#Simon Riley fic

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Two

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, abduction, forced proximity

Word Count: 4.4k

The skull-faced lieutenant takes you back to base. The two of you are forced to spend the night in the same space.

Chapter One // Chapter Three

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

The scream is a gunshot.

You flinch. Turn away. Cover your mouth with your hand.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

“You fucking motherfucker! I’m gonna fucking kill you! You—”

The man’s words are swallowed up by the echoing pop of a pistol unloading. Ghost yanks on your arm, but you’re frozen like a rabbit sensing a predator. Even after the world fell apart, you witnessed so much, but seeing such brutal execution twists your insides like tangled barbed wire.

“Walk,” Ghost commands, but your legs are unmovable like Redwood trees.

You’re sinking. The ground is opening up.

Danger. Danger.

“Hey.”

Another crack, followed by begging.

“Look at me.” There are large hands on your shoulders. Squeezing. Urging. “Look at me.”

Ghost’s voice is a firm directive, and you snap to attention. Your gaze, once distant, locks with his. Behind the mask are his eyes—a whiskey brown with gold flecks crowned by long, pale eyelashes.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he soothes, hands sliding away from your shoulders to rest against your ears.

He presses, silencing the world. When the next gunshot goes off, you hardly hear it. Just a muffled blip amongst the quiet. With every inhale and subsequent exhale, the buzzing rush of adrenaline softens, then crashes. It’s just a shiver of release. A dismissive wave of the hand.

And Ghost never looks away. Not once.

Focused and sharp, you’re unable to look away from Ghost’s intensity. Like a roiling river, his eye contact swallows you up, drowning you in its chaos. It allows you a moment to simply observe the man before you, to study what you can of his face. It isn’t much, just blackish smudges around the eyes and a prominent brow.

A curiosity blooms where there was no soil.

You’re so focused on him that you don’t realize the gunshots have stopped until Ghost drops his hands.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you gasp, unsure of why you’ve just apologized to him.

Ghost is impassive. Unresponsive. He simply stares, arms at his sides, and that attention is almost worse than the gunshots. It is unnerving—but not in the creeping sense of nefarious interest. He may be silent, but in his silence, there is a question.

A curiosity. Blooming.

But whatever you’ve witnessed quickly passes.

Ghost is grabbing hold of your upper arm, tugging you forward. This time your legs surrender, moving with him but struggling to keep up with his long strides.

You pass one armored truck. Then another.

“Wait,” you say, but it’s a whisper lost to the breeze.

We’re taking her with us.

“Wait,” and this time it’s louder. It carries on the wind.

Survival. Survival is paramount. And this stranger is leading you to unknown places, likely to never return you to where you come from.

Digging your feet in, you attempt to come to a stop. Ghost hardly faulters. His strength overpowers, and you nearly topple forward to eat pavement.

“Wait!”

With a growl, Ghost whirls on you. “We’re on a tight schedule, love. Keep up.”

Another tug, this one not an annoyance but a brief bite of pain. Instinct flares, and you lash out, forming a fist. It lands against his chest, striking just to the right of his left shoulder.

It’s a dumb fucking move.

Ghost shoves you up against the side of one of the armored trucks, caging you between him and the metal exterior. “Want my attention that bad? Well, love. You’ve got it.” His chest heaves as if this one interaction is taking all his stamina.

“Take your fucking hands off me,” you growl, placing both hands flat on his chest and shoving with all your strength.

Ghost grunts, and shoves you right back, pinning you to the vehicle. “Behave,” he murmurs.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

You struggle against him, working your shoulders back and forth to shake off his hold. It’s fruitless. Pathetic. Lieutenant Skull Face is stronger—weight unyielding.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you spit at him, just because it feels good.

Ghost ignores your outburst. “You’re coming back with us. Stop your bloody fussing.”

He talks to you like you’re a small child in need of a good scolding. It’s infuriating. You might be weaponless and without leverage, but the first thing you learned when defending yourself in a world like this is to never allow anyone to take you to a secondary location. Fight like hell when you can, and survive.

But fighting doesn’t always mean physical.

“I mean nothing to you. Just leave me,” you reply, adding a slight quiver to your voice.

Negotiating. Begging. It might work with him.

“That’s not an option.”

From his tone, it’s clear that Ghost is over this conversation. Your window is closing. Soon, each of these men will turn their attention to the trucks, which means they’ll be focused on you. If you want to escape, you need to escape now.

Ghost eases his hold, drawing back to take you with him.

You give one final attempt before you start swinging.

Grasping the back of his neck, you drag him back to you. There is no mouth for you to kiss, so you press your lips to where you believe his might be. You aim for just above the skull teeth. The material of the mask is surprisingly smooth. With your leverage of your hand at the back of his neck, you lightly rock your hips in a provocative gesture, hooking your leg up slightly to imitate grinding.

Ghost stiffens, clearly confused and startled by your actions. It lasts only a few fleeting seconds, and then he softens, his hands falling to your hips.

Sweet victory sings in your veins.

Men are all the same.

All you have to do is convince him to go to one of these vehicles alone. Climb on top if you can, but make do if you’re under him. Allow him a few thrusts. Moan a bit to make him think you want this. Then go for the fucking throat.

Ghost’s hands squeeze your hips, but it’s not to pull you closer. He starts to push you away. Rejecting. He’s rejecting you.

“Tempting offer,” he murmurs. “But we’re on a schedule.”

No. Fucking no.

This is your chance. Your one chance.

The world tilts, and you switch gears.

With a quick upward motion, you drive your knee into Ghost’s groin, nailing him where his pelvis meets his thigh.

“Fucking hell,” he coughs, staggering to the side, bending over in pain.

You dip beneath his arm, dashing toward the connecting street. The Jeep keys are lost to you, and you have no gun, but if you run fast enough, and lose them amongst the houses, you might have a chance to sneak back to the Jeep undetected and hotwire it home.

Legs pumping, you dash past the armored truck.

Freedom is close. It is calling out to you. Reaching—

Large, muscled arms wrap around you, hauling you backward. They don’t throw you to ground, but restrain you, holding you firmly against a solid body.

Fuck it. Fuck this.

It’s time for fists and teeth and claws.

Kicking and screaming, you raise hell. An arm loosens. Bending it, you bring your elbow down into his shoulder.

Ghost grunts, grasps your wrist, and yanks. He twists you around, seizing both of your arms, pinning them behind your back.

You immediately go limp.

It almost works.

Ghost staggers but recovers enough to ease into the movement, using the momentum to lift you up and into his arms.

Arms now free, you snarl, swiping at him with an open palm. Ghost promptly drops you.

You hit the ground. Hard.

With a groan, you push up from the pavement with the intent to flee. A boot presses against your back, and forces you down until you’re flat on your stomach. Seconds later and you’re zip-tied.

“That’s better,” grumbles Ghost.

Grabbing you by your forearms, he lifts you back onto your feet.

A slurry of profanities leaves your lips. “Bastard! Fucking bastard! Motherfucker! Cock sucking motherfucking bastard!”

You throw your body weight around, too, but Ghost remains firm, dragging you along toward the cluster of vehicles.

“You—you—shit eating…tit zit!”

Ghost chuckles. “Creative,” he muses like he appreciates it.

His amused demeanor only deflates your hope, melting you down until you decide it’s best to beg, to see if this man will show even a hint of mercy.

“Please,” you exhale, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Please. Just—just let me go.”

Ghost doesn’t acknowledge you. Keeping his gaze forward, Ghost hauls you over to a Humvee. He opens the rear passenger door.

“Get in,” he nods. “Or I’ll toss you in.”

“Please,” you beg. “Please listen.”

“Wrong answer.”

With a quick bend of the knees, Ghost lifts you off the ground and fulfills his threat. You bounce on the seat and almost topple onto the floor.

This is it. There is no going back. You’re being taken elsewhere, and there is little you can do. Everything going forward has to be about you, and what you have to do to survive.

But then you remember Ben, and how his body is just…there. Discarded.

As Ghost starts to turn away, you lean forward, knowing that what you’re about to ask will likely be ignored.

“You have to bring him with us. Please.”

Ghost has no reason to speak to you—to entertain what you’ve just said. You expect him to slam the door in your face, to give you his back.

“Bring who?” replies Ghost. He sounds genuinely curious, and his body language isn’t hostile. He has one hand on the handle of the door and the other resting against the side of the Humvee.

“Ben. We can’t leave him here. It’s not right.”

Behind the balaclava, his gaze narrows. “Is that who you were with?” You nod. Ghost briefly glances over his shoulder and then turns his gaze back to you. “Were you his?”

Were you his? Is that jealously? Does Ghost feel threatened by a dead man?

“No,” you laugh softly. “No. But…”

“But what?” he prompts.

“He has—had a wife. Two daughters.” You pause, remembering how the two girls had cornered you during community movie night, listing all the books they wanted you to find. “People loved him. They’ll want closure.”

You hate these moments of silence, of Ghost simply staring at you before he answers.

“I can’t bring him with us,” he finally says.

“Then leave him somewhere where they’ll find him,” you urge. “Please.”

Ghost’s demeanor shifts. His hand falls away from the side of the vehicle. “You came from a bigger group?”

“Does that matter?”

Ghost shakes his head in annoyance. “It fucking bloody well matters.”

“They won’t come after you,” you insist. “They aren’t expecting us for hours. You’ll be long gone before they come looking.”

“You could be lying to me.”

Anger flares in your chest. You need him to understand. “I just want Ben to go home to his family. They deserve it!”

Ghost sighs, and shakes his head. “Watch your feet,” he mutters.

You turn your legs at the last second as the Humvee door slams shut.

Left alone in the vehicle, the reality of your situation starts to settle, to seep into your bloodstream. It shoots straight to your brain, slithering in the folds, sinking in until the anxiety becomes a roar. Your breath comes and goes in quick gasps.

Panic. You’re panicking.

You’re fucking panicking.

Sliding across the seat, you reach with wiggling fingers for the handle. With wrists bound and no way to truly see what you’re doing, you’re forced to seek with your hands, praying that you’ll find the handle before Ghost arrives.

Sweat forms, making it difficult to hang on to anything.

“Come on,” you sob, knowing that this is it.

You find the handle. Tug.

Nothing. It doesn’t budge.

“No,” you gasp, yanking and yanking and yanking again. “No.”

He’s locked you in.

Desperation fuels you, motivating you to try the other door, and then kicking with both feet until your knees hurt and your thighs burn.

When Ghost returns to the Humvee, he finds you on your back, staring blankly.

There are no tears. No panic. Only numbness.

“Sit up,” he says, voice flat.

You obediently comply, shifting until you’re sitting upright. Ghost hops in, forcing you to slide all the way to the other side of the bench seat. He settles in, nearly squishing you between him and the door. There’s no room to move. The two of you are thigh to thigh—touching.

“Ready to bloody go.” You glance to the left at the familiar Scottish voice.

“You and me both, Soap,” grumbles Ghost, shifting even further to the right to accommodate the new addition to the backseat.

The driver and front passenger doors open simultaneously, two soldiers sliding in.

“Back to base, Lieutenant Riley?” asks the driver.

He lifts his arm, pressing a few buttons on an overhead panel. Sewn into his uniform is that same azimuthal projection of the earth from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches. It’s so fucking familiar. It’s something from before—you know this, and yet you can’t place it. Beneath it is the flag of Mexico. Yet again, all in black. Leaning to the right, you peek over the seat. The soldier in the front passenger seat’s flag is three horizontal stripes but all in different shades of black or grey. There is no way for you to distinguish what country it belongs to.

“Affirmative,” answers Ghost.

Lieutenant Riley. That’s more of a name than Ghost. It’s a small piece, a fraction of information.

As you settle back against your seat, you don’t realize that Ghost has leaned toward you until he whispers in your ear. “It’s done.”

When you and Ben don’t show up, the rest of the convoy will come looking. They’ll find him, find the carnage, and wonder where you are. They’ll search, likely every building and street. Zac will certainly order it, and it’s entirely likely they’ll head back home only to return the next day, and perhaps even the next with the hope that you’ll show up.

But you’ll be long gone.

Elsewhere. Somewhere.

Ghost turns away from you, and doesn’t speak or even glance at you the rest of the trip, engaging in limited conversation with Soap.

You zone out. Stare at the landscape. Stomach turning sour.

The town disappears, giving way to trees and then highway.

It’s astounding how clear and uncongested the road is. You thought it strange when you and Ben were in the Jeep, how the roads themselves weren’t exactly maintained yet were somehow completely clear of cars. The few cars you did came across were pushed off to the side, allowing for a clear path. You dismissed it then, but you don’t dismiss it now as the Humvee carries you away from your life—your safety.

There is so little you know about the world as it currently exists.

After everything descended into chaos, you simply survived, weary of everyone, sometimes selling your body for food or shelter. Six years and you’ve been with the people are now, flourishing and unaware of everything happening beyond.

How much have Zac and the others kept from you? From the community? Or do they know about any of this at all?

These are the questions you ask yourself as time passes—as day becomes evenings becomes night.

The radio crackles. The soldier in the driver’s seat speaks.

“Base this is Bravo.”

A few seconds of silence. Then the radio comes alive.

“Received, Bravo. Go for Base.”

“Returning. Ten minutes.”

“Copy, Bravo. Returning.”

To the left of you, Soap groans. “Bloody fucking finally. Can stretch my damn legs. Take a piss.”

Ghost chuckles. “Eat a hot meal.”

Soap grunts in agreement. “Only thing missing is a warm cunt to stick my dick into.”

Ghost shakes his head as the two men up front laugh.

The soldier in the front passenger seat turns slightly, addressing Soap. “Might find a willing recruit,” he says, teasing.

“Bile yer heid,” laughs Soap, leaning forward to shove at him.

You remain still. Unmoving. Silent. They’re not thinking about you, and you don’t want to give them any reason to shift focus.

In the echoes of their laughter, the Humvee crests a hill. Through the windshield, bright spotlights appear, cutting through the dark. It’s difficult to see from where you sit. You lean to the left, brushing up against Ghost’s arm.

You draw back quickly, muttering an apology.

“You can look,” murmurs Ghost. His brow is soft as he leans towards Soap, giving you space to look out the windshield.

It’s a small gesture. A flicker of kindness.

Just like his hands over your ears. Or placing Ben in a place where someone will find him.

You fill the vacated space, gaze sweeping over the illuminated dark.

It’s a military base. Not makeshift or shuffled together, but a real one, like from the time before. Clean. Manufactured. Intimidating.

The Humvee rumbles up to the gates. The driver and guard exchange a few words before you hear a shout. A rattling reaches your ears, mimicking the stuttering of your heart. It’s enough to squash whatever hope you still cling to, smothering that ember until it’s snuffed out. Sinking back into your quiet, you turn inward, pressing yourself against the Humvee door until you feel smaller than dirt.

You keep your gaze downward, staring at your feet as the Humvee rolls through the gates. You don’t look up again until it comes to a stop.

“Stay here,” instructs Ghost as he slides out of the vehicle.

He shuts the door, turning away from you completely as if you’re not there at all. At some point in the trip, Soap lowered the window, and you’re able to shimmy over to the other side, listening in.

“Soap! Ghost!”

“Captain!”

Two strangers approach. One is a bit older, addressed as “captain” by Soap. The other is younger, handsome. They all clasp hands, greeting each other with a warmness that can only come from closeness and familiarity.

“Successful?”

“Brought three back for interrogation.”

“Good. And the rest?”

“Dead.”

“Good lad.”

Their voices drop slightly. Of what you can pick out from their conversation, it isn’t much. It’s just the newcomers’ names, Price and Gaz, and a brief mention about a secondary raid. Little else reaches your ears, and straining does nothing.

Leaning back against the seat, you tilt your head backward, staring up at the ceiling of the Humvee. Your arms ache, wrists sore, and you have to fucking pee.

“Who is that?”

The question is spoken loudly, closer than you thought from where the group was standing.

Your eyes snap open, body jolting up in the seat as you seek out the new voice. Ghost yanks the door open, reaching in to grasp your elbow. He helps you out and onto your feet. There is no room for resistance.

Outside the Humvee, you’re able to see the base more clearly. The convoy you were apart of is lined up in front of several low buildings. It’s late, but the base is still active, soldiers moving about as if it’s the middle of the day.

Soap laughs. “Go on, Lt.”

Ghost rolls his shoulders. “Found her while we were out.” Soap snorts and Ghost glares at him. “Running from the rubbish we eliminated.”

“She not with them?” asks Captain Price.

“No, Captain. She’s not with them.”

“The lass put up a fight though,” says Soap. “Kissed Lt here.”

“Hush, Soap,” mutters Ghost.

“When he rejected her, she kneed him in the groin.”

“Fucking hell,” laughs Gaz. “Really?”

Price’s mouth is a grim, thin line. “Why did you bring her?”

“The mandate.”

All four men sigh, but you have no idea what they’re talking about.

Captain Price nods. “Will she be any trouble?”

Ghost turns his attention on you. “Are you going to cause problems?”

You shake your head. “No. I’ll behave.”

Price affirms your answer with a quick smile. “Then the restraints aren’t necessary.”

Ghost makes a “turn around” gesture with his finger. You comply. There’s a quick tug, the pressure around your wrists releasing. As you turn around, you gently rub at the spots that have gone raw.

“It’s too late to travel,” sighs Price. “She’ll have to stay here for the night. Turn her over to processing tomorrow.”

Processing. Processing?

“We have any empty bunks?” asks Ghost.

“You want her with the general population?” counters Price.

“No,” answers Ghost automatically.

Price glances away, his gaze on the four low buildings nearby. “Take her to a private bunk. Bring her home in the morning.” He turns his gaze back to Ghost. “We’ll follow after.”

“It’ll be good to go home. Been weeks,” murmurs Gaz.

There’s a mutual, silent agreement among them that you pick up on but don’t understand. Your home is behind you, waiting, and yet it is unlikely you will see it again any time soon.

Ghost’s hand on your arm tightens, pulling you against him.

“I’ll take her there now.”

Price nods. A dismissal.

The three men turn and stride off, leaving you and Ghost next to the Humvee. Ghost leans in, head bent slightly in your direction. “Did you mean it? That you’ll behave?”

You lick your lips. Swallow. “Yes,” you breathe.

“Come with me then.”

Ghost’s hand eases before releasing completely. It’s the first amount of freedom you’ve had in hours, and you suddenly dread what that might mean.

Walking beside him, you follow his long strides. Ghost walks right past the four low buildings, passing a larger, communal area, before heading for a squat row of cabin-like dwellings. Ghost heads for the furthest on the end.

Each step is harrowing, dragging you closer and closer to an unknown fate. Ghost is at the door, pushing it open, stepping aside to allow you entrance. You talk past him, enter, come to a stop a few steps inside.

The doors shuts. You glance over your shoulder, expecting to see solid wood.

“What are you doing?” you ask, shuffling backward.

Ghost engages the lock on the door. “Keeping an eye on you.”

“Are—are you staying with me? In the room?”

“That a problem?” counters Ghost, as if your concern is silly.

“I’m guessing my answer to that question won’t matter.”

“No,” replies Ghost. “It won’t.”

You nod weakly, turning away to take a deep, calming breath.

The room itself is just a room, no larger than your average bedroom. There is a single, full bed in the corner, a plain wood desk, a chair, a bedside table, and a lamp. It is free of all other decoration. The bathroom isn’t separate, but blocked off by a half-wall. The sink and shower are in full view, and the half-wall hides the toilet. There is no privacy to be had with Ghost in the room with you.

Ghost grabs the chair from the desk, dragging it over to the door. He pushes it up against the wood, and drops into the seat with a deep sigh. The urge to pee grows. You won’t be able to hold it much longer.

“I have to pee.”

“Then pee.”

“With you in the room?”

Ghost crosses his arms over his chest, settling into the small chair like it’s comfortable. “I can’t see.”

“But you can hear,” you protest. “Can’t you just…step outside?”

Ghost rests the back of his head against the door. “It locks from the inside. I step out and you lock me out.”

“Even if I did, you could easily get back in.”

“True.”

“Then step out!”

“No.”

You could be a child about this. Stomp your feet. Moan and complain. But Ghost won’t budge and your bladder is about to burst.

With an annoyed groan, you go for the toilet, dropping down onto it and letting it all go. It feels so goddamn good even though your pride has taken a blown. You turn your head to the right, and find Ghost watching you over the top of the half-wall.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp. “Creeping much?”

Ghost arches a singular eyebrow. “You really had to go.”

“Oh my God,” you breathe, reaching between your legs to wipe.

“Should shower,” mutters Ghost. “You’re covered in blood.”

You glance down at your top and the red that stains it. It’s not yours, and it thankfully isn’t Ben’s. It’s that fucker’s with the shitty teeth that knocked you to the ground. You want to be rid of him, rid of the grit and dirt and grime. But there is no curtain, and Ghost would see all of you.

“I’ll be fine,” you reply sharply, washing your hands.

Ghost leans forward. “There’s hot water here.”

“Just say you want to see me naked,” you retort, whirling on him.

With a sly swagger, Ghost drags his gaze up and down your body. “I could strip down. Join you.”

Your neck grows hot, and then your cheeks. “That’s not necessary.”

Ghost inclines his head. “Then shower.”

“Do I even have an option here?” you ask, shaking your hands over the sink.

“What do you think, love?”

You stride toward him, suddenly frustrated. “Stop answering my questions with questions.”

“Shower,” insists Ghost. “You’ll feel better.”

“And then what? You’ll join me in bed?”

“Likely.”

“You—”

“Keep the attitude and I’ll give you something else to moan about.” You quickly glance away, nervously tugging on the bottom of your top. “What?” he chides. “You were eager earlier.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“There she is,” and you hear the smile in it.

Is he purposefully pushing your buttons? Teasing you because you have no way to wiggle your way out?

“Are you staying here all night, Lieutenant Riley?”

“All. Night,” he replies, slowly pushing up from the chair. Ghost stalks over, observing you like prey. You take a step back and Ghost shakes his head. “Don’t.”

You freeze, staying perfectly still.

Ghost’s gloved hand brushes along the side of your arm. It’s a soft caress, one that makes you shiver. This man is your captor. He has torn you from your home, from the future you imagined for yourself, and smashed it under his fist. There is no reason for you to respond to him like this.

“You should shower. Enjoy the hot water.” Ghost grasps the bottom of your chin, tilting your face upward. You’re unable to look away. “Promise I won’t look.”

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[leyavo]

Somatic healing

Simon stares at you sat on his lap, your hands lightly touching his face. Your pointer and middle fingers massaging the side of his face and the other two behind his ears. Thumbs brushing his cheekbones, leaving tingles in their wake.

He can’t quite look away from you, his breaths slowing and calming as your soothing touch grounds him. The way your lips part as you see the tension slip away from his shoulders. His chest shudders, breaths catching.

“You okay, big guy?” You whisper as if he’s something delicate and breakable by the soft caress of your voice. All he wants to do is wrap his arms around your waist and nudge his nose into your collarbone. He doesn’t know how you manage to make him feel so vulnerable, but safe at the same time.

Your touch like magic.

He grunts, the weight of his tongue heavy and the burning at the back of his throat keeping him from giving you anything more than that.

“It’s okay to cry, let it all go.” Your voice muffled as your palms cover his ears. A circular motion making him close his eyes.

The first time you’d done this for Simon, he’d shoved you off his lap. The built up tension painful and sensitive, his nervous system causing him to snap. To push anything away that caused pain.

He hated himself for it, wouldn’t touch you for days. His trembling hands cupping your face as he apologised, but the steady weight of your gaze and the tone of your voice made him ask you to try again.

Now he asked you. Cried the second and third time, but never since then. Something you did for him a few days after he returns home.

“You’re safe, nothing can hurt you here. Just you and me.” You say lifting your palms away from his ears.

Simon grabs your wrists as your hands and fingers trail down his jaw. Needs your gentle touch and soft skin to stay on him. The floral scent of moisturiser still on your hands, vanilla perfume lingering on your wrists.

A tear rolls down his cheek, your thumb catching it before it rolls over jawline.

“Better?” You ask, leaning back. Of course it is, everything’s been better since he let you squirrel your way into his life.

He tugs you closer, dropping your wrists and wrapping his arms around your waist. Head dipping to your neck, hot breath fanning against the exposed skin.

“Much better,” he mumbles into your neck, arms tightening around you as you comb your fingers through his blonde hair.

[reignpage]

Homecoming

In which you welcome Simon home

Warnings: 18+ mdni, porn with a little plot, female!reader, thigh humping, fingering, spitting, brief mention of improper use of a beer bottle and a mask, spanking, mentions of masturbation, unprotected sex, a little angsty at the end

“Y’ gonna keep staring, lovie?”

That’s a fair question. You are staring a lot. But you can’t help it; your boyfriend, Simon, is manspreading in front of you. He’s got a bottle of beer in one hand; his other arm is slung over the back of the couch as he idly watches a football match on the TV. Having just gotten back from service this morning, he hasn’t had the time to change from his outside clothes — wearing tight, rough denim jeans which wrap around his thick, muscular thighs in a delectable way, and a black hoodie that would completely blanket you if you were to put it on.

His mask is still on; he takes a while to feel comfortable enough to take it off. But the bottom half is folded over to reveal his chin and lips so he can sip leisurely. 

Giving him a sheepish smile, you skip over to him, standing in the way of his view of some silly game. Wearing just a shirt, his shirt, you watch him eye your legs with barely hidden desire. It’s so easy to rile him up, but you find you’re just as bad if the wetness in your panties is anything to go by. 

“Sorry, Si.” He swings his arm around the back of your thighs, encouraging you to straddle him. “You just look so good.”

He hums, letting you get settled in his lap whilst he rubs his thumb over the skin of your hip almost as if he can’t help himself. “Can look as much as y’ want, lovie. ‘m all y’rs.” 

That is not helping. You feel bad for jumping him as he unwinds from long months of tough work, none of which he’ll ever disclose to you and that’s just fine, but he just smells so good, feels so good. Everything about him is perfect — broad shoulders, hefty arms and cuddly pecs, and oh god, his dick. Let’s not even get started. 

Rough and worn out, his jeans scratch your thighs. It’s a delicious sensation and you can’t help but shift your hips ever so slightly. Simon notices. Of course he does; he notices everything. 

But he doesn’t say anything, just continues to brush his thumb and takes a swig of his beer. When a drop runs down his lip and threatens to dribble over his chin, you don’t hesitate to lean over, licking the liquid clear off. His grip on your hip tightens, both as a reflex and as a warning. 

You’re being told off. 

Something between your legs pulses. 

“Si,” you whine. Sliding his hoodie and the shirt underneath up, you grope his abs with one hand whilst the other climbs higher feeling for the heavy muscles at the top. You grope his pecs. Simon doesn’t look impressed. “I wanna play.”

“Can’t help y’rself, can ya?” His voice is gruff, laced with exhaustion but also something deeper and darker. And even as he keeps his gaze locked on the TV, you know he’s watching everything you’re doing. 

He sees the way your thighs are cradling one of his, grinding back and forth in tight circles and feeling the material dampen with your juices. Simon doesn’t stop you, so you keep going, loving the friction. It sends dull jolts of pleasure up your spine, you want more but this will have to do for now. So, you continue, letting out low moans as you go back and forth. 

When he swings his head back to take another gulp of his beer, you rush forward to kiss him, swallowing the alcohol as you share. It’s slightly sweet but bitter, through it, though, you can taste the distinct flavour of Simon — dangerous, loving and protective. And all man. 

You pull away, some of the liquid falling down your chin and onto your lap, but he doesn’t let you go, just grabs the back of your head and smashes your lips to his. It’s a powerful clash of teeth, nipping on your bottom lip and rendering you speechless. Then he’s taking advantage of your gasp as he pushes his tongue through, searching for yours and wrestling in a merciless battle. 

“Ride me then, sweet’art.” He grunts, feeling your legs clench down on him. You’re grinding faster and faster, feeling that distant wave of pleasure nearing and nearing. It’s so close, you’re so close, and when he starts kneading your ass, guiding your movements, you grow overwhelmed. 

It's been too long, you're sensitive and everything from the scraping of your shirt against your nipples to the callouses on his hands is driving you crazy. Months of fingering yourself to the memories of his body on you and riding his pillow, imagining it was him, are catching up.

He flexes his thigh, and you tense. In a frantic whimper, you call out his name as the pleasure washes over you, grinding faster and faster as you ride it out, “Si!”

“Good girl,” he whispers against your neck, kissing the crook of it. “That feel nice?”

You nod, but then you’re frowning, brows furrowing. “Want more, Si.”

Simon knows what you need but he can’t give it just yet; you're nowhere near ready. So he slides a hand between your legs, cupping your pussy through your soaked panties. His middle finger traces the parting of your lips, from the sources of all your wetness to the little bump at the top, and he presses down. 

You jolt. 

“’ere she is,” he huffs, “let’s make y’ feel good, yeah?”

He’s not even talking to you, but you nod regardless, riding his hand as he presses harder, his palm rubbing against your clit. It’s too dull and he knows it, can see it in the way you’re shutting your eyes in frustration. Feeling particularly merciful, he pushes your panties to the side and feels your pussy in all its glory. 

“Fuck!” Simon shuffles, adjusting his cock. “Y’r soaked, sweets.”

His lips are parted, and his eyes darken, narrowing at the apex of your legs like it’s threatening him, like it’s killing him. You want him to take off the mask so you can see and feel all of him, but this is enough for now. Simon circles your clit with two fingers, rubbing tight circles just as he knows you like, pressing down hard once in a while, leaving you a spluttering mess. 

And when he dips lower, feeling your juice pool on his palm, he curls his fingers inside. Your hips jerk up and he exhales an amused breath. Still under his shirt, you dig your nails into his skin, no doubt leaving crescent indents there, but the pain only spurs him on more, and he curves his fingers against the ridges inside your walls,

“Simon!” You moan. “Yes, right there!”

He keeps pressing, letting you ride the heel of his palm. You’re being stimulated inside and outside and it’s so good. Something cold touches your most sensitive point and when you look down you find yourself clenching and gasping. Simon's pressing the half drunk bottle of beer against your clit. The change in temperature sends flashes of heat through you and you can't bring yourself to care about the mocking grin on his stupid face.

Whilst he rubs at your g-spot, you ride the bottle, all warm and slimy from your hard clit. He's holding it still, unmoving despite the aggressive circling of your hips.

"Ya like tha', dove? Gonna cum from my beer?"

Shaking your head, you whine out a reply, "No, I wanna -ngh- come from you, please!"

You kiss him, desperate to feel his lips on you again and he humours you, letting you take your time. Eventually, he discards his beer, and both of his hands are exploring your body underneath his shirt. Dragging his dull nails down the curve of your spine, you arch, pushing your tits into his chest. Your nipples are poking through and his other hand cradles one breast, enjoying the smooth skin there, and he's cupping the heavy fat, revelling in the weight.

Perhaps it’s because it’s been so long, or maybe it’s because it’s Simon and he knows your body better than you do, but you come in embarrassingly quick time. It takes both of you by surprise. You spasm around his fingers, lips parted in an elongated moan, twitching and tensing, until you fall limp on his chest. 

And then Simon is laughing. He’s actually laughing at you. 

“Simon! Please! I want more,” you beg.

“Yeah?” He seizes your wrists with his large hands pressing your hands down on his zipper. “Want more? Y’ gotta take it, lovie.”

Wasting no time, you unbutton his jeans, pulling the zipper down and then freeing his cock. It’s already fully hard, the tip red and leaking. You swipe a thumb over it and bite back a moan when he hisses. It’s been so long and he’s so big, you’re in for a tough time. 

“Fucking love these tits,” he grunts. “Missed ‘em.”

You gasp when he pinches and then pulls. 

More. 

You need more. 

Pushing your panties aside, you kneel and line his cock with your fluttering hole, wetting his head with a mix of his pre-cum and your juices. When you slowly lower yourself, you both hiss as his cock head is stretching out that tight first ring of muscle. He’s too big. 

Your eyes are shutting, face scrunching up in a little pain. It’s been months since he’s last been inside and your pussy’s almost forgotten the shape of his dick, every curve and every vein. A tragedy of the highest order. But you’re no quitter, so you keep lowering, spreading your legs as far as you can to accommodate his size. And oh god, you feel so full and he’s not even all in yet. 

“Si, it’s too much,” you’re gasping, reeling. It’s like you’ve been deprived of oxygen, searching for air.  You’re gripping his head, revelling in the scratchy material of his mask, grounding you as you push through that stretch. 

Something even darker flashes in his eyes and his uncovered mouth curls into a sneer, it’s terrifyingly beautiful, a wolf stalking its prey in the woods — you wonder how his enemies feel, his menacing mask being the last thing they see. Then, with a soft voice, comforting and warm, he reassures you, “Y’ can take it, lovie. Always -ha- take it so well for me, don’t ya?”

And you do. Somehow, despite the impossible stretch and his daunting, never-ending length, you always take him to the very hilt. With his hands guiding you, you feel his cock head scrape all the way inside, reaching your belly button and you’re overwhelmed. Every part of you has been filled up and you clamp down on him. 

You both hiss.

“Good girl. Such a good fucking girl for me,” he grunts. “Take y’r time, yeah?”

Nodding, you circle your hips slowly, desperate to adjust. Simon grabs the back of your neck in a possessive hold, firm and final as he smashes his lips into yours again, like he can’t help himself, like he needs to taste you, need to feel your tongue wrap around his. You lift just an inch and drop down. 

“So good,” you mumble against his mouth. His stubble is growing in and the friction sets your skin alight. “Si, I missed this.”

Groaning, he thrusts up into your tight cunt, his cock head kissing your cervix and it robs you of your breath. His hands urging you, you lift and slam down again and again, going higher and higher with every thrust, and slamming down harder and harder to wring out those shallow breaths out of him, to drive him to maddening pleasure just as he’s driving you over the edge.

This isn’t just hot and rough sex, this is love. With every kiss, every bruising force and every smack of his heavy balls against your ass, you feel his frustrations at having been so far away from you for so long. All the lonely nights, the time differences that got in the way of phone calls, and all the times he had come close to returning home in a casket. 

“Fuck, lovie.” He’s trying to breathe through his nose, to maintain his cool, but every squeeze, every clench from your sopping wet pussy is tearing apart his sanity thread by thread, and he’s being rendered powerless. “Too damn good, Christ.”

“Si! More, please,” you’re practically screeching as he meets you thrust for thrust, bracing both of you for the pummelling up of his thighs. Even when you’re on top, he has the control, the ultimate authority. When he grinds your hips down when skin meets skin, you’re reminded of how easily he can wrestle you into place. 

You grow wetter. 

Simon doesn’t know where to look; your pussy is drenching his cock and his jeans, leaving a tantalising ring of cream around his base and your mouth is parted, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and gun to his head, he wouldn’t be able to say which is more beautiful. Both are certainly making his cock throb. 

“I love you, Simon!” You repeat over and over as you slam down on his cock, moaning and whining at the stretch, at the way he’s hitting that spot inside of you that’s making you see stars. “I love you so much.”

He buries his face into your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. “Shit, y/n, don’t say tha’. Gonna make me cum.”

Somehow, he’s growing even bigger; he’s threatening to bulge out of your pussy. You feel him in your stomach, hell you feel him in your lungs. A growing pressure inside of you is screaming for him to stay in there forever, it’s building and building, and the crash is going to be magnificent. 

“Fucking missed this pussy, y’know? Had to wank in the toilets at night -shit - and bite my fist to keep quiet when I remember how -ngh-  fucking perfect this tight little cunt is.”

It doesn’t even register what he’s saying, you’re too lost in the pressure. And you don’t even know if he’s talking to you, he’s just muttering whilst he thrusts up, hugging you to him. You’re both soaked in sweat, still clothed and your shirt is clinging to you uncomfortably, but you don’t care. 

“Watched our videos, the old ones -ha- and the new ones you sent.” He bites your neck, and you arch into him, pumping your hips harder and ignoring the ache manifesting already. “Jesus, lovie. You petting this cunt, my cunt, whilst stuffing one of my masks in your mouth -fuckkk- made me cum like a goddamn teenager. Made an arse out of me.”

He spanks your ass, feeling it bounce and ripple under his hand and he can’t get enough. Smack after smack, you’re being abused inside and outside whilst he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. 

“That dildo ya bought didn’t do shit, did it?” He’s pushing out a rumble of a laugh when you shake your head frantically, still bouncing on his lap. “Nah, course not. Greedy fucking pussy only wants me, yeah?”

“Only you, Si!”

His thumb finds your clit, rolling the little bud with his callouses, hard and fast just as he’s thrusting inside. Your filthy moans, the sound of skin slapping, squelching of your combined juices, and the low breathy groans coming from him fill the room, a choir from the dirtiest circle of hell.

“Open.”

You slack your jaw so you can take that glob of spit he drops in your mouth and accept the sloppy kiss that soon followed, savouring each other’s tastes. 

You’re both meeting each other’s thrusts harder and faster, with no particular rhythm, letting the desperate desire and the months of frustration and isolation wash away with every kiss against each other’s sweaty skin, tasting the salt and the sweetness there. 

“Cum for me, lovie. Milk my cock, yeah? Been saving up my load for ya.”

And you want it so badly, wanting everything he’s willing to give you. You need to have it inside, need to be branded with Simon’s essence. So, you clutch him to you and slam down just as he thrusts up. 

Your orgasm drowns you. Eyes crossing, head thrown back, and body spasming, you lose track of time. It feels like you’ve been stuck in a purgatory of utter euphoria. Your hips are still churning, trying to ride out your pleasure as you steal back air, gaping like a fish. 

"Yes! God, fuck fuck fuck fuck," you scream.

"So fucking tight," he growls.

Simon’s cock is being milked hard by your pussy clenching down and wringing every last drop as he shudders against you. His cum paints your walls and you’re both savouring the feeling — for too long the both of you have had to make do with just your own hands, or, in your case, cheap and weak replacements of his dick. Now you’ve returned to the real thing, you’re not sure you could part away again. But that’s a conversation for a different time.

Instead, you comfort his head through his mask, right before he takes you down with him, slumping against the couch. You bury your head in his chest, enjoying each other’s warmth as you both catch your breath.

“Fucking love ya, y/n,” he whispers. It’s somewhat broken, the extent of his physical and mental exhaustion leaking through and your heart breaks. “Can’t keep leaving ya for months. It’s doin' my fuckin’ head in.”

There isn’t really anything to say when Simon contemplates his occupation. You will never know what he truly does and the extent of his fatigue, and he’ll do everything he can to keep it that way. So that your light will never be dimmed by his darkness, by the things he’s seen and done, and never be dirtied by the blood on his hands. Not if he can help it. 

“All those times I wanted to see y’r face, to hear y’r voice and fucking couldn’t cause I’m in the middle of nowhere and y’r sleeping. Times when I wanted to know what y’r doing, if y’r alright and couldn’t cause ya can’t fucking reach me.” 

Simon brushes your hair with one hand whilst the other soothes your back, feeling your deep breaths and finding deep satisfaction in your weight grounding him, keeping him tethered. 

His hold on you tightens. “What am I gonna do if you get hurt and I can’t do fuck all? I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

“I’ll be fine, Si. Don’t worry about me.”

He’s the one that goes off into war torn lands, fights bad guys and has to wear a bulletproof vest and wield weapons on a daily basis, and yet he’s worried about you being here, in the civilian world, where your biggest danger is a splash of oil on your hand or slipping in the shower. Though you can’t fault him; the distance creates a sense of unknown that leaves your stomach all twisted up, and sometimes when you haven’t heard back from him in days, you can’t sleep. 

“Always gonna worry, love.”

There’s a finality in his words and you can do nothing but listen to his steadying heartbeat and clench down on his softening cock to remind yourself that Simon’s home. 

Not Ghost or Lieutenant Simon Riley.

But Si. 

Your Si. 

Always.

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

[callofdutysimpsstuff]

ghost would love having a housewife-

being able to love you is enough for him, and yet he still gets to come home to home cooked meals? and a cute decorated house? that man is folding.

he’d open the door and spot you in the kitchen, your hair falling perfectly around your face, aroma of the dish making the whole house smell good. he doesn’t say a word just rushes over to you and pulls you into a deep kiss.

it still takes you by surprise even though his reaction is a regular occurrence. you’ve just never met anyone as passionate as him.

ghost who is obsessed with calling you his wife, most of all in bed.

“yeah, love? that feel good? is my pretty little wife gonna cum?”

“what does my wife need, hm? need me to make you numb like last time? yeah, that’s what i thought.”

you try to respond, but you’re squeezed around him so tight, anything that leaves your mouth us incomprehensible.

[angelatsumu]

bedtime with olderboyfriend!simon <3

thinking of older!boyfriend!simon who says “lights off” before turning off your nightstand and leaving you to scroll endlessly on your phone in the dark. he thinks it’s an indicator that you should be going to bed, but once he’s rolled over he can still hear the incessant tapping of your fingernails scrolling through each video and image on your feed. he clears his throat, hoping you’d get the hint. when he hears the clatter of nails again, he grunts at you. “phones off too, pup. y’know damn well it’s jus’ gonna ruin your sleep,” he huffs matter-of-factly, and you whine a little protest before conceding. you place your phone down next to your lover’s and curl up under the covers beside him.

[put-me-through-the-wall]

Girl Next Door

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Simon is a simple man who doesn't ask for much. Just a bit of peace to come home to. When suddenly you pop in to interrupt his tranquility. Maybe he doesn't completely hate it...

A/N: This is fluff if you squint. Slow burn?? This will probably just be part one if y'all dig the concept. Let me know what you think.

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Simon loves sitting on his balcony in the evening. He loved it before his new neighbor moved in. He wasn't the type to be overly concerned about the actions of other tenants. If someone was too loud, he'd just turn up the television. Banging from upstairs, he'd play some music. Smoking pot outside, that's fine he smokes cigarettes. And he was never one to meddle in others personal lives. He sought sanctuary in his alone time. 

While unlocking his front door one day he couldn't ignore the soft grunting coming from down the hallway behind him. He turns to see someone coming out of the stairwell with a box so big he can only make out a pair of hands on the sides and little legs coming out the bottom. He watched as you waddled all the way to the door right next to his own. You drop the box with a huff, leaning forward on the cardboard to catch your breath. 

"Hi neighbor," you greet between pants. You're wearing some baggy clothes and a beat up baseball cap, wide eyes staring up at him from under its brim. Just a hint of sweat speckling your temples. "Sorry for the noise, I promise I'm not a normally noisy person." you smile. 

"Hope not," he grunts and enters his own residence. Closing the door firmly without a second look. 

𝜗𝜚

The next day while he's drinking his morning coffee and going through his emails he is disturbed by a politely quiet knock on the door. When he looks through the peephole he sees you again. This time with your hair down, wearing a sundress. Looking a lot more put together. You're holding a tray in your hands. He opens the door but does not release the door chain, leaving only a crack in the door to reveal himself.

"Can I help you," he grumbles in a flat tone.

"Hey neighbor!" You don't let the small allowance of space dampen your spirit or at least you don't show it. "I made some cookies. I'd like to think it's good luck to christen a new place by making something sweet in it. The recipe ended up making way more than I planned for so I figured it would be the neighborly thing to do to offer you some." You give your brightest smile hoping to win him over. 

"I don't like sweets," he states.

"Oh, really? I thought everyone liked sweets..." Your shoulders slump the smallest bit as you pause for a moment in thought. "Well, I've got a baked ziti in the oven. It should be ready in about thirty minutes. I could pop by and drop off some when it's done, if you'd like?"

"Yeah, no thanks." He doesn't allow you to respond when he closes the door in your face. Simon is a distrustful man by nature and he won't let a sweet girl with a tray of goodies change that. They did smell really good though. He can't help himself when he looks through his peephole to watch you leave. You let out a defeated sigh and shuffle back to your apartment next door. 

𝜗𝜚

A few days later he runs into you again. He steps into the elevator, presses the button for the lobby, when he hears a familiar voice calling. 

"Wait, hold the elevator please!" You shout down the hallway. You jog towards the lift, trying to get your purse on your shoulder with one hand while balancing your phone, keys, and a travel mug in the other. Your jacket is only half on and the straps on your shoes are undone. Simon groans under his breath but, out of a second of sympathy, he holds his arm out to block the doors from closing. 

"Thank you," you say breathlessly and duck underneath his outstretched arm. "I'm a running little behind this morning." 

"No problem." His eyes remain forward, watching the doors slide shut as the two of you start descending. You finish putting on your jacket and run your fingers to settle your frazzled hair. 

"Can you hold this for a second?" 

"Uh.." He doesn't get a chance to answer when you're thrusting your warm cup into his hands. He watches as you shove your phone and keys into your purse then bend down to finish buckling the straps on your shoes. Unbothered when your skirt rides up your leg exposing your upper thigh. 

You stand back up, straightening your blouse. "Thanks again" You take the cup back allowing him to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Hey, I'm sorry if I came off as strong the other day."

"It's fine"

"I'm not the best with first impressions." He doesn't respond so you continue. "I didn't mean to intrude either. I'm sure you're a very busy man. Me too, I'm pretty busy with work and stuff. I write for the paper. Well, I am writing the cooking column right now but I'm hoping to get bumped up soon. Maybe something like crime would be cool. What about you? What do you do for work?"

The elevator's ding signals you've arrived at the lobby. As the doors open Simon turns to his head slowly to look at you and nods towards the open doors. 

"Ladies first" 

He wasn't fooled by your clumsy persona, he could feel an ulterior motive in you. He watched as you sauntered off. You are much more professional now, as you pull out a pair of sunglasses and slide them on. He watched the way your hips swayed in your tight skirt. You looked over your shoulder and smiled sweetly at him. Simon waits until you're pushing open the glass paneled double doors before he heads out of the lift himself. 

As you make it onto the city sidewalk, a man runs right into you, causing your coffee to spill down the front of your shirt. You gasp as the hot liquid splashes onto your freshly ironed blouse and down your chest. The man hardly pauses before redirecting around you looking irritated. You spin back around with a huff and shove back into the lobby, pacing to the elevator. 

"Hold the door, please" you groan, marching back while Simon blocks the doors again, containing his laugh into a tight smirk.

𝜗𝜚

Whenever you caught a glimpse of Simon you were quick to skip over and start a conversation. Which was quite a bit. It seemed he was always running into you. The elevator, the apartment gym, while taking out trash, in the parking garage, as he unlocks his door. Most of the conversation being one sided. He was starting to learn more about your life, all the information against his will, of course. 

You were a recipe columnist, also a great cook. You liked dogs but really wanted a cat. You were a single child. You moved here to get a fresh start after a bad relationship. You don't have many friends, that one is pretty obvious.

Then one night, while Simon is trying to enjoy a smoke outside on his balcony he's disturbed by loud shouting in your apartment. Not in your usual bubbly tone, no you sounded angry. He couldn't understand the words you were saying through the glass of your patio door. Then a deep voice is shouting back at you. After a few minutes of listening to the back and forth, your front door slams and then there is stillness. The moment is interrupted when you storm onto your own balcony, slamming the glass door shut behind you.

You brace yourself on the railing edge. He watches your shoulders heave with a few heavy breaths then start to shutter. Your head falls weakly into your hands and you begin to cry. Cry hard at that, sobbing that shakes your whole body. You cover your mouth to keep yourself quiet but your pathetic whimpers still slip though. 

For a moment Simon actually feels bad for you. In fact he feels angry, angry at whoever could have made you feel that way. Sure, you could be annoying at times. Okay annoying all the time but he has never heard you say a harsh word about anyone before. He can't fathom what you could have possibly done to deserve such harshness. You are a sweet girl. He considers saying something to comfort you in some way but after another minute of watching you cry meekly into your hands he thinks maybe not. It would be better to let you be alone. His own patio door is still open, perhaps and can slip back inside with you noticing...

Then he drops his lighter. 

Your head turns sharply to the direction of the clattering plastic against the floor. You lock your watery eyes with Simon and he feels an unexpected pang in his heart. You swiftly wipe your eyes and brush your ruffled hair in place the best you can. Even in the dim lighting illuminating from the city below he can still see how flushed your cheeks have become. 

You draw in a shaky inhale before speaking. "How long have you been out here?"

"Not long," He sees your eyes flick down to the half smoked cigarette between his fingers, giving away his lie. "You want one?" He asks, unsure how to comfort you. 

"I don't smoke," then a pause. "Can I just have a bit of yours?" Your voice is so feeble it's almost a whisper. As you look at him with big round eyes and pouty lips, he can't deny your request. 

He passes the half burnt cigarette over the small stone wall separating your balconies. You're shaky fingers brush against his, careful not to drop it. You bring it to your lips to pull a slow drag. Your eyes flutter shut before you release the puff of smoke, carefully not to blow it in his direction. Simon watches the cloud drift out of your mouth, disappearing into the chilled night air. You lean on the wall connecting your balcony to Simon's. You stare down at the glowing red ember emitting a thin plume of smoke. 

"You alright?" It's him this time who breaks the silence.

"Yeah," you mumble, not lifting your gaze. 

"You sure?"

"No," you release a tired sigh. 

He waits a beat before speaking. "You told me you weren't gonna be a noisy neighbor."

A smile begins to creep onto your face. "I'm sorry, I broke my promise. How can I make it up to you?" When you look at him now, he sees a shimmer return back to your eyes. 

You pass the cigarette back over to him. It's basically down to the filter when he brings it to his own lips and takes a final drag, blowing the smoke between the two of you. It disperses around your features while you watch him. He stubs it out in an ashtray on his little patio table. The cool night dries his chapped mouth. He licks his lips and tastes an unfamiliar cherry flavoring. He looks down at the butt in his ashtray and observes the faintest red ring of lipgloss on the smushed filter. 

"You know, I could go for some baked ziti."

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Part II

Masterlist

Join the taglist here to be updated about new stories!

ﾒ𝟶

[deaconusdelirium]

ᰔᩚ Older bf!Simon indulging his kid at heart

-

Simon never really minded the fact that his childhood was stripped from him, it happened, it’s over, what can he do about it? Nothing. Best move on to more important things. He thinks about it, but it no longer effects him. He’s human, so at some point he’s going to watch a kid play to their hearts content like it was a foreign thing to him

Simon who raises a brow at every little thing you do when he finally starts to love you. Watching you stare at the toy section a little too long before picking out a coloring book and even longer at the crayon section. The basket in the crook of his elbow as he crossed his arms.

“What’s the difference, luvie? They all color the same” he huffed quietly, earning a soft glare in return. “Oh hush, they’re not the same. See? These ones are pastels, these ones have glitter, this one has forty colors-” you go on as he rolls his eyes and stares off down the aisle. His attention immediately being brought back as you all of a sudden stop. Then he seen what you were eyeing. The colored pencils. He looked at them and then at you before sighing and walking over. Grabbing them and show them to you. “What’s the deal with this one?” He asks, trying to find the difference yet again between the crayons and then pencils. You step forward and then smile almost sadly. “I’ve never really had colored pencils, always seen them but my parents told me they’d go in the trash one way or another” you replied. He didn’t even think twice before putting them in the basket

Simon who watches you later on that night color in the first page that stands out to you. Seeing you color outside the lines but never really seeming to mind. “Inside the lines, darlin” he mumbled as he laid in bed. One arm propping him up as you laughed softly, “oh hush, leave me alone. I like it” you smiled, “you like it messy?” He asked, “well… when you put it that way it sounds sloppy. But everyone always got mad that I colored outside the lines. Found being too perfect was always boring and never really fun. But I like this” you leaned back, looking at the paper as he nodded. Picking up a pencil and then gave a small scribble to the paper.

Simon who finds comfort in walking beside you down a sidewalk. At first he was confused, one second you both were walking and the next he was yanked back, “what’s wrong?” He looked around for any sign of trouble, then looked down at you, realizing you were counting your steps in the large rectangles in the concrete. “I stepped four steps in the last block, if I take another step, this one will be five” you muttered. Deciding not to question it, he picked you up, setting you in the next block and started walking along side you again. Now every time you walk together, he counts how many steps you take in each one, stopping and waiting for you if you need to jump a little or if you mess up your numbers, “you’re at three, luv”

Simon who pretty much never questions anything you do anymore, you want something? He’ll get it for you. Even if it’s a little bottle of bubbles, he’ll grab an extra bottle just so that if you ever run out, you’ll have another. He won’t admit it, but likes seeing which bubble will last the longest before popping

Simon who goes shopping with you and helps you pick out a stuffed animal, which turns into stuffed animals. “Oh- look at this one Si, this one’s a seal” you picked up a chunky looking stuffed animal. Giving a squish before holding it out to Simon, who gives a squish and then takes it into his large calloused hands. Scrunching it a few times and lays his head on it, then nods. Looking at the others, “look at this one, babe, it’s a shrimp” he chuckles, picking it up and showing you. A smile blossoming on your face as you grab it. You both going home with stuffed animals of your own, who later get turned into cuddle buddies. Sedrick the Shrimp and Samuel the Seal

Simon who will bring you your favorite lunch with a nice drink on the side to your work. Walking in pass the reception desk and into your office, seeing that you’re on a call, he holds your food so he can personally give it to you as he walks around the place. Mindlessly playing with a few little trinkets you got lying around. He puts the bag of food between his chest and arm, the drink in his hand while his other squeezes the chicken stress ball. Giving a small chuckle as its eyes pop out with every squeeze. Then he finds another little toy. A crane of sort that has a string attached to the tip that’s holding a ring at the end. A small hook on the beam as he tries to get the ring onto the hook. Giving a quiet “yes” as he finally gets it. Then hands your food over with a kiss when you’re done

Simon who stays up with you one night, not having to worry about waking up early for work. So he has you get up, telling you he’s hungry and that he wants to get something to eat. Then when you tell him you have to get ready. He protests, pulling your hand and tells you that he’s not going out to impress anyone and that he’d rather you be comfortable than walking around fully dressed with your clothes you wanted to wear tomorrow, just to get fast food. Tells you that he feels better when you feel good. Both of you don’t have to worry about the burdens of adult life that early morning

Simon who goes to the Lego section with you- well, more like he drags you to the Lego aisle. Telling you that he likes this one he seen a few days ago. Pretends to look for it when he made it up as an excuse so you two could actually look for something to build together. “Look at this one love, it’s a picture frame” he holds up a box, showing you. “I like that one, but I also like this camera one” you also hold up the box, he looks between the two. Eyes darting to the side before something catches his eye. “Baby, look. These are bracelets, you put little legos on them”. He immediately grabs the box, dropping them all into the cart, not even minding the price it’ll come out to. “We should look at the friendship bracelets” he buys you the bracelets anyways, going home and building the legos together, putting a Polaroid of you two beneath the camera one. Putting a picture in the picture frame one, and you both wearing the lego bracelets

Simon who picks out baby clothes, not boring bland pink or blue ones. No, those are too cliche, no, he wants something that will make those beautiful eyes he knows your little baby have, pop out. Even if he has to special order a few clothes and blankets, he’ll do it. Little onesies that have pictures of Sedrick and Samuel that were obviously custom made by the best and most liked shop.

Simon who signs your little one up for whatever their heart desires. They want to try soccer? He’s going to buy them a small goal and a ball so they can practice in the backyard of your home. They see an event coming into town and they want to go? He’s more than willing to take them. They want money for a book fair? He knows the teachers are assholes so he waits until they get home so he can go back with them. Helping them pick out whatever their little heart wants. Erasers, book marks, little toys, it’s all theirs. They want extra cuddles for the heck of it? He’s bringing you down with the two of them.

Simon who ends up healing his childhood through you and his kid. Even if he was a little embarrassed about it all in the beginning, he realized that he’d rather make memories than skip them being shy and hurting you and your kids’ feelings.

(He totally has his own stash of toys and his own coloring books he’s accumulated over the years he’s known you. He even has his own blankets with hero’s and stuffed animals of his own) ᰔᩚ

-

not really proof read, but you get the idea. Just had this in my head for a bit

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

Like deer meat picked off by carrion birds, you are plucked up during a scavenging raid by tactical-clad men all in black. There is no possibility of returning to your old life. You’re forced to assimilate, to conform to the remaining dredges of society. With that comes a choice: select someone to marry or the government will do it for you. You make the rash choice, selecting the skull-faced stranger that snatched you in the first place.

Overall Warnings: Post-Apocalyptic AU, dubcon, forced marriage, forced proximity, eventual lovers, breeding, pregnancy, canon-typical violence

Chapters: Ongoing

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty // Twenty-One // Twenty-Two // Twenty-Three // Twenty-Four // Twenty-Five // Twenty-Six // Twenty-Seven // Twenty-Eight // Twenty-Nine // Thirty

** indicates a Community Label

ao3 // main masterlist

[leyavo]

Simon Riley Masterlist

Cat: Simon taking in a stray

Cat part 2: Simon x Cat x you

Helping you: Simon helping you when your having a rough time

Somatic healing: helping Simon relieve tension and nerves

───⋅☠︎︎⋅───

Series

Wife/girlfriend series

[Main masterlist]

[seresinhangmanjake]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Soap's Sister!reader

Summary: Because Johnny found him sleeping with his sister, Simon had to live the last three months without you, but he's about to get his girl back.

warnings/notes: a little smut 18+, cursing, drinking. That's probably it. Oh, typos, im sure, as well.

words: 1830

Part 1

He drinks at the same bar. The one his team practically lived in when they were all together for an evening, but that doesn’t happen anymore, not with the entire group. Johnny stays home if he knows Simon will be attending the night out, and Simon, if informed Johnny wants to be with the team, elects to remove himself from the situation for everyone’s comfort. He figures it’s the least he can do. He’d slept with his best mate’s sister, he’d fallen in love with his best mate’s sister, and so he has taken on the consequences, no matter how infuriating and unreasonable and unfair. 

“You want another, Honey?” the bartender asks. She grins. Her eyes shine with desire, as they have all night, and it might be a pleasant sight if Simon had never met you. He might’ve taken her home, fucked her like a toy until he was spent and she was happily ruined by his cock before he kicked her out. But she isn’t you. No woman is you.

“Keep ‘em comin’,” Simon replies, downing the amber liquid in his glass. 

Suddenly, the stool beside him slides across the hardwood floor, now occupied by a newcomer he wouldn’t hesitate to shove to their ass if he could do so without causing a scene. What kind of rude bastard risks sitting next to someone when ten other seats are open?

“Actually lass, do me a favor and cut ‘im off. I need ‘im in his right mind.”

Simon almost chokes at Johnny's voice but he doesn’t turn his head as he slowly sets the glass back down on the counter, his fingers tightening around it. Anger, confusion, pain, anxiety. It all crashes over him in a hefty wave, because rolled into this one man is both the friend Simon has missed for months and the asshole who has forced him to be apart from the love of his life. And it’s almost too much to handle at once.

“I’ll take his drink,” Johnny tells the bartender, who has lost all hope now that the man she’s been attempting to charm is no longer lonely enough to be convinced to take her home. When she places the glass in front of him, he takes a sip. “You look like shit, Ghost.”

“What do you want?”

“We got a problem,” Johnny says, getting right to it. “A bit of a disaster, really, and I gave it my best shot, but I can’t fix it.” Simon blinks. His brows pinch. Johnny drains the remainder of the alcohol and wipes his mouth with the back of his forearm. “She’s miserable. And considerin’ the timeline, I’d wager it’s because she’s without you.”

Simon’s heart—though had fallen from his chest months ago—sinks lower into his gut. 

“Look, I didn' believe it was that deep,” Johnny continues. “Figured you were jus’ messin’ around. Being stupid and disrespectful with my baby sister. But I cannot have her miserable, Ghost. It won’t do.” He looks at Simon and releases a long sigh. “She loves you. I don’ like it but she does, and you need to make it better.”

“What exactly are you askin’ of me?”

Johnny’s eyes land back on the empty glass. He plants his elbows on the counter and rubs his fingers across his forehead, kneading the wrinkles. “Just…go to her, alright?”

That snaps Simon out of his grumbly attitude. “You serious?”

“Unfortunately,” Johnny says. 

Simon practically leaps out of his seat, nearly knocking the stool to the floor as he shrugs on his jacket. He’s almost at the door, but then he stops. Taking a breath, he turns back to his old friend. “Will you be able to handle this?” Simon asks. “Me and her? Because you can't ask me to let her go, Johnny. Not twice.”

Johnny takes a second, then he gives a brief nod. “I’ll adjust. Somehow. With time; lots of time.”

It isn't much reassurance, but it's enough for Simon to be on his way. He rushes out the door, jumps into his truck, and races down the road. He forgets the seatbelt. Ignores the speed limit signs. You don’t live far, and you’re worth the risk if it means getting to you faster. 

He knows the elevator in your building is much too slow because he’s been in it a hundred times. He has made out with you in it; fucked you in it, slamming the emergency button so no one could interrupt on the nights you couldn’t wait to get to your bedroom. So he takes the stairs. Two at a time, up eight flights, and down the hall. With a heaving chest, he bangs on your door. 

“Love, open up!” He knocks harder. Loud enough to make your neighbor pop her head into the hall to understand the ruckus. 

“Oh, wonderful. You've returned,” the old woman huffs. “And just when I was starting to believe I’d never again have to endure listening to that moaning and groaning at all hours.”

“We talked ‘bout this back in June, Mrs. Brimsby. Get yourself some earplugs,” Simon retorts before calling for you again. “Baby, please, it‘s me!”

“I’ll report the two of you for the noise.”

“You probably should. You’re in for a long night.” He hears a scoff but doesn’t bother to glance in the direction it comes from. 

“Still so disrespectful,” she spits before slamming the door to her apartment. 

Simon has held a low level of hatred for the old bat since the morning after the first time you’d slept together. It was an early Sunday full of soft touches and kisses and tea to nurse the mild hangovers you’d both had because of a couple of drinks the night before—the drinks that allowed the two of you to finally surrender to the sexual tension. After kissing you goodbye, he’d stepped out of your apartment with a smile he hadn't donned in quite some time, only to have it wiped away from the unexpected grandma in a collared nightgown tapping her foot as she stroked the fur of the cat in her arms. 

“You kept us up all night,” she had scolded. “We need our sleep.” The cat then hissed for emphasis. 

Now, Simon has never been so happy to have that woman blathering in his ear. She reminds him of home, because home is with you and this is where you are. Getting yelled at shoots him into the memories of the time you spent together all those months ago. The stupidly high levels of bliss that, based on the trajectory of his life at the time, he’d assumed was more of a myth than anything. But you had made it real. You had soothed the pain. You were the patch on his wounds; the brightest spot in his life which dimmed the trauma and horrors. 

He’s so lost in those thoughts that he doesn’t immediately notice when his banging fist plummets through the air.

“Si?”

At your voice, Simon’s mind instantly clears. His eyes meet yours.

“Fucking finally,” he mutters, not letting a beat go by before he’s bending at the knees, wrapping his arms around your waist, and lifting you up. Instinctually, your arms snake around his neck, your legs circle his hips, and he feels his cock begin to swell from the reminder of how natural that action is for you. How right it is that you fit together like lock and key. 

Many questions are brewing in your eyes, but you don’t ask them. You kiss him instead, hard and thoroughly as he carries you into your apartment and kicks the door closed behind him. When he sits you atop your kitchen counter and settles himself between your spread legs, his hands go everywhere; under your sleep shirt, up the curves of your body to squeeze your breasts then back down to your hips. His palms slide around to your ass and jerk you closer so the center of those thin little shorts is pressed against the mound protruding from his jeans. 

Buttons scatter across the tile from his impatience, unwilling to delicately undo each tiny closure of your shirt. Your fingers trickle lower on his body to the belt buckle you quickly undo and the zipper you harshly yank down. He’s about to tell you to lift your hips, but you do so without his command, shimmying out of your shorts, and Simon takes the chance to do the same, pushing his pants just below his ass. He springs free, the heavy column of flesh landing at your navel. 

Leaning back, you guide his cock through the slickness of puffy lips into your tight, clenching walls. It sucks the air from his lungs. His head falls to your shoulder as you both try to breathe at a steady pace. His hands brace on the counter on either side of your body, nails digging into the granite. Home.

“Simon…baby, you have to move,” you pant. “I c-can’t take it.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispers in your ear before lifting his head and placing a quick peck on your mouth. Shifting his hips, he pulls out and then slowly eases himself back inside of you. His groan drowns out the sweet song of your moan. “I’ve got you, love.”

—

“Your neighbor still hates us, jus’ so you know,” Simon says as he slides under the sheets. Were he not so exhausted, he’d chuckle at the idea of being beside you in your bed and not immediately trying to fuck you, but after the kitchen counter, then the couch, then the living room floor, you’re both worn out and in need of a good night's sleep. “Probably more now than she did before.”

Normally, you would have found his words amusing, but you remain silent on your back, staring straight up at the ceiling. Simon raises a brow and flips onto his side. Then he sees the tear slip from the corner of your eye down to your ear. 

“What're you thinkin' about, love?” he asks as he places his hand on your cheek and turns your face toward his. 

“I'm scared,” you tell him. “I've missed you so much, but the second you leave, everything will go back to how it was without you. That broke me the first time, Si. How do I go through it all over again?”

His eyes pinch tight and he sighs in shame. He should have told you. It should have been the first thing out of his mouth, but then he saw you and he needed you and that was all that mattered in the moment. “Baby,” he begins, brushing the hair back from your face. “I'm not leaving you, and we are not goin’ back to that, ok?”

“But Johnny—”

“We don't need to worry about Johnny.”

Your eyes widen. “What? Why not?”

“Because, love,” Simon says, his hand finding the middle of your back and snuggling you into his chest, “Johnny sent me.”

@universitypenguin @ghostslittlegf

[bbygirl9]

Okay so I think the actor Yura Borisov from Anora may be Simon 🧐

[angelatsumu]

I just think olderboyfriend!simon would claim to hate TikTok and how you scroll before bed, but somehow he’s got you nestled into his chest giving him a clear view of your for you page, and he’s just commenting on each video things like

‘don’t think that’s a true story but I guess I’ll allow it’

‘wonder where he gets his gear from, been lookin’ for more bike gear’

‘who would want obsessed girl whispering, just get a girlfriend’

and when you attempt to scroll through a video he was enjoying he actively boos you and pouts until you go back and let him finish.

“Si, you’re becoming an iPad baby” you retort when he pouts about not having enough screen time before bed, and he scoffs at you with a playful spank to your ass.

[put-me-through-the-wall]

Neighbor!Simon who can't help but roll his eyes the moment he hears the annoying peppy music play at exactly 9:30 every morning through the paper thin walls.

Though he's already been up for hours he missed being able to enjoy his coffee and newspaper quietly.

Simon hearing the bumping and thudding as you get ready for your day and slamming the door on your way out.

Hearing you every time talk on the phone, laughing loudly and talking a million miles a minute.

You getting excited after the multiple failures to strike up a conversation, he finally tells you his name.

Knowing when you came back home by the smell of your dinner wafting through the air vents. He can't deny it made his stomach ache as he munched on his leftover takeout.

His silent appreciation of how you become silent at a decent hour, seemingly out of respect for the quiet hours of the building.

Holding his breath whenever he opening the doors and whispering a prayer hoping not to run into you again and get held hostage in a thirty minute conversation.

How he has begun to memorize your schedule from the types of sounds resonating from your unit so he could dodge you in the halls.

He had to stop using the apartment gym after learning your enjoyment of the treadmill to blow off steam after a long day

As well as your habit of forgetting your headphones causing you to chatter about nonsense the whole time.

Resorting to running a few blocks around the neighborhood instead.

One day jogging his route and catching you in the corner of his eye, hanging on the arm of some guy, around the corner of the building

The irritation rising in him as he considered the noises he would be hearing tonight.

Coming home and taking a shower. When he shuts off the water he hears more noises from across the wall. He can hear you... crying?

He remains still as he hears you sob in your own bathroom, mumbling incoherently to yourself, followed by a few sniffles then starting the shower.

Him, unable to control the pang of sympathy that tightens his chest.

Starting to feel bad about the constant avoidance he decides to let himself be caught up in your conversation in the hallway.

Going to the gym but only on rainy days, and letting you yap on about your friends and how work was going.

Feeling excited when he recognizes a song through the shared wall. Maybe it wasn't that annoying.

One night hearing more strange noises while he sits reading a book in bed.

He hears a quiet whimpering making him feel bad again as it gradually grows louder.

Realizing the whimpering is not from tears when he can make a distinct word clearly slip through the layers of drywall and paint. separating your bed from his.

"S-simon.."

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

A/N: Consider this a 1.5 part to my neighbor!Simon series so far. If this is sloppy I apologize, I am two glasses of wine deep on an empty stomach. I needed to put out something. Simon has been haunting me. Also, I'm sorry part two is taking so long. My mother-in-law has been in town and it's hard to get writing done when there is an extra guest in the house. If you want to be added to a taglist lmk! I believe I am 3/4 done with part two now. <3

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[jackactuallywrites]

Hidden Paradise

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (detailed shagging)

Warnings: Unprotected sex and also shower sex which we all know is unsafe

Summary: You walk in on a man in the shower, it takes you seeing him in the skull mask a week later to realise it was Ghost, and he is very intrigued by your reaction

Notes: This absolutely wouldn’t be possible without @xxven my muse and pookie and beta reader who gave me the plot 🤍❤️ (also raven on TikTok for making a hot thirst trap that inspired a whole scene)

Word Count: 4,195 (I am very horny for ghost)

ao3 link

There was very little luxury to be found on a military base; your military fatigues were never soft, your boots were the cheapest given by the contractors, your bed squeaked every time you so much as moved an inch, and there wasn’t so much as a tealight allowed in the barracks.

However, you’d found a quiet sanctuary. Far from the rest of the buildings on the base, there was a small shower block, disused and forgotten about in favour of the newer, more convenient showers. The water pressure wasn’t all that great, and the tiles would probably never return to whatever shade of white they’d started out as, but all that mattered was that it was so wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

Silence was one of the hardest commodities to come across on a military base; there was always something going on, whether it be a training exercise with a hard-edged sergeant screaming at recruits or the grunts trying out whatever shiny new piece of equipment the government had seen fit to waste money on, but out there in the shower block, muffled by a copse of trees, there was nothing. Beautiful, precious, nothing.

Today had been yet another long lesson in tedium, worsened by the fact that your most beloved friends were out in the field, busy repairing the vehicles with whatever they could scavenge from the base. You already felt exhausted at the idea of how much paperwork you’d have to do after they’d torn through the place, and the day proved you right, with you having to go to every single place in the garages to check what stock had been taken as mechanics had an annoying habit of forgetting to write down what they’d used. It was long into the evening by the time you’d finally finished putting in the orders to replace every strange bit of junk the mechanics had used, and all you could think about was the long shower you were going to take.

The route through the forest was one of the only places you could get away with wearing your headphones and listening to music without getting scolded by the sergeant on patrol, and you took advantage of this privilege every time, blasting some classic disco music in your ears as you approached the shower block, blissfully unaware of the world outside. If not, you might have noticed the sound of the shower running.

As such, you walked into the block thinking of nothing but how your new eucalyptus shower steamer would smell, having got fairly good reviews online. You already had a favourite shower at this point, the one on the very end, with the best water pressure that the rusted old pipes could provide, though it had no door to speak of. You walked along the yellowed tile floor, passing by the empty showers until you finally reached your favourite one, only to find that it was very much not empty.

Standing under the sputtering stream of water was a tall, well-built man, his tan back glistening under the hundreds of droplets of water, highlighting the various white scars on his back, some of them small, some of them intimidatingly large. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down, admiring the muscles in his back and perfectly toned legs, as well as a surprisingly sculpted ass. Whoever he was, he was statuesque in his beauty, as though he had been carved out of marble, and as he turned around to face you, showcasing the golden hair that trailed down from his abs, you caught a glimpse of his shaft, thick and long, yet quickly covered by a large hand.

It was that movement that broke the lustful spell you were under, and your eyes finally stopped ogling his body and flicked up to his face. You didn’t recognise him, not his pale green eyes or his crooked nose, but you could absolutely recognise the outrage on his face, and you yanked down your headphones, keeping your eyes firmly above his waist, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.” His voice was little more than a snarl, “Get out.” You had absolutely no desire to argue with a man built like that, so you gave a quick nod and hurried back out of the shower block, not willing to spend a single second more in his presence.

~

Since your encounter in the showers, not a single night had gone past where you hadn’t dreamed about the man, his body, his hands, the dark blond hair that led down his navel, and the thick veins on his forearms. It lurked in the back of your mind, eternally present as a lustful little memory to entertain you during the more boring moments of your day.

Yet again, you were in another meeting writing down what items had been used over the week and what needed to be ordered for the next month's exercise. It was made slightly more interesting by the fact that this time, you were working with the SAS, and not just that, but with some of the most feared soldiers there were, including the worst of the worst, Ghost .

You swore you could almost feel the insidious aura coming from the man in the skull mask, as though it was radiating off him in dark waves. When he spoke, his words were sharp and to the point, never expending more energy than was strictly necessary, and rarely directing his attention to you, sitting in silence and taking notes, not that you were complaining. Every time the man spoke, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as though your body was trying to warn you that he was dangerous. It was only toward the end of the meeting that you finally spoke up, standing and reciting everything that you’d written down in your notebook.

It was times like that where you’d have to put on a brave face as if you feared the room of men no more than a pack of kittens, making sure your voice was loud and firm, forcing them to listen to you. None of them seemed particularly interested; after all, you were a perfect, albeit boring professional, yet you remained undeterred, making eye contact with each of them. Even Ghost was looking at you; you could see those pale green eyes watching you from underneath his skull mask with a strange intensity. You remained undeterred, staring back at the man as you read out the various things that were in stock and what would have to be ordered, yet there was something niggling at the back of your head. Those eyes were strangely familiar.

It took you a second to remember, and then the barely buried memory came back: the beautiful man in the shower, his body glistening, his toned muscles, and the dark blond hair that covered his navel. The words in your mouth died on your tongue, and you saw Ghost’s eyebrow raise underneath his mask as if he was intrigued by your reaction to him. You cleared your throat, hoping that the heat you felt in your cheeks wouldn’t show up on your skin as you dropped your eyes back down to your notebook, pointedly ignoring him as you focused back on your task, ensuring that you hadn’t missed anything.

Inexplicably, Ghost spoke up, interrupting your admittedly dull recital of your list, “How soon can we get a restock of the M16 mags?” His question forced you to look over at him, and his pale green eyes seemed as though they were trying to drill right through your head. You refused to back down this time, meeting his gaze no matter how prevalent the image of his naked body was in your mind, even if you did stumble over your words as you flipped through the pages, “Those mags, uh, the ammo for the M16 that is, we ordered those last Tues-Wednesday , so they’ll be in by the end of this week.”

You couldn’t see his expression under his mask, but you could have sworn that it tugged in a way that suggested he was smirking underneath the black fabric, a touch of smugness in his eyes. Was he flirting with you? There was no possible way for you to find out in the middle of a full room, so you decided to put that tantalising idea to the side, wrapping up the last few items on your list and then glancing around the room, “If there’s anything else, please send me an itemised list by the end of the day.”

With that, the meeting was over, every soldier packing up their files, undoubtedly each one as bored as you, and you had little desire to spend any more time with them, especially with the suspiciously intense look Ghost was giving you, so you gave your farewells and left the room as quickly as you could, doing your best to rid your mind of the confusing thoughts whirling around in your mind. Ghost, the supposed ‘psycho’ killer, was flirting with you. Or perhaps threatening you. You weren’t entirely sure which. And yet, you had a strange desire to find out, that small part of you that longed to step into dangerous territory. But how could you? That meeting had been the only time you’d ever interacted with the man; other than your brief encounter in the shower, it didn’t seem like there would ever be another opportunity to be alone with him.

Unless.

Regardless of how outraged he’d been previously, he’d seemed entirely intrigued by you in the meeting, almost amused. You’d seen the direction he was headed; if your mind wasn’t already overtaken with delusional optimism, you could have sworn that he was striding in the direction of the old shower block with what seemed like great determination.

This was one of those deciding moments, a fork in the path where you got to choose what the outcome would be: adherence to your usual routine or something far more thrilling. You could almost feel the clock ticking in your head, your time running short, and for once, you decided to be brave and at least a little bit stupid, heading to your barracks to pick up your things before heading out toward the shower block, adrenaline pounding in your veins as you made your way through the small woods to the brick building.

Even from the outside, you could hear the shuddering of the pipes as they desperately pumped water, your heart beginning to pick up the pace as you pushed open the heavy wooden door, closing it softly behind you, now able to hear the pattering of water on the tile floor and see the black clothing draped over the bench that ran the length of the wall. You walked down the centre of the block, approaching the last stall on the end, and yet, you couldn’t take that final step. Everything below the waist was screaming at you to leap into the shower with the man, yet your brain conjured images of the humiliating HR meeting you’d be in if you had, in fact, entirely misinterpreted what were admittedly very subtle hints. You didn’t dare push over that line with a man so far above you in rank, but you weren’t prepared to entirely give up, so you merely slunk into the stall next to his, stripping off your uniform and hanging it on the backside of the door, pulling it to and surrendering yourself to an unsatisfying shower.

The shower head shuddered as you twisted the knob for water, a few spats of water dripping out, yet nothing more. There was a good reason you stuck to that end stall; almost every other shower there had been neglected to the point of failure. You took this as a sign to give up, turning around to get your things, only to find Ghost standing in the now open doorway.

There was nothing but a towel lazily wrapped around his hips to cover him up, his blond hair already soaked, water leaving little trails down his body, pulling your eyes down. You quickly snapped your attention back to his face, your hands already going to cover your chest and between your legs instinctually. Ghost’s eyes lingered on your body before finally flicking to the broken shower head, then back to your face. You could see that intrigued twinkle in his eyes as he gave you a slightly smug smirk, gesturing toward the other shower stall with his head, “Mine works. We should share.”

You almost couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. The exact situation had been playing out in your mind ever since you’d seen him naked, yet never once had you made the connection between your shower Adonis and Lieutenant Ghost. The two couldn’t be reconciled in your head, but you quickly decided that this was a problem to be solved later, if at all. You turned your non-functioning shower off, though slightly reluctant to use the hand covering your chest to do so, and then walked out of the stall, ducking under Ghost’s arm holding the door open for you, and rounding the corner into the warm stream of the only functional shower, allowing the water to wash away all the important questions that should have been asked, only focusing on the present moment.

Though you’d chosen to face away from him, you could still hear the noise of his towel hitting the wall as he tossed it aside, your entire body tensing up as you felt his presence behind you, the nerves nipping at the back of your mind. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, trying to find something else to focus on to quiet your frenzied brain, your eyes flicking to the one bottle of his on the floor in the shower, trying to figure out what scent ‘original’ was supposed to be, and whether one liquid really could be shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Your thoughts on his toiletries were brought to an instant halt at the first touch of his hand on your hip, a questioning touch as though he was gauging your interest before moving any further. He might have been feared special forces, yet here, you retained a level of control, of security. You relaxed into his touch, leaning back until you bumped up against his chest, and his arm snaked around your stomach, wrapping tightly around your waist as he stepped forward into the stream from the shower, his head dipping down to rest in the crook of your neck. You could feel his other hand trail a path up your thigh before it, too, wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him in a tight embrace, like a man starved for any sort of touch.

For a moment, the two of you remained in that simple intimacy, your arms resting on top of his, enjoying the sheer pleasure of his embrace. Your hands were the first to move, your fingertips gently trailing over the muscles in his forearms, admiring the strength in them, unable to hold back a smile as you saw the not-so-subtle way he flexed them for you. His hand moved then, and you followed them with your own, one trailing down over your hipbone to the top of your thigh, gently stroking the skin there, the other one shifting up until it was just underneath your breast, pausing right before he touched anywhere interesting.

Clearly, he wasn’t about to touch anywhere without your explicit permission, and you decided to test him, pulling his left hand up until it was settled over your breast. His fingers paused, and you felt the tenseness in his arms, yet after a beat, he stretched out his fingers, tracing a little pattern over the swell of your breast, circling your nipple before his hand covered your boob entirely, gently squeezing it in his hand. You could feel his breathing growing heavier, every exhale blowing air over the skin of your neck, but you had no intention of stopping, relaxing into his touch, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes closed. The hand on your thigh had grown tight, fingers digging into your flesh, and you began to move his hand further in to where you could feel a growing need for his touch.

The further you moved his hand, the tighter his grip on your chest got, pulling you closer against him until you could finally feel his hardness pressed against the small of your back. His clear excitement emboldened you further, and you pushed his hand firmly between your legs, letting his fingers slightly part your labia to rest on your clit. That action earned you a low growl from him, and he buried his face into your shoulder as he pushed his fingers further down, touching the slick wetness beginning to leak out of your needy pussy. The second he felt your wetness, he drew his fingers back from you, digging them into your hip and pulling you firmly against him, rubbing the bridge of his nose against your neck as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

You had no problem allowing him to take his time, focusing on the simple pleasure of the warm water on your skin and the heat emanating from his chest to your back. His hand moved back to your pussy, more determined than before, as he slid his fingers down your slit, gently probing your slick hole with his fingers. As he slowly slid one in, he let out a strangled groan, shifting his face so he could bite down on the flesh of your neck, his other hand massaging your breast as his finger began to easily slip inside you. He stretched his thumb up to rest on your clit as he gently began to pump his finger in and out of you, rubbing in little circles, and you couldn’t help but let out a little moan.

The slightest of noises from you seemed to spur him on, and he pushed another finger inside you, beginning to kiss and suck at your neck as he did so, your body easily accepting his two fingers, and so he followed it with a third, his dick twitching with excitement against your back as all three of his fingers sank inside you without resistance.

Whatever good sense you had left was beginning to dissipate in the haze of your lust, and you reached your hand behind you to wrap around his cock, slowly beginning to stroke him as he gently fucked you with his fingers. He rewarded you with a soft groan in your ear, and so you quickened your pace, beginning to pump his dick in earnest, wanting him to receive the same pleasure as you. Your body was eagerly opening up around him, and the last bit of your intelligence vanished as your desperation for him overpowered you, and you begged for stupidity in two words.

“Fuck me.”

There was no hesitance in Ghost’s touch now as he pulled his fingers out of you, turning you to face him and then bending down to grab your thighs and lift you up, pinning you to the cool, damp wall of the shower stall. You could see the lust in his eyes as he shifted to hold you with only one hand, the other quickly moving to his dick, positioning it at your slick entrance and then slowly beginning to lower you down onto him. There was no comparison to the pleasure you felt, not only from feeling him slide into you, but to watch his face as he did so, his open lips, the desperate look in his eyes, his gaze entirely focused on you as though you were Aphrodite herself. You sunk your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud as you felt him stretch out your insides, yet you let your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails raking his skin as you felt every inch of him.

When you finally sunk down to the base of his cock, he leant forwards to rest his head on the wall beside you, clearly struggling to contain his composure, his hand digging into the flesh of your thigh, the other splayed out on the cool tile wall. He took a second to breathe before he began to slowly thrust up into you, his hand shifting from your thigh to your hip to pin you in place. Even in your wetness, you could feel how big he was, filling you up so perfectly, and you arched your back against him, desperate to feel every inch of him inside you. His eyes were on you now, and he moved his hands from the wall to your lips, tugging your bottom lip out from between your teeth and issuing you a singular command, his gaze intense.

“I want to hear you.”

Even in your pleasure, you couldn’t stop yourself from obeying a command from your superior officer, and you let out the moans you’d been holding back, tightening your legs around his waist to pull him into you as much as possible, your fingers raking against his back as he fucked you, his hips beginning to move more forcefully against you. His fingers now moved to your hair, brushing the errant strands out of your face and then shifting down to cup your cheek, lifting your face, his voice soft, “Look at me.”

There was no mistaking the utter lust in his gaze when you looked up at him, yet you could also see quite a great deal of tenderness, of genuine care, which only served to heighten your pleasure, your hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his neck as you clung to him, desperately grinding your hips against him. He picked up his pace further yet still restrained himself from fully slamming into you, his grip like a vice on your thigh. His voice grew hoarser as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, clearly strained, “Touch yourself.”

In another situation, you might have felt insecure, yet you were entirely awash in lustful pleasure, and so you obeyed, reaching down with one hand to begin rubbing circles around your increasingly sensitive clit, feeling that same build of pleasure in your core as Ghost fucked you faster still, his expression growing more desperate by the second. He leant forward to whisper his final command against your lips.

“Come for me.”

Your body seemed honour-bound to obey him as your pussy clenched around his dick, your pleasure building until it finally crescendoed, with Ghost’s lips crashing onto yours as you finished, his hips moving frantically as he desperately fucked you, his thrusts stuttering as he finally shot his load deep inside you, his body crushing yours into the wall in a tight embrace. Your kisses became softer as the both of you came down from your frenzied high, his grip on your body loosening slightly, your death grip around his neck becoming less deadly.

With a satisfied groan, Ghost let himself sink to the floor, pulling you down along with him into his lap, letting his dick remain inside you as you settled more comfortably on top of him, resting against his chest as he lazily wrapped his arms around your lower back, cradling you against him. After such bodily heat, the comparatively cool water of the shower felt heavenly on your skin, washing away your intermingled sweat.

You probably could have slept there, with Ghost still buried inside you, yet he was not so spellbound. With a gentle movement, he pulled his softening length out of you, reaching over to grab the bottle of soapy liquid he’d left on the floor. Then, he repositioned you so you were now sitting in between his legs, his thick thighs boxing you in as he opened the bottle behind you. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, nor did you care, still awash in a pleasant afterglow. The touch of his fingers gently massaging the liquid into your hair was a heavenly surprise, and you practically melted into his hands, a human-sized pile of putty perfectly manipulated by him. He ran his fingers through the length of your hair, thoroughly soaping up every strand before he let the cool water wash away the suds.

Then, he got to work on your body. Never had you been so grateful for three-in-one soap as it meant you didn’t have to miss a second of his warm chest against your back as he began to soap up your body, his fingers incredibly gentle against your skin, paying attention to every single part of you, and then letting you lean back against his chest as the water washed everything away, his arms coming to rest around your waist. Every single care of yours seemed to follow the soap down the train as you relaxed into him, enjoying the way he rested his chin on your head as you closed your eyes, finally entirely at ease.

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

Secret Lovers

Simon "Ghost" Riley X F!Reader

Simon wasn’t someone who very willingly opened up to anyone, his teammates were no exception either, save for Price. It was always better to keep things quiet and let people assume what they pleased instead of trying to answer their questions. Better to remain mysterious than show your cards to the wrong person. a/n:this was originally started because of a snippet @thebeesatemyknees had written, thank you so much for letting me turn this into a full fic! I hope I was able to do it proper justice warnings:none, just tons of fluff Part 2

Simon wasn’t someone who very willingly opened up to anyone, his teammates were no exception either, save for Price. It was always better to keep things quiet and let people assume what they pleased instead of trying to answer their questions. Better to remain mysterious than show your cards to the wrong person. Johnny had badgered him from day one if he had a partner, going on and on about how much he loved his girlfriend. SImon wasn’t going to tell him anything, no matter what he’d keep his lips sealed.

Kyle was the next one to ask, though it was more in passing rather than a true and genuine question when he cornered the older man. They had been discussing mission details when the topic arose, did he have a next of kin? And if so, who would be the one to inform them if Ghost were to be KIA’d? He never asked Simon after that day, instead going on to different topics whether they had to do with the mission or what they wanted to eat. Kyle treated him like a friend, it was nice.

And John, well he knew all about Simon’s personal and very private life.

~~~

You were a new addition to the team, a medic that could stitch up a wound within a minute and get you back on the field within five. They were thankful to have you come around with them, helping stitch up a wound on Johnny’s arm, or cleaning up a gash on Kyle’s head. The only person who seemed to be a little wary around you was Simon, which both Johnny and Kyle felt odd. You fit in their group like the puzzle piece that was missing, and yet Simon acted as if he wanted nothing to do with you. Surely he’d warm up to you a little more, they were all sure of it.

“Thank you all for meeting me on such short notice. We’ve got word that an arms dealer is hosting a gala and we need to get more intel before we can swoop in.” Kate was a woman who took no shit and left no prisoners, she wasn’t going to risk this.

“Who do we want to send?” John was nervous, his men were trained for this, but putting them into a situation where they’d have to become someone else entirely? Nerve wracking.

“I was discussing it with Shepherd last night, and we’ve decided that Simon and Y/N will be going on this mission while the rest of you stake out the building.” All eyes suddenly shifted to Simon who looked calm as ever.

He’d forgone the mask for this mission briefing, knowing that only his teammates and Kate would be in the room with him. Knowing that you were going to be there made things a little more tense, could he handle something that dire?

“If you think that’s what’s best, I fully support the decision.” John wasn’t going to argue, Simon could be suave and charm the pants off of anyone if needed.

“Thank you, we’ll be heading out tomorrow and meeting up at the hotel. Promise me you’ll behave so no one suspects you, please.” Kate knew how much of a troublemaker that Johnny and Kyle could be, given the opportunity of course.

“I’ll make sure of it myself if need be, don’t you worry.” John smiled up at her, leaving Kate to wonder how much trouble there would be.

They would need to debrief you on the plane ride over, given that you weren’t even in the room with everyone. Having something like that just dumped on you with no time to prepare was the worst, how could they manage? Simon would just have John give you the rundown so he could worry about more important things, like how he’d have to act like the two of you were so desperately in love.

You would have an entire day to get comfortable in the hotel room, there would be a few people lingering so you’d get used to being stared at. Simon knew they’d mainly be staring at you, you were downright gorgeous. And with the clothes that had been picked out? A deep navy blue tux, with a pitch black button up and black silk tie. It perfectly matched the dress they’d picked out for you, a deep V down the front that left just enough to the imagination. The color matched his tux almost identically, the only difference was your dress was silk. 

“They’ve packed everything for you to do your own hair and makeup, we don’t want you to stand out too much, better to blend in.” It was the smartest idea, if you or Simon were to attract too much attention things would end badly.

“Yeah, Kate told me as much as she could, I made sure to pack my best heels.” You were nervous, it’d been so long since you’d been able to go out to something fancy.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” John knew you were smart and quick witted, but something about this mission unnerved him.

“I’m positive, Simon and I will get the intel and get out before anyone even notices we’re missing.” You were confident everything would go smoothly, Simon could be silent if needed.

John nodded at you, settling back into his seat as the plan began to descend down onto the tarmac below. Simon was staring at you from across the way, palms sweating slightly as the time drew closer to getting inside the hotel. Johnny was going to see how nervous he was and make comments, he was sure of it. The sound of tires squealing brought everyone’s attention to high alert. It was time to grab your things and head to the cars, you were driving over with Simon, leaving the other three to their own car.

It was mainly to not raise any suspicion, if you were seen driving with any man that wasn’t your husband word would spread before you managed to make it to the party. You were absentmindedly playing with your ring, twirling the obnoxiously large diamond with your other fingers. It was a habit you picked up whenever you tended to wear jewelry, though it was much better than picking at your cuticles.

“You feeling alright hun?” Simon glanced over at you, though his own nerves were shot, he wanted you to feel comfortable.

“A little nervous, but that’s to be expected considering the circumstances.” You kept twirling the ring, glancing between Simon and the road ahead of you.

Simon took a quick breath and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together without skipping a beat or taking his eyes off the road. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, you had been waiting to see how long it took before he finally felt comfortable around you. You’d need to practice around everyone else if you were going to look natural around a bunch of strangers. Everything was going to be just fine, you were sure of it.

John had set up everything in the hotel room, along with hanging up your dress and Simon’s tux to help steam out any wrinkles if needed. So far there was nothing to worry about, save for Soap acting like a little shit and pranking Simon and Kyle for the most part. You’d all settled in, changing into comfortable clothes and ordering food so that you wouldn’t have to leave. Simon was cleaning up the kitchen so he could sit down and enjoy dinner with you.

“Do you need any help?” You walked over to him, pressing your hand against his lower back.

“Nah, just need to finish cleaning this plate and we can eat.” Simon smiled at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Whatever you say.” You patted his back gently, heading over to the small kitchen table.

Johnny raised a brow at how you and Simon seemed to naturally work with one another, he didn’t want to raise any suspicion. Kyle on the other hand was ignoring him entirely, digging into his own meal and scrolling through his phone. Simon had finally finished, grabbing his plate of food and heading over to sit with you. He could faintly hear that you were both discussing the mission and going over your alias’ one last time.

“Simon, you need to wear your ring.” You’d gotten on his case the entire day, he kept taking it off complaining that it felt weird to wear it.

“I’ll wear it during the mission tomorrow.” Simon brough the fork to his mouth, focusing on his plate rather than your raised brow.

“You say that now, but when we end up leaving you’re going to forget it and then we’re going to have to drive all the way back because you won’t wear your ring.” You had put yours on right away, mainly because you were forgetful and didn’t want to end up forgetting it.

“Are you really going to make me wear the ring all night?” Simon’s expression would normally terrify a recruit, but you’d gotten used to it.

“If I want to make sure you have your ring on? Yes, I’m going to make you wear your ring until we get back on that plane and go back home.” You’d glue it on if need be, but Simon knew better than to disobey orders.

John chuckled to himself watching the two of you, it was a dynamic he hadn’t seen in quite a while and it was pretty funny to witness. Johnny on the other hand was now even more flabbergasted at the way you worked together. Why did you seem so comfortable arguing with a man who’d killed for less? This was something sinister and it unnerved him to no end, he’d get to the bottom of this.

You’d offered to clean up everyone’s dinner dishes, carefully cleaning any knives before laying them on a towel to be dried by Simon. He walked over to where you were, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull your bodies flush together. Johnny’s jaw dropped open as he slapped Kyle’s arm to get his attention. The playful bickering was one thing, but watching Simon the Ghost Riley be so affectionate? 

“Damn, he’s a good actor.” Kyle watched the way you and Simon began to sway gently, giggling at something he’d whispered into your ear.

“Scarily good, didn’t think he had it in ‘em.” Johnny shook his head, turning back towards the computer in front of him.

It wasn’t until the sound of someone kissing caught their attention once more. Simon had dipped you, lips pressed against yours as his arms wrapped around your waist. Johnny’s jaw dropped wide open, well if you weren’t together already that was surely going to change. You pressed your hands against Simon’s chest, laughing happily as you stared up at him.

“Cap, do ya think Lt and the medic are gonna get together after all this?” Johnny had high hopes, no one gets kissed the way Simon kissed you and simply part ways.

“What’re you talking about?” John barely lifted his gaze from the screen, typing up the pre mission notes to help catch up on them before.

“Simon’s practically tonguing the medic! He’s gonna woo her.” He waggled his brows at the older man, cackling when John rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah that’s not gonna happen.” John’s attention focused back on the task at hand.

Johnny’s laughing abruptly halted, what the hell had he meant that Simon wasn’t going to woo the medic, it was obvious! Clearly John had no idea what he was talking about, Johnny could see the little twinkle in your eye from across the room.

“Gaz, am I wrong or do ye think Ghost and medic are gonna end up together?” He was determined to get someone to agree with him.

“Oh, if they don’t I’m asking for her number for him.” Kyle may have had a slight crush on you, not that he’d ever admit it.

John sat upright in his chair, focusing on Johnny and Kyle who thought they were being more subtle than they actually were.

“Have you ever looked at their name tag by chance?” John wanted to see if the other two would finally catch on.

Both Johnny and Kyle shook their heads, neither of them had a reason to over analyze your name tag when they had injuries to be taken care of. He sighed softly to himself before glancing over to you and Simon. You were laughing at some bad joke Simon had whispered to you, a bright smile on his face.

“Her last name is Riley.” John watched as realization dawned on their faces.

You’d been married this entire time and no one, besides Price, was none the wiser. How the hell had you managed to keep it hidden from everyone? Then again Simon wasn’t the most overly friendly or affectionate when it came to anyone. You were his wife though, that was different! Surely you could bring out a different side of him, something that no one usually got to…of course.

“Would’ve been nice to know at least.” Johnny shrugged off his disappointment, this was a big thing to keep hidden away.

“It wasn’t my place to tell, just remember that.” John wanted to respect your privacy, it was the least he could do considering your line of work.

Johnny and Kyle understood why Price hadn’t admitted to questions about your relationship, but knowing the truth? It felt good. They watched the way you and Simon danced to the music playing from your phone. Simon’s arms were wrapped around your waist, pressing kisses all over your face as you tried to squirm away. It was a side of their teammate they’d never thought to see, and no one outside of this hotel room would ever get to see it.

At least, not until after the mission of course.

tagging: @gaylemonshark