.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[arcadia-smith]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader. (Short blurb cuz I have writer's block)

Marking territory.

You weren’t oblivious. Not to the way the guys in your squad looked at you when they thought Ghost wasn’t paying attention. Not to the way some of the female soldiers lingered when they spoke to him, a little too eager, a little too hopeful.

But Ghost? He was a territorial bastard.

It started at the bar after a mission, where the air was thick with sweat and victory, and the alcohol was flowing freely. One of your squadmates—some cocky rookie—leaned in too close, grinning like he had a shot. “Didn’t know you had a thing for older guys, sweetheart.”

You barely had time to respond before a heavy, gloved hand slid over your hip, dragging you flush against a familiar solid chest. Then—his hand was on your ass. A firm squeeze, possessive and unbothered, as he stared the guy down from behind his mask.

“Think you’ve had enough to drink, mate,” Ghost said, voice slow, deliberate.

The rookie’s face paled. “Right. Yeah. My bad.” He practically stumbled away.

You twisted to look up at Ghost, raising an eyebrow. “Subtle.”

He just grunted, hand still on your ass, thumb stroking circles like he had no plans of letting go. “Didn’t hear you complainin’.”

"Possessive much?" you teased.

"Always."

The second time was worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it.

You were in the mess hall, minding your business, when a group of female soldiers caught Ghost’s attention. You weren’t the jealous type, but you weren’t blind either. They were looking at him the way people looked at a challenge they wanted to win.

Ghost noticed. And he made damn sure they noticed you.

His hand found its way to your ass as he passed by, gripping with a slow, deliberate squeeze that had heat rushing up your spine. “C’mere, love,” he murmured, voice rough and low.

The way the women’s faces fell? Yeah. That was satisfying.

You turned to him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

His mask hid most of his expression, but his eyes told you everything. Sharp. Dark. Knowing.

“I'm yours,” he murmured, low enough for only you to hear. “And they need to know it.”

Your stomach flipped. Damn him.

Maybe you liked this game just as much as he did.

[the-palelady]

you’re straddling simon while the two of you are making out, and he grabs your waist in the most desperate of ways, dragging your closer to him.

it’s like he’s trying to consume you, forcing your chest to press into his. it’s almost suffocating, yet it isn’t enough.

his fingers dig into the divot of your hips and he’s still pulling, still eating you whole as his chapped, warm lips devour yours.

those same rough, callused hands loosen and drag up the expanse of your spine, feeling along every scar, every stretch mark. every flaw you have he’s tracing it, memorizing it, painting it on the back of his eyelids so he never forgets.

he’s rough yet gentle and soft all at the same time. he’s the calm before the storm.

he doesn’t leave an inch of you untouched, from the curve of your hips to the dimples in your cheeks.

you look divine in the museum that is simon’s mind. he places you at the center of his own personal gallery, the works of michelangelo and botticelli insignificant to how heavenly you look seated on his lap.

hell, you’re beautiful no matter what, and simon won’t let you leave his side until he’s sure you’ll never forget that.

[lethalchiralium]

simon cooks a lot.

only when he’s home with you and the girls, no one else. he’s not a five star chef by any means, but when the food is served, everyone’s bellies are full and warm of food that tastes like home.

he’s happy with his beef stir fry, his mac and cheese (a recipe he only learned to charm you), and his lemon butter chicken and rice. winnie always asks for seconds, mellie doesn’t throw it on the floor for the cat, you always wipe your plate clean.

he doesn’t like how his chicken pot pie comes out, or the shepherd’s pie, or any of the fruit pies he has tried to make for you. you three still demolish them anyway. anything he thinks doesn’t look good or won’t be good in general, his family is still happy to eat because he made it.

he’s proud of providing for his family with more than just money. he’s proud to provide love, security, and bellies full of a home cooked meal. he’s proud of himself for being the husband and father he wanted to be, the man who gives his family his all.

he would never trade his girls’ happiness for anything in the world. maybe for a better chicken pot pie recipe.

[spookypete-94]

Pregnant by Proxy

SimonRileyxPregnant!Reader

Have had this idea in my head for many, many months. Finally just decided to do it- even if it seems strange to some.

Triggers for medical inaccuracies, language, minor angst, still born mentioned

What triggered it all is you not showing up. Being Laswell’s right hand while she was Watcher, given you the opportunity to assist Task Force 141 on multiple missions. So much, they considered you a part of their team.

Here instead, Simon Riley stood back watching you from afar. He had hunted you down and located you in your hometown. Something he was never ever supposed to do. There was a no contact rule for them outside of their work. Price enforced it for safety reasons. But Simon just couldn’t stand not knowing where you were or what had happened. That was unsafe for him. He needed to see you, needed to make sure you were alright.

“I can’t tell you much, just that she will not be attending this mission.” Laswell spoke from the computer screen during their video call meant to be a mission brief for the 4 of them.

“She ok at least?” Price asked, looking up over the stack of papers in his hands up at the camera.

You had made your mark on all of them… but maybe not as dark or inflicted as you had on Simon.

“Medical emergency back at home. I know you guys are worried about her, but I really can’t disclose anymore.” Laswell’s voice firmer, protecting you.  “She deserves privacy and her time off.” Something you had earned away from them.

Simon couldn’t help but pipe up. “When will she be back?” You are an asset to this team, as much to his spirit.

A heavy sigh from Laswell, “We need to focus on the task ahead.” She was putting up a wall. How dare you leave without relaying some sort of word to him…

What had happened to you?

That was the moment Simon knew he needed to find you. You were at risk, something had happened. Did you get sent somewhere without him and hurt? Are you bruised and bloody? Had someone laid hands on you? Dangerous as you were… Simon couldn’t help feeling that you were fragile. He had seen you in the most intimate of ways on more than one occasion. Perhaps that had changed his perception of the clarity of body. Fragile like clay figurine, porous and breakable. Skin smooth, even though littered with scars in places. Special, is the way to describe you to him. You understood him. An extension of his peace.

So, he finished the mission. Angrier than he had ever been at the end of one. Days drawn out, even though it only took them a week to find their target and take him into custody. It was a success, a record in apprehending someone capable of such violence. Little did the Task Force know, Ghost’s unbridled rage of procrastinating the ability to find you, the result of such a feat.

Price knew something was up when Ghost had turned down the interrogation of the suspect. This was his forte. One of his best qualities of finding intel was beating a man into submission. Glancing with a side eye filled with suspicion, Price then closed it. Halfway knowing what Ghost was up to, the fact that Simon now needed this. He needed to know you were alive.

There were a few times you would tell him stories of your hometown and family after you would connect and lay naked together. He enjoyed it. It distracted his mind while his brain would close his eyes and imagine it. Never once did you tell him where you from or the name of the town… but he had seen it so many times in his mind’s eye, he had just an inkling of where it was hidden.

Imagine his surprise when had finally found you outside your favorite coffee house. A small coffee in your hand… and a swollen belly round in front of you as you slowly waddled away from him. He had stood back near the corner about 3 buildings away from you, following you ever so slowly.

Shock had filled his system. He could walk away now… in fact he fully wanted to bolt and sprint in a different direction. He knew you were safe, alive and clearly thriving… but he had more questions now then when he did about your absence.

Feeling like you were being watched made you turn around. Eyes instantly locked on the black shadow that was following you.

“Simon?” Your sweet voice called to him, filled with confusion and happiness.

“Wanted to see you…” Was all he could mumble out as he approached.

Awkwardly you tried hard to lurch to him, hard to do so when your counterbalance was way off.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” a rushed hiss to him, as you tried to lay your head into his chest. It was difficult with how round you were, the babe pressing you away.

His finger guided under your chin, lifting it up so he could see your eyes. Tears welled in them that he brushed back with a thumb. Fucking hormones.

“Missed you,” you repeated. Somehow even through all your emotions, the glow on you was so strong and intense. How beautiful.

Simon remained quiet, while he tried to decide how far along you were. The time frame… seemed possible, but he wasn’t entirely sure. The time away from you seemed so much longer. He wanted to ask, he needed to know this now. Sure, he wanted to run at the same time, but you were important to him. This was important to him.

“Is it mine?” He asked his palm spreading over the circumference.

You stood there unable to speak. It was such a long story. Words hindered, closed off. Instead, you shook your head with a slow no. Regret written all over your face.

Instantly, the rage returned to him. Of course he wasn’t good enough for you. That’s why you left. That’s why everyone eventually does. How dare you be so important to him….

Turning on heel, he pushed past the crowd of people nearby trying to get away from you. Anger blinding him, deafening your calling out.

“Simon!! Wait!! She’s not mine either!!” Trying your hardest to run after him.

What?

He stopped dead in his tracks, unable to turn to look at you yet. The same tears that had stung yours now been transferred to his. Had he really wanted this with someone so bad before?

Your hand pressed into his back letting him know you were still there.

“She’s my sisters… it’s a really long fucked up story, but she is my sister’s.”

Abstract. This whole thing was completely abstract and fucking strange. You were being a surrogate to it all.

“What?” Simon said again, finally turning around, his head looking to the side, still not fully able to look at you yet. He needed clarification, needed to comprehend you hadn’t betrayed him.

“I went on leave because my sister was pregnant and went into labor at about eight and half months…but something had happened. She got this blood infection in her uterus causing a still birth. And when it did, it made things happen to her reproductive organs so she would never be able to carry a baby again…They had to take it all out.” A heavy breath left you, as you started to explain, a shake he could hear in your voice, one that and couldn’t ignore.

He turned back around, finally able to look at you again. To you, it was like the break of dawn and the sun greeting the Earth for the first time. He was listening to you. This whole time you were fearful of losing him… but here he was standing before you. Shining like the sun every morning, a wordless pact.

“My sister… she lost her baby and I saw what it did to her. This is all she has ever wanted was to be a mother, and her chance has been taken from her. So, when the doctor said they had saved some of her eggs…I knew I had to do this for her.” Taking his hand, you placed it back on your belly, sprawling his long fingers over it. “This baby isn’t yours… and she isn’t mine. That doesn’t make her any less important though. Just know I had to do this for her.”

His hand was warm. Radiating warmth into you. It gave so much into you, like you had just spewed out back to him.

Did he doubt you?

“I was on my way to an appointment. Why don’t you come with me and maybe that will help you understand.”

A compromise. Let me make this right.

Sliding his hand across your belly, over to your hand he took it and gripped it, squeezing once in awhile. His quiet assurance. So, you led the way. The sail to his boat, teaching and guiding him.

The room was white. White bed, white paper covering it. White walls. White Floor. So much white it hurt for him to look at. Carefully, he stood next to you, letting you climb on the bed to lay down.

“Where is your sister?” A valid question. He would think if this was her baby, she would want to know details, right?

“Work. I think it still hurts her to come sometimes… She has come to a few in the very beginning, but as it gets closer it scares her.”

A valid response.

“You been coming by yourself?”

A slight shrug of your shoulders. “I have…” That hurt him to know you were doing a majority of this alone.

“How did you…?” He said looking down and looking back up at you.

“Conceive?” Unsure if that was what he was asking or not. “Artificial. They planted the embryo after it was fertilized."

Oh, thank God. The relief written on his face makes you laugh.

“Don’t worry. No one else has been inside me in that way. I would never let anyone, let alone my brother-in-law.” Still chuckling.

“Better not.” The only words he could say in his embarrassment of thinking so.

In walked the doctor, who looked over at the mountain of a man.

“Well, hello. Is his him then?” She pointed to him and looked back at you.

“It is.” A smile radiating back at her, truly at your happiest.

The doctor glanced back over at him. “She has talked about you quite a bit and how much she wished you could be here. It’s hard, what she is doing for someone else, but I’m glad her person is here with her now. Your girl’s quite brave.” Rolling across the floor of the room on her stool.

Simon was dumb founded; you had talked about him to someone else? Did he really mean that much to you too?

“Now let’s have a look.”

Rolling your shirt up, exposing that smooth skin to him one more time. It’s been so long since he had last seen it, and here it had changed so much but remained stunning to him.

The doctor measured it before pulling out the doppler to hear the heartbeat. A soft whooshing noise was instantly recognized, making you close your eyes and smile. It was so surreal to Simon. Like he was on the outside looking in. He had the opportunity to see you in this light… and somehow it still was that way for you too. Knowing you were carrying this baby… but it wasn’t entirely yours either.

“Your niece is looking wonderful. See you at your thirty-six-week appointment. Will be once a week starting then.” Niece… A reminder that you were grateful for this baby, but a deep part of you wished it was daughter.

Somehow, he had made it to the checkout desk with you and hadn’t even realized it.

“Can I list you as an emergency contact?” the question that brought him back to reality. Your eyes were looking up at him, pen and paper in your hand before you wrote his name down.

“Sure,” he said taking the pen and paper, scribbling his number down next to his name. Who said anything about no contact outside of work again?

Ending the day, you brought him back to your home. Allowing him to see more of your personal life. Baring it all to him today. His fragile figurine, safe and protected now that he had found her once more. Never again would you be out of his sights. He will see to fix that, all on his own.

Two hands started at your hips before snaking around, his arms fully embraced you from behind. He lifted up on your heavy belly, taking the weight off your hips. A pleasant groan emitted from you. How good did that feel.

“Such a nice thing you are doing for your sister… but next time, the baby in there is going to be ours.” His mouth hot and heavy next to your ear, before running his tongue from the bottom up. It made your skin run hot and cold all at once, goosebumps in the wake on your skin.

“Going to be such a good mother,” his hand trailing down your belly and onto your thigh before squeezing it. “I want this to be safe and healthy for you all, but as soon as you can… I’m fillin’ you with my own. As many as you’ll let me.” Grinding into you, imagining you swollen with his seed making him aroused.

“I missed you.” You whispered out the thrice time today.

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist

[the-whispers-of-death]

Ways I think Simon “Ghost” Riley asks for consent without explicitly asking.

MDNI, This Blog & Post Aren’t For Minors!! This gets sexual real quickly, but Reader's pronouns aren’t specified.

His thumb brushes across your bottom lip when he wants to kiss you, waiting to see if you lean into the touch.

His fingers gently grip the hem of your shirt or the waistband of your pants, silently asking you if he can undress you. He does this with each and every article he wants to undress.

He’ll give you a very heated once-over when you’re both laying in bed, showing off the bulge in his pants/boxers so you know how horny he is.

Trails his fingers up your thigh (clothed or unclothed) and stops just short of where your sex is, his head in your neck so he can listen to if your breath hitches in arousal at his touching.

Spreads his legs open and pats his waiting thigh when sitting on the couch. It’s similar to the bed one, since his bulge is prominent.

Settles himself between your legs, putting his beefy hands on the insides of your thighs. Leaves the decision up to you, you can choose to beg for more or just be content with him between your thighs.

If you have hickeys from previous sexual encounters with him, he’ll trace them to tell you that he’s thinking of giving you more.

Leaves your towel on the bed when you come home and he’s showering, the towel a form of invitation to join him.

If you’re already naked and done with one round (or several), he squeezes your hips twice to signal he's ready for another round if you are.

He rubs his noses against yours before parting his lips slightly, mouthing motions made when kissing.

His eyes have trouble straying from your lips, trying hard to look you in the eyes only for his attention to dart back to your lips. He might even lick his own lips, if you're both alone and he doesn't have his mask or balaclava on.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and request something! (Check the rules in "Rules for Requesting NSFW" before requesting.)

[07-riley]

he starts to fall in love with you (Ghost headcanons)

★ masterlist here

Having a partner wasn't in Ghost's plans, so when you started getting his attention, it was something totally new for him. At first, it would be difficult for him to show his interest because it just wasn't a priority for him, but it happened and he decided not fight against his feelings. He never gave you special or different treatment at work, because work was just work, but he started looking for ways to spend more time with you, talking to you when he saw you in the hallways or sitting next to you at lunch. He would be one of the people who get straight to the point after a few months: he was an adult and had no time for teenage games, he would confess his feelings, thinking that if they were not reciprocated, he would get over it and move on with his life. (Spoiler: it wasn't that easy; in the end, he is a normal person like any other. Spoiler 2: his feelings were reciprocated)

[gloomwitchwrites]

DMs & DNA

Simon "Ghost" Riley x TF141 Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, situationship / friends w/ benefits, possessive behavior, post-coital sweetness, Simon marking his territory, brief threat of violence, teasing, non-explicit sex

Word Count: 1.2k

Simon becomes territorial when a recent recruit tries to steal you out from under him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // summer 2024 masterlist

You’re tight and perfect and all fucking his.

Simon moans against your throat with lips pressed to your skin as he does his fucking best to remain in control of himself. He’s failing. Completely falling apart.

Your whimper is too sweet, and the way your body squeezes him has him dizzy. Your orgasm blooms—flows outward, and Simon’s autonomy slips from under him. Somehow, you’re good at seizing all of his control—claiming it for you own. Do you even realize you do it? Do you know how you affect him?

Simon knows. It happens all the time.

Brushing a few strands of hair over your shoulder, Simon leaves a tentative kiss in the curve of your neck. Beneath him, you shiver, head turning toward him as if you’re ticklish from the attention.

“We’ve been away too long,” you murmur, breaking the peacefulness settling over Simon’s senses.

Simon hooks an arm around your waist. “No one is looking for us.”

It’s likely true. Simon made sure that the two of you would be alone—that no one would interrupt. But time flows differently when you’re enjoying yourself.

Glancing at his watch, Simon frowns. You’re right. The two of you have been gone for longer than anticipated. It’s not ideal but it can’t be helped.

Simon doesn’t want to part. He wants to take you home, to linger with you beneath the sheets, to have his way with your body. But this has not happened, and Simon isn’t sure that it ever will. The two of you meet in storage closets, empty offices, and locker room showers for quick fucks.

It’s not a relationship.

It’s not anything.

You’re a member of the team. A friend. A coworker.

And yet it is him that you always turn to.

The desire for more sits hot in his chest. Simon has tried to coax you away to more private venues but you always step around it—avoiding to the point that Simon doesn’t entirely understand your motivations.

It’s fucking confusing, and while Simon longs to press you for answers, he doesn’t want to push you away.

Slowly, Simon eases from your body. Your little moan at his retreat is already making him hard again—wanton. It’s not fucking fair. These small moments are not enough.

There is no condom. There is only slickness. And Simon has to control the urge to slide his fingers between your legs and push the mess back in.

As he steps away, you hastily hoist your pants, securing the front button and zipper. Smoothing the front of your shirt, you begin fussing with your hair. There is a slight sheen of sweat on your brow.

“Do I look okay?” you ask sheepishly.

You look fucking beautiful, love.

“Like I never fucked you at all,” replies Simon.

You grin devilishly and lightly smack his chest. Simon snags your wrist and brings your knuckles to his lips, placing a quick kiss there before dropping your hand. It’s not enough intimacy. Simon craves more.

With an embarrassed nervousness, you tuck some hair behind your ear and brush past him, heading for the shut door. Slowly, you press the handle down, cracking the door slightly. There are no sounds that drift in.

The coast is clear.

You glance over your shoulder at Simon, grinning softly.

“See you later,” you murmur, disappearing like a magic trick.

Simon stands alone in the little room, arms hanging at his sides. Every alternative passes through his mind. How can he coax you to him? How can he make you see that you should belong to him?

He chews on his bottom lip, irritation growing in his stomach. With an annoyed growl, Simon secures his balaclava back into place, storming from the room without caring who sees. There is red beneath his skin. Simon needs to expel this excess energy.

He heads for the training room, and even here he cannot escape you.

One of the new recruits has a hand pressed against the wall as he looms over you. The two of you are chatting as you complete dumbbell reps. While your face is neutral, the man’s is animated. It’s not friendly either. It’s sly—smarmy. The guy is making a move.

Simon tries and fails to recall the new recruit’s name. They arrive, complete some training, and then go elsewhere. That’s how it always is. Simon never cares to learn their names or anything about them. If they aren’t on his team, he could give a fuck.

It’s not you Simon is worried about. He’s looked at your phone. He’s seen your DMs. There are plenty of men here who try. Who reach out in the hopes that you might sprinkle them with some attention. But you’re no barracks bunny. You don’t hop from bed to bed.

The only man you’re fucking is Simon.

And that’s exactly how he wants it.

Simon takes a post near the boxing bags. He puts on gloves, and beats away at the sand until his shoulders ache from the repetitive strikes. Keeping an eye on you is easy. Between reps, Simon observers, watching, noting how you give the man nearly nothing. It please Simon to know that you’re not interested in anyone but him.

When you head for the showers, Simon does not follow even though he’d fucking love to. He keeps his gaze on the recruit who watches you leave. The wanker unabashedly stares at your ass. Simon flings down his towel, and stalks toward his prey. This bastard has no idea Simon is walking up on him. Has no idea that Simon’s about to mark his territory.

The guy selects the bench press and Simon grins menacingly behind the balaclava.

“Need a spotter?” asks Simon casually.

The guy nods. “Sure, man. Thanks.”

You’re fucking death, mate.

Simon glances at the weights on either end of the bar. He rolls his eyes. Simon can bench twice this amount without breaking a sweat. He takes position behind the recruit, standing directly next to his head.

Slipping his hands beneath the bar, Simon helps guide it out of the track. The metal is cool. Simon lets go. The weight drops.

The new recruit wheezes, eye bulging as the combined weight hits his ribcage, rolling upward toward his neck. Simon does not stop it. Doesn’t try to prevent what might be fractured ribs or a crushed esophagus.

Instead, Simon crouches next to the choking man, menace in his tone.

“You might be in her DMs. You might be sweet talking her. But it’s me that drips down her legs when she walks.”

All Simon hears are squeaks of trapped air.

“You fucking go near her. I’ll fucking crush your dick and feed it to you. Understand?”

The man’s reply is all gasping air, and is eyes water. His cheeks are starting to go red—nearly purple.

Simon tilts his head to the side and the recruit makes a hint of a nod.

It’s enough of a confirmation. Simon grabs the bar and lifts without effort, plopping it back into the track.

The recruit’s next inhale is ragged and watery. He coughs. Gasps. Plops down onto the floor and vomits. But he doesn’t get up—doesn’t come after Simon.

Good.

You’re his.

And he’s going to make sure everyone knows.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath @saoirse06

@ferns-fics @lialacleaf @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @ravenpoe67

@tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82 @lulurubberduckie

@leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim @voids-universe

@iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @sapphichotmess @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x

@webmvie @blackhawkfanatic @aykxz98 @xxkay15xx @sammysinger04

@dakotakazansky @suhmie @nomercyforthewarrior @umno-yeah @ash-tarte

@eternallyvenus @kadeeesworld @burn1ngw00d @randomgurl2326 @wren5650

@beebeechaos @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @ghosts-hoe @glitterypirateduck