#simon “im a dead man” riley

[dollygirl808]

A Dead Man's Home

Childhood best friend! Simon "Ghost" Riley x Nurse!OC Ava

(Emotional, hurt/comfort, injury, breaking and entering, angst? Romance? Kinda.)

While this story is SFW, please be respectful and know that my blog as a whole is not, and is 18+ only. It's also possible that if I make this a series it'll contain smut. Thanks!

Big Masterlist

Ava gasped, falling back into the door she just closed as she saw him- just sitting there, apparently napping. Naturally, she screamed.

The man startled awake, a gun appearing in his hands as he shot up straight and pointed the gun at her, pretty blue eyes meeting hers. And then he relaxed, dropped the gun which bounced off the cushion and skittered under her coffee table. The masked man leaned back on her couch, hissing under his breath and pressing his hand into his side, which was currently bleeding through his black shirt.

There was a nice black leather jacket thrown over her dining chair, and a pair of heavy black combat boots that she almost tripped over.

"What're ya screaming for?" He asked, grimacing when speaking agitated his injuries. "Jus' me, love," He told her like it was obvious, thick British accent making her head reel. First his eyes- so familiar yet so different. Then his voice.

"W-what?" She took a stuttering breath, feeling her knees grow weak as she stared at the man currently bleeding out on her couch.

Then, slowly so as to not cause too much pain, he lifted his hand and peeled away the torn, bloodsoaked balaclava and revealed his face. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Si.." The tears welled up immediately, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as her voice trailed off. She felt rooted to the spot, unable to take a single step closer. His face is plenty recognizable in the dark of her apartment anyways, and there was a little light peering through the closed curtains.

Whatever face she's making must be ugly, twisted in disbelief and heartbreak and relief all rolled into one- she's always been an ugly crier, he told her so plenty of times. She must look so silly right now because he chuckled, low and deep, although the movement makes him grunt in pain again.

"Hey love," Simon rasped, chest rising with every heavy breath.

"Si... S-simon?" She asked, voice breaking off into a near silent whisper, the tears already gathering at her hand pressed to her face.

"Yeah. 'S me love,'' He told her, and that's all it took.

Ava burst into sobs, crumbling right there in her spot by the door to her knees, both hands pressed tight to muffle her opened-mouth wailing.

"Shit-" Simon cursed out, forcing himself to his feet and limping over to her. He kneeled in front of her, bruised and gloved hand hesitating before softly touching her hair like she was a wounded animal, as fragile as porcelain under his blood stained palm.

The single featherlight touch is all it took for her to throw herself at him, falling into his chest as she took them both to the ground despite his groaned protest of pain, crying into his blood-soaked shirt and clenching the fabric between his fingers like he might disappear again.

This isn't exactly what Simon expected when he came here, half delirious from blood loss, clumsily prying open her window out in the open where anyone could see. Really, she should get a security system, it was way too easy to break into her house. But that could be talked about later, after they've both calmed down and had some time to talk.

He could feel his own emotions swell, his nose and eyes burn. But he doesn't cry, no- he's far too gone for that, committed too many crimes, killed too many people. A single tear is all he allowed himself, pressing his cheek to the top of her ginger curls, letting the single droplet soak into her hair. He knows she felt it, too, but she doesn't say anything.

She's too busy cursing at him and hitting his chest and arms, and crying into his shirt and clinging to him, but she knows.

Ava sat up, half straddled over his waist from where she tackled him, cute puffy cheeks all angry and pouty as she glared down at him through teary eyes, and she slapped him. Hard, right across his face.

"You- you fucking asshole!" She sobbed, using the sleeve of her blue nurse's scrub to wipe at her teary face, but even as she tried to stop the waterworks they just kept coming.

Simon grabbed her wrists when she started pressing the heel of her palm into her eyes, pulling her hands away from her face with just one of his. His thick, scarred thumb swiped away a tear on her cheek, looking up at her with such longing as he did it. And she can't help but smile, lean into his touch as disbelieving little giggles bubbled out of her.

"I know. M' sorry Ava," He told her, voice reverent as he looked up at her as a thing to be cherished, treasured. And she was, to him. The closest thing to family he had was right here, in his arms.

"Don't Ava me!" She snapped at him, hitting at his thick muscled chest, and he let her, although it lacked any real venom or aggression. "You died! You left-!" The tears welled up again, and she hiccuped out another sob, cutting herself off.

"You left me, Si," She whimpered out, bottom lip quivering as she blinked at him through tears, fingers clenched into his black shirt again.

He swallowed thickly, barely able to meet her gaze, "I know.. 'M really sorry love." He wiped at the fresh salty tears on her face then rubbed his thumb against her cheek, and it didn't take long for her to melt into his touch again, un-clenching her hands and resting them against his middle just where his shirt was bunched up around her thick thighs.

"I missed you, so much Si- you have no idea."

"Missed you too, love," He breathed out.

Ava went to scrub at her face again with her sleeve, only to see blood on her scrubs that wasn't there before. She stared at it, blinked, then blinked again as if it would go away.

"....You're bleeding," She stated, chocolate eyes shifting from her bloodied sleeve to his face.

"Yea," He nodded once, concise, just agreeing with her statement.

They stared at each other for a moment, both silent for different reasons, Simon because he didn't have anything else to say, and Ava because she was praying for the strength not to kill him a second time and wring his neck.

She settled for smacking the side of his head before scrambling off of him, rushing to her bathroom for her first aid kit.

"Ow- what was that for?" He huffed, sitting up and dragging himself to leave back against the couch, not having the energy to stand up again.

He flinched from the bright light when she flicked on her living room switch, "For letting me squish you under me while you bled out, you moron!" She scolded him, dropping to her knees once again, this time with a white box that had the medical symbol on it.

She slapped away his hands with a click of her tongue as he tried to lift his shirt up, then pressed a thick pill into his palm and handed him her water bottle as she lifted his torn shirt for him, gingerly unwrapping his hastily-done bandaging.

"What'dya do that for anyways?" She glanced up at him as she tore open a disinfectant wipe, just to be safe. As he was about to speak she pressed it to his wounds, making him hiss out in pain. It brought a small little smile to her face.

"Little sadist," He sighed fondly, "Did it cause I missed you," He smiled softly at her despite her sadistic little revenge, eyelids all droopy as he leaned his head back against the couch cushion.

It made her heart skip a beat again, her breath stutter as she prepared her suture needle and thread. "What're you looking at me like that for?" She huffed out, tucking her chin to her chest as she stared pointedly at his wound instead of him.

"Like what love?" He asked, tilting his head to the side to look at her more.

"Like you're about to bleed out, that's what you big brute." She fished out her phone from her pocket, tossing it at him.

"You'd never let me bleed out love," He teased with a charming smile, somehow still managing to be stupidly attractive even with blood splattered on his face. He caught her phone easily, and raised an eyebrow at her in the form of a question.

"Use the flash, can't see shit on the floor," She told him, and set her emergency kit on between his legs as she half laid over his lap and half on the floor to get a better angle.

"Don't know yer code, love," He turned the phone to face her so she could unlock it.

"It's the date you told me you were joining the military." He hummed, barely noticeable pause before turning it back to face him as he put the date in- he remembered of course, the first time he broke her heart, when he said he'd be gone for months on end, only coming back every once in a while.

So, she spent the next hour properly patching him up, plucking him in the thigh or stomach whenever he let the light move. There were only two wounds that needed to be stitched, one gnarly jagged tear across his side that she couldn't even make a guess as to where it came from, and the other on his thigh, dangerously close to the femoral artery.

The rest of his wounds are mostly big, ugly bruises that must hurt like a bitch, and possibly a few broken ribs. When she tried to make him go to the hospital he put his foot down and refused.

"Simon," Ava sighed out, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I just don't understand, you could be seriously hurt, I'm not a doctor, I can't diagnose you," She told him, exasperated.

He sighed as well, blinking slowly at her. "Love- I'm dead. Y'remember that, don't ya?" He asked, poking his thick finger at the dog tags around her neck, the ones with his name on it, "Can't go to the hospital. They'll find my death certificate and it'll cause trouble."

Her face softened into a mournful little smile, the stinging of oncoming tears making her lip quiver again at the memory. It nearly made the corner of his lips quirk up in a smile, that was a trait from their childhood that he missed seeing. She always looked so cute like that, cheeks all puffed out, nose red with her bottom lip in a pout.

"I just... don't want you to die on me again, Si," She murmured, curling her legs under her as she scooted closer to him on the couch.

"You won't love, promise," He vowed to her, his expression almost adoring as he stroked his thumb over her cheekbone, then his hand fell down to her neck and slid into the hairs at the back of her neck.

"C'mere," Simon pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face in one of his old shirts, the gray fabric stretched thinly over his thick muscled form, barely fitting him anymore.

When she handed it to him with a defiant blush, she threatened to kick him in the ribs if he ruined her favorite sleeping shirt. He huffed a laugh into her hair at the memory, and she nuzzled closer, burying her nose into his scent. Even if it was tainted by bloodshed and gunpowder, it was still him underneath it all. Her Simon.

---

Ava felt herself drifting off, when suddenly her world shifted as Simon hauled her up into his arms bridal style, making her squeak at him indignantly to be put down.

"I just stitched you up, you stray mutt!" She hissed at him, heat rising to her cheeks, "I'm too heavy and you're too injured to be carrying me Si!"

"Yer not," He rolled his eyes like what she said was a ridiculous, unfounded rumor with no truth to it, a smirk tilting the corner of his mouth, "Now where's yer bedroom?"

A furious blush spread across her face, "Put me down!" She wriggled like a worm on a hook to get out of his grasp, but despite having to limp from his injury and likely having a few broken ribs, he didn't so much as falter in his hold on her. In fact, he completely ignored her as he began limping down a hallway in search of his current objective.

"Stop squirmin'. Won't help you," He chuckled, amused as he opened a door, found it to be a bathroom and kept looking.

Ava whined, pushing her face into his shoulder, "This is humiliating Si," She mumbled.

"Love, 'S just us. Now are ya gunna hide or help me?" He prompted, tilting his head to look down at her with his pretty blue eyes.

She pouted, and refused to look at him as she pointed to the slightly ajar door of her bedroom. The man just hummed in acknowledgment and limped his way over, pushing open the door as they shuffled through, and he sat with her in his arms still.

When she squirmed and complained, he graciously allowed her to sit on his lap instead. "D'ya work tomorrow?"

She shook her head, "No, thankfully. I have the weekend off."

"Good," He sighed out, and promptly fell back onto the bed. "Let's sleep in tomorrow."

She had gotten changed into a t-shirt and shorts earlier when she let him borrow- or have, his old shirt back. And he was just wearing that and the boxers he wore when he came in, his pants being ripped and blood-soaked. As well as uncomfortable for sleeping in.

She crawled off of him, careful not to put any pressure on his wounds, and laid down as she usually would, covered pulled up to her chin.

"I never consented to you sleeping in my bed," She told him.

Simon cracked an eye open, looking over at her, "Want me to sleep on the couch, love?"

Ava pursed her lips, glancing away before looking back at him, "No," She admitted, voice quiet. He hummed again. He did that a lot, actually.

"You can cuddle with me.. I guess."

He smiled, "Thanks love."

It took him a few more minutes to move again, thoroughly exhausted, but eventually he dragged himself next to her under the covers, his least injured arm tucked under her head with his other wrapped around her soft stomach from behind, pulling her into his chest with only a small squeak of protest.

He pressed his nose into the nape of her neck, taking a deep breath filled with her smell, forehead pressed against her curls up in a bun. "Missed you," He mumbled against her neck, voice filled with warmth and pure adoration. Her breath hitched.

"I- missed you too," She told him back shakily. It was hard to keep her composure when he used that tone with her, so raw and exalting, hot against her skin.

"G'night love," Simon whispered into her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the skin there.

She breathed deeply, closing her eyes, trying to will her heartbeat to slow down, "Goodnight Simon.”

---

Thee end, that's all for now. Idk if ill write more because I wasn't supposed to start any new series bc I have too many in a cod fandom alone (7 now if you include this one) but you can have it and enjoy!

Taglist: @cringeycookies

[seohyunsfavorite]

Simon is just so big and muscular (tree trunk thighs..), like the size difference is just mind boggling, and he’s not gentle either, like if you’re looking for a gentle giant, thats not him

He’ll put you in a headlock while fucking you from behind, and that’s probably when he’ll try to be a bit gentle cause he’s trying so hard to fight the urge to snap your neck

Not that he’d want to hurt you like that but all those years in the field it’s just muscle memory!!

[iinsawdious]

the many ways of dog-coding ft Simon Pegg

bonus alt:

[gomzdrawfr]

kitty!Raven au

Ghost: what breed is Raven again?

Price: cat

[callofdudes]

Don't put me in the trust of your heart. Don't make me think of you when the gun is in my hand. Let not for you to leave me when I hurt you, because I know I will. Let not us part separate but be buried side by side. So I don't have to feel the pain of knowing that you've died...

The cold rain. Drip, drip, drip. Cold droplets splattered across black rooftops. Sinking into the soil beneath feet and rolling off the black shoes that sink into the moist dirt.

The rain disguises the tears that run his face a mess, that line his scars like ugly marrs and make him look weary.

He feels weary.

His suit is soaked and his umbrella in the car.

The rain clouds roll thick across the heavens, the roar of the thunder all he can hear amongst the scarce silence that the pelting rain offers.

But yet he can't move. He won't.

He's stuck and he knows it. The rain sinks the freshly dug up soil back into the ground as if it were never lifted. Fresh seeds of soft green glass will spring from the ashes and spring new life.

What a twisted fate...

Everyone has left by now. Even his friends who tried to get him to leave. But still, he remains stood there where a friend does. He won't leave without them. Knowing they cannot move either.

War has taken them home, where peace and prosperity waits.

Why can't he have that too? Why can't he be with you?

More tears flood from his cheeks, salt mixing with rain down his chin, down his suit, into his skin.

"Why would he do this?" He whispers, his eyelids fluttering in the thick rain.

He's never believed in God. He's never cursed his name for he's never thought much of him. And yet, now he wishes to curse him. For he's taken all he has.

He thinks back not too long ago when he stood in this same place. A freezing cold winter morning, the bleak sky rolling above, three Graves laying without sound.

Names of family. One not yet to his third winter...

And now, after gaining something, he's lost it again. Lost you. All he had.

He can't leave. He left his own grave, he left the grave of his family. And each one took a piece of him with them. Each time he left from those dormant, silent coffins buried in the ground they stole a part of him to keep.

And he knows..

Looking down at your dog tags kept in his curled fist, that this time if he leaves... He'll never truly come back.

[sentientcave]

Swallow My Pride

Simon spots you across the bar. You're a long way from the little girl that used to torment him in primary, but that's alright. These days he's got a soft spot for beautiful men.

Contains: FtM!Reader, Reader bullied Simon in primary school, alcohol/bar mention, smoking, oral sex (Simon receiving), Reader has hair long enough to pull a little, Implied fibre arts, abrupt ending because I wasn't gonna get into all that. Maybe later.

1.1k ~ MDNI ~ 18+

It figured that you'd be gorgeous now.

He almost didn't recognize you. Probably would have missed you entirely if not for the long, searching glance you'd given him, like he was familiar too. Back then you were a skinny, mouthy little bitch that made his life miserable until you moved away, and now you were a handsome, self-assured man, filled out strong and a little soft. Standing with your friends, laughing. They obviously didn't know that you were a venomous little viper under that easy smile and oversized, hand-knit sweater with wonky cables on the front.

The lads noticed his silence and singular focus. Johnny started acting up some, like he always did when Simon paid too much attention to another man.

"Y'gonna talk to the pretty boy?" he asked, exasperated. "Or jest leer at'm all night?"

"If you don't, I might," Gaz said. "It's cold out these days and he looks like he's comfortable to have a lie in with."

"Fine. I'll talk to 'im." Simon stood and shouldered his way over to you, cutting a swathe through the crowd of people lingering by the bar, and put a big hand on your shoulder. "Wanna talk t'you," he rumbled. "Follow me."

"Hey, what the fuck," one of your friends said hotly. "Don't be rude."

Simon glared at her, ready to snap, but you quickly put yourself between. "It's okay. I know him."

Simon steered you outside and shoved you up against the wall. "Recognize me, do you?"

"Of course. Thought you were dead, though. Saw you here a couple months back. Kept coming back, thinking I had to be nuts." You tilt your head to the side. "I'm surprised you recognize me."

"Maybe I wouldn't've, if I'd ever seen you as a woman. But we were kids. You've changed, but I know you."

You had been the worst thing in his life, outside of his home. Quick to point out his hand-me-downs and his shaggy hair, to knock things out of his hands. If you’d been a boy back then, he would have just punched your lights out, but even then he knew better than to hit a girl. You were fair game for a fight now, as far as he was concerned, but he wasn’t really that interested in fighting. Especially when you were giving him that kicked puppy stare, regret written all over your face.

Regret was a powerful motivator, and he liked the idea of you trying to make it right. He liked the idea of seeing what he could get out of it too.

"I never got to apologize. When I heard-- Fuck, you've been through it. Apologies don't seem like enough." You look at him, big eyes and soft mouth. So fucking pretty.

"It's not enough. Don't want to 'ear it anyway. Want to make it up to me?" He waits for your nod, then reaches for his belt. "Suck me off. Right 'ere."

You look stunned for a moment. He expected to to stalk off back inside-- He didn't really want an apology, didn't think there was any making up for it, not really. Just wanted to push your buttons a bit, more than anything else.

But you dropped to your knees on the dirty ground, and waited, patient as a well trained dog. "Good boy," Simon grunted, pulling out his cock. He liked the way your big eyes got bigger, a gleam of want in them. You'd grown up to be a proper slag. He slapped his cock against your cheek, and you turned to catch it, sliding your lips and tongue along the side.

"This why you 'ad t'be such a cunt back then?" he asked, grabbing your hair to keep you from sinking your mouth down onto his cock. "Wanted me so bad an' couldn't say so?"

You glare at him from the ground. "Do you want the apology or the head, Riley?"

"Makin' me choose, are you?" He let go of your hair, however, his laugh turning to a groan as you sucked the head of his cock into your hot mouth, tongue lapping at his slit to taste the bead of bitter precum.

He was going to be more of a dick about it, but he couldn't get a word in. You worked his cock like you were made for it, working your hand over the shaft when you lapped at the tip, swallowing around him when you sank all the way down, taking him into your throat, bobbing your head back and forth, spit dribbling down your chin and his balls, messy, like you knew that was just how he liked it.

He managed to communicate that he was going to cum, enough that you let him pop free and pump his come onto your waiting tongue, purposely missing a little, his come glistening on your cheek and caught just slightly in your hair. You swallow, grimacing slightly at the taste.

"You ever eat anythin' that has a lick of nutritional value?" you gripe, using your fingers to scrape his come off your cheek and into your mouth anyway.

"Get your trousers off an' I'll eat your cunt," he offered, groaning again when you sucked him into your mouth again, cleaning off the mess. "If y’still ‘ave one. Christ. I'm takin' you 'ome either way." He lit a cigarette, glancing at the door when it pushed open, ready to bark, relaxing when he realized it was just Soap and Gaz. "Hey, lads."

You side eyed them, but you finished your job first, sitting back on your heels and wiping your mouth with your sleeve as Simon tucked himself away again. Gaz and Soap stood there, gaping like fish until you stood up.

"That's gotta be a record," Gaz said. "You haven't been gone ten minutes."

"Well, pretty boy knows what 'e likes." Simon dropped a hand on top of your head and pulled you close to his side before you could duck out of the conversation. "Don't go, pup. Figure you owe the lads an apology too. You're the reason I'm so mean, and they've 'ad t'deal with it all this time." He slid his hand down the side of your face and hooked his fingers into your mouth roughly. "What d'you think?"

You look at the other two. Gaz was trying to look nonplussed as he lit his cigarette, but there was no hiding the hungry gleam in his eyes. Soap wasn't even bothering to be subtle. He looked you up and down, palming himself through his jeans.

You shove Simon's hand out of your mouth, grinning. "Oh, he's been real mean, has he?"

Soap stepped in closer, his fingers hooking into your pocket to reel himself in next to you. "He's been a nightmare. Yeh gonna make up for it?"

"Can try. Riley's always been pretty determined t'be a cunt though. It's not all my fault."

“Need to say goodbye to your friends?” Gaz asked.

“Nah. It was a date. Didn’t really like them anyway. Felt like they were just looking for a compromise between addin’ a man or a woman to their failing marriage. Not really keen to get into all that. This sounds more fun.”

Simon chuckled. “Good choice, pup. Let’s get goin’.”

I've been rotating this thought in my mind since I read this fic by @/soapcloth about Soap being Reader's childhood bully. Read that, and then all the other stuff they've posted because there's some very fun stuff and I highly recommend their work.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[nastybuckybarnes]

Coal - Three

Pairing: Alpha!Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Omega!Reader

Summary: Your Alpha gets a wake-up call that he was not wanting nor expecting.

Warnings: A/b/o dynamics, military inaccuracies, language, sexual themes, smut, injuries, lowkey mean!simon, kinda enemies to lovers...

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: did not expect this kinda response to this story ngl but im so so so glad you guys are enjoying it!

~*~

"I don't know how else I can say this. There's no getting rid of her. As long as you remain employed here, these are the terms," Price huffs out, collapsing in his desk chair.

Simon only glares at him.

"But... you do make a valid point," the Captain adds after a moment.

Some tension eases from the Lieutenant's shoulders.

"She's a part of our pack now, and we cannot let that negatively impact our performance on the field."

The very idea of his Sergeants being shit shots simply because a sweet smelling Omega is present is appalling, to say the least.

"I'll have a chat with Laswell, see what her thoughts are. She's going to ask about you," he adds when Simon turns to leave.

The man pauses, one hand on the doorknob, then glances at his Captain over his shoulder.

"She's going to want to know how things are... progressing," he elaborates, "how the two of you are doing. She's already been tossing around the idea of... forced proximity. I don't want to hafta put you through that, Son. I know how you feel about this whole thing and... I just don't want you making this worse on her or on you."

Grunting his acknowledgement, Simon exits the office without another word.

He knows.

He f u c k i n g knows.

Hanging his head he huffs out a heavy sigh then snaps his head forward and yanks his phone out of his pocket.

His fingers hover over the newest contact he was forced to add for a long moment before finally shooting off a text.

He stuffs his phone back into his pocket then heads to the rec room to wait.

You're startled awake by the sound of a heavy fist banging against your door.

Heart in your throat, you rush to check the peephole, your anxiety increasing tenfold when you see who's outside.

Carefully unlocking it, you tug the door open and look up at him nervously.

"When I fucking text you, you answer. Got it?"

You blink up at him a few times in confusion then turn to where your phone lies on your desk.

"I-I'm sorry, I was asleep," you try to explain, rushing over to grab the phone in question.

Simon's firm hand holds the door open, his glare focused on you as you return to the doorway.

"I don't care what your excuse is," he spits, "it could be life or death. You can sleep when you're dead, which you'll obviously be soon if you keep this shit up."

"Okay, I-I'm sorry," you whisper, voice thick as unshed tears sting your eyes.

"Don't be sorry, be better."

His words bite in a way that nothing before ever has, but you find yourself nodding quickly anyway.

"Yes, I'll be better, I promise."

He turns and walks away before you're even finished talking, leaving you stunned in the doorway.

You don't even notice the tears falling until you've closed the door.

Your first real interaction with him and it probably couldn't have gone worse if you tried.

Scrubing your hands over your face you wipe away the evidence of your tears and square your shoulders.

'Don't be sorry, be better.'

The words ring in your ears as you lock your door. They echo through your mind as you strip naked and turn the water on cold.

They pound against your temples as the cool water beats down on you.

They pull your shoulders back as you walk with Price through the mess the next morning.

'Be better' is the mantra that has you chewing each bite of food silently while the rest of the pack chats like nothing is amiss.

Finally, the opportunity to 'be better' arises.

You're sitting at your desk, lids heavy as you read through another book.

Since that first night you've been doing everything you can to stay awake into the early hours of the morning.

From cold baths, to exercising, to reading, to making and re-making your nest.

Your phone vibrating jolts you to full awareness, and you're up and on your feet in the same moment.

It takes a half-second to read the text, another to process it, and thirty-five to get yourself ready to march through the hallways of the base.

You try to move as quickly as you can, not wanting to let your Alpha down again.

Finally, after what feels like forever, you push open the door to the gym with two water bottles held tightly in your grasp.

Soap and Ghost pause their sparring when you enter, and you feel your face screw up in confusion.

Your heart rate slowly returns to normal as Simon approaches and grabs a water bottle from you, taking the second and handing it to Soap.

With empty arms, you stand there, staring at him and waiting for your next command.

You stand there for almost five minutes before Simon even addresses you, and when he does it's just a lifting of a brow as if to ask why you're still standing there.

Slowly, you turn on your heel and exit the room, risking a glance over your shoulder at the door only to find the two of them sparring once more.

The entire walk back to your quarters you ponder what just happened.

You even go so far as to re-read the words on the screen to make sure you're not missing anything.

'Bring two water bottles to the gym.'

You're not even sure what you thought would've happened after bringing the water bottles, but this certainly wasn't it.

And this is only the beginning.

Texts similar to this one start to ring in almost every night.

A text at 4am telling you to bring him tea. Another text at 6am telling you to prepare his plate at breakfast (a plate that sits untouched when he doesn't join you in the mess).

A text at midnight telling you to bring a book to his office and then another when you're on your way telling you to leave it on the floor outside the door.

Though the texts come more frequently, his attitude towards you otherwise stays the same.

It nearly gives you whiplash, and it does nothing to make you feel safer here, in your new home.

And, as if you didn't have enough to worry about, your unclaimed status has become apparent to a few of the more handsy Alphas on base.

"I'm starting to look forward to our little cat and mouse game," one man says, caging you against the wall.

You keep your eyes down and your chin tucked, heart hammering against your ribs.

Seconds before his fingers make contact with your skin he's yanked away from you, an angry Alpha separating the two of you.

"If you're fond of having hands, I'd advise keeping them to yourself. This is the Lieutenant's Omega. Can you imagine all the thing's he'd do to you if he found out you were touching what's his?"

The Alpha stiffens, blood draining from his face.

Only when Captain Price turns to face you does the other man run away, not sparing the two of you another glance.

"Are you okay?"

You don't miss a single beat.

"I'm fine."

He scoffs, as if he's not drowning in the scent of your distress.

"No, are you okay?"

Your mouth opens and closes a few times before settling closed. You can't lie to him, but you can't tell him the truth.

You can't tell him about your sleepless nights, the fear that ices your spine whenever your eyes close. You can't tell him about the image of Simon holding a gun toward you, his eyes icy and cold.

So you say nothing.

"Walk with me."

You obey, falling into a step beside him and keeping your eyes cast down.

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, until you come to a stop outside of his office door.

He digs in his pocket, looking for the key.

"How long has this been happening?" His voice is firm, demanding a straight forward answer.

You let out a heavy breath before answering, and Price can't help but wrinkle his nose as fear overpowers your normally sweet and homey scent.

The key is turning in the lock when you speak.

"Since the first week I got here."

A growl rumbles deeply in his chest and your eyes snap up to his face.

You instinctively break away from him, taking a few quick steps back.

Immediately realizing his mistake, he takes a few deep, calming breaths, then opens the door to his office.

"I'm not mad at you, Omega. You've done nothing wrong."

His use of your title eases your nerves, and the certainty of his words has your shoulders relaxing as you follow him into his office.

He takes his hat off and sets it down on his desk, then takes a seat in the chair, motioning for you to sit down.

You take a seat on the couch along the wall, curling your legs up and shrinking in on yourself.

"If anyone ever bothers you again, you come to us. Any one of us, and we will deal with them." Though he doesn't directly command it, you know this is an order.

It takes a fair amount of self-control for you to stop yourself from scoffing, though.

Sure, he and the two Betas may help you, but your mate seems more than indifferent toward you.

"We're a pack, a family. And... I know Simon might not be the most accepting or agreeable, but we do see you as part of the pack. You're one of us now."

His words tickle a soft spot in your heart and you can't help the tears that well up in your eyes.

Slowly, you lift your eyes to his, and utter what could be one of the most heartbreaking things he's ever heard.

"I wish my Alpha was as kind to me as you are."

Price's shoulders sag and his face falls. He opens his mouth to speak but you're already on your feet.

"I'd better go. Thank you for your help earlier, Captain."

And with that, you take your leave, hurrying through the halls until you get to the safety of your nest.

Captain Price sits in his office for a long while until finally, finally, firing a text off to Simon.

The Lieutenant is in his office two minutes later.

He stiffens upon entry, your distressed scent lingering in the office.

"You would do well to put a mark on that neck of hers. If not for your sake, than for hers," The Captain says, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.

All of this has, so far, been far more complicated than he had initially thought it would be.

"What are you talking about?"

What else could the Omega possibly have to complain about? It bothers him to no end that you would go to Price with your complaints.

"Corporal Stevens had her caged against the wall, can only imagine what would've happened if I hadn't stepped in. And apparently this has been going on for a while now."

This pisses Simon off for a whole new reason.

"Why didn't she say anything before?"

Who the fuck would even dare to touch you? To put their hands on something that obviously belongs to someone else?

"Have you ever given her a chance to?"

This shuts him up.

Because Price is right. Not once has Simon given you any indication that he is a safe space, someone you can turn to if you're being bothered.

"Stevens, you said?" He asks, a new determination on his face.

Price heaves a sigh, dragging a hand down his exhausted face.

"Don't do anything I'll need to file paperwork on."

A beat of silence passes between the two of them before Price speaks again.

"If nothing else just... be gentle with her. There's... a girl in there, a young one. One whose scared. Very afraid and very lost and she has no one but us. She can be more than just... what you're making her. If you let her."

Though he externally seems unaffected, Price's words have a deep impact on Simon, burrowing in to his core.

It rouses his inner Alpha, and he can't help but feel upset with himself for pushing you away the way he did.

Sure, he may not be on board, but a little Omega like yourself shouldn't be getting harassed by other Alphas who know damn well they shouldn't even be looking at you much less touching you.

Rising to his feet, he turns on his heel and marches straight toward your quarters.

He's not sure what he wants to say, he just knows that he needs to say something. Needs you to know that if people are bothering you you need to tell him so he can make an example of them.

As he lifts his fist to knock, the door swings open and you stumble into his chest.

A gasp leaves your lips at the sudden presence, and a shiver runs down your spine as warm hands wrap around you to bring you back to your feet.

As quickly as they were on you, his hands retreat.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, taking a step back only for your back to collide with the door to your quarters.

He quickly shakes his head, raising one hand up to silence you.

You drop your head, your inner Omega preparing for whatever lashing awaits, but you're surprised when he speaks and holds no malice in his voice.

Well, none for you at least.

"If anyone so much as looks at you in a way you don't like, you tell me. Got it?"

Your eyes find his face and you feel your brows pull together.

"Wh-what?"

He takes an instinctive step forward and you can feel the heat radiating off of his chest.

"Let me scent you."

"What?"

He says nothing, only stares at you waiting for your consent.

All the times you imagined being scented by your Alpha, this was never the way it played out.

Slowly, you nod, tilting your head back to give him more access to your throat.

He wastes no time, one hand firm on your waist while the other tugs his balaclava up over his nose.

A sharp gasp leaves you as his nose drags across your neck, and you can't help but bring your hands up to his shoulders, nails digging in as he begins taking deep breaths.

He huffs heavily against your skin, drowning you in his scent and overpowering the lingering distress that clings to you.

Your eyes roll back into your head and you whimper softly, your inner Omega preening at the proximity, at finally having his hands on you.

A soft rumbling sound erupts between the two of you, and it takes you a moment to realize it's coming from you.

After minutes that, in truth, feel like both hours and seconds, he pulls away. His pupils are blown wide, balaclava pulled back down over his mouth, and his hand on your waist flexes the tiniest bit.

You blink heavily up at him, purring softly as all your nerves settle now that you've been so thoroughly scented.

"Where were you off to?" He asks after a moment, dropping his other hand down to your waist. His voice is huskier than before, deeper and warmer. You want to burrow into the sound.

You slide your hands down his shoulders to rest on his chest, humming happily in his embrace.

"The rec room... Soap..." you trail off, eyes foggy and mind full of haze.

He hums, sliding a hand over to the small of your back and leading you away from your room.

"Don't want you going anywhere on your own. Not until the others here understand who you belong to. Scent should help."

A shiver ripples down your spine at his words.

Who you belong to.

You belong to him. He's scented you, you're his now. He's accepted it.

As he leads you through the halls he can't help but marvel at how pliant you've become. He wonders if you'd put up a fuss at all if he were to bend you over and knot you right here in the open.

His inner Alpha grows restless at the idea, clawing against the heavy restraints the military has ingrained in him.

Risking a glance down at your hooded eyes, he's certain he could ask you to get on all fours and present like the good Omega you are and you'd do it without hesitation.

The conversation between Gaz and Soap comes to an abrupt halt when they see their Lieutenant ushering you into the room, your eyes far away and your scent heavily masked by that of the big man at your side.

"Don't let 'er go anywhere alone," he barks, handing you off to Soap when the Scot rises to meet the two of you.

"What's goin' on?" He asks, brows furrowed at the determined look on Simon's face.

They have a silent conversation with their eyes, and then Soap is tugging you down to sit between him and Gaz on the couch while Simon turns to find the prick who thought it was okay to touch what belongs to him.

"Hey, little one. How you doing?" Kyle asks, a comforting hand finding its way to your back.

You hum happily and turn to him, nuzzling your face into his chest.

"Jesus, if this is what happens when you scent the bird I can only imagine wha' she'll be like once she's claimed," Soap says with a grin.

Though his face is happy and relaxed, Gaz can see the tension in his shoulders. He knows that whatever happened to force Simon to scent you couldn't have been good.

"M'his," you murmur, slowly opening your eyes and looking up at the man.

"Yeah?"

You nod. "Said so himself," you boast quietly, a smile pulling at your lips.

Gaz and Soap exchange their own pleased glances before turning their attention back to you.

~*~

Like clockwork, there's a knock on your door the next morning.

Your breath hitches when you open the door and, instead of Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley stands there instead.

He says nothing, only steps aside to give you room to walk beside him.

You're nervous, he can smell it as his hand finds your lower back.

No words are spoken between the two of you as he leads you to the mess, and no eyes follow as the skull-faced Alpha fills up a plate of food then ushers you to your usual seat.

Butterflies swarm your belly when he places the plate down in front of you, then takes his usual seat beside Soap.

There's a brief moment of silence around the table before Gaz gives you a bright smile and wishes you good morning.

Price's eyes connect with Simon's and he gives the Alpha an approving nod, the corners of his mouth turning upward at the energy of the pack.

His pack.

A prickle of anxiety races down your spine and you straighten immediately, eyes darting around for the source.

Your fork clatters to the table when you finally meet his gaze, and you shrink in on yourself a little.

A man, an Alpha, has his steely glare focused on you. His face is more blue and purple than anything else, his neck is secured in a brace, and his right arm is in a sling.

Quickly, you turn your gaze back to your food and pick up your fork, not wanting to make a scene anymore than you're sure you already have.

A low growl rumbles from across the table and you lift your gaze to the man in question, only to find his eyes focused on the injured Alpha who cornered you against the wall.

When you look back over at him, his eyes are on the ground.

A soft breath of relief leaves your lips, one that does not go unnoticed by your pack mates, and then your eyes are drifting back to Simon's only to find them already locked on you.

Your breath hitches and you find yourself stuck once more, unable to look away no matter how much you want to.

His brown eyes lack the usual layer of ice that would frost over them whenever he would look at you. Now, there's something warm in them.

It's such a drastic change from the Alpha that brushed past you that first day in the hall, the one who referred to you as 'a pet'.

A complete 180 from the Alpha who would summon you to the gym just to bring him a water bottle.

Or maybe not.

That night, a text wakes you from your light slumber.

'Bring two water bottles to the gym.'

Sighing heavily, you force yourself to your feet and trudge out of your room to obey his command.

When you get to the gym, however, you're surprised to see no one inside.

Taking a hesitant step forward, you sniff the air, searching for his -now familiar- scent.

You catch it a second too late, and then he's on you. Big arms wrapping around your frame from behind, one hand holding your throat.

A strangled squeak leaves your lips and the water bottles drop onto the floor.

"If you're not with one of us, you can never let your guard down," Simon's voice growls lowly in your ear.

You whimper, trying to tug out of his grip but he doesn't relent.

"There's a reason why everyone who knew you has been led to believe that you're dead. If you don't start watching your back, you will be."

Finally, he lets you go and you stumble forward, panting heavily.

"You're going to learn to fight."

Your brows draw together and you slowly turn to look at him, not understanding.

"That's why you called me down here?"

A slight dip of his head is all the response you get.

"I-I... at least let me get changed," you try, taking a step toward the door.

He sidesteps directly in your way, forcing you to collide with his solid chest.

He's wearing a tight black t-shirt, leaving his thick tattooed arms on full display for your hungry gaze.

His hands grab your wrists, forcing you to stay put.

"The kinda men who want to hurt you aren't going to wait until you've got yoga pants and running shoes on," he says stoically.

Now, in such close proximity, you can finally get a better look at him.

The skull plate has been discarded, a black balaclava all that covers his face.

Freckles lightly dot the exposed skin you can see, and his lashes are blond.

Your Alpha has blond hair.

"Why do people want to hurt me?" You ask.

Your voice comes out as a meek whimper, and it tugs on his heart.

This is exactly why he's refused Omegas before.

"Mostly because they can. You're small, weak. A thing to be conquered. Men want that. Alphas want that."

You frown up at him, letting your little hands go limp in his arms.

"But... I have your scent..." and one day I'll have your mark, is what you don't say.

"That fact alone draws danger." He releases your arms and leads you to the center of the room, circling you like you're his prey.

"You'll never overpower an Alpha. Not physically. Run. Always run. Your scent is too sweet to hide, but it can confuse. Strip down as much as you can, throw your clothes in opposite directions. It will, at the very least, buy you some time. And if you're ever in close proximity with someone who wants to hurt you..."

He trails off behind you and you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Your instincts take over as he pounces, and you quickly sidestep, turning to face him.

"Wait!"

"Your enemy won't wait," He hisses, coming at you again.

This time you slip under his arm, sprinting as far away as you can in the limited space.

"You're not my enemy," you gasp, turning around only for him to be right in front of you.

"Right now I am. And you're caught." He grabs your throat with one big hand. His grip isn't hard enough to hurt, but it is enough to assert his dominance over you.

"You're easy to catch, anyone could have their way with you, knot you, claim you. Is that what you want?!"

His words strike a nerve and before you know what you're doing you taste blood in your mouth and his arm drops away from you.

Simon stares at you with wide eyes, shocked at the feral look on your face and the harsh growl rumbling in your chest.

The bite didn't necessarily hurt, but it was more than enough to stun him for a moment. And a moment is the difference between life and death.

Maybe his Omega isn't as helpless as he thought.

The momentary pause gives you enough time to process what happened, where the taste of blood is coming from, and then you're covering your mouth with your hands.

"I-I'm so sorry!"

He shakes his head, "don't be. That was perfect."

You can't help but preen at his words, his approval, his praise.

"Let me clean this," you whisper, taking a closer look at his forearm.

He says nothing, you're moving before he has a chance. So instead, he watches you.

Watches as you exist in your truest nature, caring for him even after all he's done, all he's put you through.

You grab the first aid kit from the wall and hurry back over to him, ushering him to sit down and kneeling in front of him.

He extends his arm to you, his eyes on your face the entire time as you clean and dress his wound.

Your fingers tremble the slightest bit when you touch him, and you immediately notice the way goosebumps rise on his skin.

Without thinking, you look up at him through your lashes only to find his intense gaze already focused on you.

Your scent spikes, a hint of anxiety tainting the sweetness, and he finds himself naturally exuding his own calming scent.

Finally, you finish bandaging him, smoothing your fingers over the gauze on his wrist only to gasp when his other hand snatches yours up.

He turns your hand over in his, using his other hand to lightly, like the kiss of the moonlight, dust over your skin.

It's a short moment, and then he's releasing you and the careful wall he's built up between the two of you is put back in place.

"You did good. You're tougher than you seem," he says softly.

You give him a half smile.

"I hope I don't have to be tough too often."

[lubrumalis]

ghost character analysis

tw: spoilers from ghost mw2 comics, nsfw, dead dove do not eat, mature content.

this is pretty much a part 2 to ghost headcanons except with more lore and analysis (im still not sure if reboot ghost has the same backstory as the og ghost).

ghost is not a cold, calculated, ruthless man. maybe in a separate au or something, but theres a huge difference between ghost and simon riley. in fact, we need to understand that the reason he even chose ghost as a new name for himself is because of all that's happened to him. his family got killed, he got tortured by roba, and had to eliminate many men on his own. before that he was simon, not ghost. in the comic he literally calls the child hostages he was saving ‘sweetheart’ and ‘love’. hes not that mean and cold yall

we know that PTSD does shit to it's victims, ghost lost his entire family and had no one. think of it as a coping mechanism to have a new name to be known as.

ghost is a ruthless killer. simon is just some guy.

ghost sets himself to an incredibly high standard of discipline. i think it's intuitive that military boys will need to be punctual and organized to some degree, but ghost takes this to a whole other level. considering his father's abusive behavior (explained by his disturbing statements said to simon, is a drug addict, and beats simons mom) his home life was likely chaotic as a child.

in the mw2: ghost comic (issue #3) it specifically stated the following: "discipline, precision, control. these are what riley built his whole life on. break those down and the dark stuff begins to ooze out..." again, this is probably a form of trauma response to his childhood.

so what does this lead to? well firstly, this probably means his room is incredibly tidy and organized (monotone design i know :,c).

would never in his life touch drugs. this is a promise he made to himself.

also kinda proves that ghost aint a reckless guy. he thinks things through before doing it.

ghost isn’t that hypersexual. theres no way of knowing his history with women, but i like to think ghost is not that horny 24/7 and needs a fuckbuddy. in the mw2 comic, he was on a mission and was in an area full of prostitutes (wasn’t actively on duty, but on his way) when they tried to hit on him he politely rejects one of them, and later tells them to fuck off😀 so yea contrary to popular belief i dont think he really enjoys one night stands or the idea of being entertained by random women. in fact, i hc he might actually be a virgin or just have a really low body count.

ghost is a feminist!😁 (misandrist too). ok let me reword that, ghost doesnt like men and respects women. one of the reasons why he doesn’t want to be around prostitutes and do one night stands (his father killed a hooker in front of him, very traumatic) is because he thinks the concept of quick, casual sex is not good for society and dilutes the value of meaningful relationships. but also, remember the discipline, precision, control thing? its apart of his principle. but also, in the comic, sparks (soldier he worked with) knocked out and attempted to rape a woman, ghosts literally looked disgusted and called the police (also why he’d never do that himself, i dont get the hcs that say he does). ghosts seen how his dad treated his mom and absolutely hates abusers. anyways onto misandry—i think ghost internally thinks men are violent and disgusting (ghosts would choose the bear over the man, even though hes a man) mainly because throughout his military career majority of the bad stuff hes seen was done by men, so hes much more relaxed in a room of women vs man. ghost thinks his dad is the epitome of pure evil (canon! he said this to his therapist). this doesn’t mean hes scared or hates all men tho!

ghost isn’t close with tf141… including soap. now before you attack me let me explain. sure, he trusts them to some degree, but i dont think they naturally just hangout when they’re not deployed. in the end we need to understand they are SAS soldiers, they are working a real job that mainly consists of them shooting and dismantling others. considering ghosts betrayal in the past (in the comic, a few soldiers ghost previously worked with killed his entire family 😢) he isn’t gonna just trust his teammates because theyre his teammates. im also pretty sure they all live in different cities while not deployed. tf141 probably all want to separate their job from their personal lives, which includes each other. but onto soap, i dont think him and ghost have a deep brotherly relationship. but i think they care about each other, but exchanging some dad jokes and bantering doesn’t mean they’re suddenly soulmates or brothers. think about it… you and you’re co worker joke around sometimes, never hangout outside of work, and now people are shipping you and calling the two of you besties. makes no sense.

ghost is extremely patriotic. in the comic (i reference this way too much but theres SOOO MUCH LORE i recommend reading it) ghost tells his teammates the reason for joining the military: queen and country, right after 9/11. he also said “the world has changed”. interestingly enough army enlistment did actually skyrocketed after 9/11 attacks, ghost was among them. he probably thought ww3 was about to happen, or that ‘theres no more peace’ or whatever. i hc being obsessed with soccer too lmao and getting mad if english teams dont win. also his playful banter with johnny “get us a tea?”. probably very proud of his british heritage.

ghost doesn’t have much friends. hes a really, reallyyyyy lonely guy. i hc him as an introvert in the first place, but trust issues make this worse. in the comic, he was literally in the newspaper for killing his family and then killing himself (he didnt, he was framed that way tho) so its likely most of his formers friends probably think hes dead. ghost likely got some sort of amnesty or exemption from the military after knowing he didn’t actually kill his family, but whats in the news stays true to the public. even if he does have friends he probably doesn’t share feelings with them or form a long term bond.

ghost is extremely cynical. this is obvious tbh, but i think ghost believes hes going to die in the middle of a battlefield, shot or stabbed, a painful death, body left to rot for weeks, and no one to remember him. just like that. and he accepts that fact too.

ghost isn’t a picky eater. growing up in an abusive household where his parents couldn’t hold a stable job, he had to eat what there was. some days he settles for cheap beans and toast and when people call him out for it, he tells em to fuck off😀

ghost is emotionally fucked up, probably kind of depressed. i mean this guys been through hell: got sa’d, buried alive, had to dig through underground dirt and worms with a jawbone, tortured in horrible ways, had his entire family killed, abusive dad, and the weight of his grey morales because he killed lots of people as a soldier. wow! would you look at that list, itd be more strange if he wasn’t emotionally fucked up after was has happened😅. even when tortured, seeing his family dead, ghost was never shown to have cried in the comic. i hc hes emotionally numb. however, i do think hes emotionally MATURE and able to communicate his emotions, but hes still emotionally fucked. for example a scene where he was talking about his experience with roba (guy who tortured ghost) and ghosts father to a therapist. i think ghosts may be traumatized, but this doesn’t stop him from attempting to get help and communicating how he feels and thinks about this world.

ghost wears a mask... not because hes insecure and traumatized it's to separate ghost from simon riley. first of all he learned the consequences of revealing your identity during deployment, in the comic, he reveals his face in missions before his family got killed. i think he wears a mask because 1) its practical, no one knows who he is, 2) an analogy for himself to remind him simon riley, his original identity, was dead the moment his family was murdered, this SAS soldier with a skull mask is GHOST (yes this is canon, ghost references in the comic!).

in issue #1 while some kids were being held hostage, he starts telling his life story to them to calm them down/distract them from the bad situation. this is his explanation to why he wears a skull mask, word by word: "I bet you're wondering why I wear these bones on my face. It's a tribute to an old friend of mine. He's dead now, but man if he wasn't the baddest motherfucker on the planet."

in issue #6, when ghost was trekking through a jungle in the middle of nowhere attempting to kill roba (a drug lord that started this all, brainwashed soldiers to kill ghosts family), he was never caught. ghost himself, the narrator, says that "even for a single man to get through the jungle, the patrols, the wall, the security... well that man would have to be a ghost."

however, im still a little confused whether or not reboot ghost and 2009 have the same backstories. reboot ghosts mask is more realistic and his look is much more intimidating, his reason for wearing that kind of mask is probably psychological warfare (getting milena the financier to speak up about makarov). i think 2009 ghosts reason to wearing a mask is more personal compared to reboot.

BUT WHAT ABOUT AN S/O???

i think ghost is the guy to not have one in the first place. obviously. but i lowkey think if he had one and really liked them, he would commit. in fact i find it hard to imagine hes a player or isn’t serious about relationships. when his brother tommy got addicted to drugs and fucked up his life, simon quit the military until tommy got 100% better and married. yup. he stayed to help him recover, for years. thats how loving and committed this man is🥹🥹.

ghost would not cheat on his s/o. i can't stress how important this hc is, because it's so out of character for him to do so. sure, guys in the military statistically have higher divorce rates, incidences of infidelity, and much more red flag stuff, but knowing what happened to him, he would never do that. doesn't matter how stressed, lonely, sexually frustrated this man is; he would not cheat on his partner. this guy has been through far more stressful situations and got through it, you think hes gonna cheat because hes stressed because of work?

its not sunshine and rainbows or absolute toxicity being with him. it's not really a mix of both either. ghost isn't that princess treatment, super squishy and cuddly, sweet guy who likes fluffy stuff. he definitely isn't the toxic guy who leaves you with mixed signals either.

hes quite the gentleman when it comes to approaching relationships, hes seen how his dad treated his mom, and ghost wants to do the exact opposite. i believe ghost likes to use the traditional courting methods when dating someone: gifting flowers, paying for dates, holding the door open (ladies first typa guy!!), the old fashioned stuff. idk if i should point it out again but this guy DOES NOT FW modern dating practices, he wouldn't download dating apps, or start 'talking stages'. i dont think he would write love letters just because hes not very good at writing poetry or expressing his feelings in the first place.

theres still downsides to being with him. the long distance, the time being apart (months and months). but i dont think he'd go as far as being emotionally avoidant.

also something really random ive noticed is that 2009 and reboot ghost are very different, personality wise. i like to think that 2009 ghost represents simon riley much better, but the reboot ghost actually gives the essence and character of what a 'ghost' in the military is.

more random headcanons:

simon prefers dogs over cats because dogs are loyal and stay with you until the end (stereotypically)

hates snakes and spiders

probably wouldn’t do 50/50 on dates, he pays!

avoids saying manchester slang when deployed

drinks and smokes. not always. he’s disciplined but he still does that stuff.. hes a british guy in his 30s whos kinda depressed, grew up with adults around him smoking 24/7, whatd you think😀😀 (its canon that most of tf141 smoke anyway)

listens to 80’s rock music. its canon that his mom enjoys the band siouxsie and the banshees :)), he probs does too

shaves his beard

is actually confident hes not bad looking. dude, hes 6’2, in shape with a jawline🙄

i don't enjoy hcs of ghost being the scariest out of tf141 (appearance wise yes). but soap seems much more scary imo, he was the youngest guy to pass SAS selections in the history of the UK military, and was nicknamed soap because of fast and good he is at cleaning up 'messes' (basically killing people).

id arguably say ghost is the most compassionate out of 141, if we're talking about the OG 2009 one.

[frudoo]

hiii sorry ik u write slasher!141 so maybe this could be some random version of that but what if reader is craving physical touch and simon is *refusing* to give it to her and being super mean so she goes to johnny crying and he satisfies her needs and comforts her ?🎀

only if you feel comfortable writing !! 💗🎀

Once again I am SO SORRY it’s taken me so long to get to your ask!!!

This kinda turned into more of a Simon-heavy fic than I thought, I hope that’s okay :(( on this blog, SIMON RILEY GETS A HAPPY ENDING!!!!!!!

Hope this holds y’all over while I’m working on the second part of this 🤞

Warnings: Mentions of murder. Mentions of depression (one use of ‘kys’). Hurt/comfort. Entire series is a dark!fic—MDNI.

Sometimes, Simon gets in a foul mood.

Today, it was a victim that got him all twisted up. Slippery little bitch, always managing to weasel her way out of his usually iron-tight grip and immobilize him just long enough to go into hiding. When he finally took a bludgeon to her knees so that she couldn’t run anymore, she resorted to scratching, and when he ripped off her nails, it turned into harsh words. Typically he’s able to drown their bullshit out, but this harlot was absolutely brutal.

Gotta kill bitches because you can’t get any pussy?

Fucking ugly bastard, you remind me of my uncle’s dead dog.

Why don’t you spare your victims and kill yourself instead?

Needless to say, her death was quick and well-deserved. Still, her words got to him. All the depression he’s tried to fight off for most of his sorry life came back roaring like a forest fire. He came barreling inside the house and upon seeing his bad mood, you attempted to hug him.

He shoved you off.

Simon, your sweet baby boy who always makes sure to give you a lingering kiss each morning, night, and every hour in between; the man who pulls you into the shower every chance he gets just so he can take the time to ask about your day while he carefully washes your hair; the one who brutalizes anyone who dares look at you the wrong way—Simon Riley shoved you off. You fell to the ground and all he did was step over you, storming up the stairs to his room. Kyle was first to get off of the couch and run after him. John pressed a short, apologetic kiss to your forehead then followed the younger man. You heard the lock click and then you were alone.

The tears come before you can fight them off. Not once has Simon ever treated you like this. Even when you beg, the man refuses to do anything remotely kinky in the bedroom if it involves you being brought momentary pain. The sudden change in his behavior is jarring, to say the least. You don’t even bother to pull yourself up, curling into a sad little ball on the ground and sobbing.

“Bon’, did ye see wha’s wrong wit’ Simon? Saw ‘im stompin’ in an’- bleedin’ ‘ell, hen, are ye okey?” Johnny bursts through the door covered in dirt and sweat—he had been in the garden pulling weeds for you and must have seen Simon’s demeanor before he went in the house—immediately falling to his knees when he sees the state you’re in.

“He- I- he’s never-” you ramble through tears, unable to look your beloved Scotsman in the eyes even as he lifts you into his arms.

“Och, it’s alreit, lass, le’s ge’ ye tae bed,” Johnny coos, carrying you up the stairs and into his own bedroom.

Johnny cautiously pulls the covers back and lays you down, making sure you’re comfortable. The contrast of his gentleness and Simon’s indifference makes your chest tighten painfully. It hurts being treated so poorly, especially by someone who swore he would never cause you any harm. It makes you feel icky, wrong.

“Talk tae me, hen,” Johnny insists as he strips off his dirty clothes, stealing a glance at you every so often.

When you shake your head, he frowns, flipping his shirt inside out to rub the grime off of his face. He decides he’s clean enough to get under the covers with you, pulling you close and rubbing random circles all over your skin. Johnny’s always been such a reverent lover. In every graze of his fingertips, every touch that causes a shiver throughout your body, you can feel his devotion.

“Please?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your nose, then the corner of your mouth.

“Simon pushed me,” you mumble, suddenly feeling embarrassed by this entire ordeal.

“Oh, bonnie girl,” he coos, pulling back to look at you. “Ah ken he can be a reit arse.”

“I just wanted to hug him because he seemed sad, b-but he just… he pushed me down. He’s never done that before,” you sniffle, tears gathering in your waterline for the umpteenth time.

“M’sorry, hen, ye didnae deserve tha’. Simon jus’... well, sometimes he lets ‘is brain ge’ the best o’im. Doesnae ‘appen tae often bu’ when it does, changes ‘im,” Johnny explains, cupping your face in his big hands.

“I just wanna sleep it off,” you sigh sadly.

“Ah promise, when ye wake up, it’ll all be back tae normal,” Johnny carefully tucks your face into the crook of his neck and wraps an arm around your soft waist.

It takes no time for you to fall asleep in his arms, your soft snores making him smile to himself. Your eyebrows furrow and your bottom lip puckers out when he presses dozens of kisses to your face. Johnny cracks his neck and settles his body in, about to join you in your nap, when there’s a soft knock at his door. He lifts his head slightly, one eye open to look at whoever just walked in.

“Is she asleep?” Simon asks gruffly, looking undone.

“Aye,” Johnny responds quietly.

“Can- can I come in and ‘old her?”

Johnny’s heart breaks all over again at the tone in his lover’s voice. He waves Simon over, shuffling further in the bed to make room. He adjusts you on his chest as the blond settles in next to him so he could be by the both of you. One huge, scarred hand rests on the small of your back right below the Scot’s.

“Ye feelin’ better?” Johnny questions in a murmur, his free hand wrapping around the back of Simon’s head to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

Simon nods but doesn’t elaborate any further. His gaze is focused on your peaceful face and his chest tightens at the knowledge that he hurt you. Johnny doesn’t allow him to spiral, pulling him down into a slow, tender kiss.

“She’s alreit, ye ken,” he whispers against the older man’s lips. “Kno’s ye didnae mean it.”

“I feel awful,” Simon frowns, nuzzling his crooked nose against Johnny’s jaw. “Too good f’me, all o’ya.”

“Si?” Your small, croaky voice startles both men.

“Here, sweet girl,” he responds instantly.

You yawn as he cups one cheek in his palm, leaning into his touch without hesitation.

“Missed you,” you mutter, opening your eyes just long enough to look at him with a lazy smile.

His heart skips a beat, and tears flood his eyes. He leans forward to press his lips to your temple, resting his head on the opposite side of Johnny’s chest to face you. The younger man grins as he gently massages both you and Simon’s shoulders, happy that both of his loves are finally at peace.

“Missed ya, too,” Simon sniffles, intertwining your fingers with his.

[whirlybirbs]

It’s been so long since our hyperfixations overlapped >:)))

Ok after the last lil bit you did I’m just kinda imagining him watching Moth interact with Johnny and being jealous of both of them (cause Johnny is HIS friend back off Moth but also bc Johnny made Moth smile so brightly, how?? Please tell him how???) pretty please with cherries on top ♥️🍒

2. handler's manual — ghost / reader

desc: moth & johnny spar. ghost is in a bad mood. moth's theories grow. pairing: lt. simon "ghost" riley / f!reader ; callsign: moth a/n: honestly moth & johnny sharing their spotify wrapped is like air to me — you just know soap's was, like, Nu Divorced Dad Strut Rock or something. also, ghost works out in complete total silence like the apex predator he is, you cannot change my mind on this. ⇽ prev / next ⇾

"Woah, easy up, Pilates Princess—"

You punch the pad a little harder for that — but the smirk on your face tells Johnny know you're not really mad. If you were, you woulda gone for his nuts.

"I told you that in confidence," you pant, landing a well timed pattern of strikes in a loop of three, "And you're using it against me?"

"It's yer Spotify Wrapped," Johnny chirps back, lowering himself in a sturdier stance as you strike — left, left, right, left. Left, left, right, left, "An' tha' makes it yer problem, lass."

"Don't you lass me—"

You nail an easy transition into a different flow — right, left, right, left, left, right.

"Pure dead brilliant, Moth!" Johnny grins as your gloves connect with the pads in rhythm. He's quick to drop them, smack your arm, and throw an arm around your shoulder, "Pilates Princess is gettin' good, ae?"

You snort, shoving the sweaty Scotsman off of you with a smile; Johnny's a good man. A bit of a bastard, but patient enough to agree to spar with you on an off-day. "Shut up—"

Across the gym, the heavy pummel of a punching bag ratchets up and the blaring ring of the chain is loud enough to make you flinch. You wet your lips, turn your head towards the sound, and Johnny immediately whistles at the sight of a certain Lieutenant raining holy fire on the bag in the corner.

Heavy hoodie, heavy sweats, beat-to-shit trainers. He's dripping sweat, that much is clear from the darkened stains along the back of the SAS 22ND REG P.T. gear. It's Lieutenant Riley. And he's not stopping.

Because, aye, come th' fuck on. You're makin' 'im feel fuckin' mental. Since when are you an' Johnny friendly enough t' chinwag to th' moon and back, huh? John MacTavish is his only fuckin' friend. An' 'ere you come, all sunshine an' daisies —

Th' fuck is even a Spotify Wrapped anyway...?

You pop your hands on your waist as you try to catch your breath.

Must be a bad day for the Lieutenant. What's on the menu for lunch? You wonder what sort of phase the moon is in and if Phillip Graves is even on base. Additional factors could include: lack of caffeine (his usual shaker bottle is absent?), mismatched socks (indicative of missed laundry day?), balaclava preference (this one he rarely wears — uncomfortable?).

You slide Johnny a look.

Johnny slides it right back.

Then:

"Don't look a' me like tha', m' not fuckin' talkin' t' 'im."

[sillygoose343]

COD But If They Were Gen Z Brainrot Things

COD but if they're brainrot. (I don't know what possessed me to do this, uni exams are causing me to tweak).

I formally apologise to: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John Price, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Kate Laswell, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Nikolai, Phillip Graves, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Vladimir Makarov

i did NOT take this seriously 🥴im jit yapping

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

Ghost - monday left me broken

Soap's dead, Roach's dead, Mara's dead (in the mobile comics), monday left him broken.

If I were to recount *all* of the shit that he had to go through, I would be here for awhile but I know we know what our Ghost had experienced, he's broken but he's still kicking! Onto Tuesday, Wednesday!

So I think it's a fair assessment for him to be monday left me broken

I also think he listens to the song unironically sometimes

Captain Price - smurf cat

Do I really have to explain this one?

I guess COD nation sees Papa Smurf in him but the thing about smurf cat is that it has a hat, therefore it must be Price

The resemblance is uncanny sometimes (it's just a hat)

i don't have much to say, it's literally just appearance-based for this one

Soap - prime and lunchly

soap is the type of guy to walk into the recording studio and come out with "from the screen, to the ring, to the pen, to the king, where's my crown? that's my bling, always drama, when i ring. see i believe that if i see it in my heart, smash through the ceiling, 'cause i'm reaching for the stars." look me in my metaphorical eyes and tell me im wrong

he would be guzzling down the cherry freeze after a long hard day of training

he likes his cheese drippy bruh

he kinda looks like haley welch if you squint

Gaz - gaining aura

I LOVE GAZ RAAAAH

Look at him? He literally can't physically lose aura?

I'm biased towards Gaz

Even breathing can earn this man aura, there is something innately charismatic and charming about Gaz to the point that even if he trips on air or accidentally walks around with an open bag, typically aura-losing activities, he just wouldn't lose any.

Look at him

He is Kyle "Gaz" Garrick.

Roach - cooked

well, technically, 'cooked' typically indicates that a food item has been processed through fire, at least usually

but i guess this is using the brainrot terminology, still, that changes nothing

cooked in brainrot means to be struggling, done for or that the situation is just bad, the entire brazilian militia being after his ass after he fell from the roof was one of his most iconic moments, he had many cooked moments in the campaign but that one truly defined him, he was, in fact, cooked

literally and figuratively

Laswell - galvanised square steel

galvanised square steel is an extremely durable material, is able to transform even the smallest 1mx1m square apartment into a fully functional multi-purpose home with the assistance of eco-friendly wood veneers and

as ghost put it, "laswell's still solid as a rock" except, she's as solid as galvanised square steel

she's reliable, resilient and shes like the foundation as the galvanised square steel while 141 is like the eco-friendly wood veneers

Alejandro - oil up

one could say that all men in cod could represent 'oil up' but i think alejandro embodies the 'oil up' phrase

im actually just straight tweaking when i say this but i think he'd have a similar community to orange peanut's if he ever became an influencer, like different content but his comment section would be filled with 'when are you going to oil up'

i also think he'd be the kind of guy to gladly oil up on request, granted there was an ample amount of oil

Rodolfo - livvy dunne

rudy doesn't really strike me as a rizzer more like a rizzee (im tweaking so hard right now)

he seems like the type of guy to get rizzed up by baby gronk and then promptly train for his gymnastics or something

there's not much to comment on here, just that he looks like the type of guy to be rizzed

Nikolai - metal pipe sound effect

nikolai is unique in the sense that i think he encapsulates the metal pipe sound effect rather than a phrase or a brainrot figure

i have a feeling that during violence and timing gaz would agree with me

i have a feeling that the butcher in mw2019 would also agree with me

he's a menace but no brainrot compilation is the same without the metal pipe sound effect so :333

Phillip Graves - only in ohio

that gif shows up when i search for ohio

i feel like this one is very self-explanatory

in some instances gyatt and ohio can be used interchangeably so i would also consider him having the dual position of embodying gyatt and ohio at the same time, lucky bloke

König - alpha wolf

furry könig skin

furry wolf skin, no further commentary needed

Horangi - 99% of gamblers quit before they hit big

that is just what he did

Makarov - skibidi toilet

we have all seen the smile skin

skibidi toilet is evil incarnate, poisoning the minds of the children, even in the lore of skibidi toilet it is evil and direct antagonistic villains towards camera head people, sounds just like makarov

the smile skin is like the mould on lunchly cheese, its the outward thing you see but the evil of skibidi toilet like makarovs evil is like the mould spores inside the cheese

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

it is now nearly 3am, im so failing my histology class man

[carbondioxda]

a/n: I firmly believe Simon Riley would be a dog person. Written at school on breaks, english isn’t my first language sorry for mistakes🥲

c/w: Simon Riley/Shelter worker!reader with him just caring for the same mutt as reader. Simon dogtrapping reader and deciding that she’s gonna be his wife on the spot.

There’s this stray mutt that Simon has grown fond of.

He’s no one’s, an older dog with some scars, matted fur, and a sad look in his eyes. He’s big, probably a mix between a german shepherd, saint bernard and a labrador if you squint. He has one floppy ear despite his age. Still, a big guy with a rough exterior and a big heart. Much like Simon.

He couldn’t have a dog. Not with the constant deployments and absence from home. Maybe if he had a wifey to take care of the dog and the house while he’s gone, he’d take him in. He didn’t have a dog officially anyway, despite feeding the mutt regularly and having two bowls for him outside, dog food now permanently on his grocery list. He wouldn’t admit to himself how much he cared for him, named him Bravo in his head, but never got him a proper collar.

Bravo always came back, happy to see Simon, wagging his tail and roaming around his neighbourhood whenever he was home. Always slept in his garage during winter. He was a great dog, hunted rodents when he was in the mood. Warned Simon that someone was coming by barking. Never bit or attacked anyone. Played with the kids on the playground nearby.

So when Simon comes back from yet another deployment, he notices that Bravo isn’t there to greet him. His bowls remain untouched and one thing that Simon knew about that mutt was that he’d eat absolutely anything without a complaint. So after two long days of seeing the bowls still full, worry starts to nag the Lieutenant, reminding him at random of how Bravo’s missing.

Simon’s heart drops to his stomach when his mind starts conjuring images of what fate the pup could’ve suffered while he was gone, kicking ass god knows where with the Task Force. People were cruel, whether it’d be men or some messed up kids. Most drivers don’t even stop after bumping into a cat or a dog. The thought of Bravo being hurt or rotting on the side of the road made Simon’s head spin.

At some point, enough is enough. He’d figure out a place for Bravo to stay while he’s deployed, he just wanted the damn mutt to come back. His only company when he was home alone. The neighbours said that the dog vanished, none of them mentioned anything about a dead dog in a ditch, so that was something. Simon found himself driving to the local shelter in hopes of finding him. He heads inside, picture of the dog prepared on his phone already.

There he sees you - the sweetest lass he’s ever seen. Pretty sure he hasn’t seen you before, because he wouldn’t ignore someone like that. He opens the door and the creak and it makes you turn to him and smile, making him wish he’d have you smiling like that when he comes home.

And you? Who doesn’t smile at the sight of a man built like your wet dream, looking to adopt a dog. And you just had a great day, after having made a decision to adopt one of the larger mutts that just came to your shelter a week ago. He was so sweet with that floppy ear of his-

- What can I help you with? Wanna adopt? - you ask. Not many people come to the shelter. Mostly families before christmas, a few volunteers who walk and feed the dogs, maybe some young people when they move out of their parents house and want their own mutt. If he wouldn’t find Bravo here, he was ready to adopt a dog anyway just to see your eyes light up.

- M’mutt’s gone missin’. - he gruffly replied, taking out his phone and showing you the picture he took one time before he got deployed again. - You have ‘im?

- Uh, yeah, he’s been with us for a week now. - you say, but your immediately smile goes down. The handsome guy was taking your dog. A wave of relief washes over his body, his worries dissolved with a simple sentence. He tenses up again though, just as fast. Something’s wrong. You should look at him with glinting eyes and hand him adoption papers. Thank him for taking the doggy to a good house with a kiss on the cheek, or a sloppy kiss somewhere else. You motion him to follow you to the crates. The room stinks of a wet dog. He follows without a word, eyeing your plush thighs from behind, calculating if his hands were perfectly big to grab them both and spread. If you two were at the bar, he’d be already trying to get your number, name, address and family information.

You two walk over to the crate where the poor mutt is in, whining, his tail thumping on the floor when he sees you and Simon.

- It’s good you’re taking him back uh..he’s a smart mutt. - you chuckle awkwardly, fighting through the pain. Simon seemed like a good man and you were telling yourself that he’d be much better owner than you anyway. But it hurts. Because in the week you’ve had him in this crate, you’ve grown so attached that it physically hurts to give him away. Bravo, as Simon called him, was the only dog you actually took out the papers to adopt formally after working at the shelter for months. Turns out you almost took someone’s dog. You open the lock and let Bravo get out and bother Simon.

- I’m gon’ take ‘im home. - he says, watching your expression.

- Alright. You’ll need to fill out some basic forms before you do. You may sit on one of the chairs. - you guide him to the poorly furnished waiting room where you return to your counter and give him the said files. He gives you a nod and sits down, Bravo bothering his ass all the time. He writes down whatever was needed, mostly just trying to rack his brain on if his sudden need for you isn’t caused by not getting laid for years in the military. But no. He doesn’t ogle pretty girls that way in grocery shops or at base, you’re just uniquely wife-shaped in his opinion. And he hates that frown you have on and even more that he’s the one to cause it. It didn’t take a genius to figure out you loved Bravo.

- Ya got a dog? - he suddenly asks, laying the paperwork on the counter to get it signed. He’s determined to get you to smile again, not look like you just got your soul companion ripped away from you.

- Oh, no, I wish. I..almost adopted your dog, actually. Well, uh, big dogs are better for houses than flats anyway, yeah? - you smile weakly. Small flat doesn’t quite fit to the description of the absolute shithole you live in, but it’ll do. He senses that. He’d be more than willing to lock you up with Bravo in his house and get you all the pups you want. Anything to get the spark in your eyes back, the one you greeted him with at the door.

-…Ya dogsit? - he gruffly asks as you give him back the paperwork. He needed something to silence his guilt and have you within his reach. You wanted Bravo, he can share.

- I suppose I could. - you shrug. Anything to see that dog. You could get a penny or two dogsitting too. And drool over Simon.

- I mean fo’ long periods of time. Few weeks, a month. Livin’ in the house. - he said, laying out what he needed, because taking that mutt in meant getting him someone to watch over him while he’s deployed. It felt like sharing custody already. And he wanted to see you home. Smiling when he comes back. Hell, he’d get two or three dogs there if it meant seeing you all sweet and smiling.

You think for a moment. Your flat is shit. Simon mentioned he has a house, not an apartament. You don’t wanna part from Bravo and you need money.

- Sure. - you shrug, finally smiling a bit more without that sadness in your eyes. His heart flutters. He’s gonna buy a ring and himself a matching one if you do that again. The guest room’s gonna be your space, he’s gonna come back for another dog and let you choose which one, and Bravo would make a great family dog anyway, so the storage room upstairs can be the nurser-

You exchange numbers and that’s when you’ve sealed your fate. He calls you two days after he took Bravo and you show up to discuss the details. His dog greets you and you rub his floppy ear, ruffle his fur like all you needed this today was that mutt.

- Where’s yer suitcase? - he asks, hanging your jacket.

- My suitcase?

- Yer stayin’.

- Sorry, what?

- Ya agreed to dogsittin’ Bravo. M’gone often, so it’s best ya jus’ move in. Guest room upstairs ‘s yours. - he states. It’s not a question of you want to move in. You will move in. - Ya mentioned wanting to adopt Bravo. He fuckin’ adores ya, so he’s yours too. Yer stayin’. Next time, bring yer things.”

And there it is. That glimmer in your eyes. The proposition to live in a house instead of your shitty flat and have Bravo with you all the time? And a handsome Brit that looks at you like you’re a meal all the time? Worth a shot.

[dilfsnatcher101]

24-Hour S.R.

Warnings: cursing

Anon: This is just gonna be a little series atp

Summary: After going ghost for a week the silent man himself takes it upon himself to confront you.

pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Working at a 24-hour café sounded like a good idea once. In reality? It's 12:03 AM, I’m dead on my feet, and the only thing keeping me from collapsing onto the pastry counter is a lukewarm cinnamon roll and spite. This is how it’s been all week. Night shifts, no time to cook, no time to grocery shop. Not that I’ve been home enough to miss a meal anyway. Still… maybe I need to go back to the market because of other reasons.

Ghost… still wondering what his real name is. But seriously I still need my tupperwear back so I have to go see him- I mean get it. 

The record player lets out a soft screech as the needle runs out. I scramble over to change it, swapping in something jazzier, something that doesn’t sound like heartbreak and rain.

The bell above the door rings.

“One second, just fixing the tunes,” I call, slipping the new vinyl onto the deck.

A pause.

Then a voice low and gruff, dipped in something warm and dangerous.

“Where have you been?” I turn around quickly at the voice knowing exactly who it belongs to. 

“Ghost hey- wait how do you know where I work” I say making my way behind the counter as if he’d order. 

I doubt it he looks like he doesn’t drink coffee.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, stepping closer to the counter. “Wanted tea.”

I raise a brow, hand on my hip. “You want tea?”

“I said what I said.” He sits down on one of the stools. “Please.”

I smirk. “That’s what I thought. Now answer my question.”

He groans, running a hand down his mask. My eyes trace the lines of his knuckles as they scrape along his jaw. “Do you always ask so many damn questions?”

“I work night shifts. I live on questions and coffee.”

“Christ,” he mutters. “Fine. I asked around. There’s like a hundred fucking coffee shops in this city. I found yours.” He crosses his arms making eye contact with the steam coming from the pot instead of me which was the first.

I blink. “Wow. Ghost I don’t even know your last name but you hunted me down. That Alfredo must’ve been better than I thought.”

He grunts as a response “You didn’t answer my question.”  he murmured nodding his head as a thank you for the tea. I groan shortly using my arms to show the place off.

“Ive been working these shifts every night, that’s why im not out during the day, im sleeping” I yawn dreaming about resting. 

He hums into the steam curling from his cup. “Thought maybe I scared you off. Didn’t come get your bowl back.” There’s a shift in his tone, barely there. But it’s disappointment, or something that smells like it. 

I soften, letting the sass melt just a little. “Nice try. You’re not as scary as you think you are.” He looks up sharply, like I slapped him with a compliment. Or a challenge.

“I’ve been thinking about stopping by all week,” I add, voice gentler now. “To get the bowl. Obviously.”

I turn to clean a mug before he can catch the lie in my eyes. He leans forward, elbows on the counter. “Well. Was boring without ya. Should’ve come by.” 

That almost makes me freeze

Not the words, but the way he says it. Flat, but loaded. My heart stutters, then speeds up. “You want my number?”

He blinks. “What?”

I grin. “So next time I ghost, you can complain directly.” I hold my hand out for his phone.

He hesitates, then slowly pulls it from his pocket and drops it into my palm. “You’re pushy.”

“You’re welcome,” I say sweetly, texting myself from his phone and saving his number before setting it on the counter. He’s quiet while I do it, eyes drifting toward the window. Street lights flicker outside. The road is empty and quiet, too quiet. “It’s not safe for you to work nights,” he mutters.

I raise a brow. “Excuse me?”

“No protection. No backup. You close up alone?”

I cross my arms, half off the offense, half flattered. “What makes you think I don’t carry protection?”

He looks back at me. Doesn’t answer. Just stares. And it’s a look that says he’s not asking permission. It says he’s already decided. “I’ll walk you home.” I laugh, thinking it’s a joke.

He doesn’t laugh.

“What’s funny?” he asks, deadpan.

“You don’t have to do that. It’s late, I’ve still got like forty-five minutes.”

“And I’ll wait.”

“Seriously?” I blink.

He leans back on the stool, sipping his tea like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah. Not negotiable.” I just stare at him, this man who found me through a city full of cafés, who remembered my damn Tupperware, who sits in the quiet just to be near me. Something warm settles in my chest.

“Well, I guess you can be nice.”

He doesn’t smile.

But he doesn’t deny it either.

p4

[ceilidho]

prompt: im also thinking of a very bad fic where ghost is taken pow for awhile and it fucks him up and he’s forced to see a therapist when he’s rescued but he’d rather use her p[] as therapy instead. tags: nsfw, implied/not described violence, slight dubcon, unprofessional relationship lol

-

It isn’t serendipitous that you meet; it comes because of a lot of bad luck and malevolence. 

He’s captured during a routine surveillance mission and spends three months as a POW in some shed in the Ural mountains. He comes back different. That’s to be expected. Trauma is an insidious thing that takes root under the skin, that twists and turns even in the dead of night. It’s a tunnel that gets tighter as you walk through it. It would be concerning if he didn’t come back that way. 

You know far too many gory details to ever feel truly comfortable around him. Not because of anything he’s done but because you can’t help the way the narrative builds in your mind when you look across the room at him. Even sitting on the prim and proper little sectional in your office, his body too big for the cozy little couch you picked up from some upscale boutique with your government paycheck, you can’t help but mythologize him. 

The official story is that four men were found dead when Simon Riley was finally extracted from the shed-turned-torture-room six months ago due to a bacterial infection that, luckily, Simon was not exposed to. The story’s flimsy even to your untrained ears; you may not have gone to medical school, but it just seems too perfect, too impeccable. When you push your superior for the truth, the look you get and the quiet “leave it alone” tells you far more than your paygrade deserves. 

Even knowing what you know, he shows up day one with the skull balaclava like some bone fortress that tells you before you even try, I am unknowable. You can try to cut me up and look inside, but this is all you’ll find—bone and bone and more bone.

He’s remarkably resistant to therapy, which is also to be expected; you aren’t at the stage in your career where you’re surprised that a man entrenched in the machinery of militarism won’t acquiesce to talk therapy. 

There’s a point where you want to try a new tactic, something to get to the root of what he’s hiding from you. So, you poke at it. You ask him to give you a five-minute account of the traumatic event, something that took place in the shed. 

“Which of those events do you dislike thinking about the most?” Your pen is poised over the pad in your lap. 

He raises a brow so high up that it disappears behind the mask. “How could I pick just one?”

His voice rumbles like tires over gravel. Sometimes your leg jitters when he speaks and it’s not your fault. You shut it down though because this is not a legend in front of you but a man, and you are in this room with him for a very specific purpose that does not include finding the sound of his voice attractive. 

You ask him again: “Which comes to mind first?”

Simon doesn’t answer you, but there’s a flash like quicksilver across his eyes and you catch it not because you’re looking but because he lets you. 

He shifts forward in his chair so that his elbows are propped on his knees and he’s leaning forward, closer to you than you’re comfortable with. You didn’t think to put a coffee table between the two of you. With other vets and active personnel, it’s easier without the sense of distance; makes them feel closer to you, vulnerable because it’s just skin, oxygen, and skin. 

With Simon, you get the sense that distance might be better. 

“What comes to mind first is that it was dark and I could smell the blood. I could taste it. But I couldn’t see it.” He doesn’t blink for as long as he speaks. You try not to let your breath shorten; you feel hungry for his truth the way a wolf hungers for the moon. “And it was dark and I could smell it; it was in my throat because I knew it was the only way out of there. I realized in that room that there is no righteous path but the one you take.”

Simon leans so far forward that his body glides up to stand and the pencil trembles in your hand when he takes a step close. He’s bigger looming over you, all brawn in the way military men often are, but sleek in his movements. You think of snakes or panthers. 

He breathes in. “You smell good though, love. Do you think we could start there instead?”

You open your mouth to reply, maybe even tell him to sit down so you can approach the question from a different angle, but then he’s on you, quick as he must have been that night. One big callused hand over your mouth and one knee on the couch, his other hand reaching up to pull the mask below his nose. You feel the warm press of it into the side of your neck and try not to struggle.

His breath shudders across your skin. You shake because you feel all the bone hidden beneath his frame now.

Simon’s hand is rough when it slides up your shirt. Pretty pearl buttons go flying; one rolls under the prim and proper couch. You only struggle for the first couple of seconds before professionalism melts away like a fine mist. Like you can do anything but look at him like a revelation. You stare at the pearl beneath the couch when he fucks you, legs split around his waist and you know it’s going to hurt in the morning. 

“If I’d known that you were waiting for me while I was in there,” he breathes, sonorous and rich, mask rolled up over lips bisected by a puckered scar, “I would have torn out their throats much more eagerly.”

[aubris-fox]

another fanfic idea, woah

tags: simon 'ghost' riley/john 'soap' mactavish, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, happy ending, slight angst, established relationship, marriage proposal -------------------------------------------------

johnny proposing to simon, and simon being so caught off guard that he just says "no" without even managing to explain why.

johnny gets upset, validly so considering they'd been together for years at that point, and leaves; stays with gaz for a bit, tells simon he needs space, leaves the man to sit and stew in guilt and regret.

after a few days, johnny comes back home. the tension is thick, and johnny keeps avoiding him, and they keep just barely brushing shoulders. eventually simon can't take it anymore. he settles down with him, and forces himself to explain that he said only no because he literally can't.

"what do you mean, you can't? do you not love me anymore, or something?" "no! no, that's not—" "then what? what could possibly be stopping you—" "im dead!" .. "..what?" "legally, i'm dead. i cant marry you because 'simon riley' isn't meant to be alive."

simon manages to put off explaining why he's legally dead for a later date, with the flimsy excuse that it's 'a long story he isnt in the mood to explain', and instead they have a long talk about alternatives.

the next day they're going out and buying matching rings. they may not be able to be wed officially, but who cares about what a piece of paper has to say about their relationship, anyway? they want to be married, and so they are.

@ellis-elpetal , @idiotrxccoon more tags for moral support dsjfhsd

[oceantornadoo]

ex and the city (simon riley x female reader)

inspired by s2 ep18 of sex and the city (currently on a binge). miranda and steve are the cutest (pls don't spoil)

ANGSTY

--

fuck, it was him.

simon stood at the other side of your door, glaring into your peephole. you stepped back quickly, hand covering your mouth in shock. after running away from him on the street the other day, you hadn't expected him to show up. maybe you could just not answer, pretend it never happened and- "can hear ya breathin', dove." shit.

you quickly unlocked the door, trying to compose yourself. "simon! hi!" shit you needed to calm down. that is not how an ex-fiancee would treat her almost-husband. "shitty thing you did, runnin' like a rabbit fr'm me." your eyebrows rose. he was going for it. "i didn't run!" he looked at you, dead-eyed. letting the silence hang over you like a dark cloud, the air growing tense in your apartment hallway behind him.

"you ran." you ran a hand down your face, the other tightening your grip on your door. "well, i wasn't expecting to see you and- i just-" your voice choked, an attempt at hiding back your tears. "hurt my feelin's, dove." simon kept his arms crossed, staring down at you. he never did talk about his feelings much, but seeing the woman who was supposed to be his wife, his forever, run away from him? that hurt even a dead man like him.

"well i don't do very well with ex-boyfriends and..." you trailed off, staring at your toes. the tears were hot behind your eyes now, months of frustration and longing boiling to the surface. "dove..." he reached out and tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. the feeling of his gloves against your skin was so familiar you almost closed your eyes, but snapped them open when you remembered. "this is me. simon." you nodded, throat thick. you shrugged, struggling to find the words to convey how you survived without him for the past four months. you decided on a simple, "yeah."

"i held your head while you wer' sleepin'." simon took off his mask, tucking it in his pocket. his hair was a bit longer since the last time you saw it. his face a bit scruffy, sporting a few new scars from the last deployment you had screamed at him for. your neighbor appeared behind him, tilting her head back as she pretended not to listen. you turned away, rubbing at your eyes as they got red. he took the silent invite and ran with it, stepping through and closing the door before your neighbor saw you vulnerable. always protecting you physically, even when he couldn't emotionally.

"im sorry. im so sorry it- i just-" you rubbed at your chest, an aching spot forming behind your rib cage. "shh dove, s'ok, yer ok." he reached for you and then stopped himself. he didn't get that privilege anymore. "i just hadn't seen you in so long and i thought you might have died and i missed you simon..." your voice cracked at his name, the taste of it so familiar. like a warm hot chocolate on a winter's day, a cool lemonade on a summer's night. "im a shitty person! you'd never do anything that shitty."

he chuckled. you, always idolizing him, making him out to be a golden boy when really he was rotting, a half-dead thing for you to play with. "showed up to yer apartment in the middle of the day an' called yer landlord to make sure you were in. what'dya call that?" a sob rose from your throat, the humor of what he said hitting you hard. "yeah that was pretty shitty." you nodded, rewarding him with a weak smile and a half-angry tone.

"i miss you. in my bones, si." his eyes were wet, crinkling in the leftover eye-black. "im here, dove. what'rya doin' friday?" you let out a sob again, covering your mouth. "i have a date." fuck, he'd kill him. he'd let johnny plant mines and put gaz on intelligence and ask price to redeem that one favor from a year ago. he'd make it look like an purposeful accident, a gas leak or a water heater explosion. something where even the man's family couldn't get any money. he ran his hands through his hair, a nervous tick he only showed in front of you.

"can't pretend to be happy for ya, dove. can't be a better man on this." and suddenly you were hugging him, hands reaching over his shoulders as you stood on familiar tiptoes. his hands automatically circled your waist, the feel of it engrained in his soul. something he could describe from memory. "lets just...stay here awhile. okay?" he nodded into your hair, breathing in that familiar scent. he had another chance at making you his wife and he wasn't going to lose it again.

--

i kinda want to write one of these for all of the 141?? we'll see.